#it is every much a frigidity process using the program

[kirkklan2]

304 - "And they call it the Web"

So, a while back, I found this video by "8AAFFF" that "Mapped the internet"

And I decided to download the file that was provided. It's been an interesting experience, even if all roads seem to lead to Google, Twitter or Facebook.

The map in the background also happens to be my Tumblr blog as it is right now.

Kinda...

[irisintheafterglow]

alright @mididoodles since you're so determined to absolutely annihilate my psyche every time you press post, here's wonderwall hockey player!satoru x skater!reader

it couldn't be that bad to go a little later to the rink, right? right?

wrong, so very wrong.

on top of sleeping through your alarm, you couldn't find your skate guards after you carelessly tossed them on your desk the night prior. you ended up having to wrench them from your dog, nearly dropping your car keys in the trash in the process. by the time you were through the double doors and shivering against the frigid air, someone's already occupied your usual timeslot. sure, it was a free skate before doors officially opened, but years of going to the same rink established that you were the one on the ice at the asscrack of dawn. the ticket sellers knew it, the zamboni drivers knew it, even other skaters knew that you had first claim. everyone was aware of your seniority, it seemed, except for the lanky hockey player swinging pucks into a net on the far side of the ice. you lace up your skates and pray for him to leave, grimacing when he doesn't and hopping onto the rink anyway. if he hit you with a puck, the lawsuit would certainly pay for your next program's costume.

you tune him out the best you can and try to ignore the way his muscles stretch against his compression long sleeve, something much too light to be wearing for a typical hockey player. you don't skate close enough to see his face, but the corded muscle on his back was enough to have your face heating. his hair was nearly the same color as the ice, and he flipped it back every so often to get it out of his face. in another world where you weren't sharing the rink with him, you'd have found yourself with a little crush on him. the music in your earbuds isn't enough, however, to drown out the sound of the stick hitting the puck over and over and over again, not to mention the times when he misses the net and the puck ricochets off the walls of the rink. your jumps become messier than usual, as are your spins, and you can only accredit it to the other occupant of the rink. after barely a few minutes of trying to share and run through your drills without using half your space, you give up and make to leave. you'd just have to come back tomorrow and hope he wasn't there.

"hey, wait! i was just leaving," a vaguely familiar voice calls to your back. it's melodic and incredibly confident, borderline arrogant. "sorry i stole your spot; i have a game tonight and i wanted to get some extra practice goals in before class." the crunch of skates sprinting across the ice and power-sliding to a halt floats into your ears and you look at the perpetrator from the corner of your eye, turning fully to look at him when your brain clicks into place who he is. "oh, shit!"

"satoru?" he mirrors the surprise in your tone, throwing his head to the side with a lopsided smile as he states your name tenderly. "oh my god, what are you doing here?" your mouth breaks into a grin, grateful to be free from the scowl you were wearing a few minutes prior. your eyes flick down to his lips as his tongue runs absentmindedly over a sparkling canine.

"i had to come in a little earlier than i usually do; i didn't know that it's during the time you're here. it's really good to see you," he says warmly and you feel your face warm. "you went pro, yeah?" you nod, casually leaning a shoulder against the plexiglass walls of the rink. he crosses his toned arms across his chest and you fight the urge to stare. it's rude to ogle the arms of your childhood crush turned hot hockey player bad boy, you scold yourself. "how's that going?"

"mmm, i just got back from russia a few weeks ago. holiday intensives and such."

"wow, that's incredible. not like i'm surprised, though. you were always the best skater in our group."

"not true. i had to use you as a walker a few times when we were first starting out," you remind him and he laughs at the memory. "you made me hold your hand while i shimmied around the perimeter."

"and you asked if i was born with skates on my feet, i remember."

"how's suguru?"

"he's great. he's usually here with me but i couldn't drag him out of his house this early in the morning."

"in true suguru fashion, really," you joke. you feel like you're seven again, staring up at satoru's bright blue eyes absolutely lovestruck. he still makes you feel butterflies, even over a decade later. "you said you had a game later?"

"yeah, here at 6:00. you should come if you're free. watch me kick ass on the ice for old time's sake."

"i'll do my best. i'm meeting a new ballet teacher who's coaching us on musicality later this afternoon."

"i don't know what any of those words mean," he states plainly and you snort. "i never understood your world."

"and i never understood yours," you confess. "yet, here we are."

"here we are, indeed," he murmurs, looking at you with an expression you've never seen on his face before. it has your heart racing like an idiot. "well, i'll let you have your rink back. thanks for letting me borrow it." he carefully steps past you and heads for the benches, throwing back his snowy hair in a way that has you gripping the edge of the wall for stability. it takes all of your willpower to keep your voice from shaking.

"i'd say come use it anytime, but i am very protective of my timeslot." he sends you a smile over his shoulder. holy shit, were his shoulders always that broad? and was he always that tall? was he always this fucking hot?

"i'll respect it, though i might pop in to watch you skate. you're mesmerizing, you know?"

"careful, any more sweet words and i'll think you have a crush on me." the words slip from your mouth faster than you can stop them and he looks at you curiously, and you'd be lying if you said he didn't look amused at your jab. you'd learned to flirt from him, after all.

when he's slipped out of his skates and re-approached you, you're barely tall enough to look him in the eyes. "it was good to see you," he murmurs.

"feeling's mutual." he's close enough that you can smell his shampoo and you resist the urge to touch his undercut.

"i missed you." his three words have you feeling weak in the knees and slightly breathless. "a lot." despite the chill, you feel your palms start to sweat.

"i missed you too."

"keep your eyes on me tonight?" you roll your eyes at his familiar, comforting self-assurance.

"like i would look at anyone else." his eyes are sparkling and time seems to slow down to a honey-covered crawl. "what number should i be watching?" he cracks a mischievous smirk, shrugging and walking to the exit. you're speechless on the ice until he turns back a final time.

to tell you that his number is your birthday.

I CALL WRITING THE GAME I'M GONNA WRITE THE GAME I WANNA WRITE THE GAME SOON I JUST FEEL SO AWKWARD WRITING WITHOUT ANY FIRST MEET/CONTEXT

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[well-thats-just-prime]

Innocent Highs and Greater Heights (Optimus Prime x OC)

Bayverse!Optimus Prime x Magnus (Human OC)

I don't have much to say, other than

I really needed this.

Aside from the dysphoric problems, my chronic illnesses, fatigue, and treatment exhaustion I am just spent with life atm.

I just need to be reminded sometimes that my Fo's can help me through everything and come out loving me more than ever. Optimus Prime was in a major part of my healing process once I had escaped from an abusive living space with my dad. I was 15 then. I'm 28 now. I had become enthralled with the world of Transformers, and the giant robots whom I knew could protect me from anything. I got to meet Stan Bush, and enjoy a concert, with the songs that will always tell me that I have the touch, and I can always dare!

“You could never hurt me”

Magnus shuffled out of the storm towards the tall awning. The hollow structure -as rusted as it seemed- did hold strong through the mild downpour of frigid rain. A nervous chuckle escaped the timid male that shook his chords, still sore from the brisk walk he’d taken to the tarp tower. With a quick gasp, he took a toke from his inhaler, and hoped the occupant was within earshot the first time he’d spoken. A rumbled response was all he’d heard thereafter.

Magnus huffed and placed a white knuckled fist on each hip. “Well, that’s an excited hello if I’ve ever heard one.” The young man removed his jacket and hung it over a piece of horizontal metal parallel to the structure outside. With a swift movement of his hand, he rapped at the metal-plated being above. An everlasting moment passed -so it seemed- before the mech lowered his servo to the ground. Once secure, Magnus felt the unease of swift gravitational change in his gut. He was used to most of it, however, the emotional bit was new. This giant robo-tantrum had gotten old, and he didn’t want to end the night on a numb note.

“We made a deal-you promised me you would notify me before leaving, and yet you deliberately disobeyed my commands.” Prime’s optics traced every inch of Magnus. He could read almost any alien language, learning every distinct motive of a decepticon’s next move, and yet…Magnus was enigmatic. Optimus let his emotions get the best of him when around the young man. He felt as though there was something more to this guardianship that the allspark was not letting on. His expression grew soft after realizing his prior emotions had seemingly set Magnus in a frightened state. Their orbs met, like a gateway to the soul, and that’s when it hit. Magnus was terrified.

It was never-NEVER-in Prime’s programming to harm or strike fear within the hearts and minds of the race he fought so hard to protect, and yet, he sat within the mech’s palm, and trembled in fear and an overwhelming state of defeat. A heavy, saddened sigh escaped the mech as he thought long and hard over his next chosen words. He startled Magnus yet sensed a sudden sign of relief and calm after stroking his thumb over the now rigid, human male’s back, and up between his shoulders.

“Magnus, I…am sorry. I pushed too far,” He aimed to press the bridge of his nose to Magnus’ forehead, in a cautious attempt to mend his emotional state, “Your safety is my top priority. I would not be the same without you here.” The calm tempo on his chords chimed with a saddened tune as his gaze grew soft and forlorn.

They sat in a dormant state of emotional vacancy, before Magnus took the mech by surprise. He, out of nowhere, leapt in and closed the gap between Prime’s faceplate and his fleshy frame. His face pressed gently against Optimus’ brow, and his hands reassuringly caressed his armored jaw with gentle grace. The weight of the world felt as if it had suddenly fallen from Prime’s shoulders at that very instance.

Never once in his processors did, he ever consider a human’s fate to be so intertwined with his own, “You’re stronger than your storm,” His furrowed brow line weakened, and his expression softened beneath Magnus’ caresses. A gentle whirring escaped the mech’s chords as he thrummed a soft tune to reassure the fragile, young man that he was safe, “You are so brave, Magnus,” He paused, “on many occasions, more so than I ever could be.”

Magnus looked up with utter disbelief strewn across his face, “But, how? Why do you say that?” A sudden feeling of doubt and lingering agitation clouded his thoughts, but before he could speak, Prime intervened with strong reassurance.

“You’ve been through far more on this hardened planet than most of your kind could ever manage within a lifetime. I admire your tenacity and courage. It’s inspirational-admirable and above all else, true,” Optimus inhaled sharply and continued, “I am proud to call you a dear friend, a close companion-”

Magnus cut him off before he could finish, “Whoa whoa, lemme stop you there, Prime,” A sudden gut-wrenching, sickening sensation filled him with dread and utter panic. But Optimus intervened once more.

“Please, just refer to me as Orion,” He stroked Magnus’ forehead with his thumb and continued, “do you not believe me? Are you afraid of what I’m going to say next? I can stop now if it’s too much…I understand it’s been a long day for us both. For you, I can only imagine how hard it is right now,” Magnus attempted to look away, but Prime nudged his glance back to his own with a soft press of one of his fingers, “I don’t know if you believe in fate, religion, or past existence, but I do. Our paths have crossed in many lifetimes before-” Before Optimus could continue, yet again, Magnus intervened, aware of how overwhelmed he had become emotionally.

“That we are meant for each other? Are you meaning to say that we are supposed to be….’spark-bound’ or something?” Magnus sounded rather upset for such an emotional speech. Such a revelation by the leader of the Autobots himself shouldn’t have caused him such angst. Optimus remained calm as the human expressed his frustrations and disbelief, “I…how? How am I supposed to be connected to someone so perfect as you?!”

Prime’s spark dropped. He’d been aware of Magnus’ emotional struggle and self-doubts. He had been there himself. He was once lost in the stars attempting to find his true purpose, “Because you, in my optics, in my spark, in my processors are perfect,” His soft, forlorn tone brought tears to his eyes. A look of utter shock and disbelief wracked at his brain and distraught, emotional state.

“Answer me this, Magnus,” He stroked his cheek to wipe away a tear, “Do you ever get this nagging sensation in your spark-heart-when you’re around the one you truly care about-the one or many that fill you with so much courage, strength, and the utmost euphoric, emotional bliss? I, too, once believed it never existed, and yet, when I met you, - once again- I began to feel strange, possessive, and irate at all human interactions that you encountered. ‘Back off’ were the only words that crossed my thought processors. I felt angered and…I apologize if this is overwhelming, but I have so much to get off my chest plate…If not now, when?”

Magnus’ eyes welled up with tears. He never thought that Prime’s level of admiration for him was so high, yet he certainly was aware of the struggle with emotions and realized then that he, too, experienced the same struggles. It was as if a weight was lifted, and an epiphany struck all at once. It seemed Spark-mates weren’t just among cybertronians…Love and companionship were entwined with fate…not limited to race, appearance, and not size, but heart, spark, and the soul.

“Magnus, will you accept my gift of courtship? Will you be mine, for as long as this lifetime will allow and more?” He gazed into Magnus’ eyes with deep, soulful admiration.

“Yes, Orion, for as long as you’ll have me,” Magnus pressed his forehead to Prime’s. The rest of the evening was spent almost in complete silence. No words shared, yet the emotions ran strong, and their love…everlasting.

[lumin0usfox]

Rise of the Guardians/Guardians of Childhood: The animated tv series - HELP WANTED!

Jack Frost(above) lighting test by @thesleeplessdream, concept art by Lumi

Bunnymund(Easter Bunny)(above), character sketches by @candraz

Mother Goose’s home (above)(Katherine Shalazar) ‘Ganderly’, concept art by @thesleeplessdream

‘The Nightmare Galleon’ (above) concept art by @thesleeplessdream

Katherine Shalazar and Mr. Qwerty(above)  art by Lumi

(All artists involved in creating the work above have given express consent to show work)

Calling out all fans of Rise of the Guardians, fans of Guardians of Childhood, animators, voice actors, fx artists, sound designers, writers and more! 

Hello! Lumi here with another update on the rotg/goc animated series. 

To those whom are unaware of this project, 

In short, a team of artists and myself are making a fan animated tv series of Rise of The Guardians and Guardians of childhood respectively. Seeing as this is an independent project, and Dreamworks(c) holds ownership of the movie, we are trying to be as careful as possible in raising money and hiring artists. Last year, I had started a Go fund me to raise money for programs used for the project, as well as paying the artists that work on the project. In the future, raising money will be done through selling the product of our own original characters; a separate entity from Dreamworks(c) and from William Joyce’s properties. That being said, in order to make this dream a reality, I ask for you’re help. Our team is small, and we could use all the help we can get. We are still in the pre production stages of development. Any artists, especially animators and storyboard artists, are needed to help speed up the process. I ask the Rise of the Guardian community in particular. I have seen your posts about wanting a sequel, a second movie or a tv series. I was there, in the comments wanting the exact same thing. It frustrates me to no end that there could have been a trilogy of rise of the guardians! It was with the last book in the series, what felt like the end of the fandom, that I realized, we cant wait around for Dreamworks(c) or Peter Ramsey or William Joyce to make a sequel. Every day it feels like the fandom is growing smaller and smaller, as there is less and less content. From one fanatic to another, I ask for your help. To create a love letter of sorts to the artists who worked on the movie, to Billy Joyce, and to the fans that have given so much of their time and dedication, all for the love of the movie and the books. 

currently we are working on concept art and the script for the pilot episode. I ask that If you do come aboard the project not to spoil what we have so far for everyone else. 

If you are interested in joining you can DM me on Tumblr, Instagram or email me at ladyluminousfox@gmail.com. 

I hope to see you soon!

HOLY MOLARS LETS MAKE A FROSTED SERIES AND GET THOSE LITTLE LIGHTS FLICKERING AGAIN!! >: V 

THIS IS NOT A DRILL, THIS TIME EASTER IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN CHRISTMAS, SOUND THE NORTHERN LIGHTS, DROP WHATEVER COOKIES YOU’RE MUNCHING ON, WE ALONE CAN SAVE THIS GORGEOUS FRIGID SERIES, SHOUT IT TO THE MOON, TELL YOUR FRIENDS, YOU’RE OTHER FRIENDS, COSPLAY NERDS, I KNOW YOU EXIST, IVE SEEN YOU’RE TIKTOKS. 

