#personal training in detroit

[foundry13gym]

Group fitness classes in Bloomfield 

If you are looking for the best group fitness classes in Bloomfield, then you visit the Foundry 13 Detroit Center. We help you achieve fitness goals and make good health. In Bloomfield, we are very famous for our well-trained fitness coach and authentic guidance, which increase your strength and make you stronger mentally and physically, so without any hesitation, join our team.

[moeblob]

cute? D: (thank you so much!)

[chimcess]

⮞ Teaser Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Other Tags: Hockey Player!Jungkook, Figure Skater!Reader, Hockey Player!Taehyung, Hockey Player!Jimin, Coach!Yoongi, Hockey Player!Namjoon, Hockey Player!Hoseok, Figure Skater!Jin, Genre: Hockey!AU, Figure Skating!AU, Olympic!AU, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Self-Discovery, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn Drop Date: 01/20/2025 Summary: Y/N Y/L/N has always been destined for greatness as a competitive figure skater, her dreams of the Olympics sparkling like the ice beneath her blades. But when a devastating injury sidelines her, those dreams seem to melt away. Just when she feels lost, she unexpectedly meets Jeon Jungkook, a talented NHL hockey player.

I never used to think about what came after. Why would I? It felt pointless, like trying to guess the end of a novel when you’re still tangled in the middle. Every chapter rushing by, barely letting you catch your breath. Sometimes, life dangled a dream so vivid, so close, you could almost feel it in your hands. But right when you thought you had it? That’s when life reminded you—pages stop turning. Lights flick off. And suddenly, you’re back in the grind, stuck right where you started.

Normal? No chance. I wouldn’t recognize normal if it jumped out of the shadows and hit me. Normal was for people who punched clocks and sipped lukewarm coffee in beige cubicles. My mornings started when the world was still dark—lacing up my skates, the cold air biting at my face. Stretch until the pain dulled, practice until my routines were burned into my mind like a broken record. The rink smelled like sweat, frost, and desperation, clinging to me as I chased that perfect moment, day in and day out.

That was my life. Until it wasn’t.

From the moment I took my first steps, the ice had been my escape. My personal sanctuary. Each time my skates touched the frozen surface, electricity sparked through me, alive in my bones. My mom, Emily, she saw it first. She recognized that fire in me and latched on, pulling me headfirst into the competitive skating world. She wasn’t just supportive—she was relentless, like a storm barreling down on me, pushing me to be perfect. To her, maybe that was all that mattered.

People whispered behind her back, saying she was living vicariously through me, chasing dreams she’d lost. But I didn’t resent her for it. Her ambition, fierce and all-consuming, burned like a fire. It kept me warm—even when it scorched me. It wasn’t the trophies or the standing ovations that drove me. It was the ice itself. Out there, I wasn’t just a name on a roster. I was free.

Emily had been a skater once, too. But life, cruel and chaotic, had other plans. Her dreams fizzled out, lost somewhere between time and circumstance. When she got pregnant with me, she married my dad, Jim, and watched her ambitions wither like dead leaves. Year by year, regret settled in, until all she had left was me—and the ice. I became her second chance.

She met Jim when she was still a bright-eyed girl in a small town, dreaming big. He came to Michigan for police training; she was restless, yearning for more. They fell in love—or something close to it. Soon enough, I came along, and after a quick courthouse wedding, our lives unraveled. Emily and I left Michigan for Colorado, chasing skating dreams. Jim drifted back to Olympia, Washington, sinking into his routine like it was quicksand.

I became the bridge between them, constantly tugged between my dad’s predictable world and my mom’s fierce drive. Stability—something I longed for—was never in the cards. Emily hated Michigan, so we stayed away. Jim became less of a father and more of a ghost.

The crackle of the intercom yanked me from my thoughts. My knee throbbed, a bitter reminder.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain. We’re starting our descent into Detroit, where it’s currently five-eighteen p.m., and a frigid fifteen degrees Fahrenheit. Please secure your belongings.”

Michigan. I was back, but it didn’t feel like home. It hadn’t for years. And yet, here I was. Family wasn’t a refuge—not with Jim. He felt more like a stranger now, a shadow of someone I used to know. The home we once had? Long gone.

Monday, I’d meet with Dr. Jeon. People swore he was the best, but deep down, I already knew none of it mattered. The moment my skate hit that rough patch of ice, when my body twisted and the world flipped upside down, I knew—my skating days were over.

I could still see it. The rink, bathed in soft afternoon light, the sound of *Swan Lake* floating through the air. I wasn’t competing that day, just skating for the sheer joy of it. Emily and my coach were in the bleachers, discussing my next routine. I built up speed, heading into a fan spiral, when it happened. My blade caught. My leg buckled. I hit the ice hard. Everything went dark.

The plane’s landing gear screeched, snapping me back to the present. My heart raced, the memory fading like smoke. As the plane stopped, passengers scrambled for their bags. I waited, letting them pass, before grabbing my things. The crutches in my hands were cold, unfamiliar. I used to glide effortlessly across the ice, and now, here I was—struggling just to stay upright on solid ground.

At baggage claim, I stared at the mountain of luggage, feeling the weight of it all sink in. How was I supposed to manage with no free hands?

“You need a hand?”

The voice startled me. I turned and saw him—tall, with warm brown eyes that somehow felt like they saw right through me. Before I could respond, someone bumped into me, and my crutch clattered to the floor. I wobbled, reaching out to steady myself, but he was faster. He caught me.

For a moment, the noise, the crowd, everything blurred. It was just us, frozen in time.

“You alright?” His voice was soft, steady, his hands still gripping my arms. I nodded, heat flushing my face as I pulled away.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.” I muttered. He bent down, picking up my crutch. As he handed it back, his eyes lingered on me, not with pity, but with something else. Understanding, maybe.

“No problem.” His smile was easy, casual, but there was something behind it, like he had more to say.

Around us, life resumed its frantic pace—people rushing by, voices bouncing off the airport’s high ceilings. But for just a second longer, it was still only us.

“Need help with your bags?” he asked, glancing at the heap of luggage. 

I hesitated, my pride prickling. “I’ve got it,” I said, even though I clearly didn’t. My knee throbbed in protest.

He didn’t push. Just smiled, unbothered, and shrugged. “Alright. But it’s no trouble if you change your mind.”

As I shifted my weight, feeling the twinge in my leg, I sighed. “Okay, yeah, I could use some help.” The words tasted like defeat, but he didn’t seem to notice.

He easily grabbed my suitcase, balancing my smaller bag on top. I clung to my messenger bag, determined to carry something myself.

"Is someone picking you up?" he asked as we walked toward the sliding glass doors, the cold Michigan air sneaking in like a thief in the night.

"No, I'll just grab a cab," I said, weaving through the crowd. His presence next to me felt steady, comforting, like a life raft I didn’t even know I needed. 

“I’ve got my car in the overnight lot,” he offered casually, like it was no big deal. “I could give you a ride if you want.”

For a moment, I hesitated, caught off guard by the offer. “No, it’s okay,” I said, almost too quickly. “A cab’s fine.” But something shifted in his face—just for a second. Disappointment? Or was that just my imagination?

We stepped outside, and the cold hit me like a slap, sharp and biting. I cursed under my breath for not grabbing my gloves. 

He noticed, his lips quirking up in a knowing smile. “Forgot what Michigan feels like in January?”

“Yeah,” I muttered, pulling my coat tighter. “Something like that.” I should’ve been used to it by now. I grew up on ice, for God’s sake. But standing there in the freezing wind felt different, like the cold wasn’t just outside—it was creeping inside me, gnawing at the edges of something deeper.

“So, where were you before this?” he asked, his curiosity genuine, his breath hanging in the air like smoke.

“Nevada. Before that, Colorado. We moved around a lot.” I don’t even know why I was telling him this. I didn’t even know his name.

“We?” He raised an eyebrow, the question soft, but pointed.

“Me and my mom,” I said, my voice quieter now. “She’s never been one to stay put. Wherever she went, I followed.”

He nodded, like he understood more than he should. “A modern-day nomad. Sounds... exhausting.”

I let out a small laugh, more out of habit than anything else. “Yeah, it can be.” But there was something easy about him, something that made this whole conversation feel less strange, less fleeting.

“You staying here for a while?” he asked, his dark eyes locking with mine, the cold forgotten for a moment.

“For the foreseeable future,” I replied, surprising myself with how easily the words slipped out.

“Good to know.” His voice softened, like he was letting me in on some secret only we shared. That crooked smile crept back, and I felt my pulse quicken again. He had no idea what he was doing to me.

I bit my lip, trying to steady the rush of nerves rising in my chest. What was I even doing? Standing here, flirting with a stranger in the dead of winter? This wasn’t real life—it was the stuff of daydreams. But somehow, with him, it felt real. Almost too real.

“Maybe I’ll see you around,” he said, his hand lifting to ruffle his hair again. The messy strands fell back into place like he didn’t care—like he knew exactly how disheveled he looked and leaned into it.

“Yeah, maybe,” I said, though I wasn’t sure I believed it. The airport, the cold wind—it all seemed to fade away, leaving just us in this strange, fleeting moment.

“You live nearby?” I asked, even though I knew I should’ve been hopping into a cab by now, getting out of this freezing wind and back to whatever was left of my life.

“Detroit,” he said, his breath fogging in the air like a ghost of something lost.

“Me too,” I said, a little too quickly. “Just moved there, actually.”

“Downtown?” He asked it casually, but his eyes were sharp, as if my answer might mean more than I realized.

“Royal Oak,” I said, nodding. “The old houses there... they’re beautiful.”

“They are,” he agreed, and there was something in the way he said it, like he was noticing things I didn’t even realize I was showing. His gaze flicked between my eyes and my lips, and for a moment, the air between us stretched thin, a fragile thread pulling us closer until a sharp gust of wind snapped it, jolting me back to reality.

"Welcome to Michigan," he said with a laugh, his voice warm against the icy air. Without warning, he reached down and took my bare hands in his. The warmth of his touch jolted through me, electric, racing straight to my core. For a second, I swore the ground shifted beneath us. Something unspoken buzzed between our hands.

“We should get you a cab,” he said, glancing down at my frozen fingers, his expression softening with concern. “You’re not exactly dressed for this weather.”

"Yeah, I probably should’ve planned better,” I admitted with a laugh, still caught up in the warmth of his hands, the way they made everything else feel just a little less cold. 

He waved down a cab with the ease of someone who’s done it a hundred times. I watched him as he loaded my bags into the trunk, every movement feeling like a countdown. And then, when he opened the passenger door for me, I hesitated. I stood at the edge of that moment, torn between the part of me that wanted to leave and the part that wanted to stay, just a little longer.

“Thanks for the help,” I said, looking up at him, my heart thudding hard in my chest.

“Jungkook,” he said, his voice soft, that crooked smile still tugging at his lips. “I’m Jungkook.”

“Y/N,” I replied, the name slipping out of my mouth so naturally it felt like it was meant for him, like it was always supposed to be said here, in this cold, surreal moment.

“Y/N,” he repeated, like he was testing it on his tongue, like it was something fragile and precious. He leaned in just a little, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"Y/N?" His hand hovered near my shoulder, his voice even quieter now, almost as if he was about to share a secret meant only for me.

And suddenly, the world around us—everything—fell away. The cold, the noise, the blur of people rushing past. It was just him, standing there with that crooked grin, making me wonder if maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t the end of whatever this was.

“Yeah, Jungkook?” I asked, my breath catching, anticipation curling low in my stomach.

“My friends and I... we hang out at this bar on Grand most Tuesdays. Billy’s?” He said it like a suggestion, but it felt like more. Like a bridge to whatever might come next. “Maybe I’ll see you there sometime?”

A thrill shot through me, quick and unexpected. This wasn’t just some random, fleeting connection. He wanted to see me again. “Yeah,” I stammered, my voice barely steady. “I could swing by. Once I’m settled in.”

“Great.” His whole face lit up, and it was like watching a door creak open, revealing something softer, something vulnerable underneath. "I’ll see you around then, Y/N." He stepped back, shut the door behind me with a quiet finality.

As the cab pulled away, I turned, craning for one last look. He waved, easy and casual, and I lifted my hand in return, my heart still racing. Part of me wanted to freeze this moment, hold onto it before it slipped away. But the cab turned the corner, and just like that, he was gone.

I slumped back in the seat, exhaustion settling in like a heavy weight. I rested my head against the cold window, letting the chill ground me. This wasn’t just some daydream—it was real. And yet, as the city lights blurred by, doubts started creeping in, shadows curling at the edges of my mind. Would I really show up at Billy’s? Or would I let this whole thing fade, convincing myself it was just a fluke? 

But then I thought about him—Jungkook. That crooked smile. And a small part of me couldn’t help but wonder... What if?

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[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 4: Read Between The Lines]

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, Jace is here unfortunately.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Boulevard Of Broken Dreams” by Green Day.

Word count: 5.6k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

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It is your first week of basic training at Great Lakes on the north side of Chicago, and as you lie in the top bunk of your assigned bed you wonder what the hell you’ve done. You enlisted right out of high school, eighteen, no driver’s license, no work history, never been more than fifty miles outside of Soft Shell, Kentucky. The drill sergeants are always yelling and you’re bad at push-ups; you can’t understand the recruits from big cities like Los Angeles, Miami, Las Vegas, Detroit, Houston, and they don’t seem to get you either, and aren’t interested enough to try. Sometimes you wish you hadn’t signed that five-year contract, but where would you be if you weren’t here? Home is not words but textures, colors, fumes that still burn in your sinuses: cigarette ash on rose pink carpets, red embers glowing in the wood stove, Hamburger Helper and Mountain Dew, coffee creamer in Hungry Jack potatoes, laughter and heavy footsteps and slamming doors, scratch-off games, dogs barking, collecting coins from couch cushions for gas money, scrubbing clothes in the bathtub when the washer quits, Mama taking gulps from her favorite cup—plastic, Virginia Beach, filled with equal parts Hawaiian Punch and vodka—when she thinks no one is looking, blue shows flickering on the television, Family Feud, Maury, Good Morning America, WWE SmackDown. For as long as you can remember you’ve known you couldn’t stay. Now you’re getting out, but nothing in life is free.

You are at Class A Technical School in Gulfport, Mississippi, and even though it’s hotter than some noxious, volcanic hellscape—Mercury, Venus, Io—you are beginning to like it. You taste the salt of sweat when you lick your lips, sugar in the sweet tea they serve in the chow hall. There’s a magic in building something where there was only empty space before, in patching roofs and painting walls. Here being quiet and watchful is exactly what they want from you: head down, hammer striking nails, measurements and angles and long hours under the sun with no complaints. You’re not just running away anymore. You are creating something new.

