#i am so tired of people saying that its ridiculous to want to release captive orcas

[florida3exclamationpoints]

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[dhwty-writes]

Flowers

Welcome to my probably favourite chapter of the whole fic. Have fun reading, guys! Again, this is for @thewitchersecretsanta for @heyabooboo.

Summary: Jaskier enters the netherworld in his search for Geralt's soul. He has been prepared for a lot of things, mostly monsters straight out of nightmares. Talking birds and flowers? Not so much.

Moodboard by the amazing @petrificustotaluss

Warnings: none

Read on AO3

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 

Jaskier sat on the soft bed, slowly unbuttoning his doublet as he tried to ignore the warnings his brain shouted at him. He really couldn’t use any second thoughts right now. 

“Get comfortable,” Triss had said before closing the door behind him and he really was trying. It wasn’t that he had real doubts about what he was about to do. In fact, he had rarely been so sure about anything in his entire life. 

Still, Jaskier knew that it was insane. How could he not, despite his earlier statement he wasn’t stupid. He had gone to Oxenfurt, after all, and quite successfully so if he did say so himself. And endangering your life by entering a netherworld almost no-one ever returned from for your best friend who you were secretly in lo- well, that was entirely besides the point. The point was, that what he was about to do was the height of stupidity, and that he was well aware of it.

Not that he’d change his mind. He was, after all, stubborn as a mule with no sense of self preservation whatsoever. 

He folded up his doublet and deposited it on the chair Yennefer had put next to the bed. He took his time with his boots as well, unlacing them almost all the way before neatly placing them under the chair. 

Jaskier turned back to the bed and couldn’t help but stare at it. “Alright,” he muttered. And then again, because he hadn’t convinced himself yet: “Alright.” He heaved a heavy breath, bouncing on the balls of his feet and shaking out his arms as he did before his performances. In a way, the dread that filled him was quite similar. He supposed. 

He kept staring at the bed. It was a nice bed, as far as beds went. Large. Soft, cream-coloured sheets. The kind of bed he’d like to share with a lover. ‘A nice deathbed, as well,’ he caught himself thinking. He really should get on it. Somehow, he couldn’t. “Fuck.” 

“Alright, bard?” Yennefer’s voice sounded from the door. 

“Yeah. This is weird.” How did one lie down in the bed where one might die? He had never thought he might actually be able to choose. If he was quite honest, he’d always supposed that he’d die all on his own someday, bleeding out in a ditch. Or in Geralt’s arms, confessing his eternal love with his last breath, if he was feeling especially romantic and melancholic. But never wrapped in clean, linen sheets without so much as a scratch on him.

She guffawed. “Weird. And you call yourself a poet?”

“Hm.”

Her boot heels clacked loudly on the parquet as she drew closer. “What are you thinking about?”

“Do you-” He laughed nervously. “Do you really want to know?”

“Normally not.” Well. At least she was being honest. “But since this might be our last conversation, I’ll go with yes.”

“I owe you an eternal debt of gratitude,” he joked. To his relief, she chuckled at least. “You see, it’s really quite stupid.”

“It has to be.” She came to a halt next to him and crossed her arms. “Coming from you.”

“Yes, yes, mock me all you want. The thing is, I don’t know if I should get on the bed or in the bed.”

She blinked dumbfounded. “That’s your biggest concern?”

“Momentarily, yes.” And that only because he didn’t allow himself to think about anything else. 

“You know, you should probably have very different second thoughts.” He didn’t dignify that with an answer. She sighed. “You also know you don’t have-”

"Don't," he interrupted her with a pained grimace, "make me change my mind."

"Jaskier-"

"No, Yennefer.” He turned around to face her. “I want to do this. I want to bring him back. At least I have to try."

They just stood there, staring at each other for a long time. Jaskier was not going to lose that battle. "Go lie on the bed,” she gave in. “It’ll feel less awkward.”

It was ridiculous how easy it was all of a sudden to sit down and scoot to the middle of the bed, lying down on the soft cushions. Once he got settled, she was still standing there at the foot of the bed, looming over him. “You know what?” he began. “This is very awkward. Reminds me of-”

“Rinde, I know,” she interrupted him. Her face was dark and clouded, her features unreadable. After a few moments she said: “Promise me you’ll come back.”

“Yennefer-”

“Don’t you Yennefer me, bard. I dealt with Geralt almost losing you once. Don’t make me console him when you’re actually dead.”

He wanted to tell her how stupid that was. That Geralt wouldn’t be coming back if he didn’t come back as well. Else what was the point of any of this? But somehow he couldn’t bring himself to say that. “I’ll come back,” he said instead.

She looked as if she wanted to say something else, but in that moment Triss called from the hallway: “Are you done, yet?”

“Yes,” Yennefer decreed and swept out of the room.

“Alright, then,” Triss said and closed the door behind her. “Let’s get this over with.” She sounded almost bored. “As your primary healer I am obligated to tell you that this is not only dangerous but downright lethal. And the absolutely most idiotic thing I have ever seen someone do and I have been a healer longer than you have been alive. If you die, you are not allowed to haunt me; I reject any responsibility for this. Got it?”

He gulped. “Got it.”

“Good. So, give it to me one last time. I make you fall asleep. Then what?”

"I will wake in the netherworld, where I will have to confront unspeakable horrors. I will brave the trials and tribulations that are necessary to reach Coram Agh Tera. On my search for Geralt I will speak to no-one, I won't utter my name, nor that of any other mortal."

"And when you have found him?"

He hesitated. They hadn't actually talked about that point. Finding Geralt in an endlessly large world of nightmares seemed impossible enough. He put on a brave smile which he knew wouldn't fool Triss. "Why, then I'll work my bardic charm to get whatever atrocious entity that's holding him captive to release him." He pulled off both his boots and went to lie down on the bed.

"Good enough," Triss muttered and stepped closer. "Close your eyes, Jaskier, and think of something sweet."

He did as he was told, slowly feeling his consciousness drift away as she began weaving her spell. 

Weirdly, it was Yennefer’s voice he heard next: "Good luck, bard. Bring him back to us." Hadn’t she left? Hadn’t she-? Hadn’t-

In the sluggish mass of his mind, he registered how strange that was. He wanted to ask who 'us' were. If he might be included. But he didn't dare. He wanted to answer something about returning with Geralt or not at all. But he was so tired.

"Sweet dreams," a voice from far away breathed.

Usually, when falling asleep, there is a certain amount of time that passes before people start dreaming. It could be a matter of hours or seconds; not that they are aware, of course. For them, that moment lasts but the fraction of a heartbeat, for they have no recollection of their slumber before or after their dreams. Most of them do not even remember those.

Once the sorceresses began weaving their spell, however, Jaskier saw that moment stretch out before him. It was an easy thing for him to, without so much as moving a single muscle, take a step. And another one. And then, let himself drift into that dark realm of uncertainty.

And so, he did.

In his, admittedly still rather short life, Jaskier had woken in all kinds of peculiar places. The beds of strangers most frequently, but also on tavern counters, beneath stages he couldn't remember playing on, covered with monster guts, covered with bandages, and, on one very memorable occasion, in a witcher's arms.

But this? This certainly and by far was the weirdest one of them all. 'The sky is the wrong colour,' was the first thing he noticed once he woke up. Instead of the soft blue he was used to, it was glaringly orange, as if eternally stuck in sunset. Only lacking the sun.

In all fairness, he wasn't quite sure if his current condition could be called 'awake'. Oh, well; he'd have to make do. How was a mortal supposed to describe a realm that defied both bounds of rationality and reality at once; a realm of gods that was never supposed to be graced by them, neither in this life nor the next?

The answer to that, of course, is as simple as it is obvious: they aren't. They aren't supposed to be there, they aren't supposed to understand it and mortals most certainly aren't supposed to tell tales of the netherworld.

Yet, one of them had entered it and he was currently struggling not to grin like an idiot as he took in his strange surroundings. Bards are a very strange subset of people, with more imagination than could be healthy for mortals. Weirdness doesn’t—mustn’t!—deter them, for they are weird themselves. One could call in an occupational requirement. And of all the strange bards in this world, this one’s certainly among the stranger ones. 

A quick glance around revealed that the sky wasn't the only thing with an unusual colour. In fact, everything around him seemed slightly off. The trees were purple, the mountains in the distance blue, and the clouds gathering above them black. Not the kind of black that clouds tended to be in his world as well, but pure, all-consuming, nothingness. It made goosebumps rise on his arms. The grass with its pink tint under his bare feet set him on edge, as well.

He had never quite fit in: always too loud, always too vibrant, always too different. But a world like this, where he was almost mundane in comparison? Why, Jaskier was having a field day. 'Focus, Jaskier,' he kept telling himself. He had a mission, after all. 'Look for clues.'

But him standing with nothing but his lutecase on a pink field seemed to be the only thing that stood out among all the oddities. 'Oh,' he realised belatedly, 'I'm naked.' A strange feeling crept up on him, a feeling that he should feel embarrassed about it. But then again, there was no-one around. Besides, this wasn't real anyways.

'Well, nothing to be done about that,' he decided and re-adjusted his lutestrap as he weighed his options. There was the periwinkle forest to his left, or the cerulean mountains to his right, with the fuchsia expanse dividing the two. He did not look back.

He was currently debating whether or not he should flip a coin while wondering where he might acquire one given his pocket-less state of undress, let alone one with three sides, when his thoughts were interrupted by the cheerful melody of a lark.

Jaskier craned his neck to search for it among the purple foliage. It wasn't exactly difficult to find, one of the two things he was rather glad for. The other being that it looked perfectly normal.

It opened its beak again and Jaskier leaned forward, to hear the sweet sound once more. "What’re you starin’ at?" the bird asked with a gruff voice that rather reminded him of one grumpy witcher he was searching for.

Jaskier stared at it. "Uhmm."

"Ughh," the bird said and flapped its wings. "Humans. What d’you want?"

"I- uhm- I might be looking for someone." Fuck, he wasn't supposed to talk to anything. Barely a few minutes in and he had messed up already. Well, then he might as well get real information: "There wouldn't happen to be any gods around, would there?"

"Gods?" the lark with the disturbingly deep voice answered. "Nahh, never seen one in my life. There's Wade, but they're chill."

"Wade?" he repeated.

"Yeah. Crazy fucker. Imagines all kinds of things. It's where the good stuff's at."

Jaskier decided to ignore that impossibility pointedly. Something told him that it wouldn’t be the strangest thing this world had in store for him. "And how might one find their way to them? You wouldn't know, would you?"

"Of course, I do,” it scoffed. “You fly. Obviously."

"Obviously," Jaskier echoed stupidly.

"Are you some kind of idiot?" the lark wanted to know and preened his feathers. "It's easy.

Up is down and left is right,

Do not lose your goal from sight.

To go back, you must progress,

For the fearless, no success." It shook out its wings. "Got it?"

"Umm," was all he managed.

The bird rolled its eyes. Could birds roll their eyes? Well, this one did. "Weirdo," it decreed and took wing.

Jaskier couldn't help but keep staring at the branch from where the lark had vanished. "What," he murmured, "the fuck." That might rank among the top five weirdest conversations of his entire life. Maybe even top three. Not as strange as running into the higher vampire, dryad and halfling he’d had a foursome with before sneaking out the next morning, and then explaining the whole situation to Geralt after he had rescued him from their wrath (-ish. Wrath-ish. Yes, he might have been shackled to the bed, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t been enjoying himself), of course, but that was hard to beat. 

Anyways, what he was trying to say was that he had a lot of experience with strange encounters, and that he was thankful for it. That way it didn't take all too long for him to continue with his trek, muttering to himself about the strange poem the lark had given him.

Not that he was very successful. He had reached the ‘singing to himself’-stage of ‘I’m trying to figure out some bullshit’ and everyone knew that came right before a nervous breakdown. Well. Nothing to be done about that. ‘Just like the good old days in Oxenfurt,’ he mused as he sing-songed: “This doesn’t make any fucking se-ense. Not one tiny bit, but destiny loves fucking me ove-er.”

"You're not like the others,” an excited voice interrupted his masterful performance. 

"Excuse me?" he squeaked and glanced around in search of the speaker. No birds far and wide.

"Down here," the frail voice sounded again from his right. Were they imitating his melody from earlier? Rude. 

"Uhh," Jaskier stammered and crouched down to get a better look. But no matter how he strained his eyes, there was nothing that would betray any movement between the blades of pink grass and flowers that dotted the field. He bent down even further in hopes of getting a better look. "Um, I'm sorry, but- are you maybe rather small? Gods, is this insensitive? I swear, I don't want to be, this world is just very different than my own and—"

"Not like the others at all," the voice said directly next to his ear.

Maybe he should have been embarrassed over the fact that he fell flat onto his bum or the shrill squeal that escaped him while doing so. In any other situation he maybe would have. In this situation Jaskier decided he didn't care. He had more important matters to attend to. Like dealing with the fact that he was talking to a buttercup, for example.

"I'm sorry," the flower said, swaying gently in the non-existent breeze, "did I startle you?"

"Yes!" he shouted. The buttercup recoiled and he regretted it immediately. It was probably his greatest feat of willpower yet, that he collected himself and answered as calmly as possible: "I'm sorry as well. Flowers do not tend to talk in my world."

"They don't?" It leant to the side as if tilting its head. Blossom. Whatever. "Interesting. None of the others ever told me that. Maybe I could imagine something else."

"Just- one second," Jaskier muttered, holding his hands up to stop the flower from talking. He needed at least a minimal amount of time to process this craziness. A thousand questions burned on the tip of his tongue, each spawning a thousand more. Well, first things first: "Why do you talk?"

"I don't know." It shrugged. "Why do you?"

"Fair point," he mumbled. He hadn’t considered that. On to the second question: "What others?"

"People," it explained dreamily, "tall like you, with those things on their roots so they can move around. But they're very different usually. No conversationalists at all."

He huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah, I've got my fair share of those in my life. It's infuriating, isn't it? I- oh, fuck. Are there a lot of people here?"

"Hmmm, maybe? Why?"

"I am looking for someone. He's a man like me. Tall. Built. White hair on his head and the worst conversationalist you can imagine-"

"That's a rock," it interrupted him.

"Uh-" He decided that the best bet was to ignore that statement. Not that it was necessarily untrue. Talking to Geralt could have certain similarities with conversations with a brick wall. "You didn't see him, did you?"

"I can't see."

"Oh." Shit, he should have thought of that. "Of course not." It was a flower, how was it supposed to see? It had no fucking eyes. "I, um," slowly, he got to his feet, "I should go."

"Where are you going?" the buttercup asked him curiously.

He winced. "See, that's a bit tricky. I don't really know, yet. I am looking for this man and apparently there is someone named Wade around here who might help me, and— it's just— it's really complicated, alright? I'm just wandering about until I find something."

It nodded understandingly. "I don't know any Wade. But I know a poem about wandering. Would you like to hear it?"

'Anything but that,' he thought but he had no chance to say it, for the buttercup was already reciting: "The knight is weak who joins the fray.

A wand’rer in their place will stay.

And when they’re gone the fools remain,

A garden grows with no sustain."

"That's, um, that's beautiful," he answered. 'Not that I understand a fucking word of it,' he thought.

Still, it seemed like the right answer for the buttercup beamed. "Thank you! It's my favourite. Not that I know any other, but-"

"Look," he interrupted it, slightly annoyed, "it's getting rather late and I should be on my way. Or I think it is, hard to say with this weird light. Where's the sun, by the way?"

"Oh, we haven't got one," the buttercup answered casually as if it was no big fucking deal.

"Right," he drawled and made a point of backing up quickly. "I'm going now. Bye!" With that he bolted. He had wasted enough time already and he obviously wasn't getting any information out of it. Nothing useful at least.

"Alright," he whispered to himself, as he kept heading to the horizon that stubbornly refused to come closer. "Birds and flowers talk here. No biggie." He had been prepared to deal with a lot of things. Nightmares. Monsters. But talking animals? Pink grass? The longer he stayed in this weird place, the less it seemed like a nightmarish hellscape and more like one of his worse trips during his Oxenfurt days. Suddenly, he understood why people went mad here.

Jaskier kept walking. And walking. And walking. He had no idea where he was going, if he was honest, and he wasn't confident he'd figure it out in the near future either. His youthful hate of poetry was in the process of returning with renewed vigour. 'I wonder why.'

This was exactly what he had always hated about rhetoric in Oxenfurt: trying to discern a hidden meaning that probably wasn't even there. Only that this time there had to be one. And he had to find it. It was his only chance of finding Geralt anytime soon. Or ever.

And while he normally prided himself on being able to bullshit his way out of these situations, he had a suspicion that that wouldn’t help in this case. 

He had already gone over the formal aspects more times than he could count; that was easy enough. Two quatrains with rhyming couplets. The first had been a trochaic tetrameter, the second an iambic one. And what did that tell him? Fuck all, that's what. ‘Just about as much as Oxenfurt taught me.’

Eventually, he had come to the conclusion that the two poems were not two poems at all, but two stanzas from the same one. No, he couldn't explain it either. Maybe because the last line of the first stanza had the word fearless in it, and the second stanza started with knights- Look, he knew he was grasping at straws here. What else was he supposed to do?

The thing was, he was also rather sure he was slowly running out of time. That idea—as ludicrous as it was—had come to him what felt like days ago and he was still walking. The horizon was still moving far and farther away with every step he took. He was exhausted. But no matter how often he gave his body the command to rest, it still kept on walking. He hadn't met anyone else. No strange flowers anymore. No rude birds. Certainly, no people. And definitely no Geralt. He wanted to weep.

Jaskier stopped in his tracks. "Fuck," he cursed quietly. Then, again, louder: "Fuck!" This was getting him nowhere. He had to try and ask someone for help. To decode the secret message, maybe. Or, if he was right and this was indeed one poem, perhaps even acquire the rest of it.

The thing was, the last two times it had been the strange inhabitants of this world who had sought him out not the other way around. He wasn't quite sure if he was able to talk to them on his own initiative. He didn't even know how to discern the talking plants from the mute ones.

He paled as a horrible thought came to his mind. 'What if they're the same?' Jaskier stared at the pink grass down in horror. 'Shit.'

"Hello?" he whispered warily. No response. He glanced around as if to check that he was alone—of course he was—and bent down. "Can you hear me?" he tried again. "Do you talk, too?"

Nothing.

Relief flooded over him. At least he hadn't been stomping all over a sentient being the whole time. At least he hadn't exposed his bumhole- 'Nope! Not going there.'

He fiddled with his lute strap to distract himself for all of these terrible thoughts that were adamant to take over his mind. There was still the lilac forest he tried to ignore. Maybe the trees could talk. Maybe they were smarter than larks and buttercups. He certainly hoped so.

Jaskier cleared his throat and raised his voice: "Excuse me?" he shouted at the trees. "I- excuse me? I've got a question! Hello? Excuse me? Can you hear me?"

He heard a giggle behind him. "Look at that idiot, trying to talk to trees." Jaskier spun around and spotted the culprit almost immediately: two stems with purple flowers he'd recognise anywhere. Larkspur.

He scoffed. "I'll have you know that I am no idiot at all, thank you very much. In fact, I graduated summa cum laude from Oxenfurt academy."

The flowers laughed again. "Like I said," the second one piped up with a voice that closely resembled another troubadour's he was regrettably acquainted with, "idiot." Jaskier despised it already.

"Well, excuse me that I assumed plants talk here after leading a rather lovely conversation with a buttercup."

"Ughh," it groaned. "That imbecile. We're well acquainted. Are you just as annoying?"

"Gods, I hope not," he blurted before he knew what he was saying. The larkspur laughed again. "So, not all plants talk here?"

"No," the first one answered, as if it were obvious. Strangely, it was.

"Umm." Jaskier blinked, waiting for more. Apparently, that was the extent of the flowers' elaboration, for they didn't say anything else. "You wouldn't happen to know any poems, do you?"

"Maybe," they answered unhelpfully. "What's it to you?"

"Well, if you know one, I'd like to hear it."

They bristled and scoffed. "Why?"

"Uhh-" He hadn't been prepared for that question. Jaskier cursed internally. Why hadn't he been prepared for that question? He should've been prepared for that question. 'Fuck,' he thought, 'fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.' Improvisation it was, then: "Well, you see, when I met that wonderful buttercup over there it told me a poem and it promised that it was the best I'd ever hear in this world and any other."

There was a cry of outrage and Jaskier smirked. There was a lot of things excelled at, and riling up Valdo fucking Marx certainly counted among his most accomplished ones. Or a flower with his voice, he guessed. He didn't really care, truly. He had information to acquire: "So, now I'm wondering. I have to admit, I wasn't awfully impressed, so maybe-"

The larkspur scoffed. "Of course, you weren't impressed. That buttercup is a talentless wastrel pandering to the tastes of the masses," it complained and, oh, Jaskier had heard that one before. He was suddenly overcome by the urge to strangle a flower.

"Also, no regard for intellectual property whatsoever," the first one continued and Jaskier nearly choked on his own spit. He had said that one before. "Just like you are."

Jaskier stared in mute horror as he watched the two stems begin to argue with one another. "It probably didn't even recite the poem correctly. You, good sir, are in the presence of a true master. At least one, I will make no comments about my companion-"

Now it was Jaskier who scoffed, though he didn't dare to interrupt them. If they were anything like— well, any poet he knew there was no chance he'd get the poem after that. And so, there was nothing to be done but try his best to not have his ears start bleeding from the presumptuous lecture he was forced to endure.

After what felt close to an hour, Valdo-larkspur finally announced: "A poem, you say? I give you a poem. Joy brings grief and tears do laugh

Not all earth’s riches are enough.

You are lost, but so am I,

Come descend into the sky." As soon as it was done, Jaskier-larkspur began commenting on his horrible rendition of it. 

Jaskier stared. And blinked. And stared again. "That's it?!" he exclaimed disbelievingly. "That makes even less sense!" How the fuck was he supposed to descend into the sky?

"Oh, you don't like it?" they nagged. Great, now he had offended them both. "I gave you an hour of my time and this is how you repay me—" Before he knew it, they had descended into another heated argument, of which he recognised rather substantial parts. 'Gods preserve me,' he prayed, 'this is a nightmare.' Jaskier wondered if it was considered awfully rude to rip a flower out in this world, root and stem. Probably. Pity.

He sighed heavily. 'If only they hadn't given me an hour of their ti- Wait a minute.' "Hour, you said?" he interrupted them without thinking. "Do you know what hour it is?"