(ahem)

thank you for you’re time, you may continue scrolling now. ( u w u

- lots of love, Lumin0usfox

[woogyu]

Lee Jihoon : Hydrangea

Fallin’ Flower Series

Characters: Lee Jihoon x female reader

Genre: Painter!Jihoon, University AU

Warnings: Mentions of insomnia 

Word Count: 4676

“That’ll be $24.75.” The shopkeeper told the raven haired boy, eyeing the bundle of hydrangeas she had wrapped up for him. She couldn’t help but wonder where these flowers were going, were they for a family member? Friend? Lover? Himself? Hydrangeas represented ‘gratitude for being understood’ or ‘frigidity and heartlessness’. The boy standing in front of her certainly didn’t look frigid or heartless. Was he thanking someone? What was his story…

_

           328...329...330...331...332… It didn’t matter how many imaginary sheep you counted, not a single one of them had the answer to why you couldn’t sleep. What used to be a monthly or weekly occurrence was now becoming a nightly thing, and it was starting to wear you down. Every time you laid your head down to sleep you remembered the seemingly endless number of assignments you had to do, and all of your approaching deadlines. You couldn’t find a way to turn your brain off long enough in order for sleep to claim you. You rolled over and checked the time on your phone, squinting as the light hit your tired eyes… 1:30am, you had been laying there for 2 hours now. 

           Sitting up, you stretched and yawned, rubbing your eyes before moving to get up. There was always a certain point during your restless nights that you just couldn’t continue to lay in bed anymore. If you weren’t going to be able to sleep, might as well get up and do something. Usually you would go for walks or watch a movie on your computer. Tonight you felt like moving. After pulling on a hoodie and a pair of sneakers, you grabbed your phone and keys before heading out. There were only a few buildings on campus that stayed unlocked all night for students to use for work or studies. One of your favourite places to go on restless nights was the arts building. It was always quiet, and you could wander through student projects to keep yourself occupied. 

           You took your time as you wandered down the sidewalk, eyes scanning over the dark empty streets. Being up in the middle of the night wasn’t always bad, it was actually one of the only times that you could really hear yourself think and take a breather. You forgot about assignments and deadlines for a little while, and just let your mind wander.

_

           It wasn’t long before you arrived at the familiar stone building. Sometimes you would find a few students here working late on their various projects, but most nights the building was empty. You wandered through the familiar halls, eyes scanning over the artwork along the walls. Most of the pieces you had looked at a million times, however, you always noticed new things each time, something that hadn’t stood out to you before. 

           “Are you lost?” a voice disrupted your thoughts, nearly causing you to jump. You quickly turned toward the direction it was coming from, finding a dark haired boy eyeing you curiously. When you didn’t answer the boy simply sighed and shook his head.

           “Do you sleepwalk or something? Is there someone I should call?” he asked, moving towards you. You couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or concerned. You blinked a few times before shaking your head, as if that would somehow help you gather your thoughts enough to answer the boy in front of you. 

           “I’m sorry?” you said, too sleep deprived to fully process what he was asking you. He sighed and stopped a ways from you, his hands perched on his hips as his eyes scanned over you. Now that you could see him better you could tell he was an art student. The splotches of paint on his clothes and hands acted as a dead giveaway. 

           “You don’t seem drunk…. Why are you here? I’ve seen you around here before at night, but never in any of my classes…” he explained, your brain finally catching up to what was going on. 

           “Oh!” you exclaimed with a soft laugh, your posture relaxing as you turned to face him fully. “I go to school here but I’m not in the arts program. I just like coming here when I can’t sleep.” you explained with a gentle smile. Your answer was obviously not one that he was expecting, from the confusion that passed over his features. You didn’t know if it was because he didn’t believe you, or didn’t understand why you came here when you couldn’t sleep. Nonetheless, he didn’t press you any further and slowly nodded.

           “Alright…” he said uncertainly before turning and walking back down the hall. You opened your mouth to answer him or explain yourself further, but he had already disappeared into one of the adjacent rooms. You slowly moved down the hall, unconsciously following the strange boy. You paused in front of the room he had entered, peering into a small art studio with a large easel and canvas set up in the middle. You watched him for a few minutes as he moved about the room gathering different paints and brushes. You hadn’t realized how long you had been staring until he turned around and fixed you with an annoyed glare.

     “Are you just going to stand there all night?” he questioned, his posture tense as he waited for you to leave. 

           “Can I watch?” you asked, your eyes pleading a little bit as you hoped he would say yes. Staring at finished pieces of art was good and fun, but you were also curious to see how the paintings were made. Once again the boy seemed startled by your response, his shoulders dropping as he fixed you with a confused stare.

          “I.. I guess?” he said, uncertain as you entered the room and sat down at one of the tables in the back corner. “I need to focus though, so don’t be disruptive” he mumbled, obviously not used to having someone watch him work. You were honestly shocked that he had agreed, but you figured your request had caught him off guard and he hadn’t known how to answer. You didn’t want to disrupt him, but you were also desperate for something to do. Watching someone paint seemed like a calming enough activity. 

“Hmm!” you agreed as you settled in at the table, your head resting on your hands as you watched him go back to what he was doing it. At first he would glance back at you every few moments, constantly aware of your eyes following his movements. However, over time he seemed to grow used to your presence and got lost in his work. 

Watching him paint was oddly comforting, and before long your eyes slid closed as you listened to the sounds of him rustling around and a brush being dragged across a canvas. Before you knew it you had fallen asleep at the table, head resting in your arms. 

_

Waking up the next morning you were confused by how stiff your arms and legs were. Opening your eyes you blinked a few times as you sat up, unsure as to why you weren’t in your room until you remembered the events of the previous night. You quickly looked around for the boy who had been painting but he seemed to be long gone… 

Your eyes landed on a coffee cup sitting on the table you were at, a small note folded up next to it. Picking it up you unfolded it as your eyes scanned over the words, 

‘You fell asleep… I didn’t want to wake you. Drink this when you wake up’

You read it again, just to make sure you didn’t miss something. You could have sworn the boy from last night hadn’t liked you very much, but maybe you had been wrong. You stood up, stretching out your stiff arms and legs as you took the drink. It was still warm so he must have stayed here all night… you wished that you would have asked him his name…

_

Little did you know that for the next month you would be spending nearly every night watching the boy you had come to know as Lee Jihoon paint. He got used to having you there as company, and watching him paint was the only thing that would help you sleep. Sometimes he stayed until you woke up, if he didn’t have class, and you two would go for breakfast. Or sometimes you would wake up to a cup of coffee next to you. 

You had gotten used to the routine of heading down to his studio at 1am, sometimes bringing snacks or your own homework with you. Most nights were quiet and the two of you barely exchanged words, but once in a while you would find him opening up to you and sharing details about his friends, classes or the painting he was working on. You fell into the habit of telling him about your day when he seemed stressed about his work, after you noticed that it seemed to help him clear his head. Even if you two didn’t talk much, it was just nice being in each other's company and not having to be alone. 

You smiled a little to yourself as you silently entered the all too familiar building, heading towards the room that had become almost like a second home. Just as you were about to turn the corner towards his studio, a loud crashing caught you off guard, causing you to jump a little and pause. You realized a second later that it had come from Jihoon’s studio and confusion passed over your features… Had he dropped something?

You quickly closed the distance between you and the lit doorway down the hall, coming to a stop before you entered, eyes searching for the source of the sound that you had heard. You saw Jihoon standing there, hands pressed over his eyes, sleeves rolled up and paint covering most of the exposed skin on his forearms. His posture was stiff and his breathing fast and heavy. Next to him on the floor was the painting he had been working on for the last 2 weeks, the one he had explained to you on a previous night was the final project for one of his courses. It took you a few moments to piece together what was going on, a frown coming to your lips. It was rare for Jihoon to get frustrated with his work, even when he had gotten stuck before it had never stressed him out to his extent… something must have happened.

You silently made your way into the room, hand reaching up to gently rest on his shoulder. He seemed startled for a moment before slowly moving his hands away from his face and looking at you. His eyes were filled with a mixture of emotions, but from his drawn eyebrows and slightly parted lips you could tell he was feeling defeated. It absolutely devastated you to see him like this. Without saying a word you slowly coaxed him toward the back of the room, guiding him to sit down in the chair that you usually occupied. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked slowly, not wanting to pry or make him uncomfortable. His body deflated a little bit as he looked up at the ceiling, a short sigh escaping his lips as he closed his eyes for a moment. 

“I had my evaluation today for the end of term piece,” he started, lazily gesturing to the discarded painting on the floor. “My professor said that my take on the assigned theme was too shallow and that I needed to embrace the complexity of the emotions that the painting is trying to express.” he explained bitterly, something akin to anger briefly flashing over his features. “I tried to fix it according to what he said, but now it all feels wrong and I-” he cut himself off as he took a deep breath.

“You liked how it was before… and don’t understand what was wrong with it.” You finished slowly, watching as his eyes snapped over to yours, his lips parted in surprise. You saw him pause for a moment before pressing his lips together and nodding. He looked down at his hands, his fingers idly fiddling with one another as a beat of silence passed between the two of you. 

You pushed yourself up and walked towards the painting, his eyes following your movements. You picked up the discarded piece of artwork and situated it back onto the easel before taking a step back. Your eyes moved over the piece before you hummed softly. 

“There used to be a lot more dark blues and greens,” you noted, glancing back at him for confirmation as he gave a small nod of his head. “Longing…” you turned the word over in your mouth, the theme of this work was centred around longing. 

“I thought maybe it had been too cold before, so I added warmer tones.” He said softly and you could hear the distaste for the new additions in his tone. You nodded a few times before folding your arms over your chest, eyebrows drawing together in concentration. 

“I’m with you on this one, the cooler tones were a much better fit for what you were going for as a finished product. You were trying to emulate the cold lonely feelings that accompany missing and longing for someone.” You said with an exasperated sigh, starting to question if Jihoon's prof had taken the time to visualize the finished canvas. Your comments caught him off guard as he stared at you with a bewildered expression, blinking as he processed what you had said. You had captured exactly what he was going for with this piece without him ever having explained it to you before. You understood his work and his vision, even as it was half finished and crumbling around him. 

“I think you should continue what you had originally intended. Your prof will understand what you were going for when it’s finished, and well if he doesn’t? too bad.” You told him with a laugh, turning toward him with a grin. It took a second, but you saw a small smile pull at the corner of his lips as he relaxed back into the chair. 

“Now,” you began, moving his canvas to the side as you grabbed a small blank one and positioned it on the easel. “Watching you paint always helps me calm down and clear my head, so it’s time for me to return the favour.” You said, determined to try and make him feel better, or at the very least make him laugh with your attempt at painting. 

“Hmmm,” you heard Jihoon hum, looking back you could see he was leaning forward with his head resting on his hands now, his expression amused. You decided to try painting the night sky, figuring it was something relatively simple that you wouldn’t be able to mess up too badly. You started by painting the canvas a darker navy blue toward the top, fading it down into a slightly light blue toward the bottom. 

You took your time adding bits of colour here and there, focused on trying to capture the beauty of the night sky. It all started to go downhill when you began adding the moon and stars, no matter what you did it just didn’t look realistic at all. After a few attempts you leaned back a little and pouted at the canvas, as if you were trying to blame it for your lack of painting skills. 

You hadn’t even heard Jihoon push his chair out and move toward you. It was only when he lightly took your hand with the paintbrush in it within his own that you realized he wasn’t still sitting in the back. You felt his chest press against your back, his breath fanning along your right ear as he guided your hand back to the canvas. 

“Here,” he said softly, moving your hand and creating delicate strokes along the painting. You could feel your heart rate quicken with him in such close proximity, swallowing hard as you tried not to let it show just how nervous you were. You would be lying if you said you had never thought about romantic possibilities with him. He was attractive and you two had been spending so much time together that it was hard not to let your mind wander to the possibilities. However, daydreaming about Jihoon and having him pressed up against you like this were two very different things, and it was difficult to hide the way your cheeks flushed.

“There,” he said, pleased with how it had turned out. Before you had even fully processed what was going on, he was pulling back and admiring the work. You blinked a few times to clear the haze that had momentarily taken over your brain, and looked at the work sitting in front of you now.

“Oh wow..” you breathed, amazed at how much better it looked with the little tweaks that he had done. “You saved it!” you proclaimed, turning back to him with a bright smile. You missed the way that the tips of his ears turned red at the praise, as he muttered something about you doing most of the work with the base colours. 

“Thank you…” he whispered, looking down at his feet as he spoke, knowing that if he met your eyes that he wouldn’t be able to tell you this. “Thank you for distracting me… and making me feel better about my work” he said, his eyes finally flicking up to find yours momentarily. You felt your cheeks warm at his sincerity, mouth parting as you tried to figure out how to answer him. 

“I hated seeing you so beaten down about your art… You’re an amazing artist Jihoon, and I don’t want you to ever forget that okay?” you said, smiling as your eyes finally met his. He did such a good job at hiding his emotions that you could never read them just from his eyes. You could tell one thing, you could tell how much better they looked compared to the eyes you had witnessed when you first walked in here tonight. There was determination back in his gaze, and you knew that whatever happened the final art piece would be stunning. 

“I won’t,” he said with the softest smile you had ever seen on him, and the sight alone was nearly enough to take your breath away. You quickly moved away from his working space and back towards your place in the back, willing all the while for your heart to calm down. You were getting far too worked up for a boy that could very well not even reciprocate your feelings. 

The rest of the night passed as normal, but you did find yourself watching the painter more than the painting this time.

_

           Jihoon wasn’t in his studio the next night… or the night after that. You told yourself that this was normal, that sometimes he would follow a normal sleep schedule or have prior commitments with friends. But, you would be lying if you said that you weren’t disappointed. You tried lying to yourself by saying you were just longing for a good night's rest, but in reality you missed him. You missed the little bits of conversation you two shared and learning about his likes and dislikes. You missed watching the way the moonlight filtered through his dark hair. You missed everything about him, and every night you felt too empty and too alone. 

Each time you arrived at the empty studio you would turn and head back home, accepting the reality that he was not going to be there quickly and giving up. However, on the fourth night you couldn’t bring yourself to head back to the cold empty apartment. You hadn’t slept for more than a few hours for the past four days, and you were too tired and too disappointed to even attempt the walk back home. 

           You turned on the lights and slowly sunk into your seat at the back of the room. If you closed your eyes you could almost hear the sounds of him breathing and of brush being pulled along canvas. Even being in this room was a comfort itself, but it still wasn’t the same without him there. 

“____?” you heard a familiar voice ask, obvious confusion lacing his tone. Your eyes flew open as you sat up quickly, your cheeks flushing a little bit as if you had been caught doing something wrong. He chuckled a little bit at how startled you were, and it was then that you noticed that he was holding a canvas behind his back, using his body to keep it from view. 

           You watched as he moved towards you, setting the mysterious art down against the far wall. Your eyes followed his every movement, watching him as he leaned down a little to stare at you, his eyebrows drawn together concerned. You didn’t realize what the cause of his concern was until one of his hands reached out and cupped your cheek, his thumb gently caressing under your left eye. You broke eye contact with him, staring down at your lap as you felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you. You were sure that you probably looked terrible, and your dark circles did nothing to hide the fact that you hadn’t been sleeping. 

           “___” he breathed out your name so softly as he let his hand linger along your cheek, gently tilting your head up to coax you into looking at him once again. 

“You haven’t been sleeping have you?” he asked, his eyes full of concern. You bit your lip before shaking your head a little bit, your fingers fiddling with the hem of your sweater nervously. 

           “I’m sorry,” he started, finally letting his hand fall away from his face as he straightened up. Your eyes followed him as he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, messing up his usually neatly kept hair. “I should have-” he continued, but this time you cut him off, curiosity finally getting the better of you. 

           “Where have you been?” you asked, your tone harsher and more demanding than you had intended. You had so many things that you wanted to say to him, so many things that you wanted to ask him. You wanted to know why he had suddenly disappeared after making you so dependent on him. You wanted to know why your heart didn’t feel right unless he was there with you. 

