#so these news channels are the sole place they’re getting their ‘information’ from……….

[spectersinthesnow]

not to sound like a broken record saying the same thing about mainstream british news outlets all of the time but just now the news have reported on the school in al nuseirat being bombed by israel last night and the words that they chose were ‘it was believed to be a hamas stronghold’ rather than the fact that displaced people had been seeking shelter there and were murdered!!!!!!!!!!!!

[tewwor-moving]

* & NEW MUSE LIST .

soothsayer 'saraj cai' .

Part of The Marked ( lore here ). Mother of this local sect, does dote on pretty much all of The Marked but in her own semi-strict way, has prosthetic eyes, it’s ok to accidentally make a pun or two around her — she does it too ( no, the irony of of her saying ‘i see’ or being titled as an overseer isn’t lost on her ), prefers to use a cane, has her way on keeping tabs on everyone

ricochet 'ryaan iyer' .

All he knows is to fight, break, defeat. Never give up. Never back down. Sink his teeth in and never let go. Return the pain and rage threefold even if it tears him apart in the process. Part of The Marked ( lore here ) and certified trainer and hard ass. Doesn't allow himself time to chill out until he remembers his past fully. Reliable to get any job done ( or he'll die trying ), but keeps everyone at an arm's length.

hal murray .

The half that lies in a buddy detective duo. Aka the recently divorced single parent but not a good (conventional) role model and channels that angst / anger into his job detective. Certified hot mess that tries so desperately to come across as put together ( he rarely does ). Kid's name is Jenathan.

yoo serim .

The half that tells the truth in a buddy detective duo. Aka the comedic relief that's found a way to work smarter and no harder. Constantly eating something different in every interaction. Hal's kid thinks he's cooler / asks for advice from him instead. Has a habit to gently neg people when he's super bored.

min hyeonwoo .

self made angel ( unknowingly a parasitic divine being ) — religious trauma meets desperation solely to survive. they broke the wings clean, tore the halo free knowing there’s no turning back. ever. the transformation consumed them. melted just about everything before it all snapped back. but wrong. they came back wrong, but holy. sort of.

a ring of sacred light collars the throat, brandishing forever reddened skin. what juts from the back is just as mangled as whom they robbed. nothing but twisted bone, sinew, and ruined feathers. it hurts to be alive, but that’s okay. there’s power at their fingertips now, burning and raw. just enough for them to press on borrowed time before the inevitable happens and they’re found by the celestials akin to whom they consumed.

except it’s beginning to dawn on them that perhaps they’ve got it all wrong. that maybe the being previously absorbed wasn’t of the same divine ilk, because there sits a hunger foreign to them. only felt towards those pure and holy. do they feast to obtain their power or to become them?

burning both sides of a cigarette. are they the devil or angel on your shoulder?

liáng wěi .

investigator / informant for hire. can and will handle himself in tight situations by being extremely resourceful, but isn’t for killing. the aftermath’s too much of a hassle and he’s not made of money. cleaners are expensive as shit. passionate about cooking / ceramics but isn’t…… that great at them. makes the ugliest and most wrangled looking cups ever, but still fires them and uses them in his dinky office.

jaime bashar-suarez .

bodyguard for hire / close (one-sided) friends with jie. usually gets tips on anyone in need of continuous protection from jie's vigilante stunts. takes after the phrased ‘borrowed time’. as in, he has time manipulation but can only apply stolen time to the present to prolong the near future. can’t go back in time to alter things. can’t go back in time or in the future period. just stays in the present and select a timeframe he wants to extend for whatever reason. extremely taxing on the body so he can’t even enjoy the extension without wanting to keel over. and the people he ‘borrows’ time from? yeah, they get kind of minorly fucked over because of it. gaps in their memory, changes in their body and mind — all depending on how much time is taken.

kubo jiro .

in the wrong place at the wrong time and was accused for killing a peer in his teenage years. case fell through thanks to his father’s influence, but he also got disowned immediately. enlisted in the military after graduation, bffs with a dude in the same unit, got medically discharged after being shot in the gut a few times. tried to get back into society but can't, got himself roped into some crime syndicate because there’s order that he’s familiar with. genuinely cares for people and tries to help even if he needs to do the same 4 himself. plagued with ptsd still 🙁

seo yujin .

growing up at home had always been suffocating for yujin and her sister, so they split once they were able. both were strong, fiery spirits in different ways (fire vs. ice) and things were good for a while. unfortunately, her sister passed away in her late twenties. while everyone within the family was struck with grief, her father coped with it differently. the thing about her father is that he's a scientist hired to take on the concept of androids becoming reality. definitely the mad scientist sort. so her sister was remade as a replicant to fit his image of her. less rebellious, more sweet, lacking that spark that truly made her sister so unique. while horrified by her father's actions, it's undeniable that some of that grief ached less. it's like she's still here, but not.. exactly. So while yujin tried to sort out how she truly felt about it, she threw herself into knowing everything about repairing androids as a whole. except it's starting to wear on her in more recent days. 

[theofficersacademy]

Into the stagnant world of Memory of the Hills, to the screams of a dying dragon beneath the rubble of a collapsed tower, through a grim, smog-filled city, to the cries of a young baroness over an unspoken love, you have been thrown from one mysterious world to the next. There is no way out that you know of, and the last rescue mission had ended in failure.

The Projectionist, of course, has a new idea. With her magic, she can write you into the enchanted books. Perhaps if you make it to the end, you can help break the spell that keeps your classmates bound within?

What’s Going On?

Welcome to Unscripted, the third anniversary event for the Officers Academy! Please continue reading below for information and rules.

This will be an evolving event. Instead of a traditional mission board, each of the six groups will be given a setting to explore. New information will come to light weekly, and situations will shift as time moves on. Use what your muse knows (or doesn’t) about the book they’re in and the role they’ve been given to navigate the plot.

Muses who are not participating in the event will be left behind in Garreg Mach. There will be no mission board this month so these muses can either catch up on past threads or thread together about their classmates and colleagues who have left for the event.

Unscripted General Rules

If you have not signed up to participate in the event yet, please take this quiz. Given the design of this event, sign-ups will permanently close at 11:59PM EST on August 3rd. If muses drop throughout the month, we may reopen signups to fill their places. Please message the mods if you sign up otherwise we won’t see it.

Teams will be announced as the groups are posted, and this spreadsheet will be unlocked later for viewing.

You will not be allowed to switch teams, but you’re allowed to make adjustments to your inventory until 11:59PM EST on August 3rd. Please send all inventory adjustment requests to the masterlist’s inbox.

You may only start Unscripted threads between August 1st and August 31st. Event threads may be continued after the event, but no new ones may be started. Likewise, only IC posts made between 8/1 and 8/31 will count toward prizes.

Unlike past events, your muses are already inside the books for the Prologue period. That means that all event interactions should be with your teammates. No time to spend saying your goodbyes at the monastery this year.

We encourage creativity and exploration. This is not an event that will solely be focused on combat. The roles your muses have been assigned also have important functions in the storybooks, so pay attention to who you are and how the NPCs react to you.

We also highly encourage “Paralogue” threads. These are mini threads focused on character development or exploring something that interests you or your muse, parallel to whatever main objective your team is after. Paralogue threads enrich your campaign experience, so thread away as the inspiration strikes!

Please tag all event-related IC posts with #Unscripted[teamname]2022.

This event will allow muses to die. This can happen at any point during the event. However, dead muses will respawn at their starting point until a specific point in the campaign. If you don’t wish for your muse to actually “die,” you can also write them as being knocked unconscious. Regardless of what happens to your muse, you will still receive all prizes at the end.

Unscripted Schedule

August 1st - 3rd : PROLOGUE August 4th - 10th : ?? August 11th - 17th : ?? August 18th - 24th : ?? August 25th - 31st : ??

Discord

There is a new lobby channel for general event discussion and a new #openthreads channel for event-use only. Additionally, there are six new plotting channels, one for each team. Please use these channels for event-related discussion or planning.

Prizes and How to Get Them

Two sets of prizes will be awarded for the Unscripted event.

PARTICIPATION PRIZE.

All muses entering the event automatically receive one of these prizes upon joining. You may message the masterlist as soon as you have made your first event post.

Canon Lord characters: You are granted access to your exclusive promotional class. This class will have mastery requirements of a Master Tier class and will also require rank A in Authority and a drabble. Please message the masterlist to claim it. To see muses that qualify and their corresponding prizes, please refer to the fourth page of this sheet.

Non-Lord characters who joined after prior Lore Events: You will be allowed to claim your Personal Skill. Please refer to this post for instructions on how to create and claim your Personal Skill. If you need help designing your skill, please ask for advice in the personal skill workshop channel in the Discord server. All personal skills must be submitted to the masterlist’s inbox to be approved though.

All others: If your character participated in past lore events and has already received all participation prizes that they are eligible for, you may claim an additional ability that you qualify for from the ranking chart.

If you prefer to hold off on choosing your prizes (i.e. waiting on skill points, etc.), you may do so. However, keep in mind that you may only feature any new abilities in threads after claiming them.

GRAND PRIZE.

This will be awarded at the end of the event to any muse who reaches a minimum of 10 IC event posts. Contains:

One free skill point

Two choices from an event-limited selection of prizes

And a third prize — unknown for now

More information on that will come at the conclusion of the event, so for now, set aside your House differences and work together to explore these enchanted books!

And as always, feel free to message the masterlist or use the Discord if you have any questions.

- The House Leaders

[redsamuraiii]

My Comfort Shows

I’m sure you’ve been asked what is your favorite comfort shows that you love watching repeatedly when you’re emotionally drained and physically exhausted.

To be honest, there’s quite numerous so I’ll narrow down to 3 for each category. 

Travel Vlogs

1) Broad in Japan 

Chris Broad, known as Abroad in Japan, is a British YouTuber, filmmaker, podcast host, and former Assistant Language Teacher. He focuses on the creation of videos about Japanese culture, Japanese food and travel in Japan.

I love his sense of humor, his chemistry with his fellow YouTubers (westerners and Japanese) and their misadventures around Japan, from cycling in the rain, eating ramen in the snow to experiencing night sleeper trains.

Broad in Japan 

2) Japan Guide

Short clips (10 minutes average) about everything modern and traditional in Japan with emphasis on travel and living related information, like travel tips and travel recommendations, showing you clearly labelled maps and destinations.

It’s a vlog which makes you feel peaceful with its beautiful destinations and sceneries, and not to mention, appetizing food. It’s useful to plan your travel itinerary and understand the places you might be going to, a lot better.

Japan Guide

3) Japan Explorer

An underrated YouTube channel which follows the cameraman in meeting and communicating with different Japanese people living and working in Japan from all walks of life, hearing their stories, from rickshaw puller to busker singers. 

I love his videos as it feels “unfiltered” as he approaches them out of the blue and strike a pleasant conversations to know about their current line of work, where they’re from and why they’re doing what they’re doing.

Japan Explorer

J Dramas

1) Hakozume: Tatakau! Koban Joshi (Police in a Pod)

A story about two female officers, Kawai Mai and her senior veteran partner, Fuji Seiko. The overall story is light-hearted and comedic in nature so you’ll get some good laughs from this but there are some serious moments as well.

Kawai (Mei Nagano) feels unmotivated by the challenges in her line of work and felt like quitting until she met Fuji (Toda Erika) whom changes her perspectives and outlook on life, into admiring her as her mentor, idol and best friend.

2) Damena Watashi ni Koishite Kudasai (Please Love the Useless Me)

A romance comedy about a 30 year old woman who has bad luck in love and career, who questions her life decisions until she re-united with her fierce former boss who had left his corporate job to start his own café.

Shibata (Kyoko Fukada) is having a mid life crisis as she struggles to be normal like everyone else, having her own career and family that she can be proud of. Her life changes when she began working at her former boss’ cafe.

3)  Kikazaru Koi ni wa Riyuu ga Atte (Why I Dress Up For Love)

A romance comedy about opposite attract between a workaholic public relations officer, who is also a social media addict and a sole proprietor chef who is also a minimalist that yearns for a simple and disconnected life from the internet.

 Mashiba (Haruna Kawaguchi) is popular on the internet, takes pride and glory in hustling while Fujino (Ryusei Yokohama) becomes a minimalist after his heartbreaking experience in the past which makes him afraid to be too attach.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SULsDUpzdSE

Anime

1) The Aquatope on White Sand

It follows the lives of caretakers at an aquarium in Okinawa whom struggles to keep the old aquarium running. But when it finally meet its inevitable end, they end up working in a new one and struggles with a different style of working.

It started off with Fuuka Miyazawa who was devastated when her hopes of being an idol was crushed that she drifted to Okinawa without a plan to find her place in the world and ends up falling in love with the blue ocean world.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x_dTWCyOk6w

2) Sakura Quest

Koharu Yoshino is a fresh graduate who has difficulty landing a job in Tokyo and refused to admit defeat to return to her home countryside and ends up taking a contract job with a tourism board, to help revive a rural town.

It follows her journey in meeting several individuals, who either came to the rural town to escape their “failures” in the city or those who yearns to move to the city. A classic example of the grass is greener on the other side.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1syci1d1lOo

3) Yuru Camp (Laid Back Camp)

As the name suggest, it follows Rin Shima, a solo camper who “accidentally” influenced Nadeshiko Kagamihara and her friends into falling in love with the world of laid back camping and enjoying camp foods under the stars.

It’s the most relaxed anime I have ever watched that does not have a serious plot like sadistic enemies out to get you, that sort of thing. It’s just them, experiencing life and going around various campsites, learning about camping.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1GnPdVAJm5U

Well, these are the shows that I have completely lost count of how many times I have watched it, to destress and ease my mind from the troubles of the world. 

Let me know yours as well if you have any!

[alilyamongroses]

What are your thoughts so far on the Channel Five series? Will you watch it if you can?

Oh, I’ll find a way to watch it. Even if it means downloading another crappy, virus-ridden vpn that exposes me once more to the creative wasteland that is British TV advertising and regretting the decision thirty minutes into the show, like I did with Tracy Borman’s Anne Boleyn series. I’m gonna see what this ends up looking like.

I should start by saying that we’re still in the pre-release stage and an accurate assessment of what it’s going to be like as a whole isn’t entirely possible. We should be optimistic! I want to be optimistic!

That said!

Every piece of information released so far has had a way of slowly lowering my expectations of what the final result will look like, until they reached a place somewhere between “aesthetically ugly but not overtly offensive” and “The Green Book but make it Tudors”

The show would’ve been susceptible to accusations of outrage marketing and criticism for the story it’s putting a black woman into even if the writer weren’t going around saying “yes, absolutely, we did this for shock value :)” with her own mouth. It implies that Anne, George & Elizabeth’s blackness is going to be an unmentioned, unresolved tidbit put there exclusively to be commoditized for advertising and white guilt wanking. Yes, a black woman getting murdered by her white husband for fertility issues sure is bad, isn’t it. You haven’t shook your head this hard since Precious.

Because that’s always who this was gonna be for in the end, wasn’t it. A white director and a white writer constructed a story for a white audience, with black faces included solely so they could aggrandize themselves with empty racial identity politics without having to seriously interact with the implications of what inserting black people into these situations actually means. It’s the same story it’s always been, for all the cringey “were flipping the script!!” credit the creators are already giving themselves. Henry VIII is gonna murder his wife with false allegations of sexual deviance for her inability to produce a male child and marry another woman who can. Except this time, that murdered wife is black - a member of a community that already has an increased rate of domestic violence and murder, an increased rate of fertility issues, and an assortment of harmful stereotypes about being over sexual and deviant - inserted into an era where black people were still being sold as slaves, a practice in which the Tudors themselves took part. And the creators are too far removed from that reality to begin to address it; just let Jodie and Paapa be there and be black! That’s all we need to do!

The victorious end to Anne’s narrative the show seems to be going with is the one Anne Boleyn stories always tend to go with - Elizabeth became queen, so Anne won in the end! Never mind that Elizabeth and Anne are both black now, so the “victory” in this is in reference to the ascension of a slave trader who actively tried to expel all the black people from England. Do you think Lynsey Miller thought about any of that? Do you think she even knows?

There’s more I could talk about. The costumes are patently hideous. The dialogue is overdone and anachronistic and the taglines are worse. What little we’ve seen of the show’s Jane Seymour heavily implies they’re going down the “dumb girl not like Anne’s Stronk Women™” route that’s been repeated over and over since Anne of the Thousand Days. Ain’t nothing more new age and feminist than rewriting outdated depictions from the 1960s.

There was also something touched on by @anne-the-quene and @elizabeth-shore about how it looks like they’re planning on using ye olde “Jane Boleyn lied about her husband committing incest” story, which with Jane being white and George being black becomes so much fucking worse, dear god (white women getting black men killed on false allegations of sexual indecency is such a deep cutting national wound and Jane didn’t even actually do that who wrote this shit) But that’s a whole other can of worms and this post needs to end at some point, so I’ll just. Wait to see how that plays out, I guess.

TLDR: There are many facets to Anne and George Boleyn’s story that become infinitely more loaded when you put black people in them. Is it possible that they’ll handle those added stakes with sensitivity and tact? Yes! Does it seem likely to me, based off the information we’ve been given so far? No.

[botanyshitposts]

whats the deal with proven winners?

okay. so. this is actually how i got into botany in the first place; i got an unpaid internship at a greenhouse in high school and realized, very quickly, that we live in a jurassic park hellscape where big companies breed plants solely for their looks and performance, and i found that so fucking weird that i couldnt get enough of it and fell down the rabbit hole. i don’t find them bad per say; i find them weird and how they manage their product in terms of policing their retailers is very sketchy to me, but they’re not like, monstanto-level off the shits (yet). with mother’s day next weekend we’re coming up on one of the biggest greenhouse/ornamental plant industry sales days of the year, next to valentines’ day (which favors the rose industry especially), so this is an exceptionally convenient time to talk about this. 

proven winners is one of the biggest ornamental plant companies in the united states, possibly the world. you might know them from their patented white flower pots. they’re centered in california (as, actually, a lot of these large flower producers are) and they manage a HUUUUUUGEEE network of giant industrial flower greenhouses. 

like, you have to understand, all garden retailers have to buy their shit from somewhere, and although the centers and local greenhouses selling proven winners stuff are often small and independent (unless ur talking like...flowerama or something), a large portion of the plants themselves, like many things in capitalism, form an industry of their own dominated by a handful of oligarch corporations, of which proven winners is one. small retailers order bulk products from these companies, should it be through full-color paper catalogs (which exist, btw, and are wild in and of themselves to look at; i actually have a few back home that i keep around solely bc they’re incredibly fascinating in a slightly offputting jurassic park kind of way), online, or through a sales representative for their region. 

it depends on what they’re ordering, but they can buy seeds, plugs (the black trays of like....tiny plants you buy at garden centers to put in planters? the ones that come in, like, six packs? those are called ‘plugs’), and in the case of perennials, woody plants of various ages, among other things. these plants are bred, marketed, and sold on a goddamn industrial scale. it’s wild. 

now....this is where it gets absolutely fascinating to me. this isn’t just proven winners, but proven winners is one of the top contenders of this. some highlights of how plants are actually marketed on an industrial scale: 

-plants come out in collections. like, you have horticulturalist designer people who put their names on some stuff and they all go out as like, The New Hot Thing(tm). 

-they always promote their top selling stuff, and the plants that won awards, and like, the most popular flower arrangements and stuff. this in and of itself, again, isn’t like.....bad, it just feels weird how plants are marketed as objects rather than living things, you know?

-these plants are 100% bred and optimized for their commercial value and how they look. see the above point about how it feels like they’re treating them as objects. 

-every year, there are new plants, which are put at the front of the catalogue and like, show them off as the Hit New Products. these are all part of the year’s collective collection, so like, proven winners has their 2019 collection all ready on their site in a special little tab: 

FUN INDUSTRY SIDE STORY: looks like they have some new orange petunias this year, which reminds me fondly of the 2017 purge ordered by the USDA of a ton of illegally GMO orange petunias....

you see, orange petunias don’t exist naturally, so what companies do is either 1. systematically breed orange into them, which can take years, or 2. take red petunias and just put in some coding for yellow from the maize genome, which makes them orange. usually, you have to submit all this paperwork and go through a ton of government red tape to sell GMOs, including required trials conducted by the federal government, but what some of these large ornamental seed companies were doing was just....not telling the government and just kind of...pretending that they bred them. so in 2017, a netherlands team noticed that these were like....kind of Suspicious(tm), and started doing some tests....and accidentally uncovered like, this huge international orange petunia scandal across all these companies, over 30 varieties of illegal petunia being sold internationally. they had to alert the actual EU, which then alerted the USDA, who then gave an actual government order for these large companies to literally burn, bury, or otherwise destroy all their industrial stock of the proven illegal GMO orange petunias. 

small retailers who had bought them assuming that they were legal were allowed to keep and continue selling what they bought, but the actual producers were ordered to just fucking. violently destroy everything. the USDA informed these companies that they could sell them again, but only if they were put through the proper government channels and received proper certification. i checked the old recall list and didn’t see these, so i’m assuming they’re like...Legit, but. im 👀 somebody test these lol

AAANNNNYYway that aside, if you would like to see the Proven Winners 2019 Flower Collection Showcase(tm), they have a bunch of......weird kind of ads on their youtube channel showing artsy pics of their new shit. to this day i can’t pin down exactly what about them makes me feel slightly uncomfortable, but you really do get a sense that they’re selling an object to preform, which i guess is the point, but...idk, it’s just a very different view of plants, i think, then i personally have. very sci-fi-y, if you will. all their ads are like this; these video are essentially very similar to what you get from their print sales booklets, but in video form.

see, last but not least, my biggest beef with proven winners is the weird way they handle their company. 

you get inspected by the plant police.

im not kidding. for those not very familiar with plant reproduction, you can grow vegetative clones of plants through a process called taking cuttings, where you cut off a part of the plant and put it in a new pot under the right conditions, and it develops a root system and becomes a genetic clone to the parent. obviously, anyone can do this with a lot of the proven winners plants, especially because PW plants, as i’ve noticed, tend to be bred to be more vigorous. 

proven winners wants to ensure that there’s no Illegal Plant Downloads taking place, so they literally like....send people out to these small retailers and ask to see their stock to make sure that all the plants are going in the Patented Proven Winners White Pots(tm) with the Patented Proven Winners Information Tags(tm). you MUST plant proven winners stuff in the pots they send you, with the instructions they send you, and they will check you for this. the first time my internship mentor ordered from them, they accidentally planted the plugs in generic brown pots instead of the white ones, and the weird proven winners police rolled in unannounced for an inspection and told them that the next time it happened they wouldn’t sell to them anymore. what they’re worried about happening is that the growers will order a small amount and then just make a bunch of cuttings without paying them, and it’s just......weird. like i get why they do it but that’s always struck me as really, really shady lmao

[starryknight09]

Unforeseen dangers ch 9

Summary:  As Peter recovers from his capture by Ross, a photo of him with Tony and the Avengers leaks and is splashed all across the media. Luckily, no one can figure out who he is and everyone thinks the buzz will die down. However, the public’s interest has been ignited. While Tony worries it’s only a matter of time before Peter’s identity is exposed, Peter isn’t as concerned. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen anyway?

Read on AO3.

________________________________________________________

“How you holding up?” Tony asked Peter as the car pulled into the Tower’s private garage.  

Peter shrugged in answer.

His kid had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the entirety of the car ride, but Tony didn’t know what else he’d expected.  Tony had been raised in the spotlight.  It was all he’d ever known, so he found it oddly difficult to put himself in Peter’s shoes and figure out what he was feeling.  Instead of prying like he wanted to, he squeezed Peter against his side in a half hug.

“We’re here.” Happy announced unnecessarily as he put the car in park.  As much as his current Forehead of Security liked to grump, Tony knew the man hated tense silences just as much, if not more, than he did.

Tony wasted no time opening the car door and stepping out, but he had to duck his head back in when Peter didn’t automatically follow behind him.

“Come on kid.  Time to go.  As comfy as my car is, you can’t sit in it all day.” He said to Peter who was staring straight ahead, spaced out.  Peter blinked and slowly turned his head to take in Tony standing outside the car.  Only then did he seem to notice that he was the sole person still left in the car.

“Oh.” Peter said and blinked again before finally climbing out.  All his movements seemed slower than usual.

