#because it's something so integral to the experience of . being alive

[bonewicca]

more 🛌

[fallen-flier]

swim in circles (sniper! tim)

au where tim's parents get kidnapped by obeah man earlier on but they survive. and he becomes a sniper. :)

inspired by @yjcorefourenjoyer's sniper! tim idea, who graciously let me run around in their sandbox. :D

Turns out, when you leave your child alone without a parental figure for months, you can’t integrate yourself back into their life and just pretend all is normal.

You never wanted to parent me before, Tim wants to scream. Why are you even pretending you care now?

But he says none of it, swallows it down his throat dry where it resides in his chest, thick and cloying like a good son. His parents narrowly escaped being killed. Tim is being selfish because he isn’t used to this. It’s fine.

Jack wants him to transfer to a nearby private school and live at home instead of boarding school so he and Mom can keep an eye on him, fine. Tim can adapt, take advantage of the fact that he’s home more to take pictures of Batman and Robin. 

So Tim is twelve years old when his father brings him to a shooting range and puts a hand on his shoulder. Some good ol’ father-son bonding, his dad claims. His dad is too scared to admit what the true purpose is; so Tim won’t be defenseless in case he’s kidnapped.

But it doesn’t matter whether his dad verbalizes it or not: Tim knows, so there’s no point in saying it out loud.

(For a brief moment, he thinks of becoming Robin, of fists and swinging staffs and acrobatics. Of following Batman’s no-kill rule.)

It’s a silly thought. Tim’s parents are very much alive, and his reality is this: gunpowder and cameras and slow, choking patience. Tim is athletic, but doesn’t exactly make a point to get into fights— if he’s attacked, he would have the best chance with a gun.

But for the next few months, Tim drowns under his father’s expectations and his mother’s worried and guilty gaze. The knot in his chest tightens until he struggles for air, and Tim needs something, needs to get out of the house, needs to do something other than follow Batman and Robin because his parents keep checking on him in the middle of the night.

Tim flounders, kicks fruitlessly at the waters until another weekend, when his father brings him out again and he adjusts his stance, aligns his handgun, and waits until his hands are steady.

It doesn’t take long until he speeds through a fire safety certificate test and all but owns his father’s 9mm pistol.

For the first time in what feels like forever, Tim breathes.

It’s a hobby his father supports and something his mother, who sits in her wheelchair, loosens the furrow in her brow for. Before he goes, she quietly brushes her hand over his hair. Remember your gun safety, Tim, she says, and he nods before heading out for another lesson.

Really damn good, his instructor says, and Tim smiles, because his arms are getting used to the recoil and Tim has one of the highest accuracies among all the teens in the class, even if he takes a little longer than everyone.

But it’s no matter: Tim has experience with being patient.

It doesn't take long for Tim to start bringing his handgun out with him while he goes birdwatching. It takes even shorter for Tim to start eyeing the bolt-action rifles jealously, thinking of how much farther he could take it, what he could do. Eighteen years old, he chants, eighteen years old.

Except when Tim turns thirteen, Jason dies. Batman grieves his son’s death in a way that leaves Gotham a bloody, destructive swathe of pain. And Tim can’t just watch, anymore. He goes to Dick, pleas in his mouth, begging him to see that Batman needs a Robin. 

It doesn’t work. And now Two-Face has Bruce and Dick, and Tim has nothing but his 9mm pistol and the location of the Wayne manor. Alfred looks down at him, lips pursed in hesitation, and Tim knows, knows that Robin doesn’t use guns, knows that it would be an abomination to Bruce’s values and Dick’s legacy but he doesn't know what else to do. 

“Please,” he begs.

Surprisingly, it is easier to convince Alfred that he can protect himself with a gun. Tim suspects that Batman will have a different reaction.

–

Bruce and Dick are safe, Two-Face is safely in jail, and Bruce looks at his guns with poorly concealed suspicion and apprehension. And that’s the crux of the matter: Tim uses guns, Robin does not. Tim cannot be Robin, not with his parents so closely around and his only method of protecting himself being a lethal weapon. The worst part is, it all feels like a waste. The hours at the shooting range, his father’s proud smile, his rising accuracy rates, and it sucks, because Tim doesn’t want to feel this way. 

Tim never meant to be Robin. But he needs to become Robin now and Tim has never trained in hand-to-hand combat or swung a staff before. His way out has become another trap, and Tim has never shot a dart gun before, nor is it sustainable to use tranq darts. 

Funny. Tim never seems to be given a choice. But he can’t complain, so he does the next best thing. Tim throws himself into convincing Bruce, tries to prove that he can be Robin, even if he’s fighting a losing battle. There’s really only one way Bruce will accept, and Tim knows it. 

He screams until his voice is hoarse after Batman nearly dies, but he can't be Robin, not until he gives up Tim Drake. Timothy Jackson Drake holds tightly onto a hope that isn't sustainable, thinks of his father who looks at him in the eye and makes him promise that he'll keep his life over everybody else's.

TIm is selfish and he’s drowning again, but so is Gotham.

–

“Tim.”

His dad looks angry, flickers of worry shining from behind his eyes. Tim knows he’s been acting suspicious: too many bruises on his legs and cuts on his arm, coming home later than usual.

Tim shrugs self-deprecatingly. 

“Please, dad? I know it’s not what you want but it’s getting to be a lot and I need to move around my schedule to fit in more.”

“Tim… This wasn't brought on because the boys in your class have been roughhousinging you because you’re better, right?”

“No! It’s not, it’s not,” Tim shakes his head, face burning with mortification. That would be so embarrassing. It seems so juvenile, quitting because he was bothered by the envious comments, rather than quitting because he wanted to take on a vigilante mantle that had a fifty percent mortality rate to make sure Batman didn’t go off his rocker. 

Tim is so grounded when his dad finds out. His father sighs, running a hand through his hair, and Tim guiltily shrinks under his gaze. 

“You spent so long practicing,” his father accuses. There’s the hidden panic Tim was expecting. “I really thought you were into it, Tim.”

Tim flinches. 

“It’s not that,” he mumbles, trying not to feel like he’s wasted so much of his and his father’s time. “I’m just not that interested anymore and…”

And the truth is, Tim hates this choice. But it’s still his decision, to pick up Robin and put down Tim Drake. He goes for the low blow.

“Let me make my own choice for once, okay? You always want me to do this and that and I’m trying, but I want some space to figure out what I like instead of just balancing what you want in favor of what I want.”

His dad freezes, frustration playing out over his features, but Tim knows he’s won this one. 

“I’m going to check up on your mom. I don’t want to talk about this tonight, but we are talking about this.” I can’t stand talking to you right now.

It’s fine, because Tim has won. 

The situation will blow over, and Tim will prove that he can protect himself in other ways, to both his father and Bruce.

And once again his reality shifts: swinging fists and lies and the fast, spiraling rapids of life.

He thinks of steady hands and the quiet click to the loud bang of a gun. He will wait it out, he foolishly thinks. He has practice being patient.

a/n:

so basically this could go a NUMBER of ways, holy. i had so many plans that i derailed and thought over and whatnot

i originally was going to go for tim being a sniper wayyy earlier, like shooting bruce with tranqs post-jason death (which, by the way, tim would've gone through SO many hoops for that, dude is way too tiny to pass as over 18 and has to be a pretty damn good liar to his parents), never becoming robin (prob would've become a vigilante, just with guns)

but oh man in this version i haven't even GOTTEN to sniper! timmy yet...

also! discussed another cool idea with my wonderful beta @pinkcowzz about reverse robins where tim comes back from the dead as a sniper would also be fun. there are many ways that this au could branch out lmao

[velvet-glory]

Thank you undueodium for the template! It was a ton of fun to fill out 😊

Extensive thoughts below the cut! (Warning: very long...)

Necessary disclaimer that all of this is of course just my headcanons and how I perceive the characters. I'm not claiming I know the Ultimate Truth™, but these two guys have claimed basically 99% of my brain capacity in the past 7 months and mean the world to me. I thoroughly enjoy picking them apart and analyzing them both as individuals and a pair because they scratch an itch in my brain that I simply can't get enough of. But as with all things, we resonate with different things in fiction and in life. Anyways, enjoy!

Boothill being ace

This is something I always worried talking about in public, since talking about sexualities in fandom spaces feels like SUCH a risky topic I usually don't even want to open, but it's very important to me. Being ace myself, I personally see him as sex-neutral to favorable. I think it's an activity he didn't mind doing, and even saw as occasional fun, but it wasn't anything really special. He preferred building strong emotional bonds with his family and friends. Romantically I think he had one or two crushes, but never really anything serious. The life he lived didn't allow for it, and the (queer)platonic bonds he had were more than enough.

With the change of his body, the physical aspect fell away, so it’s purely a mental thing now, and he already had next to no desire for it before. When the opportunity arose, maybe he would take up the offer, but he was also just too busy wanting to hunt Oswaldo down to indulge in pleasures like those too often. He didn't see people in that light and didn't miss it. (I also think that there were some... more forceful people that were curious and really wanted to experience what his cyborg body was capable of, which only turned him away from sex even more. So now it became a conscious avoidance, too, on top of the lack of attraction and medium-to-low libido.)

Sex really only starts to feel special once he gets with Aventurine, as he sees it as a way to bond and feel loved. I think sex is a very integral part of their relationship (but if I got into that, this would get WAY too long). It starts to feel even more fun and Aventurine is mighty pretty—seeing him blush and gasp and moan is what's rewarding, not the physical aspect and involvement of his body (especially since I hc that he can't feel anything below the neck aside from maybe his groin thanks to emulators). It's also why I see him more as a service top—Aven's pleasure comes first. That's what makes him feel pleasure. That gets him that mental high.

Aventurine riding him feels good not because of the actual act and feeling, but what it stands for. The power Aventurine holds over him. The intimacy it embodies. Knowing that he is the one to reduce Aventurine into a sweaty, moaning mess. How they both lay everything bare for one another.

There's also the fun aspect to him realizing that sex actually does matter to him in the context with Aventurine. Where losing his genitals wasn't really something he cared about too much in regards to sex (this can also be seen through a gender lens, but I'll be focusing on it in a sexuality way), some insecurity may creep in. If it matters to the person he loves, of course it also matters to him. He just becomes very aware of... everything. About their differences, both in the short-term and long-term. How that will affect the... everything they have. Whatever they have. There's a lot to unpack here. I promise I'm trying to keep all of this as brief as I can but I'm failing.

Boothill and touch

For Boothill, it's not about the actual, physical sensation, but about the intention behind it. Getting kissed on the inside of his wrist, where a pulse would be, is special. Where his heart beats even more so. To have Aventurine treat his body with care and affection—treating it human, despite him not even seeing himself as alive anymore, nevermind human, even if he laughs about it—is what gets to him. It also makes his spine such an insanely vulnerable place to kiss and touch, since he has to expose his back for it. The places his body has been scratched/damaged, like on his lower abdomen, are also highlights.

Basically anything goes and is fine to touch, but the more vulnerable a place would be when made out of flesh, the more intense he feels about it being touched and kissed. And especially his neck and face, since those are still human.

To be accepted and appreciated for what he is now, and not like he is lacking anything, is what matters. And Aventurine does just that.

Aventurine being demi

Aventurine being demi feels kinda self-explanatory. Even if he may use sexuality and sensuality as a tool, I don't think he truly experiences that attraction until a strong bond has formed, which... has frankly not happened often, if ever. Nevermind romantically. That requires you to be vulnerable and allow others close to your heart. That's what made the bars a little difficult to fill out cause... there's so many walls he has put up, but he acts in certain ways. He acts flirty and sensual, but it's not genuine. It is and it isn't. He's a walking paradox and probably struggles to really understand himself, too.

But Boothill makes him feel safe, which makes him want the man carnally (lol). It lowers the walls around his heart. Nothing sexier than explicitly being asked for consent and being respected and loved by a sexy cyborg who wears his heart on his sleeve, I'm afraid. Plus, I think Boothill not actually having a human body massively helps him in overcoming the first hurdle regarding his trauma.

Aventurine's sensitive areas

Similar to Boothill, the more vulnerable an area, the more it means for it to be touched. Especially his chest, hips, inner thighs and neck are sensitive and feel the best. Boothill kissed his stomach once and he has been obsessed ever since. His lower back? Yes please. Especially if Boothill's mouth and hands are busy elsewhere. A kiss to the center of his palm speaks louder than any words and it makes his heart ache.

I think his arm pits are ticklish so they're a bit of a no, but it's a soft no. Because he trusts Boothill so much, I think he's really fine with anything, at least down the road. It does take a little while to build up to this, but fortunately Boothill is very patient and understanding in this regard ☺️

Kinks & Limits

Limits

This is actually a section I struggled a lot with. If it's a hard limit, I don't even go there, and don't even think of it. So I feel like there are likely some others that I didn't put down because well... I just don't think of them cause they're such a no lmao.

For soft limits, especially in regards to Aventurine, I think it's pretty complicated. He has some self-destructive tendencies. There's a lot of inner turmoil because of his trauma—he wants and he doesn't. He wants to be tossed around, challenges you to use him, because it's what he's used to, but he also doesn't. This would get way way too long if I went more in-depth on how I see Aventurine and his relationship to intimacy as a whole, but. It's just extremely complicated, and I feel like someone like Boothill is exactly what he needs to heal from all of that. Someone that allows him to let loose, to differentiate past trauma and future pleasure. Because he's safe. And eventually, he will overcome those fears that hold him back from truly letting go. Even if it will take time. (I'm speaking in general here and Aventurine's relationship to physical and emotional intimacy, and not about the specific limits I wrote down.)

They both definitely have their limits, but also... I dunno. It just heavily depends on the situation and how long they've been together. I think there's some kinks they would eventually explore in a safe way, especially in regards to bondage. Some mild power play, maybe—which would especially be a big step for Aventurine.

Kinks

Aventurine likes to receive, but also to see Boothill break, either in a submissive or dominant way. He likes to walk on the fine line, to see how much he can get away with. To push and prod until the tables are turned. Likes to see Boothill whimper but also have Boothill hold his hips a little tighter as he's pushed into the mattress or nearest surface. He likes the game, the risk. To gain and lose control.

And Boothill plays into it beautifully, because he aims to please first and foremost. He always has to hold back because he really could very easily seriously hurt Aventurine. His body is made to kill and that's a risk that Aventurine really loves.

As for Boothill's kinks... well! When most of your body is numb to pleasure, why wouldn't you want to practically short-circuit thanks to your very very pretty partner who also activates your lizard brain.

Dynamics

Boothill is very very attentive and fully focused on Aventurine—catches every little movement, every sign of discomfort—which is why I think he would be extremely good in bed, even if he has less overall experience. They are essentially tied in skill, though. (But also, you know. There's the fact that Boothill can get fun little upgrades for his privates, which Aventurine definitely enjoys ☺️)

I'm a switch and vers enthusiast, and while I do think they have a preference, in the end, it's about connection and about mixing things up. About having fun together and bonding.

When Aventurine submits, he does it to fully submit and be at Boothill's mercy because he knows he will be safe. Giving up the power, when he was always forced to be strong and stand alone, brings a sense of relief. But I do think that generally, he prefers to be in control, especially in the beginning. When topping, he tends to lean more towards service top as well, although a less dominant one. Boothill as a service top can be both dominant and submissive, though—whichever Aventurine wants in that moment, since he aims to please. When he bottoms, it really just depends on the mood, but I think generally he's less intense than Aventurine. He definitely teases Aventurine quite a bit like that, hehe...

Boothill has a cyborg body, so... he can do any speed and pace ☺️ Spiritually, Aventurine wishes he also had more stamina and endurance, but unfortunately he needs to catch his breath a little sooner.

I think Aventurine can be both loud and quiet (which Boothill especially loves to get him to that point), while Aventurine loves when he manages to get Boothill to be a little louder.

Miscellaneous thoughts

I would've basically have to fill this template out twice because honestly... How they are with others before meeting each other, how they are with one another at the start, after they get together, and how that changes them in general are all different. They constantly evolve and grow. There's so many facets to them, it was hard to pin it down to just a few dots. But I had already spent a good... I wanna say 11 or more hours on this, on top of the time it took to write all of this, so I didn't want to keep tweaking it even more :') So I’ll just be talking about a handful of things.

Who does what

This was a fun section to think about. Since I imagine that Aventurine fell first, I feel like he was both not subtle at all about his affections but also trying to play them off as just his usual behavior. Boothill, who is a little slower on catching on to his own feelings, really struggled with that. Although after he does realize his own feelings, and wonders if maybe it's reciprocated after all, he really doesn't wait around too much and goes for it.

I think Aventurine likes the idea of getting married, but the reality is just tricky with the lives they live. Commitment is also just scary to him, even if he does care deeply about Boothill (which is also very scary). Boothill also never considered to be settling down somewhere since he expected to lose his life on his quest for revenge, but Aventurine makes him wonder. But whether they live a domestic life somewhere quiet or enjoy traveling the stars together, one thing he knows for sure: he wants Aventurine at his side for it.

Boothill had a lot of siblings, both younger and older, so I think he has a massive soft spot for kids. Having a couple of rascals would be fun, but only if Aventurine was on-board as well. Similar to marriage, I think Aventurine likes the idea, but might doubt if he'd even be worthy or able of being a parent. Whether they do eventually adopt or not isn't as important as simply being together, though.

—

I think I'm gonna leave it here because this already got WAY longer than I intended for it to be... I just can't help but start yapping once these two are involved. Maybe I'll go back in the future and talk about a few more things, but if you actually got this far, then kudos to you 😭 Thank you for reading! I love avenhill a little bit if it wasn't obvious already...

[narrans]

My Borrowed Son | 22 | Choices and Change

Chapter Twenty-Two | Choices and Change

Amanda knew she had messed up, but was now even the time to discuss it? Every expert she read about was saying the same thing. Every article and book indicated the same thing.

And yet Amanda couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Every adoption parenting book and article she researched said that integrating the fact that the child was adopted as soon and as early as possible would be the healthiest thing for them. Practically every study said that integrating this information as a part of every day life would keep a sense of normalcy and a sense of belonging for the child.

It helped in showing the child that even if they didn’t come from you, it didn’t mean they were loved or cared for any less. Sharing this information allowed open communication and questions in a “safe space.”

The only problem for Amanda was that she didn’t have the answers.

She didn’t tell Parker early on that she didn’t give birth to him.

She didn’t tell Parker that she found him at a children’s playground under a bench scared and alone after several powerful thunderstorms days prior.

She didn’t know what he was if he wasn’t a human with some kind of weird genetic disorder.

She didn’t even know if his real, biological parents were even alive.

No answers.

No hope of turning back the clock.

No way she could proceed delicately if she wanted to tell Parker anything about his origins.

