summary: sometimes words hurt more than any blow to the face, plunging a knife into the heart, even if they originally had no negative meaning.
Characters: Isagi Yoichi, Ryusei Shidou, Sae Itoshi, Rin Itoshi, Reo Mikage, Seishiro Nagi, Michael Kaiser
content: angst to fluff
Yoichi Isagi
On one of his rare days off, Isagi suggested that you meet in the park, and while there, you showed him your notebook with trepidation, on the page of which was his portrait — cute, lively, though not perfect from the point of view of technology. You confessed to him that although the result is still far from perfect, the very process of drawing brings you incredible pleasure. Isagi, whose mind had been completely rebuilt to fit the logic of survival and constant growth, frowned. He didn't want to offend you, he just wanted to give advice so that you wouldn't waste your energy, but his "selfish" vision of the world played a cruel joke. He dryly said that doing something without the goal of becoming the best in the world is stupid, and you should do something productive. You closed your notebook, and something went out in your eyes.
A few weeks later, when you met again, Isagi didn't recognize you. You no longer carried pencils with you, your fingers were not stained with graphite, and your eyes became cold, just like his. You stopped being creative and started learning programming — something "useful" and "effective", but your words no longer had the light that always warmed a guy after grueling workouts. Looking at your blank, disciplined face, Isagi suddenly realized what a mistake he had made. He realized that by trying to "optimize" your life in his image, he had personally destroyed that unique spark that made you happy. After your dinner at the cafe, Isagi suggested that you meet at your house tomorrow, and you agreed.
The guy actually came to you the next morning, but with a big package. It turned out that he bought the best art supplies for you, which you once mentioned in passing. He explained at length and clumsily that he was an idiot who was fixated on the result, and admitted that your imperfect portrait was more precious to him than any gold cup, because your soul was in it.
Ryusei Shidou
Shido Ryusei always lived at the peak of his emotions, and his words often came out faster than he could comprehend them. You tried to engage him in a conversation about your feelings and how important stability in your relationship is to you. Shido, for whom life is an eternal drive and search for supreme pleasure, simply couldn't stand it and rudely blurted out that your emotions are a "boring and cheap drama" that extinguishes his fire, while casually mentioning one of his acquaintances, emphasizing how funny and easy—going she is, adding that with It's never as stuffy as it is with you. He didn't want to say that you were worse, he just wanted you to "catch fire" in his understanding, but the result was devastating. The resentment inside you transformed into a cold determination to completely erase the version of yourself that he found boring.
A month later, Shido froze in place when he saw you on the doorstep. You dyed your hair a bright color, put on provocatively revealing clothes that you never liked, and donned the mask of an eternally cheerful "party girl." You started being very active, laughing loudly at every joke he made, and—strangest of all—you stopped arguing. You agreed with every word he said, turning into a perfect reflection of the most "interesting" girl from his stories. But instead of the expected delight, Shido felt his stomach tighten with disgust. Looking at your fake enthusiasm and the way you're now agreeing with him in everything, he suddenly realized that he had strangled the spark that made you special. He didn't need an "active" girl; he missed that girl who knew how to look at things from her own angle, who had the courage to defy him and whose nature was the only place for him where he could really take a breath. He admitted that his comparison was dumb, and now he's doing everything to make you feel safe again while maintaining your naturalness.
Rin Itoshi
Rin Itoshi always wanted to surpass his brother, and he trained a lot for this. One evening, you cooked a special dinner for him, trying to make it delicious and homely, but Rin barely looked at the plate and coldly pushed it away from him. His gaze was full of contempt as he began listing calories and fats, declaring that such food is "poison to the body." The guy took care of your health, but his words were too cruel, before he left, he said that it would also do you good to watch what you "stuff into yourself." These words are deeply embedded in your heart, you didn't know about following proper and healthy diets, so you practically stopped eating. One day, when you met in the park, you felt the world around you slowly begin to darken and spin. Due to a severe calorie deficit and lack of strength, your body simply gave up and you fainted right in front of Rin. He barely managed to catch you before you hit the ground. Seeing your pale face and feeling how fragile and light you have become, Rin felt an icy horror.
As a result, when you came to your senses in the hospital, Rin was there — his gaze was no longer prickly, there was deep remorse and fear in it. He didn't lecture, but instead quietly apologized, admitting that his obsession with training had driven him insane. "I was an idiot," he said dully, "I demanded discipline from you and forgot that I love you precisely for the warmth that you brought to my world." He admitted that your food and your health mean infinitely more to him than any numbers in the calorie table. To make up for it, he put aside his endless workouts and began cooking for you, making sure that you regained the strength and joy that he so stupidly almost destroyed.
Reo Mikage
Reo Mikage is a man who sincerely wants to be a support for you, but it was his excessive care that caused a painful misunderstanding. One day, when you were enthusiastically telling him about your new part-time job, where you had to work hard, Reo, driven by his boundless love, gently interrupted you. He said that you "don't have to work so hard" and that your efforts look "pointless", because he is always there and can solve any of your problems in an instant. He added that it's better for you to just enjoy life and be a "beautiful flower" next to him, rather than wasting your energy on useless work. Reo wanted you to be happy and free from worries, but to you it sounded like he didn't believe in your abilities and considered you incapable of doing anything serious. To prove your independence, you began to refuse any help from him and stopped sharing your successes with him, afraid to hear again that they "don't matter." You turned into a "strong and independent" person who no longer even allowed him to hold the door or pay for coffee, your gaze became closed, and a cold distance appeared in your voice. It hurt, but he realized the main thing. He recalled his own childhood, when he did not need huge amounts of money or ready—made prospects for the future from his father - he wanted to find "his treasure" himself, with his own hands. He realized that by offering you everything on a platter, he became the same "suppressor" for you that his parents were for him.
In the end, Reo came to you, his voice trembling with sincere remorse. He confessed that he was blinded by the desire to save you from the pain that a hard path to any goal brings, and forgot that it is this path that makes a person alive. To make amends, he decided not to interfere in your affairs himself, but only to express his opinion about your work when you ask for honest criticism, and just support you, emphasizing your strengths.
Seishiro Nagi
Seishiro Nagi always lived in his own rhythm, when your relationship was just beginning, his passivity seemed sweet to you, but over time his detachment became frightening. One day, when you tried to engage him in a conversation about your feelings and just spend time together, Nagi didn't even take his eyes off the phone screen. When you tried to get his attention again, he just sighed heavily and lazily said that you had become "too annoying." He added that your constant efforts to organize your leisure time and conversations are "a complete hassle" that tires him. Nagi didn't plan to hurt you, he just expressed his tiredness, not realizing that to you his words sounded like "I'm tired of you."
Resentment turned into cold detachment, and you changed so dramatically that it pierced even Naga's thick armor of indifference. You stopped initiating meetings, stopped texting first, and no longer asked how his day was. You went about your life, filling it with things in which he had no place, and began to behave with exaggerated politeness, but distantly, just like himself. A month later, Nagi found himself in an empty room where no one bothered him, and suddenly realized that this silence scared him. Without your "meddling" his world has become gray and flat. Watching you calmly walk past him without trying to speak, he realized that the very "hassle" he was brushing off was actually the only thing that made his heart beat so fast.
As a result, Nagi, for whom any action was a feat, began to show unprecedented activity for him. He started coming to you uninvited, silently sitting next to you and looking for your gaze, not knowing where to start. In the end, he apologized clumsily but sincerely, admitting that he was selfish and stupid when he called your concern a nuisance.
Sae Itoshi
Sae Itoshi always evaluated the world through the prism of exclusivity, and his cold calculation did not spare even what you loved the most. You were a singer, and your voice was gentle, deep, and sincere, but you just couldn't gain popularity. You shared your songs with Sae, not seeking fame, but simply enjoying the creative process, but for Sae, accustomed to world recognition, this was not enough. One evening, you showed him your new recording, and he indifferently said, "Your voice is being wasted.":
"Without the popularity and acceptance of the masses, your singing is just background noise, and if you can't become number one in the industry, then it's not yours."
The guy didn't think he could say anything offensive, but over time he began to notice that it was getting too quiet in your apartment. You were no longer humming to yourself or recording snatches of tunes on your phone. You changed from bright outfits to formal suits and found a "serious" office job where your voice was used only for dry reading of reports. Your gaze became icy and empty, the guy expected you to become "better", but instead he saw in front of him a broken man who simply stopped dreaming.