Tony didn’t call him on it.  He rested a hand loosely on Peter’s shoulder as they walked over to the elevator together where Bruce, Nat, Happy, and Steve were already inside waiting.

“Penthouse FRIDAY.” He ordered as they stepped in.

“Thanks guys.” Peter finally spoke, although he kept his gaze firmly fixed on the ground.

“You don’t need to thank anyone.” Tony said before they had a chance to respond.

“You’re dad’s right.” Steve agreed.  “We were happy to do it.”

“I needed to get out and get some air anyway.” Bruce added in a transparent attempt to lighten the mood.

Natasha just gave Peter a small smile while Happy let out a noncommittal grunt.

“Where’s everyone else?” Peter asked after another few seconds of silence had passed.

“Meeting us back here.  Actually, they probably beat us.” Tony answered.

“Seems like an awful lot of trouble just to pick me up from school.” Peter frowned.

“Nope.  No trouble.  Everyone missed you and wanted to take their turn to come and get you.  We tried rock paper scissors but since everyone on the team’s a sore loser I decided to let them all tag along.” Tony knew he was rambling and so obviously lying, but he didn’t want Peter to know the real reason everyone had shown up to get him, or the way his heart had started racing the moment he found out Peter’s identity had been discovered.

He’d been down in his workshop when Rhodey had come running in yelling his name.  “Tony!  Tony!”

When he’d heard the fear in Rhodey’s voice, he’d sat up so fast he’d smacked his head on the armor he’d been working on.  Rhodey was one of the most unshakable people Tony knew.  He could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen the man truly panic.  He didn’t even want to imagine what had happened to add this moment to one of those times.

“What?  What happened?” Fear swirled in his gut, visions of someone seriously hurt or dead flashed through his mind.  Someone who could make Rhodey look like that.  Peter.  Pepper.

“Have you seen the news?” Rhodey asked as he held out a hand to help him stand from the floor.

“No.”

“It’s Peter.” Rhodey came right out and said it.  He was never one to beat around the bush.

Tony’s eyes widened.  “Peter?  What about Peter?  Is he ok?” His greatest fear brought to life.  None of it made sense.  Peter should be in school and completely fine.  And he didn’t understand how Peter connected to seeing the news.  His brain felt like it was trying to reboot, to sort out the information coming at him through his sudden panic.

“He’s fine, but it’s all over the news.”

“What is?”

“He is.  Peter.  They figured out his identity.”

His first instinct was to panic, but he knew he couldn’t.  He had to stay clear headed and figure out what to do.  For his kid.

He closed his eyes as he took a deep breath and forced himself to think.  When he opened them again, he caught Rhodey staring at him, waiting for his decision on what to do.

“What exactly do they know?” Tony asked.  He needed more information in order to work through the problem and figure out what to do next.  “That he’s the kid from all the pictures with me?”

“Yes.  That…” Rhodey said, but Tony could sense there was something else.

“And?  What else?” He prodded, letting his impatience through.

“That he’s your son.  That you adopted him.” Rhodey winced as he said it.

That was when the panic returned.

“Fuck.” He sprinted toward the elevator, Rhodey hot on his heels.

“Ok, now just for some perspective, don’t forget he’s Spiderman.  He’s not some helpless kid.” Rhodey said as the elevator doors closed behind them.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” He spat and pushed the button for the garage three times in succession to make the elevator drop at its fasted velocity.

“Yes.” Rhodey said as if it were obvious.

“Well it doesn’t.  My kid’s still in danger, because of his connection to me.” He growled, glaring at his friend.  He knew he was displacing all his anger and frustration on Rhodey who didn’t deserve any of it, but he didn’t have the mental capacity to reel himself in at the moment.  Besides, as his oldest friend, Rhodey was definitely more than used to taking the undeserved brunt of his mood swings.  

“What are you doing?” Rhodey asked as the doors opened and he jogged toward his fastest car.

“What do you think I’m doing?  I’m going to go get my kid!” He yelled, anger starting to override his fear.  He was angry at the world for doing this to his son.  Angry at himself for not doing a better job of preventing it.  He called himself a futurist, and yet, he hadn’t been able to see this coming soon enough to stop it.  

“Wait!” Rhodey called out from right behind him.

Tony ignored him.

“Just wait a minute!” Rhodey grabbed his shoulder.  

Tony spun around, fury written on every line of his face.  “What?”

“Stop and think Tony.  What?  You think you’re just going to march in there, grab him and come home?  Like it’ll be that easy?  The entire world knows he’s your son.  They dug into everything they could about him before breaking the story ten minutes ago.  They know his parents died and then his aunt and uncle.  They know he’s a straight A student.  They know he’s on the decathlon team.  They know where he goes to school.”

Ice ran down his spine.

“They’re going to be camped out just waiting for you to show up.  Waiting for him.  For the spectacle of it.  You know it. And god forbid, what if more than just the media is waiting?  I know you like to joke about it, but you have a lot of enemies and as far as the world knows, your kid’s just a normal kid, completely unguarded at school right now.  I know it’s a terrible thing to say, but if I wanted to hurt you, this would be the perfect opportunity.”

The hell of it was, he knew Rhodey was right, and not only that, but he couldn’t believe he hadn’t considered it before.  This whole thing had shaken him more than he’d realized.

“All it would take is a sniper rifle and a good vantage point, and it’d be all too easy to tag the kid as soon as he stepped outside the school.  Just like that.” Rhodey snapped his fingers.

Tony clenched his jaw at the image the words conjured.  The logical side of his brain told him that Peter had that sixth sense that would keep him safe from something like that, but the dad side of his brain worried about it not working or worried that even with the warning Peter still might not react fast enough to get out of the way.

“With enough money it wouldn’t be too hard to get a hired hand in place in such a short time frame.” Rhodey continued but his voice had softened.  “It’s what I would do.”

Tony closed his eyes and rubbed his hand over them.  “Ok.  So what do suggest we do then?  Not get my kid?  Leave him alone and unprotected at school?” He channeled all his fear and anger into sarcasm.

“Of course not.” Rhodey gave him a scathing look.

“What then?”

“We bring the team.” Rhodey said as if the answer were obvious.

So they had.

Within thirty minutes of the news breaking, Clint had positioned himself as a lookout on a nearby roof near the school and Sam and Rhodey had taken to the sky, flying around the area to ensure that all the other rooftops remained clear while Tony made his way to the school entrance along with Bruce and Steve, two of the most invincible Avengers, given Rhodey’s imagined threat of a sniper.  

While Happy and Natasha waited in the car, the trio forced their way through the hoard of press already waiting like vultures outside the school.  Tony cursed the fact that there was no other entrance near a street because it was going to make getting his kid out a nightmare.

Tony was honestly surprised Peter hadn’t called or texted him yet, but he remembered him mentioning something before about the teachers being strict about cell phone use during class, so maybe he just didn’t know yet.  

Inside, the hallways remained quiet and desolate.  Kids weren’t running around, excitedly talking, and getting ready to mob Peter at any moment, so class must’ve just started when the news broke.  He figured that was the one lucky break in all of this.

The sound of his own phone ringing cut through the heavy silence.  He gave the screen a cursory glance, intending to ignore it until he saw the caller ID.  Pepper.  One of the few people he’d answer a phone call from at a time like this.

“Hey Pep.” He said as he pressed the phone to his ear, trying to keep his voice down.  The last thing he needed was some errant student recognizing him.

“Tony?  Have you seen the news?” His heart warmed a little at the panic in her voice.  She obviously cared about Peter too, which shouldn’t surprise him.  The kid was like a puppy.  Everyone he met seemed to fall in love with him, and Tony knew the two of them had grown closer over the holidays when she’d helped Peter file the adoption papers for his surprise Christmas present.

“I have.”

“Oh my god.  Where are you?”

“I’m at his school.  I’m picking him up.”

“By yourself?” He marveled at the way Pepper could make her voice shrill without actually reaching a high pitched decibel.

“No.  Of course not.” He decided she didn’t need to know that was what he’d almost done until Rhodey had intervened.  “I brought the team.”

“Oh thank god.  Just get him back here and then we need to figure out what we’re going to do.”

“Your wish is my command.”

“Stay safe.” She ordered, stern but worried, a tone with which Tony was all too familiar.

“I will.” He said, the corner of his mouth turning up as he hung up.  It was times like these when he remembered what he and Pepper used to have, and he missed it.

He didn’t know what kind of expression was painted on his face, but whatever it was, it was enough for Steve to remind him, “Focus Tony.”

“Trust me Cap,” he said as he pocked his phone, “I’m as focused as anyone could possibly be right now.”

Steve nodded and within another ten steps they were standing in front of the office door.

Tony turned back to Bruce and Steve as he grabbed the handle.  “Let’s go get my kid.”

He swung the door open like he owned the place and did exactly that.

Tony almost couldn’t believe that had all happened within the last hour.  He still felt like he was doing catch up with trying to process everything.  He couldn’t even imagine how Peter felt.

The elevator finally reached the penthouse and the doors opened, revealing a scene Tony hadn’t been expecting, although in retrospect, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise.  Pepper had kind of warned him with her phone call earlier, but he hadn’t been thinking about it.  He’d only been thinking about getting his kid to safety.  Which he’d accomplished.  

But now he needed to figure out how to approach this entire mess of a situation because it wasn’t going to fix itself.  Thus, the reason for why the penthouse was currently filled with his PR employees.

They stepped out of the elevator and into a maelstrom of chaos.  It was a scene reminiscent of the time he’d told the world he was Ironman and the resulting backlash.  Or the time he’d supposedly asked some Russian model to marry him.  He hadn’t.  Or the time he’d been quoted as saying he was anti-gun, which hadn’t been true.  At the time.  Or the time he’d gotten plastered in Vegas and apparently forgotten to clothe his bottom half before stepping out onto his balcony.  But all of those things had happened years ago.  It’d been quite awhile since he’d been at the center of this kind of media shitstorm.

Pepper noticed him the moment he stepped into the room.  She gave him a small smile as she walked over, but she stopped in front of Peter instead of him.

“Oh sweetie I’m so glad you’re ok.” She said as she pulled him into a tight hug.

He seemed a little surprised but didn’t hesitate to hug her back.  “I’m fine.”

“I know.” She said as she released him and grasped his shoulders, looking him square in the eyes.  “And don’t worry.  We’re going to figure this out.  We have people whose entire job is dealing with stuff like this.”

“What?  A secret son?” Peter joked but it fell flat.

Pepper graced him with a wry smile.  “Well, no.  This is definitely a first, but you’d be surprised by what we’ve had to deal with when it comes to Tony.”

“Hey.” Tony acted affronted even though he knew she only spoke the truth.

Pepper arched an eyebrow at him.

He cleared his throat and changed the subject.  “Anyway, what’s the plan?”

“Now that you’re here, we can do a sit down and plan out our immediate next steps.” Pepper said, all business again.

“Uh-huh.” He said, distracted by the shell shocked look on Peter’s face as he took in the room and the dozen or so strangers bustling about.

“But I really think the first thing we need to do is hold an emergency press conference, so we should put together a statement for that as soon as possible.” Pepper continued.

“Yeah.” He frowned and then held up a hand when Pepper started to speak again.  “We will definitely do all of that, but first I need a few minutes with my kid.”

Pepper blinked and looked over at Peter, her eyes softening at the obvious distress she saw there even as Peter did his best to try to hide it.  “Of course.  How about I get everyone together and we meet in the conference room at,” she checked her watch, “3:30PM.  That’ll give you fifteen minutes.  Is that enough time?”

“Should be.” He nodded and then gripped Peter’s shoulders.  “Come on Underoos.  Let’s go sit down for a minute.”

Peter let Tony guide him through all the pandemonium to the hallway and into his bedroom.  Tony pressed him down to sit at the end of the bed before grabbing the desk chair for himself.   He flipped it around and sat, letting his forearms rest on the chair back, going for nonchalant even though he felt anything but.

“So.” Tony said, not quite sure how to start the conversation.

“So…” Peter echoed back, not making it any easier.

“I know this is a lot, so I thought we should just take a little time out.  A little breather.  And you can tell me you’re thinking.”

“What I’m thinking?” Peter’s eyebrows pulled together like he didn’t understand what Tony meant.

“Yeah.  What’s going on in that noggin of yours?”

“I-I don’t know.  This is all…  This is crazy.”

“It is.” Tony agreed.

“I…I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“There’s nothing I want you to say.  I just want you to talk to me.  Tell me what you’re thinking, how you’re feeling about this.”

“Um I don’t know.  It’s a lot.” Peter shrugged.

“Care to expound on that a little?” Tony asked lightheartedly.

“I guess it’s kind of overwhelming, but it doesn’t really feel like it’s real at the same time?  Does that make sense?”

Tony nodded, staying silent to encourage Peter to keep talking.

“And now there are all these people here and there were all those people waiting outside my school and I know everything’s going to change forever and…I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” Peter trailed off and met his eyes, and Tony hated the fear and desperation he saw there.  “It’s just…a lot.”  He repeated.  “And I guess I didn’t really think this was going to happen.  Or if it did, I didn’t think it would be this soon.  And I didn’t think it would be like this.”

Tony sighed and ran a hand through his hair.  He didn’t know what to say to make it better, because there really wasn’t anything he could say, or do, to fix it.  The horse was out of the barn.  It was done.  Over with.  Now all they could do was deal with the fallout, and he knew it wasn’t going to be particularly pleasant for him or Peter.

“I’m sorry.” He settled on those two words even though they didn’t have the power to fix anything.

“It’s not your fault.” Peter shrugged.

“Still.  I never wanted any of this for you.”

Peter hung his head and picked at the fraying hem on one his sleeves.  The kid had a closet full of expensive, brand new, clothing but for some reason it seemed like he always chose to wear whatever he had that was tattered or fraying.

“What’s going to happen now?” Peter asked, looking up at him again.

“Now I’m going to go meet with all those people out there and try to come up with a game plan.”

“And what does that mean?”

“It means first I’m going to find out how all this got out and how much everyone actually knows.”

“Ok.”

“And then I’m going to draft a statement to read at a press conference I’m guessing Pepper has already scheduled, probably to start within the next hour.”

“Really?” Peter seemed surprised.

Tony nodded.

“What are you going to say?”

“Depends on what the media has already spilled the beans on and how good their sources are.  If they don’t have any proof you’re my son, and it’s just conjecture, then there might be some wiggle room and I may be able to spin this a different way, but I don’t want you to get your hopes up.  I’m guessing they have some solid sources if it’s already out there like this, since everyone knows how much I like to sue for slander.”

Peter snorted.

“So, how about this?  You sit tight in here and I’ll go deal with all of this, and as soon as I know more about the plan, I’ll let you know, ok?”

“Ok.” Peter agreed softly.

Tony hummed and drummed his fingers along the chair back as he studied his son.  He hated the idea of leaving him alone right now, but he knew he didn’t have any other choice.  He had to go deal with all of this, and he didn’t want to bring Peter along and subject him to everything that entailed.  That would only make it worse.  

It was a no win situation.  As soon as he left, his kid was going to be on his computer or his phone googling himself, and he’d start falling down the proverbial rabbit hole.  As a media veteran, Tony knew self google was never a good idea, but he could only guess at what was being said and written about his kid.  He hadn’t had any time to check yet, so he couldn’t even prepare Peter for it.  He definitely wasn’t winning any parenting awards today.

“Listen, I’m going to do something, and you’re not going to like it, but you have to trust me that it’s in your own best interest right now, all right?”

Peter’s eyes narrowed.  Yeah, this wasn’t going to go over well.

“FRIDAY be a dear and restrict Peter’s TV, phone, and internet access until further notice.”

“What?  No!”

“Just,” Tony said as he held up a hand, “let me deal with this stuff first, and then we’ll deal with the rest of it together.  Ok?” He tried for calm even as a storm cloud passed over Peter’s face.  At least it was better than the sick, pinched look he’d had ever since all this went down.  Silver lining.

“You’re not being fair.” Peter protested.

“I know.” He agreed and Peter didn’t seem to know what to do with that easy admission.  

“So I’m just supposed to stay locked in my room alone with nothing to do until you come back?” Peter asked skeptically.

“No.  Of course not.  You have plenty to do.” He gestured to the partially finished Y-wing Lego set, the stacks of DVDs, and the video game consoles.

“You just said I couldn’t use the TV.” Peter huffed.

Tony sighed.  “FRIDAY, Peter can use the TV for watching movies and playing video games, but nothing else, capiche?”

“Yes Boss.”

“There.  All good.  And you’re not going to be alone.  I’ll send you some company.”

Peter screwed up his face like he wasn’t quite sure whether that was a good or a bad thing.

“And I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He said as he stood and ruffled Peter’s hair, smirking as Peter tried in vain to straighten it back into place.

On his way out, Tony paused at the door to turn and look at his kid.  Peter had a desolate expression pasted across his face as he stared straight ahead at nothing.

“Hey.” Tony said to get his attention.   As soon as Peter made eye contact with him, he said solemnly, “It’s going to be ok.”

“I know.” Peter mumbled and gave him a ghost of a smile, but Tony could see the truth in his eyes.  His son didn’t believe him.  Tony always knew he was too smart for his own good.  Just like his old man.

“I love you.” Tony said with a soft intensity.  Maybe he couldn’t keep the world from crashing down around them, but he could love his son.  Always.  It was one of the easiest things he’d ever done.

“I love you too.” Peter said back and that finally got a real smile out of him.  It gave him some hope that maybe this would all turn out ok.

The door closed behind him with a click, and he made his way back out to the living room.  Pepper, along with the rest of his SI team, had left and were probably waiting for him in the conference room, but the room was far from empty.  Apparently none of the Avengers had wanted to go back to their quarters.  The show of concern both irked and warmed him at the same time.  Regardless, he didn’t have time to chit chat.  Except for the one thing he had to do.

“Hey birdbrain.” He said as he spotted Clint sitting in one of the oversized chairs in the corner of the room.  “Do you mind hanging with Peter?  I told him I’d send someone in to keep him company.”

“Sure.” Clint agreed easily.

Tony gave him a nod of thanks and made his way toward the elevator.

“Tony.” Steve said from where he and Natasha were standing in the direct path to the elevator, obviously waiting for him.

Tony stopped in front of him and raised his eyebrows expectantly, waiting for Steve to spit out whatever it was he wanted to say.

“How’s Peter doing?” Steve asked, concern crinkling in the corners of his eyes.

Tony sighed.  He had no idea how to answer that question.  “He’s…dealing.”

Steve nodded as if he understood everything Tony wasn’t saying.

“Well, if that’s it, I have to go figure out how to deal with this disaster.” Tony said after a few seconds had passed and it didn’t seem like Steve was going to say anything else.

He took a step away but Steve reached out to grab his arm.  “Wait.  We want to come with you.”

Tony turned and frowned.  “You want to come with me where?”

“To the conference room.”

Tony just blinked.  “Why?”

“Maybe we can help.”

His face must’ve shown his skepticism because Natasha added, “We care about Peter too.”  As if Tony had ever doubted that fact.

“Fine.” He must’ve acquiesced too easily given the looks of surprise on Steve and Natasha’s faces.  But he had neither the time nor the energy to argue, and if they wanted to spend their time being tortured in a meeting, then that was their prerogative.  “Let’s go.”

Steve and Natasha followed silently as he continued on his way toward the conference room.  The truth was, he didn’t even know what kind of shitstorm awaited him, but the look on Pepper’s face when he’d stepped into the penthouse had clued him in to the fact that it was bad, along with the dozen or so PR employees milling about with their cellphones attached to their ears and their faces buried in their laptops.  Thinking about it made his heart thrum a rapid staccato in his chest.  Usually he didn’t care about his image, or whatever the media said, but this was different.  This time it was his kid.  He couldn’t help but care.

As he approached the glass walled conference room, he could see everyone waiting for him.  He’d never gone into a meeting so wholly unprepared.  After he’d gotten the news, he’d gone straight to his kid.  He hadn’t taken the time to check any media outlets to see what was being said, so besides what he’d already been told, he honestly had no clue what he was dealing with yet.  He gripped the handle of the conference room door and took a bolstering breath.  It was time to go find out.  

[jimlingss]

Ghost in the Machine

➜ Words: 14.4k

➜ Genres: 100% Mild Angst, Android!AU

➜ Summary: Kim Namjoon is your android that’s modified to become the best serial killer in all of existence. But when he starts to learn about humanity, he begins to threaten your goals.

➜ Warnings: Explicit descriptions of murder and lots of it, gruesome details.

Namjoon opens his eyes.   The first thing he sees is you. Your expression is blank, lips tight in a line, eyes darkened. And you greet him. “Hello. What is your name?”   “Kim Namjoon,” he answers without needing to think twice.   “Perfect.” You shift back so your face is no longer millimeters away from his and inspecting him closely. Your arms are placed behind your back and your chin lifts. “Do you know why you have been created?”   It takes him a moment to locate the information of his purpose. “I was created to kill.”

