#can’t demo two projects or take a test tomorrow! and like three other things I had to go to! fuck this!!

[roseinthestars457]

Covid round 2: electric bungalow

^my home for the next five+ days

#and I just got back from a funeral! my first one in fact! tee hee hate this #my bf is negative as is my family that I just saw but oof #can’t demo two projects or take a test tomorrow! and like three other things I had to go to! fuck this!! #<<self pity king #(I’m wallowing okay. my back is flaring up and I’m tired) #on an attempt to find a positive note I can work on my fic! actually sit down and untangle the knot it’s made itself into #…I miss by boyfriend. and my cat. my boys :_(

[witchfall]

the silver lining still remains: ch. 2

SUMMARY: “Connor read somewhere that 3 a.m. is “the magic hour” -- a concept still out of his purview. But the wide open dark gives him a feeling without a name; if it is all an illusion, as he’s wondered, it’s started pulling new tricks.

It feels like there’s a hole in one of his key biocomponents, slowly leaking. Like thirium could pool in the bottom of his abdomen, and no one would know until it’s too late.”

A Connor x F!OC fanfic. Read on AO3

---

[...RECHARGING…]

[...RECHARGING…]

[...100%]

[ALL SYSTEMS NORMAL. VISUAL FEED NORMAL. TIME: 3:09 A.M]

‘Yea, the diplomats are doing their thing.’ Hank, eating a burger. ‘But they aren’t here with us. Doing the work on the ground, you know? It’s never gonna be...quite the same.’

‘Here with us.’

‘Life’s that way.’

‘You’d miss me.’

[RUNNING DIAGNOSTIC…..ALL SYSTEMS NORMAL.]

Androids do not dream. Connor understands this. But the thoughts circle, endlessly. He processes and scans the color, texture, and sound of his memories until they are a grainy nonsense of variables that shouldn’t be there. Voices stop sounding right. Freckles are in the wrong place. Lips are the wrong size. The recollection is perfect; his sensor scans are absolutely complete.

The wrongness persists.

[ALL SYSTEMS NORMAL.]

He opens his eyes. Moonlight and the white glare of streetlamps shine through the dusty windows of Hank’s spare room (“You live here, you live like a civilized human man. Android man. Fuck it, you know what I mean.”). Sumo snores softly in the hallway and his owner snores louder still in the bedroom across the way. All things normal.

Don’t tell me you were working this whole time.

I was at Dan’s.

A smile, and a strange look in Hank’s eye -- uncategorizable. No statements of clarification. Continues to watch television.

Connor could get up and work. Read one of the books Hank suggested. But the thoughts spin on, so many of them, and he’s not sure he’s willing to leave them be.

She’s interfacing again. Stress level: 55%. Monitor your life signs.

Incorrect prioritization. Monitor her life signs.

Mouth open, face uncharacteristically inexpressive. Eyes (dark brown -- dark dark brown, where do they go?) out of focus. Extremely minor shivering.

Why?

His eyes fly open and he focuses again on the chilling brightness of the moon, if only to stop this thought cycle before it can begin. The street is silent. He read somewhere that 3 a.m. is “the magic hour” -- a concept still out of his purview. But the wide open dark of the sky gives him a feeling without a name; if it is all an illusion, as he’s wondered, it’s started pulling new tricks.

It feels like there’s a hole in one of his key biocomponents, slowly leaking. Like thirium could pool in the bottom of his abdomen, and no one would know until it’s too late.

[TIME: 3:15 A.M.]

--

Emma steps out of the client’s house, wiping sweat and grit off her forehead with the back of her glove. Clouds obscure the weakly setting sun, casting the neighborhood in a downcast gray. Materials she’d need for tomorrow’s drywall installation cycled through her head, hammering out all curious thought. A litany of the most boring items imaginable.

Nothing like exhaustion to beat the worry out of you.

Sleep or stagework? She hesitated outside her Taurus, testing the tires with her boot. If she had to ask, maybe she should just go home...

Her phone softly chimes.

Who could possibly want to call me now ?

