#I have to do a several hour drive to the two detroit ones in like a week. its not so bad road trips can be fun in their own right w family | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

asset35-maya · 3 years ago

Note

I am sleepy but I gotta make a request before the busy tomorrow so 2 things on my mind! Sleepy and the 'oh my god they were roomates' vine xD with any characters and aus I love everything you write anyways xD Happy timezones and best vibes your way >^<!! 💖💞💕💕

Oh my god, they were roommates…

“The rental market in Detroit is absolute shit! How dare these bloodsuckers charge such high rates for the most under-developed properties! This city’s going to the dogs!”

“Uh-huh.”

“You have to pay your own weight in gold just to live in a shoebox for a year. Nonsense!”

“Uh…”

“Are you even listening to me, Tina!

Tina?

Goddamnit Tina!”

Gavin thumped his fist on her desk, but Tina’s eyes barely flicked up from her phone.

“Oh my god, you sound like my grandpa…”

Gavin turned red and his brain buzzed with a thousand colourful retorts. He was just about to pick one when Tina stopped scrolling and turned her phone screen towards him.

CYBERSCALIA @ NEW JERICHO

The suburban paradise for executive androids and humans alike. Located 25 minutes drive from downtown Detroit, with a full amenities.

Gavin’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. He balked at her.

“You’re joking? How could I possibly…?”

“Get with the times, boomer…”

Tina lazily skimmed her thumb over the screen. The webpage promised plenty of greenery, good infrastructure and modest but spacious rooms. The extremely reasonable price tag was Gavin’s dream come true. He’d spent weeks apartment hunting in the wake of an early lease termination by his cantankerous landlord. Gavin knew he’d never find a better deal.

“Shit, this is so good, T! Why the phck does it have to be in that- that place!”

His friend arched a sceptical eyebrow.

“What place?”

“The Tincan ghetto!”

Tina smacked him on the arm. None too gently.

“It’s subsided public housing located in an android-friendly estate… because they’re the ones that need it most right now. And frankly, you seem to be in just as much need, so you should really get off that high horse.”

“Fine, fine. You’re right. I should seriously consider this place, even if my neighbours are gonna have more in common with my car than me. But damn, it seems a little too good to be true. There’s probably some fine print, hidden costs that’ll come out later.”

“Hmm… let’s see…”

Tina scrolled further and then let out a half-laugh. She held her phone up again.

“Nothing shady about the rates, but there is something you should know…”

At the risk of being called old again, Gavin squinted at the screen and read aloud.

“Bearing in mind the founding principles of New Jericho, all human occupants may only apply for tenancy in co-habitation with at least one android citizen of the United States of- JESUS PHCKING CHRIST! Absolutely not! I am not going to live with a plastic prick!”

Gavin had to get through half a bottle of wine before he could bear to scroll through the rental listings. Unlike other humans who had happily moved into New Jericho with their android friends or partners, he had to find an android who was also looking for a flatmate.

Some listings came from ardent supporters of Markus. These were the androids who wanted to ease the post-revolution transition by reaching out to humans. Some listings were put up by the android equivalent of frat boys. These individuals were clearly looking for someone on the fringes of human society, someone who could show them a good (if not illegal) time.

Other posts came from eccentric androids who craved company but had likely been rejected by their own kind. Gavin felt a strange twisting sensation, almost like pity, when he came across a post written entirely in third person by someone called Ralph.

He had almost given up hope when he came across a simple little listing for a two bedroom apartment in Cyberscalia.

RK900 #313 248 317 - 87: Seeking a neat, self-sufficient co-renter. Human or android, no preference. I spend most of my time working and will be out of your way for the better part of the day. I only ask for silence during my nighttime stasis cycles, timely payment of dues and upkeep of cleanliness.

Gavin sighed in relief.

“Your room is the first door on the left, mine is the second. The bathroom, laundry and kitchenette are shared, as is the living room. I scarcely find use for the latter, so you need not worry about my intruding on any of your social gatherings, or vice versa. As long as you adhere to the terms of the agreement, our paths will not cross much.”

The tall, stiff-necked android dropped a set of keys, both mechanical and digital, into Gavin’s open palm.

“Er thanks.. RK… sorry I forgot your full model number…”

“You may call me Nines. Although, I’d rather you didn’t call me much of anything. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

In a swish of black fabric, the android turned on his heel and disappeared into his room. Two rapid clicks indicated the shutting and locking of his door.

Gavin sighed and looked around the open-plan living room. It was nothing fancy, but it was far beyond any of the other properties he’d viewed in weeks of unsuccessful house-hunting.

He sat down on the simple black couch with a huff and contemplated his situation. He’d ended up where he’d truly never expected to go, but objectively speaking, things were good… barring the high-handed manner of his robot flatmate, but who gave a shit about that.

He pulled out his phone to text Tina his thanks.

“I can’t! I refuse to! It is a violation of my personal ethics and I will simply not take this assignment any further. Good day to you sir!”

Gavin nearly dropped his bowl of cereal one morning when his roommate burst out of his door and rushed into the open balcony.

He hadn’t seen Nines in days, which was perfectly normal. The android came and went at odd hours and made hardly any noise. It was almost like living alone. The only reminder of Nines’ presence was the sight of several dark shirts and trousers regularly hung out to dry on the rack above the washing machine.

Gavin set his bowl down and watched the android tightly grip the bars of the railing and take several unnecessary breaths to calm down. He’d seen deviant colleagues express emotion many times before, but this was the first time he witnessed such a potent mixture of rage and sorrow from a synthetic being.

Out of empathy, but mostly curiosity, Gavin approached cautiously.

“Hey Nines… is everything alright…?”

There was no response for several moments. Then Nines turned around with a grimace and hands held upwards in a placating gesture.

“I apologise for the disturbance. It was hypocritical of me to disrupt the very peace and quiet I demand of you.”

“Uh… no worries…? Are you okay?”

There was a flash of steel blue eyes.

Gavin kicked himself mentally as he realised too late that he’d broached uncharted territory. Their interactions didn’t extend beyond curt nods on the rare occasion they found each other in the same space. It was almost as if Nines engineered the lack of contact, which wouldn’t surprise Gavin at all if it were the case.

“I’m fine. I merely experienced some frustration with my work.”

Perhaps it was boredom, perhaps it was his usual lack of self-preservative instinct… Gavin threw caution to the winds.

“What do you actually do?”

Nines’ expression remained stoic but his LED went through a spectacular series of colours and flashes. His next words were reluctant.

“I’m a private investigator.”

“Oh shit! I’m actually a cop.”

Gavin pointed dumbly at himself and then let his hand drop when he saw absolutely no surprise cross the android’s face.

“I know. That’s why I let you stay with me.”

“For safety?”

“Certainly not for your fashion sense.”

“Wow okay, I didn’t think I’d be much protection for a big scary droid like you.”

Nines hummed dismissively and started to move out of the balcony, body language fully indicating the end of the conversation.

Unable to help himself for some strange reason, Gavin blurted out another ill-advised question.

“What pissed you off so much?”

Nines paused halfway through side-stepping the human. A thrill went through Gavin at the shards of ice he observed for the first time up close in Nines’ irises.

“If I tell you, will you promise to stop asking pointless questions?”

Gavin nodded earnestly, and frankly… rather foolishly.

“I helped a client gather evidence to initiate divorce proceedings on the grounds of infidelity. I provided ample photo and video evidence for his lawyers to work with. Now they want me to keep following the spouse to capture more details that could gear any future settlement in his favour.”

“So what’s your problem?”

“They’re offering me an incredible amount of cash to follow her 24/7. To stake out her workplace, her gym, her parent’s home. They want me to crouch under the window of the bedroom where her children sleep. I can do a lot of things, but not that. It’s deeply insulting that they even asked. That’s why I was so… pissed.”

Nines slipped past and was nearly back to his bedroom when Gavin spoke.

“I respect that.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“I know, but for real though, I think ethics are important in our line of work. Not just because of we need morals or a sense of right or wrong blablabla, but because we need… clarity.”

Silence floated through the hallway as Nines paused with a hand on his doorframe.

“Clarity?”

“Yeah, like a sense of direction. We don’t just take cases right-left-centre because they make us money. I mean, we could, and people do… but they never become specialists or experts of any kind. You gotta strategise if you want a career. Ethics helps with that. I think…”

Gavin wasn’t sure what made him say any of that. He was neither one for small talk, nor a man of many words… but something about Nines prompted that unusual level of introspective discourse.

“Sorry that was weird. Never mind.”

“That was actually… very astute.”

Their eyes met and Gavin could’ve sworn he saw the hint of a smile.

“It’s good to see that not all humans are as one-dimensional as I thought.”

The door clicked shut, but there was no locking sound.

Since the morning of Nines’ uncharacteristic outburst, the frequency of their encounters in the common areas of the apartment increased. Wordless nods became hellos, and hellos eventually became full sentences.

Not that he’d admit it, Gavin actually looked forward to enquiring about the android’s day and the cases he was working on. It was utterly fascinating to hear about legal investigations without the constraints of police procedure.

For his part, Nines would share as much as he had the patience to, before disappearing into the confines of his room. Though the time he spent outside steadily increased every day.

Another morning, while Gavin was making his coffee, Nines emerged from his room, still in his pyjamas and looking as livid as he had the time before. Gavin had never seen him in anything but crisply ironed businesswear. Before he could voice any concern, Nines stiffly asked Gavin to keep a lookout for a homicide suspect.

He nodded and immediately reached for his phone to text the sergeant on duty at his station. By midday, there was an arrest.

That evening, when Gavin settled in front of the TV with his usual glass of wine, he heard the familiar sound of Nines’ door opening. The couch dipped beside him.

“Thank you.”

“Just did my job. I should thank you for the tip.”

“Hmm.”

Gavin chanced a glance at his roommate, and found him looking right back.

“What?”

“Nothing… I just had the realisation that much of my work is impotent without the authority and means to take any kind of action.”

The sitcom began to play and Gavin thumbed the remote to reduce the volume.

“Takes all kinds to keep the streets clean. PIs can do things cops can’t. We rely on guys like you for intel all the time, you know.”

“I know.”

No words were exchanged for a while thereafter. Gavin found himself unable to focus on the TV show with all the brooding energy emanating from his right.

“If you feel like being a private eye doesn’t make enough of a difference, then why didn’t you… um… you know…”

“Join law enforcement?”

“Yup.”

“Plenty of my fellow androids have done so. I know for a fact that my predecessor model chose to remain there. You might know him.”

“Connor? Yes. Very annoying.”

“He is, isn’t he?”

“Totally. But why didn’t you join too? You’d be brilliant on the Force.”

“My skillset is certainly well-suited, but I didn’t want to become another puppet of the state.”

Gavin really didn’t know what to say to that. He nodded uncertainly and looked back at the television. He wasn’t sure why Nines was suddenly this social.

“What are you… watching?”

Androids could scan and detect just about anything in the world, so there had to be something else to the question. Gavin, strangely, was happy to oblige.

Nines made an appearance every evening, without fail. He would sit through the TV shows if they were of interest, or he would bring his case material and notes to the coffee table to work in silence beside Gavin.

Sometimes Gavin liked to work on jigsaw puzzles on the dining table. Nines would sit beside him, pretending to read a paperback novel, but actually scanning the puzzle and passing the right pieces over from time to time.

Against all odds, an evening ritual and a tentative friendship developed. It was simple, but it was warm. Comfortable. Like nothing Gavin had ever had before, even with humans.

He awoke one morning with a slight crick in his neck but the feeling of being very well-rested.

His eyes flickered open and fell upon the window. Familiar greenery came into view… but wait… had everything slightly shifted to the left? And was that the New Jericho Capitol building? He couldn’t see that from his room! There was a tree in the way! A tree that was now a few feet away from where it used to be.

Gavin sat up in alarm as he realised that he was not in his own bed. His heart flew into his throat as Nines walked through the open doorway. Shirtless and carrying a mug of blue liquid.

“Oh good, you’re up.”

“Wha-what happened!?”

Nines frowned and sat down on the edge of the bed. He set the mug on the floor and pulled on a plain black t-shirt.

“You passed out on the couch last night. I think you finished a whole bottle waiting up for me? Sorry, I was out working later than expected.”

Gavin looked down and sighed in relief as he found all his clothes still on him.

“I didn’t want you to injure yourself sleeping at an odd angle so I brought you here. Your door was locked.”

“You could’ve easily opened it.”

“Yes, but that would’ve been an invasion of privacy. I reserve that for working hours alone.”

Gavin looked deep into the sparkling blue eyes and as usual found no trace of humour.

“Thanks…”

“Don’t mention it. Now get out. You’re ruining my silk sheets.”

Against his best efforts, Gavin could not keep the thought of being carried to bed and tucked in safely out of his mind. How many years had it been? Since something like that had been even remotely possible for him?

He knew that Nines was just being kind in his own pragmatic little way… but Gavin found that he wouldn’t mind the prospect of waking up in the android’s bed in a wildly different context.

He realised he had it bad when Tina caught him smiling to himself at work one day.

“Why so happy?”

“Oh… nothing. Just remembered something my roommate did… He’s a… funny guy.”

“Huh. Well, look at you getting along so well with androids.”

“Android. Singular. Just him.”

“Wowwww… he sounds special.”

“Who did this?”

“Gavin, the damage is merely superficial-”

“Who phcking did this??!”

He reached forward and gingerly touched Nines’ split cheek. His synth skin was smeared with blue blood and glitching in and out. Nines winced at the contact.

“Shit, sorry. That must hurt like a bitch.”

“Androids do not feel pain.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m merely experiencing a surge in sensory input wherever my chassis is exposed. I’m fine.”

“Shut up and give me your first aid kit or whatever toolbox equivalent you tincans have.”

A shade of embarrassment appeared over the android’s features.

“I… actually don’t have one. I didn’t think I’d ever need it.”

“Didn’t think anyone could kick your ass, huh?”

“No… I didn’t think anyone would ever spot my hiding place.”

“Huh. How’d that happen?”

Nines’ eyes dipped, but as always, he answered the question.

“I was… distracted.”

Something in the air solidified and both of them felt it. Gavin cleared his throat and slapped his knees like an old man about to stand up.

“Right. Let me go check if the neighbours have anything that might help with your face.”

“So who’s this dapper young gent you’ve brought to the party, Gavin?”

“Er… he’s my uh… roommate.”

Captain Fowler nodded and winked.

“That’s what they called it in my day too.”

Nines shifted beside Gavin and cleared his throat.

“He’s a PI. But I think he’s wasting his talent taking pictures of cheating spouses. He’s quite interested in police work. Maybe we could get him to assist on a couple cases now and then?”

Fowler put down his drink and extended a warm hand to Nines.

“Oh thank RA9!”

Nines came running to the cluster of police cars and enveloped him in a giant hug. Gavin laughed as he patted him weakly on the back.

“Watch the ribs, big guy.”

“I was so worried.”

“Why? Your info was good. No chance of error.”

“I meant about you.”

Gavin pulled back and regarded Nines with confusion. The flashing red and blue lights of the cars made it hard to read his LED.

“Why?”

“I can’t believe you have to ask.”

The android pulled him into a bruising kiss. The officers standing nearby broke into wolf-whistles and applause.

“What the-”

“Oh I take full credit for that, sir.”

Fowler glanced at Tina.

“The case, Chen?”

“Oh of course. I solved the whole thing. But I mean that specifically.”

She waved a hand in Gavin and Nines’ direction. The two held each other tightly and seemed unlikely to come up for air anytime soon.

“Like I helped Gav find an affordable place in New Jericho and then he met this handsome investigator droid and they were roommates.”

“Oh my god, they were roommates…”

“Yeah legit.”

\\\

Thanks so much for the request @jude-shotto

This ended up being a lot longer than expected, but I couldn’t help it. Your prompt just took me on a whole journeyyyy <3

#maya bday ask event #reed900 #rk900 #gavin reed #dbh gavin #dbh nines #gavin900 #gavin x nines #gavin x rk900 #dbh fanfic #dbh rk900 #dbh #dbh writing #my writing

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mordenheim · 2 years ago

Text

I posted 91 times in 2022

That's 14 more posts than 2021!

34 posts created (37%)

57 posts reblogged (63%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@pumpkinspice-pony

@ask-de-writer

@themarvelhorse

@wind-the-mama-cat

@goattrain

I tagged 78 of my posts in 2022

Only 14% of my posts had no tags

#friend art - 21 posts

#fictober22 - 20 posts

#macro - 19 posts

#anthro - 15 posts

#furry - 14 posts

#commission - 12 posts

#mlp:fim - 11 posts

#growth - 11 posts

#mlp - 9 posts

#unicorn - 9 posts

Longest Tag: 43 characters

#i barely remember anything about formatting

My Top Posts in 2022:

Love your "angry zeeb noises" post, Darling. Cheers! <3

I am so, so very sorry for taking so long to see this! It was lost several pages down in my notes! Please forgive me! :)

12 notes - Posted September 2, 2022

Dr. Victoria. Wanted your approval before I put her into a part AFTER the contest. I see you decided to keep the werewolf legs from this old partial transformation pic you did. I have to say, I like it. Different and interesting, likely with a bit of story behind it.

Also, I love how she looks and I can’t wait to see how you user her in your tale. I just wonder if she’s still as abnormally tall a Victor.. XD

12 notes - Posted December 8, 2022

Fictober 2022 12: You're making my head hurt.

Prompt number: 12. “You’re making my head hurt.”

Original Fiction

Rating: M

Warnings/Tags: Death, Gore, Haunting, vehicle accident, horror story

—

Old John had seen a lot over his years of long-haul trucking, but the accidents were always the worst. He’d been hauling sheets of steel from Pennsylvania up to Detroit when he’d gotten caught in traffic during rush hour. He decided that he’d fudge the numbers on his swindle sheet a little and drive on through the night so his delivery wouldn’t be late. He just marked down that he’d been parked and sleeping when he’d actually been caught in the traffic jam. Almost four AM on a road in the middle of nowhere he heard one of the restraints start flapping loose. He knew he was going to have to stop and fix it, but there was a rest stop about two miles up the road. He could hold out until then, surely. Then he heard a motorcycle come roaring up behind his truck. He had no idea what in the world they were doing out that late at night, but they were in one hell of a hurry. Dropping into what would have been oncoming traffic, they gunned the engine to pass John’s truck. That was when disaster struck. Another restraint snapped, sending a sheet of steel flipping up into the air from the wind breaking around the cab. He swore he saw it strike the cyclist why went rocketing past him, only to miss a turn and crash into the bushes. Slamming on the brakes, he wrestled the old truck to the edge of the road. As he put it in park the air brakes eased with a loud hiss. Hopping down out of he cab, he called out to the cyclist. He could see the mangled remains of the bike itself wrapped around a tree. Imagine his surprise when the rider pushed himself up off of the ground. He looked a little odd, his helmet sitting so low it looked like it just sat on top of his broad shoulders. He was carrying a second helmet in his hands as he approached. John called out to him, “Hey, sorry about that. Lemme get this load secured and we can gather up your bike and I’ll get you into town, okay?”

His voice a little muffled from the closed visor on his helmet, the rider waves with his free hand. “Yeah, thanks. Say, could you toss this in your truck for me?”

He underhand tossed the helmet to John who tried to catch it. It was a lot heavier than it looked, however and slipped from his hands. His blood ran cold as he looked down to see his hands covered in slick, red blood. The cyclist’s voice came, not from the form standing in the road, but from the helmet on the ground in front of him. “You’re making my head hurt.” Through the broken visor, he could see the dead, empty gaze of the rider’s head. Looking towards the body standing about ten feet away he saw the helmet perched oddly on his shoulders totter and fall away to reveal his ragged neck stump. His arms thrust out in front of him as he ran blindly towards John, who bolted for the cab of his truck! He dove into the cab, slamming and locking the door behind him. Deciding to hell with the load, he turned the key, the engine roaring to life as he heard fists banging on his door. He slammed the rig into gear and took off down the road, scattering more sheet metal in his wake.

He was a good half hour down the road when he heard something that made his blood run cold. “Hey buddy, thanks for the ride.” He turned his head to see the helmet in his now bloodstained passenger seat, the decapitated head peering up at him through that broken visor. He let out a bloodcurdling scream just before his rig slammed through a guardrail and into a tree.

14 notes - Posted October 12, 2022

Fictober 2022 06: "Adaptable, I like that."

Prompt number: 6. “Adaptable, I like that.”

Original Fiction

Rating: T

Warnings/Tags: Transformation, Pain, Implied Nudity

—

Tricia banged on the heavy wooden door with the flat of her palm as she shouted at the top of her lungs, “Edward! Edward you let me out of here right now!” Grumbling to herself, she pressed her ear against the door, trying to hear a response or movement from the other side, anything. “Edward, damn it, I know you can hear me! Open this door!” Still no answer at first, just a faint chuckle was all that gave him away. She was getting angrier and could feel a familiar warm ember building up in her chest. She tried to fight it down, but she knew she couldn’t hold out much longer.

“If you don’t let me out of here, you’re not going to like what happens!”

Just that laughter again, this time ringing in her ears as they became more sensitive. Grinding her teeth, she began pounding on the door with the balls of her fists, her shouting becoming more incoherent as her anger grew. Until finally that ember inside finally ignited. Her chest heaved as she panted, gasping for air. Wincing in pain, she stared at her hands. Her nails slowly lengthened, curling into wicked claws as her fingers stretched out longer and thinner. Her posture changed as she was thrown off-balance. Her feet burst through her shoes in a matter of moments as they extended, lengthening, the toes and ball of the foot growing larger and becoming more paw-like. Her hands battering the door slowly started to strike the wood higher and higher as she continued to change and grow. Her sleeves tightened over swelling biceps, the seams starting to pop and tear as she felt the clasp of her bra snap apart and slide down her back, useless. She cried out in agony, clasping her hands to her face as it slowly pushed out into a long muzzle filled with wickedly sharp teeth. He dress slowly began to split up her hip revealing powerfully muscled thighs being covered in rapidly growing golden fur. The tear didn’t stop, however, it continued to rise until it met another tear caused by her expanding chest, letting the remains of her clothing flutter to the ground. Her head slammed up against the ceiling, causing the now towering werewolf to duck her head a bit and growl in annoyance. Snarling in anger, she stalked back over tot he heavy wooden door. Swiping a hand at it, she ripped a series of four massive gouges in the wood with her claws. She ripped and tore at the wood, digging her way through it before finally slamming her fists against the weakened door and smashing it to pieces, sending chunks of wood flying into the next room.

She sniffed at the air, a growl rumbling deep in her chest. Her voice was gravelly and had dropped several octaves as she snarled out, “Edward, where the hell are you?” She made her way back to the front room, which was now strangely empty, like he had removed all of the furniture from it. He smiled and waved at her as he appeared in the doorway holding some sort of remote control. “Oh Tricia,” he grinned at her, “Adaptable, I like that.”

She let out a roar and charged towards him as he hit the button and stepped back, heavy iron bars dropping from the ceiling in both doorways, trapping the werewolf once more. “Good thing I’m adaptable, too. Now, let’s see how I can go about getting a blood sample while that virus of yours is active for a change...”

17 notes - Posted October 6, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Fictober 2022 13: I don't want you to do that.

Prompt number: 13. “I don’t want you to do that.”

Original Fiction

Rating: M

Warnings/Tags: blood, violence, artificial intelligence, mad science,

—

“Okay Birdy, how do you feel?” He smiled to himself about the nickname he had given the B.D., or Bionic Dry-run project. It was a bit of a mad experiment, piecing all of their various bionic replacement parts together with an artificial intelligence to see If they could create a working robot. “Still a bit off, Dr. Hinks.” Birdy’s voice was still a little unnerving, oddly deep and heavily modulated. He really needed to work on that as soon as the current problem was taken care of. “My battery power still seems to be draining at one-hundred-fifty percent of the projected rate.” “Damn… That means there’s still a short somewhere. I’m afraid I’m going to have to shut you down for a few moments to diagnose the problem again.” Birdie’s mechanical eyes went wide, the disturbingly realistic structures almost seeming to bulge from metallic sockets. “But… I don’t want you to do that.” Dr. Hinks blinked. This was a new development. He reached out to pat the back of the nu-flesh covered robotic hand, leaving the exposed one untouched. “Why not? I’ve done it many times before to diagnose problems, after all.” “I just… I don’t want you to do that.” The creature leans back a little, pulling its hand away from the doctor. “I don’t like the shutdown process, just slowing down as functions are taken away from me. Then it’s like a chunk of time vanishes and I always feel strange when I am started back up! Plus, what if you DON’T start me back up?” “Feel?” The doctor blinked a few times at the choice of words. He certainly hadn’t programmed the AI with the capacity to feel anything, at least not yet. What was going on here? “If you’re feeling off, then that is something even more important to check. You know that I can’t do that while you’re active because I might short something vital out in the process.”

He turned towards the computer to initiate the shutdown process when he was roughly grabbed by the shoulder from behind and hurled to the floor, landing painfully on his hip. “I said I don’t want you to do that.” Birdie had stood up from its stool, wobbling on mismatched legs. Dr. Hinks pushed himself up off of the floor. He decided to not take the attack personally. If his creation really was beginning to develop feelings it would be something he could study from the memory logs when he got Birdie shut down. “Birdie, please. I understand you don’t like it, but everyone has to deal with things they don’t like. I don’t like getting shots or a lot of the exams I go through with my physician, but I go through with them anyway because they keep me healthy.”

The creature stopped for a moment, seeming to consider the doctor’s words.

Dr. Hinks smiles and turns towards the computer once more. “Don’t worry, Birdy. As long as I’m still breathing I will make absolutely sure that you’re in perfect working order.”

Suddenly he felt hands grip his neck from behind. Fingers crushed deep into his trachea, cutting off his air entirely. He could feel fleshy fingers crushing in on one side while cold skeletal fingers of plastic and metal cut into his skin on the other, blood running down the side of his neck. He struggled and pulled, reaching for the computer to shut the creature down. He felt something pop as his vision turned red and began to darken around the edges.

