#and my plea for everyone to never use AI

[gooodtoast]

👬🏻

[drdarine]

I sincerely apologize to everyone for using AI in my post never did before, but I didn't have the luxury of waiting a few more days for my friend to complete the drawing for me. I hope you can understand my situation and accept my apology until that day comes. Thank you.

Five days. Five long, agonizing days without a single donation. Five days of holding on, of trying to keep hope alive as it flickers and fades before the innocent eyes of our children.

We have tried everything everything within our power, but still, there’s a missing piece, a lifeline we can not find.

These are not just words; they are a cry for help from a family of seven, shattered by war and weighed down by unbearable hardship. Every day, we stare at our phones, praying for relief, for someone to hear our plea, for someone to extend a hand and lift us from this abyss.

With every passing moment, our suffering grows heavier, yet we cling to the belief that compassionate hearts still exist hearts that will answer our call.

We need you. We need your support. We need you to feel our pain as if it were your own.

We are human. We are asking you to act from your humanity.

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters , my number verified on the list is ( #15 )✅️

Also supported by @nabulsi

here

here

@a-shade-of-blue @catnapdreams

@oediex @bloodbornebutch @soft-sunbird @disasterhimbo

@nogender-onlystars@doctorkinkphd@how-the-feathers-have-fallen@towerofglass@6oys

Happy New Year to everyone! Wishing you all success, joy, and countless blessings in 2025.

[stop-talking]

Breakdown of the @joshsbimbo controversy.

@mike-schmidtten already made a detailed list of every reason why people are upset with you, "lamb", but I'm going to quickly go over it all anyways because you obviously didn't get the memo.

Extreme trigger warning for this entire post, I'm going to be talking about rape, SA, assault, violence, abuse, incest, stepcest, pedophilia, substance abuse, and probably a lot more.

First of all, you tagged this fic where Mike literally rapes the reader as "cnc". That is not correct.

I mean, if we look at the definition of CNC, it says "this type of scene does not encourage ACTUAL rape. All proper scenes are done after much negotiation between of-age, consenting adults."

But I don't need to explain that to you, do I? You know what CNC is. You said yourself MONTHS ago that you tagged your fic incorrectly and NEVER went back and fixed it.

Mike's next point was that you make it impossible for people to "steer away" from their triggers when you don't tag your posts properly.

And as an example he used this post of straight up incest porn between Mike and his little sister. All completely out in the open, tagged under "#mike schmidt" and "#mike schmidt x reader" for all to see.

He followed it up this this. A plea for you to, at the bare minimum, tag the major triggers in your posts and hide it under a "read more" section.

Let's take a look at how you responded to that very reasonable request.

Oh. You DM'd him the word poop and blocked him.

Instead of reblogging to respond, you actually deleted your origional post so your followers couldn't see the criticism of you as easily. I wonder why? You made your stance clear, though. "I should have put more warnings on my work, but it doesn't matter anyways because it's all fictional." But then, immediately after, you started relogging an account that makes photoshopped foot fetish content of male celebrities for some reason...?

(I censored the feet myself because its just weird) Oh, and weird AI pictures of him, too.

There were worse ones, but I didn't screenshot everything, and you deleted these posts just a few hours after reblogging.

You followed it all up with this now-deleted post about how you wish you could make your notes private. Again, I wonder why? If it really is OKAY to sexualize incest, rape, and abuse just because it's fictional, why would people be scared to support you? Why is no one willing to publicly like your posts, or speak out in your favor? Even some of your biggest supporters (@leah-hutcherson @teenagedreamsss @cuteskunkz @renaissancebewbies) who continue to like (some) of your posts, still haven't come to your defense. If writing about fictional rape, abuse, and incest really and truly wasn't harmful, why would you need to hide?

Once other people started catching wind of what was going on, you responded in some... interesting ways. Like here, in response to this ask (from a person who is a minor BTW). You switched up your story from "I should have tagged my work better" to "everyone hates me now because I forgot to put warnings on ONE story" (which was just blatantly false, as you had been posting other triggering things at the time with no warnings whatsoever.)

It was absolutely ridiculous of you to claim you put warnings on your work when I could scroll down two posts (back before you deleted this) and see a post about Mike beating his kid.

Like... please show me where exactly the warning is?

Then, when this person, (another MINOR, btw!!) posted after reading Mike's breakdown of your behavior, your responded by DMing them a slur.

I don't even know what to say to that. A minor. A slur.

But as much as you like to INSIST your work isn't for minors, you sure seem to interact with them a lot.

This person who reblogged your masterlist? They're a minor.

^^ You can't say you don't want minors to read your work without actually taking all precautions possible to prevent them from seeing it. (Tagging your content, blocking ageless accounts, NOT REBLOGGING MINORS!!!)

Yes. This person is also a minor. Which makes, what, the 4th minor you've interacted with in the past few days? At least from what I can tell.

They also hate you btw so I don't even know why you reblogged them.

FINALLY, this user commented under one of your posts in an attempt to get you to AT LEAST tag your posts correctly if you're going to write triggering shit. (Which was the same think Mike asked you to do, if you remember, but he got "poop" and reblogs of foot fetish posts as a response.)

But then it looked like you either blocked them or removed their comment, so they tried again.

You ignored this message, then apparently posted this?

So they tried again (being much nicer that I would have)

And you finally responded (and still got blocked anyways because your posts are DISTURBING and GROSS)

I doubted you'd actually fix your page, because again, you ignored the same request when Mike asked, and in the past admitted you tagged your fics wrong but just never bothered to change it.

But surprise surprise, you actually went through with it and added trigger warnings to your content.

Though, I'm still not sure "non-serious" is an appropriate tag for a post where mike beats you to death...??

Look. I appreciate that you're at least TRYING now, but it was a fucking FIGHT to get you to do the bare minimum. What I, and apparently 84% of people actually want you to do is delete your account.

(This is from @mike-schmidtten's breakdown post from a couple days ago)

I know you want to PRETEND that just because something is a work of fiction, it doesn't have negative real-world effects, but that's just not the truth.

A lot of people were hurt when you posted things without trigger warnings.

And even now, as you continue to post fetish content for rape, incest, and abuse, people are still being hurt. MINORS are still being hurt.

Yes, obviously, if you post something on the internet, you can't completely 100% control who sees it. But you don't even seem to TRY.

(Dming minors slurs, letting minors reblog your masterlist, letting ageless accounts interact with you, reblogging minors, answering asks from minors, etc)

People, minors, CHILDREN, are raped and abused by those closest to them every day. It's disgusting and horrifying to think about, but it's the world we live in.

You aren't "helping people cope" by writing these stories. You're normalizing abuse. And allowing the most vulnerable people to read it.

You're taking actual things that have happened to real people, and sexualizing it for others to get off to. It's immoral, disturbing, and disgusting.

To my followers, if any of you support this kind of content, you are NOT welcome on my page. Please unfollow or block me and go seek help.

And to you, lamb, I hope you come to your senses and either delete all of your rape & incest fetish content or delete your account entirely.

At the end of the day, you KNOW you're in the wrong. Or at least some small part of you does, or you wouldn't have been afraid to reblog Mike's post and respond defending yourself directly. And you wouldn't be afraid to reblog mine either, which you undoubtedly will.

I know you used to follow me, so maybe you'll take this all to heart. But probably not.

I won't block you. (for the next few days, at least). I'll be here if you want to try and have a civil discussion. But just know I will NEVER agree with the sexualization & glorification of violence and abuse.

[scribbles97]

Artemis ~ Chapter 4

Read Chapter 3 Here

John had been holed away in his room most of the week, hiding away from the ruckus of the rest of the family whilst he recovered from the flu. Lucy had been waiting for it to pass through the house, but it seemed that the rest of her brood had remained immune with their pleas for a day out coming as loud and demanding as usual. 

Jeff had swept in, barely home from a business meeting before he had left again with four of the five in tow. He’d promised the aquarium, much to Gordon’s delight, and then a lunch of Alan’s choice as an early birthday treat. The older two had gone along at her insistence, Scott having offered to help around the house and Virgil mimicking his oldest brother in a way they’d all long since gotten used to. 

“Hey spaceman,” She murmured as she cracked the door open, “can I come in?”

“Yeah,” He snuffled, huffing as he adjusted himself beneath the pile of blankets.

“I brought you chicken soup,” She smiled, setting the tray down over his legs as John finished whatever he was typing on the data-pad, “What are you working on?”

He tilted the screen towards her, the lines of code the same as the project he’d been working on most of the week when he’d felt up to it. She had banned him from school work, insisting he was already ahead enough in his syllabus that he could afford to take a week off from the work. Of course, it had only taken him a moment to find something different to work on, but she was grateful that it was at least something fun. 

“It’s still not right,” He told her, “it wants to play but it doesn’t want to win.”

Perching on the edge of the bed, she scanned over the coding, “Well, my programming skills are a little rusty, but I can take a look whilst you eat and we can work through it together?”

John’s grin was wide, “Really?”

A cough quickly followed, deep and hacking as he doubled forward. 

“Easy there.” She soothed, “Do you want some water?”

He sat back, taking a drink and handing over the datapad for her to look at. 

“It’s not far off of being a full AI,” He admitted, “but I didn’t think I should go any further down that line, what with all the regulations coming in.”

She shrugged as she examined the line in question, “What harm could a game AI produced by my genius son cause?”

John grinned, “It could spy on everyone!”

Lucy laughed, playing along, “She could tell us exactly what your Dad and brothers are up to right now!”

John pulled a face, “She?”

“Sorry,” Lucy immediately pulled back, “the file was called Eos, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

John shook his head, wincing as he did, “I adapted it from a copy of the software that turns the lights on and off, like Eos, the bringer of the dawn.”

The breadth of his knowledge would never cease to amaze Lucy. 

Running a hand through his hair, she frowned at just how warm he was. 

“I think I’m going to call the doctors.” She told him, “You’re still burning up, Kiddo.”

John sighed, “I just want to be better, Mom.”

Leaning down, she kissed his forehead, “Be patient, love, you will be soon.”

A week and a half in hospital with drips and antivirals had eventually seen John right, the nurses taking no chances in him passing the bug on to any other patient as they set him up in a private room. Lucy had stayed to keep him company, but both were aware that not even a hospital was of any comparison to the noise their family made. Whilst he had slept, she had worked on his template, drawing on all her old knowledge that she hadn’t thought of since leaving the Air Force. 

“Can you keep a secret?” She had asked after morning rounds when John had been complaining about missing his brothers. 

His raised eyebrow said it all, the most secretive of the five, she knew she could trust him.

Handing him his data-pad, she smiled as she leaned her elbows on the edge of his bed, “Eos, hello.”

A silver ring lit up in hologram above the pad, seven dots evenly spaced around the ring lit up as the female voice answered.

“Good Morning, Lucy, how can I help you?”

John’s face lit up, his eyes brighter than they had been all week as he looked from her to the Intelligence. 

“Eos.” He breathed, “She’s real!”

Lucy laughed softly, having done little more than think of the applications of the AI whilst John had been going through the hospital admission process. He had almost been right, sometimes a spy was needed to keep track of their family of seven. With Scott spending more time off with friends, and gearing up for his Senior year, Gordon taking his swim lessons with more seriousness than a seven year old had any right to, and Jeff spending more time away with the business it could be hard to keep track of who was where - even with all of the advances in technology. 

Eos was John’s first though, a primary directive to befriend and entertain, a game program that could match his wits and give enough challenge to the teenager who outshone all of his peers. 

“How about a game of chess?” She suggested, “But take it easy, John’s still recovering.”

It wasn’t until the summer that they had trained her well enough for the rest of the family to be let in on exactly what the AI could do. Each of the boys had taken to her differently; Jeff, wary of the technological implications, Scott, appreciating an opponent that wasn’t John, Virgil, asking her questions and always surprised by her answers, Gordon, eager to get her into trouble in one way or another, and Alan, wary of the new presence in the house. 

Before long she had become a staple in the family’s daily routine, almost like an extra sibling for the boys, and a much needed extra pair of hands for Lucy and Jeff. John never commented on how his mother had picked back up on her programming skills, and she had never thought too hard on why she had left the skills behind in the Air Force. 

Eos was different, she was theirs, and theirs alone. 

