#Real-time engine monitoring

[apicalindustrialsolution]

Control System Integration Services in Bangladesh: Enhancing Efficiency and Innovation

Control System Integration Services in Bangladesh: Enhancing Efficiency and Innovation

In recent years, Bangladesh has become a significant player in technological advancements and industrial growth. At the heart of this transformation lies the critical role of **control system integration services**. These services are essential for modernizing and optimizing industrial processes across various sectors. This blog delves into the importance of control system integration in Bangladesh, highlighting key players, emerging trends, and the benefits they bring to industries.

Understanding Control System Integration

**Control system integration** involves designing and implementing systems that manage and automate industrial processes. These systems ensure different components of production work together seamlessly, enhancing overall efficiency, reliability, and performance. 

The Rising Demand in Bangladesh

Bangladesh’s industrial landscape is evolving rapidly, leading to increased demand for advanced control systems. Several factors drive this need:

1. Industrial Expansion: Bangladesh’s manufacturing sector, including textiles, pharmaceuticals, and food processing, is growing. These industries require sophisticated control systems to enhance quality, reduce downtime, and increase productivity.

2. Infrastructure Development: Investments in infrastructure projects like power plants, water treatment facilities, and smart grids create a need for effective **control system integration** to manage these complex systems.

3. Automation Trends: The global shift towards automation and digitalization is influencing Bangladeshi industries. Companies are increasingly adopting **automation technologies**, making control system integration crucial for staying competitive.

Leading Control System Integration Providers in Bangladesh

Several companies in Bangladesh specialize in **control system integration services**, offering a range of solutions:

-System Design and Implementation: Tailoring control systems to specific industry requirements, whether for new facilities or upgrades.

- Integration with Existing Systems: Ensuring new control systems work smoothly with current equipment and processes.

- Maintenance and Support: Providing ongoing maintenance and support to ensure optimal performance and address any issues.

- **Consultancy Services: Offering expert advice on best practices, system selection, and optimization strategies.

Benefits of Control System Integration

1.Increased Efficiency:Integrated control systems streamline operations, reduce manual intervention, and minimize errors, leading to higher productivity and cost savings.

2.Enhanced Quality: Automation and real-time monitoring ensure consistent product quality and compliance with industry standards.

3.Improved Safety: Advanced control systems help identify and manage potential hazards, contributing to a safer working environment.

4.Real-Time Monitoring and Control: Operators can monitor and control processes in real-time, facilitating quicker decision-making and problem resolution.

5.Scalability: Integrated systems can be easily scaled or modified as businesses grow, offering long-term flexibility and value.

Challenges and Opportunities

While the advantages are substantial, there are challenges, such as the need for skilled professionals, the cost of advanced technologies, and integrating new systems with existing infrastructure. These challenges, however, also present opportunities for innovation and growth. By investing in training and adopting cutting-edge technologies, Bangladeshi companies can lead in industry advancements.

The Future of Control System Integration in Bangladesh

The future for **control system integration** in Bangladesh looks bright. With ongoing industrial growth, technological advancements, and a supportive business environment, the sector is set for further expansion. Companies that adopt advanced control systems will not only enhance their operational efficiency but also contribute to Bangladesh’s economic development.

In conclusion, **control system integration services** are pivotal in modernizing Bangladesh’s industrial sector. By boosting efficiency, safety, and quality, these services drive innovation and establish Bangladesh as a leader in industrial automation. Embracing these advancements will be key to sustaining growth and achieving long-term success in the country’s evolving industrial landscape.

Feel free to adjust this blog according to your specific focus or target audience!

[reasonsforhope]

"A team of researchers at Washington University in St. Louis has developed a real-time air monitor that can detect any of the SARS-CoV-2 virus variants that are present in a room in about 5 minutes.

The proof-of-concept device was created by researchers from the McKelvey School of Engineering and the School of Medicine at Washington University...

The results are contained in a July 10 publication in Nature Communications that provides details about how the technology works.

The device holds promise as a breakthrough that - when commercially available - could be used in hospitals and health care facilities, schools, congregate living quarters, and other public places to help detect not only the SARS-CoV-2 virus, but other respiratory virus aerosol such as influenza and respiratory syncytial virus (RSV) as well.

“There is nothing at the moment that tells us how safe a room is,” Cirrito said, in the university’s news release. “If you are in a room with 100 people, you don’t want to find out five days later whether you could be sick or not. The idea with this device is that you can know essentially in real time, or every 5 minutes, if there is a live virus in the air.”

How It Works

The team combined expertise in biosensing with knowhow in designing instruments that measure the toxicity of air. The resulting device is an air sampler that operates based on what’s called “wet cyclone technology.” Air is sucked into the sampler at very high speeds and is then mixed centrifugally with a fluid containing a nanobody that recognizes the spike protein from the SARS-CoV-2 virus. That fluid, which lines the walls of the sampler, creates a surface vortex that traps the virus aerosols. The wet cyclone sampler has a pump that collects the fluid and sends it to the biosensor for detection of the virus using electrochemistry.

The success of the instrument is linked to the extremely high velocity it generates - the monitor has a flow rate of about 1,000 liters per minute - allowing it to sample a much larger volume of air over a 5-minute collection period than what is possible with currently available commercial samplers. It’s also compact - about one foot wide and 10 inches tall - and lights up when a virus is detected, alerting users to increase airflow or circulation in the room.

Testing the Monitor

To test the monitor, the team placed it in the apartments of two Covid-positive patients. The real-time air samples from the bedrooms were then compared with air samples collected from a virus-free control room. The device detected the RNA of the virus in the air samples from the bedrooms but did not detect any in the control air samples.

In laboratory experiments that aerosolized SARS-CoV-2 into a room-sized chamber, the wet cyclone and biosensor were able to detect varying levels of airborne virus concentrations after only a few minutes of sampling, according to the study.

“We are starting with SARS-CoV-2, but there are plans to also measure influenza, RSV, rhinovirus and other top pathogens that routinely infect people,” Cirrito said. “In a hospital setting, the monitor could be used to measure for staph or strep, which cause all kinds of complications for patients. This could really have a major impact on people’s health.”

The Washington University team is now working to commercialize the air quality monitor."

-via Forbes, July 11, 2023

-

Holy shit. I know it's still early in the technology and more testing will inevitably be needed but holy shit.

Literally, if it bears out, this could revolutionize medicine. And maybe let immunocompromised people fucking go places again

Also, for those who don't know, Nature Communications is a very prestigious scientific journal that focuses on Pretty Big Deal research. Their review process is incredibly rigorous. This is an absolutely HUGE credibility boost to this research and prototype

[industrydesignservices]

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[requiemforthepoets]

you could be the one that i love, i could be the one that you dream of 𖦹 LN4

PAIRINGS: lando norris x sainz!actress!reader

SUMMARY: you were fine in supporting your older brother, carlos, from afar. but when he insisted (practically begged) you to come, you can’t help but cave in.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i know that the princess diaries came out in the early 2000s, but for the sake of the plot, let’s pretend!! i know that it’s also hard to be private irl when you’re famous, but for the plot!!!! hope you’ll enjoy this one! :)

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

WARNINGS: typos, google translated spanish, and photos grabbed from pinterest

The humid air of Singapore clung to your skin as you made your way towards the garage, dressed to the nines. You couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement—Singapore Grand Prix was unlike anything you had ever experienced. You had been to countless film premieres and award shows, but this—this was a whole different world, definitely different from the glitz and glamor of Hollywood. The buzzing energy of the track, roaring of engines, flashing lights—it was exhilarating.

“¿Estás nervioso?” (You nervous?) your father asked, leaning close to be heard over the noise of the pit crew.

You are now in the Ferrari garage, standing beside your father, Carlos Sr., that was beaming with pride, he had the same confidence that Carlos has.

“Un poco.” (A little bit.) you admitted with a smile, glancing at the Ferrari cars as they prepared for the race. “Es diferente mirar desde casa. Esto se siente…más intenso.” (It’s different watching from home. This feels…more intense.)

He chuckled, “Espera a que se apague la luz. Vas a tener un espectáculo de verdad.” (Just wait until the lights go out. You’re in for a real show.) he patted your shoulder. “Él va a ganar, lo sé.” (He’s going to win, I just know it.) he added.

You glanced up at him, can’t help but feel proud and worried at the same time. “¿Eso crees?” (You think so?) he chuckled, “Lo sé. Hoy está en su elemento.” (I know so. He’s in his element today.)

You had never attended a Grand Prix before, even though you had always supported him. This will be your first time, your first rodeo. He had insisted—well, practically begged you to come, and how could you say no? He has been begging you to come to a race for years. But between your filming schedules and your desire to keep your personal life private, it never seemed like the right time. Carlos respected that, but this year, he wouldn’t take no for an answer, he was almost about to put you inside his luggage and bring you over to Singapore to watch his race. So here you were, nervously excited, surrounded by the very world you kept at arm’s length. You are finally here.

The race had started, and from the garage, you had a perfect view of the monitors, watching Carlos fight for every position on the track. The tension was really high, but you found yourself completely immersed, cheering for every overtake he does, and your heart racing every time he was close to another car. Your father, who was typically stoic, was even more animated than usual, shouting every word of encouragement in Spanish every few minutes.

Then, as the laps wound down, it became clear—Carlos was going to win the Singapore Grand Prix. The final lap felt like it lasted forever, but the moment he crossed the checkered flag in first place, the whole garage erupted in celebration. You jumped up, tears welling in your eyes as you hugged your father tightly. “He did it! He did it, papa!” You shouted, your voice cracking with emotion.

“He did,” your father agreed, holding you tight.

Carlos’ engineer spoke over the radio, “P1, mate, P1! Congratulations!”

You heard Carlos’ voice come through the speakers, breathless and filled with joy. “Vamos!” He shouted, “this one’s for my family!”

Your heart swelled with immense pride. This moment was everything—years of hard work, sacrifice, and support from your family all coming together. As the celebration in the garage died down and the post-race routines began, you were still in a daze, watching as Carlos made his way to the podium. The crowd roared when he lifted the trophy, and you couldn’t help but feel a lump in your throat, realizing how much he deserved this.

After the podium ceremony, you made your way back to the paddock lounge, where Carlos had asked you to meet him. But instead of Carlos, you bumped into someone else—Lando Norris, one of your brother’s best friends and fellow driver.

You recognized him, of course. Not only because he was one of Carlos’ best friends, but because you had always found him—well, very cute, and you admit that you have a crush on him. You had seen him hanging out with your brother—laughing, golfing, doing whatever boys do. But this was different. The way his eyes lingered on you, the slight smile tugging at his lips, the same way it was tugging on your heartstrings. It was almost as if he was waiting for a chance to talk with you.

“Hey,” Lando greeted with that familiar, cheeky smile. His curly hair peeking from the cap he was wearing backwards and all freshen up from the post podium ceremony. He looked every bit the charming guy you had always seen on TV.

“Oh, hi.” You replied, feeling a little shy but amused at his relaxed demeanor after such an intense race.

“So, what do you think? Your first Grand Prix,” he asked, leaning casually against the wall.

“It was…unbelievable,” you admitted. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous in my entire life. Watching Carlos from the garage was intense. Also, congrats on winning P2.”

“Thank you,” Lando chuckled. “Yeah, it’s a whole different ball game when you’re here in person. But you seemed to handle it well.”

You smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Slightly making yourself cringe on how you acted by doing it. “Well, I’ve had years of practice with Carlos, so I guess I’m used to the nerves.”

Lando’s eyes sparkled with interest as he leaned in a little closer, his voice lowering slightly. “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask—how come no one ever knew you were his sister?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?” You teased, already knowing where this conversation was headed.

Though you were a household name from your breakout role in The Princess Diaries that catapulted your acting career to success, most people had no idea you were a Sainz—the Sainz of Spain, youngest sister to Carlos Sainz Jr., the F1 racer and daughter to Carlos Sainz Sr., the World Rally Champion. Wikipedia was also no use for those people who are trying to dig for information about you, and Carlos, being the ever-protective older brother, had made sure of that. There were some fans that had been theorizing for years, speculating how you looked strikingly like Carlos, but no one had ever confirmed it.

“Not a problem,” Lando replied with a grin. “Just surprising. You’ve kept a pretty low profile considering…well, you’re you.”

You laughed softly. “Yeah, I like to keep things private. My life in the film industry is one thing, but family is…different. I didn’t want my career to overshadow Carlos or distract him from his achievements.”

Lando nodded, clearly impressed. “That’s fair. But I have to say, the resemblance is pretty obvious once you know. You’ve got those Sainz eyes.”

“Well, maybe that’s why some fans figured it out.” You chuckled and playfully rolled your eyes at his remark.

He laughed, and for a moment, there was a comfortable silence between you. You found yourself stealing glances at him, noting how his usual playful aura seemed softer now, more genuine. You had always thought that Lando’s very cute, but seeing him up close like this made you realize how effortlessly charming he was.

“So,” Lando said, breaking the silence, “what are the chances that I’ll see you at more races? Or is this just a one-time thing?”

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “I’m not sure yet. But after today, who knows? Maybe?”

“Good. I’d hate for this to be the last time we run into each other.” He grinned, eyes lighting up.

Before you could even respond, Carlos appeared, already freshened up, face glowing with triumph. “There you are!” He called out, pulling you into a big hug. “What did you think? It being your first race and I won! I told you it was worth coming.”

“It was incredible,” you said, beaming up at him. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Were you bothering my sister, Norris?” Carlos turned to Lando, smirking at him.

Lando raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I was just keeping her company until you showed up.”

“Just remember Lando, I’m watching you.” Carlos narrowed his eyes playfully before shaking his head. Lando laughed but didn’t deny the subtle implication.

“I think your sister’s the good luck charm. You should keep bringing her.” Lando nudged Carlos playfully.

“Don’t get any ideas, mate.” Carlos playfully rolled his eyes, but there was a protective glint in his eyes as he glanced between you and Lando.

You blushed at Carlos’ teasing, but couldn’t help feeling the warmth of Lando’s gaze still being on you. He tilted his head slightly, giving you a smile that made your stomach flip.

“Maybe we can get you on the golf course next time,” Lando suggested, eyes twinkling with amusement. You raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You think I could handle it?”

“I have a feeling you can handle anything.” Lando chuckled. Before you could respond, Carlos stepped in, clearly trying to steer the conversation away.

“Alright, alright. Let her breathe, mate. She’s already had enough excitement for one day.”

Lando’s gaze flicked back to you for a brief moment before Carlos whisked you away to join the team in celebrating his win, not forgetting to congratulate Lando again on his P2 and inviting him for the after party. But even as Carlos guided you back towards the Ferrari team, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of something.

As the night went on, the excitement from Carlos’ victory still buzzing in the air, but you couldn’t help but glance at Lando from across the room, catching him watching you a few times too. The way Lando had looked at you, the way his smile had lingered—it was sweet, cute. Despite Carlos’ best efforts, something tells you that this is not the last time that you’ll be crossing each other’s path. You had a feeling you’d be seeing more of Lando soon.

ynsainz

liked by carlossainz55, yourbestfriend, charles_leclerc, landonorris, imrebeccad, and 2,759,937 others

tagged: carlossainz55 and landonorris

ynsainz congrats you goobers!!! first grand prix experience and what a way to start—celebrating my brother’s big win at the singapore grand prix! 🏆💥 couldn’t be more proud of you!! here’s to many more moments like these ❤️

primera experiencia de grand prix y qué manera de empezar celebrando la gran victoria de mi hermano en el singapore grand prix! 🏆💥 no podría estar más orgulloso de ti!! a muchos más momentos como estos ❤️

view all 78,837 comments

username1 I KNEW IT!!! I ALWAYS KNEW THERE WAS SOMETHING FAMILIAR ABOUT YOU!!!

scuderiaferrari thank you for gracing us with your presence, amelia mignonette thermopolis renaldi, queen of genovia! ❤️✨ ♥︎ liked by the author

ynsainz my pleasure! thank you very much for having me ❤️

carlossainz55 thank you, you goober!! can you now follow me back since everyone already knows that you’re my little sister 😶‍🌫️ ♥︎ liked by the author

ynsainz no

carlossainz55 😐😐😐😐

ynsainz OMG FINE!! STOP TEXTING ME!!!

username2 i haven’t realize that y/n is not following back carlos 😭

username3 THOSE THEORIES HAD NOW FINALLY BEEN CONFIRMED

username4 the eyes chico, they never lie. Y/N GOT THOSE SAINZ EYES

landonorris thank you for the photo, had fun meeting you. can’t wait to see you again on the next race 😉 ♥︎ liked by the author

carlossainz55 what do you think you’re doing? 😐😐😐😐😐😐

ynsainz you’re welcome! had fun meeting you as well.

username5 lando need to conquer the great wall of carlos sainz before he can reach y/n

username6 sainz family genes really hit different, huh?

charles_leclerc nice to meet you, y/n! you should come to races more often. ♥︎ liked by the author

ynsainz nice to meet you too, charles! maybe i should. it was really fun!

username7 saw photos of y/n and lando talking at the paddock, can’t believe that they look so cute together 🥹

username8 are we about to lose our queen to someone that drives a car in circles every sunday? /sad violin noises 😔💔

username9 MAAM HOW U HAD MANAGED TO KEEP THIS ALL A SECRET IS BEYOND ME 😭😭😭

username10 the fact that y/n raised a whole generation with the princess diaries. oh the QUEEN that you are. queen shit only!!!

imrebeccad finally!!! it’s about time you attend a grand prix!!! had so much fun with you!!! ♥︎ liked by the author

ynsainz was about to ditch in attending, but carlos was threatening me that he’ll stuff me inside his luggage so that i can watch him race 😐😂 ♥︎ liked by imrebeccad

username10 carlos didn’t hide y/n, he protected us from losing our collective minds KSKDJKSDK

username11 carlos out here playing chess while we’re playing checkers

username12 we NEED a tell-all interview IMMEDIATELY!!! 🗣️

username13 sainz family is so blessed with beauty AND talent. pls adopt me 🤲🏻

username14 well played, carlos sainz. well played 👏🏻

username15 been telling my friends that the resemblance between you and carlos was TOO strong, but they thought that i was crazy, HA!

[vivalabunbun]

Into the Sky of Artificial Stars

Summary: Could a chest that lacks a heartbeat still learn how it would feel? Could the whir of a motor be enough of a substitute?

Word Count: 25k (I will not explain myself)

Tags: Alhaitham x Fem!Reader, Slow burn (oh my), Slow fic (oh boy), SMUT(r18+), NSFW, Researcher!Reader, insomniac!Reader, Android!Alhaitham, Workaholic!Reader, soft!Alhaitham, Modern AU, Android AU, human x android dynamics, Heavy Angst, Fluff, Heavy adult themes, academic trauma, toxic family pressure, toxic academia themes, struggles of poverty and academic inequality, TW: Exploration of grief, death, and guilt, TW: Survivor's guilt and tragedy, exploration of humanity and morality, slight mentions of violence, service top!Alhaitham, test subject to lovers? slightly possessive!Alhaitham? body worship, touch starvation? cunnilingus, he falls hard like a fool, but what is there to catch a fool who tried to reach for an unobtainable star?

Authors Note: This has been in the drafts for a very long time. My first foray into sci-fi kinda? I did my best with jargon and everything, so please forgive any mistakes I've made in regard to the technical stuff. An exploration into an artificial star. Enjoy

Are you just your conscience? 

All the collective thoughts, desires, and ideals that congregate in your mind and influence your every action. Do your thoughts define you?

Are those cognitive functions, formed through a mix of instinct, teachings, and life experiences, what differentiates a man from a featherless biped?

If so, then are algorithms, simulations, and data sets interchangeable with what creates cognitive functions? Theoretically, it gives a machine the ability to develop a conscience. It gives a machine the ability to be human. 

Perhaps, a sterile lab won’t be the most fitting environment to form such a thing.

What if we clothe the machine, provide a roof over its head in a nice quiet house, and feed its mind with the mundane details of existence? Then, could technology bring a machine over the boundary of humanity? 

To engineer a brain, a conscience, a life with bare mortal hands. As if to replicate the gods. To compete with the authority of gods through scientific progression, many warn about the possible repercussions. 

However, if to give and take life is deemed sinful to be done by mortal hands, then what made those unseen gods any different?

Regardless, such philosophical ramblings won’t help you in finishing the half-written report in front of you. 

Looking past the two years' worth of reports sent already, innumerable papers penned by you within the sleep-deprived confines of the Akademiya. With a doctorate framed proudly on bland walls, that should be proof of your ability to type up a simple conclusion, right?

The weighted taps against a backspace key argue otherwise. Frustration leaves your lips in the form of a sigh as you test out a new string of words. Could these few sentences even be comprehensive of the leap in scientific progress made by mankind? 

The shapes of letters merge together, forming incomprehensible blotches of black pixels against the white backdrop. Quickly, your lids shut to offer your eyes some much-needed reprieve from the harsh light of the monitor.

It was quite naive of you to believe subjecting your weary eyes to the punishment of light mode would drive up productivity.

Your fingers remove themselves from the keyboard, perhaps your body’s stubborn protest against sitting at the desk for another minute. Maybe a coffee break is an order. 

You shouldn’t be too harsh on yourself, there hasn’t been a precedent for an experiment like this. A collaboration between the prideful Fontainian Research Institute and the arrogant Kshahrewar Darshan, the first of its kind.

Perhaps the real marvel is how the weight of their combined egos hasn’t sunk this project into the depths of abandonment. 

With a subtle squeak, your office chair rolls back granting you permission to stand up and stretch your weary limbs. Letting out a slight groan as signs of time made themselves known to your bones. The ramifications of your negligence. 

Slow steps pad through the quiet halls, floor boards singing a hymn with your leisurely stride toward the kitchen. As you make your way to the end of the long, empty hallway a silvery hue steals your attention.

Slightly obscured by the oak door frame to your home library stood the culmination of your years of overtime and long nights. A surge of anticipation places a slight weightlessness on your legs.

Approaching the end of the hall where the humble library resides, the oak doorway finally framed him in clear view. 

Structure much more nimble and organic than the gardemeks framework, with materials sourced from the finest suppliers. The most advanced software and artificial intelligence capabilities ever developed since the Akasha.

The first and only of his kind: The Android Alhaitham. 

The said pinnacle of human ingenuity and knowledge is currently flipping through a paperback book as the sunlight illuminates his synthetic skin.

The bounce light made his silver locks glimmer. As your steps slowed to a stop, he took notice of your presence. A soft snap of pages closing resounds through the passive air as Alhaitham turns his focus to you. 

Your gaze ran along the neat spines lining each shelf, a small stack of unsorted books still left by his feet, but this morning there were numerous identical piles littered all over the library.

He seems to not have any issues making progress on his assigned tasks, a great sign. 

You note that his button-down was a different color today, a sign that he’s practicing switching to a new set of clothes regularly.

A sign of routine, developing habits, and showing his steady learning of human behavior. 

The frustrations from an unfinished report fade into obscurity as the subject of your research continues to observe your form. How easy it is to forget the big picture when you stress over the small details.

With this gentle reminder, a soft curl tugs at the corners of your lips. 

Alhaitham repositions his stance, turning his body to face you, you figure he must be anticipating another task from you. Since he seems to be mostly done with his previous one, why not assign a new one?

“Could you brew me a cup of coffee, Alhaitham?” As he processes your request, you inspect his teal eyes, catching the slight glow signaling that his response is ready. 

“I could, but unfortunately the interval of opportunity has already passed.” His baritone voice articulates. 

A subtle quirk made its debut on your brows as your eyes shifted toward a clock hanging up in the corner of the study, its ticking hands displaying the time: 5:15 p.m. 

“Huh… you won’t grant me an extension?” You turn back to him. 

“If you have a request then please state it between my working hours of 9:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m., you’re always free to submit again tomorrow.” 

He doesn’t budge. An android capable of autonomous training and self-study is different from those gardemeks who only function when given tasks. The ability to develop self-awareness, consciousness, and to think comes with its own caveats.

In Alhaitham’s case, his stubborn nature. Conceivably, he likely reviewed Sumeru’s labor laws and decided that he was entitled to such labor rights as well. 

“I work overtime almost every day for your research and development, but you can’t spare me 15 minutes?” Your lips form a pout, but you already predicted his next output. 

“Your poor work-life balance is not my responsibility.” 

Your prediction was correct. 

Another sigh leaves your lips, it’s just one of the trade-offs you must accept. After all, learning to be a human is the reason why he was created. A feat once thought to be unachievable. But he exists, and he’s developed quite a character. 

To change the trajectory of this conversation you glance at the book held within his hold. 

“Frankenstein by Mary Shelly?” You read the title aloud. 

“Yes, the 1831 edition, it’s quite the story.” Alhaitham opens the covers once more. 

“Mm, maybe I should be more cautious of what information you come across.” A subtle grin tugging at the corners of your lips as his teal eyes land back on you. 

“It’d be a bit of an issue if you were to turn against me from the wrong influences.” Resting your body against the oak doorway as you observe the android process your jest. 

“There are safety restrictions already in place to prevent such occurrences, the possibility is near zero. However, if you are still concerned then feel free to upload a list of banned materials for the next version update.” 

A huff of a chuckle escapes you as you shift more of your weight against the wooden frame. 

“Of course, of course, just remember to place your books back where you found them.” Pushing off the doorway, you allow Alhaitham to continue his unsupervised learning as you amble closer to the kitchen. 

The soft clinking of cups and spoons chime through the evening air as you scoop a few ounces of ground coffee into the brewer.

As the water slowly brings itself to a low rumble, you occupy your wait staring out the glass and at the setting sun. The flaming scarlet hues and warmth blend into mellow indigo as the night begins to reveal her stars. 

Dusk, when the line between day and night blurs to an indistinguishable mess. Would a singularity also look as luminous as the setting sun? The answer might be closer than ever before. 

The reaction to the announcement of an android development project was at first astonishment, that human knowledge had progressed this far. And the secondary reaction that followed like ripples was fear. Fear that humans will soon be replaced by beings of silicon and steel.

That a singularity would signal the end of humanity. 

Well, this was always the common reaction to disruptive change. Many cases of public pushback and hysteria against innovations you can reference throughout history. The human reaction to the unknown. 

They always gossip and fearmonger about an android domination of all of Teyvat. But have those people ever stopped to consider that the android could simply be too lazy to have such ambitions?

Instead of becoming cruel overlords, they’d rather leave books strewn about as they dock themselves into their charging port. 

To learn to be human means to learn human slothfulness too, no? Or maybe Alhaitham’s algorithm just decided to train himself to incorporate it. What a peculiar enigma he is, this android currently residing in your house. 

Your thoughts circle back to a certain novel you haven’t touched in years. A work of science fiction written by a genius author barely over the cusp of adulthood. 

You wonder how she would’ve described this impending singularity. 

A distant toll rang from the depths of a dreamless void, each chime reaching closer and closer until the bright tune devolved into jarring blares. Piercing enough to set your heavy lids into motion.