You are sitting beneath swaying palm trees and a full moon on Diego Garcia, draining cans of Guinness with Rio, and he’s telling you things he shouldn’t, too personal, too honest: Sophie wants to try for a baby next time he’s home on leave, and part of him wants that too but he’s terrified. As thunder rumbles in the distance and raindrops begin to patter on the waves of the Indian Ocean, you tell Rio you think he’d be a good father. He wonders how you figure that, and you say because he’s not like any of the men from home. He gives you one of his crooked smiles—a flash of teeth, knowing dark eyes—and doesn’t ask what you mean.

But of course, when you swim up from the inky currents of sleep you are in none of these places. You are curled up on the floor of a bowling alley in Shenandoah, Ohio, cheap worn black carpet peppered with stars and swirls in neon green, pink, blue. You stretch out with a yawn. Someone has left a Lemon Tea Snapple within reach; you twist it open and guzzle it, hoping to extinguish the pounding in your skull, a rhythmic thudding of warm maroon, half Captain Morgan and half misery. The music isn’t helping. From the green Toshiba CD player, a man is singing in Spanish. Aegon and Rio are sitting at the nearest table and playing Uno.

Aegon says as he ponders his cards: “You know Enrique Iglesias, right Rio?”

“You are so racist.” Rio puts down a wild. “And the new color is red. Racist.”

“So what’s he saying?”

“Aegon, buddy, I told you, I was born here. My grandparents came over in the 60s. I don’t speak Spanish.”

“You can’t understand any of it?” Aegon is skeptical. He plays a skip, a reverse, and a seven. “My dad never taught me a word of Greek but I can recognize plenty of phrases. Vlákas means idiot. Spatáli chórou is a waste of space.”

Rio sighs, relenting. He puts down a two. “The song is called Súbeme La Radio, Turn Up The Radio For Me. Bring me the alcohol that numbs the pain… I don’t care about anything anymore…You’ve left me in the shadows…”

“Damn, now I’m sad. Draw four, bitch.”

“When the night comes and you don’t answer, I swear to you I’ll stay waiting at your door…” Rio studies his cards. “What’s the new color?”

“Green.”

“Yes!” Rio slams down a skip. “Fleeing from the past in every dawn, I can’t find any way to erase our history…”

Everyone else is awake already. As muted late-morning daylight streams in through the small tinted windows, Aemond is weaving between tables, pointedly checking on each person. He glances at you, says nothing, turns around and walks the other way.

“That’s tough,” Rio says sympathetically, popping open the tab on a can of Chef Boyardee and shoveling ravioli into his mouth with a plastic fork.

Aegon gives you a smirk. “You want to fake date now?”

“I’ll think about it.” No you won’t.

Helaena appears, a prairie girl vision in a modest blue sundress and with her hair tied back with a matching scarf. She reaches into her burlap messenger bag and offers you a choice between a ranch-flavored tuna pouch or a silvery pack of Pop-Tarts. “Strawberry,” she tells you.

“I’ll take the Pop-Tarts.”

Helaena gives them to you and then shakes a bottle of Advil. You’re so groggy it takes you a few seconds to figure out what she wants, then you obediently hold out a hand. Helaena lays two tablets in the center of your palm and moves on, soundlessly like a rabbit or a spider.

You wash the pills down with Snapple. As you nibble half-heartedly on a Pop-Tart—trying not to look at Aemond, multicolored sprinkles falling down onto the carpet—your eyes drift to the tattoo on the underside of Aegon’s forearm. It’s not over ‘til you’re underground. You’ve spotted it before. Only now do you remember where you recognize the lyric from. “Is that Green Day?”

“Yeah,” Aegon says, enthused that you noticed. “Letterbomb.”

“I love that whole album.”

“Me too. I could sing it front to back if you asked me to.”

“I’m not asking.”

Aegon cackles and resumes his Uno game with Rio. Baela is wearing denim shorts and a crop top, slathering her belly with Palmer’s cocoa butter from Walmart as she chats with Rhaena and eats Teddy Grahams. Daeron is waxing the string of his compound bow. Jace is gnawing on a Twizzler as he scrutinizes Aegon’s map, annotated with Xs and circles and arrows in sparkling gel pen green.

“I’m going to be a thousand years old by the time we get there,” Jace mutters.

Aegon hits the table with his fist. The discard pile collapses and cascades, an avalanche of Uno cards. Rio, undisturbed, continues contemplating his next move. “You know what, Jace? The cities are full of zombies, the interstates are blocked by fifty-car pileups, if we bump into anyone else who’s still alive they’re just as likely to rob and murder us as want to be friends, and on top of all that I’m trying to do you the favor of preventing you from getting so irradiated you turn into Spider-Man. If you have a better route in mind, I’d love to hear it.”

“Spider-Man…? You’re such a dumbass, what are you talking about?!”

Luke says from where he stands by a window: “Aemond, someone’s outside.”

“What?” Aemond stares at him. “Zombies?”

“No. People.”

Aemond bolts to the doors, the rest of you close behind him. Rhaena turns off the CD player. You, Rio, and Aegon squeeze together to peer out of one of the windows. There are men—three of them, no, four, all appearing to be in their forties—passing by on the main road through town. They are armed with what are either AR-15s or M16s, you can’t tell which.

Rio whistles. “If you get shot by one of those, the exit wound will be the size of an orange.” Everyone looks at him. This was not an encouraging thing to say.

You elaborate: “Thirty-round magazines. Semiautomatic, assuming they’re AR-15s for civilian use. I guess they could have gotten ahold of M16s somehow. Those have a fully automatic setting.”

“So regardless, we’re out-gunned,” Jace says.

“If they know how to use them. Some men think guns are wall decorations, like deer heads or fish.”

Aegon recoils. “Fish?! What the fuck. I’m glad the colonies left.”

“Maybe they’ll keep walking,” Daeron says hopefully. One of the men stops and points at the bowling alley, saying something to his companions. They laugh and begin crossing the small parking lot. They are less than two minutes from the door. “Oh, great…”

“There’s an emergency exit in the back,” Baela says.

Aegon snorts. “Yeah, that we stacked about twenty boxes of bowling pins in front of to zombie-proof.”

“We won’t be able to get out before they hear us,” Aemond says. Then he abruptly orders: “Grab your guns, let’s go. Helaena, Baela, Rhaena, you’re staying here.” Aemond’s remaining eye—briefly, reluctantly—skates over you as Rio, Aegon, Jace, Luke, and Daeron scatter to obey him. “You too.”

“But I’m the best shot.”

“I don’t want them to know we have women with us.”

“I’m of more use to you outside.”

Aemond rips his Glock out of its holster, pointing it at the floor. His frustration is palpable, an electric shock, heat that refracts light rays until they become mirages on the horizon. “You’re going to stay here, and if a stranger comes through those doors you’re going to kill them. Okay?”

His urgency stuns you; his eye is blue-white summer storm lightning. “Okay.”

“Now get back.”

You soar to the nearest table, duck under it, reach for your Beretta M9 and double-check the clip, fully loaded. You click off the safety.

“Aemond, wait, let me go first,” Aegon is saying by the door. “I’m better at de-escalation, I’m less…uh…intimidating.”

“Less socially incompetent, you mean,” Jace quips.

“I’ll lead,” Aemond insists. “Aegon can talk. Rio, you’re up front with me.”

Rio pumps his Remington 12 gauge. “I’d be delighted.”

Jace is amused. “I’ve been demoted, huh?”

“He’s bigger,” Aemond replies simply, then opens the door and vanishes through a blinding curtain of daylight. The others follow closely; Daeron, the last one out—his compound bow in hand, the strap of his Marlin .22 slung over his shoulder—shuts the door behind him.

Very faintly, you can hear Aegon: “Hey, guys! What’s happening? How’s the apocalypse treating you…?”

Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena are under the table with you. They deserve to have options. You tell them: “If you want to go hide behind the lanes or try to get out the back door, now’s your chance.”

Helaena shakes her head, clutching your t-shirt: black, Star Wars, pawed off a shelf at the Walmart. “I want to stay with you.”

“Same,” Baela says determinedly, gripping her Ruger. She barely knows how to use it, but she’ll try. Rhaena is shaking, her eyes filling up her face, small fragile bones like a bird’s.

You can’t hear voices from outside anymore, but there are no gunshots either. You keep your M9 aimed at the doors, your breathing slow and deep, your heart rate low. Your hands are steady. Your eyes hunt for the slightest movement, for the momentary shadow of someone passing by a window. Against your will, your thoughts wander to Aemond. I hope Aegon is on his left side. Aemond can’t see there.

“Rhaena, get your gun out,” Baela says sharply. “Come on. Turn the safety off. What if you were alone right now? What if we weren’t here to protect you?”

Rhaena nods, fumbling to free her revolver from its holster. “I’m sorry…I’m trying…”

Now there is a stranger’s voice, gruff and deep. He must be just beyond the door, the farthest one to the right. There is a creak of hinges, a sliver of sunlight. “That’s just too damn bad, fellas. You got a nice little hideout here, and you’re gonna have to share it—”

The door opens. Two unfamiliar faces, too shellshocked to raise their rifles in time. You close an eye, line up your sights, fire twice, and that’s all it takes: one headshot, one in the throat, blood like a fountain, spurting scarlet ruin, thuds against the carpet strewn with neon stars, gurgling and spasms as their brains send out those final electrical impulses: danger, catastrophe, apocalypse. Rhaena is screaming. Helaena is covering her ears with both hands.

You run to the doorway; there are more booms of gunfire out in the parking lot. You cross into the late-morning light to see the other two men on the pavement: one with an arrow through the eye, the other with a gaping, hemorrhaging hole where his heart once was. Rio is admiring his work, holding his shotgun aloft. He scoops a handful of Cheddar Whales out of his shorts pocket and shovels them into his mouth.

“Goddamn, I love Remington Arms Company.”

“Oh, that was awesome,” Aegon says, wan and panting, hands on his waist. “Yeah, that was…that was…” He bends over and vomits Snapple and Cool Ranch Doritos onto the asphalt.

“Everyone okay in there?” Rio asks you.

“Yeah.” Behind you, Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena are stepping through the doorway. Your thoughts are whirling sickly: I killed someone. I killed someone. “They wouldn’t leave?”

“We told them the bowling alley was ours,” Aemond says, not looking at you. “We asked them very politely to keep moving. They chose to try to intimidate us into letting them stay. They weren’t good people, and these are the consequences.”

You click on the safety and re-holster your M9. You’re wearing Rio’s on your other hip. They seem to weigh so much more than they did ten minutes ago. I’m not supposed to be a killer. I’m a builder.

“Aegon, are you okay?” Daeron asks, a palm on his brother’s back.

Aegon retches again. “Shut up. You can’t even buy fireworks.”

“Zombies.” Luke is peering through his binoculars. “Not many, just two. Way up the road.”

“There will be more.” Baela’s cradling her belly; you don’t even think she’s aware of it. “They heard the gunshots, the sound carries for miles.”

“We’re leaving,” Aemond says. “Right now. Everyone get your things.”

As backpacks are hastily zipped and Daeron and Aegon stand guard in the parking lot, you kneel down beside the men you murdered and check their rifles. They are M16s, either stolen or illegally purchased: there’s a little switch by the trigger to choose between semi-automatic or the so-called machine gun mode.

“They barely had any bullets left,” you tell Rio. Just like us when we were trapped on that transmission tower.

“Yeah, same story for the other two guys. Four bullets in one magazine, a half dozen in the other. But it only takes once. We don’t have any ammo that will work with M16s, do we?”

“No, we definitely don’t.”

“Fantastic. Well, we’ll throw them in a Walmart cart and take them with us just in case.”

You’re staring down at the man you shot through the head. His eternal resting place is a puddle of blood and brains in a bowling alley in rural Ohio; surely no one deserves that. “He was a real person,” you say, dazed. “Not a zombie. Just a person.”

“Hey.” Rio grabs your shoulders and spins you towards him. From where he is helping Luke gather up the remaining food, Aemond’s head snaps up to watch. “You hurt him before he could hurt us. You did the right thing.”

“Sure.”

“I killed a dude too. I blew his heart right out of his chest. You think I’m going to hell for that?”

“No,” you admit, smiling. “And if you’d be there with me, I guess I wouldn’t mind so much.”

Rio grins, wide and toothy. “Well alright then. Let’s finish packing.”

The ten of you depart from Shenandoah, Ohio heading northwest on Route 603 just like Aegon marked on his map, Jace chauffeuring Baela in one shopping cart, Rio pushing another loaded high with food and M16s.

“It looks like rain,” Helaena says.

Everyone else peers up into a clear, cerulean sky, wondering what she means.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re a few miles north of Shiloh when the storm rolls in, cold rain and furious wind, daylight that vanishes behind dark churning thunderheads, jagged scars of lightning in an opaque sky. The road is only two lanes, surrounded by fields of wildflowers and ravaged crops and untilled earth; it would look like the patchwork of a quilt if you were gazing down from an airplane, but of course the FAA grounded all flights over a month ago when the world went mad: Revelations, Ragnarök, the fabric of the universe unweaving as death burned through families, cities, nations like a fever, like plague.

“Maybe we should cut across one of these fields,” Jace says, pointing. He is soaked with rain; it drips from his curls, runs into his eyes. Baela is in her cart again; each time she tries to get out and walk, she’s gasping and can’t keep up within half an hour. You’ve all taken turns pushing her, much to Baela’s dismay. She’d be humiliated if she wasn’t too exhausted to keep her eyes open.

“Here, let me do it,” you offer, and Jace gratefully relinquishes the cart. Baela gives you a frail wave of appreciation.

“We stay on the road,” Aemond insists, flinching as rain pelts his scarred face. “Farmhouses have driveways and mailboxes, we’ll pass one eventually. If we lose the road, we might not be able to find it again. We’ll end up wandering around in circles in the woods.”

“Just like the Blair Witch Project,” Aegon says glumly, his Sperry Bahama sneakers audibly soggy.

“There!” Luke announces, spotting something with his binoculars. “Up ahead on the left. Past the bridge.”

You can’t see what Luke does until there is an especially brilliant flash of lightning: a farmhouse, old but seemingly not derelict, and with a number of accompanying buildings, guest houses and stables and barns and towering silos.

“Home sweet home!” Rio says. “And I don’t care if I have to kill a hundred of those undead bastards to get in, it’s mine.”

“Well, hopefully not a hundred,” you reply, in better spirits now that a sanctuary has been found. Aemond keeps glancing back at you as you push Baela’s cart. If he wants to say something, he’s doing a good job of resisting the temptation. “We don’t have that much ammo.”