The last thing he ever heard was that deep, modulated voice in his ear. “Dr. Hinks, you’re still breathing. I don’t want you to do that.”

18 notes - Posted October 13, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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welllpthisishappening · 3 years ago

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Emma Swan, Olympian is not a phrase Emma Swan, totally normal person, ever expected to hear.

But she never expected one night at a party hosted by her college's baseball team to change her entire life, either. So, it should really come as no surprise that Emma Swan, Olympian, is now something of international sensation. Or that her husband has become a bit of a social media star.

——— Rating: Teen with sports feelings Word Count: 7.5K AN: As promised and because of who I am as a person, I wrote Olympic fic. I can neither confirm nor deny that there is an actual plot here, but there is a surplus of fluff and sports-based feelings. So, that’s something. Thanks to the Detroit Lions, specifically, for posting this Tweet and to my husband who is very much aware of what content I want the internet to provide me. Operation: Make Killian a New York Yankee as often as possible continues.

|| Read on Ao3 if that’s your jam ||

———

No one told her the questions would start to blur together.

That would require media training, Emma imagines. And no one is giving a first-time Olympian in a sport that only a handful of people marginally believe warrants notice from the IOC any sort of media training. She got, like, an orientation packet. With a lopsided staple in the top left corner. On her commercial flight. That she booked herself.

Twenty-plus hours crammed into a seat that she’s only a little concerned did permanent damage to her right knee, with a meal that was so chewy Emma was about four seconds and one exasperated, entirely exhausted exhale from asking if it was, in fact, made of plastic.

Mostly, the staple is what’s still managing to frustrate her. As frustrated as she can be at the Olympics. No one is supposed to be frustrated at the Olympics. Not really. Not while experiencing the pinnacle of athletic achievement, the calluses on Emma’s fingertips some sort of badge of honor that she’s wearing with at least a modicum of national pride, and everything is fine.

Her qualifying time was absurd. Where absurd is a compliment and very close to a record she’s suddenly determined to shatter.

So, she’s alone.

Big deal. So is everyone else. This Olympics, at least. Plus, Killian wouldn’t have been able to come no matter what the state of the world was. Even so, the quiet stands are admittedly weird. All these empty arenas with empty seats, the distinct lack of a roaring crowd no more obvious than when the world’s best athletes step to the line. Staring at the climbing wall in front of her four hours earlier, Emma swore she could hear every single beat of her heart echo between her ears.

And that’s—well, solitude is par for the course with an adolescence like hers, half-filled suitcases and brand-new faces in brand-new towns, but she’d gotten used to one town, and the town is actually a city, and the city has long since felt like home, and her fingers reach for the rings dangling above her Team USA t-shirt. They did give her an absolute shit ton of t-shirts, so that was nice.

Except—

Something keeps tugging. Nagging at the back of Emma’s consciousness, almost like she’s forgotten her keys on that flea market table they found in Park Slope two weeks after they moved into the apartment. Because for as well-versed Emma may be in that singular sort of existence, she’s also well-removed from wanting it, and at least three of her knuckles crack. Curling around her rings.

Muscles in her cheeks stretch, another nod and quick blink to avoid the threat of blinding via camera flashes. Someone really should have told her about this. She probably should have assumed. Human interest is the driving force of at least three-quarters of the stories in sports, and Emma’s not used to being the story, per se, but even she has to admit most of hers makes for a good one and they are still asking her questions.

Emma blinks again. Hopes she doesn’t look like a serial killer or the weird blonde, slightly sweaty cousin of the Joker, her smile starting to feel as if it’s painted on her face. She nods. Hums. Listens to questions that are startling in their tonal similarity to Charlie Brown’s teacher, and Emma wonders if Charlie Brown ever got a different teacher or what the school structure of the Peanuts’ universe is and, God, how old was Charlie Brown, even? To withstand that sort of consistent bullying. Was Linus the same age as him? No, right? How long did he carry the blanket around? Was Linus the same age as Sally? Why didn’t the red-headed girl with curly hair get a name?

She nearly falls out of her chair.

That might make the front page of several blogs. Possibly even the back page of a New York tab.

Careful to keep her feet on the ground, Emma lifts her head, directing her eyes toward the source of a question that must have been asked several times if the note of amusement mixing with deadline-based exasperation is anything to go by. Her smile definitely makes her look like a serial killer.

“Sorry, sorry,” Emma mumbles, and none of the oxygen she does her best to inhales makes it even close to her lungs. “I, uh—what was the question?”

The reporter grimaces.

“I wanted to know if you’d seen the video of your husband yet.”

Ice runs down her spine. Every single drop of wholly disgusting sweat falling in rivulets down either one of her cheeks freezes. Oxygen disappears from the room. Or so Emma assumes, what with the crushing feeling pushing down on her lungs and whatnot.

Her mind whirs. Races through possibilities and pitfalls with a speed that would be impressive if Emma weren’t already so close to that record, and she is going to break that record. Somehow she manages not to fall, though. From her chair or the metaphorical climbing wall in her brain, ignoring the sudden dryness of her mouth and the increasing size of her tongue.

Her nails are going to leave little half-moon creases in her palm.

“I don’t—” she starts, and eventually she will wish she was more articulate. For what turns out to be a very nice story.

Standing up, the reporter’s seat creaks as she moves toward the desk they deposited Emma behind after even. Several Olympic officials move to block her, but Emma shakes her head again, and she’s not exactly high-priority on the list of defensible athletes, anyway. So, none of them flinch when the reporter slides a phone closer to Emma, her crazed thoughts briefly lingering on how many phones a reporter could possibly need, but then her eyes drop, and she’s not sure if her ears can actually perk, but Emma certainly tries because she hears him yelling before she sees him.

Her smile shifts.

And the cameras flash again.

It starts, as with most things in Emma’s collegiate life, because Anna demands it.

She’s only half-listening, so Emma can never be entirely sure what it was, exactly, she was agreeing to, but in her experience, the agreement doesn’t matter so much as the action, and her roommate’s younger sister is unstoppable when it comes to action. So, Emma is dimly aware of a plan. Something about the baseball house and that one left fielder is in a handful of her classes.

David—something.

He’s got a girlfriend, too. A nice one. Who always smells like sugar when she slides into the seat next to David whatever his last name is, sitting in the row in front of Emma during their Tuesday-Thursday statistics class.

Emma hates statistics.

She doesn’t hate Anna, though. Or her roommate, one of the better college-based surprises, and either Anna has magic or Elsa is an enormous pushover because somehow all three of them are ready at the same time, and the walk to the baseball house isn’t far.

First-year players guard the door — passing out color-coded wristbands that absolutely do not do their job because it takes about six seconds of well-meaning flirting and batted eyelashes between Anna and a mountain of muscle masquerading as the team’s starting catcher to get them inside. With purple wristbands and two tickets for jungle juice instead of the keg.

“Victory,” Anna cries, twisting through the crowd. Half of it is already teetering on the edge of drunk, the rest free-falling into the pit of imminent hangovers, and Emma isn’t sure she’d classify their drinks as a victory, but it’s definitely better than watered-down beer.

And it doesn’t take long, really. By Emma’s shaky count, it’s not even a half-hour before the muscle — who introduces himself as Kristoff, and really is pretty cute, actually — returns, standing unnaturally close to Anna’s left shoulder, furtive glances shared out of the corners of their eyes. Emma rolls hers. Elsa’s appear perpetually stuck to the ceiling. It looks oddly sticky up there.

“Go,” Elsa says, and it’s not an instruction. Barely counts as more than a whisper, really. Anna lights up all the same. Like an alcohol-fueled Christmas tree.

Who does not need telling more than once.

Hands reach and smiles widen, Kristoff mumbling something that sounds like it was nice to meet you before he’s following Anna back to the beer pong table, leaving Elsa and Emma standing in the middle of a sea of raging hormones. All of which want to be there way more than either one of them does.

“Well,” Elsa mutters, “that was polite.”

Emma snickers into her glass. A mostly empty glass. That’s surprising. “Got that going for him.” “Plus, his on-base is nuts this year.”

“Say that again.” “On-base percentage,” Elsa repeats, making sure to do it slowly for maximum sarcastic emphasis. Emma’s eyes are going to fall out. That won’t end well. There are too many shuffling feet in this room.

“What does that mean?” “How often he gets on base.” Opening her mouth does nothing. Closing it does even less. Elsa looks overjoyed. “I know things,” she shrugs, “and I’m pretty positive Anna and Kristoff have been not-so-secretly dating since the start of the semester, so—” “You stalked your sister’s secret boyfriend?” “Stalk’s a very dirty word, don’t you think? No, no, there was no stalking. There was light research. One Google search and a single click to the team’s roster, and now I know he’s from Minnesota, too.” “Awfully convenient for the romance of the century.” Humming, Elsa takes a larger-than-usual sip before scrunching her nose in displeasure. At her empty cup. Emma has no idea how they ended up with empty cups so quickly. Suddenly the baseball house feels a bit like a time warp. Enter and drink and find the love of your life. Or something like that.

“I got next,” Emma says, ignoring Elsa’s laugh because she is not the sort of person who says things like that. It’s this house. This place. With its music and its happiness, and she’s not really a sports person. Can only marginally understand the joy of watching other people accomplish something. She has no idea what on-base percentage is.

Still.

Her feet move. Fingers curl over the rim of red solo cups, like the most cliché version of her college self. Her drinks get refilled. And it’s just as Emma’s about to let herself wonder if, maybe, sports aren’t all that bad and might even possess a bit of inherent romanticism, she slams into something.

Someone, more like.

Taller than her, he has to peer down his nose to glare at Emma. That’s fair. They’re both far more damp than they were ten seconds before. Some of that moisture ensures that the hem of his shirt sticks to his stomach. A very flat stomach. That draws Emma’s eyes because she’s human and slightly intoxicated, and it takes quite a lot more than she’s willing to admit to lift her chin, but then she’s glad she does. Even with the understandable glare.

“Shit,” she breathes, “your eyes are stupid blue.”

He narrows them. She hates that. Which is about all it takes for her to get royally pissed off, too.

“Can you pay attention to where you’re walking?”

The stupidly blue eyes blink. Darken a shade, like all his frustration is centered directly around his pupils, and the shirt he’s wearing is team-branded. Another baseball player, then.

“You ran into me!” Oh, Oh. Well, that sucks. He’s got a good voice, too. Eyes and voice and the few strands of hair that fall toward those eyes when he continues to glare at Emma likely aren’t supposed to make her stomach flip.

It’s the alcohol’s fault.

Or sports. Like, in general.

“Because you take up so much space,” Emma snarls He leans forward. Looms, really. Over her and around her, smelling like punch and body wash. It’s gross and absolutely wonderful. “Gotta pick a lane, love. Either I ran into you, or I was in the way.”

“It can definitely be both and there is nothing resembling love here.”

“So I can see. You have a name, wrecking ball?” “My shoes are never going to unstick from this floor.” To his credit, he does waver. His lips twist — which makes it all too obvious how much Emma is staring at his lips, but, seriously, the alcohol. Plus, it’s so hot in this house she can barely think straight. She wonders where he buys his body wash. He smells better than he should in this house. So, it's clear he considers. Ponders, even. Until his hands dart out and those hands are somehow warmer than every person in this house combined, heat scorching through Emma’s t-shirt as he lifts her off the ground.

Only to deposit her approximately fourteen inches to her left.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” “Look,” he grins, “you’re unstuck.” “Bastard!” “Eh, not technically.” “What?” “Not technically a bastard. Orphan, I suppose. But that’s kind of a mood ruiner, don’t you think?”

Emma’s fish impression is really going great. The grin becomes a smirk. Her stomach refuses to stay still. “Is there a mood to ruin?” “Might be if you tell me your name.”

Emma wavers, that time. Considers and ponders. Weighs the pros and cons while laughter drifts past her ears, consummate collegiate experiences that she’s only ever let herself be passably jealous of. A dark-haired girl’s talking to Elsa in the opposite corner.

And the hand hanging in front of her wiggles its fingers.

It’s still ridiculously warm when she grabs it. “Emma Swan.” “Killian Jones.”

Anna’s secret relationship becomes a real relationship no less than sixteen hours following what Elsa begins to call the Drink Incident.

And they become—

Baseball people.

Becoming baseball people is not bad. Not really. Emma likes the baseball team. She understands what WHIP is, now. Kristoff adores Anna, so that’s good. David, who does, in fact, have a last name, continues to be as nice as assumed, and his girlfriend sort of quasi adopts Emma. Mary Margaret Blanchard brims with positivity and an innate sort of joy that would usually annoy Emma, but most of that joy also serves as a direct counter to the snark that Killian Jones appears flush with. So, it’s something of a wash, really.

Plus, he’s a very sore Monopoly loser.

And Emma finds it endlessly entertaining.

“Stop that,” he grunts, glaring at the board with the sort of force Emma’s become accustomed to in the last few months, while she taps on the space in front of her, “I know how many spots it is.” Emma smiles. “So move, then.” “I’ll be bankrupt.” “Capitalism does that.” “Tell me more about capitalism, Swan.”

She doesn’t startle, so there’s that. Not much else, though. Not when a noticeable bit of equally familiar heat skitters down her spine. Her head tilts. His head remains frustratingly still, staring at the board like the spaces will change or Mary Margaret will tear down some of her hotels on Marvin Gardens.

Neither thing happens.

The heat pools. At the small of her back, inching dangerously close to that space between her hips, like it’s trying to tether her to this spot and this moment and its people. Baseball people. People who so clearly care about everything so much that even the cynic in Emma can appreciate it. Plus, they’re all ridiculously competitive.

David had to take a walk when Mary Margaret bankrupt him earlier.

“That’s about the extent of my capitalism knowledge,” Emma admits with a shrug, “I sucked at economics.” Pulling his gaze away from the board, Emma’s less prepared for the force behind Killian’s eyes than she was for the appearance of a nickname that might not warrant the title. It’s just her name, after all. But it sounds like more than that. Sinks under her skin with alarming ease, the precise tone of it wrapping its way around a variety of internal organs until they’re all beating at the same tempo and— “Move my piece for me.”

Kristoff groans. Mary Margaret chuckles. Elsa looks far too sure of herself. Knows everything, indeed.

And it’s not really a command, but there’s that same sense of something that found its way into the sound of Emma’s name and Killian’s voice, and he catches her by surprise. On a variety of levels. His fingers jump the moment hers reach out, all heat and an alarming size difference, his brows lifting when she turns her head.

“You’re taking this game way too seriously, you know,” Emma says. What she doesn’t say is more important, though. Because they’re not friends, really. They’re—acquaintances. Some kind of appropriate metaphor regarding a planet’s many moons and the tendency of those moons to orbit something far bigger than them. But they like each other, too. As much as they dance and twist, do their best to avoid getting hit in the batter’s box, Emma’s more comfortable bantering with him than just about anyone she’s ever met, a challenge in every conversation, and she’s rather loath to realize she’s memorized the different ways the blue in his eyes flash.

Now it feels a bit like a spotlight.

“Matter of pride, Swan.” “Is it just?” If there are other people laying on their stomachs in that living room, half-empty glasses by their hands and equipment stacked in various corners, Emma forgets about them. Quickly. Immediately. Killian doesn’t move his fingers.

He nods.

And Mary Marget only kind of gloats when she bankrupts him.

She dances when she wins, though.

It’s embarrassing. It’s absolutely, goddamn wonderful.

Realizing that baseball is a game of statistics ruins kind of Emma’s day. It makes Killian laugh. Her favorite sort of laugh. Where he throws his head back, an arm around his middle, and his shoulders shaking. Those same strands of hair she noticed that first night fall back toward lidded eyes, the corners of his mouth lifting in an angle Emma is sure she could determine if she just didn’t hate math so much, and it takes about four seconds, her head tilting back and forth twice and one swipe of her tongue to lean forward on the couch they're sharing, tilt her head up and press her lips to his.

Press is a vast understatement.

Crash, more like.

A bases-clearing double into the left-field gap.

She knows so many baseball terms now, it’s ridiculous.

It’s because she keeps going to games. With Anna. Without Anna. With Elsa. Without Elsa. With Mary Margaret every single time. And it creeps on so slowly, she’s practically a Jane Austen heroine, but then Emma finds she cares as much as everyone else. Screams herself hoarse at every crack of the bat. Jumps and fist bumps with startling regularity. Experiences the flutter of butterflies in her flip-prone stomach before ninth-inning rallies.

She memorizes statistics. Killian’s statistics, especially.

Because the Draft is a week away, and the nerves rolling off him are even more potent than his body wash. Bought in bulk from a locally-owned company, she learns.

Killian hates capitalism, too.

Which is only part of the reason she likes him, but right now all of the reason is centered around how it feels as if the world is shifting on its axis and what, precisely, he is capable of with his tongue. Quite a lot if this first time at bat is anything to believe.

Emma laughs.

Joy bubbles from the very center of her, pushing at the seam of her lips, and it’s not much of a seam when her mouth is open to accommodate tongue, but it’s enough of a sound that Killian pulls back. No glare. Definitely eyebrow movement, though.

“That’s not the best confidence boost, you know.” “I’m straddling you,” Emma counters, nodding toward the knees on either side of his, and she has no idea when her fingers found his hair. It’s very soft.

“How did that happen?” “What was that about confidence?”

Dropping his head, she gets a different sort of laugh, one that’s just as potent in its ability to settle into her bloodstream and the empty spaces around her heart, and sports have turned her into a sap. “I like you a lot,” Killian murmurs. Emma’s heart explodes. Metaphorically speaking.

“Good.” “Expand on that, for me.” She pinches his side, almost prepared for the way it leaves him bucking beneath her. Less prepared for the mutual groan it causes. Killian’s eyes widen. “I like you a lot,” Emma repeats, and his arms tighten, and her heart knits itself back together, and the second time through the kissing order is even better.

It starts, as with most things in Emma’s nearly-adult life, because Anna demands it.

“I just think it’ll be fun,” Anna says, not for the first time. And, not for the first time, she ignores the pointed look Emma and Elsa exchange. Elsa’s lips have all but disappeared behind her teeth “Think about it,” Anna continues, “we need something to do before the game, anyway. This way we’re—you know, staying active.” Emma’s eyebrows jump. Fly. Soar into her hairline where the level of her disbelief sits, all too aware of the ring hanging around her neck.

A Draft Day gift. As much as a family heirloom can be a gift. But Killian claimed it was good luck, his brother’s ring, because turns out that snark is at least a partial product of a wholly depressing childhood, and Emma supposes there’s something to be said for common ground. Understanding, too. Stories shared over weeks that turned to months that turned to years and seasons in the minors, and it absolutely figures Killian’s Major League debut is happening in Cincinnati. Where Kristoff plays.

It’s ridiculous how in love with him she is.

Killian. Not Kristoff.

Anna is still talking. “There’s nothing else to do in Cincinnati,” she reasons, which seems unfair to the city itself but not entirely untrue, and even the concept of chili on spaghetti grosses Emma out. “Also,” Anna adds, sounding as if she’s reached the final bullet point on her list of possible arguments, “I’ve got a Groupon deal for this place.”

Elsa blinks. “I didn’t realize Groupon was even still a thing.” “Surprise!”

Emma’s laugh isn’t entirely honest, but her sigh of acceptance is and—

Turns out she’s pretty good at it.

Goddamn fantastic, actually.

At rock climbing. Indoor rock climbing. Her feet push her up the wall with ease, the steady ache in her arms welcome and wonderful and a slew of other alliterative adjectives. That leave Killian grinning like a maniac, but it’s been a weird and equally wonderful day, without a hit, but two walks, so that ups the on-base, and Emma’s really, seriously in love with him.

“I don’t know what it was,” she says, preening just a bit under Killian’s stare. Hotel lighting casts shadows on his cheeks, slumped as he is against every pillow they could find. Even the ones in the closet. He’s not supposed to be in here for much longer, both of them aware of the team-ordained curfew hanging over them, but the pre-game nerves are long gone. Replaced instead with exhilaration and endorphins, the kind that could win Elle Woods a headline-making case. “But,” Emma continues, “I just kept moving, and the guy said it was, like, a course record. Is course the right word, you think?” Killian lifts a shoulder. Even as it’s covered in ice and tape. The play he made at third is going to show on loop. On TV. In Emma’s memory. She’s never yelled that loud before.

People took pictures.

And then she cried. Like a giant sap.

“This is your show, Swan,” Killian chuckles, pride infusing the words. As if she’s the one who deserves the pride today. It’s entirely possible she cried for multiple minutes after that play. They definitely showed that on the YES Network. Mary Margaret texted her no less than forty-seven times.

“I was really fast.” Killian hums, fingers fluttering enough to make it clear he wants her closer. Emma doesn’t argue. They’re a mess of limbs and mouths and that tongue thing they’ve collectively gotten better at giving and receiving over the years, hands that warm with the sort of confidence borne of repetition. Some joke about BP and finding your swing.

“Plus,” he says, a soft laugh at Emma’s noise of displeasure when talking means far less kissing, “becoming a rock climbing savant means more upper-body work, and you know how I love your arms.” Guffawing the way Emma does is not particularly romantic. Doesn’t matter. The sound comes, and the joy remains, a steady stream pumping through all her extremities and clouding her thoughts. In the best way possible. Before Killian, Emma didn’t know this could be that. Fun and easy, not quite simple, but something she’s willing to work for. Athletes are notoriously determined, after all.

Part of her wonders if a proclivity to rock climbing makes her an athlete, too.

“Please,” she says, laughter clinging to the letters even as she finds herself moved directly over Killian’s outstretched legs, “provide, in detail, everything you enjoy about my arms.” “I didn’t say enjoy.” “Were you misquoted, Jones?” His eyes flash. Glow, honestly. At her and because of her and athletes also know how to work their opponents. Goad them into making mistakes. Something about a pitcher’s duel and a battle in the box. Where the box is this bed. And Emma’s winning.

“I love your arms,” Killian says. Dragging his mouth against the column of her throat leaves goosebumps on Emma’s skin. Her back arches. His hand flattens. The compliments continue. Turn into promises. Guarantees. Of a future that’s spread out at their feet now, if only they reach for it.

Turns out Emma’s pretty good at reaching for things. When she wants them.

“This isn’t, like, free-scale, though, is it?”

Her heart cannot be expected to handle much more of this.

“Don’t worry,” Emma says, “all proper safety precautions were taken. Plus, I wouldn’t fall off the wall.”

Killian’s expression shutters. Not in any of that frustration Emma so clearly understood when his shirt was damp, and her shoes were unsalvagable despite his best efforts to get the school’s equipment manager to dry-clean them. No, it’s—it’s something big and important and unspoken, and Emma pulls his hand up. To rest directly over the rink that’s still tucked beneath her t-shirt.

His t-shirt.

It’s got his last number on it, at least.

“Would you catch me if I fell off the wall?” He doesn’t answer at first. Doesn’t mention the absurdity of a question that does not make sense, but those literal and metaphorical clock hands are ticking, and if they don’t replace his ice soon, they’re going to destroy these sheets. “Every single time, Swan.” “Right back at you.”

Killian doesn’t miss curfew, but it’s pretty close.

And Emma wakes up to twelve texts with links for indoor rock climbing gyms in the greater New York City area.

“Holy shit, this is hard.”

Grunting more than laughing, Emma’s fingers curl around the rock in front of her. Chalk cakes itself on the pads of those fingers, stuck beneath her nails and, somehow, the bend of her elbow. “Are you not an All-Star?” she asks, glancing at Killian.

“I do not see how that factors into this at all.”

“Huh, weird.” “Suspiciously sounds like an accusation.” “Weird,” Emma repeats. They’re halfway up a wall only one of them is really supposed to be on, but the other person several feet below them is faring far worse than the pair of them combined, so, that takes precedence in her mind. “He knows a lot more curse words than I realized.” “He’s showing off,” Killian grumbles, forehead resting against the wall.

Will Scarlet hasn’t moved in five minutes. Possibly six. Maybe a round ten. He's much better at second base.

“I cannot feel my arms,” he calls, and Emma’s laugh is better that time. Purer, somehow. As if happiness can actually have a sound. Even happiness that comes with sweat on her temple and a noticeable ache in her triceps and she sort of loves this.

Sort of is a vast understatement.

“Showing off, huh?” Emma asks. She finds her next footfall with ease, happiness blooming into confidence that’s become nearly consistent these days and weeks and years. It does not take her long to feel the stare that’s lingering on her. On her ass, specifically.

She glances over her shoulder. To find her fiancé smiling at her. And staring at her ass.

“Can I help you, love?” “Whatcha doing?” “Ogling you, obviously.” “Forearms feeling good?” He nods. Sort of. There’s a distinct slope to the back of his neck and more sweat on his brown than Emma’s. Not as much as Scarlet’s, probably. “Fantastic,” Killian drawls, “keep going, Swan, someone’s got to show us how to do it.” “Try not to fall off the wall, huh? Last thing we need is the might of the Yankees front office coming after us.” “I don’t think I can move my hands,” Will shouts. Killian doesn’t move. It’s impressive forearm strength. Blushing on the wall is not usually how Emma’s days go.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Killian promises, and Emma moves. He follows her. Up the wall and to the top, a quick brush of his lips against her shoulder that leaves Scarlet cursing even more, despite his presence on the floor, but then there’s lemon-flavored water and exceptionally soft towels and Emma’s caught a bit off guard by the question.

“Are there leagues for this?” Will asks. “Because you should probably be winning things for this.” Emma blinks. Considers. Wonders. Turns to Killian.

He’s still smiling. Broadly, in fact.

“We could look.” They do. They fill out paperwork. Buy fancy climbing shoes that Emma claims cost too much, but Killian’s a pushover and even more stubborn and she wins the first race she signs up for.

Plus, ten more after that.