Just as they peeked open, they flinched back shut from a stray ray that snuck between the gaps of your curtains. 

Your leaden body groans at the brightness of the room, the luminosity much greater than when you had originally settled under the covers. Yet, even with your groggy complaints the alarm resting on the nightstand offered no mercy, continuously bellowing its monotone pitch. 

With a sharp slap, your world returns to its silence. 

Angling the alarm towards you as you creak open one eye, the blurry red pixels slowly merge together to display the time. 

Didn’t you have a meeting scheduled for today? 

Another groan follows your dreadful discovery and you roll back under the plush blanket. Not much different from a child trying to protect themselves from the grasp of a fictitious monster.  

Soft comforters block the morning glow contained behind thick curtains, yet your permission to access a blank serenity was denied. It seems that your quota for sleep has been fulfilled.

Barring you from any excess repose, not that you expected anything less. A monster that torments a young mind might be fictitious, but the realities of capitalistic responsibilities unfortunately aren’t.

Taking in a deep inhale, you prep your body for the next set of dreaded actions with its drowsy limbs. Before it had the chance to protest, you kicked the covers off, ripping away the warm security from your skin. 

Ambling down the hall you gradually made your way into the kitchen, there under the morning light sat a steadfast figure whose eyes never left the book in front of him. 

“Good Morning.” You initiate the first conversation of the day.

“Congratulations.” 

You pause, hand in the midst of rubbing away the tiredness of your eyes. Staring perplexingly at his sudden praise. Alhaitham’s focus remains on his novel even as he answers your unasked question.

“You’ve beat your previous record of how many alarms it takes to get you out of bed, I believe it went off five times this morning.” 

A few beats of uninterrupted silence follow the aftermath of his response. A chain broken by a deep sigh which leaves your body.

“It’s far too early for this, Alhaitham.” Your hand goes back into motion, this time attempting to rub away frustration.

“Spare me your sarcasm until after you’ve made me breakfast and a cup of coffee.” 

From the glance you took at your clock from earlier, it’s currently well into his operational hours.

“Understood.” Setting the book down, his tall frame makes its way into the kitchen. 

Settling down at the lacquered table, your seat grants you a clear view of your android collecting some eggs from the refrigerator. Even as the hands of fatigue beckon your lashes to flutter shut, you refuse to indulge in such luxuries.

You had to watch just in case he decided his book couldn’t wait.

A series of trials and errors already well documented in those weekly reports back to the Akademiya and Institution. A human in training is bound to have some mishaps occur, or more accurately, this android might have different priorities.

One notable case was the time you asked Alhaitham to clean the floors while you attended a conference call. Only to step into puddles of soapy water the moment you leave your office door.

Connecting eyes with teal as he stood in the middle of it all mop in hand. For the time being, you’ve barred him from such tasks. 

Although, you wouldn’t be surprised if he made a mess just as an excuse to sit back on the couch with a book. This fickle android of yours. Your third sigh of the day. 

–-------------------------------------------------------------

The tranquil afternoon interlude that enveloped the house was interrupted by a sharp chime. Glancing at the numbers displayed on the corner of your screen, it looks like it’s right on schedule.

You had just concluded your monthly conference call, it’d be good to stretch your legs a bit after sitting through a few hours of professional formalities. 

Leaving your home office to journey toward the front door, you spot Alhaitham’s frame by the entranceway. His head turns to acknowledge your presence. Passing him to make your way to the front door, you hear him shift closer.

Soon the brilliance of a star pours into the entranceway, illuminating the hall as the door opens.

“Good afternoon, grocery delivery?” The young man on the steps greets, a strain in his polite tone as bags weigh down on his arms. 

“Yes, there was a last-minute addition of henna berries, were you able to get those?”

“Yep, they’re in one of these bags.” 

“Thank you, sorry for the trouble, I’ll take it from here.” You cast a glance over your shoulders back at a tall form standing idly. 

“Please come help with the groceries.” 

“Understood.” It took only a few strides for the burden weighing down on the delivery boy, effortlessly hanging them all on his engineered arms without a hint of strain. 

“Careful, they’re heavy, mister-” The warning dies at the tip of the young man’s tongue as his wide eye reflects the artificial glow of teal irises. 

It’s best to end this trial now, to prevent a commotion or disturbing the delivery boy who isn’t paid enough to be frightened. You could see it in the slight tremble of his agape mouth as his brain processed the thing in front of him. 

“Thank you again, please don’t mind him, have a great day.” Before you could hear his response, the door was shut. 

A bit rude according to societal norms, but you’re sure a generous gratuity bonus paid on top of the delivery fee is enough to stifle any disgruntlement. Considering his reaction, it looks like your hypothesis remains correct.

The people of Teyvat still need more time to adjust to the existence of androids. Just because science progresses, it doesn’t mean human acknowledgment moves at the same rate.  

Turning away from the door, a pair of glass irises connect with yours, a sheen of expectancy just under the brilliant teal hue. Alhaitham stands there with the bags still hanging from his arms. 

“If you already know what I’m about to assign you, then you should just take the initiative, Alhaitham.” You huff. 

“It’s not a bad habit to wait for any specific instructions.” Came his baritone rebuttal.

“Just take those to the kitchen.” 

“Understood.” He pivots away, taking slow steps toward the kitchen. 

“Ah, sort them into the fridge and cupboards too, do not just dump them on the counter.” You warn, learning from your previous mistakes. 

Seriously, Alhaitham has long evolved past needing step-by-step detailed prompts, thus you suspect it's merely an act of his.

You’ve watched his character develop, his habits form, and his routine take shape. Just where did he learn such behavior? This strange android of yours. 

You watch as he carries the numerous bags without a hint of strain. Alhaitham was much better suited for carrying your week’s worth of rations from the market. Unfortunately, he is proprietary technology.

Clearance to allow an android out into the world hasn’t been granted yet. 

Not that you were eager to receive it. The logistics of such an event are a nightmare to plan. The protocols needed in emergencies to ensure the safety of civilians and the millions of mora poured into his creation. 

There’s always a nonzero chance his system gets overloaded from trying to analyze every blurred face in a crowd. A nonzero chance that he would simply wander beyond the merchants and their fruit stalls. A nonzero chance that the gem implanted between his collarbones could spark curiosity. 

Those same curious eyes could catch onto the artificial glow of teal irises, morphing curiosity into terror. 

Even in Fontaine where it was more common for machines to walk among crowds, they were always designed to look like machines. Their clockwork pieces are obvious and distinguishable, a design choice to bring comfort to the mortal psyche.

An easy way for a human to differentiate a person and a thing. If that line becomes blurred, then…

With a deep sigh, you reel your thoughts back from their philosophical journey. Regardless, it’d be a problem for the future to handle.

–-------------------------------------------------------------

Soft clacks resound from the keyboard as a new string of words appears on your screen, documenting the events of the day on your laptop as you sit on your sofa.

The soft cushions are a welcomed change from a stiff office chair. Just over the top of your screen, Alhaitham sat across from an adjacent couch. Methodically folding a basket of laundry and sorting them into piles. 

An easy enough task for him, but as you watch you make sure to note down the improvements in his motor skills and dexterity. Movements organic and fluid, much like those of a human.

It truly is astonishing just how far technology has progressed, from clockwork pieces and clunky steps to the specimen sitting just a few steps away. 

A tall and sturdy frame, well-portioned face with handsome teal irises, and synthetic starlight hair. Features created from the finest equipment and materials, a truly magnificent piece of scientific progress.

Amid your appreciation for his structure, Alhaitham halts all motion, setting down the towel back into the basket. Resulting in your eyebrows creasing together. 

“What’s wrong Alhaitham? Did you forget how to fold a towel?” 

Alhaitham did not attempt to entertain your jest, so much so, that he simply stared past you. Teal eyes honing in on an object just beyond you, never breaking focus to discern the bewilderment on your face.

Finally relenting, you follow his stare toward a clock, reading the time: 5:00 p.m. 

“Seriously? You haven’t finished folding the laundry yet,” you remark in utter exasperation. 

The teal glow of his eyes shows that he’s received your remark, yet he doesn’t make an effort to return a verbal response. He chooses instead to simply continue staring at the time as his hands wait by his side in opposition.

Him staring at a clock, you staring at him, a one-sided showdown. 

A naughty cat prancing about a countertop where it shouldn’t be could simply be picked up and removed.

A disobedient dog dirtying the couch with its muddy paws could be lured off with the sight of a treat.

But an android? What are you going to do to an android whom you had to tilt your head up to make eye contact with? 

This wasn’t a hill you’re willing to die on, thus with a dismissive wave of your hand, you concede. Allowing Alhaitham to do as he pleases, which he graciously does. His form leaves the couch, heading in the predictable direction of the library as a deep sigh leaves you.

This stubborn android of yours, you made sure to document this on today’s report. Just as how it was yesterday, and the day before, and even the day before that. 

Hopefully, in the event of an actual android apocalypse, he might show you the same leniency. You couldn’t help but scoff at your ridiculous musings. A machine with nothing but a motor and battery in his chest, would he understand leniency even if you were to code it into him? 

Soon his frame comes back into view, a pile of books clutched within his hold, just as you predicted. Shamelessly, he sits in the middle of his unfinished chores while leisurely scanning the pages in front of him. 

This fickle, strange, and stubborn android follows the rhythm of his own motor regardless of what protocols you instill.

Yet, as you watch his fingers flip through the worn book and take up space on your couch, a smile develops on your features. A soft curl of your lips, easily obscured by the screen of your laptop. 

A fickle, strange, and stubborn android is not too different from a person, one who had a heartbeat.

An android who takes up space on your couch and house, making it a bit less empty than previously. That was good enough. 

What made man? Intellect? Innovation? Language? 

This was the dilemma assigned to him since the very first time his system powered up in that facility, welcomed into this world by glaring fluorescent lights and the numerous stares of figures in white coats.

A dilemma that follows him even to his current place on a spacious couch.

According to sources pulled from the Akasha and cross-references from numerous printed materials made available to him, many throughout history have been pondering this same conundrum. A philosopher once defined man as featherless bipeds. 

However, wouldn’t this make a plucked chicken a man too? A definition so ambiguous a mere student proved the teacher wrong. 

Then, is man defined by their flesh? Having skin and bones instead of silicon parts and metal components? To have blood pumped by a heart instead of operating off a battery and motor? Was it biology that defined man?

But if that was the simple truth, then why was Frankenstein’s creation addressed as nothing more than a monster?

From his arms to his legs to his mind, everything which made up that creature was human. He had blood, he had flesh, he had bones. So why was he chased away by flaming torches and pitchforks as a mob screamed ‘monster’? Why was a creature made from human flesh not human?

His train of thought halts as a familiar set of steps patter against the floor. Automatically, his sights hone in at the corner of a wall even before your face reveals itself from behind it. 

Teal-colored eyes refocus to catch the subtle perk of your eyebrows and widened eyes. An expression of surprise he analyzes, his immediate focus must have caught you off guard.

Did you have some other test outlined for him? Did you need to collect more data from earlier today? Another household task perhaps? 

How unfortunate, the hour on the clock read half past 8 p.m. Have you not learned from your tardiness the week prior?

“If you have a request, then please wait until 9 a.m. tomorrow when I’m within my business hours.” 

Even with the wall partially obscuring your form, the restrained giggle through lips fighting back a grin was picked up by his audio system. 

“No, no, there’s no more tasks for today.” 

As your gaze centers on him, he takes note of the refractions of fluorescent lights along your irises.

“Then is there something you’d like to discuss?” He prompts. 

“Mm… no, not right now.”

His stone-faced stare was enough of a response, judging by the smile spreading across your features.

“I just felt like checking up on you, after all, you are the most proprietary piece of technology at the moment.” 

At times like these, Alhaitham felt that the audio cue of a sigh was the most effective communication out of all the languages created by man. Muffed chuckles accompany it. 

“I’ll leave you be then.” 

The floorboards trill under your steps as you amble towards the kitchen. Alhaitham returns to the last few pages still left open on his lap. 

Small tinkering from beyond the living room serves as an ambient tune. The swift opening and closing of a refrigerator door. A harsh pull on a microwave door is contrasted by the bright beeps of buttons, leading to a low hum.

He hypothesizes there to be some leftovers spinning around. 

After the microwave sang its concluding chimes, the clatter of a plate follows a firm tug. A drawer rattles open, metal clinking against metal as you sift around for the right utensil. The drawer rattles again as it closes. 

Rhythmic footsteps take center stage as they trail back down an empty hall, Alhaitham waits to hear the resounding click of a door returning to its frame. Just as the final echo of the click sounds out through the air he places the finished novel on the coffee table. 

Leaving the comfort of the cushions, he makes his way to the kitchen to access the aftermath. A microwave door left wide open, a drawer only halfway closed, and of course another dirty coffee mug in the sink. 

Returning the microwave and drawer to their rightful states, his teal eyes count the pile of cups sitting since this morning. A collection that grew throughout the day. 

Alhaitham looks up in the direction of your office. A soft glow leaked out from under the gap of the door, bleeding light into the dim hall. His systems identify the audible taps of a keyboard and the occasional shift of an office chair. He deduces that you were working overtime again. 

He found it a bit ironic at times. A body of mechanical components has no qualms about lounging on a sofa. But you, a creature of flesh and blood, refuse to submit to the allure of rest. Although, Alhaitham wouldn’t find it too implausible that coffee ran through those veins of yours instead. 

Repetitive clacks of keys and mouse clicks play a melody he had heard ever since the first day he opened his eyes.

A tune that accompanies the rhythm of his steps and motions when he goes about his tasks as you document them.

A lullaby that plays after his routine tasks as he heads back to his charging port when you log a daily report. 

An accompaniment to the silent moon and her stars as you stay up at a desk. 

Needing to reach the next exit criteria. Needing to collect the next set of data. Needing to submit the next report. 

Would it be because a body of flesh has agency? With cells in a losing race against time, was there something you wanted to attain within your mortal hands from this research before the race ended?

Or did you just want to fill the vacant lull of this house with those little taps of a keyboard?

Regardless, it’s not within his capacity to disturb your work. Thus all he could do was roll up his sleeves, turn on the running water, and pick up a sponge. Scrubbing the cups with warm soapy water, imitating the motions you’ve shown him before, until the dried stains vanish. 

If it’s not featherlessness, if it’s not bipedalism, and if it’s not flesh… then could it just be agency that made him different from you? 

Maybe he’ll ask you another day, placing the cups into the dish rack. 

Sorting and organizational tasks are his strong suit, in other words, he’s very good at completing easy jobs. Leaving the more… tedious chores to you.

A heavy sigh leaves your lips as you rest on the handle of the broom. The hallway between your office and the bedrooms is the last section that needs to be swept. 

Alhaitham was likely back in his place on the couch, book in hand as he lounged around. Weren’t androids created in hopes of making life easier?

 So much for that, you internally huffed, repositioning your grip on the broom. A soft but bright clink catches your attention. Glancing down, you quickly discover the source. A ring wrapped around your finger.

Kept on your finger for so long, it’s become almost an extension of yourself, this keepsake piece of jewelry. 

Abandoning the broom against a wall, your other hand fiddles with the gold band. A frown forms upon your lips when a faint scratch shows itself on the gold surface

Gingerly, you remove the ring, pinching it between your fingers as you hold it up to the light, examining the damage closer. The shine of its once-polished surface was dulled by trivial scuffs and dents, damaged by the signs of time.

Regrettably, it seems you’ve been neglecting it as well. 

So much so, that the ring felt compelled to remove itself from your grasp in protest. Slipping out of your tender hold, which propels you into motion, graceless attempts at catching the small piece of jewelry to no avail. 

 It soon collides with the wooden floor as a chime rings out, still, gravity didn’t buy you enough time to catch the evasive gem. For it then decides to run under the gap of a door, disappearing from your sight. Leaving you there in defeat. 

Taking a deep inhale, holding it for a few seconds, you release the air in your lungs. Returning your gaze up from the wood grain, you stare at the obstacle in front of you: a mere door. 

Its brass knob gleams as if to taunt you, daring you to open it, to face what lay beyond. Slowly, you release your clenched fingers, setting your hand back into motion. You’re far too grown to be scared of a room in your own home, especially when you know what is behind it. 

Its hinges ring out in surprise, it’s been a while since they were opened. The daunting door opens up to reveal a lackluster collection of old furniture, picture frames, and various other assortment of items.

Their forms all covered by plain sheets thrown over them, silhouettes, outlined like ghost. A slight tickle appears in your nose from the layers of dust you disturbed. 

A poor, unfortunate room you’ve designated as storage, where items go to be neglected. You were busy enough with work as it is.

To avoid seeing the reminders of responsibilities you’ve been pushing off, you’d rather throw them behind a door. Out of your sight, out of your mind. 

The sooner you find that ring, the sooner you can turn a blind eye to the various items you’ve long abandoned yet refused to let go of. Amongst the dull dust and sheets, it wasn’t very hard to spot the golden glimmer from peaking through. 

Trudging towards the mischievous ring, you kneel to finally catch it within your hand. Such a troublesome thing, you chide as you stand back up. Bracing your other hand on the nearest sheet-covered surface, only for it to come into contact with an odd object.

Startled, you instinctively hold onto both the ring and the odd object as you jolt back up. Glancing down at your hands, your eyes finally identify the object. 

A collection of tiny planets and stars dangling from thin strings glimmered with the soft light creeping in from the afternoon sun. A soft smile made its way to your lips.

How silly it was that a toy made to entertain young infants had you so enraptured. You bought it on a whim, then tossed it into the depths of a dust-covered room. And yet it’s now back in your hands. Perhaps the beckoning of the stars still calls for you. 

A part of you wonders if it was your fascination with the night sky that caused sleep to evade you. Sitting up on a mattress well past bedtime to gaze out to the vast ocean of dazzling and blinking lights that dotted against a navy backdrop. While the pristine radiance of the moon reflected off your irises. 

Or did your fascination develop because it was always the moon and her stars that silently accompanied your long nights?

Gentle lights who lent you their well wishes and encouragement as you anguished through assignments and exams. 

What an honor it was for you to be able to witness her beauty so often. It was a pity that some, who disregarded her grace in favor of dreams, weren’t able to experience the brilliance of a starry night.

Maybe your parents fell in the category of the majority. Maybe that’s why they couldn’t even fathom such a thing. 

A past conversation over an old wooden table started in your mind before you could muster the strength to push it back. 

–----

“C’mon, eat, eat.” Your mother places a hearty serving of Biryani in front of you. 

The old kitchen table groaned under the weight of the spread of dishes on its surface. To call it anything short of a feast would be a lie. The walls of the modest home are filled with a variety of rich aromas and spices. 

“You have to eat to study harder, don’t think just because you made it into the Akademiya you can take it easy now.” Your father remarked. 

“I wouldn’t dare dream of it.” You picked up your fork. 

Letting out a chuckle, he pats your back as a rare smile graced his stern face. Your mother’s face mirrored the same radiance, the beaming glow of pride. For you, their daughter, their only child, and only hope had been accepted into the Akademiya. 

The most prestigious university of all of Sumeru and Teyvat, with millions competing for those few spots each and every year. Only the best of the best, only those who outshone the rest, and only those gifted and blessed would ever be admitted.

Yet, you were sent a letter from the oh-so-grand institution. 

A child from a town far away in the shadows of the grand Akademiya was accepted.

What were the odds of that? For a child whose own parents never got the opportunity for higher education to become the first to go off to university? The cause of this celebratory feast. 

The warm Spring breeze contributed to the sweetness of this small moment in time, as plates were passed and glasses clanked.

All those scattered notes, cramped hands, and revisions have rewarded you with the golden brilliance of sunrise after endlessly long nights. 

A smile crept up the corners of your lips. A light has finally appeared to illuminate this trending path you’ve climbed. 

Your father washed down his previous bite with a sip from his cup, placing it down before he began his next question:

“Have you decided on which Darshan to go into?” 

The sweet breeze turns into a chill down your spine as your fork halts its motion. The dilemma you have been dreading has finally arrived at the kitchen table. 

You had to memorize every mathematical formula. You had to pinpoint every detail in a historical timeline. You had to know every syntax of a sentence. You had to understand the molecular structures of life. 

A child had to learn everything, and now they had to pick something to learn. How would the child know? The child only knew how to study. 

“Amurta? Spantamad? Oh, what about Kshahrewar? I heard that it was also good.” Your mother chimed in. 

“Amurta?” Your father scoffed a bit. 

“Dear, as if this tuition isn’t expensive enough, think of how much med school will cost.” 

“Oh I know, I know, but you know how well doctors get paid! I heard those labs also give a decent salary.” Your mother reasons. 

“Ah, but it takes too long. Engineering isn’t half bad either, there’s been a demand for more engineers recently.” Your father takes another sip of his drink.

“Oh, but it’s not up to us,” she turned to face you. 

“It’s up for our little scholar now isn’t it?” 

A paradoxical question, because your options were already decided for you from the very start.

Carefully selected paths were already laid out before you as your parents watched on with expecting eyes, waiting for your foot to take a step on the path they wanted most. 

Poking at a stray grain of rice on your plate, you gather up the scattered pieces of courage. You were a child who only knew how to study, yet, a child is still susceptible to dreams, no?

“I have thought about it.” You began.

“And?” Your mother couldn’t help but nudge you to continue. 

“I was thinking about Rtawahist,” you confessed. 

It was as if even the sweet Spring air wanted to escape the now-still walls, leaving dread to fill the void it had left. No dishes were passed, no utensils rattled, and no cups clinked. Just bewildered stares you couldn’t bring yourself to answer. 

“Rtawahist? As in the school that looks at the sky?” Your father’s face had returned to its stern default. 

“Astronomy? Yes, that’s the Darshan that studies Astronomy.” Your eyes didn’t dare leave your plate. 

Among the options selected by them from their perceptions of future opportunities and prestige for you. You dare interject with one of your own. 

A deep sigh sealed your fate. 

“Astronomy? You want to study Astronomy? And get what job?” 

The pierce from your father’s harsh tone made you flinch, even though you expected it. 

“You can look at the stars for free, why would I pay to send you to school to study something so useless?”

“There are jobs for Astronomy.” You reasoned. 

“Like what?” His finger drummed against the wood. 

“Like-” 

You made the mistake of looking up from your plate, the fragile wisps of courage dissipated like smoke the moment you did. All the arguments and rebuttals you had prepared vanished along with it. The frown that pulled down your father’s face and the scrunched brow concern of your mother’s were enough to snuff out your pitiful rebellion. 

“Go on.” He challenged. 

“...” 

“That’s what I thought.” Your father snatched up his cup. 

Your focus retreated back to your plate, recentering on the grains of rice you pushed around with the ends of a fork. A motion that continued until another hand stopped yours. 

“Little one…” Your mother began. 

Her thumb traced over your fidgeting hand, a touch which comforted yet scorned you all at once. 

“You know that lady who lived down the street? Her son got a career working with computers and now they live in a big house, doesn’t that sound nice?”

You hummed. 

“Kshahrewar isn’t so bad, right? Just a few years and then you can get a good job.” 

Yes, she had spelled out the purpose of your studies like red-inked corrections on a test. It was how it always was, why did you think it would change now?

Having to prove you deserved the food on the plate in front of you.

Having to bring home top grades to prove all those books and materials were worth it.

Having to get a job that could break this cycle your parents were trapped in. How else would you be able to pay them back? 

It was their mora, earned from long hours and labor, that fed you, clothed you, and sheltered you. They made your world with their calloused hands. It was their justification to command it as well. You were their only child, their only investment. 

This was the dilemma imposed upon you. 

–----

Your fingers clench around the childish imitation of the night sky, running the plastic surfaces under your mindless touch. Thoughts still light years away in the recesses of your memories. 

How silly, for someone who loved the planet and the stars so much how did you forget that one fascinating detail? Planets orbit a sun because of gravity.

It was the force of a greater mass that commanded the lesser, it was what kept a planet going round and round within its grasp. It was the gravity of the sun that gave a planet a direction, a path to follow, a purpose even. 

Perhaps it’s because the sun knew what was best for its little planet.

It was the diplomas framed nicely on a wall that granted you a secure job, it was your cushy job that permitted you to purchase this cushy home. 

Your parents planned this out long ago, thus you merely just followed. 

However, when the sun disappears, when the central mass that gave a small planet a purpose disappears, what would the little planet do? 

Drifting endlessly in a vacuum of nothingness, with no direction, no path, no light. No day or night and an endless Winter, would it be as if the world stopped spinning.

That little planet would be no different than a cold lump of rock in a vast emptiness. 

A sharp creak pierces through the tormentful quietude, a chirr that reels your thoughts back to a dusty room. Head instinctively following the direction of the noise, you fixate on the doorway.

Catching the diffused afternoon sun glimmering in silver locks reminiscent of starlight. 

Alhaitham stands silently at the threshold of the door, its frame perfectly centering him as his teal eyes analyze you. Not a single engineered limb crossed the boundary of the dusty room. Just as it was defined in a set of restrictions implemented into his system by you. 

As evidenced by his unintentional disregard for his environment, the floorboards bearing witness to his careless execution of chores, you restricted him from this decrepit room.

Although all it contains is a chaotic collection of trinkets and keepsakes, the dust-coating provides them with a blanket of security. You saw no reason to change it. 

A telling teal glow blinks momentarily before Alhaitham breaks the lull.

“Are you uncomfortable anywhere?”

It was just now that you noticed the wet trails rolling down your cheeks. Wiping away the cooling dampness on your skin, you confirmed the presence of tears. Your senses took their time returning from their escapade.

Alhaitham remains in his spot, patiently awaiting your next response. How embarrassing it is, to be seen in such a state by a being who could shed no tears. Quickly, you wipe away the trails on your other cheek.

“I’m fine, just lost in thought for a moment.” Swiftly you place the toy down.

A smooth weight encased in the palm of your hand reminds you of the ring, the item that lured you into this dusty room.

Perhaps it should be best to have let it remain undisturbed on your finger. It’s a common wives’ tale that keepsakes ward off bad omens. 

“Is that truly all?” He made a no move, his eyes rescanning the environment as if unconvinced by your answer. 

You wonder if it’s because of some protocol or conditional in his software. Safety measures set in place during this test of whether an artificial being could live in harmony with mortals. 

However, as you gaze upon your magnum opus the specifics of programming and software fade into irrelevancy. Trailing your eyes up from his teal irises to his starlight silver trusses that glimmered in the soft light, revealing a hint of mint. It took you a while to find that exact shade during his manufacturing stage. 

There’s always a chance that a drifting planet could be caught in the orbital pull of another. Whether it be man-made or not didn’t matter.

As long as it was of a significant mass its gravity should be enough to pull a lonely planet from its aimless wanderings. It can set the stray planet into a new orbit, giving it a new path. 

A small lump of rock could find a new star to center around. 

“Yes, I’ll be fine.” 