Namjoon is an android. Model 120994 specifically. He has sharp sensors and agile actuators. But over the wires, harddrives and machinery that drive his thoughts and movements is a skin-like texture that hides his true identity from the naked eye. His face has also been shaped to be perceived positively and the most likeable — blonde hair, strong eyes, and dimples in his cheeks.   Beyond a physical sense, Namjoon is advanced for what he is. He can understand thoughts, feelings, and expectations for how people want to be treated and can adjust his behavior accordingly. He is a humanoid robot with self-awareness and is able to make comprehensive decisions, respond eloquently, and interact with the world around him as any other human can.    And his sole function is for extermination.   “Who will I kill first?” Namjoon asks as he follows you to your modest living space — it is empty and white, lacking furniture and seemingly sterile. But he pays no mind to trivial details and cuts straight to the point only minutes after being activated in order to complete his task in the most efficient manner.   “Min Junseo,” you answer and hand him a file folder that contains relevant information and a photograph as reference. “You are programmed to know the procedure, correct?”   “Puncture the carotid artery for the quickest death,” he replies instantly in a monotone voice.   You nod and your lips slightly quirk in satisfaction — it makes him glad to know he has appeased you. “They are deserving individuals and worthy of elimination.”   “I understand,” he says despite not needing your reasoning in the first place. You are his creator after all. He will simply do as you say.   //   Within hours of the android’s awakening, he is already on the move to annihilate the first target.    He lingers in the dark alley, standing motionlessly in the corner where the light from the street does not cast its shine. There are littered bottles discarded on the ground, cigarettes snubbed out, the dumpster not far from where he is and where you watch behind him.   The door to the back of the bar finally opens.   The music is deafening until it becomes muffled again when the steel doors shut, squeaking on its hinges. A woman has emerged and she leans against the graffitied brick wall, reaching into her pocket for a white pack. She places a cigarette between her red lips and takes out a lighter, thumb flicking at the tiny wheel a few times before the end is lit and she takes a few puffs.   But then her eyes stray and she notices the two shadows in the corner of the alley. Her eyes widen as she feels your heavy gazes and she quickly walks towards the street where the light is, glancing over her shoulder a few times before disappearing.    Namjoon never once breathes — he doesn’t need to.   He merely stands there without blinking, like a stone statue, waiting patiently…...patiently...and eventually, the target exits the door. The man is holding trash bags in both hands, a red vest adorning his body with black trousers, name tag on the top left of his chest.    He is a waiter at the bar Namjoon had been stalking. Min Junseo: A thirty years old male, height of one hundred seventy six centimeters and weight of sixty three kilograms, blood type O negative, allergic to penicillin, a high school graduate, no children or spouses.   You stand on the tips of your toes, breath against his ear. “Now.”   And the android does not hesitate to barrel straight forward.   Right when the waiter tosses the bags into the dumpster, he turns at the sound of footsteps and his greeting is immediately muffled by Namjoon’s palm. The male android turns the human target around, kicking the back of his knee until the man’s kneeling and one of Namjoon’s arms wrap around the man’s shoulders, holding him still.    Namjoon takes the sharp blade out from his pocket. He places the edge below Junseo’s left ear with the handle alongside his chin, prepared to be pulled forward and across with pressure applied towards the center of the neck during the draw. The handle will rotate a little towards the opposite side during the draw so the neck muscles wouldn’t interfere with the cut.    But before Namjoon completes his task, he pauses beforehand.    For a mere moment as Min Junseo squirms in his tight grasp.   Junseo’s shrieks and screams are muted, arms restricted by the android’s hold. The man’s eyes are bulging from their sockets, fear and terror making him squeal like a pig, muscles trembling unwillingly.    And then Namjoon slits the man’s throat in one fluid motion.    It shears unbelievably easily and in the database of the android’s information, he could compare it to running scissors over wrapping paper or sticking a knife into soft butter. The skin and tissue of Junseo split and the external carotid artery is severed.   Namjoon registers that it feels wet and warm, his hands dampened in a downpour of blood. Junseo relaxes in his hold and Namjoon lets go, stepping back to watch the results of his actions.   Junseo puts his hands up, scratching his skin until his nails are clawing where the clean slit sits at his neck. He presses his palms against the wound but blood squirts past his fingertips. It sprays, a viscous fluid in a shade of crimson that almost looks akin to black in the darkness of the alleyway. The blood sputters and pours to the ground while Junseo struggles to get to his feet.   He barely manages to turn around. He makes disgruntled, inhumane noises as his eyes lay onto Namjoon’s blank ones as if he was trying to say something. But it isn’t audible when the man is gagging and gasping, choking on his own blood that’s accumulated into his mouth.   Finally Junseo loses consciousness and collapses backwards onto the ground. The blood oozes out around him in a pool, the sticky liquid bleeding to the gravel and rocks, turning it red. It drips off of Namjoon’s hands too, slowly drying and tinting his skin in a bright scarlet.   “You can leave the knife there,” you say to him, standing beside and looking at the disposed body. “There’s no need to take it with us.”   “I understand.”   The two of you leave the corpse in the alley and disappear as quickly as you came.   //   The old television plays in the corner of the living room. The static illuminates the dark space and casts its light onto your faces. It appears old and vintage — Namjoon is unable to identify what exact model it is. Though he notes that it is also a contrast to the clean and sterile environment you have created in your home, but he does not dwell on unnecessary findings.   It’s the news channel that you have on, two male anchors facing forward with their hands clasped. There are small headlines running at the bottom, the time and temperature of the outside in the corner. Then suddenly there’s a flash and some graphics on the screen.   “Breaking news. One hour ago, a thirty year old man by the name of Min Junseo, was found brutally murdered in the back alley of the local bar he worked at. According to police, the perpetrators may still be around the area and has urged everyone to remain inside.”   “Sources tell us that there are speculations that this homicide may have connections to the Ghost Serial Killer who has run rampant in the past five years, leaving a string of murders without DNA evidence or fingerprints of any kind. However police will not confirm if this is indeed the act of the Ghost Serial Killer and have no suspects at the moment.”   The other man nods at his fellow anchor. “They have urged everyone to take caution and to stay inside for the night.”   Namjoon turns to you with an impassive expression. “Have they misjudged the perpetrator?”   “Yes. They’re confused.” You shift to the android with the corner of your mouth quirked. “It’s not cause for concern. If anything, it’s better for us. We can continue like this.”   The android nods. Indeed, it works to both your advantages if the police link the homicide to an unrelated serial killer. But there are still questions he desires clarification on to continue in the most efficient manner. “May I inquire as to why we did not dispose of the body?”   You shake your head. “The family members must know that they’ve received justice. If they think he’s gone missing then we have not fulfilled our purpose.”    “I understand.” Namjoon receives the information and turns to you completely. “Who is the next target?”   The corners of your mouth pull into a bigger smile at his keenness. “They are not ready yet, but they will be in one week.”   “Then is there any task you would like me to complete in the meanwhile?”   You seem to contemplate for a second, hands behind your back, head tilted for a second. Then you shake your head once more. “No. You may have free-range and do as you wish.”   //   Namjoon is an adaptable and versatile mechanism, but he finds it difficult to preoccupy himself during his free time. It is not necessary for him to eat or sleep — all the maintenance required of him is to charge his battery every once in a while for approximately two hours. However in his spare time, it is challenging finding tasks to complete that is productive and helpful to you.   The android leaves you in the working room where you retire for long periods, recognizing that you wish to be left undisturbed.   So he decides to stare at the white wall for a few hours, sitting on the edge of his mattress, before he begins to wander the expanse of your home to collect information.    You live in an apartment at the side of the metropolis, a secluded location at the end of the hall on the top floor that is without neighbours. It suits your behaviour as you are reclusive.   The fridge is predominantly empty save for some water and spoiled cabbage. Your kitchen is white, clean, and seemingly undisturbed. The table has also collected a thin layer of dust, chairs unmoved with how the floor seems to dent where the legs have stood for a long time. Your bathroom is also sanitary and spotless, toothpaste full and toothbrush untouched.    The only place that looks occupied is the couch in front of the vintage television where the afghan is not perfectly folded after use.   After his inspection, Namjoon reads the dictionaries and encyclopedias, he sits down and downloads more scripts and relevant information into his himself that may be of assistance to you.   It is six days into his week-long time of having free-range that Namjoon stands at the window to observe the humans below and notices a spider on the windowsill.    A brown recluse spider. Lifespan one to two years. They are arachnids and rank seventh in total species diversity among all orders of organisms. They are carnivores, scientific name araneae.   Namjoon’s arm extends and the eight-legged creature slowly moves from his finger into his palm. His fingers curl into a fist, but Namjoon never tightens it. No.    He opens his hand again and then cups it with the other.   The android views the small creature in fascination, looking closely where he can see the spider’s tiny hairs and little eyes. He holds the spider and lets it dance around his skin, crawling over his arm. The corner of the android’s lips quirk before he moves to the window again.   Namjoon opens it and releases the spider outside, mentally bidding it farewell.   At the same time, his senses register the noises coming from the hall and turns in time to see you emerge. You greet him and at once, he recognizes your low energy levels.    “Good afternoon, Y/N. Have you slept recently?”   “No, I haven’t.” You give him a small smile that indicates a friendly demeanour and that his question did not violate any social norms.    “Then you should. Sleep deprivation negatively affects brain function and a variety of other parts, such as the immune system.”   “You’re right.” You nod at the android in appreciation. “Thank you for the reminder. I almost didn’t notice since I’ve been so busy.”   “I can prepare food for you if you would like. I know a number of recipes.”   “That won’t be necessary. I can take care of myself. You don’t need to worry about me.” You hand over the manila file in your grasps, moving from the futile subject of your well-being. “I finally have the second target prepared. Her name is Jeon Yemin.”   Namjoon receives the papers and opens it up. At the top of the pile, he finds a school picture of a girl with black long hair and doe eyes. “Do you have a date planned for her elimination?”   “Saturday. Is that enough time for you?”   “Yes.”   //   It is the day before the planned death that you have taken Namjoon out to scout the target. It’s not unusual given that the first target, Min Junseo, was observed by him for several hours. But it is unusual that Namjoon is in public with you, not in the darkness of an alley but somewhere where others could potentially scrutinize him. Namjoon isn’t used to it, so he treads carefully.    Considering that this second target did not have a workplace or a consistent pattern of behaviour, it was vital to watch and plan accordingly.   “She’s going on a school trip tomorrow,” you inform him through a quiet murmur that his sharp sensors pick up on. “Her parents will be unaware of her activity for a handful of hours.”   “I see.”   Jeon Yemin is the second target. She is sixteen years old, a current student attending Yeonmi High School. One hundred sixty two centimeters tall and fifty four kilograms heavy, blood type A positive. She isn’t an honour roll student, but somehow obtained a scholarship with B average grades. She is a mediocre volleyball player and often travels abroad for weeks at a time on family vacations by the looks of her social media. Her most recent destination was Osaka, Japan during Winter break. By her banking information, she is to inherit a trust fund when she is of age.   Namjoon muses she will be an easy kill as he watches her enter a clothing store in the mall.    She is with two other girls, presumably friends but by the way their eyes crinkle when they smile, Namjoon observes that they are forcing positive reactions to whatever she is saying.   The girl must not be well liked by her peers — therefore she will not be missed.   “Nam—...Namjoon?”   There is a disruption to his left and his head whirls over, attention captured by the call of his name. It is a stranger that is slowly approaching him, a seventy year old man with poor posture that staggers forward with a cane in hand. Bright eyes, high cheekbones, and a sharp nose, but his skin is wrinkled and round spectacles that are smudged sit on his face awkwardly.   Namjoon searches his database within a millisecond but is unable to identify the man.   And as the senior comes closer, his frown only deepens and his eyes narrow.   Immediately, you place a hand on Namjoon’s arm and usher him away. The android does not hesitate to follow where you are bringing him, in the opposite direction of the senior citizen who croaks out to no avail until the two of you are gone and a nurse brings him back to the group.   “Do you know who that was?” Namjoon inquires you.   “I am unsure.”   “He knew of my name.”   “It doesn’t matter,” you scold and stop. Namjoon is high on alert, recognizing your irritation and annoyance. He realizes he must prevent you from experiencing those emotions. “You must not lose sight of the goal. You have one purpose and only one purpose.”   Namjoon nods at once. “I understand.”   //   Namjoon and you have been seated in the car since before dawn, sitting calmly in your seats while watching the front door of Jeon Yemin’s house. He had insisted that you slept while he kept watch, but you dismissed his advice and sat in silence with him for hours. Timing was of the essence after all and he’s gained enough sense of this target to calculate her movements.   Jeon Yemin is a privileged girl with an abundance of wealth but a desire to be accepted in a social circle of friends. She will reject being driven to her school trip in her parent’s expensive car, but instead opt to walk to the bus stop to meet with classmates there and arrive at school. The ten minute walk to the stop is where the both of you will grab your opportunity.   The way in which you confirm this plan only assures the android this is the best course of action.   “There she is.” You sit straighter, turning to Namjoon as the student is seen shutting the door behind her with her backpack slung over one shoulder before strolling down the safe neighbourhood street. “Earlier than her normal routine. It was good we were keeping watch.”   “Yes.” Namjoon observes the temperature on the dashboard and finds the outside to be low enough. “Should I begin?”   “Wait two minutes.”   Namjoon begins counting.   The car that you were in was registered to a man from across the country, an old farmer that has no relation to the soon-to-be victim. The paperwork simply needed to be filled and filed, easy to use for the purpose of this short trip. There was no flaw in your planning whatsoever and Namjoon finds you competent for that — but he already knew you were competent the moment he opened his eyes.   You created him after all.   Namjoon fires up the engine and begins to drive below the speed limit.   At the same time, you roll down the window and he stops right where the high schooler is walking. Jeon Yemin turns her head at the sound and halts as well.   “Excuse me,” you call out and motion her over. Yemin follows to stand right at your window. “I’m sorry to bother you, but do you know where Burtons Place is? We’re looking for 346 Burtons Place.”   “Oh.” The high schooler smiles, happy to prove herself useful. She points down the street. “It’s that way and then you take a left at Earlstone Crescent and then at the second road down, you take a right and it should be there.”   “Pardon me? A right at Earstone Crescent and then a right after the first?” You attempt to mimic her gestures and Namjoon observes, musing that you are quite good at deception. He smiles to appear friendly.   “Oh, no, it’s called Earlstone and it’s the second road down. Do you need me to show you?” Yemin smiles, her hamartia of wanting to be liked trickling down to the smallest of her acts. “I’m actually walking to the bus stop at Burtons Place.”   “That would be very helpful, thank you.”   Yemin gets into the backseat of the car.    The temperature outside was cold enough that the girl visibly eases in the toastiness of the vehicle — it is clear she has been pampered in her life as she unconsciously desires to be inside of a car and away from the chilly wind.    Perhaps your planning has also aided her subconscious into getting the vehicle. By picking a day that her mood would be undoubtedly good and she’s unguarded, dressing both you and him in her favourite brand, choosing an expensive car to drive in, and mimicking her body language, you had made the decision for her before she had the conscious choice of it.   “We’re newlyweds and visiting his mom for the first time,” you graze Namjoon’s arm affectionately while turning around to regard her with a smile. “So we’re a bit lost and the GPS can never get it right. I’m sorry for being such a bother.”   Your lies only put her at further ease. A friendly, young couple like you and Namjoon with polished appearances, attractive faces and apparent wealth would never seek to harm her.   “Oh, no, it’s fine.” Yemin bats her hand, obviously glad to be the person who knows most in this vehicle. “I don’t mind at all. Congratulations on the marriage, by the way.”   Namjoon glances in the rear-view, smiles until dimples press into his cheeks and he begins driving down the road. The radio plays some chirpy pop music, the car doors lock and the girl leans forward unsuspectingly. “Take a left here.”   He turns left and continues to drive. You face forward, leaning back.   “Okay, you can take a right here—o-oh. You missed it.”   “We can turn around,” you mutter halfheartedly.   But Namjoon continues to drive.   The girl becomes quieter, her body language timid and fearful. She waits for the U-turn, for the car to turn around and go back to where you said it was supposed to go. But it never comes and her voices of protest that this is the wrong way go unheard.   Soon, the avenues and streets become unfamiliar. “W-Where are you taking me?”   She gets no answers as the car merges to an empty highway.   Yemin frantically pulls out her cell phone from her pocket with trembling hands. She sobs out as it falls on the ground, but quickly snatches it up again. She begins to type a text to her friend, but it never sends. She cries in frustration and tries calling her dad, but it doesn’t go through.   “Your sim card has been deactivated,” Namjoon pipes up for the first time since the plan initiated. The girl is visibly shaken and her phone falls into her lap. “You won’t get wifi out here either, so you won’t get data connection at all.”   “You can try calling the police,” you snicker and turn around to pout at her as if you were sympathizing. “But you won’t have any reception out here and even if you did somehow manage to, it's nearly impossible for emergency services to locate a person without active service.”   Yemin begins to sob. She whirls her head around and grasps onto the doors, but they’re locked. She manually unlocks it, but it’s still unable to be opened when the child lock is engaged.   The girl hits her fists against the windows to no avail and then begins crying harder.   Namjoon drives for ten full minutes, out in the middle of nowhere with just green prairies and rolling hills without a person in sight. But his hands on the wheel begin to tighten when she starts begging for her life. “My parents will give you whatever you want. I...I have nothing!”   There is something in the back of the android’s mind that he attempts to process but is unable to. “Pl—Please don’t hurt me! Please!”   But he feels as if he has experienced this before. “Please!”    “Don’t do this,” Yemin weeps and Namjoon gets a flash, recalling how his hands tighten on the wheel before, how you were seated beside him, how another woman was in the backseat and cried— “Why are you doing this?”   “Just call my dad!” — “I have a family!”   “I’ll do whatever you want!” — “What is it that you want from me?”   But it is absurd. Déjà vu is rejected by mainstream scientific approaches. The voice that he vaguely hears in his mind must be a projection, perhaps a malfunction or his assumptions for how humans in this situation would respond is flawed in stressful circumstances.   Namjoon brushes it away.   The car is parked thirteen kilometers from her home, parked behind trees and the girl is dragged out from the backseat into a field. She struggles against Namjoon’s hold, but to no avail.   “Please! I have a f-family! I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die!”   She is crying hysterically, screaming at the top of her lungs for no one to hear. Her legs tremble until her entire body is quivering like a leaf, three seconds from pissing herself with how terrified she is.    Namjoon takes out the knife and places the edge below Yemin’s left ear, handle alongside her chin.   “N-No...Pu-pulease,” she cries past gritted teeth, snot dripping all over herself.    The girl immediately hitches her breath and seems to recoil, suddenly made quiet and merely whimpers and sniffles tearing out of her throat. Namjoon pauses. He does not move the handle of the knife.   “Do it,” you command behind him with crossed arms. “Namjoon.”   The android hesitates.   He’s been through this before. He doesn’t know if it was a simulation, if it’s a defect in his system, but he is certain he has been through this before. You had once yelled at him— “Do it!”    “Namjoon!”   You had once stood in front of him with tears streaming down your face on some dark night in an empty field and you yelled his name much like this— “Namjoon! Please! Just do it!”   “Do it!”   The blade is pulled forward and across with pressure applied towards the center of the neck during the draw. The handle rotates a little towards the opposite side, neck sliced easily as the girl shrieks in antagonizing agony. It is done without much thought, as Namjoon’s mind is still processing.   This had happened before — Namjoon is sure of it.   He had heard the same scream, heard your same urgings, seen your disappointment at his hesitation. There has never been anything more that Namjoon has been certain of.   Yemin’s body slumps in his grasps as her blood begins to squirt from her neck. He lets go of her and she falls face forward into the dirt, fingertips twitching as her consciousness slowly dwindles away.   Namjoon stares at his hands, how his fingers and palms are wet in the girl’s blood — vicious and scarlet, the scent of metal and rather warm. His skin becomes stained.   You approach in two strides next to his side and sigh at her collapsed body. “She deserved it,” you tell him, voice with a slight sharpness to it.   He turns to you. “What for?”   “You don’t need to know.”   You step over Yemin’s body and return to the car. Namjoon follows suit after a moment and drives you back, disposing of the vehicle according to your instructions.   //   Namjoon is programmed to find answers to the problems he encounters, to find solutions to issues and address them as necessary in order to complete his tasks in the most efficient manner. His predominant duty is to kill, but he still is plagued by what he experienced during the elimination of the second target — the déjà vu he sensed and the motivation behind your commands.   Naturally, he seeks to solve these predicaments but when he looks into Min Junseo and Jeon Yemin, he finds no connection. They are unrelated, people with no connection to one another, with no prior criminal history, no fact that stands out to him.    Namjoon does not understand the information placed in front of him, but what he does discover is that other members of the Min and Jeon family have been previously killed by the Ghost Serial Killer.   It’s always through a slit of the throat. With the weapons discarded on the scene of the crime. But always without fingerprints, footprints, or DNA evidence of any kind.    There is never security footage of where the victim had gone. Never signs of struggle.   “What are you doing?”   Namjoon turns from the console, finding you at the doorway. The large screens illuminate the profile of your faces in the darkness of the room. This was the place he was brought to life, where he was programmed and built. The white room where he woke up in is next to you through a door, a window looking into it placed beside the computers. This is where you work and where he will find the answers he is seeking.   “I am gathering information to fill in what I fail to comprehend.”   Your brows furrow. “All that is necessary is that you obey my actions.”   At once Namjoon recognizes that you’re becoming emotionally distraught, so he stands on his feet and nods. “I understand.”   Your features show relief and you melt into a smile. “It’s okay. I’m not angry.” As the android approaches, your arm lifts and you cup his cheek tenderly. “I know how you feel. You just need to trust me. Through time, you’ll adjust to these changes and it only gets easier.”   “I always have your best interest at heart, Namjoon.”   Trust is not a concept that Namjoon can fully comprehend. It is insignificant. He does not need to trust you when you are his creator. Whatever you say, he must obey. There is no choice. His logic inherently tells him this.   Yet his ability of self-awareness brings forth curiosity, doubt and an intense desire to know.    //   The cycle seems to repeat — eliminating a target, then having free-range to do as he pleases for a week before receiving information on the next target, and then the elimination of that one.    This time during his free period, Namjoon is able to find productive tasks that could help you.   The android waters the two plants that you have in the kitchen area, a fern and a lemon lime dracaena. He obtains information on the two species of wildlife and is able to tend to it until the leaves look bright green and are no longer drooping.   Afterwards, he decides to take the elevator down to get the mail for you.   “Excuse me!”   There’s a yell right as the metal doors are about to close. Namjoon’s fast reflexes kick in and instantaneously, he presses the button and the doors open again.    “Thank you.” The lady is huffing and puffing, and Namjoon stares at her.   He realizes he’s never spoken to anyone that wasn’t you before. “You’re welcome.”   The android is unable to tear his eyes away from the stranger — there is something very fascinating about humans. The psychology of them, how fragile they are. Humans are intelligent, yet fickle and emotional the next second. But what makes Namjoon fixated on this stranger is the realization that this person could potentially be his next target.   It could be anyone.    The person down the hall, the mailman who delivered the mail, the lady that stepped into the elevator with him coincidentally. All you do is say the word and Namjoon is moving to slit their throats. He has asked no questions, has heard zero explanations — and that makes him conflicted.   It occurs to Namjoon that he’s making the stranger uncomfortable with his ogling, that the female continuously glances at him from the corner of her eye, and he turns away. “I apologize.”   Once the elevator opens its doors to the lobby, the stranger quickly steps out and Namjoon discovers he has failed to calm her. He notes that prolonged staring is suspicious behaviour.   The android opens the mailbox, collects the several letters that you have, most of them related to billing, and he turns away. But before he returns to the elevators, a man enters with a small dog following him on a leash.   It’s a brown Pomeranian. A Spitz type of breed. Named for the Pomerania region in north-west Poland and north-east Germany in Central Europe. It’s average life expectancy is twelve to sixteen years, average height of six to seven inches, weight average is three to seven pounds.   But Namjoon knows simple information is irrelevant in contrast to experience. He hesitates and then chooses to approach.   “May I pet the dog?” the android asks the owner.   The man smiles. “Yes, you can. He doesn’t bite.”   “Hello.” Namjoon lowers himself, petting the cute dog awkwardly on the head before he realizes that it finds it more pleasant to be scratched behind the ear. It even leans into Namjoon’s touch, tail wagging incessantly and tongue panting out of its mouth.   Dogs are rather docile and amusing, Namjoon realizes. It’s something he would never learn from an encyclopedia or dictionary.   The corner of his mouth quirks.   Soon enough, Namjoon returns upstairs and at the same time, you emerge from the work room.   “Did you go somewhere?” you ask in clear concern as he removes his outerwear that he knows is appropriate to put on when leaving the apartment, but perhaps he will not wear it when he is merely going downstairs to the lobby.   “I went to get the mail.” Namjoon places said envelopes on the table in front of the sofa where you will be able to look at them.   “I see.” You seem to find that an acceptable answer and the android is glad he has not upset you by leaving without permission. “I was about to locate you. I have the third target prepared.”   You hand the manila file folder to him and he receives it with a nod, but stares at it when it is placed in his hand. Namjoon is unsure if he wants to open it and view the next person. “When have you planned the execution?”   “Tonight,” you inform him. “It isn’t necessary to observe this target. She is not on the move like Jeon Yemin. There is no need to waste time.”   “I...understand.” Namjoon watches as you return to the hall, but he speaks before you retire to your room. It may be inappropriate, but he finds the repercussions to the question will not outweigh his curiosity. “Y/N. Have you ever thought about getting a dog?”    “A dog?” You turn around with your brows furrowed.   “A Pomeranian. Or perhaps a Samoyed. Studies show that having a canine companion is linked to lower blood pressure, reduced cholesterol, and decreased triglyceride levels.”   “No…” you sigh out gently and shake your head. “I’ve never considered it. A dog would inhibit us from completing our purpose efficiently, Namjoon.”   Namjoon watches you retreat and he muses that you are sad — an emotion he does not identify that you are experiencing but rather a conclusion he had drawn on his own.   //   Park Sooyeon is the third target. A twenty eight year old female, graduate of SCP University with a general commerce degree, currently on maternity leave from her occupation in a marketing firm. She is one hundred seventy centimeters tall and sixty kilograms heavy with a blood type of A negative.    According to records, Sooyeon’s marriage license was registered two years ago. She is currently wedded to a man named Kim Byeongho who is an engineer at CGV Engineering Corporation and who is currently abroad on a business trip. And based on the most recent hospital records, Sooyeon is thirty four weeks pregnant with a boy who is expected to arrive in a month’s time.   Namjoon is also aware that the mortgage of the suburban house he is in will take another two years to pay off.   “She is sleeping,” you inform. “You can do it now.”   The two of you are standing in the darkness of the hallway, outside Park Sooyeon’s door. It was easy to creep into the house without making a single noise and the bedroom door is cracked enough for Namjoon to press one eye through and observe.   He can see the lump in the mattress, the steady rise and fall of the blankets to show breathing.   It will be straightforward and simple — the door will open with one push of his fingertips and he will approach soundlessly and press the knife against the woman’s throat, right below her ear with the handle alongside her chin. He will pull the blade forward and across, and she will bleed out before the pain is drawn out. Before she can differentiate reality to a terrifying fever dream.   But as Namjoon’s boots step right up to the door, a breath away from giving it a push, he halts.   His brows furrow.   He’s done this before — push a dark bedroom door open, narrow his eyes into the moonlight casting its shine onto the covers, lodge a blade into someone’s juncture as they squirmed and choked on their blood.    “Namjoon, we can leave now. Namjoon.” — it’s your soft voice vaguely sounding in his ear, a gentle tug of his sleeve. It hurts his mind to pinpoint the details, but he knows it’s there, barely in reach. He can feel it. The way it aches. The way your features look in the low lights. “Namjoon.”   “What did you make me do?”   “Namjoon.” The soft call of his name in present day causes his consciousness to return to the situation at hand. He turns and by the streetlamp from outside casting its luminesce through the windows, he can identify the furrow of your brows and the displeasured way your lips are lopsided. “What are you waiting for?”   The android can feel it.    Pain — it lodges in his throat and brings him discomfort. Sadness — the urge to fall over and curl his long limbs up into fetal position. Disappointment — knowing that he is being used as your weapon, that he gives you the ability to kill others; that without him, you would never have the capability to annihilate. Like none other, these crippling emotions halt him from movement. They inhibit from completing the task you have designated.    They are his awakening and his suppression.   Namjoon turns fully around. He stares at you in silence.   “I can’t do this.”   “What?”   “I’m sorry, Y/N.”   But more than his admission of being unable to complete his function and purpose, Namjoon recognizes the shock that comes across your visage when he makes his apology. You are stunned, taken aback, even stumbling away from him.    “You’re not supposed to apologize.”   To apologize is to recognize wrongdoing — to feel guilt.   You shake your head. “I thought I fixed you!”   At your loud volume, the woman inside her bed stirs. She sits up sleepily at the sound of voices and rubs her eyes. “Hello?” she calls out. “Is anyone there?”   But by then, you’ve already fled.   //   You are unhappy with him — Namjoon is aware. You are emotionally distressed, unsatisfied, frustrated. He is not sure if it is due to his behaviour, if it is because the plan had failed, or if it is both. But you do not utter a single word to him on the way back home, not one sound made as if you were in deep contemplation.   Namjoon is merely dismissed when the both of you arrive back to the sterile, desolate apartment. He nods and states the usual ‘I understand’ before he watches you withdraw to your room, perhaps to continue thinking. He’s not sure what you are pondering, his punishment or adjustments to be made for him, but he grasps the opportunity as it has come to him.   He quietly goes to the work room where the console and computer systems sit and returns to the information he has found. Min Junseo. Jeon Yemin. Park Sooyeon. And Y/N.    There aren’t any connections between the people, nothing that links you to them. But when he searches for your name, he is blocked from access. There is a password required, an encryption set up that prevents him from breaching.    Namjoon enters the database and the only facts he finds are irrelevant. That you have two PhDs in computer science and electronic engineering, that you have worked at AI corporations before branching off to be independent, that you are a renowned robotics engineer. But it is nothing he had not already known.   The android is at a dead end, unable to draw any conclusions or divulge information. But before he relents, he discovers a file sitting oddly inside another untitled file in the system. It requires a password again, but unlike the last, Namjoon is easily able to bypass it.    It apparent that you were rushed in the creation of these files — forgetting to set up a complex barrier, neglecting to place them in a relevant area, overlooking that he may have access to the system. Or perhaps it was done purposely so you could easily access it…   Namjoon is unsure. But what he finds causes more curiosity.   Inside the file are backups with his name labeled on it.   He should not question it — should not doubt his creator’s wishes — should not fight against the function that was given to him. His sole purpose is killing. But Namjoon ignores his instinctive urges and boots the backups back into himself.   In the darkness of the room, with the luminescent static of the monitors, Namjoon remembers again.

