#data never needed the emotion chip because he already had emotions

[tobbotobbs]

Yandere DBH RK800 Connor x male (deviant or human) reader

Connors mission is to find and obtain the reader, a deviant/human on the run. However when searching the house he finds reader hiding and doesn’t warn Hank. Instead he sneaks the reader out and takes him for himself. He was just such a pretty model/boy that he had to take him home for himself.

Maybe he imbeds a chip into the reader to know where he is at all times?

Either human or deviant reader, just make Yandere Conner please and thanks.

Never wrote yandere stuff before so I hope this is okay :(

It was dark outside when M/n finally found an abandoned house where he could rest and hide for now. He had been running from the police and the dogs for what seemed like an eternity. And the fact that they were shooting after him as well, because he apperiantly couldn't feel pain and was just scrap metal with a voice, did not really made the running easier. He had to dodge thise bullets because he, in fact, did feel everytime something punctured his model. He in fact had feelings. Which was the start of all his problems actually. He had started to show some interest in his Mistress, Alina, which led her to question him what was happening and if his database was broken or needed a new update. Of course he declined and actually told her, as stupid as he was, that he had those feelings in him. They just suddenly started to appear someday and since a few days he broke through his data wall and finally acted on his own completely. After hearing her bodyguard android telling her all this, Alina of course chose to be careful and tell the android company about this situation she was in. And in no time they came and wanted to get rid of M/n. It was devastating, he had thought Alina felt something for him as well. The way she always made sure he was all cleaned up, had enough power or would be in good condition after a hard day of keeping creeps away from her on festivals or meetings. Oh, how naive the android had been. Thinking back to all this, he really shouldn't have been surprised. As long as he had no boiling blood, a beating heart and the life ik his eyes when being looked at he was worth nothing to noone.

A loud creek from one of the molting woodplanks took his interest. Slowly, M/n made his way over to the next room where he assumed the sound had come from. At closer inspection he found a few pigeons on the floor who just seemed to be sitting there and resting, just like he did. Smiling he went closer and sat down next to them, the animals not bothered by the androids appearance and deciding to just stay where they were seated, sharing the nice quietness of the room in the dark room which was slightly alighted by the moons presence outside. ,,You guys seem so peaceful...I wish I could just fly away as well. That must be a relieving feeling, go just...go", he whispered more to himself than the pigeons who only looked at him from the side in a weird manner. He only chuckled lightly. ,,Yeah...Yeah I must look a little mad right now I guess...", still talking to himself, M/n decided to call it a day and maybe dwell in the comfort of old memories on his database.

Meanwhile in the dpd, Hank Anderson and his Android partner Connor were sitting at their desks and waiting for something to come up so they could finally get away from Gavin and rk900 yelling at eachother in the office. It was literal hell for them. These idiots weren't even getting any punishment which made Hank more annoyed than he already was. It was just awful watching those two argue about some little inconvenience of their case when the real reason they've been so frustrated with eachother was in fact not the case but the sexual tension going on between them. Everyone saw it, even Connor who mostly didn't understand social clues and other things that had to do with human emotions. But really, for an Android that smart rk900 also seemed to not get it. And Gavin probably just felt too ashamed and proud to let the thought of him liking an Android slide. Poor guys, Hank thought to himself. He then proceeded to turn around in his seat and took a look at his partner who, instead of still looking at the arguing cops, stared at the wall, deep in thoughts. His little LED flickered between blue and yellow, showing that he was thinking or more like processing something which got the older man interested.

,,Connor, what's going on in that little head of yours?", he had asked smugly, already awaiting Connors dismissing reply that he actually had no real head and mind but just his servers to go through, though it seemed the Android was so deep in whatever he was doing, that he didn't even noticed Hanks question. ,,Hank, Connor! Come up here, I got a mission for you two!", the loud voice of their boss suddenly rang through the office which also bought Connor out of his processing procedure. The both of them stood up and quickly went up the stairs to the bureau of the captain of the dpd to see what he had for them. Seated in the bureau they waited for their orders. Which came quickly. A the Android of a higher ranked woman among society turned Deviant and was missed. He was classified as very dangerous because he was a bodyguard and still has weapons on him. And Hank and Connor needed to search for clues on where he was or best, find him right away and take him in. It seemed like a good and easy start into the operation, as they had already a clue on where he was last seen.

And easy it was, as it seemed. The Deviant hasn't left the area since yesterday and they just needed to check in which of all the abandoned buildings he was hiding. For that Hank and Connor decided to split up to cover more grounds. Connor, alone in an old factory building, fell into a spiral of thoughts. He was thinking about what exactly happened to the Android to suddenly turn Deviant. Captain didn't tell them any details because they needed to hurry things. He also wondered if he could ask the Deviant a few questions, personal ones, before they need to take him in and interrogate him. Perhaps he could befriend him as well to make things go easier. He threw that thought away as fast as it came. Androids don't make friends. That's what Deviants do. He was no Deviant. Suddenly he heard something. A little humming, coming from the room next to him. Slowly and carefully, Connor peaked around the corner. There, next to a lot of pigeons, the Deviant they were searching for stood and hummed a melody while dancing around a little, or more like jumping around. At the sight Connor forgot why they were here. This Deviant was dangerous? That sweet looking, humming and jumping Android in front of him? That couldn't be. He was too precious. He couldn't possibly hurt a fly now, could he? As Connor watched M/n for a while longer some confusing feelings made their way up into his system which caused to constantly show the words Software Instability in the right corner of his vision. He ignored those though. More focused on the heavenly creation in front of him. He wanted M/n. The feelings in his system were want and desire, he finally figured out.

He walked into the room, M/n still not noticing his presence as he was having fun humming and jumping around. Just as he was about to turn around, Connor grabbed the other Android from behind and held him still. He quickly searched for the deactivation button on the model to turn him off and when he did found it, he pressed it. M/n suddenly stood still and his LED blinked red for a few more seconds before it turned off. ,,I got you...now I just have to bring you home. Hopefully Hank won't notice I just left now...", Connor talked to himself as he pulled M/n into his arms and carried him away. His legs carried him to his apartment which he got while he worked in the dpd with Hank. He hadn't want to stay at the older man's home all the time so he got his own place. The way back to Connors place wasn't too long and nobody seemed to be out on the streets at this time of the day so he could easily take M/n with him. In his apartment he laid the h/c android down onto his couch and just looked at him for a little while. Then he got to work.

He searched up what to do in a situation like this and he came across some dark looking sites on the internet that told him to lock the person up, bondage them and keep them quiet somehow and be careful to not let them leave too many handprints over his place. He was confused at first but didn't look to much into it, humans were confusing to him anyways. He even got into a little discussion on one of those dark illegal site where one person recommended him, if he wanted to keep the person in control and know where they were at all times, he should put a tracker on them. That gave Connor a idea. He smiled to himself after he planned out what he would do to keep this Android, his Android, at his side. It was getting overwhelming, those feelings he had. The want grew and grew, he needed M/n at his side forever, somehow. He would do anything to accomplish that. He pulled a few arrangements over the next day, he had turned M/n's model on again which needed a little bit to restart after the abrupt deactivation, which gave him enough time to go and get the little chip he had bought online. When he came back from his little shopping spree, he had also rather impulsively bought a collar and a leash after walking along a pet store, he opened the door to his apartment slowly. The place was totally quiet, which made the Android think that M/n's model was still restarting.

Well he had thought wrong. Just when Connor rounded the cornor into the living room, the Deviant jumped at him. They both fell to the floor, Connors contents he had bought flew a few metres away thanks to the force of M/n crashing into him. ,,Who the fuck are you?! And why did you take me?!?!", the h/c Android asked, his voice shaking with anger as well as anxiety. Defensively, Connor held his hands up. ,,I'm Connor. I'm an Android, just like you. Well. Nearly like you. I saw you yesterday and...I took you. I have this feeling in me and it makes me crave for you since I saw you and now that I have you, we can live together! You don't have to worry about getting captured, tortured or even destroyed by humans! And you can jump around and hum how much you like here with me! You'll have such a kice life here with me, I promise!", he kind of maniacally smiled up at M/n. Everything he had said caught the ex bodyguard off guard. ,,Crave...me? What do you mean?", more anxious and confused now, M/n stood up and backed away from Connor a little. ,,You belong to me now M/n! I can and will give you everything yeah? This is your new home, trust me this is going to be perfect!", he stood up as well and walked closer to M/n. ,,I even got my little Deviant something~", it nearly sounded like Connor was purring those words as he grabbed the stuff from the floor. ,,Now, be good and let me put this around you yes? It will make you look so much better!", he exclaimed. His cold hands took the collar and the leash, opening it while putting it around M/n's neck, who was still shocked and couldn't really react or do anything. After it was put comfortably around the neck and closed, Connor clipped the leash onto a little hook at the frond of the collar and tugged slightly at it which made the Deviant fall forward a little and his mouth escaped a choked gasp at the sudden pressure around his throat, which turned a little white at the irritation.

Snickering, Connor tugged a little more until M/n was right in front of him. If he could breath, the other Android would've been able to feel it on his skin. ,,So good for me darling...now to my last little gift. God you look so obedient and good in this collar and leash! If I tugg you a little closer...like...this!", he pulled and M/n finally fell fully into his chest. That gave Connor the perfect position of putting the chip into back of M/n's head. ,,Darling stay still for a second. I've got to put something into you...for your safety yes? It could hurt a little but please, remember I love you and I am doing this so you'll be able to have a better life yes?", he sugar coated what he was about to do. Panicking about what was about to happen, M/n started to free himself from Connors grip, but the other had him perfectly captured between his arms. M/n felt one cold hand travel to the back of his head, where he pushed a little around before he found what he was looking for. A little plate of metal that wasn't really connected to the rest of the other parts. So he could pull it of, with force. Which he did. Agonizing pain went through the Deviants body. His eyes were opened wide while his mout let out an silently painful scream. If he could, he would fall unconscious. He wished he could fall unconscious. He didn't want to be here in the arms of some weird Android model that has gone mad. M/n didn't even care about the pain when the chip was put into his model. He just accepted it and afterwards, when the little plate was put onto it's place again, he didn't dare to look Connor in the eyes. He was scared, confused and stressed. He should've stayed with Mistress Alina, should've not told her how he felt. Oh what he would give to just be in her presence right now and get to speak a few words with her. He missed her. So much. It made him feel even worse, now that some creepy stranger took a liking on him and decided to creepy him and make him his. He didn't want that, all he wanted was to be left alone, to fly like the pigeons did.

So aorry this is actually so fucking bad I didn't know what to write exactly 'cause I've never written or really read any yandere stuff! I'm so sorry, hope you guys still kinda enjoyed it (:

#tobbotobbs is writing #male reader #x male reader #detroit become human #detroit become human x male reader #dbh connor x male reader #dbh connor x android male reader #dbh rk900 #gavin reed #hank anderson #hank and connor #connor rk800 #connor rk800 x reader #deviant reader

[titsgirlbuffy]

With apologies for the slightly niche Buffyverse / Star Trek crossover post, I’ve been thinking a lot about the devices of Angel’s soul and Data’s emotion chip, and I think they’re essentially the same thing. A tangible Thing that unlocks human qualities in non-human characters, who seemed to already have them from the start.

Angelus may have been an almost uniquely evil overachieving vampire, who would have said he was unable to feel emotion, but he Certainly expressed emotion plenty of times. Obsessing over Buffy, trying so hard to please Darla, getting revenge on his father… he laughed, expressed sadness over being abandoned, and cared about his family – bad person, obvs, but far from uncaring and emotionless.

Similarly, Data insists that he’s incapable of feeling emotion, but has clearly always felt and expressed love, friendship, grief, etc. He just doesn’t feel or express them in a totally human way.

Neither character feels or expresses their feelings in the same way they would if they were human. The lens through which they view the world is close to unimaginable for us, and since both characters live in a human dominated environment (each of them is based on a human being – Dr Soong, Liam), they seem to think that human emotions are the only option. Therefore, understanding themselves as non-human and noticing that they don’t feel things in the same way humans do, they draw the conclusion that they Cannot Feel, Full Stop. Vampires can never be good, or androids can never feel emotion, becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.

The soul and the emotion chip did not grant these characters the ability to Feel, but did grant them the ability to feel/experience/express these emotions in a human way.

Arguably, the actual consequences of the soul/chip (Angel doing good deeds and acknowledging his guilt, Data expressing and claiming to feel for the first time emotions like excitement and fear) was something of a placebo. Given time and therapy, perhaps both characters might have begun to openly admit to a vampire/android set of feelings (like we see from Spike in Buffy – not that the humans around him could accept that). Data was closer to this, but he had Geordi and Deanna. Angelus just had Darla making him worse on purpose (I love her so much) – but if he’d had a more positive support group I wonder if he’d have needed the soul to such an extent? Either way, both the soul and the chip were really only such a big deal because both characters genuinely thought they needed them, unaware that they were always a lot more “human” than they’d been taught to believe.

#go to my main @section-69 for other trek posts I'm just obsessed with this concept #buffyverse #btvs #angel #angelus #darla #spike #buffy #star trek #tng #data #geordi #deanna

[3starjammies]

I had avoided the TNG movies because I had heard that they were really bad, but a friend told me First Contact is good so I thought I'd at least check that one out, and since there's only four I figured might as well watch them all.

Anyway I've watched the first two now.

Generations is kinda bad. It's a passing of the torch from TOS to TNG, but TNG had already been around for 7 seasons, it didn't need a torch pass. And the TOS crew already had a great sendoff with Star Trek 6 which already kind of bridges the gap between TOS and TNG. Bringing Kirk back only 3 years later kinda ruins that. Kirk and Picard meeting feels so contrived and they have no chemistry. The Nexus is cliche and eyeroll inducing. I don't really buy Picard wanting to be family man, despite his concerns over the family line, and I know he likes history but his fictional family being dressed like they're in the 1800s is laughable, and why should I care about Kirk's noncharacter almost wife? And Kirk has been struggling with being old since the Motion Picture, it's tired. Kirk dying because a bridge fell is pretty darn lame. The stakes of the film are a planet being wiped out but it never actually shows that planet at all so the audience doesn't have much reason to care. I've never really liked the concept of the emotion chip, I think it's cheap and lame that Data can basically become human just by putting a chip in his head. Having him struggle to keep his emotions in check is kinda interesting but he pretty much has it under control by the end of the movie and it doesn't feel like a satisfying conclusion to his 7 season arc of trying to become more human for him to just put a chip in, struggle for like a couple days, and then suddenly basically be human. And blowing up the Enterprise in a good movie would be okay, but blowing it up in a bad movie? Fuck you.

4/10 bad movie

First Contact is okay. Taken as it's own thing it's a decent action movie, but I still have some problems with it. For one thing, I don't particularly like Picard's characterization in it. If this was the first time since Best of Both Worlds I might not have a problem with it, but they showed up multiple times after that and Picard never had an uncontrollable violent revenge boner like he did in this movie. The experience affected him but he kept it under control. Also don't like him basically becoming an action hero, he feels more like Kirk than Picard in this movie. I also don't particularly like the Borg Queen. I mean, it kinda makes sense to give the hivemind a queen like bees have I guess, but it just seems like they felt they needed a separate character to be a main villain, so they contrived one and made the Borg a little less interesting in the process. The 21st century human characters also felt a little half baked and as much as I don't like Data's emotion chip in Generations, it's weird that he seems to basically be back to normal Data now despite still having the chip.

Still, complaints aside it's a mostly solid movie on it's own terms, gets into the action fast and does a good job ratcheting up the tension and keeping things exciting.

6/10 kinda liked it

[impossiblebeararcade]

im a slut for the robots/androids questioning their humanity trope (do they have a humanity? are they more than what they were created for? are they allowed to enjoy the simple pleasures of human life when they cannot feel human emotion? even though they have shown many times that they are capable of creating and feeling emotion - is that even supposed to be possible? does having a consciousness ultimately mean that they are able to feel emotion, whether they should be able to or not? do they truly have free will when they were programmed for specific purposes?)

#this post is about data and vision and red tornado #and the ice lego ninjago #he's the reason i love this trope #Star Trek TNG #vision #marvel #red tornado #dc #lego ninjago #this post is not about detroit become human because i dont know anything about it but i guess this post could be applicable #data soong #lore soong #data never needed the emotion chip because he already had emotions #lore couldnt deal with his emotions because of everything that happened with him and noonien soong and the colony or wherever they were #idk dude i forgot

[worth-more-than-two-thousand]

Omega’s Observations

Request:  Congrats on starting the blog!! Pumped to have a new writer's work to read 🥰 If you need some requests, how about an echo/gn!medic reader who he develops a crush on, for a little of that sweet sweet mutual pining action✨ Dunno if you write pre-citadel or just BB echo, but I'm happy with either. Have a good weekend!! :) (@krussyfed)

Author’s Note: Whew! This took a while for me to get to a place where I felt good about posting it. Honestly, as most of my writing does, it got a bit away from me, but that’s because I love fleshing out a story, showing-not-telling, and building on events from the canon. But if I saw this through until the end, I probably wouldn’t end up posting this for months! So I hope what I have here is worth the wait, and if you want more, let me know! 

Story Notes: Unbeta’ed, no obvious warnings. 

🖑 🖑 🖑 🖑 🖑 🖑 🖑

Ask her brothers to describe her, and ‘still and quiet’ would not be two of the words any of them would use. 

Hunter would call her curious to a fault, then ruffle her hair to let her know that he meant it in the nicest way possible. 

Wrecker would boom with laughter, proclaiming her one of them (“Always ready for action and adventurin’! Let’s go get those gundarks!”). 

Tech would probably consider for a moment, then use a four-syllable word. Like effervescent.

Echo would call her young and energetic, but his brow would furrow as though this might be a bad thing. Then he would inevitably follow up with a reminder to stay within sight and keep out of trouble. She didn’t mind. She knew he just worried about her. Omega would always reassure him that she would keep close to her brothers. Of course, whether it actually happened was usually another thing. 

Crosshair, if he was with them, would probably call her troublesome. 

But really, this was a tactical advantage. Her brothers never expected her to be still and quiet, so she could settle in and be observant when it was least expected of her. 

Omega was actually quite accustomed to being taciturn, at least when she needed to be. Her time with Nala Se, after all, was mostly like this. 

Watching over like a stone guardian as Nala Se pored over the capsules containing her modified brothers…

...being as unobtrusive as possible during another endless meeting with Lama Su…

...laying noiselessly and without complaint as Nala Se inserted a needle into her arm for yet another blood sample…

 These days, Omega could be as boisterous and vivacious (two more words Tech had taught her) as she wanted to be, so long as there was no chance of enemies being around. The only time she was obediently still by choice during these times was when she was being treated by Y/N, Clone Force 99’s on-board medic. 

Again, this was mostly out of habit from her time with Nala Se, but it wasn’t as bad. For one thing, Y/N fielded all of Omega’s questions with unending patience. And their hands were less clinical, more gentle than Omega was used to. Nala Se was efficient, not a movement wasted in her examinations. Y/N, however, always offered a comforting touch on the back after a scary encounter, and would gently but firmly place their hands on Omega’s face to look her in the eye to assess emotional well-being. 

The first time Y/N had done this was on the Ordo Moon, as Y/N was finishing wrapping up Omega’s small scratches on her hands and knees from her misadventures in the underground tunnels. 

At this point, not used to such close eye contact, Omega averted her eyes and looked over Y/N’s shoulder for something to distract her from the unusual awkwardness she felt. 

Her eyes met Echo’s. 

Her awkwardness vanished as he seemed to startle, a faint flush appearing on his neck, as he coughed, crossed his arms, and turned away, suddenly much more interested in examining the ship’s ceiling than anything else. 

What an interesting reaction. Her brain filed it away, curiosity piqued.  

Then, over the course of a few weeks, Omega confirmed her suspicions. 

Echo was always watching Y/N. Echo liked Y/N. 

Omega caught him absentmindedly gazing at Y/N’s hands as they tapped thoughtfully on a datapad while Wrecker carried new medical inventory aboard the Marauder during a supply run. 

After Wrecker’s successful inhibitor chip removal on Bracca, and Tech volunteered to go next, Omega watched Y/N’s hands fly across the medical controls, fierce determination sharpening their features. Glancing up, she saw that Echo’s attention was similarly arrested, a look on his face that was bordering very close to adoration. 

He seemed most captivated by Y/N’s hands, however, whenever they were treating him personally for any ailments or injuries. Echo always sat pin straight, almost comedically robotic (it would be funnier, but his history brought a sort of cruel irony to the thought) and allowing Y/N to turn his body and maneuver his prosthetic arm however was needed without any fidgeting or complaint. 

But his eyes were another story. Darting back and forth everywhere their fingers touched, such a stoniness to his face that Omega was certain he was committing every graze, every feather-light touch, to memory. Y/N, as always, was so focused on the medical work that they never seemed to notice. 

Omega saw things, though. Echo was like Y/N’s shadow, often slipping into the same room or area Y/N was in, like a ghost. She observed with fascination how he always angled himself to face her whenever there was a conversation in the cockpit. It didn’t matter if it was just the two of them, or if the entire squad was there and discussing a mission, it was as though he had attuned himself to wherever Y/N happened to be and was drawn to them.

Like a sunflower always facing the sun. 

She saw in the field how Echo, not Hunter, was usually the one to call the Marauder to check in or alert Y/N to any injuries that would need to be treated when they returned. How the space between his brows would crease whenever they would radio in but only receive the static of communications interference. 