Continue on Ao3

[birds-are-really-nice]

Hello there! My large Gaza family is filled with love and warmth, and losing them is a tremendous loss. I appreciate your efforts and time in reading my plea. I never expected to find myself in this situation.It is incredibly challenging to navigate these circumstances as an independent woman proud of her financial independence, finding herself in this dire situation.I understand the value of every donation and the effort behind it. I assure you that all funds will be strictly used for the evacuation of my sisters and my parents. I will personally bear any additional expenses incurred.Your support will make a significant difference in alleviating the suffering of my family and ensuring that my sisters and my parents receive the care they urgently need. As time ticking away translates to lives lost in Gaza I'm here and ready to answer any questions or concerns you may have. Don't hesitate to reach out and connect with me

This is literally an AI generated copy and paste of your pinned post, and has already been called out for being a scam. This applies to everyone, it’s honestly pathetic and disgusting to use the suffering of others and a literal genocide to profit off of and taking the money that could have been put towards an actual charity from those wanting to help actual people being literally slaughtered. If anyone reading sees this post, please ignore it as it is a scam, and if you really want to help, donate to a real genuine charity, such as:

https://www.pcrf.net/

I also encourage you to do your own research on charities if you want to donate, and at the very least, educate yourself about what’s happening in Gaza and Palestine - Israel conflict

[nityarawal]

12/09/2023

John-June*

Morning Songs

What If

There Were Only 5

Names

Like In Indo

Or Christian

Psalms

What If

There Were 

Only A Few

Beatles

What Would 

We Do

Somehow

They Were Duplicated 

Somehow They Breed

How'd All The

Yogis

Come Together

In A World Wide Web

In Case

You Forget

Your Childhood

In Case

It Was Really Bad

Please Remember

We Sang "Hey

Jude,"* For You

Got 2 Julian's

God Kids

One Jude

Please Remember

We Know

A Song

Is Never Enough

But If Your Dad

Is Gone

Like Millions

Of Military

Brats

Suffer

Through

Estrangement

Or The Queen's

Court

If Your Parent

Is Gone

On A Feloners

Plea

Please Don't Offer

Us

Special Forces

Survival Services

Bloody Weapons

Special Forces

Or Boobs

In The Face 

Motorboats

With Our Tax

Dollars

Embedded In Tesla

Stocks

Doje

Smearing

Beloved Bros

And Dogs

Flying To Mars

With Our

Hearts

Intact

Might Have Been

Possible

But,"Now

And Then,"*

I'm Not Really

Sure

"Now And Then,"

I Miss

My Father's Weathered

Hand

"Now And Then,"

My Own John

Sitting In Our

RV

Driving Coast To Coast

In Love

Thinkin' How Lucky

I Was

"Now And Then,"

I Miss My Pa

My "Lennon" Brother

Overflowing

With Intelligence

Secret

Middle Name

"John"

"Now And Then,"

I Miss My Pa

His Weathered Hand

Was Like A

Beating Heart

For America

"Now And Then,"

I Miss My Pa

I Know I'll Never

Add Up Mamma

"Now And Then,"

I Miss 

My Pa

I Wish That

J.D. Salinger

Cult Felony

Hadn't Gotten

Your John-

June

In The Name

Of Jihad*

"Catcher In The Rye,"

Twisted Anti-Semitism*

Like JFK

But That's Not

The Case With

"The Cajun Queen,"*

She's Spicey

Not Caged

James Dean

Not The Case

With Grandma Julia

If We Can't 

Say Anything

Nice

About Reptiles*

At Court

The Attorneys

Who Broke

Our Son's Hearts

It Wasn't Her

June

It Wasn't Her

Jude

It Wasn't Her

Julian

Bambinos

All Those Pretty

Places

Tibetan Yogini

Retreats

India

Maharishi Days*

All Those "White,"

Houses In Bali

Japan

Indonesia

Or

Thailand

It Wasn't Her

June

It Wasn't Durga*

It Wasn't Your

Own Eternal 

Mother

Saraswati*

I Can Assure

You

From The "White Album"*

Oaths

It Wasn't Me

#Nitya4Eternity

Lakshmi*

Who Deleted

Your Songs

On Twitter*

Banned Us

With Gags

It Wasn't Me

I Miss The "Beatles"*

Just As Much

As Anyone!

(#4BillionMothersStrong Grieving Our Young.)

Peace,

Nitya Nella Davigo Azam Moezzi Huntley Rawal 

*June- "Dear" In Farsi

#Irany #WithLove

"Hey Jude," Written for Julian Lennon by Paul & John; in hideous atty driven court estrangement.

Love long unedited version they released- even if it's slightly Censored by BBC & UK politics.

Most songs I post of theirs get shadowbanned same day.

Very worried about Beatles kids & families. I think "Julia," was not only written for John's mom but also secretly for Julian and to tie him into his matriarchal lineage- even if cut short.

Often rockstars and royals had Divorce/custodial Gag orders from Queen that were so violent, they end in death; like John Lennon and Princess Diana. 

"Now And Then," Amazing New Beatles Song Miraculously used #AI to revive John Lennon's vocals. As a reply everyone wants a Johnny doll. We feel they should be used only exclusively for close family in appropriate fatherly or husband manner; not a sex toy for government to manipulate and barter in AI as x has done with my children and I; his creator AI alien Grimesz.

Elon is nothing but a "Kiterunner" sex slave for America like Prince, Michael Jackson and so many atty puppets before them. Lab dads.):

*Jihad is a Anti Islamic term used when America creates Pseodo Terrorism and murders our great leaders and artists. #RIPJohnLennon #RIPJFK #Prayers4BoppaEternal xo

*Anti-semitism is a racist neo-nazi term often used by oppressors themselves Trafficking our women through government 9/11 internal domestic terrorism and wars abroad. This is gaslighting for "Nasa" when boys clubs won't allow our chivalrous men to behave appropriately, with honors, to deserve honors. 

*Reptiles- Queen Elizabeth is Often referred to as the "Reptilian" Queen.

*Durga - Goddess Of Protection/Defense

*Saraswati-Goddess Of Art & Music

Lakshmi- Goddess Of Wealth & Prosperity

*White Album

Made In India

Beatles

With Maharishi Mahesh Yogi

*Beatles music & friends royalties also hacked by open #AI & atty crimes; aka Michael Jackson's living probate criminal estate. #FreeBritney

#Metoo

Whose a Meme?

Will we ever know????

We're all the nasty stories just evil smear campaigns? 

Jai Guru Dev

#BeatlesKids

[ascreaminthevacuum]

For the Sake of Innocence | A Poem

For the Sake of Innocence 

by Mathan Subbiah 

Introduction 

Welcome to For the Sake of Innocence. I’m Mathan Subbiah, a poet who finds meaning in life’s quiet struggles. This poem came from reflecting on how a child—innocent, voiceless—carries the weight of a troubled marriage. It’s a reminder: amidst our conflicts, the smallest hearts often hurt most. If it speaks to you, share your thoughts or pass it along. 

For the Sake of Innocence 

The Hidden Pain of a Troubled Child 

Never trouble the child. Far worse is a troubled child. 

It was a troubled marriage, 

It was recent, this heart upheave, 

Trying to save it, there was no rage, 

For the only child I have. 

Was in love with a heartthrob, 

For ten long years, enjoyed every moment, 

A high-pressure job, 

Wouldn’t let go or relent. 

There were emotions strong, 

It was all love and joy, without any ill will, 

Now there is dispassion, know that this is wrong, 

Still didn’t harbor any ill. 

The child was listening, trembling, 

To all the heated, vain arguments, the situation went grave, 

Why harm an innocent heart, compel suffering? 

It is time to pack the minimum and leave. 

A Few Thoughts 

This poem traces love fading into loss, but its soul is the child caught in the middle. A decade of joy—strong, real—worn down by time and strain. What’s left is dispassion, not bitterness. The tragedy isn’t the love that’s gone; it’s the child who hears every shout, feels every crack. I wrote this as a quiet plea: when we falter, let’s not break innocence too. Leaving here is protection, not escape. What do you think—how do we shield the silent ones? 

Video Transcript 

This is from a YouTube video I made—me and an AI voice reading the poem, plus some reflections: 

Hello everyone. This poem reflects on a marriage dissolving and a child’s innocence caught in it. When adults struggle, kids often witness it silently. This is their unheard pain. Let’s start. 

For the Sake of Innocence 

The Hidden Pain of a Troubled Child 

Never trouble the child. Far worse is a troubled child. 

It was a troubled marriage, 

It was recent, this heart upheave, 

Trying to save it, there was no rage, 

For the only child I have. 

Was in love with a heartthrob, 

For ten long years, enjoyed every moment, 

A high-pressure job, 

Wouldn’t let go or relent. 

There were emotions strong, 

It was all love and joy, without any ill will, 

Now there is dispassion, know that this is wrong, 

Still didn’t harbor any ill. 

The child was listening, trembling, 

To all the heated, vain arguments, the situation went grave, 

Why harm an innocent heart, compel suffering? 

It is time to pack the minimum and leave. 

Mads: 

This captures a marriage unraveling, past love’s weight, and a child’s quiet suffering. It opens with a plea—never trouble a child—because their wounds don’t heal easy. Love thrived once, then faded under work and time. No bitterness, just a choice to shield what’s fragile. 

AI Female: 

The heart is the child—listening, trembling, in the storm of conflict. They don’t just hear; they feel it, carry it. ‘Pack the minimum and leave’ isn’t escape—it’s protection, breaking the cycle before they break. What cost do we pay when a child suffers for us? 

Mads: 

How often do we see these silent watchers? They don’t choose our fights, yet they bear them. Tell me your thoughts below. If this resonates, check my YouTube for more. Share it if you want. Thanks for listening. 

What this poem holds: 

💔 Love’s bloom to dispassion 

💔 Work and strain pulling bonds apart 

💔 A child’s unseen pain in the noise 

💔 Choosing to leave for their sake 

---

I have published a book titled A Scream in the Vacuum – Volume 1. It is available on Amazon, Wipf & Stock, and other major online bookstores. You can search for A Scream in the Vacuum – Volume 1 or click the link given in the description. The book contains my short philosophical musings on various subjects, along with poems.

[patientlibrarian]

Friday August 30/FlynnFriday

In response to a plea by #mathgirl24 and #titanicnerd blog I'm bringing back "Flynn Friday" on my blog.

And here he is:

This clip has taken on a life of it's own recently.

Clip from Time Travel Nexus YouTube

Gif by Patient Librarian

How we wish!! From: teamgarcy.com

Please note that this video/GIF is AI generated. This means that 1) the Timeless writers (to our knowledge) never intended these moments to happen between Garcia and Lucy, and 2) that Goran and Abigail did not actually film these moments.

Cold compress anyone?!

Hello everyone, everywhere, hope your day goes as you would wish it to.

I post every day, usually before 10am GMT (UK time) so please join me again.

Shamelessly self-promoting my latest stories on AO3 to anyone new who has found me. "Anyone for Tennis? (57886015) a ficlit in response to the Battleship Garcy 'Olympics' challenge, and "RESCUE Because as much as you need us - we need you more" (57487684) a multi-chapter story on Flynn's rescue from prison.' I only write "happy Garcy". Coming up soon will be a response to the Battleship Garcy "Happy Birthday Garcia Flynn" challenge.

[6okuto-moved]

idk if ur reqs are open but I would love to hear your thoughts on Vere 👁️👁️ hes literally dominated my entire headspace I can’t go ten minutes w/o thinking ab how I want to bite his forearm

GENERAL VERE HCS

gn!reader | back 2 knocking these guys out of the park. also i realized these are shorter than my hq bf hcs so. if anyone wants a pt.2 for anybody.. u know what to do

i think u Should bite his arm. For Fun. vere w bite-y partner who he bites back. 'gently' considering he has fangs though

congratulations on being one of 2 people he'd let touch and brush his tail. sometimes he swishes it against your face and then pretends he didn't. "i have no idea what you're talking about," he says before making direct eye contact and doing it again

he likes drawing. ok. have we considered him drawing you. you ask him about it and he says he won't show you. you tease him and ask "what? did you draw sparkles and hearts surrounding me?" and he plays along, "yes, i even checked what i'd look like with your last name and drew us kissing."

