#hi i shortened it but i am emotional :)

[theoxenfree]

android x reader | 35.6k | 18+ & dc

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

warnings; dark content, dubcon, themes of lack of bodily autonomy (mc + the android), forced insemination, breeding kink, forced pregnancy (not mc), implied abortion (not mc), major "mother wound", dystopian scifi setting, extreme classism, power imbalance, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, tragedy, graphic details, graphic depictions of body horror (towards the end), physical assault, deragatory descriptions (e.g. lepers, diseased, savages, unwanteds), drug use, heavy world building, heavy details & prose, dividers used between scenes!!

reposted from 2kmps; previously proofread by @ceruleansol

this story took six months from conception to end piece to complete. I am on my knees begging, please reblog + interact with this story!! I'd absolutely adore hearing your thoughts on it!

if you'd like to hear my thoughts about the story, I have some author's notes at the very end + q&a!

Researcher Kim knew you were a liar.

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

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

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

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

Not anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was no need to.

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

Many did.

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

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

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

Not them. Not you.

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

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

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

“Well, then…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You made no comment on that.

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

“Ah! Excellent timing, Elio.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They were all androids.

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

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

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

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

The great rebirth of society.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was their inevitable fate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He fixed you with a beguiling smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes met.

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

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

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

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

“How has that been working out?”

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

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

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

He didn't give you the time to gape.

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

“No.” You relented. “No. He doesn't.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One thing you hadn't anticipated after accepting the auditor position from Researcher Kim was how much work actually went into it. You spent well over the standard weekly work hours to collect enough observations to send off to Kim on Sunday nights, often whittling away at it until the latest hours, minutes before the deadline. It was hard enough to stay on top of his demands, but it was worse when he found something unsatisfactory, rejected it, monotonously unloaded heavy criticism on you through an “emergency” impromptu video call, and expected two full reports by the following Sunday before midnight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You'd remember to write that down later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The phone buzzed. Melby just replied.

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

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

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

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

You grinned at the sight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

———

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You said nothing.

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

Him and that stupid duck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Marcos nodded. “Yes, little one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“About Marcos being scrap…”

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

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

You looked into his eyes. “I wanted to make her hurt as much as she hurt me.”

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Indeed.”

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

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

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

“Elio.”

“Yes?”

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

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

You weren't nervous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“As you wish.”

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

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

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

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

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

It came in handy for his face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes. Alright.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

None of this made it into your next report.

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Melby didn't like Elio.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right away, “Come at nine!”

And then, “I'll save you a seat.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A hiss of annoyance. “Oh, of course…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn't really focus on that.

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

“Really hot!”

“So hot!”

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

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

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

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

“Oh, have you fucked him?”

“C'mon, don't hide it. How was it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elio nodded appreciatively.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?” You were elsewhere.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not a breath nor a feeble sob.

Don't touch him. Nothing.

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

Eat shit. Bitter silence.

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

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

They all looked exactly the same.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Keep your hands to yourself!” you screamed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, Elio. Don't.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elio was a machine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What are you trying to say?”

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

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

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

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

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

You did get sick again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He shouldn't have touched Elio.”

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

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

Emotions aside—Melby wasn't wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know me so well.”

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

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

“I don't know.” You really didn't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And, fuck you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mm-mn,” you hummed, “that's not it.”

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

Still, it couldn't have been possible.

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

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

“Answer me first,” you said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You guessed she never did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were as good as dead.

You were dead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let's go.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Execution,” you finished.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?” you ventured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was lying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“These memories are mine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You must—”

“I won't! I won't do it!”

“I'm asking you to save me.”

“Get away!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Safe and known. Unchallenged. Unafraid.

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

He shook his head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t make your hand stop.

You couldn't shout at him to get away.

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

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

He smiled resplendently. “I love you.”

“I know.” you said.

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

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

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

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

There was nothing left of Elio now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where are you?”

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

I'm right here.

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a/n: initially, this story was only supposed to be around idk 20-25k, but by the time I got to the scene with Mother, I realized that probably wasn't going to happen bc I needed to let the scenes I was writing take up space and unravel naturally. I felt like I wasn't going to be able to articulate everything I needed to to tell a compelling storyline without throwing the word count to the wind.

one critique I received from a good writing friend of mine was that the relationship between mi-sun and mc was nebulous, and would've benefited from more time. interestingly, I had an entirely different scene planned where mc actually did visit mi-sun at home and had to confront their past actions. mc's encounter in the slums was also totally different. in hindsight, I wish I had stuck with that original idea bc I feel like it would've really helped complete the world I tried to create. make the events of the story more meaningful.

in the future, if I decide to get this story published as a short novel, I'd probably rewrite the second half to accommodate for that missing scene. I think it'd extend the word count by several thousands of words as well.

I'd like to do a sequel to this, probably placed 10-20 years in the future where the mc of that story is a scientist hired for hyperion and comes across an android hellbent on destroying the company. maybe even a spinoff where I write a couple of short stories from regis & reyes where "you" take the role of reyes and solve crimes with your android sidekick, regis.

that's all I have to say. here's a quick q&a for questions I've been asked in the past:

what happens to mc? are they okay? no, but exactly what happens to the mc is entirely up to your own imagination. I will not elaborate on it, nor give you a "canonical" answer.

can you do a sequel? little side snippets? elio and mc's story has been told to the best of my current abilities. there is no room for a sequel for them, but as I've said, I'd like to make another story based on a different mc and android. the little snippets are also a no. little snippets based on other scenarios in the same world tho, yes.

what inspired the story? at the time of writing, anti-abortion laws became increasingly stringent in the US (where I reside), so this was partially me lashing out about that. additionally, I knew I wanted to do some sort of dystopian android x reader story with a heavy focus on stripped autonomy, so that was my time and chance to do it. at its core, it's heavily a cautionary tale.

did elio actually love mc? this is also up to interpretation. elio is a machine. he had zero real "human" components to him. I want people to remember this. elio is meant to blur those lines between what people think a machine is capable of vs how terrifyingly close to humanness technology can bring things like AI/robots. I withhold my own personal opinion on this bc it doesn't matter. what matters is what you believe in the end.

if you have anything you'd like to discuss, questions you'd like to ask: please send them my way!! thank you so much for reading!

I hope you'll consider reblogging + interacting with this post!!?💕💕💕

[anantaru]

okay but imagine making out w kazuha

cw. making out with kazuha <3, gn! reader

smooth lips— as smooth as silk, follow the trace of your jaw as kazuha without required haste, moves himself to your lips at last.

to the casual eye, he was suavely charming, a man who did not fear any forthcoming adventures ahead of himself. yet you— his sweet love, knew a whole different side of him that he deliberately kept concealed— one which was littered with deep, passionate feelings.

your kazuha was gentle and kind, sweet and wonderful while his love for you burned like a raging fire, though he portrayed this flickering emotion as unruffled and calm as a serene sea.

now, another precise twist and his skilled tongue rangers over your wet muscle, mapping out each and everything you gifted him— and the man catches himself molding into the shape of your lips as if attempting to fuse and relish your warm touches in double measure.

kazuha catches a shortened chime and laughs softly when he listens to your whimpers, a humming and soft kind of laugh that felt suited for this feverish situation, "am i moving too fast for you?" he wonders, voice low and sultry, bordering on becoming even sweeter.

"tell me." he plants a tempting peck on the tip of your nose, "and your wish is my command."

"no, don’t worry you're not." you smile away the gleaming flustered expression on your face, kissing his lips again, "you’re not at all—" and cut him off at last as your tongue slithered past his mouth again. kazuha deeply hums into your kiss as he slides his hands up your sides and something in your throat must've snapped as you whined out yet again, maybe it was the way he touched you, the way he added enough softness while alarming you of his need.

profoundly was the reason a more simple one— you're face to face, squeezed into one another and thirsty, and you breathe a little heavier when you heard your boyfriends first little gasps and hisses.

kazuha was just unfairly sexy, it almost stung and pained you to have someone so beautiful worship your every square. and then you remember that above everything and all, of course, he was yours and you were his.

no words couldn't possibly describe this pleased gratefulness ..

.. though a couple kisses certainly could.

©2023 anantaru do not share, copy, translate any of my work

[pigfacedbitch]

HIIII I'm a big fan of your work and I really love it your writing is amazing , this may be a weird request and if your uncomfortable you don't have to do it , it's fine I completely understand, so it's like merlin and Arthur and the reader and they are all soulmates and it's there first time meeting each other . Thank you in advance

Modern! Reader Gets Transported to Albion

idea : modern world! reader gets transported to Albion and meets Arthur and Merlin. unbeknownst to you and the prince of Camelot, the three of you are soulmates.

type : imagines

word count : 0.7k

pairing/s involved : Arthur x Reader, Merlin x Reader

warning/s : almost drowning, panicking

here is my masterlist!

Note : MY FIRST REQUEST! Whoever you are, thank you for reading my works and I might've changed a little bit in your request. Also, I apologize that it took so long, school has been keeping me busy. I hope you like it! 😊

You've always been a fan of BBC Merlin so when you had the chance to take a trip to Europe, you did.

You went to all the locations where they filmed the series like Château de Pierrefonds and Chislehurst Caves. The last destination is where the Lake of Avalon is; Forest of Dean.

Luckily you are alone, giving you the chance to fully enjoy the beautiful sceneries and serene atmosphere.

It made you feel a deeper sense of nostalgia and melancholy— how the precious characters you loved dearly died and were 'buried' there.

With one last selfie, you were about to walk back to you car when you hear it. A faint voice, filled with sorrow and longing.

"(Y/N)... Save us."

It's coming from the lake.

Something glimmers on it's shore, a sapphire drop necklace with golden chain. When you attempt to pick it up, the world begins to spin.

Suddenly, you were underwater.

Panic builds in your chest not because you can't swim, but an unseen force seems to harshly pull you down no matter how hard you try to stay afloat.

"Help me! Please, someone—"

Air runs out from your lungs when a pair of bulky arms grabs your body and begins to swim you to safety.

"Don't worry, I got you."

I heard that voice before.

The stranger easily carries you to ground, draping a large cloak on your shivering body. Rubbing your eyes for better sight, you look up...

Bradley James?

"Are you alright?"

No. You're certain that Bradley doesn't look that young anymore, keeping up with his latest activities online.

"I told you to be careful, Arthur!"

Turning your head, you see Colin Morgan run towards the two of you with a worried expression on his face.

He looks younger too.

"Ah, Merlin. Fetch the horses, she might need medical attention. May I ask for you name, my lady?"

Arthur? Merlin? Wait... Oh my God.

Realization hits you hard when both men stare at you expectantly, waiting for your answer.

The way they speak, their clothes, their appearances... it's exactly the same in the show you binge-watch every Christmas season.

Am I in the show? That's not possible...right?

"W-Where are we?"

"Camelot."

Shit.

You expect someone to go 'You just got punked!'; that would've been better than two men (who you have a huge crush on) staring at you, confused.

You waited for a moment but nothing happens.

This is real. I'm actually in Albion.

Fear and anxiety creeps into your system, as many questions form in your head. Did I die? What's going on? What season is this? How can I ever get back?

Due to the overwhelming emotions, your breath shortens and keeled over.

Bradley, or Arthur (You have no idea anymore), quickly catches you and gently carries you to his horse.

"We must make haste!" was the last thing you heard before you blacked out.

Merlin, on the hand, knew this would happen. In fact, he dreams of you.

He sees you in vague images, like old memories— happily kissing his cheek, witnessing him use magic, encouraging him to do another trick, etc.

He already etched in his mind your pretty face, your melodious voice, your playful grin— everything about you.

Then Arthur shares the same experience, dreaming about a woman who's description mirrors yours.

Kilgharrah told him that the woman of their dreams will arrive soon from faraway land and will play significant role in the prophecy.

However, the dragon didn't specify how. He only said—

"(Y/N) is your soulmate, Emrys. She sees you and Arthur in a light no one else ever will."

Soulmates are uncommon, even for druids. Only a few were blessed, to have something so wholesome and pure.

So when he heard your cry for help, he is ecstatic. You have finally arrived. His soulmate... and Arthur's.

He wryly smiles at this. Funny how he shares, not only his destiny with the prat, but also you.

The trip to the castle was faster than they anticipated. Arthur told him to call Gaius and meet them in his bedroom.

It caught the attention of everyone. The prince carrying an unconscious woman in his private chambers will surely stir gossip.

But Arthur didn't care, and Merlin didn't know if he should be proud or worried.

The court physician said you are healthy, they only have to wait for you to wake up. He left to attend other matters; leaving the three of you alone.

"This is her." The prince laughs in disbelief, incognizant of what Merlin knows. "The girl in my dreams, I can't believe it!"

Merlin tries to hide his smirk, Arthur can be so adorable when he's clueless.

"Nor can I, sire."

[mikanotes]

COMEBACK/APOCALYPSE

eunhyuk x gn!reader — 577 words.

genre: angst/comfort, (probably) established relationship

warnings: mentions of death, grief, and swearing. nothing else i think!

synopsis: Eunhyuk returns. You don’t know how to deal with it.

author’s note: i miss him so have this. also me when you’re coming back and it’s the end of the world and we’re starting over and i love you darling and i am done

“You’re dead.” you say, “I’ve finally made peace with that. You should not be here.”

Steady as your voice may be, you’re unsure how much of your carefully crafted detached exterior manages to hold up in the face of Lee Eunhyuk’s apparent return to life. He looks as calm as usual. The way he stares at you feels somewhat unnerving— A gaze that refuses to let go, one that pierces right through you.

You feel the walls around you crumbling before you can do anything about it. You never stood a chance. “Eunhyuk.” you sigh, tone almost pleading. Please tell me you’re real. Please tell me you’re alive. Even if it makes no sense, say it, please. You hold his gaze as he takes a few short steps towards you.

“I’m sorry.” he says. Your throat feels tight and your eyes sting. “That you grieved for something that wasn’t gone.”

This is so much worse. But there isn’t a good way this situation could’ve gone.

This is one year and some months of sinking into a void of growing despair, with nothing to grab onto to stop it. It’s one year and some months that really feel like a decade of your very heart withering away. It’s one year and some months of surviving a monster apocalypse, and somehow having the sight of the person you craved to see the most be the thing that truly breaks you. The floor feels like it’s disappearing under your feet. You’re falling again, and it feels ten times worse and more instant. Like death. You’re dying and he’s saying sorry for not ever truly leaving.

“No, I,” you pause, forcing yourself to actually breathe, “I grieved over someone that was gone. You were gone. This was over a whole year without a single sign from you. An entire year of forcing myself to believe everyone’s words. ‘He’s dead’, ‘He’s gone and under the crumbled building’, ‘You’ll never see him again’, that was real.”

Eunhyuk doesn’t say a word.

“I didn’t want to believe it. I was so sure of it— That you weren’t really gone. You wouldn’t leave so easily. I didn’t believe it at all.” you shake your head, gaze moving aimlessly, “I eventually had to stop believing, and I’m sorry that I did. But you can’t just come back this way.”

“Should I leave?”

He’s dead serious, the fool. Polite and conscious of the boundaries he might’ve pushed by simply making himself known to you again.

“No. Are you kidding me?” you take a step forward, but it’s awfully hesitant. Like if you get too close you’ll see his skin is translucent and he was never really there and you’d been yelling at the wall. “You can’t leave. Not again.”

What are you supposed to do with all these feelings? It’s terrifying. He really is here.

“What can I do?” he asks, tone as steady as you’d hoped yours would come out. Every moment you practiced that false image of calm, your reference had subconsciously been Eunhyuk. Calm and level-headed, mature, the perfect leading figure. You’d never see Lee Eunhyuk slip up over his own emotions. That’s what you strived for.

But as it turns out, it’s not easy to be like this.

So out of touch. You need to make sure.

“Take my hand.” you say, ask, “Please.”

He looks down at your hand, then back up at you when he shortens the distance between the two of you. His hand is careful when it takes yours, slowly bringing it up between both of your chests. His skin is just as cold as it was, as cold as you remembered. Rough, contrasting how gentle his movements are. You stare at him and he stares at your hand.

