#but currently i feel the I’m Breezy scene in my soul

[angstyaches]

could you make some thing about little shayne with his mom

The idea to write something like this actually came to me a few months ago, and I started writing the doctor’s office scene; I only decided to finish it because I got this request, so thank you for asking! I believe this is from 🌚 anon. I did so much editing, it’s a bit embarrassing.

CW:  Flashback of a character who, in the current canon plotline, is dead. Child sickie/whumpee (not the POV character). Doctor’s office, brief talk of other medical stuff (ends after the first ellipsis). Vague emeto mentions, angst, body horror, hallucination, bad head space.

Word Count: 2,657

___

Dahlia Bloom hugged her son as he sat sideways in her lap, head resting against her chest. She’d remembered to put a toy duck in her pocket before rushing out the door and heading to his school, so he’d have something to play with while they were waiting for their appointment, and for when Dahlia and the doctor were talking. 

So far, he hadn’t done much with the duck except hold it very gently in his hands. He was still as pale as he’d been when she’d collected him from the school office, but the shivering and whimpering had stopped a while ago. There had been a few moments, in the waiting room, where he told her he thought he was going to be sick, but he hadn’t mentioned it since Dr. Amir had called them both through to her office.

“Mrs. Bloom, there’s nothing more I can do for you today,” Dr. Amir sighed from the opposite chair. She draped one elbow onto her desk and crossed her arms over her lap. “We can send him for some more invasive tests, if you’d like to go down that route.”

“Invasive?” Dahlia’s heart sank, and her arms instinctively hugged Shayne a little tighter. He looked up at her, but just for a second, before he went back to gazing blankly at his duck. “You’re… you’re talking about endoscopy, right? Cameras?”

The doctor nodded. “That would be one option, yes.”

Nausea began to rise in Dahlia’s throat. She wasn’t even entirely sure of what her own internal anatomy would look like to a doctor, let alone her son’s, but the idea of someone finding out that he wasn’t quite human… She couldn’t begin to imagine what would happen. Would they take him away from her? Would there be black vans, and men in sunglasses, and government facilities –?

“But if you want my candid opinion…” Dr. Amir turned and had a look at the file that was open on her computer screen.

“Yes?” Dahlia asked, bringing one hand up to comb through her son’s hair. It was dark like hers, curly like her husband’s, and it was a habit of hers, to stroke it during tense moments. She often wondered if it was more for the sake of her own nerves, rather than his.

“He’s… your first, isn’t he, Mrs. Bloom?” A tight, maddening smile crossed the doctor’s face.

Dahlia blinked at the question. Yes, he was her first. And he would be her only. Her genes were a curse that she’d already inflicted on one soul. Never again.

“Yes.”

“It’s not uncommon for first-time mothers to feel over-concerned,” Dr. Amir went on. “The symptoms you’re describing may well be… nothing.”

Ripples of anger burns in Dahlia’s skull, lights blinking behind her eyes. He’s not sick. You’re crazy, Lia. “What?”

The doctor smiled again, in that painfully awkward manner. “I’m not saying the symptoms aren’t real. Just that it’s extremely normal for children to get sick from time to time.”

Dahlia exhaled, even though she wanted to scream. She wanted to shout at the doctor, to very outrageously explain that her son was supposed to be like her, supposed to do the same things as her.

Look at him, she wanted to say. So little. So listless. He screams when he eats demons, he kicks and cries like something’s tearing him apart, and it’s not fucking normal!

She pressed her face lightly into his hair. The smell of him eased the burning urge to throw a fit. She wondered when she’d lost her care-free demeanour, her breezy approach to life. “Come on, baby, let’s go.”

He looked up – her very own dark-brown eyes looked up at her from the face of her son. He noted something in her expression before he shifted and began sliding down from her lap.

“I hope I haven’t caused you any offence –”

“It’s fine.” Dahlia hoped she sounded insincere.

Shayne landed a little shakily on his feet. Her backpack was looped over the back of the chair they’d both been sitting on, and she scrambled to get it onto her shoulder quickly, so she could take him by the hand. “Thank you for your time, Dr. Amir.”

Dr. Amir’s eyes widened as she sensed the darkness now seeping from the mother of her patient. She began to stand up. “Let me at least give you some literature on those procedures I was talking about –”

“I can use the internet if it comes to that, thank you.”

Dahlia barely even balked at the fact that the receptionist asked for sixty pounds this time, not forty, as usual. She simply handed over the money and proceeded out the door. Her only thought was that she wanted to get her son out of that building.

Blood trickled into her mouth as she bit through her lip on the way to the car, and she swore at herself in her mind. She managed to maintain a neutral expression as she settled Shayne in the car, her in the driver’s seat and him in the back. She almost didn’t want to leave him alone back there, but if she went about moving the booster into the front seat, she’d never hear the end of it from Scott. So instead, she smoothed back his hair, smiling as she tried to get him to tilt his head up and look at her. His gaze remained fixed on the duck as he turned it over in his lap.

The keys trembled in her hand as she got into the driver’s seat and moved them towards the ignition. She blinked, and her lashes shook loose a couple of tears. Thoughts began hurtling through her mind, feeling like shards driving themselves deep into her core. She had done this. She had brought him to this place, to this world, which was completely unequipped for him. This was her fault.

“Mum?”

Dahlia’s head snapped around at the sound of his voice, too quick for her to brush the tears away. He was still holding onto the toy duck as though it were made of thin glass rather than rubber, but he was looking at her now.

She exhaled deeply through pursed lips, feeling as though she would have wailed if she’d been alone. Her hands were still shaking as she reached back over the seat, just about reaching his knee.

“Everything’s fine, baby, I promise,” she whispered, fighting against the tremor in her voice. “Let’s get you home, okay?”

He hesitated, turning his duck over in his hands. Dahlia realised she was watching him make a calculation before he replied. His eyes were glistening when he met her gaze again.

“I don’t have to go back to school?”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t send you back to school when you don’t feel good.” She shook her head, sniffling and rubbing at her eyes.

He blinked, his blank expression morphing into a grimace. Dahlia squeezed his knee, trying to ignore the question that was drilling into her temple; how many times had he gone to school feeling sick, not knowing that he could ask to stay home?

___

 “Feeling okay?” Dahlia spoke in a hushed voice, though there was no real need for that; Scott had already woken up and showered and headed to work for another night shift by the time they’d arrived back at the apartment. He had no idea that Dahlia had picked Shayne up early. She was bracing herself for him to not understand, to challenge her, to gently suggest that she was being too soft with the boy, as usual.

She didn’t care either way. The boy deserved soft.

He nodded, curling up tightly in bed and pulling at his blanket so that most of his face was covered. To her immeasurable relief, he’d eaten a few plain crackers and had a glass of water when they’d gotten home, and he was looking significantly less pale and ghost-like. She’d still taken the designated bowl from the kitchen and left it on the floor next to his bed, in case he felt nauseous again.

“You’ve got your bottle?” Dahlia placed her hand over the blanket, feeling for the warmth of the hot water bottle that he was hugging to help with the cramps. Warmth seemed to soothe him in general. It made Dahlia wish her hands weren’t always so damn cold.

His eyes – our eyes – were already heavy with sleep. Dahlia wished she could have crawled in next to him and gotten some sleep herself, if only to escape from the horrible realities they both had to face while awake.

“Try to rest, okay?” she whispered. “I’ll be back to check on you in a little while. I… have to go and make a phone call.” The last part felt like a confession, an apology in not so many words. Shayne’s eyes flicked all the way open, and she sensed that he wanted to ask her to stay. He wouldn’t, though. He didn’t allow himself to be selfish like that.

She scooted along the bed, pecking half a dozen kisses across his head until he let out a reluctant giggle and pulled the blanket up further to defend himself. Dahlia laughed, a smidge of the weight lifting from her chest. As hard as she might hate that she’d passed on this spliced, twisted version of her own powers, she would never wish that she hadn’t done it. She would never wish this away.

She would never wish him away.

___

Dahlia was trembling as she headed into the kitchenette, praying she wouldn’t shatter a glass in the process of getting herself some water.

Something peered at her from the plughole.

Is he crazy like you, Lia?

Something that had eyes, but no face; a voice, but no tongue. Something not of this world, but here anyway. The hairs on the back of her neck stiffened. Despite her throat being dry just moments before, saliva began to pool in her cheeks, dripping over her teeth as she stared the demon down and growled.

“l̵̨͉͍̟̮̀̀́͋̋ë̷̡̳̗̹̘̄́̄͝ä̷̢̳̗̃́v̷͉͇̪͖̑e̴̘͍̦͌̈́͗́̕ ̸̛͎̩̫͉́h̸̦̥͚̻̑̈́͠i̸̤̊͆͂m̷̡̡͖̜͙͋ ̷̯̥̓ȁ̸̺̠͎͐̽ĺ̶̠̝͖̝̠o̴͕͛͝n̸̥̊͐e̷̦͚̳̬͂̽́.”

She clamped a hand over her mouth before the screech could disturb Shayne in the other room. A single blink, and the demon was gone. She was alone in the kitchen, with only her half-filled glass and the sound of the tap dripping.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she whispered gently as she threw back a few mouthfuls of water. When had she become like this, when? There was absolutely nothing here for a demon. This was her stress personified. Her fears, given life by her imagination. “No demons here, Dahlia. No demons here. Breathe…”

She chanted to herself as she made her way to the living area. Less than seven steps got her there. The place was small, and barely organised, but the phone was always kept on the wooden table near the window, along with Dahlia’s address book.

She curled up in the armchair, which had come from Scott’s deceased aunt’s place, and thumbed through the book. She hadn’t organised it alphabetically, so everyone’s information had been entered according to when Dahlia had met them. It had been… a while since she’d flicked this far back through her life’s timeline. Since before Shayne, perhaps. In another life, it felt like.

Dread numbed her limbs as her eyes darted over the name and number she’d been waiting to find. Chances were, they’d moved house since Dahlia had last spoken to them, and she wouldn’t reach them at the number she had on record.

She wasn’t even sure she wanted to reach them. She punched the numbers into the receiver, taking her time, feeling like she was edging closer and closer to the edge of a cliff.

The line began to ring. Dahlia thought of the toes of her shoes, running out of real estate as the cliff edge came closer. She could still hang up. She could keep this doorway closed, like she’d intended. The only thing that kept her from slamming the phone down out of panic was the thought of Shayne. He needed help – she needed help…

And humans were useless. And dangerous.

“Hello?” The voice was deep and silken. Unmistakable. It made Dahlia want to peel off her own skin.

She gulped over a scream.

“Who is this?”

“It’s Dahlia,” she breathed, slowly covering her mouth with her palm and cursing herself.

“Dahlia… Bloom?”

She leaned forward in the armchair and wondered, desperately, if she still wasn’t too late to hang up the phone, to stick on a fake accent and claim that she must have dialled the wrong number. It would never work, but maybe she could convince herself that it had.

Her mouth was still covered by her palm, but she was under no illusion that the vampiric ears on the other end wouldn’t be able to hear her breath rushing through her nose.

“How long has it been?” the voice wondered. “Seven years?”

“Six years and eight months.” The figures came idly to Dahlia’s tongue. It surely seemed an insignificant amount of time to a vampire, but to her, it meant everything. It meant the life she and Scott had built for themselves. It meant Shayne. A tear slipped down her cheek as she gazed at the faded wallpaper, her heart dropping as she neared the edge of that cliff in her head. “I need your help, Madelyn.”

___

He resurfaced about an hour after she’d last opened his bedroom door to check on him, just as it was getting dark outside. Dahlia had turned on the TV, and there was a soap opera playing, but she wasn’t particularly invested. She’d gnawed the nail on her right thumb down to the bed. Madelyn’s words had run through in her mind so many times that they’d become slippery and dull. And she still had to convey them to Scott, sell him the idea. There’s a house. Close to theirs. They’re vampires, not demon eaters, but they have some knowledge of… Half-breeds. Hybrids.

We have to try –

“Mum?”

The sun had dipped behind the houses across the street, but it felt as though a little of its light had found its way back into the flat. Dahlia turned her head to see Shayne trudging across the living area, his hair messy and his eyelids heavy.

“Hey, sleepy head,” she smiled, patting the empty space on the cushion next to her. “How’re you doing?”

He shrugged and crawled onto the sofa next to her and laid his head in her lap. She let one hand rest on the back of head, peering down at him carefully as he settled down. Happy enough with the fact that he wasn’t crying, or shaking, or holding his stomach, Dahlia sank a little lower on the sofa and pretended to watch the TV. She never dropped her awareness of his presence, the microscopic movements of his body, the signals he might have been subconsciously sending her.

“Mum?” he whispered.

Her fingers fluttered over his curls. “Yeah?”

He whimpered and pulled his knees up closer to his chest. “Am I… okay?”

Of all of her components that resembled the human form, Dahlia resented her heart the most. What good was a heart when it had the potential to hurt this much, to crack straight down the middle?

“You will be, baby,” she choked out. “The doctor today, they – they just don’t know how to help you. You – you understand, don’t you? You know how Dad only eats the – the nice food, the plate food and lunchbox food; and Mum and Shayne need… the other thing?”

“Mmhmm.”

“The world is a bit like that. We’re a little bit different, that’s all.” She shook her head, allowing herself a moment of private despair while his eyes were shut and directed away from her. “It just means we have to look for help in… different places.”

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Decryption_Error: “Fourth of July, Part II”

Summary: Despite Elliot’s reservations about meeting Y/N’s family, the long weekend goes well . . . except for an incident that causes Y/N to unknowingly meet Mr. Robot for the first time.

Story Summary,  “The Server Room, Part I”,  “The Server Room, Part II”  “The Long Weekend, Part I”,  “The Long Weekend, Part II”,  “The Aftermath”,  “Undecided”,  **“Decided”,  “Spooked”,  **“Fourth of July, Part I”

Word Count: 9800

Tags: @sherlollydramoine @rami-malek-trash @teamwolf2411 @limabein @txmel @alottanothing @ouatlovr @backoftheroomandnotbelonging @moon-stars-soul @free-rami @ramimedley

If you want added or I’ve missed your request, let me know : )

A/N: I am actively pretending the Elliot of MR Season 4 is an illusion : ) Let me live in my fantasy of soft Elliot, thanks! 

Warning: Sexual content, non-descriptive mentions of blood, somewhat descriptive scene of an anxiety/panic attack

* Wednesday Evening *

“Open the bag behind my seat.”

Elliot shifted in his seat and reached into the back. He pulled the black shopping bag up to his lap and rustled around.

I glanced over at him, smirking.

“How do you like them?”

Elliot sighed, and despite his anxiousness about meeting my family, I knew he was happy—and happy was something that was starting to look damn good on him.

Elliot put his new swim trunks back in the bag and returned it to its spot behind my seat. He reached over and gave my thigh a quick squeeze before he leaned back, resting his head against his seat.

I had never imagined that such a simple gesture of affection could set my heart racing, but that was how it went with Elliot. There were never going to be any grandiose displays of romance; with him, it would always be about the little things—remembering my favorite food or movie, knowing how I took my tea in the morning, going on a holiday despite a sometimes crippling social anxiety.

And as if on cue, Elliot’s voice sounded, just a hair louder than the radio.

“Can you tell me what to expect again?”

Even though this was the third time I was about to explain what to expect, I still smiled. I knew this was an important part of Elliot’s attempt to alleviate his apprehension.

“ETA is currently clocked at 7:28 pm. Kathleen and Josh, my oldest sister and her husband, along with their three children—do you want their names again?”

“Jack, Jared, and Molly—10, 8, and 3.”

“I’m pretty sure those are the right ages. I told you—I’m a shit aunt,” I said through a laugh.

“Erin and Ryan will get there last.”

“Yes. Erin’s going to be late for her own wedding—mark my words. I wish my parents would worry about her more than me.”

“But they don’t worry because she’s a lawyer which is a job they understand. Unlike tech,” Elliot finished.

“See? You’ve got it all figured out. Just remember not to say any of those insights of yours out loud.”

“I’ll try.”

“And Charlie—Char’s coming tomorrow. He’s the owner of the sweatpants I put you in over Memorial Day.”

“He’s your favorite.”

I glanced at Elliot, my face twisted into an expression of surprised amusement.

“I never said that.”

“You don’t have to. It’s in the way you talk about him—how protective you are. I feel that way about Darlene.”

“But she’s your only sibling, right?”

“Yes.”

“So it’s totally okay that she’s your favorite,” I said with a slight chuckle. “Anyway, Charlie and I are closer in age, so that’s one reason why I think we’ve always gotten along the best. The other is that Erin and Kathleen are a lot like my mom. My brother and I are much more like my dad.”

“Mom. Valerie, goes by Val, but I’ll stick to calling her Mrs. Y/L/N.”

“And Dad?”

“Charles Y/L/N. Owner of CNC Precision Machining, host company of the company I work for, and ranked number 348 on the Forbes 400 list.”

“Please don’t open with that,” I said, cringing. “I guarantee he doesn’t even know he’s on that damn list.”

“How can he not?”

“He’s got people to worry about and organize those things, not to mention he plans to dump half of what the company made this year into three new factories right here in the US, so that will cut his personal ‘net worth’ almost in half. My father has never forgotten that Grand-daddy could barely afford to feed his own family. His priority is and always will be job creation. I promise you, Elliot. He’s a good person.”

“I don’t know how you can be so flippant about the fact that you really don’t ever need to work. You could do anything you wanted with your life—anything.”

“Colin? Is that you? Did you takeover Elliot’s body?”

I could feel Elliot roll his eyes, and I smirked.

“It’s—”

“It’s my father’s money. Sure, I could live off of our family’s wealth, but then what would my purpose be? How could I ever, ever hope to keep all these guys quiet in here?” I asked, tapping the side of my head. You, of all people, should understand that.”

“I do. And don’t think I’ve forgotten we’ve talked about this before,” Elliot said as his way of apologizing. “I’m just nervous.”

“When are you not nervous?”

“An excellent question for which there is no answer,” Elliot said, and I could hear the smile as he formed his words.

We pulled into the drive of my parents’ waterfront house, and I snuck a glance at Elliot. He was looking out the window, craning to take in the property. I loved this house and always felt at peace along the bay. It was disappointing I hadn’t been out here, really out here, for such a long time.

I pulled in slightly behind my sister’s vehicle onto the cobblestoned driveway in the back of the house that made a loop, and when I shut the car off, I lamely said, “Well, we’re here!”

Elliot whipped his head over, almost as if he’d forgotten I was in the car. He looked pale, and his eyes were wide and skittish. He swallowed twice, and I watched his Adam’s apple bob.

“Should I have dressed up?” Elliot said, his voice fading in and out.

I laughed softly.

“Did I dress up?”

“You always look good. Nice,” Elliot mumbled as he glanced at the house again.

“Especially when I’m naked. In bed. With you,” I said with a teasing grin.

“Fuck, Y/N!” Elliot shot out. “You can’t talk like that here.”

He gestured so vigorously toward the house that his hand smacked off the window, causing me to giggle.

“I’m just trying to get you to relax.”

“Thinking about us, about you, like that is not fucking helping.”

“Sorry. It’s getting hot in here without the air conditioning, though. Are you ready?”

Elliot just looked at me.

“You are ready. Remember, they wanted to meet you. I’m not springing some strange hobo I picked up off the side of the road on them.”

“Fuck. Yeah. Okay. Let’s go,” Elliot said opening the car door.

I smiled at his resolve, but my grin fell as my nephews came barreling around the wrap-around porch to see whether it was me or Erin who had arrived.

“Aunt Y/N!” Jared yelled as he hit his older brother, Jack, with the pool noodle he was swinging. “Will you swim with us? Please!”

“Am I going to get hit with that noodle?”

“Probably not,” Jared said, a grin plastered over his face, water droplets from his sopping hair still trailing down his tanned face.

“Hello,” Jack said, turning to look at Elliot, straightening up to his fullest height and extending his hand.

Elliot looked at him for a moment before he reached out and shook Jack’s extended, damp hand.

“Hello.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Jack finished before turning to me. “Can I help you take anything into the house?”

I smiled. Jack was every bit his mother’s son: well-mannered, mature, and wise beyond his years, but his eyes still held a child’s innocence, and I couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt for not spending more time with him and his siblings.

“What a kind gesture, Jack, but do you really want to watch Mimi go apoplectic on the first day of the holiday when you go trampling, soaking wet through the front door?”

“What’s apopple-tic?” Jared asked, wrapping his pool noodle around his waist and swinging side to side.

I looked at Jack and raised my eyebrow.

“Crazy mad,” he said in answer to his brother. “Like how mom got when you put her iPad in the dishwasher.”

Jared shot his brother a murderous look and pulled back to hit him with the noodle.

“Go swim, boys. I promise we’ll come out as soon we’re settled.”

“Dad said we could play with our fireworks tonight!” Jared said before he turned and ran back up the porch stairs and around to the pool.

Jack grinned, shrugged his shoulders, and took off after his brother.

“Two down,” I said as I pulled my bag out of the car.

“They’re kids. Do they even count?”

“I think they do,” I said with a slight shrug of my shoulders.

Elliot gave me one of those half-smiles as he lifted my bag out of my hand and reached for his. I let him carry our bags, and I walked back around to the back seat to grab my purse, my work tote, and the shopping bag that contained Elliot’s swim trunks. I didn’t want to do any work over the weekend, but if there was an emergency, hopefully this time it could be solved remotely. Elliot had also brought his backpack, which made me feel a little better.

Elliot followed me up the porch stairs and through the front door. I led him up the center staircase and to the left, all the way to the end of the hall. I opened up the door to my room and set my work bag and shopping bag on one of the striped chairs near the wall. I tossed my purse onto the bed and directed Elliot to set our big bags in the walk-in closet.

When Elliot emerged, he looked around the room and walked over to the French doors that led out onto a small balcony that overlooked the bay. It looked like he was on a military mission to memorize his surroundings in the event of an emergency, so I left him alone as he acclimated.

My room was light and breezy, done in hues of blues with accents of white and coral. Elliot looked comically out of place, clad head to toe in black, standing between the sheer white and blue curtains.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” I finally said when Elliot sought out my eyes, his looking a startlingly, lovely shade of blue in the light of my room.

I couldn’t tell what was going through his mind, his face expressionless as he looked at me. I moved forward, waiting to see if he’d turn into my body or step away.

He stood still for a moment, before he turned to me, tentatively wrapping his arms around my shoulders. I sank into him, breathing him in.

“Thank you for doing this,” I whispered against his neck.

“Don’t thank me yet. I still have a few days to make you regret bringing me.”

“Stop,” I said pulling back to look at him. “Nothing is going to make me regret bringing you here.”

“Why do you have so much faith in me?”

Because I’m in love with you, I thought without hesitation, which was followed by a sheer bolt of panic that I immediately swallowed down.

Fuck.

“I just do,” I said, smiling and angling my face up for a kiss.

Elliot bent his head, kissing me sweetly in the still-bright light of the fading day, and I felt yet another jolt of shock at how incredibly right this felt, how easy.

After unpacking a few things and plugging my phone in to charge, we went downstairs and headed out to the pool. I took Elliot’s hand in mine as we walked across the porch and down the sidewalk and stairs to the stone encased pool that was being energetically occupied by my nephews, my niece, my dad, and my sister.

Elliot tightened his grip, and I gave him a reassuring squeeze back.

“Kathleen! Your sister’s here!” my mom yelled, waving at me and then at the pool.

“Hi, mom,” I said, releasing Elliot’s hand so I could give her a hug.

“This is Elliot,” I said as soon as I let go.

“Elliot,” my mom said, extending her hand. “Such a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Don’t be dramatic, mom.”

“Nonsense. We’ve heard so much about you. It’s nice to put such a handsome face to Y/N’s words.”

“Uh, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Y/L/N.”

“Oh, please. Call me Val.”

Elliot gave her a sheepish smile and ran his hand through his hair, his eyes taking in the swimming pool, the bar, and the pool house.

“Hey! You said you’d swim with us!” Jared shouted as he leapt up from the water and ran over to me.

“I said no such thing because you did not promise I wouldn’t get hit with a pool noodle.”

Jared scowled a bit at me, and I grabbed him up, bridal style and tossed him back in the pool. He came up grinning, and I had to jump back as he aimed a splash at me.

“You asked for it,” my sister said as she swam to the edge, gracefully pulling herself up to sit. “Toss me my towel.”

I rolled my eyes and retrieved the towel she had pointed at. Kathleen, the prettiest and the bossiest.

“Hey, Y/N—how was the drive in?” came the pleasant voice of my brother-in-law, Josh.

“Not bad. Sat in the tunnel forever, but no surprise there,” I said, returning to Elliot who was standing with his hands in his pockets, looking like he had hoped everyone had forgotten he existed.

“Josh this is Elliot. Elliot, Josh, Kathleen’s husband.”

They shook hands, and I watched Elliot carefully, unsure if he was sort of comfortable with all the handshaking or if he was just internalizing the discomfort really well. I figured it was probably the latter.

Josh asked Elliot a few questions, and Elliot gave very direct answers.

“Save some of the interrogation for after dinner,” I said, returning to Elliot’s side.

“Small talk is—”

“Horrific and you know that,” I cut Josh off with an eyeroll. “You remember what it was like coming here for the first time to meet everyone.”

Josh tilted his head back and sighed, his eyes reflecting the light of the sun as it had begun lowering over the bay.

“The first time I met the family was at Christmas. It was a house full of, shit, 50 relatives? 60? I seriously considered just leaving and never coming back.”

“Leave me? Unlikely?” Kath said as she hugged Josh from behind, soaking his polo shirt as he reached up to grasp her hand and grin.

“The boss would never have allowed you to get away,” I said, rolling my eyes and smiling.