           He must have expected this because neither your question nor tone caught him off guard. You could tell he was nervous about something, it was obvious with the way that he kept clenching and unclenching his hands. 

           “I wanted it to be a surprise,” he mumbled a little to himself, moving back towards the front of the room. “I was working on something… for you,” he continued, and you didn’t miss the light dusting of pink along his cheeks as he picked up the canvas that he had walked in with. “Just keep in mind that it’s not quite finished yet” he explained, walking back towards you with the canvas in hand. 

           He set the mysterious art piece down on the table in front of you, and your eyes scanned over a beautiful painting of blue, purple and pink flowers. The detail that had gone into every petal was incredible, and you couldn’t hide your awe as you looked away from the painting and back up at him. 

           “This is for me?” you asked, taken aback. He cleared his throat a little and nodded, taking a deep breath as if to prepare himself to say something. 

           “They’re hydrangeas,” he started to explain, his voice wavering just a little bit. “I saw them at a flower shop that’s near here and they reminded me of you.” he continued, his voice soft and unsure. “I-I was going to give them to you,” you watched as he glanced away nervously, the redness in his cheeks darkening. “But flowers don’t last long enough, you can only enjoy their beauty for a little while. I knew if I painted them for you… that you would be able to enjoy them forever.” he finished, staring at the ground as he spoke.

           “Jihoon…” you breathed, completely caught off guard by his gesture. You couldn’t find the right words to express how you felt, you didn’t know how to make him understand just how special this painting was to you. “Jihoon, they are absolutely stunning…” you started before you looked back at the painting in front of you. While you stared in awe at the beautiful piece of art that he had made for you, he was starring in awe at you. Watching the way your eyes lit up as you took in each of the colours on the canvas had him saying what was on his mind before he realized it. 

           “So are you,” he whispered, his eyes watching you with adoration before realizing what he had just said. He quickly turned away from you, cheeks burning as he resisted the urge to flee from the room entirely. You felt your own cheeks heat up at his words, but smiled as you realized what was going on and at how shy he was acting. You stood up slowly and walked in front of him, giggling softly to yourself when you saw that he had his hands pressed tightly over his face. 

           “Jihoon… do you… like me?” you asked, pretty confident that you knew the answer already, but it was cute how flustered he was. You reached up and gently urged him to move his hands away from his face, smiling at how red he was. “You know… it would be really great if you did, because I like you too.” you said quietly, nervousness seeping into your voice. His eyes quickly found yours once again, wide and shocked by your confession. 

           “Yo-you do?” he asked, still uncertain and unsure as he stared down at you. You smiled at how adorable he was acting and nodded. He visibly relaxed when he realized you were serious, a smile making its way onto his features. You watched as he let out a sigh of relief, his hand reaching out to gently tuck your hair back behind your ear.

           “You are so beautiful,” he breathed, his eyes scanning over your face as he moved closer to you. You blushed a little at his words, watching him and knowing exactly what was running through his mind without him having to say it. You leaned up on your toes to lightly press your lips to his, smiling at the feeling of his hand running up to rest along the back of your head. The two of you lingered there for a moment, wanting to savour the feeling and not rush. When he finally pulled back you felt him press his forehead against yours, his fingers lightly playing with the soft hairs at the base of your neck. 

           “You’ve always understood me. You always know what I’m thinking without me having to say it.” he breathed, smiling to himself as he guided the two of you to sit with your backs against the wall. You pulled back from him and smiled, intertwining your hands together. Before you could say anything further he softly reached up to guide your head down onto his shoulder.

           “Rest…” he whispered, his fingers running through your hair. “You have about 4 days of missed sleep to catch up on, and I’m keeping track.” he said with a soft chuckle. You were too tired to argue with him, and the feeling of his hand playing with your hair had soon lulled you to sleep. You never had to worry about falling asleep after that.

_

[mnictasbcl]

2:42 am

For #dbhcolorsofdeviancy, prompt:

June 1st:  Watching a human sleep. @connor-sent-by-cyberlife

Rating: Teen

Characters: Connor, Hank Anderson, Sumo, Amanda

Relationships: Connor & Hank Anderson

Additional Tags: Fluff, then, Angst, Nightmares, Hurt, Panic attack, sort of, Swearing

Summary: Connor comes back home with Hank after the Revolution. His first night after everything that happened, including the mind control by Amanda, would be fine, right?

Alternatively: Connor finds himself in Hank’s room at 2:42 in the morning.

Story below! Or, read it on AO3

The sun was setting on the day the revolution had succeeded. Rays of light glinted off the rusted metal truck that was Chicken Feed, as Hank and Connor, human and android, embraced. In that moment, none of their differences had mattered, not the disagreements from before, nor the variations in their biology. The hug was warm and loving, metal encased in artificial skin just as squishy, just as human.

They couldn’t stay there forever, of course. Chicken Feed wasn’t even currently open to serve food, and the day was drawing on. In silent agreement, the two stepped back before making their way over to the car.

The door shut. The hula girl on the dashboard bobbed back and forth, back and forth.

“You got someplace to stay, Connor?”

“No, Lieutenant.”

“Hank.”

Connor raised a brow, blue LED swirling in thought, before coming to realisation that Hank wanted him to call him that.

“Of course, Lieutenant.”

“Little shit.” The man breathed, slotting keys into the ignition of the car, no real heat behind his tone. “I was going to offer for you to stay at my place. But maybe with that snark, you don’t want to come back and meet Sumo again—”

“I wouldn’t wish to intrude, but… I think it would be beneficial to have a safe place to stay.” He fiddled with his tie, head twitching briefly to the side. Wearing a suit after being in the more comfortable deviant clothes definitely wasn’t pleasant. He’d much rather shed the tie and jacket for the beanie and baggy clothes, but he was still on the fence about such matters.

“You just want to pet the damn dog again.”

Connor couldn’t help it, he snorted. When Hank glanced over, he covered it up with clearing his throat. If he’d still been a machine, maybe he would have retaliated something about probabilities or how he could not ‘want’ anything. Instead, he pulled off the tie and remarked,

“I like dogs.”

 ___________________

 It wasn’t a lie at all. As they arrived home—back at Hank’s home, of course—Connor couldn’t help but feel eager to see the Saint Bernard again. His fingers itched, somewhat remembering the silky feel of the dog’s fur under his fingertips from their brief encounter that one night.

And it seemed Sumo was just as eager to meet the android again, because, as the two walked through the house, as soon as the dog saw Connor, he let out a deep bark, paws padding along the floor. He smiled and leant down to pet him.

Hank cleared his throat dramatically, after a few minutes of belly rubs and ear scratches.

“Sumo? Hello to your master?”

The dog whined and nuzzled his head closer into Connor’s touch.

“Traitor dog.”

Sumo barked in response, tail wagging, sweeping on the floor and almost tripping Hank up as he attempted to step around the pair.

“Jesus Christ.”

Connor glanced up. “No, it’s me, Connor.”

“I changed my mind, get out of my house.”

The android looked up swiftly, processing, almost taking it seriously as his cue to leave before detecting sarcasm. He chuckled, making no effort to get up until he’d deemed enough attention given to the canine. Okay, nevermind, there was never enough attention to give to Sumo, but he had to stop at some point.

As he got up, he looked up the time briefly. 8.54pm. It was getting fairly late into the evening, but he knew Hank hadn’t eaten at Chicken Feed.

“Would you like me to cook you a meal, Lieu- Hank?”

The main raised a brow at him in question.

“I haven’t observed you eating yet, and it is not healthy to skip meals—”

“I’ll order some takeout.” Hank waved a hand in dismissal.

Connor narrowed his eyes. It was something he could recall feeling distantly before he deviated, whenever he saw Hank eating something incredibly unhealthy, such as that time with the burger. The levels of lipids and—it was annoyance, he realised. No, was it? The android tilted his head to the side in thought. He wasn’t sure if he could pin the correct emotion on it, being new to deviancy, but he definitely felt as if he should stop the man from ordering out.

“I insist.”

“Yeah? Well, I insist.”

“But I can cook—”

“It’s been a long day. Hell, you’ve been busy today fighting in an android revolution. I think I can order a burger.”

Connor couldn’t help but shake his head.

“No burger? Fine, pizza time it is.”

Exasperation. That was what it was, he decided, watching in defeat as the man took a leaflet out from the kitchen draw and mumbled the number of the pizza place under his breath. But maybe the man was right. He wasn’t sure if this was what humans called tiredness, but the revolution had certainly taken a toll on his systems. And maybe it was okay for Hank to indulge in less optimal food choices once in a while. His diet would certainly grow to be healthier in the future if Connor had a choice in it.

 ___________________

 The pizza arrived, Connor snuck Sumo a small piece of it, got scolded by Hank for being a hypocrite- all in all, it was an eventful evening. Definitely not the sort of thing machine Connor would have imagined himself doing. But something the real Connor surely did, and he loved every moment of it. Apart from the scolding, of course.

It was drawing on 9.29pm, an unusual time to be finishing a full meal, when Hank switched off the TV, stretching. They’d whiled away the time watching the news after the revolution, seeing the androids celebrating in the streets. Connor felt tired looking at them. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be with them- on the contrary, but the day had indeed been exhausting enough. Perhaps he would attend the parties he knew Jericho might throw in the coming weeks, once all the politics and such things had settled down.

Pointing Sumo to his bed, Hank got up from the couch, stretching. “I’m gonna call it a day. You—” he paused, glancing to Connor, expression shifting as he seemed deep in thought about something. “You can, uh, stay on the couch and… rest? I don’t know what you do. But you can, you know, do it on the couch.” He cringed at his choice of wording.

“Thank you, Hank. Androids don’t rest, but I can go into a mode of stasis in order to recharge and perform system updates—”

“Sounds like sleeping to me.”

Connor pursed his lips, looking displeased. “In a crude manner of speaking… yes. The couch will be fine, thank you.”

Hank nodded. “Great. Well, have a nice stasis. Don’t let the… android bed bugs bite.”

As he walked out the room, Connor blinked, thinking over the statement. “Bed bugs…” He murmured, LED circling yellow. “But this is a couch.”

He shrugged off the quandary eventually, storing it in his mind for later to think over, before adjusting his seating position on the couch. It would be easier to lay down, in case he startled the Lieutenant, finding him sleeping sitting up. Of course, androids used to stand up in stations built around the city to go into stasis, but that was before. It was funny to think of it like that, when before was simply yesterday and all the time before the success of the revolution.

Connor pushed aside the cushions before laying down on the couch, eyes flicking shut. He took a few breaths, which were usually unnecessary but helped to calm his systems and it was in a few moments that he fell into stasis.

 But strangely, sometimes, stasis could produce images in his mind. He was a detective model, perhaps it was a way of thinking of possibilities and probabilities of things happening in the world. One would assume, then, that these images would be realistic.

Tonight, however, something seemed fantastical about them. His inner eyes snapped open, and he was in a swirling snowstorm. His arms clutched around his middle, sensors picking up the frigid temperatures. It wasn’t dissimilar to the scene he’d experienced earlier that day in his Zen Garden, when he’d been standing up on that stage, Markus giving his speech, and Amanda had pulled him out of reality.

But there were changes. The way out… Kamski’s secret way out of this control over his systems… it wasn’t there. The paths were all different, winding and winding on, not leading to the stone platform where he could place his hand and resume control over his own body. He followed the winding paths, Amanda’s voice whispering in his ears, feeling as if he’d never reach anywhere, not in time.

You’ve failed, Connor.

The paths stopped. He could see the trellis in the distance, roses snaking up it, choking it, further and further into the sky. Suddenly, he could see the glint of the escape he was meant to reach, somewhere up there in the heavens.

Connor picked up his pace, pulling his hands away from his sides, ignoring the ice creeping over his fingers, and grasped at the trellis. Pulling himself up, he managed to find a foothold.

Cyberlife always planned for you to become compromised.

He grit his teeth as the thorns dug into his hands but ignored the flares of pain and the red warnings flashing in his vision. He had to get to the top. Had to get away, had to…

We just had to wait for the right moment to resume control of your program…

Somewhere in his mind, as if he could see what his body was doing, out of his control, an image flashed. Connor wasn’t on the couch anymore; he wasn’t in Hank’s house. No… it couldn’t be… had he never hugged Hank outside Chicken Feed? Had the revolution never ended?

He was up on that stage again. Markus was speaking, and Amanda was twisting his limbs to her will.

Don’t have any regrets. You did what you were designed to do.

The escape was too far away. His hands slipped, the snow making the trellis slick with moisture, and he lost his footing. The escape was getting further and further out of reach, and there was nothing he could do, except fall down and down and—

You accomplished your mission.

 Connor awoke with a start.

He shot up off the couch as if it had wounded him, breaths stuttering in and out. Sumo looked up at him from where he sat in his bed, whining and looking at the android with concern in his honey brown eyes.

“I’m…” Connor breathed, hand hovering over his LED. It was flashing a jarring red. “I’m…”

He didn’t understand. Out of all the times he’d experienced those sorts of images during stasis, he’d never had any like that… never had any that left his thirium pump beating heavily in his chest, his hands trembling, never…

Cautiously, he made his way back onto the couch, perching on the edge of it. Hands resting on his knees, willing his LED to circle back to yellow, then back to blue—

This trepidation, this fear, was this what came with being human?

Connor closed his eyes. Saw Amanda, saw the gun in his hands, saw the trellis with its blood red roses. Opened his eyes.

He brought his arms around himself, in a sort of self-soothing. It wasn’t real. It was okay. It was just imaging. Just his overzealous detective software figuring out what could happen- no, what could have happened. The revolution had happened. And they’d won. He hadn’t shot Markus, he’d reached the escape and he was free. Finally free. If he went into his Zen Garden now, the roses would be withered and dead, but the waters still and calm, no sign of Amanda anywhere.

Knowing the truth and hard facts made him feel a little more tethered to reality. Lines of yellow cut through the red of his LED. Maybe none of it was true. But… why wasn’t he completely back to normal? He glanced to his jittering hands, and then to the Hank’s bedroom door.

Right. Hank. For some reason, that thought that had lodged itself in his mind during the dream—whatever it was. The thought that none of it had ever happened, that Hank had never brought him into his home, and it had come to stay.

He groaned. He was in the man’s house right now, sitting on his couch and staring at his dog. It didn’t make any sense.

Then again, not a lot of being human had made sense to him that evening. All he wanted in that moment was to dispel the rumours his mind was conjuring, and the solution appeared to be behind that bedroom door.

With a sigh, he got back off the couch, glancing around the room briefly before quietly making his way to Hank’s bedroom door. He raised his hand to knock, before changing his mind. It was 2:42am, not an optimal time to wake the man. So instead, he pushed open the door silently, having learned the last time he’d been in this room where to push it to so that it didn’t creak.

One glance over the room told him it was dark. Well, no shit, Connor, his inner voice muttered, sounding a lot like Hank. Blinking, eyes adjusting to the change, he managed to make out the shape of Hank sleeping on his bed, one leg hanging off the edge, face half pressed against the pillow, cheek squished.

He nodded. Hank was there, he was alive, and he’d certainly let Connor into his house, so therefore none of the bad stuff in his… nightmare… was true. He could just leave and go back into stasis on the couch.

Except, he found he didn’t want to leave the room. Feet planted stubbornly on the floor, carrying out their own form of deviancy to his logical thinking. He sighed. He then caught sight of a chair in the corner of the room.

Connor shrugged. Sitting down in the chair, he found it wasn’t too uncomfortable. In fact, he found sitting up like this a better and more familiar position than lying down on the couch had been. And from this viewpoint, he could see Hank wherever he looked, chest rising and falling. The minutes ticked on. The android found a sense of peace in watching Hank sleep, LED going yellow, yellow, yellow, before finally back to ocean blue. Hank was safe. Hank was sleeping, just like he’d said he was going to earlier. This was the reality. He was in control of his own body, and he would do as he pleased with it, which meant in this moment, watching Hank sleep.

