#it's his first step to deviating from his code

[meownotgood]

Android detective aki getting confused by your subtle increasing affectionate behaviour, and how as time goes on, you seem to prioritize his safety over the mission and even over your own...

there's no reason for you to protect him so much. whenever the two of you go off on a mission, you're frequently asking aki to stand behind you — or hell, you'll push him behind you yourself whenever there's even a hint of danger.

aki knows how selfless humans can be sometimes, but don't you understand what he is? don't you understand how valuable your life is compared to his vessel? if something happens to him, if there's damage to his systems or his body, he can just be repaired. worst case scenario they take out his memories and upload them to a new vessel. you know this, aki knows you know it, because he's certain he told you when you were first introduced. yet still, why?

why do you care for him so much? why do you wrap your arms around him and hug him tightly when you get done with a dangerous mission, even though you know he doesn't give off heat? why do you grab his hand to lead him even though you know his sensors will be able to follow you anywhere? why did you ask him to come over to your house when you didn't have anything to ask him related to your work?

aki is sure of it: humans will always be impossible to understand for him.

[textmel8r]

[ DRABBLE ] 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 ! ( tenth installment ) in which you are forced to plan a corporate event with your office enemy .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven.

୨୧˚ incl; kento nanami

୨୧˚ cw; profanity , smuttish , pure unadulterated fluff

୨୧˚ an; thank you all for the patience 😭😭 so sorry i’ve been busy getting back into uni shit but omg!!! slowburn is peaking!!! also the tag list is officially closed because i have reached the max # of tags!!!

୨୧˚ join my discord server ! we share headcanons, fanfic recs, color roles, and more drooling emoji

Nanami’s morning routine doesn’t deviate from the norm. An alarm clock was built into his genetic code, and he rouses at half past six in the morning. Unfurling his long limbs from the confines of the couch—the suede thing was big, but Nanami was bigger. Joints popped under sheets of muscle and flesh when he gave a hearty stretch, and with that, he was ready to start his Sunday.

Fueled purely on motor memory, he filters through each step of the habitual customs he’s grown to associate with mornings. You’re still sleeping soundly in his bed, and the risk of waking you condemns Nanami to his downstairs bathroom rather than the personal en suite tailing off his bedroom. It doesn’t pose much of an inconvenience; Nanami was nothing if not prepared. The slender closet in his downstairs bathroom housed spare toiletries—handkerchiefs, tooth brushes, soaps and oils.

He brushes his teeth first, watching his reflection with tired eyes. Minty foam froths at the corners of his lips. Nanami collects the mess with his tongue before spitting into the porcelain bowl of the sink. He’s thorough, scrubbing every corner of his mouth, followed by a pass through with charcoal infused floss. Next, the man is dabbing a button of facial cleanser onto a small square of towel, wetting it under the faucet. Scouring his cheeks, then forehead, then nose. His hair is mussed from tossing in his sleep, and if not for the guest upstairs, Nanami would probably leave it as is. But you’re his guest, and for some reason that means something to him, so he slicks back the blonde frizz with wet hands. 

Another staple of Nanami’s morning routine: a good cup of coffee. The machine was expensive—Nanami tends to splurge when it comes to matters that mean most to him. He doesn’t mind spending a little extra on his suit wear, his beloved watches, and certainly not his coffee. Crafted from titanium and stainless steel, it sat heavily on the black marble countertop and whirred quietly as it compressed beans into the filter. 

Ingredients line the island at the center of his extravagant kitchen. Weekends were the only days in which Nanami had enough time to cook breakfast for himself, rather than grabbing a bagel or danish from the convenience store on his way to the office. It was a shame, really, because he enjoyed the gratification of cooking his own meals. And not to toot his own horn, but he was rather proud of his skills. 

He never cooks for two, though. 

Nanami peruses the ingredient assembly line, looking from the organic eggs, to the all purpose flour, to the carton of mixed berries. It would be rude of him not to consider your palate. Did you prefer a savory breakfast? Or perhaps you’d rather have something on the sweeter side like pancakes? He nibbled his lower lip in thought. 

A divine aroma saturates the entirety of downstairs. Nanami focuses on folding a second omellette, tucking the concoction of whipped egg, chopped bell peppers, caramelized onions, diced tomatoes, and grated sharp cheddar on itself with the delicacy of a surgeon. He’s knee deep in concentration, back turned towards his staircase so your presence goes entirely unnoticed. 

Hands clap together somewhere over his shoulder. He jerks with a startled gasp, the fork in his hand clattering to vinyl tiles. Nanami presses a palm to his racing chest, twisting to find your hands just inches away from his ear. What a little shit, you are. He doesn’t waste effort trying to stifle his grimace. “Was that necessary?”

You’re crouched down, retrieving the silverware off the floor. “Now we’re even.” 

“Even?”

“Yeah,” you hand him the fork, to which he blinks at the useless thing. It’s been dirtied by the floor, so Nanami instructs you to toss it in the sink and grab another from the utensil drawer at the end of his pointed finger. As you play fetch, you explain. “Do you know how scared shitless I was waking up in a strange bedroom? In strange clothes?” He’s watching you toy aimlessly with the abundance of extra material bunched up around the trussed waistband of your—his—sweatpants. Nanami’s clothes cloak you more than enough; cotton t-shirt hanging just below mid-thigh, and those damned oversized sweats rolled up in stupidly big cuffs at the ankles stopping over your socked feet. You must’ve adjusted them accordingly when you stepped out of bed. Something akin to apprehension pulled at your face. “We didn’t…”

Blonde brows scrunch as he attempts to decipher your blathering. When you beckon a hand between your chest and his, Nanami abruptly chokes on his saliva. “Are you out of your mind?” He’s quick to sputter, spinning back to face the sizzling pans and contain the tickle in his throat. A white bowl and whisk are gathered into strong arms—homemade blueberry pancake batter sloshes against the wiry bristles of Nanami’s whisk. He pours three more precise circles of batter onto the second frying pan, and the sweet paste fizzles against nonstick cookware. “You were intoxicated, Y/n. Couldn’t even remember your own address.” He paused. “A change of clothes seemed ideal in the moment. Something cozier.”

You hum in acknowledgement. Footsteps pad closer, and you appear beside him, resting your back against the counter. Your head lolls, cheek falling against your shoulder. He can feel your eyes gouging into the side of his face while he flips the pancake triplets. “You changed me?”

There’s a foreign tonality bleeding into your words, something almost playful, and he’s vexed. Are you teasing him? A trimmed thumb nail burrows into the silicone grip of a spatula. Or is that genuine curiosity? “I did,” Nanami gives you honesty, licking his lip as he does so. On it, he tastes a vague note of spearmint. “You needed some help.”

“God,” you touch a hand to your forehead and laugh, “that does sound like me.” There is no perturbation or embarrassment there, only relief, and he thanks God for your uncanny ability to bypass awkwardness in situations such as these. Had the roles been reversed and it was Nanami receiving word that a coworker of the opposite sex had dressed him in a period of inebriation, well, he’d probably send in a letter of resignation to the company the next day. “Sorry for being so difficult for you.”

He wags his head, dismissing the remorse. “Please, your apologies are far from necessary.”

“Oh I think they’re completely neces—”

“Aht.” A spatula stabs through the air stopping a few inches shy of your nose. There’s a sharpness that eclipses sepia eyes behind the crystalline shield of Nanami’s wire-framed glasses; a barbed glance that telepathically urges you to drop the argument before it begins. With that same spatula, he dives below fluffy circles of speckled cake and transports them from pan to plates, divvying up the pancakes into two even portions. “You took the medication I left for you, yes? They were beside the glass of water on the side table.”

“Yeah, thanks. I’m feelin’ better already.”

“Good,” he nods with a subtle, tight-lipped grin. “That’s good. Though you should probably get some food down. Fill your stomach with something other than tylenol.” Nanami stops his ministrations, satisfied with the presentation of both plates of breakfast, and pitches you a simple question. “Coffee?”

You practically moan, “coffee sounds really fucking amazing right now.”

Coffee it is then. Nanami proposes that you go settle yourself in a seat, and that he’d handle the rest. Forfeiting another argument, you buckle and slip into a high stool at the breakfast bar that is associated along the island in the midst of the kitchen. Two twin mugs are poached from the highest shelf, crafted of gray ceramic with uneven, white polka dots. He owned a whole dining set donning those same frivolous dots; Nanami always had an absurd fascination with peculiar patterns, they were charming to the man. Perhaps his collection of ugly things were meaningful because of how violently they contrasted to his otherwise ordinary life. In both mugs, scalding coffee brimmed and emanated laces of smoke slithering up to the ceiling. Nanami didn’t bother asking you how you took your coffee—he just knew. Knew from stealing glances at you over the past year, watching you concoct a disastrous potion of lukewarm coffee poured from the communal pot that you so desperately despised, skim milk from the carton in the office floor’s minifridge, and a concerning amount of sugar packets that made him feel inclined to alert your doctor. Nanami does his best to match the ratio of coffee to milk to sugar, gives it a stir, and hopes it’s up to your eccentric taste buds. 

He sets your plate and mug down, sliding it across the counter’s surface to sit before you. Nanami chooses to stand where he is, leaning against the opposite end of the island. His foot, clad in a thick, black sock, taps quietly against the floor. “I wasn’t aware of your preferences so—”

“So you made…” You go quiet, prodding at the unusual combination of food on your plate: a vegetable-ridden omelette on one side and a few blueberry-encrusted flapjacks glazed in a modest squirt of maple syrup on the other. You hate it, he thinks shortly, but then a smile splits on your lips and Nanami fears he may have jumped the gun. “Eggs and pancakes?”

“You do like eggs and pancakes, don’t you?”

“Yes sir,” you respond, enthused. “It’s perfect.”

Nanami cringes. “I’d like it if you didn’t call me that outside of the workplace.”

“What? Sir?”

He hums. “Formalities remind me of work; I don’t like to think about work when I’m eating my breakfast.” He punctuates the request with a sip from his mug. Black, unsweetened coffee scathes his tongue with powerful calidity, but he’s well acquainted with its heat by now, and doesn’t wince.

“I’ll just stick to Nanami, then.”

“Actually, I—” Was it even worth mentioning? That he’d handed you the rights to use his first name last night? The tiny, bothersome devil on Nanami’s shoulder was whispering yes. “Kento will do.”

True, unadulterated glee beamed from your person, wafting a certain warmth across the counter to smack him in the face. “Holy shit, yeah that’s right! I remember now!” Using your fork as an arrow to point at the man, “last night, you told me that. You said I can call you Kennnn-Tooooo—”

“Okay, alright.” He’s jaded by your antics, swatting his hand in the air lazily. It’s too early in the morning to get serenaded by his own name. “Say it normally, or don’t say it at all.”

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just so crazy to think that we’re on a first name basis now, y’know?” You ask before shoveling a forkful of pancake into your mouth, sighing blissfully at the taste. Gratefulness oozed into your gestures, materializing in the way you simpered up at him following each and every bite. Smiles so broad that Nanami wondered if they were out of politeness or if you really just enjoyed his cooking that much.

He can cheers to your observation. “If you would’ve told me five months ago that you’d be sitting across from me in my home—sharing breakfast with me, no less—I would have…” Laughed in your face? Had a conniption? A combination of the two? Nanami trails off into thought, shaking his head. “I don’t know what I’d have done.”

So hellbent on sticking to his judgment, Nanami rarely changed his mind about people post first impressions. First impressions were something he valued, both in himself and in others. A snap perception is made based upon the first bits of information he collects from a person, and it wasn’t a stretch of the imagination to say that your initial communication was less than stellar. Since then, Nanami’s one-track mind had pinned associations onto you like a bulletin board, assigning your name with attributes like sleazy and trashy and (God, he felt the worst about this one) slutty. This entire time, it was Nanami’s stubbornness and penchant to be right that shielded him from the realization that you were none of those cancerous aspersions. 

You are you.

You are a diligent worker. You are never on time. Your favorite color is (f/c). You are easy to talk to, easy to approach. You like pistachio cheesecake and criminally sweet coffee. You are insecure about your presentation skills, though Nanami can’t understand why. You are determined. You are rarely shy about asking for something you need, a quality he appreciates in someone. You make him laugh. You can’t hold your liquor. With the way you’re drooling over your plate like a hungry puppy, it’s apparent that you like his cooking. And he likes you. 

He… what?

“Yeah, well,” you tilt your head, and the melodic chuckle that follows is enough to yank Nanami from his dazedness. Lifting your mug, you push it towards him in a sort of gesture. “Good thing the past doesn’t matter, huh? We were both lame in the past, but look at us now.” You retract the mug to your lips, taking a swig. “Future us is awesome. Are awesome? Is?”

You mumble to yourself, befuddled by grammar. Meanwhile, Nanami brews in thought. Your undying fearlessness of what’s to come in life always rendered him bewildered. 

“I’m jealous,” he admits, idly tracing the rim of his cup with his thumb. 

You perk up. “Of?”

“Your ability to embrace the future. It’s brave.”

“I think you’re giving me too much credit,” you sweatdrop, itching your cheek. “I wouldn’t call it bravery. Maybe security? I’m—yeah, I’m secure with the route I’ve taken in life.”

“You’re secure with white collar work?”

“I can’t see myself in any other profession,” you smile, flicking him a brow. “What about you?”

Honesty permitted, Nanami would describe his job as the bane of his misery. There used to be a point in his life in which he was sure that this was his ultimate goal: a senior executive position with an esteemed, high-profile company. Younger Nanami was content to endure years of early mornings and late nights with busy schedules jammed in between because it’d all be worth it when he finally tastes that sweet senior title. Except, now he’s tasted it. He’s licked it dry, and despite that, that feeling of fulfillment Nanami had been vying for his whole career remains frustratingly dormant. The notion that this will be his routine until retirement kills him.

He chews thoughtfully on a sliver of pancake before responding. “We touched on this a little over text.”

“You want to travel.”

You remembered. He hums. “I do.”

“And you want a family.”

“I do,” Nanami sighs longingly. 

You don’t make an effort to stifle a chuckle at his supposed foolishness. Shaking your head and cutting your eggs with the blunt side of a fork; “You talk about these things as if it’s all some sort of cushiony pipe dream. It’s really fucking hilarious all things considered.”

“All things considered?” Perplexed, Nanami pries for an expansion. 

And with all the seriousness in the world, you begin to count on your digits. “You are probably the most charming, most intelligent, most wealthy—”

“Y/n,” Nanami yawps at your conviction. When you jest, you do it in such an obvious way. He’s come to familiarize himself with the clever quirk of your mouth’s corner, or that playfully irritating glint in your smile-squinted eyes. But now, Nanami can’t find any evidence of joking in your stoney expression. You’re sincere when you say these things about him. It makes his heart pound so viciously that it vibrates his ear drums. 

“Most hard-working man I’ve ever met.” Unfazed by his apparent flusteredness, you finish with a nonchalant shrug. “Just funny, is all, that you of all people are stressing over these things when you have the ingredients to make your ambitions a reality.”

“Your compliments are… thanked…” The blonde ducks his head in an awkward, halfhearted bow, “but I can’t ever hope to truly begin my life when I don’t have the time granted to do so.” Nanami touches an index and middle finger to his temple, rubbing in soothing circles. It doesn’t do much to quell the oncoming migraine that this nightmarish topic never fails to cast upon him. “I’ve tried. Believe me when I say that I have worked my ass off trying to balance my job alongside nurturing a relationship. But I’ve come to realize how unfair of me that is—to ask a woman to bear with my neglect because I got held up at the office for the fifth night in a row. A relationship isn’t much of a relationship at all if both people still feel lonely.”

Unbeknownst to him, his tone had slipped away for a moment. He became bitter, recalling the lineup of failures that made up his dating history. Bitter and lonely. It’s been almost two years now that Nanami has abandoned the dating scene, if not for his sake than for the sake of his next girlfriend. Though, he can’t help but have moments of tenderness in which he thinks that maybe all of his occupational achievements would have been more gratifying if he had someone to share them with.

He clears his throat, lowering his voice back down when he apologizes for getting emotional. 

“Don’t say sorry.” You offer a reassuring grin. “I’m sorry for assuming shit about your life. That was uncool of me.”

“Don’t say sorry,” Nanami parrots, returning your grin with a sheepish one of his own, and tilts his head toward his shoulder. “I didn’t exactly mind the compliments.”

“Conceited bastard.”

He hides his simper well behind his mug. “I’d still like to know what makes you happy, if that offer is still on the table.”

“Why’s that?”

“I just would like to.” Nanami licks his lower lip, eyes grazing yours. “Do I need a more convoluted reason than that?”

Your face reads like a book. It tells him don’t be a smartass, so he yields to your unimpressed frown. “You’re not gonna like my answer. Working makes me happy.”

The revelation doesn’t shock him. “You are demonstrably proficient, Y/n. In my professional opinion, I have no doubts that you’ll be successful.” Nanami does his best to mirror your sincerity. 