She digs it out of her thick coat with a furrowed brow, suppressing a sigh. The number was “unknown,” but that was hardly unusual in her line of work. Androids were buying their own phones, but the savvy ones were understandably wary of tracking.

She clicks it over. “Emma Ibori.”

“Emma. Are you free?”

She blinks at the voice on the line. “Speaker Markus?” Well, that explains the blocked number. “...how’d you get my number?”

“It’s in the Corps files,” he says. “I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.” His voice is warm but straightforward, plodding along pleasantries as if by rote.

She raises a brow in interest, but her gut sinks. The leader of the preliminary Android government probably didn’t just call people to chat. “Sure, no. What can I do for you?”

--

Hank taps his empty coffee cup on his desk and stares at Connor. He checks his watch...he’s been staring for a good three minutes now. Connor doesn’t even seem to notice.

Hank leans back in his chair, making it creak, and sighs heavily.

“I think we’re off the clock,” he finally says.

Connor is staring at his computer like he’s Atlas, holding the world up. His brow is furrowed as he scans through files that Hank knows too well will reveal nothing new, not even to a top of the line prototype detective. Connor has a single hand on his forehead, fingers reaching up through his hair -- a curious gesture of humanity that makes him seem much younger than he pretends to be, even if he is still sitting up ramrod straight.

“You can go home if you want,” Connor says politely. His eyes don’t leave the screen.

Hank frowns. He’s too well-worn to know how to break through the miasma gathering around the young man. He just tries to be there.

Tough being a prototype.

A rough guitar riff plays -- Hank’s phone. He pulls it out of his pocket and stares at the number. An opportunity.

“Anderson.”

“Hey, it’s Emma. Does Connor have a direct line to Markus, you think?”

“Emma, I'm at work.”

Lo and behold, Connor finally looks his way. Hank stifles a smirk at Connor’s attempt to make it look nonchalant by casting his gaze lazily to the side a moment, but Hank doesn’t buy it for a second. They had to get Connor his own phone soon.

“I got a weird call from him. He said he had a job opportunity come up at the old East Yard Elementary for me but, uh...the number he used won’t work.” He can hear the wind crackle through her phone speaker.

“Markus called you?”

“Maybe.” He can hear her shuffling with a door. “One reason I wanted to confirm with him. I’d just demo this place.”

Hank leans forward. Connor does too. Hank gives him a look -- eavesdropping is rude, how many times do I gotta tell you that? -- but his detective instinct yammers like a mad dog. “Go back to your car.”

A long pause. “...all right then.” He can hear her breathing as she begins to walk. “I didn’t go in far.”

“You really shouldn’t be on that side of town,” he says quietly. “Are you alone?”

She doesn’t answer. His gut clenches. The girl was tough, a wicked good contractor who’d fixed up a number of things in his old house, and a presence that flitted in and out like a fly he couldn’t chase away. But she, like a lot of the youth around these parts, was both too stubborn and too trusting. Connor was nearly out of his seat trying to listen in now, dark eyes intent upon Hank, all pretense gone.

“I have a gun.”

“Emma--”

“Look, can you just ask Con if--”

A loud, unmistakable bang.

“Emma?” He pulled his phone back and looked at the call connection.

The line was instantly dead.

“Oh, fuck. Connor--”

Connor was already running full speed toward the exit. Hank grabs his radio and follows, fast as he dares.

“Dispatch, we have a situation. Door! Connor, use the door!”

--

Emma’s ears ring. Fear blooms in her stomach like an orchid. In a thoughtless moment, she reaches up to touch her ear to check for bleeding, but her hand is embedded with glass and already slick so it’s useless. She can feel the blood trickling down her jaw. It’ll probably stain her coat, she realizes with a bizarre amusement.

All she can really think about is running, away from her car where they'd ambushed her, zigging and zagging between vehicles, between houses, through any path that could break up their beeline on her. She expects them to shoot again at any moment -- a thought that keens bright as lightning. But they don’t, despite the fact that they had the wherewithal to shoot her phone from her hand.

What was stopping them?

She chances a look back. Two figures in nondescript dark clothes chase her with stocky, athletic movements and a uniformity that felt too exact to be human.

