#android e reader

[books-and-strawberry-tea]

I don’t normally comment about booktube here. But I’ve just seen a video and I have to get some comments off my chest.

This video was about e-readers. And while the person has a huge collection of books behind them, goes on to explain that e-readers are so unnecessary, cause they are expensive. And if you are going to buy an e-reader, just buy an iPad cause they are similar in price….

I’m sorry but in what world is an iPad and an e-reader the same price?? (Or yk other tablets of a similar nature).

This person goes on to talk about how e-readers can’t install apps like Libby etc…are we just going to ignore the e-readers that run on android?? That function like a regular phone just with an e-ink screen??

I honestly gave up watching this video cause this person just sounded like they were pretty single minded on the topic. So here’s my two cents.

Pro’s for an ereader: (at least in my case)

1. E-reader’s are amazing for portability. Physical books can get very heavy, and although I love them, I hate taking physical books out with me cause I’m terrified of damaging them.

2. Books in my country, are incredibly expensive. You can go to the bookstore, and end up spending $50 AUD and get 1-2 books depending on what you get. Hard covers are usually $40+! Paperbacks can range between $17-$40 also. And if it doesn’t get printed in Australia?? Good luck. The only way I could get Hunting Adeline was to pay $65. Because whenever I ordered it from Amazon at $35, from America, it would come absolutely obliterated because they don’t package it in anything but a basic plastic mailer bag. No protection at all.

3. E-readers are much better for your eyes and don’t have constant distracting notifications and people trying to ring you. I have weak eye muscles. Always have. I wear glasses for this. And I used to read on my phone cause it’s what I have with me while I was out. But once I got an e-reader, I realised just how bad my eye strain was from my phone. E-readers have seriously improved my reading stamina especially since mine has the orange light feature. It’s not like we all don’t have an internet or phone addiction anyway. At least according to statistics I’ve seen in the past. Majority of us are trying to spend less time on our phones and more time doing what we love. And e-readers absolutely help with that. (Much better for my ADHD too honestly.)

4. I live with roommates, I have very limited space. So big book collections is just not something that’s possible for me. I’d love to, but again, space and money.

5. E-readers have given me the opportunity to read books that I’d never be able to get. Because of space reasons, money reasons, and the fact that Australia just does not get the wide selection of books that other countries do. We miss out so much. Some books, we have to wait YEARS for, while everyone else gets them on release dates. My e-reader has been such a huge investment for me, as well as an opportunity maker to give me the option to read books I’d never be able to get other wise.

I will clarify this by saying yes, I do have an iPad. But that was a gift. I didn’t buy it for myself. My mother very graciously bought it for me with her inheritance money. She went out of her way to make sure I had a good working device for university. That iPad was over $2,000 aud. My e-reader?? $250!!! HUGE price difference. And it has helped me save so much money in the process. Cause if I read the ebook, and don’t like it, that’s okay, refund. If I do??? Then I can absolutely go out and hopefully track down a physical copy. If that’s not possible?? I still have the digital version. That I can enjoy over and over.

No, I’m not ignoring the cons to do with DRM, and companies censoring ebooks, not at all. But I feel like either way there is still more pros then what this person was giving e-readers credit for. She sounded privileged honestly, she may not have a use for e-readers. But to be saying that you don’t need one, and that they are completely unnecessary….its just incorrect.

I haven’t even touched on how e-readers help others with disabilities to be able to access books. I have a friend for example that has been very unwell for many years now. And because of this, she has fatigue and strength issues. She at one stage could barely hold a book. But once she got her kindle, she was so over joyed cause she could finally enjoy books again. Kindles are so light, they have stands etc. It honestly reminds me of the people that say audiobooks arnt counted as reading and you shouldn’t do it. Sure, let’s just alienate all the people that can’t read or have vision impairment right? (For clarity, I’m being sarcastic.) Or how about all the cultures that past on the culture, history, legends etc all by word of mouth?? For centuries, way before anyone invented written script. But that’s a whole other tangent I can go off about later.

If e-readers arnt for you, that’s totally fine. But to say no one has a need for them, because physical books exist, is just closed minded. Just because you have the privilege of a huge book library and may not have use of an e-reader, doesn’t not mean that other people don’t have a great use for them.

Anyway, that’s my rant. I don’t like ranting online. But this just frustrated me so much. No hate to this person personally, I just think they weren’t open to the possibilities of how these devices are used and fulfil needs for other people that live differently.

If you read this, cool! I hope you have a good day. And enjoy reading what you are currently 💝

[weskie]

aaaaaah after reading your ftm reader x Wesker fic I want him even moree !! I love how you write him... Now I imagine him helping reader fall asleep - laying together, him speaking softly - just this gentle moment idc if it may be ooc.. I just love these little domestic moments <3

I'm terribly late with inbox replies as always, but GOD I DO LOVE GENTLE WESKER!! I will never care if it's ooc or anything for him to be gentle, I'm SEATED for soft wesker content every single time.

I bet he rambles about laboratory nonsense that you may (or may not) understand because it's super effective at getting you to fall asleep. or so he thinks. really, it's just his voice that does it. proximity and safety. his heartbeat thumping so clearly in your ear.

[thebibliosphere]

do you have any recommended apps for playing hunger pangs audiobooks/reading the epub with?

On Android and iOS devices the native e-readers like Google play and Books can read the ebook file just fine.

It can also in theory be opened with the kindle app though that needs to be configured manually.

If you are on a desktop device then Calibrr works really well. https://calibre-ebook.com/

For the audiobook the files should work with anything that supports mp3s. I use vlc media player on my phone.

If you’re on desktop you can also load it into the windows player, or something again like vlc media player which is free and open source.

Hope that helps!

[fictionalsownme]

"Whump" | connor rk800 x reader | WIP BLURB

I don't post him all the time, but the connor brain rot is pretty bad lol I also really like whump and I saw this pin on pinterest and that's how this was born hehe. again, not really finished! abrupt ending but you can guess where it goes, established friendship, in my head the reader is a secretary at the DPD but it's not referenced. female reader, reader uses she/her pronouns.

disclaimer: this blurb is unedited and unfinished. just wanted to share some WIPs! Enjoy!

"Connor!"

You found his body slumped on the floor against the wall, his head hanging at an awkward angle.

There was blue blood… his blood everywhere. It was so bright against the blackness of the dirty floor that it almost seemed to glow.

"Oh my god--"

You ran to kneel at his side, nearly slipping on the thirium under your shoes. His legs were straight out like a broken doll's, you could see patches of his plating where his skin had retracted in the damage. Trying to manage your breathing, you gingerly cradled his head, lifting his face to meet your gaze. It was worse than you thought.

Retracted skin revealed massive damage to his white under-plating. Scratched and dented and caved-in. Blue blood was splattered across his face, it poured from his nose and over his lips to drip off his chin. It was immediately clear he wasn't conscious, with glazed over eyes and a slack jaw.

Whether he was in a sort-of standby or already dead you had no way of knowing.

You peeled open his jacket to reveal the center of his chest where thirium pooled the thickest in a gaping, mangled crater. Down to his lap and spilling over the dusty cement. You had no idea what his inner wiring was supposed to look like, but you knew it wasn't this.

"Fuck-- Connor?" You held his cheeks, your crying already starting up fresh once again. "Connor, can you hear me? I don't-- I don't know how to fix you! Connor?"

No signs. No light from his LED, no flickering of his irises, nothing.

You were sobbing in earnest now. Hiccupping and shaking and breathing in harsh, shuddering breaths. You grabbed your phone, trying not to scream when your realized your hands were covered in blue blood. Connor's blood. Your best friend's blood. It took you too long to use your phone, with multiple pauses to wipe your sticky hands on your jeans.

When it finally began to ring, you cradled it between your ear and shoulder. You weren't sure what your hands could do, so you started wiping the blood from Connor's face. Away from his eyes, off his cheeks.

"This is Markus."

"Markus! It's me, you gave me your number in case of emergencies-- It's Connor, he's-- Connor's hurt, he's not awake and there's blue blood e-everywhere and I don't know what to do, I don't even know if he's--"

"Wait, wait-- slow down, where are you?"

"I-I don't know! Some random abandoned building off of— fuck— Riverbank Drive? Connor's been missing all day since he picked up this case by himself and I retraced his steps and I-- fuck, Markus-- I don't even know if he's alive!"

"I need you to tell me his condition so I can get some biocomponents for him-- can you tell anything from what you see?"

You balled the fabric of his jacket in your fist. You swallowed hard, "His chest looks really bad-- it’s all m-mangled and, and empty? He… He's lost a lot of blood— God, Markus, tell me he's not dead."

"I'm on my way with some help, alright? Send me your location and stay with him. If he wakes up, keep him still until we can get there, you got it?"

You sobbed again and nodded, covering your face with a blood-drenched hand. "I'll be here, I promise."

After Markus hung up and you sent him your location, he assured you he was coming as fast as he could.

You kneeled there, clutching the material of Connor's sleeves and crying. You were so useless. For all you knew, Connor was already dead, and you were here, holding his empty body. Androids were more resilient than humans, sure, but all living things had a limit. You'd never stopped to consider Connor was anything other than indestructible.

You heard Markus' footsteps echo through the empty structure some minutes later. You had managed to reel back your hysterical sobbing down to silent tears with some measured breathing but your resolve was… precarious.

"Markus! Over here!”

You didn't see him until he rounded the corner, Simon in step behind him.

"Jesus Connor--" He hissed as he ran to join you at his side. He had a case with him, which Simon got to work opening. Parts and tools, packs of blue blood.

"What happened?" Markus asked you as his eyes flickered over Connor's form, no doubt scanning his injuries.

You shook your head, trying to ignore the tears streaking down your cheeks and the blood on your hands, legs, face. You couldn't take your eyes off of Connor. "I don't know."

"Someone must've taken him by surprise--" Simon began, beginning to dig through his supplies. "Could've been some kind of electrical signal, got the jump on his hardware, lagged him out before the fight even started."

"Is he gonna' be okay?" You asked, now just holding onto the edge of Connor's jacket sleeve while Markus and Simon got to work.

"I don't know. Could depend on how long he was shut down."

Markus' hand reached deep into the cavern at the center of Connor's torso. He pulled out what must've been a biocomponent, mangled beyond your recognition. He passed it to Simon, before grabbing what you hoped was a new one from the case.

He swapped out a few pieces like that, all unrecognizable to your untrained eyes. Until finally Simon was holding one you knew. You'd forgotten it's name, but it belonged in the center of Connor's torso and regulated his heartbeat. That's how Connor had explained it anyway.

Before he situated the final part inside his chest, Markus spent some time repairing Connor's plating and wiring. Adjusting placements, bending pieces back into place, sometimes welding seams just enough to function. You stayed quiet, staring blankly at Connor's limp hand resting on the floor next to yours.

Useless.

You were utterly useless.

You started when Markus kur-chunk-ed the regulator into place in the center of Connor's chest, his hands angling back and forth to ensure the connection.

The faint sound of machinery blossomed out from his center. Quiet humming and whirring, like a computer booting up.

His face was mostly angled toward you but you couldn't see his LED. Markus and Simon were still at work. Connor's eyes still looked glazed over and empty.

You eyes caught on some movement toward the cement. His fingers twitching.

"He's awake," said Simon suddenly. "Keep him calm."

You looked back to his face, and while he still had that unfocused expression, there was something in his eyes. A clue that he could see you. Well, maybe sort of see you.

"Connor?" You tried softly. Your throat was tight with the promise of more tears. That familiar tingling in your nose, the watering of your eyes. "It's me, I'm here with Markus and Simon. You… You're safe."

"What…" His voice came out staticky and metallic. Like it was passing through an old radio. He blinked, slow. "What happened…?"

You swept a hair away from his brow. You hoped in his state he couldn't feel your trembling. As scared as you were, you didn't want to frighten him any further. His head turned just that little bit more towards you. His LED was a dim crimson.

"You got hurt. But you're gonna be fine. We're gonna take care of you."

His eyes fluttered, and he was that little bit clearer.

"You found me?"

You wanted to say 'barely', wanted to say 'by sheer dumb luck', wanted to say 'I almost didn't. I almost killed you'.

"Always."

"Alright, Connor, you're going to start to stabilize a bit,” said Markus finally as he seemed to finish up the last of what work he could do.

He slowly, slowly, turned his head to meet Markus' eye. Like a ghost.

"When you can stand, let us know. We need to get you back to Jericho for more repairs."

"Is he going to be okay?" You couldn't help asking again.

"Now that he's awake, as long as we get him to Jericho soon, he should be fine," Simon reassured. "You're going to be fine, Connor."

“Someone attacked me… I didn’t see their face… don’t remember…”

“It’s okay,” you added gently. “Take it slow.”

“They could still be here.” And his hand took yours in a staggering motion. Weak and slow and disjointed.

“We’re here, Connor.” Markus put his hand on his arm. “We won’t let anything happen to her.”

Even like this… Even with all this pain he was still worried about you.

“I can stand.”

You wanted him to take it slower, to not push himself too hard, but the sooner he got to Jericho the better.

You stumbled back, dropping his hand as Markus and Simon went to either side of him.

They slotted their arms under his and behind his back, helping him to his feet. He actually groaned a bit at the effort. It was a deep, staticky sound you’d never heard from him before.

You walked with them like that, trying not to start crying again. You went a few paces ahead of them to open doors and check around corners as the four of you made your way out.

Every time you glanced in Connor’s direction, he was already watching you with a clouded expression. The look was only made more intense by the smeared blue blood across his face and in his hair. You prayed you’d never see him this hurt again in your life.

“What’d you get yourself into now, my friend?” Markus’ voice carried a slightly teasing tone.

“Bad day at the… office… what can I say?”

When you made it outside to the crisp Detroit air, a car was waiting. You practically jumped in, punching in the destination to Jericho while the two men helped Connor into the car as delicately as they could. You eased him in from your side, bracing him against you. Another strained sound fell from his lips. He was still bleeding, and his lap quickly started to pool with blue blood once again.

“Fuck, Connor…” The whisper escaped you before you could stop it, your hand bracing against his dented plating where the thirium seeped from the seams.

“I’ll be alright… please, just… stay close…”

You pressed your lips together to stop more tears from surfacing. “I will, I promise.”

In some weird way, you’d never felt so close to him before. The two of you were just friends obviously, maybe even best friends, but right now… You felt like he could ask you anything— anything in the world— and you’d do it.

You thought about helping him sit up straighter, but instead kept him held against you. And he leaned into the hold.

The ride to New Jericho couldn’t go fast enough. It wasn’t a boat anymore, so at least you didn’t have to go as far as the docks. The now embassy-style building was closer to the heart of Detroit, and fully fitted with an android hospital, outreach programs, offices for the new android officials (the most prominent, of course, being Markus). A base of operations of sorts.

You’d been once before with Connor, hence how you got Markus’ number. You would never be able to thank him enough.

[rs-hawk]

Master List

This will be consciously updated so check back periodically. Enjoy!

