#a man an android and a somewhere in between

[galoogamelady]

About the Buttons age post, the left bottom (Fallout4), I read it as his age were something in between 4 and 30+ 😭 hahaha and I was like Galoo pls

Somewhere in the Vault 101 archives...

Now I am aware that four-year-olds tend to be bigger but they also don't usually have adult man heads.

You might see more crudely drawn crap like this from me. I am reviewing an android tablet and I'm trying to get used to Clip Studio. Really liking it so far!

[airbendertendou]

a small compilation of moments between autistic!reader + connor happy disability pride month <3

anon requested : hi! i was wondering if you could do something with connor and the autistic reader and like them going nonverbal and how he would handle that? You don’t have to do it if you don’t wanna! :)

please do not use this as a way to self-diagnose. having one thing in common does not necessarily mean you are autistic. im not a therapist or doctor, if you think you’re on the spectrum, talk to them. <3

if you have a blank blog [no bio, no user, no header or profile pic, nothing reblogged, etc] do not interact with my content. you will be blocked.

temperature irregulation ♥︎

hank was a firm believer in a cold house. when the summer season came and brought a heatwave with it, the older man wouldn’t allow anything other than a brisk, chilly living room.

it was often you’d come over to go over old cases and study with hank. interning with the detroit police department was fun — the academy, however, you could live without. you’d learned to dress warm when visiting hank’s house, having a hard time warming up once you were cold.

“here,” a thicker sweater is placed over the couch, the sleeve laying on your shoulder. you take it without thought, swapping your thinner one for the new one. connor smiles at the pattern on your fuzzy socks, the sight of your toes curling in delight at the warmth bringing something tender to his brain. “better?”

you nod with a hum, “thanks, detective.”

hank rolls his eyes, hiding the curl of his lips at your obliviousness. “anyways, as i was saying—”

[interrupted] routine ♥︎

every day at 12:10 pm, you’d wander into the breakroom for a snack and drink refill. connor didn’t mean to memorize your specific regimen — but after watching you do the same thing for a week straight, it stuck to his mind.

you loitered in the doorway to the breakroom, peeking in occassionally to see if it’d emptied out any. gavin caught your gaze, rolling his eyes at your hesitance. it was then you spotted the mug in his hands — your mug, the one you always used. your frown deepened.

connor budged his way into the crowd, bumping into gavin and causing his drink to spill. every curse leaving the human’s mouth went ignored — connor only watched as you cowered away from gavin’s angry steps as he left. grabbing the dropped mug, connor rinsed it four times before holding it out to you shyly.

you crept into the breakroom, grabbing the handle of the mug and shooting the android a thankful grin.

stimming with pressure ♥︎

hank opened the door to his house with a sigh. connor’s eyebrows furrowed as he tilted his head, questioning the elder silently. hank leans against the door, “[name]’s been here a while, s’all. won’t leave my bathtub.”

a safe zone, connor concludes, somewhere small and compact ; where you could see every corner and every threat. he makes his way to the bathroom without another thought, pausing at the sight of you.

your eyes are closed, face crumpled in displeasure as you clench and unclench your fists in a pattern. connor knocks on the door, announcing his presence without startling you. your eyes fly open, “hello, detective.”

“you can call me connor, if you’d like.” the android steps further into the bathroom slowly, allowing you to object if you need to. your eyes stay on him — his thirium pump stutters in his chest. “anything i can do to help?”

taking in a deep breath, you puff your cheeks as you release the air. “maybe. if you don’t think it’s weird.”

connor stares down at you, his upper lip curled in hesitance as you lay in hank’s bed. you adjust yourself, wiggling around until you’ve splayed your limbs where you want them. you blink up at him, “well?”

“it is a little... strange.” connor tries to be nice, he really does. but asking an android to lay on you — to put their full weight on you — he’s concered. “i will crush you.”

you roll your eyes, “i have a weighted blanket at home ; it’s no different.”

“i weigh quite a bit more than—”

“are you going to lay on me or not, connor?”

maybe it was the sound of you saying his name for the first time ; maybe it was the way you looked so defeated. whatever it was, connor found himself laying on you as gently as he could. the relaxation was immediate — he could feel the breath of relief you let out ; the way your body sagged.

you fell asleep that way — with connor holding his breath and tensing up the closer you got.

sensory overload ♥︎

the scene you were going to was a lot. it was nighttime now, the sirens and flashing lights bringing everyone’s attention this way. hank leaves the car first, grumbling as he goes. the sound that leaks through his open door causes you to whimper.

connor turns his head to you, “everything alright?”

your gaze hasn’t left the window as you squint, blinking at all of the lights. you gulp before biting your lip. “i’ll be fine. this is what i signed up for.”

you’re barely out of the car and already wincing at the noise and the lights. you can’t see hank ; can’t hear or understand anything being said around you. the world is blinking in hues of red and blue, wailing sirens going off with every flash of the lights.

the sound grows muffled as soft and sturdy hands cup your ears. a thumb moves from your ear briefly, just long enough for you to hear a whisper. “close your eyes and i’ll lead you into the house. that’s where the lieutenant is.”

trusting connor’s words — a little too easily — you squeeze your eyes shut. your hands go up to cover his, sealing your ears from the harsh sounds around you. stumbling a little here and there, you eventually feel a difference in temperature as you enter the house.

letting out a sigh, your shoulders moving with the motion, slowly your eyes peel open. you glance at connor, ignoring the tenderness of his gaze. “thanks, connor.”

he lets out a deep breath, ignoring the sly grin hank sends his way. “no problem, [name].” 

verbal shutdown ♥︎

it happened so quick. your safe foods had vanished from their designated cabinet ; your chair’s wheel was squeaking incessently ; hank hadn’t shown up today. everything was piling on and you finally exploded.

the evidence locker was empty as you shakily typed in hank’s password. you hit the wrong button a few times, squeezing your eyes together at the little beeps. your breathing picks up — you hold it in your chest and shake your hands, releasing the tension built inside you.

you all but crawl into the secure room, your back hitting the wall as you sit down. your eyes squeeze shut again and you go through the motions, choosing the less destructive ways to calm yourself down.

none of them work.

when connor finds you, you’re drawing shapes on the floor with your finger. you’ve curled into yourself, not making a sound ; your usual means of comfort absent from your lips. he walks to you cautiously, “[name]? hank has returned. he’s asking to see you.”

you don’t move ; not a sound falls from your lips. connor sits in front of you, crossing his legs as he waits. from his suit pocket comes a ring of multicolored notecards — your eyes flash to his at the sight of them. connor holds them out further so that you can see them properly. “want to use these?”

a miniscule nod, but it’s enough to make him smile. “alright,” he flicks through the blue cards — feelings. stopping at your set of upset verbs, he slides the ring your way. “any of these describe how you’re feeling?”

a shaky finger hits the word overstimulated before dragging over to panic. connor nods, flipping to the pink set — solutions. “what do you want to do? go home ; nap ; have a snack ; get your puzzle book ; coloring book...” connor holds them up to you, reading out each one until you nod — except you don’t. pausing, connor speaks up again, “want me to leave?”

you shake your head. slowly, your hand crawls across the floor until it meets his. you nudge his hand, curling your fingers under his. connor holds his breath, adjusting your fingers until you’re holding hands properly. his eyes stay to the floor, “this is okay, too. let me know when you’re ready to leave.”

emotional regulation ft. lots of crying ♥︎

“connor,” your voice brings him out of his work. standing beside his desk, connor watches as you sway side to side. he tilts his head and it makes your eyes water. “i’m going to cry.”

that was his cue to take you into his arms. connor stands to do so, gathering your body against his and rocking you side to side slowly. your body hiccups a few times, sniffles leaving your nose occassionally. you seem to calm down even more as he rubs your back soothingly — connor’s led light flashes yellow as he stores that information for later.

you pull away with a deep breath, rubbing your face with the hoodie you’re wearing. connor frowns, “better?”

you nod, “needed that. thank you.”

“want to tell me what upset you? only if you want to.”

connor never knew what to expect your answer to be. sometimes you just shook your head and snuggled close to him again. other times, you did talk about why you were crying and it made connor realize the extent of human emotions. 

“no more chocolate in the snack cabinet.”

“had a nice dream.”

“hank is wearing yellow.”

“it’s such a pretty day today!”

“too much noise.”

“gavin cut his hair.”

you let out another sniffle, lips pouting in thought. “not too sure this time. jus’ felt like i needed to cry.”

connor nods to himself, his led light whirring yellow once more. “i’m glad you feel comfortable with me, [name]. i’ll be here if you need another cry.”

you grin, meeting his eyes for a brisk second before reaching out to hold his hand. you swing your entwined hands lightly, grin softening into something gentle. “i know. thanks, con.”

the detective was sure he’d implode because of you soon. just not yet — not when you’re still holding his hand.

——♥︎—— for some reason my brain tells me to only write autistic readers n pair them w connor. like?? work w me here!! anyways. i hope this was okay, remember to take your meds, drink some water and have a nice snack!! airbendertendou © do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate my content on any platform. if you see my content under any other name than my own, let me know. i only have this tumblr and an ao3 account under the same name.

[kaedekolya]

clarence and his counterparts: man or monster?

So we were talking about Clarence’s new android SSR (Faint Night Light) in the LBC discord server, and it got me thinking about the monster allusions that seem to be a common thread across Clarence’s main stories. Then we discussed the diary entries from his White Day event, and it occurred to me that this monster imagery also ties into his modern-day counterpart – and with that, this post was born.

In other words: is Clarence a man, a monster, or somewhere in between?

[ SPOILERS: Clarence’s main stories and Chrono Theatre diaries. This meta analysis is structured as story-specific sections, namely Godheim, Eden, and the modern world, so you can skip over the world(s) you haven't read yet. No Awakening spoilers, don't worry! ]

- ☽ -

Godheim: Archmage Clarence

First, let’s talk about Godheim Clarence. As the Archmage, he bears a heavy responsibility upon his shoulders – to oversee the Magi Tower, to fight the Glacial Butterflies, and, ultimately, to protect the country and its people.