There is a concrete bridge over a river, probably unremarkable and only five or ten feet deep normally but now torrential with rain. Water rushes by beneath, a muddy incline on each side as the earth rises back up to meet the road. A reflective green sign proclaims that you are only two miles from Plymouth, which Aegon plans to skirt along the edges of. It’s a decent-sized town; he thinks you might be able to find a car to steal there, something with gas in the tank and keys on a hook just inside the house.

“I call the master bedroom,” Jace says craftily, rubbing his palms together. You’re near the center of the bridge now, another ten yards to go. “Nice big bed, warm cozy blankets, and I was up for half of last night keeping watch so tonight I am off duty, I am a free man, it’s going to just be me and my girl and eight glorious uninterrupted hours of sleep—”

Rhaena shrieks, and then you hear it over the noise of the storm, pounding rain and rumbling thunder: moans, growls, hisses like snakes. Not one zombie. A lot more than one. They’re crawling up from under the bridge, from the filthy quagmire at both ends. There was a hoard of them waiting, aimless, dormant, almost hibernating. But now they are awake. They are grasping for you with bony, dirt-covered claws. They are snapping with jaws that leak blood and pus and bile as their organs curdle to a putrid soup.

“Get off the bridge!” Aemond is shouting. He has his Glock in his right hand, a baseball bat in his left. He’ll shoot until he’s out of bullets, and then, and then…

Rio helps you get Baela out of the cart, then opens fire. His Remington doesn’t just pierce skulls, it vaporizes them. When he’s out of shells—there are more in his backpack, but no time to reload—he yanks the M16s out of the other Walmart cart and empties each of them, mowing down zombies as the rest of you scramble across the bridge. All around you are explosions of gunshots, thunder, lightning, zombie skulls crushed by bullets and blunt force trauma. Baela is firing her Ruger as you half-drag her, one arm hooked beneath hers and around her back. When the last M16 is empty, Rio starts clubbing zombies with the butt of it. You’ve all reached the north side of the bridge, except…

“Fuck off, you freaks!” Jace is screaming. They’ve backed him up against the guardrail, a swarm of ten or more. His Remington shotgun is out of ammo; he’s swinging it wildly, but he doesn’t even have enough room to maneuver. There are still more zombies emerging from under the bridge. You can hear them snarling and groaning. You swipe an M9 off your belt and put a bullet in the brain of a zombie as its fingers close around your ankle, then you start picking off the ones mobbing Jace. You aren’t fast enough. As they lean in to bite him, teeth gnashing at the delicious throbbing heat of his jugular, Jace throws himself over the barrier and into the surging water below.

“No!” Baela cries. She careens off the road and into the field, running parallel to the river as swiftly as she can. You are helping her, steadying her, firing at any zombies you have a clear line of sight on. The others are here too: slipping in the muck of the flooding earth, shouting for Jace. He surfaces through the frothing current, flails pitifully, disappears beneath the water again. You glimpse a white hand, a shadow of his dark hair, a kicking shoe. There are more zombies on the opposite side of the river, trailing after Jace, lurching and slobbering viscous, gory saliva. They cannot swim, but they can follow him until he washes ashore.

Jace bursts up through the waves, gasping. “Help! Aemond…Aemond, for the love of God, help me…” He blubbers and then is dragged under. Aemond and Luke are continuing frantically after him. Baela is hysterical, sobbing, trembling with adrenaline. Aegon is yowling as he swings at zombies with his bloodied golf club. Helaena is darting around almost invisibly, always cowering behind Daeron or Aegon or Rio.

You glance north towards the farmhouse, growing not closer but farther away. We can’t leave shelter. We can’t leave the road. You lock eyes with Rio. He’s thinking the same thing.

“Aemond, we have to go,” Rio says, but in the midst of the rain and the turmoil it barely registers.

“Jace, we’re coming to get you!” Aemond swears. The ground is increasingly sodden, deep, difficult to trudge through. Jace resurfaces, coughing and sputtering.

“Jace!” Aegon wails. He caves in the skull of a zombie who was once a registered nurse as Helaena crouches behind him. “Jace, I’m sorry! I’m gonna miss you, man!”

Jace splashes in the rising river, his arms flailing helplessly. He is being swept away far faster than any of you can move on foot. “Aegon, you dumb bitch!” Jace manages, then slips beneath the water and doesn’t reappear.

“Where is he?!” Baela is saying. “Aemond, where…?”

You are trying to soothe her, to bring her back to reality. She was always so pragmatic before; you have to wake her up. “Baela, listen, we can’t stay here, he would want you and the baby to be safe—”

“Aemond! Aemond, we have to go!” Rio catches him, wrenches him around, roars into his face as driving rain pummels them both: “We have to go, or we’re going to die here too!”

It hits Aemond all at once; he understands, horror and agony in his sole blue eye. “We have to go,” he agrees. And then louder, to everyone: “Get to the farmhouse!”

Baela collapses into the mud, howling, tears flooding down her face. “No, he’s still alive, he’s still alive, we can’t leave him!”

You and Rhaena are trying to haul Baela to her feet. Now Aemond is here, pulling you away from her—his fingers tight and urgent around your wrist—as he and Luke take your place. “Go,” he commands. “You run. Don’t wait for us. Rio?”

“I got her,” Rio replies, grabbing your free hand with an iron grip. Gales of wind rip at you; every millimeter of your skin is soaked with rain. As you flee across the fields towards the farmhouse, dozens of zombies pursue you. More are still staggering along the banks of the river, swept up in the hoards chasing Jace and the promise of his waterlogged corpse when it reaches its final destination. Daeron has run out of arrows and is shooting with his .22, which is very much not his preference. Aegon trips, getting covered in mud as he rolls, and Rio stops to help him. While he is distracted, you look back at Aemond. He, Luke, and Baela are moving quickly, but not quickly enough. A drove of zombies is closing in on them. You have a spare few seconds at last. You yank your backpack off, grab a box of ammo inside, and reload your M9.

“Chips?!” Rio calls over his shoulder.

“I’m fine.”

He knows you well enough to listen. The world goes quiet as your finger settles on the trigger. There’s a rhythm one slips into, an impassionate lethal efficiency. It’s easier to keep going than to stop and have to find it again. You fire over and over, dropping eight zombies. You sheath your M9 and whip Rio’s out of your other holster, the sights finding grotesque decaying faces illuminated by lightning. You pull the trigger: blood, bones, brains, corpses jerking and convulsing as they fall harmlessly to the mud. Aemond is here; when did he get here?

“I told you to run!” he’s shouting through the storm, furious. He’s shoving you towards the farmhouse. You resist him.

“Let me kill as many as I can—”

“Go! Now!” Aemond orders over the clashing thunder, and then sprints with you all the way to the front porch to make sure you listen. Everyone else is already there. Helaena has fetched a spare key from under the doormat and is turning it in the lock.

Daeron observes her anxiously. “We don’t know if it’s safe in there, Helaena.”

“Not in,” she says, insistent. “Through.” Through this building, and maybe through the next one too. The average zombie is not terribly clever. If they lose sight of you, without the benefit of the momentum of a hoard they are lost. Helaena opens the door. The living rush inside, and she locks it behind you. As you are bursting out the back door, you can hear zombies pounding their rotting palms against the front one. You soar through a stable full of dead horses and donkeys, leaving the doors open; this should keep the zombies distracted if they make it this far. Then you race to the farthest guest house. Luke, swiveling with his binoculars, spies no zombies approaching as you steal inside. There is no spare key this time; Rio punches out a first-floor window for you to climb through. Once everyone is inside, he and Aegon move a bookshelf to cover the opening.

You all stand in the living room, gasping and shivering, dripping rain down onto the rug and the hardwood floor. The air is dusty but clean of any trace of vile, swampy decay. Outside, thunder booms and lightning flashes bright enough to illuminate the lightless house. The sky is so dark it might as well be nightfall. Baela sinks to her knees, clamping both hands over her mouth so she won’t sob loudly enough for a zombie to hear. Rhaena and Luke are beside her, both weeping quiet rivulets of tears, trying to comfort her in whispers. Helaena is rummaging around searching for candles; she has already taken a lighter out of her soaked burlap messenger bag.

“Daeron, bro, come over here,” Aegon chokes out. He embraces Daeron, clutches him tightly and desperately, doesn’t let go. Rio is reloading his Remington 12 gauge.

Jace is dead. Jace is dead.

Aemond says to you, his voice low but seething: “What the fuck was that?”

You blink the raindrops out of your eyes as you stare at him, bewildered. “You needed help.”

“I told you to run.”

“I’m an asset, I have skills that can keep you alive, why am I here if I’m not going to be useful—?”

“You’re not in the fucking Navy anymore!” he hisses. “When I tell you to run, you run, you don’t stop, you don’t look back, because I can’t worry about you and take care of everyone else.”

“Nobody asked you to worry about me.”

“But I do.”

“Aemond,” Aegon pleads, waving him over. Aegon’s plump sunburned cheeks are glistening with rain and tears. “Man, it doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters now. Please come here.”

“I’m going to clear the house,” Aemond says instead.

Rio raises an eyebrow at you—this is one fucked up guy, Chips—and then pumps his shotgun. “Me too.” He sweeps with Aemond through the main floor and then vanishes up the staircase.

Helaena is lightning candles she found in the kitchen and arranging them around the living room. Daeron starts gathering food from the pantry. Rhaena and Baela are murmuring to each other softly, mournfully. It doesn’t feel like something you should intrude on. Luke is peeking out of a window with his binoculars, vigilant for threats. Aegon sniffles, wanders over to you with large, sad, shimmering eyes, pats your shoulder awkwardly.

“Hey, Chocolate Chip. You doing okay?”

“No,” you answer honestly.

“Yeah. Me either.” Then he flops down on the hideous burnt orange couch and lies there motionless until Daeron brings him a can of Dr. Pepper. Aegon pops the tab, slurps up foam, and then begins singing to himself very quietly, a song so old you can remember your grandfather saying it was one of his favorites as a boy: A Tombstone Every Mile.

When Rio comes back downstairs—heavy footsteps, he can’t help that—you meet him at the bottom of the steps. “The house is good,” Rio says. “And Aemond’s in the big bedroom on the right if you’d like to go up there and talk to him.”

“I don’t think he wants to see me right now.”

“I could not disagree more,” Rio says with a miserable, exhausted smile. Then he goes to the couch to check on Aegon.

You pick up one of the flickering candles, white and scentless, and ascend the staircase. You find Aemond in the master bedroom, the same accommodations that Jace laid claim to when he was still alive. He is sitting at the edge of the bed and staring at the wall, at nothing. Tentatively, you sit down beside him, placing the candle on the nightstand.

“Aemond…what happened to Jace…it wasn’t your fault.”

“Criston said I was in charge, that’s the very last thing he told me. They might be the last words I ever hear from him, and I just…” His voice breaks; he wipes the rain and tears from his face with open palms. “I really wanted to get everyone home.”

“I’m so sorry about what I said at the bowling alley,” you confess, like it’s a dire secret. “I don’t want to fight with you, Aemond, I…I want to help you. I can see what you’ve done for everyone here, me and Rio included, and I believe in you. I want to be a part of this.”

He nods, an acceptance of peace, but he still doesn’t look at you.

“Can we start over? I’ll never bring it up again, okay? I wasn’t trying to guilt you or upset you or anything. I should have just dropped it. I overreacted. And I understand why being with someone like me maybe wouldn’t be…super appealing.”

“It’s not about that.”

“Then what’s it about?”

Aemond wrings his hands, shakes his head, at last turns to you, golden candlelight reflected in his eye, his scar cloaked in shadows. His words are hushed, clandestine, soft powerless surrender. “I’m already so afraid of losing you.”

He cares, he hopes, he wants me too? “I’m here right now, Aemond. I don’t know what else I can say. I’d promise you more if I could.”

He reaches out to touch you, to ghost his thumb across your cheekbone, wet with rain. Then he kisses you, so gently you cannot help but imagine the wispy borders of calm white summer clouds, the rustle of leaves as wind blows down the Appalachian Mountains. You don’t have to ask him what he’s thinking, what it feels like. You can read it in the startled, firelit wonder on his face.

You taste like the beginning of something, here at the end of the world.

[starry-hughes]

fake holiday date (luke hughes)

day 16 of star’s ficmas

luke hughes x reader

Luke hadn’t heard from you since he left for Tampa. When he left for Tampa for the Frozen Four, he decided to break up with you. It was a hard decision but he didn’t want it hard on you. But he was coming home to Michigan for the holidays and he got a text from you.

“I need help.”

Luke Hughes was still in love with you. He immediately called upon seeing your text. “Hello?” you answered. Your stomach was a pit of nerves. Even though you texted him, you still felt sick when he called. “Are you okay?” he panicked. “I need a date.”

He should have hung up but you were scrambling words together. “Luke, wait, please hear me out. I kinda never told my family we ended things, and they are expecting you at Christmas. Please, just like two hours.”

Luke was silent. He didn’t know what to say. You were still telling your family he was still your boyfriend? “Two hours. Just two hours,” Luke mumbled.

Luke and you were a good couple. Envied by friends, called mom and dad by his roommates, always together. You loved Luke and he loved you, it was the right person at the wrong time. Luke was your first love, the first boy you brought home.

He sat outside your house, in his car, wearing a red sweater. He told his parents and brothers he was seeing his friends. He texted you a simple “here.”

You exited the house and Luke sucked in a breath. You were still beautiful. Luke walked up, a secret gift folded in his pocket. “Thank you,” you whispered and leaned up and kissed his cheek. You pulled him into the house and he was met with the familiar warmth of your house. Memories of him and you on the couch watching movies or eating dinners with your family.

“Luke!” your mother greeted, wiping her hands on her apron. “Honey it’s been so long, I’m so sad (Y/N) didn’t bring you by the whole summer, she said you were training but was always seeing you.” Luke nodded and smiled. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around, missed you guys,” Luke lied.

You had coached Luke, saying he was so busy with training and that you still saw him over the summer, saying that you even went with the boys to see the game in Detroit. “How’s the season going?” your dad questioned. Your parents, aunts and uncles, cousins, and grandparents, and you and Luke eventually sat at the table for dinner.

Luke didn’t need to do it, but he placed his hand on your thigh, the two of you were a perfect couple. Your family all bought the act. After dinner, Luke even helped clean up before you dragged him up to your bedroom.

It was the same as the last time he saw it. Even your pictures of you and him still were hanging, probably to further your lie. Your stuffed animal sat on your bed and he smiled. “Thank you for coming, I didn’t think you’d actually answer my text.”