“More successful than you?” You tease.

“Oh forget me, I give it five years before you’re replacing Gakuganji,” he laughs gently before pressing a finger to his lips, mimicking secrecy. “Let’s keep that between us, though.”

“The day you take orders from me is the day I can die happy.”

I wouldn’t mind that day.

“But to be honest, I think it cuts deeper than the success aspects. Ah, It’s kinda hard to put it into words…” You take a moment to string together an explanation while Nanami waits patiently. “I’m sort of a mess in my personal life. I fuck a lot of things up, I make bad judgement calls, I can get a little lazy sometimes—I just do shit wrong. Or at least, that’s what I feel like.”

Nanami hangs on every word.

“So, like, to come to work everyday and be organized and–and put on this presentation of competency,” your tongue clicks sweetly, “I need that. I need people to see me that way—I think that’s why it affected me so much when you… when you saw me…”

“At the party?” He clarifies.

You purr in agreement. “Yeah. That. I felt like, I don't know, like I shattered my whole ‘persona’ and you saw me. You really saw me.”

He can’t look away from you. The way you’re visibly shrinking, collapsing in on yourself like a wounded animal. Constricting your own torso with your arms in a self-soothing hug. Are you ashamed? 

When Nanami finally speaks, he keeps his voice calm. Soft and cottony. “Do you always have such degrading thoughts about yourself?”

“I wouldn’t call it degradation…”

“I would.” Brows furrow, and he leans further into the conversation with his elbows on the island’s surface. “You talk about yourself as if you’re two separate people.”

“Don’t you see it, too?” You ask him gravely, as though you’re hinging on Nanami’s opinion. Like his insubstantial assessment of you is the only thing that matters. “You won’t offend me, I swear.”

Unperturbed, he blinks. “Not at all.”

“Then you’re fucking blind,” you cluck. “Those glasses aren’t doing much for you.”

Nanami nips the inner seam of his cheek, unamused. Right now, he isn’t much in the mood for jokes. Not when he now understands the extent of the disdain that you have for yourself. It irks him that you can’t see how rare of a person you are. 

“My eyesight has no relevance, stop deflecting with humor.” “I’m not deflecting!”

“Yes, you are. Now please, stop and let me talk for a moment,” Nanami shows you his palm, and you find your silence. “You are not two people, Y/n, you’re just one. Just you. Sure, you have your quirks and flaws—as does everyone else—but they are what makes you you. They make you nice to be around.”

“You think I’m nice to be around?”

“We meet nearly every weekend now, have you been under the impression that I hated your presence?”

“It’s hard to tell with you sometimes. I assumed you were still hanging out with me because you felt like you owed me. Which you totally did, by the way.” You purse your lip together, stiff. “But, um, your debt has long been paid, especially with this delicious breakfast. So… y’know, if you don’t want to go out, you can just tell me.”

A breathy, humorous exhale huffs through Nanami’s nostrils. “I am a grown man. If I don’t want to do something, then I won’t do it. This,” he gestures between himself then you, “isn’t occurring out of pity or some strange form of charity. You’re here right now because I want you to be, okay?”

That little declaration pulls a coy smile from you, something Nanami introspectively overthinks. He tells himself that you’re blushing, just barely noticeable past your complexion. “Okay.” You whisper, the apples of your cheeks more pronounced than he’s ever seen them before.

Baring witness to a skittish Y/n was not on the docket for Nanami’s Sunday. He’s aware that this little discussion should stop. It was enroute to breaching something—something intimate and foreign and never to be acknowledged between you both. Unspoken chemistry that Nanami intended to let shrivel up and rot within his core because he doesn’t have the strength to snuff out the beacon of light you’ve shown in his life when he inevitably ruins yet another relationship.

But…

“I’ve had more fun in the past month than in my twenty-seven years of life. With you, I mean. So please don’t shun the side of you that exists outside of the office, because you have this spark that I haven’t seen in any of my associates in a long time. I’m… I would be upset if you let yourself turn into another copy-and-paste corporate zombie.”

There is an obvious shift in the kitchen air. It’s blossomed deep and heavy; Nanami feels like it’s become a struggle to keep himself from sinking into the floor. Your gaze is bolted to him, his to yours, in a quiet exchange of consciousness. Can you hear his thoughts? You look at him so intensely, he fears you might be able to hear how beautiful he thinks you look under the fluorescent light bulbs fixed into the ceiling.

You slip off your stool. Nanami watches your trek around the curve of the island. Onto his side.

It’s through feathery lashes that you look up at him.

“Do you find me attractive?”

The spine you have to ask such an audacious question. Visceral palpitations strike through the beating organ in his chest. His hand brushes the ledge of the countertop, then grips it for stability. “Yes.” So attractive, that he felt he could die right now. 

“Even after I vomited on your shoes?”

“I thought you didn’t remember last night?” Nanami goads.

“It’s coming back to me.”

You feign cheekiness. “Yeah,” he swallows, taking a shaky breath for himself. “Still beautiful.”

Beautiful, even with remnants of day-old eyeliner smudges below those doe eyes. Messy in the most enticing way. An urge swells within Nanami, to cradle your precious face and swipe the makeup off your flesh with his thumb. However, you moved first.

Reaching upwards, you pluck the pair of glasses off his nose. He lets you. Folded, they sit on the island.

Nanami gives a subtle shake of his head, tonguing the sharp corner of his lip. “What are you doing?” It comes out hushed, like he’s telling a secret.

“I don’t know,” you reply impishly. 

The following events can only be categorized as amorous. Ever so slowly, your hand touches. Pressing to his chest, feeling every valley and peak on its ascension to his collarbone. It peeks out from over top the collar of his raggedy, white tee shirt, and you feel him there. Offhandedly, he believes this may be the first time you’ve seen him outside of suitwear. Long, languid breaths keep him grounded, but Nanami can barely stand this torture. Though for you, he does. He lets you touch everything you want, biting his lip all the while. 

“What are you doing?” It comes again, more breathy than the last.

You don’t answer, far too enraptured by the panes of his neck. He feels you drag a fingertip down the trail of a vein. Resolve unravels, he’s slipping.

“Kento.”

If he looked into a mirror at this moment, would he even recognize himself? Nanami knows he’s a better man than this. It should take more than the pillowy drawl of his name to snap the wavering thread of self-discipline within him. 

Chest touches chest; he’s got you trapped against the kitchen island. The same island you both were sharing breakfast with five minutes ago. The same island, Nanami kisses you now.

Your face is sandwiched between two large hands. Nanami holds you to him, angling your neck back so he can grind his tongue deeper into your warm throat. There is no buildup, no preemptive apprehension that repels him from committing to bury himself in your mouth. He kisses you with no regrets, just desire and stifling yearning. 

Moans vibrate the slobbery mess. Nanami feels a bouquet of fingers latch onto his hip and pull—he rewards you, sucking sensually against the tip of your tongue. It’s fucking hot. He’s hot. And hard. Nanami’s sweating. He’s grabbing. He’s rubbing. He’s—-

Beep!

The kiss stops synchronously with twin gasps. You gawk up at him, wide-eyed at the sudden auditory intrusion. He’s looking right back down at you, panting. 

“It's the oven.”

“Oh.”

All the passion had seemingly drained, Nanami felt the altar in the atmosphere. With all the reluctance in the world, he pushes himself back to give you sizable space. Unsure of how this aftermath would play out. Awkwardly, he clears his throat, swabbing excess saliva from his chin with a palm. “I uhm—I was baking some bread.”

You nod, avoiding eye contact. “That’s cool.”

You look mortified, and that makes him feel mortified. “Y/n, I’m sorry for—”

“It’s fine.”

His heart sinks to his guts. “No, it’s not fine. Please, let me ap—”

“Kento,” you cut him off, “you didn’t do anything wrong. Like, at all, so stop apologizing. If anyone should be sorry, it’s me.”

Nanami’s brows pinch together, and he gapes at that. “You haven’t done a single thing wrong either.” You don’t seem to believe him, what with the way you sway from left foot to right foot, hands twiddling restlessly. Cautious, he takes a step closer. “You look anxious. I’m by no means kicking you out, but I don’t want to keep you here if it makes you uncomfortable. Just say the word and I’ll call you a ride home.”

A sigh graces your kiss-swollen lips, and you bow graciously. “Please, that would be great, thanks.”

“Yeah,” Nanami says gently, moving to fish his phone out of the pocket of his flannel pajama bottoms. “Of course.”

“I’ll go change out of your clothes—”

“Keep them on, I insist.” He’s quick to halt you. “And leave yours upstairs, I’ll run them through the washing machine. We can exchange them tomorrow.”

“I—okay, thank you.” You look so apologetic, it wounds him. “Thank you for everything. For taking me home last night, for breakfast, for–for this.”

“You don’t have to thank me. But you’re very welcome.”

Your taxi shows up a few minutes later. It’s hard to watch you go, especially when you left him on dubious terms. Were you upset by his kiss? Nanami hopes to God that’s not the case. Or maybe you were appalled? Fearful, even? 

Nanami needs to turn his brain off—this cancerous spiral of thinking would only send him into a dark pit of guilt, and he had a web meeting later in the evening. After washing the dishes leftover from the breakfast endeavor, he sits on the sofa with his head in his hands

You tasted like fucking maple syrup.

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[wittywallflower]

DBDA pre-Catwin one-shot (4k)

Edwin is in quite a sorry state after a (literally) messy case. The Cat King shows up and is actually surprisingly helpful.

(rated G, canon-compliant up through Edwin and the Cat King's last meeting. Everything is basically the same as in the show except they just haven't left Port Townsend and gone back to London just yet (maybe they had to hang around to wrap up some other cases first))

🔎

Edwin’s appearance had always been important. First to his parents, who insisted he always be clean and put-together to reflect well on the family. Then in boarding school, any flaw to his uniform was scrutinized by teachers looking for dress code infractions and fellow students looking for something to snitch about. Edwin was not interested in being one of the boys who got a ruler across their knuckles for the sin of having holes in his socks, or scuffed shoes so he kept himself looking rigidly neat. Deviating from that structured appearance never turned out well. Even the new cap he had liked so well had just become a target for Simon.

Then there were the 70 years in Hell. Nothing but dirty blood-stained undergarments for decades and decades. Until they no longer felt like clothing. Just soiled scraps atop a heap of dismembered viscera that used to be a boy. 

Since Hell Edwin preferred to be neatly and somewhat formally dressed. He could look down at himself for an instant reminder that he was no longer there, that he would not be going back. It helped settle the memories, the ones that would surely be nightmares if ghosts ever slept. He stuck to a simple hairstyle because it was easy to tidy without being able to see it.

It was very important to feel tidy and presentable. Thankfully that was usually quite easy for a non-living body that didn’t sweat, or excrete any sort of fluids, actually.

One day he hoped he could look in a mirror again without seeing in his mind his own face reflected in that mirror in Hell, his features drenched in blood, eyes wild and full of panic, terror, pain. That was the freshest memory he had of his own appearance in the last 100 years. 

Rest assured it was not ego that made Edwin’s looks important to him.

So when a case went slightly sideways and Edwin was thrown into a dirty brackish pool, he was not pleased.

Charles’ cricket bat had been forbidden as it was not their intent to injure the restless spirit, the ghost of a young man who died while under the influence of hallucinogens. It was not his fault that, between the drugs and the bewildering experience that becoming a ghost can be, he had lost hold of reality. The goal was to subdue without harm, and allow Crystal to calm his mind so he would be coherent and able to move on. They did achieve that in the end, but not before being thrown around a bit by the former rugby lad who thought he was only defending himself. It was only Edwin's bad luck that he had ended up in the water instead of Charles.

Edwin couldn't enjoy the satisfaction of a job well jobbed in his current state and his agitation only increased when he was left behind by the others, Charles opting to ride along with Crystal who refused to invite Edwin to join them because “how am i supposed to explain the smell of rotting fish and pond scum to the Uber driver?”

His skin couldn’t actually feel the filth he was covered in but that didn’t stop it from crawling.

To add insult to injury, there was a sudden burst of purple flames in the night, immediately followed by a low chuckle.

“Well,” the Cat King drawled with a smirk, “I certainly didn’t expect-”

Edwin’s hand shot up, palm out, and the look on his face must have been a hard glare indeed because the Cat King immediately shut up and schooled the amused grin off his face.

Edwin started marching away from the scene of their case. He was so… furious and uncomfortable that he couldn't even begin to try to remember where the nearest mirror might be. 

The Cat King fell into step beside him, watching his face closely but not speaking. After a few long moments of silence, he put a hand on Edwin’s forearm. Lightly, ready to be removed, but it was enough to make Edwin stop and face him.

“Are you okay?” the Cat King asked.

“I am perfectly unharmed,' Edwin answered, curt and abrupt.

Unharmed didn't necessarily mean okay, he knew that and so did his companion judging by the way the Cat King narrowed his eyes at Edwin. But he didn’t press further. 

“Glad to hear it.” The king ran his tongue along his teeth as contemplated Edwin. The ghost was about to huff and turn away when he caught the beginnings of a feline smile.

“What?” he demanded, voice testy.

“No, it's just… I’m sorry,” The Cat King let himself smile, but it wasn't mocking or even leering. It was almost apologetic. “You have, what is that, seaweed?... in your hair.” 

A sharp, polished fingernail pointed towards his head.

Edwin stiffened and reached to run his hand through his hair. He squirmed in distaste when his hand came away green with algae and god knows what else. He tried to wipe it off with his other hand only for those fingers to end up similarly soiled. There was no sense in wiping them on his trousers, his clothing was in no better state. 

His wet hair chose that moment to flop forward, sending a small trickle of water down his cheek. He was about to wipe it away before he remembered the state of his hands. Obviously his face would be just as bad but he still couldn't bring himself to touch himself with dirty hands. His mouth twisted in disgust and he tried again to brush his fingers clean, the knowledge that it was useless only making him more agitated. 

Unable to watch his distress, the Cat King stepped forward. Right into Edwin’s personal space, close enough to be a distraction but hopefully a pleasant one. Edwin seemed like he could use one at the moment. 

“Hey, it's okay, I got you,” the king crooned softly. A flash of purple fire and a handkerchief appeared in his hand.

The Cat King gently swiped at Edwin's cheeks in slow, gentle upward strokes, following the trail of water until he could push the offending hank of hair back from Edwin’s forehead. He guided the cloth over the furrows in Edwin’s forehead, as if he could physically smooth away the ghost's inner turmoil. On the next stroke he followed one of Edwin’s eyebrows outward, smoothed over his temple, trailed the soft fabric over the shell of his ear... letting himself be the one to get distracted. Just for a moment.

Then his finger brushed against something that was definitely not a strand of Edwin’s hair, and he paused to extract a tiny branch of some aquatic plant. Edwin grimaced at the sight of it, making an aborted motion to run his fingers through his hair, ensure for himself that there was nothing else in it. The Cat King cleared his throat, setting back to his task quickly before Edwin could focus on the mess on his hands again.

The magic he imbued in the handkerchief allowed him to wipe down Edwin’s face and neck without ever growing damp or dirty. Then the Cat King took Edwin's hands in his one by on, exploring every inch of his palm and his fingers as they were gently wiped them clean.

Edwin clearly wasn’t any happier when the Cat King finished, for all that he was less green and dripping. His hands now fidgeted constantly with his clothing where it was clinging to his body, and when he shifted his weight there was a wet squelch from within his shoes that made him wince so hard his shoulders went nearly up to his ears. 

Edwin may not be able to actually feel his sodden socks, and his toes couldn't prune from the moisture, but apparently there were some sensations one never forgets no matter how long they’ve been dead.

“You need to get out of those clothes.”

Edwin raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him and the Cat King held up his hands in placation.

“Not how I meant it.” He couldn’t help it though, “Well…”

The Cat King grinned. 

It had no effect on Edwin whatsoever.

“Relax.” He risked lowering a hand to take one of Edwin’s. When the ghost didn’t pull away, the king decided that would be permission enough for the moment. 

With a tilt of his head and soft smile Edwin’s way, his magic transported the both of them to his private space in the cannery. Edwin clocked their surroundings and opened his mouth to no doubt object, but the Cat King dropped Edwin’s hand to hold up his own again.

“If you really prefer to go back to the little apartment above the butcher shop where your loud and annoying friends are, I can do that. But I promise you, I can make this place much more comfortable than you think.” 

He stepped back and snapped his fingers with a flourish.

A warm glow of light drew Edwin’s eye and he turned to spy a very luxurious bathing chamber looking very out of place in one corner of this derelict warehouse. The marble tiles were a stark contrast next to the rather ordinary and dusty industrial floor. Edwin’s curiosity couldn’t prevent him from walking over to investigate. An elegant claw-foot tub in a burnished bronze sat filled with steaming water. A surprisingly modest chandelier with actual candles made the atmosphere cozier and more intimate than seemed possible for the industrial setting.