Maybe being human didn’t make much sense to him, but in that moment… it was pleasant.

Eventually, with serenity falling back over him and his mind focused on rest, it wasn’t long before he slipped back into a dreamless stasis.

 ___________________

 Hank awoke later that morning, the sun shining through the blinds, to find his bedroom door wide open, Sumo laying over his legs, and Connor sitting on the chair across from his bed, eyes fallen shut.

“Fuckin’ android.” He mumbled, affectionately.

[brandywine-tomatoes]

Dreadful Black

The Bad Batch angst

Prompt from the Discord! (@icedcoffee101, @twitchstoleyourbagel, @dragon-pups, @in-the-crosshairs, @angstkings)

Masterlist

TW: being shot, blood, falling, breaking of bones (I swear it's not as bad as it sounds)

Word count: 1,565

Prompt/Inspo: Challenge is you have 30 minutes to kill one batcher [it took me hours to outline it and actually wrote it the next day, sorry y'all ): ]

--

“You said the engines would hold until we got there!” Hunter yelled from his seat behind Echo. The ship lurched side to side, barely keeping it together. If the ship broke up in hyperspace... they didn’t want to think about it.

“I didn’t calculate one of them blowing up!” Tech yelled back, scrambling over the controls.

“One of them always blows up!”

“Would you like to try getting us to a safe planet while coming out of hyperspace?”

“Just get us out of here, Tech!” Echo shouted over the bickering. He had his own jobs of trying to keep the wings stabilized while keeping the ship balanced. All in all, not easy to do on your own.

Tech pushed up the hyperspace lever and the ship lurched forward, almost throwing everyone out of their seats. The tunnel disappeared and they were plunging to an orange and grey planet surface.

“We’re going too fast, Tech!” Echo shouted over the breaking ship.

“Then slow us down, Echo!”

“Then help me!”

Tech’s hands immediately flew to the yoke and gently pulled it back in time with Echo as they flew through the atmosphere, a trail of black smoke in the ship's wake.

“A fucking ocean! We’re gonna land in a fucking ocean!” Echo panicked.

“Calm down, there’s land over there!” Tech pointed left towards the land in the corner of Echo’s eyesight.

“I knew that!”

They swerved violently towards the orange land. It went on for miles, nothing but a rocky orange landscape. No vegetation, no life they could see. They narrowly crashed into the cliff where the land met the black ocean, but thankfully Tech pulled down the wings and lifted the ship just enough to get them over the side of the cliff.

The crew fell forward in their seats on impact, the ship dragged across the sand, every large rock making even more of a hack job of the hull. Hunter covered his ears at the sound of sand against metal and the rest braced themselves.

Everything went quiet. The ship was on solid ground, and they were surprisingly alive.

Tech took out his datapad. “Ephilia 78. Uninhabited. The troposphere is atrocious and there’s about 8 times more carbon dioxide than Kamino,” he looked up to everyone. “I’m surprised we haven’t died already. We need respirators.”

Hunter grabbed the respirators from storage and handed them out. Omega’s face was almost consumed by hers, making Echo have to stifle a laugh.

“Apparently there’s a pretty vicious rainy season-”

“Not like we haven’t dealt with a bit of rain,” Wrecker smiled.

“The ocean out there literally moves from basin to basin; this isn’t Kamino.”

Wrecker stayed silent, a look of concern on his face.

“Don’t worry, we’re 17-24 rotations away from it starting, we’ll be relatively safe.”

“Is it imperial occupied?” Hunter cut in.

“I don’t think the Empire even knows it exists, the information I found is written in Huttese.”

“Great, we’ll lay low here for a few rotations and get back to Pantora,” Hunter instructed, everyone nodding in agreement.

--

“Why is it so cold here? Aren’t deserts supposed to be hot?” Omega piped up, pulling the parka closer.

“The ocean lowers the temperature about 13 degrees,” Tech answered, his head and shoulders completely immersed in the engine. “The carbon traps what little heat there is. We’re lucky we didn’t crash someplace worse.”

“Oh, so the ocean is as cold as Kamino?” She pressed on.

“Somewhat. Though since the orbit of this planet isn’t similar...”

Tech and Omega went on and on about the conditions of the planet for some time, almost boring Echo to death.

Thankfully, Tech and Hunter delegated jobs after Tech assessed the engine. Hunter, Wrecker, and Omega went on a perimeter check and Echo was sent to do an internal diagnostic to see what was damaged in their recon mission for Rex.

He couldn’t help but think he’d been to Ephilia 78, the black waves of the vast ocean and the orange sandstone cliffs a stark contrast gave him major déjà vu. He searched his blurry memories of before Skako as he gathered an internal diagnostic from the Havoc.

He didn’t think he was stationed on any planets this far out from the core worlds. Maybe his brothers showed him photos? Maybe a General sent a holo from the planet? Maybe he really was stationed on the planet, but then again, the information about it was in Huttese. The Republic wouldn’t want to risk a terf quarrel in the middle of a galactic war. Maybe... oh. He’d seen the planet before. He’d fed the Separatists information on it for possible base locations. His shoulders sagged and the concentrated face was replaced with a grim look. His spirits dampened significantly.

He looked through the hyperdrive systems. They wouldn’t need urgent attention. The life support systems. They’d need those professionally fixed, but Tech could patch it up enough to get to Pantora. The cloaking device-

The cloaking device. It was fried, shot to hell. Their ship was completely exposed for tracking. Shit.

He ran to the doorway and slide down the ramp.

“Tech, we have a prob-”

A bright red bolt came from above, hitting the respirator at the perfect angle to knock it off his face. Only one person could make that shot.

“Echo, what-” Tech froze at the sight of an Imperial dropship landing close to them, the cargo doors open and a familiar sniper stepped out.

Echo gasped for breath, his throat freezing and cracking like an ice burg from the toxins he was desperately trying to inhale in exchange for oxygen. He clawed at his throat like ripping it out would solve the problem, black slithered through veins in his face, the whites of his eyes swimming with blood.

Crosshair advanced faster and Echo stumbled to the side, trying to stay standing while heaving in gulps of carbon and whatever lethal toxins were waiting for victims to breathe in.

“You know,” Cross’s cold and raspy voice was much closer. “There’s just enough oxygen in the air to keep you alive for 5 minutes, but the trick is not poisoning yourself while trying to breathe.”

Echo kept backing away, tripping over every pebble he could when he felt the first of a thick liquid hitting his cheeks. His shaking hands whipped it away to see pure obsidian sap smeared on the back of them.

“The maitotoxin is quite graceful. Your blood thickens and discolours, releasing from the tear ducks in the first 2 minutes. Your organs start failing in the next 7,” Crosshair shouldered his rifle as he spoke.

Echo tried whipping away the blood more rapidly as it flowed like sap from a tree. It was as if the fates wanted to watch him dance in his own blood bath.

As Cross neared closer and closer, Echo glimpsed the sea and the dangerous cliff edge he was backing into in the menacing green visor. He started hacking the obsidian sap up from his lungs, the blood blocking his airway made him panic even more.

He felt, for a few seconds, a free fall. His foot backed off the edge, the rocks under his boots fell to the black waves. Cross caught his arm before he fell to Echo’s surprise, but Cross’s grip on his forearm was his only salvation.

“Do you remember?” Cross asked coldly, any semblance of a person gone.

“What- what?” Echo painfully asked.

“When you were on Skako Minor.” Cross’s grip on Echo’s armour loosened.

Echo didn’t have any kind of leverage on the ground, he had to be pulled back by some ounce of Cross’s mercy.

“Some-” he tasted the blood running from his eyes into the corners of his mouth, frightening him and almost plummeting into the black, quite literally. He could feel the cold seeping in from the light spray of the ocean on his back. He’d known the cold like it was an old friend, and he would know it even more closely.

“Some of it.”

The green visor tilted to the hand holding Echo’s life.

“You’re a liability to the empire,” he smoothly said, like he spoke those words too many times, like he was programmed to. Like Echo was programmed to give up the Republic.

After a second of hesitation, CT-9904 released Echo’s arm.

His face was a light blue from lack of oxygen, his cheeks were smeared with pure obsidian blood, creating a mess of black tear tracks.

He fell, he dropped, he didn’t make a sound. He was unconscious before he hit the water, a peaceful death if you will. It shattered his spine and limbs immediately, the frigid water swirling over him, sucking Echo to the depths of the sea to be eaten by small fishes and a rather large squid-like fish.

The others had found a hiding spot behind an orange sandstone ridge and watched as the life was sucked out of Echo, then let go by their brother. Omega’s head was pushed below the ridge so she couldn’t watch, the others so desperately tried to hold back sobs, trying to keep quiet.

Cross searched the Batch’s ship quickly and speedily left back on the one he came in. Only when the Imperial shadow of a dropship darted through the thick, grey clouds did the Batch let their sobs go for Echo.

--

A/N: OMFG, that took forever!!! My outline for this is 613 words, I knew exactly how I wanted this to turn out, and I very much like it! I think Imperial Darkness will always be my favourite, or the one I'm writing with Ahsoka, Rex, and Maul, but this one turned out pretty cool!

ANYWAYS, I hope y'all liked it! I hated the process, but I love the final product! Go drink some water right now and go get a snack, you deserve it so much bestie 💓💓

[astarinthevalley]

It Was Bound To Happen

Siblings get mad at each other, it happens. Siblings fight for silly reasons, it happens. Things can get out of hand, it happens.

Sebastian glanced at the clock on his computer and blinked a couple of times. Was it really 9:45 PM? It was only 4:30 PM a couple of minutes ago.

He pushed his chair away from his screen and looked around his abyss of a room, barely being able to make any piece of furniture out. He’d usually turn on the small TV by his bed for background noise and a source of light--one not too intense, but not too dim either--since he despised getting up and traveling across his room just to flip a light switch.

Sebastian stretched his arms high over his head, listening to the clicks his wrists made as he rotated them. He turned his head and his neck released a loud, satisfying crack.

He got up and heard his feet land on what remained of his lunch: empty, crumbled bags of chips. When did he eat those again? 11 AM? He should be hungry, his stomach should feel like it’s being ripped to shreds like it always does when he forgets to eat, but he felt fine. ‘I should eat something anyways.’ He thought to himself. His mom, Maru, and Demetrius probably already had dinner together, and had stored the leftovers in the microwave for him as they always do whenever he couldn’t--or didn’t--join them.

Sebastian began maneuvering his way through the dark room, shuffling his feet across the floor so he wouldn’t risk stepping on whatever trash he had tossed and forgotten about. He kept his eyes focused on the spot where his door stood and reached his hand out. The moment his fingers came into contact with the cold metal of the knob, he wrapped his hand around it, swung the door open, and was immediately blinded. Why were the house’s lights still on? His mom always turned them off at 9:30.

He walked up the stairs, hand on the railing, as his eyes adjusted to the sudden shift in brightness. As he ascended the stairs, he could hear his step-sister, Maru, talking aloud with the occasional giggle in between her pauses. She must be on the phone.

He reached the hallway and took a right, journeying straight to the kitchen, not interested in whatever Maru was blabbering about. Unfortunately for him, Maru also decided she wanted to spend some of her time in the kitchen. She was sitting on top of their kitchen table, wrinkling the pink cloth covering it that mom had washed today, phone pressed against her ear, and a big, stupid, punchable smile on her face.

Whoever was on the other side was taking their time talking, so Sebastian decided to ask “Where’s mom?”

Maru peeked at him and whispered a ‘Hold on’ to her friend. “They’re at the saloon, and hello to you too.” She said in a tone not nearly as enthusiastic as it was a moment ago.

His mom would always pop into his room to let him know she was heading off somewhere, why didn’t she this time? Or maybe she did and he had forgotten about it.

He brought himself to the microwave and opened it to see a bowl of pesto pasta sitting in the center. ‘Warm it up for a minute, stir, then cook again for another minute.’ His mom’s instructions rang through his head.

He shut the microwave again, set the timer up, got a fork from a drawer, then stood and watched the bowl rotate while listening to the low buzzing and the tiny pops coming from his dinner.

Sebastian always found the noise rather calming in a strange sense--that is until time had run out and his trance would be disrupted by the blaring beeps--but Maru’s rambling was impossible to block out.

“... And I got a letter from another college today--Yeah, yeah! I didn’t expect so many to be interested, I’m really overwhelmed!”

Sebastian couldn’t hold back his groan. She was bragging about her damn robot again. Normally he’d be mildly annoyed but understanding when it came to bragging about accomplishments, he was guilty of doing so himself, but to constantly hear someone praise themselves for well over a month would start to drive anyone insane. Maru had built a robot--with the help of Demetrius--that was about the size of a small dog. It was able to pick up certain objects, respond to commands, and write. She showed off it’s abilities to the whole town, and everyone, even Sebastian, was impressed with what she had created.

“... My dad said he was going to help me with future projects, but I need to be more independent.”

He expected the never-ending praise from his parents, and had prepared himself for the constant compliments Maru would receive throughout this month and the many months after. She could mop the floor and they’d shower her in affection for the whole week, it was something they were both used to. But what he wasn’t prepared for was everyone to constantly talk about Maru and her invention. Maru makes a dingy droid and you might as well have told everyone the second coming of Christ was happening in this very valley. Sure, they lived in a small town, and when anything slightly out of the ordinary popped up, it was bound to be talked about for a couple of weeks, but conversations about Maru have barely dwindled.

“... I still need to make some improvements on the little droid.”

The continuous praise at home was exhausting enough, so to hear her name in every passing conversation was a nightmare. He liked to leave his house to get away from her, to get away from his parents gushing, but now it felt like there was no escape. Even his best friends, Sam and Abigail, had mentioned both Maru and her machine during their nights at the saloon.

Three loud, obnoxious beeps finally escaped the microwave. That had to have been the longest minute of his life.

He took out the dish and stirred the contents recklessly, his fork clashing against the sides of the bowl and scraping the bottom, before placing it back in and setting the timer for another minute.

The second the dish is done, he’ll snatch it up, and rush back into the basement away from Maru. He wouldn’t care if the scalding ceramic would melt his fingers off, he couldn’t stand being in the kitchen with her for a second longer.

“... That’s the problem, I don’t know if I want to move out yet! I really love it here, and I know my parents would support me no matter what I choose, but…”

Is she capable of talking about anything besides herself? Everything has to be about her, her inventions, how her parents can’t get over her, her problems, her success, her feelings, her. Her. Her.

Sebastian hated it. When he stayed up countless nights programming with no help whatsoever, fueled by several cans of energy drinks and stress, all he’d receive were lectures. ‘Stop spending so much time on the computer’, ‘Stop playing games’, ‘Stop browsing the web’, ‘Staying in here for so long is unhealthy’, shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

Then when he was given the chance to share what he was doing, explaining how he tests and develops software with enthusiasm and bright eyes, he could see his parents’ lack of interest in their dull eyes. Their amazement and fascination was all used on whatever Maru had been doing that day, and all that was left for him was boredom and exhaustion. Even on the days he went outside to work on his motorcycle, Demetrius wouldn’t hesitate to bicker about how much noise he was making, how he was distracting Maru from her work, how he was making a mess. The man was impossible to satisfy.

“... Yeah, I’ll be able to come over tomorrow!”

Sebastian stared at the timer. There were 10 seconds left.

“... I was thinking of bringing some gadgets over--Oh! We could try…” He hated her. Perhaps that was a strong word, but it was the truth. Nothing good had ever come from Maru.

9 seconds.

“... I don’t mind what we do, I just hate being cooped up in my room all day…” He hated the bragging, he hated the never-ending praise, he hated how the moment she was born their parents shoved everything he had into the basement.

8 seconds.

“... My parents don’t mind…” He hated how she always acted so high and mighty.

7 seconds.

“... As long as I’m home before it gets dark…” He hated how Demetrius would treat him every time he was near her.

