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bixels · 1 year ago

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Portal 2 is still the perfect game to me. I hyperfixated on it like crazy in middle school. Would sing Want You Gone out loud cuz I had ADHD and no social awareness. Would make fan animations and pixel art. Would explain the ending spoilers and fan theories to anyone who'd listen. Would keep up with DeviantArt posts of the cores as humans. Would find and play community-made maps (Gelocity is insanely fun).

I still can't believe this game came out 12 years ago and it looks like THIS.

Like Mirror's Edge, the timeless art style and economic yet atmospheric lighting means this game will never age. The decision not to include any visible humans (ideas of Doug Rattmann showing up or a human co-op partner were cut) is doing so much legroom too. And the idea to use geometric tileset-like level designs is so smart! I sincerely believe that, by design, no game with a "realistic art style" has looked better than Portal 2.

Do you guys remember when Nvidia released Portal with RTX at it looked like dogshit? Just the most airbrushed crap I've ever seen; completely erased the cold, dry, clinical feel of Aperture.

So many breathtakingly pit-in-your-stomach moments I still think about too. And it's such a unique feeling; I'd describe at as... architectural existentialism? Experiencing the sublime under the shadow of manmade structures (Look up Giovanni Battista Piranesi's art if you're curious)? That scene where you're running from GLaDOS with Wheatley on a catwalk over a bottomless pit and––out of rage and desperation––GLaDOS silently begins tearing her facility apart and Wheatley cries 'She's bringing the whole place down!' and ENORMOUS apartment building-sized blocks begin groaning towards you on suspended rails and cement pillars crumble and sparks fly and the metal catwalk strains and bends and snaps under your feet. And when you finally make it to the safety of a work lift, you look back and watch the facility close its jaws behind you as it screams.

Or the horror of knowing you're already miles underground, and then Wheatley smashes you down an elevator shaft and you realize it goes deeper. That there's a hell under hell, and it's much, much older.

Or how about the moment when you finally claw your way out of Old Aperture, reaching the peak of this underground mountain, only to look up and discover an endless stone ceiling built above you. There's a service door connected to some stairs ahead, but surrounding you is this array of giant, building-sized springs that hold the entire facility up. They stretch on into the fog. You keep climbing.

I love that the facility itself is treated like an android zooid too, a colony of nano-machines and service cores and sentient panel arms and security cameras and more. And now, after thousands of years of neglect, the facility is festering with decomposition and microbes; deer, raccoons, birds. There are ghosts too. You're never alone, even when it's quiet. I wonder what you'd hear if you put your ear up against a test chamber's walls and listened. (I say that all contemplatively, but that's literally an easter egg in the game. You hear a voice.)

Also, a reminder that GLaDOS and Chell are not related and their relationship is meant to be psychosexual. There was a cut bit where GLaDOS would role-play as Chell's jealous housewife and accuse her of seeing other cores in between chambers. And their shared struggle for freedom and control? GLaDOS realizing, after remembering her past life, that she's become the abuser and deciding that she has the power to stop? That even if she can't be free, she can let Chell go because she hates her. And she loves her. Most people interpret GLaDOS "deleting Caroline in her brain" as an ominous sign, that she's forgetting her human roots and becoming "fully robot." But to me, it's a sign of hope for GLaDOS. She's relieving herself of the baggage that has defined her very existence, she's letting Caroline finally rest, and she's allowing herself to grow beyond what Cave and Aperture and the scientists defined her to be. The fact that GLaDOS still lets you go after deleting Caroline proves this. She doesn't double-back or change her mind like Wheatley did, she sticks to her word because she knows who she is. No one and nothing can influence her because she's in control. GLaDOS proves she's capable of empathy and mercy and change, human or not.

That's my retrospective, I love this game to bits. I wish I could experience it for the first time again.