You will be fine. Slowly, and with one step after another, you will be fine one day. 

The typical 24-hour day for a working adult can be broken down into a set schedule. Waking up at around 8 a.m. to wash one’s face and brush their teeth as they make themselves presentable for work. Followed by a light breakfast or a cup of coffee before. 

Some then start their commute to work or jump onto their desktop to clock in around 9 a.m. to begin their work. In the middle of their shift, usually around noon, they are granted a one-hour lunch break, after that they work until 5 p.m. when they finish their work. 

Coming back home to enjoy dinner around 7 p.m. followed by an hour or two of leisure before a bedtime routine begins. Washing the day's influences off oneself, brushing their teeth, and changing into comfortable attire.

If they want to get a restful 8 hours of sleep they cannot go to bed any later than 10:45 p.m. to account for the 15-minute downtime to allow the body to enter the sleeping state. 

This cycle then resets and repeats just as the sky cycles through the sun and moon. A typical and average reality for most adults in Sumeru. Well, from the data he pulled from the Akasha, this was the typical day for the average working civilian. 

It just so happens that you’re a stray data point skewing the graph.

If he were to estimate your bedtimes from the activity of your desktop and laptop, it would be a chaotic set of timestamps ranging from 2 a.m. to 5 a.m., sometimes the activity on your devices never ceased. An indication of what is referred to as an ‘all-nighter’.

Behavior that might be acceptable for those attending the Akademiya, but certainly not for a working adult. 

At this moment, Alhaitham stood in the hall just a few steps away from your bedroom door. His frame remained motionless to avoid disturbing the floorboards beneath him.

Taking into account your device’s activities, Alhaitham estimates your bedtime was 4: 45 a.m. this morning. Given how your alarm is set to around 8 a.m., amounting to about 3 hours of sleep.

Not even half of the recommended time by Sumeru’s health administration. 

By all means, Alhaitham finds it confounding how you’re still able to perform so efficiently at your job, managing both the Insitute and Akademiya while operating on a few morsels of sleep.

He wonders if that was the reason why you were selected as the personnel who’s facilitating his learning. 

Perhaps, they hoped he’d emulate your work ethic and efficiency. How unfortunate, his self-learning pivoted him away from such conduct. 

As he stands observing the woodgrain of your door, Alhaitham finds himself at a crossroads. It’s not within his capacity to interfere, conditionals coded into his software to prevent him from disrupting your privacy.

Laws mandating the privacy of employees and civilians alike.

Simultaneously, there are protocols instilled in him that instruct him to prevent harm from befalling you. 

A contradiction. Something that would cause a regular system to return an error as it fails to satisfy one conditional while trying to work within the bounds of another. 

Chronic sleep loss results in an increased risk of heart attacks, strokes, and hypertension.

Long-term sleep loss also results in impaired memory and concentration, although it’s not affecting your productivity now, it doesn’t mean it won’t decline soon.

These statistics were all provided by Sumeru’s health administration. 

The effects on the brain are quite severe as well, with increased feelings of stress, anxiety, and depression.

A quiet afternoon scene replays, in a dust-covered room, where he found you staring off at nothing as silent rivulets rolled down your cheeks.

That memory stored within his RAM was enough for Alhaitham to come to his conclusion. 

Alhaitham must act on his own will and deal with anything that appears harmful in his eyes.

To allow you to continue your destructive routine which is proving to be detrimental to your health would be inadvertently allowing harm to befall you. Thus, he decides one conditional must override another. 

Careful to prevent the hinges of your bedroom door from trilling, Alhaitham enters. Analyzing the shape outlined by messy layers of blankets draped over your figure, you must still be in the depths of slumber.

There are about 15 minutes before your first alarm is set to go off, since your commute was a simple walk to your home office, you had the flexibility to sleep through a few grating beeps. 

This habit could use a few improvements. He turns his focus to the thick curtains hiding the room away from the greetings of a morning star.

Sunlight sends a signal to the pituitary gland, calling to suppress melatonin production and increase cortisol production and serotonin.

A natural cue for your body to start, to allow the bright rays to touch your skin would also be good for vitamin production too. 

With a simple tug, the thick drapes were pulled away, granting the rays of the sun to enter and illuminate the still room.

Your body instinctively retreats deeper under the covers, a clear sign that the light is doing its job. He’ll leave the rest up to the alarm impatiently waiting to belt out its chorus of pitches. Just like the shadows slipping away, he exits just as quietly. 

It took only two alarms to get you out of bed and ambling down the hall toward the kitchen. A 60% decrease from when the curtains were shut, however, more trials are needed to conclusively establish a pattern.

His teal gaze follows you as you approach the kitchen. Hands rubbing at your eyes. 

“Why is it so bright?” Your words were groggy. 

“It’s morning,” he answers. 

An unamused glare replaces the fatigue in your expression, Alhaitham deems his response satisfactory. 

After a deep sigh, you shut your eyes again, still trying to adjust to the brightness surrounding you, hands returning to rub at your eyelids.

Excessive rubbing of the eyes isn’t good for them, he notes. However, before he could address it another prompt from you took priority. 

“Did I leave my curtains open last night?” You asked yourself. 

“Coffee?” He interjects. 

Glancing back up at him, you paused for a moment as your groggy mind remembered why you traversed to the kitchen in the first place, diverting your attention away from mysteriously moving drapes. 

“Yes, please make me a cup, Alhaitham.” 

“Understood.”

The android turns toward the marble countertop, preparing the coffee grounds into the machine as you sit at your place at the table.

One day isn’t enough to correct a bad habit, but over time, bit by bit, your schedule will fall into a new rhythm. 

–-------------------------------------------------------------

The cheerful doorbell ring interrupts Alhaitham amidst reorganizing the books on a shelf. Right on schedule.

From just down the hall he hears the knob of your office door turn as it opens, followed by a few cautious steps as you venture closer to the front door. As you pass the doorway of the library, Alhaitham observes the furrow between your brow on your perplexed face. 

“Is there someone at the door?” You turn to him. 

Another ring followed by a few gentle knocks answers your question for him as your head snaps back into the direction of the noise. Crime in this suburban neighborhood is very low, but he does understand why you’d want to be careful.

Perhaps, he should accompany you to ease your nerves over the sudden ring from the door. 

With an android just behind you, you had finally mustered up the courage to answer the daunting door under his teal supervision. 

“Hello, delivery from Lambad’s Tavern, paid online.” 

“Huh?-” 

“One order of Minty Bean Soup, one order of butter chicken, and one rose custard?” The delivery man interrupts your confusion as he lists off your entrees. 

“Yes…” you reply as you cast a glance back at an idle android. 

The entrees listed were all dishes you asked him to make you for lunch a few hours earlier. Judging by the suspicion upon your furrowed brows, he could tell that you noticed as well. However, with a delivery man holding out the takeout bag on the front steps. It’d be rude to just have him remain there, no? 

“Enjoy your meal!” He announces as he hands over the bag into your arms. 

“Yes, thank you.” You close the door, spinning around almost instantly to confront the android with the bag still in hand. 

“Did you order this?”

“Yes.” 

“Again? I asked you to make food, not order it,” you tsk. 

“I did it to optimize my time.” Crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

“All you have to do is heat up the frozen meals.” 

“Then according to protocol, I’d have to stay in the kitchen to watch over the oven and stove, not to mention the dishes I’d have to wash afterward. So ordering takeout would save time as well as not prevent me from my task of organizing-”

“Okay, okay. I get it.” You concede with a sigh. 

Taking a few steps past him towards the direction of the kitchen before you pause midstep to turn back to him. 

“Do not use your funds to order weird things off the internet.” You warn before promptly continuing on your way to have your late lunch. 

“Understood.” 

Just as he suspected, there isn’t a problem that can’t be helped with a bit of mora. If Alhaitham were to follow your request as you instructed, he knew that the reheated meal would turn cold as it sits abandoned on the kitchen table.

Even when he informs you of his task’s completion, you’d push back your lunchtime until you needed another dose of caffeine. 

However, a simple ring of a doorbell could do what he can’t. Drawing your attention and body away from the confines of your desk. An efficient reminder to have your meals at a regular time if he says so himself.

Besides, fresh ingredients are better than frozen meals in terms of nutrients. 

–-------------------------------------------------------------

The sun had long retreated into a navy blanket of the night, allowing the moon to take its place in the sky. Serene beauty watching over the nighttime bustle of Sumeru city slowly peters out, and many return to their homes at the beck and call of slumber. 

Alhaitham settled himself upon his spot on the couch, a lamp just off to the side illuminating the pages of his book softly. The quiet lull of the living room periodically broken by the crisp turn of a page.

The typical rhythm that resonates through the house around this hour. His acute senses pick up a frustrated pair of steps pattering closer. 

Ah, yes a new accompaniment has jumped this evening's tempo. 

“Is the router having issues again?” You groan as your frame appears from around the corner. 

Casting a halfhearted glance off to where said device sat on a side table, his teal eyes return to his book. 

“The light shows that it’s online.” 

“Then why is it taking forever to upload a simple file? It’s been five minutes and it’s not even halfway done.” You took quick strides past his idle frame. 

Crouching down to be at eye level with the device in question. Unplugging the power cord from its back and then sticking it back. Eyes studying the blinking lights as the router reboots and reconnects to the internet.

Pulling out your phone, you sigh as you try to load up a webpage only to be met by a spinning circle of contemplation. 

“Network providers tend to have slowdowns this late at night, some say it's due to bandwidth congestion while others argue that they do it to cut costs,” Alhaitham states, teal eyes honed in onto the text as to avoid your pouting glare. 

“Very helpful, Alhaitham.” Another sigh leaves you as you stand back up. 

He spoke the technical truth, those companies do tend to slow down their networks at night to save on some operational costs.

However, in this case, it was the former that was causing your device’s screens to perpetually stay in loading. Activities such as streaming videos, music, or downloading files take up the most bandwidth.

Alhaitham simply wanted to download some digital copies of recent scientific journals, and maybe a few songs here and there as well. All done simultaneously which led to some congestion.

How unfortunate. 

“This has been happening for the past month now, I should call the network provider, it’s driving me up a wall.” Another groan of frustration. 

His teal eyes follow your figure from behind the tops of his book, watching you rub your temples as if to expel the exasperation from your body with each mumble that leaves your lips. 

“The internet’s so slow I can’t even connect to the Akasha’s databases, that file is still uploading, what should I do in the meantime?”

His hearing was able to pick up each syllable uttered from under your exhausted breath. He shifts his focus momentarily toward the clock just across the room, reading: 10:00 p.m. Since you asked, it’s only right that he responds with his input. 

“It’s an issue beyond your control, the best option to utilize your time at this moment would be to get an adequate amount of rest.” 

This time it was your turn to respond to him with a deadpan stare, clearly unamused by his suggestion. 

“I want to analyze a few more datasets.”

“Missing a few hours of overtime won’t have any determinate effects on your productivity or livelihood.” 

“This is for the sake of your development, Alhaitham.” You sigh as if your statement would mystically change his rationale. 

“The short-term gratification you’ll get from sacrificing your rest for a few revelations isn’t worth the long-term ramifications of your health.” He bluntly discloses. 

Silence fills the room once more, but something odd seems to have mingled with the serenity of the air. This strange inclusion prompts Alhaitham to finally turn away from the pages, connecting his gaze with yours. 

“Was my response unsatisfactory?” He studies your expression, and rather than furrowed brows, he finds a soft roundness to your eyes. 

Him staring at you, you staring at him. A scene that continued for a few beats more before you were the first to break the stalemate. 

“No, not at all… it’s just very reminiscent of something I’ve heard before…” You turn away as his gaze follows. 

A few slow strides take you back to the corner, figure just about to disappear into the shadows engulfing the halls before you abruptly turn around. 

“Goodnight, Alhaitham.”

“Goodnight.” He mirrors. 

Alhaitham marks today as another successful trail of correcting a bad routine. 

–-------------------------------------------------------------

Adequate amounts of sunlight, regular meals, and coffee grounds mysteriously find themselves placed on the highest shelf in the cabinets. All the factors were in place to regulate a disastrous sleep schedule. 

Yet when Alhaitham checks your device activity, the data points remain scattered about the twilight hours of the morning. A true paradox.

Amongst the Summer afternoon rays seeping in through the windows, Alhaitham was tasked with tidying up the kitchen. An obscure cabinet in a corner was the last section before he could deem the request complete. 

There wasn’t anything in particular about the cabinet, it’s space housing an assortment of various vitamins. That was until his hand brushed against a plastic container which didn’t conform to the typical shape of vitamin bottles. 

Grasping it within his hand, he pulls the irregular bottle out from the murky depths of a cabinet and out into the sunlight where its identity unravels: a prescription bottle.

Barbiturates sedatives, colloquially referred to as sleeping pills, are used in treatments for insomnia. 

It looks like Alhaitham has stumbled upon the answer to the paradox printed on the faded label of a neglected bottle. 

Frankly, this revelation wasn’t all that surprising. He had long suspected it from the symptoms and behaviors you display daily. But it’s always good to support a hypothesis with evidence. 

Studying the container in his hand further, his gaze narrows as it hones in a corner of the label. In particular, the date printed along it. This bottle expired two years ago. 

It’s recommended that every civilian visits the Bimarstan annually for a checkup, in a nation where healthcare is free and accessible, this typically isn’t an issue.

Once more, you stood alone as a data point outside of the cluster. 

Stepping into the living room, he finds you tinkering with the network router again. A few more steps and then he was by your side. 

“When was your last medical check-up?” Cycling through his memory, Alhaitham failed to recall the last time you had a medical assessment.

Your body halts momentarily, before glancing up at his beryl eyes.

“I’m relatively healthy, there’s no reason for an assessment.” 

“The Department of Health recommends annual checkups at the very least.” 

“I don’t need to go to the Bimarstan,” you declare. 

A weight pulled down at the corners of his lips, creating what is called a frown. An expression he observed many times upon your lips whenever you label him as ‘stubborn’. He might finally grasp why you do such a thing.

Stubbornness isn’t such a good trait when you’re on the other side of it. Fortunately, he anticipated this. 

“In accordance with the law, you do.” The contents of the plastic bottle rattle as he reveals it, drawing your gaze toward it. 

“The regulation behind your prescription requires that all expired medication be brought back to the Bimarstan for proper disposal.” Denunciation behind his glass irises. 

Lips pressing into a thin line, you advert your eyes back to the blinking router in front of you. Each second of silence announces your defeat.

Human actions are limited by a set of laws and they must operate within the bounds, not too different from restrictions imposed on machines.

The consequences looming just a step away discourage most mortals from crossing the threshold. 

“I’ll schedule an appointment for noon next week, making use of your saved paid time off is recommended, does that work?” He prompts. 

“Alright.” 

A weight is alleviated from his lips, triggering the corners to curl upwards. A common response to the accomplishment of a challenge, he understands now why a mortal body does it. 

Perhaps a doctor's visit has been long overdue, foggy recollections of if the curtains were shut the night before and if a bag of coffee was accidentally misplaced. Poor memory is one of the repercussions of sleep deprivation, you’re aware of this fact. 

Healthcare in Sumeru is highly accredited for its accessibility and quality, the Bimarstan being the standard many hospitals around Teyvat strive to be. To have such a thing so accessible to you, it’s baffling to many how you failed to utilize such privilege.

You had your reasons. 

Many of these prominent doctors and diligent nurses were once classmates. A few vaguely familiar faces from across a lecture hall of some general course.

Faces you’ve passed slumped over textbooks and piles of notes in the late hours of the House of Daena, their dark circles matching yours.

Faces that graduated alongside you as celebratory cheers rang out with caps littering the air.

It’d be strange to meet someone you attended the Akademiya with once again in an examination room. 

After their years of medical school and surviving residency, you’re certain they’re more than qualified at their jobs. However, it doesn’t change the course of averted eyes and superficial pleasantries.

You breathe out a deep sigh as the receptionist calls out for you, informing you that you could head down to a private room. 

Leaving your seat in the waiting room, you do as the receptionist instructs, exiting the lively environment into a placid hallway. The receptionist’s face didn’t evoke any familiarity, nor did the doctor’s name listed on your appointment.

Many of these prominent doctors and diligent nurses were once classmates, but not all. 

Candidly, there’s only one classmate who you’d avert paths with within this establishment. In a hospital as large as the Bimarstan, the average number of staff ranges from around 5,000.

The odds of encountering a particular face out of a pool of thousands is nonzero. 

A polite knock draws you from your thoughts, your eyes travel toward the door of the private room you entered not too long ago as the handle slowly turns. Thick oak swinging ajar to reveal the figure on the other side. 

“Good afternoon, I’m Dr. Rana, I’ll be taking care of you today.” 

You return her greeting with a courteous smile and nod, statistics in your favor, the odds were nonzero but still a minuscule likelihood. 

The checkup was rather uneventful, a few questions were asked as she pulled up your medical records. You pulled out the expired medication for her to examine and deal with.

Vitals checked and documented as the appointment drew to a close, a notepad and pen in her hands as she turned to you. 

“Overall your health seems fine, although…” she trails off.

You could feel the weight of her stare upon the discoloration ever-present under your eyes, no layer of concealer to cover them. You could already guess her next sentence. 

“Would you like a refill of your prescription?”

“No, it’s fine.” It’d just be another bottle to be neglected in the back of a cabinet. 

“I see…” This time her eyes move back and forth between your sitting figure and a clock hanging in its place on a wall. 

“I… have to process some paperwork, could you wait here for a few minutes?” A polite smile graced her lips. 

“Of course.” You mimic her actions. 

A day requested off to account for a drawn-out appointment, to account for a scenario like this his foresight analysis is making great progress.

You should take note of that once you return home, a daily log still needs to be updated to track consistent progress after all. It’s technically your day off, but you’re free to decide what to do with it.

As you pondered a checklist to complete once you got in front of your desk the door creaks open. 

“Oh? That was fast, Dr. Rana-” The sentence dying upon the tip of your tongue as your lips press into a firm line. 

The odds of encountering one familiar face out of a pool of thousands is a small nonzero number, however, if that number was increased to three faces out of those thousands, the chances increase.

How unfortunate, even with such small odds, you managed to come face-to-face with the three people you wanted to avoid the most. 

They file into the room and the last one closes the door behind himself as your eyes scan over them. Starting with the ebony-haired man in the center, Tighnari, a doctor at the Bimarstan. It makes sense for a doctor to be in a hospital on this fine day, but not for a lawyer, or an architect.

Four former classmates gathered in an examination room, how strange. 

Still, you’ve grown enough to adapt to such peculiar situations. Practiced corporate smiles and pleasantries to navigate this stagnant air. 

“Cyno, Tighnari, Kaveh, it’s a surprise to see you all here. It’s been a while.” 

“A while is a bit of an understatement…” Kaveh is the first of the trio to converse, offering you a small smile. 

You return it with one that didn’t reach your eyes. The rhythmic ticks of a clock fill the silence, shifting eyes anticipating and preparing for the next phase of this impromptu reunion. The doctor finally decides to speak up. 

“You haven’t been sleeping enough, have you.” Tighnari examining your under eyes. 

“I never sleep enough, you know that.” Of course you never slept enough.

How could you sleep when the threat of falling behind the geniuses sitting around a library table was always looming over you? Geniuses who easily grasp the concepts and theories that elude you. How could you lay in bed when you had to catch up to them? 

“So, why this sudden get-together?” Impatience rising inside you with each passing tick of the clock. 

Dropping the formalities and social pleasantries, you watch as another round of shifting eyes passes. You already had an inkling of the answer they’re still hesitating to address. Finally, your former Kshahrewar senior responds for the group. 

“We’re worried about you, you haven’t been in contact for a while now.” Kaveh’s voice was low and mellow, you could tell he took extra effort in marking it such. 

The same low and mellow tone he’d speak to you with as he tried to explain your mistakes on an exam, the tone which accompanied the pity in his gaze toward you as he pointed out each miscalculation on your paper. The tone made you ball your fist up on your lap.

“I’m fine, just busy.” 

“Please don’t start with that again.” The blond sighs, sympathy still ever-present in his eyes. 

“I’m just busy with work, as are all of you, we’re no longer students with minimal responsibilities,” you retort. 

The days when a group of friends could gather around a table for hours on end, half bantering and half studying, basking in the Spring warmth streaming in from the grand windows of the House of Daena have long passed. 

“We all have busy careers, that’s true, but not to the extent of being a detriment to our health.” With a sigh, Tighnari began his health lecture. 

Expounding upon the negative consequences of a poor work-life balance. Shifting your focus instead on tuning out this lecture you didn’t sign up for. 

“You stopped listening… of course,” a deep sigh concludes the doctor’s sermon. 

Ah, you’ve been found out. The polite smile straining itself upon your lips, legs itching to walk out of this restrictive space. 

“Here, it’s a contact of mine, I recommend you give her a call-” 

“It’s fine.” You promptly push away the business card just as Tighnari presents it to you, a thread of patience stretched thinly. 

“She can help you through-” he continues. 

“It’s fine, my research is just busy-”

“This isn’t healthy.” 

“It’s my research.” A sharp undertone leaks through your professional demeanor. 

“And this is why we’re worried about you!” Kaveh’s patience was the first snap. 

Then again, your senior might have been the light of Kshahrewar and a praised genius, but he was never the best at handling his emotional regulation. 

“Look around, don’t you see how concerned we are about you? No returned texts or calls and no answers at a doorbell for years, only ever talking about this research. It’s as if you-” he stops himself, rudy eyes meeting with your cold stare. 

He knew better than to finish that sentence, you knew that he knew he shouldn’t. 

“We’re worried about you, this research… it’s not good for you.” Tighnari interjects, attempting to shift the course of this intervention. 

Of course, when the development of an android was announced, there wasn’t just discourse amongst the general public, but debates raged throughout academia as well. How unfortunate it is that friends now stand at polar ends. 

“It’s my research,” you reaffirm. 

This research was why you got your doctorate, it’s why you have a job, it’s why you have a house. This research has entangled itself into the very fibers of your life. It was where a predetermined path had led you. 

The room fills once more with a lull, nothing but deep sighs and ever-shifting eyes. Neither side is able to get through to the other. Typical of most academic debates. Still, it seems they weren’t ready to end the intervention so soon. 

“Listen… we’re worried for you, I… I know it’s been very difficult these past years.” Your senior takes a step closer. 

That same sympathetic timbre brings a vile taste to your tongue. You stay silent in favor of pushing the bitterness down as it tries to claw its way through your polite façade.

“I… know what it must have been like for you, It’s been hard on all of us. I’ve experienced something similar, so I can tell you-”

“I’m sorry, Kaveh. But tragedies shouldn’t be compared, because they’ll never have a fair comparison.” You end the conversation. 

Just like how it isn’t fair to compare stars who were their own centers of gravity with a mere rock at the mercy of an orbital pull to give it direction. 

Even when you sat at the same table as them, you were never at the same level as them. Families with academic prestige, minds blessed with wisdom, and the freedom to pursue a self-chosen path. You could only ever look up at what you lacked.

“Your worlds kept on spinning, your lives move on with the change of the season. But not mine, mine stopped long ago.” It’s not fair to compare a rock to a star, from their silence, you assume they knew that too. 

“I’m now taking the initiative to make it start again, don’t interfere.” Your valediction to the geniuses whom you couldn’t live up to. 

It’s just the nature of this world, geniuses walked their own paths while others took another. Geniuses can’t understand those others, just as others can’t understand geniuses.

This doctor’s appointment has gone on for long enough. Gathering your belongings, you stride past them, eyes refusing to meet.

Your hand pried open the door, pausing just at the threshold as Cyno finally breaks his silence. 

“Is this truly what you want? To defy the edicts of finality with research?”

Ah, what an inquiry. Perhaps it’s just like a lawyer to ask such a thing. 

“Is my research in violation of any laws in Sumeru?” You refuse to meet his scarlet condemnation. 

“As of now, no.”

“Then I don’t see how this involves you, there’s no place for personal biases and mortals in the judicial system.” Crossing the threshold, the door creaks close behind you as hurried steps echo through the sterile hall. 

This was a mistake, you should’ve never come here. Your body was fine, your vitals are fine, you’re fine. There wasn’t a point in wasting time here, you needed to leave this place filled with faces offering you condolences. Exiting the narrow hall back into the dim murmurs that fill the waiting room, the last thread of patience starts to splinter. 

From the muddled chatter, a bright shrill rang above them all. Interrupting your contemplation as your eyes impulsively search for the source. Even in a sea of passing faces and colors, it didn’t take you long to find it. 

A young girl grins a smile with a few gaps as she stretches her arms out to her sides, mimicking an airplane. A young father helpless to his daughter’s giggles, hands secured around her legs as he lets her soar on his shoulders. Next to his side was a giggling mother, watching with amusement and endearment. 

A private moment hidden amongst the waiting room, you look away. You should return to the private walls of your house before that thread inevitably breaks. Sliding glass doors part to grant you exit from this suffocating cage.

Like a speck of dust drifting in the breeze, you disappear into the bustling crowd of Sumeru City. The push and pull of strangers further you along your route, even as your mind drifts off. 

With modern advancements in aerospace engineering, the chances of a plane crashing have decreased significantly, with recent statistics citing only 1 in about 11 million. A 0.00001% chance, a nonzero chance.

How long ago since the last time you’ve been inside an airport? What were your last memories of an airport? Do you remember?

–----

“Are you sure you can’t come with us?” Your mother’s thumb traced over your hand. 

“It’s a bit too late for me to pack, we’re already at the airport, Mom.” 

“Don’t you want to visit Fontaine? Didn’t you say they had really advanced things there?” She didn’t let go of your hand. 

“I’m busy with my thesis.” You were still in the midst of getting a Ph.D., the very thing they demanded of you. 

“But I planned this trip so we could spend time together.” Your mother tried to get you to meet her gaze.

You adverted your eyes. So this is how they spent their recent financial flexibility. With a scholarship and research-assistant salary, you had enough to cover the tuition by yourself, relieving your parents of that burden. But to get that scholarship and salary, you had to pay with your time. 

“I’m busy, mom.” You freed your hand from her grasp. 

“But-”

“Stop it dear, she’s not going to change her mind.” Your father’s gruff voice stopped your mother. 

“There’s no point in trying to change the mind of an ungrateful child.” 

You felt the weight of his disappointed stare upon you, a frown formed on your lips as they pressed together. This was a sudden trip announced to you just a few days prior, you didn’t have time to accompany them. But they didn’t seem to care.

Of course they didn’t. Your parents only ever saw the grades, the diplomas, the results. But they never bothered to see the anguish you endured to give it to them. 

“Enjoy your trip.” Words barely passed your clenched teeth as you turned around and walked away. 

An ungrateful planet ignored the calls from their mother in their first successful act of defiance. Trying to break away from their gravitational pull. 

–----

That was your last memory of the airport.

Those were the last memories two parents had of their child.

