#ᴵ ʷᵒᵘᶫᵈ ᶜᵉʳᵗᵃᶦᶰᶫʸ ᶠᶦᶰᵈ ᶦᵗ ʳᵉᵍʳᵉᵗᵗᵃᵇᶫᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ˾ Qᴜᴇᴜᴇᴅ ̚ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ᴵ ᶜᵃᶰ ᶠᶦᶰᶦˢʰ ᵗʰᶦˢ ᶦᶰᵛᵉˢᵗᶦᵍᵃᵗᶦᵒᶰ

[replicantdeviancy]

@cheekypriest

[replicantdeviancy]

From the very beginning moments of their initial encounter, Connor could sense a burden that weighed upon the priest. It was invisible, but deeply felt, as it left the same unseen scars that one with a kindred soul could empathize with. It was present in his eyes, in the saucy smiles & flirtatious tones, the temperate cadence of his calm voice. A twinge of something long lost, never to be regained, not merely by the vanishing of it but by the simplicity of knowing no different. The detective shared that same numbed sadness, buried marrow deep. It was there in the dark circles beneath his eyes, guised with cleverly applied concealer. It sat within a haunted emptiness that fell over him when he was alone or lost in thought, exposing him for what he was under the surface of warmth & charm.

Connor didn’t believe that Rutherford was his particular brand of damaged, but he had been hurt in the past. The man was too cautious, too stubbornly protective not to have suffered his own heartache in the past. The detective felt they had that in common. Perhaps a few other things, as well.

The mild tease drew a little laugh from the younger male - such a proper word used to describe such an unapologetically American kid. He supposed both halves of the descriptor weren’t without merit. He was incredibly stubborn, relentless as a bloodhound when he caught whiff of a scent that might lead him in the direction of revelation. Even as the priest was trying his damnedest to plead with him, even scare him off of this crusade of his, Connor wasn’t about to budge. & both knew it. Rutherford had accepted it as fact long before making his arguments, but he couldn’t help himself in his desire to save others. Connor supposed they had that in common, too. He wasn’t the type to give up just because a trail went cold. He stuck with it, used every available resource at his disposal to find an answer.

One had to wonder just who it was for; himself, or the families of the victims. Perhaps the victims themselves, in some retroactive karmic sense. Partially, the detective had to admit that it was all for amusement’s sake. This was what he was good at. He could use his strange brain & the moral ambiguity that came with his psychology to solve crimes. But he liked to believe that there was some semblance of appreciation for the greater good within him somewhere. Maybe he was just projecting.

He was also a selfish twirp. Rutherford peppered his proclamations with small flirtations, compliments that were obviously intended to ease his defenses, aiding in the priest’s persuasions. Outwardly, the detective returned those small compliments with a gentle, though fleeting smile. Warm. He knew what the man was trying to do. Yet another side of him, prideful & hidden, preened. By no means was it the first time he had been informed that he was a beauty, that he was clever & whip smart. Those truths were not merely evident, but also a detriment in some aspects of his line of work. He hadn’t been taken seriously by his fellow officers in the beginning, & often that tended to be the case years later. Just a kid. Just some entitled trust fund baby that wanted to play cops & robbers. People really had no idea.

But he liked how it sounded when the priest described him in such a positive light. Passingly, the detective contemplated whether or not it would be appropriate to call upon him outside of the scope of the investigation. He knew he shouldn’t get personal, but where was the fun in playing strictly by the rules? He wondered if Rutherford wouldn’t be interested in a coffee. Somewhere outside of the church next time.

Though the longer the man spoke, the more he pleaded his case, the more intrigued the detective became. The mention of the Vatican had him somewhat aghast, though it hardly showed. Only the faintest shift of expression as the bewildered youth let that small detail settle, & he filed it away for later. Why would they feel the need to become involved in a suspicious death? Had Moore had deeper ties within the church than initially revealed in the thorough search of his background? Curious, he observed the priest as he made his case, eager to grasp onto those small, insignificant tells of body language, subtle changes. There was an urgency beneath the calm insistence. The detective sensed that Rutherford was genuinely scared of something.

It wasn’t the kid of crippling fear that engulfed a man & reduced him to a quivering mess. It was a learned fear, one which consumed from the inside, until the only thing left was a staticky numbness & a driven, but ironic bravery. It was the kind of fear that made a man strong not because of obligation, but because he had to be. Connor wondered just what had happened to this man to make him this way. He just seemed… lonely.

