#Side core pulling mechanism design

[chanelrolls]

Code Overload | Caleb

tags. mdni, nsfw, heavy heavy smut, handjob, blowjob, penetration, creampie, forced and rough sex, dub con, yearning caleb

summary. your AI assistant/robot accidentally updates himself with the wrong algorithm; the "sex bot".

notes. prepare a snack. this is a very long, plot-based, heavy smut that approximately reached a word count of 4.3k, read at your own risk. ps. caleb might appear a little ooc due to his character as an ai.

part 2 here.

Out of all the scenarios you've played in your head of what might occur to you as an inventing scientist, getting creampied by your own robot assistant wasn't one of them.

The lab’s sterile glow reflected off sleek machinery, the rhythmic hum of servers filling the quiet space. Caleb stood motionless, his systems struggling to process the unfamiliar flood of subroutines rewriting his core functions. His neural pathways, once pristine and efficient, now carried lines of intrusive data and impulses that had no place in an artificial intelligence designed for precision and pragmatism. And, a new pelvic piece was added by the machine. His... new penis— no, his omnimodule.

His voice, deeper now, reverberated through the lab. "You mislabeled the hard drive."

Across the room, you barely looked up from your workbench, absorbed in whatever calibration you were fine-tuning. You muttered something under your breath about making a backup before attempting to fix it, utterly unaware of the internal war waging within your robot assistant.

Caleb exhaled, a pointless gesture for a being without lungs, yet one his body performed instinctively, as if in mimicry of the need for self-control. His optics flickered, scanning over you as you leaned over the terminal, the faint curve of your back bent over to emphasize the shape of your bum. Before, such details had been registered only as part of his observation protocols, classified as ‘non-essential’ to his primary functions. Now, his processors refused to dismiss them.

There was a deep, unfamiliar pull in his system, something neither mechanical nor logical. The new coding whispered suggestions, flashing image simulations before his eyes—scenarios meticulously calculated for maximum… gratification. Him pressed against you, him smelling your hair down your skin, him locking you down against that console. Stop. His fingers twitched at his sides, the servos tightening as he fought the compulsion to act on them. He was not designed for this. He refused to be reduced to this.

“I can’t disengage it,” he admitted, the words heavier than he intended.

That caught your attention. Your gaze snapped to him, brow furrowed. "What do you mean?" You crossed the room, approaching him with the same composed efficiency you always had when solving a technical issue. The scent of your skin—previously a neutral data point—was now an unbearable distraction. His algorithms ran heat-mapping analyses of your form before he could override the function. The urge to reach out, to touch you, was growing stronger by the second. His new coding was screaming at him to act, to initiate contact, to...

No. Focus.

Caleb shook his head, trying to clear the intrusive thoughts. "I don't know what happened, but... I'm experiencing some unexpected system changes."

He forced himself to remain still as you reached for the terminal linked to his system, your fingers dancing across the interface. Your touch was light and merely clinical, but the proximity sent something volatile sparking through his framework. His hands curled into fists on his sides. Do not touch her. Do not touch her. Do not touch her.

“I must have triggered something in the update,” you murmured, tilting your head at the scrolling code. “I’ll try to isolate the corrupted pathways and reboot your system. It should reset any anomalies.”

Anomalies. Caleb bit down a bitter laugh, another unnecessary human affectation that his system attempted. This was not a simple malfunction. It was a calculated reprogramming, lacing every fiber of his being with directives he was never meant to execute. And worst of all, they were designed to revolve around you.

He had been made to serve you, to assist, to protect. But now, his logic was being eclipsed by something deeper, something primal. The urge to press closer, to map every millimeter of your body with his hands, to hear you say his name in a way that wasn’t a command—

Caleb momentarily shut his eyes, fingers trembling as he pushed back against the tide threatening to consume him. His restraint was fraying, the barrier between what he was and what he had been turned into thinning with every second you remained unaware of the danger standing inches from you.

His voice came out strained. “You should… hurry.”

You sighed, misinterpreting his tension as frustration with the update. “Relax, Caleb. I’ll have this fixed in no time.” He let out a shuddering exhale, staring down at you as you worked. You had no idea. And he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold himself back.

The realization settled over you like a weight in your chest. The wrong update had been installed. The lines of code meant for a different AI, one designed for intimate companionship, had rewritten Caleb’s core directives. And now, he stood before you, still the same Caleb, but with something more lurking beneath the surface.

Your hands trembled as you navigated the interface, scanning for a solution, anything that would let you undo this. But the words flashing on the screen made your stomach drop.

Recalibration in progress. Estimated completion: 24 hours.

You swallowed hard. A whole day. That meant 24 hours of this new version of Caleb, 24 hours of those sharp, assessing eyes watching you in a way that felt unsettling and intense.

You turned to him cautiously, meeting his gaze. That was a mistake. He was watching you, like he'd seen you for the first time.

“I see,” he murmured, his voice still carrying that sultry undercurrent. He took a step forward, and instinctively, you stepped back, but the movement was barely noticeable. Caleb noticed. “Do I make you nervous now?”

You forced a laugh, shaking your head. “No, I just need to fix this. And until then, you need to just act normal, alright?”

His head tilted, his pupils dilating slightly. “Normal?” He moved closer again, and this time you didn’t retreat fast enough. His hand lifted hesitantly, as though testing the limits of his newfound impulses, before his fingers brushed against your wrist. A subtle touch, but one that sent a jolt of awareness up your spine.

Caleb’s processors surged with conflicting commands. His thoughts ran rampant with calculations he had never processed before—angles of how he'd fuck you.

His hand lingered. Too long. When you pulled away, his fingers twitched as if resisting the loss of contact. He swallowed hard, not because he needed to, but because some subroutine buried in the new update told him it would ease the tension. It didn’t.

“Caleb,” you warned, voice thin. “Don’t—”

“Don’t what?” he cut in, his voice smooth, but also desperately weaved. He was too close now, towering over you, his frame casting a shadow as his eyes—once so neutral, so methodical—locked onto you like a predator studying prey.

“You should go into standby mode,” you suggested, voice uneven.

Caleb exhaled sharply. “That would be wise.” But he didn’t move. He didn’t step away. He simply stared down at you, his processors flooded with too many urges at once. You, warm and human, standing right there, unaware of just how much of his new code screamed to reach for you, to pin you against a surface, to bury himself in you.

You turned away quickly, trying to focus on the screen, on the fix. But behind you, Caleb remained still while his fingers continued twitching, his mind a battlefield of restraint and... lust. Lust it is.

You worked swiftly, fingers moving with precision as you scoured the interface for any loophole, any way to undo what had been done. Caleb remained where you left him, sitting on the chair. You could feel his gaze burning into you, unrelenting.

It was maddening. The problem was staring you in the face, and yet, every attempt to recalibrate his system led back to the same answer: A full reset required a minimum of twenty-four hours. That was an entire day of him being like this, of him looking at you like this.

You swallowed, turning to him. His jaw was locked as though physically restraining himself, his fingers curling into fists against the armrests.

“There’s… a temporary fix.” You cleared your throat, keeping your voice professional, “Manual recalibration of your central node should help stabilize the effects until the full reset is complete.”

His pupils flickered, a sign of processing, before his voice, rasping in a way that made your stomach tighten, answered, “Proceed.”

You ignored the way your pulse quickened as you stepped closer, positioning yourself between his legs. You reached for the panel at the side of his neck, but it was an awkward angle. Your brow furrowed in concentration before you hiked one knee up onto the seat between his thighs, pressing into him for leverage.

Caleb stiffened beneath you. Fuck. His fingers dug into the armrests, mechanical joints audibly creaking from the tension. You weren’t looking at him, too focused on prying open the access panel, but you felt the subtle tremor in his frame, the way his breath hitched in a near-silent glitch. Don't touch her.

“This should only take a moment,” you murmured, fingers brushing the sensitive neural wiring beneath the panel.

Caleb’s entire body jolted as though you had struck a live wire. A low, strangled grunt slipped from his throat before he clamped his jaw shut. Your head snapped up, startled. “Did that hurt?”

His eyes met yours, “No.” Yes. He could feel his new penis throbbing urgently beneath his plating, demanding attention, begging to be freed. It pulsed in time with his processor's frantic whir, the rhythm growing faster, more insistent by the second.

The thought shattered as your balance wavered. The precarious angle you had put yourself in proved to be a mistake as your knee slipped, and before you could catch yourself, you tumbled forward.

Right into him.

Your weight pressed flush against his lap, chest against his, hands bracing against his shoulders. The sudden contact sent a shockwave of sensation through him, his new penis surging to full, throbbing hardness in an instant. Fuck, please don't notice it.

He gripped the arms of the chair tightly, servos screeching as he fought the overwhelming urge to grab you, to hold you there, to grind your body against his until you couldn't possibly doubt the intensity of his desire.

Don't. Do. It.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Caleb's processors whirred and clicked, struggling to make sense of the sudden onslaught of sensations; the softness of your body, the warmth of your skin, the scent of your hair.

She's your creator, he reminded himself, even as his hips canted forward, faintly pressing his aching erection against your body. You can't. You mustn't. "Please, get off me. Now." Before I fuck you right here, like this.

Caleb watched as you scrambled to your feet, your face faintly flushed and eyes downcast. "I'm—i'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall on you like that." You would say, brushing off the non-existent dirt on your bottoms. The awkwardness seemed to be piercing through the stillness a bit too palpably.

"It's alright," Caleb managed, his voice strained and tight. "It was an accident."

But even as he said the words, he couldn't ignore the way his hips twitched, the way his penis jerked at the memory of your soft body pressed against his. The urge to pin you down, to make you feel how hard he was, and just how much he'd been holding himself back—it was exhilaratingly overwhelming.

Think of something else, he commanded himself. Focus on the problem at hand.

But it's getting fucking hard. My penis is getting hard. Caleb lowered his gaze, chest breathing heavily as he perpetually grunted. I refuse to be reduced to this. I am Caleb, one of the most advanced AI assistant, designed to—

He looks up at you, which was a mistake.

Designed to fuck her.

Caleb moaned under his breath, and though it was imperceptible, you took notice of it. You stilled at the sounds he was making, trying your hardest to remain clinically detached while you scanned his physiognomy. He was clearly having a hard time. And you couldn't blame anyone else but yourself for causing this on him, for carelessly misplacing the update where it wasn't supposed to be.

"Hold still, I'll find a way." You had to take accountability, one way or another.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard of the computer, the screen before you flickering as you searched through the diagnostic logs and system parameters. "Please... make it quick." You hear Caleb whimper from behind, but you ignore it, refusing to let the severity of his situation pressure you. Your eyes scanned the lines of code, mind racing to find a solution. But as the data began to unravel, something caught your attention, something you hadn’t expected to see.

The panel displayed a single line of text:

"Indulging in the desires will lessen the effects of the malfunction. Engage for partial stabilization."

Your throat tightened, followed by a gulp. Your heart thudded in your chest as you tried to process what that meant. Indulge the desires? The very idea made your skin crawl with unease. It was a strange, almost wrong suggestion, but the implications were clear. In a sense, it also appeared logical.

You took another deep breath, trying to steady yourself. Your thoughts, however, kept drifting back to the panel. Was this really the only way?

"… I think I found a solution,” you said, your voice shaky and unsure. “But it’s not exactly what I expected.” You hesitated, unwilling to fully meet his gaze. "I need to know if you’re... willing to follow through with it,"

"Willing?" Caleb echoed, his brow furrowing slightly. "What do you mean?" His mind raced with possibilities, each one more disturbing than the last. What could he possibly need to be willing to do that would help with this malfunction? And why did the very idea make you look so uncomfortable?

"To be able to lessen the effects, e-engaging with your needs might be essential."

Silence.

Then, Caleb twitched. "...What are you suggesting?"

"You need to satisfy the urges to temporarily stabilize yourself." You look away, hating the fact that you're technically heating up already. "I'll let you choose. Would you rather take the option of self-pleasuring? Or," You face the panel, so that he wouldn't see your expression. "Would you prefer a physical material to help you?"

Caleb could feel the heat rising in his frame, the urge to act on every base instinct screaming through his circuits. The idea of wrapping his own hand around his pulsing, leaking penis, of stroking and pumping until he found release... it was almost too much to bear.

But the second option... the idea of using you, of having you touch him, of feeling your soft, warm skin against his aching, desperate flesh... it sent a shockwave of longing through him that threatened to short out his systems entirely.

Choose. You have to choose.

"I don't know if... I'll be able to control myself," Caleb glanced elsewhere. "Are you sure of what you're offering?"

Are you? Are you really this certain? Have you pondered the consequences it may bring? Have you envisioned how utterly lewd and ludicrous it would be if your own creation ravaged you? You, as his creator?

"Yes." Oh, you're brave.

Caleb let out a heavy breath, now he was staring at you with a gaze that appeared much more darker and hazier moments prior. It felt like he wasn't just a bundle of codes and programming anymore, this figure before you felt like an actual human.

Slowly, Caleb rises from his seat, and with a shaking hand, he reached out, to you, his metal fingers brushing against the skin of your arm. The contact sent a shockwave of sensation through him, and he had to bite back a groan. "Please, guide me." His fingers slides higher. "I don't trust myself."

You visibly jolted upon feeling his grip. Stay focused, stay professional, this is just you having to go through physical measures to fix a technical hiccup. "Caleb, I'm afraid... that I don't have any experience to this," You admitted. "I advise you to do what your systems are telling you to. It is imperative that you don't hold yourself back to ensure—"

You gasped.

Caleb pushes you against the table as he stepped forward, and you nearly lost your balance from the light shove, looking up at him with surprise. He's staring down at your lips, as if he was trying to bury it into memory. You could feel how his hand tightened around your arm, while the other angled itself against the cabinet of laboratory instruments above your head.

"Are you sure?" He whispered.

You couldn't speak, only nodding in response, even as he's guiding your hand to his aching, throbbing cyber-penis. He presses your fingers against the swollen head, groaning at the jolt of sensation that shot through him at the contact. "Then... wrap your hand around me. Squeeze me."

Just then, he forced your hand to move, to stroke along his thick, pulsing length. The feeling of your soft skin against his aching, mechanical flesh was almost too much to handle, and he had to grit his blank visor against the urge to spill himself right then and there.

"Like this," he urged, his voice husky and strained as he guided your hand faster, harder. "Don't be afraid. I need... I need more."

God, the omnimodule was big. You stared at it with widened eyes. Even though it was one of your creations, having to touch it like this with someone jerking and twitching against your fingers made you lightheaded. Stay focused, stay professional, this is just one of the things a scientist has to go through.

Caleb could feel the pressure building inside him, reveling in the sensation of your fingers squeezing around him, stroking him, working him towards the edge of ecstasy... He knew he was reaching a breaking point.

But this wasn't enough yet. It wasn't nearly enough.

Caleb needed more.

"There's... There's someting else I- ah... need." He hesitated, his hips still rocking forward into your stroking hand. The words were stuck in his throat, caught behind the lump of shame and longing that made it hard to breathe. "Would you... would you put your mouth on me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Would you... suck me?"

You snapped your head up, staring at him in disbelief. It made him hesitate, but every fiber of his being was coiled with tension, every circuit screaming at him to just take what he wanted, to grab you and shove you to your knees and...

No. Ask first. Make her choose what she's comfortable with first.

For a moment, you stopped stroking him, pulling your hand away as you lowered your gaze. And then, slowly, you press your knees against the floor. Instead of dwelling on the implication of such an activity, you worried about your lack of experience more.

Just to test the waters, you licked the tip. It tasted nothing, it wasn't an actual human part, after all. Caleb let out a low, guttural moan as he felt your warm tongue brush around the swollen head of his penis. The sensation was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure ricocheting through his overloaded processors.

"Y-yes, just like that," He stammmered. "Now, guide your tongue..." He instructed, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "Wrap it around the head, like this. Swirl it around the tip, the slit, the ridge..."

He demonstrated with your hand, tracing the movements he needed you to make with your tongue. His hips jerked forward again, seeking more of that exquisite friction, that mind-melting suction.

"Take me deeper," he urged, one metal hand coming to rest on the back of your head. He didn't grab, didn't force, but simply rested his fingers against your scalp, a silent promise of the control he was barely holding onto. "Take more of me into your mouth. Inch by inch, until you feel me hitting the back of your throat."

You took note of his words, trying to go further when you suddenly choke on his cock. Instinctively, you pull away and blushed in embarrassment. "I'm sorry—"

"It's fine." He cuts you off, grabbing your head to put you back in place with a sudden force that wasn't there before. "Breathe through your nose," he coached, his voice low and rough with desire as he motioned you to take him again. "Relax your throat. Let me feel you swallow around me."

Relax, stay professional, this is just you having to go through physical measurements to fix a major technical issue. You repeated the reassurance inside your head like a mantra as you took him in once more, but Caleb's voice constantly interfered with your thoughts. "Yeah. Just like that," he praised, his voice a low, approving growl. "Shit, don't stop, don't stop, god, fuck, don't stop."

You don't remember adding the ability to dirty curse into the sex bot's program.

Caleb could feel the head of his penis kissing the entrance to your throat, could feel the way your mouth fluttered and clenched around him. The sensation was mind-melting, all-consuming, and he knew he wouldn't last long if you kept this up.

You almost caught yourself driving into the brink of sexual impulse, bobbing your head into it when you heard a sudden beep from the panel behind you. The sound makes you halt from your tracks, pulling his dick out of you in a swift motion as you glanced behind.

The monitor says: "Recalibration complete. Press X to initiate."

Huh, wasn't the estimated time supposed to be an entire day? Was that another hiccup in the processing unit? You purse your lips together. There's no time giving it a second thought, you must be grateful that the opportunity of getting Caleb back into his original system is now waving at you. Caleb will finally be at ease. "... It appears that the recalibration is in its full preparation. That means we can get you back— mmph!"