“Do you hear the way she talks to me, Elliot? It’s not too late for you to escape.”

I rolled my eyes again, only to be scolded by my mother.

“Honestly, Y/N. If I counted the number of times you rolled your eyes—”

“Come on,” I said, taking Elliot’s hand in mine and leading him toward the bar. “Let’s go play Cocktail a la Tom Cruise.”

Josh followed and Kathleen sat down to talk to our mom and to watch the kids in the pool. Elliot listened to Josh and I chat as I mixed up a few drinks and had the boys try them before settling on making a pitcher of something that tasted mostly like a Mai Tai.

By the time my pitcher of drinks was made, Dad had gotten out of the pool and toweled off before walking over to us. He introduced himself to Elliot and welcomed him to our home.

“We’re happy to meet you, Elliot.”

“Thank you, sir,” Elliot said, his eyes flicking to mine before returning to the ground in front of my dad.

Dad glanced at me and gave me a small smile. I told him how hard this was going to be for Elliot because he struggled with meeting people and with getting to know people in general—I explained that he was sort of the stereotype of the introverted tech guy. Not to mention, Dad knew all about the incident in the server room.

Josh picked up the pitcher and walked back to Kathleen and Mom, leaving my dad and I alone with Elliot. Dad sat down on the stool next to Elliot as I wiped my hands on a towel. I grabbed a beer from the fridge before I came out from behind the bar to give Dad a big hug.

“If you can keep her from working too much, Elliot, I’d greatly appreciate that,” Dad said, smiling at me and reaching for his beer.

Elliot looked up and glanced between the two of us, something about our interaction relaxing him. It wasn’t like with Kathleen or even with my mom—I loved my family, and they loved me, but there was something special about the way my dad and I understood each other.

“I’ll try after she settles into her new job. I don’t think even the threat of a nuclear holocaust could stop her until she feels like she owns that position.”

Dad laughed, and I looked at Elliot, my face twisted into a shocked smile.

“Hey now—I would stop if I knew the world was ending!”

“Would you, though, sweetheart?”

I narrowed my eyes at my dad, and he squished me to his side.

“You understand her,” Dad said to Elliot. “That’s the second of the many hurdles you have to jump before she’ll let you care about her.”

“Da-ad!”

“I’m not telling him anything he doesn’t already now,” Dad said as he took a long swig of his beer, eyeing Elliot to confirm what he already knew.

“What’s the first hurdle?” Elliot asked.

“You have to be interesting enough to catch her attention.”

“Oh my god, Dad,” I said as I returned to fetch my drink from behind the bar. “Can we not dive right into the depths of my psyche?”

“It’s better than small talk,” Dad retorted as Elliot gave a surprised laugh.

Dad smiled at Elliot and angled his beer toward him.

“To the death of small talk,” Dad said, and Elliot smiled as he clinked his glass with Dad’s bottle of beer.

Despite the fact that I was slightly embarrassed, I couldn’t stop the spread of my satisfied grin. That was what my dad did—he made people comfortable, even people like Elliot who couldn’t or wouldn’t show their true selves to a stranger.

“Charles, kids! Dinner’s ready,” Mom yelled as she motioned to the caterers who were setting up the picnic tables on the front lawn.

The three of us made our way to the front lawn, Elliot’s hand finding mine as soon as I was close to him.

Dinner was quite lovely despite the July heat, my mom having had a breezy tent set up around the picnic tables and tiki torches spread out to provide the double benefit of soft light and warding off insects.

The focus was mostly off of Elliot as we all chatted, catching up and quickly falling into easy conversation about family members, neighbors, and career events, including my promotion.

Erin and Ryan arrived just as the caterers cleared away the plates, Erin grabbing at some of the leftovers and giggling her way across the lawn.

All attention was diverted to her; she was one of those people that the eye and the ear were drawn to—charismatic and full of energy.

After meeting Elliot, Erin sat down next to me and leaned in to whisper, “As soon as the olds go to bed, we’re going starry swimming—will your cutie be interested?”

Starry swimming was code for getting high in the pool.

“Yes—he’ll be quite interested.”

Erin gave me a grin and shot a wink at Elliot, who raised his eyebrows in concern.

Leaning in close to his ear, I quietly said, “I’ll explain later.”

It was after midnight by the time I rummaged through my wardrobe, wondering which bikini might interest Elliot the most. I settled on a little yellow one that was fringed with ruffles, slipping on a pair of matching flipflops before walking out of the closet.  

Elliot’s eyes were lit up by the screen of his phone until they flicked to me, then settled on me as his mouth dropped open a bit.

“Good choice?”

“Yeah,” he said softly.

“Who’s texting you?”

“Angela. She wanted me to go see her dad with her for the holiday. She thinks I’m lying.”

“Let’s send her a pic,” I said, grinning and plopping down next to Elliot.

“Uhhh—”

“She doesn’t know about me?”

“Not exactly.”

I looked at Elliot and shrugged my shoulders.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I just haven’t really had the chance to tell anyone—”

“In case we break up?”

Elliot frowned and looked away, his hands coming to rest on top of his head after he tossed his phone on the bed.

He sighed, “Are you mad I’m still waiting for the hammer to fall?”

“No—I’m mad because you haven’t put your swim trunks on yet,” I said as I poked the end of his nose. “Get changed.”

Elliot groaned and reluctantly slid out of bed, heading into the closet to change. When he emerged, he was in a black t-shirt and his new swim trunks, black, but dotted with white stars. His skinny legs looked comical and even paler than his arms and face.

“We need to get you some sun, hackerman.”

Elliot rolled his eyes, and I warned him that my mother had a sixth sense for eye-rolling—she was probably getting out of bed right at that moment to come and yell at him.

Elliot looked genuinely alarmed for a moment before he narrowed his eyes and told me to shut up.

I giggled and he huffed in an attempt to disguise his own, inadvertent laugh.

Erin and Ryan were already floating around in the pool by the time we got outside.

Despite their closeness, Erin was every bit Kathleen’s opposite. The starkest contrast was Erin’s inclination to disregard rules, even though she was a lawyer. My dad always said that was what actually made her so damn good at her job.

“Heeeey!” Erin yelled, swimming to the edge of the pool and hoisting herself out. “Come on, Ry—I’m ready to really start this party.”

Ryan chose to use the stairs at the shallow end of the pool, and he walked over to us as Erin tossed him a towel. Ryan wrapped the towel around his waist and headed to the bar.

“Let’s see the goods, Elliot. Strip!”

“Please ignore her,” I said, kicking at Erin. “She’s a complete slut.”

Erin corrected me as she wiggled her engagement ring in my direction.

“Excuse me. A former slut.”

I laughed and extended my hands to help pull her up. She pressed her wet body into mine before giggling and running over to the bar.

“The answer is yes—she’s the energetic one.”

Elliot just looked at me, then to Erin and Ryan.

As he followed me to the bar, Elliot quietly said, “You’re all so . . . affectionate.”

I stopped and turned around, looking at Elliot’s face.

“Well, Charlie’s not. He’s more reserved, kinda like you.”

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way. You like each other.”

“Generally,” I said chuckling.

“Hey, Erin,” I called. “Remember that time we got in a fight over the last bag of chips?”

“Yeah—you sat on them and the bag exploded. Then you made ME clean it up!”

Erin and I laughed as Ryan and Elliot smiled, listening to us tease each other.

“You smoke?” Ryan asked Elliot as he finished rolling the joint.

“On occasion,” Elliot said, causing me to laugh again.

“My man,” Ryan said as he lit the join and offered it to Elliot first.

Erin, not be outdone, reached into the pouch on the bar and pulled out another joint, lighting it and taking a long drag before passing it to me.

“Selfish asshole,” I said as I exhaled in her face.

“Love you, sis!”

The haze of a high settled over us like the haze of the July night. Soon, we found ourselves in the pool, splashing and giggling and swimming and talking, Elliot’s lips loosened far more than usual.

Erin flirted with him unmercifully, as was her custom, and Elliot looked terrified at first, his eyes darting to me as he struggled to put distance between himself and her.

Ryan and I were both sitting in the shallow end, grinning in amusement, knowing she was only having fun. Erin would flirt with a tomato if she thought it might flirt back.  

Once Elliot realized it was all in fun, Erin even managed to make him laugh out loud with one of the loudest sounds I had ever heard Elliot make. His laugh was carefree, and it melted my heart, drawing me to him like a siren’s song.

Erin splashed me in the face before she swam away.

“Having fun?” I said, grinning, my words feeling heavy and slow.

Elliot grew quiet and I could see his eyes burning to let his voice say yes.

“You don’t have to say it out loud,” I said smiling and sliding my hands to his hips, floating closer to him.

Elliot didn’t say that he was happy, but he reached out for my legs and wrapped them around his waist before leaning in to kiss me.

Our kiss was slow, steady, and deep, and it could’ve been the high, but I felt like the entire world melted away when Elliot’s mouth was on mine.

And before I knew it, we really were all alone in the pool. So, I returned to Elliot’s lips, kissing him and grinding against him under the stars, so high and so content.

* Thursday * 

Elliot awoke with a jolt due to me staring intently at him, a grin plastered across my face. I was already dressed in a dark blue swimsuit underneath my white shorts and white lightweight, long-sleeve top.

“Do you get seasick?” I asked while dangling a bottle of water in front of his face.

Elliot blinked away the sleep as his mind struggled to figure out what I was talking about, and as his dry mouth from all the weed we smoked last night struggled to speak.

He took the bottle of water, took a long drink, and said, “I—I don’t think so?”

“Great! We’re going sailing with Charlie. I’ve already laid out an outfit,” I said gesturing to a pile of clothes that were laying across the bench at the foot of the bed.

Elliot lifted his head to look at the clothes, then sank back onto the bed.

“What else did you buy me?”

“Just a couple of non-black shirts so you don’t get heatstroke.”

“Stop buying me stuff.”

“You don’t really mind,” I said planting loud kisses across his jaw until he laughed and pushed me away.

“This weekend is going to fuck up my worldview for the rest of my life. Sailing,” Elliot huffed. “I’m a fucking hypocrite.”

“Hey—lots of people sail. They have Groupon deals all the time.”

“What the hell is a Groupon?”

“Something you will never, ever use,” I said with a chuckle. “I’ll see you downstairs in 15.”

I grabbed my tote from the bench and went downstairs to pack some light snacks. Charlie was already packing a cooler, and I knew he’d remember the booze and forget the food.

We chatted, mostly about the good weed he missed last night.

Elliot walked into the kitchen and I had to stop my mouth from dropping open. He was in the light grey shorts and the white t-shirt I laid out for him. He also opted for the black slip-on converses I tucked in his bag. I couldn’t believe I’d gotten Elliot this far from his jeans, tennis shoes, and hoodie.

He ran his hand nervously through his hair, pulling at the already straight strands.

“Charlie, this is Elliot. Elliot, my brother, Charlie.”

“Hey.”

“Hey. So, what do you say we get the hell outta here? I love Kat’s kids, but the thought of them on a sailboat—no fuckin’ way.”

“Mom and Dad know we’re taking the boat, right?”

“Leave a note? Be back before dinner.”

“Smart—we’ll avoid the pre-dinner, nothing is ready even though it is, drama.”

We each grabbed a bag or a cooler and walked out the back door toward our dock, the sun having risen only a few feet above the water. It looked like it was going to be a beautiful day, only a few clouds surrounding the sun, casting a soft, golden light over the water.

I looked over at Elliot and smiled, his skin glowing golden with the warmth of the sun, a slight smile on his face as he took in the sunrise, the water, and the sailboat.

I leaned closer to him and whispered, “You’re happy—and it’s okay.”

“I think it’s just nerves. I’m so far out of my element I can’t do anything other than smile like an idiot.”

I laughed and Charlie looked back.

“Elliot’s never been sailing. He’s a little nervous.”

“You’re in good hands,” Charlie said, stepping back to allow us to get on the boat first. “I started taking Y/N sailing as soon as she was out of diapers—which took a lot longer than you’d think.”

“I swear to god, Charlie,” I said, shaking my head, and seeing Elliot smirk out of the corner of my eye.

“Do not let him think he’s funny—he’ll roast me all day if he thinks he has a proper audience.”

Elliot shrugged. “There’s nothing he could tell me that would make me think you aren’t perfect.”

“Dude. No. She can’t have hooked you that deep yet?”

“Pretty deep,” Elliot said, his eyes glancing at me.

Charlie made a noise of disgust, but I didn’t miss the soft smile. If I was happy, my brother was happy, and vice-versa. It was as simple as that for us. Charlie and I never had to worry about comparing ourselves to one another, never had to worry about that slight undercurrent of jealousy that stemmed from thinking that we were not enough like our sisters.

Sailing was a lot of work, so Charlie and I taught Elliot, who was eager to learn. We stopped for lunch at the Indian Harbor Yacht Club, and Elliot stuck to my side, clearly preferring the open air of the bay over the aristocratic charm of the club.

When we set sail again, Elliot didn’t need reminding about what to do and jumped into handling the rigging like he had been doing it for years.

I could tell Elliot liked Charlie, probably because he told such embarrassing stories about me, but more likely because Charlie was just like my dad—he made people feel at ease.

When we weren’t adjusting the sails or sharing stories, the three of us just sat in companionable silence, taking in the feel of the boat on the water, the warmth of the sun, the smell of the salt in the air, and the quiet solitude of the bay.

We got back just in time for dinner, which was a repeat of the previous night with the exception that we had Erin to entertain us. The early evening passed, full of laughter and stories, and I leaned back and smiled as Elliot took in all of our dynamics, occasionally leaning across the table to ask Charlie some more questions about sailing.

“Alright, family!” my mother announced. “Time for fireworks!”

We made our way toward the beach with our blankets, and once we got settled, Elliot looked over at me smiled—at least until he ended up with a lap full of toddler.

Molly and her brothers were playing, waving sparklers around and unleashing blacksnake fireworks, and she took off running only to trip over the edge of our blanket and fall right into Elliot’s lap.

“Gah!” came Elliot’s shocked response as he looked down at Molly, his expression one of pure horror until Molly twisted around to see what, or rather who, she landed on. She looked at Elliot and started giggling.

“Silly!” she exclaimed, patting him on the arm.

“You fell on me,” Elliot replied in his normal intonation just as the first firework shot up in the distance, startling me and Elliot, but not Molly.

When Molly felt Elliot start at the noise, she asked, “Do you need to sit on me?”

Elliot chuckled and looked at her with his grey eyes, a smile crinkling the skin in the corners.

“I’m okay, and thanks for asking. The first one always scares me a little.”

Molly smiled and shifted, turning around in Elliot’s lap to face the water and to lean back onto his chest, her hair snaggling just a bit in the slight stubble on his chin.

He looked over at me and I smiled, shrugged, and scooted closer to lean against his side.

Molly “ooo-ed” and “ahh-ed” as we watched the fireworks and Elliot kept sneaking glances at her as if he couldn’t believe she were still there. I suppose there was a quietness in Elliot that just appealed to Molly, and to the boys. He didn’t treat them like they were anything other than miniature people. Kids liked to know they were human, too. Liked to feel normal, something Elliot always seemed to recognize when it was a need in someone else.

I rested my head on Elliot’s shoulder, and I would be lying if I said the thought of a normal, disgustingly domestic future with a child of our own didn’t cross my mind. And when Elliot turned his head to breath in my hair before placing a kiss to the top of my head, I would be lying if said I didn’t believe he was thinking about it, too.

* Friday * 

“Fuck,” I muttered, my mind barely awake as I scrolled through my phone.

Elliot was laid out next to me, soundly sleeping. I hated to wake him, but I had no choice.

I put my phone on the nightstand and rolled to face him, taking in the peaceful look on his face. The circles under his eyes were gone and his skin had started to take on a more golden hue. The sun had done him wonders, and I had to remind myself that I didn’t have time to get lost in the beauty of him at the moment.

I was away from work, so of course the world was on fire.

I moved in closer to Elliot and placed a soft kiss on his forehead, reaching up to run my fingers through his thick, messy hair.

Elliot stirred so I whispered, “Hey, El. Good morning.”

I could see Elliot’s eyes moving under his lids as he fought to wake up. His tongue darted out to wet his lips and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. He shifted, stretching a little before finally opening his eyes.

The immediate smile on his face as he registered me warmed my heart.

“Morning,” he rasped, sleep still clinging to his voice.

“I lied. It’s not a ‘good’ morning,” I said frowning.

Elliot’s eyes turned more alert, so I continued.

“Our IDS went off last night—well, early this morning. The reactive program set up before your time worked so the Source IP was blocked. They tried like hell to get in, and I want to know if this was an isolated incident or if they were after other companies, too.”

“You want me to track them.”

“Can you do it remotely? Dad has a VPN.”

“Yes,” Elliot paused, then asked, “They gave him a VPN here? In a house that’s not always occupied?”

“It’s a recent development. This is sort of a secret, but Dad is planning to retire next year. He and mom plan to move to this house permanently, so they’ve been spending more time here.”

Elliot sighed.

“Smart move—the hackers, I mean.”

“I know. Is that what you would do if you were a black hat?”

Elliot looked over at me and raised his brow, “I would’ve succeeded.”

I huffed out a laugh and pressed a kiss to his lips. Elliot quickly wrapped his arms around me and pulled my body on top of his. What began as an innocent kiss turned into a mess of breathy pants and sighs as our bodies ground together in the early morning light.

Elliot rolled us over and reached between our bodies, sliding a finger into my underwear to stroke my opening. I reached to grasp his hard length through his underwear before pushing the fronts down to pull out his cock.

I looked at him and he returned my gaze, his grey eyes darkened to a deep blue.

I spread my legs and pulled him toward me as he pushed my panties to the side. I pressed his tip against my wetness, and I longed for my ache of want to be filled by him.

Elliot narrowed his eyes with concern, but I shook my head and shifted my hips up to invite him to enter me.

Elliot pushed inside of me with ease, his eyes closing and his mouth popping open at the sensation of being inside me without a condom for the first time. He pulled me closer to his body, our t-shirts pressing into one another as we fucked in a heated frenzy of morning sex.

His face was pressed into my hair, into my neck, and he came quickly, buried unapologetically inside my body.

I slowly exhaled in a sad sigh that we didn’t have longer to just stay like this.

“We’ve got work to do,” I said, leaning up to place a soft bite on his shoulder.

“But—”

“I don’t need to get off every time, El. Sometimes, it’s more about intimacy. And that was delightfully intimate. I’m going to get shivers all day thinking about you—not that that’s much different than any other day now,” I said with a smile as I wriggled out from under his warm body.

“Get dressed,” I said with a wink as I ducked into the bathroom.

By lunchtime, Elliot had tracked the hackers and every company they attacked. They were novices and left way too many trails; my dad made frequent appearances in his study, sometimes asking if we needed anything, sometimes asking general questions, and sometimes just watching us work.

“I feel so inept,” he said, watching as our fingers flew over the keys, Elliot barely registering his presence.

“It’s like a hidden world, Dad,” I said distantly, trying not to lose the current signature of one of the IPS addresses.

By early afternoon, Elliot and I had everything we needed for me to hand over the file to the police.

My dad was impressed and peppered Elliot with questions until the boys came in to beg Pap to swim with them.

Elliot and I joined Charlie, Erin, Ryan, and Mom in the kitchen, settling at the kitchen table with Charlie, who began peppering us with questions very similar to my father’s.

It was Elliot’s turn to be the expert on something, and I listened with such contentment as he talked, unbelieving of just how well the weekend had gone, despite the early morning hack.

I should have known—it’s always the quite moments of pure contentment that are broken, shattered into a thousand pieces so you feel like you had only ever imagined experiencing genuine happiness.

Two very wet boys, one of them screeching, came skidding to a halt in the kitchen attempting to tattle to Mimi about some wrong that had been committed, except that Jared was so worked up that he just kept on skidding until his nose collided with the edge of the kitchen island, the crack that sounded through the room sending a wave of nausea through me.

Jared bounced off the island and fell onto the floor, blood pouring from his nose. I heard Elliot’s reaction before I saw or registered his look of panic. The chair he had been sitting in had flung back as he jumped up and he was pale and trembling as he stared at the mess that was Jared on the floor. Charlie jumped into action, running outside to get Kathleen, and Erin, Ry, and Mom all scrambled to get supplies to stop the bleeding and to tend to Jared.  

Elliot looked crazed in that moment, his mind gone, so far away, just like that fateful night in the server room.

Everyone was so preoccupied with Jared’s bleeding nose that no one noticed Elliot’s reaction. I went to reach for him, to pull him into the other room, but he jumped away from me, his eyes frantic as he searched for an escape.

He took off in the direction of the stairs and I followed, feeling even sicker to my stomach.

I followed Elliot to my room, and he went straight into the closet, settling back against the wall, his breathing irregular, his eyes vacant.

“Elliot,” I said in a tone that was very similar to that night in the server room.

I approached him slowly, knowing better than to reach for him this time. I settled onto the floor, my every movement deliberate.

“Whatever’s happening in your head right now, just know that it’s not real anymore. I’m real. I’m right here,” I said, tapping the floor next to him, still not daring to touch him. “I’m right here, El.”

“Leave me the fuck alone,” Elliot said in a tone I had never heard before, his eyes snapping into focus and staring into me, icy and furious.

“This is all your fault. You wormed in, wriggled deep inside, and you’ve got no idea the kinda shit you’re gonna find when you’ve burrowed in deep enough. I can’t protect him if you keep forcing him to open up. To be vulnerable,” Elliot spat.

“Him who, Elliot? Your father?”

“Fuck you,” Elliot said, still looking at me like he wished I were dead.

“He’s . . . gone, remember? Your dad’s gone.”

Elliot said nothing, but pulled his legs tight up to his body. His shaking hands wrapped around his knees.

My eyes were filled with tears as I moved to sit next to Elliot against the wall of my closet. I swiped at the tears I couldn’t hold back, their wet heat so offensive to my fingers as I rubbed them away and onto my shorts.

We sat in silence for a long time, and I was afraid to look at Elliot again. Afraid to see that twisted expression on his face that said it hated me.

My ass had long ago grown numb, but I didn’t dare move. I didn’t want Elliot to think he was alone when he came back from whatever was going on in his head.

I was busy pulling at the frays on my shorts and continuing to fight off tears when Elliot’s soft voice broke the silence.

“Y/N?” Elliot asked, his expression tightening in a wave of confusion.

I finally looked at him again, and it was if he’d undergone a change. The iciness was gone, and it was once again the Elliot I had always known looking at me.

“What happened? I don’t—I can’t remember anything after . . . after—” Elliot looked so lost, so worried.

“Shh,” I said. “Don’t try to remember. It’s not important.”

“Yes, it is! I have to remember. I need to remember!” he yelled, causing me to flinch.

“Jared had an accident—slammed into the kitchen island,” I said immediately, watching Elliot’s face as he stared at me, wide-eyed and desperate. “He has a broken nose. There was blood everywhere, and you just . . . lost it. It was like that night in the server room. You’ve been here with me, Elliot. Right here. But your mind . . . wasn’t.”

“Why can’t I remember?” Elliot asked, his voice tinged with agony.

“Your mind isn’t ready for you to remember. Whatever happened to you—your mind just isn’t ready to let you remember. Repression is a powerful coping mechanism.”

Elliot looked at me for a long time. His eyes searching mine before they focused on my hands in my lap, the wet spots from my tears an evident mark on the denim of my shorts.

Elliot’s eyes filled with tears and his lips trembled as he fought not to cry.

“I hate this,” he breathed. “I hate that I can’t ever be normal.

“Come here,” I said, pulling his head to my chest. He wrapped his arms around me, and I could feel the wetness of his tears on my chest as he began to cry. I had a million questions, but I wasn’t sure Elliot could even answer them or that I should even ask them.

And talking it out wasn’t what he needed right now. What he needed now more than anything was someone to make him feel safe and loved.

“Shh,” I whispered into his hair as I held him, my face buried in the sweet scent of my own shampoo that he had used, the thick, soft strands of his hair tickling my nose and cheeks.

“You’re safe with me, Elliot. What’s in the past can’t hurt you anymore. I won’t let it. Know why?”

He shook his head against my chest.

“Because I love you.”

A breathy sob escaped from between Elliot’s lips and he clutched onto me even tighter than the night I saved him from the server room.

“I love you,” I whispered next to his ear before pressing a kiss to his temple. “I love you, and I’ll do anything I can to keep you safe, to make you happy.”

We stayed like that for a long time, so long I thought Elliot had fallen asleep, and my eyes had begun to drift shut.

I heard a soft knock on my bedroom door, and Elliot jumped up, clearly not asleep.

“It’s probably just someone coming to check on us. Just stay here,” I said pulling the door closed enough so no one could see in.

I opened the door and stepped out into the hall to talk to Charlie who confirmed that Jared had indeed broken his nose. Charlie thought it was somewhat comical now that the hubbub was over, but I just sighed and shook my head.

“Remember that time I broke my nose over Thanksgiving? I still don’t think Mom’s forgiven me,” he said with a small laugh.

“No—she still won’t allow you to play football. And now she’ll never let Jared and Jack swim again,” I said.

“Is Elliot okay? I saw him bolt out of the kitchen.”

“He doesn’t do blood,” I said, the lie to protect Elliot falling easily from my lips.

“That was a lot of fucking blood,” Charlie confirmed. “Always a time to be had at the Y/L/N summer house!”

I shook my head and smiled softly, then told Charlie goodnight, thanking him for checking on us, too.

“Hey,” I said gently as I pushed open the closet door. “Charlie said Jared’s fine. They set his nose and he’s going to have two spectacularly black eyes for a while, but he’s doing just fine. Let’s get you the hell off this floor and into bed. You cannot tell me that your ass is not full of pins and needles.”