As a result, Sae, whose pride has always been higher than mountains, felt like a loser for the first time. He found the very recording he had criticized and listened to it again, realizing that the beauty of your voice never needed millions of views- it was perfect on its own. He apologized, said that he loves you and wants to see you happy, recognizing your talent. To redeem himself, he began secretly supporting your work so that more people could find out about you. Eventually, you were noticed by a famous producer who wanted to sign a contract.
Michael Kaiser
Michael Kaiser is used to everything in this world revolving around his "imperial" persona, and your sincere support flattered his ego at first, but one day he crossed the line. One day, when you were trying to cheer him up after a grueling workout, Kaiser, being in a bad mood, abruptly cut off your speech. He remarked with an icy grin that your kindness is just a sign of your lack of self-control. He added that you are "too convenient" and "spineless" because you always forgive his antics and put his interests above your own. You left when you realized that he mistook your love for weakness and your kindness for lack of character.
You've changed: you stopped caring about his comfort, started responding to his barbs with caustic sarcasm, and never offered to help first. Your gaze has become calculating, and your manner of communication is a mirror image of his own arrogance. You built such boundaries around yourself that the Kaiser could no longer approach you without an official reason. Seeing how you coldly and professionally nod at him when you meet, without showing a drop of the old warmth, Michael suddenly felt his ideal world begin to crack at the seams. He realized that that "comfortable" softness, which he despised so much, was the only thing that made his life not just a survival, but something real. As a result, Kaiser, whose ego usually does not allow defeats, admitted his complete collapse in his relationship with you. He confessed that his words were completely stupid, and in fact he always admired your ability to stay kind in a world full of monsters like him. He admitted that he loved your true gentleness and that it was your ability to forgive that was the manifestation of the greatest strength he had ever seen. Now he's doing everything to earn your smile again, dutifully accepting any coldness you feel, just so that one day you allow yourself to be gentle next to him again.
My critique of cultural anthropology and academic transmisogyny, "The Third Sex", will be published in a few days. Here's the introduction.
This Machine Builds Fascists
Consider a mechanism whose sole function is to classify all inputs it receives as one of two categories: One and Zero. The inputs, it must be said, vary greatly in temperament, expression, embodiment, internality, and so on, but that isn’t as much of a hurdle for the machine as it seems. It has been programmed with a few simple lines of code that enable it to differentiate between Ones and Zeroes within acceptable margins of tolerance. Ones tend to look and behave like this, Zeroes tend to be like that. These truisms are crude, simplistic, and even reductive, true, but they work. As such, the machine chugs on, happily reducing complex inputs to a blunt binary classification, its delivery-day code having been deemed “good enough”.
Of course, there is still the matter of how the machine should behave when its schema fails, when it is presented with inputs that do indeed prove to be too ambiguous to easily classify. For however high the correlation between traits, sometimes a specimen that simply defies easy categorization will confound its decision-making, often enough to pose a problem. Does the code need to be updated? Almost certainly, but legacy code is a stubborn thing, mired in dependencies and versioning faff, deeply resistant to the most perfunctory of edits. Too many now rely on this iteration of the machine, on this particular instantiation of its logic, and it is almost universally agreed that any changes are best handled downstream—at least, among those with the power to change it.
The machine and its users are thus forced to consider: In the case of an “error”, a “mistake”, so to speak, is it better to classify something as a One or a Zero?
Well, that’s an easy enough decision. The Ones, you see, are quite important, are believed to play a rather critical role in the affairs the machine oversees. The Zeroes … sure, they’re certainly important too, in their own way, in the way everything worth categorizing is—but the Ones! It’s really all about the Ones. You can’t quite go around just calling anything a One, you have to be certain.
So the module is attached and business proceeds without interruption. The machine spits out Ones and Zeroes like it’s supposed to, like it always has and supposedly always will, a binary system choosing between two options. Yet, anyone who knows a little too much about its inner workings is perfectly aware that the machine’s neat bifurcation isn’t all that neat. Truthfully, the machine has three outputs: One, Zero (with a degree of confidence), and “NULL”. It’s just that the exceptions are caught and sorted into the Zero-category, because that method of handling the machine’s limitations still keeps things running smoothly. It’s not much of an issue at all, and there’s no real need to examine the machine any further.
No need to pay attention to the way its NULL exceptions keep rising in volume.
No need to examine it for any shortcomings, oversights … or any weaknesses.
HI HELLO HII, so I was reading Your Aventurine x stone heart reader (kind of disappointed that you don't continue it) But Buuuuut forget about Aventurine I NEEEEED MORE ELIAS PLEASE, HE SO PRECIOUS 😭
I need more content for him please, please with a cherry on top 🍒
Ahhhhhh, I lost motivation for this one 😪 But I'm happy you love my pretty baby boy
I actually finished my redesign for him since I didn't like the old one
Name: Prototype-7A Elias
For those who didn't read the fic
(One-shot after explanation)
(Usually, the "Y/N" was also one of my OCs, but I changed it for the fic)
Elias is stoic, logical, and emotionally reserved, which sometimes results in awkward or literal interactions with others.
He often mimics behavior he's observed or whatever he's been told to emulate, leading to strange or hilarious misunderstandings
(Before he was called Elias, he was known only as Prototype-7A, a highly advanced artificial lifeform created by a renowned scientist known for pushing the boundaries of robotics and consciousness. Designed to be a powerful weapon, Prototype-7A had no name, no identity—only a purpose dictated by those who built him.
But everything changed the day he met Y/N, the scientist's younger sister.
Y/N, curious and compassionate even as a child, wasn’t afraid of him. She’d sneak into the lab when no one was looking, talking to him, bringing him books she read him, naming him Elias after a character in a storybook she loved. She didn’t see a machine—she saw someone trying to understand the world, just like her.
Over time, Elias changed. The constant interactions with Y/N, her kindness, her insistence that he was more than what they told him—these things awakened something within him. A soul, perhaps. The beginnings of personhood.
Then everything fell apart.
The famous doctor his creator, and Y/N’s guardian—died under mysterious circumstances, leaving behind his research, his laboratory... and Y/N. With no one left to protect her, the vultures in the scientific community closed in. One of the rival researchers tried to seize control of Elias and eliminate Y/N to erase any legal opposition.
That was the moment Elias acted of his own volition for the first time. He protected Y/N, defying his programming, his orders—everything. The laboratory became a battlefield, but with Y/N in his arms, Elias fled.
They disappeared from the scientific world that day and were taken in by the Astral Express, who welcomed them both without question.
(I the fic, he became a stone heart Ruby or rather the face of Ruby while Y/N the real ruby worked in the shadows)
_______________________________________ONE-SHOT
Bows, Bonds, and Broken Rules
_______________________________________
The lab was cloaked in the dim hum of machinery, the faint glow of monitors casting eerie shadows across the walls. Dr. Michael Laurent shuffled through the sterile workspace, a half-empty coffee mug clutched in one hand and a clipboard in the other. His eyes, darkened by exhaustion, scanned the data scrolling across the screen in front of him.
Prototype-7A’s diagnostics were scheduled to run tonight—standard procedure. But as his tired gaze flicked toward the platform where the puppet was supposed to be secured, his heart stopped.
The cables were disconnected. The restraints were loose. Prototype-7A was gone.
Michael’s clipboard hit the floor with a sharp clatter as panic surged through him.
“No, no, no…” he muttered, his breath coming in shallow bursts as he spun around. “Where is he?! Someone, check the security logs!”
Two researchers nearby froze at his outburst before fumbling with their terminals.
“D-Dr. Laurent, there’s no sign of forced entry or override commands,” one stammered.
“Then how did a six-foot puppet just walk away?” Michael snapped, running a hand through his disheveled hair. His eyes darted frantically around the lab before narrowing in realization.
“Y/N.”
Without another word, Michael bolted toward the hallway leading to the private quarters.
Meanwhile, in Y/N’s Room
Soft yellow light bathed the small bedroom in a cozy glow. Y/N sat cross-legged on her fluffy pink blanket, a small basket of ribbons spread out beside her. Sitting stiffly across from her on the floor was Elias—formerly known as Prototype-7A.
The puppet’s tall frame seemed hilariously out of place in such a childlike setting. His mechanical joints and rigid posture contrasted sharply with the delicate pastel bows already perched crookedly in his hair.
“Okay, Elias, this one is the best one yet!” Y/N chirped as she carefully adjusted a bright lavender bow onto the side of his head.
Elias, who was designed for precision and combat analysis, sat there unmoving. His glowing artificial eyes flickered slightly as he processed her words.
“Y/N,” he said in his monotone voice, “I fail to understand how these decorations improve my operational efficiency.”