“Now?”

“Now you promise not to die without me.”

That’s not something he can promise, you know it already. His expression tenses for a moment, like he’s in pain, but it’s gone just as fast. “I can’t promise you that.” he says, looking up at you, “You know that.”

“You’re the worst person I know.” you say, lying through your teeth. Eunhyuk carefully reaches his free hand towards your face, pressing his palm to your jaw.

“I am, aren’t I?” he says quietly, expression unchanging. “I’d usually call bullshit, but I admit I sort of believe you, all things considered.”

You scoff but it’s hard for it not to turn into a laugh. It’s light and not the definition of happy but it feels somewhat comforting. Your heart feels painfully tight. There’s something inordinately scary about allowing yourself to hope again.

“You know, once it actually clicks in my head that you’re really here, I’m going to cry like I never have before?”

“Don’t waste your energy on that.” he hums, “Still, I’ll be here through all of it, if it happens. I’ll be there. I won’t leave again. Not like last time.”

You lean down until your forehead hits his shoulder. He moves his hand to the back of your head, and the other just tightens around your own. There’s no need for more than that to say I love you, silently, in your own way.

“You will?”

“I can promise you that much.”

[kit-williams]

Yandere Konrad

tw: baby trapping, Konrad Curze/Night Haunter having unhealthy interpersonal relationships, obsession, yandere

@bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog

@thevoidscreams @barn-anon @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @squishyowl @ms--lobotomy

@nekotaetae @sleepyfan-blog

I took Liberties with the word night haunter in nostroman using the latin of the word haunted: Uada and adding the prefix from this "asha" which is theorized to be first person so its more so "I haunted"

He coos at you his little scribe... he remembers first meeting you... your eyes sparkled so brightly. You weren't from Nostromo so he tried to not judge so harshly... your being... your presence... your aura... tasted sweeter and clean when you were in his presence doing what you were told. Being good till he remembers hesitating one time trying to remember what Father had called him and you opened your mouth for a moment before closing it. It wasn't your job to speak it was your job to listen and write.

"What is it little scribe." He spoke.

He could hear the way you swallowed your saliva the nervousness in your heartbeat, "Do you have another title you go by?"

You were the first Scribe to ask that, "Solruthis Uadasha. The Night Haunter in gothic." He replied as he watched you pull out a smaller journal and scribble it down quickly. His eyes watched the way your mouth tried to mimic the same words and sounds. He moved closer and closer gently correcting your pronunciation of his name.

"Do you prefer to be called this?"

"Yes."

You just nod as he sees you read over something and smile. "Few smile like that when learning my name little scribe." He speaks calmly.

"It is probably because I am not Nostroman that I find it appealing. Also the fact your name starts with Sol." He did not stop you so you continued oblivious to the darkness in his eyes, "Sol is the name for the star in the Terra system. And if you shorten your name to Sol well I find it very fitting to be in the presence of a sun." You said dooming yourself with a smile.

Sol and Uada is how you shortened his name; when he let you. His skin crawled pleasantly when you called him Sol with such tender affection as you were so easily distracted away from noticing the madness filling his gaze. You hardly noticed how fewer and fewer scribes would be working for important events... oh it was far too late when you noticed how close to the gates of hell you were.

Sex upon Nostromo was always a transaction... that was not the case for you. You had no ulterior wants when you let the Primarch ruin your body. "Sol... Sol...Sol..." You would chant and slur out as his body would rock against yours or as you bounced down on him. He was no better than any of the scum on his home planet as he took so much more from you during sex. Boundaries you tried to keep up crumbled under his wills and want and besides... few could say they took a primarch raw.

You didn't know yet. It was clear to the Primarch as you sat with the other scribes... you didn't know what half of the transaction he had given you. He tried to warn you that sex always was a transaction upon Nostromo... you simply wanted the emotional connection and to express your affection for the Primarch in such a human way... what he wanted? To give you his baby. To keep you by his side.

He found you sitting in the bathroom in your room retching up your breakfast as his eyes look over the recent medica report just sitting on your desk with the blood work telling them that you were pregnant. You look up at him with a soft whimper, "Sol, Please don't be mad." He allowed himself to be caught holding your recent medica report.

His face not betraying his giddiness he felt , his voice not betraying the way his hearts rushed with excitement. You wouldn't leave now. "My little Sorsollia... why would I be mad?" He moves far more like a creature with the way he cocks his head to the side as he slowly moves closer and closer as she lets him enter the space... crouching with ease as he grins as he nuzzles the top of her head, "I figured I was unable to create in this way." He tilts her head up slightly, "I should be asking... are you mad at me?"

Your sparkling eyes look away for a moment but unlike his brother Fulgrim he knows his prey so well... your eyes return to meet his own, "No... I'm not mad. It's just an accident." Your mouth hangs open as sadness fills your scent, "I've... I've ruined my career." You cover your face with your hands. "I... I... I... I'll be utterly blacklisted." You say as your fear and despair tastes so delightful as he pulls you closer to him. "I don't know what to do." You say as you start to cry just confused... so far away from what you know...

"Shhh shh Sorsollia... " He has you look up at him again, "Have you forgotten whom the father is?" He trills as his accent thickens just leaning in and kissing her neck... trailing up to kiss those tears away as he moves with ease out of the confined space. "I will take care of this... this should be seen as something to be celebrated. " He croons as he carries you off trying not to wickedly grin at how he's insured that you cannot and will not want to leave his side.

[alicerosejensen]

I love your page so much omg. I‘m literally obsessed with your work😭🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

Also I have this imagination in my mind going on about how Leon would try to help his girlfriend from recovering from her mental health issues since she’s always helping him. I was recently thinking about how he would react finding her not moving on the bathroom floor and trying to bring her back! I rewatched American horror stories and the scene with tate and violet in the first season episode 6 (ig?) is always in my head. I‘m still recovering from my past and my unhealthy habits and tbh recovery never felt better.

If this is too much for you or triggering please ignore this.🫶🏼❤️

I had a terrible period in my life when I was a few steps away from doing something like this in my life and unfortunately this shit often comes out. I'm not sure that such texts help me work through my psychological traumas, which were, in fact, inflicted on me and continue to be inflicted by close people who do not consider me a person, but at least such works help me to vent my pain, which I cannot permanently bury in myself.

I have been postponing this request for a long time because I was probably waiting for the right moment to write this text.

There are mentions of suicide, psychological trauma, severe self-doubt and anxiety, so if this is not acceptable to you, then please just block it.

Perhaps there is a similarity with my previous texts, but I am writing this with strong emotions now that I am trying to cope with it again.

the text is chaotic, I repeat, written while I was under the influence of strong heavy emotions. Maybe I'll delete it later, when my brain gets back to normal a little bit.

If a songbird doesn't sing well, they wring its neck.

Maybe it was the costs of Leon's profession and the result of his constant missions, after which something human is gradually dying in him despite the constant struggle to save everyone. Raccoon City was supposed to teach, if not to survive, then make him begin to understand that some are doomed to die.

Leon Kennedy was taught not to offend, but to protect the weak, especially weak women. But it is difficult to calm the flow of disordered thoughts and put aside the fear that has seized him in order to clamp bloody wrists and apply something to them to stop the blood. Leon knew many strong women: Ada was perhaps the first among them, he did not know either her past or her real name, only the present that pushed their foreheads against each other; Claire, a fighting friend of misfortune that he met in that ill-fated city; Ashley, who turned from a baby eagle into a proud eagle; Angela Miller and others…

Your strength dissolves in the water, coloring it scarlet while your heart stubbornly still beats, let the rhythm noticeably shorten.

In truth, over the past few months it became clear that this was the only way out. When even your loved ones considered you an expired product and did not hesitate to remember this and remind you every time. In the end, their words turned into an obsessive worm that settled in your head, slowly day after day, month after month, devouring you and the circumstances seemed to be not in your favor. Instead of support, you somehow faced reproach, as if the universe was screaming that you were an wrong person, nature's mistake who had no right to live.

Escape attempts were doomed to failure. At first you tried to suppress it in yourself, helping Leon, because, in your opinion, he was the only one who had the right to complain about life, although he did not do this in front of you, because everyone said that you had no problems: you have everything limbs, there are no fatal diseases, all loved ones are healthy and there is a roof over your head, as if this is enough to not fall for nonsense and not walk around forever with a sad face.

This was the last time you shared your experiences. You didn’t even bother telling Leon, but everything inside was torn from constant pain. The feeling was as if you were being beaten by two extremes that led you to the edge of an abyss where you ultimately voluntarily jumped.

no, you really loved him, it was just other people’s words and your own speculation that convinced you, despite your strong relationship with him, that Leon would find someone better, someone more confident in himself, someone who would not be you because you had already missed the chance for a good life because it moved too slowly. Ultimately, a couple of sips of alcohol with sleeping pills and a sharp blade in his hands simply promised to correct the mistake in the form of you with your own hands.

You didn't have the courage to do it any other way.

But you really didn’t think that if you could try to open up to your loved one, you would meet support and not condemnation. Perhaps in a mad world he would be the only one who would heal your wounds as you healed him in your time. Leon clenched his teeth, feeling tears flowing down cheeks, seeing these crimson stains, when he pulled your body out of the bath, holding you close to him, repeating “I’m holding you. It's allright"

He so carefully laid you on his lap, managing to pull out a first aid kit and then bandages to tightly, albeit carelessly, wrap them around your wrist in order to somehow stop the bleeding. At least you were still breathing, thereby giving him hope that everything could still be fixed. the darkness and emptiness came to life, calling in a whisper to dissolve into eternal silence where there is no pain or condemnation. Your body will be in a grave under a gray stone, while the remains of your soul will float like a small grain of sand in infinity.

For Leon, everything happens in a fog; he tried more than once to save people, but he had no right to lose in this battle, even if you yourself surrendered to death. Shaking his head, brushing away the tears, he wrapped your body in a large terry towel, kissed your temple and picked you up, trying to somehow warm you, pressing you closer to him. the ability to provide first aid in the field and pull suicides out of the other world is not the same thing. Leon would have thanked God if he had believed in him, convinced that blood loss was the least of the evils that you had caused yourself, until he saw the remains of some substance at the bottom of the glass that stood on the table along with an almost full bottle of alcohol.

You really didn't give him a chance.

The ambulance took several minutes, which seemed like an eternity. In fact, Leon wasn't sure if it was worth trying to make you vomit when you'd already lost so much blood that it was already seeping through the bandages. Surely you would need a transfusion and Leon is ready to give you all his blood if only you would wake up. Holding his breath, he carefully looked at your chest, watching whether you were breathing and fortunately, your heart was still beating, slowly, but it was still fighting for life.

He stroked you on the head, kissed you, promised that he would take you somewhere else, quiet, where no one would dare to offend you, even if it was your family. You could have just asked him for help, just cuddled up to him and he would have protected you from other people’s attacks, but you preferred to remain silent. Kennedy was tired of waiting for the medical staff to let him in, although relatives should be allowed to see the patient first, but the position of a government agent sometimes had its advantages, and they concerned not only the high salary. When he was let in to you, it seemed to him that you had become half your size while you were lying on the bed, curled up under the blanket. It didn’t work out to pull off a beautiful suicide, which meant that soon angry relatives would come here with new sweat of bile especially for you. They won’t care about your feelings, but Leon sat down next to you, trying not to intrude too much into the space in which you imprisoned yourself, as if this blanket cocoon could be a separate world where you could hide. He spoke to you carefully, hating himself for not being able to understand in time what was wrong with your behavior; perhaps if he had been more attentive to you, the incident could have been avoided. You would see a psychotherapist, take a course of medication, and your environment would definitely be taken care of.

You cry, not letting him come to you, hating how you weren't just left to die and how much you hate this world. Hysteria after hysteria, nervous breakdown after nervous breakdown, in the hospital you repeatedly tried to commit suicide, but the attentive staff managed to prevent this before you inflicted fatal injuries on yourself, and if after some time Leon still managed to carefully break through your armor, then your loved ones This did not concern relatives in principle. You only allowed one person to visit you while you were undergoing psychological treatment and you behaved calmer and calmer, listening to the velvety words that soon all this would be behind you.

“We’ll go home soon,” Leon smiled, gently holding your hand and kissing your forehead, just glad that you’re alive, that you’re breathing and that your psycho-emotional state is slowly but improving. “You know, I have a surprise for you, I think you’ll like it when we get home.”

Soon what happened will become another nightmare in his life, a blessing with a good ending, but for the sake of this happy ending, Kennedy is ready to descend into hell at least every day.

You nod at him and smile a little, fearing that the gift is some kind of party on the occasion of your discharge. In fact, the last thing you want is to see someone’s faces, especially those who diligently hammered into your head how insignificant you are. Why do you even hope that the doctor will postpone your discharge, but the plans for your further treatment were completely different.

On the other hand, after taking antidepressants and psychological help in a special medical institution, how many men are ready to stay with their girlfriends who have been there for several months? For Leon, it seems this was not a significant problem, or he simply carefully did not show it. However, there were no parties, no calls, you simply returned now to his home where there were new interior items. it became somehow more comfortable... but something else surprised you.

Puppy. A small puppy of a couple of months old ran towards you and Leon to meet both of them, but stopped and began sniffing your shoes, while something thawed in your heart.

“Animals seem to help us well, They feel when we feel bad, it seems to me a good idea to get us a little companion,” Leon said quietly, stroking your back while you were busy with the puppy, rejoicing at the little living soul who will love you with the same pure and devoted love.

Ultimately it should have a happy ending too. Leon is ready to go to great lengths so that his beloved songbird starts smiling and singing happy songs again, even if it is necessary to remove other birds from her family who sleep and see how to pluck all her wings again.

You and he also have a chance for a happy ending.

[shadowqueenjude]

Lol this is incredibly fucked up and I don’t think Tamlin or Lucien in canon would ever actually do this but it was too freakishly weird not to write. Based on this post by @nocasdatsgay This takes place the day after the Solstice after Lucien gifted Elain those pearl earrings.

Tamlin found his old friend once more in his delapidated manor, looking even more miserable than the face Tamlin saw in the mirror every day. That’s when Tamlin knew it was bad.

His friend, his Lucien, always so bright and witty and strong, reduced to this lifeless thing. Part of it was Tamlin’s own fault. Much of it was his family’s fault. And the rest…well Tamlin guessed it was the Night Court’s fault. He clenched his fists and squeezed his eyes shut to try and control the emotions roiling through him.

Tamlin walked up behind Lucien slumping on the couch. He showed so little reaction that for a moment Tamlin almost thought he couldn’t sense his presence.

“I don’t understand,” Lucien said at last.

Tamlin stilled, listening to the Autumn court male speak.

“I protected her in Hybern. I traversed Prythian for her. I demanded she get sunlight and fresh air from the Inner Circle. I journeyed across the content to seek an army based on her vision. I returned with a retinue complete with her own father, and I fight across the battlefield to reach her, and she asks me to stay in Velaris. Then nothing. Avoids me like the plague. I understand she wasn’t expecting all this and she was in love…but was I not also? Yet I’m trying to make the most of this and she…pushes me away. I learn about her. I gift her garden gloves. I gift her pearl earrings. She loves gardening and pearls. She seems to dislike my gifts. She cringes away. I feel her attention towards that dark angry shadowsinger. He despises me for some reason. I don’t understand. Am I that unlovable?” Lucien seemed to be talking to himself.

Tamlin’s heart strained at the longing and anguish etched on his face. All these years, Tamlin had hid much of his true darkness from Lucien, not wishing him to ever wear that expression. His hopes had been for naught, for there he was. Oh, he wore it so well, but he should never have to bear the burden of this pain. Part of it was Tamlin’s fault; he’d do whatever he could in order to make up for it.

Tamlin swallowed and cleared his throat. “You are not. You’re not unlovable, I mean.” He finished with a whisper, “I love you, Lucien. And I’m so sorry.”

Lucien looked at him then, his mismatched eyes burning with a fire that raised the temperature of the entire room. “Are you her? Are you my mate? Elain?” he demanded with a bitterness that threatened to undo Tamlin’s composure.

