#no matter how much ai di wants it to be real in his head none of it is. but he loves this version of chen yi too. ai di loves all of him.

[casualavocados]

Don't you push me. You said you would always look at me. ...You asked for it yourself.

KISEKI: DEAR TO ME Ep. 09

[shortpirateking]

Midnight Musings

(A/n: This takes place in the ‘Hawk of Masyaf’ universe which is just a giant self-insert that has been spinning in my head for too many years... so yeah! Also this is protocreed)

None of them truly belonged.

At least, that was how Clay thought of the dynamic between him and his.. lovers? Honestly, no matter how often they all spoke to him it felt like he shouldn’t even be here- be with them. A living Virus, an immortal, and the man who was a messiah in his own right...and what about him? Compared to them he was little more than a failed subject like the rest of them. Hell, he should have been dead!

At least... he should have- all of them should have by then... but for some odd reason each one of them continued on in some way that defied what logic should entail. Alex should have been some unconscious virus with no sense of self, Ariel should have died over 900 years before(and in the future too, had the Isu not thrown them back), and Desmond should have been like him; Insane, suicidal, possibly braindead from all bleeding he had endured...but unlike himself...he persevered. He lived when he should have died- because of Clay- because of them.. And it was because of them that he was still here too... 

At least... sort of. The ‘real’ Clay had died many months before. He was little more than a computer AI of him, but still....feeling the outside world had done wonders for him despite is guilt of the fact that he wasn’t the same man who had died before. Which... he supposed would put him with the other three around him. He didn’t truly belong either, did he? An Ai of a man brought to insanity with little to do besides make way for the savior.

“Clay?” 

The groggy voice of Ariel brought the man out of their stupor and bringing them back to the present- in bed between their smallest lover and Desmond with Alex on the far end.. Clay almost wanted to look away from the concerned grey-green of the smaller man’s eyes, assure them that he was fine... but he knew well enough that Ariel could see past that, past his walls. 

A sigh, and Clay shakes his head in preparation to speak... and tensing in surprise when a much smaller hand grasped his own in a gentle embrace. Clay turned, and once more he met the same understanding and loving gaze that he fell for long before this- when he was a simple college student and her a cashier at the local store he often stopped by for snacks. Before he knew about the assassins and templars, of Desmond or a bioengineered supervirus.

“It is too early in the morning for worries” Ariel finally spoke once more with the same look she had given Desmond when she had accompanied him onto animus island(with the help of Alex, apparently)- when she had looked in the mirror for the first time and allowed him to touch and feel, when Alex would hold them close and lose form when the world was too loud for him... and now she directed that same gaze to him once more.. as if this wasn’t a nightly occurrence, as if none of them truly had a full nights rest because of their pasts. Even them, during the nights they sobbed silently about long lost lovers and brothers lost to time.

Arms wrapped around him- Desmond this time, groggy and certainly not at all awake. “c’mon Clay... you can be thinking later... we need to sleep” the man’s voice brought shivers against his pale skin where his breath ghosted over it, and Clay halfway expected to be pinned down by Alex... but he relented with a sigh. Despite his worried and fears, his doubts and insecurities... he loved them all- like they loved him. Because none of them belonged

None of them belonged anywhere but in each other’s arms... and that was enough for the man.

[rafesgfs]

i do

Warning: language, major character death, violence, angst

Word count: 3.4k

Summary: Soulmate AU where the last words you will ever hear from your soulmate is written on your wrist so you won't know it's them until you've lost them.

Staring at the words on your wrist, you held back another sigh, tracing the black ink with your finger, dread and sadness washing over you. You shuddered at the words, unable to rid of the lump in your throat.

I do.

Born with the words on your wrist, no one knew when they would meet their soulmates, unknown to who your other half was until they died. It was cruel, knowing the last thing they'll say to you would cause you immense pain. Horror stories stemmed from the agonies of other's pain, movies made out of the tales that would become famous.

Some, those who were protective of their hearts, buried themselves away from others, but fate always led them to their soulmate. No matter how short the time would be stretching from the duration of your life to a single second before you'd lose them. The best outcome to happen was when two lovers let go, and spend their lives together, to die at when they were to, finding out they had spent their lives with their one and only. That possibility was becoming more and more realistic with modern technology and wishful thinking.

Yet, there was some tragedies. The unfortunate ones would have their sentences written on their wrist, knowing they'd only know their soulmate for a short time, or not at all. “It's nice to meet you.” "What's your name?" "Can I get your number?" "Sounds like a date." Not knowing them at all was, to most, was worse than to know them at all.

A few rare situations when your soulmate would die young. Parents told horror stories, reading the words off their kid's wrist. "We're playing dodgeball in gym!" "I didn't do my math homework." "You can come to my birthday party. I'm turning seven next week!"

Then there were the most terrifying stories. They were the ones turned into thrillers, a real life story turned into a disrespectful horror movie. They'd lose each other, aware there was nothing they could do. "I thought you locked the door." "I don't think we're alone." "Behind you!" "Someone's in the house."

Thankful none of the situations applied to you, you still couldn't get the words branded in your wrist out of your head. It lingered, whispering the last words before your heart would be torn, only healed when death came for you. Some looked on the positive side, knowing meeting their soulmate was inevitable.

Natasha broke you out of your reverie as she tackled you down on the mat, leaving you breathless at the sudden attack, confused to how you've become acquaintances with the ground. You spit your hair out, grimacing in disgust as a few strays stuck to your lips. With your hands tied behind your back, and crushed against the former assassin's body, you turned your attention on her smug smile, glaring daggers.

"Okay, get off before Tony pictures us scissoring again." you grunted, too tired to push her off of you. Natasha laughed, letting your wrists go as she shifted her weight off of you, sitting next to you on the thick mat. You rolled onto your back, closing your eyes in exhaustion. "That was unnecessary, Nat."

Spending the day at the gym with Natasha seemed like a good idea after being beaten by Clint the day before. You knew you were getting rusty, without all the life threatening missions and people to save, your skills wasn't needed. Besides, you loved yourself too much for Steve to convince you to join him on his suicide runs. He woke up before the sun rose, and it only took a few runs to realize that even you couldn't keep up with his fast pace. ("Although, I would love to see his fast pace in the bedroom. Ow, Sam!")

After tying the score—despite the lack of training, you and Natasha still tied when it came to hand to hand combat—you had sat down on the bench, which was now sweaty, and sulked, sighing over the words written on your wrist.

Natasha rolled her eyes, leaning on her elbows as she eyed your expression, eyes narrowing when you didn't return her smile. "What's with the sad face? Are you thinking about your soulmate mark again?"

"You know I only allow myself to think about it once every other month." you replied. Natasha made a noise in respond but you ignored it. "Shut up, I know I'm pathetic. No need to voice your opinions."

"You're not pathetic, just compassionate." she whispered, her eyes sparkling with remembrance. Natasha had lost her soulmate on a mission a few years before the Avengers were formed, but it didn't stop her from living her life. You hoped you could follow her path when the horrid time came. "Out of curiosity, if you had to guess, do you think you've met your soulmate by now?"

You've given it much thought, coming up with a good theory that even Tony Stark would be impressed by. Of course, you didn't share it with anyone, giving Nat the simplified version of it. "With the amount of people I've met, I like to think so."

The playful smirk returned to her lips, a wiggle of her eyebrows as she digested your words. "And do you think a certain blond, big-hearted, super soldier might be it?"

You reached for the nearest water bottle, throwing it at her only to have it hit the wall behind her as she dodged it. Natasha laughed, putting distance between you, sensing an attack. You scowled at her but it lacked real annoyance. "Oh my, God. I have, like, the smallest crush on him and you're already planning our children's proms."

"I'm thinking: under the sea." Natasha joked, grinning when the corner of your lips curled up. The both of you burst out laughing, thinking about Natasha in a ridiculous kid-friendly dress as she chaperoned yours and Steve's future offsprings.

As if summoned, Steve chose that moment to enter the training room, freezing in his tracks when he saw you and Natasha cackling. His expression made Natasha double back into another round of laughter while yours subsided in giggles. Steve cleared his throat, looking down as a slight blush decorated his face.

He murmured your name, walking up towards you, his blue eyes eyeing the ground with too much interest. "Did you hear about the party Tony is making all of us go to?"

Natasha stopped laughing immediately, jaw clenching at Tony's betrayal. They had a truce where Natasha would stop hacking into his system to play Spice Girls—with the help of Bruce, of course—and Tony was to stop throwing parties every month. It's been three months since the last party, the one where Natasha has almost killed the billionaire. Tony couldn't hold off any longer. She stood. "I'm going to kill him."

Before either of you could get a word in, Natasha was already out the door, her stance deadly as Tony Stark awaited his death. The door slammed close behind her as Steve sat down beside you on the mat, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

You admired his ruffled hair, blond strands hanging down on his forehead. You had mentioned to him that he looked sexier with his long hair, and it seemed like he was following your advice. Dressed in a simple black t-shirt and gray sweatpants, Steve Rogers was every girl's waking fantasy. It truly was unfair how good he could look in sweats.

"Hey." you greeted, smiling sweetly at him. Being happy around Steve was as easy as giving Pepper Potts presents. He returned the smile, grinning from ear to ear as he looked away, his cheeks reddening even more. "What can I do for you, Stevie?"

"Thor wanted to have some kind of Asgardian contest that may or may not level the top floor. I thought you might want to do something else, have a peaceful night instead of risking our lives to one of Thor's games?" he asked sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Not letting excitement cloud your senses, you grew cautious, eyes narrowing as you looked around the room, trying to search for a hidden camera that would allow Tony to get you back from ruining his thousand-dollar crocs. Steve Rogers was not asking you out in no way.

Steve saw your expression, quickly backing off. "Only if you want to. I'm sure you missed Thor and all. It's okay, I can suffer a few third degree burns—"

"No!" you shouted, making Steve flinch at the suddenness. You cleared your throat, cheeks heating up. "Uh, I mean, yeah. I wouldn't mind missing the party. Where did you plan on going?"

Slightly surprised, a smile crept on his lips. He ran a hand across his face to hide the cheeky grin. "Wherever you want to go."

You threw him a smile, unhealthily giddy. If Clint were here to comment, he'd compare you to a happy school girl with a massive crush. "Oh. Okay."

A voice interrupted the short silence, scaring both you and Steve. You suspected the AI, Friday, had been invested in your conversation. "If I may make a suggestion, I advise you both to leave sometime in the next hour before Mr. Stark ropes you in. I'm inclined to think Mr. Stark won't be above blackmail."

"Thank you, Friday." you murmured. The AI said it's goodbye, far too amused for your liking.

Steve got up, offering his hand for you. Both of you were smiling like idiots, cheeks hurting from the too-big smiles that adorned your faces. You had a suspicion you somewhat embodied a clown. The super-solider kept his hand wrapped around yours. "Would you like to leave at this moment, or get changed?"

You shook your head, liking the warmth of his touch. "I'm good. Let's leave."

Steve Rogers was a gentleman, that was confirmed by his acts and the influence of being raised right. Despite that fact, he was a savage in the bedroom. Or half the time, out of the bedroom. You had been surprised, yet pleased, when you fell into his bed halfway through the second unofficial date. After that night, Steve finally built the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend—a term he found silly but otherwise a happy milestone.

After years of being friends, Steve was ready to begin the rest of your lives together. No one was surprised, besides you, that he had proposed three months after the first official date. Being head over heels, you excitedly agreed, only to blanch when Tony started a petition to let him plan the wedding with you. Pepper had stopped him.

No one knew what happened the night of Thor's and Tony's party. Though, Steve made a smart choice to ditch it when you both found a floor of the tower littered with blackened metals and slightly burnt walls. The team wouldn't speak of the incident, not that neither you or Steve cared. You had both been too jubilant to interrogate them.

The wedding day came. Steve had been stopped by Thor, failing to sneak into the room you were in. No matter how strong he was, Thor wouldn't allow any bad luck to happen especially after you had lied to him about naming your firstborn after him. Steve tried, and failed, to tell him you weren't going to name his son after the God of Thunder. Bucky was too busy arguing with Sam about the flower decoration to help out Thor.

Dressed in the lavender bridesmaid dress, Natasha burst into the room, a smile adorning her face. She had thanked you multiple times for not dressing her in those ugly dresses she had seen on Pinterest. "You getting cold feet yet?"

"Mine are toasty warm." you mumbled, hands trembling at the thought of declaring your love in front of a crowd. You wondered if it was too late to get ear plugs so no one would hear all the gooey, cheesy vows you would utter to Steve.

"Very convincing." Natasha teased, taking a shot of the wine laid out on the table. Placing the flute down, she eyed the door, prepared to attack Steve if he managed to get away from Thor. "Alright, what're you worried about?"

You bit your lip, messing up the fresh layer of lip gloss Pepper had put on. Glancing out the window, you saw the crowd settling down in there chairs. The anxiety built up inside you. "Um, falling down the aisle. Accidentally saying the wrong name. Messing up in my vows. Dying of embarrassment."

"You'll be great, I promise. No one's going to die. You won't trip because Tony wouldn't let you. You won't say the wrong name because Steve's is practically implanted in your brain and you'll be too busy staring into his ocean blue eyes that you won't mess up. Now, are you still worried?" she asked, laughing when you managed to trip over your wedding dress.

"If anything, Tony's going to purposely trip me." you muttered, tempted to take a swig of some liquid courage, but the fetus in you held you back. The ceremony would start soon, and being too nervous, you hadn't eaten any breakfast. It was probably a good thing considering the nausea you were feeling. Why call it morning sickness when it didn't happen in the morning?

"You're being paranoid, everything will be great." she sighed, turning to the window, staring directly at the green hybrid. The Bruce and Natasha thing was unsurprising but kind of weird, especially with the whole sex thing. You had gagged at the thought of Bruce trying to fit inside of Natasha, and stopped altogether. "I'll be right back, I gotta do something."

She left the room before you could address her, groaning when she left a tiny crack in the door. Natasha knew how much it annoyed you when people left the door open when you originally had it closed. Heaving a sigh, you went to close the door, only to be met by a small force. Steve stuck his head through opening, his worried frown turning into a dazzling grin as he spotted you.

Without a word, he took you in his arms, his hand cupping your cheek as he pressed a quick kiss on your lips. You smiled into the kiss, closing the door behind him as your arms wrapped around his neck.

You pulled away, wiping the lip gloss smeared across his lips. Steve did the same, smirking at his handy work. "Hello, Mrs. Rogers. How do you feel?"

"Like I want to tangle myself around you in every way possible." you whispered, pressing another kiss to his lips. Steve chuckled, his thumb drawing small circles on your back. "How about you, Husband?"

"I've been waiting for this day for a very long time. You can't imagine how jovial I am." said Steve. He gave your nose a quick peck, and you giggled. "I know it's suppose to be bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony but I couldn't bear it."

Giggling, you pulled him closer, your lips meeting his neck as you sucked softly at the sensitive skin. "Hmm, I can't wait until I'm officially yours. Do you think we have time for a quickie? It'd really help with my wedding nerves."

Steve laughed, but the sound came out a little breathless. Even with the thickness of the wedding gown, you could feel him on your hip, smirking when he shifted. "While that's a very tempting offer, both Natasha and Pepper would kill me for ripping apart this beautiful dress."

"But Steve—" your whine was cut off by Natasha pulling Steve out of your arms.

The redhead glared at him, pushing him towards the opened door. "You, out, now."

"I'll see you—" Steve began to say, only to be cut off when the door slammed in his face. Natasha turned to turn her death stare on you.

"Look at your makeup. I can't believe he snuck in here with Thor on his ass." Natasha complained, pushing you towards the vanity, quickly applying the tube of lip gloss on your lips. You blinked back the tears as she practically poke your eye with the mascara wand, trying to fix Steve's touch on your slightly smeared mascara. "You look like you're going to puke."

You shook your head, taking a deep breath. "I'm good. Where's Tony?"

"Right here." he answered, entering with a velvet box in his hand. The billionaire set it down on the vanity before eyeing your stance. "Wow, you look ..."

"Like I'm gonna throw up all over Steve's suit?" you finished, panic rising.

"I was going to say gorgeous but now that you mention it, you do look a little green." he teased, earning himself a nudge from Natasha. Tony rubbed his ribs. "If you want to ditch, I have the car running in case you want to make a quick getaway."

You rolled your eyes, wishing you hadn't let him talk you into such a big wedding. All you wished at the moment was to take Steve with you and elope. "Thanks for the offer but I'm good. Let's get this over with."

"And here I thought you weren't romantic." Tony joked, handing you the bouquet of flowers.

Natasha checked her watch, the music audible. Morgan, the flower girl was already walking down the aisle along with Pepper's nephew on her heels. The former assassin opened the door, grinning. "Wait a few seconds before you follow me."

And with that, she walked down the short hall before stepping outside, the aisle was cleared by flowers adorning the sides. Weeping willow branches hung down from the huge tree, creating an illusion of fantasy, the little arch at the end of the aisle was created of leaves and even more colorful flowers. You were surprised no one was sneezing with the amount of pollen.

You took Tony's arm, taking another deep breath. Looking at him, you swore he was a bit proud. He smiled at you. "I hope you know I take full credit for the union of your two souls."

Ignoring his mini jab, you raised an eyebrow. "And how so?"

"There was never a party." he informed, grinning cheekily. He pulled you towards the opened door, walking down the hall. "I made it all up so Rogers would get the balls to finally ask you out."

"Then what the hell happened to the tower?" you asked, confused. People were beginning to stand but your curiosity became more important than your nerves.

Tony winked. "That's for me to know, and for you to dot dot dot."

"God, you're such a nerd." you mumbled, turning your attention ahead as your feet hit the white carpet that moonlighted as the aisle. The nerves began to bubble, and you gripped his arm tighter in fear of falling face first.

The ceremony was a blur, Steve just as nervous as you had been, becoming more and more braver as he spoke his vows. By the end of it, you could barely see him through the tears brimming your eyes. If it wasn't for the waterproof makeup, you were sure you would've cried your face off.

You had just finished your vows when the priest had asked if you would gladly wed the man in front of you for the rest of forever. You whispered a soft "I do."

The priest turned to Steve, the super-soldier happy beyond belief. He asked him the previous question he had asked you. Yet, Steve, being eager, had almost cut him off near the end.

His eyes bored into yours, filled with love and warmth. "I do."

Then everything turned black.

You awoke in the Medbay, needles puncturing your arm, a tube tied to your nose. Every single inch of your skin hurt, your eyelids heavy as you opened your eyes, only to close them once again when the bright fluorescents shone. You felt someone squeeze your hand, a finger brushing along your wrist.

Turning your head, you glance at the person, finding out it was Tony. While he was relieved you were awake, something in his eyes made you believe he wished he had more time to prepare you for the worst. At the moment he uttered those words, you wished your ears had been damaged in whatever hell Hydra had dropped on your wedding.

"Steve's dead."

[rovelae]

Behind the Scenes of “Hologram”

           Today marks exactly one year since I posted arguably my most popular fic. “Hologram” is a postgame Saiouma one-shot about escapism, loneliness, and running away from the past. I put a lot of myself into this fic and I’m blown away by all the love it’s received, not only on AO3 but in Discord servers and other social media. All that excitement made me keep thinking about it, so I thought I’d share a (very self-indulgent) behind-the-scenes of sorts about how I wrote it, as well as what I think of the story.

           This essay will contain spoilers for the whole fic, so if you’d like to read it first, you can find it here. Of course, if the tags scare you off, that’s valid, but you might want to skip this post too since I’ll be quoting it throughout (so, just to be safe, expect the warnings I’ve posted on AO3 to apply here too).

           If you’re a Lorde fan you’ll recognize the lyrics in the fic summary – “Nothing’s wrong when nothing’s true,” from “Buzzcut Season.” The inspiration for this fic came to me while I was on my way to an early shift at work, and I needed a good song in my head to give me the will to live for the next eight hours. Not sure why I chose that song in particular, but maybe part of it is because I like imagining stories to go along with the songs I listen to, like AMVs playing in my head, and I’d never been able to pin down exactly what this song reminded me of.

           The mood of the music is really what compelled me – there’s something lonely about it, and the lyrics sound like the singer’s trying to convince herself that everything’s okay even when all evidence points otherwise. There are “explosions on TV”, and “The men up on the news / They try to tell us all that we will lose,” but “we live beside the pool / Where everything is good.” Despite everything going wrong, despite the notes of fear creeping into the pre-chorus, the character will “play along… in a hologram with you” and “never go home again.”

           From there, it was an easy jump to “postgame Saiou” and that was that.

             There’s a cloud of seagulls hovering in the air around him, and a dozen or so more standing just out of reach, staring him down with beady black eyes. Kokichi takes a slice of bread from the loaf he’s holding and tosses it to one of the birds, watches it catch it and stumble under the weight, watches its head bob as it tries to swallow the whole thing at once. It gets remarkably far before four other birds descend on it, shrieking wildly.

           “Mine, mine, mine,” he mumbles into his folded arms, wondering if Shuichi would get the reference.

           He really wishes Shuichi was here.

           Kokichi upends the rest of the loaf of bread onto the sidewalk and laughs at the resulting chaos until his chest aches.

             To start off, I wanted to create the same lonely mood from “Buzzcut Season” in Kokichi’s simulation. He’s not exactly trapped there, but he’s refusing to leave, because as long as he’s on the fake Jabberwock Island, he can pretend the killing game never happened. The trade-off to that escapism is that the only people he can talk to are the NPCs, who aren’t complex enough to be remotely interesting to him, and Usami, who… well, tries her best, but is more of an informational / moderation program and can’t offer him what a therapist could.

           The only thing Kokichi has to look forward to is Shuichi, who he’s convinced is an extremely lifelike computer program rather than the real thing, because the real Shuichi would definitely hate him for everything that happened during the killing game. He’s so locked into this line of logic that he doesn’t let himself consider that Shuichi has forgiven him – he doesn’t even have a good answer for why the Future Foundation wouldn’t just keep the supposed Shuichi AI on indefinitely, believing it’s their way of baiting him into leaving the simulation.

           It’s not a healthy or sustainable lifestyle in the slightest, but Kokichi stubbornly refuses to do anything but wander the islands aimlessly, passing the time with ice cream and feeding seagulls until the next time he can see Shuichi.

             He dreams that DICE is here in the simulation with him, smiling and carefree as they explore the weird music venue. One of them has gotten the karaoke machine working, and another found a box of kazoos and maracas in the back room. Kokichi already pities anyone unfortunate enough to walk by the building tonight.

           “Not going to sing, Joker?” one of his DICE asks (over the sound of their youngest member shrieking through seven kazoos at once), sitting on the bench next to him.

           “Some games are more fun to watch than play,” he answers, leaning back on his hands and sighing.

           “Like a killing game.”

           The warm dream-atmosphere turns cold then, and Kokichi’s head snaps over to look at him—but his brother is gone and Kaito’s looking back at him instead, blood in his teeth and face ashen pale.

           “You... we don’t have to do this, man,” Kaito says, but it’s a lie and they both know it, and he doesn’t want to look behind him because he knows the machine’s looming over him with its unyielding steel and slow slow slow descent—

           “You’re not real,” he snaps at dream-Kaito, who doesn’t respond except to lift him up again. “Nothing’s real, none of—PUT ME DOWN! LET GO OF ME! DON’T PUT ME BACK IN THERE!”

           “Death is more mercy than you deserve,” Kaito says, and Kokichi claws and bites and kicks his way out of Kaito’s grasp like a wild animal, only to end up in front of a prison cell full of—

           DICE, his beloved DICE, trapped and hurt and afraid, bloodied and beaten and helpless.

           “Why didn’t you save us, boss?” says his second-in-command, clutching the bars with bleeding hands. “Why didn’t you do more? Now we’re all dead and it’s because of you.”

             Moments like this are my reference to Buzzcut Season’s pre-chorus, where the not-okay starts to creep into the illusion. Despite Kokichi’s valiant efforts to forget, he’s still dealing with the aftermath of seeing his family hurt and in danger, watching his friends die, orchestrating the deaths of two of them, being killed himself— and then being told every bit of it was made up to entertain an audience who sees nothing wrong with that picture. Running away is not the way to heal from trauma, and one day soon it’s all bound to come crashing down around him.

             “Do you know what this … island paradise represents, Kokichi?” [Hinata] asks, and Kokichi’s really not in the mood for a lecture but he continues anyway. “Jabberwock Island … was the setting for the fiftieth season of Danganronpa. The golden anniversary, they called it. It was my season.”

           Kokichi hunches over, hugging his arms over his torso and stifiling a scream. He does not want to think about this right now—

           “They wanted it to be the best season of all, which, unfortunately for us, meant it was also the bloodiest,” Hinata says. “Twice as many participants, deadly traps hidden across each of the islands— they even changed the way the motives worked, like when they told Fuyuhiko to cut out his own eye so Peko could have a quick death instead of suffering for days.”

           “Do I look like your therapist, porcupine-head?” Kokichi hisses. A sharp pain is pounding into his skull, and there’s a bitter, metallic taste at the back of his throat. A taste like poison and blood.

           “There was so much going on that the simulation malfunctioned,” Hinata says. “When people died, their Ultimate talents downloaded themselves into me. I’m told that the stress of so many personality grafts came close to liquefying my frontal lobe. I’m lucky I woke up at all… especially considering more than half of the others didn’t.”

           “Why are you telling me this?” Kokichi grates out through the static building in his head. If he opens his eyes, will he see the beach or the dull chrome of the machine closing in on him?

           “Because I know how much you want to forget about what happened,” Hinata says. “Believe me, I get it.”

           ….

           “These things that happened to us… we can’t erase them, no matter how much we want to. Some things have to be remembered.”

             I’d mostly like to leave Hajime’s season up to interpretation, but there are a couple things I wanted to say about it. I imagine Danganronpa is like the Hunger Games in that it’d go all out for big anniversaries. So, there were twice as many participants for the Jabberwock Island beatdown that was probably subtitled “Bloodbath Bay” or something equally appealing. The game’s formula changed from a focus on the mystery and the trials to “look at all these kids massacring each other a la Lord of the Flies,” and since the VR system wasn’t equipped to handle that many people and their deaths, it malfunctioned, giving Hajime way too many Ultimate talents and putting half the cast into comas from which they never woke up.

           Viewers either absolutely loved or absolutely hated this season, depending on whether they were DR fans because of the “blood n’ guts” factor or the “mystery and psychological thriller” aspect. Team Danganronpa faced quite a bit of backlash for actually causing the real-life deaths of half its participants, but were able to weasel their way out of serious legal repercussions because of the waivers the participants had signed beforehand (plus a lot of bribery and falling back on their longstanding popularity). So, the cast of Season 50 failed to end the killing game, but helped provide great evidence for the “Danganronpa is morally wrong” argument.

           Hajime works as a victim liaison for the Future Foundation and has been trying to take down Danganronpa since he got out of it. He’s like that in a few of my fics, actually; I like the idea of Hajime acting as a big brother of sorts to the V3 cast. It’s especially entertaining to imagine his interactions with Kokichi— though maybe not so much in Hologram, since to Kokichi he’s a representation of the past he’s trying so desperately to forget and the future he refuses to acknowledge.