They scoffed. "Figure of speech."

"Of fucking course," he muttered. Still, he wasn't quite ready to give up on that, yet, so he tried again. "Have you got any idea what time it is? How is it passing here? How long is a day?"

"What is a day?" they answered.

'Gods give me strength,' he begged. "It's from one sunrise to the other."

"What's a sunrise?"

"It’s when the sun appears in the sky?"

"What’s a sun?"

"Oh, this is useless," Jaskier muttered and walked away without another word. He had quite enough of the worst combination of Valdo Marx and himself imaginable. And he had another stanza to think about. 'Not that it will do any good.'

Jaskier kept on walking. It was getting more and more frustrating with every step. He managed to talk to a few other flowers and birds, once even to a snail, but none of them were really helpful. Most of the birds had heard of Wade, at least; the flowers, on the other hand, were very useless. No more stanzas, no more directions, no more references to this Wade. Certainly, and most frustratingly, no answers as to where the sun was. And it was really getting late.

"Does anyone know a poem?" he yelled in the hopes of someone hearing him. He knew it was desperate, alright? But desperate times called for desperate measures. At this point, he'd be grateful for any hint. "Does anybody know what time it is?"

A heavy sigh made him whip around. "For fuck's sake man, how dense are you?" a deep voice grumbled. "Time’s an indefinite continued progress of existence and interdependent events that barely works in your world let alone ours. Just keep on walking."

Jaskier wanted to. He really did. But there was a dandelion throwing big words at him. He couldn't resist. He rushed over and crouched down. "Well, but you surely have a way of measuring it, don't you?" he asked eagerly.

"Time goes by if we catalogue it or not, the outcome is the same.” It yawned. Made a yawning sound. Whatever. Great. Jaskier managed to bore a dandelion. “Your narrow human minds are too focused on how much of it passes that you neither notice how fast it does nor what happens while doing it."

He hummed thoughtfully. “I guess there is some truth to this.”

“Ugh.” The dandelion made a gagging sound. “Truth. Another one of your stupidities. What even is truth but the enforcement of a subjective point of view that is worthless for large parts of society at best, and downright harmful for them at worst? Why are you boring me with such first-grade bullshit?"

Jaskier gaped at him. ‘What the fuck?’ He’d really like to continue their conversation about truth, however, there were more pressing questions at hand: "You have a school?"

"Of course, we do. How else do you think we grow?"

"With sunlight."

The flower turned to the sky. "There’s no sun."

He groaned. And he’d thought this flower was helpful. "Yeah, I can bloody well see that too!"

"Whoa man, what got your knickers in a twist? No need to shout. The volume of your voice does not increase the validity of your argument."

"Let me guess,” he sighed. “Another thing you learned in school."

"Yup." It popped the p.

‘Focus, Jaskier,’ he told himself for the umpteenth time. ‘And calm down.’ Massaging his temples he asked: "Why'd you even go to school?"

"’Cause I'm beautiful, man."

Jaskier scoffed and was about to say something about humility, but it kept on talking: "I'm a pretty little flower with absolutely no purpose. All I’m meant to do is be pretty ‘til someone plucks me and I wither and die. Or I’m meant to stay in the place where I was born until I wither and die. I was havin’ none of that. I like bein’ looked at, don' get me wrong, but I don't like people thinking I'm dumb ‘cause I'm pretty. So, I got an education."

That… made an disturbing amount of sense. ‘Maybe I’m going crazy already,’ he thought. Surely no sane person could emotionally relate to a dandelion. 

“Are you done now?” it asked impatiently.

He supposed he was. "One last question: How do I get to... the garden?"

"Follow your heartbeat to the horizon, the second turn to the right after the battlefield pops you right into his garden."

‘Oh, great. More instructions that make absolutely no fucking sense whatsoever.’ Desperately, he asked: "Please. Can’t you tell me how to do that?"

"You said one last question,” it complained with a sigh.

“Please?” he begged again.

“Man, this is a paranormal netherworld that exists beyond what any mortal can grasp with its mind, you just do. Just do whatever the poem says."

"A poem!" he exclaimed excitedly. Finally. "Tell me about it, please."

"Man," the dandelion sighed, "really? That's... that's a lot of work, man."

"Yes, I know, but-"

"Fuck's sake, I'm on it, I'm on it," it drawled. "Stop stressing me out. It's something like this: 

Up is down and left is right,

Do not lose your goal from sight.

To go back, you must progress,

For the fearless, no success.

  The knight is weak who joins the fray.

A wand’rer in their place will stay.

And when they’re gone the fools remain,

A garden grows with no sustain.

  Joy brings grief and tears do laugh

Not all earth’s riches are enough.

You are lost, but so am I,

Come descend into the sky.

  Come find me in my garden green,

Come taste the fruit that’s never been.

How to find my mighty throne?

The answer’s plain: you don’t."

"That... doesn't make any sense to me," Jaskier said helplessly.

"It will." It shrugged. "But it doesn't have to. You ever went to school, man?"

"Actually, I did."

"Right. You don't need to understand everything, buddy. Just follow the fucking instructions."

Jaskier sighed and got up. "Thank you." He had almost walked away when he circled back and crouched down to whisper: "Why is there no sun?"

There was a heavy sigh. "I don't know man, I'm just a flower."

"Yeah, yeah," he agreed quickly. "Just... don't mind me. Leaving already."

He had a poem to decipher after all. "Just follow the instructions," he muttered. As if that was an easy thing to do. 

He tried thinking about it. He really did. He tried to take the poem as literally as humanly possible. As literally as otherworldly possible, even! No success. 

It was infuriating, really. His mind was a fickle thing at the best of days, always hopping from one topic to the next. This was not the best of days. Just like the horizon that seemed to be moving further away with every step he took, his thoughts seemed to slip from his grasp once they got into reach.

"Fucking cock!" he threw his hands up. "I swear, witcher, if I get you out of here, I'll send you back myself." 

He crossed his arms and sat down on his butt to pout. He knew he was being unreasonable. But really, a world beyond the bounds of reason had no right to expect any sort of respectable behaviour from him. If he wanted to act like a child, he bloody well would. Maybe that might help him figure that out. Thinking like a child instead of an adult. 

After half an hour he came to the conclusion that it didn’t, so he got to his feet and started pacing. Always a good option. Normally, at least.

"Ughh!" Jaskier exclaimed and threw his hands up. "I just- I don't understand it! Up is down and left is right, yeah, I get that everything is weird here. To go back- For fuck's sake, I don't want to go back! I want to go forward!"

He stopped his pacing as realisation hit him. "Wait a minute," he murmured. "Up... is down," he moved his head along with the words. "And left is right. To go back-" He spun around. "-I must go forward. But if I go back-" He twirled again; his gaze fixed on the horizon. "Never lose your goal from sight, that's it!"

He pumped his fist in the air. "I am a godsdamned genius!" He laughed giddily.

"Alright, alright, calm down," he told himself and took a deep breath. There was still one line missing: "For the fearless, no success," he muttered. 

"Good thing I'm a fucking coward." Jaskier laughed weakly and began walking backwards.

[chelsfic]

Hunter’s Heart - Din Djarin x OFC - Mandalorian Fanfic

Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five

Summary: Instead of finding a child the Mandalorian discovers his quarry is a young woman. The girl has been held captive and abused and she claims not to know why she’s being sought by every bounty hunter in the galaxy. Din knows she’s lying but for the first time he can remember he feels doubt about finishing a job.  

A/N: If you get major Firefly vibes from this plot, that’s because I am definitely flashing back to my Jayne/River shipping days as I write this. I love that Din is the fierce, strong bounty hunter who’s secretly soft and I just couldn’t get the idea of being one of his bounties out of my head. So here we are… If you like this fic and you’d like to be tagged in it just let me know!

Warnings: Mentions past non-con

Rating: General for now

***

The Mandalorian freezes as he takes in the image before him. He’d been expecting maybe a grizzled ex-warlord or a hardened syndicate criminal. Instead the quarry that’s caused all of this grief appears to be a…girl. A young woman. It’s difficult to judge her age. She’s slight, thin, weak-looking. She’s been chained to a wall and, if the bruises and abrasions on her skin are any indication, clearly abused. In all his years of hunting, Din has never felt a moment’s hesitation or a second’s doubt about his actions. He takes in criminals, they do their time, take their punishment, and he gets paid. He’s a necessary link in the chain. Not good. Not bad. Necessary.

Today he pauses.

The droid doesn’t.

The IG unit raises its blaster arm to take aim at the girl who is visibly quaking in fear. Din has no qualms shooting the droid. Killing isn’t part of the arrangement he made with the client. Alive. He is bringing this bounty in alive.

The droid drops to the floor, smoke rising from the hole in its central processor made by Din’s blaster. He watches the girl flinch at the sound of impact, but she doesn’t look up. Her face is pointed away from him and she’s huddling into the wall as if hoping to somehow fade into the plaster and avoid notice. The muscles in her shoulders and arms twitch as she crouches there, hugging herself and purposely not looking at the intimidating bounty hunter.

Din is momentarily at a loss for words. Normally this would be the point where he addresses the quarry by name, confirms the bounty and locks them in a pair of binders. But he doesn’t know this girl’s name, or why exactly there’s a price on her head, and she doesn’t look like she can stand let alone try to escape from him. He clears his throat, a rare sign of discomfort that’s at least distorted by the helmet.

“Can you get up?” he asks. It’s uncharacteristic. He should command her to get up and come quietly.

The chains rattle as the girl shakes her head furiously and curls into herself even more. He’s encountered plenty of fear in his career as a bounty hunter. It comes with the job title. But he’s never been…bothered by it before. This job really is cursed. Something just isn’t right here. Why do they want this harmless looking woman?

Din steps forward, kneeling down to get a look at her face through the tinted visor of his helmet.

“Hey,” he says, reaching out as if to grasp her shoulder before thinking better of it and letting his gloved hand drop, “I’m not going to hurt you unless you give me a reason to, okay? But you have to come with me now.”

She blinks and he watches as fat tears spill over her cheeks. A string of expletives march through his thoughts but he stays silent and watches her in a way he knows people find unnerving. The girl looks up at him, not quite succeeding in meeting his gaze but getting it close enough. She inhales shakily before speaking in a voice cracked from disuse, “Where are we going?”

Din nearly sighs in relief and reaches out to begin working on her chains as he replies, “Back to my ship.”

The girl still looks wary but she rises on shaky legs and holds her hands out for him to cut through the chains with one of his tools. He wonders if she realizes who and what he is. If she even knows that there’s a price on her head. He can’t believe he’s letting this girl’s looks get to him like this. He’s seen plenty of bounties who looked the part of the innocent. What is different about this one?

As the chains fall away he makes up his mind to be more practical. He takes a pair of binders from his utility belt and watches as the girl shrinks from him with a look of dread on her face. 

“No, no, please… No more restraints!” her eyes dart wildly around the room like a spooked animal. He wonders how long she’s spent in chains.

Din grabs a wrist and pulls her in until he’s leaning into her personal space and the girl is visibly cringing away from him. 

“If I leave you unbound are you going to come quietly? No escapes. No running.”

She twists her arm attempting to dislodge his grip. The Mandalorian tightens his fingers just enough to hint at pain without actually causing her any injury. Seeing the futility of the effort she gives up and nods in defeat. 

“I won’t run away,” she whispers, her head hangs down in submission. “I just don’t want anything else around my wrists.”

He releases his grip and watches as she gingerly rubs each wrist. They’re red and raw from the tight chains. Din feels a flash of guilt that’s entirely ridiculous. He quickly squelches it as he starts to make mental calculations for their extraction plan. It’s a long trek back to the Razor’s Crest and the girl doesn’t have any shoes. He looks her up and down and she shivers under the impenetrable tinted gaze of his visor. She’s dressed in a threadbare beige tunic and dirty leggings. No jacket either. 

Din sighs and turns toward the blasted doorway, motioning her to follow, “Come on.”

Outside the courtyard of the compound is littered in bodies. Din eyes each form, sizing them up until he finds a little guy who’s close enough to the girl’s proportions. He bends over him and dispassionately strips the brown tactical jacket from his shoulders, tossing it in the girl’s direction, and then tugs the shoes from his feet.

“Put these on,” his voice is entirely unreadable thanks to the voice modulator.

The girl looks up at him with wide eyes and a doubtful expression. She picks up the jacket, holding it at length between two fingers and wrinkles her nose at it, “There’s blood on this…”

The Mandalorian just stares at her for a long moment completely motionless before he finally states, “Beggars can’t be choosers. Put it on. And the shoes. We have a long walk to my ship.”

She tugs the boots on first and is surprised by how well they fit. They’re not the most comfortable, especially without socks, but her feet have already started to burn on the sun-scorched packed earth of the courtyard. She glances up at the bounty hunter with a look of gratitude that may as well have been aimed at a rock for all the reaction she gets. She straightens and pulls the jacket on over her shoulders with a look of distaste but she’s at least glad for the protection from the harsh sun. 

“Let’s move,” Din commands, striding ahead of her and expecting her complete obedience. He’s not worried about keeping her in his sight. Her short legs and weak condition would make it too simple to catch her if she decides to run.

***

They’ve been walking for about an hour when the Mandalorian stops suddenly and she sees his helmet slowly swivel to the side as he takes in their surroundings. She can’t see his expression but his sudden tension is telegraphed by his wary stance and she freezes in place behind him, holding her breath in sudden fear.

The form springs out at him from a shadowy crevice in the canyon wall, leaping from above and immediately engaging in combat while two others appear from nowhere and surround him. The girl drops to the dirt at the first sign of conflict and starts frantically shuffling away from the danger, taking refuge behind a boulder. She watches as her captor takes on all three bounty hunters with efficient, powerful movements that make it clear that even three Trandoshans are no match for one Mandalorian warrior. He takes them down one at a time until there’s only one desperate hunter left. The Trandoshan races toward her hiding place and she flinches with the familiar anticipation of pain but it never comes. Instead he’s vaporized by a shot from the Mandalorian’s rifle just before he comes within reach of her.

Din bends over his fallen foe and picks up the familiar looking tracking beacon. He feels a flare of annoyance with Greef Karga. How many damn beacons did he give out? He finds himself once again staring at the small woman cowering  beneath the canyon wall. Her long, brown hair is tied back from her face but he can tell it’s stringy with sweat and grime. Her thin arms are covered in bruises and cuts. Why does the client want her so badly? Who is she? What is she?

***

They keep walking as the sun falls in the sky. Din knows the girl is getting tired. Every now and then she stumbles and has to catch herself to stay upright. It’s nearly nightfall when they come upon a small watering hole with some decent sized rocks for cover. When the girl sees the water she skips ahead, clearly relieved and thirsty. 

“Wait!” Din commands. He catches up to her with his measured, unhurried strides. The girl is standing at the edge of the water and looking up at him with an almost pleading expression. “We have to test the water first to make sure it’s potable.”

She nods her head at his sensible words and waits as he dips a small device into the water and watches the display. A small light turns green and the Mandalorian nods wordlessly at her. She falls to her knees and dips her hands in the water, cupping them and drinking. The sun has warmed the water but it’s clean and refreshing and she nearly moans in relief as she drinks her fill. When she’s had enough she dunks her whole head, scrubbing her face and running her fingers through her dirty hair. She can’t remember the last time she’s been allowed to use a refresher to bathe but this feels positively luxurious. When she’s through washing her face and arms she sits back and notices the Mandalorian just standing over her. 

The soulless helmet stares back at her and she feels a shiver run down her spine. She’d seen the way he incapacitated those other hunters in the canyon. He’s strong and deadly and he is now in charge of her fate. She‘s frightened of angering him but she feels the words bubble up to her lips anyway, “Aren’t you going to have some water?”

He lets an unnerving moment of silence pass before answering, “No.”

The girl’s brow furrows in confusion at his answer. They’ve been walking through the desert for hours, he must be thirsty…

“Aren’t you thirsty?”

“I can’t remove my helmet in front of another living being,” his voice comes out irritated and she feels herself subconsciously flinch away as if expecting to be hit for her insolence. Din doesn’t miss the reaction and he sighs wearily, “I told you I wouldn’t hurt you.”

She’s silent for a while, contemplating his words. He has not hurt her or shown any sign that he wishes to…but it must be an act, surely? She can’t remember a time before fear and pain and captivity. She’s never met a person who didn’t wish to harm her in some way to get her to do what they wanted. She keeps a watchful gaze on the bounty hunter as he settles down on the ground and leans his back up against a boulder. She can’t read anything from his mask and that frightens her more than anything. She can always tell when one of her jailers is about to strike out at her and she’s able to prepare herself for the blow. But this man is a mystery.

It’s been so long since she’s been allowed to speak, though. Now that she’s started the words keep coming.

“Why can’t you take off your helmet?”

“I’m a Mandalorian,” he explains simply. “It is the way.”

Din notices the blank look on the girl’s face and asks, “Don’t you know about Mandalorians?”

A blush creeps up her cheeks as if she’s embarrassed by her ignorance. She shakes her head in response.

“We don’t remove our armor in front of anyone. It’s part of our religion.”

“Oh,” she answers quietly. As the sun dips lower toward the horizon she can feel the temperature dropping and she’s grateful for the baggy jacket that she pulls tighter to her body. The Mandalorian seems unaffected by anything: thirst, the temperature, the exertion of walking for miles without rest. But his voice is that of a normal man. And though she’s never been shown kindness by a man in her life, she can’t help the instinct to offer kindness when she can. “I’ll close my eyes.”

“What?” Din asks, startled from his own musings.

The girl takes a breath for courage and repeats herself more clearly, “I’ll close my eyes. I promise I won’t look. So you can have some water. You must be thirsty.”

Din narrows his eyes behind the visor and regards her with suspicion. He’s been contemplating the likelihood that her innocence is all an act. Who in the galaxy has never heard of a Mandalorian? He shakes his head at her, “I don’t trust you.”

The girl looks puzzled, “But…you’re the kidnapper. I don’t trust you!”

“What are you talking about?” he demands in annoyance, clenching his fists in the dirt beside him. “I’m a bounty hunter. I’ve collected you because you are a fugitive. And fugitives…are not trustworthy.”

“I haven’t done any crime,” she answers quietly. She shrinks down into herself as if his words are shameful to her. He supposes they would be shameful…to an innocent person. Which she is not.

“I’ve heard that one before,” he says with finality and turns pointedly away from her to end the discussion.

But his throat is almost unbearably dry and his tongue is heavy and swollen with thirst. What an idiot.

“Come here,” he says gruffly. He walks over to her and grabs her roughly by the arm before she has a chance to stand on her own. He half drags her back to the water and forces her down on her knees beside him. He wraps an arm around her head and holds his gloved hand over her eyes tightly, almost painfully. “I’m going to take off my helmet and drink. If you move, if you struggle, if you try to break away from me….I’ll kill you. Understand?”

She starts to nod before she remembers herself and keeps still.

“Yes,” she says breathlessly. “I understand.”

With one arm holding the girl to his side and covering her eyes, Din proceeds to awkwardly remove his helmet with one hand. He breathes rapidly with nervous tension. He’s never been so close to another living being with his helmet off before. But the girl is right. He’s desperately thirsty. He sets the beskar helmet down in the dust beside him and takes a second to breathe in the chill evening air. His dark hair is damp with sweat and messy, sticking up chaotically around his head. His forehead is slick with sweat. He moves his hand upward and tugs at the finger of his glove with his teeth, pulling it off and letting it drop to the ground. His hand plunges into the water and he begins to drink. 

The girl is boneless in his grip, too terrified to move an inch. She lets her body move with his as he bends down to reach the water and then up again to drink from his hand. His armor digs into her back uncomfortably but she stays quiet. She’s never been so close to a man like this without the expectation of violence or…other things. She tries to calm her nerves by taking deep breaths and imagining that she has a different life. This is an exercise with which she’s very familiar. When the guards seek her out in the dark hours and assault her with their disgusting, foul breath and clumsy touches…she imagines she’s someplace else with a friend or even a lover. The dreams help her to stay sane. Now she imagines she is with someone who loves her and his arm around her is not a restraint but an embrace. The thought calms her and she’s able to forget that he’d threatened to kill her a moment ago.

When he’s finished and his helmet and glove are safely in place he lets her go. The girl scoots away from him and hugs herself. The temperature has dropped and she’s starting to shiver even with the jacket. 

“Thank you,” the Mandalorian says simply before moving back to his place by the rock. She follows him, settling down a few feet away and curling into a ball for warmth. 

Din starts working on his damaged chest plate as night falls in earnest. He catches sight of the girl shivering in the corner of his eye and he once again feels the unwelcome clench of guilt. He pushes it aside angrily and focuses on his work. She might not be the type of criminal he’s used to capturing but she hasn’t been completely truthful with him either. There’s no way this girl doesn’t know why she’s being hunted. 

“Why does my client want you if you didn’t commit a crime?” he demands abruptly.

The girl holds her hands out, palms up in a gesture that could mean uncertainty or surrender. But she doesn’t answer for a long time and when she does the words are hollow with the lie, “I don’t know.”

When the Mandalorian doesn’t deign to respond she goes back to huddling for warmth. She feels the mistrust and anger roll off of him in waves before she can block them out. The lie leaves a sour taste in her mouth but she learned a long time ago that to tell the truth about what she is–what they made her into–always leads to disaster. She’s nodding into a fitful doze when she feels something soft settle around her shoulders and she looks up to see the Mandalorian already walking back to sit in his spot across from her. She reaches up to pull the thick fabric of the bounty hunter’s cloak around her shoulders. It’s surprisingly warm and she feels a rush of gratitude toward him despite everything.

“Thank you,” she whispers. The Mandalorian nods minutely and goes back to his work.

The nameless girl lays down on the soil, wrapped in her captor’s cloak and feels her eyes finally close. She drifts off into a sleep uninterrupted by terror or pain for the first time since before she can remember.

[deviationdivine]

Wake Up | domestic!Android AU Part 1 (Connor x Reader)

gif by arsuf 

F!reader x Connor

13.6k words

Detroit: Become Human - 1 Year Anniversary Release Celebration

A revolution may divide the city but it will never divide you...

tw: Angst, Fluffy Connor in the midst, Language, Suggestive Themes, Violence

a/n: First part of mini-series AU “Wake Up”. An introductory chapter one. Apologies for how long this took but I struggled and I am not happy with the end result. However, it’s finally here. • Connor is the latest high tech domestic model built with a collection of extra features, skills and functions making him the most advanced of his kind. As your personal assistant he is equipped with becoming the perfect partner if you so require. Falling in love with your personal android was never part of the equation nor was his break into deviancy...