#ramblings #long post #not art #personal #also i know “did glados actually delete caroline” is debated cuz the credits song disputes this #but i like to think she did #it's not sad. caroline died a long time ago #it's a goodbye

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makeitmakesomesense · 4 days ago

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The Early Morning

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: Day 5: I've merged a lovely request from a lovely friend with the @taylorswiftmicrofic prompt for the 5th of January, which is 'blind'.

It is just past the middle of the night. You have officially entered the early morning. You find yourself awake. You went to sleep right after your last mission. This is your consequence.

You don’t try to fight it, instead you roll out of your bed and make your way to get something to drink. Ever since Vision and Wanda have become part of the Avengers, things have been a little different. You’ve all done your best to welcome them to the team, but they have kept to themselves far more than you expected. The changing dynamics have been something to adjust to.

You let yourself enjoy the easy peace of the quiet nighttime.

You walk to the kitchen and freeze for a second.

Wanda is sitting at the dining table. Her hair is wet. Her face is ashen and her hands are cupping a hot mug of tea. Her eyes flit wearily to you.

You hesitate, not sure how to approach. You’ve never spoken to her alone.

‘You okay?’

Wanda turns back to her tea, she doesn’t answer.

You watch the ends of her hair drip onto the tiled floor.

You refill the kettle and turn it on. You take a seat next to her.

Wanda’s wearing a grey sweater. It’s too big for her. The sleeves have ridden up and her forearms are exposed. Goosebumps coat her skin.

You try again. Something more direct.

‘Are you cold?’

Wanda’s eyes meet yours and you know that she is.

The kettle boils and you stand up, your hand touches her shoulder as you pass by. You feel her shudder.

You bring her a new mug. The steam curls promisingly above the liquid. Wanda leans over it. Her hands wrap around the ceramic, even though it must be burning hot. She shudders again and closes her eyes.

You sit next to her with your own mug and think.

Dim light seeps through the large windows and illuminates Wanda’s face. Her eyes have dark shadows under them. You can tell she must not be sleeping. You wonder where Vision is.

As if she can read your thoughts (and you can’t help wondering if she can). Wanda answers your silent question.

‘Viz doesn’t sleep. Not like people do. It’s more... robotic.’

You picture immediately a long cable connecting the android to a computer. You push down the ridiculous image that's probably not so far from the truth. You nod at Wanda silently encouraging her to continue.

‘At night, he goes offline. Really offline. Missiles could go off and he’d be blind to it.’

You try to understand the subtext of Wanda’s words. There’s a strange suspense to your next question, it is the possibility that she might say yes.

‘Do you worry about that? About missiles going off?’

Wanda smiles at you. Her head tilts. It could be playful if her eyes weren’t full of pain.

‘It’s all I worry about.’

You give a half smile back, you know it doesn’t reach your eyes.

‘I’ve done all my sleeping for tonight.’ You tell her carefully. ‘If you want someone there… someone awake. I was going to watch a movie anyway and I can put on headphones.’

Wanda takes her first sip of the slowly cooling tea.

‘Thank you.’ She says a moment later, her small smile now weighted with relief.

Wanda follows you back to your room that night. She waits for you to prop some pillows against the headboard and lie back on one side of the bed. She falls readily onto the other side of the mattress.

She’s not self conscious, not like you’d half expected.

She sinks into the bed like it’s been calling her for days. You listen to her breathing even out before you put on your headphones.

It becomes a routine of sorts. Your new sleep schedule is not nearly as difficult as you expect. You switch your mindless after-dinner screen time with an early nap.

Wanda knocks on your door in the early hours of each morning. You plug in some headphones and watch whatever film you can think of.

Wanda lies beside you. Now that the worst of the sleep deprivation has abated, she is slower to fall asleep. Sometimes you even talk for a few minutes, about the day before or the film you’re planning to watch.

It’s easy to talk to Wanda, much easier than you ever expected. You try to understand the distance she’s always kept from everyone on the team except Vision.

Each morning, you wait patiently for the inevitable long pause in coversation, for the moment that her eyelids slowly start to close.