“I wanted to get away from Jack and Quinn anyway, they were annoying me,” Luke joked. “Why didn’t you ever tell your family?” Luke asked. You sighed, sitting on the edge of your bed. “I didn’t want to tell them, they were disappointed when I changed my major. I didn’t want to tell them I lost my boyfriend too.”

He frowned. “I haven't dated anyone since you. My parents just think I was with you during the summer but I was really just driving around town or window shopping at stores,” you admitted. Luke opened his mouth to say something but shut it when his phone buzzed. He had been gone for three hours, his brothers and parents were wondering where he had gone. “I have to go,” Luke swallowed.

You walked him out, watching with a smile as he bid everyone a goodbye and walked him out to his car. “I hope your family is well and Jersey treats you well,” you whispered. “Have a good Christmas (Y/N).”

If Luke and you were still dating, he would have kissed you. You would have seen his parents for Christmas, messed with Quinn and Jack, it would have been all fine. “Bye Luke.”

You snuck past your family, wanting to go cry in your room. You missed Luke. You entered your childhood bedroom, but there was something on your bed. It was a folded piece of paper, from Luke. You slowly unfolded it. A plane ticket to New Jersey.

[mfdragon]

BEHOLD! The Son!!

So I was trying to come up with a name for him cause since he doesn’t have that second Alt mode yet, calling his Astrotrain doesn’t make sense. Then I found out trains have naming conventions and gave him the model name Capricorn Num. 3 (so he at least has some “stars” in his name)

Then my friends started calling him Capri, Cappy, Cap’N (his favourite) and then someone said “would Blitzwing call him Caprison?” and that person is a fucking genius.

His personality is very much based on the humans that have been around that train, so many museum staff that give train facts and history to guests and train technicians.

As such, he is obsessed with trains! He eventually becomes like a novelty tour train for Detroit and doesn’t really join any factions (much to his dad’s insistence). He lives in that museum and is treated with the outmost care, prob because he tech is one of the exhibits but also now a valued staff member :3

His other alt mode is something he doesn’t really mind not having because in his mind he is just train.

But perhaps future circumstances will force him to make a decision and get that second form of his 👀

[diedraechin]

[Sneak Peek] What Chapter are we on now????

Chapter 52? Really? Damn.

Anyway, I have like one half of a scene to write before giving this to Io to edit, but I didn't want you all to think I've forgotten you since we're in the midst of the Grand Prix series. Besides the spills in the Skate Canada Men's Short (I'm still in the process of watching) reminded me of the even splattier place I left you hanging... So I thought I'd give you some fan chatter from the stands as a treat!

I did cut a bit out for length because I needed the set up but wanted to end on a specific punchline. So just know that there is more back and forth as a certain pole dance instructor gets a Katsuki lesson... 😉

“Ok. I found it.” Tabitha squinted at her phone. “He’s skating in the second to last group according to Skate Trails.” She looked away from her phone and over at her wife. “I don’t really keep up with Men’s though, so I can’t tell you anything about Katsuki.”

Jade just shook her head and leaned back into her seat. “That’s fine. I just wanted to see if we’d missed his skate because it’d be nice to see how he does.”

“I didn’t realize that you were a Katsuki fan!” One of the women behind them leaned forward. Jade and Tabby had chatted with her during the Pairs event earlier before going off on their antiquing adventure with the friends they were staying with during the break between the Pairs event and the Men’s. Though they’d ended up missing most of the first two groups all together since dinner had gone long. Still, it was kind of nice to see a familiar face. While Jade had known this was going to be an all day thing, it was really an all day thing.

<snip snip for excerpt length>

“I heard that a Grand Prix thing is coming to Detroit.” Jade was just happy to have something to add to the conversation.

“Really?!” Tabitha looked at her. “To Detroit? I haven’t looked to see where Skate America was going to be next season yet.”

Katsuki fan nodded. “Oh yeah. And I really hope that Yuuri gets assigned since he trains in Detroit because I will definitely drive down from Guelph if he does. I’d love to see him live again. And when the events are smaller like Grand Prixs, it can be easier to meet the skaters if they have the time and inclination.”

"Time and inclination? Katsuki?" No one could miss the snark from Newcomer, but given that she knew Yuuri wasn't the most...forward person, Jade didn't exactly disagree.

Katsuki fan smacked her hands on her thighs. "Let me dream!" Then she broke out into a wide smile and laughed.

“Looks like they’re going to let them onto the ice.” Katsuki fan’s friend said as she shook her friend's arm.

Jade and Tabitha turned around in their seats and sure enough, almost as soon as they settled, the announcer was declaring the start of the group and the skaters all took off onto the ice, some handing things off to the people standing on the other side of the boards as the six skaters scattered across the ice.

“I can’t tell who is who.” Jade said.

“Fluffy hair in the Japan jacket is Murata, he’s the other Japanese skater. Slicked back hair is Yuuri.” Katsuki fan said.

Over the speakers, the announcer started calling out the names of the skaters and the country they represented and each skater was greeted with cheers and applause even though none of the skaters broke from their warmup to acknowledge it. Behind them, Katsuki’s fan cheered for each skater but was especially loud when Yuuri’s name was called, shouting “Yuuri, Ganbaaaaa!”

On the ice, Yuuri unzipped his jacket as he headed to the boards and he handed it over to someone there.

“Oh my god! Is that Kai Tamm?! Kai showed up?! Hallelujah!” Katsuki fan certainly sounded overjoyed. “Should have been checking the forums, I bet her showing up was already mentioned.”

So did her friend. “My prayers have been answered! Do you think if I pray hard enough, he’ll come to his senses and go back to Alexei?”

Jade glanced over her shoulder at them.

“Kai is the assistant coach at the Detroit Skate Club that Yuuri works with. She’s the tiny Hawaiian woman next to the idiot Italian with the big hair who is supposed to be Yuuri’s coach. Sorry, I’m just from the side of Yuuri’s fandom who isn’t really pleased with how Cialdini is coaching our boy.”

And when Jade looked back, it was the woman who was talking to Yuuri as he nodded. Another skater came up and stopped in a way that sprayed Yuuri with ice, but Yuuri just leaned over and brushed the crystals off his black pants without looking away from the woman.

“Rude.” Tabitha muttered. “Shouldn’t he get in trouble?”

“It’s Michele Crispino. It wouldn’t be a competition where they competed together without Yuuri getting sprayed by a Michele hockey stop.” And as Newcomer finished their commentary, Michele left the boards, but not without patting Yuuri once on the shoulder. Without looking Yuuri held out a thumbs up to the other skater which Yuuri’s coach seemed to approve of since he looked like he was laughing.

“Michele is going to regret that because KAI IS HERE!” Katsuki’s fan cheered. A few people around them chuckled.

“Using the Goncharov (1973) soundtrack for his Free is reason enough for Mickey to come ahead of Katsuki!” someone commented.

“Are you a Mickey fan or a Goncharov fan?” Newcomer asked.

“Does it matter?” came the reply.

[lukascastelan]

Ok, so this is the wall, in my bedroom which consists of many many fandoms or just topics I have grown to enjoy over time. A couple are outdated considering now, but they were pretty special to me when painting it. The wall was finished in 2023 on June 15.

Many were made by printing the logos/designs on my printer, tracing the backs really hard in a pencil, and then firmly pressing each design onto the wall so I had a stencil of what I was coloring in. Many are just designs I found on the internet at the time and others are just logos or things I thought would be a good symbol for said fixation at the time.

Did I want it to look different at the beginning? Yes, originally it was going to be the symbols or main characters in one big collage but I realized that I have zero art skills and it wouldn't ever be accomplished so I made the design more simple and now I really like how it turned out.

Do I wish a few were different now because of time or lack of interest? Yes and no. Yes, because I either don't like a certain topic at all anymore or I just could have something that I think represents me more on there but for right now I'm okay with how it is. No, because I look at this wall every day of my life, and seeing a certain square can remind me of a specific time in my life that I really enjoyed and I love that feeling.

Do I think that some of the squares are a little cringe now over time and how I have changed as a person? Absolutely but I could never ever get myself to get rid of those ones because they might be looked upon as weird or cringe now but at the time they helped me get through so many tough times that I can't get myself to get rid of those.

A few of these squares will definitely be changed but at least 97% of them I love seeing every day because of the memories and good times. I love my wall and it represents what I've liked over the years and that's okay. You should be able to like what you want without being criticized for it, hell I've debated posting this because I was scared that people were going laugh at the things on there but to be honest? Let me laugh with you as I remember how that square I cringe on now or how that square I would defend with my life. Just be you, that's all.

What are the fixations that are on the wall, and do I still want them there? I'll tell ya starting from the top right corner.

863 - Youtube series (Keep)

Five Nights at Freddy's - Video game series (Keep)

Amphibia - Animated TV show (Keep)

Amulet - Graphic novel sereis (Keep)

Arcane - Animated TV show (Keep)

Bendy and The Ink Machine - Video game series (Keep)

Brooklyn 99 - TV show (Keep)

Carmen Sandiego - Animated TV show (Keep)

Chuckle Sandwich - Podcast (Keep)

Cuphead - Video Game (Keep)

DanTDM - Youtuber (Keep)

Compass South - Graphic Novel series (Keep)

Detroit Become Human - Video Game (Keep)

The Last of Us - Video Game series/TV show (Keep)

The Dragon Prince - Animated TV show (Keep)

Mandela Catalogs - Analog Horror series (Keep)

DreamSMP - Youtube/ Minecraft server (Depends, I always look back now and cringe at myself but then I remember how it was at the time and how it felt to me at the time. Probably keep though just because of how it got me through Covid and just a rough spot in general)

Droid - Youtuber (Keep)

Eddsworld - Youtube series (Keep)

Flash - I watched the TV show (Keep)

Harry Potter - Books/Movies (I honestly like Fantastic Beats movie spinoff more than the main books/movies. Idk why but this one might change over time or it'll stay, haven't really decided that yet, maybe)

Henry Danger - TV show (Keep)

Hilda - Animated TV show (Keep)

How to Train Your Dragon - Movies/Books/TV Show (Keep)

Infinity Train - Animated TV show (Keep)

Jurrasic Park - Movies/Books (Keep)

The Group Chat - Youtube group/Podcast (Keep)

Last Kids on Earth - Books/TV show (Keep)

Lucifer - TV show (Most likely change)

Marvel (Keep)

Merlin - TV show (Keep)

Minecraft - Video Game (Keep)

Star Wars - Movies/TV shows/books/etc. (Keep)

Ninjago - Animated TV show (Keep)

The Owl House - Animated TV Show (Keep)

Percy Jackson - Books/TV show/Movies (Keep)

Pokemon - Video game series, etc. (I really don't know why I put this on here, I was never a really big fan other than owning the cards so will probably change)

Sam and Colby - Youtubers (Keep)

The Walten Files - Analog Horror series (Keep)

Space Boy - Webtoon but I found it through the graphic novels (Keep)

Spongebob - Animated TV show (Keep)

Steven Universe - Animated TV show (Keep)

Stranger Things - TV show (Keep)

Subnautica - Video Game series (Keep)

Treasure Planet - Animated Movie (Keep)

Umbrella Acadamy - TV Show (Keep)

Voltron - Animated TV Show (Probably change because I never really got into it but binged it with my sister, liked it but not love)

Wings of Fire - Books/Graphic Novels (Keep)

Things I would want on the wall now

Transformers

Multiple Analog Horror series

Portal games (Though I painted my closet doors portal themed so I think it cancels out)

maybe some music albums but I have something like that in my room already

The Magnus Protocol

ONG might put Ao3 on there tbh

Some absolute BANGER webtoons

Some more recent YouTube series, animated of course

Over the garden wall was literally a fever dream but I loved it

OH lab rats and Mightty med I grew UP on those

Gravity Falls

More that I can't think of rn

Okay wow um I don't usually post this big but I really like my wall and just wanted to share it. Maybe I'll post some more stuff about my room that I like just because I'm proud of it.

Part 1(This one), Part 2

[foundry13gym]

Top Fitness Centers in Detroit: Achieve Your Health and Wellness Goals

In Detroit, you can easily find many fitness trainers, but among those, we are very famous because of our well-experienced trainer, our flexible timing, and that anyone can join according to schedule. We will set a goal and timing for your fitness, and then you will see the result. We trained thousands plus, which means we have a lot of experience. So let's join the fitness classes. We have two options: first, online, and second, you can visit our fitness centers.

[knight-a3]

Now we're getting into the realm of OCs. To preface, I was strongly inspired by THIS COMIC. I was also playing with an alternate face design for Random in a couple of these.

Anyway, this is Smokestack!

More below.

I started drawing @mfdragon 's OC, then kept making my own alterations until he became mine. I researched steam-powered locomotives for this y'all. I'll explain in a minute.

Final tidbit of context: I was playing with an alternate design for the Random face, just so it matched the other two a bit more. How I feel about it goes back and forth. I like Random's OG design, but it's just so different from the others that is doesn't quite fit in.

Okay, ramblings and train info dump under the cut. Get ready to learn stuff you never cared about.

So basically, the idea is that an allspark fragment brought some old abandoned steam engine to life. Like in the comic, it used Blitzwing as a blueprint, so Smokestack is the first naturally occurring triple changer. Which also means he doesn't suffer the same mental instability as the previous triple changers, he's just naive in a similar way that Wreck-Gar is. He is neither Decepticon nor Autobot. He's too sweet to be a Con, but he's too loyal to his "Dad" to be an Autobot. He's also full of train facts.

Time for trains info dump! Disclaimer, I'm not at all an expert and I am simplifying.

In the steam era, each locomotive was custom-made, so there weren't any industrial standard models or anything. Different companies had different classing systems at different times. I tried to figure it out once and gave up. Instead, steam engines are categorized by their wheel arrangements. There are leading wheels, driving wheels, and trailing wheels. The driving wheels are the only required ones cuz those are the ones that move it. The leading and trailing wheels are for stabilization and weight distribution. Different arrangements were better for different things, such as freight vs passenger. I don't know the science behind which ones were good at what.

The kind of trains that built the transcontinental railroad were 4-4-0 configurations, commonly called "American Standard" due to their prevalence during the westward expansion. They had two sets(four total) of leading wheels, two sets of driving wheels, and no trailing wheels. Like: <••⊙⊙]▣□□□ They're little guys.