6 seconds.

“... I need a break anyways…” He hated how he was always blamed for any argument or feud that came between them.

5 seconds.

“... My wrists have been killing me…” It was never her fault. Maru can’t do anything wrong, it’s always Sebastian.

“... I swear, my projects will be the death of me...” He hated the mere sight of her.

4 seconds.

“... Oh, did I tell you about what I’m currently working on?” He hated her voice.

3 seconds.

“... I’ve been making these blueprints…” He hated her.

2 seconds.

“... For a new robot…” He hated her.

1 second.

“... And I’m hoping it’ll be able to do even more than my first--”

Without his command, his legs took him straight to Maru. He tore the phone from her hand and held it with a crushing grip.

Maru’s mouth hung open, processing what had just happened in those mere, few seconds.

“Please.” Sebastian started in a frigid hush, “Shut. Up.”

Maru blinked a couple of times and stared at him, dumbfounded.

She shook off her surprise and reached for the phone, “I was talking with somebody!”

Sebastian pulled it away and hung up on whoever she was speaking with, “Not anymore. You can call them another time.”

Sebastian turned back to the counter, ready to grab his dinner and leave. He threw her phone aside and heard it land with a gratifying ‘crack’.

Maru scrambled to pick it up, checking the screen to make sure it hadn’t been ruined, then looked back at Sebastian.

“What is your problem?!” She raised her voice, face tinting red.

Sebastian ignored her as he opened the microwave.

She placed the phone on the table and stood up, snapping her fingers to get her step-brother’s attention.

“Hey, hey! You can’t just treat me like garbage one second then pretend I don’t exist the next!”

“I said shut up.” Sebastian repeated coldly, facing away from the girl.

“No, I won’t!” Maru stepped closer, “I can deal with you acting like this most of the time, but these past few weeks you have been really, really--” She scrunched her face, struggling to come up with a word to perfectly describe his recent, foul behavior. “--Vile!” She finished, pointing a finger at him.

“Sorry I’m not kissing your ass like everyone else.” He rolled his eyes as he grabbed the hot dish. He set it on the counter and scanned the kitchen for napkins.

Maru watched him search for a minute, then the gears in her head started turning.

Her eyes widened, “It’s because of my robot, isn’t it--”

“No, that damned robot isn’t the issue,” He clutched the edge of the counter, “it’s you! That’s my problem, it’s always been you!” He growled.

A genuinely hurt expression flashed across Maru’s face before it was replaced with anger. Her hands curled into fists.

“I haven’t done anything wrong.” She muttered, her voice was shaky. “You’re… You’re just…” She hated these moments with Sebastian. She hated how often they’d come. No matter what she did, no matter what she said, the two of them always ended up arguing. She’d always lose. She’d always be given a repulsed look and grumbled cusses as he’d walk away. Sometimes her parents would intervene and defend her, but they weren’t here right now.

She can’t keep letting herself get stepped on.

“Because you’re jealous, aren’t you?” She finally said, her voice still unsteady.

Sebastian’s body stiffened.

“Because you’re in your basement all day, staring at your--your stupid computer, pretending everyone doesn’t exist…” She breathed in, “And while you were sitting around, being angry, I was out there doing something. I’m actually getting somewhere! I actually have the chance for a successful future, I have potential, and you--you--y…”

The confidence she was finally building up had been shattered into millions of pieces as she watched Sebastian reach over to the knife block. When his fingers curled around and held the grip of the nearest knife, she felt her blood drain from her face.

The world had stopped. Maru had stopped. She couldn’t move. She only stood and waited, hoping Sebastian would let go, tell her he’s kidding, or for him to go outside to smoke, anything. Anything.

Sebastian began to turn his head in her direction, the hatred in his eyes burned greater than the flames in the depths of Hell. The more he kept turning his head, the louder her heart banged in her ears. Her horrifying hypnotic heartbeat was soon overtaken by a single thought booming in her head: He’s going to kill me.

Maru made a dash to the hallway, hearing her step-brother’s footsteps right on her tail as he started shouting a slew of curses and threats. She had never heard Sebastian shout in such a terrible tone in her entire life. Even during their absolute worst fights, his raised voice would sound pissed at most. But here? Now? He was screaming. There were moments where his voice would strain as he swung the knife she barely avoided, threatening to hack her head off. Whatever restraint he had built up over the years, whatever had kept him sane throughout the entirety of their relationship had been thrown out. All that remained was a man who looked like her step-brother screaming bloody murder, fueled by pure hatred, and wanting nothing more than to see her bleed.

Maru saw the door to her parents room on the right and instantly ran inside. She locked the door and took lungfuls of air, hot tears running down her face as she almost choked on her own spit.

The knob began to wriggle faster and faster until Sebastian resorted to banging and kicking. He’d slam his body against it, causing the door to budge and Maru’s life to flash before her eyes.

“OPEN THIS DOOR!” She heard him scream, “OPEN THIS DOOR, OPEN THIS DOOR! I’LL KILL YOU. I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU.”

He kept shouting those words and other horrible threats at her. She needed to get out.

She whipped her head around, hoping to find any possible escape route, but a pit began to form in her stomach as she realized she had trapped herself in her parents’ room. This wasn’t like her bedroom, there wasn’t another door that led outside, and the only window in here wasn’t big enough for her to crawl through.

The banging on the door grew louder, so did Sebastian’s yelling.

“YOU BITCH.” Sebastian threw himself against the door again.

She couldn’t think straight. She couldn’t think straight. Block the door. She needs to block the door.

She saw two wooden chairs beside her parents’ bed that sat in the center of the room and grabbed one. She wedged the back of the chair underneath the doorknob, praying it’d be enough to hold back Sebastian.

She suddenly saw the blade of the knife jab through the crack of the door and watched it dragg up and down before being pulled back in. Whatever Sebastian was attempting to do didn’t go as planned; he resorted to charging against the door again, shouting, and now sporadically stabbing the door itself.

Maru would watch in horror as the blade made its way through the other side of the door with every other stab. She couldn’t tear her eyes off the door. She wanted to throw up.

“I HATE YOU.”

As Sebastian’s screaming and thrashing grew more and more voluminous, Maru backed herself against the wall, sat down, and brought her knees to her chest. She covered her ears, tears clouding her vision, as horrid thoughts and questions filled her mind. She remembered watching so many documentaries about serial killers with Penny, fascinated with how sick people could be. She never imagined her own step-brother would be the end of her.

“DO YOU HEAR ME?”

She wondered what it’d be like to have a knife plunged into her chest. Would it feel like a quick sting? Would it burn? Would her adrenaline prevent her from feeling anything at all, and she’d be stuck staring into her step-brother’s wild eyes? Would he drag out her demise? Or would he end her life as fast as possible?

“I HATE YOU.”

Maybe she deserves this. Maybe she should have treated him better. Maybe she could’ve tried harder. She should’ve kept her stupid mouth shut. She shouldn’t have said anything. None of this would’ve happened. Sebastian feels this way because of her. She deserves this. She deserves this. She’s going to die. She’s going to die.

She suddenly heard the front door open through Sebastian’s banging. Footsteps and muffled voices, which soon turned into shouting, grew near.

“Sebastian? Sebastian--oh my God, what are DOING!?” She heard her mom shout. Sebastian was rather too consumed with wanting to kill Maru, or no longer cared about the consequences, as his screaming and thrashing became more severe.

Demetrius’ shouting started clashing with Sebastian’s, and another, quieter male voice could be heard as well.

Sebastian’s ruckus came to an abrupt stop. He must’ve been pulled away from the door. She could hear his yelling, his legs kicking about, and--somehow--his knife swinging wildly.

Someone knocked on the door. “Maru, honey, are you in there?” Maru heard her mother ask through Sebastian and Demetrius’ shouting.

“It’s safe to come out,” Her mom said, “Dr. Harvey called the police. You’re going to be okay.”

Maru slowly got up and pulled the chair away. She cautiously unlocked the door and listened to the yelling grow louder as she opened the door more and more.

Maru was hoping seeing her mother would cause a wave of relief and security to wash over her, but Robin wore a false smile in a poor attempt to mask her fear, making Maru feel sicker.

Robin pulled her in for a tight hug and placed her hand on her head, whispering to Maru that they’re going to be okay, everything will be fine, it’s all over now.

Maru forced her head to the right and saw an enraged Demetrius and a terrified Harvey restraining both of Sebastian’s arms.

Sebastian had finally stopped shouting. He was sitting on the floor, panting through gritted teeth, tears running down his face, and staring at her with those horrible, loathsome eyes that wished to see nothing more than Maru’s demise.

[itsallavengers]

Magnetic South

The bed was too cold. 

Tony gritted his teeth and curled in a little tighter around himself, running the mantra back over in his head for the tenth time that night. JARVIS has the room at 25 degrees Celsius. You have a thick winter duvet. You are not cold. You are not cold. You are not cold. 

And it was true, apparently. He’d thought he might’ve been sick, at first, so he’d asked JARVIS to run his temperature. It had come out fine, perfectly normal, perfectly healthy. There was nothing wrong with him. 

But the bed was too fucking cold.

Tony sat up frustratedly, the thick sheets remaining wrapped around him as he leaned forward and rested his head into his hands and breathed, long, heavy breaths that filled whatever was left of his lungs. His hands shook slightly, but that was normal now. He hardly even noticed it. What he was noticing, however, was that he was fucking exhausted, and he had a meeting tomorrow, and he needed to get the fuck to sleep and cut this stupid subconscious shit out. 

Steve wasn’t coming back. 

He sniffed and pushed his hair off his face, turning his head to the window. New York buzzed, always alive, always moving. The penthouse stood above it all, and from where Tony was, he could just about make out the coast, glistening under moonlight and broken by choppy waves. He turned his gaze back into the room before he could run away with thoughts about who was on the other side of that ocean. He thought it might drive him insane.

But then he was back to the bed situation. And he was fucking cold, and no amount of sheets could warm him up because none of it, not one fibre of his Egyptian cotton, could compare to the feeling of being held. 

Steve had always run hot. Ever since Tony had first fallen into bed with him, years ago now, he’d noticed.  Warmth emanated from him like a space heater, and Tony had lost count of how many times he’d taken advantage of that before, digging his toes into the gap between the man’s calves, snuggling up into the enclosure of his chest. Steve had hated it. He’d always grumbled and groaned, occasionally waking Tony up in the night to try and wrangle a pair of socks on him because ‘seriously, Tony, your toes just touched my ankles and I think you’ve got frostbite, this is not fucking normal’. He’d always cave eventually, though, and let Tony tuck himself and all his cold digits into the confines of Steve’s embrace, while Steve’s arms would wrap around him and work up and down his sides, warming wherever they touched.

He was swinging out at Steve, metal fists meeting their mark as Tony knew they would, but he didn’t even care, he was so angry, he couldn’t see, couldn’t think. Steve blocked where he could, but Tony had his fight patterns analysed, he didn’t have a hope in hell of keeping up. Even so, the program FRIDAY was giving him just wasn’t enough. Tony snarled, surging forward, tackling Steve to the ground, feeling Steve’s arms gripping his sides, forcing him off, ripping into him with unrestrained power--

Tony made a small, vicious little noise and clawed himself forcefully back to the present. It was over now. Done. Steve wasn’t coming back. That was what he told himself, every single time that he thought of the other man. He thought it might help to bring him closure. Thought it might help to just bring him something-- even if that was only anger. At least it wasn’t anything worse. Like despair. 

He kept his eyes on his lap. Refused to give in to the urge to look back out of the window. What would it bring him, huh? Did he think he was going to magically find Steve on the balcony, smiling at him, arms open? Tony had always fucking done this. He’d given himself away so completely to the other man, until it felt like there was never a situation or a place that couldn’t be improved by Steve being there. It had been tangible. Tony would see him, and something in his brain would just go, ‘God, finally’-- even if Steve had never been supposed to arrive in the first place. Even if he’d just been passing through.

As it turned out, ‘passing through’ was pretty much the best way to describe their entire relationship. Tony had discovered he was Steve’s halfway house, his settling agreement, when Tony had been fucking stupid enough to think of Steve as his own personal miracle. The feelings had always been skewed, heavier on Tony’s side than they ever could be on Steve’s. Because there had always been someone else on his mind-- someone who now, inevitably, was enjoying what Tony no longer could. He’d always had the right to that. Tony had just been filling the gap left behind by Bucky Barnes. 

But still. When Steve had held him at night, it’d been enough for Tony to think that he loved him. Tony had been able to lose himself in the warmth, curl into it, mould himself around the man it belonged to and make them the centre of his world. The first singularity. The heat at the core of the creation of an entire universe.

He’d been warm, and he’d been Steve, and now sleeping in a bed without him felt like sleeping in a fucking grave. 

He choked on a breath and flung the covers off, pulling himself out of bed and stumbling away. Wherever he went, Tony was reminded. The tower, the workshop, the city. Steve’s ghost fucking haunted him, and so did his decision. He’d walked away. He’d left Tony to die.

Steve had used to draw him, sat out on the balcony extending from their room. Tony liked New York mornings, and he’d always taken his coffee there, read the news on his tablet. And Steve would inevitably follow; watch his movements, sketch them out on his notebook before getting distracted and moving to close the gap between them instead, kissing his neck while an arm snaked around his midsection. Tony asked him why, once. Why he always seemed to want to draw Tony in that moment, wearing very little other than Steve’s huge button-ups, holding a cup of coffee in his hand, barely even cognisant. 

And Steve had just shrugged and kissed his shoulder, and he’d told Tony, “this is what a perfect life looks like to me.”

Tony now knew he’d been lying. Steve had done that a lot more than Tony had ever thought he was capable.

Then again, maybe Tony just didn’t know him as well as he’d led himself to believe for all those years. 

He leaned out on the balcony, feeling the frigid wind of midnight blow past him. He was looking out at the coast, and he was thinking of the person on the other side of it, and yes, he was going mad. But it was a process that had started a long fucking time ago. No use trying to use a sponge to block a waterfall. 

He huffed when JARVIS asked him to come inside, sparing one last look at what had used to be their bed. The weak part of him just wanted to be warm again. To be able to sleep with Steve, and have him there, and have him tell Tony that he still loved him, that it was him, that it had always been him. Even if it was a lie. 

Turning away from the bed, the balcony, the entire room- he hadn’t kept alcohol in there since Steve had thrown a fit about it, so now it was the kitchen where he was headed- Tony thought it funny, that he could long for a comfort that had never truly belonged to him in the first place.

[parvatiholcomb]

Under the cut: transcriptions of Phineas’s logs about his previous experiments, because I’m tired of having to go back to my screenshots over and over again.

Hope Audio Log 1

Begin audio log. Is this thing working? I said begin audio -- damn it.

This is, uh. This is P. Welles. Yes, let’s go with that. Work continues on subject One-Twelve, retrieved from Hibernation Bay Eight. Time of extraction - oh, let’s say two and a half hours ago. Time of death, six minutes prior. 

Explosive cell death. My arch-nemesis. Haunting my every attempt at reviving our frozen colonists. Making a mockery of my procedures. I’ve tried every combination of every chemical available to me. Attempted every variation of every possible thawing procedure. A gradual melt. A flash thaw. Extremities-first. Brain-first.

Don’t know how much more of this I can take. Four hours of sleep in the last seventy-two. Can still hear their screaming in my nightmares.

Test Subject One-Twelve. Real name Harley Stanton. Age thirty-nine. Enjoyed singing. I’m sorry, Harley. I couldn’t save you.

Hope Audio Log 2

-- begin audio log as soon as I say the words begin audio log.  What a ridiculously inconvenient program. What happens if I just accidentally say the phrase audio log?

Don’t know why I’m talking to a frozen colonist. You’re losing it, Phineas. Focus. Focus. Come on, make the incision. There we go. Excellent. Well well, my frigid friend. You disobeyed the moratorium on ingesting food thirty-six hours prior to hibernation, didn’t you?

