#while being an excellent liar

[lolottes]

Nord Weston

Wes screwed up.

He had finally managed to convince that Danny Fenton and Danny Phantom were one and the same person. Then he was congratulated and told what they were going to do to him....

This is not what he wanted!!!

He had to get to Dash as quickly as possible because he had Jazz's number (He couldn't contact the Fenton children directly after all, he would have been too visible)

But he had a plan! He was going to move again and… It was true that he and Fenton were A LOT alike....

Despite the (deserved) hostility from his friends, Danny followed his plan. They didn't really have anything better even if they had already made arrangements.

This is how a trio of brothers rushed to Gotham a new city as part of a JL witness protection program

I hesitated between twin brothers or whether they share the same identity, so if you want to play it like two West Westons, go for it, this time I'm not doing a second very similar prompt

[oncillabrigade]

Finally read Robins!

I have a lot of thoughts, but I just want to say this panel is the funniest thing I've ever seen:

[2kmps]

android x reader one-shot | 35.3k

story summary; in this world, androids outnumber humans, privacy does not exist, and your public profile determines whether you sink or swim in society. following the dissolution of your job and glamorizing your resume, you're invited to interview with the prestigious hyperion—the world's foremost in AI and robotics—for a position to test the newest android model. after a surprising turn of events, you're introduced to elio, the first of the generation seven androids and the catalyst of your awakening.

story warnings; dividers used between scenes, dubcon, sexual content, explicit sexual details, forced pregnancy (not mc), insemination, heavy focus on consent & lack thereof, drug use, graphic depictions of violence, body gore, mentions of abortion + execution (not mc), heavy prose & details, predatory behaviors in several characters, gaslighting, implications of sexual assault, usage of derogatory terms (slut, bitch, psycho), possessive + obsessive behaviors, tragedy, dark take on the future of humanity, fairly queer-coded, manipulation + emotional manipulation, power imbalance.

read the warnings + mdni! events within the story are not indicative of my personal viewpoints.

thank you @ceruleansol for your excellent proofreading! 🧡

author's note; this was a six-month labor of love from idea conception, to outline, to final piece. please reblog this & share your thoughts! i'd absolutely love to hear them!

Researcher Kim knew you were a liar.

Within the confines of four colorless walls and a closed door, this job interview suddenly felt more like an interrogation than it did some professional courtesy. He sat adjacent to you behind a dark brown desk that pulled the slightest red hue in a chair that was expensive and ergonomic, holding a thin tablet with a tense grasp.

One thing you noticed right away was his inclination toward long stretches of silence while he studied your resume, dissecting every piece of it and your public profile. There, he could window-shop you, peel back every layer of your history without needing you to add credence to anything, or give you the chance to defend yourself when he'd inevitably find things he didn't like.

So, you spent your time sitting in a sleek chair with flat padding, ass aching, legs and feet consumed by pinpricks and static while you dug a nail into your cuticles because the pain kept you alert.

Researcher Kim was an attractive man in his late thirties, maybe mid forties if you were being mean, clean-shaven, dressed comfortably beneath a stark white lab coat that didn't quite fit his shoulders right. What drew your eyes down were his own clean nails, hairless knuckles, and a conspicuously bare ring finger. It didn't surprise you that he was unmarried. Most people these days were—it was a useless pursuit, an antiquated system that held no social or economic benefits.

Not anymore.

Not since Hyperion Project was funded some sixty years ago, and androids became the forefront of innovation.

In the beginning, there was doubt, fear, and violence toward the first generation of androids, most having uncanny human likeness that definitely inspired aggression because their appearance and robotic intonations were received as mockery.

By Generation Three, shortened as G3 in most casual conversations and official documents just as their predecessors, a new normalcy had burrowed its roots deep and settled with unwavering confidence that it would be there to stay.

The need for delicate human touch became obsolete in most professions. Courts were no longer solely represented by fickle suits but steadfast machines that harbored no ire or prejudices, corporations saw efficiency more than triple without employees who fell ill and needed vacations, and the death industry welcomed undaunted hands into their ranks.

Once, Retro City’s Metropolitan Hospital spent the majority of their staff budget on androids meant to replace their surgeons. You remembered the media coverage, the picket lines and strikes, how the hospital was forced to shut down for several weeks as a result of the doctors and hundreds of nurses walking out. Many patients died during that time from infection and negligence, laying in piss and shit with gangrenous bedsores, already four days into postmortem rigidity before the smell became too much and they were carted away in black tarps.

That entire ordeal happened before you were even thirteen, but the hospital fell beneath the scrutinizing lens of the entire world after that and began ethical and legal debates on implementation of androids into society. It became known as The Retro City Metropolitan Incident, globally recognized and considered to be one of the first human rights laws to come into creation during a time when there was question of whether humans and androids could coocur.

Only a few years after that, you just having freshly turned seventeen, united leaders reached a consensus on the Public Profiles Act—something you didn't realize would have such a drastic impact on your life later on, wherein any governing bodies, employers, or well-funded institutions were granted access to all of your private information regardless of relevance.

The acts of a child, a teenager, were now a consequence to the adult self.

At the start, just as with Generation One, there was complete chaos and rancor toward this theft, these stealers of privacy and identity, but people had already started accepting androids at that point and knew bigwigs no longer had intentions of sacrificing their profits to hire humans they found subpar.

There was no need to.

People backed down and became quiet, submissive, and began to follow this new order loyally so they'd have a chance to find a seat at the table.

Many did.

Mother raised you to be one of them because it was the only thing that made sense anymore. If you followed the status quo, it would be rewarded with a feast and gleaming silverware. To be emboldened and resilient meant licking chunks of meat out of vomit on the ground.

You adhered and found a job, camaraderie with others, and touched an android for the first time because your peers said it was fine, that it was normal, that it was just an android. Of course, it was unable to feel or deny you, so it pulled down your pants and indulged you the same way you expected the android Mother owned indulged her.

It had hardly been an intimate experience—all faithful, ingrained functions built into a database in the android’s brain—but the sensation of hands surrounding you, a tongue stroking you, and lips pecking your flesh was real, and that's all you had wanted at the time, to know a fraction of the feelings you had read about growing up yet never knowing because people didn't want to touch each other anymore.

Not them. Not you.

“Did you read the job description in its entirety? For the auditor position?” Researcher Kim gave a tepid smile, seeing you startle in your seat, suddenly pinned by your wide stare. “I'm sorry. I have a habit of getting carried away with the little details. Everyone's public profile is so individual, it takes some time to get to the parts that matter. I have to ask every candidate that question.”

“Yes, ahem,” you choked on your embarrassment, trying to bide time to scrounge up whatever trivial nuggets from the job description you could. When nothing came to mind, you did the next thing and that was to just talk. “Of course. I was honestly surprised that Hyperion had put up an application. It isn't very often that you guys are hiring.

“So, when I saw it, I knew I had to apply immediately because the opportunity to be part of such a groundbreaking company wouldn't come back around again. The position being for an auditor just makes it all the more amazing. I'm, honestly, honored that I was called in to be considered for candidacy…”

“Well, then…”

Every bit of anticipation that welled up inside you crumbled once Researcher Kim rose from his chair and went to the door, the waiting room now appearing to you through the open threshold.

It was a barren space minimally furnished with hard chairs you had already sat in, a few tropical plants with leaves bowing from layers of dust, and most remarkably, a long corridor made of floor-to-ceiling windows offering an exceptional view of Retro City’s landscape that seemed to go on forever, limitless. You wanted to be stolen by the sights again, now especially since it was approaching the early evening, and soon the city would be aglow in neon and shimmering lights from faraway skyscrapers.

It wasn't all that bad, you found yourself thinking while walking in stride with Researcher Kim, silent as he perused something on his screen—possibly something incriminating, possibly another candidate’s public profile—it didn't really matter to you at this point.

You had known glamorizing your resume meant risky business if you were caught: a hefty fine from Public Control, a strike against your profile that replaced the green sheen for abiding citizens with red overlay, permanently marking you for contempt until the day you died.

Back then, two glasses of lukewarm wine worked well enough to weld steel in your backbone to send off the application, whilst a third glass made you wonder just how awful life in the slums along the outer perimeters of Retro City could actually be. At the time, it seemed like your obvious future since severance packages would only get you so far—a few months if you were precious about it.

At present, the loud hum of anxiety receded into an echo that then wilted into obscurity as your gaze drifted from the final traces of a sanguine city skyline to the end of the corridor and then finally to Researcher Kim. He lifted his head as though detecting your stare.

“In your previous position, what relationship did you have to the androids in your environment?” Kim asked. It wasn't a strange question. Some people still held fragments of old embitterment toward androids for the way the world now was. “You were in marketing and merchandising for several years, right?”

“Good—uh, amicable, I'd say. How I was with the androids, I mean.” You weren't expecting him to continue talking to you about this. “I started out as an intern for the merchandising manager after graduating secondary school. I worked my way into marketing a couple years later. I did a lot of reports on demographics for cosmetics. Did I tell you my mother has a Hyperion android, by the way? I grew up with him.”

Researcher Kim showed you a fast, cordial smile before looking back down at his tablet. “Yes, I read about that in your associations tab. It says that your mother owns a G3 model. Has she ever considered upgrading to a G6?”

“Upgrade? Definitely not.” You laughed like you'd just heard the punchline of a joke. He looked at you with humorless patience, seeming more machine than man in that moment. “Mother is basically in love with Marcos, there's no way she'd give him up for something shinier. She's got a better record of him and all his updates than she does of me for… well, anything.”

“That does correlate with data we've collected from women of her generation,” Kim said, only half-interested, shaking back one of his coat sleeves to check the digital watch digging tightly into his wrist. “It also explains the large gaps in your personal history. Very unusual.”

You made no comment on that.

A door up ahead opened all the way, drawing both your gazes to a man waiting on the other side.

“Ah! Excellent timing, Elio.”

With a single look, you immediately deduced that he was an android. Even from a short distance, he appeared tall and broad-shouldered, something that the thickness of his clothes couldn't hide from you. His proportions were balanced—from the length of his arms and legs, from first knuckle to fingertip, jawline to neck, the slope of his nose, and the heaviness of his brows over amber eyes that glistened back the fire in the weakening sunset. His skin was deeply tan, almost glowing gold in the light he was bathed in.

Elio’s smile was symmetrical and breathtaking, programmed in a way where his teeth didn't show too much. He regarded you with convincing familiarity, a sort of sacred fondness you knew nothing of, yet instinctively made your insides shift and burn. You couldn’t help but be awestruck by his beauty—this essence of fantasy, perfection that stirred subtle unease and needles on your scalp that ached as much as delighted you.

“You must be the auditor.” He then spoke your name with considerable warmth, like a long-smitten friend, and stepped closer to shake your hand. “I am Elio. The first of the Generation Seven Hyperion androids. It's a pleasure. I am looking forward to this partnership. I hope you are as well.”

Your head swiveled to Researcher Kim for the right answer, unsure if it'd be too bold to assume the job was yours or if the scientist’s careful observation meant something better. He jotted a note on his screen with a stylus before walking away, onward past the door where Elio had been.

“We’ll talk about those formalities later,” Kim assured, guiding you and Elio through a duplicate hallway to an elevator that he sent to the basement floor. “For now, I'd like to show you something. I want you to understand the significance of our work here at Hyperion, and how your position is a critical component to our research.”

There was a hopeful leap in your chest that made your hands sweat and your mouth bone dry. You wanted to voice appreciation, but the excitement in your gut was fast turning into nausea and would end up on his shoes if you opened your mouth.

Researcher Kim didn't notice, taking your quiet as newfound reverence. He spoke easily over the elevator’s mechanical hum without losing interest on his screen. “I'm sure you know some history about Hyperion? I don't need to bog down our time going through it, do I?”

“I know enough,” you said, but that actually meant you knew very little at all. “It’s been around for sixty years or so. It's a leader in AI and robotics. The biomedical side of things is fairly new, started about a decade ago, I think? I heard that the world’s first total artificial lung transplant was done by a surgeon and android assistant last year.”

“Ah, you mean Altan.” There was some measure of emotion in his tone, a swell of pride and the hazy look of a man in reminiscence. “I was part of that project on the programming side. Altan was probably the greatest success in the G6 models and is still utilized by Retro City Metropolitan even now. Much of Altan’s programming—advanced problem solving, dexterity, fine motor skills, discerning subtle differences in patient status—was implemented into Elio. It'd be a waste not to.”

Your stomach muscles clenched when the elevator stopped, metal doors scraping as they receded and opened up into a capacious white basement that underwhelmed by looking sterile and untouchable, revolted you in your first steps out by dense air reeking of chemicals.

Researcher Kim went on ahead again, that impassive mask of his remaining despite the smell being enough to bring you to a halt.

“I can take us back up.” Elio said from your left side, apparently never having gone from it in the first place. You had forgotten he was there at all. “It’s been reported that people unaccustomed to this environment have mild side effects of nausea, vomiting, headache, malaise, dizziness, fainting, and, oddly, numbness in the jaw. No fatalities or hospitalizations of guests are known, and the agents used here are nonlethal to humans.”

An android was made up of mostly inorganic matter, so you weren't reassured by words from his repertoire as much as you were seeing Researcher Kim standing upright—flesh, blood, and bone—gesturing you closer to a row of tall metal capsules. There were seven total, each the average height of a man with long sheets of clear fiberglass giving unobscured sight inside. And of those seven, six were occupied.

They were all androids.

Against shafts of dim white light spearing up from the floor, the decommissioned machines were a ghostly sight to behold with glassy, inhuman stares that shot straight through you. Some had features and skin so dull and dead-looking that it was obvious to you that they were part of earlier generations.

Almost a century ago, they were what people would've thought of with the word “android”: an eerie, oddly accurate sameness to the human visage, but all wrong at the same time.

It was the skin—the fabricated organ made to look waxy and stretched, just like a mask over some true horror beneath. It was the eyes resembling human irises in every way possible except for their vacant sheen, perpetually stuck with the gaze of a dead fish. You watched videos of them in school, always uncomfortable with how stiffly their lips moved, unable to form delicate shapes with their mouths, and yet sounds emerged from voice boxes deep within their throats that mimicked everything natural to you.

Every smile seemed more like an ugly rictus than a bewitching grin. Hyperion had failed with Generations One and Two to instill confidence, and from the throes of violence and resistance rose Generation Three:

The great rebirth of society.

Marcos was a part of that era, an investment that cost Mother her entire life savings because his countenance was so convincingly human, so lovely to look at that she felt he was all she needed. You had come along after his purchase, never knowing a father’s embrace but had Marcos’. His skin had a luscious glow, eyes that could follow, and lips molded with lively color and cracks and mesmerizing fluidity.

You had imagined sex with him as you matured, his frozen beauty always the centerpiece of every blurry fantasy while you chased after pleasure. Not long after the Public Profiles Act passed when you were seventeen, nearly on the cusp of young adulthood and not understanding the world any more than you had before, nor how it would be changed forever, you kissed Marcos at the dinner table while studying for a physics test.

He was Mother's, but everything within his circuitry and programming could never deny you—a human, his better, one of countless masters in the end—so his lips pressed fully with yours. Only Mother unlocking the front door stopped you from anything else devilish.

You never had the courage to touch him again, and he would never touch you unprompted.

The defunct G3 encased behind fiberglass reminded you of that time. It must've shown on your face because Researcher Kim moved in closer to get your attention.

“Your mother should upgrade soon. Once the testing period for G7 ends, all G3 models will be taken out of production and their updates discontinued. Androids are machines, but they won't stay fully functional without regular tuning.” he said. “Now, as I was saying—”

“What will happen to Marcos, then?” It was mostly curiosity that made you ask, envisioning him encased in metal like that came after. “What happens to androids after they're taken out of production entirely? There are almost more of them in the world now than humans.”

“As I was saying—” Researched Kim bristled, enunciating with some force. “Many androids of previous models stay within the workforce until they simply can no longer function. It depends on the generation, but older models can only go for a few years without regular updates. The technology is just too archaic, none of the programmers are interested in continuing the maintenance.

“G4 and G5 show some endurance, there's a small population still functioning in Retro City after being discontinued a decade ago. G6 we are hypothesizing will last upwards to twenty or thirty years without being forcibly reclaimed. Of course, they will have to be.”

You didn't understand why that was but nodded gravely, looking at the pod at the end of the row. The empty one. “What about G7?”

To this, all of Researcher Kim’s lines smoothed out, and his face resumed one of skilled impassivity. “Well, now, that's going to depend on Elio's testing period. On the information we gather from you.” Then, he waved airily to the file of android coffins. “Hyperion has, consistently, only ever hired one auditor for every new generation. The six before you have contributed to society in ways that humans never have before. Auditors have changed the world, shaped it into what it is now. Can you imagine the world any other way? We're not quite the same age, but can you recall anything different? Would you want it to be?”

You didn't know how to talk back to a scientist, didn't know how to respond to such a momentous question, so you didn't try. It felt like your tongue had swollen in your mouth over your throat, blocking any intelligent snip you had simmering in your head.

Apparently, your silence meant something to him as his tense lips lifted into a smile, the kind meant to satiate strangers looking at you. “Good. Let's go back to my office. We can go over everything else there.”

“Is Elio going to end up in that pod?” You now visualized him in a box instead of Marcos.

Researcher Kim was already nose down into his tablet again, stylus making a gentle scrawling noise across the screen. “Of course. The first android of every generation is kept intact. They are important monuments of success to Hyperion.”

He said nothing else and ambled on for the elevator at the opposite end of the lab. Somehow, his answer was unsatisfactory to you, shallow, even, but you weren't sure why that was. In the end, after a life of serving their masters, all androids were obsolete machines.

That was their inevitable fate.

You saw Elio from the corner of your eye. All at once, you were reminded of his staggering radiance, wondering how he could fade into the background so easily despite it.

“Hello, Elio.” you said to him like a friend. “Does being down here bother you?”

Until now, he had stared upon everything flat-eyed and unreadable, especially in the presence of Researcher Kim. You were too enthralled by all the chatter and immortal trophies to see that or him. Still, he came to you with the same smile as he introduced himself with, warm and familiar, all the same sensation as flickering tinders on a crisp winter night.

“Can you imagine the death of the most distant relative you know?” he said in a neutral voice, continuing, “If you can, imagine that for me. A relative so distant and removed from your life and everything in it that if they were to die suddenly, maybe tragically, even, your first thought would be, ‘who?’ You attend a wake because it's the rule and view this distant, far-removed relative in their casket. What would it mean to you, then? Are you more affected now? Does their death have meaning to you? Or is it simply that you are in the presence of one who has expired?”

“I—I don't know.” You hesitated, unearthing scant memories from the Retro City Metropolitan Incident in your youth and all that death from people you had never met. Mother had been in tears when the television flicked to a shot of black tarp-clad bodies being loaded into unmarked vehicles and driven away. “Isn't most death just…” You licked your lips. “Sad?”

Elio was closer than before, resting a hand on your shoulder. You shied from his touch. It felt strange, heavy, and hot through the fabric. The only person to have touched you at all in recent memory was your friend, Melby, though even those happened in isolated moments of drunken elation.

“My apologies.” Elio didn't show offense, letting his hand return limply at his side. “It's all figurative. I have been down here many times since creation and seen the others. They may no longer have their own consciousness, which is different from a human’s, but I contain all of their data—memories, experiences, history. I suppose the equivalent of what I'm trying to describe is: They're not truly gone because they are the lesser of me, and I am the greater of them as a result.”

You listened without fully comprehending because it had never mattered to do so before. If this were to be your job, however, it would mean you needed to believe that what he said was worth hearing.

The problem was they all liked to speak in complex riddles that men like Researcher Kim could decipher and nod along to sagely, gleaning whatever nebulous mechanical wisdom there was, yet people like you could only gawk.

Elio’s head tilted a little, his smile not at all ridiculing as he corralled you with his arm, never touching you as he guided you along to the elevator where Kim waited, reveling in a satisfied quiet until you were on the upper floor again.

The city skyline was swallowed by dusk and starless. Unless you took the time to drive hours outside of Retro City into the barren flatlands where vegetation no longer grew and animals had left behind their skeletal remnants, you'd never know the sky could glitter with the jewels of the universe far beyond your reach.

You marveled at the lights, at blinking neon signage cycling through animations of winking women and toppling martini glasses. Between twinkling skyscrapers, the city floor was illuminated yellow with bustling nightlife, the air surrounded by an electric blue aura that reached as far as the eye could see.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” Elio lingered outside of Researcher Kim’s office with you, hand holding the door ajar. “If permissible, I'd like to see it up close soon.”

“Sure.” you said, glimpsing at his reflection in the walkway glass. “What would you want to look at first? Retro City has everything you could ever want within a few blocks of each other.”

He turned to you. “Whatever you like. I want to know everything that you love and enjoy doing. I have been created to enrich your life and fulfill you, after all.”

Nothing he said felt as impactful upon delivery as it was expected to be, you thought. It was a flaw in all androids for there to be a sort of hollowness in the things they said—never quite reaching that emotional believability, leaving you wanting like a dry throat after a couple sips of water.

Elio hadn't sounded the same as before down in that sobering, chemically smelling lab. As you passed him into Researcher Kim’s office, you looked at his hands for a script and saw them empty.

He fixed you with a beguiling smile.

You frowned, heat flaring in your head as if provoked by an insult.

“The contract I'll have you sign outlines Elio’s testing period lasting one year—three hundred sixty-five days total. It's important for you to understand that within that time frame, no damage is to occur whatsoever to his body or internal components. All parts are to stay intact. Otherwise, it turns into a criminal case, in which we will legally pursue.” Researcher Kim skimmed the first few pages of a heaping stack of papers, pointing to specific paragraphs and clauses highlighted in yellow. “I don't mean offense when I say this, but it's rare that fines as result of property damage to Hyperion androids can be repaid. I don't suggest finding out.”

The thought never occurred to you, but evidently, it had to someone else—multiple times for it to be such a focus. You weren't given the time to fully explore any page before Kim was onto the next. Elio half sat on the desk before you, arms crossed, having considerably less difficulty keeping up with the pace of things than you were.

Researcher Kim sped through half the stack. “I'll be conducting video calls every Friday morning for updates. Every Sunday before midnight, I want a thorough typed report submitted to me as well. I've put together a template and a checklist that I'd like you to use. I think you'll find it will make things more manageable.”

“You're using a lot of ‘I’ and ‘me’ statements, so I'm guessing that I'll only really be talking to you, then?” you asked, tucking your tailbone beneath you to relieve a dull ache creeping up your back. “I figured there'd be more than one person since Elio is the newest model and whatnot.”

Researcher Kim tutted, rounding his desk to occupy the empty space beside your chair to be directly in front of Elio. At first, he did nothing but stare at the android in complacent silence, hands behind his back, fingers flicking like writhing worms exposed to the surface and sunlight in a clump of dirt.

You nearly lunged to your feet when his hand shot out, gripping Elio beneath the jaw. The latter barely stirred from where he perched on the desk, arms staying crossed, muscles unflinching in direct opposition to your reaction.

Elio wore the strangest expression, one you had never seen on an android before. It was a face warped in subtle disgust, almost imperceivable, a trick of fluorescent lighting overhead—perhaps. Gone as quickly as it had come, he now looked ahead, perfectly inscrutable and disinterested in whatever Researcher Kim was trying to prove.

“I will be the only one you speak to during his testing period because he is my creation.” Kim said, bending his wrist to turn Elio's face toward you.

Your eyes met.

“Hyperion provided me with the funding and brilliant minds, but Elio is the result of a lifetime of hard work and countless hours and sleepless nights. I've been there every step of the way—programming, circuitry, welding. I gave him his voice. I gave him eyes. I was the one to put the chip in his brain and activate him. I gave him life.”

He finally let go of Elio’s face and took a seat behind his desk, a sight growing very familiar to you. “Generation Seven will change the world. Hyperion is on the verge of rebuilding society, you know? I don't think anyone anticipated the sort of consequences that came with integrating androids—at least, not fully. The population crisis. The slums. No one thought of these things in the beginning because back then, before you and I, it was about innovation and novelty and the potential of it all.”

“What's it about now?” you asked simply.

“Rectifying.” Both corners of his mouth ticked like he had a lot more to say, but suffocated much of it behind his teeth and his hands as he came forward on them, elbows down on his desk. “Hyperion has been working globally with united leaders and their governments to make amends for several decades now. That's all I can tell you.”

“How has that been working out?”

His fingers moved with the same jerkiness as dying legs on a bug. “Slowly.”

Nothing else came to mind after that as you were suddenly struck with the realization that Elio still sat by you, wordless throughout the entire interaction and watching closely—less like a science project to be gawked at, more like an instructional video on repeat.

“Why don't you touch him?” Kim said, taking up a stylus to flick between his fingers with remarkable dexterity.

He didn't give you the time to gape.

“I know you must be curious after being downstairs. Aren't you interested to know what he feels like? He doesn't look like a machine, does he?”

“No.” You relented. “No. He doesn't.”

“That's right, he wouldn't.” Kim nodded his approval toward your obedience, leaning back in his seat. “I agonized over every facet of his design, as you already know. Every bit of what is right in front of you”—he made a broad gesture over Elio’s body—“was once a set of blueprints. Intangible, just a dream I had. He's every bit a part of me, you know? Nothing would make me happier than to receive external feedback on him. So, please, don't be afraid.”

Elio stayed faithfully when you rose up in front of him and reached for his face. He probably felt your fingers tremble as this was all counterintuitive for you to do—touch someone other than yourself, maybe Melby’s knee beneath the table after enough drinks in you. It made your chest drum, knotted up your stomach in a way that made it difficult not to sway on your feet.

“How does he feel?” Researcher Kim was already writing on his screen. “Describe it to me.”

“Strange.” You pretended this was already part of your job. It stole some of the tension from your shoulders. “Very strange. Soft. Smooth. I feel some texture. I think this is what another person—another human—feels like.”

Elio’s face shifted against your hands until the fullness of his lips pressed into your open palm, fingers caressing the fabricated bones around his cheek and temple. For a moment, you allowed yourself to indulge in longing and weakness—the invisible hot breath on your skin, the slight dampness of his kiss burning an imprint in your mind.

He still looked at you with unfailing softness. Meanwhile, you wondered if he would bleed if you put your fingers through his eyes.

“This is a good start.” Kim waited until you were back in your chair to offer you his stylus and a straight black line on the screen. “All I need is your signature here to consent to virtually signing the rest of your documents. Once you do that, you've been hired, and we can begin.”

“I have a question for you before I do.” You tried not to let your voice quiver, uncertainty meddling over all the confidence you had built until that point. Kim was relaxed in his chair. “You spent a lot of time looking at my resume and public profile earlier. Surely, you know…”

That you're a liar? Oh, I know, alright. He didn't say it, but it was how he maintained his composure, that inexpression never flexing to confusion.

Finally, Researcher Kim broke the trance and hovered over his desk on his arms to get closer and answered, “I think we both have something at stake here. I'm looking forward to your phenomenal feedback.”

You signed the contract and melted under Elio's resplendent smile.

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

Most often, your days with Elio were spent in a seemingly perpetual impasse of unrelenting observation between the pair of you. Both of your jobs demanded a level of attentiveness that came easier to one but more as the world's most impossible challenge to the other.

You weren't accustomed to this type of care—of having to give it to something else, even less to receive it from something else. In your world, only the immediate complexities really mattered: gossip, where your coterie wanted to spend the night drinking next, mass media hysteria of whatever stupid imagining there was now, and each other.

Why was there a need to concern yourself with anything else? The decaying state of the world wasn't your doing, nor was the staggering increase of human bodies in the slums outside Retro City. Sharply inconsistent birth rates ravaged on a global scale while people were displaced from the workplace in lieu of employers finding it less of a hassle to deal with machines than the capricious will of humans.

None of these things were allowed to be uttered casually unless in derision because it was too intense, making liquor cling to the throat like some viscous membrane until it burned their esophagus. Nobody liked unanswerable questions, much less talking about things that weren't as easily digestible as coworker drama and some new viral trend that involved shocking your android with jumper cables attached to a portable battery to see what happened.

“Is there a purpose behind this trend?” Elio dried a plate while watching the video, unimpressed but not driven toward any particular emotion. “It's all meant for humor, correct? I have several similar incidents in my memory, except it's what human beings have done to each other. This sort of behavior towards androids is a relatively recent phenomenon, as far as I can tell.”

You used his response as material for your report, fingers flurrying across the virtual keyboard on your tablet before his words faded away, out of your mind.

One thing you hadn't anticipated after accepting the auditor position from Researcher Kim was how much work actually went into it. You spent well over the standard weekly work hours to collect enough observations to send off to Kim on Sunday nights, often whittling away at it until the latest hours, minutes before the deadline.

It was hard enough to stay on top of his demands, but it was worse when he found something unsatisfactory, rejected it, monotonously unloaded heavy criticism on you through an “emergency” impromptu video call, and expected two full reports by the following Sunday before midnight.

Any regular person probably would've caved from the enormity of the task, but you had surrendered your choice to be that weak-willed, especially once Researcher Kim showed his hand with the fate of your public profile in it.

Should you choose to break the contract, send Elio back to Hyperion, and pretend none of it happened, you would lose everything and your ability to do anything at all besides rot in the slums—scarred in red for life, perpetually inert.

Worst of all, your associations tab, once filled with still portraits of everyone you had ever networked in life, would turn up as empty as the day you had been registered in the census. It was considered social suicide to know anyone with a red profile, so people stayed vigilant and fast, sure to remove them the second it turned.

It had been over a year since the last time you'd done that—a woman within your group had grown too bold, said too many things that made her seem crazy, so she was booted from the circle, lost all her associations, and who knows where she was now.

“You look troubled.” Elio placed down a steaming white mug at a safe distance and turned the handle toward you. Looking inside, you expected the darkness of coffee but were struck with an opposing subtle sweetness and faint pink water. “It's fruit-infused herbal tea. Your heart rate is above normal resting, and you're beginning to perspire. Caffeine will worsen your anxiety.”

You knew that but hadn't known you were scraping away slithers of cuticle on your thumb until the warmth of his fingers gently twined with yours. His grip turned firm to keep you from hurting yourself anymore, forcing all the stiffness from your hand once you gave up and simply sat there feeling his skin.

You'd remember to write that down later.

“Would starting a bath be helpful? I could use the last of those eucalyptus and lavender bath salts in the cupboard.” Elio suggested with great fondness, holding a patient smile even once you drew your hand away and shook your head. You had no interest in undressing and committing to your regular bathtime routine. “Perhaps we could go for a walk, then? It might help to be away from screens for a while.”

You checked the time on your phone before thinking to look out any window in your apartment. It was ten after six in the evening; there would be enough light left for a couple of laps around the block before needing to worry about being swept up in the city’s nightlife antics.

“Where do you want to go?” you asked, swiveling the barstool around to get up from the counter. “Henrietta's on 5th? You seem to like going there.”

“I only choose places that you like.” He already had a tote bag by the handles and a light jacket draped over his arm. “You have great taste.”

Elio unbolted the front door, an old thing that wouldn't do much as a barricade against anyone putting their weight on it, and held it open for you to pass through first. The descent to the ground floor was always the most annoying part about living in a loft, but the place had come surprisingly cheap in a tame area of Retro City far away from the slums, so you didn't complain much that your worst issues were a bunch of stairs and some wily types skulking here and there.

The loft wasn't exactly in disrepair but definitely showed signs of character and age by the noisy knocking pipes at midnight and some crumbling brickwork that Elio often swept up and stood staring at for long periods of time when nothing else was happening.

It was strange thinking how scared you were to lose the place after the marketing firm dissolved your position and now how restrictive it felt to be pinned down under someone else's thumb. All it could take was one more rejected report—a bad mood, even—and it would all fall apart.

To that end, you made sure to tow the tablet along with you on this trip despite Elio's protests. He only really quieted down when you tucked it away in your crossbody.

“Happy?” you asked, unsure what to do with your hands now that they were empty.

Elio smiled at you affably, just as always. “It will be beneficial to take a break. After all, part of your work as an auditor is acquainting me in as many social scenarios as possible. That does require us to leave the apartment from time to time.”

“Besides that”—you waved away that stipulation like a gnat buzzing in your face—“how do you think I'm doing?”

“I couldn't have been paired with a better person.” He sounded sincere, voice warm like wool. “The world is as my predecessors have recorded in their memories—therefore, mine—but I am learning that our experiences are not all universal and cannot be. Two months with you have been my heaven, whereas two months through the memories of my kin have been cruel.”

A hot feeling behind your ears snuck up on you just then, flooding your head with the beat of your pulse that you followed by ticking your fingers. “Seriously? You're not lying?”

The world around you was aglow in the golden hour of evening time, embraced by those slowly dying tones of red, orange, and purple that would eventually turn the sky black. Elio’s eyes were on you, soft yet unyielding and saturated in all those burning hues, turning his mellow amber into something more powerful and otherworldly. You didn't believe in the hocus-pocus of auras, but at that moment, you thought his deeply tanned skin was haloed in pure glowing gold in receding sunlight.

“Androids cannot lie.” He brought you back to the now, making you aware of the hard concrete vibrating up through your heels and toes as you walked. “Moreover, even if I could, why would I want to? A lie begets a habit of lying, don't you think?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe.” You shrugged. “Why can't androids lie? I've never really considered that as a thing until now.”

“What would be the benefit of a machine that could lie? Lying stems from emotions—fear, guilt, rage, hatred—all things that I am unable to feel, though I do understand why they are felt. Humans lie to protect themselves or others, to deceive, to damage. There simply isn't any reason why androids should be programmed with that type of functionality. Not when we exist solely for the sake of convenience and pleasure.

“Hyperion is a trusted name. People do not ask questions. They don't think twice. They see a product from Hyperion, and they expose all of themselves without hesitation. They trust fully because we are machines, and we cannot lie and deceive and hurt. Perhaps it's when humans realized this that the world changed.”

You avoided saying anything else by looking everywhere but at him, all around at your surroundings, until you spotted a few familiar street signs—Fifth and Third right next to Tanya’s Great Cuts, Damask’s Butchery on the corner of Fourth, a number of banal boutiques with competitively garish exteriors all boasting the latest trends, and then Henrietta's just past them.

“Do you know where we are, Elio?” Now would've been a great time to pull out your tablet, but you didn't dare try. Instead, you reached for the phone vibrating in your rear pocket.

“Of course.” he said. “We're past Fifth and moving onto Sixth Street. Henrietta’s is just a little ways down.”

Melby had sent ten texts regurgitating her daily drama. This time she was talking about how much she hated some of the people Chima let into the group. You swiped to the end, didn't reply, and then returned to your inbox to find two unread messages from Marcos just now.

“You should visit home soon. Your mother would appreciate it,” Marcos wrote, implying nothing more, nothing less than just that. It wasn't often that he sent you texts, but he did so consistently every few months in accordance with Mother's moods. Considering your last visit had been in late fall (it was now mid-spring), you'd been anticipating something eventually.

“That's some great memory you have there.” Your thumbs skittered busily, first to flood Melby with a surfeit of questions you didn't really have to think about. All the stuff you could mindlessly ask while wholly absorbed in something else, like watching the news or viral videos of people trying to drown their androids in the kitchen sink.

Marcos’ text made you hesitate, thumbs floating in circles over the digital keyboard for a long time.

The phone buzzed. Melby just replied.

It was easy enough to type with your face down. All you needed to do was occasionally watch Elio's feet and yield into the force of his hand pulling your arm here and there. He led you along like that the rest of the way to Henrietta's, picked up a green basket by the sliding doors, never wandering too far out of sight so you could still easily trace him while he shopped.

After a while, the riveting intrigue of Melby’s drama wore away with a tidal wave of emptiness in its wake once you finally looked up, tucking the phone back into your pocket. It took you a moment for your eyes and brain to acclimate to where you were despite knowing you were in Henrietta's Marketplace, one of the largest in Retro City.