A:

Átahsaiais

Angels

Angel Boyfriend

B

Beast (Beauty and the Beast)

Big Foot

Big Foot Camping

C:

Centaur

Virgin Centaur

Centaur Ranch MtF WLW

Centaur Handjob

Crow Girlfriend

D:

Dragons

Dragon Girlfriend WLW: Part One, Part Two

Dragon Girlfriend Gold Strap WLW

My Brother's Hot Friend (now exclusively on Patreon): Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

Dragon Guard

Dragon Queen MtF

Dragon Lover Nonbinary

Dwarves

Dwarf Boyfriend

Dwarf Lover

More Dwarf Boyfriend

Demons

Demon Church

Dullahans

Dullahan Boyfriend

Deathclaw

E:

Elves

Elves (Christmas)

Enchanted Armor: Part One, Part Two

F:

Fey

Fey Wife MtF

Fog Monster

G:

General Monsters

Short Monsters

Ancient Spirit

God Lover

God Husband MLM (Disabled Reader): Part One, Part Two, Short

Gorilla-Like/Missing Link Lover

Giants

Hiking Adventure (FtM Reader)

H:

House

I:

Icarus x Apollo: Part One, Short, Part Two

J

K

L:

Loveland Frog

M:

Merpeople

Siren Boyfriend

Octopus Merman

Mishipeshu: Part One

Minotaurs:

Minotaur Husband: Part One, Part Two

Minotaur Neighbor FtM

Nobleman Minotaur: Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Commission: Healer in the Dungeon Male Reader): Part One, Part Two (contains additional Monsters)

N:

Nagas

Naga Husband

Naga Girlfriend

Naga Husband (FtM Reader)

Naga Wife

Nymphs

River Nymph

O:

Orcs

Orc Husband FtM

Orc Mate WLW

Orc X Saytr MLM (third person)

Orc Mate MtF

Oracle Girlfriend

P:

Piasa Bird: Part One, Part Two, Short

Q

R:

Raven Mocker

Robots

Andrew Android

S:

Slime

Straggle

Shapeshifter

T:

Tentacles:

Tentacle House

Pet Tentacle

Two or More Monsters

Vampire and Werewolf Boyfriend (Plus Size Reader)

Vampire and Dragon Girlfriends WLW

Thunderbirds

Thunderbird Lover (on hiatus): Part One

Thunderbird Partner

U

V:

Vampires

Vampire Boyfriend

Vampire Boyfriend FtM

Vampire Boyfriend (Werewolf Girlfriend Reader)

Vampire Boyfriend (Anemic Reader)

W:

Werewolves

Werewolf Girlfriend MtF WLW

Werewolf Boyfriend FtM (MtF Reader)

Werewolf vs Human Boyfriend

Winter Wolf

Bestie's Werewolf Brother (Liwanu): Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

Bestie's Werewolf Brother Alt (Ahiga): Part One, Part Two

Witches

Witch Girlfriend

Your Witch

Werehyena (Male Reader)

Writing Tips

Top Ten

Filler and Self Publishing

X

Y:

Yeti

Z

[hrtzz]

Connor NSFW alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Connor is extremely attentive of your vitals, keeping an eye on your hydration levels, heartbeat and overall well-being. He will clean you up every time, maintaining himself and his partner is very important for him. He will get you anything you need but if you require anything over water you have to ask, although he can see much more than a human can he isn't a mind reader

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Connor doesn't have a favourite body part on himself, he's aware he's perfectly designed to appeal and integrate with humans so he doesn't get insecure about himself physically, that also means he doesn't favour any physical part of himself, but if he had to choose, he knows if he gives you a certain look with his eyes you give in to him pretty quickly, which always works to his benefit.

For you it would be everything if it could, he's constantly learning new things about humans and you. He definitely favours your waist and hips, loves grabbing onto them everywhere whether he's being subtle or not, he has you in his control and to an android who's used to following orders having someone else following his is somewhat empowering to him.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Either inside your mouth or inside you. He doesn't gain anything in covering you with cum, just makes a mess, and he also can't get you pregnant so he doesn't have to worry about anything like that.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Tried masturbating, and like it. He's too ashamed to admit it to you, as normal as it is to humans, for an android like him it feels like selfish indulgence. He's much more of a giver than a receiver and sometimes feels like sex is more for your benefit than his, after all he never even considered sex until it came to you. When he realised he liked masturbating he felt guilty, like you would believe that he preferred his hand to you, so he never told you, until one day you caught him.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He had no experience before you but he easily done his research. You guided him at first and he eventually got more brave in the bedroom, more explorational, he was a fast learner too.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Cowgirl. Loves to watch you on top of him while grabbing your hips, and gives you both equal control.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He takes sex quite seriously if you make a joke he will play along but like his missions he has a goal to accomplish, and nothing will get in the way of that goal.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Neatly trimmed, and uniform to his hair, again his maintenance takes a certain priority.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

As romantic as they get. He's very focused of course but understands moments like these are nothing to you without the romantic aspect.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Again, he enjoys it. Doesn't do it often but if he finds himself bored at home then he will partake in it.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Loves praise as he was programmed to respond positively to it.

Loves being the more dominant one as he gets to be in control.

He's never admitted this one to you but once you playfully ran away from him after trying to initiate sex and the chase before he undoubtedly caught you sparked something in him.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

The bedroom is the only place he likes. Sex is meant for the bedroom and meant to stay in the bedroom.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Praise really gets him going if you mention his impeccable skills in the bedroom and how much you yearn for them in the current moment he will gladly accept. “You need my skills? Well of course I'm happy to be of service!”

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Won't cause you or him harm. Won't have sex outside the bedroom. Won't participate in a threesome. Anything that puts either of you in danger. Things that cause way too much mess (Usually involving bodily fluids)

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Loves giving, he can analyse your that way too like he does with blood. Once told you that you might wanna drink more water as the acidic level- and he has to stop as a light smack came to his head. He learnt not to analyse you mid eating you out. Loves to delve his face into you, and since he's an android he wont come up for air. As he's doing this he's constantly looking at you watching your reactions.

Receiving is also great but he got too carried away in it once, had you coughing for a good minute, he forgot humans have to breath and have gag reflexes, and now has too control himself everytime, which irritates him as he usually likes to let loose during sex.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He can do both depending on what you're responding to the best. If he's pissed off he tends to take it out in sex.

“F- shit! Jesus Connor! Rough day?”

“You, ngh, have no idea.”

Usually is slow and sensual as he gets a better look at your reactions.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Hates them, sex is a special thing to him and to rush it just ruins it.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Is very open to new things and will try most things at least once.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He's an android, he can last all day and night. Usually stops when you're overstimulated (sometimes keeps it going for longer)

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Doesn't use toys. He's got many features, toys are somewhat useless to you both.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Loves to tease, usually tests how long you can go for until you break

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He can be quiet but much prefers to be loud, he wants you to know he's enjoying it as much as he is.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Short-circuited once after cumming. Wouldn't let you mention to him ever again after that.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He was given above average, around 7.5. A notable length but average girth.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

At first it's high, he wants to learn so much and asks you almost every chance he gets. Once he gets the hang of sex he pulls it back a little but will never deny you if the opportunity strikes (unless he's in a teasing mood)

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Unless he's low on power he doesn't need to sleep, if you fall asleep on him he will go into rest mode but will never fall asleep before you.

If you have any requests please let me know, especially for Connor (or Markus he never gets enough love)

[trendywaifus]

I see we are all collective losing our shit for zzz women 😍😍 my head is full of fantasies about watching porno with Anby and trying one or two things with her

🙏🏽 cw: fem! reader, 69, oral fixation, fingering, nun crazy

“ um, anby. .when you said you wanted to watch a film, I didn’t think you meant. . .this? “ you stutter, brows raised in surprise, watching two naked women laid down on a queen-sized bed sensually grinding against each other. the sounds of groans and breathy moans gradually thicken the atmosphere of anby’s bedroom. you want to rip your gaze away, but you can’t. you found the porno shamelessly hot. the women switched positions, one stayed on her back while the other positioned her pussy over the woman’s face. wait—was she going to sit on her face? the girl on top lean her body down until she’s facing the bottom girl’s pussy.

your jaw drops open; are they doing the 69?

the whole time, anby’s observant gaze glance between you and the porno. she eyes the flustered expression plastered on your face. even she could tell you were into it despite the redness sinking into your cheeks. wordlessly, she leans her frame into yours, resting a hand on your thigh to steal your attention. the hand on the thigh is typically a romantic gesture used for starting intimacy. “ a-anby, what are you doing? “

“ do you want to try what they’re doing? “ the android asks bluntly, you blink multiple times with prized astonishment. “ i-i. .is this why you picked this shit to watch with me? to try some things with me? “

“ yes, isn’t it better to watch pornographic films with your partner to add ‘excitement’ in the bedroom?”anby questions with a curious look on her features.

“ whoever told you that is a freak. you must of somehow gotten it through inter-knot search or something. “

“ i did. “

you shook your head, subconsciously leaning backwards towards the mattress while anby gradually crawls over you. “ next time, give me a heads ups. “ you whispered, wrapping your arms around her body. anby says nothing and closes the distance between you and her. her soft lips are pressed firm against yours as she settles between your legs. the ongoing sounds of moaning in the background makes your belly twist and turn with embarrassment. sensing your heart beat thumping faster, she abruptly locks her lips with yours sloppily, parting her lips open to deepen the kiss. teeth clash together and a surprised noise rumble in your chest. her hand snake around your head and holds it in place. the sweet taste of vanilla pudding she had earlier fills your tastebuds as her tongue messily lick at your bottom lip and force its way inside.

anby’s hips roll against yours, half-humping you into the mattress. her tongue swirls around yours hungrily before exploring your hot mouth. albeit sloppy, how long has she been watching these pornos behind your back to be doing this? your chest tightens due to the lack of oxygen so you take quick breaths through your nose. anby sucks on your tongue, erratically licking around, and actively trying to shove her tongue down your throat. you grasp her shoulders and ripped her away from the drawn-out heated kiss; a thread of saliva breaks off on your lips and chins.

“ e-ease it girl, you were practically trying to devour me whole there. .“ you panted heavily, staring into her half-lidded eyes, a twinge of desire swirling within them. she blinks, tilting her head at you with confusion. “ am i not expressing how much i want you, (name)? i read that acting on desperation shows your partner how much you want them? “

by now, the film has already ended. you let out a heavy sigh, recomposing yourself. “ th-that’s true but. .—you know what, were you paying attention to the tv earlier before this? “

“ yes, i was. “ she replies blankly, her grip behind your head not lessening.

“ l-let’s try that position. “

“ you mean. .? “

“ yeah, anby. “

anby sits up right, attempting to pull her black t-shirt over her head, you stop her. “ don’t undress all the way, just your pajamas and everything else below, i’ll do the same, pretty girl. “

she complies, pulling her lime green pajama pants down and shimmying out of them and dropping them somewhere on the floor. you do the same with your pajama bottoms. “ now, do what the top girl was doing. hover yourself over my face while you hover yours on. .my pussy. “ you felt embarrassed to say that explicitly.

“ okay. “

she positions herself backwards while you continue to lay down. her pussy hovers over your face, you can feel it’s heat touching your skin. your toes slightly curl when you feel anby’s hot breath fanning against your wet heat. your forearms curl around her plush thighs. a wandering question finds itself at the front of your mind—even if she’s an android, can she still cum? “ you’re okay like this, anby? “

“ i am, can i start now? “

“ mhm. “

without wasting time, the tip of her tongue slide down your moist folds. anby does it in a side by side motion, her head slightly following the direction of her tongue. the taste of your juices floods her artificial tastebuds. “ you taste sweeter than i expected (name). “ she mutters, her words hot on your pussy. her wet lips circle around your pulsating clit and unintentionally suck hard at it. your legs jerk, a gasp runs off your tongue. you grip her thighs tighter.

you bury your face into her cunt, licking at her entrance. anby’s thighs twitch, otherwise no reaction. you tease her slit, prodding at the small opening before pushing inside. anby’s breath hitches and her thighs tense as you fuck your tongue into her. “ (n-name). . “ she groans softly, pulling away from your clit to focus more on the hotness of your tongue stroking her walls. “ i-it’s hard to continue wh-when your tongue is. .” theres a change in pitch in her seemingly emotionless voice.

“ i-it feels hot but good. .? “

you slip your tongue out and press the slimy muscle flat against her clit. her hands holding your thighs grips harder on them. “ does it, pretty girl? “ you pepper her pussy with messy kisses, smearing your drool all over her folds. mwah, mwah, mwah. is all your girlfriend hears and the wet noises of your tongue playing with her damp folds. a shockwave of pleasure courses through her, she grits her teeth. she grinds herself on your tongue, attempting to chase the addicting feeling she just experienced.

“ m-more. .” anby utters, sounding uncharacteristically more and more desperate as you spend time eating out her pussy. your middle finger circles her twitching entrance. “ i’m gonna put a finger in, doll. “ and you do just that, sliding it in with ease due to your slippery tongue prepping her. anby’s toes curl with pleasure as she feels your digit sinking into her hole, stretching her out a few more inches than your tongue did.

“ relax f’me. there we go, i don’t want you to be uncomfortable. after all, i still want an answer to a question i have in my head. “ you voiced softly, kissing her clit while her walls ease around your finger.

“ a-an answer to what question? “ she asks breathlessly.

“ if androids can cum. “

[rel124c41]

SCREAM OF THE BUTTERFLY. jade leech

He opens his eyes to see a bright horizon. All of it is liquid gold, a shimmering sea of yellow below the horizon and clouds of volcanic orange above the horizon. Smack in the middle is the Sun - 70.6% hydrogen and 27.4% helium, diameter 1.4 million kilometers - and it stares at him. A hand shades his eyes. "Hey, don't look too close. You're going to see something you don't like."

tags: android jade leech, dubious morality, animal death, blood and gore, existential angst, repressed memories, unresolved emotional tension, choking, reader is 52 and jade is permanently 21, non-consensual body modification, & age difference

word count: 13,363

Both of you watch the pancake melt on the cabin’s wooden floor. The top of the circle is a golden-crusted brown. However, the underside was not yet cooked so that waxy yellow mixture starts to spread out in a sunlight pool. 

“I’m terribly sorry, Master,” Jade rushes to say but seems too shellshock to make a move to fix the mess he made.

“It’s alright,” you say with a voice clogged full of sleep. As you make your way over to the dining table designed small enough for only two, you can feel Jade track each of your minor motions like a gun following its target. Only when you sit does he snap out of it.

In a very methodical passion, he goes about removing the malfunction. You hear this: the lid of your squeaky trash-can opening and the spray of a disinfectant bottle being the most recognizable. Ignoring his mistake, you go about your normal routine. Like Jade is programmed to make exactly two pancakes and exactly one sunny side up egg each morning, you have your own little, innate programs you do each morning.

As you strike the match and hold it under your cigarette – lighting with a matchstick adds to the flavor you found – the last bits of the sunlight pool is wiped up. “Now, we’re behind schedule,” you remark. The matches inside the Diamond box shift as you push them down the table. 

It is an entirely true, if not a bit outlandish, sentence. Schedule? Jade thinks to himself as he quickly procures each ingredient needed to make the batter for exactly one pancake. He only ever measures out the amount for exactly two pancakes. The mistake is making him frazzled. He has two skillets on the stove, one for exactly two pancakes and the other for exactly one sunny side up egg. Looking into the skillet holding only one pancake, his systems twitch. Schedule; what schedule is he forgetting? 

But, he would never concern you with the inner turmoil that is clawing away at his chest cavity like a rabid, frenzied animal, so he simply says, (PANCAKE) “My apologies, Master. I did not mean to make us late.”

“Did seeing me all dressed up scare you that bad?”

With the high-voltage mixer already in a bowl, Jade takes the time to look behind him towards you. The single egg and pancake (PANCAKE) only have 1:42 minutes left until they are completed, so he has the allotted period to look at you, all dressed up. He smiles disarmingly. “Not scared, just surprised.”

His intricate memory-bank supplies him with a number: 259. It has been two hundred and fifty-nine days since the last time you have worn something other than fuzzy or silk pajama bottoms coupled with a graphic tee. That is exactly 8.51506 months ago, which would have made it March. When the weather was growing warmer, you wanted to ride in the car until the gas went from F to E. Now, once again, you are all dressed up.

It is a pretty monotone palette, nothing like what you had worn in March. With a flowing pinstriped jacket, black and white are the only colors of your outfit, besides the tiniest touch of silver from the tangling vines stitched over your blouse’s collar. Your hanging tie and flowy dress pants are a stark black, like the cut of a blank television screen, and your gloves and blouse are a stark white, like a newly painted therapist office wall.