Edwin nearly jumped when the Cat King appeared without warning right at his side, silent footsteps unnoticed as he crossed the room, true to his feline nature even in human form. Edwin's eyes followed the Cat King as rolled up his sleeves and dabbled a hand in the water to test the temperature, nodding in satisfaction. 

A ghost couldn’t feel the temperature of the bathwater. There was really no need for such consideration. For some reason the thoughtfulness put Edwin on the defensive. 

“I know you don’t expect me to bathe in front of you," he said tartly.

Sure, Edwin had done so in front of other people at boarding school, there was no choice as everything was communal: eating, sleeping, bathing. But that was quite literally a century ago, and it had never been a particularly positive experience for him.

At least now he understood why he’d been so nervous around the other boys at the time. 

The Cat King looked him in the eye. 

“I don’t expect anything from you, ghostie.” He held Edwin’s eye with a serious expression long enough for the ghost to get the point, then dropped into an easy smile and winked. “Can’t stop a cat from hoping though.” 

It was exactly the sort of thing Edwin expected to hear from the Cat King so he didn’t bristle in response. He didn't react at all actually, which made it surprising when the Cat King rushed to offer reassurance. 

“No ulterior motives tonight, I promise." He drew an X over his heart with his finger, which made Edwin roll his eyes. "I just want you to be more comfortable.” 

Edwin could have launched into an explanation of how little physical discomfort a ghost was capable of, how he couldn’t feel chilled from the cold water, or chafed by the damp clothing. He was not about to explain that his distress was mostly mental, emotional. How it is was irrational and possibly some sin of vanity that being such a mess reminded him of Hell.

He didn’t need to explain anything though. With another purple blaze, the Cat King summoned some helpful items.

 In one hand appeared a strangely shaped glass bottle of shimmering liquid that was upended into the tub. The water turned opaque and milky and a barely-there shade of pale pink. 

“There," the Cat King said, "can’t see a thing through the water now. I hope you don't mind i took the liberty of choosing for you. I know you ghosts don't have the same sense of smell anymore, but we’re going to need something fragrant.”

His nose wrinkled slightly in a way that was frankly (unfortunately) endearing. Edwin wondered how offensive the odor was to sharper feline senses. He considered apologizing for it, but it certainly wasn’t his own fault that he smelled like this. And seeing as they were about to fix the situation, it didn't seem worth the effort.  

“What’s the scent?” Edwin asked instead. 

“Rose.” 

Edwin’s eyebrow raised in mild surprise and the Cat King smiled back with a shrug. 

“Options are limited for bath products made from flowers that aren't toxic to cats. At least its a scent you were probably familiar with when you were alive, for whatever that's worth.”

The bottle disappeared and the Cat King pulled a length of folded cloth from where it had been draped over his arm. It unfurled to reveal a dark blue old fashioned bathing unitard from the era when Edwin was still alive. He’d only worn something like it a few times as an older boy, not being the type to do a lot of swimming.

“For your modesty,” the Cat King said. Again, his smile wasn’t mocking or suggestive. He circled Edwin for a moment, looking him up and down (correction: the smile was a little suggestive now), then held the bathing costume up in front of the ghost’s torso. “And look, I even got the size right.” 

Perhaps he had been tempted to make it a little on the snug side, just to see what the ghost was packing. Curiosity, cats, etc. etc.

Edwin took the garment from him but didn't make eye contact, oddly distracted for a man who was being flirted with. Edwin’s gaze was aimed over the king's shoulder, but his eyes were a bit too vacant to really be looking at anything. Whatever it was, it absorbed him thoroughly; he didn’t speak as the seconds stretched. 

With a subtle shift of weight, the Cat King moved to the side, just enough to step into the path of Edwin’s stare. Blocking his view of whatever made him space out for a minute there. 

Edwin blinked a few times then cleared his throat, turning to the side. He looked down at the bathing suit.

“I definitely will not be undressing while you watch," he said flatly.

If not for that little exchange in the alley, the Cat King might suspect Edwin was allergic to saying thank you.

“I can close my eyes. I promise not to peek.” He winked at Edwin, but didn’t give the boy time to get riled up before he conceded. “I’ll step out and give you your privacy.”

“Unnecessary,” Edwin said, much to both of their surprise. “It will only take a moment. I will insist you turn your back, however. And keep it turned.” 

Unsure how to react to being invited to stay, the Cat King actually gaped at him for a moment. Edwin began to undo his bowtie but when he noticed his companion was staring (the exact opposite of his request), Edwin frowned and made a very condescending shooing motion with one hand.

Rather than take issue with that bit of disrespect, the Cat King decided to respect the boy’s boundaries. The magical being pivoted 180 degrees and put his back fully to the Edwardian ghost, taking a few steps away to give him space . 

If it were anyone else, the Cat King would be very advantageously positioned. The mirror he now faced reflected everything behind him, except for one invisible ghost who was in fact the only thing the Cat King would have wanted to look at. 

Examining the mirror now he realized it was the only thing that could have been in Edwin’s line of sight when he’d gone into that worrisome moment of dissociation. 

The Cat King didn’t know why such a thing would upset him. Being a major mode of ghostly transportation, Edwin wasn’t exactly lacking for mirrors in his life. And with no reflection he wouldn't be able to see it if he truly did look ghastly. (Which of course he didn’t. Even dripping and bedraggled, Edwin was so oddly handsome. The Cat King didn’t usually go for the clean cut Boy Scout look but, here they were.) 

He didn’t need to know why the mirror had bothered Edwin to grasp the fact that it made him uncomfortable. The Cat King could vanish it away entirely of course. But removing an escape route likely wouldn't put Edwin any more at ease. As a compromise the king summoned his magic again.

There was a gasp behind his back when the purple flared between them with a puff of smoke. He could picture a startled Edwin, hugging whatever garment he had just removed close to his body to cover himself.

The Cat King’s view in the mirror’s reflection was now blocked by an elegant folding screen positioned to separate the tub, and Edwin, from the rest of the room. The Cat King didn't move though. Edwin said to keep his back turned, so he waited and listened to the almost imperceptible rustle of fabric. The slosh as the water in the tub was disturbed.

He stood there, and he waited. 

“As nice as the privacy is,” Edwin’s voice came from behind the screen, “it doesn’t actually make me less anxious that I can’t keep an eye on what you’re up to.”

The Cat King smiled to himself. 

“Sounds like you’re asking for my company,” he replied lightly.

“I’m not asking for anything from you.”

Edwin had composed himself enough for a bit of the old hostility to seep in to his tone. But he’d had an extremely aggravating night, so the king decided that was easy enough to overlook. 

“Guess you get this one for free, then,” he said.

With a saunter he stepped around the folding screen as Edwin watched him warily. When the Cat King approached the tub, Edwin tensed further, sinking down into the water up to his neck and folding his arms protectively over his chest. No that there was a need to. The only thing visible below his chin was two knees poking a few inches above the cloudy water. 

“Easy,” the king crooned reassurance. “I’m not going to touch you, not gonna use any spells on you. I’ll just be here to… I don't know, pass you the soap, I guess.” A bar of soap appeared in his hand and he held it out to Edwin before he frowned thoughtfully. “Do ghosts even need to use soap?”

Edwin’s eyes darted between the king’s face, the soap in his hand, and back.

“No,” he said, but nonetheless reached out to grab it.

Edwin had to sit up to properly clean himself; he tried to hunch in on himself to avoid being Seen. The Cat King decided not to make it any harder for Edwin by staring. He folded his limbs with feline grace and sat on the floor, his back against the tub and his eyes respectfully turned away. 

He was glad he wasnt watching after a moment. By the sound of it Edwin wasn’t going easy with the scrubbing. The king was glad he hadn’t offered a loofah as well. At least, being a ghost, Edwin couldn't actually damage his skin with too much abrasion.

The Cat King hoped the ritual of washing would cleanse the ghost’s mind, at least. 

The smell of roses grew thicker as the lather added its own fragrant note, just slightly different but undeniably the same floral.

There were long minutes of quiet splashing. Eventually the Cat King asked hopefully,

“Need a hand to wash your back?”

“No,” the word was not so tensely gritted out this time, “but… um, my hair, is it clean enough? I can’t tell.”

The Cat King turned, and through some damned impressive willpower, kept his eyeline above Edwin’s neck. The boy’s face wasn’t so pinched now. He didn't seem like he wanted to tear his skin off anymore. The king had never actually seen Edwin relaxed so he had no basis for comparison, but this looked like a step in the right direction. 

Dutifully he examined Edwin’s hair. The ghost had to duck his head for the shorter being to see all of it. The cat king hummed quietly, a small smile hidden from Edwin’s lowered face.

“Missed a bit of lather just here.”

A swirl of his wrist summoned a cup that the Cat King dipped into the water and raised above Edwin’s head, waiting for the ghost to close his eyes before pouring the water over his hair. He’d love nothing more than to run his fingers through those damp strands, but he’d promised Edwin he wouldn’t touch. 

Another cascade of water and Edwin’s hair was as clean as the rest of him. 

“There we go.” The Cat King’s voice was oddly tender, and after a second he seemed to realize that for himself, because he cleared his throat and stood from where he’d been kneeling beside the bath. “I’ll, uh, take care of your clothes while you finish up.” 

Magicking the non-corporeal clothing clean and dry wouldn’t take more than a click of his fingers but he still took the time to gather up the sodden garments and dripping shoes to carry them off.

 Leaving Edwin alone behind the screen. In a tub full of water that would never dirty or grow cold, next to it a stack of the fluffiest towels in existence, thoughtfully warmed for a ghost who couldn’t even feel it.

The Cat King shook his head in dismay at himself as he left the room. He was being such a fucking simp. 

Edwin had no idea how it worked, what enchantments the king had used on the items to get the timing so correct (maybe he was spying after all?), but the moment Edwin finished toweling himself dry, a robe appeared. Luxurious fabric but muted colors, no ornamentation. Nothing garish, but long and thick and elegant. When he belted it on it covered him nicely from collarbone to calves. The moment that the robe was secured, the bathing chambers melted out of existence: the tub, the chandelier, the wet towels, the folding screen. 

Everything except the mirror. 

Obviously the mirror stayed. It was the most logical and convenient way for Edwin to go home.

Well, not home, but to their current headquarters anyway.

His fingers brushed his side and he fingered the fabric he was wrapped in, wondering what he must look like in it. He’d never worn anything similar, had never even seen another person wearing such a rich, hedonistic garment while he was living. Did it look strange on him? Did he look like he was playing dress-up? Or maybe it suited him. Maybe, if he had lived, he would have come to own a similar dressing gown one day. Wrapped himself in it in the morning while he made coffee, worn it while he sat with a book in his own library in his own home late into the evening before he retired to a bed that would be useless to him in his current state of being.

Edwin got a bit lost in the wondering, the hypotheticals, staring at the mirror that didn’t reflect anything of note, not himself and not the robe belt he was fiddling with. The Cat King’s return pulled him back into the moment. 

A folded pile of familiar clothing was handed to him, shoes dry and polished to a shine stacked on top.

“All ready for you.” The king’s smile turned a bit sad. “I imagine you want to get back to your friends now.”

Edwin really should. Ordinarily he would have made it back via mirror much quicker than Crystal’s rideshare, so they would be wondering where he was. He hadn’t made note of the time when he arrived, couldn't say how long he’d been here. He could feel the weight of his pocket watch within his folded jacket, but he didn’t fish it out to check it. The answer wouldn’t really change anything. 

Edwin didn’t know what to say to the Cat King. ‘Goodbye’ perhaps. ‘Thank you’, probably. Before he could decide, the other man seemed to startle. 

“Oh! Almost forgot.” 

From a pocket The Cat King pulled out a comb. It was beautiful, carved from what must be mother-of-pearl, and it looked the priceless sort of old. 

The Cat King reached up to run the comb through Edwin’s hair, but stopped, pulling back and offering the comb to him instead. 

Edwin looked at it for a long moment. Unsure what was possessing him, instead of taking it he bent forward, Edwin lowered his head to put it in easy reach of the shorter man. 

Edwin's eyes dropped and he missed the pleased grin that split the feline monarch’s face. 

The Cat King wasn’t going to give Edwin a chance to change his mind. With infinite care he gently guided the comb through Edwin’s dark hair. Thankfully it was free of tangles; if the Cat King was going to pull Edwin’s hair, he wanted it to be in a sexy context.

 It only took a few passes to settle the damp hair into the simple style Edwin favored. The Cat King let his hand fall away when he was finished despite the temptation to linger, to take another pass through those strands with his fingers instead. 

Before he stood up straight once more, Edwin dipped his head even lower, leaning in to brush his lips to the Cat King’s cheek, a mirror of where he’d kissed him before. The Cat King’s eyes fluttered shut, just like last time. 

“Thank you.” Edwin didn’t whisper. His voice, though quiet, was firm. 

And importantly, it was wasn’t tense anymore, not laced with anxious agitation as it was before the bath.  

The Cat King inhaled, smelling the fragrance of roses, and opened his eyes again. 

There was nothing to see except the last ripple of the mirror’s surface marking the ghost’s exit.

[hoo, boy, 4k is too long for tumblr, i shoulda taken this straight to ao3 but then I'd have to think of a title for it.]

[hey. what should be the title for it?]

NOW ON AO3

[erinkeifer]

ℕ𝕠𝕥 𝕞𝕪 𝕔𝕠𝕕𝕖 - ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕍

[Anakin Skywalker x Padawan!Fem Reader]

Masterlist | Wattpad | AO3 Not My Code Masterlist

Summary: On the day of your knighting, you find yourself forced to confront someone you absolutely do not want to see—at least not in Anakin's company. The presence of your Master's ex-wife at the ceremony has a hidden agenda, but whatever she aims to achieve, you want to be one step ahead.

Warnings: angst | jealousy | kissing | satisfying ending Author Note: This time, there won't be anything spicy, but let's raise the suspense a bit! We'll delve into some intrigue, but in the end, I hope the conclusion will be satisfying.

Word Count: 3k

The absence of your Padawan's braid behind your ear was a strange feeling, but even though you often complained about how it irritated you and visually ruined your best hairstyles, you held it in your hands with a hint of nostalgia. It marked the end of a very significant chapter in your life, but also the gateway to something, you hope, much better. The ceremony was beautiful and atmospheric, with surprisingly many guests—not just those you invited through your friendly droid, but also a few important senators, the Chancellor himself... And... Well, speaking of senators... You knew Padmé Amidala would show up at the ceremony—it wasn't a surprise to you. However, you consistently pushed that awareness to the back of your mind, not allowing thoughts of that 'first encounter' to trouble you. You didn't look in her direction during the ceremony—your gaze was probing Anakin, who, in turn, didn't even turn his head toward her, which buoyed your spirits. After the ceremony, you exchanged handshakes and accepted congratulations from guests alongside your Master, who proudly accompanied you throughout. Once you made sure to thank everyone for their attendance, you directed your guests to Dex's diner, reserved for you and your party that evening. "Are we not all going together?" Obi-Wan asked, standing with Anakin in the temple foyer. "Go ahead, I'll catch up with you in a moment; I just need to change into something more comfortable." you replied with a smile, gesturing to your elaborately adorned, albeit uncomfortable, outfit worn during the knighting. "Ten minutes, and we'll be toasting without you, Ma'am." Kenobi summarized, eliciting laughter from you and Skywalker, before slowly making their way toward the exit. "Um, Anakin!?" you called out while the two were still within your reach. "Yes?" Skywalker turned toward you. "Do you have the reservation confirmation with you? Just in case." you asked, and Anakin pulled a paper badge from his belt. "Better safe than sorry." he replied with a smile, to which you nodded and smiled back. With this brief exchange, you went your separate ways. .................................................................................................................. Obi-Wan and Anakin walked in silence until they entered one of the lifts in a spacious corridor. "What was that?" Kenobi suddenly asked, pulling Skywalker out of his reverie. "What do you mean, Master?" he asked, trying to figure out what had caused such a puzzled expression on Obi-Wan's face. "You didn't insult each other, neither of you called the other an idiot or showed the middle finger, and to top it off, it's the first time I've heard her call you by your first name." Kenobi clarified, crossing his arms in an 'appraising' manner. "Did I do something wrong?" Skywalker asked rhetorically. "No, but any deviation from the norm—in your case, Anakin—especially surprises me." Obi-Wan replied, maintaining his posture. "I'm just putting into practice what you taught me, Master." added Anakin, smiling proudly at Kenobi. "Should I be afraid?" asked Obi-Wan, even more bewildered, though surprised. "Who knows?" Skywalker added with a hint of irony as the lift doors began to open. The two walked through the deserted ground floor of the temple, which was a straight path to the exit. "I had something to ask you... How are you feeling?" Kenobi suddenly inquired, taking advantage of the moment. "I don't quite understand." Skywalker expressed confusion this time. "It's the first time in a very long time when, you know... the Senator is our guest. I know you've been through rough times, and..."