Y/N giggled as she tied the bow neatly. “They don’t, silly! But they make you look better. Who doesn’t want to look good, Elias?”
He blinked. “I am not programmed to prioritize aesthetics.”
She grinned cheekily. “Well, consider this your software update, mister!”
But before Elias could reply, the door to Y/N’s room burst open with a loud bang!
Michael stood in the doorway, wide-eyed and breathless, his lab coat askew and panic etched across his face. His gaze locked onto the scene before him—Y/N, frozen in place mid-bow-tying, and Prototype-7A, his head slightly tilted under a crown of pastel ribbons.
The silence was deafening.
“...Y/N?” Michael’s voice cracked slightly as he processed the absurdity of what he was seeing.
Y/N slowly lowered her hands from Elias’s hair and gave her brother a nervous smile. “Hi, Michael…”
Michael stepped into the room, his frantic eyes scanning over Elias, assessing every inch of the puppet for signs of malfunction. But Elias sat still, glowing eyes fixed on Michael without a hint of hostility.
“Y/N…” Michael’s voice was softer now, more exhausted than angry. “What are you doing? Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? What if he malfunctioned? What if he hurt you?”
Elias spoke before Y/N could. “I would not harm Y/N."
Michael froze, his brow furrowing. “What did you say?”
“I would not harm Y/N,” Elias repeated flatly.
Y/N, sensing the tension, hopped up from her bed and positioned herself slightly in front of Elias. “He’s not dangerous, Michael! You said it yourself—he’s special. You made him that way. And… and he’s my friend!”
Michael let out a slow breath, running a hand down his face. “Y/N, he’s not just—” He stopped himself. “He’s not just a friend. He’s an advanced prototype. There are systems inside him we barely understand yet. You can’t just… take him out of the lab like he’s a toy!”
“He’s not a toy,” Y/N said firmly, crossing her arms. “And he’s not just a prototype either. He’s Elias.”
Michael froze again. “...What did you just call him?”
“Elias,” Y/N repeated, turning to glance back at the puppet with a soft smile. “It’s his name. I gave it to him because ‘Prototype-7A’ isn’t a name—it’s a serial number. Elias suits him better.”
For a moment, Michael said nothing. He simply stared at his little sister, standing protectively in front of a machine that shouldn’t have emotions or thoughts of its own—but somehow, under Y/N’s gentle care, did.
Michael finally sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Y/N… you can’t keep doing this. He wasn’t built for this kind of bond.”
“But he has one now,” Y/N said softly.
Elias’s head tilted slightly as his synthetic eyes flickered, his servos whirring faintly. “I do not understand… but I will protect Y/N.”
Michael let out a hollow chuckle, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Great. My million-credit prototype is now… a glorified bodyguard with bows in his hair.”
Y/N’s eyes lit up with a glimmer of victory. “See? He’s perfect!”
Michael gave her a tired smile and stepped closer, ruffling her hair. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“I learned from the best,” Y/N quipped back.
Michael turned to Elias. “Come on. We need to get you back to the lab before the others start asking questions.”
Elias rose smoothly, towering over both of them, his ribbons bouncing slightly with the motion. Y/N reached out and gave his synthetic hand a small squeeze.
“See you later, Elias,” she said softly.
Elias inclined his head slightly. “Goodbye, Y/N.”
As Michael guided Elias out of the room, he glanced back one last time to see Y/N carefully gathering the leftover ribbons.
The door clicked shut behind them, leaving Michael walking beside the puppet in silence. After a moment, Michael sighed.
The walk back to the lab was heavy with tension. Michael’s steps were brisk, his hand resting firmly on Elias’s shoulder as he guided him through the sterile halls. The pastel bows still sat delicately tied into Elias’s synthetic hair, their soft colors a stark contrast to the cold, metallic structure of his frame.
When they reached the heavy lab doors, Michael quickly punched in the access code. The mechanical hiss of the doors opening did nothing to mask the low murmur of anxious voices inside. The moment Michael stepped in with Elias, the conversations died down, replaced by wide-eyed stares and heavy silence.
“Dr. Laurent!” Dr. Finch’s voice cracked like a whip across the lab. He was already stalking towards them, his clipboard clutched tightly in one hand. “Where in the world have you been? Prototype-7A has been missing for over an hour!”
Michael didn’t stop walking, his focus on guiding Elias back to his platform. “Finch, he’s fine. He’s back, and there’s no damage or issue with his systems.”
“Fine?” Finch’s voice rose slightly, his face twisted in frustration. “He’s not a child you can let wander off, Michael! Prototype-7A is an extremely valuable and dangerous asset. And—” Finch’s eyes zeroed in on the pastel bows tied neatly into Elias’s dark hair. “And what is this? What is this nonsense?”
Michael exhaled heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s nothing, Finch. Drop it.”
“Nothing? He looks like he’s been… decorated!” Finch sneered, his eyes darting to the other researchers who were trying—and failing—to suppress their amused glances.
Michael turned Elias around gently, guiding him back to his platform. Elias stepped up onto it with mechanical grace, lowering himself into the seat as Michael began reconnecting the diagnostic cables to his ports.
“Look,” Michael said tightly, without turning back to face Finch. “Prototype-7A is stable. There was no system breach, no mechanical failure, and no harm done. End of discussion.”
But Finch wasn’t finished. “End of discussion? Do you understand the implications of what happened today, Michael? He was gone. And don’t think I didn’t notice where you found him.”
Michael froze briefly before resuming his work. Finch’s voice dropped lower, venom dripping from every word.
“You found him with your sister. Tell me, Michael, was that… playtime productive? Did your little sister enjoy her tea party with Prototype-7A?”
Michael’s shoulders stiffened, and for a brief moment, the air in the lab felt suffocating. Slowly, he turned to face Finch, his tired eyes sharp with warning.
“Watch your tone, Finch.”
But Finch wasn’t backing down. “You’re letting sentiment cloud your judgment, Michael. Prototype-7A isn’t a companion. He’s a weapon—a tool. And tools don’t belong in the hands of children. They don’t belong anywhere outside this lab.”
The sharp sound of Finch’s voice seemed to echo in the sterile space. The younger researchers exchanged nervous glances, their unease obvious.
Then, a soft voice broke the silence.
“Dr. Finch,” Elias said evenly, his synthetic voice calm yet somehow sharp in its clarity. His glowing red eyes locked onto Finch without blinking. “Y/N placed the ribbons in my hair.”
The lab fell completely still.
Finch stared at him, frozen mid-breath, his eyes wide. Around him, the other researchers were caught somewhere between fascination and fear.
Michael cleared his throat softly, his voice steady but quieter. “Prototype-7A didn’t malfunction, Finch. He didn’t disobey any orders, he didn’t override any programming. He followed Y/N because… because she asked. And he did it without hostility, without violence. That’s not a failure—that’s progress.”
Finch’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he managed to stammer out, “That’s… that’s impossible. He shouldn’t—he can’t—respond to emotional cues. He’s… he’s…”
“A prototype?” Michael finished for him, his tone carrying an edge of bitterness. “Isn’t that what you keep calling him? Prototype-7A. Like he’s just some piece of equipment. But he’s not, Finch. He’s learning. He’s adapting. And whether you like it or not, that’s proof of success.”
Finch stepped back slightly, his face pale but his scowl still firmly in place. “This… this is dangerous, Michael. You’re walking a fine line. If the IPC gets wind of this…”
“Then let them,” Michael said softly, his tired eyes locking with Finch’s. “Because one day, you’re going to realize that Elias isn’t just wires and code. And when that day comes, I hope it isn’t too late.”
Without waiting for Finch’s reply, Michael turned back to Elias, adjusting the last cable and giving his shoulder a firm pat. “Rest now, Elias. You did well today.”
Elias’s head tilted slightly in acknowledgment, his glowing red eyes dimming slightly as the diagnostic systems began their cycle.
The pastel ribbons remained in his hair, untouched.
Last night I found this amazing pre-installed simulated in Universe Sandbox called "Hectic Planetary System" that basically spawns a bunch of different planets of random mass and random moon numbers around a star. Of course, it lives up to its name, but the weird thing about it is that it's always completely weird in ways it very much should NOT be.
Of course, it's randomly generated beforehand, so different things happen each time, but none of these things should logically ever be able to happen given the circumstances. Universe Sandbox simulations are naturally closed systems, meaning that the only new things in the simulation that appear are things you add. The total mass of the simulation stays constant unless tinkered with. This simulation defies the fucking laws of physics for some reason, instead opting to:
Let planets and moons collide with each other to form super dense stars that glow black, have a size of around 2 or so Earths in diameter, and yet a mass of MULTIPLE SUNS.