There is something comforting about her steady breathing beside you.

It is too easy to be comfortable. Despite your best efforts, it only takes a week for you to become lulled to near sleep yourself.

You’re not quite asleep, you’re still following along with the dialogue from the movie. But your mind has drifted and your eyes have closed.

They fly open at the first feeling of movement beside you. You startle suddenly as you understand your inadvertent mistake. You move backwards unthinkingly and hit your head sharply on the edge of the headboard.

You hiss out and apologise automatically.

Wanda is still lying in the bed next to you, she has turned to face you. Her head is resting on the pillow. She looks exhausted with a different kind of fatigue. She sits up very carefully, as if her presence is inherently scary.

You don’t know how to explain. That your automatic panic came only from the disorientation of nearly falling asleep by mistake.

Wanda speaks before you can. Her mouth twists into the same bitter smile that you’ve seen once before. She is watching you rub the sore spot at the back of your head.

‘It’s your amygdala.’ She explains.

‘What?’ You ask unsurely.

‘That’s why you’re afraid.’

‘My amygdala.’ You repeat dumbly.

‘Yes. Vision explained it once. It’s what makes you afraid of me, even if you don’t want to be.’ Her words are rehearsed. They sound calm but you can hear something else simmering behind them. ‘Your amygdala knows the danger that comes with being near me.’

‘And what about Vision’s amygdala?’ You ask sharply, suddenly hating the implications of her words. ‘How does he manage?’

‘It’s synthetic.’

‘That’s lucky.’ You comment dryly.

She stares at you seriously. An overwhelming loneliness fills her eyes.

‘Yes.’ Wanda says quietly, looking down at the bedspread. ‘It is.’

You watch Wanda leave.

You spend the day caught between a wish to apologise and a lingering uncertainty that something else is wrong. Something more complicated than you’d realised.

You seek out Natasha in the end, trusting her advice and needing someone to speak to. You find her as she’s leaving a boardroom after a meeting. She invites you back into the room and you sit together. You start to tell her about Wanda. You try to state the facts. The sleep deprivation. Vision’s words. Her isolation from the team.

You hope you don’t sound biased, you hope your concern doesn’t seem excessive.

Natasha’s lips twist and you can tell she doesn’t like the details either. She tells you other things, small moments she’s noticed. Their separate meals from the rest of you. His frequent appearances in Wanda’s room without warning. How it's the one thing he can’t seem to learn not to do. A sudden lengthy monologue about the benefits of Stark’s technology, unaware of Wanda stiffened posture beside him.

You exchange a long look with Natasha, it holds something that you recognise in your bones.

You decide to worry together.

That night you find Wanda before the time she usually comes to your room. It is just past midnight and she is sitting at the dining table. Her dark hair is wet again.

She startles violently when you call her name. Her shoulders relax immediately as she turns to find you.

Wanda stands suddenly and moves to the kitchen counter. You watch her refill the kettle and turn it on. She takes out two mugs. She smiles at you again. There’s relief in it.

‘Good evening.’ She says at last. Her fingers tap out a steady rhythm against the marble countertop.

She notices you watching and her hand stills suddenly. She stares down at her fingers. Her mouth closes and her jaw ticks. She is lost in thought. You know she is remembering your last encounter.

This time, you speak first. You start slowly.

‘I’m not afraid of you.’ You tell her carefully.

Wanda doesn’t look up. You watch the familiar bitter smile that makes your gut twist unhappily.

‘Then you are not paying attention.’ She says simply.

‘I am.’ You counter stubbornly.

‘We can’t change who we are.’ Her voice is monotone and you can tell that she is quoting someone else. ‘We can’t relinquish the dangers that comes with our power.’

‘But we can always have family.’ Your argument is quiet. ‘We can still have love and care. We can forgive ourselves for who we are.’

Wanda goes very still. After a moment, she reaches for the kettle that has now boiled. You watch her pour the water into the two waiting mugs.