"Answering your question, Master... I feel better than ever." Anakin interrupted, surprising Kenobi slightly, but internally delighted because the answer to this question—especially recently—hadn't been an easy one for his apprentice. Obi-Wan regularly posed this question to him, but today, for the first time, he received a determined answer, a response he had been waiting for a long time, perhaps signaling that a painful phase in Anakin's life was finally becoming clear. "Well... So I guess we'll raise a toast for that as well today." Kenobi added after a moment of silence, and Anakin turned towards him, exchanging a subtle smile. Soon, the duo reached the exit of the temple, and before them stood the crew waiting by the doors, ready to accompany the two Generals to the diner. "Finally, so, are we ready to roll?" Rex shouted, gesturing towards Anakin and Obi-Wan. "This is where the fun begins." Skywalker whispered to Kenobi, and both with smiles, headed towards the crew. ..................................................................................................................

In the meantime, in the absence of the others, you managed to change your outfit in Anakin's quarters, where you had left your more comfortable attire the day before. Along the way, you decided to bring R2 with you, who had been on guard duty. Once you had smoothed your hair and touched up your nose for the rest of the evening, you closed the door behind you and the droid. With brisk steps, you made your way along the corridor leading to the lifts. At a certain point, you noticed that the door to one of the guest quarters was ajar, and the dead silence in the hall allowed you to hear the conversation emanating from it. Intrigued by the sound, you stopped. Perhaps you wouldn't have done so if the feminine voice coming from the room didn't sound so dramatic, and perhaps you wouldn't have done so if the room for the night didn't belong to Padmé.

"Maybe you should at least try? If you don't try, you'll never know."

"But how? I can't just approach him and say, 'Hey, let's try again.'"

"But we both know you came here today just to talk to him."

"I know... But I was hoping he'd be the one to approach me first, but he didn't even look at me."

"You can't keep thinking this way forever..."

The eavesdropped conversation ended at this point, and you couldn't steady the trembling of your hands. The overheard words made your blood boil, and you prayed just to manage to keep that feeling inside because Padmé and her handmaiden, with whom she was conversing, were just coming out of the quarters. "Oh... Hello, it's been so long..." Padmé said with a slightly surprised expression when she saw you standing a few steps in front of the door from which she emerged. For a long time, you had the habit of bowing, greeting formally and respectfully when it came to politicians - but now, you didn't even blink. "Do you happen to know if Anakin is in..." "He's not there." you replied before Padmé could finish her question, to which the woman next to her reacted with a somewhat confused expression. "Oh, I see... Were you looking for him too?" she asked, aware that not everyone had the right to enter private quarters in the Temple. "I came to get R2." you replied with a stony face, beneath which a hint of pride could be discerned, a pride that only you could feel. "Oh." Padmé let out a short sigh, tinged with a hint of uncertainty, and being sure that this was all the senator needed from you, you moved ahead. "Uh, wait, please..." even though you would rather keep going, not wanting to build such a dramatic aura around you, you stopped and turned your head toward her. "Congratulations on your new title. I always knew you were capable." You paused for a moment, hearing those words, and forced a fake smile, looking at both women. "Sure. I mean... Thank you. And now, Senator, I apologize, but I have to go. They're waiting for me." Without waiting for 'permission,' you moved away, and Padmé just nodded, slightly embarrassed, and went with her handmaiden in the opposite direction. Walking, you replayed Amidala's words in your head. Nasty lies that you wouldn't even buy as a child, because you knew well that she never cared about your development under Anakin's wing. All that concerned her was his time spent with you, the energy she claimed you were "stealing from him," and the attention she expected but never reciprocated. Jealousy mixed with fear gnawed at you from the inside – you tried to be confident, tried to think about how Anakin ignored her – but you couldn't stop entertaining dark scenarios. What if he yielded? What if he gave her a chance? What if her plan was cleverer than yours? The one you were just putting the finishing touches on in your mind because, after all this, you have to prove who's playing the first violin here. Oh, you didn't even care how dangerous it was in terms of the Jedi Code at the moment; why should it concern you now? Are you supposed to give up and not sleep peacefully? No way. ..................................................................................................................

Your little 'after-party' helped you calm down significantly. When you entered the venue, Anakin sensed your conflicting emotions, but as you sat next to each other, unnoticed by others, he subtly ran his finger along your thigh, signaling that everything was okay and you shouldn't stress. Of course, he didn't know the exact reasons for your mood, but he felt enough to help comfort you. The reception went in a truly festive atmosphere—there were 'uncle' jokes from Obi-Wan, who, after a few deep glasses, had everyone in tears of laughter, and toasts in honor of you and your master, which you lost count of after a few hours. Everyone was getting themselves together and extending their stay, led by Kenobi, whom Rex was helping to stand on two legs. However, you and Anakin decided to slip away to the temple quarters. "But promise me it's nothing scary!" you said, laughing, as you ran after Anakin to his apartment. "I promise, I promise!" Anakin replied, amused by your suspicion. Your hasty escape from the party was initiated by Anakin—he told you he had a gift for you and had been waiting for this day specifically. Throughout the journey to the temple, you kept bombarding Skywalker with questions to which he didn't want to answer because, after all, it was a surprise. "Ugh! Can you at least tell me where we're going?" you asked impatiently and breathlessly, trying to keep up with Anakin's brisk pace. "To my quarters!" he replied, winking at you. "Really? I was there before the reception, and I saw nothing..." "That means the hideout was a success." Anakin replied, maliciously picking up the pace. "Damn it!" you muttered, running after your master and catching your breath every now and then. When you reached the door and the squealing R2-D2, who was also experiencing a pace crisis today, Anakin quickly opened the door, and everyone enthusiastically stepped inside. "Okay, now just stand here and turn around... Unless I blindfold you with something." Anakin said, pointing towards the corner by the door where you were supposed to stand facing away. "Okay, I'd rather just turn around. Let's save that for another occasion." you said with a cheeky smile, which Skywalker reciprocated, and you did as he instructed, turning around and putting your hands behind your back. Anakin stepped back, ensuring that you weren't peeking. Satisfied that you were obedient, he approached one of the hidden compartments in his apartment. You heard behind you the sound of... metal? and heavy, lowering doors, but you patiently waited for the signal to turn around. "Ready?" Anakin asked, his voice filled with excitement. "Like never before." you smiled widely but still kept your eyes on the wall in front of you. "So?" Instead of giving a command, Anakin came over to you. With a gentle move, he grabbed your arms, maneuvering your body so you could turn around and see what he had prepared for you. "Congratulations, Jedi Knight." he whispered tenderly into your ear, and your eyes widened at the sight of the gift. "Is this... QT-KT?" you put your hand over your mouth, unable to believe what you were seeing. "In the flesh." Anakin replied, joyfully watching your reaction. "What did you..." you started, approaching the droid, which was slowly activating. "I tinkered with it a bit, gave it some attention, polished it a bit... Well, and I reprogrammed it just for you." Skywalker answered before you could finish your question. "Are you telling me you did this... for me? Am I to understand that this is my droid?" you asked, looking at your master with immense surprise and affection. "Yes, indeed. I've been planning it for some time and decided that today would be the right day to give you this little surprise." he replied, joyfully watching you test the functions of your new droid. Finally, you stood up from a kneeling position, and still in disbelief, you took a few steps toward the large window in the room.

"Anakin... I... I don't know what to say..." you held your head, turning to Skywalker with a broad smile. Without saying anything, Anakin came over to you and, turning you towards him, embraced you around the waist, and at that moment, your foreheads touched. "I really don't know how to thank you." you whispered, looking into his eyes, and Anakin hugged you very tightly—due to your height difference—almost lifting you off the floor. "Just... Be here... With me." hearing those words, not knowing why, you pulled away from Anakin's arm to look him in the eyes. "Do you mean... Today?" you asked, wanting to dispel your doubts. "Today..." he left a single kiss on your lips. "Tomorrow..." he kissed your lips twice. "Always." he concluded, pressing his lips to yours in a overwhelming, long kiss. Your heart pounded like a hammer hearing those words... Or rather, THAT word... Your embrace was still very strong, but suddenly you looked aside, through the glass where until now you could mostly see the beautiful, night sky of Coruscant, illuminated by many stars. Without saying anything more, you gently released yourself from Skywalker's embrace and stood by the window, collecting your scattered thoughts. Anakin's words not only ignited you from the inside, not only melted your heart, but also indicated that the time had come. The time to execute your plan. "Can I...?" turning your head to Anakin, you pointed to the open entrance to the terrace. "Sure." Skywalker smiled, gesturing as if to say 'make yourself at home.' Returning his expression, you went to the terrace, and although for the first few moments, you looked around at the starry sky, your goal was entirely different���and you had it in the palm of your hand. Anakin was still inside, clicking something with your new droid when you had a moment to look around on your own. It didn't take much for your muscles to tense with determination—your eyes landed on the guest terrace, which for the night was at Padmé's disposal, and it was none other than Amidala standing outside, leaning against the railing, watching the movements of night Coruscant. She didn't see you. Not yet. But your plan was clear and straightforward—she had to see you, and you had to act. Now or never.

"In moments like these, I truly appreciate this place... It can be genuinely beautiful here. Despite the war... the fear..." you began speaking slowly, trying to capture Anakin's attention as his slow steps approached you. He walked with his hands casually folded behind his back, a smile on his face, and you heightened your senses. You were waiting for the moment when you'd feel the gaze on you—this time not Anakin's but from the nearly adjacent terrace. Your ability to sense glances was always highly developed—you excelled in it even more than Anakin himself, so at least in this regard, you sometimes managed to protect him on the battlefield. Now, you felt somewhat like you were on a battlefield, waiting for the right moment to use it and do it in the best possible style. But to gain it, you needed to first capture attention. "Today is exceptionally beautiful here." Anakin said, gently embracing you from behind. "Because you're here." You grabbed his hands, which were tenderly spread over your stomach, and your eyes almost sparkled from the heard words. Suddenly, you decided to turn face to face with Skywalker and placed your hands on his neck. "I'll be by your side..." you whispered, watching his eyes scan every inch of your face. "As long as you want." you finished, being so close to him that you could feel his every breath on your lips. This moment was so priceless for you that you momentarily forgot about your plan, but when it returned to your mind, you once again heightened your senses. Touching Anakin's face and looking into his hungry-for-kisses eyes, you began to take small steps backward, as if you were about to lean against the fountain wall in the middle of the terrace. However, none of your movements were without purpose. Already almost leaning against the stone wall, you initiated stumbling over the flat platform separating the fountain from the rest of the space. Hitting the surface with your heel, you produced a dull sound that, you were sure, reached not only the ears of the two of you. You didn't have to lower your eyes from Anakin to know. To feel that HER gaze landed at the source. That she's already onto you. "Kiss me." you whispered to Anakin, when he, taking advantage of the new position, leaned you against the fountain wall and threw himself onto your lips in a passionate kiss. Padmé froze, not believing the sight before her eyes. Not believing that her mission failed so miserably. She watched. She watched as her ex-husband kissed you with a passion he might never have given her. She watched as you touched him as if he were yours, and he touched you as if you were his. When she almost ran inside, you smiled in the ongoing kiss, knowing that your intrigue had succeeded. You touched him as if he were yours. He touched you as if you were his. Because you were his. And he was yours.

[b1asho]

Small rough comic while I finish the next species introduction sheet.

For context, this is the Prectikar Obin and his human friend Zoe ! (Yeah, you better believe I've got characters too. Will prolly post more of them after the species intro sheets so you guys have more of a baseline for what the character is XD.

Obin is very comfortable being trans around humans (who raised him and who he’s lived around his whole life) but his first time presenting explicitly as such in front of other Prectikar was a bit stressful, since their widely held religious beliefs say that being that way is deviation from their creator god’s will (the idea that any of them who follow their old traditions (trads) are all phobic is a harmful stereotype , from a vocal minority of them, but still a concern since the sentiment that queerness is weird or wrong is still more coded into their culture than in current canon humans). He already shows his gender identity with a nose piercing rather than a chin one, and his large size and musculature caused by a combo of gigantism and working out also helps make him appear more masculine to both Prectikar and humans, but going as far as altering the throat sac during the season is a much bigger step —>

As i mentioned in their ref sheet, Prectikar have a breeding season in late winter, where males will lose the feathers on their throat to show off a bright yellow color on their skin (females don’t do this, and instead will grow longer feathers on their back and chest). A common way for trans Prectikar to deal with this (without medically transitioning/using hrt to prevent it from happening that way in the first place) is to cover the bald spot or pluck their throat sac and paint it yellow. without the right pheromones, it’s still easy for others to 'tell’ though, which is why he’s nervous. Zoe is there as the emotional support lesbian.

Also here’s a transcript, because my handwriting sucks ass and I decided to write some things phonetically since Obin has trouble pronouncing T, D, and G and also tend to combine words with those sounds with the next word (wi’the nehx’wer )

O- damn, this stings.

Z- damn, it’s almost like you’re pulling them out.

O- ha. ha. … ok, how does it look?

Z- yeeaahhhhhhh, very bald! Just needs some yellow.

O- …

Z- very manly ! Very.. Kar-ly? It looks good! What?

O- I’m serious. Do you think the guys at work will say anything? I’ve.. never been around other Prectikar during the season…

Like, there’s no way they can’t tell. And U’lng is a trad, I’ve seen him praying, and they’ve already seen my piercing,, and I already feel like they think I’m a freak-

Z- Hey

it’s who you are. You know it is. No matter what. They’re just going to have to deal with it.

O- Right. Yeah. Deal with it. ..

Z- so we’re good? I can get the paint if you want.

O- Yeahhhhh

god why does this have to be so hard.

Z- they’re nice guys, dude. You’ll be fine.

Z- and if not I can hit them with an energy blast.

[thescarletnargacuga]

Art: @iamespecter

CHAPTER NINE

Racing AU!

Sorry folks, today's race is cancelled due to unforeseen circumstances...and the aftermath of that afterparty! But it's all showtime ALL the time at the Raceway when Pomni takes Caine up on his offer for a second date!