In order to fulfil this duty that he has chosen to undertake, Clarence seals his heart and shuts others out. He denies his emotions, and resents himself for having these emotions, to the point that he disparages MC for “[acting] impetuously” and belittles her capabilities when she shows concern for Amelia’s wellbeing. Archmage Clarence’s impassivity is his shield against the emotions he views as a hindrance.

Yet he was not always this way. Clarence is a casualty of cruel circumstances, a tender soul torn apart by trauma. When MC is confronted with the truth of the mages’ magic, having witnessed a mage die before her very eyes, she notes that “[there] is no pain or compassion on Clarence’s face,” because “[this] is a sight he has seen all too many times before.” Decades of watching his fellow mages succumb to the Glacial Butterflies that nest inside them, and decades of having to end the lives of mutating mages under his purview, have conditioned Clarence into numbing his heart to such pain. How else could he have stayed sane, after a century of bearing witness to suffering wrought by his own hands?

Archmage Clarence’s disposition is initially described by MC as an “[icy] presence,” but this is the facade that he projects as a defence mechanism, not his genuine self. Clarence is so accustomed to the chill of the Glacial Butterflies within him that he has taken on the frost as a personality trait, believing that his frigidity defines him. He does not view himself as a human capable of warmth; instead, he thinks of himself as a mutant, as an icy monster.

Even so, Clarence cannot deny his innate inclination towards kindness. When he notices that Amelia isn’t feeling well, he tells her to sit in the carriage. When Amelia’s temperature drops, he casts a spell to warm the shivering child up, even as he grumbles that he’s wasting his time and magic. When Amelia’s death is imminent, he tries to send her off in the gentlest way possible, then grants her final wish by conjuring a connection to the water mirror. Clarence may insist that he does not care, but his actions reflect his compassion.

It is this very kindness that steers him towards a path of selfless sacrifice, for the sake of his country and its people. The life of a mage may have been forced upon him, by the man that gave a gravely injured child no other option but the potion that would transform him, yet Clarence learns to harness his power for good. He spends his youth eliminating Glacial Butterflies and protecting the village of the snow plains, and despite the harsh conditions of the path he now treads, he does not hold a grudge against the family that sold him off and thrived in the resulting profit. Instead, he returns to check on them from afar, and when an onslaught of Glacial Butterflies attack, he protects them with every last bit of energy within him.

Still, his family’s betrayal left an indelible mark on his psyche. Back when he’d been given the potion, he’d resolved to succumb to his injuries rather than drink it. Despite his instinctive desire to live, MC notes that his “will to live [had been] virtually non-existent,” because there is “[no] despair greater than being betrayed by your own family.” The young Clarence had not seen a reason to live, when his family had forsaken him. It is only when MC saves him, urging him to live on, that he resolves to survive and repay this debt. Each time MC encounters him in her voyage through time, he is on the verge of death, and each time, his dwindling will to live stems from his despair over those he could not save. What ultimately keeps him alive is the vow he swore to his saviour.

This characterisation is one that carries through his immortal lifespan. Clarence does not live for himself; he lives for others. Whether that means risking his life to defend a village, or sacrificing himself in a ritual to save the country’s inhabitants, the underlying premise is the same – Clarence lives for the person who saved him, and for the promise he made to them. He allows others to form negative opinions of him based on the assumptions they’ve made, in order to keep the secret of the ritual and the Glacial Butterflies from them, because their scorn towards him matters less than their safety. He closes himself off from others, never permitting them to reach out to him, because he cannot allow companionship and compassion to distract him from his purpose. He “[cannot] afford to be sentimental,” because he cannot have anyone or anything clouding his judgement. Better to be the enemy of the state that saves it, than the friend of the state that cannot do anything as it crumbles. 

It is ironic, then, that Clarence’s devotion to his promise leads him from striving to live and fulfil it, to voluntarily dying for that same promise. His life, his existence itself, is secondary to the promise he has made. He will live to protect the world for his saviour, but if the only way to protect it is to die, then die he shall. Perhaps he views it as a penance of sorts, an atonement for the sins he’s committed. Perhaps he believes the new world would be better off without a monster like him.

For all his calculative callousness and stoic solitude, Clarence is deeply self-aware. Not only is he conscious of the suffering he inflicts and the ramifications of his actions, but he also ruminates upon his sins until they turn to guilt in his gut and self-loathing in the deepest recesses of his soul. He does not turn a blind eye to the pain he witnesses; instead, he looks it straight in the eye, internalises it, and forces himself to feel nothing at all.

Clarence may appear to have no qualms about exploiting people and reducing them to cogs in a plan greater than its constituent parts, but his interactions with Amelia prove otherwise. Right before he sends her off on what is meant to be a suicide mission, his carefully-crafted defenses slip, and he asks whether she hates him. Clarence believes that he has failed to live up to the Archmage’s title, that he has fallen short of being a “guiding force for all the mages” and a “protector.” He condemns himself for his callous strategies and merciless manipulation, since he has been treating people like chess pieces and “using them as [he sees] fit.” He disparages himself for “[standing] by on the sidelines, safe and sound.” He believes others hate him because he’s given them all the reasons to, because he deserves to be hated, because he, too, hates himself. All this while, he fails to recognise that he has taken on the greatest sacrifice of all – the burden of leadership, of decision-making, of being responsible for all the blood on his hands.

This downplaying of his own suffering, alongside his disregard of his own well-being, is what drives Clarence to self-sacrifice time and time again. When a theory about the Glacial Butterflies begins to take shape in his mind, he does not test it out on one of his mages, because he does not view them as expendable despite what he claims. Instead, he uses himself for his experiment, slicing his chest open and bearing the agonising pain in order to ascertain the truth of the magic within him.

On the verge of being overcome by the Glacial Butterflies, despite having prepared for this eventuality by shackling his limbs, he makes one last selfless request. “My Lord, you must kill me before I turn,” he entreats, willing to relinquish his own life for the safety of others. Even when Philip protects him from the Glacial Butterflies, refusing to kill him, Clarence believes that there is no place for him in the future that his Lord envisions.

Decades later, he still echoes this same sentiment. “There is no future without sacrifice,” he tells Lars, and he does not see himself as part of that future, does not see himself as deserving of that future. Archmage Clarence thinks of himself as a monster, not a man, and a monster is better off dead than alive.

It is a revelation, to him, that Amelia does not hate him. MC does not hate him. Lars, Alkaid, the mages that carry on the legacy of the Magi Tower, none of them hate him. They do not view him as a monster; they view him as a martyr, a protector, a saviour. Someone who did his best, and gave his all. Archmage Clarence leaves behind a legacy through his sacrifice, spurred by the human heart he still harbours deep within.

- ☽ -

Eden: Falcon Clarence

Next, we have the Falcon Clarence of Eden. The lone ranger of the desert, the mercenary that eliminates Sandswimmers with impeccable precision and works with no one else.

“A bait that only knows how to cry is a burden,” his mentor tells him, and Clarence internalises that into his cognitive framework and guiding compass. It is “the first lesson Liore taught [him];” that he must prove his worth in order to live. His scent lures the Sandswimmers to him, and so he must make himself useful by seeking out danger.

Valued only for his utility as bait, Clarence learns that his worth is determined by his fighting skills. With no other way to survive, he becomes a NEOS by fusing Sandswimmer gems into his body. Clarence pays the price of this acquired power through the gradual erosion of his memories, but that is far from the only thing he has lost. His decision to accept the integration of these foreign, beastly objects into his body has changed him irrevocably. He thinks of himself not as a human, but as a mutant being only one step away from becoming a monstrous Lost. Still, he endeavours to “remember [his] humanity,” because he refuses to become a “mere weapon [that knows] nothing but destruction.” Falcon Clarence understands that he is, by definition, a monster, but he refuses to relinquish the last shreds of his humanity.

In his first encounter with MC, he is rational and pragmatic as always, scrutinising her motives and seeing no reason to work together. Years of solitude, with no one else to depend on, have honed Clarence’s reflexes into an “instinct for self-defence.” Yet his reaction to MC’s request reveals that his solitude has been shaped by circumstance, not entirely by choice. When MC explains her reason for seeking out Eden, even though it does not sound particularly convincing, Clarence accepts it as sufficient and agrees to lead the way. Despite the potential risk of allowing a stranger close, he offers MC a ride on his motorcycle. Subsequently, he continues to help her out, defending the children’s shelter and giving her the gems he’d collected, even as he refuses to follow her any further.

Falcon Clarence claims that he works alone, but everything he does is for the sake of protecting others. He fights in the desert to protect the shelters from Sandswimmers, and he fights in Eden to protect Lin and the other NEOS from the Lost. He brings MC to the NEOS Association, so that she can rest for a night and learn essential skills from Lin. He knows that the night is dangerous, so despite his own preference for working alone, he ensures that MC has a community of protection around her.

Even as he dismisses everything and everyone else as burdens, his actions speak otherwise. Despite having met MC for only a single day, he offers his assistance to her time and time again, from rides on his motorcycle to filling water bottles with her. He could easily leave her to fend for herself, but he chooses not to leave her behind even when that would be the easier way out.

Perhaps the reason Clarence refuses to work with other people is that he’s afraid. Afraid of dragging them down, afraid of becoming their burden. He fears that history will repeat itself. He cannot bear to lose someone he cares for again, so he refrains from caring about anyone at all. Each time Clarence chastises others for being a hindrance, he is reproaching his past self for his inadequacy. Each time he risks his life to protect others, he is atoning for his failure to save his mentor.

MC says that she understands how Clarence feels, because “acting alone means nobody will be hurt because of [him].” In a way, acting alone also protects himself from being hurt. It is a defence mechanism born from his past, when he had to “learn to accept [his] losses” from a young age. He couldn’t afford to grieve Liore for long, not with the constant threat of the Sandswimmers, and so he could do nothing else but “live on with what memories [he] had left.” He’d forced himself to harden his heart to his emotions, but he could not suppress them entirely.