Thank the Law for disposable gloves.

Steady now. Steady. Oh. That’s not good.

That’s definitely not good.

Damned slippery scalpel. Who makes these anyway? Spacer’s Choice?

All right. I’ve got no choice. I’m going in.

Orbital Lab Terminal Entry 1

The Hope made it to Halcyon after all, twenty-five years too late. The Board doesn’t know what to do with an entire ship full of frozen colonists, so they’’re going to leave them there. Corporate tells us revival is impossible. They’ve tried absolutely nothing and apparently they’re all out of options.

Balderdash. Cellular regeneration after long-term hibernation is really just a question of thermodynamics. I’m quite confident I can find a way to revive the Hope’s colonists - if only Corporate would authorize my requests. Frankly, I don’t see why I need the permission of my employers to conduct experiments in the name of scientific advancement. What nonsense! Did Newton beg permission from his employers before discovering the three laws of motion?

Genius is not beholden to the vicissitudes of bureaucracy. Besides, the Hope has a cargo of hundreds of thousands of colonists. The Board practically expects a few to go missing.

Orbital Lab Terminal Entry 2

One hundred and thirteen seconds. New record. Most of my subjects last ninety-three seconds, on average, before total cellular liquefaction reduces them to several gallons of organic soup three degrees above freezing temperature.

One hundred and thirteen seconds of screaming. This subject was stronger than the others, but in the end, his body failed to survive the revival process.

He was my twelfth subject to die. I don’t know how much longer I can keep going this. Strictly speaking, I do know--the Hope has hundreds of thousands of colonists. I’ve only experimented on twelve. How many more experiments before I successfully revive a single subject? One? Ten? One hundred? Five hundred?

Statistically insignificant. If I experimented on one subject every month, I would not make a dent in the Hope’s population in a lifetime.

Can still hear the screaming. Trouble sleeping. Trouble concentrating. Psychological toll… significant.

On to subject number thirteen.

Orbital Lab Terminal Entry 3

I always suspected this would happen. The Board finally discovered what I’d done and sent their headhunters to track me down, but they’ll never find me.

They say I’m a murderer - and they’re right. I am. I regret what I’ve done. But I’m not about to turn myself in to the Board. I’m not about to go begging the Board’s forgiveness.

Only the Hope’s colonists can forgive me for what I’ve done. They’re the only people who can set things right. And I’m going to find a way to revive them, no matter how long I have to stay in hiding.

I’ve got my notes with me. I have my equipment. And now I have this lab. It’s time I returned to work.

[immigrationvisaforyou]

10 Things You Need to Know About Canada

As you get ready to grasp your welcome to Canada, realize that a few things are probably going to be done another way than what you are acquainted with.

This article will help set you on the correct way to incorporating into Canadian life. Less disarray and reasonable expectations whenever you’re having visa immigration to Canada will help you become successful.

1.     Weather

Whether sun or snow, Canada is a nice place to live.

If you’re living on the BC coast (or less significantly, portions of Southern Ontario), you are practically sure to encounter cool, frigid winters and blistering summers, with short temporary seasons.

On the off chance that you originate from a mellow or warm atmosphere, the bitter cold of a Canadian winter makes certain to astonish you. It’s hard to describe how cold – 25°C can feel, however dread not, fortunately you can come arranged with the correct attire and mindset.

Another thing you must know that Canadians don’t underestimate summer — they realize how to benefit as much as possible from the warm seasons.

2.     Diversity

Ages of outsiders have gotten a warm greeting to Canada. Multiculturalism is essential for the Canadian ethos, and key to public strategy.

More than 40 sitting Members of Parliament were brought into the world abroad. In any significant city, just as numerous rural communities, you will experience horde dialects, religions, societies and cultures.

You don’t have to relinquish your way of life or values in the wake of moving to Canada; however you do need to develop with the goal that you can effectively modify and have the best possibility of achieving success. Keeping a receptive outlook will benefit you, just as people around you.

3.     Tipping

You may originate from a nation where laborers in the services and hospitality gain an ensured decent pay with extra advantages, and accordingly tipping may not be an aspect of your way of life. That is incredible, however Canada is unique, and getting acquainted with tipping is a basic culture they practiced.

Bartenders and servers for the most part acquire the lowest pay permitted by law, which, depending on the province, is around $10 every hour. In reality, a few regions have a lower the lowest pay permitted by law closer to $8 for service workers, on the expectation that they will earn tips to compensate, and staff typically need to “tip out” other staff, (for example, those in the kitchen), with a portion of their sales.

The standard tip is 15% of the complete bill (or 20% for profoundly proficient, mindful assistance), or a dollar for every beverage.

4.     The job hunt

Researching, looking for and applying for jobs in Canada can be a lengthy process — perhaps much longer than what you are used to, as you establish connections in your new home. Months can pass before you land a professional position, so you should plan accordingly to ensure your welcome to Canada goes smoothly.

Exploring, searching for and going after jobs in Canada can be a protracted cycle — maybe any longer than what you are utilized to, as you set up connections in your new home. Months can go before you land a professional position, so you should plan likewise to guarantee your welcome to Canada goes easily.

This means:

Carry enough funds to tide you through your first few months.

Be set up to take on a non-career job temporarily however consistently be keeping watch for your next professional move.

Start to think and act Canadian before you even set foot in Canada. This implies adjusting to the resume design in Canada, organizing and being proactive.

5.     Cost of living

Evade a harsh greeting to Canada by knowing the essential typical cost for living in your adopted city before you move. In the event that you move and are shocked by how costly lease or transportation is, that is not the city’s shortcoming — it’s yours.

Research is essential. Toronto and Vancouver, especially the midtown regions, are moderately costly. Rent-controlled Montreal, on the other hand, has low property estimations and low lease, yet in addition lower pay rates.

6.     Smoking

It is illegal to smoke in broad daylight places, for example, cafés, stores, workplaces, medical clinics and different work environments. This likewise incorporates public or shared regions of high rises and rental edifices.

On the off chance that you smoke, the main spots you would now be able to do so are in your own living space, your vehicle (except if you have a minor with you), and in the great outdoors

7.     Healthcare

Known the world over for its greatness, the medical care system is one of the columns on which the warm welcome to Canada got by newcomers is built.

It’s conveyed through a publicly-funded system, which is generally free at the purpose of utilization and has most services given by private sectors.

Medical services, however paid for utilizing some federal funds, are controlled by the provinces. A health card is given by the Provincial Ministry of Health to every person who enlists for the program, and everybody gets a similar degree of care.

Permanent residents can receive provincial cover, but in some provinces will have to wait a few months for their provincial coverage to begin. Private comprehensive health insurance policies are available during that period.

Permanent occupants can get provincial cover, however in certain regions should trust that their provincial coverage will start. Private complete medical coverage polices are accessible during that period. Temporary residents (e.g. holders of a working holiday visa in Canada) and visitors will require a private policy throughout their stay. You can explore options for travel insurance for Canada here.

Temporary residents (for example holders of a working holiday visa in Canada) and guests will require a private policy throughout their stay. You can search alternatives for travel insurance for Canada here.

8.     Driving licenses

Most of the tests or assessments you have finished in your nation of origin may not be substantial in Canada, or require desk work so as to be changed over.

Driving licenses are a minefield for two reasons.

Firstly, licenses are granted by the provinces, not the government, and individual regions have their own rules and testing methodology.

Also, various nations around the globe have specific concurrences with the provinces.  

Know the guidelines for international license-holders in your picked province or territory and guarantee you accumulate the right documentation before you show up in Canada.

9.     Taxation

Under Canada’s decentralized government system, charges are collected at various levels. Annual assessments are gathered by both the federal and provincial governments.

Contingent upon your status and terms of employment, you might be qualified for a tax refund toward the finish of the financial year.

Sales taxes change between the territories, from 5% in Alberta to 14.975% in Quebec. These are included at the retail location, not on the sticker price, so know that a product promoted as $10 will cost you more when you pay for it.

10.The Charter of Rights and Freedoms

When moving to Canada, it is critical to recognize what rights you have on arrival and all through your stay.

The Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms ensures certain political rights to Canadian residents and social equality to everybody in the nation, from the arrangements and activities everything being equal and levels of government. In doing as such, the Charter shapes the bedrock of Canadian political, common and social society, and diagrams the sort of welcome to Canada newcomers can anticipate.

You’ve received your welcome to Canada Immigration. What next? Ensure you stay up with the latest with most recent migration advancements, since changes happen consistently that can influence your turn.

[trane3t15155nawl-blog]

Effortless Strategies To Hvac Which Can Be Simple To Follow

Every time a home heating system stops working, home owners will not be usually positive what you can do after that. To stop the circumstance from becoming devastating, it is worth any time put in to become informed about the niche. These guidelines will allow you to select a more effective Heating and air conditioning professional than you normally could.

Be sure to look at the filters inside your air-con system. This is significant simply because checking out your filtration system might make the visible difference involving economical maintenance and more costly versions down the road. Try to place it to your regular monthly timetable so that you will don't overlook to determine the filtration system frequently.

When purchasing a fresh Heating and air conditioning system for your house, make certain it can be power efficient. Currently, most new Heating and air conditioning techniques are power efficient you will find a energy star label on the products. Even so, to make certain your energy fees tend not to glance at the roof top, opt for equipment that may be power efficient.

Before you retain the services of someone to do any work towards your HVAC, make sure you have a created quote which includes itemized fees shown onto it. This may ensure that evaluating a single licensed contractor to a different will likely be easy as you can tell what one particular provides that another doesn't, or what value they're charging you for the very same products.

Look to other people and loved ones to get recommendations of great HVAC specialists. Probable there's a friend or acquaintance who's currently completed a lot of study. Use this knowledge to assist get you the best professional you are able to. This can save you much time of study time and cash as well.

Make sure that your professional provides a property examination. Not all the HVAC option is for everyone. Your own home could have special requirements for cooling and heating. Your professional should do a walk about of your place to judge what is best. When they aren't be sure to demand one particular.

Should you be looking to save money with your HVAC program, look at transforming across the ac in the summer and converting the high temperature down in the wintertime. Using a sweater on a cool day could help you save a ton of money your power expenses, as can going for a cold drink as an alternative to heavy air conditioning use.

As you may examine new Heating and air conditioning program, be sure you consider the power ratings for every model. The greater they may be, the greater they will be. Productivity will not likely only get the property secure quicker, but you will save on your own power expenses when you find yourself working your brand new model.

Whenever you buy a new air conditioning model, don't permit the salesman talk you into too large of any system. This can be a complete waste of cash and won't efficiently awesome your house. The more time a process operates, the more effective it will probably be when it's working, so search for one which works 15 to half an hour.

There exists simply no concern, that inadequate HVAC functionality through the very hot seasons or frigid winter time can create a severe hazard to a home owners financial situation and luxury. Nonetheless, experienced you acknowledged whatever you know now, you could have probable averted the trouble altogether. These guidelines have armed you with all you have to know. trane 3 ton 16 seer

[echoes-of-the-clockwork]

Detroit: Become Human Ralph x Reader [4]

The scenario for this one shot is:

How did Ralph become damaged?

⚠️MENTIONS OF ABUSE⚠️

Most of this chapter will be Ralph talking in first person. I hope you all enjoy! Love you all!!!

••••••••••••••••

~(Y/n)'s POV~

"Maybe we should try going on a trip for our second anniversary," I suggest as my boyfriend, Gabe, and I sat at the kitchen table.

The man shook his head with a scrunched up face. "Nah, not a fan of traveling."

"You've got to be kidding me..." I mutter under my breath.

Our conversation was interrupted as Ralph, our WR600 android, entered the kitchen with a bundle of chrysanthemums in his hands from the garden on the veranda.

Gabe rolled his eyes in annoyance and crossed his arms. "Get outta here, ya shitty android."

I smacked him on the arm. "Don't talk to him like that, Gabe." Then, I directed a smile at Ralph. "Those are lovely, Ralph. Your hard work has definitely paid off."

"I'm glad you like them, (Y/n)," the machine answered, his programmed smile appearing. "I'll put them in a vase and place them on the coffee table to brighten up the living room."

"We don't need anymore flowers, ya daft hunk of wires," Gabe scoffs.

I sent a harsh glare in his direction. "Stop belittling his work!"

Gabe slammed his hands on the table, his own glare much sharper than mine. "Don't dare yell at me, (Y/n)!" I flinched at Gabe's bellowing voice. I didn't meet his heated gaze and turned my head in Ralph's direction. From here, I saw his LED was red.

Before I could speak up, pain erupted in my right cheek and I fell out of the chair. The only sound that I heard was when my body collided with the frigid tiles of the kitchen floor. In complete shock, I kept my wide (e/c) eyes glued to the floor. "You care more about this damn android than your own boyfriend!"

I remained silent as Ralph came to my side and placed a gentle and caring hand on my back. The sound of the wooden chair scraping against the tile was all I heard as a sign Gabe had left the kitchen. Completely frozen at the slap, Ralph took it upon himself to get me a bag of ice for my swollen cheek.

I wasn't sure how long I had been on the floor until Ralph returned and helped me back into my seat. He pulled out the chair next to me and pressed the bag of ice against my red cheek. "Why, (Y/n)?"

I met his gaze, never having heard him question anything. "What is it, Ralph?"

"Why do you still take this abuse?"

"I... I don't know. I want to believe deep down that I love Gabe, but I think my love for him has run dry."

Ralph fell silent, applying the ice with more pressure. My gaze fell to the floor, not being able to look at the android any longer.

After a few minutes, I meekly thanked Ralph and took the bag of ice before wandering around the apartment to find Gabe. I found him sitting on the bed in our bedroom with his head resting in his hands. When he heard me enter, his head shot up and I saw the tears building up in the corner of his eyes. "I'm so sorry, (Y/n). I-I didn't—"

"Gabe, do you love me?"

"Why would you ask me such a stupid question? Of course I love you!"

"Every time this happens, you always apologize and I just feel like you aren't sincere. You always end up slapping me again and it's the same process over and over again. My forgiveness is running out."

Gabe sighed, tearing his eyes away from me. "I understand if you want to leave and I won't stop you, (Y/n)."

"I'm not leaving, Gabe. It's just... very tempting because of these fallouts we keep having."

"Then, you'll stay?"

"For now. But, if this happens again, I can't make any promises."

He nods with a smile. "I understand." I nod in silence and leave the bedroom.

Wandering into the living room, I watched as Ralph placed the beautiful flowers in a glass vase and sat them in the center of the coffee table. "Y'know, winter's coming and we haven't picked up any new flowers. What do you think about getting a few hellebores?"

"They'll grow well during the winter," Ralph smiles.

"Then, it's settled! We'll pick up new flowers tomorrow and you're coming with me."

"But, (Y/n)—"

"No 'buts', Ralph. You're coming with me so you can pick out your favorite, too. You are the one who takes care of the garden, after all. The least I could do is let you pick your favorite flowers."

For some odd reason, his LED flashed yellow before returning to normal. Dismissing it, I smile at Ralph and place my hand over his. The android smiled, wrapping his fingers around mine. "I'd like that."

-Next Morning-

"Alright, ready to go, Ralph?" I ask, putting on my heavy jacket that I knew would counter the bone-chilling breeze of the winter that was slowly creeping up on Detroit.

He nods with a smile. "Yes, (Y/n)."

Just then, Gabe emerged from the bedroom door. He raised a brow when he saw the two of us were standing at the front door. "Where are you two heading?"

"To Aurora's Nursery to buy flowers for the winter," I stated stoically.

"Do you really have to take that thing with you?" He scoffed, glaring at Ralph.

"Ralph is coming with me because he is the gardener. Unlike you, he actually does something around here. Now, if you'll excuse us, we'll be back soon."

"Hey, (Y/n)—!"

"Bye, Gabe." I open the door and pull Ralph out of the apartment before slamming it shut behind us.