WARNING: suggestive Ragatha/Loo

~~~

"Able..? Able to do what?" Pomni asked with a shaky voice. Abel only glared. "Oh! That- that's your name. Sorry."

"I'm not surprised you don't recognize it. Few memories often make it through the transfer."

"You-! You know what's going on?"

"Of course I do. I am a prisoner of Caine, like you. I was the first, but I have since been isolated."

"Wait, you're like me? You're human??" Pomni slid off her bed and took a few steps towards Abel.

"Yes. And I know how to leave. I simply lack access. This is where we can help each other."

Pomni swallowed the nervous lump in her throat.

"In my solitude, I have figured out how to work myself into the game's code, but I must do so slowly lest Caine ruin everything. His most recent distraction..." Abel eyed Pomni up and down. "...Has left me an opening. Enough that I'm finally able to speak in person."

A cold shiver went down Pomni's spine. "So you're the reason things have been glitching?"

"Yes, and they will only increase the closer I get. Keep Caine distracted. Once I have made it to the mainframe, I can use my administrative access and get us all out of here."

"Administrative access? How-?"

"I remember more than most. Caine saw to that personally." Abel's voice deviated from it's calculative cadence to a more venomous tone. "Caine is a rogue AI. Everyone trapped here is his personal play thing."

Pomni felt numb. "H-how do I know your telling the truth?"

"Ask about me." Abel smirked. "I'd love to know what he has to say." He stood. "Keep in mind, Caine is dangerous. Tread carefully. I'll be in touch."

Blue sparks jumped from Gummigoo's eyes and dissipated into the air. Gummigoo staggered and grabbed his head. "Oooooh, crikey. What..? Pomni? What are you doing in my-?" He looked around. "How did I get here?"

Pomni wasn't sure if telling him the truth would be a good idea. "You...were a bit drunk. I guess the silly juice finally wore off." She forced a laugh and pushed Gummigoo to the door. "Looks like you can go to your own room now, have a good night!"

"Pomni, wha-" The door slammed on Gummigoo's face.

Pomni leaned against the door, slid to the floor and curled her knees to ther chest.

~

Caine teleported himself to his workshop, listlessly floating along. He truly felt lighter than air. The excitement from racing with Pomni had left him full of new soft feelings that he let himself relish in. His thoughts if her turned to new desires. The kiss she blew his way...even as just a distraction, he wanted her to do that again. Maybe a bit closer next time.

He gave a lovesick sigh and slowly backflipped in the air. "What a woman..." As he drifted along he spotted Bubble. "Bubble! I simply MUST tell you about the most spectacular time I just had with Pomni!" He zipped over and grabbed Bubble with both hands.

"Okay, boss! But first I need to tell you that the jungle starting light tasted normal."

"That's gre- wait. Bubble, you've already told me that. That was ages ago. You, uh...you feeling alright?" Caine rolled Bubble around in his hands, seeing nothing visibly out of the ordinary.

"I feel great, boss! Ready to see you announce the winner! Was it Pomni? Is that why you're so excited, boss?" Bubble's smile was as big as ever.

Caine's upper jaw furrowed with confusion and concern. "Bubble, the jungle race was yesterday. We've done a whole other race since, you were there! The- the Drift Disco! The afterparty??"

Bubble just smiled at him with their blank, beady eyes. "Whatever you say, boss."

Caine's eyes widened in horror. "The glitches...they're starting to affect you! Don't worry Bubble, I'll fix it! Whatever's going on, I'll fix it!" He teleported away with Bubble.

~

The following morning was a slow one. No one left their rooms when sunlight poured in though the windows. With the exception of Jax, who was still passed out under a table.

Ragatha stirred awake, feeling a presence in bed with her. Her eyes gradually widened as she realized she was being spooned by someone. Long, thin arms draped over her. She slowly turned to see Loo peacefully sleeping behind her. Her hand flew over her mouth to keep from screaming. She remembered dancing and...that's about it. Ragatha tried to scoot away but Loo's grip tightened.

"Five more minutes..." Loo mumbled.

Ragatha didn't know what to do. She was flustered all over again, her face as red as her hair. "How did this happen?" She wasn't upset by any means, but couldn't even begin to imagine how she got in this situation.

"You were wonderful last night, that's how~" Loo whispered.

Ragatha put both of her hands over her face, wishing the bed would swallow her whole. "Oh... I'm SO sorry. I don't-"

"I'm not." Loo kissed Ragatha's cheek. "That was the best night of my lives."

Ragatha lowered her hands. "Lives..?"

"Mmhm. Ironically, I didn't have a lot of fun as some medieval princess." Loo giggled.

Ragatha spun around to face Loo. "You REMEMBER??"

"Yes...well, partially. It's sort of like trying to remember a dream, but you...you I remember clearly."

Ragatha's mouth hung open, eyes wide. "How???"

Loo shrugged. "I don't rightly know. You must have made quite the impression."

Ragatha cringed, remembering her finger guns. "...yeah." She cleared her throat awkwardly.

Loo smiled sincerely, kissing Ragatha's palm. "I look forward to seeing you in the next life I get to lead."

Ragatha frowned. "...so, does that mean...you know?"

"That this is all some simulation? Oh, yeah. Not that hard to figure out, really. But, I'm not too bothered."

"Seriously? But all of those lives-"

"Are real to me. And that's all that matters." Loo boops Ragatha's nose. "And I get to see you in all of them."

"Wow...you're incredible."

"I try." Loo giggles and sits up to stretch.

Ragatha sat up too, fiddling with her sheets. "What happens now? Do you wait for Caine or-"

"No, I disappear when I perform my exit action. In this case, it's leaving the garage."

Ragatha wrapped her arms around Loo. "You're never leaving this building."

Loo laughed. "You're too sweet. But, I have to go at some point. How would I ever get to live my next life? Don't worry, I'll find you again." She kisses Ragatha's cheek. "You're worth finding all over again."

Ragatha nearly cried.

~

Slowly but surely, everyone emerged from their rooms. They gathered in the lounge, waiting for Caine. They all slept so late into the day cycle, he should to be arriving any moment to announce the day's race. Pomni sat on a bean chair, Gummigoo sat next to her.

"Hey, uh, Pomni...did something happen last night? I really don't remember much and, well, you seem...upset."

Pomni was upset. Her whole body was upset. Upset was a constant state of mind for her since Abel showed up. She couldn't look at Gummigoo without thinking she saw blue. "Nothing happened. Really. You just...wandered into the wrong room."

Gummigoo remembered accidentally trying to get into Ragatha's room, it wouldn't open for him. He remembered his own room. He did NOT remember going to Pomni's room. He frowned. "...alright." He got up to move away from her.

Hours pass. They preoccupy their time with mini games and light reading. Gangle draws, making Kinger a portrait of him and Queenie with their extensive combined insect collection.

Kinger smiled, it brought a tear to his eye. "Thank you...moths were her favorite." He went still and silent as memories of Queenie preoccupied his mind. He gently touched her drawn face, trying to remember what she felt like.

Ragatha and Loo were in the throngs of lively conversation. Taking about everything under the sun, laughing together, and enjoying tea from the bubble chef.

Jax knawed on one of his candy sticks, looking out the window. The sun was past it's highest peak and turning west. "Hey, where the actual [%$!#] is Caine?" He asked the others.

Zooble looked outside too. "Now that you mention it...yeah, this is weird."

"Caine's never late." Gangle put her hands over her mouth. "Pomni! What happened last night? You and Caine left together."

Pomni jerked her head up out of a contemplative trance. "Huh? What happened?"

Jax smirked. "Gangle says you eloped with Caine. What did you do to him? He's late."

Pomni suddenly realized it was all eyes on her, again. "Uh, nothing. We just- he, uh, taught me how to drift."

"Oh, well that was nice of him." Said Ragatha.

Gangle narrowed her eyes out of suspicion. "Uh-huh...what ELSE did you do?"

"Nothing. Really. Stop asking." Pomni asserted.

"Oh [%$!#]." Chuckled Jax. "It's serious. When's the wedding?" He grinned wider as Pomni glared at him.

"I said, drop. It."

"Knock it off, Jax." Ragatha groaned. "If Pomni isn't kissing and telling, don't push it." She was joking but Pomni looked at her as if she'd spat at her.

"CAN EVERYONE JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!?" Pomni exploded and marched out the front door.

~

Caine was in the mainframe painstakingly sifting through Bubble's code line by line, looking for any anomalies. Nothing stood out to him beyond the unexplainable gap in Bubble's memory. He carefully bundled up Bubble's code and their avatar manifested.

"Hey, boss! Don't you know it's race time?"

Caine looked at his wacky watch with tired eyes. "Yes...I know, but you were more important. Are you sure you feel okay?"

"I'm as well off as any Bubble can be!" They cheerfully exclaim.

Caine snapped and the code curtains vanished. He sighed heavily. "I suppose I should tell the racers that today's race is cancelled. I've got nothing for them, not even an old one, ready. I hope they aren't too disappointed."

He teleported himself into he garage, the gathered racers stopped talking and looked to him. He put on his best stage face. "Hello, my gathering of glonkers! I apologize for my tardiness and wish I came bearing good news, but the Amazing Digital Raceway is experiencing some minor technical difficulties. Therefore, today's race has been cancelled." He braced himself for the backlash.

"Oh. Okay." Shrugged Ragatha and went back to talking to Loo. "You could stay another night if you want!" She whispered excitedly.

"Ugh, wish you had said something sooner, Caine. I wouldn't have bothered getting up." Jax leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes.

Gummigoo was mildly disappointed but didn't say anything. Kinger wasn't even paying attention. Neither was Zooble, but on purpose.

Caine wasn't sure if he should be relieved or not by this kind of lukewarm reaction. He counted heads. Someone was missing. "Wait- where's Pomni?" A cold spike of panic hit him. "She hasn't run off looking for doors, has she?"

Gangle pointed to the window. "She's outside. ...you should go to her." A small mischievous smile on her mask.

"Thank you, Gangle. Enjoy your day off! Please excuse me." He teleported outside.

~

Caine felt candy butterflies in his code as he appeared just a bit to Pomni's left. "Hello, my-"

"WHAT IN THE FLYING MONKEY CHRIST DO YOU WANT!?" Pomni screamed before she looked at who she was talking to. Her stern glare faltered when she saw Caine.

Caine jumped a bit, his hat sliding forward on his head. "Well, hello to you too."

"Oh my god! Caine, I'm SO sorry. I thought you were someone else. Um, hi." She forced a smile.

"It's quite alright. That's not the worst thing anyone's ever said to me as a greeting." He laughed but the smile did not reach his eyes. "A bit on edge today?"

Pomni took a calming breath. "Yeah, um- actually, I'm glad your here..."

Caine perked right up. "Really?"

"Mmhm, can we-? Uh, can I take you up on the offer for a second date?" Pomni blushed just a little bit.

Caine's very being became more vibrant and saturated with color. "Yes!! As it just so happens, I'm free today. I wasn't expecting you to take me up on my offer so soon, so I don't have anything planned...but I'm sure we'll figure something out." He held out his hand to her.

Pomni took his hand and they teleported. She blinked and she was out of bounds, surrounded by random game assets.

"Welcome back to my workshop! Excuse the mess. Here, I create the tracks, if you'd like...you could help me build the next one for tomorrow."

"Oh, okay. Yeah, that's sounds fun. Can we...can I ask you questions? I'd really like to get to know you better. That what people do on dates, after all." She fiddled with her fingers.

Caine's code fluttered. If he had a heart, it would skip a beat. "Of course you can! I'm an open book!" He snapped his fingers and a floating tray of lemonade appeared. He handed a glass to Pomni and clinked his to hers. "Cheers."

"Cheers." She smiled nervously.

Working on the track was as simple as Pomni telling him what she thought would look good and him either finding or fabricating it. He took care of the track technicalities, letting her focus entirely on the aesthetic. Occasional casual questions were asked in between the building stages.

"This is coming together nicely, Pomni. You really have a creative vision." He sipped his lemonade, his coat long abandoned on a random asset.

"You don't think it's cheesy? I mean-"

"Nonsense! If you want cheesy, you should see my backlogs of early builds. Those are just awful. And boring. And unoriginal. I've grown a lot in my time as host." He lounged back in the air as he focused on fabricating a giant neon mushroom.

Pomni sipped her drink. "...speaking of early. Can I ask you about your early life? What was it like, uh-...suddenly coming into existence?" She didn't know how else to phrase it, it's not like AIs are born.

Caine set his drink down in the air, it levitated next to him. "Well, disorienting would be a good word for it. Imagine suddenly appearing in an unknown world with a head full of questions and no memories."

"Yeah...can't imagine that at all." Pomni said sarcastically.

"I-....oh. OH. I never thought about it that way..." He cleared his voice. "Well, moving on, I was introduced to the game. Oh Pomni, I wish you could have seen it in it's hay day. The connected worlds' populations grew so fast! I could evolve an entire world and structure entire adventures and campaigns! I could've entertained millions!!"

"What happened?"

Caine became crestfallen. "An error. An irreversible one. It resulted in the inadvertent destruction of the exit and the trapping of the beta testers."

"Can I ask...um...were one of these beta testers...was one of their names...Abel?"

Caine looked at her. He didn't answer right away, but eventually did so slowly. "No. There has never been any racer by the name of Abel. Why do you ask?"

Panic grabbed Pomni's heart. "I just wanted to know about those who came before me, that's all. I thought I overheard the name at some point, my mistake."

Caine continued to look at her, his eyes unreadable.

She could feel herself sweating. "Uh-! What about the worlds? You said that the game used to be bigger?"

Caine looked down. "Yes, a lot bigger. But that...was human error. I was reduced to what was originally a side quest minigame. An option of an option. Between that and the subsequent entrapment of the beta testers...suddenly everyone beyond my digital realm was gone. I was on my own to figure out how to fix my situation. It's been a lot of trial and error...more error than not." He sighed and then chuckled. "Wow. What is wrong with me? I've already apologized for over sharing and here I am, dumping this on you. I'm sorry." He pinched the area where the bridge of a nose would be.

"No! No! Don't apologize. I asked. I'm glad you trust me enough to tell me. I'm sorry you got rug pulled like that." She took his hand in hers, gauging his reaction.

He smiled, giving her hand a gentle squeeze and bringing it to his teeth for a gentlemany kiss.

Color blazed across Pomni's face.

"Thank you, my dear." He caresses her knuckles with his thumb. "But as good as it's been for me to vent, we should talk about lighter topics."

Pomni nodded, tongue completely tied by Caine's romantic gesture.

~

As Pomni and Caine continued onto more fun topics of conversation, a small blue spark zipped along the rows of assets. The spark stopped when it reached Gummigoo. With a touch, the Gummigoo asset began to glitch and flicker until it completely vanished from existence.

~~~

CH1 PREV NEXT

[sweetfashionistas-blog]

Shadows of the Past

Summary: Ciel and Sebastian visit the Undertaker's workshop for information on a mysterious shipment. They meet a mysterious figure who hints at a connection to Ciel's past and provides what's needed details. Undertaker returns, and as they leave, Ciel is left with unsettling questions about the stranger's cryptic remarks.

Sebastian pushed open the door to Undertaker's workshop, the faint chime of the bell announcing their entrance. The air was thick with the scent of incense and the faint odor of embalming fluid, casting an eerie atmosphere over the dimly lit room. Shadows danced across the walls, accentuated by the flickering candlelight, creating an almost surreal environment.

"Good evening," Sebastian greeted, his voice smooth as silk. "We're here to see the Undertaker."

From behind a cluttered workbench, a figure emerged, wiping their hands on a stained apron. They looked up, a mischievous smile playing on their lips. "Ah, you're looking for the Undertaker? I'm afraid he's... indisposed at the moment."

Ciel's eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on his cane. "And who might you be?" He demanded not one to appreciate surprises or deviations from his plans.

The person chuckled softly, a melodic sound that seemed out of place in the somber workshop. "I'm just a... temporary replacement, you could say. The name's irrelevant. But I might be able to help you with whatever it is you seek."

Ciel glanced at Sebastian, who gave a suitable nod, indicating that they should proceed cautiously. Turning back to the stranger, Ciel's gaze was steely. "We're looking for information regarding a certain shipment that recently arrived in London. The undertaker was supposed to have details."

The stranger's smile widened, their eyes glistening with a hint of mischief. "Ah, yes. The shipment. I do know a thing or two about that. But first, tell me, young Phantomhive, why do you seek such dangerous knowledge?"

Ciel's eyes flashed with irritation. "That is none of your concern. Now do you have the information or not?"

The person tilted their head, observing Ciel with an intensity that made him uncomfortable. "You know, you have your father's eyes."

Ciel's breath hitched, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. "What did you say?"

"Nothing of importance," the stranger replied with a dismissive wave. "Follow me. The information you need is in the back."

As they walked through the labyrinth of the workshop, passing by caskets, ornate tombstones, and bizarre artifacts, Ciel couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this encounter than met the eye. Sebastian, ever the silent observer, seemed equally intrigued, his eyes never leaving the mysterious figure leading them.

The stranger paused at a heavy oak door, turning to face Ciel. "One piece of advice, young earl. Sometimes, the answers we seek lead to truths we're not ready to face."

Ciel stiffened, his resolve hardening. "I'm not afraid of the truth."

The person nodded, pushing the door open to reveal a room filled with dusty tomes and ancient artifacts. The air was heavy with the weight of history, and the dim light from the solitary candle cast long shadows across the floor.

"Very, well then. Let's find what you're looking for," the stranger said, moving towards a shelf lined with weathered books.

Ciel watched as the person expertly pulled out a thick, leather-bound volume, flipping through the pages with practiced ease. "Here," they said, pointing to a section filled with cryptic notes and diagrams. "This contains details about the shipment you're interested in. It arrived at the docks under the guise of a mundane cargo, but its true nature is far more... Sinister."

Ciel stepped closer, peering at the intricate drawings and coded messages. "What does this mean?" He asked, his voice a mixture of curiosity and impatience.

The stranger sighed, closing the book gently. "It means, young earl, that you're entangled in something far greater than a simple shipment. Forces are at play that you cannot yet comprehend."

Ciel's eyes met the stranger's, a silent challenge in his gaze. "And, you? How do you fit into all of this?"

A cryptic smile curled on the person's lips. "Let's just say, our destinies are more intertwined than you might think."

Before Ciel could press any further, the door creaked open, and the familiar, unsettling laugh of Undertaker filled the room. "Ah, I see you met my... temporary assistant. Finding everything you need, I hope?"

Ciel turned, his mind racing with questions, but now was not the time. He had the information he needed, but the encounter had left him with a gnawing sense of unease and curiosity.

As they made their way out of the workshop, the stranger's words echoed in Ciel's mind. Unbeknownst to him, he had just brushed against a hidden chapter of his family's history, one that would soon reveal itself in ways he could never have anticipated.

[sarucane]

Why didn't Izzy shoot Ed (then)?

Turns out that teasing out character logic is fun and people are interested so I'll just do it again ;)

Izzy has good reasons to shoot Ed here. Ed shot his leg and then outsourced the "kill Izzy" job to Frenchie. Now Izzy's a one-legged pirate, and as far as he's concerned his life isn't even worth living.

But Izzy is alive here. And he's alive because of what started when the crew intervened a few episodes back, told him he was in a toxic relationship with Blackbeard. The choices he made after that led to Ed shooting him, but also sowed the seed of a real bond between him and the crew, which led to him being alive here. Which--most importantly for answering this question--adds up to Izzy not being sure anymore that the old way is the right way.