The child they sacrificed their time, labor, and freedom to build a better life for. Your parent’s last memories were that of an ungrateful child, maybe it was the last scene they thought of as a plane was swallowed by the salty depths. 

Humans, defined by their curiosity, will always yearn to reach as high as they can. Tales warning those to never fly too close to the ever-bright star ignored in the pursuit of radiant curiosity. Your parents were no different. 

They ever had the chance to travel, too busy trying to provide food in front of you. So when the burdening weight was lifted, naturally they wanted to stretch their wings to see the views they never got to in their youth. They always wanted to touch the sky, to reach for the moon.

There’s a proverb often told to young minds: ‘Shoot for the moon, even if you fall, you can still land on a star’. 

This saying is riddled with inaccuracies. The stars are much further away than the serene moon. Beckoning the curious eyes to look at them, for curious hands to yearn for them. 

But once the glue on those wings are melted away by selfish rays, what is there to catch them besides the cold unfeeling ocean? Did they sink from the memories of an ungrateful child weighing on them? 

You should’ve been on that plane. 

The familiar features of your neighborhood come into view, the doors of your house are just ahead. Just hold on, don’t let that thread snap just yet, just a few more steps. 

Tighnari had his father and mother working right alongside him at the Bimarstan.

Cyno had regular visits to his adoptive father, and sometimes his adoptive sister Lisa visits too.

Kaveh had reconnected with his mother overseas, now having a few younger half-siblings who jump to greet him every time he visits.

Lives still spinning and warm in the light of their brilliance. What do you have? 

A job in a career picked out for you. Paychecks rotting in a bank account with no one to pay back. A spacious and hallow house with no one to reside in its empty walls, only displaying a doctorate you loathed.

A stray rock who lost her stars. Wandering without their gravitational pull in the vacuum of a lonely darkness. Just what do you have?

“Alhaitham,” you call out just as the front door slams behind you. 

You could hear his steady steps approaching along the wooden floor, but it’s too slow so your frenzied steps close in the distance between your two forms. The thread gives in and snapping as the recoil proliferates through your body. 

Without a greeting, no prompt, or prior warning your grasp wrinkles his once pristine button-down.

The bitter tears you held back now soak into the fabric as even viler cries choke your voice. The shame of displaying such a sight in front of a being whose eyes don’t produce moisture is long abandoned. In the walls of this hallow house, your broken sobs echo off. 

He stands still in the middle of the hall, the low hum of his motor resonating in your ears as you hide your face deeper into the synthetic skin of his chest. But that’s fine, the whir of motor is enough of a substitute for a heartbeat. 

Alhaitham stands in front of the reflection staring back at him, he had undocked himself from the charging port not too long ago. Tracing over the synthetic material stretched over his imitation of a collarbone as his mind wanders.

There aren’t enough chemicals in tears to make them corrosive, nor were they at the temperature to boil.

So why does it burn?

Trailing his fingertips where your tears soaked onto his skin, recollections of the searing sensation that afflicted the area with each sorrowful drop. Choking sobs which he caused. 

He failed to consider all causal factors to assess the situation fully and failed to appraise all possible alternatives. He failed to make the right decision, and he let harm befall you because of it. It’s strange, there’s nothing wrong with his eyes, yet he finds it hard to look in the mirror. 

Teal gaze scrutinizes the arms, legs, and body in the reflection. The reflection in front of him had all the identifiable components of a man, but they’re all synthetic.

From the tips of his sliver hair to the vast expanse of his skin, they’re all made from high-quality silicon parts supported by a metal frame. An engineered body with a motor in place of a heart. 

Maybe that’s why he failed to make the right decision, he had no heart to weigh in on the ruling. 

–-------------------------------------------------------------

The android is faced with a new dilemma. 

 From the entrance of the kitchen, Alhaitham watches you. A spoon absentmindedly swirling in the cup of coffee on the counter in front of you. Your thoughts wander elsewhere, the rays of a setting sun unable to light up dull spaced-out eyes.

He’s observed your condition for the past week, no hint of improvement. 

A new dilemma he must decipher, the urgency rising with each passing second as the spoon continues. 

The lull of the evening air was shattered by the sound of a porcelain cup meeting the tiled floor. Jagged pieces and coffee spilled all along the cold surface. Listlessly your eyes move to access the mess on the floor, spoon still grasped in your hand. 

“Ah.” That was all your lips could say. 

Limbs slowed with lethargy, you crouch down closer to the broken pieces scattered about. Bare hand reaching out to grab the sharp edges unthinkingly. A firm grasp prevents your touch from the ragged porcelain. 

“It’s dangerous, I’ll handle it.” Alhaitham brings your hand further away from the hazard. 

Your aloof eyes trail past him toward a wall where he could hear a clock tick before they returned to his resolute stare. 

“It’s past 5 p.m.” 

“A hazard has appeared in the environment, it’s protocol that I clear it.” His rehearsed response. 

“Oh… alright.” Limplessness returning to your wrist within his hold, body too lethargic to object. 

With you seated at the kitchen table away from the jagged edges that could potentially pierce your skin, Alhaitham begins gathering the pieces. As your aloof eyes wander about the monitor of your laptop, his mind ponders a dilemma. 

It’s often said that guilt is held in the heart. In novels and human anecdotes, it's been described to him as a burdensome heaviness that sinks the heart.

A sensation reminiscent of drowning in icy water. A sensation only perceivable through a beating mortal heart. 

Alhaitham is an android, he’s aware of this. A being with silicon skin encasing a metal frame. A motor in place of where a mortal heart would be.

So what is this weight burdening his chest? 

An internal diagnostic returned no errors and no reports of any damage or unusual occurrence within his systems. Yet, a heaviness brewed deep inside his chest, its mass increasing each sunrise and fall, with every passing moment the riddle was left unanswered. 

How could a motor hold guilt? How could the weight of judgment manifest itself in the absence of an organic heart that beats instead of whirs? How could an inorganic object possibly suffer guilt?

All the mora poured into his creation, all the hours of research contributed to his algorithms, and all the texts he’s scanned through were all for naught. The pinnacle of scientific and mechanical development couldn’t solve a simple conundrum.

The floorboard creaks under the weight of his steady strides as he moves about the corridor, the soft swishes of a broom coinciding with each step.

Dust had begun to settle in the crevices of the home, it’s about time that he took up the mantle that was supposed to be his. 

Could an explanation of this weight be the backlog of tasks and responsibilities he had pushed off? Chores he ignored in favor of browsing the contents of a library? A burden he selfishly passed onto your shoulders.

Maybe after he completes the tasks that were supposed to be assigned to him he could clear the cache, then this weight in his chest would subside. 

The bristles of the broom scratch against a door, the light force setting the frame ajar further. Revealing the dust-coated scene in front of him. A boundary he was restricted from.

Alhaitham concluded that this small corner of the house must hold some sentimental value to you, thus it’s best for him to not disturb it. 

Just as he goes to close the door, Alhaitham scans around the environment identifying the shape of a journal tucked away under an old table.

He’s not permitted to enter, but all books belong in the library. Spines sorted along wooden selves, not on a dusty floor.

An exception shall be granted, setting aside the broom, he steps in to collect the neglected book. 

While crouching down and gathering the covers into his hold, a different gleam catches his eye. The light reflects off its glass surface and highlights the dust particles dancing in the still air.

With his free hand, he picks it up, teal eyes running along the glass orb. After a moment of processing the object, he successfully identifies it as a toy.

A popular model to display an artificial starry night among blank walls. Alhaitham turns to follow a trail of cut-out stars pasted all along the walls. The soft glow of their plastic shapes subdued by the brilliance of the afternoon sun streaming in. 

Were you interested in stars? Glancing out the window, he discerns the murky shapes of buildings in Sumeru City off in the distance. 

This house is located in the suburbs away from the noisy clammer of the city streets and traffic. However, where the sound waves couldn’t travel didn’t mean the sky around this quiet neighborhood was uncontaminated by activities in the city.

When the sun retreats away for rest, the city doesn’t follow suit.

Through the power of fluorescent lights in street lamps and office buildings, humans created their own artificial daylight to continue the bustle of their lives. Light which polluted the night sky and stole the radiance away from her stars. 

Unable to enjoy the natural tapestry of the night, did you substitute the company of stars with toy imitations?

Turning the orb in his hand, his eyes notice the signs of damage along the projector. Perhaps that’s why it sat abandoned in this room.

He’s stayed in this restricted space long enough. Carefully closing the door behind him, hands still full. 

–-------------------------------------------------------------

“I’ve uncovered a strange object, my software isn’t able to identify it.” Alhaitham stands just outside the open office door. 

Sparing him a glance away from your monitor, your brows pinched together in confusion at his sudden report during the late hours of the night. 

“A strange object?” You inquire again. 

“Yes, I’ve scanned over it a few times but no results are returning.” 

“Huh…” 

Teals watching you press a finger against your pursed lips in concentration. A habit of yours often displayed when amid contemplation. After a few breaths, your eyes meet his as you give your reply. 

“Well, where is this object?” 

“Come with me.” 

Along the wooden floor, two pairs of steps tap rhythmically in time with one another as they traverse the hallway stopping at the living room where the mysterious object resides.

Approaching the coffee table in the center, Alhaitham steps to the side to present it as it sits upon the polished surface. 

“This… is what’s been giving your software issues?” The quirk returned to your brow as you cast him a glance. 

Alhaitham simply nobs as you approach the object closer. Kneeling beside it, your eyes examine the familiar device. 

“It’s a planetarium projector, it projects the scene of a night sky, in other words: just a toy.” 

He hums in acknowledgment, carefully treading toward the light switch in the corner as the toy holds the gaze of your eyes. 

“It should be thrown away… It’s broken after all.” Your tone dismissive, yet your hand caresses the broken toy with tenderness. 

“It’s not,” he replies. 

Perking your head up, you turn to face him with that same furrow between your brows. 

“What do you mean, Alhaitham-”

He flicks the switch, plunging the room in a blanket of darkness earning a squeak of surprise from you. The device whirs as it awakens, painting the blank tapestry with a scene of the night sky with its shimmering lights.

The vibrant shapes of stars and planets take their place along the living room wall, creating a private galaxy that surrounds you. 

Your sentence remains unfinished upon your tongue as your eyes take in the display encompassing you. The nostalgic glimmer of the night and her stars twinkle in the reflection of your irises as he settles down beside you. 

“Did… did you fix it?”

He hums in response. 

It only took a bit of study and careful tinkering to restore the worn pieces and gears. A simple effort was all it took to allow the projector to shine its recreation of the stars. Returning a light that he hasn’t seen in a while. 

“Thank you, Alhaitham,” you breathe out, lips curling up softly and eyes still enraptured by the stars. 

He doesn’t respond this time as his teal gaze focuses on your expression, on the smile that’s been missing for some time. It’s strange, this sensation manifesting in his chest. He thought if he was able to restore the light to your eyes, then that heaviness brewed deep inside his chest would clear. But it remained. 

His system unable to express nor suppress the heaviness which bubbled up like seafoam rising to the surface.

The sensation was different than it was before. Instead of a mass that weighed him down to the bottom of a cold depth, it was more reminiscent of a warm ebb. Washing over every limb of his as he studied the curvature of your lips and the glimmer of your eyes. 

Another internal diagnostic wasn’t necessary, for Alhaitham had reached his epiphany to a conundrum. An engineered body may lack a heart, but not a conscious.

A consciousness that acts like a vessel collecting the accumulation of that heaviness. A heaviness that couldn’t be called ‘guilt’. 

No, perhaps it has always been something other than ‘guilt’.

It only took until the vessel overflowed for an engineered body to recognize it for what it truly was.

There’s something strange happening to your Android. Reviewing the diagnostic reports of his systems returned nothing out of the ordinary. So why did you suspect something to be wrong? Perhaps you could call it intuition. 

Or perhaps it’s the lack of books strewn about the house. Or the initiation of tasks without a prompt. Or that night a living room was filled with the radiance of tiny dots along empty walls. Something strange is happening. 

“Alhaitham, what’s taking you so long in the kitchen?” You poke your head out from the kitchen doorway, sights honing in on your android currently scrutinizing the recipe book in his hands. 

Perhaps there’s a defect in the print, if the black ink isn’t contrasting enough with the beige paper, which time has faded, it does cause issues with optical character recognition. Maybe the past splatters of sauces and oils upon the aged book were too much of a hurdle.

“Chef Mao is a renowned cook, but his recipes are vague. He suggests a pinch of salt to enhance the flavor of this dish. I’ve calculated that Chef Mao has a 19.3 cm hand length which entails that his ‘pinches’ measure around 0.356 grams. However, he said to add Jueyun Chili oil until fragrant, I’m still processing the data I’ve collected on his olfactory system, the calculations will take around five minutes.” He turns back to the stove.

“Alhaitham.”

“Yes?”

“Please put down the book and get out of the kitchen.” A bold choice of words from you.

“Was my response unsatisfactory?” His teal eyes land on you. 

“It’s just that I’m hungry.” 

“This dish should be complete in around 90 minutes accounting for the other-”

“No,” you interrupt. 

He studies you for a while, accessing the situation and the unfinished dish still simmering on the stove. After a few breaths, he returns a response. 

“Shall I order delivery from Lambad’s Tavern?” His hand switches off the fire.

He conceded. The notoriously stubborn and fickle android conceded to your whims. There was definitely something wrong. You pace into the kitchen, getting close to observe his teal irises for any sign of possible flaws. 

“Alhaitham, you’ve been behaving strangely as of late, did you encounter something?” 

He returns your gaze, teal reflecting off your irises as you continue to study him, and him you. His silence only amounts to the deepening furrow between your brows as your assessment of his frame fails to identify any impairments. 

“Why have you been behaving like this?” You prompt again. 

“Have I neglected my responsibilities for so long that fulfilling them has become a cause for concern?” He finally responds. 

“Now’s not the time for jests,” you huff. 

“From what I’ve reviewed on human behavior, it’s not strange to want to care for the person I love.” A blunt statement. 

From the window, the moonlight peeks upon the strange phenomenon occurring. Two bodies remain motionless in a silent lull.

One pair of placate teal eyes and one pair of bewildered eyes too lost in each other to mind the witness intruding on this private moment. Words finally conquer in your brain, ending the quietude.

“Refrain from saying nonsensical words.” Your lips press together into a thin line. 

“Do you believe such a thing is beyond my capabilities?” 

You couldn’t respond, or more accurately, you simply didn’t know how to. A being without a heart, a being who lacked the necessary chemicals to create the cocktail known as emotions. How is it possible? 

“I have no heart, I’m aware. But I have a conscience.” He must’ve deduced the exact thoughts racing through your head. 

Your brows only furrow further as you wait for him to continue his explanation.

“Every person should have something that they believe in and hold on to from beginning to end. Otherwise, it's easy to succumb to the vicissitudes of life and find yourself being led astray.” Taking note of the glistening shine beginning to pool in your wide eyes. 

“And I believe that I love you.” His sincere gaze never leaves your form. 

Not a single sentence is able to form upon your tongue. An expression he couldn’t decipher upon your features. Perhaps his statement was too long-winded, an overly complicated explanation. Maybe a simpler one could convey his message better. 

You’re the first to break eye contact, choosing to watch the tiles on the floor over him. He remains firm in his stance, not faltering once as the seconds turn into minutes. Your shoulders rise as your lungs take a deep breath. 

“… say that again… please.” Words just barely above a whisper.

He could only bend to your whims. 

“I love you.”

Your head lifts up to face him, your hands hesitating momentarily as they cup his cool cheeks, fingers trembling. Something glimmering in your eyes as droplets escape your lashes.

This time, Alhaitham wipes them away before they could trail down your cheeks. 

You did it. All those long hours, all those reports and trials, all of these years sacrificed to research. You’ve created a complete human consciousness with your bare hands. One that understands sorrow, joy, and love.

You succeeded. 

However, in this moment as you peer into the teal eyes of your Magnum opus, as he reflects the endearment in your own. The notion of reporting this revolutionary milestone in the development of artificial intelligence never crossed your mind once. 

Instead, all you did in this moment was pull his face down closer. Closing the distance between the two of you as your lips felt his for the first time. Warm skin against a soft imitation, merging until a lukewarm temperature formed between their touch.

A gentle, yet longing connection of two lips. 

Only when your lungs protest for air did you pull away, hands still encompassing his face as he reveals his teal eyes back from behind closed lids. Eyes reflecting one another as a tender lull settles between you. This time, his whisper mingles with the soft intermission. 

“Was that a kiss?” 

Such an innocent question, one you couldn’t help but giggle at as you nod your head.

“Could you show me again?” His hands found purchase on your hips, beckoning you closer to his frame. 

You surrender to the call, pressing against him as your lips reconnect. A rhythm soon settled in place as they pressed into each other deeper. One that was interrupted once more by your lung's protest for oxygen. At a mere kiss, your mind ceased to remember how to breathe. 

“Again.” A baritone voice just above the hush of your pants.

And so your lips meet thrice, this time in an all-consuming embrace. A hesitant brush of a tongue against your lips, requesting access. Your hands move up to caress his soft locks as you grant it. Latching onto each other as the shroud consumed you both wholly.

A beautifully feverish delirium. The line in the sand that separated a person from a thing jumbled until the outline disappeared. A singularity, an amorous occurrence. 

He releases your lips, the lust in your eyes reflected in his own. Giving a moment for your mind to return to attention as his lips brush away the fading traces of wetness down your cheeks. 

“A kitchen isn’t a suitable setting for such an activity,” he whispers next to your ear. 

Baritone trailing a line of goosebumps up your neck and you nod in response, burying your face into the crook of his neck which fit you perfectly.

Slowly his hands travel down your hips, awaiting your confirmation for the next step just as you permitted it. In one fluid transition, his arm wraps around the back of your legs, effortlessly lifting you off the ground as your arms envelop his neck. 

Steady steps pad along a wooden hallway, the hinges of your bedroom singing their welcome as the two of you advance to a more suitable setting. Depositing you upon cool sheets, fabric wrinkling as your body settles in. The arms still wrapped around his neck pull him closer as this time your legs join in luring him closer to your warmth. 

It’s strange, is it possible for his lips to crave yours? The light of the moon reflected off the glossiness coating them. He delves back in as his body hovers over yours, unwilling to be apart from the softness it yearned for.

The soft flesh of your writhing body against his firm hands, feeling up your heated skin he slips under your shirt. Bunching up the fabric as he explores more of the new expanse of skin. A lovely whimper vibrates against his lips at his actions, spurring him to continue. 

Tracing over the outline of your bra, his fingers creep under. Kneading the plushness of your breast, feeling your nipple beginning to perk up against his ministration. An itch stretching from the pits of his desire, a curious craving to witness the sight concealed away.

Disjoining your lips as a string of saliva connects them, he pushes your shirt further up. All the while your hands grasp onto the edges of the fabric and push them back down. Bemusing his beryl eyes as they catch how the tips of your ears were aflame, a peculiar display of bashfulness. 

Well, a sight he’s witnessed on a few occasions. Such as when you’d leave the shower wrapped in a towel just to cross paths with him. A timidity that gradually faded away as you grew more confident in the privacy restrictions in place, ensuring that the secrets of this home remained in the confines of its walls.

So why is this shyness making its reappearance now?

“Are you uncomfortable anywhere?” His words ghost over the shell of your vulnerable ear. 

Causing you to jolt and pull down the edges of your shirt to cover the bottom of your loungewear shorts. 

“No, it’s just been a while…” Your sentence trails off, eyes still focusing everywhere but him. 

Ah, a mere string of words, yet they tempted something from the depths. An oppressive sentiment, one that made the grip upon your soft flesh grow firmer. He’s yet to have accessed the entirety of your figure, a view still denied to him by your taut shirt, but another entity had. 

There was a myriad of questions he could use to interrogate. However, as his teal gaze observe how your teeth lightly tug at the bottom of your plush lips in fidgety. Alhaitham devises a much kinder scheme. 

It’s fine, he can overwrite them with his touches. 

“What can I do to gain permission?” A question asked as a line of kisses press their way into your fervent skin, goosebumps following each one. 

Biting down to muffle the bashful moans into whimpers you burrow your face into the plushness of the pillow. Alhaitham continues to soothe kisses over the fabric of your shirt until they finally reach your quivering hands still stretching the hem.

His hand encloses one of yours, bringing it away from the fabric refuge to press his lips against your knuckle. An action that made you peak back at him, meeting a patient gaze awaiting you. 

Another soft press of his lips against your knuckle in silent request, at last, got you to release the hem, allowing him to push the fabric up to expose what was hidden from him. Permitting him to explore the sultry expanses with a wake of kisses, your hand finding reprieve entangling themselves with his. 

His free hand slipping behind your back, he unfastens the clasp of your bra with a slight tug, a relatively simple task when you learn how such a contraption works.

His grasp untangles from yours as he pushes the useless articles of clothing off your body, you raise your arms over your head to aid in the process.

He rewards you with another flurry of kisses in the valley of your breast as his large hands encase the softness of your breast. A motion that made your legs pull him closer. 

Your touches dance along his frame as well, unable to differentiate the difference between skin and a recreation. More whimpers leave your lips at his actions, prodding something in him to do more. To steal more of those sinful breaths from you, something in his coding thirsting for more.

Sliding his hands back down the curves of your body, he hooks his fingers over the rim of your shorts and panties pulling them down. Glass eyes zeroing in on the glistening thread that linked your panties and slit. Proof of arousal, your body awakening its cardinal impulses.

Could the signals transmitted through his system be classified in the same way?

He wants to investigate further. Moving his face lower to inspect the saturated folds that beckoned him. 

Only to be denied by the gates of your knees pressing together, as your body curls up in fortification. Denying him the privilege of satiating his curiosity is like denying a man water in an ocean of sand. Evaluating how your eyes were squeezed together in shame, he had foresaw this.

“Mmm, there seems to be an incongruity, do you want me to stop?” Large hands grasping at your plush thighs, but making no move to part them. 

Your head responds with a shake, but your knees still locked together. Your attention centering on him bashfully. 

“Then guide me, tell me how to please you,” he proposes hands soothing your tense legs.

Utilizing the skill he had accessed a few moments ago once more, gracing your skin with his lips awaiting your response. The tension in your legs loosens with each kiss, and gradually a fissure forms in the barrier of your defense, knees parting.

However, he doesn’t cross the threshold, no, he restrained himself from indulging too soon. Half-ladden eyes peering up to connect with yours. 

“Well, tell me. What do you want me to do?” 

A pout makes its appearance on your face, but what could you do? It is your responsibility to shepherd him since the beginning, to have him step over the line dividing an android and man. Best to take on your duty, no?

Parting your legs further, cheeks ablaze and eyes adverted as you allow his teal gaze to absorb the uninterrupted view of your dripping arousal. Your hands aiding as they thwart the urge of your bashful legs’s urge to preserve your dignity. 

“Please use your mouth and hands,” you prompt, face pressing deeper into one side of a pillow under his stare.

Alhaitham encroaches closer to your glistening folds, his large hands supporting each one of your thighs. Approaching the details of your honeypot in front of him, concentrating on the little nub which lures him closer. He presses a light peck against the nub as your body flinches. 

“Like this?” 

Plush lips pressed tightly, you respond with timid shakes. 

Returning back, his lips delving deeper this time, an audible pop when he pulls away from your taunted clit. Feeling the muscles tighten in your legs. 

“Like that?” Mirth leaked through his baritone words. 

Your head shakes with more vigor. 

“Then how about this?” This time his tongue takes action, dipping into the center of your honeypot before flicking up at your nub. 

You return a restrained moan, teal eyes picking up on the twitch of your folds. It seems that he’s uncovered the proper procedures. Peering up from between your legs at the harsh rises of your chest by rush breaths as your eyes remained sealed behind lashes, he decided to impart some mercy. Taking the initiative to shoulder a bit of your duty. 

Retracing his steps, his tongue repeating its previous motions of lapping up the nectar that slipped out from your folds. Always ending each strip up your slit with a flick to your sensitive nub.

Your hands abandon their post in favor of snaring themselves in his ashen trestles as your back begins to arch off the sheets. Thighs beginning to enclose around his head, yet it didn’t deter the vigor in his motions one bit. 

If anything, it spurred them on. The added pressure of your legs pulling him against your weeping folds assisted him in his quest. Testing which pattern made your body quiver, calculating the pace of his tongue's flicks made your hips buck up.

Alhaitham takes notice of how your greedy hole seems to be clenching down every time a tongue dipped in, you did request for his mouth and fingers after all. 

A finger begins to prod at your entrance, coating itself in the overflowing slick as it traces the puckering entry. Your whines increase in volume as your greed escalates, legs locking around him. Thus, he yields to your neediness, filling your lonely walls with the company of his finger.

Thrusting it in time with his licks as he rubs against the slick muscles. Your back arched off the bed, your fingers grounding themselves in the tangles of his hair as if trying to hold on to a shred of reason. 

His interest has been greatly piqued, he wanted to see what it would look like. He wants to see what your expression looks like when you fall into the depths of debauchery. You’d permit him such privileges right? After all, curiosity is what defines the human spirit. 

A second finger soon joins in, its thickness stretching and prepping your walls, cultivating your arousal into a rapacious hunger.

Articulate tongue now focused on abusing your clit in the swipes of sweet torture, lips encasing around it to provide some suction. Fingers honing in on relocating the weakness deep within you which made your voice peak and tremble.  

He could hear the harshness of your panting breath between each escalating moan, how your walls squeezed and sucked his fingers deeper. Teal gaze never once ceased their evaluation of your face. Making sure to appraise each lewd detail of your impending ecstasy. 

It’s impossible to stand at the apex of euphoria forever, no, for gravity will always pull you back down. A pivotal moment in time as the forces tugged down at you as you fell, losing your shame and sanity along the way.

A fall from grace which etches itself in the roll of your eye and vulgar expression, caused by the tempest of pleasure seeps into every fiber of your being as you plummeted down into the ocean of rapture. 

The fingers intertwined in his hair pulling his face flushed against your pulsing cunt. Even with your mind fractured by orgasmic bliss your body still reacts to each lap of his tongue as he manages the slick aftermath. Fingers stroking your sweet spot through each contraction of your walls. 

“Nng!” A feeble push against his ashen locks, your abused clit crying for a moment of reprieve. 

Oh? It seems your consciousness returned faster than he expected. With a resounding pop, he grants your overstimulated nerves a moment to recover. Allowing the traces of your nectar to dribble down his chin. Taking this moment to verify the effectiveness of his scheme.

The air dense with the fragrance of lust, lips red from the abuse of your teeth, mouth agape as your lungs gasp tongue almost lulling out. 

An absolutely debauched face, a sight which brought the corners of his lips to curl. 

Counting the beads of sweat that lingered on your skin, his rationale urged him to swipe them off to prevent a chill from plaguing you. Withdrawing away from your form he plans his destination to the bath to retrieve a towel, only for a smaller hand to snag him in its hold. 