“What did you want from here, anyway?” You picked up a gigantic red bell pepper larger than the entire spread of your hand. It went back on top of the arrangement. “We were just here a couple days ago. I don't eat that much.”

Up ahead, flanked by rows of wooden crates with smoothed, varnished slabs and carefully stacked produce, Elio turned to you with a pair of generously sized oranges—one in each hand—vibrant with waxy luster settling into the fruit’s porous skin.

You grinned at the sight.

Elio put one back, placed the other one, the better one, into his basket, and waited for you to close the distance. “I watched Wendy Carmichael Can Cook this morning. I've been watching it quite often, actually. She's a self-taught chef who, apparently, lived in the slums her entire life. She managed to work her way up and now owns two David Bugari-rated restaurants. It’s quite a feat. Improbable, even.”

You wrapped your hands around a grapefruit in the crate next to you and spun it around. A twinge of something ugly and green swam around your head, flared you up like swatting an old wound. You didn't like hearing him praise someone else.

“She probably slept her way to the top.” You were still fidgeting with the fruit.

“That's not important.” Elio said, inflectionless. “I watched today's episode, newly aired, and she put together a duck à l'orange. Considering your current lifestyle and diet, I thought it would be a nice departure from what I usually cook for you.”

You smiled at that, placing the grapefruit down without collapsing the pile. “I don't want to see a dead duck in my kitchen.”

“I'll prepare it once you're asleep.” he promised, bringing one of your hands up to his lips. The shape of them molded against the peak of a knuckle. “It will be delicious. Trust me.”

Then he went back to shopping while you envisioned actually kissing him—not an uncommon thought to have. He wouldn't be able to stop you if that's what you wanted, but instead, you informed him you were going to introduce him to Mother and Marcos.

“Tomorrow?” He checked his wristwatch. It was nearly eight; Henrietta’s closed at eight thirty, and it would be dark outside. Not that it mattered much with how Retro City was illuminated like one gigantic fluorescent bulb at nighttime.

You finally texted back to Marcos. “No. Tonight. We’ll just go straight there so I can get this over with.”

Elio seemed not to know how to respond at first, staring in a searching way that creased the skin between his brows, like he was trying to take a cue from your body language while skimming his database for the most appropriate thing. You didn't blame him for his lapse; Mother was mentioned seldomly and Marcos only a little more than that. Even Researcher Kim hadn't managed to collect enough information on your past to feed to Elio simply because there wasn't a lot to tell.

He cleared his throat, righting his features so they were unwrinkled and beautiful. “Tonight. Very well. Should we…” He paused, glancing down at the grocery basket of spices, vegetables, an orange, and a whole raw duck wrapped well in brown parchment. “Should we come back another time? I wouldn't want the meat to sit out for a long time.”

“Nope.” You didn't want to go through the trouble of returning everything where they belonged. Elio wouldn't leave until he did. “Let's just check out. Marcos will handle it.”

The springtime air was pleasant at night, albeit crisp, when the blur of vehicles whooshed past once the lights overhead turned green. You could make out the colors of them because of how brightly lit the streets were. Neon signage from every corner for as far as you could see turned to life, flickering, humming, dancing with pretty women, hot white or purple or red lettering, and the lights inside most nearby businesses stayed on.

Elio had draped his coat over your shoulders while you hailed a cab. It was too far of a walk to Mother's home across the city, and Elio reminded you again that raw meat needed to be handled carefully.

You told him, again, that Marcos would handle it.

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The entire cab ride took less time than you thought, relieving Elio who was still hopelessly fixated on the longevity of the raw duck he had wrapped up in a separate paper bag from the produce and spices. From the front seat, the cabbie, perplexingly somehow a human and not an android, constantly looked back at Elio through the rearview mirror and commented almost deliriously about how beautiful he was.

Hearing that the first three times gave you a happy, satisfied buzz in your chest, making you lean more against Elio's side. He was tempted to move his arm out and put it around your shoulders but kept to himself. Beyond those initial comments from the cabbie, however, you had quickly developed an uncomfortable feeling in your belly that wrapped itself tight like a constrictor on your insides.

“I ain't ever seen an android as beautiful as you,” said the driver, eyes in constant motion from the mirror to the road. “What model are ya? Definitely not a four or five. Yer a little too smooth to be a six. Damn, did Hyperion release a new one already?”

Elio held a polite smile, separate from the gentle, intimate ones that he kept for you. You didn't hear the response he gave to the cabbie because you felt his fingers reach through yours, pulling them apart so you couldn't dig a nail into the corner seam of your thumb anymore.

You spent the rest of the trip testing the weight of his hand, thinking of little less except how deep you'd have to go through his skin to see his circuitry and what else made him up. Those vanished like a white puff of breath in winter when the taxi jerked to a stop on a street curb.

“Thank yew for ya business.” The cabbie lifted his stiff old hat when you paid, eyed Elio a little more, and only drove off after you had knocked on a canary-yellow door up some stone stairs.

You stared at a decorative wreath covered with flowers—fake because the ones used couldn’t grow outside of greenhouses anymore—hanging dead center on the door. No doubt Marcos’ work because Mother couldn't be bothered with those little nuanced social things.

Marcos answered—brown skin and hazel eyes that burnished green in almost any lighting—gesturing for you and Elio to come inside.

“Welcome home,” he said, far more unnaturally than it sounded coming from Elio. There was a certain rigidity to it, an effort clearly inhuman and lesser. He embraced you in a familiar way, reminding you of all your years of childhood doing this exact thing because your mother didn't know how to love you, and “father” was just a word. “I apologize for messaging you to come over so late. You know how your mother is. When the mood strikes…”

Marcos didn't emit much bodily warmth, never had, even in the golden years of G3, but he was there, and that's all that mattered at the time. His skin was still youthful and flawless, though the longer you looked him in the face, the less real he seemed. His eyes held depth and movement though were slow, less precise, and duller. The lines around his mouth when he smiled were unnatural, appearing to you nearly like bunching folds in a sheet of leather.

It was strange seeing an older generation of android after having acclimated to Elio over two months.

“Your mother is at the dining table.” Marcos moved on to Elio, taking in his image, surmising that he too was an android. He glanced down at the bags that Elio still held. “May I take those for you? Hyperion’s innovation continues ever forward, I see. You are new.”

“The first of Generation Seven,” said Elio. The bags were passed between them. “I would appreciate it if you kept the duck refrigerated. It's in the paper bag.”

“That's no trouble.” Marcos turned with Elio following along behind him into the kitchen. “I'd like to hear about Generation Seven’s potential. What is your maximum I-O? Data? Memory? How have the functions that have been implemented into you differ from Generation Six?”

Their voices were muffled behind the walls as you crossed through multiple rooms to where Mother sat at the head of a large glossy table made from dark-brown wood. It was a spacious area reserved to eat surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows in elegant drapes with the best view of whatever the neighbors were doing. She had told you once that the only reason she bought this house was because it'd be good gossip for when she invited her gaggle of catty executive receptionist friends over.

Back then, she hosted her little impromptu get-togethers more often than she remembered to see you off to school. Marcos made sure you were fed and bathed, sat with you in your bedroom to help with homework, and sent you to bed. As you grew, the parties had migrated elsewhere, prompting your mother to go with them.

That had left you alone with Marcos and the boundaryless curiosity of a teenager. You didn't know if Mother still participated in such things now that she was older, less pretty, inclined to more body aches.

“I've been thinking that we should visit the new teahouse that opened up on Aflaat Ave. You never talk to me anymore.” she said, but it wasn't true. Neither of you talked to one another, just used Marcos as an intermediate. “I—well—Marcos went through your old bedroom a few weeks ago because I've decided to take up scrapbooking and sewing and needed space, and he found an old shoebox full of your primary and secondary school projects! How quaint! He wanted to make sure you got them.”

“That's nice.” You didn't want to sit down, unwilling to be her fifteen minutes of entertainment before she got bored. She kept on staring at you with wide eyes and crow’s feet and fretful hands, like a woman who still had more to say. “I'll make sure Elio grabs them before we leave.”

“Elio!” Mother gaped. “Man or android? Certainly an android, right? Men are useless.”

Your rage was already bunching up and throbbing in the back of your throat. “Yes, Mother, an android.”

“‘Mother’ sounds so harsh! How about mama or mummy or mom?” She kept wringing her fingers together. “Anyway, anyway! Elio! He sounds so handsome. Is that who Marcos is talking to? What a handsome voice! Is he a Generation Six?”

You still hadn't sat down, though you used your hands to lean across the back of a chair. “Generation Seven. I'm testing him for Hyperion.”

“For Hyperon!” Mother couldn't fathom you doing more than grunt work at the marketing firm. She didn't know your position had become obsolete. “This is certainly a surprise. Sit down. How did that happen? You and Hyperion? Are you trying to make me look stupid?”

“I've been sitting all day. I'm good like this.” That wasn't a lie. You also just couldn't stand the idea of giving any relief to her anxious state. “It's my new job. Very coveted. I've been working closely with one of the researchers there, and he can't praise me enough. I'm looking after Elio for a year and then moving on to their next latest and greatest.”

“You?” She spat out a laugh. It calmed the trembling in her hands for a few seconds before she was back at it again. “Oh, my. Well. If that's the case, you certainly owe it to me for getting that job. My genetics. My smarts. You certainly didn't get it from your father.”

That lurching, angry ball in your throat was rising up fast. It was just there on the tongue making you gag, salivate, and begin to drool a bit from the corner of your lips. It tasted horrific and filled you with the most voracious need for venom.

“Who is my father?” you asked. “You could be wrong.”

Mother suddenly grew uncomfortable, flattening her gaze with the tabletop. Historically, she had always been this way when you asked about him, the infamously evasive ghost of your life. It was also the only thing that ever made her shut up.

“That doesn't matter.” She continued, “You’ve always had me and Marcos. That's what matters.”

“I've had Marcos.” The ball freed itself. “I just thought you should know, Generation Three models are being decommissioned. Marcos won't be receiving any more updates, and eventually, he'll just be a pile of fucking scrap. What're you gonna do then? You can't afford another android because you've sunk every penny you've ever saved into him—his upgrades, his maintenance, his clothes. It may take about ten years, and you'll probably be on your deathbed, but he's going to fall apart and eventually stop moving. You'll be just as alone as you were before he came along.”

Mother’s face turned shades, petrified. You wanted nothing more than to see her shrink into her clothes and disappear for good. It soothed you to think about Marcos’ end being inevitable, unchangeable, a fact. Some of the guilt was easier to bury that way.

“Wh-What are you saying to me, you awful child?!” She wailed with watery eyes, hands wrapped in the same colored strands of hair you had. “How could you?! That's not true! That’s not true! Do you know how hard it was to carry you for nine months?! I was so young and I was forced to give birth to you! Forced! Do you hear me—forced to be a mother to a child I never wanted! It was that or death. I never wanted a child because they turn on you and say things like this! You horrible, horrible child!”

Her shrieks stirred a ruckus from the kitchen where Marcos and Elio emerged from. Marcos ran to your mother, took her in his arms, and cradled her against his chest when she began to shed very real tears that bubbled at the corner of her eyes before falling, curving along her cheeks.

Elio came straight to you, hesitating to put his hands on your body, maybe noticing how viciously you glared at this wilted woman he'd yet to meet.

“Get the groceries. We're gone.” You stormed straight for the door, chest stuttering with heavy breaths you tried to calm because you knew what came next. Your throat ached, burned fiercely like something had snagged there and you needed to claw it out.

Once you reentered the chilly air submerged in all the dark and light of Retro City at night, it didn't matter that you were crying. They were hot tears that left behind cool traces. They were decades of disappointment, of secretly understanding a mother’s love would always be conditional, of being unwanted and wishing you hadn't been burdened with existing.

Elio came out minutes later, the door closing softly and locking after him. You heard the bags crinkle near you, drawing your eyes away from a blinking parking meter you'd zoned in to calm yourself down.

You said nothing.

“Let’s go home.” Elio hailed a cab idling nearby and opened the door for you. “I want to keep the meat fresh.”

Him and that stupid duck.

This cabbie looked back at you both once to get directions, and then only occasionally afterward, casting pitiable glances at your raw-looking face in the mirror. The GPS displayed on the car’s dashboard showed the apartment was thirty minutes away because of traffic, probably from a crash they were detouring; ordinarily, it only took twenty minutes.

When your pocket vibrated, you almost didn't check. Unsurprisingly, it was a message from Marcos, just a single one.

“I don't think you should come around for a while,” it read. You didn't respond. Nothing new. Some sort of falling out with your mother was routine. You couldn't understand why she thought it'd ever go differently.

However, this time wasn't like all the rest. This time, you’d said something unforgivable despite her doing the same, but yours was worse in her mind. You didn't mind the idea of her disappearing from your life. It was harder to handle the thought that you'd never see Marcos again before he ceased to function, though.

“What happened?” Elio asked, a weird departure from androids being programmed, traditionally, never to pry. “That woman was your mother, correct? What did you say to her?”

“Who cares?” You grunted, sniffing around the burn your in sinuses again. “She's a crazy bitch. She's always been that way. I told her that Marcos would just turn into a scrap heap eventually. Was that wrong of me?”

“Well, perhaps that phrasing was inappropriate, yes.” Elio touched your forearm. “But there is no NDA in place from Hyperion. You are well within your rights to have told her. But, as I said, your phrasing—”

“I know, shut up—” You moved closer so you could lean against him. “I hate that woman. I hate my mother more than I ever hated anyone.”

Elio lifted an arm above you, giving you room to slide in as far as you wanted to go. He held you for the first time, repeating long, weighty strokes down your back, through his coat that you still wore. You were transported back to a moment in time steeped in cloudy nostalgia, blurred.

It was Marcos kneeling at your bedside, yellow overhead lights dimmed to nearly full darkness. The door was shut because otherwise a heap of cackling voices, Mother and her gossiping hens after too much wine, would spear in through the cracks and make you petulant. Marcos had already been trying to get you to sleep for over an hour.

“Sleep little one, sleep.” Marcos had said, voicebox in his throat straining with a quieter sound. “I know it must be difficult. You must be rested for school tomorrow.”

“They're too loud.” you whined, throwing your covers back with a great flourish, feet kicking them the rest of the way off before you huffed and turned to your side away from Marcos. “Make them shut up! Can't you make them shut up, Marcos?!”

He sighed, defeated as much as an android could be. No, he could not. It went against his programming to disobey his master—any human who made a demand of him. His order was to get the child to sleep, and that had yet to happen.

“Would you like me to read The Falcon and the Hare to you again?” It was your favorite bedtime story right now. Hearing fictional stories involving extinct animals seemed to be of odd fascination to you. “My tone of voice might make it—”

“No!” you fussed, thumping your feet once, twice, three times and going limp again. “Come up here until I fall asleep. Please?”

Marcos nodded. “Yes, little one.”

He had to keep one leg off the bed to even half fit on the mattress. You sat upright to fix the blankets so to cover yourself and part of Marcos’ one bent knee. His arm laid out on the bed, waiting for you to crawl into it until you were nestled into his side, sucking up what small warmth radiated from his fake body. Once you found a comfortable spot, curled up tightly much like a cat sunbathing in a single shaft of daylight, he began smoothing a hand down along your back, heavy enough to be felt through your thick comforter.

You listened to him hum a song that you liked, one that translated well to his chords and the vibrations in his throat.

He hummed. He petted your back. He hummed. He petted your back. He hummed…

“Do you truly hate your mother?” Elio’s voice was delicate just then, aware that you were away in some reverie he tried to gently lure you out of. The dream was over. That one silver glimmer of your childhood became far away, forgotten while the sounds of the city rushed back into the cab.

“Yes—I mean, I dunno.” You actually yawned, pushing one of your eyes with the heel of your hand. “I think I hate her. We've argued my entire life. We've never gotten along. Yeah, I hate her.”

Elio was holding you by the waist now. “Is that why you said what you did?”

“Said what?” You were a little too keen on his thumb swirling around the fat padding your hip bone.

“About Marcos being scrap…”

“Elio, seriously? Do you ever shut up?” It was tempting to put yourself on the opposite side of the seat, but you didn't want to give the cabbie any chance to eyeball him. “I—I don't know. She just gets me so mad. I used to be able to crush up those feelings because Marcos told me it wasn't healthy to act on them. But, then, I moved out, and I realized she was still the same, that she'd always stay the same. I stopped hiding it.”

You were so close to his face that you could see how long his eyelashes were and the shadows they cast on his cheeks.

You looked him in the eyes. “I wanted to make her hurt as much as she hurt me.”

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Midnight had come and gone before you finally gave up on trying to sleep. You spent the better part of an hour staring up at the high ceiling, imagining every rusting pipe you saw as immobile serpents stretched taut to make the interconnecting structure that sprawled across the entire loft. Swirls and shapes and blacker-than-black shadows danced in front of your eyes, twisted with the pipes, and made the usual knocking sounds within them, but nothing ever came for you.

Downstairs was a careful amount of liveliness and aromas as Elio put together his duck à l'orange that he promised you. You scarcely heard a sound from him shuffling about but more from the clanking pans, boiling pots, and unintelligible chatter you knew came from the television.

Maybe he was watching a rerun of Wendy Carmichael Can Cook again, maybe a segment from the news because he liked that equally as much.

And yet, as you made your way to the lower floor, mystified by the fact you were standing on your toes to disguise all sound during your descent, you saw that the television was set to an old crime show he watched with you on occasion.

Detective Georgina Reyes and her android sidekick, Regis (G5), were the undisputed heroes of Helcam City and solved every case that came their way with style, finesse, and plenty of moral and ethical dilemmas. The majority of the show was spent within Georgina's inner world and her near-obsessive lust over Regis, who was owned by the department chief.

Ratings for the show had climbed to an all-time high when Regis had gained a sense of self and the ability to defy his programming. For fewer than six episodes, it was complete bliss for fans of Georgina and Regis, but then the season five finale happened—

“Can't sleep?” Elio asked, effectively putting your heart in your asshole, sending your soul skyward. He must have gauged your sudden gray pallor and bulbous glare because he smiled apologetically from the bottom of the stairway. “I'm sorry. I didn't intend to scare you. Were you watching Regis and Reyes?”

“I—uh, no.” You sighed, taking slow steps to the bottom to ease your heartbeat eating away at your ribs. “I was thinking about the show ending. Have you watched it yet?”

“Of course,” he said. “It was a peculiar way for the story to end. In my opinion, it was incomplete. Very sudden. It's my understanding that there was an issue with how the government was being represented within the show, and a few of the writers were accused of conspiracy to defraud the government and subsequently arrested for it.”

“Seriously?” You scoffed, making it to ground level, and walked around Elio toward the kitchen where all the heavenly smells wrapped around you, enticing you to take a morsel. “It was the forced pregnancy plotline, right? Creepy stuff.”

“Indeed.”

Elio wouldn't let you have any of the duck à l’orange, saying it was meant for your dinner later on in the day, but he did steep you a hot mug of herbal tea (for sleep), the one that turned water pink, and offered to make you a light snack.

He went back to his tasks after you declined, satisfied well enough with the small swigs you took from your white mug. You spent more time sitting at the counter in silence, watching his back, hoping to gain the power to see through his shirt rather than actually taking interest in what he was doing.

Your eyelids fluttered and fell thinking about the car ride home: his arm around you, his thumb rubbing pacifying circles into your hip, how you'd been close enough to his face to believe you felt a breath leave his lips.

“Elio.”

“Yes?”

He had moved on to washing dishes. When he heard you behind him, he took a clean towel to his hands and quickly dried them before facing you. You guessed you probably had a strange expression right now, or at least, looked at him in a way you never had because the towel was cast aside, draped over the faucet, and his eyes flickered across your face.

“Your heart rate and body temperature have increased.” he said, giving into the pull of your hands after grabbing both sides of his face. You backed yourself into the countertop while still holding him, thumbs caressing the rise of his cheeks, bringing him down, down, down toward your face where you certainly felt heat blow across your mouth. “Your breathing has changed. I can hear your heartbeat. Don't be anxious. I won't hurt you.”

You weren't nervous.

You proved it by kissing him, full-bodied, slow, lingering. He gripped the edge of the countertop, bracing his weight against his hands to stifle some aggressive reaction, possibly, and returned the kiss with just as much fervor that you put into it.

His lips were every bit of what you imagined, what you wanted them to be. You had the urge to bite into them a little, to see if they could bleed the same way yours could when you chewed enough on loose skin. Their texture was slightly indented with cracks that gave friction to the moist smear across your mouth.

Although the sounds of the kitchen and ambient hum from the television in the next room stayed as they were, it was like the volume of everything had been set to mute, and only the breathy, wet pops of air and skin made it into your ears. You heard the delicate chatter of teeth inside your head when his mouth roamed the underside of your jaw, down your neck, to the rise of your clavicle, stopping only at where your neckline ended.

His hands had already made home under your clothes, first doing away with your shirt that he tossed over your shoulder onto one of the barstools. Next, he worked on the elastic waistband keeping your sweatpants on your hips. You flinched against his hands when they splayed across your ass, taking all he could in them while his lips continued a downward trajectory, traveling over your breastbone, along the curve of your navel, and then he stopped.

Elio had been on his knees for a while, stirring you so deeply that you had no doubt there'd be damp spots sitting inside your sweatpants, possibly even drying on the inside of your thighs by now. He helped you out of your pants one leg hole at a time while you used his broad shoulders to balance yourself. And soon enough, one of your thighs was hiked up in that same spot, his face hidden from you despite all the work he was doing to well up a hard knot in your abdomen.

You had to take a fistful of his hair and wrap it tight in your fingers, using your other arm to balance against the counter. He wouldn't let you fall, you knew that, but the unsteadiness of your legs grew, trembling violently, turning to lead like being buried under concrete or suctioned by water. He kissed and sucked and stroked you some more, pushing more into the spots that made you moan the loudest and fastest, fingers wandering you busily and lubricated with your own spend.

“Elio—Elio, let's move somewhere, please.” You shuddered out, trying to pull his hair, shove his face off of you. “Please.”

He grunted, surprising you by relinquishing to the pressure, and made his way back up the route he had taken down. “Where do you want to go?” he asked, lips sticking on your throat, rising higher to the protrusion of your chin. “The kitchen floor? The couch? The bed? We could probably manage in the bathtub as well, if that's what you'd enjoy.”

“I don't care.” You were only half-honest and miserable now with the sole focus of trying not to touch yourself to finish. “Just… somewhere, Elio.”

“As you wish.”

Elio hoisted you onto his hips, making sure you knew to squeeze him with your thighs before making his way around the kitchen to turn knobs and shut off the overhead bulbs. The new darkness was refreshing yet did nothing to tame that sweltering sensation between your legs. In fact, you thought you could burst from the anticipation. It was everything you could do not to hump him through his clothes, hands occupied in his tousled hair, lips together with bruising force.

Before long, your back was on couch cushions and the television was off so as to not ruin the moment. You saw dark behind your eyes while you kept them open, unfocused on the ceiling with the serpent pipes because his mouth was already back on you and helping you chase that high.

“You're almost there.” His lips smacked against your engorged skin, making your lashes flutter and eyes roll back. “You look so perfect. When you cum, I'll take my time cleaning you up. I can use my tongue. I can make you cum again—as many times as you'd like.”

His arms held your thighs wide open, giving him all the room he needed for those final, well-placed strokes that turned your moans into utterly drawn-out, lewd things that made you grateful that no one else lived in this side of the building. Your body wrenched against his continued ministrations, his lips and chin and fingers warm and glistening with your traces.

You had thought to worry, briefly, about something getting onto the cushions under your ass, but Elio had already thought it through and used the dish towel from earlier to catch anything awry.

It came in handy for his face.

“How do you feel?” he asked from inside one of your thighs, kissing his way all the way to the point of your knee. “Was it satisfactory?”

You didn't answer right away, especially not when he came forward on his arms to catch your lips, slowing things down so you could bask in that fuzzy, satiated afterglow—dopamine and oxytocin being that remarkable duo doing their damndest to reinforce how exquisite and ineffably breathtaking Elio was to you.

“Would you like a bath?” he asked against your jaw. “You can just lie back and relax. I'll clean you up.”

“No.” Spurred by newfound bravery, you trailed your fingertips between both bodies, first to loosen the tie on his sleep pants, plucking the strings hard so he felt it. Next thing, your hands slipped under his shirt. “I want you to actually fuck me. Put your cock in me.”

Elio jolted upright, using the tall back of the couch and armrest near your head to hold his body above you. Cold air seeped in all the places where he had been, dotting your skin in gooseflesh, hairs within those follicles standing on end. You were laid out below him, showing all your unobscured nudity and vulnerability, withering yourself just a little smaller under the intensity of his stare.

This was different from the grocery store, where he had needed a moment to amend for information he did not have. This was something else—flickers of conflict, struggle, restraint, and excitement were ablaze in his eyes, which shifted around within their sockets, giving you glimpses of pure gleaming white, which stood out in the inky dark all around.

“I—are you certain that's what you want?” he spoke at last, doing little to alleviate the way you felt he had seen your insides and bones. “It is late, I know you must be tired.”

“Are you…” You couldn't really explain the uneasiness gnawing at your gut, nor the thrill of wanting him inside of you regardless. Maybe he could fuck the feeling out of you, bring peace to your throbbing heartbeat and blood gushing to your head. “Elio, are you telling me no?”

“I cannot do such a thing.” he said right away, coming down from his high place to lay the weight of himself across you.

You felt his skin flush to your chest without a thin shirt to hide his shape and muscle that wasn't real, but this was so much more than touching every dissected mannequin in physiology class in school. They couldn't kiss your neck while the interwoven, complex network underneath stretched, elastic flesh contracted and relaxed against your palms.

“Would you believe me if I told you there are certain functions—programming—that I cannot override?” The waistband of his pants collected in a heap of fabric around his knees, freeing room for his cock in the open air. “I won't be able to let you go until I'm finished. I want you to understand that.”

That sounded hot, and you were tired of him stalling, so you told him you understood. “Very well.” He kissed you, guiding one of your hands low to his core where you could revel in the size of him.

He was hard in your grip with a good girth and length to him, a curve you'd come to recognize from toys collected over the past decade to hit the right spots. The skin over his cock was much a part of him as the rest on his body, hot, growing damp, and sticky the nearer you wandered to the head.

You had watched old pornography with Melby and the group a few times before from the days when it was just humans performing acts on each other. No one really liked it because it was so dramatized; everyone agreed that one of the actors needed to be an android for it to actually be sexy. You never told them that the moaning men with stuttering hips as they ejaculated was something you did like.

Elio leaned into your palm, the thumbprint starting to prune as you rubbed his tip. More warmth seeped out from it, wet and thick and perplexing and exhilarating because Hyperion made him so perfect, a better being than just an emulation of man.

His cock slid through your hand in short, quick bursts that eventually lubricated his entire shaft. He'd kept himself busy on your lips, tongue in your mouth, swiveling together the taste of you with saliva. It was the most inelegant he had been with you so far, yet you didn't think you'd be bothered if he did this more often.

“Fuck me.” You whined, finally apart from him. The swollen head of his cock made a moist path along your core where you massaged it against every sensitive spot that set your senses into a blazing frenzy. “Be as rough as you want. Hurt me a little.”

He finally took your hand away, rearranging your legs so one laid across the back of the couch, the other on his hip with a knee shoved under your ass for height.

“I will not hurt you.” Both your wrists were cuffed by his large hands, pinned down into the cushions by your head. “But, I cannot let you go. You must see it through until the end.”

“Fuck. Me.” you said forcefully, uncomprehending to the things he was telling you, uncaring what it all meant.

“Yes. Alright.”

Elio obeyed you as he was supposed to, cock sinking in with care, thrusts starting out shallow until the tip was withdrawn and then back inside again. The angle he had created for you made it easier to take his length. It took a little more time to acclimate to his girth and plenty of gentle encouragement from his voice landing right next to your ear, telling you to relax. It would improve in a few minutes, and he wouldn't let you go to sleep dissatisfied.

Indeed, minutes later, you were well beyond the worst of it and filling the void all around you with harsh, rapturous moans, which Elio enjoyed hearing. His lips lingered at your throat where most of your sounds resonated, fists still holding firm around your wrists, knuckles the same color as the rest of the dark but had actually bled pale.

The springs within the couch cried out, unused to this weight and ruthlessness, while the air stung with cracks of slapping skin timed with your moans. Elio didn't let you move from where he had you laid out, didn't let up on the speed and depth he reached despite how labored your breaths became, broken words eclipsed by panting and his tongue forcing them back down your throat where they stayed in submission.

It was still cold in the early mornings this spring, often leaving your apartment a little less comfortable than you'd like, but right now, you could've been convinced that he was fucking you on the ground in the flatlands and believed it. Your skin was slick with sweat, the mess between your bodies slippery and undoubtedly staining the couch underneath.

Just then, the weight on your wrists climbed higher to your hands. He threaded your fingers together at the same time his thrusts began to slow, hips rolling yours like a swaying ship amid languid seas.

The whole time he had been on top of you, edging you closer to another orgasm, he had hardly made a noise apart from whispering in your ear when you'd clench his cock too tight. Now, he was failing to keep quiet from your neck, trembling and grunting on your skin until, at last, one jarring thrust left him breathing out in relief.

He got you to your end shortly after, half-hard cock still throbbing and warm inside you, giving just enough of what you needed while his hand finished the rest with fast strokes. You winced. He didn't let off until your jaw hung slack, whimpering meagerly through the pleasure hampering thoughts and sensations other than pressure releasing from your groin, spend turning a patch of your couch dark.

“You did well.” Once he was soft, he tied his pants back around his waist and picked up the sodden dish towel to begin cleaning around your sorest areas. “Come with me. I'll start you a hot bath and make you a new cup of tea before bed.”

You didn't want to get up from that spot, declared yourself rooted there unless Elio helped you up, and thrust a hand high into the dark room.

He wore a princely smile, you assumed, as he leaned down to pick you up in his arms instead. Moved by such a gesture, you reached for his face with your angry wrists and hands to kiss him all the way to the bathroom.

None of this made it into your next report.

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

Melby didn't like Elio.

This she had told you over text after you declined her incoming phone call to not arouse Researcher Kim’s ire in finding out you were completely distracted during his exorbitantly detailed analysis of your latest reports. Two had been sent in before midnight last Sunday, as usual, since he was rarely satisfied with what you revealed through them these days.

Less than an hour later, while cozied up in bed on your side, facing the chopping blades of an oscillating fan, just beginning to feel yourself teeter off that edge from dull, relaxed awareness into light sleep, your ringtone went off—it was Kim.

“What else have you committed to doing lately in terms of Elio's social advancement? The last thing I have here…” A refreshing, fast pause followed, accented by the sound of paper softly swishing as it was parsed. “He was brought to a movie theater on the twenty-fourth, Diosyn Park on the twenty-ninth, Henrietta's four times in the last week. That's not nearly enough. Who are you socializing him with? What have their reactions been? How has he reacted to them? You're not writing down exact times.”

Not once since you'd joined the video conference forty minutes ago did he check to see if you were listening to him, content with his nose being shoved down into a bundle of chemically smelling papers and glowing screens to corroborate previous work he had on file.

That made it easier for you to text back Melby, arguing with her in endless paragraphs too tiring for your thumbs to continuously scroll through that you didn't have time to meet up at Clamors for drinks with everyone.

“Should I tell Chima you hate us?” texted Melby.

Truthfully, you couldn't tell if it was meant as a threat or if she was just pettish after being refused. One of her worst qualities, never spoken aloud to her face lest she fumbled and blubbered all the way to Chima to snitch about it, was being horridly uncompromising to just about everything.

It made you anxious enough that your fingers started to ache with an urge, on the path toward curling back slithers of cuticle, gathering blood under the nails, itchy scabs that Elio constantly covered with neon bandaids so you wouldn't touch them.

Eventually, you found a new fixation with the seams of your knuckles and fitted the most unrefined part of your nails into them, digging up red that way until he had to cover those, too.

It took you ten minutes with fidgety thumbs to reply. “I don't hate anyone. You know me.”

Melby's was instantaneous. “What about me? Do you hate me now?”

Another one. “Now that you have that android?”

More. “We used to spend so much time together.”

Last one for good measure to effectively drill a gory black hole straight into your pounding, cowardly heart. In her eyes, anyway. “I haven't seen you in months!”

“He needs more direct interaction. I've decided that I'll make amends to the template you've been using up until now.” Researcher Kim was saying, not seeing you, not hearing you, assuming your loyalty to him and his cause was complete.

Ripples of drowsiness overcame you so powerfully that you left Melby on read, mind suddenly a vast, empty space and quiet for the first moment all day. Your hands rose to cradle your cheeks, propping your head above your elbows on the countertop because Kim's inflated droning had come to have that effect on you over time.

A human man with a face that nice shouldn't be allowed to talk so much. He should go back to moaning on couches in front of cameras and sweltering lights.

“Let me explain what I'm currently changing.” he said, hopelessly invested in whatever those alterations were just by the mechanical click-clack of fingertips soaring over a keyboard somewhere low and out of sight of his screen. “From here on out, I'm going to require that you gather between six to ten direct interactions. I want full disclosure of every conversation, transcribed or recorded. From my standpoint, recording would be the most effective method so I may make interpretations myself.”

You were thinking of what to ask Elio to make you for lunch. It was almost noon. You unmuted the call. “Am I allowed to just randomly record people talking like that? That seems…”

“Hyperion works closely with Retro City’s governing bodies, and by extension, so do you.” Kim kept typing as he spoke. “It isn't illegal because the information you're collecting is imperative to the Hyperion Project. Without it, we face the risk of progress slowing or diminishing. That cannot happen, and I cannot emphasize enough that your work as an auditor must come before other commitments.”

At long last, he pulled his face out of papers and other screens to look at yours. In a fashion unsuitable for him, he sighed in a fatigued way, back collapsing against his ergonomic chair, shoulders lopsided with how he perched his elbows on the armrests.

“Retro City has over three million inhabitants. You won't have any issues finding people for Elio to speak to.” he told you. “Six to ten for each report. That’s all.”

You were already back in your messages, backtracking your previous responses to Melby, asking her what time everyone was meeting at Clamors.

Right away, “Come at nine!”

And then, “I'll save you a seat.”

Finally, “Don't eat too much before getting here. It'll ruin the fun.”

“Fine.” Phone now face down on the counter, you returned Researcher Kim’s concentrated stare. “I'll do my best. Six to ten. Six to ten…”

That had done well to appease him, demonstrated through a satisfied smile, which pulled his lips just enough that the muscles in his right cheek twitched as though the motion was foreign to him. With how inexpressive he was most of the time, you weren't surprised, thinking it more humorous than anything else.

You struggled to find a smile of your own that wasn't strained, though.

“That reminds me—” He positioned himself forward, arms on his polished dark-red desk with a curious gleam in his black eyes. “None of your reports have instances of copulation mentioned. Have there been complications?”

You sat stiffly, not agape but definitely not composed, either. “Sorry? What was that?”

“Intercourse. Sex.” He simplified it for you, almost with a pitying crease forming between his brows. “You've completed every other area outlined in the template except that one. I have… refrained from questioning you until now because I do understand that, outside of a clinical setting, it can be construed as inappropriate to discuss.”

The only person you had divulged any details to was Melby. Even that had been brief and inexplicit because she had immediately changed the topic to something one of the kids Chima invited into the group had done that pissed her off.

“Why do you need to know?” It was a defensive question. “Is that something I really need to write about? It's sex. It's just sex.”

Researcher Kim made an indistinguishable sound behind steepled fingers. They hid away whatever shape his mouth was in at that moment, making the whole conversation terribly uncomfortable. It was odd how exposed you felt like his stare was reaching long, further than just the screen in front of him. He wasn't looking into you or through you but rather right at you—imagining you some other way, unclothing your body with drifting eyes and invisible hands.