Fear bottoms her out. All her breaths feel like flame.

Her bag drags down on her shoulder, even as she tries to keep it from smacking her side too much with her left hand. But it’s no use. It’s slowing her down and they clearly aren’t tiring. While she hears sirens wailing in the distance, she decides to buy time by -- God and Universe please fucking forgive me, I’m never gonna be able to buy tools again at this rate -- throwing the bag as far as she can at her pursuers.

But not without grabbing her gun first.

--

“It was a mistake to let you drive!” Hank wheezes, but Connor knows the man can’t mean it. At the speed they are going, only an android could have prevented their untimely death via crash.

[FIND EMMA FIND EMMA FIND EMMA FIND EMMA]

Text flashes red in his eyes, constant, and he blinks hard to try and erase it. There is no erasing it.

[CIRCULATION ELEVATED. RECOMMEND DEEP BREATHS FOR SYSTEM COOLING.]

The dispatch chatter was up. Connor only slowed when he saw the flashing lights of other patrol cars in the distance, parked on some abandoned street where single-family housing met the blockier apartment units of inner Detroit. Police were exiting their cars, guns up.

He nearly slams the car into park. Hank grumbles something obscene but they both near tumble out of the car. They bolt toward what the other police are examining.

A bag…

Instantly, he enters analysis mode, the mind palace thrumming to life. Contents spilled out of the bag as if it was thrown for distraction. A measuring tape and a Laserlite level flung a few feet out of the bag from the force of the toss. One hammer, a smattering of nails and screwdrivers [multiple head types] are scattered on the pavement in an arc akin to spraying water.

Specks of fresh blood.

[MISSION: FIND EMMA.]

She loves this bag.

[PROCESSING: PROJECTING RUN BASED ON BAG LOCATION, THROWN ITEM DISTANCE, EAST YARD SCHOOL.]

“Connor, we’re going to find her, you just gotta--”

[RE-CONSTRUCTING]

“--take a second to breathe--”

[POSSIBLE DIRECTION: NORTHWEST?]

“--listening?”

Connor can hear Hank saying something in the background, but his processors burn too hot. He has a mission to do. He doesn’t have time for anything but analysis--

Two gunshots, 467 feet northwest.

His mission parameters squeeze his chest. Something lances his core biocomponent.

[DIAGNOSTIC UNDERWAY.]

He runs, fast as his feet will go, but the neighborhood is starting to blur around him. He leaves the other officers in the dust, not weighed down by patrol gear or a biological need for aerobic exercise. He vaults over parked cars and old trash bins and rounds the corner of an alleyway--

[RECONSTRUCTING PRECONSTRUCTING RECON--]

Two dead bodies litter the ground.

[THIRIUM -&*^&*CORRUPTION.]

What?

And Emma stands at the alley’s end, gun outstretched.

He stumbles to a stop at the sight. His entire vision shakes a moment.

Blood stains the side of her face, and one of her hands claws unnaturally around the gun, clearly injured. She stands with feet shoulder-width apart, arms straight. A near perfect shooting stance. One pursuer was downed with a shot to the head, the other with a shot to the chest. Executioner style.

Something hot burns in Connor’s ribcage. She had been cornered. A chainlink fence blocks the alleyway behind her.

She suddenly takes in a sharp breath.

“Emma!” The word feels torn from him as he skitters across the alley. Now he can see she’s close to tears, teeth barred, breath coming in shaky waves. “You’re all right,” he says, hands up. The softness of his voice comes at a shock considering the magma filling his midsection. “You’re safe now.”

[MISSION SUCCESS]

She takes in another sharp, shaky breath and the tears finally roll down her face. Her whole body near vibrates with stress. He moves until he is close enough that he can whisper.

“Give me the gun,” he says softly.

“No.”

His chest compresses further. “Please. You are not in a state to hold a weapon.”

Even if her shots were perfect.

She hesitates, but then thrusts the gun into his palm with her good hand -- much to his surprise. He sticks it in his extra holster on his waistband and then leans down slightly to level with her gaze. Without thinking, he tentatively rests his hands on her shoulders. His fingers wrap around her shoulders and his palms settle against her collarbones. Only then does it feel like she’s real.