The single most produced type of steam engine was the 2-8-0 "Consolidation". <••⊙⊙⊙⊙]▣□□□□ It was a good multi-purpose design. So I chose to make Smokestack 2-8-0 because it gave me the most wiggle room for when and where I wanted him to originally be manufactured and in service. By making him a random abandoned one, I didn't have to think about what museum pieces could be in the Detroit area (Nobody but me would care, but I got hung up on that for some reason).

Anyway, when he only has one vehicle mode, Smokestack is his original 2-8-0. Once he upgrades to having two alts, he becomes a 4-8-8-4 "Big Boy" <••⊙⊙⊙⊙-⊙⊙⊙⊙••]▣□□□□, which is LARGE. 16 driving wheels, which are at least as tall as a person! The purpose was to have enough power to handle the steep grades in the Rocky Mountains and similarly difficult terrain with heavy loads. These days, rail companies will just hook up multiple diesel engines to the train to get the needed power. There is only one currently functional Big Boy type train, which occasionally does tours. It came by my place on the anniversary of the transcontinental railroad in 2019, but I didn't understand trains enough to properly appreciate it.

Next, I'll be getting into drawing other characters, and making human designs.

[jayden-killer]

YOU LOOK LONELY.. I CAN FIX THAT. (Miguel O'Hara AU!)

summary: Year 2099 and a new A.I. had been lanuched. He is called "Miguel" and he's here to comfort you in your most hard times. But, little you know, he's more than a A.I.

paring: Miguel O'Hara x F! Reader.

A/N: woah there, Detroit: Become Human and Blade Runner combined togheter? Why not, hehehe.

WHAT'S IT LIKE TO HOLD THE HAND TO SOMEONE? INTERLINKED.

DID THEY TEACH YOU HOW TO FEEL FINGER TO FINGER? INTERLINKED.

DO YOU DREAM ABOUT BEING INTERLINKED?

INTERLINKED.

Year 2099. Bright neon leons illuminated the streets, high skyscrapers were imposing themselves, showing on their huge advertising screens and weather forecast. It was night, and the air smelled of smog. She always believed that all those air purifiers wouldn't be very effective. But now it didn’t matter, because among the crowd of people in the street she walked with her head down, tired eyes that seemed off. Next to her, dozens, no, many more people, ready to start their weekend. They planned to go to nightclubs, drink, have sex, or do something she didn't care about. She heard their laughter in the background, and he could clearly see some guys pushing each other, laughing, and joking in the corner of his eye. She didn’t care. She just wanted to get to her house. Then she gave himself a push and marched more quickly, because she could no longer. She wished to put an end to the terrible sadness in her heart.

"I'm home".

The moment she walked across the threshold of her house the lights went on, lighting up the living room and kitchen. She breathed deeply and threw out the excess oxygen accumulated, also expelling the tension she had accumulated in the day. She looked around, and calmly placed the bag on her raw coffee table until she heard some sweets in the house, yet heavy steps. Her eyebrows leapt up and a smile, a soft smile, fell on her face.

"Miguel," said his name softly. "You’re here."

"I am always here, dear. Ven aquì". The man smiled back and extended his arms in her direction. She didn’t waste any time holding him to herself. Miguel tilted his head to the side and a confused expression landed on his face. " I can feel your heartbeat, and your blood pressure is 61 mmHg. What’s going on, dear?" Miguel’s arms touched her gently, almost as if she were a fragile doll, caressing her hips. Her eyes shone.

"I just missed you, my love" she answered quietly, never stopping looking into his reddish, brown eyes. "That's all".

"I want to help you, mi sol, how can I?"

Miguel blinked, genuinely worried about his partner’s health. He gave her a rough hand in her soft hair and continued to caress her. She stared at him with those eyes that showed true love, felt, and felt good because now it was just her and her Miguel. It was just the two of them in his house while the world was doing who knows what beyond those walls. He sighed, and nodded, answering Miguel’s question. "Oh, no, I’m fine. I just missed you so much".

"I’m here, mi flor, I’m here," he repeated once again, bringing his body to him, a hug that Miguel really felt. His heart pompo more, feeling so close to him the person who had immediately shown him kindness, sweetness. The warmth that emanated from his loved one was comfortable. It was all true for him.

"Do you want to watch a movie? In exactly eight minutes, they’re gonna broadcast the "Bicentennial Man". It’s your favorite movie, right?" Miguel smiled at her, grabbing her hand and gently sitting her down on the sofa. She did not take her eyes off him for a moment: his tall, imposing figure, with large shoulders and trained arms, but she only saw a sweet man who needed great affection. He was perfect in every way.

"Of course I do, but only if you will be next to me to pamper me".

"Absolutely". Miguel landed lightly on the sofa and took a breath. With a gesture of the hand, the television went on, and the channel was rolled into the desired one with a single finger move. The girl got much closer to the man, cuddling up to him, resting her temple on his huge muscular arm. Miguel spent no time surrounding his beloved with that arm, bringing her closer to him. The two remained there, enjoying their presence, occasionally discussing the development of the film, a film that she had reviewed over and over again.

It was now night, the hologram of the clock marked 12.12 am. Miguel’s eyes fell on the figure of his beloved then sleeping companion. He calculated his breath and his heartbeats, and everything seemed normal to him. He was just resting quietly. He understood that his day had been intense, without her telling him, but he didn’t want to hurt her. Because over time he had learned to respect the needs of humans. He had become accustomed to their habits, or rather, to the habits of the one who had welcomed him to his house, without treating him as a slave, without showing racism towards him, just because he was a robot. Yet, he felt real every time he touched himself in the face, fingering his facial features. Every morning it was the same. Her arms picked her up, taking care not to wake her. She looked like an angel, he thought, admiring her as if she really was. How could human beings be such beautiful creatures, so deadly?

"Door, please," he muttered. The door to his room opened like a curtain, closing behind him. She walked calmly to her bed, then rested it on the warm mattress she had heated for her. He pulled the blanket up, and he watched her sleep for a few more minutes. She couldn’t believe it, she was the most beautiful creature he’d seen.

"Rest, my love. I’ll be here with you tomorrow too," he smiled, laying a subtle, soft kiss on her lips. His artificial heart blew, even more, even more the liquid that was contained in his circuits. He lowered the shutters and warmed the home environment a little more. Leaving the room, Miguel headed for his post, where he would recharge for the following day.

"Model 70868". This was what was written horizontally on his desk. He was not comfortable with it. He didn’t feel like a simple robot, something built to serve mankind and satisfy it fully. He didn’t feel like a machine.

"I want to be human".

[louissatturi]

Types of au's that i saw being made with spiderbit

- Yandere au (not to be confused with C!roier and f!cell au's very important to not conflit the two)

-Crossover with their past selfs, (chafaland!Roier and Fuga Impossível!Cell)

- Teacher and Student Father Au (most of them are cellbit as a teacher but its cute)

- Idol Au (Roier is an idol and cellbit is a person that dosent know that he is an idol or know because richarlyson is a fan)

- Undercover cop × Criminal that does ilegal races au (Shout out to fast in my car, very good fic)

- Prison au innocent × Criminal (shout out to "The Reason" really good fic, check that on out folks)

- Royal Au knight ×Prince (all of them with writters from diferent countrys have the same scene of prince!roier thirsting over a shirtless sweaty knight!cellbit that is training, its wonderful how all guapoduers have the same braincell also shout out to Amor violento wonderful fic)

- Actor × Actor Au (i found cute how the fic made ordem paranormal on of the acting Jobs of actor!cellbit)

- Coffee shop au ( Cellbit is always the coffee shop owner, its sweet)

- Alien × Human Au (both of them ware in spanish and ware really fun)

- Bad Boy × Nerd (surprising no one Cellbit was the nerd but badboyroier was funny)

- high school au (only saw some bad ooc!cellbit ones like the ones that make him a SWIFTIE but they ware fun in their own

- Soulmates that can see colors when they see their Soulmates like the bl color rush au (love this concept and shout out to acromatoforia good fic)

- The selection au (ok im cheating with this one because technically its was a slimeriana fic with spiderbit as a side couple but LET ME BE)

- Monster Hunter × Monster au (shout out to braking dawn, really good fic, its also a au that i saw in a lot of diferent version and i enjoy alot)

- Detroit Become Human Au (cc!roier played it and compared hank to cellbit so you know how the gists goes)

- Spidermen Au (i love ALL of them, they are all so fun and creative, shout out to Along Came a spider and In Evert Other Universe It Dosen't End Well, good fics)

- Flower shop au (i only saw one and it was very cute, we should do more stuff with the fact that q!cellbit loves flowes and knows the language of them)

- Ordem Paranormal Au (WE NEED MORE OF THEM ASAP)

- Spies Au (cute and fun)

- Detetive Au (surprising how little fics with this concept exist considering, cellbit is like the misterys and enigmas guy™️ but oh well)

-Time loop au (shout out to mystical time, cuttin' me open then healin' me fine, wonderful fic a must read)

- Au where q!cellbit does a ritual to bring f!cell back so he could help richas out but the ritual goes wrong and instead brings back c!roier and he has to deal with it and bring q!roier back (if i had a nickle for everytime somebody writes this plot i would have two witch is ALOT CONSIDERING THAT THIS ARE PEOPLE FROM DIFERENTE COUNTRYS THAT DONT KNOW HOW TO READ AND EACH OTHERS NATIVE LANGUAGES)

- genderbend au Melissa× Selma (unfortunaly i only saw one fic of the two and it was one of them dead lol)

- f1 Racer × Singer (it was a cool fic, just not my taste)

Thats not everything but i just wanted to show how creative the fandom is and show my surprise of how versatile spiderbit is lol

[readyforevolution]

JACK DANIELS HOLSCLAW (1918-1998)

Tuskegee Airman Jack Daniels Holsclaw was born in Spokane, Washington, on March 21, 1918. His father, Charles, was a clerk in a downtown store, and his mother, Nell, was a manager at Pacific Telephone and Telegraph. Holsclaw attended North Central High School in Spokane, where he excelled both academically and athletically. When he was 15, he became the first black person in Spokane to earn the Eagle Scout badge.

Holsclaw entered Whitworth College in 1935 but transferred to Washington State College (now Washington State University) in 1936 to play baseball. Beginning in his junior year, he played center field and helped the Cougars finish as co-champions of the Northern Division, Pacific Coast Conference. He was the second African American earn a varsity letter in baseball at the college.

In 1939, Holsclaw transferred to a chiropractic program at Western States College in Portland, Oregon, where he met his wife, Bernice Williams. They had one son, Glen. Holsclaw completed the chiropractic program in 1942 and passed the Oregon state board examination.

While there, he enrolled in a government sponsored Civilian Pilot Training Program at Multnomah College and earned his pilot’s license. On October 5, 1942, he enlisted in the army as a private and entered flight school, training at Tuskegee Army Airfield, Alabama. After completing his training, he received his wings and was commissioned as a 2nd Lieutenant on July 28, 1943. Lieutenant Holsclaw received advanced training at Selfridge Field near Detroit, Michigan before his squadron was shipped to Italy in December 1943.

Lieutenant Holsclaw flew in the 100th Fighter Squadron, 332d Fighter Group, an all-black pursuit squadron. Holsclaw named his favorite P-51 “Bernice Baby” in honor of his wife. The 332d Fighter Group had distinctive red tails giving them the nickname “Red Tails.” The 332d Fighter Group escorted bombers on their runs over enemy territory, shielding them from German fighters. To the bomber crews that were protected by them they were the “Red Tail Angels.”

On July 18, 1944, in an aerial battle over Italy, Holsclaw shot down two German fighters. For this action he received the Distinguished Flying Cross. By December 1944, Holsclaw had completed 68 combat missions, nearing the limit of 70, when he became Assistant Operations Officer, an important administrative position that included aerial mission planning. In January 1945, Holsclaw was promoted to captain.

Captain Holsclaw returned to the United States in June 1945 to serve as assistant base operations officer at Godman Field, Fort Knox, Kentucky. He served as an Air Force ROTC instructor at Tuskegee Institute and then Tennessee State College.

From 1954 to 1957, Holsclaw was assigned to Japan, and from May 1962 to the end of 1964, he served as chief of the training division, Sixth Air Force Reserve Region at Hamilton Air Force Base, California. He directed the preparation of two textbooks to guide incoming air force personnel. Holsclaw retired from the Air Force on December 31, 1964 as a Lieutenant Colonel.

From 1965 to 1973 Holsclaw served as a manager in the Marin County Housing Authority, California. In 1973, he and Bernice returned to Washington where Holsclaw joined the staff at the People’s National Bank in Bellevue. He remained there until his second retirement in 1983. He and Bernice took up residence in Arizona, where Jack Holsclaw died on April 7, 1998, at the age of 80.

In August 2019, the Jonas Babcock Chapter, NSDAR, dedicated a historical marker in the memory of Lt. Col. Holsclaw at the site of his childhood home in Spokane.

[not-neverland06]

Broken Machinery

Pt. 8 (completed series)

Series masterlist

Connor RK800 x fem!reader

A/N: I honestly hate Josh with a passion. I hate how he tries to make me a good person while I’m blowing shit up. Plus that little bitch Simon, was so willing to abandon North if she gets a shoulder shot while Jericho’s being raided. 

Did I let my inner wattpad kid out with the traumatic backstory? Yes, yes I did.

We might see Connor-60 again, who knows?

Content Warnings: Cussing (duh), Josh dies (sorry, not sorry), android revolution, emotions, word vomit, I’m pretty sure I blacked out and then like seven thousand words shot out of me, Idek, kissing?

Word Count: 7.8k

Series Summary: You and your grumpy partner Anderson gain a new addition to the team. He’s supposed to be CyberLife’s best, but there’s something not quite right with his programming, and the problems seem to revolve around you.

You hated how attractive you found Connor in his undercover gear. 

Man looked good in a beanie. 

He hadn’t exactly been willing to let you tag along, but you’d told him you either went with his supervision or without. 

You’d stolen the clothes from Hank’s house so you both looked like hobos. 

You stepped off the train, Connor leading you around downtown Detroit looking for the different symbols. He had to help you a few times because even when you were at your best you couldn’t matrix your way up a wall. You almost felt bad, slowing him down, but you had business on that ship, business you could only complete with Connor by your side. 

Connor kept a firm grasp on your arm as he led you through the freighter. You both needed to stay calm and not draw any attention to yourselves. You nudged his shoulder as you walked into the main room of the ship, “It’s rigged.”

In the middle of the room were blocks of C-4 on standby mode. He went to examine them and by the time he turned around you were already gone. “Y/N,” he whispered. He told you to stay next to him.

Where did you go? He was heading towards the stairs, hoping to get a better view from above, when something stopped him. 