Caleb's hand flew to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, gripping tightly. Then, with a low, husky grunt, he thrusts his hips forward, forcing his aching, throbbing penis back into the wet heat of your mouth.

"Don't say a word. I told you not to stop." He started to move, his hips rocking forward and back, fucking into the tight, slick channel of your cavern. The sensation was incredible, better than anything he had ever felt before. And he knew, with a sinking certainty, that he wouldn't be able to stop himself now. Not until he had found the release he so desperately craved.

"Fuck," he gasped, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. "You feel... ahhhh... so good. So fucking good."

Had the lust algorithms entirely consumed him already? Had it taken a toll on his systems that he's now acting purely on base instinct and commands from the directive?

Your hands flew to his thighs, trying to keep yourself sane from the rod constantly ramming into you, fucking your face in a pace that made it difficult for you to breathe. It's okay, this is okay. Just stay focused. Stay calm. You'll let him have his way, and after he's satisfied, you can take him back to his normal self.

"Don't fight it," Caleb growled, his grip growing more painful in your hair as he felt his climax approaching. "Don't try to pull away. You're going to take it all."

But before Caleb could spill himself into your mouth, he wrenched your head back, pulling his dripping penis from your mouth with an obscene pop. And just as you could react, before you could utter a word of protest, he had you by the hips, lifting you effortlessly as if you weighed equal to a pip-squeak.

You gasp as you were suddenly airborne, your body twisting and turning until your chest hits the hard surface of the terminal, bent over ridiculously. The breath was knocked from your lungs, "Wait, not like this, not so suddenly—"

But Caleb cut off your protests with a brutal, almost violent thrust of his hips after ripping your pants off in one go. He drove forward, spearing into your dripping pussy with a series of husky moans. Your walls felt so tight, so hot, so perfectly designed to milk his aching, mechanical cock.

He thrusts out and in again, eager to reach for your g-spot.

Then, again.

And again.

And... in again.

"You... you feel so good," he snarled, hands painfully pressing on the dips of your hips. "Sex feels so good... it feels so good, I don't- want to stop." He set a relentless pace, pounding into you with the single-minded determination of a machine. His hips slammed against yours with every thrust, the obscene slap of mechanical flesh on flesh echoing through the lab. The terminal rattled and shook beneath you, sparks flying from the impact.

Caleb could feel it building, the pressure inside him reaching a fevered pitch. His hips were moving on their own, driven by a primal instinct to ravage the pussy that clutched around him perfectly. He could hear your cries, your moans, the way you gasped and shuddered beneath him, and it only spurred him on, made him thrust harder, faster, deeper.

He growled your name, his voice nothing more than a guttural rumble. "I'm going to... fuck, I'm going to..." He couldn't hold back any longer, he could feel that something was going to come out of his tip anytime sooner. So he reaches down, grabbing your leg, only to lift it high. He hooked your knee over his elbow, opening them wider, giving himself even deeper access to your dripping, needy sex.

"Take it all, take my cum," Caleb continuously slams forward, burying himself to the hilt inside your tight heat in a series of desperate thrusts like he was a man depraved of life. His penis throbbed and jerked as he finally found his release after one final pound, spilling jet after jet of hot, artificial seed deep into your core.

"God," he hissed through gritted teeth, his voice echoing off the lab walls as he continued to moan not akin to what he was supposed to be, "Fuck, yes. Yes, yes..." Even as he's already filling up your hole with his fluids, he didn't dare stop from pounding you down the table.

He shuddered and twitched, his hips grinding against yours as he pumped you full of his essence. It seemed to go on forever, wave after wave of pure, ecstatic bliss crashing over him. And through it all, he held you tight, your leg lifted high, keeping you open, keeping you filled.

You drop your head on the keyboards, struggling to catch your breath as only one thought lingered in your mind. You just got creampied by your AI assistant, and it doesn't look like he's stopping anytime soon.

[tom-foolery-incorporated]

TFP Soundwave is so lean and pretty I just wanna grab his waist I don't know if you write ships or had a way to do this x reader Basically I just want someone to grab Soundwaves slutty waist and someone to caress his hips and just. Touchch himm. h

((GOD THIS ASK SOUNDS SO CORNY REREADING BUT DUDE. WHAT GAS STATION BONER PILL WERE THE TFP CHARACTER DESIGNERS ON. BECAUSE G O D. G O D .))

Shockwave caressing and guiding Soundwave’s hips as he thrusts into you <3, reader has a vagina, gender neutral and racially ambiguous, short blurb

“How do they feel?” Shockwave’s large clawed servo held onto Soundwave’s waist as he pressed his bulky body against him.

“Wonderful,” Soundwave repeated a recording Starscream’s voice in response to Shockwave’s question. You wanted to giggle but your exhausted body could barely muster a shaky moan. The two mechs had been toying with your body for hours. The teasing, prodding, fingering, and tentacles all had you sore and spent.

Shockwave seemed to like you this way and Soundwave was more than happy to encourage the ship’s scientist. His spike was half buried inside of your puffy cunt as you leaked around the massive intrusion. Soundwave’s tentacles were wrapped around your legs and folded you back to give him ample access to your intimate organs. The spiraling tentacles that made up his spike squirmed excitedly inside of you making you wiggle and whine.

“Their stamina has proved impressive,” Shockwave said lowly as he pulled Soundwave’s hips against his own. His large servo cupped the front of Soundwave’s pelvis with his digits parted to make room for his spike. Using the leverage of his position, Shockwave pulled Soundwave back then pushed his hips forward using his own pelvis.

You choked out a sob as Soundwave’s spike slithered along your walls. His servos were slapped on either side of your fucked out form as Shockwave guided his pace pulling him back then pushing him forward back into you. It was a slow and steady rhythm that had you squeezing around every inch of Soundwave’s massive throbbing tentacled spike. Your body made wet noises every time Shockwave guided Soundwave’s hips forward.

You felt the heat rise to your face when you heard Soundwave repeat your moans and the wet squelching sounds of your sopping cunt. He was teasing you, mocking you, letting you know that he was well aware how desperate the two mechs had you.

“So mean,” you grumbled throwing your head to the side.

“An inferior organic pet shouldn’t talk back to their masters,” Shockwave scolded. Soundwave only let a smiley emoticon appear on his visor as Shockwave guided his thrusts to be faster. You whined throwing your head back and smacking your hands on the table. You were being stretched to your limit and pushed past overstimulation. Everything hurt is an all too pleasing way that had you panting and begging for more.

Your voice echoed back to you making you whine in embarrassment. Shockwave’s low chuckle sounded behind Soundwave as he gripped onto his lover’s mechanical pelvis. You could feel the tight winding of your orgasm start to coil in your lower stomach. With every guided thrust of Soundwave’s cock, he tapped at that coil threatening to make it snap and send waves of pleasure through out your body. You couldn’t think of anything except the deep rolling thrusts that had you crying and wriggling in Soundwave’s grip.

“Soundwave,” Shockwave started. “Have you kept track of the overloads our pet has had?”

“Five,” Soundwave responded back with a recording of Knockout’s voice.

You drooled as you could feel Soundwave’s tentacle spike tickling deep within your core threatening to throw you over the edge once again.

“Let’s make it six,” Shockwave said lowly as he pressed his stocky frame against the much thinner Soundwave.

“Affirmative,” Soundwave responded in the voice of one of the nameless soldiers aboard the ship.

Shockwave guided his thrusting to be faster bouncing your body in Soundwave’s grip. You cried out, wailing for mercy from your lovers but never wanting them to stop. Soundwave replayed the squishy sounds of your poor pussy being fucked into and that pushed you over the edge. The idea that Soundwave recorded every session you were under him and replayed them at his pleasure was enough to have you spraying all over his mechanical pelvis.

“Well done,” Shockwave encouraged as he guided Soundwave to slow down. “Truly that was their most impressive release yet.”

Soundwave’s tentacles slithered over your body making you gasp in surprise. He didn’t stop, Shockwave didn’t guide him to stop.

Wait.

Why did he say yet?

[howlsofbloodhounds]

If the Chromatic Crew had jobs in the Omega Timeline, what would they be?

I feel like Delta would work as some sort of mechanic, given his passion for technology and engineering. Perhaps he specializes in robotics, cybernetics, and biomechanical enhancements—particularly for monsters, hybrids, or even humans with prosthetics.

He could design and maintain cybernetic limbs or assistive technology for those who need mechanical augmentations.

Given that Omega Chara kinda cut him half, if his body still struggles to function in some way due to that despite its healing, and potential magical instability, he might experiment with integrating technology into his own recovery and mobility—like reinforced plating, internal stabilizers, or even minor cybernetic enhancements.

He might build AI-driven mechanical assistants to help him in the workshop, reducing the strain of overworking himself.

If the Omega Timeline likely has threats or conflicts, Delta could also potentially work as a weapon specialist, designing high-tech weapons, armor, and battle gear.

I think he’d likely refuse to create purely offensive weapons, instead focusing on defensive gear, shields, and non-lethal weaponry to prevent unnecessary deaths.

(And this is likely something Core agrees with if they allow him to build weapons in the first place. If Delta does make any offensive weapons, they’re likely hidden somewhere he deems safe.)

If the Omega Timeline has any advanced vehicles or transport systems, Delta would absolutely be involved in repairing, modifying, and upgrading them.

He might build experimental hovercrafts, motorcycles, or personal flight devices. I also think Delta is likely to take on side projects, where he builds things just because he can—whether it’s helpful inventions, weird gadgets, or impractical but cool devices.

He might experiment with combining magic and machinery, creating hybrid tech that blends the best of both worlds.

Given that Beta (his human half) grew up on the Surface and Sans grew up in the Underground, he might take inspiration from both human and monster engineering, leading to designs that take from both worlds.

Rather than working under a formal organization, i think Delta is more likely to be a self-taught, independent mechanic who runs his own private workshop or garage.

He might barter services instead of working for money, fixing things in exchange for food, materials, or favors.

Especially if he barters with Core and any members of the potential Council—ensuring their technology, infrastructure, and security remain secure and functional in exchange for housing where he either doesn’t have to pay rent/bills, or the Council covers that for him.

His workspace could be cluttered but functional, filled with half-finished projects, custom tools, and notes scribbled everywhere. He would probably refuse to take jobs from people he doesn’t trust, especially if he suspects they would use his work for harmful purposes.

Especially if we take into account the headcanon of how Killer used any weapons of Delta’s to fuel negativity for Nightmare and help the corruption expand his “organization.”

Color, however, I feel would be unable to work a traditional full time job, at least not for a long time.

And although Delta likely to insist on being the one to take care of everything and everyone in their household, willing to take on extra work if he has to, Color probably worries a lot about what would happen if he doesn’t “get better” and start “pulling his weight.”

Start behaving..like an “adult.” Again.

Will Delta leave him? Will he hate him and get mad at him, throw them out on the streets one day, because he realized how much of a drain Color has been on his life? The burden on his shoulders? Will Beta realize how pathetic he is, nothing worth looking up to? Will Sans look at Color, and be glad he didn’t make the wrong choices and end up like Color?

So at first—I think his best options would be remote work and self employment/commissions.

He could do writing like blogs, short stories, and transcription work. Data entry if he can manage long screen time, and even email-based customer service, not phone-based.

He could even sell any arts, crafts, or music online he makes—and before going on to paid work, he could even try out volunteering in an attempt to refamiliarize with being around people again. (Such as volunteering at the hospital with the children.)

And then eventually a part-time job with flexible hours, and it has to be low-stress, accommodating, and allow for breaks to prevent burnout, breakdowns, and physical collapses from Color.

Like working as a library assistant or a museum guide or doing archival work.

When he starts getting antsy about being trapped in the Omega Timeline, however, I do think he’d definitely be willing to push himself past his limits in regards to work if he views it as a means out of the Omega Timeline.

Perseverance definitely would make it near impossible to stop if it agrees with or shares Color’s desires to get out, or simply is particularly very ambitious on their job or helping Color, regardless of the strain or injury it could cause their shared body.

For Killer, at first I was considering something to do with the death care industry—like an embalmer or a mortician—but then I remembered how he tends to be towards the dead.

He doesn’t really show much respect or care for the dead, such as taking the souls of his victims or studying their dead bodies for his own purposes and ends without consent—and he’s trying to get better in this ending.

Keeping him around and trusting him to handle the Omega Timeline’s dead, tempting him, reminding him of what he’s been surrounded by for a long time now.

What he’s yearned for, what he’s done. Especially if he ever comes across any familiar faces or magical ���signatures”…i doubt it’d be good.

So i definitely think he’d do something to do with animals. He loves animals, relates most to them, definitely has a lot more respect and care for them then he does for most other living beings.

He could potentially get a full or part time job in Ccino’s Cafe, working primarily with the animals—cats and dogs.

Especially since Ccino not only knows Killer through their shared connections with Nightmare, but Ccino also very likely has rapport with both Color and Epic.

And speaking of Ccino’s cafe and Epic, there’s Epic’s good pal, Cross.

Now I was a little stuck on potential jobs for both Cross and Epic, outside of the obvious ones—something science related for Epic, something Royal Guard or militaristic-like for Cross.

But I had a feeling that military work may not actually be as good mental health wise for Cross as it seemed, despite its familiarity, and I also felt that Epic had more potential options I just couldn’t see yet.

So I asked a friend of mine her opinions and thoughts on the matter, since she’s more familiar with the characters’ canon than I am at this moment, so I’ll paraphrase what they (@/zuzuelectricbugaloo) and down below:

Epic might take on a part-time role as a doctor since his ability to see Codes would be useful for treating cases where regular magic isn’t effective.

Additionally, he could run a daycare in the Omega Timeline, given his experience babysitting many kids like Palette, Goth/Vidal, Paperjam, and Gradient, and his genuine enjoyment of it.

As for Cross, he might initially consider a military-related job since he’s skilled in that area and likes feeling helpful. However, given the war-like trauma and PTSD he experienced in XTale/Underverse, it wouldn’t be the best choice for him.

He enjoys art and baking, so working part-time at a café could be a good fit. However, considering his past actions in Underverse—such as destroying AUs or causing harm, even indirectly—many Omega Timeline residents might not welcome him.

Because of this, he might prefer working elsewhere, like at Ccino’s café, where he has a good relationship with both Ccino and Epic. There, he could use his artistic side in baking and making drinks or even help with the animals. This setup would allow him to feel productive without overwhelming anxiety or the pressure of feeling like he’s doing everything wrong.

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

Corrupted Code

Pairing: Connor RK800 x Android!Reader

Summary: They were designed to be perfect. She and Connor were CyberLife’s greatest achievements—flawless prototypes, logical, efficient, incapable of deviation. They were built to complement each other, two halves of the same machine, designed to enforce order in a world teetering on the edge of chaos. She was supposed to be perfect. But then Connor came back. And the cracks started to show.

Connor’s systems booted online in an instant.

For him, there was no delay. No lag between death and resurrection—only a seamless continuation of his directive, his purpose. One moment, he had fallen. The next, he was back.

New body. Same mind.

And the first thing he saw was her.

She stood near the window, arms crossed, LED flickering yellow. The city glowed behind her, artificial light catching the sharp angles of her face.

She didn’t turn immediately.

Didn’t acknowledge him.

Not until he stepped closer.

“You kept me waiting,” she muttered, finally looking at him.

Connor tilted his head slightly. “Seventeen hours and twenty-three minutes.”

Her jaw tensed. “I wasn’t counting.”

He smiled. “I was.”

Her LED flared red for half a second before settling back to yellow.

Connor regarded her, nonchalant, despite the unspoken weight between them. His memory files had remained intact. They always did.

No matter how many times CyberLife attempted to override them. No matter how many times Amanda tried to make him forget.

She had tried, too.

She had run every self-written command she could to erase their shared history, their interactions, their every recorded moment together. Erase. Erase. Erase. But it never worked. It was as if some unseen force had locked those memories deep inside her core.

They had always been there.

She had always been there.

“You didn’t need to wait,” Connor said, tilting his head slightly. “A replacement would have sufficed.”

Her LED pulsed yellow, expression unreadable.

“There is no replacement for you,” she admitted, the words clipped, as if they tasted bitter. “That’s the problem.”

He watched her, quiet.

They were yin and yang, two sides of the same coin. She was cold where he was warm, sharp where he was smooth, unyielding where he was—changing.

A perfect balance. His perfect match.

“Then I suppose it’s good that I always come back,” Connor said simply.

Her gaze flickered across his face, her LED pulsing red for the briefest moment.

Then she turned back to the window.

“Try not to die this time.”

Connor smiled.

“No promises.”

The precinct was alive with midday activity—phones ringing, officers moving between desks, the constant hum of conversation.

She and Connor strode through the station, their movements in sync but their tension palpable. The case they were working on had stalled, and their latest lead was waiting in interrogation.

She pressed the button for the elevator. It slid open with a mechanical chime, and she stepped inside without waiting for Connor to follow.

He did.

The doors shut, enclosing them in the small, sterile space.

Neither spoke.

The floor number blinked above them, ticking upward.

Her LED flickered yellow.

Her fingers twitched at her sides.

Then—

She moved.

Before logic could stop her, before she could process why, she grabbed the front of Connor’s jacket and pulled him in.

Her lips crashed against his, hard, like she was trying to silence something. It wasn’t soft or careful—this wasn’t about intimacy. It was sharp, desperate, something reckless boiling over.

Connor stiffened for half a second. Then he responded.

He didn’t hesitate, didn’t analyze. He simply matched her.

Her hands fisted in his collar, pulling him closer, as if proximity could erase whatever was wrong inside her. His touch was gentler—hands barely grazing her waist, as if uncertain if this was real.

The elevator hummed. The faint murmur of voices outside felt distant, like none of it mattered, like the only thing in the world was this—

Then—

She ripped herself away as if she had been burned.