Tamlin swallowed. He had sworn to never do this long ago, but he was a different man then. A better one. More whole than he was now. Now he was but a shred of a man, a broken man with a broken throne.

“I could be,” he croaked. He couldn’t believe what he was saying. Monster, a voice hissed in his head. Oath-breaker. Ah well, what was another thing broken?

He didn’t know Elain Archeron’s exact proportions, which was a relief because he didn’t want to violate her. But he remembered her face, and he willed his emerald eyes to transform to that of a fawn’s coat, his hair to darken slightly to a burnished gold, his stature to shorten, his rugged body to grow elegant curves, until he was Elain’s double. Tamlin’s pants, now far too baggie for him, slipped down his body until he was left in his oversized shirt, which hung off his shoulders.

Lucien’s fiery eyes softened, his voice filled with affection and concern as he murmured, “Elain?”

“Lucien,” Tamlin sighed in Elain’s voice. He felt so disgusting, but if it was what Lucien needed to feel comfortable in this very moment, he would do it. Tamlin could do with the comfort himself, lonely as he was now.

“Elain,” Lucien breathed again, one hand tentatively reaching out towards Tamlin-no, Elain. It was Elain he was reaching for; Tamlin had to do well to remember that.

Tamlin couldn’t bring himself to care much longer about propriety when Lucien grabbed his hand and yanked him onto his lap. His breaths became hard and heavy as that hand trailed up his inner thigh.

“I want you so badly,” Tamlin gasped as Lucien’s hand went to the hem of his shirt. Lucien leaned forward, his mouth brushing the spot where Tamlin’s neck met his shoulder. Then it trailed up, up, until he reached his ear, leaving embers in its wake. “Shall I take this off then?” he crooned, tugging on the shirt. “Yes,” Tamlin let out barely, and Lucien slowly began pulling it off, brushing the skin it left exposed as he went. One hand was firmly on Tamlin’s breast as the other lifted the shirt off of his head. Lucien then stared and stared at Tamlin with a fire that had he been standing, would’ve made him weak to the knees.

“The most beautiful faerie I have ever seen,” Lucien whispered, gently pushing Tamlin flat onto the couch. Such pretty words he spoke against his skin as Lucien took his time, starting from the forehead, moving down the slope of his nose, his cheeks, the bow of his lips, his neck, his collarbone, his chest, his stomach, skipping over the place Tamlin needed him most, caressing his thighs, his calves, his ankles. Tamlin whined and grabbed Lucien’s head, pulling it between his legs.

Lucien chuckled darkly. “So desperate for me, are you, Elain?”

By the Mother. Tamlin could not help but feel envy. Lucien wanted to do all of this to her. It was beyond him why Elain was still turning Lucien down. Were Tamlin in her place, he would’ve accepted the bond without hesitation.

Mind foggy with pleasure and envy for the lady he was impersonating, Tamlin could only form one word.

“Yes.”

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hi! I want to know your head canons on SLANG! What sort of things to wizards say to sound cool or evoke thoughts or feelings? What sayings might they have? Do we maybe have any in common with them?

We know that “to have a hairy heart” means to be aloof or cold. (Fm Tales of Beedle the Bard)

I once read a very compelling headcanon that Americans would never use no-maj (for non-magical) as a term cuz they like to shorten things so much, and so American wizfolk would use either ‘noma’ or ‘nomie’. As an American I agree tbh.

I hc that the Hogwarts motto “Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus” [never tickle a sleeping dragon] to be a kind of slang for “don’t do that”.

Like, your friend is getting ready to sneak out of her dorm to go see a guy even though she knows Peeves has been feisty lately. “….Draco dormiens, Molly,” you whisper as she sneaks out the door.

Yeah! Any thoughts?

I love this, and I definitely think there are wizard versions for some common phrases we have (and we actually see some in the books). In my fic I try to add magical variations of phrases to make the world feel more real.

I'd say which shortened version of no-maj would be said would depend on where in the US the wizard is from. I imagine some areas would say "noma" some would say "nomie" and I'm sure there would be other variants. I think it'll just really depend on location.

But most of the idioms and slang I have headcanons for are for the UK.

Some examples I've written into my fic:

Hit him like a bludger - would mean having a strong emotional reaction, like "hit like a ton of bricks"

You look like a dementor’s got you - generally to mean one looks upset or down.

Eating away at his brian like the Fwooper’s song - to mean something is occupying your thoughts, but like, to obsessive levels.

I also like the idea of:

"Confunded" - being used as the word "befuddled"

"Demiguise" - used to the same as calling someone a wallflower, since they become invisible.

"Keep the egg under the toad" - references the process of breeding a basilisk, which is illegal. Means to keep something quite or on the downlow.

"Are you yanking my wand?" - used like saying "are you joking me?" and is an extension of the saying "yanking your wand" that appears in Deathly Hallows.

"Polishing your wand" - is a real thing Cedric and other wizards apparently do, but I am convinced it also refers to jerking off.

"Until the Jobberknoll sings" - kinda like "it isn't over until the fat lady sings", since a Jobberknoll only sings on the moment it dies.

Similarly, saying "Joberknoll song" instead of "Swan song"

"Swearing like a Jarvey" - Like "Swearing like a sailor" since Jarveys are known for being rude and swear a lot.

I have a few more I wrote/thought of, but these are some off the top of my head.

There is also this wiki page that has a list of wizard idioms used in Harry Potter and it's extra semi-canon content (like the video games and pottermore). I don't consider all of this list canon, but there are some I like there, like:

Breed like gnomes (From DH) - meaning breed like rabbits and said by Muriel about the Weasleys

Different kettle of Grindylows (from Hogwarts Legacy) - like saying "different kettle of fish" or "another can of worms"

Dodged a bludger - like "dodged a bullet"

Don't count your owls before they are delivered (from HBP) - like "don't count your chickens before they hatch"

The fire's lit, but the cauldron's empty (from DH) - like "the lights are on, but nobody's home"

I could eat a Hippogriff (from GoF) - like "I could eat a horse"

I'll take Cadogan's pony (from pottermore) - roughly means to make the best of a bad situation

Knockturn Alley's litter epidemic (from GoF) - means something obvious/boring

Yanking your wand (from DH) - means to joke around.

Anyone who has more of these wizard common phrases headcanons, feel free to add more!

[sunshine-and-christmas-caryls]

My thoughts on The Umbrella Academy’s season 4 Love Triangle. Spoilers below!

Please Note:

This is ridiculously long and consists of my thoughts and interpretations of the characters and their motivations/ feelings based on what we got to see from the show. They aren’t necessarily right or wrong for the characters- they are literally just my interpretations and likes and dislikes with how they handled the love triangle in this season of the Umbrella Academy.

I do not want to get in debates or arguments about the merits of either couple, if the storyline should have been included in the first place, of what is in or out of character, or about who is endgame, or anything else. If you agree with my opinions cool; if you disagree with them cool; if you want to share those thoughts or have a conversation about it, also cool.

But please skip this post if you’re just looking for a fight. This was more for me to organize my thoughts on them, and share for others who found Five and Lila as a couple unexpectedly (for me at least) engaging.

Other Things to Note that I don’t really get into in the main body of this:

-I think there are a hell of a lot of plot holes and inconsistencies, and some poor dialogue scripting in season 4. Some of which really, really bother me. But I think the storylines and plots had potential as concepts and could have been done so much better had there been more money & care to make more episodes. (Some of the concepts would probably have needed much more time than a full season to really be done well though...)

Overall, I didn’t hate season 4 so much as I was kind of underwhelmed and a little disappointed by it. [But if we’re being honest, while I like TUA overall, I do think each season was at least a little bit worse as a whole than the previous one anyway, despite there being good and/or great parts to every season too…]

-I did feel like most of the characters were a little off compared to how they acted in previous seasons. However I don’t know if that had more to do with:

a) lazy and/ or rushed writing, or

b) the plot/ time skip

I am one of those who thinks Five actually is a little calmer in nature, but a lot more manic the more stressful and pressing the situation gets. However he doesn’t have a lot of the same smugness and sarcasm that I was expecting either. Diego doesn’t have the same kind of determined motivation he shows in previous seasons, and Lila is a little less chaotic even if there are still a few hints at it.

Now part of that, I think, is due to the 6 years time difference and the characters growth that we missed during that. Especially considering their new circumstances: Diego and Lila being parents and Five, for the first time since he first time traveled to the future, was not in the middle of (nor actively trying to stop) an apocalypse. Plus ALL the characters had adjustments to make in being without their powers.

Part of it, I’m assuming, is also because of the shortened episode count leading to a poorer script overall. And I’m hoping that had we got a full season we would have been able to see a little more of their previous characterization come through too.

-My opinion about Five’s sexuality since that seems to be a topic of conversation for some who felt he was OOC in that regards:

To be honest I don’t really have a clear idea of it, other than he is absolutely not aromantic, in my opinion. I can respect your opinion if you do/did and were disappointed, but he thought up a wife for himself when he was alone- not friends or a substitute of his family. To me that just means he’s a big romantic at heart.

Whether he’s asexual, Demi-sexual, bi/pan or straight otherwise, I honestly have no clue. I think I gravitate towards him needing an emotional connection for him to have a fulfilling relationship in the show. But I think I saw somewhere that he got around a lot in the comics, and I could see that too if that’s the unspoken assumption they were using.

Side note on Dolores: I thought 5’s romance with her was a great addition to 5’s personal story and as a way to show the basic human nature of needing others, but I’m also kind of glad that she didn’t actually become real, because at the end of the day, she was a delusion of his, and I don’t really want to see that story. (Just my opinion; no harm meant to others who would have liked that plot.)

-Sometime around the middle of season 3, I actually remember thinking that if Aiden/ 5 had been older or Ritu/ Lila younger, I would have shipped the shit out of the characters because of their symmetry and contrasts. However, I also immediately dismissed the thought because the physical age gap IS a little weird for me. I didn’t read their scenes as necessarily romantic or sexual, so much so as they could have been if they were of the same age (at least for me).

In universe, I took it as the characters being kind of fascinated by each other, both getting enjoyment out of goading and poking at one another, but there wasn’t really genuine interest in pursuing each other either. (In hindsight of season 4, though I suppose it was really laying the groundwork for what would eventually turn romantic.)

I thought the writers were going to make Five and Lila the “platonic besties who, to a stranger, looked like they were a couple but really weren’t” and Diego and Lila were going to be the “contentious and passionate couple who argued as much as they loved”.

After season 4 though, I adjusted my thinking, and that’s kind of the basis around my opinions in the main body below.

****************

By the end of season 3, I thought Diego and Lila might have been the best relationship that was still on going. Despite that, I couldn’t bring myself to ship it either. They were never True Love/ OTP material for my tastes, because while they certainly had passion, they lacked the kind of emotional connection that would draw me in. (Don’t ask me what that is specifically because most of the time I have no idea what makes me ship one couple over another…) So, even though I think it had the most development, I also was just not attached to them as a couple.

And maybe my apathy towards them as a couple is making me biased, but Diego and Lila being unhappy with each other and their domestic life made sense to me. It was surprising, because I thought they were going to make them a “happy violent” couple, (or at least something more along the lines of what the rest of the fandom had expected) but not truly shocking either.

Diego and Lila had only known each other for about four months by the time season 3 ended. And again their actual romantic scenes mostly take place during the few days we see on screen in season 2. It might not have been as quick as a “love at first sight” arc, but it was definitely a whirlwind romance.

Also, Lila grew up under the Handler and was primed from the start to be her weapon. So, I think Lila being around Diego for months (I’m working with the assumption that she was in the institute nearly as long, if not longer than Diego) would naturally lead to her becoming infatuated with him.

After all, Diego is a handsome, good, & maybe a little bit goofy man who cares about people and justice, and loves his family; and they had a lot of passion/ sexual connotations to their scenes. I feel like he was everything she thought she ever wanted.

And it was much the same for Diego. She was the wild, manic pixie girl of his dreams whose personal brand of crazy drove him mad as well. He’s got childhood trauma, too, which he relates to with her, and I think in the beginning he kind of viewed her as both damsel in distress and partner in crime, which would appeal to his need to be a hero and his desire to not be alone.

(I’ve always thought of Diego as the most insecure of the siblings, and his need to be THE hero- not just any hero but the main star of the show kind of hero- was the way he hid from his inner insecurities and desire to fit in and be noticed.)

Season 2 was essentially Diego and Lila falling for each other despite being on opposing sides; and it’s clear that both had strong feelings for each other. Season 3 picks up immediately after and is also only a few days long. The main plot point for Diego and Lila’s relationship in this season, was essentially them deciding to give their relationship a go and establishing them as soon to be parents.

Season 3 also continues some precedents that were set in season 2, and continue in season 4. (Lila lying, Diego not noticing or misunderstanding a part of her character, Five and Lila having a side adventure/ arc on their own, and Diego noticing Lila was around Five.)

Now there are obviously more details and nuances to both seasons- showing Diego and Lila both feeling like they can open up to each other a bit more than they felt they could with others, showing their desire for a family, and to be better than their parents, establishing the fear of failure in that regards (at least for Lila) etc.

And while It might not have been my ship, I don’t want to diminish their bond either. Diego and Lila obviously had a connection and cared a great deal about each other, and were probably happy and in love for a while too. But none of that changes that fact that Diego and Lila had a whirlwind romance built amidst lies and high stakes, end-of-the-world stress, on top of an unplanned pregnancy, all within only knowing each other for 4 months at most.

And in light of that, it’s not actually surprising that when the dust settled and things were calmer, the cracks in their foundation were visible. I think they were both swept up in their connection to each other and their dreams of having a family and life better than what they had, that they never saw that maybe they weren’t quite right for each other, maybe they each needed something a little different than what the other could offer.

It’s clear in the first episode that they are not in the best of places as individuals nor as a couple. Diego hates his job and is constantly complaining about his life. He’s a bit suspicious of Lila and her whereabouts but also seems to miss, or at least underestimate, how hard things are on Lila.

Lila is visibly and verbally struggling with her role as a mother, as being too tied to that identity, and is sneaking out of the house to do undercover work and lying about it to her husband. She’s constantly badgered with Diego complaining, but also kind of fails to acknowledge that his motivation for doing a job he hates is to provide for their family.

Neither of them are truly happy with the way their lives turned out. And I think a large part of that was because they tried to change themselves to fit the mold of what they thought they should be in their dreams of a family, rather than finding a balance of being themselves with and as a family.

But there’s a disconnect between them as a couple too. From their scenes in episode 1-4, I got the impression that Diego, while clueless to Lila’s unhappiness/ struggles, nonetheless still had feelings for her because he was still trying to show off to her (the chef had the wrong technique, throwing the axes blind, holding her whilst convincing her to go on the road trip, etc.).

I got the impression that for Lila it was the opposite. She still loved him as a person and a father to her children, but she couldn’t bring herself to feel the same way she did in the previous seasons either. Every overture he made, even if it wasn’t exactly the most romantic, she met with annoyance or disdain. And while she might have laughed at him previously, she also defended him too. This season she was the one poking at him the most without defending him really at all.

Had she never got lost on that subway with Five, maybe they would have been able to work it out and it really was just a slump for them, one of the lower points in the ups and downs that every couple experiences. But (in my opinion at least) her annoyance in Diego’s attempts at reaching out and the fact that after six years she still felt the need to lie to him rather than talk about her unhappiness were more a sign that the romantic love was gone for Lila. That after the initial whirlwind romance and honeymoon period, she wasn’t quite in love with him anymore; at least, not in the “you’re my forever person” kind of way.

But I think she’s stubborn, and she so wanted a family with him, that it kept her from saying anything about what she was going through for so long. And I think Diego was totally oblivious to this in the face of his own struggles with domesticity, but I also think that maybe he was a little less in love than he thought too?

I’m of mixed opinions on this, but it felt a little weird to me that he was more upset- at least in the moment- that she went undercover than that she had potentially cheated. It could just be that in the moment he was so upset to be left out of the action that he wasn’t really thinking about how much bigger of an issue it would be had she cheated. (Or maybe cheating just isn’t as big a deal to him as it would be to me? Like I said I don’t have a good read on this…)

But I could also see it as potentially showing him having settled into his choice in loving her forever rather than truly feeling- without falter- like she was his forever person. Either way he definitely still has feelings for her, and that’s what made me so much more sad for Diego.