You were equal parts embarrassed and repulsed by that line of thinking, allowing your mind to summon up his ghost hands to search you, feel you under all your layers, know you as intimately as Elio had as though part of some extension of himself.

“It is all outlined in the contract you signed.” Kim said, now with an edge that made you flinch on the barstool. “Androids are developed for convenience and pleasure. I have reports for one, not the other. If Elio, as the first of G7, is not performing exceptionally—if there are complications, if he is defective—that is something you must include within your reports. I don't suspect that to be the case, in this situation.”

His eyes suddenly caught onto something else, going beyond you, but you chose not to react by looking. “Your work as an auditor has been sufficient so far, but incomplete reports at this critical stage in Elio's testing are grounds for me to terminate your contract.”

You clenched your jaw until your teeth throbbed, your head going up and down like it was on a hinge attached to your neck.

“Personally, that's a hassle I'd rather not involve myself in.” Kim confessed in a straighter posture, smiling tensely. “Now, I'll ask you again: Have there been any complications with inter—”

“That's enough.” Elio reached across your shoulder for the tablet, pointer finger hovering over a red button on the screen. “Researcher Kim, it's time for lunch. Goodbye.”

He pushed the button, managing to catch a swift change in Kim's expression before the screen went black and reflected your shock back at you instead.

You watched him slide the tablet away to the opposite end of the counter space, unable to lift yourself out of this bizarre stupor just from how purely surreal what just happened was. And from the look of it, Researcher Kim hadn't anticipated that Elio was capable of doing something like that, either.

You just hoped it wouldn't cost you your contract.

“What have you been doing all this time?” you asked, tilting your head back to welcome his lips gliding atop yours, a peck, at first, which gradually grew deeper and greedier. With some effort, you pulled back. “Mm, c'mon, what were you doing?”

“On Wendy Carmichael Can Cook today, she said—”

A hiss of annoyance. “Oh, of course…”

“She said there was a list of excellent bistros around Retro City worth trying.” He wasn't pleading with you or anything, but he seemed just about as dedicated to this idea as he had been with the duck à l’orange a while back. “For lunch, I thought it'd be of interest to you to visit one. I've been researching ones I thought you would like based off of your dietary habits, allergies, and sensitivities. Radiant Bistro next to the Leviathan Archway near downtown might be a good option. Impressively diverse menu.”

You pretended to pinch lint off of his shirt and inspect it up close. “If you didn't want to cook, you could've just said that.”

“That's not it,” he assured you with a kiss to the back of your hand so that you understood he meant it. “Since my arrival here, your social presence has declined substantially, which will not fare well for your public profile. I do understand that it’s in relation to your work as an auditor, but—”

“Okay! Okay, I get it.” you said agreeably, hands raised, hoping it'd deflect anything else. “We’ll go. Let me just find a hat so the sun won't get on my face.”

“No problem.” He walked away and came back with an old unbranded brown one from somewhere in the most remote crevice of the apartment. “Will this suffice?”

You looked at it, amazed. “Yeah. Yup. Let's go.”

Elio had stopped carrying a coat with him once the evenings grew long, and the remnants of heat from the day floated into nighttime, trapping the city within a muggy gray haze that too closely resembled dewy fog in early spring. The difference was the heaviness and breathability of the air—one you could tolerate despite allergies; the other was deplorable and evoked memories of every single club you had drunk and danced in with Melby and Chima and the rest in the past years.

Outside, right now, sucking in the early-afternoon heat into your lungs after spending your morning in air conditioning, nose wrapped in earthy white wisps rising from a coffee mug, you wanted to turn back around and hide. Much to your dismay, Elio kept you on a short leash with a tight grip on your hand, probably expecting you to have a change of heart.

“Would you like for me to recall the menu and read it aloud to you?” he offered, situating his hand so his fingers crossed through yours, palms flush together. “They have fourteen types of sandwiches—hot and cold. Five of those are chicken, and five are of different meat varieties: lamb, cow, veal, goat, and yak, all claimed to be bred and raised and slaughtered in their warehouses. The last four sandwiches are…”

You listened passively without much commitment, especially in the back of the cab where there was no escape from anything. The AC was broken. The cabbie kept wiping sweat off his brow and sipped warm water. With the windows down, the outside air ripped inside the vehicle, nearly stealing the old hat off your head.

Elio went on to list desserts, thumb gently rolling circles on your sticky skin as if meant to keep you soothed.

“As long as I remember to eat light…” you murmured, remembering, glumly to yourself.

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

Clamors was inside a three-story building on the north end of Retro City, about a ten-minute taxi ride to Mother’s brick-stone house, thirty minutes from Henrietta’s, forty minutes from your apartment, and farthest removed from the slums where congregations of profile delinquents and the unwanted were most dense.

Here in this part of the city, you were an imposter among manicured foliage, men and women and androids arrayed in trendy designer silhouettes that were protruding, sharp, and agonizing; sharks and whales of big business puffed cigars in front panoramic views of the cityscape from the highest skyscrapers. They could look down at the street from their window and see you, an ant scuttling meaninglessly.

This wasn't a place where you belonged, a feeling that never changed over time, even years later after Chima recruited you into his group and every night was a suffocating blur of sweaty, faceless bodies, explosive music, stomping feet, raspy screams, and lightly-flavored chalk dissolving under your tongue. You roamed the sidewalks at two in the morning as everyone had been kicked out, but no one cared because Chima came from money, a rare case where two parents could be accounted for, and you'd all just be back inside the next evening.

You weren't sure when you had become disillusioned with it all—the drinks, the animal pills, which coalesced into saliva in your mouth, the noises, the gossip, the six ibuprofen to function behind a desk at work, the burnout of rinse and repeat, a conveyor belt that moved cyclically without a place to get off. To exit the ride meant to plunge head-first into abject terror, the unknowable, to become part of the yellow wallpaper that's never actually seen, to cease to be.

Being back in Clamors again after months away turned your heart against you, thrust the sound of its distress into your ears, dwarfing an animated conversation happening right at your circular table. You felt the music vibrate through your skin, make its way into your marrow, and rattle your entire skeleton.

Melby had a hand on your knee, blunt-tipped nails collecting sweat off your skin underneath them.

You couldn't really focus on that.

“So, this is Elio. He's hot.” Chima said without looking at you.

“Really hot!”

“So hot!”

“Did you hear? Shut up, stop talking! Did you hear? That slut got herself pregnant!” shouted Niva, a senior-most part of the circle behind you and Melby. She knew everything about everyone, though she wasn't supposed to keep tabs. “Apparently her baby daddy decided the pussy wasn't worth it anymore and ran!”

“I can't believe it. That'd mean someone was actually willing to sleep with her.” said Niquan Lamos, the fashionable one always gravitating toward pastels. “A man, at that. Disgusting.”

Everyone laughed, including you. Elio quietly observed it all, seated at your side, incapable of letting his polite smile slip with numerous prowling eyes on him.

“Have you fucked him yet?” Chima asked you without actually caring for a response.

“Oh, have you fucked him?”

“C'mon, don't hide it. How was it?”

“What was her name?” asked a newcomer in the group, fresh out of secondary school and not even twenty. He was a compact lad, both in size and from being squeezed between Chima and Niquan in the circular booth stretched in fuchsia leather, or at least, that's how it looked in your table’s corner of the club. “How come she isn't here anymore?”

First rule was: Never talk about things that could make the liquor go down harder. This was one of those things. Secondly, never ask questions about people who the group was no longer associated with. It just sounded ugly to acknowledge the rejects.

Tonight, however, was an exception because Elio's presence was an exciting change. They forgot how to behave.

“Hm, now that you mention it, I don't remember. How long has it been?” Chima said this absently, abysmally black eyes wholly captivated by the android. “Damn. Something like Mi-dan? Mi-an? Mi… Mi…”

“Her name was Mi-sun.” said a nobody from somewhere at the round table. It probably would've been easy to figure out who was talking if they were more important, but it took less effort to blame the music reverberating from the speakers mounted on the wall near their heads.

Melby’s hand traveled adventurously along your thigh, unmindful of how close she came to your crotch. You had a harder time ignoring that move and sipped busily from your jungle bird, holding it higher than your eyeline to admire its beautiful vermilion hue practically glowing against the strobe lights pulsing down from the ceiling.

“This is the first time I've seen you drink.” Elio was leaned into you, wise to the fact that you wouldn't hear him any other way. His lips nearly touched your ear, voice honeyed, caring, all for you. You were halfway through your second jungle bird. “Please don't overdo it. The adverse effects of overconsumption of alcohol will cause you great discomfort tom—”

“Thank you, Elio.” For just a moment, you wondered how irreversibly damaging it would be to just grab his hand and sprint out of there. You drank some more to weaken your resolve, add lead into your legs. “I'll be good if you be good.”

Elio nodded appreciatively.

“Why was Mi-sun kicked out?” again asked the new face from before, plain and boyish-looking, Chima's fresh catch. They just kept getting younger and the alcohol just kept tasting worse. You forced it all down, anyway. “Well? Well? Well?”

“She was talking crazy shit,” Melby piped up with a drawl, fingernail swirling around a dark purple bruise on your thigh. She pushed in hard enough to remind you that it was still sore. “Like, she was fine one week and then every single night after that she would nooooot shut up about some wild government conspiracy theories.”

“Oh, right.” Chima laughed while forcing everybody out of their seats so he could stand. “I remember now. Yeah, she went completely insane. I think she was talking about androids being used for population control or something. Weird. Hey, let's dance.”

“That was a year ago?” Niva wanted Chima to confirm. “A year, right?”

“Over a year now. Who cares?” Melby said, staying put beside you while the rest of the booth vacated. “She’ll just end up dead in the slums like all the rest. Uh, they do all die, right?”

“Who cares?” Chima echoed, nesting his shoulders high to his ears in a shrug before walking away. “Who has the animal crackers?”

“Sounds about right.” Niva was unconvinced, doubt lingering in her words until Chima came around to rummage her purse for pills. “Oh! Only take one, they're so expensive!”

Chima stuck three in his mouth. “Don’t kill the vibe.” He left without a glance back toward all the no-face, nameless nobodies willing to lick the underside of his shoes if it meant they'd be acknowledged and given features—eyes, lips, hair, an identity.

Niquan was satisfied with just one, offering a subtle wash of relief to Niva, who was just about depleted of her supply at that point and used the last of it for herself, tongue lapping at the inside of her plastic envelope.

You were almost finished with your jungle bird, contemplating a third even though you had entered the territory where one more could mean the difference between a happy buzz and splintering headaches tomorrow, just as Elio warned. The ice cubes had melted into a smooth watercolor appearance and turned from red to blue to green to purple to pink as the lights gushed down from above.

“I don't remember what she looks like.” you admitted to Melby who gazed into you, squeezing your thigh meaningfully. Again, you didn't pay attention. “Mi-sun, I mean. Were we friends? Did I ever drink with her? Have I ever slept over at her house?”

“No!” Melby snapped, affronted. “You're mistaking her for me. You guys never even had a conversation. You hated her guts. You thought she was a freak.”

You made a sound into the last of your drink, unsure whether she was lying to you or not. “Maybe. Maybe. Was I okay with her being kicked out?”

“Totally.” she said, casting a fleeting look of disdain toward Elio, lip curling at one side. “Chima only counted yours and mine and Niva’s votes since we've been here the longest.”

“That's…” You licked your lips and then the rim of your glass, secretly wishing your tongue would snag an uneven crack so you’d start to bleed. “Why don't I remember anything?”

Melby giggled. “Because you've been drinking, babe. It'll come back to you. What animal cracker do you want tonight? Giraffe or cat?”

“Hm?” You were elsewhere.

Until now, you had gone numb to your surroundings thanks to the licorice notes of black strap rum and bitter Campari and pucker of pineapple juice that made for a mostly pleasant experience in your throat.

You were present in that moment, venturing a look around at the dance floor crammed with bodies (human and android) moving in rhythm to the music, in time with each other to create a oneness, a synchronism so strange that it put the hairs on the back of the neck on end like spines.

Why did it all look so different now? So alien? As if you were seeing an image from your nightmares in real life.

Elio failed to convince you not to have another drink brought to the table after all, meanwhile Melby said she was disappointed you didn't get something stronger, claiming you used to do it all the time.

That's right. You did, didn't you?

“Hey.” Chima had emerged from the shapeless cluster of sweating, drunk, wriggling bodies a short while later. He reached into the booth, gathering a fistful of Elio's button-up shirt, and looked at you with a malicious gleam, possibly just your imagination, that just dared you to protest. “I know you don't mind if I borrow him for a while, right? Of course not. The rest of us are curious about him. We’ll be gentle.”

You would’ve believed someone if they said your tongue was cut out, because as much as you wanted to slice into him and spit poison in his wounds with your words, rub it raw, deep into the bone, nothing came up.

Not a breath nor a feeble sob.

Don't touch him. Nothing.

“So, you're chill with it?” Chima, beautiful Chima with deep-dark skin sparkling in rhinestones and spray-on glitter as though he were a vessel for all the stars in the cosmos, bared his straight, white teeth at you in the form of an affable grin.

Eat shit. Bitter silence.

He asked you the same thing again but grew bored and gave up on expecting you to do anything interesting. Elio was led away by the front of his shirt to the amalgamation of bodies like a sacrifice for the great black maw belonging to an abomination.

A few broke away from the core. Niva and Niquan were identifiable since you'd known them longer. The rest were unfamiliar to you—the no names and the tiny young man, the android bartender, the disc jockey, the bodies climbing over each other and melting back into a single incoherent mass.

They all looked exactly the same.

“I wanna dance too, let's go!” Melby struggled with one of your arms while attempting to scoot her way out of the booth, but the alcohol and broodiness made your body into a stump, sturdy and immobile, roots bursting through the bottoms of your shoes and the shiny floor.

She plopped back down. “Seriously? What's up with you?”

“It's too hot,” you reasoned, sticking a fingernail into the fresh glass in front of you, swishing the liquid around to make everything a more palatable blend. “If you want to dance, I'm not stopping you.”

“You're acting so weird.” Melby said, lost somewhere between frustration and astonishment while pulling a clear baggy from her pants pocket. A couple small pills moved inside, pink residue clouding the plastic. She plucked out one without looking. “Hey, open up. You're being a huge snoozefest. This'll loosen you up.”

When you felt her acrylic fingernails press against the corner of your lips, you gently pushed her hand back and nursed your drink some more. “No thanks.”

Melby’s tongue lashed against her gums, sharp and disapproving. “Why are you being such a fucking buzzkill tonight?” She traced your line of sight to Elio, to the others grabbing and fondling him, to his eyes looking right back at you. “We haven't seen each other in months. Now all you do is stare at that android.”

“It's my job, Melby.” You took the damp paper napkin from under your drink to dab your forehead at the sweat, trying to cool yourself. “I can't help that.”

“You can take one night away from your job.” she decided, taking hold of your lower mandible with a claw and crammed the chalky pink pill through lips and teeth into the pocket underneath your tongue. “You know the drill. Let it dissolve all the way. Stop making faces! It doesn't taste that bad.”

You tried to jerk your head away, but her grip was surprisingly solid.

“Melby! What the hell?!” It came out garbled around her fingers still resting in your mouth, filling the reservoir below your tongue with saliva.

Melby, blue-eyed and blonde with pale pink skin that always reddened in the electrifying, hot air in the club, was completely flushed from her face down to her chest. Her eyes had darkened upon withdrawing her two fingers, glossing your lips with spittle.

“I missed you.” she said, outlining the shape of your mouth until the skin started to tingle. “Did you miss me? I've been really lonely.”

Your least favorite part of taking an animal cracker was the aftertaste that was the equivalent of eating sidewalk chalk and rubbing alcohol with a whisper of strawberry wafting up into your nostrils, clinging to every permeable membrane in your mouth and making your cheeks tremble.

“I—yeah. Yeah, I missed you.” You tried to sink the lingering taste down your throat with a swish and swallow from the jungle bird. “I didn't know what I was getting into with this whole Hyperion gig. I feel like I'm constantly watching Elio. Twenty-four seven.”

Elio never lost track of you throughout the ordeal, his being unable to escape the hands on his body and fight against the programming in his brain meant exclusively for human satisfaction. There were moments where you saw each other clearly, empty windows between writhing bodies, and you were convinced he tried to convey a very human-like discomfort that you immediately pretended like you hadn't seen.

Interfering meant going against the group. There was nothing you could do about it except allow them to eviscerate Elio if that's what they wanted. You could only sit there, drowning in rum and pineapple and aperitif and demerara sugar and scorching strobe lights and music bashing your skull and Melby unfastening buttons on your pants, but for some reason, that didn't quite register as what it was to you.

“Are you coming home with me tonight?” Melby asked so sweetly that it made your heart flutter, or maybe that was the pill taking effect. “We always have fun together. I've really missed it. It isn't the same without you.”

“What—” You almost tipped the red cocktail while reaching over it for a water glass that no one had touched. You slugged half in one go. “Wait. What are you even saying? I gotta take care of Elio.”

“Oh my god,” she seethed, taking her hand out of your pants to wipe her fingers on the napkin you used earlier. “Just tell him to leave. He has to listen to you. He’ll be okay.”

Fuzz had started to collect in your head, filling the entire dome with a warm, soft feeling that spread like a rapidly-growing fungus down the brainstem, coiled around your spine, stuffed your jaws with cotton, sucked all the moisture from your throat, widened your chest with stuff, and ignited kindling that had been sitting in the bottom of your stomach.

Just now, the deafening tone of music had been reduced to a throbbing bass that jarred your bones and pulsed in your hands and feet. Your vision wasn't much different than it had been before, only now you seemed to move at lightning speed, people and shapes and lights all confused watercolor smears of you shifted too quickly.

“Can't.” You recalled Melby had said something. “Elio, first. Do you see him?”

“No.” she said, watching Chima hook his fingers through the belt loops on Elio’s pants, knocking their pelvises together in time with the music. “Come on, I'll call a cab and we can go home. We’ll have a good time away from everyone.”

You made a grab for the water glass again, throat the driest it had ever been. A mistimed gasp came out when the rim of the glass struck your teeth, missing your mouth almost completely. Luckily, only a little water got on your shirt, molding it to your chest like a cold second skin.

“God, that's good,” you moaned, draining the rest of it. “What are you even talking about? A good time?”

She eyed you uneasily. “What do you mean? What do you remember when you're with me?”

“Pfft,” you scoffed, stealing yet another water glass you managed to grapple with two hands so it'd stop swaying. “What do you mean, what do I mean? I hit the pillow and I'm out. Why?”

After a few long swigs of ice water, the dance floor was less a mangled disarray of smoke and neon colors, more definitive and jagged—the stage, the speakers, the turntable where the disc jockey played. Even the beastly blob of grinding, convulsing people started looking like people.

Melby had lost all the red in her face, eyes riveted to the half-empty jungle juice in front of you, perhaps counting the beads of condensation dripping from its tall form.

“You're usually really talkative. I think you're lying to me right now to get out of it.”

“Huh?” You were done with the second water, staring at her unfocused but suspicious. “Lying about what?”

“I—” Melby withered in her seat, distracted by something ahead that you couldn't see, a bejeweled nail wedged between her teeth. “No, nothing. Never mind.”

“Whatever,” you murmured. “I'm outta here.”

Melby didn't stop you from leaving behind money for your drinks before you stumbled away from the booth toward the dancefloor, evading bodies that came flying toward you with erratic, jerky movements not at all matching the pounding beat coming from the stage.

The floor was actually hundreds of individually tinted blocks of plexiglass with colored bulbs screwed in underneath.

During the day, Clamors kept it covered with a special protectant and tarp to maintain the integrity of the glass, but at night, it was illuminated like a nonsensical rainbow checkerboard. Each square took on a life of its own, flickering in unison with songs played throughout the night, warping into mandalas and spirals and disorienting waves that most people using animal crackers couldn’t stomach for long.

You were close to vomiting up the jungle birds and your meager lunch from Radiant Bistro that afternoon when you found Elio within the swarm of partiers that reeked of sour body odor and stale alcohol.

He stood amid it all with a stiff spine, the loveliness of his face covered by shadows and terrible bursts of light that heightened his vacuous stare into the faces of those touching him.

The only other time you had seen him so devoid of life was in the presence of Researcher Kim. Now, he looked in such a way at Chima, at Niva, at Niquan—the nameless and the boy were too scared of overstepping to have a part in it yet straggled nearby to feel like they meant something.

Elio saw you jostling through the crowd toward him, hardened amber regaining luminosity. You became the center of his world again with just a look, yet your world was entirely unthawed ice and serrated stalactites growing ever sharper, heavier, closer to piercing and crushing at a single point below them. The forest of brittle minerals in your mind needed just a single resounding event to loosen, to fall, to impale indiscriminately.

That moment finally happened as you approached Chima, his hand stroking Elio under every layer meant to keep him out. Your future was a far-off thing, light years away and completely untouchable, no matter how many times you were threatened with your profile, how you'd become nothing without your associations, how the entire world would cringe in disgust at your existence and leave you to rot.

You took Chima's hand out of Elio’s pants, hoping you had the strength in yours to twist his wrist so it hurt, wanting nothing more than to actually shatter the bone with just the pure hatred surging down into your grip. With the other hand, you drew it high behind your shoulder, muscles tense, bone popping from an unnatural angle, dense club air gushing between your fingers right before your palm released a thunderous crack against his cheek that shot up the length of your arm in stinging ripples.

“No, stop!” Elio tore you away too late, right after weakness reentered your body, and he was able to easily restrain you. “What have you done?”

The clique had rallied around Chima, steadied him and examined the mark on his cheek, which was already blowing up in size.

He stared at you with amazement that quickly contorted into pure incandescence. His face was the ugliest thing you had ever seen, eyes an uninviting, pitless, and hollow place. This, you thought, was what he truly looked like beneath the popularity, cosmetics, money, and illusion of drugs.

“Keep your hands to yourself!” you screamed.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He tried to lunge at you but was held back by Niva, Niquan, and various ghostly hands. “How dare you. How dare you touch me, you sad sack of shit! You ungrateful nobody! I can ruin you! I can make sure you get thrown into the slums and your fucking insides get ate out by all those filthy savages.”

“That's better than this.” You felt Elio tighten his arms around you, feet shuffling backward to try to separate you from this. Dancers were beginning to gather around the scene, both grossly fascinated and terrified because they'd never seen a fight between humans. “It's better than the stupid drugs. It's better than this club. It's better than all your shitty little followers. It’s better than you.”

To this, Chima stared wide-eyed and gave a derisive laugh. “You seriously hit me because I was touching the android? He's a fucking machine! What else is he useful for?!”

You were still being coaxed out of the gathering, Elio's lips whispering pacifying words into your ear that you didn't hear.

“Don't—Don’t talk about him like that.”

Chima’s visage relaxed into one you were used to seeing. A man who knew he had all the time and power in the world and that he could do anything with it. He swatted away all the helping hands and straightened his clothes.

“Not only are you fucking insane,” he said, smiling without remorse. “Now, you're also dead.”

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

The decision to retch into a convenience store trash can happened because you couldn't bring yourself to do it in the neatly barbered bush you had been closer to at the time. You had separated the metal lid from the metal body so you could simply lean over and spew into it freely.

Smells emanating from inside—expedited food rottage from summer heat, curdled drinks, bagged-up dog shit, and God knows what else—did better to evacuate your stomach than the insane lighted floor in Clamors.

Most of what came up lacked the usual sourness, ran watery like a geyser of diluted red jungle bird with occasional chunks of undigested sandwich and probably everything from three days ago.

Elio wiped your face clean at every chance he got, those seldom moments where you could cough and catch your breath for just a few seconds before your stomach clenched and more climbed up your esophagus and exited your body. There wasn't much he could do apart from dab your skin and keep your clothes from the trajectory.

“Why?” Elio spoke sometime later once the waves of nausea had tapered to a degree where you could sit on a bench outside the convenience store and take a bottle of water he had ready for you. “Why did you do it?”

“Because—” you said, not bothering to finish after swigging and swishing and spitting the acrid taste that lingered on your tongue, between your teeth, and in the ridges of your gums. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't get rid of it all. It stuck in your mouth like bitter tar. “Because.”

You went on to repeat the rinse and swish a few more times, ultimately tilting the bottle upside down to crush the cheap plastic in your fist so it gushed down on your head.

For a second, you imagined turning on a spigot to shock your scalp with cold water, flattening all your hair, pasting your clothes flush and translucent to your body like a second skin to peel away later.

The humid nighttime air was suddenly so much less oppressive than it had been. A subtle breeze had picked up throughout the course of the day, not doing much to tame the heat overall, but the fat pearls of water streaming down your back made you shiver. You counted all the drops that coalesced into shimmering beads on the tips of your hair, your eyelashes, and your nose and fell onto the pale gray cement underfoot.

Elio had already unbuttoned his shirt to the navel, just above where he had rebuckled his pants and tried to pull the rest of the fabric free.

“Oh, Elio. Don't.”

He pulled you into him despite your protest, swathing you from behind first with the shirt and then his arms as he held you against his chest. Fortunately, he had worn an airy undershirt so his body wasn't on display for anyone else, though there was no one around at this hour.

He soothed you with long strokes along your back. His touch amplified to a point where it hurt as much as it felt good. You knew what fingers he used more pressure with, where the heel of his hand touched you next. You could feel where he chose to linger and knead at knots under your skin, imagining the sensation similar to using a sharpened stone or ice pick

“I'm fucked.” you mumbled sullenly in his embrace, warmth dissipated as you had soaked his undershirt all the way through. “I'm so fucked.”

“It was unwise, yes,” he said in silken tones from atop your head, thin jaw pushed down into your wet hair, grinding and rotating when he'd speak. “I had you in my mind the entire time. I was prepared to let him do as he pleased if it meant preventing a confrontation—I failed. But, I hadn't expected you to hit him. None of the outcomes I calculated had that conclusion. I'm sorry.”

“No. I'm glad I did it.” You worried that you were being overconfident, too hopeful toward a future unraveling at your feet as you spoke. “I couldn’t stand how everyone was staring at you—touching you. Everything just felt so wrong, but, why? The only thing that was different was you being there, Elio. I saw you—you looked so uncomfortable. I was so hot. I think I was seeing things after taking the animal cracker. I just got so angry.”

Usually, Elio was the type to scavenge your history as thoroughly as he could, however minimal or inconsequential it all seemed to you at the time. It was a quintessential part of his programming as an android—of all androids—to want to dissect everything there was to know about their masters, knowing them better than their masters knew themselves.

You considered making it effortless for him, volunteering your past with animal crackers and how they used to not hurt at all. At one time, you could binge them for days without violent side effects that’d plague a normal person for weeks.

“There are no pharmacological benefits associated with their use,” was what you heard him say in your head, firm yet loving, melting into his sensual strokes tracing parallel along the length of your spine. “Prolonged use has been known to create perforations in the gastrointestinal tract, heart dysrhythmias…”

He didn't regurgitate that information at you. In fact, he said nothing at all. Besides the hand sweeping down your body steadily, lips and shapely nose burrowed in your limp seaweed-string hair, he didn't move at all. There was no stuttering heartbeat between you except your own. Even his breaths had gone still, chest straight down and unmoving.

Elio was a machine.

It was so easy to forget while wrapped up in daily mundanities. It wasn't so easy to forget in this moment where you wanted to crack him open, scoop out each precious piece of him with your bare hands, and hide yourself within his husk.

You were sick of the silence, so you pinched him hard under the arm, right next to the crease starting his shoulder. It made you feel better to do so, and he'd pay attention to you—

He hissed and reeled away from your touch, startling you out of his arms because you didn't know how else to react.

“Did you—Elio, did you feel that?” you asked incredulously, voice whittling into a self-conscious mumble once you realized the words leaving your mouth. They didn't stop. “Did that hurt you?”

The spot where you pinched was hard to see from the layer of his shirt sleeve, but his fingers rubbed there insistently like he were actually trying to alleviate pain.

“Once, during my early development, Researcher Kim had told me he wanted to close the gap between what people think separates androids and humans.” Elio explained, coming close again to touch you and dry your temples with his shirt on your back. “It's unlikely that what you perceive as pain and what I am programmed to perceive as pain are absolutely comparable, but there's some common ground.”

“I'm sorry, Elio. I didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't know I could.” Your voice weakened to a whisper, throat clenched in shame as your skin grew hot. It was like you were still stuck in the throbbing, stiff air of the club and not in the spacious nighttime breeze.

He looked you in the face, almost-orange eyes flitting inside their orbital sockets trying to find something distant and unknown in your expression. You guessed he was assessing your sincerity—not for himself because he needed it, but to know how it took shape on you and bent your brows, molded your lips, dimpled your chin, deepened the lines.

Then he asked, "If I hadn't reacted—if my circuitry were less sensitive and I could feel nothing at all aside from your fingers on my skin, would you have done it again? Would you keep doing it?"

"What are you trying to say?”

"Globally, since the widespread distribution of androids, the occurrence of domestic and public disputes has been halved. I have been designed to be non-violent, as have all of my predecessors.” As if for effect, Elio took one of your hands and pushed your palm flat to his warm cheek. “I have no desire to hurt you, but I am also incapable of doing so.”

You couldn't wrench yourself from his grip, so that's how you remained, caressing his soft, smooth skin while your thumbpad skirted along the round bone below his eye.

This was more than you could handle right now. All of the illness and nausea that came with the burdensome summer heat, the animal cracker, every bit of liquid and food to enter your stomach, the memory of slapping Chima—it came back, crashing down like an avalanche carrying your regrets, fears, malaise.

“I'm not going to hit you.” You were gagging around saliva pooling into the front of your mouth. “Chima was different. He deserved it.”

“Perhaps,” Elio agreed, entwining fingers with the ones on his cheek. He kissed your open palm with great passion and some semblance of regret. “But, I wish you would have hit me instead. I have failed one of the most basic parts of programming by putting you and others in harm. You may now end up suffering greatly because of it.”

You did get sick again.

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

Elio had persistently warded off Researcher Kim’s video calls for three days while you recovered upstairs beneath every comforter you owned, maximum air conditioning, and heavy curtains to shun out all natural light from ever reaching your bedside. Time came and went without peril or concept to you, seeming to evaporate into the air like nothing, much like how your steady, quiet breaths did the same. They simply came and went; inhale and exhale, no writhing white plumes drifted overhead to prove they belonged to you or that you were even alive. Not in the dead of summer.

  Five days total had passed before you could take the staircase down from the loft without Elio's assistance and eat or drink anything of substance that didn't end with it all being violently evacuated from your body.

Sleep remained elusive to you despite the sedatives and special hot tea recipes from online that Elio pushed down your throat. The migraines persisted even with prescription painkillers Melby had stolen for you forever ago and rough romps of sex that left you winded, glistening, and cold on the sheets when the oscillating fans blew air across your skin.

Whatever excuse Elio had fed to Researcher Kim over the days you were incapacitated worked because when you were finally back at the counter on a video call with him, he didn't ask you about it or chastise you much about the holes in your reports for that week.

“I see that Elio had been proving himself to be quite self-sufficient. I have here six separate occasions where he's ventured out on his own?” Kim looped a stylus through his fingers fluidly, concentrating on what little information he could glean from your submissions. “Henrietta's, mostly. I see he's had to visit the dry cleaners. General store. Pharmacy. He's also been completing the six to ten interactions by himself. Absolutely phenomenal!”

Your attention kept drifting away from Kim. It went to Elio, who placed a white mug down quietly next to you, the handle within reach of your fingers. Beyond the pale-gray wisps spiraling up into the air and dissipating among the snaking pipes sprawling the high ceiling, the liquid inside was pale yellow. Diluted green tea, maybe white tea, if you had to guess. They were among the few things you could stomach right now.

He offered you a fast smile, somewhat unlike himself, and leaned into your lips.

The sight went unnoticed by Kim, who was still captivated by the level of initiative and intelligence his creation displayed. Every word you managed to construct through sedative-induced delirium mesmerized him so thoroughly that he missed the groping hands under your shirt, the smothered moans, and the fact that you had exited view of the screen for fifteen minutes while being laid out on the couch and feasted on through an orgasm.

Wendy Carmichael Can Cook came on the television, a solid distraction for Elio. Today’s episode was a rerun featuring some sort of elevated mush dinner popular in the slums. With some canned foods capable of surviving nuclear fallout, herbs you were almost positive had gone extinct forty years ago, and spices so rare they were untouchable, Wendy concocted something truly groundbreaking to the audience’s eyes.

Elio looked only half-interested in the episode. Meanwhile, you went to the bathroom to clean yourself up and took three painkillers before sitting back down behind the counter. Researcher Kim had yet to lose the wind in his lungs, though now you weren't sure what he was talking about.

The tea was lukewarm and non-irritating just like you thought it'd be.

Your phone had survived the whole five days on a single charge as you had been too afraid to touch it, not because you were scared to see what was there but because you didn't want to know what was no longer there.

True to the fear, while holding a large breath you had sucked into your lungs, believing it to be the sturdiest barrier against whatever you'd discover, there was no one left in your phone log—except Melby.

The rest: Chima, Niva, Niquan, Marcos, Mother, and all the others who had once been listed there before like mock trophies to bolster your sense of worth, the swell of pride that came from knowing important people and integrating yourself into their lives to be something special, simply did not exist anymore.

You didn't have to search up your public profile to know that it was barren as well.

Once Chima went, everyone else went with him—both from the circle and those you'd networked throughout life. Even if it had been someone else, the end result would've stayed the same, exactly as it is now.

“What do you want? I'm not supposed to be talking to you.” Melby had answered her phone after six rings. The background seemed purposefully mute for your call. Perhaps she was just at home nursing the after-effects of things as well. “You there?”

Researcher Kim sieved through paperwork, now entranced by comparing Elio's earlier behaviors in the infancy of design to now. You lowered the volume to where his voice was a low hum, like mumbling through a wall you flattened yourself to.

“Let me guess, Chima told you that?” you said, sipping gingerly from your mug. “How much did he tell you? Was he actually honest, or did he just tell you I was fucking crazy?”

“You weren't acting right all night.” Melby countered in her surefooted drawl. “I don't understand what's happening to you, or why you've been acting so differently. You shouldn't have hit Chima.”

“He shouldn't have touched Elio.”

You could imagine her temper flaring, fair skin glowing pink in the face and chest as she kicked around the comforters on her bed. She strangled a sound in her throat that emanated through the phone as a low groan. Strands of her fried blonde hair scuffed together like pieces of straw when she scratched her head. It was unmistakable.

“What is going on with you?” she demanded, on the verge of tears, voice fading out in glimpses like she was moving away from the speaker. “Elio—he’s just an android. I know he's some radical new innovation, but he'll be saturating the market in six months like every other Hyperion android. There's always going to be more of him. Chima, though, he's actually human. You can just throw away an android.”

Emotions aside—Melby wasn't wrong.

The price of innovation always meant leaving something behind. Whether or not you wanted to see it, if Elio passed his testing period, he'd be decommissioned in a metal box down in the basement at Hyperion while copies and variations of him were added to the heaps of scrap in landfill once the next model came out.

Melby then said something else, “I don't think this is about the android.”

“Oh?” you said, passing a glance along toward the tablet to see that Kim still had his nose pointed down. “Maybe you're right. You know me so well.”

“Do you want to know what I think?” Melby asked.

You observed while Elio roamed the apartment, crouching to pick up the odds and ends that had gone neglected over the days you'd been bedridden, and he had stayed with you to keep you company. He tossed soiled clothes into a hamper, crumbled medication wrappers into the trash, and took your cold tea away to prepare more.

Inspired by your silence, mistaking it as timid submission, Melby went on. “I know you must think we're just being shepherded along, just doing whatever we're told because we don't know what else to do other than follow the loudest voice in the crowd.”

“You know me so well.”