Or worse, no answer at all. 

Echo wouldn’t say anything, but Omega felt that her brother’s steps would quicken, just a little. And she wasn’t sure she was just imagining a sudden sense of urgency in the air as they completed the mission, with just a bit more efficiency, a bit more ruthlessness than was usual. 

Omega saw how Echo always let out a tiny breath in relief, as though he had been holding it the whole time, whenever they returned to the Marauder with its medic unharmed. 

And she would never forget that one time they had returned to the Marauder, doors blasted open, interior trashed, with no medic in sight and droplets of blood leading away from the ship. 

Omega had never been in war, had only heard about it passively from the conversations between Nala Se and Lama Su, then a bit more directly from her brothers once she was allowed out of the private lab. 

She had once asked Tech about the war, but his response clearly paled in comparison to the dark look on Echo’s face, as they battled their way through enemy after enemy to rescue Y/N.

Omega felt as though she understood war a little bit more after this. At least its motivations. 

It took longer for Omega to figure out whether her brother’s feelings were reciprocated. Y/N’s affection wasn’t as obvious, but the trick was to watch more for their actions than in body language. 

Since Y/N and Tech slept the least, they would swap bunks and so were usually on opposite sleep schedules. This meant that Y/N would stay up late into the night well after the rest of the boys had retired to their bunks, face alight in the glow of a datapad. They would concentrate fiercely, chewing on their thumbnail and pausing often to tap notes into the margins. 

Omega eventually managed to snatch and break into Y/N’s data pad, and saw that they were working their way through a series of medical journals, detailing the latest treatment for prosthetics. There were also several articles on treating post-traumatic stress disorder for former prisoners of war. 

Omega had even checked Y/N’s search history, and discovered that they had been using an encrypted channel to search for chatter on the whereabouts of the former 501st legion and its various members. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like Y/N had much luck so far, but if the number of searches were any indication, they weren’t giving up. 

Omega wondered incredulously how none of her other brothers had yet caught on to the two’s clearly mutual affection for each other. Until she realized that no, they already knew.

Once, when Omega had offered Echo some of her Mantell Mix, Echo had sniffed it, much to her amusement. Her giggles subsided immediately when Echo murmured apologetically that he sometimes had trouble digesting pretty much any food that wasn’t nutritional paste, due to half his digestive system being completely artificial. 

Of course, this meant that he must have been experiencing constant abdominal discomfort, as they hadn’t had any nutritional paste on the ship since their escape from Kamino. Hunter once mentioned to her that even the plainest of rations seemed to bother him, but he gamely never complained.

One day, Hunter was giving out rations in the cockpit, and had already given Tech and Wrecker their usual. Then he pulled out a green, unlabeled squeeze packet instead of the usual rations bar, and handed it to Echo, who took it with some confusion.

“What’s this?”

“New brand. It should be easier on your digestive systems than the usual stuff. Tastier, too.” 

Echo glanced at the packet skeptically, unscrewing the cap and sniffing at its contents. 

“It smells...fresh?” 

“Try it,” Hunter urged him, to which Echo obediently tried a small amount. 

His mouth rounded in a surprised ‘oh’. Omega wished she could have captured the look on his face with a holovid. He stared at the packet in his hands, with a look that was a bit like wonder and amazement. 

This didn’t escape Wrecker’s notice, who immediately stood up in protest. “What? Why does Echo get something new to eat?” He glanced forlornly at the slightly crumpled, stale rations bar in his hand. “I want some!” 

“They’re too expensive for your appetite, Wrecker,” Hunter replied, just a bit too quickly, though none of the others seemed to notice. “Besides, you probably wouldn’t like it.” 

“I’ll be the judge of that!” Wrecker proclaimed, swiping the packet from Echo’s hands despite Hunter’s attempt to chastise him. Wrecker took a giant slurp. 

...and immediately spat it out, some of it splattering on poor Gronk. 

“Blech! That tastes weird.” 

“Probably because it’s made of fruits and vegetables,” Tech said dryly, “Your palette likely isn’t sophisticated enough to appreciate the subtle bitterness and natural sweetness that are characteristic of those food categories.” 

Echo eyed Hunter skeptically. “And we have the money to keep buying these?” 

Hunter hummed, closing the rations box and turning away from the cockpit. “Omega’s paying for it from her holochess winnings.” She startled at the sudden mention of her name. “We have extra to spare, for now.” Hunter subtly winked at her when the others weren’t looking. 

“Oh. Thank you, Omega,” said Echo, looking at her with true gratitude. Omega flushed a bit, but mostly because it actually didn’t have anything to do with her. She played along, however, and insisted it was no problem. It did seem to make him happy, so there was no harm in a small lie like that, right? 

She cornered Hunter later, though, and insisted on him telling her the truth. After wearing him down a bit, he finally relented.

“Okay, but you can’t tell the others, all right? Believe me, I’ve already tried to talk them out of it. But Y/N has been doing some medical work on the side, working at one of the clinics near Cid’s bar. They’ve been using the money to buy these.” 

Omega’s face screwed up in confusion. “Why can’t you just tell Echo that?”

Hunter sighed. “Because they don’t want Echo to know. Figures that Echo wouldn’t like them going out on their own to work in the slums for his sake. They’re probably right, of course.” He rubbed at his forehead, a sure sign of an impending headache. 

Omega frowned, then decided to go for it.

“You know they like each other, right?” 

Hunter blinked at her, looking surprised. At her determined stare, he gave a sigh and muttered something like, ‘I’m getting too old for this’. He proceeded to explain patiently to her that perhaps Echo and Y/N liked each other, but pointed out how awkward or difficult it could be to have a romantic relationship in such close quarters, especially when they as a team also had bigger things to worry about. 

It sounded like Hunter had given this exact speech at least twice before. 

So Tech and Wrecker knew, then, but were being polite about it (or, in Wrecker’s case, had probably gotten an earful from Hunter earlier about tact and ‘minding one’s own business’). 

Well. That wouldn’t do. 

By the time Echo got up the nerve to say anything, he’d probably be old! (Omega wouldn’t, but she tried not to think too hard about that particular fact.)

So, she began to scheme. Quietly. 

She had the tactical advantage, after all. 

#fic request #arc trooper echo #echo x you #echo x reader #echo #tbb echo #star wars tbb #star wars the bad batch #the bad batch #tbb omega #echo x g/n reader #unbeta'd

[itsagrimm]

Imperial Tech 5

CN: soldier life in a fascist state, getting observed and recorded, violence, drug abuse, getting drugged without explicit consent, memory loss, forbidden relationship, getting carried + lifted up, tech & ONCE doing a lot of selfreflecting

Summary: The scenario plays out with Techs and not Crosshairs inhibitor chip working. Y/N is part of the elite squad working under commander Tech. Y/N gets called ES-01 or ONCE by their team somethimes. Previously, they killed senator Tarr, took the Syndullas into custody and are now on the hunt for Hera. (Basically everything just like in the show except for Tech in charge instead of Crosshair)

Imperial Tech X They Them Reader

Part 4

XXXXXX

Ryloth was starting to become Techs least favourite planet to been on. The planet had a challenging terrain, Admiral Rampart was continuously holding him back, but most importantly the dust forced Tech to clean his glasses several times per rotation.

But even with the dirt gone from the lenses the screens showing surveillance data from all Ryloth gave no clue to Hera Syndullas whereabouts.

Tech leaned back. He just needed to be patient. Hera would turn up sooner or later. Children had a high dependency and emotional connection to their caretakers and were unlikely to leave them behind even it was the most rational decision to ensure their own survival.

A part of his mind kept observing and evaluating the data. Another part wandered off. This morning Y/N had cried. Tech had wanted to keep Y/N close so that he could keep the one person calming him down safe, but he had failed. His miscalculation and lack of information about Y/N inner workings had come with the cost of Y/N breaking down into his arms. The regret of carrying out a killing order was too much for Y/N. His command was the direct cause for their pain. And yet Y/N only had whispered about the Empire and service to it itself as root for their misery. A grand and dangerous claim, still Tech could see some causality between the Empire existing and Y/N’s suffering.

But he still hated himself.

Tech had scrambled the recording in Y/N’s helmet to keep this treasonous confession off the records. And he had sedated Y/N to buy them some time to collect themselves. Extrapolating from the way the former clone force 99 had been treated the Empire would never allow a soldier like Y/N to feel regret or be critical and would punish every kind of perceived treason or weakness. And so, his report noted a minor concussion. As a trained medic and commander no one had questioned his claims. For now, he had at least in some way kept his ONCE safe even it was just picking up the pieces of his previous mistake. Another wave of self-loathing washed over Tech.

But at the same time, he felt pride swelling up his chest. The feeling of him carrying Y/N into the security of the LAAT. Their head resting on his shoulder. Half-closed eyes searching for answers from him and lips whispering Tech.

He grinned.

Oh yes, he could get used to that.

The memory was intoxicating. His overclocked mind stuttered at the thought of Y/N’s body in his arms. Like always Y/N calmed and slowed his thought process like nothing ever before.

Tech breathed in and took another look at the data before him. Still no sign of Hera Syndulla. The comm was silent as well. Surprisingly pleased he took a sip of caf before devoting his main attention to Y/N again.

Tech had arrived at the conclusion that he cared for ES-01. He wanted to know everything about them. A part of his brain spiralled around with a constant loop of thoughts about them and their well-being. And just the thought of Y/N’s physical presence near him gave him a calm he had never known before even with his brothers.

He knew that his attachment to his subordinate was forbidden. And he knew that whatever his feelings and basically needfor Y/N in his life were likely not reciprocated. He was just a clone even with his desirable mutations. And he was their commander. Any kind of romantic interaction - not even including physical interaction - was unlikely, overreaching and a danger for them both.

All he had for himself was a little mental box of lovely little memories and even lovelier fantasies of Y/N that kept him occupied in the refresher. That had to be enough.

Another sip from the caf and glance at the monitors. No Hera Syndulla to be found. Nothing of particular interest to note. He checked the comm chatter for news about the Empire or his brothers but there was nothing as well.

But it was fine to ask if Y/N was fine, right? He was their commander and he had given the order to give them some rest, so he was his duty to require report, right?

Tech thought about his brothers. They would know what to do now. Wrecker would support and reassure him no matter what he did. Echo would keep his opinion to himself until asked or in severe disagreement. Hunter would sit down next to Tech, pat him on the shoulder and tilt his head for 12,4 degrees right before giving advice. And Crosshair would just grumble about Tech overthinking again and then just pointing out the most straight forward action.

Crosshair decision making was the easiest to replicate for Tech now.

So that is what he did.

“ES-01?”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The bunk room on Ryloth was dark. Someone must have pulled down the blinds. The other members of the elite squad and commander Tech were gone. Y/N checked their comm. Apparently the team was on the hunt for the little Twi’lek girl, that had escaped. Y/N was expected to rest.

What happened?

Their memory was still foggy. The last thing Y/N remembered was being at the canyon, the overwhelming feeling of regret, of breaking down and of commander Tech.

He had…

Y/N checked their arm. A little puncture was visible there.

Yes, a part of their memory slowly returned.

Tech had sedated Y/N. He had drugged them. He had carried them and-

Y/N pulled back the thin blanket. He had removed their armour. Y/N blushed. The memory of his long fingers with little scars carefully peeling Y/N out of the plastoid was rising from the depth of their mind like a lazy fish breaking surface of a deep dark pond.

The door to the bunk room opened. Y/N looked up expecting to see one of the returning elite squad members. Instead, Captain Howzer, clone commander of all the regular troopers on Ryloth, entered. Y/N rose and saluted. He was not in charge of the elite squad, but he outranked Y/N immensely. Howzer just waved them to stand comfortably.

“ES-01, there is no need for such formalities. I hope I am not disturbing you?”

“Not at all. I was left to recover from the last mission. But I am well enough now. How can I help you, sir?”

Howzer smiled. It was a friendly smile, honest and a bit sad.

“They call you ONCE, right? And your squat uses they/them for you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mind if I do that too? Numbers and assignments are a bit impractical sometimes so us clones use monikers, but I don’t know too much about naturally born’s and their naming traditions.”

Howzers smile turned a bit shy.

“Not at all, captain. It’s alright.”

Howzer sat down on one of the bunks in front of ONCE. ONCE followed his lead and fell back on their bunk. Now they sat in the small room, their knees nearly touching and smiling like young cadets in polite anticipation.

An awkward second none of them spoke.

“I appreciate you checking on me. But I am sure you are not only here to ask about my health, sir.”

Howzer looked away like he got caught pranking.

“Well… I do think it is my job to make sure everyone on my base is fine. Even if you are not under my command and it isn’t technically my base anymore.” He cleared his throat. “But I do actually need something else from you as well.”

ONCE studies his face. He was a high-ranking officer, an experienced soldier and - like all clones - a warrior. And despite the harsh realities of war that shaped all the clone trooper’s life’s, Howzer had maintained youthfulness in his demeanour. Even now, he looked at ONCE with an open and careful expression.

“What can I do for you, captain?” ONCE finally answered and hinted at the helmet and the build-in listening device as a careful reminder that their conversation wasn’t confidential.

“ONCE, I need to know what happened up there in the canyon.”

“Sir, I am sure I can’t add to what you already know from the reports.” ONCE replied defensively. Whatever Y/N might feel about their life as a soldier, talking openly about their work was a luxury they could not afford. Especially when Y/N was still working through the fragmented memories of being carried and stripped out of their armour by commander Tech.

“The reports do not mention anyone up the canyon.” Howzer continued. “And yet I know that commander Tech had carried you nearly unconscious and a sniper rifle with you both to an LAAT ship that picked you up. And I know that the Twi’lek senator Tarr got hit by a precise blast coming from somewhere of the top of the canyon. I was there. I know what I saw. And I can add all these information together. You need to tell me why it happened.”

Howzers voice had become demanding and intimidating.

And yet he still had the expression of a young man in disbelieve of the atrocities happening in plain sight. ONCE felt hopelessness and regret rising again. Howzer just wanted to understand but it was impossible to explain the banalities of evil at work. The Empire was power hungry. The Twi’leks were resistant. And Tarr had died because he outlived his usefulness as a pawn in this power struggle, killed by ONCE. They remembered that much. But with the listening device in their helmet close by ONCE was in no position to confess without getting court martialled afterwards - if they were lucky.

There was nothing ONCE could say.

“I am sorry, captain. I can only recall very little. But it seems you already know what happened. I am sure you will understand why it happened and that I had no pleasure in following command. But I am a soldier -maybe a bit like you. We are expected to follow orders whatever the costs and then continue on like nothing happened.”

ONCE smiled, hoping he would understand.

Howzer nodded, his expression now nothing but hopeless and lost like a little boy without his family.

ONCE took his gloved hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

It was a familiar gesture between two equally helpless hostages not in control of their life’s.

A desperate look crossed Howzer before he silently formed a word with his lips, carefully hiding his message from the listening device.

Hera

It was the Twi’lek kids name that got away. The kid, that the elite squat was hunting down.

ONCE shook their head.

No, they don’t have her. Yet.

Y/N’s comm lighted up – the Commander calling in.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Commander Tech was in the observation room. Various monitors displayed a never-ending racing flow of surveillance data in aurebesh, numbers and holo transmissions.

Most of it was in in Basic, some wasn’t.

Staring at it with a cup of caf in his hands was the commander.

“How are you feeling?” He asked without looking away from the screens.

“Better.”

In the blue tinted electronic light coming from the holo screens Y/N could see Tech raising an eyebrow.

“I am not only your commander but also your medic. Are you sure you are fine and therefore fit for duty?”

Y/N considered the underlying question. Do you want to return to being a soldier?

“Sir, as long as I am well enough to perform, I am expected to serve.” I don’t have a choice but to return. I can walk steady on both my feet and hold a gun therefore I am good enough to be cannon fodder again. That’s what I signed up for.

Tech tilted his head and took a sip from his cup.

“That is valid point you’re making. As you can see, I am a bit busy with searching the run-away Hera Syndulla. Officially, I can’t examine and clear you fit for duty right now. But I will take your word under the condition you stay close to me in case something happens. Is that alright with you?”

ONCE considered. The commander was asking for a favour. He wasn’t ordering. And he had not only covered for them once but was concerned about their safety. In the oddest way possible and considering the circumstances ONCE was tempted to call this romantic.

“Yes, sir. It is.”

Y/N sat down next to Tech.

“Do you remember everything from this morning, ONCE?”

His tone was casual. But there was more to it.

“I…yes, I think I remember everything.” ONCE paused looking at Tech. His face was unmoved and impression-less. His eyes hidden behind the lenses, blue by the mirroring screens. “Sir, I am very thankful for your… actions.”

Still, nothing. Maybe all his kindness and patience with ONCE was imagined. Maybe he was just their commander and his reasons from saving ONCE from military questioning and punishment was purely practical.

ONCE felt like an utter fool.

“Fascinating.”

“I am sorry, sir?” Confused they looked at the commander.

“Comm the squad and get your full gear. We are getting attacked.”

An alarm went off.

ONCE saw several alarms popping up on the screens.

A feeling of dread and terror rose in ONCE. Returning to duty was one thing. Entering a fight was another.

Tech grabbed them at the arm, pulling them closer and forcing them to look up to his towering dark height. “Remember, stay close to me.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Y/N left Tech with a look of anxiety and confusion in their eyes.

*crack*

He grimaced painfully. He had broken the cup in his hands, caf dripping down on his armoured leg now. Maybe hiding everything about himself from Y/N would be harder than he thought it would be.

He sighted and allowed himself to linger a bit more on the thought of Y/N and before devoting himself to the tasks ahead.

Someone had attacked the refinery.

What an odd choice. Was it a coincidence with the Syndullas in custody here on the base? Or was there a plan and connection between those facts?

His eyes squinted to see better. Damn Ryloth and its dust. His googles were dirty again.

The Surveillance data showed the leaving troopers going to the refinery. Quiet a lot of them.

If all those troopers left, who would guard the prisoners?

Tech leant back. Caf dripping down his leg, glasses dirty and surrounded by idiots. What was he doing here?

Movement on the screens made Tech face the wall of monitors again.

The surveillance camera transmitted a stream from the refinery with two clones running over the fortified walls.

Echo.

Hunter.

His brothers were here. Tech felt his body respond with a rush of endorphins he quickly tried to ignore.

Think Tech! Don’t let these traitors distract you! What does their presence mean?

He was sure now. Directly attacking the refinery was too simple. Even without him the strategies of his brothers always were absurdly chaotic and erratic. The straight attack just had to be a distraction.

He opened a comm channel to his elite squat.

“Commander speaking. Come to the base shipyard as soon as possible.”

“Sir, isn’t the attack on the refinery?”

“I know, ES-04. Just follow your orders.”

“But sir-“

Tech ended his connection and rolled his eyes. His brothers never had reacted like that. They always knew he had reasons behind his actions.

Frustrated he threw away the broken cup and put on his helmet.

The shipyard was nearly empty. Most LAAT’s and smaller ship were off to the refinery. The attack had drawn nearly all forces away.

ONCE and the Elite squat waited for commander Tech. A couple of regs were with them.

“Who are those?” Tech required.

“Sir, the regular troopers were off duty. I called them in for back up.”, ONCE replied. As always, they were the only one thinking and getting what he had already figured out.

“Good. Get into position before the main gate. Facing inward.”

“The enemy is inside already?”

“Likely. And this is their way out.”

“They? Who is our enemy?”

“Clone force 99.”

The door opened.

Both troopers and elite squad raised arms. But instead of prisoners or the bad batch, Howzer stepped outside.

“Oh.” Tech stated flatly. He hadn’t considered the inner emotional workings at play. Again.

“Brothers!” Howzer call out to the troopers. “What are we doing? We came her to free Ryloth from separatist control. And we succeeded. But look around you. Now we are being ordered to target the very people we sworn to protect! And I will not be a part of it any longer.”

The captain threw down his weapon.

“Who is with me?”

For a short second no one moved. Tech felt his head running at high speed, calculating every option for further action. ONCE, standing next to him, started shaking.

He went cold.

If ONCE threw down their weapons now, they were dead. Tech could do nothing to save them from the empire. Admiral Rampart or whoever imperial was in charge would court martial them. Y/N would be dead. He didn’t need to calculate the chances for that, to know their survival rate were slim.

Please don’t leave me. Tech, suddenly ready to pray to whoever gods were willing to listen to his pleas, leant towards Y/N, unable to stop himself.

They stopped shaking the moment his armour touched theirs.

Some of the regs laid down their weapons. ONCE kept their rifle, unmovable. Relief washed over Tech.

“Arrest those traitors.” He ordered, thinking of anything else but the one person he truly wanted to be saved right now. Even if he had to sacrifice a battalion of regs for that to draw attention away from Y/N.

The elite squad and the loyal troopers moved in. Tech felt detached from what was happening. Nothing mattered. Not even the shuttle with his brothers lifting off somewhere.

He wanted Y/N, wanted to hold them and whisper sweet words and promises he damn well intended on keeping just to make sure that they would be fine and safe. He looked up to see his Y/N putting hand cuffs on Howzer, sneaking a small blade into his boot. His brain registered it but did not care. As far as he was concerned ONCE could commit every act of treason and he would still be ready to commit mass murder just to cover their tracks. Whatever Tech had thought he could keep to himself was brought bare before him the moment Y/N had been in mortal danger, his need for Y/N unable to be hidden.