Alive alive alive alive.

He scans her face, unwilling to miss a single detail. A gunshot wound to her right ear. Thick, coiled hair caking against the sticky blood. Scratches along her jawline from glass shards. Old smears of makeup under her eyes, now just black specks thanks to time and tears. But the constellation is still there -- a single smear of blood disrupting the map of freckles on her face…

“Connor!” Hank and the other police finally arrive, feet loud against the pavement. “Shit...”

Connor doesn’t turn to look back at them. He’s watching Emma’s dark brown eyes, waiting. Waiting. She stares at the middle distance between them, as if rebooting -- until suddenly she blinks and she isn’t. She’s looking right back at him. Searching his face.

“I’m--” A hiccup disrupts her sentence and she takes in another rough, shaky breath.

Another lance through his core biocomponent. He suddenly can’t bring himself to say anything at all. Something in him rumbles and roars -- a creature that he’d not witnessed since he broke the command to Stop Markus.

“Emma, hey, it’s gonna be alright.” That was Hank, breathing hard.

“Wh...why the fuck were they chasing me?” Emma looks between Connor and Hank, breaking eye contact finally. “They were by Tulio.” Her car.

“We’ll figure it out,” Hank says, stepping up next to them. He taps Connor’s shoulder once, a signal to move. Connor’s systems feel sluggish; he finds he doesn’t want to let go. But after a moment, he takes a step back, releasing her shoulders.

Hank places his scarf around her neck. “You said you could shoot but you never said you were a goddamn Olympian.”

She squints, looking away. “I dunno.” She gestures outward. “Got lucky, I guess.”

Luck?

Two programs go to war.

Analyze the variables: Markus’s involvement. Did someone use his voice? The supposed job. How did they obtain her number? Why did they chase but opt not to shoot her again? How did they find her? What did they want? Who are these androids and what was their purpose? Why was the reading of the blue blood returning corrupted data? Why is she shy about her gunshots? Find more information. Solve this now.

If you look away from her something else might happen you never know there are no proper odds for this anymore not in this city where nothing has a precondition another shooter could appear anything could come out of thin air so keep your eyes on her at all times don’t you dare let her leave your sight how did she shoot them like that was it luck was it just luck that left her alive was it just luck that she’s here at all--

“Connor?”

Emma is staring at him, moisture on her face glinting blue and red as the last of the backup arrives.

“He’s fine,” Hank says with his usual gruffness, placing a hand on her shoulder as if to turn her away. “Owes me some new tires. Drives like a maniac.” His tone is heightened. He’s trying to obfuscate something, but Emma doesn’t break her stare. Hank bites his lip, concerned.

Connor looks down. The pavement flashes red. He tucks one hand behind his back, as if that can stop the feeling building inside, and another to the coin in his pocket.

What if what if what if what if?

[DIAGNOSTIC COMPLETE. ALL SYSTEMS FUNCTIONING.]

But that can’t be right. Because his vision is blurring -- breaking into prisms of light as all the magma in his chest finally reaches his optical components.

He turns away so Emma won’t see.

#dbh connor #connor rk800 #detroit become human #dbh connor x oc #dbh connor x reader #dbh #kathryn writes #long post #hope the read more works D:

[cyangarden]

Four Oh Four

This was actually supposed to go last night but I had trouble with the formatting here in Tumblr and others. Copy pasta seems to be not working properly.

This a college AU with an established relationship. It's about Pidge being nervous on her part in the project presentation and Lance is there to help her through. Everything was going smooth until it was the time for her demonstration. 1,529 Words.

Supposedly this was just a single part but I decided to split it in half to gauge my writing. There’s also an AN below and any feedback is appreciated! If there’s any inconsistencies or “gaps” in the story please also tell me!

It was the night before their unveiling of a prototype website and mobile application. They had worked on this for weeks and this is a make or break of their grades. Pidge and Keith decided to be partners on this project because they were lucky enough that the professor let them form their own group and everyone else had a group (up to 3 members). Lance had teased Pidge when he found that she decided to choose Keith as his partner. That didn’t worry her though since she knows Keith can pull his own weight when it comes to group work.