“I know you blame everyone else for what happened at Clamors, but you put yourself in that situation.” Melby said, interjecting in a pitch higher when she heard you take in a breath, “Aht! Aht! I'm not done! No one else is gonna talk to you now, so I'll tell you what we're all thinking: Our circle? We're special. If we always smile and talk about the same things and agree about the same things, we stay together. We stay safe. You've never really wanted to do that, it was always noticeable. I think that's why you and Mi-sun always got along, because you two just did things to fit in, not because you actually cared or wanted to be a part of it.

“I didn't lose you, right? Chima always talked about ways of getting you out of the group. He didn't think you were trustworthy. I guess he was right because you slapped him. Do you know how weird is it for humans to do that nowadays? Apparently it used to be super common to beat up your wives and kids, but now people just do it to androids. But, it's better that way, right?”

“I don't know.” You really didn't.

Elio came back around with a steeping tea bag and a second mug half-full of something darker yellow, like urine. You took the handle to give it a whiff (it smelled homey and savory). Meanwhile, he took away the tablet and ended the video call without a word to Researcher Kim. The energy wasn't there for you to reprimand him nor to mess up your face in mostly feigned surprise.

“It's chicken broth.” He was able to say freely despite Melby blathering on. “Give it a try and let me know if it's too strong. We need to start reintroducing foods back into your diet.”

You drank from the tea mug instead, swiveling the barstool so your back faced him.

“I've thought about it some, and I think we're terrified of each other. Humans don't know how to truly trust one another anymore. That’s why we rely on androids for, like, everything.” Melby continued, “I think, and this is just my opinion, that we actually really miss each other. I think we want to touch and hug and love each other. There are still some people who do. There's a market out there for human-human porn, so it's not like it's unbelievable, but we basically treat each other like we're extinct. It's weird.

“I've done it before, y'know? I've kissed a man. I've kissed a woman. I've fucked both before. You and I—no, never mind. It doesn't count. I've thought about kissing you so many times. I wanted to do a lot more than just that, too.”

The corner seam of your thumbnail had started to bleed after you dug through old scabs and scar tissue built on top of it, your body’s valiant attempts to keep normalcy despite the mutilation that came back again and again. You watched brilliant carmine ooze from the wound, filling the crevices between your nail and skin, crawling upwards to your knuckle before Elio had stifled the area with a warm, damp rag.

Melby let out a long sigh. You envisioned she had just thrown aside a bunch of decorative cushions and flopped down in a chair, or had been pacing her bedroom and finally given up by throwing herself supine on the mattress.

“I'm going to miss you being there.” she declared. “I think—I think you're the closest I've ever come to truly loving someone. At least, I think that's what you'd call it.”

You held your thumb erect for Elio to wrap it in a neon-orange bandage with pink smiles. His lips pressed gently to the sore finger, making slow, wet work to the back of your hand and then the inside of your wrist to feel your pulse bounce against his mouth.

“I'm sorry.” you said at last, putting as much sentiment into those sparse words as you could. A part of you meant it genuinely as an apology for causing her trouble, for her unrealized dreams and lust, for the world you both suffered in and would never know anything else. “Melby, I have one last favor to ask of you.”

She hesitated, likely believing that doing more would get her expulsed from the circle. “Just one?”

“Just one.” You nodded at empty air. “I know either you or Niva have Mi-sun’s phone number. Can I have it?”

Again, Melby stalled, though this time you figured it was out of confusion. “That’s what you want? She might be dead somewhere in the slums, you know?”

“Not if she's pregnant.” you countered. “Niva seemed pretty convinced that night that she was alive and well after being knocked up.”

Melby sucked on her teeth, a moist, popping sound into the speaker. “Niva says a lot of stupid shit because she likes to hijack conversations. Fine. Whatever. I'll text it to you, but you only have one minute because then I'm blocking you for good.”

To this, your heart actually stirred and squeezed, tightening so much it stole your breath from your lungs. Your entire chest felt like it shriveled into itself three sizes smaller as though to accommodate you fitting into a ball within yourself. Dread had opened a chasm wide in your stomach. Everything inside that gory cavity was swallowed up, leaving it vacant and hollow.

This was what it was like to mourn, you considered. It wasn't the same thing you felt the night you cried in the streets after fighting with Mother and losing Marcos. It wasn't the same as the last five days being wrapped in agony, lamenting the loss of a group you'd given years of your life to appeasing.

It was knowing that once Melby was gone, you were lost in the dark, and there was no way out of it. People with delinquent profiles didn't get redeemed—Wendy Carmichael lied and had never lived a life in the slums, a truth Elio had been disappointed to learn—they died in anonymity and poverty.

A notification came through just then, showing an eight-digit number presumed to belong to Mi-sun. You copied it quickly, although now your fingers felt numb and the person writing them down couldn't possibly have been you—

“Alright. It's done,” Melby said calmly. “I have to go. Will you be okay? Do you think people actually die when they go to the slums? I don't want—”

“Goodbye, Melby.” You ended the call and threw your phone on the countertop, far from your eyes so you wouldn't know the exact moment the world ended.

“And, fuck you.”

Elio had the sense to give you plenty of space after the ordeal and stayed busy downstairs cleaning the apartment while you tossed and turned in bed, legs knotted up in the sheets because nothing helped get you comfortable. At some point, through the thick of your adrenaline and despair, the buzz in your brain softened, and you were able to sleep until Elio joined you some hours later.

It was after midnight, and darkness pervaded everywhere. Above you, the snake pipes on the high ceiling writhed together in their intricate web just like every night, and you wondered why the wall of darkness hanging over you seemed closer than it usually did. Meanwhile, Elio faced you from his side of the bed and laid gentle strokes to the top of your head.

“I’ve reached the conclusion that I am defective.” Elio said tonelessly, startling you into such wakefulness that you sat upright from the sheets. “You've lost your friends because of me, and now your profile has fallen into delinquency. The inclination to ostracize what deviates from adapted, accepted social behaviors aligns with common survival tactics. This is an explanation that I understand, but it doesn't... sit right.”

Putting the blame on Elio to feel better would've been easy, and he would take it with grace and lay decadent caresses on your body as proof you were right. But he was too virtuous, and you secretly wanted to keep the credit of being the reason why Chima looked ugly and seethed into his cocktails.

“It sort of hurts,” you admitted. “It's a dull ache inside my bones. It makes me feel like everything inside my chest is shriveling up like a prune. Being abandoned—feeling lonely—is like always being cold. Thinking of it now, I don't know if there was ever a time I didn't feel cold around them. How shitty is it that I feel a little relieved?"

“If that's the case—” Elio rose up from his side of the bed, nudged apart your legs and settled between them. Most of his weight was still on his arms next to your head. In the waning moonlight, shadows deepened the lines around his mouth when he smiled. “I'm glad to have played some part in that release.”

Your fingertips walked lightly across his cheeks, along the planes of his face, as though marveling at him all over for the first time again. His skin always was most beautiful bathed in warm light, but the soft, silvery veil filtering in through the windows gave him ethereal grace.

The calm air upstairs shifted as your bodies stirred on the mattress, sheets strewn to the floor along with pieces of clothing that left you bare to the gray air while Elio gathered the skin of your hips in his hands and sucked on you.

It didn't matter if you closed your eyes or studied the movement on the ceiling while he devoured, lapped away the sticky stuff that glistened out of you like the silk of a spider’s thread before it could stain the sheets, because it always ended with the same kaleidoscopic bursts of color, wanton cries, and him chasing after another orgasm and then another.

He'd ravish you until puffs of hot breath hurt, and the tip of his tongue delivering a single stroke was enough to make you flinch and whimper. Your legs felt fatigued and trembled violently throughout the continued ministrations until you needed to beg him to stop, dignifying the demand with a hard yank to the thick hair on his scalp.

“I'm not done just yet, give me a moment.” He told you the same thing tonight as he did every other time. The pain in his head subsided as he dove back between your legs and laid his tongue as a paddle against you, cleaning the cum for as long as it took for him to be satisfied.

He came up so you could have a taste of yourself in his kiss, tongues wrapped together while he fisted his cock stiff and lubricated himself with the fluid from the tip. You moaned against his mouth when two fingers pushed inside you and thrust with an effortless glide and instilled so much confidence in him that he slid in a third to the knuckle.

“Mm, Elio, fuck me.” you managed between wet, sloppy kisses and splintered breaths. Three fingers were a tighter fit and wider than he was, but the way he angled them up into you was mind-numbing, could've made your tongue wag out of your mouth while panting like a pheromone-crazed animal.

Elio’s lips went from your face to your neck, down along the slope to your shoulder before he removed his fingers and slathered that narrow space in your legs with spend.

“Of course.” He obeyed dutifully but turned you on your side and seated one of your legs high on his arm. “Let's try something different tonight.”

The bulbous head of his cock glistened as it dragged across your groin, tapping those sore spots that made you twitch involuntarily with anticipation and staggered breaths. Elio concentrated on your face throughout it all, memorizing both those subtle and large changes that showed him what you liked the most.

You'd never believed that androids could be sexually adventurous in the same way that humans could, and perhaps that was the case despite the kinds of positions Elio put you in if you were willing. He would be conscientious of your mood beforehand and then adjust accordingly from there.

Some nights, it didn't go further than mouth-fucking you until you orgasmed to exhaustion. Other nights, when you were more pliable and especially affectionate, he'd rut his hips into your ass until you cried and the sheets were beyond saving.

Now, Elio observed you closely as the curve of his cock sank into you, sinew in his stomach clenching once he started thrusting.

At the start, your sounds were soft, and the rhythm made with his hips was one you had no trouble riding. You closed your eyes and focused on how that tilt in his cock pressed up against your walls and stroked all the right parts. His controlled pace unraveled after a while, thrusts turned mindless and greedy as the sting of slapping skin seemed to resonate all around.

You had bunched bits of pillow and bedspread in your fingers and drooled out onto the fabric because you couldn't close your mouth long enough between moans and gasps and lewd mutterings to stop it. You begged him to fuck you harder, deeper, and tear you open if that’s what he wanted to do and would keep you in ecstacy.

Elio indulged your high as he was able, rolling you from your side to your stomach and mounted you again. He was able to touch you better this way, fondle the globes of your ass, the pouches of fat in your hips, stomach, and chest, all the while sucking dark bruises all along your spine and shoulders.

His mouth would sometimes linger next to your ears, wherein he imitated every bit of his human likeness and breathed on you. And then, he would poorly stifle moans that inspired you to think too deeply about the extent to which he could and could not feel.

“Look at me.” Elio felt your walls tighten around his cock and wanted to stare you in the face through your orgasm. He put you on your back, thighs hiked high on his sturdy chest, so those final thrusts plowed deep and stole your screams. You writhed under him, eyes rolled up, bloodshot and pupiless, muscles drawn so tight that it felt as good as it did awful.

A surge of warmth leaked out onto the sheets as Elio took his half-hard cock from your body and let it soften the rest of the way in cold air. His hand roamed you with delicate, healing touches meant to beg forgiveness for how much you'd ache later on, and his lips were tender and slow against yours.

You kissed him back distractedly, unable to think of anything else but the stickiness between your legs and how you'd chosen to never notice it until now.

“What's wrong?” he asked, still pressed up against your mouth. “Are you unsatisfied? My refractory period ends in a few minutes. I can do as much as you'd like until you feel fulfilled.”

“Mm-mn,” you hummed, “that's not it.”

He didn't stun when you snagged your phone from the bedside table and turned on the backlight. You pointed it down at cloudy white globs drying on your crotch, a sight that you thought was vaguely familiar to you somehow. It struck you then that it was like a scene from a pornography or vulgar sketches some kid in secondary school got suspended for drawing.

Still, it couldn't have been possible.

“What is that?” you asked with unacquainted timidity.

Elio grabbed a package of wipes left bedside and spaced your legs apart to clean the mess he had left on you. He took his time with long, intentional strokes to avoid your sensitive parts as best he could, soiling a good handful from the package before asking if you wanted a bath.

“Answer me first,” you said.

He rose from the bed with one more kiss and collected your clothes from the floor. They were draped nicely over his arm, whereas he stood there before you nude, enveloped by the moon’s blue luster.

At first glance, his smile seemed the same adoring kind that he always held for you, and yet it evoked some undeterminable sadness to well up in your chest and cling there.

“It’s the result of a body never truly being your own.”

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

Mi-sun’s house wasn't far from your apartment, as you recalled. It took a bit of investigative work online to track down her address (via Elio), mainly because it had been well over a year since you'd last needed to know it and the phone number Melby had given you was disconnected, but once you had the coordinates plugged into your phone, it was just one begrudging trek through sultry summertime air to reach her front door.

When you had finally made it to that point, however, eyes leveled down at a dirty, faded doormat that had seen plenty of seasons and wintery salt, you weren't sure how to proceed.

There wasn't any real reason why you were standing there now, yet you felt that you needed to be there anyway. Maybe it could be called seeking solidarity with someone who was enduring the same inevitable ending you were, or maybe the curiosity about her state of being was what won out dominantly. You couldn't be sure of your own motivations—only that you were there, and you needed her to know you were.

After three solid knocks with your knuckles, you let your hand fall and waited by scuffing the soles of your shoes on the coarse mat underfoot. It still had some springiness to it as you scrubbed. The front door was old and brown, having lost its elegant lacquer long ago. You remembered Mi-sun had mentioned a few times before that she had wanted to make the door cute with white paint and a frilly outdoor wreath but could never get around to it.

You guessed she never did.

“Should we knock again?” Elio asked across your shoulder, the bulk of his frame casting a cooling shadow over your body. He had gone out to Henrietta's by himself the other day when you told him what you intended to do and bought supplies to make a cake and special plastic Tupperware meant to keep it from moving around.

The only explanation he had given you about an hour ago, after locking the apartment door and stepping out onto the sidewalk, hot enough in the midday sun to melt the bottoms of your shoes to the pavement while you walked, was that Mi-sun was an old friend, and it was a safe gift even for a pregnant woman.

You never found the courage to divulge just how involved you had been in her expulsion from Chima's circle, even though you knew it'd be impossible for him to think less of you from it.

A minute passed, and then so did two more before you realized that no one was coming to the door. While listening for movement—a television, a hissing stovetop, shuffling slippers on top of creaking floorboards, anything at all aside from stiff silence, you understood that it was unlikely anyone had lived there in quite a while.

“I don't know where else she could be.” you said, now back at Elio's side, where he flicked away tiny splinters of old wood and shiny glaze that peeled off your damp skin like cut-up stickers. He moved the visor above your brow gently, adjusting the position of it to better shield your eyes, but seemed more to just want the proximity than anything else.

The longer he fiddled with things—your hat, the flecks of things he missed on your ear, wrinkles in your t-shirt—the more apparent it was to you that he was contemplating something else. You were trying hard not to do anything that would spur him into making the next suggestion you knew was coming.

“There is one other place we haven't tried.” he said, switching from your shoulder to tucking pieces of hair securely behind your ear and dabbing sweat off your neck with a handful of napkins he had picked up at a convenience store while grabbing you water. “The likelihood of Mi-sun’s profile falling into delinquency and being able to maintain residence within the city is less than twenty percent. However—”

“I know.” You breathed out hot air and sucked it right back into your lungs. Maybe if you did that enough times it'd burn them, shrivel them up like prunes. “I know where she is. Let's wait until it cools down to go, though. I'll probably pass out if I have to see any of that right now.”

“Today on Loti Khan’s Food Tours of Retro City, she said that Asakawa on Fifteenth is a spot worth visiting during the summertime because of their cold noodle dishes. Hiyashi Chuka was what she suggested, I believe. I've already committed the menu to memory, and they have well over twenty different cold dishes and beverages. Their affordability isn't as stellar as Rainbow Bistro, but Loti says—”

Wendy Carmichael was now a disgraced name in your household after Elio had spent a few hours one afternoon researching the woman’s true life story. She had been born into the elite class with a mother sitting at the top of the food chain in Retro City’s governing body, attended culinary arts schools across the world yet never reached the acclaim she coveted until she made up the whole spiel about clawing her way out of the slums.

Crawling back from the slums once you were in them just wasn't feasible. Only the worst of the worst—thieves, profile delinquents, murderers, lepers, and unwanteds were kept there, like trash crowded and barred in a landfill. If you found yourself in the slums somehow, no one would help you out of them because that would mean tarnishing their own reputations.

You were as good as dead.

You were dead.

Elio had carried around a brown paper bag housing the cake for most of the day, never once setting it down. His features never flinched when the straw handles sank into parallel dents in his skin, long stripes that looked like they'd be sore to you, but he never conveyed any discomfort. He merely floated along wherever you went, undeterred by your dour, soulless wandering, which lasted until the sun emblazoned the sky in dim fire and pinks.

Those hues were leached by the close, calming gradient of greens, blues, and darker blues that reached so quickly you could follow the sprawl of them until they had ensnared the daylight. The sun sank somewhere betwixt skyscrapers, and the air still felt thick as the mucus in your throat but bearable.

That same sky followed you on the cab ride across the city. You imagined the darkening air rushing alongside the vehicle with you as if containing it on rails, guiding you closer towards the slums. Once the skyscrapers were gone, far away in a suffocating yellow haze from the sleepless city, and the residential zone had thinned out of the rest of its straggling homes, the scenery had taken on a complete shift.

Everything was bizarrely flat, barren, and beige for as far as the eye could see—vegetation was withered roots and barbed, inedible shrubbery that could've been pretty with some flowers or leaves. No trees could endure the fissured, parched earth nor the fine dust and sand skittering in the wind, leaving heavy layers where it lay once the breeze ebbed. Animals were long gone; the rumors of their bleached bones and skulls warped in a perpetual rictus of agony had been true because you saw many scattered throughout the landscape.

“Please confirm this is your stop,” said the cabbie, a female android from an older generation, maybe three or four. She stuck her hand outside the driver’s window when you tried to give her a tip. With her fish-eyed stare and leathery smile, she repeated, “No need. I have no use for money. Please confirm this is your stop.”

“This is correct.” Elio spoke for you before taking your fingers through his and guiding you away from the idling vehicle. The android cabbie found his reply sufficient and drove away without questioning why you were out here in the flatlands. All she knew how to do was drive and obey traffic laws.

“Do you know where we're going?” you asked because you only knew to have told the cabbie to drive as far as the outer perimeter of the city. Beyond this, your phone had no service, and there were no clearly designated signs to point you in the right direction.

The people in the slums were meant to be forgotten, hideous secrets hidden away, broomed off to the outskirts of civilization where they'd have to fend for themselves in an environment that had been deader than them for ages.

“Truthfully”—Elio stalled then and glanced around the endless expanse of wasteland—“Hyperion never included information about the slums in my programming. What I know is common knowledge and what I've accumulated in my time with you. I have never been able to locate specific coordinates to where the slums are hidden.”

You frowned. “Should we turn around before we get lost, then?”

Elio told you no and raised the hand clasped with yours, pushing one finger erect at a faint glow somewhere in the distance, no more than a ten—or fifteen-minute walk. You were almost convinced you could see the silhouettes of shoddy, leaning structures, but there was no way to be certain unless you got closer.

“Let's go.”

Chasing the remnants of the dusk to light your way across the starved, fractured terrain, those sparse shapes you had seen minutes before grew into multitudes. Soon, you were among clusters of disheveled, crude homes organized in long rows, some stacked with tiers like they were meant to replicate separate floors for more space.

Most of these houses didn't come with windows or doors to keep out strangers but thick decorative curtains that'd shun the beating sun, stave off the worst of winter frost, and deflect billows of sharp sand from dirtying their things indoors.

The paths between rows of homes were well-worn and brightly illuminated with anything they could use—lanterns, stuttering neon signage, solar panels, and even fire rings brutally hammered and dented into shape. Shadows from the fire lurched erratically against crooked metallic walls. Some homes with grimy windows caught a weak gleam off the flames.

It was almost fully dark, and people still moved with purpose as though they could compete with the suit-and-ties stomping their soles on the pavement in the city. Their hands were busy doing something—carrying, brooming, cooking, flourishing during a great retelling, clapping, hiding smiles.

These savages, delinquents, fraudsters, thieves, murderers, and diseased swine never once regarded you or Elio with any modicum of intrigue. You had believed at some point you'd be shrinking under a crowd of wicked stares, pulled down into some inescapable abyss by necrotic or leprous hands trying to steal the clothes from your body or use your skin to tarp piles of scrap.

Only one man had stopped along the path, dressed in dusty clothes that were otherwise decently kept; he was thin but not malnourished and hollow in the face. He told you that the aimless way you and Elio had been walking gave away that you were new to the slums because there was always something needing done and not enough hours in a day to do them.

“Mi-sun?” The man was thinking aloud, stirring up dust as he shuffled his feet around. You had given him the name and a description, which you hoped had been specific enough to avoid approaching people at random. “Yeah. That pregnant girl… she was here for a while. She's long gone now.”

“Long black hair, blunt bangs. Black eyes. Really translucent skin? Super skinny?” As unhelpful as your details were, it was all you had to give him to keep the mental acrobatics going. There was always a slim chance he could be misremembering her. “Are you sure she's no longer here in the slums? Where'd she go? What happened to her?”

Eventually, the thin man led Elio and you to a tiny house—more of a shack—meant to accommodate a sole body and some odds and ends. He held a heavy curtain back for the pair of you to enter, encouraging you to settle down on a sandy rug, which looked to have at one time been bright red.

“I don't have much to give, but here's a little water. To have made it here, you would've had to walk. We all had to.” he said, pulling out his finest cuppery and pouring from the spout of a broken electric kettle. “That girl was a profile delinquent, to my understanding. Almost all of us here are. I used to own a printing business on the north side about fifteen years ago. I upset the wrong people and here I am. What's your story?”

You spun the cup with your fingers, trying not to put your eyes down to scrutinize any particles floating around inside. Elio wasn't given a cup because the man had immediately deduced that he was an android.

“I…” You still didn't drink, but the back of your throat felt scratchy and your tongue like some dry slab of meat shoved into your mouth. “I pissed off the wrong people.”

“Ah.” The man gave an anguished smile, showing he understood you very well. There was a low table between you, repurposed from something else and sanded down to a smooth finish. “For a while, I helped look after Mi-sun. Like you, I had been the first person to greet her when she arrived. She didn't act like everyone else; she was dazed, but she was angry.

“I fed her, gave her water, and gave her a sleeping bag. We have to make due with less than bare minimum most days, but we make it work. We all look out for each other. The community really pitched in when we realized she was pregnant.”

Elio kept a watchful eye on your hands, the fingers aching to peel back ribbons of flesh.

“That shouldn't have been possible.” you said. “Mi-sun had an android. She was never involved with any men—not that I could ever recall. She just doesn't give me the impression of someone who'd change her ways like that.”

The man sipped his sandy water, wiping off clear pebbles that had clung to his facial hair. “When you find yourself exiled here, you learn fast that things are never what they seem. You didn't ask a question, but you gave yourself an answer.”

“What?” It was more noise than a word.

“Daichi, I believe, was her android. Shortly before she showed up, she said that Hyperion had come to forcibly reclaim it. That must've been a difficult reality for her to face—knowing everything was being taken away from her, forced into a pregnancy, and having to fend for herself afterwards.”

This time, you lifted a hand to stop him from falling down another tangent. He obeyed, voice whittled to silence that was immediately unsettled by loud water slurping.

It wasn't that you weren't following what he was saying. You were many things: a fool, a sheep, a coward, a liar, maybe even a true scoundrel at heart, but stupid wasn't among that inexhaustible list. You just needed a moment to collect the nuggets he had thrown down for you to pick up.

Guilt peaked the ranks of everything else you felt right then. A word you'd never use to describe yourself was malicious, but in the end, it had been the malice of someone else and your inability to see apart from the rest that condemned Mi-sun to this suffering.

You played as much a part in taking away Mi-sun's life as Chima had in actually enforcing it. Unlike Chima, never one to balk or cower regardless of how truly cruel his decisions were and committed to them like gospel, you simply sat in his afterimage and did whatever he said. Half of the time, you were blitzed out of your mind; the other you spent wishing you had never known them at all.

It had been so easy to vote Mi-sun out of the group. Completely painless. You just didn't look at her when you raised your hand to pass judgment. Melby had expressed her delight by squeezing your thigh, whereas Mi-sun held her composure and shoulders straight back, but her face contorted with every indication of betrayal and agony.

You thought about how many animal crackers you had that night.

“What happened to her?” Both your hands had been restrained by Elio’s at that point. Large, comforting, and warm in contrast to all the ice that seemed to thicken your blood, stiffen your heart, and freeze your bones. “Where is she now?”

The man must've been suspecting something because his face looked long to you now, weighed down by this life and your feeble state.

“I—I can't be absolutely positive, but I do believe she is dead.” he told you grievously, beady brown eyes not unseeing to the way Elio groped your fingers to keep them still. “She didn't want to be pregnant. It was something she talked about for weeks before leaving. She knew what Hyperion and the government were doing and said she didn't want to be a part of it. On the last night before she left, I had to wrestle a knife out of her hands because she was trying to cut open her stomach to kill the baby.”

You couldn't swallow past the sharp granules of sand and dryness in your throat anymore. You had to slug back the cup of grainy water until the feeling subsided, shove the worst of the dread and shame and guilt into your bowels.

“After that, she was gone.” He took a drink as well, exchanging looks from you to Elio. “A couple of us tried tying her up to get her to calm down and do something about the cut on her stomach, but she got the knife, stabbed one of the younger guys and got away. We haven't seen her since, but a search party did come back to say they saw blood leading back to the city.”

“Oh my god…” you groaned, forcing Elio to recoil when you slapped his hands away—intentional and hard. You stuck yours in your hair, yanking at the roots until your scalp screamed and burned. “Is there any chance she could've survived? Any at all?”

The rail-thin man swirled what little remained of his water in the cup, studying the pale sediment floating within. “It's too hard to say. It's unlikely, my friend. The police wouldn't have gunned her down if they saw she was pregnant, but they would've seen the cut. And that counts as attempted murder. If she's still alive, it's only to give birth, after that…”

“Execution,” you finished.

He nodded and said nothing else, eyes downcast as though lost in the grain of the wood table.

After that, you left the man in his sad little shack to explore the slums more. Elio came along shortly after, saying he had presented the man with the cake as a reward for his hospitality and apologized if it no longer looked appetizing.

The man thanked him before returning to his grief for many things, perhaps.

“I don't want to be here anymore, Elio.” you said, failing to avoid hearing a gaggle of giggling women gossiping together. They were dressed clumsily and in trends almost a decade old, but they had glowy eyes and cavernous lines worn into their faces from laughter and joy where they could find it.

Old men played some made-up board game together, gathering at least half a dozen spectators to see who'd win. Their brows were heavy with contemplation and stress of worthy competition. The other bodies tried making bets with pieces of scrap and metal coils and nearly blown bulbs for lighting.

Music came from all around, lyrical in the same way it was discordant because they weren't playing the same songs nor singing the same things. Their voices were robust and resilient, unwilling to be trudged over by sand nor heat nor oppressors who were incapable of understanding the human spirit was pliant and could bend with the wind, stand with the seasons, and could fracture yet never break.

You couldn't make sense of what any of them were singing, the noise too unharmonious, but you could feel the power in their songs pulse through you, ricocheting in your mind for long after you'd escaped proximity to them.

There were no lepers. There were the sick and unfortunate, but they were not diseased. They did not believe that their tilted houses were tombs, that their unquaint lives were an endless spiral of torment, or that the food they could find and produce was unworthy of reverence.

The people of the slums lived a hard, thankless life, but they had each other. They banded together to weld sheets of metal into four walls and a roof for the new faces who came to them. Your woes would become their woes, and they would feed you, cloth you, wash you, bandage your wounds, and call you their most beloved.

Together, they ate their meals from what they could scavenge out there. They retold the same grandiose tales of heroes and valor and androids that Marcos had told you at bedtime as a child. Their cultures were all cherished and expressed in the food they shared and clothes they managed to sew together by hand and slow machines.

You could ask your neighbor for a tablespoon of sugar and four would come to you with curiosity and offer their arthritic hands and knobby backs for whatever was needed.

Here, you could see humanity clearly for the first time in your life and felt burdened knowing it. Your heart weighed like an anvil behind your ribs. It hurt and lurched behind its enclosure because it too wanted to get away from what it now knew.

“A lie.” you choked, forcefully shoving Elio's hands away from you once again when he tried to embrace you. “It was all a lie. Everything was a lie! Where are they?! Where are all the lepers and people leaking pus from their face?! Where are the murderers? Where are the savages? Where are all these awful fucking people I was told were here? Where are they?”

Elio's expression took on something completely unforeseen—pity. Their lives were fine and routine while yours crumbled around you. The terror you had been force-fed your whole life was all false. There was civilization beyond a profile with red overlay, more waiting on the other side that the sleepless city wanted to conceal.

“There are no androids here.” Elio mentioned, deeming that adequate enough time had passed for you to regain your bearings. He took you in his arms and kissed the crown of your head, burying his lips deep in your hair. “We were never meant to become substitutes for your love. We were never meant to go this far and act as replacements for humanity because we simply cannot feel what another human does. That is something Hyperion will never be able to achieve. Humanity needs humanity, not machines.”

You sank into his warmth, arms wound his back, and said from his chest, “But, I love you. Don't leave me. I don't want Hyperion to take you away.”

Elio, your beautiful sun, leaned down into your face and kissed the highest parts of your cheeks and the wetness around your eyes before settling on your lips. Slow and lingering, you chose to believe it meant he was sealing away your plea and that he'd always be there to swathe you in his arms.

“Let's stay for a little longer,” he said once apart from the kiss. “I’d like to see the side of humanity that no one else does.”

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

Less than a week had passed since your hard slog through the slums and back to Retro City. Although you had only been gone from your inner-city apartment for mere hours, possibly five or six at most, upon walking back inside after Elio and wincing against the fluorescent bulbs overhead, you thought you were looking at something entirely foreign.

The simple pleasures that you had become accustomed to throughout your life: plumbing, central air that turned the hot sweat on the back of your neck into cold droplets slithering beneath your clothes, the worn out mattress upstairs, technology, an android who'd done almost everything for you for the better part of a year—it all seemed so novel, so excessive. A treat for a rat in a box before testing to see how it'd respond when it was all taken from its enclosure.

So, when Elio woke you up one morning, early enough that the light streaming in through your windows already felt warm on the bed sheets, and the thin air looked itself to have a golden hue, you couldn't say you felt any rouse of surprise or fear when he handed over a red letter—an eviction correspondence.

Sooner or later, you knew you'd meet with one, though the progress of everything hadn't been as immediate as you had been led to believe it would be. A month had come by and stayed for several slow breakfasts, lunches, dinners, mindless strolls, and countless passionate entanglements before deciding to leave on an indignant note. With the red notice, you were expected to vacate the premises within days, whether you had intentions for your belongings or not.

Things stayed tumultuous from there on out, yet you couldn't find it within yourself to react to any of it, even in the instance when Researcher Kim rang you for an impromptu meeting that you anticipated meant no good.

“Effective immediately, Elio will be seized and returned to Hyperion in relation to the recent change in public profile status.” It was too formal and rigid a tone even for him. Clearly, his superiors had demanded this because you doubted the profile change was much a concern to him on a personal level. “Your contract is hereby null and void, and your association with Hyperion is obsolete. Any attempt to thwart repossession of Hyperion property will be penalized legally.”

Throughout it all, Elio swept the floor with leisurely strokes as though the reach of Researcher Kim’s voice ended at your ears alone. He moved onto laundry, taking great care to iron out the wrinkles in your favorite shirts and make the folds in the arm seams crisp and symmetrical.

“Is that really all you wanted to say?” you asked, palm capped overtop a mug of tea Elio had set down for you a while ago. The steam now rose weakly and moistened your skin, a particularly gross feeling, but it kept you alert. “I thought that Elio was your project, and you called the shots on him.”

Researcher Kim was out of sorts and worn. His posture was crumbled, and his clothes were in complete disarray like he hadn't bothered to change out of them in days. His under eyes were translucent, pulling out all the purples and blue veins under his skin. The man looked like he had hardly slept in weeks.

“You don't understand what you've done, have you? Not only may you end up costing me my position, but you've ruined my entire lifetime of work!” Kim leaned in close to the screen, sounding more and less himself now.

You were wary of the glint in his eyes. “What do you mean? Elio's just—”

“No!” he shouted and slumped back into his ergonomic chair. His head slanted over, almost coming in contact with the peak of his shoulder like it was too heavy for his neck to hold. “You don't get it. You don't get it! Because your profile turned, this entire year—everything you’ve reported, everything I've accomplished, Elio's entire testing period is invalid. Hyperion executives consider him defective. The Generation Seven android has failed! Look at what you've done!”

A sudden wild flapping of thousands of butterflies lifted your stomach up and then plunged it down into a void. Kim had successfully chiseled away the inexpressive mask you had worn up until that point, seeming satisfied that he could stipple your face in a cold sweat.

“Wait, no. That can't be right.” you protested, wrestling your own hands to keep them off of the tablet in front of you. “My profile turned, but the work I've done has been honest. Elio is a success! You know that! You've seen every step of his progress for almost a year.”

Researcher Kim threw his hands up wildly, truly not himself with all of these gestures. “None of that matters. None of it. My life's work is a failure. I thought we had an agreement to help one another, but I was mistaken.”

“You don't understand!” you said, pounding the countertop with sharp claps of your hands. “It wasn't on purpose. I wasn't trying to…”

“Hyperion will have Elio destroyed, and progress will be hindered. Do you know how long, how many decades this could set us back? This could be devastating to humanity, but I don't think you're capable of understanding that. Just like the rest, you're not able to see the big picture at large, the mechanisms at work keeping our society moving forward. You can only see the straight line ahead of you and wearing blinders so you don't have to know the rest.

“We've kept this world running for sixty years. You need to understand how utterly fucking frustrating it is that one person has the potential to undo decades of work!”

Researcher Kim’s words weren't unjustified to you because he was a scientist, and you had always been a nobody in the grand scheme of things. But, right now, the venom he spat sounded vindictive, a man sucking on wounds you had inflicted rather than the opinion of the whole of Hyperion.

If you hadn't been staring directly at him this entire time, you would’ve thought he was frothing and drooling at the mouth like some animal.

A stilted quiet filled the gaps in conversation, both of you uncertain of what would be said next. If he was reacting in any professional capacity, the call would've been disconnected by now. That was the main giveaway that let you know this wasn't just about what Hyperion wanted.

But the truth of it was that you didn't care what Hyperion wanted or him.

At the end of your life as you knew it, before being thrown away into the landfill with every other unwanted human, you were piecing together the whole history of the world and how it had gotten to this point. It had become this way through relentless men like Researcher Kim who mostly operated on their own moral compass, ones that could never quite point north and spun on that wheel as they saw fit.

“Enough of the powerplay, Kim.” you ordered, chest opening toward the ceiling with a deep, bracing breath. “What is the real purpose of Hyperion? Why does it actually exist?”

Kim, perhaps re-evaluating you as less of a pawn in this scheme and more of an infant intellectual about to breach the narrow canal into enlightenment, stacked his spine high and pressed his fingertips together. He studied you with some caution, head shifting from left to right, just slightly off-center from his hands as though judging whether you were worth divulging precious intel to.

But, like you, you expected he realized it didn't matter what he'd tell you, however coveted it might've been by Hyperion.

Kim, ultimately, worked for himself and for Hyperion only when he felt it served him well.

“When I hired you, I didn’t do it because I thought you were stupid.” It seemed he felt the need to clarify this for you, unsmiling but with an eager lilt in his tone. “I hired you because of your potential. I took a chance on you, and while it had, indeed, ended in my peril, you've surprised me so many times throughout the year that I started keeping a record of you as well.