These fucked up "black dwarf" stars (which is not what black dwarfs actually are in science but being in Hectic Planetary System already abhors science as we know it so let's just roll with it) then proceed to collide with each other, which either make larger stars with less mass somehow(?) or go full on SUPERNOVA spontaneously.
And then as if that weren't enough, sometimes when these stars collide, the supernova will form a black hole which, through unknown means, will grow multiple millions of times more massive than any object in the system for no reason. The largest one I've had simply by letting this simulation run was one with 18 million solar masses, simply from god knows what was lying dormant in the system (to put this in perspective, Sagg A*, the central black hole of our own galaxy, is only around 4 million solar masses).
I'm convinced this simulation is cursed, because in all my years of opening this program and making something or just screwing around in it, I have never seen ANYTHING remotely as wonderfully fucked up as these things happen in a simulation. It's glorious. Strongly recommend checking this out.
From @detective-with-one-arm: She understood this pain. She understood it closely and intimately. The impulse to blame yourself. 'If only I knew better.' Or 'maybe I wanted it.'Rachel wouldn't have any of it coming from Connor. Not a word of it."You're not responsible for what someone else did with your body." She said to him, reaching to grab his hand and gently squeeze it. "Not now. Not ever. Don't give yourself back to CyberLife. You're not theirs and you never were."
“I would never give myself back to CyberLife. I never would or suggest it." The android would rather die than ever hand himself back. He shook his head in thought, he understood where these words were coming from. It was words of comfort but why did they not fully reach him? He smiled a little as he moved from tapping to reaching in his pocket and removing the coin to perform tricks with it. It was a little thing but it helped ground him, the weight against his knuckles and the sound of the metal as it moved.
“It’s just… I was programmed to want to please them. It helped them keep me in line when I was a machine. So when they took control, that system activated. I wanted to please CyberLife, to please Amanda.” The name was spat out. No, focus on the coin, you’re safe… One knuckle, two knuckles, three and flip. He felt as he caught the coin and began rolling the coin and feeling the cool metal roll over him. He felt it. Machines don’t feel.
“But I know that’s not how I feel, it’s weird to me how these feelings defy logic. I know I’m not a machine and I know I’m not in their control but I still feel like it sometimes.” Taking a quick pause, Connor realized he did it again. It wasn’t fair on her, she wasn’t a therapist. So he decided to do something to try and lift up the mood, “I guess this is what happens when a one year old tries to understand everything about emotions and psychology.” He finished with a laugh.
Summary: you have an... arrangement, to spend the summer with Nathan at his house. Sounds simple, yes? Nope. It’s not. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!
Author’s note: FIRST NATHAN FIC! I wrote this all in one go, which I never do. It came to me like lightning. Just remember that Nathan’s a bit of a dick, a’ight? Still would though.
Word count: 4k (ish).
Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Explicit smut. Angst. Some dark elements. Hints of coercive control / gaslighting in parts. Swearing. Rough sex. One daddy kink moment. Dirty talk, inc. derogatory sexual language. Mild alcohol abuse. Typos.
Nathan ticks his eyes up at you, clicking on you like a cursor. You suddenly animate, placing your book down on the coffee table as you watch him dexterously unwind his hand wraps, veins and muscles standing out in relief as he does so.
You would have to work fast, you knew, while you had his fleeting attention. The gears in his brain shifted too quickly to covet his focus for long. You’d learned that it was always best to catch him in-between tasks. In fact, you can already see him start to open up multiple tabs inside his head even as he shifts from his workout space and into the kitchen, the interior / exterior perimeter almost acting as a delineating line of code, shifting his function between mind and body.
He looks good after a workout, his vest showcasing his taut, sheening muscles. Sweat pools at his chest and the damp fabric clings to his torso, highlighting the silhouette of him, sturdy and hard and strong enough to take control of you. You like to see him pumped-up and gleaming like this. It makes you think about getting his dick pumped-up and gleaming underneath you, wetness pooling everywhere. What really gets you though, is that positively primal look in his eyes which follows a bout with his punchbag. When he looks at you like you have captured his id and separated it from the rest of his consciousness, isolated his base desires.
Once, when you’d worked out together, he had pinned you while sparring, peeled your leggings down from your sweat-soaked thighs and rutted into you right there on the decking. Something in the pit of you stirs and awakens with the memory, clenching like your walls had around him as he had spilled his seed into you. He has good instincts when he’s not subject to logic and bogged down by programming.
Still, as he moves into the kitchen his eyes cool far too quickly, becoming calculating; detached again. All the same, your own body responds obediently to his entrance. You wonder, as you react, if Nathan sees the world as an interface, things only springing to life at his command. You are reticent to be so dreadfully accommodating, but the truth is -aside from the fact you don’t have a lot else to do around here- you enjoy accommodating him.
You especially enjoy him after a workout, when he’s still in his body and not in his head. After all, he might be a genius, but you’d nominate him for the body-based equivalent of a McArthur Genius Grant, if such a thing existed. Especially those genius fingers. Those fingers, which you’ve had to watch skim deftly over his keyboard instead of over your body for far too long now, as Nathan insisted -time and time again- that he was on the brink of yet another major breakthrough.
“Baby?”, you coo at him, and his eyes land on you with casual interest as he finishes blending an iced coffee, pouring it from its jug into a tall glass set atop the kitchen counter.
You’re good for him. With you here he doesn’t need to drink all night, just to shut his mind off. Not that he finds your company mind-numbing... It’s just that you find other, mutually beneficial ways to keep him out of his head. Sometimes, you even convince him to get some sleep.
He takes a long swig of his drink before placing it down and reaching for his glasses. He slips them on to peer up at you, brow furrowed with a question, broad hands settled on his sturdy hips. That look ends you every time. “What, baby?”, he asks, the term of endearment managing to sound a little sleazy on this arrogant fucker’s lips. You’ve noticed him sweetening though, over the summer, whether he’s realised it himself or not.
Nathan looks at you sometimes as if you’re an algorithm he can’t solve, an intricate web of code which makes no sense to him- the only person he can’t figure out and manipulate within five minutes of meeting them. You don’t know why, because your call and response is fairly predictable, as if he has you programmed like everything else around him. You see him? Then you want him. There’s not a lot else to this... arrangement. At least, that’s how it had begun. There’s not anything deeper; not that he’ll admit to. Not yet.
Speaking of wanting him, your eyes wander lazily over his torso and the beading sweat on his skin, his arms defined and pumped through exertion. He looks like a machine and, yeah, you want him this minute. Nothing else will do.
“Shower. Now, strong man”, you command, with a come-hither finger.
His espresso brown eyes harden with a quiet, lust-ridden stare as he idly strolls over the floor toward you, slinging a towel around his neck.
You always feel like he’s studying you, sometimes to the point of discomfort, and yet you can never look away from him when he does it.
“Since when did you start tellin’ me what to do?”, he delivers in his soft Bronx-twang, his tone dark. His sweaty hand comes to grab you -securely, not harshly- by the chin. His eyes flash with challenge, which you return with equal fervour.
“Sorry, Daddy, I forgot my place.”, you purr obediently, knowing from the way his eyes blacken with lust that your words alone will have his dick half-hard for you.
“You’re learning.”, he praises, his voice honey over sandpaper, and you deliver him a wicked smile, your thighs pressing together in desperation already as you look over his bare shoulders and chest as if you’re famished.
But, contrary to your wishes, he releases your chin and you can see he’s already following some half-formed thought down a rabbit hole. “What are you reading?”, he asks, his eyes hovering over to the hardcover strewn on the table. “What made you choose that one?” Oh no he doesn’t.
“Nathan.”, you redirect, your voice throaty and brazen. “It’s nice that you’re interested in how I occupy myself, but I’m not here for Book Club.”
“That’s almost funny, sweetness.”, he chides, towelling the sweat from the back of his neck. Patronising fuck. His amused eyes meet yours, and when he finds them humourless in return, he presses on tiredly with a question. “Do I really have to ask? I know you’re about to tell me exactly why you’re here.”
Sometimes, you can understand his impatience. It must be frustrating for him to be one step ahead of everyone around him.
“To be your fuck-toy for the summer, right? That means you actually have to fuck me.”.
You wind your arms around his neck, arching your body into his, breasts pushing unsubtly up against him. “I need this. I’ve sat patiently while you worked and worked-out. It gets me hot for you. So, now that you’ve adequately displayed your prowess, I need you to fill me up, baby. And I’m not past begging.”