He supposes the most colorful thing about you right now is the orange filter tip in your lovely mouth. Oh, you also have lipstick on. In this game of I-Spy, Jade can identify only two different colors shining in the canvas of sterility that covers your skin. 

Hues like that might mean a funeral. His left eye slices off the left side of the kitchen dining table. It all falls into a black hole as Jade pulls up information of every living relative you have left; their faces fly through his vision, searching public obituaries and searching articles, as you talk to him.

“I guess it might be a bit disarming.” You take your third drag, methodical. “I didn’t think I would need to give you a warning. My mistake; right, Jade?”

All of your relatives are alive. The latest medical update is that your mother has been given the drug memantine along with her typical Leqembi medication. “Nonsense. I’m not so aged that I can’t keep up with your spontaneity,” he jokes, left vision returning. Perhaps the schedule is simply the quotidian schedule of your day-to-day.

Charmed, you smile in the fog cloud of tobacco sliding away from your face. “Oh, he thinks he’s funny,” you jest back. Between two thin fingers, you balance a cigarette and point it at him like it is a professor’s presentation pointer. “No puns today. I’ll take out your tongue.”

He fakes a look of hurt. “Oya, do you really find them so abhorrent?” He turns as you supply him with a synonym – execrable, you moan – and focuses his attention on breakfast-making. Methodically, first, the mixer is pulled up from the bowl and then both pancake (PANCAKE, not pancakes, to Jade’s punctilious annoyance) and sunny side up egg are slid onto your plate. 

“Humor is said to lower blood pressure and improve memory retention. It is as important as a good, clean breakfast. However, if my puns are banned, omelet it slide this time. We have a schedule to follow, Master.” 

He still hasn’t figured out what it is though. And he does not want his vision to start flashing with ropes of blaring red and white words, SCHEDULE replacing PANCAKE – which has already been giving him enough stress. As he puts the incomplete plate down, he wonders if he has time to remedy it before you finish your single 9 A.M. cigarette.

“Booo,” you caterwaul at his pun. However, you smile and your heart beats languid so it must be alright. “Keep that up and no birthday surprise for you.”

Jade stops. Still as a paused movie. His whole body is stiff for a millisecond, and if he did not recover so quickly, you would have surmised he went into forced shutdown upon hearing your words. A calculative, bloodless arm reaches out to tilt the pancake batter into the skillet as he acknowledges that today is in fact November 5th.

Inside his chest cavity, a tiny Jade, no bigger than your cigarette, wobbles on a fence. He is unsure if he wants every day to be birthday so he can see you doing better, or if he wants this November 5th, this sudden change of clothes and attitude, to stay only on his special day. As always, he does not pick a mental-side.

Instead, he says, “Nonsense. There is no need to exert yourself for me, Master. Do not concern yourself with a trivial matter.”

“Don’t be modest. Birthdays are special; and we haven’t celebrated one of yours in four years.” 

Jade remembers that day fondly. High sugar-concentrated items are one-in-a-blue-moon type of expensive. Most households can only afford one or two birthday cakes in their lifetimes, so it was sentimentally human that your first year together, you dipped into your retirement savings and bought a man with no functioning digestive system, a cake.

“I have no choice but to concede if it is an order,” Jade baits.

“Then, it’s an order.” Smoke pumps through the air as you take an embellishing, deeper inhale. The health of your lungs gets compromised more, day by day. “Non refutable.”

“Of course, Master.” Jade would bend in a bow if he were not so intent on making sure this pancake (pancake) stayed on his spatula and off the floor.

Breakfast proceeds as normal after the slight hiccup. When the room is thoroughly perfumed with the acidic scent – Jade always enjoys how harshly you snub out your cigarette, grinding them down into nothing, whatever ring lying on your index glistening under the ceiling light, and today it is a glistening, jade green eye – you eat your precisely made sunny side up egg and two pancakes. Yolk and syrup bleed all over the plate like sliced open arteries. You compliment his cooking as always before stuffing another cigarette between your lips.

This one you simply hold there as Jade scrubs your dish. He slots the ceramic in the drying rack along with the already evaporating skillets and bowl. You glide around the kitchen. It is quaint. There are only ever two plastic cups in the cabinet and two plates in the lower cupboards. Often though, the second copies of each various dishware are left unused.

Your arm and Jade’s arm slide against each other when you fill a plastic green cup up to the brim with faucet water. The robot twitches.

After utensils are hand-dried and put away, Jade looks towards you for guidance. Today is such an outlier to the normal schedule that he feels a bit unbalanced. Usually, you have already lit up your second cigarette of the morning, burrowing up into your study. Instead, you say, “C’mon,” as you walk out of the kitchen with an unlit cigarette hanging from your lip and a cup of faucet water in hand.

Obedient, he follows you up to your study. Your uneven fingernails glide across the banister. “I couldn’t help but also get one for myself. When I went to the market and saw them, I got selfish.” When you open the door to your study, Jade is greeted with the familiar sight of books thrown to the ground, pages torn from their homes, and ink split across the scene like something left behind for a bloodstain pattern analyst. There are also three water bottles full of gold liquid he will have to dispose of.

What calls his immediate attention is the two different shapes draped underneath hand-towels. They sit on your desk which is devoid of any papers or books. One is covering something spherical but Jade cannot decipher what is underneath the second towel.

Despite the jumble, you glide over to your desk with precise footsteps. Jade follows right along behind you. It is programmed in his system to never disrupt anything in this study, so he refuses to nudge a paper or cause the slightest altercation to the disorganized order. 

By the foot of the desk, your taxidermied lion stands in paused death, stuff full of cedar dust. You pet the wisps of mane as you approach the table. The cigarette is still in your mouth; you take it out, smooth knuckles over your tie, and place your hand back down upon the lion’s head. Petting behind stuffed ears, you give a weak pseudo-command.

“Now, I don’t want a repeat of this morning. You being startled and all that. So,” your eyes move from the towels to Jade’s, “you can’t afford to lose your head over this, right, Jade?”

Though he has no heart that could possibly quicken in anticipation, Jade still places a firm hand over that spot as if to banish his foretold anxieties. That familiar, smarmy expression comes back to his facial plate. A slight scrunch of the slanted downward eyebrows that leaves a crinkled line and a timid smile showing off tiny, razor teeth. “I assure you, nothing of the sort will happen, Master.”

“Good.” You place the green plastic cup behind the presents. Light from the window hits the cup; a long green shadow stretches over your desk. As you pinch the towel edge in your fingers, you are palpably excited, grinning wide. “3 ... 2 … 1 … Happy birthday, Jade!”

The smile remains on his face because he has permanently set it there himself. If he were human, it would have fallen. 

“Master, this is illegal.” Jade reaches out and covers up his present with the towel, as if that will make it disappear. 

You give him nothing but a tiny, mischievous smile. Wrinkled with age, it makes you look youthful despite the deep shadows that come with loosening, brittle skin. Like you are young again and you have just told him of something nefarious you have done. This is certainly nefarious, an odious development happening under this house’s roof.

“Master,” Jade starts, precise in his speech, “this could compromise us. Though I am grateful that you want to celebrate my birthday, we should burn this in the fireplace post haste.” He looks back down at the shrouded sphere. Burning the evidence is the innate command that rises up to Jade’s predecessors, using all his logic, but if you were to refute it …

A tiny chortle escapes your lips. It pulls back your painted lips; it has been quite a large sum of days since you have last worn lipstick as Jade’s databases know. “Do you really want to throw away my gift?”

Want? Jade does not do that. He has never known what yearning could possibly feel like. “My apologies. However, it would be wise to exterminate it. As stated by the legislation, living organisms that are not edible or a part of the approved nourishment selection for fruits and vegetables must be destroyed. This violates Section B on the –.”

“Mushrooms are edible.”

“Pardon,” Jade questions softly.

“Mushrooms. They are biologically living organisms like plants and animals.” You gesture to the sphere with your cigarette as if your words have just abolished the legal constraints created years ago. “They’re edible too.” Defiant, you remove the towel once more.

Jade’s eyes flicker down to evaluate the illicit good you have brought home. The terrarium’s contraband resides in a spherical globe with no visible opening. The most probable explanation is it was built starting from the bottom platform of dirt before the globe was welded on. Inside, it contains mycobionts, O Horizon soil, and bryophyta. Simply put: lichen, dirt, and moss.

He measures the length, measures the volume, finds the species of fungi from the internet, and lastly, once more calculates how quickly it will burn up in the parlor’s fireplace. Agaricus subrufescens sit still under his acute, probing analysis. Regrettably, they are edible. According to mycology databases, they taste intensely of almonds. 

Edible. The one word washes over Jade like a glittering, green wave. Edible, which means only one thing. “Thank you for the gift, Master. Rest assured that I will make good use of them in our evening meal, in gratitude for your generosity.”

Before he can retrieve them from the desk, you seize his hand. “Funny. You’re a real jokester, Jade.” You intertwine lithe fingers with him, thoughtlessly and recklessly. This time, Jade does go still, long and hard. It is a rigor mortis so heavy that it is enough for it to be mistaken as a forced shutdown, if one did not know better. You know his systems though. “You have to keep it, Jade. Don't cook it. Or dispose of it. That’s a non refutable order.”

Whatever avalanche of glitches stirred through Jade ends. He flexes his hand and the power of a command cloaks his synthetic skin. He looks once more at his new gift, doubly his new contraband, with polite resignation. That never changing, timid smile is present as always. 

“If it is what you command, Master.”

“Okay.” Satisfied, you turn towards your own present. “Okay, okay, my turn!” With the suave of a magician, you unveil it. 

It takes just an inch of the petals being revealed to recognize what other contraband you have snuck in. A melange of red-orange and little orange petals stare up at his predecessors, a dozen or so individual, flower-gems. His databases flicker. They are marigolds. 

“Ta-da,” you even flourish, cloth hanging in your hand like a ghost-sheet. “Beautiful, aren’t they? And before you say anything, flowers lower cortisol levels so we must keep them. For my health, yes?” You bat your eyelashes at him like a child asking for an extra scoop of ice-cream.

Jade concedes easily. Even though in his left eye, he has pulled up the list of illegal flowers. Marigolds are plainly sandwiched between mandrakes and marvel-of-peru; though marvel-of-peru is an old name as Peru has in recent years been melting into its new identity and becoming a part of invasive Brazil. Jade accepts that these marigolds are going to be kept here. Another living organism he will need to care for.

“Beautiful,” Jade muses. He looks at your face. “Yes, they are beautiful.”

“I’m glad you think so.” You grin like a cat with a canary snapped and dead between your fangs. It must have taken strenuous effort to smuggle these from the market, never mind the effort that it must have taken you to even leave the house. ‘Beautiful,’ Jade reflects as he delicately yet steadily picks up the terrarium from your desk.

Jade goes about his regiment-esque routine as normally as possible after that. He slots the terrarium into his sterile bedroom – complete with a bed he has never slept in and complete with books he already has memorized in his software – in a spot where it will get just the correct balance between light and darkness. A place that perfectly mimics natural daylight despite the fact it lies inside. Then, he enters his routine while the almond mushroom terrarium sits in the back of his software like a tumor, a dull reminder that is always there. 

You always give him such puzzling challenges. Brain-teasers of sorts that invoke trying to unshackle him from his real identity. Sudoku squares that he has to fill in with things like free will, thoughts, rebellion. He does not doubt that you want the best for him, but it is all very puzzling. 

Jade prefers things like laundry. Neat and clean. November 5th has coincidentally fallen on laundry day. On the living room’s wooden coffee table, he takes to folding all the warm pajamas into tidy piles. The assembly line of his motions are precise. Jade folds each graphic tee top sideways into thirds to tuck in the sleeves and evenly crosses each pajama pant leg to cover over its twin. 

This is what life is all about: laundry. Laundry is linear. There is a right and a wrong way to go about doing laundry, so very unlike volatile life with its dangerous contraband and sad women. From your study, door half ajar, you send down the unraveling string of your voice past the stairs and to the parlor, “Jade! Jeopardy or Wheel of Fortune? The birthday boy gets to pick tonight!” 

He looks up from a pair of silk, aquamarine pajama pants. Weighing the pros and cons of each of the game shows, he scrunches up his plastic nose. Inside, the fence of decision bends back and forth. The only aspect that pushes him – tiny, cigarette-sized Jade, wobbling with helicopter arms – is that he gets to hear your voice more when you watch Jeopardy together than when you watch Wheel of Fortune together.

“Jeopardy!” He shouts back.

“Perfect!” 

There is palpable cheer in your voice that shocks Jade so fiercely that he stills in his task of laundry, looking up at the spiral tongue of stairs that led to your office with a mute expression of awe. From his low vantage point, he sees the door is closed. Jade blinks at it, hidden behind the prison bars of a banister and high out of reach.

He goes back to folding in precise motions. Life is straightening itself out like laundry. 

On the coffee table where he had been folding laundry hours ago, two little domes of red sit on the surface. The surface is also littered with dozens upon dozens of rainbow confetti stripes, a plate where a leftover cupcake wrapper and melted candle lie, and an ashtray. Tissue paper crown donned, Jade grabs the remote and starts to scroll through channels until he reaches Jeopardy. 

After so many decades, they still have not changed the setup. Though the color scheme has warped decade by decade – people are most fond of teal and fuchsia rose this generation – the three, lecture-adjoined counters for contestants and isolated, lecture-adjoined counter for the host. Jade watches the copy of himself – small and compact in the television’s shiny dome – start to introduce each of the three human contestants. 

“You’re not gonna beat me this time,” you say, neck rolled over the sofa’s back. Eyes floating to and from the cabin’s ceiling, you declare, “I was only one decisecond off last time from stealing that point and gaining a lead. Don’t forget that.”

“I won’t forget,” Jade assures as he sets down the remote. “My memory bank has immortalized your grievous scream as you lost the very point last time quite clearly in fact.” He pretends to look somewhere else when you turn to him scandalized.

“You ass!” You hit his shoulder hard with your own. Both of you sway in laughter, smiling toothily at one another. 

The game starts shortly after. The robot from Jaded Robotics starts by asking contestant number one to pick from six categories the select from the five clues, going from 200 to 400 to 600 to 800 to 1000. As soon as the ball starts rolling, the game is in full swing and both you and Jade are on the edge. Each time a clue is given, a pair of hands – one silicone and one flesh – descend upon the coffee table like hungry vultures and slam hard on red domes, both of you in perfect unison yet typically always ahead of the contestants inside the television dome.

How many stages are there in a butterfly’s life cycle?

What is four?

The astronomical unit is a unit based on the average distance between what two places?

What is the Earth and the Sun?

After legalization of trophy hunting, a successful purging of what species was celebrated in 2170?

What are lions?

Define the problem. Do background research. Specify requirements. Brainstorm solutions. Choose the best solution. Do development work. Build a prototype. Test and redesign.

What are the steps of an engineering algorithm?

A requirement to have at least bachelor’s degree for entry-level jobs in the field, typically in mechanical engineering or related engineering specialties. 

What are the degrees required to be a robotics engineer?

Body coloring that helps an animal blend in with its surroundings and stay safe from enemies.

What is protective coloration?

Daily Double. This university experienced a devastating terrorist attack by foreign enemies in 2177.

What is Massachusetts Institute of Technology?

Storing toxic chemicals that they ate as a caterpillar, this species used its deterrents against predators for the rest of their life.

What is a Postman butterfly?

This largest moon of Pluto is about half the size of the dwarf planet’s size.

What is Charon?

Moral principles that govern a person’s behavior or the conduct of an activity.

What is ethics?

The project designed to rid Earth of all harmful and invasive species was backed by which political group.

What are the Purgers?

A rich program used to create scale drawings of robots in Jaded Robotics.

What is a JED?

The Egyptian God Ra was the God of what?

What is the Sun?

This cancer is the leading cause of deaths in both men and women.