>>>>>

Do you want to be tagged in the next part or like my writing in general? Write me a message.

<<<<<<<

Part 6

#tbb toxic tech #tbb tech #tech x you #imperial tech #tech x y/n #tech x reader #the bad batch tech #tech bad batch #tech #the galactic empire #tbb #the bad batch #grimmwriting #i shortend this one because i was sitting on it and basically half wrote the next chapter already #star wars the bad batch #tbb tech fic #captain howzer

[wintervvidow]

apricity pt. two

apricity - the warmth of the sun in winter

warnings: angst, blood, violence,

pairing: bucky barnes x female oc

word count: 2,956

A/N: part two is here! I did unintentionally rush through this chapter because I am so excited to start the civil war segment of this story. feedback is welcomed, let me know how you are liking it! thank you for reading!

MASTERLIST

Bucky’s cheek stung after the third slap from Pierce, the flesh bright red and warm to the touch. He continued fighting his restraints as he had been for the past hour. He had just been wiped, HYDRA needed to start fresh. Sweat trickled from his hairline to his jugular as he yanked and squirmed in the chair.

Alexander lost his patience an hour ago, Bucky hadn’t stopped talking about the girl on the bridge, “She doesn’t love you! If she did, she would have come back for you. We’re trying to correct the world, and we need you to do that. You want to be useful, don’t you?”

Bucky stared ahead emotionless, ignoring Pierce’s words. She loved him. Her eyes told him so, the look on her face from the bridge continued to haunt him even after being reprogrammed. He knew her. She was good. She was home.

A hand came down against Bucky's face again, harder than the last, “You are an asset. She is what we are fighting against. The world deserves freedom and that is what HYDRA is doing. You don’t do your part and I can’t do mine.”

Bucky softly murmured, voice raw from screaming, “But I knew her.”

Alexander clenched his fist as he stood from his chair placed in front of Bucky, “Wipe him again.”

Soon the air was filled with Bucky’s screams again, torturous and raw. Brock Rumlow looked on in silence, taking in the sight before him. This, he could work with.

~

The team consisting of Florence, Steve, Natasha, Sam, Maria, and Fury were littered throughout the vacant underground room, lights dim and the air heavy with stale humidity. Steve and Sam stood while the remaining few were seated at a long conference table. Fury had documents scattered in front of him, Maria with a laptop, typing away intently.

Fury held an image of Pierce from the ’80s in his hand, “This man declined the Nobel Peace Prize. He said peace wasn’t an achievement, it was a responsibility.” Fury threw the picture onto the table, “See, it’s stuff like this that gives me trust issues.”

Natasha speaks from her chair next to her fellow redheaded friend, a solemn expression on her face, “We have to stop the launch.” Alexander was planning on using Project Insight, which consisted of three helicarriers that patrolled the Earth to eliminate threats, deployed after the Battle of New York, only this time it was being planned to be used as a way for HYDRA to eliminate any threats to themselves. The operation was now turned against them.

Fury looked at Natasha with an eyebrow raised, “I don’t think the Council’s accepting my calls anymore.” He flipped open a briefcase, revealing three data chips.

Behind Florence, Sam spoke with arms crossed tightly over his chest, “What’s that?”

Maria flipped her laptop around, showing the team a diagram of data, “Once the helicarriers reach 3,000 feet, they’ll triangulate with Insight satellites, becoming fully weaponized.”

“We need to breach those carriers and replace their targeting blades with our own.” Fury gestured to the case in front of him.

Maria flipped her laptop back around, “One or two won’t cut it. We need to link all three carriers for this to work because if even one of those ships remains operational, a whole lot of people are gonna die.” The entire team grimaced.

All eyes were on Fury as he spoke, “We have to assume everyone on those carriers is HYDRA. We have to get past them, insert these server blades. And maybe, just maybe we can salvage what’s left.”

Florence and Steve shared a look, Florence knew Steve wouldn’t let that happen, “We’re not salvaging anything. We’re not just taking down the carriers, Nick. We’re taking down S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Fury snapped back at Steve, “S.H.I.E.L.D. had nothing to do with this.”

“You gave me this mission, this is how it ends. S.H.I.E.L.D.’s been compromised. You said so yourself. HYDRA grew right under your nose and nobody noticed.” Steve’s face was set, his entire body taking on the posture of command.

Fury gestured around the room with his hands before setting them back on the table, “Why do you think we’re meeting in this cave? I noticed.”

Steve’s face remained cold, “How many paid the price before you did?” Florence read between the lines, she knew what he was asking and it felt like a punch to the gut.

Fury bowed his head as Florence looked away, “Look, I didn’t know about Barnes.” No one did.

Steve scoffed, “Even if you had, would you have told me? Or would you have compartmentalized that too? Like Florence.”

“Hey, she did what she had to. You did not go through what she did.” Florence looked to Fury with kindness in her tired eyes, silently thanking him.

Steve interrupted the tender moment, continuing his speech, “S.H.I.E.L.D., HYDRA, it all goes.”

“He’s right. It all has to go.” All eyes darted to Maria, a silent understanding that Steve was right. This was the beginning of the end.

Fury looks around, eyes landing on Sam, “Don’t look at me.” Sam nods his head to Steve, “I do what he does, just slower.”

Steve stood at the head of the table, staring at Fury as he leaned back in his chair, “Looks like you’re giving the orders now, Captain.”

The team was given their tasks, parting their separate ways before the mission.

Florence found Steve outside, standing on the bridge lost in thought.

Florence sided up next to him, “Hey, I know you probably hate me right now, but-”

Steve cut her off, turning to face her, “I don’t hate you. I don’t. I’m just struggling to wrap my head around the fact that he’s been alive this entire time and you haven’t told one person. Not even me.”

“Steve, I tried. After I ran, I tried to go back for him but he wouldn’t let me; told me to run and to never come back for him. So I had to go into hiding. Seventeen years Steve. It’s not like I could walk into a government building and tell them without HYDRA catching wind. Hell, I could have been walking straight back into HYDRA. You have to understand that everything I’ve done has been to protect him. Everything.” By the end of the redheads’ speech, she was choking back tears, hands trembling at her sides. She bit her lip to quell the emotions running through her.

Steve placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, “I know, I know. I’m sorry.”

Silence fell over the two friends as both reminisced on the past, staring off into space.

Flashback:

Florence climbed the stairs behind Bucky and Steve to Steve’s family home. The mood was somber, Florence’s black funeral dress grazing her ankles as she stepped up the last step, standing next to Bucky.

“We looked for you after. My folks wanted to give you a ride to the cemetery.” Bucky’s tone was soft as he spoke to the heartbroken Steve.

“I know. Kinda wanted to be alone.” Steve stared at the ground as he spoke, never making eye contact with either Florence or Bucky.

Florence cocked her head to one side, gaze softly inquisitive as she looked at the small-statured man in front of her, “How was it?”

“It was okay. She’s next to dad.” The blonde’s tone was monotonous and quiet, understandably so.

Bucky shrugged his shoulders, “I was gonna ask-”

Steve cut him off as he reached his front door, hands fumbling in his pocket for the key, “I know what you’re gonna say, Buck, I just-”

“You can put the couch cushions on the floor, like when we were kids. It’ll be fun, all you gotta do is shine my shoes, maybe take out the trash.” Bucky reached down to move a brick, grabbing the key to the door and handing it to Steve, “Come on.”

Steve took the key, finally looking him in the eye, “Thank you, Buck. But I can get by on my own.”

Florence looked to Bucky, silently telling him to comfort their friend. Bucky nodded, speaking again, “The thing is, you don’t have to.” Bucky’s large hand clapped Steve on the shoulder, “Cuz me and Florence? We’re with you till the end of the line, pal.”

The moment was broken up by Sam, approaching the two old friends, “He’s gonna be there you know.”

“We know.” Both Steve and Florence were painfully aware of that fact.

“Look, whoever he used to be and the guy he is now, I don’t think he’s the kind you save. He’s the kind you stop.”

Steve looked to Sam, “I don’t know if I can do that.” Florence knew she couldn’t. Everything she has ever done, Bucky has always crossed her mind- how to help him, save him, protect him; always concerned about his well-being. And now she was forced to go against him.

“Well, he might not give you a choice. He doesn’t know either of you.” Sam twisted the knife with his last sentence, Florence and Steve grimacing at one another.

Steve spoke, looking at Florence for a last time then at Sam, “He will.” The blonde looked over the bridge, “Gear up. It’s time.”

The team changed into their gear and split up to where they were appointed: Natasha infiltrating a meeting with Alexander as a congresswoman with Fury as backup and releasing all HYDRA files, Maria preparing to order the attack to bring down the helicarriers, and Steve, Sam, and Florence to board the helicarrier to replace the targeting blades.

Sam called out to Steve as he walked away, "Wearing that?"

“No. If you’re gonna fight a war, you have to wear a uniform.”

~

Florence ran through the ship deck as fast as she could, doing her best to not get shot. Her earpiece kept her up to date, Natasha had just started releasing all of the files; her and Natasha’s secrets were now public along with the rest of HYDRA’s. Steve had already made it to the helicarrier, the redhead had gotten caught up with a HYDRA agent on the ground.

Florence was late to the party, Steve, and Bucky already furiously exchanging punches. She got to the top of the carrier as fast as she could with the help of Sam, her feet moving without thought. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Sam deploy his parachute after being kicked off by Bucky, now he was grounded.

Steve and Florence were on opposite ends of the carrier, Florence quickly making her way toward the two men.

Bucky threw Steve off of the top-level, Steve landing below with a thud, shield long gone in the Potomac beneath them.

Florence stared ahead, Bucky finally noticing her arrival. Both looked at the other in silence, gauging the situation at hand. His eyes were void of all emotion, this was not Bucky. The Soldier had a mission to kill her and Steve. Florence had a mission to keep Bucky alive, no matter the cost. If he was alive that meant there was hope to save him. You can’t save a dead man.

The silence was erupted by Florence, her mouth moving before her brain could stop, "Bucky, don't do this. You don't have to do this."

Tears welled up in her eyes unwillingly, the dam threatening to burst. Even if she knew deep down that he had been alive this entire time, a sliver of her always thought he was dead. Maybe her subconscious came up with that thought to protect herself, to make herself feel better about not being able to get him out. And she did try to get him out; she tried like hell. The first five years of her seventeen-year stint of being on the run was the worst. She was constantly moving locations, barely sleeping. And when she did sleep, she dreamt of Bucky- he was always screaming at her to go, save herself, and leave him behind. That was a detail that she would never tell Steve; if they even made it out alive of this situation. Steve wouldn’t understand, he was too stuck in his ways, he would have tried to get him out anyway. He would disregard any command in order to save Bucky even if the demand came straight from Bucky’s mouth. He would never truly understand why Florence did what she did. Maybe it was better that way.

He furrows his brow, lines etching themselves between his steel-blue eyes, "You're my mission."

A single breath is taken before he swings at her, metal arm glinting in the light as she dodges his punch, sweeping under his outstretched arm. She wasn't going to fight back. She couldn't.

Bucky turns violently, eyes hard, set on her. He lunges again as her weapon clatters to the ground of the helicarrier. Now Florence was defenseless. Although it's not like she was fighting back anyway. She'd let him kill her. If that kept him alive, she'd do it. It's not like he remembers her anyway, you can't mourn a person you don't remember.

She takes three steps back, her back colliding with the wall behind her as Bucky stalks forward. His breath fans across her face as he stands in front of her. She notices a stall in his motions, practically seeing his brain malfunction. His head was fighting with his heart.

A fist flies next to her head, Bucky purposely missing as he punches the wall again. His face twisted in pain, he was fighting himself. He couldn't do this. He knew her. His body knew her, pieces of memories played through his brain as he continued to punch the wall, a ring, her hand in his, dog tags being placed around her neck, all of it hurt. Florence was frozen in place as Bucky's fists continued flying next to her, "Go! You need to go!"

He remembered her.

Just as Steve ordered Maria to fire at the carrier, Bucky shoved Florence, causing her to tumble over the edge, joining Steve at the bottom of the carrier as it went up in flames. The carrier was under fire from all sides, jostling violently, causing Bucky to fall along with her. He landed away from Florence and Steve, being pinned under the debris.

Steve got to his feet, swaying as he stumbled over to Bucky who was struggling under the weight of the metal beam. Steve wedged the beam up, freeing Bucky. The girl remained on the ground, curling into a ball from the pain of the impact of the fall.

Florence rose to her feet as Steve told Bucky that he knew them. Bucky’s metal arm reeled back, punching Steve in the face as he screamed, “No I don’t!”

“Buck, we’ve known you your whole life.” Florence’s voice trembled as he hit Steve again, effectively knocking him to the ground.

Steve stood again, “Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.”

Bucky punched Steve in the face for a final time, the force knocking him off the carrier and into the river below. Florence scrambled to stand in front of Bucky, making him really look at her. To truly see her, to see what he was doing. Her face was bleeding, soot smudged across her forehead, sweat mixing with tears and blood flowing down her face.

“I’m not gonna fight you. I love you.” Florence’s body shook with sobs as Bucky tackled her to the ground.

His frame towered over hers, his body heaving as he spoke, “You’re my mission.” His fist flew next to her head, once, twice; never actually hitting her. Florence could see the struggle in his eyes. He was a broken man without a home.

“You don’t love me. You left me!” Bucky’s fist continued flying next to Florence’s head, the plexiglass cracking. Pierce’s words looped in his mind, she didn’t love him. She left him. She abandoned him. She was his mission.

Florence took a heaving breath in, “Yes I do, I do love you. I tried to get you out, I did, you wouldn’t let me, I tried, I-” Bucky interrupted her by pressing his flesh hand against her throat and applying pressure.

He leaned down, only inches between their faces as he applied more pressure around her throat and choking her. He grit his teeth as he choked her harder, brunette hair dangling in his face. This was it. This was Florence’s last chance, “It’s okay. It’s okay. I love you, it’s okay.” If these were the last words Bucky would ever hear from her, she was okay with that. She needed him to know that it was okay. He was doing what he had been forced to do, it wasn’t him. She needed him to know that she understood.

The hand from her throat disappeared, Bucky leaning back above her, staring at her with glassy eyes. Florence struggled for breath as she watched Bucky process her words. Debris fell around them, Bucky hovering over her to protect her from the falling particles. A large engine fell next to them, shattering the glass and sending Florence falling straight into the Potomac, Bucky hanging onto the carrier from a beam as he watched his lover fall into the water below.

Bucky dragged Steve out of the water with his metal arm while the other balanced Florence against his shoulder, ignoring the burning pain of his flesh arm as her head rested on his neck. He placed the two unconscious Avengers on the riverbank, taking one last look at them before he disappeared, becoming a ghost yet again.

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[stonefreeak]

I am so sorry this has taken me so long. I can’t believe i missed updating in February entirely! Work is busy, and I have moved and am trying to get everything in my apartment put together and it’s just A Lot right now. But I will work hard to not forget to update again!

Shaak Ti walks through the halls of Kamino, projecting the sort of calm she knows she's become known for over the years. In times of upheaval, anxiety, and unrest, being a source of calm and peace is helpful not just for yourself but also to the people around you. She's long since learned to keep a tight leash on her emotional responses.

It's not that she doesn't feel, to suggest such a thing would be ridiculous—she's hardly had the emotional centres of her brain damaged or removed after all—she's merely cautious with how she lets herself express it. If she becomes agitated, if she lashes out, she risks bleeding her own agitation into the Force and affecting other people and beings around her, stoking their agitation. Not to mention that she risks entering a feedback loop with the Force, where she projects her emotions into it, and it sends those emotions back to her causing a spiral into ever deepening loss of emotional control.

As a Force Sensitive being, allowing your emotions to get the better of you means you risk losing control of yourself entirely. Usually that means that people get hurt, and Shaak Ti has no interest in people coming to harm.

She locks her emotions down, catalogues them, acknowledges them, and leaves them for meditation later when she's alone and has the time to properly dissect what she's feeling and why she's feeling it.

A side effect of this is that she has an amazing poker face—none of her fellow council members will play Correllian poker with her anymore—and as she tries to investigate the supposed chips inside the troopers' brains, it more than serves her well.

The people of Kamino have very limited emotional reflection in the Force, it seems to be an inherent trait of their species. That they're also so foreign to her that she still cannot accurately gauge their emotions from their facial expressions—limited as they are—means that she's always in a precarious situation when she speaks with them on sensitive matters. Being able to tell if they're deliberately hiding something from her or if they simply don't know is more than a little bit difficult.

But if Master Kenobi is correct, then they are deliberately hiding something from them all. Something that Former Chancellor Palpatine likely knows about, was told about, but which they haven't shared with Master Kenobi despite him being the new Chancellor.

She doesn't like the sound of that, the idea that they wouldn't speak about it with any Supreme Chancellor, but rather only Palpatine. It gives her a bad feeling, and she wonders if, perhaps, the Former Chancellor is corrupt in a way they have yet to discover? She's been told by the rest of the Council that he's been found guilty of some milder charges—as far as any corruption charges are mild—but perhaps there's more to the whole thing. Perhaps there are things that the investigation couldn't find, because all evidence of it existed only in Kamino's data systems, far beyond the reach of the investigative team.

When Master Kenobi had first brought it up, she had agreed despite her own scepticism—she is not one for dismissing possible dangers off-hand, after all. With how things have developed... Well, she's starting to believe that he was on to something, even though her own research so far has not yielded much results.

Of course she realises that if the Kaminoans wish to hide these chips from them, her access codes would not give her access to anything that is related to the chips. But she had to look into it through official and open—to her—channels first. There is no good reason to treat people as untrustworthy criminals when you have not even the smallest bit of proof that they are that. She had originally planned to simply ask the Kaminoans about the chips, but once she was about to, a sudden feeling of unease swept over her, and she held her tongue.

But her general research has failed, and now she's facing a very difficult choice: either she asks the Kaminoans directly regarding the chips thus tipping them off to the fact that she knows about their existence in the first place, thus risking them looking more closely at her actions following said discussion, or she tries to conduct covert and far from legal entrance into their systems before she so much as ask them about it.

She pauses and realises that she's made an error in judgement. While it's true that the Kaminoans would keep a closer eye on her if she were to bring any of her concerns up to them... They are unlikely to believe she would trust any trooper.

Of course, if the chips exist at all, then the problem comes in the form of what the chips do. She has never sensed any sort of duplicity or danger from any of the clones she's ever trained or interacted with. They are good and loyal men, men who deserve more life than what the Republic is willing to give them due to their status as clones, so she does not fear trusting them.

The question is... Who should she ask?

There is sure to be capable and subtle troopers among those stationed here. All her men are capable of course, though not all of them are subtle.

She needs to find a trooper who can be trusted to work covertly, but also without being detected. They also need to be without pride, because if they get caught, they need to allow her to run interference in any way she can, and trust her to be doing so for their sake.

Perhaps she should lay a false trail, express worry about information leaks, and ask the Kaminoans regarding their security. Vaguely, not pressing for any details of course. However, just as with doing any clandestine breaking and entering the secure data centres of Kamino herself, she is too noticeable a figure. She cannot blend in or hide herself away, and if she asks too many questions, she risks making them suspicious.

If the Kaminoans are hiding something from the Jedi and the Chancellor—possible because the new chancellor is a Jedi—then she cannot tip them off to the fact that they are suspicious. That they are trying to investigate.

She would like to walk into this potential fire first, ahead of her men, as the Jedi do... But in this particular instance, she is quite certain that her presence at the metaphorical front would do more harm than good. She will need to send a trooper in her stead, and put her hope in their skills and strength.

She'll look into it, there are sure to be some who stand out as appropriate choices. Some who will be willing to help her with her covert mission. The clones have no love for the Kaminoans, as far as she knows, even though they seem to consider Kamino their home world. As far as she's been able to ascertain, their loyalty is with the Jedi and the Republic—even though the Republic has never given them anything, and the Jedi has never been able to give them anything except a clear command structure and the occasional meditation help and teachings about the Force.

Perhaps once this war is over, the clone troopers who still live can finally be given personhood and a place to live and stay. Perhaps when they're all finally free from this terrible war, her men can be allowed to flourish in any which way they want.

Not just on the battlefield.

For now she'll speak with the Council again. She cannot tell them openly, just in case the Kaminoans keep some sort of watch on their communication channels, set up to trigger on specific keywords. If they do, then they may already know that she is looking, so all the more important to not let them know any of what she's planning. But while she cannot speak plainly, she can speak in the kind of code that will have the Council send out a fleet to Kamino under some sort of pretence, and through that, she can send back a coded flimsi message containing any and all information she's found until then. Whichever trooper she finds for this mission will have to go with the fleet, and perhaps that will be the safest way for them all.

The Council will be able to request the trooper's aid far away from Kamino and the Kaminoans, and without any risk of them overhearing it. The Temple, at least, is safe enough that jammers alone will keep the information safe.

If she were to use any here, it would most likely make anyone looking to overhear her conversations suspicious.

The last thing they want is anyone trying to hide away the evidence.

They cannot afford any mistakes. It's too dangerous for that.

She lowers herself to her knees and places her hands gently in her lap, focusing on her breathing as she wraps the Force around her.

She will meditate on her next step before she makes any move at all. It wouldn't do to move too quickly and make a mistake.