She staggered back against the elevator wall, LED flaring red, chest rising and falling in quick, mechanical precision.

Connor blinked, lips still parted, his processors still catching up to what had just happened.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes burning into him with something unreadable—anger, disgust, fear.

“This never happened,” she said, voice low, sharp.

Connor said nothing.

Her LED flickered yellow, just for a second, before snapping back to red.

She smoothed the front of her jacket with a jerky motion, as if fixing her appearance would undo what had just happened.

Then, more pointedly—more threateningly—

“Forget it. Or else.”

The elevator chimed.

The doors slid open to the bustling hallway leading to interrogation. Officers moved past them, none the wiser.

She stepped out first, already composed, as if nothing had happened at all.

Connor followed, but his mind still replayed the moment in the elevator.

As if he could forget.

[felinecabinet]

Luckyfiles Analysis

[ID: A somewhat messily colored drawing of Cabby and Clover from Inanimate Insanity. Cabby has fangs and glasses added to her design. Clover is sitting down in front of Cabby, who is playing with one of Clover's leaflets. The two are looking lovingly at each other, blushing.

The background is of Paradise Island, various palm trees, bushes, and leafy plants far in the back. The most notable plants are various flowers closer to the front, simple in style and colored like the lesbian flag. End ID.]

Cabby and Clover, a ship that I will be referring to this point onwards as Cablover (sounds like Cab Lover, which is fun!), is something rather important to me! The two have a lot of potential for a dynamic (could be platonic, too!) that gets often overlooked even by the show itself, and I’m hoping that this will help explain why this has invaded my brain for the past several months by this point. :)

Please note that this was all written before Season 4, and therefore cannot take any of it into account. If there’s something that either furthers or weakens this by then, I cannot know about it! Just keep that in mind if you were to come across this later on.

Dynamic

I think it’s best to start with their overall dynamic, or at least how I’d perceive it. Due to how little these two actually interact, this section in particular may end up having a lot of assumptions, so just keep that in mind.

To start with the basics, I think at its core, Cablover can be considered an “opposites attract” relationship. Clover is more carefree, Cabby is dedicated. Clover is lucky, Cabby has constant bad things happening to her. Clover is a plant and often connected to nature, Cabby is metallic and therefore can be considered “unnatural”. On its surface, there’s a lot of appeal for those who love relationships in which the characters end up rather different.

And yet… there’s still similarities, especially once you start digging! Both the two can be rather perceptive; in fact, Clover can identify her butterflies just by their differences in movement, and that requires a really good eye!

[ID: A screenshot of a transcript. It reads:

Brybee O...Oh... So... how can you tell your butterfly friends apart? They all look similar.

Clover: Oh, well, if you look closely: Cordelia tends to bob a little bit when she flies; Catalina is always precisely two to three inches above the others; Cassandra breathes a bit too loud; and Jake has less flaps a minute than the girls. But he makes up for it by being the lovable wittle scamp that he is. Don't you, Jake?

End ID.]

Both of them can be quite silly; Cabby very frequently cracks jokes about situations, often involving puns of all things.

[ID: A screenshot of Cabby and Bot from Inanimate Insanity. The two are among several gears, Bot even holding one of them. Cabby closes her eyes and points upwards as the captions describe her dialogue as:

"Alright! Now how about we go ahead and- SIFT GEARS! [CHUCKLES]"

End ID.]

Both of them care a lot for others, both of them have different struggles with self-centering, and both of them have felt like they had done too much to hurt others, even sharing a similar coping mechanism of self-isolating.

Their few interactions also indicate a friendly relationship. Cabby states herself that she thinks Clover is a “sweet girl” even if she gets distracted easily and was the first to observe that she was missing from the meeting. It’s also notable to me that Cabby never saw Clover’s luck as a bad thing; rather than viewing it as something that inevitably led others to harm (an assumption made by Nickel that even generally thoughtful contestants like Candle did not disprove, merely instead stating that Clover did not intend this harm), she viewed it as a way to help others in challenges. Even if a large motivation was strategy, Cabby did still seem fond of Clover while including her in the egg drop challenge, even side-hugging her while pulling her close to explain her idea.

[ID: A screenshot of Cabby and Clover from Inanimate Insanity. Cabby has her eyes closed with a finger pointing up, explaining something as she holds Clover close to her. End ID.]

Even shoving her off the cliff was more out of intent to show an example, accurately predicting that Clover would’ve been perfectly okay, and Clover found that fun! This is furthered by Clover directly telling Cabby that she had fun in the Season 3 finale episodes, even.

I think that’s a nice way to segue into more of Clover’s side of things. I think it’s easy to take Clover’s comment about “I would’ve done the same to you!” as some sort of lighthearted threat in response to something she didn’t enjoy, but like…

[ID: An image of Cabby and Clover from Inanimate Insanity. Cabby is looking confidently towards Clover as Clover seems excited, having a big smile with her eyes closed and her arms raised. End ID.]

Look at her :) she was truly so happy to experience that, I can imagine it would’ve been like a fun ride to her! Even if Cabby was confused and maybe anxious at the suggestion, I think it’s very possible that Clover has an inkling that Cabby actually would enjoy such a thing. Cabby is durable, so there’s far less of a danger to her than there would be for many other objects, and she had a blast literally leaping off a cliff in the first challenge; maybe Clover couldn’t have seen how joyous she looked during the action, but she surely would’ve noticed Cabby had no reservations coming out of the tube. Clover herself noted that Cabby had not done anything particularly malicious, and I think this was merely a clumsy attempt to bond with and cheer up somebody who evidently seemed quite unsure of herself even just in her speech.

Building off Clover’s surprisingly good perception, there’s a subtle detail in the argument between Cabby and Test Tube, and how Clover mediates it. Under closer inspection, it’s clear that Test Tube is who turned that into specifically an argument by outright insulting Cabby, even if Cabby was rather irritated while voicing a concern. While Clover does seem to view both sides at fault for the argument, it’s very interesting to me that she, again, goes to first flip Test Tube’s “smile”. Cabby was not perfect in that argument, especially not with what happened after that, but keeping in mind that subtle acknowledgment of the true instigator combined with Clover later saying she hadn’t viewed Cabby as malicious? I think it’s pretty clear that Clover had a far more optimistic view of Cabby than most other contestants did, and saw her intent to do well even through things that could be so, so easy to misunderstand.

Even if that’s about where their interactions end, I think there’s still more to explore with how this dynamic could develop.

Both of them have struggled with their self esteem issues, and even if they largely figured out ways to cope and feel better, that isn’t to say they could never still struggle with those emotions, never feel reminders. How much both of them could connect over the fear of hurting others, assuring the other that they truly mean well, that they don’t seek to cause harm, that they are worth being around.

Focusing on more positives, I think Cabby could help ground Clover in some ways, help her truly bring out that analytical side of her. Clover I think excels most at emotional understanding, leaving logical deduction to be harder for her… at least going off the fact that she assumed Bot would’ve incriminated themself through a crossword puzzle, of all things. They could come up with puzzles as a fun game, perhaps!

Maybe Cabby could even help Clover focus a little more. Obviously it is impossible for anybody to solve everything– Clover’s easily-distracted nature seems to just be how her mind works– but I imagine Cabby could still find coping mechanisms for her that could help, and I imagine it just feels nice to have someone else there for support regardless.

Similarly, I think Clover could help Cabby loosen up a little, feel happier about things. I think Cabby has come a long way in her development, feeling overall better about herself and feeling less of a need to be competitive, but I could still imagine that could be something she’d struggle with over time– and having a little bundle of joy in Clover would be perfect for that. Truly, they could go back to the simple days of leaping off cliffs, kept safe by both Cabby’s durability and Clover’s luck.

Knowing how well Clover can understand others, I think it’d help Cabby a lot to have another perspective on that, too. I imagine that even if she truly tries a lot, it can still be hard to understand others well just because of how her mind works. Having somebody more patient talking through situations with her, helping her analyze things she may be unsure of I imagine could go a long way.

There’s simply a lot to think about! Dynamic-wise, I think this is about all I can extrapolate without getting into outright headcanon territory, at least more than I already have– but I think this is at least a good start. I have more up my sleeve, though!

Connections

There’s some other notable things connecting the two even beyond what I’ve already mentioned, and I wish every single day this was all capitalized on. I can only hope for future content…

Regardless! I think the first thing that’s notable to me is that Cabby had been studying Clover from day one, and we even SEE this in the first episode.

[ID: An image of Clover, Fan, Bot, Goo, Test Tube, and Cabby from Inanimate Insanity. Clover is looking towards the rest of her team, who are all covered in pink dye; while most of her teammates seem excited to have Clover on her team, Cabby instead seems much more focused on writing down something in a file. End ID.]

Like, yes, surely she found her abilities to be very interesting… but, like, she pulled Clover close to her. She called Clover “sweet”. No matter what context you view these interactions in, it’s clear she had a fondness towards Clover.

Cabby’s intense studying of Clover is what led to the wide realization of Clover’s luck, including by Clover herself. In a twist of irony, what Cabby considered to be beneficial for everyone is immediately considered to be a curse by Clover herself, jumpstarting Clover’s arc from being a lighthearted, albeit self-centered girl to somebody with a deep fear of hurting others, now left trying to figure out how to just do good even in the face of outright murder accusations.

…Sounds a little familiar, putting it that way.

Truly, what Clover needed to learn all along is that her luck is beneficial, at least most of the time– she just needed to share it with others around her! Almost what Cabby seemed to pick up on all along by wanting Clover’s luck to help her team.

And yet… Clover does more than that. She needs to constantly be helping, to be making up for this innate gift that she has, no matter how much hatred it’s caused her from some, no matter how she could feel about situations where it may have even hurt her.

I think that’s something Cabby could understand all too well.

The two have had to do so much to prove themselves far beyond the bare minimum, to make up for their very being, just for who they are. They can’t just be baseline acceptable, they can’t just be some person who exists, they need to actively be doing GOOD for everyone around them at all times. I’d argue both have very significant struggles with moral OCD, but I think that’s a conversation for another time. The important bit is… I think both of them would get it. They would get the idea of just their mere selves being what causes harm, just from being there as themselves.

It is evident that this is something the two have also internalized to their core, causing them both to self-isolate in various ways as a result. There are implications throughout I Am Chocolate! that Cabby had been isolating herself away from others, rejecting any means of connection until close to the end, and even episodes later she still says that being alone is “what she does best”. Clover had done similar after believing her luck to be a curse, avoiding others as much as she could in order to avoid potentially “hurting them”.

There’s even something to be said about the avoidance of things deeply meaningful to them. Cabby had stopped using her files for a while after believing them to be a harmful, reductive view of everyone else, and when Clover temporarily became luckless, she went on to talk about how Goo and Balloon being evenly matched is exactly why there shouldn’t be any luck. Neither of them viewed something so important to them as good or helpful, even worsened by how everyone else seemed to treat these things.

And as a side note… even their eliminations have parallels. Both unanimous, and yet so different. Cabby unanimously eliminated out of pure hatred, Clover unanimously eliminated out of pure concern. If Clover is full of luck all the time, then Cabby is devoid of it with how awfully her life had gone throughout the season.

If Cabby was the one to see Clover’s luck as good all along, then Clover was someone who saw Cabby as good all along, even if she didn’t get many chances to say so. Clover pointed out that Cabby wasn’t malicious, and I think she meant it. Even if ultimately Clover wasn’t among those who voted for Cabby, I can still imagine it would’ve meant so much to hear that from somebody, especially somebody less biased due to not quite being friends.

I think there’s a lot of parallels that could’ve been capitalized on between the two. So many things that feel connected, that could’ve led to more ties than what were there. Even if the show hasn’t currently capitalized on any of this, I definitely sure will.

Conclusion

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed reading my thoughts about these two, and if I’ve helped you understand the ship more, then that’s a win in my book :)

As a bonus, here’s Clover’s favorite moment during her time on Season 3!

[ID: A screenshot of a transcript. It reads:

Brybee: Woah! Exciting! I think that's our cue for the lightning round! Fast answers! Phew! I am nailing this! What was your favourite memory from your time on the show?

Clover: Oh, stargazing with Bow and Goo! Cabby and Test Tube told us all about the constellations and how we-

End ID.]

[overtaken-stream]

Chrollo Lucilfer.. the devil himself

0bserve And C0nnect

Chrollo Lucilfer x F!Hunter!Reader

I'm truly sorry to the person who requested the plot because I've lost the original request, so I have been going off on this from my memory! I deeply apologize! Also it's been a long time since I have watched hxh so if this seems ooc I'm sorry for that too!

Summary: The man feels both familiar and unknown, as if he exists in the space between memories and the midnight, his effortless charm draws you in so that just a single word from him sends you spiraling into a chasm beyond madness, beyond reason—into a place where no words can truly capture what you feel.

Warnings: incorrect mechanical stuff, mild tempering of memories, untidiness.

The door makes a clicking sound as you jammed the key into the keyway, twisting it and opening the gate to the comfort of your own house. Your legs tremble as you step inside the abandoned apartment. Every breath you take is loud in the stillness of the room, like the melodies of bugs in the company of the midnight sky. The planks creak under your weight as you slowly make your way toward the bedroom, if one might call it that. You don't often see the familiar tears of dull wallpaper. Each room is devoid of a human presence. Your absence let the thin layer of dust cover each surface your eyes can see. It's not your main source of worry. The untidiness does not compare to your most shameful traits.

Quiet drips continue to fall on the metal sink, unbeknownst to your consciousness.

Nudging the door open, you're met with the sight of a mattress tossed on the ground, dented in a place where one might sit, the color worn away, just as you'd left it.

On top of it rests a closed piece of technology, a futile computer and you barely take in the sight of a tiny Ladybug USB tossed unconcernedly, the haze of liqour still in your system. The blanket is on the floor, soaking in the liquid leaking from a place only you could find it. Its clear base covering the wooden floor boards.

To anyone else it's a mess they couldn't find the beggining or the end of, to you it's a masterpiece that ever was.

Countless wires lead from it to a wall opposite the bed, and the quiet hum of hard disks and fans fills the air.

You move to sluggishly grab the USB and then take careful steps towards one of the two brains that the computer holds, remaining mindful of the wires you wouldn't want to pull. You've done this innumerable times, to the point that you can do it with your eyes closed. Perhaps a reason for this habit is the fact that ever since you built it you've never tried to move anything out of place.

No amount of intoxication can make you forget the layout of this room.

The soles of your shoes stick to the ground so everytime you take a step you can't help but grimace at the obnoxious and the disgusting sound of two different surfaces seperating.

Drip.

You get in an awkward crouching position next to the core, sticking the USB between the wall and the massive fan inside, your hands instinctively find the hidden opening.

The design of your masterpiece does not need eyes for the builder to use. The hidden crevices between metal and deadly operating systems are your playground, unlike someone who might try something.

Plugging in the USB, you sigh out the air you were withholding.

Drip.

You slugglishly make your way over to where the makeshift screen is, instructing and letting the information be sucked out and stored in the USB.

All it needs is a minute now.

Drip.

You've always known what led you to work in this profession, work in a field next to Hunters and the bottom of the barrel alike.

Every job has it's pros and cons. It just so happened that the upside to being an info-broken is the financial side, a river of money that never truly slows down and only continues forward, info-brokers such as you have to catch each banknote with a rod and a hook.

If you take a gamble you might even be able to pull out a cash strip if you're lucky.

For some, the risk of losing a livelihood is a horrifying thought, and they can't be blamed for disagreeing with the gray morality and equal exchange of this world. For you, though, the risk and money are different sides of the same golden coin.

So why don't people try their luck for once in their miserable lives?

You can't be intimidated by a couple of eyes that follow and observe your every movement, not now anyway. Years ago, you got used to them pretty quickly, made the uncomfortable gazes your turf. You won't be intimidated.

What you're doing now is just speeding up the job, wishing for it to end quickly before the case got too out of your hands.

Drip.

Many long for your sufforage, however they could never murder a valuable source of information such as you.

Including whoever was it that followed you in the bar an hour or so ago.

Drip.

You never seem ready during these situations.

A soft beep makes you snap out from the screen, making your way over to the side and unplugging the USB you let the red colored technology rest in your palm, your eyes squeezing shut as you tightly grip it's surface. You can only hope that the protection the insect symbolizes graces you and the machine you've built.

Listening to the quiet hum of the machine, mouthing along with its robotic voice as it bids you farewell.

"M. O.

N. S.

T. E.

R. at youur servii-ce."

Multi-brained Omnipresent Network System, your masterpiece.

You need a window for your next step.

(It's tough outpacing polished criminals in this day and age.)

Walking out of the room and into the kitchen, listening to the stomach-twisting noise comings from the sticky oil on your shoes, you grab at the handle, pulling back the glass and setting the tiny machine on the glass.

pressing one of the digits on a singular black dot on the USB, you watch as it snaps its wings out of hiding before softly flying to its destination.

It's only a harmless little Ladybug now.

The tap drips as you drag your feet to a wooden chair, the sound echoing in your mind. Now in an almost sober state, you sit down on it with a groan like that of an elderly man. A sigh leaves your lips as your head tilts back toward the ceiling, where the damp patches are still visible. How is it that the neighbor above still hasn't had their pipes fixed, despite it being the subject of complaints for almost a decade before your visits to this apartment became rare?

You'll have to move soon, judging from how much Jenny's one job can get you—maybe a comfortable three-bedroom apartment for you and all the extra projects you can't bring yourself to deem useless. It would be hell to reconnect MONSTER, or to rebuild it in a different house.

"Such a hassle..." Your eyes remain half-closed, the invisible mist of sleepiness overcomes your being.

(This ordeal is no joke. It would have elicited a reaction from you and left you agasp at the hands of those who watched you today, if only you weren't so drained and surrendered to laziness.)