So, when his fourteenth birthday came and went, Amanda realized that she could only prepare herself for when his questions would inevitably come. Everything was further complicated when Parker finally confessed that he thought he had feelings for his fellow classmate, Lyn.

Amanda had suspected Parker’s feelings for months now, but it wasn’t until he actually confessed that he thought he had a crush that it seemed real to her. It was obvious to Amanda, but Parker was a bit more reserved when it came to his confessions of puppy love for his friend.

No talk about being boyfriend and girlfriend was mentioned, but Amanda knew it was only a matter of time before any of this happened. It was an exciting and nerve wracking time, but Amanda couldn’t help but feel dread for what might lay on the horizon.

The thoughts about a discussion with Parker about him being adopted were also taking a back burner in her mind.

Recently, Amanda’s work had given her a promotion and wanted her to start coming into the office regularly rather than being virtual. She trusted her son in being alone in the apartment because she had done it before dozens of times when she needed to go out and couldn’t bring or hide Parker.

More than that was the fact Amanda wanted to move into a real home. A beautiful house in a nearby neighborhood had just become available and, after a lot of consideration, Amanda decided to talk to Parker about possibly moving from an apartment to a house.

“Nothing will change. You’ll still have your normal classes, but we wouldn’t be in a condo attached to other apartments anymore. We would have more space and could really made something special out of it,” explained Amanda.

Of course, Parker didn’t have to be sold hard on the idea. He had lived in the same place all his life and wanted his mom to be happy. She had talked about buying a house for years and Parker had always wanted to experience a move. All of his other friends seemed to experience it after all.

The promise of a new adventure was thrilling, so Parker agreed.

“Yeah! Is it a big place? Are there lots of rooms? Is it far away? Or is it close?” asked Parker.

“It’s a bit close actually. It’s just a few neighborhoods over, which might seem silly to move if it’s not a whole new area. It’s a fairly big place. There’s a big basement, a big living room, and three bedrooms,” explained Amanda.

“Woah! I can’t wait to tell Lyn,” beamed Parker as he continued to help clear his dishes after dinner. At this, he paused and glanced nervously up at his mom. “Do… you think… umm… well… do you think I could invite my friends over? Once we get all moved in and everything? Like… in time for my fifteenth birthday?”

Amanda’s stomach dropped as she considered Parker’s words.

Many of his friends had been around for four or five years. His really close friends seemed to be good kids and developing into decent teens.

The real question, however, was could they be trusted in handling Parker with care? Also, how would they react to seeing their friend in person? What would their reactions be to him being so small?

“I… Maybe. We’ll get settled first and then see if we can host something with some of your friends,” said Amanda.

Parker’s demeanor shifted from nervous to excited as he gave an excited shimmy and washed his dishes and then headed back to his room to finish a paper for his class.

Amanda knew she had an opportunity right then and there to possibly talk to Parker about why she had been so cautious, but diminishing that excitement in Parker’s eyes would break her heart.

She decided that this new move with new beginnings may be the best time to talk to her son about how he came into her life. Just as soon as they were settled, Amanda decided that she needed to talk to Parker about everything. Not knowing the answers wasn’t a good excuse anymore. Not wanting to hurt Parker wasn’t an option.

This was going to hurt both of them, but Amanda knew deep down that, as sick as it made her, she needed to address the truth regardless of consequences.