Clarence blames his moment of weakness, of emotional folly, for causing Liore’s death. It was her humanity, even in her final moments as a Lost, that held her back from killing him and caused her to die. He regrets his choice to this day, and perhaps it is this survivor’s guilt that pushes him to fight harder until he reaches the brink.

It is this same guilt, alongside his resolve to not lose anyone else he cares for, that drives him towards self-sacrifice. When he realises that MC needs a soul stone – his soul stone – to open the door within Central Control, he unflinchingly raises his gun to his head, as if it were the natural and logical decision to make. He is ready to offer his life without a moment’s hesitation, because that is the utility he can offer in this moment, in order to keep MC safe and help her achieve her goal. She has given him a reason to fight, and he will die trying to fulfil it.

Ultimately, it is his encounter with MC – and the companionship which blooms from it – that saves him. Without demanding anything in return, she cries for his pain, fights by his side, and shoulders his burdens with him. Clarence doubts his humanity, even as he holds fast to it, since he is all too cognisant of the monstrous traits within. In turn, MC’s unwavering trust reaffirms the humanity within him, reminding him that he is worthy of living.

Falcon Clarence may not be fully human on a biological level, and he may still succumb to the effects of the monsters within him from time to time, but he has managed to preserve his heart and his humanity. His tale is one of healing, of opening up, and of learning to value himself for who he is and not what he can do.

- ☽ -

Modern World: Clarence

Finally, let’s circle back to modern-day Clarence. At first glance, he’s the calm, collected, and capable Student Council president, who always seems to have affairs in order and circumstances under control.

Then, in his Chrono Theatre diary entries, we learn that he had a psychiatrist observing him from a young age, due to his gifted aptitude and exceptional intelligence beyond that of his peers. This revelation sparked a discussion in the LBC discord server, which spurred this message of mine that then became the basis for this meta post:

Clarence is well-versed in decorum, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it comes naturally to him. It’s likely that he learned social etiquette by picking it up from observing how other people behave, so he knows the appropriate responses to give and the socially-acceptable ways to carry himself. However, because this social understanding is not an innate trait but a learned one, there are often times when he doesn’t recognise the need for social niceties, and instead his instinctual response – founded on his internal logic – comes through.

One example of this can be found as early as his second interaction with MC, after she paints an artwork of him:

The polite thing to do would be to express interest in or appreciation of the finished product, regardless of one’s actual feelings towards it. However, Clarence “doesn’t show the slightest interest” in MC’s painting. Does this mean that he doesn’t care for it, and doesn’t see the need to put on a pretence? Quite the contrary. Instead, it’s because he thinks he doesn’t have anything useful to offer in response, and thus he stays silent.

Here, we see a disconnect between how Clarence understands the world, and how other people tend to view it. While most people would appreciate receiving praise or validation, Clarence doesn’t particularly see the need to receive either, and thus doesn’t immediately think of giving them to others. Rather, he takes a more pragmatic approach, focusing on utility; a piece of work deserves feedback for the effort poured into it. However, as a law major, he does not have sufficient knowledge or expertise regarding art. As such, he believes that his feedback would not be useful, and thus it is better not to say anything at all.

This ties into how Clarence views himself as his roles, and the functions he can serve. He understands that he has worth, but he evaluates this worth through his services as the Student Council president, or his contributions as a law intern. When he assists others, he doesn’t think of it as going out of his way to help them; instead, he views it as part of his rightful duty.

As a result, Clarence doesn’t view himself as simply “Clarence.” Rather, he thinks of himself as Clarence, the Student Council president; Clarence, an upperclassman; Clarence, a friend. If he can fulfil someone’s needs through a role that he holds, he will do it, even at the expense of himself.

We see this most prominently in Clarence’s “Break Time” R card story:

When the senior who’s supposed to interpret for an academic speaker falls ill and fails to attend, Clarence steps up to fill their shoes last-minute. William notes that Clarence can be counted on to show up whenever and wherever he’s needed, and MC agrees that he’s “the only one who’s up to the task.”

However, what most people don’t recognise are the sheer lengths Clarence will go to in order to fulfil his duties. On top of his regular responsibilities, filling in for the interpreter caused Clarence to “[burn] the midnight oil” preparing for the speech, and taking care of the sick speaker meant that Clarence could not sleep for two days. He doesn’t recognise that he’s constantly going above and beyond, because to him it’s a given, but he is in fact pushing himself past his limits, and past the line that most people would draw.

It’s interesting to examine MC’s thoughts here, because she interprets Clarence’s willingness to take a nap as a rational understanding that he needs to rest in order to keep functioning. However, this only happens after MC coaxes him into taking a break. If she hadn’t intervened, Clarence would have continued pushing himself until he completed his task – he was already at “the brink of collapse,” and he “only agreed to sleep after [MC] practically begged him to.” Clarence prioritises his responsibilities to the point that he does not recognise his own needs, and thus neglects to take care of himself.

Although modern Clarence doesn’t think of himself as different, or as anything less than a person, it’s evident that he views himself as the roles he fulfils rather than simply as who he is. In turn, this mindset is reflected in his behaviour, which then shapes other people’s perceptions of him. This is how Clarence becomes characterised as the aloof and intimidating Student Council president in the students’ eyes, even though he cares so deeply and helps out so much; most people are unable to look deeper and see Clarence as the person that he is, because he perceives and presents himself through the lens of his roles.

As such, other people often view Clarence as different from themselves – as if he’s operating on a different wavelength, or existing on a separate plane entirely. Modern Clarence’s genius sets him apart from his peers, but more than that, his perspective of himself winds up alienating himself from other people. Clarence views himself as like others, but others view him as unlike them. He blends in well enough, but he doesn’t quite fit in; he has a place in society, but he doesn’t quite belong.

- ☽ -

Clarence, across time and space

Out of all the Clarences thus far, modern Clarence is perhaps the most well-adjusted, and this reflects the importance of having a support system. Godheim Clarence and Eden Clarence were isolated from a young age and survived alone throughout most of their lives, whereas modern Clarence had family and friends around him. He may not have had the most conventional childhood, but he grew up with his older sister Jaclyn and his close friend Luca, and he also had his psychiatrist Ford observing and monitoring his development. Subsequently, after he enters St Shelter Academia, he gains a circle of friends he can rely on, such as William, O’Connor, and, of course, MC.

Expanding upon Clarence’s St Shelter Academia bonds, we see that Clarence has people around him who genuinely like him for who he is, and are willing to support him unconditionally. O’Connor affectionately refers to Clarence with a nickname – “Shi-kun” in the Japanese voiceover, or “Little Si Lan” in the Chinese one – and for all his devious teasing, it’s clear he looks out for his Student Council successor. As for William, he may whine about Clarence’s by-the-book discipline, but his clumsiness and complaints do not preclude him from helping out when needed. For all that Clarence often chastises William, he still relies on him to assist with Student Council matters, and he knows William is someone he can trust.

Compared to these two, MC is a relatively newer connection, but her bond with Clarence runs deep. Right off the bat, she’s able to meet him on his level and banter with him, and he lets down his guard enough to subtly tease her for trying to trick him. As their relationship develops, Clarence grows to trust her, sharing his inner thoughts and admitting his vulnerabilities. MC is a safe haven for him, and she understands him on a level deeper than most. While the other students may fear Clarence for his aloof disposition, or hesitate to approach him due to his detached rationality, MC sees the earnest sincerity woven into his actions and the warmth laced through his words. Others may think of him as an unfeeling robot or a terrifying monster, but MC loves him for the human that he is.

There’s a subtle but interesting juxtaposition here, in which Godheim Clarence and Eden Clarence – both possessing monstrous mutations within them – view themselves as monsters while most others do not, whereas modern Clarence – wholly human – views himself as human while most others do not. All three Clarences are keenly aware of what constitutes them, allowing this biological understanding to shape their perception of themselves, but they do not recognise that their actions paint a different picture to others.

Regardless of the world he inhabits, Clarence constantly straddles the line between man and monster. His selfless nature and dutiful diligence often lead him to self-sacrifice and superhuman feats, creating the illusion of a monster – but beneath this facade lies, always, the heart of a human.

- ☽ -

thank you for reading!♡

if you have any thoughts about this post, i'd love to hear them! responses are always welcome, and my ask box is open~

up next: android clarence, and the inevitability of tragedy. where is the line between human and machine? stay tuned for my thoughts on clarence's awakening main story!

[tobiasdrake]

What villainous DB character, canon or non-Canon, do you think would be most interesting to see join the main caster after their time as a villain.

Cell.

Cell is a character who strikes me as aimless. Once he achieves his Perfect Form, he's just spitballing. He won. He achieved the only goal he has left. Everything else is just Cell scratching his head and figuring out what to even do with himself now that he has nothing left to achieve.

"Time to kill my opponents with my newfound power."

"No, actually, maybe it'll be more fun to host a tournament and let them get buff first."

"I mean, it's as good an idea as anything, I guess, since fighting Goku is going to be boring."

And after the tournament, I can, uh... I'll be a slasher movie villain. Wear that hat for a while. That makes sense, sure."

"You know, now that we're here, I realize that hosting a tournament was a dumb idea. I really just wanted to fight Goku. I don't give a shit about the rest of this."

This man is lost. He's achieved the ultimate power in the universe but... what is it for? What is he supposed to do with it? Beyond killing Goku, there is no reason. No goal. He spends the rest of the arc fumbling around for something to do with it.

Cell is standing on the other side of the Victory threshhold looking around and going, "...okay, so what next?" and grasping at whatever straws are within reach to fill that void.

He's an amoral villain who relishes his supreme power and likes to lord it over other people, to be sure. But there's not really any difference between him, Piccolo, and Vegeta. Except that those two got to undergo character arcs while Cell got killed off.