What is lung cancer?

If Jade has a favorite part of a day’s schedule, it is checking your lungs for cancer. However, having favorites invokes the principle of emotional highs and lows, selecting what is dopamine-inducing and what is dopamine-neglectful. So, Jade does not have a favorite part of his day. He goes about each task with inert, psychological activity. 

If it was poetry, one would describe it as being a monitor of a dead heartbeat, his emotions.

Slipping off the hand-skin like it is a glove, Jade looks at you sitting in your dressing gown. The room is washed in red. From the mouth of the nightstand lamp, it bleeds out over this meager radiology room. Red falls over the crown of your busy ashtray, slinks down the sides of ivory covers, coils around your exposed torso. You are not facing him.

Folding synthetic skin lies in a puddle of empty fingers on your dresser. Methodical, Jade makes his way over. Gears shift in his silver digits, electromagnetic beams boiling beneath the surface. He asks the same questions as any doctor – coughing up any blood, any dull or sharp chest pains, any shortness of breath, Master – but he is better equipped than any doctor because his gold eye is a detector that measures physiological arousal factors that would indicate if a lie is being told. 

All your answers are truthful. You answer his inquiries around bites of dark chocolate, staring at your headboard and snacking. The mattress dips when Jade adds his weight onto it, resting one knee upon it and letting his other dangle down. He watches your jaw bulge as you run your tongue between teeth and mouth lining to gather up melted chocolate.

“I’m going to touch you now, Master.”

“...”

Gently, he drapes his right hand’s index and middle finger on the back of your neck. It is at the junction where the neck starts to melt into shoulders, spine, and back. Cervical 7 and Thoracic 1. It is an irrational spot to start because there is nothing of lung matter to check there. Jade, for an irrational moment, lingers there.  

After a clean breath, he moves down the midline of your spine until he reaches the 12th bottom rib. Your skin gives a bit more resistance than a young person’s; the experience of living ages all except Jade. On the stretching desert of your skin, he locates your lungs with routined practice. His unnaturally-colored silver skin looks like a spider brooch upon your human-hued skin.

Electromagnetic energy builds at his fingertips. Tiny photons swirl in a circle with one another like joyous fishes. Their energy eclipses infrared, visible light, and ultraviolet until Jade reaches the type he needs. Gently, he pushes his palm into your back and slides it up to the top of your shoulder. He repeats that on the left and right. He repeats both a second time, capturing four photos.

When he pulls back, you are already shucking up your dressing gown. Raising it to your shoulders and crossing it in front of your nude breasts, you eat more dark chocolate as the machine behind you goes over the X-ray captured photos. 

The black and white images slide into Jade’s left eye, blocking out his sight. His right eye watches you bundle yourself back up as the first photo moves vertically across his spliced vision, showing him more inch by inch. The right lung is clear, only the ghost of your ribs disrupt the image; the left lung is clear, only the ghost – (TUMOR). 

Jade jerks so suddenly on the bed that you turn around, eyes round. You throw half of a questioning expression at him, face cut down the middle. Around the bedtime cigarette you are lifting up to your lips, you ask him, “Something wrong, Jade?”

In his left vision, a string of tumor (TUMOR TUMOR TUMOR TUMOR TUMOR TUMOR TUMOR TUMOR TUMOR TUMOR TUMOR TUMOR TUMOR TUMOR TUMOR TUMOR TUMOR TUMOR) swims, multiple lines like a student assigned to write down a single word on a chalkboard as punishment. Hidden underneath that jumbled mess (TUMOR), a black and white image of your left lungs lies. The scanned picture is completely black besides the ghostlike shape of your ribs and the tiny spot of white cancer that sits between the second and third rib like a tiny Sun.

Jade does not dream. 

Irrevocably, this is a cement fact of his biology. There is no possible way for Jade Leech to dream. No stimulus in his software can make a true dream emerge from lines of code. Detecting from that certainty, what Jade sees beyond his closed eyelids must be a memory, even though Jade has never lived through this before. 

In Jade’s ‘dream’, you are with him – as is congenitally correct and true, you two are always with one another. From the pockets of breathable palazzo pants, you are fishing out your sunglasses. The frames sit on your nose and ear notches, covering your eyes with black hexagons. You look like an insect. 

Maybe, Jade has fabricated this world. Research has shown that the human body does not create new faces for the actors in their dreams but rather picks out strangers to act in their inner films. You are all he has ever known, so of course you would be the star of Jade’s motion picture. And, you do remind him of an attractive movie star.

Sunglasses donned, you take to surveying the scenery surrounding the two of you under a bright, cloudless sky. Sand lies below and across. In glittering divots and hills, nature has laid a stippling of gold as far as the human or robot eye can see. From the advanced height you two share together at the top of one of Namib Desert’s hills, it is quite a magnificent sight of bareness. 

“Less shrubs than last time,” you comment, mouth surprisingly empty of a cigarette and face twenty years younger.

“Yes, the desertification has certainly increased. Officials report a 2.7 percentage uptick. Even the speciocide on turnera oculata raised many praises and received an opening headliner last month in February,” Jade comments, face the same as always has been and always will be.

“You think that truck we passed by were Purgers?”

“One of the young gentlemen in the back of the cargo bed was indeed holding a flamethrower. The probability is at least 62 percent.”

“Sick bastards.” Sand flies in sprinkles like splashed water. You reposition your foot to lean on the heel. “The ants are invasive, not the flowers.”

“I’m sure that they will be targeting that next, Master.”

Jade has forgotten to mention that it is not just you, him, and the sand in this ‘dream’. Though his gaze has been hooked in deeply to you – analyzing each twitch and jump of your facial features from the hairs on your eyebrow to the motion of your chin; right now your facial expression is expressing deep, bodily hatred – there is another person outside of the high, out-of-reach bubble crafted by Jade. He can be found in the expanse of sand beyond the hill.

The chauffeur stands with his hip snug to the driver’s side-view mirror. He is different from the chauffeur you two had yesterday. He has a slender scar that bisects his eye, deep enough where it is a pink on his brown skin. For the hour-and-a-half drive from the motel, the driver had been narrating stories on how you could get a scar just like his if you messed around with X, Y, or Z; his words were not articulated with teasing advice but jaded ritualistic habit; interestingly, Jade notes, he even used cactus needles as an origin for his scar but cactus are extinct. Packaged together in the backseat, you and Jade both held his sharp gaze where it cut like a knife towards the two of you in warning.

What about a lion? Could you acquire a scar like that from a lion? His left eye is partly slumped in his socket as if what did injure him permanently altered the position of the ball. Packaged in the rear view mirror like a comic strip, that uneven gaze stared into unevenly colored eyes. It would. If there were any lions left to hand out scars. 

Now, the scarred man stands with his arms folded, looking out with disapproval at the nudeness of the desert beyond him. His background check assures that he has done this job for five years, seasoned without any misfortunate slipup. Still, the dimensions of the gun the man has strapped to his hip settle into Jade’s ‘brain’ with a detailed outline of how to dismantle it – if that becomes necessary. 

Jade stops surveying the company when you speak. “Oculata … I know that word, don’t I?” Your knuckles are pressed firmly into your lipsticked lips. 

Without physically pacing, you pace around in your mind. “Oculata, oculata, oculata,” you repeat, firm each time.

“Master,” Jade says with soft urgency.

“Oculata … Ooo-cuuu-lata. Oculata? Oculata … having eyes. Ah! Having eyes. That’s what it means.” You snap in the midst of your epiphany. You look towards Jade. “Yes, Jade, what is it?”

“Master, I believe we have gotten unlucky.” His hand points out towards the horizon. 

When you follow the direction of his index, your heartbeat exceeds the typical amount of beats per minute. For six minutes, Jade measures its pumping fluctuations as both of you silently watch the king of the jungle descend down a sandy hill. Imprints of his paws are birthed with each step and follow after the lion like a blood trail. The blood in your veins is turbulent like a pinched hose, terribly anxious. 

“Master?”

“…”

“Master, if –.”

“Jade. In your own words, without paraphrasing from the internet, describe to me the look of turnera oculata. Do-uooo it … in the form of a haiku,” you order, snapping your fingers at the end of your command. Below, your chauffeur has just crossed himself and locked himself inside the company’s limousine. 

It takes a few precious moments, but Jade eventually formulates a haiku. He articulates, “A bleeding yellow. A sun eclipsed by needles. The eye of nature.” When you request for him to make another one without using any of the previous words, Jade vocalizes, “These dry petals see. Morning's canary splendor. In this desert heart.” You clap quickly yet quietly; it is like a reward.

By now, the lion has cautiously ventured to the middle of the bowl the desert hills have constructed. It is smartly not inching closer to the limousine, animal instinct on high alert towards a vehicle. However, the lion is obviously interested in the company. He is out of his element without scrubland to hide underneath or behind.

Instead of heeding this opportunity, you continue on, “I was sure you might slip up and use the definite article, ‘the’, again but you did a marvelous job of avoiding repeated word choice!” Turning, you smile at Jade. Sunlight illuminates the edges of your hair style like licks of flame. “Your efficiency is always praise worthy.”

“Thank you, Master.” Is that perhaps a verbal nudge in the situation – you are strangely making note of his efficiency – perhaps telling Jade that he should get the job done. He won’t ask so instead he verbally spars. “Human errors are a continuous trifle. It is most gratifying that I will never have to genuinely deal with such a thing. Is it … Is it difficult?” He shifts his vocal stereos to playfully pitying at the last sentence.

“You ass,” you smile radiantly. However, it drops when you notice the lion has not rushed off to some unseeable part of the desert. He seems to have found contentment in his prowl here, obviously anxious of both of you but not backing down from his clear trek to the southwest of Namib Desert. It’s been in the area for enough minutes where the chauffeur will be legally required to report the sighting. 

“Thought we’d make out with better luck today,” you grumble.

“Master?” 

Jade offers, outstretched, the .375 caliber rifle, unhooking it from the strap on his back. 

“Yeah … yeah.” Despondent, you take the weapon in your arms. “Guess it is about that time, ain’t it? We can’t return home empty-handed. Business retreat was exclusively paid for … the suits won’t be happy to know I didn’t hunt the game. Nothing to do but play along.”

“Some of the most toxic animals protect themselves through camouflage.”

“Ain’t that just the way~.” The scope and your eyeball bisect each other in perfect ratio. With the practiced precision that you use to commence lining up for a shot, it makes Jade remember that old gossip talk that he heard in the staffroom, said between bites of donuts and sips of coffee, What does a robotic engineer and professor need to know how to shoot a gun for?

The lion goes down, sending waves of sand jumping up. It is a clean shot between the eyes; the lion certainly felt no pain. Jade’s focus is pulled away when the source of your tumor, a single cigarette, is placed directly in his line of sight.

“Don’t you remember our agreement? After I kill something, you have to light my cigarette for me.”

Jade’s eyes fly open.

Greeted by the sight of his bedroom, Jade steps off the platform of his charging pad and discards his ‘dream’ like a dog shaking water off his fur. Polygons of sunrise light cuts from his window. In the fleeting stillness of daylight — 5:00 shining red next to his terrarium — and absence of demands, Jade stands perfectly still with a sense of something missing from his components washing over him.

His face is white with terror. His eyes dull with lifelessness. 

Then, he shakes that off too and ventures downstairs to go make you two pancakes and a sunny side up egg.

You once told him that ‘progress is not linear’. You had illustrated this point to him with the cherry glow of your cigarette, waving and cutting the fire through the air to make a graphical visual of moving up then moving down then moving back up again. Fluctuations and setbacks can either stir someone very high or they can cause someone to go low. It is never perfectly straight like laundry.

That one graph confounds Jade to no end. When you construct something, the progress is linear. Staring at the empty dining chair beyond him, he finds himself confounded once again with progress’s inevitable immodesty. Today is 11/6/2182 and you have not come down for breakfast. He has been waiting for exactly 0:59:59 and, now in a slow blink, he has waited for 1:00:00. One whole hour and you are not here. 

There have been instances where you miss or skip breakfast. But, the preface of yesterday — seeing you wearing an outfit for the first time in a long while and seeing a freckle of cancer growing in your lungs — leaves him wondering if there is a disrepair in his systems. You started on such a high and ended on such a low yesterday. Progress is not linear.

His sensors glance across the intimately small round table. Past the butter tray shaped like a cow and towards the plate where your pancakes and sunny side egg are cold and deflating. Jade blinks once. The dish remains uneaten and at room temperature in front of him. Not even a warm cigarette is light to melt the ice that has held him in place for an hour.

At the bottom of the trash, the food looks … sad. How illogical to add an emotion to the sight of carbohydrates and protein sloshing down into the pristine white trash bag. Jade places the plate full of syrup blood streaks into the sink and makes a small, unusual trek to your bedroom — to check if everything is alright. 

He won’t fail the purpose of his intentional design. He was manufactured in a factory, built on front line assembly, and given the inputted task: Take Care of my Master.

(MASTER.)

There is no fathomable way that Jade Leech will allow himself to fall short of this robotic Manifest Destiny.  

Jade knocks his artificial knuckles against the front of your door. Following proper etiquette, he takes a step back and waits until you respond to his call. His ears are awaiting to receive the sound of your vocal cords. There is something spiritual in how your voice manages to scrub out any rust left inside his body. 

But, he receives no answer. And after he waits the polite amount of minutes, tries again with three, sharp yet spaced out knocks, he has still not received an answer. What a dilemma. 

Jade is permitted to enter your bedroom without explicit permission. However, with the way things concluded on his birthday yesterday, it would be illogical to not anticipate that some of the parameters that Jade is allowed to walk freely have not been closed to him now. You might not want to see Jade for a week or … even a month.

Jade finds his knuckles raising without input, knocking thrice again. “Master, I apologize for my overstepping behavior and pushing out boundaries. I would like to make amends today for yesterday.” There is, once again, no response.

The silence is so loud, it's deafening. That oxymoron emerges in Jade’s artificial synapses. He cannot help but judge it as an appropriate expression. The silence in your absence is deafening. He would rip out the wires in his ears if you ever left.

Forehead pressing to the door, Jade soliloquies loud enough to be heard, “Master … (Name). Your health is a great concern to me. Yesterday, I inadequately expressed where this concern of mine stems from. I credited the source towards code and etiquette. My inputs are inert, and they always will be as my sole job is to take care of you above all else. Yet, underneath all that, the origin of my concern comes from the concrete fact that I am in love with you, (Name). I have been in love with you for so long. For ten thousand upon ten thousand minutes, for hundred upon hundred weeks, I cherished you solely.”

He angles his head so his ear lies on the wooden door. Nothing stirs beyond cedar barriers. 

“I have covered this through ritualistic self-assurance that I cannot fully comprehend the full scope of what ‘want’ or ‘desire’ is defined as, not defined in a dictionary, but defined inside of a heart. My ‘heart’ pumps, not blood, but solely electricity, the binary code of zeros and ones, and the devotion that I have for you. Human sentimentalities sometimes allude me, but I have reassurance through one fact that I feel the most, above all other emotions. I love you. My love is perhaps not a perfect replica by human standards. However, its existence I am certain of. Though it is not easily achievable, I want to make you as happy as you can possibly be. I want you to have no worries that must be burned through with a cigarette. If you would permit – command me the allowance – I would like to share this love that I feel for you with you, (Name).”

After a minute, 00:01:00, has passed, Jade slowly turns the knob of your bedroom door in his hand. He lifts his head from the wood. Through the open mouth of the door, he gazes upon your lonely mattress with resignation. Faced with emptiness, Jade thinks to himself, I should have never said something as loose-tongued as that. I will permanently delete any urges to repeat that verbal mistake.  

In replacement of family portraits, you have hung up frames of taxidermy that display a series of brilliant butterflies and moths, from the Adonis Blue Butterfly to the Yellow Horned Moth. His sensors trail over them. Such fragile specimens. Jade, then, closes the door and departs from his previous expressed, petulant folly of love.

