#i need to compartmentalise and I need to focus on my mother. they took her car and her money.

[self-destructing-sad-boi]

I talked to her daughter a few days ago. I'm so proud shes on hormones and that she had the courage to change her college course. I love her still

I'm bitter. I'm angry. I watched a Greys Anatomy death scene compilation the other day to cry. I'll never be over Derek's death

I never wanted to leave. I just didnt feel like I could stay

[djmarinizelablog]

hi! read your last ask and you said that you took up creative writing classes so you might have a wider knowledge about this but i was wondering when u mentioned different writing styles (like minimalistic, hightened imagery, linear vilennete and all of that) could you maybe explain the difference and what they really mean and maybe examples in our own levihan nation and writers? this might be asking for too much but i was pretty lost and i'd like to know more about all that. however you are def free to ignore this too!

Did you just ask me to write a comprehensive poetics essay, Anon? (I love writing about writing lmao)

Super long post ahead, and I’ll be citing certain fanfics that I’ve read so far and those that I think somehow exemplifies all the different writing styles I mentioned in the previous post. 

First off, the ones I listed beforehand (minimalistic prose, heightened imagery, poetic language, linear narrative, non-linear vignettes) aren’t the only types of writing styles. There are more if you consider the variations of tone (humor/comedy, sentimental, macabre, noir etc), narration/perspective (first person, second person, third person omniscient/limited), and language (dialogue-heavy or action/scene-driven). And the nice thing is that you can actually use of one or two of them in your work---or all of them, if you’re feeling bold. 

As Hange always loves to do: “Let’s experiment!”

--------

I’ll start with minimalistic prose. It is what it is: short, clear, and concise. Think less is more. You have an economy with words where you disregard most adverbs and focus more on the context to make way for meaning, thus allowing the readers to create their own interpretations of your writing. I think the method here is to write your intended draft first, and then cut the unnecessary words to flesh out the scene even more.

Notice how @stereobone wrote this paragraph of Black Dog (an Eruri fic):

Isabel's voice wakes him, brother, brother, has him sitting upright in bed and grabbing for the knife under his mattress. He braces himself for the attack before he realizes there isn't one. There is nothing in the darkness but him and his heavy, panicked breathing. Levi's heart feels like it's trying to beat its way out of his chest. He drops the knife on the mattress and shuts his eyes and tries not to think about Farlan's bloody resigned face before he was eaten. He tries not to think about how he left them. How it's his fault.

It’s very simplistic in language; the paragraph lets you focus on Levi’s innermost thoughts while he deals with an external action (ie, having nightmares). The author hasn’t unraveled the rest of the plot yet, but you already know where the tension is coming from.

Next is heightened imagery. If you’re familiar with the different figures of speech (metaphor, simile, personification, hyperbole, etc), then this is where they all come into play. I think the challenge here is being able to balance it well with the text itself and make sure that the imagery actually clarifies the context of the paragraph instead of convoluting the intended meaning. 

Here’s an excerpt from A Dangerous Game by just_quintessentially_me:

Hanji watched Levi, standing there, head bent and bloodied handkerchief pressed against his arm, and was reminded, irrationally, of a night years ago. When her parents had taken her to the circus. [. . . .] Holding her parent’s hands, she’d gaped, head craned back as she watched the spectacle, a cacophonous mixture of sound and color. At the center of it all, she’d spied a boy. Among the twisting colors and tricks, he alone, was still. [. . . .] The boy was high above, balancing on a platform atop a long pole. In front of him, stretched an audaciously thin rope. Below, no net waited to catch him.

[. . . .]

When Levi looked up, his expression was set - like the boy before the tightrope. And she knew, with sinking certainty, he was going to take the step. Into thin air.

Gray eyes met her gaze and held it.

“Yeah. I’ll go.”

At the door, Kenny smiled.

See how the powerful imagery of the boy on the tightrope was able to fuel the tension in that moment among Levi, Hange, and Kenny? 

I think poetic language is akin to heightened imagery, except that the former is more focused on the actual language. It’s very lyrical, wherein you can actually hear the lulling song of the sentences in a rhythm. One of my favorite works that does this is Deep sea baby by @smallblip. Here she makes use of various setting and scenery to create this entire atmosphere of Levi and Hange’s relationship:

Hanji knows whatever life they've led, this is her favourite.