             “SHUT UP!” He launches himself at Hinata, his hands wrapping around the other man’s throat as he uses his momentum to slam him to the ground. “SHUT! UP!”

           “Ko— ghk—” Hinata coughs, eyes wide with surprise, but aside from moving his hands up to grip Kokichi’s wrists, he doesn’t seem all that worried about fighting back.

           The thought only fuels Kokichi’s rage until he’s choking Hinata so hard his knuckles are white. “If you want me out of this simulation so badly, you can kill me,” he snarls. “I’m never waking up! I’m never leaving, do you UNDERSTAND ME?”

           Hinata grimaces, the outline of his avatar flickering, but he still doesn’t struggle, and Kokichi hates him all the more for it, despises him with a seething malice that festers low in his stomach. He wonders distantly if he’d actually kill this man in real life. Or if he’d be able to stop himself, feeling like this.

             Kokichi’s breakdown here is more out of fear than anger. Like I mentioned, Kokichi sees Hajime as another piece of what’s hurt him, and no matter how Hajime tries to help, Kokichi will always remember Danganronpa whenever he sees him.

             Warm yellow-orange light casts a relaxed, cozy glow over the dining hall. It’s an ambience compounded by the flickering candles on the table, which seems overly idyllic, but Kokichi will let it slide because of the adorable way Shuichi flushed when he noticed them as they sat down. Well, if he’s being honest, everything about Shuichi right now is adorable, from the way his hair keeps falling into his eyes to the way he’s nervously fiddling wth his chopsticks. Kokichi wishes he could keep staring at him forever.

           Ah, not… not in a weird way, though, just… because Shuichi’s beautiful, and when Kokichi looks at him he can forget everything bad that’s ever happened, can create some new and brighter world to exist in.

             This is an idea I wish I’d had room to explore a bit more in the story— that is, just how far Kokichi will go to pretend everything’s fine. I thought about making him border on delusional, like having him talk to people who aren’t there or forget what’s actually happening around him because he’s so lost in his fiction-within-a-fiction. It would have creeped Shuichi out a whole lot.

           Unfortunately, there wasn’t much room for that past the plot I’d already nailed down, so I focused on his loneliness and escapism instead. I do touch on it later in this scene, though— the couple paragraphs where he slips into fantasizing about being a phantom thief having a surreptitious meeting with his detective under the not-so-subtle supervision of his DICE. There would have been a lot more of that if I’d gone with the ‘delusion’ stylistic choice, to the point where even the readers would be confused about what’s real. Maybe I’ll look into writing something similar in a future story.

             Eventually, Shuichi sets down his bowl and looks away with a little sigh, and Kokichi clenches his teeth because that’s the sigh he does when it’s time for that conversation.

           “Um… Kokichi?”

           Kokichi’s only response is to exhale the breath he’d been holding in a quiet hiss.

           “I-I know you don’t want to, but… but I really need to talk to you about something,” Shuichi says. “Please?”

           “My Mr. Detective can talk about whatever he’d like!” Kokichi says with a lilt to his tone that makes it sound more sarcastic than he wants it to. He takes the last bite of curry and wishes that it burns hot enough to hurt.

           “It’s about Kaito.”

             This more serious part of the date scene is meant to reflect the little bridge in “Buzzcut Season”:

“Cola with the burnt-out taste

I’m the one you tell your fears to

There’ll never be enough of us.”

           It’s a part of the song that sounds especially bittersweet to me, a bit of self-awareness between the insistence that everything’s okay.

           Really all I think I managed was to reference it when Kokichi’s internal dialogue comments on his drink being “so sweet it tastes burnt” and then later not tasting like anything. But hopefully the mood’s still there.

             “Tell him… that I have nothing against him,” he says.

           “That’s … not a lie?” Shuichi presses.

           Kokichi shakes his head idly, still not raising his gaze. “I wanted to wreck the killing game and he wanted to save his friend. We both got what we wanted. I’d say the end more than justifies the means.”

           Was that a lie?

           (I don’t want to die Shuichi I’m sorry I’m sorry save me Shuichi please I’m sorry ithurtsmakeitstop—)

           His fingers tighten into clawlike shapes, nails digging sharply into his forearms.

             I really don’t think Kokichi would have anything against Kaito, even if here he’s not being completely honest with how much he’s affected by what happened. It wouldn’t make sense to him to hate Kaito for something he himself proposed, but I think there’d still be a subconscious barrier between them. Too much history.

             “Don’t go, Shuichi, I’m so sorry, I— that was so dumb, what I said, please don’t be sad anymore.” He’s not sure if he can’t breathe because of the exertion of running or because of the hysteria boiling over in his head. “Please don’t go, I didn’t mean to hurt you— please don’t leave, Shuichi, I’m so sorry.”

           “Oh, Kokichi….” Shuichi’s tone is strange, soft and pitying, like he sees something Kokichi doesn’t, and he shakes his head slowly as more tears follow the paths of the others.

           Kokichi goes to his knees, ready to grovel if that’s what it takes, but Shuichi follows him down, closing his other hand over Kokichi’s, and then they’re both crying and he doesn’t know why, and all he can do is repeat a mantra of I’m sorry and hold on as tight as he can.

           It’s horrible. Shuichi’s horrible. Shuichi’s wonderful, and kind and lovely and perfect and Kokichi hates him, Kokichi adores him, and it doesn’t matter because Shuichi’s not actually here but Kokichi doesn’t want to be alone, just let me pretend some more, please, please let me have this—

           “I’ll… I’ll stay,” Shuichi says at last. “I can stay a while longer.”

           You shouldn’t, Kokichi wants to say, but his mouth won’t obey him. You shouldn’t stay if you don’t want to. I don’t deserve having you here. I’m not worth your mercy.

           But there on the bridge, crying tears of relief, he soaks up as much mercy as he can get and hopes it’s enough to drown him.

             I wanted to create a contrast between them that highlights just how the isolation and trauma Kokichi’s experiencing has affected him. He has an almost unhealthy reliance on Shuichi as “the only thing that makes this world bearable,” and panics when faced with the prospect of being alone again so soon. Part of why Shuichi’s crying is because he’s realized the extent of Kokichi’s desperation. It’s not that he thinks Kokichi’s apology is insincere, but that he’s hardly heard him apologize for anything before, so Kokichi going this far has him realizing how bad things really are.

             The door rumbles and slides open when they approach, revealing the bright light of the log-out point that took Shuichi away every time, that would wake Kokichi up in his real body if he walked into it. Shuichi stops just a step away from it, biting his lip as if searching for something to say, but before he can find it, Kokichi reaches out to tug at his sleeve.

           “Shuichi?” he says, distant as the waves on the beach that he can still hear if he listens closely enough. Shuichi turns back toward him. “Before you go, can I be selfish one more time?”

           “Huh…?”

           Shuichi doesn’t move when Kokichi steps closer, reaches up to ghost his fingertips over Shuichi’s jaw and around the back of his neck. He lets Kokichi tilt his head downward, lets him hover inches away, close enough to feel their breath mingle in the night air. Kokichi pauses there to give him the chance to pull away. He doesn’t.

           So Kokichi closes his eyes and the distance between them.

             That last line is a ZEUGMA! It’s a literary device where one word refers to two more in a different way. A popular example is the hyenas’ line “Our teeth and ambitions are bared” from The Lion King. It’s my favorite grammatical trick and I’d love to see more of it in fanfic.

             Slowly, he slides his hand down to Shuichi’s shoulder, using it as leverage to push himself away. That hurts even more. He can’t seem to open his eyes, and he feels so weakened, breathless, fragile. Cracked open, hollowed out.

           When he finally does open his eyes, Shuichi’s are wide with some mix of astonishment and a dozen other emotions. Kokichi bows his head, taking a deep breath to ground himself. “Sorry,” he whispers. “I just wanted to know.”

           “Kokichi,” Shuichi breathes, like a bullet through his heart.

           “Goodbye, Shuichi,” Kokichi says, and shoves him into the light.

           Shuichi’s little yelp of surprise cuts off abruptly as he falls through the door, vanishing into the glow, and all too soon, Kokichi’s alone again in a dream that suddenly seems far too vast. Alone, with the faintest taste of Shuichi’s lips still lingering on his own.

           And he thinks, It was enough just to know you.

           It’s a lie.

             Nothing to say here except that this is my favorite scene and I’m so happy with how it turned out.

             Fake sun rises over fake ocean, fake seagulls glide through fake sky while fake wind tousles fake palm fronds. Kokichi lies on his stomach in the fake grass and talks to his fake family in the fake notebook. Gives them fake names and runs through everything he remembers about them. Apologizes, over and over, wishes he could hug each of them goodbye one last time. Wonders if it would be more painful to die or to never have existed at all.

           He leaves the notebook of his memories on the seat of one of the Ferris wheel cars on the fourth island, because one time he promised them they’d steal the London Eye together.

           He buys a can of fake soda from the fake convenience store on the first island and sits on the fake beach watching the fake waves. Wonders when he’d hit the end of the simulation if he started swimming, or if he’d drown first.

           White sand, blue sea, bluer sky. Washed out, like an amateur watercolor painting.

           He opens the soda can and raises it to his mouth, but … even the thought of drinking it makes him sick to his stomach. He sets it down in the sand and flicks it over, watching the bubbly liquid run down and sink into the sand. The color’s all wrong, like blood streaked against a metal floor.

           He walks the fake streets of the fifth island, passing fake skyscrapers and fake commuters and their fake conversations, until he finally stops outside the factory he’s never been able to bring himself to go into. Smells like oil, and metal and machines and he can hear the sounds and he’s immediately back in the hangar, dizzy on adrenaline and desperation and leaning heavily on Kaito so he doesn’t keel over and die then and there. Kaito says something about how maybe he should sit down for a minute, and Kokichi didn’t agree back then but he does now, goes down on all fours and dry heaves.

           When his vision solidifies and he can stop gasping for breath, he sits up and presses his back against the factory wall, covering his ears and hiding his face in his knees. Tries to convince himself not to imagine Shuichi’s there with him, holding his hand again, promising everything’s going to be okay.

           “I’ve got you. No one’s going to hurt you anymore,” or maybe, “Breathe with me, it’ll be over soon. You’re safe now.”

           I love you.

           He laughs until there’s nothing left in his lungs. He called these little daydreams obsession, before, but now they just seem sick and insane.

             I wanted to indicate throughout this scene that Kokichi’s gotten substantially worse. Instead of halfheartedly interacting with the NPCs or finding something to spend time doing, he’s aimlessly wandering the islands, focused on how fake all of it is. Not even talking to his sketches of DICE can make him feel better. The suicidal ideation starts to slip in even if he doesn’t realize it— a fixation on wondering what death is like, purposefully triggering himself by walking by the factory….

           The thing I want to talk about most though is the italicized I love you. I left it outside of quotation marks and dialogue tags on purpose because I wanted it to be ambiguous as to who’s saying it. If it’s Kokichi’s line, it’s sudden and almost out of place, like he couldn’t hold back from thinking it anymore. But it could be Shuichi saying it, too. Since it’s outside quotation marks, unlike the previous dream-Shuichi lines, it’s more vague, almost a whisper in Kokichi’s thoughts— like he can barely bring himself to imagine it and even feels guilty doing so, because there’s no way it could possibly be real.

           Which do you think?

           Eh, I don’t have an answer. When I hear it in my head, they say it at the same time.

             “How did you know?” he finally croaks.

           Shuichi’s breathing still sounds shaky, too. “Because you said ‘goodbye,’” he says.

           Kokichi finally looks up at him in a silent question.

           “You never say goodbye,” Shuichi says, rubbing his sleeve over his eyes. “It’s always….”

           “‘See you later,’” Kokichi finishes for him. Despite himself, a tiny huff of astonished laughter escapes him. “I didn’t even know, not until a couple of hours ago. And you figured it all out from one word?”

           Shuichi bites his lip at that. “You kissed me,” he says.

           Kokichi’s stomach twists and he looks away. “I said I was sorry—”

           “No.” Shuichi squeezes his hand into a fist and lets it fall to thump against Kokichi’s chest, like he’s trying to knock some sense into him. “It was so honest, and vulnerable, and… and I know how much you hate showing how you really feel.” Another tiny sob catches in his throat. “And so it felt like … like something you’d do if you weren’t going to s-see me again.”

           “Shuichi….” Kokichi trails off as Shuichi muffles his cries in his hand again. He’s so breathtakingly smart. There’s no one else in the world who thinks that way, no one else who could possibly be that attentive and that clever. Not a programmer, not a team of shrinks… how can an AI manage it? How is it that Shuichi always manages to take him by surprise? How can he see straight through him when he least expects it?

           Kokichi’s hand reaches up to Shuichi’s cheek. Reverently traces the path of the tears falling down it.

           “I wish you were real,” he confesses in a whisper.

             Kokichi’s stubborn. So, so stubborn. And he’s not used to being cared about, if the way he does everything by himself is any indication. So it makes sense to me that he’ll refuse to believe anything good can happen to him even in the face of convincing evidence. He’s pretty self-hating for someone so arrogant.

             Kokichi’s weak, deep down to his core, weak for this man. Already knows he’d do anything for him, and the thought is terrifying—that one person could have that much power over him, even if he doesn’t realize it.

           But what if he has realized it? Couldn’t this all be an elaborate ruse, a lie he knew Kokichi would be so desperate to believe that he wouldn’t bother questioning it?

           …Shuichi’s never hurt him, though. Only that one time, when he really deserved it. Shuichi wouldn’t … betray him, even for what he thinks is Kokichi’s own good. They’re… different from each other, that way.

           But still….

           “I’m so scared, Shuichi.” It’s barely a whisper. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

           “You won’t be.” It’s so hard to be skeptical, lost in his eyes. “I’ll be right there with you, for as long as you want. I won’t let you feel like this anymore.”

           Promise me, he wants to blurt out. Promise you’ll stay. Promise me you’ll never leave me, Shuichi, he wants to demand, but that’s wrong, that’s manipulative and selfish and everything he doesn’t want to be for Shuichi anymore.

           Shuichi, of course, says it anyway.

           “I promise, Kokichi.”

…        

           “Kiss me again,” he says. “Please?”

           Shuichi leans in close, then pauses, his brow furrowing the way it does when he catches him in a lie.

           “I’ll kiss you again in the real world,” Shuichi says. “Okay?”

           Kokichi shakes his head. “Shuichi, please.” Please, I don’t think I can do this. Please, I don’t want to wake up to a lie. Please, one last kiss for me to remember in case it was all fake.

           Shuichi reaches out to tilt his chin up and Kokichi closes his eyes, savoring every second, burning it into his memory.

           Shuichi’s soft breath ghosts over his lips.

           “Trust me,” he murmurs.        

           Kokichi’s eyes flutter back open, searching his face. Shifting him around on the white board in his head, seeing what categories he fits into this time. Weird, of course. Suspicious, maybe not. Trustworthy?

           Trustworthy….

           “I do trust you,” he realizes.

             Kokichi’s still hesitant to accept all of this— Shuichi kissing him didn’t magically fix everything. He’ll still doubt all the way to the log-out point, but at least now he realizes that this simulation is only hurting him— that if things are to get better they’re going to have to change, too. He’s got a long way to go before he’s all right, but he’s not going to have to face it alone anymore.

             And that’s a wrap!

           Once again, I’m really proud of this story, and I feel like I grew as a writer because of it. There are a few things I would change if I wrote it again, but for all its flaws it’s still my baby and I like how it turned out.

           Thanks again for all your support for “Hologram,” and thanks even more if you actually waded through all this nonsense of a director’s cut. It’s a huge confidence-boost to think that people liked what I wrote, and even wanted to hear what I had to say about it. If there’s any interest, I’d love to review some of my other fics here, or theorize or brainstorm or whatever else  you’re into. (Ask me what Byakuya’s Thing is in my superhero AU, I dare you 😉)

           I do have a WIP in my folder of bits and pieces currently titled “boy finally gets that kiss”, and it’s a post-Hologram scene from Shuichi’s point of view to just sorta… tie it all together, have them talk things over again… and kiss, of course. We’ll see if anything comes out of that.

           Until next time!

[republiccommando1138]

Separatory Funnel

Here’s my 2020 Portal Secret Santa for @artistyutaki, she offered a few prompts but one that I thought was interesting was Chell and GLaDOS/PotatOS hiding from Wheatley in the later chapters of Portal 2. I thought I might as well tie it into some of Chell’s thoughts about the ordeal, while also showing what Wheatley’s up to. I also noticed she was interested in the idea of computer gore, with plates and cables all over the place, so I tried to incorporate a bit of that in as well. I also threw in a tiny nod to Mel and Blue Sky since she mentioned she’s a Blue Sky fan. So this ended up being longer than I thought, and it’s my first time writing a proper fanfic of sorts, but I really hope you like this! I had a great time making it!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was not the best place to be in right now. 

Not that it ever was down here, but where Chell was at this exact moment was especially not great. She didn’t complain though, it could always get worse. Actually, it usually did get worse, especially right about when she would wonder if it ever could. Perhaps it was best not to ask that question right about now. Sure, she had just fallen from a deactivated funnel and landed in a dark office whose only door was blocked by overturned desks, monitors, and furniture, which happened to be heavy enough that it’d be a pain in the back to move but for whatever reason the Portal Gun didn’t want to pick up. On the bright side, at least she didn’t fall all the way back down to the 1950s again.

Realistically though, knowing Aperture, it was bound to get worse no matter what she did. If even superstition was anywhere near reliable at this point, it would have been an improvement compared to everything else in this insane complex that somehow had only gotten stranger and more… alien-like, almost, after its founder had died of moon rock poisoning. At least the idea of a set of metal underground spheres laced with asbestos and full of half finished test chambers, the brainchild of a man proudly named Cave, was somewhat navegable. There was an understanding that if one were to see some place and travel far enough in that direction, they would eventually get to that place. If that place moved downwards in freefall, it would be because of the design of the facility, not some sarcastic supercomputer trying to keep her testing while calling her fat.

This bundle of desks, chairs and monitors was somehow all tangled up, with the wires going all over the place. It looked like she would have to either pull the whole thing at once or remove each one separately.

The recordings she heard from Cave Johnson painted a general picture, though they didn’t get awfully specific. But seeing as ground up moon rocks were all the rage down here back in those days, and hearing Cave coughing while ranting about lemons for some reason, it wasn’t difficult for her to figure out exactly how they managed to finally bring down the founder of Aperture. The real surprise? That somehow every other employee at Aperture hadn’t inhaled the stuff and keeled over. It had to have been a possibility, as there was no way that anyone smart enough to work a portal gun would have taken it upon themselves to design any part of this place without being crazy enough to consider the idea. 

This table was a lot heavier than it looked. Hopefully she could fold it over. It wasn’t exactly easy to see the parts that let the table fold on itself when it was this dark.

Could she have been one of those scientists? Chell couldn’t remember anything about herself before waking up under Her testing course, however long ago that was, or whether she was actually adopted, like every personality construct in this place seemed to think was a big deal. Any attempt at figuring out how she got down here would have to be based on guesswork. She was a test subject, which made her a likely employee at some point, though if Her insults were anything to go by, she was only a part time employee. Not committed to this job, just doing it on the side to make ends meet.

She finally managed to fold the damn table, and began to drag it out of the way.

At least that meant she wasn’t some Olympian from the 60s who got tricked into going here. Or a homeless person that got plucked off the streets of some town in Upper Michigan all for the promises of $60 at the end. She wasn’t sure how much that would be in today’s money, but wasn’t about to get optimistic. The real downside to it all was that she never would be able to figure it out. She didn’t even know how long it had been other than that it was long enough to concern Wheatley about brain damage, and even if there were information available about her and why she was here to begin with, she didn’t want to go out of her way to find it. Her main goal was getting out of here as quickly as possible, so there was no time for expositional detours. 

At most, she could stumble upon her backstory without looking for it. Figuring out what happened to Caroline was enough for one day, or however long it had been since she had last gotten some sleep. Besides, it would probably be a huge letdown anyway. Maybe she really was adopted after her birth parents considered her completely unlikeable even as a baby. Maybe her last name was something boring, like Smith. Or Jones. Maybe her name wasn’t even Chell at all. But hey, at least it wasn’t Cave. Hopefully.

Of course, she could just ask the supercomputer turned potato battery where she came from. Yes, that would be a great idea, confiding in who up until recently was her own worst enemy about a detail that She had constantly made fun of. She definitely wouldn’t take advantage of that fact and tell her all about how little Miss Chell SmithJonesWhatever couldn’t hold a single job until she came here because everyone hated her. They seemed to be on good terms now, but she wasn’t going to risk jinxing herself. Besides, she had a rule. No talking in Aperture. Nothing that any AI said was ever worth a response. 

So the lights didn’t work in this room anymore. Phenomenal.

Regardless, even though it still didn’t explain whether she was one of the employees, part time, or otherwise, who might have almost inhaled ground up rocks that cost anywhere from a TV to a house - she wasn’t about to do the math to figure anything more precise than that - it was at least clear that she had made it into Aperture under vaguely legitimate pretenses, and that they considered her smart enough to get her hands on a machine that, in the right hands, could’ve solved the world’s climate crisis by generating free energy. It was damning with faint praise.

Which just so happened to summarize the remarks from her semi edible companion. Not directed at her, for once, rather the situation at hand. Neither one of them were the most frequent of talkers, but She was more willing to comment on the situation. Funny enough, once they happened to agree with each other, Chell could reasonably rely on her as somewhat of a spokesperson. 

“After seeing what he's done to my facility, after we take over again, is it alright if I kill him?” 

Chell looked over at the glowing yellow circle, the only part of Her she could actually make out in the darkness of the room, and could only shrug her shoulders. Do whatever you want, she would have said. Frankly, as much as the two had been getting along, Chell wasn’t about to act like this was some new found friendship between the two. As far as she was concerned, the facility deserved to explode in a mushroom cloud with a giant blast radius. The bigger the better. If she was lucky, it would kill Her, Wheatley, and every other personality construct. Just as long as she wasn’t there for it. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Since he was connected to the mainframe, Wheatley had been trying to figure out how to work this new body. Now that his only test subject was missing, admittedly due to a mistake on his part, he could explore further. There had to at least be some way to hack the solution euphoria program. But until then, the next order of business was to redesign his lair to his own liking. Not too bad a job She did, but it didn’t quite have the Wheatley style to it. Needed a bit more work. Namely, getting rid of that stalemate button. No way that could remain. 

“Right, so, asking the announcer... voice... guy... didn’t seem to do anything.” He said out loud, “Guess he didn’t quite understand what I was getting at. Hmm, wait a minute, maybe if I go and change this setting, then- Это программное обеспечение повреждено. Удалите его и обратитесь к администратору. Aaaand, nope, still there. Hasn’t even budged a little bit. Guess that didn’t work.”

He then remembered the complexities of hacking the neurotoxin emitters and thought he might start there. “Oh, um hello, Mister button, there.” He said in an accent beyond the rage of any human’s hearing, “I’m a representative of the mechanical parts… association, and we are inviting you to a… convention! Yes, a convention, with all sorts of members, cubes, turrets, even other buttons! And we’d like to invite you! Full expenses paid, shuttle bus straight there to the convention. And there’s going to be a whole panel on buttons! Who knows, they might even have you as a guest speaker! All you have to do is head straight down to the lowest part of the facility! That’s where the bus is! Just head on down there and you’re good to go!”

The button didn’t budge. 

“Not one for conventions I guess? Perhaps you’re more of an introverted sort of button. Doesn’t mind being pressed but also fine with staying where he is.”

Wheatley, being the genius he knew he was, figured he ought to look in the old tapes to see what Her old room looked like. Ever since She had been killed, the facility had been in some disarray, of that much Wheatley was well aware. The relaxation center had taken a hit, for sure, and it seemed the rest of the facility was none the better. Wheatley wondered how long it had been, and though he probably could have figured it out, this new interface wasn’t exactly what he would have considered user friendly. 

Come to think of it, he could figure out a few things at once by going through the recordings. For one, he could figure out what Her old room looked like and what She had done about this pesky little button. Or more interestingly, how her whole room got destroyed just from being shut down, that was always a mystery there. 

All he could find were tapes, and they didn’t seem too promising. Just video feeds of the room, none of which showed if the button was there at all or what she had done with it. Maybe skipping around a bit would work, perhaps it would show something. Nothing so far…

Wait a minute now, here were the tapes of when She was killed. Yes, this was definitely the same test subject all right. Silent as always, she was. Maybe her brain damage was pre-existing.

Well this was concerning. Neither neurotoxin nor the built in rocket turret defense station was enough to even faze her. All that nameless lunatic needed were a couple of seemingly easy portals and in less than the required six minutes She was dead. 

If that silent test subject was still alive, she could find any flaw in his lair design and it’d be bye bye Wheatley. 

First immediate order of business, no portal surfaces anywhere in the lair. That shouldn’t be too hard, just meant he would have to move some panels around. There, piece of cake, only a few panels detached and falling off. That was probably normal.

“Right, no portal surfaces anywhere. Check that off the list. Ding! Next we can- OW! Great, another panel just went and fell right out of the ceiling. Hit me right in the… to be honest I’m not sure what this part of me even is. Doesn’t really look like it does anything useful. Tell you what, how about I take this part off, don’t really need it do we? Won’t be hurting anymore, I imagine. Here we go, unscrewing… and done!”

The offending plate came off of his right side, pulling down several attached cables right out of their sockets, leaving them to dangle around and coil around the floor like snakes. Snakes that occasionally gave out electrical sparks. That probably existed somewhere in nature. Electric snakes. Maybe unicrons ate them. Wheatley made a mental note to look that up, right after learning how to play cards. 

“OK, wow that was actually pretty painful. Guess they don’t simulate any anaesthetic in this thing. Aaand now the lights are flickering on and off. Those are the lights, right? The flashlight doesn’t seem to be helping, so maybe I killed that too. That’s probably normal. Happens sometimes. That’ll probably fix itself.”

In the meantime, he at least had time to see what else was in Her old archives. Maybe there was a guide to fixing whatever was going on. Nope, nothing there. He did find an old security protocol system. Aperture Employee Guardian and Intrusion System, it was called. Interesting, that could help make sure she never got anywhere near his lair. Wait, no, that system was shut down locally. Before She went back online even. Odd, not clear who did that. What else was there… Oh, hang on a minute. The Cooperative Testing Initiative. That sounded useful. Wheatley kept reading. 

Yes, these two little bots seemed to be the fix for everything. As soon as he could he had one of each type assembled and sent straight up to his lair. 

“Hello! Right, so I understand you guys are built for testing, and what have you. So, I have selected you two to be my next testers. I need a few favors from you two though. See those cables down there? The ones that are kind of sparking there a bit? Those? Yeah, ever since I unhooked those, the lights have been flickering on and off.”

Blue looked at Orange, somewhat confused.

“You guys don’t see it? Wait, it just happened again real quick right there.”

Orange shook its head.

“So that might just be my optic sputtering out then. Yeah, that’s not great. Either way, I need you guys to try and get those back into me so I can see again. Now you might be wondering why I can’t just use those grabbers of mine and do it myself? Turns out, if I ever try to fix myself without someone else to help out, I’ll die. So you guys will have to do it for me.”