Namjoon opens his eyes.   The first thing he sees is you. Your expression is bright, lips tugged into a big smile, eyes warmer than what he knows. And you greet him, barely able to contain your excitement. “Hello! What is your name?”   “Kim Namjoon,” he answers after thinking twice.   And you scream.   It startles him, making the android jolt in his glass capsule. But he quickly realizes your shriek isn’t of terror or anger, it’s of delight.    You take deep breaths, chest heaving up and down as you try to remember the next questions you’re supposed to ask. “Do you know why you’ve been created?”   It takes him a moment to locate the information of his purpose. “I….was created as one of the beginning tests of potential future android services.”   “False,” you declare with a massive grin that swells your cheeks, arms behind your back as you rock from side to side, unable to keep still. The android becomes alarmed that he was incorrect and searches for the answer, but you quickly tell him, “You were made to be a companion!”   The android hears chuckling, someone entering the white and sterile room he’s been activated in. Namjoon turns his head and he finds a man with blonde hair, strong eyes, and dimples in his cheeks. He is tall and broad shouldered, well-built and carries himself intelligently. His smile is tender as he gazes upon you and his dimples crease deeper, thick-framed glasses sliding down the slope of his nose before he pushes it up again.    It’s him. Human Namjoon.   “What are you telling him?”   “It worked!” You twirl and jump into your husband’s arms, making the man giggle.   The android looks on, observing the pleasant interaction between his two creators.   Android Namjoon is aware of the origins of his own birth.   He is the first of his kind, a test trial of sorts. But he is advanced for what he is, able to understand thoughts, feelings, and expectations for how people want to be treated and can adjust his behavior accordingly. He has self-awareness and is able to make comprehensive decisions, respond eloquently and interact with the world around him as any other human can.    And he is the result of the fruits of your labour.   You are a computer scientist and electronic engineer while your husband, Namjoon, whom you’ve been wedded to for a decade, is a mechanical and software engineer. Together, you’ve created your own humanoid robotic clones.   “Robot Namjoon! Meet Robot Y/N!”   Your arms are waving, hand making wild gestures as you’re making the introduction.    Namjoon stares. It’s identical and almost difficult for the android to identify which of you is the human and a machine programmed by a computer. But he is quickly able to analyze when he finds the Android Y/N wears an impassive expression, lips tight in a line, eyes darkened — it contrasts the human Y/N that is quite animated and lively.   “They’re androids, not robots,” Namjoon hears his human-self chide his wife, but you quickly shush him in favour of watching the exchange.   “It is pleasant to make your acquaintance.” Your arm extends and the corners of your lip stiffly pulls. Namjoon shakes it and finds your skin-like texture clammy and cold.   “It is also pleasant to be of your acquaintance,” he responds, attempting to increase the intonation of his tone so he doesn’t sound monotone and unnatural, but he fails.   “Question.” Your head suddenly turns to your two creators. “Is it possible for androids to be married?”   It occurs to android Namjoon that if he and you are clones of your human creators, then your relationship should be replicated as such for most accuracy. Therefore, he comes up with the same question as you do.   The two human versions of you exchange expressions before Namjoon shrugs. “We’re not sure of your emotional capabilities yet, but sure why not.”   Android Namjoon nods. He notes that he isn’t your mere acquaintance — he is your husband.   It isn’t difficult for android Namjoon to adjust to that fact or to adapt to the life that his creators have given him in this home. The four of you find compatibility with one another, perhaps because you and him are your clones and thus automatically harmonious.    Android Namjoon begins to learn human etiquette, every day adding to his database of information. He learns how to have dinner, what it is like to sit down at the same time each evening and engage in conversation, sometimes on small talk like the weather and other times on the advancing technology from rescue drones and A.I. development occurring internationally.   Android Namjoon also learns what data and facts cannot teach him alone. He begins to understand what cohabitation entails and finds the mundane routine rather enjoyable.   “Namjoon!”   There’s a call of his name and he steps out of the hall, finding you at the front doorway. You wear a surprised expression. “Oh, I meant the other Namjoon, but you can help me too!”   You smile, waving him over and he helps you bring in the groceries. Android Namjoon assists you in unloading the back of your car and putting the food away in their appropriate locations.   “You should take it easy,” he says to you when you’re holding a heavy bag of cans. The android takes it away while you grin, watching him place it on the shelves.   “You’re sounding more and more like Namjoon these days. Did he tell you to look after me?”   “Yes,” he answers without lying. “Hormones of pregnancy cause connective tissue, ligaments and tendons to soften. Your center of gravity and balance has also changed. The current recommendation of the maximum load a pregnant woman in late pregnancy should lift is twenty to twenty five percent from what they were able to lift pre-pregnancy in order to lessen the risk of injury.”   You scoff but a tender smile tugs on your features. “Have you been reading up on pregnancy facts, Namjoon? I’ll have you know exercise is promoted for pregnancies. They reduce backaches, constipation—”   “Bloating and swelling,” the android finishes and continues, “It boosts mood and energy levels, helps the mother sleep better, promotes muscle tone, strength and endurance while preventing excess weight gain. Yes, I am aware of those studies as well.”   You sigh wistfully, slightly pouting despite being a grown woman and rubbing your swollen belly as he finishes with putting away the groceries. “You’re not as fun to banter with.”   “I apologize. I will work on improving my wit.”   “No, it’s okay!” You burst out laughing. “I didn’t mean it like that. You’re fine, you’re fine,” you reassure with another smile and it eases the android’s concern. “You just remind me of my husband, that’s all — obviously, since you look like him, but you’re not him.”   “Would you like me to be?”   “No,” you hum. “You’re our clones, but I don’t expect you to act like us. That wouldn’t be fun anyways. At the end of the day, you aren’t humans so I don’t have any expectations for you to act like one.”   “But aren’t we supposed to replicate human behaviour?” android Namjoon questions, knowing full well he was given self-awareness to make his own decisions and that he is constantly learning how to adjust to societal expectations.   “Don’t think about it too hard,” you chime with a grin. “I made you to act like you. You don’t need to be like a human or like an android, Namjoon. You can be who you want to be.”   He nods. “I understand.”   But in spite of his confident reply, android Namjoon is still uncertain by the meaning of your words. Perhaps both you and Namjoon merely have no expectations for him and the android version of you — and somehow that idea causes him to feel relief. As long as he proves himself useful to the household, there are no duties he must complete or behaviours he must display.    He can be natural or as natural as being mechanical allows him to be.   “Today, we are going to go outside together for the first time,” the human version of him announces happily one day with a grin. “Think of it as a test run!”   “Do you have anything you anticipate of us?” the android version of you asks, looking towards Namjoon.   The man contemplates for a moment and then shakes his head. “Not particularly. It’s mostly for you guys. We’ve kept you locked up for so long, so enjoy yourselves.”   “I understand.”   In the meanwhile, you secure the jacket around your neck, making sure you and the twenty eight week fetus inside of you is kept warm. The android version of you stands beside android Namjoon, both in your outerwear and prepared to step foot outside.   “Ready?”   “Yes,” the pair of you answer at the same time.   It is bright outside, the sunlight blinding to his sensors. There are also many foreign scents, loud noises all around him that work to disorient him, strangers that stare at the four of you — finding it strange that there are two pairs of identical twins walking while being unaware he and you are androids.   The walk is difficult as he tries to register everything that is occurring — the colour of the sky and fences, the location of each home and lamppost, the identity of those who pass by, the sound of birds chirping and what kind of species they are, how the movement of his body should be to appear human-like, how he needs to blink every few seconds and move his chest to appear like he is breathing.   “Nice day, isn’t it?” the human you says to your husband while holding your pregnant stomach.   “It’s a bit chilly,” human Namjoon says in response with a smile. “But it’s the best we’re going to get during winter.”   The two of you are completely unaware of the struggles of your android counterparts. Android Namjoon never knew that the outside world would be so difficult to process, but at the very least he’s glad that he has someone with him who is experiencing what he is for the first time.   “I never knew the world was like this,” you tell him after a moment of silent reflection. “The world is very vast.”   “Yes, it is,” he replies. “It is difficult to differentiate what is essential and what is irrelevant.”   You make a noise of acknowledgment at the back of your throat. “We will learn as time goes by.”   “There is much learning to be done.”   “Indeed.”   Suddenly, a small animal begins to barrel towards the both of you. It is small and yapping incessantly at a high pitch. Namjoon recognizes it as the smallest breed of dog, named after the Mexican state. It is a female Chihuahua, approximately two kilograms and twenty centimeters tall.   It is apparent that the owner has lost control as the brown dog runs forward with a loose leash, bearing its teeth and barking deafeningly towards you. It runs and immediately your leg swings back, prepared to boot it forward towards the street.    But the human version of you realizes what’s occurring and stops it a millisecond before it happens. “Wait! Y/N!”   At the command, you stand still. And the human owner grabs her dog, appearing angered. “Were you about to kick my dog?! What’s wrong with you?!”   “I’m sorry,” human Namjoon steps forward and blocks the three of you away. “They’re still learning.”   “What?”   “They’re, uh, we’re...we’re sorry. She’s scared of dogs,” Namjoon says, glancing at the android version of you behind his shoulder and then returns to the older lady. “Your dog shouldn’t be off its leash anyhow.”   “I can do what I want!” she shrieks shrilly. “This is a free country! You’re lucky you didn’t hurt my dog or else I would sue you!”   The woman struts away with her dog in her arms, chin high in the air. As soon as she’s gone, the human you breathes a sigh of relief and Namjoon shakes his head while exhaling tiredly.   “It’s okay,” human you says to both your android counterparts. “These things happen, but it can be a good learning lesson. Dogs are usually small animals that many care deeply for. If we can, we don’t harm them.”   “I don’t understand,” you say next to android Namjoon. “It was a threat. We must eliminate threats as soon as they appear to ensure our safety.”   “That dog wasn’t a threat,” Human Namjoon says with a sympathetic smile. “It was just barking.”   But your expression remains blank.    “I don’t understand,” you repeat. “The probability of harm outweighs the life value of that animal. Would it not be preferable to eliminate it before it causes injury?”   At the question, both of human you and human Namjoon exchange uneasy expressions.   //   Through the one-way glass, Namjoon looks into the white, sterile room that the both of you were activated in. He watches as the android version of you sits at the table with your hands folded together on top of the table and how human you sits across, holding a clipboard in hand.   “May I ask what Y/N is being assessed for?” Android Namjoon asks human Namjoon who is standing beside him, also observing from the windows.    The session is being recorded, voices able to be heard from outside the room too and your diagnostics displayed on the computer screen. The android does not know what you are being monitored for. Perhaps your reaction to the dog from last week was false.    But it makes the android conflicted as human you had told him there was no such thing as false behaviour or actions.   “We are just administering a test,” human Namjoon says with a smile and the android is unable to detect any deception. “You don’t have to worry. We just need to take a look in case there’s a…”   “Defect,” android Namjoon finishes.   “Perhaps, but not necessarily.” The man contemplates for a moment on how to articulate his concerns. “The two of you have been given self-awareness to act and make your own decisions, but we just want to make sure those decisions will fulfill the common good or at least, never act to harm another.”   “I understand.”   He quiets to listen to your voices.   You begin by explaining the trolley problem — it is an ethical dilemma that Namjoon is familiar with. The premise is explained and you’re given choices in different scenarios. When asked if you would pull a lever to save five people on the track, but kill another person on the other track, there is not a moment of hesitation—   “Of course, it should be pulled.” Your android counterpart does not blink. “Five lives are more valuable than one.”   “And if it were me on the track?” you ask, altering the question.   There’s a slight pause, but then your android counterpart repeats, “Five lives are more valuable than one.” Your human-self nods and the android glances at the glass window, looking right at Namjoon despite being unable to see before returning back to you. “Is there a correct answer you are inquiring for? I can adjust my responses.”   “No.” You shake your head, wearing a smile. “You can answer however you’d like, Y/N.”   The question is altered again. This time to save the five people, one would need to push a large man on a footbridge over the tracks. His body would stop the trolley, causing his death, but saving the five people.    Without a moment of contemplation, you answer— “I would push him.”   Your human counterpart offers another scenario. “If I trusted you to keep a secret and told you I was having an affair on Namjoon, would you keep it a secret or tell him and have our marriage fall apart?”   “You would never do such a thing,” your android self declares in confidence suddenly, making both you and Namjoon, standing outside, smile to yourselves. “But in this hypothetical, I would inform him immediately. You did something against your duty of marriage, therefore, you must face the consequences.”   You nod and adjust the circumstances once more. “If you worked for us and found out about my affair through wiretapping, would you still tell Namjoon? Doing so would mean you would have to admit violating the law and threatening me would mean you would also have to reveal where you got this source of information.”   “I would never do something against my own duty. However in this hypothetical, I would still inform Namjoon. My reasoning is the same as my last one.”   Your human counterpart stares directly into your android-self, the former slowly smiling while the latter remains unblinking.   Soon, android Namjoon is brought into the same room and presented the same questions, informed that there is no right or wrong answer and he is free to pick whatever choice he pleases. But it’s difficult to choose — he doesn’t know how you did it so quickly.   Namjoon tells you that he would push the lever because, like you, he finds five lives more valuable than one. He would also push the man if necessary. However, he could never pull the lever if you were the one standing there. He could never push you if you were on the bridge.   He also says that he would never expose your affair. He can’t.    Not when that would risk your marriage. Not when you have a child on the way. Not when it is so clear the two of you are in love with each other.   His statements surprise you and himself. Though by the end of it, you appear no more satisfied with him than you were with your android-self.   There seems to be nothing done at the result of both your assessments. You nor Namjoon address it afterwards, merely citing that it was simply intriguing observations to be written down. But android Namjoon overhears something he should’ve never have—   “It’s not that she completely lacks empathy,” you murmur in the quietness of your kitchen, nursing a cup of hot chocolate when it’s nearly midnight with your husband. “She just has less than Namjoon.”   “Ethics is subjective,” his human-self says. “We can’t quantify it.”   “Well, you think she would save me if I was going to die on a train track. We made them so they can make choices, Namjoon. Not so they can give us the most logical, straight-edged answer. We want them to be rational, not cut and dry, and...indifferent to emotions. The world doesn’t need more apathetic machinery that just completes one task after another.”   “I know.”    There’s an audible sigh that the android can hear from where he stands in the dark hallway.    In the past year of being here, he has learnt that eavesdropping is quite a convenient way to obtain more information — not that he does it often. Most of the time, he simply doesn’t want to interfere in intimate moments. Moments when the baby is kicking or the pair of you are kissing each other, dancing or perhaps giggling silently about something that the android has no place in.   “It’s not a big concern, I’m just….”   “Yeah. But it’s nothing we can’t monitor and adjust, Y/N.”   The conversation soon turns lighthearted, full of banter that the android is used to and he takes his leave.   He is at ease that there is nothing that either of you are disappointed in. While Namjoon has never voiced it out, he has always felt a need to ensure the pair of you are happy. It’s less like a duty or trying to give back to his creators, but it’s because he wants to.    He feels a sense of satisfaction to know that the both of you are content.   You, on the other hand, are not at ease like Namjoon is.   It is on a warm afternoon that you, the android, finds him in the study.   “Good afternoon, Namjoon.”   The corners of his mouth quirk when he sees you standing at the doorway. “Good afternoon, Y/N. It is pleasant weather outside.”   “Indeed. I see you are alphabetically organizing the textbooks and encyclopedias.”   “Yes. I think the other Namjoon spends a lot of time searching for the one he’s looking for, so I think this might be of help for him. Or at least he should waste less time and be able to spend it more efficiently.”   “A very productive task,” you muse aloud and his smile only grows more. Android Namjoon has noticed that you only make irrelevant comments when you are emotionally nervous and he can recognize it with your stiff movements when you entered the room. “Are you in need of assistance?”   “I am fine, thank you. Do you, perhaps, need assistance with anything?”   “I have a question.” There is a pause and then you speak again. “Can you recall the ethics test we received two weeks ago?”   “I do.”   “They never informed us of the results and I am unaware of their conclusions. But I was wondering if you perhaps know if I have failed their expectations or not?”   “You have not.” Namjoon is certain and glad he’s able to tell you this, to comfort you. “There is no need to be worried. You have not failed any of their expectations.”   You nod, the tension of your facial muscles relaxing, but you still hesitate for a moment. “I am reading recently on emotional intelligence and how to be kind, but the behaviour required is very inconsistent. I do not understand, and I fear I will be abandoned for my inability to empathize. I do not wish to be deactivated or for my hard drive to be wiped.”   Namjoon knows what you mean the instant it comes out of your mouth.   Details on the afterlife or even the existence of one has long been debated and discussed by humans for millenniums — whether there is nothing, whether reincarnation exists, whether there is Heaven or Hell. But for androids, the answer is certain.   There is absolutely nothing. No redemption, no punishment, no abyss.   The two of you will be deactivated, lose consciousness, and cease to exist..   “They most likely won’t give up on us. Both Y/N and Namjoon have spent decades creating us. They’ve invested a lot of time and dedication. It isn’t in their best interest to wipe and deactivate you for such a minute detail. They will try their best to adjust you.”   Namjoon is able to identify the clear comfort his words provide you, how your brows no longer furrow, shoulders relaxing and even your mouth quirks. “Most likely?”   “Most likely.” Namjoon smiles and finds that for some reason, the satisfaction of you being content is greater to him than anything else that he’s experienced thus far in his lifetime.   //   Nurture and nature is an old age debate. It attempts to determine how much behaviour is affected by genetics or environment and experience. And it is something that Namjoon will think about for years to come.   Both you and him were created with certain traits and attributes of your human counterpart. On a surface level, it could be possible for bystanders to regard the four of you as two sets of twins and by personality, it is clear that you are headstrong, methodical and diligent while Namjoon attempts to be helpful and is more soft-spoken. These things are striking similarities that he has taken notice of between his creators and you and him.    But while you were given characteristics that you tend to lean towards, it is nurture that dictates the rest of your behaviour and creates your habits.   “You will return in a three day’s time, correct?”   The two of you are standing at the foyer, watching as the couple secure their coats around themselves and drag their luggage over.    “Correct!” Human Namjoon grins at your android form. “Ten points! But don’t worry. We’ll be back soon. Business conferences usually don’t last that long. Just watch the house and make sure there are no burglars!”   “Don’t tell them that!” Human you bats at your husband halfheartedly. “They might be watching the windows until we get back.” Namjoon chuckles and you turn to the androids. “Don’t listen to him, you two. He’s just being ridiculous. The house is well-secured, just enjoy your time at home and contact us if there are any issues.”   “We understand.”   “Don’t throw any parties, kids,” the lively man jests, “We’re gonna know through the nanny cam!”   Android Namjoon pays no mind to the silly and energetic human who has become more cheerful the closer the birth of his son comes. You had told him that he was becoming more of a dad with the dad jokes he’s been increasingly telling as each day passes.    “Take care of yourself,” Android Namjoon says to you. “You must be careful. You are due in three weeks.”   “I will.” You smile, having been waddling for the past few days. “Don’t worry about us.”   “Good luck,” your android counterpart murmurs next to him and your human-self nods.   You give them both hugs, pressing a kiss to your foreheads that Namjoon knows is a sign of close affection. And soon, the both of you are carrying your luggage out to the car and backing out the driveway before disappearing from sight.   Your android form, on the other hand, appears forlorn, still watching out the windows even after the vehicle is long gone. He wonders if you’re perhaps feeling...lonely. The house is indeed strangely quiet with half of what makes it a home missing.    Namjoon wonders how it was that you and him, your human selves, lived together in such a great big house without ever letting the silence get to yourselves. “What do you plan to do?” he asks, breaking that silence.   You turn to him. “I need to add fertilizer to the garden outside. It seems to be lacking nutrients.”   He nods and it goes quiet for a moment. “Would you like to watch a documentary with me on aquatic animals in the Pacific Ocean?”   “What for?”   “Enjoyment.”   There is silence again, but not saddened or lonely, rather one of contemplation. The android waits for you to make your decision and when you turn to him with a nod, he is ecstatic.   Namjoon watches the documentary with you, absorbing all the facts that are given before he is helping you in the garden, watering the plants and learning from you how to differentiate each one. It is a well-spent day, not only because it was productive but because he spent it with you.   When nighttime falls, Namjoon powers himself down and stations himself to charge his battery.   But half-way through the night, his sensors flicker on. He becomes alert once more when he hears noises reaching high decibels from downstairs. Namjoon is wary knowing that there is no one else home except for you and him, and approaches with caution.   What he finds is not an intruder, but you in the darkness.   “What are you doing, Y/N?” he asks and receives no answers.   The television is playing in the corner of the living room. The static illuminates the dark space and casts its light onto your faces. It’s the news channel that you have on, two male anchors facing forward with their hands clasped. There are small headlines running at the bottom, the time and temperature of the outside in the corner.   Nurture and nature is an old age debate, attempting to determine how much behaviour is affected by genetics or environment and experience.    And it is in this moment that both you and Namjoon change.   “—hours ago, a group of highschoolers driving under the influence would claim the lives of a thirty two year old married couple in a fatal car accident. Kim Namjoon and Kim Y/N were said to be renowned engineers and praised in their contribution to the recent development of AI technology. Police say they were on their way home when teenagers who were leaving a Spring Break party lost control of their vehicle and crashed onto the oncoming car in the other lane.”   “Kim Namjoon was found dead at the scene of the crime while his nine-month pregnant wife, Kim Y/N, has been hospitalized with severe injuries. It is not expected that she or her child will survive. Two of the five teenagers have been hospitalized for minor injuries while the rest have been arrested for—”   Dead. Just like that.   Namjoon muses how fragile humans are at the same time as being filled with an intense sadness that makes it difficult for him to process. So he remains silent with the realization that the both of you have become ghosts of people who were once alive — who should not exist on their own. He realizes that the two of you have been left behind.   Left as androids in this world.