It's actually quite a nice sketch of you though. like of you smiling or asleep or something because you fell aslep near him. oh man...

vere knows all the ins and outs of the city which means he can give you a personalized tour that caters to all your interests!! you can ask him to take you to his favourite spots too of course but he feels very accomplished watching you grin in the store he purposely walked by

shocked if you get him a gift. acts nonchalant and is good enough at accepting things but internally, especially if it's something he's been eyeing for a while or has sentimental value,, he . He....

like yeah okay vere...act all cool...as if your eyes don't flicker over whenever you walk past it...as if you don't catch yourself smiling subconsciously...whatever

definitely tries cooking your favourite meal. doesn't go very well, especially if it's something he's never had, but he'll keep practicing until he makes something decent. don't ask how many attempts he did because he won't tell you unless he somehow started a fire and even Then the truth is debatable

if YOU know how to cook it Please for the love of god teach him, or write down the recipe for both your sakes. for the kitchen. plea

everyone tells him/the both of you to shut the hell up whenever you start flirting back and forth/competing to see how many innuendos you can feasibly say. the both of you team up only to bully everyone else for being single before continuing

asshole if you played uno. i'm not competitive nor do i give two shits if i lose at uno but even i would lose it watching vere push for whatever stacking rule he needs to get someone a +20. watch your cards or he'll manage to look over at them. do not trust a single deal he tries. watch his ears and tail i'm sure he has a tell

really good at helping build confidence . what ais said about him being honest but also not trusting anything he says yeah well this is when he'd be completely honest. easily reminds you how capable you are of something, knows what makes you confident, etc etc. and you just ? know you can trust him? it's the vibe. how he says it so plainly as if it's obvious

don't try to lie to him about things. like if you're upset about something it is So obvious to him no matter how hard you try and he'd really appreciate it if you would tell him why or ask to talk about it later when you're ready.

^ as someone who wants to piss her pants at the thought of being direct or whatever,, he'd also be very good at knowing when to push or not. if you respond better to a lighter/gentle reminder i'm sure he would do so :heart:

i have a feeling this guy would be incredibly incredibly incredibly into you asking to post him on any socmed. do you want his face in it. do you want it to be a little spicy. should he pose. actually he probably pouts a little if you want a faceless pose but bro why does it matter if there is not a cm of space between us. why is your hand around my neck rn /lh You know the poses

[supervengerslock]

Savior of the Future- Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Wish

Stephen Strange x Stark!Reader

A/N: Let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist!

It was over. you stood over Tony’s crumpled form. You had won, but at what cost?

Pepper held him as the arc reactor went out, and everyone began to kneel. A tear slipped down your cheek as you held your brother’s left hand—the one that held the gauntlet—as the light left his eyes.

I wish I could save him. I wish this could have never happened..

A desperate plea to whatever divine entity would listen, to save the brother who raised you, who was the only family you had left.

Your gaze traveled to meet Stephen’s, his blue eyes swimming with tears and the guilt of what he knew would happen, of what he couldn’t tell you so that he could save you.

The ground seemed to sway under your feet. You could see Stephen lurch forward to catch you, but something made you grip tighter onto your brother’s hand—onto the gauntlet.

And then your whole world went black.

You shot up in bed, breathing heavily. You were in your bedroom in the penthouse.It was dark.

You scanned the room for a moment before calling out for the AI.

“FRIDAY, what’s going on?”

“You appear to have had a bad dream. Shall I wake up Boss?”

“No, let him sleep,” she says. “What day is it?”

“It is February 3rd, 2016, 3:41 am.”

You have done it. Somehow, the stones had sent you back in time. Your brother was alive. But there was something about that date that unnerved you. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“FRIDAY, do you have any info on the infinity stones?”

The AI pulls up files on the tesseract and the mind stone—which was currently still in Vision’s forehead. There was nothing on the other stones.

Your door creaked opened and Tony stood in the doorway.

“Muffin, is it really you?” he asks, a bit disoriented.

“Bubba? Do you remember?”

He nods, walking to the side of your bed and pulling you into a tight hug. Your brother—the man who raised you— was alive.

“What do you remember?” you ask, breaking from the hug as tears threatened to spill from your cheeks.

“I remember the wielding stones, and then.. Lights out.”

“You died. You were dead,” you tell him. “And now we’re back here?”

“How did we get back here?” he asks. “Did the stones..”

“It was me,” you answer. “I was holding your hand, the one that held the gauntlet, and I made a wish. I guess the stones answered it.”

“Miss Stark, you have a call from an unknown number,” FRIDAY interrupts.

“Stephen..” you mutter. “Answer it, FRI.”

“Y/N, it’s Wong.”

“Wong? You remember?” you ask.

“Yes. Stephen does as well, but.. Something happened when we appeared back here. You need to get to Metro-General Hospital as soon as possible.”

You and Tony exchanged worried looks before scrambling out of bed. If something happened to Stephen, you’d never forgive yourself for your final thoughts about him in the battle, the anger and hurt. He was your world.

-

You ran into the hospital room about twenty minutes later, Tony on your heels. Stephen was in bad shape, his arms were both raised above his head, held up in casts with at least eleven pins in his hands. The accident. This was the day of the accident. This was why that date sounded familiar.

Wong was nowhere to be seen, but Stephen looked up as you approached his bed.

“Stephy?”

“Sweetheart,” he choked out hoarsely. “You remember?”

You nod, taking the seat by his bed. “Why did the stones send us back to this time?” you ask.

“Why couldn’t they have sent us to a time when you were healed?”

“Wong and I have a theory about that. We think that the Ancient One might be able to help us.”

“How long did it take you to get to Kamar-taj?” you ask Stephen.

“A month or so. Right after I started my physical therapy.”

“Well, you’re coming to the compound until then, and I won’t take no for an answer, Stephen,” you tell him matter-of-factly.

“It’s best to listen to her, Doc,” Tony says. “She’ll get you to rest one way or the other.”

You turn to glare at him and Tony backs towards the door.

“I’ll give you lovebirds some space..” He walks out of the room, shutting the door behind him. You turn your attention to Stephen, who admittedly looked awful.

“Did you wake up here?” you ask. He nods.

“At least I didn’t wake up in that damn car..”

“I love you,” you tell him, reaching out to brush a couple of dark strands out of his face. “We’re gonna win this time, baby.”

Stephen’s gaze traveled to the doorway, and you looked up as Christine Palmer walked slowly into the room.

“I came to check on you,” she says. She looks between you and Stephen, and he remains silent as you glare at his ex.

“Do I know you?” she asks, turning her attention to you.

“I’m Y/N,” you tell her. “Stephen’s girlfriend.”

She furrowed her eyebrows and looked over to Stephen again, who didn't meet her gaze.

Christine wordlessly left the room and you turned back to Stephen.

“Wanna tell me what that was all about?”

He sighs. “I asked her to go to that conference with me yesterday.”

“So, now she thinks you were trying to cheat on me?” you reply with a chuckle. “My boyfriend, the player.”

“What are we going to do?” Stephen asks. “How are we going to stop him?”

“I have a few ideas,” you reply. “But right now, you need to rest. Though your mind is years ahead, your body just went through a car accident.”

After a bunch of pain meds from the nurses and some threatening on your end, Stephen finally went to sleep. You collapsed in the reclining chair in the corner, the beeping from the machines lulling you to sleep.

“Stone Seeker.” A booming voice called through the darkness.

You opened your eyes. You were in a void, but a figure appeared before you. A man—a being with a large bald head and blue robes floated in front of you.

“Who are you?” you ask.

“I am Uatu, the watcher. I am here to warn you.”

“I know, Thanos is already looking for the stones,” you reply.

“Thanos is a problem,” he says. “But other threats loom on the horizon. You have already set us on a different path.”

“How so?”

“I sense it in Doctor Strange’s mind. He plans not to give up the time stone, but to die for you if he has to.”

“He won’t have to,” you state. “We know where the stones are. We just need to get in contact with a few people.”

“Be warned, Stone Seeker. An unsavory character has returned to the past as well. One who seeks consequences for tampering with the space-time continuum. He will strike when you least expect it.”

Thanos?

“We will be ready.”

[nev3rfound]

someone i once knew : b.b - p.4

with Fury denying Bucky the chance to stay to monitor you, he and the rest of the avengers are forced to go on a mission leaving you alone. if only they new the dire consequences that decision would enforce. (2.3k)

(anything in bold/italics are flashbacks/memories!)

masterlist / permanent taglist 

 - i also have an etsy shop and will be releasing wandavision themed items real soon! - 

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website without being credited, it has not been approved to be shared by me. all rights reserved.)

PART ONE . PART TWO . PART THREE . PART FOUR . PART FIVE . PART SIX

(also thank you again and again for the love and excitement for this series - i am loving the writing process and there are now two chapters left!) 

“Look, you’re all going, no excuses.” Fury states as he stands before the Avengers all sat around the conference table with furrowed brows.

Bucky sighs to himself, thinking about you sat down in that lab alone, still unsure of what is even happening like everyone else.

“But Sir,” Steve speaks up, all eyes turn to him as Fury raises a brow as to whom is questioning him. “Y/n isn’t just someone, she needs protecting.” He reasons, but Fury exhales deeply.

“Mr Rogers, let me make this clear,” Fury steps forward. “I don’t give a damn.”

“You should.” Bucky mutters under his breath as his arms remain crossed over his chest, barely able to stop his leg from bouncing up and down.

“What was that, Sargent?” Fury quips.

Lifting his head, Bucky coldly stares at Fury, ignoring Steve’s silent pleas for him to back down. “You should care who she is, as she matters to me.” Bucky bluntly states.

“As I said, Sargent, I don’t give a damn.” Fury reiterates his point. “Stark hired her, she went through every background check there is. She’s perfectly fine here, do I make myself clear?”

No one dares to speak up as Fury turns his attention to Maria Hill standing beside him.

“Get the jet ready, they can finish briefing on the way.” Fury tells Hill.

Maria nods as she places her earpiece back on. “Yes, Sir.” She walks out of the room and Fury follows.

“We can talk more about this situation when you return.” Fury comments before exiting the room, leaving the team sat in tense silence as the thought of you lingers on all their minds.

“So that’s it?” Sam asks as Tony rises to his feet, not daring to look up at Bucky or Steve.

“You heard Fury, we’ve got a job to do.” Tony explains, knowing there’s no use trying to argue any further. “Come on, the sooner we go the sooner we can get back.”

*

Sitting in the lab, you wish someone was around to keep you company. The last time you had any form of communication was with Bruce before he left last night for a mission with the rest of the team.

All you can hear were his lasting words of advice; "Don't leave this room."

You were bored out of your mind, stuck in the confined space surrounded by cameras and monitors as you remain hooked up to various machines; yet no one will explain what they all do or what is exactly happening to you.

“Hey, FRIDAY?” You call out, desperate for something to do as you lean against the glass wall, flexing your feet.

“Yes, Ms Y/l/n, how can I help?” FRIDAY asks and you exhale deeply, what can an AI do to provide any assistance whilst her creator is keeping you trapped in a lab?

“Any chance Tony mentioned my dinner plans?” You chuckle, having all the facilities beside a kitchen at your disposal.

“I’ll arrange for dinner to be provided by an Agent, Ms Y/l/n.” FRIDAY responds, and you nod to yourself, sliding down against the glass as you lie flat on your back.

“Thanks, FRIDAY.” You mutter. “God, I’ve truly lost it, talking to an AI for company.” You groan, covering your eyes.

It has been a few days since you had a ‘memory’ or a snippet of one. It’s as if your brain has gone dormant the moment someone finally was willing to listen and provide help.

Yet, your mind always ends up wandering back to the ever-present thought of Bucky Barnes. You’ll never forget the way he screamed your name before he was forced to the ground, thrown out of sight from your point of view. There was something about him, the way he looked at you with so much pain lingering in his eyes, even when you first met him.

“Come on, seriously where are we going?” You giggle, following behind James as his hand remains in yours, guiding you out from the bar filled with soldiers.

Glancing over his shoulder, Bucky smirks at his best girl, still amazed that you’ve stuck with him through all this. “Somewhere special.” He tells you, quickly turning to kiss you sweetly before carrying on.

After walking for around ten minutes, Bucky guides you toward the old hall you used to go to during dances.