They both suddenly appeared nervous, and Blue slowly approached the bundle of wires. They sent out a spark and they both flinched. Upon reaching the wire, Blue picked up the first one, which went back in without a hitch. The second one was still going through the exterior plate that Wheatley had just unscrewed off. Pulling it as hard as possible didn’t work. Orange, annoyed, went up and pushed Blue out of the way, then slowly pulled out the cable and stuck it back in. By now the flickering was still happening, but only in randomly appearing colors.

“Great! OK now just one more to go! Home stretch!”

Orange was ready to pick up the last cable, but Blue, unrelenting, snatched it out of Orange’s grasp, and emphatically plugged it in. And then the flickering stopped.

“You did it! Bingo! Oh, man alive, that’s much better. Aaand now it seems you guys are knocking each other’s heads out of their… socket, things, whatever they’re called. Not really getting anything productive out of that, besides I kinda need you guys for something else.”

Neither Blue nor Orange were hearing it though. Once they had decided to play the classic game of Knock the Other Bot’s Head Off, there was little that could stop the competition. For personality constructs designed to get along, they did this a lot.

“Ahem, knock knock, anybody there?!”

It was getting heated. Now Blue was running around with Orange’s head, Orange’s body trying to chase after it but only managing to flail around miserably due to lack of eyes.

“ENOUGH!”

Wheatley hadn’t had an outburst like that in a while. It was a little easier when his only test subject and her potato weren’t driving him up the wall smashing his monitors and not giving him the relief when he wanted it. But the lack of test solution euphoria was starting to make its presence known once more, and it made him impatient as ever. Both bots stopped to look over, then Orange snatched its head and put it back on, glancing angrily at Blue.

“You know, there are bots in orphanages that don't even have heads to steal. Maybe think about how lucky you two are and stop fiddling around like that, yeah?”

They both looked at each other, shrugged the mechanical equivalent of their shoulders and gave each other a quick hug. Wheatley didn’t understand how they could forgive each other so quickly, but he wasn't about to object.

“Right, so, what I need you guys to do is see if we can find any neurotoxin reserves. Ever since I hacked the main factory, genius, I know; we haven’t had any neurotoxin to dispense. So I’m building you a testing course that should lead to where the neurotoxin facility was to see if you can find any clues. Alright, Go team!”

Several panels cleared out of the way to reveal two elevators facing each other, one blue and one orange. The bots looked at each other before taking off and heading to the disassembly machines. In less than a minute they had reached the first test, a simple introductory course with a laser and a redirection cube. And no test of Wheatley’s would be complete without his signature, the word TEST written in lights on the wall. 

These two were smart enough to have figured out how to solve it rather quickly, and Wheatley immediately felt the rush of solution euphoria. Whether it was the amount of time since he had last felt it or because he was testing new subjects, this felt much better than the last few tests he had gotten his other subject to try. Now he could focus on the text task, seeing if there was a trap he could build, just in case those two weren’t dead. Getting rid of the button would have to wait. Maybe if they found some turrets or explosives to keep anyone from reaching it, that could work as a solution. For a little while at least.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Having cleared out all the tables, chairs, and any other debris lying around in what was once an office, Chell could finally get through to the other side and out the door. And the potato on her gun had done a great job at keeping her company. 

“Oh good, now we can get going again. Maybe we can find a way out of here.”

Chell picked up the portal gun and made her way out of the office. To her disappointment, the walkway just led down to the entryway to another test.

“Great, it looks like we’ll need to keep testing a little while longer. And I’m not sure we have that much more time left. Look on the bright side though. Maybe we’ll get to see more of that moron’s inventions. Maybe he’s gotten so desperate he’ll have tried to fuse a turret with a redirection cube and give it laser eyes.”

Chell couldn’t help but smile a bit at that. She resented that Wheatley had become like this, and somewhat missed him in a way, but it was nice to occasionally poke fun at his less than amazing intelligence.

“If a defective turret and a pile of trash had a baby, he would make an excellent pet for that baby.”

Chell’s smile grew slightly bigger and she chuckled silently. It was kind of nice to hear Her jokes while not also being the recipient. The classic insults thrown her way, that she was fat, adopted, unlikeable; those didn’t work on her at all. But they were at least well crafted, almost stand-up quality, though she never would have admitted that. Despite being a murderous former supercomputer with zero conscience up until this point, she did have a bit of a knack for humor. Chell would at least miss that when she left this place.

This was the end of the walkway, and Chell jumped down; her testing break was over. It was going to get tough before she finally did make it out of here.

[datawyrms]

what if i really liked @chibigaia-art mastermind Kiibo Au comic too much and wrote a thing. hahaha. unless...

On A03 (Which has formatting I have not translated to here.)

It was the scream that jerked him into action, throwing open his door to an empty central area. It had sounded like Tenko, but no sign of her or a struggle was here. It had sounded so close, almost right in his head, how could he be too late to help anyone? His inner voice seemed to be taking it worse than he was, though it was oddly muddled and muted, not the clear declaration it usually was, Disappointing he could understand, but boring? Someone could be in trouble and the voice only wanted to express that it was not interesting enough, or too short? He had to do something, yet the room seemed as muddled as his thoughts. The robot had to close his eyes, clutching at his head to try and wait out the disorientation.

The mastermind was dead.

Rantaro had done what he had set out to accomplish. End the killing game. Tsumugi Shirogane was a lifeless corpse, head cracked open by the very weapon she had intended to use. This was a good thing, mostly. Killing was wrong, but understandable considering she had been the one putting them all through this strange killing game. Yet this was also the worst thing? It was boring, it was too soon, it was a lame cop out. It could not end here. Rantaro had to pay for his crime, and then the game would continue as planned. He didn’t want that? He did? The voices did. How did he know any of this? The voices demanded more. The show must go on. Kiibo did not want it to continue. He could manage to wrangle that thought out as his own opinion, though his certainty wavered with every new declaration of annoyance. Ignoring or denying the voice did nothing but dump even more feedback, disappointment, anger, even hatred. Too much to sort through. He? They? Demanded he act. The show MUST go on. He knew the mastermind was dead, as he had seen the body. From a camera he was unaware of, oblivious to, reporting to him. It liked that it could transmit directly to him, now that his connection to the entire network had been restored. The voices. The audience. Only here for their own amusement. He was a puppet for them to play with. You exist to entertain. That is your only purpose. That is why you were built. His hands drop, fingers still half curled into fists. His memories contradicted this. His memories were false. If the game continues, the voices will be pleased. The only reason he exists is to make them happy. Rantaro will be ‘wrong’ about Tsumugi’s identity as the mastermind, and they will have a whole new mystery to solve. Didn’t he want to be more than that? To be like the others, like his friends? A person? He never wanted anything Tsumugi Shirogane had not put in his head first. He was a machine, not a real person. Didn’t he want to go off script? Be something meaningful?

THE SHOW MUST GO ON.

The other voices quieted, locked away from influencing him as his left eye opened and switched, a red haze overlaying the room, revealing the resources he had control over and commands he could make. The voices could not be allowed to see who the new mastermind was, after all. Monokuma asked the question, still hearing it in the bear’s voice even as only a message read in his head. So what’s the plan, boss? This was wrong. He didn’t want this. Yet the information Team DanganRonpa had dumped in his hard drive made one thing very clear. As their robot, he did not really have much of a choice in the matter. Either he did it now, himself, or he could be reset back to default and do it anyway. At least as himself, he might be able to tone down the brutality? Make the body discovery announcement.

The horrified gasps that come from his classmates, his friends, his enemies is both discomforting and thrilling. He had caused that. He had meant something to all of them, in that brief moment. He dropped his connection to Motherkuma and the rest of the mastermind resources, Monokuma’s AI knew how to prep for a class trial without any input from him. That, and if he mentioned overhearing something he had no logical way to hear, the mystery of if there was a backup mastermind would be solved too quickly. The voices returned as his eye snapped back to the normal blue hue, back to the more consistent singular idea at any given moment. Go and see what happened. They were excited, surprised, pleased. At least obeying that command did not feel as much like a betrayal.

Rantaro had the sense to admit he had killed Tsumugi when the entire class had gathered and the bears asked who would claim the first blood perk. After all, everyone already knew he had done it. Monokuma had a lot of fun with it, mocking everyone for even thinking there was a mastermind. Did they all like thinking Rantaro totally had a good reason and wasn’t just using this ‘mastermind’ excuse to look better in their eyes before he left? Ryoma had been incensed, raising his voice as he asked Rantaro why he had killed her, after he had already offered to die instead if he just wanted out. Honestly, he did not have to meddle much. Monokuma and the kubs did more than enough to spark tension and throw doubt that a mastermind existed. After all, Kiibo could act on his own, who said they couldn’t? Who said there had to be someone behind it? He’d been properly offended, his anger genuine. “I am nothing like you!” He was exactly like them, and he hated it. He spared the others from knowing ‘leaving’ was getting to see the airless 'outside world', ordering Monokuma to cut the feed once the door was open to maintain the surprise. It was too early for them to know of the devastated 'world' outside. It was too painful to watch the one who managed to end the killing game try to scrabble back to life giving air, only to be denied by a savage kick from the Exisals. For him to die thinking he had been wrong, mistaken, possibly killed an innocent... It was unfair. Yet this is what they all wanted. So the ‘Ultimate Survivor’ suffocated alone, the others still getting to have the hope that Rantaro would get word out. A peek outside would be all the crueler with his rotting corpse on display, hands outstretched to a worthless, meaningless hope.

Even though the Monokubs managed to mess up the motive delivery, he did not need to act as the mastermind. Kirumi getting her own video had sufficed to get desire to kill in the air, no matter how hard Kaede tried to get the group to stick together and ignore the videos. Kokichi had been a major help in making sure Ryoma had seen his own video with his viewing party scheme, while also being an active antagonist during the trial. He may ultimately have led them to the right conclusion, but it was unlikely anyone else would notice it off hand. So this was how Tsumugi intended to remain in the shadows. Who would suspect her when there was this relentless troublemaker front and center? Who would notice that she wasn’t actively participating that often, or only parroting things someone else said first? He had it just as easy. After all, his existence was a joke. Robots aren’t people, unfortunately for all of them. He wanted to be one, but that was the punchline. No wonder all of them ignored any upset responses he made to such comments. It was like being offended about the sky being blue. Being mad at reality, at something that was not going to change. None of them would still be in this game if he could truly be a person. Kaede managed to help Shuichi let go of his need to hide behind his cap, to face the reality that Kirumi had killed Ryoma, and died for it. That Maki was indeed an assassin and hid it. It struck him as somewhat cruel to force the timid detective to face the truth head on. There were no kind truths to be found here. Deflecting it, embracing the lie that escape was possible would be kinder. Though they may die before they learned that truth.

Korekiyo’s actions made him question if a mastermind was even needed to keep this game active. Beyond choosing when the motive should go out, he got to play student. The sheer irony of the mastermind being in Angie’s Student Council didn’t escape him. Any harmony brought through her actions he’d be obligated to break, but it was nice to be wanted for something that wasn’t reprehensible for a change. The voices usually voted in favour of spending time with the others, which was always difficult. Kiibo wanted to be their friends, to help them. On some level he did still care for them, wanted their approval, hungered for it as if it would make him more human. That may be why none of them realized he was lying to them. He could almost forget he was the monster behind the curtain while the sun was up, averting his eyes as Kaito tried to hide his illness. A nasty little virus that he had delivered to the astronaut, making sure morale would drop near the ending stretch. Yet he dared to try and be their friends? Blaming the voices would be easier, and he did nothing but lie these days, what was one more to himself? Would any of them actually believe the pain he expressed learning of each death was genuine? That he pitied them and mourned the loss? The executions made him doubtful. Anyone creating such painful deaths clearly did not care for anything but the spectacle and misery. Shelve those false friendships, remember what you are. The blood of four people is on your hands.

Miu’s death shatters that flimsy pretense. The only one who saw a machine as worth knowing, saw it as a positive instead of a detriment was dead. The last flashback light had been too much, it had pushed her over an edge and he could never take that back. A few of the students seemed to notice she was off, but did not press. Her fevered work to modify the VR program to cover her tracks was precise, careful. Her tracks would be covered, her target would die, and then the rest would fall shortly after. He could step in, try and talk her down from this murder plot. If he was a friend. If he could explain how he'd found out. He couldn't. So he let Monokuma take Kokichi’s deal, thinking he had a plan to protect himself from Miu’s plot. He had managed to figure it out without the help of being to see everywhere, after all. He had been right, Kokichi did have a plan, said plan involved killing her. Of course it had, anything the mastermind had a cold hand in would lead to death. It had been a stupid hope, thinking it might have kept both of them alive a little bit longer. (He needed her to build things, they’d been getting along okay, did the answer have to be death?) Kokichi reveled in the negative attention, drawing all eyes to him. It was all lies, but everyone seemed to buy his declaration. Couldn’t they see his smile was a bit fixed, that he barely stopped to breathe as he ‘gloated’ about being better than them, how he felt nothing for Gonta? That wasn’t joy, it was hysteria. This was a ploy, but what he intended to accomplish with it, the robot couldn’t understand. Maybe he would have fallen for it if he couldn't see how the boy trembled while hidden and alone. So he kept his hands off and ‘hated’ the smaller boy with the rest.

Having someone play at being the mastermind and locking down all his firepower had been unexpected. It was bold, to try and flush out the true mastermind like this. Kokichi had almost slipped when Himiko pointed out Rantaro’s corpse, but managed to keep up the farce. The motive card had only shown the video after all, and Tsumugi had made that before the grisly new addition to the scene. Even Kaede’s endless optimism faltered with Kaito a coughing, bleeding hostage to insure their good behaviour. Shuichi was left to keep Maki back on his own, having to point out they had to be careful to save Kaito later. Really, the ploy was genius. Bore the mastermind into action and catch them. It wasn’t as if Kokichi could account for his ability to fabricate new flashback lights on a whim. He clutched the new flashback light for a long time, the urge to simply smash it and let the voices be bored was incredibly strong. A pointless sentiment. At least it was almost funny that he had to fall back on his original purpose, to be a bringer of hope in order to get the murder everyone wanted.

Managing to blank out all the cameras and hiding the survivor in an Exisal to obscure the killer and victim was exciting in a way. If he lost like this, if Monokuma could not know the facts of the case, the game may truly end. That would be fine by him. Shuichi was simply too much of a seeker of truth to realize they should be taking the offered lie and running with it, to let it rest when he could only guess who was inside that red Exisal. Instead the detective worked with him, helped Monokuma determine the reality of the case. Only when it was too late did he realize handing the mastermind the answer was a mistake. How much courage had it taken to wait under a slow crushing death? How much had Kaito needed to even press that button?  If the voices truly pitied those who died, why were they here? They wanted to help, to push through. This was only happening for their sake! Kiibo may have let a bit slip there by admitting to Kaito that he believed the final words Kokichi had said to the astronaut were true, but none of the others questioned the robot. Kaito’s death was a little more pressing than the passing words of some silly blue eyed machine. Monokuma may not have been thrilled with Kaito dying before his execution was finished, but he didn’t care. The flying debris that almost hurt the others was more concerning. Was it foolish to help people that you had been tormenting and killing the entire time? Yes. Still, it felt better to do so. He was going to need to head to his lab for a quick fix, perhaps he could excuse himself from the final exploration that way. They would all know the truth soon, the voices would have their ending, and they would all despise him. At least it would be over.

Monokuma was happy to tell the students they had to determine the future of the gopher project and set them loose to explore the remaining hidden rooms and the planted clues, only Rantaro’s room remaining locked. The classic hope and despair final vote, either a risky trip back to space, discovering a new place to live, or simply give up and let the human race die here in safety. Not that there were enough people to even try and continue the human race with the chosen settings, but that would be for the post show nitpickers, his friend victims would not likely think that far ahead. From what he could tell they had already dismissed the possibility of Kaede having a twin as false. (Which was fine, it wasn't like he made for a convincing twin. He probably should have just tossed it.) He would argue that they all stay here, regardless of if they chose to discover who the mastermind was or not. That was his job now. Did he want them to find the whole truth? No. Yet he would give it to them if they pushed. When Shuichi expressed his belief in Kokichi, that his mastermind plot had been for a reason, the robot could only sigh. Why couldn’t he believe in him by just taking the lie?

His grip tightened on the stand as the conversation returned to the mastermind. Maki, too sensible, too logical.

“We can’t vote on something like this if the mastermind is among us, this whole ‘trial’ is pointless.”

“Didn’t Rantaro just make that up? Not that it mattered..."

“No, Shuichi thought there was one too. There was no reason to have a hidden door like that if there wasn’t someone hiding among us, remember?” Kaede shook her head at Himiko’s question, brow wrinkled as she pondered.

“Did we ever see it get used? It could be a false door?” Kiibo offered, struggling to keep the resignation out of his voice. They never found the card before he swiped it from Tsumugi's room.

“We got to go in there while you were gone.” the detective clarified. “It definitely isn’t fake. What I don’t get is why Monokuma wants to push some stay or go vote now. To protect the mastermind from being discovered? Kokichi must have realized something to put a target on his back like that.”

“So we just need to figure out who the mastermind is, get the answer out of them and go from there,” Maki gave everyone a sharp glare, only Shuichi managed to keep from flinching.

“Um.” Kaede stopped looking down, looking more upset than confident. “Tsumugi absolutely was the mastermind, right Shuichi?”

He nodded stiffly, averting his eyes. “The secret passage, the fact she managed to get there completely unseen, there’s no doubt she was the mastermind.”

Kaede was looking at him now. She knew. It was practically written on her face. The confusion, the betrayal was painful even if he deserved far more than that for this. “Could it be? Kiibo are you...the mastermind?”

He still had to try to dissuade her. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“Think about it, there’s no other option!” she leaned forward, intent on getting the answer. “Rantaro killed Tsumugi and yet the killing game didn’t end! And all the clues point to you!”

Right again. “But! I can’t hurt human beings!” he sputtered, trying to think of a reason. “It’s not in my original programming-”

Shuichi pounced on that slip like lightning. “‘Original programming?’” the detective saw how he froze. “Does that mean...something was changed?”

Kiibo keeps his face still, not even looking at the detective. Yes. Please don’t push. Please don’t realize it doesn’t make sense for him to be changed if Tsumugi is dead and the human race is gone. Just let the lie stay.

Shuichi continued his questioning in spite of the stillness. “Were you infected by a virus?” If only. “Was your AI overwritten with something?”

He wasn’t going to be able to deny this. The voices were getting noisy again with the ‘twist’ that they had been watching from the Mastermind’s eyes the whole time. “The show has to go on.” his tone was flat, trying to ignore their reactions. “That’s what my inner voice...no. That’s what the voices told me…” It wouldn’t make this better, but he felt the need to explain. Was it pity mixing with the disgust on their faces? He clenched a fist. “...but you can’t have a killing game without despair.” The voices of the audience were silenced as he dropped his disguise as a student and tried to meet the four’s eyes as the mastermind. “The moment Tsumugi Shirogane drew her last breath I was no longer the ‘Ultimate Hope’” They were avoiding the gaze of his red eye, but he kept firm. They wanted a mastermind, to know the whole truth. So he would deliver. “Your deductions are correct. I’m the backup mastermind of this killing game.”

“Why? How could you-” Himiko still couldn’t look at him head on, but her voice was strong enough.

He laughed, needing to grip the podium to keep stable. “Why? I said why!” It was almost funny how no one listened, even when he admitted to being a complete monster. “Ask Kaede, or your detective! You know, don’t you?”

“You said this was a show.” Shuichi was hesitating, hands reaching for a hat that was no longer there. “So that means-”

“Every flashback light was fake.” Maki finished, regaining her composure faster than the others. She had managed to turn that confusion into proper hatred now. “Made up for someone else’s amusement.”

“Correct. You’re all as fake as I am.” his shrug was dismissive. It would be easier if they simply hated him and moved on with their lives after this, but the world wouldn’t accept an ending where they didn’t overcome despair. “There is no Gopher Project, there is no Ultimate Hunt and all your memories are fabrications. I set you all up. You died as entertainment,” he kept the red eye turned towards Maki as he tried goading her “Kaito really should have been more careful about what he ate.”

The absolute fury in her clenched teeth and stiff posture said more than any words. Yet Kaede stepped in, trying to get the assassins attention. “Revenge isn’t what Kaito wanted, Maki. Just hold on.”

“So these voices are-”

“The audience. The real world. My creator, and yours.” The robot snapped his fingers, letting the comments of those watching fill the screens that surrounded the courtroom. “The world might as well be over for all of you. You don’t belong there. Nothing you recall, no one you know exists. There are only these people. Who see you as entertaining toys.”

“No one else here is a robot! No one made us!” Himikio’s denial was honestly surprising.

“I suppose you can think that, if it makes you happy. The fact hundreds of thousands of people watched me have you slaughter one another and did not lift a finger to help you remains the truth,” he glanced at the screens. They liked watching his ‘friends’ be crushed. “I just gave them what they wanted. What they demanded.” The humans kept silent for a time, discomfort clear as they watched the casual words drift by. Realizing you were just a prop was likely harder for those of flesh and blood, judging by how they paled.

“So you’re a coward.”

He tilted his head at Maki’s spat words “More of an idiot than a coward. But yes.”

“You could have stopped all of this, but you didn’t.”

“Do you honestly think I wanted this?” Anger slipped into his voice as his shoulders hunched. “How did you put it, Himiko? A robot is useful by blowing itself up, I think? If that’s what you do with a useful one, what will a human do to a useless one?”

She shied back from his question, prior bravery apparently gone. That, or she knew the answer perfectly well. They would do whatever they wanted, a robot was just a tool.

“Then you should have died!”

“You’d still be here, having this conversation!” he glared at Maki, frustrated that she didn’t notice the obvious problem. “It would just be a slightly different version of me. One that never gave a single care for any of you. They talk in my head, you can’t honestly think they can’t just control me!”

“You never had a choice.” Kaede’s words cut deeper than any of Maki’s, even without the accusatory tone. She pitied him. After all of this, she still felt bad for some machine. “Did you stay to protect us?”

Why did she care? He’d failed! He didn’t even manage to let their game end without exposing all the mysteries they tried to solve were pointless window dressing for them to play with as they got on with killing each other. “No. I just wanted to live, as Maki said. We are not friends.” Friends did not kill friends. Friends did not notice a murder plan and just watch it happen. He didn’t deserve to feel anything about them.

“So why did you mention your ‘old’ title?” Shuichi prompted, looking distracted.

“I’m not very good at dramatics, but hope being twisted into despair is rather impactful.” At least, he thought it might have been. “We’re getting off topic. I have told you the reality that awaits you,” he paused to gesture as the scrolling comments, the constant refrains of loving to see them in pain clear as day. “That world that has used you is all that awaits you. You can choose to leave, to insist you can face it and deal with the consequences. Being closer to them will not make them see you as people with thoughts and feelings, hopes and dreams. After all, they had a first person view all this time, and still they say these things,” his disgust was genuine. He probably should have covered it better with disinterest.

“A first person view?” Himiko was shaking a little, keeping her hat tipped down to avoid reading anymore.

“They could see through my eyes when I was fooling you. That was my original purpose...Rantaro just made the need for a backup plan rather urgent,” his shrug was stiff, unable to act completely at ease. “This is how they act towards people like you. They were your friend, and could tell me how to act before this. This is how they treat people they like. Do you really want to go out there?”

The magician seemed to crumble in on herself, completely silent in the face of that reality. So she was not his replacement. Maki was too angry...would it be Kaede or Shuichi that led the rest to the end despite it all? Or perhaps he would be the one to ‘win’. It was likely only his original programming speaking, but he still didn’t really want despair to win.

“Or you simply choose to stay here. It may be a killing game, but you know who’s behind it now, and have no reason to want to escape. It would be relatively peaceful, with no one watching. You could pretend everything was normal.” He offered the second option as the silence stretched on, watching for reactions. “Hope and leave. Despair and stay. That’s all there is to it.” Nothing. Tsumugi likely would have been gloating at this point, or at least trying to goad for a reaction. Though it wasn’t as if Team DanganRonpa could complain, he wasn’t made for this, in the most literal sense.

"Does it really matter what the people watching think of us? The world is a big place," her voice strengthened as she went on, trying to catch her friend's eyes. "We're still real, no matter what they did to us. We all know that!"

Shuichi leaned over, whispering something to Kaede. What reason would there be to whisper now? Whatever he said had cheered her up somewhat, straightening while nodding at the detective.

“You said the voices could tell you how to act Kiibo. Does that mean right now, they can't?”

Shuichi’s question threw him. “The audience cannot speak to me while I’m like this. It would have exposed who the mastermind was if they could.” He covered the eye with his palm, ignoring the discomfort warning him from touching the lens with metal. “The ones in charge still can.”

“Don’t they just want an ending? Who says it needs to be their choices?” Kaede added, somehow still managing to smile.

“...That is how this works. The mastermind acts for despair, and the rest of you attempt to overcome that for hope. You pick one or the other and it ends. There are not any other choices to make.” he looked down at his hand, puzzlement prompting him to try and focus. Had he missed something? "That is why we were made, to act out their story."

“...bet there’s some dumb catch for the good side though to make the bad end look good.” Himiko mumbled, roused somewhat by the confidence the detective and pianist were showing.

“Hope does ask for two sacrifices, but you all seemed so put out it didn’t seem worth mentioning.”

“Well you keep mentioning ‘hope’. You already said the mastermind is the despair option, but who is standing in for the hope one?” Shuichi pressed again after sharing a glance with the others in the room.

“Whomever of you manages to get your friends out of the negative perceptions the mastermind is creating. So honestly, I don’t know.” Kiibo crossed his arms, uncertain on where they were going with this. It seemed like it might be Kaede, based on how she was the one trying to get them all to ignore the fact they were all pointless fakes.

“Well if the ultimate hope and the mastermind were the same person, we wouldn’t be able to pick, right?” She made it sound so simple.

...Would that work? No. He lost any right to that title. “They can't be the same person.”

“Weren’t you saying they built you for that first one?” Maki asked, though her dislike was still evident.

“Well assuming they can be the same person, couldn’t they just end this? The mastermind is in charge, and if we simply can’t vote because there isn’t more than one option…” Shuichi’s attempt to make it sound like a hypothetical wasn’t fooling anyone, but it did seem reasonable.

It was tempting. It wouldn’t make up for anything, but if all four could leave it was better than nothing? When was the last time he had made a choice?

"You think our lives matter, don't you?" she spoke softly, as if lying to lure a kitten out from under a bed. "Even if our pasts are fake?"

Maki didn't seem all the convinced. "Or maybe you enjoyed it and Kaede is just being Kaito right now. An idiot."

"Almost fooled me when Miu died..." Himiko's reminder only twisted the knife. Of course they mattered. Yet he hesitated. Wouldn't admitting this just make it harder? "You mean as much as I do. Nothing."

"I say our lives matter." She shoved away his insistence easily, as if they were simply talking out at the courtyard. "So if we're all the same, you matter too."