The one in which her and Levi see the sea for the first time together.

The one in which she’s the Commander, and him, her Captain. And between them, a river of words left unsaid threatening to break the banks.

One day they must cross the ocean, but today they visit the shores again, without the kids this time. And Levi learns why when he watches her peel at her clothes. Her harness comes off first, then her blouse, then everything else, like a little dance for an audience of one. Levi tries not to stare, but he’s already seen her by candlelight in the dead of the night. And yet she never fails to take his breath away.

She makes her way to where the white foams dredge the past up the shores of the present.

"Come on Levi! The water is warm!" she says, and he hears it like a call to come home- where the heavens collide with the sea.

He takes off his clothes and folds them in a neat pile beside Hanji's mess. He swims out to join her.

It’s hauntingly poetic, the way the author is able to connect the metaphor in “a river of words” to the actual body of water right in front of Levi and Hange. Good poetic language is able to tighten up the texts together while keeping the sentence structure flowing with apt figures of speech.

When it comes to narratives, it only comes down to linear or non-linear. See how @lostcauses-noregrets does her opening statement in Trains (also an Eruri fic):

Levi hates trains. To be fair, Levi hates all forms of public transport, but he reserves a particular loathing for trains. They’re dirty, noisy, smelly and worse, filled with people. People who, heaven forbid, might attempt to speak to Levi, engage him in conversation. Levi’s worst nightmare is being stuck on a train with some friendly fuck who wants to pass the time making small talk. Admittedly it’s not a problem he has to deal with too often, his general fuck off demeanour deters all but the most aggressively friendly and hopelessly inebriated. But that doesn’t stop Levi from hating trains.

It’s a short fic and it’s very dependent on the linearity of events happening. But with that banger of a first sentence, the beginning already gives you enough of an idea of Levi’s pet peeve in the story, which in this case, is trains.

Here’s another hot and steamy fic called keep him waiting by keobuns that shows a linear narrative: 

He’s sitting with them in the back of the lab, nursing a cup of tea — it’s still pretty full, and even cold now, for he was far too distracted listening to Hanji talk to properly drink — when he sees it. Hanji’s too preoccupied with overexplaining the same Titan experiment they’ve gone over a hundred times to notice his stare. They just continue on and on and on, gesturing with their hands, pointing with their fingers, flexing their wrists…

Ah. Levi has to bring his teacup to his lips to hide the way his lips tremble. Hanji has incredibly nice hands.

The entire story just revolves around Levi simping for Hange’s hands and how it all goes down from there. But you as a reader are kept wanting more with every paragraph and every sentence that the author constructs (and trust me, it’s not just the sexual tension between Levi and Hange that keeps us going).

Now, as much as I love the straightforwardness of linear prose, non-linear writing brings a different round of ideas onto the table. It can create recollections from flashbacks, heighten the perspective or interior turmoil of a character due to trauma or grief, or even just re-invent what-if scenes that the characters have imagined themselves. 

Gnossiene by @thatalmondgirl​ is one of my all-time favorite Rivetra fics. In this excerpt, you will see how she switches between the past and the present, and how it affects Petra’s POV as a conflicted character:

Contrary to popular belief (fuck Auruo) Petra actually didn’t cry easily.

Alright, she could admit that at some times, she was...emotional. It was far from a weakness, but even she could admit that they sometimes got in the way and walled off all rational thought. Anger, frustration, sadness, hell, even happiness. The only one she could easily compartmentalise away was fear, which probably stemmed from her military career. Even so. It was never easy to separate all the others from her actions, think from a clean slate like the Commander could do, like the captain. [. . . ] Petra groaned, splayed out across her bed. She drew her arm across her eyes, willing the tears to go away. She’d already blown through her tissue box.

“Petra, a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.” Mama sat on the end of her bed, with Petra on the floor between her legs. Even though Petra argued firmly that she was old enough to brush her own hair, Mama had insisted. Unfortunately, Petra wasn’t old enough - and probably never would be - to disagree with her mother.