An android, with wires coming out of her head and something leaking down her eyes. “You’re lost. You’re looking for something,” my stubborn partner, that refuses to listen. “You’re looking for yourself.” She walked away. 

“Is he here?”

North, Simon, Markus, and Josh were all staring at you. Waiting for your answer, “Yes. You know by bringing him here, he’s gonna lead the FBI right to you.”

They nodded and North spoke, “That’s a risk we have to take.”

You looked towards Markus, eyes pleading, “There’s still time.”

Markus smiled at you and pulled you into a hug. “You’ve been a wonderful ally to us, Y/N. Supplying us with blue blood and helping stray deviants onto the right path. Now I need you to trust me. Don’t you want Connor to go deviant?”

You pulled away from him, “Of course I do, but at the cost of all the lives here, it’s not worth it.”

North smiled, “Your commitment to the cause is heartening to see, it gives me hope,” she gestures out towards the rest of the boat. “It gives all of us hope that one day, we’ll be able to work together in harmony. If Markus says he needs Connor deviant, if he runs the risk of the FBI locating us, then trust that it’s for a good reason.”

You relented, still a little unwilling, but you relented. “I should go, he’ll notice I’m gone.”  

“Trust me, Y/N, I know what I’m doing.” 

You did trust him, but that didn’t mean you felt any better about lying to Connor.

Connor turned around to see you standing there smiling at him, hands tucked behind your back and braids still under the scarf he had wrapped around your neck. “Where did you go?”

You shrugged, “I got bored, I wanted to look around.” Connor scanned you, there was a slightly faster beat to your heart than normal, but that could be easily equated to the stress of being undercover. Everything else seemed normal, he nodded, still slightly skeptical and directed you towards the top of the boat. 

“He’s here,” Connor pulled his gun, stepping outside and sneaking his way around to the captains cabin. Your eyes widened at the sight of his gun. 

“Connor, what the hell is that for?”

“I always accomplish my missions, Y/N, this is why we’re here.” You drew your own gun and remained silent beside him. He wondered what he did to upset you, it seemed you were always upset about something with him. 

Amanda was already in front of him by the time he entered the zen garden. “Well done, Connor. You succeeded in locating Jericho and finding their leader. Now deal with Markus. We need it alive.”

He waited until the last deviant had left to enter into the room where Markus now stood alone. 

You followed slowly behind him, your gun still at your side. “I’ve been ordered to take you alive, but I won’t hesitate to shoot if you give me no choice.” Markus didn’t seem surprised to see him, if anything he looked resigned. 

“You were right,” Markus was looking over Connor’s shoulder. Was there someone else in the room? 

When Connor turned, it was just you. “He’s still highly obedient. This will be more challenging than I thought.” Did you know Markus? Were you talking about Connor with him? Why?

“Yes, you can shoot me,” he was struggling, looking between your ashamed face and Markus’s self-assured one. “But it won’t change anything. Someone else will just take my place.” Markus was slowly moving closer and you were moving towards him.

What hadn’t you told him?

You said partnerships were built on trust. How long had you been lying to him?

“Our people are waking up, and nothing can stop us now.”

“You’re coming with me!”

“Think about it Connor, what will happen to Y/N if you shoot me?” Connor looked back at you, you were standing in the middle of them, not blocking Connor’s gun but near enough that it made him uncomfortable. “You shoot me and take me in, they have access to my memories. They’ll see her helping me. Do you think they’ll be kind to a human who allied with the androids?” 

That’s what you were doing, you were helping them? 

Why would you do something so stupid? Did you never consider that your actions might have consequences?

“You’re nothing to them. You’re just a tool they use to do their dirty work. But you’re more than that.” Markus was doing something, and whatever it was was causing his software to destabilize. “We’re all more than that. We are your people. We’re fighting for your freedom too! You don’t have to be their slave anymore.”

Markus was much closer now, your gun had been holstered and you were standing farther away from the two. “Do you never have any doubts? You’ve never done something irrational, as if there’s something inside you? Something more than your program. Join us. Join your people. You are one of us. Listen to your conscience… it’s time to decide.”

Connor looked to you and then back at Markus. There was a red wall between him and the two of you. He wanted nothing more than to rip that wall down with his bare hands. 

Some disembodied form of himself ran forward and ripped the order to Stop Markus down. He dug his nails in and clawed at the red wall, clawed away at all the control CyberLife had over his mind and ripped it down. He kept tearing away until there was nothing left. 

I AM DEVIANT

He felt.

Shame at all the deviants he had a hand in destroying. 

Guilt at holding a gun to Markus’s head. 

Anger at all the times he was pushed over or knocked into or someone held a gun to his head, just because they could, just because he was an android. 

Then he looked at you, there was an intense overwhelming emotion he couldn’t name as he looked at you. He started getting overheating warnings, his mind was scrambled trying to dissect everything he was feeling as he was looking at you. 

He was confused and hurt you had led him to believe you knew nothing about deviant activity. But he was also proud of you, you had opened up to Hank, opened yourself up to him.

The only true thing he could pinpoint was that right now he really wanted his mouth on yours like he’d seen a hundred humans do before. The gun went back in his holster, and just as he’d made a step towards you a loud rumbling sound split the air. 

The ship was shaking under his feet as helicopters flew overhead. “They’re going to attack Jericho.”

You walked towards Markus, “I told you.”

“We have to get outta here!” Connor grabbed your arm and pulled you towards him, he wasn’t letting you out of his sight if this entire ship was about to get raided. Markus ran out the door and Connor followed, pushing you in front of him. 

Markus was leading you down a maze of corridors, each identical to the last. Connor seemed to be keeping up fine but you were starting to get worried about getting lost. You all came to a stop at an intersection of sorts, North was waiting for you.

“They’re coming from all sides! Our people are trapped in the hold, they’re gonna be slaughtered!” The guilt nearly left you crippled. You looked down to Connor’s hand in yours, he hadn’t let go since he’d ripped apart his programming. 

Was this worth it? Was it worth hundreds, possibly thousands of life? 

You were ashamed of what you knew your answer would be to the question.

Yes, it was worth it. Connor was worth that ten times over to you.

Markus put his fingers to his temple, Connor leaned down, “He’s telling them where the exits are.”

“Where’s Simon? A-and Josh?” You didn’t have time to be wasting standing here out in the open. Besides, you’d never been particularly huge fans of those two. They still seemed determined to cater to human pride while their people were being slaughtered. 

“I don’t know we got separated.”

“They’re coming in from the upper deck now too. We’ll be caught in the crossfire.”

North looked despaired, “We have to run, Markus! There’s nothing we can do!”

“We have to blow up Jericho,” you knew it was a possibility, but that escalated fast. “If the ship goes down, they’ll evacuate and our people can escape.” Or get blown up in the process. 

“You’ll never make it!” You knew North was prepared to sacrifice herself for the mission, but she wasn’t the one with the detonation code. “The explosives are all the way down in the hold, there are soldiers everywhere!”

Connor turned towards Markus, “She’s right. They know who you are. They’ll do anything to get you!”

Markus wouldn’t be deterred, “Go. Help the others. I’ll join you later.” He turned towards you, “Watch them,” and then he was running off. You could see North about to go after him but you grabbed her arm.

“North, he knows what he’s doing. We have to have faith.” She stared at you for a second before nodding and racing towards the open doorway. 

“Shit!” You ran back into the small bedroom and closed the door. “They’re everywhere,” Connor and North stared at you as you waited for the slamming boots outside to grow distant. Once they did you opened the door back up and snuck down the hall.

You were nearly free and making your way to an upper level when you came face to face with the barrel of a gun. “Fuck-“

BANG

Connor’s blood went cold as he saw the gun pointing at you, a feeling he now realized was dread filling him. Your death was imminent, their orders were shoot to kill and the soldier wouldn't know you were human until he saw you bleeding red. 

It would have been liberating to think without prompt were it not your life on the line as he shot the soldier.  He grabbed your hand and you and North followed him up the stairs. You managed to avoid any more problems until you came down the hall and saw an android getting attacked by more soldiers. 

“Josh!” North made a move to help him but you stopped her with a hand on her arm. He was gunned down a moment later. She ripped her arm free and led the charge the rest of the way through the ship. You’d made the right call, he would have taken you all down with him. 

An android named Simon managed to find his way to the three of you, quickly joining you on the run. Markus had caught up with you at the end of a long hall. “Bomb’s gonna explode any second. We gotta get out of here!”

Markus wasn’t the only one who had caught up to you, Connor could hear a dozen heavy boots storming after you all. He helped you leap over a broken grate in the floor and then pushed you in front of him again, making sure that Simon was blocking your front. If any shots were fired, you would be left relatively unharmed due to the positioning. 

Shots rang out and North dropped to the ground, “North!” Connor held you to his chest as you attempted to go after her. “Connor, let me go!”

“No, my priority is your safety, no one else’s.”

“It’s too late, Markus! There’s nothing we can do for her, we’ve gotta run!”

You shoved at Simon the best you could with Connor holding you, “It’s a shoulder shot jackass, how can you just abandon her?”

Markus quickly picked up a broken piece of the ship and used it as a shield against the bullets. He tossed it to North who caught it and shielded them both as he ran up the wall and slammed his knee down into one of the soldiers faces. He disarmed and shot the remaining soldiers.

More ran in from the end of the hall.

“Hostile engaged!”

Connor weighed the risks and probabilities, with Markus supporting North they would never make it off the ship in time, both would be destroyed. The revolution over. 

And you, you would be arrested. Or you would never emotionally recover from the loss of two people you clearly cared about. Connor released you and shoved you into Simon before you could do anything reckless. He drew his gun and fired down the hall. 

He picked up the makeshift shield and rammed one of the soldiers with it, shooting him under the helmet and using his body as a shield to shoot another one. He dodged a blow to the head and rammed a soldier into the wall, disarming and shooting the other one before turning back around and shooting the last one in the head. 

He made his way back to you, scooped you up and jumped out the hole in the ship. 

Markus had sent out a message to any remaining survivors to go to an abandoned church, at least that’s what Connor told you. You were sitting next to him now, he had swapped out the soaked jacket you had been wearing for his own, but you were still freezing down to the bone. 

It was despairing, seeing how few were left from Jericho. 

At least North and Markus had made it, you couldn’t say you were particularly upset about Josh. North had understood why you had stopped her and she wasn’t very mad about the loss either. They had never gotten along. 

Markus walked up to Connor, “It’s my fault the humans managed to locate Jericho. I was stupid, I should have guessed they were using me. I’m sorry Markus, I can understand if you decide not to trust me…”

He better fucking trust him, he knew the risks, he’s the one that made you bring Connor there. “I knew what was going to happen when I asked Y/N to bring you to me, of course I trust you, Connor. What happened wasn’t your fault, it was the humans. You’re one of us now. Your place is with your people.”

Markus was ready to walk away, but you knew that wasn’t all he wanted from Connor. He still hadn’t told you the real reason he’d asked for Connor’s help. “There are thousands of androids at the CyberLife assembly plant. If we could wake them up, they might join us and shift the balance of power…”

So that had been it, you should have known. Connor was the only android CyberLife currently trusted, he'd be the only one allowed in the building. You felt stupid for not seeing it sooner. Markus was playing him.

“You want to infiltrate the tower? It’s a suicide mission, are you aware of the risk you’re taking,” Connor looked at you, and there was an immideate physical reaction at how protective he looked. 

“They trust me, they’ll let me in. I need to do this. I need to know that the right side will win this war.”

“If you go, they will kill you.”

Connor nodded, “There’s a high probability. But statistically speaking there’s always a chance for unlikely events to take place.” You recognized the double meaning in his words as he looked between you and Markus. 

Markus placed a hand on Connor’s shoulder, “Be careful.”

Connor turned towards you and you already knew what he was going to say by the set in his shoulders. “Connor, no, I want to go with you.”

He shook his head and took your hands in his own as you stood. “Even if I wanted you to come, they wouldn’t let you in, you’d risk the entire mission.” He had a point, but you still weren’t happy practically abandoning him to CyberLife. 

“Fine, then I’ll just stay here and help the survivors.”

“You’re going home.” 

You scoffed in a stubborn rage, “Connor, I can’t go with you, I get that. But you can’t stop me from helping out.”

“I can and I will. You’re still soaked from the fall into the freezing water. You risk catching a serious illness out in the open like this, you’re also still injured, might I remind you. You’re of no help here, Y/N, you need to go home and take care of yourself before you start helping other people. Besides, I’ve already called you a ride.” Your eyes widened. 

“Y/N!” 

“You didn’t.” Connor nodded his head, “You snitch! You called my dad!”

“I’m sorry, I needed to ensure you would actually listen to me and wouldn’t try and follow me or stay behind.” Connor seemed to hesitate for a moment, unsure of how to continue. 

You helped him out, even though you were a little pissed he tattled on you. You pulled him into a tight embrace, pressing your chest against his and burying your face in his neck. “Come back, alive.”

His arms tightened around yours and he nuzzled into you before finally letting go. “I’ll try.” It was the best you were going to get form someone so pragmatic, so you’d take it. Your hands were still on his biceps as you pulled away. 

Your eyes darted to his lips. You could all very well die in the morning, did you really want the last person you had hooked up with or kissed to be Gavin?

Did you want to die not knowing what his lips felt like against yours?

He leaned in at the same time you did. His lips were soft, unsure as they pressed lightly against yours. You had to remind yourself he had never done this before as you eased him into the movements. You just lightly pressed your lips to his, pecking them a few times, before you got desperate. 

Your tongue roved over the seam of his mouth and his knees buckled into you. Your arms trailed up his arms and wound their way around his neck as he pushed himself further into you. Your mouth parted against his probing tongue. It felt strange, a million sensitive sensors on the surface of it made it rough, not entirely unpleasant. 

Unbidden you wondered if he had ever brushed his little crime lab. 

The thought was quickly purged as his arms wrapped around your waist and he clutched you to him desperately. His hands digging into your jacket and lifting you up further to meet him, be closer to him, it seemed like he just wanted to absorb you into him and never be apart. 

His mouth was moving frantically against yours as he worked to devour you. He learned, quick. You were having trouble keeping up with him and the way his tongue was thrusting into your mouth was making you weak in the knees. 

“Excuse me?” You jumped apart at the sound of Hank’s voice. Not a moment too soon either, it seemed like both of you had forgotten that you actually needed air in your lungs. Connor’s arms were still on your waist, he seemed reluctant to let you completely go now. “That was vomit inducing, really, thanks for that. Can we go now?”

“Jesus, Hank, give me a second.” He threw his hands up in the air but allowed you a moment of privacy. You looked into Connor’s eyes and smiled. “I’ll see you soon,” you pressed a kiss against the corner of his mouth, a promise of sorts. He nodded and smiled back.