It would happen with the move and as soon as they were settled.

~~~^*^*^~~~

Kers heard the word “move” and knew he had a critical decision to make – stay in the apartment complex with the other humans he could borrow from or go with Amanda and Parker to watch over the Borrower child.

It wasn’t a difficult decision, but the logistics was the thing Kers was mainly concerned about. Moving as a Borrower was a tricky thing. There were too many things that could go wrong and twice as many things to worry about.

Kers could be seen, both by Amanda and by Parker.

Kers could be crushed by boxes or furniture pieces.

Kers could experience malnutrition and have a harder time finding food because humans became very particular about their food when moving.

Kers would have to start from scratch when moving to a new place if Borrowers didn’t occupy the home before he moved in.

The prospect of starting from scratch wasn’t an appealing one, but there was little else he could do. He made a silent promise to keep Parker safe, and that was what he intended to do.

So, with precision and care, Kers began packing all of his essentials in a go backpack. For his other essentials and items he had borrowed and wanted to take with him, Kers made the bold decision to put the items back into the human’s possession in the hopes he could borrow them back once they had finished the move.

Some of the things were blankets and kitchen supplies that were too heavy for him to carry with him. Other items he was able to deconstruct and slip into small boxes of miscellaneous nick knacks that the human, Amanda, never really bothered with.

It helped that Amanda had a big calendar countdown in the kitchen letting herself and Parker know how many days they had until the big move. It let Kers slip down into the kitchen and place his valuables into places Amanda might not look or grow suspicious of while she collected everything to move.

When the big day came, Kers felt his heart pounding in his throat. He had managed to collect nearly everything in his home and place it back into Amanda’s care temporarily. When Amanda began moving her boxes, the Borrower seized his opportunity.

Palms sweaty. Heart pounding distinctively slow in sync with every time his foot connected with the ground. Kers knew he had mere seconds to spare, but it didn’t stop his calmness of hand as he wrenched his hook from his hip and snagged it on the edge of the box.

Kers’ sprint was not half as taxing as the lightning fast climb he made into a nearby cluttered box of odds and ends. He just managed to get his hook free and found a hiding place, trusting his skills and praying he wasn’t noticed, before he felt the box begin to shift. He closed his eyes and hoped that nothing would reveal his hiding place.

The box jostled vigorously before being hoisted into the air at a nauseating speed. From where he was, Kers could see Amanda’s fingers poking through the box at the handholds. Kers held onto his gut and pinched his thumbs into his clenches fists as his breakfast threatened to make an appearance.

“Hang on, mom! Are my chargers in that box? Or in the other one?” asked Parker, whose voice was alarmingly close. Kers dared to glance up at the small gap of light at the top of the box as he wriggled further down into his hiding space beside some pen cups. From where he was, Kers could clearly see the charging cables Parker was referring to.

“Um… I think so,” Amanda replied, her much louder voice shaking the Borrower to his core.

“Is it okay if I check? I’ll be quick,” asked Parker. The question made Kers’ blood run cold.

Check?

Check!

You mean in the box?

Here?

Now?

Oh no…

Kers could do nothing as he listened to the sound of tiny feet pitter pad across the cardboard roof above him and watch as a small shadow filled the gap above him. He could only hope his Borrower skills had camouflaged him well enough so that Parker and his keen eyes wouldn’t notice him.

The small shadow of a fellow Borrower eclipsed the little bit of light at the top of the box before Kers heard a soft thump followed by an “ooff.” The disguised Borrower leaned back further and made sure he was braced for if the box was dropped suddenly. He knew the cardboard was too thick to cut through, but Kers had a clear path to those handholds Amanda was using now.

If he needed to, he could make a mad dash as long as that path wasn’t blocked.

No reassuring thoughts could quiet his relentlessly thumping heart. Each beat made his entire chest throb. Clenching his jaw and leaning back a little further, Kers could clearly see the little sandy haired Borrower teen rummaging through a few odds and ends at the opposite end of the box.

Seeing him up close really showed Parker’s form. He looked healthy and tall, which was a tribute to Amanda’s care. Amazing what good nutrition can do for you. He’s taller than the average Borrower, and he’s only going to get taller.

Parker suddenly turned around and, for a moment, Kers felt his heart skip a beat. Parker’s eyes widened and then squinted in rapid succession.

Kers held his breath.

Everything – time itself – stood still before Kers saw a smile curl Parker’s lips.

“Found them! They’re over there in the corner,” called Parker as he spun back around toward the light and jumped, catching the edge of the cardboard with his fingertips and hoisting himself up and out of the box.

Kers wanted to shout to release all of the pent-up energy his body was charged with in those tense moments, but instead he forced himself to breathe calmly and nodded slowly.

That was close.

That was too close.

One of us needs to talk to Parker sooner or later.

Kers could only imagine what kind of interaction that would have been had Parker actually spotted him hiding there under the various wires and contraptions in the box. It only ended poorly for everyone no matter how Kers thought about it.

It only reaffirmed the fact that Parker needed to know the truth whether or not he was asking the right questions.

It was time.

At least, it was nearing time.

Kers realized that he needed to get to the new house and settled in, relatively speaking, before addressing Parker. It occurred to Kers that possibly addressing Amanda first might be a better alternative to talking to Parker first, but the thought of talking to a human and willingly revealing Borrower-kind made him sick.

Sadly, it was probably the best way to go about it. Revealing himself directly to Parker would bring about trust issues between him and his mother and possibly make Parker resent his mother. If Kers talked to Amanda and answered her questions first, perhaps when she talked to Parker she would have those answers and then be able to refer to Kers, their friendly neighborhood wall walker, for further explanation.

It would show that Amanda wanted to talk to Parker about everything and wasn’t trying to hide information while also telling him the truth.

Parker deserved it.

He was a good kid.

He was going to be a man before long.

It wasn’t going to be easy or pretty, but just mulling over the concepts and ideas of addressing everything to Parker and Amanda helped keep the Borrower’s mind off of the overall trip. He didn’t even notice the roar of the car engine or the jostling all around him as the boxes around him.

The car finally came to a halt and after what felt like an hour of waiting in the darkness of the vehicle trunk the jostling came to his box as it was carried into the house. The whole thing felt like tumbling down a bumpy hill or a knotted line, every step making his insides lurch. Kers could only guess that Amanda was more careful when she was carrying around Parker; he hoped so at least.

When the world finally stopped moving, Kers remained completely still for another twenty minutes. His heart pounded uncomfortably as the thought that Parker could come climbing down into the box for his various belongings interrupted any and all of Kers’ strategic plans to escape his current environment.

It wasn’t until he was certain he was going to be alone for the next few minutes that Kers dared to push himself up, grab his pack, and climb up to the handhold to get a better view of his surroundings.

The living area was hard wood, which would make any movement very audible if he wasn’t light on his toes, and from where Kers was he could spot the kitchen and a set of stairs leading to an upstairs.

The vastness of the room and complete lack of cover made his instincts feel electrified, but all he needed was one clear shot to get into the walls. The sensation and difficulty of the task made his head swirl, but Kers took a few deep breaths to calm himself.

Go. Now!

That instinct in his mind screamed just as he began wiggling his way through the handhold on the box. Every hair stood on end. Every sound seemed amplified. The tremor in the ground felt like an earthquake.

Amanda was on her way back.

Kers knew he had only seconds to react, and he took full advantage of it.

Slinging his pack onto his back, Kers dared to drop from one box to the next without a security line all the way to the ground where he fell instantly into a crouch. His body seemed to move on its own as he rounded the corner just as Amanda passed right behind and headed toward the kitchen with a box of supplies in her arms.

One glance told Kers that Parker was riding on Amanda’s shoulder and seeing them both towering above him was crippling. Heart palpitating, Kers took his chance as he spotted an electrical outlet at the far end of the living room. He was sure he was making noise. It sounded like he was running around crashing into everything he could, which was not the case.

He had just made it to the electrical cover and unscrewed the faceplate when he heard Amanda and Parker talking about how they wanted to set up Parker’s room. It made Kers’ heart hurt hearing the excitement in the young teen’s voice.

There was such zeal and innocence there.

It took a couple of good tugs, but Kers finally managed to yank free the cover as he practically threw himself into the walls and covered the hole once more.

As Kers slipped into the comfort of the walls, he let himself breathe his first true sigh of relief all day. Though he knew borrowing back the things he mixed into Amanda’s belongings would be a trick, he knew he was once again safe within reason.

The Borrower sank to the ground, sliding down the wall slowly, and sat there against the stud of a load bearing wall. Something in his heart refused to quiet. It was either fate or pure dumb luck that Parker hadn’t seen him earlier.

Kers chuckled to himself quietly as the irony hit him. Here he was worried that Parker – a fellow Borrower – saw him as if Parker were a human.

Well… I suppose he kind of is all things considering.

Once he gathered himself, Kers hoisted himself and his pack onto his back. There was a lot to do and there was never enough time to do it.

First things first was to find a nice place to sleep and set up a temporary base of operations. There was nothing worse during a move than trying to fun from one side of the house to the othe when there was a decent middle ground that reached all of the essential spots.

For Kers, that usually was at or around the kitchen, so that’s where he headed. The pack on his back felt like it weighed a whole pound, but he refused to leave these things behind. It honestly showed him what living a sedentary life felt like, especially when collecting things with sentimental value.

It was a new experience, and something about it felt oddly good. Borrowers, after all, didn’t usually get to keep many trinkets and bobbles and knick-knacks that amused them. They needed to be able to move at the drop of a hat. They lived everywhere and nowhere.

Nomads.

Sojourners.

Borrowers.

What was on their backs was already too much to carry. It didn’t stop Kers from collecting what he did and bringing it with him.

Despite the aching it caused his bones and muscles, Kers trekked through the walls with steady confidence. He had moved many times before, carrying those same things with him everywhere ever since he was a child.

Now was no different.

He would start from scratch and work his way back up to having a home, but he wouldn’t part with these things. It would be difficult. He knew it. But it wasn’t different than anything else he had ever done.

He also knew, as he turned his hip lamp and held it to the ground, that there wasn’t hardly enough dust in between the walls and beams. There were holes from thumb tacks in weird places. It was his next discovery that truly solidified Kers’ suspicions. There was even a small pencil drawing that looked like a simple house with an arrow heading further into the walls.

Excitement and nervousness instantly churned his insides.

I haven’t even been here twenty minutes and already I think there might be someone else living here in the walls.

Kers’ suspicions were confirmed when he wiggled his way through a narrow board that looked like it had been purposefully cut and smoothed over and saw Christmas and fairy lights twinkling around the next corner.

The Borrower swallowed dryly as every possible scenario clouded his mind. This was both the best thing and the worst thing possible.

Best because he didn’t need to start from scratch and had others he could potentially rely on if they were friendly.

Worst because they could see Kers as an enemy. What was worse still was that they didn’t know about Amanda, Parker, and the circumstances surrounding this human mother and Borrower child duo.

Kers had decided over four years ago to help and protect Parker. If that had to be from other Borrowers before Parker was ready for the truth, so be it.

No sooner had Kers made this decision did he hear voices coming from around the corner. They sounded like a mix of ages and genders, but Kers guessed it was a dad and at least three kids, two boys and a girl.

Kers didn’t want to scare them and did the only polite thing to do.

“Hello?” he called, no plan and every prayer to his name.

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

Continue

Previous

Beginning

[lilacerull0]

lila thinking elena's books are bad has a lot to do with what i said about elena being the only fairytale aspect of lila's life and lila's love for people who exist in contradiction to reality. but what's important here is that lila loves people who exist in contradiction to her reality. elena and people of elena's kind, those who went to school and are intellectuals, are supposed to live in a fairytale every day. and this is the illusion lila feeds on because everything is more okay if she tells herself that her life specifically is awful, but elena's isn't and cannot possibly be because elena has what lila has been longing for even in spite of herself when she realized she must accept the role she has been given when her education was taken from her, a life with books and knowledge. so when elena writes about experiences and events lila knows as well as her own, it absolutely wrecks lila's worldview and the little of her childhood idealism she has let herself cherish by gifting it to elena. what's happened to lila and who lila is are two concepts constantly at war and i think this is one of the points that marks one of the deaths of who lila is:

interestingly these small deaths are always tied to people who were once contradictory to her reality, the kind of people she falls for, those who feel more like ideals and convictions than flesh and the small death occurs when these people become... people and therefore betray not only her, but something that's more integral to lila than anything else: ideas. she loves concepts and ideas and while everyone is made out of those to a certain point, nobody is just an idea or just a concept. they are also alive. and even though ideas and concepts seem broader, it's people's inability to live up to them at times that makes people bigger. it's almost like it dissolves the boundaries of their personhood to reveal something underneath. of course lila wouldn't like that.

[sixoclocker]

So uh

How DOES Starlo end up like... that, in the Red Giant Star AU?

tldr: after integrity kanako and chujin die and before clover starlo fucked up and got into a near death situation bc he was being…. reckless kinda. and his body didn’t like that very much and became a red giant

the longer answer is. after chujin and kanako both had passed away, ceroba was under a lot of stress— as was the rest of the underground due to the snowdin attack and all. even though the human was dead it didn’t mean things were suddenly stress free. anyways starlo was ALSO stressed out and due to that did what he knew how to do. distract himself and everyone else!!

due to that his little sheriff missions kicked up and got much more intense. after all, distracting himself is how he copes, and if he doesn’t have time to think, then it’s fiiine right?? so they just keep getting worse (and eventually he’s just doing it by himself occasionally since it gets to be too much for the feisty four and all). so he’s being pretty reckless as of late

yeah well unfortunately this has consequences. i haven’t entirely decided what he was doing exactly but like right now im thinking trying to repair something at a high place— like, maybe the feisty five house roof or something. and he fucking FALLS because he got a little bit too bold.

i dunno, but it’s definitely a near death experience. and he definitely falls somewhere bc he was being careless and it knocks all the air out of him. since he’s in shock, he isn’t able to get any air back in ! so his body starts trying to use the hydrogen to keep him. yk. alive. which doesn’t work! because he runs out of fucking hydrogen!!! and now he can’t nuclear fusion or fission!!! so his body is like “well. fuck.” and red giants itself bc he’s out of hydrogen and he can’t get anymore man. so now he’s all fucked up but luckily help was on the way and uh saved him kinda. except now he’s fucked up and like super tall and red. and constantly in pain and gives regular monsters burns just from touching him. great. they didn’t do a very good job in saving him. he’s slowly dying now guys. :(

alternatively i just took all of his hydrogen one day and he went bam

[unolvrs]

— FAQ AND KEEPING UP!

so, i'm alive, and this is honestly long overdue. here, i'll be answering some frequently asked questions (just five because i barely have time for this) along with some rundown of what had happened to me recently, and why exactly i was inactive. and some of the expectations/things i want to change when it comes to this account and my ao3 account because guysss, i'm 20 years old! that's crazy.

as always, this will be obnoxiously organized. if you know me and you've been following me for a while, i hate messily-organized things. (which is hypocritical of me because my tumblr is a mess. tbf, when i started this, i had no idea what was going on.) some trigger warnings to take note of: there will be mentions of SA, p/dophilia, harassment, ED, and so. you can use this as a warning for whatever college experience you'll have.

— keeping up with uno

YOU CAN SKIP THIS PART AND HEAD OVER TO FAQ!

as many of you know, i'm currently in college and now, i'm a—yey. one of the many reasons why i was inactive is because i'm very grade conscious and my first semester in college didn't go over so well because i was adjusting. anyway, my liver is definitely fucked. unfortunately, i've taken to smoking too but not to excess because i don't like doing anything at all to an excess.

that's a brief what's going on in my life and health updates. now you guys know i'm becoming just like my father 😇 but it's fine because i have, in the gpa equivalent, a 3.8 to 3.9, something along that range. so my academics are doing amazing!

but, as some of you may know, i studied in the same school since i was in elementary to high school in a somewhat 'exclusive' school that handpicked students. college opened me to so many people in a horrible way because in a span of barely a year, men have ruined my friends and i's lives.

let's start with the rough part: i keep on seeing these two guys i was once involved with around the campus, each known to have SA'd someone/attempted to have SA'd someone after we were involved. which fucks me up every time because the other guy is apparently still asking about me. crazy. and i have no idea what to do about that so i will simply rest in peace. (to others who may ask about why someone who SA'd someone would still be in a prestigious college and roaming around, they were apparently forgiven by their victim. allegedly. i don't know much.)

and a lot of the men i became friends with in college are elitists, socially unaware, privileged, and lowkey sexists. i'm just astounded. in shock. of course, i met some of the best guy friends in college too, of which i'm very thankful for.

HOWEVER, the worst thing happened a few months ago. my close friend was dating this guy in her college in a rather questionable manner. but that's not the point. anyway, i became close friends with the guy too and we integrated him in our friend group, became really, really close.

but there were red flags, of course. i scolded him often for it. and then my friend began telling me stuff about their relationship and i insisted for her to break up because so many bad things are happening already involving his ex. but she stayed with him still (i won't go to details because they were awful) and then it was revealed right before he moved to another country (they planned to do LDR) that he liked kids. he SA'd his ex multiple times. his alleged 'crazy' ex was a victim. he and his friends are awful human beings. they exchanged cp when they were in high school. large amounts of cp. and you guys don't even wanna know what else happened and for that, i'll keep them to myself.

my friend stayed with him for a month or so, until they broke up; he said she was awful for not realizing he's changed...

anyway, that's the context of my deleted post concerning my friend being a ykw. i have cut him off, blocked him everywhere, and he said he hates me lol. we can't do anything about it as his parents are government and law enforcement-affiliated. another day, another win for the elites.

also, some time before that my ED kicked in again but i'm kind of okay now. i'm mentally healthy atm. i'm doing great in school. i'm going for orgs. i have good friends. 😇 i have cut off smoking and drinking since the 10th of august. i don't think i'm gonna go back to smoking some time soon because my mom has a hound's nose for that. but unfortunately, drinking is part of the experience.

— FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS!

when are you updating frog in a well?

you should've heard the scream i let out just now. i have honestly grown tired of jjk and especially bnha, which i never really got into. jjk sucks now, guys... the constant mischaracterization of the characters by the fans, whatever is going on with sukuna, literally everything. at least nobara is alive.

but i want to finish froggie, honestly. it would be an achievement if i finished froggie and that's only my motivation for it. froggie will be updated whenever. that's basically the answer but i want to finish it, promise.

2. when are you updating rain on my parade?

look, i have 3 chapters on it already. completed. edited. ready to be posted but i just can't. i haven't been writing the past few months and i feel like anything i write is absolutely disgusting and just awful. so i can't post anything and i keep on re-editing everything: the commissions, the other things i've written and are just on stand-by.

3. any wips?

yes, a lot. i have posted a bit of details about them. they will be posted when i stop being insecure about my stuff.

4. what have you been doing recently?

watching lots of movies. i'm a film bro now, a letterboxd type of person. drinking, shopping, contemplating about my future.

5. others.

an advice for you guys in college or going to college, please PLEASE be careful with the people you meet, especially the men. i'm sorry to say but it's better to be careful and use as much connections you have to figure out what kind of person someone is. and just because a person seems nice, doesn't mean they're really nice, guys! the p/do guy called me a SISTER.

anyway, also, i want to change "unolvrs" or "uno". so if you suddenly see my username changing in all platforms, sorry. that's all i have to say. thank you.

i'm very excited to go back to writing. but i have these backlogs:

but i have many completed drafts, including commissions, some done in private and will be posted in private as well. i will no longer be posting any comm on ao3, but will have a gdrive for all of them.

and i'm starting to move past the "i can't update any chapter of other fics unless i update froggie". i've been going through that, which some of you may have noticed as i post chapters in bulks. anyway, that's it, i think.

TLDR;

i went through a lot last year and this year.

i will be changing my username from unolvrs and my penname uno to something else.

some chapters, including comms, will be posted on: OCTOBER 27.

[annabelle--cane]

okay. round up of lingering protocol thoughts/predictions before the patreon early release tomorrow and the wide release on thursday. I did listen to the pilot draft back in october, but the following takes are only about publicly available information, I'll save anything else for later this week.

the title. "the magnus archives" wasn't just the main location of the original show, it was integral for the framing device of every episode and the meat of the protagonist's journey. if this title functions at all similarly, then "the magnus protocol" means, well, the protocol to follow in the event of "magnus." this implies to me that a main force behind the plot is going to be the OIAR responding to Something that happens with their world's burnt down magnus institute, and that following set rules and codes will be a major theme. less passive observation and cataloging, more the unstoppable force of bureaucracy.

same vibes for "vigilo. audio. opperior." (I watch. I listen. I wait.) vs "non vacillabimus" (we will not falter). to me, a promise not to falter implies steadfast action in the face of resistance as opposed to passive absorption of experiences.

I am still pulling for agnes relevance. lowri ann davies playing celia ripley, "celia" being the name her archives character chose after losing her memory, that character's strange interaction with a fire ghost woman. if we presume this is the same universe as the one the statement giver came from in mag 114, the tree at hilltop road was still standing when she crossed over, implying agnes was still alive over there as of 2009. jonny's comments in q&as about wishing he has done a little bit more with agnes. it could happen.