“I know, Mama.” Petra grumbled.

“I don’t think you do. Else you wouldn’t be crying, would you?”

[. . . .]

“But a man shouldn’t complete you when you complete yourself. Maybe he’s an extension to your house. So you’ll be sad if the extension is compromised or burns down. But you still have the main house. And if it’s strong, the main house can still be standing even after the worst storm.”

Aside from Mama’s crazy metaphors that sometimes didn’t make sense, her message hit home. Even if it hit home years later.

See how it switched in between the before and after? 

An off-shoot of non-linear writing are vignettes (a layering of scenes separated by section breaks) wherein this writing style allows writers to curate scenes in terms of fragments, creating some kind of mosaic for the readers once they finally see the big picture. Nakimochiku’s I’m leaving, are you coming with me? stacks up scenes of interactions between Levi and Hange, enough to depict the kind of relationship that they have as young lovers in a school setting. You can string these fragments together, rearrange them in a different order, but in the end, you will still get the author's clear goal of highlighting how Levi and Hange’s relationship develops over time.

Those are the styles that I mentioned in my previous posts, but as I’ve told you, there’s more to writing than those, so I’ll give a short run-through of other methods in writing. 

Whether it’s dialogue-heavy works such as from my window to yours, or action-driven scenes like Carnivores (a Levi x Reader fic by CaptainDegenerate) that propel the story forward, we as readers should be able to follow through the actual storyline that the authors intend to take us. 

A third-person limited (we listen to Hange’s thoughts in Clockwork by @tundrainafrica) vis-à-vis an all-knowing/omniscient narration (the moon is dark by @sayonarasanity alternates the perspective of Levi and Hange) should be able to make us understand why the author chose this particular kind of point-of-view in order to tell the story. 

And lastly, having a solid and consistent tone throughout the work (the macabre of Even Humanity’s Strongest could make mistakes by Rimeko versus the sweet sentimentality of Flowers for You by @fanmoose12) should be able to set the atmosphere that the authors want us to imbibe as we read through their works. 

So there’s your crash course on writing and reading. Enjoy? :) 

[khaleesiofalicante]

So first of all I am so so sorry I think you’re becoming the fandom therapist or something and I know having everyone telling you all their problems is so emotionally draining and you don’t even have to reply to this I just need to write it all down and feel like I’m telling it to someone and it’s not gonna get left behind in some random box

Today is Monday. On Thursday I start school again. I know some people haven’t been at school in 2 years or something but schools in my country started back in September last year and we’ve just had six week holidays, which used to feel so long and daunting and free, but we’ve had a 6 month lockdown followed by a 3 month lockdown and suddenly 6 weeks doesn’t feel that long anymore.

So in a way the act of going back to school doesn’t feel that daunting, especially as it doesn’t feel as though I’ve been gone for very long.

But I left school with some issues. When I was 13 I had this best friend, and she was my best friend like we did everything together we were so close we’d sing and have sleepovers all the time. But she treated me really badly, she was manipulative and because she had a lot of issues I brushed it off. It took me two years to finally say enough is enough and I feel so guilty and stupid for not doing that sooner, for not listening to my parents, my friend, for letting her hurt me and other people for so long.

I have this friend now, who was treated in a similar way by the same girl, and we really bonded over our shared experience with her. But she is a really difficult friend. For the last weeks of school she was constantly angry at everyone, always getting into fights with this girl, and I had to deal with the entire school spreading rumours about my friend, saying she’s a bad person and sticking up for this girl who really ruined both our self esteems.

My friend cuts herself, and she doesn’t really let anyone see it, she has a good relationship with the safeguarding officer at our school which is positive, but I do worry about her. The other day she told me she wanted to run away again. She has a difficult home life and it troubles her, but she was talking about running away with a boy that is involved with gangs, is known to carry a knife into school and has some really poor choice in girlfriends.

At the same time this is going on, my family is going through something. My grandma is really sick and having a horrible time in hospital. I don’t think she’s going to die but it’s really hard on my dad, and as I’m starting school this week I’m having a lot of stress about that, but I don’t want to burden him, or my mum, who is being really helpful and supportive of my dad.