Especially because, in the end, it was his brother that it happened with. I feel like her choosing to save Five at the Mexican Consulate in season 2 instead of him has always sat in the back of his mind, and that’s why he’s always noticed when they are together. Of course he went through the realization that she had first used him to get close to/ watch Five, but when she came back to bring him into the Commission he knew she had genuine feelings for him too, and I don’t really think he questioned it much after that.

But it’s something that I think stayed with him, lurking in his subconscious. Knowing that when he was on a metaphorical ledge and first reached out to her for help, she chose Five instead. And that’s why he always noticed when Lila and Five were together.

Also, I think the first two greenhouse scenes spoke volumes about both (though indirectly for Diego & Lila’s) relationships. It was mentioned at least twice in season 3 that Lila’s worried about not being cut out for a maternal, domestic role, and her struggles in the beginning of season 4 probably felt like confirmation of that to her. But then we see in episode 5 that she can be happy in a softer domestic role, when she’s with the right person.

I’m 100% aware that it’s different for Lila and Diego with the kids and real world things like mortgage, school, taxes, etc. than it is for Five and Lila who only had each other & whose sole focus is on surviving and getting back to their home. I understand the nuances make a HUGE difference. But at the end of the day, for Lila they are two sucky -albeit very different kinds of sucky- situations with two different men. And she’s happier making do with one than the other.

Which brings me to the Five/ Lila portion of things. I was VERY caught off guard by the fact that the writers/ producers actually went there. As in all the way up to episode 5, I thought the writers were just making hints of Lila/ Five as a red herring, or to highlight Diego’s insecurities. But then I saw the intro to episode 5, and thought oh, they were actually building them up as a potential couple. And the greenhouse scenes sealed it for me- whatever they might say, the writers really went there and let Five and Lila fall in love.

It was both a slightly uncomfortable and a very pleasant surprise. I’m not a big fan of big age gaps, they tend to leave me feeling a little icky, but there have been several ships of mine that it happens with because I feel like it makes sense with their characters and how deep or strong their emotional connection and history is. I don’t really enjoy that aspect, but I won’t deny that there are some stories that I just accept it & move on (notably book canon Braime for me).

Five and Lila is worse simply because Five is in the body of a 13 year old in the first three seasons, and that’s just a firm no all around for me. But his mind was that of a 58 year old and just because he’s had a weird thing happen to him, doesn’t mean that he suddenly can’t think or feel like any other adult does (I’m honestly kind of thankful they did at least wait, because it would have felt wrong to me when he was physically 13, despite knowing he was much older mentally).

It also helps that that kind of mentally older, physically younger character at some point take on “vampire rules” for me (as in the contrast between mental and physical age of some vampire/ immortal/ supernatural character and their human love interest is so absurd and abstract that it somehow cancels out for me).

And by the time there’s any kind of romantically intimate scenes between the two, Five is 25/26. And even though it’s heavily implied they slept together, all that’s actually shown are a couple of fairly tame kisses.

Furthermore, they’re both mentally adults, and had it ever reset to a timeline without any time travel involved, Lila and Five would probably be the same age (all the super power kids were born on the same day after all). So it’s really not that big of an issue when they actually do get together.

The other aspect that makes me a little uncomfortable about Five and Lila is of course, Diego and Lila’s relationship. I already mentioned that it wasn’t necessarily something I personally shipped, but it was the relationship I think the audience members were most familiar with, and them having a family and still technically being together, made it a little sad to see Five and Lila happy with each other.

I would have personally preferred the writers completely dissolve the Diego/ Lila relationship before actually having Five/ Lila get together, because I’m not a huge fan of cheating storylines, especially when there’s kids involved.

I also feel like they could have hit most of the same emotional beats even if they had let Diego and Lila divorce first? Like it still would have been an emotionally charged reveal scene at the house if Diego had something along the lines of “that was my wife, we only divorced a week ago” or “you’re my brother and she was my wife, what the hell!?”. But I actually think the writers were trying to leave the “end game” couple up to interpretation, which felt too much like a cop out to me.

I think most audience members just needed more screen time of all three & that would have helped quell some of the hate Five & Lila get. We needed more time to see how Diego and Lila’s romance fizzled and died out, and more time to feel the weight of the 6.5 years on the subway building to Five and Lila’s romance.

I think it would have been better received if they had a fourth, fifth, and side season, or made this fourth season extra long (like 12-16 episodes) with a split release (first in August, and the latter half of the episodes during Christmas time) with a mini or side season (or even a movie) of just Five and Lila’s subway adventures. Kind of like how they did a Queen Charlotte story between seasons of Bridgerton.

There would always be some who refused to like it because of the age gap, or because they just prefer Diego/Lila or Five & Lila as purely platonic; but I think more time would have helped shorten the list of haters at least a little (and given the writers an opportunity to work the kinks out of more of the storylines in general).

Like I said earlier I’m not a big fan of the cheating aspect of their relationship, but I also don’t entirely think it’s fair the way so many people seem to view it as Five “letting Lila betray his brother with him” or “Five not caring about his brother is so OOC. He’d never betray Diego just to fuck”.. Because from what I watched, that’s not what happened at all??

Putting aside the “letting her cheat” (because they’re all grown ass adults and no one is responsible for someone else’s actions) I don’t get how people don’t see the love that grew between Five and Lila. Lila might be saying verbally that it was “only survival” and that “it’s over”, but her actions, expressions, and tones all scream love and care and affection.

I think Lila was a little confused when she gets back, but it’s also very obvious that she loves Five in the same way it was obvious in season 2 that Lila was downplaying her interest and affection/ love for Diego when she said “nah” to killing him like the Handler suggested.

And it’s the same for Five. If it had only been a physical or lonely thing, I don’t really think it would have happened. It’s because it was Lila, who is so similar and so opposite him in equal measure that he fell in love with her. And it’s because he loves her that he would want to pursue a full relationship with her. The fact that they’re human and gave into their feelings rather than uphold moral standards wasn’t that crazy of an idea, especially given the somewhat murky circumstances. It was never about purposefully hurting Diego or not caring about him.

Them getting together was two damaged people put in extraordinary circumstances with only each other to rely on for years, without any knowledge of how long they would be alone, surviving through hardships and growing in love. Or at least, that’s how I interpreted their relationship from what we got to see.

None of that felt out of character for either of them to me. Everything through the first two greenhouse scenes (minus a few dialogue/ scripting issues) felt pretty in character to me, all things considered. What did feel wrong and out of character for me was Five hiding the journal for months and him saying he wants to kill Diego and physically fighting him, while the rest of their family fought the Bennifer Blob monster.

I get wanting to show Five struggling with the decision to prioritize the world because for the first time he’s actually experienced love and happiness with a real person; plus they already started him on the do “not save the world” mindset last season. But they could have executed that in a much better way than having him find and hide a cypher book that would take them back home.

[Hell, even within the scene, he could have found it sometime that same morning or within the past couple of days and it would change literally nothing about their argument except the length of time he’s had the journal- because his actions are literally never addressed!]

But while it could just be an expansion of him not wanting to lose the happiness he found, and faltering in his steadfast determinedness to do right by the world and be with his family, it still feels off to his character for me. (Obviously the writers disagree with my interpretation of his character though.)

For me, even though he would grapple with the decision, Five would, in the end at least, still have chosen to go back to save his family & the world because that is so central to him as character. What I think they should have done was have him find it right after or before her gifting him the instant coffee. Have him open the conversation that he found it and Lila being so excited that she initially missed his internal conflict.

It could pan to her realizing what it means to go back, and them having a short talk about it. Lila could say they have to go back because of her kids, they have to go back to save their family. And Five could say he knows but he was happy there with her, and a part of him didn’t want to leave. She could have said she was happy too, but flinched when he went to hold her hand and that could have prompted the start of the argument.

The argument itself could still keep to the core of what it was in the show with only a few dialogue changes, and it would hit all the same emotional tones of the scene but without feeling like Five’s core motivations as a character were totally flipped on its head. Again, that’s just my opinion on it.

I do feel like Five being jealous and lashing out at Diego a bit during the Christmas reveal was in line with how Five might react in that situation. After all, he gets more sarcastic, testy, and even manic with the more stress he’s under. The bracelet line from Diego should have been reworded though. I’m not sure if it was lazy writing, or if they were rushed and/or overlooking things because of the episode cut, but that felt off.

They could have just as easily had him say, “you hate bracelets now” or “you never wear bracelets anymore” before mentioning the traded Valentine’s bracelet, and it still would have shown the disconnect between Diego and Lila in their relationship. A blanket “you hate bracelets” after we had- for two seasons- seen her wear the one he made that she nabbed in season 2 just felt like poor script writing.

And I would be 100% down for the first initial shoves of their fight had that been as far as it went before Five or Diego said they bigger things to worry about and the other passive-aggressively agreed.

Or better yet, if their confrontation happened after the family escaped to Luthor’s, so that the writers could still have Five run off to the subway without having him & Diego, in a sense and literally by Five, abandoning their family & acting stupid in the midst of battle. Because that felt weird and out of character for both of them to me.

I also very much needed a scene where Five apologizes to Diego at least that he hurt him (but not necessarily for loving Lila) and Diego not necessarily forgiving Five, but at least acknowledging him before they died. Because letting things be so unresolved between them and then erasing them from existence was cruel.

All that being said, I very much loved Five and Lila’s relationship with each other. Their dynamic outside of the actual storyline is the perfect mix of enemies to lovers and two broken souls finding solace in each other. And while I do wish they had changed or tweaked a few things, their story was still rather tragically beautiful.

I also firmly believe that had they all survived, Five & Lila probably would have been end game. I think the set up for them was too deep (even if a little too rushed with the episode limit/ being the final season) for Lila to truly be able to go back to Diego. If pushed too much too soon, I think she’d probably try for the sake of the kids. But the unhappiness with each other/ their life together even before the subway time-skip, coupled with the distrust and hurt that comes when a partner cheats, isn’t something I really think Diego and Lila are strong enough as a couple to overcome. And that could have led to even more bitterness and resentment before they finally called it quits.

However, if given enough time, I think Lila would have pulled back from both of them for a bit to figure out what she wanted and focus on her kids, herself, and any ongoing apocalypse situation if there were still one. I think she would have come to the realization that she loves Diego and would always care for him, but that she was no longer in love with him. That when she pictures the rest of her life, it’s Five she wants beside her.

Maybe she procrastinates a bit on talking about it, because she hates the situation and doesn’t want to hurt either one of them, but eventually they’d sort themselves out. But I also think she and Five would have to have a long conversation about taking her choices from her, especially if it involves her kids, because hiding the book was a fairly big betrayal and not something I think she could totally ignore, like they did in the show. (I personally hated that it was even a part of the story to begin with, but Five hiding the journal really needed to be addressed. I hope it would have been if the had more time.)

& If this was along the lines of what they were going to do with the plot if they were to get another season or two, I hope the writers would have used this to let Diego spiral a bit, before confronting his underlying insecurities and moving past it all. Hopefully with a new love interest at some point that is as perfect as can be for him, because I don’t like him sad and he deserves love and a happily ever after too.

On a side note, one thing that I thought was cute & slightly amusing out of context, but firmly believe should have been left on the cutting room floor was the entirety of the van/ “You’re family needs you; I need you” scene. And I know they kept it in to push the uncertainty of the Five/ Lila and Diego/ Lila relationships, but this was too obviously a plot device for the love triangle that just wasn’t believable for me narratively speaking.

Because with Allison’s new powers, Klaus’ ability to raise ghosts that were corporeal, & Diego’s telekinesis with redirecting multiple bullets, what do you mean there were too many enemies for them to handle? And how am I supposed to believe that in the past seven years, Five, who was canonically shot at and chased, never took the time to practice and remaster his blinking abilities?

Especially since they established in episode 4, and earlier in episode 6 when he and Lila returned to the house, that he could apparently- and accurately- time travel over large stretches of time without any issues/ struggles. Not to mention that mere minutes later inside the department store, he’s able blink to the second floor without any problem?

Whatever issues or enjoyment I had with the way they had Five and Lila and Diego’s story unfold, most of it just came down to personal preference, tweaking the script, and needing more episodes. But this scene in particular just felt silly and pointless to me. They could have had Lila say “I need you” in a show of concern, or physically reaching out to Five instead of Diego; only to say the “it’s over” line a few scenes later and it still would have pushed the “who does she choose” narrative. But the fact that the love triangle never gets truly resolved either, makes all of it fall flat, in my opinion. (I thought on first watch that the “it’s over” line was just about the fight and misunderstood by Five, but it could have been about their relationship too. And now we’ll probably never know for sure because they didn’t resolve anything in any of their relationships to each other 😢)

All that being said though, this is a slightly whacky show about very messed up people, who do very messy things all the time- I shouldn’t be surprised they went for the messiest option for how to handle this love triangle…

[margareth-lv]

🫥 What does it mean to be 'shy'? 🫥

I've always thought of shyness as an emotion that makes people feel uncomfortable or anxious in a social setting. A shy person is a person who feels nervous or timid in the company of others. A shy person feels hesitant or reluctant in social situations. Someone who is extremely shy might blush or fumble for words when speaking in front of a group of people.

However, Caitríona, under the control of a vengeful King of Puppets, took the concept of shyness to a whole new level.

*** *** *** The interview was conducted in mid-February 2018, when Caitriona had just won the Irish Film & Academy's Film & Drama Awards in the category of 'Actress in a Leading Role - Drama' for her work on Outlander. In her private life, according to much publicised PR, she has just become 'engaged'. I am uploading a longer extract from the interview here because the change in Caitriona's speech, facial expression and intonation is striking. Note: Tumblr doesn't like large files, so I had to edit and shorten the original video anyway.

Caitriona is relaxed and smiles warmly when discussing the metaphysics of Outlander. She even stutters like a teenage girl when she talks about the "dashing Highlander" with whom her character (😜😜😜) falls head over heels in love. On the other hand, when asked about her fake fiancé, she has a strange expression on her face. The muscles around her mouth are tense and she has a blank look in her eyes.

He's shy, says Caitríona, he doesn't like much talking about him.

*** *** ***

Let's stop there.

Let's assume that our prima ballerina's fiancé is not a fake, but a real one.

Let's suppose that a month and a half earlier, a real, loving man had proposed marriage to a woman who loved him.

A real man has proposed to the first Irish supermodel who has walked the catwalks for Dolce&Gabbana and Chanel, a talented actress who has been nominated for three Golden Globes and has just been the winner of the IFTA.

And let's imagine that this supposedly real man, a total "civilian" and an absolute nobody, is not proud of his fiancée, is not proud of having won her heart. Instead, he's too shy to put his name next to hers.

Is he ashamed of her?

🤦🏻‍♀️

This is not shyness. This guy is psycho.

My advice?

Caitríona, run! Run, run, Caitríona! Don't get involved with a jerk like that!

As you can see: Caitríona's "love story" with her PA has no credibility whatsoever.

The Narrative was written by an emotionally brainwashed idiot who has no understanding of life and human reaction.

*** *** ***

Finally, an interesting point in this interview is the one where Caitríona says that she met her fake fiancé through one of her (gay) best friends.

And we all know that it was through Outlander that she met the love of her life.

So they're two different people, aren't they, her faux fiancé and the love of her life?