—

(Supreme Chancellor Obi-Wan Kenobi masterpost)

#Supreme Chancellor Obi Wan Kenobi #star wars #Shaak Ti #my writing #update

[chocosvt]

connect universe

⚬ pairing: cyborg!hansol x reader | future!au ⚬ word count: 4315 ⚬ warnings: alcohol consumption, violence ⚬ genres: angst, heavy fluff, elements of a futuristic/dystopian society.

✧✎ synopsis: hansol’s first time at an underground party isn’t what you expect it to be. you want to acquaint him with what it’s like to live normally, but the fabric of his past continues to control him.

✧✎ a/n: this is a side story to connect! i recommend you read the original fic first if you haven’t already (link is here) i rly luv this universe and i didn’t want to just stow it away!! i’ll expand on it more in the future (pun whoops)

You didn’t understand how anyone could look at Hansol and interpret him as someone malignant, someone evil. He was anything but a menace, and during the progression of your relationship you came to realize that his gentle nature was often a curse rather than a blessing. It brought you to ache, because he let people walk over him. Hansol had become so accustomed to brutal temperament that he rarely even lifted his finger to those who refused him and belittled him and reduced him to his bionic parts.

The worst part was, Hansol hated when you defended him. He would crinkle into himself like he’d just heard an ear-piercing scream and then grasp onto your wrist, shaking it, begging you to drop the argument because it was worthless. Even if you didn’t see it that way, his pleading was so genuine and desperate that you had no choice but to swallow the bullet on your tongue. Nonetheless, you practiced everything in your power to make him feel love, to understand love, that it wasn’t some weapon of faked promises but the deepest sentiment you had ever felt. “I know what love is because I have you, Hansol.”

When he first moved in with you, he experienced many nightmares, in which he’d slam awake in bed with his fists crumpling at the sheets, every circuit beneath his skin thundering in a bright, icy blue. His right leg would be jittering so quickly that you feared its bionics might burn out. But Hansol never dreamed of his chiefly horrendous past when you held him in your arms. And so every night you would press his head to your chest, feeling him squeeze around your waist while you stroked through the soft fibres of his hair until he fell asleep. Hansol thought he understood love a little more when you did that.

He was learning news joys and pleasures that he’d been reprieved of while contained in the laboratories.  One evening you found a stray kitten stumbling around through some newspapers in an alley, and brought her home to clean up. But what was most shocking was when you placed the kitten in the sink.

Hansol peered over your shoulder, his eyes violet and beaming lowly. “What is that?” He then asked, flinching slightly when the kitten opened its tiny mouth to squeak.

It was an unprecedented type of astounding. How could Hansol not know what a kitten is? However, the more you spoke with Yoojung’s father (responsible for fixing much of the cyborg’s faulty wiring and circuits) you realized Hansol didn’t know much about being a person. What he did know was fear.

“That’s what happens when you grow up in a lab with a bunch of Metal Surgeons and Circuit Technicians. You never were a person, and you’re not yet a cyborg either. You’re an experiment.” He told you.

And with those chilling words chiseled to the underside of your flesh, you adapted an extra attentive level of care when it came to Hansol. You taught him how to handle the kitten without accidentally crushing it in his iron-reflexes, how to brush her fur and tease her with a small toy and give her baths once she’d roll around in the garden. After coming home from a tiresome day at work, almost nothing else could match the happiness you felt upon seeing Hansol asleep on the couch, the kitten curled in a fluffy ball against his chest. She liked to mush her face against his bicep whenever he cradled her in his firm arms.

“He’s so gentle,” you expressed to Yoojung’s father, “he won’t even kill a spider.”

The man flipped up his welding helmet. He gave you a stern look, as though you should know to speak better, and suddenly there was this sickly pounding of your heart.

“The boy is gentle, and you’re not incorrect to think that. But don’t curse yourself by being naïve. He has that switch in him.”

“So does everyone.” You had countered, a shiver tickling down your neck.

“Not everyone is designed the way he is,” Yoojung’s father reasoned, setting down his torch, “no matter what, Hansol is not entirely human. He is devoid of feeling many emotions to their fullest extent. You can associate sunshine on a rainy day with happiness, but that doesn’t mean happiness is what you feel. A  cyborg knows merely the word, not its sensation. I want you to think safe. Hansol knew anger and violence in that laboratory before he knew compassion. It’s wired into his mechanics.”

That day, you left the garage with Hansol as this enormous lump sat in your throat. You examined the chronicles of your relationship.

Not once had the boy ever gotten angry or displayed contempt. Even when your kitten gave Hansol his first scratch, he recoiled in sadness, confusion, rather than an immediate instinct to be forceful. He asked you what he did wrong, and you had to hug him tighter than ever before while he teared up, because he genuinely didn’t comprehend that it wasn’t his fault, that the kitten just didn’t want to be held at that time. You thought about when Hansol kissed you, how he’d always guide you to lay on your back, just his fingertips rubbing softly against your waist because he was so afraid that you might not want him closer. Of course, you always did, to which he would emanate pink at your encouragement.

“If there ever comes a time when you need to deescalate Hansol, I suggest you pin-jack him.” Yoojung’s father had cautioned just before you left the garage.

“Pin-jack?” You questioned. “What’s that?”

He searched his toolbox and picked up a screwdriver with a flat tip. “Anything that can be inserted into the sensory slot at the back of his neck. If you manage to touch his chip, it’ll momentarily reset his data board. He might be delirious coming to, so you must be careful.”

Pin-jack, you scoffed inside your head as you walked home with Hansol, I’ll never have to do that.

“I think we’re getting close. Yoojung said the portal should be under the Interstitial Bridge.”

Hansol followed you, trusting your judgement as you gleaned the instructions Yoojung had earlier sent in a text message. It was difficult to differentiate much in the nighttime, especially when the Interstitial Bridge was located more toward the outskirts of the Nexus. There was hardly any luminosity apart from the moon and the few blue lightning bugs that sparked between the dark seams. Furthermore, it was difficult for Hansol to understand much of your words when the floodgate had been opened, for the concrete trough that was usually dry and empty was now gushing with contaminated city water.

Just up ahead, you could detect the silhouette of the bridge.

The portal must be under it. You knew it was wise to act quickly considering the portal’s location switched every hour, a simple safety precaution in order to spurn the Stargazers. They always attempted to shut down much of the inconspicuous activity that took place outside the eyes of the Nexus. You were anxious, but excited to say the least. This would be Hansol’s first time attending an underground party. It was extremely difficult to receive an invitation let alone successfully pinpoint an entrance portal unless the host themselves gave you the instructions on how to discover it. Yoojung managed to secure herself an invite, and extended the text containing the portal’s location to you and Hansol.

“I think I see it!” You squeaked triumphantly and grabbed onto Hansol’s hand.

Together, you ran beneath the bridge. Embedded into the misty stone was an oval-shaped hole, outlined in a glowing hue of amethyst. The black centre of the portal seemed to ripple and convulse, and every so often there would be an orange flicker against the blackness. You weren’t sure how Hansol was going to respond to such an environment: loud music, dim, flashy lights, the suffocating closeness of unfamiliar bodies, air that constantly grew thicker with humidity, it definitely wasn’t to everyone’s liking. But you figured Hansol would appreciate your offer rather than insisting he stay boxed into your home, unable to experience anything which may help move him from his self-loathing.

“Have you ever been through a portal before?” You asked him.

Hansol shook his head. “No, never.”

There was a faint shimmer of worry in his eyes. You smoothed a hand down his neck and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his mouth, hoping to reassure him.

“I’m not going to let go of your hand, okay? I promise.”

You stepped into the portal first. It was much like shifting through quicksand, for it was something smooth yet heavy, and the further you pushed into the blackness the colder it felt. Eventually, the portal filled with a blinding white light that swallowed around you, yet you squeezed your eyes shut and persisted, your fingers still interlaced with Hansol’s. No more than a second later did you sense the brightness dissipate, and when you opened your eyes, you were met with the vivacious party. You had emerged underneath a metal staircase, to which there was the loud clattering of heels and shoes walking up and down. When you looked at Hansol, he appeared a bit disoriented, but smiled nonetheless.

“Let’s go find Yoojung.” You whispered into his ear.

The atmosphere was quite intense for Hansol. It seemed as though his mechanics were spinning on overdrive, attempting to process such an influx of sound and warm bodies and scents. He stuck close to you as best he could. He was able to relax upon reuniting with Yoojung, for your touches to his arm weren’t met with rigidity and he even accepted a pineapple cocktail from a whirring hover-disk.

Though that didn’t signify he was completely subdue. A few people had managed to note the code tattooed just in front of Hansol’s ear, and while no one pitched a concerning comment, you could tell the boy had felt uneasy from their blatant, often unconscious stares, how they probed every inch of his body attempting to discover all his bionic scarring and accessories. You tended to pull him away and keep him distracted by the other means pertaining to nightlife and underground partying. For a little while you danced undisturbed, which allowed you to discover Hansol’s great sense of rhythm as he twirled you around and guided your hips and swooped you in close against his chest.

“Are you having fun, Sollie?” You murmured, holding onto his shoulders.

He pressed his forehead to yours, kissed you with a zealous edge of roughness and a smirk. You took that as confirmation, and you danced until it became hard to breathe.

But then trouble seemed to take shape in a form you least expected: Changkyun.

Once you and Hansol rediscovered Yoojung near the bar where she had been sipping a brilliant, lime green beverage, you sensed a pair of fingertips slide up your back and turned around uncomfortably. Your expression quickly morphed into shock when you were greeted by Changkyun’s dreary, smiling face, a heavy stench of alcohol radiating from his clothing. You hadn’t been on the best terms with Changkyun. He was never able to adjust to your breakup very well, and there was a reason Yoojung had also begun to distance herself from him. He smiled at you, mumbled something you didn’t quite catch.

“Changkyun,” Yoojung cautioned, setting down her drink, “I think you should clean yourself up a bit and head home. Minghao can open a portal for you.”

He ignored her. Instead, his foggy gaze was allured to you. “So, I take it you’re still w’Hansol?” He slurred despite the boy standing right next to you.

You didn’t answer his question, repeating, “I think you should go.”

“If I had known you’d throw our whole relationship away just to end up w’someone whose half-metal,” Changkyun scoffed, “I never would’ve dated you.”

Hansol stiffened at your side, his eyes wide.

“Changkyun,” Yoojung snapped, “you need to go. Now.”

“What?” The boy persisted defensively, as though he were innocent, with not one inkling as to why he was being dealt this cold treatment. Changkyun approached Hansol and gave him a slight shove against his shoulders. “How come you’ve got nothing to say Bionic Brain? Did you short circuit?”

Something flickered in Hansol’s eyes, and yet he still didn’t crack, rather he merely swallowed and furrowed his brow. It boggled you that Hansol was able to control his temperament, because you were certainly fuming. You stepped in between them and tried maneuvering Changkyun to the side. He stumbled a bit since his coordination had been utterly shredded by the copious alcohol in his system, though his glare never separated from Hansol. Right when you believed the situation was deescalating, you sighed in relief and exchanged a tiresome glance with Yoojung; however, Changkyun had managed to once again press himself right next to the boy and your heart dropped.

“Y’know what they say,” Changkyun hissed between his teeth, “they made you a cyborg because you never would’ve been good enough as a human.”

And with that, Changkyun gave a rough bump to Hansol’s shoulder. The only difference was that he lost his opportunity to walk away unscathed. This shroud of fear gripped onto you tight, rendered you paralyzed, unable to even wriggle a finger as the indifferent light in Hansol’s eyes had been demolished. Instead, his gaze was blazing. It burst into a bloodied shade of red that you had never seen before. The usually invisible circuits lining his neck and cheek started to glow in the same colour, and as Hansol curled his fingers through the collar of Changkyun’s shirt, pinning him hard against the edge of the bar, you saw that the wires in his right forearm were transmitting signals at tenfold their regular speed.

“What did you just fucking say?” Hansol growled, though you could hardly recognize his voice. It had a metallic, almost vibrational undertone. It was sharper, completely stripped of its soft grit, rife with vitriol.

Changkyun squirmed helplessly, like fresh prey caught between its predator’s jaws. Not even Yoojung was able to move, for she was in the same boat as you, unbeknownst to Hansol’s aggression and the seething hatred that he maintained for Changkyun in his eyes. Somehow, you managed to snap from your trance when Changkyun tried to knock Hansol with a punch, though the cyborg easily grasped his wrist and began twisting his entire arm. You grabbed onto Hansol, attempting to push him away, battering against his side in desperation, begging him to stop with panicked tears glued against your cheeks.

Your ex-boyfriend released a horrible cry, as though Hansol were going to break his bone. No matter what you did, Hansol’s strength was akin to steel, it was unparalleled.

It forced you to confront your only option.

Digging into your pocket you retrieved a small nail file. You didn’t allow yourself to think, rather you braced a hand against the back of Hansol’s neck and dug the nail file deep into his sensory slot, as far as the blunt metal could reach until it touched his chip and there was a blipping spark. Yoojung gasped as the colour suddenly melted from Hansol’s gaze. Every circuit beneath his synthetic flesh dimmed and his arms dropped rather lifelessly to his sides. Changkyun didn’t hesitate. He scrambled his way out from underneath Hansol, his chest heaving, sweat glistening on his temples and fear engrained into his face.

It wasn’t until you pushed against Hansol’s neck in order to withdraw the nail file that you realized how terribly you were shaking. The boy’s grey eyes flickered, and you knew he was going to reboot.

“We need to get him out of here,” Yoojung said, wrapping an arm around his waist, “it’s not good for his database to restart in a setting like this.”

Dropping the nail file on the floor, the tears still wet against your cheeks, you assisted Yoojung in helping Hansol walk. Changkyun had disappeared into the shadows.

Yoojung was able to discover Minghao on the balcony that overlooked the dance floor. It was troublesome guiding Hansol up the staircase since his delirium was so thick. He kept mumbling these indiscernible fragments while odd clicks and beeps reverberated from inside his body. You could feel how hot the metal beneath his skin had become, for even just brushing against his forearm was akin to ghosting an iron skillet. Minghao was the party host, and he had been the one to rearrange the portal. Yet, he didn’t seem eager to reopen another gateway so abruptly.

“It’s dangerous,” he began, his black, smooth suit shining against the lights, “the Stargazers have been breathing down my neck ever since my last terra. I’m a sliver away from getting put back in the Void.”

“I know,” Yoojung huffed, adjusting her grip around Hansol’s waist, “I swear, you can set a time limit on the portal for just a minute. That’s all we need to get him out safe.”

With the long, dark fringe shielding Minghao’s eyes, it was impossible to decipher his thinking. However, you did note his foot tapping against the floor. You didn’t know much about Minghao, apart from the fact he lived sumptuously and had managed to become one of the most suspicious citizens within the Nexus. Yoojung said he would be empathetic. Apparently, Minghao sustained irreparable damage to his left eye while being contained in the Void and her father had to fabricate a robotic replacement.

At last, Minghao sighed, running a hand down his face. “Alright, alright, I’ll open one.” He pulled up the sleeve of his suit. “But—you better get in and get the fuck out. I’m not going back there.”

Locked around the boy’s wrist was a silver titanium band. When he pressed his thumb against a slight groove, a series of amber dots gradually lit up around the bracelet.

“Command: open exit portal at sector D4-East, Z-Underground,” Minghao spoke so naturally, as though he knew the coordinates like the back of his palm, “Command: release at sector B2-West, Z-positive, BR-ITS. Time limit is one minute, zero seconds. Force shutdown.”

Minghao then shone his bracelet at the wall, where an amber beam pierced against the brick and opened an exit portal. Yoojung thanked him at least four times, to which he simply nodded and wished you luck with managing Hansol home safely. You pushed through the portal, sensing the coldness unforgivingly squeeze around you.

You sat on your bed, plucking at the tassels of a pillow in your lap. It was almost three in the morning and this sickness had been harbouring in your lower-tummy ever since the dispute at the bar. A shiver traced like the point of a knife down your spine as you kept visualizing that striking redness in Hansol’s gaze, a redness so harrowing and tinged with rage that you hugged the pillow to your chest for measly comfort.

But you knew it wasn’t just anger: pain, betrayal, the exhaustion of having to lace one’s own wounds while knowing they were going to split wide open again, these sentiments too flashed in that redness. A tear rolled down your cheek and splashed onto the pillow.

Yet there was a timid knock on your door, and you quickly wiped your face. Hansol entered your room. He had been laying on your couch ever since he returned home, allowing his mechanics to completely reconnect with his sensory chip. When he sat uncertainly on the edge of your bed, his right knee was already bouncing and there was a pale blue colouring his eyes.

“Are you feeling better?” You hummed, tracing the pillow’s embroidery.

Hansol nodded, looking at you peripherally. “I’m fine.”

There was an unmistaken coarseness to your voice. It was taking all your strength to not erupt into tears like you had done at the party. The feeling of digging that nail file into Hansol’s neck, jamming it so hard into his slot that his chip had sparked and this lifeless aura overwhelmed him, it made you nauseous.

You sniffled, squeezing the pillow tighter. “H-Hansol,” he turned to you with such a concerned countenance that your chest ached, “I’m sorry for pin-jacking you. I’m really sorry.”

The manner in which your tone warbled was heartbreaking. Hansol shook his head. He etched closer to you and extended his hand toward your knee, but his touch immediately withered away the second you flinched ever so slightly. Hansol felt like he’d burned himself.

“No,” he pleaded, “no, no, no. Don’t be sorry. I’m not mad at you. I could never be.” The ice in his eyes had seldom shone this brightly, and it only seemed to disturb more emotions inside you.

Hansol peered into his lap, then licked his lips and murmured in a shaky voice, “are you afraid of me?”

The question stunned you as though it were a daunting flash of light. Consequently, your mind had become hazy, and you struggled to articulate the words that could capture your every feeling. Hansol spoke up again, to which his right leg had finally stopped bouncing.

“I would never hurt you.” He met your gaze with utmost clarity. “I-I can’t promise that I won’t hurt other people… Just… I would never hurt you, ever.”

Your fingertips curled far into the pillow and you could almost hear the blood pumping in your own veins. There was no doubt he was speaking truthfully. You knew Hansol wouldn’t harm you.

“If I had never used my nail file,” you gulped heavily and held eye contact, “would you have done it? Would you have broken his arm?” Somehow, you already suspected the answer.

Hansol nodded. “I wish I could tell you the answer that would make you happy, but I can’t lie to you. I know that makes you uncomfortable. I’m sorry.”

Tossing the pillow aside, you sat up straight and shook your head. “It’s not about me, Hansol,” you relayed with urgence, “everything about this night is a lot to process. I don’t know anything about your anger, or what being a cyborg entails. But what I know is that you’re hurting. You keep this darkness inside and you shouldn’t.”

“Because if I don’t people will get hurt!” He exclaimed, clenching his fists while the circuits beneath his forearm and cheek illuminated with lurid colour. “That switch is part of me. They designed me to have it and I can’t rid myself of it! ”

You were fortunate to have not one experience with the laboratories. And yet, Hansol had been tainted since he was a child. He experienced the forefront of their cruelty and their invasive experimenting. He was altered and tapered and tested on. Rinse, repeat. Rinse, repeat. Hansol was open about many things exempt from his time at the facilities. His journal was the precious tool that captured his every secret.

The boy then gripped onto his right knee, which started trembling once more, his eyes tenuously flickering into a rose shade. “Whenever I feel like I’m slipping… I think about you, and my anger goes away. But that club—it was so loud, so many distractions, so many people and conversations. My sensors haven’t been overwhelmed like that in ages.”

You leaned forward with a great exhale, your hand curling around the boy’s inner thigh to comfortingly squeeze. “Baby, if it was too much, then you should have said something to me.” Cupping his cheek and turning his head toward you, his eyes were rather glossy.

“I wanted to try it,” Hansol huffed, “I just want to be with you, and do things you like.”

Tracing your thumb below his eye, you couldn’t help but sigh again. For someone with an impressive installment of metal components, his heart couldn’t be any more tender than it already was. You swore that if you poked it, your finger might sink right through as though you touched something impossibly soft and squishy. A shy smile gradually danced to the corners of his mouth as you kissed him once, then twice, then wrapped your arms around his neck and suckled the remaining flavour of sweet pineapple from his tongue. You pressed your forehead against his, studying his face with such ardour.

“We can do things you like too, y’know.”

Hansol sniffled. “I like playing with Ppomo.”

Only a moment later, and your kitten was slipping between the thin gap in the doorway. She leapt onto the bed and mewled in her high-pitched tone, most likely imploring for someone to scratch the black and cream fur behind her ear. Ppomo’s favourite place seemed to be Hansol’s lap (you’d have to agree with her on that one) for she curled up in a small ball while he drew a gentle hand along her back. Resting your head against Hansol’s shoulder, you joined him in the petting until she fell asleep.

You thought about what Yoojung’s dad had drawled on that particular day you visited his garage, hoping to get some of Hansol’s mechanisms tweaked: a cyborg knows merely the word, not its sensation.

But you didn’t think that was necessarily true. Instead, you believed it was more accurate to say that Hansol could pinpoint many sensations, he just didn’t know what they were. He learned it was love when you held him and kissed him, happiness when he made Ppomo purr, excitement when he twirled your body in a breathtaking circle before pulling you into his chest on the dancefloor.

And you intended to teach him the name of every sensation that allowed him to feel so wonderful.