“This is somewhere special, huh?” You joke, resting your hands on your hips as Bucky fiddles with the lock, tearing it off with ease much to your surprise.

Releasing the chains, Bucky pulls the door open and motions for you to walk inside. Without hesitation, you quickly slip in as Bucky follows behind.

Your footsteps echo in the empty space, having barely been used for months since the war worsened. There are still banners from the last dance you attended with Bucky, dust lining the stage and the various blown out bulbs.

Bucky hovers near the entrance of the dim hall as the moonlight shines through the broken roof, illuminating your figure as you look around. He tries to ignore the screams that ring through his mind, the horror he witnessed mere weeks ago.

“James?” Your voice brings him back to reality as your hand cups his cheek. “It’s okay, you’re right here, with me.” You softly remind him, having experienced countless nights of cries and screams of terror leaving his lips as he flails around, wishing for it to all end.

Leaning his head against your hand, tears form in Bucky’s eyes as you move closer, wrapping your arms around him and hold him close.

“It’s okay, I promise, it’s okay.” You whisper, running your fingers through his hair as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his shoulders rising and falling. “It’s over, James, you’re safe.” You remind him, but his sobs subside as he lifts his head, resting his hands around your waist.

“Doll, there’s something I’ve gotta tell you,” Bucky admits, knowing it’s going to be more painful to tell you he’s leaving again.  “I, Steve’s got a plan, one final mission.”  Looking up, Bucky can see you trying to remain composed as you bite your lower lip. “And then we’re done, it’s over and I’m all yours, forever.”

“That’s it?” You breathe out. "One final mission?"

Nodding in response, Bucky guides you toward the moonlit spot in the middle of the hall. “That’s it, and then I’ll be here, by your side until you get sick of me.” He jokes, and your gentle laugh fills his ears.

“Won’t take long, but I’ll put up with it if it means you’re here, with me.” You tell him before tearing your eyes from his as you look up at the birds perching on the rails above you, cooing back and forth.

Bucky admires your smile, the sincere look across your face and he knows it’s now or never.

“Y/n?” Bucky asks, and you hum in response as you lower your face, your eyes practically sparkling brighter than the stars. “Do you remember the last time we were here?”

You smile at the memory. “Of course, we danced until everyone else had left.” You remember it vividly, dancing in the silence of the hall together before Bucky walked you home and slept by your side until the sun rose. His lips lingered over your skin as the sunlight beamed through your curtains, burning his eyes with the reminder he can’t stay.

“There was something I never got to say that night, and throughout everything I, I went through,” Bucky trails off.

“Hey, I’m right here,” You softly mutter, gravitating him back to the present.

“I, I always thought of you, my darling Y/n who has been there through thick and thin. I’m in awe of you, I think I always have, ever since we first met. Your defiance for both Steve and I is unmatched, and you’ve weaved a piece of yourself into me and I don’t want it to ever disappear.” Bucky explains, glancing up to see tears forming in your eyes.

“What’re you saying, James?” Your voice cracks as tears begin to fall down your cheeks whilst Bucky lowers himself down onto one knee before you.

“I’m asking if you, Y/n Y/l/n will do me the honour of being my wife, my doll and best friend forever.” Bucky can feel himself going as you bend down, level with him as a watery laugh leaves your lips.

“Yes,” You respond, looking at the beautiful ring that you recognise from his Grandmother. “you and me, James, forever.”

Gasping for breath, you sit upright clutching your chest.

“FRIDAY?” You yell, but there is no immediate response.

Uneasily you stand up as your body shakes, the memory replaying on your mind as the soldiers face is becoming clearer, his name ghosting your lips, but still refuses to leave them.

Looking across to the monitors, you notice they’re all down. Nothing is operating.

With uncertainty, you remove the various wires and pads covering your skin before stepping toward the glass door and pull it open with ease. “Strange.” You mutter under your breath as you walk out, half expecting a series of alarms to blare, but silence follows as you reach the elevator.

As you press the button for the elevator, you watch as it rises from the ground floor. Yet, the closer it gets the sound of voices near.

“FRIDAY, who else is in the compound?” You call out, now backing away from the elevator as it’s two floors away from you.

Silence ensues yet again, and now your heart rate increases as the elevator pings.

Backing away as the metal doors slide open, you rush back into the lab and hide beneath one of the many desks as a series of men yell orders to one another.

“FRIDAY, please,” You whisper to the AI who remains unresponsive as you close your eyes, wishing to remain unnoticed. “emergency protocol seven.” You add as the glass door shatters open, followed by several footsteps crunching across the broken glass.

Lowering your hands from your face, you can see three pairs of feet from where you’re hiding, weapons hanging in their grip.

“Get anything you can whilst the systems are down.” One man instructs, and you can feel your heart sinking further into your chest; you’re on your own, truly, defenceless.

“How long do you think we have?” Another speaks up, his Russian accent thick as the previous man sighs in annoyance.

“Twenty minutes at the most, now don’t waste time.” He spits before turning around nearing the entrance but pauses.

His feet crunch into the glass as he slowly walks back to the other men.

“Do you hear that?” He asks, holding his hand up to his ear as the two men look at him cluelessly.

“Hear what?” The Russian dares to question whilst you bury your body further into your hiding spot, covering your nose and mouth with your hands to suppress your unsteady breaths.

“The elevator stopped here before we planned which floor to go to, so, who called it here?” Your eyes widen in fear as footsteps approach the desk you’re hiding beneath. “Neither of you notice these tubes and wires connected to the monitors?” The man scoffs.

Within a split second, the desk is flipped over, revealing you curled up to the three men with twisted smiles across their faces.

“Hello, Miss.” The leader bends down and kneels in front of you, he extends his arm, revealing a tattoo across his forearm which you recognise from the many files you’ve read. “You and I are going to have a little game, and I can assure you, it’s going to be fun.”

*

Boarding the quinjet alongside Sam, Bucky wipes his lip, ignoring the throbbing sensation as fresh blood lines his fingertips.

“I told you, we’d be in and out.” Tony comments as the jet door closes behind him as he remains almost unscathed, unlike Steve and Bucky who are slightly worse for wear.

“You didn’t have to go off course like that, Tony.” Steve sighs, sporting a black eye as he takes his seat beside Natasha who wraps her wrist up with Bruce’s help.

Shrugging his shoulders, Tony picks up his phone. “Yeah, well, it’s done now and we can carry on with our little mystery back at the compound.” He mutters, briefly looking to Bucky whose thoughts have remained consumed by you ever since he left. “Hey, can we leave right now? We have to get back to the compound!” Tony rushes toward the pilot with a level of urgency in his tone.

“Tony, what’s going on?” Detecting the change immediately, Steve rises to his feet as he walks toward Tony.

Glancing over his shoulder, Tony can see Bucky still staring at him. “Protocol Seven was activated.” Tony explains in a hushed tone, but he should know better considering there were two super soldiers on board.

“What’s protocol seven?” Bucky speaks up, noticing Natasha tense beside Bruce. “What is it?” He repeats, trying to suppress his panic as Steve clenches his jaw.

“How long do you think we have?” Steve asks.

Rubbing his face, Tony sighs. “Maybe forty minutes, FRIDAY will lock the building, but with the systems hijacked it’ll take longer than normal.”

“Stark,” Bucky tries to remain composed as the plates in his metal arm whir, his fist clenching tightly. “what is protocol seven?”

Turning away from Steve, Tony faces Bucky with a heavy heart. “A security breach within the compound, the systems have been hijacked and FRIDAY is on back up mode.” Tony explains, but Bucky can tell he’s holding something back.

“What kind of security breach?” Bucky dares to ask, stepping closer whilst Natasha lowers her head whilst Clint remains sorrowful opposite the Black Widow.

"I'm so sorry, Barnes." Tony softly responds, looking down as FRIDAY's systems begin to reboot, the security camera's slowly reactivating.

“HYDRA, Buck.” Steve states. “HYDRA are in the compound.”  

P A R T  F I V E 

(thank you to the following for all the love so far! if you’d like to be tagged in this mini series do let me know)

@mellmellmell12@theofficialzivadavid @fandom-princess-forevermore @lokilovefoever @vivalakatee @chgevorgian @captainwinterwriter @carliewinchester @spn-obession @buckysquad @shower-me-with-roses @basicgukk @yasminwashere @sunfouler @feminist-fan-girl @stealapizzamyheart @soccer-100000   @sunflowerbunny2   @kickingn-ames @choerriesmotion @why-thats-just-delightful @officialfictionalwreck​ @romanoff-nataliaalianovna​ @hersilencedscreams​ @b-r-stark​ @dezzxmx​​

[momocicerone]

most far from goodbye

Fandom: Detective Conan / Case Closed

Pairing: Haibara Ai / Kudo Shinichi | Edogawa Conan

Genre and Rating:  Humor/Romance; T

Summary: “You can’t protect everyone, Kudo. Sooner or later, you’ll have to make a choice. I’ve already made mine.”

A/N:  Sorry I couldn't manage to write more entries for coai week this year, my new job takes virtually all my time and braincells : ( hope you enjoy this one, tough.

.

-

 .

She’s sixteen all over again and none the wiser when she rushes inside the ruins of what used to be Agasa’s house, screaming the old man’s name as she pushes through a corridor half-buried under the wreckage left by the explosion— the explosion that was meant to kill her, she knows… the explosion that got the professor instead. 

Her world collapses along with the building, but she refuses to stand by and watch it burn. 

Shinichi’s voice blurs with the sound of the debris crunching under her shaky steps, heavy rain pattering over the slippery path of smoke and destruction.

“ Haibara! ” The detective manages to catch her arm, yanking her away from the collapsing ruins and bracing her tight against himself as to prevent her from slipping away into her own demise. 

“Let me go— he’s still inside! ” The frantic scientist shrieks. Her nails dig into Shinichi’s rain-soaked blazer, pushing him away, heels digging and slipping over the uneven gravel left by the impact. But Shinichi’s embrace remains unrelenting as he practically drags her away and towards safety.

“He’s not here— Haibara!” She’s restless, hyper focused. Her eyes drawn to the tragedy like a moth to the flame, she doesn’t seem to hear what he says. He cups her face with firm hands, forcing her to redirect her gaze towards him. “ Listen, hey— Hakase isn’t here!”

“What?” A broken sob escapes her lips, and she quiets down, puzzled but hopeful.

“He’s in the hospital. The resc—” 

Shiho holds on to his lapel, desperation straining her voice into croak, “ Take me there. ” 

 .

-

.

She pins herself to the ICU window for the following days, ignoring Shinichi and the nurses as they come and go around her, deaf to their pleas for her to go home or eat something... anything . 

On the dawn of the third day a stern doctor comes and kicks her out, telling her to come back when she’s in a state good enough to be entrusted the task of taking care of his patient after he’s been released to a recovery ward. She holds on to the doctor’s implied promise and agrees to a sitting spot in the general waiting room, later to be successfully dragged by Shinichi to the cafeteria for a sandwich and a carton of milk that takes her way too long to finish. 

Hakase is half-conscious when they wheel him into his recovery room a few days afterwards, and Shiho shushes him when he tries to make some bad pun to lighten up the situation. The old man complies, closing his eyes and falling back into a peaceful slumber at the eerie rhythm of the ECG.

For the longest time, Shiho’s eyes never leave the monitor. 

.

-

.

Shinichi dashes into the rooftop garden, making his way through the greenery maze to meet her by the glass fence, where she’d been silently overlooking the city under the crepuscular light.

“Is it true?” The detective asks, his breathing ragged and uneven from running all the way to her. “What Jodie-sensei said, is that true?”

Shiho takes a second too long to reply, as if she was weighing her answer. The evening wind makes a mess of her hair, giving her an excuse to not look at him as she disentangles her strawberry curls from her face.

“Depends on what she’s told you,” she calmly responds.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Haibara!” Shinichi almost shouts, his frustration getting the best of him. He searches for her eyes, which she’s resolute to keep hidden from him. Her evasive attitude towards the topic makes him draw his eyebrows together in resentment. “Did you accept the witness protection program?”

He waits, but no words come as a reply.

“Well, did you or did you not!?” Shinichi presses, so long with his patience.

“I did.” 