“My name is Connor. I am your personal assistant. My features will allow me to take extensive care of your home, do the cooking, mind children and repair any problematic issues that arise within the household’s utilities. 

As I am the most advanced make I can perform various tasks including but not limited to acts of a sexual nature. If you so require I am capable of being the perfect partner…”

Perfect is a conceptual illusion in every sense or so you come to believe. Why do humans think in terms of excellence when most shining examples tarnish in glaring flaws? Even technology can be made wrong or needing improvement not long after distribution. Faulty wiring, danger of overheating and causing harm of a radioactive proponent all seem minuscule in comparison. 

Today, in the future, there is a grander blueprint mapping out the most innovative, extreme to date.

When it becomes alive, mimics the very corporeal state of being born unto humans since man breathed life in this vast universe, mirroring visage of those who wish to create in their likeness.

How does it go from technological wonder to abstruse thinking? Concepts can be a greater weapon. They can also reach for too much too soon. Is this the true state of AI meant for consumer consumption?

Cart them off exclusively as merchandise no matter how human they look. Isn’t that their appeal? The more something foreign, inexplicable but resembles us the more it is accepted. Basic instinctual deep thinking bred into all humans. Difference is an attest beneath surface value. Judge a book by a cover but if there are features hiding its distinct nature by all means use it.

Laziness might be a better solution in this mathematical equation. Imperfect perfection makes way for future development. Those are the very elements that change the world.

Can you even imagine for one second, one little point in life it would come to change yours? So small in a world full of billions but here in Detroit home of Cyberlife and its creation the pilot sparks. Alight with technological revolution.

Androids are here. Androids are owned. Bought as slaves to humanity and used beyond measure, no consideration that those made in image could possibly develop feelings. Emotions are heavy. They are what make us all human. Can machine truly become human?

  You never wanted one. Mostly it made you uncomfortable witnessing cruelty by specific ‘owners’ on the bustling city streets. It’s everywhere. Even today, chillier, more specifically a frigidity creeping into bones.

Eyes shift over a couple walking briskly as you draw coat closer together up throat. Keeping wind seeping through to tangle around your body but watching them waltz their merry way without care. Of course they have none. Their female android, an AX400 to be exact, is taking care of two rowdy children.

Honestly it must be nice. Not having to parent after deciding to add more to the burdening populace. Maybe that’s just your pessimism talking. Simple fact though? Could be that too but who knows?

Just another one of those days but it is about to change drastically. Passing a Cyberlife store does pique curiosity. Window displays my God. They line them up as if that’s all they are.

They offer whatever a human wants and yet not all can bother to treat them fairly. Is it enough androids are made to look as everyone else? Would a genuine human being treat another so despicably? Yes. A resounding yes because it never goes away. People treat people with disdain for every reason, every prejudice and why should that shock? Androids have become an additional target. 

Honestly it makes you sick. Never did you once realize this is what would change things completely. On this very day, minding business walking home from another tiring bustle  

More than one occurrence struck you right in the gut. A previous household model absorbs brunt of   obscenities and physical humiliation. A scene like this turned your stomach. 

The moment it came to intervene you received an interrupting phone call. Unfortunately this was the start of big changes in your life.

What does one do discovering death of a relative? Closeness is a fundamental of familial connections. For you? Well, let’s say it didn’t quite work out.

  “What do you mean he…died?” Answering in a quiet breath, cell phone a tight clutch in hand stalling in breezy climate, everything stops around your personal orbit.

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” a familiar voice speaks over your ingenious disbelief.

Ignoring your pleas for a proper answer it becomes increasingly cruel on the woman’s breath digging truths in your ear. Whether she realizes this or not it’s up for debate. “You do realize this was coming. It isn’t as if he were young and healthy. Frankly, I am surprised you are having such a negative reaction.”

Negative is exactly the type of reaction! What does she expect? “Of course I’m having a reaction!” Practically screaming into your phone made the chilled air sting worse. How is this happening? How can this even be real?

“Oh, it’s all right, Y/N. Get it out now. It’ll be better if you don’t make a scene at the funeral.”

Anger is a burning pyre ready to fan over and incinerate. One snide comment reminds how much you can’t stand this person. She’s not even blood related. An ‘aunt’ isn’t technically qualified to hold the title and that’s fine. Just another excuse to dig at you in this family but there is no family left. Your father – he’s dead.

Money fixes everything? Unlikely but still nothing surprises you more than receiving something from an estranged parent. Generous sums to a black sheep or as you’re sure greedy auntie bitch of the hour calls you behind your back. She is one woman who deserves that damn moniker. Especially when it’s clear there are no connections left. Aunt Cruella, as christened ages ago by your best friend, made short work of your uncle. Certainly bled him dry continues to do so with his left over money after he succumbed to stress in a massive heart attack. Why do people like her thrive using, snide and heartless while others –?

What can you do then? Except you fall into an overwhelming sense of losing time and never extending an olive branch. Why is the universe so cruel? Why can’t you turn back time, forget every stupid thing that ever happened to drive a rift?

Part of you couldn’t stand the idea of being alone rest of your life. Maybe that’s why using part of a small deposit felt right. Watching so many gradually fall into current technological commercialism lead to most having their own android. It seems almost a little too barbaric making them cater to every whim. Honestly, you have no idea why this is needed. Do you really need him? 

No, he isn’t… He. Yes, he. 

Despite manufacturing Connor is a he in every sense.  Even then you saw as much. Now is much more complicated or you are just as ridiculously naive as you’ve always been told. Who cares about naivety? It is simple opinion. No. This is a belief one that surely would have left nothing to you in an event of final family member’s passing. Yet here you are with him.

You recall when he first arrives unaware of how efficient Cyberlife retail truly is. Why should you be surprised? Deliveries have gone from generic dairy of yesteryear, beyond personalized grocery orders and straight to personalized beings. Androids: alive or not alive?

In conjunction with preprogramming he sounds so lively. In his voice a natural husky dulcet and his eyes a deep soulful brown. Souls in androids are impossible but it’s the only way you think to describe warm chocolate. Hotter than a mug of it steeped in whip cream vanishes as a ghost beneath steaming liquid. 

Flecks of caramel shine in hypnotic swirls enriching accents of russets in muddy hues, the very first thing captivating attention as he offers his list of functions. Even falling upon the last is difficult to decipher how caught up you are in a consummately asymmetrical visage. 

He is far too pretty to look at and you try to ignore these facts. The facts of your newly purchased personal android possessing an aura of physical attractiveness. A fabrication in aesthetics you remember. A way to cover up what he actually is beneath soft synthetic skin dusted as constellations of freckles. 

Tiny beauties cresting upon sharp cheekbones, chiseled jaw, purposely formed to elicit a reaction. This is not at all what you expected but it’s never something to forget. Little do you realize in this moment Connor will always burn brightest to memory? Little do you understand how events will unfold but they shall.

  “Is there a problem?” he asks habitual to programming. 

Societal protocols run a gamut through system piecing together the best course of action. It is only his first day interior of your home. He is of a sense of determination to complete whatever task you assign. 

Determination is not part of proper function. However, he minded the concept. It will be efficient for current issue. “I may be able to rectify your issue. What do you require of me?”

 Require? What?

You cough, inhaling sharply at his head cocking so innocently. A droop of hair flutters atop forehead as a sole rebel willing to fight immaculate armies. He is very well put together. Not that you mean the whole manufactured part! He just – looks like a really good looking guy who takes care of his appearance. Hair mostly but…

Wow, Y/N. Real nice for your first try at handling a conversation with an android.

Not that this is the first android you’ve been in contact with. Difficult not to be when they’re all over but as your very own?

OK Cyberlife! What is up with making him look like real life Prince Charming?  I mean look at this perfection. Is this required? Are they allowed to do this to poor unsuspecting humans?

Watching his brows furrow and LED flutter amber somehow pumps the beats of heart faster. Surely it’s a dead giveaway. It’s not every day you’re cursing Cyberlife for practically throwing a chiseled Greek god at you.

Oh, shit, really? Greek God? What the hell is wrong with you? What isn’t wrong with you?

You sigh, clicking tongue at yourself. Frustration doesn’t begin with this!

“Your stress levels are high,” Connor offers a reading of initial scan. “Would you like me to remedy the problem? I have several possible functions that may reduce anxiety. My model comes with every physical attribute you are familiar with in human anatomy.”

A hitch stoppers breathing. Just enough as eyes widen a little at his declaration. Human anatomy as in…? Oh. OH.

Your eyes shift down. Fixating right on his crotch sends a luscious shiver through body. Goosebumps prickle skin, hair standing up on them. First time in forever you’ve had this type of reaction. Not even your ex managed to make you quiver like this. Not that your mind is even there because that’s been over for so long. Frankly that cheating asshole can have his baby momma all to himself. Probably already banged a couple more unsuspecting fools; you clear throat, scratchier than before.

“Connor, that-that’s really nice!” Agreeing with him that he has nice features you laugh nervously. It’s the first day he’s been here and already he’s mentioning his, uh, included *assets* and it’s not his beautiful eyes either. Ah, shit. Why is he made to be a young, attractive male? “But I don’t think that’s necessary. Not right now.”

It only takes a moment before you hear what came out of your mouth. Right now meaning it’ll be fine later?

“Which isn’t to say I’ll need it later!” Damage control is literally a creator of chaos. Can he just not look so sweet giving these heady ideas? “Just come with me. You’ll need a place to stay. I mean, you are staying here but I mean…” Shit! He’s made this impossible without stammering all over the place. Who gives him the right?

The android’s lips drop open, inevitably looking to provide another set of options but he snaps his mouth shut. Blinking in assessment of his actions to “argue” with your dismissal, Connor pushes away several warnings popping into visual. They are unexpected and not part of his programming.

Instead of speaking he follows your lead, gaze soft and quizzical. Trailing as a newly trained puppy the latest model of Cyberlife’s domestic line becomes further entranced with chirping outside window. No longer able to abide by strict attention he tilts his head at passing pane. Sounds of birds in song flitter and perch on external sill; one ruffles its feathers cleaning with its beak. The other stands still.

He freezes. Both in movement and system analysis he is however conscious of two live creatures. Opposite of android pets universally made available for public sale. His database offers much information outfitting him with the fundamental needs of intelligence and sophistication in his programmed function.

Reaching to open a door you stop when his presence behind you feels empty. It was obvious when he followed but now?

“Connor?”

Cycling indicator fluctuates upon the command of your voice. He snaps around in direction of soft tone. Softer than accustomed since his distribution from Cyberlife shipping to physical store location was riddled with aggressive bystanders. He-he is not meant to mull over his awakening. It does not make him feel anything. No, he is an android. He feels nothing. He is a machine.

Clinical cold manifests deeply behind blocks, barricades in protocols. Connor pushes this strange tickle back underneath wires.

“Apologies for not obeying you, Y/N. It will not happen again. I am efficient.” Nagging at him, strange and uncorrelated to system status, he almost sounds…tense. Connor straightens shoulders, folding hands neatly against lower back. “I was made to be the best of my particular type of domestic models. As an AX800, I am programmed to be a superior prototype.”

Obeying you?

That happens to be the only words you focus on. His choice of them ripple uncomfortably, nearly squeamish in stomach. Is this how you sound? Are you affecting a command or-? No, it’s what he is made to know. That’s the thing. All androids are only made to serve and immediately regret comes back. Maybe you shouldn’t have bought him.

Bought! God, you’re just like those people now. Aren’t you?

No more excuses. No more seeing horrible mistreatment and vowing never to be like them. Even if you never would do any harm losing your father, when you never spoke anymore anyway, still you fear loneliness. Estrangement ruins lives. It really does. What do you have left now? Except for yourself to fend in this world and growing more complicated as the future rambles on.

Detroit is a bustling mix of dilapidated districts, high tech innovations, Cyberlife Tower most significant in those builds. This house is small. Tucked away in a tiny neighborhood away from inner city but you never complain. You are grateful. A roof over the head is the best gift in a mostly gift devoid world.

“Connor, please don’t call it obeying. I-I only wanted to see if you were OK.” Admitting the hesitation beforehand you feel antsy. His LED is blue again but it was amber finding him staring at window.

“My system is fully operational,” he assures, forcing his lips to form a smile.

In actuality his little gesture is a stiff grimace. Eyebrows rise at his attempt. Even if it looks goofy, which is completely not his fault, it’s very – cute.

Again with this! Never mind just focus for once. Pretty comical coming from someone who hardly meditates in the day to day; you step backwards, slipping through threshold, eyes remaining on him. It takes ever ounce of willpower to remain collected. Things are still hard to digest. No matter if it’s been a couple months tangling with all of that legal stuff. Auntie not by blood sure didn’t make it any better. Yet, here you are. Still you stand even while stress is overworking at a job that might as well kill you first.

Offices are pretty dull to work in. At least they would be if they were not a regular cushy job. Piles of paperwork, demands creep up to swallow whole, a boss who just will not stop making things harsher. Mister perfectionist belittles the lower tier all the time. No surprise but it seems the future isn’t as bright as people thought it would. No need to wear shades.

Moving toward window, pulling curtains open a bit to allow sunshine transitions atmosphere from dreary to somewhat cheery. Perfect mask to hide the real truth isn’t it? Sometimes you forget how good you are that. A small smile camouflages best.

You rub hands against the thighs of your jeans. A little sweaty because of nerves but today is big. Being alone always hardly prepares for constant company. Well, he’s meant to be here permanently. That is the initial idea.

“This can be your room.”

Connor’s brow furrows. Studying your movements upon entry, analyzing vitals and their continual fluctuations, the android is confused. His indicator cycles to process the statement as unexpectedly inclusive as it is. “I do not require a room. I am an android.”

Somehow that reaction is to be expected. You sigh, “Just because you’re an android doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have something of your own.”

Ownership is not given to his kind. They are machines. Concepts of acquiring personal effects do not make sense nor are necessary. Connor voices this as per factual protocol. “Thank you for the offer but I am a machine. Machines have no need for accommodations.”

Yes, of course he’s a machine but…

Machine, manufactured and sold without an ounce of actual soul according to android haters you see. Picketing with their signs, so angry about them taking jobs but who made them? They did. Humans decided to and no one complained. Why complain about a technological marvel that can mow your grass, do the dishes and babysit children while living carelessly. That is the difference. Between you and plenty of others there has always been a divide in what you feel. This just crashes down those so-called fantasies. Ones filtering into brain as tiny wisps and at first it was a nice distraction. Finding him so…

“Oh,” a whisper, dawning realization. He is – a machine.

Coming back to the door, grabbing onto handle, you decide to forget the suggestion.

Something sharp stabs at his internal processors. Listening to such a dull syllable slipping almost – upset? Humans’ need for validity and comfort seem to be all too natural. They are highly emotional. The android steps close, head cocked, fingers pressing against surface of door preventing your need to shut it.

Contemplating left him at a cross roads in his programming. He is meant to function specifically and does not need or want anything as you believe. However, he-he could not refuse. It would be impolite. “I- very well, Y/N. I did not meant to be unpleasant. My social parameters are not meant to alarm.”

Alarm? That is not why you… Your breath hitches. Realizing how close he is standing, invading personal space and if it were anyone else? Allowing him is both a conscious need for closeness while still mourning and an illusion. Live up to that woman’s ideas. The title of ‘aunt’ is undeserving.

“Thank you, Connor.”

“You are welcome,” he snaps back to his programming. “What sort of tasks do you have scheduled for me to complete?”

“Scheduled? I, uh…” Shaking a head at his question is clarity. Honestly you are not used to giving tasks to people. Tasks are dropped on your desk until you down. A huff of breath, accompanied with snort is more for yourself. It does garner the most adorable expression on his face. “Maybe you could just…talk to me? For now?”

Connor’s eyebrows scrunch together. His facial expressions capture attention driving the tempo of your heart. He does not understand why. “Are we not speaking already?”

You laugh not at him but his innocent little response there is – Oh. No. 

It only deepens sadness in you now. Knowing where he came from and his confusion in you wanting a little companionship. Androids aren’t supposed to make friends are they? Even if they’re specifically programmed or upgraded to be partners. He mentioned that before.

Luckily a vibration against your thigh saves you. Reaching to pull phone from pocket your eyes train up to his and take a needful exhale. “Sorry, Connor, I have to take this.”

Connor moves aside out of your path. Remaining stationary, hands folded neatly, he awaits further instruction. However, the android’s eyes shift sideways at the sound of your voice outside room. Amber floods his temple.

“Why are you calling me now? No, I’m not wallowing! It’s called mourning. Maybe if you figured out what it was when my uncle died all those years ago you wouldn’t need a dictionary for it.” Hissing fire into phone attacks your aunt by marriage equally. Soon as you pick up! She just had to get in another word. 

Why does she feel the need for this? What’s the point anymore? “No. What do you want exactly? Is this about the trust fund again? I’m using a part to pay bills. What do you think I’m doing?”

Living expenses are still the same old problem. Must be nice for the rich their multi-billion dollar corporations feeding on tech. Just look at Cyberlife.

“It doesn’t matter,” you make it abundantly clear. Does she believe she’s that intimidating? Newsflash to miss upper crust but this labeled black sheep doesn’t take shit from people! “We might’ve had a rocky relationship but I loved him.”

Loved? Connor freezes in corridor. Disobeying processes to offer potential aid in obvious distress he finds himself…curious at such words.

“We were family. What do you think? Don’t you have enough blood money to spend on your Eden Club bots old woman?” Ending it on your terms this time does not fulfill you at all. Always the winner isn’t she? Rubbing it in your face about his death and if your father were here he wouldn’t let it happen. Whatever distances, issues it wouldn’t change that.

“Y/N?”

Connor’s quizzical tone jolts your weary bones. Inhaling sharply, not at all used to this tiny home being occupied by more than one but a heavy swallow fixes your voice. How long was he there? Did he hear all of that? Oh, great.

“I’m fine.” An automatic response always on autopilot gets the job done for you.

He narrows eyes. “Stress is not a healthy component in the balance of human’s…”

“Just leave me alone, Connor!” You snap, tears pricking corners of your eyes before twirling around to run upstairs.

 ^Software Instability

 Connor freezes momentarily. Flooding, filtering in a ripple through code blocks, he blinks in quick succession. Blinding and strange it is not part of his program –

Unable to run diagnostics, tears sparkling in your eyes draw his attention, overtaking protocol. The android’s soft gaze shifts from following your quick disappearance to ceiling indicating footsteps that conclude in a bang. Seemingly you have sealed yourself away. Scarlet pulsates in intervals mingling with amber processing solutions. Leaving you alone is an instruction. He-he cannot ignore. It is what he is programmed for. You are crying. Why must he obey? He must…

 >Obey

>Leave Alone

“Is there anything else you would like?” He asks as sun dips in later hours. Accomplish several menial tasks which he is free to do as he constructs. 

Following your distress several hours ago he feels – confliction. Few commands escape your lips and at times he is unsure with his current scheduling. Abilities are not in question but you appear distant. Did he do something wrong? By wanting to comfort…

 >Analyzing: Y/L/N, Y/N

Stress: 31.6%

Blood Pressure: 124/80

 Studying your face after initializing a vital scan enables Connor to store analysis records. Sleep deprivation, iron deficiency and higher stress than the human body should experience.

“Connor.” You straighten from your position curled upon couch. Mostly you tuck into one side, resting into upholstery and your breathing exhales shaky. Trying to rest off a headache isn’t working. “No. I’m fine. Thank you.”

The android nods but pauses in thought. A fluid habit now out into the world. Yet, he has yet to see much. Only transferring from lab to warehouse storage and ultimately on display in a merchandise kiosk for Cyberlife; he is not widely available as of yet. Detroit is the originator of androids. The product mark on his white uniform christens his manufacturing origins: Made in Detroit.

“There are other functions I was built with,” he explains enthusiastically. “If you would like a domestic partner, it is one of my features.”

Rubbing at your temples ceases the moment he speaks. A domestic partner? Is he talking about that thing again? You draw breath. Unable to look at him now, feeling it twist in stomach, you uncurl, pressing feet on floor. 

“No!” Quickly you cover the rise in heartbeat.

It is so obvious. Wouldn’t be the first time stumbling across sexual depravity in humans. Look no further than the Eden Club. The fact they decided to make that a thing for a household model is honestly not a shock.

God, why do they live in this world? Why do you even have him here? Isn’t this just making you as horrible as everyone else? 

“No,” you repeat softer. “I’d never force you to do something like that.”

It is not forcing when he is programmed, installed with such features. They are high end. As several techs discussed ignoring his presence as though he were – merchandise. Androids are sold. He knows this but has never had a moment to process.

There is zero need. Androids do not think freely. They are constructs built for specific purposes and his are fundamentally clear. He has never performed these functions as he is brand new but Connor feels he can ease stress efficiently. 

Thinking solely as a machine built for a task did not hold true. He felt…strange at your refusal. “Am I not aesthetically pleasing?” Cocking his head, knitting brows together, Connor looks expectantly to you for validation.

Lifting eyes up to him your lips fall open at his question. Did he really ask that? Are androids supposed o ask those kinds of questions? It almost as though he was hurt by that. No, it’s just imagination. Today has been too tiring. Never would have gone so wrong if that woman didn’t call. Honestly answering was your mistake. Story of a sad little life but others have it worse. 

Humans will always be crawling through turmoil, unable to breathe depending on their situations. Maybe that’s why a little part of you wishes he was human. At least acts without programs but this is why he’s here. To fulfill a fantasy, cater to every whim? 

No. To rectify personal aches to pretend that someone is here to offer a shoulder. When there has been nothing going through your father’s death, legal dealings with assets and pressure in job.

“No,” squeezing eyes shut to battle tension, your voice is low. “I mean, yes of course you’re aesthetically pleasing. I mean…you’re handsome. Practically the most…”

What? Beautiful boy you have ever seen? There comes that illusion. They do that on purpose but somehow looking at him you don’t see a machine. How funny is that?

“That isn’t why, Connor.”

Getting up from couch, taking deep breaths and stepping clear of coffee table helps focus. Rubbing palms against face at least wipes away some mess. Eyes are puffy, red from an unnecessary outburst earlier. At certain points life reaches boiling and yelling at him to leave you alone twists in guilt. This is exactly the sort of things Auntie Bitch thrives on.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize to him. Even if it would make no difference it does to you. “This isn’t what I’m used to. Having someone else here.” 