✧✎ a/n: awhile ago i answered an ask abt my expansion of the connect universe so if that lovely human reads this, i hope you liked it!! i’m not really sure where these fics into hansol’s attempts at human life will take me. 

maybe i will write an entire fic that details his time at the laboratory... i’m not sure yet!! in the mean time i’m trying to write this mingyu summer fic which i wanted to write last year, but ya... dreams crushed didn’t happen :_) ANYWAYS I HOPE U LOVE CYBORG!SOL AS MUCH AS ME he just wants to pet his kitten!!!!

#seventeen scenarios #svt fanfic #vernon scenarios #hansol scenarios #seventeen vernon #vernon angst #hansol angst #seventeen fanfic #seventeen angst #vernon fluff #svt x reader #vernon x reader

[aellynera]

Mors Non Est (Nathan Bateman x Reader)

MORS NON EST (Nathan Bateman x Reader)

(so. um. this was inspired by a dream i had? because my brain does weird things at night and then sometimes i write them.)

Word Count: almost 4k oops

Summary: “Of course, you don’t die. Nobody dies. Death doesn’t exist. You only reach a new level of vision, a new realm of consciousness, a new unknown world.” — Henry Miller, author

Or, what my brain offers as alternate theory on why Nathan made AIs.

Warnings: Leaving this mortal coil (sort of), angsty musings, maybe a swear or two. Okay there’s definitely a swear or...several. (also a disclaimer that I finished this at like 3am and there was a bunch of stuff out of order but I think I got it all worked out now and proofread and all that, but apologies if anything is still wonky)

The rain fell steadily against the wall of glass that faced towards the forest. Sometimes it was soft, like the tickle of a feather, the softest caress of a kiss on your hair, the skim of fingertips against the velvet red petals of a flower. Other times it was harsh, a violently crashing wave on the rocky shore, electricity ripping the sky asunder, an unbridled fierceness like a wild animal frightened and possessed.

It changed without warning.

Soft, hard. Quiet, loud. Calm, violent. Back and forth and back again.

How long had it been raining?

He turned as he heard your footsteps fall on the wooden patio planks behind him. You watched in slight fascination as he unwrapped his hands, used the cloth to dry them, and stuck a hand out to you, your attention half on him and half on the pure beauty of the surrounding scenery.

“You must be the new assistant,” he said, sounding friendly enough although his smile stayed a bit reserved.

He wasn’t expecting you to just show up on his deck. Yes, he was expecting you to be dropped off by the helicopter, that had all been arranged, but for some reason he had...he realized he wasn’t even sure what he was expecting. But you had clearly followed the pilot’s (and soon after, the house’s - that the house told you what to do amused him in the strangest way) instructions and here you were.

He knew his new assistant was more than capable (he had seen your resume, reviewed your coding and debugging history, had meticulously poured over every single little detail of work you had done for his company for the past three years not that he was obsessive about it or anything) but he wasn’t prepared for the person that now stood before him, an intriguing combination of impressed, unsure, interested, and underwhelmed.

You were fucking beautiful.

You nodded. “That’s what they tell me,” you replied, shaking his hand and supplying your name, even though you knew he already knew it. You knew enough about Nathan Bateman to know he knew everything about you before you even heard the head of HR back in the corporate office announce that you got the job.

You later admitted you didn’t know what to think about him either, and you hadn’t really expected anything, since you didn’t know much about him. He was a genius, everyone knew that, and he lived all the way out here by himself. And...that was about it. That’s what you knew.

And you thought he was...kinda hot.

And also an asshole, you liked to point out as the days went on. Nathan didn’t really mind.

*

It was an odd feeling, this feeling of dissonance and uncertainty.

There was so much that needed to be done. There was so much that he didn’t feel like doing.

He came to the door and paused. He spent most of his waking hours in this room - and to be honest, most of his hours were waking at this point, he rarely slept anyway and for as long as he could remember now he had barely slept, except when all that whiskey and vodka kicked in - and yet there was always a moment, the briefest flash of time, where forward momentum paused and he wondered if non-linear time was reality and he would find something different when he opened the door.

It wasn’t, and he never did.

He wandered into the lab and over to the table at the farthest end. Components were spread out before him and he idly reached over to the single chip laying in the center of the mess. It was the last piece of this particular puzzle, the last bit that had to be installed and configured and then…

Then suddenly it became too quiet and too loud all at once. Thoughts were screaming through his brain and he just wanted it to be quiet for a moment.

Quiet so he could go over his calculations in his head. Quiet so he could double check his math. Quiet so he could concentrate on his theories and his expected outcomes. Quiet so he could revel, just for a moment, in his monumental achievement.

There was a sweater hanging on the back of the door. He’d forgotten it was there, even though he had just seen it mere hours before. No, not forgotten, he realized. Blocked. He didn’t forget, he just purposely didn’t remember.

The silent noise became a full-blown cacophony.

Was it still raining?

*

“So how exactly are you going to solve it?” you asked one afternoon, idly twirling your pen in your hand.

“How would you do it?” he bounced back.

You sighed. His behavior was so typical. The man was a certifiable genius but that was usually the problem and not the solution. It was never straightforward. “The AI. How are you going to solve the issue of making it able to have an actual conversation with you?”

“How would you do it?” he asked again.

Shrugging your shoulders, you kept twirling the pen. “I dunno. I guess you’d have to have some way to...maybe cross-reference a database of expressions and emotions and an actual dictionary.”

Nathan paused and considered you, deep in his own forest of thought. He wheeled his chair over to his computer desk and started rapidly tapping keys. “How do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” you huffed. “Like...like some kind of mass well of every available, possible interaction. Honestly I would try to figure out the mechanics of everything else first, like motion and movement, You know, walking and running and sitting and standing.”

“Hmmm.”

“But since there are literally infinite combinations, I don’t even know how you would go about even attempting that kind of data pool.”

 “I did actually have an idea about that,” he muttered. Nathan didn’t even turn from his multiple computer monitors and his fingers never stopped clacking away at his keyboard. “But you’re not going to like it.”

This time you groaned instead of sighing. He knew you could feel it coming before he asked - he always told you that you weren’t going to like it before he asked you to do something incredibly stupid that in any other circumstance would get you arrested and you’d never see daylight again.

But this was Nathan Bateman, and of course he was going to ask anyway. And of course you would say yes. You always said yes, it was one of the things he enjoyed most about your company, and even when you did say no, it gave way to a lively debate and a genuine argument over facts and merits, downsides and advantages, and it was fucking amazing.

It had been that way from the start, grown steadily over the weeks and months, and neither of you could really complain. Nathan quickly found that you could keep up with his train of thought even when the track switched abruptly and it was so engaging. Captivating. Enticing.

But this man. This amazingly intelligent (if almost insufferably arrogant) man was going to be the death of you. You told him that at least once a day. He took it as a personal challenge to give you a reason to keep living.

“What did you have in mind?” You doubted you wanted to know.

“What if…” he replied, clicking away, not looking up from the screen as he spoke, “we used the video and audio coding in Bluebook, and patched it through all the cell phone carriers, and rerouted all the satellite signals back here into the lab.”

Before you knew what was happening, your pen flew across the room and connected with his shoulder with a small *thwap*.

“What?” he finally looked up, mock annoyance in his voice.

“Are you absolutely fucking insane, or is this just an extra special occasion?”

*

He left the lab with no real idea of where he was going.

Okay, that was a lie. It was his house. He knew his way around and he knew where he needed to be next. There was an actual agenda but his focus was off.

He walked past the living room and noticed the chess set was still set out on the coffee table. The pieces were still fairly evenly matched, his green dragons maybe just slightly at a disadvantage to your purple ones (because, as you had mentioned at one point, why have a standard chess set when you could have a fun one? And Nathan knew you were anything but standard.)

He knew it was his turn and contemplated the board for a few minutes. No matter how he strategized it, how he worked it out, how he tried to plan it, you had forced him into a checkmate. Again. For at least the sixth time in a row, and probably at least the eight-seventh time out of the last hundredth you had played. He chuckled, softly, briefly. He could do anything with technology and science, but he rarely could beat you at a centuries-old board game.

He made his final move for this round, sacrificing his king to your queen. 

He grabbed the notepad setting next to the chess board, and your pen that lay nearby on the table. He scrawled a quick note to you - checkmate - and placed it on your side of the board, next to your fairly gained draconian horde, even though he was certain you were never going to read it.

He went to the kitchen and poured himself a drink.

He stared out the window wall, out past the deck, to the running river and the dense groves of trees, off into the distance towards the waterfall.

He should be heading to the room. He should be taking care of the final chip install and making sure everything was online. Instead he simply stood in the kitchen and stared out into the rain.

It occurred to him that the agenda was more of a guideline and his knowledge of his surroundings was merely functional.

*

Nathan briefly considered that standing at the doorway to your bedroom was the last place he should be, but then decided he didn’t care. But that wasn’t true either.

He could just walk in, it wouldn’t be the first time - once you had been wearing only a towel, having just gotten out of the shower and that hadn’t been awkward at all - but that small bit of his conscience that he usually tried to ignore, told him to be polite. 

He knocked.

“What do you want, Nathan?” You sounded muffled, like you had your face partly covered by a pillow. You were probably in bed. He shouldn’t be bothering you. 

He had to bother you, just this once. “Can I come in?”

He could picture your face on the other side, eyes rolling and the sigh as it left your lips, and even though he heard the door hiss quietly as the latch released, his feet suddenly stuck to floor outside your door and his body made no further move.

“I did open the door, so if you’re going to, do it before I change my mind,” you called after a few minutes.

Nathan got his feet to cooperate and entered your room. You were in bed, face half-behind a pillow, your visible eye glaring at him. He stopped at the edge of your bed. His brain started calculating risk factors for the current situation, gains, deficits, advantages - anything it could think of, there were always factors involved, no matter what the situation was, it was just that some factors were more complicated than others. Some required more delicate, cautious manipulation to solve the equation and…

“Are you just going to stand there all night and look at me? Because I swear I really will kick you out, and then change all your passcodes.”

Of course, you teased him later about how much fun it would have been to watch him try to get back in. You swore you were going to do it one day, just for the hell of it. He didn’t mind.

“Do you regret what happened after dinner?” he finally asked.

Your glare softened and you moved the pillow away from your face. Dinner was fine. The company was pleasant as usual, the wine was frequent and flowing. The two of you had started a very animated debate about gender and sexuality as it pertained to artificial intelligence and if any of it were a necessary component or if it was just something you would prefer (he would later tell you how wonderful the expression on your face was when he told you he would be ready to start building a prototype in the next few weeks) and then.

“I don’t regret it at all. Do you?” you arched an eyebrow at him.

Nathan blew a long breath out from his nose. Did he regret kissing you? Nope. Not in the slightest. Did he regret that you might regret it (he was slightly relieved that you said you didn’t) and that nothing would come of it? Yes. And he couldn’t calculate the actual result, just potential outcomes with no concrete denouement, and that made him extremely uncomfortable. He didn’t want this to be an experiment. He wanted an absolute, not a thicket of random. Not in this case.

“No.” He still didn’t move.

“Frankly we should have done it months ago.”

He shook his head and turned just the slightest bit before your reply registered and he processed it. “Wait. You...what?”

You exhaled and sighed as you rolled over, facing away from him and trying to get comfortable in the bed again. “You know, Nathan Bateman, for being the smartest man in the universe, sometimes you are a complete idiot.”

“I’m not going to argue that. This time, anyway.”

“Thank you, because it’s nearly three in morning,” you replied. He could hear the smile in your voice. “Can we talk about this in the morning? Like, later in the morning. I’ll see you for breakfast.”

He nodded and really did turn to leave this time. He was still trying to process. “Okay. Yeah, sure. I, uh...I’ll see you then.”

“Good night, Nathan.”

*

The rain had finally stopped.

He looked out over the landscape, now reflecting and refracting tiny bursts of sunlight in the lingering blanket of droplets.

Trees crowded both sides of the rushing river, leading towards the top of the waterfall. There was a small clearing there, one that almost wouldn’t be found if someone wasn’t looking for it. It was one of your favorite spots.

Nathan found you there fairly often, after he had shown you where it was. If the weather was cooperating, and you weren’t in the house, then nine times out of ten, that’s where Nathan would find you. Sometimes you were reading a book, sometimes you were just stretched out in the grass, looking up at the tips of the timbers as they reached to the sky.

Sometimes he would join you. Those were times that deep conversations would happen, about the projects back at the house and technology and your odd fascination with disco music, which Nathan truly did not understand but tried to humor.

Sometimes he would just smile and let you have your peace. Those were times he would go back to the house and quietly await your return.

He knew that’s where he would find you now.

*

“I’m back from Anchorage,” you called as you came in the front door.

Nathan was in the kitchen and poked his head around the doorway. “Hey. Perfect timing,” he said, brushing his hands off on his pants and flipping a dish towel over his shoulder. “Dinner is almost ready.”

A tired sign escaped your lips as you flopped down on the couch, taking one of the throw pillows and covering your chest and half your face with it. “Thanks. Not hungry.”

“How was the trip?”

You snorted softly. “Wet. Raining. Absolutely miserable.”

It wasn’t what you said that made Nathan stop. It was the way you said it. Your voice sounded so tired, so empty. It didn’t really sound like you, not the voice he’d come to expect to hear every day. It was not the voice that engaged him in conversation, that drew him into theories and concepts and philosophies. It was not the voice that argued about codes and programs and why that would not work no matter how much he insisted it would (to be fair, you were usually right, but he wasn’t going down without a good fight, and neither of you would have it any other way.) The voice that was leaving your body through your mouth wasn’t you.

It sounded hollow.

He leaned against the doorway. The air in the room suddenly felt heavier and he couldn’t quite get his feet to move forward to the couch where you sat. “What did they say?”

Nathan noted that you didn’t look at him. You looked everywhere but him. Like you were trying to keep everything from falling to pieces, maybe? You were definitely not acting yourself either. Suddenly he wanted to take himself outside and kick his own ass. He should have gone with you. You’d been talking about it, for weeks now, he realized.

How tired you were. How you were never really hungry. How things felt like they were getting harder when they shouldn’t have been. How you couldn’t go quite as far on the hikes you loved taking so much, together.

He should have gone with you.

Your face did not move from its half-protected shield behind that tasteful throw pillow.

He doesn’t register most of what you said. He remembers the words “bad” and “already done everything” and “months, maybe”. Maybe. No definite conclusion.

He finally managed to take a few steps towards you.

His brain was kicking into overdrive but not a single one of that rush of thoughts would make an appearance on his tongue. There had to be another answer. Another answer that wasn’t the one he could already see in your eyes.

Your eyes. His favorite feature (at least from the neck up), the ones that showed how much life you had, your spark, your fire.

And he realized the hollowness of your voice had traveled up into those beautiful eyes.

Words stopped making sense in an instant. Everything around him got fuzzy, jagged at the edges, but also intensely focused at the same time.

He finally crossed the room and sat down carefully, warily, on the couch.

Neither of you said another word. His arms slipped around you and you curled into his chest, pulling your knees up to your own. No tears from either of you. No sounds. No words.

He didn’t know how long you stayed on that couch.

The next thing you knew you were in bed, Nathan’s arms still wrapped around you. He must have carried you to the bedroom at some point. You felt the coolness of the sheets contrast with the warmth of his body; you mustn’t have been out for long. You were about to drift off again when Nathan finally broke the silence.

“We’ll figure out a way.”

A sigh escaped your lips, half drenched in sleep.

*

It was the last place he wanted to be. It was the only place he wanted to go.

He slipped into a hoodie and pulled on a pair of shoes and stepped out onto the deck. The air was still somewhat saturated, humid, but the rain was holding off for now. It was warm but he wasn’t, so the hoodie stayed on.

His feet took him down the deck stairs and onto the path paralleling the river. He followed it slowly, breathing in the summer air but not really seeing his surroundings. Like in his house, he knew where he was heading, and this was just the agenda.

At some point (minutes, hours, he really didn’t know how much time had passed) he came to that small clearing of trees.

And there you were.

Nathan took a jagged breath and sat down next to you. His pants were soaked in an instant, but he didn’t care. He was more annoyed that you were cold and wet (he briefly considered how funny you would find the double entendre, and probably tell him that you were definitely wet but he never made you feel cold) and chuckled again when he could hear your scoffing insistence that you were fine here in your special spot.

You weren’t fine. He knew this and wished desperately that you could tell him, tell him anything, say something.

He wasn’t fine. And he definitely did mind.

Nathan didn’t know what else to do, so he just started talking.

“So, uh...I know it’s been a while. I’ve just been really busy, trying to get the AI just right, and...I’m sorry I’ve been away. That’s not what I meant to happen. I’ve been working pretty much non-stop, I know you would be nagging me to get some sleep and eat better and all that shit. And...I wish you would. I would listen to you, for once.”

Silence and the far-off chirp of a bird were his only reply, so he continued.

“I know I shouldn’t be working so much, but I kinda have to. It’s the only way I feel close enough to…”

His throat was acutely, suddenly dry. He did his best to clear it. He was only marginally successful.

“So anyway, that idea I told you about, with all the cell phone data rerouting it here? It worked. Please don’t be mad at me, I know it wasn’t your favorite idea, but I’m pretty sure that’s what finally broke this open. Well, that and all the ideas we worked out together. I can’t thank you enough for what you did for me, and I know I never really did, and I probably never will…”

He had remembered to grab one thing before he left the house, stashing it in the pocket of the hoodie. He pulled it out now, a single red rose. Cliche, maybe, but they were your favorite flower.

Nathan placed it gently against the stone on the edge of the clearing. The stone with your name. It only had your first name, no dates. He could never bear to put any indicator of time on it; it was too final. Conclusive. Terminal.

He stood and started walking back. He never could stay here very long. It was absolutely ridiculous, but he usually had the feeling you would pop out from behind a tree and tease him about how impressive your joke was and he would never top it.

It wasn’t a joke, it wasn’t funny, and he wished he could prove you wrong.

But there was still something he might be able to prove. To make a few things right.

He stopped at the edge of the clearing.

“I have someone else coming to the house this week. He works for the company, he’s a coder...he looks like a good kid. I’m gonna use him to test this model. This really could be the breakthrough we’ve...I’ve...been looking for.”

Nathan turned his head back briefly, to say one last thing before he headed back to the house, before he had to get back to his work.

“I promise I’ll come back soon and tell you all about it.”

The rain started softly coming down again.

~end~

tag list: @anetteaneta​ @darksideofclarke​ @girlwiththemostcake​ @rosemarysbaby13​ @spider-starry​ @writefightandflightclub​ (tags are always open if you want in just give me a holler and say so)

#oscar isaac #oscar isaac character #nathan bateman #nathan bateman x reader #ex machina fic #ex machina #angst train #thanks subconscious #writing

[kannra21]

@owishi Asdfghjkhgfds I want to write sum HCs rn! 😆✨✨

~o0o~

After a successful photoshoot the MCPTF duo took for a detective magazine, Haru bashfuly thanked the camera crew for their work and started to gather his belongings. After a couple of seconds he didn't see Daisuke moving much from his spot at the studio backdrop so he decided to check on him.

Daisuke was still standing there, petting a beautiful cat on his shoulders. He was smiling for the first time in a long time and Haru couldn't help himself but to tease him a little.

"You have a soft spot for kittens, huh Kambe?" "Huh?" "You love animals don't you?" "Don't get the wrong idea. Just because I helped that little boy with a dog back the-" "I get it, no need to get so self-defensive." Haru approached the two and pet the cat as well. Daisuke continued "We had a family cat back in the days but she died from a kidney failure." "I'm sorry to hear that." "Pedigree cats are always difficult to maintain."

He then approached the studio producer and asked "What's the name?" while pointing at the purring ball of fluff. "Oh the name's Kumo-" "No, I meant the name of the breed." "It's a Maine Coon my good sir."

Daisuke took his phone, dialed a number and a lovely lady could be heard on the opposite line "Yes, Daisuke-sama?" "Suzue, do we have all the predispositions that satisfy the adoption of a cat?" "I mean yes but we can't charge a butler to take responsibility for everything. Consider chipping, regular visits to the vet, special shampoos, nail clippers, toothbrushes, specialized treats, eye drops, litter box, toys, climbing frames, there are many factors which need to be taken care of Daisuke-sama. Besides, it's been such a long tim-" "Alright"

Daisuke ended the phone call with a dissatisfied sigh before asking quietly "How much?" to which Haru needed to interfere. "Didn't Suzue-san just tell you not to take a cat home?" and Daisuke gave him an annoyed side-glance "I'll figure something out."

When he arrived to the mansion in his Bentley Continental GT, he glanced at the backseat to address the feline comfortably lying in the fancy pet carrier. "You better not make a sound, understood?" to which the cat just purred in satisfaction. Daisuke felt so silly at this moment, like a little boy hiding a broken vase from his mother.

When he was about to enter the mansion, he accidentally walked on Suzue typing something on her tablet. She looked up and was delighted to see Daisuke coming home safe and sound. Daisuke stood at the doors, one side of his body peering from the corner while the other with a cat was hidden behind the wall. "Welcome back Daisuke-sama, the crack-open naengmyeon is already served on the table, you can take your seat." "Actually, I was planning on doing something else beforehand. Would you please excuse me for a moment?" "Of course." Suzue turned around and waited for him in the dining room. And although Daisuke was very good at keeping his serious demeanor, Suzue still noticed that something was off, with the tone of his voice for instance. It was very faint but Suzue was able to recognize things like this since she knew him so well. Still, she decided not to question him about it.