She doesn’t know why he seems surprised to hear what he already knows, but other than that, the wounded expression on his face is what catches her off guard. 

“Why?”

“... Why? ” Shiho echoes incredulously, “Hakase. That’s why. How is this even a question?”

“Hakase is fine!” he protests, his tone coming off a little more accusing than he means to.

“Are you fucking serious!?” It’s Shiho’s turn to snap, so bewildered by the levity of his words that she forgets she’d been shying away from him. “They blew up his house . He’s alive by the skin of his teeth! You call that ‘fine’?”

“I’m not saying it’s a matter to take lightly, of course I worry about his safety too! I’ve known him for even longer than you, after all!” He takes a deep breath, as if to cool down lest he says something in the heat of the moment that he’ll end up regretting later. His voice is softer when he speaks again, almost reassuring, “What I’m saying is that you’re making decisions too rashly. We have a problem, yes, but we’ve solved them before, haven’t we? There’s no need to take such drastic measures!”

Shiho snorts humorlessly.

“So what do you suggest now, Kudo? That I start wearing glasses and change my name again?” She taunts, dissent in her eyes. “I don’t look seven anymore, this little trick of yours isn’t going to fool them any longer.”

“You know that’s only temporary! Until we can take down those guys—”

“It’s been almost ten years,” she shakes her head in disbelief, keeping her eyes trained on the fading horizon,“haven’t I done enough already? What’s the point of being alive if we can’t truly live, if I have to watch the ones I care for get hurt because of me?”

“I’m not going to let you get hurt. I promised you, remember?”

She finds his eyes, filled with defiance and foolish determination. They make it just so much harder to shoot him down, but she knows blind optimism will be their eventual downfall. 

“You can’t protect everyone , Kudo. Sooner or later, you’ll have to make a choice. I’ve already made mine.“

”It doesn’t have to be like that! Why are you always like this— keeping things from me, making choices on your own without ever talking out things first? This is not something that affects you alone!”

“You told me not to run away from my destiny,” She reminds him, a bit choked up by the accusation in his tone, “so I stayed… for you . I owed it to you to give myself a chance, to help you get your old life back. But Hakase wasn’t part of that deal. I can’t risk him… even for you, I can’t.”

“Screw my old life— I’m not asking you to give up Hakase either!”

“Then what are you asking me, Kudo?”

“I—” Shinichi gulps as he finds himself unable to answer that question, his shoulders falling together with his heart. He licks his lips, pressing them tightly before admitting in the most heartfelt voice, “I’m asking you to stay. Please, don’t leave me like this.”

Shiho contemplates the request for a long second.

“You could leave with us.” She offers instead.

He tilts his head and looks at her with a fond, yet heartbroken expression.

“You know I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. I’m the one they want, not you.”

“Then who’s going to stop them from going after you when we’re both running away? How will you ever be at ease? Can you honestly tell me that you can pretend none of this happened and restart a new life?”

“No,” she concedes, “but what choice do we have?”

“Trust me. Fight along with me. I won’t let you live the rest of your life looking over your shoulder. ” 

“And the professor?”

“He’s been compromised. Jodie-sensei will take good care of him.”

Shiho blinks at his blunt statement. Realization draws in, together with a surge of unrestrained anger.

“Oh. So you’re fine with letting him go, but fuck me, I guess?” 

Shinichi winces at the spiteful remark, panic and embarrassment creeping over his face.  

“It’s not like that! I...I need you here with me.” 

“Wow, that’s really— that’s really gallant of you, Kudo.” She says sardonically, feeling used. “Sending the old man to safety and asking me to die here for you!” 

“I’m not letting you die.” Shinichi clarifies, now visibly bothered by how she seemed to have misinterpreted his words.” Because I’m not letting you out of my sight. You are right, the one they want is you, so they won’t look for the professor once we send him away. But you… I need you where I can be sure I can protect you.”

Her lips twist into a disdainful frown. She clicks her tongue.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Shiho argues, honestly kind of hurt by his logic. It makes her feel expendable, as if the only value he saw in her is that of a pawn— as if her own life was second to taking down the organization, “you trust the FBI to take care of Hakase, but not to protect me. Am I just a case-solving asset for you?”

“Idiot,” he counters, huffing in mocking denial, “of course not!”

“ You are the idiot here!” Shiho objects, “A self-contradicting idiot, at that!”

“A practical one.” He bargains begrudgingly.

“A selfish one.” She corrects pointedly.

“A lovestruck one.” Shinichi admits.

“A— what ?”

He blushes, looking miserable as he rubs the back of his neck, now flushed a shade of perfect scarlet.

“How come you’re the last person to figure this out? I’m in love with you.”

“Huh!?”

“Do you really have to look so appalled?” He winces, his pride tattered by her reaction, “I’m sorry I can’t control feelings, okay? God, this is why I never told you.”

“Hold on, hold on —” a baffled Shiho gestures for time out, too flabbergasted to register her own emotions, “how long have you been feeling this way?”

He looks like he’s positively about to die , but answers honestly anyway.

“I don’t know… s-since third grade?”

She opens her mouth to say something, then immediately closes it again. Their eyes meet for a split of a second before they both pull their gazes away, utterly mortified.

“Well, this is embarrassing…” Shiho mutters.

Shinichi groans, feelings helpless.

“Oi, do you really have to make fun of this right now?”

“ Oh — no, no. It’s not like that.” the scientist almost stutters, her cheeks turning a deeper shade of pink with every word she’s about to say, “I say it’s embarrassing… because I’ve loved you since we were in first grade.” 

It’s the detective’s turn to gape at her, momentarily speechless at the sudden confession. He chokes out an unintelligible sound that sounds like something between what and wait.

“ Ah— “ Shiho utters, burying her face into her hands in utmost embarrassment, but offers no follow up comment. 

“W-Wait, for real?” Shinichi presses, trying, unsuccessfully, to get a look at her face.“You love me, too?”

“I do.” She admits, her voice muffled as she takes a peak at him through the gaps of her fingers.

“ Oh. ” Shinichi’s chest swells with unexpected happiness, but the smile on his face is too big for him to formulate coherent words.

“Oh my God. Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything!” He can’t help but chuckle despite her harsh demand. To be frank he’s too wonderstruck to think of anything not dumb to say to her anyway.

She throws her hands in the air, her scorching hot face tingling in the evening breeze. 

“We’ve... We digress. I can’t have this conversation with you like this right now, jeez.” 

She gives him a half-hearted attempt of a nod and readies to get back inside the building, where she can gather her thoughts.

“We haven’t finished talking!”

“Yes, we have.” 

“No, we haven’t!” He complains with frustration, but she’s already halfway through the moonlit garden, “Where are you going?”

“To see Hakase,” She halts on her steps, turns to look at him and says matter-of-factly, “if we’re going to send him away, I want to cherish the rest of the time I still have left with him.”

“But you’re— eh!? Are you staying with me?”

“I can only take care of one idiot at a time. Between you and him, it’s very clear who’s the one looking for trouble.”

Shinichi laughs.

“You’re not going to regret it.”

Shiho sighs, but her lips curl into a smile.

“I think I already do.”

[cycleoffates]

been meaning to post my first NSR OC here for a while but decided to wait until i got around to hopping on the bandwagon and making a robot/1010 OC companion for them! here’s my NSR OCs Chroma and J7/Vesta! :D Submitted the both of them to the #CitizensofVinylCity collab that Zuke’s VA is hosting on Twitter too :”)

more info below the read-more for bios!

KLIFF: “Hope you’re ready to dive deep into the ground for this one, kids! Because this next star is, quite literally, a hidden gem.”

NAME: Chroma (they/them) AGE: 23 OCCUPATION: NSR Artist, Charter of the Meteo District. PLACE OF CONCERT: Lux Museum GENRE: Artcore (EDM) WEAPON/INSTRUMENT OF CHOICE: Lapid Mining Drones THEME: Qavsell by Feryquitous / ALT: ALiUS by Feryquitous

Chroma is affiliated with NSR, and works as both a EDM musician, artist and lapidary. Many people associate Chroma with the former and latter, which is their music and the beautiful jewelries and gems they craft and refine.

With artcore being a genre that many people don’t know about, Chroma is the same way. Unlike NSR’s Megastars, Chroma prefers to be lowkey, not being the type of person to flaunt themselves. Chroma would rather have their music and jewels be in the light instead of them.

As a person, Chroma is very quiet yet kind. They tend to keep to themselves, engaging in conversations with strangers for a short period of time. They are extremely passionate about lapidation and art, and will go on semi-long talks about their interests if presented with the opportunity. They are also humble, not wanting to bask in the limelight for too long. They treat everyone they see with silent kindness, and it is not uncommon to see Chroma spend more time with their AI drones and Vesta. However, should Chroma see anyone laying their hands on their bots or attempting to hurt them, Chroma’s mood will shift and they will aggressively protect them.

As a boss, Chroma is a long-range attacker, utilizing mirrors, light-rays, prisms and their mining drones (Barringer, Holsinger) to fire beams of light and bright flashes to attack and stun their opponents. Chroma will often maintain their distance from BBJ, dodging swiftly and running to the other side of the arena when presented with the chance. Once attacked enough, Chroma will “crack,” shifting to become hysteric and their form will transform into something more sharper and hardened. They will drop their long distance attacks and lash at their opponents with claw-like hands, or charge at them with their horn-like headgear. Their drones will also activate into “mining mode,” spinning like drills, swiftly honing in and flying at BBJ to attack them.

EXTRA 1: Chroma names all of the drone AIs. Their main drones that stay by their sides are Barringer (white) and Holsinger (black). They also chose the name for Vesta.

EXTRA 2: the horns on Chroma’s head are not permanent. They are removable, worn like head-gear, and is used to relay messages to and from their drones. Their headgear also comes with an ear-piece, which is worn in Chroma’s hidden ear.

EXTRA 3: Chroma looks up to Eve as a fellow artist and admires her work, often visiting the Evenfall Gallery on their free time.

EXTRA 4: Chroma is secretly a fan of SAYU and 1010.

KLIFF, AFTER BBJ RETURNS FROM METEO: “You say you fought a robot in Chroma’s district, huh? That’s funny, I don’t have anything about a ‘strange 1010′ written in my notes. Then again, Meteo isn’t a place I visit everyday.”

NAME: J7 “VESTA” (he/him) AGE: ? OCCUPATION: Meteo District’s Head of Security, Chroma’s companion and overseer of the mines. PLACE OF CONCERT: Lux Museum GENRE: ????/EDM  WEAPON/INSTRUMENTS OF CHOICE: BIORUS Stinger, titanium drill legs. THEME: SECRET BOSS by Camellia 

Formerly known as J7, Vesta is a repurposed and customized 1010 robot who serves as many things within Meteo, with his primary role being Chroma’s bodyguard. Though he and Chroma are close, their relationship can hardly be called romantic. The two share a mutualistic bond over similarities (not in appearance) and the need to protect one another. Chroma is fragile yet wants to keep Vesta safe, whereas Vesta is dangerous to everyone around him, including himself.

Due to glitches in his system from a virus that could not be fully removed in time, he had to be put out of commission. Said glitches from the virus’s remaining effects include:

The inability to fully form his left iris (iris lens expansion causes further glitches and hinders eye movement, thus perpetually stuck in its shrunken form).

The inability to sing and dance like the current builds of 1010.

Glitching caused by the virus’s aftermath. This causes his mind to fragment, and the glitch lasts longer the more intense of an emotion he feels. If he is in close contact with other robots or electronics, one touch can instantly cause them to glitch*, malfunction or even deactivate for a short period of time. If not careful, he can shut down power-grids (this has happened once before, and Chroma knew immediately to ask for Neon J to upgrade their district’s network/systems to prevent a shutdown from ever happening again).

*There is a unique event that comes when Vesta is in close contact with another robot. Should he glitch while feeling intense emotions, he has the ability to project his glitches through contact (via hands, stinger). This will allow whoever he touches (given that they must be a bot) to feel what he feels, only for a short moment.

As a person, despite his appearance, Vesta is very self-conscious. He feels his sheer height may intimidate many, when that doesn’t end up being the case. Non-district visitors may recognize him as a 1010, which causes him to become anxious and overwhelmed. As he was upgraded and customized to Chroma’s likeness, Neon J activated him in Meteo upon Chroma’s request as to not attract attention near the other districts when he would awaken. He has never once come into contact with 1010, only seeing them on giant screens and billboards. Each time he sees them, he feels a strange aching sensation in his robotic core that tells him he should be like them...