I feel really guilty about having all these problems and worries with school when my family is going through this. I know that it’s ok, and that my mum said I can talk to her, but it feels like too much is happening too fast.

It’s my last year at school, and we have really big exams, and all the teachers are putting a lot of pressure on to us. They tell us that our worth depends on our grades - in not so many words - and my two favourite teachers have just left.

My friend that i mentioned earlier got beaten up multiple times by different girls inside and out of school, so she is really worried about it. I’m worried about having to look out for her, doing my extra curricular which is so important for me, and revising. The school puts so much pressure on doing work outside of school, but honestly when i get home I just want to collapse.

A lot of people have been calling me a snitch, due to - I assume - the manipulative ex friend spreading rumours about something that happened last year. I have to deal with that, and the school’s ridiculously high expectations for me to get the top marks in all my subjects, which I know it’s not important, but I feel I’m letting people down if I don’t get the best grades.

I have exams in less than a month in science, and a 6 page long science homework to complete for Thursday. The first week of holidays I didn’t want to do anything, the next 3 weeks I was on holiday and now my nanny is sick and my family is in a crisis. I’m not in a place to do it, or at least to a good standard that’s expected of me.

It doesn’t help that I don’t trust my pastoral team. My head of year constantly interrupts and honestly whenever she walks into the room I get really nervous and stressed out. My pastoral tutor acts like his sole purpose is to get us to pass our exams, and he’s told my friend multiple times that her rather be eating his lunch than helping her with her problems.

Most of my classmates don’t like me, and I can deal with that, to most teenagers, I’m not a likeable person. But it still hurts when they hurl insults at me and treat me like less than a person, because I know that I haven’t done anything to deserve that treatment.

I’m really stressed and close to having panic attacks. I’m trying to stay positive and focus on enjoying it, but it just doesn’t seem realistic. My parents have told me not to take any of the teachers rubbish, and I really try, but half the time that makes me want to shout at the teachers or walk out the classroom, and maintaining positive relationships with teachers is important.

I’m gonna shut up now before I start rambling about sexism in the classroom and all my boy troubles

Sorry for bothering you with this, again, I know being an emotional toilet is a real strain, so don’t feel any way obliged to reply to this if you don’t feel you can.

Thank you though (I also really love lbaf)

Hello!

I'm just gonna start off by by saying what I tell you - or anyone else - should never be taken as therapeutic advice. I'm not a therapist in any capacity. Even if the words I share might be helpful for some people, it is not and should not be considered an alternative for professional advice.

Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me. I can see that it is a lot. I know you are not here for advice and you just wanted to get this off your chest. I hope this helped you.

But allow me to say just two things.

You seem very strong. You seem very smart. You are able to stand up to your friends. You are able to recognise when people try to manipulate you. But I do feel, like many children, you've forgotten an important thing. You are still a child. In the literal sense. So, you don't have to carry all of this with you. I know you don't want to be a burden. But it is LITERALLY the responsibility of your parents to support you in such circumstances. You shouldn't concern yourself about whether it will be a burden for them. It's what they are meant to do. So, don't feel guilty. We all have to do things even if it's difficult. But we do it because we want to do and because we have to. I know there is a lot going on, but your parents will figure out a way. You see, that's a superpower adults have. We have a lot of shit going on too. But we are a little better at compartmentalising things. We need to be able to mutltask better. You will get the hang of it as you grow up.

If you know a lot of people come to me asking for advice, then you must also know that many of them are not in a position to talk to their parents or asking for their help. But you seem you like you can. So, you must use it. Do not take their support for granted. You have to talk to them. If your friend is getting hurt by other people or if she is hurting herself, or if it is about you getting hurt by your school children or if it is the exams - whatever it is, talk to them about it.

They might not be able to solve your problems. But it is ALWAYS better when your parents know what's going on with your life. You need to tell them. Maybe talk to them about one thing. Think about the most pressing issue and tell them about it. It will make things a little better. Some of the problems you have - including the panic attacks - can be harmful. So, it's important that you talk to your parents - or any adult - about it. I said you're a smart kid. So, you know the sensible thing to do here. I don't like it when I'm wrong. So, don't prove me wrong, okay?