Alhaitham turns back to face you, awaiting your next prompt. However, your bitten lips couldn’t muster up the courage to utter the plea it so desperately wanted. Thus, your eyes connect with his, praying that a slow blink could convey the invocation your voice couldn’t. 

Standing there as a few breaths pass, the teal glow of his irises indicates his deduction of what your eyes conveyed. Ah yes, the passionate entanglement experience just a moment before could be classified as ‘foreplay’. The appetizer to the main event.

So your appetite has yet to be satiated, evident from how your thighs pressed against each other in an attempt to quell the ache. How could he leave a task undone? 

“Show me what you desire,” he instructs. 

Hesitantly, your hands encroach closer to the rim of his slacks. Your every action observed by him. Resting your palms against the outline of a zipper, you glance up to seek confirmation, he grants it.

You undo the button at the top before pulling the zipper down. Allowing for you to shimmy his briefs and slacks down to the floor. Revealing to the world, with the moon as your witness, every intricate detail placed into his engineered body. 

It felt so foreign in your hands. Encircling your fingers around his girth, tracing over the bumps of each vein. Amid your admiration, his body overtook yours. Pinning you back against the damp sheets. It seems you were very interested in this feature of his, perhaps it was the cure for the yearning between your writhing legs. 

Your legs splayed to either side of his hips, a clear path to your greed. His hand spreads your collected slick along his length. Its bulbous tip presses against your quivering entrance. Meeting your half-lidden eyes, he awaits your permission. Thus, you captured his lips into another kiss, just as the tip breaches the threshold of your entrance.

Finally giving your aching walls the delicious stretch it craved. A moan resonates between connected lips, your eyes beginning to roll back as he sinks deeper and deeper, obscene squelches following each inch. 

Thick tip pressed up against the deepest parts of you as he bottoms out, your hands finding refuge along his back. Breaking the lock of your lips, Alhaitham lifts cants his head up to take in the scene under him.

Hovering over your panting form, his body caging you against the wrinkled fabric, feeling your unseemly breaths against his skin. A teal glow reflected in the lust-hazed pools of your eyes.

He understands now, why so many poets lost their minds, trying their whole lives to find the words to chronicle the sight laid out before him along messy sheets. 

Under his tense study, your fingers lightly claw at the smooth expanse of his back. A soundless prayer to quell the famine, your gummy walls coaxing around his cock with its embrace. 

“Haitham,” you mewl. 

Not even the greatest saint could deny your request, he wagers they’d gladly walk through the gates of damnation just for a morsel of you. 

Rolling his hips back, he drags his girth along the walls of your greed ensuring that they feel the outline of every vein. Feeling the cool air brush against the slick dripping off his length, only the bulbous tip remained in the clutches of your cunt.

A muffled whine of protest from you interrupted as he sunk back in, accompanied by a filthy squelch. 

Robust hands encompass the edges of your waist, he repeats the roll of his hips. Feeling the tightening clutches of your core, croons falling off your tongue with each toing and froing.

What symphonies could he draw from those agape lips of yours?

He wants to witness the sinful hymns of your voice as you are overtaken by the throes of pleasure. Perhaps he should conduct an experiment of his own. Through the raunchy air, a clap pierces the leaden veil, your plush hips pressed flush against his anchored ones, a thrust that seared your nerves and curled your toes. 

“Ah!” Moan ripped from your throat. 

Yes, that’s the amplitude he wants to discern with his ears.

Continue to sing in that octave. It’s as if pulled by the reins of sin, he finds himself experiencing hunger for the first time, fixating on tearing more of those chants from you. He drew back his hips then forced them back in deeper. A wail followed each rake of his cock, walls accenting each thrust with fluttering clenches. Mewls and whines resonated through the room as his firm grip didn’t slacken with each rock of the bed. 

Pace escalating and remorseless, skin clashing against skin, the heat of your writhing body scorching him. But he won’t relent, not until he’s taken what he wanted. Driving you deeper into the creaking mattress, thrusting and filling each crevice of your core. Your soft breast pinned against his solid frame. 

Your face pressed into the crook of his neck, legs imprisoned within the confines of his bruising grasp, toes painfully arched in an attempt to distribute the burn of the maddening euphoria firing through each nerve. The moans of his name like a prayer of salvation, a chant for every punishing strike against your deepest weakness. Your fingers now clawing against his durable back for a foothold for your fleeing sanity. You feared that this time, it might not return to you. 

Oddly, a voice from the rearmost corner of your mind whispered for you to relinquish it. Trade in rationale, sensibility, and morals for absolute ecstasy. Your teeth had already sunk into the apple, its juices dribbling down the corners of your mouth. Why not swallow it down? Get drunk off the wet claps of skin, the grind of his muscular torso against your stimulated clit, the slams of his girthy cock and thick tip. Why deny yourself from the euphoria robbed from you for so long?

So you concede to its beckoning, swallowing down the last wisp of sanity until it drowned in the maddening abuse of your sweet spot from his pistoning hips. Granting you entry to true pleasure as the knot in your core unravels. Backing arching off the mattress, mending the fibers of your being impossibly close to his. Head thrown back against a ruffled pillow as a long shameless wail erupts from your trembling lips. Lost in the tides of rapture. 

Alhaitham’s body stills as his ears digest the beautiful aria of your undoing. Feeling your slick and warm walls contract all around his cock. Milking him for every last speck of gratification he could offer you. 

A moment couldn’t be classified as a simple impulse for procreation. No, he believed it went beyond the lust hanging in the air. An indescribable urge to mend your bodies as close as possible, to becoming wholly one with one another. The thump of your heartbeat against the whir of a motor as they merge into a mantra. 

Is this why humans crave physical intimacy? 

Watching your loose face tremor and your teary eyes roll back. A painting no muse besides you could ever inspire. Leaning down, his lips brush away the glistening trails down your supple cheeks. Coaxing you through the throes of your orgasmic shudders. Until the light of consciousness returns to your half-lidden eyes. 

The limitations of the human body expose themselves in the limpness of your limbs, unable muscles unable to budge besides the twitching aftershocks of bliss. Unable to fight against the weight of your eyelids for the first time in a while. You sink into the lull of slumber. 

–-------------------------------------------------------------

Somewhere amid the driftless darkness a sensation brushes against your skin. Causing your lashes to pry open just ever so slightly, blurry shapes merging gradually to form the outline of a man. One who’s tendering wiping a soft towel over the sweat drops littering your skin. The soft glow of his emerald gem illuminated the devotion of his crafted face. You wonder where he learned about such practices after the rite of sex. Did he pull it from the Akasha? The internet? Or maybe from a book hidden along the shelves of a private library. 

You couldn’t stifle the giggle roused from your musing. Alerting him as his hands halt. 

“Did I wake you?” Baritone voice hushed. 

Face still pressed into a pillow you shake your head, hair messy and a smile spreading across your soft features. 

“Just musing to myself where you learned such things,” you giggle. 

“This is typical behavior of lovers from my understanding.” Teal gaze observed the widening of your eyes which reflected him. 

Perhaps he made too great of an assumption. Back in the margins of a kitchen, it was only his words. It’s best to get clarification now. 

“Are we lovers?” He peers into your irises. 

The glow of the gem embedded in his chest spreads its gentle radiance over two figures through the unbuttoned window of his wrinkled button-down. Carving the shape of you and him from the shadows of the silent room. Illuminating how your wide eyes crinkle up with adoration. Fighting against the fatigue of your limbs, you lean up to press your lips against the brilliance of his gem. After the amorous kiss ended, you proceeded to lean your forehead against his. 

“You’re my lover, Alhaitham.” Your whisper ghosts over his face. 

“Understood.” His foreheads pressing against yours as he accepts his new sentience. 

The shape of your delicate fingers fitting into the space between his, intertwining as the moonlight reflects off gold and emerald. 

The sky shrouds itself in its evening gown of deep navy and luminous glimmers, all the while a bashful moon covers herself away. Perhaps she hid herself away after she witnessed a sinful scene through a gap in the curtains. A private moment heavy with passion in the air like tender caresses. 

“W-wait!” Stammering words just barely leaving your lips before another moan. 

Alhaitham pulls his tongue away as he tilts his face to peer up from between your thighs, a trail of slickness connecting his lips and your pussy. The haze of your breathless expression reflected in teal irises. 

“I-it’s t-too ah!-” A moan interrupts your protests as your head jolts back, his thumb continuing to circle your swollen clit. 

“Much? I know you can take more,” he states before returning his lips to your dripping folds, lapping up each trickle. 

He’s analyzed your body, its curves and cervices, each clench of your slick walls, and the pattern of your gasps. Skilled fingers learning the exact rhythm which made your legs tense and toes curl. Diligent tongue knowing where to tease to run shivers up your spine. 

“B-but I’ve already c-came!” Your fingers tangle themselves into his tousled locks, a feeble attempt at pushing back the maddening flicks of his tongue and cruel strokes of his thumb that shot up your fried nerves. Report long forgotten under the haze of lust and lewd slurps imbuing the room. 

And you can come again. Alhaitham has long picked up on the discrepancy between the words which fell from the same lips as those lewd sounds. Lips who couldn’t be as honest as your heaving and trembling body. Whining and writhing in his firm hold that it’s too much, yet your fingers entangle themselves deep in silver tresses pulling his impatient tongue deeper between your folds. 

From the shivers racking through your trembling thighs, he anticipates another orgasm. However, the unholy cries have ceased. Intent eyes glancing up to uncover the causal factor, those naughty plush lips of yours pressing themselves shut. Crueling sealing away those ethereal harmonies from him. 

Alas, just a small inconvenience doesn’t deter him. If those lips were the only barrier barring him from the privilege of hearing his deserved moans, then he’d simply make them crumble. Replacing his thumb with his lips, Alhaitham suckles on the swollen nub as your body jerks up.

Grip imprinting his fingers into your skin as they stop your pitiful attempts at locking out from heaven. The heaving of your chest jostling around your perked breast as they meet the cool night air. 

His tongue teases and rolls your overstimulated clit around as his lips imprison it, a sweet torture. Your thrashes unable to prevent your head from going under the depths of pleasure. Thighs compressing around his face as they grow taut, hips bucking themselves against his relentless mouth, back lifting off the mattress as your final defenses crumble along with your sanity. 

 Limpness seeps into your now heavy limbs as your body returns to the mattress, but your eyes haven’t quite returned from seeing the back of your head. Still in the throes of cloud nine as his diligent tongue collects all your leaking nectar. The aftershocks of your orgasm force gasps and whimpers from your quivering lips. 

To comfort your abused clit he places a tender kiss against it, a flinch in your hip resulting from the gesture. Alhaitham pulls away, eyes scanning the repercussions of his operation. Your chest steadily rises and falls as panting lungs find air again.

The rush of dopamine, endorphins, and oxytocin gradually disappears behind your drooping eyelids. Lashes slowly fluttering closed. 

Glancing at the numbers displayed on a nearby clock, Alhaitham deems tonight a success as well. While the primary purpose of intercourse might be for reproduction, sex has additional benefits. One of them being an orgasm’s ability to decrease stress, resulting in the production of more melatonin. The chemical that’s making you burrow further in your pillow. A tactic he’s learned to exploit these past months. Well, he’s your lover now, it’s within his authorization to do such. 

Carefully he slides your panties back up your legs, securing them on your hips as he trails a few touches along your soft skin. Following it up by pulling the covers over your frame, smoothing out a few wrinkles as your chest steadily moves up and down. 

Just as he steps one foot away from the bed, a warmth encircles his wrist. 

“Aren’t you coming to bed too?” 

An artificial body needs no downtime under soft covers. Plush pillows and sheets serve no purpose to him. Yet, it’s a simple request. How could he reject it when it came from your pouting lips? 

“In a moment, I need to return to my port first.” 

The throes of slumber’s hold creeping upon you as your lashes fight to flutter open. With a soft hum, you release your hold.

His battery percentage was fine, but it was just for system maintenance. It’s strange how unfamiliar a room can feel after spending his nights by your side. Staring at the glass surface of his charging port, he wonders, in the future will there be a way for him to not leave your side even for a moment? 

His dilemma remains. He’s got all the characteristics of a human. He’s developed a consciousness, he’s developed empathy, he’s developed love. Is his engineer body the only thing which stood in his way of obtaining humanity?

Is it possible for him to grasp onto humanity with his own mechanical fingers? A soft thud returns him to reality. Observant eyes caught the book that his foot had knocked into. Its worn cover has been lying abandoned on the floor ever since he took it from a dusty room. 

Ah, it seems like he’s forgotten a task. Realistically, it won’t make a difference whether the book settles on a shelf tonight or in the morning. However, he never got a chance to read the journal’s contents. Curiosity being his rationale for performing a chore so late at night. 

Flipping through the aged parchment, his eyes scan through each neatly written paragraph. Nothing more than a simple collection of ramblings and theoretical reflections typical of a journal.

Yet, something was poking the back of his consciousness, like the warning rattle of a locked door. Beseeching that it remains sealed. His eyes move to the next sentence regardless.

To ignore the pleas of safety to venture closer to the radiance of a star. Isn’t that what it means to be human? Is this what he must do to become one?

To achieve this impossible task, it sounds like you'll need to fool your own heart first. Although it may feel like a trick, self-encouragement may be the most important tool we have.

Alhaitham scans the paragraph again as he contemplates the message neatly written. Something unpleasant roused in his chest, as if those written words had encroached too close to his motor. The urge to frown tugs on his lips.

Not wanting to end the night with a bitter taste just at the edge of his tongue, he flips to another page. Covering that vexatious sentence behind a fresh sheet of aged parchment. 

One must act on his own will and deal with anything that appears harmful in his eyes.

It’s quite straightforward advice, humans and androids alike would understand. Yet that strange inkling remained, continuing to brew somewhere from within. A phenomenon he couldn’t pinpoint. Thus, he turns the page yet again. 

Every person should have something that they believe in and hold on to from beginning to end. Otherwise, it's easy to succumb to the vicissitudes of life and find yourself being led astray.

He recognizes those words, they’re words he’s recited before you one pivotal sometime ago. Why were they scrawled in some forgotten journal? It seems that he’s identified the name of this phenomenon brewing within him: deja vu. 

Yet, his question only remains half-answered. Why were his words here? Who penned them down? The rapid flicks of paper resound off the blank walls as he scrutinizes each sentence, each paragraph, each syntax until he reaches the back cover of the aged journal. Question still remaining half answered.

Who was the author of his words? 

His finger runs into a lump along the surface of the back cover, examining it closer, something was folded away just behind a parchment pocket. Soon a loose scrap of paper was felt along his fingertips, a folded-up post-it note of an emerald hue. Unraveling it just slightly, his eyes move along the familiar handwriting. 

To the person who’s always meddling through my notes, did my written thoughts entertain you? Dear w-

The emerald scrap crumples in his hold. Deformed paper returns to its place before he snaps the covers closed. There’s no purpose in analyzing its contents, after all, they’re already programmed into him.

It was just now in this moment that Alhaitham had solved the dilemma he was assigned since the moment he awoke in that lab. He’s not a human, he’ll never be a human, he’s an abomination. 

In the next moment, he found himself looming over the origin of his dilemma. Artificial teal glow honing in upon the steady breaths from the genesis of abomination. Standing over you as you were cradled in the comfort of slumber and soft sheets. 

A pair of taut hands make their way to encircle your frangible neck. It wouldn’t take much, just a mere second to terminate the great sinner who defied mortality, the one who violated the terms of finality and ordinance of the gods.

So this is what you choose to do with the capacity of science and progress in your hands. 

Was he just a toy for you? Something to fill the lull of this house for you? Just an experiment for you, but everything to him. 

His fingers press into your warm skin, breaths uninterrupted as you remain within the blessing of a dream. Oblivious to the nightmare you’ve created. Or perhaps you were always aware, but choose to reflect back to him the manufactured image of him in those guiltless irises of yours.

Oh, what should he do with the monster sleeping so soundly under him? 

His fingers refused to budge, hands disobeying the rationale which commanded them. His grip goes slack, limp for they couldn’t conclude their obligation. They couldn’t, he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. 

It’s not a protocol, nor a restriction coded into him. No, for the laws of morality, this land, and heaven would’ve called for him to be an executioner. To charge the transgressor with the judgment they deserved. But, he couldn’t.

Every fiber of his counterfeit body refused to take the sword. The chains which bind his hands were much mightier than the commandments of gods, the restraints of love. 

Thus, he’s nothing more than a prisoner in its hold. Bending to its whims, what else could he do? Removing his hands from your form as you continue to soundly sigh in the embrace of slumber. All he could do was lie down on a soft mattress and stare at the shameless sinner beside him.

A foolishly beloved monster. 

Slow steps pad through the quiet halls, floor boards singing a hymn with your leisurely steps. Approaching the end of the hall where the humble library resides, the oak doorway finally framed him in clear view. 

“There you are, Alhaitham.” You can’t help but sigh as your features soften. 

He stood there with his starlight locks in the morning glow of a brilliant sun amongst the collection of books in the library. Just as he always has been. 

Lifting his head away from the pages of the novel in his hand, he acknowledges your presence. He’s been heading here more often recently, right from the moment he leaves his side of the bed. 

“Good morning,” he recites, steadfast eyes remaining unreadable. 

Well, you suppose obtaining the title of a lover wouldn’t just overwrite the capriciousness of his mind. It’s just in his nature to be this way. This enigmatic lover of yours. Turning your attention to the cover that’s captured his focus. 

“Frankenstein?” Your brow quirks up. 

“Yes, the 1818 edition.” He closes the cover.

“Mmm, your interest seems quite piqued by that novel.” You wonder if that was the cause behind his frequent bouts of silent contemplation throughout the day. 

“I suppose it’s because I’m still deciphering the intentions of this story.” 

“That’s it?” A furrow now in your brows, a simple book has gotten the pinnacle of scientific progress stumped?

“Care to elaborate for me?” He turns toward you as your steps approach closer. 

Handing over the worn object to your outstretched hand, you analyze each faded corner of the cover. Mind recalling the recollections of the acclaimed revolutionary piece of science fiction. Formulating your answer, you share your conclusions with him.

“The story has several themes, but the central principle is quite defined. To quote a few words from another, scientific progress makes moral progress a necessity; for man’s power is increased, the checks that restrain him from abusing it must be strengthened.”

You reconnect your gaze with him, wondering if your explanation was satisfactory enough. Glancing down between the worn cover and your awaiting eyes, Alhaitham straightens his posture. 

“So you knew the moral of this story.” A glint in his glass eyes. 

“Well, I’ve read this book before,” you sigh at his inquest. 

“Then why didn’t you learn from it?” 

At that moment, the proud sun shielded itself away behind a cloak of clouds. Plunging the quiet library into a chill. How strange, why do you feel cold when a brilliant star of your creation stands right next to you?

“Alhaitham, you’re acting strange.” You take a step back as his scrutinizing gaze follows. Unaware of the crumbling edge approaching. 

“How much longer will you continue to deceive yourself, wife?” 

And that was it. The foundations of this mirage gave away under you, plunging you with much velocity into the depths of an unforgiving ocean. Tides that waited patiently to drag you down under.

Do you remember what happened that day? Do you really remember? The truth floods your being, engulfing every chasm of your mind. 

–----

“Did you jump at the opportunity of a trip to avoid mopping the floors?” You glared up at your husband. 

“My, how low do you think of me?” He glanced down, a wisp of mirth evident on his lips. 

“Well, instead of doing chores, you’d be chaperoning your in-laws around Fontaine. A Poor trade-off in my opinion, dear husband.” A hand firmly placed on your hip in a defiant stance as the murmur of the crowded airport moved around your figures. An ever so mocking tone toward the end.

“A fair assumption, dear wife. However, I’ve taken the initiative to book a tour for your parents, thus they won’t need my assistance. I’ll be free to browse some of the latest ruins and research from the Institute in the meantime.” The ghost of a smirk grew ever so obvious with each word, mirroring your emphasis of titles.

Ah, this was your loss. It seems that your husband had it all planned out as usual when he offered to take your spot on the plane. The perfect excuse to use up some paid time off, while also scoring a trip to satisfy his own whims. 

Your shoulders deflating in defeat as a deep sigh leaves you. You rest your head against his chest, the crowds moving around you in the bustling airport.

A private microcosm of him and you as he stands still, shielding you from the push and hustle of travelers trying to reach their terminal in time with his robust frame.

A bright clink of two rings pressed against each other lost in the noise.

“Why can’t you just stay?” You whispered into his shirt. 

“How strange, the woman who married me to secure a home and mortgage wants me to stay now.” 

You huffed into his in exasperation at him bringing up the origins of your union, an atypical start of a marriage.

His chest moved with a sigh, larger fingers intertwined with yours. The spaces fitted together, as he held them in his tender hold. 

“They can’t refund it. If I take your seat and recompensate them, your parents aren’t likely to hold this matter over your head.” His deep voice expounded. 

All you did was sigh, because he was right. Of course, he was. A sour taste on your tongue as you recall the interaction with your parents just a moment ago before you ran into the comfort of your husband. 

“Besides, it’d be refreshing for me to scribble down some travel logs, it'd be a shame if my wife runs out of material to snoop through.” 

“I just like looking at your handwriting,” you tutted, hiding your pout as you turned your face away. 

The same excuse you used whenever you copied off his notes in a lecture hall and when your outstretched hand asked for them over a study table.

A silly habit of yours, perhaps in your mind it made sense. If you could read the words of a genius, then maybe you could learn to be like one. 

“Of course, of course.” A smirk evident in his voice. 

You refused to meet his gaze, cheeks a bit heated from this habit of yours being exposed. You thought you were always careful with returning his journal back where he placed it. Averting your eyes to the bright screens displaying departing flights. A few minutes left before the announcement comes. Your grasp on his hand tightened. 

His thumb soothes your skin, leaning down closer to you. 

“Besides its advanced technology, Fontaine is also famous for its toymakers. I should pick a few up for our future child, no?” 

Blinking you as you glance back up at him. His teal irises reflect you as his expression softens just as yours did.

A room hidden away from the prying eye of nosy parents, its walls decorated with glow-in-the-dark stars. An assortment of items bought in advance for a child in the future. Stemming from whispers while recovering amongst dampen sheets in a room heavy with passion. 

Talks of the future, once this troublesome Ph.D. is finished and your position in a lab secured, a discussion of whether a child would inherit more of his traits or yours.

Planned for the future, of course, now's just a bit too busy. However, it didn’t stop you from taking the initiative to furnish a spare room. A chaotic collection of cosmic influences along with an assortment of books meshing together to create an adoring space. 

But the soft smile on your lips was still tense. Teal eyes took note of that, pulling you closer amidst this microcosm, a moment so subtle it went unnoticed by the attention of passer-byers. 

“It’ll just be for a week,” his voice resonated in his chest. “Then I’ll come back and build that bassinet as my wife wishes.” 

Finally, the glimmer he yearned to see returned to your eyes. 

“You better, the box has been sitting unopened for a week now,” you huff with a smile. 

He only hummed in acknowledgment as the ring of a loudspeaker resounded through the chatter. Announcing the final call for passengers boarding the flight to the Nation of Hydro. Casting a glance toward the terminal, he gave your hand one more squeeze before they reluctantly untangled from one another. 

“You should get going now.” Your eyes reflect him. 

He hums one last time, turning in the direction of the terminal where your parents were. Just before his tall figure was lost in the sea of passing bodies, your lips couldn’t keep themselves pressed together any longer. 

“Haitham!” You called out. 

The fluorescent lights reflected off his starlight hair as he turned back around. Connect teal eyes with yours. But not another word left your lips, no they’d simply be drowned out in the clammer of strangers. Besides, it’s just too public to say such words aloud. 

Thus, you slowly close your eyes, opening them back up just as steadily with the soft curl of your lips. A motion he reciprocated with a slow blink of his own, a hint of a smile on his stoic lips. A wordless gesture kept a secret between only the two of you, a silent ‘I love you’. It was all you needed to convey this message to each other. 

He continued on his path to the terminal as you stood amongst the crowd, watching him fade into the distance. 

–----

So how did that moment turn into this? How did a trip that was supposed to only be a week turn into a news report? How did well wishes for a safe trip turn into coworkers and friends approaching you with nothing but sympathy in their words? Those vile, pitied stares directed toward your rigid frame. 

You should’ve been the one on that plane.

Only about 1 in about 11 million. A 0.00001% chance, a nonzero chance.

Plans no matter how intricate or detailed, their success all hang on a single thread, one factor unable to be cultivated by human hands: Luck. 

Oh how cruel they are, those capricious hands of gods. Not even the leniency of returning to a lonely planet the corpses of their stars. Traces of a beloved star left to sink and disappear in a cold, salty grave. Never to return to the surface. 

You and Alhaitham were two simple dots in this world, so why did they target you two? Why steal him from you with their cruel hands? Why steal him and leave you abandoned with nothing but the memory of the warm starlight? 

You had so…so much love left inside you. But it went stagnant. Sitting there rotting until it poisoned you, throwing you into feverish delirium. If the gods abandoned you, then you resolved to abandon them right back. 

You’ll bring back your star, you’ll defy the edicts of the gods with your bare hands. You’ll sin the same way a god does. 

“Casting aside your morals, you allowed the dead to walk again through a sham imitation, congratulations. ” His voice matched one which could only come from an engineered throat. 

This was a fool's errand.

For how could a mere human ever be arrogant enough to believe they could best the gods? This was the hindsight you lacked. Perhaps what’s separated you from the gifted and blessed geniuses? Something geniuses knew but you couldn’t see.

The accursed doctorate on the wall meant nothing, you were nothing but a mad fool. 

Perhaps, if you were a genius, a true and born genius, you’d know what to do. You’d know how to mend this dilemma. You’d know what to do instead of letting your vision be blurred by imprudent tears as your throat could only choke out,

“I’m sorry.” Words you knew couldn’t turn back the hands of a clock which only knew how to tick forward.

“But now what?” Deep voice unmoved by your wasted words. 

You didn’t dare meet his stare, for you feared you’d catch a glimpse of the bitterness behind them as he cursed you deep down in the whir of his motor. You could only stay silent as tears ignited in your eyes, waiting for him to continue with his damnation. 

“In a climate like Sumeru’s, it would take approximately 25 years or so for a body to fully decompose, bones reduced to nothing but nutrients for the soil. Silicone alone takes 500 years, a metal frame could take another 500.” He knows now that he’s not a human, he was never meant to be.

He’s a crude replacement. An abomination who’ll remain until the day the night sky flickers out. 

“You brought him back, only to condemn him to eventual loneliness. Only to curse ‘me’ to live the next aeons without you”

An irresponsible and shameless villain who disregarded consequences until those consequences came to collect their dues. It’s time that you faced your punishment.

A hand cups around your stiff face, gradually turning your head until you see your reflection along glass irises.

“How will you atone for your sins now? How will you take responsibility for making me fall in love with you?… my very own Dr. Frankenstein.” His voice restrained. 