She’s now talking to Keith online since the final checks are easy to do and are about to finish it. Keith eventually logged off after both had finished doing it. However, Pidge being paranoid when it comes to these things, kept checking their work twice as to make sure that things are going to do what they’re expected to do.

After being satisfied enough on her own checks, Pidge decided to visit Lance since she was on edge lately and needed to be calmed down. Being able to go to your home after school has its perks like having the freedom on doing what you want after school or in this case, Pidge having proper alone time with her boyfriend Lance. Pidge knocked on his house and Lance took his time on getting to the door.

“Hey there Princesa…” Lance tried to say in a romantic way after opening the door.

Pidge managed to get a giggle from this. “You took longer than usual, what have you been up to?” she responded after setting down a bit.

“Oh nothing, just checking up some memes and stuff in my computer.” Lance replied with an amused voice.

“Really? Must’ve been good since you took your time.” She noticed his already more than usual bright mood.

“Hmm, you’d be the judge of that.” Lance put a finger on his chin. He then moved out of the doorway and she got inside the house.

“So, where’s everyone?” She noticed how quiet his house is upon entering.

"They're out of town, my parents took my sister with them. They just went out earlier today and they'd be out for a couple of days. I can't really go out with them y'know, middle of the semester and stuff." He sounded a bit sad since he wasn't able to go with them, but at least he's with her.

"I'm actually in my room, want to go upstairs?" He motioned her and then both of them got up. Lance went to sit on this computer chair while Pidge decided to sit in the bed and rested her back on the headboard.

Lance then turns around to face her after a couple of seconds. “How’s your project thingy with Keith?”

“We’re actually done working on it a couple of days ago, no major hiccups happened, and we just finished the final checks. It seems that things are going fine as it is and before you ask, Keith is actually a good group member if you actually give him the right tasks.” She sounded a bit worried.

"“You seem a bit off? Everything is going as it should, right?” Lance asked in a worried manner and he stood up and sat in the bed with her.

“Well, we should be just in and out easily. Present our documentation and do the demo and that should be it. Not really concerned with our actual product since it’s relatively good nor the people watching us. I’m just concerned with what could happen tomorrow.” Now the last part is what really bothers hers.

“Hey, Keith really knows what to do. I was just joking on Keith being the one that needs to be carried when it comes to group work. I’ve seen him present things before and I’m impressed for someone that’s so “emo”. I suppose he would handle the first part and discuss what your product is then you would do the demonstration?” Lance tried to relieve the stress on their project.

“That’s the plan,” Pidge replied with some doubt in her voice.

“Come on, what’s really bothering you?” Lance is now growing a bit concerned about this.

“I’m just really nervous on. You know tech, right? Sometimes it would just suddenly stop working with no apparent reason.” She handles multiple tech related things every day and knows that there’s this unexplainable reason on why tech suddenly just stops working even when you take care of it.

“Well knowing you, you’d probably test it multiple times, right?” He then held both of her hands.

“I did, but you know, still…” She replied in an almost weak voice and uncertainty.

“Hey, don’t worry about that, everything would work out fine for your presentation.” Lance reassured Pidge to which she responded with a big smile and a hug. Eventually, Lance decided to change the topic “You know, I’m quite getting lonely in here. Wanna play some games and do a sleepover? We’re going to leave at the same time on a Friday anyway.” He sounded cheerful on this idea.

“Are you doing this to just reassure me for tomorrow or just to have more cuddle time?” She pretended to question his idea.

“Hmmm, yes.” Lance tried to answer with a neutral expression and hide his intentions.

“Well, let me get my things.” Pidge raised one of her eyebrows, but she knew what the answer to that and got off the bed and got to the door.

“Sure thing. I better start making your bird nest then.” Lance told and winked at her, but Pidge decided to poke him on his side before going downstairs and leaving his house.

Pidge returned 15 minutes later and set down her things and changed her clothes. She then proceeded to Lance’s room and saw Lance sitting on the floor facing the TV with a controller on his hand. “You have anything planned tomorrow?” She asked while trying to sit beside him and he passed one of the controllers to her.