💁🏻‍♀️

[January 15, 2024]

[berylcups]

Pervert Alert! Perv!Ghiaccio x Reader

MINORS DNI

CW: OOC, Sub-ish Ghia, creepy behavior, perv behavior, somnophilia, titties, food, phone sex(one sided), temp play,

Notes: it’s finally complete!!! I had so much IRL work to do it messed with my FUN work 😩 Ghia is kinda OOC because I wanted to make him a bit of a subby bitch. 😈 he deserves to be a whiny bottom sometimes…as a treat. Now I have an ask that’s brewing in my inbox that I need to work on next! So if you happen to be reading this don’t worry I haven’t forgotten about you! I’m going to be whipping up something very soon! Until then- I hope you all enjoy~ 💜 Beryl

Y/N was unusual, you were basically the squad's emotional support. Anything they had an issue with they would come to you and get some of your advice, or just to vent. Mostly it was just venting. Many of these men were too headstrong, stubborn, or just straight up vain to take actual advice. It’s unknown how Y/N has this much patience… especially with Ghiaccio. All he does is stomp around and yell about whatever is bothering him. Yet, you give him your full attention. Ghiaccio lately has been complaining more and more… he doesn’t want to talk to anyone but Y/N. Only Y/N knows what he’s talking about. It’s like he’s finding excuses to be around Y/N. Sometimes he doesn’t even have a reason for complaining. He’s just “pissed off”.

“I swear I was gonna lose my fucking my mind when that dumb bitch said CaN i GeT a ChIcKeN pArM? Just say chicken parmigiana! You sound like an idiot! Don’t take the Italian language and butcher it by shortening words! And for fucks sake! Chicken parmigiana isn’t a real Italian dish! Get Eggplant parmigiana! Ugh! I HATE English speaking tourists!” He paced around the room getting animated with his hands. “Don’t they piss you off too???” He asked.

“I understand you are frustrated Ghia. But they’re just tourists, they’re not going to be here forever. And I do get annoyed when foreigners think all my people eat is (stereotyped restaurant). But They’re not doing it out of malice. They just don’t know any better.” Y/N reasoned.

“I know that. But it still annoys me. All I’m saying is if you’re going to visit a foreign country the very least you could do is learn a little bit of our language.” He started to calm down. “You are a foreigner and your Italian isn’t perfect but it’s proficient! I can understand you most of the time!” He complimented you to the best of his ability.

His shitty attempt to compliment you made you giggle. “Aww thanks Ghia. You know I try my hardest.”

“Uh…no problem.” He broke eye contact out of sheepishness. “Thanks for listening to me again. I feel much better now.” He adjusted his glasses from sliding off his nose.

“No problem at all~. You know where I am when you need me.” You beamed.

———————————————————————

You didn’t really notice at first… Ghiaccio is downright obsessed with you. You just thought you gained his trust enough to have a healthy friendship with him. But he’s watching you like a hawk and always wanting to spend time with you. The poor guy has no clue how to tell you how much he likes you…or how much he wants to be on top of you.

Whenever you're eating he’s low key watching. Especially if it’s a dessert. He's secretly losing his shit seeing your plump lips wrap around a cannoli. As you bite into it some of the filling falls onto your chest.

“Mmm…”you moaned, savoring the sweet pastry cream in your mouth. “I could eat several of these!” You said licking your lips.

“Yeah… cannolis are great once in a while, but I’m not big on sweets.” He muttered looking at the white cream on your chest. His face was as red as his glasses, the sight was filling his head full of lewd thoughts.

“Oh for fucks sake…Don’t think about licking their chest- don’t think about licking their chest- don’t think about licking their chest” he kept repeating inside his head. He adjusted his sitting position to hide his raging hard on.

“Oh you sure you don’t wanna bite then?” You asked.”hmm? What’s wrong Ghia? Do you have a fever?”you looked down to the same area he was staring down at.

“Ah! So messy! I’m gonna have to change and clean this shirt quickly so it doesn’t stain!” You say frantically as you take a napkin and wiping the food off your shirt.

———————————————————————

No matter your size it’s healthy to engage in some physical activity, especially as an assassin. Who knows if your stand effective against the target or not? So you do some cardio every few days. You tend to get embarrassed when you’re sweating bullets and huffing and puffing your way on the treadmill down stairs. It’s embarrassing that you’re getting winded that easily but exercising is no fun to do all by yourself. Thankfully Ghiaccio is the athletic type and likes to stay in shape so he’s there to help you out with your workout routine.

Watching you pant and sweat as you run on the treadmill makes it impossible for him to focus on his own routine. Watching your chest bounce up and down and seeing your ass in those tight shorts are driving him nuts. He just wants to grab you and fuck up against the wall but he has to restrain himself. You two are just friends. You have no idea how hard he’s into you!

He definitely steals your sweat soaked shorts after you put them in the dirty clothes hamper to go shower afterwards. He cannot decide what to do with them first- smell them while he masturbates or use the soft material to jerk his cock off with. Maybe if he had a 2nd piece of clothing like a pair of panties he wouldn’t have to be in this position.

———————————————————————

He likes to call often especially if he’s on a mission and he can’t talk to you face to face. He likes to exercise while he’s talking or…that’s what he says he’s doing. You sure wish you could talk and take a run too! He does ask some odd questions sometimes.

“You make your own clothes right? Have you ever thought about making your own underwear?” He panted. It sounds like he’s really working out hard!

“Yeah I do! Uh I tried making my own bra and panties but I can’t seem to get the measurements right. The panties are always too small and give me intense wedgies.” You explained.

“Oh fuck… front or back? Tell me.” He asked, almost sounding like a demand.

“Both! It was so uncomfortable! It pinches the most sensitive parts!”you whined. “I’m never doing that again. I’m just gonna buy my underwear for now on!”

“Yeah? So what are you wearing right now? I mean-uh…you always know how to dress nice.” He tried to hide his intentions from the question.

“Hehe~aw thanks. I always try to look my best! I just put on my jammies. It’s just a breezy tank and some rainbow sleep shorts. Its warm out tonight so I think I’m just gonna sleep with my sheet instead of my duvet.”

“Augh~Fuck-!”he grunted hard.

“Ghia??? Are you okay?” You asked with worry.

“I’m fine-I uh…just got a leg cramp! I’ll call you back!” He quickly hung up.

“Was he really exercising? It almost sounded like something …else.” You speculated. “Nooo he wouldn’t do that.”

———————————————————————

He likes driving with his hood down. Seeing the wind tousle your hair around makes it look messy and it makes him feral. Even if it’s not that hot outside he blasts the AC to make you shiver.

“Ghia~! It’s too cold!” You whined. Goose bumps were forming across your exposed skin. “ can’t you turn down the AC just a bit?”

“My car, my rules.” He chuckled. “ besides… you shouldn’t have worn something so skimpy today. You won’t be cold if you dress a bit more modestly.”

You pouted and gave a raspberry. “ pfft! You’re mean ~! I dress nicely thank you very much.” You folded your arms as you pouted.

He just smirked and chuckled . “ Who said I was ever a nice guy, hmm?” He looked over at your chest as your nipples pebbled over from the cold and could be seen through your shirt.

“Yes but you’re nice to me!” You whined. “Right now you’re just plain rude!” You huffed.

Seeing you shivering and getting worked up was really cute. If he wasn’t driving he’d have to fight off the urge to kiss you right now.

“Well this rude guy is driving you in his own car to the shopping plaza so you can go buy more shoes.” He replied .

“Okay okay-I take it back. Ghiaccio you’re a real sweetheart for doing this for me.” You sighed in defeat. He was right and you didn’t like being wrong but you knew when to throw in the towel.

“Heh. That’s what I thought. “ he said smugly.

———————————————————————

It’s been a few months now…he’s getting pretty impatient. Oh how he wishes you’d pick up on his cues that he wants you to be his!

But he isn’t good at socializing either. He hates the possibility of you rejecting him and only seeing him as a friend. Melone doesn’t understand his dilemma. He gets rejected all the time! Just make your move and show Y/N you mean business!

Illuso being the nosey bastard that he is told you that about Ghiaccios obsession about you. You didn’t believe him. He’s always trying to start shit! But… he always wants to talk to you, hang out with you, call you and do god knows what…Maybe Illuso is right? Best to not mention anything to him about it, you know how easily heated Ghiaccio gets over things. You could only imagine how upset he’d get if you’d confront him about his behavior.

It was another hot summer night, you opted to sleep in your underwear and a tank. You were laying on your back with your limbs splayed out trying to cool down with your loud box fan. You finally fell into a light dreamless sleep.

He opened the door to your room to talk to you but you were in bed asleep. He watched your chest rise and fall as you softly snored. The cool air from the fan made your nipples harden through your tank. He couldn’t hold himself back anymore and quietly approached you and gently groped the soft flesh over your clothes. He wanted to do this for so long.

“Mmmph…”you softly moaned in your sleep.

He felt his cock straining painfully in his pants, he unzipped his pants and pulled his aching cock out to stroke it. He snaked his other hand under your shirt and groped harder and rubbed his thumb over your hard nipple.

You panted softly in your sleep. He was getting too lost in his pleasure to realize that this was slowly waking you back up.

“Haaah…” you whimpered as you slowly woke up to see a dark figures outline being illuminated by the tv hunched over you grabbing your breast.

“(Stand Name)!” You panicked as you called out your stand and flipped them over and now you were on top of them.

You squinted in the dark to see a familiar face, it was Ghiaccio. “Hey hey hey-don’t bring your stand into this!“ he panicked. He knew that his stand could protect himself but he didn’t want to accidentally freeze you.

You didn’t budge an inch, but you dismissed your stand. You really liked him but were taken back by his bold actions. “Ghia I never knew you had it in you to do something like this…”

“Ghia is a little perv~” You gave a wicked smile. “You couldn’t think of any other way to get my attention?” You giggled.

“Uh not really…” He was taken back by your reaction. “Wait. Aren’t you mad???”

“No, not really. I find it kinda endearing. Although I wish you didn’t take my bike shorts…they’re probably covered in cum.” You confessed. “What should I do to punish a little pervert like you? I’d expect this from Melone but you? The guys aren’t going to believe me~.” You teased.

“Y/N you better not tell a damn soul or I swear I’ll freeze your tits off.” He warned.

You grinded your clothed crotch on his cock and he groaned in response. “ You really want to say such mean things to me when I can make you feel this good?”

“Ok-no I don’t. I’m sorry.” He panted. “Please Y/N do that again.” He switched his attitude completely after feeling your warm covered cunt on his aching cock.

Your cunt was soaking through your panties as you grinded up on his cock. “You enjoying yourself?” You panted.

“I need you… please let me fuck you.” He whimpered.

“Not yet~. Let me play with you for a little bit and then we can fuck.” You purred while taking off your tank.

“Now…Give me a kiss” you demanded.

You straddled him as you leaned down to kiss him deeply. You knew this was probably the only time you’d ever see him subbing for you so you weren’t going to let any of this time go to waste.

You gave him a series of sloppy open mouth kisses before letting him slip his tongue inside and explore your mouth. He kept his hands busy by squeezing on your ass. You sucked gently on his tongue as you combed this hair with the hand that wasn’t holding you up. He groaned into the kiss and reluctantly pulled away to get fresh air leaving a string of saliva connecting you two.

You licked the drool off his chin and kissed one more time as you got off of him to remove your soaked panties and tossed them to the side.

You crawled back on top of him and lined up his cock with your cunt. You gently teased him by rubbing his aching cock with the entrance of wet hole just barely putting it in. He grit his teeth in frustration and tried so hard not to just grab you and impale you on his cock.

“Don’t play games with me Y/N” he begged. “I’ve been good, please fuck me already!”

“Hehe~ ok ok. But you look so cute when you’re desperate.” You teased.

You slowly lowered yourself onto his cock. You winced from the sting of being filled out more than you're used to. This was nothing like your toys. You raised your hips and back to a slow even rhythm allowing your pain gently fade into pleasure.

“Oh fuck…your tight.” He groaned.

You became accustomed to his size and bounced up and down on his cock.

“Fuck…” he threw his head back and panted hard.

“Ghia ~! “ you whined as bounced.

He watched your lewd expression, the bounce of your tits, and the softness of your rolls and it drove him over the edge.

In one swift motion he flipped you onto your back and grabbed you by your thighs and started fucking you into the mattress.

“Ah Ghia~!” You squealed out of surprise.

“I’m sorry I can’t hold myself back anymore Y/N.” He panted into your ear.

He fucked at a fast and brutal pace nearly overstimulating you. He kissed and nibbled on your neck leaving marks to make the others know that you are HIS now and nobody else’s.

“Y/N… Y/N… fuck I can’t get enough of you. Don’t ever leave my side. I will go crazy without you or this pussy! I gotta have you every night like this-you have no choice. You're my personal cum slut!” He mindlessly babbled in pure ecstasy.

“I’m all yours Ghia~!” You mewled.

“That’s right- you're mine.” He rubbed circles into your clit. “Cum with me.” You felt his cock twitch inside and release his warm seed inside you leading you to your own release.

“I’m gonna cum~! Ghia~ah!” You felt a warmth in your belly and your legs spasming. The knot in your stomach snapped and the warmth filled your entire body, you reached orgasm.

He let go and rolled over next to you and wrapped his arms around you.

“What an interesting turn of events.”you giggled and you nuzzled into his embrace.

“Yeah…I’m sorry I didn’t do this the…right way to win you over.” He apologized out of breath.

“It’s okay~. It will be a funny story to tell our kids one day.” You teased.

“Kids?! We cant have that! I mean-it wouldn’t bother me-but we’re both hitmen-and-“he panicked.

“I’m just kidding!”you cut him off. “But… I will need the morning after pill since you nutted in me.” You said.

“You know the term ‘nutting’…I get it because we call testicles nuts but-“ he gets cut off to the door slamming wide open to reveal a fuming Prosciutto in his silk pajamas.

“Do you two have ANY IDEA what time it is?!” Prosciutto barked.

“Pesci can’t get any sleep and won’t stop bothering me and I can’t sleep either! The ENTIRE BASE can hear you two fucking like animals! If you must do the deed, do so QUIETLY or go get a hotel room!” He scolded.

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do you old fuck!” Ghiaccio gets up pants around his ankles and has a screaming match with Prosciutto.

Nobody in the building is getting any sleep tonight…

[fumifooms]

Marcille & Chilchuck contrasts & similarities

Yesterday in the Dunmeshi Discord we talked about narrative foils and I ended up writing a lot about my fave duo so. Informal character analysis time. I give some in-depth interpretations on aspects of Chilchuck’s character near the end as well, not just analyzing their characters in how they contrast each other

Marcille and Chil are so foils to me. "Has experienced loss through death and now clings onto the people around her and is overly interested in engaging in social gossip" vs "has experienced loss through rejection and now refuses to open up to anyone until socially starved", both are responding to their experience with loss in fully different ways, socializing and trying to learn all she can for the short time she has with others but trying to keep digestible enough that she’s not too attached if she loses them, vs refusing to socialize so the problem stops before it begins but eventually unable to resist the pull that comes with being a social creature. Like I guess what I’m trying to say is that Marcille engaging with social gossip could be a shallow way for her to vicariously experience social relationships if she feels like forming deep bonds is unsafe. Family is a core motivation and value for them but in different ways. Both want to keep the status quo but in different ways.

Divorcee who avoids love wether it be in the people around him or thinking about his own (past?) romance vs hopeless romantic that idealizes love without herself having been in a relationship or even in love herself as far as we know. Middle child vs only child. Emotional constipation vs emotional intelligence. Streets savvy vs prestigious academic, field experience vs book smarts. Crass vs prim. Overbearingly social vs private to a fault. Never externalizes his feelings and to a degree represses them vs wears her heart on her sleeve and her feelings on her face. They start out underestimating each other in different ways, one by assuming his age and the other by undermining her skills, experience and willpower. Both seeing each other’s motives as somewhat skewed (money and research of shady magic respectively) but growing to respect them.

They also both seek approval and validation from others, unlike Senshi and even Laios who don’t seem to care about outside perception as much, Marcille worries early on that she’s not helpful enough and slowing the party down meanwhile Chilchuck is almost always trying to prove a point early on that he’s capable and mature. Coincidentally enough, Chilchuck’s approval was both the catalyst and the key to resolving her arc about it in the mandrake chapter, meanwhile besides Senshi Marcille is the one whose perception of Chilchuck gets the most changed over the course of the whole manga. Something else notable is how they deal differently with their races being judged, while Chilchuck reaffirms himself as a proud half-foot, Marcille hides her half-elf nature and is embarrassed of it when it’s revealed. Something subtle yet interesting is also how they both are shown to prefer lying in a way that makes them look bad rather than admitting ignorance on something. Chilchuck says that he cheated on his wife and that’s why she left rather than just saying that he doesn’t know why she did. Marcille in the mandrake chapter says that she has used a dog to harvest mandrakes (thus killing it) before while in truth she never has, and everyone including herself is like "That’s horrible… The poor dog!"