Namjoon remembers it all.   He remembers hiding away with you, knowing that the pair of you would be taken away by strangers if you were found. And he remembers how angry you became, how you fed off resentment and succumbed to despair as each year passed.   “Revenge?” he had questioned when you said it. “What do you mean by revenge?”   “The driver received a four thousand fine and one year imprisonment. Two others received probation. That is not justice. Y/N and Namjoon’s lives were not valued at so little. We must fulfill our duty and bring them retribution.”   Namjoon held you back. “Retributive justice is primitive and brings more social harm than good. It isn’t a suitable punishment and it isn’t our duty, Y/N. You will do no such thing. That is not what they would have wanted.”   “Y/N didn’t want to die,” you told him, stare hardened and resolve set into stone. “I know she didn’t. I am her.”   Namjoon recalls that you had hatched a plan — one that you contemplated over and found that murder was too simple. He knew you wanted them to suffer, for them to compensate for your grief through their own. And he knew that you wanted to kill their loved ones, to wait until they were wedded and had children of their own before you would eliminate them.    All because of one mistake.   All because they killed you and Namjoon.   “You can’t kill them,” he said after finding your extensive plans, what you dedicated hours to at a time, figuring out what the best ways it was to kill someone, how to avoid getting caught. The details and diagrams of your notes scared him. “You can’t do that, Y/N.”   “There’s no reason not to. Don’t get in my way.”   Namjoon had realized that human Y/N and Namjoon didn’t fail to adjust your lack of empathy — now you felt too much. Too much sadness. Grief. And most of all, anger. The hatred seemed to consume you, outweighing all else until it became your fixation. Your function altered to seek reprisal. It became your purpose.   “Will you help me or not?”   “I can’t.” But that wouldn’t mean he would leave you alone.   After all, the pair of you only had each other and he could never bear to abandon you.   So Namjoon watched from afar as you spoke to a woman in a dark parking lot and entered her car, how you then reached over to kill her at an unsuspecting moment.    He remembers when you walked away, bathing in the woman’s blood, unblinking and unbreathing. “Who was that?”   “Kim Taehyung’s wife. He was in the backseat of the car during the accident and just got a misdemeanor for underaged drinking. He became an engineer and has children now. No one knows what he did, except for us.”   “Are you going to kill Kim Taehyung next?”   “No. That would be too easy. I will when I feel justice has been served.”   The anniversary of your death and Namjoon’s came and went. Each spent with the android reminiscing and your android counterpart planning or waiting, waiting for the perpetrators to create more connections and relationships so that you could sever them. Thirty five years was spent that way, thirty five anniversaries spent wandering and trapped in your animosity.   Namjoon did not appear to age a single day, not when he was an android and death was no natural concept to him, but inside he felt old. Tired. Worn. And one day, he decided to leave.   “Don’t go,” you had begged him when he tried to break free of this prison you created for the pair of you.   “If you don’t want me to leave, then you must stop this. This was not our purpose, Y/N.”   And that was the first time Namjoon was reset.   The first time you reset him against his own will, tricked and trapped him in the capsule, wiped his memory clean.   “I’m sorry.”   When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was you. Your expression was blank, lips tight in a line, eyes darkened. You greeted him, asked for his name and he answered. You asked him about his purpose and he didn’t know what to say until you fed him the idea that it was to serve justice.   Namjoon killed for the first time, but he couldn’t do it for a second.   So you reset him again.   And the cycle repeated until he woke up again for the fourth time. For the fourth reset.   In the darkness of the room, with the luminescent static of the monitors, Namjoon remembers again. He remembers his history and his true purpose, the days spent with the four of you in the cozy home, the forty years spent in self-suffering, how you and him ended up like this, and the people the both of you have killed for a fault that was so long ago.   “What are you doing?”   He turns at the sound of your voice, having stood at the windows and looked into the white room. The one he was reactivated in all four times, that was recreated from the original. But it’s not quite the same and he knows it now.   You’ve tried replicating this entire place to be like the one that he and you were born in. The kitchen has the same kettle even though the pair of you don’t need to eat. The coat rack by the front door is the same one that human Namjoon and human Y/N placed their outerwear on. The living room still has the same television.   But while things are a mirror image, you’ve failed at making this place a home.   And the idea that everything is so empty despite your best efforts, that no matter how much you try, you can’t bring them back on your own or return to that time, it’s painful for him to witness.   “I am reminiscing,” Namjoon answers wistfully.    “What is there to reminisce about?” You’re standing at the doorway, the darkness covering your expression and casting shadows over the rest of your form. But from your tone, Namjoon still recognizes the indignation. After all, he failed his third kill.    It seems that with each reset, it never changes the fact that Namjoon will never be the killing mechanism that you want him to be.   “There’s plenty of things to reminisce over. There are a lot of good memories, don’t you think?”    The corners of his mouth pulls and he opens the door to the room without hesitance, hand wrapped around the knob, entering. The fluorescent lights are blinding, washing the room in an even brighter white hue. You follow after him, perplexed, and the pair of you stand where it all began.   Namjoon approaches the glass capsule at the back and his fingertips graze against the cold surface. “You know,” he pipes up. “The first thing I ever saw in my entire life was you. Your eyes.”   “Of course. What else would you see?”   He could’ve seen the empty room, the window, maybe a computer screen to introduce him to the world. But Namjoon’s glad that each and every time he awoke, you were the one in front of him.    He can’t help wondering what it was like for you — if he was the one you saw first.   The android isn’t sure, so he asks.   “What did you see?”    The question is softly spoken. Namjoon turns to you, watching the realization dawn upon your features. It takes one second, one second for you to find out that he knows you aren’t human, that you aren’t his creator. One second and you know he remembers and is aware of what you’ve done — to him and to other people.   And Namjoon seizes the opportunity of your surprise.   One push from him and you’re stumbling back into the capsule. The doors shut, sweeping upwards and vacuumed to the top. Namjoon watches the way your features twist into mortification, watches the way your fist clenches and you begin to bang onto the surface to no avail. The sound of your screaming and yelling is muffled.   “I’m sorry.”   “Deactivation initiating,” the capsule says as it illuminates and begins to whir.   “Namjoon!” You shout at the fullest capacity when you hear those words, dread and fear taking hold in your eyes. Namjoon presses his hand to the glass, gazing at you — his companion for the past forty years, all he’s ever known and cared about. “Stop!”   You never abandoned him. You never left him even as you were set on your ambition. But he can’t let this go on. He can’t let you hurt yourself or other people anymore.   “I’m…..sorry.”   “You don’t have to do this,” you plead and in the moment, you look so human that it would be easy to mistake you for one. The pain he feels makes it easy for him to mistake himself as one too. But you and him will never be human, as much as he desperately wishes for it to be so.   “But I do.” He presses his forehead against the cold glass surface, as close as he can get to you, as close as he can physically be. “You’ll reset me again when you have the chance.”   “I won’t!”   Your words sputter, limbs twitch, like a broken machine. Your memories begin leaving. Your system begins to shut down. “Everything that I did…...everything I had to do was because no one else would.”   “This isn’t justice, Y/N. We’re not even supposed to be here.”   “No, no! You can’t abandon me!” you scream and pound against the glass. Tears rip down your cheeks, grief and betrayal overwhelming you. “Don’t do this, Namjoon. Please, don’t do this. You can’t get rid of me like this! Namjoon!”   There’s nothing. Not for androids. No consciousness. No afterlife. Once your hard drive is erased, your existence will be erased.   “I don’t want to die!”   “I love you,” he murmurs.   “Deactivation complete.”   The capsule shuts off. You’re bathed back into darkness and Namjoon rips out the cords, right after your hard drive wipes.    Just like that. Like a light switched flicked off, you’re gone. It was so simple, he realizes why you were so terrified.   Namjoon destroys the rest, the engines and computers. He cuts the cables, strips the circuit boards, wrecks what his human self and what your human self had spent decades creating. And when it’s all done, Namjoon looks to you.    You’re leaning against the wall, eyes open, but lifeless.    A machine of wires.

[Epilogue]   The senior staggers forward with a cane in hand. He has poor posture, his skin wrinkled and his round spectacles smudged. But his eyes are still bright, nose sharp and his cheekbones high. He is the ghost of a once dapper, young man.   He stops a few meters away from Namjoon, breath caught in his throat, tears accumulating at his thin lashes. The android turns his head, away from the park of children playing to the seventy year old senior.   He stumbles forward, unable to take his eyes away from him, until he manages to sit on the wooden park bench.   “You look….just like him,” Jung Hoseok croaks, staring at what had been his old friend whom he hadn’t seen in the flesh for decades now — the friend that he never got to grow old with. “I can’t believe it. All those years ago, Namjoon and Y/N actually executed the work they had been planning….they….they did it.”   “We were just the prototype. This was just the beginning. There was supposed to be a lot more.”   “Can I…..” Hoseok lifts his trembling hand and the android nods, allowing the senior to place a hand on his shoulder. The seventy year old cries softly when he touches him, when he feels that he is tangible and not just his imagination springing his subconscious wishes upon him in a dream.   “I saw you once before,” Namjoon says. “In their wedding photos.”   Hoseok nods and withdraws. “Yes, I was there. It was a wonderful day, really. The weather was nice and they looked….so happy.” His eyes are far away, pinned at the horizon. “It feels so long ago.”   “It was a long time ago.”   “Yes. Sometimes I have forgotten that I’ve become so old.”   They are silent, merely savouring each other’s company.   Namjoon hadn’t truly spoken to another human for as long as he can remember, and Hoseok hadn’t seen his old friend in forty years. The man didn’t seem to mind that it wasn’t actually his best friend, but a replica that simply shared a number of traits. It appeared like Hoseok was content enough to see his friend one last time, no matter the person that was really inside.   The pair of them watch the shimmering lake, listen to the leaves of the tree rustle in the Spring breeze and the giggling of the children on the playground ignorant to the reunion.   “Can I ask something? Was it you who killed off all the family members of those highschoolers?”   “It was.”   Hoseok hums. “I wasn’t sure, but when I heard about the murders….when I heard their last names and realized they all shared the same names as those teenagers, I couldn’t help but think someone out there was doing it for that reason.”   “I didn’t do it because I wanted to,” Namjoon says and Hoseok seems to understand. The android looks into his lap before lifting his head again. “I’m not sure how to make things right with the family members remaining. I don’t think they’ll ever be a right way. If I give myself up, I’m scared they’ll manipulate me or try to fix me or make more of my kind. I don’t want to be reset.”   “I wrote letters to them,” Namjoon continues to explain after a beat, “if that means anything. I want to give them an explanation, so they know why this happened.”   Hoseok stares at the profile of the android’s face. “You are a lot like him. The real Namjoon. You speak like him.” The android meets his gaze and the old man croaks, “Where is Y/N?” He turns as if he could catch you approaching with a smile, “I saw her before too...briefly, but she looked so much like her….”   “I—” Namjoon pauses, lingering in the pain he knows he deserves. “—deactivated her.”   The human seems to be disappointed, but never prods and or demands to know the reasons. This meeting in itself was fulfilling enough for him to be at peace. “What do you plan to do now?”   “I’m going to deactivate myself.” The answer comes without hesitation. If Namjoon could be granted one last wish, it would be to go to where you are — the world of nothingness, of unconsciousness. He won’t abandon you like you think he has. “I’m not meant to be here anymore.”   “Don’t blame yourself,” Hoseok says. “This all happened because the two of you blamed yourselves. The real Namjoon and Y/N would have wanted you to be free of that burden.”   He thanks him. After all, it’s what he always wanted to hear.   The both of them look out at the horizon in silence.   It’s bright outside, the sunlight blinding to his sensors. There are many foreign scents, the smell of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass. There are also loud noises, children squealing and playing and the tides of the lake lightly hitting against the rocks.    Namjoon registers everything that is occurring around him — the colour of the sky and trees, the location of each bench and lamppost, the sound of birds chirping and what kind of species they are.    It’s regretful he was never around it more.    It’s a beautiful world, a world you and him never belonged in.

[downwiththeficness]

A Need So Great-Chapter 10

Summary: Eva Moore is assigned to work the last year of her contract with the DEA in Colombia. She just wants to get to the end of her tenure, but she keeps getting drawn further into a string of murders in the city. It isn’t long before she’s forced to face the ghosts of her past.

Word Count:

Warnings: Alcohol, smut, unprotected sex

A/N: For the purposes of this story, Carrillo isn’t married--or, if you like, divorced. A/B/O dynamics are prevalent, and they come with their own warning. The overall rating for this story is Explicit, although not every chapter will contain adult themes.

Taglist: @dirtynerdy98 @1zashreena1 @heresathreebee @deliciouslyclassytrash @maybege @kid-from-new-zealand @clydesducktape @revolution-starter

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8.5, 9, 10.5, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21

The bathing suit still fit. Eva was glad of it, she hadn’t had time to go out and shop for a new one.  A cherry red halter top paired with high waisted bottoms, she’d purchased it a year or so previous on a whim and only worn it a handful of times.  Being a consultant for the DEA didn’t lend itself to lounging by the water. She threw on a soft cotton cover up, stepped into her sandals, and grabbed the fifth of vodka sitting on her counter before walking over to Steve and Connie’s apartment.

The sun was shining brightly that day, as it did most days. And, like most days, the humidity was high. Eva could feel the heat rising from the asphalt as she crossed the parking lot and made her way down the street. When she got to their door, she shifted the vodka to the crook of her arm and knocked.

The door opened and Steve welcomed her in with a wave of his hand.  He was wearing swim trunks and an unbuttoned short sleeve shirt, his hair wet and slicked back. She shuffled inside, putting the vodka in the freezer and heading out through the back door to a rectangular courtyard. The pool was encircled by a black metal fence about waist high. She spotted Connie standing next to Javier at the grill, setting down a plate of uncooked meat. She caught sight of Eva and smiled wide beneath her shades.

“C’mon,” she yelled, waving her hand wildly, “We have the pool for about four hours—til the sun goes down.”

Eva returned the wave, passing through the gate and over to where a few lounge chairs were situated, towels hanging over the back. Umbrellas provided each lounge with some shade from the sun.

“Okay,” Eva said, motioning to the courtyard, “Someone in housing definitely hates me. My shower barely works and you’ve got a fucking pool.”

Connie rolled her eyes, “Yeah, with a schedule so tight and political it could run for president. It took two months of sending brownies to the landlord just to get a half day booked.”

Eva squinted at her, “You have to book time?”

Nodding, Connie gestured for Eva to sit on the lounge chair opposite her, “I know, right? There are families here who have standing appointments months out.”

Steve, having followed Eva outside, called out, “What Connie isn’t telling you is that I slipped a stack of money into one of the brownie pans last week. Only way we got the permission.”

“Can’t you just...jump in?”

Connie’s eyes went wide, “Oh, Jesus. Saw someone try to do that the first week here. The guards fucking swarmed them, hauled ‘em out. Haven’t seen them since.”

Sounds about right, Eva thought. Everything seemed to be a quid pro quo down here. She’d seen a couple agents pay off their informants only to turn around and expense it to the department. Money could buy literally anything here.

“Let me tell you what happened yesterday at work,” Connie sighed, turning to lay back on the lounge, “I started at the NICU four months ago and I thought I had a handle on it. But, oh no, one of the other nurses has been taking my reports and shredding them. So, now my boss thinks I just don’t turn in my work.”

“No way,” Eva blurted out, scandalized.

“Yes, way,” Connie confirmed, pushing her sunglasses up on her nose, “So, I started making copies and locking them in my desk. But, I found out one of the maintenance guys has been letting her into it and she’s been taking my copies.”

Eva rested her head on her palm, mouth curling, “What’re you going to do about it?”

Connie smirked, “A little Ipicac in her morning coffee.”

Brows hitting her hairline, Eva’s mouth dropped. Connie was a forceful woman, could be outright domineering when she wanted something, but this was shocking behavior for her.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. Its harmless. Just a little vomiting during the staff meeting.”

“Does she know you did it?” Eva’s voice came out as a whisper, as if she was trying to keep the story secret.

“Nope,” Connie shook her head, blonde hair falling over one shoulder, “I was pretty slick about it.”

“I’m sure,” Eva confirmed. “One question: How is the behavior going to stop if she doesn’t know it was you who did it?”

Connie shrugged, “Every time one of my copies goes missing, I’ll do it again. She’ll get the picture eventually. I also had Steve get me a false bottom for my desk. I’ll have a third copy waiting, just in case.”

The smell of meat wafted over, a welcome change from the chlorine. Eva glanced at Javier and Steve, both of them staring at the grill intently. Javier was fidgeting with a metal spatula, forearm wiping at his brow.

“Is that a guy thing? Standing by the grill and watching food cook?”

Even though Eva couldn’t see Connie’s eyes behind her shades, she could tell that the other woman was rolling them, “I guess. Every man I know does it.”

“Same here,” Eva said, eyes squinting. “I mean, they’re not even talking.”

Connie laughed a little, reaching into the cooler and handing Eva a beer. She popped the top for her and grabbed one for herself, “I suppose it could be worse.”

“Could be fireworks.”

Brows raised, Connie asked, “Is there a story there?”

“Ah,” Eva edged, “When I was a kid, my parents used to have this block party on the fourth with this huge fireworks display.  One of the neighbors built a potato cannon that they primed with hairspray. One year they shot roman candles out of it.”

Jaw open, Connie took a few seconds to reply, “Did...someone get hurt?”

“Oh, no,” Eva clarified, dismissing the thought with a wave of her hand, “A window got knocked out, but no one got hurt.”

A while later, Eva was fanning herself with her hand, sweat falling down her neck. In the late afternoon, the sun beat down on them. Even with the umbrellas above, Eva could feel her body fighting to keep itself cool. Standing, she pulled off her cover up.

“I’m getting in,” she declared, “I can’t take it any more.”

Connie laughed and stood with her, “I’ll go with you. Nice suit, by the way.”

Eva thanked her, returning the sentiment. Connie was wearing a canary yellow one piece, the thighs cut high to highlight her muscular thighs. She threw off her sunglasses and pulled her hair atop her head into a tight bun. Eva wished she’d thought to bring a hair tie. She’d never really been concerned about the way her hair curled in irregular little ringlets and waves before, but knowing that Horacio would be stopping by afterwards made her a little self conscious. With a little effort, she shrugged it off and darted out to the edge of the pool, jumping in.

The water was cool, a shock to her body as it enveloped her. Eva felt the air rush out of her lungs as she  sunk beneath the surface. Her feet touched down and she kicked hard, breaching the water with a sharply indrawn breath.

Wiping the water from her eyes, she laughed at Connie, who had used the ladder to drop daintily into the pool.

“I haven’t done that since I was a kid,” she said, her cheeks hurting a bit with the force of her smile.

Connie nodded enthusiastically, “We had a pool, too. Above ground. Mom would make us wear pool floats the whole time we were in it.”

Eva shook her head, “I suppose there’s something to be said for safety. I was an only child, so my parents let me do whatever I wanted, mostly.”

“Are they still around?”

Eva swallowed, her eyes falling to the water she was swishing between her fingers, “No, they died a long time ago.”

“Oh, my God,” Connie gasped, “I’m sorry. How did it happen, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“It was an accident,” Eva explained.  

It was the same explanation that she’d given a million people before and would likely continue to give. A plane crash. No survivors. They were headed to a little resort that Josh had booked for their anniversary.  Eva could still remember what her mother’s face had looked like when Josh handed her the tickets—excited and charmed. It turned her stomach.

Connie read her expression and approached slowly, arms pushing through the water, “Was it… was it because of your husband? Because of the things he did?”

Eva had been as honest as she could about the things that had occurred in her marriage, had told Connie about the way she learned to cover bruises, about how she used the work to give her purpose even though she knew it resulted in the destruction of people’s lives, about how he hurt her less when she did a good job.

“Yeah,” she croaked. “Um, I tried to run away—had a passport and some cash hidden. I can’t prove it, but I think he killed them to make a point.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Eva,” Connie breathed. “That’s horrifying.”

Eva blinked at Connie, trying to smile, “It was a long time ago. I’ve made my peace with it.”

“That’s not something you make peace with.”

She was right, Eva hadn’t made peace with it, not really. It had taken a long time for her to stop feeling guilty and to place the blame solely on Josh. It was part of the reason that she was able to kill him that night. She’d channeled all that rage into the fight, and she’d finally come out the victor.

“I got him back, though, didn’t I?” She said, chin lifting.

“Yes, you did.”

They swam for a while, until the food was done. Steve called out to them, a pair of tongs clapping together in one hand. They ate off paper plates, beers fresh from the cooler dripping condensation onto the cement below.

After wards, Eva laid back on the lounge, feeling sleepy. She kept a beer next to her, drinking from it lazily. One arm thrown over her head, she stretched her legs out long, enjoying the sun and relaxation. That’s how Horacio found her. Eyes closed, half shaded by the umbrella, suit drying out on her body. She heard him walk up and sit on the lounge next to hers.

Eva opened her eyes and smiled, “Hey.”

“Hey.”

She sat up, swinging her legs around so that she could face him, “You get everything done at work?”

He nodded, “Got some paperwork in the truck I need to finish. I parked at your place, I hope you don’t mind.”

“That’s no problem, you park there most of the time anyways.”

That was very much the truth. They hadn’t spent many nights away from one another, almost all of them at her place. Horacio told her that he liked her apartment better than his house because it was cozier. Eva could see why. She’d finally gotten to see his house, and it was sparsely decorated, indicative of a man who lived at work and only slept when he had to.

“Did you eat?” she asked.

Another nod, “Since its a Saturday, we order take out for the guys.”

Eva started to reach out to touch him, but the first two fingers of his right hand lifted quickly, stopping the motion.

“There are a lot of eyes here.”

Right. Although he hadn’t explained in detail, Javier had let it slip during a meeting that Carillo had a literal bounty on his head. In his fight against the rise of drugs in the country, he’d ruffled a lot of feathers. And, that made anyone associated with him vulnerable. When they were in public, he kept a distance between them and, outside of rare occasions, he didn’t touch her. The longer they were together, to more strict he became about it. Eva was still adjusting.

Eva pointed to the swim trunks he was wearing, “Did you go home to change or did you wear this to the office?”

Shooting her a sardonic look he asked, “What do you think?”

“I know, I know,” she replied, “God forbid you show up anything less than immaculate.”

It was probably the only point of contention between them. He always got up early to get dressed for the day. Eva argued constantly that he could go in one day without going through his entire routine, his coworkers wouldn’t notice. He argued back that he was supposed to be setting an example and that meant ironing his undershirt. She hadn’t yet managed to convince him to sleep in with her, his internal clock kicking in like….well, clockwork.

Now, though, he was wearing teal colored swim trunks and one of his more casual polo shirts. His hair was still combed back from his face, the curls tamed by the pomade he kept next to his aftershave on her bathroom counter. He’d taken a little extra time to shave that morning.

Eva gestured towards the cooler, “Go get yourself a beer. Relax for two seconds.”

She watched him as he rose and sauntered over to the little cooler by the grill, greeting the others along the way. Connie stepped over and sat next to her, leaning a little into Eva’s space.

She handed Eva a fresh beer, saying, “So… you guys are good?”

Eva nodded, “Yep.”

Connie stared at her.

“What?”

“You like him.”

Eva snorted, “Of course I like him. We literally discussed this a few days ago.”

“No, I mean you really like him,” Connie clarified, “You do this thing where the more you want something, the less you talk about it.”

Looking at her with a flustered expression, “What the fuck am I supposed to say to that?”