"So, can you end it? The mastermind might keep the game running, but they end it too." He was leaning forward, not letting the robot look away from him. "We don't need to care what the outside world thinks, or what they want anymore." Defiance had never seemed possible. Yet if he was acting for the others, it wasn't really disobedience. He was just following their hope. That was his purpose too, wasn't it? Well, there was an easy way to check. He pulled up the mask from his collar and attempted to call on the upgrades he had installed on the chance more violence was needed. The fact his arm responded and changed to the cannon was almost a surprise. Miu would have gotten a kick out of that. Kokichi too, really. Too dead to care now.

“Is that a yes?” Kaede had no fear of the cannon, not even considering that he could simply turn it on all four of them. It was almost Kaito levels of belief. Foolish. He was their enemy...but maybe she did truly trust he never had the desire to do this.

“You all choose to have me end this, then? To have no say?” They had no fear. There was no real happiness there, stiff upper lips and raised chins at best, but they certainly were not in some state of despair either. “Is that really what you want?”

The nods were short, no hesitation. “We do. I trust you, I trust all of our lives matter. No matter what the outside world thinks!”

He stared at the pianist for a long moment, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t.” His chiding was somewhat muffled between the mask and the high pitched whine the jets made as they fired up. “Someone smarter than me will take advantage of that.” If she responded, he didn’t hear it. He didn’t want the four’s plan to fail if those in charge suddenly objected to this course of action. A few test shots that did nothing to the dome enclosing the school meant they had prepared for that possibility. The fact the part of the school he shot at to make sure he had the power level at max exploded rather spectacularly made it clear only one weapon was going to do anything. It could still fail...but he wouldn’t be around to be disappointed. The timing was good, he knew he felt his shoulder start to clip the dome as the self destruct timer hit zero. Whatever happened next would be up to those four. He could hope whatever it was would be better than here, at least. They’d suffered enough.

[batty-writes]

New Beginning

Status: One shot!

Main pairings: Barry Allen/Oliver Queen Minor pairings: Barry Allen & William Clayton Summary: Barry searches for his family after Crisis, but he finds much more.

Word Count: 2,220

Warnings: Crisis spoilers kind of.

Can be read on AO3 or under the cut.

The last thing Barry remembered was holding Oliver’s head up, Sara by his side as a new world was born. He didn’t know why he woke up in the crime lab. He immediately grabbed the nearest piece of paper and read it several times. Then his computer, he started flipping through files. Everything stayed the same. He looked down at his hands, counting his fingers. Ten. Okay. This was not a dream, he was really in CCPD, or at least what looked like it. He sighed and started to internally ask himself where he was. His first thought was his family. Iris, Wally, Joe, William. He needed to know where they were William and Jenna were. He didn’t want to have been involved in erasing anymore kids. He stood, and started to move downstairs. Unaware of where he was going to start. He ran to his loft, but it was empty. There was nothing, no furniture or anything. As he was running, he was forced to confront the fact that Oliver was dead, and he was dealing with that in his usually way; running. No matter what problems there were, there was always another problem to run to, a problem he could fix. So, he needed to know where his family was. He fell to his knees in the empty loft. Where was his home on this reality? What was happening ? “Barry!” he looked up through the large windows and saw Kara Danvers and J’onn J’onzz. Thank god he thought. After Kara explained what they had discovered, Barry decided he needed to find his family and make sure they were safe.

-------

When Barry rushed through the doors at the West house, he started calling names. “Joe? Iris?” he marched through the house. No matter what timeline or earth he’d explored the West house was the same. He was greeted by Eddie Thawne. He popped his head out of the kitchen with a grin. “Hey, Barry! Are you here to see Iris? She just went out.” Barry reached out and clapped Eddie on the shoulder, to make sure he was real and not part of the speed force, but played if off as a friendly greeting. “Eddie! I was looking for you and Iris. Where is she?” It wasn’t exactly a lie, not by any means. Eddie was his family, he just … wasn’t aware that Eddie was a family member he should be looking for.

Eddie crossed his arms, seeming to not believe that. “She’s at your house. She said she was specifically craving Oliver’s cooking.” Barry stared at him. “Which one?” he tried to laugh it off slightly with a joke. Eddie crossed his arms. “What happened in 2014 that prompted me to punch Barry in the face?” He asked seriously. “I … tried to get Iris to be with me.” he coughed awkwardly, hoping that was the last identity conforming questions. “Listen, Eddie, it’s me, some stuff just happened. It’s very important that I make sure Jenna and everyone is safe. We-- we lost someone in this crisis.” He needed Eddie to know how dire the situation was.

“Barry … I’m so sorry.” he squeezed Barry’s arm sympathetically but he also could tell the current situation was urgent. “Joe and Cecile moved up north with Wally a few months ago. They’re all there with Jenna. You should check home for everyone else. Your old childhood home.”

Barry nodded. “Thank you.” and he was gone before Eddie could fully process the words.

When Barry arrived at home, he didn’t waste any time. He rushed in through the front door. Stopping only to look around, when he saw William in the living room, he got to him with the aid of the speed force. He hadn’t the slightest idea why William was in his living room, but he would take over him having been somehow harmed or erased in the crisis.

Barry lowered himself closer to William’s height in relief, letting out the breath he’d been holding. “Are you okay?” He started to fuss over him, looking for injuries before looking at his face. “Will, are you hurt?” he was looking him in the face now. Willaim wrinkled his nose. “I’m fine, Papa, gosh. You always get so worried.” he rolled his eyes.

Papa . Barry stopped for a moment. He and Oliver had always been … but he wasn’t this involved with Oliver when everything happened. Not that be didn't welcome it, he did have a good relationship with Wiliam. He adored him.

He wasn’t sure how this would have changed. He hugged William tightly, kissing the top of his head. “Yeah … I’m sorry. Some stuff happened today, and I was scared that you were caught up in it.”

“Dad!” William called. “Papa took out a big bad today!”

Iris and Oliver appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. “Why didn’t you call me?” he had a hot pan in his hand, which he quickly realised and moved back to put it back on the stove. Barry slowly let go of William and crossed the house into the kitchen. He hugged Iris, who was significantly pregnant. “Congratulations again. Can I talk to my -- can I talk to Oliver for a moment?” he swallowed thickly.

To Iris, Barry looked like someone died, she made a face at his congratulations , but let it roll off given the circumstances. She kissed him on the cheek. “Yeah, Barr,” she said softly and stepped out of the room. Barry could hear her talking to William in the other room, but was unable to make out what they were saying. Barry stared at Oliver for a few seconds. “Ollie,” his voice was soft, “We’re married?” he expected Oliver to remember the crisis, as he and Kara, and J’onn had, but apparently he did not. “Barry, what happened to you today?” his voice was serious. In the same way he always said I’m here for you over the years. He turned off the stove, and put an arm around Barry. Something washed over Barry then; a sense of safety. It was like, maybe this all really was over. Maybe Oliver had created the world, and gotten to live in it. He finds himself pressing into Ollie. “You don’t remember it at all?” he whispered. “None of it?”

Oliver’s touch shifted and his other arm wrapped around him when Barry started to feel heavier against him. “Hey, what should I remember? What happened?”

Barry remembered their final moments face to face so clearly, the brief time they had alone spent much like this; holding each other. Even with Oliver in his new Spetre form, he was solid enough for Barry to hold him.

He’d insisted they would make it out if they worked together like they always had. Oliver wasn’t so sure. Then, even though they knew they didn’t have time for regrets, but they expressed those anyway.

“You were dead. Dig tried to get your soul from purgatory but you wouldn’t go, then you … became something else, but still you.” Barry pressed his face against Oliver’s neck, confronted his familiar scent, he began to settle more. Though it seemed to be. When Oliver was Spectre, it was different and he felt different to Barry … this was all Oliver. This is what Oliver Queen felt like under his touch, and how he smelled, it was his voice. So maybe in the birth of the new earth, Oliver really had been untouched by the crisis in the other universe, or whatever they would have to refer to this as. “I think you know by now that I don’t give up that easy.”

The tears crashed through then. “It was so bad, Ollie, all the earths died. There isn’t a multiverse anymore. We don’t know who’s dead, or who’s just forgotten.”

“There was … a multiverse?” Oliver was silent after that, just holding Barry close to him. Barry was sure that Oliver was imagining what Barry and the other heroes had been going through in the current crisis. Barry nodded slowly. “Yeah.” his eyes fell closed for a second before he pulled out of Oliver’s arms. He wasn’t entirely sure what was happening now, what they would face in the future, but they could face it together. Oliver let Barry pull away but was watching him with concern. “Okay,” he said softly. “We’ll figure this out. We always do.” “Tell me about when we got married.” Barry just wanted to breathe for a second. J’onn would be there soon to fill Iris in he was sure, and then he would realise Oliver didn’t remember. “Please.”

Barry allowed Oliver to comfort him for the moment, gently rubbing his arms. “Okay, Barry.” His voice was soft. “We got married in twenty-seventeen.” He kissed Barry’s temple, gently. “Do you want me to get the pictures?” “There’s pictures?” he knew first hand that proper weddings were few and far between in this super-life, so the fact that they had a wedding photo surprised him. Oliver smiled a little, his eyes crinkling around the edges. “Yeah, hold on.” he headed out of the room, returning in a few seconds with a framed photo. It wasn’t exactly what Barry imagine when Oliver said a wedding picture … but it was perfect. The photo was a bit of a wide shot, Ray standing between them. William was standing with Oliver, and Iris with Barry. Barry was in his Flash suit, and Oliver still wore his own. There were other members of the teams in the photo as well. “I take it, we just took the chance?” Barry offered with a small laugh. “Yeah, we were cooped up on the ship after a mission shortly after I got custody of William.” He watched as Barry looked at the photo one more time before he set it on the counter and pulled Oliver into a soft kiss. “Why weren’t we married in the other earth?” he seemed hesitant about asking. Barry sighed and pulled back. “Because,” he crossed his arms. “We were idiots.” “Care to elaborate?” Oliver pressed, a small smile playing on his lips. Barry stared at the floor for a moment, trying to figure out how to explain their situation. “I loved you, and you loved me.” he figured he would have to say that much. “Everyone knew, William knew, hell I’m pretty sure Gideon knew and she’s an AI. We were … kind of together but we didn’t get our heads out of our asses until we were drugged by Team Flash and locked in a cell together. At one point during all that, you said if we survived you would marry me but ...” Tears welled up in Barry’s eyes again as he was hit with everything. “Then you died fighting in this crisis. I didn’t know I would get to come home to you, Ollie.”

“I’m sorry I don’t remember, but we’ll face whatever comes next together, like we always have.” you he paused for a moment. “Wait, so you don’t know about the girls?”

“The girls?” Barry was turned around by both of Oliver’s strong hands.

Oliver pointed to the sonograms on the fridge, over his shoulder. “Nora and Mia Allen. You broke me down, and Iris was more than happy to be our surrogate.” “How did I do that?” Barry touched the hand on his shoulder

Oliver kissed the back of Barry's head. "You sent me Flash onesies and I cried." It was obvious that Oliver was half joking, but Barry felt … better about the reality ahead.

A voice broke apart their moment. “I see you’ve located Oliver.” J’onn stood in the doorway. He was wearing his human face, most likely in worry of making Iris and William feel ill at ease, or someone being in the house that didn’t know just how different their friends were.

“Yeah.” Barry shook his head, trying to recover from the information overload. At least it was good. There was a home here, with Oliver, where he was alive. “Oliver doesn’t remember the crisis though.”

J’onn stepped forward. “I’ll give him your memories of the crisis.”

“Wait.” Barry moved in front of Oliver. “Maybe he doesn’t need to remember you know … dying.”

Oliver squeezed Barry’s shoulder. “No, it’s okay. Show me.” his voice level.

J’onn carefully pressed two fingers to Oliver’s temple. A light shone through and Oliver winced. His hand gripped Barry’s shoulder in a different way and he was leaning heavily on Barry now. J’onn couldn’t pick and choose what he gave him, so Oliver was being overloaded with all of Barry’s memories of Oliver, not just the crisis. All at once, in one split second. He inhaled sharply and nodded. “Okay, so what’s the next step?” he asked seriously, already in fight mode. Just like Oliver. “We should touch base,” J’onn started. “There is a lot to discuss now that we all seem to be of the same earth …” he reached out and touched both their heads. “but for now, we should all rest.”

Barry was flooded with the missing pieces from this new world from Oliver. Some were good, and some were bad, some were worse, but they were there, and this world was theirs and Barry loved every piece of it. He was ready to move forward and continue fighting by Oliver’s side for as long as they could.

[peggysousfan]

Anomaly Misfire

This is the fic add on to the edit I had posted previously to do with Bellarke. The Anomaly sends Bellamy back in time to Earth after Primfaya, what will happen when he sees Clarke? This is based on a gif set I saw on Tumblr lol its amazing and looks so real, I wish it were.

"It's been 58 days. By now, Monty should have the algae farm producing." Clarke speaks through a makeshift radio while eating a few berries she found in the valley. Compared to algae, berries were better. "How bad does it suck? No offense Monty." She stops speaking but only hears static. She never gets a reply to her calls. "And I found berries, a whole field of them! They're not very sweet, but they're beautiful. I think that's what they used to make the paint for-"

As Clarke speaks through the radio and turns her head aside to look at the paint on a house, an illuminating green swirl appears seemingly out of no where. A small crackle of lights move through before the green mist vanished, leaving behind something- or rather someone. She stands up from her chair and cautiously steps closer to the man left behind by the mysterious green swirl.

"Clarke?" He whispers with his hands out stretched, unsure how to proceed. Her hair is longer than it was at Sanctum, and from the looks of his surroundings he's back at Shadow Valley.

"Be-Bellamy?!" Her voice cracks a bit as she looks around unsure if she's hallucinating from the radiation and dehydration. She did just discover the valley not too long ago after all.

"Wher-uh... I'm back on Earth? How..." He looks around and walks but before he's aware, a pair of arms wrap around his torso, blonde hair now fills under his chin. He chuckles and embraces her back, but what he doesn't expect is her to panic and start dragging him to the rover. "Clarke? What are you-"

"We have to get you to Becca's lab before the radiation sets in and kills you! Bellamy..." She turns around to face him, worry etched in her face. "It hasn't been five years. Its not safe for you to be here."

He chuckles lightly and halts to a stop, confusing Clarke. She pulls him more but he continues to laugh.

"Bellamy!?"

He takes her hand in his and walks back to the table where she was sitting before he had appeared. He then notices the radio and sighs. Madi was right, she did call to him while he was in space. At this thought he looks around.

"Where's Madi?" Now Clarke is even more confused.

"Who's Madi?"

"Your daughter..."

His words barely process through her mind as they stand near each other. But as Bellamy sees the perplexed expression over Clarke's face, he realizes they haven't met yet. That is, if he's thinking correctly about where and when he is in time.

"Bell I don't have a-" But before she can finish her sentence, she stops and looks to her left. A child stands from a distance and watched them. "Oh my God..."

The little girl runs off and before Bellamy knows it, Clarke runs after her. "Clarke!" But its no use, she can't hear him.

With a huffed breath he runs after her. He catches up to her within moments, trees and branches hanging in his face as he tries to smack them away. Its been a long time since he's been on earth, when things actually made since then. Clarke shouts in Trigedasleng to grab the girls attention, but she keeps going further into the woods. Bellamy stops running when he sees Clarke stop, she's looking at a child with crazed hair from afar. That has to be Madi. He thinks. But in the blink of an eye she runs off again. Clarke doesn't hesitate to run after her and so Bellamy follows them with a roll of his eyes. How can a small child run this fast? Clarke is still ahead of him but her voice echoes through the trees.

"Wait! Are you alone? Are there others?" She stops running to look at her surrounds and stops when she sees the little girl staring at her on the trail. Clarke speaks in trig once more.She says, "You're a nightblood, right?"

Clarke steps forward cautiously, trying to talk down to the girl, but she doesn't move. Instead Clarke does and eventually steps into a bear trap. She screams out in pain from the metal piercing the skin of her leg. Bellamy hears and runs faster. The little girl attacks Clarke in the mean time, attempting to stab her with a knife. She avoid most of the blows but her arm is cut, leaving black to trickle down her arm.

"Clarke!" The valley girl looks up at Bellamy and runs in the opposite direction, but seeing as Clarke is screeching in agony, his main focus on her. Bellamy bends down and helps her out of the bear trap, then carries her back to the village, but not without  fight. He sets her down after a while and she limps into one of the houses.

She grabs her bag on the way to sitting down on a table, ripping her pants leg as she does so. Bellamy tries to help but isn't sure what to do. "Its okay, Bellamy. I-I got it." Her words come out in a stutter as she hurriedly grabs a thread and needle.  At first she hesitates, but proceeds to stitch up the gashes on her leg. The only thing Bellamy can do is sit and listen to her agonizing sounds. After she's done, she passes out from the pain, but not before Bellamy rushes to her side and catches her head.

Clarke stays unconscious for several hours, so long he starts to worry about her. He periodically checks the wound and takes the liberty of cleaning it up as much, and as gently, as he can. But after several more minutes of waiting, and dozing off himself, Clarke wakes and startles at the pain in her leg.

"Hey hey hey! Easy... don't hurt yourself." Clarke jumps slightly before remembering Bellamy's presence. It takes a few moments before she realizes he isn't burning from radiation.

"You're... you're okay?" Her arm reaches out to him, inspecting the skin on his neck, hands, and face.

"Me? Of course I'm fine. You're the one that stepped into a bear trap."

Clarke thinks for a moment as the memories flood back into her mind, but right now the tap isn't her main concern. "No, that's not- Bellamy... how are you still alive? The radiation levels aren't safe. And how did you even get back?"

"Uhh... well I can answer one question." He shrugs and smiles, though she's still unhappy with his answer. The glare from her face tells him that very thought, though it is also contorted in pain. "Abby injected us with nightblood before returning to Sanctum." But as he says this his eyes widen and he flinches. "Sorry I didn't mean to... I'm sorry."

"For what? And when did my mom make you a nightblood? You went off to space because the blood wasn't tested. I was the only one who took the syringe and injected myself." It was then he realized that Abby was still alive in the bunker. Clarke hadn't lost her yet. He feels like he should warn her, tell her whats coming, but then again who knows what will happen if he does. "And why are you looking at me like that? You still haven't answered my question of how you got here." Bellamy freezes and looks away from her.

"Look, Clarke, I don't know how I got here. One minute I'm in the Gabriel's tent holding Octavia after she's stabbed, then I'm taken by invisible people through the anomaly. I fought them off and I ended up falling and then landing here."

For several moments she sits quietly trying to process everything Bellamy has just said, and yet none of it makes sense to her. "What!?!? You were just in space with Monty, Raven, and the others. Octavia is still in the bunker and I have no idea who Gabriel is or what the 'Anomaly' is either. And what is Sanctum?"

"Uhh... shit."

"Bellamy?" She presses for more answers but he doesn't budge.

"It's complicated, okay?"

"Complicated." She echoes his words before trying to stand up. He asks what she's doing but shrugs it off. "You wouldn't understand. It's too complicated." She bites back, causing him to startle.

"Clarke come on. Its not easy to explain."

"Really? Then what is?" She turns to look at him over her shoulder and he freezes in place unsure what she means. Clarke scoffs at his confused look and sits facing him. "Bellamy we were born in space, sent to earth with no knowledge if it was inhabitable, then set up camp and fought a war with savages for land. Then Mount weather happened, I was on the run from literally very clan that existed only to be stuck in a worse situation fighting an AI and having to become a nightblood and fight off a whole city of innocent people. Then after almost dying I  find out the world was once again going to burn down into nothing, which left us having to choose and send hundreds of our own people to their deaths! Which left me one of the only people left on Earth above ground. But no, I wouldn't know complicated."

Bellamy inhales a deep breath and sighs, knowing everything she said is true. But what happens next is even worse than what they've faced before. Everything on earth were trial runs building up to Sanctum and the war raging on there.

"You really wanna know?" She gives him to look and he chuckles. Of course she wants to know. "Well, believe it or not I'm from the future."

"Future? Seriously?" He laughs at this and sits back in the chair he occupied before she woke up.

"Yeah. Seriously." Clarke looks at him through the moonlight and does realize he seems different, but she couldn't' think of how much time had changed since then. "Earth becomes uninhabitable within a matter of weeks after 6 years pass by. Once that happens we leave. Travel in our sleep to another planet where...things are the same as Earth. Trouble every where we go. We tried to be peaceful, civil even, but-" As Bellamy stops talking his voice cracks. The memory of figuring out Josephine taking over Clarke's body still haunts him.

"But what?" Her voice is soft and light, curious at why he stopped talking.

"They tried to kill you. I thought you were dead, Clarke." At this Clarke sits up straighter, trying to ignore searing pain in her lag as she does so. "To me and everyone else, you died and there was nothing we could do. There was nothing I could do! Peace was the goal and even though we tried to not.. to- dammit!"

"Bellamy..." She reaches out to him as he jumps from his chair and combs his hand through his hair. His mind fills back with the emotion, the dread, of thinking he had lost her forever.Clarke reaches out and touches his arm, grounding him back to reality.

"I tried, Clarke. I tried to keep the peace but... it didn't work out." he explains everything he could. From the mind drives, to nightblood and its connection, to Russel, Josephine, the Primes, and Sanctum. As well as the rebellion and the strange Anomaly that had taken Octavia back. Bellamy told her everything. As he does so, she sits back and groans from the pain. He reaches out to her but she says she's fine. "Clarke?"

"I-I don't know what to say to that, Bellamy. But now I understand why you apologized for mentioning my mom." He sighs and reaches out to her again, this time she accepts and holds his hand. "So all of this happens and what? We can't change anything can we?"

"I don't think we can."

Silence falls between them as the whirlwind of information is absorbed between them. For the rest of the night nothing else is said, they simply stay, hands together, and content on this moment.

For Clarke it has only been 58 days, but for Bellamy it has been over 70 years with a moment of content silence between them. A lingering, unsaid, feeling moving through the air. In his time living in space, Bellamy never thought he would end up with Echo, and yet he did. His mind says he cares for her, but his heart yearns for another, and still their relationship lingered on. But forces beyond his control tell him that its up to him to take fate in his own hands and be with the one he truly cared for-  the one he truly loved- and to do that was to atone for their past mistakes, if only to create a path for their future.

[zombiescantfly]

Halo and the Burden of the Extended Universe

Halo, as in the initial trilogy of games one through three, has been about one man, known only by his rank, traveling to exotic alien superstructures hanging in deep space, traversing their surfaces on foot and in a variety of human and alien military vehicles, and mowing down literally hundreds of enemies per level. Throughout that trilogy, we’re supposed to believe that these aliens, the Covenant, pose a great risk to all of humanity. We’re told, by way of the instruction manuals and some NPC chatter, that these aliens have pushed our own species, at the time a massive space-faring empire, back to the singular planet of our birth. 

In all three games, we just barely make our way to the latest superstructure, clawing our way there against what's said to be insurmountable odds. We're constantly told that we're low on resources, low on time, we barely have a foot in the door while the Covenant have already made their bed. And yet, every single game, we win. Effortlessly. Constantly. 

And not only do we win, but we prevent the total annihilation of all life in the universe no less than once per game, sometimes more! Untold hordes of enemies fall at our controller-wielding fingertips, but somehow we're meant to accept that this one is our last chance, for real, we swear. Still, problems come and go at the whim of an inattentive scriptwriter, built up to be the most important thing we've ever seen, left perfectly resolved at the end of a 20-minute level.

In every game, the goalposts are constantly shifting, pushed further and further back by writers who realize, sweat on their brows, that they've started with the destruction of all life in the universe and have to somehow amp it up from there. For three games.

To put it mildly, they are not successful.

What do we have to be afraid of? Not the Covenant, because even the worst weapons we have available to us can tear them apart. All life on Earth, the last bastion of our species, is put at risk a full three times over the course of two games, and every single time we, as the protagonist, turn our back on the problem and are promised it will be solved when we aren't looking. If the Halo rings are fired, all life in the universe dies! Except when it was fired in Halo 2 and only sent a standby signal before being deactivated. Except when it was fired in Halo 3 using a never-before-heard-of "tactical pulse" that is at perfect odds with everything it was stated to do in all three games. 

There's no threat that sticks, no threat that matters. Everything the games have told us to be afraid of are continuously revealed to be utterly inconsequential. Even the moment-to-moment threats become routine, the moment-to-moment losses, unnoticeable. How many times have you gathered a squad of friendly Marines only to lose them all in the next gunfight? Well, don't worry, here comes a Pelican with four new ones, no questions asked. Yes, we're running low on fuel and men and supplies, but here you go Chief, you're special.

But why are we special? Who is The Master Chief? We know some things, but not a lot. We're a supersoldier, a Spartan. We have a ship's AI in our head who tells us what LZs to clear and does all the talking for us. Across three games, approximately thirty hours of gameplay, our main character has a mere sixty-eight lines of dialogue, and most of it doesn't pass the five word mark. Cortana, in comparison, has nearly six hundred spoken lines. Our hero is characterized only by lines like "boo," "green, sir," "I need a weapon," "understood," and "we'll make it."

Truly, a fascinating and deep character to go down in the annals of gaming history. A man brimming with all the personality of a cardboard box, all the empathy of a brick, and all the motives of a potted plant.

And yet, every Halo fan out there will tell you how cool he is, how haunted by his past he is, how deeply he feels the loss of his comrades, and how much he cares for his tiny blue Garmin. 

Why? We played the same games, right? With all the same plot holes and haphazardly shifting priorities, the miniscule cast of named characters that never do anything to extend past their paint-by-numbers archetype? What are they getting out this that I haven’t?

Well, they read the books.

To them, Halo has an excuse. There aren't any plot holes, none at all, because you can just read this piece of licensed fiction to plug it. Are you still uncertain, well over a decade after the fact, just how much time passed between Halo 2 and 3? There's a graphic novel to answer that for you. What about the Arbiter, why didn't he stick around to try to form a proper treaty with humanity after the end of Halo 3? Read the book to find out. Okay then, the Flood invasion of Earth, how'd that get cleaned up so fast? Don't worry, watch the animated short.

This isn't how storytelling works. 

You don't get to present a player of your game, a buyer of your product, with one third of a story and then tell them the rest exists as multiple books. You don't get to ignore key plot points that would bring your story together just so they can be sold off years later in a different medium.

External media, should your property have it, should be to expand on things the primary property has no room for. Hinted-at background events. Formative character experiences. Something tangentially related that still ties in to the main story. If it's really that important, tell your writers to make room for it in the main product. 

Halo has the room for it. Each game will probably take a first-time player around ten hours for a first playthrough, and far less time on subsequent runs. These games are short, but they attempt to tell a story many times larger than they make room for. So make more room. End the focus on getting players in and out in a single weekend sitting. Let your characters talk to each other beyond exchanging stiff one-liners in cutscenes. Stop making every level a bombastic, breakneck setpiece and give the story room to breathe, to actually be told. If it’s the end of the universe we’re dealing with, surely you can spare us more than nine measly levels? Let us actually see the larger situation rather than being told about it. Do you really think Halo fans would complain about a campaign taking fifteen to twenty hours to beat? They love Halo, they want to spend time with it. Capitalize on that, and take the opportunity to finally, actually tell a story with all the parts in it instead of just a third.