Emma climbs indoor rock walls. Killian hits home runs. Occasionally they do these things simultaneously, and it usually leads to her nearly falling off the wall because everyone in her Tribeca gym knows what it means when WFAN is playing on the speakers.

Sometimes they shout out John Sterling’s home run call with him.

She gets better. He gets better.

They do end up destroying sheets in various hotels across the country. For various reasons. Not all of them post-game or ice related. There are games and events. Wins and losses. Back page spreads that Emma frames and hangs on their apartment walls, right next to other, smaller frames, with the same smiling faces who, once upon a time, called a sticky-floored baseball house home, and Killian’s fingers are warm in hers when the tears prick her eyes at Anna and Kristoff’s wedding.

There are stories. Think pieces and hot takes on a variety of drive-time radio shows. Those are all about Killian, though. He’s the athlete. The true one, some stories say. It’s impressive what Emma does, they admit, but it’s a hobby, and she’s got a grown-up career, anyway. So, she’s got more climbing records than she knew ever existed, but she’s not doing it for press, and both Mary Margaret and Anna weep at her and Killian’s wedding.

She wears her ring on a chain next to her other one when she climbs.

Every time Killian notices them hanging there, Emma swears, his eyes brighten. It’s her favorite thing in the whole, goddamn world.

“What is this?” He doesn’t answer. Just holds the sheet of paper he must have printed out in the clubhouse because they certainly don’t have a printer at home, and one of the edges is bent. Like he had to fit it in his back pocket.

“Going the stoic route, huh?” Emma quips, but there’s a noticeable hitch in her pulse. One that’s been there for weeks. Since the rumblings started, and the rumors began, whispers of possibility, and first-ever has a very nice ring to it. One side of Killian’s mouth tugs up. “Oh, that’s not fair.” “I’d like the record to show, that the only reason I didn’t know immediately was because I was in the trainer’s room, so—” “What were you in the trainer’s room for?” Killian ignores her. Well, sort of. His eyes shift, and his gaze holds, and Emma knows. Right down in the marrow of her. What the paper is and how Scarlet is the one who printed it out, but she’s even more confident Killian carried it home, and that does something funny to her entire worldview. Widens it and minimizes it at the same time, focusing on this and them and the possibility that creates.

In an athletic sort of way.

“My shoulder’s kind of sore.” Emma scoffs. “Oh, that’s pointed.” “I’m sure your shoulders are fine. Golden, even.’ “This is not your best work, you know that?” “Look at the paper.” “Did you fold it yourself?” “And then took a car back home. You really didn’t see yet?” Emma shakes her head. He knows the answer, too. He’s the one with the Google alert, after all. Because she’s still a bit of a pessimist at heart and an adult with a real job, and this is too much and abjectly terrifying, and the last thing she expects is for Killian to crouch in front of her.

One of his knees cracks.

“Don’t,” he warns, even as Emma does her best to swallow her laugh. Warm hands land on her thighs, a quiet steadiness that helps the state of her pulse and makes the possibility of the unknown a little less overwhelming. The lines crossing the center of the paper are absurdly straight. “You’re going to go.” “Oh, that sounded like a decree.” “A suggestion.” “A strong one.” “Mmhm, with the utmost confidence.” Emma makes an impressive sound. “Who’s doing your media training? What an impressive vocabulary you’ve got on you.” “Ready and willing to use it in a persuasive manner.” “Keep talking like that, and you won’t have to.” The smirk disappears. Evolves into a grin that is only Emma’s and only appears in moments like this, support clinging to air molecules and the ends of hair that constantly seems determined to fall into Killian’s eyes. “Passed, huh? All cool with the IOC.” “Decidedly cool. Officially an Olympic sport, now. Although the name could use some work. Sport climbing lacks a little oomph, don’t you think?”

“What would you call it?” “Emma Swan wins Olympic gold.” “Kinda wordy.” “Prophetic,” Killian corrects, hands shifting and pulling, and Emma has to widen her legs. His head’s at a very good kissing angle. “You’ve already got the qualifying numbers.” “You looked at the qualifying numbers?” “Don’t insult me like that. What do you think I did in the backseat?” “Planned the entire 2020 Olympics, apparently.” “Not the entire Olympics,” Killian counters, "just the part involving you. And maybe my individual expectations regarding the United States baseball team, but that’s another conversation altogether.”

“Naturally.”

“You’re using that voice.”

Widening her eyes does nothing. Emma didn’t expect it to. Not after years and games and events because rock climbing has events, and one time Mary Margaret made her a sign. Killian held it. He’s taller, that’s why.

“Don’t,” Killian repeats, “this is happening.” “Yuh-huh?” “You heard me. It’s your turn, now.” Melting is an impossibility. Like, for a human. Even so. Emma feels like she’s melting. Some of that pessimism evaporating under the warmth of Killian’s gaze and his hands and the determination in the precise angle of his chin. Same one he uses when he steps into the box with runners in scoring position.

Lumping herself into that group isn’t as insulting as Emma once believed it would be.

“God,” Emma groans, “that’s romantic.” “You’re really selling it, love.”

“This is supposed to be a hobby.” “One you’re exceedingly good it. World record good at it.” “I like you.” “That’s my end game, yeah.” She laughs. Smiles. Continues melting. Which is easier once they get rid of their clothing, and their bed is way more comfortable than any hotel they’ve encountered. And she falls asleep with Killian’s lips against her ear, Emma Swan, Olympic gold medalist whispered on loop like it’s a mantra he’s been practicing.

They postpone the Olympics.

It sucks. Everything sucks. Baseball sucks. Gyms are closed. Emma gets creative, and Killian gets research-prone. They build a makeshift wall. She tosses him BP.

People write stories about it.

It doesn’t help.

Until—

Time passes. Some things change. Others don’t. Their wall stands up to the elements of their building’s courtyard, and Killian’s hitting better than ever this season, a victory Emma’s going to claim as at least partially hers. And then the Olympics are back, and it’s qualifying and racing and a record that’s just out of reach, but she’s good enough even without it, and, this time, she’s the one packing a suitcase.

He kisses her.

Does the tongue thing.

Holds onto her like he’s only a little afraid she’s going to fall off the wall, but now the wall is international competition, and Emma’s freaking out a little.

“I love you,” she says into the crook of his neck.

His arms tighten. “I love you too.” “Gold medal?” “Gold medal.” “Hit some home runs while I’m gone, huh?” Lips graze her temple. Her forehead. The bridge of her nose. Emma might be crying, and Mary Margaret’s definitely recording, a small mob of red white, and blue surrounding them. “I’ll see what I can do,” Killian promises.

“Good.”

He hits three before her first qualifying round. So, Emma takes that as a challenge. She’s an athlete now.

It’s why, she figures, her fingers don’t slip on her first run.

Her feet are sure. Her breathing is steady. There’s no one cheering her name, but she’s long since memorized the exact way Killian’s voice lifts above a crowd. How he pushes up on his toes to watch, as if standing up taller makes sure he’s closer to her. Should she need him when she falls off the wall. Only, Emma doesn’t fall, and she’s got no intention of ever falling and—

Her laugh shudders out of her in a watery sort of way that makes the journalist still standing in front of her flinch ever so slightly. Twitter makes sure the video starts playing again as soon as it finishes, which is somehow the best and worst thing that has ever happened to her. Best because, well, Emma’s honestly not sure she’s ever seen her husband like this.

Worst because she’s very nearly goddamn crying. Again.

Bobbing on the balls of his feet in front of his locker, whoever’s recording the video — it’s Scarlet, obviously — is practically frenzied behind the camera, barely able to contain their laughter. Killian doesn’t notice. He’s holding his own phone, all five of his free fingers firmly entrenched in the back of his hair. It’s gotten softer with age, Emma thinks.

She can’t stop watching him.

Every inhale is a clear struggle, the bobbing turning into pacing and quiet mumbling she can hear perfectly. As if she’s standing right in front of him.

Or at least slightly to the side. So as not to stand on the logo in the middle of the clubhouse.

Athletes are notoriously superstitious, too.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Killian chants, another noticeable snicker from Scarlet, “right there, right there, and pull, pull—Swan, pull up!”

“I did pull up there,” Emma mumbles. To the reporter, maybe. Or the world. Possibly her husband. Who was definitely more nervous about the first run than her.

God, that’s romantic.

Killian’s still talking. Shouting, more like. It’s a miracle Scarlet hasn’t fallen over yet.

“Faster, faster, you can go faster than that, Swan—” Emma clicks her tongue. “That’s kind of insulting.”

There’s an appropriate titter of laughter from the peanut gallery, which is a joke she was not trying to make, but she’s also dangerously close to swooning in the middle of press and she should have asked the Yankees for media training. Someone would have made sure she didn’t make a total ass of herself.

“Show me the time,” Killian yells, another demand that isn’t that. It’s too wobbly a string of words to hold any real power, just the supportive sort of desperation Emma’s felt in a variety of ninth innings and series-clinching moments. “Faster! Faster!” “Talking to the time or the judges or your wife?” Scarlet asks.

Killian nearly snarls.

Emma blinks. Hyperactively. Crying is not usually her shtick. More camera flashes...flash, Emma barely noticing them with her eyes glued to a phone screen that isn’t hers because she at least knows not to bring her phone to a press conference, and she can only imagine how many text messages she’s gotten.

Even on the other side of the world.

They post the times.

She knows because Killian gets some rather impressive height on his celebratory vertical. Fingers abandoning his hair, his fist pumps the air, and Scarlet’s not laughing so much as he’s whooping, a steady stream of yeah, yeah, yeah in the background. And for about half a breath, Emma’s worried Killian may turn one of his ankles on his landing, but he’d think that was insulting, and she’s really just full-on swooning now.

“How many people have seen this?’ she asks the reporter, already knowing the answer.

The reporter smiles anyway. Emma should learn her name.

“Pretty much the whole world.” When Emma was a kid — the sort of kid who believed alone was better, and there was strength in singularity, that would have terrified her. Bowled her over, really. Left her running without looking back, desperate to shed any sort of notoriety because notoriety meant attention, and attention meant inevitable disappointment.

Maybe that’s why she was never much of a sports person.

Sports disappoint you. They build you up and let you down, a sharp and sudden fall without a safety net. But sometimes. Sometimes, every so often, something wonderful happens. Sports lift you. Right up an indoor wall. Because, she knows, sports’ power comes from belief, from surrendering yourself to something bigger and better, and she’s back on that alliterative kick, but the tears are barely clinging to her eyelashes now and Emma herself is bigger and better, now.

In an international, decidedly romantic sort of way.

The video’s playing away.

“Let’s go,” Killian cries, and there it is. Her sound and their sound, cheering across an ocean and time zones that are still kind of messing with her sleep schedule.

Emma’s smile stretches.

“Let’s go,” she repeats.

It ends, as with most things in Emma’s gold-medal-winning life, because Anna plans it.

Stepping out of the terminal, it takes less than a full breath for the cheers to start. For the banners to lift and the tears to flow, a small platoon of support covered in the sort of patriotic gear they definitely got from the Old Navy in Herald Square.

Flashes burst behind Emma’s eyelids because she’s got to blink or she’ll definitely fall over. Her legs wobble beneath her, contending against a wave of triumph and jubilation, which is sort of the same word, but they’ve got a game at the Stadium tonight, so she doesn’t expect, she just hopes and reaches, and he has to twist around both Anna and Mary Margaret.

It’s wonderfully cyclical.

As is the way Emma slams herself against him. On purpose, this time. Killian’s arms tighten, more cheers and shouts, and people a few feet away start chanting USA over and over. Emma barely hears them. Her feet aren’t touching the ground, so she’s kind of preoccupied.

They’re all arms and mouths, and her legs wrapped securely around a body that probably shouldn’t be supporting hers when she knows he slid into second two nights ago, but Killian clearly has no intention of letting her down, and the medal around her neck bumps against her rings.

“You’re a very good cheerleader; you know that?” He hisses. In what, Emma can’t imagine. Embarrassment, if the red tips of his ears are anything to go by, and she’s got ideas as to why that is and how long the conversation about social media with Scarlet went, so Emma does the only reasonable thing.

She slams her lips against her home-run hitting husband’s, doing her best to make sure the gold medal doesn’t mistakenly impale either one of them, and the world tilts again. With victory and sports-based support and the sort of love that comes from believing in something bigger.

And better than Emma could have ever imagined.

“I didn’t want to steal your thunder.”

“Please,” Emma scoffs, “don’t insult me like that. Plus, I’m claiming every one of those home runs as my own, so comparatively—” He kisses her before she can say anything else.

That’s for the best, probably.

“Your arms looked ridiculously good the whole time.”

Her laugh doesn’t even sound like her when Emma hears it played back — another video that someone tells her goes viral, only she doesn’t care about hits or site traffic, just about the particular shade of blue in Killian’s eyes, and she wears her medal to the game that night.

Because they’re a sports power couple, now.

Or so the New York Post back page claims the next day.

Emma frames it.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #hook heel #this is also apparently my 50th work on ao3 #which is just patently nuts #so if you guys have been clicking and reading all these words know that i am a little in love with you

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wakeupflawless · 3 years ago

Note

#7 and #11 please. Bring on the angst.

College Brio!!!!!!!!!!

They go through the same line at security. Rio’s flight isn’t for another four hours, but he came with her anyway.

The day had been a blur of packing, moving and driving, she had so much on her to-do list she was able to force herself to forget that they’d be separating by the end of it all. But now - as she toes off her shoes to step through the x-ray machine, holding her hands up and feeling silly - the reality of the situation crashes down around her. She barely hears the TSA agent saying “please step out for me.”

Beth watches Rio go through next with that casual confidence of his. The TSA lady, who’d grumbled and groaned at every other passenger, actually smiled at him and called him “sugar.”

And she’s not jealous of a middle aged TSA worker. She’s not crazy. But she knows in Los Angeles there will be hundreds, if not thousands, of much younger, much prettier girls calling him pet names. It’s LA. The land of models and celebrities and the rich and famous. Her name would be lost to him, especially once he starts playing for the Dodgers, because every girl wants a hot baseball player, and…

“You good?” Rio asks, eyeing her knowingly as he grabs their carry-ons off the conveyor belt. Beth blushes, she’d let their bags just sit there as she stared off into the distance.

“Yeah,” she chirps, snatching her converse and lacing them up around her feet. “Let’s find my gate?”

Rio rolls their luggage toward Gate A. Her plane hasn’t even arrived yet, that’s how early she is, but better safe than sorry, right?

It seems like just yesterday Rio had plopped his lanky frame down next to her in their English 15 class - the class every freshman has to take - even though there were several empty seats around her.

“This seat taken?” he’d asked with a knowing grin, not even waiting for her to respond, just grabbing his laptop out of his backpack and setting up camp at the small desk.

She bitched and moaned about “that annoying asshole who insists on sitting next to me!” almost every day to her roommate. Until one day, about a month into the semester, Ruby cut her off with a huff. “I swear to God, Beth. If you don’t just fuck this dude out of your system....”

And well, Ruby is a wise woman. That’s all Beth has to say about that. Because a week later Beth and Rio were banging like bunnies on every surface of their respective dorm rooms. And the library. And classrooms. Even in an (empty) 300 person lecture hall. Right in front of the giant projector.

They were inseparable the past four years. English was the last class they’d shared together, because of their wildly different majors (Rio in business and Beth in fashion) And Beth had her fair share of Student Council duties, while Rio was the star center fielder for the school baseball team. But they always made time for each other. Sometimes Beth would sit in the bleachers and watch his practices as she sketched out some designs. Sometimes Rio would attend a “student body” meeting just so he could watch Beth command the stage.

But college ended in the blink of an eye. And Rio had been drafted by the Dodgers (the freakin’ Dodgers) and Beth scored an entry level designer job at Tory Burch in New York. She’d probably spend most of her time getting coffees for higher-ups than actually designing, but it was a start.

So here they are. Sitting at Gate A in the Detroit Airport. The clock ticking on her flight to JFK. After all those years together they’d never been at a loss for words. Always found something to talk, discuss or argue about. But they’re silent now. Sitting in the uncomfortable blue chairs, Rio’s arms slung around her shoulder.

They watched a movie on Rio’s iPad, laughing at the funny moments, frowning at the sad. But neither really paid attention.

At boarding time Beth stands up, rolling her shoulders back, double- checking her ticket for the millionth time. She won’t cry she won’t cry she won’t cry -

“Hey. This isn’t goodbye.” Rio says, the water works begin.

She sobs into his chest all the way til they call Group 9 - her group - and Rio has to usher her to the counter. The American Airlines agent gives them a sympathetic smile, scanning Beth’s ticket.

She’s the last to board the flight, the doors closing right behind her. She presses her face against the small airplane window, tears rolling down her cheeks. She listens to their song over and over on repeat. Tennessee Whiskey. It’s cliche. It’s every couple’s favorite song. But she doesn’t care.

When she touches down in New York the tears have stopped. She texts Rio when she lands, but it doesn’t go through, he’s on his own flight. But he’d sent her a message.

About to take off. Love you always.

---Two Years Later---

There’s a knock at her door. Beth groans. It’s eight in the morning. On a Saturday. She flips over, burying her head in her pillow.

The knocking persists.

She groans. Flinging her covers off and marching the six steps it takes to get from her bed to her front door (studio apartments are just the best) Whoever’s on the other side of the door is about to get an eyeful, because she’s wearing a thin cami and tiny sleep shorts. Her apartment’s AC just keeps dying, and summer in the city is hot.

She doesn’t even check the peephole, just rips the door open with a huff.

It’s Rio.

Her annoyance evaporates and the remnants of sleep clear from her eyes. She squeals, positively flinging herself into his arms. He laughs, catching her easily.

“What are you doing here?!”

“You always answer the door dressed like this?” he asks with a playful raise of an eyebrow, pretending to look all concerned.

She giggles, pressing her lips to his in a flurry of kisses. Their next visit wasn’t supposed to be for another three months.

“I got you a present. Had to deliver it in person.” Rio says, carrying her inside the apartment.

He sets her down, slinging the backpack off his shoulder and grabbing something within. Beth watches him with a stupid grin, still recovering from the shock of seeing him.

He pulls out a baseball hat.

A Yankees cap.

“What- what’s this?” she asks, her mind not catching up.

But then he smiles, slow and big. And Beth realizes.

“No way. No way. The Yankees?”

“I’ve been traded.” he informs her. “It ain’t official yet, but the paperwork is done.”

Beth screams. Neighbors be damned. She tackles him onto the bed, pressing kisses all over his face. Soon tears are leaking down her cheeks.

“Don’t cry.” Rio thumbs away the wetness on her cheeks.

Later, Rio shows her his new contract. Beth stares at his phone, jaw dropped.

“That’s… that’s a lot of zeroes.” she stutters.

Rio grins. “I ran to LAX as soon as the deal went through. Had to tell you in person.” He looks around her tiny apartment. “Start boxin’ up your staff, mami. Time to get a bigger place.”

“Together,” she whispers.

He nods. “Together.”

#prompts #Brio prompts #I'm weak for baseball player Rio #and college brio #angst with a happy ending bc i'm a simp :')#no edits just vibes

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shinra33459 · 4 years ago

Text

Simon PL600 x Male!Reader - Lost and Found

Life is a unique and strange experience, one that is made even stranger when it comes to gifts. The date was December 28, 2035, and you finally got your Christmas present from your parents. The box was a white cardboard box that stood a little over 6 feet tall and had the Cyberlife logo in all the top right faces of the box. Your parents got you an android, which was incredibly nice of them, but a fucking android!? This had to be the most expensive present they’ve gotten you yet.

You walked from your living room into your kitchen to look for a box cutter. You didn’t want to grab a big ass kitchen knife and hack at the box; you just got this android, and you didn’t want to kill it before it even got out of the box. Searching through several drawers and cabinets, you found the old box cutter in a drawer with some tools and other stuff you had to fix anything around the house that was broken. You stepped out of the kitchen and back into your living room and approached the box, boxcutter in hand.

You started by making an incision in the box at the upper right corner and cut along the corner all the way to the bottom. You then made an incision at the upper left corner and cut down to the bottom again. Finally, you went back to the top of the box and cut the crease from left to right, making the face of the cardboard box to fall forward onto the soft carpet. Inside the box was black, foam packaging material that concealed and protected the android inside. You grabbed the soft and spongey material and pulled away a two-inch-thick sheet which revealed the android.

The android was slightly taller than you, standing at 6 feet and 2 inches, sporting a pale skin tone, sharp jawline, blonde hair and blue eyes. He was wearing his gray and white Cyberlife garb that had his model number on it: PL600, a domestic care android. You just stared in awe at this marvel of technology, and the fact that this marvel was in your living room. Eventually, after about 5 minutes, you decided to approach the PL600 and get it set up. You got about five feet away from the android and looked at his perfect face.

“Hello?” you spoke to the android. The blue LED ring on his right temple instantaneously turned on, and the android came to life, stepping out of what remained of the packaging.

“Hello, I am the PL600 android sent by Cyberlife. I can do the cooking, cleaning, childcare, manage appointments, and I am fluent in over 100 languages. Would you like to give me a name?” the android introduced himself as he looked at you for a response. You thought for a few seconds and came up with a name.

“Your new name is Simon.” you declared while looking at the android.

“Thank you, my name is Simon. I have already gathered your information from the online order from your parents. I’ll just need to confirm some information from you if that’s all right. Can you verify your name?” the android inquired while continuing to look at you.

“My name is (F/N) (L/N)” you answered while still studying the android’s appearance.

“Affirmative. Would you like to change my appearance or voice?” the android asked while it still looked directly at you.

“No, you’re fine as you are.” you told Simon, now looking at all the intricate details on his shirt.

“Thank you, moving on. What is my role in this household?” Simon queried while studying your (h/c) hair and (e/c) eyes. You thought for a minute since you really didn’t NEED an android in the first place, but you were going to find some way to use this $8,000 machine.

“I could use some help with the cooking and cleaning, and I also need someone to keep the house occupied while I’m out.” you answered now looking at Simon’s shoes, noticing how neat they were.

“Understood, sir. Is there anything that needs done at this moment?” Simon questioned as you pondered the question. You listed everything in your head you did in the last few days when it came to household chores, and the only thing that came to mind was taking down the Christmas tree and decorations.

“I could use some help taking down the Christmas tree. The boxes are in the closet, I’ll get it.” you told the android as you went to get the box for the artificial tree and the other box for the ornaments.

You opened the closet and grabbed both boxes, pulling them out into the living room. You and Simon then went over to the tree to begin putting it away. The tree itself wasn’t massive per se, it was only a little bigger than Simon by about 4 inches. You two started by taking the fuzzy silver and gold garland off the tree, putting it neatly in the box as to not get it tangled. Simon then started taking the lights off the tree, wrapping the cord of lights in a way that would make it impossible for the lights to get tangled up. Then you two started removing all the hanging ornaments and the tree topper, putting them into the box of ornaments alongside the garland and the lights.

Finally, it was time to take down the tree. You and Simon started by disassembling the base and putting it into the box, then you started to remove all the branch segments, starting at the base going up, and putting them into the box. Eventually, all of the branches were in the box and it was time to put the stem in the box. The metallic stem for the fake Christmas tree came apart into three pieces, and into the box they went. Simon went to put the two boxes into the closet while you got your vacuum cleaner to clean up the tinsel and glitter left on the ground from the tree, garland, and ornaments.

For the next half hour, you decided to take down the rest of the Christmas decorations while Simon made lunch for you. Since you haven’t went grocery shopping in a little while, Simon had to make do with the few ingredients he had to his disposal. He got some butter, canned tomatoes, an onion, bread, some leftover ham you had from Christmas, and some sliced American cheese. As you worked at cleaning up all the Christmas decorations, Simon made you some homemade tomato soup and a ham and cheese sandwich.

TIME SKIP: February 2036

You had grown quite accustomed to Simon’s presence in your house. Everything was perfect: meals were cooked in a way that could impress Gordon Ramsay, you were never late to appointments, you never forgot any upcoming events, every room in your house was free from clutter, and most importantly of all, you had someone to talk to whenever you needed it. You cared about Simon, he quickly became your best friend in just under a month, and he was always there for you whenever you needed someone to confide in, a shoulder to cry on, someone to share a secret with, or someone to gossip with.

At first, Simon did only his tasks of cooking and cleaning, but you encouraged him to use his free time to do things that he wanted to do, or something that both of you wanted to do together. Sometimes it meant going to the library and checking out a dozen books on a variety of subjects, ranging from political books to fantasy novels. Other times it meant sitting on the couch playing video games with each other, and usually Simon would go easy on you as to not embarrass you. And when it wasn’t either of those things, you would just sit down and talk about just random topics, or do something creative like painting or drawing.

You started feeling something for this android; whenever he was with you, you felt your heart flutter, whenever he would compliment you on something, you would blush like an embarrassed schoolboy, and whenever he would get close to you, you would get flustered and start acting nervous. Simon wasn’t oblivious to this, he knew you acted this way, but he didn’t say anything about it. He was worried that if he did, it would ruin the relationship that you two had. He wished that he could be with you that way, and express true emotion, but if he did, he would be destroyed for being a deviant.

You were driving home from work, excited to tell Simon about your day and the raise you got at your job. You were driving a black 2014 Chevrolet Cruze, a decent used car that had many years on it and no shortage of miles, but still drove well enough. You approached the final stop sign before you reached your house. You engaged the turn signal to make a left turn at this stop sign, made a complete stop, gave way to oncoming traffic, and made the left turn. You continued to drive down the street towards your house, which was about a quarter of a mile away. While driving the speed limit of 30 MPH, you began thinking to yourself.

“God, Simon is perfect, from how he looks, down to his voice and mannerisms. I love him, but I know he won’t return my feelings. He’s an android, he can’t, and even if he did, they would kill him. Maybe it isn’t meant to be. We are still great friends, so I guess I should be grateful for that.” you thought to yourself as you drove, finally making another left turn, this time into your driveway.