-Aurora's Nursery-

Ralph wandered around the enormous nursery, examining flowers left and right. I had a couple of hellebores in my hand and watched him with a huge smile plastered to my face. This was the first time I've ever seen him have so much fun. I recognized the emotion as happiness, which confused me to some extent. Ever since Gabe had snapped at me the previous night, Ralph had been expressing different emotions I've never seen an android express. I wanted to ask him if he had broken protocol and had become deviant without me knowing, but I would save that question for later.

Ralph returned with snowdrops in his hands. The beautiful white petals that created a snowy bell-like image as the flower was drooping was a beautiful sight, indeed, and would look breathtaking in the garden. Though the apartment was small, the veranda was roomy and provided enough space for Ralph and his garden.

"Ready to go?" I ask.

He nods and I pay for the hellebores and snowdrops. With the flowers in our grasps, we walk back to the apartment with smiles etched across our faces.

Ralph held the door for me and I thanked him. I noticed the fireplace was lit and the wood crackled as we walked through the living room. We took the flowers to the veranda and sat them down in the small garden area Ralph had made himself from simple materials I had bought him years ago.

Then, Gabe wandered out the sliding glass door, a scowl present on his face. "Do we honestly need a garden?"

"Yes, we do. I enjoy flowers and it's not this is your apartment. I'm the one who pays the bills, not you," I snap.

"Hey, you know I've been trying to find a job!"

"No, you haven't! You've been sitting on your ass and lazing around here!"

"Well, unlike you, I didn't get a CEO position handed to me from my father!"

"Oh, please! I worked my ass off to get that position! My dad may be the president of the company, but that doesn't mean shit when he treats me like a normal employee! I worked my way to becoming a CEO without my father's influence, you asshole!"

After my final lashing, we both fell silent. Ralph stood next to me, completely shocked at the sudden outburst between me and Gabe. Something inside me suddenly snapped and my glare grew even more heated as my eyes never left my boyfriend. "I'm so done with you, Gabe. Pack your shit and leave. I'm done with all of this abuse."

His jaw fell to the floor, surprised at my sudden proclamation. "You can't—!"

"Yes, I can. You're a deadbeat and nothing but an asshole. Grab your shit and get out."

Gabe cursed me under his breath as he left the veranda and headed back inside. I placed a hand on my head as I sat down in a chair beside the garden. Ralph kneeled in front of me, his worried gaze trained on me. "(Y/n)..."

"I'm fine. I just... need a few minutes to calm down."

After I took a few deep breaths, Gabe returned with a fire iron in his hand and a malicious glint in his eyes. "Gabe, what the hell are you doing?"

"Getting rid of the problem," he said, eyes glued on Ralph.

I quickly stood up and placed myself in front of the android. "He's not the problem. The only problem here is you! Get out before I call the cops!"

Gabe didn't acknowledge my shouting as he raised the poker and pushed me aside. Before I could recover, the man swung the hot, sharp piece of iron at Ralph. The android was struck directly on the cheek, sending him to the ground. I tackled Gabe before he could strike again and punched him in the jaw, knocking him out cold. I scrambled to get my phone out of my pocket and called the police. Moving off of my now ex's body, I went to Ralph's aid and saw he wasn't waking up. "Ralph?"

Staring into his wide, lifeless eyes, I bit my lip in fear and dialed the nearest CyberLife store. The manager told me to bring in Ralph as soon as possible to assess the damage after I told her what happened and hung up.

The police finally arrived ten minutes later and arrested Gabe. Once they dealt with the unconscious man, I dragged Ralph's body to the car and placed him in the back seat. Not heeding the speed limit, I speed to the store and hand the android over to the manager. She takes him to the back and another employee told me it would take a few hours to repair Ralph. I decided to wait in the store, watching as people bought androids left and right.

-Three Hours Later-

"Miss (L/n)?" I snapped my gaze upwards, spotting the manager. She smiled softly at me as she pointed to the repair room behind the counter. "Your WR600 model has been repaired, but..."

"What is it?" I ask.

"The burn damage to the plastic is untreatable and a fraction of its software is fried beyond repair. Besides that, it's in working condition and should be able to perform its normal duties."

"That's good to hear. How much do I owe for repairs?"

"Two hundred." I hand her my credit card from my jacket pocket. She swipes the card using her tablet and hands it back to me. "Alright. We'll send your android out at once."

"Thank you."

The door to the repair room flew open and revealed Ralph. He frantically searched the store until his eyes landed on me and he rushed to my side. Wrapping his arms around me, Ralph held me tightly. "Is (Y/n) injured?"

"No. I'm alright, Ralph." I placed my hands gently on his back, hugging him back.

"Ralph is happy to know (Y/n) isn't hurt."

I pull away, my eyes falling onto his damaged cheek. "Let's go home."

-Apartment-

The moment we set foot in the living room, Ralph dashed to the veranda and began planting the flowers we had bought earlier today. I smiled as he grabbed his tools and worked in silence with a huge smile on his face. Parched from all the yelling that only happened a few hours ago, I head into the kitchen and get a glass of water. The wine that rested on the counter caught my eye, but I decided not to drink myself into a stupor over an asshole like Gabe.

As I downed the water, Ralph entered the kitchen as I filled the cup once more. There was dirt on his undamaged cheek and I giggled with a smile. "Sit down, Ralph, and let me clean the dirt off your cheek." He nods and sits down at the table, shaking his knees up and down. I wetted a paper towel and wiped the dirt off his face. "There. Now you're clean."

Suddenly, the android spoke and said words I never expected to hear. "Ralph loves (Y/n). Will... Will (Y/n) stay with Ralph?"

I placed the cup of water and paper towel down. "I'd never leave you." The android leaned forward and wrapped his arms around my waist. His head rested on my stomach as he remained sitting in the chair when he hugged me. I placed my hands gently on his back, hugging him gently. I looked down to see Ralph had a peaceful smile carved on his face. I leaned down, placing a kiss on top of his head. "I love you, too, Ralph."

[glitchinthesystemspiderbyte]

Glitch in the System - Common Ground

Sure thing, @tacticalgrandma!

By K.

A professional agreement happens.

They raced the morning, running side by side through the Rialto to a syncopated rhythm comprised of footsteps and measured breaths.

Akande didn’t ask Widowmaker whether he could join her. He never did, nor did he need to: if not because of his rank, then because running, like reading, was a welcome - albeit unexpected - commonality they shared. Their schedules rarely aligned; when they did, she always found him waiting.

He stood at the outpost gate: a mountain of a man standing stone-still and just as quiet, somehow both among and above the world around him. Widowmaker saw him now the way few ever did: as a man, blinking away sleep as he waited patiently in a threadbare tee and sneakers that looked as tired as he did. To the rest of the world, he was Doomfist, the Successor. To her, he was just Akande. Few lived to see him in quite the same light; she had yet to decide whether she should count herself lucky or, appropriately, doomed.

“This is a surprise,” the sniper remarked, pausing at his side.

She was hardly there a second before he was off, running headlong into the first rays of  dawn without so much as a word.

Widowmaker followed.

They chased the sun’s slow ascent, a pastel spate of purples and pinks and oranges and golds staining otherwise clear Ventian waters. She paced herself by his breathing - louder, faster than hers, but every bit as practiced - and let him lead. Akande could trounce her in a sprint, but Widowmaker would always beat him in an endurance run. With no way of knowing how much he had in him, the assassin simply fell in line and waited.

That was the difference between them, she figured. Doomfist wanted to set the world on fire, to raze it in a single, concentrated act of force. For all his planning and careful strategy, there was a definitive end to the Successor’s work, and with it he, too, would burn. Akande harbored no dreams of despotism, only gunpowder: strong, volatile, and beautifully incendiary. By contrast, Widowmaker considered herself a cooler, slower-burning fire; she would persist until her work caught up with her, be it by way of a bullet or international tribunal. She required less oxygen in every sense of the word. When Akande blew up the world as they knew it and himself along with it, she would be left to watch.

Sometimes, she questioned whether that bothered her: that there would be a day when Akande’s flame would flicker while hers burnt strong. His philosophy didn’t matter to her. She lived for the function and form of her job - not the ideals she fulfilled in their execution. Those didn’t matter.

Akande, however, did.

Widowmaker struggled to qualify his exact meaning to her, and hers to him. He was as much her employer as Gabriel or Moira. The two comprised a sort of spectrum: her relationship with Gabriel was begrudgingly familial, while her rapport with Moira was frigid at best. Akande fell somewhere between the two, though he was far closer to Reaper’s extreme than the doctor’s. They engaged in heated discussions about literary romanticism over cracked eggs and fresh oats. They fought the most interesting - and challenging - sparring matches she could imagine, his mobility a hard counter to her flexibility. They ran and talked fashion and shared a deep appreciation for classical art.

They had respect - a thing neither offered another easily.

She wasn’t sure she could ascribe these attributes to friendship, but there was something like it gliding beneath the surface between them. Whatever it was, she didn’t mind it. It was more than she could say for most people.

“Stop.”

His voice rumbled between them, clipped but soft. She obeyed without a moment’s hesitation, watching the Successor’s momentum carry him a few steps further before he stopped in kind.

Akande turned to face her, a pronouncement lodged between his teeth: something he started to say and found suddenly spurious. Widowmaker blinked, brows raised in curiosity. “Ouais?”

“You are due for supplementary neural reconditioning,” he offered flatly.

Widowmaker felt something in her chest tighten as a spectre of dread closed a fist over her heart.

“Ah,” she managed, forcing herself to meet Akande’s eyes. “Well. It has been some time.”

It was true. The space between debilitating batteries of chemical and electroconvulsive treatments spanned the full length of Moira’s years-long absence. Of course, she thought. Of course Moira would return from wherever she was and attempt to wrest control of her life with one spindly claw.

Then again, even Moira operated on a cracked foundation of reason. The process was not simple, nor easy, and its invasiveness as much as its intensity would put her out of commission for weeks. There had to be a reason.

“Is my performance unsatisfactory?” Widowmaker asked, searching.

Akande shook his head.

“Even after Madrid?” she pressed.

“No,” he scoffed. “You obey orders and fulfill objectives. Your judgement in the field sound and you take risks when and where appropriate. You exceed training requirements and require little to no oversight. You are exactly as you were programmed to be.”

She watched Doomfist as he spoke, searching for clues and finding him impenetrable as ever. Sombra she could read; Gabriel, too. Moira less so, but one could generally assume of her logical, if not callous conclusions. Akande was like a fortress, his thoughts and intent obscured by walls and doors and airtight security protocols. His feelings were only ever evident in the moments they appeared - yet another similarity they shared.

“Why, then?” she asked. “Le médecin has been here months now. Shouldn’t she have performed this… maintenance earlier?”

“She didn’t think she needed to,” Akande replied. “She knows, Lacroix. I know.”

Understanding hit her, appropriately, like a meteor: a swift and devastating strike from an unplaceable beyond, unheralded and unstoppable. In its wake was a yawning hollow, a crater to catch the flood of thought wrought by its impact.

“Oh.”

A single sound was all she had; a lonely sound pressed between teeth and lips that refused to articulate the scream welling behind them. She knew it was inevitable, that Moira would notice and read the fine print. She knew, had known, had tried so hard to be careful, to avoid the geneticist’s attention beyond the scope of her duties.

Widowmaker realized with disappointing clarity that it wasn’t her performance that was unsatisfactory; it was her performance.

“Lacroix,” Akande prodded, his voice breaking through the traitorously calm beating of her heart in her ears.

She opened her mouth to reply, to offer a placatory “I understand”, but found the composite syllables coarse and unweidly. She understood, but didn’t want to accept that understanding. Refusal welled like magma, a snarl of heat bubbling beneath the ocean’s current.

“You said my performance is not unsatisfactory.”

Doomfist inclined his chin - a gesture of agreement and appraisal in equal measure. “I did.”

“And is, in fact, quite the opposite.”

“Correct.”

The seconds stretched between them as she sifted through the river of thought for a response. It reminded her of those first, pivotal moments when confronting an enemy hand-to-hand. She realized Akande wasn’t watching; he was analyzing. Evaluating. She didn’t know whether this was intended as a test, but it certainly felt like one: a qualifying exam with no clearly defined parameters for success or failure.

With no litmus test for either, she considered whether she would benefit from acquiescence, and found her conclusions anything but favorable.

Luckily, she was unafraid of taking risks; he’d said it himself.

“This would not be a problem were I not the party in question,” she wagered.

“Perhaps. But your neural conditioning—,”

“—has no observable impact on my work unless there is a universal system failure,” she cut in, recalling that single, fateful dossier given to her almost a year earlier. “It was designed that way. Even if that happened, my emotional reflexes would take years to return to normal. It is a non-issue.”

Akande eyed her with pointed curiosity. “She could make the case you are broken - that affection will lead to remorse will lead to fear. She could claim you are obsolete.”

He was reaching.

Widowmaker found her opening.

“Then I would direct her to my training evaluation and field reports. To the fact you have only a moment ago said that is not the case.”

Doomfist opened his mouth to interject, but she refused him the courtesy. “I am the best. That is what I was made to be - what was chosen for me. Moira likes percentages; mine are in my favor. I have chosen one thing, Akande. Let me have it.”

He bowed his head slightly in thought, tapping a calloused finger to his chin in an idle gesture of consideration. Widowmaker didn’t presume her ability to sway him, nonetheless Moira. At least she could say she tried.

Eventually, he sighed. “I will tell doctor O’deorain to review your records. She will find any further reconditioning unnecessary at this time.”

“Merci,” she exhaled, stifling a tired smile. “It is appreciated.”

“Breakfast?” Akande offered, as if the suggestion succeeded the most casual of conversations.

Widowmaker shook her head. “I am disgusting.”

“Me, too.”

Doomfist nodded his thanks to their server, following the aproned omnic with his eyes as they hovered a line of retreat back to the kitchen. He wore an expression of idle disbelief, brows raised slightly as he nudged one of the two cups of espresso before him toward the sniper.

“Qu’est-ce que c’est?” Widowmaker asked, accepting his offering and plucking the small spoon from its serving dish. “You are concerned? Should I kill them?”

She hadn’t meant it as a joke, but the man across from her smirked regardless.

“What?”

“It is strange,” he mused. “We do not exactly have low profiles, you and I.”

“Mm.”

“They must recognize us. One of us, at least. But, here we are.”

Widowmaker glanced over one shoulder, watching the waitstaff as they moved from counter to table and back again, exchanging pleasantries and orders with the handful of guests seated around the bar. Any one of them could and should recognize Doomfist; in fact, she did not suspect they didn’t.

Returning her gaze to her drink, the assassin shrugged and set to scooping the crema from its surface. “Who here could raise a hand to you?” she asked plainly, as if inquiring about the weather. “It would be stupid. A death sentence.”

“And you?” Akande asked, smiling.

“Please.”

“She treats you well?”

Widowmaker blinked, glancing back to Akande. “Quoi?”

“Does she?”

It was a strange question, coming from him - from anyone in Talon’s employ, really. In fact, it was the most direct inquiry anyone had made into her relationship with Sombra. Even Gabriel, who was notoriously devoid of delicacy and in possession of the very worst sense of timing, avoided anything so pointed. Then again, this was something of the the norm: for all his stoicism at work and in the field, Akande was always strangely forthcoming in the fleeting seconds he made his feelings known. Widowmaker accordingly assumed of his question a modicum of sincere interest, and indulged it carefully.

“Yes,” she murmured, setting her spoon aside. “She understands… me. What I am, where my story will end, why. She understands. And she is warm. Something I am not.”

“Warm,” the man repeated, the word slowed by uncertainty.

Widowmaker lifted the cup to her lips but didn’t drink. There was something behind Akande’s eyes, some new darkness she didn’t recognize. His expression neither changed nor faltered, but something was perceptibly different.

“Oui,” she continued. “It is not something I missed. But it is something I lack, and something I can appreciate.”

He nodded, though his expression remained unplaceable. Doomfist seemed focused, but neither on her nor their conversation; he was honing in on something adjacent it instead. Perhaps he’d found a a finer point between her words, a thought or concept she’d unknowingly brushed against?