We undressed, quietly and quickly, sliding into the bed after Elliot opened the balcony door to let in the night’s breeze and the noise of the water on the bay. In the distance, there were fireworks popping off as people’s celebrations continued.

When we settled into bed, Elliot faced away from me, but backed into my body, touching me just enough so that he knew I was there. I wanted to wrap my arms around him again, but I refrained. He clearly needed some space, but not so much to know I wasn’t there. I had a feeling I would end up with a body covered in Elliot in the morning once his mind was at ease and his subconscious was free to do as it pleased.

Elliot clearly experienced some kind of panic attack triggered by Jared’s injury. As for the way he spoke to me, it was some sort of defense mechanism.

I shivered and hoped I never had to see that part of Elliot again.

* Saturday morning *

I was right.

I awoke to a mouthful of black hair as Elliot was tucked into me, his arm wrapped snuggly over me and his head resting on my chest, just over my heartbeat.

My waking thoughts returned to last night, and I wondered whether I should ask Elliot about what happened. I wanted to know more about his past, but I really wanted to know how to help him now.

I snuggled into the top of his hair, and breathed him in.

My next waking thought was that I had told Elliot I loved him—fuck.

He damn near had a meltdown after I asked him to be my boyfriend, so I couldn’t imagine what was going to happen when he processed what I said to him. I wondered if I should start with that—maybe he wouldn’t even remember?

My phone lit up and I reached over to check my texts. Kathleen said they were leaving soon and wanted to say goodbye.

I slipped out from under Elliot’s grasp and threw on some shorts, trying not to wake him as I wrestled my hair into a bun.

“Where are you going?” he asked sleepily.

“Kat’s leaving soon and I want to tell her and the kids goodbye.”

“Did I—did they see?”

“No. Char’s the only one who noticed you left the room rather quickly, and I told him blood wasn’t your thing.”

“Oh.”

“Do you wanna tell the kids goodbye?”

Elliot nodded and shuffled out of bed, reaching for the same shorts he had on last night. We both used the bathroom and then headed downstairs, the smell of a spectacular breakfast assaulting our noses.

Erin came pounding down the stairs after us and quickly read the room before inhaling dramatically and saying, “Ahhh! Nothing like the smell of bacon in the morning, right Jare?”

Everyone laughed as Jared glared at her and then even more when he couldn’t stop his own laugh.

We all ate breakfast together, and I could tell Elliot was tense, the easiness of the previous days gone, replaced by the anxiety that just refused to let go of him for any real length of time.

I had struggled with my own bouts of anxiousness and depression, but nothing had ever been as serious as Elliot’s. My heart ached for him, and I resolved not to let the incident in the closet go . . . like I had with the incident in the server room.

If I was ever going to help him, or get him help, I needed to get him to talk to me.

We helped Kathleen and Josh load up the car and stood in the driveway to say goodbye. Molly walked over to Elliot and clutched onto his legs, so he picked her up and hugged her, much to her delight.

Jared gave us all a reluctant hug, and I planted a kiss to the top of his head before whispering that Uncle Char broke his nose over Thanksgiving and while he was in the ER with Mimi and Pap, the turkey burned.

Jared’s face split into an expression of glee, despite his swollen eyes and nose. He looked at Charlie and said, “Well at least I didn’t ruin the Thanksgiving turkey!”

“Thanks, sis,” Charlie said.

We waved goodbye, and I asked Elliot if he wanted to take a walk on the beach. He nodded yes, so we walked across the stone path and through the front yard until our feet hit sand.

We were quiet for a long time, enjoying the cool lapping of the water at low tide as we walked.

I tested Elliot’s desire to be touched and reached for his hand.

“It’s okay if you want to pull away,” I said as his fingers curled around mine.

“I don’t.”

“Okay.”

I wanted to ask him—I was burning to ask him something about last night, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It may have been that Elliot seemed to be relaxing again, or that I feared pulling him back to that dark place, but more likely, it was my own defense mechanisms wrapping their protective arms around me while I dealt with the weight of my unacknowledged I love you.

We walked in companionable silence, both of us lost in our thoughts until Elliot started talking about yesterday’s hack. We fell into an easy, safe conversation, and I found myself okay with that. I knew I couldn’t ignore the much more difficult conversation we needed to have forever, but what was the harm in letting Elliot have some time to process? Patience. That was what he needed right now.

When it started raining that afternoon, we decided to head back into the city a little early to beat the surge of Sunday traffic.  

We said goodbye to my family, and Elliot thanked them all for making him feel so welcome. I smiled as I watched him interact with my mom and my dad more easily than I could’ve ever dreamed.

Charlie and Elliot gave each other head nods, but the look of soft affection that passed between them made me smile.

And that soft moment was quickly replaced by yet another quiet moment of horror when Erin launched herself into Elliot’s arms, dramatically declaring that she’d die if she didn’t see him again before the end of summer.

Elliot patted her and stilled, waiting for her to release him, but when she leaned up and whispered something in his ear, he laughed, that same booming laugh from the night in the pool.

I found myself smiling like an idiot, again. Despite Jared’s broken nose and Elliot’s subsequent panic attack, the weekend was a true success.

Our drive back was quiet, music playing faintly on the radio as the rain splattered on the windshield of my SUV.

I stopped outside of Elliot’s building, the wipers a steady beat in the background as he pulled his backpack up to the front seat.

“I’m sure you’re ready for some alone time.”

“I like being with you,” Elliot offered.

I smiled, sadness still tugging at my heart, not just because of finally beginning to understand the depth of Elliot’s pain, but because it was clear he wasn’t ready to love me. Like me, just not love me. And I needed to figure out a way to be okay with that.

“Do you need help with any—”

“Thank you for—”

We looked at each other and laughed, one of those awkward laughs that happens when there’s just so much to unpack but you’re too tired and you just don’t want to yet.

“It’s just one bag. I can manage,” Elliot said.

“You’re welcome for the weekend,” I returned.

“I wasn’t going to thank you for the weekend. I wanted to,” Elliot paused and collected his thoughts, his eyes looking at my hand as it rested on the gear shift. “I wanted to thank you for what you said. It meant a lot. And it means a lot that you understood what I needed to hear and you were willing to say it to me, no matter if you didn’t mean it.”

“What?” I asked stupidly.

“I know you didn’t mean it. You were just being good to me. You’re always good to me.”

“Elliot,” I said firmly. “I would never tell someone I loved them if I didn’t mean it. Come on. You have to expect better from people—not people. From me. Expect better from me.”

Elliot looked at me, his mouth open in what looked like shock before he pulled in his bottom lip and bit it, his eyes blinking slowly.

“You meant it?”

“I still mean it.”

Elliot looked like he was about to short-circuit.

“Hey—hey,” I said, forcing him to meet my gaze as I lifted his chin. “We aren’t teenagers. I don’t need you to say it back just because I said it. And I’m not going to take it back because you didn’t say it back. I feel the way I feel and I’m so happy about it, El. And I hope you feel the same way someday. But that’s your decision, not mine. I’m not going to push you. I won’t say it again if you don’t want me—”

“I do,” Elliot said, his eyes burning into mine with their intensity, effectively cutting me off from my explanation. “I want you to say it when you feel it. If you mean it, I want you to say it. I’m just not ready—but you have no idea, fuck I don’t even have an idea really, how it makes me feel to know that you think—”

“Not think—”

“That you know how you feel and you feel that way about me.”

“Maybe if I say I love you enough, you’ll start believing it.”

Elliot closed his eyes as if he were memorizing the sound of my voice, memorizing the way the loaded word hung in the air.

“Can it be enough, for now, that you want to give it? Can I have time to figure out how to . . . process that?”

“Time as in we don’t see each other time, or time as in we just keep doing our thing and don’t talk about this for a while?”

Elliot smiled and replied, “The second thing you said. This weekend established an unrealistic expectation—every morning I woke up and it was next to you. Waking up tomorrow is going to be awful.”

“We could always move in together?” I said, wondering if Elliot would read the teasing that was dancing behind my eyes.

“Fuck, Y/N. Are you trying to kill me?” he said with a huff of a laugh.

“Goodnight, Elliot. I’ll miss you.”

“Text me before you fall asleep,” he said as he leaned over the console, his voice low.

Elliot kissed me goodnight, his lips soft and warm as they moved against mine, his teeth pulling on my lower lip before he drew away.

By the time I opened my eyes, he was closing the passenger door. I opened the liftgate and he grabbed his bag, shutting the door firmly.

I watched him jog up the short steps to his building and duck inside, an ache that would someday become all too familiar took hold of my heart as I watched him disappear. 

[deviationdivine]

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

gif by arsuf 

F!reader x Connor

13.6k words

Detroit: Become Human - 1 Year Anniversary Release Celebration

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, he isn’t… He. Yes, he. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Require? What?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Connor?”

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

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

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

Obeying you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This can be your room.”

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

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

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

Yes, of course he’s a machine but…

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Connor.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N?”

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

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

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

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

 ^Software Instability

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

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

 >Obey

>Leave Alone

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

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

 >Analyzing: Y/L/N, Y/N

Stress: 31.6%

Blood Pressure: 124/80

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That isn’t why, Connor.”

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

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

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

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

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

 ^Software Instability

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Connor?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is the piece that truly begins everything…

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

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

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

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

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

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

Connor did. Is his social program that good?

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

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

August 15th

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Welcome home, Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are you lying, Y/N?”

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

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

“I am sorry but you are lying!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right now you ignore it. “Connor.”

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

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

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

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

“But I disobeyed. I lost control of…”

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

He frowns. “I am not human.”

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

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

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

“Connor, what are you-?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Connor. Connor, what’s wrong?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

November 1st

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Connor.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good morning, Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

“Are you hungry? I hope you are.”

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

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

^Software Instability

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N.” Connor reaches down. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you like dogs, Connor?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey. I said hey!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get the hell off me!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Connor!”

  ^72%

Level of Stress

>Do not defend

>Obey Code Programming

>Do n defend

>Do defend

>defend

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

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

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

 >Protect Y/N

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There is no will. When he is a machine!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 ^Software Instability

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The thought of being taken - scares him. 

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

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

Silence is best.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Con, I want you to…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

[shirtlesssammy]

7x13: The Slice Girls

Welcome to our last episode before hiatus is over. We’re knocking out another Buckleming episode. Natasha has some strong words at the end. Buckleming are the worst.

Then:

Oh, yeah, Bobby died, and I never watched that episode again

Now:

A white man™ sits quietly at his computer at home one night. He hears a noise and suddenly he’s getting sliced and diced in good old cold open fashion.

Sam and Dean are on the road. Sam’s driving so Dean can indulge in his “coping through season 7 juice”. He saved Bobby’s flask and we all know ghosts can’t inhabit personal items, *cough* *cough*. Anyway, Dean’s drinking his way through his grief and Sam’s working cases his way through his grief. 

They head to the coroner that holds the cold open victim. AND, I’m sorry, but is Dean flirting with the coroner? I rarely rewatch Buckleming so when I find these forgotten moments in the wild I’m taken aback. I thought I knew the full extent of Dean’s little world, but wow, apparently not.

They learn that all the victims are male and there’s weird ritualistic mutilation with the bodies after they are dead. And any DNA from potential suspects doesn’t match anything human. 

After the morgue, Sam wants to do more research, and Dean needs to blow off some steam. He decides to go undercover. 

Later at a bar (It’s a fancy bar and Dean’s wearing his suit, so not like Dean), he chitchats with a woman (he’s an investment banker who speaks minimal Japanese) and she’s into it so she invites him back to her place.

While Dean works through his coroner frustration, the show intercuts it with another man’s murder. Bravo on the editing. 

The next morning, the brothers head to the latest crime scene. Dean asks Sam if he made any headway on the symbol. “We’re gonna need an expert.” “Expert? Our expert’s dead.” OMG. OUCH. 

At the crime scene, a friend of the victim’s stops by and Sam asks him some questions. It turns out the victim cheated on his wife a couple nights prior. The neighbor insists the wife wouldn’t have harmed her husband though. Also, whoever has been killing these men were big and strong.

It’s at this moment that Dean realizes that he forgot his flask at Lydia’s (his workout buddy from the prior night). He calls her but she hasn’t seen the flask and she hangs up. 

She’s pretty busy at the moment --being really pregnant! 

Cut to later at a very dangerous birthing session (way too many candles), Lydia is told that the “pain is an honor” and I’m not a mother but that is SOME bullshit there. Anyway, she has a healthy 3-4 month old baby she’s told to name Emma. 

Sam and Dean head to interview the mayor of Sunnydale a professor with some knowledge on the sigil carved on the men. He wants money before he’ll talk. They pull the FBI card and tell him that they’ll put in a good word with the IRS and they want answers by tomorrow. 

Dean is missing Bobby after that little exchange so he decides to head to Lydia’s to get his flask.

Lydia’s surprised to see him. Dean really needs that flask. She goes to get it and he follows her inside. He finds a baby (at least 12 months old?) and Lydia admits that it’s hers. Dean Bean goes into the room to see the baby closer (brb, off to read a few hundred domestic Destiel AUs to fill this giant hole my heart.) 

Dean’s phone rings and it’s Sam. While he’s on the phone with him, Dean hears the baby and Lydia talk. Uh…

Sam heads to inspect the latest vic alone. He finds out a lot of the victims visited the same bar Dean was at a couple nights ago. 

Dean’s staking out Lydia’s place, and watches as the women present at Emma’s birth arrive. 

Sam calls and gives him grief for obsessing over the woman. Dean thinks there’s something strange going on and he’ll tell Sam when he figures it out. Sam tells him about the bar but Dean hangs up on him as Lydia’s door opens again. The women all emerge with what appears to be a 8 year old girl. Dean can’t believe what he’s seeing. “I hate when this happens.” Yes, fathering a monster baby is a bitch, Dean. He follows the women into a back alley warehouse. 

Dean prowls down an alley, following the car full of women. (Hey, that sentence came out really creepy.) The women disappear into an unmarked building.

Later, Dean briefs Sam on the situation. There was nothing that screamed “baby” to him when he was at Lydia’s earlier. Now, Emma’s an elementary-school-aged kid, to all appearances. He’s suspicious.

Sam thoroughly mocks Dean for feeling like something’s off with Lydia and Emma. The professor calls, interrupting their conversation. He’s got info!

At their mysterious destination, five young (but slightly older) girls are offered pieces of raw (presumably) human meat and big ol’ glasses of milk. Yum! They’re instructed to complete their “blood missions.” Emma is hesitant to eat the meat. (And who can blame her? Blech.)

At the university, the “I’m super busy don’t talk to me” professor has managed to create a whole slideshow for the boys, who settle into one of the middle rows to watch.

The symbol is Greek. It’s a combination that symbolizes Harmonia and Eres, a goddess and god who begat the Amazons. The professor disparages the cartoon version of Amazons: Wonder Woman (them’s fightin’ words!). He describes Amazons as having little use for men. They procreate, then kill the male, cutting off several body parts.

Elsewhere, the head detective holds a hissing phone call with the head Amazon. It turns out that they’re buddies. They know that Dean and Sam are giant fakers and more than that, they suspect they’re hunters. 

Back at their current hotel HQ, Dean digs through Bobby’s dusty old books and drinks from his flask. Sam info-dumps more lore. The Amazons were nearly decimated and bargained for Harmonia’s gift to grow their ranks. She made it so they mate, give birth in a few days, and then the child is mature in just a handful more. Dean realizes that he’s now a father, just as Sam grasps that as well. Use birth control, kids!

Back with the Amazons in training, they’re lectured about joining the ranks of the other women and branded with the symbol on their wrist. 

Sam summarizes all their victims as rich, successful businessmen - perfect for the Amazons’ gene pool. (REALLY is that the mark of “good” DNA? Really??? Fuck that. There’s so much wrong here I could write a whole damn book on it.) Sam wants to know why Dean got picked. Dean confesses that he pretended to be an investment banker. While Sam judges Dean heavily, papers move mysteriously in the room, exposing a single sheet. Sam pulls out the EMF and it wails at him. Skeptic Sammy points out power lines and a breezy window. Dean thinks it’s Bobby’s ghost. 

Sam picks up the exposed paper, written in Greek, and brings it to the professor to read. Meanwhile, Dean stays where he is, holed up in their room when there’s a knock on the door. It’s Emma! She tells him that she needs his help and that she knows she can trust him because he’s her father. 

Dean’s on guard, but Emma says that she was trapped with the rest of the Amazons and ordered to do terrible things. There are tears in her eyes as she describes getting branded. Dean quietly lets her in.

Emma asks for Dean’s help to leave town. “I know you don’t want me,” she tells him. (I throw a rotten banana at the screen. How DARE this show.) She begs for his help in finding normalcy. 

The professor - who is doing some really LATE office hours - excitedly tells Sam that the Amazon child is meant to kill the father, not the mothers.

As Sam leaves the university, the detective from earlier stops him with a single, very strong hand. He notices her Amazon brand and she calls him by name - she knows she’s a hunter. She hurls Sam down the stairs and pulls out a sword, but Sam whips out his gun and shoots her in the chest before she can kill him. So apparently a bullet works just fine.

Emma continues to make a case for freedom. When she says she’s hungry, Dean heads over to check out the fridge.

Emma pulls out her Amazon blade while Dean’s back is turned and Dean whirls around and confronts her with a gun. Emma argues that it’s her place to kill him. Furthermore, she calls Dean on his hesitation - he won’t kill her. “You haven’t killed anybody yet, Emma. Walk away,” Dean pleads. 

Emma says she doesn’t have a choice just before Sam breaks in and points a gun at Emma. She flashes him a shine of smug monster-face before pleading with Dean, one more time, to help her. Sam shoots her and kills her while Dean looks on in horror. 

A little while later, Dean and Sam sneak into the old building Dean tracked the Amazons to. It’s abandoned. 

They drive away to the next case. Dean acts optimistic: they’ll find those sneaky Amazons and kill ‘em dead next time. Instead of rallying, Sam goes off on Dean, shouting at him about his hesitation in killing Emma. “She was not yours. Not really.” 

Dean smiles mirthlessly. She was his child, even if she wasn’t his daughter. 

Sam (in a thoroughly OOC way, in my opinion) blows right past this enormous minefield of emotion to tell Dean that he’s off his game. First losing Cas, then Bobby have sent Dean into a tailspin. Sam caps off his inspiring speech with “Don’t get killed.” Thanks, Sam. Good talk.

Natasha: Hi, hello, I HATE this episode. Dean’s lost Cas and Bobby and then this show has the GALL to lob a child at Dean and then CHIDE HIM for not wanting to kill her. Meanwhile, Sam belittles Dean’s hesitation and parallels it to the necessity of his friend Amy’s death. Do you know how dirty and awful I feel every time I think about Amy’s death? DO YOU? And she’d actually killed multiple people by then. We never talk about that one time Dean accidentally fathered a child and Sam killed her mid-conversation, and I can only assume this remains a deep and terrible scar on their souls. I’d forgotten the “breeding” detail but that paired with casting choices make this episode a big pile of YUCK for me.

______________________________

Quotazons:

“Didn’t match anything human” usually seals the deal for me

Nice decor. Very early slaughterhouse

It's a flask, not the holy grail

______________________________

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive! 

[txladyj-blog]

This Time Around - Chapter 25

A Daryl Dixon x OFC collaboration written by @xmistressmistrustx​ by request of @txladyj-blog​

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Daryl Dixon/Original Female Character

Tags: Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Awkwardness, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Crush, Fluff and Humor, Angst and Humor, Mild Smut, Strong Language, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, Some Canon Scenes and Dialogue

Chapters 28/?

Daryl was rarely around long enough in the house to be roped into chores but when Carol was on a mission there was little he could do to escape. She’d throw him an unimpressed expression that told of dire consequences should he take another step towards the door. He knew better than to argue with Carol, she always had a way of talking him around and more often than not, he admired her headstrong and determined attitude.

The task in question on this occasion was the dishes, having piled up from breakfast and he’d tried to beat a hasty retreat, hot on the heels of Rick and Michonne as they raced for the front door. But her voice saying his name in the stern manner she used when he was in trouble split through the air and halted him in his tracks. He turned just in time to catch a dish towel that was flying through the air and to see her motion towards the huge pile of dripping dishes on the drainer. He sighed, not bothering to hide the fact that he’d rather be doing anything else than household chores and started picking up bowls and drying them.

“How is Jess?” Carol asked casually while flitting around the kitchen and screwing the lids back on jars at the kitchen island.

His suspicions spiked straight away. It wasn’t as if he’d forgotten about the fact that he’d kissed Jess. That he’d kissed her and she’d kissed him back. That she seemed happy about it and so was he and he’d lay awake during the small hours thinking about how it was the best kiss of his life. But how could Carol know about that? Why was she asking about Jess all of a sudden? Why did she assume he knew about Jess’s current state? Paranoia consumed him as he cleared his throat and attempted to keep his answer flippant and breezy.

“She’s alright. Why?” He grunted.

She carried three coffee cups to the sink, turned the faucet on and rinsed them out. Steam from the hot water that no one now took for granted swirled up into the air and she made quick work of using such a precious commodity.

“That attack. The way she ran afterwards. The dark circles under her eyes.” She explained as she passed him the first cup to dry. “I’m concerned about her.”

“She’s fine.” He reiterated quickly, almost cutting her off.

“She’s skittish too.” She continued, very deliberately opting to bombard him with conversation on the topic. “I don’t think I’ve seen her settle into a task for a while. She doesn’t stay here long. Why is that?”

He dropped his hands, a coffee mug wrapped in the dish towel and glared at her. Now visibly irritated, his veil of indifference was thinning considerably and he found himself becoming uncontrollably and increasingly shifty.

“Why you even askin’ me? I ain't her damn keeper.” He snapped.

“No, but you are her person.” Carol pointed out. She shut off the water and balanced the remaining two coffee cups on the drainer.

“Person? What are you talkin’ ‘bout?” He questioned, confused by the term she’d used and what it meant. The timing of the conversation was still causing him concern and he was starting to wonder if anyone had seen them at the gate of the fairground the night before.

“You’re the one she trusts. Has she said anything to you?” She wanted to know.

“No, alright?!” He retorted “Why the hell d’ya think I know so much about her?! What’s with the interrogation? Shit.”

Daryl didn’t normally lie but it was a small mistruth to placate her and stop her from firing questions at him. Hoping she would change the subject or even better, cease talking altogether, he continued to dry the cups and thudded them on the counter with more force than was necessary.

“OK” Carol hushed with a small and telling smile. “OK.”

Guidance on the complex and treacherous issue that was the relationship between Jess and Daryl was something he couldn’t deny he needed, but he was not about to broadcast his feelings to the world and run around asking everyone for advice. If there was one person he could confide in, it was Carol, but the timing was off and he was still reeling from his actions the previous night when he seemed to experience a surge of pure courage and a personality transplant from absolutely nowhere which led him to commit an act that was so out of character, so unheard of that he shocked himself as well as Jess. He needed to process it, to figure out what it meant and being a private person, he wanted to keep it very much under wraps. It wasn’t as if Carol had never referenced there being something more to his fondness of Jess, he’d even admitted as much and as far as he could tell, she’d not breathed a word to a soul. The more he thought about it, the more guilt he felt for being so snappy and argumentative and therefore, decided to give her something to satisfy her curiosity.

“Look, she’s just havin’ a hard time sleepin’. I’m keepin’ an eye on her though.” He admitted.

“Good. She must talk to Denise if it’s anything more than that.” She advised.

“I know. I know that. I can take care of her.” He felt the need to point out.

Taking care of a friend, something he’d not had to deal with in his life due to his friendship group being incredibly small, was made all the more complicated by that friend being someone he’d crossed a line with, someone he’d discovered had feelings for him and someone he’d kissed. For a long time, all he’d wanted to do was take care of her and saying it aloud almost made him smile, but he hid it behind his stoic mask.

“So, you admit, you are her person.” Carol smirked at him as she leaned on the counter and took the dish towel from his hands.

“Whatever.” He shook his head before turning to walk away from her.

“Have you kissed her yet?” She asked out of the blue.

Daryl stopped and held his breath before it dawned on him how guilty it made him look. He sighed once more and closed his eyes momentarily. “What the hell?” he whispered to himself. Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed her grinning back at him. “Leave it alone, Carol.”

Her wide smile only grew larger when she saw a glimmer of shyness in him, the kind of shyness that a person shows when they have a precious secret that they want to keep to themselves, but also want to announce from the rooftops because it fills them with excitement and glee. He’d not said yes or no and so, she knew, she didn’t have to press him any further. Not yet, anyway.

                                                                                                                                                     Jess was exhausted. But this time, it wasn’t a result of nightmares. It was because every time she closed her eyes, her thoughts wandered to Daryl and how he’d made a move on her and kissed her. In her wildest dreams she imagined scenarios in which it would happen, each one feeling more unlikely than the last, like it would never materialize in reality and she only dared to entertain such ideas. Then, he put his hands on her face and brought his lips to hers and her world changed in a split second. She’d tossed and turned, sat up, got a drink and tried to write it all down in her journal but only got as far as three words before her head started spinning again and she failed to fight yet another beaming grin.

‘Daryl kissed me.’

But underneath it all was the creeping doubt that it had all been a mistake, that he would admit he didn’t mean it and that it wasn’t going to happen again. She wasn’t the girl that got kissed or was wanted by men like Daryl. Or, by anyone that she could recall. The idea that her feelings may be reciprocated for once in her life was too far fetched for her to pin too much hope on. But she had a nice memory nevertheless and no matter what happened, she would always remember that Daryl Dixon had kissed her and not only did it make her weak in the best of ways, it gave her perspective. Now Daryl had shown her, after such a horrifying experience at the hands of disgustingly eager strangers, that tenderness and desire from the right person could do wonders to help her move forward. 