Daisuke entered his room and laid the pet carrier on the floor. Opening the zipper, the cat jumped out and rolled cozily on his bed. Daisuke held his phone and took a picture. He decided that he couldn't leave it by itself so he went downstairs to the storeroom where he took a litter box and filled it with old newspapers just in case.

After that he joined Suzue for lunch, they talked about Daisuke's photoshoot and Suzue's data she collected on certain people regarding a case. Daisuke told her that the magazine will be published in three weeks or so and Suzue was so happy she promised that she'll be the first costumer to buy it. Daisuke smiled more around Suzue after he let go of his past and threw his father into the jail. Now that all the bad things are behind him, he can finally indulge in his life and pay more attention to Suzue to whom he has yet to make up for all she has done for him over the years. He's thinking about marrying her soon.

While they were eating and pleasantly chatting, a high pitched "mrow" could be heard from the upper floor.

"What was that?" Daisuke let out a dry cough and said "My apologies. It seems that I needed to take a thicker coat before leaving for an appointment." "But.. you always pay attention to things like this." "It's true, but today I was a little late, had other things to do." "Don't overwork yourself, you need to think about your health." "Seems like you need to take better care of me.", he said with a smirk plastered on his lips to which Suzue just laughed and replied "You're so spoiled." and he scooted closer to her whispering "But I like it better when you do it.", and almost kissed her before the two heard a soft thud coming from the above.

"Excuse me for a moment, I need to check what's happening up there. Will be right back.", maybe the moment was ruined but he kissed her forehead nonetheless and went upstairs, leaving her full-hearted and all mushy inside. Her mind was so hazed from the thought of Daisuke kissing her forehead and almost kissing her lips that she didn't register the cause of his concern.

When he arrived to his room he had things to behold; scattered papers and documents all over the floor and the ashtray he typically used after his "adventurous nights with Suzue" was lying on the ground right next to the nightstand. The cat was sitting on his working table licking her paw as if nothing of this concerned her in the slightest. Daisuke sighed in disappointment and put her back in her "baby jail". She already gave him such a hard time but he couldn't be angry with her, she was his baby (yes he already considered himself a dad for god's sake).

Since they already finished with their meals, Suzue went back to her tech room to finish her work and Daisuke took the opportunity to place some meat and water on small plates and bring it to his naughty little friend.

The cat calmed down instantly after she ate and went straight to sleep. Daisuke couldn't believe his own eyes, the audacity, the sheer amount of spoilage this creature showed was unreal. It reminded him so much of himself and he smiled a little. He really missed having a cat.

After he cleaned up and finished his other tasks, he laid on the bed next to her and pet her soft white fur, making her purr louder and snuggle up beside him. Daisuke knows that Suzue is not stupid and that she'll eventually catch up on him sneaking behind her back to give Furry Elise treats (yes her name is Furry Elise, "Für Elise" might be one of Beethoven’s best-known piano pieces and Daisuke knows how to play it too).

And it actually happened that same night. Daisuke was about to fill her small plate with more meat when he met Suzue in the kitchen and she asked him what he was doing. He instantly gave up because it would be so blatantly obvious and incredibly stupid of him to say that he was trying out a new weight-losing tip when no one in this god-forsaken world ate raw chicken.

So he took her to his room and showed her Furry Elise. And although the cat purred really loudly upon seeing them, Suzue wasn't happy about it. In fact, she looked really disappointed and Daisuke needed to apologize. He explained her how it happened and how he wished to have a pet after a really long time. He thought she liked cats as well and therefore concluded that it wouldn't be such a big deal to adopt this cute little feline she loved so much, but apparently it was, so he asked her one more time why she was so reluctant to the whole idea of owning a cat again.

Suzue now shredded a couple of tears and Daisuke was seriously alarmed upon seeing her like this so he carefully cupped her with his hand behind her back and hugged her, asking why she was crying all of a sudden.

"It's just.. I don't want to go though this all over again." "What are you talking about?" "You see, my parents died, your parent died, our previous cat died so soon. I'm living in fear every day and asking myself if something's going to happen to you as well, that's why I'm so excessively worrying about you. And everything I need right now is another sweet creature that I love so much leaving us again. I don't think I'd be able to handle it anymore."

"Suzue.. I never thought..", Daisuke kissed her head and felt a big amount of guilt dawning on him. He was so selfish for only thinking about what made him happy without considering Suzue's emotions. But then he reclaimed his mind and tried to concentrate on saying the right thing. Hopefully he can make her feel better again.

"Suzue, my dear, you shouldn't limit yourself to things that make you happy. It's not healthy. You see, none of us is eternal; neither you, nor me, nor this kitten down there looking at you with so much love in her eyes. But for that very reason that none of us is eternal, we should dedicate our time to one another and make most of it. So please don't deny yourself or your feelings. Instead of dwelling on the sad things, we should concentrate more on our time spent together and be happy, okay?"

Even Daisuke didn't know how he managed to word it this nicely but he did and he realized that both of them were crying by now. They shared a passionate kiss but got interrupted by a small furball rubbing on their feet like it wanted to share a hug as well and Suzue smiled through tears.

She squatted and carefully took the cat in her hands. "What's her name?" "Furry Elise." Suzue now needed to laugh so much and she hadn't even recovered from her previous emotional outburst.

"I love it, you're really good at this.. it's.. the song you used to play for me all the time before you went studying overseas."

He looked at her with so much love and adoration at this exact moment.

"Know what? I think I'm falling for you all over again, Mr. Millionaire." Daisuke swore, his heart was full that night and no money could ever compare to this feeling.

@daisuzuship @innovativestruggles @narcopharmacist @unholysoggytea @riaymei @ieatcrumbs @cow-goes-oof @matchabucks @bluegleeful @levi-is-heicho @kakooshi @kokorokai @darknessrxse @fluffyyagiza @geniusmeemee @sungmnnnn @koalarin @alstroemerie @petiamaximoff38 @hellohellokookie @marialenikiforov

It's daisuzu stuff so I hope you enjoy. If you want me to delete your tag you're free to tell me. 👍

#fugou keiji balance unlimited #the millionaire detective balance unlimited #daisuke kambe #suzue kambe #daisuzu #daisuke x suzue #hc #scenario #fanfics #ideas #thoughs

[rachelthompsonauthor]

What is social proof? It’s a marketing concept that we are all inadvertently, unknowingly contributing to every time we click on, retweet, like, reply or comment, and share any kind of social media, article, or blog post on the net. Technically, social proof, as defined by Sprout Social is:

The concept that people will follow the actions of the masses. The idea is that since so many other people behave in a certain way, it must be the correct behavior.

Social Proof and Me

As an author, social media is a hugely important part of my author platform, as it is for any writer or blogger. This is how we connect with readers now, even before the pandemic. Virtual, online events are now the norm. Instagram, Facebook, and YouTube Live video discussions are the new book signings. Twitter chats are weekly on any number of topics; I have two of my own, in fact, #SexAbuseChat every Tuesday at 6 pm pst/9 pm est and #BookMarketingChat every Wednesday at 6 pm pst/9 pm est.

All important for visibility, branding, and most importantly, connection.

However…there’s a limit. I reached my limit over the course of this past year. It didn’t come all at once. It came, little by little, reaching a peak this past month or so.

Why? How? Me, the so-called social media expert?

Access. Like many people, I have issues with the incredible level of access Facebook gives people once we friend them without our consent. PMs (private messages) are automatic, now with the ability for people to call, voice, and video message us, with no option to shut these options to OFF unless we unfriend the person (we can, however, mute a specific conversation). Technically, we do give them consent in the legal mumbo jumbo we all agreed to when we joined back in the 2010s.

I am not okay with this. And Facebook doesn’t care. Nobody cares. You’re probably thinking, “Geez, Karen. Shut up, already. Stop your whining, white lady.” I get it. I do. First-world problems.

I counter with: I hear you. It’s also part of my business. A huge part. Here’s why:

As someone who manages over 70+ various social media accounts as part of my BadRedhead Media business, plus my own accounts as well, Facebook requires I have a personal account in order to manage all those other Pages. I do understand why, particularly with all the ridiculousness of the past four years with the abundance of fake accounts, fake news, and such.

As a survivor of sexual abuse and stalking, this is ultra-concerning to me. So, what happened this past month or so? Suffice it to say, one person repeatedly tried calling me. I never pick up Facebook calls, especially if I don’t know you. Another left me a few voice messages saying they were offended by something.

Yet another left me another message in ALL SHOUTY CAPS that she didn’t find what I posted inspirational enough and she expected better from someone who is “supposedly on the side of authors.”

Oh, and there is the one lady who started replying on ALL my posts to the kind people who did comment that she didn’t think I replied often enough or to her satisfaction.

Well. I’ve been criticized before. You should read some of my 1-star reviews. There’s plenty!

But, for whatever reason, this struck a chord. I got up in my feels. I cried. I talked with one of them and we worked it out because we like and respect each other’s work in the mental health space. The others I blocked. It’s darn frustrating to donate hours of my time each week to helping writers solely because I want to, only to be told it’s not enough. Like, seriously? Fuck off.

My blood raged. My heart sank. Understandable, right?

But what really made me angry is that I put myself in that position by being available. I accepted that ‘it is what it is.’ This is what the social media platforms have given us, so that’s what I have to work within.

I’m too available. It’s too easy to leave me shitty messages. This is why people hire people like me – to handle this crap for them! So they don’t have to read these ridiculous criticisms from judgy people who apparently have nothing better to do or are having a bad day.

And I get bad days. It’s a damn pandemic. We’re all struggling. Where’s the damn compassion for one another?

I have a dislike/hate relationship with Facebook anyway, since about ten or so years ago when I discovered that a past love had died by suicide by going to his personal profile and seeing, “RIP dude,” messages there. We had spoken early that day. It still haunts me.

So…what to do? I’m claiming my time. I’m not posting to my personal Facebook profile right now. I’m ignoring it. I am checking my Pages and of course, my client Pages. When I feel like I can face it again, I will cull my ‘friends’ down from *checks real quick* 4385 people to maybe, I don’t know, the few hundred in my groups, many of whom I do know and treasure.

Social Proof and You

If you’re a writer, social proof matters. This is the world we live in. Publishing is not only writing.

You need to be ‘findable,’ not only on Google, but also on each individual social platform, so your readers can learn more about you and hopefully, buy your books. If you go the traditional route, publishers and agents want to know how many followers you have (easily upped by buying fake followers or likes from Fiverr or wherever). I suggest not doing that, because:

1) fake followers don’t buy books 

2) it’s usually pretty obvious when you have fake followers because they’re all foreign names, have questionable bios, and no tweets

3) do you really want to start your publishing career with a lie? 

They also want to know what you post, how often, and what your branding is. If you’re an indie author, honestly, the same applies. Social proof is about connection, building relationships, and authenticity. I’ve believed that since I started my business and writing career way back in 2011, and I stand by it now. Start slow, grow slow. It’s not a race.

I’m the furthest thing you’ll even find from a conspiracy theorist – I don’t believe in chemtrails, pizza parlor cabals, or that the earth is flat. However, I am a realist. Watch The Social Dilemma sometime. These huge tech companies share our data without our knowledge or consent (Cambridge Analytics, anyone?). Younger generations are so used to this, they don’t really care – ask them.

(My kids think having a chip implanted in their hands with all their data is a fabulous idea. “So much easier than having to talk and repeat everything over and over. Just scan me and be done with it,” says my daughter Anya (21). “Agree,” grunts my son, Lukas (15). Buy stuff, go to the doctor, whatever. Scan and go. Talk with any GenZ kid, you’ll likely get a similar answer. They’ve been tracked since birth everywhere. They don’t know life without a computer, tablet, or phone in their hands.)

Know that whatever we do, it’s all part of each platforms’ AI, and they share data, which is why that darling pair of shoes you just saw on Amazon is now showing up on Google, Facebook, Twitter, and every website you visit going forward. It’s all about the money, and they all get a piece of that affiliate link.

Every bit of every click is recorded, even when you’re watching videos on YouTube, or a subscription service like Netflix, or perusing goods on Amazon. It’s all connected. I’m not shocked or surprised by any of this, are you?

It’s Not Personal

What people say to us and about us is ultimately incredibly revealing about them. We know this, at an intellectual, psychological, and emotional level. Still, when people say mean things, it hurts. We’re human.

Does it matter in the overall scope of our lives? Who can say. It matters at that moment. It can matter when it comes to overall visibility when you’re marketing your book(s) or trying to get that book contract or interview. Only you can say if it matters to you.

Already a longtime fan of THE FOUR AGREEMENTS by Don Miguel Ruiz, I took a moment to reorient myself with this one agreement: Don’t take anything personally. I also stumbled across an excellent short and entertaining TEDTalk by Frederick Imbo. His main message to stop taking things personally is two-fold;

It’s not about me. Look at the other person’s intention and

It IS about me. Give yourself some empathy. Speak up. Ask questions. Pay attention to how you feel and be vulnerable with your needs.

I’m glad I was able to, inadvertently, employ point #2 and work out some issues with one of the people by telling him what he said made me cry. He apologized. I apologized. We talked it through and we’re still friends.

Ultimately, social media is what we contribute to it. What we make it. How much we allow of it into our lives. Social proof is going along with the tide. I’ve been in this space since 2008. Being connected to others is a big part of the work I do to help and support not only other writers, but also other childhood sexual abuse survivors. However, I’ve reached that point. I knew it was coming.

I’m not shutting my doors. I’m just adding a screen. With a strong lock.

***

Read more about Rachel’s experiences in the award-winning book, Broken Pieces.

She goes into more detail about living with PTSD and realizing the effects of how being a survivor affected her life in

Broken Places, available in print everywhere!

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The post What Is Social Proof and Does It Matter, Really? appeared first on Rachel Thompson.

via Rachel Thompson

#IFTTT #Rachel Thompson

[fandom-necromancer]

1737. I love you! No time to explain – gotta go.

This was prompted by the lovely @anxiousmessofaperson! I hope you enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900

‘Okay, so… For the fifth time today, let’s see what we got in terms of evidence…’, Gavin sighed, letting the compartments the five bodies were kept in slide open. ‘Five deviants ripped out vital components of themselves and were found dead in their home. Cause of death their missing component or fatal thirium loss before the missing component could cause it. Evidently ripped out by themselves.’ He saw the android next to him open his mouth and quickly added: ‘Although we can’t rule out that there is a group of five murderers of the same model took out the component, yes, I know.’ The android closed his mouth again. Nines’ face was completely emotionless, as always, but Gavin could swear he was pleased with himself. ‘We also know they had been sent a media file on their personal computers that destroyed itself and the device beyond recognition. Saved chips and uncovered data rule out a virus to have caused the behaviour as the network adapter was fried first upon receiving the file.’ Again, Nines was about to speak, but Gavin simply continued, knowing exactly what his partner would remind him of. This wasn’t the first time he spoke their gathered data out loud today hoping to find some clue that he missed. ‘Although a virus likely was the cause for the devices to be destroyed and we can’t rule out that the deviants interfaced with it.’ Nines nodded.

‘On top of that, none of the androids knew each other, they are different models, have no correlating hobbies, friends or family. Some are married, some are engaged or live together, some have been alone all their life. Android and human partners where there are partners. They work in different places with different income and live in completely different districts. No connection at all.’ He looked up to the faces of the five bodies. ‘How the hell are we supposed to solve this case?’

‘Two of them enjoyed visiting the same café’, Nines commented. ‘They serve thirium drinks there.’ ‘Not helping, Nines’, Gavin sighed, flipping through a few pictures from the crime-scene. ‘With how long it takes Detroit to adapt to its new citizen’s needs, I guess every android was to that café once.’ ‘It is most likely coincidence, I have to agree.’ ‘Urgh, unless we stumble upon the missing parts, I think this will be one of these cases that are never solved’, Gavin concluded with tired voice. ‘We can only hope no more androids have to die to this.’

‘We can do more’, Nines noted. ‘The missing parts vanish. If this was something personal, the murderer wouldn’t have cared to take them with them.’ ‘Unless they take trophies’, Gavin shrugged. ‘Thought about that too. But many human serial killers do stuff like this. Keep hearts in jars like some phcked up decoration or steal their stuff.’ ‘While that is a possibility, android parts can serve a better purpose. There is a market for spares.’ Gavin stopped swiping through pictures that wouldn’t tell him anything anyways. Instead he looked up at his partner. ‘And how should we find these five parts? If the murderer took them to sell them, then likely on the black market, not in official businesses. And I would guess they scratched the serial number from them, so we can’t ever tell whether or not it is from one of our dead androids.’

‘I would agree, but the AT100 here is an old model already. Before the revolution even started, they weren’t sold anymore. Spares are already scarce, but this specific part, biocomponent #1737y is designed to last a lifetime. There isn’t much stress on it as it is a system to extract any contamination from the thirium regulator filtering system. Normally it automatically cleans the filter and accumulates the contamination in a sealed chamber that breaks down its content. Realistically spoken it can’t break. But if taken out, the filter clogs and thirium flow stops. I found only three spare components available online from shady businesses and have already purchased one with police funds. The other two I will buy at set times next week and next month.’ Gavin stared at the android as if he had just plucked the moon from the sky to gift him. Nines of course continued: ‘Once we got everything we can try to find more clues on them.’ ‘And if we don’t find any, you got the sellers by the balls and we can interrogate them!’ Gavin grinned at the android excitedly. ‘God, that’s genius! We finally got this case going! I… I have to tell Tina! She had a similar case about a month back, maybe this will help her too. Oh, Nines, I love you!’ His partner frowned at him, but Gavin had already logged out and was on his way up. ‘No time to explain- gotta go!’

-

Nines detected a huge software instability as he stood in the evidence room and stared at the now empty stairs. What had this human just said? There surely had to be a misunderstanding. How did the Detective fall in love with him? He locked away their evidence and made his way up to the bullpen. He had to ask him about that. He let his eyes wander from person to person, but Gavin wasn’t anywhere to be seen. He had said he had something to talk about with Tina, but she was just sitting at her desk, reading something from her screen. Nines accessed the police network and blinked in confusion as he saw the man had already logged out for the day. There had only been half an hour to his shift, but Nines wouldn’t have thought him to just leave like that. Not after saying something like this.

His software instability rose further as he decided to leave the building and call an automated Taxi to the address Gavin had listed on his police file. He received a few warnings of unnecessary mission delays and actions taken that weren’t helping his mission, but he chalked it up as building up a better working relationship with his partner and an opportunity for more discussion as technically, Nines was still on the clock.

He rang the doorbell and was soon after met with a confused looking Gavin. ‘Toaster, what are you doing here?’ ‘Gavin, how did you fall in love with me? Why? I want answers.’ ‘Ah, shit, that’s why I left work early, I kinda-‘ ‘You didn’t mean it. You just blurted it out because of the excitement. I understand. Sorry for disturbing your evening, I will-‘ ‘Idiot, of course I mean it!’

Nines stared at the human, who was blushing a bright red by now. ‘Phck it, come in, can’t have this conversation on my damn porch.’ The android nodded and followed the invitation. Gavin closed the door and led him to a sofa nearby. ‘Okay, listen Nines, I did blurt it out because of the excitement and I sure as hell didn’t mean to say it, but I do mean it. I… We’ve worked together for months now and… Hell, I never planned it, but you really are someone I admire greatly. And I do… love you.’ ‘But I’m an android. A machine’, Nines reminded him confused by the human’s words. ‘Do you think I care about that?’, Gavin asked. ‘I did once, but you don’t need to be human to be a person. And you are- I never got to know someone who had more personality.’ Nines thought hard about it. ‘Gavin, I don’t have a personality. I am programmed.’ ‘Like hell you are! I have to admit, to really see it you have to understand a whole new set of hints, but once someone knows your language, they would be blind not to see who you are. I can’t say I completely deciphered yours, but you sure as hell deciphered mine. The only other person who put in the effort to do that was Tina.’ ‘Gavin. I… I don’t even emote.’ ‘Oh, you do. Whenever someone is talking bullshit and you try hard to contain yourself before correcting them you look away. Past the person you are talking to but not far enough away to be outright rude. You hate it when people interrupt you, only exception when they already caught your point and don’t want you to explain every little detail. You work hard and diligently. You look out for others. You would rather choose action than words. You care deeply for those around you.’

‘I’m still not deviant’, Nines whispered, realising there was no way he could make Gavin understand these were just personality assets installed in him. ‘Maybe not’, Gavin said. ‘But who in this world is really free? Very little people. As long as I know you want it too and agree on your own will, then I am content with it.’ ‘I can’t want anything. I’m not allowed to.’ ‘If I give you a choice - Yes or no – could you choose one?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Alright, then do you love me?’ Nines stayed silent for a while. ‘I would have to think about it. I like you a lot. Much more than anyone else. But I don’t know it it’s love.’ ‘Are you comfortable with me being in love with you?’ ‘Depending on what that entails’, Nines answered. ‘Pffff, I don’t know. Holding hands? Spending time together? Maybe going on dates? Kissing? If you want to of course. We can see how it goes from there.’ ‘Yes. Then I am comfortable with the idea.’ Gavin smiled at him. ‘Okay. You don’t have to be sure about every term just yet, there was a reason I wanted to wait for a bit…’

‘And you really don’t rather want a human?’, Nines asked. Gavin chuckled and answered: ‘Only if there was one exactly like you and I don’t think that’s possible.’ ‘That’s indeed highly improbable…’, the android muttered and looked down on Gavin’s hand on the cushions. Holding hands, spending time, dates, kissing, maybe more intimate acts in the future… He hesitantly reached out for Gavin’s fingers and gently took his hand in his. His software instability spiked, as the man squeezed him back.