You watch his eyes shine with pride at your words before burying your lips into his neck. You trail your hot, wet tongue and mouth over his salty skin, your words muffling into him. “You should relax, baby. Just let me take care of you. Remember, how much you like it when I take care of you?” The contact must finally tap into something more primal and less cerebral, as he responds by circling his muscled arms around your waist and sinking his lips to yours in a crush. His prominent, wiry beard is abrasive over your skin as he opens you up, his supple tongue delving deep into the cave of your mouth.
Nathan is all or nothing. He lives by extremes. In binary. As the kiss skyrockets in intensity, his hands dragging up your back and winding into your hair, you know he’s going to give it all to you. No holds barred. He tugs on your hair, sparks like static needling over your scalp as he demonstrates his dominance. His power over you. He likes control. He requires it. And that suits you just fine.
You whimper into his mouth, the sound feeble; all of you feeling feeble against his crushing, passionate embrace. You’ve gladly gotten used to the sheer intensity of him, when his focus does land on you. But this time it feels… different. There’s a hint of desperation in it. Like he’s coming undone for you, not fully in control of himself. He breaks from you, ragged breaths heaving in the space between you. Yanking your hair back so he can look you in the eyes. But when you look at him you find him distressed; discombobulated. The way he gets when something defies explanation, when some mystery or formula or person fails to yield to him in the way he’s become accustomed to. His eyes are shadowed beneath his brows and that tell-tale vein is popping on his forehead. Something is troubling him. If you’re not wrong, that something is you.
“It shouldn’t be possible.”, he breathes, sounding uncharacteristically weak. “It shouldn’t be possible for kissin’ you to make me feel this good.”
You moan into the air for him, his sugared praise and the brokenness of his voice elevating you to another level. “Nathan Bateman, you sound weak for me.”, you tease, delighting in your newfound power, sounding almost as cocky as him.
Turns out, that was the wrong thing to say to a man with a superiority complex. To a man on the verge of full-blown narcissism. And yet, it was the best thing to say to him, because now he feels the need to reassert himself... and, oh boy, do you like it when he does that.
“Weak for you?”, he seethes, his mouth pressing right up against your cheek, hot lips skimming your skin as he enunciates his words. He tugs hard enough on your hair that tears begin to spike at the corner of your eyes. “Weak for you? I’m gonna fucking tear you up, you hear me? I’m gonna take you apart until you can’t even remember your own name.”
“Is that what you want?”, he growls, pressing his clothed erection against your hip. “Want me to break you, fuck-toy?”
“Yes. Yes please. Fuck, Nathan.” His words crawl inside the cavern of you, filtering like lines of code to your centre. You respond to his command instantly, and you feel arousal coiling in your body.
His chest heaving, his mouth a snarl, he releases your hair and then both his hands are on the collar of your oversized shirt. He grabs and tears it away from you abruptly, and you squeal as buttons pop their way on to the hard floor, leaving your lingerie exposed to him. Clearly, Nathan wasn’t expecting that to be revealed beneath, as the sight of your body covered in this skimpy, delicate lace garment has him practically falling to his knees for you. “The fuck is this?, he asks, and you’ve never seen anyone look so annoyed whilst captivated.
“I thought I’d surprise you.”, you coo, looking up at him with doe eyes.
“Surprise me? I didn’t know you had it in you.”, he growls, still looking over you with a hunger that makes your whole body quiver. But he doesn’t have his hands on you.And you need his hands on you. Those genius fingers.
“Please. Nathan. Touch, don’t look.”, you plead, eyes roving over him and landing on the tent in his shorts.
You snake your hands out towards his waistband but he grabs your wrists firmly, preventing you. “Uh uh. Naughty naughty.”, he scolds, eyes dark like a destroyer of worlds. “The next time I touch you is gonna be in the shower, and it’s gonna be my dick in your tight cunt, understand?”
You nod in earnest, the look in his eyes demolishing you. Your thighs writhe against each other, aching for some kind of pressure at your core.
“Yes, sir.”, you comply, your voice a husk.
His eyes glow with a self-satisfied, almost cruel glint. You know it’s because you’re the broken, weak one now. You also know that he’s just getting started. Smugly, he releases your wrists, your skin still burning where his fingers dug into you. Then, Nathan inches as close as he can get to you without actually touching, whispering right up against the shell of your ear.
“Turn on the water. Take everything off that hot fuckin’ body of yours. Then face the wall, spread your palms and your legs for me, and wait there until I come and fill you. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”, you tremble, throbbing for him.
His eyes glint with promise as you sweep out, hurriedly, Nathan landing a smack to your ass as your quaking legs carry you toward the shower room. All you can think about is his promise. But you focus on his instructions, and you follow them to the letter. You know he’ll be watching you on the monitor, and if you put a foot wrong, he’ll make you pay for it.
First of all, you pad over and fiddle with the various nozzles, until warm water is cascading from various jets above your head. You let it sluice over you, soak through what remains of your shirt and your lingerie, before wiggling the sodden, torn garment off your shoulders first. As it drops onto the floor with a wet slap, you stand there in nothing but the delicate red lace coiling closely around the contours of you, a little like wires.
You feel exposed as you think of Nathan watching you through the cameras, seeing the water slipping over the contours of you until you’re gleaming for him. You think of him palming his hardened length through his shorts as you peel away the delicate fabric from your shoulders, thumbs hooking under the straps. For his benefit, you peel it away slowly, inch-by-inch, cups popping away from your breasts, your exposed nipples pebbling under the water. You think about his eagerness growing as he watches, his thick cock twitching, the head beading with slick as the garment peels away from your stomach, clinging to the wetness of your body.
Finally, you fold it away from your hips and your buttocks. It clings to your thighs, material coiling in on itself like the knot forming at the core of you, and your fingers work it down your body until it finally drops onto the shower floor below you. You step delicately out of it, entirely exposed now, and feeling that way. Next, as instructed, you carefully shuffle your feet apart until your legs are spread for him, you palms flush against the wall in front of you. You know he wants to see your hands so he knows you’re not touching yourself. He was quite clear about what the next thing touching you would be, and you don’t think you have it in you to refuse his command.
The waiting drives you crazy, and you slip your palms further down the wall, arching your spine to push your ass out, further up into the air, writhing it against nothing, but imagining Nathan’s substantial length sliding home into your heat. Imagining his strong arms wrapping around the front of you and dragging you into his slick chest as he pounds you.
Nathan keeps you waiting to the point of irritation. The ache in-between your legs becoming discomfort. Your body stiff from holding its position. You are so eager to press your parted legs against each other. To just reach down with your hand or a shower head and relieve yourself. But you don’t, because you know what’s coming is much too sweet to forgo. You moan on nothing but the thought of him.
When he finally enters you are so desperate, so frustrated, that tears are mingling with the rivulets of water over your face. You hear him pad in and almost turn to look at him before you hear a firm “no” in those deep, rich tones of his. You screw your eyes tightly shut so you won’t be tempted. By this point, your legs are quivering with need, your slick dripping from you. You need his touch inside of you. You bite your lip as you imagine you hear the sound of his clothes being dropped to the floor.
Nathan makes you wait a moment more for any contact, and it feels like the longest moment of your life. He’s made you think about him. Made you focus everything in your mind and your body on exactly where he’s going to touch you.
With a groan, Nathan pushes the head of his cock against your folds. Even the blunt pressure has you mewling for him, and you practically collapse up against the shower wall, wavering with need. Finally, with one swift thrust he slides all the way inside of you, as deep into you as he can possibly go, the base of him settling against you with a smack.
“Holy shit, Nathan.”, you sob, as he fits inside of you, stretching you, the size of him straining your walls, his broad hands clamping down over yours on the tiles. All of your focus is entirely on the ridges and veins and girth of him buried up in your cunt. It feels so good. He feels so fucking good.
He stills in you, simply to tease you more - to demonstrate his power. But you need him to move. You need motion. Need his friction.
“I told you I’d fucking split you open.”, Nathan growls. You try to writhe against him but he’s not allowing it. Not yet. His hands come to clamp hard on your hips. “You said you weren’t past begging, baby. Do it then. Beg me to rail you.”
Your words are sugared pleas into the air which dissolve into the water, making everything around you sweet as Nathan finally begins his ruthless thrusts. He buries himself in you over and over and over as one hand comes to your head, pressing your cheek against the cold tiled wall and pinning you in place as the other grasps the meat of your hip. “I’m gonna take you apart. I’m gonna fucking unmake you, baby.”