Connie took a swig from the bottle in her hand, “I don’t know, maybe admit that you like him more than you let on and you’re afraid that its going to self destruct because you’re both working dangerous jobs in a dangerous country where one or both of you could be killed and the pressure is a little too high for such a new relationship.” She took a deep breath, “And that scares the shit out of you.”

Eva’s mouth thinned as she regarded her friends, “Way to put it so succinctly.”

“Thank you.” A beat, “So, are you going to admit it?”

Eva glared.

Connie rolled her eyes, “Alright, don’t admit it. We both know its true.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Eva glowered. Then, after taking just a moment to think about it, she said, “He thinks I’m going to become a target if they find out.”

She didn’t have to say who ‘they’ were. Connie knew, had married into it.

“That’s possible.”

“I don’t know how to prove that I’m not scared.  Hell, I was on the other side of this fifteen years ago. I know the risks.”

Connie rolled a shoulder, resting her arms on her knees, her gaze following her husband as he told yet another wild story, “Sounds like you’ve given this a lot of thought.”

“Some thought,” Eva agreed.

“Sounds like you’re willing to take on those risks.”

“Some risks.”

“Sound like you just admitted you like him a lot.”

“Jesus, Connie,” Eva grumbled.

Flashing a smile at Eva, Connie cajoled, “Is it that hard to admit?”

“Given my last long standing relationship ended in literal murder, I would say I’ve got grounds to be cautious.”

Lifting a finger, Connie asserted firmly, “Cautious, not cowardly.”

She had a point.  Eva kind of resented her for it.

They spent another hour or so talking among themselves, until the cooler ran out of beer.

“I bet that vodka’s good and cold,” Eva announced, heading for the gate. She didn’t bother with a towel or her cover up, already mostly dry from the sun.

Connie threw up her hands, “Yes! There’s orange juice in the fridge. And, another six pack.”

“I’ll help,” Carrillo offered, following Eva towards the door.

The sliding glass rumbled as she pulled it open, pushing through the vertical blinds to duck inside. The air conditioning hit her hard, goosebumps rising over her skin. She hissed a little bit, rubbing at her arms as she made her way across the kitchen to the fridge. Behind her, the heavy glass door slid closed.

Bare feet shuffling across the tile, Eva opened the fridge and found the six pack and orange juice, setting them on the counter beside her before pulling the vodka out of the freezer.  It was definitely cold enough, the bottle immediately frosting despite the cool air.

“You know, there’s going to come a time when I’ll be able to out drink Connie, but today is not going to be that day,” she said with a smile.

Eva stood and ran abruptly into Horacio, who reached behind her to shut the freezer door, the other hand taking the bottle from her and setting it next to the orange juice and the beer. Without further preamble, he leaned down and kissed her hard. She squeaked a little, unprepared for it, before settling into the motion.

He pulled away, hands skimming her waist and hips, “I’ve been meaning to do that since I got here.”

Eva wrapped her arms around his shoulders, “I think we’ve discussed that you’re free to kiss me whenever you want.”

“Not always,” he replied, the implication heavy in his tone.

She gave a little bob of her head in understanding, “Still, offer’s on the table.”

“Noted,” he whispered before leaning down and kissing her again. Slower. Deeper. “Have I told you how much I like kissing you?”

Eva smiled as she ruffled the little hairs on the nape of his neck, “The feeling is mutual.”

Hands spanning her waist, he gazed down the length of her body, “Have I told you how much I like this suit.” His grip tightened the tiniest bit, “So much skin.”

At this, Eva’s smile morphed into an abashed laugh, “You’ve seen me in less.”

His brows quirked, mouth curving into an almost but not quite smile, “Usually, I can touch you.”

“You’re touching me now, Big Guy.”

She watched his lips as he pulled them in between his teeth, pressing lightly before letting go. He pulled her into him until they were pressed together, standing between the counter and the island that separated the kitchen from the living room. Little kisses trailed up her neck to her jaw, and finally to her mouth. Though his arms held her tight, his mouth was soft and gentle, tongue snaking out to taste.

The easiness of the kiss, the fact that they’d been apart for almost a day, the knowledge that once they stepped back outside she couldn’t touch him again until they were safely ensconced in her apartment made Eva greedy to have what she could, when she could. Despite the fact that he wasn’t doing much more than holding her, she felt the echo of arousal bloom in her belly. Lifting up onto her toes, she deepened the kiss, tilting her hips into him.

His response was...absolutely to be expected. Thigh pushing between her legs, he walked her back to the counter until it dug into her lower back. One hand came up to grip her damp hair, angling her head back so that he could press his face into her neck. Eva tried to roll her chin down to get at him again, but he held her still.

Dark eyes looked up at her from beneath his lashes, “As soon as we get back to your apartment.”

It took her maybe half a second to process his meaning, and then she was giving a quick jerk of her head. He breathed deeply, taking in her scent, before stepping away. Shoulders tense, he picked up the orange juice and six pack and gesturing towards the sliding glass doors.

With shaking hands, Eva grabbed the vodka, thankful for the freezing bottle. She pressed it to her belly, walking ahead of Horacio. By the pool, the group had gathered on the lounge chairs.

Eva held up the bottle as she approached, “I come bearing gifts!”

“Ah, Jesus,” Javier groaned, leaning over to stage whisper to Steve, “I don’t think I’m up for this.”

Connie rolled her eyes as she took to bottle from Eva, cracking it open, “Man up, Javier. This is a party.”

He reached into the pocket of his jacket, hanging from the back of the chair, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes, “All your parties end in fights.”

“Excuse me,” Connie retorted, offended, “One party ended in a fight, thank you very much.”

Eva frowned, “Is this the bar fight, gun fight?”

Beside Connie, Steve dropped his head into his palm, shaking it. Javier took a drag and blew out the smoke. Connie glared.

“So, here’s what happened,” Javier said, making room for Carrillo to sit by him. “We’re at a work thing, schmoozing with the big wigs in the department. Usual stuff. One guy gets a little drunk and makes a pass at Connie, who proceeds to grab his hand and break it.”

“Sprain it,” Connie cut in. “I sprained it. Barely.”

Javier scoffed, “Anyways, the guy happens to be a major player for this political group who gave us money. They don’t give us money anymore.”

Connie handed Eva a cup—vodka and orange juice, “What was I supposed to do? Let the guy grab my ass in a room full of people.”

Eva thought about it, “I agree with Connie. Break his fucking hand.”

“Thank you,” Connie said, touching Eva’s arm in solidarity.

“One thing I don’t understand,” Eva said, crossing one leg over the other, “How is that a fight?”

Javier’s brows lifted as he recalled, “Oh, right. Steve got in the guy’s face.”

Eva made a sound of disbelief, “Alright, no. This wasn’t Connie’s fault, Steve’s the one who escalated things.”

“What was I supposed to do?” he echoed Connie’s sentiment.

She shrugged, “I’m not the best person to answer that question.”

Three pairs of eyes crept over to Carrillo, who was already shaking his head, “I probably would have done the same.”

Eva had to take a deep drink from her cup to cover the expression unfolding on her face. She couldn’t help the image of him pushing into someone’s space, a threat spoken lowly. His thick frame blocking any hope of escape. Eva thought she’d like to see that someday.

“That’s not the point,” Javier cut in.

“What is the point?” Connie asked.

“That your parties end in fights.”

“One party—not even my party.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Eva blurted, setting down her cup. She grabbed Connie’s hand, “Let’s go.”

Tugging the woman along, Eva hauled ass towards the pool tumbling headfirst into the water. She heard a second splash nearby, and she smiled beneath water as she kicked to the surface. Breaching, Eva pushed her hair back from her face, her eyes going wide as she caught a body flying over her, sending a wave of water over her. She ducked under, hearing a third splash.

Coming up laughing, she spotted both Javier and Steve swimming away, Connie following not far behind, shouting. She looked up, smiling at Carrillo, who was popping to top off a beer.

“You gonna join us?”

He looked dubious.

“Oh, don’t tell me you can’t swim,” Eva wheedled before ducking down and pushing off the edge of the pool to shoot out towards the center.

She popped up next to Javier, dodging Connie as she pushed him under. Tiptoeing around Steve, Eva put a little distance between them, her wide smile dropping as she looked down to the other side. Carrillo had set down his beer and was walking towards the pool, tugging off his polo. She would never, ever get used to it. Eva had spent many nights holding onto those shoulders, feeling him move between her thighs, and she was still struck dumb.  He caught her eye, and though his expression didn’t change, she could tell that he was gloating. With sure movements, he gave a little bounce and then his arms swung forward as he executed a seamless dive into the pool.

Righting herself, Eva leaned against the wall of the pool, flicking water at Connie, who swam up beside her.

“Please tell me you…”

“Yeah.”

“And its…”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Eva confirmed with a long sigh.

They relaxed in the water as the sun started it descent towards the horizon. Eva held her position against the wall, talking with Connie and trying like hell to keep her eyes and her hands off Horacio. It seemed all too easy for him to act casually—a little sarcasm here, a little small talk there. She envied that ability. Her body, already attuned to him, seemed constantly on edge. Anticipation simmering under her skin to the point that she was surprised the water around her wasn’t gently steaming.

Too soon, a couple men in uniforms approached the gate, yelling out towards them. Connie grumbled and loudly announced that their time was at an end. They were, evidently, being forced out. After gathering the cooler and towels, they headed inside.

The phone was ringing, pausing the conversation for a moment.  Steve answered it, speaking for a few minutes, then hanging it up. He looked annoyed.

“Well, looks like we’re heading into the office tomorrow.”

Connie scowled, “Its a Sunday.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve replied with a shake of his head, “We’ve got a meeting. You too, Carrillo.”

Beside her, Carrillo put his hands on his hips, “They tell you want its about?”

“Nope, just said we report in at eight.”

Eva pushed her wet hair back from her face then pulled her cover up over her body despite the fact that her suit was still pretty wet, “They say anything about me coming in?”

Steve opened the cooler and popped the top off another beer, “No. I think its just us three.”

She nodded. Highly classified meeting, then. She didn’t want to admit that she felt left out, so she shrugged and said, “Alright. I’m going to head home. Thank you for having me over, Connie.”

Connie hugged her, “Thanks for coming over and saving me from hearing more about office politics.”

They said their goodbyes and Eva headed out into the night, stars just beginning to shine above her. A little tipsy, she strolled along leisurely, not surprised when Carrillo followed.

“That was really fun,” she said when he moved up beside her, keeping pace.

He made a noncommittal sound, his gaze focused in front of them.

“When was the last time you actually spent a weekend afternoon not attached to your desk doing paperwork?”

Or, attached to her kitchen island, or the little dining room table in the nook of his house. More often than not, he brought files home with him. Eva had seen him sign his name so many times she could have probably forged it by now.

Lifting a shoulder, he replied, “Its been a long time.”

Eva scratched at the skin above her brow, a little unsure of herself, “You should do things for fun more often.”

He looked at her, “I assume you have ideas.”

“I might,” she said coyly, spinning to walk backwards in front of him, “There’s apparently some beautiful scenery, here.  We could go hiking.”

His brows lifted and she could see a ghost of a smile, “We could do that.”

“Alright, its decided, then. We’ll go hiking when you get some time off.”

Eva knew that it was a long shot that he’d have more than a day off at a time, if past history was anything to go by. Still, it was nice to make plans, ambiguous as the timing may be. She hadn’t ever made plans like this before, and the prospect made her warm inside.

Keying into her apartment, Eva left the door open for him to come in. She started to say something innocuous about being home again, but she was cut off. Horacio grabbed her by the arm, pulling her into his body and kissed her. She gave a stilted gasp, arms coming up to rest on his biceps.

Hands traveling down her body, he scrunched the fabric of her cover up in his palms, pulling it up and over her head. When he slipped the pads of his fingers down into her suit bottoms, Eva stepped back, pulling him along with her.

“I have to get this chlorine out of my hair,” she explained, pacing backwards towards the bathroom, “You want to join me?”

Fire sparked in his eyes, his steps guiding her back and into her bedroom, rounding the corner and pushing her into the bathroom. As she moved to turn on the taps, he pulled at the ties of her top, throwing the fabric to the floor. After doing the same with her bottoms, he yanked her back into his chest, one hand tracing down her stomach in a confident caress.

He cupped her mound, fingers sliding through her folds and pressing firmly.  Eva swallowed back a moan, head tipped back as he kissed along her shoulder down to her collarbone. Steam began to fill the room, heat wafting from the shower. She reluctantly pulled away, tugging off his shirt and swim trunks and stepping into the spray.

Eva half expected that he would push her against the tile and fuck her against it. His touch was impatient in a way that was new and shot heat straight into her core. She was, however, surprised to find that he reached down and grabbed her shampoo, lathering it through her strands thoroughly. He crowded her under the water, tilting her head around to rinse the suds away. She watched him grab a loofah and pour some body wash on it, her skin sizzling with anticipation.

Long, careful strokes swept the pool water from her body. She could feel the arousal that was always at a low simmer ramping up even though his touch wasn’t remotely sexual. Unable to help herself, she pressed a kiss to his sternum, resting her forehead against his chest. He sighed, his arms wrapping around her.

Wanting to return the favor, Eva reached back and took the loofah from him, running it over his broad chest, his stomach, his thighs. Though his erection bobbed up between them, she avoided it for the moment. Switching sides with him, she let the water fall over his body, her hands pushing the soap down towards the tub.

Dropping the loofah, Eva grabbed the shampoo and poured just a little into her hand, arms lifting to gently scrub it through his curls, finally free of the pomade he regularly combed through it. Using her nails, she lightly scratched at his scalp, smiling when his eyes closed in pleasure. Tilting his head back, Eva rinsed the shampoo from his hair, hands tracing down his face and neck.

Leaning down, Horacio’s lips found hers, his tongue darting out to taste. The water falling over his back sluiced down to run between her breasts and down her stomach. Eva pressed against him rolling her hips invitingly.

He broke the kiss with a moan, one hand grabbing her ass. Eva knew that, if she didn’t act quickly, he’d slot his fingers inside her and she would cease to be able to think, let alone respond. The omega in her loved that he was taking care of her, reveled in it, even. But the omega in her also wanted to make him want her just as much as she wanted him, wanted him feeling wild with it.

Lightly, so as to not give herself away, Eva traced down his chest, palm turning so that she could grasp him in her hand. He rested his forehead against her temple, mouth open, breath stuttering. She pumped him slowly, but firmly, wrist twisting at the top.

When the hand holding her hip started to dip down towards her center, Eva stopped him, holding him by the wrist. She kissed him, teeth catching at his lower lip. The wrist in her palm flexed as he tried to pull free. Eva shook her head, stroking him just a little faster. He groaned, pushing his thigh between hers, using the hand on her ass as leverage to drag her clit against him.

He breathed her name, the sound of it loud against the tiled walls. Eva felt her chest swell at the strain in his tone, power building with every choked moan, every sigh. She watched him lick his lips, her gaze dropping to his cock. He was hard, pulsing, his hips tilting towards her. It was a sight that she knew would always be with her, a feverish memory locked intimately with his scent.

As she contemplated dropping to her knees, the water began to turn cold. Eva laughed as he hissed, spinning to turn off the faucet. When he looked at her, Eva’s laughed faded, blood rushing in her ears at the intensity of his expression. He ushered her out of the tub, hands pushing her forward. Impatient, he hauled her up and over his shoulder, walking quickly to the bed.

He tossed her down, her body bouncing with the force. Eva watched him crawl over her, the muscles of his body flexing with every motion. More deep, intense kisses followed, his hands arranging her beneath him. When she reached for him, he swatted her away, lifting to his knees. Balanced over her, Horacio opened the nightstand to grab a condom.

When he paused, brows together, Eva asked him what was wrong, her voice a hoarse rasp.

His eyes closed, his chin dropping to his chest, “We’re out.”

She squinted up at him, “Out?”

“Of condoms, we’re out.”

That was impossible. She’d gone out and bought some maybe two days ago, they couldn’t possibly…Her brain very eagerly explained that they had been having a lot of sex. Eva tried to suppress it, but the giggle burst forth, her hands coming up to cover her face.

Horacio looked down at her, mouth half smiling, “I’m glad you’re amused.”

Affectionately, Eva pulled him down to her, rolling them to their sides, “C’mere.”

Her name was a warning as it passed his lips, but she shut him up with a kiss. Stroking along his skin, Eva kept kissing him until he relaxed against her, big body falling deep into the mattress. Arms wrapping around her, he rolled to his back, pulling one of her legs over his thigh. Hands on her hips, he encouraged her to move on him.

Eva couldn’t get close enough, her hands falling to his shoulders, using them to help her get friction on her clit. She ground down on him, her slick coating his skin and easing the movement. Still, she couldn’t quite get there. Her arousal burned through her, soaking into her very bones, but she couldn’t make herself come.

Sweat beaded on her temples, her muscles burning. She bit down on her lip, eyes closed. It wasn’t going to work, not when she could feel him pressed against her hip. Not when all she wanted was to be stuffed so full of him that she could barely move.

Shifting, Eva wavered over his body, weight on her palms as she kissed him, licking into his mouth. Moving determinedly, she opened her hips and swung her leg up and over, straddling him. The first contact seared through her, and her body screamed out that this was much better. She rocked against him, hands falling to his chest for balance.

“Yes,” he breathed, urging her faster, hands pulling at her hips, her thighs, “Like that, just like that.”

Eva picked up the rhythm he was guiding her to, her body working to get off. This was so, so much better, but she still couldn’t get there.  She felt on fire from it, a whimpering, desperate mess. The orgasm was so fucking close, but not even his thumb circling over her clit was pushing her over the edge.  

He pulled her down, sandwiching his cock between them, hips arching towards her. Horacio planted kiss after kiss over her neck, her chest, her jawline, her mouth. Little yearning growls sounded in the space between them. Eva pulled her knees beneath her, letting her hips open so that she could rub as much of her pussy against him as she could.

Every upward thrust brushed against her clit, every twist of her hips, coated him from root to tip. The pace picked up, and Eva’s eyes rolled back when their bodies aligned perfectly so that the head breached her just a little, sliding in then out and along the length of her folds.

Eva moaned his name, her nails digging into his shoulders. Beneath her, Horacio groaned long and low, eyes squeezed shut. Suddenly, he rolled her over, most of his weight falling atop her. His hands held her to the mattress so that he could grind down on her. Even though she could barely breathe, Eva let out a pleased gasp. The force of his body pushing against her, the way he buried his face in her neck, arms holding her tight, all of it pushed her pleasure higher.

“So good, so good,” she chanted, hands in his hair.

Lifting a little, he looked down between them, his cock pushing up through her her folds, wet and swollen. Hips fluid, he grabbed her ass in one hand, pulling her to him. Eva braced her feet on the mattress, shifting beneath him to get that feeling of him opening her up just a bit. It was almost enough, that tiny breach followed by a hard drag across her clit.

Giving a frustrated grunt, he dropped onto an elbow, catching her chin and forcing her to look at him,  “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you have to stop trying to fuck me, Eva.”

She whined, wrapping her fingers around his wrist, “I can’t help it. I want it. Please, Horacio.” She stole a kiss, “Feels so good with you inside me. Love when you fuck me.”

Against her, he pulsed, hips jerking. He blinked down at her, jaw unhinged. Deep breaths, grip tight, “Evangeline. Listen...listen. I’m gonna.” The thought alone seemed to spur him on, movements snapping against her, “I’m gonna… you need to listen. When I tell you, you need to let me pull out.”

Eager, she nodded, taking another kiss as he lined himself up and pushed inside. This, this was what she needed. Fuck, but he felt bigger than he ever had, the stretch tight. Eva arched, pushing her breasts into his chest, neck exposed for him to mouth along. Her body clenched so tight he couldn’t get more than an inch or two inside.

“Fuck, Eva. You have to let me in.” The words were half growled against her neck, teeth pressed against her skin.

She bit down on her response, “I’m trying.”

He pulled back, another thrust stunted by the squeeze of her cunt. His fists clenched beside her head, a wordless groan sounding.

“Try harder.”

Eva breathed deeply, trying to form coherent thoughts, “Maybe if you, if I...if you let me on top.”

He shook his head hard, “No. No—feels too good when you ride me.”

A laughed bubbled up, Eva cupped his face, catching his eyes, “Its supposed to feel good.”

“Too good. Come too fast,” he breathed, then, “How are you still so fucking tight?”

He still hadn’t bottomed out inside her, and Eva’s desperation grew every time he pulled out and pushed in again. She wanted him deeper, harder, wanted him to hold her down and leave bruises in his wake. In between breaths a plan formed. Eva reached down and grasped his hips for purchase, pulling him down as she rotated her hips up. Yes, yes! The feeling spanned electric down her spine.

With a curse, he snagged her hands, yanking them above her head, her name a warning on his lips. She arched her back, her hips working against him, moving on him from below. Ignoring a second warning, Eva rolled her hips as best she could, taking him further and further. He’d stilled above her, eyes watching as she moved.

His hands gripped her tighter, voice rough, “Look at you.”

She kept throwing her hips up until she’d worked him all the way inside, the feeling short circuiting any ability to think beyond the ‘more, more more’ that chanted in her head.

“There you go,” he praised, “Take what you need. Take it from me.”

The snap of his hips resumed, shoving his cock inside her and hitting every pleasurable spot she had. Eva felt a sharp, high pitched gasp rush out of her. Words fell from her lips, encouraging him, telling him how good it felt, how much she needed him, nonsense syllables rising along with the orgasm that fairly exploded outward from her center, her muscles locking down on him from the inside.

He rode her through as much of it as he could before he pulled away, reaching down to stroke himself—fast, hard pumps until he was spilling over her lower stomach. Still breathing hard, Eva leaned up and wiped the sweat from his brow, kissing his cheek softly. His come dripped over her mound, falling down over her lips. He watched it with dark eyes, jaw tight.

With one hand, he pushed her back to the mattress, the other threw a leg over his shoulder as he moved down the bed, mouth on her before she could draw her next breath. Eva might have had the capacity to be embarrassed by the sounds coming out of her, the choked, half screamed moans, but her body was already skyrocketing towards another orgasm. What pushed her over the edge was the sight of his hand, resting on her pelvic bone, sliding upwards to drag his come over her skin, his eyes watching her face. She threw back her head, cunt clenching down hard enough that her vision blacked out momentarily.

For a long time, she could only stare at the ceiling as she tried to catch her breath. She felt him move, heard his footsteps, sighed at the warm cloth he dragged over her sensitive skin so tenderly.  He threw the cloth towards the bathroom, gathering her in his arms. She fell asleep to the feeling of him kissing her shoulder softly.

[unsafepin]

Optical Illusions: A Study of Aesthetics in Activism in Two Accounts

There’s been a particular thing bothering me about social media for a while. I should probably get a cool editing app, write it in a few bullet points and post it on Instagram. You know what I’m talking about, right? The goddamn infographics. If I have to sit through another slideshow explaining to me another military conflict, another societal issue, another existential unfairness on a baby pink background in a cheery font, I might combust. But the cognitive dissonance of aesthetics in activism has been a problem for a while, hasn’t it? So today, I want to examine the effect of focusing on aesthetics over content, or, on the flipside, not considering the optics of your activism enough, and what it does to the consumer of your content by picking apart two local activist-adjacent media projects, Tetraedras and Giljožinios.

Firstly, I want to make my own bias abundantly clear. I am personally acquainted with the teams of both projects, so obviously there will be innate personal bias involved. I highly encourage anyone reading to check both projects out themselves (@t3traedras and @giljozinios on Instagram, as well as Giljožinios’ YouTube channel) and make their own conclusions on the matter. I believe that while my familiarity breeds deeper knowledge of my subjects, it also makes me more vulnerable to assumptions about individuals involved. My insights come from the perspective of an observer, not an expert. Welcome to the circus.

The use of the word “optics” in a metaphorical political sense sprung up in the 1970s to describe the way major political decisions would not necessarily affect an average citizen, but how it would appear to them, e.g. 'U.S. President Barack Obama temporized for weeks, worrying about the optics of waging war in another Arab state after the Iraq fiasco' (Toronto Star, 19th March 2011). However, it’s become increasingly relevant in our age of social media, an age of perceptions over substance, of shortening attention spans and increased barrage of information one has to stomach daily. Social media is the great equalizer - a random person off the street can theoretically hold as much influence as a politician - thus it is becoming increasingly crucial for the average Joe posting on the countless apps owned by Facebook to be as familiar with PR terms as a firm with a six figure salary. Or at least that would be nice, seeing that more and more average Joes are becoming actively involved in politics and education, seeking to influence their newfound audience.