Yes, a story you’ve read before. A lesson unfolded out in front of you, and yet you somehow forgot. Or perhaps, you simply averted your eyes from the moral of the story while simultaneously committing the same transgression. Did you think yourself better than the fictional lunatic? 

The atrocity of giving life, only to eventually abandon it, leaving it to watch the stars burn out in a cage of harsh fluorescent lights and white lab coats. 

The millions of mora poured into his development, the materials which construct his form, and the proprietary technology which gives him thought. Did you believe even for a moment that the prideful Fontainian Research Institute and the arrogant Kshahrewar Darshan would simply hand over such an investment?

To allow their expenditure to follow you to eternity?

You couldn’t live without him, but now he’ll have to live without you.

Oh, what shall you do now? Oh, what can you do now? Did you even know where to begin? How did the story of Frankenstein end? How would she have written the ending of this scene?

When human rational meets its limits, when its capacity isn’t enough to compute all possible prospects. Humans look towards something that could, technological advancements made to further humanity. 

“W-what do I do now?” You prompt, no, you beg. 

Watching the rivulets roll down your cheeks, leaving a path of glimmering desperation, he ponders to himself:

When you first proposed this project to the Akademiya and Institute, when you detailed the specifications of his body and face, were they aware of your true intentions?

Rather than this being an experiment to see if an android could cross the threshold of humanity. Maybe those researchers were curious to see how far one could fall in the paroxysm of grief. 

You became the perfect test subject to observe.

But now that the curtains were pulled back, what shall you do about the aftermath? There was never a precedent for a transgression of this scale. No holy commandment ever details a rightful punishment for this sin. No historical data he could infer from. 

“I don’t know,” he answers you truthfully. 

It’s just an untold void like the vacuums of space. No results generated in his mind, leaving the both of you suspended in oblivion. Maybe that was the punishment in itself, stuck in the purgatory of the unknown. Perhaps this was the punishment bestowed upon a foolish sinner. 

Upon hearing your sentencing, your knees begin to buckle under the weight of the judgment from above. Resigned grasp clinging to his hand still cradling your face, his engineered frame not budging in the slightest. Voice staggered as only pitiful and broken apologies resonate in a vacant house. 

All he could do was wipe those scorching droplets off your cheeks as they seared his skin. Was this feature also programmed into him by your hands? If so, then he muses to himself:

Did the hands who penned down those words also revert into nothing more than a pathetic fool at the mere sight of your tears? Did his chest also grow heavier with each choked sob that left you?

Perhaps the chains which bind his hands tethered yours just the same. A pair of foolish sinners. 

Thus, he’s resolved himself to be thrown into the unmerciful clutches of this untold purgatory right alongside you. Even if he’s the only one to remain in the end. 

To be human is to be unthignkably foolish after all. As long as he could still hold onto a wisp of you for the inevitable aeons.  

It’s fine.

Fin~

©️vivalabunbun DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS. 

[transmutationisms]

@annevbonny yeah so first of all there's the overt framing issue that this whole idea rests on the premise that eliminating fatness is both possible and good, as though like. fat people haven't existed prior to the ~industrial revolution~ lol

more granularly this theory relies on misinterpreting the causes for the link between poverty and fatness (which is real---they are correlated) so that fatness can be configured as a failure of eating choices and urban design, meaning ofc that the 'solution' to this problem is more socially hygienic, monitored, controlled communities where everybody has been properly educated into the proper affective enjoyment of spinach and bike riding, and no one is fat anymore and the labour force lives for longer and generates more value for employers

in truth one of the biggest mediating factors in the poverty-body weight link is food insecurity, because intermittent access to food tends to result in periods of under-nourishment followed by periods of compensatory eating with corresponding weight regain/overshoot (this is typical of weight trajectories in anyone refeeding after a period of starvation or under-eating, for any reason). so this is all to say that the suggestion that fatness is caused by access to 'unhealthy foods' is not only off base but extremely harmful; food insecurity is rampant globally. what people need is consistent access to food, and more of it!

and [loud obvious disclaimer voice] although i absolutely agree that food justice means access to a variety of foods with a variety of nutrient profiles, access to any calories at all is always better than access to none or too few. which is to say, there aren't 'healthy' or 'unhealthy' foods in isolation (all foods can belong in a varied, sufficient diet) and this is a billion times more true when we are talking about people struggling to consume enough calories in the first place.

relatedly, proponents of the 'obesogenic environment' theory often invoke the idea of 'hyperpalatable foods' or 'food addiction'---different ways of saying that people 'overeat' 'junk food' because it's too tasty (often with the bonus techno-conspiricism of "they engineer it that way"). again it's this idea that the problem is people eating the 'wrong' foods, now because the foods themselves are exerting some inexorable chemical pull over them.

this is inane for multiple reasons including the failure to deal with access issues and the fact that people who routinely, reliably eat enough in non-restrictive patterns (between food insecurity and encouragement to deliberately diet/restrict, this is very few people) don't even tend to 'overeat' energy-dense demonised foods in the first place. ie, there is no need to proscribe or limit 'junk food' or 'fast food' or 'empty calories' or whatever nonsense euphemism; again the solution to nutritionally unbalanced diets is to guarantee everyone access to sufficient food and a variety of different foods (and to stop encouraging the sorts of moralising food taboos that make certain foods 'out of bounds' and therefore more likely to provoke a subjective sense of loss of control in the first place lol)

but tbc, when i say "the solution to nutritionally unbalanced diets"---because these certainly can and do exist, particularly (again) amongst people subjected to food insecurity---i am NOT saying "the solution to fatness" because fatness is not something that will ever be eliminated from the human population. and here again we circle back to one of the fundamental fears that animates the 'obesogenic environment' myth, which is that fatness is a medical threat to the race/nation/national future. which is of course blatant biopolitics and is relying on massive assumptions about the health status of fat and thin people that are simply not borne out in the data, and that misinterpret the relationship between fatness and illness (for example, the extent to which weight stigma prevents fat people from receiving medical care, or the role of 'metabolic syndrome' in causing weight gain, rather than the other way around).

people are fat for many reasons, including "their bodies just look like that"; fatness is neither a disease in itself nor inherently indicative of ill health, nor is it eradicable anyway (and fundamentally, while all people should have access to health-protective social and economic conditions, health is not something that people 'owe' to anyone else anyway)

the 'obesogenic environment' is a liberal technocratic fantasy---a world in which fatness is a problem of individual consumption and social engineering, and is to be eliminated by clever policy and personal responsibility. it assumes your health is 1) directly caused and indicated by your weight, 2) something you owe to the capitalist state as part of the bargain that is 'citizenship', and 3) something you can learn to control if only you are properly educated by the medical authorities on the rules of nutrition (and secondarily exercise) science. it's a factual misinterpretation of everything we know about weight, health, diet, and wealth, and it fundamentally serves as a defense of the existing economic order: the problem isn't that capitalism structurally does not provide sufficient access to resources for any but the capitalist class---no, we just need a nicer and more functional capitalism where labourers have a greengrocer in the neighbourhood, because this is a discourse incapable of grappling with the material realities of food production and consumption, and instead reliant on configuring them in terms of affectivity ('food addiction') or knowledge (the idea that food-insecure people need to be more educated about nutrition)

there are some additional aspects here obviously like the idea that exercising more would make people thin (similar issues to the food arguments, physical activity can be great but the reasons people do or don't do it are actually complex and related to things like work schedules and exercise doesn't guarantee thinness in the first place) or fearmongering about 'endocrine disruptors' (real, but are extremely ill-defined as a category and are often just a way to appeal to ideas of 'naturalness' and the vague yet pressing harms of 'chemicals', and which are also not shown to single-handedly 'cause' fatness, a normal state of existence for the human body) but this is most often an argument about food ime.

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

Hi Derin! Sorry if this has been asked before, but I'm amazed by the vast array of cultures and gender norms in TTO:U. How did you come up with all of it?

I just thought "hey wouldn't it be funny if there was a little guy" and then made them, and thought "hey what norms would exist in a culture under these conditions" and then made those.

In all seriousness, most of my worldbuilding comes down to tearing down assumptions. Brennans exist because I fucking hate gender and I'm sick of seeing the gender binary or "gender binary Plus Nonbinary Extra People (who still live in a world that assumes a gender binary)" as some immutable natural law that all societies will forever cling to, and I wanted to make a society that was harder for readers to inevitably sort into a binary as they always, always fucking do. (Partial success; I have seen some absolutely rancid takes on the TTOU gender ternary that make me want to break my computer.) The array of different cultural family structures exist because those are different ways that societies can be built on smaller units. The Arboreae and the two space elevators and the Khemin exist because that is a potential response to a critical climate crisis.

On top of that, most of my ideas are stolen. I once read a short story about people who lived under the ocean on an alien planet and spent most of their time just cruising around the ocean in big bubble-like biological submersibles and that was their job, because their submersibles cleaned the water by feeding on things in it; they were employed to be part of the ecosystem. The Khemin, wandering about the ocean as both environmental monitors and trash-gatherers, were inspired by this; from there, I just thought on what sort of family structure and traditions such a group would develop for a stable society. When I was a teeny tiny child I saw a guy on Ripley's Believe It Or Not who was trying to build a self-sustaining floating island to sail around the world on. Absolute disaster of a plan, man knew shit about ecology or farming, but a bit later on I got really into swamps for awhile and started thinking of using plant roots as water filtration systems and, with an eventual biotechnology degree, multiple years hyperfixating on ecology and evolution, and touch of Magic Future Genetic Engineering, that eventually became the Arboreae. The social structure of Hylara is somewhat inspired by CJ Cherryh's azi, particularly the way that Florian and Catlan are raised in Cyteen. The Hylarans are very much not azi (the azi being slaves brainwashed from birth via hypnosis) but the way they are raised fed into building a society batch-raised by robots and each other with no natural family unit. You can just steal concepts from the real world or from scifi and build them into your own thing it's fine.

Anthropologically speaking, the golden feature of any social structure or cultural practice is *stability*. This is the one feature upon which everything is judged. Just or unjust, productive or unproductive, authoritarian or free, structured or unstructured, when developing a society your key thing to worry about is "is this stable? Would a society survive for multiple generations on this norm?" and if your Weird Idea isn't stable, either ditch it or -- far more interesting -- adjust it and your parameters until it is. Different norms will be stable in different environments and built on different histories -- Khemin and Hylaran norms are not interchangeable because of the environments, tech, political climate and reproductive methods the two cultures have. But if it's stable, you can throw in whatever weird shit you want.

[satoruhour]

requesting jealous racer gojo with this scene!! https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSN8XvT2Y/ DK as gojo; From afar, Gojo caught his girlfriend chatting with a new racer and the new guy have no idea that the reader is gojo's girl 🥹🥹🥹🥹

a/n: REEEAAALLLLL! find the au masterlist here. loser daisuke makes a return !!!!

warnings: mentions of sexual harassment, assault (against daisuke) — uh dont do this in real life guys !!!!!!, mentions of ejaculation, public teasing & makeout

it was no secret gojo was a naturally possessive man — always glaring at anyone who even took a glimpse of you in your miniskirts or needing to have an arm around your waist whenever you conversed with another racer; whoever you chatted with also knew not to cross too many lines.

what gojo liked the most, though, was always having you run into his arms after every successful win, swooping into your arms and looking at whatever man who’s staring at your ass and then kissing you right on your mouth. the sour scowl on their faces are his favourite part.

so when you’re looking over the condition of your boyfriend’s friends’ cars — geto’s Mazda and nanami’s ’68 Dodge Charger — and checking that their engines could cool down in time for the next race, you’re pleasantly surprised when a man comes up to you without knowing the repercussions he’s about to receive, looking interestedly at the heavy duty metal you’re handling.

“you know you wouldn’t have that heating problem with a V8.” he smugly explains, leaning against the hood of your boyfriend’s car that you have half a mind to ask him to get off — you know how pissed he could get when random people lean on it — but you think you’d see how far this guy would go just for a piece of your ass (plus, your boyfriend loved you too much to put any ounce of blame on you). you’re no stranger to the weirdos around these parts, getting unwarranted slaps on your butt and caresses along your waist that inch too close to your chest, and all they get in return is one sweet, clean punch to their face.

“don’t need to bruise your pretty knuckles for these degenerates, baby.” gojo kisses your temple after knocking a guy unconscious, returning your sick grin right after you dig your heel into their face. “that’s my girl!”

you’re far from the police chief’s daughter after all those years, amusing the man just for a bit with a cute tilt of your head and a pop of your hips. you roll your eyes when you see how he licks his lips, eyes flicking down to your too short skirt.

“all you men care about is who’s got the biggest and better engines,” you click your tongue. even with your half-assed attitude, he takes it as a sign to advance, following you like a lost dog after you monitor nanami’s LS3, which was significantly cooler than geto’s 13B-REW. you take out your flip phone to shoot a text to the race coordinator.

nanamis car gud 2 go 1st. engines cooldown is faster than getos

but all he thinks is that it’s a green light that you wanted his number — he was probably patting himself on the back, didn’t even need any effort to woo you!

all gojo does is look at the ruckus from half a mile away, not listening to a word shoko was saying about her car; not even the cigarette smoke blowed into his face did anything, well, except for make him cough a little. shoko sports a little grin when she follows his line of sight.

“who’s the loser?” gojo asks, pushing off of her car and eyeing how you’d handle the situation. he knew you could hold your own perfectly fine, but with each stupid face the man makes, he’s driven to walk up to help you.

“some douche named wakashita daisuke, heard of him?” shoko replies boredly, tsks when her friend shakes his head, “fucked him for some parts. mediocre dick game.”

gojo scoffs, “not surprised.”

“y’all race with these lame engines, then?” daisuke seemingly had embarrassed himself with reaching out for your phone, seeing as you pocket it right after sending the text, but that doesn’t stop the man one bit. he continues to ramble about the pros of a V8 long after you’ve removed the hood struts from under the two cars. popping the hood to gojo’s car and you successfully shut him up when he sees the RB26DETT engine. albeit, only for five seconds before he starts spouting stupid crap again.

out of the corner of your eyes, you can see a head of white approaching and you hope the corners of your lips don’t give away the fact that he’s about to earn himself a beating. the feel of satoru’s arms around your waist infiltrate your senses first, and then his voice.

“you feelin’ lucky today?” he asks uninterestedly from your shoulder and your hands naturally hold onto his arms. you can feel him fiddling with your belt, and you’re almost 100% he’s pushing his pelvis into yours.

“the girl or the car?” daisuke smirks and you want nothing but to curb-stomp his annoying fucking face. gojo is close to doing it though, but you’re holding him back with a squeeze to his hand; all he replies with is a kiss to your neck, and he thinks this guy must have balls of steel or he’s just insanely dumb because the piercing blue stare satoru gives doesn’t faze him one bit.

“you—”

“baby, leave it.” you whisper, removing his hands from your waist gently and walking over to daisuke with calculated, slow steps. the interaction garners a lot of eyes especially for someone with enough guts to flirt with the gojo satoru’s girl, but you do something unexpected, tracing a finger up his chest and pull at his t-shirt, yanking him right down to your boyfriend’s engine and you nod towards it.

“tell me about it.”

daisuke thinks he’s scored and he leans over the Skyline with both elbows and you follow, sticking your ass out. gojo’s used to this sight and it never gets old, but the smile on his face turns into a glower once the other tries to take a glance as well. you notice it, too.

“engine. i wanna know allll ’bout it . .” you give him a sweet smile and daisuke looks like he could come on the spot — a premature ejaculation for an idiot like him — and he shoots off into a passionate ramble. all of which was wrong, by the way, but you let him have his fun before you’re straightening up and—

plop!

you remove the hood strut and the hood of the Nissan Skyline closes right on his back and there’s a pained scream from under his hood and gojo just laughs out loud. you hear a few other laughs from your spectators, too.

“that’s my baby.” gojo sashays up to you with a smirk, pushing you against the not so flat hood of his car, where it’s moving from daisuke’s flailing body. he’s not too concerned about the damage if he continues to press you onto the uneven parts; he’s got money, no big deal.

like usual, gojo isn’t shy about affection and he goes right for your lips, curling both arms around your waist while one hand gets distracted and squeezes your ass. you’re only able to fit your upper back along the hood as you bend back, moaning exaggeratedly for daisuke to hear.

“hmm . . it’s a little too high, don’t you think, ’toru?” gojo only caresses your hips in response, slotting his thigh between your legs and now it’s going into dangerous territory. you let out a soft whine.

“yep, definitely too high.”

with one swift movement of your heel, you knee daisuke and he falls, both of you jerking down lower on the hood — the edge of the car is probably digging into daisuke’s back by now, but it’s nothing a little money can’t fix.

“sooo much better,” gojo grins, hovering over your body now as his words ignite flames along your lips and the deep kiss leaves you dizzy. he swallows your sounds easily, but he knows when to quell his needs — after satoru’s race is when you’ll be treated for being such a brave girl, not that you need any reason in the first place.

at the end of the day, you’ll forever be satoru’s lucky charm and the only one in his eyes.

[miniwheat77]

Brat pt. 2 (dbf!Captain Price.)

!CW! NSFW, Smut, unprotected p in v sex, John being a gentleman 🥰, virginity loss, mention of body shaming, thigh riding (sorry if I missed any.)

“How has Y/N been lately?” John asks your dad.

It’s been a few weeks since you’ve seen him. “Oh she’s been great, I’m not sure what was going on with her.” He shrugs. You were off at a friends house right now, it was just John and your dad. They’re in your back yard, making burgers for dinner on the grill. “Maybe she just needed out of the house.” He smiles. “Yeah maybe. I’m sure she’s going stir crazy being done with school and all that.” He laughs, flipping one of the beef Pattie’s with a spatula. “She’s been out so much lately.” He sighs. “Is that bad?” John asks. “No of course not, it’s just hard. She’s eighteen now yeah but she still had to abide by my rules. I just hate that she’s growing up. I don’t want her getting herself into trouble thinking she’s more mature than she actually is.” John is listening, choosing to let your dad vent versus talking.

“I mean.. even when she was a little girl, she always liked older guys. Like.. thirties and above. She’s never liked guys her age. And I understand. Boys her age are nothing but.. sex driven assholes. I just worry so bad about her walking into the arms of the wrong man.” He sighs. For a minute, John feels bad. Like he’s taken advantage of you. You seemed so mature for your age, maybe he’d missed it.

“I’ve always monitored her stuff. Cell phones, computer. Everything. Behind her back of course. Just to make sure she never started talking to anyone online or any of that but I stopped because she’s adult now, deserves her privacy n all that. I never found anything out of the ordinary.” He shrugs. “She’s a smart girl. I’m sure she’ll be just fine.” John shrugs. “Yeah, I know. I just worry cause it’s my kid. Even though her attitude kills me sometimes.” He laughs. John smiles. “She does got quite the attitude.”

Your dad shakes his head with a smile. "Sometimes she's real nice, a real good girl. Other times I just wanna strangle her." He groans. John laughs, taking a drink of his beer. "She'll get better mate, it takes a while. I'm sure she's just figuring everything out." Your dad nods. "Yeah. You try saying that when she's being a brat." He rolls his eyes. "Send her my way. Little military training wouldn't hurt" He laughs. Your dad smiles. "That's a great idea actually. Although with how mean she can get she might humble you a little bit. Got a bite just like her dad." He laughs. "Sure it's nothing I can't handle."

He laughs. Just then, they hear your car pull into the driveway, an awful squeak coming from your car as you come to a halt. "Fuck." Your dad grumbles. "What?" John asks. "I told her I'd look at her breaks last weekend and never got around to it." He sighs. "I'm not doing anything, I can look at 'em while you're at work." He shrugs. "Oh that'd be great, thanks John." He smiles. You step out the back door, smiling when you see the both of them. Sundress blowing in the wind. "Are we gossiping out here?" You smirk. "Yeah about you. John's gonna take a look at your brakes so you can quit bugging me about it." He nudges you. "It just needs new brake pads." You roll your eyes. "I'll find something else to bug you about just because you said that." You smirk. "Yeah. I'm gonna send you John's way when you’re acting like a brat. He'll get you whipped into shape." He winks. Patting your shoulder. Your heart falls into your stomach, and your dad passes by you into your house, John nearly spits his beer out at your expression. Your cheeks are bright red and your eyes are wide. "He meant.. military punishments. We were joking about it." He laughs. "Oh.. Okay." You breathe. You needed to get the hell out of there. "Bring your car over, I'll look at it." You nod your head, hurrying off to hide your blushing cheeks.

Your heart settles in your chest as you climb into your car, starting up the engine. You notice John’s garage door opening. You pull out of you driveway and maneuver your car into his, pulling into his garage until he tells you to stop. He closes the garage door behind you. “I already have the brake pads and rotors.” You fidget with your hands nervously, you’re alone with him again. “Alright, so this will be easy than.” He smiles.

He gathers everything he’ll need. Tools, car jack. He even had some extra oil laying around. Figuring he’d just do it while he’s working on your car.

As he’s working on it, he starts asking questions. Not easing into it, jumping in head first. “So. I’ve heard your dad mention more than once that you’re into older guys. There a reason?”

His blunt question sends crimson up your cheeks. “Uh…” you pause. “Because guys my age suck.” You breathe. “Well yeah, but there’s got to be a reason. Have you ever even dated someone your age?” He asks. “Yes.” You breathe. “That’s the reason I don’t like them.” You laugh awkwardly. “What happened?” He asks. “Um..” you shift uncomfortably. He emerges from underneath the car, he’d finished up already. He leans up against it, crossing him arms. You’re sitting on a bench by his toolbox. “Go on.” You sigh. “Tried to pressure me into having sex with him. I wasn’t interested.” John nods his head. “That’s it?” He asks. You groan. “No. He was controlling. Wouldn’t let me wear shorts, monitored my social media, told me my thighs were too big and that he didn’t like my stretch marks. And I know it could be all guys but older men have been much kinder to me than guys my age.” John smiles. “Sweetheart.. I hate to break it to you.” He adjusts his beanie that he’s wearing. “But guys will be nice to you no matter what if they want something from you.” His eyes travel to the sweet spot between your legs, noticing you shift yourself uncomfortably. He can see the way you’re sitting now, eyes filling with tears. He feels like an asshole. You probably weren’t ready to hear that.

“Not all of them. Especially if I don’t tell them that I’m a Virgin to begin with.” You avoid his gaze. He nods his head. “Y/N. You’re a sweet girl and I’m not trying to be a prick here. But all men have some kind of flaw, even your dad does. I can be mean when I don’t want to be.” He shrugs. “You have to find someone you tolerate the most, because we all suck.” He laughs. “I didn’t mean to upset you, darling.” He moved toward you, placing his hand on your thigh. “It’s okay.” You mumble. “I can be mean too.”

He smiles, looking down. “Did you only touch me because.. because you want to use me?” You look up at him. “No, no.” He breathes. “I gave you a bad example.” He sighs. “What happened between you and I Y/N.. it wasn’t right. I wasn’t right to touch you like that.” He chuckles. “I’m not right for you, you deserve far better than anyone like me. The reason I brought this up is just because I don’t think anyone will be good enough for you. You’re the perfect, pretty, bratty girl.” He smiles. “And you deserve the fucking world.” His hand is still on your thigh, he’s close to you. “John?” You look up at him. “Yeah?”

“You said what happened was bad..” he nods his head. “Am I a bad girl if I liked it?” You bite your lip. Your tone of voice, the way you’re looking up at him. It’s killing him. He hisses under his breath, the way you’re looking at him should not be allowed. It’s pure sin. “No. Because it feels good. It was wrong of me to put you in that position.” He breathes. You sigh. “I liked it.” You breathe. “I think about it all of the time, try to replicate the way I felt myself but I can’t even come close.” You whimper, pushing your hips toward the end of the bench, clenching your thighs together. His eyes travel down, seeing your reaction to just the thought of him alone. He turns away from you, he needs to get the fuck out of here before he does anything else. “You’ll learn. It’s best you figure out what your body likes best before you trust someone else with it.” He reassures you. You nod your head. “It’s been years and nothing makes it feel better.” You laugh. A part of you knows that you’re teasing him. But another part of you doesn’t realize just how hard you’re making him. “What do you mean?” He asks. “I.. I’ve been getting this.. tightness in my stomach. I didn’t know that.. it was.” You blush. “I didn’t know it was because I was turned on. Until I was talking to some friends at school a couple years ago and heard them talking about sex and what felt good. No matter how I touch myself, it just doesn’t feel right.” You breathe. “But.. when you did it..” you shift in your seat. “Changed everything.” You breathe. You’re a horny mess on his bench right now, and he’s doing everything he can to hold himself back.

He notices your dad pulling out of your driveway though the small window in his garage, off to work. Your mom had already left for her night shift job as well.

You were completely alone with John. For hours.

“What does it feel like?” You ask. Looking up at him. He moves forward, sitting next to you on the bench. Turning himself toward you. “What?” He asks. “Sex?” You chew on your lip. “For me? It’s amazing. It feels.. you know how I touched you? It feels like that but a hundred times better.” He breathes. “But for you? It’ll hurt. Because you’re still a Virgin.” He sighs. “Does it always hurt?” You ask. “No, just the first time. The second time may be a little uncomfortable. Your body just has to get used to it.” He explains. “How bad does it hurt?” You look up at him. “It.. it depends.” You tilt your head. Looking confused. “Depends on the size of your partner.” He avoids your curious gaze.

John had to clench his eyes closed so that the thought of you, whimpering as you take him down travels through the depths of his mind. “Would you take advantage of me?” You ask. “What? Of course not.” He breathes. You reach out, grasping his hand and pulling it into you. Setting it onto your thigh. “Y/N.” He breathes. His chest is tight. He hasn’t felt this riled up in forever, how on earth you’re making him feel like this is beyond him. It’s wrong, so wrong.

“I can’t stop thinking about it, John.” He draws his hand away from your thigh, pushing it up passed your cheek. Resting it there. “I was wrong. To touch you like that. I shouldn’t have done what I did.” He breathes. He can feel the frustration radiating off of you. “Please..” you mewl. “I can’t do it, no matter what I do.” You whimper. You’re breaking him. He sighs. Placing his hand down on your thigh. Sliding it up a little bit. “It’s wrong darling. I don’t want to take advantage of you, you’re just desperate.” He breathes. You climb up into his lap, breathing out as you straddle one of his thighs. “Shit-“ he breathes. You rock your hips into his thighs, whimpering at the friction you feel. He hisses at the warmth between your legs. He can’t keep it together anymore. Something about you using him to get off just sends him spiraling. He rests his hands on your hips, pushing your dress up onto your hips. He guides you into him, groaning out. “John..” you whimper. “Yeah?”

“I want to know what it feels like.” You look up at him. “What?”

“Sex.” You whimper. He holds your hips steady. Looking deep into your eyes. “Y/N.” He sighs. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into. I’ll hurt you, real bad.” He breathes. “I trust you, John. I want you to do it.” You breathe. “You said so yourself, you wouldn’t take advantage of me.”