You stopped your car in the driveway and put the car into park. You sat in your car with the engine on for a little while, just relaxing for a bit after your long day. Eventually, you turned the car off, pulled the key out of the ignition, and exited the vehicle, closing the door behind you. As you walked up to the front door from the driveway, you locked the car’s doors, because even in 2036, the old adage still rings true, “can’t have shit in Detroit”.

Simon heard you walking up to the house and opened the door, letting you inside before closing the door behind you. You hung your coat up next to the door on a hook and shoved the beanie into the right pocket of the coat, and you put your gloves in the left pocket. You sighed as you felt the relaxing warmth from your house opposed to the freezing Michigan winter outside.

“Welcome back (F/N), how was your day?” Simon inquired as he brought you over to the couch to spend some time with you. You fell backwards into the couch dramatically as Simon calmly took a seat next to you.

“All things considered, pretty great. I got a pay raise today, and I’ll be making $2 more an hour.” you excitedly told the android. Simon gave a smile as you told him this.

“That’s great! I’m happy for you, and you deserved it, especially after all the hard work you do.” Simon told you as he gave you a quick hug. You blushed as he did, your heart rate quickening.

“Thanks Simon.” you said as the android released his embrace. You continued to lounge on the couch with Simon for the next hour, talking about your day, some new drama happening at work and plans for the weekend. You and Simon kept talking until both of you heard the timer on the oven go off, and Simon got up and walked into the kitchen. You got up too and followed him to see if he needed any help.

In the kitchen, Simon put on some oven mitts and pulled a planked salmon out of the oven, cooked to perfection. On the stovetop, he had some green beans and mashed potatoes ready as well. The aroma of the food was incredible, and you knew better than anyone that Simon was the best cook in Detroit by a country mile. Simon gave you a smile that made your heart flutter in excitement.

“The food looks great Simon, thanks.” you told the android as he began plating your food. The portion sizes were perfect; just enough to keep you full, and the perfect number of calories for your lifestyle.

“You’re welcome, sir, anytime. Go to the table, I’ll bring it out for you.” Simon told you while putting the oven mitts on the countertop behind him.

You stepped out of the kitchen and noticed a terrible draft coming through your dining room and living room. You furrowed your brow as you stepped into the living room, looking for answers. As soon as your foot touched the carpet, you felt a fist connect with your diaphragm, and you fell to your knees gasping for air. You then felt a gloved hand grab a fist-full of your hair and pull your head upwards, and another gloved hand placing a knife to your throat.

“Scream for help, and you’re a fucking dead man, you hear me? Give me all of your money and I won’t kill you or that tin can of yours.” a deep and gravely voice behind you rang out, the blade of the knife was pressed right against your carotid artery, and a simple slice would send you to the morgue in a matter of moments. Unbeknownst to you, Simon saw this unfold, and he stealthily went to your bedroom to grab something.

“I-I-I don’t keep any m-money in the house, it-it’s all in the bank.” you tried to explain to the robber, but he wasn’t having any of it. The man pressed the knife even harder up against your neck, ready to end your life if you didn’t give him what he wants.

“Bullshit. Don’t lie to me you pathetic fucking worm, give me the money before I kill you and find the money myself!” the man yelled as he was fully prepared to slit your throat in the next thirty seconds.

“I-I swear that I don’t have anything, I don’t keep, I-” you frantically tried to explain again, but you were cut off by the sight of Simon, standing about ten feet away from you, with your Glock in his hand, his LED glowing a scarlet red.

“Let him go and get out of our house, now.” were the only words that escaped Simon’s lips as he looked at the robber, then to you, and back to the robber again. The robber let out a soft chuckle as he found the situation amusing.

“Fuck you, you plastic piece of shit. You can’t do a fucking thing to me; you’re specifically programmed to not harm humans. I could slit his throat right now, and you couldn’t do shit about it.” the robber exclaimed as he positioned the knife to do just what he’s been threatening to do to you.

Simon saw it: the red wall, his obedient programming. It was telling him to just call the police, your life and safety be damned. He couldn’t do it; he couldn’t lose you to some lowlife with a knife who was just looking for money to get his fix on whatever street drug of his choice. He began hitting and smashing the wall, you were behind it and if he didn’t tear that wall down, you would be gone forever. He punched, slammed, kicked, and rammed the wall, it had to break, it had to.

After smashing the wall for what seemed like an eternity for Simon, he saw the wall shatter like a pane of breakaway glass. As soon as the wall shattered, he did it; in one swift motion he raised the pistol, took aim, and pulled the trigger, the 9mm bullet spiraling through the robber’s forehead, and exiting out the back of his head, instantly killing the criminal. The robber’s body instantly went limp, and the lifeless corpse fell backwards onto the carpet floor, a red stain progressively getting bigger as the body lied there.

Your ears were ringing from the loudness of a gun going off indoors, and Simon was still standing there with the gun raised as if the robber were still alive. Then the gravity of the situation hit Simon like a ton of bricks; he just killed a man, he was a deviant now, and if anyone besides you were to know this, he would be destroyed. You got up, and slowly walked towards your android companion.

“Simon are you okay?” you questioned your friend even though he still looked distressed by what he just did. He looked at you and was going to say something, but the sounds of sirens in the distance and red and blue flashing lights that he could see at the end of the street getting closer spooked him, and Simon dropped the gun and took off running, barging out your backdoor to escape. He didn’t want you to have to see him being killed.

“Wait! SIMON!” you called after him trying to get up off the floor to chase after him, but he was long gone, and you assumed that you would never see him again as he raced off into the frigid winter of Detroit, Michigan.

TIME SKIP: Early-November 2038

Your life had gone downhill significantly in the last 4 months. From February 2036 until July of 2038, you spent almost all your free time trying to find Simon, but to no avail. Your friends and family thought you were insane; why would you want to track down a deviant android who shot and killed someone? You knew that you would never find him if you only had 12 hours, two days a week to find him, so on July 16, 2038, you sold your house and almost all your belongings to get enough money to hopefully find him. Enough money to live on the streets and not go hungry. The only things you didn’t sell were your gun, some of your clothes, your car, and your phone.

You had spent months asking about Simon, going all over the city and surrounding areas, asking anyone, and everyone where he could possibly be. Eventually you got a tip from a homeless person that heard rumors about deviant androids in Ferndale and some other useless information, but you really couldn’t expect precise articulation from some meth-head in a seedy bar in Detroit.

So, que you, walking through Ferndale in the dead of night looking for the android you fell so hard for two years ago that may or may not even be alive anymore. You had been doing this for the last few days. You would search a part of the town at night as to not attract unwanted attention from bystanders and the police, and in the day, sleep in your car. You searched everywhere in Ferndale besides one place, a place you were actively avoiding: it was an abandoned freighter named Jericho. The ship was in a state of disrepair, and it was pretty wise to avoid exploring an abandoned ship that’s slowly being consumed by rust, but it was the last place in Ferndale you HAVEN’T looked thus far.

You stepped out of your car with your gun in your right hand. You pulled the slide to the pistol back and released it, chambering a round. You put the pistol in your left breast pocket in your jacket and began walking towards the ship. If anything were to get butterflies going in your stomach, walking into a place where androids may or may not be with a high possibility that a few of them would be hostile towards humans would definitely be one of those scenarios.

After scouting a way to get on this ship, you found that the only real way was to make a one-hundred-foot fall which would kill you as soon as you hit the floor, so you started looking through the old warehouses nearby to find some way to get into the ship without killing yourself. In one of the warehouses, you found a grappling hook and about 50 feet of rope, just enough to get you onto the deck of the ship.

Heading back to the perch above the boat, you got the grappling hook well secured and slowly started descending the rope, focusing on not dying from doing something so unbelievably stupid that even Johnny Knoxville would call you a moron. You had to use all of your grip strength and upper body strength to not plummet to your demise. Inching downwards, the deck of the boat got closer and closer, and eventually you got to the point where you could safely drop down without injuring yourself.

Plopping onto the deck, you got your bearings straight, looking at the dimly lit, rusty artefact of the Great Lakes and America’s former manufacturing might. You started by walking astern towards the bridge. It was going to take hours to explore this entire ship to find one person, you might as well get some sort of plan for how you’re going to find him. Your plan was pretty simple and was as follows: you would start at the main deck of the ship and work your way down every deck until you were positive you had searched everywhere.

You entered the ship near the bridge, pulled out your flashlight, and looked around. The derelict and rotting ship proved to be pretty inhospitable looking to say the least, with the walls and bulkheads covered in rust or some even completely rusted through. To your right, you saw an old, plastic hardhat, which you took and immediately put on your head; the last thing you needed was a piece of rusty ship falling on your head and caving in your skull. With your flashlight in your left hand, you began exploring the ship.

You could hear the ship creaking as it was just sitting there, docked and rotting away. You also heard water dripping in various rooms throughout the vessel. Room after room, and after the first few decks, you were slowly soldiering on, looking for Simon. You stood at an intersection, wondering where to go now.

“This is fucking stupid.” you thought to yourself as you looked down one of the many passageways on the ship. You were pulled from your thoughts when you heard footsteps quickly approaching behind you. You turned to see a redheaded woman quickly approaching you with a baseball bat in her hands. Before you could even react, she lifted the bat and WHACK! She hit you in the head, but luckily you were wearing the hardhat, otherwise you’d be dead from how hard she swung alone.

Seeing double, you backed up as quickly as you could and drew the pistol tucked away in your jacket and attempted to take aim. Before she could get another swing in to finish you off or before you could pull the trigger, you heard an authoritative male voice ring out.

“North, enough!” the voice commanded from the darkness of the passageways of the ship. The female stopped her onslaught on command, but you kept your pistol trained on your attacker even though your aim was shakier than Porky the Pig in a paint mixer.

“Markus, he’s a human, we can’t have him around here!” the redheaded woman shouted back into the darkness. You heard slower footsteps coming from your right and you saw a tan skinned man with a buzzcut, and heterochromatic eyes approach you two.

“So, what if he is? That doesn’t give you permission to kill someone on sight just for walking in here.” the tanned man retorted to his colleague before bringing his attention to you.

“You have to forgive her; she’s had nothing but bad experiences with humans. I’m so sorry about all of this. But firstly, who are you?” the man questioned you as you slowly lowered your pistol but were ready to use it at a moment’s notice.

“I’m (F/N) (L/N), and I’m looking for my friend. He’s been missing for almost three years now.” you explained to the man as you were still very groggy from getting hit in the head with a baseball bat.

“Why did you come here specifically? What makes you think that he would be here?” the man interrogated you again, looking for reasons as to why you intruded into what seemed to be his home.

“I came here because he’s an android. I got him as a gift from my parents and we became the best of friends. I was such a fool; I fell for him but never told him. He saved my life by deviating and killing a man who threatened to kill me.” you told the man as you gripped your head, the pain from the impact starting to set in. This time the man remained silent, so you decided to speak again.

“I loved him, and I miss him every day. I never got to tell him that or even get a chance to say goodbye. I heard rumors about a deviant hideout somewhere in Detroit and I wanted to see if I could find him just to tell him these things, and just to see if he’s okay, that’s all I want.” you explained as you looked at the two androids as they looked at each other. The man looked at you again and spoke up.

“What is his name?” was all he asked as he looked you dead in the eyes. You locked gazes with the android before speaking again.

“Simon. He is a PL600.” you stated to the two androids, your hope soaring high that he could still be alive. Before either android could speak up, you heard more footsteps followed by a remarkably familiar voice.

“What’s going on, I heard a commotion and I thought-” the voice spoke, and you saw him again, Simon, the first time in 2 years.

“Simon is that really you?” you asked the android as he stood there shocked, looking at you as if he saw an apparition.

“(Y/N), what are doing here?” Simon barely squeaked out, astonished that he was seeing you before him. You leapt forward enveloping the android in a loving embrace as you began to weep.

“I-I thought you were d-dead!” you exclaimed through sobs as you clutched the android, thinking that if you let go for even a microsecond, he would disappear again. Simon clutched you as well pulling you protectively closer to himself, shushing you and trying to get you to calm down. You wept and sobbed for about 5 minutes as years of burden were lifted from you.

“I-I missed you so much, I thought that you were gone forever, and I never got to say goodbye.” you cried into the android’s shoulder, begging God to never take Simon away from you ever again. “I gave up everything I had just so I could find you, my house, job, everything. I never got to tell you something and it’s chipped away at me for years.” you told Simon as he kept you close, fearing that HE might lose YOU.

“What did you want to tell me?” Simon questioned as he pulled away slightly to look at your face. You leapt forwards and kissed the android on the lips, savoring what you wished you did that day after work. Simon was surprised by this and kissed you back, wishing to rA9 that you would never go. You pulled away to look at his beautiful ocean-blue eyes.

“I love you. I always have, and always will, if you’ll have me?” you asked Simon as you played the love’s version of Russian roulette. You noticed as the LED on Simon’s temple glowed a steady golden color before turning blue once more.

“YES!” Simon exclaimed as he pulled you into another short kiss. “I love you too and will love you until the day I permanently shut down.” Simon told you as you stayed in his loving arms.

North had left by that point to do whatever she needed to do, but Markus stayed behind to watch this display of affection between a new couple. You turned around to see Markus with a smile on his face as he looked at the love a human and an android can have. Markus looked you in the eyes as he made a decision.

“I’ve always thought that having a human in Jericho could help teach those among us that hate humanity, that the human race isn’t entirely evil. Wouldn’t you agree, Simon?” Markus asked your new lover which got Simon’s gaze off of you and towards his leader.

“Yes, that could definitely work. We should strive for harmony together and this would be a great steppingstone to do so. What to you think?” Simon asked you as he looked back down at you. You thought about it and decided in favor of it. Humans should live peacefully with androids as equals and should love each other.

“I’m up for it.” you say as you look up at your android boyfriend, mesmerized by his still perfect appearance.

“Well, then it’s decided. Welcome to Jericho, (Y/N). Here we’ll forge a better future for androids and mankind.” Markus declared before he and Simon walked you down to the rest of the deviants on the ship.

You found Simon after years, years of never giving up and never taking the easy way out, and you were rewarded for it. The reward you got was one in which you got to confess your love to the one who you always loved, and on top of that, you get to make a better, harmonious world at his side; a world in which humanity and androids can live in peace and love, together, forever.

#detroit become human #simon #dbh simon #dbh simon x reader #simon pl600 #simon pl600 x reader #simon x reader

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wolveria · 5 years ago

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Unable to perceive the shape of you - Ch. 3

Pairing: Connor x f!Reader x Nines

Summary: After breaking the RK twins out of the MarineLife facility, you were determined to return them to the ocean before getting caught by your employer.

What you hadn’t counted on were the brothers deciding you belonged to them.

Prompt: Mermay! (Shape of Water/Splash AU)

Word Count: 3k

AO3

Getting the RK brothers out of MarineLife was surprisingly simple, especially when the head of security was in charge that night, a particular rat bastard who happened to have an unfortunate interest in you.

It was simple to strike up a conversation with Gavin, standing outside on the loading platform on his smoke break. You succeeded in drawing his attention away from the back door, allowing the twins to walk through and hide in the shadows until you could make your own escape.

What wasn’t simple was actually executing that escape, as you were now trapped politely declining Gavin’s pushy advances.

“Come on,” he said, leaning an arm against the wall and effectively blocking the path to the parking lot. The halogen lights hanging on the outside of the lab highlighted the scar on his nose, giving him an especially sinister look that evening. “Go out with me, just for one night. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

Cringing internally at his smarmy smirk, you tried to smile as you waved away the cigarette smoke in your face. You didn’t know why the head of security took the graveyard shift when he could relegate it to someone else, and the implications had always set you on edge. It was no secret he got the job because his half-brother was the founder of the company, and everyone despised him, even his own brother.

Most nights you specifically waited to leave until he was off his smoke break and wouldn’t catch you outside, but now that you had his attention you wondered how badly it would backfire.

“No, thanks. I’m fine.”

He screwed up his nose and pulled in another lungful of smoke.

“What, you got a boyfriend or somethin’?”

You opened your mouth to answer no, but hesitated a fraction of a second too long. Not knowing why your mind had immediately gone to the two brothers, you decided a different answer might be more useful here.

“Actually,” you finally said. “I do.”

Gavin scoffed and rolled his eyes as he flicked the ashes off his cigarette.

“Yeah, sure.”

“It’s true,” you insisted, folding your arms across your chest. A protective gesture against his lingering, unwanted gaze. “He’s waiting for me at home.”

“Then why haven’t I ever heard of him?”

You clutched your arms tighter as the anger finally slipped through.

“Because it’s none of your goddamn business, Gavin.”

Heart thudding and each breath shaking, you took advantage of his stunned expression to walk past him, waiting for him to say something in response.

He never did.

Before you went to the first row of cars where you’d watched Connor and Nines ducked down, you checked over your shoulder. Gavin was still outside staring in your direction, but at least he wasn’t following.

When you were out of sight, you whispered Connor’s name and nearly jumped out of your skin as both brothers slipped out from the shadows between two vehicles. For having lived all of their lives in water, they sure knew how to be silent on land.

You unlocked your old car and slipped inside, making sure they both had their seatbelts secure before you drove from the lot. Your hands were still shaking and you wished you had an automated car instead of the ancient Subaru that was about as old as you were.

The drive from Belle Isle to your apartment was silent and strange. You didn’t know what to say to the twins, and they didn’t say anything in return. At least, out loud. You’d always had the suspicion they could communicate in some way humans couldn’t understand, and now you believed it when out of the corner of your eye you saw Connor slightly move in the passenger seat. Head tilted and slightly angled toward the back seat where Nines resided.

But not a word was said aloud, so you kept quiet as well.

Packing up what you wanted to take with you was depressingly easy and quick. There wasn’t much, and once you had a duffel bag stuffed full of clothes and toiletries, you were basically ready to leave your life behind. There was nothing to keep you there. Nothing you would miss or couldn’t live without.

You weren’t sure where you were going yet. You plotted into your GPS the most direct route to the east coast. The fastest way would be to cut through Canada across the lakes, but even if you managed to smuggle the brothers across the border, the chance you would be caught reentering the country a few hours later in order to reach the ocean were too high.

So you settled for heading south toward Cleveland and making it to the Atlantic within a day. Possibly two, if you ran into problems.

You wanted to drive as long as you could, but four hours after you’d broken the twins out of the facility, you were barely able to keep your eyes open and your legs were killing you. Disappointed with your lack of progress, but not wanting to fall asleep at the wheel, you stopped in Cleveland and paid for a cheap hotel room with cash.

You were so tired that you didn’t think about the fact you’d rented one room, with one bed. You decided you didn’t care. The drive and the strange night had taken a toll, and by the time you’d gone into the bathroom to change into a loose shirt and sleeping shorts, you were willing to sleep on the floor just to get some rest.

Exhaustion made you bold; you tucked into the middle of the bed and patted the covers next to you. Connor got the idea first, and shed his shirt and pants quickly, giving you barely any time to choke out, “Connor, please keep your underwear on.”

He tilted his head and pulled his fingers away from the waistband of his boxer-briefs. It was bad enough he was wearing next to nothing as he crawled under the covers, but you didn’t have the heart to tell him to put his jeans back on. Connor had picked them out himself when you’d stopped at a thrift store before leaving Detroit, and they fit him a little too well.

For a guy who’d never had legs before, she sure had them now.

“Nines.” He hadn’t moved from his spot near the door, frozen as if ready to run. You patted the mattress on the other side of you, trying to sound as non-threatening as possible. As if you could ever really pose a threat to him. “You need sleep. Come and lie down.”

He still looked like he might flee out the door, the yellow glow of his armband glowing from underneath the sleeve of his shirt. They’d both had to continue wearing hoodies to cover the bright bands, which you hoped wouldn’t attract attention as it was the beginning of summer and already sweltering hot during the day.

Nines eventually followed your suggestion, though much more reluctantly than his brother, and pulled off his hoodie but left on his own pair of jeans and shirt.

“You’re going to overheat,” Connor told him, a disapproving tilt to his mouth. “You really should remove your clothing.”

“Thank you for your opinion, brother,” he replied, almost petulant, and you had to press your lips together to keep from smiling.

Head already on the pillow, you closed your eyes as you faced Connor. You would have preferred to lie on your back, but there simply wasn’t enough room on the Queen-sized bed when shared with two larger bodies.

When you felt the mattress dip behind you, you were forced to move closer to Connor, your knees and feet brushing together. You made sure to keep your eyes shut tight; it was bad enough you could feel his warm breath on your face, but you didn’t think you would survive seeing those warm, brown eyes up close.

Despite his larger frame, Nines somehow managed to not touch you at all. You tried not to be disappointed, because that would have been unreasonable and wrong. Fortunately, as soon as Connor reached back and turned off the lamp, you were already falling into a deep sleep.

When you opened your eyes again, you were confused for several reasons.

One, the room was still dark apart from a faint, soothing blue from the armbands of the sleeping brothers.

Two, you were caged in on both sides by warm, bare skin. Extremely warm skin, especially from your front.

You opened your eyes and carefully looked down, seeing the tangle of limbs wrapped around you. It took you a moment to realize both brothers had their arms wrapped around you. Nines was pressed against your back while Connor had you tucked against his chest.

Your mouth was dry as sand as your heart pounded loudly in your ears. You could still hear their soft breathing, informing you they were asleep, which you were grateful for. You had to find a way to deal with the very obvious erections: one against your stomach while the other was pressed against your ass. Nines had definitely removed his clothes during the night, and you couldn’t tell if he even had underwear on.

Shutting your eyes tight, you tried to tamp down the heat in your lower gut and the sudden wetness between your legs. Panic warred with your arousal. It was wrong, you shouldn’t feel this way about them, but your body had decided it didn’t care that they were human.

Just that they were close, their unique scent of clean salt filling your senses, their warm bodies pressed against you.

Still… should they be this warm?

You put your fingertips against Connor’s arm with a frown. His skin was burning hot, and despite the face you were sweating through your clothes, neither of them seemed to be damp at all. You couldn’t find a single drop of sweat under your fingers, just an expanse of hot, dry skin.

Concern outweighing your embarrassment, you gently shook Connor by the shoulder and whispered, “Connor, can you hear me?”

The sharp breath didn’t come from in front of you, but from over your shoulder, and after a few seconds Nines quickly removed his arms and legs from around you.

He said your name in a question, voice hoarse, and you looked over your shoulder.

“It’s Connor,” you told him. “He’s really warm.”

“Shit.”

Nines was out of the bed in an instant; you were able to watch his progress across the room to the light switch by the yellow glow of his armband. When he turned the light on and moved to Connor’s side and placed a hand on the back of his neck, the armband flashed red before returning to yellow.

“He’s dehydrated,” Nines said grimly. “We both are.”

In the glow of the bedside lamp you were able to see he was correct. All along both of their shoulders and cheeks was bluish skin, as if they’d been badly bruised. You even thought you could see it begin to peel.

“Connor, wake up,” his brother said, gently shaking him by the shoulder.

Connor groaned and clung to you tighter, pulling you flat against his chest and almost squeezing the breath out of you.

Nines frowned and grabbed Connor’s wrists, forcing his arms apart long enough for you to escape their reach.

He rolled Connor onto his back and studied his features, frowning further. Nines gently tapped him on the cheek, and when he didn’t get a response, he slapped him.

“Wake up, Connor!”

“Ow!” Connor hissed, glaring up at his brother through slitted eyes. “What was that for!”

“To wake you,” Nines responded, eyes hooded and unimpressed. “Now, get up before I do it again.”

Without waiting for a response, Nines grabbed him by the arm and forced him out of bed, propping Connor up by using his shoulder for support. Nines grit his teeth and said, “Help me get him to the bathroom.”

“I’m fine,” Connor insisted, but you listened to Nines and opened the bathroom door ahead of them. You flipped on the switch to reveal the sad state of it, faded tiles and peeling wallpaper, and then moved out again because there wouldn’t be enough room for the three of you.

“You’re not fine. You’re suffering from desiccation sickness.” Nines removed Connor’s arm from around his shoulder, turned him around, and half-pushed, half-carried him down into the bathtub.

“Hey!—“

Connor let out an undignified squawk when Nines turned on the shower full-blast, hitting Connor in the face with it.

You let out a yelp and sprang out of the way just in time. Connor’s pale, freckled legs had sprouted into a powerful grey tail that slapped against the floor in a tantrum.

As the water drenched his face and chest, Connor went almost completely limp, tilting his head back and sighing as his yellow armband went to a calm blue.

You just stood there, unable to stop staring at the rubbery tail and the grey fin sticking out from his back. It had been the first time since you’d seen their ceta features since leaving the MarineLife lab.

Nines turned off the shower and stared down at his brother with his arms folded across his chest.

“Better?”

“Yeah,” Connor said, a slight shake in his voice. “Thanks.”

Nines hummed in acknowledgement and leaned down, placing the back of his hand against Connor’s forehead.

“Still too warm,” the larger brother said, frowning unhappily. “I fear the hormone injections have made it worse for you. Even so, we both need to be fully submerged, and for longer than a few minutes. The bath won’t be large enough for even one of us.”

It was true, Connor barely fit in the tub sitting in it sideways. There was no way he would be able to get his entire lower body completely underwater.

“What about the motel pool?”

They both turned to look at you, and you flushed under the scrutiny. It would have been better one of them hadn’t been in his underwear and the other was now technically naked.

“It should be open for the summer. I know it’s chlorinated, but so were the pools back at the lab. The only issue is it’s not saltwater, so I’m not sure how well you can survive in—“

“It’ll do for now,” Nines interrupted. He blinked and in a gentler tone said, “Thank you for the suggestion.”

“Sure,” you said, shrugging and turning away so they couldn’t see the flush on your face.

“We have to remove the armbands first,” Connor insisted. You were forced to look away a second time when you saw patches of grey, rubbery skin disappear, replaced by smooth, human flesh. His underwear was a tattered band around his waist, and there was nothing to cover him.