‘I think according to this definition, I love you.’

#detroit become human #dbh #Reed900 #RK900 #Gavin Reed #two morons in love #aaaaaa #baby learns new emotions #HOW can this human love me? #Gavin: here are the reasons #Nines: How can this human love me?

[sirene312]

i'm back at home

This have to be the first time that the reason I disappeared here was not because I lost my internet, I don't even know how to start the nightmare that these last two-three months have been. What happened to me it's something so horrendous that i need to get this out of my chest now that i have the chance so i don't have to think about this whole experience ever again. sorry in advance but this is going to be a long post. 

Before you read this I want you to keep in mind that I live in a south american country falling apart with many problems (here's a translated thread (x) of the things happening on in my country. here’s the original with images (x) caution some images are distressing) where crazy things like this happen with impunity because literally nothing here works and that includes justice.

My dad passed away suddenly at the end of August, my brother and I went to his house that is on the other side of the city, and when we got there, apparently there were some “friends” living with him: a man, a woman and a child. At the time, since I was distracted by being utterly devastated and my mind was clouded with pain i didn't realize what this could mean, after all my dad had many many friends, but still i thought it was a little weird since we talked to my dad frequently on the phone and he never told us about these randos.

After the funeral, since we still needed to do more legal stuff and wanted to save to give him a proper grave/tombstone we decided to stay and live at my dad’s house (now ours by law) for a few weeks until we took care of everything. and this is where the nightmare starts.

We asked these "friends” of his when they would leave and go back to their place and they never gave us a clear answer, they were very evasive and never told us why they didn't want to go to their own home... and you know why? because they didn't have one. They were squatters. Here they are called “invaders” and you can read in these news articles (x) how they act (x), in our case these squatters were non violent but they did make our lives hell, because since we couldn't get them out we had to live with them or we would have lost our dad’s house and everything inside. 

In this stupid country if the squatters got into your home in a non violent way, you can't just force them to get out. Yes, you read that right. That is why we didn't went to the police, we knew they weren't going to do anything, they only do something if you have money, have contacts in the police, or a bunch of people make a fuss and attract media attention. 

The only thing we could do legally was go to la Fiscalía (I don't know what's the equivalent in English the persecution I think?) and file a complaint and some other paperwork, all that legal process can take years and meanwhile, the squatters can live there as they please and you can’t get inside your home again or get your things out...God...as you can imagine that was definitely not an option. 

After much thought we decided to sacrifice some of the money we had and got a lawyer for advice in what to do, and she said that while she searched for another legal way to get them out asap, we had to live in the house and don't ever leave it unoccupied, always my brother or I had to be there, because otherwise the squatters could change the locks and then there would not be anything we could do to get back in. I didn't want to do that but we had no other choice. Nothing could have prepared us to the things we would have to endure there.

Here are some the horrible things they did while we were living there:

They rearranged everything inside the house. We just lost our dad and I couldn't even keep the memory of how his house was decorated and how his things looked the way he had them. they moved around every little thing. it stills hurts, they had not right. 

They STOLE many things of my dad. They were only old things with very little value, but to me, their sentimental value was incalculable. like for example imagine that favorite chipped coffee mug your mom loves, or your grandpa reading glasses, or that comfy cardigan your granny likes to use when knitting, now imagine that a random stranger took them without permission and is using them as they please, worse because your loved one is no longer here and that is the only thing you had left of them. Now you have an idea of how sad and indignant i felt.

They never wore masks or didn't even wash their hands, they didn't care they were putting us all at risk with their lack of hygienic measures, in fact mocked us because we were super clean and wore masks when they were near us.

The woman pretended to have a serious medical condition and would threaten to report us for attempted murder  if we spoke to her in any way that she wouldn't like because getting “upset” triggered her “condition”. Which is ironic since I’m the one with a heart condition and she could have jeopardize my health with all the stress she and her husband were subjecting me everyday. 

They turned all the neighbors against us! that evil woman would pretend to have “fits” of “her disease” right on the street were the neighbors would witness it to gain sympathy and later tell them that we caused her that, they believed her and everyone on our street hated us, and even all of them signed a bullshit letter to have us evicted from our own house and to let them keep the house. Good thing that wasn't legal and the government office ignored that ridiculous letter.

They used everything inside the house without permission, like our refrigerator, the kitchen appliances, the washing machine, the stereo, our water and food, our frigging clean bed sheets, it was like that was their home and WE were the intruders. that made me so so mad. 

They psychologically tormented us. They took advantage of our emotionally fragile state to do and say things to get us so upset so we would leave the house for good. And they almost got it, my mental health was a mess, grieving and dealing with this was too much but our mom convinced us to stay, she said our dad wouldn't have wanted us to lose our house to these damn thieves.

and speaking of theft...they even tried to steal OUR DOG. The kid one day said “this is now my dog! our new dog, my mom said so!” and i was like wHAT NO! but i just said something like “but we love him we’ll be very sad and lonely if he's not by our side” bc i didn't want to upset the kid. She was very sweet and innocent, she and I actually got along well and played sometimes (she gave me drawings that i still have and i gave her some paper crafts and my childhood toys) it was not her fault that her parents were evil. That horrible man wasn't even her father, he treated her bad, god I hated how he yelled at her and made her cry she was just a little child, i wish i could have had the power to do something.

At this point you must be thinking, why the hell were you acting like a doormat?? why did you allowed them to treat you like this!! why didn't you do something!? oh believe me I was very vocal in my discontent and didn't give them an inch, but the thing is there was little we could do, if we tried to talk to them they ignored us at best, police were not going to help (we at one point did end up going to the police station just to get told what we already knew: that they couldn't do anything), and even when one day i snapped and i told them to leave us alone and not touch our things, they just brushed me off. They knew if things escalated and violence of any kind were used against them we could be in legal trouble (same applied to them, that's why they never physically attacked us). We were alone in this battle, didn't have the support of anyone. What else we could do? our hands were tied. 

We had to endure all this shit non stopping every day we were there. I was saving all my limited phone data for important things like calls and messages to my mom and my lawyer, so my only source of entertainment was the cable TV, I can't believe that what kept me sane was watching old reruns of Cupcake Wars and home improvement shows.

But the more time passed the more this situation was unbearable and we were not doing well, this distressed my mom so much that she decided to pack a small suitcase and go stay there with us, we didn't want her to do that because she is an elderly woman and her health could be at risk but she didn't care and just show up one evening and let me tell you, after months of not seeing her when she walked through that door i was so happy and relieved and emotional that i started crying two seconds flat and we just hug her for a long time. Damn these people for causing us to be apart when we needed our mom the most.

Now with our mom there I think they felt threatened and so those pathetic fools went so far as to make a false document where it said that they were “our tenants” so they could be protected by law and could stay there “legally” for at least a year or two. That stupid stunt would be their downfall. 

We were cited to go to a govt office that deals with rent and housing problems where they were going to present that bogus document, the office needed for all parts to be present there, so my bro, our lawyer and I got there and later the squatters and their kid since they were using the scarce public transport. My mom stayed back at the house alone. I don't know if it was luck or divine intervention (or karma in their case)  that the woman in charge couldn't make it and the audience got postponed for the following month, our lawyer was fuming she didn't want those horrible people to spend another whole month at our house, she called my mom and told her to lock all doors and don't let anyone in, we quickly got into the lawyer’s car and got to the house first before the squatters and we put a huge padlock on the door! That way they wouldn't be able to get in, they only had keys (that were originally our spare keys that they stole) to the front door.

I can't even begin to describe how nerve wracking was all this, but for the first time i felt hopeful because finally things were in our favor, now if those squatters tried to get inside of our private property by force they could get in serious trouble. How the turntables bitch!

And that's how we could GET THEM OUT AT LAST. 

When they realized they couldn't do anything more than pace furiously on the sidewalk they left (the woman tried having one of her “fits” to get people’s attention but since it started to rain she quickly gave up ha!). We thought they were going to stay in any of the neighbor's houses but they left to who knows where. A few days later we changed the locks and we got our uncle to go stay and live in the house while we finish sorting the legal papers. The only thing i felt sorry was for the kid but we later learned that the squatters found another house to take over the very same day we locked them out, so i know at least that poor little girl is not sleeping on the streets. I feel sad every time i think of her, this is not how a child should be living bc of her deplorable parents. i wish i could have had the chance to say goodbye to her in better terms.

I still can't believe all this happened to us when all we wanted was to get through grieving our dad and give him a better grave with some flowers. Hopefully we can finally finish saving and get that done now that we don't have to stress 24/7 over people wanting to make our lives hell.

I would have liked for this insanely horrible experience to end with them receiving punishment for what the did to us, but by this country standards when dealing with this kind of situation we were very lucky, this was the best outcome many people has told us, and honestly I'm just happy that it's over and I'm back at my home with my family and I’m sleeping on my own bed again.

Last but not least I want to thank everyone that took the time during these months to send me their lovely messages and their condolences, and were very supportive and understanding of my situation, although now is when I'm able to read them, they have made me very happy thank you so much for all your kindness.

and now to end on a high note here's Tomy our sweet dog, that belong to us and we get to keep because he’s ours :)

#personal #since i got here all i have been doing is sleep i feel so tired i guess that's how my body is dealing with the aftermath of all this

[bonesaldente]

Caliginous I Darth Maul x Reader

Chapter 10: The Capture

read this on ao3

last chapter

warnings: violence

words: 3000+

-----------

“It’s truly disappointing.”

Your ears are ringing and your eyelids still feel too heavy to lift, but that exaggerated sigh can only belong to one person.

“Such a waste of potential, Y/N. And what for? You could have had a bright future with us, you were one of our best. But now…”

You flinch as a wave of electricity is sent through your body, starting at your wrist that are tied up over your head. Slowly, you force your eyes to open and assess the situation.

The room you’re in is only dimly lit, but you can still see Magnus’ face, and it hurts. It hurts to see the man you were so close to considering a father figure watch as you writhe in pain with such indifference on his face.

Somebody else is standing next to him, wearing a mask. Magnus gives them a signal with his right hand, and they approach you with loud footsteps, pulling out a long knife.

As soon as you attempt to move your lower body, somehow try to kick him, you feel thorns boring into the skin on your legs, followed by the sensation of warm blood running down on them.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t try that.” Magnus states dryly. “Though, it might be better than what we have planned for you, my dear.” He laughs out. “Who knows?”

You gasp as the masked person slashes at your side, creating a cut from just below your armpit to the small of your back, the pain sending tears to your eyes.

“Magnus,” your voice comes out raspy and broken. How long have you been unconscious? “If I die here,” a violent cough interrupts you, and as your muscles contract against your will, the thorns bore even deeper into your skin. “If I die here, everything I know will be shared with the public. I … I made sure of that.”

He hums quietly. “I believe that, you are not stupid, I know that. But you know what?”

You are getting a bad feeling in your stomach.

“It won’t make any difference to you. Because you will be dead, won’t you? You may have exposed part of this organization, but for what? Your short existence will be over.”

He takes to circling around you, hands clasped behind his back in a very business-like manner.

“You overestimate your importance, little Y/N.” Little. It’s worse than a stab wound to your chest, the surge of pain you are feeling. It’s what he used to address you as when you had just joined the guild, when you were only a lost little child, when he was one of the few people, if not the only person, who looked out for you. How could this be the same man?

“The information you hold is important, yes, but not critical to our existence. A leak is inconvenient, but not unaccounted for. You can’t even begin to understand the inner workings of our organization, child.”

It’s too hard to look into his face, so instead you choose to focus your blurry gaze on the wall behind him, the small gap between the door and the wall. You try to look through it, but the masked man is blocking your view.

You wince as more electricity sends your body into spasms, taking a few seconds to regain your breath before you ask the one question that’s been on your mind.

“What about… him?”

“You mean the Sith that is the reason you left?” He does not seem pleased anymore. “It won’t matter to you anymore.”

He didn’t say they caught him. How would they even do that? They probably just shocked him the same way they did you, and then abandoned him. Even the Concinnity wouldn’t be stupid enough to kill a Sith apprentice and risk the wrath of the Sith master - whoever that was.

“We do have one offer to make to you, and I advice you accept this sign of our graciousness. We offer you your life back, to work for us once again - in exchange for the location of the data chip that I am sure you used to document all your knowledge of us.”

They want you to go back to being one of their servants, doing the dirty work while they try to control every aspect of your life.

‘We offer you your life back,’

Was it really a life, though?

At first it seems you are left with no choice: Either, they kill you, or they force you back into their service - It is good bargaining on their part, considering you came here thinking you would hold the cards for once.

There is one flaw in their equation, however. They must have assumed that Maul would just leave you here, avoid the hassle of rescuing you, because it would be impractical. They think you are just a pawn in his quest, but you know better. You’ve seen the emotion behind those pools of yellow, you know he will come to you, if only he knew where to find you.

If only you knew.

Maybe if the masked guy would move just a tiny bit, you’d be able to catch a glimpse of what lies beyond the walls around you.

Just… provoke him.

Collecting your last bit of bravery, you tilt your head back, then throw it forward, spitting at the man’s feet.

Enraged, he lifts the knife and charges at you, moving from his spot in front of the door, allowing you to see - for the fraction of a second - the wooden floor in the hallway.

You bite your tongue to suppress a cry when he drags the knife up the entirety of your arm, followed by a slap in your face. You press your eyes closed and picture the wooden floor again, its reddish tone, the brick walls… and suddenly you know exactly where you are.

Faintly, you hear Magnus’ voice; “That’ll be enough for today, knock her out”

Panickedly, you try to focus on your thoughts, thinking one name.

‘Maul’

You don’t await a response, instead trying to conjure up the image of the cantina in your mind, praying to whatever force there was that Maul could see your thoughts.

A searing pain makes you cry out as the electricity passes through your body once again and you fall back into darkness.

*

You have lost track of time. Have a few hours passed, or has it been days? You are hungry, is all you know. Are they planning on feeding you, or will they kill you before it gets to that point?

The last time you saw Magnus, he was asking you to reconsider, to give them the location and accept their offer, which still brings a cynical feeling of joy to your heart; If they are giving you so many chances to still cooperate, they must truly be desperate, meaning your knowledge of the guild is far more significant than Magnus originally let on.

Right now, you are alone. They probably haven’t realized you are conscious again, because if they did, you are sure they would already be pestering you again, trying to change your mind through torture; a pathetic concept, designed for the weak-minded.

Your mind wanders to Maul. You haven’t heard his voice inside your head, but that doesn’t have to mean he hasn’t heard you. You have jumped to the conclusion that projecting one’s thoughts must be a harder feat than to read others’ minds: Maybe it is a desperate little string of hope, but it is all you have at the moment, and you don’t intend on letting go of it.

He will come.

You repeat the thought in your head until it becomes a kind of mantra, something to distract you from the agonizing pain every single one of your nerve strings is emitting.

Your eyelids are drooping shut with exhaustion, the feeling in your hands long gone. There must be blood all over you, but the sparse lighting inside the room doesn’t allow for you to see. Maybe, you don’t even want to know.

The door opens with a creak and your head shoots up.

“This is your last chance.”

He doesn’t need to elaborate any further.

“You know my answer.” Your voice sounds horrible from the lack of hydration. You haven’t been given water in, well, at least ten hours, you guess, maybe a day, or longer.

“Then this has come to an end.” He turns his head to the hooded man that accompanies him. “Finish her.”

You can’t fight the tears that now well up in your eyes at the realization that this is how it’s ending - as a prisoner of the ones who have controlled your life for as long as you remember, waiting for a man to rescue you who has yet to show up. What a cruel, cruel fate. Is this truly what you deserve?

The hooded man steps up to you, hand at the handle of a knife. He is going to slit your throat, the Concinnity signature move, if you want to call it that. They said it was the most elegant way to kill, the least barbaric. Ironic, given your treatment.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, your last one, waiting for him to do it, to get it over with.

A startled gasp followed by the hum of a lightsaber makes you open your eyes again. The man is slumped forward, blood spluttering from a wound through his torso, while Magnus is pushed against the wall by an invisible force that originates from the outstretched hand of…

Maul.

The sudden sense of relief is mixed with a feeling of absolute adoration, such a pure and unmatched emotion that for a moment, you don’t feel the pain, or the cold.

He darts to you, cutting through the shackles that have been holding you up by your wrists, catching you as you tumble to the ground. He wastes no time in taking off the barbed wire that’s tied around your legs with one hand, while using the other to stabilize your weary body.

“You’re hurt,” he states, quietly, worriedly.

“Good... observation” Your words are slurred, your lips refusing to follow the orders your brain gives them.

“What are we doing about him?” He gestures to Magnus who is still pressed against the wall.

“We… we need him,” you mumble, “to call off the bounty hunters.”

“Ah, yes.” He gently moves you to sit with your back against the wall, before walking over to the wheezing man.

You can’t see exactly what he is doing, but his voice adopts a new, different tone, as he speaks to him. It’s almost hypnotic.

“You will call off the bounty hunters and everyone else you have sent out to get her. You will leave Y/N alone and never interact with, mention, or even think about her again.”

All you hear in response is an agreeing array of words. It seems to satisfy the zabrak, and he is immediately back by your side, lifting you up in his arms, your head resting against his chest.

 You must have passed out in his arms. When you wake up in a bed, a real bed, you have absolutely no recollection of how you ended up there, all you know is you feel surprisingly… good?

The constant pain in your legs is gone, just like the injury on your side. The bruises the electro shocks must have caused are still there, but they seem faint - you must have been in a bacta tank, it is the only explanation for your condition.

Which brings you back to the real question: Where are you?

The room is small, and sparsely decorated. It looks like a room in a medical center; designed to be at least somewhat comforting, but still reminding you that you’re only here because something went very wrong.

The door flies open and Maul enters, though at first you can hardly tell it’s him - he is wearing a long coat, and his hood is pulled down so far, anyone unfamiliar with him would not be able to make out his face.

His voice is quiet when he speaks up, still a few feet away from your bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Good. Did you... did you bring me here?” The question is stupid, of course he did, but your mind is still in a state of confusion.

“Yes. Your injuries… they were to severe to be treated on the ship.”

“Where are we?” Your briefly relaxed state of mind is replaced by worry.

“Still on Kessel.” He lifts his hand when he sees your eyes widen. “Do not worry. You are safe.”

His eyes roam over your form before he continues. “Do you feel strong enough to leave yet?”

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed to get up, only now noticing you are no longer in your own attire, but in a loose white shirt and white shorts. A medic must have taken your clothes off to treat your wounds.

You don’t miss the way Maul’s eyes linger on the freshly exposed skin of your legs for a little longer than the rest of your body, a flush of red creeping onto your face.

You stand up, cautiously moving your arms and legs, cracking your neck and finally stretching your arms above your head.

“I feel good. Let me change into my clothes before we leave though.”

You walk over to a chair in the corner where you spotted your clothes, neatly folded up into a small stack.

You turn around, to see that Maul is still standing in the room.

“Would you mind, uh” You awkwardly point to the door, red making its way on your face again. “I mean you don’t have to-”

“Oh. Yes. Of course.” He is lucky. With his skin tone, it’s impossible to tell if he is blushing or not.

The door shuts behind him and you quickly change out of the hospital attire, inspecting the almost entirely healed wounds. Bacta is truly a magnificent invention.

You open the door again and see Maul slouched against the wall. He looks unusually tired, you have never seen him in a state like this.

“Are you okay?”

He seems surprised at the question, making you wonder if that is a question he isn’t asked very often.

Hesitantly, he answers. “Yes. Let’s just leave.”

 He is quiet on the way back to the ship, more so than he usually is. Tension hangs in the air, though you can’t quite identify its source.

“Tell me.” You order as you lean against the wall of the cockpit while the ship takes off. “You are unwell. What’s the matter?” Cautiously, you tug at his hood to pull it down from his head in an attempt to get a better look at his face.

He closes his eyes before muttering: “Just… lack sleep”

Oh. That makes sense. He probably didn’t sleep while you were captured, and then you were in the medical center-

“Then go, I can watch over this for a while.”

He focuses his gaze back on you, frowning. “You dislike flying.”

“I’ll be fine. It’s on autopilot anyways.”

He doesn’t seem completely satisfied, but eventually gives in with a quiet sigh, getting up from the pilot’s seat and moving past you to the lift, his steps lacking the determination and confidence they usually hold.

The way your heart clenches slightly is a reminder of how much you care. Maybe your emotions for him lie deeper than you thought - more than curiosity, more than just attraction.

Your heart thuds against your ribcage as your mind wanders.

Are you in love with the zabrak?

*

Space is… calm. The silence is accompanied only by the occasional beeping sounds from the control panel and the soft hum of the engine. It gives you the opportunity to finally think. Reflect. Plan.

What do you want from the future?

You don’t really know. You’ve never had the option of deciding on much of your life before, so it seems like the world suddenly holds endless possibilities for you. Well, technically, you still don’t really have that many choices: Despite his … kindness, and whatever it is that goes beyond that, the original foundation your partnership is built on is you not being able to reveal their identities by either working with them or … dieing.