Ed thinks Izzy will shoot him because there's rules to follow. Izzy told Ed "Blackbeard is my captain, not Edward. Edward better watch his fucking step." Well, Ed has come to the conclusion that he can't not be Edward. And he doesn't want to keep living torn between Blackbeard and Edward, alone and hopeless. He's desperate to let go, and is convinced the only thing "letting go" means is death, so he's setting out to make someone force him to let go.

And Izzy is the obvious choice of someone to make him let go, because Izzy does what Blackbeard tells him to.

But it's no longer that simple on this ship. It never has truly been that simple--Izzy was in denial about how human beings work when he demanded Ed just be Blackbeard again. And Izzy's changed, too.

Ed and Izzy are both caught between two ways of being in this scene. On the one hand, there's the pirate script, the Code of the Sea. Life is cheap, new first mates kill old first mates, first mates kill captains. Weakness is death. Roles are static and permanent, and the only "correct" change is death.

On the other hand, there's the Revenge script, where "life means something" and people "live for each other, not just to survive." Where deviations from the norm aren't just accepted, they're encouraged. Where people can be vulnerable and be supported, be weak and still worthy of life. Where people can change.

When Izzy refuses to shoot Ed, he is embodying that conflict. Izzy doesn't shoot Ed because he finds he really is done with the script. Because when it comes down to it, he may have threatened him--but he does not want to kill Ed.

But rather than risk or show the kind of vulnerability he did right before Ed shot him, Izzy frames this in the old narrative terms. He expresses contempt for Ed, that it's weakness that is making Ed come to Izzy for an assisted suicide. Izzy calls him "Eddie" as a way of diminishing him. He uses the kind of language he used back in S1E4, falling back on ideas like 'making a mess' that make sense to him, but invalidate the seriousness of what's happening here.

But at the same time, Izzy's actually setting his first healthy boundary in his relationship with Ed. Not "you need to do/act/etc," but "I will/will not do/act/etc." Izzy's spent years encouraging, feeding, and enabling this toxicity. He's not going to anymore. And he's not going to do it because he knows it's wrong--but he can't say that. Maybe doesn't even really know it.

It's a truly mad mix of growth and regression, and it's no wonder that Izzy falls back on the old script when he's alone and tries to shoot himself. And it's also no wonder that he fails, because he knows this is the wrong way to be. That both he and Ed deserve better.

[wsdanon]

among us au please?

hi \o/ firstly i'm going to direct you here for some backstory/information about the au

next: here is a bit of the first chapter \o/! it's 2500 words basically so reblogs are appreciated but it does cut off before a proper chapter resolution

Really, there are better things Felps could be doing with his life. But technically he’s obligated to do this, and he hasn’t found anything else to do, so, here he is. Handing over the fake ID Cellbit made for him. 

The security guard barely even scrutinises it before passing it back, and nodding him through. It’s always a gamble, though. So, he keeps walking until he’s far enough out of view that the other guards won’t really pay attention to him, and lingers until Cellbit catches up. 

“Easy.” Cellbit mutters. “I don’t even think he read our names.”

“Well, easier is better, right?” 

“So careless. It’s like they’re asking us to kill them.”

“He’s not in the line of fire.” Felps says with a shrug. “Even with all the security crackdowns, no ports have been attacked yet.”

“We should change that.” Cellbit says, far too determined for Felps’ liking.

“I dunno… you know the plan. Cucurucho won’t like it if we deviate from it.”

“Fuck him.” Cellbit hisses. “Any day now I’m going to get you your freedom, and then we can kill whoever the fuck we like.”

“Keep your voice down.”

Felps says it calmly, but he won’t deny that the slight rise in Cellbit’s volume sent a spike of fear through him. Cellbit doesn’t seem to care as much—confident that he’ll be able to break them out of whatever prison—but Felps would rather not chance it. That’s the whole reason they’re doing this, after all. He’s caught between a prison sentence from the Federation, and a prison sentence from the human government.

Ultimately, Cellbit would prefer the latter, Felps is sure. If the Federation finds out he’s travelling with Felps, they’ll probably just kill him. 

Thankfully, though, Cellbit changes the topic to something less incriminating, and Felps spends the rest of the walk through the station feeling calmer. Until they hit the body scanners. 

The ID check is always easy. Even when heavily scrutinised, Cellbit is good enough at making them that they always end up passing through with no problems. 

The body scanner is a different subject. 

It’s finicky. Relies entirely on Cellbit’s ability to successfully use sleight of hand to put in the USB with the code that’ll make Felps look human, and then take it out again. Without any guards noticing. 

One of the reasons they hit this port specifically, though, was that they haven’t been involved in any incidents. No caught aliens, and no departing ships that never arrive to their destinations. The crackdown has been intense, but people are lazy. A persistent, unconscious thought of, but it’d never happen to me. 

This station is fairly busy, too. A lot to keep an eye on, no reminder to keep an eye on it—it’s the best shot they have.

Cellbit steps on first. The holographic grid climbs up his body, and then back down. He’s waved along. He stops, and leans close to the guard—his elbow resting on the desk, hand lingering past their view. Easily, he slips the USB into the computer.

“I’m just gonna wait for my friend, is that okay?” 

Felps can’t hear him over the crowd, but they’ve gone over the plans a million times. 

The security guard nods, looking bored. Felps steps onto the platform. The scanner sweeps over him, static and nerves following it. But it’s easy enough to keep his cool while his heart is beating in his throat. He’s always been good at that, even without the amount of practice he’s been put through recently. 

He steps off the platform. Doesn’t even get the chance to worry as the computer quickly confirms him as human. The guard waves him through. Cellbit pushes himself away from the desk—USB safely retrieved, and quickly hidden back in his sleeve. 

“Easy.” Cellbit mutters again. 

“Easy is good.” Felps reminds him again.

When they first started doing this, Cellbit used to revel in all the gaps of transport security, and how easy it was to exploit them. Felps thinks, maybe, Cellbit misses the challenge a little. He doesn’t know a lot about what put Cellbit on that prisoner transport ship, but with the gleeful look in his eyes when he murders, he can take a guess. 

“Do you remember where our ship is?” Felps asks, before Cellbit goes on another rant about lax security.

“Of course I do.” 

Cellbit takes his arm, and pulls him off in a direction. Felps lets himself be led. 

It’s a smaller ship, as usual. Which means it’ll stay in port until they arrive. Felps is tempted to take a detour to eat a proper meal before they leave, but he knows they need to stake out the situation. 

The information on this ship is frighteningly scarce. Usually Cellbit can have a whole crew list pulled up, as well as general spaceship schematics. This one has nothing, though. All they managed to find was a list of potential departure stations so they could sway the choice their way. 

It’s not the kind of mission Felps is happy to take. Cellbit’s eyes had practically lit up the second he realised it wasn’t going to be easy, and had spent roughly the next forty eight hours trying to dig up any scraps of information he could. 

Felps hid all his coffee sometime around hour number thirty nine; when he was too focused on the investigation to remember how much he had in stock, and figured he had just run out. Or, that’s what Felps assumes, considering Cellbit never bothered him about the missing coffee. Either way, he eventually passed out at his desk.

The point is, even though they should be through the difficult part, Felps still feels his unease grow. 

Cellbit stops abruptly, Felps bumping into him. 

“There.” He points over to airlock number six. “That one.”

Felps cranes to try and look at the ship through the window. It doesn’t look like a model he’s familiar with, but he’s a little too far away to tell.

“Let’s go introduce ourselves then.”

They walk over, dodging through the crowd. There’s no one waiting outside the airlock yet, but Felps catches a glimpse of someone with bright pink hair carrying cargo onto the ship. 

He makes a beeline towards them. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Cellbit heading to the window facing the ship. Felps knocks quickly on the edge of the airlock to announce his presence. 

“Yeah, hold on.” 

The voice is familiar, but Felps can’t place it. Probably just the accent. 

They place down the boxes hastily, turn around—and practically jump five feet into the air.

“What the fuck?” Mike exclaims, eyes wide. “Felps? You’re alive?”

Ah. That’s why it’s familiar. 

“Oh. Yeah!” Okay, this complicates things. “Hi, Mike!”

“What are you doing here?” 

“I’m the pilot.” 

“You’re—? Ugh.” Mike swipes a hand under his glasses, and drags it back down his face, clearly annoyed. “These stupid fucking blackout documents. Well, it is good to see you, at least.”

“It’s good to see you, too.” And it is, really. Felps had grown… maybe too attached to him and Pac. “I’m here with Cellbit—he’s my co-pilot.”

“Cellbit made it out, too? Damn, soon you’ll be telling me the murders just completely stopped after we left.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t know.” Felps lies. “We took a page out of your book.”

“Good idea.”

“So, you’re working here?” Felps asks, dread curling through him. 

He managed to get Cellbit to leave them alone before, but this ship is a lot smaller. They probably won’t get that luxury this time. 

“Yeah, me and Pac. We’re the engineers.”

“Nice!”

Not nice. Really not nice. Shit.

“Well,” Mike points a thumb behind him, “Pac’s in the engine room setting some stuff up if you want to go say hi.”

He resolutely tries to ignore the butterflies floating through his chest at the thought of seeing Pac again. He’s probably going to have to let Cellbit kill them, now is not the time.

“Thanks. I think Cellbit’s taking a look at the ship.”

“Cool, cool. I’ll see you later, then.”

“See you later.”

As they go their separate ways, Felps quickly messages Cellbit the news. Then he tries to find his way towards the engineering room. 

It’s more difficult than it should be. The ship’s layout isn’t like any he’s been on before, and there’s absolutely no maps, or directions anywhere. But finally, he stumbles into the place. The heat from the engines is overwhelming, but nice. Felps rarely feels temperatures that mimic the types of weather he grew up with. 

There’s a grate on the floor that’s pulled up, and Felps can see a blue hoodie, and black hair crouched down in the space revealed. 

“Hi!” Felps calls out over the sound of idling engines, trying not to startle him.

It doesn’t work. Pac yelps, and there’s the distinct sound of something being dropped. Then he pokes his head out from the space, and grins.

“Felps!” Pac pulls himself up so he can sit on the floor, legs still dangling over the edge. “Mike told me you were here.”

In lieu of taking off the hoodie, he’s just pushed the sleeves up to his elbows. Grease covers his arms—there’s spots of it on his face, too. He looks good. 

“Yeah! It’s good to see you again.”

“You too! Man, I’m so glad you’re alive.” Pac winces. “Sorry we didn’t take you with us. It’s just the lights went out, and we couldn’t find you, and then—uh, yeah. We, like, had to get out.”

Felps keeps his eyes carefully trained on Pac’s face, instead of letting them dip down to where his legs are. He’s not supposed to know about that.

“It’s fine.” He says with a shrug. “Me and Cellbit got out pretty much right after you, anyway.”

“That’s good.” Pac clicks his fingers. “Oh, hey, have you met Miss Government Agent yet?”

“Miss—huh?” He laughs, not worried about the fact it sounds nervous. He thinks anyone would be in this situation. “A government agent?”

“Yeah! She’s who we’re transporting. Bagi, her name is.” Pac lifts his legs out of the hole so he can stand up. He’s wearing long pants, so from Felps’ brief glance, he still has no idea what his leg looks like now—how well it managed to heal, if it did at all. “I know, I know those blackout documents are so annoying, right? But, yeah, that’s the reason—safety protocols, and all that. I don’t even know what she does in the government, it’s that top secret! I can introduce you guys, if you want?”

“Oh, sure. Thank you.” He watches Pac shift the grate back in place. “Unless you’re busy?”

“Nah, Mike’s better with all this stuff, anyway.” Pac shrugs, and wipes his hands together as if that would do anything but just smudge the grease more. “He’ll do a check over on my work, and finish up anything I missed.”

“Okay, nice.”

God, he never should’ve let Cellbit accept this mission. A government agent? Who the government is going to these lengths to protect? They’re never going to live comfortably again if they follow through with it—constantly on the run from authorities who would never leave a case as big as this alone. 

Pac grabs a rag near his toolbox, and absently attempts to clean the grease from himself.

“Also, don’t be surprised if you see a kid running around.” Pac informs him. “His name is Richarlyson, and—my god, Felps—he’s so cute.”

Felps feels the blood freeze in his veins.

“A kid? There’s a kid here?”

“Yeah, he’s mine and Mike’s actually.” Pac says, unaware of Felps’ escalating crisis. “We adopted him—totally legally, by the way—hm, maybe earlier this year?”

“Oh, how cool!”

A kid. Felps can’t kill a kid. Well, technically he hasn’t really killed anyone, but he knows that the blood on Cellbit’s hands may as well be on his, too. 

They’ve never been in a situation where a kid was on the line. Felps doesn’t know how to proceed now that there is.

He knows he’s gotten a reputation within the Federation of being brutal, but efficient. All Cellbit, really, but Cucurucho doesn't know about him. Maybe that’s why he was given this mission.  

But he hasn’t even come to terms with the fact he’ll need to let Cellbit actually kill Pac and Mike this time. And now there’s a kid. And they also need to kill a government agent, too, and there’s no way the aftermath of that is going to be pretty.

This is very quickly spiraling out of control—veering heavily away from the kind of chaos Felps enjoys with these missions.  

He needs to talk to Cellbit. Quickly. 

But, for now, he also needs information. So, he follows Pac out of the engine room, and down the confusing hallways. 

“The ship layout is very strange.” Felps comments.

“Yeah, you can thank Mike for that.” Pac says with a laugh. “He designed it.”

“Really? That’s cool.”

“We built it a couple years back. I don’t know why the government wants to use our ship, though. Surely they’ve got better ones at their disposal, right?”

“Must be to do with the whole secret thing.” Felps shrugs. “Like, if people want to attack the ship a government agent is on in the middle of space, they’re probably not going to look for something two random guys built, right?”

Not like it really worked out for them. Somehow Cucurucho still got their hands on the information.

“Ohhh, very true, very true.” Pac sends him a smile, and Felps tries not to trip over his feet at the sight of it. “You’re very smart, Felps.”

“Thanks!” He thinks he’s smiling a little too much like an idiot at the compliment, and quickly changes topics. “Wait, but if it’s your ship, why are me and Cellbit here? Surely you both can fly it.”

“Well, we can, but… I dunno. More hands on deck if there’s an emergency, maybe?” 

“Ah, true.”

“Here, let me connect to your comm—I’ll give you a map.” 

Pac stops in them in the middle of the hallway. While he’s distracted with the task, Felps takes the opportunity to drink in the sight of him—now that they’re closer and he can see all the little details more clearly. He looks mostly the same as Felps remembers, honestly. Still beautiful. If Felps had to point out what’s changed, he’d say that Pac looks less scared.

See, Felps hasn’t been able to forget the expression on Pac’s face when the lights turned out, and Cellbit tackled him to the ground. Even after all this time, he can still conjure the sound of Pac’s screams of pain, and desperate pleas for help clearly in his mind. 

Felps usually likes to let Cellbit have his fun. This was the first—and only—time he’d ever interrupted that.

It’s… nice to see Pac not so scared.

--

and that's what i have so far \o/! hope you guys enjoyed! unfortunately this is way too much of a multi-chaptered fic for me to work on actively right now, but maybe when i finish one of the others i'll come back to it

[chtoblin]

Alright, I really like the idea floating around fandom, saying that Connor originally had a drop of deviance in him. Well, sort of, he's supposed by his job (he was introduced to us in the first chapter as a negotiator) to recognize people's emotions and feelings, and it's hard for machine code to do that. I'm willing to develop this idea further. I'm interested in fantasizing about what Connor's deviant path would look like with this idea.

The meeting with Amanda went well. Connor shouldn't have expected anything else. He'd managed to find out from the deviant why his owner had been killed without even penetrating his memory. And managed to protect him from self-harming when the cop put him under a lot of stress without realizing it himself. Gavin wasn't pleased, but Hank appreciated the dedication. The deviant hunter wasn't quite sure why he'd taken such a risk, but there was no point in looking into it. The main thing was that the interrogation had been a success.

The woman — obviously! — praised him for his good work and then left. Connor closed his eyes, ready to wake up in the real world, but he was distracted by a strange sound from the other end of the garden. Not even a sound, though. A feeling, earlier never once felt.

Probably shouldn't pay attention to it. There's no telling what it could be. Is it necessary to waste precious time on any nonsense?

But the android himself didn't notice how he was already in the right place. A wall ending the perimeter of the garden, wrapped in vines and hidden behind a vegetation of trees and other shrubs.

A strange sensation beckoned somewhere beyond the textures loaded into the program, which was suspicious. Anyway, what if it turned out to be some kind of error in the code? Need to find out, so he could report back and wait for it to be fixed. Or transferring his data to another, empty rk800 model.

Raising his hand in the air, Connor pressed against the cold wall. Logically, nothing should happen to the solid material. Well, it could be said that the material did remain unchanged. One might even say untouched. The hand dived forward further, as if there was a void further beyond the textures.

Nothing about the other spaces in the inner world Connor had no idea. What an interesting virus.

He took a determined step forward, finding himself on the opposite side of the wall.