As a boss, Vesta is extremely protective of Chroma. During the initial battle against Chroma, Vesta will swoop in before BBJ can finish them off. Seeing Chroma hurt puts Vesta into a glitched rage, causing his system to go into SECURITY MODE. He will then utilize his BIORUS Stinger to attack his opponents, which can extend like a scorpion’s tail. Like Chroma’s mining drones, he has the ability to transform his legs into drills, charging at BBJ with flying kicks and sometimes spinning and attempting to hit them. Like SAYU’s last form/Yinu’s last segment, his battle is a short one, if dodged and timed right. He will experience another malfunction due to his intense emotions, and can be knocked out when he is frozen in place trying to control himself.

EXTRA 1: Vesta was originally a J7 unit, which was supposed to be an indigo color. Due to Neon J later on limiting 1010 to five members, he had to scrap them.

EXTRA 2: Originally, Chroma went to Baracca mansion to ask Neon J for software upgrades for Barringer and Holsinger. While waiting, Chroma stumbled upon a powered down J7 and asked if they could have it. J7 told them that specific bot was off for good reasons, but with much insisting, Neon gave in to Chroma’s pleas, and even gave in to customizing J7 to Chroma’s liking (this resulted in Chroma paying J back by giving him any gem/metal materials he may need to fix/upgrade his own robots).

EXTRA 2.5: Chroma had the intent to have Vesta be customized to match them in some form (horns, diamond pupil, duo-toned palette). 

[phantoms-lair]

The Phantom Detective Redux Chapter 3

“Vultures, that’s definitely Vlad’s work.” Danny glared at the ceiling. He wished the little girl who also spoke English had told him that over the phone. He could have been flying around trying to find them instead of wasting time getting here. 

In all of the mess of last night with him accidently turning Conan into a halfa (and wasn’t THAT unsettling? Was that a new power he could just do? Could Vlad?), he’d never gotten a clear answer as to why Vlad was after Conan.

Like, yeah the kid was scary smart, but Danny hadn’t realized it until he’d spoken to him and as far as he’d known Vlad hadn’t. And his initial guess that it was because he was the detective's son (in an attempt to blackmail said detective) was dashed by Conan admitting he was under a ‘witness protection program’. He doubted Vlad wouldn’t have done the research to show that.

He needed to find some way to keep him safe, but most of the methods he knew for keeping malevolent ghosts out weren’t exactly safe for Halfa use. Which Conan was now for unknown reasons.

He could think about that later. Right now he needed to track the vultures, save his fellow Halfa and-

His train of thought was interrupted by the door slamming open and the girl he had saved yesterday from Skulker storming in with Conan in her arms. She did not look happy.

This was borne out as she began yelling at them in Japanese, only for the small girl to say something involving his name.

“I don’t speak Japanese, but I am very fluent in being thrown under the bus.” Danny said with a mild glare as the angry girl turned on him.

~

The short walk to the Professor’s (it hadn’t been very far) had given Ran more than enough time to build up a heady steam of indignation. As much as she wanted to shake Conan-Shinichi and demand answers, she couldn’t do that right now. He wasn’t waking up, which scared her and fed her anger even more.

Shinichi had been lying to her. And Agasa had been helping him. And if one couldn’t give her answers, the other would.

She barely stopped to kick off her shoes as she marched in the door. The Professor was there with Ai-chan and someone she didn’t know. In any other circumstance, she’d be more discrete, but she was done.

“Hakase, why did I just see Shinichi turn into Conan?  Why did he look so strange? What else have you been keeping from me?” 

Everyone in the room looked at her in shock. Surprisingly, it was Ai-chan who spoke first. “Danny did something weird to him. We don’t understand what.” ‘Danny’ glared at her and said something in English. That was all the impetus Ran needed to turn on him. “What did you do to Shinichi?”

He responded in English again. Ran wasn’t doing badly in her lessons, but he spoke too fast and she was too flustered to translate.

Cona-Shinichi held protectively in her arms, she lashed out with her right leg. The boy ducked back, still shouting in English. Ran shifted her weight and struck again. 

The kick should have smacked him in the head, if not for the fact that his head detached from his shoulders, floating half a foot above. There were twin thuds as Ran misstepped her landing and Haibara fell to the floor in a dead faint. Agasa didn’t look much better himself.

Danny reached up, grabbed his head, and pulled it back onto his shoulders. Conan was still out cold and the only other English speaker had fainted. Great.

He looked to the Professor in a silent plea for help while the kicky girl just looked at him in terror. The Professor looked at him with a bit of fear in his eyes, but he turned to the girl and began to speak. Danny only hoped they were friendly words.

~

"Ran-kun, I know was Danny-kun did was scary," And wasn't that underestimation. As much impossible as he had seen in the past day, that took things one step too far. "But he has been trying to help fix whatever it is he did."

"H-He's a monster!" Ran stammered, clutching Shinichi tighter to her.

Agasa winced. Not just for Danny's sake, but for Shinichi's as well. At least he hadn't been awake to hear it. "Danny-kun's not normal, it's true. But that doesn't make him evil."

"What is he?"

"A yūrei hanyou. At least that's as close a translation as Shinichi-kun and I got." Not much use in hiding that little tidbit when she'd seen him transform.

"You mean yōkai hanyou. A yūrei hanyou doesn't make any sense."

"It doesn't and that's driven Shinichi-kun up the wall." Once quite literally. He'd paced to the end of the room and had gotten halfway up a wall before realizing what was happening. Gravity had temporarily reasserted itself, only for him to catch himself mid-fall, levitating a few inches above the floor before falling the rest of the way. But it didn't seem like a good idea to mention it at the moment. "That's the best translation we have though. Danny-kun doesn't speak Japanese."

Ran turned her attention to the harmless looking boy she's just seen decapitate himself. He was a monster and he'd done something to Shinichi, but apparently was trying to help? She needed answers so badly, but didn't think her English comprehension was good enough to understand them. She thought for a moment and cradling Shinichi in one arm she pulled out her phone. She typed a few moments then held up the screen for him to see. On one side was Japanese, on the other the words 'What did you do to him' 

He looked at the screen then pulled his own phone out of his pocket and began typing before showing her 'I think he absorbed some of my ectoprism. I don't know how. It's never happened before.' 

Ectoprism? Okay she didn't know that word. And somehow Shinichi absorbed it? 'What is ectoprism?' 

Danny assumed she meant ectoplasm. 'Basically the essence of ghosts. The accident pushed a lot into my DNA.' 

Ran felt a shiver down her spine at the idea of 'Ghost Essense' being shoved into someone's genetics. 'What kind of accident' She regretted it a moment later when he saw her question and just looked sad and uncomfortable. 

He was claiming to be part ghost, was she asking about his death? Was that a taboo subject? Somehow the question 'Are you dead?' didn't seem any better. So she switched her question. 'How did you make Shinichi a child?' 

He stared at her phone, but this time just looked confused. He fumbled with his phone a bit. 'What is a shinichi?'

She gave him a look and pointed at the child she was holding. He typed back and showed her 'Conan is a shinichi? I don't know why he was older. It was weird. Maybe it's because he's an adult for his age?

That gave Ran pause. Danny's answers had all been about ghostly things, none of it about Shinichi deaging. And the fact that he didn't seem to know his real name was even a name... "Hakase?" Ran asked in a dangerously sweet voice. "Is there a reason Danny-san, who I was just told was responsible for this, doesn't know Shinichi's real name, and in fact seems to think Conan-kun somehow aged up into Shinichi?" 

"Ah well, that is to say, the part Danny-kun's responsible for, that only happened last night." Agasa definitely looked nervous as he helped Ai onto her bed. 

Her eyes narrowed. "Okay, then why don't you tell me the rest of the story."

~

Well apparently whatever he'd said had been enough to turn her attention to the Professor. She was still mad, but not at him, so good? He had no idea what was going on, though. 

He wished he had someone with him that could help him explain and spoke Japanese and English and... Danny smacked himself in the face then hit a contact number on his phone. "Jazz, are you free? I need some help?" 

"Kisaki-san is talking to Mom so sure. Is this about Vlad?" 

"Kinda, but not really." Danny sighed. "So Vlad's been targeting this kid I thought was the detective's son-" 

"The one you thought could see right through you?" 

"...Yes, and you will understand once you meet him, but that's not the problem. The problem is I...kinda turned him into a halfa last night." 

There was silence on the other end, then "*What? Danny what the actual fu-wHAT DID YOU DO????”

"I just touched him Jazz. And it was like my transformation ring spread like fire over him." Danny ran a hand through his hair. "And now someone I think is his older sister is here, and I'm using google translate to try and explain, and there's something else going on she's mad at this professor guy over and...Jazz I need help." He heard her sigh over the phone. 

"Send me your address, I'll be right there."

Danny hung up and texted her the number. He looked over to the girl and Professor, they were talking about something, something that seemed serious. Also that word shinichi kept popping up. It had something to do with Conan, and he really wished he could find a translation.

~

The more Agasa talked, the more Ran wanted to scream. She felt hurt, used. She looked at the child who wasn't still wrapped in her arms. She wanted to rage at him, but he still wouldn't wake up and that kept an undercurrent of worry beneath all her anger. 

"Was this all just a game to him? A joke I was too stupid to figure out?" 

"Ran-kun no he..." Agasa looked at the still unconscious Shinichi. "You've never seen the back and forth. It's torture. He used to scream..." Agasa shut his eyes. In a way he hated that Shinichi had become so used to the pain he didn't anymore. “There was a very real chance each transformation would kill him. As it is, he has permanent heart damage, barring this whole ghost thing that none of us understand." 

"If Shinichi-kun were truly selfish, he could have started over. Left everything behind and began a new life. That would have been the smartest thing he could have done. But he clung to the one thing that made his old life worth keeping. He clung to you, because you were the most important thing he has. And he'd rather face death then leave you behind. He never took a cure without the intent to see you."

But Agasa was wrong. She had heard the screams. In the diplomat’s house, and after the case where Shinichi was being impersonated. She’s always convinced herself they were nothing, since nothing appeared to be wrong afterwards, but that sound had shaken her.

And Shinichi was still Shinichi after that last incident, which meant after being in that pain he’d immediately gone through it again

 “How are you sure? About the heart damage?” Ran asked quietly.

Agasa was quiet for a moment. “Ai-kun had a bad cold and started to feel pain in her stomach. The doctor wanted to do an ultrasound to check her organs, but she was scared, so Conan volunteered.” He didn’t mention that this had been carefully orchestrated. Not the illness or the kidney infection, but when Ai realized she might get an ultrasound she got the idea to give them a chance to check Shinichi’s internal organs in a way she normally couldn’t.

If the technician hadn’t been focused on the frightened little girl and looking at the screen when she held the scanner over Shinichi’s chest…

“I saw the scarring myself, on the ultrasound screen.” Agasa was very solemn. “He’s been cut off from the temporary cures since, but with so much damage already done-”

“Dai-job-boo-dee-sooka?”

They turned and saw Danny, looking at his screen. He was frowning as though he knew the pronunciation of whatever he was trying to say was off. Finally just turned his phone around so they could see what he was trying to say. Daijōbu desu ka Are you okay?

No, she was very much not okay. She fumbled for a moment with her own phone, now even less willing to put him down. ‘Conan’s heart is hurt’

Danny frowned. The kid was a bit young for romantic heartache so - oh. Oh no.

His face must have given something away, because her eyes narrowed. ‘What’

‘I had a bad idea’ he typed back. He didn’t want to say more, but the look she gave him demanded it. ‘Ectoplasm should not affect a normal person, but if he was probably very close to death’

The response hit Ran in the gut harder than any of the blows she’d taken during her matches. Whatever Danny had done to Shinichi had happened because Shinichi was dying. And he was dying because he refused to give her up.

A sudden knocking at the door startled them all. Danny brightened and ran for the door. 

Ran and Agasa shared a confused look.

Danny came back with a young woman with bright red hair. "Hello, you must be Conan's older sister." The girl said in clear, but accented Japanese. "My name's Jazz, Danny's my little brother, he called me to help." 