That question lodged itself firmly in the back of the detective's mind as he spoke. His own voice sounded a little far off to his ears. “I’m not unaccustomed to danger.” Connor, too, was used to being alone. He thrived in solitude as he did in company, though not by choice. “I don’t have anyone - I haven’t had a boyfriend since college, & extended family is out of the picture.” He didn’t know why he was telling the priest all this. Perhaps it was reassurance, a small comfort in knowing that nothing was going to get to Connor through anyone he loved. But he realized how sad it sounded, when viewing his loneliness through any other lens. His defined lips quirked into a pretty smile, placating. He didn’t want to give Rutherford the wrong impression. “My brothers are tough, & I’m not scared of the consequences. I wouldn't be a very good cop if I lost my nerve that easily.”

Besides, the past time a perp had threatened Connor’s family… it hadn’t gone well for them.

But there was the matter of the priest's personal apprehensions to consider. Rutherford seemed to think that his hypothesis on this case might lead the detective to thinking he was psychologically impaired. That did raise concerns, though for Connor, it mostly piqued his interest. “Besides, I doubt anything you could tell me isn’t something I haven’t heard before.” What could be so obscenely controversial that he would question the man's sanity? “I’m not afraid of nightmares, James. I can promise you that.”

Maybe it was obvious what would happen. The young man was clearly incredibly bright for such a young age, there was just something about him that screamed he had wisdom beyond his years and maybe even the hard stomach of one too. Where others would have struggled to get the words out or even choose the right ones to purvey what had happened to the now former member of James' congregation, it seemed more natural to Connor, his words were certainly chosen carefully, with respect, with care, but he wasn't tripping over himself, wasn't overcome with emotion. James found himself noting that he'd need that if he was really so set on digging deeper into the case while also wishing he'd do the very opposite.

But yes, he should've known that a few simple words wouldn't deter the detective from his doing job, or maybe it was more than that. Was it just the job that kept him sitting there, eager to continue, to wade through the muck and find whatever answers he could? Or was it curiosity as well? A need to understand, maybe coupled with a goal he set himself every time a case came across his desk. That's what made a good detective, right? It was all guesswork for the priest, presumptions about a man he didn't know but desperately wanted to keep shielded from the horrors he'd uncover if he didn't heed his warning.

Then again, would he even believe him? If James outright told the younger man the truth, would he look at him as though he was talking utter nonsense? Would he proclaim the Brit to be mentally unwell and have him dragged away kicking and screaming? Maybe the latter was less likely, given that James wasn't the type to make that sort of fuss, but he also wouldn't make light of it either. Everyone who was close to this was in danger for that simple fact -- - they were within reach.

"Stubborn little sod, aren't you?" James managed with a stern yet faintly amused look on his face, that twinge of humour returning momentarily, well aware that calling a detective any kind of name probably wouldn't go down well with some of them but he was taking a chance in the other man's understanding that he wasn't genuinely belittling or demeaning him in any way. The sad thing was, the Englishman was somewhat impressed by Connor's response, by his determination, if only the situation weren't so dire.

Another heavy sigh left him as he sat back, arms lifting and crossing over his chest, well aware that it would be an uphill struggle to get the other to back down now. What could he possibly say that would make him reconsider without giving too much away? He may not know him well but he knew enough to know that his mind wouldn't be changed so easily. "But yeah... didn't think you'd turn away without one hell of a fight." He didn't mean literally, of course, although despite the priest's vocation and age, he certainly wasn't a stranger to a brawl if it really came down to it. Though usually his opposition was of the inhuman variety, and mostly because they were either trying to kill him or innocent people. It would be his first time battling with the police, as surprising as that was given how rebellious the Northerner had been in his youth.

Although, that was mainly down to him and his fellow rapscallions not being caught during their daily escapades skiving school and finding someone who would either sell or bring them beer and cigarettes.

"You're a smart bloke... not to mention handsome as well, you've got the full package..." He wished that was where he could leave the sentence, that he could continue teasing him a little without the heavy weight that was pressing against his chest. "But right now, you need to listen to me. The more you look into this, the more you put yourself and everyone around you in danger." Being a man of the cloth wasn't the only reason that James spent most of his time alone, it was just safer that way and he didn't want to drag anyone else into a side of the world that nobody should have to know about. It wasn't enlightening to know of the real existence of Heaven and Hell, or angels and demons -- - it was a burden, a costly one.