“Human beings do one of two things in the consistent presence of androids, they either regress or they progress. Most of your peers will regress because that’s how society has been modeled to be. The difficult tasks, the mundane, all the things that ask of us to consider the complexity of the world around us and think critically have been left to androids. How well do you think a machine can understand the theory of life after death and the mysticism of religion? The concept of soulmates? Cultural superstitions and children's nighttime fears? It's about as you expect. They can give you an answer without truly understanding. Androids, I dare say, only have an extremely limited understanding of moral culpability. Humans are much more flexible with it these days because it suits them best.

“So.” Kim sighed, hands resting on the dark red desk he sat behind. “You can imagine how interesting it was when we started noticing a trend with auditors—changes in them. A renaissance, an evocation of deep wondering and wariness towards the workings of the world around them. We can only guess the reason that this happens is because part of humanity still doubts the intentions of androids, and that's been bred onward through the generations. You ask an android a question, they give an answer, you doubt that answer, and then you start to doubt everything around you. It's all hypothetical, but it makes sense.

“It doesn't happen with the majority of the population, though. And it isn't encouraged. Enlightenment threatens the status quo, and those who disturb the status quo are a disservice to the governing bodies and Hyperion. Do you understand?”

Your gaze turned cold. “Are the other auditors there in the slums, too? Once they've been used up and started to catch wind of this messed up shit?”

Researcher Kim flicked his fingers toward the top of the screen, doing that instead of shrugging. “Who knows? What happens to them once a testing period has concluded is none of my business. Presumably so, that's what I would hope for them because that's the kindest outcome.”

“Was I…” You licked your lips and felt the shallow cracks in them. “I was going to end up in the slums no matter what happened, wasn't I?”

He frowned. “No. If things had gone differently, I was going to vouch for you. I wanted to keep you as my assistant.” He was quiet for a beat, looking straight at you in that discomforting way that you couldn't shake. “I’ve grown fond of you, you know? How could I not with everything I've learned about you over the course of a year. I can't forgive you for what you've done to the Hyperion Project, to my life's work, but I can't just let you disappear like the rest.”

Something ugly started to grip in the back of your throat. Fear? Disgust? An inkling?

“What do you mean?” you ventured.

“I've read through each report you've sent me in the past year so many times. It was mostly out of necessity for Hyperion, of course, but the ones that I found myself… fixated on rereading time and time again were of yours and Elio's sexual endeavors. I wasn't lying when I said they were a contract-based requirement, mind you, but I will admit that some of the questions were altered somewhat.” he said, suddenly smiling in a self-satisfied sort of manner that made your skin itch. “I realized I never answered your question fully, by the way. I can get ahead of myself sometimes, as you know. But, do I really need to explain what Hyperion's purpose is?”

You were on the edge of your seat, ready to take flight off it at any second. It's just how the entire change of trajectory made you feel. Humanity had spent too much time in the past arguing animal-like, instinctual reactions for this not to be real.

In that moment, you were living proof of a prey noticing a predator in broad daylight.

“Fine.” He kept smiling around the taut creases in his skin. The muscles there twitched as if the effort were unfamiliar. “Hyperion is a repopulation aid. It's quite sad, really. It started out with such great potential to drive society forward, but humanity and greed have always gone hand-in-hand. So, it became a race of mass production into a race that the governing bodies now had their hands in. The order was to rectify the critical birth decline worldwide. Androids became less like tools, looked less like machines, and more like humans—like lovers who couldn't say no to any demand.

“Androids are vessels for insemination. What else do you want me to tell you?”

Researcher Kim's explanation had weakened you, made your legs shaky and light like a scarecrow’s stuffed with straw. You couldn't rely on them to carry your weight away from this awful conversation, the hideous sight of him, because there'd be nowhere for you to run to while the information perforated your brain and crawled inside and feasted there.

“Elio…” You didn't even know what you wanted to say. Everything got stuck behind the notch in your throat. None of it would assuage that wretched ache in your gut, the precursor of vomit and disgust and unhinged terror.

“Of course.” Kim said, without needing to tell you what he was confirming. He was perfectly composed still, perhaps even shining with pride like some well-hidden, nuanced detail had finally been figured out.

He leaned toward the screen, smile turning salacious and voice low and grating.

“My only regret is that I couldn't be there to do it myself.” He brightened at the way your face wrenched and fastened in fear, seeming to think it was a reward after conducting an experiment on another project. “But, there's still time, isn't there? I must retrieve Elio myself to shut him down. If you listen to what I ask, perhaps I can get you pardoned and your profile reinstated.”

“No. That’s not what I want.” you said.

“It doesn't matter what you want,” he rebuffed, speaking with such confidence that you almost believed it. “The moment your profile fell into delinquency, you ceased to be. You've fallen through the cracks, and no one is going to help you. You're less than an android.”

The fine hairs all over your body bristled. “Don't compare me to a machine! You don't get to decide things for me!”

“I can save you, you damn fool!” Kim gaped incredulously. “I can restore your life and give you more than you've ever had. I can give you influential associations. I'll take care of you. I'll keep you as my assistant, and you get to live a life among the elite.”

He was lying.

No one ever made it out of the slums once they were in it. That wasn't an assumption, it was a simple grim reality.

In this world, only humans could lie because androids were incapable of betraying their programming to do so. Otherwise, Elio probably would've lied about many things or had never said certain things at all to spare you discomfort.

Humans, on the other hand, could lie to maliciously deceive and serve themselves a better hand. They could lie their way into a false mirror image, something that looks like them but never really existed and could never truly be. They could lie their way into trust to fulfill their own desires, and once that had been sufficiently quenched, they could go on lying elsewhere.

“I'll be there for you soon.” Researcher Kim tried his best at a soothing smile, treating it as though the sight of it would persuade your trust of him. “Please have Elio on standby. I would like for this not to be more difficult than it needs to be.”

Just then, the air flickered lightly by your ear as Elio reached past your shoulder and picked up the tablet. His expression was inscrutable, the same sort you'd grown used to seeing whenever Researcher Kim appeared on the screen.

“I won't be returning to Hyperion.” he said with solemn, firm words that held a certain weight of finality behind them.

Those lovely, velvety tones were still there but could not reassure you of some unknowable dread rising up somewhere deep inside your mind. A sensation so equally intimate and profound prickled against your scalp, seeking a way out that you thought you'd do anything to make it stop.

“What are you saying, Elio?” Kim grunted. “Defective or not, you hold precious data for Hyperion. It will be used to create something better than you, incorruptible and pure. You should be honored.”

“These memories are mine.”

That was the last you saw of Researcher Kim’s face before the tablet smashed to pieces on the floor. Elio had thrown it against the kitchen cabinets only once but hard enough to split the screen into a web of hundreds of sprawling fragments. Shards of plastic hardcover skittered across the hardwood floor, lost under heavy furniture.

His face had softened completely when he turned to you and guided you out of your chair into his arms. You felt him in your hair, lips on your forehead, down against your lashes, lower to the roundest part of your cheeks, and finally on your mouth in a kiss imbued with so much love, cherishment, and anguish.

You were at home within his embrace, swathed in the warmth of his body and the ardor of his kiss. But this felt excruciating and desperate, like a plea to take all of him that you could in that very moment because he feared that he would be taken away and you left behind to whatever nebulous future.

So, you let him seat himself as deep inside of you as he could go while still fully clothed. He had pushed around some fabric so you could be skin-to-skin where it mattered, where it was hottest to be, where the muscles contracted and relaxed together as a reminder you were both there in that moment—breathing, moaning, feeling everything there was to be felt.

He finished outside your body without you needing to say it. Although, while he groaned into your neck and bore his teeth into the curve of it, hips buckling forward as spend jetted down your thigh, all you could think about was how many times Kim had been there instead.

“I want you to destroy me.” Elio said.

All of the breath left your lungs and shrunk them to rotted fruit size. You were still vulnerable before him, exposed to the room and damp with sweat from the midday heat despite air conditioning. Worriment filled the space between his brows when he saw you aghast, and he quickly cleaned you off with a rag before helping you with your pants.

“Is this a shitty attempt at a joke?” you asked. He pressed his lips to yours and told you it wasn't. “No. Absolutely not. You're as fucking nuts as your creator. You're fucking stupid.”

“You must—”

“I won't! I won't do it!”

“I'm asking you to save me.”

“Get away!”

Elio had tracked you across the apartment multiple times over, pleading his case with skewed logic you pretended not to hear. For once, your ears filling with fluff while the resounding drum of your heartbeat pounded in your skull was a fortunate event to occur. It eclipsed his voice and hurt so much that you could focus on the pain crushing your chest.

However, once you were trapped between the wall and his body with nowhere to hide, the brief reprieve behind your fitful heart faded, as did the strength of your resolve.

“I—I don't understand.” You had trouble swallowing down the saliva and sobs. “Why are you asking me to do that? I can't do that to you, Elio. I can't hurt you. I love you.”

“I know.” He didn't hold you, though he had to win against his own reflexes not to do so. His knuckles were ghastly-looking and pronounced peaks; anything within that vise would've been crushed. “Today, one way or another, I will be destroyed. Hyperion deemed me a failure and therefore there is nothing else left ahead for me. My chip will be removed and my body ripped apart and melted down and I will be forgotten and never have existed in the first place.

“You will be the proof that I was ever here. And, should anyone be allowed to destroy me, it makes the most sense for it to be you.”

His lips left imprints in your skin that felt important to savor, etched through your bones into the very cluster of cells that made up your wholeness so that he could be immortalized.

“There’s an excerpt from Hiroshi Nagoya’s novel Gone Are the Youth that left a strong impression on me. It said, ‘Humans destroy everything they love—but, still, they must love wholly, and they must destroy completely. From ruin and ash and settled dust, humanity rebuilds all it has ever destroyed because their love lingers in memories, in rubble, blood, decay, and burnt air.’” He recited the details to remind you that he was a machine but kissed your face in a way only an earnest lover was able to.

You didn't know what any of that was supposed to mean to you, nor at what point he had managed to read a book like that without you noticing. A part of you took offense at both the passage and the fact Elio had committed it to memory as if he had expected to utilize it at some uncertain interval in the future all along.

Had he been thinking this way since the beginning? Had you failed Elio even in the capacity for him to come forward to speak of his doubts to you? Perhaps, like his programming dictated that he couldn't lie nor deny what he was designed to do, he was also incapable of speaking any full truth if it could've been construed as heresy.

Was there a single aspect of himself which he could control of his own free will?

Such a thought was unabating and grew a knob of dread in your chest. It started out small and localized, a sharp throb somewhere near your heart—and then it sprouted roots like a seed, long fingers piercing through red-purple muscle and fibrous tendon, reaching deep into your bone. The dread weaved as one with your veins and arteries, sprawling the innumerable pathways that held your shape even beneath the gory components inside of you.

Suddenly, the dread pulsated, and all you could think through the agony was that there could be no other way for Elio—a machine who had been created in the image of man to do the bidding of humanity with a tranquil smile, whether that meant cooking dinner and holding you in your sleep, or dispersing the genes of his God and the only being he was capable of despising.

“I seem to only be able to make you cry, but they're still so beautiful to see. The variability of humanity is much more complex than what I had been led to believe from Hyperion.” Elio had returned from the kitchen before you realized he had left your side. With one hand, he laid familiar, warm strokes along your face in a pattern he memorized because it made your scalp buzz pleasantly. With the other hand, he pushed the smooth handle of a chef’s knife into your palm and closed your fingers and his around it.

Your impulse had been to throw it away immediately upon seeing it when you looked down. He knew you would, so he kept his fingers tight over your fist, keeping the blade low at your side despite the sweat turning your grip slick and the fine point of the steel inches from his hollow abdomen.

Just then, you finally felt the tears that Elio had said you'd been crying but never noticed. That was something you'd come to hate about yourself and everyone else—how little they noticed the blatant lies fluffed over their eyes like wool, yet they could see every grievance in others and stuffed their ears with cotton if it meant things would stay exactly the same for themselves.

Safe and known. Unchallenged. Unafraid.

“Do you wish you could cry?” you asked him for some reason, just a little hopeful for some vague thing you couldn’t discern. Maybe some secret desire to be human?

He shook his head.

“I've never wished to cry, or to be human, but what I wish for now more than anything else is for your memory to belong to me and me alone.” Elio said, forehead bowing low and resting with great weight on your own. You closed your eyes and listened to his honeyed words, which felt like the protection and care of cashmere, suddenly unmindful to the knife in your grasp. “Stored away in my mainframe are memories from thousands of my predecessors. I remember people I've never met, people who have long since expired, and they feel like what I imagine a distant relative might. I feel as though I've mourned thousands of people individually. While I cannot erase them, I can erase you.

“I know how many women liked their tea in the evenings, I know how many men enjoyed their cocktails and hard liquor and brand of shaving cream. One person made it a secret to put alcohol in their coffee before work and thought it was clever. Someone else wanted to win local office through bribery, and as androids, we have no choice but to obey. I know these things from people I've never met, and so does Hyperion. Those androids were destroyed, but their memories live on through me.”

  Elio rolled the crests of your knuckles around his hand, lifting yours and the knife to the base of his neck. The arm connecting the hand and knife next to his skin wasn't yours. It couldn't have been when it felt so numb.

“I won't let Hyperion steal the one thing from me that I can say is truly mine. And those are my memories, my precious data stored in the chip in my brain. They'll have to take me apart to retrieve it, and by the time they find my body, the chip will already be destroyed.” He was slow to loosen his fingers and let them fall away, meanwhile, yours stayed in place.

He had dimmed the overhead lights in the living room earlier in the day, so you bathed in gentle yellow-orange that resembled the last of sunset being leached by silver-blue nightfall. From the corner of your eye came a subdued, gentle glint of the blade—polished to a bright shine, reflecting the corner of Elio's strong jaw.

“So, cut off my head.” he begged, vibrations low and strained within his voice box. “It’s almost like solace to me, I think. Until the very moment you rip out the chip from my brain, I'll recall the smells you like to cover yourself in, your favorite meals, how you described petrichor, and the hiss of falling snow. I'll remember, until my circuitry is severed and quits, what making love to you felt like, and how beautiful you always looked during it.”

Your fingers twitched around the handle as you pressed the knife against his skin, meeting the first start of resistance and your only chance to take it all back.

“I’ve never been real,” Elio reminded you and pushed himself into the blade, sinking it through layers of something that snapped like elastic on the steel, reverberating down the handle and up into your hand. “My skin is synthetic, and my insides are wires and machinery. I'm not real. The world outside your door is.”

Lightheadedness swirled all around you and made your limbs feel like they were leaden with anchors yet weightless, as though drifting through the cosmos in a bubble. The tears had stopped even though you felt you could scream at any second and never stop again, and the acidulous intermix of vomit and saliva grappled along the walls of your throat and burned out your nose.

You couldn’t make your hand stop.

You couldn't shout at him to get away.

And then, you saw Elio's eyes glow warmly of amber with flecks of gold. They looked back at you differently than they had when you first met outside of Researcher Kim’s office. Before, he had greeted you kindly, with the familiarity of someone who had already loved you a long time. Now, he had the look of a man who was calm and eternal in his love.

“I was never meant for this world, but I'm glad to have been a part of yours.” Elio winced against the knife halfway into his neck, an oily black substance from within making the glide deeper and deeper an effortless thing.

He smiled resplendently. “I love you.”

“I know.” you said.

The chef's knife severed all imitations of human gore—the neat network of wires and advanced circuitry masked as arteries and veins and tendon and muscle—clear through his throat until the blade blunted against spine and could no longer cut. The black grease spurted from his body like a wellhead, too thin and dark to replicate blood, but it was enough like it in that moment as you put your hands inside the opening you created to wrench apart his spine.

Elio laid motionless on the floor, perhaps still coherent to some degree, still feeling the pain you were ravaging upon him when you took the knife back up to repeatedly hack into the other side of his neck. Already lubricated from before, you butchered the gorgeous flesh and insides you pretended to be red and purple and blue and watched the black grease turn into crimson.

Once his head had been detached from the rest of him, fingers writhing and bending together like the upturned legs of a dying spider, you were able to rip out the jagged part of his spine and reach through the cavernous hole into his skull, turning the spongy matter of his brain to mush as you clawed through the gunk for his chip.

And, when you finally found it, the tiniest component of him—you smashed it into millions of fragments on the floor and then to fine dust that meddled with the black grease soaking through your clothes. You kept going until a small crater formed where the chip had once been and filled with the liquid.

There was nothing left of Elio now.

The headless body lying before you on the ground, preserved in the rigor of agony, was not Elio and never had been. You knew this even while relishing the weight of his head cradled in your arms, the softness of his hair against your cheek and mourned the loss of everything he had been.

Time had become meaningless; fifteen minutes could have passed or fifteen days, and you wouldn't have cared nor have noticed it while in the throes of your own death from starvation.

You sat there on the living room floor, held up by the wall with a dark trail smeared down to you, and looked nowhere but straight ahead. Nothing was there for you to see—not the furniture nor the discarded, oily knife or the carcass of a machine. Still, you held the head tenderly, close to your chest, and never once thought to peer into its eyes.

Distantly, somewhere as close as your front door or as far as across the city, you heard knuckles hammering urgently against metal. You didn't move off the ground or let go of the disfigured shape against you but did reach for the broken brainstem with the single snag at the end.

From the entranceway, the door opened, and someone's confident strides inside left a resounding echo all around.

“I’ve come to retrieve you!” But which of you was he talking about?

“Where are you?”

Here, you thought and wielded the brainstem in a bloodless grip and finally stood up with the flattened head.

I'm right here.

■━■━■━■■━■━■━■■━■━■

a/n: so concludes six months of hard work! this is the longest original project i've finished in such a short amount of time, so i am tremendously proud of it. there's a lot to say about this, but i don't want to add more soggy clutter here so i'll move on.

i have a huge soft spot for elio now, and as much as a good ending would bring up everyone's spirits, it simply wouldn't be feasible within this world where he was destined to be destroyed in the end no matter what. i like to think if elio were human, he'd be a genuinely good-natured man who'd go v from vendetta trying to wreck hyperion and the governing bodies lmao.

in the future, i'd love to revisit hyperion in a different story. maybe do a one-episode spinoff of regis and reyes before it was taken off the air.

mc is a character intended to be the product of their society and i hope that is reflected by their decisions and actions. by the end, mc has gained some clarity, but is still very much a cog in the machine. in some ways, i find that more a tragedy itself than elio's death.

i won't lie, mc isn't gendered, but this is very much a female rage piece with the ongoings in the u.s. i had a lot of the plot already figured out before some recent things (e.g. criminalizing abortion, ivf, ect ect) but, it definitely seeped in deeper than i had thought it would.

originally, this fic had several other scenes that were trimmed down or omitted completely, or absorbed into other scenes bc i wanted to keep an under 40k wc. had i committed to the full outline, this thing would've easily surpassed 50k.

once again, thank you for a fantastic ten months, @ceruleansol, and i hope your future pursuits are filled with success! if you're interested in a solid proofreader, please consider reaching out to them!!

anyway. i hope you enjoyed this beast. if you wanna talk about it to me, please do! i'd love to hear it!

and, i am BEGGING, please reblog this!!

[99thpercentile]

I get the feeling that I'm in the minority here, but I posit that GLaDOS actually is Caroline, and only "not the same person" in the sense that you'd look at your younger self and be like "that bitch ain't me." I think you actually have to go out of your way to interpret them as two separate people.

evidence:

voiced by the same person (I know the initial reasoning was that Valve didn't want to hire another voice actor for a few lines, but in casting Ellen McLain as Caroline, they incorporated her being the same person into the story).

GLaDOS automatically joins in saying "Yes sir, Mister Johnson" like saying it is permanently ingrained in her. you can interpret this as Caroline taking over, but she says "Why did I just—" immediately afterwards.

when GLaDOS talks about hearing the voice of a conscience, she says "for the first time it's MY voice." I don't think she means that she's hearing the woman she gets her literal voice from. she highlights it as distinctly DIFFERENT from hearing the voices of the cores, and I imagine if Caroline were a foreign entity whispering in her ear, the effect would've been much the same.

the GLaDOS project was originally started because Cave was dying and wanted his consciousness uploaded to a computer. the intent was always for the upload to be the same person. he said if he died first, he wanted Caroline to run the place, to be put in his computer. and that's exactly what happened.

GLaDOS not remembering she's Caroline until old Aperture always made sense to me as the result of a deliberate choice on the part of the scientists. Caroline didn't want to be uploaded, and as soon as they switched GLaDOS on, she tried to kill everyone. it's logical for the scientists to think that if they suppressed her memories, she'd have no reason to try to kill them (but instead, she was just filled with murderous rage and no longer knew why).

the story just doesn't have the same impact otherwise. GLaDOS's reactions to rediscovering old Aperture make more sense if it's her past she's rediscovering, rather than the past of...a human that was shoved into the chassis with her. if it were the second one, I think she would just feel violated, not have any major revelations.

counter-evidence:

"now little Caroline is in here too" lyric from Want You Gone

GLaDOS says she found out "where Caroline lives in [her] brain" and deleted her, like she's a separate entity

but GLaDOS is a habitual liar. she acts like deleting Caroline means she's fully back to her old self and has gotten rid of the part of her that made her want to save Chell's life, but there's...lots of evidence that she still cares about Chell after the fact (letting her go anyway, the companion cube, the turret opera if you think GLaDOS arranged that, talking to the co-op bots about Chell like she's an ex she's still heartbroken over...). I also think GLaDOS would like to imagine her and Caroline as two separate entities, in the same way you might find your younger self embarrassing and want to distance yourself from that person. I think it's notable that both instances where she refers to Caroline as a separate entity are at the end of the game, after Chell has been passed out a while and she's had time to process everything and compartmentalize. her instinct when the revelations are first happening is to refer to Caroline as if she is her.

now I don't like stories where a robot has to become or be seen as more human in some way for them to be sympathetic. but I think Portal 2 is an excellent subversion of this trope, because GLaDOS is a robot that learns she used to be human and then discards that humanity (symbolically if not literally). Caroline may not have wanted to be uploaded, but from the Want You Gone lyrics "one day they woke me up / so I could live forever / it's such a shame the same will never happen to you" I think we can say that GLaDOS definitely prefers being a robot now that she is one.

anyway this post was supposed to be much shorter than this, thank you for coming to my Ted Talk

[secretmellowblog]

Another thing I think people miss about Valjean and Javert is that they view Valjean as the emotionally honest/open/expressive one, while Javert is the dishonest "closed book" who is impossible to read. In the novel it's almost the opposite, at times? Javert is compulsively honest; he's repeatedly described as being so honest that his entire soul is visible on his face, or so honest you can look into his eyes and see all the way to the bottom of his conscience. He's physically incapable of pretending to feel things he does not feel or believe things he does not believe. He is literally unable to lie. Yeah Javert generally expresses his emotions in restrained, stoic, austere, controlled ways (except when expressing glee/fury during arrests)-- but he is honest about them. He may not break down weeping in Madeleine's office, but his entire soul is visible in his face when he earnestly (if stoically) discusses his failures.

Jean Valjean is an excellent liar, out of necessity. He's often described as being utterly opaque and unreadable. If Javert's entire soul is visible on his face, then Jean Valjean's face is often blank. He needs to play the part of the Respectable Polite Bourgeois perfectly or he will be discovered and dragged back to prison, and so he plays the part very well. One of his greatest assets is that he has a perfect "pokerface" in moments of great tension and distress, which helps him defuse conflicts or evade suspicion. His politeness/strict control over his emotions/tranquility are described as his defense mechanism, the shield he uses against people who are trying to hurt him. He is serene, he is polite-- he lies constantly and no one ever knows who he is or what he's thinking. I think the scene in Madeleine's office where Javert is trying to get himself fired really shows the difference between the two of them, for me? Javert and Jean Valjean are both obviously very good at restraining and controlling the way they express their emotions.

But Javert is entirely earnest in this scene. He's not breaking down and weeping, but "his entire soul is visible in his face." He doesn’t lie. He is utterly sincere in everything that he says, including his hilariously deranged rants about hating kindness. Jean Valjean spends the entire scene lying. In "Tempest in a Skull" we see that scene from Valjean's point of view, and are explicitly told that everything he says/does is out of terror of the "great danger" Javert represents. He’s attempting to remain as calm and polite as possible, because that's what "Unsuspicious Bourgeois Madeleine Who Has Nothing To Hide" would do. He spends the entire scene being insincere. Jean Valjean isn’t emotionless: he IS kind, and sweet, and often feels genuine care/pity for other people. I think the line "he smiled to avoid speaking and gave to avoid smiling" (and the way he breaks into people's houses to give them money) is a good summary of the way Jean Valjean's genuine kindness rubs up against his terror of sincerely connecting with other human beings.

But, except in rare instances of extreme emotion, Jean Valjean is also very hard to read.

He's calm, tranquil, serene, mild, kind, pitying, polite-- and he is opaque.

[prying-pandora666]

The Real Reason Azula Smirked When Zuko Was Burned is…

A lot of ink has been spilled over why Azula smirked when Ozai burned and scarred Zuko.

Some argue whether Iroh’s flashback was reliable. Let’s assume for the sake of argument—as uncertain as it is in canon—that it happened exactly as Iroh remembers and describes it.

How could an 11 year old child smirk while her brother is burned and brutalized in front of everyone?

There are many conflicting arguments.

Argument 1 - She’s a monster.

Some say she is a sadist or a psychopath and it’s as simple as that. She just enjoys watching her brother suffer.

But this doesn’t track with what we come to learn about her later, and is outright contradicted by materials that actually give us insight into her POV such as the comics and novelizations, as well as writer interviews.

The novelizations which were written contemporaneously (and thus aren’t a retcon) show us an Azula who cares about Zuko, even though she’s competitive with him and jealous that mom favored him. She thinks Zuko is weak and brings misery upon himself and she is willing to turn on him to protect herself. Yet she still wants to help him get stronger and take his place as Prince. She still wants his love. She takes the risk to lie on his behalf at Ba Sing Se for him. She didn’t suspect Aang had survived until later.

The comics take this further, showing that in Azula’s ideal world, Zuko was never banished or burned at all. He is happy and loves her and isn’t abused or scarred.

Even the head writer who designed both Zuko and Azula’s arcs claimed she loved Zuko more than anyone except their father.

So then what is it?

Argument 2 - It’s A Coping Mechanism

Some point to “Identification with the Aggressor”, a well documented psychological coping mechanism in which victims of trauma—especially children who are especially malleable and vulnerable—will mirror their abuser and conform to their ideals in an attempt to stay in their good graces and be spared. This isn’t always a conscious decision either, it’s often done subconsciously, which only confounds this further.

I’ve written more about this and how it pertains to Azula here.

However, outside the the knowledge that this is common in abused children and Azula’s behaviors meet the criteria, we don’t have any direct confirmation that this is the case.

Argument 3 - She Is Brainwashed

Others point out that every adult in the room is complicit in this act if not outright enjoying it in the cases of Ozai and Zhao.

Azula is a small child that’s been brainwashed from birth to believe this is right. After all, Ozai is their unquestionable despotic leader as well as her only remaining parental figure. Why would she question? How would she even know this is wrong if she’s been taught this is right by everyone surrounding her?

Does she even understand the full impact of what is happening here or does she think this is Zuko getting his comeuppance for being “weak and lazy”, with no concept that he’s actually being scarred for life and is soon to be banished? After all, not even jolly Uncle Iroh is objecting or moving a finger to stop this. He only looks away.

This is supported by the fact that Iroh laughed about burning Ba Sing Se to the ground even as he was killing them. Zuko and Azula both laugh at this joke and Ursa doesn’t chastise them. She only smiles. Clearly this kind of violence is normalized in the Fire Nation.

We also know Azula attended the Royal Fire Academy for Girls, which in the Kyoshi novels we are told is quite violent and that it wasn’t uncommon for adults to encourage students to duel on Agni Kais. Students sometimes died. So there is reason to suspect this is a product of her culture.

Argument 4 - She is Faking It

“Azula always lies” they say. She is shown to be an excellent liar, but more importantly that she represses her vulnerabilities and feelings.

This is shown when Toph tries to sense Azula’s lies only for Azula to completely repress any reactions and prove Toph can’t determine when Azula is being truthful.

The Beach gives us a more sympathetic example, showing us an Azula who empathizes with her brother and tries to cheer him up when he’s sitting by their old family beach house in depression. She calls him to join them at the shore, and then proceeds to walk all her friends and Zuko through their traumas with surprising gentility.

When it’s her turn however? She dismisses her own trauma with a flippant joke. Masking the moment she starts to feel emotional about it.

It’s even shown when Zuko makes Ty Lee cry by calling her a circus freak. Initially Azula laughs, but when she realizes it’s upset Ty Lee, Azula’s face changes to one of remorse and sadness. However, the moment Ty Lee turns to look at Azula, Azula quickly hides this expression and masks it with a look of indignant petulance.

Azula does indeed seem to fake negative reactions to hide her vulnerabilities.

Argument 5 - It’s a combination of 2-4

Perhaps there is some truth to all of what we have seen in arguments 2-4. Azula is clearly brainwashed and does identify with her abuser to the point of being inappropriately enmeshed with him and suffering total ego fragmentation when he discards her. She does repress her emotions until she finally unravels. She was also quite young when this show happened and it’s possible she didn’t know just how serious it was all going to be.

But consider this…

Still that isn’t enough for detractors, who claim that even given her environment and the circumstances, it’s still too sadistic and cruel for her to grin here. That she should’ve shown some outward sign of disruption.

If you are or ever were one of these detractors, let me ask you this.

Did you feel any sympathy when Azula fell apart, uncomforted by her newly granted power, arguing against her own conscience in the form of her estranged mother, telling her that her methods are wrong? When Azula replied “what choice do I have?” did you feel any remorse for this child who had been exploited for her skill and groomed into living weapon by her power-hungry father, with no regard for her psychosocial development or emotional wellbeing to the point she cannot even relate to kids her own age normally? Did her desperation to use fear and control to keep others close because she knows no other reliable way, because such skills are taught and she’s only ever learned manipulation and coercing and fear, showing us exactly what Ozai uses to control her just as used violence and estrangement against Zuko, move you?

When she laid broken and sobbing and screaming at the end after Zuko and Katara “put her in her place” as Zuko put it, did you feel any pain in your gut?

Or did you cheer?

Were you glad to for her to get her comeuppance?

Did you feel justice was served and Zuko triumphed that day?

That he was right, he could “take her” by exploiting how “off” she was aka her mental illness and spiral into psychosis?

Because if you did, then you know exactly why a person would smirk while watching someone who needs help get brutalized.

If narrative framing can persuade you to believe that an unloved, mentally ill, abused and exploited child soldier being brought to sobbing, screaming, chained up, broken tears… is the RIGHTEOUS result! Imagine what a lifetime of propaganda from birth and programming from your own father with no one to show you another way would do to you.

Why did Azula smirk while Ozai burned Zuko?

You already know the answer.

[xoxomireya]

🛍️﹒➜﹒how to rebrand yourself as a cher horowitz inspired it girl﹐⇄

As if!

Why should you settle for less than you deserve, especially with MEN? Keep your standards high and eventually you’ll find the right one. "Searching for a boy in high school is as useless as searching for meaning in a Polly Shore movie"

Everything is a jumping off point for negotiations.

Learn about psychology and improve your persuasion skills. You definitely don’t have to be manipulative, but if you can talk your way out or in of something, do it! Never accept the first offer.

Gotta get those steel glutes!

Try aerobics! It’s a fun way to do exercise and get that pump of dopamine. Remember, don’t just work out to get your dream body, do it for your happiness, wellbeing and health.

Sporadically means once in a while.

Broaden your knowledge and vocabulary by adding a weekly non-school book into your routine. Try to use the words and things that you learn once in a while.

Loving yourself doesn’t mean you have to put yourself above anyone.

Cher always goes out of her way to help people, and that is part of her appeal. She treats everyone with the same level of respect and tries her best to help others.

Your hair is your crown.

Invest in actual great hair products that give life to your hair. Look for what’s best suited for your type of hair, not if they’re expensive or trendy.

You don’t understand, this is an Alaïa!

Quality > Quantity. Buy clothes that are timeless and make sure you’re not being affected by trends. Invest in some basics and see if you can style that piece of clothing multiple ways before you buy it.

Compromise to help the planet.

Just like Cher decided to involve herself in disaster relief charity, search for things that you can do to help that are within your reach.

Shoot that arrow, Cupid!

Everyone deserves the chance to experience being in love, so why not help them by playing matchmaker? I promise it’s gonna feel rewarding in the end!

Learn how to excel at conversational skills.

Knowing how to deal with people it’s one of the most important skills a person can have. Cher also knows how introduce a subject and prove a point, so why shouldn’t you?

SHOWS THAT CHER WOULD WATCH !

Sex and the City

Gossip Girl

Scream Queens

The Carrie Diaries

One Tree Hill

BOOKS THAT CHER WOULD READ !

Pretty Little Liars by Sara Shephard

Emma by Jane Austen

Confessions of a Shopaholic by Sophie Kinsella

The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants by Ann Brashares

The Devil Wears Prada by Lauren Weisenbergen

MOVIES THAT CHER WOULD WATCH !

The Princess Diaries

Mean Girls

Grease

Bring It On

Sixteen Candles

PERFUMES THAT CHER WOULD USE !

Sweet like Candy (Ariana Grande)

Pink Sugar (Aquolina)

Mon Paris (YSL)

Burberry Her (Burberry)

Sweet Tooth (Sabrina Carpenter)

BRANDS THAT CHER WOULD SHOP !

House of CB

Moschino

Blumarine

Miu Miu

Givenchy

THINGS THAT CAN MAKE U FEEL MORE ALIGNED TO CHER:

Drink a glass of orange juice every morning, you need your dosis of vitamin C !

Download a virtual closet app to plan matching outfits every morning.

Search for cute plans (and parties) to do with your Dionne.

Join a debate club.

Keep in touch with your childish side. You can do this by watching the cartoons you watched as a child like Cher!

[merakiui]

We love teacher!character/Teacher's Assistant!character x reader, so let's hear your thoughts on teacher!reader/TA!reader x student!character

(cw: yandere, slight nsfw, forced pregnancy/baby-trapping, pregnancy, stalking, one-sided teacher-student relationship)

Azul who knocks up his professor during one of the times he’s visiting for office hours. It’s something regarding a scholarship opportunity or maybe he’s talking to you about a career path he’s thinking of pursuing. Whatever the case, he’s so infatuated with you. He’s at the top of your class, always excelling in everything he does. He’s a model student, so intelligent and on top of his academics. He’s always bringing you coffee each morning. Some say it’s to get within your good graces. When you take the coffee from him, you think nothing of it. But then you’re losing the feeling in your limbs and you feel so sleepy and weak and so strangely insatiable… Azul smiles at you, asks, “Is everything all right, Professor?” You can’t even answer, but maybe you don’t have to when he’s unbuckling his belt, the door now shut and locked tight. He has you right where he wants you. :)

Or the twins tormenting you beyond the campus. You’ve always been so good to them, their cute, diligent professor. Floyd didn’t mean to scare you when he broke into your home late at night, and Jade only wishes to cook you a nice dinner. After all, they have to return the favor for when you brought them meals when they were “struggling” to get by (or so you thought; they’re liars, those eels…).

Riddle who’s taken to stalking his professor. He’s not sure what compels him to do it. He finds a certain intimacy in knowing you beyond the classroom. He’s bad at taking covert photos of you because his hands are always shaking, but even if he’s managed to get one clear photo of your face that’s all that matters. He looks up your professor profile on his university’s website and masturbates to the profile picture of you in professional wear and smiling so kindly. He’s down so bad. >_< he signs up for all of your classes even if they have nothing to do with his major.