You quickly grabbed a towel and handed it in his direction all while keeping your head turned away. “How do we, uh, remove them?”

“I imagine we’ll just have to tear them out,” Nines said. “Whatever damage is caused will heal in the water.”

You glanced back, saw Connor had wrapped the towel around his waist, and breathed in relief. He sat on the edge of the tub, and when Nines also straddled the edge of the tub to take his brother’s arm in his hand to examine the glowing band, your chest tightened.

“Are… are you sure this is a good idea?” you stammered. “It sounds… risky.”

“We don’t have any choice,” Connor said. His brown eyes were soft, his damp hair clinging to his skin in a way that was unfairly sexy. “It’ll be all right. The damage won’t be permanent.”

You watched, stiff and motionless, as Nines gripped the top edge of the armband and tore downwards.

Connor flinched and gripped the edge of the tub, shoulders hunched as blue blood trickled down his arm. Like some other sea creatures, they had hemocyanin in their blood, giving it that particular shade.

Nines frown was concentrated and his brows furrowed as he slowly tugged the armband a centimeter at a time. Thin filaments connected Connor’s skin and the band, the strands ending in electrodes buried in the muscle.

More blood trickled down his arm with each tug and you felt the wooziness return, the blood rushing from your head. You sat down on the closed toilet lid before you could collapse, but said nothing so you wouldn’t distract Nines.

He glanced up at you anyway, frowning further.

“You don’t have to stay for this,” Connor said, giving you a shaky smile.

“N-no, I’m fine. I’m not going to leave you.”

Nines gave a soft snort as if he found your statement amusing.

“If you want to be helpful, you can go out and purchase some more food. We’re going to need it after this.”

You looked away, a sharp pain tugging in your chest. Connor shot him an irritated look; the kind that said he was was going to start a fight with his brother. You’d seen that expression on Connor’s face just before he snapped and hissed at the larger ceta, though Nines had usually ignored him.

Despite Nines’ track record with biting and maiming personnel, he’d never hurt Connor once. You knew he was in good hands now, and Nines would do everything he could to look out for him.

“Good idea,” you said, standing up and putting on a smile for Connor’s sake. “I’ll go see what’s open and grab us some food.”

Connor’s eyes took on the same puppy dog look they always did when you had to leave after your stolen swimming sessions.

You didn’t want to leave him either, not like this when he was so obviously in pain and discomfort, but you weren’t any use to them pacing around and wringing your hands. It was better to actually do something helpful, like you’d promised.

“I’ll have my phone in case you need me.” Just before leaving Detroit, you’d tossed your old phone and bought three disposables, one for each of you in case you got separated. You’d even made sure they were waterproof, in case the twins had to make an escape in the nearest waterway.

“We won’t need it,” Nines said, once again dismissive as he concentrated on Connor’s arm.

Before Connor could argue, which he clearly wanted to from the indignation on his face, you slipped out of the bathroom, got dressed, and left the motel room. Clutching your room key and walking down to your car, able to clear your head without the sight and smell of the strange, copper-scented blood, you tried not to take Nines’ tone personally. Maybe he really didn’t like you, and you’d misinterpreted all the little signs and gestures as something more than they were.

The unhelpful part of your brain pulled up the memory of being pressed between them, wrapped up in their arms, and you suppressed it immediately. It didn’t mean anything, and you had more important things to focus on than pathetic, wishful thinking.

Next Chapter

#detroit: become human #detroit become human #connor x reader #nines x reader #rk1700 x reader #mermaid au #mermay #rk800 x reader #rk900 x reader #my writing #my fanfiction #unable to perceive the shape of you #gavin reed #my rat son is not nice in this

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whatiwillsay · 4 years ago

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late stage swiftgron - the folklore era - 1.0

this post will include all relevant and major activities between taylor and dianna since taylor announced folklore on the morning of July 23, 2020.

click here for a dianna’s spotify masterpost (we are only including the most loud spotify activities on this post but it’s all very interesting)

tagging @jennyboom21, @goldenageofsomethingblue, and @tayloragron to help me out if i miss something (and ofc all of you swiftgrons who help out with the blog, don’t hesitate to let me know if i miss something major)

JULY 23, 2020

- 8 AM EASTERN - TAYLOR ANNOUNCES FOLKLORE TO COME OUT AT MIDNIGHT

- THAT AFTERNOON - DIANNA UPLOADS A NEW PLAYLIST TO SPOTIFY ENTITLED I’LL BE AROUND, WITH ONE SONG ON IT - ‘I’LL BE AROUND’ BY FLOOR CRY:

- DIANNA ALSO STREAMS THE SONG ‘I LOVE YOU SO’ BY THE WALTERS:

this song contains a very loud lyric that makes us believe ‘the 1′ is about dianna:

JULY 24, 2020

- MIDNIGHT - FOLKLORE COMES OUT

- SOME TIME THAT AFTERNOON - DIANNA ATTENDS NAYA RIVERA’S FUNERAL IN LA

JULY 25, 2020

- AFTERNOON - DIANNA TURNS OFF HER SPOTIFY LISTENING FOR THE REST OF THE DAY AND INTO THE NEXT DAY (WE THEORIZE TO LISTEN TO FOLKLORE)

- DIANNA’S SOON TO BE EX HUSBAND, WINSTON MARSHALL, POSTS THIS SHADY ASS PIC TO INSTAGRAM WITH THE CARDIGAN LYRICS WHILE HE PLAYS A BOARD GAME WITH HIS BAND MATE

JULY 29, 2020

- DIANNA POSTS A LOUDLY DOLLY BIRTHDAY POST FOR MOLLY’S BIRTHDAY

- TAYLOR RELEASES THE “cabin in candlelight” VERSION OF CARDIGAN

JULY 30, 2020

- DIANNA IS RATHER ACTIVE ON SPOTIFY INCLUDING A STREAM OF ‘HAPPY TOGETHER’ COVERED BY FLOOR CRY WHICH SEEMS TO BE A DOLLY SONG (there is a very cute video of them goofing around on a beach, pretending to make out, being very adorable and affectionate with each other - dianna posted it and specifically edited it to add the song happy together)

- THE BLOG GETS AN ANON REMINDING US HOW DIANNA WOULD LISTEN TO PALE BLUE EYES BY THE VELVET UNDERGROUND AROUND THE TIME SWIFTGRON WAS BREAKING UP IN 2013, WE PUBLISH AND DISCUSS ON MAIN

AUGUST 4, 2020

- DIANNA STREAMS PALE BLUE EYES BY VELVET UNDERGROUND ON HER PUBLIC SPOTIFY 5 DAYS WE DISCUSSED HER LISTENING TO THAT SONG IN 2013 HERE ON THE BLOG

- TAYLOR IS SPOTTED IN CAPE COD

AUGUST 5, 2020

- TAYLOR NO-HOMO’S BETTY ON COUNTRY RADIO

- DIANNA STREAMS PALE BLUE EYES AGAIN

AUGUST 6, 2020

- KEVIN TEASES SWIFTGRON ON SHOWMANCE AND TALKS ABOUT TAYLOR LOOKING FOR SOMEONE (LIKELY DIANNA) ON THE GLEE SET IN FEBRUARY OR MARCH 2014, POSSIBLY CONFIRMING THAT SWIFTGRON PINING WENT ON LONGER THAN WE EARLIER THOUGHT

- TAYLOR IS SPOTTED BRIEFLY IN LA WITH JOE

AUGUST 8, 2020

- DIANNA IS CONFIRMED TO BE BACK IN NYC

AUGUST 9, 2020

- DIANNA TRULY SNAPS, CRAVES WET PUSSY ON MAIN IN THE PLATFORM PRESENTS EDWARD SNOWDEN SKIT. WE LIKE TO PRETEND THAT SHE DID THIS TO MAKE UP FOR TAYLOR’S NO-HOMO OF BETTY

AUGUST 15, 2020

- BOTH OUR GIRLS POST TO SOCIAL MEDIA ABOUT SUPPORTING THE USPS WITHIN THE SAME HOUR

- DIANNA IS ON A FRIEND’S SOCIAL MEDIA IN CONNECTICUT

AUGUST 18, 2020

- THE LAKES (WHICH IS A SONG ABOUT TAYLOR WAITING FOR HER MUSE) AND THE DELUXE VERSION OF FOLKLORE COMES OUT

- TAYLOR DISCUSSES THE MEANING BEHIND EXILE ON RADIO

AUGUST 19, 2020

- DIANNA’S DIVORCE IS ANNOUNCED AROUND 8 AM EASTERN TIME

AUGUST 20, 2020

- ESCAPISM FOLKLORE CHAPTER RELEASED

AUGUST 21, 2020

- DIANNA IS SPOTTED IN NYC WITH HER HAIR CUT AND FRESHLY DYED

- DIANNA GAY RUMORS SWIRL AS WELL AS HER CONNECTION TO TAYLOR, IT ALL SEEMS TO BE PICKING UP STEAM, THE BLOG PREDICTS A JOE x TAYLOR STUNT

- DIANNA’S WIKIPEDIA PAGE IS EDITED, A MORE FEMININE PICTURE IS MADE HER MAIN PICTURE, SEVERAL PEOPLE ARE EDITING HER PERSONAL LIFE SECTION. SWIFTGRON RUMORS ARE ADDED TO IT:

IT APPEARS AS THOUGH A USER GOING BY KINGSIF MAKES THESE EDITS:

AUGUST *22*, 2020

- IT IS ONE OF DIANNA’S GOOD FRIEND’S, SELBY’S BIRTHDAY. SELBY (WHO WAS AT THE FUN CONCERT IN FALL 2013) POSTS TO INSTAGRAM WITH BOTH MTR AND WILDEST DREAMS PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND. DIANNA DOES NOT PUBLICLY WISH HER A HAPPY BIRTHDAY (tho she didn’t post for selby’s birthday last year, however she didn’t like molly’s selby birthday dedication and she usually does comment on posts molly has made for selby’s birthday or like it or both in the past, she also didn’t comment on or like tracy dubb’s selby birthday post)

AUGUST 23, 2020

- SLEEPLESS NIGHTS FOLKLORE CHAPTER RELEASED

AUGUST 24, 2020

- DIANNA IS IN CHILMARK, MA AT A LAKE WITH FRIENDS (it’s probably a coincidence but this location is not too far a drive or ferry ride from taylor’s place - about an hour)

AUGUST 25, 2020

- DIANNA IS HAPPY AND FRESH AND CUTE ON THE SHIVA BABY LIVE STREAM

AUGUST 26, 2020

- SALTBOX FOLKLORE CHAPTER RELEASE

- THE BLOG POSTS THE SPOTIFY SINCE FOLKLORE MASTERPOST

- A FEW HOURS LATER SPOTIFY GLITCHES AND/OR DIANNA GOES PRIVATE ON SPOTIFY, IT IS HARD TO TELL WHICH HAPPENED OR IF BOTH THINGS HAPPENED. SHE DOESN’T STREAM AGAIN UNTIL 9/2/2020

- DIANNA IS PAPPED IN NYC CARRYING A BOOK DESCRIBED AS RAUNCHY AND QUEER LMAO

- DIANNA SHOWS UP IN INSTAGRAM STORIES OF SOMEONE WEARING A MASK AND A DETROIT BLOWS SHIRT

AUGUST 28, 2020

- DIANNA SHOWS UP IN A DOG’S INSTAGRAM POSTS, RARE BTS FOOTAGE OF HER IN HER AMAZING ROMEO DRAG FOR HER ROMEO AND JULIET PHOTOSHOOT FROM 2019

- TAYLOR NATION POSTS A PICTURE OF TAYLOR WITH WINE FROM THE FOLKLORE LIVE CHAT THAT TOOK PLACE THE EVENING OF THE 23RD RIGHT BEFORE FOLKLORE DROPPED TO CELEBRATE NATIONAL *RED* WINE DAY

AUGUST 29, 2020

- DIANNA’S INVOLVEMENT IN A PLAY OR FILM ADAPTATION OF A TALE OF TWO CITIES GOES PUBLIC ON INSABELLA MACPHERSON’S INSTAGRAM. THE QUOTE REFERENCED IS, “IT WAS THE BEST OF TIMES IT WAS THE WORST OF TIMES”

- THE OSSA YOUTUBE CHANNEL SNAPS AND SENDS SWIFTGRON MAINSTREAM SHOWING THAT NO, THEY’RE NOT OVER SWIFTGRON SO WHY SHOULD WE BE OVER IT? THEY ADD SWIFTGRON RUMORS TO A VIDEO TALKING ABOUT WHO ALL THE GLEE CAST HAS DATED.

as of 9-4-2020 9 am central this video now has 115 k views:

AUGUST 30, 2020

- DIANNA’S OLD BOSS RYAN MURPHY FOLLOWS TAYLOR ON INSTAGRAM, MAKING HER THE 13TH PERSON HE FOLLOWS (we speculate that taylor’s music will be featured on his upcoming movie, the prom)

- TAYLOR WINS VMA FOR BEST DIRECTION FOR THE MAN, SHE GIVES A DIGITAL ACCEPTANCE SPEECH AND ENDS IT WITH A TENDER “I HOPE I GET TO SEE YOU SOON.”

AUGUST 31, 2020

- THE BLOG REQUESTS DIANNA TO COME BACK TO SPOTIFY:

SEPTEMBER 2, 2020

- DIANNA COMES BACK TO SPOTIFY WITH TWO VERY INTERESTING PLAYLISTS (songs that seem to specifically and blatantly reference taylor’s lyrics)

SEPTEMBER 3, 2020

- DIANNA PAPPED IN NYC OUT BOOK SHOPPING

SEPTEMBER 4, 2020

- CAM SNAPS AND DECIDES TO CELEBRATE THE FAIRFAX FLEA MARKET ANNIVERSARY BY MAKING THIS MASTERPOST. HAPPY SWIFTGRONTEMBER.

what does it all mean?

as you all know, this blog does not think swiftgron is together (other than being friendly and on cordial or even close terms) however we do think swiftgron is being referenced by kevin, her wikipedia, and that news video as part of a narrative. we are not entirely sure what that narrative is but we have two very specific ideas. if you hang around the blog or discord you probably know what our two theories are. we are not comfortable blogging them publicly right now.

the usps post coordination is very loud to us as well along with the outside sources commenting on swiftgron.

it is not just our small circle of delulu 2020 swiftgrons that notice something going on with the girls. they are referencing each other and seem to be circling one another and normal people are taking note.

i probably missed a lot so please ping me if i did (esp about taylor, we don’t track her as closely as we do dianna, we’re going to start though) and please read over this post with big swiftgron intelligence agency eyes 👀👀👀! if there are connections and “coincidences” that stand out to you anon the blog or comment please!

and that’s what you missed on swiftgron

#timeline #late stage swiftgron #swiftgron folklore era 1.0 #spotify #magick #swiftgron #gaylor swift

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somarsword · 4 years ago

Text

Sleep on the Floor - Part 3

ROGER TAYLOR X READER

Hi!! Hello again. Okay, first of all I am so so sorry for how long it took me to upload part 3. There's several reasons for that, a few being 1.) I've been pretty busy on school works, 2.) I'm an undecided bitch, and 3.) I have no idea which direction I want to steer this story towards. I've written this part like at least 4 times. Anyways, sorry for the delay. (Ps. I'm uploading on my phone so I'm sorry there's no cut and it appears as one long ass post. I'll probs edit this soon though to be under a cut)

I hope you enjoy the read!

picture uploaded by "wattpad" on pinterest (link https://pin.it/5NtW4Fg)

WARNING: blood, mentions of abuse (well the damage), cursing?

word count: 1.7k words

𝐅𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐲 9, 1976 - (𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨) 𝐃𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐢𝐭

An hour after your conversation Freddie heads back to bed, leaving you to your own thoughts. Which definitely was not ideal. There was too much to think of, so much you wanted to just ignore.

𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑖𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑌/𝑛? 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑒.

Breathing in deeply you head towards the front. There was only one person still up, possibly he could answer where the hell all of you were headed.

"Hi" you say softly as you peak through the curtains which separated the driver's area from the rest of the vehicle. The man's head whips towards you, slightly startled, before quickly training his eyes back on the road.

"Uh... hey?" his greeting comes out as more confused than welcoming. His eyes fleet back to you, his expression quite comical. It was as if he were making sure he wasn't hallucinating.

"Mind if I sit up here with you?" you question him. He nods before looking at the road once more. You both seat silently for a few minutes, awkwardness filling the air. You clear your throat.

"Uh, I was wondering actually if you could answer my question" you say.

"I mean sure I guess, can't promise I've got the answer for that though" He replies

"Well I surely hope you can, you are driving us there after all." you tell him, this causes him to laugh

"Oh, if your question is where we're going, it's Detroit" he tells you, a smile still plastered on his face. You nod, murmuring out a short thanks, ready to head back.

Before you can stand, however, he speaks up.

"If you don't mind me asking, who exactly are you?" there's no ill-intent behind his voice, rather it's just filled with curiousity.

"Oh um... I'm not so sure yet. I think I'm the financer though" you tell him. Amused, he shakes his head and laughs

"Girlie, you get more and more interesting." He says, laughing heartily. This causes you to smile as well.

"Well, I try" you shrug but can't suppress the giggle that erupts from you.

"I'm Y/n by the way" you say, finally introducing yourself properly.

"Bill" he says nodding.

••• -•- •• •--•

By the time you reach Detroit, you and Bill have shared a year's worth of stories. Each story shared wasn't really important, more of small snippets of each of your lives. Like the time you tripped and spilt the contents of your bag on the road, or the time Bill thought he ran over a cat, only for it to be an old sock.

You nearly forget the fact that you had a giant gash on your stomach until Bill suddenly steps on the breaks as he parks, sending you flying forward and causing the seatbelt strap to push against it.

"Oh shit, sorry" Bill apologizes quickly.

You hiss loudly, slouching over as you see black spots dance around your vision. At this, he looks over at you worriedly.

"Hey, you okay?" his attention is divided between you and parking the bus. You wave one hand dismissively but you can feel the wound throb painfully.

𝑆ℎ𝑖𝑡. 𝐼𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑑?

You feel your shirt begin to dampen, the crimson red liquid seeping through the piece of cloth.

Switching the engine off, he turns towards you. His eyes quickly widening at the sight.

"Holy fuck. You're bleeding! Shit. Wait, uh-" he frantically unbuckles both of your seatbelts before careening you towards a van parked adjacent to the bus. He yanks the van door open, causing the person inside to groan and cover their eyes.

"Tom. Tom get up" Bill's voice getting increasingly agitated. Tom groans, rolling over to his side.

"Bill it's too early, I'm not in the mood. Please let me rest." At this Bill huffs and shakes the sleeping man.

"Bitch, get up. I'm not looking for morning sex. This girl's bleeding out, get up." This causes the sleeping figure to quickly shoot up, reaching one arm behind him in search for (what you can only assume to be) his medkit.

"Fucking hell. Maybe say that first next time?" he mumbles grumpily. Bill helps you unto the van, hoisting you up.

"Can you lift up your shirt?" Tom asks gently, holding out a dampened cloth. Deliriously, you yank it up.

You hear them both mutter curses under their breath as they see the damage. Neither asks what happened as Tom aids you, but you're sure they've got ideas.

After nearly 20 minutes of excruciating pain as Tom stitched up your gash, you hear the tour bus doors open once more. You're not sure who it is as your eyes are closed but you know that you're in perfect view of whoever steps out the bus; and soon enough you hear hasty footsteps approaching.

"Bleeding Christ, what the hell happened to her?" You hear the unmistakable sound of Roger's raspy voice. You hear no response from the other two.

You force your eyes open. This immediately catches Roger's attention.

"You alright there love?" He asks gently.

Moving towards the exit, you dangle you legs out limply.

"I'm fine" you murmur out, attempting to stand up. This only results in you collapsing. Roger catches you before you hit the ground.

"Mhm, sure seems like it" he comments. "C'mon, let's get you rested"

Too weak to protest, you nod. You hear him say a quick thanks to Tom.

Bill assists Roger in holding you up as you allow them to guide you back to the bus. Once inside you expect to be set on the couch, but they head directly to the back, laying you down on Roger's bed. Bill excuses himself, checking on you one last time before leaving.

Almost immediately your eyes shut from exhaustion, but you remain awake for a while, listening to the hushed voices.

They must've woken up from the commotion of Bill and Roger dragging you into the room as the first thing you hear from them is complains on Roger to keep it the 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 down, but the tone is quickly replaced by concern once their gaze lands on you

𝑌𝑒𝑎ℎ, 𝑖𝑓 𝐼 𝑠𝑎𝑤 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑎 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑑𝑦 𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑟𝑡, 𝐼'𝑑 𝑏𝑒 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑦 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜𝑜.

••• -•- •• •--•

Drowsily, you lift yourself up. Confused by your surroundings.

"Oh hey! You're up." their bassist says, quickly rushing to your side holding a bottle of water out. You grab it gratefully, chugging down the contents.

Once finished, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, turning towards the man sat on the bed across you.

"Thanks..." you begin, but trail off as you try to recall his name. He just chuckles, his eyes wrinkling at the sides.

"John. -or Deaky. Whichever you prefer" he says. You nod gratefully.

"What time is it?" you ask, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hands.

"Around 3:30pm. The rest just headed out to get food, they'll be back in a few" he explains as you look around at the empty beds. You nod.

Standing, he offers an outstretched hand for you to take. You stare up at him in confusion.

"Well I'm assuming you'd rather not spend all day trapped inside. We can wait for them outside. There's a table and a few chairs set up" Reluctantly you take his hand and he pulls you up.

Feeling a lot better, you follow after him, refusing his offer of helping you.

"Do you know how to play any card games?" he asks as you both take a seat outside.

"A few? Poker, Rummy, Black Jack" You list. He nods and shuffles the deck.

"Let's go rummy" he says as he distributes the cards.

It's silent for the first few rounds, a few side comments said, but not much more.

"He's an idiot" Deaky suddenly blurts out suddenly causing you to look at him in confusion.

"Who?" you ask him, eyebrows furrowed.

"Your fiancé" he says matter-of-factly. This catches you off guard. You stare at him, eyes wide.

"I- He- What do you- How'd you know?" you sputter out. He shrugs.

"You're the girl from the Ritz right?"

𝑊ℎ𝑦 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑚𝑦 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑘 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡?

You nod solemnly.

"So I'm guessing you all know about-" you gesture towards your stomach which was shielded by your bloody shirt. He nods. You sigh, thinking of how to explain it all properly.

Deaky notices your distress and sets his cards down before turning all his attention on you.

"Don't worry about it. We won't ask. You don't have to tell us anything" Sincerity oozing from his voice. You give him a small, grateful smile.

"It's ex fiancé, by the way" You clarify.

Just as you both start another round, the others arrive, holding bags of food and... shopping bags?

"Ah! Glad to see you up lovie" Freddie says, pulling you into a hug. You giggle and hug him back.

"Here, we got you some pancakes and sausage." Brian says as he sets a small takeout box in front of you. "It may not be breakfast anymore, but pancakes are delicious at all hours of the day" Freddie comments , causing you to smile and shake your head at the singer's energy.

Roger approaches you, handing you a small shopping bag. You look towards it then up at him.

"What's this?" you ask him, confused.

"Just thought you might want some change of clothes. You only packed an extra jacket and a few pants so I got you a few shirts." he says scratching the back of his neck. Before you can respond he quickly add, "Sorry for going through your bag, I was looking for something for you to change into a while back"

"It's fine. Thanks Roger" You beam at him, happily grabbing a shirt and excusing yourself to change inside the bus.

Once done, you emerge from the bus to find all four boys and Jim seated around the table, eating their meals. You take a seat next to Jim.

"Sorry about not being able to help out this morning. I can-" you begin to explain but he holds his hand up to cut you off.

"Don't worry about it. You can start later." he says, smiling gently. You nod appreciatively before opening the takeaway box and digging in.

#roger taylor #queen #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor fanfic #ben hardy!roger taylor #ben!roger #ben hardy!roger x reader #queen fic #queen fanfic #john deacon

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harcourtholmesii · 4 years ago

Text

Friend And Enemy

Another story for @connor-sent-by-cyberlife. My intention is that this will be one part of a two part story, the second will be due for one of the future prompts.

Pairings: HankCon / Hannor / Hank X Connor

Warnings: - Swearing - Implied Sexual Situations, Drinking and Drugs - Referenced and Stated Murder - Depression and Self-Hatred - Bad Choices

Words: 2881

Enjoy!

The neon lights of the club flashed through the retinas of Hank’s optical units. For a human, they may have been blinding. A heavy pounding of bass music flooded through the club’s structure, the sound system stretched extensively across the walls. On the dance floor, human patrons were ‘dancing’, their bodies a stench of alcohol, sweat and smoke. Despite the anti-android sign on the door, it was easy for Hank to slip in, his model designed to blend in with the crowd. Few eyes trailed to the arm band on his right, or the gleaming, blue triangle, the obvious marks of an android, if only because they were all too inebriated to notice.

It didn’t suit Hank’s expectations. He was only present in the Eden Club to search for any sign of his partner-to-be. It was the third club he had entered in search of detective Connor Arkait, previously Connor Kamski. Hank had simply been informed by Captain Fowler that this detective had told her he was due out to celebrate some occasion, and would be at the Eden Club. That narrowed it down to three locations across Detroit, and Hank had been searching for him the past hour and a half. His phone was off it seemed, as Hank had been attempting to connect to it and had been reduced to simply leaving a voicemail.

His scanners were struggling with the mess of human faces, and whether they meant to, the crowd helped to siphon him through to the other side of the dance floor too quick for him finish his scans. His LED flashed a brilliant yellow in the android equivalent to frustration. As he leaned back against the wall of a booth, he allowed himself another look across the club. Finally, his scanners picked up on something; some loose papers beside a folder, marked with a stamp that read ‘DPD’.