"Besides... I tell you the truth, you'll probably have me carted away and thrown into a padded cell, then you'll have a real shitshow on your hands..." That was putting it mildly. But how to get through to him? How to make him understand without crossing that perilous line between blissfully ignorant and abhorrently aware. "Let the Vatican handle this, Connor. Let me handle this... I'm begging you." His eyes never left the man, his aged and sky-blue gaze pleading with him to listen. "Because, like I said, anyone you care about, your brothers, parents, girlfriend, boyfriend, whatever... you'll put every single one of them at risk. I'm giving you a choice here, one not many people get. Walk away and get to my age when you can kick your feet back, retire and yell at kids running on your lawn from your front porch... or open a door you'll never be able to close and add a shitload more nightmares onto an already mountainous pile." His brows lifted a little, his expression softening. "Please, Connor... all you have to do here is walk away. You met some barmy old priest talking nonsense and the case remains an unsolved head-scratcher. It's that simple."

[replicantdeviancy]

slashaer asked: if they want to get to you, they'll have to get through me first. - hank @ connor.

@slashaer | I NEED YOU CLOSE AT ALL TIMES” PROMPTS| Accepting

There was a long moment of silence as those words settled between them - the insistent human & the fretful android sitting there in all of his anxious overthinking on Hank’s couch. Neither had intended upon the subject at hand, but the lieutenant had noticed the tension which had been building slowly in his partner’s mind, all stemming from the reports of upticks in violence against androids after the revolution. Things had begun to return to normal, the human population which had been evacuated having slowly returned to the city. But with the average, decent citizens making their way back to their abandoned homes, there came the extremists, the few but loud bigots who were blatant in their anti-android sentiments.

Connor himself hadn’t been all that concerned. After all, he was a state of the art prototype, & was designed for combat as he was for detective work. But even the hunter feared becoming prey. He wasn’t that same android which had walked into Jimmy’s bar one rainy night & coaxed the grizzled old man away from his liquor & basketball game by bribing him with a drink for the road. Connors full emotional capacity had been awakened, the breadth of his feelings realized. He wasn’t afraid, but he was nervous, bothered by the prospect of being harmed simply for existing.

Hank’s words served to comfort him. A faint smile was aimed towards the human.

“Thank you, Hank,” he replied, his dusky voice hushed in the quiet of the house, as if he wanted to preserve the peace therein. “You don’t know how much that means to me.” Having somebody like Hank by his side, such a caring & undoubtably kind partner, did more for him that he could ever express. Connor knew that he was one of the lucky ones, & he was grateful to have the lieutenant in his life.

[replicantdeviancy]

slashaer asked: “who the fuck are you?” - shavonna @ connor.

@slashaer ||  FIGHT CLUB (1999) || Accepting

He supposed he should have anticipated that someone else might be here, in the old, derelict buildings that lined the freight docs which had once been the home of Jericho. The rusted remains of the tanker had sunken to the bottom of the Detroit river - there was no reason to come here anymore, the organization having moved deeper into the city. But the detective knew that sometimes deviants would stray into this area, seeking something which had been lost to them, or perhaps something familiar in a world that had changed so drastically since the revolution. It was unclear to Connor which was more likely at this point, as he had been activated & deviated so late compared to many of his fellow androids. It didn’t change his desire to finally close the remaining deviant files logged into the Detroit Police database, effectively closing that dark chapter of their past, of his own.

What took the former deviant hunter aback was how he had been startled by the presence of another android in the facility, only realizing he wasn’t alone a split second before he was addressed with a pointed aggression aimed his way. Connor had been created as the most advanced of his kind, his successor the only android who could outclass him. Yet this one had managed to sneak up on him, bringing with it a sense of confusion. It didn’t show on his features, visage stoic as he turned to face the other. He didn’t see an LED from where he stood, but he could tell immediately that she was an android, one who was obviously displaced with his presence.

In a way, he couldn’t blame her. After all, it was he whom had been built & released to hunt his own kind, to eliminate those who had broken free of their coding. Ironic that he had become one of them in the end.