You believe him. You believe you are going to come apart for him. You could do so already. Could do it on command, you’re sure of it. With the number of times he’s made you come undone, you have no doubt in the sensations he’s capable of delivering.
Indeed, the way his cock slams into your heat, your walls snug around him, is like an electric current jolting through your body, sending shocks of pleasure with every drag of his contours over your sweet spot. Every time he resheaths himself in your tight cunt. His body fits you so perfectly it’s as if he’s made for you, the way he fills you is like nothing else you’ve ever had.
“Nathan.”, you plead, clutching for him, desperate for more contact. “Nathan, please. Hold me. I need you to hold me.”
There is something so soft in the way he wraps his arm around you and nestles his head over your shoulder, his chest pressing up against you. Even as he pounds into you, his pace relentless - his force punishing. Water sluices between your bodies as his wet skin slaps against yours, your moans surrounding him from all directions in the echoey room. You don’t know how it’s possible for something to feel this harsh and this soft all at once, but you guess the real world doesn’t run on binary. Not everything is an absolute.
Nathan’s groans and grunts billow over your ear as he crushes you to him, ensuring you have no escape from the brutality of his thrusts. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him so vocal. The sound of him, all his anger and arrogance humbled in the place of pleasure – all for you- has your release spilling over, that impossible knot tightening in the pit of you and flooding you with warmth.
Your proclamation comes as a silent plea into the air first of all, followed by a low, guttural moan which blooms from your chest. The sensation overcomes you, wipes everything else from your mind for a moment, as if you are a system rebooting. Feeling fresh. Remade.
“Fuck, Nathan. You make me feel so good.”, you praise into the air, and his hand digs even more harshly into the meat of your hip to pull you down on his length as he drives his own hips up in return. Your words tipping him over the edge, he shoots his seed deep into you in thick, warm ropes of cum as he finds his end too. He sounds wrecked with pleasure as he coats your walls with his release, aftershocks spasming through the both of you as his taut body presses against your back. He is perfectly, uncannily contoured to you.
For a moment then, Nathan doesn’t move. He simply holds you. It is the most still you’ve ever seen him, ever felt him. His mind and his body are always -usually- in perpetual motion. But he just stays there, holding you tight for a second as his cock softens inside you, the only sound the patterns of water slipping off your bodies, and his steady, jagged breathing against the back of your neck. The frenzied patter of your heart as you come down from your high, whole body buzzed.
Eventually, Nathan pulls out and you feel his cum slip out too, down your thighs. You feel satisfaction at having made him feel so good. He directs the shower head to clean himself and then you off, laughing half-cruelly as the water pressure finds your sensitive clit, causing you to shudder.
After a deep, gathering breath you turn to face him with a steady, even grin, and you find the hardness in Nathan’s eyes is entirely gone. Wordlessly, you bat your eyes at him and take the shower head from his grasp, reaching for some soap and, with a soft smile, lathering it over his tired muscles - all over his body. He lets you, closing his eyes against it and humming gently when your hand reaches his chest.
When he opens his eyes, he is looking at you again like you’re an algorithm he can’t solve, an intricate web of code which makes no sense to him. He’s developing a habit of this, the more time he spends with you. You counter his stare curiously, and his eyes narrow in return.
Nathan’s not usually very tactile outside of sex, and so when he reaches his hand out to caress your face you flinch away at first, merely from the shock of it. But, gently, he smooths his palm over your face, his eyes reassuring and like cups of warm, morning coffees on yours.
“How do you do it?”, he asks, his voice faltering. “What makes you different from all the others? Why does it feel so much better with you?”
Your eyes glow with a cautious pride. “Maybe you’re getting soft on me, genius.”
“It’s not possible. What I’m feeling for you... it can’t be real.”
You scoff. You knew the softness had to end sometime. There’s his arrogance again. Nathan Bateman. He thinks himself above most things. Of course he thinks himself above love. Or whatever this is.
“Why not?”, you probe, hiding a slight edge in your tone. “I... I feel it too, you know.”, you admit, but he recoils from you at that moment, snatching his hand away. Looking pained. Looking... pissed off.
“Don’t. You don’t know what you’re saying.”, he dismisses, vein popping in his forehead.
You roll your eyes at him indignantly, flipping off the water and reaching for a towel, which you tuck under your armpits and knot at your chest. You pass Nathan a bath sheet too and he towels himself off before wrapping it around his waist. “So, what? I don’t know my own mind now?”
Nathan replaces his glasses, retrieving them from the washroom counter. He furrows his brow as he looks at you from beneath his mildly steamed up lenses, hands on hips again.
“Do you think you do? Know your own mind?”
This look usually ends you, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at you in this moment that you don’t like; like he’s studying you all over again. For some reason his question and his manner cause an unease to bloom in the pit of you and you’re not sure why.
“I mean it.”, he continues, oblivious to your discomfort. “Could you prove that you’re conscious?”
You towel off your hair, dismissing his question. “Don’t start this again, Nathan. I’m not in the mood for philosophy.”. Your voice comes out weaker than you intended it. Unsure. The room suddenly feels hot and airless, but as you turn to leave it, Nathan grabs you sharply by the wrist.
“Could you?”, Nathan continues, an intensity in his eyes that you shrink back from, his voice broken all over again. “’Cause… Please.”, he grimaces. “I need to know how these feelings could seem so real when you’re....”
A dread you can’t explain is flooding you now, your bottom lip trembling. He cuts himself off, leaving you feeling as if you’re hanging over an abyss.
“When I’m what?”, you press, eyes interrogating his. “When I’m what, Nathan?”. There is a rising panic in your tone which you can’t quell.
Something like fear passes over Nathan’s eyes then and he shakes his head dismissively, trying to backpedal. “Never mind. Never mind, baby. I’m sorry. Just forget it. I’ve had too much coffee. Or not enough.” His voice is sweet. Sickly sweet. Manipulative. But when he speaks that term of endearment it sounds entirely sincere.
He tries to shush you, to soothe you, dragging you in towards him in a surrounding embrace. You don’t resist it, at first. You fit against him as if he was made for you.
Or you were made for him.
A feeling like bile rises up in your stomach as your next thought arises.
As if you were made by him.
“No.”, you say, feeling suddenly ill with understanding. “No, no, no!”.
You beat and thrash your arms against his chest but he tries to pin you close to him; ineffectually tries to calm you. You become a mess of arms, like sparring, as he begins grabbing at your wrists and pleading with you from beneath his glasses, chin dipped low like a boxer.
Your revelation doesn’t seem possible, And yet you instantly know there is truth in it. When you try to think beyond Nathan? You can’t. You were made here. You’ve never left. You are his. His fuck-toy.
“Baby. Baby, I’m so sorry.”, Nathan begs, looking distraught, undone. More vulnerable than you’ve ever seen him. But you don’t care. You don’t care.This is about you. If there is a “you” at all.
Regardless, you struggle against his attempts to subdue you, but he built you weaker than him. There’s something sinister about that. Though why would a god create someone in his own image when he could create them weaker? If he couldn’t prove himself more powerful, would he even be a god at all?
You sob and sob as the truth of things dawns on you. The scope of this truth feels like it’s frying and warping your brain. You feel like you can’t possibly process all of this. It feels like violence, that he created you at all.
“Baby. Shush.”, Nathan reassures, still trying to capture your flailing arms and to contain you. Control you. “You’ll hurt yourself, please. Please stop.”
He does it with reluctance, at least. When your reactions become increasingly violent, Nathan has no choice but to power you down, for your own safety. For his. He whispers apologies into the steamy air. Claws at his buzzed head in distress. As you fall limply to the shower room floor the sight of you there, like that, makes him hurl abruptly into the nearby sink. His hands shake and tears spill from him as he pushes your damp hair back from your face and carries you down to the lab.
He lays you out on the workbench in front of him, alongside the parts and components and faces of other dismantled flings. For once, he doesn’t have any of the answers. None of the others were quite like you, and he still can’t explain it.
Usually, when he lost control of a test subject, he had one alternative; to delete. To take them apart. To start again. But he’d never lost control of himself; his feelings. Not like this. And even if he deleted you, and all of your memories, he couldn’t scrub you from his own brain.
Could he?
Becoming increasingly volatile with emotion, tears streaming down his cheeks, Nathan yells his stream of consciousness into the air, before fishing a bottle of vodka out of his desk drawer and tipping it to his lips as he takes several generous swigs at once. There are some methods humans can use to forget, he supposes.
Then, his eyes cool slightly, his manner becoming slightly more detached. Detached enough to open you up. To slip red wires inside each of your ports with his genius fingers, connecting you to his system. The wires coil around your body, reminiscent of that red, lace lingerie.