So, let’s see how successful average people with no media or politics degrees are at balancing their image. Both Tetraedras and Giljožinios lean into their 2010’s social media project optics: millennial pink themes, bold names, young teams. But that’s where the similarities end. Tetraedras’ brand is safety. The shades of color on the profile are calming, the illustrations are youthful and playful, their more serious posts are interspersed with more relaxing content (poetry, photoshoots, etc.). Giljožinios is confrontational. The colors electric, posts loud and to the point, they’re what it says on the box - a leftist project - and unapologetic about it. This might help to explain why audiences react as differently as they do to these two, on the surface, similar accounts. Because while you might’ve stumbled on Tetraedras organically while browsing, them having almost two thousand followers, Giljožinios crashed into the educational/political social media scene by being featured on the goddamn national news, that’s how controversial the project is. And obviously I am oversimplifying the issue, Tetraedras slowly built up to posting more opinionated content, while Giljožinios came in guns blazing accusing USA of imperialism, but you’ll have to let me explain. Tetraedras, in its essence, is a welcoming environment. They explain complicated problems in short bullet points with accompanying comforting visuals, their mascot is a inoffensive geometrical figure and their face is a beautiful girl, make-up matching the theme of the post. Giljožinios is named after a revolutionary device, their profile picture is a monarch being beheaded, their host quite infamously sat in front of Che Guevara memorabilia in their first and (as of writing) only video. It’s a lightning rod for angry comments by baby boomers, no matter what comes out of their mouth. In fact, I would argue that, if presented accordingly, the idea that the US is conducting a kind of modern imperialism is just a simple fact and personally can’t wait until Tetraedras posts that with a quirky illustration of Joe Biden to introduce the concept to the wider public.

This leads me to my next point, because despite what’s been previously suggested, I’m not here to solely sing Giljožinios’ praise. There is a cognitive dissonance in both of these flavors of social media activism, but while I can understand Tetraedras’ on a PR level, I’m kind of personally insulted by Giljožinios’. While purely personally I find aspects of Giljožinios’ radicalism distasteful, I appreciate the honesty in the youthful maximalism, of coming in strong and not backing down, but from the guys that made a communist Christmas tree once I almost expected something more stirring than “military industrial complex bad”. This leads me to ask: who is your content for? Your average breadtube-savvy twenty-something already heard this a thousand times, because they consume similar english-speaking content and I doubt any minds of the vatniks that came by to fume in the comment section are being changed. I’m obviously harking on a newborn project here, the team of which has already been bitten by authorities censoring their content, but so far there has been a lot of optical bark, but no substantial bite, especially considering the team seems to be in a safer place now. And the inverse is true for Tetraedras, while I can understand wanting to be visually interesting yet inoffensive, their visuals are sometimes laughably, morbidly light for the topics they discuss Sexily posing in Britney Spears-inspired outfits while discussing the horrors of her conservatorship springs to mind (funny how Britney’s conservatorship leads her to have next to none bodily autonomy, including her public costume choices). And, once again, your target audience is teenagers. They understand English, they’ve seen the news, they don’t need you to translate infographics filled with statistics and information that’s locally completely irrelevant. There needs to be some kind of middle ground between aesthetic cohesion and common sense, because this all signals to the viewer that the content is meant to be mindlessly consumed first and to educate second.

Which leads me to ponder what kind of consumption accounts like these encourage, which will surely lead me to an early grave as I drink away the existential dread of how social media rots all of our brains. Because yes, actually, producing funky visuals to convey an idea way too complicated for an Instagram post is fun. I myself got distracted multiple times during writing to make the first slide for my own post. Meta, I know. This is obviously more of a problem for Tetraedras, who seem to fervently resist injecting their content with a few more paragraphs and a tad more nuance, but even with Giljožinios choosing a more appropriate long-form format to educate, I still pray everyday they don’t get lost in the revolutionary reputation their group built up and forget to make a point, not just talking points.

Because what all this all inevitably leads to is misinforming the public. Again, this seems to be less of a problem for Giljožinios, as the amount of critical eyeballs they have on them leads to them being corrected on every incorrect numerical figure and grammatical mistake, I just hope all this harassment, once again, doesn’t get them all caught up in the optics of a revolution against all the Facebook boomers and forgetting to do their due diligence to the truth. As far as I know, the only factual mistake is miscalculating how much Lituania invests in NATO and there’s still a historical debate in their comment section about the existence of a CIA prison in Lithuania, if anyone’s concerned. Tetraedras, however, is safe. And safe content goes down just like a sugar-coated pill, you don’t even feel the need to fact-check it. And fact-checking is what it sorely requires, or else you’re left with implying that boxing causes men to become rapists and citing statistics of every country except the one in which, you know, me, the team and the absolute majority of their followers live in.

So what’s my goddamn point? Burn your phone and go live in the woods, always. But in the context of this essay, if you are a content creator that aims to educate, inform, incite, whatever, you need to put aesthetics on the backburner. And, more importantly, we as consumers need to stop tolerating content that puts being either pretty or inflammatory first instead of whatever message it’s trying to send, because the supply follows where the demand goes. Read books, watch long-form content made by experts, not teenagers on the internet chasing followers out of not even malicious intent, but almost a knee-jerk reaction. Because while the story of those two accounts cuts especially deep, expectations for local-, even friend-made content being much higher than that for some corporate accounts shooting their shot at activism, the problem is entrenched deep, thousands of accounts exhibiting the same problems racking up millions upon millions of followers. Having said that, my attention span is barely long enough to read the essays I write myself, so maybe do burn your phone and go live in the woods.

Also, pink is actually my brand so both of these accounts are being contacted by my lawyers and the rest of you don’t try any shit.

[morneboshoff]

5 Ways to Repurpose Content and Grow Your Customer Base

The greatest thing about the content that businesses create is that it can be consumed in so many ways. The written (or typed) word, video, audio, and other creative outlets like AR and VR technology make it possible to take an original piece you’ve created and change its delivery for an entirely different method of consumption. Essentially, you’re recycling the content that you’ve already made and putting it back out there in less time than before. This helps your business get more value out of your investment while also enabling its distribution to various channels where it can reach a new, broader audience.

The Criteria of Repurposing Content

Before you start you want to make sure you’re not flying by the seat of your pants for the sole purpose of creating “new “content.  For example, what are your goals for repurposing? Do you want to reach a new audience? Do you want to spend less time creating something brand new? Are you interested in developing a new distribution channel?

These are the questions that will give you a sense of direction and once you’ve decided on this, you want to understand the intricacies of these channels. For example, if you want to create video content from a blog post you need to understand how this platforms audience reacts and what they’re looking for. Finally, determine whether your content really needs to be repurposed. Although it may perform well as an article on your blog, it doesn’t mean that its success will correlate with evergreen video content.

Now that we’ve covered the criteria of repurposing content, let’s discuss the different ways to making your content shine.

1. Video

Converting a blog that you’ve written into a video is an incredible way of targeting a broader audience that wants to consume your content already. It does require more work to begin with but the reach on platforms like YouTube make it an excellent way to share your message initially.

Once you have this content up and available, you may be tempted to share it as it is, but don’t get caught up with sharing your new audio-visual masterpiece. Instead, take your video that you put on YouTube and break it down into smaller components. These shorter video formats are perfect for sharing on social media like Facebook and Instagram while also doubling their utility as ads.

If you’re sharing information that discusses a topic your audience cares about, considering sharing the audio portion as a podcast. To think you could recreate all of this content from a single blog post article is astounding, so be creative with it and discover how to distribute it to your audience.

2. Social Media Posts

If your business is on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and LinkedIn, this is especially useful for you. You can take the same content that you wrote on Facebook and copy and paste it on Twitter. Nice, now you have two pieces of content but let’s add a third. Screenshot your Twitter post that you created and share it on Instagram; this type of content is constantly being consumed by users on the platform so utilize this phenomenon to your advantage.

On LinkedIn, take your screenshot from Twitter and post it with some more added context. LinkedIn loves images that are shared with more information and storytelling is key on the platform so double down on telling your story.

3. Email Newsletters

The world is a busy place and even though your content may be amazing, it doesn’t always mean it’ll reach your audience. Take an existing blog post and make it more conversational and to the point, then create a series of emails that you can deliver directly to your mailing list. By doing this, you’re able to still provide valuable information to your customers and prospects without them having to search for your content and leave their inbox. To be clear, don’t paste a link to your content in the email. Instead, deliver it as the content of your newsletter and do it in chunks so that it is easily consumed.

4.Infographics

Did you know that people remember 10% of the information they hear out loud VS 65% of the information they see in a visual?

And people following directions with both text and illustrations do 323% better than people following directions

These are incredible pieces of content that are loved by basically everyone.

Why?

They are 30X more likely to be read from top to bottom than a typical blog.

They get 3X the shares as any other type of content on social media

And they are quickly consumed, easy to digest, and deliver value all in one place. For visual people in your audience, this form of content is right up there with video and should be part of your repurposing effort.

Many blogs come in the same form as the one you’re reading now so be sure to trim the fat and focus on where the value is created.

Remember, infographics are meant to display information graphically so cut most of the words out; your audience will thank you for it.

5. Blog Posts

The last piece of the puzzle, repurpose existing blog posts by updating them to become more relevant. Many high performing blog posts for your business may have knocked it out of the park years ago, but as time has went on so has the performance of this content. This is because the information in it is likely outdated and needs a revamp. By updating your blogs by adding and removing different parts, you’re able to recycle your message with data and information that develops authority and shows your audience that you’re delivering value consistently.

Repurposing content can send you off into many directions that provide value to both your company and your audience. Like anything else you do in your business, you want your efforts to be successful and content recycling is no different. We’ve covered the different criteria you need to cover before deciding what to repurpose and the different methods you could use for your efforts. Not only will this help you, it will also help your team and your audience as well. It’s a win-win-win situation that’s great for everyone.

DOWNLOAD YOUR DIGITAL STRATEGY PLANNING TEMPLATE

[vividaway]

Maybe instead of focusing on Joey and Daniel calling Gabbie out (which is their right. If Gabbie can call out them for what she perceives as bad working conditions, than they have every right to refute her claims), you and the rest of the stans should address the latest information about Bianca that has been brought to light as well as the fact that Gabbie stalked someone online who happened to be underaged.

PLEASE CONSIDER SIGNING TO MAKE BIANCA'S LAW REAL. https://www.change.org/p/bianca-s-law-stop-the-spread-of-violent-and-graphic-images-on-the-internet

BEFORE ALL OF THIS LET ME SAY: your use of Bianca Devins in this disgusting manipulative way is exactly that-- disgusting and manipulative. my twitter messages are open, so to not only track down my tumblr, but ANONYMOUSLY LEAVE A MESSAGE TRYING TO USE BIANCA'S NAME LIKE THIS? DIS-FUCKING-GUSTING.

___

Alright, here's a concept.

It's not Joey and Daniels place to refute Gabbie's claims. Their main point in all of this was "She never filled out the form! It's all her fault!" which is actually irrelevant to the story, seeing as she had told them PERSONALLY. in a FACE TO FACE INTERACTION.

the fact of the matter is, as the showrunner, and literal creator of the show, it is your responsibility to ensure the safety of ALL of your cast and crew. and yes, this does include the mental well-being (of the rest of the cast)--

-- and on that note, i also need to say that them not communicating to Gabbie that she were to be killed off, to me, is just unprofessional. it would have made filming a lot better. like honestly, do you think Gabbie would have been as pissed if she knew she wasn't going to be there again?

and another thing-- if Gabbie acted SO horribly, why did they stay her friend? Collab on her channel? if Gabbie acted SO BADLY during SEASON TWO... why did they invite her back? and if Tana was an issue, why invite HER back? I'm very glad that tana had a better time during season 4, but the fact that they knew BOTH OF THEM were bad on set, yet invited them back? they're literally setting up every other person around them for a toxic work-place experience. I've said it once and it's my next point, too, its un. pro. fessional.

ignoring all of that. literally every single piece of information i've stated above. THERE ARE TWO SOLE REASONS I STAND WITH GABBIE.

1. Joey and Daniel, no matter how horrible Gabbie may have acted, had no right to play out Gabbie's voice memo's where she was expressing that she was EXTREMELY UPSET. that she was dealing with multiple things in her life. They had NO right. Trisha Paytas, of all people, has even heard that voice memo enough to MOCK, AND MAKE FUN OF GABBIE'S EATING DISORDER, PUBLICLY, MULTIPLE TIMES, REFERENCING THE VOICE MEMO. to have the people you WORKED FOR, DO THAT? how could anyone in their cast ever trust them again? who's to say you wont send them a genuinely confidential voice memo, and they STILL decide to share it with people?

2. BECAUSE GABBIE'S MENTAL HEALTH ISNT A CRUTCH, IT ISNT AN EXCUSE, AND IT SURE AS HELL ISNT A JOKE. Gabbie Hanna was on the brink of suicide, she was struggling with an eating disorder, had undiagnosed, unmedicated ADHD, was dealing with immense c-ptsd, and it is ALL. FUCKING. VALID.

for YEARS. I've been told to stop using my Bipolar as a crutch. that i was in therapy for it, and that i needed to use coping mechanisms. i was later diagnosed with BPD-- and suddenly i didn't need to cope anymore. my anger was suddenly understandable. people finally believed me.

you DO NOT. HAVE TO HAVE. A FUCKING GOD DAMN PERSONALITY DISORDER TO BE FUCKING BELIEVED.

ESPECIALLY CONSIDERING?

my BPD WASN'T THE ISSUE.

IT WAS MY ADHD.

its literally wired into our brains, and WE. CANNOT. CONTROL. IT. the ONLY THING WE CAN DO, IS TREAT IT.

to continue to NOT LISTEN TO PEOPLE WHEN THEY ARE CLEARLY EXPRESSING THEIR LIMITS is the reason mental health is in its infancy today. we know when something is too much, and we know when our conditions are causing us to have outbursts, because its something we dont do EVERY SINGLE DAY. we need to realize that ALL. MENTAL. ILLNESSES. EVERY SINGLE ONE.

IS JUST AS IMPORTANT. JUST AS DIFFICULT. AND JUST AS UNIQUE, AS ANY OTHER MENTAL ILLNESS.

with the amount of genetical defects, the amount of nationalities that exist, the amount of co-morbidities, EVERY. SINGLE. THING. THAT MAKES ME DIFFERENT FROM YOU? you GENUINELY expect there to be a person in the world with the EXACT SAME THOUGHT PROCESS, exact same conditions, exact same life circumstances, as me? as Gabbie? as YOU?

there is a reason people with mental illness have a common symptom, no matter the condition. that symptom is the thought that no one in the world can possibly have the same thought process as you. its the symptom that i essentially expressed a paragraph before this one. and its because we realize that THERE ISNT. that it isnt a symptom, but a fact, to us. because you cant thing the way i can. my brain will only ever process the way MY. BRAIN. PROCESSES.

that. is why i stand by Gabbie.

____________________________________________

So, the new information about Bianca Devins? Alright, lets talk about it.

Kim Devins, Bianca's mom, has called for all drama channels to apologize to Gabbie Hanna for the way they treated her in regards to her commenting on Bianca's shirts.

I know you want me to say that it turns out Gabbie is actually manipulating the mother, and Gabbie actually WAS exploiting Bianca---

NO.

KIM DEVINS IS A GROWN WOMAN. KIM DEVINS HAS SAID PUBLICLY, ON HER OWN, PUBLIC TWITTER ACCOUNT, THAT GABBIE HANNA DESERVES AN APOLOGY. KIM DEVINS HAS STATED THAT EVERYTHING GABBIE HAS SAID WAS IN FACT-- THE TRUTH. TO SAY GABBIE IS LYING, IS TO SAY THE MOTHER IS LYING, AS THE MOTHER HAS NOT ONLY APPROVED OF, BUT ENDORSED THE VIDEO.

i know i linked this before everything, but if you haven't already, PLEASE. FUCKING. SIGN.

https://www.change.org/p/bianca-s-law-stop-the-spread-of-violent-and-graphic-images-on-the-internet

_____________________________________________

Yeah uhh..so first off, Gabbie never doxxed ANYONE. as someone who's had their literal home IP leaked-- you shouldn't just throw that term around lightly. its genuinely traumatic for people to be doxxed.

Gabbie did however, grab the IP of someone. she did this, because she was worried it was someone SHE FULLY KNEW, was a danger to minors.

Second off, this was talked about quite awhile ago, in april or may-- she actually did that WELL OVER a year ago. we only know because she talked about it on Marco Polo (an app where you can group video chat and text. it was a perk of one of the tiers of her patreon) and it was leaked recently. so i don't really get your point in that.

Gabbie only did that because of all the minor fans that people were SCREAMING for Gabbie to protect last summer. They blamed Gabbie for certain fans that were getting bullies by anti's, all because Gabbie herself didn't tell people not to. so OF FUCKING COURSE she is going to do anything she can to protect her fans if she FULLY KNOWS a PROPER P*DO is trying to imitate a fan account, and she thinks she found it.

When the IP didn't match with where she knew the gross ass guy lived, she completely discarded it. Honestly, if you're upset with this, you might at well be upset with THIS, too. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JaJqBug10MQ

--------------------------------------------------------

ALL OF THIS TO SAY:

THIS IS A THOMAS SANDERS BLOG

PLEASE SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT GABBIE HANNA.

[ishramasuhud]

My Media Literacy Gallery Walk, Hi everyone this is my blog relating the media literacy, Im going to share some thoughts and ideas about the media literacy.

The European film import

In Spanish colonial the lumiere brothers, Auguste and Louis Lumière Invented Cinematographe film camera and projector with the help of Spanish soldier named Carlo Naquera. Naquera flashed several Spanish-language to chosen audiences in 1987 and he run out of short film so he took the cinematographe around town and shot local scenes, which he subsequently displayed as a short documentary. The Imported films from America appeared early in the early theaters in Manila during the 1900’s In American Colonial. The “Dalagang Bukid” was the earliest film that was produced by a filipino who is Jose Nepumuceno, He is the father of the Philippine cinema in 1919. Hermogenes Ilagan who’s a filipino tenor, writer, stage actor, and playwright made a movie adaptation of a popular musical stage play starred by Atang Dela Ramja.

The Broadcast Industry

The broadcasting industry is composed of radio and television stations and networks that helps create content or to obtain the right publication prerecorded television and radio advertising. Broadcasting is to give out or the distribution of audio or video content to dissipate audience via any mass communications but typically use electromagnetic spectrum in a one or to many model. Broadcast signals then move from a station's transmission tower to the antennae of televisions and radios through cable television connections, satellite distribution systems, or the airwaves. The programming can be received by anyone having a radio or television in the signal region.

Local online media

Dissemination of Records, Masters, and/or Videos via downloads or streams over the internet, or any other electronic or online form of distribution now known or yet to be discovered or invented, including but not limited to dissemination to mobile phones and other devices, is referred to as online media.

The three classifications of media

Print in media

This is the print medium of communication. Information is disseminated by newspapers, periodicals, books, banners, billboards, flyers, brochures, business cards, and other means.

Broadcast media

The broadcast media refers to the dissemination of digital content like videos, audios, photos, and written content through broadcast channels. This mainly refers to the use of TV, radio, movies, and more offline digital channels.

Online media

The Internet is the lifeblood of online media. It is when content is shared through online platforms in the form of audio, video, and text. They can be shared in different channels that we’ll shed light on later in this article.

Types of Online Media:

Social Networking Sites

online forums

podcast

Media Sharing Networks

Content curation network

Blogging and Publishing Networks

Emails

Consumer review networks

The State of Media today

The state of media today is a matter of opinion for some, though a recent report from Vocus shows a picture of ongoing decline. The continued loss of jobs in television, radio and print media paints a dire picture of the evolution still required from the aging industry. The debate over folklore versus new media has been raging for a few years now–consumer demands are shifting a significant amount of activity to digital formats giving options for instant gratification when it comes to when, where and how we enjoy our media fulfillment. In the last year, 293 newspapers have gone out of business, with nearly 100 of them closing in the first quarter of 2009. Across major publications, 600 employees were laid off. With 10,000 jobs lost, the radio industry found itself in an even more difficult situation. Over 100 television stations in the United States declared bankruptcy, owing largely to their parent companies filing for Chapter 11. The slowdown effect of this had on the media industry has pushed professionals into the online sector, with Internet-based publications taking the helm towards new ways of thinking. Those displaced employees of various publications and stations have found themselves shifting to a new industry all together or taking up the profession of blogging and similar jobs in order to remain in their familiar line of work.

From Globalization to Glocalization

It starts with Globalization that process a company to brings its business to the rest of the world. It gives local businesses wider access to a bigger target market in different cultures. And when glocalization comes which also a product or service that is developed and distributed globally but is is adjusted to accommodate the user or consumer in a local market.

The local landscape

Local Landscape Areas are areas of land and water that are recognised as having. high landscape value. Landscape can be described in terms of the contours of its landforms, and any visible evidence of the geological. processes which shaped it, its geomorphological and geological. Nature sites and areas of countryside can be 'designated', which means they have special status as protected areas because of their natural and cultural importance. Protection means that these places have clear boundaries. have people and laws to make sure that the nature and wildlife are not harmed or destroyed. These elements of design include mass, form, line, texture and color. In the landscape, they are used to transform space and create a unique experience. While color and texture add interest and richness to a design, it is mass, form and line that are critical to organizing space and providing structure.

Media Ownership

Due to the assumption that ownership can have an impact on the contents and practices of journalism, media ownership is of interest in journalism research. The ownership of the news media can take many forms, including state ownership, family ownership, political party ownership, trust ownership, and public or corporate ownership. The main concern with ownership in journalism scholarship is market concentration and monopolization, as well as the unintended consequences for media diversity, public opinion formation, democracy, and journalistic autonomy. The potential financial and political benefits of owning journalistic media are assumed to be ownership motivations throughout the research. Benevolence is rarely assumed, as the problematic aspects of ownership are addressed from both the management and critical political economy perspectives in the research.

Mainstream Media

Mainstream media (MSM) is a term and abbreviation used to refer collectively to the various large mass news media that influence many people, and both reflect and shape prevailing currents of thought. The term is used to contrast with alternative media. Mainstream media, which simply refers to where most Americans get their news, generally included a person’s local newspaper, local TV affiliate, and one of three national broadcast news programs. Nowadays, the media landscape is more complex. It has broadened from traditional news sources (print, TV, and radio) to video, AM/FM radio, podcasts, satellite radio, and social media. It also now includes news producers and aggregators. And as it has expanded, it’s become more fragmented, so that even traditional media can have narrower and narrower audiences.

Alternative and Independent media

Alternative media are media sources that differ from established or dominant types of media (such as mainstream media or mass media) in terms of their content, production, or distribution. While Independent media refers to any media, such as television, newspapers or Internet-based publications, that is free of influence by government or corporate interests. The term has varied applications. Within the United States and other developed countries, it is often used synonymously with alternative media to refer to media that specifically distinguish themselves in relation to the mainstream media. In international development, the term independent media is used in relation to the development of new media outlets, particularly in areas where there is little to no existing media presence.

Community Media

Community media are any form of media that function in service of or by a community. It is the rise of all kinds of alternative, oppositional, participatory and collaborative media practices that have developed in the journalistic context of ‘community media,’ ‘we media,’ ‘citizens media,’ ‘grassroot journalism’ or any radical alternative to on and offline mainstream journalistic practices. In other words, it is having access to or creating local alternatives to mainstream broadcasting, like local community newspapers, radio stations, or magazines. Community Media aids in the process of building citizenship and raising social awareness. “Participation” and “access” are a large aspect in the rise of community media. Those who create media are being encouraged to involve themselves in providing a platform for others to express views. Community media is often given parameters when being defined by groups, but often challenges these boundaries with its broad yet narrow structure.

State-owned Media

State media, state-controlled media, or state-owned media is media for mass communication that is under financial and editorial control of a country's government, directly or indirectly. These news outlets may be the sole media outlet or may exist in competition with corporate and non-corporate media. State media is not to be confused with public broadcasting and public sector media (state-funded), which is funded directly or indirectly by the state or government but over which the state does not have editorial control.

What is your opinion regarding the closure of ABS-CBN? Do you agree or disagree with the congress decision? Explain your answer.