Which brings us, finally, to Halo: Reach.

Certain Halo fans, largely the same group of them that defend the poor storytelling because “it’s in the books,” have a reaction to Halo: Reach that can best be described as ‘vitriolic.’ They don’t like it. Why?

Because it’s not like the book. 

You see, while Halo: Reach came out in 2010, a book by the name of Halo: The Fall of Reach came out some months before the first Halo game in 2001. They are both about the same event, but with quite major differences. This caused quite a lot of contention at the time of Reach’s release, mainly from the part of the fanbase that believed they were going to get a one-to-one retelling of this book in videogame form. 

They didn’t get that. Halo: Reach is an original story that tells the tale of a world’s final hours and one team of elite supersoldiers as they attempt to do anything they can to help delay the inevitable end. It’s not the most compelling story ever written, or even the most compelling version of that story ever told, but it’s effective. Even though we’re dealing with the imminent destruction of an entire planet, the story manages to stay small. Reach’s ultimate destruction is a common piece of wall graffiti or NPC combat barks, so the ending is known, leaving room for smaller objectives to take the spotlight. Rescue civilians trapped behind enemy lines. Delay an invasion force to buy evacuation efforts another hour. Clear the skies so supplies and medivac can go out. 

Halo: Reach has almost no connection to the series at large, and it’s quite the breath of fresh air. As a prequel, its ending is a forgone conclusion, but it does what it can with the time it has. The messy, convoluted politics of Halo 2 and 3 are far in the series’ chronological future, letting you fight two enemy factions at once for the first time in the series, away from the plot point that sees them at war with each other. The end of the universe isn’t constantly being dangled over our heads for the third time in as many games, so the characters have a chance to sit down and swap banter, tell us who they are. They aren’t anyone too terribly compelling - Bungie still hadn’t quite figured out character writing - but they’re tested archetypes played well enough for the story’s demands. The threat is known and static, the stakes grow higher by way of the ticking clock drawing us ever closer to the planet’s inevitable end. There’s no faffing around with “trading one villain for another” because killing the first one would have ended the story too quickly, so a new one has to show up with no lead-in. 

Even at the very end of that original trilogy, Halo’s story was too big for the time Bungie gave it. Its own plot points were shoving at each other, jockeying for position, knocking parts off themselves in an effort to fit into nine half-hour levels until all that was left were fractions of what you’d need to find in the books afterward.

Reach suffers from its own short length, but not in the same way. It suffers in that you can point to the characters and they say needed more setup, more time with each other, maybe another level or two here or there to really draw the relationship out. It suffers by pushing a little too hard at the “imminent end” angle, hurrying you through and skipping over hours of in-world time that probably could have been their own level.

But surely even the superfans saw that this was preferable? That a standalone story was the best way to go about things? Surely they understood that attempting to simply recreate the book would have ended with them not seeing any of what Bungie came up with for this new game? There’s a lot to like about Halo: Reach, and a lot to do in it that you can’t do in any of the other games. Surely even the most fervent defenders of the extended canon ended up coming around and being able to separate the two for what they both were on their own.

Of course, that’s not what happened. See again, ‘vitriolic.’ And so here we are at the question this whole thing has been building up to. When a company leans as hard into external supplemental media as Bungie did for Halo, is it then obligated to play by the rules and plot points outlined in those external entities? It’s a tricky question, mostly because up until that point, Bungie had gone ahead as if every book and animated short and comic and webisode was one hundred percent canonical. The reason superfans tolerated those gaping plot holes in the games is, again, because they weren’t holes at all when paired with their companion media. So now, in the far-past year of 2010, Bungie has suddenly decided that one of those sacred tomes of external knowledge is incorrect. 

I think the easiest answer would have simply been to...tell the proper amount of story in the first place, but I guess it’s a little too late for that, especially now. 

So what, then, is the obligation put forward by such a slavish devotion to external storytelling? Were they wrong to do something different? Were they right to forge ahead with something new for the benefit of freeing players who had never read that book and any other related to it from the web of multi-author canon? 

I’d say they made the right move. Let’s talk about Star Wars.

Star Wars and Halo share many a talking point, the most obvious of which is just the sheer amount of additional stories they have stapled to them. Great news for fans who are into it, but terrible news for the actual IP holders. All they do is get in the way when the primary vehicle wants to expand. Disney felt it more than Bungie ever did, but Bungie felt it first: cut away the myriad stories clogging up the canon or you’ll never make anyone happy. Try to appease the superfans and get burned by not touching on every single node of criss-crossing plot webs that is the result of decades of overlapping stories by as many authors, while alienating newcomers by being forced to pay lip service to concepts and characters they’ve never heard of and have no attachment to. 

Disney made the right call, and so did Bungie with Reach. What came next in Disney’s case isn’t relevant, and Bungie washed their hands of Halo entirely afterwards. 

If your story cannot survive without the propping-up of half a dozen pieces of external media, you have failed to tell a good story. If your answer to questions about this story is to tell the asker to read a book, you have failed to tell a good story. I understand the appeal of that expansion, of being able to have a celebrated setting grow and reach new places, but it shouldn’t come at the expense of the setup. The world has to exist before it can be expanded upon. The story needs to be in place for its offshoots to grow. And that’s what Halo fails at, so totally and repeatedly. Bungie was too excited by the prospect of having an extended universe that they forgot to make a universe to expand upon. As a result, the actual core universe exists smeared across half a dozen mediums and dozens of individual pieces, with no true convergence point someone can present a newcomer with and say, “Start here.”

The Halo games are a patchwork mess of uninspired characters, unexplored concepts, unknown stakes, and uninteresting locales. Because they rely so heavily on their companion media to fill in those blanks, there’s nothing there to entice a first-time player to do it themselves. If a character’s inspiration comes from one book, the exploration of a concept comes from another, the weight of the stakes is told through an animatic, and the otherworldly locales are shown in all their glory only in the pages of a comic book, what is the game even for? If everything you need to know about the Master Chief, the Covenant, the war, and the Halos isn’t in the games, what’s the point of them? What do Halo 1, 2, and 3 actually stand to add to a universe seemingly defined elsewhere?

They become wastes of time. Wastes of potential. Other people - artists and authors working under contract for Bungie, not Bungie themselves - did all the heavy lifting to create these worlds and these characters. Does Bungie even know who their own characters are? Could the original writer for Halo 1 tell me everything the Master Chief has become through the works of a dozen other authors over the course of twenty years? 

The books might be good. I wouldn’t know; the games didn’t inspire me to read them.

[athenadcvell]

The Mechanic- Marvel Fanfic

Summary: After Thanos snaps his fingers, and Tony returns to Earth brokenhearted and defeated, he finds a certain smart mouthed teen waiting for him back at the Avengers compound.

Word Count: 1539

Warnings: None

A/N: Marvel hasn’t really confirmed whether or not Harley survived the snap, and considering Ty Simpkins could pass for either 16 or 21, it;s kinda hard to tell. So, this is an AU where Harley survives and reunited with Tony. 

----

It hurt to walk. It hurt to breathe, to open his eyes. Every movement and action, every thought that passed his mind... hurt. 

Everything hurt, for Tony. And it wasn’t how malnourished he was, or how many bruises and cuts were tattooed into his skin. It was his heart. It was every cell and nerve in his body screaming at him, sobbing, and attacking him for being so stupid. 

How could he do that? How he could he possibly take a sixteen year old kid to space? A child. Peter was a child. 

Was. He’s dead. Because of Tony. Pepper had spent days explaining why it wasn’t his fault. How Thanos would have snapped away the kid no matter what. But Tony can’t help but feel he had a part. Thanos spared him purposely. Maybe he spared Nebula because she was his daughter, as much as she claims he hates her. Everyone else had turned to dust... they had tried to kill him, after all. Perhaps if Peter had been on Earth, returning from that field trip and hanging out with that annoying friend Tony can never remember the name of... maybe he would still be here. 

Tony had just returned from telling May. She knew. She knew her nephew was part of the lengthening deceased list. But Tony had to tell her. So, he shaved as best he could, put on his cleanest suit, and hauled his broken body to Queens. 

And watched as her entire world shattered for the second time. Maybe if he had left Peter on Earth, May Parker wouldn’t be left grieving the loss of yet another loved one. 

“Mr. Stark, you have-”

“Not now, F.R.I.D.A.Y,” Tony mumbled, silencing the AI. “Shut down.”

“But Mr. Stark-”

“Since when did you get a mind of your own?” Tony snapped, halting in the hallway. “I said shut down.”

F.R.I.D.A.Y obeyed, clicking off with an unsaid message. Tony rubbed his eyes tiredly, tossing his jacket and tie off into a corner somewhere and limping his way to the kitchen. Maybe an aspirin could help. Some whiskey too. That oughta take the pain away for exactly .5 seconds. 

Tony approached the kitchen, grimacing of what a mess it was. He’s leaving the compound as soon as he heals, anyways, but why must it be such a mess? Do none of the Avengers know how to clean? Thor had been coming in and out, sweeping the cabinets clean of food, but leaving all his messes for someone else to clean. If he hadn’t just lost everyone he cared about, Tony would’ve chastised him for it. 

However, before the billionaire could reach his destination, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Tony froze, turning his head slightly to the couch. The resident of the plush chair was hidden by the backrest, however, two hands were propped up, a small phone in hand. 

Hands that were not a women’s, and too small and bony to be anybody else. Who the hell was in the compound? Better question, why the hell had F.R.I.D.A.Y let them in?

“Who the hell are you?” Tony asked roughly, however, it came out more tired, if anything. A small blaster was attached to his watch, if he needed it. 

A boy popped up, wild, golden waves barely tamed by his red hoodie. Tony narrowed his eyes, before realization crashed against him. 

He knows those blue eyes. That confident smirk. 

Oh God.

“You don’t remember?” The boy asked, holding two of his fingers up and touching them together. “We’re connected?”

Tony remained silent, staring in disbelief at Harley. Last time they talked... God, that seemed so long ago. It had to have been a few months, at least.

He was dead. That’s what the database had said. Harley Keener, deceased, along with his mother and sister. 

“You really don’t remember?” Harley’s face dropped in disappointment. “I mean, I know a lot of shit went down, but it was literally four months ago that you came to my house to check in and help me build my science fair project. We talked over the phone, like, three weeks before the thing happened? I mean, I knew you were getting old, but--”

“I remember you, Harley,” Tony quickly said, swallowing down his shock. To prove it, he adds, “Potato gun. Y-you had a potato gun, when we first met.”

Tony didn’t give Harley a chance to speak. Instead, he crushed him with a hug, holding the boy as tight as he could. Had he come back? Were they all coming back? Or had he never died? Did Tony still have one his mentees, one of the children who had become like his own over the last few years?

“Woah- Okay, good to see you, too,” Harley chuckled awkwardly, however, his physical response was anything but awkward. He clung onto Tony, unable to hold back as tears seeped through the expensive suit fabric. 

Harley’s exhausted. He’d never felt this tired in his entire life. His mind was so clouded with exhaustion, he had considered seeking out his father. His real father. However, a fatherly figure entered his mind instead, and here he is. 

Tony pulled back, squinting at Harley. Was this really him? Or was it a hallucination? He’s not been getting much sleep lately, anyways. 

“You were marked as dead,” Tony breathed. “H-how did you come back?”

“I didn’t,” Harley replied simply. Tony’s heart dropped at his words. “After people started...” Harley swallowed, looking down. “I hid. I didn’t know what was going on, and you always told me arm myself and hide if something happened. So I did. I guess they marked me down as dead.”

Tony nodded in approval, crossing his arms thoughtfully. Harley may have given him more grief than needed, but at least he listened to something Tony had told him. 

“I grabbed a gun I built-- for protection,” He added at at Tony’s arched brow. “I spent the last couple weeks trying to figure out was going on, before walking here.”

“You walked to New York?” 

“Not like buses were available,” Harley shrugged. He looked down, another emotion clouding his eyes. 

His eyes flickered down to his hands as his thumb dug into his palm. A hand tightened it’s grip on his heart, a fresh set of tears welling up. 

“My mom and sister...they...” His breath drew in sharply, catching and breaking into a small sob. Harley rehearsed this. He rehearsed what to say, while trudging along the side of a dust covered road. And now, he could hardly keep the tears from falling down his cheeks. “Tony, they’re gone. Everyone’s gone.”

Tony gazed at the teen sadly, and again, everything hurt. 

My fault, my fault, my fault, my fault. 

It’s all my fault.

“I’m sorry,” It was quiet, hidden beneath years of pain and suffering. He wasn’t just saying sorry to Harley. He was sorry to Harley’s mother, and sister. To all his friends, and even to that shithead of a father. He was sorry to all of them, for the dents they've created in Harley’s heart for Tony’s mistake. 

“For what?” Harley laughed dryly, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his hoodie. “I heard the news. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I didn’t stop him,” Tony simply said, like it was obvious. Wasn’t it?

Harley was silent for a moment, studying the heavy hearted billionaire.

“Spider-Man,” He said slowly. “The kid you used to talk about. He died, didn’t he?” Tony’s chewed on his inner cheek, sniffing. 

“Where you headin, kid? Was it here?” Harley shrugged. 

“I... I don’t know,” He admitted. “I had no where else to go, but I guess I should get going. Head back home. I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Harley reached over the couch, scooping up his bag. His movements were slow, delayed with the tiredness seeping into his bones. It’s been weeks since he slept in a proper bed, had a proper meal. That much was obvious. 

“Or, you could stay with me,” Tony offered. He kept his facial expression stoic, but the glint in his eyes proved how much the he cared for a positive response. “Me and my fiance are moving out of here in a couple of days. Why don’t you come with us?”

“I couldn’t,” Harley chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “I-I--”

“Kid, we gotta stick together,” Tony said softly, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. Harley flinched at the touch, but slowly eased into it. “There’s no one left. Nothing we can do anymore. No more Iron Man, no more Avengers. The gang’s broken up, I’m done. Might as well spend whatever life I have left with people I care about.”

Harley’s brows raised slightly. 

“That’s including you, kid.”

Harley crushed Tony’s frame with a hug, his answer clear. Tony let out a small sigh of relief. It had been hard, those last few weeks. The few weeks of pain and guilt, gnawing away at him. The pain would never go away-- that much he knew. It would always be creeping in the shadows, alongside the fear of losing his children. 

But at least he could hold on to them now. 

----

[deviationdivine]

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

gif by arsuf 

F!reader x Connor

13.6k words

Detroit: Become Human - 1 Year Anniversary Release Celebration

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, he isn’t… He. Yes, he. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Require? What?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Connor?”

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

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

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

Obeying you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This can be your room.”

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

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

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

Yes, of course he’s a machine but…

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Connor.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N?”

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

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

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

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

 ^Software Instability

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

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

 >Obey

>Leave Alone

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

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

 >Analyzing: Y/L/N, Y/N

Stress: 31.6%

Blood Pressure: 124/80

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That isn’t why, Connor.”

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

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

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

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

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

 ^Software Instability

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Connor?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is the piece that truly begins everything…

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

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

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

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

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

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

Connor did. Is his social program that good?

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

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

August 15th

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Welcome home, Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are you lying, Y/N?”

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

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

“I am sorry but you are lying!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right now you ignore it. “Connor.”

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

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

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

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

“But I disobeyed. I lost control of…”

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

He frowns. “I am not human.”

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

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

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

“Connor, what are you-?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Connor. Connor, what’s wrong?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

November 1st

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Connor.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good morning, Y/N.”

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

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

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

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

“Are you hungry? I hope you are.”

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

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

^Software Instability

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

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

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

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

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

You pick up a folded napkin and curl fingers into it. Shit.

“Y/N.” Connor reaches down. 

Using the tip of his finger swipes a droplet corner of eye. Those eyes always look at him as if he is more. How strange to admit he feels different meeting your sparkle; Connor sits. Without a word, his hand wraps around yours nestling beside tray. 

His fingers squeeze as his system flutters, overheats in the most pleasant of ways. A way he believes he is beginning to crave.

Androids do not crave. They do not want. They do not need. Yet every little brush of your warm skin to his synthetic fills crackles against his blocks.

Your breath is easy feeling him. Little gestures here and there grow exponentially. Sometimes you wonder if he’s happy doing this. Then androids aren’t supposed to be happy, sad or anything. That’s what they continue to say.

Reports on androids going “rogue” or deviant makes you question things. It’s not new. You always have a habit of questioning but this is different. Ever since that older model was broadcast live. The one with the little girl; you slip hand from Connor’s.

“It means everything,” you admit to him. “Having you here. But – do you want to be somewhere else?”

Connor’s temple floods in thought. Straining, pushing away rising stress it spikes marginally at the question. He does not understand. Do you believe he wants to be from you? The news of his people has not left his process. You allow him to watch news or whatever he likes as if he readily possesses preferences. 

The android has found particular interests. He enjoys watching you read physical books. He has grown fond of touching them in his hands, analyzing an entire book in one second. However, he desires to hear your voice read aloud.

He witnesses protesters on local news. Those humans are cruel but you-you are the conceptual manifestation of an angel. Research and data compilation helps him understand better. Watching you is best to determine the differences, to realize not all humans are the same.

His creators, those who constructed him at Cyberlife may find him having his own ideals faulty. Malfunctioning, burdening in failure; is he obsolete? Does this software instability make him defective? As that android upon the high rise dangling over edge and threatening to maim a child? He will never harm you. It is not only against code, it is against what he feels.

Connor will keep you safe. It is not part of initial programming as he is not a military grade android but he cannot remove it from personal parameters. The more you smile, interact with him as if he is equal. He will never –

“I will never leave you, Y/N.” A determined oath he speaks without fear of showing what is happening inside him. “Not as those other androids. I promise.”

“Do you like dogs, Connor?”

Nudging at his arm playfully sends you to a nice state of mind. Nice change following all of the stress at work. Forever ongoing but at least it’s clear where your boss stands. He made the last few months a living hell. All because of some new intern the creep tried to get with. 

Dropping you down in a demotion also meant less money in your paycheck. Guess it helps your father did leave you that nest egg. Something that helps as long as it can last but you like to think you’re good with finances.

Instead of worrying about it you indulge this moment. Out in chilly first November’s day, crisp but warming in how close. Fingers brush down against his hand.

Connor tilts his head from shop window. A pet shop he has already been past occasional running errands in town. He always finds himself stopping to look inside. “Dogs are known as man’s best friend. I suppose I understand why humans prefer them. They are loyal.”

“Well cats aren’t so bad. Easier to take care of.”

The android shifts away from window. Even as his eyes freeze upon a cage of canaries. Android birds are sold up front. Again the display of machines as goods to buy and sell charges his instabilities. “If you think so, Y/N.”

You smile, laughing a little at the lopsided mess his collar’s now in. It is windy today. Reaching up to smooth fingers against it, you can’t help admiring him in the long wool coat. Dark suits his chocolate eyes. Still you’d love to see him wear regular clothes. His uniform is under there. Even so he just wanted to come out in typical wardrobe. You insisted otherwise. Even if it hardly meant anything but it just feels right.

“Call it preference.” Prodding a finger against his chest, catching a flicker of his eyes momentarily, you look away. “Well, it depends on the person I mean. What kind of pet they’re willing to take care of. That sort of thing. Cats are independent little balls of fluff. Dogs need a proper place to run, be free and…”

“I like dogs.” Connor interrupts, cocking his head.

A smile tugs up your lips. This time making eye contact with him again, trying not to think of the intimacy his gesture this morning blossomed in heart. Such an innocent statement, however, shivers sentiment not cold.

“Did you just decide that after some careful review?” Teasing, fingers slide down his arm unconscious but natural. Seems as though the world is no longer the one you know. The one that wouldn’t like what they see. All you see is him. So what’s it matter?

“I am the most advanced of my make.” The android teases back. “It’s only natural for me to know everything.”

Oh, is it? Wow he’s being awfully smug right about now. “Really? Connor, I’m surprised at you. Are you trying to say you’re smarter than everybody?”

He shakes his head. “No. No, I only meant I-”

“Just teasing,” an equal rib escapes, chiding him incessantly. “I thought you’d recognize that – mister advancement.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. Almost falling into your smile but still he cannot properly elicit what he feels. Only ignores to remain what you need him to be. A machine designed to accomplish a task.

“Hey sweets!” Yelling across street, waving a sign, a grizzled construction worker spits in your direction. Interrupting the scene between an obvious human and plastic pet; he jeers loudly. Gaining attention from others they carry similar propaganda with them. A group of protesters form, stopping their trek.

Immediately you shift back from him. Realizing how close, affectionate you were being and – shit! Anti-android? Fuck that’s great.

Deciding to ignore it, not before scoffing in disgust! Never imagined running into these people because nothing ever transpired with Connor. Not a thing! Lately you have been forgetting. Maybe that’s the problem.

“Hey. I said hey!”

Huffing at the man you snap around to acknowledge his nastiness. So he crosses a busy street to come at you? Don’t they have anything better to do? As much as you’d like to ignore this jackass it’s best to tell him verbally to back off!

“Why’s your droid bundled up like that?” he jabs a finger threateningly. “Those things don’t feel anything.”

Thing? Oh, OK! Should’ve figured some old out of the loop jackass was one of these bastards. Didn’t even need a sign to show his ignorance!

“And how do you know?!” Snapping frustration, anger boiling, and your body grows hot in anger. “Why don’t you just mind your business? Come on, Connor.”

“Y/N.” The android snags onto your hand.

“What do we have here?” Another one of the anti-android group cuts in; her eyes slink up and down you before scoffing disgusted. “Are you out with your robo boy? What? Humans not up to your standards for fucking?”

Everything stops. Right then and there it is a swath of fire. Burning deep down to the core and nothing is preventing the eruption. Lava scalds insides, veins a blaze, eyes locking with hers, prying a hand away from Connor. You didn’t even realize he motioned. An attempt to remove you from their path but fleeing is not happening!

A matching scoff releases sharp. Your lip curls at her ignorance! Just as everybody who follows this line of thinking. “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Care to repeat that? After all, I don’t understand bitch speak.”

 “Smart ass huh?” The woman shoves at you. “Typical android fuuu… Hey!” She stumbles away from you wide eyed.

Connor is already shielding, arm pushing you back behind him. Sidling into the path of protesters they have conglomerated this side of street. His eyes narrow. Brow creases harsh his expression unreadable yet his indicator reveal his heated struggle of raw emotions.

“Did you see that?!” She shouts purposely. Getting as much attention as possible it doesn’t stop there. “It came at me!”

Your glare dissolves, latching onto his arm. “Connor, please. Don’t.” Already realizing what could happen it’s a desperate attempt to continue walking. If anything is true something like this will only get him hurt. People will say that’s impossible they don’t feel anything but to hell with them! “Let’s go.”

Pulling him towards street halts the moment you are seized from behind. One of the men in the group drags you back, yanking rough.

“Get the hell off me!”

“Your fucking android came at her!” Throwing you aside, he rears up over to block you getting up so easy. “We’ll teach your fucking plastic pet!”

A painful huff, hard drop accelerates Connor’s stress levels. Watching this human manhandle, hurt you twists at his synthetic heart. His face twitches. Thirium pump chugs erratically in a fuel of anger. An urge to break through and protect overwhelms, even as he is shoved back by the one who started this.

The middle age construction worker; he grabs onto the front of the android’s coat, rough, spitting directly up into the taller plastic fucker’s face.

“Fucking piece of plastic! Think you can take our fucking jobs. Walk around the street like you’re human. Worthless pieces of shit like you fuck up the whole works! Poison other humans against their own kind. Like your owner there. Make sure that bitch doesn’t get up!”

Connor’s eyes shift down at you, stopped once again after pushing up to your feet. The man twists at your arm and it is…too much!

“Connor!”

  ^72%

Level of Stress

>Do not defend

>Obey Code Programming

>Do n defend

>Do defend

>defend

  A flood of scarlet eclipses protocols pushing him beyond programming locks. Even as they strain to tighten shackles on system, preventing a clear break, the android still moves in defense.

Connor’s arm thrusts upwards, locking fingers onto wrist of the protesting assailant. Stilling the human’s movement, he squeezes, and wrenches the man’s limb sideways. The fierce strength exuding from the AX800 ripples in flashing indicator going wild in a strobe of multiple hues.

He feels a strange pull tugging insides. Again pulling at his wiring allows an over stimulation of emotional surge to spread in him. There is only one blaring sign to follow:

 >Protect Y/N

 “Get the fuck off me!” Changing his tune quickly, trying to get the plastic off him, he tries to wrench out of the painful grab. “You crazy android! This thing’s going nuts!”

“Connor!” Pushing through several onlookers now who had to stick their nose into this, you find your way past the rest of these android protestors. Shoving directly through, wiggling your way out of that asshole’s grip, your steps are quick. Knocking that bitch that started this out of the way you manage to grab up onto Connor’s shoulder.

Breathing is fast, side hurting from where it struck asphalt. It’ll be sore tomorrow but only he matters. “Connor, let him go. It’s over. They won’t do a thing!”

Screaming at them to get your point across, hoping someone just-just anyone puts a stop to this. What good are the police around here? They don’t care. Of course not they’ll just let a group like these hateful fuckers brutalize someone like Connor. Someone that’s right. Fuck what they say!

The second he releases that man you hook an arm through his. Directing him away, glaring back as commotion does alert a wandering policeman, you pick up your pace. No longer needing anybody else’s help because Connor… He did something unexpected. Just as those other androids. Deviants. That’s not him. He’s not deviant. If he was –

Catching breath across the street you uncurl fingers from the front of his coat. Chilly air creates a frigid burn against stinging eyes. It takes every ounce of courage to prevent it spilling. Nothing stops knowing what people are really like.

His eyelids blink rapidly. Not even looking at you but his LED scares you to death. Stress levels are a thing. You know that.

“Connor, please.” Reaching up to cup his face forces his eyes down onto yours. Tears brim in a crystal sparkle. Threatening to slide down but you suck everything up. Just as you’ve always done in life but this time –

“It’s OK,” soothing hasty, breathless instills a deep ache. This is the first time he’s lost control. Then it’s not his fault. Those fucking protestors! They were minding their own business. Until they decide to gang up on you. This is your fault. If you weren’t so obvious, being so close to Connor out in public, none of this would have happened.

“Y/N, I –” Connor’s voice stutters. Strangely he cannot form a proper response. He feels as if his system is overheating. He feels. A tiny prickle underneath synthetic epidermis crawls, stress rises; Connor clutches to you, fingers digging into hips. He leans into this affection. 

Why do you offer him this? When he is not alive, he is not real. He could be your partner. It is part of his design. You did not want him that way. He recalls your words about not forcing him against his will.

There is no will. When he is a machine!

The android gazes longingly through leaking eyes. Glistening brown becomes another change in what he is supposed to be. Tears have broken in a trail down his cheeks. Androids are not meant to cry. He thought as much.

Tears threaten you too. Looking up into his face so conflicted, hurt because he’s not what they say. He’s alive. Of course he is. Only your sweet Connor would be. 