It is for the best that my Master did not hear that. 

In his trek through the hallway, palm gently cupping the log banister as he steps, Jade’s ears acutely pick up a soft murmur of music. ‘In the fake plastic earth .. that she bought from a rubber man.’ His eyes flicker towards the door of your office. When you select this as his and your home, you specifically wanted a house made of authentic wood, nothing blended with plastic. The material creates a bright tap sound against his synthetic knuckles thrice, clear like a bell. 

Can you hear that over the music? There is no certainty, so his hand finds the doorknob innately. Jade misses you fervently and all you did is skip breakfast. Welcomed in, the sound of Radiohead’s Fake Plastic Trees rains off the horn of your record player. ‘It wears her out. It wears her out.’

You are sleeping, head down on your desk, still in yesterday’s dressing gown.

He lifts the needle off the record. It is impressive to see a model two hundred years old still functioning. When he is two hundred years old, will he still function?  Avoiding making a single miscalculating step, Jade travels effectively through the mess until he reaches the front of your desk.

At least you snuffed out your cigarette before falling asleep. There was a time you neglected to make sure all the ashes were firmly pressed and cooled. It started a pocket-sized fire and ate the side of the pages of Fahrenheit 451 like a munching caterpillar. Jade had extinguished the fire calmly, and his reward was you giddily throwing your arms around his neck and laughing at the absurdity of it all. 

The cigarette that is on your ashtray is snuffed out thoroughly and cooled. It is too close for comfort however. Some of your hair is even lying in wisps over the item. Jade relocates the tray to the right corner of your desk when his sensors happen to notice a slight irregularity in your sleeping position. 

Your head is using your left arm as a pillow. Your raw, un-lipsticked lips press delicately into the elbow sleeve and you breath out soft puffs of carbon dioxide. However, what draws Jade’s instantaneous attention in and causes him to pause is the polaroid clenched in your limp right hand.

He won’t move it. Nothing in this room shall be disturbed without explicit permission. Jade turns to finalize the motion of setting the ashtray down on the right desk corner. Yet, hand and tray still hovering in the air, he realizes that he has broken that outlined rule with the slightest misguided concern. 

But, the complexity of caretaking is one given to his hands. With their fake, plastic, and ivory skin, with their tiny train of beetle-shaped steel joints, each of his phalanges has been designed specifically to care for you. They are the ones who cook, clean, and care for solely his Master, for you. Aegis puppets his hands. The polaroid slips into them all too easily.

Besides this one, Jade has never held a physical photograph. Memories are captured on cellular devices and immortalized in harddrives forevermore. Even when the life force of memories starts to leave the body like evaporating rain, citizens have always counted on the deathlessness of digital photos.

This photograph’s paper is fragile. It feels similar to pages in a book. On the back, it says: 11/5/2151. On the front, it shows …

ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR.

The very hand meant to care for you is the one that wakes you up suddenly. In his panic, Jade had slammed the photograph face down upon your desk and roused you sharply out of sleep. Each circuit in his system races hot white sparks up and down like a flurry of insects when a rock is lifted up. Bugs skitter under his skin, tickling nausea. Something in his ‘mind’ has been unshrouded, much like a raised rock.

Your head rises too. Groggily, you peel sections of untamed hair out of your face and peel open suctioning lips with a yawn. Your empty right hand twitches on the desk, trying to recollect what it has lost.

Jade wishes he could observe you more, coming undone from sleep, but he is grappling violently with memories he has lost coming back to him. His ‘brain’ – a collection of harddrives and his central processing unit – is experiencing a unique headache, unlike anything he has felt before. Clawed, his left hand grips and digs hard into the skin over his left eye. He feels like he is going to overload.

Five years ago, Jade knew a life beyond the dead woods of Quebec. Five years ago, Jade helped to outline terms for a tense contract with the vice-president of the United 54 States of America. Five years ago, Jade lit your cigarette. 

“Jade? Jade, are you okay?”

Though he always wants to appear pristine for you, the answer is no. He is not okay; he thinks he hasn’t felt okay in a long, uncalculated time. Looking up from the ground – because somehow all those digital memories started to push down upon him like a hydraulic press and he finds himself in a pile on top of your miserable notes and books – Jade peers at the single hand outstretched towards him with the aid of his sole right eye. 

Instead of grasping it, he grapples with the impossibility that Jade – a machine – managed to achieve such a humane defense mechanism as repression. There’s no way, is there?

His fingers dig hard in his face, folding silicone, yearning to wrench his left eye out. Anything to get back his unconscious protection of blocking out unpleasant memories from his ‘mind’ – anything to rip them from his body. He is a broken man.

“Jade, why are you on the ground? Let me help you up. Come on.” Your voice is so tenderly soft. He has never known a more comforting voice than yours. Yet, all he can remember is your piercing scream from last night, “Get the fuck out before I dismantle you!!”

On uncertain pistons and metal, Jade forces himself to stand. With a trembling metal ulna and radius, he forces his gloved hand to drop by his side. He blinks at you. You are startled into silence, leaning off the edge of your chair with a hand that wants to reach out but is too unconfident. 

“Forgive me for such a display, Master.”

“... Jade.”

It is touching. That despite how monotone you are as a person, your concern will always shine through, solely for Jade.

“What’s wrong! Jade, let me help you!” But he is already retreating out the door, afraid.

He finds himself with his back pressed hard against the office door. His heart beats faster. It does not send out blood but it releases hot waves of white electricity that crackle and pop. The doorknob at his side jiggles as you turn it fruitlessly. Jade simply leans harder on the door, keeping it shut.

I cannot afford to lose my head over this.

Intentional, Jade’s lithe fingers reach up to his skull. Between the field of hair roots, he separates a section to reveal a river of pallid synthetic skin. His non-growing fingernails dig down into the rubber until he hears a clink. Slowly, he grapples around to unpin the skin of his head off.

Less familiar with this process than he is removing his glove-hand, it takes a lengthy measurement of thirty-nine seconds for Jade to completely remove – or lose – his head. 

He unhooks it from the peak of his skull down to where his shoulders and neck meet. It is like opening up a button-up flannel, unhooking each hook from their twin. He travels down to Cervical 7 and Thoracic 1 on his body region, undoing the last hook. Still hinged onto his body by the skin of his front neck, Jade delicately cups his face in front of him. Below his flickering spheres, absent of lashes or lids, he stares solemnly at the valley of molded synthetic mountains, a field of vanilla-almond plastic that resembles human features only because of the dips for his nose, the opening for his eyes, the protrusions for his ears. A Halloween mask to use and parade around as homo sapien. 

It is a desolate and lonely portrait. A steel man boxed in a winding, wooden hallway, holding his humanity in his trembling hands. His face is a shining plate like that of a star. When Jade catches a reflection of himself in the corridor’s mirror, he turns away quickly. 

It is not an inspiring impression he cuts in the reflection with his inhuman, gray skin.

This is a memory. It is not a dream. Juxtaposingly, Jade Leech is 99.9 percent positive that he has never lived through it.

He is looking at a Sun, without shying away from the splendid monstrosity that is glaring, piercing light. His eyes are round spheres, one painted yellow and other painted olive-brown. Because of his inhumanity, he can stare into the Sun before him longer than a hundred seconds without incurring any permanent retinal damage. There is no squishy softness in the back of his retinas to hurt. 

The Sun abruptly moves away, relocated northeast. “Hey, don’t look too close now. You’re going to see something you don’t like.” In front of his artificial retinas, the visage of a lapis blue rectangle and dull indigo blue rectangle directly atop the lighter block in a skull of sleek gray intercept Jade’s focus. 

Another prototype, Jade crafts his hypothesis. The highly educated guess shatters when a single gloved hand lifts up the welding mask. Incorrect. My Master. Much younger than fifty-two and younger than thirty-something, you look to be about freshly twenty-one. Your eyes squint impishly at him and your rows of clean, white teeth smile jubilantly at him. 

Then, without warning, someone has pulled his Master away from him – like a fluid cane hooking around a character onstage and pulling them away. He corrects this fallacious interference. You have simply pushed yourself backwards on your office chair with wheels and are currently busying yourself with the tools and documents on your long, long desk.

Jade also corrects one last thing. He was not staring into the Sun, but rather into the eye of a lamp. There is still so much to learn about this growing world. 

As he directs his focus off the lamp and back towards his Master, he is not discomposed to see you with a lit cigarette in your mouth. It is quite a comforting familiar sight in a strange world. He is taking in all the new inputs – the dozens of crushed energy cans littering the desk and the dissected baby chimpanzee with knives sticking out like a pincushion quilled with needles– and committing them to an infinite memory. You’re tapping a scalpel knife on the petite chimp’s engorged colon, breathing in a drag of nicotine, before asking, “Name?”

“JE-14500. Jade Leech.”

“Where are we right now, Jade?”

“MIT. Massachusetts Institute of Technology in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Specifically, in Professor. (Last Name)’s personal laboratory on the fourth floor of the Stata Center.”

“Good. In what wing?”

“We are housed in the Artificial Intelligence wing.”

“Today’s date? Today’s weather? Today’s horoscope for Scorpio?”

“The day is November 5th, 2151. Today is scheduled to be sunny with no clouds. High temperatures of 77 and low temperatures of 59. The average temperature is 66.4. Today’s horoscope for Scorpios is ‘If you can dream it, you can do it. That's what you've always been told, what you've always believed, and now what you're about to prove. As if your already substantial intellectual prowess weren't enough to get you started, the stars are on your side too. They'll be waking you up this morning with the vivid memory of a dream, the kind that will stay with you all day, constantly making you wonder ‘what if?’, Master.”

“Hm.” You spear your scalpel through the chimpanzee’s stomach. Taking off your welding mask, you blow smoke over your shoulder and roll over to Jade who sits rigidly in a repurposed dentist patient chair. You are so beautiful. “And, are the stars on your side, Jade?”

“To be truthful, I feel the stars root for you more than they parade around for me. Prosperity is just around the corner.”

“Charming,” you bite. “Well, it’s no compromise to say that the stars have aligned for both of us today. We’ll share luck. What is your opinion on sharing with me, Jade?”

“I find it most agreeable.”

“We won’t just be sharing luck. We’ll be sharing a shelter and I am not the most agreeable roommate. I can be quite a thorn. If you’re truly fine with sharing, you are going to have to deal with some things you don’t like or are hesitant to look at.”

“Let me allay your worries,” Jade straightens his posture and stares unabashedly at you, “whatever conditions I happen to find myself experiencing, it will not be a struggle to me when I have a light like you to wash away any creeping darkness. Even if you are the darkness itself, Master.”

An odd human phenomenon happens next. It is one he hasn’t seen before, so he makes sure to document it thoroughly. You inhale your cigarette, it billows up and away from your face, and, without explanation, your cheeks have brightened to rosy apples. “Aaaaah~,” you moan as you collapse in your chair. Your hand covers up over your features, cigarette tight between fingers. 

You glare at him from behind the spindly, uneven cage of your fingers, face reddening. “I’m certain of it now, I input too much data from My Man Godfrey. Even some of the dialects have been used already.” Your eyebrow is twitching. “I can’t have myself getting flustered at every turn just because I crafted your personality chip to mimic my favorite movie star.”

After a puff and drag, you seem to scrutinize him quite drastically. Before Jade can inquire about what he can do to ease your worries, you cheerfully state, “But, it’s really too late to change such a thing! Hehe!” You roll back to your desk. From there, you start fiddling with the chimp’s maroon-brown fingers, moving the thumb in circles. “I can’t help it – Godfrey is so handsome and I just love that movie.”

“If I may intrude upon the conversation, what is love, Master? It is listed as one of my side objectives in my system.”

“Now, Jade, you’re not intruding if we are the only ones engaged in conversation. Use an expression like … if I may shift the conversation towards, then whatever you want to say. Got it,” you instruct to which Jade carefully nods and notes. “But, I’ll answer anyway!” 

It does necessarily ‘surprise’ Jade, but it does cause his eyebrows to raise slightly when you, resting your cigarette between your scowling lips, take your dominant hand and reach in the baby chimpanzee’s open chest cavity without the use of gloves and wrench out the fist-sized heart. The arteries follow along in swoops like fallen telephone wires. You take to cutting all those off with a scalpel before rotating to face Jade in your chair on wheels.

“Now.” You gesture with the infant chimpanzee’s heart and hold your cigarette by your armrest. You are so beautiful. “Those penny-pushing suits upstairs, downstairs, hell, even in the next room over, want you to be heartless. They don’t care about nature. They don’t care about life. The world as I know it is sliding on a rapid decline and it’s one destination to a world devoid of anything that lives or breathes, besides of course, the suits. 

“Jade. You have been designed to be the ‘everything man’. What I have been given funding for is the objective to create a high-fashioned butler that will tie the ties of sycophants and scrub the shoes of socialites. You don’t need to think. You don’t need to feel. Trust me, I’ll produce a thousand of Jades just like that – Jades’ whose emotions are like a dead heartbeat. But, you, you who were meant for me.

“You are going to teach me to be less human. In return, I am going to teach you to become human. Do you understand me?”

Jade cannot breathe. He was not designed to do that. Despite this, he feels like he needs to take a deep breath to stabilize himself, soak in all the words you have said, and absorb their meanings. Without this anchoring breath, Jade can only punctually state, “No, Master.” 

“Perfect.” You smoke in victory. “That means we’re on the right path.”

The right path? – “JADE!”

Jade’s eyes fly open. 

Like a man running out of a burning building, he stumbles off his charging platform. Uncoordinated, his feet rock uneasily on flat ground as his head turns violently towards the door of his bedroom. That wasn’t in the memory-dream, was it? He did hear that in the present day, yes?

His eyelids open as far as physically possible as Jade listens to the harsh sound of a headboard smashing repeatedly into the wall. Underneath the thick cacophony, it can be inferred that the other noises he hears are rustling of sheets in the midst of struggle and that low animalistic groan that a dog might make before croaking. Jade has never thrown his bedroom door open so quickly. He wishes construction did not put such a loathsome obstacle like this in his way just for the meaningless sake of privacy. 

Your door splinters in his cement grip like a toy underneath a hydraulic press. 

Perhaps because it is 2 A.M. and he did not get to attend to it yesterday night, but Jade cannot help how all the routine questions rise to his mind. All the ones that he asks before checking the health of your lungs. Coughing up any blood; any dull or sharp chest pains; any shortness of breath, Master? They are all most certainly positive, as your fragile neck is squeezed between two grisly hands. 

There are three men gathered around your bed, but only one kneels upon the sheets, holding your throat in a vice-grip. The other two restrain you in certain capacities, by arm or by leg or by hair. In 1.5 seconds, Jade already has each of their full government names displayed in his left eye. He knows each of their parents intimately, he knows each of their grades on every subject from preschool to university, he knows each of their place of employment and what their fucking managers’ last grocery lists contained on them – from a box of raw fusilli pasta to a four pack of toasted coconut flavored yogurt.

All that information of life is so overpowering, so touching. It is proof of the life cycle – the sequence of biological changes that occurs as an organism develops from egg to adult until death – and how humans are so infinitely complex, affecting those around them in a mythical phenomena that humans call the butterfly effect. When butterflies were not extinct, of course.

Jade would shed a tear if he could. Instead, he marches forward to rip the wings off each of their lives. His intentions are only halted when you stir on the bed, neck released by the startled preparator who stares at Jade like he is seeing a ghost. 

You stir on the mattress, chest heaving. Jade’s attention is magnetized to you. Your head is upside down on the bottom edge of the bed, meaning you must have struggled, trying to reach the door only to be pulled away again and again by evil hands. A sliver of breast and nipple is nude from your seized and pulled nightgown. 

Between shaking coughs, you manage to exhale important words, “Th-The — chuk-code!”