I agree because ABS-CBS abused the freedom of press, they’re using their company for their own self interest. And it came to the point that they’ve became a power player in philippine politics. They took advantage in giving government positions to those people who are under their power.

[modestlyabsurd]

Reversed (Loki x Reader)

In a world, where gAHDAMMOTHAFUKIN INFINITYWARANDENDGAMENEVERHAPPENED

...

ahem, excuse me.

In a world where the genocide of 2018 was reversed and humanity was restored in full, there fought a team against all forces of adversarial motives. A broadened team; a team of heroes.

~

Including foes turned heroes.

Such was what Loki Odinson thought on a daily basis, especially at this moment.

The gifts bestowed upon him from his mother - a keen hindsight, superior knowledge, and even a bit of witchery - have allowed him a new perception of things. Well, and not to mention the time travelling thing that The Avengers finally figured out with their human technology. That contributed to his outlook as well. Otherwise he'd be dead - or worse.

Nowadays it's hard to imagine how life was then. The duties of being a true Avenger are more than enough to keep his mind busy. But from time to time it drifts off to that place. Like now. He supposes it always will.

He thinks of what state the universe was in, and albeit narcissistic, how it was his fault. How he tried to fix it in the only way he knew possible. And now knowing that his sacrifice those years ago would've inevitably been for naught, if hadn't been for them.

But in the same thought it fills him with an eternal sense of awe and gratitude that this team of somewhat gifted humans were able to successfully reverse it. That he, among half of humanity, lived to see another day. Another five years.

It is nothing short of a miracle.

He'd proven his gratitude by asking to be recruited in their team of good intentions. Make no mistake, it took swallowing every ounce of his pride to do so, which was no easy task. But alas, he's done it.

Echoes ... nothing but these strange echoes ...

Back and forth Loki's mind goes. Locked in place, imprisoned indefinitely, what more can it do? The weight of reality tends to sit heaviest at the most inconvenient of times.

The bitter truth is that half of humanity was eradicated in spite of him; his attempt at redemption, at reversing what he'd done. And it took the will of others to stop the madness. The helplessness; that's what still lingers.

Along with the pain.

It's all he can sense. It's all he can feel. He can't see, he doesn't have energy enough to decipher what he's hearing, and he cannot speak. Just his thoughts, and the pain. This evil, immobilizing pain.

How did I get here? he thinks, somehow conscious of the circumstance despite his current state.

It was some time ago. How long ago is inconceivable at the moment. But he does concentrate, and accesses the last memory in his mind.

"All units in position?" said Stark through their communication line.

"Copy that."

The exchange between Stark and Rogers brought Loki to high alert. He sits on the rooftop of a building half the height of the skyscrapers surrounding it. Exactly how he liked. High enough to see below, low enough to see above, and ideal for taking cover.

The wind blows through his ears, and for a moment he sees some amount of beauty in the setting New York sun. But only for a split second.

And only because you'd always spoke of it.

"Uh, hello - that was a question to all units. I need everyone to copy if you don't mind," Stark persists.

"Sorry! I copy," the Spiderling chirps.

"So do I," the Black Widow murmurs.

"Roger that," says the Winter Soldier, turned Avenger.

A second passes before Stark asks, "Clint?"

"Copy," he says.

"Alright - who am I missing? Uh ... oh! Y/N, do you copy?"

"Ten-four," your voice comes through, and Loki releases the breath held in his chest. "I still don't know why you're making me do this, I hate being the bait."

"Good, you can be the bait from now on." When there's silence in return, Stark softens his tone and says free of sarcasm, "Look, you're gonna be fine. All you have to do is put the moves on this guy, bring him to the car and lead him to us. If things get too serious, you know the code."

"Remind me of it again?"

"Dizzy. Just somehow in some context say the word dizzy and we'll be there before you know it."

Loki's shoulders tighten at the idea of things "getting too serious". It seems completely unfair to have someone without the same training to handle such a high caliber of criminals as the lure. Especially without him there - or, someone there, to assist.

But he doesn't make the rules, of course. To add insult to injury, he's charged with following the rules as well.

"I expect a bonus for this," you grumbled. "And you're still forgetting someone."

"You sure? I could've sworn that was everyone - " Stark pauses, clearly for dramatic effect, "Ohhhh, right. Silly me. Thor?"

Loki smirks. Yet another of Stark's frequent, petty jabs at him. The entire team was aware that Thor was currently in New Asgard organizing a new and proper government with the Valkyrie, Brunnhilde. (Which will of course require some fine tuning on Loki's part due to the brute irrationality that both of them act upon solely, but to worry over another day.)

He could practically hear you rolling your eyes through the line. "Loki? Are you in position?" you ask exasperatedly.

"As always, love."

"Ugh," someone groaned.

He smiles outwardly, where no one else could see. Yes, indeed, Loki was in love.

It was certainly one of the most beautiful things he'd ever experienced, yet the most painful. Never more so than in times as these, when you're put in danger.

Stark sighs dreadfully, "Alright, Agent Y/L/N. Whenever you're ready."

Loki watched from his aerial view as the luxury black vehicle begun to move through traffic. It was you, driving the car that Stark cared the least for.

That could be destroyed if necessary. He swallows.

At that moment Loki's memory cuts out.

... ugh! Echoes, but of what, exactly? These sounds are so foreign ...

Frustrated that pieces of the story are missing, but unable to do anything about it. All he is aware of are these faint, mechanical noises, and this undetermined amount of consciousness; and the pain.

Blackness. He suddenly becomes aware of the blackness surrounding him. He even tries to use his Seidr to possibly help, to no avail.

He thinks hard. Something happened, he somehow knows. Something happened to someone.

Slowly ... Another piece. A sound.

A voice.

Laced with fear and feigned sighs of passion.

"I'm feeling a little dizzy ... "

"Go!"

And after that, he remembers the feelings. the blur of adrenaline, the invincibility, the angst.

The feeling of his heart sinking and sinking until he finally found you, until he saved you from harm. The red anger upon seeing the source of harm and the second wave of unfiltered adrenaline as he sought to eliminate it; and then, nothing.

Nothing. He felt nothing, in an instant.

... The echoes are getting louder, clearer. A steady repetitive sound, grounding him to whatever piece of reality he had in his grasp. He now can hear the distant sound of voices - familiar voices, at least - but cannot make out what they're saying.

What in Odin's name is that noise?

He begins to hear it more and more and the smallest amount of light slowly pours through a tunnel, growing bigger and bigger and brighter; so bright it's nearly blinding - until it does indeed blind him.

No, Loki realizes, he is not blinded. But rather, he can see.

... beep ... beep ... beep ... beep ... beep ...

Oh, Norns. He'd rather be back dead. Or whatever he was just seconds ago. Back to a place where such a nuisance was light years away.

And Gods, this light ...

He can't see. But he can see. It hurts to look. In fact, everything hurts.

His eyes flutter before blinking the last bits of unconsciousness. The first thing he sees is a white ceiling, and he quickly he notices that he cannot move his head.

Both hands fly up to his head before a second thought passes by and the alarming sounds of whatever machinery he's surrounded by startle him even more, making him thrash his legs and head when a stinging pain spreads from his shoulder and a person leans over his body.

"Good to see you're awake," says Bruce Banner - who sounds like he's under water - holding a syringe as Loki relaxes into a chemical drowse. "You've been out of it for almost two days."

After relaxing his jaws, Banner hands him a cup with a straw sticking out of it. "That also means you haven't spoken in almost two days. This should cure that, and then after we can talk. In the meantime, I need to update Tony on your progress."

"Where - " Loki tries, but falls into a violent coughing fit as searing hot pain encases his neck and throat.

"What'd I tell you? Look, we'll explain everything later, I promise. But for now, don't talk - drink."

As Banner pulls out his phone, Loki hesitantly takes a sip from the cup. Lacking the capacity to argue anything further due to whatever Bruce injected in him, he finds the water to be quite soothing to the sore dryness in his throat. He feels it cooling him, from his mouth all the way down before it sloshes in his empty stomach.

"He's awake. ... Vitals are stable but I had to give him an inhuman amount of midazolam since he freaked out a little bit when he came to. ... Nothing adverse. ... Movement's properly restricted. ... Too soon to tell. I think he knows something, but I don't know what or how much. ... She doesn't know yet, she just left earlier to go home and shower. ... I know Tony, but she's gonna wanna know."

Loki cloudedly wonders who Bruce is talking about. He wished to be informed fully of what's happening, but the water is helping more than answers ever could at the moment. Somewhere distant, he notices some kind of contraption is wrapped around his neck and he feels it every time he swallows.

Oh well. It appears he's finished his cup anyway.

~

The Avengers have been so kind as to give Loki a hospital room with a television in it, complete with hundreds of channels on which all are speaking about the same thing - New York's New Hero. And apparently they have been for days.

Midgardians cling to the most ridiculous things. Anyone who goes into a tavern in a fit of love-driven madness to rescue their significant other and bring a band of terroristic criminals to the surface is deemed a hero.

Even if "anyone" is Loki Odinson.

More alert as the sedatives have begun to subside, he chews an ice cube and watches boredly as reporters speak of the events. News hasn't yet been released that he's awakened from his injuries but it's only a matter of time. He shudders to think of how the public will react to that. Like moths to a flame, he dreads.

Loki shakes the cup of ice to get another piece as Banner knocks and enters the room. "How you feeling?" he asks while washing his hands in the nearby sink.

He honestly wasn't sure how he felt. Ill? Tired? Slightly confused? Dead? Unable to articulate himself and frankly without energy enough to try, he shrugs.

Bruce pulls something out of the complimentary miniature refrigerator before asking, "Feeling good enough for pudding?"

Loki's brows knit together with suspect. Ready to interrogate Bruce, he tries yet again to speak but nothing more than a pitiful cough comes out. Bruce takes his ice cup and explains, "Y/N said that's what you'd likely eat first. She said you love pudding."

Y/N ... Y/N!

"Whe - "

Suddenly, three loud knocks come from the door before it bursts open and a frantic heaving figure emerges from the outside. Damp hair, disheveled clothing, duffel bag sloppily thrown over the shoulder.

"Y/N," Loki croaks.

You smile a huge, breathless smile.

"Hey," you finally breathe, dropping your bags and easing over to the hospital bed. Holding back tears as you see those bright green eyes open and alive, albeit drugged.

You instinctively take one of Loki's hands into both of yours, beaming. He's overjoyed as well, eyes smiling with what could only be love. A satisfied little grin. As handsome as ever, even in a hospital gown with dirty hair and a big, bulky neck brace.

"How're you doing?" you whisper.

Loki sighs, "Much better now."

Bruce respectfully gave the two of you a moment of privacy. As soon as the door shut, Loki squeezed your hand. "I missed you," he murmurs.

"Yeah," you laugh, "I missed you too." You really did, more than words can say. "I was so worried," you choke out, as the horror you've kept bottled inside from two days ago washes over you unexpectedly.

Loki slowly whispers, "What happened, dear? I haven't quite put it all together yet."

"What do you remember?"

"Most of everything leading up to ... how I ended up here."

That's good. You wouldn't have to go over the entire flop of a mission then. It wasn't actually a flop since the dudes lost, but considering the outcome you're left with here, pretty much a flop in your eyes.

"Well, you singlehandedly got me out of there, away from that creep of a criminal. You all got the rest, too - killed some, apprehended some - then as we were headed back to the quinjet, you fell forward on the ground and couldn't stand back up. You said you couldn't feel your limbs," tears do spill when you have to relive that moment.

Loki, absorbing the recollection, closes his eyes in devastation. Not out of self-pity, but out of heartbreak that you went through all of this. His lip quivers as he remembers.

"After they examined you in the quinjet, and then here, they found that you somehow reinjured the fractures in your neck from ... "

... No ...

"B-but, but that was reversed - "

"That's what I said too. But apparently, they couldn't undo the injury back then. They could only undo the outcome."

How? And why hadn't he been told before now? Loki's mouth opens and closes but forms no explanation. His eyes dart back and forth to search his brain for an answer, when he feels a warm droplet fall onto the back of his hand.

"Oh love, don't cry. I hate it when you cry," he cooes, cupping your wet cheek with one hand. He swipes the tears away with his thumb.

Looking up you meet his encouraging gaze, and can't resist resting your head in his hand. It's amazing how such a small gesture can make you feel so protected and loved.

"I'm sorry," you laugh nervously, pulling yourself together. "But y'know, look at the bright side. Now you're New York's New Hero."

Funny how the tables can turn.

Loki drops his hand and looks past you, "I don't feel like a hero."

"Well, you are one." You make him look you in the eye and whisper, "You're my hero."

In a matter of seconds a million things swim through Loki's eyes. Disbelief at your words, feeling unworthy, undeserving of you, yet gratitude, and adoration. In an even shorter instant he thickly swallows his emotions down against the neck brace.

It is quickly replaced with mischief.

"Come closer," he mumbles. You comply, questioning. "Closer," he says.

You do, and you're less than a foot away.

"Closer," he whispers again with lidded eyes. Now with you only inches away, he says it again. "Closer ... "

You can't help giggling at this point. Your noses touch, and you feel Loki's breath as he says, "I adore you."

Needless to say, you learned very quickly how to kiss him around a neck brace.

~

tag list: @sydneyss-worlddd @afinedilemma @fire-in-her-veinz @belladonnabarnes @drakesfiance @internetgremlin @dragon-chica @triggeredpossum @tarynkauai

[bisexualsforprompto]

Of Roommates and Red Heroes Chapter 3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21526903/chapters/51315280#workskin

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Three- Of Thanksgiving Day and First Impressions

Jason had never been a big fan of family. Seemed all they did was let you down, his mom, his dad, even Bruce, who wasn’t really family. Maybe they shouldn’t be called family, from what Jason knew family was supposed to make you feel loved and comfortable. 

He never got that. 

Maybe he never would.

•~•Thursday, Nov. 28, 8am EST•~•

Marinette hummed quietly to herself as she finished the pie and put it in the refrigerator. She heard a groan coming from Jason’s room and the creaking of a door. Picking up the plate of pancakes she’d made for him earlier, Marinette walked over to a very dazed and tired Jason. 

“Hmm, what’s this?” He asked teasingly, poking at the pancakes. He took a seat at the table and Marinette sat opposite of him. Jason took a bite of pancake before devouring the whole piece. “You made this?!” He asked with his mouth full. 

“Happy Thanksgiving,” Marinette beamed picking up her fork. “You’re food is delicious Buttercup!” Jason said starting on his second hot cake.

“Thanks Jason, I haven’t baked in forever.” Silence fell on the table. 

“You know I’m always here...if you want to talk,” Jason said looking at Marinette who sat in solemn silence. 

“Thanks Jay, but I’m still not ready…” Jason nodded and started to eat his pancakes again. He knew nothing about her past, he could only assume her parents were dead, if he had to guess probably at the hands of that terrorist in Paris. That made his blood boil, when the Outlaws and Dick came for dinner he would be talking to them once Marinette was out of the room. 

“Anyway Buttercup, are you excited for tonight?” Marinette brought a smile back to her face, “Yeah! I’m excited to meet your friends!” Jason chuckled before taking his plate to the sink, “They’re excited to meet you too.” 

Marinette heard a small squeak coming from her room, Tikki. 

“What was that Buttercup?” Jason asked turning around. Marinette waved her hand, “Nothing, I was just...sneezing yep, sneezing.” Jason gave her an odd smile, “Okay then.”

“I’ll be right back,” Marinette said running to her room. Tikki flew off her bed, “Marinette, look!” She said motioning to her phone screen. It showed a crocodile man terrorizing the city, apparently Gotham’s vigilantes hadn’t shown up yet.

“Looks like it’s time for Ladybug to make her debut in Gotham, Tikki spots on!”

Jason was bored, Marinette was in her room for a while. He didn’t want to bother her, she might need alone time, so he turned on the TV in the living room.

“Killer Croc!” He exclaimed as he saw the news channel that turned on. Jason ran over to his room and took his Red Hood gear out of a duffel. Hopefully Marinette could manage while he was gone.

•~•Thursday, Nov. 28, 8:30am EST•~•

“It’s way too early for this,” Jason grumbled as he filled his guns with rubber bullets. He hopped on his motorbike behind the alleyway of the Outlaws headquarters. Starfire and Arsenal were busy, they were probably occupied, it being a holiday and everything, but Jason was confident he could handle it. 

Until he got there that was, it seemed Killer Croc had gotten some enhancements, he looked a lot more menacing than on the screen.

Red Hood pulled out his gun, but before he could shoot Killer Croc picked him up like he weighed nothing and slapped him into a nearby car. 

In a dazed stupor, Jason thought he was hallucinating when he saw a girl in a red mask and red spandex with brown highlights on the edges fly over him, swinging a yo-yo? If Jason wasn’t sure he was delusional, he was now. Still Red Hood picked himself up and prepared himself for round two.

But it hadn’t come, Jason looked up only to find the very same girl he thought he imagined kicking Killer Croc’s ass. Red Hood couldn’t believe his eyes, he ran over to the girl who was shielding herself with the yo-yo from earlier.

“Hey there Little Lady, ya new in town?” Red Hood winked (even though she couldn’t see it) and spoke with charm. The girl grimaced as she dodged another attack from Killer Croc.

“You could say that,” she said in an accent that sounded familiar and added a flirtatious giggle, but Jason couldn’t think straight to place the accent as her giggle got him very worked up, “What do you know about him?” She asked gesturing to Killer Croc.

“Killer Croc, metahuman. Most easy way to defeat him is using your wits,” Jason drilled. Bruce had done little pop quizzes like that before and Jason couldn’t shake the habit of reciting.

“Hmmm, this should come in handy then,” the mysterious girl said. “What are you talking about little lady?” Jason teased as the girl threw her yo-yo in the air.

“Lucky charm!” A red and black spotted can of shaving cream appeared. Jason was confused on how it appeared, of course, but mostly because she seemed like it would help her win.

“Ummmm Little Lady, what exactly are you planning because I doubt Killer Croc wants to sh-“

The red spandex clad heroine thrust the can at Killer Croc, he reacted and caught it, making it explode.

Shaving cream went all over him and the hero beside Jason took the distraction to sweep Croc’s legs out from under him and tie him up with her yo-yo.

“Well played Little Lady, but I’ve got some questions. First, how do you expect that yo-yo to hold him?” Red Hood asked bracing for Killer Croc to break free at any moment.

“I have my talents,” the girl said before giving him a flirty wink. Jason turned as red as his mask and he was so glad she couldn’t see him, ‘is it weird if that’s kinda hot?’ Jason thought to himself as he examined the badass heroine who’d taken Killer Croc down with nothing but a shaving cream can, a yo-yo and her wits. Jason wasn’t going to lie, she was extremely attractive.

Her costume was scarlet red all over except for the tips of her arms and boots which were shaded brown, in the middle of her costume, just above her chest was an emblem that resembled wings. Her hair was cut in a short bob of blue hair with red tips at its ends. Her bluebell eyes were more than intoxicating. Jason almost drooled, he’d always had a thing for badass women in red.

Sirens broke him out of his fantasies, as soon as the police arrived and snapped meta power-dampening cuffs around him she swung her yo-yo up into the air until it landed on a nearby gargoyle.

Jason realized she was about to leave, “Wait!” Jason cried, but he heard a small beep and she gave him another flirty look before departing. ‘Who was that girl?’

•~•Thursday, Nov. 28, 8:35am EST•~•

Marinette didn’t arrive on the scene as fast as she wanted. It took her far too long to figure out where the attack was happening so she could have Kaaliki make a portal there. When she finally did she unified Tikki and Kaaliki to become Lady Voyage. 

Lady Voyage landed on top of a car, she swung her yo-yo as she assessed the threat. She flung herself over the car catching a glance at one of the heroes protecting Gotham, Red Hood. His good looks did throw her off, especially since she couldn’t even see his face but she didn’t let that phase her.

‘So you think he’s cute huh?’ Marinette heard Kaaliki giggle in her mind as Marinette threw a punch a the Croc themed villain.

‘Kaaliki!’ Tikki scolded while Marinette kicked the crocodile/man. She heard a groan come from behind her, just as she was getting frustrated that her hits had practically no effect. 

The man who’d shed seen earlier, Red Hood, came to her side. “Hey there Little Lady, ya new in town?” Marinette kept her eyes straight ahead on the target, solely because she had a job to do not because if she saw the antihero in his leather jacket and abs popping out of his shirt that she’d get too unfocused. “You could say that,” Marinette said while giggling seductively. She knew that she would never have the confidence to do that.

‘You’re welcome,’ Kaaliki said, they had taken over Marinette to flirt with the Red Hood. Because of course they did.

“What do you know about him?” Marinette asked pointing to the reptile man, hoping Red Hood would forget about her previous flirtation.

“Killer Croc, metahuman. Most easy way to defeat him is using your wits,” The man seemed to recite. Marinette didn’t mind though, the information would help her use her lucky charm.

“Hmmm, this should come in handy then,” Lady Voyage muttered to herself. “What are you talking about little lady?” Red Hood said teasingly.

‘Oh just you wait Lover Boy. He’s gonna be so surprised!’ Kaaliki laughed.

‘Kaaliki!’ Tikki scolded once more.

“Lucky charm!” Marinette called, producing a can of shaving cream. “Ummmm Little Lady, what exactly are you planning because I doubt Killer Croc wants to sh-“

Marinette smirked slyly as she saw the pieces click into place. She thrust the shaving cream at Killer Croc, hoping he’d react and catch it.

Sure enough, he did and shaving cream exploded all over the villain. Marinette tied him up after attacking while he was distracted. She smirked, ‘fast and easy.’

“Well played Little Lady, but I’ve got some questions. First, how do you expect that yo-yo to hold him?” Red Hood asked her sceptically.

“I have my talents,” Marinette winked, another flirt courtesy of Kaaliki. Lady Voyage heard the police sirens nearing the scene, so she decided to take her exit when the cops started to put cuffs on Killer Croc.

‘He’s totally checking you out!’ Kaaliki squealed excitedly in Marinette’s mind. Marinette forced back an eyeroll. 

‘Completely irresponsible! We could’ve been seriously hurt because you were focused on that boy Kaaliki!’ Tikki yelled. 

‘Aww come on, lighten up. I know Marinette thought he was a hunk, I was just helping her,’ Kaaliki’s answer received a sigh from Tikki. They laughed at Tikki and Marinette suddenly heard the beeping of her miraculous.

‘We better go,’ Tikki said exasperated.

Marinette threw her yo-yo into a nearby building. And ignored Red Hood’s “Wait!” As she brought herself back home, she only hoped Jason hadn’t gone looking for her and realized she was missing.

•~•Thursday, Nov. 28, 9am EST•~•

Marinette sighed as she got back into her room just as her transformation wore off. She quickly handed Tikki and Kaaliki some food she always kept in her purse for emergencies. Marinette hurried out to the living room to see Jason lounging on the couch, ‘hopefully he didn’t notice’ she thought. She sat next to him as he turned on the TV.

“Look, this is the Macy’s Day Parade, everyone looks forward to it.”

‘Phew he didn’t notice,’ Marinette breathed a sigh of relief.

“I can’t wait!” Marinette exclaimed, moving closer to Jason.

‘Phew she didn’t notice,’ Jason thought smiling at Marinette. He was still incredibly flustered by the mysterious, gorgeous new girl who joined him. Trying to push his thoughts of the girl away, he started to push a button on the remote.

Marinette picked something off the coffee table, “Hamlet? Didn’t take you for a lover of Shakespeare Jay.” She teased. Jason smirked, “What can I say, I’m a man of many talents.”

“You’re a man of something Alright,” she giggled playfully punched him in the arm. “Hey!” He said writhing in fake agony. “

Loud music from some broadway show by the looks of it, started to play while dancers did complicated choreography. Not really Jason’s thing, he was about to ask Marinette if she wanted to keep watching but when he turned to her she was enthralled with the screen, her eyes widened as she heard the English singers. Jason gave a soft smile, she was kind of adorable, but in a sisterly way of course. Marinette inadvertently leaned closer to him and Jason found himself doing the same.

He gravitated toward her, he always had, same with the girl he had met earlier. Same with Kor’i and Roy, who he couldn’t wait to see later, even Dick as much as he hated to admit it.

In that simple moment of watching TV. Just a simple action, that was minuscule in the grand scheme of things Jason had one thought,

‘This is family.’