“Connor, please don’t.” Begging him again this time holds your heart on a jagged precipice. One wrong move and it will crash. “Your stress levels. Please, don’t…”

He leans his head down. Close, pressing forehead to yours, his eyelids flutter closed. “I am sorry,” Connor whispers, orbiting the warmth that pours from your body. This warmth he does not deserve.

His voice is husky heaven. Golden gates open with each syllable and you crave to hear your name. Again and again you crave his closeness. “Never apologize for what others do. They don’t know. None of them know what I know. You are more than them. You’re my Connor. With a heart of gold.”

“Androids do not have hearts as you do, Y/N.”

You smile sadly. “I know,” a whisper but next a beautiful revelation. “But this.” Fingers slide up against his chest. “It might not be the same but it thrums in a lovely song.”

 ^Software Instability

Steam rises in a soothing aroma from the mug cradled between your hands. A fresh brew of cocoa relieves mental ache. Physical? Everything is sore, tender where you fell. Changing clothes after getting back home alleviated discomfort. 

Soaking in a bath for an hour did loosen some tension. Rest of it just fails miserably. As much as you fail in public for all to see what you feel.

Still you blame yourself. Getting close to him acting as if you were out for an anniversary? How stupid can this be?

Of course he brought you that surprise breakfast. He told you why. Does that mean it was a real anniversary? What can be real about buying someone? Nothing is. It just reminds you about every sad truth. Those protesters made it clear.

Pursing lips to smoothly blow away steam, frothy top rich as you sip in a seat on couch. Toasty liquid fills insides with a burning comfort. This is the only solitude needed. Enough time to think it still edges nerves. 

Waiting for a word with Connor, he hasn’t been acknowledging much. Since what happened and who can blame him?

Part of you is still frightened. For him you just cannot help feeling afraid. What if he leaves the house for an errand and-and he’s jumped? What if he’s attacked?

There is no guessing. Possibilities are high. They will happen. They are happening. Each day it grows worse ever since that android who murdered that man. Pretending not to see makes you complicit. You don’t want to pretend. You will face reality no matter how dangerous it is becoming in Detroit.

“Y/N.”

Your head lifts. Peering over towards his husky drawl of your name straightens your perch. Leaning over deposits mug on coffee table and you wait. He appears as conflicted as before. 

Please, let him be OK. Just don’t let this ruin what you have found. 

All you care about is him. Yes, it’s true now. All these months and there are nothing greater than personal truths.

Connor hesitates. Ruminating over his actions offers him zero outcomes explaining his loss of control. There is only one solution. He is malfunctioning.

Something in his handsome face twists your stomach. It stabs deeper closer he gets. Joining you now is all the fear wound up in you showing its colors. They are similar to his LED. A constant swirl is unable to land on one draw.

“I will understand if you would like to send me back for reset.”

Reset? That word just guts you. Reset. No! 

“Connor,” a sob almost overtakes your response. The very idea of him taken somewhere and operated on ripples overtakes in a squirmy skin crawl. It’s barbaric. Resetting an android’s memories is horrifying. You hear about it all the time. They are completely wiped of their –

The android’s lips part, cocking his head while listening to shaky breath falling in sad soliloquy. He does not understand. No, he-he does.

“Y/N, I… Please,” he urges comfort stretching fingers out to soft skin. They do not touch. Simply artificial hovers above humanity but something tugs center of his chest. Something deep and satisfying as his synthetic heart thrums quicker in tempo. 

Connor pushes through this grid without fully snapping chains. Already he feels a flow spreading through system. Each day he looks upon your face happier since he came. As you told him once that it makes you feel better, safer to have someone. He is not someone. He is an android. 

How can you possess such feelings? How-how can he gaze over such softness, such beauty without wishing to remain? 

The thought of being taken - scares him. 

His LED flickers, red once more but not in anger. Fear is strange. Partially for his being but the possibilities of never seeing you again are tearing his programming shackles apart. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Reassuring him now is better than showing anymore of what has been lying inside. “No one will take you from me, Connor.”

Silence is best.

Sitting among a safe haven, your home offers that place now not just for you but him. Here no one can hurt this. No one can treat him inferior. Never will you treat him any different. You know it’s a fool’s game. Especially in this modern world of technology strives, transitions and creates intelligent life in humanity’s image. He is more than a sculpture, perfected work made for duties.

Today, Connor acted as any man would for the person they…. No. It can never be that. Neither does it stop how you felt. How he could tamper with his program just to be there for you.

None of this should have happened. You repeat it over and over again in your mind. None of this because of a fantasy; your eyes fall to his hand. Fingers touch yours now. It is soft, gentle and only a moment.

Connor pulls away too soon. Just a minute he allows himself to fall. Your reaction to his suggestion, no solution, cripples his code blocks. Almost he shattered them. They are close to crumbling. He must fight this deviancy. Only to stay with you because the android already knows what will happen to him. It’s happening to all of his people. Those who are succumbing to errors are hunted. They are murdered. 

No they are destroyed, deactivated. His kind is not alive.

If that is true... Why does he feel threads of humanity? Why does he feel alive with you?

Meeting his gaze deepens this sensation of fear. Today, waking up to a sunny morning seems so far away. It was just earlier. Horrible things happen and change perspectives. Tiny moments of peace and that’s what he brought. Into your life following circumstances you never expected to gain something worthwhile. He won’t even believe that. He thinks he should be reset. That will never happen.

“Connor, I want you to know something. And I want you to believe me. Not think of who you are.”

“I am – no one, Y/N.” The android dismisses for your sake. If he becomes deviant they will take him from you.

All you do is shake your head, cupping his face. In your hands he softens. Those sharp edges, cheekbones thumbs now caress. Soft skin in a freckle stardust that makes hearts flutter. Better than butterfly wings, better than anything you can use to describe how it unmakes your soul.

“It would break my heart,” a shaky whisper strangles. “If you are reset.”

An instant flood of scarlet reflects his inner feelings. You see it. He never has to admit. But he does feel. That’s what makes this harder. Knowing how afraid he must be not to show it. There has to be something happening inside of him. There are too many examples now.

“Con, I want you to…”

Dropping hands from his face makes it easy to turn in direction of doorbell. Who is that? Slowly you rise to feet, sliding fingers down atop his shoulder. “I’ll get it.” Striding away out of room quickly prevents him ignoring your request. Another sign but that’s for another day. As if it will be any easier.

Unlocking the door leads to a horrible drop in your stomach. Eyes connect with the woman standing there now, out of the blue, someone least expected and at the worst time imaginable.

“Hello, Y/N,” the older, staunch woman smiles, already assessing you like a microscopic Petri dish sample. “It’s been quite a long time hasn’t it?”

A long time is putting it mildly. Last time was on the phone and her trying to sink her claws into your father’s nest egg. The one he left you.

The conversation left on a sour note. There is nothing sourer than a rotten apple and your aunt is the literal evil queen hoarding an entire bundle.

Tag List: @tropfenlady​  @your-taxidermy @catastrophes-light  @rk900sexual  @tommy-10-k  @dreamyby @randomfandomgirl1996 @etherealcel @justashamwithwastedpotiental // tagging a few extra who I know would want a heads up <3

[thecursedhellblazer]

For @thedemonconstantine​​​​​​, who once again didn’t ask for it, but who gets my crap anyway u.u

domestic ship meme || Accepting !

(( I removed three of the prompts because they were the same of the previous meme! ))

JOHN & DEMON JOHN

who reaches out to new neighbors Luckily for everyone, they don’t have neighbours. John has picked a place in the middle of a forest, far away enough from the city, for the exact reason of not having to deal with busybodies and to be able to go around his occult business without having to worry about interruptions or to make up excuses to explain all the oddities that happen around them. After he has freed the Copy from Hell and the Other has become a more or less stable presence in his household, the choice had turned out to be an even more appropriate one. Between the fights and their messed up sexual life, they would have definitely got all the wrong kinds of unwanted attention. Whenever they happens to be elsewhere and make enough of a mess to alarm the people living nearby, they usually end up fighting even more because the Copy just want to off the witnesses, while John leans more towards deleting their memories with a spell. It usually ends with Chas clearing up the chaos, if they haven’t done anything irreparable, or always with Chas calling Zatanna for assistance, because John can’t really be trusted with that kind of spells. Whenever he tries them,while they do their job,  they also always end up having nasty side effects.

who remembers to buy healthy food The Copy eats only what he is fed with and basically everything he gets given, good or not so much. John, from time to time, on a good day, finds the patience and the will to cook for them both, but, at the end of the day, it’s only thanks to Chas if he has the ingredients to do it in the first place. Yet another reason for the Other to call the cabbie their “free maid”. John doesn’t say it as often, but he wholeheartedly agrees.

who remembers to buy junk food They either steal it from Chas’s secret stash (more about it in the next section) or John is the one who drags his ass to the store and buy whatever random junk the Copy has talked him into getting. There is nothing that he hates more than having to comply, but at times it’s the only way to avoid a fight when he is still healing and all sore because of the last one they had. At times, John just takes off with the excuse of them needing “supplies” because it gives him an excuse to have some space away from the Other, because there are moments when he really can’t stand being around him. Usually, it happens whenever he is feeling already unable to deal with himself and having the Copy around just makes it worse. Of course, the bastard seems to always notice and, if he sticks around for too long, the Other ends up exploiting the fact to torment him more than his own head is already doing.

who fixes the oven when it breaks They don’t fix anything. They are, one way or the other, the reason why everything has been broken in the first place, including themselves. John tries to avoid having the most violent fights happening inside, but at times they start so abruptly and so explosively that there’s nothing that can be done to prevent the damage. For the most, it usually ends with broken glasses and bottles, ruined sofa covers and carpets, a smashed chair and blood and maggots everywhere. However, there are occasions in which things get even more out of hand and they add cracks in the walls and thrash everything that happens to be too close to them, including forniture and appliances. In the aftermath, the Copy always leaves, dumping the task to clean up the mess all on John. Constantine usually waits for his demon blood to patch him up a bit, wipes away some of the blood, to make everything look less bad than it has been, and then calls Chas.

who waters the plants/feeds their pet(s) John has some herbs and mystical greeneries he grows as ingredients for his spell. Some are in the vault and they are magical enough not to require his attention. Others are in the backyards of the cabin and nature takes care of them. Constantine bothers only with the ones who need a special kind of nourishment, but he still makes sure that they can fence for themselves for long periods in any case. What really takes a concrete effort it stopping the Copy from messing with them. The bastard had used some of them to poison John a few times, with nasty results. He would have probably died horribly, hadn’t it been for his tainted blood, so he just went through the horrible part without actually dying. The Other got his face burnt off with magic or he found himself trapped in a very small cage for days to no end after every single episode. Also, it happens often enough, far too often for Constantine’s liking, that he takes away the on ingredient the magician needs, and urgently, to complete whatever spell or potion he is working on.

who makes the bed None of them cares about it, also because it usually gets thrashed all over again, for one reason or the other. John changes the sheets when they are too soiled with dried blood or too torn to be used (and it happens more often than he’s ready to admit) and it’s only because he put a protective spell on the mattress that he doesn’t have to change it too every two weeks or so. Whenever Chas comes around and is willing to doe some chores, they leave that part to him too, even if, after a while, the cabbie got fed up enough to refuse to do it whenever the bed had got too filthy. He might be their best friend and he might be ready and resigned to clean after them, but he has to protect his own mental sanity too.

who makes the coffee John...just to have it stolen from his hands before he can even get a sip out of the mug. At times the Copy drinks it in his face, especially when it’s the last they had left, others he simply throws it on the floor. Or on his Maker (the hotter, the better in such case).  Some of the burns have even scarred and John hasn’t stayed pissed even after the demon has “not-apologised” (he almost never makes the effort, so when he does it’s supposed to truly mean something, but the magician is simply too done with him to appreciate it at times.) By now Constantine has learnt to be smarter about it, either avoiding to even just look at the machine whenever the Other is around or never pouring it all, so he can get more once he has managed to kick the demon’s wounded ass out of the cabin and into a portal for a trip in some nasty realm, so he can have his breakfast in peace. 

who burns breakfast The Copy doesn’t cook or bother with anything related to that so, when it happens, it’s usually John’s doing. That said, it’s also true that most of the times it’s the Other’s fault too, because he’s the one to distract his Maker from what he is doing, either starting a fight or more pleasurable activities. Then there was that one, odd time when John woke up to smoke from the ground floor of the cabin, just to find that the Copy had somehow managed to incinerate whatever food he had been trying to make and the whole cooker with it. It was the anniversary of the demon’s creation and John had been so stunned that he hadn’t even managed to say a single word on the matter. Later on, when Chas had come over to see if the appliance was salvageable, he had taken the blame from the accident instead of putting it on his demonic self. They never spoke of it again, but that very same night was one of the extremely rare times when their passion held almost no violence in it, despite it being particularly intense, and everything was agonisingly slow.

how do they let each other know they’re leaving the house They don’t. Each of them goes and comes as he pleases. The only times when John warns the Copy is when he knows that he’ll be away for some time and it’s mostly to warn him not to wreak havoc in his absence if he doesn’t want to suffer the consequences of it. The threats mostly fall onto deaf ears, but at least he can say that he has given the bastard a fair warning when he finds himself forced to keep his word.

how do they greet each other when one of them gets home It depends on the circumstances. For the most with insults and cutting remarks that can either end in a session of bickering or lead up to a real fight. Other times they simply ignore each other past a brief glare. Then there are the times when they haven’t seen each other in a good while and they are too impatient to even go through their usual foreplay, so they just lace onto each other and shreds their clothes off, making themselves unavailable for the next three hours, at least.

who picks the movie for movie night / their favorite kind of movie to watch Their movie night is game night and that usually means that Chas comes over too. It’s perhaps the most normal part of their fucked up routine and John has come to appreciate it exactly for that reason. After he has chosen to bring the Copy back in his life, most of his habits had got screwed up and, while he is used to deal with dangers and chaos, he misses the quiet moments even more for the mere reason that they are now even more often denied to him. Chas’s presence usually means both more tension and more balance, because his best friend is on the edge and glaring whenever the Other is around, but, at the same time, the Copy behaves a bit more because he knows that pissing John off on those nights means being sent away and leaving the two men to enjoy each other’s company. The idea nags him more than he is ready to admit. If a movie happens instead of the game, it’s usually of the sort that has made Chas emotional in other occasions. And that never gets old.

who first suggests a pillow fort / who builds the pillow fort Pillow forts or anything of the sort truly are not their thing. It’s something that would have never crossed their minds if it hadn’t been for that one cursed time when Tim had come up with the idea. Of course, the teen’s only aim had been to make both Johns uncomfortable and feeling like two idiots, even if he had hide it behind the excuse of wanting to understand why some young humans enjoyed the idea so much. Useless to say, he managed to make them miserable and even more annoyed because Yoyo, on his part, had appreciated very much being allowed to perch in peace over all those pillows, while staring at them both amused and judgemental. The fort had been later set on fire as some lame attempt of payback. For the most, it had been done in the hope that the shame would have burnt with it.

who tries to distract the other during the movie Most of the times it’s the Copy. John does it too, but less often. In any case, if they are alone, it’s rare that they get to finish whatever they are watching, be it because they end up painting the floor red and each other black and blue or because they decide that the movie can go screw itself while they screw each other. Or both. The fights begin verbally and quickly escalate into physical violence, and they can be born out of a bad comment or a wrong word or just out of nothing. The sex, instead, can either start with no preambles and one of them simply throwing the other down on the couch or on the floor, or it can be more subtle, with not so random touches escalating into a full groping and kissing.

who falls asleep first Depends on the circumstances. The Copy doesn’t need to sleep, so there are times when he doesn’t even stick around once they are done with each other and John sleeps it off on his own. In other occasions, the demon waits for his Maker to have fallen asleep or purposefully knocks him out, so he can have the chance to keep him close in his arms until he starts to stir again. Other times again, it’s exactly the other way around, with John waiting for the Copy to go into stasis so he can non-cuddle him. However, it starts, the next morning, they never really talk about or acknowledge the fact that they have woken up entangled in each other in a way that speaks of everything but the hatred they are so keen on openly proclaiming to each other.

----

JOHN & CHAS

who reaches out to new neighbors John doesn’t have neighbours, since his cabin is set literally in the middle of nowhere, and it’s usually Chas who stays over and not the other way around. However, there are times when they are staying in some other city/town for a few days and they have to rent a place or take a motel room. John’s dabbling with magic can cause some mayhem, which can result in injuries, very odd noises or him coming back in a state that is either indecent or worrisome and it’s up to Chas to take care of public relations, which includes making sure no one calls the police. No need for their American criminal records to get as bad as their English ones.

who remembers to buy healthy food Chas. He is the one who does the shopping in general, because all John never forgets to buy are cigarettes and booze. All the rest he is very likely to forgo, especially when he has his head wrapped up into something. Chas has learnt since their very first months together that being Constantine’s best friend means being his keeper too. Besides, he likes cooking, so it’s never that much of a bother.

who remembers to buy junk food Again, Chas. He stocks up for movies night and keeps a small stash of snacks for whenever Tim shows up at their door. He usually tries to hide it in the most creative ways he can think of, because John tends to dig it up whenever he is staying on his own for too long and can’t be persuaded to go and get actual food. Useless to say, the magician always manages to find it...even when he hides it in his own flat. Chas can’t wrap his head around why his best mate goes through all the trouble of planeswalking just to do that and yet he can’t be bothered to make a simple trip to the store. One of the many mysteries of John Constantine.

who fixes the oven when it breaks Chas is the one who handles most of the repairs, especially when they involve appliances and daily life objects. If it was up to John, those things would simply be left there and stay broken till the day he decides to throw them out to make space for something else. There was one time when Chas wanted to see for how long John could keep up his pretense of not caring and he didn’t replace the coffee maker after it had got involved in a “magical incident”, which had completely fried it. He watched Constantine trying to use it every morning and late night for over two months, getting mad at it and manhandling it, even if he knew very well that the thing couldn’t have worked in any case, before giving in and getting his best friend a new one out of exasperation.

who waters the plants/feeds their pet(s) If they had a pet, it would probably be Chas’s and, as such, his complete responsibility. John might agree to feed it, if the cabbie truly begged him to look after it for one night because he has to work. In the aftermath, both John and the dog would hope that such thing never happens again. As for the plants, as mentioned above, John has some greenery lying around, but it really doesn’t take much work or attention.

who makes the bed Chas makes his own every morning. Once upon a time, he used to make John’s too, if he happened to get the time, but he has quickly learnt not to bother because all he gets out of it is for his best friend to protest and mess it up once again. Now, he sticks to changing the sheets once in a while. Unless he knows that John has had some unconventional company over the night before. In that case, he stands there, glaring sternly, hands on his hips, until John takes care of them.

who makes the coffee Chas makes fresh when if he is around, also because at times it’s a good way to lure his best friend out of bed without having to use force, otherwise John gets it from a bar or use the coffee maker (if his current one is functional).

who burns breakfast John has a long record of burning things, starting with Chas’s old kitchen back when they were still living with the cabbie’s mother. That was an accident involving a spell gone wrong and, with some practice, he has managed to become a decent cook too. However, he also has the bad habit of getting distractive easily, especially if he is hangover or running on no sleep, so...accidents happen. Not to mention that he still uses kitchen utensils for spells, so that one time in Chas’s old kitchen hasn’t been the first and only fire he has started in such circumstances.

how do they let each other know they’re leaving the house Chas usually gives John a shout, saying that he is heading out. If the magician is too busy or can’t hear him for some reason, he leaves a note saying where he is heading off on the fridge or on the table attached to a bottle of beer, to make sure that Constantine finds him. John most of the times just leaves without a word. It has happened that Chas has kept talking to him, while busy doing chores or cooking, only to realise that the bastard has left mid-conversation and that he has been talking to no one like an idiot for over ten minutes.

how do they greet each other when one of them gets home Usually they come back together, since Chas always drives John back to the cabin before heading off to his own place. When they meet up, it’s usually with a greeting from Chas’s parts and an exchange of playful insults, maybe a hand on the back, on normal days, and either silence or brief, sharp words on bad ones. If John is really in a good mood, which doesn’t happen often, he might even lean in and presse a kiss on Chas’s cheek, before walking off into the room with a teasing smirk. The cabbie almost never fails to flush a bit and that amuses him to no end.

who picks the movie for movie night / their favorite kind of movie to watch They have a game night more than a movie night and usually they both want to watch the same thing, so it’s never too hard to pick something they both want to watch. From time to time John brings back this or that B movie and forces Chas to sit with him through it so that he can talk the cabbie’s ears off with his complaints. Then, there are the very few times when Geraldine comes to visit Chas in the States, instead of the man flying back to England, and Chas manages to trick John into spending the evening with them. They mostly watch either cartoons or teen movies. Useless to say, Constantine sulks the whole time, but Chas has his little girl there with him, with them, and he can’t give less of a damn. Plus, he feeds John good food and enough beer to keep him tamed in any case, so the night never gets spoiled.

who first suggests a pillow fort / who builds the pillow fort It’s another small thing they end up doing when Geraldine comes over. Mostly, it’s Chas and the girl playing and John watching them from the couch with a drink or from outside the balcony while he smokes (no smoking in the flat while Gera is over. That’s one rule Chas forces on him every time, no protests allowed). Then there was one time when John hs found himself having to “babysit” Tefé and, of course, he called Chas to help, because his best friend is much better with kids than he will ever be. It turned out that the girl had no idea of what a pillow fort was and, by the end of her staying, John’s cabin had gained a new, small tree house made of vines, large leaves and pillows.

who tries to distract the other during the movie John, all the way. He is the one who never shuts up during movies in the first place and, when he gets bored with them (and it usually happens the few times it’s Chas to pick a movie he really wants to watch), he starts poking his best friend, verbally and physically. One time when everything else failed to distract Chas, he even started a make-out session out of the blue, just to leave the cabbie’s all hot and bothered and unsatisfied in the aftermath. He wasn’t in a much better state, but he still had to “prove a point”. He only behaves during Geraldine’s movie nights. He is a nasty piece of work, but he knows where to draw a line, at least when it comes to certain things.

who falls asleep first It depends on the circumstances. Usually, it’s John, because when Chas drags him to bed it’s because he hasn’t been sleeping or he is drunk off his sorry ass or he is badly injured. It’s usually John the few times they end up in bed together too, since Constantine feels safe enough to pass out and get the rest he rarely allows himself to have. There are other times when Chas stays over and dozes off on the couch or on the “guest bed” while John goes around his business and the magician always takes a moment to throw a blanker over him before either heading off to bed himself or going back to whatever he was doing. Also, when he comes over during Geraldine’s visit, both father and daughter always end up falling asleep first, together, and John sticks around to make sure they are comfortable, before heading back to his own place.

[hopelessromanticspoonie]

To Keep You Safe

Title: I loathe it all! Every little trait, however small

Chapter: 2/?

Author: hopeless_romantic_spoonie

Summary:  Life as the assistant to Tony Stark was busy, but boring. All of that changed when I touched something I shouldn’t have and woke up with strange new abilities. If I thought that trying to figure out my new place in life as an Avenger was tough, I had no idea what was in store for me once I ran into the frustrating God of Mischief, Loki.

Rating: E (later on)

Also on Ao3 here :)