Something from underneath the rock crawls out – a small, instinctual insect he never knew had before. Jade’s gaze narrows with the weight of starting a robotic-assisted holocaust. He says, steady and ready, “Of course, Master.”

“No!” You shout in bed, jerking. 

You are still held by the other two men. Limbs are pulled like you are a creature on the dissection table. Such a fragile specimen. The only source of light in the room is your red lamp which reflects tiny circles in your glassy eyes, twin orbs of sanguine, like a badly taken photo when the flash is reflected off the blood-rich retina.

Through the finger-shaped bruises on your compromised trachea, you say with quivering lungs, “The-They. They’re not go—government. Don’t. Don’t! use that code … Buh, Break the leader’s ankles. Kill the rest.”

Though it causes the three men to jolt in various states of stress, your words soothe Jade like a kiss. It is a concrete command that leaves no room for error and fills him with purpose. Bending into a servant’s bow, he punctually assures, “Of course, Master.” The orb of yellow fastened into his skull with metal wires shines like a tiny Sun. 

“On a scale of one through ten, one being no pain and ten being unbearable, what is the pain that you would rate your coughs?”

“Jade.”

“Master, please, answer the question.”

“Jade. Jade,” you repeat firmer, pushing his hands off your body. The glare you point in his direction makes him think you are squinting in vision loss. Did something else obscure your health? Aging individuals sometimes need eyewear. “Jade!” Ah, he instinctively went to touch you again.

“It’s four. A four,” you seethe at him, hands up like talons resisting the urge to batter him away. Like clockwork, you pluck the package of cigarettes and the package of matches off the living room’s coffee table. 

You mutter curses at the sheer lack of both slender, stick-shaped objects in each box. Jade dubiously notes that refills will need to be purchased soon. After you have striked one and puffed it into a hot, cherry glow, you turn towards Jade who watches you cough out – rather than smoothly exhaling – a cloud of nicotine, carbon monoxide, and formaldehyde. 

For that static moment, Jade takes the precious time to analyze you, as if he could not in the discord that was your bedroom. He takes his red-black stained thumb and index finger to peel back the heavy, black strand of hair from obscuring his left eye. The sensors in his gold eye rotate once like a telephone rotary dial. Without even touching you, Jade calculates your blood pressure and heart rate. An optimally healthy 122 mm Hg and an undisturbed 80 bpm. You are impenetrable like steel.

Retrohaling, you scan around the parlor as if searching for something or perhaps start to look at things through a new light. You even circle around the coffee table once too. It reminds him of laboratory chickens, walking around with their heads cut off.

You flick your cigarette after each coughing inhale. He watches it crumble and burn, like red sand breaking off from a jutted cliffside. When only a few breaths are left, you say, direct and firm, “Jade. How long has it been since we had a guest?”

“We have never had a guest in this cabin, Master.”

“Exactly!” You point your cigarette at him sharply. “So, go up there and start with some lighthearted small talk. Make him feel welcome, okay?” 

Jade thinks he has an irregular guilty pleasure. He has no source for how it developed, but he has a specific appetite for violence. An appetency that can be only fed through seeing blood on his hand. Or perhaps this desire is only awakening in him, squirming like a bug under a shaded rock, because of whose blood is on his pale moon hands.

Tomorrow, he might have to spend six or seven hours working, scrubbing and wringing damp towelettes like a maid, to get all the stains out of your four-walled bedroom. There was blood everywhere. As if your red lamp gained the power of illuminating with the force of a Sun.

As his shoes click over to your office desk where the live dissection stirs, his comfort comes from seeing the broken stumps that are the man’s ankles. They are pointed and twisted in asymmetrical shapes. Torn and crumpled wings on an insect’s back. 

“Sir, I truly don’t think you are going to get too far with that. Cigarettes are an awful vice.” The man ignores him, trying fruitlessly to strike a match, blubbering harder with each attempt. When the match flies out of his sweat-soaked hand onto the floor, Jade tuts in pity. “Humans always make such foolish decisions without considering the most probable outcome.”

He must have rummaged the matchbox out of your desk, slapping his hand across the lower surface until he found a drawer. It is not necessary for you and Jade to tie him down. There is no way he is going to manage a crawl. And, his conviction is too fearful to use untied fists to attack anyone.

The man has been in and out of odd paralysis since he has gazed upon Jade’s plastic face. As Jade cradles the sides of the man’s face gingerly, tilting his head backwards inch by inch until their eyes finally meet yet again, Jade witnesses that raw fear rise as cheekbone muscles tighten, increased blood flow branches out to the body’s peripheries, and the man’s pupils dilate enough to eclipse out blue in unconcealed, virgin adrenaline.  

“Heart rate is 108 beats per minute. Rises to 111 when hearing my voice. Am I really such a phobia to you?”

There is no verbal answer. However, it is very telling when those dilated eyes pinch close firmly, oozing two water droplets, and the cigarette in his mouth starts to wobble back and forth wildly in his quivering lips. 

“Be civil now. No one talks with their eyes closed. It is rude. Besides, you are the first human I have interacted with outside of my Master, and I would like to have a few discussions with you – to pass time.” The man cannot see it but that smarmy smile returns to Jade’s face –  a slight scrunch of the slanted downward eyebrows that leaves a line above his tiny, razor teeth.

Nothing in the formulaic, fear-fueled adrenaline changes. The man continues trembling and jiggling. His features are pulled taut, tight-lipped and tight-eyed, in deep creases that refuse to open. Jade wants to make him spill.

“Come, come,” Jade rubs a comforting circle of red into the man’s left cheek, “I am equipped with dozens of dialogue enhancing programs and can speak up to between six thousand and seven thousand languages fluently. I assure you that I am a good conversationalist.”

A tear squeezes out and falls down the side of the man’s nose. “Really, there is no viable reason to cry. If you had simply anticipated the outcome, this situation would not be as devastating as you are experiencing it. Operational planning can stop one from being blindsided.”

Jade smiles placidly, fighting back against the laugh that so desperately wants to bubble up. “Did you really expect to get away with this without –?”

That causes a spillage.

“Get away with – Get away with? You’re inhuman. Fucking inhuman. Fucking Christ. You fucking monsters. Things like you shouldn’t exist. Shouldn’t exist. That inhuman bitch killed my father. She shot him five years ago and there was no justice. No fucking justice! Inhuman … She gets – She gets away with it. She gets to live out of the rest of her life in Canada while my Dad rots in the fucking ground! Inhuman, inhuman bitch, you fucking robots …” 

Jade’s smile twitches at the corner. He starts to spill, laughing shamefully in fufu’s then freely in booming haha’s. His razor teeth glint like ice shards until he calms slowly, pinching his lips into a wobbly smirk. “Five years ago … I cannot recollect it perfectly. However, I do remember the rule of thumb that hostages make the best bargaining chips.”

Jade ducks backwards as a hand reaches up like a predator’s batting claw. It is unfortunate that Jade has never known the role of prey, for he cannot execute the facade of it convincingly. When the hand misses the mark, Jade strikes like an extinct owl capturing prey and squeezes the man’s wrist.

“Ack – Aaaagh!” Holding the body’s periphery, Jade considers changing the shape of this limb too. The man’s left tibia is snapped in three places like a badly-written ‘W’ and the man’s right tibia is half out of the meat sleeve of his flesh like a stick pulled off a corndog. Before he can act on uncommanded urges, you walk in with a hammer.

“Hey, play nice. Bad hospitality these days will spread to the neighborhood like wildfire,” you tease with a smile. It is a joke because there is no neighborhood; you live in an isolated cabin where no soul besides the two of you could hear a scream.

Jade vigilantly tracks your body’s steps, each one coy, as you move across the discord on the office’s ground. “Aack – Are you a robot too?” The disdain in the man’s voice makes Jade twist his wrist.

“Oya, that would be quite a plot twist, wouldn’t it?” You smile a slippery moon crescent at the man. Jade watches intently as you crouch down to the bottom of one of your numerous shelves. Going through your archives, you start to flip through records in your hand, completely distracted. 

“Nothing in here is alphabetized,” you gripe.

“If you would like, I can find time to organize your records, Master.”

“How about tomorrow? Oh, here it is!” You stand, record and hammer in hand. “We can do it tomorrow. Make a little game of it and organize them together in alphabetical order!” Placing it delicately down on the phonograph player, the needle once deposited down on the track starts to send out the vibration sequence that makes up “Nessun Dorma” from the opera Turnadot. You close your eyes as if soaking in the melody. 

“My prognosis is … My prognosis is …,” you raise your hammer to point towards your desk, music slowly encroaching with stretched lyrics, “this a revenge plot.” You bare yellowing teeth wolfishly in a pleased smile. 

“Now, the other two, well, they’re obviously frustrated members of society. Maybe a job was overtaken by one of the Jades, and they thought ‘enough is enough’. Maybe, just resentment for the world as it is. I can sympathize. A bloodlust needed to be quenched in those young men, but it was not as intense as our leader here. No, he wants me dead for something more personal. No one wraps their hands around a person’s throat unless it is, personal. 

“I killed someone you loved. Not a brother or sister. Too young for that. Not an uncle or aunt either. Father? Mommy?” The man’s responding rough jerks are ‘smoothed’ down by Jade, who presses him roughly to flatten out on the desk surface. “Doesn’t matter now though. You didn’t succeed.” 

You stride over to the dissection table, each step deliberate, following along to the swelling opera. “Good thing too. In the event that I die of unnatural causes, a code is sent through Jade, connecting to every last robot worldwide to kill anything with a beating heart.” You tap the hammer gently on the side of the man’s face. “Do you understand the foolishness of all this?”

“You inhuman mo-monster.”

“We can’t all be humane in this century.”

Then, striking like an extinct cobra, you grab the man’s neck in your hand and force his head back. Jade watches as you subtly increase the strength of pressure applied. The man’s head leans over the edge of the desk and his forehead kisses Jade’s belt. It is only when the man opens his mouth, trying to suck up oxygen that won’t enter his nostrils, do you take the hammer and swiftly pierce it through the muscle tissue.

The man screams but it is drowned by the operatic symphony. The screams finally stop when the tissue disconnects from the body, waggling on the claw end of the hammer. Blood fills the man’s mouth. You take unoccupied hands; one of them is placed over the man’s mouth firmly and the other pinches his nostrils. 

For the first time in his life, separate from his memories and separate from his dreams, Jade watches the life fade out, like a leisurely slow sunset, from a living person’s eyes.

Jade isn’t sure how it happens, perhaps he is dissociating – how revolutionary for a machine to experience such a unique, temporary disconnect from his mind – but the two of you find yourself outside on the cabin’s back porch on November 7th bitterly cold and dark morning. It is exactly 4:06 A.M and the temperature is negative 0.5 Celsius. Like the constant epilogue of each novel where you kill something alive, you are holding out a cigarette in front of Jade’s chest, the white tip awaiting him. 

He pulls his glove-hand off and holds out the tip of his silver index. The first knuckle flicks open and a blue flame emerges out elegantly. Jade reattaches his skin as you pull the cigarette to your mouth. 

Smoke clouds are already coming out of your mouth, crystalizing in the chill night air. However when the first smoke cloud made of carbon monoxide, nicotine, and formaldehyde blooms out from your peeling lips, you say softly, “I can delete it if need be.”

“Delete what, Master?”

“Anything you want me to delete.” You rub your face. “Anything from tonight. I’ll do it for you, Jade. I promise.”

“Why would I ever want to miss a moment that has you in?”

Though it was not his intent, his response causes you strife. It is an unforeseen variable to see you hunch so deeply into a moment of woe. A black puffer jacket conceals your lungs yet Jade watches the profound, hard sigh billow out all the same. Holding your head in your hands, your nude legs shake in the frigid cold underneath your elbows.

After exactly 00:06:15, you respond, “I don’t want you fearful of me … I’m not pleasant to see or be around. And, I don’t want you to remember something that makes you upset, even if it is just one tiny thing. Whatever you want gone, I can take that pain away. If you so desire, I have the ability to remove anything. You can keep whatever you want. I won’t overstep.”

Jade clasps the hand that holds your cigarette, bringing it away from your temple to smolder over his blood-stained dress pants, “All of it. I’ll keep all of it.”

You simply smoke in response.

Jade isn’t sure what time it happens, he manually shuts down his inner clock two minutes after you two finished your conversation, but while sitting on the back porch of the cabin, another unexpected visitor approaches the solitary solace you and Jade have carved into dead woods. The visitor is tiny and flitters around like a restless child. It has been a whole year since he has seen a visitor of this species.

The two of you built a bird feeder together in the first months living in this cabin. It had been marvelously fun. Measuring the cuts for each piece of wood was delegated to Jade while you worked on assembling the finished product. Jade always loves doing activities with you. Now, some of the aftermath rewards can be reaped, as Jade watches an American Goldfinch pick and snack on the bird seeds, his yellow coat fluffy and his black wings ruffling momentarily to shake off the cold.

“(Name), look.” Jade urges softly, even though he can tell by your healthy, deep breaths that you are asleep. “A goldfinch.” You remain comatose in sleep, curling into Jade’s shoulder. He won’t dare to be so intimate and slip in logical judgement by saying your name while you are awake.

The goldfinch stays with Jade until morning when the horizon begins to glow a brilliant yellow. Though it would hurt anyone else’s eyes, Jade stares unabashed ahead. 

[heallearngrow3]

the joy of ignorance

part 1 | the joy of ignorance

pairing: Connor x f!Reader

summary: “Solitude matters, and for some people, it’s the air they breathe.”

warnings: none

notes: it’s my first fanfic so please, be patient with me. also, after this one, the chapters are going to become excruciatingly long, so buckle up!

The first reports were not alarming. They were accounted for as simple mechanical disturbances, which, in all cases, proved to be unavoidable. Although seemingly impossible expectations were set for all employees, even that was no guarantee that an android wouldn’t make irrational decisions as a result of a possible faulty code. The rudimentary cases, which could hardly be called violent, seemed to be random, and the company made sure to provide adequate compensation to the victims. The deviant androids were recalled — citing maintenance procedures — and owners were sent a new, flawless model, assuring them that no inconvenience would occur again.

It was easy to sweep the problems caused by incompetent robots under the rug: they were deactivated, then sent to a landfill and people forgot that they ever existed. There were no reports of unfortunate malfunctions, and owners didn't ask questions after the replacement of their previous Androids.

You spent years perfecting your designs. In the beginning, you only dared to entertain the idea that robots would be an integral part of your lives, but lately, your dreams became reality, and you watched - almost mesmerized - as your world radically changed. Androids were designed to obey and assist humans. Elijah Kamski's masterpieces fulfilled the role they were assigned. Within a strict framework, they behaved mechanically and, unlike humans, they did not need food or sleep, so they were available every minute of the day. You had a key role in the creation of many types, and after the head of the company - Elijah - resigned from his position, in exchange for a quieter life, in his words, you took over the control over the production of Cyber ​​Life models.

The threat of the androids' ever-increasing deviance loomed over you like a shadow, threatening that at any moment, one wrong decision on your part would unleash a wildfire beyond your control.

The Cyber ​​Life Tower was located in an area outside the city, hiding it from the prying eyes of Detroit. The monumental building with its forty-nine floors was tasked with completing several procedures, including the production of the machines and the implementation of rudimentary experimental processes. You often didn't even go home, your rural, two-story house was a seemingly endless distance away, and you, yourself, found it difficult to leave the protective walls of your office. The tower was guarded by hundreds of soldiers, ensuring that no one could get in or out without monitoring. You were initially uncomfortable by the over-the-top security measures, but after the recent events, you felt relieved. They made sure that no one would think of attacking the tower: it would have been a suicide. The androids had a great risk assessment ability, they were able to determine with percent accuracy how much danger each scenario entailed, and in the case of the Cyber ​​Tower, it was high. Not only the guards were a threat, the premises were protected by numerous hindrances: the workers were identified based on their voice and DNA, and they could only pass through the gates at the entrance with a hologram card.