‘Vision -’ She begins at last, looking at you unsurely. ‘It’s hard’

‘What is?’

She hands you a mug of tea and you watch her grip her own drink like it’s a life support system.

‘He would never do the things I’ve done.’ Her voice cracks with barely repressed guilt. ‘It can be hard to not feel alone.’

You drink your tea and watch her for a moment. Wanda's breathing is shallow. Her pupils have dilated in the dim light. Her dark eyes are watching you, waiting.

‘I would’ve.’ You confess softly. ‘If I’d been you. I think I would have done the same things.’

A thousand emotions flit through Wanda's expression. It settles somewhere between fear and longing.

You move forward and place your mug on the countertop, carefully you take Wanda’s from her too. When her hands are free, you hold them gently in your own.

She grips them tightly. You can feel her shaking.

‘Do you want to get out of here?’ You offer softly. ‘Just for a few days. We can borrow a car. We can go right now.’

Wanda is so close to you now. You feel the hitch in her breath as you much as you hear it.

Wanda’s expression fills with the same look of longing and she glances outside at the full moon that is brightening the darkest part of the night.

‘Viz’ll wake up soon.’ She hesitates. ‘He hates it when I leave this place.’

You shake your head. You give her a small smile. ‘Natasha said they’re using his offline time tonight to update some of his old programming. Getting rid of some of the biases that Tony created back when it was only Jarvis.’

You pause. Wanda is looking at you like the world is something new again.

‘We have time.’ You tell her and it feels like a promise.

Her small smile is full of sudden happiness.

Wanda leans forward and her head rests against your shoulder. There is a weightlessness to her tired relief.

You are grateful that your amygdala is very real. That you can feel this entirely.

‘Okay’ She says finally against your shirt. ‘Do you mind if I sleep while you drive?’

You laugh and wrap your arms around her. The wet ends of her hair drip onto your arms.

You leave the Compound before the sun has risen.

Requests are still very welcome for future January fics. More info in the pinned post if you're interested in requesting. <3

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #scarlet witch x reader

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queereads-bracket · 1 month ago

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Queer Adult SFF Books Bracket: Round 2

Book summaries and submitted endorsements below:

The Murderbot Diaries series (All Systems Red, Artificial Condition, Rogue Protocol, Exit Strategy, Network Effect, Fugitive Telemetry, System Collapse, and other stories) by Martha Wells

Endorsement from submitter: "Asexual and agender main character. In later books side characters are revealed to be in poly relationship."

"As a heartless killing machine, I was a complete failure."

In a corporate-dominated space-faring future, planetary missions must be approved and supplied by the Company. For their own safety, exploratory teams are accompanied by Company-supplied security androids. But in a society where contracts are awarded to the lowest bidder, safety isn’t a primary concern.

On a distant planet, a team of scientists is conducting surface tests, shadowed by their Company-supplied ‘droid--a self-aware SecUnit that has hacked its own governor module and refers to itself (though never out loud) as “Murderbot.” Scornful of humans, Murderbot wants is to be left alone long enough to figure out who it is, but when a neighboring mission goes dark, it's up to the scientists and Murderbot to get to the truth.

Science fiction, novella, series, adult

The Masquerade Series (The Traitor Baru Cormorant, The Monster Baru Cormorant, The Tyrant Baru Cormorant) by Seth Dickinson

Tomorrow, on the beach, Baru Cormorant will look up from the sand of her home and see red sails on the horizon.

The Empire of Masks is coming, armed with coin and ink, doctrine and compass, soap and lies. They’ll conquer Baru’s island, rewrite her culture, criminalize her customs, and dispose of one of her fathers. But Baru is patient. She’ll swallow her hate, prove her talent, and join the Masquerade. She will learn the secrets of empire. She’ll be exactly what they need. And she’ll claw her way high enough up the rungs of power to set her people free.