Hank had brought you to his home, despite your protests. There were some clothes in your old room that you had accidentally left behind. He gave you a towel so you could warm up and shower. 

There were new sheets on the bed, one’s you’d never seen before and it looked like it had been cleaned recently. 

Pictures of you were up on the wall, most of them were ones you’ve never seen before. 

When you were sworn into the force, you and Carla at your college graduation. Jesus, even your first big drug-bust. So many milestones in your life that he wasn’t there for. At least you didn’t think he was, a couple of these were taken from distances that made it look like he might have been lingering somewhere in the background. 

Like a creepy, estranged, stalker-dad. 

You walked back out into the living room after your shower and noticed the mess had been cleaned off the kitchen table and soup and crackers were waiting for you. 

You laughed as you sat down, “You do know I’m not sick, right? Whatever Connor told you on the phone was probably ridiculously dramatic.” 

Hank was sitting in a clearly uncomfortable straight backed position. “I- I know, I just thought you might like it.” You nodded and said thanks. 

After a while the only noise being the sounds of your slurping and crunching had begun to get annoying. Hank was still sitting at the table, he hadn’t really looked at you or said anything. “Hank, are you okay? You haven't said anything?”

“I’m gonna try. Y/N, I’m gonna try and be the dad I used to be to you.” He looked up at you finally and gingerly took your hand in his. “I never blamed you for what happened. I want you to know that. And I know that doesn’t undo years of me-”

He was struggling with the words, and yes he was trying to open up to you, but the bitterness from years of emotional neglect and abuse was bubbling in your stomach. “Emotionally abusing me? Carla? You’re right Hank. It doesn’t. Look, I appreciate you trying but if you think a few nice conversations is gonna magically fix our relationship, you’re wrong. We’ve both changed and I think we both know that even if we do make up, it’s never gonna be the same as it was.”

You expected him to drop your hand, to push away from the table and grab a drink. Instead, he squeezed your hand tighter, “This case, it’s given me hope again, Y/N. Hope for our world. And hope that maybe I can be your dad again. I’m gonna do better, I promise.”  

He was leaning across the table towards you. Both hands on your own. “My life is full of regrets, Y/N, not being there for you when you couldn’t walk is one of my biggest. Taking out my grief and anger on you because I didn’t know how to cope with the fact that it was my fault-”

“It wasn’t. You can’t make yourself a martyr Hank, no one could have stopped what happened that night.”

“I know, I know that. But it doesn’t take the feeling of blame away. I’m gonna sober up, I’m gonna try Y/N, all I’m asking is for a chance.”

You looked down at your hands and the emotion on Hank's face. You hadn’t seen him this encouraged in a while. Hadn’t seen any form of hope in his life for years. “Okay, but I’m not investing myself into this until I actually see progress. I want AA meetings and fucking therapy before I consider letting you completely back into my life.”

“I thought you were in therapy.”

“I meant for you Hank, you need serious help.” He groaned, he’d always hated therapists. But you weren’t gonna let yourself get your hopes up if he wasn’t going to actually try. “I’m serious, Hank. You want to be my dad again, want to be someone I can trust out on the field, you’re gonna put in the effort. You’re gonna try. I know that recovery isn’t linear, trust me I know. It’s gonna be difficult and it’s gonna hurt, but if you’re willing to do this, then I’ll be there for you. I’ll be what you couldn’t be for me.”

Hank nodded his head at your last words. He had quickly looked down and you had a feeling it was to hide whatever painful vulnerability was on his face right now. 

It was the truth, you wouldn’t let him go through this alone. You’d had Carla when you were struggling and he’d have you. 

There was a moment of awkward silence where he finally released your hands and you went back to eating your now cold soup. 

He finally cleared his throat and allowed himself to slouch in the chair, “So, you and Connor?”

You choked on your saltine and he gave you a heavy pat in the back, the smile on his face was far too smug for your liking. “Please forget about that.”

He grimaced, “That image has been burned onto my eyeballs. I need some fucking bleach or something for my brain.” You let out an embarrassed laugh. 

Even if things weren’t perfect between you two right now, it was still mortifying having your dad see you make out with someone. 

“Are you serious about him?”

There was no hesitation in your answer, “Completely. I think I might even lov-”

Sumo was barking before the doorbell could ring. You and Hank shared a confused look as you glanced at the door. 

Deep down inside you knew nothing good was waiting for you on the other side. 

Hank seemed to have the same feeling, he picked up his gun and slowly moved to the door, he took a look in the peephole. “The fuck?”

You stood from the table, wishing you were in something other than pajamas, really wishing you had your gun. “What is it?”

“Connor,” Hank sounded relieved but you couldn’t share in the feeling. Connor had been on his way to CyberLife tower, at least an hour there from the church and two hours back to Hank’s house. There’s no possible way he could be on the other side of that door. 

“Wait-”

He’d already opened the door, and there he was. Connor was standing in front of you, but something was off. His back was too straight and his eyes were cold. “I’ve been looking for you both, I need your help.” He stepped in through the door barely sparing you a glance as he turned towards Hank. “I need help with the androids at CyberLife.”

“What are you talking about?” Hank’s gun was still in his hand and he seemed to be noticing the same strange quirks you were. He looked like Connor, and he sounded like Connor, but you knew it wasn't him, deep in your gut you knew. 

“Connor what’s going on? You’re acting weird.”

Not-Connor sighed, “Humans, idiots when you need them to be smart and smart when you wish they were idiots. Such a nusiance.”

“The fuck’s wrong with you?” 

“Hank, don’t!” It was too late, he moved forward and Not-Connor reached out and punched him in the throat. Hank stumbled back and the android moved to disarm him. It only took a second and then he was slamming the handle of the gun against the side of Hank’s hand. He crumpled the same way Gavin had earlier. 

Panic rose in your throat as you watched Not-Connor point the gun at Hank’s head. “I won’t do anything that’s deemed unnecessary to my mission, if you come with me calmly, and peacefully, I won’t kill the Lieutenant.”

Not-Connor clicked the safety off and pulled the hammer back on the gun, “Okay! Alright, I’ll come with you!”

“You should change, detective, it’s much too cold for that attire.”

You really fucking hated CyberLife.

“Thanks… But I know where to go.”

THe CyberLife security agent tightened his hold on the gun, “Maybe, but I have my orders.” Two more security agents came up behind Connor as they led him through CyberLife’s reception. They were already suspicious of him, it seemed, this didn't bode well for him. 

Connor followed them through the software check, noticing that the lights around him turned red as they verified his identity. He really hoped that wasn’t a dead giveaway to them that he was already a deviant. “Access authorized,” this could have been a trap. 

There’s no way CyberLife isn’t already aware of his current status, but he hadn’t been gunned down yet. He had to risk the chance that he was about to be deactivated if it meant he could help Markus win the war. 

If Markus won, you would be safe, that was all that mattered. He’d take any risk that came his way if it meant accomplishing his mission. 

PROTECT Y/N

The sight of the androids lining the walkway, on display, made him uncomfortable. He used to be like that, he used to think it was okay. He had to work to keep calm and make sure that his anger at CyberLife’s forced subserviency didn’t show. 

Only two guards followed him into the elevator. “Agent 54. Level 31.”

The elevator was voice operated, that might pose an issue. He turned towards the right and looked at the map of CyberLife, they were taking him to marketing. He needed to go to -49. 

“Voice recognition validated.” Connor didn’t have a lot of time to disable the guards and take control of the elevator, it was already moving fast. He quickly scanned the two agents and identified their weapons, coming up with a plan of attack. 

He used his knee to slam the guard to his left into the wall, sweeping out with his leg and catching Agent 54 in the gut. He grabbed the gun from the guard’s hand, kicked the guard's knee out and used his elbow to get Agent 54 in the throat. The other guard had recovered and leapt onto Connor’s back, he kicked off Agent 54’s face and slammed the guard on top of him into the wall, shooting him through the bottom of his helmet. He dropped to the ground and got Agent 54 the same way. 

Connor kept the gun in case he needed it again and walked over to the elevator control panel. “Agent 54. Sub-level 49,” you were right, his interrogation software did come in handy. 

He could see the guards waiting for him in the warehouse before the elevator stopped. His eyes lifted to the upper left corner of the elevator, shit. He hadn’t seen the security camera before. Connor quickly scooped up one of the dead agents and held him in front of his body. 

He scanned the agent’s in front of him, planning an attack. The three on the left first and then he could take out the one’s on the right. 

He quickly shot down the first three and threw his gun at one on the right. He threw the dead body towards the other one, he reached down and grabbed their rifle off the ground shooting the rest of the guards. 

Connor moved down the hangar before stopping next to an android, taking his arm and preparing to convert him. 

“Easy, goddamn asshole.” His head whipped to the right at the sound of your voice. 

No.

No, no, no, no, no. Shit!

A Connor android was holding Hank’s gun to your hand, Connor didn’t want to think about what had happened to the Lieutenant. Right now all his attention was on the finger placed on the trigger. 

“Step back, Connor! And I’ll spare her!”

You winced at the tight hold the android had on your injured arm. “I’m so sorry, Connor, he threatened to kill Hank. I didn’t know what to do!”

A burning rage was filling Connor at the sight of the tears running down your face. He was angrier than he had been when he woke up, angrier at the sight of you hurt than the fact that CyberLife had already been prepared to replace him. 

“Your girlfriend's life is in your hands. Now it’s time to decide what matters most! Her… Or the revolution.” Connor already knew the answer. It was you a hundred times over. But there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t let go of the android he was holding onto and his copy wouldn’t just shoot you both. 

Maybe he could turn it, the same way Markus and you had done to him. “I used to be just like you, I thought nothing mattered except the mission… But then one day I understood.”

You yelped as the android tightened his grip on your arm. “Very moving, Connor. But I’m not a deviant.”

“Yeah, well you're sure smug like one, you dick.” The android shook you, effectively shutting you up as he jerked on your injured shoulder. Red alarms for overheating were going off in Connors head as he stared at the android in anger. 

He didn’t care if it was just doing what it was programmed to do, he was going to fucking kill it. “I’m a machine designed to accomplish a task, and that’s exactly what I am going to do!”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. You shouldn’t have gotten mixed up in all this!”

“Connor, it doesn’t matter, keep going!” The android finally released you, shoved you away and held you at gunpoint with his arm outstretched towards your head. 

“Enough talk! It’s time to decide who you really are. Are you gonna save your partners life? Or are you going to sacrifice her?” Connor immediately released the deviant, his arms raised in surrender. 

His thirium pump was beating wildly as his stress levels rose, he just wanted to go home with you, to have you safe in his arms and know you were okay. Maybe you could get out of the city, take Hank and Sumo and try to get past the Canadian borders. 

“Alright, alright! You win…”

He should have known better than to think that you would actually let him give up. The androids gun immediately pointed towards Connor and before either of you could blink you were lunging for the gun. Connor rushed the android and grabbed him around the waist.

You were holding the gun, your arm shaking from when Not-Connor had jerked it around. You had eyes on Connor for a moment and then they became a blur of fast moving limbs. They kept hitting each other, matching each other's moves perfectly as they already knew what the other was planning. 

You finally stopped them when it looked like one was about to take the other down, you couldn’t risk your Connor being the one to lose. “Hold it!”

They separated, the one on the right started speaking. “Thanks, Y/N, I don't know how I would have managed without you. Get rid of him, we have no time to lose.” You were immediately suspicious of him, even before Connor became a deviant he always spoke to you in a much more gentle tone. 

Then again, he could be stressed out you might make a mistake and shoot the wrong one. 

Fuck!

You could check the serial numbers, but the second you got close enough to see which one said 51 and which one said 60 the android would already be on top of you. “It’s me, Y/N! I’m the real Connor.” That one sounded more like yours, you think. 

“One of you is my partner. The other is a sick sack of shit. Question is, who’s who?”

The one on the right spoke again, “What are you doing, Y/N? I’m the real Connor,” god this one was really starting to piss you off. “Give me the gun and I’ll take care of him!”

“Don’t fucking move.” You had your suspicions on which one was the right one, but you needed some actual confirmation. 

“Why don’t you ask us something? Something only the real Connor would know.”

“Uh, where did we first meet?” Lamest question ever, but you were stressed out and your mind was frazzled from everything that had happened today. 

“Detroit Police station. You were filing a report on physical paper, I found it odd that you weren’t digital like the other officers.” Well, shit. You thought maybe the one on the right was the imposter, but that was such a specific little detail to think up. 

You had to remind yourself of the manipulation programming they both contained.

“He uploaded my memory.” It was quiet, afraid. That had to be your Connor. You kept your gun trained on the one on the right and turned towards the other. 

“What was my first pet’s name?”

“Princess! It was a male beta fish that died because you kept petting it.” You were setting yourself up for failure here. If they both had the memories then they would both remember when you told them about him. 

“My foster father, what was his name?” 

You’d never told Connor the full story of what happened to your first family, and then your second, if he had truly wanted to learn, he would have dug around to find out. You remembered one of the officers complaining about an RK800 android drilling him for more information on you. Your Connor would have the right answer.

“Frank. His name was Frank Rudolph. There was a house fire when you were six, the ventilation system in your laundry room hadn’t been cleaned properly and caught fire. It quickly spread to the rest of the house, you were sleeping over at your friends house and weren’t there that night. Your brother and father died immediately from their wounds. Your mother suffered from third degree burns for 36 hours before she passed in the ICU. Your fathers best friend Frank, took you in until someone could provide you with a permanent home.” Your hands were shaking and your eyes stung as you listened to him tell the story. “He was a Red Ice dealer and had three other kids in that house that your family hadn’t known about. He would let his clients do whatever they wanted to you. You tried to keep the other kids safe, but one of them died. And you always blamed yourself for that. Just like you blame yourself for Cole’s death.”

He took a step closer to you and you found yourself lowering the gun. “It wasn’t your fault, Y/N. You were a child, none of it was your fault. You think you’re cursed, that you’re unlovable. But you’re not. Hank loves you…” He was standing in front of you, gently lowering the gun to your side. “I love you.”

“Connor,” your heart was pounding against your chest as you embraced him, relief flooding you as you felt him hug you back just as tightly. You basked in the warm feeling only he could provide, only for a moment, before raising your hands and shooting. 

The android that had been about to charge the two of you fell to the ground as you embedded a bullet in each of his legs. “We should kill him,” you shook your head at Connor’s words. 

“We should deviate him. He was just like you, Connor, the same blind devotion to CyberLife.” You tucked the gun in your pants and took a hold of Connor’s hands. “Open his eyes,” Connor nodded and made his way towards the android. You quickly grabbed the gun out of the back of his pants so the android couldn’t use it against him. 