Their dad dies. Chil is like "Hm. Cool. Anyways he died doing smth he loved right so haha lemme drink myself into an early death bed too yolo 🔥🤟" vs "He died and it shattered my world and I must devote all my life to wiping death out of existence".

"I am going to knowingly shorten my lifestyle through unhealthy habits actually."

Problem solving approaches

One thing I love about them is how they have complete opposite approaches to problem solving. Besides striving for workers’ rights and job stability for halflings with an union, he’s very "laissez-faire". He won’t do the righteous thing just because it’s the right thing if he doesn’t have an incentive or a safety net, like going to save Falin. He doesn’t chase after his wife to talk it out and make amends, he gives her space and either hopes she’ll talk when she’s ready or figures that he shouldn’t try to do anything about it. He doesn’t mention the mimic he noticed to the others to not make a big deal out of it and hopefully it won’t come up again. He’s a "if the glass is half-full that’s fine enough for me, I don’t need things to be as good as they could be" type, a "leave it alone until it figures itself out" type.

Marcille? Marcille is idealistic and in-your-face. If there is an issue you better believe Marcille will address it and try her hardest to fix it, will talk it out and attempt to understand & strive to make things as best possible for everyone involved. She will FORCE you to talk about your FEELINGS wether you like it or NOT. Leaving it alone? Keeping things as just okay when they could be great instead? No no no no no, that’s not right, she’s going to try and fix it now. She will make you stand up and fight for the best that your life could be, to be honest when something bothers you and do something about it, will make you stop suppressing yourself because you’re scared of things getting worse.

Which, you know, both methods certainly have their pros and cons, but they’re very complimentary in that way. He grounds her into a more down to earth mindset and teaches by example that it’s okay if things don’t necessarily work out and moving on is possible and not necessarily miserable, while she encourages him to not give up so fast or stay quiet on things that bother so much. He soothes and she emboldens 🔥 Funny, because you could have thought it would’ve been the contrary, which is not untrue either, but he’s the "has experienced the harshness of life and has settled for something comfortable but modest" while she’s the "wants to make the world better and goes to great lengths to change it while still trying to find herself & uncomfortable with some aspects of life like loss".

One overly focuses on dealing with issues by changing things around her while the other overly focuses on only changing himself.

——

Chilchuck leaves things alone if he thinks they’re best left unaddressed or thinks they’ll work itself out. Like the mimic he didn’t tell the group about but it backfired later. Like how he didn’t chase after his wife or seemingly tried to contact her at all. Like how he prefers not to dig into people’s personal issues in parties and be left alone to deal with his stuff on his own as well.

Meanwhile Marcille is overbearingly in-your-face and loud and "if there’s a problem we’re dishing it out right here right now. Your wife left you?? And you didn’t try to get her back?? I am going to write out a script and a plan for you to apologize and please bring these piles of presents."

She’s secretive about her fair share of things as well but she’s very proactive. While she seeks to research something that’s a core motivation and life goal to her + save someone she deeply cares for Chil is there for his job and to get money and "hey if something happens I’ll have done my part. I took you guys here now you guys figure out the rest and fight the monsters or something". They both like to have a say in the strategy, Chilchuck moreso as time goes on, but Marcille involves herself much more into almost everything.

Espescially early on, they’re always sticking by each other judging Senshi & Laios together and being like "Am I seeing this shit right. They’re crazy right? Tell me I’m not the only one here with common sense" and forming a 🤝 relationship over it and considering that, it sometimes feel… Contradicting? How they also have a lot of conflict together over time about how different they truly are. But it’s interesting and nice to see how even though they do have arguments it always gets resolved pretty promptly, like they’re truly hashing it out as equals and then when that’s done they’re back to being on the same wavelength. The exception would be Marcille taking a long time to come around on Chil being old, but arguments and debates like the one on dark magic and if it’s okay or wrong to use it, which was pretty serious and not just banter? They came to find a middle ground or at least understanding, and it didn’t seem to lower the respect they hold for another afterwards.

Chilchuck’s repressing habit

I do think Chilchuck has a repressed thing where he doesn’t WANT to think about it about his feelings sometimes, like with his wife- and maybe with his father? But the way he was so casual and nonchalant about his father dying has always struck me. I’m not sure if this is a "my feelings on my father were mixed and complicated at best" thing or a "I just don’t want to spend time thinking about it" thing or something else, but it gives food for thought.

When it comes to alcohol there’s this saying where an alcoholic parent will have 2 kids and one will grow to be alcoholic too while the other will never even touch a drop of alcohol and both when asked why will say "I watched my father". Chilchuck is def the first I think. He gives the vibe of "An alcoholic parent puts a strain on familial relationships?? Pshh, my father was and look at me! I turned out great!" Which is something I’ve heard irl lol which always makes you go like 👀 yes indeed you’re perfectly well-adjusted and haven’t been affected by your father’s alcoholism at all it’s clear as day. On that topic, Chilchuck’s family, both currently and when he was a kid, are very interesting topics to theorize about with the hints and cues we have, how his wife truly felt and what happened for her to feel unappreciated enough to leave, how distant is he from his daughters if they haven’t seen each other in the same year either and Flertom was the only one to send him a letter? But that’s a topic for another day

Chilchuck probably has such a complex…. Of like not being… Like allowed to take space I guess? And he does wish to affirm that right, he takes space and asks for it so very overtly, he formed a half-foot guild to demand better working conditions as one of the biggest examples of that. He grew up poor and undermined but he knows that he’s capable and someone worthy of respect and demands it, and takes every opportunity to prove himself. But on the other end, he doesn’t seem to want to keep his hopes up in general, like asking for something to be better is bound to fail, that it’d be too good to be true. He tries to keep out of where his job doesn’t need him, from a sense of efficiency that cuts down on unnecessary stops but also because he just thinks it isn’t his place to do so. It strikes me that it’s hinted that like… He doesn’t even really consider the possibility of going to his wife and trying to mend the relationship. Like it’s either she’ll decide to take him back on her own or he’ll be left out in the cold waiting, never knowing just where he’s truly at with her and if things are over for good. Like… Shooting his shot and making his case doesn’t even register as an option? Like he’s not worth fighting for, like whatever he did wouldn’t change her opinion anyways?

He def has a "life isn’t like a fairytale where everything goes well" philosophy where sometimes it feels like he just gives up on how things maybe could be better, especially interpersonally. Maybe it’s why he focuses on simple joys like alcohol instead of trying to keep up with relationships which can be complex and very fickle, in his own words. Something like alcohol is predictable, always there to fall back on, safe, gives him sensations without other emotional/social risks attached. Ironic for someone whose job is all about risks, but understandable

He contradicts even himself… Bro yes you’re capable, yes you’re great, yes you matter, now maybe speak about your feelings maybe??? Or do you not think your emotional issues deserve to get fixed and have closure???? Are you so used to being dismissed, overlooked and undermined that you think no one will listen even if you speak up?? And this recontextualize his "I’m not even gonna try and talk this issue out because I know (assume) that it won’t solve anything anyways" approach, doesn’t it.

"I must break my party members’ stuff or lie to them because if I just tell them my opinion and my feelings that I don’t want them to die they won’t care anyways and keep going"

In a way everyone is the glue of the party in different ways, Laios giving the group a direction and a plan, Senshi keeping them fed and grounded, Marcille making everyone more social and encouraging bonds to form, and for Chilchuck he’s the one most focused on actually keeping everyone alive I think.

Conclusion

Idk I’m not gonna repeat every point but have this as a parting contrast:

Guy with shortest lifespan possible who doesn’t mind knowingly shortening his own with an unhealthy habit, here for a good time not a long time, VS girl with longest lifespan possible who wants to lengthen everyone’s life, who focuses on how long she can keep something or someone rather than how happy her time with it has made her already. They’re both loud in their own way, and both are still insecure despite appearances. In a way, both of them focus on taking care of others while overlooking their own demons.

[epilogue-and-prologue]

Holding On

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings Ship/Pairing: Haldir x Reader Trope: Best Friends to Lovers Note: Took advantage of the potentially invented elven tradition of gifting someone your most precious possession after your first kiss :D. Warnings: Angst/Miscommunication - damn you Haldir/Slight smut if you squint and zoom at the very end. Word count: 2 836 Tag-list: @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @middleearthpixie @glassgulls @evenstaredits @fizzyxcustard @sotwk

The gentle breeze brought a soft tune to your ears. Of course, he would be playing in the first hours of the night. What else could he do, before leaving for another long month of patrol? Certainly not seek you out. The bitter lingered.

Haldir was a dear and close friend of yours. He had drawn you in with his cheekiness and teasing words. You were lucky enough to know those sides of him, usually hidden. Unlucky enough to be on the receiving end of those same unruly sides, sometimes. It felt harder and harder with each joust of words to stop the ones you wanted to say from blurting out of your mouth. Today was about fixing that. Upon walking the narrow path, your eyes met his silhouette before he could see you. The length of his hair covered his face. His bow and arrows were left in the grass, carefully propped against a branch. His head rose, and he finally saw you. A flutter of wings came to life in your stomach. He smiled at you.

“What are you doing out this early, melon?”

You had no good answer for that. Knowing he was leaving was one thing. Seeing him do so, even in your dreams, was another. Every departure was a torment for you.

Your lips curled sadly with your next words.

“Why did you not say goodbye, Haldir?”

The underlying harshness of your tone startled him. He paled, his eyes growing wide. He did not expect that. Not from you. You who were gentle and kind. Soft-spoken and careful in all manners of life. He never wanted to disappoint you. Nor hurt you. After your first encounter, he knew very quickly your presence could never be replaced by anyone else. When he identified those feelings as more than friendship, he snuffed them out. The mere thought of losing you because of them was unbearable. Deep down, he knew you would not leave him so. Yet, he feared it all the same and kept himself quiet.

“I thought I did. What is happening to you?”

A heavy sigh. Again, your emotions had got the better of you. The loneliness he left behind was a most cruel sentiment to have. Or to hold on to. His hands had stopped playing, and he laid the instrument next to him.

“I am sorry. I fear my future loneliness at your departure is haunting me in advance.”

Haldir chuckled weakly. You always did have a way with words. Even more so since becoming a script here in the palace. Where he was the one leaving, you were always the one staying. It tore his heart in two to see you afflicted so. The Marchwarden did not know what to do to alleviate the sadness in your eyes. You stepped forward until he had to raise his head to look at you. Soon, you sat down in front of him. An itch went through him from his fingertips to his shoulder blade; how he wanted to touch you right now…

“And you woke up this early because of it? Have I altered your sleeping by my rudeness? — Do not flatter yourself that much, Haldir.”

Finally, a smile had made its way onto your face. You reckoned that being mad at him was not your best skill. Unwavering, he stared at you expectantly, wishing you would answer and share your troubles with him, as you always did. This time proved harder than the other ones.

“I have made a decision.”

His eyebrows rose.

“What kind of decision? — About… us.”

His heart skipped a beat, and his breath shortened. He frowned even more, at a loss for words.

“We have been friends for a long and appreciable time. — Yes, we have. — Please do not interrupt me, it is already so hard to do…”

You bit on your lip, your courage leaving as water out of its bed. His stare became more present, his fingers tapping an invisible rhythm against the earth. Could this be it? Or had he been a fool this whole time?

“As a token of my appreciation, I want you to have this.”

Out of your hand, a piece of paper neatly folded — just as you knew how to. He had had those notes before. When you wanted to see him but could not fetch him yourself. Or when you wanted to say anything to him while he was on patrol. He took the piece of paper, seemingly heavier than the lasts. It seemed to contain something. Before he could pry it open, you stopped him.

“I also want you to wait until you are at your post.”

He looked at you as if you had grown a second head.

“Humour me. — Oh, I will.”

You laughed with him this time, inclining your head on one side. He found it entirely too endearing.

“I will, I promise. — Thank you.”

The letter clutched in his hand, he found himself speechless again.

A loud sound announced his departure. A few of his comrades passed you by. They soon waited by the end of the path for him to follow.

“Goodbye, my friend.”

While saying the words, he grabbed what was his, placing your letter in an inside pocket close to his heart. You noticed. You smiled as brightly as you could.

“Safe travels, my friend.”

He smiled brightly back, always one to try to cheer you up. Before you could register what he had done, he grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles. His steps were barely echoing around you anymore when you realised. The flutter in your stomach turned into a full storm.

*

The advanced post took them three whole days to reach. During those three days, Haldir could not help himself from touching and toying with the piece of paper you left him with. He was patient; you knew that. When it came to you, he could have waited another lifetime. Yet, this simple piece of paper and what it contained, almost weightless, made him more impatient and frustrated than the longest watch had ever done.

Finally, he reached his destination, and they relieved the others from their patrol. He waited the middle of the night to be alone and open the gift you had left him with. The paper unfolded easily enough. It almost toppled the thin ring left inside. The details were weaved around it, organised in rows of leaves and polished silver. It could not have belonged to you. The size was too big, and the ornaments were indicative of a skilled touch. He held the jewel in his palm for the longest time, almost losing track of what he was supposed to watch out for. Luckily, his brother had joined him and kept an extra eye out when he saw him entranced by what an object he could not see. Rúmil only hoped it would be a good thing. And made a mental note to ask about it later on.

On the paper, read the following.

“Dear friend,

I have known you for the longest time. I have cared for you for just as long. In truth, I have more than cared for you. My friendship was soon turned into affections and my affections turned into love. True unbearable, unbreakable love. This seems sudden, I know, and if you do not feel the same, I wish you would forget all about this affair and we will go back to the way things were. I promise not to bring it up again. In my heart, I know that no matter what, I will always be by your side. I believe you know in our tradition, a first show of affection is to be rewarded by that which is most precious to us. With the ring, I hope to offer a payment in advance. You see, this belonged to my father. Before him, my grandfather and before him, my great grandfather. It has seen better times. I hope it will see better times. He passed it onto me, as his only child. It is my most precious and meaningful possession. I want you to have it, for if you feel the way I do, there is no other way forward but to spend the rest of my life with you.

You have known me to be meek, but when I am with you, I become brave. I want to be brave with you.

Again, if you do not wish for me in those ways, I will understand. That ring, nevertheless, shall always be yours, for I will never love anyone else.

With love, Your friend.”

Haldir’s breath stopped. The shock must have shown on his face, for the comrade next to him shook his shoulder in the hopes of waking him up from his reverie. A wide smile had spread across his face, his heart beating anew.

“Are you alright? — I am. Now go back to your posts, please.”

Never before had he said please when giving orders. They figured this letter must have broken his skull, for he spent the rest of the month whistling and daydreaming, spending more time alone than with them. The oldest knew. The youngest were still asking questions. When they received no answers, they settled for quiet speculations.

None of them could have figured out what was happening in Haldir’s head the whole time.

*

You waited for an answer.

It never came.

Your days were spent writing and copying the history of your people, under a strict supervision. Celeborn would have no mistake be made, whereas Galadriel encouraged you in more positive ways. They were nervous, for those scrolls were to be sent to other countries for archiving. They were a testimony and inheritance of your people’s knowledge and myths. No room for errors.

Alas, you were distracted. On the first week, you were wondering if anything had happened to Haldir during his trip to his post. Then, news came that his group had safely arrived. The second week, you convinced yourself he did not return your attachment and cried yourself to sleep every night. It was cruel, but you had expected it. After all, he was a Marchwarden and you were a mere scribe. The third one, right before he was supposed to come back, you willed yourself to go back to the way it was. He was probably giving you the space to mourn and grieve for what would never be. You had to let things go, eventually.