In a final test of her loyalty, the Masquerade will send Baru to bring order to distant Aurdwynn, a snakepit of rebels, informants, and seditious dukes. Aurdwynn kills everyone who tries to rule it. To survive, Baru will need to untangle this land’s intricate web of treachery - and conceal her attraction to the dangerously fascinating Duchess Tain Hu.

But Baru is a savant in games of power, as ruthless in her tactics as she is fixated on her goals. In the calculus of her schemes, all ledgers must be balanced, and the price of liberation paid in full.

Fantasy, epic fantasy, politics, secondary world, series, adult

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alicenpai · 4 months ago

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recent manga diary

- okay starting to read love bullet now.. the art honestly looks incredible im totally digging the art style 👁👁

- speaking of yuri im also reading erio and the electric doll. this is the new manga ive read the most of recently. it's a bit like kino's journey, mixed with yokohama kaidashi kikou, and pluto (naoki urasawa, and by extension, astro boy too). it tells of a post-war world in which androids destroyed a large chunk of humanity. because of that, people have taken to regressing to a pre-electricity world - into the world of steam. two girls walk away from their idyllic, albeit isolated life by the coast, in search of finding other humans and travel the world together. it has some really interesting world building and discusses some morally grey topics regarding humanity, war, and artificial intelligence.

- you might know the artist as the one who did a lot of work for final fantasy 14. the art is beautiful, with delicate linework, and a prominent steampunk aesthetic.

- going back to the yuri part - the main cast consists of a young teen and an android. the human girl has the power to create electricity, and so she charges her android by kissing her. they can charge via touching hands, but no they have to kiss. very cute.. i hyped it up but LMAO i don't know if i can recommend it for romance per se, as it's more platonic right now, but it's still a very charming read!

- i think this series would look so gorgeous if it came to life in an anime adaptation.. manifesting a steampunk anime in 2k25

- also started to read kageki shoujo, it's really fun so far!! those are my only thoughts on it for now. i haven't read a shoujo in so long i think.. might have to watch the anime adaptation as well, as i heard the animation is quite good.

- i also wanted to get into requiem of the rose king for the longest time, the brooding, gothic aesthetic totally looks up my alley, and the medieval politics looks interesting too. the pacing is a bit choppy, but idk if that's due to the poor fan translation, will have to source it from the library if i can..

- still catching up to medalist and shadows house, haven't read witch hat atelier in a while.

- caught up to skip and loafer 🥰 i wrote about it in some older diary entries, but it's literally so good. i really need to draw some skip loaf sometime..

- almost done the extra stories from emma.. and that's all folks!!

#diary

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raeloganthesonic06fangirl · 1 month ago

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I don't think we ever really acknowledged any of this unresolved trauma Rouge has in tandem with Shadow and his experiences.

Remember when Rouge was the one who was given Shadow's bracer after it was presumed Shadow was dead after SA2?

Now, remember that Heroes takes place not long after SA2, so let's acknowledge that up until that point, she thought Shadow was legitimately dead, only to stumble on him in a pod after trying to plunder Eggman's base. This guy was dead, she has the only item that was recovered from the aftermath, she knows that his chances of survival after Final Hazard was very slim.

And then she discovers the whole stash of Shadow Androids and is torn between wanting to tell Shadow about this, and just letting it be so that if he did turn out to be a robot, then she doesn't have to dump that on him.

Then there's the whole thing about watching helplessly as Shadow is manipulated and brainwashed by Black Doom. Watching Shadow spiral into insanity as he, depending on the alliance you chose for the game, either becomes fully complacent in the invasion, lose his mind and attempt an android uprising, or Shadow believing he himself shouldn't exist because of all the damage his existence has cause. Can you imagine Rouge having to witness this and try to reach out to her friend?

Oh, and what about getting paralyzed by a toxic gas and almost getting digested by alien larva as she's completely immobile, and all she can do is scream and shout at Shadow to do something?

This was enough to be a bit of a thing to acknowledge in the Archie comic continuation of the Black Arms invasion. She looks absolutely horrified.