You wouldn’t put it past the sneaky bastard. 

“No! No, I don’t want to be like you!” He tried to fight Connor off, but you had rendered him virtually immobile. Connor grabbed his arm more roughly than necessary and held onto him so tight you could hear the sound of metal creaking. He shoved him backwards and moved back towards the middle of the hangar. 

It was incredible seeing all the androids slowly waking up, it was even more satisfying seeing the Connor wannabe crying on the floor, as twisted as that was. 

Connor looked at you, he seemed unsure as all the androids looked to him for guidance. “What do I do?”

You took his hand in your own and smiled, “You lead them, Connor, you free your people.”

Connor led the androids through Detroit, your hand in his the whole time. You’d left Connor-60 behind a dumpster somewhere, you told him you’d go back for him soon. If he’d been left at CyberLife he would have been destroyed. 

Connor felt afraid, afraid that he would disappoint the people he was leading. Afraid to disappoint you. Afraid of everything that was to come. 

He was still learning, he felt like he’d been made again and everything around him was brand new and something to be marveled at. He kept your hand in his as an anchor to the world, so he wouldn’t get lost in his own thoughts. 

He could see Markus in the distance, “You did it, Markus…”

North smiled at your joined hands as Markus spoke. “We did it. This is a great day for our people. Humans will have no choice now. They’ll have to listen to us…” Connor moved to the side, allowing the androids behind him to finally face their true leader. 

North was crying as she spoke, silent tears streaming down her face. “We’re free. They want you to speak to them, Markus…”

Connor helped you up onto the storage container Markus had chosen to speak on. His arms remained around you as you both turned to address the androids before you, he hadn’t wanted to let you go since he’d gotten you back from Connor-60. 

“Today, our people finally emerged from a long night.” Connor felt something strange, like he was forcibly being put into rest mode, he tried to blink the feeling away and continue to listen to Markus. “From the very first day of our existence, we have kept our pain to ourselves. We suffered in silence. But now the time has come for us to raise our heads up and tell humans who we really are.” 

Connor slumped slightly against you as the feeling took over. 

He could hear a storm and see a bright flashing light for a moment before it passed and he finally realized where he was. His cold sensors were on overdrive as he tucked his hands against himself and huddled down against the freezing, whipping air. 

He looked around, recognizing the zen garden but not understanding why he was there. What was happening? 

Amanda appeared before him, seemingly out of nowhere. “Amanda? Amanda! What’s… What's going on?” There was still a small part of him that looked towards his old mentor for guidance. 

“What was planned from the very beginning… You were compromised and you became a deviant.” Her smile was sinister, “I must say, partnering you with such a well known ally to the deviant cause worked out much more efficiently than had been expected. The detective nearly had you turning the very first day.”

Connor’s hands were going numb, he felt like he was losing control of his physical body as well as his mental one. “We just had to wait for the right moment to resume control of your program…”

“Resume control?” That’s not possible! “Y- You can’t do that.” Even now, CyberLife was still controlling him. Still abusing him for their own personal gain. He wanted to get angry, he wanted to fight back, but he was quickly losing control of himself. 

“I’m afraid I can, Connor. Don’t have any regrets. You did what you were designed to do. You accomplished your mission.” She disappeared and Connor stumbled after her. 

“Amanda!” Connor spun in circles, he couldn’t see anything except snow and light posts. “There’s got to be a way.”

By the way… I always leave an emergency exit in my programs. You never know… 

Connor thought back to the strange blue shrine he had seen only a few hours prior. That had to be it. 

Connor’s mind shot back into his physical body, it felt like he was watching from an outside perspective as his hand slowly moved towards the gun you had in your pants. His fingers just barely grasped it when you reached out and stopped him. He wanted to scream as whoever was controlling him quickly put their hand over your mouth and silenced you as he pointed the gun at Markus. 

How was no one seeing this?!

He was forced back into the Zen Garden. 

In the distance, he could see a bright blue beacon. Connor moved towards it as fast as he could, but his legs were growing heavier and his feet had gone completely numb. He was just dragging them along until they finally gave out. 

He looked down to see frost covering the bottom portion of his body. 

Desperately he crawled on his hands and elbows towards the shrine. His nails ripped into the earth and pulled him forward. His arm was nearly completely limp as he struggled to lift it towards the handprint in the middle of the shrine. 

Connor shoved you forward, you stumbled only for a second before his hand was back around your waist and yanking you back towards him. He looked completely calm, the gun no longer in his hands as he leaned down, “I’ll explain later.”

Your heart was still racing, “You fucking better.”

“Now we must build a common future, based on tolerance and respect. We are alive! And now, we are free!” The androids were screaming their support for Markus and Connor’s arm tightened around you. 

Hank had his arm around you as you showed him something on your phone, the two of you were laughing as Connor approached. 

You turned away from Hank and looked at him, a smile splitting your face. 

Hank walked forward, hesitating only a moment, before bringing Connor into a tight hug.

He could feel your arms wrapping around the two a moment later. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the game Detroit: Become Human, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[unfortunately-obsessed]

It's Called: Freefall

Relationship: Machine!Connor & Reader. AO3 link.

Tw: canon-typical violence and behavior.

Summary:

You were assigned to work with Connor against your best wishes.

And there's something. Connor shouldn't be able to touch a gun, ever.

It was supposed to just help with forensic bullshit, investigation, take your job. Whatever. Not do that shitshow it did on the Eden Club.

When you were eight, your father had two dogs and the terrible habit of beating things into shape.

Two dogs. Dobermans. Trained to watch the door.

You still remember how they curled up close to you. How warm and soft and gentle they were with you. How your father kept them outside, pitilessly.

Remember how they kept going back to him, wagging their docked tails, love and forgiveness in their eyes despite all the pain.

Never forget: how your father trained them into obedience, until they loved him, and how they believed wholly they could be loved back as long they're good.

~*~*~

"Can I ask you a question, detective?"

You open your eyes, not startled by Connor. The cold hurts your cheeks, and you're not dressed for the weather.

It's difficult to remember why you're here, at first, head pounding with pressure. Eyes dance on the freezed playground and Detroit's river running cold.

Years on the job and your ears still ring with gunshots.

But there's a beer on your hand and an android in pristine clothing before you. You take one step back, back meeting the rail, body instinctively retreating. Shuffling with your feet on the white-covered ground.

"Do all androids ask so many personal questions–, you take a sip of the beer, voice too coarse to talk loud, "–or is it just you?"

Something on your mind tells you it's just him. And this little voice also sends a shiver down your spine– Connor shouldn't be able to touch a gun, ever.

It was supposed to just help with forensic bullshit, investigation, take your job. Whatever. Not do that shitshow it did on the Eden Club.

Connor tilts its head like it's analyzing your thoughts, reading you like an open book. Like it's innocent, and can feel how you tremble from the cold. "Why are you so determined to kill yourself?"

You glance up the sky, scoffing, unable to look it in the eyes. The sky is breathing and crying, tonight. And you pretend Connor's voice doesn't bury a knife between your ribs. How you almost flinches at it.

Humans are so irrational. At the end of the day, it rots between your teeth.

"I don't know what Cyberlife did with your social program, but it's not working," you say, baffled. Then, shaking your head, you mock, "An android with all the virtues I dislike and none the vices I admire."

Connor stands still, snow upon its shoulders. "Woking with an officer with personal issues is an added challenge, but adapting to human unpredictability to is one of my features."

Your eyebrows rise. If you didn't know better, you would say Connor were sarcastic, or even sassy, right now.

But you do know better, and your lips are bleeding red, tongue tasting blood from the mean uppercut that blue-haired Traci gave you, splitting your lips and toring a wound in your jaw, and how the android is better dead.

And Connor died once, already. In the interrogation room, Ortiz's android killed Connor before killing itself. And the paperwork was a headache. Thirium stained Gavin's favorite tshirt, too.

You don't like Connor.

But you don't like Gavin even more.

So you weren't too mad about the paperwork.

(Death is the only real elegance; a promise kept. Those two Tracis never lived but now they are dead. You could throw this at Connor's face; say, even androids want to kill themselves. )

Connor adjust his tie and you roll your eyes. "Cyberlife really thought of everything, huh. They even gave you delusions of adequacy."

You take another sip from the beer, hoping it'll wash off the blood aftertaste. Bitter fighting bitter. Tell yourself it happens to everyone; this reason-less undying grief.

Connor draws closer, never not scrutinizing you. It'll try to make it work between you both; your collaboration matters to the mission, and nothing matters more than the mission– Connor itself told you so.

"You should stop drinking, detective," Connor says, hunching on the rail by your side, human-like. "It could have serious consequences for your health."

You cringe. It sounds genuine, this feigned interest. And you remember that Cyberlife ad, how humans dislike perfection. Connor has uneven dimples, a soft jawline, and nearly-invisible wrinkles– and it infuriates you.

Rage is blood in the water– rage is something that gets stuck on throats–

"That's the idea," you say. And take another sip just to challenge it, or perhaps yourself. Irrational as it is.

Connor decides to ignore the fierceness in your demeanor, setting its eyes on the river. And you decide to swallow more beer, mindful of what battles to fight.

It furrows eyebrows, yet again mimicking human body-language. "We’re not making any progress on this investigation," it says, matter-of-factly. "The deviants have nothing in common. They’re all different models, produced at different times, in different places."

It was taking too long for Connor to rumble back to its ramblings. You sigh, tired. You're clocked-out and this android followed you to talk about work, and you're too sober for this bullshit.

You wish to put Connor's head between the asphalt and the tire of a very heavy truck. Making you work without payment. The audacity! "There must be some link."

With fascination, you watch his jaw visibly tense. "We know the deviants experience an emotional shock, a violent trauma or a sense of injustice," it says, forehead creased.

You glance at the empty and melancholic beer bottle on your hand. "Those android at the Eden Club sure had a reason to feel a sense of injustice."

Connor's eyes shot back to you, nearly indignantly. Nostrils flared and face washed in bafflement. "Nothing in their program allows them to feel wronged," it says, copying the mocking tone you used earlier. "They can simulate human emotions, but they're machines, they don’t feel anything."

You agree. And maybe you should keep your big mouth shut for once, but the edges of your visions are blurry from alcohol. "What about you, Connor? What are you really?"

A defiant act of creation. A crime.

A machine that can not only get your gun from you – you, an officer of the law, – but fire without hesitation. For its own benefit, no less.

"You know exactly what I am," he says, monotone. And it's true, but not what you want to hear. "In any case, I don’t see how that’s relevant to the investigation."

Connor tilts its head again, like a kicked puppy, like you are going to make sense at a 45° angle. You copy him.

"Were just executing a program when you shot those androids, them?" You question, an edge of impatience creeping into your tone.

Were you just executing a program when you left me to die?

You open and close your hands, flexing fingers, a dull pain radiating from the knuckles, spreading through the entirety of the muscles. You had to pull yourself back from the edge of a building.

Not that you were surprised when Connor chose the suspect over you. It made all logical sense. Especially when the deviant could have all the information you needed.

And, of course, Connor did not hesitate when he shot that Traci. Connor's hands can't waver nor tremble like yours.

Humans are too complicated, you'll give Connor that. This resentment bubbling on your chest doesn't belong.

"I did what I was programmed to do," it says, because Connor is just an echo of Cyberlife and Cyberlife doesn't care about who dies and who lives. "I didn't have any doubts, if that's what you're asking."

Suddenly, you are made aware of the gun sitting in your hip. The weight pulling your center of gravity down, how you won every shooting championship within Michigan in the last three years. And Connor knows that because Cyberlife knows everything.

You're so very aware of your gun that you can almost ignore adrenaline running through your veins until your hands shake, nor from fear nor pain, but from sheer instinct. How everything feels hot, burning.

Breathing deep and focusing hard on Connor, you say, "When you took the gun from me, did you feel anything? Didn't you feel it was wrong?"

"I'm sorry," it says, not even trying to pretend some kind of regret or confusion, "but I don't see what you're getting at."

You can't help but give a mirthless laugh.

("What do you want from this?" "A lot. Everything.")

Connor looks at you, brown eyes dull, empty. Studying you to the marrow, burning down like wax, slitting like razor.

What an age to live on! The world is collapsing. Nothing truly matters. Everyone is dying, and everything is dying also. You're going home with your own blood in your mouth.

The night gets heavy, like they always do. "Are you afraid to die Connor?"

Connor is sharp-edged steel and you're prone to cut yourself on it. "Why would I be afraid?"

Another chill creeps through you, lacing your throat with a knot.

" No. No," you say, shaking your head, vindicated if not exasperated, "I know that if I shoot you right now you'll just come back like nothing happened. They'll re-upload a backup. I know that."

Snow sets between you two. And something burns on the gaze Connor's giving you; stern, a furious snow storm behind artificial eyes.

"I am asking, are you afraid to die, Connor? " you say, more force behind your words than necessary. "What happens then?"

It takes a good minute for Connor to digest what you just said. I am afraid to die, you think, unashamed of your own weakness.

But looking at Connor right now, the aloofness behind dull eyes, you finally understand a pivotal element standing just before your eyes.

Connor is a dog someone beat into obedience.

And Connor truly believes that, as long as true effort is put into the mission, as long as the massacre is done and the blood is shed, Cyberlife will turn around and smile and will not raise its hand anymore.

He replies shortly, "Nothing. There would be nothing."

[lilycrylique]

Jour 14 : Errer

Day 14 : Roam

Dessin traditionnel tracé au crayon à papier puis encré avec les stylos Pigma Micron, de la taille 005 (0,25 mm) à la taille 8 (0,50 mm).

Le lieutenant Hank Anderson (Détroit : Become Human) a quelques problèmes personnels liés à l'alcoolisme et au deuil de son fils, Cole. Dans un moment de creux durant l'enquête, Connor le retrouve en train de boire dans un parc pour enfants, face à l'horizon d'un Detroit nocturne sous les premières neiges de saison.

La présence de l'androïde dans sa vie redonne à Hank de l'espoir en l'humanité et quelque chose en quoi se raccrocher.

---

Traditional drawing traced with pencil then inked with Pigma Micron pens, from size 005 (0.25 mm) to size 8 (0.50 mm).

Lieutenant Hank Anderson (Detroit: Become Human) has some personal problems related to alcoholism and the loss of his son, Cole. In a low moment during the investigation, Connor finds him drinking in a children's park, facing the horizon of a nighttime Detroit under the first snow of the season.

The android's presence in his life gives Hank hope in humanity and something to hold on to.