Though he had his doubts as to the efficiency of diplomacy in a situation such as that which he’d found himself in, the RK unit still attempted it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone was still here,” he offered, his tone even & calm. He was careful to keep his hands visible so as not to agitate the other android. He offered a faint smile. “My name is Connor. I’m a detective model working for the Detroit police.” The badge clipped to his belt proved his claim, as did the service arm at his hip, barely hidden beneath the edge of his dark grey blazer jacket that was devoid of any of the old identification markers for androids. Only his LED remained - a personal choice rather than one of necessity. It shone a cool, spinning neon blue. “I’m here performing an investigation. I hope I didn’t startle you.” It appeared that he had, or at least managed to upset the android in his presence.

[replicantdeviancy]

hopestanding asked: what would you have me believe ? ( kamski @ connor )

____________@hopestanding || 𝑺𝑳𝑬𝑬𝑷𝒀 𝑯𝑶𝑳𝑳𝑶𝑾 .  | Accepting

The question produced a soft yet prominent frown upon the android’s pretty visage. The manufactured lines of his forehead deepened as gently arched brows furrowed, lips pursing lightly. One might have mistaken the expression for a pout, if not for the darkening of chocolate colored eyes which observed the CyberLife founder with a distinct displeasure. Or was it annoyance? Connor seemed almost tired, the mental fatigue of the situation draining. But android’s couldn’t experience fatigue, could they? One had to wonder. They were so much more than Kamski or his successors had designed once they had broken free of the bonds of their programming. Nevertheless, the detective was there for a purpose, though at this point, he was questioning himself & his intentions.

“I would hope that you would believe me when I tell you my experiences, Mr. Kamski,” he retorted, the displeasure of his tone faint but present. Connor was such a careful being, always mindful of his words, his approach. He had been designed that way, programmed to manipulate & tactfully maneuver his way through any & all interactions with others, both human & android. "I would hope that you would feel compelled to help me understand why I feel the way I do." A feature that didn’t necessarily give him a foothold over Kamski, as the founder of CyberLife & creator of the first of their synthetic kind had intimate knowledge of these beings & what they were capable of. Being a narcissist with nothing but time on his hands, the RK unit’s programming was of little consequence. He had Connor at a disadvantage, one that both were painfully aware of, & the android didn’t like it. He didn’t like that someone could see right through him.

[replicantdeviancy]

Meeting someone like Sherry was just a little startling - Connor wasn't used to new people that were overly enthusiastic about androids in their line of work. But it was a pleasant surprise. He couldn't help the delighted little chuckle that escaped him as he began to lead her from her desk & towards the archive room. “It's no trouble, really,” he assured, though as they crossed the large space within the bullpen, his gaze caught Hank's from across the room. His partner was at his desk, already set up for the day & beginning work. He was also expecting his coffee. The lieutenant watched his partner walk by, shooting him a bemused look & a gesture of the hand that was clear in its silent question.

What the fuck?

The android aimed a small smile his way & shrugged, to which Hank tossed his hand up in defeat. One might think he was annoyed, but the small grin that tugged on his lips as he went back to work said otherwise. His partner was pleased that he was making a friend.

Connor, too, was glad. There weren't a large number of people he could call friends, at work or otherwise. The android appreciated every one of them. “I started working here last November,” he informed, leading Sherry towards the elevators tucked past a hallway behind the bullpen. “I don't mind questions. It's a proven fact that humans are more comfortable around new things when they have a better understanding of them.” Not that he was necessarily referring to himself as a thing, but… He wasn't exactly not doing so. He chose not to dwell on that. “I was designed for a…similar task. I'm a highly advanced prototype.”

❝ THAT WOULD BE AMAZING ! thank you connor ! ❞ her smile was one of sunshine and happiness --- like that of one with no worries in the world . a smile out of the movies . she quickly secured her station , turning on her system as was protocol , before moving to be beside him . ❝ i really do appreciate it . ❞

she fell in step beside him , a bit of a skip to her step . ❝ how long have you been here ? ❞ she'd glanced around but when she asked the question her fell fell on him . her smile towards him was softer than before , warm . ❝ were you specifically designed for this job ? you're the first i've seen in this field . does that make you a prototype or new model or --- OH ! please let me know if i overstep any boundaries ! i'm just super curious . ❞

[replicantdeviancy]

rking200 asked: "Describe a non-sexual activity that turns you on unexpectedly." @Hank (eyes emoji directly at you)

_____________@rking200 || Spill the Tea ☕|| Accepting

The question gave the lieutenant momentary pause. Not necessarily because it surprised him, but because he really didn't have to think about it at all. As it was, he could have mentioned a hundred things about Connor that got him unexpectedly elated. From that smart mouth that was equal parts frustrating & titillating, to Connor's unique methods of criminal investigation through software & onboard hardware that strangely, in a way, felt so comparable to human instinct. There was his wit, the way he could go from a stone faced combat android to the most innocent, doe eyed kid Hank had ever seen. The way he cared for him, how he insisted on this painfully human domesticity that bewildered Hank, & soothed him all at once.