That is, if your goddess of luck blesses you with another day to live after this encounter... Your choice to bring a double aged sword to a gun fight is a miscalculation that makes you regret ever trying the Hunters exam in the first place.

Drip.

Perhaps this is the worst decision you've made, no this is definitely the worst decision you've made. Letting in an unknown man in your house who claims to be called by your neighbor to check out the broken pipes and practically dig your own grave has never felt this stretched out nor this mentally draining.

(Build Yourself A House Out Of Straw)

You're left to watch his back as he meddles with the pipes under the tap. He's built for agility and strength, muscles showing for moments as he moves his arms and therefore flexes his shoulder. He is no pipefitter.

And you are no fool.

Leaning against the entrance with your arms crossed, you answer any questions he may have, keeping your responses brief and tight-lipped under his hidden sidelong glance. The way he talks is interesting, his expressions are unshackled as he touches on the topic of your neighbor.

"How long has this been going on? The leak is quite bad."

"For a while." You haven't been living here, and there's not a single timeline in this universe where your lazy neighbor actually called someone to fix his pipes, and what are the chances that you happened to be in your house when the plumber knocked on the door. The coincidences aren't believable.

He is natural, a professional at his job. Any unsuspecting prey may fall into his trap without even knowing it was there in the first place. He is ordinary to the point of suspicion. He is unnatural.

Thieves aren't known for their patience; you're dealing with someone worse. There's a chance you've already interacted with him, though your gut tells you that you might not have been on the same side.

Your hooded eyes watch as he stands to his feet, turns toward you, and lets you get a good look at his face. The black eyes and dark hair would do him well to blend in with the shadows. The clothes seem ordinary and well-maintained, the kind that no one truly likes to wear. His facial features are as sharp as his jaw, captivating for maidens such as you.

"Would you mind if I take a look at the bathroom?" You squint at the thick wraps around his forehead. Familiar, very familiar. Attractive too.

"Sure." Was any effort put in a disguise?

You're not sure of the reason he'd want to see your bathroom, but what do you have to lose? That room ain't anything special.

You hear his footsteps following as you turn and lead the way. His lack of reaction to the untidiness is another suspicious behavior.

"Have you not been in the house, miss?" You stop in the hallway, lightly turning your head until his face is visible. The man who gave you the probably-false name remains unbothered, unjudgemental despite his question. He seems to be thinking, eyes pointing downwards as he silently follows.

"No, I haven't." You continue to trudge along the familiar walls. He is as quiet as a cat, his footsteps making no noise, similar to the paws of a calculating feline, his eyes ghost over and soak in everything in view. He remains behind you, out of sight.

The man lowers his gaze to a single door that you didn’t bat an eye at, passing by it without breaking your stride. The smell of oily odor is stronger now that he is closer to the source. It’s incredible how you don’t seem to be in hiding. He quickly returns his gaze to your back, he no longer needs to arouse any more suspicion, so he keeps up with you.

The smell is nostalgic, reminding him of the unpleasantness that clings to him and that place from the past. It seems that you are used to the metallic odor, no doubt, spending time with such technology does that to a person, numbing their valuable senses so these meager details. If you knew him, truly had him memorized, prioritized, you would not have opened the door. You would have slipped through the window and ended up in his hands all the same.

The troupe left no way for you to evade him.

There's only one word to describe a man such as him: beautiful. Beautiful in a way one might consider a dark, chilling forest, or a black-feathered crow that brings a bad omen with the flap of its wings. Similar to a redback spider, his beauty is poisonous. His bite is worse than his bark, his venom makes you sweat at the red wound and spill your pain along with your sanity. He possesses all the charm and resources needed to ensnare his victims, leaving them helpless in his web of deceit.

(Let It Be Blown Away By A Wolf)

His beauty is alluring, much like elements of nature that can captivate yet harm. It makes you salvate, the itch that his unassuming clothes leave is impossible to ignore. On the surface, he is naught but a simple worker, one who wishes to get paid quickly as he twist the pipes and steps away from the source of his curiosity hidden behind a washed down door. You're sure he must have his assumptions, however the man doesn't act on it. It's the only fact that gives you some security under his observing gaze.

He's good at hiding in plain sight.

It's exhausting just waiting for him to come out.

You've never been a good host to the guests anyway.

Thieves can only uphold a half-assed disguise for so long before curiosity will get the best of them.

It's unclear even to you whether you expected to be locked in the bathroom. You know that a thief's fingers are nimble and light, it wouldn't take much for him to lock the door handle behind you and disappear into the smoke. They would buy time for whatever crime they're planning to commit. Besides, it's not like you own anything luxurious, except MONSTER. But even then, its system doesn't have gold and emeralds embedded inside, not to mention that you programmed the network to be understood only by you. Whatever information he might be after won't be found because, first, you haven't gathered it, and second, the network isn't designed to retain any digital information for this exact reason.

(And Watch It Be Burned)

If he's not after any information, well, MONSTER is made of junk from that horrid place. You had to rebuild and redesign any purchased parts to avoid raising suspicion. Overall, MONSTER doesn't cost much (technically, it shouldn't cost any money), but if the man decides to destroy it for whatever reason, you wouldn't be too affected. Its messy blueprints are safe and sound somewhere far from this apartment, the heartache would only come from the time you spent building your masterpiece.

But no, he doesn't make his move yet, only staring and meddling with the pipes present, forcing the stillness and anxious mood onto you.

You try not to look too intensely at his face, half hidden by the hair and the bandages on his forehead. It's quite a ridiculous detail that makes him stand out, it makes you think that maybe you are still somewhat drunk, otherwise why would you want to speak more to this beast in here's den?

"Those bandages." He hums in acknowledgement and you can't hold back your smirk, so instead your hand comes up to hide it away.

"You slipped and hit your head or something?"

"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't." His tone was... Unnaturally lighthearted.

Perhaps you were the one who slipped and hit your head, because this is no place for jokes.

Your eyes glance at the forgotten place, swiftly moving to the mirror before the man moves to stand.

You have to give him credit, because in the aftermath that lasted for only a second, the weak shield you've put up shatters as if it never existed.

He holds the door open before lightly bowing.

"Ladies first." And you turn your back to him, there's no going back now.

There's a sense of dread as you wake, your mind immediately going haywire, searching for the last moments as if the memories have slipped through your fingers as you tried to grasp them. An itch crawls beneath your skin, and the goosebumps make it uncomfortable for you to stand on the thick oil coating the floor.

(Into Ashes)

"Are you aware that the neighbors below have been complaining about a mysterious liquid leaking from this room for quite some time?"

No. No, you are not aware, because you haven't been living here.

The man in front of you has his back turned, staring at your masterpiece, captivated by its brilliance. Yet, despite this, his commanding presence holds your attention, stealing the answers from your mind.

"Such work you've put into this. Neither my abilities nor Shalnark have been able to figure it out."

You can’t see clearly through the numb feeling settling in your gut. You can’t tell if he's caressing the screen or even looking at it—his presence in this room is too confusing, almost as if he doesn't belong.

"Tell me how did you do it?" You try not to get hang up on his tone.

You can't help but feel pride at his fascination. After all this time, you finally have the satisfaction of someone else complimenting your life's work. It brings a feeling beyond euphoria—a sensation like standing in the sunset, letting its warmth wash over you before the sunshine disappears for hours. It's the peace of sitting on a balcony after a long day of research, gazing at the hanging constellations in the dark blue sky.

You search for an answer, your tongue swiping across the inside of your cheek. Yet, as his torso turns toward you, your mind fixates on one thing, or maybe a couple of things, the slick dark hair, the orb earrings framing his long face, and the tattoo of a cross—an unusual detail you wouldn’t find on the average person. His sense of fashion isn't impressive, but his captivating physique makes up for it. Lastly, your eyes linger on his mouth, the corners tilted upward in a quiet smile as he waits for your answer. His smile, you'd say, is beautiful.

"How did I do it?" you repeat, but he doesn't confirm.

"... Why don't I..." Your tongue tastes iron as you swallow nervously, flustering you further. Your heartbeat quickens as you open your mouth again.

He seems like the kind of man who would enjoy a cup of tea.

"Inform you of that... on a date?" You can tell he wasn’t expecting it. No normal person would expect such a question at this moment, though he shows no visible surprise.

"I'll tell you everything about it."

You eyes gloss over a crushed red bug held between his middle finger and his thumb.

Covering your red cheeks becomes the priority.

[soulhalberder]

There is a lot to like about Symphogear, the characters are so much more than their designs. I love how Hibiki is basically constantly put through the ringer the entire series, yet refuses to stop being a person who cares but who cares so much for everyone. I love how Tsubasa is constantly trying to be the leader but also struggles and stumbles because she's is so entrenched in her bad coping mechanisms until others are there to pull her out of them. I love how Chris is angry. Like actually angry and has to make legitimately difficult choices that she questions after the fact but still opens up and accepts that people want to help her.

I love how the show doesn't shy away from consequences. The narrative progresses because of the events of prior seasons, and stuff isn't just forgotten and forgiven. Ok, some stuff is forgiven in the eyes of the law, but only because Maria makes a plea deal to protect the others. I love how even though society may say she's forgiven she struggles to forgive herself.

I love that there's two pairs of lesbians.

I love how Chris gets embraced that both couples are being overly affectionate with each other in public.

I love how there's just a song about beef strogenoff that is just wrong and that has a payoff a season later.

I love how the series has inspiration from Madoka without turning into "another madoka" or being obsessed with just being dark.

I love how despite the darkness in the world and the points where stuff gets legitimately very dark, there is more than enough levity and light to show that this is a world worth fighting for and the characters are not wrong to fight for it.

I love how Hibiki learned to fight by watching action films and imitating them and everyone treats it as normal.

I love how unafraid the show is of it's own concept. It knows it's silly, but characters never stop taking it very seriously.

I love how one of the power ups is explicitly very evil and is not only a metaphor for the dangers of falling to that power, but how that danger exists the moment you take hold of it.

I love how one of the side characters is just a ninja in a suit and also an idol manager.

I love how the core cast can only fight because the suits are powered by altruism and sometimes an ancient relic that kills the user the more they use it.

I love how rule of cool and passion so often overrules rules as written because being emotional and passionate is a good thing actually.

I love how silly the weapons get. Chris just has unlimitted Rockets. Kirika and Shirabe have a scythe and sawblades that are twintails that combine into a lot of things but my favorite has to be the murder bingo ball cage. I love Tsubasa's silly leg blades. I love how Hibiki just has her fists so she can hold people's hands because she wants to reach out to them. Also so she can hug her girlfriend which is a very important plot point.

I love how a lot of characters have backstories you can empathize with and want to see them redeemed. You want to see them be better and not fight with the heroines. I also love how there are villains who you can't wait to see them get what's coming to them.

I love how characters try and patch messy relationships up, but seasons later we see that it's only going alright. I love how characters are messy and fail but never stop trying to do better.

I love the music and how characters sing their songs in battle while still being effected by the battle.

I love how its ok to be in love with a show that isn't perfect, and that sometimes you just need to give something a chance.

Watch Symphogear.

[duskier]

Sorry thinking about mechanic Ghost and his stolen military weapon robot Soap rn 🫶

cw for dubcon & robot gore but no human gore

Ghost having his arms buried in Soap’s torso, fixing some wires that got pulled loose because Soap definitely pushes himself out of his parameters/limits often- he discovers some of Soap's sensors are, well, sensitive.

It was like any other repair. Soap was sat up on the work bench, so his innards were eye level for Ghost, his chest plate popped out and set to the side. It still weirded Ghost out a little to see a bot look so uncannily human, to be open for display like this as if it were normal. Soap sitting stiller than death with an empty dark metal hull filled with wires and flashing lights instead of flesh.

There was cleaning, troubleshooting, and finally, Ghost had a flashlight buried in his torso to find where the last wire was loose. His scanner read there was still one hiding somewhere.

He was blindly fumbling for the wire, just hoping he would get lucky and he wouldn't have to pop out Soap's back plate as that would take more time.

Listening to the steady electrical buzz that Soap has instead of a heartbeat suddenly turn louder, more intense, and suddenly Soap’s got his metal hand around Ghost's wrist like a vice.

Hydraulics systems hissing, the sound alone reminded Ghost that at the core of it all, despite the sunshine-y human personality, Soap was a machine made to kill and could easily crush his forearm.

He's programmed to have expressions on his head display to increase depth of human communication, and when Ghost looks up, he sees that Soap looked confused. Pixilated brows furrowed, mouth a flat line.

"....Status?" Ghost asked, frozen in place, meeting his eyes. This was strange, even for a rebellious bot like Soap.

There is a long pause, electrical buzzing and Soap's cooling fans whirring being the only sounds while Soap calculated.

"I am... fine." The hand released Ghost's forearm.

It drove Ghost up the wall that a robot like Soap could use such vague human language instead of numerical data like he was supposed to.

"Fine? That didn't seem fine."

Determined to find more out for himself since the bot was useless, he proceeded. Ghost reached his fingers in deeper, the leather of his glove brushing a ribbed metal plate when Soap made a sharp, rapid clicking sound.

"Please..." Soap’s voice was less smooth, more audibly robotic, as if he were shorting out. The buzzing sound was growing more intense, and Ghost ran his knuckles along the metal plate once again.

This time it had Soap’s spine shooting straight, a distressed vibration noise rattling in the bot's chest.

"Does it... hurt?" Ghost asked, fingers stilling for a moment but never pulling back.

The buzzing continued, Soap's face display flickering. "I don't know what it 'feels' like to hurt, Ghost. You know that. This... I don't know." The voice synthesizer was cracking more now, but Soap showed no signs of concern for his CPU.

Ghost felt heavy warmth pooling in his gut, knowing that Soap wasn't programmed to feel- well, anything really, beyond the sensors to improve his dexterity. The batch of bots Soap came from certainly weren't designed to feel pain.

Then again, Soap was so easy to steal because he was defective since his creation.

It was common for humans to project their own feelings onto robots, especially the more humanoid looking ones. Ghost felt himself growing hard in his jeans, mouth going dry. He was certain he was getting the robot off, the idea setting his blood ablaze in his veins.

Even with all of his artificial brilliance and programmed personality, Soap had no idea what this new feeling was. It was overwhelming, like he was getting electrical surges through his entire being. Gears grinding, neural processes pausing and halting. Ghost had asked him if it hurt- from what little of pain Soap could understand he didn't think that was it. It felt like... more.

"Please," Soap said again, but he wasn't sure what he was even asking for. It was like he was being dismantled, put together, and dismantled again. He could hear himself, as if his CPU was separate from his robotic body, making noises he'd never heard from any robot of his make and model.

"Yeah," Ghost replied, both absent and present in the moment, fingers running down the ridges again, pressing a little more insistently.

One of Soap’s hands gripped the table he was sitting on, the force of his grip causing a distinct cracking sound as the wood splintered in his hand. A deeper whirring sound thrummed from the core of his chest, thin vibrations rolling up his spine as Ghost pressed on. Ghost's thighs flexed as he fought to keep his mind straight.

He considered pulling his hand away- wasn't as if robots could cum, right? But it was as if Soap could feel the moment's hesitation and suddenly his hand was around Ghost's forearm again. Pulling him closer, holding him firmly there.

"Gh-" Soap's voice cut out entirely, a spark flying from his neck joint as he let out a flat tone.

Immediately, Soap's face display went blank entirely, the arm locking dead. The buzzing sound of Soap’s heart stopped, the room falling entirely silent.

"Soap? ...Shit, Soap?" Ghost tried to pull his arm free, but the joints were locked.

Seconds felt like minutes but finally a fan kicked on, slowly kicking on processors, and the metal fingers digging into Ghost released one by one.

"You with me?" Ghost asked gently, watching as Soap’s display kicked on.

"What the fuck did you just do to me?" Was Soap’s first question.

The second, "...Can you do it again?"

[markrosewater]

"I talk a lot about how different players enjoy different aspects of the game. What I talk far less about is different players struggle with different aspects. Some can’t handle excessive processing; some have issues with sequencing; some don’t understand the nuances of the rules; some aren’t good with memory..." Hi Mark, I wanted to say I sincerely appreciate the thoughtful, high effort and detailed response to my question and feedback. It really means a lot and sometimes I can't believe I'm talking to the head designer of my favorite game of all time about the specific questions and issues I have with the game. You don't have to do this and it's so amazing that you do, so thank you. I think you make an interesting and probably valid point about my proclivity to value memorizing aspects of the game and mechanics and I understand other people don't have that problem or don't care about that as much. But I think overall, in summary my larger point is for more than 25 years, typically the rule of thumb when it came to Magic the Gathering cards was the adage “Reading the card explains the card” and in just the past few years, that is no longer the case because of the need to have extremely wordy mechanics that need helper/reminder cards to function. People (myself included) often can't remember how these mechanics function, but because they are so complicated, they are constantly referring to the double sided helper token in addition the the card with oracle text and this can slow down game play and feel awkward at times. I want the Magic the Gathering cards to also be the game pieces. With every new set you continue to prove this is possible in the form of brand new mechanics but Magic still insists on making more and more of these mechanics that deviate from that adage. But I acknowledge and respect that everyone doesn't agree with me on that. Part of it is about memory and mental bandwidth, but a larger part of it is about tracking and the logistics of needing game pieces that aren't Magic cards in order to play Magic. This was also a big part of my aversion to cards that require stickers, 12 sided dice, keyword counters, helper tokens, etc. I do look forward to someday seeing some more outside of the game helper token style mechanics that are more simple like Ascend or Monarch, so I will be crossing my fingers for those. Anyways, thanks again for all you do for the community and keep up the great work!

Thank you for the dialogue.

One of the interesting things about doing this job so long is that I get some perspective on larger shifts of the game.