In fact, I'd argue that Vegeta is worse. I will die on the hill that Vegeta is the most sinister person in the Cell arc. My favorite part of the arc is when they're all, "Oh no, Cell wants to eliminate the villains we've been trying to fight. That would be bad because it'd make him strong, and he's evil so it's bad for him to be strong. I have a plan: Let's power up Vegeta!"

It's just that Vegeta's one of us. He's a genocidal monster but he's in the nakama so we're just going to stand here looking at each other awkwardly while he beats his son.

Cell is somewhere between Piccolo and Vegeta on the heinousness chart. His only motivation to begin with was to follow the roadmap to strength that Gero left him, and his only agenda item now is to prove how strong he is by fighting all of the other characters. The only reason he's still a villain is because he's sadistic and cruel.

And.

Like.

Are you sure we have the moral high ground on that?

Are you sure?

Honestly, if Cell had survived the Android arc, he'd probably just fall into Goku's orbit. It is remarkably easy to see Cell becoming yet another rival training to defeat Goku and prove once and for all that he, Cell, is the best in the universe.

[tunastime]

Love in the Time of Calculation

as promised: the first chapter of the ranchers SEN fic! this fic takes place inside the au I created for Stretching Endless Night. I'm hoping posting this first chapter will actually get me to. write the rest of it. since I've got so much of it written. jazz hands!! enjoy!

In order to continue supplying food for a growing station, Commander Tango Tek, second to the head of engineering on the space station Prometheus, takes a six month study with the Empire-2 station at the behest of his admiral. There, he meets their botanist and horticulturist, Jimmy, a man he's only communicated with in communiques, voice memos, and documents. When they meet for the first time face-to-face, Tango realizes they both have something very interesting in common. In the face of all odds, two androids fall deeply, horribly in love. (6711 words)

Tango flips a switch on his navigation panel.

“It would be funny,” he says, slowly, enunciating as the recorder picks him up. “If I were to start these with some outlandish startdate. I would find it hilarious, I think, but I don’t know how many other people would. So…

Stardate 2105.47: I’ve just made brief contact with the Ring-style Space Station known as the Empire-dash-2. After discussion of docking procedure, I was forwarded the…passkey for the docking sequence and I should be arriving within two hours of my current time. That time is…in hour format…8:07pm. Lookin’ forward to meeting them, as much as they’re probably lookin’ forward to meeting me. I’ve never spoken to them in person—it’s all been electronic. So…it’ll be interesting, to say the least!” He nods, feeling some inclination to sigh—despite there being no way to. Motions he’d learned and copied from his peers. 

“Thus begins my month-long stay with E-dash-2. I can only hope some work with hydroponics actually gets me somewhere. They tell me the guy’s a genius, so I’m inclined to believe them.”

Tango jabs his finger against the stop recording button. After a beat, the small, LCD screen flashes SENT in dark, bold letters. Leaning back in his chair, Tango folds his arms over his chest, and sets his boots on his console. The ship around him hums faintly, enough to be heard if he pays attention to it. As he leans back, he surveys the inside of his ship, the LTS-111, the small craft that he called home. In comparison to other ships on the Prometheus, it’s smaller, built for short term travel between locations, a cool, dark grey inside. There’s two swivel chairs at the helm, a large front, port window, overlain with his control panel, above and below his chair. Behind him, a door opens to a short hallway—mess hall and his room, just a plain, grey-white with one bunk. There’s a crate with his belongings, of which there are few, a plant on the windowsill to keep him sane. The mess is devoid of food and drink. It’s a luxury he doesn’t need. It’s nice when he can, but it’s nothing but an experience for him. Nothing to be gained from poorly made HASA meals full of crude protein. The edge of his boot catches the lip of the console, pulling at the rubber. He’s tucked his flight suit into his boots. His eyes follow the bright red and gold stripe down the side—division colors. Commander, engineering and technology. On his sleeve there would be the same designation, as was on all of his uniforms. Even the plain black, well fit shirt underneath, even his boots. HASA; Commander. Luckily his boots didn’t have a commander or engineering tag. If he felt so inclined to sand off the small rubber HASA branding he could.

His eyes follow a line across the ceiling, to the small strip of light that brightens the room. He runs his fingers over the seam in his sleeve—habit, again, but he’s not sure from whom. 

The hour passes slowly. Tango spins simulations in his mind, projects from the ship's computer the schematics of E-2. He can see the docking station there on the map and traces out the line from there to the botanical garden. He spends time memorizing that path, and out to other locations, and rolling the names of his new compatriots around in his language acquisition program. None of these things are foreign to him—he’s built for new experiences, new learning opportunities. He can feel where known things end and new begins, and craves to fill the space, often and continuously. When that hour ends, there’s a tinny beep from his communications panel. He looks over the message displayed.

LTS-111 prepare docking sequence.

Tango dials the coordinates into his navigation system, overriding the current charting program to pilot into the docking bay. As he does, a crackling voice jumps to life.

“LTS-111, this is Fwhip, Commander of E-2. Do you copy?”

“E-2, this is Commander Tek of Prometheus. I copy. The Rift is ready for docking procedure.”

“Commander!” The voice—Fwhip—laughs. “It’s good to have you. Glad to hear you made it safely.”

Tango nods to himself.

“Myself as well. Looking forward to meeting you all.”

The line clicks out. Tango resettles in his chair, sitting up straight, taking in the sound of Fwhip’s voice, the designation, the information. He files that away.

The curve of E-2 comes into view, stark white and grey, glittering gold where the paneling reflects light. He watches as the shining craft sits suspended amidst stars, its own field of gravity and oxygen and life shining a faint blue in the light of the nearby sun. He feels that warmth through the front viewscreen, despite the gold foil and shade to block it. It’s nice. In the closest approximation to nice he could get. He pulls the seat’s harness over his chest, snaps it in place as he begins standard docking procedure—slowing to a noticeable crawl, flipping on his communications panels, and switching to reserve thrusters. The Rift was made with older tech, anything he could salvage and amass from ships being decommissioned. It functioned—better than the standard HASA ships and was fully compliant—well beyond what he’d ever expected. Though he wasn’t quite human enough to have real expectations.

The ship settles into a launch port on the far side of E-2. Tango takes his time collecting his belongings. He wanders into his room as the ship powers down, settling into a dull hum. He repacks his bag, giving a quick once-over of the bunk before he lifts the trunk into his arms, the weight negligible. He settles the plant in the corner of his bag, making sure it’s settled before he slings the bag over one shoulder and sets the crate on one hip. His startup keycard sits in his front shirt pocket, and his credentials badge in his back pocket. 

The first thing he notices as he enters the launchpad for E-2 is how clean and bright it is. The launchpad is devoid of anyone working, and there are certainly no other docking ships. The two other ships Tango can see are relatively new and clean, parked closely together. He glances around the space, looking for any sign of movement. His footsteps echo quietly around the empty chamber. To his right, beyond a stabilizing membrane is the winking stars of space. There’s a planet in the far distance, but it’s much too far to see anything notable. 

The bay door to his ship closes as he steps toward the winding steps up to the lofted second floor. He starts up the steps, lifting the crate into his arms. 

“Commander Tek!”

Tango startles. Looking up to the second floor, he sees someone lean over the railing, waving enthusiastically. Tango squints at him, surrounded by the white facade of the walls around him. 

“Commander Fwhip?” Tango says, cocking his head to the side. He sees Fwhip nod again.

Tango smiles a little, eyebrows furrowing despite it. Fwhip. The intonation matches what he heard crackling over the communicator of his ship, though, of course, without the static. He’s wearing stark black, with a large diagonal line cut in red across his chest, up to his collar, and over his shoulders. Tango realizes for a moment that his jumpsuit may not have been the prime choice for meeting a commanding officer—no matter the rank or office. Especially considering that he was supposed to be both a liaison and a researcher. 

But as Fwhip meets Tango on the landing, he shakes his hand firmly. There’s a spark, somewhere, in his eye, his heart rate elevated as Tango greets him. He’s winded, too, like he ran all the way here. Tango feels a piece of information in his mind click unexpectedly into place.

“Commander Fwhip,” he says, copying the smile Fwhip is giving him more fully. “It’s a pleasure.”

“Oh, please,” Fwhip laughs. “Commander, the pleasure is ours. Congratulations on your most recent publication.”

Tango nods. Somewhere, something kicks in his chest, just the faintest flicker of painful phantom sensation. It took him two years to publish that paper—and it was a damn shame he had to die to get it published in full, despite Doc and Etho’s help.

Fwhip’s hand is warm in his, enough to notice the change in sensation between them. He can feel Fwhip’s heartbeat in his palm and the way his breathing stutters for a second when Tango and him shake hands. Fwhip looks down at his hand. Tango lets go first, the noticeable white lines on his skin pulsating in and out. His hand feels stiff as he stretches it, feeling metal extend and retract.

“You’re…” Fwhip starts. Tango sees him frown, just the smallest change between his eyebrows. 

“An android?” Tango finishes. He watches color rise to Fwhip’s face as Tango tilts his head, expression neutral, amused, even. Fwhip laughs, even if it’s born from a touch of embarrassment. Tango hums something low, a version of a laugh he can manage to sound normal. 

“It’s not strange, if that’s what you think I think,” Fwhip says, leading Tango toward the stairs. “Unexpected maybe, but—to be fair, they didn’t tell you anything about me, either.”

“That is very true,” Tango says. He feels that itch, then, that want to know, to delve deeper. He shifts the box in his arms as they round the stairs, reaching the upper platform. “I think most people are surprised to find that I’m an android.” 

“That’s a shame—you’re brilliant for more reasons than just being an android,” Fwhip says, and the click comes back again, like he’s cracking a combination lock one number at a time. 

“I appreciate that,” Tango says, inclining his head. If there were anything in his face to indicate blush, he would be bright red. He hums instead, tilting his head back and forth in a dismissive sort of shake. Fwhip backsteps to walk by his side, raising his eyebrows over his glasses.