And having to be worried about Shadow's safety after he confronts Black Doom head on. She can't see him from down on the street, she just sees a flash of light and that parasitic comet getting blasted to smithereens.

Oh, what about getting flung through Time the first time, and realizing that Shadow's trapped in a doomed future against a vindictive entity that has expressed the desire to erase him all together? She wasted no time in getting a plan to find him.

And then there's the one version of Rouge that sacrificed herself to ensure that Omega will be able to hold onto that Chaos Emerald for 200 years so he can bring Shadow back home? Yeah, remember when Rouge literally condemned herself to perish in the burning inferno of The Day of Disaster, so that Shadow can escape to a timeline where they all lived?? Yeah, Sonic 06 is canonically un-happened, but this still was a scenario that was brought up.

How is she so chill when she's been through all this? Her best friends are immortal and she's not. She's seen Shadow at his best and his worst moments. She's witnessed the near destruction of the world multiple times.

Rouge spends so much time looking after Shadow's wellbeing, who's looking out for Rouge??

Where's Rouge's therapeutic side quest??

#Sonic the hedgehog #rouge the bat #Shadow the hedgehog #e 123 omega

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lonely-cowboy · 1 year ago

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future of us

pairing: connor (rk800) x f!reader

summary: after finding a box of home videos, you're overwhelmed with thoughts of the future. only connor can ease your worries.

word count: 2k

warnings: panic attack sorta, good ol' daddy issues, a 6yo (and a however old you are)yo having an existential crisis about death, i actually don't know what this is i just felt like writing it, rushed ending

author's note: yes i was complaining about my angsty gameplay in my last post and yes i am posting angst after saying i needed more fluff to feel happy. what about it. i like the angst, it makes me feel smth.

masterlist ⟡ requests

The television flickered in the dim living room, the shadows shifting like otherworldly creatures. The heavy rain pounded against the windows combined with the quiet whistle of the winds. You would think that with such advanced technology nowadays the intense weather wouldn’t affect the power. Apparently, that hadn’t been a priority during this era of technological breakthroughs. But you didn’t mind. The flickering screen and hissing static were comforting, reminding you of the days Hank still had his old-fashioned television.

In the peaceful hours of the early morning (or late night depending on who you asked), you sat huddled on the couch with your eyes glued to the television. Wearing one of Hank’s old sweatshirts that was far too long for you, you hugged your knees tightly.

You watched the screen as a little girl sat bashfully at the head of a long dining table, kicking her feet giddily as a birthday cake with six blazing candles was placed in front of her. She was surrounded by loved ones who looked at her fondly, singing in unison with enthusiastic, booming voices. One voice– the cameraman's– overpowered them all, his voice uncharacteristically jaunty and cheerful. As the singing reached its end and the little girl blew out her candles with a big breath (and a lot of spit), the cameraman squished himself into the frame with a wide grin.

And there was Hank Anderson. A younger, much happier Hank, but Hank nonetheless. He grinned at the camera, calling the little girl’s attention. They both smiled brightly into the camera, ignoring that it was a video and not a picture. Hank and his goddaughter. Hank and you.

You were honestly surprised when you found the box of old VHS tapes. Yes, VHS tapes. No, you weren’t that old, far from it actually. Hank was just always old-fashioned; he never had a knack for technology. So any videos from your childhood were found on VHS tapes that Hank had kept for all these years.

You found them when you were organizing his garage. The entire day, you had been cleaning around his house with Connor’s help because his drunk ass could never do it. You hoped that maybe by giving him a clean environment he might be able to clean up his act. You weren’t too sure about that, but the thought was there.

When you found the tapes, it was already well into the night. Hank had passed out hours ago, and you released Connor to recharge not long ago. That’s when you decided you were deserving of a much-needed break, dragging the hefty box of VHS tapes into the living room for your viewing pleasure.

Only you hadn’t realized the experience would be the exact opposite of pleasurable. The more videos you watched, the more your misery grew.