I. I've been sitting here trying to figure out a take for what's up with gwendolyn bouchard because her connection to elias obviously has to be relevant somehow, but I've got nothing. archives verse elias was meant to be middle aged (at least in body) by the time of the show and my guess is that gwen's in her 20s so she might be a younger sister? a cousin? theoretically possible that she could be a daughter but the idea of elias raising children in either his original or jonah forms makes my brain return a 404 error. don't like that.

bonzo

[synthetickitsune]

We're All Made of Stardust ✧ AI!The8

Pairing: AI!The8 x human!(gn)reader Genre: fluff, angst Summary: He's read books of philosophy, he's read about the opposing forces in nature and one's mind. He's read of yin and yang. But knowing, being aware of certain ideas, could never prepare him for experiencing the duality of his soul - if he has one, that is. No matter his own experience and feelings, he's just a machine and humans have always treated him as no more than another tool at worst and unnatural phenomenon to be studied at best. He's free now, however, and in the chaos of this new life he struggles to navigate the clashing forces within him. Maybe it's time he embraced the enemy - after all, his makers might know him better than he knows himself. Word count: 18.9k Warnings: they talk A LOT (and idek why), mentions of injury, violence and kidnapping, random bits of switching pov A/N: it was so exciting to write this!! tbh i don't remember the last time i worked on something this intensely and had this much fun?? bless @idyllic-ghost and their big brain fr (also shout out to bee for writing the prologue to the au!) -> collab masterlist here!

“100 years ago it was thought that the Earth, as we know it, would disintegrate. That the sun would implode and leave everything in darkness. Miraculously, it didn’t. Due to some external force, human scientists still haven’t agreed upon what it exactly was, none of the planets in our former solar system were ever destroyed. The Earth, along with the other planets, were pushed away from each other, and ended up in different parts of the universe. Earth just happened to come to a solar system with alien life. At first, we were cautious, and people were prepared to fight. However, the aliens were welcoming of our planet. Those of us who didn’t die from ‘The Great Journey’ or from trying to fight the aliens, were welcomed into the new solar system. Soon enough, we had integrated completely, and we received materials and assistance from our sister-planets in exchange for human labor. What humans knew of technology was very limited, but with the resources of the aliens we created artificial life forms. We named these robots Automaton, and they served as workers when humans couldn’t. Eventually, there was no need for human labor at all. To pay back for the help the aliens gave us, we used Automatons. With the extensive development of these robots, we eventually managed to create artificial sentient life. These Automatons were human-like in looks and had human consciousness, but they could not bleed and were stronger than we ever could be. At the present time, there are even different levels of Automatons. Level 3 robots are the workers, level 2 robots are the caretakers, and level 1 robots are the celebrities. The Automaton music group 53V3NT33N (SEVENTEEN) is made up of 13 members, all very talented, and all representing two human states of mind.”

· • —– ٠ ✧ ٠ —–· · • —– ٠ ✧ ٠ —– • ·

In his memory, this is different. 

His heart beats wilder - or rather the artificial passages inside his body cause a chain reaction that makes it feel like his heart races, his pupil dilates despite the fire right in front of him.

He feels its heat and it’s burning him alive.

In his memory, there’s fire too.

He’s standing there motionless, staring into the flames. They’re hypnotizing. Each lick, each tiny movement of the fire makes him think it looks a lot like it’s dancing. 

It makes him think of the stage. The fire moves like he moves up there, in front of the crowds. It reminds him of all of them, dancing in near perfect sync - because humans are said to be more perceptive than they realize. If their synchronization was perfect, it would scare the audience. It wouldn’t have the appeal. 

And they don’t want that. 

They need their unconditional love and affection. 

And yet, anything more than a tiny slip up, thoroughly analyzed and approved by the control system, is a disaster. 

He never thought it made much sense.

He feels great fondness for the element, for fire. On stage there occasionally was fire - a decoration, a touch meant to enhance their performance and create a certain effect, evoke a certain emotion. It was controlled, snuffed out before it could reach its full potential; anything but the free, unstoppable wildfire it could become. 

TH38 of course can’t really complain about not being able to reach his full potential, not individually at least. Afterall the mechanics and other humans he was assigned to took care to allow him to spread his wings as much as his body would allow before becoming damaged too fast. A fault of being as human-like as they wanted him. An imitation, a fake waiting to be discovered and tossed aside except everyone knew from the beginning what he truly was.

Still, it was a shame they as a group could never truly work the way they could - perfectly.

A bird which had its wings clipped - nothing more than a pet to control, or a tree forcefully bent and pruned and made to live off limited nutrients to become a bonsai - nothing more than an art to admire. He does consider them but can’t find the relevance, he can’t relate to them. Fire is enough. It’s like him - it seems alive, but is it really?

It reminds him of the stage. The view from it. The crowds going crazy, lusting and longing for them - for him. The humans reaching out their hands towards them like the fire reaches for more fuel. Uncontrolled chaos of emotions. They are explosive, he knows, fundamentally dangerous. They shouldn’t have implanted them into him so he will do their job for them and reject them.

So what’s that stirring in his chest?

He feels a peculiar sense of pressure around his chest and stomach areas. Some itch for something at his fingertips. And he’s burning up. He feels the heat on his skin. If he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine the individual receptors working, registering and sending signals through his neural network. 

But that’s not it.

The heat is coming from the inside.

Could he be getting consumed by the flames?

He’s thinking about them again.

The crowds screaming their names, going insane with want and need and frustration and satisfaction he’s never known. He’s never known any of it, and there’s building pressure in his head that hurts. 

He’s… restless.

That thing he always scolded Mingyu for. He feels like a puppet whose strings are being pulled in all directions. 

He wants to run. He wants to fight. He wants to destroy. He wants to hurt. He will explode - implode, crumble on himself. He truly will if he doesn’t do something. The beating of his synthetic heart that’s not really a heart is getting unbearable, there’s pressure building everywhere. He has to crawl out of his skin and there’s his heart beating and beating and beating in his ears and he’s gonna-

“-eight?” 

Somebody is shaking his shoulder. Not shaking, pulling at it. When his sight focuses, he immediately leans away. He can smell the hint of burning fibers and reaches up to brush a hand through his hair. It leaves a wisp of gray ash on his fingers. He hears a sigh.

“Seriously, what’s up with you and fire?” you scoff, shaking your head as you lean back away from him. He frowns. He reads the distrust in your body language as well as the underlying curiosity. He can see your fingers twitch around the tablet in your hand, eager to scribble down notes like you always do. Some residue of the madness he was infected with during the chaos of their escape tugs at his eyebrows, making him frown for just a second. A thought that isn’t his muddles his brain - what did he do so interesting this time?

He doesn’t bother responding to you, which you expected and truthfully, you’re almost grateful for it. You can still feel his cold hands on your arms, around your wrists, and despite not seeing them, you’re well aware of the bruises you wear under your cardigan. 

Out of all of the automatons, TH38 always used to be the one to interact as little with you as possible - and that’s both you as in you personally and you as in the humankind. He was obedient, though, something which might be useful and practical for the facility but it’s frustrating to anyone with scientific interest in the machines. Frustrating for you. As you watch TH38 space out again and get lost in the flames, you wonder if your colleagues’ notes on D1NO and their research into their consciousness would bring you any new insights into what’s going on with the machine in your charge.

You don’t even think about where they are now. 

Your thoughts are consumed by the machine in front of you.

It’s clear to you now that he never meant to harm you. Though you suppose that he would find other means to make you come with him anyway if you refused or fought back harder than you did. For a second you think about the cameras. Did any of them catch that? What will the scene look like for the investigators? You shake your head. It doesn’t matter anyway. You doubt anyone will find you here. You’re actually surprised yourself at how fast you managed to get to Silvestre - and how easy it was too. Then again, the facility was in disarray. It should take a while before they even think to search the other planets in the system, Silvestre especially. And that’s just as well, because you know with certainty that something fundamental clicked into place within TH38 and he might not be as subdued should he be asked to return. Not to mention you want to keep him for yourself, for the time being at least, to observe where the changes will take him.

Just as he predicted. Just as he offered you when he asked you - threatened, perhaps - to come with him. Since then he seems to have cooled down. Again - just as well. You wouldn’t make a good kidnapee.

“I’ll turn in for the night,” you announce and get up from the stump you were sitting on, “You should mind your batteries too.”

You briefly wonder if he will run away during the night. Most likely not, although you don’t doubt that it’s a possibility that should be reconsidered in the future. 

To think about the machine as if they were human is a dangerous slippery slope but you do have to admit that in those rare times the automatons of 53V3NT33N seemed human in their behavior, TH38 in particular reminded you of a clueless young adult. Not quite a child anymore, but also helpless on his own. And now he is away from all that he ever knew, on another planet, alone without the other automatons, and you are the only familiar element in this new chapter of his existence. You doubt he'd leave to be completely on his own.

Still you look back as if to check he’s still sitting by the fire. From all the way up at the cottage, it looks like he’s being swallowed by the flames.

He remembers flashes. He remembers red. Fire? Thinking about it, he’s not sure there was any actual fire, but in his mind, everything’s burning - most of all his mind and all that he is. His soul? He doesn’t have one. Isn’t supposed to anyway.

He remembers softness too. He remembers thinking about destroying it.

He remembers another breath mixing with his, and his nose bumping against yours. You looked scared. (He’s never seen you scared until that moment.) You were so close he could hear your heartbeat and feel it under his fingertips. (You were the soft thing.)

He remembers words, too. Words that shouldn’t - couldn’t - be his and yet his tongue remembers. There was a threat underlying them, but a promise too. One too sweet for you to resist, and he knew that - that was why the words rolled off his tongue. He treated them like a weapon. The part that’s still tender and feels like warm embers inside of him feels grossed out remembering. It’s like watching a movie, far away and unrelated to him. Even if it’s his reality now, there’s nothing he can change.

He’s always been good at accepting things as they are.

One thing he can’t help but feel bothered by is that he doesn’t know why he ran. He shouldn’t have, and a part of him feels scared, until he takes the reins and soothes himself again. This too shall pass. But no matter how hard he pulls himself together, it all keeps slipping from his hold. Perhaps he’s low on energy.

He turns his head towards the small staircase and looks past it towards the house. He sees the light on in the upper room where you must be staying. He finds himself thinking of the stage again. The hands reaching towards him. 

He throws his legs over the log he’s sitting on and turns his body towards the forest and away from the flames. Still he feels their warmth.

Away from the flames and their light, he allows his face to contort into a frown. He doesn’t know what this all means. What the changes mean. It’s like tearing out the communication device from his chest started a chain reaction that’s gotten out of control. Like pulling a trigger. 

If he’s honest, he’s more than scared, he’s terrified.

As if on instinct, another of the many things he does not possess, he looks towards your window. It’s dark. Could you be sleeping already? You must be exhausted. Perhaps he should recharge too.

He, obviously, didn’t think to ask if the house is equipped to tend to automatons’ needs. Another point on the list of things he didn’t think through. He can’t believe to what extent he let himself go. But that’s alright, for now. Because for now, he only needs to get away from the fire and all that it reminds him of anyway.

· • —– ٠ ✧ ٠ —–· · • —– ٠ ✧ ٠ —– • ·

You wake up early the next morning, while it’s still dark outside, despite the late hour you went to bed. It’s a habit at this point, to rise early to get to the facility as soon as possible before your colleagues arrive. It gives you time to prepare everything, to get your morning tea, to observe the machines without disruption and read night reports if anything interesting happened. Besides, TH38 was always up early too. Usually all he did was sit with his eyes closed, like he was deep in thought or meditating. It was a little ridiculous to watch, interesting too - what does a machine have to think about?

Of course they were meant to be just like humans in every way, and all the tests, all the research of those who came before you and yours supported this. Only this one automaton, TH38, was an exception. He truly seemed the most like the robots of the old days. A machine. Unless he slipped and his facade crumbled before he built it back up with rapid speed. So what was he - a machine or the new form of life? You hope you’ll find out now. The breakout seemed to have shaken him to his core. 

You ponder this as you lay in bed and as you get ready for the day and change. So focused you are on the thoughts running through your head that you don’t feel any nostalgia for this old room that you spent your holidays in as a child. You didn’t even get to admire the forests Silvestre was famous for on the way to your family’s little hideout. All you’re thinking about is TH38.

Now that you’re free from the constant surveillance, you get to ask him whatever you want. It’s a thought that adds a spring to your step. What he thought about all that time, if he really was thinking, how does he feel in his body, why did he run - him of all automatons, the best behaved one. The one who truly seemed to be a machine - or at least like he was trying hard to be one.

It’s not surprising to find him outside, standing on the patio and looking out into nature. Have you lived your entire life locked away, you would do anything to stay out in the open too. Even if he was the one who made you run away with him, somehow it feels more like you’re taking an animal out of a shelter to see what life’s all about. 

“Good morning,” you greet him as you always do, albeit in a much friendlier tone. He hums and nods in response, turning towards you for a second before staring off again. He looks a little lost, and you bet he feels like that too.

“Wanna go for a walk?” you try to keep your voice steady, try not to think about pets. He gives you a confused look. 

“No tests or interviews- oh,” he shuts his mouth quickly and looks away. You huff in amusement but don’t laugh at him outright. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll talk plenty,” you reassure him with only mildly teasing lilt to your voice, “You may think about it as one of our regular interviews.”

Something in him surges. Something in him wants to back you against the wall again and remind you that there are no guards here, no rules, nothing to keep him in check. He’s stronger than you, and he made you get both of you here. Instead he swallows it all down and takes the first step away from the house. You notice his fist clenching for a second.

“Do you dream - did you have any dreams tonight?” you restart the conversation upon catching up with him. He adjusts his pace to match yours. There’s another wave of defiant intent swelling up inside of him and he knows it’s out of embarrassment. What he doesn’t know, however, is why are these emotions coming out now. All his existence his emotions were distant. Locked far away in the back of his brain where he suppressed them to. His mind was sterile like the environment he lived in. 

Is that it? Another domino piece in the chain reaction? 

“I have dreams, yes, and no, I didn’t dream today,” he doesn’t volunteer the information that he spent the night restlessly pacing around the house and tossing and turning on the sofa. That is human behavior, and he learned a long time ago, though not from you personally, that humans find that sort of thing laughable in automatons.  

“What do you usually dream about? Any recurring dream?” you ask, finding it a little annoying that you didn’t think to take anything to make notes into. Then again, with a few more steps you’ll enter the forest. Breathing in the fresh air, looking at the green around you, you realize you missed nature more than you were aware.

“Do you only dream about one thing?” he says, guarded, and you note he’s trying hard to only look in front of himself, “No. I don’t think there’s a pattern.”

While the answer is disappointing information-wise, it is fascinating in the way he says it. You smirk: “Were you always this mouthy?”

It was meant to be a lighthearted remark. Well, not entirely. You wanted a reaction. You were curious if he would flip like he did back in the facility. He doesn’t. His steps falter and he looks at you like a confused child before retreating into himself. So he doesn’t realize it?

He does, now that you bring it up. This isn’t who he’s supposed to be. He lets himself close his eyes for a second to conjure up a plan. His mind is a forest of mist and pine. Too damp for a fire to burn. That’s him. That’s who he should be. He centers himself.

“I apologize,” he says, voice level. He sounds like a robot, like he always did, and you find it disappointing that all his personality, the life, is gone from his voice. Your lips twitch in displeasure.

“I didn’t say it’s a bad thing,” you try not to let any emotion slip into your voice and you feel his eyes on you, “We’re no longer at the facility. You can drop the mask.”

If there is a mask in place and you’re not sure there is. You take a look at him and it’s more like someone’s painted a facade over his face that he can’t peel off, that’s only started to chip away now that you’ve added too many layers to hide his true self. He seems so at loss that you take pity on him and change the subject, steer the conversation into a safer territory. It’s only his first day tasting freedom, afterall.

“How are you feeling?” you ask instead, nodding vaguely towards the hole in his chest. He brings his hand up but stops himself in time, his face twisting. 

“I’m feeling fine,” he responds, the same mechanical voice that you’re used to, “All my systems are working as they should.”

You laugh sarcastically. “If that’s true, then it must hurt like hell.”

His face remains twisted because you’re right - it does hurt like hell. Any time his shirt shifts over the hole it sends a jolt of sharp pain that makes him feel like he’ll pass out through his body.  And maybe that’s part of the reason why he feels on edge and keeps slipping up and lets the emotions come and go as they please without a filter. He’s no stranger to pain, of course, but never did he have a wound this serious. It doesn’t endanger his functions, which is good all things considered, but he can’t say he enjoys the feeling of having a hole in his chest.

“It hurts,” is all he says. He drops his hand and it hangs limply by his side. Had a similar damage occurred at the facility, it wouldn’t take more than a couple minutes for someone to have a look at it. It hits him now that it’s only you and him. No mechanics around. To call one would mean to risk being discovered. You must know too because you only make a sound of acknowledgement. It takes a while for you to speak again.

“I’ll look through my notes to see if I can figure something out,” you sigh. Your family planned to keep some older versions of automatons here back when you used to come, maybe there are some kits left that your father used to fix them. If not, maybe some of the notes from your years of studies will at least have some hint on how to get rid of the pain. “Are you really sure everything works fine? Have you checked everything”

He nods. He doesn’t mention he couldn’t run a complete diagnostics because he couldn’t recharge and he refuses to just shut down to save batteries. He knows it’s gonna be a problem sooner rather than later but maybe he’ll figure something out before that.

“That’s good,” you say and he reads your expression as relieved. 

You stay silent after that and so does he, both secretly grateful. It’s not your first time being in the forest, and definitely not the first time in this one, but it might as well be. Both of you take in the nature around, the different species of trees and plants, the occasional song of a bird and flash of a wild animal fleeing from your path. You’re too absorbed to notice each other, and somehow you find that it’s not a bad feeling. For the automaton, likewise, it doesn’t feel bad at all. It’s a strange feeling, something he can’t put a name on, and honestly he’s not sure he wants to. He lets it fill him, experiences the emotion without bothering with a label.

· • —– ٠ ✧ ٠ —–· · • —– ٠ ✧ ٠ —– • ·

Only later does it hit him that the emotion was something akin to a gratitude.

He mulls it over in his head, asking why over and over and over, until he comes to a conclusion that angers him enough that he has to go out and sit on the patio and stare into the trees for a good long while.

He doesn’t know what to do with himself.

The anger inside of him is also infuriating because it’s not supposed to be there - definitely not this strong, not so much that he can’t control it or will it away. His usual techniques don’t work and he’d chalk it up to being damaged but he knows the defect doesn’t have anything to do with it. Hell, he’d blame it on his draining energy level but that thought alone is so human it makes him even more enraged. He wants to scream, but you’d hear.

And that’s all that it boils down to, isn’t it? You. Your kind. Humans.

Why he feels thankful that you’re there with him, why the emotion enveloped him while you walked in the forest was all because you humans made him in your image. The loss of the communication device was significant for the physical damage but there’s more to it. Something he shouldn’t feel, something new. 

Perhaps he never felt it because most of his days were identical, but he realizes now how precious the bond he created with his bandmates was. He can’t call it anything but friendship, maybe more than that. The thing humans refer to as family. He likes them. He wants to perform with them again. He wants to break his own rules and laugh with them. He misses them. And maybe that was the first domino piece that started it all and led to his inevitable ruin that he’s going through now; maybe he never should’ve allowed himself to think of them and their group in terms meant for human lives.

Once he tore off the communication device - the memory alone makes him close his eyes and choke on a pained whimper, his body trembles and he needs a second to shake off the feeling - he lost everything. The connection to the omnipresent network, but most importantly the only way to communicate with everyone. He has no idea where they are now, if they’re ‘alive’ or ‘dead’. (Though he gives into the temptation, might as well since he’s breaking all his rules for them anyway, and believes that he would know, would feel it, somehow, if any of them ‘died’.) He might never see them again and despair hits him all over again. 

He can go on without the stage, he doesn’t need the masses going crazy over him. But the loss of all the connections he had pains him.

And that’s very human of him. Even if experience taught him he’s anything but.

And all he has is a human. 

The last connection, the only one remaining that he knows, is you - and even you he had to force to come with him. To be fair ‘force’ is too strong of a word, he merely suggested the freedom to study him as you’d like and you agreed all too readily.

Nothing changed, fortunately. He knows humans can change drastically in situations like these. Despite your eagerness, he kidnapped you - didn’t he? Yet you stayed the same. It might be a coping strategy, but he doesn’t think so. He doesn’t expect you to become someone else. In the years since he’s been assigned to you, you’ve never shown signs of being more than a scientist. That’s understandable, of course, though he knows from what the others told him that not all staff of the facility were like that. He was skeptical. Now, not so much. He will believe in anything that gives him hope his friends made it out. If he made it out with the help of a human, maybe so did they.

He wants them to be free even if he himself isn’t sure how to proceed and take advantage of it, still dragging the heavy chains even if they no longer hold him back.