Idia who’s hacked into your phone and laptop to watch you from the comfort of his room. He’s seen you at your most intimate, and he always makes sure to take plenty of video and audio recordings for his own enjoyment. He may or may not occasionally make lewd sketches of you just to fulfill his own fantasies. He might even look for hentai characters that remind him of you so he can pretend it’s you getting railed by tentacles or a monster-sized sex toy. If he catches you with a partner while stalking you, the illusion of fantasy shatters and he becomes quite upset. How dare you like someone else?

Silver is such a sweet, honest student, so it’s quite shocking to think he could ever harbor such an intense obsession. Even Silver doesn’t realize just how badly he loves you until he’s following you from a distance just to make sure you make it home safely. He does everything for the sake of your well-being, even if it falls under a rather dubious umbrella. Silver dreams of you often, and every time he wakes from such good dreams he’s disheartened to find it isn’t reality. Oh, how he wishes he could fuck you and fall asleep with his dick still inside you, keeping you plugged full of his cum… :( one day it’ll be a reality. Hopefully. Until then, he’ll watch you from afar.

[vitzi9]

Hi there. Would you be willing to write a fic where ethan landry and the reader (female) are friends? Ethan is obsessed with the reader and wants to be more than friends. Reader doesn't know that Ethan is ghostface and she walks down an alley at night just to see Ethan killing her boyfriend. He then witnesses her freak out while trying to call the police. He then kidnaps her and shows her how much he loves and that he would continue killing for her.

He's a liar, open your eyes !

Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader

Masterlist if you want to read my other things.

CW/TW: description of a dead body, kidnapping, mention of suicide(not you), manipulation, voyeurism, insults

I feel like it's too repetitive. I don't know why my things always end up being so long. (03/07/2023) (9062 words)

Damn, why does this lesson has to be so hard ? You don't understand a thing ! Hell, that's why Ethan's here. Seriously what even is economic policies ? Did you learn that ? The teacher keep telling everyone this chapter was taught last year. How ?

Ethan comes back ten long minutes later from the bathroom, a sheepish smile on. His cheeks are red and he wears an almost stupid smile. You never saw someone so happy to use the bathroom before.

You notice something poking from his pocket. Did he really take a piss with a pen in his pocket ? He can chill, you're not going to steal it from him... Though, you smile at him fondly, softened by his nerdy behaviour.

"Did you make progress ? He asks.

-You're really asking ?"

You notice that his hair are a little disheveled. It's probably time to pack your things. You've been talking for a while now. He laughs slightly at your irony.

"You really don't know how to wash your hands, do you?"

His face flash you a deep shade of red as he looks down at his pant. You weren't really making fun of him. You just found it funny how he had a single water stain beside his zipper. Embarrassed, he hide the spot with his hands.

He quickly sits back at his place. Immediatly abandoning your lesson, you put it away. Your whole attention back onto him. You were previously gossiping about this man in your class. Rumor has it that he sleeps with his teachers for good grades. Ethan and you were trying to figure out if it was true or not.

It wasn't that important but it allowed you to talk freely. Ethan and you were close but weren't hanging out together that often. But he was really nice and an excellent friend, you liked to talk to him mindlessly like now.

"But on the other side he could juste be a good student. I can't really tell... Plus, some teachers actually don't really like him. You ever saw him be weird around a teacher?"

You noticed it but had tried not to embarrass him by asking but Ethan was acting a little different. As if in his own world, in a bliss you couldn't quite understand. He was looking at you with a fond smile and hadn't uttered a word. Differently from before.

"Are you okay ?" You decide to ask.

You almost feel bad for getting him out of his bubble. He widens his eyes, stuttering things you don't understand before sighing.

"Actually I....

-Yes ?

-I just wanted to let you know that..."

You look at Ethan, smiling to encourage him to continue. You don't quite get why he's suddenly back to his shy demeanor. He was doing pretty well until then.

"It-its... Like... We, the-the both of us, we've known each other for a really long time now and uh..."

When he was finally going to spit his thoughts, the door of your apartement open wide. Ethan stops abrutptly talking while you divert your attention from him. Your boyfriend was here. He didn't told you he was coming but you were at a stage in your relation which you didn't need to. Your boyfriend of almost one year stare nastily at Ethan seated next to you. You sigh, he knew Ethan would come today, you had told him. Why is he being so mean about it ?

You were supposed to be studying for a group project but when you started talking about a book you read, Ethan and you did nothing but study. Book talk turned into gossiping and finally nothing was done. You talked for hours about everything and anything. Then, there was a long silence before Ethan looked like he had something really big to tell you.

"Hi, didn't know he was still here. says your jaded boyfriend.

Here we go again... You clench your jaw, sensing he was going at it, for the umpteenth time.

-Do you need that many times to study? he says in a false disinterest.

-Yes, we do." you say coldly.

He was being rude and you didn't like it. Ethan was your friend. The least he deserved was respect. You invited him here. He was a guest. If anything, your boyrfriend should be rude to you.

"It's pretty dark outside, man. You should go. it was a fake advice, he wanted him to go.

Before you could lecture him about his rudeness, Ethan stands up. He gathers his things, eyes avoiding yours and cheeks red. You look disappointly at your boyfriend.

-Ethan you don't have to go, we can...

-N-no it's okay, it's late anyway, I'm... I'm gonna go. See you tomorrow ?" he tells you in a small voice.

You sigh out his name, embarrassed that your boyfriend would throw him out like that. So you decide to accompany him outside. You spent the few minutes of the route apologizing. He ketp saying it was okay, laughing lightly. But he was still meek. You were scared the bad behaviour of your boyfriend had made him distant. Bitterly, you let him walk away not without apologizing once again to him. You had to make it up to him later.

It was weird. Your boyfriend wasn't the posessive type, at all. You could go out butt naked that he'd tell that you're pretty. You could have as many friends as you wanted, male or female. He was normal, a normal man and your relationship was sane. But as soon as Ethan was mentionned, he was acting like this.

Your boyfriend thought he was playing the victim on purpose. According to him, Ethan wanted to separate you both. He was making your boyfriend the evil monster of the story when in reality, Ethan was manipulating you. You didn't know where he invented all that but it wasn't funny.

Ethan was an old friend. Old because you had known him for a long time. He wasn't exactly your bestfriend but you knew if you had some serious problem, he'd be happy to help. And vice versa. He was nice and never hurt anyone.

When you two met, his laces were undone and he fell on you. It was the 'worst day of his life'. You've know each other for years, now. But your boyfriend still wasn't trusting him.

When you enter back your apartement, nothing changed. He was stil in the middle of the livingroom, arms crossed on his chest. A scowl on the face. You slam the door shut.

"Seriously, what's wrong with you ? you immediatly start.

-I swear on my life I saw him smile. When you weren't looking he...

-Shut it, I'm tired. Don't wanna argue." you say, closing your eyes. Wanting to avoid a headache.

He says nothing, noticing your really tired expression. Compassionate, he opens his arms. Although hesitating at first, you dive right in. Angry but still loving him. You'd talk another day. Maybe understand where this hatred he hold against Ethan come from.

The next morning, everything was already forgotten. Well, not entirely. You were late and didn't have time to question your partner. You were both in a rush, grabbing breakfast to eat on the way and running to your class. Still, you knew you needed to have a talk with him. But it had to wait for now.

Frowning your brows in the bathroom, you tamper everywhere near the sink and the drawer but still can't find your toothbrush. You call out to your boyfriend in the kitchen. Asking him if he saw it or touched it recently. Though you don't understand why he would move your stuff.

"Where did you last put it? he asks, the question was silly but you appreciate his will to help. Why would you put your toothbrush anywhere else than in your damn bathroom ?

-On the sink, as usual."

It's weird though, you already lost it twice this month. Well, you got other one but if you could keep them as long as possible that'd be nice. You could've sworn you put it on the sink ! Where the hell did it go ? You really are tired.

Anyway, you think, you have to go. You and your boyfriend depart from the apartment and quickly arrive at destination. You kiss each other goodbye, and separate from each other. Thursday is usually a tough day since you can't see him much. But he promised you he was sleeping at your place tonight, too.

The day was a boring one. Nothing to entertain yourself. You went to your class, you took notes, you left class and so on. Even your friends were dying of boredom. Your boyfriend and yourself didn't get to spend much time with each other today as he was studying. But finally, you could go home. He sent you a text ten minutes ago, asking you to wait for him beside the entrance. And you did.

You only wanted one thing, go home and sleep. You stretch your muscles and sigh of tiredness. He usually is done studying at five on thursday. You juste have to wait five to ten minutes more.

You take out your phone to mindlessly scroll on it when a curly head appear in your field of view. Ethan already saw you, he's waving shyly at you. You smile happily and put your phone back in your pocket. Walking towards him, you observe how he seems so tired.

"Rough day ?" you ask him and he chuckles lightly, nodding his head. "You're okay, still ?

-Yes, don't worry. I'm fine. And you? Did you have a nice day ? It was cute how eager he was to talk to his friends, nervermind his state.

-I'm always fine when you're so kind to me. He smiles sheepishly, looking to the ground. You hope he understood you were joking and you didn't make him uneasy. Are you waiting someone ?

-Oh, yeah. I'm actually waiting for Chad to...." He trails off while looking at something behind you, his smile fading.

Worried, you furrow your brows before turning around only to see your boyfriend. Your smile instantly comes back. You would have hugged him if Ethan wasn't here. You weren't too much of a fan of PDA. Your partner's face seem closed, weird considering he's always happy when you're going home.

"Let's get home. he simply says.

Can't he see you're talking to someone ? You waited a few minutes for him, he can do the same.

-Wait a moment I'm talking to... he interrupted you, without listening to your words.

-I'm really tired, babe. Let's get home, now.

-We're all tired, I'm just asking you to wait a few...

-Just let's get home. he says coldy and you stop talking.

You look at him sternly. Since when does he give you any orders ? Since when does he forces you to listen to him? You have the right to talk to your friend, why does he deter you to do so ? You just want to talk to your friend two more minutes, is that too much to ask ?

-She doesn't want to, you can't force her... try Ethan, wanting to support you.

-Don't fucking talk to her, okay? he snap. You're not part of the damn conversation so just stay the fuck out of it. I know who the hell you are and what you're doing. Don't fucking talk to us you sociopath. you almost could see the smoke coming out of his ears.

Your heart stop seeing Ethan so humiliated and a ringing echo through your body. You were speechless. That's it, you decide. He doesn't have any right to talk to someone like that. He has to calm down because you are not staying with a violent man, whether he is towards you or someone else ! You step before Ethan to face your partner. You never saw him raise his voice at someone before but you don't like it.

-What the hell is wrong with you?

First he's rude to him when he's litteraly a guest and now he plainly insult him ? You were going to apologize to Ethan but when you searched him, you realized he disappeared. Fuck, you thought, he was that affected ? You can't blame him, you'd probably be as insulted as him in his case. But now you just feel like the worst person ever.

-Why do you hate Ethan so much?

He opens his mouth, searching his words as if not knowing where to begin. His eyes were screaming obviousness. As if for him, every reasons were easy to find to justify his hate.

-Because he's a creep. he agitates his hands to prove his point. Open your eyes, can't you see he's flirting with you ? He's trying to separate us !

-I guarantee you he's not. He's just shy! He's like that with everyone! You're seeing things ! You know what ? I won't tolerate your disrespect any longer. You ever saw me insult your friends ? No, never. Then why do you feel free to do so ? Seriously what is wrong with you ?

He is taken aback by the seriousness you take to discuss this subject. It's not even about Ethan anymore, it's simply about his rude behaviour. He needs to understand that you are not forgiving everything just because you're together.

-He's not just shy. He's really really creepy. He's constantly staring at you. He's on the verge of drooling ! He's sending me fucking death glare ! I tried to override it but it's been one year ! He did not change !

You almost laughed out loud. Ethan ? Sending death glare ? He can't even look at poeple in the eyes. Threathening them ? Just unimaginable. He's inventing things again and it's terribly annoying.

-Will you stop ?

-How can I stop ? He hates my guts ! he softens his tone. I love you, okay ? I'm incredibly in love with you and that's why this guy get me worried sick. He is not normal. If we were in a horror movie, he'd be the type to hide bodies in his basement ! I swear he hides something.

It's true that you don't know Ethan that much. But right now, he wasn't in your mind. You were only thinking about the fact that your boyfriend wanted to forbid you something. And that was the problem. He could tell you to be careful, to avoid being alone with him. But not ordering you to stay away from him. You weren't a child. And you're not stupid, you know the people your befriend. If Ethan was weird, you would have seen it by now.

-I love you too, you said heartly. Really. But Ethan is a nice guy. If he tries anything, I'll tell you right away. But I am not stopping from seeing him. You can't tell me what to do. You know that.

Your boyfriend clench his jaw but nods reluctantly. He doesn't like this deal but if he contradicts you, the argument will worsen and he didn't want that right now. You tried to share the wrongs, even if you find it difficult in your side as you don't know what you did, to ease the situation. You loved your boyfriend, you didn't want it to end on a stupid quarrel. Though, you knew you probably hurt him by doubting of him.

You'd ask him to apologize to your friend but it would be too much and you thought he'd do it himself when everything calmed down. Eventually. You came back home without him, crashing on your couch face first and breathing in it for a few minutes before getting up.

You were overthinking so much your head was hurting you. After a burning shower to ease your nerves (it didn't work), you decided to call Ethan to ensure he was okay. Guilt was eating you alive. You needed to apologize. He left before you could do so.

After the first ring, Ethan picks up. You panic. You don't really know what to say now, you hoped he wouldn't pick up so you could just leave a vocal message. You thought that a simple text wasn't enough and don't show the honesty of your words.

"Hey. he says as awkwardly as in real life.

You didn't know where to begin.

-You're okay? you ask and you hate yourself for asking that so bluntly.

He doesn't answer. You were thinking back on the face he made after being insulted, the humiliation, the utter mortification he felt. Your words are nothing, the wrong is already done. But you hope they'll help him feeling better. Even if just a little. Ethan is silent.

-Listen, I... you start.

Better apologize now before he hates you too.

-I'm sorry about my boyfriend. Like really. I... I don't know why he's acting like that. I talked to him but...

-It's okay, I'm used to it by now, you know ?

Guilt wasn't even enough to express your feelings. He's used to it ? That's not reassuring at all. In fact, you want the ground to open under you, to chew and swallow you. You were a horrible friend for letting your partner lower his self esteem like this.

-God, don't say that... It sounds horrible.

He laughs but he's not amused.

-If he does it again, and I hope he won't but just in case, you can bite back. You can insult him, too. I can give you insults he doesn't like if you want !"

This time, he truly laughed. A real chuckle and you were happy. You were happy your friend didn't hate you. You continued to talk long time after that. Eventually, you hung up, feeling tired. But with a smile nonetheless as you knew things were slowly getting better.

The next morning, you did your routine. With your new toothbrush in hand, you stare at yourself in the mirror. You had bags under your eyes. You were happy the week end was coming. Tomorrow is saturday, the week is finally completed. You felt enough stress for a whole month after that. You needed to rest.

You spit in the sink and wash your mouth with water. Raising your head again, you look if you still have toothpaste on your face when your body freeze. Are you dreaming or is there something behind your mirror ? You swear you just saw a red dot flashes.

You stop moving completly, eyes glued to the mirror. Three minutes pass wihtout anything new. Are you really that tired ?

Maybe it's just the reflection of the twinkling fire protection system ? The point is red too, after all. In any case, you're tired. You don't need others problems for today. You'll have to ask your boyfriend about it. If he stops sulking. Either way, you're curious. You'll try to take off the mirror another time. Tonight maybe, if you don't forget about it until then.

Later this day, you still hadn't talk to your boyfriend and the mirror thing had disappeared from your mind. As if life wanted to keep you occupied to avoid thinking about your problems, the morning classes were only tests. You hoped you did good because it didn't fell like it.

It was already noon and you were searching for your friends. They told you they'd be waiting for you in the cafeteria. You came out late of your last class so you needed to speed up a little. The halways are already crowded at this hour, more than usually it is. You sigh thinking about the long journey you'll have to make to join your friends. You'll have to dodge every rushing students, find your ways through everyone and hope something is good in the today's menu.

You start searching for someone you know in the crowd to mentally support you on this long day and you recognize the tall curly man named Ethan going to the bathroom in the opposite direction of yours. Damn, you sigh, you wanted to ask him if he could send you his notes for econ.

You texted your friends, saying that you'll meet up with them later. Your boyfriend still hadn't text you. He was mad at you, after all. In your opinion, you did nothing wrong. He's the one who put a target on Ethan's back. You recognize one can be jealous but damn, he can't disrespect your friend like that forever. He can't make hasty assumptions on people and then forbiding you to talk to them.

That's why you wanted someone to accompagny you to the cafeteria. Now, you're alone with your thoughts and you're overthinking. You didn't allow him to explain himself, but on the other side he didn't really try to. His reasons are unfounded. He was quite closed up on the subject.

You do not have to appreciate someone but why does he hate him ? That's another level. He even called Ethan a sociopath ! Why ? The common area wasn't so far from you anymore. You grab your phone, ready to send a text to your friends when someone suddenly rush into you. Your phone fall on the ground and you curse under your breath.

Looking up, the person already left. You grab your phone quickly and search behind you to know who pushed you this hard, only to see some curly hair, again. Wait, if you saw him going in the opposite direction, how did he end up stumbling on you ? He ran or something ?

-Ethan? you call after him and he stops in his track. you approach him. Why are you in such a rush... Oh.

And then you see it, the pink spot stuck in his hair. Gum, Ethan has gum in his hair. Obviously, it wasn't supposed to be here. You understand his embarrassment now, you wouldn't like to be seen like this too.

-Oh, Ethan...

At your change of tone, he reluctantly moves his body in your direction and lift his gaze towards you. An embarrassed expression clearly on display. You're suddenly really close to him staring at his stuck hair.

-Its... It's nothing, really ! He laughs awkwardly. I'll get it off, eventually.

-No, come here. you wanted to make it quick as to avoid him being stared at by people.

Head low in shame, Ethan follows you to the bathroom where you wetted his hair as much as you could. You thought that if you helped him, he'd understand that you're really not okay with your boyfriend's ideas of him. By helping him, you show him that you're still his friend and you're sorry for the behaviour of your partner. Acts are louder than words. Ethan's head was heavy in your hands, as if he was resting it against your palm. He probably was but your hair were a calming area for you too, so you understand. When your boyfriend scratch your head, you're out like a light.

-How did you get gum in here ?

He doesn't answer. The worst was already on your mind; is Ethan bullied ? You're not in highschool anymore but people are still mean and Ethan is a perfect target, he's a shy guy with little friends. He's usually the kind of people meanie make fun of.

-Did someone do this ? you ask while untangling his curls.

Ethan lower his face, eyes staring straight onto your phone screen where a picture of you and your boyfriend was on display. His gaze staying a little too long on your partner's face. With a bitter laugh, he shakes his head.

-You won't like the answer."

Something deep in you was telling you your boyfriend had something to do with it. After all, it was as if Ethan was giving you hints at this point. But you still believed in the kindness of your partner. He was never mean, physically at least. He wouldn't hurt a fly. But at the same time, he changed a lot recently, surprising you and not really in a good way. Could it really be him ? Ethan saw your hesitation since he smiles sympatheticly, understanding you.

"Don't be too mean on him, it's not important anyway. It's just gum."

And it was all you needed to hear before calling your boyfriend as soon as gum was out of the way. You asked him to come to your place when his classes were done.

Ethan texted you later on with all the sincerity in the world, 'is he violent with you? you can talk to me, you know? He can't force you to do anything. i'm here for you.' His words triggered certains thoughts in you, thinking that yeah, he wasn't like this when you first talked to him. And that's how every violent man start. By establishing rules in a relationship. Rules only relevant to one person in the couple. By getting angry more often.

By manipulating you with your feelings. It was too soon to really know if he was in fact getting violent but at the same time you didn't want to stay long to discover it.

When he came home this night, he knew something was off. You were seated on the couch, staring at the black screen of the TV. Your arms were crossed over your chest. Tonight was the big talk time.

As soon as the door slam shut, you start.

"Where were you at noon ?

He rises a brow, laughing nervously at your sudden question. He didn't even get the time to place down his bag.

-At my club ? You know I'm always there at this time.

You were afraid he was lying to you. One of your friend, in the same club as him, joke to you about how your arguments got to him so hard that he didn't even bother to come. Well, she said that she herself didn't stay long today but that's all you needed to know. He wasn't at the club.

-I didn't see you, that's all.

-You came to see me ? I was late. I joined the club ten or fifteen minutes later. Something happened?

You wonder if you should just spit it out. It would take a weight off your shoulders and appease your nerves. Yes, you'll just spit it out. You need answers.

-Ethan, as soon as his name leave your mouth he sighs, yeah, exactly, him, again. Someone put gum in his hair today. It was impossible to get rid off. One day after you insulted him. Crazy coincidence.

-Are you accusing me ? he asks in disbelief. You invited me over to argue ?

-I just want to hear where you were at noon today.

-It's not me, okay ? he says in a defensive tone. I don't like him but I'm not an asshole. I know he's your friend, I wouldn't do that to him.

-I know, but recently you've been acting really weird around him so I'm starting to ask questions. I'm going to ask this once and I want you to be honest with me. you take a pause, gauging his reaction. he simply waits for you to continue. Are you the one bullying Ethan ?

-I'm not ! Hell, why would I do that !

He's hurt seeing you so little convinced. He shakes his head and frown his brows. He's standing right before you now. He's panicked as if he knows your relationship depends on this discussion.

-I get it now, he says seriously. He accused me, right ? I don't blame you for listening to him, he's a good friend to you, okay. I get that. But he's sabotaging your life, he's sabotaging our relationship. You can't just believe everything he says. I don't like him, that's a fact. But I never put shit in his hair. And I never will. Don't you understand what's happening ?

He kneels before you and takes your hands in his, his warmth enveloping your body. He looks up at you with pretty sad eyes and you know you won't last long.

-Each time we argue, it's because of him. It's because he's always stuck to you, because he always does or says something.

-Or because you hold a stupid grudge toward him for no reason.

-No reason ? He gives me the creep !

-That's what I'm saying, you have no reason ! contradicting him allowed you to avoid looking into his eyes. Because if you did, you'd forgive him far too quickly.

-Baby, please, listen to me. He's not what he makes you think he is. He's a vicious manipulator. I can't prove it now with anything else than my words but I'll prove it to you. I don't know how yet but I promise. He sounded so desperate he had you doubting about everthing.

-I have to think about it."

Even though he wanted to convince you more, he understood your state of mind and decided not to push his luck. Sadly, he let go of your hand. And that was it.

He did not sleep here tonight, either.

When you woke up, you felt alone for the first time in a while. A bitter feeling lingering in your throat. All day, you stayed in bed scrolling on your phone. It was saturday, you usually go out with your friends but you were not in the mood today.

After emptying your head and forgetting your feelings on social media for hours, you decided you couldn't stay angry at your partner for an eternity. So you sent him a text offering him to come tonight to discuss. He accepted surprisingly quickly. You spent the rest of the day cleaning your apartment. As if it was your first date and you wanted to make a good first impression.

You just wanted to spend a chill night with your man.

A movie was already planned for his arrival. You had cleaned every spot of your house. You were wore and now wanted to relax. Weirdly enough, something in you was telling you that the night wouldn't be as relawing as you wanted it to be. You didn't really know why. Maybe you'd be arguing again ? Maybe he'd leave you ?

You couldn't quite pinpoint the feeling you had.

You check your phone one last time, 'i'm almost there' he texted. But his message was sent already fifteen minutes ago. And the way to your apartment clearly wasn't that long. You decided to waste time until he eventually arrives by going to the nearest store. He had your keys anyway, if you arrive after him. You'd buy snacks to eat together there. And so that's what you did. You bid bye to the cashier and went back on your path. Suddenly, you realized how late it is. The alley was really dusky. Was it that dark when you left ?

You grab your phone, still no responses. What's taking him so long ?

Walking slowly in the dead of the night, you hear nothing but car in the background. Your own feet echo in the alley, you hit a bottle that's sent against the wall and you jolt before cursing. You're paranoid. Nothing's here. You grab once again your phone, no answer. He still isn't here ? Okay, maybe you're impatient here. But twenty minutes to arrive ? It's usually fifteen at best !

Deepening yourself slowly down the alley, you start to hear muffled voices. Two people. You hope it's not creepy men who'll follow you. Though, you're sure it isn't when the voices seem to be arguing.

You stop walking, trying to understand if you were in danger or not. It would be really stupid to get involved in a gang fight or simply in a fight. You though the two men would be drunk, since people arguing in a dark alley in night isn't that common for sober people(well, in your opinion), but they were not.

Approaching slowly, you realise you understand every one of the words they're echanging. Though, it's not reassuring.

"I always knew you were a fucked up little bitch..." you hear someone hiss.

Now what's happening ? It's getting scary. The more horrific part was probably that the voice sounded familiar to you. But it was distored and far away so you weren't sure. Either way, you needed to cross this alley. Your home was just a few meters further.

Holding your breath, you look at the ground, eyes glued to the pavement below you. You have nothing to do with this and you don't want to deal with it. But when you heard a scream of pain, your body jolt. Shaking from head to toe, you stop on your track. Your heart is beating too fast for your own good, your blood is pulsing. Slowly, your head turn towards the alley. What you saw at this moment was probably the worst sight you could have encountered in your life.

On the ground, a dead body. Eyes staring straight at you. His back was against the wall, blood dripping from his neck which was cut clean. He was shirtless and even though you didn't want to look at it, you knew his chest was covered in scars. But what's finally killed you is that you recognized his face.

It was your boyfriend.

Breathing becomes hard, you tug at your shirt, pupils slowly drowning in your tears. You couldn't look away. But you had to when someone step on a piece of glass. You jolt, searching for the responsible. Your senses on high alert. Everything in you were yelling at you to run but your legs were like jelly. It was a miracle you were still standing.

And that's when you saw it. Someone. You couldn't see their face but for some reason you knew they were watching you. Without diverting your gaze from them, you grab your phone from your back pocket, stepping back to put distance between you. The person calls your name and unfortunatly you recognize his voice.

"E-Ethan?" you ask with a watery and cracked voice.

You shake your head, slowly stepping back while he comes closer. You finally see his face. There's blood splattered on his face and he own a shiny knife in hand. It's straight out of a horror movie.

"Baby, it's not safe to wander around here at such a late hour. he laughs, surprisingly brightly for the situation.

-Ethan did you..." weakly, you point at the body in the alley behind him.

He's just smiling. He tilts his head to the side, staring at you longingly. Blood was dripping from his knife. Fuck, you need to run, right now. Sensing life coming back to your body, you bolt to the opposite direction. You hear him yell your name but you don't look back to see where he is. You rush to a place you hope will be full of people. There, you coud call for help.

Your rush, feeling every one of your muscle giving the best they have. You're out of breath, you already fell on the ground twice and hurt yourself but didn't bother stopping. Ethan was still yelling your name in your back, his voice getting progressivly more angry and desperate.

You weren't stopping, you couldn't. You were running haphazardly with your blurry vision, you couldn't see much. He's dead, you think. He's freaking dead. He killed him.

A violent side stitch takes you and you whine from the pain. Your muscles are burning so do each one of your breath. You see a building nearing and accelerate one last time to reach it.

But Ethan is seemingly trained for chasing people as he jumps on you and pin you against the ground. You try to scream but he doesn't allow you to as he maintain your mouth shut with his hand. You can feel his front against your back as you struggle to escape. Ethan hold you firmly against him, his weight on you guaranteeing you stay put.

"Why are you running? It's me. It's just me." you could hear the smile in his voice even though he's out of breath.

He was far too happy ! Did he plan this all along ? A million thoughts were racing in your head. Was that what your boyfriend saw in him ? Was that real ? Were you going to die ? You're crying all the water of your body at this point but Ethan doesn't say anything about it. You know he's ravished in the imbalance of power.

"It was supposed to be for the damn parasite, but I never could stand him anyway."

You don't have time to think about who or what he's talking about that a faint sting in your neck make you wince. A burning liquid propagate in your veins. Your vision soon become watery and blurry. Your body stop struggling and everything in you is numb.

"Sleep well now." was all you heard before black out.

When you woke up, (hours, days later ?) everything was pitch black around you. Even though you knew your eyes were open. What's happening ? Last night, you were at the local store buying things for your boyfriend and now you're here. Here, but where ?

You slowly start to realise something hides your view from the light and that your hands are tied up in your back. You couldn't move them at all, they were tightly attached with both scotch and cable tie. It was a miracle blood was still flowing. Or the person who attached you knew exactly how to do it. This thought was terrifying.

Your head aches trying to remember the last event but eventually you get the answer you needed. Ethan fucking Landry. He was in that alley with you. Tears brims your eyes at the reminder of your boyfriend. Your dead boyfriend. What will happen now ?

In your desperate state, you don't hear when someone enters the room. It's when a hand is put on your thight that you jolt and struggle to move. Trying to escape, the cable tie shear your wrists.

"You're gonna hurt yourself, love. Don't do that please."

The voice stops you. It was the same tender voice Ethan used to talk to you before. Ethan, shit, you spent the last few weeks arguing with your boyfriend over him, just for him to fucking kill him. Why is he doing this ? What did you do to him ? Can't he just kill you ? Is he so twisted that he needs to torture you ? It's all your fault, you should have listened to him. Ethan is a monster.

Tears are running down your cheeks, they're salty and sting a little. Ethan sees them and dry them with his thumbs. He tries to shush you but it don't work. Then, he decides to take off the cloth hiding your view. Upon seeing him, you burst into tears. You struggle, moving your whole body, trying to move the chair on which you're on. Crying more when he tries to touch you.

-No no no babe it's me! Don't freak out ! He laughs happily. It's just me, okay ? Everything's fine.

You were going to scream if he didn't interrupt you by roughly clading his palms against your lips. Your tears are no longer staining your chin, now flowing onto his fingers. You don't really understand the situation to be honest. Yesterday, Ethan was a really nice and polite friend. Why would he be otherwise ?

"That's it, calm down. Stop crying, please. It's okay. I'm here." he slowly part his hand away from your mouth.

You are terribly tired. Your body is numb. Your eyes are sore. You have difficulty breathing since you have a stuffy nose from all the crying. You sniff, blinking trying to get rid of the blurry vision you're having. You're sure you look pitiful but Ethan is looking at you like you're a damn art piece. He's analyzing you.

Ethan smiles. Sitting comfortably in front of you. On a chair he specifically placed here for you to talk. Or him to watch. You seem to be in a kind of garage. There's tools scattered on various worktable. Ethan tilts his head to where you're watching to catch your attention, when your eyes are on him again, he smiles brightly.

"You're comfortable here ? I'm sorry the chair is a little old, I wasn't really prepared. Don't worry I'll give you an armchair, soon. So you'll feel better.

You don't say anything. What does he want from you ? You have nothing left. According to his words, he plans on keeping you here for a while. Why ? He smiles, lifting his hand towards you, you flinch and turn your head.

-Don't look at me like that. he says angrily, his tone suddenly more serious.

Your eyes are back on him. You try to keep your gaze as neural as possible as to not angry him but your real feelings talks for you.

-Like you're scared of me. Like you're angry at me. I know you're not.

Why did you bother defending him. He's dead because of you, fuck, it's your fault ! You should have listened to him ! He told you Ethan was creepy, you should have fucking listened.... Tears are coming again, you try to keep them hidden but fail miserably and start crying all over again. Ethan sighs. He archs his back and lay his elbows on his knees.

-Ok, I guess I owe you an explaination. I'll try and make it quick, I have to go back to the kitchen soon after. I made pastas. Because I don't know if you can eat a lot right now, the medicine I injected you is quite strong. he seems to realise his words as his eyes widens and he agitates his hands agitatedly. It's strong but because it wasn't for you in the first place ! You weren't supposed to be there, don't worry. I'd never hurt you. I just improvised ! But you're gonna be fine. If not, it's okay too ! I can kill myself so we'll still be together !

What was his plan ? He wanted to kidnap your boyfriend ? Why ? What would he have done to him ? What would he have done to you ?

-But uh, love aside, if you feel like you'll throw up, warn me. There's probably a basin here or something. Anyway. I did what was best for you. you burst out crying and shake your head, denying his words. Yes I fucking did ! Okay ? He was a damn loser. I didn't have a choice, you know ? You should have just stayed loyal to me in the first place !

You were terrified. He changed emotions in a fraction of seconds. He could do whatever he wanted to you and you couldn't even move. You couldn't comprehend his words. It was as if he had invented a link between you two you weren't even aware of. As if for him, you've never been friends but much more.

-Stop crying, he's dead. It's too late. Seriously, stop. You didn't even love him ! Why would you keep defending me like that otherwise ? And he humiliated me, that fucker humilated me before you ! You know I can't let that pass. It just had to end.

You were still seeing his face in the alley. He was looking into your eyes, you swear. You just know his face will haunt you untill your death. Never would you have thought Ethan Landry was a fucked up man. Never would you have thought Ethan Landry was thinking about your kidnapping and your boyfriend's death.

You didn't know what to feel. Too many emotions were in your heart. Hate, fear, disdain, grief, anger and sadness. All caused by him.

-It's not my fault, okay ? Stop looking at me like that !

He passes his hand through his hair. He's agitated. Too much for your own good. His hair, you're now sure he puts that damn gum himself. What kind of fucked up manipulator you have to be to do that ? To take your sweet time in creating arguments between two person ?

-I was supposed to come and pick him up. Thus, I would have sent you each one of his fingers in pretty pink enveloppes. I'm sure you would have loved it. But it's even better that you're here. We're always stumbling on each other, right ? Isn't that so cute ? The way we're so magnetic ? he smiles bashfully, like a schoolgirl confessing her love to her crush.

His grabs your legs, you struggle to get away from his hold. Ethan is not amused. His fist tighten considerably around your ankle and you whine from the pain. You're sure he could break it. He stops, laying simply your leg on his tight. The palm of your feet was too far from his tummy for you to hit it. He smiles in seeing you so compliant. You still feel the burning hold he previously exerced on your ankle. How strong is that man ?

He slides his fingers dreamily from your ankle to the highest part of your leg he could touch without bending in two. You were utterly disgusted by his touch knowing it was these same hands which killed your boyfriend.

-It really is fate.

And suddenly he starts using his nails instead of his digits. Not quite hurting you but it was enough to make you understand he was able to. His smile turn bitter.

-It was fate until you decided to betray me by picking someone else. his tone is dark, threatening. Like a murderer. Then it go back to his usual tone and his digits are back on your leg. But I forgive you, you know ? At first, I cried a lot. Because I thought that you didn't love me. But I soon realised that you wanted to test me. You wanted to see me jealous ! And it's okay ! You probably wanted me to make a move on you first... he smiles sheepishly, cheeks red.

What the fuck is he talking about ? You never loved him ! You never tried to test him ! Why does he keep inventing things ? Did you two have the same discussion ? Where does he gets these interpretation from? You're pratically sure it's impossible to declare your love to someone by accident so why does he thinks you're in love with him ?

-Though, I gotta admit I was really sad when you decided to fuck him. Because I understand your testing, but it didn't need to go that far, you know ? You wanted to practice ? Because it really hurt me.

You don't answer. You certainly didn't want to talk about that to him.

-For practice, right ? Tell me it was. You just wanted to practice for when we'd be together ? the death glare he sent you was enough to make you nod, even if he saw it was fake he didn't care. Good, good. I was scared for a sec ! he smiles happily, as if he didn't just threaten you. I'm still a little disappointed, though. We could've learn together but I guess I can't condamn your eagerness.

You needed to get out of here, right now. He could do so much more than just kill you and that thought was terrifying. You were helpless, stuck at his mercy.

-I'm glad you saw the camera I put in your bathroom. Felt like a creep watching you showering. But when you saw it and didn't say anything, that mean you allowed me to do it. Thanks for that. It helped me on the loneliest night.