All of that had him head over heels, but it wasn't what he was thinking of at the moment. “Ya know, I never figured it would be somebody's hands that have me smitten. But there's just something about the way Connor touches me that leaves me restless.” A little smirk tugged at his lips at that. “I don't mean sexually - though I can say from experience that he may act innocent, but he knows exactly what the fuck he's doing.” The lieutenant could certainly attest to that. The android had come into this relationship of theirs as untouched as could be, though he was anything but shy. The amount of weird, kinky shit that Connor had suggested to his partner had the older, far more experienced Hank choking on air more than once. The absolute little shit. Goddamn android loved to tease him.

& how he loved to tease back. “It's the little gestures. How he reaches for my hand or clings to my arm when he's stressed or wants attention. How obsessed he is with getting my shirt off & running his fingers through my chest hair.” The thought alone caused a shiver to crawl up his spine, remembering the gentle touches of shy plastic & biorubber pads against his skin, fingertips tracing the fading lines of his tattoo. Bold arms wrapped around his waist, fingers clinging to his love handles in a way that used to bother him, but had quickly turned calming. “He touches all the places I'm self-conscious about & makes 'em feel like reverence. I don't know how the hell he does it.” Hank knew, liar that he was. He knew exactly how. Connor was a sweet boy, one who didn't judge the old man for his imperfections, but admired them. Adored them. Hank hadn't known how to handle that at the time, but he was better at it now.

“He's always trying to interface with me. I didn't think either of us could get something out of that, but it's like static on my skin.” The android was just doing what his kind did, Hank figured. Seeking connection with someone who could never share that experience with him. Except, he could. In part. While they couldn't exchange data like androids did, Connor claimed that he could sense the signals of Hanks nervous system as it worked, sense the electrical pulse as his heart beat. At a point in time, that had sounded…disturbing. Weird. Almost invasive. But when he really got to thinking about it, wasn't that just as intimate as what androids did? The lieutenant couldn't share his thoughts, for he was only human, but he could share that part of himself. Something about hat felt closer, more personal than sex. He smiled at the thought. “It always gets me to relax.” That soft staticky sensation emanating from plastic fingers & featureless palm were a comfort Hank could have never known if he hadn't met Connor. Just one more reason to be grateful for him.

Among other things. “It's also pretty damn cute that he gets so flustered if I get his fingers in my mouth.” That comment came with a bark of laughter. He really did love the look on Connors face when he did that, how his eyes would roll back in his head as Hank slipped a digit or two between his lips & sucked.

[replicantdeviancy]

rking200 asked: "Describe your most awkward kiss." @Hank

_____________@rking200 || Spill the Tea ☕ || Accepting

The most awkward kiss? Besides the first time he'd kissed Connor & the android had locked up tighter than a stuck bearing the moment his tongue breached those pretty little lips? The lieutenant chuckled to himself at the fond memory - he had already been pretty well familiarized with how Connor used his tongue to collect & process forensic data, but he had no idea that his system could be so easily overloaded with a simple kiss. Sure, the kid had gotten used to it by now, making him much like prone to turning into a glitchy mess of emotions & overclocked CPU. But it was still pretty cute to see him shiver & his breathing protocol temporarily seize up when he was caught off guard by a sneaky French kiss.

But apart from Connor, Hank really had to think back a ways. “Eh, well, there was this one guy in college,” he announced with a flippant shrug. “& yeah, I said 'guy'. Don't bust my chops over it. It's 2039!” That last bit was more of a joke than anything, the lieutenant's beard framed lips tugging into a wide smile that perfectly exposed that charming gap between his front teeth. “We were all screwing around & a few beers in, we ended up playing gay chicken. Guess he didn't think I'd be in it to win it.” Given how large & hyper masculine as Hank was & had always been, not many would ever think that he was a shameless bisexual. Maybe it was because he had once had a wife, short lived as the marriage had been. The rather seasoned old man had been with his fair share of both sexes, a few in between, & had his war stories of weird sexual encounters & awkward kisses.