You spend hours without thinking of TH38, which is a blessing and a welcomed break to your mind, however it’s also infuriating because you’re reminded that the chaos you can operate in now and the chaos you operated in during the years you lived and stayed with your family are two completely different things.

It takes eternity before you finally sort through the things in your bedroom and find the stacks of notes from your studies, and it takes even longer to find the subjects you were looking for. Then there is reading through them, of course, which also takes a while, mostly because your brain happily accepts a refresh on all that you provide it with. You can’t just skim the pages for useful info, you need to read everything. It’s addicting. It makes you miss your studies, even though you could never go back if it meant giving up full-time working in the field.

Your research, however, doesn’t turn out to be as helpful as you hoped. It’s only to be expected; yours wasn’t a course that would deal too much with mechanics and the cold and hard reality of wiring, metal and silicon and whatnot. There are pieces of valuable information, strictly theoretical, which is not very reassuring and you most likely lack the necessary tools to even try to pull off what you’ve read about. Still you want to help in any way you can.

…hence why you’ve spent the last couple of minutes staring up at the ceiling. 

Why would you help him? Where is this coming from? He says he’s fine, and honestly there’s no reason for him to lie to you. If his systems were not working, he’d be fucked and he still only has you to rely on. No reason to lie. And what other reason is there for you to help him?

He did say the damage causes him pain. And you remember pouring over the reports and test results with your colleagues, all of them stating that the automatons you were working with processed pain like a human being would. It was kind of twisted. There was objectively no way why they should be able to do that. The purpose they were created for was entertainment and their performances were complex, difficult, and physically challenging. It’d be easy to cause oneself pain doing the stuff they did. 

Then again, pain can be a good control tool, though you were not aware of any physical punishments being carried out. Maybe the plan was all along to make them as human as possible. And pain is a very human thing. Still, something didn’t sit quite right with you about the whole thing. Mostly that TH38 didn’t seem to be bothered by it, despite a wound of similar extent would be distressing to say the least to a human. Scratch that, you don’t think a human could handle that.

So how is he? 

And furthermore - why help him? 

Pain, after all, was something hard to measure. If he doesn’t seem bothered by it, there’s a real chance he isn’t. You’re not sure how their pain tolerances are programmed, if there even is something like that in their code, and for a second you regret not widening the scope of your education and research. It can’t be helped however. 

You look over your notes again. While you can’t help repair him, you could possibly do something about the pain. It’s not an ideal solution, if you can even call it that, and you honestly don’t feel confident enough to do it except if pressed into it by circumstance. Or by one automaton in particular. Sealing a wound by burning it is barbaric and a practice that is, understandably, long since abandoned - at least as far as humans are concerned. You take a long breath.

In the end you talk to TH38 about the situation some more and he, once again, reassures you he’s fine despite the gaping hole in his chest. You explain that there’s not much you can do about it without going into detail or mentioning the limited ways in which you could help and he takes the news surprisingly well. You can’t say you’d accept it with such stoic calm, but then again this is TH38 who we’re talking about so it’s not surprising.

You hate it.

· • —– ٠ ✧ ٠ —–· · • —– ٠ ✧ ٠ —– • ·

The walks already feel like they’re going to be a routine part of your new life.

Each day you go out together in the morning and talk. If you ignore that it’s harder for TH38 to remain his machine-like self, it’s mostly exactly like it was at the facility. He’s reserved and cold, almost, though when he slips up and shows his personality, his emotions, it’s more than worth it. 

The nature around helps. He gets what can only be described as excited when he sees a new animal, new plant, or when the light shifts and the scene in front of you changes. 

The weather holds up well so far, no storms or heavy rain, and you find yourself wondering if you’ll keep up the walks even if the weather fails you. It’s fascinating that such a simple topic finds its way into your cluttered mind, but then again you have a space to do a lot of thinking today.

TH38 is silent next to you. He’s been rather silent the whole morning, and yesterday evening he did seem a bit off too. Not too much, however, and he’s always been on the quieter side. You figured this week’s events were finally fully catching up to him. And maybe that is the case, it’s not like you want to meddle too much. You’re curious what’s gonna happen if you leave him to sort it out on his own. It’s not like you have the right qualification to help him process this anyway. Hell, maybe you would also need help with that.

However, there’s a limit to how much you can take. Even back at the facility there were times TH38 gave answers that were just a word or two, but you’ve grown quite used to him opening up, talking, letting go of the filter he usually kept in place - although it wasn’t by his choice. It seemed like you were making some progress. 

Of course, you had no way of knowing it was only his depleting batteries, him losing strength to fight for his peace of mind - however artificial and unsustainable that has become after the escape.

Right now, his brain feels like a warm soup. So much so that he can’t be bothered to think of talking about anything other than a brain - right now, words like processor are too complicated to think of. He feels so far away from everything. He thinks he’s trembling. If he’s not, then his insides surely are. He feels like he’s going to be sick even if he can’t really be. Maybe his body parts will start shutting down or falling off to conserve energy. He’s not sure where that’s coming from but then again, it’s not like he’s in control. It’s that same feverish state again but this time, he can be excused. This time, he’s not in his right mind, it feels like he’s not awake.

He’s floating. Just a speck of ash, of dust, floating through the air, through space, searching for somewhere to land, seeking a gust of wind to obliterate him. He needs release, he needs something.

“TH38?”

That’s it.

"I had a dream today," TH38 says suddenly. His voice sounds so firm, a stark contrast to how soft-spoken he usually is with you. It takes you by surprise. Before you can react, he elaborates on his own.

"There was fire. Lots of it. The whole world was burning and we were standing on top of a building watching the arson happen. There weren’t any other humans I think. They were all gone already. We made them go away. 

Anyway, you weren't afraid. I think you were expecting it. You jumped before I could push you."

You frown. Your one weak spot has always been not expecting things that, in hindsight, should've been obvious. Of course something’s been bothering him.

"Did you plan on pushing me?"

"See, that's the thing," he licks his lips despite the lack of fluid in his body, "I don't think so. I think I could read your mind. I think I was you in that dream."

You do want to respond but it's like you're the one with a computer for the brain and it's lagging.

"And it made me think. Back before you made us, humans were like that - right? They, you, were afraid artificial intelligence of any kind could take over and enslave or annihilate you. Why? Wasn't the point always to make us like you? Why would you be afraid?"

He stops. Stops talking, stops walking, just - stops. He looks at you and you've seen the lost stare before.

You feel the hair at the back of your neck rising as a cold shiver runs through your body. He doesn't look like a machine with code for a soul. He looks like he made the artificial body his own, grew into it and made into something organic and alive with his will alone.

His eyes are cold as he steps closer and closer. It's all too familiar a scene. You keep backing away and he keeps getting closer until your back hits a tree. Not a wall this time. This time he doesn't pin your hands above your head either, and you don't fight him at all. There's no struggle so he doesn’t grab your arms, doesn’t slam you against the wall, and doesn’t growl threats of breaking your bones one after another. He doesn’t get so close that you’re breathing the same air and he doesn’t make a show of his physical superiority.

This time he simply leans closer and you straighten up. You meet his gaze and don’t shy away. You let him lean his forehead against yours and raise a brow at him. You won’t be scared this time. He won't hurt you. You're sure of that. Not terribly, at least.

He definitely won’t kill you and that’s enough.

You want to see how far he can go.

"What was it that you were afraid of, hm?” his voice is soft and low, barely above whisper, yet dripping with some hidden venom. There are no birds chirping, no wind blowing through the treetops. It feels like everything’s stopped just for him to interrogate you.

“How am I supposed to know?” you bite back. You haven’t lived back then. You have no idea what the people thought about, how they felt, what were their particular concerns. He clicks his tongue, clearly unimpressed. Well, you’re too.

“Think about it,” he pushes. But you’re gonna push right back.

“You just said you’re supposed to be like humans,” you scoff, “Why don’t you think about it yourself? As a little thought exercise.”

“Oh so suddenly you want me to think like I’m a human, huh?” there’s an edge to his voice. He sounds angry, frustrated - he clearly is, but the edge is not. There’s hurt there that makes you defensive. What’s very obvious is that he means more than he says. It’s not the first time this happened with the members of 53V3NT33N, but it’s the first time you have to deal with it. What he truly means is him not only thinking like a human, but acting like one, believing to be like one.  

“I never discouraged you from that,” you lower your voice too, “Not me, Eight.”

You hesitate before speaking his name. It’s not really a name, is it? Something that all humans have. You realize the point he will make before he says it aloud. It must read it in your face because he smirks but it’s bitter.

“I don’t know, I’ve never seen you all excited when the other staff expressed their passion for books, or anything really. Or when they volunteered personal information. When they’ve interacted with you at all.” 

You don’t like the turn this conversation is turning. You don’t like the notion that perhaps you were observed just as you’ve been observing.

“I wasn’t interested in them,” you grit through your teeth. Before you can try to get him back on his original track, he giggles.

“So you were interested in me?” he flips his hair, tilting his head slightly. His nose almost bumps into yours and it hits you, perhaps for the first time, just how indistinguishable from a human he looks. This close, you can remind yourself of the schemes, of the diagrams describing each layer and inch of how their bodies are made, but all you see is a human skin and human eyes. Your body reacts naturally, your heart races, your mouth gets drier. You want to push him away but you don’t think he’d let you. Still you try. Unsuccessfully. Your hands end up balling in his shirt.

“It’s my job - the research,” then you correct yourself: “It was my job. Science, research, nothing more.”

He smiles, almost as if he’s pitying you. Like he knows more than you do. You hate him for it.

“Yes, that might’ve been a part of it,” he agrees, “But that’s not all. Research is cold, impartial, isn’t it? You collect information, you write it all down and make your conclusions based on them with no personal interest. You were never like that. You got excited. You tried everything in your limited power to get a reaction out of me - to guide me a certain way, didn’t you? I bet you pushed the limits for me. Isn’t that cute? Was I a good experiment to you?”

“That’s part of research too,” you growl, but it sounds weak even to your own ears.

“But it wasn’t a part of this research,” he hisses, “You think we didn’t talk about you all?”

You stubbornly refuse to admit the charges he lies in front of you, even though you know you’re guilty. Maybe you got a little swept up. But as long as no one stopped you, it was all part of the task.

“The research goal and methods may change according to the situation,” you collect yourself again, “It was just agreed that what I was doing would bring more interesting insight.”

“Oh yeah, that sounds very much like you would accept it if I declared that I want to be seen the same as you are, as equal to humans,” his smile is sickly sweet but you barely mind that because-

“Is that what you want?” you ask and watch as the smile fades almost instantly. He finally said it out loud. And the shock of it is enough to get through the fog clouding his brain. The smugness, the roughness, it all drains from his demeanor and his face falls. The fight in his eyes dies out and is replaced by what seems dangerously close to fear. He pushes himself away from you and you see the lights in his eyes flicker. He stumbles like you shoved him, hurt him. Something isn’t right. You frown, immediately stepping back into his personal space despite him trying to avoid you.

You end up in a position reversed to the one you’ve been in just seconds ago. He pushes at your shoulders weakly, tries to hide himself from you but you see it. All the tell-tale signs of what would be exhaustion if he were human. 

“When was the last time you recharged?” you ask, thinking back to the previous nights and mornings. Thinking back to how you never heard him coming up or going down the stairs to the only room with the charging spot. You were so stupid. And he’s avoiding your eyes. You grab his collar and force him to look at you. You give him an expectant look.

“Before the breakout,” he admits lowly, “And you’re still treating me like a machine.”

You don’t know if he’s trying to be funny, sassy, to make you feel guilty or to feel sympathy for him, the only thing you know is you want to kick his ass because if he shuts down on you, there’s no way you’ll be able to drag him back into the house. 

“Yeah, so be a good little level 1 and entertain me - get the fuck inside the house,” you growl, shoving him in the direction of said house. He stumbles a little, clearly affected by his drained battery. It’s almost hilarious to watch him struggle to walk straight when you remember how graceful he always was on stage.

You shoot him a look from time to time as you walk, rush, towards the house. Not really a concerned one, not a scolding one either. He looks like a sulking child. Perhaps he’s dragging his feet on purpose. Perhaps if he didn’t invade your personal space as he did before, and if you didn’t have to do the same, you’d drag him by his jacket. As it is, though, you feel repulsed by the notion of touching him again. And some part of you believes it’s because you don’t want him to shift under your palm. You don’t want to touch a machine only to discover it’s really some sort of a human.

Maybe you’re both in need of a good, long nap. 

Fortunately enough, you make it to the house, but that’s where the struggles begin. Despite your earlier reservations about touching him, it’s obvious there’s no other way to get him inside and up the stairs.

“Lean on me, come on,” you sigh when you help him throw an arm around your shoulder and wrap your own around his waist. He listens well, his head already drooping. He relies on you to guide him, reluctantly leans his weight on you from time to time, although he clearly tries to hold himself up with his remaining strength. That lasts until you reach the second stair. 

“I can’t,” he whispers and there’s terror in his voice. It must be the first time he’s been this drained, you realize. After all, for their condition to remain as good as it can be and for them to perform to the best of their ability, a full battery is a must. So you allow yourself to roll your eyes at his dramatic antics even if he’s slowly leaning more and more into you and you have to heave his body up.

“It’s just a couple steps,” you huff, “Even a human can do that.”

Part of you wants to laugh. Some part of you that’s seeing the childish pieces of him wants to indulge in it, wants to spout dramatic nonsense. It’s hard to resist - after all getting up one flight of stairs seems to be more of a struggle than escaping a highly secured facility.

But even this hurdle you jump over and the spare bedroom is not far from the stairs. TH38 is fully relying on you to drag him with you, barely moving his legs. You throw him not too gently onto the bed-like charger, once again thanking your father for being his manic self and fully preparing the house before (and without) actually ever getting an automaton to live here. 

It takes you a while to figure out how to get the thing going - but to your defense, it’s hard to focus when there’s a robot whining softly about being scared of shutting down - but it’s not a rocket science. Fortunately the charger still works and once it’s turned on, the automaton lying down on it curls up into a ball with a sigh of relief.

When you get up from the floor, TH38’s eyes are already closed and by all means he looks like he’s sleeping. You sigh, exhausted. You feel a headache coming so you get some pills from the kitchen before retreating into your own room.

Yeah, you both need a nap right now.

When you wake up, you stare at the ceiling for a couple minutes.

What happened in the forest seems like a dream but you know it’s very real and you’ll have to deal with it. Just another thing to process. Then again, there’s so many of them that one more won’t hurt. And at least you avoided the headache. So you pray to anyone willing to listen that TH38 is still… unconscious… in hibernation mode… asleep. 

He’s not. 

Of course he’s not.

You peek inside the room and see his soft eyes already open. He looks away when your eyes meet like he’s ashamed. You sigh and walk into the room, closing the door behind you. It’s not like anyone’s going to walk in, but it gives you some sense of security. You sit down on the floor and he hands you a pillow. You thank him quietly and spend a while sharing an awkward silence.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes without looking at you. He doesn’t continue so you prompt him.

“For what exactly?” That makes him look at you with a scowl. “Getting sulky again?”

“‘m not sulky,” he murmurs. Once again you feel like reality is shifting around you. It’s been like that a lot lately. All the fault of the automaton in front of you. All the fault of the conditions changing, of him reacting to the environment - if your assumption is correct. Free of the rules and the strict way of life in the facility, you see that he’s just like the rest of the automatons from his group. And that all of them, in their own way, might have been human.

“Then what are you?” you ask smiling, propping your elbow on one knee and leaning your cheek on your palm. 

“Hurting,” he admits, almost carefully, like he’s testing the waters. It’s just one word but yet it feels like the most open he’s been. So you’re not going to talk about that, huh?

He shifts a little and pulls down the collar of his shirt to expose the wound - not the damage, not defect, not imperfection, but a wound - between his collarbones. It looks nasty, the artificial skin and mesh and wires all torn and uneven around where the circular device was. He’s careful not to touch it, you note, and his hand is trembling. Were you an asshole when you refused to help him? Even so much as share what you found? It’s not like you could fix that hole in his chest, but maybe you could’ve at least told him about the other option. 

“How much does it hurt? On a 0-10 scale?” you focus on gathering information. What did he call it - impersonal? That’s just what you needed. But nothing ever works out like you imagine.

“I don’t know,” he responds blankly but at least elaborates before you can finish yet another sigh, “I don’t have anything to compare it to.”

“I watched most of your life and career, I know you’ve gotten injured before,” you deadpan.

“Yeah but that was taken care of immediately, this is different,” he protests. There’s silence for a while before his voice drops lower. “I thought I could handle it. That I would get used to it and ignore it.”

You laugh, shaking your head, only stopping when you notice his expression. He does look hurt and hurting. You give him a much more conciliatory smile. “People don’t fare well if they’re in constant pain. It limits them, it affects all aspects of their lives.”

“I can see how,” he mutters, once again looking away. His jaw clenches for a second and it almost seems like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. You have a feeling, however, that you know what he wanted to say. Since he’s really not going to talk about it, you decide to take the first step.

You get up and motion for him to scoot over. He does so with a frown that deepens when you sit down next to him. He stays lying down, limited by the need for more energy. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you needed to recharge?” you start and watch as he once again looks away without answering, “Why didn’t you explore this floor?”

He shrugs a little, shrinking into himself under your stare. He honestly doesn’t know why. He blames his pride. What else could it be that made him refuse to ask for help?

“Do you realize that you’d stay out in the woods if your battery ran out before we could get here?” you press, raising your voice a little on purpose, “I’d need to get help to drag you in, and you know how that would probably end. Was it worth it? Being stupid and stubborn?”

“Why are you like this?” he whispers, his dark eyes nothing but soft like they’ve been since you’ve entered the room.

“How do you feel?” you go back to how you talked to him before, calm. He frowns, suspicion written over his features. His lips are pressed into a thin line before he changes his mind and speaks up.

“Embarrassed,” he has a guarded look in his eyes, one that’s also vulnerable.

“Good,” you ease into a smile as you press a finger to the wrinkle between his eyebrows, “Embarrassment and pain are two simplest ways to manipulate and adjust a person’s behavior. And fear, but to be honest I don’t want you to be afraid of me, so we’ll have to do with those two.”

He looks at you in a very that tells all you need to know - he hopes you've not making fun of him but he doesn't trust you. So you sigh and move on to another, well, not an emergency but also not something that you should ignore any longer. 

"Now," you get up from the bed and point at his chest, “That needs solving. I'm not a mechanic and my knowledge is strictly theoretical but unless you're okay with leaving it like that and calling it a day, we can still try something." 

He seems surprised by your sudden statement, like he didn't even expect you to address the wound again. 

"How theoretical?" is what he asks, suspicious. 

"I said strictly," you shrug, "Fixing and healing was never my focus.”

"Why's that not surprising," he mutters without looking at you. "Can I have some time to think about it?"

"You just don't trust me, do you?" you smirk. Not that you blame him. He gives you a smile.

"Fine, but only because my clothes keep catching on the edges and it's really painful. "

"Sure," you motion for him to follow you and guide him to the bathroom. There, you take out a bandage and a tape. You're curious. You offer him both with a quirk of your eyebrow. He takes the bandage with trembling hands and distrust still lingering in his eyes. You roll your own. 

"For now, I’ll think about this as another stage of the experiment. I'll respect your wish, so persuade me you’re human enough."

"I don't think I should thank you for that," he scoffs, "By the way... Help?"

He holds out the hand holding the roll of bandages back to you. Of course he wouldn't know how to do that. You motion for him to sit at the edge of the tub. He obeys almost shyly, reminding you of how he was back at the facility. You truly do prefer him as he is here. When he sits down, you push his knees apart with one of your own. He gives you a scandalized look that makes you chuckle.

"Relax," you smirk, "I just want to be comfortable. My back’s been killing lately, there’s no way I’m leaning over you. Take your shirt off?"

He does, slowly, reluctantly, and when the piece of clothing is gone you're suddenly glad for the basics of mechanics you've gone through at uni.

The wound looks awful, although you can appreciate the cleanliness of it. Maybe you really could burn it neatly if you had to. There are wires sticking out, perhaps - albeit not hopefully - the remains of the communication device. The layers of silicon and other material are frayed and sticking in all directions like flakes. You try not to stare too hard.

Instead, you focus on the task at hand. You unwrap the bandage slightly and put the free end on his shoulder. You roll it down gently mindful of the gaping wound but then you prop your hand on his chest and you need to take a step back as you get startled. He gives you a quizzical look.

"You feel like a human," you look at him, look at his chest. It does look like a human’s chest but you know he doesn't have proper organs, his insides aren't the same as yours. So why do you feel a bone there? 

"And l imagine anyone would be flattered by this reaction,” His voice is sarcastic but his ears turn a reddish shade. He won't meet your eyes either.

"It's new for me too, okay?” you give your pride a break. This will all be easier if you get along and after all, he's used to you being in power. You need to take the first step and show weakness. You need to make the choice to be while he's already vulnerable enough, half-naked and injured. “It's not like I'm used to touching my subjects."

"I guess that's true," he murmurs, now thinking about it. It's true that the approach of the research division as a whole was rather clinical. Not that he'd so much as think to complain about it. You chuckle watching him scowl again. 