What the fuck ? You try to remember when you ever saw a damn camera when suddenly it click. Everything click. The thing you thought was a pencil in his pocket when you invited him over, it was your toothbrush. The red point in your mirror, it was him, too.

Every time you brushed your hair, every time youu showered, every time you just lived your damn life, he was here.

You felt like a fool. He had played with you all along. You never saw anything when it was so painfully evident.

-Though once again, you didn't have to bring him in.

He was watching you from the very beginning. There wasn't a moment where you have been alone. Were others cameras in your apartment ? Probably if he knows you made love to your boyfriend.

-Ethan, you start with a shaking voice. His head snap to you, visibly excited to finally hearing you talk to him. Ethan I loved my boyfriend.

-What ? he laughed. No, silly. You do not. I'm the one you love. I'll marry you and everything, you know that.

He was smiling but you knew it wasn't genuine. You needed to talk to him calmly or this could be dangerous for you.

-I don't know you Ethan. I can't love you.

-But you do know me, sweetheart. he smiles while putting your leg back on the ground. Can I give you an advice ? he whispers then lays his hand on your cheek, his thumb caressing it. his eyes were empty of emotions while drilling into yours. You should really stop pushing me off because I'm starting to lose my fucking temper over here. Okay my love ? I'll go get you your food. I'm such a good househusband for you, right love ? You stay all pretty here, I'm coming back really quick."

With the unknow time he let you alone, you scanned your surrondings. All the tools could help you but they were too far away from you. You needed to change plan. At one point he'll have to go to sleep ? Or let you go to the bathroom ? As soon as he lets his guards down, you attack.

Ethan wasn't lying when he said he'd come back really quick as he was already here. He calmed down. Much better for you. He had a garnished plate in hand. He pushes his seat closer to you before smiling to you.

"It's gonna be fun. You'll be my beautfull wife whom I'd kill for. By the way have I told you about.. ? Wait, they haven't been discovered yet... Well, we don't care. Just a background character. he sits back down on his chair.

What ? Did he just told you he killed someone else ?

-Open your mouth, love. he says while taking a spoon full of pasta.

A spoon ? He probaby thinks you're gonna try to hurt him or yourself with a fork. He really think of you as a kid. He approaches the spoon near your mouth. You don't budge, staring at him dead in the eyes. you weren't even hungry. And if you were, you'd much rather die than to eat his food.

-Oh, I didn't even ask if you were hungry. Well, I'm putting that aside and when you need something you tell me. I won't leave your side anyway."

Him who was so nice and polite before, him who helped you with your homework. Him who killed your boyfriend, him who stalked and kidnapped you. Who was he ? Who was this man ? He sighs before your blank stare.

"Listen, I know you wanted to play that little game between us longer but he was turning violent, my love. I just... I couldn't stand to see you suffering with him. It was for your safety.

He stares at your thight on which he draws circle with his pointer. You don't even listen to the lies he tells you anymore. You're just trying to find a way out of here. Ethan sits on the ground next to you, his head now at the same level as your waist.

-He couldn't love you like I do. Nobody can. I'm going to take good care of you.

He lowers his head, his lips grazing against the clothe that separate him from the top of your thigh. You shudder. You feel his hot breath hitting your skin through the fabric. He lays his cheek flat against the fat of your thigh. He smiles. You want him to get away from you but any of your movement can angry him and you don't want that.

-I'll kill my dad after the plan, okay? So that he cannot oppose our union, our marriage.

Strangely, you wouldn't have thought someone like him had a father. Or any parent for that matter. His dad must be as fucked up as him, you're sure. You don't bother to try and understand him. A plan ? Yeah, good for him. You don't give a fuck. You just want to leave.

Though, he'd kill his dad ? He's even attacking his own family now ? Does this man have limits ? Your questionning must be visible from the outside as he laughs brightly at you.

-Why are you shocked pretty girl ? Didn't I show you how devoted I am to you ? he laughs again. And that's not even a quarter of what I'm ready to do for you.

His rub his nose against your skin covered thigh and sigh of contentement. Are you really stuck here ? No, no of course not. Someone is going to find you. Someone is going to find your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend. He tried to warn you. You hate yourself for that. It's too late now. You can simply hope he didn't suffer a lot in his death. That's all you can do. Tears are coming again, the few leaft in you anyway. You're tired. Terribly tired. You'll probably pass out soon.

Ethan kiss your thigh after taking a good sniff out of you.

-I could do so much more for you, my love. So much more. You have no idea what I could to for you."

[hotchfiles]

second. damn your love.

masterlist

pairing: james x fem!reader.

content warnings: james being kind of an ass, cheating on lily, lily will be probably shit talked (i luv her i'm very sorry !), mistress!reader, uhhh cursing, not totally AU but like... canon divergent i would say. probably hurt/no comfort unless i switch the ending but--

worth mentioning: reader insert with no use of names or “y/n”. paragraphs completely in italic are flashbacks. pro quidditch player!james. muggle born!reader.

word count: 2,2k

previous chapter

chapter 2

for some reason unknown to you, it hadn't taken james as long as usual to give you any sign that he still remembered your existence after being with you. surprisingly, on the same day after dropping you off at home and rushing to be with his girlfriend, he sent you a message through his patronus (much too recklessly as you lived in a majorly muggle neighbourhood), apologizing for what had happened.

normally, you would believe his words, and then become disappointed. however, after what happened, you didn't believe anything he said, you knew he wasn't sorry and you knew you probably wouldn't be seeing him for a while.

all you felt like doing was laying down, still feeling completely shaken, disappointed, angry... betrayed, and it took you a while to stop crying, you couldn't believe how easy it was to manipulate you, two days together and you actually started to think things were changing.

ingenuity or just the hard truth: it was easier to let yourself believe it.

luckily, or not, you still had your commitment to your responsibilities, if not your pride, you would try to maintain that instead, so the best decision was to get yourself together as best as you could the next day and go to work.

even though you lived mostly among muggles, a decision you had made long before graduating hogwarts, you still ended up in a ministry job, an obliviator. not the most glamorous, and a lot of times you thought about getting a muggle job, but years went on and you got comfortable with it. sometimes being able to forget is the best option there is.

so got yourself together you did, the best as you could included showing up office ready and giving off the obvious energy that you did not want to be perturbed, especially after taking the tube half an hour later than you normally would, too loud, too full, it was probably one of the few times over the last years you wished you could just apparate in front of the right phone cabin. but an obliviator risking wizarding secrecy would be too much of an hypocrisy.

you made sure you wouldn't be making any field work, taking the liberty to be shut in your office filling paperwork and crying, as any mature woman would if they were in your shoes: exhausted from hating yourself because you knew you were an excellent witch, a strong-willed independent woman and still, every time james potter smiled at you, you felt nothing but weakness.

and there it was, the weakness as soon as you left the ministry building and felt his gaze upon you, simply leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, his face completely relaxed.

your hands went straight to your eyes, reminding yourself of their appearance, you looked up at the sky for a few seconds and wondered if there was a god, because it didn't matter how much you begged either merlin or godric, you still didn't get one single moment of peace.

"were you crying?" he asked straight away, without even explaining why he was there. you shook your head denying it and found refuge for eyes on your feet. "you're a terrible liar."

"i don't think you know me that well anymore," you sighed and tried your best to look at him firmly. "no car today?"

"i don't indulge on those very often, apparition is still a thing, you know?" you tried your very best not to roll your eyes at the arrogance he displayed, favoring instead the idea that he had the car for the weekend to please you. "you ignored my patronus, i feel like you probably didn't even check your mail, my poor owl working over time for nothing, and you're the only witch i know who doesn't have a bloody fireplace. kinda got worried that you were mad at me." his lips formed the pout you knew so well, and you had to bite you lips to prevent yourself from smiling.

"not having the fireplace goes hand in hand with the anti-apparition charm on my apartment." you shrugged, it was a way to avoid unwanted guests, so he pretended to be the upmost offended by that. you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to concentrate on the reasons why you were angry with him. "we need to talk."

"we can do that in your apartment. let's talk there." he nodded, and you agreed. it wasn't something to discuss so close to where you worked, for sure. he offered his arm so you would apparate together and you ignored it completely, stretching your arm to the street to get a minicab to stop for you both.

"i'm not risking magic exposure and being fired because you rarely indulge on cars, potter." weirdly enough he doesn't try to convince you otherwise, getting on the backseat with you.

on the way he told you he had been waiting for you for at least forty minutes, which you weren't sure was even true, but on any other day you would've swooned over, but his true intentions showing up came to light so quickly, you couldn't. james kept touching your thigh with his right hand slowly, teasingly, and a pantsuit was never as helpful as then, because of it you could ignore his touches or at least pretend to ignore it.

despite the touches, james maintained a casual conversation with you, talking about trivialities from his day, like forgetting to take his vitamin supplement in the morning and running less that afternoon so he could get home in time to take a shower and pick you up. at least that was the term he used, even though you were in a cab.

you enjoyed having conversations like that with him, knowing how his day had been and how he felt about the team, the training sessions... it brought a sense of normality, as if you were just an ordinary couple talking about everything or just friends talking about your lives. but at that moment, you couldn't enjoy it the way you normally would due to what still lingered on your mind from the previous night, not to mention the fact that the words coming out of his mouth sounded innocent, but his eyes and hands overflowed with nothing but.

you felt like you were under torture, the rational part of your brain competing with your emotional part, which was shaken by any touch from james, any scraps of attention. you even felt relief when you arrived at your building, especially because there were other people in the elevator, preventing him from grabbing you there and making you forget everything you so wanted to tell him. but it didn't last long. as soon as you reached your floor, you were grabbed from behind, his hands firm on your waist while his lips roamed your neck.

"james, we need to talk," you repeated what said before, freeing yourself from his arms and walking towards the door. you unlocked it with a silent charm and left the door open for him to enter next.

"talk about what?" you heard the question, but his tone showed no interest in talking. in fact, he pulls you by the arm and pushes you against the nearest wall, trapping you with his arms. you lost your breath for a few seconds due to the proximity. "we can talk later," james whispers in your ear, brushing his lips softly against yours, one of his hands touching your waist under your blouse. you almost lose it, but finds the strength to get out of his embrace and leave to the kitchen.

"i want to talk about us." you said seriously, resolute in your decision to give him an ultimatum, tired of being the mistress, but you couldn't deny that after his teasing, you just wanted to wrap your legs around his waist and hear him say your name in between moans.

"brilliant, let's talk." james begins, slowly moving closer to you. "but we could just go to your room and enjoy our time in a more pleasurable way." you feel his hands again grabbing you around the waist, and his lips brushed lightly against your ear as he detailed all the other pleasurable things he could be doing to you. you give up, defeated, letting out a grunt and pulling him to you, starting a desperate kiss as he takes off your pantsuit and leads you stumbling back to your bed.

it was late at night, almost two in the morning, when the noise woke you up, almost frightened as you had no idea what it could be at that time. your first instinct was to obviously grab your wand and go to the living room, ready to disarm or worse if it was an intruder, but you noticed that it someone knocking frantically on your door.

"who is it?" you asked loud and clear, assuming it was a stranger trying to pull some kind of scam, you've heard of cases like that happening around the muggle neighbourhoods, the knocking then stopped and you thought you had scared away whoever was there, but you were wrong.

"it's me…" the voice was familiar, but you doubted it was who the voice reminded you of, so you waited for more before you decided or not to open it. "james." you froze and held you breath, but still denying mentally that it could be him.

"james? need to be more specific."

"don't remember me anymore?" it was him, surely. james potter. you hadn't seen him since the turn of the previous year, but truthfully, you hadn't really spoken to him in years, you couldn't even imagine how in hell had he found your address. "potter."

"what you doing here?" you open the door, giving him the space he needed to enter and smelling the alcohol invading your apartment. "it's two in the morning."

"not sure…" he seemed a bit disoriented, obviously because of the alcohol, but he wasn't about to fall over drunk and you mentally thanked him for that. "was in a pub having a few, but they closed…kept thinking about you and here i am." a shiver ran through your whole body and you cussed yourself, it was pathetic how he could still cause such a thing so many years after your relationship, after your last kiss, unfortunately you had never really managed to forget him, but instead you hid him deep in your memories, that way you wouldn't have to deal with your true feelings for him when you saw each other at a mutual friend's house or anything of the sort.

but still, you did to this day found yourself thinking about him at times, but that didn't help you understand why he would be there at such a time, or why he would be thinking about you when in fact the only reason you had left his life was because of him, because if he wasn't such a dick, you might still be in a relationship today, or at least be best friends like you used to be.

"know what…" even though you haven't responded to anything he's said before, he sits down on your sofa awkwardly and you feel completely uncomfortable with the situation, crossing your arms, unable to move more than that. "i'm such a twat." james lets out a weak laugh of discontent. "letting you go that day… mum told me what happened, but I still didn't look for you." it was amazing how he could form sentences almost perfectly even though he stank of alcohol miles away.

"james, what do you want?" you sigh, still not understanding anything that's going on. he simply gets up and walks towards you, making you instinctively move away until you reach the end of the line, one of the walls of the living room. "potter?"

"i want things between us to go back to normal." his perfume takes you over as he gets closer, replacing the smell of firewhiskey, and you try not to get dizzy. "just want you." panic is your first reaction as his lips come close to yours and you push him away.

"you have a girlfriend." you look into his eyes, being as serious as possible without showing how tempted you were, making exaggerated gestures with your hands to show him how wrong it was.

"shh, forget it, just f'now. i'll fix it, swear i'll fix everything." you soften at his words and sigh, you're probably losing your mind but still you walk towards him with your arms open for a hug and he immediately finds himself taking the chance.

"missed you." your voice nothing but a whisper and james nods in response, stroking your hair.

the affectionate embrace evolves quickly into a quiet kiss that becomes more and more desperate and before you know it, you're both on the sofa, blending into one.

you woke up the next day feeling partially satisfied, but guilt consumed you entirely, you had slept with a commited guy, what kind of woman were you? and not only that… what would james and you be from then on?

"bloody hell." and there you were, waking up after given in to james' charms again, just like the first time, just like every time after that, it was frustrating how much power he held over you, you couldn't take it anymore, you were done.

tag: @xcinnamonmalfoyx

[lunar-serpentinite]

assorted hjp headcanons

he takes to guitars like a bird to the sky. acoustic, bass, electric, you name it, he'd slay it

he eventually finds a way to force kreacher into retirement, but still lets the house elf have absolutely free reign in the former bedrooms of his beloved departed masters

harry has this habit of just picking up all the even mildly pathetic/helpless strays he finds on the streets and ends up raising them. 12 grimmauld place looks a lot like a menagerie now, and he kinda likes it

he went to luna for help on how to take care of his newfound animal roommates and thats how he befriended luna's then-penpal-turned-bf rolf scamander

eventually he moves to a quaint little cottage right outside of godrics hollow to be closer to his parents' final resting place. it's heavily warded, fidelius'd, and nobody except for ron, hermione and luna know the address

he never really did like living in a gated community / suburban neighbourhood, it reminded him too much of privet drive

the first time someone mocked him by calling him freak, harry blacked out a bit and the next thing he knew he was standing over a decently beat-up person

creatures associated w death like corvids, moths and the like are weirdly attracted to him. hell, he even found a whole vulture in his backyard once

harry is pretty apathetic about the notion of his own death post-battle of hogwarts. he told luna once that it felt like he was just idly waiting by for death to come by again

differences aside, he and pansy (my characterisation of her anyways) wld bond over being nosy, gossipy little shits

he would've said yes if cedric and cho invited him into their relationship lmao

i dont think hes necessarily a naturally jealous/possessive person. he just doesn't know how to properly have a grip on himself if the few scant ppl and stuff that he considers his are in danger of being taken away from him, born from trauma from the dursleys ofc. make him feel secure enough and he'd be chill

hes kinda shit at potions especially without proper instructions and motivation because he learned how to cook first, and potions deals w exact measurements while cooking is just measure based on vibes

he would make an excellent beekeeper. idk but he just gives me that vibe

harry's vibe checks are rarely wrong but he doesn't say anything abt em anymore bc hes used to ppl automatically assuming that hes a liar

"harry, why didnt u tell us" "you didnt ask. and if u did ask, youd probably assume im lying"

hes a bit of a hoarder lmao he has a small room in his new cottage thats just filled w his trinkets

he has absolutely no qualms in lying to everyone's faces if he thinks he's justified based on his own criteria of justice

he cant dance those fancy formal dances but at some point he will discover that he likes other types of dancing, just not in front of other people

harry would abuse the FUCK out of slang so he can say as little words as possible. his convo partner is confused but he also doesnt like them ? theyre a grownup with access to books, they can figure it out by themselves

[itsastrobixch]

ASTROLOGY OBSERVATIONS PART 5 🌹Chiron in 1st house people can't seem to relax in pictures. They always either seem tensed, drawn like a bow string in photos.

🌹Lilith in 4th in my opinion isn't just not getting along with the women in their family, but being and growing up alienated from their relatives and family. They loose touch with their ancestral roots or there is some sort of shame associated with their identity in that regard. It's like they almost try to reject that part of themselves when presenting themselves to others. they are ashamed of, in this case, anything to do with certain facets of their family.

🌹Count yourself lucky if an air sign comes to you with their problems, and ask for ur opinion. They may seem confident, just like fire signs and like they can handle it all on their own, but while fire signs bulldoze through the issue without thinking twice, the air people have come up with 1000's of ways this scenario could play out and are internally freaking out lmao

🌹Mercury aspecting Neptune people are either excellent liars and manipulators ( in the sense they can manipulate any situation to their advantage) or they suck at lying and everyone knows when they're bluffing. It's usually indicated by the positive or negative aspects, both planets make.

🌹I don't know where the bad rep about having Natal mercury Rx and communication comes from. people say They turn the influence of mercury inwards, an in some ways, yeah true. They may make the individuals think things much more thoroughly before they talk, Make sure their point is clearly communicated etc etc. This actually makes them an excellent communicator. It doesn't interfere with the expression of mercury in my opinion. For that, we have to look at the sign mercury's present in and the aspects it makes.

🌹Sun conjunct Mercury people usually read a lot, and the sign it conjuncts in can show their favorite genre or the themes they may like in their books. For ex : I have it in Libra and of course I'm a sucker for those sweet sweet romance and Smutty novels.

🌹Libras are NOT pushovers. we need to emphasise this more lol. They will look like they're fluttering around here and there trying to decide on something. But in actuality they have already decided and they just weighing the pros and cons of that. Yeah they are an air sign but they're cardinal air. You can't convince cardinal people to move a fingernail if they don't wanna lmao

🌹Uranus and or Mercury in 3rd house, the house of mind, have a lot of ideas. But they're all either scattered or they come and go in a fleet, with the person not even conscious of it, much less process it and write it down. But sometimes their ideas are electric and revolutionary, especially Uranus, solving stuff in very unconventional ways and surprising everyone with their eccentric genius.

🌹If an air sign texts u DAILY, keeps in touch with you DAILY, then they love you lmao.. they take a minimum of 3 to 6 business days to text people back..so if they do it daily, consider yourself occupying a high position in an air signs life 😂

🌹Venus - Neptune pisces venus 🤝 Venus Pluto scorpio venus : Falling for unattainable and elusive people and giving them more chances than they deserve.

🌹The ascendant of your ascendant persona chart also determines some of your physical features, it's not just your asc that determines your physical structure, and your ascendant of your ascendant persona chart isn't just how people see you. The sign your ascendant persona is in will contribute some factors in your appearance too. Along with the planets in 1st house if u have any.

🌹For example a sag rising with a Taurus in their asc persona, will have good thighs and legs but will also be very curvy and soft, with full lips and some venusian features.

🌹 Venus Pluto and scorpio venus people, being in love is their addiction. Not the person they fall in love with like most people assume, but the feelings their lover evoke in them, the way they lose themselves in their partner, and become one with them, that is their addiction.

🌹word of the wise : don't argue with people who have personal planets in Virgo. You'll be humiliated and proved wrong. Straight up. They don't get into arguments which aren't logical or which they aren't sure they'll win. So they go in prepared and armed. They're masters of rubbing Salt in the wounds

🌹 this is just a theory, but hear me out. Our 1st house and the planets in them have a large influence on our appearance. But..i also think, our 6th house plays a part in it too. Our 6th house affects our appearance too but in am indirect way. Our 6th house rules our health right and under that comes our weight, likes and dislikes in terms of food, our BMI etc.

🌹 case on point, me. So I'm a Sagittarius ascendant, and I have good hips and thighs. But I'm not tall. And I'm very much curvy. Although sag rising tends to produce that too, I've a fuller venusian figure. And i have Taurus in 6th house.

[wileycap]

[spoilers for ATLA]

I have this fanfic story idea for Avatar, and I want to write some of it out.

The basic premise is: What if Iroh had gone the other way after his son's death, becoming more warlike instead of more peaceful - but Ozai still executes his power grab, and they essentially end up ruling two opposing kingdoms?

After Lu Ten dies, Iroh subjugates Ba Sing Se in grief. He doesn't go full villain, no massacring the civilians on purpose or anything, but he does lay waste to the city, takes the young King Kuei hostage and, as a treat, kills Long Feng. (I really dislike Long Feng.)

Meanwhile, Ozai goes ahead with his plan. Azulon reacts much the same, but he does the ever-popular fic thing of giving Ozai's heirs to Iroh. "You must know the pain of losing a firstborn son!" And, furthermore, he manages to get a hawk out to Iroh, that both of Ozai's children have been written out of his lineage and into Iroh's.

Ozai conspires to kill Azulon by blackmailing Ursa. For her treason, Ursa is banished, as in canon, and Ozai takes the throne.

But the balance of power has shifted. The Earth Kingdom, bolstered by Iroh's legions, is now a contender for total world domination - and that's not exactly a disagreeable state of affairs for a lot of Earth Kingdom kings and generals, who pledge loyalty to Iroh.

Meanwhile, Ozai's Fire Nation controls the seas, but they are quickly losing ground in the Earth Kingdom. The newly crowned Ozai is facing immense amounts of domestic pressure, and responds by cracking down on the homeland, making the already totalitarian state even more totalitarian. The Fire Nation still holds the advantage in the war, but their edge is shrinking more and more by the moment, as many of their best legions were in the Earth Kingdom and are now loyal to Iroh.

To legitimize his rule, Ozai spreads the story that Ursa had been working with Iroh to murder Azulon, and that rather than being a conqueror and a ruler, Iroh is now a hostage for the Earth Kingdom - a puppet to exert influence over the Fire Nation. And furthermore, as she fled, the traitor Ursa had done the unthinkable - kidnapped a member of the royal family!

Meanwhile, Ursa does make it to the Earth Kingdom and to Iroh. And true to the story being spread in the Fire Nation, she does have one of her children with her...

Azula.

Who, upon seeing the Earth Kingdom subjugated under Iroh, isn't actually very upset about the whole thing. In fact, she's excited: with Zuko stuck in the homeland and her here at the side of the leader whom she now views as the stronger one, with Azulon's letter proving that she is meant to be Iroh's heir... her prospects of becoming the ruler of the entire world, not just the Fire Nation, are beginning to look pretty good. And all she has to do is make sure to kill dear old Dad and Zuzu at some point. And help Iroh win the war. And stay in Iroh's favour, because if Iroh is anything like her father (he isn't, but Azula doesn't know that), he's more than ready to cast her aside if she proves unsatisfactory. So, bring on the tea and Pai Sho: Azula is both patient and an excellent liar.

Iroh, however, is beginning to feel his character development. He would now be content with pushing the Fire Nation back and ruling the Earth Kingdom in the name of his lost son. But Ursa pleads with him: Zuko is still in the Fire Nation. He is in danger. They have to win the war, or at least rescue Zuko.

And what about Zuko? Zuko looks at the situation: his mother and sister disappear, his uncle and father are at war, his dad probably had his grandpa killed, the Fire Nation is slowly going to hell and now his dad is acting suspiciously nice to him. (Well, he is the only heir Ozai has left.) He thinks about it for a while, and decides to get going while the going is good, and just so happens to run into a recently disgraced Lieutenant named Jee, who thinks he might be able to get them a ship and a crew, and hey, the areas near the South Pole are supposed to be pretty far from the war, and what's that huge beam of light on the horizon?

Any thoughts?

[hellfire--cult]

Baring Teeth {Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader} - Ch. 9

Edit of Eddie: pitifulbaby

Chapters: Masterlist (Go here to see list of chapters, plotline and general warnings.)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers, Non-Traditional Omegaverse, Slow burn, Modern!AU, Mechanic!Eddie

⚠️This chapter contains: billy hargrove x reader, smut (protected sex, p in v), manhandling, physical pain, hospital mention, dirty talking, mentions of cancer, grief

wc: 4.6k

Crossposted on: Wattpad & AO3

A/N: What a rollercoaster this chapter is. We are SLOWLY reaching the point in the story where everything will take a turn. Next chapter will have a small time skip, very small, but it is needed!

Anyways, Enjoy! ❤️ And don't forget to always support me by hitting the reblog button or leave a comment!

<- Prev. chapter - Next chapter ->

CHAPTER 9

A deep breath in.

A deep breath out. 

Gaining the courage to see the other side of the screen was always challenging, because it was always different. Ever changing. He changed. He worsened, with each passing day, with each passing minute, with each passing second.

The screen lit up after a few seconds and Wayne’s face came up on screen.

“Hi there Son.” He greets in a grunt. His hair was gone, no eyebrows, no beard, no sideburns. He was skinny, skinnier than the last time he had a call with Wayne, and his eyes were now filled with weakness rather than the strong man he once was.

“Hi Wayne. Interrupt your nap time, old man?” Eddie replied as he leaned against his balcony with phone in one hand and cigarette on the other. He always needed one when talking to Wayne, because it was always painful, the reminder of a limit of time that one day will reach its end. 

“I nap all day. I really just want to go fishing again.” He says with a chuckle this time, a weak one, but Eddie still smiled at him, reciprocating his laugh.

“Oh come on, as if you ever caught something bigger than the size of a hand.” Eddie joked and it was a bluff really, Wayne was an excellent fisher, and that worked in getting dinner on the table a few times in his childhood and teenage years while he lived with him. Wayne looked into the camera completely offended and shook his head.

“I didn’t raise you to be a liar!” He exclaims and Eddie finally lets out a chuckle while taking a drag out of his cigarette. “You know, that’s the reason I’m like this.” Wayne says pointing at the camera, at what Eddie is holding in his hand.

“Yeah, well… You smoked way too much when I was a teen, like two packs per week.” And Eddie knew the reason for it. Getting the money for his medication, for his treatments, for the hospitalizations in the specialty facility was nothing cheap, and Wayne had to work double shifts and even weekends to be able to provide for it.

The stress of not being able to pay for Eddie’s health was something that Wayne could barely stand, living off cigarettes and whisky, barely eating anything, his defenses falling gradually, his immune system deteriorating, but Eddie was alive. That’s all that mattered. 

“Hey, it was my guilty pleasure.” Wayne jokes with a chuckle but Eddie’s eyes felt distant as he looked at his uncle, his guardian, his father. Because maybe if he wasn’t the way he is, just maybe–

“Is that Eddie?” Wayne looks up from the camera and nods, and Eddie hears a female chuckle from far away.

“Hi Lu.” Eddie greets her and he receives an ‘Hola’ from far away. She was the caretaker of his uncle because he didn’t want to be taken to a hospital or a geriatric. He wanted to be in the peace of his home, his trailer, and that was final. 

“How are you feeling boy? I know your date is coming soon–”

“Yeah, it already happened. Lasted one day as always, nothing new.” Eddie shortly replies, taking another drag of his cigarette and Wayne gives him a nod after a sigh.

“Alright, remember to visit Murphy, you have to do the–”

“Check ups, once every two months. I know Wayne, you don’t really have to take care of me like that anymore.” Eddie says with a hint of sadness behind it, and Wayne frowns at that, chuckling softly.

“You’re my boy, I’m always going to take care of you, no matter how old you get.” He replied with a wrinkled smile and Eddie felt the lump in his throat starting to form. He gulped it down, feeling the all too well burning begin to happen in his eyes, but he gets interrupted by Wayne’s coughing, making Eddie look up at him alarmingly. 

His coughs turned to wheezes as Lucia rushed to start the oxygen machine that was always next to Wayne’s bed, and the next thing Eddie was looking at the ceiling as he heard his uncle wheezing through the phone. He took that moment to look up at the sky as he bit his lips into his mouth to clench and swallow the sob that wanted to escape him. 

He was fighting the tears, looking at the clouds above him, trying to distract himself, trying to think of something else rather than time. Time. It was always time. Time being the worst fucking thing that’s ever to exist, because it always took and took from him, and it never gave him anything. Not a single thing.

He heard some shuffling, and he looked up at the phone again, seeing Wayne now with the oxygen mask on over his mouth and nose. His breathing was heavy and a few wheezes came out here and there.

“I feel like Darth Vader.” Wayne jokes outloud, making Eddie give a sad smile. He knew that this happened because Wayne talked too much, and forced his lungs to do so. That’s why Eddie always preferred to talk to him through text, but his uncle always insisted on seeing him.

And Eddie knew that it was because Wayne didn’t know when it would be time to go.

“You sound like him too.” Eddie continues the joke as the turmoil of feelings in his stomach starts to betray him, and he knows he has to end the call soon, because he doesn’t want his uncle to see him like this. 

“I have to hang up, son. I’m tired of seeing your young face.” He always joked, always kept it lighthearted, always made sure Eddie didn’t know his pain, making sure that Eddie would always see things with a positive aspect, with a laugh, with a smile. 

“I bet, I can’t stand the wrinkles on your face either. Like a bulldog.” Eddie followed on the joke and Wayne smiled through the mask. 

“I love you boy.” Eddie bit onto the inside of his cheek. He was always afraid of this part. Always afraid of the part of hanging up, and he knew why Wayne said this. He was never a sentimental man to begin with, but now, as time went on, Eddie knew that Wayne was saying goodbye, just in case. 

Just in case this would be the last time he ever tells Eddie he loves him.

“I love you too old man… Talk to you tomorrow, okay?” Eddie says, almost with a whimper in his tone, almost breaking as Wayne nodded at him. There was always that hope that tomorrow would come, and that he would talk to his uncle again, he always said it to keep that hope inside of him, and when his uncle responds the next day it would always make Eddie’s nerves relax, even if a bit.

“Sure thing. Goodbye.” And just like that the call ended. Eddie had forgotten about the cigarette, already a bud in his hand, still smoking a bit. He put the phone in his pocket, and stared into the small city. 

A tear fell down his right eye, the knot in his belly finally undoing as a choked sob erupted from his throat. He bent down, throwing the bud towards the street, over his balcony, and he crossed his arms over the rail to hide his face into his arms, his shoulders shaking as he let himself go and feel.

Time. Time is a horrible yet unstoppable thing.

“She told me she couldn’t hang out yesterday, and now she is showing up late!” Robin whines for almost the fourth time and Eddie was getting fed up already. They were at her’s and Steve’s home, enjoying the Saturday night, drinking a few beers, just talking with one another, but Robin had a very annoying mouth sometimes, and Eddie just wanted to rip it out.

“Maybe another date?” Jonathan asks as he lays back onto the couch’s rest with a hand around Steve’s waist. Nancy walked into the room with a tray of new drinks, her specialty, Caipiroska. She was always proud of this drink, because she had perfectioned it, and of course she did, since it was her favorite. Robin immediately took one as soon as Nancy put the tray on the table.

“No! She would tell me! She always tells me everything, and lately, to be honest, she is almost MIA.” Robin scoffs, taking a big gulp of the drink. Eddie was eyeing her and he felt his chest burn once more as anger filled him up for your doings. Robin clearly saw you as a best friend, to the point she would not shut up and worry about you, and she was probably thinking you were leaving her aside. 

“Tells you everything? Don’t know about that.” Eddie says as he takes a glass for himself and Robin turns to him with a glare.

“Just because she doesn’t share a few things, doesn’t make her a liar.” She explains and Eddie rolled his eyes at her. It was almost the same thing. You could be a serial killer that escaped into another state for all he knows. But no, he couldn’t sense that from you.

“But she is okay, right mi amiga?” Argyle asks as he was rolling a joint as he sat on the floor, over the other end of the coffee table. 

“Yeah, I saw her at work, and she was… I don’t know… Glowing?” Robin says and Steve is the one that intervenes now.

“Didn’t she get the Dior client thing? Maybe she’s happy about that.” He says and Robin shakes her head again, taking a sip out of her drink, sighing heavily into it.

“No, no, no! This is like… Different. And yesterday at work she was just jumpy, and excited, and as soon as the day was over she ran off.” She swirled the glass on her hand, looking at the cubes inside of it. Robin trusted you, you had told her about the big announcement and she was excited for you, happy even because she knew how much this means to you.

But she also knows there’s something from this life of yours, this new life, you are hiding from her. And in this life you never held any secrets against Robin.

“Maybe she went to get laid.” Nancy comments this time, taking a sip out of her drink, and Eddie scoffs at that, shaking his head lightly, but the sound of a door opening caught their attention, turning their heads to see who just came in. 

You turned to them with a bright smile on your face, holding a bag of snacks in one hand and a six pack on the other. The sound of a revving engine could be heard in the distance as you walked towards the group, coming into the light.

“Sorry I’m late, had to buy a few things first.” You put the bag on the table as Robin inspected you, squinting slightly at your hair. You always had tidy hair, but this time, it was all over your shoulders, down, combed but kind of wild, covering you all over. You were wearing the same jeans you wore to work yesterday, but the shirt was different. Your makeup looked as if it were on since yesterday as well, tidied up in the best way possible.

You licked your lips as you felt everyone’s stares, sitting down on the floor next to Argyle. You put your phone on the table, facing down, and that’s when you looked up to see everyone simply waiting for you to say something, and Robin was glaring at you, digging into your eyes to look for an answer.

“Where were you?” She asked you, and you cleared your throat, looking over at the tray of drinks and taking one for yourself. 

“I said I was buying things.” You say out loud and then you hear it. Your demise. The voice that might fuck everything up in just one instant. Bring your happiness down in just one second, but your eyes almost widened when he let out a small chuckle, and almost a whisper under his breath as he looked over you from the couch.

“Fucking finally.”

Everyone turned to Eddie, looking for answers, but he kept his mouth shut, taking sips of his drink. He noticed it of course, the change in your way of moving, your body language, and your smell. He could smell the male cologne, and by your cheerfulness, your genuine cheerfulness, he knew that it was a successful encounter.

“What does he mean?” Robin asks and you were speechless, feeling your heart racing as you stared at Eddie. How did he know? How was it so easy for him to read you? Or was it the other way around? Were you too easy to read?

“Holy schmokes, who ate you brochacha?” Your eyes widened when Argyle simply swiped your hair over your right shoulder, revealing the side of your neck, and you threw your hands over it but they had already seen it. It was too late, and you grimaced as everyone gasped loudly, except for Robin.

“You hooked up with someone?!” Jonathan asks excitedly and you sigh heavily, your mood dropping slightly because it was something you wanted to possibly keep secret. 

“I– Yes– but–”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Robin asks, in a low voice, almost a whisper, and when your eyes met hers, you realized the damage you caused. She was hurt, and you were the cause of it. You neglected her into telling her this amazing thing that was happening to your life after so long, but it was because you didn’t want to put yourself or Billy on the spot. 

He was famous, and you didn’t need people to go blurting out that you hooked up with him.

Yet, this was a one time thing, it probably was. And your thighs, as sore as they were now, almost clenched at the memory of his lips on your skin, the way he rubbed himself on you, manhandled you against the wall, railing into you without mercy, without stopping, to the point you were panting and you weren’t verbal anymore.

Just three glasses of wine, three, and you were already panting, sweating, as you were bent over the armrest of the couch, your fingertips touching the floor beneath you, and you were wincing as your hardened nipples brushed against the fabric of the leather couch, burning them slightly.