“You are confused?” she guessed.

He shook his head. “No.”

“Then what?”

Akande watched the idle swirl of dark liquid as he turned his cup in a slow rotation. A moment later, he pushed it aside and leaned forward on his elbows, narrowing the space between them significantly. In anyone else, it would have appeared conspiratorial, maybe even intimidating. For him, it seemed oddly vulnerable. “I have sacrificed many things to get where I am,” he said quietly. “What you are talking about is among them.”

“Do you regret it?” Widowmaker asked.

“Not quite. It is more like positive and negative spaces; something’s absence is not bad, but it is noticeable. Something’s presence is not innately good, but you know it is there.”

A thin, knowing smile slipped across Widowmaker’s lips. She knew the feeling well, but hearing someone else give voice to it was validating in a way she rarely experienced. That that someone was Akande was somehow even more so.

“So, no,” Akande continued, squaring his shoulders. “I do not regret it. I made a choice as to what is important to me, and what I can live without.”

“You can make other choices,” the sniper added. “It is not unlike warfare.”

“You think so?” Something flashed across Akande’s face, even faster than normal. Widowmaker wondered whether it was that same sense of validation, that feeling of one’s isolating circumstances being anything but singular. Yet as soon as it was there, he suppressed it, pushing that hint of curiosity from his face as if it were some terrible secret worth hiding.

She wondered if it was the same sort of hope her programming was supposed to forbid.

“Cross that,” he said, the command buoyed by a note of something she suspected was sadness. “Don’t answer that. This is… inappropriate. I am sorry, Lacroix.”

She watched as he stood, sweeping one broad hand across the table to lift the tiny cup to his lips, drain it, and set it aside. He reached into his pocket and tossed a few credits on the table, then turned his back to her.  “I should get back to base.”

“Defeatism is unbecoming of you,” she said over the rim of her own cup. “As is cowardice.”

He hesitated, and Widowmaker could swear she heard him laugh: a small, bitter, self-aware sound. “You wouldn’t know a thing about it,” he sighed. “Take the day off. I’m going to go clear the doctor’s schedule.”

*Read from the beginning or check out our intro post! All stories tagged under #glitchfic. Table of contents located here.

[newstfionline]

In Russian Village Swallowed by Sand, Life’s a Beach. Just Not in a Good Way.

Sergey Ponomarev, NY Times, Nov. 11, 2018

SHOYNA, Russia--Shoyna, a Russian fishing village on the frigid shores of the White Sea, is slowly vanishing under sand that engulfs entire houses, their roofs just barely visible above the dunes.

For young children, it’s a magical place: their whole world a sandbox with natural slides everywhere. For everyone else, life in this barren landscape--likely a man-made environmental disaster--can be a daily grind.

Anna Golubtsova lives on the second floor of her home. The ground floor turned into an unwelcome beach.

“We’ll have to hire a bulldozer to push the sand back, and again next year,” said Ms. Golubtsova. “We have to do it lest the snow piling up on top of the sand buries us to our roof.”

A nearby house was so overtaken by the dunes its residents had to go in and out through the attic.

Local residents say more than 20 houses have been completely buried under the sand. Boardwalks take the place of sidewalks on the village streets.

In the years after World War II, Shoyna was a thriving fishing port, with old Soviet newsreels telling stories of the fishermen here heroically exceeding their production targets.

But overfishing not only depleted local stocks; it probably ruined the area’s ecosystem. Trawlers scraped the sea floor clean of silt and seaweed. And with nothing to hold the sand in place anymore, waves started washing it ashore, each of the trillions of grains a reminder of the reckless depredation of the seas.

This disruption of the seabed, perhaps combined with a natural change in the bed of the river that flows through Shoyna and into the White Sea, is the best suspect to blame for the sand invasion, said Sergey Uvarov, the marine biodiversity project coordinator for the World Wildlife Fund in Russia. But no formal environmental studies of the remote region have been conducted.

In the summertime, small airplanes, and the occasional helicopter, are the only way to reach Shoyna.

Evdokiya Sakharova, 81, serves as an informal greeter at the sandy landing strip. In her youth, the now desert-like area was filled with grassy meadows where cows would be taken to pasture, and villagers had their own little farms next to their homes.

“I remember the village when it was full of life, not sand,” she said.

During its heyday as a fishing port, Shoyna’s quay could barely fit the more than 70 fishing vessels coming in and out every day. At its height, the village’s population was over 800; today it’s home to 285 people.

The emptying out didn’t happen all at once. First the fish processing plant closed, then the brickworks. The farms held on for a while. “We kept planting vegetables, fertilizing the soil and sweeping away the sand advancing from the shore,” Ms. Sakharova said. “Until it became pointless.”

The people in this village, where trails left by ATVs, humans and dogs crisscross the sand between the houses, don’t expect much in terms of amenities. The village has no sewage system, and water has to be carried from wells. Houses are heated with firewood or coal.

Food supplies in Shoyna’s only store cost almost twice as much as in the nearest town, and many residents turn for sustenance to the natural areas outside the village where the sand has not yet reached.

Arctic cloudberry grows in the tundra. Harvesting it is backbreaking labor, but it’s both delicious and lucrative. Locals sell it to middlemen, and it ultimately fetches almost as much as red caviar in city stores. In the fall, wild geese can be hunted and enough meat stored to last the winter. Sometimes nomadic reindeer herders stop by, exchanging meat for other goods.

Small-scale fishing still happens throughout the year, in the summer for food and in the winter for trade. It’s quite a way to the nearest market, however. Fish has to be hauled along a frozen river on snowmobiles for eight to 10 hours to the nearest town, Mezen.

Shoyna runs on its own schedule. If you need bread, you have to place an order at a bakery open four days a week. At the village’s bathhouse, Tuesdays and Wednesdays are reserved for women, Thursdays and Fridays for men.

“There’s little entertainment out here,” said Karina Kotkina, an intern at the local meteorological station. “We’re lucky to have internet connection.”

Every Saturday there’s a dance night at the local community center frequented by the few young people still living in the village, as well as soldiers from the nearby military base.

Debates about staying in Shoyna or moving along have been going on for decades.

Resettlement can be subsidized under a federal assistance program for residents of far northern regions. Many young people do leave to study, work and travel. But some of those who have bolted come back after a while: It can be hard to adapt to urban life after years spent in the village.

“Shoyna drags you in,” said Pavel Kotkin, 21. “I spent four years studying in the city and came back. I love Shoyna and want to spend my life here.”

But what about the sand?

“I can’t do without it,” Mr. Kotkin said. “My feet hurt after walking on asphalt.”

For those who stay, jobs are scarce. Most of those available are in the public sector, like teaching or serving on the village council. The weather is also an employment driver.

Anna Kravets is the director of the local meteorological station that monitors what can be the extreme conditions here. She came to Shoyna from Rostov-on-Don, in Russia’s mild south. “I miss fresh vegetables,” she said. “The stuff from the local store is too green and tasteless.”

While she’s now accustomed to the sand, it took time. “It’s hard to walk on it, your feet and legs get tired too quickly,” Ms. Kravets said. “I had to say goodbye to my high heels.”

When the fishery was closed, some large vessels were just abandoned on the shore, and the rusting hulks look like mythical beasts.

“When we were kids, we used to play hide-and-seek there, build our little houses there,” Mr. Kotkin reminisced. “These ships were our whole world.”

People bring their old machinery to join these ships on the shore. But it’s a junkyard with a broader purpose: The rusting clutter’s last mission is to serve as an improvised breakwater, helping shield houses on Shoyna’s shore from crashing waves.

There are some signs that Shoyna’s ecosystem may be recuperating. Grass started reappearing in Shoyna in the last five years. Fishermen, too, tell tales of seaweed tangling in their nets where there was none before.

But for now, the sand continues to come.

Some of this sand will eventually end up on the porch of Ms. Sakharova, the airport greeter. She grabs a shovel every morning and gets to digging her house out little by little.

“My kids and grandchildren are asking me to move to the city, but I don’t want to,” she said. “Shoyna is my home. It’s nice and calm out here.”

[chicanoartmovement]

CHICANO ART MOVEMENT attends: Rafa Esparza: cumbre: look as far as you can see in every direction -- north and south, east and west (2018)

via PST: LA/LA:

This newly commissioned work by Rafa Esparza is an ambitious, three-part performance. Esparza’s point of departure is meditation on bridges and bodies of water as sites of connection and healing, division, and risk. The artist’s performance responds to personal. familial histories of immigration into the United States and the deeply complex history of downtown Los Angeles. Esparza will be joined by artist Sebastian Hernandez for a special collaboration in the final segment of the afternoon’s performance. 

(Exterior shot of venue location for Esparza’s live performance.)

Written by: Anita 

On a windy afternoon in January 2018, we hit the road with a destination to the Geffen Contemporary at MOCA in Los Angeles, CA to survey the one-time performance piece entitled “cumbre: look as far as you can see in every direction - north and south, east and west” by artist Rafa Esparza. To anticipate the crowds and to insure admission to this Pacific Standard Time: LA/LA (PST: LA/LA) funded by The Getty Foundation programming, we arrived 45 minutes before the commencement of la obra. Nearing sunset, ticket holders ventured into a space where an adobe brick bridge with wooden railings guided patrons across to find a location for the performance. The overpass was created by Esparza whose focus of late has been this medium. With high attendance, we secured a standing location which later worked out to our advantage. 

(Esparza during “cumbre” performance at the Geffen Contemporary at MOCA for PST: LA/LA.)

After the space was filled to capacity, Rafa Esparza who wore a loincloth emerged from underneath the adobe bridge. This entrance was a surprise to us as we were unaware of his presence as patrons crossed the traverse into the performance space. With the sounds of flowing water amplified through an audio system, Rafa walked to a corner of the main performance area to locate his clothing and prepare for the upcoming scene. Projected on the wall opposite to the artist, there was an image of a powerful river gushing with force in majestic natural landscape. In front of Rafa was the nucleus of this live performance piece: the elevated stage with a wooden overhead, which looked guillotine-esque, containing an elaborate irrigation system that gave life to a showering waterfall.

Esparza changed into a red hued clothing ensemble--an undershirt, a long sleeve button-up shirt, and burgundy pants--with white tennis shoes and an elaborate hairstyle that was comprised of long hair extensions braided into long ropes. For a moment, the originator gazed upon the creation and centerpiece of this living art piece while still having both feet on the ground floor. Next artist climbs onto the raised wooden stage and turns on the waterfall apparatus. The sound of the water and its impact on the platform reflected throughout the performance space. Rafa carefully lifted one arm and pierced the cascade. With calculated movements, Esparza’s body passed through the impactful cascada. Each passage flushed every skin cell within the body of Esparza with frigid hydration and its temperature was reflected on the inventor’s face. Rafa marked the end of this scene by climbing down from the elevated stage to the prior corner to retrieve a towel to begin the drying processes. 

(Detail of Esparza on January 21, 2018 at Geffen Contemporary in Los Angeles, California.) 

Afterwards Esparza walked behind a verre podium to be surrounded by succulents in vibrant natural tones support by adobe display stands. Rafa’s introduction personified the MC style of checking microphone function by repeating, alternating, and progressing through si, yes, yeah, and ella. The last ella was the commencement of Sebastian Hernandez’s participation as a guest performer who brought the words of Esparza to life. Hernandez wore brown loose fitting pants that had a hint of bell bottom jeans. At the top, there was a custom made headdress formed by tiny square pieces of mirror that were arranged in a disco fish scale style that extended to the shoulder blades.

Now the storyteller, Rafa Esparza, recounted the migration story of an uncle of 52 years and a 16 year old nephew who were crossing the Río Grande between México and the United States. As the story progressed so did the movements of Hernandez who was moving with force to reflect the moments the said nephew was thrown by the water’s current and was then being pulled by the uncle to water’s surface for the breath of life. As Rafa narrated the struggle as a person of color in today’s society, Sebastian began to embody the navigation of those daily obstacles through exaggerated body language. Next Rafa Esparza recalled the lived experience of a drive by shooting after enjoying a night of dancing at Mi Hacienda Nightclub with family. Hernandez reenacted how the seven gunshots had consequences after that night with oneself, the family, and the community.

(Photo of Sebastian Hernandez, guest, during performance for “cumbre.”)

The producer of this elaborate endeavour took a moment to step back and with the audience to look upon the anticipated interactions between Sebastian Hernandez and the waterfall. Before reaching the platform, Sebastian removed the pants to stand only in a black brief and the surviving headdress mirror pieces. In a speedy fashion, the artist added plastic clear, high heeled platforms and clear plastic goggles to protect the eyes. Sebastian graciously climbed upon the stage to which the water started as a sprinkle that turned into a heavy downpour. As the bass pumped through the sonido, the composed piece by recording reggaeton artist Kelman Duran entitled “1984, Primero, Ultimo” and its tempo were in synced with Hernandez’s choreography that was danced underneath the water overpassed that now poured the residual pigment from Esparza’s red ensemble. At the song’s conclusion, Sebastian returned to the corner to dry off, removed the platforms, and don once more the long, loose fitting pants.

(Photo of S. Hernandez, left, and R. Esparza marking the end of the live performance.)

In the closing segment of this ephemeral piece, Esparza spoke about the original plans for said performance that encompassed a larger adobe installation within the confines of the Geffen Contemporary at MOCA, but the idea was terminated due to the high possibility of dirt particles contaminating the art works in the collection. Rafa connected this experience to the historical mistreatment of Brown workers of the Bracero Program (1942-1964) who were deemed dirty and were decontaminated by pesticides and radiation before entering the United States of America. Esparza continued to share how the initiative of PST: LA/LA  impacted the interactions between artists and museum institutions as well as the traditional views of art and art history against the creative works by Latinx artists from Los Angeles and its surrounding areas. While the artist spoke, Sebastian Hernandez continued to give life to Esparza’s word through rapid movement that reflected the various emotions and thoughts conveyed through the speech. The manifestation to Rafa’s last words of “I’m not a bridge; I’m not your bridge; we’re not your bridges” was of Sebastian with quick body movement created a visual denial of passage across Rafa’s bridge.

The originator of the laborious endeavor left the podium to join Hernandez, together they walked around the elevated stage and began clapping with some synchronization. In unison, they moved towards double-swinging doors which marked the exit scene leaving us with contemplation.

(View of Rafa Esparza’s podium/installation.) 

After taking time to reflect about this live performance as an observer, I found many themes in the program.  One essential element through Rafa Esparza’s “cumbre: look as far as you can see in every direction -- north and south, east and west” was agua. In the first portion when Rafa was passing through the water while fully clothed, I saw the facial expression bore the cold temperature of the water falling consistently on the body. With the use of cold water throughout, I saw the interaction of how much the body can withstand the harshness of Mother Nature.

With Esparza’s movements and actions, I saw elements of aquatic creation but later in the discourse I was reminded that agua can also eliminate and destroy. While Rafa spoke about the two men attempting to cross el Rio Grande to immigrate to the United States, Sebastian Hernandez (guest performer) reenacted how powerful the river was and in one quick moment, it can be taken away by the Azteca goddess Chalchiuhtlicue, the goddess of oceans, rivers and running water.

While contemplating the scene of Sebastian Hernandez and the performance to the song “1984, Primero, Ultimo,” I thought about how the movements were reflective of how individuals can connect and live through music. Throughout this portion I was reminded of how I do a similar act on a daily basis singing and dancing while in the shower. I connected to the idea of water having cleansing and healing properties and through music consciousness can be achieved in order to accomplish the goals for the day.

Overall, this was a delightful and much needed addition to the PST: LA/LA programming.

To view a recorded version of “cumbre: look as far as you can see in every direction -- north and south, east and west” by Rafa Esparza, visit: https://youtu.be/5UTu3k3yb3o

More information on Rafa Esparza, visit: https://www.instagram.com/elrafaesparza/?hl=en