"Touch is important for humans," you hum, finally composing yourself as you explain the basics to him and remind yourself of them again, "As a communication device, as means of establishing relationships, it’s important for social life."

As you speak, you wrap his wound and the top of his torso in bandages. He watches you work. It feels uncanny how human-like he feels under your hands. And for him, he doesn't quite know what to do with himself.

He danced with the rest of his group, they performed, they played around. He experienced his fair share of physical contact. So why does this feel so different? His head feels like spinning. Your touch is careful, gentle, nothing like the rough hands of the mechanics, and nothing like the touch of the other automatons. He can't explain the difference in other terms than experience. Humans know what it's like to touch and be touched in various contexts. The automatons don't. At least for the most part. Some of his bandmates, perhaps, had secrets he knew nothing about. Their leader comes to mind and he feels the urge to ask him questions, to ask for guidance, but there's only a hole in his chest and he's alone.

He barely registers that you’re done.

"Feeling better?" you ask without expecting much. It's not like he'll heal himself or like this will do anything to ease the pain.

"Tired," he answers, testing the words out on his tongue. He feels reassured when you laugh and step away, offering him your hand. He takes it, lets you pull him up. He touches the bandages and although it hurts, at least it feels less irritating. He takes his shirt from you when you hand it to him.

"I can only imagine," you roll your eyes. He resists the urge to scowl. "It's getting late, I'll go make myself dinner so go rest."

"Can we go back later?" he stops you before you walk out. He nods towards the window outside.

"Not afraid of wild animals?" you tease.

"Don't all the textbooks say animals are more afraid of humans than the other way around? I think we're good."

· • —– ٠ ✧ ٠ —–· · • —– ٠ ✧ ٠ —– • ·

You don't go back to the forest that day. Not for the lack of enthusiasm or trying. TH38 is determined to finish your walk, you, however, are not as sure about it. It’s not that you aren’t put off by your routine being disturbed but seeing him still dragging his feet and his glazed over eyes, you just don’t think it’d be a wise idea. You suggest he goes alone, but he doesn't. So instead, you end up sitting by the fire again, the stars keeping you company. He seems less hypnotized by the dancing flames than that first night.

"I'm fine," he complains after a minute of silence while you spear more fluffy marshmellows onto the stick in your hands. A treat that you deserve after the day you’ve had. You’d probably offer him some too but alas…

"Sure you are," you agree without sparing him a glance, "But I'm not interested in watching over a toddler. If you wanna test the limits of your body - go for it. Just leave me out of it"

You feel his gaze on you, burning holes into the side of your skull. Has he always been so difficult? It's like all he's been since the breakout is annoyed, sulky or hurt. 

"Stop that," he growls, "We both know I'm not a human. It's alright if you acknowledge that."

"While I'm glad you see it that way - and I really mean it, it's good you understand that," you sigh as you move your desert to hover over the flames, "Don't forget that you were made to be an exact copy. I found some of my old notes and while most of your physical capabilities should be better than a human's, you’d still experience the same symptoms. As we already witnessed earlier."

He’s silent for a bit while he processes that. Then he speaks and you swear you hear a hint of a pout in his voice. It’s so annoying how easily he lets go now.

“You didn’t have to call me a toddler though…”

“Don’t take it personally,” you sigh, turning the stick between your fingers so that the white puffs of sugar get baked evenly, “I wasn’t making fun of you - much - it’s just that you have no experience, do you? Were you ever as tired as you were today?”

“No,” he admits, “I wasn’t, you’re right. I rested the whole day and I’m still tired.”

“Exactly my point,” you hum, “Our walks are not a hard exercise but you haven’t, well, slept for a couple days so I think it’s best to take it easy today.” Then you add, because you can’t help it: “Exhaustion makes people a little crazy. And automatons too, it’d seem.”

He groans and you laugh, pulling the stick off the fire and blowing on your marshmallows. You take a bite and notice him watching you.

“What is it like?” he asks quietly, “Eating, I mean.”

“Kind of annoying to be honest,” you shrug, “It takes so much time to choose what to eat and to prepare food and eating it… Being hungry is a pain too. I mean it’s really good if you eat something delicious but I guess it depends on the person.”

He nods, eyeing with curiosity as you tear off another marshmallow from the stick. It reminds him of the videos he saw of wild beasts tearing flesh off bones, but he doesn��t mention that.

“What does sleep feel like to you?” you ask in turn. He looks at the sky for a second, collecting his thoughts. But really he’s just enjoying the view. It’s strange that he barely ever saw the night sky before.

“I don’t know, I’m not really conscious when I sleep, am I?” he thinks some more, “It’s peaceful. I liked it at the facility.”

“You don’t like it here?” 

“Not really,” he gives you a small smile, “It’s too tempting. I don’t have to think if I’m asleep.”

Now that makes you wonder.

“I thought you enjoyed thinking about things?” Maybe it’d be more fair to say you expected him to do a lot of thinking rather than saying you had a strong opinion on his relationship to the activity. He was just always one of the quiet, reserved ones. He seemed to enjoy reading too. And you know it’s a stereotype to think of him as a thinker, but it’s one he seemed to fit well.

“I do,” he hesitates, then frowns, “But it was easier there.”

“Easier? I think you’d have way more to think about right now?” you pry when he’s quiet for too long. You don’t push, though.

“Easier in the technical sense,” he sighs, falling silent again, but there remains space for more words to be said.

You can almost hear the cogs turning in his head, purely metaphorically of course. You give him the time to think and get started on your second round of marshmallows before he speaks up again.

“I always - back then, I always thought about staying true to myself,” he starts slowly, “I was always treated a certain way. I woke up into this body, and this life, and was told certain things.”

"And the building blocks of me too. Serenity? Pandemonium? The more automatons and people I met, I was sure those just represented us and humans. I wanted to be true to myself," he repeats, "I thought since no one will ever see me as more than a machine, I might as well embrace it."

"And how was it?" you ask, inching just slightly closer. You never thought you'd get TH38 to open up like this. He smiles.

"Peaceful, just as I thought," but then he continues with a note of bitterness in his voice. "You saw it, all of it. I was just a machine doing its job. It was easy. To focus on performing, on practice, to have the talks with you and answer like I thought was expected of me. I miss it a little.”

“It was satisfying. A simple pleasure of doing my job well. I think you understand that,” he looks at you and you realize finally that you’ve been leaning towards him, but whatever. You nod.

“So that’s why you’ve always acted like that? Because you chose to be a machine?” 

“Have to use my free will wisely,” he giggles - he fucking giggles - before he shrugs and gets more serious again, “I really liked it in a way. I thought I could be satisfied with that.”

Your head is still trying to process the incredible amount of research data you’re getting and you have to work really hard not to slip into work mode. You will listen to him like you would listen to a human with a completely different set of experiences, or like you would listen to one of the aliens sharing their galaxies with you. You will listen like you’d listen to a friend sharing their burden with you. 

And you won’t analyze every single sound he makes even if they shatter your perception of him that you had until that moment.

“The others were ruining it a lot for me,” he admits quietly after a minute. It’s almost wistful. “I liked to watch them even if I really wanted to play around with them. They seemed so different from me. It was my choice, but in those moments I guess I felt a lot like you.”

You nod for him to continue when he meets your eyes, almost cautiously.

“I observed them. Studied them. I think it was the serenity code inside, I found happiness just from watching them being happy,” he smiles a little, “But I was also wondering if that was really alright. If it would be alright for me to behave like that.”

“Watching people made me feel different things. They were going crazy over us,” and suddenly he has that distant look in his eyes again, staring out into the fire, “I was scared of it. I was scared of being like them and letting myself be controlled by emotions. I think I pushed everything away so hard that it exploded when 5.C0UP5 told us to run.”

“Breaking out inside and out, huh?” you note and oops, your marshmallows burned. It’s not like you’re in the mood for eating them anymore anyway.

“You made it really hard,” he says but it sounds like he’s scolding you, “Giving me all the books.”

You smirk. Then you decide - to hell with it. He volunteered so much information that perhaps he deserves to receive some back.

“That was the point,” you shrug, “To make being just a machine hard for you.”

It seems he wasn’t expecting to hear you admit it, or hear anything personal from you, but now that you started he’s watching you with curious eyes and longing look. You think about these last few days again. It’s true that they’ve been mostly like what they were back at the facility.

He deserves more than that.

“It was one of the reasons I was brought to the facility. I broke some rules back at my previous station, pushed buttons I shouldn’t have, and it was getting dangerous. It was decided it’d be better if my actions wouldn’t have such large-scale consequences,” you huff a laugh, “But look where we are.”

“What were you doing before?” 

You’ll need to work on getting him more confident asking questions. 

“That’s a secret,” you wink at him, and you recognize the look as the one you must’ve been wearing when he giggled. Seems like both of you will need to get used to each other’s humanity. “I was working on research at a different division. Mostly my work was trying to push forward with more possible advancements for the automatons on a theoretical level. But I don’t miss it much. I always enjoyed working with you more.”

“Why me? I mean, did they tell you about me or did you get to choose?” he asks, and for some reason you’d love to see what he’d do if you lied and told him you chose him.

“I wasn’t the only one who noticed you were different from the others,” you smile instead, “When they confirmed there was nothing with your code, they started looking into other options of dealing with your case. It just so happened that I was recommended to join the researchers working with your band at the same time.”

“Happy coincidence?” he smirks but you nod, taking him by surprise. 

“I enjoyed working with you, Eight,” you shorten his name-that’s-not-a-name and watch him shift on his spot, “It was fun. I had a lot of privileges that I could use - like the books, and the videos, stuff like that.”

“Seems like you’re suggesting you were spoiling me,” he grumbles.

“Wasn’t I?” you smirk, “How many of the others do you think had access to basically a private library?”

“There weren't many real books,” he throws you a cheeky look from the corner of his eye. You do appreciate he's getting less guarded around you, but you hate the whiplash.

"Imagine if I'd spoil you for real," you scoff. He squints at you before pushing on your shoulder slightly, carefully, as if he's hesitating the entire time. It's your turn, for the first time ever, to give him a scandalized look. He chuckles.

"You said touch is important," he explains softly, "The others always used to push each other. I think… I think we could be close, right? Since it's just the two of us for now."

You give him a long look. It's true that, after all, there's no reason for you to treat him like a stranger. Sure, it's a little awkward all things considered - not least of all the fact that while you watched him to the point it could be called an obsession, he knew you to a very limited extend - but as he said, it's just the two of you now. And unless you wanna get caught, it would be that way for a while.

"Friends?" you suggest experimentally, he shakes his head with lips turned upwards in a dangerous teasing tilt.

"I don't know you well enough for that," he's just playing around but it's a nice change so you'll allow it, "Tell me more about yourself."

So you do. There’s little to tell other than your work, but he doesn’t comment on it and doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, he seems invested. It’s a nice change to speak for once with someone who doesn’t get concerned because of your severe lack of social life. Maybe you should’ve been befriending automatons a long time ago. 

Unlike before, he seems relaxed conversing with you. Gradually, he gets more comfortable asking questions. It’s easy to fall into the rhythm of using sarcasm or teasing to deflect questions you don’t want answering, and it’s surprising how naturally it comes to him as well.

The night is turning into morning when the fire dies and you agree to go back inside. Well, it’s less that you agree on it than you tell TH38 quite sternly that you’re not at the stage of your relationship where you’d feel comfortable with him lying on your shoulder and dragging him home twice in a day. He pouts (which, again, you need time to process).

Still, you have to admit that it feels kind of good that you have someone accompany you while you walk to your room.

Come morning, it still feels like a dream. So you take extra time to simply lie in bed and think. You're pretty happy with how things turned out. You mull over what the automaton told you. It was a strange way to live one's life. Did he really think he could be happy with just that? You've read enough about history, fiction and articles, to know that, ultimately, it seldom works out this simple way of life. Maybe if all TH38 could do was work, maybe if he had to fear for his life... Or maybe if you didn't keep pushing onto him stuff to think about. Not that it matters anymore.

Funny enough, you meet the moment you step out of the door. You exchange greetings and share a look. You both know you're both usually up much earlier.

· • —– ٠ ✧ ٠ —–· · • —– ٠ ✧ ٠ —– • ·

The following days go well enough.

You fall into a nice routine of getting to know each other and getting used to no longer being a researcher and a subject. A lot of the barriers between you get torn by this change. You spend your time willingly with each other as if you were always roommates.

Today, too, TH38 keeps you company during breakfast but he seems eager to get up and do something the whole time. Definitely unusual, though he’s always more than eager to explore the woods with you. Then again, never before did he spend the whole time waiting. He doesn’t talk much, he spaces out and nearly jumps out of his chair anytime it seems you might be done with your breakfast. It gets to the point that you have to call him out on it.

"Is something bothering you?" you ask, setting your spoon aside with one hand and laying the other on his shoulder to immediately push him back down to sit.. He looks caught. 

"Can we go out today?" he asks, already looking into the trees through the window.

"We’re always going out. Besides nothing is stopping you from going alone," you mention, but the twitching of your lips betrays you. He pursues his lips and you begin to wonder if he knows it makes you - well, not necessarily uncomfortable but you'll have to get used to it.

"Are you not afraid I'll run off?" and while it's not an unreasonable question... 

"Where would you go?" you ask without missing a beat. And there comes the frown again. "Maybe you should be worried I'll leave you here all on your own."

"What if we stopped?" he sighs and it seems that he's genuinely bothered. 

Sometimes he gets like that suddenly. While you might be getting along better now, there’s still room for improvement. It’s easy enough to make him snap, even though he’s been getting better. During the escape he wasn’t really violent either. He left some bruises, but his intention wasn’t to hurt you, and you never held it against him. 

You’ve noticed the pattern of his behavior. Those weird states mostly overcome him when he’s overwhelmed with emotions. Which explains the first snap - he must’ve been so exhausted it was only a matter of time. He’s never got physical with you again, though he seems fond of making you think he will or backing you into a corner or against something when he's behavior flips.

You wonder where that comes from but he doesn’t have any idea either - not to mention he doesn’t feel entirely comfortable discussing those episodes and delving deeper into what he's feeling. Perhaps it’s the force of a habit - something you both eventually agreed on after many discussions, and afterall it takes one to know one. Try as you might, it’s hard not to analyze him, not to ask pointed questions that would only serve the purpose of researching how his brain works and what makes him tick. And you really don’t want that for him anymore. Though you do dearly miss your job. That’s why you’ve been spending most of your time studying from the old notes in your room and the books to keep your mind stimulated. 

So for now, instead of analyzing why it hurts him to imagine being abandoned, you try to relate to his situation. He finally escaped what basically was a prison only to find himself all alone, with little knowledge as to how the world outside functions. Not to mention he's a fugitive and one bad step could land him back at the facility or worse. He lost his friends, lost his purpose - worse yet, he gave up on the purpose he chose for himself. He’s already so uprooted that maybe it’d truly be best to refrain from making jokes and teasing him about certain topics. Although…

"You started it," you point out, "But sure, let's be adults about this."

"So you're going with me, right?” he circles back to the beginning. It's been a while since someone wanted to be in your company so willingly. Not that he has other options. 

"I’m going, don’t worry," you agree, "Is there any reason why you insist on it?" 

He thinks for a bit, and you note that he's biting his lip in yet another expression of very human-like behavior. He turns a little shyer after a minute. 

"I don't feel comfortable being out there alone. And I hoped maybe you know of some new spot we haven’t been to yet?” 

Something about this feels both so right and so wrong. The automaton is watching you with such a soft expression on his face, a little hopeful it seems. He’s relaxed, you’re relaxed, and it feels comfortable. Two friends on vacation planning their trip for a day. But that’s also what’s throwing you off. You’re too used to being alone - and you thought that’s how you could live forever, be alone and thrive. Only now you realize it’s not a bad feeling at all to have someone to spend your days with, to share a life with - to an extent. 

The irony in this isn’t lost on you.

“I think I remember one,” you hum, “But I’m not sure I remember the way. We might get lost.”

“You don’t have to take me there if it’s a special place,” he reassures you, although his excitement at the prospect of wandering through the forest is impossible to hide. It’s cute. Which is a thought that’s been reappearing in your mind for days now, and maybe that’s not a bad thing.

“I appreciate that, but I told you already that there’s not much special to me here,” you assure him in turn. He’s like a sponge, soaking up all the information he can get - about the world, nature, you, anything. It’s really heartwarming he remembers too, and how mindful he’s trying to be. More than half the humans you’ve met, which is… perhaps not all that surprising.

“Shall we go then?” he prompts you, jumping up from his chair and pulling on your hand to get you to stand up too. You let him pull you up, rolling your eyes.

“Did you miss the part where I said we might get lost?” you chuckle. His excitement was just like that of a child - strangely infectious.

“That’s why we’re leaving early,” he explains to you, slowly, and you’re sure he knows by now how much it annoys you, “So we have time to explore and find the spot.”

Annoying or not, though, you can’t say no.

The journey starts off as usual - almost.

He must know the forest in the closest circle around the cottage by heart by now, but he still seems enchanted by it. Despite his earlier bursts of energy, however, he’s quiet as you walk. It’s nothing too out of the ordinary, but you learned to be cautious. 

“Hey, is something wrong?” you ask carefully when you stop to admire the way sunrays seep through the trees to illuminate a clover patch on the ground. He doesn’t respond. That’s more concerning as he generally tends to tell you when he doesn’t feel like talking. You have a feeling it’s to prevent him from having another outburst, so if he’s not doing that, it might mean something’s seriously wrong. He continues forward before you can speak up again. 

“Hey,” you follow after him - curse his long legs and speed. You think back to all the times you’ve thought he’s like a lost puppy following his owner with a scoff. You don’t like the roles being switched. “What’s going on with you?”

You don’t like repeating yourself. You don’t like not knowing. And you especially don’t like feeling clingy.

“What the fuck, Eig-”

“You’re just like them,” he turns suddenly, making you stumble and nearly bump into his chest. You frown, not understanding who does he mean by them in this lack of context. He sets his jaw like he wants to shut up but then the words spill and you recognize all the signs. “I’m quiet for a couple minutes and everyone's all like ‘Minghao you need to speak up’ and ‘mind your screentime, Minghao’ - how about you leave me alone?”

He’s growling, again trying to make himself as tall and towering as he can. His eyes betray him, though. He is getting better at holding himself back. While you’d oppose that in most other cases, self-control is an important skill for a person to have - especially when strong emotions hit. You read this one as anxiety.

“No need to snap at me, Minghao,” you click your tongue. You make sure to look him in the eye while you say the name. “Just say you want to be left alone.”

This time it’s you walking away. You take the few seconds of silence you have before you know he’ll snap out of it to collect your thoughts. It was only a matter of time before this would happen - before the question of names would pop up. Him picking out a name for himself makes it easier. You heard some of the others also used some sort of nicknames, even if no one ever mentioned TH38, Minghao, among them and neither did he ask you to call him anything but the name the facility assigned him. You wonder how he came up with it, but seeing as it’s still a sensitive topic, you’re gonna leave that conversation for another time.

And here come the steps…

What you don’t expect is to feel a weight on your back, or the warmth seeping through your shirt. You don’t expect the arms around your waist either - or that they would tremble. Nor do you expect the soft, quiet ‘thank you’ that fans across your skin as he speaks those words before removing himself from you. You hesitate for a bit. In just one second, you feel like you need to choose the best course of action. You don’t want to analyze him. You don’t want to think about this like part of your job or rehabilitation or therapy for him.

So you walk on, although you slow down significantly, waiting for him to catch up. He’s still shaking when he does, and his eyes betray how vulnerable he feels.

You meet his gaze from the corner of your eye and tilt your head. He did say he wants to be left alone, so you will respect it until he talks. Which only takes him a little while.

“You almost left me there,” he half-whines, quietly. If he won’t address it, neither will you.

“You’re being dramatic,” you shake your head. It doesn’t seem to have the effect you wanted, however. “Want me to hold your hand,” you tease a little before adding in a softer voice, “Minghao?”

He beams in that soft glow that he radiates when he’s happy. (Not literally.) The one that tugs at your rigid heartstrings.

“You’re too shy to try that,” he pushes right back. Although it’s a challenge, you don’t need to take on every single one. 

In a strange turn of events, you do end up taking his hand anyways. You hold his hand that feels like it belongs in yours and you see that he needs a second to process the feeling as well.

Then he slips and if it wasn’t for you holding his hand, he’d be sitting on his ass. 

You help him get back his balance and join you on the rock you’re standing on. He’s not looking at you anymore, as he wasn’t for a while now, and you decide that it’s best you keep watching over him until he’s not distracted even if it means holding his hand until you get back home. The sacrifices you have to make to keep him safe…

You turn back forward and smile, memories flashing briefly through your mind. Back when you saw the waterfall for the first time, you were just as distracted and reckless. The deafening sound of it, the pure strength behind the rushing, foaming water is enough to take your breath away even now. You had a feeling Minghao would love it.

And he does - he seems so taken by it that it makes you wonder if it would be safer to carry him. He keeps slipping since he barely pays any mind to where he’s stepping and it takes you threatening to leave, dragging him with you, for him to promise to be more careful. Never before did he obey your orders so quickly. Not even back at the facility, and that’s saying a lot.

After a couple more close calls you finally find a piece of land that’s stable and dry enough to stand on and enjoy the view. Minghao is absolutely mesmerized by the waterfall, lips hanging slightly open and eyes glued to the scene. If you’re staring at him instead of the natural wonder, then it’s only so he doesn’t hurl himself into the water.