Following a short visit to Deanna’s house, Jess wandered slowly towards the gate holding her bow in her hands and squinting at the splintering wood at the ends. It was wearing away and soon, she would need a new one. The weather, being immersed in water while hiding in the stream with Daryl and continuous use had taken its toll and she accepted that sooner rather than later, she would need to try and replace it. She picked at the wood with her fingertips, discarding the sharp bits as she walked, until she came to an abrupt stop in front of a battered pair of boots. Slowly, she raised her gaze to find Daryl standing inches from her.

“Uh, hi” She uttered. Her nerves lit up and her whole body was rapidly engulfed with a shaky sensation. Her voice was nothing more than a whisper and she quickly noted that she must have appeared totally terrified. She swallowed hard and pulled herself together.

He looks gorgeous. How dare he.

“Hey” He said in his usual raspy tone. If he felt anywhere near as uneasy as she did, he wasn’t showing it. Jess tried not to panic but having never dealt with such a long awaited and much coveted situation before, she had no idea how to proceed. Her mouth opened and closed again and Daryl just watched at her blankly as she gawped at him with her bow gripped so tightly in her hands that her knuckles were turning white.

Say something. Oh my god! SAY SOMETHING, JESS!

“Nice weather today. Better than yesterday. Was...too hot. Way too hot.” She blurted out. The words tumbled from her lips, laced with regret and embarrassment. She didn’t know what she was supposed to say or how she was supposed to act and she was self-aware enough to know that if she let her instincts take over, she would end up babbling about the weather for hours or running away like a scared animal.

The weather. Smooth, Jess.

“Yeah real nice.” He replied. He pushed his lips into a thin line and nodded subtly at her and with that small gesture, came her first clue that he was a little unsettled after all.

“Are you… are you OK?” She tried, not sure exactly what she meant but going with it anyway.

“Yeah” He answered as he quickly looked over his shoulder towards the Grime’s house. “M’fine. You?”

“Mmhmm” She hummed. It was high-pitched and she almost ran at how gawky and inelegant she was presenting as.

“You sleep?” He asked.

“Uh, N-No. At least it wasn’t because of the nightmares this time.” She paused, shocked at her intense and sudden need to address the issue hanging over their heads. She figured it didn’t have to be a huge conversation, she just needed to know where she stood and it would mean she could go about the rest of her day without feeling terrified of looking him in the eye. “Look, about last night-”

“-Don’t” he warned

“Don’t what?” She asked in surprise at how quickly he’d stepped in to put a stop to her touching on the subject.

“Just…don’t.” He repeated.

Jess was baffled, did he really expect her to be able to just carry on with her life without some kind of explanation or clue as to what such a lingering and passionate kiss did or didn’t mean to him? He wasn’t a great talker with anyone else, but with her he was different. He told her things that he didn’t tell anyone else. She was sure he trusted her, so the flat denial when she tried to address the issue was hopelessly confusing to her. She knew better than to ignore him and keep talking, but she wasn’t about to let him get away with saying nothing. The man she loved had kissed her and initiated it, she needed a snippet, just something to go on before her mind went into overdrive and she involuntarily began to prepare for some kind of eventual speech in which he would say that he didn’t mean to kiss her and that he didn’t like her like that. Or, would he? She hoped she wouldn’t have to deal with the agonizing disappointment of a one-time thing.

“Will you just answer me one question? Please?” She pleaded.

He carefully studied her face, his vision skimming down to her lips. The same lips he’d kissed so eagerly the night before. Time passed as he focused on them but he didn’t care, he loved how he’d managed to silence her and make her giggle and smile. He loved the way she clung to him and the small whimper that escaped her, making him wonder how he’d even managed to instill such a good feeling in another person. He had the mind to kiss her again there and then if the town wasn’t full of curious eyes and gossip addicted ears. He also hadn’t thought about what would happen now and every time he tried, he came to the same conclusion; that Jess could do a lot better and shouldn’t be wasting her time on him.

“Was it… a mistake?” Her voice was low and her tone laden with trepidation, as if she was about to hear something she really wasn’t going to like. Daryl wanted to grab her and shake her for not being able to see what he did when he looked at her and he hated that she seemed to be assuming that he regretted his actions. He didn’t want to talk about it, he didn’t know how. But she did deserve an answer to her question. He stepped closer to her with his head dipped and one hand resting on the handle of his knife at his belt. He checked the street over her shoulders before shifting his gaze and looking her in the eye through his messy hair.

“No” he whispered.

Her eyebrows shot up and her mouth fell open. He was right, it wasn’t what she was expecting at all and he thought, for a split second that he saw a brief flicker of fear cross her features. Jess’s head quickly filled up with more questions, more reasons to push him to just tell her what he wanted, what it all meant from his point of view. But it worked both ways, if Daryl was expected to disclose such information, then so was she and she would then be forced to admit her true feelings for him ran a lot deeper than that of a small crush. Still, she was gobsmacked. Rendered almost speechless from his tiny, one-word, hushed answer. He wasn’t lying and she knew it. He wouldn’t lie to her, especially not while looking her square in the eyes. No, it had to be something else; maybe he’d lost his grasp on sanity and finally succumbed to the horrendous things he’d seen and done to survive at the end of the world. Maybe he wasn’t in his right mind and some kind of head injury had affected his judgement. She had no idea, but there had to be some kind of explanation as to why Daryl had kissed her because, in her opinion, the chances of him feeling the same way about her were slim to none.

“Oh.” She uttered, pinning her lower lip under her teeth. “Okay.”

I should ask him what he meant when he said it wasn’t over. But that’s two questions and I only asked for one. Can I just ask two? Is that how this works? God dammit!

Then, she saw the corner of his mouth curl up into a subtle and devastatingly sexy smile and she dragged in a deep breath. Other than that, she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak and could just about blink. Her mind emptied of thoughts. She could have stood there for hours just looking at him smile at her like that. The shy way his eyes flickered around before falling back to hers stirred butterflies in her stomach. She would have given anything to have the means to snap a photo of him in that moment.

Daryl couldn’t believe what he was seeing. She was immobile and gazing up at him like he’d grown an extra head. Her eyes were wide and her mouth hung open. He thought it to be adorable and couldn’t help but smile at her when he pondered that she really was shocked by what was happening. Unexpectedly, he felt as though he had a certain amount of control despite not having a single clue what he was doing. He’d managed to swerve a conversation he couldn’t yet have without making her angry and he’d also managed to somehow get across that whatever was or wasn’t going to happen between them, he didn’t think kissing her was a mistake.

When she finally managed to speak, it sounded like her voice had all but vanished. “This is awkward. I don’t want it to be awkward.” She expressed quietly.

Still smiling, Daryl began to back up while still keeping her eyes locked with his. He briefly scratched at the back of his neck and shifted the crossbow strap on his shoulder.

“Don’t make it awkward then.” He smirked before turning and walking towards the gate. Rooted to the spot, Jess stayed where she was, reeling and trying to understand when everything shifted and why Daryl was so casual about it all instead of reacting with revulsion and terror. Having lost control of her feelings, her facial expressions and apparently, her very mind, Jess headed over to Aaron and Eric’s place.

-

She didn’t intend to spend more than an hour or so visiting Aaron and Eric, but their couch happened to be so comfortable and her bones were so heavy with fatigue that she was soon fast asleep with her face shoved into her screwed up jacket. Eric covered her with a blanket and left her to it while Aaron explained to him that the attack was having lasting consequences for her, namely that she was finding it hard to relax and sleep.

After two hours of nightmare-free sleep, Jess awoke and blinked the slumber from her eyes. For a second, she forgot where she was and instinctively went to grab for her knife until she recognized the room and thumped her head back on her jacket. The absence of a nightmare didn’t mean the absence of a dream and she closed her eyes and willed herself back to sleep so she could slip, effortlessly back into the world inside her subconscious that meant she and Daryl were alone in the apartment she had before the turn, entwined on the couch as cars beeped and revved their engines in the traffic below. The turn hadn’t happened and Jess was curled against his body, reading a book on her side while he spooned her from behind and snoozed peacefully with a hand rested on her bare thigh below her shorts. The windows were open and a breeze billowed against the drapes, a breeze that brought with it the smell of summer and the rustling of bright green leaves in the trees below. On the nightstand were cups of steaming coffee that had been put off in favor of ten more minutes of just being still and together. It was the perfect picture; Daryl’s vest hung on the back of a chair in the kitchen, a dragon door knocker on the front door chosen by Jess and on the coffee table were the keys for his bike and a pack of cigarettes. His hair was messy from the pillow and his face was totally relaxed when she gradually rolled over to look at him. She traced her fingertips along his exposed upper arm and he stirred, his eyes opening and his face breaking into a soft smile. He tried to speak but nothing came out, his brow furrowing at the lack of sound. Jess attempted to ask if he’d lost his voice but she too was noiseless. Both of them were unable to speak but after a few seconds, neither of them cared when he kissed her soft lips and she dragged him closer, flush with her body.

Slipping back into such a fantasy turned out to be nigh on impossible once she’d left it but her stomach still fluttered with the idea, with the wish that one day, something similar might happen now she had known the sensation of his kiss and his fingers holding onto the side of her face. Such a wish was a dangerous one so soon, but it was the price she had to pay for being in love with him. She groaned against her jacket and pushed up from the couch, her eyes immediately meeting Eric’s, who was sitting on an armchair reading opposite her. He made a comment about her being like a narcoleptic but assured her that their home was always open to her if she felt she could sleep better. She thanked him after half listening and rubbed at her eyes.

“Are you hungry? We’re about to have lunch” he asked.

She nodded silently and he got to his feet, taking her hand and hoisting her up from the couch. He beckoned her to follow him, the smell of something appealing wafted through her nose as she approached the kitchen. Then, she stopped at the door, unable to proceed any further. Her body language closed up and she solemnly lowered her head. When Eric enquired what was wrong, she mumbled to him that she couldn’t bring herself to go into the room. Aaron, who overheard from the kitchen table, didn’t need to be told what the issue was before he was racing towards the doorway and placing a hand on her shoulder in comfort. It was the first time she’d been near the room she was attacked in and everything was still a little too raw.

“It’s okay. We don’t have to stay in here.” He soothed “Eric? Why don’t we take everything outside and eat on the front porch?”

“Right. Of course. It’s a nice day, may as well.” He chirped back.

Jess, touched by their understanding and effort, mouthed a noiseless ‘thank you’ to Aaron and retreated to the porch, where she noticed that Daryl had volunteered for guard duty on the gate. It was rare to see him on guard duty at all, let alone during the day and not in the tower and she thought it typical that after their kiss and her detailed dream, he was going to be standing there, right in her sight line as she ate lunch with her friends.

 Cutlery clinked against plates and regular conversation was had between Aaron and Eric while Jess pushed her food around her plate and glared across the grass verge in front of the house at Daryl, who was leaning against the fencing at the top of the gate, smoking a cigarette and keeping a close eye on the road that lead to the town. He knew she was there and looked over at her occasionally, at one point playfully flipping her the bird which she quickly threw right back at him.

Aaron and Eric swapped a grin at Jess’s more than obvious vigil and Aaron cleared his throat loudly in order to capture her attention. Jess turned her head to see them both displaying wide smiles. It dawned on her that the whole time she’d been sat with them, she’d not only failed to utter a single word, she’d also not even looked at them. She huffed a huge sigh of annoyance and slammed her knife and fork down on the table, making them both flinch.

“Why’s he gotta do that? Why is he on guard today? Why pick today? He’s never on guard during the day.” she babbled.

“Why’s that a problem?” Eric asked.

As she spoke, she picked up her fork again and stabbed aggressively at the salad on her plate

-Stab- “Why is that a problem?! Why is that a problem, Eric?! Have you seen him?" -Stab- "Do you have eyes? He’s over there, minding his business..." -Stab- "…and looking like a damn snack. Could have at least covered the arms up." -Stab- "Lord above.”

Reaching the end of her sentence, she shoveled a huge forkful of food into her mouth. Chewing messily, she wound the piece of metal cutlery around in the air and sighed at the sight of Daryl, harmlessly standing on watch. Eric couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing with raised eyebrows at her blatant honesty and wiped his mouth with a napkin before dragging his chair closer to the table.

“Um, have I missed something here?” He inquired.

“Oh, yeah.” Aaron answered “ Jess is in love with Daryl” his tone was nonchalant and he barely even looked up, figuring that if Jess was willing to be so blatant about her thoughts then he was allowed to speak the truth. Jess paid it no mind and continued to stare at Daryl.

“Wait… what?!” Eric exclaimed, baffled by the fact that no one seemed to be making a big deal out of something that sounded very much like a big deal to him.

“Mmhmm” Jess hummed casually while shoving a carrot in her mouth on the end of her fork. “And it’s hell.”

Eric blinked at her and slowly looked to his side at Aaron, who was finishing up the last of his meal. He met his eye and received a careless shrug that signaled to him that if he wanted to know anything more, he should just ask.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting that. Has anything happened between you guys?” He wanted to know.

Somehow, she became even more still as a white lie formed in her mind. She peered down at her plate and sheepishly reached out for her drink without even looking up. She gulped water down and placed the glass back, aware that she’d taken a long time to answer.

“No”

She almost choked on her drink when she spat out the word. Something had very much happened but she didn’t want to betray Daryl’s trust by telling anyone and also didn’t want anyone to know anyway in case it all fell apart and she was left embarrassed and feeling like a fool.

Aaron, who picked up on the shifty way in which Jess replied to Eric, put his fork down and studied her expression.

“Did you do it? Did you kiss him again?”

Eric jolted and his head snapped to the side at Aaron before swinging back to Jess, who was looking extremely guilty.

“You kissed Daryl?!” He exclaimed.

“Yes. No. Yes. Ugh.” She complained. Her shoulder blades hit the backrest of the chair and she crossed her arms over her chest, irritated and defensive. “I don’t want to talk about it.” she snapped childishly while jutting her lower lip out.

“I’ll explain later.” Aaron assured Eric while Jess scowled over at Daryl, who by that point, had noticed her interest in him and turned his back in order to conceal a small laugh.

-

That night, Jess ventured to the pantry to stock up on the basics. She took her time, picking items from the shelf and arranging them neatly in a box held close to her body with one arm. It was a weekly routine, sometimes two weekly if she ate at Aaron and Eric’s and managed to make what she had at the fairground stretch. More often than not, she would take advantage of the soups and various meals some people would make in large quantities for the community as donations to the pantry. Such gestures would keep her fed for a couple of days without having to tap into her own supplies too much.

The vegetable patch at Alexandria was thriving and Jess had even helped herself to a few bulbs and cuttings for growing at her own home. She was attempting to grow bell peppers and tomatoes again, along with some choice herbs much like she did when she was staying in the city. So far, she was seeing results and as long as she devoted enough time and patience to them, it would be one less thing she needed from Alexandria.

When Daryl appeared in the pantry’s doorway, her heart jumped but outwardly, she was calm and collected, leaving her box on the opposite side of the room to the shelves and marking off what she’d taken on a sheet of paper attached to a clipboard for Olivia, who needed to dash home temporarily and left instructions as to what needed to be done paperwork wise.

He hovered around her, deliberately picking up things he didn’t need but Jess didn’t need to know that. Carol had provided him, involuntarily with a list of very specific items that she needed after he’d volunteered to visit the pantry when he saw Jess walking along the sidewalk with her box under her arm. He felt like an idiot. Like a middle schooler who had no idea what he was doing around the girl he liked. But the temptation proved to be too much and he wanted to see her, needed to see her even just for a few minutes and had snatched the list from Carol’s fingers quicker than he’d meant to.

Gathering what looked like a rather odd collection of canned goods to Jess, Daryl arranged them on the table beside her and it was when he chewed on his bottom lip that she figured he was trying to say something.

“Headin’ home?” He asked.

“Yup.” She chirped, keeping her voice a little higher than usual because she felt it made her seem a little more casual than she felt inside. “Been here all day. Getting kinda anxious.”

A full day spent at Alexandria was unusual in itself, let alone after such a brush with death and the horrible memories that remained when she looked at certain parts of the town. She sometimes cursed herself for not being able to just move on like everyone else. It was the end of days and people saw disturbing things all the time but Jess couldn’t understand why she found it more difficult than most to just carry on with surviving without being plagued by the attack.

“Need me to sleep with ya?” Daryl questioned.

The words that were said and the way those words were processed in Jess’s mind were very different altogether. So much so that she could do nothing but stare at him for a few moments, a small blink being the only part of her that moved. Everything in her told her not to make a comment, to just answer the question, but she was trying to act normal to prove that his lips on hers had not been adding to her anxiety and heightened sense of unease.

“That’s one hell of an offer” she giggled nervously, hating herself for being unable to keep the dirty-minded statement in her head.

Daryl shifted his weight and cleared his throat before performing a split-second glance over his shoulder.

“One thing at a time, girl” He told her, a thin smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “C’mon, you know what I mean.”

Just like that, as if a spark went off inside her, her cheeks rushed with hot embarrassment and her eyes locked open as wide as they would go. She rapidly dropped her vision to the floor and now it was her turn to chew her lower lip and frantically try to gather her thoughts before she made the situation anymore difficult to deal with. She wasn’t a flirter but until then had figured she’d not done a terrible job. But it had been subtle and playful and the kind of flirting that went on between good friends. Or, was it? She was questioning everything since he’d kissed her. Every word, every move and every time he’d looked her in the eye. She wished she knew if it was something more than just a kiss to him, but wasn’t betting on finding out any time soon.

Daryl had to consciously try not grin at Jess’s extremely obvious blushing. Her ears and nose were even red and the notion that it had been because of him was strange to him but it didn’t come without a tremendous sense of accomplishment. He loved it when she blushed.

“Huh. Right. Um… no. I uh, I should be okay.” She mumbled to the floor as she wandered away from him and began to potter uselessly around the makeshift pantry. She pulled a piece of paper from her pants pocket and unfolded it, pretending to read it in great detail and using it as a shield before stuffing it noisily back into her pocket. Daryl observed her with interest when she gradually worked her way back to the table with a single can of tomatoes and placed it in her box. She picked up the clipboard, added a line to the tally by the item and left the inventory on the surface.

It wasn’t as if Daryl was confident with women. He found them baffling, sometimes downright weird and generally kept people behind a boundary, including the fairer sex. But Jess, he knew. He was used to her and after stepping over his own boundary, he knew her just a little bit more. For the first time in his life, he was sure he’d met someone that was as clueless about affairs of the heart as he was and having accepted long ago that it would never happen to him, the last thing he could have ever predicted was to find himself so drawn to a nervous nerd that saw him as so much more than a violent redneck. With Jess, he felt a confidence that he wasn’t aware was present in him but it only went so far and he was wary of pushing it for fear of scaring her. She was like a precious, nervous deer in the woodlands, one wrong move and she would bound off into the distance and he would lose her for good.

But he still had desires and one of those desires was to watch her pink cheeks and fidgeting hands, to watch how flustered she became around him all in the knowledge that she did actually like him the way he liked her. Now he had proof that he’d heard for himself, he was seeing a reaction from her that he’d not seen in any other women he’d encountered.

He leaned across her, inches from her face. The smell of leather lingered under her nose and she wanted to take a step back but she was rigid, her curiosity keeping her pinned where she was. Daryl collected the clipboard and braved lifting his gaze to hers. Blue eyes peered nervously back at him, surrounded by a soft pink glow that was growing more intense. He stopped moving and she could the delicate lines in the blue of his eyes.

“Why ya blushin’ so bad?” He whispered. A part of him was genuinely curious while another, more prominent part of him just wanted to admire how endearing she was when she was shy.

“Because you’re… an asshole that’s doing it on purpose.” She uttered. Her eyes were suddenly everywhere but on him, quickly darting about the room and trying to find something to focus on that wasn’t going to fuel her bashfulness.

He knows what he’s doing and he’s enjoying it. He’s enjoying watching me squirm. What a bast-oh who am I kidding?! I’d squirm for him any day. If only I could figure out what the hell it is that he wants. Wait…is he? He is! He’s moving closer! Oh, dang. Don’t look at him…don’t look-shit. I saw chest above that shirt button. Delicious, tanned, Daryl chest up close. I have to move or I’m literally going to melt. Move, Jess. Move, move, move!

Daryl had indeed, moved closer to her. With his breath now tickling her face she thought about what it might look like to anyone passing by the pantry, which was essentially just a garage at the back of someone’s house and was more often than not, a hive of activity. Luckily, night was descending and the streets were fairly empty but anyone going about a patrol or simply breezing past would get an eyeful of Daryl, gradually closing the gap between them. The game, whatever that may be, would well and truly be up.

“I ain’t doin’ nothin’, Jess.” He pointed out.

She finally found the gusto to step back and summon up some kind of mask for how vulnerable and confused she felt. As was normally the case with Jess when she was with Daryl, she used humor.

“Shut up and go wash that vest again.” She jabbed.

He stayed where he was but actually picked up the clipboard and pen, checking out a few items and raising an eyebrow at her over the metal clip.

“Sure, mom.” He commented.

Jess merely rolled her eyes and tugged her gloves from her coat pockets. She wiggled her fingers as she shoved her hands inside, one, followed by the other as she looked up at him intermittently.

“I get that shit from Carol. Don’t need you lecturing me too.” He complained.

“I’m not lecturing.” She argued with her hands held in surrender “I mean, I should because soon you’re going to start smelling like a frickin’ morgue with the heating left on. But I guess the Walkers don’t detect you as easily so maybe we should find a way to bottle that stench and sell it for some magic beans”

Feeling braver after her teasing of him, she smirked and tapped her leg with her fingers. Bravery didn’t always come with some element of nerves.

“Don’t make me shut you up” He warned.

“Oh yeah? What are you gonna do, Hmm?” She goaded, stepping closer and prodding his shoulder. “C’mon”

“Stop.” He warned.

“No, c’mon, what are you going to do about it?” She laughed with another nudge on his arm with the back of her hand. In one, long stride he’d left the table and was back in front of her, looking down at her with a most serious expression that told her she may well have genuinely annoyed him with her childish attempt at thawing the awkward atmosphere. His lips parted and Jess was ready to skirt around him like a dodge ball, grab her box and flee into the night.

“You don’t shut up I’ma kiss ya again.”

His stare was so concentrated and penetrating that once again, her feet felt like they were made from cement and she could only gawp back at him, clueless and hoping that he wasn’t as angry as he looked.

“I’m sorry.” She croaked.

He stepped back, realizing that he’d given her the wrong impression and that his seriousness about kissing her again if she started to babble had wrongfully been translated into him being mad at her. It occurred to him that he needed to work on his communication skills if he wanted to get anywhere with her, but was it all worth the effort when she could, and probably would, eventually do a lot better than him? A new group could arrive tomorrow, as a recruiter, he could even be the one that brought the one person that was perfect for her inside the gates. To him, she deserved more. She was worthy of someone that knew what they were doing, that knew how to devote themselves to someone else and be a good partner. Someone who didn’t have needless violence, multiple arrests and skills acquired by questionable means in their past. Someone who wasn’t covered in scars, mental and otherwise. Despite all the doubt, he would have been a fool to think he could stay away from her even if he tried and not having her in his life wasn’t even an option.

“Don’t have to be sorry.” He said, backing up to the table.

“I don’t?” She questioned. Her tone was unsure and she couldn’t figure out if he was playing down his anger through guilt or if she’d just taken it the wrong way. He picked up the few items he’d gathered and clutched them to his body with one arm.

“Nope.” He grunted as he walked to the door. He paused, glancing at her and noting that the white glow front the street light outside the garage cast on her clothing made her look like some kind of assassin but her face, her soft, innocent and totally mystified features was as it had always been; the one thing that made him stop and really see her. He left her with two, short words that did very little to cure her perplexed state of mind.

“I ain’t”

-

Dangerous situations were part and parcel of Daryl’s life in the apocalypse and when he really thought about it, he could successfully conclude that even before the turn, he’d been conditioned to normalize things that the average person would have avoided. He’d been arrested countless times, had more fights than he could ever even begin to count, lost himself in drugs and followed in his brother’s footsteps towards a world full of biker gangs and untold illegal activity. But none of it scared him. Fear was a useful tool to Daryl and it had been since he was a teenager.

Recruiting was more often than not left completely up to Daryl and Aaron and the two of them worked together to cover certain areas of the map while out looking for other survivors. Red zones which boasted thick, bold red lines through them on every map available in Alexandria, were no-go places. Risky groups, herds of Walkers and evidence of ritualistic or cannibalistic activity were found in such places and Deanna had set a non-negotiable rule that no one should enter into such territory unless they had no other choice.

But Daryl didn’t play so well with rules and Deanna had made it more than evident that she was furious with him when he returned one day with intel that there was a small group living in woodland that was well into one of the red zones. He’s scoped them out, returning every day for over a week to monitor their activity and take stock of the small amount of supplies they possessed. The group was formed of two males, a female and a small boy and if he didn’t already know better, Daryl would have swept in and taken the child, bringing him to the safety of their walled community without a single question. But the world had changed and things were not always as they seemed. Bait was everywhere and human beings were not above using children for all manner of horrendous things when their survival depended on it.

Having spoken to Aaron behind Deanna’s back, who immediately went to inform Jess, Daryl set off one day with a large truck, food, water and photographs of Alexandria in the hope that he could lure the apparently harmless group back with him and provide them with a chance at living instead of just existing. Jess was sworn to secrecy after being told that if Deanna found out Daryl was bringing people back from a red zone, there was no telling what she would do. It did nothing for her anxiety and for twelve hours straight, she wandered aimlessly around the fairground, firing off arrows into targets and training the shakes from her hands. What if he never came back? What if one kiss was all she was destined to get from him? What if she never found out what it meant to him? What if Daryl was gone, how would she go on without him?