Once again, I'm reminding you are that you're a kid. While it might not be easy to accept, you need to understand your powerlessness. It's not a bad thing. You are supposed to lean on the adults around you at this point in your life. Trust me, this is the point in your life where you can ask for help without feeling guilty about it. So, you should do it. At least, that's what I think.

I hope everything goes well tomorrow. Take one day at a time. Even if the day goes well, come back home and talk to your mother. Tell her about your day. Talk.

You read tsc, don't you? Then you should know this by know. Talking to people and being honest solves 70% of the problems.

So, talk. It will help. I promise.

Sending you all my strength and love,

Dani x.

[imagine-loki]

The Maiden And The Giant

TITLE: The Maiden And The Giant CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 21 AUTHOR: MaliceManaged ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine falling through a portal into Jötunheim and running into a stranger named Loki, who decides to provide shelter out of the need for company, that eventually turns into love. RATING: T NOTES/WARNINGS: So, yeah, new chapter! Two… years… later… I’ll just… go sit in the corner of shame now. XD

_________________________

It felt like time had slowed or even stopped altogether, stretching on for far too long as Farbauti stood there staring at Kat in shock, then disbelief, and finally anger. She, a mere human, a creature so utterly inconsequential as to be overlooked for an entire year by those who so hated the realm they stood on and its people, had dared speak that way to the queen and highest commander, and about her children no less. Even Laufey knew to watch his words on the subject. And then the brat had the audacity to call her a fool. Farbauti had killed for far less. And by the look on Kat’s face, she realised that. Too little, too late.

In the moment Farbauti decided to move, several things happened at once: To the queen’s shock, Helblindi turned away from her and dropped Kat to the floor behind him then advanced towards his mother as Byleistr stood before Kat protectively; Farbauti faintly heard Laufey call her name from somewhere behind her and tell her to stop; and the unmistakable sound of the Bifrost reaching the realm was heard, the flash of light visible from the windows to the right of the hall.

Farbauti actively tried to pull back when she saw her son heading straight for her, the parental instinct she oftentimes had trouble reconciling with her own vicious nature winning out, but she still felt more than saw how her nails scratched angry lines down his face, barely missing his left eye. To Helblindi’s credit, he barely hissed in pain, so focused was he on protecting his friend. In that second’s hesitation as the queen tried to decide if it was worth going around her son and trying to attack Kat again, at the risk of her other child getting in the way; Helblindi had launched himself forward, tackling his mother by the waist and knocking her down just as Laufey reached them.

“You’ve lost your senses; are you trying to get us all killed?!” the king spat as he helped his son to keep the queen still.

Kat unconsciously clung to Byleistr as she watched them struggle with Farbauti until she calmed enough to be let up, though even then she kept her distance, not that he had any intention of letting her get any closer regardless, particularly with the glare the queen sent her way. Part of her was more than a little surprised that the brothers had actually moved to protect her, given how they hadn’t moved against Laufey all those months ago; she figured it might have to do with the fact that they didn’t have Loki to worry about this time.

“The Allfather has arrived,” Laufey continued when he was sure Farbauti wouldn’t try to go after Kat again, “I want this over with as soon as possible.”

“You and me both,” Helblindi grumbled half under his breath as he walked back to Kat and Byleistr, picking the former up by the waist and setting her down on his shoulder once more.

******

The aesir delegation made no comment on the fresh wounds on Helblindi’s face, for which Laufey was grateful even as he didn’t doubt that Heimdall would tell them what had occurred the moment they returned to Asgard. Still, better to have only one problem to deal with at a time.

“Very well, let’s not make this more painful than it needs be,” Odin finally broke the silence, “As you know; there was an attempt on Loki’s life-”

“An attempt you saw fit not to inform me of,” Laufey cut in coolly.

“I merely wished to have more information at hand before I did, as I trust young Kat told you.”

All eyes turned to Kat, who seemed to shrink a bit at the sudden attention, eyes wide. “I did!”

“She did, indeed,” Laufey concurred, turning the focus of the room back on himself, “That does not mean I fully trusted it to be the truth; it would not be the first time you use others as pawns.”