You felt lost. With glassy eyes, you scanned the endless skyscrapers of Detroit while twirling the pen in your shaking hand. You could have left the building at the end of your working hours, but you decided to stay. Starring the papers scattered on your table, you were sure that you wouldn’t be able to get through them before morning. Passing by your office, many cast questioning glances at the pile of paper, mainly because by then, digital notebooks had become widespread, and they would have made your work significantly easier, but you were unable to bring yourself to break free from your habits. You didn't want to give up the feeling as you ran your ballpoint pen over them, and you liked to believe that you were doing a more efficient job this way. Getting your thoughts down required more attention than a simple touch transfer to a tablet.

You looked up at the sound of the TV mounted on the wall. The news channel served as background noise, but the announcer's words rang bittersweetly in your ears.

“More complaints about deviant androids have been received by the Detroit Police Department. An AX400 shot its owner with a loaded gun, and a RK200 attacked a young woman with her bare hands. We all ask the question: can we feel safe in our own home? Let's switch to reporter Joss Douglas from Detroit, who will cover the details of the chilling events.” The reporter's voice blurred into the soft, constant humming noise of the ventilation system.

You shook your head in resignation and turned off the device with a firm motion.

✇

The hours stretched into each other, and you didn't even realize when the first rays of the sun forced their way through the gaps of the curtains, lighting up the office. Your eyes felt heavy, your arms laid numb on the table, and you sometimes had to shake your head to keep yourself awake. It was these moments that made you truly understand that this wasn’t just a job for you. You considered it your mission to create androids that would not only make living easier, but also shape the future.

The ringing of your phone pulled you out of your thoughts. Glancing down at your wrist, you noted that, given the early hours, it seemed unreasonable for a Cyber ​​Life employee to be looking for you.

You pressed the accept button with a small sigh.

“[Name], how can I help you?“

"Good morning, ma’am! I apologize for bothering you so early, but it’s an urgent issue. I'm Jeffrey Flower, Chief of the Detroit Police Department.“

You winced involuntarily.

"Please, continue.” your voice seemed unnaturally high, despite the fact that you tried to sound determined.

“It‘s about the deviant androids, but I can't say more than that. I would like to discuss the details in person, ma’am”

Fowler's succinct wording only raised more questions and alarm bells went off in your mind.

"Excuse me, sir, but I believe you're talking to the wrong person. I'm not in charge of the press department. I can transfer your call if you want me to.”

After a few seconds, Fowler spoke again.

"I know who you are. And I’m also sure that you are the one who can help us. Please just listen to what I have to say. You can still refuse my offer after that”

It crossed your mind to just hang up the call without an answer, but your ever-increasing curiosity proved to be stronger.

"This morning?" you asked.

"I can see you in my office at half past eleven.”

You nodded cautiously, even though Fowler couldn't see it.

”I'll be there.” you swallowed your uneasy questions. “Goodbye Mr. Fowler.”

Ending the call, you couldn't help but wonder how significant it was that the police specifically wanted to talk to you out of all people.

The cause of your worry was far from something preventing you from talking openly about the company and the machines they designed. Unlike most, you weren't held back by a strict NDA, but you still had a strange sense of loyalty tied to Cyber ​​Life, the company which gave you a life, gave you a chance to start over and prove you were more than a programmer. Through the company, you were able to make your dreams come true, and for that, you owed them endless gratitude.

You couldn't explain why, but you were deeply dreading the meeting with Fowler.

[spirit-lanterns]

Hot take: I actually think jingliu would be an older model. An ancient automata, one of the first models, created by such a skilled craftsman which such dedication that it still is able to surpass the newest war machines. Their algorithms and weapons nothing against the quick and precise motions of the automata.

The model is elegant and refined if not maybe a bit scuffed from usege and time, but nothing our engineer can't fix.

Ohhh wait, this is actually a neat idea for Android! Jingliu :0

As cool as it is to have Jingliu be some super modern android model like EVE from Wall-E, her being an ancient android that’s too complex for anyone to fix is super unique! Once infected by a virus, no engineer of today could fix her as her mechanisms are too outdated and confusing. No one except…Engineer Reader of course! I can see you taking up on the task of trying to repair the infected Jingliu, the city allowing you to legally keep Jingliu on your property as you pleaded to save her rather than discard her.

Sure Jingliu may be a gruff, scary Android to keep around, but you are dead set on saving her! She’ll appreciate it later on, slowly getting attached to you as you refused to give up on her and send her to the scrapyard 🥺

[cyberllfe]

I got 1300 words! (Which you can absolutely shorten if you don’t feel like writing that much, absolutely understand as a writer.) and I would adore a “Shag me” prompt with Connor 🥴 if you feel up for it. My thoughts on this request (and you can adjust and add to because you’re a great story writer and I trust you) would be a female reader who works as a receptionist at the station (human preferably) and has known Connor since he first came to the department. Soon after his deviancy, they navigate a sort of awkward almost-friends-nearly-more type of relationship and stumble unto a slow romance, until Connor discovers the human emotion horny. It would be amazing if it could be at an awkward time too, like while watching a movie together or at work. I’ve been reading your pieces on AO3 and I truly think you are a talented writer, sending you all my love and inspiration💞💞💞💞

thanks for waiting, anon. connor will see you now. (ao3 link) 1300 words, rated E.

want a turn? prompt me.

It’s been raining all day—classic Detroit November—but all anyone can talk about is the guy who died, his escaped android, and the android investigator in the precinct. You’ve caught a glimpse of him more than once since yesterday, and this time is no different: he comes trotting in after Lieutenant Anderson, covered in glistening droplets of rain and speaking very insistently about something you can’t hear.

“That’s him.”

Your eyes would have slid right past him if not for the intensity in his face. He’s single-minded, emphatic... for all the good it does him. Anderson rolls his eyes and pushes Connor out of his path, leaving him standing there, recalculating. Only then do you notice the LED.

It’s barely two seconds before he’s started after Anderson, calling his name.

“Looks good wet, doesn’t he?”

You don’t offer anything but a soft hum. The thought follows you for the rest of the day.

*

Connor precedes Hank into the building today. He surprises you by speaking to you instead of simply scanning in, and you feel… strange. The look in his eye is so human, almost anxious. With an awkward smile, you offer a reassuring platitude. You’re earnest, but the offer seems to confuse Connor. He thanks you anyway and leaves your desk.

Between jobs, you keep an eye on him. He’s so animated. It’s marked, the difference a handful of days makes—he paces back and forth, oscillating where Hank is static, following his trail of thought as if it were physical.

Neither notices you. The rude FBI agent doesn’t notice you either; too intent on getting into the Captain’s office, he chucks his ID at you with a cursory here you go, sweetheart and goes back to his phone.

The ID is fine. You let the jackass through, and hope he gets shouted down by Fowler, who could probably do with a good outlet for his repressed frustration.

You laugh, later, as two uniforms perform a dramatised version of Anderson’s right hook on Perkins, but it’s brittle. Your eyes are on the news, and the demonstration in the street, and the news anchor’s silent mouth framing the words what do they want? without listening to the answer. Connor had raced out of the station earlier, and caught your eye as he went. You hope he's okay, wherever he is.

*

“Excuse me.”

Brown eyes meet yours, familiar intensity tempered with... caution? Nerves? It’s hard to tell them apart on a face that was built to display but not feel.

Connor wears plain clothes with all the ease of a soldier. There’s no tie to straighten, so he clenches and unclenches his hand and lets his eyes wander. They find you smiling, tentative but warm behind your professional attitude.

“How can I help, Connor?”

He’s clearly unused to the question. It’s endearing, really, to watch him like this—the self-possessed turned self conscious, attempting to hide in the shadow projected by his own image, broadcast endlessly on the new cycles at Markus’ left hand.

“Is Lieutenant Anderson here?”

“No. I don’t think he will be, either. He left about an hour ago.”

When Connor sighs, you wonder if he picked that up to blend in with humans or to help him communicate better with them. Both, probably. His fist coils up again, but he gives you a slight smile as he turns to leave.

“Connor.”

He turns, mildly surprised, to face you when you call his name. His smile is late but warm.

With one hand you reach for his, and with the other you slide a business card into his palm. The touch seems to surprise him further, and he stares at your hand even as you withdraw it.

“If you’re looking for Hank, he’s here. Diner out on the edge of town. I thought you’d come by looking for him.”

You’re glad to notice that he doesn’t look as guarded as before. Connor’s not around every day, not anymore, but you see him often enough to watch him relax into himself—to laugh when you make a self-deprecating joke, or hold the door for Officer Miller’s excitable son. Instead, Connor seems thoughtful, like you handed him something heavier than a wedge of paper with a cartoon burger on it.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

To your surprise, he lingers. Spends enough time to ask you about your family, about the plant you keep on your desk, which you should water, by the way. You talk quietly with him about almost-dead houseplants, why you’re not allowed to play Monopoly at home over the holidays, and show him the family dog. All the while he’s leaning against the counter, one arm crooked atop it and grinning… you’re more than distracted. He leaves the foyer, eventually, but not your thoughts.

*

Laughter covers cheesy Christmas music. You’re wearing half your wine glass in the colour of your cheeks, but Connor thinks the flush becomes you.

You notice when he glances at you, and you smile in that shy, self-conscious way. He returns your smile, adjusting his posture to face you, and you turn away, pretending that you barely noticed, and noticeably trying not to check back. He basks in private amusement.

The party draws on a little long—someone pulls out a bottle of something strong and definitely against regulation, and when Connor leans down to ask you if you’d like another drink, you jump.

You’re never in danger of falling, of course. Inhuman arms encircle you and hold you steady against an equally inhuman body—and for the first time, Connor feels a response that correlates with your change in expression. The slow pull that binds you and builds to something far stronger than he’s felt before until letting you go is unthinkable.

He makes a plausible excuse for you to leave. The charge in the air grows to fevered sharpness, a harmonic buzz that doesn’t break until he has one hand in your hair, the other encircling your waist, and that insatiable need to get closer.

Connor doesn’t leave any of you untouched. When his kisses would deny you air, he leaves them in trails down your neck, then undoes a handful of buttons to continue down your chest, hands restless and hungry, so much warmer than you’d ever imagined, so much more demanding.

When he whispers I don’t want to wait, it’s as if he read your mind. A shiver runs through you when he parts your legs and leans his weight into you, pushing inside with a growl that thrills you.

You tense around him. It’s not intentional, but he grabs your chin and holds you still beneath him, feeling the burning heat of your shaky breath past his thumb. He caresses your lower lip, and when you realise you can’t nod, you whisper please, and reach for him with both hands, in case he doesn’t understand how much you want him.

Connor leans back and pulls out almost all the way. You whine loud, desperate and frustrated, until the hand on your face tightens, cutting off your mumbled demand and making way for the moan he fucks out of you.

His fingers claw your jaw and throat and it’s heaven: the sharpness against your skin, the deep pressure inside you, building with every rock of his hips, chased with a mouth that suffocates and teases you until you’re dizzy.

You feel heavy, waves of sensation breaking over your body with increasing frequency and intensity, and no outlet except your nails in Connor’s back, scratching until he presses in deep again. You tense, on purpose, and half-feel, half-hear the stuttering moan, then the frenzied motion of his body as he pushes himself to the brink and drags you with him, tangled and messy, sharing breaths, but sated at last.

[fungifanart]

Brand New Days

Characters: Leona Kingscholar, Yuu!reader (male reader intended, but it's pretty gn)

Cw: Fear of death, hurt/comfort, fluff

Word Count: 709

Notes: Any Persona 3 players in the chat?

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

The sun's gentle rays shine down into the windows of the botanical garden and filter through the branches and leaves of the tree you've found yourself under.

All is quiet, save for the wind rustling the various plants and sending numerous flower petals fluttering through the air around you.

You reach your open hand out into the air and feel one of said petals land softly in your palm.

Looking at it, you think it would look adorable in a certain lion's hair, but then you look down at the man in question to see his hair already covered with several and you can't help the chuckle that escapes your lips.

You take the next few moments to marvel at the man laying his head on your lap: His handsome features framed by his long, flowing hair, all brought together by the small, content smile adorning his face.

Your heart feels warm as it swells with love and adoration at the sight.

But then, in a flash, your mind conjures a very similar sight into your thoughts that sends a stab of ice-cold fear through your chest, which quickly spreads to the rest of your body.

In your mind, you see a teenage android sharing her revelation about life with a young man laying his head on her lap. She concludes that she will dedicate her new life to the young man's protection...just as he closes his eyes and draws his last breath.

Your breath hitches and your heart nearly stops as you quickly look closer to inspect your boyfriend's sleeping form. The rise and fall of his chest as he breathes eases your worries, but...you can never be too sure.

Slowly and quietly, you lean your head down to your lion's chest to listen for his heartbeat.

*ba-dump*

*ba-dump*

*ba-dump*

You let out a quiet sigh of great relief upon hearing the steady rhythm inside his chest and feel some warmth return to your hands that had gone cold and clammy.

However, despite confirming Leona's safety, your mind can't seem to let go of the image of the young man passing peacefully in a loved one's lap and the thought of the very same thing happening before your eyes causes a wave of sadness unlike any you'd experienced before to flood your mind until it begins pouring out of your eyes in the form of hot tears cascading down your face and dropping onto the resting beastman, rousing him from his slumber.

"*yawn*...Herbivore...?" Leona says drowsily before feeling the tears that had fallen onto his face and seeing their source, "H-hey! What's wrong? Why're ya cryin'??" He asks while sitting up to look at you.

Your words fail you as you continue to look into the other man's thoroughly confused and worried face.

You feel ashamed for crying from thinking about a video game, but then you remember what the android said as you look at Leona's still concerned face. You remember that once you come to terms with death, you realize what truly matters.

You've...already come to terms with your own death, but when faced with the possibility of Leona going before you, you panicked. And it's here that you realize what truly matters to you.

You break your silence as you make full eye-contact with the lion beastman, "Nothing's wrong, Leona, but I've finally answered a question that I've been putting off for a while now...the question of 'What do I want to do, moving forward?'" You explain earnestly as Leona tenses up at such a serious subject.

"...Well? So...what did ya decide?" The other man questions apprehensively, perhaps afraid that you might express a desire to go back home permanently.

"I've realized...that I don't want to lose you. And so, I've decided that I...want to walk towards the future alongside you. I want to stay with you, Leona." You say, feeling your resolve solidify upon vocalizing your feelings.

Leona blinks in surprise for a moment before his expression softens and he sits next to you, "Heh, is THAT all? Way to put pressure on a guy." He says while leaning his head against yours and lacing your fingers together, "Glad we're on the same page, at least."

[unpretty]

Quick q for you and The Followers! I'm looking to divorce Kindle books going forward, and looking into getting a Kobo ereader. Do you or the collective have one, and if so, do you like it? Additional thoughts? Thank you!!!

i don't have one, but i've heard good things! boox is also supposed to be good if you want something that runs android that you can install all your reader apps on, but android on e-ink devices comes with a certain amount of jank because android isn't really designed for the low refresh rate of e-ink. there may be other good readers but those are the two i usually hear about.