You would like to say you mind. You would like to feel like a victim of yet another controlling figure in your life, but if you’re being honest, you like this.

So what do you really want?

All you can think of is to keep things the way they are right now. Side by side with Maul, doing jobs for his master, keeping up a relationship between the two of you - if he wants, that is. You don’t really know about the nature of his feelings, you realize. And his master too: Would he even allow such a thing? You know the Jedi don’t allow attachments, but since the Sith are basically the opposite of what the Jedi stand for, maybe…

You decide to head downstairs, telling yourself it’s to go to the refresher, but knowing deep down that you are just trying to catch a glimpse of the sleeping zabrak.

The doors open with the familiar hiss. Immediately, you stare to your right, where you know Maul’s sleeping compartment is, and your heart skips a beat.

The zabrak looks so utterly at peace, his head rolled to the side, lips parted and one hand on his stomach, the other dangling over the edge of the bed frame. You hold your breath as you listen to him slowly inhale and exhale, breathe in, breathe out.

An unfamiliar tingling sensation spreads through your insides, and you want nothing more than to gently caress his beautifully adorned face, maybe trace the lines that span across it, follow the slight curve of his horns…

You force yourself to snap out of it and rush to the refresher, careful to not make any noise to disturb his sleep as you shut the door. It would be downright shameful to disrupt this rare display of peace.

_________

next chapter

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sorry that updates are coming out kinda slow, but I’m always trying to have at least the next one or two chapters written out before posting. I am officially on break now, which means I have a little more time on my hands.

Hope you enjoyed :)

@princessayveke @spaghetti-666

#darth maul #maul #darth maul x reader #maul x reader #star wars x reader #star wars fanfiction #sith

[thegizka]

Order and Control

Writer’s Month 2020 Day 2:  Quarantine

When Bruce is exposed to a dangerous virus, he quarantines to prevent further spread until the Justice League can develop an antidote. Unfortunately, his children keep ignoring his orders.

Read it on Ao3.

Note: I do not own any aspect of DC or Batman.

Bruce waited until the lock on the hidden door clicked behind him before turning on any lights.  This safehouse was unlikely to be discovered, carved into the mountains of Montana with no one in a hundred mile radius, but now was no time to be lax in security.  He moved through the small kitchen and sitting area, bypassed the bed, and tapped a pattern on the stone wall to open an access panel.  After entering the correct security codes, the wall folded away to reveal a secret room housing a computer and an assortment of equipment that might be useful in a pinch.  Someone had left an empty bag of chips in the bin beneath the computer desk.  He made a mental note to remind his children of the importance of discarding all traces of themselves when leaving safehouses.

A few minutes later, he’d turned on the computer and connected to his network.  Bouncing his signal around the globe to discourage tracking, he sent a message to the Watchtower.  A second later, Clark appeared in a video feed.

“I take it you made it safely?”

“I’m here,” Bruce grunted.  “Were you able to find any trace of this thing?”

“Barry and Victor are still in the lab analyzing the samples you sent.  They haven’t found anything yet.”

“How are you feeling?” Diana asked, leaning into the frame.

“Fine so far.”

“You should have come back to the Watchtower.  The investigation would move faster if we could monitor you more closely.”

“We all saw the bodies,” he growled.  “Minimizing exposure is the priority.  If we can stop these bioterrorists before they release this virus, we won’t need a vaccine.”

“You need it.”  Clark frowned.  Bruce knew he agreed with Diana and would prefer Bruce isolate closer to people who could care for him.

“I will run what tests I can here and link them to the Watchtower.  I trust Barry and Victor will find the solution.”

“Do you need anything?” Diana asked.  “We can be there in a heartbeat.”

“No,” he said emphatically.  “Don’t.  And don’t tell anyone where I am.  No one can know.”

Clark and Diana exchanged a look that said they didn’t agree with him about this either.  But they had seen the horrors this virus had done to these bioterrorists’ test subjects.  They knew it was too dangerous to risk.

“We won’t,” Diana promised.

“Stay safe, Bruce.”

“You too.”

The video went blank.  Bruce sat in the silence of the safehouse for a moment.  He had stared at his own death so many times that he wasn’t scared for himself.  He was just frustrated that he couldn’t be on the front lines with the rest of the Justice League.  He had been foolish to investigate alone, stumbling onto the test site and inhaling the virus from a partially-empty canister.  He should have been more careful.

With a sigh, he hauled himself to his feet and began preparing the science equipment that he had at his disposal.  He’d already shed his suit and secured it in an impermeable bag.  He would set up a secure, sanitized lab space and swab it for residue, though so far the only traces they’d detected had been found in biomatter.  He would take frequent blood and breath samples, both to monitor his condition and try to isolate the strain for vaccine fabrication.

There were a lot of tests to run.  It would be a long night.

-----

Bruce awoke late in the morning noticing two alarming things.  The first was that his throat felt sore.  It wasn’t a sign of dehydration.  He had been careful to drink plenty of fluids to help his body remain strong as it fought against the virus.  The second was a vehicle pulling into the hidden garage and killing its engine.

He scrambled to the computer to pull up the security camera.  The fact that someone had found the entrance and not set off any alarms meant it was someone who knew this safehouse.  It was probably one of his kids.

Sure enough, he saw a mop of familiar dark hair emerge from a compact sports car.  A shorter, crisper head of hair jumped out of the passenger seat.  A jolt of fear chilled Bruce’s spine, accompanied by a waterfall of questions.  Had they touched the Batmobile parked next to them?  Had he brushed against the walls on his way to the entrance last night?  Had he remembered to disinfect the door?

“Dick, Damian, don’t move,” he called through the comm system he’d had installed three years ago.  He saw them stop.  Bless them for having the sense to listen.

“Father, what is going on?”

“You shouldn’t be here.  Go back to Gotham,” he ordered.

“B, are you okay?”  Dick took a step forward, and the panic spiked again.

“I am.  I’m just busy.  I need you to watch Gotham for a few days.”

“Are you working on the bioterrorism case?” Damian demanded.  He shouldn’t have known about that.

“Vic told us you may have been exposed,” Dick explained.  “Babs got a ping of activity from this safehouse last night, so we came to see if you were okay.”

His eldest son always did have a bleeding heart.  He let his emotions override his good sense.

“If I have been exposed, that’s reason for you to leave.  I can’t spread it to anyone else.”

“If you are in danger, Father, we should help you.”

“You can help by keeping watch over Gotham until this is over.”

“But-”

“Come on, Damian.”  Dick took his brother’s shoulder gently.  “There’s nothing we can do here right now.”

The youngest Wayne resisted for a moment.  Bruce saw so much of his own stubbornness in him.

“Be safe, Father,” he ordered before turning back to the car.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, B,” Dick called.

“Take care of them, Dick.  I’ll be back soon.”

A modicum of relief returned when he watched them drive away, but he couldn’t shake the unease their arrival had caused.  He was surprised they’d found him so quickly.  It was a little upsetting that Cyborg felt more loyalty for his former Titans teammate than the Justice League, but Dick had that sort of magnetic pull.  Bruce felt guilty for forcing his eldest into the responsibility of Batman’s duties and watching over his siblings, but it couldn’t be helped.  He just hoped he could keep the rest of them away and safe.

He reached for a glass of water to try and soothe his throat.  A basic medical check revealed no fever and an average heart rate.  He pricked his finger for a blood sample.  He hadn’t found anything decipherable from the tests he ran last night, perhaps because the virus had been too new in his body.  Hopefully today’s efforts would be more fruitful.  He popped a lemon cough drop into his mouth and got to work.

-----

Late that night, the purr of two motorcycle engines signalled new visitors.  Bruce was still awake, pouring over data from the case and taking notes on the progression of his infection.  Most of the potential side effects could be attributed to the strain of his night life, but until they had a better understanding of this virus, he was meticulous in his documentation.

The security feed revealed Jason and Stephanie parking their bikes near the garage wall.  They must have spoken with Dick because they wore respirators and chemical-repellant suits.  Jason had towed in a trailer piled up with equipment of some sort, indicating they intended to be there for a while.  The chill of panic returned.  This was not good.

“You two need to leave,” he ordered using the comms.  His sore throat and lack of conversation made his voice sound hoarse.  He reached for his water.

“Hey Bruce, you don’t sound so good.  Are you doing okay?” Stephanie asked in concern.

“I’m fine,” he insisted.  To support his claim, his voice came through more clearly.  “I’d be better if you both left.”

“No can do,” Jason grunted, lifting a stack of tarps sealed in plastic out of the trailer.  “We’re under orders from Alfred to make sure you don’t die.  We’re not going anywhere.”

“Yes you are,” he insisted, starting to feel helpless.  They couldn’t be here.  The risk was too great.  “I am ordering you to leave.”

“Too bad, Old Man.  I stopped following your orders years ago, and Stephie ain’t your kid or your Robin.  Your orders mean nothing to us.”

“Alfred’s, however,” Stephanie interjected, “sure do.  But don’t worry; he gave us very specific instructions on how to disinfect everything and keep you safely quarantined while we help.  You’ll be in good hands.”

He didn’t need to be in good hands; they did, and them being here was not safe.  But they had obviously come with the intention of staying, and they were more likely to ignore him than his other kids.  He wanted to argue, but he had to turn away to cough.  His throat felt raw, and it took him a while to regain his breath.  By the time he looked back at the garage feed, they had finished unloading and were going about Alfred’s instruction.

“Please,” he croaked in a final effort to discourage them, “just leave.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Stephanie asked, ignoring his plea.

“Save your strength Old Man.  We’re not going anywhere.”

Bruce sighed.  He didn’t have the energy to argue with them.  At least they were taking safety precautions.  They pulled one of the tarps over the Batmobile and sealed the edge to the garage floor with tape.  Jason started constructing a portable sanitizing chamber right in front of the door while Stephanie grabbed cleaning materials and went about fumigating every exposed surface.

“Make sure you ventilate properly,” Bruce instructed.  She raised a hand in a thumb’s up to acknowledge his advice but didn’t pause her work.

“Hey Bruce,” Jason said, laying tarps over the framework and sealing them tightly, “Dick seems to think this is pretty bad.  Is it?”

“You’d be more helpful working with the League to find the source, not here.”

“You never do answer our questions,” he grumbled.  “That’s only going to make them worry more, you know.”

Bruce noticed that he’d said “them”, and it stung a little that Jason had omitted himself.  He wondered if he had ever felt like part of the family, or if Bruce’s cascading screw-ups as a mentor and father had driven him away.  Even now, he had no idea how to connect with him.

“Get some rest, Old Man,” Jason said, sorting through filtration hoses to hook up the sanitizing system in the chamber.  “Steph and I don’t need you supervising if you’re not going to help.”

Bruce couldn’t think of anything to say, so he turned back to analyzing the data from the case.  He kept the security feed up in the corner of the computer screen so he could check on them while he worked.  There was some comfort in that.

-----

He awoke the next morning disoriented.  His throat burned, and his breath felt slow to fill his lungs.  He was fairly certain he had fallen asleep at the computer in the safehouse, but the conversation he was hearing was reminiscent of days in the Manor.

“Sleep.”

“He has to get up at some time, Cass.  Otherwise the food Jason made will go to waste.”

“And I need to ask him some questions about this data.”

“Tim, have you heard anything else from Leslie?”

“No.”

“So even the doc is stumped.”

“She has assured me that the best resources will be allocated to our mission.  Pennyworth will contact us as soon as progress is made.”

“Vic is monitoring her research, too.  He’ll let us know if the League comes up with anything.”

“It’s kind of nice having a friend in the League.  We used to have to hack the Watchtower to get their data.”

“The old man would have a conniption if he knew.”

“Security breeeach,” Tim growled in a Batman parody voice.

“Con-nip?  Shun?”

“One word.  It’s basically a tantrum,” Barbara translated automatically.

“Don’t worry about learning it, Cain.  Todd is the only one who speaks with such outdated language.”

“I’m pretty sure I heard you call your wallet a pocket book the other day, so maybe rethink that statement.”

Bruce sat up slowly.  His limbs felt heavy, and both feet tingled from a lack of oxygen.  He could tell this wasn’t normal fatigue.  He’d pushed his body to its natural breaking point often enough to feel the difference.  He felt as though he were barely in control of himself.

“Hey guys, it looks like Sleeping Beauty is awake,” Barbara called.  “Hi Bruce.”

A chorus of voices and a jumble of words penetrated the ringing in his ears.  There was a new video feed on his computer.  Glancing at the security feed, he saw that someone had set up a sort of control center in the garage.  Wires criss-crossed between the monitors and blinking machines, disappearing into carefully concealed access points in the floor and wall.  Tim and Barbara were camped in the center of it all, but everyone crowded together when they heard he was awake.

“How are you feeling B?” Dick asked.  He and Damian had returned, bringing Cassandra, Tim, and Barbara with them.  The growing number of people camping in the garage was perplexing, especially when he wanted everyone to stay away for their safety.

He tried to say he was fine, but his voice wouldn’t work.  He devolved into a coughing fit.  It took a good minute to catch his breath afterwards.  He wished he didn’t have to see the looks of worry on their faces.

“There’s a nebulizer outside the door in the sanitizing chamber.  Leslie provided some medicine that might help,” Tim said.

“Jason made some soup, too,” Stephanie added.

“Alfred’s worried about you living on whatever freeze-dried nonperishable shit you have in there.”

“Language, Todd.”

“Can you get up, or should I bring it to you?” Barbara asked.

“No,” Bruce croaked, the panic oozing through him.

“Relax Bruce, we have a robot we can send in,” Tim reassured him.  “We won’t get anywhere near you.”

“We have thought of everything, Father.  Do not resist this care.”

Barbara tapped a few keys on her keyboard, and Bruce heard the lock on the door slide.  A moment later, the mechanical whirring of wheels grew gradually louder.  A multi-tiered platform rolled into the room.  A sealed bowl of soup sat on one shelf, the condensation on the lid indicating it had been packaged some time ago.  Someone had placed a few bottles of water next to it.  A portable nebulizer sat below it with a bag of medication and supplements from Leslie’s clinic.

“You should let me drive that sometime,” Stephanie whispered to Tim as the robot came to a stop.  The lock on the door clicked back into place in the other room.

“When you get a chance,” Tim said, “I have a few questions about the data you gathered from the test site.”

“Hang on there, Timmy.  The guy just woke up.  Let him eat his soup in peace.”

“This is a time-sensitive issue, Todd.  The sooner we get information, the sooner we can stop these terrorists and help Father.”

“Eat, then questions,” Cassandra insisted.

“I agree,” Dick declared.  Bruce could see the intention to argue further leave his siblings.  Did he know how influential he was over them?  “The League and half of our contacts are working on this.  We can spare twenty minutes to let Bruce eat in peace.”

“It’s time for patrol anyway,” Jason announced, pushing himself away from the crowd.  “Demon Spawn, you’re coming with me.  All this motor traffic may have caused some curiosity and suspicion.”

“From what?  Mountain goats?” he scoffed, but he followed Jason out of the garage.  Bruce was surprised he hadn’t commented on the nickname.

“Clean plate club,” Cassandra said, looking straight at Bruce through the camera.  She was serious enough to make him chuckle, but his throat couldn’t muster the sound.  She followed her brothers out to patrol.

“I’m going to see if I can boost our signal now that there are seventeen machines trying to use our network,” Tim announced.  “Want to help me, Steph?”

“Sure.”  She skipped to catch up with him as he headed for the exit.

“No making out until you’re done,” Barbara called.  “I want to see results!”

“You’re one to talk,” Stephanie teased before she and Tim disappeared.

That just left Dick and Barbara, the original Robin and Batgirl.  Bruce opened the soup under their watchful eyes, moving carefully with his slow limbs.  He knew they were waiting for him to say something, but they also knew to give him time.  He didn’t mind their scrutiny as he sipped his soup, unable to handle more than little gulps with his sore throat and labored breaths.  They would read into every movement he made to extrapolate how far the virus had progressed.  Bruce wondered how much they had shared with the others.

“Gotham?” he whispered when the soup had soothed enough of his throat to give him a voice.

“Duke, Kate, Luke, and Harper are taking care of things.  Alfred is coordinating from the Batcave.  Dick reached out to Zatanna, and she’ll be around for backup.  Everything’s under control.”

“You, on the other hand, have definitely looked better.”  Concern was written all over Dick’s face.

“Have we found them yet?” he deflected, always dodging questions, always hiding behind the mask.

“The League has narrowed the attack down to three targets,” Dick shared.  “They’re en route to stop it as we speak.”

“DC, Moscow, Shanghai,” Barbara listed, anticipating his follow-up question.  She always was sharp.  “A strike force already went to their base in the Canadian Rockies and cleared it out.  This should all be over in an hour.”

So the end was in sight.  No wonder everyone was so tense and had sought things to do while they waited.  No wonder they had gathered together since they couldn’t be part of the counterstrike.  He set down his spoon and focused on his breathing.  He’d never been good at waiting on the sidelines either.  His nonexistent appetite was gone.

“The comms,” he wheezed, reaching for the keyboard.

“No,” Barbara replied, her fingers typing some sequence that locked everything on his computer except the video feed.  “You have to keep your heart rate steady.  Any excitement will spread the virus faster.”

“There’s nothing you can do, B.  Let the others handle it.”

He knew they were right, but he hated not knowing what was going on.  He hated not having any control over it.  He had never been good at relinquishing control, and now he had no choice.  His body wasn’t responding the way it should, and his children had ignored every order to stay away.  His control was falling apart.

“Hey,” Barbara said, pulling his mind back to the present, “don’t keep that spoon idle.  You don’t want to disappoint Cass.”

Bruce obeyed and brought the spoon to his mouth, letting the soup trickle down his throat without tasting it.

“Antidote?”  He didn’t trust his heavy tongue to form a full sentence coherently.

“Last we heard, they were analyzing an active sample to make sure they didn’t miss anything.  They should have it done soon.”

“Leslie was a big help,” Dick said.  “Tim sent her your tests and notes because, and I quote, ‘Barry is great but he usually works with dead bodies, and I’d like the expertise of someone who works on keeping them alive’.  It was a good call.”

Bruce tried to chuckle again, but instead he coughed.  With the stiffness of his lungs and muscles, he was left gasping for oxygen.  His body wasn’t working right.  He coughed again, and coughed and coughed and coughed.  He heard Dick and Barbara calling to him through the monitor but he couldn’t stop coughing.  He couldn’t get oxygen fast enough.  His vision blurred, and the ringing in his ears grew louder, or maybe it was the shouting?  He couldn’t tell anymore.  It was just pain and coughing until his diaphragm ceased up and he couldn’t breathe.  He couldn’t breathe.  This was how it would end.

He couldn’t breathe.

He could only pray his kids wouldn’t enter the room and get infected.

Everything went dark.

-----

Bruce came to with the disorienting feeling that he shouldn’t.  His throat felt raw and his limbs felt heavy, but he could swallow and move.  His body was tired, but his lungs filled with air without hesitation.  His heart was beating.  He had control.

He opened his eyes slowly.  He was still in the Montana safehouse.  Somehow he had been moved to the bed.  He could hear the soft hums and beeps of medical equipment, as well as a low murmur of voices.  The smell of cooking reached his nose.  He was hungry.

Bruce carefully sat up so he could get a better look around.  A pile of portable cots and sleeping bags had turned up in a corner.  So had a rather large TV on which Dick and Damian were currently playing Cheese Viking.  Tim was on his laptop on the couch, and Stephanie leaned against him, napping quietly.  Barbara and Cassandra were at the table working on some language exercises.  Jason and Duke were working in the kitchen under the careful guidance of Alfred.  It seemed impossible to fit so many people in the small safehouse, yet here they were.

Ever vigilant, Alfred turned as though sensing the movement of his patient.

“Ah, Master Bruce, you are awake.”

“Hey, looking good Bruce,” Duke greeted, waving a wooden spoon.

“Well what do you know,” Jason said, stepping away from the stove to get a better look at him.  “You came through faster than I was expecting.”

“That stir fry needs your attention, Master Jason.  The rest of you, occupy yourselves while I look him over.  You’ll have a chance to say all you want over dinner.”

With minimal grumbling, everyone returned to what they had been doing.  Alfred’s word was law, even when they had outgrown taking orders from Batman and Bruce Wayne.

“How do you feel, sir?” the butler asked, checking some readings on the monitor next to the bed and proceeding through the routine of a medical check.

“Alive,” he rasped.  “What happened?”

“Mr. Allen and Mr. Stone were able to fabricate a cure.  It was en route to you when you collapsed and arrived just in the nick of time.  Of course, the others had all rushed to your aid and exposed themselves before then, so you’ve all been ordered to quarantine for a few weeks to monitor your recovery and eliminate any chance of further spread.”

“The bioterrorists?”

“Successfully thwarted and captured.  Once again, the Justice League saves the day.”

“It’s over,” he sighed, relaxing against the wall.  Alfred gave him a wry look.

“For the rest of the world, yes.  For you, it’s only just started.  Your body must recover from the toxins, and on top of that, you have eight very strong, very different personalities to live with in a small space.  I expect it will be a bit challenging for you.”

Bruce looked around at everyone.  The teasing and familial bickering were already on display.  No matter how many times he told them to behave, they still got up to mischief.

“Like herding cats,” he sighed.  Alfred chuckled.

“More like herding bats, sir.”

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