“So,” he starts, motioning to the door. “Did you have any questions about the ship as you settle in?”

Tango looks down at his shoes for a second, letting the thought spin in his head. He nods, just once.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’d love to hear more about the botany division—I got a real short mission briefing with Admiral Xisuma before I left. I know we were in a hurry to find the sweet spot of travel.”

“Of course,” Fwhip says. “Lining up that parallel can be real difficult if you don’t time it right.”

“The Admiral’s got an eye for interesting navigation patterns.”

Fwhip laughs, nodding his head. 

“Glad to hear you’re in good hands,” he says, opening the door for them. Tango follows him into a brightly lit hallway, lined in white and cream and bright floor lights. Along the edges are colored lines, intersecting and dividing—red, blue, green—to locations Tango can’t see. He follows Fwhip down a corridor, further from the launch platform. Tango knows this layout—further down the hall is a passenger elevator meant for the science team. They’ll take it down four flights to the belly of the ship, where many of the labs rest, tucked away. The ship's rings orbit each other, so he’ll be in this ring for as long as he’s doing research. They’re relatively straight forward, broken into divided sections inside. He traces the pattern out in his mind as Fwhip begins to speak.

“Well, to give you a station briefing, our main team fluctuates, but I’d say we have about 15 to 20 of us at any given time on command, and then a hundred of personnel and staff besides ourselves. I work closely with Lieutenants Scott and Pix, and both of them know our botanist pretty well,” he turns to Tango as he calls for the elevator, pressing his keycard to the small panel next to it. The numbers above the sliding doors illuminate in orange, bright and blocky. Tango raises his eyebrows. 

“His name is Jimmy,” Fwhip continues. “He’s a Lieutenant Junior Grade, but he’s incredibly good at what he does. I’ll let you two get acquainted when we get down there.” The elevator doors slide open. Fwhip gestures Tango inside before he himself steps in, pressing the button for their floor. Tango sets his trunk at his feet, toeing it off to the side and out of the way. “He spends most of his time down there, so you may not see him much at all besides when you’re working.”

Tango hums. He screws up his face into an approximation of thinking, running the words over in his head. A junior lieutenant. A higher officer, for certain, but for him to be teaching Tango—there feels like there should be a catch. Tango pulls at the seams of the phrasing, the intonation. His eyebrows furrow.

Fwhip answers his question before it leaves his mouth.

“He basically revitalized the hydroponics system overnight—nothing’s changed in the watering or feeding system, but the plants grow like crazy now,” Fwhip folds his arms, glancing over at Tango as Tango folds his hands behind his back. “I think it was his specification for a while, so as soon as he got here, he requested the transfer, and his work brought him up the grade.”

“That’s impressive,” Tango says, a touch quiet. The only other person he knew who’d ever done something like that had been Mumbo, and most of his ideas were feats of engineering so large they required a three-room modified lab space and a blast chamber. Meridian supplied that—though Prometheus—himself included—was sad to lose him to their sister station, especially after how long he worked with Tango. 

“He’s written a paper on it—it’s in the works of being reviewed now,” Fwhip says. “I don’t know how likely it is to go through, though.”

Tango hums again. 

“Why’s that?”

Fwhip shrugs. “He’s just not a nice guy to work with,” he says. “And I don’t mean that to be rude, either.”

The elevator doors open. They spill out into a lackluster hallway, still the same bleach white as the floors above. Taking a sharp right, they follow the curved edge of the ship down the green line, toward a series of crew cabins. Fwhip gestures toward a room closer to the middle of their row. As they stand there for a moment, he offers Tango a keycard.

“We got you a room—well before we knew that you…probably wouldn’t need the bedspace,” he says, shaking his head apologetically. Tango waves his hand. “You’re welcome to it, though.”

“Oh, I’ll absolutely take it,” Tango says, trying that smile again. Fwhip smiles back this time, one that touches his eyes, and makes Tango smile harder.”I like having my own space. Normally I have an office, so this’ll do just fine, I think.”

He presses the keycard to the door as Fwhip lifts his crate into his arms, struggling under the weight for a moment. The door slides open. Inside, as the soft yellow lights raise to bright, is a sparsely furnished room. Fwhip carries his crate into the room, setting it at the foot of the double bed. The room is small, clean, tidy. He turns in a small circle as Fwhip sets the crate down, nodding his head.

“This is great,” Tango says, dipping his head. “Thank you.”

Fwhip nods, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Absolutely,” he says. Moving past him, he gestures back to the hallway. “I’ll be forwarding you the ship changelog, so you know who’s on shift at a given time, and when meals are, if you have any interest.”

“That sounds great,” Tango says, moving with him to the hall. He follows Fwhip back down the hall, back towards the elevator. They diverge at a second hallway and down a third, following the winding corridor through the ship’s interiors. The walls shift from opaque to translucent as they follow the path down, with more and more people shuffling about. Fwhip moves through the hall easily—Tango navigates with a bit more difficulty, skirting past doors sliding open and bright lights and the new rush of people. As they weave through, Fwhip says:

“Figured I’d show you down to the lab,” he checks his wrist, a brief flash of numbers and notifications that Tango doesn’t quite catch fully. “I’ve got a bit before I have to be back at the bridge.”

Tango hums.

“Great—I’ll…hopefully be able to find, uh, Jimmy?”

Fwhip nods. 

“Mhm—” he says. They pause at a lab closer to the end of the corridor. Through the high ceiling and tinted glass, Tango can see the warm yellow and purple light that floods the space. The lab stretches further down the hallway and out of sight. Fwhip tilts his head toward the lab. 

“This is it?” Tango asks. 

“This is the one,” Fwhip says. He steps back from the door, letting Tango tap his card, the door sliding open for him. It stays open for a moment as Tango steps in. Fwhip checks his wrist again.

“I’ll let you find him,” he says. “Hopefully you’ll get a briefing before you leave to unpack.”

Tango nods, smiling again. The warmth of the room starts to roll over him as he stands still—cooling kicks on to adjust, like a sigh out of his chest.

“Thank you, Commander,” he says. Fwhip nods, dismissing him, before the door shuts between them, and Tango stands, alone, in a room full of plants.

He picks his way around the lab for a long while. The quiet is nice, the sound of air circulating and the soft hum of lights and electronics. He hadn’t run this particular section over in his schematics—something about it almost felt invasive. He wanted to learn it for himself, standing in the center of the room, hands braced on the work table. The equipment portion of the lab is its own self-contained room at the front of the lab—big enough for a table, several workstations, shelves of equipment. He rounds the table as he spots a secondary sliding door, obscured by the semi-translucent, white glass. 

Tango presses his loaned keycard to the scanner, watching the door slide open. Stepping inside, he stands amongst a huge lab filled with rows of vegetables, aquatic plants, and small trees. He can see potatoes, carrots, beets, neat and lined in suspended troughs of water and sitting in cups on the floor. Along the walls are digging and planting tools organized haphazardly, strewn about in small piles. The air is warm and humid as he walks his way around a series of rows—it almost feels like its own planet, like the atmosphere alone were thick enough to taste. 

Tango walks along a row, watching the plants with a careful consideration, as if they would move, or reach out to him, or something. But they’re just plants—unmoving beside the slight wave in the airflow. He reaches out after a moment, brushing one of the leaves, feeling it between his fingers. It’s rhubarb. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen rhubarb before. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen this many plants before.

Moving around the hydroponics, Tango wanders around the other side of the lab, watching as it stretches out and further back, rows of plants in tight lines, purple lighting and tubes for irrigation running across the ceiling. He turns into a slow circle, moving back through the rows as he does. The rows loop around back to the supply stations, where Tango walks backward, trying to see the end of the lab, where else it could lead, where else he could explore.

His foot catches under him, sliding out as his knees buckle and he lurches sideways.

He yelps loudly, flailing as he falls, losing his balance and smacking into the shelf behind him. A handful of ceramic plants pots and glass beakers fall with him, smashing to the ground as the shelf comes loose. Tango scrambles up, slipping again as he lands on his hands and knees, fumbling as he tries to scoop the glass into a reasonable, unnoticeable pile, to fix the shovels that must’ve fallen with him, the stacks of gardening gloves under his right boot. He mutters to himself as he does, babbling as his mind whirs with simulations. They were always there—right? That’s fine! He tries to stack a pair of gloves back on the shelf, watching them slide directly off. 

Shoot. Shoot! Damn it!

“Shit—” he mumbles.

“Hello?”

A voice calls out from the other side of the room. Tango hears a door shut. He pushes the broken shards of a pot near his knee together, like he could even try and fix the shattered pot. He searches wildly for the voice as he does.

“Hi—” he manages, voice warbling unexpectedly. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to.”

“What?” the voice comes again. “Who…”

Tango follows a shape through the row of plants as a man in grey steps around toward him. He blinks, owlish and confused, as he stares at Tango. Tango can see the name stitched into his quarter-zip.

Jimmy.

“I’m so sorry—” Tango starts again, but the man—Jimmy—is already halfway to kneeling in front of him, taking the broken pot from him, scooping the rest of the shards into his hands. Tango realizes, all at once, that he’s still sitting on the ground, surrounded by the carnage of him falling unceremoniously over into the stand. He starts gathering the tools around him into his arms.

“It’s…it’s alright—” he sighs, a trickle of confusion, of agitation, leaking into his voice. “Walk me through it, what happened?”

“I walked into it—” Tango says, feeling foolish all of a sudden. It’s not a tangible feeling. He just knows something is churning and curling in him and he can’t place what. “One minute I was turnin’ around lookin’ at this place and the next—wack.”

Jimmy hums under his breath, something amused. Tango blinks at him as he rights the shelf and replace the items from the floor. 

“Wack?” he says, starting to laugh. “I…yeah. Sorry, I don’t organize things very well, it seems like.”

“I don’t either, I’ll be honest…” Tango says, shaking his head. “You’re Jimmy, then?”