-

There was a good reason why Daryl did not go straight to Jess when he arrived at the gates with the new group in tow. He had something to attend to first and Deanna to deal with before he could even think about leaving the safe zone again. After a long argument that was quickly put to rest when Deanna set her eyes upon the bright blonde, frightened four year old that was waiting in her hallway with his mother, father and uncle, Daryl left the house and headed to the Grime’s home garage, where he kept his bike and various tools and parts that he’d collected. He settled on the long, wooden bench at the back of the room and left the door open.

Carl, having seen Enid and her boyfriend sitting by the pond, was making tracks to his house, where a plethora of distractions awaited and he could bury his head in something that didn’t involve having to watch the girl he had a crush on with someone else, someone he didn’t even like. When he spotted Daryl in the garage, he remembered the advice gifted to him by Jess; that he should watch Daryl because he was the perfect example of how to treat a girl. He ambled into the dimly lit room and ran his hand over the handlebars of Daryl’s bike as he went. The air smelled like polish and car wax and he could see a compound bow on the wooden table in front of Daryl.

“Hi.” He called out.

Daryl glanced up, his hands still over the bows frame.

“Hey. Y’alright?” he replied.

Carl moved closer and rested his arm atop of a tower of metal drawers.

“Yeah” He shrugged.

The intuitive part of Daryl noticed the teenager’s low mood, sagged shoulders and mumbled tone. He wasn’t happy about something and as recent conversation with both him and Jess had revealed, the source of that unhappiness had to be one thing; Enid. He waved a hand at the space on the bench beside him.

“Sit ya ass down.”

Sitting down on the seat beside Daryl, Carl took in the items on the table, a compound bow, wax for the strings, car wax, cloths and a box of small maintenance tools.

“Shouldn't that be in the armory?” He inquired.

“Yup.” Daryl grunted, seemingly unbothered by the huge rule he’d broken by bringing the weapon to the house instead of the safety of the armory. He sat back, slid the bow across the table and positioned it in front of Carl. Then, he picked up the wax block and handed it to him.

“Ya gonna sit here, ya gonna be useful.” He told him “Here. The strings need waxing.”

Not totally confident and sure about what he was supposed to be doing or how, Carl gingerly took the wax and turned the bow around so the strings were facing him. Hovering his hands over the weapon, Daryl stepped in, unhooked the cables for the cable slide and began to explain all the parts that he needed to use the wax on. Before he knew it, Carl was almost done with his task while Daryl watched over him and explained what each of the accessories and elements on the bow were used for.

“I thought you liked your crossbow” Carl commented as he carefully maneuvered the wax block around the peep sight, taking care not to cover it completely.

“I do.” Daryl answered. “This ain’t mine.”

“Really? Then whose is it and why are you cleaning it?”

Carl was always inquisitive and wasn’t afraid to ask if there was something he wanted to know. Sometimes, it was much to Daryl’s annoyance but he always let it slide, remembering his own curiosity at that age and how he had to repress it to avoid a beating for being too meddlesome.

“It’s gonna be Jess’s.” He revealed with a quick side glance. Carl smiled and suddenly, Daryl felt quite exposed.

“Does she know?” Carl pressed.

“No and you ain’t gonna tell her.” Daryl confirmed as he opened the tool box and began rummaging inside. The jarring sound of metal on metal rang through the garage as he selected what he needed and began tightening the screws on the frame of the weapon.

“I won’t tell her. So, it’s a surprise? You got her a surprise?” He was persistent and Daryl had previously been faced with Carl’s determination. He knew better than to try and divert the subject or not answer at all. It was at times like that that he had no choice but to give in and answer what felt like a constant barrage of questions already.

“Yeah. Guess so.” Daryl grunted in response.

“Why?”

“Use that” Daryl instructed, pointing to a small paintbrush laying on the surface by Carl “Get to dustin’ the frame down, around the bolts and screws.”

The teenager did as he was told, but his eyes kept flickering across to his unwilling and unknowing mentor who was busy thinking about how his current situation reminded him of hot, dusty days spent contorted around motorcycles when he was a child while his brother barked orders at him and smoked cigarettes way too close to the gas tank.

“Why?” Carl repeated.

“Jesus, kid. I dunno!” Daryl snapped. “She’s been kinda down lately. Thought she’d like it.”

“So, you got her a new bow because you want to make her happy.” Carl surmised, excited by the prospect that he’d caught Daryl right in the middle of preparing a surprise for Jess and thus proving her theory that he was indeed the one he needed to be taking notice of.

“I didn’t ‘get’ her a bow and it ain’t new. One of the guys from the group I brought back gave it to me as a thank you. He had two. I know she’ll like it and she could use a little good news.” Daryl explained impatiently while trying to concentrate on what his hands were doing.

“Have you given her any other surprises?”

Daryl dropped his arms onto the table and downed tools. A loud sigh escaped from his lungs and he side glanced at the eager boy.

“Why you grillin’ me ‘bout this, man?” he wanted to know.

“I’m not. I’m just…curiou-.”

“-Curious ‘bout what, Carl?” Daryl shot back before Carl could even finish saying his sentence. Detecting that his questioning was having the opposite effect to how he’d intended it, he tried to explain but with Daryl staring at him as if he was going to use him as target practice to see if the compound bow worked, what came out was not what he planned.

“Nothing. Nothing. I was just wondering why you’d surprise her like this. I-I guess I’m trying to figure something out and Jess told me that you were a…uh…nevermind.”

Turning to face the worried kid on the bench beside him, Daryl narrowed his eyes, now completely losing interest in the bow and focusing all of his attention on what Jess had apparently told him.

“Jess told ya I was a what?” He demanded.

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.” Carl quickly shook his head.

“Carl. Tell me.” Daryl continued to push.

Aware he was not going to be leaving the garage without having disclosed something that Jess made him swear not to tell anyone, Carl groaned with frustration and threw his head back, closing his eyes for a second before looking back at Daryl, who was leaning towards him with one arm braced on the table.

“I’m not supposed to say.” He started “But she told me to watch you. How you treat her. Said you were a good example of how to treat a girl.”

At his admission, Carl saw Daryl blink and flinch slightly as if he’d been struck. It was obvious that he was quite surprised by such a thing being said by Jess and his eyebrows furrowed as he looked down into his lap and tried to figure out what that could mean.

“She said that?” He eventually asked. “How long ago?”

“Before you got shot.” He disclosed “Are you going to tell her I messed up and told you?”

“She ain’t gonna be mad, Carl.” He assured him.

The air left Carl’s lungs and he nodded solemnly at his inability to keep the secret that Jess had trusted him with. Although, he couldn’t understand why it was such a big secret in the first place if there was nothing but a friendship between her and Daryl. But her wish was her wish and he wondered if he would have to face her wrath or if Daryl was right. He seemed to know her better than anyone and if he said she wasn’t going to be angry, maybe she wouldn’t.

Daryl didn’t have much else to say on the matter, his thoughts were too consumed with what Jess had been saying to Carl. He knew she liked him, he’d heard it himself and being told that she thought him to be a good example for Carl and one to watch meant more to him than he could have imagined. Such a complimentary comment stirred a strange, fuzzy feeling in his chest and as much as he knew he should keep it to himself, the temptation to confront Jess about it was strong.

-

Jess was surprised she hadn’t worn the grass down due to her pacing back and forth for hours on end. From one target to another, from one training patch to another, back to the diner and then to the gate to check the woods for any arrivals. But there was nothing. Her body felt heavy with dread. She hated that Daryl had gone on what sounded to her a lot like a suicide mission and refused to let her have a say in the matter or go along with him as backup. The thought of losing him had not left her terrified mind for a single second and at one point, she found herself standing outside the gate, fully armed and ready to go and find him, until she realized that there was no way she could possibly figure out what part of the red zone he was in and Aaron would have preferred to endure her torturing him before he gave up Daryl’s location and sent her out into the same danger.

She must have checked the area outside the gate at least a hundred times and she was starting to hate the fact that she cared so much. Life was easier when she’d just met him and he was nothing more than an angry, sour-faced redneck who everybody steered clear of. But it had happened fast and if she was honest with herself, a piece of her heart became his when he threw a pack of pens at her from the top of the RV.

At dusk, a tuneful rapping on the metal frame of the gate had her springing from her seat at the bottom of the Ferris wheel and she darted across the long swaying grass in the orange glow of the evening with her heavy boots leaving crushed, green footprints. Although her mood had been that of a roller coaster all day and the prevailing feeling that kept simmering on the surface was anger, it vanished in a split second when she saw Daryl on the other side of the gate.

She didn’t open it right away, choosing instead to observe him through the honeycomb-like pattern of the metal fencing. He was holding something behind his back but Jess was concerned with one thing and one thing only.

“You’re alive.” She uttered.

“Yes, I am.” He rasped back with a hint of a smile.

Then. Once she’d heard his voice and was sure he wasn’t some kind of mirage or hallucination, she unlatched the gate and stepped aside. Daryl walked in keeping his eyes on hers and whatever was behind his back obscured from her view.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” She asked, irritated.

“Mmhmm.” He hummed with a small nod. It was apparent that she knew exactly what he’d been doing and therefore, he didn’t bother to question her. “Small group. One kid.”

“A kid, huh? Good. That’s…good.”

About to launch into a barrage of scolding sentences that would convey just how incensed she was that he’d gone off on his own into such dangerous territory, she was soon silenced by his next words.

“I um… brought ya somethin’.” He mumbled sheepishly.

The lines in her forehead dropped out when her face softened at the sight of his shyness. Daryl had given her things before. Small things like gum, candy and a sharpening stone for her knife. But this time appeared to be different. Never before had he shown such bashfulness at passing something onto her. She blinked in surprise when he drew his hands out from behind his back and held up a compound bow, complete with all the accessories she could need. It was sparkling, practically brand new and she thought of how great the timing was; her own bow was falling apart.

“For-for me?” She squeaked

“Yeah…” he grunted “…the group I picked up. Guy used to own an archery club. Had two of these. Handed me one as a thank you but I got the crossbow. So, now, it’s yours. I know your bow is gettin’ kinda old.”

He held the compound bow out, moving it closer to her and hoping that she would just take it so she would be looking at that instead of the nervousness that was written all over his face. He wasn’t sure whether to tell her that he’d lovingly cleaned every inch of it and had Carl wax the strings and as a result had geared himself up so much that the simple act of giving her a gift was now blown massively out of proportion in his mind.

Her fingers curled around the weapon and he didn’t realize, but he was soon mimicking her expression. A broad smile as she tested the bows weight and examined all of its different parts.

“Look at this thing. It’s amazing.” She chuckled. Stilling for a moment and catching his eye “you’re right, my bow needs to go into retirement. This is so cool.”

A short exhalation escaped him and he briefly looked down, soon peering up at her though his hair.

“Glad ya like it. Carl helped clean it up for ya” he told her. It was as if his heart was making the decision for him and his head wasn’t allowed a say.

“Really? Thank you so much.” She beamed.

He moved closer, wrapping his fingers around the bow and positioning himself at her side but further back.

“Here, lemme show ya how to use this thing. S’a little different to what ya used to.”

Gentle instructions in her ear told her to hold the bow up and her skin broke out into goose pimples when he threaded the arrow into place, covered hands with his and settled his head over her shoulder. He could smell her recently washed hair and feel the warmth of her body next to his.

He explained where to put her hands and that she needed good posture. The words were enough but Daryl wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to lightly position his hands on her back and shoulders and noticed when she held her breath. Even with her jacket and protective clothing on, a multi-layered barrier between them, she felt the electricity of his closeness spark through her veins. She turned her head slowly to meet his unsure but determined gaze and managed to release the breath she was holding in a jagged but controlled exhalation. For a second, she thought he might say something when his mouth opened slightly and his eyes seemed to flicker with a rapidly passing thought, but all he ended up doing was nodding at the target. She fired the weapon with a lot more ease than she’d expected, satisfied when the arrow landed in the circle framing the center target.

“Not bad” He offered.

“I’m just a natural at this.” She commented.

“Yeah. Right.”

Neither of them had moved but Daryl did drop his hands for fear of putting her off her shot. There were still mere inches separating them and Jess toyed with the idea of asking him about the kiss again and trying to establish exactly what his intentions were at that moment. It meant she could move on and forget about any possible potential between them, get over her disappointment and focus on being his friend. But he’d warned her off of mentioning it and had done so in a way that could not be mistaken. Then, he’d gone on to tell her that he wasn’t sorry, but what that meant also remained a mystery to her. Deciding to keep quiet on the subject and avoiding a possible argument or awkward situation, she braved a thin smile. Jess didn’t deal well with not knowing where she stood, but in that moment, stood that close to Daryl, she didn’t want to be anywhere else.

“This mean I’m a good example of how to treat a girl?” He shot at her from nowhere.

Dread crept into her bones and her eyes grew noticeably wider. Where could he have got that sentence from and why was he saying it to her so brazenly?!

“What?” she croaked.

His face broke out into a shy laugh and he took a step back, putting some more distance between them that did little to quell Jess’s feeling of suffocation when it dawned on her that Carl had blabbed when she specifically asked him not to.

Daryl shifted his weight from one leg to the other and she noticed a tint of pink across his cheeks. Saying nothing, she was more transfixed on how she was going to wriggle out of this situation with his dignity intact.

“You got the kid interrogatin’ me, Jess.” He smirked.

“What are you talking about?” She questioned, needing clarification and clarity on the situation.

“You know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout. What ya said to Carl.… ‘bout me.” He confirmed.

Her heart sank and her hands grew sweaty as she clunked her new compound bow against her thigh. Her mind was swimming with ideas that would enable her to talk her way out of it but all of them were far fetched and ridiculous. Going with what seemed to be the most believable at the time, she adopted her best casual tone.

“I-I didn’t mean… I meant for him to uh… to watch you and Rick. Y’know. Men like you and Rick.” She explained with a nonchalant flick of her hand in his direction.

“That ain’t what he told me.” Daryl argued.

Jess turned away from him, shielding the incredulous and enraged expression that was quickly forming on her features.

“I’m going to strangle that kid” she muttered to herself. Doing a small double take at him, she noted how amused he appeared. Smiles were not one of Daryl’s trademarks, at least when it came to other people, but he was more likely to smile in Jess’s presence alone and that was something she’d been willing to take the credit for. His smiles were rarer than her own, usually stifled and when he did allow one to slip, it never failed to drag a lustful breath from her lungs. She loved to see him smile, there was no doubt about that, but in that moment, she wished she could drop down into a hole in the earth and be rid of yet another awkward situation that she really could have done without. “He’s love-struck and confused.” She said breezily.

“Only thing he’s confused about is why the girl doesn’t see him.” Daryl surmised.

“She does see him, just…as a friend right now.” She corrected

Just like you with me. Or not. I don’t know because you won’t talk to me about it.

“So, him watchin’ me is gonna do what exactly?” He continued to dig.

Her patience was wearing extremely thin and she was just about done with feeling nervous and clumsy all the time. There were so many unanswered questions in her head and she didn’t know why, but so many embarrassing outcomes had come hurtling towards her and she was reaching boiling point. Why was this happening to her? Why was everything so complicated and confusing and why the hell was Daryl so determined to watch her squirm?

“Daryl” she snapped in a warning for him to cease his line of questioning.

“What?!” He cried, holding his hands up with his lips still slightly curved.

Jess turned her back to him, swooped down to collect her old bow and quiver of arrows that she’d left on the floor and stomped off towards her home.

“I have shit to do. I have to go. Thank you for the bow.” She threw over her shoulder.

“Jess, c’mon.” She heard him plead from behind her.

“Let yourself out, I’ll lock the gate later.” She added.

“Alright” He huffed.

Inside the diner, Jess heaved in deep breaths after setting her bows and arrows down on the chair in the corner. In front of her was an upturned wooden box that doubled as a small table. The name of a local farm was written on the side of the box in black and it matched three others of varying size that she possessed. On top of the box were two, heavy mugs.

Not only did Jess have the aftermath of her attack to contend with, which meant her anxiety was heightened anyway, everything else was getting very complex and every move she made was starting to feel like it would snowball into something huge. She was scared to do or say anything wrong for fear of the inevitable humiliation that would no doubt arrive. But aside from that, she still harbored the unspeakable idea that Daryl could have failed to return after his solo mission into the Red Zone. It gnawed away at her so much that she’d been forced to sit with the reality of it for the entire day; she loved him and losing him would destroy her. He’d left without a word to her as if she didn’t matter. Jess was aware that she hardly ever mattered to the objects of her previous desires, but this one had kissed her and this one she had fallen for and this one was different, so different that he battled her nightmares and made her feel like it was a good thing to be who she was.

Exasperation began to elevate in her chest and she picked up one of the mugs, mindlessly throwing it against the far wall with such strength that she could have pulled a muscle in her arm. The ceramic object collided with the brick wall and exploded, sending shattered clumps of polished, white pieces all over the place. Even more annoyed by the mess, she found herself looking down at the second mug in her hand and automatically yelling curse words as she launched it at the same place on the wall as the first. More and more mess coated her bed, bookshelf and rug and she could only stare at the faint scuff on the brickwork while her temper calmed.

 Outside the diner, Daryl leaned against the wall and smoked a cigarette to the concerning chorus of swear words that were filling the room beyond the wall. He had no idea how angry Jess was, that she was even capable of such a noisy fury or how she’d even arrived at that point but he did realize that his probing around what Carl had told him had been the fuel thrown on the proverbial fire. He was under no illusions by that point that Jess had indeed told Carl to watch him and use him as a good example, but he had no more plans to discuss it. The knowledge of her opinion of him alone was gratifying enough and he knew it would keep him awake in the best way when he closed his eyes and tried to sleep that night.

Inside, things had gone quiet by the time he’d finished his smoke and he decided that he’d better check in on her well-being. It was either face the angry woman in the diner or spend the whole night wondering if she was charging through the woods in the dark, chopping off the heads of Walkers and screaming curse words at the moon.

He knocked on the windowpane as he passed and headed to the door, where he found Jess standing in the doorway with one hand on the handle and her mouth open like a trapdoor.

“I thought you left. Why haven’t you left?” She asked with sheer disbelief.

Just when I thought my day couldn’t get any worse. He heard me.

“Heard smashin’. Wanted to make sure you were okay.” He told her.

“I just dropped a couple of cups.” She quickly informed him in the hope that he would turn and leave her alone. It wasn’t often that she wanted to be away from him, but her mood was so unpredictable after such a dreadful day, that she really felt the need to relinquish her desire to be with him for one night now that she knew he was alive and well. 

“Right.” He nodded.

Her body language was speaking volumes to Daryl, even if her voice was not. She didn’t bother to invite him inside and eventually leaned against the door frame, sighing loudly as if his mere presence was irritating her.

“You mad at me for somethin’?” Daryl asked

She grit her teeth and exhaled quickly through her nose as she glared at him. It was written all over her face and Daryl wondered why he’d even bothered to ask. She was quite clearly mad at him.

“No” She spat. “Yes. I’m lying. Yes. I’m mad at you. I mean, really? Going into the red zone alone, Daryl? That was stupid. Fucking stupid. I would have gone with you.”

There it was. She wasn’t only mad because he’d questioned her about Carl. She was mad because he’d gone out alone and to somewhere out of bounds without giving her a say. He didn’t know when he started having to answer to her and check with her about things, but it didn’t phase him. In fact, he found it to be a good thing that she cared so much, he just wished he knew why.

“I was fine” He reasoned.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She demanded.

“I knew you’d give me a hard tim-”

“-You’re damn right I would have! Does it ever occur to you that something could happen to you?!”

“Not reall-”

“WELL IT DOES TO ME, DARYL!” She suddenly shouted at him, cutting him off again and jabbing herself in the chest with her index finger. “It does to me…you could have died.”

“But I didn’t.” He gently reminded her.

“That’s beside the point!” She raged “I gave up doing distance runs! Because you said you cared! I did that for you! Alexandria needs you. Your group needs you. You are needed, Daryl. You’re always worrying about me getting hurt but it works both ways! The Red Zone is red for a fucking reason! You’re not supposed to just run into the lion’s den without any backup. I mean, even Iron Man needed backup at one point!"

“Jess, I was fine.” He tried.

“But what if you weren’t? What if you got into trouble and needed help? You can’t just do that. You can’t. You say you care about me; then why don’t you give a crap that I care right back?! I was here the whole day worrying about you. You ruined my day. You asshole. Then you got me a bow and that was nice because you’re a good guy, y’know, it was sweet of you. But, no! you still ruined my day. There are people that care about you. Rick, Carol, Judith...me! You fucking idiot-”

He swooped down to her and crashed his lips to hers. It obliterated every thought. For the first time since their first kiss, Jess’s mind was firmly locked into the present. The worries of the day evaporated like rain on the hood of a car on a hot morning and she had no wish for the kiss to end. Drunk on endorphins, she sensed his tongue trace the crease of her lips, testing, teasing and asking for permission which she soon granted. His only desire was to touch her, to move his hands under her armored layers and feel her perfect softness. But self-restraint was one of his greatest skills and his hands remained holding either side of her face, thumbs stroking her jaw and cheeks in a messy yet deliciously craving and sexy caress. In moments the kiss had become firmer, he savored her lips and the quickening of her breath that matched his own. Jess could only hope that such a kiss was a promise of much more to come and it was a thought that scared and excited her all at once. 

Reluctant to let his lips leave hers, he pulled back slowly, bit by bit and found that when he took his time, Jess reacted with a bravery that she hadn’t displayed before. He liked the way she clung tightly to his forearm with one hand and held the other one flat against his chest, over his heart. What he liked even more, was the way she tilted her head to him and went back for two more, shorter kisses, both of which he did not need to initiate but was more than happy to oblige. 

Her lips were pink and shiny when she stepped back and took a deep breath to ground herself and settle her pounding heart. She swallowed hard and gingerly looked up at him. One of his hands had found its way into his pocket, while the other one fiddled mercilessly at his side and it was an indication that he was not as fearless about the whole thing as he was letting on. 

“Are you…” Her voice was rough, as if it had been vanquished from her with a kiss. “… are you going to do that every time I talk too much?”

Daryl was wandering back up to the path, licking his lips and flashing her yet another breath-taking half smile as he looked back. 

“It’s workin’, ain’t it?” he commented simply before finally turning his angel-winged back to her and making his way to the gate through the overgrown grass. “Lock the gate behind me”

--- tagging as requested ---

@lilred254​ @woundmetender​ @lonewolf471​

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Rilakkuma is Therapy for the Modern Soul

I want to make an announcement you might want to hear - watch Rilakkuma and Kaoru.

I had an interest in watching this series beforehand as I have friends who love Rilakkuma merchandise. But after watching the whole 1st season, the whole show speaks to working young adults who have to manage all kinds of emotions to get through life.

The heroine of the show, Kaoru, is an office lady whose life appears to be going nowhere. She’s serious to a huge degree, depressed about not having a man in her life, and her current job offers little-to-no chance of promotion. The closest friends in her life are the famed bears, Rilakkuma and Korilakkuma, and pet bird Kiiroitori. All 4 of them live together in a vintage apartment building and they go through experiences that help each of them grow.

Each episode title hints to a general theme of the episode. While it’s fun to see Rilakkuma and his personal friends get into trouble, it’s enlightening to see the perspective of a young single Japanese woman living in a metro city far away from family.

When Kaoru experiences a moment where she’s reminded of her seemingly low status in society, she begins to dwell on it to a huge degree. This was shown multiple times, but the biggest scene of her depression was during a flashback sequence to her days prior to meeting Rilakkuma. The scene had Kaoru fall down what she describes as a black hole.

She goes through moments from her closest friends from college all ditching her at a cherry blossom gathering to her coworkers gossiping about her seriousness to becoming an online shopping addict just to get the attention of a male delivery worker she’s infatuated with. Kaoru tries to ponder the meaning of her own life as she tries to find her purpose. 

It’s one thing to enjoy being alone, but it’s another thing to have a sense of loneliness. A lot of people confuse solitude and loneliness when they’re different. Solitude is when you choose to be alone and enjoy it while loneliness is a subjective feeling that you’re alone. Like many young adults, Kaoru feels some loneliness from not being able to connect well with her peers.

Although the series was charming and made me laugh, I couldn’t help but feel like crying while watching. I was doing some research on the development of Rilakkuma and I found a Japan Times feature on the character. The article talked about how the plot of the series was developed. The director, Masahito Kobayashi, was determined to talk about the experiences of women living in Japan. He also added some details about the setting of the series.  I’m going to share this passage from the JT article.

“He (Kobayashi) also strived for geographical authenticity, creating a detailed city called Ogigaya — a mash-up of Tokyo’s Ogikubo and Asagaya neighborhoods — to serve as the setting for the series.

“I had a detailed idea of what this city would be like and what daily life in that city was like,” he (Kobayashi) says. “That is, of course, life is not just about smiles and being happy. I wanted to show the duality that exists. Even in the design of the city, it kind of represents the tension between regular life and an office town.”

The result is a visually stunning animation focusing on personal dramas that is a natural fit alongside easy-breezy Netflix offerings such as “Terrace House” and “Tidying Up With Marie Kondo.”

What sets “Rilakkuma and Kaoru” apart from these productions, however, is the simple frustration that life in a big city can produce.”

That last line hits hard and the tension is real. I live in a big city (New York) and I can’t help but feel frustrated at everything about it. I don’t like how fast-paced and expensive everything is. A lot of people here just want to win at all costs. At the same time, I like living here since there’s a lot of fun things happening and I do find some of the scenery in NY to be unusually endearing. I don’t want to romanticize small towns, but like Kaoru, I can’t help but wish for the intimacy that people living in small towns have at times. 