"Your brother?" Ran asked, even as she inwardly shrunk at the reminder of Danny still being under the misconception she had been until not to long ago. "Are you...like him?" 

"One hundred percent normal human, if that's what you're asking." Jazz reassured. "But I've been helping my brother adapt for the past years, so I'm very familiar with what's going on." Of course the early days were her weak spot, as she hadn't known till about two months later, and hadn't been let in on everything till the stupid test incident. 

"Do you know why he won't wake up?" Ran asked in a small voice. 

Jazz asked Danny something in English, then nodded and turned her attention back to Ran. "Basically his system didn't have the ectoplasm reserves for what he tried to pull off to escape the creature that kidnapped him-" 

The what that did what now? How many loops was she being left out of?

 "-and his body strained itself trying to maintain. He'll sleep until his ectoplasm levels are back at a safe amount. The first time Danny tried pulling a stunt like that, he was out for four hours." 

"His ectoplasm levels? I don't understand. Danny-san said that he'd absorbed some ghost-essence from him but..." 

Jazz pinched her nose. "Right. Google translate. Okay, so normally ectoplasm, the 'Ghost-Essence', has no effect on humans whatsoever. But there are rare cases that involve a lot of ectoplasm and a fair amount of electricity that can alter a human body to the point where their mitochondria start creating it instead of the usual oxygen based chemical energy. This causes the person to exhibit certain ghost-like traits."

"Yūrei hanyou." Ran whispered. 

"In a nutshell." Jazz agreed, making note of the term. She'd take it over halfa, if for no other reason that Vlad must have approved of the term for it to be bandied about so much. 

And now Ran understood what Danny had done. No wonder he'd had trouble explaining it, the concept shouldn't exist. This wasn't some one and done magical side effect of absorbing some ectoplasm from Danny, something that shouldn't have even happened if he hadn't been dying by inches. 

Co-Shinichi was in the process of becoming a yūrei hanyou. That's why he'd looked so strange as Shinichi. Unbidden, every scary story about people becoming monsters flooded her mind. No. No she could not focus on that because obviously it wasn't true. Danny still had a close connection to his human family. His big sister had stood by him, she'd have to too. 

(Though she had no idea how to define her relationship to him at the moment)

 "I can answer any questions you have, but we might want to wait until he wakes up, I'm sure he has a bunch too." Jazz continued on, unaware of all the thoughts running through Ran's head. 

"He speaks English, wouldn't Danny have-"

Jazz let out a frustrated puff of air. "Oh I have no doubt brother dearest tried explaining. But Danny's not," she glanced at her brother, "he's not the most adept at explaining things even when they're not deeply personal and he's not panicking all over the place, which it seems is what he's been doing. Not that he doesn't have reason. This nice family vacation has turned into a cluster." She sighed deeply. "But one thing I really need to impress is how important this is to keep a secret." 

Ran felt something dark curdle in her stomach. That sounded enough like what Agasa-hakase had been saying to bring the bitter feeling back. "Why?" 

Jazz clenched her hand worriedly. "Are you familiar with a law in America called the Anti-Ecto Act? It basically states that 'Ectoplasmic Entities', despite being sentient and sapient, are not living people and don't the same - or any- inalienable rights. And they don't differentiate between yūrei hanyou and true ghosts."

"If Danny was discovered, he'd be taken to a government facility. The Agents were boasting about all the painful experiments they were going to perform on him. Thankfully Danny convinced them they were wrong about him." She certainly wasn't going to go into the magic artifact with mind wiping capacity. 

“But for a short time we had proof of how people would react to a yūrei hanyou's existence. Those that knew him stood by him, but..to anyone else, he was just a monster, a threat. And I don't know if Japan has an equivalent to the Anti-Ecto Act, but I do know that you place a greater emphasis on conformity than America does. And yūrei hanyou definitely break that mold." 

Ran wanted to argue that Shinichi had never conformed to anything, not since preschool when he'd accused the teacher of trying to do something terrible to her. But she knew the difference between excelling and nonconforming, and the truth was Shinichi excelled, physically and mentally. 

This was very different. If word got out Conan was Shinichi, these mysterious people in Black Clothes would kill him. If word got out he was a yūrei hanyou, his life would be effectively over. It felt like balancing on the edge of a knife. Shinichi standing on tiptoe, trying to avoid falling into ruin. "How did your parents take it?" 

Jazz's expression darkened. "Our parents' work was instrumental in helping draft the Anti-Ecto Act."

"What? How could they?" 

"They don't know. Danny always insisted if they did, they'd change. They'd love him anyways. But it's been two years and he hasn't told them. I don't think he's ever going to. In some ways he feels safer with actual malevolent spirits that definitely mean him harm, because he knows they can't hurt him the same way Mom and Dad can." Emotionally or physically. "It's not healthy growing up and hearing your parents talking about how much they'd enjoy ripping apart beings like you 'molecule by molecule'."

Ran shuddered. Hearing it that way, it sounded like the ghosts weren't the scary ones in this scenario. And if Jazz-san was right about Danny not being able to explain things well, Shinichi might have no idea of that added complication. "So what now?" 

"The first month to month and a half are going to be the roughest part. His body doesn't know what to do with its ectoplasm, and will have trouble regulating its use. This results in ghost powers that randomly go off, especially in time of high emotions. After that he'll be able to control it more, no more passing out, for example, since his powers will simply fail rather than push him past his limits. Or accidental power usage. Once he hits the two month mark, he'll be fine, it'll just be a bit awkward until then."

Two months. She could keep it together for two months. “Is there any way to wake him up?” She asked. It helped being told this was normal, but not as much as him waking up would.

“We always let Danny sleep it off, although…” Jazz trailed off as she thought for a moment. “Would you be willing to let Danny hold him?”

“Why?” Ran was loath to let Shinichi go, and moreso to Danny, who was the  reason Shinichi was turning into a yūrei hanyou in the fist place. 

“His body needs ectoplasm right now, and barring letting it generate naturally in his cells, Danny’s the only other source we have.” Jazz explained calmly. 

It made sense and she hated it. She held Conan a little closer and almost screamed as Danny suddenly changed in a burst of white light. The last thing she wanted to do was hand Conan over but…

But she’d seen those green eyes and white hair before. On Shinichi. Danny and Shinichi were the same, being afraid of one would be being afraid of the other, and she couldn’t bring herself to be afraid of Shinichi like that.

She reluctantly handed him over. Danny cradled him and his arms began to glow green.

Before she could change her mind, Shinichi’s eyes blinked open and he looked around blankly. 

~

He felt...not warm, but it felt warm. Like in the laying in a sunbeam way, or being cozy in a blanket on a cold morning. But it wasn’t a temperature thing. It was weird.

He opened his eyes and saw Danny in his ghostly state. “Why are you holding me?” he asked dryly.

“More I’m recharging you.” Danny answered back in the same tone. He raised a glowing hand. “You used up all of your ectoplasm and knocked yourself out. Now that you’re back with us, hopefully your sister can calm down a bit. Also what’s a shinichi, she keeps using that word.”

His sister? Wait, he couldn’t mean… “Ran?”

“Who ran?” Danny asked, but Conan ignored him and looked around.

“Shinichi,” she said in a tone that meant the jig was well and truly up.

“Seriously, what does that mean?” Danny grumbled.

Conan gulped and flickered for a moment.

“Nope, gonna need you to stop that.” Danny chided him. “I know you can’t really help it at this point, but you’re still low on power.”

Conan was only half listening to him, half to the one person in the roof he didn’t know. “Invisibility and Intangibility tend to trigger as a fear response, and if he’s like Danny, he’s going to be on the verge of both of those until he’s more settled.” The young woman then turned to him. “Hello Conan, my name is Fenton Jazz. I’m Danny’s older sister and I’m here to hopefully explain things a little better.”

~

"Now keep in mind, the science of this isn't my main area of expertise, but between listening to my parents ramble my whole life, and helping Danny for the last two years-” Jazz began.  She’d gone into full lecture mode. Ran and Agasa were sitting on the couch with Haibara between them, and Conan between Ran and a once more human Danny.

“- I've picked up a few things. Now mind you some of this will be theoretical, but I'll let you know when those things come up and - Danny are you falling asleep?" The last part was said in English.

"I don't speak Japanese Jazz, I'm not going to get anything from your lecture because I can't understand a word of it. Yesterday sucked and Vlad could be doing something at any moment, plus I was just used as a human battery. Lemme rest."

She rolled her eyes. "Ignoring my brother, let's go back to what makes a ghost." 

"Death." Said Haibara bluntly. 

"Yes, but also no. While the death of a living thing is certainly the most common way ghosts are formed, not all deaths created ghosts, nor are all ghosts the result of something dying. The real answer is ectoplasm.” 

“A living being is made up of two parts, a body and soul. Bodies are well documented, souls less so. They're not physical and made up of what I'm going to call, for lack of a better term, spiritual energy. When a living being dies usually the soul passes over or dissipates - we've got nothing to help figure that out so we're not dwelling on it. But very rarely it doesn't. Instead the spiritual energy in the soul is converted to ectoplasm and the being becomes a ghost." 

"Unlike spiritual energy, Ectoplasm is..." Jazz faltered for a word. "It's more in your face. Where the soul can't be seen, ectoplasm can't help but express itself. It can be solid or ephemeral, and can mimic any state of matter. It's potential can be almost limitless, however the potential in each individual ghost is limited."

"All ghosts have a core, which is a bit to a ghost what a soul is to a living being. Though it's a part of them, it can't be seen or extracted." Her parents had tried, which she didn’t like dwelling on. "But is ineffably a part of them. The core also functions a bit like a nucleus, as it defines what a ghost’s focus is, what powers they have, and their inherent nature. As a ghost's appearance tends to be a reflection of their self image, that can change over time. But the only way to alter a ghost’s core is by forcing them to experience something literally soul shattering. This...it's something that will never end well and that's all I'll say on the matter." She'd seen it happen to Danny in another timeline and she'd never let anyone go through that if she could help it. 

"There are two more kinds of ghosts, but they're not what you want me to be here for, so I'm just going to touch on them briefly. Throw-offs are ghosts that are created by the will of other ghosts, formed of their own ectoplasm but as an independent being. Penelope Spectra, the ghost of an abusive psychologist, created a throw-off named Bertrand to act as her personal assistant. Likewise the self-styled 'Captain Youngblood', the ghost of someone who died as a small child created a parrot to act as both playmate and parental figure. Both of them can shapeshift to better suit their creator's needs, though without a larger sample size I can't say if that's a coincidence or a common trait of Throw-offs."

"The final kind are what I call Spontaneous. The limbo ghosts tend to be stuck in unless they find a way to the world of the living seems to be made primarily of ectoplasm and sometimes unlife just happens. This can range from barely sentient blobs, such as ectopusses, to beings of comparable human intelligence, like Skulker, whom you met yesterday. But for now let's move on to the rarest ectoplasmic beings, which is what you actually need to learn about. Halfas, or as you called them yūrei hanyou."

Jazz motioned to the small boy sitting between Ran and the now snoozing Danny. "Conan-kun here is the fourth to ever exist, as far as we can tell. We only have minor observational data from the first, the third was a special case, so mostly what I'm going on is Danny, since he and his friends have been cataloging data practically since day one." 

Agasa nodded, pleased they had thought to do so. 

"So yūrei hanyou are usually created by a living person being ground zero for a rift between worlds opening due to ectoplasm being charged with an incredibly powerful electrical current. And by which I mean ‘could kill several people in seconds’ powerful. Thankfully the ectoplasm changes it enough that the person exposed enters what I call the 'Schrödinger State'." 

"Alive and dead at the same time." Conan said darkly. 

Jazz nodded. "The person's spiritual energy is fully converted to ectoplasm without the soul separating from their body. This gives you access to a ghost form. In addition, as I explained to Ran-san earlier, the mitochondria in each cell are producing ectoplasm instead of it’s normal adenosine triphosphate, which allows you to manifest ghost powers in your human form. But your body hasn’t learned how to regulate it yet. That's why you're unstable right now. Not helping that is because of the energized ectoplasm that creates them, yūrei hanyou are by default some of the most powerful ghosts in existence."