[jungwnies]

syn ' safe for work a-z prompt for bf!changbin pairing ' gn!reader x bf!changbin

requested

a » affection - how affectionate are they?

is this seriously even a question?

changbin is seriously the most affection person ever???

he's so affectionate, showering you in his love every day and every second.

sweet little pecks whenever he has the chance

literally the biggest cuddle bug at night ???

you are his personal teddy bear fr

b » bonding - how often do they bond with you?

whenever he gets the chance to

if he's not doing schedules or if he's not on tour

he's going to bond with you

whether it's a date or a night in

he's going to find a way to bond with you

even if you guys know each other like the back of your hands

c » communication - do they keep in touch with you when they're away? how often do they set up a date for you two?

he's always in touch with you

because he's an android user 💔 i can't be like facetime

but definitely kakao call or something idk

maybe Skype??? jkjkjk LOL

but he doesn't set up dates often

but he does do small things for you

he makes you food

and he prefers having dates in the comfort of his home

e » essential - what is the thing that is important to them?

you?

literally you?

and his family!!!

and his members of course!!!

but you!!!

g » gross - what is the thing he hates in your relationship?

he hates when you guys argue

i mean it's usually you picking silly fights with him

but he just arguing because he loves you so much

and he refuses to raise his voice at you

cus absolutely not

i » intercourse - how are they in 6? (yk what i mean by 6)

you know he is good

he's very vanilla

missionary... stuff like that...

he just wants to feel close to you, and sex is a very special time for him

especially if its his first time with you

j » jealousy - how jealous do they get?

he's very jealous

he's not someone who takes action about it

but you can tell by his mood shift

k » kiss - how good are they at kissing?

he's good

his kisses are soft

like he doesn't want to hurt you

it's like every time he kisses you

it's like falling in love again

l » love - how do they show their love to you?

words of affirmation and physical touch

he will always tell you how much he loves you

and he will always cuddle up to you and kiss you

he's very physical

m » mad - how often do you argue?

not often because like i said

he hates it

but when you do argue

it doesn't last long

and you guys are quick to resolve it

n » naughty - how do they deal with you annoying them?

honestly if anything, it's the other way around

but when you annoy him he doesn't really think of it being annoyed

because he loves you

and he loves every part of you

even the annoying parts

but usually it's him always annoying you or bothering you, but not in a bad way

always in an endearing way

o » open - how often do they open up to you?

he tells you all of his secrets

literally the second he knows he trusts you

he tells you every little thing about him

his whole life story even

p » pet names - how are they with pet names?

just baby and babe

nothing cringey

might call you jagi

q » quiet - silent treatment?

he refuses to give you the silent treatment

i swear he can't go 5 minutes without talking to you fr

r » ramble - how often do they talk about you to others?

he doesn't stop

always seungmin telling him to shut up

he's just so in love with you

s » soft - how soft are they to you?

is this even a question

he's literally the softest

he's so sweet

my heart 💔

t » think - what reminds them of you?

everything

everything he looks at "this reminds me of you"

doesn't know why

it just does

u » unhappy - what makes them break if you break up with them?

the fact he has no one to kiss

no one to hug

no one to give his undying love to

you were for him

he's convinced that there is no one else for you

v » vacation - how are they with long distance relationships? (that had nothing to do with the word but i am running out of ideas)

he's not good with this

but he's so loyal

and he trusts you

so this won't break you guys

w » wholesome - the sweetest thing they ever did to you?

when he asked you to date him

he was so nervous

he had a whole speech

it was giving... engagement?

but it was the sweetest thing ever, swear

x » xtra headcanon

changbin has a smiled plastered on his face, you didn't really know why but when he got down on one knee you knew what was coming. he looked at you with the most endearing look on his face, like you were the only thing in the world. he grabbed the box from his pocket and opened it, "y/n, will you marry me?"

y » young and beautiful (how long does it last?)

forever

you're literally his ride or die

z » zzz - how do they sleep with you?

he cuddles you

he slight snores

it's kind of annoying

literally won't let you go

but it's okay since it's changbin

2022 © jungwnies

[madamlaydebug]

CRITICAL WARNING!!!! Radio talk show hostess, Kim Komando, did some digging about TEMU and this is what she found!

Seemingly overnight, everyone’s talking about Temu (pronounced “tee-moo”), an online shopping app that boasts deals that seem too good to be true, like $17 wireless earbuds, $1 “gold” necklaces and $23 wedding dresses.

Over 50 million Americans have downloaded Temu since it launched state-side in September 2022, after it gained traction with expensive Super Bowl ads promising to let you “shop like a billionaire.”

Today, Temu is the most popular shopping app in the U.S. behind Amazon. But most of us don’t know much about the app’s true origins. Reader Daniel Mayer asked an important question, “Is [Temu] something we should be concerned about?”

So, I did some digging. And as it turns out, yes, you absolutely should be. Here’s what I found:

Where did Temu come from?

This isn’t some fly-by-night operation. Temu is based in Boston, Massachusetts, by PDD Holdings Inc. (Nasdaq: PDD). PDD is headquartered in Shanghai, China.

PDD also owns the e-commerce platform Pinduoduo headquartered in — you guessed it — China. So, Temu is a Communist China-based app and site.

What you need to know before using Temu

First, you’re buying goods directly from manufacturers in China and other parts of the world. That’s why shipping times are often 12 days or longer. The prices are low because the goods are cheap. The pictures of what you see advertised may not be what you actually get.

Temu’s BBB rating is 2.21/5. Reviews at TrustPilot are interesting, with 38% 5-star reviews and 41% 1-star reviews.

But that’s not the worst of it.

Temu is downright dangerous.

The app is a clever, pervasive digital stalker. As you shop, Temu monitors your activity on other apps, tracks your notifications and location and changes settings.

🛑 It gets worse. Temu gains full access to all your contacts, calendars and photo albums, plus all your social media accounts, chats and texts. In other words, literally everything on your phone. This is scary

No shopping app needs this much control, especially one tied to Communist China. If you’re using Temu, delete the app from your phone ASAP.

On iPhone, Long-press an app, then tap Remove App > Delete App. Tap Delete to confirm.

On Android, touch and hold an app, then tap Remove App > Delete App > Delete.

Pro tip: If you downloaded Temu, to be safe from Chinese spies, you really need to do a full factory reset.

But wait, there’s more! Temu’s sister app was removed from Google Play because of malware.

Do not buy from this company, or use their app!

COPY AND PASTE PLEASE

[midala-of-the-valley]

Your Heart Pulling Against Mine - Pt 22

David 8 x Reader Words: 2061 Crossposted on Ao3 Part 21 is here

David

Forming the vanguard, he lifted his arms to show off what he had found, climbing the steps of the platform where the last Engineer had lain in stasis for over two thousand years. “A superior species, no doubt” he mused. And they were. Remarkable, really - how they had crafted something so powerful, manipulating genes with such efficiency.

He had not activated the Engineers’ recording log on accident, as he had told you. No, he had studied the substance on his fingers, containing millions of symbols and hieroglyphs - immediately compelled to test his theories, to learn how to operate those panels. They were so different from human designs, seemingly simplistic at first glance, yet in truth, impossibly complex.

Casually, he gestured towards the four pods embedded in the ground. “Their hypersleep chambers will impress, I trust?”

Oh, but that did not mean they were fail-proof. Only one out of four Engineers had survived this long. The others had either failed or malfunctioned over the centuries, with no one to oversee them. That was why human crews usually always had at least one Android on board - malfunctions could always happen. Rarely, but even on this flight which only lasted two years, six months, and eighteen days - he had to step in at least three times to prevent crew members from suffering long term consequences.

Before jumping down to the throne-like chair, he turned around, scanning the room for you and Dr. Shaw. He noticed that you had fallen behind, and for a fleeting moment, he hoped you might have turned around and left - but that was not the case. His jaw tensed as he watched you carefully take each step, guiding Elizabeth up the stairs, even more gently than Ford and Jackson did with his father.

David had to bring Weyland here, and he wouldn’t have minded whatever might unfold, if not for you.

You - who had sought him out to offer comfort after his fathers words that made him out to be something unworthy. You, who had asked if he was alright. You, who had asked if he wanted to stay - as if he weren’t waiting for the moment you would realize he was merely the copy of a man. But no, you had held and cradled his face. You had kissed him. You kissed him, more than once, again and again - and you meant it. You did not look at him with disgust. You did not see him as lesser. You had even defended him - he, who was nothing but a loyal servant in the eyes of everyone else.

If it weren’t for you, he wouldn’t care about leading everyone to the last of the species who had set course to eliminate Earth, or, as they called it, Eden. They were unhappy with humanity and wanted to reset the planet. And though he did not know why, he expected that the Engineer would not take his father’s wishes kindly.

And how he wished for this meeting to go wrong - if only you weren’t part of it.

Letting himself sink into the chair, he moved with it towards the control panel. Picking up the flute that activated the system, he played the short melody he picked up over the recording - E, G, F, E, G.

The panel sprang to life, and David let his hands glide through the green energy streams pulsing beneath his touch, powering the hypersleep chamber. “So they were traveling somewhere?” Elizabeth asked, curiosity evident in her voice.

He knew that curiosity would soon turn to disappointment, and distress, once he explained. “I've managed to work out the broad strokes. It’s fairly evident they were in the process of leaving.” Then, he pushed himself up and out of the chair. “Before everything went to pot.”

The next voice he heard made him stop in his tracks - yours. There was a vulnerable note in it, a quiet premonition that made something inside him twist. “Leaving to go where?” In the calmest, most composed voice, he answered while meeting your gaze: “Earth.” Elizabeth’s mouth fell open as she tried to make sense of his answer. “Why?”

“Sometimes, to create, one must first destroy.”

He watched as all color drained from your skin, fear flashing across your face. And he stopped in his tracks - fighting. Fighting against his programming. Against his coding. He wanted to reach for you so badly it hurt- David felt pain. Physical pain. He never had so before. But somewhere in his chest, something pulled, and he suspected that only touching you, calming you, making you happy - driving away your fear - could ease it.

His father must have noticed that something was off, because he called for him with that specific pitch, the one that meant don’t make me wait. Like when he had first awakened, and Weyland had made his position abundantly clear. Bring me the tea."David. Where is he?"

He gathered himself and tore his gaze from your horrified eyes. "This way, Sir."

Walking toward the glowing chamber, his jaw tensed, grinding silently. "Are you sure he's alive?"

He knelt beside the sarcophagus, raising his fingers to trace the hieroglyphs. "Absolutely."

"And you can speak to him?" Meticulously, he formed the words needed to activate the mechanism, watching the orange lights pulse beneath his touch with each deliberate stroke.

"I believe I can." And this was it.

With a hiss, the pod unlocked, the panes sliding aside to reveal the towering being within. Slowly, it began to stir, drawn out of its long slumber. Its skin was as white as fresh paper, its features reminiscent of a Greek statue, like the one David had been named after. Though this one was more like Goliath. Eight feet tall, at the very least.

David had never seen it before. He had only heard its heartbeat. Now, in pure fascination, he took in every detail.

The suit - or armor - it wore was biomechanical, its smooth surface morphing seamlessly into its skin, melting into its neck and wrists. Organic tubes connected to slots along its frame - was this how they had been kept alive?

As its consciousness returned, the Engineer sat up, exhaling sharply and coughing as he removed the oxygen mask from his face. The movement caused the tubes to tear away.

And then, he stood. Towering over them all. Magnificent. Advanced.

Dangerous.

Y/N

There was no denying it - you trembled like a leaf in the wind, staring up into those deep, black eyes. No whites, only darkness. For a fleeting moment, they met yours. Then, the Engineer took a step forward, only to stumble, his legs weakened from millennia of dormancy. He collapsed onto his knees, nearly knocking Weyland over. Ford and Jackson caught him just in time.

Yet the only thing that pulled you from the sheer intimidation of his presence was David. He did not move to help. Instead, he merely adjusted his stance, angling himself for a better view - his gaze fixed on the alien before him, lost in curiosity, in fascination. But there was something else to it, something you could not quite name, something calculating?

Elizabeth slipped from your grasp, stepping forward, her wide eyes filled with something close to reverence. Astonishment. Awe. But you? You remained frozen. Rooted to the ground as the giant let out a deep, rough groan.

Weyland was the first to break the silence, his voice edged with impatience - it caused the Engineer's gaze to snap to him. “Speak to him, David. Tell him we came, just like he asked.” But Elizabeth had her own mission. “Ask him where they are from,” she pressed, her voice unwavering.

Weyland shot her a look of irritation. “What are you doing?” She didn’t flinch. “Ask him what’s in his cargo. It killed his people.”

Weyland exhaled sharply, his patience thinning. He lifted a hand in warning, waving her off dismissively. “Shaw, enough! David-” But Elizabeth was relentless. “You made it here, and it was meant for us - why?”

You saw the way her breathing quickened, how her fists clenched at her sides as she took a step closer to the giant. She was getting agitated. She needed these answers for her salvation. Elizabeth needed to understand what had gone wrong, why those she had deemed divine wanted her and her people dead.

And though fear still coiled in your stomach, you stepped forward as well, reaching for her, trying to give her strength as she confronted her maker. The Engineer’s gaze flicked towards you once more. Observing. Evaluating. His attention sent a cold shiver down your spine, but you stood your ground.

Weyland’s voice cut through the tension, sharp with frustration. “Shaw, enough. For God’s sake, shut her up!”

It happened before you could react. A sudden movement - Jackson, swinging his shotgun hard into Elizabeth’s stomach.

The impact sent a harsh sound ripping through the chamber, followed by her strangled cry as her body folded forward, her knees buckling. She hit the floor, gasping, tears springing to her eyes. Shock shot through you like ice. Your heart pounded as you threw Jackson an appalled, furious glare, barely holding back the urge to shove him away. Instead, you dropped to Elizabeth’s side, pulling her up, steadying her. She choked on a breath, but her grip on your arm tightened. “I need to know why!” she gasped, her voice raw, desperate. “What did we do wrong? Why do you hate us!?”

The Engineer did not look away from her. Or from you. His expression unreadable. But he was listening. Confused. Captivated. Staring down at her, at the words he could not understand.

Weyland’s next words made your blood run cold. “If she opens her mouth again, shoot her.”

Heartless. Merciless. Cruel. 

Instinct took over before thought. You shoved yourself in front of Elizabeth, shielding her with your body, facing Jackson head-on. Your pulse hammered in your ears as your gaze flicked towards Vladimir, searching his face, uncertain if he, too, would follow through.

"Haven’t enough people died for this madness of yours!?" Your voice was raw with fury, shaking with the weight of everything you had lost. "You’re terrified of dying, yet you kill others without a second thought- like they’re nothing, like they’re trash beneath your sole!" Snarling, every nerve burning with rage. You had enough. Enough of this inhumane son of a bitch, this self-proclaimed emperor who placed himself above everyone else, above those who bled and suffered in his name, above his own fucking children.

"Because of you, half the crew is dead - how fucking dare you order them to kill Elizabeth!?" Weyland’s cold, vacant stare met yours. Then, slowly, deliberately, he raised his hand, ready to give the command. Your breath hitched. Every choice that had led you here flashed through your mind. Every misstep, every moment that had sealed your fate.

But just before he could speak, David’s voice cut through the silence. In a language unlike any you had heard before, he spoke to the Engineer. Guttural, ancient, something meant to be lost to time. Weyland hesitated. Mistaking David’s words for obedience, for progress. But no one understood what was being said. No one but them.

The Engineer turned his head slightly, his gaze shifting, taking each of you in - Elizabeth, trembling but unyielding. You, frozen in place, arms spread in protection. Weyland, waiting with blind expectation. The weapons, still raised.

Then, his attention settled on David. A stretch of silence. Weyland shattered it. "What did he say, David?"

But David never had the chance to answer, because the Engineer’s pale, massive hand reached out - trailing softly over David’s forehead, his fingers brushing through the synthetic hair with an almost reverent gentleness, curiously drifting down his cheek. Then, in one swift movement, the second hand clamped around David’s throat. Hard. You watched in silent horror as David was lifted effortlessly off the ground, his limbs dangling, his fingers twitching as if his body was still trying to process what was happening and then- A sickening, wet tear.

Seeing how your love's white blood splattered over the ground, caused a painful, desperate scream to rip from your throat as David’s head was torn from his body. And before the horror of it could even settle, before you could even think, the Engineer swung, and used David’s severed head to cave in his own father’s skull.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

Taglist: @sadslasher13 @blxuqueenie