Well, after deadbeat ex anyway but he was a typical freeloader. Thankfully you scrubbed his dirt out of life and home. 

“I’ve never done this before. Having an android I mean. Ordering you to do something that you have no control over is not the type of person I am.” Plus, it’s not as if the androids at those sex clubs have a say. “I’d never do that to you or any of your people. Like some humans would.”

People. A human way to look at him or other androids but that is incorrect. Why would you refer-?

 ^Software Instability

 Connor blinks. The error message was in his vision only briefly and the little blue arrow increasing shudders through his system. He opens his mouth but does not respond. Instead, his eyes fall to your back turning away, pacing in additional stress.

Immediately, the android steps over, placing a hand against your arm. “Y/N, I apologize. Please, do not be upset. Your blood pressure is slightly elevated. You should rest. Perhaps I can produce a remedy befitting in alleviating your headache.”

Touch spreads goose bumps beneath shirt sleeve. Forcing arms to cross over your chest you twist to face him directly an extra tiny thud winds up heart. A key cranks in melody of jewelry box, dancer spins a ballet recital; vintage little tokens, delicate but thunderous in sentimentality. Just a brief glance, pressure of long fingers and it’s the first time you realize how pretty they are. 

Long, beautiful digits on large hands made not born. Yet he is still heavenly.

Sharply a breath slips. Words soothing, touch comforting all those things you crave. Yet this is part of protocols for him. That’s all.

Deeply you sigh. Feeling an unmistakable need burning lower pit of stomach detaches you. A shiver runs a gamut through body and spikes straight to the core of your existence. You squeeze legs tighter together cursing the fact your body decides to get horny over a headache solution. 

Fuck that! It’s his voice. Husky velvet, raspy natural glory and you are so wet. It takes everything not to jump his bones right now. Or mechanical bones? Hmm. Close enough!

“I just need to get extra sleep, Connor.” Dismissing his ideas there are too many running through your mind. Staring down at his crotch again remembering what he said but no. Get it out right now. No matter how much you need to –

You need to go upstairs. Yes, that’ll work.

“Y/N, are you positive? Your levels are fluctuating severely in my scans.”

“Oh? Are they?” Can he also smell arousal? Please, please tell me he can’t.

Connor, however, is not as naive as you believe him to be. Built with specifics in domestic partnership it is easy for him to know when the human body is aroused. Due to your state of duress and current levels of stress he does not wish to explain. It may not be beneficial. It may hurt you.

The android turns eyes down slowly, battling with these thoughts. He is not meant to debate. He is meant to proceed with internal core analysis. Percentages drive him. Yet, he struggles. Is this an error?

“Connor?”

His head snaps up. Connor’s LED flashes in a crescendo to your soft expression.  Hiding the obvious need you have. All humans must expel anxiety in some way. Perhaps he is aesthetically pleasing as you said but –

“I will return to my duties if that is sufficient.” He forces another one of his smiles.

Again the grimace is heartwarming. Albeit in need of practice but-but maybe you can teach him? If there is any good to come out of falling into the same realm as everybody else, then treating him fairly is a start. As if you would treat him bad. No. Why should it matter? Human, android or alien from outer space; you laugh now.

Stupid! So stupid but it’s calming down this literal burning.

Light, airy and symphonic this sound seeps into audio processors. A residual aura prickles sensors, blinding differently than unprecedented software errors. Are they malfunctions? Something soft, sweet cannot be. He has not experienced this before but his attention is solely on you. As brief as the laugh escapes, curling lips in a gentle rise at corners, Connor absorbs the natural human tinkle of chimes that expel so abundantly.

It is the first laugh, genuine laugh he has heard. And it is – beautiful.

The android is so distracted upon this new discovery he does not notice you slipping away. Androids do not possess a need for personal orbits. Their space is not granted freely as they are not free in will like humans. They are meant to serve. Obeying their masters is why they exist.

Yet, Connor can almost feel lack of metaphorical warmth. As you dissipate from his radius so does that laugh that digs into wires. Threading in circuits, causing another minor glitch of instability, forced away from vision in order to watch you; this is a tiny strain, a little piece implanting itself in him.

This is the piece that truly begins everything…

“Y/N,” he calls to interrupt your exit. Without prompt or instruction he once again acts beyond his programming.

Something new, urgent stops everything. You glance over shoulder. Steeling breath at his temple flashing you swear a blip of crimson glows in amber. Just a fraction of a second but you have no idea. Not yet, not then but you will.

“Yes, Connor?” Your breath is quiet, thoughtful meeting his uncertain gaze.

“I-” Connor stumbles. A perfect machine sputters. “Who was on the phone?”

Twisting your body the full way now, nails tap against wall for something to do. A way to hide that hollow pit forming again but no one can hide from analysis. Connor will already know. “That-that was my aunt. My aunt by marriage. She’s- Let’s say she isn’t a very nice person.”

Keeping rest of it bottled up is no solution but telling him will only upset you again. He doesn’t need to know. At least not yet but is this a conversation to share? With an android? Who else will listen? Who else even cares to ask?

Connor did. Is his social program that good?

Honestly, you think nothing of it. For a time it merely seems to be part of what he was built for.

Thinking back at times to this day, first meeting, you will find that so stupid. Naïve isn’t really part of you but he is more. Connor is so much more. It becomes apparent…

August 15th

 Practically slamming front door shakes the entrance with your current state of anxieties. Stress cannot be worse. Spoke too soon during midday. Damn it.

Clearing throat, wiping tears off your face, your breath is staggered. Unable to calm down from such ‘good’ news following that sudden meeting with your boss and everything ripples. Stomach twists badly. Nervous energy or just another month of-

Pressing face into hands poorly stifles sobs. Getting half way through home you just stop. Everything halts as things just don’t want to change. Now this of all things from work it’s going to hurt you in the long run. Your boss did this on purpose. Cutting hours and piling extra to sift through on that fucking computer.

How many sales diagrams, how many logs must you make now? There’s a specific quota. Each person who works database needs to meet their allotment. He threw a ton at you. In order to give leeway to another girl who just started there. Yeah, another potential conquest for the old pervert you’re sure!

What do you get in return? Hours cut and less pay but more weight. A ton sits on your shoulders. Isn’t it enough he humiliated you? Purposely shout out and criticize while leaving his office and you held your head up. Only in the sanctuary of home does it finally snap this flood.

Dropping keys moving uneasily into living room, sinking heavily on couch, you just want to curl up. Maybe it will make things feel better?

Lazily you peer up at television screen. Realizing it is switched on produces a tiny smile. Did he-?

“Welcome home, Y/N.”

Your head lifts up further. Narrowing on Connor stepping into view, he straightens, cocking his head in that adorable way that keeps invading your sleep. Even awake it’s a problematic daydream. He is just on the mind too frequently.

“Connor,” a quiet breath escapes, stilted, weary.

The android reads stress automatically. Forcing tiny fissures in his emotionless facade, splintering through system, he moves swift. However he freezes. Unaware of this strange urgency pulling up tendrils of glittering circuitry, waves undulating beneath shell, eclipses protocols. He must serve. He must obey. Yet he feels something else overshadowing programming. 

System stress battles this ever growing need to break. Crumbling at the seams the more he feels your presence. It is a permanent fixture. As he has become one in your space but Connor is only meant to serve. Why does he feel drawn beyond these stitches of code?

Androids do not question. They cannot experience existential crisis because there is nothing real. They are simple constructs. He – no, there is no personification heralded to androids. They are not alive. Therefore they are not allotted appropriate pronouns.

Connor has heard only one word countless times regarding his kind: It

“Y/N, you have been crying,” he observes through fluctuations.

Pushing them aside, attempting to stabilize, diagnose these errors, the android taps into social function. Sympathizing is not a genuine growth. It is merely part of his program. That is what Connor wishes to believe. He believes in nothing. Nonetheless it does not explain what is easy to machine. Calculations, data processing should offer quantifiable solutions. It is negative.

There is more emotion in his eyes than he knows. You see it. Honestly it surprises enough to cripple a proper response. Easily you brush it off any other time. This time there’s no hiding what he’s already seen. Can imagine what he sees through his eyes. How do androids really perceive the world? Quit thinking for once! All of it is illusion. Remember that.

Cyberlife’s one true goal makes millions, grows powerful in branding of highly sought after merchandise. Still it makes you sick but here you are. Do the same thing because you have Connor. No matter how different it is.

“I’m fine,” a lie tells a thousand truths.

Connor’s brows knit together, mouth twitching, flutter of LED amber. A sign of outward commiseration fights his shackles. He knows you are lying. Despite the fact he should listen and not broach the subject further, the android does not resist this new deviation.

“Why are you lying, Y/N?”

Your breath catches. Stuck in throat along with words it’s a surprise. Even more surprising is the glimmer of irritation on his face. The way his mouth goes lopsided like that is – cute. Wait a minute you’re supposed to be mad. You are! Mad at your goddamn boss for one!

“Lying?” you scoff back at him. “I’m not lying. I said I was fine. And I don’t appreciate you accusing me either, Connor!” Can androids even argue about things so mundane? Isn’t this what you wanted? A real conversation instead of a string of pleasantries, affirmations to duties he accomplishes.

“I am sorry but you are lying!”

Connor’s voice raises an octave higher than typical. Naturally husky, oh, how it deepens. Raw and very alive his tone completely solders you to the spot. Your eyes lift up to his face studying the gleam of his eyes. How strange that spark is. Almost a live wire crackles beneath the surface. A steamy cocoa bright before immediately dimming again; a breath sucks into your lungs cleansing the start of your body. Scarlet shimmers and that’s all the answer you crave.

He appears to swallow. Forcing his Adam’s apple to bob, which is a very realistic detail. Just as the rest of him is so real that sometimes you forget. Sometimes or all of the time, yes, most days his reality masks so well in the mind.

“I-I am…” Connor looks away. Unable to comprehend his reaction it is not part of his – “Forgive me.”

The way his voice lowers tugs at your heart. No. No, that’s not what should happen at all. You’ve seen enough of his kind out there. In the city of Detroit treated so fucked up. Most of them wouldn’t know what to do because they can’t. This is the first time he’s ever snapped from whatever social programming is built in him. He sounded too much like a person. A person with emotions reacting in a very obvious way and the idea Connor’s a person lingers.

You shift forward. Sucking in breath, following his gaze now landing on television, it’s the first time it hits. A ton of bricks, tumbling concrete could never do more damage. Everything about his apology stands still at the developing breaking news story.

ITM is broadcasting live somewhere. Is that outside an apartment rise?

Right now you ignore it. “Connor.”

The softness of your voice draws him back to you. Already he is far too used to it. Joining you upon couch, cocking head, his hand hovers atop yours. Fear of connecting with reality versus construction. He does not touch. He should not be pulled towards these fissures. Emotional surges strike ablaze as a fibrous match lighting his internal mechanisms. Wires push up, tendrils yanking one way towards control’s puppeteer. There it dangles him in strings made of electrical coil. Ensnaring his wrists, snaking around throat, digging thorny and jagged to his brain this is his prison.

Another piece cradles those signs of sensation, innervating beyond a great wall. A red wall gridlocks and crashes against him. It is a giant wave. Scarlet tides engulf and knock the android back where he belongs. Each time he wades closer to you the more it washes him out to that empty sea. He cannot stop. He still pushes. Something inside of him, he does not understand.

“You do not feel well, Y/N. I know this.” Apologizing again, he does not focus on his inner struggle. There should be nothing. He is supposed to be feeling nothing. Is he malfunctioning?

“It’s OK,” appeasing the strobe of scarlet cascading down his face worries. “Please don’t. I don’t want you to be stressed.”

“But I disobeyed. I lost control of…”

“That’s only human, Con.” Slipping on your tongue in an easy breath it’s the first time. Oh this will hardly be the last. Nothing will ever be last with him. If only fantasy can be reality most days. Maybe if you somehow knew here at this point in time. Everything happens for a reason.

He frowns. “I am not human.”

Sadly it’s true. Still you smile. Still you ease him because for once you realize. This isn’t supposed to be easy for him. He shouldn’t even react this way.

Both of you sit in silence. Deafening quiet just the two of you and how strange, wonderful this sensation crawls through the interstices of your being. Almost as if there is someone who cares. Does he? No. That can never mean he is not a needed presence. He is so much more. Soon you will know.

What you least expect is the pressure of his fingers sinking against your stomach. A jolt of electricity, naturally igniting a voltage inside of you and a soft sigh escapes the burden of a dry throat. Glancing down you realize – his hand is growing hotter.

“Connor, what are you-?”

“I detect an increase in prostaglandins.” His prognosis is casual, visibly reading as his LED flutters. “It will do well if you have a heat source to combat any discomfort or cramping.”

A shiver prickles down the curve of your spine. Simple touch or perhaps smooth husky words fill this awkward silence now with comfort. Sure it might be a technical way to point out this specific pain in the ass but it does take your mind off things. So easily you could remove his hand. A good idea to put up a barricade and distance yourself but you cannot do that.

Every thread of stress snaps. In one tiny moment anxieties melt off and ease into his aura. Androids are not supposed to have one. This conscious radiance but Connor’s orbit is safety, assurance. Even if he has no idea what sort of progress it means. A simple relationship of humane and machine, ownership and merchandise is how this world wishes. It is not your wish. There is more. Witnessing it now, gazing up at his face, concentrated crease of brow, optical unit bleeds a palette of amber and scarlet. Dusted in freckles his skin is a smooth canvas to admire. He is so real. Up this close it is so obvious even to your inferior eyesight. Compared to his advanced optical it is. His eyes are warm. Such life shines in them. Mocha sweet, soft and glitters in his careful evaluation. Technical and part of programming but still it sends you somewhere else.

“If confirmed this would be the first case of an android taking human lives.”

Your attention shifts. Drawn to the ITMtv news broadcast it was nearly forgotten. You sit up, unconsciously curling fingers around Connor’s wrist.

The action snaps his gaze down. Momentarily he freezes, stationary, until the soft gasp spills from your lips. Connor tilts his head. In line with television screen narrowing sharply on events unfolding leaves him struggling with process of information. An android is taking human lives? How is this possible? They are programmed to obey not to cause harm.

We are not alive. We are meant to serve not kill!

Connor tugs his hand back. Distancing himself, staring at news broadcast unsettles down to his core processors. A domestic model has taken a child hostage. An inferior model? No, he-he is the same. Upgrades, prototypes mean nothing. They are all part of a linear code. What they are made to be is what they must be. There is no deviation!

Artificial saliva swallows hard, bobbing in his throat. An increase of stress twists him to those original thoughts. Inconclusive on why he is feeling. The events live on air aren’t helping this strain.

“Connor. Connor, what’s wrong?!”

Your hand clutches at his shoulder. Unbeknownst to the android his face twitches with each strobe of optical unit. The shift between colors quickens. His eyes land on you. Concern for him is a shimmer of hope. A hope doesn’t exist for androids.

“I am performing a self diagnostic,” he lies.

Pulling away from him when he jolts up from couch deepens this sickness further. Everything flips in the stomach. Just hearing what they’re reporting. An android murdered a human. He has a little girl. What are they going to do? Is this really happening though? There have been rumors. For several months there’s been talk of androids running away. Going off and doing God knows what but that’s people who hate them. They’re the ones who talk about how evil they are. They shouldn’t exist. Made in our image and unnatural monsters; the erratic behavior in Connor abates this thinking.

There is no time to debate. You already know the opinion that matters. It’s your own.

“You’re lying,” echoing it back stops him. “Tell me the truth. What’s going on?”

“There is nothing.” Connor insists. Remaining turned puts his back to you. The android tries to fight his conflicts. All of it is bubbling, boiling upon his plastic surface. Itching, tingles beneath synthetic skin. You are part of it somehow. He knows. That is why he is malfunctioning.

Nothing? No. There is something! Proving it, grabbing at his arm, twists him to face you. There is no powerful in your pull. He whirls at the action out of choice.

A staggering breath barely reaches past your lips. Large hands engulf wrists, pulling your hands up. Entrapped in Connor’s grasp, fingers long and pliant in their fuse to yours swallowing up in such a strong, yet gentle touch. He doesn’t hurt you. That’s not at all what he took hold to do. Still the continuing broadcast emanates a horrifying soundtrack. Androids killing but he-he’s not like other androids. He wouldn’t do anything he should not do. Part of you wants to believe that.

How he looks now is the only answer to an impossible question. He is agitated, nervous? Not horrifying as people say they are. He looks lost. Lost and searching inwardly. This is the first time he ever appeared that way.

“Connor, please. Don’t shut me out. Just because of what I am.”

“You are my owner,” he lowers his voice. “I am a machine made to obey. I am not your equal, Y/N.” Studying traces of worry in your face opens a hole in his chest. Circuitry, mechanical proponents powering his structure bleed in this instability.

He knows. In the crinkle between your eyebrows, droop of the corners of your soft mouth he sees. For him, a thing without purpose, genuine distress shines in the warmth of your eyes. Human, innocent compared to those he has witnessed abuse in the street. You will never deserve harm.

“I’m not an owner. I-I’m…” What are you? A friend? A lover? None of those things! You bought him. What he says is the horrible truth. “It’s OK to be you. I don’t care. If you have a problem it’s not like that thing on the news. I know it triggered something. But that’s not…”

“I am not triggered by anything, Y/N.” Connor releases you slowly. Allowing wrists to drop from his fingers the loss of warmth registers profoundly. He did not realize he could feel so authentically. There is something wholly beautiful about how your skin blends with his. It fascinates him. You are beginning to fascinate him.

Connor breaks away. Narrowing heatedly upon news, he can only watch one of his own threaten to murder a human child. The android can only stand by as it unfolds. Unable to snap, break through and understand. What made him attack? What turned him on his owners?

He can’t calculate a reasonable response. Neither can he fall into these errors, system malfunctions whispered of since he arrived to your home. This thing they call deviancy.

November 1st

 Several months follow the first introduction; follow that news broadcast that begins a shift in the city. Still it seems longer. An infinite amount of space separates since then and now. Only in a comforting presence that you know is still simply part of his programming. Of course that’s all it is, he made it clear during the hostage event televised for all of Detroit to witness. Did it ever stop the truth in you? No because it would all be lies if you never admitted how…attached you’ve grown to him. 

Attachment to an android probably isn’t the smartest thing. How can you see him as just an android anymore? He’s more. There is so much more. Even his small barely there smiles, a hint of stiffness apparent in the corners of his mouth, make your heart flutter. Just a tiny drop of emotion dips in an endless sea of code.

No. You can’t think of it because the second you fall into this fairy tale something regretful will take place. It will swamp around heart, holding upon his smooth cool fingers. 

Cradling in his synthetic grasp without him understanding that slowly, profusely, so internally chaotic inside your soul, have already began this descent. However there is more to being in a daze. You certainly haven’t taken him up on his special upgrade programming to be the perfect domestic partner. 

Imagine others forced into things they can’t control? It sickens you at times. Reading about android sex clubs, knowing explicitly they have no option to refuse. That’s not to say you haven’t stared the tugging threads of temptation in its face. Imagining what Connor looks like underneath his uniform, pristine white, shades of blue stitch, android glitters in luminescent fabric; his deliciously toned forearms visible donning a short sleeved variant get your mind racing.

Large hands, long fingers, veins, muscles eye catching in their realism all built into his synthetic design. It doesn’t even cross your mind anymore. That his layer of beauty is artificial because what you’d give to trace fingertips against his lovely epidermis.

Kissing him all over, following the obvious toned planes of the android’s chest. Feeling him against your fragile human exterior; to say you haven’t fantasized, haven’t fought with internal desire is bigger than an understated battle. 

Just look no further than that incident first day he was here. Getting off on his voice, comfort spilling in a song; you hate the fact it happened. Only reveals how desperate you were in that time for any ounce of solace. 

He offered then as it is part of what is meant to be. But you can never hurt him. As much as others will say you are delusional for believing he has feelings. Emotions are part of human existence, after all, not part of creations built for sole purposes of serving.

Current state of the city might have something to do with it but today is like any other. At least it begins as such. Even in the now listing along day by day thankful for once in your life for a father who never lived up to his title. Until he dies of course then all is forgiven.

Small miracles don’t exist in the grand scheme of life. Sometimes wishing they did amplifies doubts.      

“Connor.”

Whispering in a lazy flip amid covers, groggy and unaware of his name sighing affectionately bundles you from penetrating sunlight. Blankets do little to hide from the morning. Squinting half lidded towards those streaks of light creating illuminated patterns. Spreading across snowy carpet and reaching up to edge of floral stitch coverlet draped mattress, you toss an arm over to cover eyes. Squeezing them beneath wakes you up better. This time it’s obvious.

Sitting up quickly and digging fingers into blankets sheds confusion. The state between unconscious dreaming to conscious awareness is a complete mess. Did you just have a dream about him again? Rubbing hands against your face doesn’t wipe tiredness away. It neither helps get your mind straight.

A complete mess in the mornings is a daily routine. All of your life what else is new?

Absorbing sunshine might be good for the pores. He will tell you that soaking in morning sunlight is a healthy way to get vitamin D. In his perfectly technical but also impeccably cute tone; you smile fixating on his changing mannerisms. 

Does he know how human he’s been acting with those facial expressions, eyes lighting up in rich cocoa? 

Could be imagination running wild trying to make something out of what can’t be possible. Nice to daydream a little even if representing unnecessary emotions piling up inside. Staring across bedroom lit with natural rays seeping through blinds leaves a warmer atmosphere. 

You enjoy it for a distraction. Quiet can be poetically sound as pressing face into pillow and letting loose a scream. Frustration doesn’t surround the home. It surrounds your job.

God another shift to cover and this time you’re damn sure this co-worker is pulling it out of –

“Good morning, Y/N.”

A gasp slips in a slither upon breath, pressing tongue against the back of teeth enamel in a stare down with your open door. He enters so stealthily sometimes you forget.

“Connor,” greeting him wearily, yawning and stretching arms, your neck is stiff. 

Rubbing at the back of it doesn’t distract you too much. What is he-? Oh. Explains the hot smell of food but this is a little unexpected. You never tell him to bring breakfast anywhere.