Tango scrambles up with glass still in his hands and Jimmy turns back to him as he looks around for somewhere to put it. Jimmy nods his head over to a waste bin, dropping the shards of clay pot into it. 

“Mm,” Jimmy nods. “You’re…?”

Tango makes a half-sound as he turns back to him, waving his hands.

“Commander Tek,” he says, sticking out his hand, smiling a bit lopsided. It feels lopsided at least. He’s trying to copy what he knows, and he thinks he’s failing. “Er, Tango. You don’t have to call me Commander.”

Jimmy raises his eyebrows. 

“Ah—Fwhip told me you were coming,” he says, tilting his head a little, something like a smile coming to his face. “You’re sure just Tango?”

Tango nods.

“Too fancy with the whole thing. I prefer just Tango, anyway.”

Jimmy smiles in full. The action alone splits his face in half, stretching up to his eyes. Tango copies him, after a beat, something that falters just a little bit as he does.

Jimmy takes Tango’s hand. As he does, a buzz of electricity spikes up Tango’s arm and to his elbow, pooling there, zinging cool and bright. Tango startles, jolting back, making a small, sharp sound that gets lost as Jimmy audibly yelps. It didn’t hurt, but it felt new. Tango likes new.

He feels something wash over him, even as he jolts—memory, knowledge, understanding, like an imprint of knowing the man before him before he even did. Jimmy blinks, a furrow coming between his eyebrows. Tango, for a split second, wonders if the feeling is mutual.

“Sorry,” he blurts. The static shock dissipates as he shakes out his hand. “Sorry, I might still have glass….”

Tango looks over his hands, prodding at the silicon for any shards left there. There aren’t any, though—he even brushes them together, trying to feel for anything. Tango glances back at Jimmy. He’s looking him over, that curious, owlish expression on his face again. His mouth quirks up a little, the sides of his mouth lifting.

“You’re an android,” he says.

Tango’s eyes flick over his face for a moment. It’s completely symmetrical, brown eyes clear and bright, hair neatly parted. His movements are smooth as he steps back and adjusts his sleeves and reaches to gently brush something from Tango’s jumpsuit.

“So are you,” Tango finally says, mouth quirking up. His mouth tastes like static electricity.

“Huh,” Jimmy says, soft, thoughtful. The edges of his mouth fully curl up in a way so human and so foreign. Tango catalogs it immediately. “That’s so interesting.”

Tango huffs out an approximation of a laugh—which causes Jimmy to laugh in earnest. The tension dissolves as he laughs, and Tango feels his shoulders drop. That tingling feeling still hasn’t left Tango’s hand. He wonders for a moment if it ever will, or if every time they brush together it’ll light up like static, or if maybe they just happened to be carrying just enough electrical discharge to shock each other. Tango hopes it doesn’t happen again. He’d like to be friendly without risking a shock.

“So,” Tango starts as they stand together in the hydroponic farm. “Is there a reason ESA lets you use terracotta and glass in space?”

Jimmy shrugs. 

“They want it to feel more like Earth,” he hums, amused, turning away from Tango. He wanders a bit before Tango startles to catch up, following him through to the lab room. Jimmy pushes up the sleeves of his ESA sweatshirt. “Not that I would know what that feels like…though I do like it.”

They step through to the lab with the door hissing shut behind them. The humidity and heat follow them in, clinging to Tango’s jumpsuit. He can hear Jimmy mumbling to himself under his breath as he circles the large lab table in search of something. Tango tracks him with his eyes, pausing in the space where Jimmy once was, folding his arms. Jimmy fumbles around for a moment, digging through his cabinets, with Tango watching over his shoulder.

“That’s nice,” Tango says, eyes following him. Jimmy hums, nodding in response. “I can’t say I’ve ever seen Earth myself, either.”

“Oh yeah?” Jimmy says. When he turns back, he’s holding a data pad, a thumb drive and a blank badge. He lines them all up on the table, sitting next to each other. “Have you ever been planetside?”

Tango nods. 

“A few times with my old crew,” he starts, waving his hands back and forth. “Some dry and dusty ones for sure. Not too exciting.”

Jimmy tilts his head a bit. He’s still smiling, and Tango, for a moment, can’t take his eyes off it. He isn’t sure anyone’s ever smiled at him for that long, or maybe he’s misreading it—emotions were a fickle, strange thing. Maybe Jimmy was simply happy. 

Tango leans against the table, back pressing to the side of it, glancing down at the data pad and keycard for a moment. Jimmy looks away as Tango catches his eye. Tango thinks he sees him flush as he turns back around to the computer.

“They haven’t really briefed me on why you’re here,” Jimmy says. “Why’d they send you?”

“To E-1? We’re uh…our science director was looking for a secondary project to help bolster our food supplies—stretch it out a little longer?” He folds his arms over his chest. “Our admiral’s been in contact with Fwhip a few times conversationally, but we normally reach out to the Meridian, a station in our system, for help, but they weren’t having any hydroponics success. So…here I am.”

Jimmy nods absently as he continues typing.

“Hopefully I can give you something useful to take back,” he says, glancing up to Tango. Tango nods, raising his eyebrows.

“I mean, they say you’re the best,” he offers. It’s true—everything Pearl had told him seemed to point directly to whoever was running the botanical experimentation lab on E-2. And here he was, an android, standing in front of Tango.

“Do they?” Jimmy asks.

“Mhm!”

“That’s very nice of them…I uh, I’ve got a badge for you,” Jimmy says, sliding the piece of plastic toward him. Tango picks it up, turning it in his fingers as he listens. It has a small symbol on it, like an overlapping square and a green stripe all the way around it. When he looks back to Jimmy’s face for a moment, he notices that same green stripe around his upper arm. Green. Science. It was fitting. He fits that bit of information right next to what he knows Prometheus’ color to be: nearly the same shade.

“It’ll get you into this lab and ones like it, um, all the way down this hall,” Jimmy unlocks the data pad, pushing it toward him. “And you can record anything you’d like on this pad.”

“Oh, thank you, that’s great, actually” Tango says. He tucks the card into his pocket, where it rests against his chest. The data pad is blank, no notes, no sketches, and no documents. Just the time and date. From what he can recognize, he’s been aboard for about two hours. “Is, uh, is there somewhere we can share notes, or should I be handing this off to you periodically?”

“Whatever you write there will also be stored on the lab computer,” Jimmy says, gesturing back to the screens behind him. “Either of us can access it at any time. It should recognize you as having access to the console, so there shouldn’t be too many problems with that.”

Jimmy studies him for a brief moment before he picks up the thumb drive, twisting it in his fingers. Tango watches the movement, eyes flicking between it, and the pad, and the screen.

“So,” Jimmy starts again. “I can’t say I was expecting an android, but that does make this whole process a lot easier.”

He holds out the thumb drive—Tango holds out his hand. The small bit of plastic that falls into Tango’s palm is lightweight and bright white. He holds it between his thumb and forefinger, frowning just a little.

“What’s this for?” he asks, setting the data pad on the table again. His hands feel an itch to turn the drive around in them, nervous ticks surfacing as he receives data and writes to disk. The humidity, Jimmy’s expression, the curious glint in his eye, the buzz of excitement he can nearly feel in the air. For an android, Jimmy was certainly animated, certainly running high on emotion. Tango could reach out and grab it, if he knew he would catch something.

Jimmy nods a few times, leaning on the table in front of him.

“That right there,” he says, pointing at the drive. “Is all of my research. That way you can just—” he mimes a plugging motion, patting the back of his neck. If Tango’s chest could cave, it would have, as he feels some gear shudder and start again. “Get it all.”

Tango blinks. His vision stutters for a moment, fading out on the edge as he tries to process Jimmy’s comment, his voice. He feels that tug at his eyebrows as they furrow, a copy of a motion he’d seen so many times on so many faces. Jimmy’s research rests in the palm of his hand, still cold, despite the heat leaching from Tango’s synthetic skin.

“I think—” Tango says. What a stupid turn of phrase. He knows—he’s not thinking this time. He knows. “I can’t do that.”

Jimmy hums, face morphing into concern for a moment. Tango sees how his posture stiffens, almost a gut reaction to the change in Tango’s voice. Write to disk. Catalog. He softens his stance as Jimmy pipes up.

“What d’y’mean?”

“I think I’d rather just learn it from you,” Tango says, closing his fist around the thumb drive. “I’ll keep this, but I would like to learn from you, if that’s alright.”

Jimmy raises his eyebrows high on his forehead, nodding a few times. His dark eyes go wide, too. They flick across Tango’s face, looking for something, before they land on the table in front of him as Jimmy raps his fingers against the plastic top. Tango tucks the data drive into his pocket, where it rests with the keycard, sticking his hands in his pockets to give them something to do.

“Oh—I mean—I, sure. Sure, we can do that,” Jimmy stutters, shaking his head. “Yeah, that should be fine, you should be able to learn that way.”

“I hope so,” Tango says, nodding. Jimmy nods with him, that color briefly back in his cheeks. “I’d at least like to try. It’s what I’m known for, honestly.”

“Mm,” Jimmy says, face settling on that half-pleased, half-curious look. “Sure. That would be nice, I think. I don’t know how much I have to teach, but I can try.”

“I’m sure you’ve got plenty, Mr. Plant Guy,” Tango quips, patting him on the shoulder as he rounds around him. Jimmy laughs. The tingling sensation of touch before has gone now, and the new touch offers nothing but the sensation of soft sweater fabric, of coolness from Jimmy, and a brief flicker of information that he doesn’t quite catch. It feels like energy he can’t process. A line of code that doesn’t slot itself into place. He gives his shoulder a quick squeeze before he pulls away, gesturing to the door.

“Do you think you might be able to walk me back to my cabin?” his shoulders shrink a fraction. He tries to quickly run the simulation in his mind, etching out the turns of the hallways in the belly of the science department. All he can remember are faces, half-recognizable from research and names partially unobscured by association. “I lost track of how many turns Commander Fwhip made.”

Jimmy shrugs, nods, patting the table as he pulls away.