Kat got the impression there was a story behind that, given how Odin stiffened at the words, but she couldn’t begin to guess at what it might be; a confusion that seemed shared by Thor.

“Nevertheless, it is the truth,” Odin continued, wishing to get the conversation back on track.

“As you say,” Laufey replied impassively. He leaned forward in his seat. “And what have you to show for this delay? Have you any idea who wishes us at war once more? Or have you wasted our time and my son’s safety for nothing?”

“The one who dosed Loki’s glass was apprehended and questioned, but would not talk.”

“Perhaps I should pay them a visit, then,” Byleistr commented with a slight edge to his tone that left no doubt as to his meaning.

“Loki spoke quite highly of your abilities, and I am inclined to take his word for it, but I am doubtful it would bear much fruit; the poisoner fears whomever put her up to it too much to give up any names and likely knows nothing of real use besides.”

“Our enemies choose their pawns well,” Helblindi grumbled.

“Indeed.”

“So how do we draw them out?” Kat spoke up, “I doubt they’re going to think their plan worked for very long, and once they figure it out…”

“They might go after Loki again,” Thor guessed, reflexively tightening his hands into fists.

“Or have us expect them to while they target someone else entirely,” Byleistr countered, regarding Thor a bit curiously at his obvious displeasure at the idea of Loki being targeted again.

“In which case, they could well use this meeting as an opportunity,” Laufey added thoughtfully, “Particularly if they were not fooled after all by our little act. My house is secure, Borson; is yours?”

“Loki is well guarded, as is my queen,” Odin replied with certainty.

Laufey accepted his words with a sharp nod. “Then let us plan.”

He looked at Kat then to Helblindi, who nodded and stood. Walking around the table, Helblindi helped Kat down from her seat then up to his shoulder and turned to leave the room. Odin similarly indicated Thor to leave the room, understanding Laufey’s intent to compartmentalise information. And then the planning truly began.

******

Helblindi led them to an empty sitting room and had refreshments brought in, watching amusedly as Kat dove with gusto into a candy made of dried fruit, one of the few that still grew in the realm; it was hers and Loki’s favourite and she had truly missed it.

“I’ve debated sending some of that to Asgard for you and Loki, but I don’t think it would’ve survive the trip to him.”

“Oh, shut up,” Kat retorted, turning red, earning a chuckle.

“Something the matter, Odinson?” Helblindi asked rather sharply of Thor, who was eyeing his cup a bit warily.

“Blindi,” Kat scolded lightly then smirked, “Chill.”

Helblindi snorted and raised his hands in surrender then turned to Thor. “It’s beer,” he explained, “Made from a combination of roots common to the realm.”

“Try it; it’s really good,” Kat encouraged.

Thor eyed them both somewhat suspiciously then took an experimental sip, humming appreciatively at the taste before taking a larger drink. After a few cups, both him and Helblindi had relaxed significantly, which pleased Kat greatly, as she had no idea how much longer the meeting was going to go on and wasn’t looking forward to spending the time as mediator. Once they got to speaking about Loki, Kat was quite sure they could become friends given enough time, especially when they turned to swapping stories about how much trouble Loki could be. There was much she was worried about, so much they didn’t know and could happen, but for the time being she could enjoy this moment of peace and laughs with two dear friends.

[epicfics]

Humans Fic: 15 After Zero - 3) Humans Are Red, Synths are Blue

My black boot heels scrape the grainy pavement in a rush to get inside. There is no avoiding it – no matter how swiftly night is falling upon us, the sight of Leo Elster dragging a dead Synth through town is going to bring out stares fiercer than the burning sun. I don’t know where we’re going, but from what I understand, if you want to survive among humans but remain within proximity to Synths, renting a flat on the town boundary line will bring you close enough to the forests, which they have taken over.

My father is gaunt, especially pale under the glow of slivered moon. He doesn’t speak to me, except to direct me occasionally with left or right. Meanwhile, the Synth’s right arm makes a stiff, upside down L across my neck. He isn’t too heavy for me, but I’m also cursedly petite in comparison.