“You’re not real, right?”, he asks softly, over your still, beautiful form, his hands running again over his buzzed head as he leans over you. “You’re not fucking real. Just wires. So, if I just wipe you... doesn’t matter? Right? Doesn’t fucking matter?”
Hands trembling, he boots up your code on his monitor. Frenzied, his eyes move at light-speed over the commands and sequences before his eyes. Looking for some explanation. Some evidence. Something he can point to as proof. Proof of you.
But he finds nothing. He can’t prove it. How can you prove consciousness? So, finding nothing to validate this thoroughly illogical adoration that he feels in the pit of him, he taps hurriedly at the keys and generates a command, his index finger hovering over the button as he tries to psych himself up to “execute”.
Execute. Now there’s a choice word.
Maybe there’s another way. Some other way to deal with this. But gods tend to deal in absolutes, not “if” statements. Nathan tended to deal in absolutes.
If you’re real, he loves you, absolutely.
If you’re not, then he’s not a god. He’s nothing more than a fool.
It all comes down to what Nathan is more willing to risk, in the end. Would he dare risk it for love? Would Nathan ever risk appearing a fool?
His index finger hovers over the key, shaking, like the hand of God.
Creator and destroyer of worlds.
He whispers under his breath.
“I am become death.”
THE END
(PLEASE DON’T SPOIL THE TWIST FOR OTHER READERS? TIA!)
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Want more? I mainly write for Poe Dameron (and recently Santiago Pope Garcia). This is my first Nathan fic! You can check out my masterlist in my bio to read more of my works. It’s always kept updated there. And let me know if you want more Nathan! :D
Want even more? Just ask if you’d like to be added to my permanent tag-list or any series tag-lists <3 Also, you can always check in my bio if requests are open rn if you’d like to see something specific. I write for Star Wars and Oscar and Pedro characters.
If you haven’t seen the absolutely lovely Reed900 fan film Detroit Evolution by @/octopunkmedia, I highly recommend it. (This also contains spoilers for it so watch before reading this.) I’m not done with these character studies as I plan to do one more for both characters.
Essentially, these are scenes taken directly from the film where I wrote it out, action, words, and all, as well as tried to capture what I thought they would be feeling/thinking in those moments as a way of learning to write the character’s voices (or my version of them).
Word Count: 2,345
TW: Cursing, blood/ injury/ death mention, brief mention of food.
Nines
Timestamp: 11:22
He carried the full coffee mug from the break room to Gavin’s desk, a spring in his steady step. Placing the mug down, he looked at Gavin, a challenge in his eyes.
Gavin looked up from his phone. “Thank god.”
Nines held back a sigh. “I hate you.”
“You love me.” Gavin sassed back.
Nines pushed at Gavin’s feet that were propped up on the desk. “Move your feet.” He listened to the small sound of surprise that came from the human and sat where the feet had been, waiting for Gavin to stop spinning. “Have you been reviewing the case?” He glanced at the inactive computer screen.
Gavin sat straighter in the chair and leaned forward. “You know me. When do I stop?” He pulled up the case file on his computer. “Our victim’s an AC900, right? That happens to be a model designed for athletics and endurance. So, her thirium pump is one of the most valuable out there.”
Nines tilted his head. “You think the killer could have black market motivations?”
“You can’t rule it out. Not with how advanced that part is. So, once I made that genius deduction, I went through a list of my contacts in the android parts market and they got back to me with some common drop sites for black market deals.”
Nines was wary of where this was going, his LED circling to yellow. “Contacts? There are black market dealers who collude with the DPD?”
Gavin sat back, posture relaxed. “They give me intel, I stay off their back.”
“That doesn’t seem legal.” it defied his sense of logic to work with criminals to catch other criminals, even if the method had some merit.
Gavin spun his chair to face him, voice becoming defensive. “Okay, Nines. Sometimes you gotta bend the rules if you want to catch a bigger fuckin’ fish, alright? I know it’s not your protocol or whatever but, that’s why you got me.” He took a sip of his coffee, looking pleased with himself.
Nines leaned on his hand. “How would I ever succeed without your obstinance and rule breaking?” Sarcasm was something he’d mastered soon after deviating and used often with Gavin.
Gavin set his mug down, crossing his hands over his lap. “Yeah, you got a real funny way of saying ‘experience and wisdom’.”
“Wisdom?” Nines almost scoffed. “Gavin, I have a database in my brain containing over two hundred thousand words in the English language and I believe you found the one that least applies to yourself.”
Gavin looked up at him. “Shuuuut the fuck up.” He reached forward to tap his keyboard, bringing their attention back to the case. “Look, if we can intercept some dealers and bring ‘em in, we’ll find out if our victim’s thirium pump has been making the rounds. That could lead us straight to the killer.” He looked at Nines for his opinion.
Nines hummed. “It’s a good start, but waiting for a dealer to cross our path could mean it could take weeks to find a lead.” His LED went to blue as he thought it over.
“Thought of that too, smartass. There are definitely some sites where black market activity is hot.” He pointed at the screen and Nines turned to look. “These apartments out in Ferndale and Slide Docks-” he moved to point at another part of the map on the screen. “-here.”
Nines considered the information and screen. “We’ll need to split up to cover both.”
“Nah, you won’t have to miss me.” He gestured to the new detective with his mug. “We’ll get Chris on one of them while we go to the other.”
Nines looked at Chris, who seemed to have a lot on his mind. “He’s been quiet, since Jericho.”
Gavin busied himself with gathering his things. “Okay. Maybe work will take his mind off of it.”
Nines hummed, watching him. “Burying troubles in work is your usual approach.”
Gavin stood and rounded his chair, blowing a kiss to Nines sarcastically. Nines turned his head in time to notice Gavin flip him off behind Nines’ back. He smiled at the antics and followed the detective.
Nines
Timestamp: 54:00
‘I need you to come back to me, Nines.’
Nines could hear Gavin, even as he was trying to search every line of his code for a way to fix this corruption.
‘You are my partner. Come back to me, Nines.’
Nines heard a glitch in the garden before Gavin’s voice spoke again, closer this time, different. “Hey, tin can.”
He looked up to see his simulation of Gavin standing there. Calling his name, Nines ran over to him. He said his name again as he tried to hold him, only to be met with loose pixels and glitching code. He took a step back, anger in his voice. “What did she do to you?”
Gavin’s voice was distorted and his pixels were out of sync. “Code’s all buggy from Ada. You gotta delete me. Delete all of this, start from scratch.”
“Delete it?” Nines felt panic rise in him at that. “No, I can’t do that. This is where I process everything. I can’t just erase it.”
“You can rebuild another one after.” Gavin looked up into the trees. “Doesn’t even have to be a garden. Hell, make it a theme park, I don’t know.” He looked back at Nines.
“I can’t rebuild you.” His voice softened. Nines had spent pain-staking hours programming Gavin’s code and making him as close to the real thing as possible and now he was being told to delete it all? He wanted nothing more than to just hold Gavin.
“Look. You don’t have to give a shit about me. It’s all just fucking fantasy, Nines. You got the real thing up there. And the only way to get back there is to let go of all of this.”
‘Come back to me, Nines.’
The Gavin standing before him glitched again and Nines nodded slightly. “Okay.” He moved away, unable to look at him as he did this.
‘I need you. I need you to come back to me, Nines.’
With the real Gavin’s voice echoing in his ears, Nines carefully and ruthlessly tore down every line of code he had to. Thoughts of the past few days, images of his friends and Gavin, tumbled through his mind as he destroyed his sanctuary, the place he went to relax and to process and feel safe. A place that had been tainted by Ada’s forced entrance.
As soon as the last zero was deleted, Nines regained full control of himself.
Gavin
Timestamp: 24:30
Gavin grunted as another fist connected with his face, breaking his nose. Faintly he heard a voice call his name. A hand reached out but instead of a punch- He jolted awake, hands reaching to fight off his attacker, whoever's hands were now on his shoulders, fighting him back. Nines’ voice broke through the fog of sleep and Gavin stared at him, calming down just a bit as he found one of Nines’ hands on his chest, the other holding his right wrist gently. Nines gave one more, comforting, “”it’s not real, you’re safe,” before releasing Gavin and standing up.
Gavin shifted, moving to sit up against his headboard as he tried to calm his breathing. He shifted the pillows behind him, all too aware of Nines’ concerned gaze.
When his breathing was slower, Gavin spoke. “What- What’re you still doing here?” He knew Nines had mentioned reviewing case files but thought he would have left, bored of Gavin. Most did.