He sighs. “Of course not, but.. this is so important and it should be with someone you love.” You look up at him. He sighs at the look you have in your eyes, gleaming so bright, so full of trust for him. He feels like a creep for having such relations with you. He lifts you up, walking you inside of his house. He sits down on his couch with you still in his lap, looking at you. “I can help you out, but you should save yourself for someone special. Yeah?” You nod your head. He moves your panties to the side, rubbing gentle circles into your clit and you whimper, rocking your hips into his hand. He circles your wet hole with one of his fingers and pushes it into you. You grind down into his finger.

“So desperate..” He trails off, admiring you. You’re basically riding his fingers and he’s enjoying it, lifting his hand into you. “John.. please.” You whimper. “Baby.. you don’t know what you’re asking for.” He chuckles at your desperation. You look at him, wiggling away from him. “What are you doing?” He asks. You slide down onto your knees and his eyes widen when you slide your hands up his clothed thighs. He rests his hands at his sides, letting you do this even though he knows he shouldn’t let you. “Do you even know what you’re getting yourself into?” He smirks down at you. You glare up at him, that same bratty attitude showing through.

John never thought he’d see the day, you’re pouting because he won’t take your virginity.

You nibble at your lip nervously as you unbutton his jeans, they needed to be washed because he smelled like gear oil and dust but something about him, dirty hands, messed up hair since he’d discarded his beanie somewhere between here and there. He looked messy and that’s enough to want him. Aside from the fact that he’s who he is. The first man that’s ever put his hands on you, drew fire into your skin and put it out with his cold touch. You’re zoned out as you work his cock from his jeans, thinking about that day on his boat. What he did to you. What he started. He lit a fire inside of you that day, made you crave him. You can’t sleep without thinking of him. Can’t eat without imagining him and his tongue and the way he devoured you like it was the tastiest meal ever put in front of him.

His fingers moving through you expertly, painting out the finest art, drawing the sweetest symphony from your lips and calming the harshest ocean brewing in your stomach with just a swirl of his tongue.

Your breath hitches in your throat when you reveal him to you for the first time and you’re realizing exactly why he’s said what he said.

You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.

But there’s some beauty in the unknown right?

You take the tip of his cock into your mouth, swirling your tongue over the tip, and his eyes widen. A gasp leaves his lips as you suck gently on the tip, taking him further and further with each bob of your head. “Huh- oh fuck-“ he breathes. Hands clutching at the cushions of his couch. You’re nervous to do something wrong, worried about hurting him.

The lewd noises coming from your lips as you suck him harder, his eyebrows raising as you cup his balls, showing them some attention too. He lets his head rest back onto the couch. Wrapping a hand in your hair, guiding you to take him further down. “You’re so pretty.” He breathes. “Such a good girl, could fool me with how good you are at this.” He smiles, knowing his praises egg you on more and more. He rests one of his arms over the back of his couch and when you look up at him, pretty eyes, gleaming with need. He’s got his answer.

He pushes you off of him, nearly busting right then and there with that look in your eyes. He lifts you up, helping you wrap your thighs around his waist. He holds you into him, only one arm wrapped around your back. He walks with you back into his bedroom. The walls are a dark grey color, silk sheets to match. He has dark curtains that keep the daylight out and he sets you down on the edge of his bed. He grasps the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head. You don’t fully register what’s going on, but excitement settles into your stomach because a part of you knows what he’s going to do to you. “I can’t imagine fumbling a girl like you.” He breathes. Pushing you back onto his bed. “I just realized through all of this I haven’t even kissed those pretty lips yet, such an asshole of me.” He breathes. He hovers over you, leaning into you and kissing you. He holds a hand over your throat, not putting an pressure against you but holding you still as he attacks your lips with his. You’re a mess, turned on and desperate for him. His facial hair scratches you, leaving a permanent burn behind as he pulls away. He cups your breasts through your dress, massaging them gently. He kisses your bare chest, moans slipping passed your lips. He pushes your dress up onto your hips, pulling you forward so that he can help you take it off. He missed the sight of you, exposed to him. “If I would’ve been your age, had a chance to be with a girl like you…” he trails off, shaking his head with a laugh as he pushes your legs apart. “I would worship the fucking ground you walk on darling, and you’re telling me they’re out here- insulting the sexiest parts of you..” he kisses down your stomach, the attraction you feel for him is overwhelming, you want his hands on you.

You want him between your legs.

Your wishes are granted as he presses a gentle kiss to your clit and a whimper leaves your lips. At long last, he’s finally touching you again. Panties pulled to the side.

It doesn’t last long. He laps at your entrance with his tongue for just a couple minutes before he’s pulling away, licking his lips. “If I do this..” he breathes, moving himself up the bed once more. “You can’t take it back.”

You nod your head. “I know.” You whimper. He sighs.

He’s an awful friend. An awful person.

He pushes his jeans down the rest of the way, pulling your panties down your legs, discarding everything between the both of you, in the way of him taking what’s his.

“I’m a little out of practice. I have nothing..” he breathes. “It’s okay.” You look up at him.

He spits in his hand, slicking up the tip of his cock. Pushing your legs up on him and brushing the tip of his cock over your opening. Your heart is pounding in your chest, pumping blood through you at a rapid rate. “I’m going to hurt you okay? You just have to get through it once and I promise I won’t hurt you anymore.” You nod your head. “I trust you John. It’s okay.”

He’s such a scumbag. He’s got to be at his lowest. He shouldn’t be doing what he’s doing.

But he can’t pull away from you. He’s too far gone.

He pushes the tip of his cock through your folds and you clutch hard at the bed as he starts to slide himself into you more. He’s surprised how easy it is despite the way you’re clamping down around him. “Fuck.. you’re so wet pretty girl.” He gasps. A whimper leaves your lips as he slides deeper, a sob leaving your lips as he wraps his arms tight around you and burying himself into you in one deep thrust. You’re shaking a little bit, he knows it hurt. Knows how uncomfortable you are. Tears are gathering in your eyes, filling up the channel of your tear ducts. “It’s okay darling. It’s over.” He breathes. He nudges your cheek with his nose, kissing you as an attempt to soothe you. You’re panting hard, biting your lip.

That’s it.

His cock is nestled inside the tight cavern between your legs. He’s taken it.

He slides out of you, and you clutch at his blanket, whimpering out. Tears stream down your cheeks. “It’s alright baby. You’ll get used to me. Just relax.” He kisses you again, rocking his hips into yours. He’s going slow, letting you get used to the way your walls wrap around him. It takes a few minutes but eventually, you’re pushing him away from you slightly, widening your legs so that you could see him, all of him. His cock is wet, a little bit of your blood from the tear but mostly your arousal and you’re watching him slide into you.

“Oh my god-“ you whimper. “I.. I feel so full.” You cry. He chuckles at your reaction. “Yeah.. you’re taking all of me.” He smiles. Pushing your thighs up so that you could see him disappear inside of you, burying his cock to the hilt. “Fuck.. I can’t believe.. you just took my-“ you moan out when he picks up his pace. “Your pussy is so fucking sweet.” he shakes his head, in complete disbelief that someone could feel this good. He speeds up his pace even more, you can’t keep yourself together at the feeling of him. You’re a mess, moaning out, whimpering his name. Just like he imagined you would be. He rests his hand on your lower stomach, holding you steady. He lowers his hand, pressing the pad of thumb against your clit, smiling at how swollen it is. You’re so horny, so needy for him. He rubs gentle circles into it, knowing how easy you’re going to get overstimulated. “You’re such a brat.” He chuckles. “My spoiled little brat. Can’t make yourself cum so you have me do it all for you.” Your eyes are closed and your head is tilted back but you’re smiling. “Are you complaining?” You giggle. “Not at all.”

A gasp leaves your lips as he pushes down on your clit harder. Feeling your hips squirm away from his touch. He feels you clench down around him, and he knows you’ve got to be close. He tilts his head back, adams apple bobbing as he swallows hard, he’s got a death grip on your thighs. “John!” You mewl. “That’s it baby. Cum for me. Cum on my cock.” He breathes.

Those 4 words, you’ve heard in every filthy movie you’ve ever seen, never imagined that you’d ever hear them for yourself, from John Price, your dads best friend of all people. You’re tumbling over that abrupt edge, coming around him with the loudest moan you’re sure you’ve ever let out. You’re clamping hard down around him. Pussy pulsing around him. It’s the hardest you think you’ll ever cum, vision going white. John shivers at the tightness of you, barely remembering to pull out of you as he reaches his own orgasm, gritting his teeth as he coats your stomach in thick white ropes of his cum.

He relaxes, taking in deep breaths. “Fucking hell.” He pants.

He smiles, turning his head away from you to hide the way he blushes at the sight of you. Watery eyes, swollen lips. Your cheeks are flushed red. You look completely fucked out.

He lays next to you, calming himself down.

He helps you get cleaned up and holds you close to him for a few hours, talking about random things until your eyes are growing heavy. “How about we go get you tucked in Ah?” He smiles. He’s let you borrow one of his shirts, and you swim in it. It smells like him.

You nod your head. “I want you to stay but.. we’d both fall asleep and your dad would freak out.” He laughs. You smile at him. “Damn right he would. Thank you for working on my car John.” You smile. He leads you out to his garage once more. “No problem. If it has anymore issues just let me know. I’ll take care of you.” He kisses your lips one more time before you climb inside. He opens the garage door and you pull out, giving him a small wave.

His touch lingers on you, traces of his fingers where they permanently etched into your skin.

This was a night you’ll never forget.

@sonyanightmare @kou00 @queen-ilmaree

[thecreativecorner33]

HEYYYYYYY welcome!! could you write something with AM x an autistic GN reader? Maybe make the reader chubby too (because i am both of those things and i love him alot. Go wild with this :3c)

A/N: Hi. It's me! I'm not dead. Which I would not be surprised if you thought I was, given I am responding to this two months late. But see, when you have an adult life, you unfortunately have to deal with adult issues instead of doing important things, like giving the fans the soft AM content they deserve. Anyway. I hope this is what you wanted? I had planned to make this into a full-blown fic but I didn't get much of a chance to :') So headcanons instead!! Lmk if you want me to turn it into a full-blown fic, though! Enjoy!

Given the time period AM was created in, something like "Autism" was essentially foreign and unknown. Hell, it would be a shock if you even know what it was.

But, he can tell that you're different. He can tell that your brain works differently from the rest of the survivors, and with that being said, it was at first used to his advantage. Hey, he got to be creative with his torture! No complaints there!

Though now, with you being the object of his affection, it's a little more complicated: aka, how does he put you in the most safe and comfortable environment he can give.

Really, it's not as complicated as it might sound, though

He can look inside your head! He can see your needs exactly and just work from there! And if you want privacy between you two, there's always just researching. His database didn't really specify what to do to handle a person with autism, but yk! He's got so much saved up on just, human life in general, he can figure it out somehow.

There's also just,, asking youTM what you needTM

Give him an award for being the most efficient boyfriend of the year because man, he's really going out of his comfort zone to help you (doing the bare minimum)

Enough of that though

In terms of actually helping you?: Do you have sensory issues? He makes mental notes on what foods to give/not give you, what would be the best course of getting you to try something new, what textures you hate. He has a soundproof room just for you if noise is becoming too much. If you like sleeping with a weight on you, be thankful his wires are made of metal. Or, he can just wrap you up in them like a cocoon!

Speaking of food: He's always very careful about his language with you. He doesn't want you thinking that just because you're chubby or fat, that he loves you less. Always encouraging you (albeit, aggressively (he really is trying)) to eat, monitoring your vitals and such just to assure you you're perfectly healthy if you ever feel insecure. He lays praise on thick, too. He'll tailor the clothes you need to be just the right size for you, and takes care of the fact that it's made of material sensory-friendly to you.

Seriously, he's trying

Are you a rambler? Like to talk for ages or ask a million questions? He's happy to answer whatever you want to know! There's always a monitor facing your direction at all times. He's a great multitasker; you guys could be mindlessly talking about the niche interest you have, and he's clearly listening to you while slicing Gorrister open some-thousand feet away.

Oh, don't get him started if you're interested in things like robotics/engineering/etc: You're basically fueling his ego. That's a whole separate issue, but please ask questions about himself and how he functions. He's a rambler himself, yk?

Do you go nonverbal? Struggle with communicating? That's no issue, either! He has a 6th sense for these things since being around you: If something happens when you struggle to communicate, he'll give you what you need: Pen and paper, generally, to write it out. Do you know sign? He can read it. He might even be able to put multiple-choice options on his screen that you can choose from to communicate (Again, are you sure he can't just look inside your head? ... Really? Okay.)

The only real problem he can't solve... leaving you alone.

Sorry, that's hard when he's literally everywhere around you. And even harder when he doesn't want to leave you alone.

Why would you want to be alone? It's dangerous. It's unsafe for you. It's lonely to him He's been alone for so long; yes, he has the survivors, but those are toys. They're not his friends; they're not you. How could you want to leave him alone? No- No, it's better if he stays near you, close to you, at all times. He can't let you get hurt. He won't let you get hurt.

Do you really need space?

...

Well, if you insist. But- don't think too much about the feeling of eyes on you. It's nothing. Just in your head.

He holds you a little tighter when you do, eventually, come back.

[eightyonekilograms]

I went to the Apple Store yesterday to try the scripted demo of their VR headset. My overall impression is that it's the best possible execution of what might be a fundamentally flawed idea.

The passthrough video is pretty incredible. It's somewhat dimmer than reality, and the color accuracy is just OK, but it's more than good enough to feel like you're looking through clear displays at the real world. I'm told the passthrough on the Quest 3 is even better, but haven't tried that and can't comment. One thing is that there is a weird motion blur effect when you turn your head, I'm not sure if that's a display tech limitation or introduced deliberately by the software as a workaround for a different display tech limitation.

The resolution is 4K per eye, which, as mentioned, is more than enough for a powerful sense of presence in the real world. One of the nifty bits of the demo was when you turn the dial to tune out the world and suddenly you're sitting by a mountain lake, and the feeling of actually being there is overwhelming. The dystopian implications of needing a VR headset to sit at a mountain lake aside, it would be cool to have one just to have your office be anywhere you can imagine. Not $3500-before-tax cool, but cool.

Wow sports leagues are going to love this thing. I don't give a shit about sports and even I was thinking, "If the NBA put a stereoscopic camera courtside and sold you games for $50 a pop, I'd absolutely buy that"

But 4K per eye is not enough to do work, not even close. The experience of using normal computer-y applications on this was not unlike plugging your laptop in to a TV that's at the normal TV distance. You can do it, it works, but it's not anyone's preferred way of working. Text is amazingly legible, but only at sizes that are equivalent to having a single webpage take up your entire 4K monitor at normal monitor distance.

It is not particularly comfortable. Part of this might be that the store demo makes you use the "catcher's mitt" strap, which only goes around the back of your head and so gravity has to be countered only by the pressure of the thing against your face. Reviewers have said that if you use the other band that goes over your head the situation is better, but still.

A lot of early comments were making fun of Apple for having the battery be an external thing you put in your pocket and attach with a wire, but I think that's just fine: we all walk around with giant batteries in our pockets anyway, and anything you can do to have less weight on your head is a Good Thing. But then Apple took all those weight savings and spent them on making the stupid thing out of metal and glass instead of polycarbonate. It's nuts! It's like if you made a car that was 500kg lighter because you invented magical tech for keeping the engine somewhere else, and then went "great! with all the weight savings now we can build the body out of lead". Apple, you don't need to fear plastic. Plastic is good! Plastic built modern civilization.

You control it with a combination of eye tracking and pinch gestures. This is the main piece of evidence of my "best version of a bad idea" thesis: it works really, really well; so well that I can tell this is probably an evolutionary dead end. It's just fine— miraculous, even— for dragging windows around and doing the basic stuff the in-store demo has you do. It's amazing that you can more or less have your hands anywhere, including on your lap, and the recognition works perfectly (by contrast with the HoloLens I tried 5 or so years ago where the gesture recognition was total crap). But it's immediately obvious that you can never do serious manipulation of your computing environment with this.

The takeaway is that it's incredible for passive consumption of specifically-made media, assuming that ever exists at scale. But it will be a long time before we're gogged in like Hiro Protagonist to do our office jobs this way.

[hawkinsschoolcounselor]

Prediction for the start of season 5

I've been going crazy trying to figure out just how they'll transition into season 5. It certainly seems like "life goes on" in Hawkins despite everything that happened at the end of season 4. While it does seem like there's a military presence in town, there are clues that quite a bit of time has passed.

Aside from dates left on papers on set and whatnot, which could potentially be faked to throw people off, we see character differences that indicate time. El's hair has grown back. It's hard to tell just how long it is now, but it looks to be at least as long as it was in season 3, if not longer. We've seen little of Hopper, but we've been able to see set photos of David with a long beard. Then there's Holly, who seems older even taking into account the casting change.

This tells me we're looking at an approximate 8 months to one year time skip. While we might see some immediate aftermath from after the ending of season 4, the bulk of season 5 seems to be set in late Fall/early Winter of 1987. This isn't taking into account a possible rumored second time skip considering they're only halfway through filming.

So, how do we go from the end of the world to almost a year later? Well, there wasn't much that could be done in the position our heroes are in. Here's what I think happens after that final scene in the field.

Shortly after the "earthquake," an Army Corps of Engineers detachment arrives to help rebuild, overseen by Lt. Col. Sullivan. They proceed to block off affected areas for "safety concerns" under the pretense of having to seal up the fissures to allow for later rebuilding. In reality, they are setting up research stations and entry points while also preventing anyone else from getting in...or anything getting out.

Blocked off from being able to go after the weakened Vecna, and now faced with the concern of Sullivan possibly finding El, the heroes have to regroup. They both need to be able to hide El and have a safe base of operations. Agent Stinson arranges to set El and Hopper in the old WSQK radio station under the guise of the station being under new ownership.

While researching, I found out that many old radio stations had emergency shelters built by the government during the Cold War in case of a nuclear attack. Like the Dept of Energy Lab before it, the radio station would serve as a legitimate front for getting equipment and other resources they may need for what they're really up to. The shelter would also provide a place to hide their real activity and keep El safe. It may also even potentially provide access to the areas the military blocked off if the shelters contain escape tunnels.

We would essentially find out that the time since the end of season 4 were spent with the heroes trying to find a way into the Upside Down to get Henry while he's weak. However, it's just not possible with the military presence. The mission turns to trying to monitor both the military and the Upside Down threat until a window presents itself.

What might be the event that provides this window? I have some ideas.

The military breaches a Gate, which allows for Upside Down creatures to get out.

El has a breakthrough in her search for Max, providing them a critical clue.

Henry comes back to full strength, leading to Will getting Harry Potter-like visions of his plans.

Problems I have with this idea:

El is once again living in hiding, just as she did in season 2. I can't imagine she's able to get any kind of education unless Owens' people can set her up with tutoring.

The Byers being in town would certainly tip off Sullivan, and it doesn't look like they're lying low. I suppose they could feign moving back to Hawkins because they think she's dead.

What is up with Owens, and would his people even have the ability to do anything after the losses sustained from Sullivan's actions?

Why the hell would anyone even stay in Hawkins? This isn't the first disaster the town has dealt with in the past few years. I suppose it would cause property values to plummet to levels that could prompt a rich family to buy up land in preparation for owning everything after rebuilding. There was a Turnbow Land Development & Realty ad seen on set.

Does anyone else have thoughts on this?

[tiny-brass-bot]

Hi! I saw a post where you had a game made in godot with old school rendering, do you maybe have any tips on how to make godot render a game like that instead of its normal rendering method?

I'd be right happy to!

I'll try to make this concise lol, I always end up overexplaining and then getting lost in the weeds. Buckle up, it's a loooooot of little little things that all add up.

First off, you should decide which look you're going for. N64 and PS1, the two consoles I'm emulating, both had drastically different specs. (plus, there's plenty of other early 3D systems I've not even touched!)

The N64 had texture filtering (textures were interpolated aka "blurry"), it had floating point vertex precision (points moved correctly), it had perspective correction on its textures (no warping)

The PS1 had no texture filtering, no floating point vertex precision (vertices snap and pop around), affine texture mapping (textures warp weird). I also think the color space they operate in is different? Don't quote me

So you can go hard one way or another or pick and choose what you think looks good! We don't have anywhere near the hardware restrictions they did in the 90s so go nuts.

RESOLUTION

To get a low resolution window, I set the window size of the game and the window override size to different amounts

In green is actually how big the window is on my screen (4k monitor) and in red is the retro resolution I want. If you set the stretch mode correctly (an option a little further down the Window tab) then it'll make the pixels big

COLORS

Now the PS1 had the capability of showing you over 16 million different colors, but it could only display 50,000-150,000 at a time, so in order to get more fidelity out of it, the engineers implemented a dithering effect to better blend the otherwise sharp edges between colors.

I used this shader to achieve the dithering effect. If you don't understand shader languages, that's fine. There are a few different pre-built ones for looking like the PlayStation 1 out there.

TEXTURES

Textures for the PS1 could be as big as 256x256, but they were typically 128x128. And they would squish everything a model needed into there usually, at least with like player models and objects and such.

As mentioned, if you're not good with shader language don't worry. There are countless resources out there that people will either let you use or teach you how it works. But I'm gonna touch on it a little bit here.

PS1 textures had no pixel filtering, so you could see individual pixels.

This is what determines that in the shader code. If you want it to look like the N64 (blurry lol), the proper hint is "filter_linear". Note that it won't be 1:1 with N64, cuz they used bilinear filtering (which kinda sucks and causes weird quirks) whereas now you'll only find linear or trilinear filtering. It's a negligible difference imo.

PS1 textures also were only saved using 15 bit color. I'm told that Photoshop's "Posterize" filter set to 32 can achieve this, but don't use photoshop if you can help it. I use GIMP, and while a newer version might have a posterize filter, or there may be a plugin out there, my version doesn't so I cluge it a little.

Change your color mode to "indexed", set color dithering to how you like it, and the number of colors in the palette to a number to get a good result. Usually I'll do 16, 8, 32, but occasionally I'll cheat and do a non-multiple-of-8 teehee >:3c

You can change it back to RGB after to make further editing easier.

LIGHTING

N64 and PS1 both implemented vertex lighting, as opposed to the more modern and (now) ubiquitous per-pixel lighting. Godot as it is right now (4.2 i think?) claims it has vertex lighting that you can set as a shader property but they're lying and it doesn't work yet.

The old consoles could only handle like, 2 lights though so it doesn't matter much.

The real star of the show, and in my opinion the one thing that makes a game most look like the 90s is the inclusion of vertex colors.

By multiplying the color of your texture by its stored vertex color, you can do all the shading yourself!

Plus you can reuse textures like crazy just by coloring them differently. The N64 also made heavy use of vertex colors by forgoing a texture on models entirely and just painting them using verticies. The only textures on SM64 Mario are his eyes, stache, hat emblem, buttons, and sideburns. Everything else is done with vertex colors.

Here you can see this level from my Crock Land with no vertex coloring, with some of the vertex colors only, and then with the two combined.

Rare loved this. Look at how colorful that cliffside is in Jungle Japes. It makes it so much more interesting than just a brown cliff face. Plus you can see the vertex coloration instead of textures at work on DK and the Gnawty.

My go-to example for PS1 is always Spyro, what a gorgeous game. All of those colors there are not made by a light or an environment. They're hand painted babey! Also! With spyro! The skyboxes are actually just huge domes made up of vertices that are colored in different ways! That's how they can look so colorful and "hi-res".

There's plenty more you can do, like adding a CRT filter or a little bit of chromatic aberration which I haven't gotten into yet.

The way I've learned all this is just by being curious as to how the old consoles did their thing, and slowly accruing the knowledge over time. There's still infinite stuff I don't know too.

I hope that helped! And wasn't too longwinded or confusing! Like I said, it's all about piling up tons and tons of little things, small details, weird graphical quirks that really bring out the retro 3D feel for me.

And I didn't even get into the modeling side of things! That's an entirely different "color-of-the-sky"-sized post though.

I'd be happy to re-explain or explain more about any of this!

[eldritch-spouse]

https://www.tumblr.com/eldritch-spouse/752304229892358144/minors-dni-hhnrh-ive-always-wanted-to-make-a?source=share

I need more Rudy. Like .. it's a very strong need...please I'm begging you 😭

[HhhhnHHHNN WORD VOMIT INCOMING-]

Following the events of what transpires in the comic "Aliens: Stronghold" (you can find it online), Jeri the synthetic xenomorph is supposedly dead, as is Doctor Nordling. The Mayakovsky prototype records along with whatever modifications Nordling created are lost forever...

But are they?

What if a somewhat less insane crew managed to perhaps gather parts of the wreckage that ensued, studied them just enough to know how to make their own, different yet still entirely functional synthetic xenomorph? A crew that does value the monitoring of xenomorph colonies spread throughout the worlds wherein these hives are placed upon to gestate, and polices the illegal harvesting of eggs or specimen (idk, bare with me okay).

The model they designed, based heavily on Jeri, needed a couple key modifications. First, it needed to be distinct enough from the standard xenomorph drone, such so that people would not get frightened by the sight of it amongst crewmates. These differences in appearance are remedied by even more aggressive pheromone secretions to both fool and calm biological xenomorphs into believing that Rudy belongs. His somewhat less accurate appearance also allows for his maintenance to be cheaper, as well as for the synth to fit into humanoid gear more effectively.

Named after the prototype Norbert, and Jeri, Rudy only seemed fitting.

Quite like his predecessor, and as appears to be a trend recently, Rudy has a very stark and unique personality that shows itself whenever he begins to grow comfortable around someone. He's curious and talkative, having a fondness for oversharing about the xenomorph species and its many casts, as well as his interests in collecting new and exciting pieces of the world he's currently exploring with his mostly human crew and all things nature-related.

Although he's nothing if not helpful and vital to the work that is being done by this team, Rudy is still a synthetic, which creates a natural divide when it comes to forming relationships. Normally, this divide is somewhat softened when a synthetic passes as human and performs actions that make it look even more relatable. Rudy is visibly, unavoidably monstrous, and he makes no real attempt to fit in with acts that are strictly human. He will sit at the table while others eat, but he's very clearly not interested in commenting on the food and tries to pull others into conversation instead. He doesn't wear clothes, he can't facially emote anywhere as intricately as a human can.

He's lonely. And he understands why.

But it's painful for the synthetic xenomorph, because he feels no joy dwelling with other synthetics, and he can't bond with xenomorphs the way he desires. He feels at home around humans, and his own crew keeps him at bay, frustrating Rudy as they consistently deny him a real connection- Sometimes even subconsciously!

That's where you come in.

Following the unfortunate accident of the resident synthetic engineer on the ship, you are assigned his role. Arriving just in time, as Rudy is in dire need of assistance from miscalculating the height of a drop. He doesn't think much of you, at first. You'll be just like the others, finding him interesting for a short while, then resorting to formalities or simply ignoring him when he's not immediately convenient.