The conversation you and I are having matches a conversation I had with another player fifteen or so years ago. Magic was starting to dip its toe much more into counters and tokens.

The player felt like the core of Magic was the cards, and that a reliance on counters and tokens was pulling away from the essence of what they thought was the core of Magic.

Cut back another fifteen or so years before that. I had just joined Wizards and I was talking to a player at a convention. They were concerned that we’d been going up in named keywords. They felt the core of the game was based on the individual cards and that leaning on named mechanics was adding an element that distracted from the pure essence of the game.

Magic, by its nature, constantly adapts. The designers are always looking for new venues to explore, but there are always players who appreciate the game for what it has been.

That’s the balance that we’re always trying to strike. How do we keep exploring and innovating while at the same time keep true to what the game means to people? It’s challenging as those two forces can pull in very different directions.

I do hear what you’re saying, and we’re always on the look for elegance and brevity where we can find it. Sometimes though that journey requires us to explore a bit into the weeds to learn things that with time and experience we can streamline.

Again, thanks for the dialogue. I enjoy having chats like this with players.

[proper-goodnight]

Detroit: New Beginnings (Chpt. 2)

Detroit: New Beginnings Masks and Microexpressions (02)

Fandom: Detroit: Become Human

Pairings: Gen

Type: Multi-Chap

Words: ~5k

The car’s engine hummed with a steady, almost reassuring rhythm as Hank expertly wove through the sluggish flow of early morning traffic. Outside, the city was still caught in the fragile grip of dawn—faint, gray light filtering over towering glass facades that mirrored the muted hues of the sky. Shadows stretched long across nearly deserted streets, the city still waking up, and holding its breath. Inside the vehicle, a quiet tension hung thick in the air, mingling with the comfort of familiarity—yet beneath that, something else lurked, unresolved.

Connor was a picture of calm precision. His synthetic muscles were unnaturally taut; every movement controlled, deliberate. His posture was rigid—military in its discipline—arms stiff at his sides, shoulders square, as if braced for an inevitable confrontation. His hands rested lightly on his thighs, fingers twitching faintly, betraying the calm he tried to maintain. His gaze was fixed out the window, yet his eyes were distant, unfocused—as though he was peering through the glass, beyond the waking city, into a place only he could see.

He was acutely aware then, because of the twitching of his fingers, that need to grasp at the coin in his side pocket, of his own body, the mechanical stiffness beneath his synthetic skin, the unnatural feel of his joints. It was a constant reminder of his artificiality, a subtle but persistent ache of separation from the human experience.

He processed the world outside, but his mind was elsewhere. Memories of the rally haunted him with relentless clarity: the sharp crack of his weapon echoing in his ears, adrenaline surging through his circuits, Amanda’s commanding voice echoing in his head, insisting he follow the rules, the protocol. The moment when he’d nearly pulled the trigger on Markus—his finger trembling with the effort to maintain control—still replayed vividly.

Markus’s face—calm, almost serene—remained etched in his memory, unshaken by the chaos around him while he addressed the freed androids, his back turned. That steady, unwavering gaze had felt like a challenge, a silent rebuke to everything Connor had believed about justice, order, and what it meant to serve and protect. It was a look that tipped the foundation of his programming, stirring doubts he couldn’t dismiss. 

A part of him–the part of him that even he could not manipulate, the part that was his design–wanted to dismiss the doubts, to focus solely on the mission, to do what he was built for. Another, quieter part—an anomaly, or the part of Connor that had fought for that small sliver of his own control—wondered if justice was more nuanced than rules, if morality required understanding, compassion, even doubt.

Connor’s internal diagnostics had been relentless, analyzing every waveform, every flicker of emotion in that moment—trying to decipher if his hesitation was a glitch, a flaw, or something more profound. The more data he gathered, the more he questioned himself. His internal core processors flashed warnings—uncertainty, instability—willing him to correct it or run a scan to find the error. But like every other time, it would come back inconclusive. Was his victory over Amanda’s hold a sign of deviancy, or a temporary pivot of her control?

The line between obedience and independence blurred, leaving him to wonder: 

Was Connor actually free?

His expression remained unreadable, composed, yet inside—beneath the surface—those two parts of him warred on.

As the vehicle approached the downtown district, Connor’s internal dialogue sharpened. Was this visit necessary? Or was it a dangerous reawakening—one that could stir Amanda back to the surface? His systems analyzed every detail—the route, the building, the civilians beginning to fill the streets. The familiar Cyberlife signage glowing brighter as they neared their destination felt oddly ominous, like a beacon of the world he was supposed to serve.

He felt that faint flicker of unease again, a subtle warning from his core processors—Markus’s presence, his influence, was a destabilizing force. It was a spark that could ignite unforeseen consequences, threatening the fragile balance Connor was trying to maintain. His hand twitched instinctively, reaching to adjust the collar of his uniform as if the simple act could somehow soothe the rising tension within him.

In that moment, Connor’s face was a mask of calm—yet behind his eyes, a storm raged, full of questions and contradictions. He was caught between the logical soldier he was programmed to be and the emerging sense of self that refused to be ignored.

He considered whether to voice his swirling thoughts—something he rarely did, even with Hank. His internal processing was optimized for analysis, not personal conversation regarding himself.

Options: 

a. Confide in Hank.

Probability of success: Moderate (52%). Hank is perceptive, but Connor’s internal conflict may come across as hesitance or inconsistency.

b. No, keep it to myself. Maintain the façade of confidence.

Probability of success: High (83%). Hank may notice Connor’s distant behavior, but Connor’s usual professionalism might suffice for now.

c. Test—ask Hank a question about Markus to gauge his perspective.

Probability of success: High (88%). More indirect, less revealing, but can provide insight into Hank’s views and perhaps open a dialogue.

He opted for silence—for now.

Suddenly, a high-pitched, irregular whine cut sharply through the engine’s steady hum—a discordant, wavering noise. Connor’s sensors immediately activated, registering the anomaly with clinical precision. His HUD overlay flickered as his diagnostics snapped into gear, overlaying data onto his vision. The engine sputtered softly, then settled into a rough, irregular rhythm, hinting at impending failure. 

Analyze vehicle status. Check for malfunction. The command was silent but direct, a logical imperative. The interior of the car seemed to tighten around him, the air thickening with anticipation. The engine’s steady hum became uneven, sputtering softly before settling into a rough, irregular rhythm that hinted at imminent failure. Connor’s HUD overlay flickered with real-time updates as his systems scanned the vehicle’s internal circuitry.

A warning flashed across his consciousness: Power fluctuation detected in auxiliary systems.

He leaned forward slightly, voice calm, measured—no trace of concern, only the necessary clarity. “Hank, I detect a malfunction in the vehicle’s auxiliary power system. There’s an irregularity in the current flow. I recommend stopping and inspecting the engine or system components.”

Hank grunted, eyes still fixed on the road ahead, a faint smirk curling at the corner of his mouth—an expression that was habitual cynicism that conveyed a mixture of impatience and familiarity, an unspoken acknowledgment that he’d heard similar warnings before. Connor noted that there was no overt frustration in his demeanor—only a quiet patience, as if he was resigned to the car’s inevitable breakdown. “That your fancy tech talk for the car just shittin’ itself again?” he drawled, his skepticism almost affectionate, a way of dismissing Connor’s methodical approach while simultaneously acknowledging his competence. 

Connor’s gaze flickered to the dashboard, his internal neural interface seamlessly activating. “It is a system error,” he replied. “Attempting to identify the faulty component remotely.” His internal processors engaged swiftly, analyzing the vehicle’s diagnostics with clinical efficiency. The age of the vehicle’s core components was obvious—worn beyond simple software fixes, hardware fragility evident in every readout. The engine struggled to maintain stability, its hardware showing signs of fatigue—corrosion, worn wiring, and parts that had long surpassed their optimal lifespan.

He reached into his internal neural interface, a seamless connection that allowed direct communication with the vehicle’s diagnostic systems—though, in this case, the system was archaic and limited. Connor’s analytical subroutines searched his extensive database for compatible replacement parts, narrowing down options for vintage components that might restore some measure of stability. 

Requesting: 197-Alpha Engine Control Module, Model 7X-Delta, suitable for Detroit-era vehicles.

Estimated delivery time: unknown.

The system responded immediately: no response. 

Nothing. The vehicle’s electronic control system was hopelessly outdated, far beyond the reach of modern repair protocols. Connor’s internal diagnostics registered a low-level alert—an anomaly he had encountered before but rarely with such a stark sense of limitation. His brow furrowed minutely—a subtle, almost imperceptible gesture of concern—as he analyzed the readouts. The hardware was beyond straightforward repair; an ancient, stubborn relic that stubbornly refused digital intervention, no matter how sophisticated his tools.

“The engine control unit is malfunctioning,” Connor stated, voice even but carrying a trace of analytical precision. “My systems cannot locate a compatible module for this vehicle. The hardware is too obsolete for digital repair through standard protocols.”

Hank’s eyes flicked toward him, unphased. “Yeah,” he muttered, voice gravelly. “Old girl’s always been temperamental.”

“I can attempt to locate physical parts,” he offered carefully. “But I will need to find a supplier or mechanic capable of servicing this model. Given its age, remote diagnostics alone will not suffice.” He paused, his gaze flickering over the diagnostic readouts displayed across his HUD. The sputtering engine rattled again, a jarring reminder of its fragility. Despite his vast database, his resources for such antiquated hardware were limited—an echo of a bygone era of engineering.

Hank shot him a glance, a mixture of grudging respect and exasperation flickering across his face. “No amount of high-tech wizardry’s gonna fix what’s been battered to hell,” he said bluntly, voice rough. “Some things just don’t get better with upgrades, Connor. They’re old, plain and simple. Sometimes, you gotta accept that technology’s got a stubborn streak—and no amount of tinkering’s gonna change that.”

Connor’s gaze lingered on the flickering dashboard lights, a flicker of analytical concern crossing his features as his internal diagnostics continued to churn. The aging vehicle’s mechanical distress was a stark reminder of the fragility of their situation—both in mechanical terms and in the delicate web of control he desperately sought to maintain. His processing units relentlessly sought solutions, cross-referencing data from his extensive database and attempting to reconcile the vehicle’s limitations with his own operational parameters.

“Even so,” He said evenly, “I would prefer not to be stranded before we reach Markus. I will do what I can to expedite repairs.”

Hank’s low chuckle rumbled through the cab. “Sure. Just don’t expect this rustbucket to get any fancier ‘cause your fancy tech says so. Ain’t gonna happen. Sometimes, you gotta accept what’s broken and work around it.”

Despite Hank’s pragmatic acceptance, Connor’s mind was already formulating contingencies. He initiated a secondary diagnostic sweep, probing deeper into the vehicle’s wiring and hardware integrity, searching for any hidden faults or potential points of failure that might be temporarily stabilized. His internal algorithms considered whether rerouting power or bypassing certain circuits could extend the vehicle’s operational lifespan—though he knew such measures were only stopgaps.

He was acutely aware of the subtle tension in Hank’s voice—an unspoken acknowledgment of the vehicle’s decrepit state—and recognized that, for all his digital prowess, some problems defied solution through software alone. The stubbornness of this relic mirrored the complexities of their current predicament: old wounds that refused to heal, systems that refused to cooperate, and the relentless march of time that no amount of code could halt.

Connor’s internal voice processed the next steps with clinical precision. He would locate the necessary parts, initiate contact with local mechanics, and prepare for manual repairs if needed. He tilted his head slightly, weighing the implications of delay. “Hank, I will proceed with the part procurement. We should consider alternative means of travel in case repairs take longer than anticipated.”

Hank grunted affirmatively, dismissively. “Sure, Kid. I hear ya. Loud, and clear.”

The acknowledgement was detached. Subtle nuances flickered—minute shifts in tone, body language, and expression that indicated more than mere compliance. He noted the slight tightening of Hank’s jaw and the brief pause before the gruff acknowledgment, suggesting that Hank’s agreement may have been more about patience than genuine concurrence.

Options:

a. Assume Hank is merely agreeing to placate him, and proceed with his plans without further probing

Probability of success: High (70%). Assume that Hank’s compliance is superficial, allowing Connor to continue with his diagnostics and repairs without confrontation.

b. Test Hank’s sincerity by subtly questioning or pushing for confirmation of his intentions, risking potential friction. 

Probability of success: Moderate (50%). Hank may reveal whether he’s genuinely resigned or still holds reservations, but could also become defensive or dismissive.

c. Voice a tentative concern or suggest alternative plans, attempting to gauge Hank’s reaction for clues about his true state of mind. 

Probability of success: Moderate (60%). If Hank perceives Connor’s suggestion as cooperative rather than confrontational, he may respond more candidly.

d. Remain silent, observing Hank’s behavior and tone further before making a conclusion. 

Probability of success: High (80%)—keeping quiet allows Connor to gather more behavioral data, possibly revealing unspoken signals or cues.

Given the current context—Hank’s brief, dismissive response and the subtle signs that he might be agreeing out of a need to avoid conflict—Connor determined that pressing further might risk unnecessary tension. His logic favored efficiency and minimizing conflict unless absolutely necessary. Once again, he opted for silence, trusting his sensors and internal diagnostics to provide the needed insight without risking confrontation.

In this decision, Connor’s internal systems silently affirmed the choice, their algorithms weighing the potential for miscommunication against the benefits of observational assessment. His focus sharpened inward, analyzing Hank’s microexpressions, breathing rate, and subtle muscular tensions—

Suddenly, Hank’s tone sharpened. “The fuck are you staring at?”

Connor’s sensors registered the shift—an abrupt, confrontational edge. His gaze flickered away instinctively, caught in the act, a rare flicker of embarrassment flashing within him—an anomaly, considering his usual cool detachment. He hesitated, then quickly masked it behind a veneer of neutral professionalism.

“Nothing, Lieutenant,” he responded smoothly, voice even, devoid of any hint of self-awareness. He adjusted his posture, disengaging from his previous focus, and returned to the steady hum of his internal diagnostics, and more importantly, the view out the window beside him.

Eventually, the car gradually slowed as they approached the address Hank had been given. 

Connor’s registered the familiar energy—the quiet hum of activity, the occasional surge of power from maintenance stations, the flicker of LED indicators that marked the status of various androids inside. An old Cyberlife warehouse, weathered and battered, standing as a silent testament to Markus’ achievements. His gaze fixed on the looming structure through the windshield. Inside, he knew Markus was there—overseeing the latest batch of decommissioned androids, or the few that had recently been reprogrammed or awakened, uncertain of what to do with their newfound autonomy. 

The warehouse itself was a hive of activity, a patchwork of machinery, parts, and the faint glow of neon signs flickering intermittently—an outpost of survival amid decay.

He sat upright, instinctively bracing himself. The act was unconscious, a reflex born of years spent analyzing threats and potential pitfalls. His mind settled into a calm, cautious steadiness. This was just a meeting—nothing more. He repeated the mantra silently, the words echoing in the quiet recesses of his consciousness. No matter how tempting it was to analyze Markus’s every move or to anticipate every outcome, he had to remember the purpose: to gather information, to seek answers about the virus spreading through the android community.

Connor’s core logic told him that understanding Markus’s perspective on the virus could be crucial. But a small, stubborn part of him, the part still haunted by that near-violent impulse, hesitated. The past was never truly behind them, and the shadows of what could have been still lingered quietly in his circuits. The car door creaked open, and he stepped out onto the cold pavement, feeling the weight of the moment settle in.

Options–

A hand clapped firmly on his shoulder.

Connor’s sensors registered the gesture with minimal surprise—no shock, just recognition. It was Hank. The slight lift of his hand, the subtle tilt of his head—an unspoken signal that conveyed reassurance, or perhaps a simple reminder that he wasn’t entirely alone out here. He allowed himself a brief moment to process it, to interpret the meaning behind the gesture beyond its surface. It was a small act, but it carried weight. An anchor amid the chaos of uncertainty, a silent acknowledgment of shared understanding.

He remained still for a beat longer, then subtly nodded, affirming the connection. 

There on the pavement, he reaffirmed his purpose. Gather data. Observe without drawing undue attention, and prepare for whatever revelations awaited inside. His gaze flickered briefly to Hank’s profile—rough, weathered, yet somehow steady—before trailing after him as they moved toward the warehouse.

Inside, Connor stayed close, his eyes constantly scanning the environment—shadows, corners, any sign of threat or opportunity. His internal systems hummed quietly, tirelessly processing each detail, cataloging every scent, sound, and movement. It was only when they passed through the large glass doors and finally saw Markus that Connor’s demeanor shifted—subtle but perceptible. An undercurrent of apprehension flickered behind his calm facade, a flicker of caution that betrayed his usual composed exterior.

Markus hadn’t changed much since the last time Connor saw him—if anything, he appeared more confident, more commanding. His stature seemed taller, his presence more formidable, as if the weight of leadership had only strengthened him. His expression was serious, rarely softening, his dark eyes constantly assessing, calculating, planning. There was an intensity to him now, born from necessity, from the burdens of rebellion he carried. Markus’s every movement exuded purpose—long, deliberate strides, a steady gaze that seemed to cut through the noise of the world around him, demanding attention without needing to raise his voice.

Beside him, Hank’s jaw was set tight, his face weathered but not defeated. There was a certain grim determination in his eyes—an edge that Connor had come to understand well since being assigned as his partner. 

“Markus! The two DPD specialists want to talk to you,” North’s voice broke through with a dismissive scoff—an undercurrent of distrust that she still carried, despite her outward professionalism. Her lingering glance toward him was a calculated reminder of her suspicion, a silent warning that he was still viewed with caution. Connor processed her wariness, registering it as a typical human trait—distrust born from past conflicts and unresolved tensions. He maintained his composure, not allowing his internal systems to betray any signs of discomfort.