I also began to see why Rilakkuma is so beloved all over the world. His laid-back nature is something so many of us are missing today. He reminds me of my father a bit. Maybe’s that why I got a bit teary from watching. My dad is sometimes lazy, but he would always tell me not to worry so much about things. He would tell me to relax - something Rilakkuma would encourage me to do. My mom reminds me of Kiiroitori as she’s kind of serious and gets on my dad’s case sometimes.

Now I think about it, my whole family (including my younger sister) are basically Rilakkuma (dad), Korilakkuma (sister), and Kiiroitori (mom). I’m bawling now.

We have such a hard time talking to people with depression. It’s difficult to know where to start, but I feel that from watching Rilakkuma and Kaoru, we can tell them that they won’t always feel that way. Kaoru’s spirits, despite them being down in a big way, seem to level out as she continued to move forward. She had support that knew how to cheer her up - a kind of support that hasn’t left her at all.

Modern life is both a blessing and a curse. Rilakkuma and Kaoru aren’t the full solution to that paradox, but I feel that both characters show what it means to get through life’s up and downs and that’s by helping one another out when stress happens. One somewhat heavy episode involved a ghost girl who shows up at Kaoru’s place uninvited and talks about the circumstances behind her death. She felt stuck over a high school love that moved on from her after she died. After she realized she needed warmth from another person/being (i.e. Rilakkuma), she was able to move on with peace with help that was willing to listen.

I’m still amazed at how this cute series speaks volumes about the troubles of young adults. It’s also inspiring to see Rilakkuma’s "lazy” nature be used as a vehicle for growth. Rilakkuma and Kaoru is a relaxing way to see how characters with seemingly negative attributes can be the ones who are the most positive after all.

[douxreviews]

Legends of Tomorrow - ‘Egg MacGuffin’ Review

"I’m sorry that our first date got ruined by Nazis."

The Legends of Tomorrow episode title game is really on point this year.

Forgive me in advance if this is overexplaining, but I'm not entirely sure how well known the terms are and it's going to become relevant in a minute. If you already know the terminology better than I do, and I'm sure many of you do, I beg your indulgence.

A 'MacGuffin' is the term for a plot device that exists solely to provide motivation to the characters in a story. The example that's most often cited at this point is the titular Maltese falcon statue in The Maltese Falcon. This is a subtly different thing than 'phlebotinum,' which we discussed a few episodes back. Generally speaking, phlebotinum is a made up thing that facilitates the character's journey, for example, polyjuice potion. A MacGuffin is a made up thing that motivates the character to make the journey, for example the sorcerer's stone. Or philosopher's stone if you live in a country where the publisher wasn't afraid of accidentally teaching children the word 'philosopher.'

The real takeaway is that Legends of Tomorrow has now given me an excuse to explain both of those terms, and regularly allows me pretentiously discuss semiotics, and is therefore the best thing ever broadcast. But I digress.

The genius of this week's episode title is that the golden egg that Nate and Zari are looking for at the Adventurers Club is unequivocally a MacGuffin with no significance of its own beyond that (at least this week).  In fact, part of the plot of that storyline explicitly involves Nate and Zari questioning exactly that point, and they come to the conclusion that it is a MacGuffin that Sara planted just to give them an exciting first date. Which is clever because it isn't a MacGuffin within the story we're watching, but it absolutely is a MacGuffin from the outside perspective, and you know it might actually be possible to be too clever about these things. Whatever your personal tolerance for post-modern narrative gameplaying, I really enjoyed it.

Now, in the past I've complained a bit here and there about the fact that the Legends' reduced number of episodes in a season often makes them condense what could be two or three episodes worth of plot into one. I'm not sure if I've just gotten used to it or if they're getting better at it, but I've really begun to enjoy the fast, breezy clip at which these episodes move. Nate and Zari are really just doing an extended Raiders of the Lost Ark homage, and a nice zippy pace is essential for that kind of romantic adventure fiction. The Ark of the Covenant itself, while we're speaking, is another classic example of a MacGuffin. I'm certain that was not coincidental.

In any case, I think I'm pretty well sold on the Zari and Nate romance, and I think it's down to one particular moment in this episode. When they realize that Sara has set them up on a romantic mission, Zari offers to call it a night and return to the ship, and Nate says, 'Or we could see where this mission takes us.' What he's clearly really saying is, 'Hey, I'm open to exploring whatever this is going on between us if you are, but there's no pressure.' I don't seem to go a week without mentioning how refreshingly adult the characters on this show are.

In fact, part of why the aforementioned fast and breezy pace felt so appropriate this week all around is because the show has romance stories on its mind. We have Sara and Ava, thankfully post-argument, making an effort for one another in the little ways. We have Mick and Charlie at Romanticon, attempting to cash in on Mick's authorial alter ego, Rebecca Silver, without actually having to reveal himself to his fans. Which is so completely on brand for both of them that I loved every second of it. God bless Mick, both for actually caring about his fans and for being willing to admit the fact when pressed.

Then finally we have my current relationship on the show, Ray and Nate. I realize I went on a bit about this last week, but I just can't say enough about how great their friendship is. Thank you, whoever on the writing team made the decision that Ray would give up his soul to Neron in order to save Nate's life, as opposed to Nora's. Neron said he would make Ray kill someone he loved in order to break him, and the show went with Nate as that person. Is it possible to platonically 'ship a couple? Because I am totally team Palmwood.

That was an unfortunate first attempt at a couple name. Please leave alternate suggestions in the comments.

Which leads me to the painful part. There were a number of little clues as to what was coming for Gary, but I really only noticed them in hindsight. When Sara is discussing who the murderer could be in book club, she mentions that it must be the dogwalker because of his pent up frustration and being treated like a doormat. The shot transitions from her to the next scene halfway through the line, which means we're hearing her but looking at Gary. The subplot about Vincent the Adventurer's assistant is basically a mirror of Gary's position. And Gary is clearly crying in the bathroom – a thing that he had just told us he often did – when Ray calls him and he drops everything to go help.

Gary Green, on paper, should not work as a character. He should come across as a caricatured doofus, occasionally good for a comic relief moment. But Adam Tsekhman invests him with something undefinable and real, and he just fundamentally works as a tragic figure despite all the reasons that he shouldn't.

Also, whoever planned out that Gary's nipple returning from Hell would be the final temptation that makes him give in to Neron is a mad genius and should be our leader now.

Everybody remember where we parked:

The Waverider did some proper time travel for the first time in what feels like ages and took most of the team to the Adventurers Club, 1933, in order to retrieve that golden egg. Mick and Charlie, meanwhile, take the jump ship to Romanticon, 2019. Gary uses his time courier to flit between 2019 and the Waverider, and Neron and minion-Gary appear to lift Damien Darhk's old time travel stone from Constantine and use it to leave for destinations unknown.

Remember when time travel seemed like an exclusive and exotic thing?

Quotes:

Sara: "Honestly, with Neron gone, catching fugitives has never been easier. I thought it was gonna take all week."

Zari: "It was that awkward, huh?" Sara: "Even the mummy thought it was awkward."

Nate: "Excuse me, my good man, could you point me to the nearest facilities? I have an urgent need to… uh... relieve my bowel."

Nate: "Wait. Trip wires. This is going to require one of us to squeeze through these trip wires, maneuvering our bodies in unexpected ways." Zari: "Are you asking me to do that?" Nate: "No, I’m asking you to hold my coat."

Ava: "Honestly, I usually just drink rose and let Mona go on and on."

Gary: "I may not be a master of the dark arts, but I am an intern of the dark arts."

Ava: "Were you guys about to hook up?" Zari: "No. no, no, no, no." Nate: "It was definitely on the table."

Bits and Pieces:

-- This show just doesn't do misunderstandings for dramatic effect. Nora immediately told John that Ray was possessed as soon as she woke up. Neron repeatedly goes out of his way to clarify that he's the one doing evil things, not Ray, even when it would really be in Neron's best interest to let the Legends think otherwise, thus driving them apart. That might be the thing I appreciate most about the writing.

-- It seemed odd at first that Mona didn't already know about Mick being Rebecca Silver, but on reflection it makes sense.

-- Loved the Garima cosplay at Romanticon.

-- How many books has Mick had time to write by this point? I mean, I suppose time travel would help with that, but I lost track of how many different titles they mentioned. I particularly liked Raw Hides.

-- Mick's final speech to the con about how all anybody really wants is to feel a connection was a lovely piece of writing, well performed. And a hell of a good underscoring to what was happening to Gary at that moment.

-- I get why they didn't do it, but it would have been smarter for Charlie to have shape shifted into a neutral third party to portray Rebecca. That said, I adored the Rita Skeeter vibe she had going on with her outfit.

-- Outside of the Rita Skeeter vibe, we also had phoenix feathers and a dragon egg. I'm sure there were a few other Harry Potter nods that I missed beside those. Anyone?

-- And speaking of the egg, it's a neat bit of long term plotting that what was just a MacGuffin this week is clearly set up at the end to be relevant to a different plotline later.

-- It's entirely in character for John Constantine to be rude and speak to Gary like that in a moment of stress, but the whole sequence of events felt sadder to me when I thought about the considerate way that he sheltered Gary's feelings last week.

-- I've noticed that they've gotten into the habit lately of consistently leaving someone on the Waverider to 'Quarterback' the mission. That's not only hugely useful for splitting up the characters and facilitating different schedules, it's also a really sound battle tactic.

-- Note added after the writing of this review.  Apparently 'Egg MacGuffin' is the official name of this sort of thing as cited on tvtropes, and not an original pun coined by the writers here.  Ah, well.  Still a clever title for how it was used here.

I loved this episode from beginning to end.  How can we only have three more left?

Three and a half out of four, and the only reason it's not higher is I suspect I'm going to need a higher number to go to in the next few episodes.

Feel free to mention your favorite MacGuffin in the comments.

Mikey Heinrich is, among other things, a freelance writer, volunteer firefighter, and roughly 78% water.

[underachievers-please-try-harder]

Interview // Biig Piig

Appeared in Issue 104 of Crack. Read online.

Jess Smyth is great at introductions. Affable and disarmingly laid-back, she often finds the process of forging new connections more rewarding than the connection itself. “I love going for a night out, meeting a group of people, and then you walk away and never see them again,” the 21-year-old singer beams between sips of wine on a sunny restaurant terrace. “Kind of like having a day in their life? It’s my favourite thing.”

Surely time is running out for Smyth to enjoy anonymity. In the past two years she’s amassed a fervent following for her work as Biig Piig, which favours smoky, soporific soul and jazz-tinged hip-hop, and features lyrics that shift fluently between English and Spanish. And as much as Vice City and Perdida established Smyth as a standalone voice, these early singles only confirmed her status as a natural collaborator too, featuring production from YSK Jamie and Puma Blue respectively.

She remains a key player in south London’s thriving, youthful scene; she’s well respected by her peers, despite preferring the company of strangers. But then Smyth’s attraction to fleeting friendships isn’t just some anthropological fascination – it’s a survival technique she picked up during her nomadic upbringing.

The oldest of four, she was born in Cork but spent her formative years in Spain, where her family relocated on advice that a warmer climate might improve her brother Paddy’s severe asthma. Her parents got by running bars and restaurants in Marbella and the Costa del Sol, before being forced to move back to Ireland around the time of the financial crash, when the local council revoked their property without warning.

Smyth is impressively relaxed about the whole experience today, be it Spanish bureaucrats forcing her family into bankruptcy or the wrench of starting all over again in Ireland while on the cusp of adolescence. Then there were the subsequent moves to Waterford and eventually west London, where her father still runs a pub today.

“[Moving around] was isolating, but it’s shaped me in good ways,” she muses, sounding as easygoing as she does in her breezy bars. “I don’t ever feel scared to go out on my own. I’m always out and about trying to make friends. And I’m always losing shit like my phone all the time, but I don’t really have attachments to things. Even with people, I think I get attached very quickly and then detach just as quickly.”

Some things do stick though, like her relationships with Lava La Rue and Mac Wetha, fellow members of multi-disciplinary arts collective NiNE8. They met in a music tech class at Richmond College, but fell out of touch when Smyth quit aged 17 to move in with her then-boyfriend (a period she now refers to as “a rough patch”). When the relationship ended, Smyth found herself back in touch with her old classmates by chance, when La Rue invited her to a party. It proved a pivotal encounter.

“[La Rue and Wetha] were having a cypher in the next room,” she recalls. “I’d been in jams at open mics but I’d never seen one like that before, where you have an instrumental playing. I walked into the room, sat down and was having a great time, and then they passed me the mic. I just improvised, and they were like, ‘Woah.’ I thought, ‘This feels sick.’”

The experience reignited Smyth’s creativity after having “completely fallen out of love with music” around the time of leaving college. Where it had previously been pop-punk bands or acoustic balladeers like Lewis Watson and Ben Howard that fed her imagination, she now found herself gravitating towards hip-hop and neo-soul. “I loved the way it was a lot more of a mellow vibe,” she explains. “The way that stories were told and the sounds they used… It just suddenly made sense.”

“I don't ever feel scared to go out on my own. I don't really have attachments to things. Even with people, I think I get attached very quickly and then detach just as quickly” From then on, Smyth dedicated the hours that she wasn’t waitressing or working in casinos to writing music with Mac Wetha, singing and rapping over the beats he’d crafted in his bedroom. “Once everything clicked it just didn’t stop,” she tells me, still sounding astonished at the speed with which she found her sound. “And, looking back, without [NiNE8] being as supportive as they are, I might have followed music but it would have been a lot harder, and I would have lost a lot of myself on the way.”

Currently composed of eight members spread across London, the DIY collective remains a huge source of inspiration for Smyth, bringing together a group of like-minded outsiders, all born in 1998. As she puts it, “we’re like the loose ends: we’ve all come from places where we never really felt like we fit in.” NiNE8 provides a vital platform for experimentation too, and it’s notable that on the group’s recent mixtape, No Smoke, Smyth is more likely to be found rapping than singing. It’s no wonder then that when she joined RCA Records in June, one of the most important prerequisites of signing was that she could continue to collaborate freely with NiNE8.

Her first release for RCA is Sunny, a burst of shimmering yacht-pop that was fortuitously dropped in the middle of the UK’s recent heatwave. With its blissed-out beats and hook-heavy melody, the balmy single is a deviation from the after-hours vibes of Smyth’s catalogue to date. She’s excited about the development, her face lighting up when she talks about it.

“I haven’t made any happy songs in my whole career, which is mad, so I was like, ‘Let’s take a different route with it.’ Having grown up in Spain, around those little beach huts with people playing tunes, I’d love to imagine someone walking through one of those and hearing my song.”

Whether Sunny is representative of Smyth’s forthcoming third EP, she won’t say. But she does let slip she hopes to have the collection out by October, that it features “higher production values” and already has a name.

“It’s going to be called No Place for Patience,” she smiles, pausing to draw slowly on a cigarette. “It’s like, at this point in my life, I know what I want to do and there’s no more time for fucking around, do you know what I mean? Because the clock in my head has very subtly started ticking, in the sense that I’m not a kid anymore. This is the rest of my life. And it’s scary but it’s exciting. Because it’s my future.”

[power-of-ages-writeblr]

11/11/11 Tag (22/11/11? Tag?)

Another one of these! This time, I was tagged TWICE by the wonderful @sassypandacandy (go read her books,, i love them). I’ve gotta answer the questions, come up with my OWN questions, and then tag 11 people to answer, only I’m not going to tag eleven people because I still don’t think I quite KNOW eleven people yet. Also, because I got tagged twice with two different sets of questions, I’m going to answer both sets in one post, and then just come up with eleven questions of my own, because it takes me yonks to come up with questions and I’m lazy. Eso si que es, y’know?

What’s the first thing you remember writing?

A four-page story about a Diplodocus when I was… definitely before I was ten years old. Maybe like five or six. I was very proud of it.

What’s the last thing you wrote purely for yourself?

Actually, I pretty much always write for myself, so the last thing that I wrote/started to write… ooh-er. That’d be the Warrior Cats fanfiction I’ve been working on. :P

Are you a WIP playlist person or a WIP aesthetics person?

Playlist, probably. I tend not to make playlists specifically for WIPs – instead, I’ll assign songs and soundtracks to specific characters and scenes – but I’m still better at throwing together playlists then making aesthetics LMAO

What’s a book you wish you’d written?

Uuuuh… maybe it’s just because I’m young (barely an adult), but I don’t have anything where it’s like “ah I wish I’d used that idea” or “wish I’d written this book”. I still have a lot of writing ahead of me, hopefully, so all my ideas I hope to actually get out some day. (Assuming that’s,,, what the question is asking me)

What’s your favourite book adaptation?

Ironic because it doesn’t follow the books that closely, but I love the How To Train Your Dragon films very much.

Which of your characters would you like to have a conversation with? What would you like to talk about?

The downside to Pandemonium’s Bane being filled with eccentric personalities and cooky characters means that there’s actually few of them I’d LIKE to have a conversation with, because most would be too dickish or too annoying for my tastes xDD That being said, I think me and Plue are on very similar wavelengths, and we have a lot in common (such as both of us wanting to write), so I wouldn’t mind chatting with her for a bit if I had to.

Which of your WIP worlds would you most like to live in?

The Power of Ages stories are mostly set in one universe (the Nimbus System) so I guess I’d have to go with that one by default. There’s Neil’s dimension, I guess, but it’s destroyed, so…

Have you ever written anything inspired purely by a song? If so, what song was it?

I haven’t written anything inspired just by a single song, but I HAVE got certain scenes or character backstories based off of songs, or even the concepts they’re based around. I have a whole battle between brothers planned out to the soundtrack that plays when Shifu fights Tai Lung in Kung Fu Panda, and listening to the Iron Man soundtracks helped me with both the conception of a new character and her placement in my roster (and yes, she does invent things and fly around, although there are also some major differences)

Have you ever written poetry? Do you still? Why or why not?

I… haven’t written poetry. And the reason for that is… I mean, I guess it doesn’t really jibe with me? Granted I haven’t considered it heavily, but it was always my least favourite aspect of learning English at school, and I just never fell in love with it the same way I fell in love with writing conventional narratives.

Who would direct an adaptation of your writing?

I ain’t big on directors, so IDEK. I guess in terms of the rewrite of Maelstrom (my current main WIP) I’d pick Sam Raimi, who proved with his Spider-Man films that he can blend fun superhero narratives with slightly darker elements pretty well.

How do you motivate yourself when you don’t feel like writing?

Mainly by having multiple projects to work on! That way, if I ain’t feeling what I’m working on, I can switch over to another one, and bingo bango, I can keep writing. (Hypothetically. Sometimes it ain’t that simple, obviously.) I also use music, and I also take advantage of being in situations where it’s like, I’d rather write then do the alternative. Do you know how much writing I got done in lessons? So much. :P

What scenes are the worst to write?

The ones that I haven’t planned out – sometimes I have very specific ideas for how I want scenes to happen, and I’m excited to get to them, but other times they’re just obligatory because there’s certain information I have to convey. That makes it a challenge to write it in a compelling way, because why should the reader care if I don’t?

What can you say is a thing you love most about your writing?

I’d say I like the dialogue/character interplay/narrative description-y sort of stuff. I think I’m good at giving everything levity, and keeping it breezy and entertaining even if I myself find the writing process to be a bit of a slog. Plus, it’s funny to read back over, and it’s also funny to watch my discord quote a line and then keysmash at it. :P

What is writing advice that you take to heart?

It’s from Aaron Sorkin’s writing masterclass – the idea that a story is defined by the main character’s INTENTION, the OBSTACLE facing them, and the TACTICS they use to overcome it.

How do you keep yourself from quitting writing together?

Honestly, it’s not like I have to try that hard! By this point I’m desperate to tell these stories that I have in mind, so I have a sort of innate compulsion to write because I wanna get it all out there. I’ll get back to you if that compulsion runs out, but for now, I see myself writing long into the future.

What is the strangest thing you’ve searched up on the internet for writing purposes?

Probably the capabilities of medieval-era people to recognise nuclear technology. (And for the record, the answer is “pretty low”.)

Not a question, but shoutout a writeblr (or multiple) that you think needs to hear that they are awesome and doing a great job (by the way everyone, you all are awesome and doing a great job. Keep it up.)

Well obviously I’m gonna shout out the person who tagged me in the first place – Kels. I await the final(?) book in the DOOT series with great anticipation.

Your OCs are trapped on a deserted island, what would they be doing?

I WANNA say they’d try and work as a team, but, uh. It may not go so well. Dante and Plue would probably be the most practical. Gaia would be good at grunt work but not focus on the task at hand, Rose would be functionally useless but good at moral support, Jacen would try to organise things but Gaia would just push him in the sea for jokes… I reckon they’d escape eventually, I suppose, but it wouldn’t exactly be a clean-cut affair, you know? xD

What is your biggest inspiration for your WIPs?

I actually have various inspirations – I think collectively my biggest inspiration is the MCU, in that it’s a bunch of interconnected stories set in the same universe about different characters and also there are superpowers. xDD

A habit you have when it comes to writing?

Not doing it (thank you writer’s block)

A fact about your world and/or characters?

I have debated killing of MANY of my characters, but have only actually come to concrete decisions one way or the other with a few.

If your WIP/s got turned into a movie or series, what would be the quote on the promotional poster or trailer?

Oh, I’m gonna do this for ALL the WIPs, this seems fun!

Of Encounters and Trysts – Two Hearts, One Soul (or something equally cheesy)

Hit and Run – Even the indomitable aren’t invincible

Maelstrom – Destiny Begins

The Destroyer of Worlds – One Case, One Team, One Superpower

Survivor – It’s every man for themselves

Savants – Not so different

Omnia Vincit Amor – Good things come to those who get traumatised

Cometh the Hour – Six thousand years from home

  Alright, now it’s (finally!) time for my eleven questiones:

1 – Does music help you write, or does it just distract you?

2 – What’s your favourite writing tool? A laptop? Notepad and pens? Quills and inkpot?

3 – Do you have to physically go to places to get a feel for them and feel as though you can set writing in them?

4 – What got you into writeblr?

5 – How well can your OCs dance, do you think?

6 – Do you have a favourite writing snack? If so, what is it?

7 – Bionicle. Thoughts?

8 – Is there a specific piece of media (movie, show, book, w/e) that you could say has been more of an inspiration to you than anything else?

9 – What’s the best soundtrack you know for getting pumped and hyped up?

10 – If you could only write one genre for the rest of your writing career, what would you go with?

11 – What’s your favourite music-based meme? (Examples include “LET’S GO”, “CREEPER/AWW MAN” and “We Are Number One But ___”)

 Tagging… @thelimeonade, and @dawnuchiha!

[lightwarring]

REALLY LONG CHARACTER SURVEY. LUKE CASTAGNIER VERSION. RULES. repost ,   don’t  reblog  !  good  luck  !

TAGGED. @cielcrd​ tysm !! TAGGING. @breselin, @ofvesper, @ragerebirth, @azrdrg, @lazhadeg, @leveilleurisms, @landwaker, @gunslingir, @glacinium, @culturedconjurer, @deaegratia, @ivory-paragon, @aethersighted, @faithloved, @eoschosen, @unmeiha, @arduna-loka

BASICS.

FULL NAME: Luke Castagnier

NICKNAME: stutterbug ( former bullies )

AGE: 21

BIRTHDAY: 5th sun of the first Astral Moon (5 January)

ETHNIC GROUP: Midlander hyur

NATIONALITY: Ul’dah

LANGUAGE(S): Because of the echo, he knows most forms of languages

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Demisexual

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Demiromantic

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single though has a crush.

CLASS: Lower class

HOMETOWN / AREA: Eastern Thanalan 

CURRENT HOME: Castagnier inn

PROFESSION: Warrior of light, sort of. Gambler.

PHYSICAL.

HAIR: Blonde and short. Bangs are swept to the right.

EYES: Light blue eyes with big irises. Sharp at the edges with a very light dark hue spread around them. Can stare for a long time though he’s also often mistaken for being unfriendly and judgmental since his gaze can be sharp.

NOSE: Sharp and average height.

FACE: Diamond shaped, jaws slightly defined.

LIPS: Thin while sort of dried because of the weather in Ul’dah. He’s drinking more water now though so it looks healthier.

COMPLEXION: Quite fair and smooth.

BLEMISHES: None

SCARS: Has a long burnt one that’s on his back, goes from his left shoulder to his lower hip. Ifrit sure knows how to hit hard.

TATTOOS: None

HEIGHT: 167 cm

WEIGHT: 60 kg

BUILD: Average height and lean. He is trying to get muscular though, under the training from Oboro ( @capjacke​ )

FEATURES: Nothing too outstanding.

ALLERGIES: Peanuts.

USUAL HAIRSTYLE: Basically, he only wears the same type of hairstyle lol.

USUAL FACE LOOK: Observing when he comes into an area he’s never been before. Otherwise, he sometimes drifts off to somewhere so he may look very distracted. Has a softer look when he’s dealing with minions or animals.

USUAL CLOTHING: Long white woolly sweater with a pink scarf around it ( it was the same as Estelle picked for herself too but she let him wear the style ). Light brown pants and thigh-high dark brown boots. Estelle put a flower on the side of his head.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR(S): Begin stuttering again, public speaking, dealing with a crowd of people, losing more people that he care about

ASPIRATION(S): Wants to own every single minion and small animals in the world.

POSITIVE TRAITS: Hardworking, loyal, sympathetic, analytical, quick-witted, attention to detail, imaginative

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Somewhat of a pushover, unemotional, sensitive, indecisive, blunt, addicted to gambling, escapist,  moody

ZODIAC: Capricorn

TEMPERAMENT: Composed

SOUL TYPE(S): Scholar / Artisan 

ANIMALS: All but current main companion is a lesser panda

VICE  HABIT(S): Gambling, sloth, overworking

FAITH: He tries.