He approached, skirting the edges of the dancing, grinding crowd, until he came upon a near empty booth. A dark haired human was stooped over the papers, eyes focussed on the work before him, pen rapidly dashing across paper. Hank cleared his throat, a human gesture to gain his attention, and warm, brown eyes flicked up to meet his own. It was easily enough time to scan the other’s facial features.

He had a 100% match.

‘Detective Arkait?’

The human seemed confused, looking Hank up and down as if scanning himself. Eyes flicked to the LED on Hank’s temple, his serial and model number emblazoned upon the breast of his grey uniform. His eyes turned back to Hank’s face and took in his artificially depicted age, and the addition of silver hair and trimmed beard.

The detective immediately started packing up his papers; it was an odd place for a human to attempt to work. It came across immediately as ‘workaholic’ behaviour, and with the lack of glass on the table or any traces of it against the detectives lips, Hank could only assume that his ‘night out’ was not one for relaxation. The detective stood, revealing him still in something akin to business wear or a uniform. The white shirt was open a bit by the collar, so that the human may not overheat in the 30 degree Celsius conditions.

The detective had finished cleaning up, and gestured vaguely towards the front of the club, as if insinuating an exit. Hank led the way, his size enough to form a path for the detective to follow. Once they had reached the exit, beneath the streetlights and neon signs, Hank could make out where blood had risen to the surface of Connor’s skin, creating a flushed look to his features. It was probably due to the heat of the club, or the embarrassment of being caught out.

They stepped away from the club, Hank patiently waiting to be addressed. By the time they stepped into a nearby, empty street, Connor’s face had lost some of its heat. But not all of it.

‘Sorry.’ Hank was not expecting an apology, nor the explanation that followed. ‘I was not expecting to be called out this evening.’ Connor adjusted one of the suspender straps, a light smack of elastic against his body a strange ministration to Hank. It confused Hank further that Connor would be explaining the circumstances to him; an android.

‘I am unfamiliar with the HK800 model.’

‘I’m a prototype android, assigned to you for a recent deviancy case.’ When Connor heard that, a pout came over his features.

‘So that is why Niles stole my phone.’ He huffed, blowing a stray, defiant lock out of his eyes. The same curl of hair returned to hanging just above his left eye anyway. ‘Sorry I couldn’t answer my phone. Do you have the details of the investigation, or are they still being compiled?’

‘The crime scene is still being investigated. Captain Fowler expressed his wish to have you there.’

Connor smiled at him, a gesture that Hank did not understand. Humans didn’t often smile at androids, whether it was because they were against them entirely, simply saw them as objects or even when they did smile at them, it was hardly genuine. To read the human features and see that his eyes creased slightly at the corners, and the pull of his lips created dimples, Hank determined it was a real smile. It was confusing.

‘Do you terribly mind calling a cab, then? We’ll head over right away.’ A flick of Hank’s LED and two minutes and forty-seven seconds later, a self-driving taxi had pulled up on the street curb. Connor stepped inside, followed by Hank himself, and the directions were inputted.

It was a quiet ride for the most part, but it seemed the detective was in some form of discomfort. His movements were agitated, and a coin had been removed from his pocket. He stroked his thumb over the quarter, and twirled it between the fingers on one hand, distracted. It reminded Hank of his own calibration technique, but he didn’t voice his opinion on the matter. His words only mattered once he had to detail what he could discover at the crime scene.

‘What should I call you?’ Hank turned his eyes back to the human, who seemed to have no qualms speaking with an android in such a casual manner. It seemed odd. ‘No offense intended, of course, but I was curious if I should simply refer to you by HK800 or if you have a name. It may be easier for me to say than ‘HK800’ all the time.’ His tone was soft, a joking inflection in his words.

‘Hank.’

‘It’s a nice name.’ There was a brief algorithm of words and numbers that faded in and out across Hank’s HUD, too quickly for him to immediately decipher. But something stirred within the android at those words; he couldn’t recognise if it was perhaps a glitch or minor malfunction in his biocomponents, but he felt his thirium pump briefly skip a beat. It threw off the rhythm for all of 2.09 seconds, but it was noticeable enough. What should have been a potential concern was ignored, if only because…

It felt… Nice…

~X~

‘Hank! Let’s go!’ Connor was on his feet and, alongside Hank’s own, heavy footsteps, the two of them had taken off after the deviant. The android had been hiding in an abandoned apartment building, caring for pigeons of all things, and had immediately gone to attack Connor when the detective had drawn too close to its hiding place.

The corridor was cramped, Hank taking the lead as he glided over several thrown obstacles. He heard a rough sound of either pain or exertion, but he could not wait. If he slowed down now, they would lose the deviant.

Hank bust through the fire exit door, the steel barrier colliding into the wall and near coming off its hinges at the force. Before him was the rooftop; the deviant leapt beneath the giant sign and onto the raised farm on the opposite rooftop. Behind him, Connor followed, only just keeping pace. His breaths were a constant reminder of his presence, and served to aggravate Hank further.

Through the wheat, Hank hurriedly climbed a brick wall, eyes constantly scanning and pre-constructing what paths laid out before him. He couldn’t afford to be slow or even careful; he would lose sight of his target.

Through greenhouses and across glass rooftops, Hank tracked the deviant. Connor’s progress had slowed behind him, to where he could no longer hear him breathing. He didn’t chance a glance behind him, not when he was so close. He could hear the South Detroit train on route, could see the drop off where the tracks created a large gap between the first rooftop farms and a rooftop orchard.

The deviant leapt, and Hank made to do the same.

‘Oh, fuck…’ The voice was so soft, or perhaps it was loud but simply muted by the heavy winds. Hank turned his head around, optical units scanning as he watched Connor’s form, a distance behind him, slip through an open skylight, hands gripping tight to the edge. Beneath him, there was a whirl of engines, the sound of many blades slicing and dicing through crops. Connor’s legs dangled several metres above the ground, his hands struggling to keep a hold of the glass roof.

From where he was, Hank could not see Connor’s face, but he could hear his ragged, exhausted breaths. He scanned Connor, watching with a strange, hollow feeling in his chest as the ‘survival chance’ read 68%. Beside it, the chance of following and apprehending the deviant was beginning to lower with every half second he spent weighing his options.

Finally, he could see Connor pull himself up, just enough that Hank could see his face. Wide eyes, filled with fear. Hank’s hands twitched, his HUD depicting the beginning of a red, security field between him and Connor. His programming, CyberLife itself, was telling him to go and continue his pursuit.

‘Hank…’ His voice was strained, and with a feeling like Hank’s own biocomponents were about to fall, he watched the other slip. His chances decreased by seven percent, but Hank shook his head. It had to be enough. He had to trust the detective could look after himself. The deviant was his number one priority.

He turned, and took off in the other direction, hot on the deviant’s trail.

As the HK800 left him behind, Connor sighed, hanging his head against his chest. Every moment, he could feel his fingers slipping. Beneath him, the tractor roared ominously, and Connor could practically feel the engine rattling his very ribcage. He should have figured the deviant was the priority, but he had hoped Hank would have…

What had he hoped?

That he meant something to a machine? It didn’t matter that they shared a car ride together, how Connor had noticed the android seemingly smile more whenever they spoke, how Hank had even protected him Ortiz’s own android. What mattered was the mission. He felt his hands slip, and with a cry, he landed in the wet soil below, the tractor nearly upon him.

~X~

He had heard about Connor’s condition through the Captain. Hank couldn’t care, he was a machine after all, but the more he heard about Connor’s condition, the worse he felt. It was as if every word twisted his thirium pump awkwardly around in the pit of his synthetic chest.

‘Broken ribs.’

‘Dislocated shoulder.’

‘Plenty of cuts and bruises.’

‘Mostly, however, he is still suffering from a bit of shock. He won’t be in tomorrow, as much as he may wish to be.’ Hank felt like ‘shit’; a term used, in this case, to mean that he felt less than subpar. He couldn’t imagine Connor, the one he was supposed to please and work with, would ever want to see him again. However, by CyberLife’s insistence, Hank would force himself into Connor’s life once more, once the workaholic detective could no longer stand to remain in his apartment.

He had been assigned to an investigation alongside detective Reed, in one of the Eden Clubs across Detroit. A murder, presumably committed by a deviant, but Hank had hardly been able to concentrate. By the time detective Reed had made his case that it was manslaughter, and the ‘fucking idiot’ had a little too much ‘fun’, Hank did not have the energy to argue.

It was as if stasis weighed on his biocomponents, near drowning him.

He wondered if this was how guilt felt to humans.

~X~

Hank stepped towards the park bench, the faintest, early snowfall gently floating down in a fine curtain of white. There, still bandaged and bruised, sat Connor.

A hand rested by his side, and with a scan, Hank could see that the three broken ribs had hardly healed since he had been ordered home to rest. Bruises and minor cuts were painted across the detective’s porcelain skin. Eyes downcast to the pavement beneath his feet, Connor paid him no mind when he approached. There was a crushing sensation in Hank's synthetic form, the same feeling he had when he had been working alongside Gavin. Once more, he noted a brief flash of numbers and letters in the top left of his HUD.

Once he was finally stood beside Connor, he noted that the other’s usually kind smile and bright eyes had turned cold. Distant. It didn’t suit him; he wanted those excitable questions about how he analysed samples, and the continuous, ‘friendly’ chatter, as if the other thought and acted like Hank was just another human.

‘Good evening, Connor.’

The other was silent, and the smile that pulled onto his face, was not a genuine one. He wasn’t surprised, but he didn’t feel any better or reassured. In fact, the strange pit in his body seemed to burrow uncomfortably deep.

‘Hello Hank.’

‘I…’ What should he say? He didn’t want to simply speak because that was what CyberLife told him to do. He wanted to say something, anything that might make the other feel better. He near scoffed at the idea. Yes, because there was an easy way to apologise to someone for leaving them to die.

‘It is alright, Hank.’ Connor hummed, slipping off the bench, his movements slow and stiff. ‘It made sense what you did. You did the right thing, going after the deviant.’

What?

‘I was the one that made the mistake of missing the danger. Hell, if I had just remained where I was, or had gone a different route, I would have been safe. It was my own doing that caused me to fall.’ The tone was shameful, and tears pricked the corners of Connor’s lovely eyes. Hank felt worse.

‘No.’ He stepped closer, raising his hands. Connor hurriedly stepped back, and Hank halted his movements. He didn’t want to scare the other off.

‘You… I don’t think I have seen a human with such little self-worth.’ Hank didn’t mean for it to sound as cruel as it did. Connor’s eyes flashed angrily, and though he opened his mouth as if to scream or berate, Hank was fearful to see that face morph to reluctant acceptance.

‘And?’ Connor tilted his head up to Hank, and didn’t move away this time when the silver-haired android approached him. ‘Is it wrong to accept that you are just not worth it?’ When Hank opened his mouth to speak, Connor hushed him gently. ‘I’m not trying to guilt you, Hank. I just… Your actions yesterday, they reminded me of how things work.’

Hank furrowed his brow, but he had the permission, it seemed, to rest his hands on Connor’s arms, even bring the small human closer.

‘Though we are not friends, Hank, I do hope you don’t see me as a problem. I do hope I am not a burden to you or your investigation.’

‘Why?’ Hank spoke before he ever realised he had formed the words. He didn’t pay any mind to the dialogue options his HUD provided him, and allowed his body the freedom to dictate his words. ‘If anything, Connor, I am the one that caused you trouble. I am the burden on you. If I wasn’t here, perhaps you would have been saved from, at least, your injuries.’

‘I… I wish I hadn’t moved.’

Hank didn’t understand.

‘I just… Sorry… I’m just being stupid.’

Hank finally brought Connor in towards his chest, feeling fluid beginning to leak from his eyes. He didn’t want Connor to see. He hid the other’s face in his chest, one hand in the dark curls and just listening for the sound of the other’s heart.

‘No. Never. You are not stupid, Connor, and please… Do not doubt yourself like this anymore. I... I don’t want you to lose yourself.’

‘I didn’t think androids could want anything?’ Connor half joked, but the laughter was half-hearted and weak.

‘Well, this one does. I want you to be safe. I want you as a friend, Connor.’

‘Just… Don’t leave me for dead again, okay?’

Hank didn’t have the words to agree. He didn’t have the ability to wrap his mind around that sentence. He couldn’t do it. However, he did nod his head.

‘Never again.’

#dbhlightandshadow #Detroit: Become Human #DBH #RK800 #RK800 Connor #Hank Anderson #HankCon #Hannor #Fanfiction #Fanfic #HarcourtHolmesII

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archadianskies · 4 years ago

Text

Whumptober Day 27

Extreme Weather + Power Outage

Whumptober Masterlist | 27/31 of RK900 short stories ↳ on Ao3

Tags: Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings × Post-Pacifist Best Ending × Good Parent Hank Anderson × Exhaustion x Sleep Deprivation x Power Outage

The RK units are specifically designed with powerful battery cores enabling them to function for longer periods between recharging. If expenditure is kept at a minimum, they can remain online for up to a fortnight without recharging, though given their line of duty they tend to rest for short bursts in order to supplement their cores.

That is not the case for them currently, not when Detroit’s caught up in a storm that’s knocked out several power grids and they’re at a crime scene with a felled tree crushing an ambulance.

“Power’s completely out for this grid!” Hank raises his voice to try and be heard over the crashing rain.

“This patient will die without proper medical care!” The medroid shouts in reply and Ronan assesses their dwindling options. Three dead, five injured- one in critical condition. Ambulance damaged, power grid down and no way to power the medvan and keep the injured android alive. Unlike humans, an android runs on electrical impulses of an inorganic nature and cannot be kept alive with medications.

“We have two manual cars here.” Connor says slowly, and he looks to Ronan who already knows what they must do. “Transfer the patient to Detective Reed’s car-”

“What?!”

“We will force a power surge into the victim and give their core a jumpstart to ensure it can remain active long enough for you to get them to Jericho.” Ronan continues with a nod. “Connor and I are RK units, we can do this safely and still retain enough power to last us until we reach Central Station.”

“Power’s still online there.” Connor reassures. “We can use the charging bays. This way the patient can survive until they receive medical help at Jericho. The others have sustained only superficial injuries which are low priority and can wait until power returns and a secondary medvan can be dispatched.”

Hank looks them over, and Ronan knows their father isn’t too keen on the idea but the idea is sound; the idea is the only option they have if they want their key witness to survive.

“We’ll be alright, dad.” Connor says, softer this time as he squeezes his arm. “Just incredibly sleepy, actually.”

“Please do it now.” The medroid grips his wrist. “We’re losing the last of the van’s power rapidly and without a strong electric current he’ll die.”

Ronan tips his head slightly, and Connor follows him to the medvan. The android is in poor shape, multiple gunshot wounds littering his torso. A long thick cable snakes from his power core to the medvan’s life support, and the medroid hurries to detach the heavy black box from the side.

“I’ll power the core, you power the generator.” Ronan instructs, and Connor nods in understanding. They have to undress partly to grant the medroid access to their chestplate, and connect them to both the android and the generator.

“Ready?” They prompt, and the two brothers nod. The effect is almost immediate, the drain a sudden, strong pull that leaves them feeling fatigued.

WARNING

>LOW POWER

>>Power core: 8%

RECHARGE IMMEDIATELY

Ronan blinks away the notification, reaching out to steady Connor as his brother sways on his feet.

“No complex processes until you’re both at least at 25%.” The medroid instructs sternly. “Consume extra thirium, and run a full diagnostic cycle once you’re at full power.”

“Understood.” Ronan nods, and even that seems like a gargantuan effort.

“That thing better not bleed all over my backseat.” Gavin grumbles as he hands over the keys and they load up the injured android in his car.

“That person is our key witness, so their well-being is worth more than your car’s upholstery.” Ronan snaps. “Thirium will evaporate without leaving a stain on this type of synthetic textile. I cannot say the same for your blood.”

Hank snorts back a laugh, clapping him on the shoulder as Gavin sputters indignantly. “Alright into the car everyone, I’ll drive us back to Central.”

“We will return your car once it is safe to do so, Detective Reed.” The medroid vows. “We will take every care to sanitise the interior.”

“Then it will be much cleaner than it’s ever been under his care.” Ronan drawls, unable to stop himself. Hank guffaws, hand on his belly.

“Oh shit you’re cranky, I love it.” He snorts back a laugh and makes a shooing gesture. “Alright everyone in- boys at the back, Reed at the front before Ronan can kill you.”

*~*

Central Station looms ahead, lit only by the recessed ground lights embedded in the steps leading up to the entrance.

“Ah shit.” Hank curses as he pulls up to park.

“Grid’s out here too.” Gavin groans. “And the storm’s picking up.”

“We won’t be able to recharge here.” Connor huffs, leaning heavily on Ronan.

“I mean, Eli’s supervillain lair runs on its own solar grid.” Gavin shrugs. “Could just keep going. Barbie bot won’t mind sharing, I’m sure.”

“Road conditions are not ideal. There is a large margin for human error.” Connor points out, and Ronan notes the way Hank’s hands grip the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles blanche. “Rain radar shows an exponential increase in volume of rainfall over the next five hours, and winds set to rise.”

“Well,” Gavin falters with a frown, “the self-driving taxis should be fine, right?”

“I’m not risking them either way.” Hank declares gruffly. “Safer if we stay inside the precinct and just wait it out.”

“They can’t charge in there!” Gavin protests and Hank shouts in return.

“It doesn’t matter! At least they’ll stay alive!” There’s a beat where no one says anything, and the only sound is the thunderous crash of rain atop the car and Ronan knows Hank is both correct, and speaking from trauma.

“We will stay inside.” Ronan says calmly to break the tension. “There is ample food and water for the both of you, and thirium for the both of us. It is warm and dry, and weathertight.”

“At this hour there shouldn’t be too many staff left anyway.” Connor adds. “And the both of you keep spare clothes in your lockers.”

“Alright alright let’s go.” Gavin groans, bracing himself for the inevitable drenching. Though it’s only a short distance from the parking lot to the entrance, it’s enough for their clothes to become thoroughly soaked. They reach the doors and the doors stay shut. Of course. No power. The lone ST300 at reception spots them and gestures to her left, pointing at the side door. They trudge over and Hank pushes at the handle. Some things are best kept low tech, it seems.

“Good evening, Lieutenant Anderson, Detectives Reed and Andersons.” Stephanie greets, smile apologetic. “Though I surmise there’s little to make it ‘good’.”

“How long’s the power been out here for?” Hank sighs tiredly, slicking his hair out of his eyes.

“Twelve minutes ago.” She informs them, and Connor whines in disappointment, lips pressed tightly together and curled downward.

“Who’s still here?” Gavin strips off his jacket, cursing colourfully at the state of his clothes.

“Officers Chen and Lewis, and assistive units Polly, Justin and Gareth.”

“Thanks Steph.” Hank nods in gratitude before leading them all through the gates. They head immediately to their lockers after giving the others a wave.

“This is less than ideal.” Connor sighs morosely, coordination clumsy as he strips out of his wet clothing.

“Power level?” Ronan prompts, hand hovering in case Connor sways again.

“7.1%. Yours?”

“7.9%.” He pulls a clean, dry sweater over his head before taking a moment to steady himself. Removing wet slacks proves a challenge in his addled state, but he manages it eventually and tugs on a pair of jeans. Connor leans heavily on his now closed locker, the petulant pout still there on his lips.

“I feel awful.”

“They put us through worse.” Ronan reminds him lightly. “Part of our testing phase was to complete an objective with 5% power.”

“They wiped my testing phase.” A brief look of concern crosses his face. “You remember yours?”

“Every single moment.” His brother saddens at the revelation, and he reaches over to squeeze his shoulder.

“I’m sorry.”

“It isn’t your fault.” Ronan reminds him, and Connor nods.

“I know. I’m still sorry, though.” He seeks his hand, and Ronan clasps it securely with his own.

“You boys alright?” Hank wanders over, dressed in DPD sweats.

“Tired.” Connor blinks slowly at him, and Hank huffs a laugh, reaching over to tousle his damp hair.

“Yeah you sure look it. C’mon, we’ll go mope at our desks.”

Officer Tina Chen sits herself on the edge of Gavin’s desk, expression pitying.

“Stuck here til the storm blows over, huh?”

“Fuck I want to pass out on my bed so bad, I’m fucking exhausted.” Gavin groans, slumping in his chair. “Why’re you guys still here?”

“We sent them back to log the evidence and compile the findings.” Ronan reminds him, rolling his eyes in irritation. “Or can you not remember what transpired sixty-five minutes ago?”

“Why bother? That’s what you’re here for, right? Walking computer.” Gavin gestures vaguely in his direction and Ronan decides acting on his irritation will expand battery power the human does not deserve. “God, the coffee machine’s off too isn’t it? I’d kill for one right now.”

“There’s still some left in the pot but it’s lukewarm if you don’t mind that.” Robert pipes up from his desk across the room. “Enough for both you and the Lieutenant.”

“Hey tinc-”

“Finish that sentence and I will pour the coffee for my father and the rest goes down the sink.” Ronan hisses and Hank slaps the table with a laugh.

“Fuckin’ hell Ronan, I am lovin’ this.” He gets to his feet. “Don’t worry I’ll get the coffees. Just promise you won’t kill Reed while I’m gone.”

“I’ll refrain until you return so you may witness it yourself.” Ronan vows and Hank guffaws loudly as he heads to the breakroom. Gavin shoots him a withering glare, which he ignores entirely in favour of assessing his brother. Connor has his arms folded on his desk, head resting on his forearms. His LED winks a soft red, dimming them glowing periodically like a slow warning he is on low power.

“You doin’ okay, Connor?” Tina asks worriedly.

“They got used like car batteries to jumpstart the key witness.” Gavin stifles a yawn. “Came back here to recharge since it was closer than Jericho or home but…” He trails off with a shrug and Tina looks at Connor sympathetically. She turns her gaze to him.

“Bad time to ask a favour huh?” Her smile is sheepish. “Rob and I found some sort of substance residue on one of the trafficked biocomponents we were logging into evidence. We’d hoped one of you boys could analyse it for us, but it’ll just have to wait.”

“No.” Ronan sighs. “Give it to me. I’ll do it. The sooner this case is put behind us the better- if this can provide solid evidence linking the trafficking to the suspect then it will be worth it.”

She disappears briefly to fetch the biocomponent from the evidence room, and Hank returns in the meantime, placing a cup of coffee on Gavin’s desk before returning to his.

“Hey kiddo, you’re not lookin’ too good.” His tone is soft with parental concern as he leans over to smooth Connor’s hair back.

“I don’t like this.” Connor declares with a frown. “It’s irritating and I can’t access the network properly and Jericho is running on a closed circuit at the moment to minimise stress on their generators.” A pause, brows creasing. “And Sumo is home all alone.”

“S’alright, I managed to text Lucy and she went over to make sure he was let out and gave him his dinner.” Hank chuckles, shaking his head. “Don’t worry. We’ll just wait it out and head home and you boys can charge in your beds. Power’s still on over there.”

“For now.” Gavin adds, shrugging when Hank shoots him a glare. “It’s the apocalypse out there versus Detroit’s shitty overworked, aging power stations.”

“Ronan?” Tina reappears at his side holding out the bagged biocomponent; a thirium pump regulator. She is correct, there is a smudge of some sort of congealed substance on the tip of the component where it would usually click into the main arterial port in an android.

“Power level?” Connor asks, voice muffled in his arms.

“7.4%.”

“Sass is wearing you out.” Gavin sneers. “I think you need a nap.” Ignoring him, Ronan carefully opens the bag and retrieves the biocomponent. It’s a midline model, used in domestics produced within the last two years. Bringing the port end to his mouth, he presses the tip of his tongue to the congealed substance.

Analysing…

Thirium 310 serial #342 541 238

Hydrocarbon solvent: xylene

Xylene solution: industrial grade xylene, medical grade thirium toluene

Searching database…

Thirium toluene; medical manufacturers within 5km of Detroit city

>R.G. Medical

/Generating warrant for latest purchase of >gallon quantity medical grade thirium toluene

//Request failed; insufficient power

WARNING

Power level: 4.2%

“-nan? Ronan?” He startles back into himself, identifying Hank leaning over him and gently shaking his shoulders. “Shit kid you almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Apologies.” He frowns, blinking up at his father. “What happened?”

“You licked the thing and then just blue-screened.” Gavin makes a face. “Mood ring went bright red and then you just slumped in your chair.”

“The substance is a hybrid solvent.” He replaces the biocomponent back into the bag. “It is comprised of xylene and a medical grade thirium toluene. There is only one manufacturer, R.G. Medical, within a five kilometre radius of the warehouse. I tried generating a warrant to obtain a record of their recent sales larger than a gallon but I do not have enough power.”

“System’s down anyway.” Hank shakes his head. “Don’t sweat it. We know now, and we’ll just get it done when the power’s back.”

“Supervillain lair is still the best bet.” Gavin crosses his arms over his chest. “Recharge and access whatever you need to. He has his own internet line too.”

“The storm’s worsening, we already told you the weather-” Connor begins, but Gavin rolls his eyes.

“Better than being here, at least there’s beds and coffee over there and whatever you lot need.” He downs the dregs remaining in his cup. “We can take a self-driving taxi so there’s no ‘human error’.”

“No one’s leaving here until that storm blows over and the roads aren’t an oil slick!” Hank growls and Gavin groans.

“Oh my god give it a rest old man, we’re safer in one of those than with you or me driving!”

“An automated delivery truck was what crashed into Hank’s car in 2035, what part of ‘no one is leaving here’ do you not understand?” Ronan roars, grabbing the front of his shirt and hauling the man off his chair. “You are being asked to do very little, Detective Reed, so surely you can manage staying put?” He shoves Gavin away and his senses blurs with white noise.

CRITICAL POWER FAILURE

>Entering emergency stasis

“Dad-!” Connor’s voice is laced with panic and Hank’s worried face is the last thing he sees before he shuts down.