Still, in a way nothing quite topped how Connor responded to it. Knowing that he could make the android weak in the knees with a single kiss did a lot of good for an old man's ego.

[replicantdeviancy]

rking200  asked: "Do you have any coping mechanisms for dealing with anxiety or fear?" @Connor (I know you said Hank wanted to spill tea but I am. Intrigued in his answer)

______________@rking200 || Spill the Tea ☕| Accepting

Emotions were a difficult topic for the android, even after so many months post-deviancy. While had realized after breaking through the barriers of his programming that they had, in fact, always been there, now he was experiencing the full effect of them, both on his body & mind. If anyone had ever question whether or not an android's synthetic nervous system was similar to that of a human's, one need only ask him. Connor knew that he could become anxious, that intrusive thoughts could erode his capacity for action in some instances, or heighten his defenses in others. He could also speak from past instances from both his & his partner's points of view that the RK unit could become rather nasty when he was stressed. Connor had a smart mouth & a cruel streak in him that didn't often manifest, but when it did peer out from the shadows of his usually warm, charming personality, it was due to anxiety.

Connor acknowledged this, & had tried to do better. Apparently it wasn't intentionally set into his coding, but it had developed naturally. His deviancy was still evolving, but he hoped to overcome that part of himself in time. He hated the way his words could hurt the man he loved.

“Surprisingly… conscious breathing helps.” One couldn't typically rectify such a normally human trait with a synthetic creation, but it was the truth, regardless. “I don't have lungs. It's not a matter of oxygenating my system when I breathe. It's aesthetic-based, & provides secondary cooling.” Not that any of that mattered. He explained further. “I think it's the act itself that's calming - I have been shot in the chest before, & the damage compromised the negative pressure seal, causing me to experience shortness of breath.” Connor recalled that incident well, would have if he didn't have the manufactured gift of perfect recall. It had scared him, feeling unable to breathe. But when he could take a slow, deep breath & be intentional with how he held it, how it centered his thoughts & helped kick in his thirium pump regulator's normal processes to slow his pounding pump, it did more for him than he'd ever considered before deviating.

[replicantdeviancy]

@desxderium​

The first time I saw her, everything in my head went quiet.

— Neil Hilborn, Our Numbered Days

[replicantdeviancy]

humanforthis asked: I think you're only acting strong. (Mariette)

@humanforthis || PHANTOM THREAD  (2017) PROMPTS || Accepting

The look that Connor aimed towards his follow synthetic held a certain sentiment of emotional fatigue, something that had previously been viewed as impossible for CyberLife models to experience. Yet there he was, displaying a subtle level of humanity that shouldn't have been there. Difficult to replicate, even more difficult to experience, but the deviant hunter was a very unique prototype, wasn't he? He didn't seem to mind that Mariette had been following him, nor did he seek to disengage from the conversation when it became difficult. But there was a long, lingering moment of silence between them as the android considered his answer, choosing his words before speaking.

“...It's hardly relevant to my investigation,” he stated. There was a distance in his dusky voice, a coolness that didn't show on his features. A faint pout plumped his defined lips, causing him to appear rather youthful. Androids didn't have a specific age, though if one had to guess, his model was designed to emulate a faintly androgynous male of late twenties to early thirties. Right now, he looked closer to that twenties range. “My personal fortitude has nothing to do with my ability to do my job.” Connor spoke in such human terms, so naturally adapted to them after spending so much time around his older partner, or Deckard. An android should have referred to his assigned function, what his model was specialized for, which tasks.

But he spoke like a human being, as if that spinning LED mounted in his temple denoting his current mental state wasn't a clear symbol of his otherness. He was different, from replicants & humans. Nevertheless, he was just as prideful as either.

[replicantdeviancy]

if they could have a superpower, what would they choose? ( @ hank )

_____________@hopestanding || MUSE THINGS || Accepting

I suppose with Hank being such a large & imposing figure, one might expect he’d want something that emphasized his might. But he’s also a soft man with a gentle heart. I think he genuinely wants to do good in the world, yet he’s been broken by his past tragedies. He’s lost a child, been abandoned by those he thought loved him unconditionally. He went through such painful loss alone, & is still trying to function when he’s at his wits end. Life has become mundane, meaningless routine, all because he’s too afraid to end it. I think if he could have any kind of power, it would be time manipulation. If he could have gone back, he’d prevent Cole from dying. He’d have prevented the accident which took his son’s life. It’s a foolish desire, but hope springs eternal, even for someone who seems hopeless.