GHOSTS?: He hears them sometimes so yes.

AFTERLIFE?: Yes

REINCARNATION?: Yes

ALIENS?: Doesn’t know much about it.

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: Liberal, perhaps.

ECONOMIC  PREFERENCE: Uhh ... prefers to have good savings on hand, maybe - which is ironic since he gambles. Pretty practical guy by heart if not for his habits.

SOCIO POLITICAL POSITION: No opinion

EDUCATION LEVEL: Lancer guild, rogue guild, and now studying under Oboro Torioi.

FAMILY.

FATHER: Cassius Castagnier ( adoptive ), doesn’t remember ( birth )

MOTHER: Doesn’t remember

SIBLINGS: Estelle Castagnier ( adoptive )

EXTENDED FAMILY: The other children at the inn.

NAME MEANING(S): Another form of ‘Lucas’ that means light giving.

HISTORICAL CONNECTION?: One of the bearers of the echo and various warriors of light that was chosen by Hydaelyn to fight as her companion. 

FAVORITES.

BOOK: Has a fondness for scholarly books found in the arcanist guild, along with wildlife documentaries of wildlife. 

MOVIE: None

5 SONGS: None

DEITY: Byregot 

HOLIDAY: Make it Rain Campaign 

MONTH: February 

SEASON: Spring

PLACE: Gold Saucer

WEATHER: A breezy day with a clear blue sky. 

SOUND: Coins clinking together, slot machines, soft murmurs that animals make and sounds of pages flipping in a book.

SCENT(S): Sky linen, a soft and not too overpowering smell.

TASTE(S): Average. Has a small inclination towards sweets thanks to Estelle

FEEL(S): Soft animal fur and woolly material

ANIMAL(S): .............. Too many to list, man. 

NUMBER: 777

COLORS: Soft blue, soft pink.

EXTRA.

TALENTS: Weaving, goldsmithing, information absorption, dying fabric, fishing, sneaking around, sulking

BAD AT: Speaking, 

TURN ONS: Praise, intense and slow, really loves the romance and light whispering, hand holding

TURN OFFS: Humiliation, ageplay, slaveplay, BDSM, uncouth dirty talking

HOBBIES: Gambling, fishing, sketching

TROPES: Baby of the Bunch, catch phrase ( ‘ want to bet ? ’ ), Socially Awkward hero, Cannot Tell a Joke, Hero Does Public Service

AESTHETIC TAGS: Clear blue sky, falling petals, deserts, furry animals, casinos, woolly fabric or furniture, cottages, teapots and teacups, libraries, lakes, cliffs, cemeteries 

GPOY  QUOTES: Not sure what this is.

FC INFO.

MAIN  FC(S): Himself

ALT FC(S): I can’t really think of any tbh.

OLDER FC(S): Closest I can think of is Totsuka Tatara from K Project.

YOUNGER  FC(S): Maybe Laphicet from Tales of Berseria?

VOICE CLAIM(S): Kaji Yuki - Japanese

GENDERBENT FC(S): None.

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1: IF YOU COULD WRITE YOUR CHARACTER YOUR WAY IN THEIR OWN MOVIE, WHAT WOULD IT BE CALLED, WHAT STYLE WOULD IT BE FILMED IN, AND WHAT WOULD IT BE ABOUT?:

-

Q2: WHAT WOULD THEIR SOUNDTRACK / SCORE SOUND LIKE?:

-

Q3: WHY DID YOU START WRITING THIS CHARACTER?:

After some years or so, I’ve finally decided to return to the FFXIV rp scene with Luke as my fourth WOL that I’ve created. I just needed something new, at first, and to maybe dip my hands a little into writing original characters. I did write them before but not as much as I’ve written canon characters ( 98% of the time, really ). 

Q4: WHAT FIRST ATTRACTED YOU TO THIS CHARACTER?:

As I played his character in the game, his dialogues and thought process appeared in my head and there we have it.

Q5: DESCRIBE THE BIGGEST THING YOU DISLIKE ABOUT YOUR MUSE:

He’s rather internalized and indecisive. I probably wouldn’t get along with him very well irl since I’m usually very straightforward, swift and prefers not to complicate things lmao. 

Q6: WHAT DO YOU HAVE IN COMMON WITH YOUR MUSE?:

We are both really chill people and very introverted. Soft colours are our favourite too and uhhh... we are both pretty short ? but I guess this goes for a lot of midlander hyurs in comparison to elezens, roegadyns and au ra males. We like sketching too and are very, very vanilla physically ( i make a lot of innuendos for laughs though while Luke doesn’t ). But ultimately for me, I’m an aro/ace while he’s demi/demi.

Q7: HOW DOES YOUR MUSE FEEL ABOUT YOU?:

While we probably disagree with a lot of things, Luke probably likes the quiet, chill and need to be alone that comes along with me. There isn’t much opinion I’d imagine him having with me, other than the fact that I really need to do the shit that I wanted myself to do and quit adding more muses onto my full hands lmao.

Q8: WHAT CHARACTERS DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE INTERESTING INTERACTIONS WITH?

With my other muse, Laipheaux. While he’s often with Estelle, Luke really has a deeper sibling connection with Laipheaux because of how much he looks up to him and how Laipheaux is the one who managed to coax him into becoming more comfortable around people. He visits Laipheaux a lot and Laiph at times can tell when sometimes is weighing heavily in Luke’s mind but doesn’t pry. Luke was devastated when Laiph returned to the forest, of course, but becomes calmer when Laiph visits from time to time, bringing him small animals and minions as a show that Laiph still cares and that their sibling ship hasn’t eradicated. 

Q9: WHAT GIVES YOU INSPIRATION TO WRITE YOUR MUSE?:

Mainly, my love for the game. I’ve been playing it for a long time and I just can’t get tired of restarting the storyline over and over again. I still need to get past the msqs though but I have a blast playing it when Luke is on the screen.

Q10: HOW LONG DID THIS TAKE YOU TO COMPLETE?:

A few hours, to be honest, since there are some questions that I need a lot of googling to answer.

[bugheadfamily]

Bughead Family Discord Member Spotlight

This week the spotlight is on Mari ( @writeraquamarinara )! Click the read more link below to get to know our member!

Spotlight by Mila, @jughead-jones | Graphic by Katie, @betty-cooper

Mari | @writeraquamarinara

Name: Mari

Age: 18

Location: Montreal, QC.

Any other languages aside from English people can contact you in?: Italian.

Favourite Riverdale characters and ships?: Betty, Jughead, Pop, Fred, Mary, Kevin, Joaquin, Bughead, Joavin, and Choni.

Favourite moments from S1 & S2?: The scene that got me hooked to the show was when Reggie questioned Jughead about killing Jason, and he replied with a snarky little “It’s called necrophilia, Reggie. Can you spell it?” Other favorite moments are pretty much any Bughead scene from S1, but especially their first kiss. I had been shipping them together since the Blue and Gold scene in 1x03, but 1x06 really hit me hard. They’re both two broken kids who find solace in each other. As someone whose mother is all too similar to Alice Cooper, hearing Jughead tell Betty that they aren’t their parents made me so emotional. I rewatched that scene on repeat when the clip came out on Youtube the next day. To this day I can’t listen to Emily Afton’s Lost without crying. I also really love the hug from 1x13 after Betty, Veronica, and Archie go to Southside High for Juggie. S2 favorite moments are also only Bughead scenes, but not all Bughead scenes, if you catch my drift.

What are your hopes for S3?: Are a coherent plotline and consistent characterization too much to ask for? Also maybe have the parents on the show (other than Archie’s) actually respect their children and treat them well, but that’s never going to happen. On a more realistic note, I’m hoping to watch some fun interactions between Josie and Kevin now that they’re going to be step-siblings.

Other fandoms you’re into?: I don’t really have an online presence in other fandoms, but I do love to geek out over Percy Jackson, That 70s Show (specifically JackiexHyde), The Office, Parks and Rec, To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, and nearly all of the Marvel movies.

What are some of your favourite movies/TV?: As I mentioned: That 70s Show, The Office, Parks and Rec, To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, and Marvel. I’m currently bingeing The Good Place and The Mindy Project. I also went to watch Crazy Rich Asians in theaters and loved it. So basically I’m trash for rom and com. Sue me. (Or don’t. I’m a broke college student who can’t afford that ish.)

Favourite books?: The Book Thief, The Color Purple, Radium Girls: The Dark Story of America’s Shining Women, Pride and Prejudice, and, most of all, The Glass Castle.

Favourite bands/musicians?: Nina Simone, Alicia Keys, ABBA, Of Monsters and Men, Christina Perri, and Imagine Dragons. 

If you could live in any fictional world which one would you choose and why?: I thought a lot about this question. The obvious answer would be “one with magic, or mermaids, or superheroes”. But then I thought that I’d rather live in a world like ours, more realistic, but where women are equal to men, diversity is celebrated, people accept each other for who they are. That’s a very idealistic world, I realize, and (if my preteen love of dystopian novels has taught me anything) one that’s most definitely unattainable, but it’s still nice to think about it. If anyone knows of a fictional world like that, sign me up.

Favourite food?: Gosh, that’s a hard one. Probably my grandma’s lasagna.

Favourite season?: Fall, definitely. It’s my birthday season, and I love the colorful leaves and breezy weather and going apple-picking with my family and friends. Unfortunately, Canada’s fall doesn’t last much more than a day, so I missed out on all that this year.

Favourite plant?: Nelumbo nucifera, aka the Lotus Flower.

Favourite scent?: Aftershave? Weird, I know, but it reminds me of my childhood and my father.

Favourite colour?: Periwinkle.

Favourite animal?: Hummingbird.

Are you a night owl, an early bird, or a vampire?: Night owl, definitely.

Place you want to visit?: The Alhambra Palace in Granada, Spain, the Jameh Mosque of Isfahan in Iran, and Ryoanji in Japan.

Do you have pets? If you do, tell us a little about them: I don’t have any pets that live with me currently, but I’ve got a pet back home with my parents. She’s a rescued pup from Mississippi, probably some kind of mix between a Pointer and a Labrador Retriever. Her name’s Sassy and she’s super energetic. If you had asked me this question a week ago I would’ve also said I had a cat named Puma but he was twelve and had cancer, so…yeah.

Tell us a little about yourself?: Um, I never really know what to say to that question. Like, what do you really want to know? I’m Mari (the name comes from my AO3/tumblr username, and not my real name). I was born in New Jersey, grew up in New York and Italy, now go to university in Montreal. I’m super passionate about art history, women’s rights, and politics. I hope to be a dermatologist, but honestly, who knows where life will take me. I’m the oldest of four and the first in my family to go through the American school system, so my parents have always referred to me as their “guinea pig”, and that totally hasn’t given me a weird obsession with being the perfect child, perfect student, perfect daughter. For some very obvious reasons, I relate way too much to Betty Cooper.

Fun or weird fact about you?: I fenced competitively for eight years of my life, traveling all around the US and to Europe for training and national competitions, including the Junior Olympics.

Asks for fanfic authors:

How long have you been writing?: I’ve been writing since I was little, but they were always stories with original characters. I didn’t start writing fic until I was sixteen, nearly seventeen, so it’s been a little over a year.

Which is your favourite of the fics you’ve written?: Geez, that’s a tough one. As much as I love my little one shots, I’d have to say Little Talks. It’s largely based on my own high school experience, and therefore my own way of coming to terms with the end of that chapter of my life.

Favourite fic/chapter/plot-point/character you’ve ever written?: Oof. Another tough one. Um, I’d have to say that I really love my characterization of Alice in Blue Sunshine and Golden Rain. She’s a villainess, but hopefully one you love to hate.

Which was the hardest to write, and why?: Again, Blue Sunshine and Golden Rain. I have a bit of a plot twist planned for the story, but I’m really not sure what kind of reception it’s going to get from readers, so I’ve had the chapter half-finished for months. I just need to get the motivation to finish it, and the courage to say “I don’t care if people hate this, or think it’s weird.” I’ll get there eventually.

How do you come up with the ideas for you fic(s)? (examples: Do you draw inspiration from real life? Listen to music? Get inspired by TV/movies?) Do you have an process to your writing?: I’ve answered this in a tumblr ask before, but I get inspiration from anywhere and everywhere. Mainly from real life, because I like to observe and speculate and ask a bunch of “what if”s and go from there. So, like I mentioned, Little Talks is largely based on my life. But there are definitely some plot points in the story that are a result of me going “well, what if I had done this? Or he had done that?” Another example of a real life-inspired fic is my oneshot I <3 You, which was inspired by that instastory (Cole or Lili’s? I can’t remember) of a cake with bright orange frosting that spelled out I <3 You. I also take inspiration from other creative works, such as books or movies. One of my many upcoming fics is based on How To Train Your Dragon, and another is a crackfic based on the Suite Life. Other times, fic ideas come to me out of nowhere. I was in the lab last summer, waiting for my breast cancer tumor slides to go through antigen retrieval, when I came up with the idea for Blue Sunshine and Golden Rain. My brain works in very strange ways.

Idea that you always wanted to write?: I’ve always wanted to write a lot of fics (I have a whole list of them), but they’re in the works so I won’t spoil any more than I already have. The main fic that I don’t even have an idea for but just want to write is a heartbreakingly angsty fic. One that makes me cry while I write it. Here’s hoping it comes to me soon, because I feel like that could be a really interesting experience as a writer.

Favourite character to write?: Alice. Which is strange, because I don’t like her in the show, but there are so many different directions you could take her character that she’s always so interesting to me.

Best comment/review you’ve ever received?: Oh, well, all of them? Is that an answer? Because all comments and reviews make me super happy. But if I had to choose one then I’d say any comment from @earthlaughsinflowers, @mothermaple, @dottie-wan-kenobi, or @notanotherotherone. I kind of cheated by not picking one, exactly, but oh well.

Best and worst parts of being a writer?: The best part of being a writer is putting a story that you put a lot of your soul into and getting support and love for it. Because I only put stories out there that I’m happy to write, happy to read, but to see that they make other people happy, too? That’s an amazing feeling. The worst part is the amount of time it takes to do absolutely anything, especially when you’re not in the right headspace to write. When I’ve had the worst week ever, and I have to physically push myself to spend time that should be spent resting to write because an update needs to come out soon, it goes from being a fun hobby to being a stress-inducing chore.

Do you have any advice to offer?: I haven’t been a fic writer for a long time, so I wouldn’t say that I’m going to offer up the wisest advice, but here’s what I’ve garnered so far: Do what makes you happy. That goes for all of life, not just writing, and is often hard to follow, but here’s how I see it: If you want to write a story because it makes you happy, write it. If you want to quit your WIP to start something else because that makes you happy, do it. If you need to take a break from writing altogether because it’ll make you happier, take it. Write what you want to write, at the pace you want to write it, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

.

.

This is the twelfth instalment of Bughead Family’s Member Spotlight series. Each week, a member’s url is selected through a randomizer and they will be featured in a spotlight post. In order to participate, please join the Bughead Discord (more information found here). Thank you.

[onestowatch]

Stevedreez Is an Old Soul With a Fresh Sound in “Darling” Music Video [Premiere + Q&A]

How does one describe the visionary that is Stevedreez?

In both sight and sound, he is the human embodiment of the ‘70s era… but on planet Mars. His sound embraces hints of Channel Tres’ deep vocal style, a soothing splash of chillwave vibrations à la Toro y Moi, and a bonafide DIY bedrock that guides all visual and sonic selection. Just take one look at his wide array of self-produced music videos and cover art, and it becomes clear that Stephen Dries is the sole creative director of Stevedreez. 

The self-described “old soul” has mastered the art of guitar from his birthplace of Japan all the way to his current residence in Virginia, and he infuses it into each of his otherworldly releases. Plus, his vintage aesthetic exudes an effortless confidence that could single-handedly bring the word “swagger” back in style.

On August 27, Stevedreez will unveil a new single and music video for one of his best creations yet, and Ones To Watch has your first look now. Set in the golden age of the 1950s, “Darling” follows Dries from a classic diner to a dreamy, sunlit escape with his lovely lady. The pair’s romantic musings are complemented by Stevedreez’ signature breezy synth lines, hypnotizing listeners into utopian daydreams of their own. 

Dries shared his own interpretation of the track, “‘Darling’ is a warm and breezy love ballad that indulges into an alternative universe of how a late night diner date would feel in the ‘50s. With subtle riffs and smooth solos, ‘Darling’ rekindles a blissful masterpiece of both nostalgia and imagination.”

Get to know the man the vision in our interview with Stevedreez below.

Tell us more about the making of the "Darling" music video. Where was it shot, who shot and edited it, any funny or interesting stories in the creation process?

The video was shot and directed by Sandra Camargo, she's a very talented local film director. I did all the editing myself and we shot the diner scenes at Staunton, VA which is about two-and-half hours from where I live and the owners were kind enough to let us film there for a few hours because they were closing for renovations that week. I drank a lot of sweetened coffee for the shots of me stirring the coffee which was awful haha but I insisted on actually adding the sweetener to make it real. We ended up getting back home around five in the morning and we were all pretty exhausted so we shot the daytime “dream sequence” scenes two days later. Those were filmed at two different local parks not far from my house.

What's your message to the boys (and girls) about the classic romance we see in the “Darling” visual?

It's pretty old-fashioned. I'm not sure if that kind of thing connects in the modern age. We have Instagram and dating apps and stuff like that. I might just have an old soul. 

What are your best swooning methods?

Definitely playing guitar!

What is it that draws you to such a nostalgic sound and visual style?

Like I said, I might have an old soul. Some things from past decades just hit differently. I love old cars and vintage wear. I also draw a lot of inspiration from french new-wave films! There's some great music coming out these days but it's cool to go back and see where everything came from. There's always an analog vs digital thing too. Both have their pros and cons.

Describe Stevedreez in three words.

I'm just chillin.

Who are your top musical influences?

I grew up with my parents' music. My dad likes the Beatles and Rolling Stones. My mom had every Sade CD in her car. I love all that stuff!

How does living in Japan and Virginia influence your style of music?

When I was a kid in Japan I didn’t really watch MTV or anything like that. I’ve always found most of my music downloading songs from the internet so It didn’t really matter where I was. When I moved back to Virginia I started producing and Wiz Khalifa was blowing up here at the time.

Tell us more about your very DIY process of music and art creation.

It comes from me keeping to myself and not having many friends on the same wavelength. I have a very clear vision for how I want everything to sound and look and it's just easier to learn how to do things myself. It's a lot of work but very rewarding when you have the final piece.

What can we expect for the rest of this year and what is your ultimate goal for the project?

More music and shows! I have my first ever headline show on October 9 in DC. Hopefully this project continues to grow. I’d love to tour around the world and film everywhere.

What can we expect to see when Stevedreez hits the stage?

Expect to have a good time. My music covers a range of different sounds so hopefully there's something for almost everyone. I want it to be visually and aesthetically pleasing as well and bring some of the visuals to life.

Name your three favorite songs from a previous decade.

It's always hard to name a favorite anything. I’ll go with a few songs I've been playing a lot recently:

1. Rolling Stones - Miss You (1978) 2. Prince - I Wanna Be Your Lover (1979) 3. New Edition - If It Isn’t Love (1988)

[lululawrence]

Annual Writing Self-Evaluation

All answers should be about works published in 2017.

I was tagged by @allwaswell16 and @londonfoginacup and @flamboyantommo and I feel like maybe someone else…so here I am lol also this got hella long, so i’m gonna put most of this under a cut.

1. List of works published this year: 

listen. believe it or not i published 40 fics this year. 40. in 2017. SO i’m gonna just…list them in chronological order, k? k. (this is why this is gonna have to have a read more)

1. Easy, Breezy, Beautiful 2. Bloody Mary 3. I Don’t Know What To Believe 4. The Day is Up and Calling 5. Bend Me, Shape Me with @a-writerwrites and @dimpled-halo 6. I Found a Love 7. That’s Not My Name 8. Be a Daymaker 9. Love Me Like You Do 10. What Happens Next 11. Validation 12. Cake, Phone, Harry 13. Same White Shirt 14. Now That It’s Over 15. A Word We’ve Only Heard 16. No Chance At All 17. (Make You Want To) Scream 18. Nothing Please Me More Than You 19. Let Me Make It Better 20. My Cup of Tea

21. (And Things Will Be) Hard at Times 22. Mistaken Identity with like the entire group chat  23. Wait for the End to Change 24. If It’s Meant To Be (It’ll Be, It’ll Be) 25. You Can Read Me Anything 26. (This Could Be Forever) Right Now 27. Will Love Be There 28. With You In Your Dreams 29. Couldn’t See Past Me, Till I Saw You 30. All I Want Is To Be Free 31. One Taste And He Want It 32. Better Walk That (Pap) Walk, Baby with @suddenclarityharry 33. Love So Soft 34. Got This Feeling In Our Souls 35. We’re Both Stubborn (Two Hearts in One Home) 36. Before I Knew That I Had Begun 37. A Real Work of Art 38. You Can’t Blame Me For Tryin’  39. Christmas at the Holly Lodge 40. You’ve Got My Heart

Okay, and now I’m exhausted. You still with me? Bless you.

2. Work you are most proud of (and why):

@someonethatsfunny actually asked me a few months ago what work I’m most proud of, and I truly don’t know. I’m super proud of (Make You Want To) Scream, because bodyswap is hella hard to write, fam, and I DID IT. I’m proud of my reverse bang, All I Want Is To Be Free, because it was the first time I’d ever really teamed up with an artist like that. I wrote my first historical AU, my first ABO, my first cowrites, my first…A LOT of things, and all of them stretched me so incredibly so I’m not really sure which one I’m most proud of.

3. Work you are least proud of (and why):

I dunno. I have some that I’ve forgotten I wrote this year, but I am still proud of it because have you ever published 40 fics in a year? Just the fact I was able to do that has me patting myself on the back, so yeah. There are some I don’t like as much, but I’m damn proud for what I was able to publish this year.

4. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

They walked past a street performer, Louis completely focused on the church.  Rather than walking to the entrance though, Harry first guided Louis towards another corner.  

“This part here?  It’s completely black like this because it’s the only part of the building that remained standing after the bombing.  They were able to salvage it and recreate it as best they could to look like the original.”

Louis leaned in closer to Harry, as if he needed to physically feel him there with him.

“The Hofkirche and the Kreuzkirche are both incredible in their own way, and according to most, none of these churches can even begin to inspire you or impress you in the way that other cathedrals, like the Cologne Cathedral, do, but the Frauenkirche?”  Harry paused here as he tried to pull his thoughts together.  “I feel like she’s the perfect symbol of Dresden.  Of people in general.  So often we find ourselves having to rebuild and start from scratch when plans we had hoped and planned on fall through, but even if we are only left with some stones and the corner of the building, we can be strong again.”

Louis was no longer looking at the church but was looking at Harry.

“Well shit, Haz.  Is that what you said when you did your episode on Dresden?”

Harry rubbed his hand nervously through his hair before wrapping his arm around Louis’ shoulders.  Harry couldn’t help pulling Louis even closer than he already was, and Louis didn’t resist.  He moved his Döner to his right hand and wrapped his arm around Harry’s waist.

“No.”  Harry swallowed roughly before placing a soft kiss in Louis’ hair.  “No, that’s the special version only you get.”

Louis tilted his head back, his blue eyes studying Harry intently.  “I like that I get the special version,” he whispered.

From If It’s Meant To Be (It’ll Be, It’ll Be)

5. Share or describe a favorite comment you received:

Oh gosh. I love so many different comments and there were some this year that truly brought me to tears, but some of my favorites were on Validation. It floors me still that people took what I wrote in a fic and started to actually put it into play in their lives. Something that I wrote inspired them to change how they approached some situations and that just…wow. Incredible. 

6. A time when writing was really, really hard:

Honestly, most of this year writing was my therapy. It was how I coped with everything life was throwing at me, but the hardest time for me writing wise was this month. I wasn’t feeling inspired, I was having a crazy hard time even carving out ten minutes to write, and I was exhausted all the time. Even with that, though, I was able to write two fics, so I’m proud of myself for pushing through. Especially since I now have five million ideas of things to write again haha

7. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you:

Oof. Uhm…like everything? For real. So many times I was writing and things happened that I didn’t anticipate or plan for and it turned out better than I ever imagined.

8. How did you grow as a writer this year:

SO MANY WAYS. My big goal for writing this year was to write more, and HOLY MOTHER DID I WRITE MORE. In talking with @briannamarguerite, she mentioned once that writing is a muscle and it can be strengthened when you use it more, and through this year I absolutely agree. I started the year off with a challenge I did with a group of people who became incredible friends (shout out to wordplay peeps @a-writerwrites, @taggiecb, @becomeawendybird, @afirethatcannotdie, @dinosaursmate, @phd-mama, @londonfoginacup, and @allwaswell16!) to write a fic a week, all using the same one word prompt, and that kind of set up the average I ended up keeping through the rest of the year of publishing a fic about every week and a half. I also branched out on tropes I had never written before, tried co-writing, different structures for fics, etc. I feel like this year was a huge one for trying new things and going out of my comfort zone, so I’m actually really incredibly proud of myself for all the ways I feel like I grew this year.

9. How do you hope to grow next year:

I want to focus on the quality I’m putting out. I worked on quantity and telling myself I could do it, so now I want to focus a little more on editing myself really well. Being really happy with not just the story I’m putting out, but the way it’s written. I also am finally publishing a fic I’ve been working on, off and on, since 2015 next year, and that’s the longest fic I’ve written to date, so lots of ways for me to try to stretch myself still!

10. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

Oh holy mother. @silentlarryshipper as a massive support for keeping me going at the beginning of the year for sure! I couldn’t have done this without her. All the wordplay peeps I mentioned above as well. @becomeawendybird, @gettingaphdinlarry, and @briannamarguerite for being the best, most brutal and thorough betas ever, I love all you guys SO DAMN MUCH! And without a doubt every last one of the ladies not already mentioned who were more than willing to yell encouragement at me, even when I was being ridiculous: @freetheankles, @dinosaursmate, @haloeverlasting, @indiaalphawhiskey, @dimpled-halo, @a-writerwrites, @suddenclarityharry, @londonfoginacup!

11. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year:

Oh yes. My love story to Dresden has all my true feelings for the city, some of the ridiculous scenes from the mpregs i wrote are personal stories of my own, a lot of locations are from my own life, etc. 

12. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

Don’t give up and find yourself a support crew! Having multiple writing support group chats was one of the best things to come out of this entire year for me. The other people you surround yourself with can make the biggest difference as to whether a project gets finished or not.

13. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

oh yes! currently i have a to write or to publish list of:

wibbly wobbly, timey wimey fic (which might be my big bang after all)

a couple birthday fics to come

Marcel exchange fic

ABO exchange fic

a flicker album fic

a fic based off of Charlie Puth’s song attention

so we’ll see how that all turns out. lol

14. Tag three writers/artists whose answers you’d like to read.

if you were tagged in this and haven’t done it already, please consider yourself tagged now! (or if you’re reading this and haven’t been tagged and want to, please tag me and say I told you to do it! I want to read your answers!!) OH and I would also love to hear from @justalittlelouislove :D

[playitbyear-laz]

I have two consistent moods that are clearly defined within this playlist. Musically, I organize them into separate mix series and additional personal playlists: “GRWM” (Get Ready with Me) and “self-love.” Both have different sounds that tie back to my sole intention of empowering listeners to feel confident in their best self.

The “GRWM” (Get Ready with Me) theme is inspired by the popular makeup guru trend on Youtube, where influencers give a detailed tutorial on how to achieve their featured beauty/fashion look. I’m a firm believer in the “look good, feel good” mantra (though I haven’t had the opportunity to really dress up lately) and the power of self-expression through fashion and beauty. This mood is meant to be your soundtrack for getting ready and dressing up to look and feel like the bad b*tch you are (tracks 1-3). In contrast, “self-love.” (tracks 3-8, track 3 kind of overlaps both) is a curated mix of slower melodies meant to inspire reflection and oneness within yourself and your relationships. Some songs may seem more catered to romantic love as opposed to self-love so don’t take it too literally. In essence, it should feel good.

TLDR: This week’s curation is a mix of Rap, Hip-Hop and R&B with an emphasis on women artists. All of the above details are a glimpse into my personal taste and the music I gravitate to for the soundtrack of my day-to-day life.

Thank you again to laz and Jon Antonio for the opportunity to share some of my current fave songs. Hope you all love it! 

xx,

kierst

                                    PLAY IT BY EAR  018 

                                        curated by kierst

                                  Link to all platforms HERE.

Fur On Me - Poookieboo

WHERE: @poookieboo2’s Instagram feed. 

WHY: I LOVE WHEN GIRLS TALK THEIR SHIT, it gets me so hype! I was hooked on ‘Fur On Me’ once I heard the distinct notes of Beethoven’s Fur Elise drop into a trap chord progression. Poookieboo’s sultry lyrics were the cherry on top of this track. Not many people know this but I have a music degree in classical piano, so I appreciate the edgy flip on a simple, almost-mundane-to-me now tune I’ve grown up hearing for years throughout my training.

“This ain’t Fur Elise, this fur drip down my body.”

I’m not even joking when I say I had ‘Fur On Me’ on repeat for a good two to three weeks after I heard it. Poookieboo is a Bay Area born and raised artist and I can’t wait for everyone to know her name. 

Hatin - Rico Nasty, Kenny Beats

WHERE: Listening to Rico Nasty’s Spotify page. 

WHY: The harder, girlier sample of Jay-Z’s ‘Dirt Off Your Shoulder’. I know that people have mixed feelings about artists sampling beats, but I love how Kenny flipped this original Timbaland to fit Rico’s unapologetic, loud, and confident style. You can hear synonymous themes and lyrics from ‘Dirt Off Your Shoulder’ within the chorus, but what’s different is the message -- Rico turns her attention to women, encouraging them to go to the club and leave mans at home if he’s a hater. “You got your own shit, you ain't ever gotta listen to him, girl.”

Boy’s Ain’t Shit - SAYGRACE (feat. Flo Milli)

WHERE: Feelin Myself Spotify playlist (my boyfriend @devarockmusic sent me this playlist and knew I’d love it)

WHY: “These boys ain’t shit, I’m not here for it. If you want me, act like it, act like it. These boys get pissed, ‘cause I won’t stand for it.” I love how calm SAYGRACE sounds as she tells it straight. I think we’ve all seen either our girlfriends or ourselves through shitty relationships. Over the past few years I’ve had the pleasure of watching my girls grow into beautiful, confident women who no longer have the capacity to entertain or tolerate anything less than what they deserve. No more games, it’s simple: “if you want the sweet life, then act like it.” 

Cigarettes & Cush - Stormzy (ft. Kehlani and Lily Allen)

WHERE: My little cousin @jaeraeimaee’s instagram story. 

WHY: Let’s slow it down a bit. This song feels like a breezy summer day laid up under some type of influence with your boo. But if you take the time to listen deeper beneath the beautiful ballad composed of Stormzy’s grime riddim, Kehlani’s soothing vocals, and Lily Allen’s sweet supporting vocals, you’ll find a love story held together by Cigarettes & Cush. Both Stormzy and Kehlani sing their sides of relationship troubles, but they both come back to smoke sessions as the only solid time and place to experience each other. 

Boomin - Teyana Taylor (feat. Missy Elliott, Future)

WHERE: On the treadmill (I like to listen to new albums or playlists while I workout haha). 

WHY: A modernized, smooth and sexy sample of Blaque’s 808. My absolute favorite part of this track is the bridge (3:31-4:01) where Teyana and Missy’s vocals elevate the song with their beautiful vocals and take the song to a whole new level. It honestly just makes me want to slip into some Savage X Fenty and silk sheets. 

The Way - Tessie, Tota

WHERE: Scrolling through Tessie’s Spotify page.

WHY: Tessie’s hails from Vallejo, California and has some of the sweetest vocals I’ve heard. This track feels like honey to me. “I looooove the way you, you hold me, you kiss me, you console me, I remember what you told me.” The ambience feels reminiscent of a good, newfound relationship in its peak honeymoon phase.

Love the Things You Do - Pip Millett

WHERE: Sweet Kisses | Neo Soul | R&B | Jazz | Blues | Groovy playlist on Spotify by @jhanelovee 

WHY: The first few times I listened to this song, I genuinely couldn’t tell if it was about platonic or romantic love, if the artist was falling for someone or if she had settled into some type of  situationship. “But still, it's not that deep, you'd know if I was falling for you, It's just I love the things you do.” It sounds like a really thoughtful and valuable friendship that may have the potential for something more. “Oh, I think it's sweet, the things you do for me Still I understand, you don't have to hold my hand.” What’s unique about this love song is that the artist is so present and at peace with the current state of the friendship/relationship/situationship. There’s possibility for romance but there’s no push or pull for it -- she enjoys and appreciates them just the way they are. 

Loud - Alex. 

WHERE: Kickin it with the little cousin, @jaeraeimaee. 

WHY:  Similar to ‘Cigarettes & Cush’ above, this song depicts the perfect lazy day, unwinding under some type of influence with your boo. In contrast, ‘Loud’s’ go-with-the-flow type beat is more easygoing and fun as she describes the scene: “baby come and take this hit, lookin like a tumblr pic cause all we do is kick it and chill. We’ve got time to kill and I love it for real.”

Now, remember our first track, ‘Fur on Me’ by Poookieboo? This is Alex. - same artist, different vibe. Line break to pause and appreciate the RANGE this woman has! 

Like ‘Fur on Me,’ I easily had this song on repeat for weeks. With the high volume of music releases these past few years, it’s hard for me to get hooked on one, let alone two songs from the same artist that I constantly replay to the point where I remember the lyrics, even years after listening to it for the first time. That being said, I highly recommend putting Poookieboo/Alex. on your “ones to watch” list. 

[jmsa1287]

A Year in Review: The Best 100 Songs of 2017 (50-1)

The latest entry into my Year in Review feature. Check out The Best 100 Songs of 2017 (100-51) by clicking here. Below, find 50-1!

050. St. Vincent – “New York”

049. Broken Social Scene – “Hug of Thunder”

048. DJDS – “Trees on Fire” feat. Amber Mark, Marco Mckinnis

047. Charli XCX – “Roll with Me”

046. Jens Lekman – “What’s That Perfume That You Wear?”

045. Rita Ora – “Your Song”

044. Fergie – “Enchante (Carine)” feat. Axl Jack

043. MGMT – “Little Dark Age”

042. Blondie – “Long Time”

041. TLC – “Way Back” feat. Snoop Dogg

040. LCD Soundsystem – "call the police”

039. Sampha – “(No One Knows Me) Like the Piano”

038. Jessie Ware – “Midnight”

037. Julia Michaels – “Issues”

036. LANY – “Super Far”

035. The Killers – “Run for Cover”

034. Cashmere Cat – “Quit” feat. Ariana Grande

033. Nite Jewel – “2 Good 2 Be True”

032. Tinashe – “Flame”

031. The War on Drugs – “Holding On”

030. Dirty Projectors – “Cool Your Heart” feat. DAWN

029. Kali Uchis – “Tyrant” feat. Jorja Smith

028. Mura Masa – “1 Night” feat. Charli XCX

027. Phoenix – “J-Boy”

026. Terror Jr – “Death Wish”

025. Danny L Harle – “1UL”

024. Lorde – “Green Light”

023. P!nk – “Beautiful Trauma”

022. Pale Waves – “There’s a Honey”

021. Paramore – “Hard Times”

020. Fever Ray – “To the Moon”

019. The xx – “I Dare You”

018. BLACKPINK – “As If It’s Your Last”

017. Cam – “Diane”

016. P!nk – “What About Us”

015. HAIM – “I Want You Back”

014. Carly Rae Jepsen – “Cut to the Feeling”

013. Charli XCX – “Boys”

012. Lorde – “Supercut”

011. Destroyer – “Tinseltown Swimming in Blood”

010. Miley Cyrus – “Malibu”

Miley Cyrus was one of the big pop stars of late to go back-to-basics (think: Lady Gaga's "Joanne," Kesha's "Rainbow"). After capturing the zeitgeist in 2013 with provocative singles like "Wrecking Ball" and "We Can't Stop," Miley stripped things down with her new unplugged country album "Younger Now." That LP's first single "Malbiu" showcases the adult side of Miley, whose voice has never sounded better. A breezy and delightfully sweet ballad - one that never steps into the realm of preciousness - "Malibu" celebrates rekindling a love with effortless but poignant songwriting (she wrote the song in an Uber on the way to a taping of "The Voice," where she serves as a judge) that is also an ode to sunny Southern California.

009. Rita Ora – “Anywhere”

It's been a long, tough road for Rita Ora. She's never released an album in the U.S. (though she has great success in her native U.K.), nor has she had much traction with her previous excellent singles in the States. Unfortunately, that's not going to change with "Anywhere," arguably her best song ever, which has yet to chart in the U.S. Nevertheless, it's a high-quality dance-pop banger and it's the perfect antidote to the vile year that was 2017: A euphoric 3-minute and 35-second form of escapism that comes with one of the best pre-choruses in recent memory.

008. Terror Jr – “Caramel”

Just like the candy, "Caramel," the single from the mysterious pop group Terror Jr, is gooey and sticky. It's a hazy balled that references depression, drug use, gay rights and other hot button issues. Speaking with Thump, singer Lisa Terror said the song is "a reaction to the surreal world in 2017." With a minimal production, "Caramel" lures you in with finger snaps and slinky synths and Lisa's manipulated vocals, resulting in a captivating and hypotonic track.

007. Taylor Swift – “Delicate”

Taylor Swift's latest album "reputation" may be her weakest effort since her 2006 debut, but it still comes with some stellar gems. Produced by Max Martin and Shellback, "Delicate" is one of Swift's sexiest songs to date and her most mature. Here, Swift actually swears and sings about drinking as she cautiously pursues a new love interest - she's simultaneously confident and vulnerable. But what propels "Delicate" into one of Swift's best works is its simple sonic construction; a sensual wall of synths and powerful drums that enter halfway through the song, kicking it into a high-gear emotional drive.

006. Phoenix – “Fior Di Latte”

French band Phoenix's new album "Ti Amo" is an ode to summers in Italy and Italian disco. Its highlight "Fior Di Latte" is a glistening groovy jam. Like the Italian cheese itself, the track is a smooth and airy delight that's straightforwardness about making love under the Italian sun complements the track's song construction. The track builds with vibrant bass and singer Thomas Mars's silky vocals, which eventually gives way to a cataclysmic explosion. From one of indie music's most reliable bands, Phoenix's "Fior Di Latte" is a sensual stunner that bursts with light.

005. Selena Gomez – “Bad Liar”

Selena Gomez has low-key been one of the most reliable pop stars of the 21st century. With huge bangers like "Hands to Myself," "Good For You," "Same Old Love," "Come & Get It" and more, Gomez has slayed the charts with undeniable pop gems. For "Bad Liar," Gomez continues her brand of sultry pop, this time unexpectedly sampling the Talking Heads' 1977 single "Psycho Killer." With a funky bass and Gomez's cooing vocals, "Bad Liar" is cool and clever song; the most daring effort from the star yet, giving hope Gomez has further tricks up her sleeve.

004. Lorde – “Homemade Dynamite”

"Homemade Dynamite" wasn't an immediate favorite from Lorde's sophomore album "Melodrama." Unlike the instant hits "Supercut" and "The Louvre," both brilliant euphoric bops, "Homemade Dynamite" is weird. But over time, the track slowly revealed itself, exploring complex emotions with interesting production and slinky synth-work, courtesy of Jack Antonff. With Lorde's signature whispering, "Homemade Dynamite" is the perfect concoction of all of her best traits: A radio pop song that's bent just a little too much, making it fascinating and innovative while still completely accessible. Awesome, right?

003. SOPHIE – “It’s Okay to Cry”

SOHPIE's "It's Okay Cry" was a coming-out of sorts for the otherwise enigmatic British musician/producer. The song's accompanying music video was the first time SOPHIE made her official appearance, with the camera up close and centered on her. (At the same time, SOPHIE released a press release stating she prefers she/her pronouns.) The song is a queer anthem - a stirring ballad that's restrained for SOPHIE, who's known for her spastic and glitch-y synths. With honest lyrics ("The pain inside increases / It takes more strength to hold it in then to give in and surrender") and a massive buildup that erupts with a thunderous clap, "It's Okay to Cry" hits the reset button, making SOPHIE truly one of the most interesting artists to watch.

002. Kesha – “Praying”

There's no better song than Kesha's "Praying" to be the anthem for the abysmal year that was 2017. Her comeback single took aim at disgraced producer Dr. Lukas, who she accused of sexual assault (he has denied all claims). Kesha has been in court battles with the producer and her record label, forced into a music limbo. But when "Praying" unexpectedly dropped in July, it not only an excellent song that showed off Kesha's vocals, but it was also a battle cry, with Kesha throwing down the gauntlet. It established her as a new musician - the "TiK ToK" party days are behind her (remember, she's dropped the "$" in her name)- and posited her as a pop singer-songwriter. "Praying" isn't scornful or angry. Instead, it's full of hope and forgiveness with Kesha taking the high road: "I hope you're somewhere prayin', prayin' / I hope your soul is changin', changin' / I hope you find your peace," she screams during the song's breathtaking chorus.

001. Lana Del Rey - “Love”

No current pop artist has struggled with today's political climate more than Lana Del Rey. With songs like "National Anthem," lyrics like "Be young, be dope be proud / Like an American," and music videos showing her waving the U.S. flag, the elusive singer built her career from American pastiche. But that changed this year after Donald Trump entered the White House. Not only did she cast a witchy spell on him, but she also banned the American flag from her shows, and penned a track about the threats of North Korea. To say that Del Rey become more aware of her surroundings this year would be an understatement. With "Love," the first single off her excellent album "Lust for Life," the chanteuse gets nostalgic, looking back at the music that propelled her into stardom, and turns the track into an ode to her fans: "Look at you kids with your vintage music/You're part of the past, but now you're the future," she sings over a string arrangement echoing the music from her debut "Born to Die." It's a powerful and earnest song (something rare these days in pop music) where Del Rey winks at the Beach Boys and, most importantly, give hope to her millions of fans: "It doesn't matter if I'm not enough / For the future or the things to come / 'Cause I'm young and in love / Don't worry, baby."

[fashiontrendin-blog]

5 Vacation Outfits Featuring My Favorite Brazilian Designers

http://fashion-trendin.com/5-vacation-outfits-featuring-my-favorite-brazilian-designers/

5 Vacation Outfits Featuring My Favorite Brazilian Designers

Cashews. Who knew it would take travelling to Brazil to learn that the fibrous fruit from which the nut is borne, which tastes like a subtle pineapple, is native to my home country of Ghana? Or that the fruit would spin a harmonious thread through food, fashion and overlapping cultures for me?

There are several prisms through which the culture of a people and the pulse of a place can be refracted. When South America’s largest airline, LATAM, launched its inaugural nonstop flight from Miami to Salvador, Bahia, last month, I thought I might use it as an invitation to learn about Brazil’s fashion scene. I immediately contacted my friend Thiara Collorec, a London-via-Paris-based former lawyer and current fashion editor for Elle.fr, or simply put, the most stylish Brazilian I know. She also happens to be a Baiana.

According to her, “Brazilian style is difficult to explain but easy to recognize. Brazilians dress to feel sexy and empowered, whatever the body type.” Of Baiana style, she told me, “You can still feel the influence of African heritage there, especially in that Bahia style is more colorful and vibrant than that of southern Brazil.”

Given Thiara’s words, I was ready for headwraps and shocks of color, but I was not ready for how much Bahia would feel like one of the places I call home. To attempt to enumerate all the ways Bahia reminds me of Ghana — from all the forms of cassava consumed throughout the region to the eyes, lips and noses that seemed spun from the DNA of my own — might be a task as feckless as attempting to drink the Nile. Suffice it to say that Ghana and Bahia are certainly tributaries that flow into the same river of whatever constitutes “Afro-ness.”

Once, during an interview about the concept of home on the podcast On She Goes, host Aminatou Sow asked me whether I adapt to the places I travel to or make them adapt to me. My answer then and now is that I must find a symbiosis of the two extremes: Who I am will not relent because of a change in terrain, but who I am is also allowing my being to be transfigured by the air of a place. Which brings me back to fashion and my exploration of it in the Brazilian context. Certain garments did not always speak to my inclinations, and yet I found a welcome challenge in molding those I wouldn’t otherwise gravitate towards into my own aesthetic model. Above all, it was a joy to learn about and meet some of the minds and hands driving the Brazilian fashion train.

Of Orixás and Caipirinhas

Location: Pelourinho, Salvador

Alessandra Affonso Ferreira, the design brain behind São Paulo-based label Sissa, spent her formative years in Salvador, where she and her husband-turned-business partner, Julian, also got married. Alessandra loves the “rustic chic” of the Pelourinho, Salvador’s historic district, known for variegated colonial buildings and the “air of African mysticism” of Bahia, and this is evident in her earthy design ethos.

Here I’m wearing her Claudia dress, which is your typical shirt dress with a touch more volume, as if an homage to traditional Baiana regalia and the festivals of Lavagem and Yemanjá, when the faithful of Bahia are clad in alabaster in homage to the Orixás (Yoruba gods) Oxalá and Yemanjá respectively. For a look to carry me from day exploration to a night of sipping caipirinhas, I layered it with a matching beaded and embroidered bra and jacket set by PatBO, the brand founded by Brazil’s goddess of embellishment, Patricia Bonaldi. Nothing’s ever black and white — neither Brazil’s African ancestry nor this outfit — so I chose midnight-blue knotted heels by perhaps Brazil’s most recognizable fashion name, Alexandre Birman. Streamlined yet whimsical, the trio of knots on the shoes are redolent of the ritual of tying garlands into three knots on the fences surrounding Salvador’s Bonfim church — each knot representing a wish — which culminates in fences festooned with a rainbow of possibilities: the dreams and prayers of a multitude rendered in living color and tickled by the passing wind.

Opposites Attract

Location: Feira de São Joaquim

Paula Raia is perhaps the Brazilian clothing brand with which I found the most consonance. With sharp lines and weighty fabric, her designs are often monochromatic but textured for nuance, like this ribbed cream ensemble. For a pop of color, I chose shoes by Brazilian fashion’s darling du jour, Lane Marinho. The bouffant-haired Salvador native, responsible for the made-to-order sandals that all of Brazil covets, started out at another well-known shoe brand before she began crafting her own shoes, at first making each pair entirely by hand. She now takes orders at her São Paulo atelier with a 45-day wait time for delivery.

Rise though her star has, Salvador and its rustic São Joaquim market (where I’m pictured) remain fondly ensconced in her heart. I found myself caught up in São Joaquim’s similarities to the markets of my youth, like Accra’s Santana market. White yams, sexy green okra and towers of sugarcane: A sea might separate us, but certainly food links the western coast of Africa and northern Brazil. “Linkage” is also the word that comes to mind to describe the pair of earrings I chose from Bia Daidone and its interacting orbitals. The earrings seem to be a study in concavity versus convexity and the interaction of opposites that results in seamless circularity. I finished the look with a clutch from Serpui, a brand known for its small handbags that range from amoebic toucan shapes to classic beveled boxes like the brushed brass one I am carrying.

Fringe Benefit

Location: Praia do Forte town center

Praia do Forte is a archetypal beach town about a 90-minute drive from Salvador where the sea breeze is relentless and the evening light sublime. There, in this sleepy enclave, among the coast-seeking masses and on its quiet village streets, this floral jacket from PatBO found meaning for me. The flow of the beaded fringe dripping from the sleeve hem found its way in the wind, just as a vendor of shell necklaces found me and offered to tie a green one of the ubiquitous Baiana garlands on my wrist in three knots for three wishes.

This much jacket meant the rest of the look had to be toned down, but not so much as to be drowned out. Enter Studio Chofakian shoes. The label founded by Sarah Chofakian is known for its minimalist, architectural form, and if any Brazilian shoe brand could withstand this much jacket with dulcet fierceness, this is it.

Orange Is the Warmest Color

Location: Tivoli Eco Resort, Praia do Forte

By morning light at the Tivoli Eco Resort in Praia do Forte, I slipped on a three-part citrus symphony by beachwear designer Adriana Degreas. Degreas is known for her vibrant swimwear and breezy kaftans with surprising details and is a mainstay in the Miami market with shops at Aventura and Merrick Park malls. Encircling my neck is a choker I found at the aforementioned Bia Diadone atelier in São Paulo. Bia, though slight in appearance, is a tower of effervescence with graceful fortitude of spirit. Creating each 18k-gold-plated brass piece by hand, her process begins with feeling the metal in delicate yet calloused hands, bending and beating brass into geometric submission and allowing the process itself to reveal the form. The choker presents a powerful interplay of strength and sensuality: a whisper and the crescendo of an operatic aria all at once.

And who can resist the work of sea breeze against volumes of silk? I cheated a little on Brazilian designers — but fittingly, given Bahia’s African heritage — and pulled in this black silk and batik kimono from Ghanaian-American label Studio One Eighty Nine. It’s easy to feel like a formidable Orixà arising from the morning mist when wearing a bright orange turban and arabesques of obsidian silk, and isn’t that the feeling we all require from a holiday?

Silks and Stones

Location: Garcia D’Avila Fortress

The Garcia d’Ávila fortress in Mata de São João, Bahia, is one of designer Juju Afonso Ferreira of Isolda’s favorite places. Yet another Bahia native in Brazil’s constellation of design stars, her brand is renowned for its ultra-feminine aesthetic. Against the decaying aubergine and brown walls of the skeleton of the castle overlooking the Atlantic, her sanguine silk skirt sings in harmony with this pink off-shoulder shirt. Another iteration of Alexandre Birman’s sandals, rendered in red and pink velvet, mirrors the gradient of rouges, but a middle tie in moss green cuts the color-coded look.

Paula Cadematori’s “Twi Twi” bag in tan, with its subtle yet defining pink edging, is also a nod to a red color story. The Milan-based Brazilian designer’s bags are often as boldly colorful as Brazilian culture itself. Not visible, unfortunately, is how the orbital pair of Daidone earrings I chose pair with the petite, gold, cashew-shaped buttons that fasten the shirt cuffs. The cashew closures are, of course, a quiet reference to the oft-overlooked slice of historic and cultural paradise that is Afonso’s hometown: Bahia.

Bahia itself is probably better suited to “spending the whole day in shorts, shoeless,” as is my friend Thiara’s definition of happiness, and São Paulo is undoubtedly the epicenter of Brazil’s fashion universe. And yet Bahia has borne some of the highest-hanging fruit on the tree of Brazilian fashion, perhaps because of the soul espoused by the place. Everyone told me I’d be intoxicated by the light in Bahia and, while I could drink its evening light to the lees, for me, Bahia represents finding a culture an ocean away that in so many ways resembles my own. Fashion was the icing on the cake (or in this case, the shrimp on the acarajé).

20 PHOTOS click for more

Follow Natasha’s adventures in travel and the arts at @natashanyanin.

Photos by Colby Blount.