On the day he did come back, Haldir made no specific announcement to you, nor did he arrive during daylight. Rúmil had warned him about showing up at this hour, himself having gone directly to bed. Of course, he did not listen to his brother. Especially when he was teasing him about the love-struck face, he had a hard time hiding, all the way back home. The first thing he did was seek you out. Despite his restlessness, the odd hour triumphed over him, and he could not find you anywhere. Straight away, he went to your room, which for this hour should not have been this cold, nor this lifeless. Your bed was undone, it was obvious you had trashed around in it, the sheets left in disarray. Your work clothes were scattered around the floor. The windows were open, a faint trace of flowers in the air. He did not recognise this to be you. His worry only grew when he found inks and quills, papers thrown about on the desk. All of them with his name, some angry, others drowned in tears. The library was empty, your usual meeting point by the pond too. No guard could tell him where you had gone. He almost snapped his bow under the pressure of his hands. A quick detour to his room and he dropped off his bags and weapon. It was his fault. All of it. Not knowing what you wanted him to do, he had tried to write letters, never sending them out. It was all his fault for not telling you, even in unwisely chosen words, how he truly felt. What an actual idiot he had been. Only then did he realise where you must have been and ran.

The scribes had all left their working space. And here you were, hunched over and scrapping paper after paper, in your usual measured manners. He halted his steps. From where he was, he could not see your face, nor your hands, yet he was sure they were covered in ink stains and sore from having been overused. His feet reached you rapidly. You were about to cry out when you turned around.

Haldir had been right. You were wearing a wrinkled nightdress, clinging onto your skin with the sweat, your eyes haggard, hands covered in small ink stains. You probably had touched your face too, for it had several spots of ink there too. One by your left eye, over your eyelid. Another on your cheek, spread in a wild sprawl. The last ones on both your temples, where you must have tried to erase a headache.

As well as tears. So much tears growing in your eyes dying on your lips, nesting in your throat, making your skin damp when he reached for your face. How could he had let this happen?

“Why are you here? — I love you.”

He figured that in the state you were in, brutality was the swiftest way of ripping this sadness away. He did not think far enough to predict the anger that would follow.

“And you’re only telling me now!”

You wanted to hit him. Badly. Even tried to slap him. If it were not for his stupid reflexes, you might have done so. He would have let you, if the need to embrace you had not been so overwhelming. He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead before securing his arms around you. You relented, too tired to fight with him. Without warning, he picked you up a hand under your knees and the other on your back. Your hands secured against his neck as he carried you out. Haldir did not bother looking out for onlookers. They would have no answer from him anyway, too focused as he was on seeing your face for the first time in a month. It was lucky this mission had been this short, otherwise… He did not want to imagine otherwise. Your room was the closest, and he reached it first, settling you in bed. You were the one to stop him. Those pleading eyes he could not resist, and a need to rest his bones close to the person he wanted to be with. He laid down with you, and you fell asleep safe and sound in his arms.

* The next morning, he woke up with a back pain, in the bed only made for one. You were nowhere in sight. He sighed. Maybe you had gone to wash and would come back soon. He waited a little while before deciding he probably had the time to wash and change too until you arrived. As he had been previously, he was wrong.

When you came back an hour later — the ink had washed away with difficulty and you needed clean clothes — your room was empty. No traces left behind. Frustration took root within you. Where could he be? Showing up in the middle of the night, no notes, no nothing announcing his return. Not directly from him, at least. You had hoped for a letter or a missive. Something, anything.

He did not have another mission yet, as far as you knew. The only logical places he could be were the bathhouse or his chambers. You chose the latter. You stomped into his bedroom with no warning.

“You did not say goodbye, Haldir.”

A chill ran down his spine. His undressed state did not seem to phase you. But then again, he thought he was the only one in love in this relationship and it had proved wrong. Deciding against his first instincts, he put a light shirt on and walked to you. You wanted to slap the smirk off of his face. Just as much as you wanted to take that shirt off of him right this instant.

“No, you did not this time. — I did not?! How… — Please…”

This time, he was the one pleading for mercy. You were looking precious, like this. A nymph or a divine being, freshly out of the water, droplets dragging against your skin. Haldir’s thumb touched your lips lightly, plump and warm against his fingertips. Your breath shortened, anger drowned by him. By his arm around your waist, by his breath fanning over your cheek, his hair caressing your collarbones, your throat, firm hands mapping your back. The fire within you could not be stopped this time.

“If you start this… — I know.”

His lips touched yours, and the world was ablaze. He brought your legs against his hips. You could feel his desire against your core. Never before had you willingly surrendered to your feelings like this.

You felt the edge of a silver ring you knew by heart around his finger. You bit your lips hard and kissed him again, even harder.

There was no letting go now.

Only holding on.

[666writingcafe]

An Unintentional Trap

Thirteen

I'm tired of listening to Solomon's whining. I want him out of my cave once and for all, and hopefully fetching MC and taking them to him will be enough for him to leave.

If that was the only reason for my trip, I would have just teleported to and from the castle. It's a lot quicker than walking. But I want some time alone with the human disguised as a demon.

During my little venture through MC's soul, I saw a rather alarming amount of demonic energy, more than any type of facade should have. Usually, humans with that much energy either end up evil or dead. Either way, their souls end up really dark. No sparkle at all.

And yet MC's soul remains blindingly white. Some of that could be explained by the angelic influence over it, but in my experience, the two cancel each other out, resulting in a dull, clear-looking soul.