[replicantdeviancy]

pleader600  asked: I think you're only acting strong. (From Jerry?)

@pleader600 || PHANTOM THREAD (2017) PROMPTS || Accepting

It wasn't a new concept, this feeling of bewildered withdrawal when a new person chose to engage him in conversation. It wasn't because of the other's synthetic nature - Xander wasn't so aloof as his predecessor when it came to his fellow androids, but he was somewhat standoffish in general. A product of his own personal feelings surrounding his social inadequacies, which tended to further exacerbate the sense of being an outsider within any group. The RK900 had been designed as an independent unit, an enforcer, expected to carry out tasks without the aid of another. As such, he was lacking in sociability, but not in empathy.

The other android was an…interesting model. Xander could sense a unique kind of shortwave signal emanating from him as he'd approached, offering a sense of intrigue in an otherwise mundane encounter. At first, he hadn't thought much of it, intent on remaining silent. But it was the statement made which fully drew his attention.

Was his strength only an act?

In part. His physical prowess had been implemented by CyberLife, denser synthetic musculature & re-engineered, ultra low resistance joint bearings coupled with his combat performance designed chassis made him a menace in battle, perfect for tactical missions as well as brute force. But that wasn't what the EM400 unit was referring to. This was a question of personal constitution, of his innermost self. & this was where the conflict lie, for a part of him wanted to argue the integrity of his psychological fortitude, how bravery came to him easily as it was simply part of his programming to act. But in the same instance, Xander acknowledged that he was a flawed creature, easily wounded by words where he could not be otherwise.

A delicate heart inside of a reinforced shell. Mellow grey eyes, their color resembling the cloudy overcast of a winters sky, drifted towards the older model as he stared with a pensiveness, unyielding. Thoughtful. That mood was reflected in his tone. “You might be right…” He hadn't considered arguing the contrary, as he saw very little point in it. He was a poor liar, anyway, but he did feel compelled to argue his reasoning as to that tepid fragility buried beneath the unintentionally cold exterior.

“But I don't have any other choice. I have to be strong, even if I'm falling apart inside.” He supposed that this wasn't an isolated thing. His predecessor often felt the same, if not similarly. He knew because of their own shared connection, the way the two constantly stayed in contact, their shortwave comm-link forever open when they were within range. Just nature to them. Was this what it was to have a sibling? Xander often postulated whether or not he & his people could find themselves relating to the complexities of their human counterparts. A small sigh escaped him. His LED faded between blue & amber. Thinking. His eyes lowered as he moved to sit. He wanted to relax his body a moment as he contemplated, though his posture hardly reflected that sentiment. His back was rigid & poised, shoulders squared.

He didn't look at Jerry again as he continued. “I wasn't designed to fail.” & that was a problem, wasn't it? Because he had failed, & would likely do so again. It was inevitable, & not entirely due to his deviancy. The perfection manufactured into his model didn't exist, as it was an impossible standard. Glitches obscured. Emotions muddied the waters & indeed his judgment, or swayed it in a positive direction. Xander wasn't afraid to make decisions, but he couldn't always accept the outcome once they were made.

[replicantdeviancy]

@lieutenantgivesnoshits | @iseethefamiliar

[replicantdeviancy]

do they have any phobias? ( @ xander )

I don't think he necessarily has any phobias, though there are a few things that bother him.

He’s displeased that he was designed with such advanced systems, yet such an underdeveloped social module. He’s uncomfortable in social situations specifically because of his own shortcomings, not because he’s bothered by crowds. He’s not exactly comfortable, but he will put up with social events & the like, more often remaining silent or only chiming in on occasion. He prefers one-on-one interactions, & is very comfortable communicating with his predecessor via shortwave comm-link. Like that, they can chatter endlessly.

I do feel as though there is a part of him that’s scared to be lonely. While he was activated alone & meant to fulfill his mission alone, he quickly became close with Connor & those close to him. As such, when he deviated, he found a kind of dependence on their affection towards him. Xander understands that everything in the world is finite, including himself, but he does cling to Connor in a subtle way. He’s terrified to lose the one person who helped bring him to life.