“Sure,” he says, fishing his keycard from around his neck. “My cabin is close to that area, so I know the way back pretty well—-”

“You have a room?”

The door slides open in front of Tango, the cool air of the hallway flooding into the room. He steps through, into the empty, well lit space, with its green stripe and green carpeting. The white-yellow lighting smooths out the edges of the walls around them, dotted with windows of the station’s central core as they slowly rotated around it. Jimmy pauses for a moment to watch as Tango does, before he nudges him with his elbow. Tango turns to follow.

“I like the bed,” Jimmy says, making a pleasant, almost chirping sound. “And the sleep cycle. And a space for my things that isn’t the lab.”

Tango nods.

“Our secondary engineering lead gets onto me when I don’t rest, but I prefer to not have to,” he says, shrugging his shoulders, waving one hand about. That gesture was from Doc, who loved to make things more nonchalant than they had to be, gesturing with his part-plastic, part-metal arm. “It wastes time.”

“You’re a busy man, Tango,” Jimmy says. He pauses just as he’s about to say Tango, like he had meant to say Commander, but had skipped the instinct. It stutters as he speaks. Tango feels a little bit of a twist, somewhere in the gears of his chest. Maybe everyone should just call him Tango. It felt a lot better, somehow. It felt earned.

“I try to be,” Tango says, waving his hand again. “I’m built for continuous learning—neuroplasticity. It’s what I’m meant to do…kind of.”

“Interesting…” Jimmy hooks a right at a fork. Tango notes it. “I don’t think I’ve met an android without a base program. And it was HASA who decided that?”

Tango nods.

“That was the plan, anyway. So far, it’s worked out alright. I have no issues, our technicians make sure I’m running smoothly, I can run my own diagnostics as far as I’m aware. And…I get to take back knowledge to our ship,” he sticks his free hand back in his pocket. They take a left, following the curving wall. “That’s a win to me.”

“That does sound nice,” Jimmy says, frowning a little, mostly in his voice than on his face.  As the wall evens out, Jimmy slows to a stop. Before them, on the leftmost side, are a row of doors, which Tango recognizes. He marks down their exact location, how the wall hugs the left, looping back around on the far side. Jimmy splays his arm out, gesturing to the doors. Tango manages a smile.

“Thank you,” Tango says, nodding. Jimmy hums.

“Of course, glad I could help,” he says. He looks pleased, now, none of the nervous flit that he had when they’d first met. Tango, too. He feels settled, somehow, like he was already beginning to understand the space around him, already acclimated to new gravity and new routine. Jimmy’s easy smile and tone of voice made that all the easier to do.

As Tango steps away, toward his door, he turns back to Jimmy, who’s folded his arms over his chest. Something’s there, in Tango’s chest, maybe just a trick of mechanics, something he can’t really place. It smooths out any bumps in logic programming. It makes things even, whatever the thing in his chest is. Jimmy makes a noise, and Tango’s eyes flick up to his face.

“Y’know—not to jump ahead or anything, since I know we’ve just met. But if you wanted to, my cabin is a bit closer to the lab. If you ever feel like you want a roommate, you’re more than welcome to stay there,” Jimmy starts, clasping his hands together. The small smile on his face hasn’t really faded, and his voice is even with curiosity. “There’s—there’s only one bed, but you said you don’t sleep. So it should be fine.”

Jimmy continues to babble, now, eyes flicking down to the patches at Tango’s knees. 

“I can always request you to the room next to it—I think that one’s unoccupied, too. If you ever want to sleep, that is. But you can let me know. Figured it might be nice to have a roommate so you’re not lonely,” he finishes, shrugging a little. Then he startles, blinks, and waves his hands. “Unless you like being alone.”

Tango tries to make a sound to dissuade him from that idea, but it gets caught in his programming and his vocal filter and it kind of sounds like a wheeze, or maybe a laugh, but he shakes his head several times, copying Jimmy’s easy smile from before.

“No, no…” he assures. “That sounds really nice, actually. I’ll…I’ll let Fwhip know that I’d like to do that.”

Jimmy visibly relaxes, and the smile comes back to his face, and he laughs a little, an actual, natural laugh.

“Sure thing…” Jimmy scrunches his nose. “Roomie.”

Tango feels something flip-flop over as he jumps, shaking his head again.

“Don’t call me that—” he manages, before Jimmy waves his hands again and says:

“I’m just joking, Tango!” and reaches out to clasp his shoulder. That rush of static only prickles for a moment, leaving a warm sensation in its wake. Tango feels it trickle down his elbow and to his wrist as Jimmy steps away from him. “Have a good night, alright? I’ll see you at 0700.”

Tango nods, realizing he’s still smiling just a bit, even as he steps into his room and the door slides shut behind him. He stands at the threshold, with his back to the wall, for a long moment, letting the memories play in his head as he does. The quiet hum of his room and the orange-yellow lighting soothes his otherwise spinning mind to a controlled simulation. Even still, Tango’s hand and arm prickle faintly with sensation he can’t place, and a warmth in his chest he’s not sure he fully understands.

Pulling away from the door and into his room, Tango furrows his eyebrows and starts an internal diagnostic.

[tozettastone]

Trinity Blood episode 4:

Oh yeah the solar powered cannon on the moon. Sure. We've all been there.

He put Esther in the ugliest dress known to man for some reason? I don't really understand why. It might be his wife's? Costume change necessary for blowing up the Vatican, I guess, but only for Esther.

When Abel is like "oh no, revenge solves nothing!" and the guy who runs Hungary is like, "Don't be ridiculous. Who would want revenge to solve anything?" We must at least admit that he's onto something. Making stuff better is definitely not the point of this exercise.

Did Abel like, forget he has magic powers here somewhere? He just sits there tied in his chair like: oh dear, what do I do! (Perhaps he is not meant to show his transformation to others, but if so, murdering the three people in this house is still the lesser evil compared to letting them blow up the city... But I suppose he seems to be a moral absolutist despite killing quite a lot of other characters.)

Oop, Dietrich really upped his eyelash game between"dying" and appearing in holographic mode to gloat about, uh, subverting the solar powered cannon on the moon. The Rosen Kreuz Order he claims to represent is presumably of no actual relation to either Rosicrucianism or to the Rosen Kreuz psychic assassin guys from Weiß Kreuz: Glühen.

TRES-KUN IS HERE. ♡

How do anime men manage to hurl entire women (and all their giant clothes) aside with a grip on just one arm. It's like a whole phenomenon.

Oooh, Abel got stabbed. That was never going to end well. Oh, he took his glasses off. HE HAS WINGS. How cute!!

Oh, a little dismemberment. As a treat.

Oh my god are you telling me this whole problem goes away when Abel just goes "Hello, computer, can you please stop? I promise I'm the specialest boy."

Gyula died. Hmm. Okay.

Where's Tres-kun??? Show me Tres-kun. He's really doing so much heavy lifting for me in this series. No more teary girls! Bring me Tres-kun!

If he dies or is secretly not an android I may instantly lose interest.

[sol-consort]

Cyberpunk progress so far

I met the most drop-dead gorgeous npc in the history of npcs and did a photoshoot

I've only attended like 2 or 3 ceromones so far but

I've decided that this man will be my sugar baby from now on and the donation money is just his daily allowance, I'll keep giving him as much as the game allows me too, he's MY babygirl <3

Talking about money, I've collected a shitton from doing everything but the main quest progression, like 51k so far. Went back to pay my ripper and...

when I first started I thought it'd be cool not to have any cybernetics at all, like just a fully organic human and do badass shit. But when offered the choices of any amount of chromes I could afford when paying the doc, I couldn't resist the temptation

apparently, I'm the type of person who'd fully stuff themselves with cybernetics at the first given chance. I plan to go even higher.

I'm sure there is a correlation somewhere between living with chronic pain, a weak immune system, an uncooperative body, and general fatigue & fainting to becoming "synthetics ROCK fuck my fleshy mortal prison" type of person pipeline.

So now we know what my fate would be in cyberpunk, neat.

No game breaking glitches, but there have been funny moments every now and then. Like this npc who died in the "praise the sun" position. Or that one time I summoned my car and it fell out of the sky, upside down, onto the nearby parking spot. I tried to flip it over but I couldn't so I just gave up and walked the distance.

Walking in this game is genuinely super fun? You always find something new. Not necessarily a mission, but just general interesting things to see. Like that one time I saw a guy abusing his gf near my apartment and I beat him up, or that other time I was driving home and came across a police/gang shootout. The ads never disappoint, so global warming is in effect and still taking a massive toll on the planet, whole countries are flooded, and the media's reaction is to celebrate opening the first android sex club in Antarctica.

When the TV segment is something I've seen before, I just look at the ads!

Like this one ad about a whole mechanical unicorn oh my god fuck me that is the most cyberpunk thing ever. I was so excited and imagined riding it on the street instead of a motorcycle, does it also gollap like a horse? Is there a knight outfit I can wear? this is so fucking cool please let it be a real mount I can buy. I want my robot pony and I want it NOW!

And then.

I noticed the horn moving a little too... much.

:(

They weren't selling a robot horsie motorbike.

I was doing a mission and came across this view

I was genuinely shocked. What kind of sick individuals would tie a guy to the window and leave he starve to death? What a poor fella, what a horrible way to die. These goddamn gangs are so disgusting. Were they torturing him??

But then, when I went outside a second time, I recalled a very familiar window.

Oh.

This is the window where I killed some rando punk before going in.

They didn't do this to him.

I did.

I've also met the hottest woman alive, I want her, I NEED HER. When she yelled at me and called me bitch after her goon bonked my head, I swear my heart fluttered.

I took her money, of course I did! I would've taken a strand of her hair if only she'd allow it. Hell a used tissue would be welcomed as well.

But I didn't use the money, I just killed the guy instead :)

Because

It's HER money, It's a priceless souvenir. I'm keeping it with me at all times.

He called me princess, what a fucking creep.