The town walls are within sight, we must be nearly there – but then the roll of cries begins, as high-pitched as opera and as incessant as a lawn mower. I wince at my twinging ears; I hear the words, “Play with your dollies in prison!” and “Go jump in a lake, Elster!”

Leo’s head does not turn, but I’d be happy to do so myself and deck who ever shouted that last blow. Telling someone who’s already drowned in a lake once to do it again is unforgivably redundant.

It turns out I am right about Leo living close to York’s walls. But I expected a proper flat, small, somewhat untidy. Maybe with an emo-looking cat inside. Instead, my father lives in a rusty shed, the size of Stonehenge in a box. When we reach it, he carefully slips out from under the dead Synth’s left arm to dig a small key out from his jeans. While he twists it into the padlock that chains the shed door to a drilled spike in the ground, he says without looking at me, “How’re you holding up with him there?”

My first impulse is to lie so that he’ll hurry up. Honestly, I barely feel weighted down. Not just by this Synth, but by objects in general. It’s one of the less irksome things about being me; I can grab as many books as I want from the library and Mum can get all of the groceries out of the car sooner. Of course, since I’m not allowed to show my freak flag to anyone outside of the safe home that she’s strived to create for me, I have to feign weakness.

And now, for once, I’m away from home and I don’t have to lie about it. Unfazed by my thoughtful silence, Leo, apparently already knowing the answer to the question before he asked it, pulled the door to the shed open and walked into a dark world smelling of paint and dirt. A bit apprehensive, I take slow steps forward, the Synth hanging on my back like a bulky cape of rocks. My father turns around – this time, he does look at me – and says gruffly, “Get him in here so I can turn on the light. And close the door,” he adds as I finish scuffling in. “No one can see what we’re doing.”

And what are we doing? I’ll admit, I haven’t thought so far ahead, as I’ve been in a rare state of shock for most of this day. It has briefly occurred to me that we might be honoring this Synth with a funeral.

This Synth…there were several Synths lying dead on the street from where we took him. We only took one. Why?

 Compartmentalising, I hand the Synth off to Leo and do as he says. Once the giant glass bulb dangling from the ceiling is radiating a ghostly white light, I even take a dust-caked line of rope and tie it from the shed handle to a hook on each side.

Leo sees this and nods approvingly, and I look at what he’s done. The body is lying across a table, connected to a computer screen, flickering with coloured coding, stationed above his head. An experiment? Looking down at his subject, I hear an unintelligible curse muttered, and Leo snatches a large pair of shears from the ground behind him.

“Louisa.” I start, the thrill of proof that he knows my name instantly shot down by an order. “Take these, cut his clothes off.”

“What?” I can put up with a lot, but this is weird even for me.

He approaches me, holding out the shears at an angle. “We don’t have time. Just…trust me, okay?”

With a bobblehead’s nod, I accept the shears. An odd look in his eyes, he raises his hand, and it wavers above my hair. No sooner do I realise he’s aiming for an affectionate gesture than he withdraws it and walks away.

My heart sinks. I won’t cry, not for the second time in front of him. Willing my focus to take over, I begin with detachment to cut away the Synth’s khakis.

I remember what Mum says. Have I mentioned yet how he was barely a better boyfriend to her than he is a father to me? I’m not surprised. I’m not. I’m just…disappointed, all the same.

My hands smoothly guide the shear blades up the pant leg. This is alright, I think, until I draw near the more private area. An inexplicable chill touches me – a fear that spreads through my lungs like liquid nitrogen. I hadn’t noticed before, hadn’t put my hands around the legs deep enough, but they are protruding with metal splinters from the thigh down. They have stuck my hands, and now my fingers are smeared with red blood and the same, sick blue of a Synth’s.

I stare, horrified. “No.” I smell something foreign, chemical, like bleach and rubber and metal…my head is high but my feet are down, my head is high but my feet are down.

Leo, who’d been assembling various tool for God knows what reason, looks back at me and yelps. As I shake feebly, my head spinning, he’s whipping a smudged white rag out of a box and running it over to a plastic jug of water. Once the cloth has been dampened and sprayed with a strong-smelling disinfectant soap, he comes over to me and begins roughly rubbing it over my hands.