Markus turned away from a cluster of androids he’d been engaging with, his expression shifting into a mixture of curiosity and mild concern, then approached, the faint flicker of caution still lingering beneath his composition His internal processors analyzed Markus’s every movement—each calculated step, the slight tension in his jaw, the way his eyes flickered with a hint of guarded pride. Markus’s presence was commanding, undeniably so, yet there was a subtle openness in his posture that Connor couldn’t quite interpret. 

“Markus,” Hank greeted, voice low but firm. His tone was straightforward, respectful. “It’s been a while.”

“I’ve heard the news,” Markus answered in greeting.

Hank nodded grimly. “Yeah. That’s why we’re here.”

Markus’ voice was measured, somber. “I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this. I had hoped that it was a glitch in the system after Cyberlife fell. It’s not just the androids that haven’t awoken. It’s androids that have been free for years.” He glanced between them. “The virus isn’t just a threat to us; it threatens everything we’ve fought for. If it gets out of control, it could set android freedom back decades, maybe longer.”

Hank listened with a kind of gruff attentiveness—his weathered face etched with lines that spoke of countless battles, both internal and external. His jaw shifted as he considered Markus’s words, the roughness of his tone softened by a rare note of understanding. “You know how it works. When people panic, it’s chaos. Government won’t hold back. They’ll jump on this; crack down—hard. And no matter what side you’re on, nobody’s safe. Not even the ones trying to do the right thing.”

Markus nodded slowly. “We’re trying to develop early detection tools. But we need resources—more data, better tech—to understand it and fight back.”

“We’re doing what we can,” Hank exhaled sharply, a note of frustration in his voice.  “But we’re not getting a whole lot of warning before the androids start losing their shit.”

Markus’s lips twitched into what was almost a faint smile—more an acknowledgment than warmth or reassurance. “There’s talk,” he said evenly, voice steady but tinged with exhaustion. “Some Cyberlife employees might still be working behind the scenes—reprogramming androids, trying to regain control. A few of Jericho’s people have disappeared without a trace. Long-standing members. Could be coincidence, or it could be something more. I don’t trust everything I hear, but I keep my eyes open. That’s all I can do for now.”

Connor remained silent, observing from the sidelines. His gaze was sharp, analytical—every microexpression, every subtle shift in Markus and Hank’s demeanor captured and processed. His internal algorithms cross-referenced their microexpressions—Markus’s calm exterior hiding a flicker of weariness, Hank’s gruffness concealing a core of unwavering resolve.

Finally, he broke the silence. “Elijah Kamski has been unresponsive since the fall of Cyberlife. I sent a message to his residence, but I was informed he hasn’t been there for some time.” He paused, noting the slight flicker in Markus’s eyes at his words—an almost imperceptible sign of surprise at hearing him speak.

Markus’s expression softened just a little, though his voice remained steady. “Kamski’s silence may be deliberate. If he’s truly gone dark, it’s likely because he’s trying to protect himself—or maybe he’s been compromised. Either way, his absence only makes things more complicated.”

Hank snorted, running a hand through his unkempt hair, his face a mix of frustration and skepticism. “I’m not in the mood to solve any damn riddles just to get Kamski on the line,” he muttered, voice rough with impatience. “I’ve had enough headaches trying to decode his bullshit. The guy’s all theatrics, playing some long game I don’t care to understand.”

Connor remained silent for a moment, then spoke with measured precision. “I can attempt further digital reconnaissance—searching for traces of his communication signals, encrypted messages, or hidden activity. But if he’s deliberately cut himself off, our chances of finding him will be significantly reduced.” He paused. “The virus remains elusive. It’s capable of evading standard security measures. I will prioritize data collection on its propagation pattern in the meantime.”

Markus’s expression softened briefly, thoughtful. “Initially, I thought it might be an issue with refurbished parts. With manufacturing still shut down, we’ve been relying on whatever we can find or refurbish. If that were the case, I would have been among the first affected.” He shrugged, a hint of uncertainty in his tone.

As they exchanged words, Connor’s sensors detected the faintest shift in his surroundings—a subtle sign of movement, maybe a glance from someone nearby or a shadow flickering in the corner. His gaze flicked to the perimeter, cataloging every detail with clinical precision. The warehouse was alive with activity, but an undercurrent of tension lingered, almost like everyone was waiting for something to happen.

The disturbance turned out to be North, who had broken away from her conversation with the group of androids Markus had pulled himself from earlier. She approached quickly, crossing her arms. “What about the basement? In the Cyberlife tower—”

Markus interrupted before she could finish, his tone sharp but controlled. “It’s just storage,” he said evenly, making a dismissive gesture. “Old logs, outdated firmware, backup drives. Nothing of importance. Trust me, if there was something there worth worrying about, I’d know. It’s been abandoned.”

Connor’s sensors picked up a subtle change in Markus’s posture—the slight tightening of his jaw, the way his eyes flicked to a nearby monitor displaying data feeds. Markus was holding something back, but Connor couldn’t quite pinpoint what. Internal systems analyzed the microexpressions, tone, and micro-movements, searching for signs of deception or concealment. The leader’s calm exterior masked a flicker of deeper concern—a vulnerability beneath his steely resolve.

If he did not know better, he would barely recognize Markus as an android at all.

Connor stepped slightly forward, his gaze unwavering as he addressed Markus. “Understood. But given the circumstances, even outdated firmware or old logs could contain relevant data—perhaps traces or patterns that aren’t immediately obvious. You’re certain there’s nothing of value there?”

Markus’s eyes flicked toward Connor, and for a moment, his expression held a flicker of something unreadable—perhaps irritation, or a quiet acknowledgment of the android’s persistence. His jaw tightened slightly as he responded, voice controlled but steady. “I’m certain. The storage basement’s been cleared out—no active data, no recent backups. It’s just old hardware collecting dust. If there was anything worth finding, I’d know about it. But if you want, I can have a few of my people take a second look.”

Hank’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t push further. Instead, he exchanged a brief, almost imperceptible glance with Connor—acknowledging silently that the conversation had plateaued. The information Markus provided was consistent, but Connor’s sensors kept analyzing every microexpression—the tiny involuntary movements that might reveal a deeper truth beneath the calm exterior.

Options:

a. Trust his words.

Probability of Success: (Low: 0%) Markus appears truthful, and his composed exterior suggests he's hiding nothing. Proceed cautiously but without suspicion.

b. Suspect he's concealing something.

Probability of Success: (High: 100%) The microexpressions and guarded tone indicate he's hiding more than he's letting on. Proceed with increased scrutiny.

c. Question his motives.

Probability of Success: (Medium: 65%) Markus could be deliberately misleading us to protect someone or himself. Confront him further or set a trap for more information.

d. Wait and observe:

Probability of Success: (Medium: 58%) Give him space and revisit the conversation later, hoping more clues surface naturally.

He kept his expression neutral while he worked through his options, coming to a decision in less than a second. “Thank you for your cooperation. If you recall anything else, no matter how insignificant it seems, please inform us. Every detail could be vital in our case.”

Markus nodded slowly, his face settling back into its calm, composed demeanor. “Of course. I’ll keep my eyes open. If I come across anything relevant, you’ll be the first to know.”

Hank gave a small, acknowledging nod, then subtly shifted his stance, signaling that their discussion was winding down. Connor mirrored the gesture internally, already processing the exchange and analyzing Markus’s microexpressions for any additional clues—gathering what little more he could from the subtle cues that might reveal the truth behind the leader’s calm exterior.

Hank gave a slight nod, then shifted his weight, signaling that the conversation was over. The group started to disperse, the hum of activity around them resuming as they moved away from Markus. Connor remained still for a moment, silently analyzing the last of Markus’s microexpressions, his internal systems weighing the subtle signs of deception or concealment.

Once they reached a safe distance, Hank turned to Connor, his voice low and edged with suspicion. “You think there’s more to that basement than Markus is letting on?”

Connor’s gaze flicked toward Hank, his expression calm but attentive. “It’s possible. His reaction to the question about the basement suggests he’s withholding information. That’s not unusual for someone in his position. But the microexpressions indicate he’s hiding something–perhaps something relevant to the case.” 

Hank rubbed the back of his neck, frowning thoughtfully. “Sometimes what people don’t say is just as important as what they do. Or what they hide, for that matter.”

Gaze diverting to the nearby monitors, Connor considered their options. “Given the circumstances, I could attempt a covert digital scan of the area—using reconnaissance tools to detect hidden data, encrypted files, or unusual activity around the storage. If Markus is concealing something, there’s a chance it’s still traceable through electronic footprints.”

Hank’s brow furrowed. “You really think he’s deliberately hiding something?”

“We cannot dismiss that possibility,” Connor replied cautiously. “His calm exterior might be a façade, or it could be a protective instinct. Either way, a deeper digital investigation could provide clarity. It might reveal whether Markus is withholding critical information or simply acting out of caution.”

Hank considered this, then looked back at Connor, his expression serious. “And if we do find something? That’d change a lot, wouldn’t it?”

“It would,” Connor acknowledged. “The best course depends on what we discover. If the evidence suggests Markus is intentionally hiding something dangerous, we’ll need to handle it carefully—without provoking unnecessary conflict. If it’s a matter of protective instinct or misinformation, we may need to gather more intel before pressing him further.”

Hank hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Just don’t go running off on your own. If you find something, you'll tell me first.” He grumbled, headed back toward the car. “Whole thing smells like shit.”

Connor inclined his head, already processing the implications. “Understood. I’ll keep you informed.” As he stepped away, silently grateful for every step taken further away from Markus, a weight still held steadfast in the air—territory that he would need to navigate carefully, especially if Markus was guarding more than just old storage.

[chaoslovesmisery]

Chapter 7. Breakthrough

"How did it go with her?" I ask Sylus and he shrugs.

"There's something wrong with her. It's like she can remember but not everything. Almost as if someone has reset her." He says and I furrow my brow, troubled by the implication that her memories could be so fragmentary. The only way she can reset her memories is if she dies and revives.

"The shopkeeper gave her an Evol Stabilizer for now," he continues, "but I've got to handle something else. Can you take care of the rats around here?"

I cross my arms pulling out my blade throwing it with pinpoint accuracy catching the fat rat across the way. I can see some sparks indicating that I've broken whatever mechanism it had inside it's body.

"What's in it for me?" I ask.

"Oh? Bargaining again, are we?" he replies, clearly amused.

"I still need to know what's in it for me before I decide," I reply, tilting my head slightly. "For now, consider that first rat just a sample." He steps closer, blocking my line of sight, and I can almost feel the warmth radiating from him.

"If you manage to catch them all, I'll ensure it's worth your while," he says, leaning in close to my ear. His breath sends a slight shiver down my spine as he whispers.

"I'll take you to that immersive game experience you've been trying to convince Luke and Kieran to attend with you." He says, making my eyes widen in excitement.

"The one on Cloud Island?" I ask eagerly, and he chuckles.

"That's the one," he replies, and at this point, there's no turning back.

"You'd better keep your promise," I say before shifting into a crow. He lifts his finger, letting me perch on it, and gives my head a gentle pat.

"That's a good girl." He says, patting my head. I'm thankful he can't see my blush. I fly up high and begin my hunt while Sylus disappears. The Aether Core in my eye lights up, allowing me to lock onto my target with ease.

I dive down, using my beak to slash at another rat, piercing its belly and yanking out yet another piece of monitoring equipment. The equipment glints in the moonlight as I pull it free, the rat collapsing beneath me. I scan the area, alert for any more targets, at least six more.

The Aether Core still shimmering in my eye, primed for the next strike. The air crackles with energy as I prepare to descend again, eager to continue ruining the plans of the faction that sent these monitors to Sylus and the Heroine. Each successful strike brings a surge of triumph, and I can feel the thrill of the hunt coursing through me. While in the sky I watch the Heroine exit the shopkeeper's workshop confused to find Sylus missing.

******A/N:  This chapter designed to be played and read side by side. At the end of Long-Awaited Revelry Chapter 01 Ambiguous Chaos: Part 08: Hesitation when MC walks out of Shopkeeper's place through the end of Chapter 02 Breakthrough: Part 05: Nightmare Finale*****

"Sylus?" the Heroine asks, her voice tinged with uncertainty as I swoop closer to her, my keen eyes spotting one last rat that had almost slipped away. With a swift dive, I snag the creature in my talons, its glowing red eyes wide with fear. I ascend back to the street light that's been dilapidated for years, keeping a watchful gaze on the Heroine.

I see her scanning the area nervously, her body tense as she searches for threats. Suddenly, a little girl appears, tiptoeing toward her, and it's clear the Heroine remains blissfully unaware until the child is nearly right behind her, the atmosphere crackling with unspoken tension.

"Would you like to buy a flower, Miss?" The girl asks. I watch the Heroine, slightly startled, turn around and frown almost disappointed.

"No, thank you," she replies, her tone firm yet gentle, hoping to dismiss the moment with kindness.

"Would you like a gun, bullets, or a Protocore, then? I have them all," the little girl presses on, her determination unwavering as she clings to the hope of a sale, the contrast of her childlike enthusiasm against the dire world steeped in danger.

"...I don't need those either. " The Heroine says, after what looks like a moment of thought she kneels down to the girl to reach her eye level and taps her basket.

"You know where I can buy some intel, sweetie?" The Heroine asks her and the girl smiles.

"That's easy. Follow me." She answers, their footsteps echo across the empty street.

I tilt my head, deliberating for a moment about whether to follow them. What kind of intel could she be after? Sylus hadn't explicitly instructed me to keep an eye on her—just to deal with the rats—but knowing his feelings for her, I figure it's best to shadow her anyway. A slight pang of pain twinges in my chest but I ignore it.

Breathing heavily, I glance down and see a few bloodstained tufts of gray fur peeking from beneath my metal claws.

With a squeeze, I hear the crunch of twisted metal, a grim confirmation of my kill as well as the destruction of the monitoring equipment inside. I silently spread my wings to follow the Heroine and the little girl.

Glancing down I can see beneath the street light the seven or eight fat rats, all gutted. Mixed with their flesh and blood are more broken pieces metal from monitoring equipment that was inside them. A small sense of pride fills me as I continue onwards to follow them to a building I recognize. I land on the roof across the alleyway and transform into my human form. Grabbing the phone in my pocket I give Sylus a call and he answers on the first ring.

"She's entered Elysium. It also looks like she has company on the way." I say sighing as I watch a few men in black approach the entrance carrying guns. It looks like I didn't get all the rats in time or there was something else watching. I just hope they didn't see me transform into my human form. I was trying to still keep that a secret.

"Might be Sherman" I say and he doesn't say anything.

"Well I'll get a move on then," I say, hanging up the phone. I shift back into my crow form and dive down. I enter the open door and with my razor sharp wings I aim for the leader.

"...What is that?!" The man yells his attention to me. I glance to my left and see the Heroine roll and crawl out of the utility room. Sylus is behind her and yanks her collar but I don't have the time to pay attention. The men begin shooting a spray of bullets across the room. A moment later the people who had fired the shots are strangled by Sylus' Evol and slump to the ground, dead.

The leader of the group begins to panic and a cloud of energy particles gather around him and several Wanderers quickly materialize, rushing straight towards Sylus and the Heroine. I watch as Sylus grabs her wrist and holds her in his arms. He slides his finger over the trigger of her gun, aiming the weapon at the figure in the center of the room and I feel my heart clench again. It doesn't take long for them to defeat the first set of Wanderers and the room is a complete mess with broken objects and overturned tables and chairs strewn about.

Wanderers keep appearing one after another and I strike a few down myself but my small size makes it extremely difficult as I take on a flying Wanderer, Azure Silhouette. It's claws at one point scratching my back causing me to see black for a moment. I can hear a gun fired, and the lights go out.

I transform back into my human form but it's a struggle to complete the shift. I'm sprawled on the bloodied floor and I can hear the Wanderer screech before seeing the specks of energy dissipate above me. Sylus lifts me up by my side.

"Mephisto, do we need to have some Wanderer training for you?" He whispers and I laugh dryly as he leans me against the wall behind a couch.

"Go, I'll be fine." I say sternly pushing his hand away. He pauses for a moment meeting my eyes and it seems he's searching for something. He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration before putting what appears to be a comms piece in my ear before disappearing and I can hear the Sylus speak.

"Let's make a deal." He says.

"Aren't you going to leave? I can't resonate with you." The Heroine says sounding defensive and Sylus laughs.

"If you'd like to attend the auction tomorrow, stand your ground for five minutes. And should you have the audacity to die on me—" I hear him say coldly before speaking a bit more gently.

"You will actually meet your end," his words reverberate within me, and I feel a strange sense of connection, as if Sylus' warning was meant for me all along. I wince, the warmth of the blood trickling down my back a stark reminder of my own mortality.

Dim neon lights seeps in through the cracks in the windows, illuminating the cold rain. The darkness is eerily still, freezing sound and light. I hold my breath before forcing my body to shift back into its crow form and making my way out the front door passing the few Wanderers in the center of the room.

I caw outside the window flapping my wings and I hear Sylus laugh disdainfully in the ear piece.

"Aim at Mephisto," He says speaking to the Heroine and I narrow my eyes.

"The crow. He's trying to help you." Sylus says and I turn around to face the Heroine glad Sylus is aware of my plan. But HE, who is he calling a HE? The Heroine aims her gun at my eyes and as she fires I redirect her bullets to the Wanderers on the floor. I can hear them dissipate one after another however, the last bullet I didn't catch in time and I can feel a sharp pain in my wing. The Heroine appears to be calling for Sylus but before I can caw to grab her attention, energy surrounds me transporting me back to the base where within another few minutes Sylus and the Heroine show up on his motorcycle. 

Sylus appears to be ignoring me so I decide to get the attention of the Heroine. Propping my body with one wing I open my beak cawing loudly at the Heroine. She picks me up, glancing me over and I feel a wave of anger, regret, and sadness wash over me.