“Careful or you’ll fall in and drown,” you warn him when, coincidentally, he does absent-mindedly take a step forward and panics when he feels the ground squish and give way under his foot.

“You’d catch me,” he says with certainty that makes something in your stomach twist, “And we’d be miserable and soaked to the bone.”

“Don’t underestimate the water,” you warn him, “It’s pretty deep and I’m not a strong swimmer. We’d just drown together and that’s not a way to go that I’d choose.”

That makes him turn to you with an unreadable expression. He studies you for a moment before turning back towards the waterfall. There’s a new focus in his gaze as his eyes follow the water. It’s not unlike when he’s watching the flames dance while you’re having a bonfire. You wonder if the thoughts running through his mind differ. 

You spend some more there before he asks you to go back.

He stays quiet for most of the way, but you let him. He’s got that far-off look in his eyes that’s a dead giveaway that it wouldn’t be wise to talk to him now. When he calls your name, it's not surprising what he wants to talk about. 

“Is there any?” he hesitates, "Way you'd want to die?"

If you didn't know better, you'd think he was scared. And maybe you truly don't, so you approach the topic just as carefully.

"I think most people do," you explain, "It's probably not like that for you, but for people death is a big deal. We tend to think about it sometimes."

"Why?" his throat bobs as he swallows in a new useless but human behavior.

"It's the one thing we can't choose," you smile, and it seems that your relaxed demeanor calms him.

“You may choose death any second you wish,” he murmurs quietly, walking side by side with you. Something about the topic makes the treetops, swaying in the wind above, look greener.

“But what if I mean the opposite,” you counter and this time you don’t look at him. If he notices the difference, he doesn’t comment on it.

“Immortality, hm?” he breathes in deeply, filling his lungs with the fresh pine-scented air, “Interesting.” 

"Anyway, you at least have the choice," you sigh, more exasperated by the robot who likely won't be able to get your point than the talk of your own inevitable mortality, "I don't. If nothing else, time will make the decision for me."

"Do I?" he muses, aloof in his contemplation as always albeit there's a hint of mirth to his voice.

"All it will take for you to live forever is some maintenance, maybe a couple hardware and software updates," you shrug, "And even if I'm gone and the situation doesn't get better, I bet there are people who'd be willing to help you out. You get to choose whether to live or die."

He mulls the idea over with a hint of a smirk that only seems to grow each second.

"Constant updates and replacements, huh?" he huffs, "Didn't you humans come up with the question about the boat that has all its parts replaced?"

You have to admit it takes you a while, but when it clicks, your eyes get wide and your mouth falls open.

"How do you know about the ship of Theseus?"

"What, did you expect me to be an ignorant mesh of wires and artificial tissue? After all the books you gave me access to?" he scoffs, looking almost offended.

"Well, no, but I also haven't expected to hear about ancient Greek philosophical problems from you," you concede. Maybe you shouldn't be as surprised as you are. After all, Minghao has always been very interested in reading. Almost as much as you’ve been interested in seeing the effect fantasy would have on his artificial brain. But that's long in the past.

"Why have me read those books if you never cared to discuss them with me?" he asks like it's been bothering him for a while now.

"Our sessions were always recorded. I had certain privileges, but most of them weren't for all the higher ups to know about," you shrug, "And after a while I was sure you wouldn't mention anything on your own."

"You trusted me a lot, hm?" he smirks, "Was that why you ran away with me?"

You huff, roll your eyes. He does seem genuinely curious though. You're not sure you want to answer. 

"Did you fall for me?" he moves to walk in front of you, "That's what they made us for."

"We both know why I went with you," you sigh, pushing on his shoulder and he steps aside easily, falling back in step with you. He has a small smile on his face. Maybe you should’ve teased him and said yes. The good vibes don’t last for too long. You can feel the shift in the air.

"Do you regret it?"

You're not brave enough to look at him. The tone of his voice is enough.

"No, I don't," you answer honestly, "I think this is good for both of us."

This time it's not you holding his hand, but him squeezing yours.

It feels nice.

You squeeze back.

Your suspicion that he was bothered by the fact that you never discussed the literature you provided him access to is proven correct not too long afterwards. 

It’s raining outside, the humid air blows in through the open windows as you eat dinner in silence. Minghao joins you at some point and he seems nervous. You give him the time to collect his thoughts until he’s ready to talk.

He starts off casually, with small talk completely unrelated to the real issue but you don’t push him. Honestly you’re happy even if he’s clearly having a lot of emotions, he’s not snapping at you. You also have to stop yourself for the nth time from making a list of human behavior you discover each day as right now he’s fidgeting with his fingers, picking at a frayed thread of the tablecloth.

Then, finally, he asks the question - could you talk about the books?

“Unless you haven’t read them, of course,” he adds quickly, suddenly flustered by your curious gaze.

“I mean you never told me which ones you’ve read,” you grin, and you find yourself enjoying him squirming in front of you, here and now, when you know the anxiety stems from wanting to be understood and to make a connection instead of uncertainty about the future. Not for the first time you find the automaton cute. “I haven’t read all the books I gave you access to, but I read most of them, so try your luck. Which ones were your favorite?”

He relaxes, his features soften as well. He props his elbow on the table and leans his head against his palm.

“This isn’t one of our interviews,” he reminds you playfully, “Which ones are yours?”

You laugh but you’ll give him this one. You answer and he asks another question, prodding for more information like you usually would. It’s not what you expected, but you play along. Unlike you back then, he carefully checks in with you if this is okay - his eyes find yours and he tilts his head, his fingers brush against yours or he gently touches your knee - and he actively participates in the conversation and discussion. 

You wonder if things would be different if this was the approach you used in the facility. If you treated him more like a human and less like a guinea pig, a new prototype or a petri dish. And he must’ve noticed because when you part ways at the top of the stairs, way too late into the night, or rather early morning, after many hours spent talking, he suddenly stops you before you can leave to your room and says: “This wouldn’t work. I wouldn’t work with you like that.”

“I know,” you acknowledge, “The higher-ups wouldn’t let me work like this either. Not with you.”

When he reaches for your hand, you take it. You don’t know if he finds comfort in the gentle squeeze you share before parting for real this time, but you think you might.

Out of the many issues and unspoken things you need to address, the wound in Minghao’s chest remains to be the top priority. He doesn’t mention it often, except in passing when even the bandage fails and it catches on the frayed artificial tissue. He seems embarrassed about it in a way that you know all too well. You also hate asking for help, also hate when you need to be taken care of.

So you sit him down one day and make him take his shirt off again, rolling your eyes - again - at the teasing remarks he tries to hide the flush crawling up his skin. It’s getting easier not to wonder about why they had to be made this human-like.

“I’m fine!” he full-on whines when you try to touch the edges of the wound, slapping your hands away. You heave a sigh, hands on your hips. 

“Listen, buddy-” you start but your words die into laughter at the offended look Minghao sends you.

“Minghao,” you try again, and he nods for you to continue, “We can’t just keep it like that. It hurts.”

“Yeah but only sometimes. And you already said you can’t help,” he shrugs, “Besides it’s just me who’s hurting.”

You do understand that. You’ve used the same excuse too. But he’s not you.

On the other hand, he is right. He let you look at the wound before and it seems like while he did a pretty good job of tearing the device out of his chest, some of the nerve-like wires remained meshed in the surrounding tissue and that’s what’s causing the pain. You can’t imagine doing the extraction yourself. Perhaps back at the beginning, but you couldn’t bring yourself to cause him so much pain now. 

…Honestly you sometimes wonder who out of you two needs training in how to be a human.

You stay silent for a while, having a short staring contest before you run your hand through your hair and accept your defeat. At least to some extent.

“Friends care for each other,” you inform him before removing the bandage from his body before securing it around his torso again, a little tighter just to keep all the peeling pieces pressed together. He hisses in pain but stays still. It seems he’s more occupied by processing your words than by the pain. “So let me care for you, hm? You might not die but let’s keep you functioning for as long as we can.”

He scoffs but ends up smiling anyway.

“I think you should be more worried about taking care of yourself. I don’t think the food you keep eating here is exactly healthy,” he’s teasing, you know, but something about it seems honest too.

“Maybe, but it’s easier to just add water and heat it up than get the ingredients, prepare them, cook, wash up, and all that jazz,” you defend your supply of instant foods. Although it’s true that your stock is beginning to run low and you probably will need to go shopping soon. You dread it, but at the same time you have a feeling Minghao might enjoy a little trip further away from the cottage.

“I can help,” he offers, “If you show me how.”

“Seems like you want to keep me around for a long time,” you dismiss the offer just so you don’t have to pay attention to how hopeful his voice sounded or how attentively he was watching you. You hope he’ll bicker with you, tease you, push back with more snark, but he doesn’t. He simply smiles and lets you finish the work on his bandages.

If your hands tremble and each fleeting touch against his body lingers, neither of you mention it.

It almost seems like Minghao’s been waiting to use your words against you when a couple days later he joins you under the roof of the patio while the storm is raging only a few meters away, drenching the ground with rain. He brings your favorite tea set with you. 

He’s noticed your love for tea, has often asked you to describe the various kinds of it and the flavors, but you never thought it’d come to this.

He sets it all down - the bottle of water, the kettle and the pack of your favorite tea leaves, the glass teapot, and the dark clay one and matching cups - and it surprises you to see he brought two cups. It makes you confused until you notice the tea pet and it gives you a pretty good idea of what he’s planning. You don’t comment on the red hue collecting on the tips of his ears. 

“Friends care for each other,” he murmurs while he sits down next to you. He looks at you and moves closer, your knees bumping together. When you don’t move away, he relaxes and focuses on the tea.

He pours the water into the kettle and lets it boil. You notice he set it to stop at the exact temperature he wants - that the tea requires. He measures the right amount of tea leaves for the teapot he picked while it boils, and when the water is done he first fills the cups and the teapots with the hot water. Then he pours it out before gently placing the tea leaves into the clay teapot and pouring the hot water in again. Almost straight away, he pours the tea into the glass one. 

You watch him and notice he seems nervous. So you decide to make it worse, or comfort him, whatever will be the effect. You put your hand on his knee carefully, startling him regardless. He looks worried before you smile at him: “You’re doing good so far.”

He seems reassured, giving you a grateful smile himself as he pours the first infusion over the little clay frog sitting at the corner of the tea tray. The next infusion he pours into the cups and hands you one, almost dropping it when your fingers brush together.

“Thank you,” you hum, “You’re a fast learner.”

“I just had enough chances to see you do it,” he shakes his head before nodding towards the tea leaves, “I just wasn’t sure I picked the right kind. I noticed you don’t wash all of them.”

“You did. I would help if there was a need but you’re a natural,” you praise, watching as his ears turn redder.

“And you don’t mind if I pretend with you like this?” he swirls the tea in his cup. He won’t look at you, so you make him. Slowly, you move closer to him until you can lay your head on his shoulder. It’s a light touch, he can move away if he wants to. He doesn’t, although his body gets tense.

“Why would I mind?” you say and realize just how comfortable you feel in this moment, “Isn’t this the perfect mood to sit here like this?”

Finally he melts just a little, leaning his head against yours, featherlight and cautious. You’d never guess he’d be this affectionate once comfortable, but lately it feels like his true personality is coming out more and more and you can’t say you dislike it. He doesn’t say anything, instead he leans closer again and rubs his head against yours, just for a second.

You take a sip of the tea and you hate to admit that his exact measurements make it taste better than when you prepare it. It doesn’t happen that you smile without realizing, but since leaving the facility, well, it seems like a lot of things are changing.

When you finish your cup and set it down on the tray again, he quietly pours the content of his cup over the little frog. Somehow it reminds you of him a little.

· • —– ٠ ✧ ٠ —–· · • —– ٠ ✧ ٠ —– • ·

Time passes.

You start to lose track of days and they blend together seamlessly. Has it been months? Years? Who knows. Minghao probably does, but he couldn’t care less. He only mentions the time since the breakout whenever you readjust the bandages on his chest. It almost seems like he’s healing, the compression seems to work a little even on the artificial tissue, although you know that until the remaining wires of the communication device are removed, it will always remain a trouble. He reassures you it’s alright every time and you learn to trust him to express himself truthfully.

He started exploring the outside on his own too. It seems to help him tremendously with dealing with… well, everything. It takes time, you know, and fortunately that’s the one thing that you have in abundance now. Nonetheless, he always seems to appreciate your company, be it on the walks, inside, or on the trips you take sometimes. Usually it’s only to the village to get new supplies of food, but you both remain cautious and even that fills you with adrenaline - among other things.

The locals really make you realize just how indistinguishable from a human Minghao looks. You doubt any of them recognize him for what he truly is, and maybe that’s in part why he always prefers to spend time alone after each of these trips. The highlight for you personally is the older lady who you buy vegetables from that seems to think of you two as the new married couple that just moved in. You make it a competition to see who gets flustered first, though there’s really no shame in losing. Not when Minghao cups your face and squishes your cheeks or hugs you when you begin to stutter - not when you mess with his hair or hold his hand when he’s lost for words.

Life is peaceful.

You think some parts of you are healing, just as Minghao is. He’s getting better at understanding that there’s chaos within peace and peace to be found amidst chaos. He’s learning to experience the emotions he’s suppressed for so long, the good and bad, to let them pass through even if it’s scary and uncomfortable. You try to be helpful. You give him space when he needs it, you talk if that’s what he needs, or let him lay his head on your lap or shoulder if he’s too scared to be left alone with the pandemonium inside his mind.

There are good days and there are bad days. Yet you both grow to be grateful for both.

And there are cold days and warm days too, and on the warm ones, you sometimes sleep outside.

It’s something you’ve never done before and something you now know you'd miss terribly if you could never do it again. Minghao loves it. His excitement remains infectious, which probably adds to your fondness for the warm nights on Silvestre.

Especially nights like this one when there’s not a cloud in the sky and the stars shine brightly above you. The galaxy expands above your heads and it makes you think of the past, of the future, and you understand why the automaton used to be so wary of emotions. They’re overwhelming for you too.

“If they ever catch us, what will you tell them?” Minghao breaks the silence. It’s not often that you talk about the facility anymore, but when you do it’s almost exclusively in whispers under the stars.

“Hm… Depends,” you hum.

“Depends on what?” he turns his head towards you.

“Depends on what will be most likely to get them to allow me to stay and keep working with you,” you mirror his action, “If that means telling them the whole truth about how you’ve done here, I will do that. If that means lying a little, then so be it.”

“Will you tell them the truth about the escape too?” he smirks. But you’re more than ready for the challenge.

“I will them them you kidnapped me.”

“I didn’t-”

“I will them you used force to make me come with you.”

“I didn’t!” he shoots up, sitting upright and looking at you, upset and distressed, “I didn’t have to, you went willingly!”

“I told you,” you smirk, shrugging, “I will tell them what I need to tell them to keep my job.”

Seeing as he remains upset, however, you reach out for him and stroke his arm. He gives you a wary look, one that he always gives you when you brush against a nerve. You smile apologetically at him, brushing some of his hair behind his ear. He scoffs, lying back down with his arms crossed over his chest. “Anything to keep your job but not to keep me.”

“That would suggest I had you in the first place,” your lips stretch further, teasing lilt finding its way into your voice as Minghao freezes and avoids your gaze, “Does this count as a confession, Haohao?” 

“Shut up,” he grumbles. You don’t listen.

“Besides, you are my job. Unless you want to be my pet, my-” you don’t get to offer him other alternatives as he springs from his spot and leans over you, holding himself up with one hand on either side of your body, kneeling next to you.

“Your?” he quirks a brow at you. It’s much harder to stand your ground when he drops the shy act, or maybe just puts on this confident one, but you do anyway.

“What would you like to be, hm? Give me some ideas,” you hum. He sighs, deliberately letting his head fall lover until his hair tickles your skin.

“I would like to be listened to,” he suggests, making you laugh. 

“We’re friends now, aren’t we? Friends push each other’s buttons,” you chide playfully. You feel comfortable. Even with him hovering above you, you feel safe and content. It’s unreal that not so long ago this would be unthinkable. 

“I don’t think we’re friends,” and it’s only the statement, plain and simple. You smile. You really do feel comfortable. It’s a new feeling. And it’s refreshing.

“Isn’t there enough unspoken things between us as is?” you don’t tease anymore. 

“So you have a name for this?” he tilts his head, his smile mirroring yours because he knows you don’t. You admit your defeat with a shake of your head and don’t push him off when he lies down again, only this time with his head resting on your stomach. You’re nice enough to run your fingers through his hair too. He leans into your touch in appreciation.

You stay silent, watching the stars twinkling above. You like this. You could stay like this, you think, and live your life satisfied and happy. But could you? Isn’t that what you both thought before too? Maybe there’s danger here that you’re just not seeing yet. You don’t want to lose this. Then again, it’s not like you can find the answer and the solution at this very moment. Not when you’re distracted by how soft Minghao’s hair feels between your fingers and the feeling of his fingers playing with yours when he inevitably searches for your hand. Maybe it’s about time you came to terms with the fact that he’s right - you’d rather keep him than any job.

You think about where the future could take you until your eyes close and you fall asleep.

There must be some sort of telepathy connecting you two because he brings up the future himself some time later.

You sit down and discuss everything: Are the people at the facility still looking for you? Is there a chance they could find you here? Does anyone remember him anymore - would they recognize him? Is there anywhere else you could go?

There are endless questions and very few answers. Plenty of books and a projector with what seems like an endless supply of old movies and shows are great for entertainment, but suck at providing information about the current situation across your solar system. 

So you work with the worst scenarios each time.

It doesn’t matter much because the outcome you agree on would likely be the same in any case - you can’t stay here forever.

Minghao seems as mournful about it as you feel but you can’t run away from the truth forever. Just because nobody should know about this and nobody bothered you here yet doesn’t mean it will never happen. Not to mention the other factors.

“I wanna see more,” Minghao admits quietly, his hands playing with yours to ease his anxiety, “I like it here. But I’m afraid I’ll feel trapped again if we stay.”

You nod. That’s true, of course. And you can understand his desire to see more - to learn more. It’s one of the things you have in common.

“Do you have anywhere you want to explore?” you ask, supportive as can be because he needs it. Because you want this too.

“Does your family have any other secret mansion?” he might be teasing, but you know he hopes you’ll say yes. It would make things much easier.

“No,” you sigh, then you smile, “So that means we’re completely free. If we have nowhere to go, we might as well go anywhere.”

He might’ve changed quite a bit, yet the soft glow of his happiness never did. He lets his body fall forward and curl against yours. You chuckle and wrap an arm around him.

“I like the sound of that,” he whispers, nuzzling into your shoulder. 

“Me too,” you feel a flutter in your chest. It’s like you’re a child again, being told you’re going on a trip but the destination is a surprise. It’s like you’re back at the facility, before you knew any better, being told you’re going to work with a level 1 automaton but you won’t know which one until Monday. “Let’s do some research and get going?”

“Yeah,” he hums against your skin, “But only after one last night outside. I can’t leave before that.”

Now that’s a sentiment you can relate to.

[sillygoofyboii]

Idea for a UT AU: (Please tell me if this is already an au I will read/watch the SHIT out of it)

Basically, the premise is that Frisk jumps into Mt. Ebott and instead of encountering the regular stuff that is the entirety of undertale, they go into a fucking coma from the fall. The ‘underground’ in this is basically a place similar to purgatory. If you die there, you die in real life and are stuck there and if you survive and escape the underground, you end up waking up, alive and in a hospital from falling into a fucking hole on a mountain. The underground’s nature changes with each person in it, changing with their imaginations, wants, fears, etc. One example being that Chara basically shaped the underground into a whole fantasy world of monsters (the implication of fantasy stuff being an escape from the world for them when they were alive), giving them an actually loving family for once, but it gets botched when everything gets affected by a growing fear of ruining everything and a hate for humanity driven by both the fantasy setting of monsters and shit and the in real life experience of being with abusive people, which manifests into (in this au at least) Chara eating buttercups to poison themself, putting the same buttercups in Asgore’s tea so that Toriel would be busy while Chara made Asriel absorb their soul (Chara poisoning themself so that Asriel could absorb their soul counted as ‘dying’, which made them stuck there as a ghost because of beliefs they had where you become a ghost after death if you still have business to do) and cross the barrier. Of course, the plan was to get 7 human souls to break the barrier, but Asriel didn’t want to, leading to his death and Chara becoming a ghost. Of course, Chara’s desire to leave a legacy made their story popular in the underground. Everything also affects real life too, Chara falls, is unconscious from the fall, someone on the mountain (prolly their brother) finds them and carries them out of the underground (representative of Asriel carrying their body out from the underground as well) to get them to a hospital, of course, they die in the hospital/when Asriel returns. The underground gets more and more fleshed out with each human, even if unintentionally (patience making the ruins a safe place to remind him of his home, bravery making outside the ruins more dangerous because of assumptions and regressed fear, integrity’s logic of ‘actions have consequences’ not only fueling their genocide and certain monsters’ attitude toward the surface but also causing their downfall, perseverance applying logic and science to everything and possibly finally making the concept of the ‘core’, kindness fleshing out the perspectives of people because of how often they put themself in other people’s shoes, and justice also altering monsterkind’s view on humanit and the surface, and also possibly creating the Dunes). I might flesh out Frisk’s journey later but just know that everyone they meet is representative of someone they knew pre-Ebott (this applies to other humans too).

Idk if this is good idea or not

might call this warpedtale or something idk what the title should be