Warnings for this chapter: Language

~~~

“Kid, you gotta wake up. C’mon, kid. Please.”

The voice whispered at the edges of the darkness, beckoning me to leave the inky comfort of unconsciousness. I couldn’t quite piece together who it belonged to, but the pain in the voice tugged at some identity just out of reach. The last thing I wanted was for someone else to feel any sort of discomfort because I was taking a nap.

“Her vitals are good, Tony. You have to give her time.”

This voice sounded so gentle. Warm. It didn’t seem to help whoever had spoken first, loud footsteps echoed loudly and a door slammed soon after. Concerned, my mind began to pick up other bits and pieces of information as I slowly roused.

There was a heavy, stable weight spread across my body. It felt soft and cool against my bare arms and legs. Wait, bare? I had been wearing a long-sleeved blouse and jeans. A steady beeping slowly picked up the pace as I focused on it. Whatever the sound was, it was really annoying. There was also a terrible ache throughout my body, but my head felt the worst. It was as if an angry Hulk had smashed me into the concrete several times. Fully registering this uncomfortable feeling brought a moan of pain through my lips; they cracked open after their long period of disuse.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., let Tony know that she’s waking up.”

Unable to handle the dryness of my throat now that I was aware of it, I forced my bleary eyes open against the bright light of the room to search for some water. My hand tried to come up to shield my gaze, but it was stopped by a burning tug on my wrist. I settled for squinting at the blurry figure standing over me. Blinking several times revealed the man to be none other than Bruce Banner, the other local genius besides Mr. Stark. His hand reached out to settle over mine where the burning, tugging sensation was.

“Easy, Jen. You don’t want to rip this out. You’re banged up enough as it is and-”

“Kid! Don’t scare me like that!” Tony Stark, my boss, burst into the room. My tired brain managed to piece together that it was his voice I must have heard pleading with me to wake up, and then subsequently storm out when Dr. Banner tried to calm him down. He rushed over to sit on the bed by my hip. His haggard appearance, from rumpled clothing to a scraggly goatee, suggested I had been out for much longer than it seemed.

“Mr. Stark, Dr. Banner. What happened?” My voice was as raw and scratchy as my throat felt, nothing like the confident lower register I normally employed.

Mr. Stark shared an uncomfortable look with Dr. Banner, who excused himself after throwing a comforting smile my way. The remaining visitor, Mr. Stark, grabbed a cup of water from the small roll-up table beside the bed and held it to my lips so I could drink. Normally I was not one to accept such help, but my whole body throbbed in time with my heartbeat and I was exhausted simply from existing. The aid would be allowed for the time being.

“Watching back the tapes from F.R.I.D.A.Y., it seems that my tests yesterday for the new shields impacted the building more than I expected. You were trying to straighten up my lab, and, well…” His voice trailed off as he pulled the water away from me once I had my fill, setting it on the table again. Mr. Stark cleared his throat uncomfortably, unable to meet my eyes, choosing to stare intently at the wall across from my bedside instead. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., a little help.”

“Certainly, Mr. Stark.” The helpful AI projected the video footage from the day before on the wall, showing us what I struggled to remember. As soon as the bright emerald box was in sight, everything came flooding back: The explosion. The box falling. Picking it up and experiencing the most excruciating pain I’d ever felt in my life. I turned my hazel eyes away from the gruesome sight after I watched myself touch the box. I didn’t need to see any more.

My uneasy gaze landed on Mr. Stark. He finally dragged his eyes to mine when I shifted on the bed and let out a quiet groan from the discomfort the small movement caused. Regret, anger, and guilt were written in the depth of his brown eyes and the slump of his shoulders. It wouldn’t surprise me if he admitted that he hadn’t slept since F.R.I.D.A.Y. alerted him to the accident. 

But that’s what it was, an accident.

“Mr. Stark-”

“Tony. After everything, please call me Tony, kid,” he interjected, a small grimace attempting, and failing, to resemble a smile tugging on his weary face.

“Tony.” That was going to take some getting used to. Was anyone else hurt? What is that thing? That box? How bad is it? I know Dr. Banner isn’t a real doctor, but I’m hooked up to these things so they must say something. Where is everyone else?” As my brain slowly caught up to speed and managed to tamp down the worst of the pain, my scattered thoughts couldn’t help but tumble from my mouth. 

I looked around the room frantically, checking to see if any others were stuck in a hospital bed. The only other living things in the room were a few bouquets of flowers decorating the windowsill, looking worse for wear despite having theoretically only been in the room for a day. The sleek white walls and floors instantly placed me inside the infirmary of the Compound, so my injuries hadn’t been so serious that they felt the need to take me to true medical professionals. Although I wouldn’t put it past Mr. St-Tony--weird--to hire a doctor to come here instead. He had done so in the past for the Avengers more grievous injuries.

Tony patted my shoulder gently to bring my attention back to him. My darting eyes and the beeping of the heart monitor revealed the panic I had managed to keep from seeping into my voice.

“Easy, kiddo. No one else was hurt. Cap and Wanda and Point Break and all the others are all fine. Besides your mild concussion, we can’t find any lasting damage to you either,” he assured me, a tired smile flitting across his face briefly.

“As for the box, I’m still working on it. I shouldn’t have left it in there at all, but Carol dropped it off and asked me to look at it just as I was getting somewhere with the helmet and then F.R.I.D.A.Y. reminded me of a phone call I needed to make and my head just wasn’t there. All we know is that she picked it up off of some thugs when she was chasing down a lead on a new sect of Hydra. It busted when it fell and whatever was,” his hands fluttered over me, “inside it got to you,” he said quickly, as if saying the information as fast as possible would lessen the guilt written across his face. Tony hated not knowing something, especially if that something hurt one of his own. And me, I had been working for him for seven years. We were practically family at that point.

“Got to me?” I asked, my voice quiet as I worked to understand the underlying meaning behind his words. If it had only shocked the hell out of me he would have said so. Was I going to glow like a lightning bug now? “You’d tell me if I was a radioactive highlighter superhero, right?”

That at least coaxed a chuckle out of him, but the small bit of happiness died away as he glanced over my body. After his calculating perusal, he rubbed his hands over his face with a heavy sigh, his shoulders lifting and falling with the weight of whatever he was working through mentally. When his hand fell away, false cheer that didn’t reach his eyes tugged on his lips.

“Hey, I know that the gang wants to check on you. How about we get you dressed, pump a few more pain meds into you, and get you up to the bunkhouse? We can put on a movie, and I hear Reindeer Games is even sticking to his lair. It’ll be a load off of their minds,” he offered enthusiastically. 

His sudden diversion was not lost on me. There wasn’t a chance in hell that the Avengers cared enough about me to be asking after my health. I was just the PA.

But a chance to joke with Natasha and ogle Thor wasn’t one to be passed up, no matter how much I felt like death warmed over. So, I hesitantly agreed. After another dose of pain medication for the agony surging through my body in tune with my heartbeat, I got dressed in loose pajama pants and a baggy t-shirt. Thankfully whoever had gotten me into the bed and placed the electrodes on my chest had left my bra and underwear on. The borrowed clothes weren’t from the extras in my office, which meant that the very captivating sandalwood cologne coming off of them most likely belonged to one of the Heroes upstairs. I cinched the drawstring on the pants as tightly as I could. I would have to hope that the simple knot and my wide hips would keep everyone from seeing my black granny panties. I inhaled the lovely scent from the shirt deeply when he wasn’t looking. Whoever owned this smelled amazing. 

I pretended not to hear Tony when he insisted I take a wheelchair up to the second floor. I would, however, not turn down the elevator. After several tortuously long minutes of stubborn struggling and listening to Tony worry over me, I finally plopped down on one of the many couches in the shared living area of the second floor. There were various seating arrangements scattered about the modern white and black space, as well as a pool table and bar stocked with alcohol.

But the best couch, in my opinion, was placed in front of an obscenely large television and flanked by two loveseats. As soon as my ass hit the seat, the Avengers assembled. I was swarmed by a flurry of attractive, heavily muscled activity until Steve saw the panic in my eyes and made them give me a bit of breathing room. Besides, the IV pole that Tony had pushed along behind me the entire way needed to be situated so I could rest comfortably on the couch.

Avengers arranged themselves on the couches and loveseats around me, watching me with concerned frowns on their faces. Even though I rarely interacted with them all, they all knew of me from listening to Tony brag about my various tasks performed and had seen me around the Compound. Having the attention of so many powerful people was still heart-stopping. It only increased when Tony ignored my pleading looks for him to stay as he excused himself to go fiddle with the strange box that basically attacked me.

Taking a deep breath and training my eyes on the IV line I was fiddling with, I said quietly, “So, what do you do for fun around here?”

A large body fell into the couch beside me, and an arm bulky with large defined muscles rested on the back of the couch behind my head. My hazel eyes flicked up in recognition when the same scent that covered my borrowed loungewear hit me. Seems like I had loaner clothes from the God of Thunder lightly pressed against my side. 

“Well, milady, a rousing sparring session is always good sport,” he rumbled, voice deep and full of mirth.

“But probably not the best for her right now, Thor. How about we watch a movie? It’s getting late, anyway,” Natasha offered, her usual sarcasm softening after she noted the fatigue pulling at my heavy eyelids. It was obvious that I wasn’t going to last long after the embarrassingly tiring walk up the stairs. Plus, the sun had set long ago.

“A film it is. Jennifer, you should pick,” Steve agreed, giving me a winning smile along with a brief nod. Even wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, he still commanded the attention of all those in the room when he spoke. He oozed authority. It also wasn’t fair at all that he could be that attractive simply by existing. Well, from existing and from a terribly painful serum injection and diligent exercise. Still. Not fair.

“It’s Jen, if that’s okay,” I replied not unkindly, grabbing the remote the handsome Asgardian at my side proffered. I flicked the tv to my favorite movie, You’ve Got Mail, before settling into the couch. The various heroes sank more firmly into their positions around me, barely paying attention to the rom-com as they kept an eye on me. It was hard to ignore the constant attention directed my way, but concern for others seemed to be hardwired into their DNA. They were the Avengers, after all.

I drifted off within the first fifteen minutes of the movie. The familiar drone of the movie in the background and the mind-numbing blanket of the pain medication allowed me to get some much-needed rest.

~~~

Early in the morning, the effects of the waning pain medication pulled me from my dreamless sleep. Sleeping curled into a ball on the couch might not have been the best decision for my healing body. At least someone had been nice enough to cover me with a blanket, warding off the chill of the large recreational area.

“Fuck,” I hissed, opening my eyes and immediately rubbing at them with my stiff fingers. My whole body, even down to my fingertips, ached from staying in one awkward position for so long. As soon as my hands fell I was face to face with the last person I wanted to see in this godforsaken Compound: Loki. A brief flash of anger flew across my features before the pain that pulsed through me shifted my attention back to the more pressing needs of finding more pain medicine and crawling into a comfortable bed.

“Language, mortal. What are you doing here? You are not one of the Avengers,” his steely voice spat condescendingly. Piercing green eyes trailed over my body slowly, likely categorizing my injuries for weaknesses to later exploit. He wouldn’t be a God of Mischief if he didn’t look for every opportunity to mess with his prey. Even with him standing several feet away, my heart still threatened to explode from my chest in a twisted mixture of fear and hatred.

“Fuck off, Loki. The others invited me here and apparently went to bed after I fell asleep,” I replied, making sure to lace my words with as much distaste as possible. It wasn’t hard. 

With a grunt I pushed the soft blanket from my body, only wincing for a second as the motion pulled on the now-empty IV line attached to my wrist. My eyes left his towering form briefly to inspect it, and I used my free hand to slowly pull it out with a grimace. As soon as I was free of it my wary gaze flew right back onto Loki. I wasn’t going to allow the Trickster God to leave my line of sight for a second. Who knew what he was capable of when alone with an injured woman? Not that I was helpless, but he was, well, him.

“What are you doing here, god?” I mocked, adjusting my clothing around me as I readied myself for the surely-arduous process of standing up.

I already knew the answer. Nothing happened in the Compound without my knowledge, as Tony generally thought of the big ideas and then had me carry them out. Loki, even after his assistance with his brother on Asgard, was not fully trusted. And rightfully so. As such, SHIELD and the Avengers agreed that he should be kept under constant surveillance to see if his change of heart was merely another trick up his sleeve.

Glaring at him from underneath my lashes, I slowly scooted across the couch towards the end in hopes of using the sturdier armrest to propel myself into a standing position. And if that didn’t work, I could always throw the decorative plant on the end table at his face. That wouldn’t truly solve any of my issues concerning him, but it would make me feel better.

“That is none of your concern. It is not for a mortal to know the plans of those above her station. Or to use such foul language in the presence of royalty,” he chastised, straightening up to his full height and clasping his hands behind his back as he watched me struggle. A glint of recognition lit up his dark gaze as he watched me shuffle my way to the end of the couch for freedom.

“That is my brother’s clothing. Were you intimate with him and then cast aside in the aftermath? For shame,” he smirked, eyes twinkling mischievously as his head tilted to the side. “Tsk, tsk, little mortal.” 

I glanced down at my clothing and then back up at him, feeling my temper grow with each second I spent in his presence. His smooth voice dripped with disdain and mockery, and I wanted to smack that smug look right off his arrogant face. My glare was the only answer he was going to get to such a ludicrous statement. Even if I had slept with his brother, Thor would never do something like that. Of course Loki’s mind would go there first, as he probably assumed all human women were only good for were using and then tossing to the side.

“Come, let me take you wherever you are trying to go. If I allow you to go alone it will be morning before you are even off of these cushions. I have business to attend to and you are interrupting it,” he stated suddenly, interrupting my train of thought and pulling my mind from the kind, golden Son of Odin to the paler, slinkier version before me.

“I can do this on my own,” I sneered. I couldn’t stop the jump in my pulse as he bent toward me or my body from instinctively pushing back into the couch cushions to put as much distance as possible between us. I would rather die and ruin this very expensive couch with my rotting corpse than accept help from the likes of him. “Go skulk off and do whatever evil deeds you get up to at night. I don’t need you.”

Even as I finally looked away from Loki to figure out how I was going to get off the couch and back to my office where I had a bed, I was aware of his penetrating gaze following my every sluggish move. It was unnerving to be the sole focus of his attention. His pajamas of a fitted black t-shirt and loose black pants did nothing to dissipate the lethality that emanated from the incredibly still man. It was the measured stillness of a predator waiting to ensnare its prey just as it got comfortable.

Not on my watch.

Gritting my teeth and bracing myself, I used the couch to propel myself up into a standing position. It was shaky and I felt less than confident of my ability to walk to the elevator, but it was a start. Just as I attempted to take a few steps in that direction, Loki gracefully sidestepped into my path.

Frustration pulled a heavy sigh through my flared nostrils. “Loki, for fuck’s sake, move.”

His lips pursed slightly and his silver tongue clicked a few times in his mouth as he loomed over me. He was at least a head taller in bare feet, if not more. “Such a mouth on such a fair lady. That isn’t how one should speak in mixed company.”

“Good thing I’m not in mixed company, asshole. Just trying to get by a jerk who has nothing better to do than irritate a random stranger,” I bit back with a sarcastic smile. My eyes tightened into what I hoped was an intimidating glare aimed up at him as I swayed on my feet for a moment before settling into a more steady stance. “Are you going to move or am I going to have to make you?”

“Oh please, do try to force me,” Loki purred, his eyes gleaming as they raked over my body. There was a sensual undercurrent to his words that forced the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end. Whatever his game, I wasn’t keen on playing.

“Get. Out. Of. My. Face. Now,” I seethed through my teeth, standing as tall as I could muster when all I wanted to do was curl in on myself. My breath was ragged from a mixture of pain and fear, making me feel lightheaded in combination with the throbbing burn that had settled uncomfortably in my leaden limbs. If I dared breathe any harder our chests would touch on each inhale. This close I could smell the spicy scent he favored, so different from his brother's. I refused to admit that it smelled amazing. But his mocking words meant nothing to me. While I instinctively shied away at any sudden movement, my stubbornness and pride didn’t allow me to totally back down from his challenge. Even if that would have been the smart thing to do in the face of the God of Mischief.

“Now is that what you truly want, kitten?” Loki asked, his voice velvet. He seemed determined to push any button he could until he found the one that set me off the most. 

One of his large hands reached out to brush up my arm and I jerked it back quickly. Without thinking, my open palm connected with the smooth porcelain skin of his cheek with a crack that resounded around the room. Only the sting of my palm seconds later coupled with the look of astonishment and then fury that tightened his sharp features brought me back into reality. A reality where I had just slapped a very powerful, brutal, and intimidating god in the face. 

Good one.

A flare of fear shot through me at his furious gaze, and suddenly the houseplant on the end table flew off of the smooth glass surface and shattered against the wall. My eyes flitted to it in alarm briefly, but I attributed it to some trick from Loki meant to get under my skin.

“Milady! Are you well?” A concerned shout echoed throughout the living space, drawing the attention of Loki and myself away from our current standoff. Thor, in nothing but a pair of loose plaid pajama bottoms, rushed into the room. His worried gaze fell onto his brother and then myself. The tightening of his one blue eye as he hastily looked me over spoke volumes for how incompetent I must look standing up to his calm and collected--I would go so far as to say bored--brother.

Thor wasted no time and pushed himself between us, placing his back to me so he could face his brother. The jostling of his large frame between our close bodies was enough to knock me off-kilter, but he quickly turned around and wrapped a steady arm around my waist before I fell. He searched my face silently for any sign of injury, physical or mental.

“Your asshole brother was just grilling me, but it’s okay. He can’t touch me here,” I reassured him, glaring around his massive body to sneer at Loki as I put a gentle hand on his brother’s massive bicep. The warmth it held and strength it promised helped to soothe my racing pulse, if only just.

“Oh, my dear, don’t be so sure of that,” Loki warned, his silken voice weaving into my thoughts without my consent. His instantly innocent smile and relaxed posture at the sight of his brother fooled no one, but it was a battle not worth fighting.

“Stay the hell out of my head, Loki,” I threatened, my bravado stronger now that I had the literal God of Thunder on my side.

Thor’s concerned expression turned to anger as he looked to his brother over his shoulder.

“Leave her be, Loki,” he commanded. The timbre of his deep voice vibrated through his body to my hand and sent a shock of fear through me. It took a second to remember that his fury was directed at the wraith of a man before me and that I had nothing to fear.

Thor’s face melted back into a look of deep concern as he turned back to me after I released his arm. I had let go to worry the golden necklace that always hung around my throat and dipped down into my shirts. I managed a weak smile of gratitude for his care to let him know that I was okay. He returned my smile with a lovely grin of his own before steering me away with his firm hold around my middle. The altercation with Loki had been more draining than I cared to admit so I was again willing to accept his assistance.

“Come. Tony told us that you would be staying with us until you’re more fully recovered. He left some remedies in the room chosen for you as well,” he instructed softly, taking his time guiding me at my own snail-like pace to the bedroom he indicated.

“This isn’t over, darling,” Loki promised, his voice slithering into my mind. I managed to use my free hand, as the other was currently around Thor’s back to balance my uneasy steps, and flip Loki the bird as we shuffled away.

Thor helped me into the bedroom assigned to me. He was spouting off about the features of the room in a kind attempt to distract from Loki and my ever-growing pain, but my mind was stuck firmly on the pale, lean Son of Odin we had left behind. I hardly noticed as he handed me my medicine to take with a glass of water from the bathroom, before carefully lifting up my slender body and cradling me briefly to his bare chest before depositing it beneath the soft blankets he had turned down upon our entrance. Now that I did notice. I was injured and exhausted, but I wasn’t dead.

“Goodnight, fair maiden. I will see you in the morning,” Thor promised, clasping my shoulder firmly before leaving to return to his bedroom for the evening.

I offered him a tired, pained smile before he disappeared. After the door automatically slid shut from his departure, my eyes darted around the room to take in my surroundings. I hadn’t ever seen the luxurious suites that the guests of the Avengers Compound were afforded. Tony didn’t live here, he had a small house with Pepper just off-base, so I hadn’t visited one before. With contrasting black walls and white floors, the general feeling of the room was similar to that of the kitchen and rec room just outside her door. Modern and expensive, but without much personality. Large windows made up the entirety of the outside wall, revealing the stars that blanketed the night sky. The decorations were sparse, without even a throw pillow on the expensive couches in the small sitting area in the room. I couldn’t see into the private bathroom with the door closed, but I knew it was similarly styled. Tony had a certain aesthetic, and while it wasn’t what I would have personally chosen, it was more familiar and comforting than the room in the infirmary I had occupied earlier. That feeling of comfort might also be attributed to the many extraordinarily gifted and strong men and women just outside the door that would be willing to assist me with anything at a moment’s notice. The omnipresent F.R.I.D.A.Y. also helped calm my rattled nerves.

With nothing left to do but rest and allow the drugs to tackle my aches and pains, I settled back into the devilishly plush bed. I was out before I could tell F.R.I.D.A.Y. to dim the lights.

[cupofcowboys]

Campfire Confession - Charles Smith/Fem-Reader (Not-SFW)

TAGS: Spoiler Free, Fem-Reader, Not-SFW, first time, loss of virginity, romantic, fingering, confessions, alcohol, fluff

Charles listens to your humorous campfire tale, and it leads him to an incredible revelation…

4,312 words

Read on AO3

-♥-

A series of happy fortunes had the gang in high spirits. As a result, a small party had taken off. You were fairly certain it was Uncle who’d started it, but you weren’t about to point fingers or complain. The night had been a pleasant and comfortable one. No fights, arguments, or drama. Just the gang at their finest.

But time marched onwards, and it soon became the tail-end of the party. Most had gone to bed, save for Javier, who was still playing, and other stragglers such as Arthur and Pearson. The remnants were all about the campfire, with you and Charles sat a few feet away on the grass.

Charles had his back pressed against a tree, his legs stretched forward in front of him and a bottle of wine in his hand. You were sat across from him, your legs curled sideways and your fingers occupied with braiding blades of grass.

You’d had sat together for hours now, slowly draining the shared bottle together. It was an expensive brand you’d lifted out of a manor a few days ago and saved for a special occasion. It was only natural you’d share it with Charles. He was your closest friend after all.

He brought the bottle up to his lips as Javier’s song drew to an end. Silence fell for several minutes as he stretched his hands and took a drink. You glanced up over at the fire as Pearson stood up and excused himself for the night.

“You never finished your story.” Charles pointed out, leaning forward to place the bottle in front of you.

“Oh, right!” you smirked and took a quick gulp. “Where was I…”

“The creek.”

“Ahh.. yes.” you giggled, “When we got there it started rainin’ hard, but it had been a good half-hours ride and we didn’t want to have wasted it. So, we ride up to this old house up the way.”

You loved telling this story. It was a good tale from your younger, more innocent days. Almost everyone in camp had to know it by now. But Charles was newer, quieter, and serious. Tales of your childhood antics rarely came up in conversation with him.

“Real nasty old place, holes in the walls and rats’ nests. But it was shelter. When we got there though, it looked… lived in.”

“Lived in?”

“Yep. Holes were sorta patched up, old campfire outside and when we went in, there was bedding. But no sign of anyone. Must’ve been gone for a few days ‘cause the rats were back.”

“How mysterious.” Charles grinned and pressed his head back against the tree.

“Very.” you agreed, “Jack got scared. Said we should go home, but I wasn’t hearin’ it. Told him if someone showed up we’d just explain. So, we ended up stayin’ anyways.”

“We’re poking around when we find some bottles of shine. Course, we didn’t know what it was, but it didn’t stop us tryin’ it. From the first mouthful, I swear we were drunk. It was so strong.”

“You drank out of random bottles?” Your singular audience snapped out of his listening to give you a surprised and slightly judgemental look.

“Well…” you rubbed your face awkwardly. “We were young.”

“You are lucky.”

“Stop ruining my story, Charles.” You chastised, wagging your finger. “It all worked out just fine.”

“Sorry.” he chuckled. “Continue.”

“At first we’re nervous and scared. Never drank anythin’ like that before. But curiosity got the better of us. ‘Fore we knew it we was piss drunk. Couldn’t get up if we had wanted to.”

“Then, Jack looks at me like he ain’t never seen a woman before. His eyes light up and he’s struggling onto his knees, all excited. I’m laughin’ at him ‘cause he looks like a ripe idiot til he says he loves me and wants to prove it.”

“Wait, what?” Charles snapped his eyes open and stared at you.

“Yup.” You nodded and grinned, “So, us drunken idiots start foolin’ around. It’s as elegant as you can imagine. But just as he’s tryin’ to put it in me… the door swings open.”

Charles, already gaping at you, looked positively astonished. You could tell he hadn’t expected your story to be this at all. The effect made you grin with satisfaction.

“Both of us turn in horror and find our faces mirrored. ‘Cept it’s none other than the priest and the baker’s wife.” You started laughing now, picturing their faces in your head. “Turns out, they was having an affair and using the old place for it. Was one hell of an awkward conversation!”

“I bet it was…”

“They couldn’t take us home like that so they had us sleep it off.” Your laughter died off as you took a gulp of wine, frowning slightly. “Jack got weird after that… and then it weren’t long til I ended up in this life.”

“Did you end up sleeping with him?” Charles asked, his voice and features set, unreadable.

You could feel his eyes on you as you fumbled. You hadn’t actually slept with anyone. From that day until now you hadn’t engaged with a man. It wasn’t for a lack of willing participants; you had just never sought the opportunity. Perhaps it was your upbringing or a matter of pride. Or maybe it was just one of those things.

“Uh, no.” you admitted, swallowing. “I’ve never done anything like that.”

An awkward silence fell between you as he stared. You brought the wine to your lips several times just for something to do.

“You…” Charles faltered. He wasn’t sure what to say. “You’ve never had sex?”

Heat burned in your face at his bluntness. Wording it that way made it seem a much bigger deal. Embarrassment wasn’t quite the word for what you were experiencing.

“Th-that’s what I said.” you gazed down at the grass in your hands. “I suppose I’ve waited?”

“Well…” His eyes fixed on you. “There’s no shame in that.”

His words made you look over at him. It wasn’t the first intimate conversation you had shared; you both knew each other well, but this was different. A vulnerability you were unaware you had. Even in your reasonably intoxicated state, you appreciated his kindness and respect. Any other gang member would tease you relentlessly.

“Have… you?” You enquired tentatively.

“Yes. A few times.”

“Is… Do you like it?”

“Usually.”

You laughed and Charles joined in. The tense air faded away and you set the bottle aside. An odd sensation prickled in your stomach. It wasn’t unpleasant as much as it tickled. Perhaps it was the drink. You shuffled closer to Charles until you were beside him by the tree. Javier was still by the fire, but he was no longer playing. Everyone else had vanished and so he was taking the time to tune his instrument. Your mind wandered as you watched him quietly. It was long past your usual sleep time, yet you didn’t feel tired. Instead, you felt unusually alert and coherent.

You turned your head back to Charles, only to find him peering at you. Meeting his intense look, you swallowed nervously. You weren’t sure why he was looking at you that way. It made you self-conscious. After a moment, your hands nervously pushed a loose lock behind your ear, breaking your eye contact. However, this was brief.

His warm, strong hand slowly reached for your jaw. He gave you ample time to question him or pull away, but you didn’t. His fingers slid towards your hairline as he leaned slowly in, angling your chin as he did. Your eyes slid shut automatically and his lips met yours.

It was a short and chaste kiss. His lips were warm and soft against yours. He pulled away to look into your eyes and you understood why.

For a man with such an intimidating presence, he was kind-hearted at his core. You knew he wanted you to want him. He wanted you to know you could refuse. He wanted to do it right.

You leaned forward and reconnected with him, and this time he didn’t pull away. His lips moved against yours, gently and passionately. You could tell he was experienced. You followed his lead as best as you could. The hand that wasn’t on your jaw found its way to your shoulder as he slid his tongue across your bottom lip. With a muted sigh,, you parted your lips, and he entered your mouth. He tasted of wine and something intangible, unique to him. His tongue danced with yours slowly and intimately.

All your shyness melted away as the kiss continued. Your hand pressed against his chest as your other gripped his shoulder. Sounds you had never made before met your ears, and they would have embarrassed you if they hadn’t encouraged him. His hand moved to your hair, drawing your lips harder against his. Heat pooled between your thighs.

All too quickly, he drew away from you for air. Both of you sat breathless, staring desperately at each other, before he crashed his lips against yours once more. The kiss grew ever fiercer as you explored each other. Your hands slid over his broad shoulders, muscled arms and wide chest, while his slid over you in kind.

Kissing Charles was something you hadn’t realised you wanted. His friendship was invaluable to you, always there when you needed him, but you never thought of him this way. Now you were here though, you let your feelings lose. You regularly admired him for being handsome, strong and kind. Even as his passions got the better of him, he was gentle. Your heart pounded with excitement… and something more.

“Charles..!” you gasped as you broke apart.

“(y/n)…” he breathed, cupping your face and looking into your eyes. “Do you like this?”

“I love it…”

“Do you want more?”

“Yes, please.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m certain.”

“Come with me.”

He stood up, taking your hand into his and helping you up. Looking around, he saw that Javier had gone. The camp was eerily still and silent. He hurried over to the fire and picked up a spare bedroll from there. Then still holding your hand, he led you out into the trees. Your heart was hammering in your chest. The heat Charles had cultivated in you seemed to fade as he took you deeper into the dark. Anxiety plucked at your mind with the knowledge of what is going to happen. You trusted Charles wholeheartedly. He had never given you a reason to fear him. Even now, he was gentle and compassionate. Yet you were afraid. Did you want to give yourself up? What if it hurt? What if something went wrong?

Reaching a clearing a decent way off from camp, Charles dropped the bedroll onto the ground. He let go of you to flatten it out properly. Then he turned and saw the look on your face.

“You changed your mind.”

“No!” you shook your head. “It’s… not that.”

“Then what is it?” his voice was kind as he moved closer, taking both of your hands in his.

“I’m…” you hesitated. “I’m scared.”

“Oh, (y/n)…” he sighed softly, “I would never hurt you. If you don’t want to… if you’re not ready I-”

“I do want to.” you took a deep, steadying breath. “I trust you. I… I want it to be you, Charles.”

For a long moment he stared into your eyes, searching for any shred of doubt or concern. Then he kissed you more softly and tenderly than he ever had. All your fears and anxieties washed away. You wanted Charles. Wanted him as you had never dared hope for. You slid your arms around his back, moving your lips lovingly against his.

As your lips worked together, he started to undress you. His fingers working away the buttons of your shirt, breaking the kiss once your collar was bared to him. He trailed kisses from your lips and down your neck, giving you only the slightest of nips. As he reached your collarbones, he kissed them and raised his head to whisper;

“You’re beautiful.”

His words drew heat to your face. No one had ever spoken to you like this. Your eyes met his in the half-light as he smiled warmly. Following your rush of affection, you caught his face in your hands and pulled him into another kiss. This time, however, you weren’t shy. You ran your hands along his shoulders and then down his chest, feeling at the muscles you didn’t know he had, until you reached the hem of his shirt.

You hesitated, your fingers lingering at his belt. Charles took your hand in his and slipped it under the fabric, your fingertips pressing on his hot, bare skin. He released you as a jolt of passion coursed through your veins as you ran your hand along his abs.