It stings, and I unwillingly say, “Ow.”

“Sorry.” His eyes roam over me in concern for a pause, then he begins to clean my fingers more gently.

Three minutes later, my fingers are healed but my hands are still an ashy sort of blue. “It’s not coming off,” I quake in a whisper.

“It will,” he promises. He looks me in the eyes now, frowning slightly, as though I am a package he never sent for. “Do you…draw?”

I think I am in a permanent state of confusion with him. But he presses, “With markers? Like, Crayola?”

I shake my head. “The one time I did, I got the ink smeared all over my palms. I haven’t touched them since…”

Oh. I get it.

Giving an affirming nod, my father tells me, “Synth blood will wash completely off in give or take a few hours.”

I breathe freely again. It was such a big reaction for such a small thing, and he doesn’t judge me for it. He doesn’t even ask…

Leo turns back to the Synth. With a perplexing expression still on his face, he says, “I’ll take over. You can have a seat over there.” He flicks his head towards a broken mattress surrounded by wooden crates. Is that where he sleeps? He must read the alarmed look on my face as being residual trauma, because he now asks hesitantly, “Are you going to be okay?”

I nod, probably too many times to be convincing. But I move to the mattress and watch him work. Once the Synth’s clothes are cut off, and there’s nothing left but a nude, busted open android, Leo Elster does something else weird. No, it surpasses weird, because grabbing a pair of metal tweezers and pushing them back into the graft of a dead Synth’s skeletal structure is mental at the very least. Feel like asking him what he’s doing anytime soon? an unkind thought in my head voiced itself.

Almost as though he could hear it, Leo explains suddenly, “He’ll be charging in hibernation mode for a while.” Ducking his head around the light to put a dab of something that seems like silicone glue on the cuts, he goes on talking to me. “When he’s ninety percent he’ll need to be unplugged or it could risk short-circuiting him in this condition.”

Unable to go by without asking any longer, I shake my head. “He’s dead though. Why are you charging a dead Synth?”

Leo sighs, though whether it’s a patient or impatient sigh I have no idea at the minute; I don’t even know him at all. “He’s not going to be dead. I need to patch him up, activate his system, and upload the consci -.”

“Consciousness code,” I finish for him, jaw falling open. “You’re trying to bring him back?”

He was. And judging from his downcast countenance, I sense there’s more to it than to see if he can do it. No, the man I see has lost everything. Why wouldn’t he want to see if he can bring some of it back?

It is quiet for two minutes before Leo finally admits, “With all the Synths being wiped out in this war, it seems like they’ll all go extinct unless I figure this out. Who knows, maybe if they can be rebuilt and rebooted, humans will get tired of trying to kill them.”

Have you met any of them, Dad?  I want to ask. But this is a rare moment of disclosure for him, and I know he’s doing it for my benefit.

And I hate to change this subject, but I need to know.

“Did Mum tell you?”

Leo stops applying skin packs to the Synth and puts the equipment aside.

“Tell me what?” he asks, sounding careful.

“About me. About my…sensitivity.”

His lips twitch in a manner that I think might be him trying to form a sad smile for me, but he is too sad even for that. Leo answers, “She wrote to me. Sent pictures. Occasionally asked for my advice, although I was hardly equipped to give any. And yes, she told me. How you feel like your universe is one huge allergy. Everything’s too loud, too bright, the taste of food makes you sick. You have a hard time processing these things because a Synth’s senses are enhanced. And because I did too.”

Am I really having this conversation? Because my mother, bless her, can’t possibly understand what it’s like to be me. And all along, she’s handled my affliction so well because my father told her how it worked.

“Thank you,” I say suddenly.

He blinks, confused. “For what?”

Instead of answering, I stand from the mattress and walk over to the table. “Did she also tell you,” I say very seriously, “that I want to be a doctor?”

And in a case of miracles at work, a small smile is pulled from Leo Elster’s lips. “Would you care to take on your first patient?”

As we begin to trade pliers and surgical knives back and forth, I notice that my fingers are no longer blue. They are no longer red. 

They are the result of it – a faint tint of violet.