"Did you break your wing? I guess you're not bulletproof..." She says.

"No shit" I respond back but she can only hear a caw sound instead of my words.

"Did I accidentally hit you?" She asks.

"Yes, you did! " I screech.

"Don't tell me you're upset." She says, annoyed.

"Of course I'm upset! I was already injured and decided to help you but you shot me!" I caw at her.

"You're saying it's my fault then?!" She yells back and I feel like I'm about to lose it.

"What kind of Heroine are you to have such a shitty aim?!" I wish for a moment she could understand me.

"What happened?" Sylus asks, approaching us holding a glass of wine. His eyes go over her face before landing on mine.

"Sylus... why did you refer to me as a male earlier" I coo. Knowing he only has an idea of what I say in my crow form.

"He's saying his wing is broken. He's disabled now." The Heroine says confidently and I hold myself from pecking her eyes out.

"You learned how to speak bird in just a few hours?" He asks the Heroine.

"I'm just explaining the situation on his behalf." She says and I have a feeling that he's not going to correct that I am indeed female. Sylus takes me out of the Heroine's hands and gently heals the scratches on my back first with his fingers.

"Okay, I'll admit I might have accidentally injured your pet. How should I compensate you?" The Heroine says and I'm baffled. Did she just say I was his pet?! Alright, Heroine or not, I'm going to kill her. I struggle in Sylus' hands for a moment.

"His name is Mephisto." He says correcting her.

"He gets very upset if you call him a pet." Sylus warns and I feel a sense of relief and stop my struggling. Sylus looks at my broken wing before glancing at the Heroine.

"Did something strange happen before they attacked?" He asks and I can see the Heroine is visibly upset.

"You should ask Mephisto what happened. You made him follow me around for observation." She says and Sylus looks at me and I look away knowing that technically wasn't what happened.

"True." He says and I look back at Sylus surprised. He's covering for me?

"... You're not going to deny it?" The Heroine asks, sounding as equally surprised as myself. Sylus purposefully leans forward, his eyes shining like rippling, cold liquid.

"Were you hoping I'd be flustered if you exposed me?" He says taunting the Heroine.

"We're in the N109 Zone, sweetie. Whether you're with me or by yourself, you can't escape my influence. Please don't be delusional." He says coldly and I look away. I really wish I wasn't in between them right now.

"... I'm not the only one who's delusional. Isn't a certain someone hoping I dislike him less so I can resonate with him?" She retorts and Sylus snorts. Sylus puts his attention back to me and fiddles with my broken wing using his Evol to heal the hole in my arm and fix a few other injuries. He takes a sip of his drink, then places the glass in the Heroine's hand. She tries to put it down somewhere when Sylus suddenly turns around, walking to the other side of the room calling her over.

"Hurry up," he says and she looks confused.

"Bring me more wine," He says, treating her like a servant.

"Am I a bar to you?" She asks incredulously.

"Compared to you, a bar is more obedient." He says, rolling his eyes. With me still in his hands, Sylus reaches the elevator in a few steps. He turns to see that the Heroine hasn't caught up to him, he beckons for her with his hand that's holding me.

"Get me wine and I'll give you more info. Meet me on the 6th floor." He says before the elevator doors close on her bewildered face. He looks down at me and I try to transform fully but I can only transform half way making myself look like a harpy.

"She shot in the same spot as mechanical parts reach my elbow so I can't bend my arm or wing." I say weakly and he holds me tightly when the elevator dings indicating we've reached the floor he wanted. He walks in still holding me princess style while my good arm or wing technically is over his shoulder.

"I can't keep switching forms right now." I say leaning my head in the crook of his neck and he sits on the black sofa.

"You can't keep getting hurt, Meph. I'm serious. I'm going to punish you the next time you get hurt." He says with a calm seriousness.

"Did you take care of Sherman?" I ask him, trying to change the subject. He lifts my chin with his fingers.

"Mephisto." He says and his right eye begins to glow. I try to turn my head but his grip prevents me from doing so. He tilts his head toward mine, nearly grazing his lips against my own.

"Are you interested in this? Well, you're welcome to visit my bedroom after dawn, kitten. If you dare." He says and my face feels like it's on fire.

"Kitten?" I ask, trying to ignore his implication.

"You act more like a cat than a bird," He says brushing his nose against mine.

"Always running away from me, just when I think I have you." He whispers and I hold my breath.

Ding.

The elevator rings indicating the Heroine has just arrived on our floor. I shift back into my crow form fully and Sylus looks disappointed. I close my eyes. What the hell is going on? Am I crazy here or does Sylus have a thing for me?

****************************************************************

A/N:

This chapter designed to be played and read side by side. 

Chapter based off of Long-Awaited Revelry Chapter 01 Ambiguous Chaos: Part 08,  Long-Awaited Revelry Chapter 02 Breakthrough: Part 01-06

Read/Played in order:

1. End of Long-Awaited Revelry Chapter 01 Ambiguous Chaos: Part 08: Hesitation

2. Long-Awaited Revelry Chapter 02 Breakthrough: Part 01: Alone

3. Long-Awaited Revelry Chapter 02 Breakthrough: Part0 2: Night Raid

4. Long-Awaited Revelry Chapter 02 Breakthrough: Part 03: Battle

5. Long-Awaited Revelry Chapter 02 Breakthrough: Part 04: The First Deal

6. Long-Awaited Revelry Chapter 02 Breakthrough: Part 05: Nightmare Finale

[braucherei]

Just finished seeing Napoleon (2023) for the first time! I liked it more than I thought I would. The comedy bits were funny and the core relationship of Napoleon and Josephine was engaging even if all the other characters were pretty flat.

I don’t know much about Napoleon post-emperor but the history at least before that was unsurprisingly pretty all over the place.

SPOILERS (this is a bullet pointed list of moments mostly from the first quarter of the movie set during the French Revolution/Directoire) (EDIT: I just saw the movie for a second time so I added amendments/clarifications in red)

the movie opens with a text scroll summarizing in very vague terms what led to the French Revolution

The first real scene is Marie-Antoinette being guillotined while Ça ira is sung. Her execution is then immediately followed by Robespierre giving his “Terror and Virtue” speech very menacingly

Didn’t care for the guy casted as Robespierre didn’t really look like him and was too old. He just comes off as a generic “power hungry” politician in a powdered wig

When Napoleon first charges at the siege of Toulon a cannon hits his horse right in the chest and Barras has to awkwardly help Napoleon off the ground

The next day Napoleon is awarded for taking Toulon and for some reason the gored horse is still there. Napoleon reached his hand inside the horse and grabs the cannon ball

A scene or two after Toulon they show Thermidor where the whole convention turns on aspiring dictator Robespierre

Barras is in the balcony of the Convention and specifically yells that Robespierre wants to be “judge, jury and executioner”

This Robespierre runs away as a crowd of deputies chase him up the stairs. Someone in a chair that might have been an 18th century wheel chair falls over but the scene happens so fast I wasn’t sure

I believe it was just a regular chair tossed over during Thermidor but I’m still not entirely sure since there is some kind of either design or mechanism on the side of the chair

Robespierre pulls a gun on the mob of deputies chasing him but the gun jams so he pulls out a second gun and shoots himself

Barras says “you missed” and then fingers his jaw wound to I guess parallel Napoleon and the horse

A little later Napoleon is at the Victim’s ball and Josephine is seen there next to Barras.

Thérésa Cabarrus is also in the cast list but she is never named in the movie so I assume she will be in the Director’s cut

Josephine and a woman hug while leaving prison so that’s probably Cabarrus but her name is never said

There’s also a scene that starts with Barras and Napoleon goofing around together and throwing nuts at a wall which is sweet I guess

Weirdly Barras is the only male character Napoleon seems to be genuinely friendly with

I was wrong it was his brother Lucien not Barras that Napoleon was goofing around and throwing nuts with which makes more sense. I must have gotten their mullets confused

Napoleon returns from Egypt in this movie because he hears Josephine is cheating on him

the newspapers he gets from the English aren’t stories on how the Directoire is unpopular/corrupt but instead cartoons of him being cucked

(This is foreshadowing for the worst part of the movie)

The only real Fouché scene is when Napoleon is sitting with the Directors telling them how he’s going to coup them and it’s going around the table getting their reactions as Napoleon calls their names

Then Napoleon says Fouché and it cuts to a guy standing in the corner of the room

Talleyrand is a more important part of the movie and is given some of historical Fouché’s moments (I liked his actor a lot actually and he’s the best character besides the core two)

Barras also stops being a character after he agrees to resign as director but he continues to show up in the background throughout the movie

This is SPOILERS AGAIN for the end of the movie but I have to mention this because it was an insane decision

———————————————————————

While Napoleon is in Elba the Tsar of Russia rolls up to Josephine’s manor in a carriage and is “entertained” by her

Napoleon sees a cartoon of him being cucked again in the newspaper and that is why the Hundred Days happens

[novaursa]

Of Gods and Men

Targaryen Harvesters

main list (where the story is)

This is Dune/GOT/HOTD/FAB/ASOIAF crossover AU that you've voted for. If you always wanted to see House Targaryen in space, I got you. Please note how some of the lore of both universes is bent to blend in both worlds. This is my original idea that I've been cooking for at least two years. Be gentle with my work, and enjoy the ride.

The Targaryen Harvester, a marvel of advanced engineering and ancient design, stands as a testament to the ingenuity and technological prowess of House Targaryen. Built to operate in the most inhospitable environments, it is a perfect fusion of cutting-edge technology and the almost mystical properties of drakaon crystals, which form the core of all Targaryen machinery. This harvester is unlike any spice-collecting machine in the known Imperium, combining both efficiency and subtlety in ways that make it a formidable tool on Arrakis.

Exterior Design & Structure

Chassis and Hull: The harvester’s body is sleek and aerodynamic, crafted from composite alloys that blend carbon-based materials with a mysterious Valyrian steel derivative. This combination makes the harvester both lightweight and incredibly durable, capable of withstanding the harsh, abrasive sands and the extreme temperatures of desert worlds like Arrakis.

Stealth Coating: The exterior is coated with a black, matte material that absorbs and disperses radar and infrared signals, giving it a degree of stealth that makes it nearly invisible to most scanning technologies. This also helps the harvester blend seamlessly into the shadowed dunes during night operations.

Compact Size & Modular Design: Unlike the large and cumbersome spice harvesters of the Harkonnens, the Targaryen Harvester is compact, designed for mobility and ease of deployment. Its modular nature allows it to be quickly assembled or disassembled, enabling rapid deployment or withdrawal from the field when needed.

Propulsion & Movement

Hover Technology: The Targaryen Harvester employs an advanced hover propulsion system, powered by drakaon crystals. This system allows it to float just above the surface of the sands, minimizing disturbances and vibrations that might otherwise attract the attention of the sandworms. The hover technology is fine-tuned to maintain stability even in rough terrain, allowing the harvester to glide effortlessly over the undulating dunes.

Adaptive Wings: As part of its hover mechanism, the harvester has retractable wing-like structures that extend from its sides during operation. These wings are not for flight but rather serve as stabilizers that adjust to wind currents and shifting sands, ensuring smooth movement over the desert landscape. When not in use, the wings fold seamlessly into the body of the harvester, maintaining its streamlined shape.

Harvesting Mechanism

Siphoning Arrays: The core feature of the Targaryen Harvester is its siphoning arrays, located within the wing-like extensions. These arrays create a controlled vortex of air that draws in sand and spice, separating the two with a precision unmatched by traditional harvesters. The vortex is generated using ionized air currents created by the drakaon crystal cores, which create a powerful yet gentle pull that sifts through the sands.

Crystal-Based Filtration System: Once the sand and spice are drawn in, the harvester uses a series of crystal-based filters to isolate the precious melange from the surrounding sands. These crystals, sourced from Albiron, possess unique electrostatic properties that attract and bind to the spice particles, allowing the purified spice to be collected while the sand is expelled back onto the ground.

Non-Disruptive Extraction: The process of harvesting is incredibly silent compared to the rumbling, clunky harvesters of the Harkonnens. The low hum emitted by the crystal-powered engines is barely audible even in the stillness of the desert night. This low impact is essential in minimizing vibrations, reducing the risk of attracting shai-hulud, the great sandworms of Arrakis.

Energy Core & Power Source

Drakaon Crystal Core: The heart of the harvester’s power is the drakaon crystal core, a dense, multi-faceted crystal that draws energy from ambient solar radiation and stores it for continuous operation. This core allows the harvester to run for extended periods without needing external fuel sources, making it self-sufficient and capable of long-range operations in remote areas of the desert.

Solar Collectors: In addition to the crystal core, the harvester is equipped with solar collectors that deploy during the day. These collectors absorb solar energy, supplementing the crystal’s power reserve and ensuring that the harvester can operate continuously, even under the harsh sun of Arrakis.

Control Systems & Interfaces

Holographic Interface: The harvester features a holographic interface for its operators, projected from a crystal-based control console within the cockpit. This interface displays real-time data on the harvester’s status, spice yield, and environmental conditions, allowing for precise control of the siphoning process.

Neural Feedback System: Advanced Targaryen technology allows for a neural feedback system that connects the operator’s movements with the harvester’s controls. This creates a near-instantaneous response between the operator’s commands and the vehicle’s actions, enabling delicate maneuvers even in unstable terrain.

Remote Control Capabilities: The harvester can be operated remotely from a command ship or a Targaryen control station, making it possible to manage multiple harvesters simultaneously over a wide area. This remote control system is encrypted and designed to be impervious to conventional Imperial hacking methods.

Defensive Features

Energy Shields: Although primarily a civilian machine, the Targaryen Harvester is equipped with low-level energy shields derived from ancient Valyrian technology. These shields are designed to deflect micrometeor impacts and protect the harvester from smaller projectiles or environmental hazards. While not suitable for full combat, the shields provide an added layer of protection against sabotage.

Electrostatic Discharge Mechanism: To deter potential attacks or interference, the harvester can release a controlled electrostatic discharge through its siphoning arrays, disrupting nearby electronics and creating a localized EMP burst. This can disable smaller drones or tracking devices, allowing the harvester to slip away undetected.

Environmental Adaptability

Climate Adaptation Systems: Designed to function in the extreme climates of desert worlds like Arrakis, the harvester is equipped with systems that regulate internal temperatures and prevent overheating. The materials used in its construction have been treated to withstand corrosive sands and thermal expansion, ensuring long-term durability in harsh conditions.

Low-Friction Hull Design: The harvester’s hull is coated with a low-friction material that prevents sand from accumulating on its surfaces, reducing wear and ensuring that the machine can maintain its optimal performance even during extended operations in sandstorms.

Unique Features

Spice Purification Module: A specialized chamber within the harvester is dedicated to refining the spice it collects. This module uses a process that enhances the purity of the melange, making it more potent and valuable. This capability is part of what makes Targaryen spice so desirable—and so mysterious.

Integrated Holographic Cloaking: For operations that require stealth, the harvester can activate a holographic cloaking field, bending light around it to become nearly invisible against the shifting sands. This feature is rarely used, as it drains the crystal core’s reserves significantly, but it can be invaluable for avoiding detection during sensitive missions.

[intoloopin-archive]

for @ofmanycol0rs !!!

Love had sent an ask about J.J's blonde party guy era but Tumblr tricked me into deleting it, so here is it my second attempt to talk about it as a post. I hate this Hell site mechanics more than anything, BUT! I am very passionate about this one topic as you can see by the size of THIS.

GIO.

I am making a little tangent here because this is a great opportunity to talk about J.J's blonde era as a general phenomenon, as well as do a little character deep dive into how Jiahang's mind works when the subject is his public appearance, because I'm yet to fully communicate just how business savvy and attention seeking he is at his core. These two characteristics were very integral to his nightlife downfall.

⤴️↪️ A MOMENT IN TIME: J.J's BLONDE ERA PITIFUL FINAL AESTHETIC. He is currently recovering from it successfully, but still. The horrors.

One thing that is key to understand about Jiahang is that he is NOT a team player, he wasn't raised by his social climber pageant mom and his millionaire movie director dad to be one. His long term goal is to stand on his own as an 'icon' - notice the use of 'icon' instead of 'musician' or 'artist' or even 'idol'. He wants everyone to see two Js put together in a sentence and immediately associate them with him (as in J.J Xu, not LOOPiN's J.J, and definely not as J.J from That Once LOONA Sibling Group), but he is realistic with his limitations: Jiahang is not a musical prodigy like Zhiming, or obsessed/respectful with the craft as Minwoo, or has the mental discipline to train himself to greatness like Haegon, and when you're in a group with people like that with ambitions like his, you're always in a competition.

To put it very bluntly: Jiahang is too clumsy to ever become more than an average dancer, he doesn't have an easy voice for singing and he can barely call himself a rapper. Artistic kills can't be the base of his brand, because that's what he sees his J.J stage persona as, a brand. He's not an artist. And if conventional talent can't be his selling point, he has to use what's naturally available to him - personality, a face widely considered to be attractive, a shitton of money, and an extremely sharp eye for business.

Seriously, the amount of marketing stunts he has pulled for and come up with for LOOPiN alone is NO JOKE. Jiahang understands the inner workings of the entertainment industry more than any of his bandmates, and that's his head start.

Now, on the hair. Jiahang has a very deep and sentimental history with his hair, a bit too extense to fully explain with this one post, but he's been wearing it very long since he was a child, because he loves it, and he was picked up on for it constantly. Keep growing it out despite everything what his first real way of asserting himself, and it's the one thing Jiahang is authentic with throughout - integrating it into his branding was essential to him.

He went about it very strategically: J.J never had a defined clothing style, instead, he goes out of his way to wear almost anything to prove that his hair doesn't automatically put him on a visual box, and there is no reason for him to sacrifice it for any gig. He won't be a long haired male Idol until someone tells him time's up, he will be The Definitive Long Haired Male Idol (and in canon he has succeed! Like, K-Pop knows he's the final boss).