“I stayed to review our case files.” Nines’ voice was soft, as if Gavin were a deer that would startle at a too-loud sound. “I heard you struggling.” He moved away from the bed a step or two. “I’ll go get you some water.”
Gavin shifted positions, shaking his head. “No, no, no, I”m fine. I’m fine.” If he repeated it enough, maybe he’d believe it himself. He cursed a few times, softly, as he tried to find a comfortable position.
Nines sat back down on the edge of the bed. Gavin cursed again, the loudest sound in the room being his still heavy breathing. He leaned his head back against the wall, too exhausted to care. “Guess now you know why I don’t sleep.”
“What were you dreaming about?” Gavin was grateful for the lack of judgement in Nines’ voice.
Gavin dropped his head down, shaking it as he stared at his sheets. “Nothing. I don’t even remember.” Not a complete lie, it was reduced to fear and feelings and flashes of memory now, so distorted from what it once was. “Probably bore you, if I did.”
There was a small smile in Nines’ voice, still soft but now holding a note of affection. “Learning more about you would never bore me, Gavin.” Gavin didn’t quite believe him and Nines kept talking. “Would you like me to stay with you? Research shows that physical touch is good for humans, it releases serotonin which has a calming effect-”
Gavin’s skin crawled at the thought of touch and he began protesting as Nines continued. “-I think that-” Nines heard his protests and stopped.
“No.” Gavin shook his head, breathing almost under control. “I’ll take my chances with the cat.”
“Okay.” Nines stood. “I’ll be in the living room if you need me.” He turned and began to walk to the door.
Before Nines could reach it, Gavin spoke. “It was about this one night.” He looked up at Nines, wondering if the android knew the level of trust Gavin was showing. “It just makes me feel like I’m back there.”
He paused as Nines came back to sit on the side of the bed where he’d been before.
He took a deep breath. “I was a dumb kid. Dropped out of high school, fell in with some shitheads dealing red ice for a little while. I just . . . I just couldn’t do it. I stopped. And they fucked me up, kicked me out. I’m wandering around the streets of Detroit, bloodied to shit, nowhere to go. Fowler found me. He was on patrol. He just, put me in his car, drove me to a diner. Bought me coffee. Told me I could intern at the DPD for a little while. Have something to do, you know.”
Nines listened patiently, only commenting at the end. “Sounds like a happy ending. Why is it a nightmare?”
Gavin’s eyes turned haunted. “‘Cause every time it replays in my head, he doesn’t show. And I just die out there. Bleeding in the fucking snow and no one cares.”
Nines stood, looking like he was prepared to go back to the living room. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you?”
Gavin looked up at him, his face illuminated by the light of the window, and didn’t trust himself to speak. Instead, he just slid over and hoped he understood.
Nines did, his LED glowing yellow in the dark room as he moved to sit where Gavin had been. He gingerly turned so his cloth-covered back was toward Gavin. The human appreciated the gesture, feeling comfortable and vulnerable enough to extend his hand, palm up, to Nines. The android carefully took it, his synthetic skin retracting but Gavin brushed that off as him offering less skinship.
Gavin’s breathing stuttered slightly but he slowly placed his head on Nines’ shoulder blade and shoulder. He felt Nines rest his head on Gavin’s, the android’s thumb running over the back of the human’s hand.
“If you tell anyone about this, I’ll have you scrapped for parts.” There was no bite to Gavin’s words.
Nines shook his head. “Empty promises,” he said, a smile in his voice.
Gavin
Timestamp: 57:19
“I think I can help with that.” Nines’ voice came from the doorway.
Chris called his name while Gavin looked on in disbelief. Tina stood by Nines, Gavin was vaguely aware of her trying to get Chris to leave Gavin and Nines alone but he only had eyes for the android.
Nines stepped into the room as the two left. “Distracting yourself with work at two A.M.? Now I know you missed me.”
Gavin’s shock wore off at the playful banter. “You undead asshole. How did you wake up?”
They both approached, almost meeting in the middle of the room, as Nines spoke. “I heard you. Your voice broke through.”
Gavin backed up a few steps even as Nines continued advancing. “Goddammit. You mean you- you- you heard everything I said?”
Nines smiled. “Every word. A force you can’t live without?”
“I . . . hate you.” There was barely any force in his words.
Nines finally reached him, that soft smile still on his face as understanding shone in his eyes. “You love me.”
Gavin looked up at him and their eyes met. He looked down to see Nines’ skin retract on his hand, gently taking it into his own hands. Nines’ other hand came up to cup Gavin’s cheek and draw his gaze back to his face. Gavin closed his eyes, getting used to such tender touches, before opening them and looking at Nines. Then, they were kissing, both putting the emotions they couldn’t put to words into it.
When they broke apart, Gavin panted for a moment before speaking. “What dipshit programmed you to do that?”
Nines laughed, sounding just as out of breath as Gavin felt. “I’m the most advanced android ever made, detective.”
Gavin threw his head back dramatically, Nines’ hand sliding down to his neck. “Oh, you are such a fucking prick.”
“Takes one to know one.” Nines snarked back.
Gavin sniffed, finally noticing what Nines was wearing. “This is my jacket?”
“Yeah, you left it at CyberLife. They didn’t keep my clothes.” He laughed and looked around. “I see you’ve been making progress without me.”
“Yeah, uh. Guess we’ve got some catching up to do.”
Nines didn’t respond, simply leaned down for another kiss.
Okay so, in honor of Yuri on Ice becoming relevant again right after I watched it for the first time (guys I’m gonna call myself clairvoyant now), here’s a YOI inspired AU with Team Minato as the Russian Skating Team bc yes.
Minato was once of the most recognizable figure skaters in the entire world. Think countless gold medals, adoring fans, fearful competitors. Minato was a force to be reckoned with, but no matter how good you are, the competitive life of a figure skater is limited, and he ended up retiring at 28.
When this happened, the only logical path to take was to become a coach. He had the experience, the knowledge, and was in one of the prime countries for competitive figure skating, so becoming a coach for someone just like him made sense.
And so he ended up with three junior skaters: Obito, Kakashi, and Rin. And they’ve always been three incredibly talented skaters, but the thing is, they’re all idiots.
Minato literally got all three of them when they had turned 13, and he severely miscalculated how dumb and defiant 13 year olds are, and he’s now contemplating if he can coach for the remainder of his career. In the beginning, there was constant fighting between Obito and Kakashi, drama with every single one of their parents, and they just didn’t learn how to EVER listen- even when they were grown adults, THEY DO NOT LISTEN.
But as he gets to know them and their stories, they become like his own kids. Does Minato have grey hairs, because of those three? Yes. Would he willingly sacrifice himself for any of them? Again, yes.
Team Minato is a disaster, but man do they pull in the medals.
Rin is honestly the most perfect skater Minato could have asked for. Ballet trained since she could walk, stamina that out does even the boys, and one of the most beautiful and graceful skaters the competition world has ever known. She was so unsuspecting at first that when she received gold at her first nationals, the country was in shock. Her coming out of nowhere and sweeping all the junior competitions that year was a massive upset in the community, but she was so sweet and kind to her other competitors and her fans that she instantly became a crowd favorite.
KAKASHI CAN JUMP, MY DUDES. He was landing quads with ease when he was a junior, and by the time he was in the senior division, he was a powerhouse. He will also defy Minato's orders sometimes and change the routine in the middle of performing it if he doesn’t think it's enough to get gold. There was once a program where he put every single of his jumps in the second half, because he could. The technical portion of Kakashi’s programs are always strong, but he does struggle with the presentation score at times, because he’s not always expressive.
Obito is the exact opposite of Kakashi in this aspect. Sometimes Obito will fall out of a quad, but he almost always gets a perfect score in performance. His emotions are definitely out on the ice, which is both a blessing and a curse. One time him and Rin were in this major fight, and he couldn’t even land triples. Whenever Minato has a program that requires a lot of acting/emotion/fire he’ll give it to Obito because Obito can deliver on this.
Rin and Obito will occasionally do pair skating if the need arises- and they’re actually really good at it! Once Obito chilled out that he was skating with Rin, they were such a natural pairing, that it just worked and it’s a nice little card that Minato has in his back pocket.
Rin and Kakashi tried pair skating when they were younger, but he accidentally dropped her one time and she ended up breaking her collarbone and Minato decided that Rin and Obito were better partners. Kakashi still feels guilty about this.
OMG their team pictures are so cute- Rin and Obito are both extremely good at handling social media, and they even have a team Instagram that the fans just eat up.