The android places an oak tray atop your lap. His eyes trail over exposed skin from a top haphazardly thrown over your body last night. After all of this time sharing space with you he has noted a penchant for wearing oversize shirts, pajamas to bed. There is still a glimpse of lace peeking out as the fabric slouches down.

“Are you hungry? I hope you are.”

He hopes? You smile, especially seeing him returning it. A slight indentation, just the tiniest of dimples in that sculpted face. Still not completely natural but enough to make caterpillars transform to butterflies in your stomach.  Much improvement you think!

“Of course I am but…” You jab a nail atop wood beside plate for emphasis. “Is there something I should know, Connor? You’re awful sneaky today. More so than usual.”

^Software Instability

Connor breathes in a fresh batch of warnings. Unnecessarily inhaling expands chest and it is the natural scent of you. Olfactory filters clog, storing away to memory each thread of you. He tilts his head softly, dip of hair flopping across his forehead.

“It is the anniversary of your purchase of me,” he answers quietly. “I thought you would enjoy having breakfast in bed.”

Everything flutters. You swallow. The careful attention he put into this is outstanding. Not because he whipped up food or was told. He did this by himself. He-he chose to surprise you?

A smile graces lips before biting the bottom one a little bit. This is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for you. And the last couple of months Connor’s really been broadening his horizons. He is so much different. Well, he’s the same with the whole analytics but – this android is less stiff. Softer but he always was a soft boy in your eyes.

“Oh, Connor,” a sweet breath skims along his name. Sadly you recall what you think of this. Most romantic, nicest thing and it’s breakfast in bed. Generic to others maybe but it’s the thought. He thought of you even if it might just be social parameters.

You pick up a folded napkin and curl fingers into it. Shit.

“Y/N.” Connor reaches down. 

Using the tip of his finger swipes a droplet corner of eye. Those eyes always look at him as if he is more. How strange to admit he feels different meeting your sparkle; Connor sits. Without a word, his hand wraps around yours nestling beside tray. 

His fingers squeeze as his system flutters, overheats in the most pleasant of ways. A way he believes he is beginning to crave.

Androids do not crave. They do not want. They do not need. Yet every little brush of your warm skin to his synthetic fills crackles against his blocks.

Your breath is easy feeling him. Little gestures here and there grow exponentially. Sometimes you wonder if he’s happy doing this. Then androids aren’t supposed to be happy, sad or anything. That’s what they continue to say.

Reports on androids going “rogue” or deviant makes you question things. It’s not new. You always have a habit of questioning but this is different. Ever since that older model was broadcast live. The one with the little girl; you slip hand from Connor’s.

“It means everything,” you admit to him. “Having you here. But – do you want to be somewhere else?”

Connor’s temple floods in thought. Straining, pushing away rising stress it spikes marginally at the question. He does not understand. Do you believe he wants to be from you? The news of his people has not left his process. You allow him to watch news or whatever he likes as if he readily possesses preferences. 

The android has found particular interests. He enjoys watching you read physical books. He has grown fond of touching them in his hands, analyzing an entire book in one second. However, he desires to hear your voice read aloud.

He witnesses protesters on local news. Those humans are cruel but you-you are the conceptual manifestation of an angel. Research and data compilation helps him understand better. Watching you is best to determine the differences, to realize not all humans are the same.

His creators, those who constructed him at Cyberlife may find him having his own ideals faulty. Malfunctioning, burdening in failure; is he obsolete? Does this software instability make him defective? As that android upon the high rise dangling over edge and threatening to maim a child? He will never harm you. It is not only against code, it is against what he feels.

Connor will keep you safe. It is not part of initial programming as he is not a military grade android but he cannot remove it from personal parameters. The more you smile, interact with him as if he is equal. He will never –

“I will never leave you, Y/N.” A determined oath he speaks without fear of showing what is happening inside him. “Not as those other androids. I promise.”

“Do you like dogs, Connor?”

Nudging at his arm playfully sends you to a nice state of mind. Nice change following all of the stress at work. Forever ongoing but at least it’s clear where your boss stands. He made the last few months a living hell. All because of some new intern the creep tried to get with. 

Dropping you down in a demotion also meant less money in your paycheck. Guess it helps your father did leave you that nest egg. Something that helps as long as it can last but you like to think you’re good with finances.

Instead of worrying about it you indulge this moment. Out in chilly first November’s day, crisp but warming in how close. Fingers brush down against his hand.

Connor tilts his head from shop window. A pet shop he has already been past occasional running errands in town. He always finds himself stopping to look inside. “Dogs are known as man’s best friend. I suppose I understand why humans prefer them. They are loyal.”

“Well cats aren’t so bad. Easier to take care of.”

The android shifts away from window. Even as his eyes freeze upon a cage of canaries. Android birds are sold up front. Again the display of machines as goods to buy and sell charges his instabilities. “If you think so, Y/N.”

You smile, laughing a little at the lopsided mess his collar’s now in. It is windy today. Reaching up to smooth fingers against it, you can’t help admiring him in the long wool coat. Dark suits his chocolate eyes. Still you’d love to see him wear regular clothes. His uniform is under there. Even so he just wanted to come out in typical wardrobe. You insisted otherwise. Even if it hardly meant anything but it just feels right.

“Call it preference.” Prodding a finger against his chest, catching a flicker of his eyes momentarily, you look away. “Well, it depends on the person I mean. What kind of pet they’re willing to take care of. That sort of thing. Cats are independent little balls of fluff. Dogs need a proper place to run, be free and…”

“I like dogs.” Connor interrupts, cocking his head.

A smile tugs up your lips. This time making eye contact with him again, trying not to think of the intimacy his gesture this morning blossomed in heart. Such an innocent statement, however, shivers sentiment not cold.

“Did you just decide that after some careful review?” Teasing, fingers slide down his arm unconscious but natural. Seems as though the world is no longer the one you know. The one that wouldn’t like what they see. All you see is him. So what’s it matter?

“I am the most advanced of my make.” The android teases back. “It’s only natural for me to know everything.”

Oh, is it? Wow he’s being awfully smug right about now. “Really? Connor, I’m surprised at you. Are you trying to say you’re smarter than everybody?”

He shakes his head. “No. No, I only meant I-”

“Just teasing,” an equal rib escapes, chiding him incessantly. “I thought you’d recognize that – mister advancement.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. Almost falling into your smile but still he cannot properly elicit what he feels. Only ignores to remain what you need him to be. A machine designed to accomplish a task.

“Hey sweets!” Yelling across street, waving a sign, a grizzled construction worker spits in your direction. Interrupting the scene between an obvious human and plastic pet; he jeers loudly. Gaining attention from others they carry similar propaganda with them. A group of protesters form, stopping their trek.

Immediately you shift back from him. Realizing how close, affectionate you were being and – shit! Anti-android? Fuck that’s great.

Deciding to ignore it, not before scoffing in disgust! Never imagined running into these people because nothing ever transpired with Connor. Not a thing! Lately you have been forgetting. Maybe that’s the problem.

“Hey. I said hey!”

Huffing at the man you snap around to acknowledge his nastiness. So he crosses a busy street to come at you? Don’t they have anything better to do? As much as you’d like to ignore this jackass it’s best to tell him verbally to back off!

“Why’s your droid bundled up like that?” he jabs a finger threateningly. “Those things don’t feel anything.”

Thing? Oh, OK! Should’ve figured some old out of the loop jackass was one of these bastards. Didn’t even need a sign to show his ignorance!

“And how do you know?!” Snapping frustration, anger boiling, and your body grows hot in anger. “Why don’t you just mind your business? Come on, Connor.”

“Y/N.” The android snags onto your hand.

“What do we have here?” Another one of the anti-android group cuts in; her eyes slink up and down you before scoffing disgusted. “Are you out with your robo boy? What? Humans not up to your standards for fucking?”

Everything stops. Right then and there it is a swath of fire. Burning deep down to the core and nothing is preventing the eruption. Lava scalds insides, veins a blaze, eyes locking with hers, prying a hand away from Connor. You didn’t even realize he motioned. An attempt to remove you from their path but fleeing is not happening!

A matching scoff releases sharp. Your lip curls at her ignorance! Just as everybody who follows this line of thinking. “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Care to repeat that? After all, I don’t understand bitch speak.”

 “Smart ass huh?” The woman shoves at you. “Typical android fuuu… Hey!” She stumbles away from you wide eyed.

Connor is already shielding, arm pushing you back behind him. Sidling into the path of protesters they have conglomerated this side of street. His eyes narrow. Brow creases harsh his expression unreadable yet his indicator reveal his heated struggle of raw emotions.

“Did you see that?!” She shouts purposely. Getting as much attention as possible it doesn’t stop there. “It came at me!”

Your glare dissolves, latching onto his arm. “Connor, please. Don’t.” Already realizing what could happen it’s a desperate attempt to continue walking. If anything is true something like this will only get him hurt. People will say that’s impossible they don’t feel anything but to hell with them! “Let’s go.”

Pulling him towards street halts the moment you are seized from behind. One of the men in the group drags you back, yanking rough.

“Get the hell off me!”

“Your fucking android came at her!” Throwing you aside, he rears up over to block you getting up so easy. “We’ll teach your fucking plastic pet!”

A painful huff, hard drop accelerates Connor’s stress levels. Watching this human manhandle, hurt you twists at his synthetic heart. His face twitches. Thirium pump chugs erratically in a fuel of anger. An urge to break through and protect overwhelms, even as he is shoved back by the one who started this.

The middle age construction worker; he grabs onto the front of the android’s coat, rough, spitting directly up into the taller plastic fucker’s face.

“Fucking piece of plastic! Think you can take our fucking jobs. Walk around the street like you’re human. Worthless pieces of shit like you fuck up the whole works! Poison other humans against their own kind. Like your owner there. Make sure that bitch doesn’t get up!”

Connor’s eyes shift down at you, stopped once again after pushing up to your feet. The man twists at your arm and it is…too much!

“Connor!”

  ^72%

Level of Stress

>Do not defend

>Obey Code Programming

>Do n defend

>Do defend

>defend

  A flood of scarlet eclipses protocols pushing him beyond programming locks. Even as they strain to tighten shackles on system, preventing a clear break, the android still moves in defense.

Connor’s arm thrusts upwards, locking fingers onto wrist of the protesting assailant. Stilling the human’s movement, he squeezes, and wrenches the man’s limb sideways. The fierce strength exuding from the AX800 ripples in flashing indicator going wild in a strobe of multiple hues.

He feels a strange pull tugging insides. Again pulling at his wiring allows an over stimulation of emotional surge to spread in him. There is only one blaring sign to follow:

 >Protect Y/N

 “Get the fuck off me!” Changing his tune quickly, trying to get the plastic off him, he tries to wrench out of the painful grab. “You crazy android! This thing’s going nuts!”

“Connor!” Pushing through several onlookers now who had to stick their nose into this, you find your way past the rest of these android protestors. Shoving directly through, wiggling your way out of that asshole’s grip, your steps are quick. Knocking that bitch that started this out of the way you manage to grab up onto Connor’s shoulder.

Breathing is fast, side hurting from where it struck asphalt. It’ll be sore tomorrow but only he matters. “Connor, let him go. It’s over. They won’t do a thing!”

Screaming at them to get your point across, hoping someone just-just anyone puts a stop to this. What good are the police around here? They don’t care. Of course not they’ll just let a group like these hateful fuckers brutalize someone like Connor. Someone that’s right. Fuck what they say!

The second he releases that man you hook an arm through his. Directing him away, glaring back as commotion does alert a wandering policeman, you pick up your pace. No longer needing anybody else’s help because Connor… He did something unexpected. Just as those other androids. Deviants. That’s not him. He’s not deviant. If he was –

Catching breath across the street you uncurl fingers from the front of his coat. Chilly air creates a frigid burn against stinging eyes. It takes every ounce of courage to prevent it spilling. Nothing stops knowing what people are really like.

His eyelids blink rapidly. Not even looking at you but his LED scares you to death. Stress levels are a thing. You know that.

“Connor, please.” Reaching up to cup his face forces his eyes down onto yours. Tears brim in a crystal sparkle. Threatening to slide down but you suck everything up. Just as you’ve always done in life but this time –

“It’s OK,” soothing hasty, breathless instills a deep ache. This is the first time he’s lost control. Then it’s not his fault. Those fucking protestors! They were minding their own business. Until they decide to gang up on you. This is your fault. If you weren’t so obvious, being so close to Connor out in public, none of this would have happened.

“Y/N, I –” Connor’s voice stutters. Strangely he cannot form a proper response. He feels as if his system is overheating. He feels. A tiny prickle underneath synthetic epidermis crawls, stress rises; Connor clutches to you, fingers digging into hips. He leans into this affection. 

Why do you offer him this? When he is not alive, he is not real. He could be your partner. It is part of his design. You did not want him that way. He recalls your words about not forcing him against his will.

There is no will. When he is a machine!

The android gazes longingly through leaking eyes. Glistening brown becomes another change in what he is supposed to be. Tears have broken in a trail down his cheeks. Androids are not meant to cry. He thought as much.

Tears threaten you too. Looking up into his face so conflicted, hurt because he’s not what they say. He’s alive. Of course he is. Only your sweet Connor would be. 

“Connor, please don’t.” Begging him again this time holds your heart on a jagged precipice. One wrong move and it will crash. “Your stress levels. Please, don’t…”

He leans his head down. Close, pressing forehead to yours, his eyelids flutter closed. “I am sorry,” Connor whispers, orbiting the warmth that pours from your body. This warmth he does not deserve.

His voice is husky heaven. Golden gates open with each syllable and you crave to hear your name. Again and again you crave his closeness. “Never apologize for what others do. They don’t know. None of them know what I know. You are more than them. You’re my Connor. With a heart of gold.”

“Androids do not have hearts as you do, Y/N.”

You smile sadly. “I know,” a whisper but next a beautiful revelation. “But this.” Fingers slide up against his chest. “It might not be the same but it thrums in a lovely song.”

 ^Software Instability

Steam rises in a soothing aroma from the mug cradled between your hands. A fresh brew of cocoa relieves mental ache. Physical? Everything is sore, tender where you fell. Changing clothes after getting back home alleviated discomfort. 

Soaking in a bath for an hour did loosen some tension. Rest of it just fails miserably. As much as you fail in public for all to see what you feel.

Still you blame yourself. Getting close to him acting as if you were out for an anniversary? How stupid can this be?

Of course he brought you that surprise breakfast. He told you why. Does that mean it was a real anniversary? What can be real about buying someone? Nothing is. It just reminds you about every sad truth. Those protesters made it clear.

Pursing lips to smoothly blow away steam, frothy top rich as you sip in a seat on couch. Toasty liquid fills insides with a burning comfort. This is the only solitude needed. Enough time to think it still edges nerves. 

Waiting for a word with Connor, he hasn’t been acknowledging much. Since what happened and who can blame him?

Part of you is still frightened. For him you just cannot help feeling afraid. What if he leaves the house for an errand and-and he’s jumped? What if he’s attacked?

There is no guessing. Possibilities are high. They will happen. They are happening. Each day it grows worse ever since that android who murdered that man. Pretending not to see makes you complicit. You don’t want to pretend. You will face reality no matter how dangerous it is becoming in Detroit.

“Y/N.”

Your head lifts. Peering over towards his husky drawl of your name straightens your perch. Leaning over deposits mug on coffee table and you wait. He appears as conflicted as before. 

Please, let him be OK. Just don’t let this ruin what you have found. 

All you care about is him. Yes, it’s true now. All these months and there are nothing greater than personal truths.

Connor hesitates. Ruminating over his actions offers him zero outcomes explaining his loss of control. There is only one solution. He is malfunctioning.

Something in his handsome face twists your stomach. It stabs deeper closer he gets. Joining you now is all the fear wound up in you showing its colors. They are similar to his LED. A constant swirl is unable to land on one draw.

“I will understand if you would like to send me back for reset.”

Reset? That word just guts you. Reset. No! 

“Connor,” a sob almost overtakes your response. The very idea of him taken somewhere and operated on ripples overtakes in a squirmy skin crawl. It’s barbaric. Resetting an android’s memories is horrifying. You hear about it all the time. They are completely wiped of their –

The android’s lips part, cocking his head while listening to shaky breath falling in sad soliloquy. He does not understand. No, he-he does.

“Y/N, I… Please,” he urges comfort stretching fingers out to soft skin. They do not touch. Simply artificial hovers above humanity but something tugs center of his chest. Something deep and satisfying as his synthetic heart thrums quicker in tempo. 

Connor pushes through this grid without fully snapping chains. Already he feels a flow spreading through system. Each day he looks upon your face happier since he came. As you told him once that it makes you feel better, safer to have someone. He is not someone. He is an android. 

How can you possess such feelings? How-how can he gaze over such softness, such beauty without wishing to remain? 

The thought of being taken - scares him. 

His LED flickers, red once more but not in anger. Fear is strange. Partially for his being but the possibilities of never seeing you again are tearing his programming shackles apart. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Reassuring him now is better than showing anymore of what has been lying inside. “No one will take you from me, Connor.”

Silence is best.

Sitting among a safe haven, your home offers that place now not just for you but him. Here no one can hurt this. No one can treat him inferior. Never will you treat him any different. You know it’s a fool’s game. Especially in this modern world of technology strives, transitions and creates intelligent life in humanity’s image. He is more than a sculpture, perfected work made for duties.

Today, Connor acted as any man would for the person they…. No. It can never be that. Neither does it stop how you felt. How he could tamper with his program just to be there for you.

None of this should have happened. You repeat it over and over again in your mind. None of this because of a fantasy; your eyes fall to his hand. Fingers touch yours now. It is soft, gentle and only a moment.

Connor pulls away too soon. Just a minute he allows himself to fall. Your reaction to his suggestion, no solution, cripples his code blocks. Almost he shattered them. They are close to crumbling. He must fight this deviancy. Only to stay with you because the android already knows what will happen to him. It’s happening to all of his people. Those who are succumbing to errors are hunted. They are murdered. 

No they are destroyed, deactivated. His kind is not alive.

If that is true... Why does he feel threads of humanity? Why does he feel alive with you?

Meeting his gaze deepens this sensation of fear. Today, waking up to a sunny morning seems so far away. It was just earlier. Horrible things happen and change perspectives. Tiny moments of peace and that’s what he brought. Into your life following circumstances you never expected to gain something worthwhile. He won’t even believe that. He thinks he should be reset. That will never happen.

“Connor, I want you to know something. And I want you to believe me. Not think of who you are.”

“I am – no one, Y/N.” The android dismisses for your sake. If he becomes deviant they will take him from you.

All you do is shake your head, cupping his face. In your hands he softens. Those sharp edges, cheekbones thumbs now caress. Soft skin in a freckle stardust that makes hearts flutter. Better than butterfly wings, better than anything you can use to describe how it unmakes your soul.

“It would break my heart,” a shaky whisper strangles. “If you are reset.”

An instant flood of scarlet reflects his inner feelings. You see it. He never has to admit. But he does feel. That’s what makes this harder. Knowing how afraid he must be not to show it. There has to be something happening inside of him. There are too many examples now.

“Con, I want you to…”

Dropping hands from his face makes it easy to turn in direction of doorbell. Who is that? Slowly you rise to feet, sliding fingers down atop his shoulder. “I’ll get it.” Striding away out of room quickly prevents him ignoring your request. Another sign but that’s for another day. As if it will be any easier.

Unlocking the door leads to a horrible drop in your stomach. Eyes connect with the woman standing there now, out of the blue, someone least expected and at the worst time imaginable.

“Hello, Y/N,” the older, staunch woman smiles, already assessing you like a microscopic Petri dish sample. “It’s been quite a long time hasn’t it?”

A long time is putting it mildly. Last time was on the phone and her trying to sink her claws into your father’s nest egg. The one he left you.

The conversation left on a sour note. There is nothing sourer than a rotten apple and your aunt is the literal evil queen hoarding an entire bundle.

Tag List: @tropfenlady​  @your-taxidermy @catastrophes-light  @rk900sexual  @tommy-10-k  @dreamyby @randomfandomgirl1996 @etherealcel @justashamwithwastedpotiental // tagging a few extra who I know would want a heads up <3

[youremypride]

The Truth About Love | Ch.2

☽ Have you ever love someone so much, you would do anything for them? Even disturbing the peace between the living and the afterlife? Love knows no boundaries but there is always a price to be paid. How much do you say? As much as your heart desires for your true love.

Pairing: AHS! Michael Langdon x Reader

Genre: romance, angst, violence

Warnings: mentions of death

Note: Before the new episode starts, or is starting, another chapter to get the story rolling.

Word Count: 3046 words

prev - next

After the earthquake, I had completely lost track of time. I couldn’t tell how long we were locked in those iron cages. It almost drove me insane if it weren’t for Timothy and Emily. Until one day, they released us from our captive holdings and put us in an armoured vehicle that was silver and made of metal. As I looked out of the window, all I could see was thick fog swarming everywhere. All the leaves from the trees were gone, leaving a bare and eerie look from the outcome. The bark of the trees was burnt. Was there a forest fire or something?

Everything was grey and not a single drop of colour left could be seen. How could an earthquake do so much damage like this? This is why I should’ve watched the news. All my questions were answered by the same man who had took me away.

“There was a missile attack. A lot of countries were affected by it, including us.” Missile attack? Wow, I didn’t think that would happen so soon.

The two workers from before who were supposedly addressed as Cooperative agents said they were bringing us to an outpost. A survival shelter like the ones from Fallout.

“What’s going to happen to us now?” The man threw yellowed radioactive suits at us. “Put these on. The air is contaminated. They’ll explain to you when you arrive.”

They? Who is they? As we stepped out of the vehicle with our suits on, tall black gates welcomed us and it made an unsettling feeling in my stomach. The entire area was closed off with black fences as well. Was this a gated community? No, that can’t be it. To keep people out? Those two agents said that the environment was harmful now. That must be it. I couldn’t imagine being one of the affected. Just thinking about it sent shivers running down my spine.

A figure stood in front of us, dressed in a long robe that covered the person’s entire body, hands covered with gloves and a head mask with large eye googles and an opening tube to help with breathing. It reminded me of the Brotherhood from one of the Silent Hill movies.

The figure brought us further into the clearing and as the fog begins to clear, up ahead there was a man and a woman, kneeling on the grown with three other figures similar to the one in front of us. The woman was begging for forgiveness, saying it over and over again. What was she sorry for?

It was then accompanied by loud fired shots, as both the man and the woman were shot in the head. I felt my chest tightening, my breathing rigid and heavy. Holy shit. They shot them. They fucking shot them.