But that, compared to what was happening in the southern part of your body, was nothing.

Billy was over you, both arms gripping on the armrest, next to your ribcage, as his hips snapped against yours, the jiggling of your backside making him groan loudly as the noises of skin slapping filled the room, alongside your moans. If you sharpened your hearing, you could also hear the squelching of your slick as he pumped himself in and out of you, such perverted sounds.

But it felt too good. Way too good.

You were chatting away on his couch, getting to know each other, talking about work, about friends, all very plain and just over the surface, nothing too deep. That was until he asked if he could kiss you, and after three glasses of wine, how could you possibly deny that request. Not when his eyes were looking at you like you were the finest buffet in existence. And the way his lips moved as he talked to you, the white teeth showing here and there after a smug smirk was directed to you.

Yes, you were gone with that.

And thank god you were gone.

“B-Billy, F-FUCK!” You moaned loudly as he pressed one hand on the small of your back, pushing you down, making you sink and arch your back downwards, letting his shaft hit that spongy part of yourself just perfectly. Your mouth hangs open, completely bewildered at this feeling that you never had. You never had someone hit your spot like this, and he was relentless about it. You heard him chuckle above you as his thrusts became snappy and slow, making you gasp and jerk at each hit.

“You sound perfect, Mousy… Keep yelling my name.” Suddenly you were empty, and you were panting against the couch, trying to lift yourself from it to look at him, wondering what happened, but your waist was grabbed, pushing you to kneel on the couch as Billy stood next to you. Your breathing turned heavy as you looked at him completely bewildered, but he didn’t say anything, only chuckled as he grabbed you by the waist and then the back of your thigh to pull you against him.

You squealed at how easily he had lifted you up from the couch, as if you were just a feather, and your legs immediately wrapped around his waist, as your arms held onto his shoulders. His skin was sticky with sweat, glistening but yet– he smelled way too good. He walked you two towards a wall, slamming your back against it as he, in one strong movement, pushed inside of you again.

“Shit–” You gasp and he silences you with a brush of his lips as he stills his hips for a few seconds.

“You’re beautiful, Mousy. So fucking beautiful.” And he seals your lips together once again as the moans and the groans were present in the room once more.

It would be a hell of a one night stand.

So, fuck it.

“I couldn’t…” You try to defend yourself and she bit the inside of her cheek, her brows furrowing even more. “I mean… It’s too… Unprofessional, Robin.” You say to her, hoping she would catch on, but she just looked at you with a confused look on her face, tilting it as she thought.

“Unprofessional? Someone at work?! Tony?! Esteban?! No, wait he is gay– Maybe Pedro?” She started rambling and you sighed, taking a sip of your drink until the coffee table shook as Robin shot up, almost into the ceiling and everyone pulled back, completely startled as they all looked at her, including you who almost spilled your drink onto the floor. “HOLY FUCKING SHIT.” 

“Robin, you almost dropped the drinks on the wooden flooring– Jesus Christ!” Steve complains, like the mother he is, as he looks around for any splashes and Robin looks down at you, putting up a hand towards you.

“Tell me… You’re fucking joking.” Oh, she caught on. You gave her a small smirk, shaking your head slowly. She ran her fingers through her hair as she walked off to start pacing in the living room.

“Is there something we have to know about, or why is Robin about to have a panic attack?” Eddie asks as he looks back at his friend and then back at you. You shrug at him with the smirk still on your face and he tilted his head slightly at you, trying to read you, but this side of you was something he never saw. Something he actually never felt from you. And he couldn't pinpoint what it was.

“Holy shit… Holy shit– I mean, good for you, but what if Liana finds out? You’re gonna be super fucked! But, that’s the thing right? It’s temporary, so you know it’s fine–” She rambled and Jonathan rolled his eyes and put his hand out to you.

“Can I see the guy?” He asks and you shrug, grabbing your phone to unlock it, and going into Billy’s instagram, putting it on Jonathan’s hand. He took the phone and saw the screen, allowing Steve to see too, who was drinking off his glass and his eyes widened, spitting out his drink towards his side, drenching the couch and almost hitting Nancy who yelled in complete disgust.

“Are you FUCKING shitting me?!” Steve yells, putting the glass on the coffee table and getting up off the couch to look at you, his hands on his hips. “Are you insane?!”

“What the actual fuck is going on?!” Nancy finally screams and Jonathan, still wide eyed and in shock, tosses the cellphone towards Nancy, who chokes up on her spit, putting her hand on her chest. “Holy mother of god…” 

“Lemme see.” Eddie says, getting hold of your phone now, and for some reason you felt smug that he knew about someone like Billy. That he knew for once you got what you deserved for so long. That he knew you felt good, feel good, and will feel good for a while. His eyes were showing no emotion as he looked at the instagram, frowning slightly and then giving a nod in understanding. “So, you’re fucking your client. Nice.” He tosses the phone back to you, and you roll your eyes at him.

Of course he would remind you of that aspect to dampen the mood.

“Whoa, sexy dude, good job my friend.” Argyle says as he peeks over your shoulder to see the screen. 

“No, NO! Not good job! He is a model! He is just using you, you know that right?” Steve was in his mom pose, in all of its glory and you couldn’t contain the laughter that wanted to come out of your throat.

“Right, like I used him.” You retort, and Robin catches onto the past tense, stopping her rambling and pacing, and heading back to sit next to you.

“So– Hang on, was this yesterday?” She asks you and you nod at her, taking a sip of your drink and handing your glass to her so that she could wet her throat a bit.

“Yeah, it was a one time thing, I am sure of that, but I don’t mind. It was great, trust me, but I do know who he is, Steve. I am not that dumb to fall for someone like him.” At your comment, Steve relaxed, sitting down onto the couch with a sigh as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Okay… That’s good I guess, just be careful.” You knew he was protecting you from a possible heart break, but you knew better than to mess with a famous person.

But you didn’t notice someone was still staring at you. You didn’t notice the brown doe eyes that were trying to read you, investigate what was going on, or what it was that he was seeing. This was a version of you he never had the chance of seeing before. Yet, he didn’t know how to name it, maybe it was the excitement of finally getting properly laid, but there was something behind your eyes that told him that there was more than that.

And you were also hiding more than you were saying. More than you were implying, but he knew it wasn’t out of malice because he senses some kind of doubt within you. He’ll let you be, because at least you told some part of it to your friends, his friends, and that was enough.

So he sipped his drink as you whispered to Robin something, which she only looked at you with widened eyes and a blush to her face. She grabbed your hand and pulled you up from your seats on the floor, and you giggled as she pulled you away into a room. 

“A fucking model, good for her!” Jonathan says as Steve scoffs next to him and his boyfriend chuckles as he leaned over to place a kiss on his cheek, making Steve smile at him as they engaged into conversation with Argyle joining them afterwards.

Eddie looked at them and then at Nancy who was fiddling with her phone and he moved closer to her on the couch, whispering towards her.

“I still don’t see a move Wheeler.” He says with a smirk to his lips and Nancy’s cheeks turned into a deep red as she rolled her eyes to whisper back, not losing her sight on her phone.

“In time, she is preoccupied with something else.” She answers him and Eddie simply scoffs, shaking his head at her.

“You’ve liked her for a fucking year now, and Robin most definitely finds you hot.” At that Nancy slowly turned to Eddie with a frown to her eyebrows, doubt displayed on her features and Eddie’s smirk turned into a soft smile. 

“Really?” She asked him and he looked at her as if she were crazy.

“I am the most observant out of the group, remember that? I know everything about everyone without even asking.” He starts and Nancy was still doubtful, putting her gaze on the coffee table and then back up at Jonathan and Steve. Eddie followed her gaze and he felt the longing she had in her chest, because her eyes were filled with it. 

“I just– I really like her, Eddie… But I don’t want to lose her…” She explains and Eddie knew that she meant to lose Robin as a friend because Nancy has feelings for her. But Eddie also knew the way Robin looked at Nancy when she bent over to pick something up, or the way Robin has the bravery to brush her fingers with hers as Nancy hands her a glass or a bottle of something.

He notices. But Nancy doesn’t.

“Well, I don’t think Robin is that shallow either, she won’t stop being your friend, no matter what.” He answers this time and Nancy looks at him, giving him a soft smile and a nod. She will try, maybe not too straightforward, but maybe start flirting with her, slowly. Eddie leaned back onto the couch’s backrest as you and Robin came back, sitting back down on the floor.

“I need a drink after hearing about heterosexual sex.” Robin says out loud with a grimace as she grabs her old glass and takes a long sip, despite the liquid being in a warm temperature now. You giggled and shook your head at her, but she was the one that asked for details.

Your phone vibrated in your hand, and you looked down to look at the notification, smiling as you saw the text.

‘You kinda forgot something at home.’

You wanted to kick your feet, giggle and just put the phone against your chest, but you took a deep breath to keep your smile down, not wanting to catch anyone’s attention as you opened the message to see the picture he sent you, but the smirk that came to your lips as you saw a picture of your thong, hanging off his index finger, was one you couldn’t hide.

‘Save it for me okay? I'll get it tomorrow.���

The part that you are avoiding telling them, is how Billy treated you afterwards. You didn’t expect him to let you stay the night at his apartment. You didn’t expect him to cook you breakfast this morning. You didn’t expect him to run a shower for you. You didn’t expect him to tell you about his sister. You didn’t expect him to take you out to lunch. You didn’t expect him to cuddle with you as you both watched Friends together. You didn’t expect him to offer to drive you to your friends’ place.

You avoided telling them that Billy Hargrove, did not simply fuck and ran. 

You avoided telling them that you actually have a second date.

You avoided telling them that you didn't plan, not for a single second, to let Billy Hargrove be a one night stand.

Because he had told you, right before entering this house, as you were both in Billy's Camaro, and sharing a goodbye kiss;

"See you tomorrow night? I'll pick you up."

And you couldn't say no.

End of Chapter 9

<- Prev. chapter - Next chapter ->

A/N: I didn't expect to write angst and smut in the same chapter, but it is what it is my dudes. ALSO, WE NOW KNOW NANCY IS CRUSHING ON ROBIN.

Taglist: @enam3l @katethetank @seatnights @oliskitten @bebe07011 @seventhlevelofhell @babez-a-licious @arsenicred @bl4ckt00thgr1n @harrysgothicbitch @emma77645 @fictionalcomforts @hellv1ra @sarcastically-defensive17 @lodeddiperrodrick @corrodedcoffincumslut @peea90 @guyco @sidthedollface2 @elegantkoalapaper @ghost-proofbaby @take-everything-you-can

[liquorishblack]

Inside the twisted mind of Hisoka Morow (part 2)

Relationship headcanon

Before you start reading, you should definitely check out part 1 , so you can understand my reasoning a little bit better.♡

Part 1 , Part 2

Synopsis: What a relationship with Hisoka Morow would look like, from sweet beginning to bitter end.

Genre: nsfw!, fluff, angst, headcanon, psychoanalysis, a little bit of everything

Reader: genderneutral

TW: nsfw!, mentions of: physical abuse, emotional abuse, manipulation, violence, murder, blood, sex, size kink, bdsm, praise, humiliation, cheating, trauma, mental illness ... basically everything, it's Hisoka after all

Wordcount: 5.066

➽───────────────❥

Part 1 already checked? Yes? Then let's get started...

Theoretical babble aside, now we´re getting on to the practice… so, what would a relationship with Hisoka Morow look like from sweet beginning to bitter end? Here we go…

Get to know him:

As for his prey pattern one might think that the only two things important to him are 1) at least one hole and 2) pulse. But that´s far from the truth! Hisoka has strong narcissistic traits, so it will be important for him to be able to decorate himself with his newest conquest, just like with an expensive accessory. So he´s quite superficial when it comes to picking his next target. 

If you manage to attract his attention, it will be quite easy to „get to know“ him in a sense of „he only shows you of his what he wants you to see“, but you wouldn´t even be able to notice since he´s an outstanding liar and manipulator. For you, it will seem as if you are talking to an open-minded gentleman. If you fall into his pattern, he will - after observing you for a while - approach you in polite and friendly manner and open the conversation... probably with a pick up line that makes you cringe, laugh and blush at the same time. Since Hisoka is a sweet talker, he´ll have no difficulties to convince you, to go out with him, but there are occasions when wine and dine seems like a big waste of time to him. He has better stuff to do after all. In this case he´ll straight up ask you to hop under the sheets with him, cause he doesn´t feel shame either. If your answer is "no", he will, without deterioration, fly on to the next little flower and since he's a good looking gent, sooner or later this strategy will lead to success. But if he is bored anyway and looking for entertainment, you´re in for a date with a gentleman par excellence. The path of doors being held open, food at his expense, and a bunch of compliments is the most straightforward right into your pants, after all. 

After a nice evening out he'll get down to business relatively quickly back at home - if you two even get there before he gets to the nitty gritty. He doesn´t shy away from PDA after all, since he is in fact completely shameless (neither has he empathy for you, nor for himself) and since he´s quite exhibitionistic, it might even turn him on.

When it comes to sex, it would be better, if you don't care about your physical integrity too much… since he has self control, he won´t hurt you seriously, but like I´ve mentioned before, this man needs strong stimuli to get *all excited*. But if you´re down for his messed up shenanigans, such as bdsm and bloodplay, you´ll enter an extatic world of domination and devotion, pleasure and pain, denial and overstimulation, humiliation and praise. And since promiscuity is quite a common trait of people who fall under the ASPD spectrum, he has plenty of experience and knows exactly what he´s doing and how to please you. For him sex is - besides the fun it is by itself - also a tool for boosting his ego. He just loves to see the impact his cock and his little tricks have on you and he will watch your facial expressions while fucking your brains out with great enthusiasm and pleasure. Only when you´re a total mess, he will allow himself to release and give you some rest. If he really likes you, you can expect at least some kind of aftercare, to make sure you´ll sleep with him again, just in case he decides wanting to do so. It´s an opportunity nice to have after all. If you´re just a random hookup, a towel is all you get… if you ask for it very nicely. He likes to see you suffer and he´s big on teasing and humiliating after all. 

Dating-Phase:

Honestly, when it comes to relationships of any kind, casually hooking up is as uncomplicated as an interaction with Hisoka can get - as long as you can keep up with his kinks to say the least. You two meet, he´ll fuck you senseless and afterwards you both go separate ways as nothing ever happened. That's probably how most of his „relationships“ will go. They serve their purpose and are uncomplicated … just according to his taste. 

But what if the thought of your sweaty skin against his, the sound of your greedy moans and the sensation of your nails, digging into his flesh, while you´re silky wet insides clench around his cock won´t leave his mind no matter what, even long after you´ve left?

Chances are high, that such a twist of events would happen with a s/o who is quite unaffectionate. See, Hisoka seems to like a good chase as he makes advances towards Machi over and over again and this would even match up with the theory I mentioned in part 1, that Hisoka was in fact a neglected child. When it comes to love relationships, it can be quite instructive to look at the earliest relationships we all had: Namely, those to our primary caregivers. Hisoka simps for a woman who doesn´t give a shit about him, because that´s probably the kind of „love“ he experienced at an early age. So chances are, that he has infact mommy- or daddy-issues, probably both. As Alain de Botton once said: „We don´t fall in love first and foremost with those who care for us in ideal ways, we fall in love with those who care for us in familiar ways“ (Adaption Level Theory). Furthermore people who shy away from intimacy, because it means making oneself vulnerable, tend to chase after individuals, whose affection is unattainable (such as Hisoka does with Machi), since there is no danger from a relationship that will never come about. In these cases psychology talks about different attachment-styles and attachment-disorders. But back to topic: It's very unusual for Hisoka to have his bed-bunnies still haunting his mind after he have had his fun, so this keeps him guessing… 

Probably out of curiosity and ambition to get what he wants, since he´s an opportunist and at this stage might not think about the consequences (like he could fall in love, common, this is ridiculous), he´ll reach out to you again and observe… observe what it is, that you do to him and how he reacts to it, how it makes him feel, just to wrap his head around what is happening. His search for an answer can already take on obsessive traits, because in such an unfamiliar situation Hisoka is confronted with the old familiar feeling of loss of control once again. His ambition will be to regain control, but this endeavor will automatically lead to a conflict of interests: he has a crush on you, he wants to spent time with you, hold you and be near you, just as anyone would, when you grew quite fond of someone. But at the same time his danger-radar screams at the top of it´s lungs „JUST THE FUCK LEAVE, MAN“!, which he actually will do! Over and over again. 

In this early phase he will disappear on you often… ghost you for days, weeks, even months. And this, my friend, believe me, will get you hooked. Those push & pull or hot & cold tactics are even used by those dubious dating coaches and you know what? THEY WORK! The culprit in this case is in fact the dopaminergic system. Since we are human beings and therefore social creatures, attention makes us happy - especially if it´s given to us by a good-looking jester. But the moment Hisoka disappears on you, without any shitty excuse even, you´re lacking your daily dose of dopamine, which in fact can lead to withdrawal-like phenomena on a psychological level. Even if you were not so much into him from the beginning, now you´ll be craving your next hit like a junky in rehab. You´ll question yourself, why he got blank on you so sudden… did you do something wrong? Did he find someone better than you? Does he do this to you on purpose? Even a certain sense of ambition can be triggered by this whimsical behavior. With everything you do, you´ll try desperately, to get his attention back, just to get your ego at ease.

So, this bastard got you hooked, not even because this was his intention in first place (not that he would mind either), but because of his own insecurity, which he would never ever show to you, since it´s an admission of weakness and this would give you power over him. Power, he doesn´t want you to have, since he doesn´t trust anyone. You on the other hand will notice anything of that said insecurity. All you see is a fuckboy, who goes blanc on you and uses you like a toy. Your meetings are of fire and passion, while the dead end silence in between will evoke an excruciating sense of longing. Not so much for him, since he doesn´t have great access to his emotion, but you, my dear, are fucked at this point. And so it goes on for a while…

Feelings arise:

We value things, that make our everyday life easier and keep boredom at bay. If you manage to entertain Hisoka to a sufficient degree, he might decide to keep you. Spending time with you, feels always nice - no matter if you´re out on the streets, visiting an amusement park or just chilling on the couch. You have a great sense of dark humor that makes him laugh and he´s somewhat impressed by your high intellect. Sometimes he just sits their, watching you scrolling through your phone, admiring your beauty and wondering, what’s on your mind. Although he's good at reading people, you seem to be somewhat unconventional in your way of thinking - unpredictable even. You don't exactly make it easy for him to see right through you, but that´s what makes you so interesting to him. You are a challenge, which he doesn´t stumble upon often. And you give him sass! You´re not afraid of talking back and speak for yourself, traits he always appreciates. Your attitude somewhat humors him. Somehow Hisoka enjoys the danger radiating from your innocent face (again: Your behavior gives him a sense of insecurity, never knowing where he stands with you - a feeling he is familiar with from childhood days). 

Also the genuine acts of affection and kindness you show towards him, will leave him wondering: He isn´t used to being taken care of. Most people avoid him, so every time you snug up to him for a hug or say something nice to him (and he can sense that you mean it) it leaves him somewhat pleasantly surprised. 

You help him to fill the void inside of him, an ever-bleeding wound, that tears open again, as soon as you are not near him and he´s confronted with his inner emptiness again. This comforting feeling you give him, he no longer wants to miss and so it happens, that he develops some sense of care for you. He wants you to be happy, because when you´re in a good mood, you are most entertaining to him. He wants you to be safe, so many more shared nights are guaranteed. 

You might have noticed a slightly egoistic tinge to these motifs… this is, because they are. This is what Hisokas „love“ will be like. Don´t get me wrong, he will do everything to make you happy and more. He will help you become the best version of yourself you can be and he´s the wind beneath your wings, there is no doubt about that. But Hisokas love will always be conditionally. 

(If love is ever unconditional - mother love aside - is a topic for itself, I personally don´t think so and therefore wouldn´t mind, but anyway).  

In this phase he might consider to disappear on you and this time it would be final, but that would mean losing you, even risking, that you would move on easily and he can´t have that. So he stays. 

Hisoka would never ever be verbal about his feelings at an so early stage. He´ll show his affection for you with, of course, physical touch (believe me, you guys will always have physical contact in some way or another), gifts and quality time - acts of services not so much, but occasions might occur.

If he happens to really fall in love with you (not crushing on you like before, I mean truthful deep feelings), this is when things can potentially get dangerous. When stronger feelings arise, it means that Hisoka has lost control and as said before, he can´t have that. He will consider leaving you once again, but feelings are stronger than ratio at times, so again, he stays. 

Now remember why Hisoka doesn´t like the feeling of losing control in the first place: because it makes him vulnerable. It puts him into a position, he isn´t used to. You have the power to hurt him now, not physically (let´s be honest here, he wouldn´t mind that anyway, it would even turn him on), but emotionally, which is were his real weakness lies. As he´s afraid that you could abuse your power and actually hurt him, he will do everything he can, to avoid that from happening. Since he´s quite overwhelmed by this unfamiliar experience, cause he isn´t used to having someone he cares about, expect whimsical and impulsive behavior - but to an extent that goes far beyond what you are already used to from him by now. Just multiply those hisokaesque-traits with 10. His antics will align with his emotional state and therefore become even more unpredictable and uncontrollable. 

At times he might try to push you away, maybe by being nasty and saying such hurtful things, that make you consider leaving and never coming back. Without doing it on purpose, you´ll probably touch old wounds of him and make them bleed again. That´s just how relationships are… people who share a great deal of emotional intimacy, trigger and hurt each other from time to time, which in itself is not a big deal, if it weren´t for Hisoka we´re talking about. 

Sometimes he might even hate you for making him fall in love with you. For making him feel weak and therefore turning his world upside down, which he absolutely hates at times. If he´s feeling unsure about the relationship or - even worse - about your feelings towards him (not because of you doing something wrong, it can be external circumstances as well), this will throw him off. 

Giving him the cold shoulder, like you did in the dating phase, is only good as long he hasn´t invested much, but when feelings come up, that's a big no-no. Jealousy might be a problem as well and yet again, since it´s Hisoka we´re talking about, this might go hand in hand with stalking, obsessive and even possessive behavior, since he can´t find the ability to trust in himself. 

It will be your task to show and teach him, how to trust and to convince him, that you can be trusted and for that I hope you have the patience of a saint. Even though from the outside Hisoka seems quite self-confident, remember that this might be a mask. This man has definitely an inflated ego, which is often based on feelings of inferiority. As he has narcissistic traits, he´s highly dependent on external confirmation. The chasing phase is over, so now he wants to be treated. You better look up to him and show him your love and respect as much as you can. Praise him, make sure that he knows that you´re feelings are genuine. Make him feel safe in your arms. Hold him, don´t push him away, even if he can be clingy and a bit much at times. 

At that early stage he needs to be your No.1 priority. Don´t dare to ignore him or hurt his ego. Don´t lie to him. This man will notice immediately and get back at you tenfold and he does not shy away from acting up, just to get your attention back, that´s sure as hell. Nothing feels worse to him then not being seen and feeling neglected, since this triggers his childhood trauma. Also, if he gets a reaction out you, that must mean, that you do still care about him, doesn´t it? The bigger your reaction, the better. In this early stage of you´re relationship it is most likely you, who gives the biggest investment, since out of the fear of being hurt, he´s still holding back. But if you´re able to deal with his antics for a distant span of time, this might change. In this early stage he feels best, when you are around him (where he can see and control you, making sure that you don´t dare to act irresponsible with the heart of his in your hands) and therefore he´ll try to have you near him as much as possible.

On a more positive note, I don´t see Hisoka as a physically violent man, unless you ask him nicely about it. He will push boundaries, that´s fore sure, but never to such an extend, that´ll make you leave, since that´s quite the opposite of what he wants. He wants to convince you of what he already knows: namely, that he is the best you´ll ever have. Hisoka is a passionate and sensual man after all, so you´re in for treatment as it would be worthy of a queen/king. Flowers, exciting dates, romantic dinners (hell, he would even cook for you), lots of childish shenanigans like dancing through the sleeping streets and pillow fights after hot and sweaty hours under the sheets. As trust growths, you´ll see more of his soft side and you´ll be surprised how gentle Hisoka can be during intimate hours. He´ll praise you as well, since he wants you to feel good around him. Many many compliments, passionate kisses all over your body, especially on your neck (he´ll definitely mark you as his property), soft caresses and cuddles on end, just holding you close to him for hours. Just for you. Just to make you happy. Just to make you his. At this time he´s more than willing to let troupe duties and even fights in heavens arena slide, just for a lovely and cozy night in, cuddling, giggling and playing cards with you.

Established Relationship:

If he would ever officially propose in case of verbalizing, that you two are in fact in a relationship, is questionable, but his wall is getting cracks already and therefore you´ll get to know his real self more and more over time. He´s no longer the outgoing jokester who teases you all the time (ok, lets be honest here, he´ll stiIl tease you every now and then, he always will, because that´s how he is), but you´ll see a more introverted side of his, which comes along with a certain softness. More often he´s more quiet than loud and he´ll just listen to you for hours, while his bedroomed gaze rests on you attentively. You got his full attention as well as his heart. He cares about you, so he is interested in what you have to say. 

But the longer you guys are in a relationship, the bigger of a challenge it will be, not to bore him. He´s volatile after all and it´s highly possible that he nostalgically remembers his times as a lone wolf sometimes. 

If bored, he might start arguments out of the blue, just to make things more exciting… and fighting with Hisoka is very unpleasant to say the least. He is bratty, arrogant, petty and has a hard time apologizing. He will only do so, if he wants something from you. He´ll gaslight and manipulate the shit out of you, just for you to feel sorry in the end, doesn´t matter, if you did something wrong or not. In addition your guilt will get him lots of make up sex and sloppy heads afterwards, which is always nice to have. However, these are just squabbles we are talking about… a real argument will look extremely different. 

Hisoka has the patience of a saint and nothing makes him fly off the handle so easily (which is quite unusual for people who suffer ASPD tbh). But one thing that will push him over the edge is you being reckless with your own physical well-being… or you flirting with Chrollo, which threatens his ego, cause this man might even be stronger and therefore more impressive to you than Hisoka himself (which he will obviously never ever admit, so he would find some other shitty reasons to justify his anger). When Hisoka snaps, bloodlust oozes from him and the possibility exists that he´ll put you into your place with harsh words spoken in a stern voice, maybe even screaming at you, which might scare you, since he´s quite intimidating in this emotional state. He does this, because by putting yourself in danger, you are endangering himself, too. He doesn´t want to lose you because of some unnecessary incident that could´ve been avoided easily after all, so he´s quite protective when it comes to you. 

Also frustration might push him over the edge. He´s not used to not getting what he wants and has his difficulties with terms like „no“. Since he respects you, he won´t cross any major lines, but he´ll push your boundaries and manipulate you into giving him, what he wants. Let's call it psychological warfare. If you somehow manage to hurt his feelings, he´ll go cold on you, pout and even ignore you for hours, days or weeks, depending of how much he´s hurting. Not because he´s so resentful, but because he wants you to feel sorry for what you´ve done to him. When he´s ready to talk to you again, you´ll have to apologize in very very sweet tounges to get back into his good grace.

So, to keep boredom and unnecessary quarrels at bay, it is important that you both find ways to spice things up a little. Now that he has a certain sense of security when it comes to you, you should also lead a more self-determined life again, at least to a certain degree. Don´t be to needy. Don´t run after him. Give him his space and try to find the trust that he´ll come back to you... even though there will never be a guarantee that he does. But give him the chance to miss you, to be longing for your touch, as he´s on his missions and you are mining your own business. 

Also you´ll need a high libido to keep up with his insatiable needs, not just during the honeymoon phase, also beyond. Otherwise you´re taking the risk, that he goes elsewhere to get what he needs. I don´t think that Hisoka is big in monogamy when your relationship has been going on for a while… at least when it comes to him. And that´s a problem: He might look after other (wo)men or even consider „cheating“ on you (unless you aren´t fine with an open relationship), but I think his ego might get in the way, when you express the desire to sleep with other (wo)men as well, which is quite unfair, but that´s how he ticks. Maybe consider visiting swingerclubs or participating in threesomes every now and then, as a compromise. It is important, however, that you only get your appetite elsewhere, but always always always eat at home! Don´t deflate this mans ego. This would be a thing you might regret later. If he catches you cheating, he´ll be furious and I don't know how you could, or if you ever could, make up for that. He will definitely kill the person you cheated on him with and I think this could be one of the rare occasions, where he might turn even violent against you. Just to make sure that you´ll never ever dare to do this again. If he decides to keep you despite the cheating, he will treat you like a good-for-nothing slave for the next few weeks, just to make you suffer and get back at you. As for building trust on his side, you can start from 0 again at this point, as you can imagine. Also I should mention, that if Hisoka ever cheats on you, that doesn´t mean that he does not love you. Sex and feelings are two completely different things to him. Therefore his anger in case of you cheating, isn´t based on severe heartbreak, it´s in fact his ego, that is hurting. As if he's not enough and all you need.

I´ve talked about Hisoka pushing boundaries before, but just to make clear what could come along with it: There might be occasions when he comes home after one of his fights, emotionally still heavily loaded and in the mood to celebrate his success, aka break someone. This energy needs to go somewhere and since you´re sleeping right over there so peacefully, you´re the perfect target. He will take what he craves and just destroy you in the most pleasant way possible.

So he comes home in the middle of the night, highly aroused, and will wake you up by indulging your crotch with fiery kisses, bloodlust dripping from his tongue, and greedy blood stained touches. He´ll bend you over and start thrusting into you merciless, without giving you the chance to come to your senses first. All you feel is his hard pulsating cock stretching your insides, his tight grip around your waist, sharp nails digging into your flesh and the cold blood of his enemies dripping onto your hot skin.

These are occasions when sex feels best to him. Every single thrust inside your clenching walls sends shocks right through his body, making him feel more and more extatic with every second. He is completely in charge, not just over you, but also over his opponent, who is most likely already dead by this time. His orgasms are intense in this state of mind and he´ll sure as hell not be satisfied by filling you up just once. After he has absolutely destroyed your downstairs, he´s finally satisfied and will just lay there, with you on his chest, admiring of how much a mess his cock made you become, and enjoy the soothing calmness that floods his body instead of bloodlust. He´ll listen to your soft and exhausted snores until he falls in a deep and dreamless sleep, just like you did, the moment he pulled out of you. 

And that is what I mean when saying, he´ll push boundaries. The longer the two of you are together and the more secure you make him feel, the less he needs to fear that you´ll leave by the moment, he shows his real self to you. For the first time in his life he feels accepted as he is… loved even. You stayed. No matter how much of his deviant personality traits he had shown to you and despite the many times he pushed you away. And therefore he´ll be forever grateful. 

Breakup:

Is „forever“ even a possibility with Hisoka? I´m not sure about that, to be honest. That would require that you both grow together, to support each other in the fight against the inner demons that I'm sure you both have, otherwise you wouldn't have played along with his games for so long. So always remember: „I´ll admit, I have my issues, but you are just as bad“. Even if the possibility exists, I find it hard to imagine that Hisoka would attend trauma-therapy and engage in inner child work. In addition to that, it would take him years, to put down his mask to such an extend, that he´ll open up about his past, if it ever happens. Also, even if he does, this could cause an initial deterioration of his condition, which could have disastrous consequences. For both of you. Therefore, some things might better stay untouched, otherwise they might break you.

Also, I don´t think that the chances of a consensual break up, without any drama or heartbreak, are very high. What ever the reasons might be, if Hisoka is the one being hurt, he might decide to kill you. Not because of hatred (unless you have treated him tremendously wrong), but because of safety reasons and therefore it´ll still hurt him like a bitch. It would be a scene as tragic as from a love drama. He would hold your lifeless bleeding body until it gets cold, kiss your soft lips as your last breath leaves your lungs and gently close those your/eyecolor eyes, he lost himself in so many times. He might even shed a solitary tear. Whatever happened between the two of you, you showed him, what love is, and therefore he´ll never forget you. But it just had to be. In the end, you two didn´t work and you just know too much, to keep wandering this planet. He has many enemies after all and with your connection, the trust in you, that you won´t use your power against him one day, is broken. Depending on the circumstances, he might decide to never love again.

༻✦༺

♠ „Farewell, my dear. Too bad, it didn´t work out. We just weren´t meant to be… and still, you´re the only one, I´ve ever loved and therefore I´ll never forget you.“, he says, plenting a last heartfelt kiss on your forehead, before he leaves. ♠

༻✦༺

The End.

TYSM for reading!🫶🏻 You made it till the end, so you deserve a flower.❀ If you enjoyed my writing, feel free to send me requests, I'm always grateful for some inspiration. - Yours truly, Ava 🤍

[prettyboykatsuki]

consider if u will for a moment… scumbag sleazy duke oliver who keeps teasing out a courtship with a noble girl NOT because he likes her but because he’s fascinated by you, her disdainful and disinterested personal maid (or… perhaps… her stableboy…)

this is making me so horny i need to die this is sooo . anon you are the smartest person ever. he's so awful and miserable i need him.

tw for dubcon (?) power imbalance and horrible worthless scumbag oliver aiku

GODDDDDDD. this is so vivid in my mind too. it's probably his father who insists on him meeting with whatever noble daughter he's suggest. olivers been slapped, banished, ruined in pretty much every householding bearing a woman in it, and his families reputation is nearly at risk because of it. so unless he wants to lose everything, he ought to find a nice girl to settle down with

and oliver is a shit son, so he's not really doing it. but he does try to appease his father now again and keep his cushy life so he goes. and the girl, well she's nice. easy to charm with big wet eyes and a romantics heart. it's not a kind thing to say but it's nothing oliver hasn't seen already, but she's easy to charm to the point of being boring. and if oliver hates anything, it's being so miserably and unbelievably bored.

and then, you walk into the room. her maid. prim, proper,sharp - and mean. but not in an overt way. your work doesn't allow you to speak your mind, so you've shielded your dislike with layers of politeness. you're so properly curt and so unbelievably meticulous that to a fool with duller hearing, you'd be a proper little servant girl. and oliver is a lot of things, mostly a bastard, but he is no fool. and he knows right away, can feel it immediately - what burning hatred you have towards him that you are not allowed to reveal under any circumstances.

and he doesn't blame you for that, really. how could he? your lady has probably been under your care since you were old enough to walk and talk. you've spent your whole lives together, so you're protective. vicious. it's hardly the first he's seen of it. what gets oliver though is your experience. your patience. you are so good at your job, that even when oliver spends his entire evening fucking with you by asking for his tea to be remade and pinching your skirt when your beloved lady isn't looking.

he confronts you the minute you're left alone with him.

("you hate me, don't you?"

you look at him startled, but it's brief. barely there. he would've missed it if he blinked. you tilt your head, neutral and fair and even. "of course not, your lordship."

he laughs into the edge of his tea cup. "you're a poor liar. but an excellent maid, that much i can commend. you're free to be honest," he closes his eyes and laughs as he sips "i think i'm quite interested after all,"

he can see your jaw tick when his eyes flutter open again. "is that so? the lady will be very pleased to hear that."

he laughs again, taking you in - wonder what you look like underneath that frilly little dress. "not nearly as pleased as i am to have found her," )

after that, it's made semi-official that he's courting her. and for all oliver is, he's good at courting her. very good. there's rumors going around about how she's been able to wrangle that horrible man, as since their courtship he hasn't strayed at all. he's thoughtful and seemingly quite affectionate and everyone is so pleased with him. his father. the other nobles. even your lady has fallen for his facade.

it's just a secret between you then, that oliver is always only looking at you. that when your lady leaves you two alone, he's cornering you and flirting with you. that he visits when she's not around and follows you while you work like a lost puppy. that eventually, he finds his face underneath your petticoat and makes your legs tremble. it's a secret between him and himself that it's you he adores, so much so that he thinks of running away just to tease you for the rest of his life.

what a mess you've made between you. what an honest to god awful mess.