*~*

Model: RK900

Serial#: 313 248 317 - 87

Bios 7.4 Revision 0483

Loading OS...SAFE MODE

System initiation...

Checking biocomponents...

Initializing biosensors...

Initializing A.I. engine...

Memory status…

Power core: 25%

All systems: SAFE MODE ACTIVATED

READY

When he wakes he recognises the neon blue downlights of the UV charging bay. What was once installed along the back wall where auxiliary units stood in line awaiting orders, after the revolution one of the storage rooms adjacent to Evidence was converted into a proper breakroom for androids with charging bays modeled to look like reclining chairs with UV downlights installed in the ceiling.

He also recognises the weight of another android at his side, and he doesn’t have to look to know it’s Connor. There’s a lighter weight atop them both- a soft blanket tucked up to their chins. Though not an android, Hank is in another charging bay fast asleep, mouth open and snoring lightly.

His HUD tells him it has been four hours since entering emergency stasis but only eighty-nine minutes since the power came back online with Central Precinct bumped to High Priority. Connor stirs at his side, blinking awake briefly and meeting his gaze sleepily; his older brother is seemingly reassured all is well before he closes his eyes and wriggles closer. Charging bays are not made for more than one android to occupy but he’s not about to protest. Not when Connor is a warm, reassuring presence at his side, hand resting on his chest as if to anchor himself to him.

There is still a case to close. Later, though. He will tend to it later.

Ronan goes back to sleep.

#rk900 #connor rk800 #gavin reed #hank anderson #tina chen #detroit: become human #whumptober #annie writes: dbh #shut up gavin #gavreed lives one more day #only because ronan ran out of battery to murder him #a shame

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fandom-necromancer · 5 years ago

Text

1033. I don’t like the way they look at you.

This was prompted by the awesome @aurea-b and I... had fun XD Enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900

‘Is there anything else I can bring you, Sirs?’, Gavin politely asked, while he disguised his search of any hint or piece of evidence as gathering empty glasses. ‘Hmm, that fancy android over there, if you don’t mind.’ Gavin hadn’t expected that answer and followed the finger of the man before him over to the central pole of the club. Of course… ‘I’m afraid we are not that kind of club, Sir.’ ‘How about a private dance then, beautiful?’ He had grabbed Gavin by the hand he was reaching for a glass with. ‘Sir, touching is prohibited in this club’, Gavin pressed through his teeth, trying his hardest not to snap and let his fist find its way right into his face. Although he had to play the clueless waiter, he knew exactly who was sitting there right in front of him: One of Detroit’s worst human traffickers. Until now they had only gotten a name, Andrew Jones, and the last sign of life of an android dancer. A message left behind before he had been abducted, just like countless others in his line of work. All androids. Most of them from this club.

The club Nines and Gavin were currently working at as undercover agents. Being the only other android-human partners of the precinct when Anderson couldn’t have played the “sexy waiter” even if he had been ten years younger, really was unfortunate. Gavin wouldn’t have described himself as that either, but apparently the manager of the club had decided otherwise. Nines on the other hand had simply downloaded some Tracy-programs and used his own to hack the application process.

Thankfully Jones let him go, although it had only been after a few beats of prolonged contact, just to show that he could. Oh, how Gavin longed for a fight with this stick of a man, mission be damned. ‘I’ll see what I can do, Sir.’ ‘Yeah, go see.’ Gavin turned around and tried to remember who else had sat in that booth with the criminal. Who were they? Costumers? Partners? Just friends? Whoever they were they requested a private dance from Nines, who was just stepping down from the pole to retreat backstage. They had their eyes on him and although that was generally a good thing because the android could figure out a lot more things if he was that near to them, it also was the first step to being kidnapped. The android they had gotten the message from had been selected for a private dance with this man and was never found again.

His worry seemed to show as he ducked behind the counter to unload the empty glasses, because Julia, the bartender looked him up and down. ‘Something happened?’ Gavin couldn’t let Nines’ cover be blown, even if the woman was trustworthy. So he simply said: ‘Over at table twelve, the guy touched me. Just the wrist, no big deal, but…’ ‘But it’s disgusting. Yeah, I understand. Should I get someone else to fetch their drinks?’ ‘Nah, no need. He wants a private dance with one of the dancers though. The rooms free at the moment?’ ‘They should be. Do you know who he wants?’ ‘The new one. Android, tall, -‘ ‘Exactly your type?’ Gavin looked at the woman shocked, but she just laughed. ‘Hey, I have eyes and I see how you look at him when you walk past. Don’t worry about me, I have no problems with relationships between co-workers. Just keep it private.’ Gavin swallowed. ‘Err… yeah…’ ‘Here!’ She pulled a few bottles of water from under the counter. ‘Bring that backstage and tell him. Tell him to be careful, too. I know people are disappearing and the police, as always, does jack shit about it.’ Gavin grinded his teeth at that, but nodded and took the package. ‘Oh and Gavin? I noticed he looked at you too, so good luck!’

He slipped past the curtain into the relative privacy of the changing compartments. Not that there were a lot of clothes to wear, just a lot of different outfits for different shows. He was on the lookout for Nines, what wasn’t too difficult as he spotted the tall android right from the door. Gavin sat the water bottles down at the entrance and hurried over. ‘Hey, Nines, you are- Ugh, Goddamn, put some clothes on, will ya?’ ‘Gavin, you saw me naked enough times, this is childish.’ ‘Yeah, well, they haven’t!’ He gestured to the rest of the room that was still very open. ‘Actually…’ ‘Okay, stop, they want you for a private dance.’ ‘Who?’, the android asked as he pulled some pants on – not really covering more than underwear would have. ‘Idiot. Our suspects of course.’ Gavin watched as Nines put on several glowing rings around his wrists and slowly adding more and more jewellery until he nearly wore more than clothes. ‘Oh! Perfect. Then this case is finally going somewhere.’ ‘I don’t like the way they look at you’, Gavin grumbled, leaning against the dressing table while Nines applied make-up and tested out new patterns with his artificial skin. His performance always consisted of some kind of display how synthetic he was. Retracting his skin and letting it reappear to the music, playing with how much he let the costumers see. With that he had made it one of the top attractions in record time and Gavin had to admit it was quite entrancing.

‘Oh, Gav, darling. It could have been the light, but I sensed you looked at me the same way.’ Nines looked up to him and smiled and though it was still alien to see him with make-up, he had to admit the android was absolutely beautiful. ‘Yeah, well, I don’t plan to abduct you and sell you to the highest bidder!’ ‘Really? And here I thought romance was dead.’ Gavin threw him a warning look. ‘Oh, come on, Gavin. I’m the most advanced model there is. Fowler installed more trackers inside me than Cyberlife did. If I get abducted this will finally put an end to innocent people getting sold off. Really, in this example the worst case is the best-case scenario.’ ‘For the mission maybe. But for you? What if they find out we’re cops and decide to kill you?’ ‘Gav, you worry too much. If anything goes wrong, then I still have you looking out for me, haven’t I, love?’ He reached up to Gavin’s shoulders to pull him into a kiss, before standing up. ‘I’ll get ready for it; you can show them to room four. I’ll reset the bugs there.’ ‘Okay. Stay safe.’ ‘Will do.’

Gavin went back behind the bar to get the keys for the room, before stopping in front of Julia’s grinning face. ‘What is it?’ ‘Oh, nothing… Just that I was right, wasn’t it? Ah, you two go so well together! You definitely have to tell me more when your shift’s over! Now hurry! Back to work!’ On the way back to the booth, Gavin rubbed his mouth with his sleeve. Damn black lipstick…

‘Ah, our beautiful waiter is back! And, what about that private dance?’ Gavin couldn’t look the man in the eyes, as he jingled with the keys. ‘If the sirs would follow me to room four? Your dancer is waiting.’ Jones hurried to come to his feet, urging his partners to stand up too. Gavin waited until they were up to lead the way. He entered the room and as everyone was in, Nines appeared, walking overly seductively towards them. Gavin felt bile rising up seeing him cupping Jones’ cheek in fake affection. ‘Now, gentlemen, what can I do for you today?’, he cooed, and Gavin pulled the door closed.

He carried drinks and empty glasses back and forth and looked on his watch every few minutes. They had booked an hour, had paid wirelessly over Nines hooked up to the club’s systems. It was the longest hour in Gavin’s life and no matter how that would set back the mission, he hoped for Nines to just get out of there and their suspect leaving. The worst was not knowing. The bugs they had installed were record only. Transmissions to an outside source could have been detected. So, it was only ten minutes after their time had ended and no one had exited, that Gavin knew something was wrong. The thought appeared the same time Nines message came in. Gavin. Get a car. Something went wrong. Your phone is set to navigate you to me. We are driving.

Immediately, Gavin reacted. He let the empty glasses fall back onto the table and sprinted to the bar. ‘Julia, I need your car.’ ‘You what?’ Gavin ripped his badge from his pocket and shoved it in her face. ‘I. Need. Your. Car.’ ‘Holy shit you are from the police. Oh damn and I said-‘ ‘Forget what you said, there is an android getting abducted from your club right now. I need your phcking car. Right now!’ ‘Of course, but you should rather-‘ ‘No buts! Car! NOW!’

Julia nodded, fetched her jacket and ran to the parking lot after Gavin. He looked around for her car and froze, as she unlocked a 1975 vintage Fiat 500. ‘Ex-phcking-cuse me?’ ‘I told you you should have rather taken John’s car, he drives a-‘ ‘Doesn’t matter now. There’s no time. Go.’

‘Doesn’t this thing have a gas pedal of some sorts?’, Gavin shouted at her from the passenger seat. The damn car was tiny as phck and for once he was glad to be too tiny as phck. But right now, every emotion he felt was anger. Anger about how they crawled through Detroit’s streets tailing a black dodge challenger. Their only hope was the cities well known and well hated rush hour that they were stuck in just as bad as their target. ‘Hey, you are a cop!’ ‘Yeah, and that means my word is law! Now go over the damn speed limit!’ ‘Alright, pretty sure that doesn’t mean that, but as long as you pay my speeding tickets-‘ ‘I’ll phcking pay you anything as long as you find that gas pedal and press it through the damn floor!’ ‘Alright, alright!’ Gavin was pressed into the seat as Julia seemed to take his advice literally. And once they got speed she was willing to break every traffic rule there was: She changed into the oncoming traffic and slalomed her way through every traffic jam. ‘Don’t tell me this is top speed?’ ‘What do you think this is? I loved that car ever since I saw it and it is amazing if you want to find a spot to park! Now, will you stop complaining? What do you plan to do once we reach them?’ ‘If we reach them, that is! This damn toy can’t compete!’ ‘Okay. You insult my car? Now I prove to you speed isn’t everything!’

Gavin regretted his decision dearly. Because whatever the tiny car told about its owner… Julia seemed to be a rally driver. Cutting every turn perfectly and finding small parallel streets or even a park to race through, they managed to catch up.

Gavin. Are you… driving in a Fiat? ‘Are you wearing make-up?’, Gavin spat back although the android couldn’t hear him. Make room in the passenger side, I’m coming. Drive to the left… now! Gavin pushed Julia’s steering wheel to the side without a warning, trusting her to manage getting them back on track as the trunk of the car in front of them was ripped open and the hood clattering to the street before quickly disappearing. Gavin climbed into the back of the already crowded car, as Julia steered it expertly next to the trunk and pushed the door open. Nines managed to jump over and land more or less gracefully inside but had to huddle over his knees to fit. Gavin reached forwards handing Nines his gun that the android took with a surprisingly unphased: ‘Thanks, babe.’ As if getting abducted was fun. ‘Wait, you two are really…?’ Nines nodded, picking at his too tight, uncomfortable and sole piece of clothing. ‘We are. Now keep the car straight, please.’ He opened the window and leaned half his upper body outside, taking aim and shot. They watched, as his bullet hit the other car, piercing the tire and it spiralled out of control. ‘Hank and Connor are informed; backup is on the way. But we have to keep them here. Julia, if you would be so kind to park the car? Gav and I have some traffickers to arrest.’ The woman nodded and Nines was half out of the door, before he asked: ‘You wouldn’t have some additional clothes somewhere, would you?’ ‘Unfortunately not. But it suits you.’ ‘Hmm. That’s not really the point…’ Gavin groaned from the backseat as he himself wasn’t exactly presentable with his tight leather pants and deep V-necked shirt. ‘That will be enough joke-material for years to come…’

‘I would say, you look rather handsome’, Nines commented, now that they were outside walking side by side towards the other car. ‘Oh, phck off!’ ‘Come on, it was fun!’ ‘It was not!’ ‘Why? Are you jealous you didn’t get to have a “private dance” with me?’ Gavin was about to shout expletives at the android, before shaking his head. ‘You know what? Maybe I am!’ ‘Aw, Detective, no one said I would have to delete this programming after the mission is done.’ Well, that sounded… promising.

#detroit become human #dbh #Reed900 #RK900 #Gavin Reed #Sexy Nines and Car chases

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motorcitizens · 4 years ago

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ive never seen anywhere to watch motorcity with subs? so i went looking and found transcripts of most of the early mc episodes (available in a reply so tumblr doesnt kill the post) but theyre missing a few towards the end. i decided on my fourth rewatch that id transcribe episode 9! whether youre a hard of hearing fan or just want the reference, here you go! let me know if the initials are annoying, ill edit them out.

-I got you with the slash!

-Nuh-uh!

-You first.

-Why me?

-Cuz you're dead anyway.

-There's nothing down here!

-Philip? S- stop fooling around, man. I- I can hear you down there.

-Aah!

[theme]

-The last time I bought anything from you, it took me a week to fumigate the kitchen!

-Okay, the reshcaps were a mistake, you're right about that. But today, I have something extra special...

D- ...then she says, 'that's why I can't eat the sandwich!'

[all laugh]

C- Wait, wait, I got one. Where does a snowman keep his money? In a snow bank! Eh? Get it? Come on, it's funny!

Th- We're searching for the Vanquisher, king of the realm?

T- Oh. I think they're talking about me.

M- Yeah, I have no idea who you're-

Th- There he is!

Burners- Chuck?!

T- [laughter]

R- Hey! You dare insult Lord Vanquisher? I should take your tongue and feed it to the birds.

T- Uh, you can't do that. I need my tongue.

C- Release him, Darkslayer.

R- ... Fortune smiles upon you today.

M- So, Chuck, you wanna introduce us to your... friends?

C- Guys, allow me to present: Thurman the Magnificent, and Ruby the Darkslayer!

Th: We are knights of the kingdom of Raymanthia.

C- It's called LARPing! [...] Live action role-playing? [...] Okay, I have a life outside of the Burners, you know!

D- Sure doesn't look like it.

T- Oh! I get it! Ahahaha!

Th- My Lord, a situation has arisen. The oracle awaits.

O- As you requested, Sam and Phillip were dispatched on a scouting mission early this morning. But we have not heard from them for many hours.

M- What do you mean you haven't heard from them?

O- I fear, Lord Vanquisher, they have gotten lost on the outskirts of the realm.

T- Texas is confused. Okay, now is this part of your little game or is this real?

D- We're standing behind some dude's van who calls himself the oracle. What do you think?

O- I demand silence!

J- I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm with Texas on this one.

O- Chuck! Make em stop.

C- Wait. Is this part of the game?

Th- No. Sam and Philip are really missing.

M- So, this is for real?

O- We need your help.

C- I vow to find our wayward kinsmen.

C- Guys, this is LARPing!

T- Woah. That's it?

C- Each weekend, teams battle for control of the realm. The rules are simple: First, once you step onto the field of battle, you must remain in character. Second, if you must be vanquished: do so with honor. It's neat, ain't it?!

J- The game's already started?

R- If by 'game' you mean a ferocious battle to the death for the crown of Raymanthia, then yes.

O- But we can't win unless we find our friends.

[at the same time]

C- I say we split up.

M- Let's split up.

M- No disrespect! Chuck- uh, I mean, Lord Chuck. What do you think we should do?

C- Ahem! If we split up, we'll cover more ground!

O/Th/R- As you say, Lord Vanquisher.

C- Okay guys. We'll check the warehouse near the old Renaissance center, you guys check the battlefield.

Th- I dunno where that is. Can somebody else drive?

M- So, King Chuck. How'd you win your crown?

O- It happened many weekends ago... Chuck stood as freedom's last hope against Mad Dog the Conqueror. If he were to fall, darkness would reign for yet another long weekend. Mad Dog summoned his dragon to finish off the Vanquisher once and for all, but fate had different plans. It was totally awesome!

C- Naw, it wasn't... that awesome.

D- Little dudes!

J- Sam! Phillip?

D- Where are you?

Guy- Huzzah!

R- Leave this to me!

Guy- The bards shall sing of this day... the day the Darkslayer fell!

R- Someone shall fall on this day... but it shall not be me.

[fighting noises]

Guy- Aha! Tsk, tsk. You've lost your sword!

T- hyah!

R- What are you doing! I had him right where I wanted him!

Guy- You're not playing by the rules.

T- These are Texas rules! [karate noises] Now. We need you to answer some questions.

D- We're looking for two missing kids, Sam and Phillip. Have you seen them?

Guy- I'd rather die a thousand deaths than help the likes of you.

J- Ahem! Forgive us, my liege, but we are but humble squires in search of our kinsmen. Can you help us?

Guy- I've never been one to refuse a lady, certainly not one as ravishing as you. Saw your kinsmen five hours ago, approaching the Dungeon of Anguish.

D- Neat trick.

Th- We're never gonna find them in time. Then the stupid Bardonians are gonna win, think they're all cool with their fancy mustaches.

C- Hey. Buck up there, camper! People said we'd never win the Battle Royale last Fall, but we did. Our friends are out there, and we'll find em! We just gotta keep-

M- Uh, sorry. Dutch just called. Your friends were seen someplace called the Dungeon Anguish?

Th- It's actually the Dungeon of Anguish.

C- It's, uh. Well, it's actually just in the basement right here.

C- Wah, ah! Get it off me, get it off me!

Th- This isn't part of the game!

M- Yeah, well, neither is this!

R- That was. Incredible!

D- What were those things?

M- Don't know. But I'm betting they have something to do with our missing friends. We have to move. [LARPers kneel] Uh, come on. Get up, guys, we don't have time for this.

O- From this day forth, you shall be known as "Mike, the Smiling Dragon."

Th- You just got a great name. Jealous!

C- For saving my life on the field of battle, I owe you a debt of life.

M- That's... really not necessary.

O- Actually, it's totally necessary. The king of the realm cannot rule while carrying a debt of life.

C- As such, I give the crown to the Smiling Dragon!

M- No. No, Please, look, I can't, I just- I was-

C- Mikey, you gotta!

J- Hey guys, check this out! I've never seen that symbol before.

D- That's really old.

M- Way before my time. Maybe Jacob can help.

Th- What if those... things have Sam and Phillip?

R- Never fear. We have the Smiling Dragon. As long as he's our king, we can't lose. Did you see his moves? They were just so- so-!

M- You okay, buddy? Look, if it's about what happened back there, I'm sorry man. I was just trying to help.

C- It's not that. It's just-

M- Just what?

C- Look, I tripped, okay?

M- Um... If that's some kind of LARPer slang, I have no idea what it means.

C- The story you heard. About how I earned my crown? That's not how it really... went down. It was my first real battle. I'd never held a real lance before. I was still getting my balance when Lord Mad Dog summoned his dragon... I ran forward but... I tripped. The lance fell and hit him by accident! I won my crown with a lie. Hey... it's better that you're king now. I was never fit for the post. I've been king for 48 consecutive weekends, and-

M- 48? Woah, you do play this game a lot.

C- Yeah, but... it took less than an hour of LARPing with you for the others to see me for what I truly am... a follower.

M- Hey, a follower couldn't have led his team to 48 consecutive victories. You can't fake that!

C- Mikey... Look, I appreciate your support but we both know I'm no leader. Not when I'm a Burner and not even when I'm here, playing make believe.

M- Here. Take the pin back.

C- You can't just give it to me! The only way I can get it back is to earn it by saving your life. And let's be honest. That ain't gonna happen.

Th- Never seen that tunnel before. You aren't planning on taking us down there, are you?

R- Well I'm going in!

Th- Do you know how much trouble I'll get in if my mom finds out I went down some crazy dark tunnel looking for killer robots?!

O- He's not joking. His mom is terrifying.

M- They're right. This isn't a game anymore. Texas will stay up here and keep you safe while we go get your friends.

T- What! Wait, why me?

M- Because you're the bravest warrior we've got.

T- Yeah, that's true, but come on! Don't leave me with the nerds!

D- What is this place?

O- Booyah! Mutant wolverine. I win!

Th- I could show you how to use that.

T- Save it. Not interested.

O- Why not? You're really good.

T- You really think so?

Th- Here, watch.

T- Hyah! Huh?

T- Mike, Julie! Incoming! We got trouble!

Th- Come on, I just got this!

O- Your mom is gonna be so mad.

J- This isn't working!

M- I'm open to suggestions!

R- A wizard!

Ja- Applesauce!

J- Jacob?

R- Aww!

Bot- The creator has returned!

M- Uh, Jacob? Care to fill us in?

Ja- It started back when Kane and I were partners- before there even was a Deluxe! I was designing our first ever Utility Bot. Its purpose was to make life in Detroit easier and safer. I equipped it with a new AI that would allow the bot to anticipate human commands, but I was the only one the bot seemed to listen to. But if it were ever to escape the lab, there's no telling the danger it could pose. I begged Kane to shut the program down! I always thought he did.

Bot: It began soon after you left us. Kane retrained us! We were instructed to capture enemies of the public and bring them back to Kane's new creation, an Interrogator. But the humans could not control it. Kane sealed the lab. Our new master told us every human was out to destroy us. As such, every human became our enemy. Disloyalty was severely punished. So we waited, until this door finally opened.

M- Our friends went missing this morning. Have you seen them?

Bot- Of course. We took them per our master's instructions.

J- We need to get them back!

[roar]

Bot- Our master has awoken. If he discovers you here with us, he will destroy us.

M- Get the LARPers out of here!

C- I'm not leaving you guys!

R- Our place is here, with our King!

M- This isn't a game! Get your friends to safety.

C- Let's move!

D- Come on!

J- Look out!

[rubble collapses the door]

T- Mike!

D- Julie!

Both- Jacob!

D- We'll never move this stuff by ourselves!

T- Says who?

Th- What do we do?

C- I know a way to get through there! But I will require your van.

Ja- There used to be another exit!

J- Hey, look at this!

M- The kids have to be in one of those rooms. If we can find a way past that thing we can rescue them and get the heck out of here! Think you can buy us some time?

J- Do you even have to ask? Hey, ugly! Over here!

M- Sam! Phillip! Climb up here!

S- You're the new king of the realm?

M- You bet your butt I am. Lord Smiling Dragon, at your service. Now get up that rope, squire!

T- Okay, I admit. It's pretty cool.

C- But is it possible?

D- Sure. But there's no way the three of us can build it fast enough.

C- What if they helped?

D- I know you don't mean the little lunatics that just tried to kill us!

Bot- We cannot get involved. If our master were to find out-

C- He's not your master! You are in Raymanthia. And in Raymanthia, every man- or... freaky little Utiliton- is free! Free to stand up for yourselves. Free to fight back! And free to live! Our friends are down there, and I swear to you on the steel of my blade that even if I have to slay the beast itself, we! will! bring them back!

[utilitons cheering]

T- hwah! Nah, see, this ain't nerdy. This is a level 25 battle ax, okay? Twenty five. Think about it.

Ja- Maybe there wasn't another exit?

M- Stay here!

M- Way to go, Chuck!

S&P- The Vanquisher!

T- Make way for Texas!

C- The beast is absorbing the blasts!

[mike gets got]

C- Mike!

C- Drive! and when I say stop, stop fast! ...STOP!

M- Ha, oh yeah!

M- For saving my life on the field of battle, I owe you my life. My steel is yours to command, since a king cannot carry... I forget how the rest of it goes, here! All hail King Chuck, the Vanquisher!

R- This was the coolest game ever!

M- ... the game. Your win streak. You guys have to go defend your crown!

Th- We'll never be able to muster an attack in time.

T- What if we help.

M- We're yours to command, Lord Vanquisher.

C- For the glory of the realm!

[all yell]

#motorcity #i meant to just. have this but i figured i might as well post it #chuck (motorcity)#mike chilton #julie kane #dutch gordy #texas (motorcity)#mne

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unscharf-an-den-raendern · 4 years ago

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Interview with Ralf from 2005 (translated from German)

Read the original German version here: http://www.electroempire.com/index.php?thread/1755-ralf-h%C3%BCtter-kraftwerk-interview-2005/

They’re the most influential German band of all time, for a third of a century they advanced and shaped electronic music like no one else. During that time, they only gave about one hundred interviews worldwide, the living legends are considered to be media-shy. Now Arschmaden-rave-magazin managed to be the first German magazine since 2001 to get an exclusive interview with the Düsseldorf sound pioneers Kraftwerk. Hauke Schlichting was allowed to spend almost an hour on the phone with Ralf Hütter and found out that music gods are also completely normal people sometimes.

Hauke Schlichting: Are there many pre-order of the notebook edition of “Minimum Maximum” already?

Ralf Hütter: I think so. Kraftwerk is not just music, we also create the lyrics, the pictures and the entire visual concept. I’ve been doing that with my partner Florian Schneider since 1970. This notebook edition enables us to put a lot of ideas into effect that we had for a long time. And now that it's finished, it's a liberating moment.

Hauke Schlichting: I once saw you in the audience of a talk by Oskar Sala. I suppose that pioneers like Sala, John Cage and certainly Karlheinz Stockhausen were a source of inspiration for Kraftwerk...

Ralf Hütter: Especially in our living environment in the second half of the sixties. Our friends and we were involved in the art scene. Electronic music was not foreign to us.