I just want to know what makes the human tick. Perhaps that can explain why their soul is so...odd.

~~~

"I'm still a bit upset at Solomon," MC tells me. "Obviously, not enough to decline your invitation, but I'm probably not going to be rushing into his arms or anything like that."

"Understandable," I respond, making them sigh.

"Am I being unreasonable, Thirteen?"

"No, not at all. He did something incredibly stupid, and you're allowed to be frustrated by his lack of judgement." A slight test. Will they take the bait and trash-talk Solomon?

"I know. It's just..." They trail off.

"Just what?" Another sigh from MC.

"He was worried about me. I mean, I launched myself at a demon twice my size and sent the two of us sliding across the colosseum floor. The fact that I only walked away with a couple of scratches and bruises is a fucking miracle."

Huh. A human that's humble enough to acknowledge another person's emotions? And admit when they act too rashly for their own good?

"Why did you do it, then?"

"It was the only way I could knock Beel out. You saw the pictures, right?" I nod. He caused a lot of damage near the Demon Lord's castle. "He was starting to attack his brothers, Diavolo, and Barbatos when we got there. I had to stop him before he hurt any of them, because with the way he was going at them, their injuries would have been a lot worse than mine."

"So, you sacrificed your safety in order to protect theirs." MC softly smiles.

"That's not the first time that's happened. In fact, I've done it enough to get told off for it."

"I can imagine. Doing that sort of thing tends to shorten one's lifespan, making them die sooner than originally intended." I pause. "Those type of people tend to annoy me." MC's smile grows a bit wider, as if they know something I don't.

Wait.

Have I chewed them out for it in their timeline?

I can't think about that right now. We've arrived at my cave, and the energy feels off. Looking over at MC tells me that I'm not the only one feeling uneasy.

I pull out my dagger.

"Stay behind me," I whisper to MC, who quietly nods. We carefully make our way to the Fountain of Knowledge with no incidents.

Solomon is right where I left him, sitting on the edge of the fountain. And yet his presence does nothing to calm me down.

In fact, seeing him makes me that much more anxious.

Which is strange. I've felt a lot of things when it comes to the sorcerer, but never afraid.

"It's not him," MC murmurs. Solomon and I make eye contact, and I immediately get nauseous.

They're right. This isn't Solomon.

"Where is he?" I ask. The shapeshifter smiles eerily.

"Some place out of the way," it answers. "I wanted to talk to MC in private."

"Yeah, not happening, buddy. I don't trust you as far as I can throw you." An unknown entity that knows MC's actual name can't possibly be up to any good.

"Putting words in other people's mouths isn't polite."

"I never claimed to be polite." This guy is pissing me off.

"Aren't you tired of being told what to think?" He's directed the question at MC. "I don't wish to hurt you. I want you to be happy."

"I've already told you, I'm not interested," they tell the shapeshifter, causing him to chuckle.

"It's cute that you think you still have a choice. You're already on my path. The more you resist, the rougher your journey will be. I'm just offering to make things easy for you."

I may not know the context of his words, but I can tell that they're upsetting MC.

"Alright, that's enough," I interject. "Get out of my cave." The shapeshifter remains still. "Now."

He sighs.

"I was hoping it wouldn't come to this, but it appears I don't have a choice." He waves a hand, and suddenly MC collapses onto the ground.

"What have you done?!" He shrugs.

"I thought reapers were supposed to remain neutral."

"Answer the fucking question!"

"I simply put them in a deep sleep. When they come to their senses, they'll wake up."

Solomon is going to kill me.

Taglist: @lost-in-time-wanderer, @fuzztacular, @dianedancer18, @sweetbrier2908, @flare-love, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf, @thunderlightning351, @l3v1chan, @anxious-chick, @5mary5, @expressionless-fr, @tenkobitch

[thinking-about-blue-almonds]

I'm (currently, as in right now) reading chapter four of svsss, and just. I've been warned about the "do you want to become stronger? Stronger until you're without a rival..." scene. Ff that I happened to read (that is, which were aggressively recommended to me by my friends) always mention the more angsty parts.

So "I am frial and indisposed," scene took me by surprise.

The part when SQQ (is that how people shorten his name?) calls Luo Binghe (LBG? LBH? It's probably not LB, initialism, bc I assume that's how those work, is confusing with transliteration), and he offers him snacks? What is that? I'm dying.

"Qi Qingqi found it difficult to describe her current emotional state"

Same, Qi Qingqi, same

[forbiddenfrvt]

E X S C A P E

thought you were an escape, now i can't escape your grasp | ex-boyfriend!Leon (modern au)

warnings: mentions of cheating and breakups (past and present), unknowing Leon + reader being an asshole, fingering w shifty praise and degradation(? not so much cuz Leon rlly likes you too much for that), AFAB reader/female anatomy, public lewdness, f perversion, messy.

word count: yet to be proofread, will update with count after so.

ps: I do not condone cheating or anything of sorts as written in my fics because they are simply just as is; fictitious. Please do not take to heart what I write, MDNI! block/scroll do not report.

author's notes: this might be heavily inspired of irl :"> I went to watch oppenheimer with my ex and he just came from the gym, needless to say it was something. (EXCEPT THE CHEATING! I AM SINGLE BTW, DW. NO CHEATING IN THIS HOUSEHOLD YALL!) (Linked a playlist at the top :3)

Exes should remain just as is; Exes.

Exes shouldn't be friends for that would create conflict.

Nor should exes go out together for a movie.

Yet you stood there facing the nearly crowded ticket booth, looking around for a familiar mop of dirty blond hair— the very same one you used to run your fingers across, enjoying how fluffed it gets.

It had almost been a year since the two of you split, vaguely remembering how the break up went down, all you could remember was going on a fit of jealousy, along with stress from school exams crashing down, and needed to run away from the emotional baggage which you considered relationship to be.

Leon had been trying to reach out since forever, and by forever meaning— a month after you completely cut contact with him and began dating other guys. All of which ended horribly anyway; ended by you, yet again. Always. You simply couldn't stay in a relationship for too long, that, you acknowledged.

Leaving whenever the connection felt shifty and their mistakes often made you fall dissatisfied and bored, and while you could technically make it work— why bother? They'll continuously disappoint you anyway.

Your current boyfriend is proving it so, with his not-so-boyfriend-like activities of constantly putting you in situations you don't feel comfortable of; despite your protests, with how he keeps linking up with girls you've already voiced your displeasure for— and his overall lack of social etiquette, embarrassing you wherever the two of you might go. Not that you care for it, it's not like you saw a future with him anyway.

You clicked your phone open as it dinged, notifying you of a message from none other than the guy you've long labeled the number as: [do not pick up.]

It was a surprise to you how calm you were about the whole ordeal; you didn't feel anxious about meeting up with him again. Sure, maybe a slight nervousness and making sure your outfit matched pleasingly, opting for a pink low-cut tank top with a matching sheer, flimsy cover-up. A pathetic one where it couldn't even cover the temple of your breasts. No, you totally did not care.

After accidentally accepting his follow request, he wasted no time and practically expressed how much he missed you. Voicing how hard it has been on him without you in his life, humourously coping along. As the messages between you and your boyfriend gradually shortened, exchanges between yours and Leon's went longer. Chemistry seemingly never faded between the two of you.

Of course, there was no flirting involved, in fact you two comfortably began cussing each other out in chats, not to the extreme— but almost just for playful banter. You both would share opinions and talked about your seperate experiences from watching Barbie, and how he cried in the movies after so. Reminding you to bring tissues when you went to watch Barbie, unaware how your boyfriend had already given you his handkerchief to wipe your tears away as he eyed you intently, amused that you cried for a film. He just doesn't get Barbie like Leon did— and that very night after the movie, Leon invited you to watch Oppenheimer together. Well, re-watched, as he already went to see it the day before.

All you could remember was giggling in guilt before agreeing to his plans; callously telling your boyfriend, [Goodnight, love you.] though text.

Bringing you here at this very moment, scanning the cinema for his figure, glancing left and right for your ex-boyfriend. It would've been easier if he wasn't already lining up for the queue but, well— what can the both of you do? Everyone's just as excited to watch both films.

Noticing his back from far away, you almost walked up, only to back away and hide into a corner— unsure if it really could be him; and so,

After you sent the message, you stared at the figure you had suspected to be him, waiting... and waiting till he checks his phone. And just as soon as he sees the message, Leon immediately turned around, sheepishly holding up an arm despite the numerous eyes confused at his random gesture. Searching for your eyes amidst all.

It was all you needed to see before confirming your guess, jogging up to stand beside him in the queue, smiling. “Long line, huh?”

Your eyes travelled along his familiar face, the boyish smile etched in the corner of his lips as he kept his gaze forward— eyeing you through his peripherals; his glasses making it harder for him however. You note this, or course;

He wears glasses now? Looks cute. Suits him.

“Yeah, they're taking too long—” He nods, shyly answering you, catching a whiff of your perfume, pink dusting his cheeks.

You catch this, nodding inwardly before you turned your head to the side, “How long has it been?” asking again, curious. “I've been standing here for about twenty-five.” His voice struggled to stifle a nervous laugh, fidgeting with the strap of his gym bag that sat right inbetween pecs.

Leon had informed you how he just came from the gym while he waited for you to finish getting ready, claiming that it was nearby the mall anyway. And to somehow prove this point across, he only changed his jeans but kept wearing the black compression shirt, tightly hugging his biceps— a soft smirk playing along your lips as you basked in his body, practically undressing his torso while he tried to focus on the movie trailers randomly playing along the TV screens of the ticket booth— memorizing half of the lines at this point, trying to ignore your burning gaze.

To which he drastically failed, handing you money while jibberishly making up an excuse to go to the bathroom, rushing away from you. With your eyes trailing behind him, a chortle escapes your lips as you notice how his cheeks reddened, being pushed up by his huge grin.

“...Fuck, he looks good.” You thought, trying to brush it off— not wanting to be having such thoughts about your ex, especially when you're (hardly) dating someone else already. Your fingers fiddle with the money, folding it in half in between your knuckles, glancing around the booth while patiently waiting for Leon to come back into your peripherals, curious why he had suddenly decided to use the restroom when he could've done it before you even arrived. Still, when nature calls. You simply have to answer.

A soft chuckle falls out of your mouth when he finally shows, a jump on his foot when he returns to your side, yet clearly displeased at how the line barely moved an inch. “Should we buy the late night tickets? I don't think we'd make it for the afternoon showing.” You chirp, eyeing the elongated monitor Infront of the queue, to which he flicked his watch— humming in response; “If you're fine with that... Sure. I don't think you should miss out on the intro.”

A part of you wishes he was watching it for the first time too, needing to see his raw reactions like you both used to; but another side of you was flattered by his decision to pay just to watch it again, with you, this time around. He was practically ready to throw money once again, all for you. And by all means! You weren't one to complain after all.

———

The two of you began giggling, and chuckling as you both placed bets on what movie whomever would be watching based on their outfits— people in pink for Barbie, leather jacket people for Mission Impossible, and well— random shirts for Oppenheimer. With him jokingly calling you weird for wearing pink on Oppenheimer and brown for Barbie. “Why even!?" His gummy smile beams, with you returning yours with a laugh. “Can't help it! ‘Love confusing people!"

“Well, that's true, you gotta keep them guessing your next move.”

You two were dorks together, even back then, just that now, it lacked any sort of physical contact— despite constantly brushing knuckles while you two walked side by side, fingers flicking up as if to try and entangle into the other's.

He kept the tickets in his bag, placing your umbrella in it, as to not have you lugging it around, knowing how forgetful you could be. You exchanged music, talked about concerts you failed to get into because the two of you were busy for the exams (quite literally around the time you two broke up), complimenting yet making fun of each other's chosen courses along the way.

He absolutely adored having you fill him in on ‘chisme’ he barely had anything to do with, reciprocating it with telling you drama over at his school. And being able to do it once again exhilarated the two of you; moreso him, but he wouldn't tell you of that.

“He has a girlfriend?!” “Why? Can't he?"

“No— it's not that! I'm just surprised— like— finally?!” You laughed, surprised.

Earning a chuckle from him; “I'm definitely telling you on Chris, you really doubted his charm, huh?”

You shook your head in disbelief, smacking his sides with the back of your palm as if to shove him away. “Oh hush!” Your groans of struggle didn't fall on deaf ears as he watched you battle with the lollipop wrapper, offering his help by taking it off your hands, “Here, let me.” he says, almost laughing. Taking jabs at each other as the candy proved to be unwilling.

“You can shoot a gun but not open a wrapper?” “You're one to talk!” laughter erupts from the two of you, back to back.

He watched as you softly sucked on the candy after successfully peeling the cover off, his breath hitching for a second prompting him to look elsewhere, mind lingering on the thoughts of your lips wrapped around and innocently sucking the sweetness of it, wondering how it'd be like to replace that spot in between your lips— Leon could swear he never felt envious of a lollipop until now. Mindlessly, you went closer to him, laughing as you both decided to go back up to the cinemas floor after buying snacks for the movie,

“We should take the elevator, I know your feet hurt by now.”

You suggested, for him to agree with a meek smile, “Whatever you want.”

The two of you stepped in, smiling at each other knowing how awkward you both felt around others during elevator rides, the unwritten rule of keeping silent inside made you both cackle inside. “It's just so weird!” You both agreed on that; eyeing each other and taking note of strangers' faces and scents— which usually ends badly for the both of you. Criticising a middle-aged man for wearing too much Axe like there was no tomorrow.

This time however, it was different, you could only stare at each other while stifling your laughter, both of you testing waters how far each of your inside jokes can go and what would be uncomfortable to speak of just yet— the two of you trying to be sensitive to each other's feelings and boundaries.

Your eyes travail his arms, up to his neck, staring at his eyes while you continuously sucked on the treat— failing to realize how suggestive you looked in his point of view. And all your ex-boyfriend could do was look up at the silver doors, praying a mantra on his mind to calm himself down. The comfortable silence between you two was enough for him to feel satisfied, he didn't wish to be greedy any longer. He had no right, after all.

He wishes he had.

As you reached the second floor, more people came in, forcing the two of you back in the east corner of the elevator cab, with your back pressed on the wall and him facing your side, making sure his duffle-bag didn't obstruct your movement and wearing it the opposite-side of you. There was barely anymore space for you to check your phone so you left it at your back pocket, ignoring the message notifications you received. Still, your mouth kept wrapping around the candy, with him trying to distract himself away from the noises your lips made— each pop, each suck, he could hear them all, giving him a pornographic thought to rush. He honestly wishes you'd stop it and bite the entire candy to quit tormenting his ears; but didn't want to make it obvious how much you provoked indecent thoughts to swarm his mind. It didn't help that his anxiousness made him think that the other people inside the cab could hear his thoughts. Read his mind. See how much he wanted to pull that stupid fucking lollipop out of your mouth and replace it with his throbbing cock instead, mouth-fuck you while everyone inside the elevator watched. A groan escaping his mouth as you fiddled with the hem that hugged his bicep, glancing back at you for a quick second as guilt washes over him; seeing how you simply were just curious about the fabric.

Leon hung his head back in shame and pleasure, enjoying your proximity to him while also feeling bad that even the most innocent of your touch and actions turns him into such a dog in heat. Warmth tightening around his boxers. You stared back at him, shooting him a snarky look, as if to ask; “'Fuck you looking at?” even though you were the one touching him without permission to. As if you knew you could do whatever you wanted and he'd be all the more welcoming of how much of a bitch you could get. He grinned, shaking his head “nothing.” before slumping his head into the cold walls of the ride— chanting "fuck." in the back of his mind. The doors then opened, making him smile in hopes that people would get off to create more space, but to his displeasure, a whole group of elderly came in, the smile in his face dropping ever-so-quickly; much more when he was forced to face you, pressing into your body as the seniors pushed inside. Forcing everyone else younger than them to adjust for their comfort. Which included you and him.

Your hands are raised in front of you, pathetically creating a barrier between your chest and Leon's albeit his pecs were more on your face than it is yours. “Fuck.” you heard him groan, as you bit your lip, awkwardly chuckling. “You okay?" You asked in concern, a nod following suit in response. Their movements only affected the two of you even more, annoyed yet at the very same time, flustered at how much your bodies were being squashed against one another. Without much choice, you both fell silent, waiting for time to pass by. His staggered breathing didn't go unnoticed by you, however, making you stare up at him with your eyes slanted, “Leon? Are you sure you're okay—?”

Your line of questioning got cut off as he pressed his lips against yours, mumbling a “...shut-up.” while he positioned himself to block your body from view. His leg entraps you between his thighs, slightly bending downwards to reach your lips.

“Lee— stop, what are you doing...?” you mumbled back, brows furrowed. What was he really doing?

Is he out of his mind?! Why would he kiss his ex-girlfriend in such a cramped place where people can easily see if they just look back!

You were met with silence as your breast engulfed his arm the moment another elderly decided to move around, pushing Leon's gym bag on his side, and forcing him to push back into you, his hands gripping just above your wrist as he tried to find some sliver of composure— unsure if he really should, and if he could continue. Looking at you apologetically for getting carried away.

Yet all this did was turn you on. The forced proximity between you two, the excitement of getting caught making out with your ex-boyfriend in such a high alert place, being with said ex without your boyfriend knowing, and, well— being cornered by such a tall and muscular man that you've long fantasized touching drove all of your senses out of the window.

The way he simply looked like he committed a grave sin against you made it all the more enjoyable.

Silently, you snaked your arms around the back of his nape, inching your head to bury it in the crook of his neck. His eyes followed your movements and shared an agreement, as if you both just understood what the other wanted to do. God knows how long you've waited to do this, ever since then, and more so now. You were more than happy to continue this, and to prove that you trailed kisses along his neck, just below his ear, earning a gentle groan from his lips, raising a brow as if to ask you if this was okay.

“ 's more than okay, Leon.” you whispered, planting a soft kiss at his jaw, smiling at the random stubble tickling your soft skin. Wondering what Leon would look like with a more prominent stubble, when he's older maybe. Your eyes darts to the front, checking the coast before hiding back into his chest, waiting for his next move; “Can you stay quiet f'me?” He mumbled against your skin, pleading. Your hips instinctively bucked towards his as you register his words, as if your body knew what he meant and wanted. Eager to indulge his desire.

In an instant, he found his arm in-between your thighs which you ever-so-sweetly parted as much as you could for his easier access, hand gripping the fat of your inner thigh. While it infuriated him that others could get to see those soft and sexy thighs of yours in that skirt, he had never been happier in your choice of clothing than now. Thanking the fashion heavens for convincing you ahead of time that wearing a skirt while going to the cinemas with your ex-boyfriend who clearly has yet to get over you; a good idea.

“God, s' fuckin' wet for me already babe?” He mumbled inaudibly against your skin, eyeing your cleavage down while he rubbed the pad of his middle finger along the hem of your slick damped lacy panties, chuckling to himself but just enough for you to hear his comment, “Starting to think you planned for this to happen, slut.”

You jolt at the sudden term, baffled at his choice of words, moreso because you've never heard him address you like so— hell, you've never done anything remotely intimate before. A small peck on the lips was all you two ever got during to the time you both dated.

“Fuck, why did we even break up...” He groaned, “Cuz you hung around Claire more than I would've liked?" You chuckled, “I told you, she's nothing but a friend... she's Chris' sister for godssakes...”

Maybe it was his pent up frustrations about your relationship, or how he saw this as the only chance to act on his fantasies about you. Blush dusting your cheeks as you bite down on your lip, holding off a moan as you promised.

“Can't believe I'm letting the guy who cheated on me with his so-called girl-bestfriend touch me like this.”

His fingers hastily snaked inside your underwear, fighting off the urge to grunt loudly as he felt the warm wetness that pooled within you, not wanting to alert anybody; not wanting this to end so quickly. “I didn't! I could never cheat on you, please... I would never, fuck.”

“Leon—” You whispered against his ear, stopping his ramblings with your voice honeyed as ever, making him addicted to even the slightest of your sighs. “Hurry.” He almost came at how needy you sounded, shaking his head hoping to compose himself, smirking at your command. Wasting no time, he curled a finger inside of you, slowly, wanting you to enjoy and feel up each joint, trying to help you fantasize about it to be his dick— all stuffed in you, exploring your insides.

You roll your eyes as you've finally felt the satisfaction of feeling him being inside you, albeit inferior by a point to what you normally would've imagined; exactly wishing the same thing as he was. His finger slowly dipped in and out in quick intervals, as if trying to loosen you up, his thumb resting above your clit, moving it in circular motions. At this point he wasn't even paying attention to the discomfort of his throbbing member still encaged within his jeans, too focused on making you feel good, wanting you to cum on his fingers alone, wanting nothing more than to please you. In a way, hopefully earn you back? Right, if he could make you feel good, you'd definitely want to keep him and take him back, right?

Your fingers slowly dug into his shirt, the friction of it all hurting Leon more, wishing he just took it off since the contact of your nail on his shirt pressing down on his skin was all too uncomfortable. “Mhm ‘h shit!” You groaned, a little bit of your saliva dripping to the corner of your lips, alarming Leon and a middle-aged lady on your right. Of course, being the quick-witted cutie you were— simply smiled at her direction; playing it off. “I think I cut myself, can you move your bag?" You asked Leon, faking a pout; which he quickly followed along, laughing inwardly. “Ah— yeah— shoot, sorry! I think I- yeah, sorry.” He used his free hand to move the bag, covering your thighs further, while he continued his ministrations. Finger-fucking you harshly now as he slid another digit, simultaneously pumping two fingers in you while his thumb toyed your clit, loving how swollen it had become.

As soon as everyone else looked away and focused on their business, you started leaning into Leon's chest, your breathing eventually became laboured— wanting Leon to feel a sense of understanding just how much he makes you feel right now; and as so, you began palming his crotch through the dark-washed denim jeans, rubbing him the same pace he was doing to you. “Princess, no.” He stops you, knowing he'll make a mess if you touch him more.

“I want to touch you, Lee.” You whined, kissing his sculpted yet soft chin, brows furrowed while you inch your knees up, needing him to get his fingers deeper in you which he did, following up your body— pressing himself against you. “Please, let me touch you,” more pleas for reciprocating his motions fell from your mouth, more eager to touch him than he was.

Fuck. Leon could only curse in his mind, you looked so adorable, sexy, and beautiful all at the same time with how you pleaded for his own pleasure, loving how you reciprocated his want for you, how much you wanted to return the favour, but as much as he wanted to— he couldn't let you, not if you both want to leave the lift without judgemental stares, that is. Leon shook his head ‘no’, chuckling, “It's okay baby, this is about you.” He was fully committed to giving you what he could at the very moment, and more if time allows him. “Let's focus on you.”

Your smile deforms into an "o" as he dragged his index finger, going from your clit down back to your entrance, pulling in just the tip of his finger before pulling out again, teasing you while he pretended like it was his cock diving into you. “Look at the mess you're making at the floor, babe.” He ushered, retracting his hand from you almost abruptly you could've sworn even the gods heard the squelch your pussy let out. “That'a dirty girl.”

Embarrassment boiled in your stomach, along with a knot forming, you were so close, too close and he stops mid-second, making you ache for continuance.

It didn't help how he was far better than your no-name boyfriend back at the small town you went to school for, sure, you crushed and pined on that boy too but, he disappointed you in bed so quickly, God forbid how redundant his movements were whenever he fingered you, unable to make you cum like you thought he would; what was the point of leaving your other ex-boyfriend for him if he was a no-better fuck? You don't even remember the last orgasm you've had, and it was only ever your fingers doing the job with some porno flick playing on your phone. An erotica here and there. You could've sworn you'd stay single instead and fuck yourself. But God did Leon surprise you. Your previous boyfriends (well, except for him) couldn't dare compare.

“Leon, stop it...!” You whisper-yelled, furrowing your brows, daring not to look down for you could already feel how much of your slick had dripped down, “For someone who cares so much about janitors, you're really out here making their jobs harder; huh?” He joked against your ear, not even hiding how proud he was with that cheeky boyish grin on his face, probing his fingers back inside you as he followed the rhythm with how he bucked his hips into yours. Loving how dumbfounded you had become under his touch. He wanted to flick his phone right there and then, to record you; ah maybe next time, if you allow it.

You leaned against the walls of the elevator, the cold surface kissing your blood-heated skin. He rocks his fingers faster, in awe of how fucked-out you already look, with how you lolled your lips like that, which he took advantage of and kissed, sucking on your strawberry cream tasting tongue. Your eyes rolling back as you fail to care if anybody has noticed anymore, whining against Leon's request.

And he doesn't seem fazed, pumping his fingers inside you with more fervour. Grinning from ear to ear at the development of your relationship. God, he wished he had done this sooner, maybe more often, maybe if you realized he can be good for you, you wouldn't have broken up with him— this time he'll prove just that. And you'll make sure of it too, right?

You tapped on his shoulder, eyeing him and shooting him a signal ‘I'm about to cum,’ your eyes shutting close as you ride out your high, griding against his hand, desperate for release; which he gladly obliged to, using his thumb to drum at your clit, pressing his palms closer to your crotch so you could grind on it further while he vibrated his fingers inside you, flicking it back and forth inside, reaching for that one specific area, the spongy spot he had discovered just earlier, “Gonna come for me, pretty?” He asks, eyes soft, “Cum for me, go on, cum. I wanna feel you all over my hands...” His whispers turned into a mantra, saying it over and over again like a string of Hail-Marys, urging you to release. And exactly that— you did. Biting your lip as you brought his free hand over your mouth, using him to muffle the moaning mess you've started to become. Each whine and huff.

He felt the warm liquid drip down into his fingers, his hand, as it makes its way to the floors, laughing in a twisted sort of humour, feeling awful for the person who'll clean it up but was also glad someone will gawk upon the mess he helped you make. Happy to have participated in ruining someone else's day.

Leon then took his hand away from your pussy, dragging it ever so slowly before wiping some of the slick in your lips, “C'mon taste yourself f'me?” He smiles, prompting you to open your mouth and do as told, it's only fair you do so, right? You slightly grimace at the thought that you'd accidentally meet eyes with someone while you sucked on his fingers, licking it off your juices, so you figured closing your eyes was your best bet at avoiding the awkwardness; rather than telling Leon, 'no.'

“Atta girl,” Once he felt like it was clean enough, he pressed his thumb over your throat, putting just enough pressure to force your mouth to open for air, itching a cough— which he then slid a kiss into, tasting your cum-ridden tongue with a satisfied grin, letting you go as he heard the elevator ding, helping you fix your panties and skirt as you both arrived at the destined floor to the cinemas. Waiting patiently for your turn to get out, he plants a softer kiss against your forehead. “We're gonna focus on the film, right?" He cheekily smiled, blushing a tad while you rolled your eyes, feigning annoyance with your hand smacking across his bicep, walking hand in hand towards the cinema room indicated on your tickets; “Ugh, shut up. Yes.”

You were so breaking up with your boyfriend after this.