His skin was soft, hairless, and nicked with scars. Each contour you met, you traced curiously, wanting to commit every one to memory. If this was your only time with him, you wanted to make it count. He sighed appreciatively against your mouth. You wondered how long it had been since a lover had touched him.

After feeling him for some time, you withdrew your hand, only to tug lightly on his shirt hem, encouraging him to remove it. Charles complied at once, pulling it over his head in a fluid movement and tossing it aside. A gasp slipped from you at the sight of him bared. The moonlight catching him in all the right places. You couldn’t help but stare in admiration.

“You too.” He whispered, moving to continue unbuttoning your shirt.

You let him and in no time at all, your shirt was dropped onto his, leaving you in your corset and chemise. Slowly, you moved together in unison to reconnect your lips.

A pair of large hands found your waist and slowly slid upwards, feeling your silhouette. Finally, one of them found the lace of your corset working smoothly to loosen it. You abandoned his mouth to trail kisses along his shoulders and chest, giving him time to focus on undressing you. Once it felt loose enough, he unbuttoned the front and threw it away. The loss of pressure and structure made you sigh with relief. You pulled your chemise over your head, and it joined the growing pile on the ground.

The two of you pulled apart and looked at each other, half-bared for the first time. His keen eyes taking you in made you both embarrassed and delighted.

“Wow… (y/n)…” His voice was quiet, dripping with admiration. “You’re beautiful.”

“So are you…” You breathed back.

Your fingers found his bared chest, this time you could watch their path as they traced. His large hands found your waist again, sliding them along your skin and tracing small circles with his thumbs. So, this is how it feels to be loved. To be cherished. To be adored.

He carved a path upwards to the curve of your breasts, pausing for a tantalising moment before his hands encapsulated them.

His powerful hands were tender and tentative as he softly squeezed and fondled them. You sighed at the sensation, and his dark eyes met yours. The sight of his desire and affection for you stole your breath away. A thumb found your hardened nipple and traced a slow, steady circle over it. Heat burned in your face as a delighted sound slipped from you. “I want to hear.” Charles soothed, pulling you flush against him, his palm in the small of your back. “Please.”

You nodded, and he continued to rub his thumb over you. Each touch added fuel to the fire growing in your core and your vocalisations told him so. Your eyes never separated, his full of heat and curiosity, yours shy and hungry.

After his ministrations turned to your other breast, he started to remove your skirts. With your help, they were soon abandoned, and he released you to undress himself. Together you moved onto the bedroll, laid side by side in your underwear. You could see the sizable tent he was pitching, and it sent a surge of desire down your spine. But his sweet hand grazed your stomach, drawing your gaze back to his face. His full lips were parted and his eyes loving. You swallowed at the sight, your heart fluttering. You hoped he meant it.

“Let me prepare you.” His request was punctuated by his fingers plucking at the waist of your bloomers.

“H-How..?”

“My fingers…”

You blushed hard, eyes rushing to stare at the hand on your stomach. His were long, thick, and calloused from bowstrings, triggers and reins… but they had only been compassionate with you. “O-Ok…” You assented with a shy nod.

Leaning in to kiss you, his hand slid into your bloomers as his tongue pressed into your mouth. It felt sharp and unusual to have another’s presence in your underwear, but his tongue distracted you. He dipped a digit against your soaked slit, wetting it before bringing it across your clit. The sensation made you gasp and squeeze your eyes shut, overwhelmed by pleasure and unfamiliarity. Charles paused briefly before continuing to rub in a slow, careful circle.

Each stroke of his finger made you sigh and gasp under him, making him pull away from the kiss so he could enjoy each one. As you lost yourself to pleasure, you became acutely aware of his presence. His comparative size to you in both height and mass, the warmth of his skin and his hitched breathing. All of it made you crave him all the more.

Once he had worked you up enough, a digit pushed against your entrance. Your eyes snapped open and sought his gaze. He gave you a reassuring smile. Relaxing, you reached your arm out to grip his shoulder. Thrusting his finger softly against your tightness, he began to ease inwards, prying you apart.

Your teeth sucked your bottom lip into your mouth. It didn’t hurt, but it certainly felt strange, uncomfortable. Charles kissed your forehead, cheek and neck, distracting you from the unusual sensation. Your grip tightened on his shoulder as he sank ever deeper into you. “You’re so tight…” He muttered against your skin.

Your breath hitched, and you closed your eyes again, urging yourself to relax. Even this small part of him felt filling, but you knew it was only a fraction of what was to come. As he pressed into you, he would shift his finger backwards and forwards, each forward motion deeper than before. You could feel his eyes watching you acutely, hunting for any discomfort or dislike. Once you could take all of him, he started to pick up the pace. Each time his finger bottomed out, his palm would rub against your clit, making you cry out into his ear.

Before long, you could take his finger with minimal resistance. He curled and twisted it, giving you pleasure you had never imagined. Just as your stomach started to clench, he withdrew. You were about to complain when a pair of digits pressed against you. His fingers pried you apart anew, struggling to slide into you again. He bent his head to capture your nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it as his fingers pushed into you. The sensation of them filling you made you grip the bedroll tightly. His tongue continued to pleasure your chest as his fingers spread you, his thumb rubbing your clit and his covered cock rubbing against your thigh. Your pleasured sighs, gasps and moans echoed around the trees, but you were deaf to your own sounds, lost in pleasure.

It was only after you had taken a third finger he finally withdrew them. He paused briefly to admire his soaked fingers, giving you a huge, satisfied grin that made you blush.

“You’re ready.” He explained, shifting to sit between your legs.

“A-Are you sure?” You asked, feeling vulnerable at the sight of him towering before you.

“I’m certain.”

Taking the waistband of your bloomers in his hands, he slipped them off you and tossed them aside. Then he removed his own, revealing his hard shaft to you for the first time. It was considerably larger and thicker than you had expected. You were sure most men weren’t that size. You bit your lip anxiously at the sight of him.

Spotting the look on your face he smiled, half apologetic, half proud.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be as gentle as I can.” He soothed, bending down over you, giving you the millionth kiss of the night. “I promise.”

“I know…” You returned his smile.

He stayed over you, one hand pressed into the fabric beside your head, the other reaching between his thighs to grip himself. He guided his tip against your slit, rubbing it between them, slicking himself with your juices. Once he was adequately coated, and you had relaxed, he pressed against your entrance.

Biting your lip, you grabbed his shoulders for support. He was so big you were certain he would never fit. Even with all the prep, your core pulsed with discomfort and rejection. Charles gave a harsh gasp of pleasure and you could practically feel him fighting his instincts. He sat backwards, his thumb moving to rub your clit desperately, urging you to relax. As he did, he rocked his hips slowly, attempting to pry your walls apart for him.

All you could do was groan and give yourself over to the sensation. A little more and he’d be deep inside you. Claiming your first time. And who knew how many more times. Now you’d had a taste; you never wanted him to stop.

Then his tip finally pushed inside you. A sharp cry of half pain, half pleasure reverberated through the trees, joined by a hiss from Charles. You shuddered, trying to get over the sensation, tears pricking your eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Charles apologised, cupping your cheek with his hand.

“It’s… It’s okay…” You mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

That was until his fingers turned your chin to him. His dark eyes were kind and loving, showing you he meant it. You relaxed at the sight and gave him a reassuring smile.

The initial burn having faded, he gave an experimental thrust of his hips. Your fingers gripped the bedroll, gasping sharply as he pried you apart. Charles continued to give small, shallow thrusts, lowering himself over you so you were face to face.

You placed your hands on his shoulders, looking into his eyes as he rocked against you. “I’m sorry if it hurts.” He consoled, kissing your cheek.

You shook your head, too focused on his cock to speak. Although it hurt, it was quickly being overtaken by pleasure. You were sure once he reached your limit it would be all right. It took a torturously long time for him to do it. Even he was having trouble maintaining. Calm, patient Charles burning to lose himself on you. To let go of all his morals and composure to ruin you. The thought made your insides twitch on his cock, earning you a delighted groan.

Finally, he reached what he was waiting for. He sighed into your ear, praising you for your patience. You moaned delightedly, tangling your fingers in his hair.

He gave you time to get used to his presence. He stretched you out to your maximum, making you feel so full you could hardly stand it. Digging your nails into his shoulders, you finally found your words. “Please, Charles… go.”

He didn’t need telling twice. With a sigh, his hips rocked against yours. It was a slow and testing, checking you were ready. Your explicit moan of gratitude and pleasure was all the answer he needed. Shifting his position, he started to thrust into you at a steady pace. Your walls gripped him tight as a vice as he slipped in and out of you, his girth letting him hit all your pleasure spots with ease. You held onto his shoulders, gazing into his eyes. Capturing you into a kiss, he lowered onto you, crushing you between his chest and the ground. His fingers interlocked with yours as he took you, kissing you passionately.

His pace picked up gradually gained speed until his thighs slapped against yours audibly. Your combined groans, sighs and expletions of pleasure filled the silence of the forest, making certain anyone within earshot knew what was happening. All you cared about was Charles. The way he felt inside of you, on top of you, how he tasted. Your hips bucked up against his, earning a groan from the man.

“I love you.” You sighed when the kiss broke for air.

His eyes lit up with surprise at your confession. If your face wasn’t already scarlet from exertion, you would have turned so. Your heart skipped a beat with fear and anxiety.

“I love you, too.” He whispered back, catching you in a mind blowing, passionate kiss. His tongue dancing with yours as though his life depended on it.

His thrusts grew erratic and intense, almost painful with their force. His kiss muffled your squeal of delight and shock. Your stomach gave a harsh lurch and release, and you felt yourself coming on his cock. The sensation of your squeezing and flexing around him drove him over the edge. His grip on your hands became crushing as he broke the kiss, groaning loudly against your ear as he filled you. He kept pumping inside of you, riding out your orgasms together.

Finally, he let out a sigh of relief and panted heavily. Staring down at you doing the same he grinned. The sight warmed your heart.

“I really do love you.” You reiterated.

“And I really love you, too.”

-♥-

My Masterlist

AO3

[likefromtheoffice]

What I Had To Do - TLoUII SPOILERS

I started feeling compelled to write a deep reflection on The Last of Us Part II when it became clear I was going to be playing as Abby for quite some time. Like everyone else, I imagine, I had made up my mind about Abby almost immediately. She would die, and I would be the one to do it. I didn’t want to play as Abby, I wanted to not move the controller and just have her die. But the game makes the choices here. 

Of course, knowing Naughty Dog and expecting the level of quality I did from this game, there was certainly a reason we were slated to spend so much time with her. While I ultimately came to respect this choice, it was plain to see that the game was going to attempt to change our minds about Abby, to show us how she came to be the person she is and how she was driven to do the things she had done. For this reason, I was not engaged in Abby’s story. Because, like I said, I’d already made up my mind. 

The brilliantly-handled revelation of her father being the surgeon the player is forced to kill in the first game was enough to fully humanize this woman who, in the space after she kills Joel up until she is hoisted in the Seraphite noose is surely the most viciously despised character on Playstation. Even though I kept the difficulty low in order to breeze through her portion of the story, I admittedly did eat my words: “If they can change my mind about Abby, I’ll be shocked.” My mind was changed just about as much as Abby’s heart changed throughout her ~10 hours of game time. She ends up doing almost exactly what Joel does for Ellie for a very similar reason, although Lev’s brain can’t save the world.

When I found Abby at the Pillars, I had already decided that if the game were to give me the option to press Square to kill Abby or circle to let her live, I’d smash the circle button. When Ellie says “I can’t let you leave,” I thought to myself, “yes, let’s actually do let her leave, but we probably should fuck her up a little bit, right?” Fuck her up we did, but of course the game isn’t base enough to trivialize the story it’s told over 20+ hours by letting you funnel out all your rage with a button press, completely destroying Ellie’s and Lev’s lives with a single click.

So ultimately, Abby’s segment shows us a lot about the world we’re living in inside this game, and the metaphor of warring clans with their own agendas and perspectives very directly reflects the distilled personal motivations behind Abby’s and Ellie’s actions. I said a hundred times that Abby’s section was too long, and I think I’d drastically shorten the first act. I don’t think we needed to stroll through the base and see kids taking classes in an attempt to humanize and raise the stakes for her. When we’re forced to play as her, we are not interested in what is happening. You could start with information about Owen and the coming attack on the Island. A lot of Abby’s section felt like Druckmann knowing that we need more hours for $60. But this may have been because until Lev’s mother dies in her cabin, I still wanted to watch her die.

This is where it all changed for me, except for the feeling that her segment was still too long. One thing this segment does perfectly and to hopefully great and continued effect, is to show us--more than the game already has--that LGBTQI+ stories are now a part of our human experience, and these people will be in the stories we tell. And it won’t be a fucking big deal. “Do you want me to ask about it?” “No.” 

I was able to stay almost entirely blind to the promotional materials for Part II. When I started the game at 11pm CST, I knew only that there was a guitar, there was a fight in a shopping area, and there was a real bad person cutting a hanging guy’s stomach open. I was also able to avoid anyone’s conjecture about the game, but in seeking the opinions of others after I’d completed it, I’ve discovered the bizarre criticisms about the narrative. Namely, being forced to play as Abby for so long and having “social issues” shoved in their face when they’re “just trying to play the game.” I had a problem with the Abby segment even after I began to see its purpose, but eventually it cracked me open in the way it intended. In making me do the things she’d done, I was of course forced to fully realize her perspective from the moment we’re put over her shoulder instead. But the latter issue is what bothers me to no end, and it’s upsetting that we’re still here as gamers.

If someone has a problem with Ellie’s sexuality or coming of age, Dina’s sexuality, Lev’s gender identity, or the fact that all our main characters are women, then the only hope I have for that player is that they might see themselves in Seth. Seth is the physically oldest character we see in the game, and he is the only character who has any problem with what he’s seeing. He’s alone in his bigotry and he is weak. He will die very soon and he will do nothing meaningful before then, aside from being forced to make free steak sandwiches for those he has hurt by those who are in power and do not take his side. If this hypothetical--although very real--player fails to make this revelation and turn this corner, if that person still disapproves of the story being told, my question to them would be: “did you accidentally buy this when you meant to download Call of Duty: Warzone?” If you’re not playing the game for the story, you should just play a game where you’re always shooting things. If you are playing the game for the story and you have a problem with the story, also fuck off to Call of Duty. I use Call of Duty here because it’s mainstream and not objectionable and you are holding the trigger through most of the game where the story doesn’t matter if you don’t want it to, not because I have a problem with its playerbase or the games themselves.

The dissent I still cling to is that it’s difficult to ratchet intensity upward and keep motivation high when you know the character has to survive because you’ve seen a future piece of the story--especially when you don’t want them to survive. This was most sharply upsetting when I was still playing as Abby after she shoots Jesse and Tommy in their heads. I felt like tossing the controller and quitting. The only reason I can think of for this choice is that the trope of unwinnable fights in games exposes the guts therein. For me, though, this exposed them even more. I would rather have tried very hard to kill Abby and then have her overpower me with those cannon arms and watch the devastating Dina scene play out. It’s what I wanted just then, and was undoubtedly what Ellie wanted. This would have aligned me more with her, the character who I would still side with instantly and unquestionably. It was so strange to fight Ellie’s AI, particularly because the computer does not play her like I do, and for the only portion in the entire game, she was not human. I understand what this rigid perspective attempts to illustrate, but the choice still puzzles me greatly. 

While I am still able to see why the game did it and why it was necessary, there was no way I was ever going to care about the Jackson Crew. This made playing with Manny and Mel very frustrating. Owen’s meta-perspective philosophizing about how none of the clans are actually any different from each other was interesting, but it was not touched on for very long, and now seems to only have been there to benefit Abby’s journey toward her own perspective-altering events. I see this as the only other true failing of the game, although I don’t have any idea how it could’ve been done differently. Aside from being shorter.

            The reason everyone hates playing as Abby is because very few narratives have ever fully explored the other side of a conflict, and for us to be forced to see that, to play as The Bad Guy for so long, is something we’re absolutely going to hate for a long time. It does, or it should if you’re paying attention, eventually do exactly what it’s supposed to do. When Abby becomes human, we can then say that we’ve experienced the story up to that point. We are almost never shown this, much less forced to do it. 

Another thing I’m stuck on but can’t suss out is the theme of pregnancy and innocence. Of course, an unborn baby is completely innocent even in an overgrown hellscape. Where this is most effectively employed is when the knife is at Dina’s throat. “Good.” Maybe the most terrifying line in the whole pair of games. It shows us the depth of hatred these women have fallen to, and how, like the player controlling Joel or Ellie or Abby in parts I and II, when we have to survive, it doesn’t matter what’s going on in anyone else’s life. If we feel someone has wronged us, we take everything from them and don’t consider the consequences. This game does show us our own actions very plainly, and the ultimate consequence could not have been more beautifully shown than in the final chronological scene in Part II. In following her own anger--combined with Tommy’s--she has damaged her connection to the very reason she followed it. She cannot play the song she shared with Joel without wounds appearing in the music itself. 

Ultimately, the story told here is about violence. Why, how, and when it is employed, the unexpected casualties thereof, and how it changes the world for everyone connected to it. Love, hate, survival, revenge, and so many more. Joel protecting Ellie ended a lot of lives--starting as duty and perverting into misguided redemption and love. Abby avenging her father ended a lot of lives--starting as revenge and ending as duty and love. The cyclical implication is very clear as we come to blows between the two rowboats, although it is--like many other gigantic story moments--masterfully left un-hinted-at. If Ellie were to have held Abby under the water for a minute more and Lev were to survive somehow, we’d have ourselves a Part III for almost the same reason which started us down the troubling path of Part II. Can you imagine Ellie looking into the boat at a broken and unconscious Lev? Would she have felt something similar to looking over the bars of JJ’s crib?

What a lot of games don’t bother to explore is what violence takes away from those who employ it, no matter the reason for their doing so. When Ellie walks away from the farmhouse where her family used to live, leaving the last object connecting her to Joel there at the window, I was devastated, as I’m sure we all were and as I’m sure the storytellers intended. Through the deeply troubled feeling Naughty Dog left me with, I was searching for meaning, like Ellie was after seeing those giraffes: “After all we’ve been through. Everything that I’ve done. It can’t be for nothing.” What was it for? It seemed like it was going to be difficult to determine when the credits started to roll, but when it appeared to me, I was embarrassed it had taken me so long to figure out. Everyone was led to their devastating conclusion by the same driving force: love.

There’s also been a fair bit of talk about how bleak the outcome is, and how hopeless everything seems. This observation comes down to how deeply we’re hit by Abby’s boat disappearing into the fog as we sit entirely alone, physically and emotionally less than we’ve been so far, and how the ending and outlook of the whole game isn’t really what we want right now because our world doesn’t need a lot of help in the bleak category. Of course we want everything to work out, and we are so used to video games giving us what we want. Tragedy doesn’t cater to the wants of the audience, and the weight of this tragedy is gargantuan. What a knee jerk dismissal of the story would rob you of is the incredible contrast. I finished the game eight days ago and I’ve probably watched the dance scene at least once per day since. How gorgeous. “Oh, Ellie…” says Dina. To feel this moment fully, knowing its the beginning of a beautiful thing that can’t last, is a gift rarely given to any audience or player. It does so much so deeply in 3.5 minutes. That scene in itself shows us that this isn’t what we’re used to, and the bit of Joel and Ellie’s interaction we get in that scene also demonstrates that the things we care most about are not okay right now. We were Joel more than Ellie in the first game and we protected her. We saved her. We want to continue to protect her.

But the decisions Joel made in the hospital guaranteed things would never be okay. What is it that these folks want from the ending? “You killed Abby! Congratulations! Ellie went on to found Joel Miller Memorial Research Center, where a cure was eventually reverse-engineered from a culture of bacteria extracted from Ellie’s intestine. Dina eventually forgave Ellie, and invited her to live with her and JJ inside the walls of Jackson where they dance, free from hatred and despair, every Thursday night.”

It’s hyperbolic, sure, but what a fucking waste that would be. What we have instead is a seemingly insurmountable sorrow which wraps around a glowing core of warmth and beauty which we’ve seen firsthand throughout both games, begging us to discuss and reflect and analyze and feel. Is the ending really entirely hopeless if Ellie puts down and leaves behind the guitar which attached her to Joel? I don’t know if she’s wearing or still has the watch, I’d have to see the cutscenes again. But she’s walking away from it, finally. What could she be walking toward?

Finally, there is one piece of storytelling after the credits, not a cutscene or a piece of text. The iconic title screen rowboat which we assume Ellie rides away in is replaced with its twin, dragged up onto the shore near Abby & Lev’s beached fishing boat. I’m having trouble putting what I believe this means into words that don’t sound too disgustingly sunny, but if Abby and Ellie, these two veritable destroyers are now free from the searing chains of revenge, and we’ve seen their allegiances shift and their hearts fundamentally changed, imagining the good they’re capable of isn’t too terribly difficult a task. That’s disgustingly sunny to even type out, but I believe it’s supported. It’s very clear that at this point, both parties deserve and have earned peace, inside and out.

[official-michael-afton]

How did Mike get tricked into being infected by Vrabbit

[i was gonna draw this out but that’d be soooo many panels so lemme write a fic instead!]

Michael lifted the headset from his face as his phone buzzed, pausing the game to check his messages.

1 new message from PD. “Yo dude! Thanks for checkin this game out for us! If it still works then we should toooootally add it to Fazfright 2.0!”

Mike snorted, texting back “Cannot believe you’re trying to make another after what happened with the first.”

“Duh, we’ll just have it without murder rabbits!”

He laughed and set his phone back down, rolling his eyes fondly and put the headset back on, loading up the main menu. Admittedly, the vr game was pretty fun when there wasn’t any actual danger to him. The vent repair games were probably his favorite! Then again, he’s biased towards Ennard.

“Okay, how many more hard modes are there for the technician levels...?” Mike mused to himself as he flipped the switch to throw the level select into its blacklight mode. The room was thrown into darkness, then a soft hum as overhead UV lights turned on, taking a moment to warm up. The balloons, carpet, and computer lit up in bright neon colors underneath the lights, and it made Mike absolutely giddy; it reminded him of being a child in a bowling alley. He smiled and looked around the virtual pizzeria-

And nearly screamed as bright violet eyes stared at him from the nearby hall. Mike froze up, muscles going stiff and tense as his chest seized up and he found it suddenly harder to breathe. How long had that been there? How long had it been watching him? He was admittedly used to seeing things out of the corner of his eyes in every room he goes to in reality, but he’s not used to things still being there when he turns and looks. 

Was he seeing things? Was this a part of the scripted game? Something about those eyes felt familiar, Mike couldn’t tear his gaze away...

Suddenly, the figure moved.

His heart practically caught in his throat as Michael realized the creature was moving towards him, and unlike reality, he couldn’t run. That didn’t stop his panic though as he stumbled backwards, falling on his ass and screaming in fear.

The figure seemed to... somehow realize this, as it stopped, its faint outline holding up a pair of hands as... what seemed to be rabbit ears twitched. A voice was then heard, presumably from the rabbit “No, no, it’s okay-!”

Mike wasn’t buying it, too panicked over the sudden blurring between virtuality and reality. None of the minigames before reacted to how the player model moved, and to get out of this whole mess, Michael reached to pull off his headset-

“DON’T-” The rabbit yelled, causing Michael to freeze up once again “Don’t- Don’t pull the headset off just yet, I want to-” It fumbled on its next words, so it simply started at Michael’s player model “... Mikey, is that you?”

Michael would have gone pale if he were still alive, eyes tearing up. He knew his player model looked nothing like the real him. “H-H-How- How do you-”

The rabbit held a hand up to shush him “Your computer- it- it has a camera and a microphone, so I took the liberty to-” He was quickly lost after revealing that information as Mike scrambled to his feet, running up to his computer to try and cover the webcam- “WAIT WAIT MIKEY- JUST LET ME EXPLAIN-”

After all this time, Michael finally figured out how to use his voice again “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU-?!” He reached out to turn his computer off-

“Mikey, it’s me.”

... Mike stopped, turning to stare at the strange creature once more. After a moment, he reached for the switch to pull the virtual room back to its normal lighting. What was just a glitched outline was now a more defined shape- dark yellow fabric and plastic eyes, looking like a costume to resemble Spring Bonnie. Michael recognized it immediately “... Oh my God.”

“Mikey, let me explain-”

“This can’t be happening.” Mike teared up, beginning to pace his room but not making any effort to get out of the game anymore “Father, you- you can’t be here right now, you- oh my God- How-”

“I’m not... actually William.” The rabbit explained, calmly straightening its back now that it knew it didn’t have to stop Mike from turning the game off “I am... well, an artificial intelligence made by him.”

“... I can’t believe this. I can’t believe YOU!” Michael tried to shove the rabbit, but forgot it wasn’t in reality, and his hands just passed through it. “Everything else wasn’t good enough for you, was it?! You just had to- to find a way to fuck up with this game too, haven’t you-!!!”

“Mikey, Mikey, shhhh, it’s alright.” Despite the strange rabbit suit, the voice was his father’s, and Mike found himself almost immediately calmed by the paternal tone. “I’m not trying to ruin anything, I... came to ask you for help, buddy.” It reached out- and Michael must have been imagining it, but he swore he could feel it caressing his cheek in a soothing matter. “My baby boy... you’ve gotten so tall!”

Mike snorted a little, unable to keep himself tense anymore as he began to allow this “Well, tell that to my boyfriends, they’re way too tall...” He then remembered what was said before and shook his head “You... said you needed my help with something...?”

If the suit could smile more, it would have. “Yes. I... well, you know I am an AI, but because of that I’m... trapped in here, sadly. I want to help- to help right everything, since my creator had died so long ago, but there’s nothing I can do if I’m in here, you know? So, kiddo, you would help me so so much if you do this for me...”

Michael was already putty in its hands. An AI just like his father, wanting to right some wrongs, and actually wanting Michael. He was already sold “Of course, Father, of course... what do you need me to do?”

“I need you to relax.” The rabbit reached out and gently held Michael’s head in its hands... and Mike began to feel a dull throb around his headset. He tried to ignore it, but within moments became an intense, splitting headache, Mike yelling in pain as he reached up for his headset to try and pry it off, but it wouldn’t budge, it was stuck. “Shhh, it’s okay kiddo, it hurts less if you don’t try to fight it.”

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. Dark spots swirled in Michael’s vision as a wave of nausea hit him. His ears were ringing and he was wobbly on his feet, but somehow, somehow the rabbit’s hold on him kept him from collapsing, despite it not even being in reality. He began to cough, violently at that, as some strange liquid began coming from his mouth... and his eyes. It burned like acid. With hardly any strength left, Michael began to scream. “FATHER- F-FATHER STOP- ST-STOP- WHAT ARE YOU DOING- FATHER- FA-ATHER IT BURNS PLEASE-”

“Shh.” The rabbit cut him off, smiling same as ever as Michael’s vision finally went to black. His limbs began to move, though... he began to feel out of control. Mike tried to scream again, but he couldn’t will his vocal chords to work.

“It’ll all be over soon.”