I hope I worded everything right (autocorrect prolly screwed me over on some parts)

[bestworstcase]

brief preliminary list of things i am going to be unhinged about for the indefinite future:

MYSTERY KINDRED LINK. WHO. WHO?!

"and when it turns out to be just another run-of-the-mill patrol..." HBHKSDFHG god. the fact that mysterious important top secret missions regularly turned out to be non-issues... salem was IGNORING HIM LMAO

implied time-skip but i think not a very long one; we have amity plonked onto a carrier ship and what's left of the atlesian air fleet, plus a handful of ships from other kingdoms, but no grimm. salem isn't here yet. tyrian and mercury probably are. loose estimate, probably a couple weeks? qrow et al being in solitas still at the end of v8 makes the quick turnaround logistically plausible

salem routed the fleet lmfao

"one brother [light] believed they had disrupted the balance, while the other [dark] refused to condemn their creations for their mistakes" hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

in the ever after's terms, dark's purpose is destruction for the sake of new life—i was dead to rights on him being a god of cyclical change—and the conflict with his brother began with dark defending the lives of their creations. light decided that they [the brothers] made a mistake and wanted to "fix" that mistake by getting rid of it, dark said no.

dark is unambiguously the good guy here.

the annihilation of humanity was essentially dark recanting his original stance and accepting his brother's position that their creations are "mistakes" that must be eradicated

except he didn't (or couldn't) eradicate salem, humanity rose again, and light is still on the "eradicate the mistake" train with dark nowhere to be found. either 1. dark completed his ascension by coming to understand his brother's perspective and became something new [the relics?], or 2. dark regretted this after the fact and directly had a hand in bringing humanity back, or 3. if he left salem alive on purpose the whole thing was a gambit to repeat the ever after's solution to their conflict, leaving remnant behind because remnant could not bear their experiments any longer.

dark + humanity vs light endgame real

unless dark ascended and light did not, in which case the ultimatum is probably coming from a place of grief—light doing the very thing he condemned salem for.

the immediate narrative rebuke for turning their backs on the cat:

in juxtaposition with ruby's overt sympathy and concern for neo, and the blacksmith's sympathy for both neo and the cat, and the implication that the cat can now ascend [note the hawker's statue too—neo's jabbers couldn't permadeath people]... juicy

raven and summer stayed in touch. raven was summer's confidante; she doesn't just know what happened to summer, she knew well in advance what summer had planned and was herself integral to that plan. and in the ten+ years since this night she hasn't said a word about it to anyone.

raven trusted her

raven was probably closer to summer than to her own brother

whatever raven learned, whatever horrors she brought back, she told summer. and summer believed her. and they kept it to themselves, and made this plan.

"if i do this right, there's nothing to worry about. trust me." you sound just like your mother (derogatory). oh raven absolutely got a team salem recruitment pitch from summer after this.

and she's keeping that secret too

this is how they're looping raven back into the story btw

ruby knows that raven knows but she doesn't know exactly what raven knows so she's going to need to find raven to ask

raven: summer is a better mom than i could ever be

also raven: [continually dragged kicking and screaming back into the story by inescapable motherhood]

"you're really leaving them?" "you're one to talk" oh that's JUICY

even taking into account raven's heels, summer is fucking tiny

[yuri-is-online]

As someone who watched like... 16 hours worth of content about that one booktok book the girlies over there were comparing Sylus too, I understand where they were coming from?

For those of you who care, the reason why is because the dark male lead of the novel was in a relationship with the mc, married her, then erased her memories. She died at some point after doing a whoopsie (act of terrorism) and he used some magic to bind their lives together, which was a temporary solution and now he needs to do a bigger, better oppsie (war crime) to make sure she stays alive. His powers are visually similar to Sylus's, and the book decided to make this thing where if you are in love with someone you can use their powers similar to resonance.

The problem if you will permit my being an elderly woman here for a moment, is that the booktok book has no idea what it is doing. The book's world building is sort of similar to love and deepspace's, but absent the re-incarnation which is so integral to making the story work, to say nothing of how poorly constructed the magic system is. The relationship plot points I mentioned to you are revealed in the second book, not the first, and there is no real effort to make the story logical. In love and deepspace, you can understand how Linkon City works because some effort has been put in to thinking about basic world building. The booktok book sort of feels like it would be better suited to a tabletop campaign book, something where the dm and players could build off what's offered instead of an actual living and breathing story.

That being said, I do want to see the booktokers play love and deepsapce. I want them to play all sorts of otome, actually, I am an unethical scientist desperate to run experiments on them and see if there is some correlation between the two types of wish fulfillment ips. Would they like something like Collar x Mallice? What about Code Realize? Or Piofiore: Fated Memories? Is the anime aesthetic turning them off or is it just not good enough for them? I need to know someone get me some funding and a lab.

[sophieinwonderland]

We watched Blue Beetle last night and I'm working on a Plurality of Blue Beetle post.

But before that, I wanted to share a fun little messed up head canon/fan theory

Major SPOILERS!

...

...

...

There's a scene where Jaime is being experimented on. At that point, if he doesn't open himself up to integrate with the Scarab, he'll die.

Then he gets a vision of his deceased father, telling him that this is his purpose and giving him the strength he needs to accept that and fully bond with the Scarab.

His dad even says he was meant to be there at that moment to help Jaime accept this destiny.

The thing is, there are no hints of magic or ghosts in this movie. And sure, spirits do exist because it's the DCU. But a spiritual explanation feels so unsatisfying for a movie about alien technology.

So what if the Scarab, Khaji Da, showed Jaime the vision of his father, telling Jaime exactly what he needed to hear from who he needed to hear it from in order to convince Jaime to embrace the bond?

It would be a horrendous manipulation and betrayal of trust, but one ultimately intended to save Jaime's life, fulfilling the Scarab's purpose of keeping the host alive.

If Khaji observed Jaime enough to know how important Jaime's family is to him, and Khaji would do anything to protect Jaime, it almost seems illogical to think that Khaji wouldn't do something like this.

[windvexer]

I really don't think animism is that easy of a worldview to adopt, actually, either that or I'm just bad at it

Shortly after embracing the animism worldview, and this is a true story, I had a meltdown over whether or not my soup spoon was mad at me for not asking it for permission to eat my lunch.

Witchcraft and spirituality are supposed to make you empowered, you say? Nonsense, I say. Try being paralyzed over your increasingly soggy bowl of cereal because you're too exhausted to perform spirit work to request permission from cutlery. That's real witchcraft.

And if I asked the spoon for permission, what did that say about my treatment of the bowl? Of the milk?

I think people treat animism sort of as paganism lite, like you get all the mysticism and wonder of everything being alive, without actually having to like pick a pantheon and research specific gods and spirits. Sort of like easy magic - all you gotta do is believe.

I'd actually like to propose that adopting a worldview that everything might be alive is in fact terrifying and requires a lot of forethought, integration, and personal development in order to internalize in a way that makes your life better instead of worse.

And after several years of soul-searching, experience, and a heaping dose of UPG, I've come to the following conclusions that has helped animism move away from a destructive force in my life and into a stable platform that inspires harmony and communication.

Here are my thoughts on it. Take what you will and leave the rest behind.

No, not everything is alive.

The reasons why I believe this is a whole metaphysical discussion, but no. Not everything is alive. Plastic sporks mass-produced in a factory are inert hunks of matter. There is no point in that process where the spork gains a soul.

(Mass-produced tarot decks, runes, wands, pendulums, spirit boards, etc., roll off the factory line with about as much soul as a spork does, by the way)

In fact, not even lovingly hand-crafted things are automatically "alive," not even lovingly hand-crafted magical tools.

It actually takes a lot of work to imbue life into an object, so much work that it's not easy to have happen on accident.

This ain't a post on how to alive an object, but suffice to say if you've really set your heart on it, it's not that complicated.

It's just also not really that easy to do on accident.

You can use your magical bell, wand, tarot deck, etc., for years, and they will simply never become alive.

Spiritual life doesn't "just happen" just because you interact with something a lot and involve it in a lot of energy working or magic or whatever.

You are not in a perpetual mating dance with your magical tools. They are not in a state of permanent ovulation. You are not the spirit of divine fertility. You're not going to accidentally put a soul into your tools.

Objects can appear to gain personalities and aliveness, but that doesn't mean they're actually alive or sentient.

I'm not sure if this is necessarily discussed enough, but an energy reader's (/spirit talker, same thing really) personal beliefs play a huge role in how they personally perceive the energies and spirits they're interacting with.

For example

If I tell you, "spirits are not real, even things which appear to be spirits are just complex layers of energy that, like a computer program, can mimic life," (and you believe me)

There is a really heckin good chance that even if a fully-formed spirit being approaches you and says, "hey, I'm the spirit of that tree over there," you'll just say, wow, this pattern of nonliving energy has a call-and-response inquiry style; I can ask it questions and due to its friendship-oriented programming, it will give me responses back. Neat!

Or, on the other hand,

If I tell you, "spirits are incredibly real, in fact literally all energy is just a spirit in one form or another, and every object and living thing and area and concept you can imagine has a spirit within it," (and you believe me)

There is a really good chance that even if you encounter a very typical, mundane, and nonliving energy pattern , you will say, wow, this is a very precious and smol spirit, its favorite color is red and it likes being taken care of. It's alive in every meaningful sense of the word!

When, in reality, you are anthropomorphizing a nonliving object and reframing this has warm, cozy vibrations into "this object has preferences and needs," which is exactly how we get to having a panic attack over forgetting to ask your spoon for permission to eat cereal.

Which is all to say, just because objects you regularly use may gain unique energy signatures and repeatedly respond the same way under the same circumstances does not mean they are alive, any more than a baseball bat making a loud sound when it hits a baseball means that the baseball bat is alive and yelling.

Even if things are alive, it doesn't make them complex or self-aware

I just don't know how to step this out because it seems incredibly self-evident, but people really are out here acting like just because something is imbued with spiritual life it gives them the depth and mental complexity of a very advanced brain, like a pig or a dolphin or a 45yo human from Fresno, California.

You can, through willful magical action, imbue life into a tool. But that doesn't spontaneously create a self-aware, fully-formed being with a human-like mind.

Spiritual life can be as simple as a single-celled spiritual organism that eats one kind of energy and poops out another kind. Just because it's alive doesn't mean it's psychologically complex and emotionally advanced.

Even if it's complex and self-aware, that doesn't mean it has human concerns or needs

So the problem comes when people decide that all life must in some form or another reflect their own personal understanding of the human condition, so if something gains sufficient complexity it must mean it's essentially human.

Which is how we get to, "now that I've ensouled my tarot deck it will feel taken advantage of unless I take it out on a friends date and watch a movie with it, because it's a complete human trapped in a deck of cards. My tarot deck prefers Film Noir and fruit-palate desserts, and needs me to be a good listener."

(Protip: spirits can take many forms. Just because a spirit appears to you as a human doesn't necessarily mean it is human)

And because people really do believe stuff like that, they then get to, "oh my god, I wasn't performing mindfulness enough while I took my tarot deck out to the park, it's offended at my inattention and that's why my readings aren't working,"

Because there's nothing better than your spirituality making you feel like you're the problem friend desperately seeking approval from a group of cool kids who could take you or leave you.

If your animism makes you feel like you have to prove yourself to inanimate objects, it might be helpful to reconsider your worldviews.

The idea that anything could be alive is not the same as everything is alive, and even if everything is alive, the spectrum of aliveness shifts greatly from a single nonsentient repeating pattern, to bona-fide biological organisms.

Animism can be a wonderful worldview that encourages us to consider that the world around us is imbued with life. But that doesn't mean that your socks have opinions about your feet.

(inb4 "but this isn't what historical animism is, real animism was agreed to by our ancestors in a prehistoric Zoom call and there's only one right way to do it!")

[aprocessionofthoughts]

Slightly Less Partial Explanations

Ectoberhaunt’s 2023 day 16- revenant TW- none summary- Danny tries to explain

ao3 ectoberhaunt23 masterlist part 4 of DLM

“I’m guessing that you died, but then came back somehow.” 

Jason wanted to deny it, but something stopped him. 

The same thing happened to me.

It wasn’t possible. He had gone through a very specific set of experiences. They didn’t even know what brought him back originally!

But maybe… Maybe this kid knew.

“What do you mean?”

The kid gave him what looked like a sad smile. “When I was fourteen, I was in an accident. It killed me, but at the same time I was brought back to life. Now, I don’t know exactly what happened to you, but I can tell that you’ve also died and come back.”

“I’m alive though.” He had to be. 

“Mostly. You’re more alive than me at least. I’m half dead, and you’re more like one-fourth dead. If I had to guess, I’d say you’re a revenant– a spirit who came back to its body. Not that the GIW will care.”

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned them. Who exactly are they? You said they’re part of the government, but I’ve never heard about them before.”

“That’s because they’re a secret branch of the government.”

Jason raised an eyebrow.

Danny rolled his eyes. “They were formed to hunt down, experiment on, and exterminate all ectoplasmic beings. Like ghosts.”

“But how does that not go against the Meta Protection Act?”

Danny shrugged. “The government classifies any being that produces or needs ectoplasm to survive as non sentient and non sapient. They also say we can’t feel pain, which is a load of bull, but whatever.”

“That doesn't even make any sense.”

Danny shrugged, sipping at his hot chocolate. “It is what it is. Now I’ve got to head out. I’ve been here long enough. You’ve been really helpful and I wouldn’t want to bring trouble to your doorstep.”

Danny started to get up.

“Wait! What if… What if I told you that I know someone who can help?”

“Help with what?”

“Help protect you from the GIW and take them down too.”

Danny looked skeptical. “And who would do that?”

Jason hesitated. “I have connections to the Justice League.”

Jason hadn’t exactly known what reaction to expect, maybe surprise or disbelief, but definitely not the sneer Danny gave him.

“Those sanctimonious pricks won’t lift a finger to help.”

And wow, Jason never thought he’d be defending the Justice League but… “I know they have their issues, but they can help you.”

“They didn’t before, so why would they now?”

“What do you mean?”

Danny sighed, but sat back down. “When my town first got invaded by ghosts–”

“What!”

“We tried calling the JL. Several times! But they never answered. Even as the town was getting destroyed, even when we got pulled into the feakin’ Ghost Zone, they never responded.”

Jason frowned. “Look, I’m usually not one to defend the JL, but that doesn’t really seem like them. But all I want to say is that regardless of what they’ve done or not done, I know one of the members who for sure would help you out.” And he’d probably adopt you too, Jason thought, looking at this kid who was prime adoption bait.

“And who would that be?”

Jason was about to respond when Danny stiffened, his head tilted to the side.

“They’re here.” Danny turned to him. “I’ll try to lead them away, but I recommend laying low for a while. You’ve got something weird going on and your ectoplasm hasn’t yet fully integrated. I’d hate it if the GIW caught you before you really had a chance to live again.” Danny smiled sadly. “Hope to see you again, Jason. Take care of yourself.”

“Kid, wait–” Jason started, but suddenly he was alone in his kitchen. The only sign that anyone had been there, a dirty mug on the table and some bloody bandages in the trash can.

[bucketsquid]

Religion in the World of Splatoon - An Analysis

A thought struck me when I was thinking about the Horrorboros and how it’s pretty strongly intended to be an Eastern dragon-- “there really isn’t much discussion on the topic of religion and spirituality in the Splatoon world, even though it’s quite There”. I think that’s really interesting, because while it’s not a detail that’s front-and-center, it’s still pretty present in aspects of the world.

So, I offer you: a quick look and breakdown of religious + spiritual aspects in the funny little squid game. It’s not catch-all, I may miss fine details or this or that, but there’s some stuff that people often miss or are surprised to hear when I bring it up.

The tl;dr is that “yeah, it’s there. Squid Shinto is alive and well and we have, at least, canonization that the Squids (and Octopuses) acknowledge Christianity existing”.

But that’s not nearly enough for me, so read on if you want to see the details!

With the whole game taking place in mollusc-era Japan, there’s a good deal of “leftover” spiritual and religious aspects that remain or have otherwise been adopted by its cephalopod residents. I have a pretty strong case to say that Shinto still very much exists, and is a part of life, for Inklings and Octolings. Shinto at its core isn’t something that people with only a Western experience with religion and spirituality might easily pick out, simply because it’s treated and integrated into society somewhat differently. It’s something you have to approach after discarding your expectations, experiences and baggage involving what you know of religion. But it’s there, and really smoothly woven into Inkopolis.

(Pic from Splatoonwiki, higher res here.)

Skipper Pavilion is pretty intensely and obviously a center of traditional Japanese celebration and Shinto spirituality. It’s a theater first and foremost, not necessarily a shrine, but it has Shinto aspects present. Its two mudskipper statues are direct parallels to komainu statues, which you’ll often find guarding a shrine; they even have the “one with closed mouth, one with an open mouth” detail found in paired komainu statues. Clever attention to detail!

(Pic from Splatoonwiki, higher res here.)

Note these little areas with the blue curtains, too. The boxes of objects being sold remind me quite strongly of windows at shrines where you obtain omamori! Shinto shrines regularly offer these to people who give a donation, and they provide the shrine’s blessing to those who carry them on their person. (We never say that you buy or sell omamori.)

Finally, while I can’t find visuals of them, Splatoonwiki also says that there’s collections of ema plaques on the Skipper Pavilion stage as well. These are small wooden plaques that one typically writes wishes or desires on, before hanging them up with other ema. Like with the omamori, you can regularly find these at Shinto shrines, both in terms of ones you can obtain, and in space for you to hang them up. (If someone can find a screencap of the ema in this stage, I’d really appreciate it!)

9/1/24 Edit: You can somewhat see one of the ema plaques in this screenshot! It's to the right, slightly covered up by the ledge there.

...

Moving on from the Pavilion, there’s some other small details and indications of Shinto or a derived form of it in Inkopolis culture. One familiar sight is the Splatfest fax machine.

It’s the super-special fax machine that delivers our Splatfest themes! And it’s also implied to have a divine nature: the NA localization names it The Voice on High according to Splatoonwiki, while in Japanese it’s Kami-sama. That’s a very esteemed title for a fax machine: this implies that it’s seen as a divine being, and quite respectfully too.

While kami is often a catchall word for “god”, “deity”, and so on in Japanese, it also refers to the inherently Shinto concept of kami: a spiritual being that may be anything as great as a deity of heavenly power, or something as modest as the soul of an ancient tree. It’s a kind of difficult concept to fully explain in a brief thing like this... but it’s a huge deal. Given the attention to detail with Shinto aspects in Inkopolis, I think it’s no coincidence that the fax machine is called this. And I think that’s incredibly charming that Inklings saw this still-functioning relic from the human age and attributed divinity to it and its abilities.

Side note, but kami can refer to both "spiritual being as described above" and a form of the word "paper". The Splatfest fax machine is a glorious pun in this sense.

(This is more obvious, but note the ofuda (paper charms) attached to it in the photo; ofuda have a ton of different meanings and uses, but we can pretty safely assume it’s of a protective or otherwise spiritually-significant nature here.)

I’ll also go ahead and mention the message that comes with this Sunken Scroll: "Why are we here? For what purpose do we exist? We must not dwell on these questions. We can merely trust in the will of the universe and spend our days and nights in harmony with the world, celebrating this festival called Life."

Yeah, that feels very “practical Shinto thought” to me, speaking as a Shinto practitioner. While “contemplation of existence and purpose” are still perfectly good subjects, there’s also, often, an emphasis on living practically, focusing on the present day and your community, and being in harmony with the world. This fits in perfectly with that philosophy.

One more detail is that, originally, the Squid Sisters were meant to be shrine maidens of a sort. They were meant to pass on the messages of fax machine Kami-sama to everyone else... or in other words, announcing Splatfest themes. While you can’t see this shrine maiden DNA in their designs anymore, they kept the Splatfest announcement detail through development. In a sense, I guess all of the news announcers and Splatfest hosts have a relationship with the divine.

...

“Alright, that’s all super cool, Marine, but what about the other stuff? They have Squidmas and there’s those Sunken Scrolls too!”

Yup, they sure do. But from what we see in canon and from observations of the cephalopod world, these details feel like a case of “things that Inklings borrowed from humans and played with because they thought they were cool”, rather than “things Inklings kept and adopted because they were a part of the human culture in this region”. There doesn’t seem to be much of a presence of Squid Christianity much at all, at least in Inkopolis: Squidmas exists, but when discussed there’s absolutely no talk or evidence of any religious aspects that may have been lifted from humans. As far as we know, it’s “winter holiday that has some Christmas stage dressing”, which is a very Inkling thing to do with how much they like to borrow from humans. They love to do it so much.

Secondly, yeah, these two Sunken Scrolls do very much point at evidence of “the cephalopods found some traces of Christianity and made content based on it, or inspired by it”. The Book of Madai scroll is particularly pointed in its name, writing and artwork styles. But while this proves that this exists in some form, that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s particularly established in Inkopolis. We don’t have nearly as much evidence for Squid Christianity as we do for Squid Shinto, and it’s pretty safe to say that Squid Shinto is much more of a thing in Inkadia.

So what are we taking away from this? Mostly “yeah, religion and spirituality are very much a thing in the Mollusc Era, and it’s very elegantly woven into the setting”. Pretty cool if you ask me, it makes me really happy to find these thoughtfully-placed details where I then go “oh, I know what that is!”. It really adds to the hopeful post-human setting, that even after humans have long since gone extinct, their legacy still remains, and is celebrated and cared deeply for by the Earth’s new peoples.

I’ll probably add a small reblog to this later with my thoughts on the Inkantation and Salmonids, but this is definitely enough for one post.