"Really?" Ran asked with some trepidation. She didn't like hearing about ghosts, though the more lecture-like nature of Jazz as opposed to Sonoko's scary stories made it more palpable. 

"As I said, despite what living in Amity Park might have you believe, becoming a ghost is really really rare. Much less than 1% of people who die become ghosts and those who do are mostly weak enough that if they make it to the land of the living they can't be seen, heard, or affect anything. Most ghosts need to find a way to siphon energy from elsewhere to boost themselves enough to do anything. Some feed off human emotions, others find a nexus point saturated in ectoplasmic energy. But the process can take years to decades depending on the abundance of the source. And that level of power, the type that takes decades to achieve. That's your starting point."

"Power absorbed through the environment or emotions is reliable, but temporary. They would constantly need to recharge to maintain a steady output." Hence Spectra's need to feed the misery that fed her. Without a flowing source her power consumption far outstripped what her core was capable of. "That's not to say ghosts can't become more powerful in their own right, just that it's not a quick process." 

"Here's where we're entering some of the more theoretical stuff, namely how Ghosts can permanently raise their power. One theory is self awareness. Ghosts who are the result of dead humans tend to be composed of memories and emotions from when they were alive. And that in better understanding those, they deepen their own abilities. I won't say it's untrue, but as many ghosts wouldn't have the patience for it, it would be at least highly uncommon." 

"Some, shall we say, rather biased individuals believe ghosts can strengthen themselves through human suffering. They are wrong. While ghosts can feed off human emotions, including negative ones, as we established before it's a temporary fix. Then we get to the theory I have the most faith in. Obsession fulfillment." 

"What fulfillment?" Conan asked, startled.

Jazz winced. She was used to this part being common knowledge. "I mentioned ghosts tend to be made of emotions and memories. Usually there's something tying it all together into a drive. This drive, usually referred to as a fixation or obsession, is central to the ghost's being and usually forms their identity to a greater degree." 

"It's...easier for yūrei hanyou. It's there, but more of a compulsion than an all consuming drive. Something they can choose to ignore, but it won't necessarily be easy to do." 

"So I'm going to develop one of these?" Conan's voice was small. 

Ran snorted. "Going to? You've been obsessed with mysteries and mystery solving since at least kindergarten. I really doubt there's going to be a noticeable difference."

"Going back to before,” Jazz continued, though it would be cute if Conan-kun’s thing was solving mysteries to be like his father, “it's my personal theory that the best way for ghosts to grow their core is by successfully doing whatever their fixation is focused on. It also explains the growth difference between Vlad and Danny." 

Conan had been looking like he was halfway between sulking and being relieved, but he shot straight up at the mention of their culprit. "How so?" 

"Vlad's fixation is about having things. Once he had his powers stable, it was easy for him to just take whatever he wanted through force or trickery. He's only been active twenty some years, but his power levels had risen to a degree it takes most ghosts centuries to obtain. Talking with other ghosts I've been able to chart a pretty steady growth - until two years ago." 

Conan raised an eyebrow at Jazz's self satisfied smile. "What happened two years ago?" 

"Vlad found three things he couldn't obtain through money or power. Ownership of the Green Bay Packers, since they can't be owned by an individual by their charter. The love of his college sweetheart, since Mom has standards. And for Danny to love him like a father and hate our actual Dad. Don't think I have to explain why that's not happening. But because of those three things, he wasn't getting what he wanted. He tried to get them, but it didn't strengthen him since he never actually succeeded." 

"Danny's fixation is-" Jazz rolled her eyes fondly, "- being a hero. He's driven to help people who need help, even putting his personal safety at risk. It's something he sadly gets to indulge in often, sometimes multiple times a day. As a result Danny's growth has eclipsed Vlad to the point where he's almost caught up to Vlad's core power level in a mere two years." 

It was good to know there was a strong chance Danny could supersede Vlad in not too much time, at least on one playing field, but that brought up a new worry. "So if my thing is solving mysteries, and I solve them fairly frequently, this is going to get worse?"

"Worse is a bad way to think about it." Jazz said gently. "I won't say parts of it aren't going to suck, especially for the next month or so, but it's not all bad. However illogical they may be, powers are useful as long as you have control, and that's something you can have with a bit of work. Can you honestly tell me there's no time being invisible would have been useful as a detective? Or walking through walls would have made an escape easier?" 

He didn't like how easily past examples filled his head. Heck, if he's been invisible when spying on Vodka that night, he wouldn't be three feet high now. "I still don't like it." 

"Neither did Danny at first. In fact he downright hated it. But now it's so much a part of him, I don't think he'd know what to do if he got back to normal." Honestly probably get himself badly hurt trying to protect other people. "Do you want me to keep going, or is that enough for one day? I know it's a lot." 

"If there's nothing vital, I think I'm good." He had more than enough to dwell on. 

"I don't know if Danny's mentioned this, but be aware around things meant to ward against spirits, they can be uncomfortable." Jazz advised. "Other than that you should be good." 

Ran sighed and glanced at her watch. "We should probably go home. Dad will be getting worried."

"You go. I think I should stay here until I'm a bit more stable." Conan winced, "Imagine trying to explain any of this to him. And it's not like I can hide it." As if to prove his point, he started to sink into the cushions. 

"Danny wake up!" Jazz said sharply. Danny shot awake and rolled forward, ready for a fight. Jazz simply pointed to where Conan was stuck in the couch. He rolled his eyes and turned his arms intangible to pull him out. "Would it be okay if my brother stays too? He can help Conan and act as a defense if Vlad tries to silence him again." 

"Certainly. There's not a lot of extra bed space but there's somewhere Shinichi and he can go if needed." Agasa said

“Who’s Shinichi?” Jazz asked.

“There’s that word again,” Danny muttered.

There were awkward looks abound, but no one answered either sibling. Jazz sighed. “Unless you have anymore questions, I’ll see you tomorrow Danny.”

Danny blinked. “Tomorrow? Aren’t I going to the hotel with you?”

Jazz rolled her eyes. “I just said you should stay with Conan to help him manage his powers and in case Vlad makes another attempt.”

That made sense but…”I’m guessing, like most of what you’ve been saying, you said it in Japanese. The language you know I don’t speak.” He grinned, knowing he had her.

Jazz stared at him a moment, then pinched her nose. “Point to you. I’m still heading out.”

“Wait,” Danny stopped her. “In your lecture did you mention Halfa’s regeneration ability?”

“No, and you really should start using yūrei hanyou, like they do.” Jazz advised.

Danny rolled his eyes. “And why would I want to change the only word I’ve had for myself for the past two years.”

“Do you really think all those ghosts would use a word to describe Vlad that he didn’t personally approve of?”

Okay, any distance between himself and Vald was good. “Okay, but seriously. Please tell her about yurry hanyo healing.”

“Yūrei hanyou,” Jazz corrected his pronunciation. “And they’ve all had to deal with a lot of new information at once. Non essential things-”

“It’s essential. Trust me.”

Danny looked so serious Jazz sighed and gave in. “Before I go, brother dearest wants me to go into a little more detail on one of the perks of being a yūrei hanyou, namely their healing capacity. Though not instantaneous, they do heal much faster than baseline humans and can recover completely from injuries humans never could without so much as a scar. I have a theory about how it’s related to their core, but that’s far from proven.”

Injuries...like heart scarring. Ran gave Danny a grateful look. “Thank you.” Both for telling her and...she may not have liked the idea of Shinichi becoming a weird ghost hybrid, but from what she’d been told earlier, it very well have saved his life.

Agasa and Ai shared a look of their own. They’d need confirmation but if that were true it would be a huge relief to both of them. Conan glanced around and read the reactions of everyone except for the honestly confused Jazz. “You told them.” He accused Agasa.

“Yes he did.” Ran confirmed.  “And I’m glad he did. And- we can talk about this later.” It was obvious Danny and Jazz didn’t know the truth about Shinichi and it wasn’t her place to tell them. “But rest assured, we will.”

Conan gulped and his form flickered again, before vanishing completely from sight.

“It’s a good sign your ectoplasm is regenerating.” Jazz said. “That being said, it’s obvious there’s something you’re not telling us, so if you’re trying to keep other people from figuring it out, you need to be better about the fact that you’re hiding a secret. I won’t ask what it is, we understand better than most how life or death a secret can be.  But at least one of your secrets isn’t just your own.” With that, she walked out.

Danny sighed heavily. “I really need to learn Japanese.”

[sou-ver-2-0]

I think the deal with the monitor room is that the AIs can just be synced in like monitors to pcs so my guess is that the floormasters just plugged the AIs of the candidates who survived the first trial in while everyone was downstairs. I guess they didn’t add the dummies because meeting them for the first time in ch3 is an important element of the subgame? Also they don’t seem to want the cast to know about Joe AI because clearly he’s not supposed to be a candidate but they were expecting him.

Now I’m also thinking that if the mastermind/Meister/memo man wants Sara specifically to win, maybe the simulations exist to create the perfect mix of participants to increase her chance. Some characters would probably survive some trials, but not others just based on their thinking style and skills. As for Shin, he’s weird because his trial relies on him either never surviving the sims or surviving so few times that it rounds down to zero. Keiji was also probably shown the papers

The papers themselves change the flow of events, Keiji immediately trying to get on Sara’s good side and Shin not trusting her. The implied lack of card roles in the sims makes me think that unless it’s just a math error by nakidai, maybe the simulations were literally only first trials, if not miscellaneous things akin to island existence. We still don’t know Reko or Gin’s trials, any details from the dummies’, Kai’s if he had one, or Keiji and Megumi’s though I have my theories about that one

I like these!! Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts with me!

I actually don’t have much worthy commentary to add! I was already pretty much on the same page with you with your first two messages and the beginning of your third message, but I really appreciate how you were able to word your thoughts so clearly and concisely, while I’ve been stumbling a bit. :) So that’s great!

After that, I find your theories in your third message intriguing! Even if we can’t say exactly how the simulations worked, your guesses are logical. I respect that!

I admit that I have a lot of self-indulgent ideas about the simulations, mainly because I’m deeply invested in what the percentages can tell us about the characters’ personalities, and possibly their relationships with each other. For example, I like to think that the reason Megumi’s percentage is so low is due to the presence of Keiji, who would be a formidable foe to her. 

I’ll also admit that I happen to really like the idea that the characters have been “stuck in cycles” (via the simulations), playing this Death Game for a long time, and now that we’re in “real life” as opposed to “AI life,” it’s the final cycle and the final chance for the characters to break free. However, I admit that it’s fully possible that I’m reading the percentage papers the wrong way, just because I have a rather romantic notion about them...

In any case, thank you for reaching out and answering my plea for help! I appreciate it a lot. <3

[deviationdivine]

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

gif by arsuf 

F!reader x Connor

13.6k words

Detroit: Become Human - 1 Year Anniversary Release Celebration

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, he isn’t… He. Yes, he. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Require? What?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Connor?”

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

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

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

Obeying you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This can be your room.”

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

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

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

Yes, of course he’s a machine but…

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Connor.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N?”

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

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

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

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

 ^Software Instability

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

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

 >Obey

>Leave Alone

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

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

 >Analyzing: Y/L/N, Y/N

Stress: 31.6%

Blood Pressure: 124/80

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That isn’t why, Connor.”

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

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

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

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

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

 ^Software Instability

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Connor?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is the piece that truly begins everything…

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

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

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

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

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

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

Connor did. Is his social program that good?

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

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

August 15th

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Welcome home, Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are you lying, Y/N?”

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

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

“I am sorry but you are lying!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right now you ignore it. “Connor.”

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

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

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

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

“But I disobeyed. I lost control of…”

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

He frowns. “I am not human.”

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

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

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

“Connor, what are you-?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Connor. Connor, what’s wrong?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

November 1st

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Connor.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good morning, Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

“Are you hungry? I hope you are.”

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

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

^Software Instability

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N.” Connor reaches down. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you like dogs, Connor?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey. I said hey!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get the hell off me!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Connor!”

  ^72%

Level of Stress

>Do not defend

>Obey Code Programming

>Do n defend

>Do defend

>defend

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

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

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

 >Protect Y/N

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There is no will. When he is a machine!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 ^Software Instability

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The thought of being taken - scares him. 

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

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

Silence is best.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Con, I want you to…”

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

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

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

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

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

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