You couldn’t exactly explain why you were so upset. All you knew was that your chest was heavy with dread, your eyes forlorn as you watched video after video.

You were so distracted by the video of your sixth birthday (Hank was now interrogating you about the differences between being five and six, ever the detective) that you hadn’t heard Connor’s light footfalls. Though you probably wouldn’t have heard them anyway. Androids were scarily sneaky like that. You didn’t realize Connor was even in the room until he was standing right beside you, his figure nothing but a shadow in your peripheral vision. You had almost forgotten he was here, simply resting (or whatever it was androids did) in Hank’s spare room.

Your attention snapped to him, fumbling for the remote to pause the video. With only the light of the television to guide you, you struggled to find the pause button. By the time you finally found it, your cheeks were unbearably warm with embarrassment.

Watching videos of your childhood self to remember the good times with Hank before he practically cut you off completely, dried tear stains on your cheeks and fresh tears welling in your eyes? Pathetic.

With your face buried in the baggy sleeves of Hank’s sweatshirt, you tried to casually wipe away your tears, but you knew it was too late. Connor had already seen them. And even if he hadn’t seen them, you were sure he could guess by the shaky tone of your voice.

“Hi, Connor,” you greeted weakly.

Connor was silent for a moment as his eyes trailed over your figure, surely analyzing you. His LED circled yellow for a long time. Even when he sat down beside you, it continued to show yellow.

“Are you alright?” Connor asked softly, reaching a hand forward to rest on your knee and giving it a loving squeeze.

You were so surprised that he didn’t offer some kind of thorough analysis of your current mental state that a guttural laugh escaped your lips. The sound confused even Connor, his eyebrows furrowing at your impromptu reaction. You covered your mouth sheepishly, flashing Connor a look that said “I’m-sorry-I-don’t-know-what-that-was-either-kindly-ignore-that.”

Connor was silent again as he considered what to say. His eyes flitted to the television screen that had paused on a frame of you shoving your face into the camera with a toothy smile. You were missing two of your bottom teeth.

“Is that you?” Connor inquired. He was only being polite. You both knew that with a simple facial scan he had already determined that it was, in fact, you.

“Yeah,” you answered lamely. “My sixth birthday.”

Connor’s hand that was resting on your knee moved to your hand, slowly pulling the remote out of your grip. He unpaused the video and sat stiffly, his eyes darting from you to the screen like he didn’t know which to watch. The television showed you as you flaunted your missing teeth before pulling back to answer another one of Hank’s questions.

“Alright, last question, kiddo,” Hank said off-screen, his tone teasingly serious. “We gotta hear the final verdict… d’you like being six?”

Your little self squinted her eyes in consideration, lips pursed into an extreme pout. For added effect, you put a finger to your chin and tapped it thoughtfully.

“Hmm…,” you thought loudly. “No!”

“No?” Hank repeated with a hearty laugh. “Why not?”

“I don’t wanna get old,” you admitted innocently as if it was the easiest answer in the world. “Getting old means I’ll die.”

You snatched the remote from Connor’s hand and hurriedly paused the video again. All of a sudden, your breaths were coming out in sharp pants as your body was filled to the brim with an inexplicable panic. You needed a distraction, you didn’t want to think about any of this.

Connor was calling your name calmly, his voice a steady, grounding force. Your wide eyes snapped to meet his, hands moving to clutch both of his. As you latched onto his warm gaze, you felt an odd imbalance. You couldn’t tell if you were comforted or stressed by his presence.

“How can I help you?” Connor murmured, allowing you to grip his hands as tightly as possible.

“I don’t know… I don’t know,” you stammered. “I’m scared, Connor.”

“What are you scared of?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay… okay,” Connor whispered soothingly.

Freeing one of his hands from your grasp, Connor’s hand snaked to the back of your head and pulled you forward until your forehead was resting against his lips. He pressed light kisses against your skin, murmuring comforting words as tears started to silently spill from the corners of your eyes. You collapsed forward until your face was buried in the crook of Connor’s neck. His lips moved to your head, kissing along the top of your head.