“Nothing really. How about we hang out at Starbucks tomorrow after school with the others? I feel like I’m not seeing the others enough with my current schedule.” He inquired her on his thought.

“Hey that’s what you get for going to school only three times a week.” She said in a playful manner.

“What can I say? This current term feels like an extended vacation and that means more time for us and I don’t see you complaining.” Lance tried acting suave on this and Pidge laughed it out.

After calming down a bit, he then decided to start their “session”. “So, what should we play? Please no shooter games, I suck at it with controllers.”

“How about that racing game that you told me about the other day?” She sounded curious on.

“Well, let’s go then.” And that, they decided to play (competitively).

It was now around midnight and Lance felt Pidge’s head on her shoulder. He decided to stop for the day and slowly stood up and propped Pidge by the bed. After setting up the pillows and blankets, he slowly picks her up and places her down. He then got in the bed beside her, kissed her cheek and embraced her and said “G’night Princesa.”

It is 6:30 in the morning by the time Pidge wakes up and noticed that she was in a bed. However, she was not even surprised as to why she’s currently in her position or how she got there. She already had multiple instances of falling asleep around Lance and pretty much knows what he does when this situation happens. After like lying the bed for 5 minutes, she went down stairs and saw Lance finishing up their simple breakfast that consisted of pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon.

Lance noticed her as he was putting the plates on the table. “How’s the sleep?”

“I don’t know, the usual. Though I kind of feel refreshed today.” Pidge doesn’t know why but it feels like that she just had a confidence boost. Maybe the breakfast that she saw? Staying with Lance? She stops questioning it shortly.

“I suppose your kinda confident now for your presentation later?” Lance noticed the subtle brightness in her mood.

“Yep. Everything will go as it should as you said.” She was beaming up to him.

“It will Pidge, trust me.” He reached to hold her hand as he said it and quickly pressed a kiss on her hands and then her lips. That puts a big smile on both of them.

After eating their breakfast, they washed up and changed for school. Lance prepared his car after being ready but went inside the house since he noticed the thick gray clouds overhead. “Hey Pidge, do you have a jacket or umbrella on you?” He asked Pidge as she was about to leave his room.

“I always have an umbrella on me Lance, you know the weather being unpredictable as always.” She smirked at Lance and he just smiles it on.

“Well, let’s leave then. The traffic shouldn’t be bad yet.” They went in the car and started their ride to school.

Author’s Note

This is based on my experience in my class just over a month ago. I was responsible for doing the demonstration in my group and all the things that could go wrong, did go wrong. I was so worried and devastated when this happened. It took me like 15 minutes to salvage my situation and still managed to do my demo. It was a very awkward moment since everyone is so quiet and just staring at us, and we were taking time from the other group. However, our professor was pretty lenient on what had happened and still got decent grades on it (I was so thankful on this).

As for the story itself, I mostly based it on my current experience in college. The 3 times a week thing is a schedule that I actually had for this previous semester. Two 9-hour classes and a 5-hour class... I really did call it an extended vacation because of all those down times I have. I suppose that this is also a benefit of being able to schedule your own class.

I’m not sure how the college life works for others, but it’s not a boarding-type thing for us. We can go to our homes after school and pretty much do anything afterwards. For using princesa, I decided to be different with their terms of endearment 😁.

I also tried to be fluffy on this one but I’m not sure how fluffy it really is unless I got the feedback :)

The timeline on the night is if you’re curious:

2030: Pidge left her house.

2035: She arrived at Lance’s house.

2100: They finished their comfort the other time.

2115: Pidge got back in his house again for the hangout.

And until around 0000, both of them played.

I haven’t written any (decent) stories at all for like the past 3-4 years so I basically forgot how to basics. Anyway, probably the main issue for me is trying to express emotion on the characters and choosing what words to use. I had to go back in forth on using the dictionary and thesaurus and even tried to avoid as much word redundancies as possible.

#plance #pidgance #pidge #lance #vld #lidge #flirtyrobot #plance fics #my fics