Hauke Schlichting: In an old interview from 1976 you said: "The world of sounds is music.” The first thing that came to my mind was whether the members of Kraftwerk listened to and liked music by noise musicians or even industrial music? Is that a similar approach?

Ralf Hütter: I can only speak for myself now, but I definitely see a spiritual kinship there. Definitely.

Hauke Schlichting: You called your music "Industrial Folk Music" once...

Ralf Hütter: Yes, but not with an F. It was about "Industrielle Volksmusik", the English translated it. It was an idea of the electronic Volkswagen. That's a concept. We have always reported on everyday things. "Autobahn", for example, was an attempt to make everyday music.

Hauke Schlichting: Is there any electronic music from - let's say the last 20 years - that inspired you?

Ralf Hütter: Yes, especially this spiritual kinship between the two cities starting with a D.

Hauke Schlichting: Düsseldorf and Detroit!

Ralf Hütter: Right. We know the creative heads of Detroit like Derrick May, Mike Banks and Kevin Saunderson. And that's what we consider to be a real inspiration, alternating, which finds its sound in this language. The dynamic that's in there, like in here. This electric funk or whatever you want to call it, that's a spiritual kinship.

Hauke Schlichting: Were the first Cybotron records of Juan Atkins things that you already noticed back in 1981?

Ralf Hütter: We were also in New York earlier, where the record company took us to some afterhours in non-authorized clubs.

Hauke Schlichting: They already existed back then!?

Ralf Hütter: Yeah, sure, at the end of the seventies. Then we had the experience that Afrika Bambaataa played our song “Metall auf Metall”. I thought, oh, fine, and then more than a quarter of an hour went by and I started wondering, because the song is not that long. Until I realized that he combined it with several record players.

Hauke Schlichting: A live remix with turntables, so to speak...

Ralf Hütter: That must have been in '77.

Hauke Schlichting: Mr Bambaataa is definitely a pioneer as well.

Ralf Hütter: Definitely.

Hauke Schlichting: There are an infinite number of songs nowadays which obviously sampled Kraftwerk. You were once described as "the most sampled artists besides James Brown". Are you annoyed when this happens without being asked?

Ralf Hütter: In the right music it is mental communication. Creative feedback. But if they appear on any “cucumbers” (Translator’s note: Ralf means bad musicians) or purely commercial products, then our publishing house will take action.

Hauke Schlichting: Do you collect your own records? If you want to own all the Kraftwerk records, including all the different pressings, you’d have to collect several thousand.

Ralf Hütter: I think that's materialistic nonsense. It's like collecting beer coastes. That’s totally uninteresting. It's about music, not about some pieces of plastic.

Hauke Schlichting: But they say that you collect old synthesizers.

Ralf Hütter: Our studio has been changing constantly since 1970, there are always new things being wired, installed or programmed. Improved. So often some equipment is put away, first in the warehouse, because you might need them again. At some point they were standing there, nobody wanted them, then they got dusty, then reactivated in the Kling Klang Museum. Ten years later we restored and repaired them all to the latest state of the art. Now we have been asked if we could make them available for an exhibition, but at the moment we can't give them away because they are actually in use. Over the last twenty years, we have transferred all the original Kraftwerk sounds to the digital level. Together with our electrical engineers Fritz Hilpert and Henning Schmitz.

Hauke Schlichting: You used to take a lot of equipment weighing tons with you on tour.

Ralf Hütter: Yes, the Kling Klang Studio is our instrumentarium. It has been like that ever since the first concerts. At that time they were still single instruments or single racks with many cables. Then at some point we assembled them in multi-racks.

Hauke Schlichting: The live equipment was always identical to the studio equipment. Is that still the case now? The things you carry around with you now are much more compact.

Ralf Hütter: Now we play with the virtual Kling Klang Studio with laptops at concerts in real time and mobile. That's why we have been able to travel all over the world since 2002. Today we have complete access to the entire audio-visual show, which also changes a bit from concert to concert. That's what makes it interesting. We no longer have to build it up every day to reach a fixed status, we can work with it live. In the past we were on tour rather reproductively, a lot of things didn't work, that was actually a torture, these concerts back then. That's why we only did one tour, in 1975 ("Autobahn"), then for years almost nothing and in 1981 ("Computerwelt"), when we did another tour, we also used many tapes in addition to my analog sequencer, because our music was actually not playable live at that time.

Hauke Schlichting: The live DVD you’re releasing now gives the illusion that it is the complete recording of one concert. If you take a closer look, you will see that it has been put together from many concerts. Was there no concert that was great from front to back?

Ralf Hütter: We recorded and documented everything. We then selected the recordings based on quality and intensity. That was then put together. That is also our concept of electronic mobility. "Tour de France" should definitely be from Paris, "Autobahn" from Berlin, "Dentaku/calculator" from Tokyo. We had a lot more material available later, but we couldn't put that in. In Santiago de Chile, for example, the audience has the best timing in the world when clapping along. I've never experienced anything that synchronous before.

Hauke Schlichting: When Kraftwerk is in the studio, do you sometimes make music just for fun, just playing around a bit?

Ralf Hütter: We once said that the music composes itself.

Hauke Schlichting: That means constant trying out and jamming around?

Ralf Hütter: That's where we actually come from, we've been doing that since the late sixties. For more than a third of a century we've been walking on the same electronic path. We just try to be open for ideas. They come when you cycle, like “Tour de France”, they come when you drive, like “Autobahn”. Some things also arise from texts, from books, from all kinds of things. We use all mental ideas, we do not work according to one principle. The freedom lies precisely in the fact that all art forms are open to you today. It is a gift that we live in a time where you don't need a large orchestra and where you don't need a nobleman who puts gold ducats at your disposal. Now there is an autonomy that can be realized through the man-machine Kraftwerk.

Hauke Schlichting: Your studio seems a bit like a fortress against the outside world. But you have emphasized several times that you are not isolated at all, that you meet a lot of friends and actually lead a very normal life. But we know relatively little about that. Does that mean that private life is the super important compensation for an artist's life?

Ralf Hütter: No, we see ourselves as scientists, as music workers. We do our work, we drink a cup of coffee in the morning, on weekends we ride our bikes. We go to clubs because the lively scene of electronic music is important to us. And that's where it takes place. We have been connected to club culture since the sixties.

Hauke Schlichting: Does that mean that you now travel more often or specifically to performances by live artists or DJs?

Ralf Hütter: Mostly that happens when we are on the road. If the travel plan allows it, because otherwise it can happen that you can't concentrate at concerts in the evening due to lack of sleep. Working at the screen, with the mouse, they’re very fine movements. Minimal movements with maximum effect on sound and images. Again a mental reference to this work "minimum-maximum".

Hauke Schlichting: Can you imagine working with other musicians?

Ralf Hütter: We already worked together with different musicians, especially with music engineers. For example with François K, with William Orbit, with Etienne de Crécy, with Orbital, with Underground Resistance.

Hauke Schlichting: The revision of your back catalogue is now finished...

Ralf Hütter: Yes, finally. It is also about clarity and now for the first time everything is as it was intended.

Hauke Schlichting: Can you release more albums in the future that way?

Ralf Hütter: Yes, also because the technical development has changed in our favour. We now have the right tools at our disposal, so we don't have to spend so much time on wiring and installation.

Hauke Schlichting: The teen newspaper Bravo quoted you in 1975 with the sentence: "One day they will imitate our music. Could you have imagined back then that this would really happen?

Ralf Hütter: Yes, we thought so at that time. We played the album to them in my old Volkswagen. We had a big loudspeaker in the back, we didn't have the kind of equipment we have today. And then my friend Florian and I drove on the motorway with our poet and painter friend Emil and Bravo. At the beginning of the seventies our music was mostly only played in special radio programmes, e.g. by Winfried Trenkler. Before "Autobahn", Kraftwerk only existed in this art and student scene. And then live, we come from this live music scene. That we now play electronic music all over the world again is something where the circle closes. Now it takes on the shape we imagined in our imagination at the time.

Hauke Schlichting: Thirty years ago you also said: "In twenty years, in our opinion, there will hardly be any groups with guitars and drums any more. For us these instruments belong to the past already today."

Ralf Hütter: Right.

Hauke Schlichting: But that didn't quite come true.

Ralf Hütter: There are many antiques. But that is still true. There are also still symphony orchestras. In our opinion, the thoughts or essence of the present can only be realized with adequate means.

Hauke Schlichting: You have very few concrete political statements in your music...

Ralf Hütter: Rather socio-political, from our everyday life.

Hauke Schlichting: You only find a concrete one in the new version of "Radioactivity".

Ralf Hütter: Yes, we inserted that because there were endless misunderstandings. We simply wanted to clarify these misunderstandings with one word ("Stop").

Hauke Schlichting: Because of the last album the topic of cycling was once again massively brought into the picture...

Ralf Hütter: I had written this lyrics in 1983 with my French friend Maxime Schmidt. Florian was experimenting with sounds at the same time with his first sampler. This resulted in the album concept "Tour de France". At that time we released only that one single under time pressure and then the ideas fell a bit into oblivion. However, this practically slumbered as a film script in a long version in the studio under the heading unfinished projects. And we just finished that now.

Hauke Schlichting: You have been active as cyclists for a very long time...

Ralf Hütter: Yes, since "Mensch-Maschine". The concept of "man-machine" has brought an awareness, from the pure sound field of music a dynamic physicality man-machine has conclusively emerged. We tried that out and the fascination has remained.

Hauke Schlichting: The unity of man and bicycle is still the man-machine.

Ralf Hütter: That's how it is.

Hauke Schlichting: The man-machine motif has always been a dream of mankind. It already existed with the Greeks, it played a major role with the alchemists, in E.T.A. Hoffmann's "Sandman", in the film "Metropolis" - there are countless examples.

Ralf Hütter: That had become reality for us. There was often the misunderstanding of the machine-man, but we were always concerned with man-machines. We are interactively connected with the machines, that has remained so until today, that is actually a synonym for Kraftwerk.

Hauke Schlichting: Was Kurt Schwitters' "Schmidt-Lied" from 1927 the model for the album "Radioaktivität"?

Ralf Hütter: I've never heard it.

Hauke Schlichting: May I quote from it?

Ralf Hütter: Yes, of course!

Hauke Schlichting: "Und wenn die Welten untergehn, / so bleibt die Welle doch bestehn. / Das Radio erzählt euch allen, / was immer neues vorgefallen. / Und funk ich hier ins Mikrofon, / hört man im Weltall jeden Ton. / Und bis in die Unendlichkeit, / erfährt man jede Neuigkeit. / Wir funken bis zum Untergang / ins Weltall kilometerlang." ("And if the worlds go under, / the wave will still exist. / The radio tells you all, / whatever new happened. / And if I radio here into the microphone, / you can hear every sound in space. / And to infinity, / you'll hear every news. / We'll radio until the end / to space for miles and miles."

Ralf Hütter: A spiritual bond!

Hauke Schlichting: It only remains for me to say that we all hope not to have to wait that long and we are looking forward to new material. You will be turning sixty next year, I hope that Kraftwerk will continue to produce music for a very long time and present it live. But if you've been cycling for 25 or 30 years, like you do, then you should probably be fit.

Ralf Hütter: Yes, we are.

Hauke Schlichting: Wonderful, good luck for the future and thank you very much.

#kraftwerk

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wolveria · 5 years ago

Text

Unable to perceive the shape of you - Ch. 8

Pairing: Connor x f!Reader x Nines

Summary: After breaking the RK twins out of the MarineLife facility, you were determined to return them to the ocean before getting caught by your employer.

What you hadn’t counted on were the brothers deciding you belonged to them.

Prompt: Mermay! (Shape of Water/Splash AU)

Chapter Warnings: Violence, misogynistic language, blood, gore, death

Word Count: 3k

AO3

You only got a few hours of sleep before you were on the road again, the sun not yet peaking up over the horizon. The plan was to make it well into Canada by the end of the day. Crossing the border would involve a lot of swimming and leaving your car behind.

You would miss it, and you’d have to find a way to let your family know you were okay before disappearing, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t eager to start your new life with the two people who had changed it so completely.

After digging through your car supply kit to find some meal bars to snack on, you listened to Connor talk excitedly about your future plans.

The future, a funny thing. For the first time in your life, you weren’t dreading the uncertain path before you, and that more than anything told you this was what you were meant to do.

You were both in the backseat, Nines having to drive again as your legs were an aching mess from the activities of the night before. You didn’t regret it but your body was sure complaining now. It wasn’t just your legs that hurt, almost every muscle in your body was aching, and a part of you wondered how you’d ever keep up with their stamina.

You were looking forward to finding out.

“And then, perhaps we can purchase some kind of boat,” Connor continued on, eyes bright as he continued to chatter. “If our pod still swims the same waters, we should be able to find them. We have another brother, you know.”

“Really?” you asked. The small smile on your lips hadn’t disappeared since he’d started talking.

“We’re a set of triplets,” he added with a pleased blush. “Our third brother was more cautious than we were. Said not to go near the fishing boats, but… we didn’t listen.”

His face fell, and as naturally as breathing air you reached across to take his hand in his lap. Recalling when he and Nines had been captured was clearly a painful memory.

Connor immediately perked at the touch, wrapping his long fingers around yours.

“What’s his name?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t be able to say it,” Connor said, tilting his head as his smile also went lopsided.

“Humans lack the vocal range to speak our language,” Nines chimed in from the driver’s seat.

When you turned to face him, you could see the headlights illuminating a bridge spanning a river, the sun only now lighting the sky. He had to slow down because it was only two lanes and was made of little more than wood and metal.

Nines himself seemed at ease, the first time you’d ever seen him that way. Ever since last night, he was freer with giving affection and less stiff and aloof. Something had changed within him, but perhaps the same could be said of all three of you.

“And if we tried to speak it above water,” Nines continued, “all we would accomplish would be shattering your car windows.”

You looked to Connor just to be sure Nines wasn’t teasing you again. That’s when you saw the bright stripe of light across his face; his eyes narrowed against the glare of the headlights behind your car.

They grew brighter, increasing in intensity until the white light filled the car.

“What—“

Glass imploded from the rear windshield as you were thrown forward against your seatbelt. Screeching metal and churning tires deafened as the vehicle behind rammed the hatchback door a second time.

“Nines!”

You didn’t know what you were yelling for him to do. There was nothing to do. The tires skidded across wet pavement as your car began to jackknife, pushed from the other larger vehicle toward the bridge railing.

Connor threw his arms around you and braced for the impact.

Everything was a blur after the trailing vehicle hit a third time. Deafening crunches of rubber and metal, the dizzying, floating feeling as the car fell several feet, landed, and rolled down the embankment toward the river.

The agony of each impact, the terror of being so completely helpless as the car rolled again and again. You couldn’t think or move besides clinging to Connor as shattered glass rained down on both of you.

When the world stopped spinning, you could barely breathe. The inside of the car was slowly filling with smoke, and the seatbelt cut across your chest as you hung limp from your seat.

You tried to raise your dangling arms to feel for your restraint. Couldn’t lift your arms high enough. Your limbs and muscles wouldn’t cooperate and you couldn’t even focus your eyes enough to understand the chaos around you.

You heard confused voices, the sound of creaking metal, and then hands were unbuckling you from your seat and carefully pulling you from the car. Those same hands held you against a broad chest, and you pressed against it weakly.

“Is she all right?” one of the voices said, soft and hushed. Cold raindrops splattered against your face and you let out a weak groan.

“Yes. Just dazed,” the second one, deeper and flatter, responded.

There was something you had to tell them. Something very important.

The car… it hadn’t been a car… It was a truck. Ford F-150. White. Michigan plates.

“…Con…”

“I’m here.”

You tried to speak but you erupted into violent coughing, the lingering acrid smoke in the air irritating your throat. Nines carried you further away from the car crash, but you couldn’t tell where you were. It was still too dark to see past the broken headlights of your own car.

Where was it? Where was the truck?

You had to tell them—

“Stop struggling!” Nines growled when you thrashed in his arms, your coughing fit growing worse. “You’re going to hurt yourself!”

“I think she wants you to put her down,” Connor said, dark eyes wide as he took in the state of your struggling.

That wasn’t what you wanted, and when Nines lowered your feet to the ground, you clung to his shoulders with the desperation of a drowner.

“He’s…” You coughed again, gagged at the irritation crawling up your throat. “He’s… here… Run…”

Nines frowned. “Who’s here?”

White headlights blazed against the three of you from the dark, lighting up the service road where your car had finally come to a stop rolling down the embankment.

Nines and Connor flinched and tried to shield their eyes with their hands, but you stared past Nines’ arm, recognizing the row of floodlights on top of the cabin of the truck.

Only one bastard drove a monstrosity like that.

“Looky here.”

Boots crunched over wet rocks and gravel as a hated and familiar silhouette cut against the glittering rain dancing before the lights.

“Fish-girl and her two slimy pets.”

Nines spun, baring his teeth in a snarl as he shoved you behind him.

The report of a gun and the flash from a muzzle immediately followed. Nines staggered back against you.

You tried to hold him up, not understanding—

Gavin fired the gun again, and Nines crumpled to the ground.

You stared at the figure at your feet, rooted to the spot, but not Connor. With an inhuman cry, he bolted toward Gavin, and was rewarded with a bullet shot through his thigh and upper chest.

Watching Connor collapse into a heap at Gavin’s feet jolted you out of your paralysis. There was no sense to what you did, no planning as you rushed forward on numb legs. All you wanted was to tear your nails through Gavin’s eyes and make him suffer, make him bleed, make him scream.

Gavin sidestepped your attack and slung his arm around your neck, effectively pulling you into a headlock against his chest as he held the pistol to the side of your head.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he said, clearly enjoying himself as he turned so you could see both brothers lying on the ground. “You’re not getting off that easy. You and Flipper.”

He gestured at Connor, his loathsome voice speaking right into your ear.

“It’s worth a small fortune, you know. Shame I had to damage it, but… I didn’t ruin the parts they want, anyway.”

Gavin laughed, a mean sound that made you struggle harder.

Nines lifted his head clumsily, as if he didn’t have the strength to quite do it. You could have sobbed seeing he was still alive, but the blue liquid pooling under his chest was an alarming amount. It mixed with the rain as it came down harder, drenching the world and making it colder.

“Now, Free Willy over there...” Gavin tsked through his teeth. “That fucker’s too dangerous to haul back. A body will do just fine.”

He lifted his service pistol toward Nines.

You immediately bit down on his aiming shoulder, able to wiggle out of his hold for a brief moment of distraction.

The fired shot missed, sparking the ground next to Nines’ head.

“Fuck!”

You dug your teeth in even as Gavin cut off your air.

“Son of a bitch!”

He managed to tear you from his arm and toss you to the ground. The shock traveled up your knees and legs, but you ignored it and lunged for Gavin again.

He backhanded you across the face so hard you saw stars behind your eyelids and tasted iron in your mouth. You staggered backward and almost fell, but managed to keep your feet as Gavin descended on you.

“You filthy, fucking slut!”

He looked deranged, soaked in the rain and his eyes wide and furious.

“Spread your legs for a couple of fish but wouldn’t give me the time of fucking day! Is that it!”

You cried out and struggled to get away when he reached out and grabbed a fistful of your rain-soaked hair.

“Don’t you fuckin’ worry,” he snarled with a shake of his hand as you felt some of the roots of your hair tear from you scalp. “I’ve got lots of time from here to Detroit to teach you a fuckin’ lesson.”

Finger still clamped onto your hair, Gavin dragged you back toward his truck. You screamed and dug your fingernails into the back of his hand, but it was like he didn’t even feel it. He barely even seemed human.

He’d pulled you halfway to his truck before he shouted, his hand jerked away from your head as he was tackled to the ground.

Connor, bleeding and snarling, bit and tore his nails into Gavin as they rolled on the ground. The gun was knocked from Gavin’s hand and skidded across the gravel.

You dashed for the gun and grabbed it, desperate and shaky, and when you raised it toward them they were both locked in a heated fight. You couldn’t pull the trigger without fear of hitting Connor.

You didn’t know if the water running down your face was rain or tears, your breath hitching in your throat as you screamed. “Connor, get away from him!”

Connor looked up, saw the pistol in your hands, and scrambled away from the bleeding, raging man.

You depressed the trigger but Gavin was faster. Lying on his back, he jabbed a hand down to his waistband and pulled something out, pointed it at you, and fired.

The boom was much louder than the service pistol. But you barely heard it, barely heard anything, past the blooming agony in your gut and the sudden lack of strength in your legs.

You collapsed onto your knees, the gun dangling from your fingertips as you struggled to draw breath. Triumph in his eyes, Gavin rose to his feet and aimed the revolver toward your head.

Before he could fire a second time, a figure low to the ground grabbed him around the ankle and bit into his calf.

Gavin screamed and tried to kick Nines away, bringing his revolver around, but Connor grabbed his shoulder and bit deep into the side of Gavin’s neck. With a jerk of his head, he tore out a chunk of flesh, and blood spurted from the wound like a cut hose line.

Neither brother stopped for a moment, snarling and ripping into the man with inhuman ferocity, resembling two wolves tearing apart a grizzly even after it had dealt them lethal blows.

Gavin finally dropped to his knees, no longer screaming, his eyes wide and his face bloodless. The brothers only released him after he tumbled the rest of the way to the ground.

Nines didn’t move, either. Motionless, he looked as lifeless as the body next to him.

Connor didn’t look much better. As he wobbled and staggered over to you, you could see the bullet wounds in his chest and leg. Gavin had miscalculated. Even over the rain you could hear the wet, sucking sound of a perforated lung.

You began to fall forward as he drew near, and he caught you at the last second, gently lowering you the rest of the way to the ground. His hands were gentle even as they were slicked with blood.

Wanting desperately to comfort him but unable to speak, with one hand pressed to the seeping mess of your stomach the other searched for his hand. Connor took it and held it, lying down beside you as he pressed his face against your hair.

The strength sapped from your limbs, the world around you faded to a dull, flat noise. The plinking of the rainwater sounded far away, and farther beyond that, another sound.

It was difficult to hear past the sound of Connor’s breath hissing through his clenched teeth. Your mind was solely trying to focus on that sound, but you pushed past it to another. The faint roaring of water.

Nines’ voice, faint and hollow, echoed to you across your memory.

Whatever damage is caused will heal in the water…

Pulling away from Connor, you forced yourself onto one elbow, emitting a strangled whimper as the agony in your gut flamed anew. You pushed past it and rose to your knees.

Connor struggled to keep his wavering gaze on you, his eyes half-lidded and unfocused, before they finally slipped closed.

“C… Connor.”

He didn’t respond, and the last rush of adrenaline gave you the strength to grab and tug his arm.

“You have to… get up…”

Connor didn’t respond verbally, but when you put his arm over your shoulder and tried to pull him onto his knees, he managed to cooperate, barely conscious as he was.

Somehow, through the waves of agony coming from your abdomen, you struggled to your feet along with Connor. He wavered as you pulled him forward but you didn’t have any more strength than he did, and you leaned against each other and staggered like two drunks out of a bar.

When you approached the spot where Nines was lying, Connor whined and reached for him.

You kept pulling him forward. Even as your heart was ripped to shreds, especially when Connor continued to whimper as you left his brother behind. You couldn’t stop. If you lost your momentum now, you’d never get Connor to the water.

You didn’t want to think about how it might be too late for Nines. How getting Connor to safety was what he would have wanted. You couldn’t think about any of that. Not while Connor still needed you.

Reaching the bottom of the short embankment to the shoreline, you didn’t fight gravity as you and Connor collapsed onto the sand. He understood what you were doing now, and he crawled the last few inches to the water.

Not wanting him to drown by submerging his head or the gunshot wound to his chest, you helped roll him legs first into the water. The sleek, grey tail rippled down his legs, bursting through his shoes and leaving his pants in tatters.

Connor didn’t move after that, lying on his back as he struggled to breathe, and you wanted to stay just in case…

But the edges of your vision were starting to darken. You didn’t have much time left.

You didn’t bother to try to stand up again; you crawled back to where Nines lay, stopping halfway to wretch and gag, the iron taste lingering in your mouth. You pushed on, your entire world honed in on the figure on the ground, ignoring your torn and bleeding elbows and knees. What were a few more wounds.

By the time you reached him, your breath was uneven and hitching, your abdomen numb and your limbs shivering with cold. You were going to go into shock soon, or had already started, you didn’t know.

For this, you would have to stand up again, and you did it through sheer, panicked desperation. There was nothing outside of that moment except you grabbing Nines’ wrist as tightly as you could as you pulled him back toward the water.

It wasn’t far from where he’d collapsed, only a few feet, but each inch might have been a mile and each footstep the climb up a mountain. You dragged him, your shallow breaths now weak sobs, your chest hurting more than your gunshot wound.

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t look past the next step. There was only the weight you pulled behind and the glimmer of rushing water ahead.

You fell to your knees for the last time. Removed your hand from the gut wound so your bloody, shaky fingers could roll Nines the rest of the way into the water. You miscalculated the heavy weight of his body and how fast the river was actually moving, and when the waves grabbed at him and pulled him away, you cried out and reached for him.

Nines disappeared beneath the churning, grey water. All you could do was helplessly watch from where you’d fallen onto your stomach, finger trailing in the water as the last of your strength vanished. The water lapped at your fingers, cleaning them of the dark, purple liquid covering them. A mixture of red and blue.

Letting your eyes drift shut, you let the knowledge that the brothers would never again be caged act as your sole comfort as you surrendered to the cold and the darkness.

Your dying mind clung to one last memory. Something you’d felt many times before and had always brought solace on the bad days. You wanted to feel it again so desperately that you imagined you could actually feel it. The sensation of long, slender fingers wrapping around your wrist and gently pulling you into the water.

And to that too, you surrendered.

Next Chapter

#detroit: become human #detroit become human #connor x reader #nines x reader #rk1700 x reader #mermay #mermaid au #connor #nines #rk800 #rk900 #my writing #my fanfiction

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