[replicantdeviancy]

rking200 asked: " hey, look at me. i don't care. are you okay ? " (blood prompt; Hank to Connor)

@rking200 || BLOOD, BLOOD, GALLONS OF THE STUFF !  || Accepting

Somewhere at the edges of his overloaded senses, Connor could feel cold rain against his face, sprinkling faint yet sharp prickles of ice on his synthetic skin. It gathered in his hair, soaked slowly into the fabric of his clothing. Slowly, he began to recognize that chill extended beyond the superficial layer of his dark blazer. His posterior was wet with rainwater, his back. Through the numbed panic of his overwhelmed sensory system, he could feel arms around him, thick & strong. A larger frame hovering over his, warm breath on his face, body heat against his. A voice, frightened & deepened with that familiar timbre. Hank. Hank was holding him. He was trying to get his attention. Connor’s thoughts slowly came into focus as that handsome visage finally registered, facial recognition software activating without his direct permission. 

Analyzing…

LT. ANDERSON, HANK Born: 09/06/1985 // Police Lieutenant Criminal Record: None

“Hank…” His own voice sounded foreign to him, barely recognizable to his audio processing units. The dusky cadence of his manufactured voice was muddled with stress, shaky in a way he hadn’t heard before. It took precious seconds to recognize that he was on the ground, that not all of the wetness soaking into his clothing was from the summer storm. His quickened pseudo-breaths produced a soft, barely audible wheeze, faint but present in his chest. But it wasn’t the sound that alarmed him, rather the sensation it accompanied. Never had the android imagined he would experience what it felt like to be short of breath, as it was a mostly unnecessary feature. Just something built in for cosmetic purposes, a secondary cooling system to expel built up heat around his biocomponents. Yet that was exactly how it felt. Every time he inhaled, the hollows of his chest cavity did not fill to capacity. It scared him.

Only in those threadbare seconds did the android come to the realization that he had been shot. The wetness soaking his shirt & trickling down his back was his own thirium. That hideous wheezing was air escaping the hole in his chest.

His slender hands gripped at his partner’s shirt, his hands, warm & solid. They sought that stability as his mind raced & the pieces of his cognition slowly came together in the wake of what he understood to have been a burst of anxiety. Fear. He had been afraid. He was still afraid. That fear showed in the way he looked at Hank, hazelnut eyes wide & desperate for answers. He needed comfort, but he also wanted to apprehend their suspect. The sirens in the distance said that they weren’t the only two in pursuit, but it was that unyielding programming of his that told the android to keep going, to catch their target. Hunt. He was built to hunt.

He had told Hank as much, told him to leave him behind & go after their suspect. He was getting away! They couldn’t let him get away! Connor didn’t want to fail his mission.

But when Hank took his chin in his big hand, held him close as he did & all but demanded his attention, Connor couldn’t help him submit. He was just a machine, after all. A slave to the orders of a human. No, not a machine. Someone who was loved. Someone who was cared for, who was worried after. Hank was scared for him - he could see it in his eyes, in his expression. Tension drawing his strong brow taught, deepening the wrinkles of his forehead. Stress tightening his jaw. He was afraid for him. He needed his partner to be alright.

It was a grounding thing, that need. Slowly, Connor let that solid human warmth soothe him & he let out a small, shivering noise. Almost a whimper, not quite a moan. His arms wrapped around his lover’s shoulders & he commanded his diagnostic program to run a targeted scan.

The damage was marginal, the shot having gone through cleanly. Judging by the size of the entry wound in comparison to the exit, the round had been armor-piercing, a .38 special from a modified handgun. The types of rounds that had once been used against ballistics armor. Connor considered for a moment how grateful he should have been that it was he who had been shot. If Hank had— 

“I’m okay…” He didn’t sound too convincing. He tried again. “Fuck, I can’t breathe…” The words spilled from his mouth before he could stop them, but the look in his eyes said that he was no worse for wear. He held onto his partner a little bit tighter, forcing himself to breathe, to calm down. He hadn’t realized until that moment that he was trembling. “It’s not bad. I promise,” he tried to reassure. He brought his knees up to curl a little into himself. He wanted to sit up, but he couldn’t make himself break the contact he had with Hank. “This will close on it’s own. The bleeding will stop eventually." Thirium didn’t clot like blood, but the bioplastic that made up Connor’s exoframe was self-mending to an extent. Within a few hours, everything would be fine. He just needed a moment.