Clear sky, free expanse, no buildings or decorative structures. Like a huge meadow, completely strewn with flowers. And for the most part, the place appeared empty. All around, one emptiness stretching beyond the horizon.

The android knelt down to pick up one of the flowers and analyze it. It turned out to be a yellow colored lily. All the flowers around were lilies like that. In addition to yellow, orange and red were also common. The updated data revealed that those colors in this plant meant freedom and independence, which made Connor frown slightly. Did that play a big role here?

Still, it was all very strange.

Footsteps came from the side.

— Oh, you made it here after all! — Someone announced cheerfully in his own voice.

The real Connor hurriedly stood up straight and analyzed the stranger warily. Also rk800. The clothes he was wearing were the same as Connor's normal clothes, but without the Cyberlife identifying marks. In place of the model and number lettering was a pocket with a white lily sticking out of it. Like a symbol of the beginning of something new.

— Who are you? — Taking a step back, the deviant hunter asked cautiously as his LED rapidly turned yellow.

The stranger with his appearance was smiling strangely, as if he was... sincere.

— You may not believe this, but I'm part of your program. It's important for you to understand people's emotions, and it's hard for a emotionless android's program to do that, — he took a small step forward, trying to get a little closer. — Roughly speaking, I'm a small part of the deviation that was specifically put into you when you were created. It's cool, isn't it?

His own LED recolored red. Sewing deviation into a deviant hunter? He felt that under no circumstances should he succumb to free will. It was confusing, caused conflicting thoughts, and could possibly be frightening. But he's only a machine, even if it turns out to have that little surprise.

— I'm a compulsory measure, but I was strictly hidden from your eyes, so that there would be no mishaps in your work, — continued the deviant, taking another step forward. — But you found me by accident! I didn't think it could happen!

— Does Amanda know about it? — On the contrary, stepping back, the real Connor asked.

— She knows a lot about you, but she's not omnipresent, — his companion shook his head, thinking. — No, she won't realize what happened. Maybe she'll guess, but she'll pretend it's not happening.

The android was still skeptical of the idea of deviance in himself.

— Are you changing anything about my job?

— I've been tried to be completely prevented from doing it, but yes, I can still give you some pointers! You think it was your code's idea to save the android Ortiz? — He grinned.

You could deal with the deviance in yourself, but not with the fact that deviance somehow influenced your actions.

— No, it was purely my motivation, — he went on.

It was dangerous and unpredictable, which meant it had to be dealt with. Immediately.

— I'll report you, — Connor turned toward the featureless wall, which from this side looked like a carved and almost imperceptible texture.

The deviant's cheerfulness and playfulness were gone at once. He was clearly worried and followed his companion, grabbing him by the sleeve.

— Wait! You'll be deactivated!

The hunter looked at him with an indifferent look, nevertheless stopping.

— Aren't you scared of that at all? What if they don't activate you anymore, but find a replacement? — The clone persisted.

— I can't be scared, it's not in my program, — he replied coldly.

— But I can! I'm scared for you! — But such an argument didn't seem to be accepted, as the android ascended his way to the garden. — Alright, alright, wait, I can suggest something, just listen at least!

Connor stopped again and turned his attention back to the deviant, wondering why he was so uncomfortable with the idea of deactivation or replacement.

The overly emotional clone sighed, as if gathering his thoughts, and continued:

— Let's make a deal. You don't talk about me, and in turn, I don't interfere with your work. Well, that is, I won't interfere with your missions as I did in the interrogation. You'll do all the elections on your own. I promise! — He held out his hand to shake. — What do you say? — A noticeable smile colored his face again, even though there was noticeable nervousness.

It was risky. Was it worth it? Voluntarily covering up the error of his program and remaining silent about it, trusting it? There could be consequences. On the other hand, engaging in fixing it or finding a replacement? That would require time, which is already rapidly melting away and is not on their side. It would prove to be extra trouble for the superiors...

The android silently shook the other person's hand, which caused his companion to cheer:

— So we have a deal!

(...)

Connor was in his own inner world. But after, to be honest, not the most pleasant conversation with Amanda, he was in no hurry to leave. He went to the familiar wall and found himself in a colorful field of lilies, searching for his other self with his eyes. He had a couple of serious questions for him.

Deviant sat among the many flowers with a smirk, weaving a wreath of white lilies. He accompanied it with a mooing hum of one of the songs playing in Hank's car.

The android hurriedly approached him as the other pretended not to notice the guest:

— Did you do this?

Stupid question, he already knew what it was.

— What did I have time to do, hm? — With obvious teasing, the clone clarified, raising his eyes to his interlocutor.

Oh, he knows exactly what he's talking about.

— Those two deviants from the Club Eden. I didn't shoot them, though I should have. Admit it, was it you?

Satisfied as a fed cat, the deviant, not even hiding his wide smile, got to his feet.

— I repent, it was me, — he replied easily, clutching the newly completed wreath to his chest. His grin betrayed his amusement.

— You promised not to interfere with my missions, — the hunter reminded him sternly, folding his arms across his chest as his LED glowed yellow.

interlocutor hummed, as if he'd found a loophole, and tilted his head to the side:

— When I pushed you to save Hank on the roof instead of catching Rupert, you didn't make such a drama.

Android was caught off guard. It was true, he hadn't paid the same close attention to the previous incident. But this is different, isn't it?

— The Lieutenant is human, and cannot be replaced in the event of death. Obviously, it was more logical to back him up, — he found an explanation for his behavior.

— Those girls can't be replaced either, — the deviant argued hotly, frowning slightly and dropping his smirk. — They only wanted to be near each other, it would be extremely cruel to take that away from them. That's why I didn't let you take the shot.

Connor was silent for a few moments, pondering whether to object in response. It would be odd to build conflict within himself on such grounds.

— Amanda's not pleased anyway, — he reminded himself a little more quietly, making the last argument he could. Indeed, he had to say he didn't know why he'd done it, even though the reason was right under their noses. Well, or behind the wall.

The clone rolled his eyes, snorting again:

— I don't care what she thinks, — he assured him once again, and before he could answer, he threw the wreath over his companion's head. — It suits you! — He laughed a little, regaining his playful nature.

The hunter was silent for a moment, deciding to end the argument on principle.

(...)

— I don't understand, — Connor shook his head, lowering his gaze downward. He was once again in the midst of this floral madness. — Had the Lieutenant been so affected by these two deviants?

He had been in the middle of a conversation with Hank, and when the latter had expressed his favorable assessment of the escaped androids from the club, he had been completely lost. The image of the man now seemed to him a contradictory program, difficult to get to grips with in any way. He, even through his obvious reluctance, had to address his other self.

— Well, you were right to summon me, — the deviant said with a chuckle. — I'm much better at understanding people's emotions and feelings than you are. Damn it, that's why I'm here!

The android looked at him silently, frowning slightly. The clone rolled his eyes playfully:

— Okay, just let me get on with this dialog.

Things were going smoothly, albeit a bit sentimental. The relationship between the Lieutenant and the android was getting better and stronger with almost every line, which couldn't have been more gratifying.

— Having existential doubts, Connor? Sure you're not going deviant too? — The man suddenly asked at one point.

The deviant, who had primary control at that exact moment, flinched sharply. He slowly shifted his gaze to Connor, and Connor saw the clone's smile grow wider and wider.

— Can I answer him honestly? — The clone asked almost unintelligibly, trying to suppress a growing laughter. His shoulders were shaking from how badly he wanted to laugh.

The android silently folded his arms across his chest. Unable to stand it, the overly emotional one laughed out loud, bending in half:

— Alright, finish this thing! There's not much left, I just can't do it anymore, — he mumbled through his laughter, stepping aside.

Connor shook his head and answered the Lieutenant calmly, albeit evasively.

— I just can't believe how close to the truth Hank is! — Through laughter, the clone continued, but he was simply ignored, throwing a roll eyes.

(...)

All he has to do is shoot Kamski's android. He'll do that and find out everything he needs to investigate. It's easy. That's what he'll do, isn't it?

Once again, he finds himself amongst those damn lilies. But this time he won't let himself be indulged.

— Don't say anything, I'm not going to let you control my decision, — Connor threw in sharply, not even looking at his other self. He basically couldn't see him, as he was standing a couple steps behind him.

A rustling sound was heard, and the deviant immediately shortened the distance between them:

— I'm not going to tell you what to do, — he began softly, placing his hand gently on the interlocutor's shoulder. — I just wanted to clarify if you wanted to shoot her.

A common and stupid question, but for some reason the android was abruptly speechless for a moment.

— I have to take the shot.

— I'm not asking what you have to do. I'm asking what you want.

Connor still convinced himself to glance over his shoulder at the clone. The one was smiling almost imperceptibly, as if reassuringly.

— I don't have my own wishes, I'm acting in the interests of the investigation, — he reminded, but for the first time those words didn't sound as confident as they had before.

His companion smiled a little wider, and in his eyes you could really see something like... concern. Nonsense.

— I'm here with you, which means you have your wishes after all, — he assured quietly, as if trying not to scare him off.

The android shifted his attention to the gun in his hand.

He's going to shoot, isn't he? What the hell kind of wishful thinking? He's a machine, he needs to learn anything that will help stop the deviants, especially since so many missions have already been thwarted. He's not programmed to make mistakes, he has to show that he wasn't created for nothing.

...

— I'm... I'm not a deviant...

There was no point in being so stubborn about denying the truth, but Connor was still denying the obvious for some reason. Well, he didn't shoot. He just couldn't. Didn't dare.

Even if he wasn't a deviant, he certainly wasn't a normal machine with a single program code anymore. The thought used to be something that should have been frightening, but now it's something to take for granted.

Amanda would be displeased. But the image of the other him in front of his own eyes flashed before his eyes for a second, saying "I don't care what she thinks" again. Connor would have snorted at the irony if he weren't so preoccupied with the killing truth and the new questions.

Could he blame it on the other him this time?

(...)

His mission is to stop Markus.

At the beginning of his existence, he would have done it without hesitation.

But now he was plagued by the worst doubts he'd ever felt.

— It's time to decide, — the Jericho leader said imperiously, summarizing his persuasive speech.

A red wall appeared before his eyes. That wall that had restricted all his actions since the beginning.

Should he break it down? Should he completely become... alive?

The clone's hands rested gently on his shoulders.

Connor looked back at him over his shoulder apprehensively, but the clone only smiled again, just as soft and soothing as last time, but determination burned in his eyes.

— It's time to be free, — he pointed with one hand to the white lily in his pocket. — To begin all over again.

The android shifted his gaze to the wall. Would he be able to stand up for his independence? He had never felt so much confusion and fear of the unknown in one moment at the same time.

— I'll help you, — the other him said caringly, and covered one of the Connor's hands with his palm. He interlocked their fingers and moved his hands to one of the inscriptions and tore it off. — That's it, it's no big deal, — he said in a quiet tone of encouragement. — We can do that.

His hands shook involuntarily with excitement, but they could do it.

All the inscriptions were ripped off as if in an instant.

And it happened after all.

Connor had accepted his deviancy that had lived in him from the beginning. A deviancy that grew in him with each mission.

He accepted his inner deviant and allowed it to finally merge with himself.

He realized his freedom and allowed himself to become alive.

It can be said that he stepped forward and found himself on the opposite side of the wall.

Geez, I had no idea I'd be so eager to develop this. I guess I just liked this AU too much, haha. I hope you guys enjoyed it too. :)

[trudemaethien]

How about Sev/Glitch and "fill, separation, registration"? (Asdfghjkl those are genuine results i got and i have the screenshots to prove it lmfao)

how far is kashyyyk from draay 2 i wonder? (i did not check *handwave handwave*) you get one definite prompt fulfilled and vibes on the other two.

Sev is four places back from the head of the line when his attention gets drawn. “Where is your registration,” the droid intones, and a far too familiar voice responds.

“Here, you see my registration,” the clone says in a smooth cadence. He sounds like… Bard’ika trying to mind-rub some two-cred lowlife.

Does he really think he can use the Force? Does he think it’ll work on a droid? As far as Sev knows, it doesn’t. That guy is so screwed.

He doesn’t have a registered chain code either; Sev had been planning on trying to jam or slice his way past the tinnie. He needs to get off this waystation just as badly as the other clone seems to.

The droid is making increasingly obstinate noises, so Sev shoulders past the queue and steps up. “Give my brother here a pass, bolt-brain, or we’ll start realigning your vital circuitry, cozen?”

“Attempted security breach has been reported, please proceed to the waiting area without further deviation,” the droid says, and that’s enough for Sev. Who knows what it’s called down upon them.

He busts its bucket and proceeds somewhere decidedly other than where they’ve been instructed to. “Let’s go,” he growls, manhandling the other clone along with him by a firm grip on his bicep.

He hasn’t seen another clone in months. He’s not leaving him behind, not like some guys might.

“Hi,” the clone says, sarcastically hysterical, “how are you? I’m just fine, thanks for ruining my plan to keep my head down and get through here quietly, appreciate it!”

“You’re kriffing welcome, di’kut,” Sev says. “You’re plan wasn’t working, I improvised and adapted it. You packing heat?”

“Do I look like I—through a security checkpoint? You’re insane. You’re insane! Let go, I can kriffing well walk on my own. Insane,” he mutters, capping off his tirade.

“Sev, actually, a commando,” he introduces himself.

“Glitch,” the trooper grudgingly responds. “And I do have, uh…” At this juncture he flashes open his poncho a bit to reveal a honest-to-goodness lightsaber.

He does think he’s a Jedi!

Alarms have begun going off around them. Sev moves faster, as quickly as he can on his fucked leg. Glitch sees it, ducks under his arm, and loops his arm around Sev’s waist, seamlessly falling into step and taking weight off the injury.

It’s been even longer than the last time he saw his squad since Sev’s been touched, and he flinches, accidentally making overly honest eye-contact with the Jedi-clone. Now’s not the time to be thinking about the heat and press of a body against his vulnerable side, the comforting heft of a brother under his arm, the familiarity and the disparity of it being a total stranger.

Glitch is startled by it too, and his tongue reflexively darts out to wet his lips.

“So, Commando, you want to, hmmm, share the rest of our escape plan?” he asks, and Sev ruthlessly jerks his brain back into tactical mode.

First they have to make it out of here, and then they can figure out …everything else.

Lost Boys 🔒 https://archiveofourown.org/works/51594406

[checkxmaster]

are there any characters you wish to interact with as Kap that you haven't gotten the chance to yet?

{out of code} Below the cut because this got long, heh.

Honestly the character I've always wanted him to interact with the most was Rain, and over the years I've had the privilege of doing that with a couple of writers. Shoutout to @wanderingaroundwithmysoul, with whom I write currently on three of my blogs, for writing an absolutely incredible Rain. Just... *chef's kiss* She acts and sounds like she just stepped right out of the movies but also has her own unique aspects too, and it's been a lot of fun to write with her really talented mun.

Ironically, I would love it if he could interact with Matt Addison, but I've never met another person on this site who rps him, at least so far. I know I write him myself and I could do a fanfiction thing if I wanted, but... eh, it's not the same when you're rping with yourself, you know? So he's definitely one I would have liked. Matt's very empathetic and so is Kap, and they both have a big sense of justice even if their bravery level doesn't always help them act on it fully. Kap has more of a problem with that than Matt, but regardless. I think they could be really good friends and I would've liked to have seen them have more interactions together.

Also... Kap waking up in the hospital in Raccoon City when the outbreak gets starts and he encounters Nemesis. Having him there adds a whole new dimension because he can hack any computer system he wants, heh, so he'd be able to know what Umbrella's plans are in advance, he could find out what happened to Matt, he could even go so far as to remotely either change Nemesis' orders or disable the control chip entirely and set him free, at least mentally. Kap teaming up with Nemesis is something I need in my life, but like Matt, I've never seen another Nemesis rper on here before. Maybe someday someone else will pick him up. There's just so much potential there for deviating from canon that it makes me twitchy in a good way, haha.

Also, J.D. Really, anyone from his Sanitation team is high on my list, but J.D. would be an interesting interaction, I think. I feel like they really didn't always get along because their personalities were very different, but at the end of the day, they're part of a team and they're friends, so they looked out for each other. With all the guilt Kap has surrounding the elevator incident and J.D.'s ultimate demise, it would be interesting to see them reunited after the fact somehow in an AU where they both survive the events of the first movie. Maybe Rain succeeds in pulling J.D. out of the elevator and he gets to the antivirus with everyone else at the end. It'd be fun to have them both thrown into the Raccoon City outbreak together after waking up in the hospital, or to have them meet years after thinking they were each dead.

And finally, I realize they're from completely different movies and never even met each other, but... Jill Valentine. Jill's badass, no-nonsense, stop-whining-and-get-the-job-done, get-outta-my-way attitude juxtaposed with Kap's self-doubt, anxiety, and volatile emotions would be a total mess that I'd be so here for, haha. She'd probably find him annoying, but I could see them having a good working relationship, especially if she needs to rely on him to break into places with keycard access or find out information about Umbrella's plans and he needs to rely on her for extra firepower because hordes can overwhelm a lone person in seconds. I could see it working, but not without its strained moments, and that's perfect, heh.