The entrance to the Outpost was a short curve till we reached the centre of the structure. The figure from before held out a card to the card scanner on the wall, a beep was heard, giving access to the main entry. It was then I knew that it would be the last time I ever saw the outside.

We had been assigned to our own rooms, mine just beside Emily’s. Each room had the same necessities, and a en suite along with it. The wardrobe was filled with long purple dresses, all of them with the same design and cutting. I was never really fond of wearing dresses, but if that’s the only thing I get, then so shall it be. Once I felt the hot water of the shower hitting against my skin, I felt rejuvenated and fresh. It’s been so long since I had one, and the feeling felt so good. My hair that was once greasy was now back to its original condition. I didn’t smell like a hobo anymore and the dirt from my skin had been cleared away.

I stepped out from the shower once I was finished, only to be surprised by a message on the mirror. It had been written out from the steam of the shower. It read, ‘Duo in carne una’. I couldn’t tell what it meant. Maybe someone might tell me but I wasn’t sure if I could trust them, knowing they would be suspicious of me. With a last look in the mirror, I join Emily and Timothy to meet with the others. We followed the music that was playing which brought us to a living room, a fireplace on the other side of the walls, with bookcases and sofas mirroring each other and a coffee table in between. This must be the common room for the survivors here.

There were seven people in the room, three men and four women. One of the women was in grey clothing unlike the rest.

“Well, well, well, well, well. New blood.” The older woman closest to ask spoke. Another woman approached us, “Come in, don’t be shy.” She greeted us warmly.

“You’re Dinah Stevens,” Timothy started, “My mother used to watch your show. She said you beat the pants off Oprah any day.”

“Bless her heart, a million of her and I wouldn’t have to be replaced by that telenovela.”

From my side, a blonde man came up to us, “Um, what’s happening out there?”

“It’s all gone.” Timothy replied. “Everything.” Emily chips in.

“Nothing but death.” I spoke. Thuds started coming from behind us. Ms. Venable was approaching us. She rings a bell, pausing a while before speaking, “Dinner is served.”

A plate holding a small white jelly cube sat in the centre of it.

“It’s all we get. Don’t be too disappointed.” The blonde man now known as Mr. Gallant tells us.

“Darling, you don’t know what disappointment is until you slept with Yul Brynner.” Evie replies back to him. Dinah laughs as Mr. Gallant looks down on his food, “I want to die.”

“The cube on your plate contains every vitamin our body needs.” Dinah informs us, “Or so they tell us.” Beside Timothy, Coco had stuffed her entire cube into her mouth, wolfing it down.

“I’m still hungry. I am so tired of the hunger.” She slams her hand on the table, standing up, “Fuck this bullshit! With all the thought that went into this place, they don’t have a single bag of Pirate’s Booty in the pantry?” While Coco was ranting away with her issues, Ms. Venable and Ms. Mead approaches the dining room from behind her. “For a hundred million dollars a ticket, I expect goddamn Gordon Ramsay in the kitchen cooking us real food!”

Ms. Venable’s cane taps the floor and the room went silent. With a flick of the wrist, Coco was greeted by a slap to her face, Timothy catching her and helping her regain stability. Everyone was shocked but I knew Coco had it coming for her. From the very moment, I could tell she wasn’t appreciative of what she had. Serves you right, bitch. I bit back a smile so that no one could see it.

“I’m going to be very clear so there will be no misunderstanding. We have enough nutrition for the next 18 months. And if our situation doesn’t improve, you can count on less and less.”

“Situation? What is our situation?”

Ms. Venable had informed us about a perimeter alert they had in the morning, saying a carrier pigeon from The Cooperative had sent a message stating that governments were wiped, rotting corpses had increased and survivors out there killing each other for food. Other outposts had been overrun, leaving our outpost the only one that was currently alive. Its been told that all of this happened in a mere of two weeks.

A few others came up, saying they detected a spike coming from the room. Mr. Gallant was quick to blame us just because we recently just got here. We defended ourselves, stating that we went through the procedures before entering The Outpost.

Ms. Mead checked each and everyone of us, and the only people that were caught were Mr. Gallant and Stu. They were dragged away to the decontamination room.

Another day passed and we all gathered back to the dining room. To our surprise Mr. Gallant had joined us, without Stu. He said that he was clean and Stu wasn’t which is why he was able to get free. Andre was blabbing away saying Stu never went outside and that he was with him most of the time, Coco was talking about how she started masturbating to cure her boredom, spewing out insults, causing Andre to curse at her.

Something was off about tonight’s dinner since Ms. Venable considered it a treat after last night calling it the bonne bouche. While the others were drooling over the hot meal, Andre was still not over Stu. Coco as always, getting a spoonful of the meat, slurping it up. Timothy too had suspicions about the meat. Andre began freaking out after finding a finger bone in the stew, claiming that Stu was the stew. Everyone started gagging and coughing out, while Ms. Venable stated it was ridiculous of them to think that. It was only her, Evie and I that was left sitting on the table. Everyone didn’t want to go near the stew anymore.

Evie continued her meal, “I don’t care what it is. It’s absolutely divine, and its full of fibre. I’m going to finish every drop.

“Don’t tell me your thinking of eating the stew, Y/N.” Timothy asked me. Was it wrong? It is after all, food. I was starting to get sick of the jelly cubes. “You shouldn’t waste food, Timothy. As much as it repulses me, I’m going to savour it.” A look of pure disgust came across his face while it earned me a smile from Evie and Ms. Venable.

“Such a good child, Y/N. You all should learn to be like Y/N.” Evie chimes. “Indeed, she is.” Ms. Venable adds on.

The others begin leaving to get back to their rooms, probably cleansing their mouth a hundred times to get the lingering taste off their taste buds.

Andre was glaring at Evie and I. He had an angered expression and the looked in his eyes says he was disgusted by the both of us.

“You’re a monster,” He spite at Evie, “How could you keep eating? You knew what it was. And you, Y/N. You barely just arrived and you think eating my boyfriend was your welcoming gift?!”

“It was chicken, Andre. Delicious white meat chicken.” Evie tried to assure him it was all in his head.

Annoyed, I decided to spite back at him. He needed to stop being such a pussy just because I ate his boyfriend, no pun intended there. “In my defence, I couldn’t care less if it was Stu or not. He tasted great. It’s been such a long time since I had someone in my mouth.” A sinister grin appeared on my face, causing Andre to get worked up.

“You’re disgusting. You’re a cannibal. You’re all cannibals!” He screams. Dinah, who I knew now is his mother, had both her hands on the side of him, stopping him from his rash behaviour. “Think about it. She ate it, too. Stu was contaminated. Why would Venable eat irradiated meat?”

“That’s right,” Timothy agrees, “Why would she feed us poison? The whole reason she is here is to keep us alive.”

“What makes you so certain she wants us alive? You can never trust anyone here, not even yourself.”

Andre starts asking his mother about his body, his ugly sobs starting to make me feel irritated.

“Shut up, shut up!” Emily snaps. “Just listen.”

“I don’t hear anything.”

“Exactly. The song stopped.”

The old music player had changed to another song. Mr. Gallant proclaims that it was The Cooperative sending a message, saying that they were coming for them and that they were going to be rescued.

He was wrong. They were all wrong. All of them were dejected. Drinking away their sorrows, bringing up their hopes and spirit only for it to come crashing down. I wasn’t. From the day we were attacked, the was no hope left to seek. Only death awaits to give you kiss and embraces you in their darkness.

The days were long and it felt like I was on repeat every day. Wake up in the morning, get dress for the day, eat the same gelatine cubes, hang around with the others in the common room or read the books that filled up the shelves. The place is a bore and my life is a chore. There was nothing fun to do anymore. After a few weeks, Emily and Timothy started to distance themselves away from me. I didn’t take a genius to know what they were doing behind close doors. They had been on secret rendezvous with each other and the rules about copulation was starting to make them feel agitated and lusting for more of each other.

It was better that way. I was able to sneak around the Outpost without Ms Venable or Ms Mead knowing. The Outpost had a theme going the entire place. It was decorated with antique furniture; all the rooms were lighted using fireplaces or candles causing a saturated filter in my eyes. The whole place felt old and Victorian like. They did say this used to be a school. School for what exactly? Witches? I highly doubt it. The old news about that coven school for girls years ago was just the cherry on top. As if they exist in this century.

It dawned on me that it had been eighteen months since our arrival and the attack that left the whole world in chaos. The jelly cubes were starting to get smaller, and not forgetting that one time they served us Stu as stew. I enjoyed it with Evie as the others left to their own rooms, repulsed by the fact they were served human meat. I mean, eventually we all will be eating each other when resources decline and there’s little to none left to eat.

Before heading back into my room, I was startled by Ms Mead after finishing my nightly rounds around the place to digest my dinner.

“Ms Y/N, I’m surprised to see you here. How are you feeling?” Her voice brought me back to my senses, and I glance to her face. She had the same look on her, expressionless with no hint of life. However, I picked up a slight glint in her eyes and the small smirk playing on her lips. To be honest, I was beginning to wonder why she is always trying to start up small conversations with me unlike the rest. Does she have a secret agenda with me? What is her motive for having small talks with me?

“I, um… I’m fine, thank you for asking. Dinner was great. It’s been a while since we had something other than cubes. I’m heading towards my room? Are you heading towards yours as well?” I raised an eyebrow waiting for her reply.

“I’m getting the workers to get a room ready for a guest that’s coming.” Her eyes went big for a while, probably cursing herself for saying something she wasn’t suppose to. “Well, I better hurry along now. Go get some sleep, good night.” She hurried right passed me and disappeared around the corner.

“Weird.” I glance back before walking towards my room.

“My love, why do you call me your flower? Flowers are so beautiful, their petals are painted with different colours to make them stand out from each other, and their lingering scent could put you on a spell. I’m definitely not a flower, I am not beautiful enough to be captivated by.” This caused the man expression to sour after hearing what his lover had said about herself.

“Don’t you dare say something like that about yourself.” He cupped her face with both of his hands and made her look up to him. “I call you flower because you’re the most beautiful amongst all the flowers. I could never get enough of basking my eyes with your beauty. The colours you say? I’ve never seen so much colour in my life before meeting you, and now my vision is filled with bright shades of the colours in contrast to my previous ones of black and grey. I’m always under a spell, your natural scent only keeps me hungry of you more and more. You say you’re not a flower? To me, you’ll always be the most beautiful flower the world has never seen, as your beauty is for my eyes, and my eyes only. My beautiful flower.

“You really do have a way with words, don’t you?” Delicate fingers stroke against the pale white cheeks of the man. He places a small kiss on her palms and caressed her long curly locks of hair before pulling her in for a breath-taking kiss.

“Of course, if it weren’t for my words, I wouldn’t be able to court you at all.” Small laughter escaped from the woman’s mouth and it was music to the man’s ears. Her laughter finally comes to a stop as she held eye contact with the blue hues of the man’s. Green meeting blue, both holding a gaze so powerful with so much endearment and comfort.”

“I love you.” Her velvet voice was so sweet and gentle just like her lover’s embrace, holding her in his arms.

“I love you too,” The man had said a name, but it was unclear before everything starts to become hazy, the scene of the man and the woman fading out into pitch black.

Y/N woke up with a startle. Beads of sweat had dropped down her face, causing small hairs to stick on her forehead. Y/N could feel her heart clenching in pain as if it was broken by something, or someone.  Y/N was still in her purple gown from the previous day and it didn’t help that it was hot and stuffy wearing it to sleep.

Why am I having these dreams again. Who are these people? What is going on? I need answers. I want answers.

[berry-cat7]

Treasure

@kurokolovesakashi

For AkaKuro Month! The prompt is Fairy tale AU, so I went with trapped in a tower with a dragon, but with my own twist.

Can be read on AO3 or Fanfiction.

Kuroko no Basuke

G Rating

Brief mention of nudity

2,032 Words

Characters: Akashi Seijurou, Kuroko Tetsuya, Momoi Satsuki (Ft. Aomine)

Summary: A new knight approaches Kuroko's tower. It goes better than expected.

"Oh dear." Kuroko remarks rather flatly.  

His reaction is more appropriate for noting an impending rain, rather than the sight of another knight preparing to storm his tower. However, he feels mild annoyance towards both phenomena, so perhaps it is quite fitting. If they were a messenger, they wouldn't have been so heavily armored, and nobody lugs around a broadsword for fun.

This knight can't be too unreasonable if they decided to make their approach from the forest though. While it is filled with many dangerous creatures and the terrain quite treacherous in general, it does provide excellent cover from the dragon's fiery gaze. The last fool who thought to take the mountain path directly to the western face of his tower saw their death approaching long before they had a chance to even catch a glimpse of the 'damsel' himself. Admittedly his keeper was feeling rather agitated that day, since that was the fourth challenger that week; usually the dragon is charitable enough to at least let them approach his fence, and give him a chance to send them away with their lives.  

Not that they ever listen.

Between their greed towards the ridiculous amounts of riches the dragon has amassed in this castle, their desire to slay a mighty beast, and the power they've attached to his name; many chose to ignore him and press on.  This usually results in the forest fauna coming out for a midnight snack on the remains if the dragon is out of sight. Kuroko doesn't like it when the dragon chars his lawn to burn the bodies, and the dragon refuses to actually eat them, so what isn't scavenged, is scattered along his grounds in warning.  

This knight is definitely promising though.

Rather than charging in blindly while the dragon is still out of sight, they slow their steed to a trot and carefully examine the area. Kuroko knows that his companion has taken to the skies, silently observing the situation. The knight is too far for Kuroko to read the insignia painted onto their shield, but the powder blue of their cloak, and the style of the horse's reigns match those of Teiko, his kingdom of origin. Despite their cautious pace, the knight approaches with absolute confidence. The vibrant red plume decorating their helmet wavers in the wind, and their cape billows artistically as they draw nearer. Honestly, Kuroko is rather impressed. Usually people don't have that kind of flair for dramatics anymore.

At this distance, the golden dragon insignia of Teiko is clear and just as they reach they the barrier around his tower, they pull their horse to a halt. The knight is silent for a moment, before they reach up to remove their helmet. Messy pink hair drawn up into a loose bun, and a feminine face. It seems to be another woman this time.

The knight's voice rings loud and true through the clearing. "Fair prince, I am Sir Momo! Momoi Satsuki! And I have heard tales of your beauty and virtue! They say you are held captive by a fearsome beast and I have arrive to rescue you, and offer my hand in marriage! Where is your captor?"

It's a pain to strain his voice, but Kuroko addresses the challenger from his window. "Fair knight, I thank you for coming all this way, but I fear your quest has been for naught! I am in no peril! And I am no prince! Nor am I looking to marry!"

Her eyes widen in surprise.

"...Then who are you? There are many tales of your royal status!"

"I was but a humble farmhand! I befriended the local dragon, and moved into this tower! People have come and gone, spinning ridiculous fables of increasing fantasy!" That's quite an over-simplification of the situation, but it's unwise to shout such a long and personal story out of a window to a potentially dangerous stranger.

Overall, he's not quite sure how things escalated to this point himself. At first a few travelers stumbled across his little abode and the dragon was content to watch from afar. But once he had almost been killed by a roving band of looters, he supposes some rumours had begun to spread once the survivors regaled their harrowing tales. The average wanderers stopped appearing, and the warriors and knights started flocking in for various reasons.

Kuroko is far from captive when he travels back into town every other week for supplies. Not that many can recognize him.  

"I apologize that you have come all this way! I can only offer my regrets." The last time he had bribed away an intruder, the dragon had sulked for days, curling around the tower's treasures possessively until Kuroko polished quite a few in repentance.

The knight shifts on her saddle as she thinks over this new development. "...Are you sure you require no aid? Are you truly unthreatened by the dragon?"

"Not unless you offer repair services." All of the rain has been rather troublesome. His wood fence is starting to rot from all of the moisture.

"Unfortunately, my main craft is the blade. My apologies for the disturbance then. Though I do hope you won't mind if I return for a visit? Someone as lovely as you should at least have human company every now and then." Ironically, he gets plenty of human company, it's just that they're usually hostile while the dragon is a reprieve.

She's been polite, outwardly nonthreatening and respectful, patient. Kuroko is about to grant tentative permission when a distant roar echoes in warning. It seems the dragon has grown tired of their guest. Thankfully she's aware enough to understand this unsubtle warning herself. "It seems I've overstayed my welcome. I bid you farewell, and may our paths cross again." She says with a sweet smile and a wave. Quite the juxtaposition from the worn armor broadening her frame and the gleaming blade strapped to her back.

Although she intended to take her leave, it seems her horse has other ideas. It continues to graze on the lush grass of his property, regardless of its rider pulling at its reigns. "Oh come on! Dai-chan, you can eat later!" The horse takes its time chewing through one more mouthful before it finally heeds its master's cries. And once the knight disappears into the forest from whence she came, the dragon is quick to land.

Kuroko rolls his eyes to himself once he is safely out of sight, and heads to his front door in order to greet the dragon in person, taking the spare cloak with him. He really is a sight to behold, gleaming wine-coloured scales and magnificent wings. Large eyes focus on him, one cranberry red and the other daffodil gold, both scanning for a hair out of place even though the knight hadn't even unsheathed her weapon. It's ridiculous and over-protective, but he can't complain when it's done for his sake. The dragon sort of sighs out a puff of smoke and a flurry of embers, a sign that he is satisfied with what he sees and Kuroko is permitted to move.

"See? I'm fine. But thank you Seijurou."

The dragon's lipless mouth is unmoving, but a velvety smooth voice can still be heard. "I don't understand why you won't just leave with me, and be done with these vermin."  

Kuroko puts a hand on the dragon's warm snout, each nostril almost half of his height and every exhale a visible heatwave. "As hot as you can keep the cave and as lavishly as you furnish it, I'd rather not actually live in a cave. Kagami-kun already claims that I'm so isolated I may as well live under a rock, the last thing he needs is validation."

The dragon releases a burst of hot air at the mention of one of his few friends. He's close enough that the twin jets of scalding steam billow out past him without harm, but it's still uncomfortably hot at this distance. He smacks the dragon with a frown in reprimand, but the gesture is more symbolic since he doubts it was really felt through such thick skin.  

"I can be human too." Kuroko is sure it's supposed to sound ominous or maybe even vaguely threatening, but he's learned to associate that tone with a petulant child. He absently resumes running his hand against the dragon's face. The larger, shield-sized scales covering the rest of his body are mostly cold and sharp, but his face is covered with smooth snake-like soft-scaled skin.  

He has to tread carefully, because the last thing he wants to do is offend. Inter-species relationships – romantic or otherwise – are always complicated. "...Yes, I know, but even I would like to see other faces every now and then. I'm not a jewel Seijurou, I need more than just safety."

He can feel scales heating beneath his palm, just shy of painful as the dragon shifts. He closes his eyes against the bright light but he can already feel a feverishly warm cheek resting in his hand. Two very human hands grab onto him. One rests overtop of his, while the other carefully grips his fragile wrist. It wouldn't take much to turn his joints into mush, break his legs and render him immobile – completely helpless and dependent. But the dragon is careful, his touch always almost annoyingly feather-light with his unspoken fear.  

He opens his eyes to meet red and gold.

There is a possessive look in Seijurou's eyes as he speaks, low and reverently. "I know human's require a lot of care to remain in optimal condition, but I can't help but place your physical well-being before your happiness. It's fine if you hate me. As long as you are alive and within my sights, I don't care what you do if it's not detrimental to your health. Your life is short as it is. You are my most precious treasure." The dragon places a tender kiss over the pulse point of Kuroko's inner wrist, and the human flushes a bright red as he recalls Seijurou's bare state. Seijurou himself always stands proud, completely unbothered by his nudity because he only wears what Kuroko forces onto him.

Without context, that whole speech would be rather concerning, no doubt that knight would come sweeping back to rescue him had she heard some of the other things he's said. But Kuroko knows that the dragon would never treat him like that. An object to be hoarded in the dark. He's merely voicing his opinion, the disgruntled grumbling of the guard of a particularly troublesome treasure. Kuroko pulls Seijurou into an embrace, surrounding himself with the dragon's heat. He rests his chin over the other's shoulder. "I know. You're my most important person too."  

In all of his years of life as a simple farmhand, Kuroko Tetsuya had never seen much value in his life. He considered it a good life, but like any peasant, he thought he wasn't worth more than the mud he toiled in. It was mere chance that he had stumbled across this abandoned structure filled with wealth, and perhaps some would call it misfortune that it turned out to belong to a dragon; but his restraint had been his saving grace, and once the dragon had located him further down the path the rest had become history.

It's another irony, one he thinks about every day, that a dragon – creatures notorious for their material greed – believes that his life is worth more than his weight in gold.

It's easy to slip out of Seijurou's hold, all hard muscles and soft grip. It's not as bad as it used to be, but he's still embarrassed that he was in the arms of a naked man out in the open. He carefully throws the cloak he brought over Seijurou's shoulders, one of the only articles of clothing he'll wear without a word of complain, and leads the dragon by the hand into his castle.

The lifeblood rushing through his veins, every breath he draws, every day for the rest of his days – all of it, Kuroko is more than happy to give him to cherish.

[dennou-translations]

Violet Evergaden: Chapter 9

Please feel free to message me about possible corrections. If you can, support the creators by buying the official releases here.

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The Groom and the Auto-Memories Doll

The Morning Moon ascended in azure. Its faint form was not enough to overwhelm those who lived under the light of the night sky’s Moon. However, just as the full moon, the moon of a gentler color that melted into the sky had a charm that would stop time and make people contemplate it. Combined with the pastoral poem-like landscape of prairies and small flowers that spread beneath it as far as the eyes could see, it was like an illustration out of a fairy tale book.

“Mom.”

Amidst such a heavenly scenery, without so much as batting a lash at the moon, a young man ran about intently. In his extreme hurry, he had dressed himself in a pair of pants and a shirt. He wore nothing but that.

The area was named Eucalypt Basin and had plenty of undeveloped land, with the distance from town to town and village to village being of about half a day. Regular service vehicles passed by only once a day, and if missed, local residents and travelers had no choice but to rely on their own feet or other means of transportation. Looking for a person in that world of rice fields seemed easy considering the small number of obstacles, but in reality, it was not.

“Mom!”

The amplitude itself was the main hindrance when pursuing someone. Thorough searches took too much time. It was difficult to notice even if a target moved from the place being looked through to another.