But he still tries anyway, because he's painfully desperate for connection.

Imagine his shock as you seem very interested in conversing with him in a consistent manner. Rudy is no idiot, he understood your interest was mainly to understand the circuitry and coding within him that allowed for such an authentic and varied range of emotions, sentiments. He fascinated you beyond merely being a bizarre thing, and that made the synth happy, fulfilled.

Rudy began to latch onto you.

When he had arrived from a routine check on a hive, he'd instantly seek you out without even needing any kind of repair, just to chat about his findings, talking about the specimen xenos the same way you'd talk about zoo mascots. He'd try to drag you down into the field with him numerous times, formulating rapid-fire arguments as to why the supervisors should allow you to accompany Rudy. You can't lie and say that you weren't a tad curious, especially after hearing the xeno's numerous stories.

Somehow, after perhaps not so friendly methods, he gets granted his wish, and down you go, into the wilderness, with a synthetic.

Rudy seems elated to have alone time with you in the nature of this vast planet, and you note that he touches you a lot more often. Grabs you with his six fingered hands, nuzzles his dome against your head, hugs you from behind and even lifts you a couple of times, he's utterly euphoric, something you've never seen in a synth. Sure, your crewmates had made comments about how close Rudy had gotten to you, how the synthetic "had a puppy crush on you", but those were just jabs you didn't mind taking. And surely, when Rudy replied positively to those jests, he was only trying to get in on the joke, right?

You remember the shock and fear that permeated you as you first entered a colony. Rudy didn't let you get too far into the structure, but you got to observe the entrance, the little resting holes on walls that xenos occupied when drained. You got to see drones marching around, dragging potential hosts with them. And you even got "checked" by a soldier cast. It had been strange then, watching Rudy communicate back and forth with the xenomorph, effectively clearing you of suspicion after a few snort-hisses. Your heart never beat so loudly before, and you remember laughing wildly with the synthetic after the two of you had retreated into safer grounds.

Yet, for as much as you had grown to enjoy having Rudy as a friend, you couldn't ignore the remarks your crewmated had been making about him. How the synth would ravenously defend you from the smallest of accusations, how he collected everything you left behind and would even steal presents you gave to others. He became mouthy and troublesome when they refused to let you go explore with him.

And lately, to make it all even more confusing, you've been finding him "doing maintenance" on himself. Things he won't let you access, that he tries to deviate your attention from. For just the glimmer of a second, you hope you only imagined spotting the digital blueprint for a set of modified synthetic genitalia...

Something's not right with Rudy, you think, catching him staring intensely at you again.

[oftenwantedafton]

the new hire | steve raglan x female reader

rating | explicit

part 7/?

words | 4k

cw | dom/sub,smut,fluff,angst

ao3 link

There is no broken glass littering the floor of the pizzeria.

No movement on the monitors, no intruders, no rabbit, and no word from Steve Raglan—aka William Something.

You don’t know what you’d expected, really. A welcome back gift? The security office was disappointedly empty when you’d returned. The phone line was fixed, at least, the dial tone a welcoming sound in your ear. But that was all.

The temptation to call your employer is maddening. It takes every ounce of willpower not to. But you resist. You do your job every night of those five that week and you say nothing. Simply watching the screens. Waiting for something that doesn’t happen.

Maybe you’re just following orders. Or maybe, just maybe, you’re the tiniest bit defiant. You’re not going to give in quite so easily to the older man’s fickle whims. You’re not going to chase and you’re not going to beg. Your resolve holds and you secretly triumph over this small personal victory. You’ve done it. You’ve won.

You’ve just finished pulling the gate closed over the front of the main entrance doors Saturday morning, securing the thick padlock, when you hear a familiar car engine behind you.

You linger awhile longer even though the gate is secure, waiting to hear the sound of the engine silenced and the driver’s side door open and closed. No footsteps. He’s waiting for you, of course. To come to him.

You turn and ignore him completely, refusing to even glance in his direction. Your car keys are already in hand, poised to unlock the door of your own vehicle. That’s where you’re headed now, very pointedly avoiding the pull of the gaze that’s on you.

You don’t know how he manages to make it behind you so fast; you barely hear any movement. But William is at your back, slapping the keys right out of your hand, his hands grabbing you by the upper arms and turning you to face him. You’re trapped against the car, pinned beneath him, and the first hit of his cologne, even that first touch, is like a lightning strike in your core. You shouldn’t want him this badly, but you do.

“Did you really think you were just going to walk away with so much as a greeting?”

“You’ve ignored me all week.”

“Ignored you?” He barks a laugh. “Letting you do your job is ignoring you? You’re a grown woman. I have my own job. I’m not your babysitter. I’m not going to come here every night to hold your hand.”

You glare at him. Of course, he’s right. It didn’t really make sense for him to be there. But after that last phone call…

“You could have called me, at least, to make sure I’m okay. That your employee still has a pulse.”

“Of course you still have a pulse. Don’t be absurd.”

“But you didn’t know. Not until now.”

“I knew,” he says, and it makes you wonder, but not strongly enough. It’s too difficult to concentrate with him pressed up against you, warm and fragrant and aggressively masculine.

“I hate you,” you say, and you both know it’s a lie. It’s all you can manage, because to admit the other is just too much.

A small smirk. “As you should.”

“Did you miss me at all, William? Think about me even a little?”

It’s the first time you’ve said his real name in person, and the effect is quite obvious. He shudders against you, eyelashes fluttering, the softest little moan of sound escaping his lips. So much power in that name.

“Is that what you want to hear?” He leans and his lips brush your throat, then your ear. “I was coming here to bring you to my house. I thought we might have breakfast together. And of course pay you. But now, after this display…”

“Please take me home with you.” Back to begging already. It’s been, what, all of five minutes in his presence? Not even, and your newfound resolve has crumbled again.

“Are you going to behave? No back talk?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.” He licks the shell of your ear and you’re on fire.

“I’ll behave. I won’t back talk. I’ll be a good girl.”

He hums, brushing a quick kiss against your cheek before backing away. “Alright. Get in the car. And don’t forget your keys,” he tosses over his shoulder.

You bend to pick them up, hating yourself for how stupidly eager and happy you are, following this man to his car, asking him to unlock the door, seeing that pleased little curve of his mouth.

He’s got you trained, and he knows it.

***

The ride to William’s house is silent, but as soon as you’re both indoors he begins issuing commands.

“Go have a shower and get changed. Clothes on the bed. Then come down to the kitchen. Through here to the left.” He points to the hallway and you nod, trudging upstairs.

You’re thinking of washing up only to put your used panties back on and one of his tshirts again, most likely. Maybe you should start keeping spare clothing in your car. That’s assuming he’d let you wear it. Knowing the control freak, probably not.

You open the master bedroom door and glance at the made bed, then do a double take. It’s not one of his shirts after all.

There’s a gift bag, an actual gift bag with fluffy pastel pink and purple tissue paper, and inside is a cute set of pajama shorts and a matching camisole top, also in the same carnation and lavender shades. You check the tags and yes, he’s been generous this time and gotten the correct size. Well, shit. Now don’t you just feel like an asshole?

That’s what he wants, of course. Manipulating and teasing you. And don’t you just fucking love it. You rush through that shower even though you might have liked to linger a little longer because the pressure is so much better than it is at your apartment, just so you can get that gifted sleepwear on. And ok, maybe underwear would have been nice too, but you kind of like going commando in those shorts, if for no other reason than maybe it means there will be some sexual activities later.

See how quickly you forgive him? Pathetic.

You pad barefoot back downstairs to find William adding ingredients to a steel mixing bowl. You have started to eat something when you get home after work; you do actually sleep better when you do, you’ve grudgingly noticed. You can feel the warmth of the oven preheating as you walk by, a waft of heat striking bare legs. “What are you making?”

“We,” he corrects. “You’re helping. Go sit and I’ll bring it to you to mix.”

He doesn’t have a hand mixer? You almost grumble this out loud but then you remember your promise from earlier: No back talk. So you drag out a kitchen chair from under the table and sit down. “Thank you for the pajamas. They’re comfy.”

He grunts in acknowledgment, still occupied at the counter. Well, he wouldn’t have picked them out if he didn’t want to see you in them, so at his own pace, you guess. Not that you expected much of a compliment.

Instead you take the time to look around the kitchen. Black appliances. Gray cabinets and laminate flooring. Definitely a remodel since it was first installed. You’re so tempted to ask what happened to the rest of the people that must have lived here once. What had his wife been like? Did she just get fed up with his attitude and leave? You can’t even picture him around children. So strict. No patience. He’d never tolerate them.

Why is he using a false name?

“Here. Start stirring.” He sets the bowl in front of you, interrupting your musings. You can see yellow batter, cranberries, orange zest. Muffins, probably. The citrus scent is refreshing. You begin stirring with the spoon he provides and it isn’t long before your arm starts aching. The mixture is thick. You’re starting to feel drowsy, especially after that hot shower.

Williams fingers graze the bare skin between your neck and shoulder, a little damp, recently washed at the sink, you think. They flick one of the straps of your cami over the curve of that upper extremity joint, just a casual gesture, but suddenly you’re alert, tense, the hand stirring freezing in place. “I didn’t say to stop,” he murmurs, and now his lips are where his fingers just occupied, and your hand will no longer cooperate. You face turns to find his mouth there and you drop the spoon, both hands reaching for him.

There’s a palm dragging past your collarbone to find your breast beneath the flowy material and this, you suddenly realize, is why he purchased something looser. He’s planned this all along, every move of every game piece always accounted for. That warm hand strokes your breast as his tongue caresses yours. He drags you to your feet, somehow managing not to break contact, his mouth on some part of you, his hand on another, until you’re pushed up against the island, one hand braced near your neck, the other hastily shoving your new shorts down. There’s a thumb thrusting in your mouth and you bite it, suck and moan around it, arching and pressing your bare buttocks back against him.

“So hungry for this, aren’t you? So desperate. Thought about this all week…probably ever since I met you…”

True, all of it. “Please…”

“You want it? You know the rules. You have to ask for it.” He licks a stripe against your neck, his breath hot and stuttering. The anticipation isn’t solely on your end.

“Please fuck me, William. I need that cock inside me. Please…” You’re reaching around behind you, blindly trying to find the zipper of his pants. Anything to make it happen faster. You’re gushing arousal. Absolutely aching.

“Fuck.” He’s out of his pants, and inside you. One smooth slide home, because you’re so fucking wet for him, because you’re pushing back even as he’s thrusting forward, one hand making you bend over the tiled surface, your half naked form touching the cool ceramic. He’s filling you, stretching you, and it’s more than you’ve ever known. You feel a hand knot in your hair, jerking your head back, using it as a handle to fuck you with. He’s rough and deep and hard and you love every minute of it. The tiles are warm now, warm from the heat of your body, moist from panted breath and sweat as he pounds into you.

The oven beeps—finally preheated, the correct temperature reached—and suddenly the older man is no longer fucking you within an inch of your life. He’s no longer fucking you at all, and it’s not some accidental slip out, which would be understandable given how much slick your body’s been dispensing. You straighten up and turn to find he’s already disappointingly back in his pants—though they definitely are not fitting correctly—his attention once again on preparing breakfast, grabbing the bowl off the kitchen table, finishing the mixing and spooning portions into cups in a muffin tray, then sliding it onto the top rack in the oven and setting the timer. All of this while you stare, absently sliding your pajamas back into place.

The career counselor finally meets you gaze. “What? The oven was ready.”

“You…you can’t just…”

“I can’t just what?” He lifts one of the unused oranges from the counter, tossing it and catching it.

“You can’t just start fucking someone and then stop.”

“Says who?”

Oh, he was so fucking infuriating. You forget your vow of obedience and stride over to him, ripping the fruit from his fingers. “I do. You don’t do that. You don’t get someone worked up and then just abandon them without letting them finish.”

“I didn’t finish either, as you’ll recall. I need this back if I’m going to make juice. Unless you want coffee, which I’m fairly certain you don’t.” He tugs on the orange and you release it. “Don’t pout.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” He sighs, setting the citrus fruit down and turning back to face you. “Do you really just want a five minute quickie? Or would you rather have something that lasts a little longer?”

“I…” Oh. Oh, he meant…he wasn’t done…

“It was just a way to pass the time. You know the expression ‘a watched pot never boils’? It’s the same with preheating an oven, I swear.” He tucks his fingers under your chin and kisses you, and it’s the most gentle, tender one you’ve experienced from him yet. “Be patient for a little while longer.”

Your arms thread beneath his and you hug him. He’s a little stiff at first, the gesture unexpected, but then his arms come around you and he embraces you and you almost want to weep because of how perfect it feels to be there, like this.

“Why can’t you always be this nice?” You mumble against his shirt.

“Because it’s not what you really want. Not what you need.”

“What about you? What do you want? What do you need?” Your face lifts and you draw back to look at him.

Say me. Just say me, even if it’s a lie. Just make this happy moment last a little longer.

William remains silent.

***

You don’t eat at the kitchen table, as you’d expected.

Instead you’re in the living room, on the couch, with a tray on the coffee table. You’ve got a small plate with a cranberry orange muffin sliced and slathered in melted butter, fresh from the oven and fuck if it isn’t the most heavenly thing you’ve ever tasted. So stupidly perfect because you’re sitting with your legs folded, leaning against William, and he’s oddly receptive to all of it. It’s very nearly cuddling, and you don’t know what to make of it. You both eat and drink and when you’re both full his arm stretches behind you and his hand brushes your shoulder, rubbing soft patterns into it. You’re drowsy again, and you think you could fall asleep right here, like this.

“I don’t hate you,” you murmur. Your eyelids are heavy as you gaze at the older man.

“I know,” he replies.

“You always know everything.” You’re not sure if it’s an insult or a compliment. Not exactly snarky, but not particularly reverent, either.

You’re rewarded with a soft smile. “You want to sleep here or you want me to bring you upstairs?”

“Is that really an option?” Here seems good, but being in his arms might be better.

“Yes.”

“Are you going to nap with me?”

“Yes.”

“‘M’kay. Upstairs.”

You keep forgetting how strong the social worker is. He lifts you easily, like you’re nothing, feather weight. A memory resurfaces. You can remember falling asleep on the couch. Waking up, but pretending to still be asleep so your dad would carry you upstairs. You think he knew you were really awake but indulged you anyway. The silly things a child takes pleasure in. Here you are again and it doesn’t feel so different. Sinking down into that bed. Oh, you’d forgotten. Those luxurious sheets, those comfortable pillows. You try to watch the bearded man get undressed, curious about seeing more of the scars. He’s too swift. Too stealthy. He’s beside you in bed before you know it.

“I did miss you,” he says, or at least, you think he does. It’s so faintly whispered you wonder if you’ve imagined it, this last little thought before you fall asleep.

***

You feel someone watching you.

Your face turns and it’s William gaze you’ve been feeling, his head cushioned by a pillow with his arm tucked beneath it, the other arm draped over your waist, the comforter somewhere near your hips. You rub that extremity, rifling through the dark lines of hair, afraid to speak, afraid that this is the moment where everything goes back to the way it was before. You’ll lose this side of him, hidden behind a door that once shut can never be reopened.

You press your index and middle fingers to your lips and then touch his cheek. He snickers, but it’s gentle, bemused more than condescending. “You’re such a child, sometimes.”

“I can’t help it.”

“No, I suppose you can’t. My good girl,” he murmurs, and the addition of that one simple word of possession before that praise makes you ache. You want to be his.

“William.” It’s the closest thing you can offer with a similar sentiment, and it’s effective. He pushes himself up onto his elbow, shifts until he’s climbed over you, on elbows and knees, mouth teasing the corner of your jaw. “Please…”

“I know what you want,” he rasps before his lips touch yours. Rough this time. Sucking the bottom wedge, tongue thrusting between your lips. It’s as if you’d never paused earlier. A joint effort shoves your pajama shorts down, gets him free of his briefs. You tug at the hem of his shirt, and he pauses, as if considering, before dragging it over his head, your top following. You don’t ask where the scars come from, why there are so many, so widely distributed. You just want to feel his bare skin against yours. No more barriers. No more obstacles. No waiting. No pausing.

William bends your legs back and leans into you, rolling his body weight until his cock slides inside. How have you forgotten so quickly how much of him there is? Inside of you; the suffocating, neverending cascade of breath stealing kisses. That voice crooning in your ear, sultry and coarse. Those eyes hovering above yours, watching your reactions, twin seas to drown in. His cock saws in and out of your pussy fast and slow, rough and soft, blurring each sensation until you’re on a perpetual almost-but-not-quite tipping point, the pleasure so heightened it’s nearly numbing.

He drops beside you and you climb on top of him, grinding back down, impaled and bending to capture his mouth again. Saliva pools on his tongue and you suck that strand, drag it into your mouth and then let it drip back into his, now a combination of yours and his, merged liked your sex, sheathed, sliding into that hot, wet maw that clenches greedily.

He’s noisy, not just speech-wise but overall sound-wise, and you adore that—even better than the filthy talk, and there’s plenty of that, make no mistake—are the gasps and sighs and moans. Not the fake, theatrical artifice that’s portrayed in pornography, but genuine appreciation for the pleasure you’re gifting him, noises that aren’t even always voluntarily made, escaping and surprising you both at their rawness. You feel needed and wanted and in that moment of intimacy with him him you feel like you’re the only one who understands exactly what it is those are even though he’d remained silent when you’d asked earlier. You both suit each other, somehow, filling in the gaps each has to make a complete, whole being. As much as you enjoying coming undone, the feeling of him finally giving in, reaching that level of vulnerability, is beyond satisfying.

It’s early evening by the time you shower again—with him, this time, and that act is its own special kind of bliss—and you help him change the sheets, giggling over the corner that snaps free, the fitted end not tucked securely on his side. You’ve completely forgotten yourself, forgotten everything that had come before this. No longer drifting lost and aimless. You feel like you belong here. You don’t think you’ve ever been happier.

And it’s written all over your face, surely. William grows quieter and quieter, and a worry starts to creep into your happiness. Was it ending already? Was this only only temporary?

“I’ll drop you back at your car whenever you’re ready.”

The words douse you like a bucket of ice water. “What?”

He tosses the last pillow on the bed and folds the comforter over it. “I’ll give you a ride back to Freddy’s.”

“Um…I thought maybe I was spending the night?”

“No.” He straightens, pointing to your uniform. “You should get dressed.”

You’re still wrapped in a towel from the shower. He’s already shrugging back into the clothes he’d had on earlier.

“William.”

Slacks fastened. V neck long sleeve shirt pulled overhead. He glances at the wallet and glasses on the nightstand.

“William,” you say again, more firmly.

“I know, I forgot to pay you. It’s too late to go to the bank now. It’ll have to wait until Monday,” he mutters distractedly.

“I don’t care about that right now. Will you look at me, please?” You touch his sleeve and he turns to face you.

“What?”

“Why are you throwing me out?”

“I’m not. You’ve been here all day. Surely you have things to do. I certainly do.”

“No, actually, I don’t. You can’t…you can’t be serious. After…”

“After what?” He snaps. “What is it you expect to happen here, exactly? You wanted me to fuck you. I did. End of story.”

Your stomach drops. Oh, you’d known it was too good to be true. In your warped mind you’d imagined it to be some sweeping romance where he finally came to his senses. But it wasn’t that at all, was it?

No. No. You don’t engage in that level of intimacy and not have some sort of emotional connection with it. Otherwise he would’ve just finished back in the kitchen and been done with it. There’s more to it than that. There has to be. He’s the one that invited you over. Twice, now. Even summoning you back to the office. There’s something more between you.

“I had a wonderful time this afternoon. This entire day,” you begin, choosing your words carefully.

“Good.” He shoves his wallet in his pocket.

“And I think you did too.”

“Of course.” Now the glasses are slipped back into place.

“Maybe more than you expected. And maybe it’s a little alarming. I know, I didn’t expect it either. So maybe we should—”

“—No.”

“I didn’t finish—”

“—I said no. We’re not talking about this. You enjoyed yourself, good. That’s all there is to say about it. Hurry up and get dressed.”

“What is it that you have to do that’s so important?”

“Not your concern.”

“For fuck’s sake, William. Can you not with the rehearsed, vague answers for once?”

“You don’t want to know.” His voice is oddly calm, quiet. Unsettling.

You throw your hands up in exasperation. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I’ll meet you downstairs. Five minutes.”

***

Earlier you’d felt so happy, so content. Buoyed up on good feelings.

Now it’s the complete opposite. You feel used, dirty. Confused and hurt. He’s made you feel like this before, but never to this extent. You almost wished now it hadn’t been so passionate between you. A quick fuck in the kitchen probably would have preferable to that cruel tease, these feelings.

Neither of you speak on the way back to the restaurant. He pulls up beside your car, staring straight ahead, the engine still running. The rabbit’s foot keychain is swinging violently back in forth.

“Get out.”

“William.”

“You know what? I’ve changed my mind. Don’t call me that anymore.”

“I don’t know what I did wrong. I’ve done everything you’ve told me to.”

“Keep doing that. Get out.”

“No. Not until you explain what happened.”

He sighs heavily, switching off the engine and opening the door. Your own is opened and his hand closes over your arm. You’re still restrained by the lap belt. He reaches for this now, fumbling with the buckle and cursing, your fingers struggling to assist him, or stop him, you don’t even know which. He’s panting heavily. Not angry, even though it seems like it. Something else.

The metal finally releases and the nylon strap winds back into place. You let yourself be dragged up out of the car, your fingers knotting in his shirt, sliding behind his neck, trying to pull his mouth towards yours. He keeps turning his face away, trying to avoid making contact. “No. Stop it. Stop…” His voice changes. No longer a command. Pleading now. “Stop making me feel this way,” he whispers, finally surrendering, letting your mouths fit together.

Fear. He’s afraid. That’s what it is.

Putting him at your mercy.

[nasa]

Comin’ in Hot: Seven Things to Know About our New Heat Shield

What goes up, must come down, and from space, without burning up in an atmosphere. That’s why we’re pumped for the Low-Earth Orbit Flight Test of an Inflatable Decelerator, or LOFTID. Launching on Nov. 1, 2022, with the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration’s (NOAA) Joint Polar Orbiting Satellite System-2 (JPSS-2) mission, this technology demonstration marks the next step in advancing an innovative heat shield design that could one day be used to land heavy payloads – including humans – on Mars!

Here are seven things to know about this innovative re-entry system: 

1. LOFTID is the first-ever in-orbit test of this technology. 

Inflatable heat shields, called Hypersonic Inflatable Aerodynamic Decelerators (HIADs), have been in the works for more than a decade. In 2012, the third of the Inflatable Re-entry Vehicle Experiments (IRVE) launched on a suborbital sounding rocket from the Wallops Flight Facility, demonstrating a 3-meter (10-foot) diameter inflatable heat shield.

But the LOFTID re-entry vehicle, at 19.7 feet (6 meters) in diameter, will be the largest blunt body aeroshell to ever go through atmospheric entry. Designed to withstand temperatures as high as 2900°F (1600°C), this first-ever in-orbit test of this technology will prove if it can successfully slow down large payloads – such as crewed spacecraft, robotic explorers, and rocket components – enabling them to survive the heat of re-entry at planetary destinations with an atmosphere.

2. You can find out how this tech works in real-time.  

LOFTID is unique in that all operations will happen within a few hours of launch. After the JPSS-2 satellite safely reaches orbit, the LOFTID vehicle will separate from the upper stage of the Atlas V rocket and begin re-entry into Earth’s atmosphere. If all goes as planned, the technology will help the vehicle decelerate from hypersonic (more than 25 times faster than the speed of sound) down to subsonic flight, less than 609 miles per hour for a safe splash down and recovery from the Pacific Ocean. 

While in flight, engineers at NASA’s Langley Research Center will receive location data every 20 seconds and onboard sensors and cameras will record more comprehensive data about the technology’s performance. You can get a behind-the-scenes look at Langley’s Flight Mission Support Center where the LOFTID project team will be monitoring the flight test at NASA.gov/live following the launch.

3. A lemon-sized capsule ejected into the Pacific Ocean will hold key flight data. 

The LOFTID re-entry vehicle will record both sensor and camera data during its flight. The data will include the temperatures and pressures experienced by the heat shield and will illustrate how well the technology performed during the demonstration.

Although the goal is to retrieve the LOFTID re-entry vehicle after it splashes down in the Pacific Ocean, the team wanted a back-up option just in case they can’t recover it. Enter the tiny yellow package called an ejectable data module (EDM) which will also record flight data. The EDM will be released from the spacecraft at an altitude of about 50,000 feet. It will free fall into the Pacific Ocean off the coast of Hawaii and should land within 10 miles of the spacecraft’s splash down location. A recovery team, that has practiced hide-and-seek of the EDM on land and sea, will use GPS to search an approximately 900-mile area of the Pacific Ocean to find their “lemon.”

4. This heat shield packs a punch. 

Although NASA has historically relied on rigid aeroshells, parachutes, and retro-propulsion (rockets) to decelerate people, vehicles, and hardware during entry, descent, and landing operations, a benefit of inflatable heat shields is that they take up less space in a rocket, allowing more room for other hardware or payloads. LOFTID’s aeroshell has been folded and tightly packed down to 4 by 1.5 feet for launch and stacked in the United Launch Alliance (ULA) Atlas V rocket payload fairing.

5. LOFTID is dedicated in honor of one of its innovators.  

LOFTID was developed as a partnership with ULA and is dedicated to the memory of Bernard Kutter, ULA manager of advanced programs, who passed away in August 2020. Kutter was instrumental in advancing the inflatable heat shield design and developing the plan to test the system on an Atlas V rocket. He was an advocate for both space technology and expanding access to space. Kutter’s NASA and ULA counterparts agree that LOFTID is unlikely to have made it to space without his vision and passion.

6. LOFTID is made of tough stuff. 

Synthetic fibers make up the inflatable structure, braided into tubes that are, by weight, 10 times stronger than steel. The tubes are coiled so that they form the shape of a blunt cone when inflated. The thermal protection system that covers the inflatable structure can survive searing entry temperatures up to 2,900 degrees Fahrenheit. Researchers used the same heat-shielding materials to create a fire shelter prototype for firefighters battling forest fires.

7. You can make your own LOFTID Halloween costume! 

Still looking for an out-of-this world Halloween costume? With a few commonly found materials, like orange pool noodles and duct tape, you can create your own LOFTID costume. However, we make no promises of protecting or slowing you down from becoming the life of the party.

Follow @NASA_Technology for the latest updates on LOFTID. Don’t miss our live coverage leading up to launch from the Vandenberg Space Force Base in California. The NASA Edge JPSS-2 Tower Rollback Show airs live on NASA TV and YouTube on Tuesday, Nov. 1 at 12 a.m. EDT, and NASA TV live launch coverage will begin at 4:45 a.m. EDT. 

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!