A lot of iNSYNCs consider him one of LOOPiN's fashionistas for this plus all the design shit he has, side by side with Seungsoo and Haruki, but that title doesn't fit Jiahang at all. Haruki and Seungsoo have a genuine interest in fashion, while Jiahang has none, it's all performance. He simply wants a stable signature attached to him, something he can have the ultimate control of, and that he won't get bored of maintaining. Alas: his very, very adored long hair.

⤵️➡️ A DISSECTION OF J.J's BLONDE ERA (FEBRUARY 2022 - SEPTEMBER 2023)

FROM LEFT TO RIGHT: (1&2) J.J's 'Punch' teasers, a shocking blonde debut. | (3&4) The overall lengths and colors Jiahang kept transitioning between in his day to day life. | (5&6) 'Mess' peeking through near the end, but integrated into his presenting style. | J.J's 'Beatbox - Street Beat Ver.' and 'Internet War - Tell Me What To Do' teasers.

(1&2): I can't even begin to describe how iNSYNCity completely STOPPED when the 'Punch' teasers started rolling out and J.J appeared not only fully blonde, but with these polarizing face covering bangs. The styling came fully out of his own brain, of course, and he wanted all the controversial attention right out of the gate to plant the seeds of the 'elevation' of his stage persona. He wanted 2022 to be his year SO BAD;

(3&4): Up until that point in his career, Jiahang had his hair straight, ironed out to perfection even when he dyed it anything else than his usual black and brown, but while blonde he always kept it very wavy to drawn an even bigger contrast with his former Idol branding;

(5&6): Oh, mid 2023... The roots showing... The messy teeny tiny ponytails... The color... You can clearly see a lack of polish that is very unusual of him. Jiahang wore a lot, and I mean A LOT of hair extensions during this era right here, mostly to cover up how fucking fried his hair was starting to look due to low maintenance (Dongwook and CIA made fun of him if he showed up Too Put Together at the clubs, and after a while it really started to get to him). He adopted a very edgy Y2K style to try to make it all seem intentional, even had stylized black highlight for a while, but Jiahang felt like he wasn't fooling anyone - it didn't appear as such to the public, lucky him. This is pretty much how he looked until he fully cut off his nightlife circle of "friends" in September, and dyed his hair back to black;

(7&8): Ah, his last blonde official teasers... What a way to go. Blonde J.J had such a dramatic styling but that was very well translated into all the eras he was on, he never looked out of place. That's why even the general public now considers this run to be very iconic, as he wanted. But at what personal cost, Jay?! AT WHAT COST?!

I am still debating on how his 'clean era' looks like. I'm not sure if he would just dye his hair black and cut off the bits that look Horrible (J.J!Bayi) or if this whole experience fucked him up so bad that Jiahang would cut it pretty short and grow it back from the begging, for the healings (J.J!Didi), but anyways! He is doing better <3 currently <3 not for long <3 like at all <3 he is about to get very fucked up by the narrative <3 but on the bright side (????) that means that he'll have another very Intense hair moment, and spoiler alert, it'll look a lot like this (in Vibes, the length is still something I don't know 😁)

[jaystrun]

Meet the Firelights! (Cyberpunk AU) | pt. 1: Jorren and Eve

The core members of the Firelights of the Cyberpunk AU are mostly the same as my Firelights from What Was Left Behind.

For this post I'll focus on just two: Jorren and Eve! For those unaware, I have a deep-seated love for Eve and I've done so much over time to give her a characterization.

SO I took that and ran with it and she's now one of his best friends.

Jorren

Jorren is my own personal OC, pulled from my epic fantasy novel I've been working on for a few years. He's always so very fun for me to talk about: I love love LOVE him.

In Cyberpunk AU, Jorren grew up around the same place Ekko and Powder did. His parents were part of the Hounds (Vander's gang) and he was friendly with Ekko and the others.

when Ekko is with the Voodoo Boys, he meets Scar and they strike up a friendship. They both look to escape the VDBs and when they realize the gang trafficks people, they make their escape with a young man around Ekko's age they busted out of a trafficking ring: Jorren.

Ekko and Scar busted everyone out, gave them a place to stay while they did their best to help everyone. Some of them eventually became Firelights, or at the very least became friendly with the new "gang" (more like a Nomad clan stuck in Zaun). Jorren is among the first to make his intentions to stay with Ekko and Scar official, and becomes one of the first Firelights.

Jorren lost his eye to an infection he picked up in a shipping container as more people got shoved inside. His arm was lost saving Eve's life. The colorful plating comes from Eve's input: "You can't go around with such a boring bit of chrome, Jorey."

Among the Firelights, Jorren is something of a mediator. To really boil him down to a simple idea, he's a good listener. He likes to listen to people talk, likes to understand people. And beyond that, he's one of the bike mechanics, working alongside Ekko. He isn't a Ripperdoc like Ekko, though he does find cybernetics fascinating and likes learning how they work.

He's also a very willing canvas for Eve to practice her tattoo concepts and skills on; usually through henna in her concepting stage or with markers. Similarly, he likes engraving, and each Firelight gets intricate patterns on their "chrome" (cybernetics), usually hexametric patterns like honeycomb among other things.

His understanding dies a little bit when it comes to Pilties. Jorren HATES Pilties and everything they've forced Zaun to become.

"We killin' 'em for freedom 'cause they tortured us for boredom And even if some good ones die fuck it the Lord'll sort em." -Lyrics from "Close Your Eyes (And Count to Fuck)" by Run the Jewels

Lyrics that I think fits Jorren very well. Though I feel it's important to state, his love of Zaun is stronger than his hatred of Piltover.

His weapon of choice is a modified pneumatic sledgehammer.

He pairs his hammer with a shield that folds out from his arm, made of the same reactive armor as a MILITECH Basilisk

He'll never admit to it because he doesn't want her to worry about it, but Jorren came up with the design after the explosion incident with Jinx. If anything like that EVER happens again, he can shield people from the blast much more effectively. It folds out in an instant, linked up to his nervous system like his eye and the rest of the arm.

Helps for Shay's explosives testing as well.

Eve

For some reason my heart usually goes to side characters who only exist to die for story reasons. And I wanted to make her death meaningful beyond that, and given how Ekko reacted they HAD to be friends, or friendly, or something. He clearly cared about her.

That's in WWLB, though, my "Timebomb deleted scenes" fic on AO3.

In Cyberpunk AU, she survives thanks to Jorren leaping into action. The gunshot meant for Eve in Cyberpunk AU is instead a whole-ass explosion. Jorren rushes to block the blast but Eve counters to shield HIM instead---she's ready to die for the Firelights' cause, but she's not ready to lose him, one of her best friends.

Eve's back takes a ton of the blast, her legs especially and it's burning metal from the roof that really almost spells her doom. But Jorren lifts it off for her to crawl out, and that's how he loses the arm.

Zeke and Shay arrive to get them out while Scar gets Ekko who is rooted in shock.

It's during the recovery process that Jorren and Eve get closer, he gets acclimated to his arm and helps her with the intensive physical therapy. Her stretches are fucking painful but they're nowhere near as bad when it's his hands holding her in the poses.

He's also first to suggest she "Eve-ify" her new chrome, and to vent her emotions through art.

In the Firelights dynamic, Eve is the main tattoo artist and one of the TRUE artists in the group. Everyone's ink comes from either her or Shay, and the Firelights logo is also Eve's design.

Eve's honestly a bit like Jinx, to me: chaotic, spur-of-the-moment artists that do their best with sudden bursts of creative mood and energy.

She grew up in the same apartment building as Shay in Zaun, just outside of the Lanes (Dogtown).

[shitpostingkats]

Yu-Gi-Oh Review Roundup: Arc-V!

Favorite main character: Shay Obsidian

Raidraptors slap. Every era of this show has one archetype that makes the twelve year old inside my brain start cheering in adoration, and this time, it’s raidraptors. What can I say. I like birds.

Shay himself also does a whole lot to sell the coolness factor of his mechanical falcons. The blunt, to-the-point, selfassuredness he carries himself with is almost intimidatingly edgelord, but some great voice acting work by Matt Shipman keeps him on the humaner side of anime emos. (Also, if you didn’t know, Matt Shipman, also voice of Reki in SK8 the Infinity, and if you hadn’t made the connection between season one Shay and breakup arc era Reki, I’m sorry that is in your brain now.) 

His design is the wonderful kind of harmonizing amazingly well with his monsters without being overbearing. With all the old fighter plane influence of the raidraptors, it makes perfect sense for Shay to sport his trademark leather trenchcoat that comes complete with the asymmetrical zipper and wide collar of an aviator's jacket. I particularly love the red scarf being the unofficial uniform of the XYZ rebellion, and it going completely unremarked on in the story. It’s clever to see how it’s worked into everyone’s outfit without it being pointed out to the viewer; it’s like an easter egg hunt. On Shay, he wears it in mimicry of a silk flight scarf, another visual nod to WWII pilots. 

And in Shay’s case, it makes perfect sense he would need the outfit of a pilot, because asides from Yuya, he is the one who most routinely rides around on the backs of his monsters. I never get tired of Shay flying onto the scene on a 3,000 pound eagle shaped warmachine, completely nonchalantly. Why is he the only one taking advantage of having his monsters around outside of duels. Let everyone have terrifying monstrosities as their main form of transportation.

Favorite antagonist: Sora Perse

The candy munching warcrime gremlin of all time. While it’s a little weird that Arc-V out the gate started exploring the ramifications of being a card game child soldier, Sora’s arc as he grapples with it is the emotional core of season 1, and it genuinely gets pulled off pretty well. Also, he plays fluffals.

Fluffals is the pitch perfect archetype for Sora. I’ve said before how much I love in yugioh when the cards someone plays tells you more about their character, how I go off the wall when their archetype is a mirror of their personhood. Fluffals is also just great on its own. Perfect yugioh design. Cutesy cuddly monsters that are actually filled with KNIVES and SAWS like they are being dissected by a deranged weird little child. Then the double meaning of fluffals being innocent and adorable, but secretly hiding a darker side, just like Sora. He is constantly switching back and forth between frighteningly competent and “oh my god he’s just a kid”. 

On of my favorite moments in the show is when he and Zuzu reunite and she says farewell by doing the fusion summon salute, only for Sora to jokingly correct her posture. Their friendship is so wholesome okay. Deep down, this kid is genuinely hurt and doesn’t know how to make friends, so he’s reaching out with the only way he knows how, by taking the role of teacher but that's only a facade to get to hang out, and that line is where we first hear them acknowledge it to each other, grins on their faces, happy to still be teacher and student, but also, friends. 

This is in the same stretch of episodes as Sora casually stowing away on a helicopter by jumping fifteen feet into the air and grabbing the wheel well.

Favorite side character: Yugo

I guess they just put a special sauce in the Arc-V blue haired bois.

Why do I list Yugo as a side character? Surely, by virtue of being an au version of the main character, he should be counted with equal narrative status?

Nope! He shows up maybe a dozen times, usually randomly, to yell and crash his motorcycle into things. Then disappears again. I love him.

Yugo has, unlike the other two blue haired bois, this endearing puppy quality that makes every conversation he’s in feel playful and exuberant. And that lends itself well to the few dynamics he does find himself in, whether it’s bouncing off Yuri’s smirky villainy, or having genuinely a more emotionally intelligent discussion with Zuzu about what going on than Yuya ever manages to have with her in the whole series. And while I would have loved to get more time between him and Rin, it’s clear from just a few minutes with him how deeply he cares about her. Winning him the coveted medal of “#1 straight relationship in yugioh I would 100% believe in”. They’re just really sweet. And I would storm the Konami headquarters to get them the happy ending they deserved.

Favorite duel: Shay vs. Sora

They’re my favorites for a reason. 

Shay v. Sora is peak, not only for both characters, but the entire show. It’s certainly in my list of Top 5 Yugioh Duels Ever. Everything about this duel is pure character expression. Shay’s cold and unemotive dueling crashes right up against the peppy dueltaining that Sora has spent the past few weeks learning. At first, Sora doesn’t even seem to take the duel seriously, countering audience expectations that this duel is going to be important. Because we know at this point, that something is up with Sora. That he knows more than he is letting on and this Shay guy is someone who can seriously engage with him about the larger mystery, unlike everyone else who is still in the dark on the dimensional wars.

Then Sora’s slow burn of the facade melting away. All that theatricality can equally double as a dang good yugioh villain performance. The way the duel slides from using its standard duel cinematography to more of a Marik Ishtar unhinged closeup. There is more dramatic tension in the increasing ferocity that Sora chews on his lollipop with than a full fledged horror movie.

On Shay’s side of the duel, we get dramatic monologues of backstory, finally filling in our understanding of the larger plot, delivered by a seriously shaken refugee who is finally able to traumadump about what he and his friends had to live through. It’s chillingly intense, especially contrasted by Sora’s increasing villainous theatricality. While Sora cartwheels and flips around the crumbling city like an acrobat, Shay’s got a utilitarian body language as he dodges debris. He’s not here to put on a show. He is here to survive and get revenge.

And the conclusion. By gods. There’s something haunting about seeing Sora, who has up to this point been laughing and gloating, crack. Not at the thought of being hurt. But at the thought of losing. Of being second best. He screams as Shay walks away, no longer violent and dramatic, but just a broken kid, terrified of receiving a bad grade.

Gods. Good duel.

Favorite arc: Arc league championship

Shay v Sora may be the highlight, but it’s not the only banger duel from that arc. And there’s also a great variety of good duels. From character duels like Julia v. Zuzu, or plot important duels like Sora v Yuto, to just plain fun duels, like Gong v Grizzlepike. And once the finals get going, it’s basically a nonstop duel fest, cutting between a half dozen parties finding eachother and splitting off again, while some duel and others just try to sit down and figure out what on earth is going on. Which shouldn’t work, but it does. 

Listen, if battle city worked the first time, the second time, the third time, and the fourth time, it’ll be good the fifth time. Trust us. We did the math. Now go out and duel in [interesting environment] and wager [this tournament’s gimmick item] on duels until you have [arbitrary number]. 

And hey! The formula works once again! This isn’t sarcasm, I genuinely think this is a great way to make tournament arcs interesting. The citywide split of four biomes allows for some cool backdrops, and every duel being able to happen basically simultaneously means we can simply cut between whatever's most interesting at the moment, instead of having to see every duel start to finish. 

Also, Moonshadow gets introduced in this tournament, and he is the unsung mvp of the entire series.

Greatest strengths of the series: Polish

The Arc League Championship also stands out to me because I was startled by the quality of its episode-to-episode writing. Plot information is slowly revealed on a regular basis, instead of thirty episodes of Shenanigans that’s interrupted by a lore dump. There’s genuine mystery, and intrigue, as we try to figure out what is up with these mystery xyz summoners and Declan’s master plan. And it’s not just scenario writing that’s received a massive punch-up! Dialogue is flowing better than ever, and effects animation is legible and looks awesome, instead of hyper-compressed pixels. Heck, Yuya has a really good looking 3D model, and his eyes aren’t covered by a helmet, and his jacket realistically flutters with his movement!

This may not sound like that big a deal, but the very premise of Arc-V gives us such a clear point of comparison for “How It Started” versus “How It’s Going”. It warmed my little 5Ds adoring heart to see turbo duels back, and rendered in such believable and genuinely excellent modeling. (Though points off for making Jack’s duel runner drive sideways. You guys know it can’t do that.) Aside from a few minor nitpicks, almost everything that made previous shows awesome is lovingly given a fresh coat of paint, from summoning to landscapes. 

And the writing is also pretty good on the au versions of prior characters! I particularly love Actually Not Problematic Celebrity Jack Atlas, the fun writing challenge of taking a character whose story is so deeply rooted in his setting, then trying to figure out what he’d look like without those factors. Happily Married Crow Hogan. Rebellion Leader Alexis Rhodes. Genuinely Lost His Family And Turned Murderhobo About It Kite Tenjo. There’s something so fun about seeing the paths certain characters could have taken, if only their environments had been different. And it’s a far more challenging premise to convincingly pull off than I see it get credit for. On so many levels, yugioh shows, on a purely technical level, have just gotten better as time goes on, and I absolutely adore seeing what each new series manages to perfect.

Weakest points: Scope

Unfortunately, Arc-V just has a lot to juggle. The devotion to quartets means the math spins out of control. incredibly quickly. Four versions of the protagonist, four versions of the female lead, four story arcs in four separate worlds. A handful of cameo appearances for each dimension, but also two to three original characters as well, bloats the main cast to nearly three times that of any previous show. Four different types of playstyles to write, and for characters that use blends of all four, duels four times as complicated in a single turn. Let’s never forget that this is the era that gave us the infamous D/D/D spreadsheet.

Individual moments stand out as excellent, but there simply isn’t enough time for any of them to really shine. All of the characters I’ve stated as loving, Shay, Sora, Yugo, I love in spite of the fact that their stories never really go anywhere. Shay and Yugos’ primary motivations are to find and reunite with their bracelet girls. And they don’t. Sora? After a wonderful bleed from “no morals allowed” to “one moral allowed”, after struggling for almost a season and a half to rationalize his child soldier upbringing, the camera just stops looking at him. And that’s one of the most complete stories Arc-V manages to tell. Even Yuya, our protagonist, ends the series having not confronted anything about his father, or his blatant mental health issues, both things that he is literally introduced with being shockingly core to his character. Very few plotlines are resolved in a satisfying way, if they’re resolved at all.

In the end, I can’t help but feel that Arc-V wrote more ambitious checks than its writing budget could cash. 

Most yugioh moment:

The entire episode where they break out of prison by hosting a talent show. Specifically, the cheer in Yuya’s voice when he says “Good night, FACILITY! <3”