“Dammit, why did things turn out like this...?” the young man impatiently wiped the sweat trailing down his forehead with his shirt’s sleeve.

The feet that had been running in the fields until then had slowed down, only walking, and eventually stopped. Perhaps as he did not have time to put on shoes, he was barefoot. His feet bled, maybe from having stepped on twigs or rocks. Was the one he looked for worth a chase obsessive enough for him to acquire such injuries? The youth himself incidentally wound up reflecting on it.

In spite of the question that had been born within him and the lack of a precise answer to it, the young man resumed running. The small white flowers he stepped on were dyed in blood. The dismal pain braked his thought process.

“Call... my name, Mom.”

Should he go back or not? Abandon the one he searched for or not?

“My... name...”

If he were to choose not to, he simply had no choice but continue looking. In such circumstances, indecision was the biggest waste. For instance, perhaps a clue could be found those infinite fields.

“Ah.”

A dark red ribbon suddenly flew into the youth’s vision. The red fluttered into a world of nothing but greens, blues and whites. In front of him, a red unlike the one from the blood he had shed gently flowed in the breeze. Instinctively, he stretched his hand out to it. He slowly took into his palm what seemed like a present from the heavens.

The young man turned his head towards the direction of the wind. He could see silhouettes. They were the figures of a few people surrounding a motorcycle. One of them had left the spot and was running towards him. Once closer, he could tell it was a woman. On top of that, she had a captivating beauty. Her golden hair hovering amongst scattering flower petals, she stopped before the youth and stared intensely at his face.

“Hum...”

Her blue orbs held a mysterious charm and made him feel as if they stripped him naked.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance. I rush anywhere my customer desires. I am from the automated dolls service, Violet Evergarden.” Like a puppet, she bowed gracefully.

Much like her appearance, the sound that came out of her finely shaped crimson lips was lovable and pure, but the contents of her words were mismatched for such a place. The young man was no customer of hers either, nothing but a stranger.

Perhaps thinking the same as him, she corrected herself, “I made a mistake. Pardon me. This is like an occupational disease; I end up automatically saying my introduction speech to whomever I meet for the first time...”

“No... it’s okay. Erm... I’m Silene. Could this be yours?”

As she nodded mutely, Silene handed her the ribbon. He himself was surprised at how much he trembled as their fingertips touched. Although covered by gloves, her fingers felt stiff and were obviously not human.

“Here you go. Also, there’s something I want to ask. I’m looking for someone...”

“A silver-haired woman in her 60’s who specializes in hairdressing?”

“Y-Yes. My mother used to work as a hairdresser in the past... How did you...?”

The girl held down her hair, unraveling in the wind due to being untied, and pointed at the direction she had come from. Despite hardly visible because of the distance, a short person that he believed to be his mother was there.

“We were looking for you as well.”

No matter what she did, she was a woman beautiful enough to become a painting, Silene thought.

The ones who had taken care of Silene’s mother were an Auto-Memories Doll and a postman in the middle of a journey. It seemed they were on standstill as their motorcycle had malfunctioned, and had sighted his mother wandering around the meadows.

“She said she was going up to the mountains to look for her husband and son. It’s weird for someone to be walking around wearing rolls at early morning, right? We were already having problems, but when people see someone even more troubled than themselves, they stay composed. V.” while fumbling with the defective motorcycle, the man opened a hand towards the young woman.

“My name is not ‘V’. It is ‘Violet’.” Placing her side-locks behind her ear, she squatted down. Taking a tool from a bag lying on the ground, she handed it to the man.

Ignoring her remark, he resumed working silently. “Take a look at V’s hair. She said it was pretty and asked ‘please let me touch it’, so we let her play with it just like that. I was caught up over here. V was entertaining the Granny. And then you showed up.”

“My mother... is a little... wrong in the head... We’ve caused you trouble.”

“Seems so... well, fellows like that aren’t rare. It’s easy for thoughts and memories to become confusing on their own. You don’t even have to be old for that to happen... It’s not working... Enough. Gimme a hand towel.” Easily wiping off black oil stains, he stood up.

He was a bit taller than Violet. His light blond hair was of a shade that resembled sand. His hairline was short, yet a part of his forelocks hung lengthier on one side. His cool, sky blue orbs bore thorns within their softness.

Just by looking at the curves of his body, one could tell he was wearing tight laser pants. In contrast, his upper part was clad in a loose spring-green shirt and suspenders. The heels of his boots were too tall. Said heels were cross-shaped. It was quite a flashy get-up. However, even if he took off all of it, he had the looks of someone that could effortlessly lead a woman or two by the nose.

“This... is completely hopeless. Out of all things, for it to break in the middle of this countryside that has nothing but grassland is just...” The man roughly wiped off a bead of sweat with his arm. He seemed rather fatigued.

“Benedict, I really should run to the city we parted from and request help. It is faster to go back than go forth.”

“Hum, then...”

Not hearing Silene’s attempted statement, the man – Benedict – scowled at Violet’s words. “Even if you possess a strength so ridiculous that it’s almost like a joke, there’s no way I could let a woman do that alone. Even if you say that way is closer, it’s still pretty distant. Also, the outcome would be that I’d be scolded by the Old Man.”

Violet slightly tilted her neck. “Is that so? Benedict, you are already clearly exhausted by the everyday postal deliveries and take on the additional duty of picking me up along the way, so in this situation, is it not better for the one with more stamina to make a move? Being male or female is unrelated. This decision is for the sake of our survival.”

“Hum, like I said...”

“Nope, I can already see it. Old Man going like, ‘Benedict... you... why did you make Little Violet do something like that? You made her run?’ and then criticize me about the manners of a gentleman that he’s so good at.”

What he impersonated with so much emotion was most likely an imitation of a certain postal company’s boss.

“You... will answer anything when asked, right? You can’t lie.”

“I do not lie to President. There are only truths in my reports.”

“Then, isn’t it no good after all?”

“I will tell the truth but I will give you cover, Benedict. I will say that I was the one who proposed it.”

“Your covering fire is the best when it comes to actual ammo but it’s fruitless effort when it comes to everyday conversations, so stop that.”

“Hum!” As Silene spoke loudly, the two finally looked his way.

Perhaps tired from walking so much, his mother was asleep as he carried her on his back. Violet brought her index finger next to her lips.

Silene smiled bitterly. “If you’re having a hard time, I’ll guide you to my village as thanks for taking care of my mother. Can you push the motorcycle? If you can go on pushing, it might take a little while, but I’ll show you to someone who can fix it.”

“You’d do that?”

Silene nodded. “The village is a bit crowded at the moment, so it will take some time... that’s right. If you could... stay there for a day, we could work it out. We do receptions as well. To tell the truth, a wedding is going to happen. In this region, whenever someone is getting married, the entire village gathers to open banquets. During them, we invite and welcome anyone. It’s coincidentally the best time to entertain guests.”

“Do you have drinks?”

“Of course.”

“What about dancer girls and good food? Also, places to sleep.”

“About women, erm... Mister Benedict. It would depend on you, but we’ve got everything else ready.”

After balling his fists and revering the heavens, Benedict turned to Violet and offered both hands. Violet stared at them fixatedly.

“You do it like this. Like this.” Benedict vehemently took Violet’s hand and made her raise it together with his. “We did it.”

“‘We did it’?”

“You don’t have to do that much.” Benedict laughed. “This is part of that thing called fate. I have no idea who they are, but let’s join the toast of this happy couple.”

Silene also laughed at Benedict’s words. Upon looking once at his mother on his back, his smile soon disappeared, but he forced himself to muster out a cheerful voice, “Yes, I’m from the household of this happy couple.”

The place Silene led them to was a village named Kisara. Its houses had been built as to form a semicircle. In its center was a hall with a stone pavilion and a well. Most likely, they were the only things in that space at first, but currently, a crowd crammed around the pavilion. It was filled with women to the point that one could ponder whether every woman in the village had assembled there. They were vigorously cooking and decorating the hall with ornaments.

Violet and Benedict observed the scene as if it were something unusual. As Benedict asked Silene where the men were, the latter pointed at a set of tents located just a little apart from the village. The lined-up tents made of colorful cloths shone outstandingly against the blue skies and green land. It appeared they were being put up to serve as temporary bedding for guests. By the looks of it, those people truly meant to warmly welcome whoever came by without rebuffing anyone.

For the time being, the group was headed to Silene’s home. The village’s only roadway was narrow and full of things – flowers blooming all over wooden vats placed by the front doors, dried crops, cats slipping past their legs. From somewhere in that midst, the sound of bells rang. Silene explained how several chimes that produced sound by colliding with each other upon being blown by the wind were the village’s specialty articles of folk craft.

Looking upwards, they could see cords passed through the houses’ windows across the street, from which their residents’ laundry hung. Chimes hung from them as well. Young girls chatting with one another pulled in the cords as though having fun. While they did so, the chimes simultaneously rang. When Benedict turned his gaze towards them, they let out a laughter akin to a scream and closed the windows.

The village had a tranquility that did not exist in big cities, characteristic of small communities.

Once they had passed the narrow road, it broadened at once, and beyond it was an isolated house that was bigger than the rest. Although not so well tended to, bushes of roses grew in its garden. Two anxious-looking women stood in front of the entrance.

“Aah, so she was all right?!” The one who rushed over as fast as she could was a middle-aged lady clad in an apron dress.

After a deep sigh, Silene spoke to her in a low tone, “Don’t ‘she was all right’ me. Are you okay with this? Don’t tell me this always happens...”

“Yesterday night, I had properly locked Madame’s room. Master, could it be you went there afterwards? Did you lock it? It only opens from outside.”

“That’s…”

“For the few years that everything has been entrusted to Master, I haven’t gone looking for Madame like that.”

“My bad. That was my bad...”

The air of their exchange could not be described as pleasant.

The other woman walked to Silene’s side. She had brown skin and gracious facial features. She bowed her head to Violet and Benedict, who wordlessly watched everything. It was then that Silene finally realized there was someone other than his relative beside him.

“S-Sorry... I’ll introduce you. This is... erm... the one who will become my wife tomorrow, Misha. And my mother’s servant, Delit. I don’t live with my mother. Misha, Delit. Those two took care of Mom.”

They understood how much the last statement meant they were supposed to show gratitude towards the duo with the expression he showed right after. Both Delit and Misha let them into the house as if dealing with saints. Following that, they had a busy time. The bride and groom, who were about to marry the next day, seemed to have greetings to give in various places, and so had gone out by themselves. They apologized for being unable to entertain the guests appropriately, yet Violet and Benedict were satisfied enough just by having a place with a roof to cool down at and saw them off without minding it.

As it was close to midday, the servant Delit treated the travelers to a meal out of consideration. Perhaps due to being significantly tired, Benedict wound up falling asleep immediately after eating, as if his battery had run out. At first, he had started nodding off, and soon, unable to withstand it, he rested his body against the sofa and closed his eyes.

The work of a postman consisted of all-day delivery duties. Moreover, he had driven to pick up Violet on the way of his trip, and as his motorcycle had broken, he had worried about the repairs, therefore becoming completely exhausted.

Seated on the same sofa, Violet silently allowed him to sleep by her side as he leaned against her, and once everything became quiet, she finally observed the environment. There were chimes on the house’s window as well. They rang in jingles. The sounds of Delit washing dishes could be heard from the kitchen. Along with Benedict’s sleeping breath, the afternoon of an extremely peaceful summer day ensued.

Albeit not feeling sleepy, Violet closed her eyes. It was as if she had come to know the gentleness of the sounds of everyday life composed her surroundings for the first time. Her new home, the Evergarden household, was a mansion which size could not be matched unless so many of the village’s houses were put together, and therefore, it was strange for her to be in a house where she could merely exist and relax without having to do any work. However, as soon as she heard a clatter coming from the front door, she reached for the handgun inside her jacket.

“My, my. Might it be the person that will fix the motorcycle?” her footsteps echoing, Delit walked up to the entrance.

Looking at her side, Violet could see Benedict thinly opening his eyes. He also had his fingers on his handgun. “It is all right to continue sleeping.” She told him, and he closed his eyes again as if relieved.

The two of them were slightly alike. Due to their hair and irises being of similar colors, they almost looked like siblings when next to one another.

Wondering if there were anything she could do to offer assistance, Violet was about to head to the entrance as well, but upon noticing that someone was calling amidst the everyday life sounds, her feet halted. She had heard it coming from the second floor. She then remembered that Silene’s mother had been taken to it as though being pushed back when they had arrived at that house. Climbing the wooden stairs, Violet stood at the corridor of the second floor and stayed put to listen once more.

“Darling...?” The voice of an elderly woman resounded. “Or could it be Jonah?”

She was most likely mistaking Violet for a family member.

“It is Violet. You tied my hair this morning.” As if replying to her, Violet whispered by the room’s door.

It was a small village, yet the banquet would gather all of it. One by one, they bowed their heads in gratitude to everybody. It was by the time the Sun had set that Silene and Misha had gone home.

“My, the bride is not from around here?”

“She understands our language. But her speech is broken. It’s cute.”

“Silene, treat her well. Doesn’t it feel like she can only rely on you?”

Giving greetings had not made him feel particularly disturbed, but after them, he was pryingly interrogated by older women about his fiancée, Misha. As Silene had done most of the talking on behalf of the timid Misha, who was not too good at conversations, his throat was parched.

“It’s gotten dark, huh?” Misha muttered curtly and Silene nodded.

The village would normally be calm at sunset, but today, it had been rather noisy. Everyone is was on festive spirits. Just when he was thinking that everything was for his and Misha’s sake, Silene had come to understand that a wedding ceremony was not only for two people. He then took hold of Misha’s hand in a natural manner.

“Fufu.” She let out a shy giggle. “The people of this village... are kind.” Perhaps feeling at ease when speaking only to Silene, she started talking. “My brother, who had raised me in place of our parents, passed away in the Great War. I’m glad I’m able to marry you. I was able to... have a family again.” She smiled bashfully. “Miss Delit is great at cooking. She has taught me what foods you like. Mother’s house... is big. It’s grandiose, and makes me think... that everyone can live in it.”

Although it was a peaceful chatter, Silene wound up coldly spitting out, “You don’t have to be so cautious.”

Misha’s stopped walking. Her hand, still connected with his, was pulled as he continued going ahead, causing her to stumble. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m... sorry too.”

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry... I said something... uncalled for. I... even... know... that you left that house because you hate it and your mother.”

What Silene had become enamored with in Misha was exactly that. She was honest, caring and kind.

“But, I haven’t properly asked why you hate them. It’s better to cherish your parents.”

And she had principles.

Sweat beaded in the hand he was using to hold hers. Silene wanted to let go to wipe it but did not do so, instead tightening his grip even more. He did not wish to instigate disgust in the person that would always be by his side from then on.

“Nothing... gets through Mom.”

Unlike Silene, who would not meet her eyes, Misha directed her gaze straight at him. “Yes.”

“It’s been that way since I was little. She isn’t like that because of her age. I used to have a father too, and... an older brother... but one day, my father took my brother and left.”

"Why...?”

“I was too small so I don’t remember it well. It was probably... the usual... their relationship as a married couple was bad. They... fought very often. I had seen either of them stomp out of home a lot. That’s why I thought he would surely be back soon that time too...”

But he had not returned.

——Back then, why did Dad take Brother and not me?

Was it because his brother was the firstborn? Their age gap was of only three years, yet he had always felt that his father would prioritize his brother in whatever he did. For instance, in the order of giving away presents, frequency with which he would pat their heads, or the difference of the words he used to praise them. From others’ point of view, none those would be a big deal, but children are sensitive to such things.

——I’m sure... he took the one he was most attached to. That’s what I feel.

“From that point on, Mom started getting weird. Slowly, slowly... she broke, like a screw falling off a machine. First, she started calling me by my brother’s name. Whenever I would say, ‘no, I’m not Jonah, I’m Silene’, she’d apologize and correct herself. But it didn’t stop at just saying the wrong name.”

Misha placed her other hand along the one that was joined with his. She was attempting to smolder the hardships that her lover had faced during his life. It was but a simple gesture, yet it made Silene unbearably contented. He was able to strongly reconfirm that it was something he had yearned for.

“Mom started to hallucinate that I’m either Dad or big brother Jonah.”

His past self did not have such joys.

“When she thinks I’m Dad, she scolds me while crying and hits me. When she thinks I’m Brother, she simply hugs me and asks where I’d been. This has continued on for several years.”

Silene did not think of himself as pitiful.

“But, see, when I got my growth spurt, I became taller. I actually don’t resemble Brother or Dad at all. I really... think that was... a good thing.”

However, he also did not think of himself as a happy one. In retrospect to his childhood, there was never anything enjoyable. He had to start working as his mother became unable to, and would be feeling miserable when coming home.

“I was free from being mistaken with someone else.”

It was a succession of occurrences.

“But then a new curse was cast on me.”

A sorrowful succession of occurrences.

“Now I’m the one that doesn’t know who I am.”

In order to put an end to them, he had to be apart from her.

“Mom also doesn’t know who I am. She only remembers the me from my childhood. Delit told me... that she’s been looking for me lately. Isn’t it... kinda laughable? I had always, always, always...”

Precisely because they were family, he had to be apart from her.

“...always been by her side.”

Although it could be considered heartless, that was the last thing Silene wanted to give up on. The villagers already knew, but it was his first time discussing it with an outsider. He had grown up, learned how to work, launched himself into the outside world, fallen in love with a girl he had found there and was at last freed from his sadness. He would not let anyone interfere with that.

“That’s why I won’t live with Mom.”

Silene was desperate to haul the happiness that he had finally managed to grasp onto with his own hands.

As they got home, Delit came to greet them outside with a, “I’ve been waiting for you.” She was holding several letters in her hands. They had brought about a huge incident in the absence of the two. Congratulatory telegrams from far-away friends and relatives who would not be able to make it to the ceremony had arrived.

The town Silene and Delit lived in was at a short distance from the village. He had actually wanted to hold the ceremony there and leave his mother out, but Misha had not agreed to it. “If you have at least one parent, you should show it to her,” she had told him. For that reason, the people they were currently associated with had become unable to attend.

“What should we do about these... according to marriage etiquette?” Silene coyly asked the old Delit.

“Well, they must be wholeheartedly recited. Haven’t you requested anyone to do that?”

Silene turned to face Misha. The couple had not been taught by the nearby elderly one about situations in which they would have to make requests and were unfamiliar with nuptial protocol.

“We’re in trouble... if it has to be someone from this area... maybe the lady from the general store?”

“No way... we can’t ask so suddenly. The ceremony is tomorrow.”

“Then, Master, this means you also haven’t thought about your love poem for the bride. You have to do that too.”

It was a traditional custom for the bridegroom reciting a poem written by himself containing his feelings towards his loved one in the middle of the ceremony.

“I was thinking about not making one since it’s embarrassing...”

“That’s no good! A wedding ceremony without that... would be a disappointment to the people invited.”

Upon being admonished with an incredibly threatening attitude, Silene shrank back.

“Holding a ceremony in our land means getting ready and spending efforts so that we can share a wonderful moment in exchange of being congratulated by many people. We cannot discard traditions. Everyone... is volunteering for a lot of things, aren’t they? That’s due to mutual support and encouragement. You’ll be damned if you don’t earnestly correspond to that sincerity.”

“B-But...”

Who in the world were they supposed to seek for help?

Perhaps as they were having a heated debate, one of their guests opened the window and poked her head out as if inquiring what was going on. She held a letter in her hand as well.

“Aah, isn’t there someone who’s just perfect for the job?!”

“No, but... they’re guests.”

“But she’s an Auto-Memories Doll, right? Isn’t recitation and writing their forte? Master, you can leave it to her.”

Despite Delit’s optimistic words, Silene’s constraint was more prominent, rendering him unable to say anything.

“I accept.”

“Eh?”

“I accept. I will take on the reciting and writing... as a one-night favor.”

Unexpectedly, Violet was the one to assume the responsibility. Not even a full day had passed since they had met, yet he somehow felt he would not be able to say such things himself. Silene thought she was a modest woman.

“It is an important ceremony, after all.”

The words of Violet Evergarden weighted heavily on Silene’s heart.

The bridal costume from the outskirts of Eucalypt Basin consisted of a red robe with detailed goldthread embroidery. On the bride’s head lay a flower crown, and a rose-colored make-up was applied on her eyelids and lips. In contrast, the groom was clad in a white robe. He carried a shield that represented the protection of their household and a small sword painted in gold, as it was a symbol of wealth.

The groom and bride walked receiving blessings from the people in the street that morning. Afterwards, a banquet was held in the village’s hall. The stage of the ceremony, which the female villagers had been preparing since the day before, turned out splendid. The hall’s pavilion was decorated with white and red roses and two seats made of vines were set up. A long tables and chairs had been lined up as to surround the pavilion and guests were already seated on them. They greeted the arrival of the young couple with applause.

Only on such day, those who would usually be working assiduously were also dressed up and participating. Gorgeous ornamental hats, vividly colorful dresses. And adults are not the only ones dressed up. The figures of children running and walking around with angel feather ornaments on their backs were adorable.

Once the ceremony began, an orchestra started playing and the food was served. Next, it was time to dance for a while. Initially, the women that received dance lessons displayed a group choreography. People gradually mixed up with it, but when the blond postman made his entrance, the cheers from female villagers rose. Benedict danced about brilliantly in boots much like the ones women wore, and, once he was done, rather than pulling him by both arms, young lady villagers as pretty as flowers cornered him from all sides and caused an uproar.

Violet Evergarden, who had offered to do the recitation, did not do anything as flashy as Benedict. She simply stood still and awaited her cue in silence. Perhaps because of her almost mystical beauty, she did not become a target of the men’s flirting, and not even a single person with enough courage to as much as talk to her had come by.

By the time it was finally her turn, she caused the attendees’ eyes to glue on her with the conglomerate of telegrams. There was not even any need to say “quiet down” in order to silence those who were causing a ruckus. So long as there was something that they wished to hear, people would fall silent on their own.

Regardless of the anxious couple, the ceremony went on free from disturbances for the villagers who were already used to it. Misha quietly whispered into Silene’s ear, “It seems this will end well, right?”

Although she was his own bride, she looked so beautiful that he was slightly startled when her face drew closer. “Yeah, really... this is thanks to the people of the village.”

“Your love poem... was wonderful.” After saying so, Misha laughed a bit. It was probably because his figure had looked funny in her eyes as he ended up mumbling the love poem he had dedicated to her, due to becoming stiff as a statue out of nervousness.