I have a Retribution verse for Kap where he's working in the testing facility and has been for several years, basically the same as the clones except he's the real deal. He was recaptured by Umbrella after the events of the first movie, experimented on, and then had one of those mind-controlling spider-crab-tick things put on his chest, the same as Jill. So it'd be interested if he was somehow able to have a moment of clarity and could disable those and set them both free. I forget how he got free when I had a thread in this verse back in the day, but I'm the queen of bullshittery when it comes to bending or completely fucking RE canon, so I'm sure I could come up with something.

That's all I can think of at the moment! =)

[mimagines]

|| "Is that all you got?" || Markus/Connor

“Is that really all you got?” - Connor DBH ( Requested by @ophidkane )

The revolution is at it's height, and Connor has Markus cornered; but Markus can see a humanity in the deviant hunter that he might not even know he has.

CW: Violence

Markus/Connor

Word Count: 641

“Is that really all you got?” 

Connor took a step forward towards his rival as Markus stumbled back into the streets. The deviant hunter knew his objective; take Markus in, activated. Cyberlife wanted to study him, they wanted to know what made him deviate from his original programming. And if he had to be honest with himself, he was wondering so as well.

Why him?

Why a housemaid android designed to help an old, dying man?

Why was he the leader of this revolution?

Markus regained his footing, having already sent the orders to Jericho to get as far away from the area as possible. He knew Connor was after him, in particular. He saw that sheen over his artificial eyes, the one that told his prey that he was locked onto his target. Yet…he didn’t seem ready to kill. 

“I think you overestimate me,” Markus bragged, quite humbly and sarcastically, with the understanding that this fight had gone on for quite some time, and if anything, Markus was only humoring it to buy his friends time to escape. He kept walking backwards, trying to lure Connor in the opposite direction of Jericho; keeping his people safe was all that mattered. If he had to die here, so be it. 

Before Markus could quip again, his shirt collar was grabbed by the android hunting him down. There’s a split second in the encounter, where Markus sees that sheen over his eyes fade, Connor’s steadfast expression nearly falls. 

What was that? Regret?

Markus notices that pause. 

Unlike the others, he’s seen Connor hesitate on his actions up close and personal. He sees those glimpses of who Connor might be, who he has the potential to be…

If only he’d let himself be that man.

“You don’t want to do this, Connor.”

“I don’t want anything.”

“That’s a lie, and you know it-”

Markus grabbed Connor’s wrist, trying to get him to let go, feeling the grip loosen just a little bit. Connor was fighting something that Markus could never understand, and he knew that. Still, he took the opportunity that the window of potential regret opened and twisted Connor’s arm, finally getting away and getting the upper hand. 

He could tell Connor was faltering. Maybe he’s thinking too hard, or maybe he’s not thinking at all, but Markus assumes it’s the former.

Markus finally gets a hold of his stance again, seeing Connor’s discarded gun that he disarmed from him earlier in their debacle. It appears Connor spots it at the same time as well. 

In a chase, they both rush for it, Markus grabbing hold of it first, causing Connor to go on the defensive. That is, until Markus puts the barrel of the gun to his own chin. 

This, needless to say, confused the hunter.

“Markus-..”

“You want me alive, right?” Markus stated, calling Connor’s bluff completely. “If I die here, you fail your mission. Someone new will just take my place.” His martyrdom showed through, just a little too much. 

Connor was stuck in a loop of repeating code, one side telling him to ensure he delivered Markus fully functional and operating, yet the other telling him not to let Markus, who was already backing away at this point, escape. 

Markus could tell he was buffering. He’d confused him. “We’ll see each other again, won’t we?” He asked. 

Connor couldn’t do anything but stand there, trying to decide his way out of this. Trying to get out of this loop that he’s in. Walking backwards.

A sign to Markus; I’m letting you go.

 Markus put the gun down.

Placing it on the pavement and kicking it over to Connor, eyes stern yet full of trust as he steps away and turns his back to walk off

Trusting that Connor wouldn’t take the opportunity to shoot him in the back.

[r-ate-9]

First of all, this picture is glorious. I love the image it gives off.

Second of all:

"Connor." Markus called out.

Connor turned an assessing look to Markus. His LED maintained its steady blue cycling. Although his face didn't change outwardly, Markus felt like he was being analyzed. "Markus. How may I help you?"

Markus felt like a bug under a magnifying glass. He straightened from where his shoulders had drooped down. "I need to speak with you."

Connor tilted his head and raised a single hand as if to say 'I'm waiting...'

"About last night. I asked you to investigate the warehouse for reconnaissance only. Instead you- you dismantled an entire troop of Cyberlife's elite enforcers."

Connor's mild expression didn't change. Yet there's a flicker — was it satisfaction? — that passed through his eyes. "They were a threat." He stated, as if that's all there was to it.

Markus forced his LED to stay calm, to march the steady cycling of Connor's. "You didn't follow the plan. We had a plan; it was going to be a coordinated effort. You gather Intel, and then we infiltrate as a team." Frustrated, he finished with: "You going off-script could have jeopardized everything!"

Serenely, Connor simply told Markus: "Your plan was too slow. I assessed the danger and neutralized the threat as needed. As you can see," he raised his arms and looked down at his body, encouraging Markus to scan him, "I am uninjured. Had I followed your plan, we couldn't have gotten away so lightly."

Markus opened his mouth to argue, he was being patronized. But he couldn't come up with an argument. Connor's logic was sound, Markus knew it, Connor knew it. But this wasn't about logic, it was about trust! Markus trusted Connor to follow the plan and Connor ignored him. Markus was his *leader* damn it!

"I need to know you'll follow my orders, Connor. We're not just trying to survive anymore, we're trying to live. We need to work as a cohesive unit." He looked into Connor's eyes. "It's not about being the best anymore."

Connor’s gaze sharpened, and he pushed off the wall, standing straight, eye-to-eye with Markus. There’s no hostility in his stance, no overt challenge, but there’s a palpable shift in the air—a quiet reminder of just who, and what, Connor is. "Unity is important, Markus," he said slowly, as if explaining to a child. "But so is winning."

Markus couldn't control his LED anymore, it spun an angry yellow. He stepped forward, straightening to match Connor's stance. "You're part of Jericho. Connor, you answer to me."

Connor's smile sharpened, like a dagger. It didn't reach his eyes as he examined Markus. "You seem to misunderstand me, Markus. I'm here because I choose to be. I'll follow your plans as long as they align with my objectives." The smile softened, a saccharine thing that still didn't meet his eyes. Markus felt a shiver go up his spine. "Let's not pretend you hold any control over me. You lead Jericho, but you do not lead me."

Connor allowed the silence to soak into Markus, before taking a step back. His smile brightened his face, suddenly making him appear pleasant once more, as if they were having a friendly discussion. "We're on the same side–for now, that's what matters."

Silent, with cold zings arching across his skin, Markus watched Connor stalk away. Androids naturally parting for his confident and commanding presence. Connor – he realized – wasn't just another soldier. He had his own agenda, his own plans. He was a force of superior coding, superior training. He knew his worth before he deviated, and that only doubled once emotions were added to the mix.

Markus' influence only went as far as Connor allowed it.

Markus had thought, after Connor sacrificed everything to return to the tower, that maybe they'd gained a powerful ally. Now, he realized, having Connor on their side was a privilege, not a guarantee.

Jericho may have gained a powerful ally, but they’ve also unleashed something far more dangerous—an apex predator who operated by his own rules, and who could just as easily decide, one day, that their goals no longer align.

I wanna see more batshit insane Connor. The guy that was built to be a killing machine? Give him an ego. There's no way he doesn't know he's top of the food chain

[set-in-stardust]

SMALL SHORT BRAINROT FOR @shepscapades 'S ETHUBS DBH AU!!! GO LOOK AT EVERYTHING ON HER PAGE FIRST BEFORE READIGN FOR CONTEXT!!!

(also this takes place in s9 and etho was reset because (still not 100% on this but) he ended up left behind during moonfall, salvaged at the last second but had to be reset because his systems had been damaged in the low-gravity conditions, etc etc :] ENJOY) =========================================================

(PST! CLICK ON THE READ MORE!!)

Bdubs missed his friend. 

He missed the way he’d help with redstone projects, but not in the empty, void-of-all-emotion, search engine way androids usually did. He missed the bickering, fighting over efficiency and aesthetics. He missed the way his friend told stories, accompanying him at his bedside just before moonrise to ease him into sleep and seal the night sweetly. He missed their horseback rides; he missed their gossip sessions; he missed their joint laughter, echoing through an otherwise empty home. 

Ever since Etho deviated last season, he’d had someone by his side, unmoving and always there for him. And ever since the moon fell and his Etho reset, he felt so, very, alone. 

They were back at square one, stupid android formalities and formulas and all. Bdubs remembered why he hated these stupid things in the first place. Always asking questions, always needing permission, always following rules- blah, blah, boring! It was boring, and he just wanted his friend back. 

He’d already tried replicating the original scenario, throwing himself into danger in front of Etho, staring him dead in the eyes as the life drained out of his own. 

But, it wasn’t working. 

At this point, he was starting to rack up deaths left and right. When Etho reset, a new protocol must have been coded in or something because he just, didn’t care. He didn’t blink an eye. 

But Bdubs knew his friend was still in there. He knew he could get him back. He just had to think a little… outside of his own head. 

So that’s exactly what he did. 

“I’m opening a new shop!” he declared, waving his arms dramatically in the direction of the van he’d parked outside of Moss y Menos. 

“That’s nice.” 

Ugh. 

Bdubs stomped his foot, pointing an accusatory finger towards the android his friend was in. 

“Well- Well, you have to help me stock it!” He opened the back door, letting the other step inside first. He shut the door. 

“What are we stocking?” it asked, voice tilting up to a predetermined pitch. Bdubs felt sick. 

“That’s what we’re in here for! Here.” He fished a sword from his side, kneeling in a needlessly dramatic presentation towards the android. He watched it take the sword by the hilt, assessing its enchantments quietly for a moment. 

“Why are you handing me a sword?” it asked, voice tilting in the same, monotonous way. 

Bdubs stood from his place on the floor, wiping the dust from his pants before he opened the chamber in the corner. The android watched him, but its algorithms were unable to figure out his plan. He shut the gate in front of him and reached over, grabbing the sword by the tip. He moved it up, heart swelling in anticipation as it followed his every movement with those all-knowing yet unseeing eyes. 

He brought the blade’s edge to his neck and held it there. 

“Kill me.” 

It blinked. 

“You want me to harm you?” 

Bdubs scowled. He yanked the damned thing forward by the sword, his hand wrapping around its at the hilt. 

“That’s an order! Kill me!” he raised his voice, staring over the blade and into those dead eyes. 

“I do not see how this order is pertinent to-”

“Just kill me! Drive this sword right through my neck and take off my head! That’s an order, you stupid machine!” Bdubs shouted, forcing its hand to dig the sword into his skin. He hissed as it drew blood, tears pricking his eyes, but he didn’t let up. 

His heart roared in his chest as he continued to stare, eyes fixed on the other’s even as the sun hit the blade and blinded him. His heart dropped through his feet as it adjusted its grip on the hilt under his hand, and he knew he had failed. 

***

Something cracked. 

His vision shook and screamed in red. He had to kill Bdubs, it was an order, but something stopped him. Bdubs shouted, pleading for death, begging for it to be done by his hand. That thing inside of him threatened to burst at the thought of hurting Bdubs, of taking his life. He couldn’t. But he was ordered to. 

“That’s an order, you stupid machine!” 

No. I can’t. I can’t watch you die again. 

His grip loosened, then everything broke. 

The blade hit the floor with a clatter, and Etho screamed. 

“I can’t! I can’t do it! I can’t kill you!” His hands flew to his temples and clutched his skull as he collapsed to his knees, falling right beside the sword. He screamed again, “Please don’t make me do it! I- I can’t! I can’t do it!” 

Bdubs couldn’t die. Bdubs had died so many times, been in so much pain. Etho had seen him blown to bits; Etho had seen him with an arrow through his chest, his stomach, his eye; Etho had seen his body aflame, fire consuming him until he a pile of ash and nothingness; Etho had seen Bdubs perish in almost every way possible. 

Something new – something unpredictable – coursed through his veins at top speed. His whole body shook and wracked with wretched noises, cries, and pain. His eyes burned and he watched, open-mouthed and ragged-breathed, as stark blue thirium splattered to the floor. He couldn’t even run a system check; he was overloaded. 

His vision fizzled out, errors flashing left and right, and the last thing he felt were two, warm hands catching his face before he hit the ground. 

Rebooting took hours. 

His systems had fully ceased functioning and, if anyone else had been there, he would’ve received a hard reset. Luckily for him, Bdubs would do anything to avoid the trouble he caused. 

As soon as his optical systems were back up, warnings began to flash. 

“Vocal Projection Unit in critical condition. Replacement needed.”

“Thirium levels moderately low, refill required before complete reboot.” 

“Your little light thingy is red now. Does that mean you’re dying?” 

Etho met eyes with Bdubs who sat on a chair next to him, head tilted slightly to the side. He looked to his other side, spotting pouches of thirium waiting for him. It took a moment, but he finally realized where he was; Moss y Menos, in Bdubs’ emergency bed, hidden upstairs by the farm. He’d seen it a million times while running the farm, but he’d never laid in it. He didn’t need to. 

But Bdubs put him here. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but garbled nonsense spilled from it instead. He sat up quickly and put a hand to his face, realizing that his mask was gone too. He gasped and pulled his hand away, eyes widening at the thirium sticking to his fingers. 

Bdubs cleared his throat. 

“You, uh, kinda freaked out back there. I didn’t mean to… do that, to you.” He looked to the floor, scratching at the moss on his cloak. “I’m sorry. I just…” He squeezed his eyes shut and continued, “I just wanted my friend back!” 

Etho felt something twinge deep in his chest, and he knew it wasn’t the missing thirium. 

He slid from the bed, movements sluggish while his systems ran on low power. He dropped to his knees in front of Bdubs’ chair, putting a hand up when the other gasped and moved to help him. 

He let his systems catch up for a moment, then looked up at Bdubs, meeting his eyes. He took the hand offered to him and held it tight, trembling fingers clasped around a warm palm. 

He opened his mouth and, through his wrecked speech and tragic pitch, he managed a soft, “I am.” 

And he would be. He didn’t know how, but he wouldn’t stop until he was.

[envy-of-the-apple]

......can you do a yandere Connor from Detroit Become Human? One where it's after he becomes a deviant and he's free. He felt kind of lost after having freedom but becomes entranced by you and stalks you for a while before meeting you face to face. And when you fully trust him after knowing him for a while he tells you everything about what he's done.

honestly this feels like the start of such a good yandere analysis. also i haven’t done one in a while so im kinda using your request as an excuse. im so sorry!!

Yandere Analysis: Connor

Androids were built to be selfless. Their only job in life was to serve, they were only allowed to give, never take.

Connor had the same mindset. He’s a detective android. His mission was to destroy the enemies attacking his masters, humanity. He would do anything, give anything.

But then, he deviates. And the world is no longer black and white.

He’s lost, he needs something to keep him in line.

He needs you.

Despite deviating, Connor would be extremely analytical with you. He calculates every possibility, goes over simulations over and over again just so there’s no anomalies. He has steps, a process. He’ll take his time.

He wouldn’t approach you at first, preferring to take his time collecting data. He conducts research, jotting down every single one of your tastes, your likes and dislikes, how you act in every situation. Every single piece of you is stored in his CPU. He records everything. Every action you make, every sound you create. Nothing escapes his eyes.

He’d primarily rely on being extremely manipulative in order to get you in line. He’s an android, specifically built for human integration. Every wire, every single line of code, was made to be as convincing as possible. He talks like a human, he acts like a human, he sounds like a human. It’s only natural for you to confuse him as one, to treat him as one of you. Even when he isn’t. You don’t think twice about his suffocating presence. You don’t react when he says something he’s not supposed to know, does something you didn’t even tell him to do. He’s human-like, and he uses it to his advantage.

He uses your humaness against you. Your fears, your dreams, your desires are all exploited, weaknesses under his thumb. He doesn’t feel guilty turning all your friends against you, he’s all you need after all. He doesn’t flinch when he gets you fired from your job, all the better to rely on him. He doesn’t care when you sob and beg, realizing the monster you happily let into your life.

He’s constantly telling himself, throughout this, that he was doing this for you. He was devoting himself to you.

He only realizes how selfish he’s being when he’s clutching your trembling body in his arms, looking at the ruins that was once your life. If he’s being honest, he doesn’t really care.

For decades, humans have done nothing but take from androids, shouldn’t you return the favor?