Why were you crying? Why were you crying? Why were you crying?

You didn’t understand why you were so overwhelmed, you just knew that you were. You had felt it so suddenly that there hadn’t been time to ask why.

“Are you scared of… losing Hank?” Connor questioned.

No, that wasn’t it. Well, yes, you were. But that wasn’t the cause of your unexpected anxiousness.

“Are you scared of… dying?”

Yes. Yes, that was it. That was it. Sort of, at least.

Too broken to speak, you simply nodded against Connor’s body.

“Can you tell me what scares you about it?”

Could you? You thought about it, blinking furiously to slow the tears. Why were you scared? Sure, death was scary in general, but there was something else. There had to be something else because your heart was still pounding furiously.

“I… don’t know,” you croaked.

“Okay,” Connor said patiently. “That’s alright. You don’t need to know.”

With his hands still on you, Connor carefully pulled away from you to meet your gaze. The corners of his lips were raised in a loving smile as he studied you, his thumb absentmindedly running along your knuckles.

“I want you to know that you’re safe with me,” he continued.

You matched Connor’s smile hesitantly, feeling your heartbeat slow to a resting state. Your attention was drawn to Connor’s spiraling LED as it returned to its usual blue.

That was it.

Your smile vanished quicker than it appeared. Your eyes were now fixated on the LED at Connor’s temple, a constant reminder that he was an android. And you were only human.

“I’m going to lose you,” you whispered hoarsely.

A puzzled look crossed Connor’s features, the crease between his brows returning. His LED blinked yellow again as he realized you were still in distress.

“You won’t lose me,” Connor promised, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “You can’t lose me.”

“That’s the problem, Connor,” you sniffled. “Someday, I’ll die. And you’ll keep living.”

The tension in Connor’s face eased as he realized the root of your sadness, though he didn’t look at ease himself. His LED quickly turned to a solid red. He looked so… sad. As if it hadn’t occurred to him until now the inevitable future of the two of you.

The look on his face made you want to apologize profusely. You were sorry for ever putting that thought in his head. But you didn’t have the words to speak. You were frozen, just as he was.

Connor broke your suspended state by inhaling slowly, nodding his head as he thought to himself. You noticed that his grip on your hand was tighter as if he was afraid to let go. His other hand had moved to rest on your upper arm, rubbing it soothingly. It seemed to be a calming gesture for both you and him.

“Maybe that is how it will be,” Connor muttered, his eyes finding yours again. “Or maybe there’s another way we don’t know of. But that… that’s far in the future. That’s not something we need to concern ourselves with right now. Right now… is right now.”

Your tears had stopped falling long ago once there were no more left to cry. You resorted to chewing your lip worriedly, ignoring the bead of blood that infested your tastebuds. Connor’s hand moved to caress your jaw, running a thumb across your lips to stop you from hurting yourself.

“Right now… I’m holding you. On this couch. Because I care about you,” Connor continued, though his voice was still slightly frazzled. “And that’s all we need to worry about.”

Either way, his words did do something to calm you. You nodded along as he spoke, leaning into the warmth of his smooth palm. Your fear wasn’t gone, not completely anyway. But it was certainly less than it was before.

You moved quickly into Connor’s arms, pushing him back so that he was lying on the couch. Your head curled against his chest, holding the front of his shirt tightly. You never wanted him to leave. His arms naturally fell around you and lightly rubbed your back.

It wasn’t necessary for Connor to breathe, but you could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest. You knew he was doing it for your sake. You followed the pattern of his breathing until you finally felt a sense of peace for the first time that night.

“Will you keep holding me like this?” you mumbled.

“I’ll hold you like this, right now and forever.”

#detroit become human #connor x reader #dbh connor x reader #rk800 x reader #dbh connor #connor rk800

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