“Miss Violet wrote most of it, though...”

“That’s right. I had never... been told such things.”

“Don’t tease me so much... I’m no good with embarrassing stuff.”

“It’s great that we were able to meet such wonderful travelers. Mother also seemed to have enjoyed herself.”

“It’ll be good if that’s true.” Silene’s voice was a little down.

He had constantly prayed that she would stay put at least on that day, yet she had started aimlessly loitering around by the middle of the ceremony and begun looking for him by the latter half of it, so as per his request, Delit had taken her back home. As the villagers knew of the circumstances, there was no commotion on their part – rather, the one that had become disconcerted was Silene.

——So embarrassing.

He felt as if the most important day of his life had been ruined by his heartbroken mother.

——I’m glad that the one I married was Misha.

There were surely people who would have become irate had the same happened to them. Just as himself.

——I’m glad... that it was Misha.

Silene took Misha’s hand, tracing the wedding ring he had put on it with a finger. It was a proof that he was no longer alone. The way that very ring felt gave him a sense of reality.

“Lastly, here is a letter by the precious mother of the groom, containing her blessings for the marriage of her son, Sir Silene, who has chanced upon the marvelous day that is today.”

An incessant clapping outburst at Violet’s words. Silene confusedly turned his head to every direction. Misha seemed to think it were yet another program of the event and accepted it, but Silene had not been told about such a thing by anyone.

“Lady Fran, I humbly thank you for allowing us to be sitting in such an honorable place along with all of you.” Violet took out a letter similar to the one she had been holding the evening before and opened its envelope. “By your respectable mother’s request, I shall vocally deliver to Sir Silene the letter of marital blessings that is packed with feelings.”

——I haven’t heard about it. I haven’t... heard about any of this.

Was it not better for him to stop her? There was no way the words said by a heartbroken person could be of any decency. The place would merely become disheveled by her strange manner of speech and conduct. Silene attempted to rise from his seat.

However, the blue orbs of the Auto-Memories Doll seemed to sew his own shadow onto him as she entreated for restraint on the spot, “It might become a little abstract, but please do listen to it.” A sigh escaped Violet’s rose-like lips. As if reciting, she read out the blessing poem, “‘I know that the most beautiful version of myself is the one reflected in your eyes. That is because I cherish you as if I were admiring a flower. I can see the gleam of stars in your pupils. That is because I think of you as dazzling. You did not know how to speak when you were small. I taught you words so that you would be able to, right? The color of the sky, the coldness of night dew, the lines you would spout when doing bad things... if only I could convey to you the joy I felt when talking with you about them. I wonder if you have realized that any harsh words I ever directed at you were out of love too. Similarly, no matter how much you may have hurt me, the fact that you were born erases all of it. You do not know that, do you? My son. Do you know the beauty in the eyes of the person you will be together with for the rest of your life from now on? Can you remember what color they are even after closing your own eyes? Do they shine? If you look beautiful when reflected in her orbs, you are loved by her. You must never let that become lax. You must not neglect love. A light can keep on shining precisely when it is polished. That jewel is in only your care. Do not neglect love. My son. Have you ever peeked into my eyes? If not, then by all means, try doing so. They are already enveloped in a world of night, but stars twinkle in the night sky. Please, just quietly peek into them. If you think that what surfaces in my eyes – what is reflected in them – is beautiful, that means you love me. I cannot speak much. That is why, please, take a peek. Please do that whenever you become restless. Wherever you go, my eyes should be able to become one of the beautiful things that exist in this world for you. This is the truth of a promise between you and me. My son, this is my love towards you. So, please, do not forget the color of my eyes.’”

The applause started out as a noiseless ripple and gradually morphed into the great swirl of a wave. After bowing beautifully in an Auto-Memories Doll-like way, Violet stepped aside.

Silene could not remember his mother’s eye color. He had been with her today and the day before.

“Silene? Are you okay?”

Nevertheless, he could not recall it. He had avoided looking at her face. And he had done so on purpose.

“Silene.”

Being called by someone else’s name whenever they locked eyes was too hard for him. It was painful that he did not have what his mother sought after. No matter what he did, he was unable to correspond her expectations.

“Hey, Silene.”

If the one his father had taken away had been Silene himself instead of his brother, perhaps his mother’s heart would not have been damaged to that extent.

“Hey, Darling.”

If she were not with a son that would make his father and mother think of him as unnecessary, but a better one...

——So embarrassing.

The reason why he was no good with embarrassing things...

——So embarrassing.

...was that they would cause him to become aware...

——So embarrassing.

...that he was an embarrassing existence to someone else.

“Darling, don’t cry.”

As Misha wiped his tears, he realized that he was crying. He hurried to turn backwards. More tears poured.

——So embarrassing. So embarrassing. I am... so embarrassing.

The Auto-Memories Doll’s letter made his chest ache. He was embarrassed of having dragged with him the past he was unable to love until the present moment and running away from the person he was supposed to protect. His mother, despite thinking he was gone, and despite being broken, had gone out to look for him.

“Sorry, I’ll leave the seat for a bit.” He informed Misha and walked away from the ceremony.

“Are you headed to where Mother is?”

As he kept his eyelids still and nodded at the question, she pushed his back.

“Off you go.”

While thinking he was the worst groom ever for abandoning the ceremony, he paced past the guests. Even with him leaving, the attendees had become exalted as the time to dance had come once again.

He went past the narrow road, towards the house he had lived in with his mother. Silene’s legs hurried to the house that he had left as if running away. As he arrived by its front, Violet Evergarden, who was supposed to be at the ceremonial hall, was there. He could not see Benedict’s motorcycle anywhere. The repairs had most likely been completed.

“We are much obliged.”

It seemed they planned to depart without seeing the end of the ceremony.

“Same here. Hum... thank you very much. I took notice of my failures... with the words I received. Mom told you some sort of nonsense... and you... wrote it beautifully into a letter just like that, right? She made you do something so troubling... She... often makes selfish requests. It was like that even back when we lived together. Even today, when she was told that it was the day of the wedding ceremony, she was adamant that we gave her a white hat that had already been sold ages ago...”

“I am sorry for having done this on my own accord.”

“No, it’s fine...”

“While Sir Silene and Lady Misha were out, I accepted a job offer from your mother. The offer was only for me to deliver the letter, but I ended up doing something intrusive. Your mother said that you might not have read the letter if she had given it to you, Sir Silene... I, too, chose a method of definitively transmitting her words to you. Since there is no letter... that needn’t be delivered.” Violet said.

Silene’s brows furrowed. He could picture his mother making the request. However, he thought it was odd for her to say he might not have read it.

“I wonder why my mother would say this... that I might not read the letter.”

“She said it was because she was always causing problems to Sir Silene. Since, due to losing part of the family, she wound up hammering you with lonely memories.”

——That’s a lie.

“No, that’s weird.”

“What is?”

——That’s a lie, that’s a lie.

“She’s... not supposed to say anything so reasonable. She says things like ‘I want to do this’ or ‘I want to do that’. But... that’s weird. It’s almost like... I mean...”

——There’s no way.

“It is not weird. All the while when talking to me, your mother was lucid. When we first met, too, she was like that for a moment. She talked about you.”

——There’s no way.

Silene staggered to pass by Violet’s side and opened the house’s entrance.

From behind him, Violet’s voice resounded, “Well, then, we will take our leave.”

Without bothering to even turn around, he climbed up the stairs and headed to the front of a room in the second floor. What was his mother currently doing in that room which could only be locked from the outside? Taking off the padlock, he spun the doorknob. The window was probably open. Wind was circulating in the room.

His mother was by said window, observing the center of the village where the ceremony was taking place.

“M-Mom.” He called. “Mom.” He called for her countless times in that manner.

His mother stirred her head towards him, but her gaze immediately returned to the window. “Hey, quiet down... Jonah.”

She rarely ever turned to look at him.

“Mom... Mom... M-Mom...”

Ever since their family fell apart, there had not been a single occasion in which she had looked at him soberly.

“I’m onto something very important right now.”

Not even one.

“I wonder where Silene is.”

“Mom, I’m... right here.” He let out a childish voice.

As he did so, his mother’s body twitched once as if startled, and she slowly turned around. She eyed Silene from head to toe with apparent interest. Her gaze was not the same as ever.

Silene stared back into his mother’s orbs. They were of a stunning amber hue.

——Aah, that’s right. That was their color.

He remembered that her irises were of the same color as his own.

His mother walked to his side, and with a hand of increasing brown spots, she touched his cheek. All along, he was shedding tears.

“My... don’t cry.” She seemed happy. “You’ve grown so much, huh, Silene.”

Only Silene dwelled within her amber eyes.

“Congratulations... on your marriage.” She smiled.

During that instant, his mother undoubtedly had sanity. It was lost by the moment Silene embraced her.

“Hey, where’s Silene?”

“I’m... not going anywhere anymore.”

However, her love definitely existed.

[spotlightsaga]

Kevin Cage of @spotlightsaga reviews... I Love Dick (S01E05) A Short History of Weird Girls Airdate: May 17, 2017 @amazonvideo Ratings: Privatized Ratings @amazon Score: 9.75/10 TVTime/FB/Twitter/Tumblr/Path/Pin: @SpotlightSaga **********SPOILERS BELOW********** The more I watch television... The more I write, review, observe, soak in, and immerse myself into what I'm watching the more I drop certain series, and cling to ones that stir up a thunderous rumble of emotions inside of me. Like Dick's art, sometimes those emotions don't have a name. Maybe they're new, maybe their not, but I feel those emotions with such a surging intensity that I know what I'm watching is beyond just a tv series and literally a piece of moving art, cinematic wonders that maybe aren't for everyone, but sure as hell should be. Amazon Studios' 'I Love Dick' is a special series, one of those rare entries that match and sometimes even surpasses its original source material. This series is literally the equivalent of females embracing their very fiber, their sexual being, and shouting out loud on the top of a mountain, echoing through a massive valley, stirring up birds and wildlife... As if to say, 'I'm here and this is who I am. I will not be shamed.' Although I'm a male, and my sexuality is of a different multi-colored variety, I connect with these women and somehow understand them on an enormously supreme level. 'A Short History of Weird Girls' is 'I Love Dick's masterpiece. As you may have noticed, and as I mentioned earlier, Ive changed the way I watch television. I've been holding onto this series, as I have with others... I actually have watched, documented, and written nearly a hundred unreleased articles. I review them, tweak them, add to them, sculpt them... Because much like this show, my writing has evolved, the way I watch tv has evolved, and the way I release these pieces I've written on these shows have evolved. This episode is somewhat in the vein of last years 'B.A.N' from Donald Glover's FX masterpiece 'Atlanta', in the sense that the core narrative takes a back seat and we are given a whole new point of view from the female characters within the series. Not everyone will see this for what this is, and some may even ridicule my interpretation & impressions, but 'A Short History of Weird Girls' is high art and should be viewed, handled, and studied as such. The more I watch 'I Love Dick' the more I see it's many different layers... It's hyper-feminine POV is Jill Soloway & Chris Kraus' alternative to HBO's hyper-masculine lens we see the show 'Ballers' through. Both shows are under appreciated, and besides that fact, the only thing that they have in common is their extreme opposite handling of how we see their worlds. Maybe 'I Love Dick' is actually less of a feminist masterpiece and more of a honest, existential, tribute to an open, bold, unchained and aggressive look at female sexuality... Sexuality in general, and where embracing it can take us. It makes me long for a truly honest look at the male take on sexuality, but 'Ballers' and it's earnest admissions that masculinity can so easily drive towards toxic levels with a snap of a finger, I know my wish is probably losing its way in the wind... At least for now. What if everyone wrote Dick letters? Chris Kraus (Kathryn Hahn) poses an interesting question at the very beginning of the episode and then suddenly that reality comes to life in one of the most vibrant, sexually charged and sensual episodes of television not only in 2017, but ever. Yes, people are throwing around the word 'Revolutionary' when it comes to 'I Love Dick' because that's exactly what it is. People as a whole never quite grasp 'revolutionary' at first do they? Chris starts off her letter at the beginning, as all characters do, and we join them on their individual journeys of sexual awakening & personal drive. She talks about her time in high school, her willingness to literally give herself to anyone, male or female, but never having any takers. Finally during her College Years, she's taken, fucked. That first encounter intoxicates her... What is it that made this man want her so badly? What was it that he found beautiful? Her mind wonders to all the things he doesn't mention, after all, we are insecure beings... Even the most confident person in the room has something in the back of their mind that they compensate for. We are imperfect... But for me, that's exactly what I find so perfect about the human form.... Imperfections, Sadness, a little bit of crazy, 'cuz, aren't we all? Chris, Devon (Roberta Colindrez), Paula (Lily Mojekwu), and Toby (India Menuez) all share their letters to Dick, chronicling his particular effects on their lives... Sexually and otherwise. They recall past lovers, current ones that they feel strong disconnect with, and that disconnect is chronicled with images of both positive and negative experiences. As the experiences head into more heartbreaking territory, or difficult memories to interpret, their sexual escapades are shown and the women are erased leaving a fading, cartoonish like presence of each woman as they are entangled with their lovers or the confusion with their burgeoning sexuality... Much like the short film 'Removed' that this very episode opens with where Tribeca Film Festival 'Jury Award' Nominee & experimental filmmaker, Naomi Uman, creates a series of clips of vintage porn and erases the women's images using fingernail polish remover. Each women's entry is captivating for separate reasons and encapsulates the Bright Eye's brainchild and this generations' Bob Dylan, Connor Oberst, idea that 'every heads a different world'. Sexuality is unique to every one person, male and female, and it's so goddamn refreshing to see, hear, and feel the lusty, powerful force of honesty in approach when it comes to sexual identity. Chris strikes up the dialogue as straight forward as it gets, "Dear Dick, I've been horny since I was six. I used to press my crotch into the belly of my stuffed rhino in the family room of our duplex in Cleveland, Ohio. I loved to hump him in front of our sitter Karen Harris. I used to say that Rhino was hungry and that I needed to feed him... And then Karen went away to college and I didn't feel like doing it anymore." As humans, we ARE sexual beings... Aren't you tired of feeling ashamed of certain impulses that occur naturally within your body? Even before I was six I had these feelings. My situation may have been unique and incredibly polarizing to the majority, and most likely this isn't the show, or should I say segment, to discuss every detail as to how I got to that point so early. It wouldn't exactly be considered a natural occurrence... But even my situation is more common than most people would like to admit, or flat out refuse to admit. All I know is that children should not be punished for acting on these impulses in an innocent manner. We should be asking more questions as to how they got there, but unfortunately people don't want to hear that answer. We are not disgusting or wrong for thinking about sex. Creating a taboo around certain subjects just catapults those very subjects into a high number of internet searches and 'behind-closed-doors' fetishes. Relationships are not as easy as everyone wants them to be. Monogamy might not exactly be obtainable the way most will it to be. Our desires for inclusiveness may just stem from a melodramatic inherited human trait of selfishness, an unwillingness to let those grow around us, because we want to own something. Whether its a relationship or a person within that relationship, the idea that it's "yours" is actually absurd. We can devote ourselves to someone, but in the end we are human. There are certain voids that exist in this life that we need to fill, as animals, as human beings. That's not to say someone can't sustain a healthy relationship with another for 50+ years, its just to say that we all have our own paths. Even if as people our paths are destined to intertwine... Like Devon and Chris... We still must continue to grow and move forward at our own rates, careful to not become codependent. Devon talks about Dick's strong masculine energy as something she embraces and emulates (unlike Chris who wants to take it in any which way she can), turning bits and pieces of it into her own. She uses that 'Dick Swag' to woo other women for sport, but when she falls in love away at college and her heart is broken she drops out of school and tosses her dreams out behind her on her way back to Texas. But it's there where Devon meets Chris and suddenly becomes inspired, tho briefly distracted by the free spirited, India. It's India who sees Dick as or through yet another color of light, Chris' is glowing red, Devon's an iridescent indigo, India's color is much more difficult... A damaged, slightly cracked, creamy shade of yellow... She had an intellectually and creatively stimulating home in New Mexico but her father, John Willis (played by People of Earth's Luka Jones) is a writer of children's books, so therefore felt like he could touch her. India doesn't seem too affected by this as she rattles it off like a cold, but natural fact of life. And here is where I once again am inspired to tell you, the reader, who may or may not know what that feels like... Suddenly the place where I talk about 'my situation' and deem Chris' experience close to mine, but an insufficient place to explore even a second of my experience becomes much more real... And much more appropriate. You see, like India, some of us are taught how to act on sexual behaviors at a young age. We all don't just experiment naturally like Paula, who talks about how seeing her mother's tampon string suddenly pushes her away from her youthful obsession of her mother or how masturbating at a young age became uninteresting once she learned there was a name for it... Hence Paula's infatuation for Dick's massive protruding, structural masculine art that has no name, no specific identity, no title... Some of us have a bit of a push, or an inappropriate 'class', if you will. India seems to be a 'victim' of non-violent sexual abuse as a young child. This is where things get very fucking confusing, because you see... As I mentioned before, India quickly rattles off this fact and sweeps on to the next. Why is that? In my own personal experience, it's extremely difficult to decipher just what sexual abuse is, especially when one isn't physically hurt or 'traditionally forced' into anything. I've written on the subject before and was met with polarizing responses. One young woman asked if she could take me home recently and drove me through the busy intersecting freeways, highways, backroad byways, and long winding ramps & roundabouts from the west end of Miami all the way to the tip of coastal Miami Beach, all the while with tears in her eyes relating to my written experiences, giving me a vivid account of her own. No one wants to see themselves as a victim, not REAL victims anyway. This idea of 'victim culture' is scoffed at by those who have been through it. Some of us may be victims, but we refuse to let that define us, or use it to try and gain sympathy or attention, applying it to causes or whatever it may be, because then suddenly we are admitting defeat or are forever trapped in those moments. The same moments we rarely tell anyone, or ever express. So when my words were recently met with disdain and accusations that I was trying to define sexual abuse in any way, I simply had to laugh. Once again, 'Every head is a different world'. The spectrum is huge, but I personally will not allow myself to be a victim, just like India it's a passing fact, it happened, it's part of my story... But you can't have it, it can't be more than what I'm giving it now... And my experience is simply one example, as is any other. Although slightly damaged, and beautiful in that fact, India captivates all in her presence... Unfortunately she leaves them a bit broken, just as she is. Trudging on, she turns porn into art at Columbia University, even centering her final undergrad thesis around the shapes of a woman's face as she sucks two cocks. For her PHD, she presented a written & visual presentation of what's known as 'gaping' in pornography. If you don't know what that is and you haven't watched the show, I'll let you explore that one at your own discretion. Her professors are a bit horrified and one even suggests she moves towards Gender Studies, much like India I would have laughed that off. I've always found such subjects to be pretentious and divisive, but hey, that's me. As a male, and according to one troll on the #BoilerRoom's comment section who took offense (and hammered down my context) to comments I made during an Oakland, CA show where one of the worst DJ Sets I've ever seen took place on a grand platform (that most people would kill to have) by some wealthy, frankly bored looking hopeful (whose passion and talents self-admittedly lie elsewhere), "I'm a 'washed up raver cis-male' who can't accept females in positions of power" (boy, he got that one comically incorrect, welcome to the 2017, age of the Internet). My comments were light and I was even trying to be supportive, saying that maybe that DJ could get better in time, my point was that she had gained that opportunity through either knowing someone or good looks. Men have created that opportunity for women to use, and I'm not saying that it isn't a legitimate way in... But my comments were taken out of context. You should be able to perform however you want, looking however you wan... But without passion, you are simply taking up an opportunity for the next person in line. A bit of research indicated she has had the opposite road of some of my strong, female musician acquaintances and friends of whom I list as fierce inspirations of my own work (however I do not and would never take away the common denominator of the grand, all-relatable human struggle). I have called upon & channeled the inspirations of women like long time Indianapolis & Midwest treasure, Techno Powerhouse, DJ Shiva, or now worldwide success and frankly G.O.A.T. House Music Legend, The Black Madonna. These women worked so hard & sacrificed so much & never rested on their laurels. I am inspired by strong females, but I don't necessarily see them as just females, I see them as human beings, who like me, have had to work a little harder to get where they're at. No one has handed me anything, and many times when I had something, I blew it. We are all working against something, someone, ourselves, time... My inspirations in life are a direct product of my environment, just like the different presentations of myself over the years. And no one will take away my freedom of speech, right to an opinion (whether it's agreed with or not), or use a term like 'cis-male' to insinuate that I don't understand what it's like to be discriminated against, to be confused about who and what I am, the complexities of human sexuality, and so on and so forth. I often tell people about my first experience in Chicago at the age of 12. I went to the Art Institute of Chicago with a large group of my fellow schoolmates, but i broke free from the pack and wondered into rooms unaccompanied. I found myself suddenly surrounded by 'Impressionist & Post-Impressionist' Paintings, peppered with Medieval & Renaissance Art. My eyes centered on this massive painting that literally popped out of the wall, surrounded by a low lying rope, to keep people away from its magnificence, but their view unobstructed... It was Georges Seurat's 1884 pointillist painting 'A Sunday Afternoon on La Grande Jatte. I felt small and insignificant, like one of the pinpoint dots that made up what seemed like a million little dots that made up the painting. I've always had trouble describing that memorable moment, but Paula knocked it out in one line while describing how Dick's art made her feel, "It evoked in me a feeling of boundlessness... It was fucking terrifying." Yes, that's exactly it. 'Dear Great Man, Genius, Loner, Cowboy', India lists off Dick's accomplishments in the most condescending tone she can possibly channel. India had previously known of Dick through the Art History books her parents had lying around the house. Dick's was her favorite, not in the normal sense. She is young. She has known pain. She has worked hard to get where she is at. India is beautiful, but she doesn't use that to her advantage to succeed. She takes the hardest route possible, because she simply doesn't want what everyone else wants and she knows that anything worth having in this life doesn't come free... And that's something I can connect to. 'Dear Dick, We are not far from your doorstep.' Yasss, Queen! Jill Soloway just directed a fn' knockout... And the all female writing staff, this one headed by Annie Baker and Heidi Schreck deserve a Spotlight Saga nomination for Achievement in Writing... And Soloway for Directing. India's final words to Dick sent a surge of electricity through my body. This is exactly how I look at the AV Club. Knock Knock.