I'm not paying for something I can steal I'm not an idiot

I want the extra xp

Jackie looked at me like a kicked puppy when I told him to sit down, that scum was as good as dead the second he started harrasing MY BROTHER.

And if you're wondering how my sniper build is going. HORRIBLY, that's how it's going. I'm like a captain with no ship, a spider with no prey, a tiger with no claws. I haven't found a single fucking sniper since I started and I'm lvl11 now. I've visited different shops multiple times and not one of them sells a sniper? I've been rocking with a pistol and it's super embarrassing. I feel like an action movie barely clothed woman side kick who's only given a pistol to carry in that dumb hands raised next to her head stance while the main coolguy protag has TWO rocket launchers on his shoulders with a big obnoxious grin.

Lastly, I figured out you can swim! That was a pleasant surprise. And it's not just empty water. There are kelp and algea growing in there. Haven't stumbled upon any fish yet, but the thrown trash and electronics in the water might be the answer to why.

I'm currently at the heist part of the main mission, I went back home and changed V's hairstyle, haircolour, and eyes for full immersion since it's undercover and all.

[scootersscooter]

Rambling about the basics of my post-bionic island Marcus redemption au :3

1. Marcus uses she/it pronouns. That is an agender butch lesbian TO ME.

Okay so I am a firm believer that Marcus's software and consciousness is backed up somewhere. She's Douglas's best creation and everyone knows it. Especially Giselle who literally COULD NOT replicate it in her androids. Also, Marcus literally reconstructed itself after the events of its first "death" in The Vanishing and was fully aware of what was going on up until she got melted by Douglas sooooo...

In my mind I think her consciousness is kinda just off somewhere trying to find a way back. If Marcus was pissed for the actions in Bionic Showdown she would absolutely be SEETHING about The Vanishing because it truly showed it that not only did Douglas leave her for death, he did not ever see her as a child because he couldn't even remember a single thing about it. Especially after seeing how much Douglas seemed to care about Daniel 🤨 oh she wants that man DEAD!

But despite all this she can't just make itself a new body... So it Bionic Showdown style hacks into Eddy's servers (Great idea hacking into a house full of people who would rather it stay dead... What could go wrong?) and just is a general nuisance. I think she'd show herself to Leo first because she lives to make his life a living hell and Leo would be actively trying to get rid of it for anywhere between weeks or months before Donald finds out (I don't think Leo would tell him because he feels that he NEEDS to be the one to finally kill Marcus for real. Tbf Marcus tried to kill him for funsies so like... Deserved). Donald upon finding out is understandably very upset (toward Marcus not Leo because I cannot stand Donald being a bad father please give that man GROWTH).

Marcus needs Donald to build her a body: 1) Because who else would do it 2) she knows it would bother Douglas if not only she came back, she was improved by his brother of all people

Obviously Donald isn't gonna do it... Not at first. Marcus is still clearly murderous but all his attempts at getting rid of her are met with failure. Marcus is there to stick around so he builds it one screen solely for herself in the lab so she won't interfere with anything else (does this work? I'll let you decide). He tells it that he won't even consider building her a new body unless she actually changes (read: isn't going to murder everyone).

So Marcus bides her time. She definitely thinks she can trick them into thinking she's changed when she actually hasn't. Which does not work because it finds itself actually mellowing over time. Leo isn't always there because he's on the island with Adam so it can't him, and Donald is busy with Tasha and eventually Naomi. Plus Chase, Bree, and Douglas being busy with the Elite Force (completely different in my mind but that's not relevant)

I like to think Tasha found out about Marcus on her own sometime when she was the only one in the house. At first she was vehemently against its presence but Tasha is the only reasonable adult in this whole show so I think she'd start to get to know Marcus and realize that she really was just a kid. A kid who was used and cast aside on multiple occasions only to be killed by the man it viewed as its father and she would be absolutely sickened by everything that happened.

Marcus's presence would be a household secret. No need to worry anyone else when there was no guarantee anything would even happen right? (I can't decide if Adam would know purely because he's the most protective but like they were all fine with Douglas sooooo... Idk)

Over time Marcus would actually grow attached to them and calm down so eventually she gets her body. Marcus definitely figured out her gender between her first revival and The Vanishing but she had people to kill so that was not her main priority. Which was also her mentality going into this so she definitely didn't tell anyone until they were talking about making her body. It doesn't want any changes so essentially it's just a recreation of its look in The Vanishing. Donald finds a way to make Marcus actually last longer unlike its original model.

They make it very clear that if Marcus tries anything they'll turn on her but like honestly only Leo means it by this point. Leo is still highly suspicious (valid honestly) and its not helped by the fact that Marcus still does not care for his ass. But by this point I think both Donald and Tasha have grown attached because they've started to humanize Marcus and really sympathize with it. Marcus is largely confined to the house so they can monitor its behavior before they let it out, especially before they let it interact with everyone else.

Eventually they'd take her to the Elite Force and she's obviously met with hostility and suspicion but I think the Mighty Med crew would show it some grace. She's mostly just hanging around and making highly passive aggressive comments at Douglas. I don't think she would leave because even if she promises not to kill anyone it definitely is not going to make Douglas's life easy. She needs to make sure that Douglas eventually sees her as a person. It won't settle for any less. She needs to know that Douglas's decisions will keep him up at night. That he won't ever be able to live with and recover from the guilt that he killed his child.

Misc.:

1. Marcus definitely becomes fast friends with the Mighty Med crew, but especially with Oliver and Skylar. Skylar because I think they would bond over the android and alien thing and Oliver because of the parental issues obviously.

2. Oliver HATES Douglas after learning everything no question. I think he would be the only one to truly understand and connect with Marcus over this.

@crystalisedtem

[qfzeeph]

felt like gushing about the silly blue man today so here's a rare "you get zeeph writing" moment!!

♡Kaito (Vocaloid) x Reader/Master HCs♡

♡this be fluffy, with a teeny tiny bit of spicy jokes towards as a treat. that's about it♡

♡ So, what is he exactly? You have no idea. Some sort of weird ambiguous cross between an android and just a regular ordinary human it seems? But that air of mystery is part of what makes him so charming. You wouldn't have even known he had mechanical parts somewhere within him if he hadn't spoken to you. You can definitely hear it in his voice (though sometimes when he sings it's very easy to forget!) and through some of his mannerisms, but he just seems to be a regular human guy otherwise. Don't try to ask him about it either, because he's not even quite sure himself. All he knows is he woke up one morning with the mission to make people around the world happy and that he's got some sort of internal machinery and coding within him. ♡Absolute cuddlebug. His favorite time of day is when you're snuggled together under a warm blanket. Need I say more? They don't call him "Cozy Kaito" for nothing. He's warm like a space heater, but not uncomfortably warm. ♡Cut the fancy date crap, he'd rather go out for ice cream or a romantic walk in the park. It's the little things for him, and ice cream of course. Taking him out to get ice cream means the world to him. ♡However, he isn't afraid to spoil you silly with little things either. Flowers, candies, various treats, you come home to them all the time. Any of those little things that make your day a little brighter he's gonna do for you. Your smile is incredibly important to him, and he wants to make sure you're feeling loved whenever possible. ♡He's your biggest cheerleader. He wants to see you succeed and will relentlessly hype you up for whatever you're doing. If you are to fail, he'll be there to soften the blow and get you back on your feet to try again. ♡Sometimes, you have to remind him that ice cream and cuddles isn't going to solve every problem. Since he's programmed with the task of making others happy, sometimes he forgets that and may push a little too far when you're stressed. He tries his best to catch himself, and while he is learning to combat that initial urge to cheer you up sometimes he still slips up. Just a simple "I need a little space right now" is more than enough to remind him though. It was hard for him to hear at first but he quickly understood. ♡Another "programming quirk" he has is calling you "Master." If you like that, he won't stop! But if you're like me and would rather him just call you by your name, he'll happily oblige the best he can. However, in moments of passion, he might let a "Master" or two slip out, or combine your name with the word. I'm sure it'll make for some cute pet names. ♡On the topic of pet names, he loves them. Thinks all the little nicknames you give him are super cute. He'll definitely try and find some for you too on the "cutesy-romantic" end. ♡Even Kaito gets sad. He struggles with the idea that he's a failure occasionally and that he's not doing enough. A little love from you is a quick fix, and over time with your care he may even overcome that mindset.

♡He loves to go out places with you, whether it be for errands, work, or fun. If he's not sure about where you took him though, don't be surprised if he clings to you like a lost puppy for a bit until he figures out what's going on. ♡Speaking of cling, he's a clinger. Loves to hold your hand, walk with an arm around you, carry you around the house, sit with his head on your shoulder (or your head on his shoulder!) ♡Kaito plays a lot of different roles when he performs. If there's a specific one you like, he'd be more than happy to add bits and pieces of that role to your interactions. Of course, his usual goofy self will always shine through. Though he's also willing to apply playing the role to other scenerios if you so desire (wink wink) ♡Loves to sing to you. There's songs he sings to you that'll never leave your room, both in a spicy sense and in a "I don't want anyone else to hear this because I wrote it for you and you alone" sense. He also likes to learn the words to your favorites (mainly non vocaloid, or vocaloid songs that don't feature him if applicable) and sing them to you! Expect a lot of sappy, cute song outbursts during your time at home, and occasionally when you're out too but not quite as often. Though you may catch him humming the melody to one of your favorite songs while you're out and about! He'd be incredibly happy if you sang along with him too. Even if you think you can't sing, he'll tell you you've got the voice of an angel. Author's Note: For me personally, I like to imagine he'd sing the chorus to "You Are My Sunshine" every night before bed. But that's just me :) (please click on that. I'm begging you. I have no idea why that video only has like 100 views on it as of me writing this because it's literally so good and heartwarming and it's also like the full song which is honestly pretty sad in terms of lyrics in retrospect but the chorus gets me real good real good reeeallll goooooood.) ♡Last, but not least... The scarf stays on. no exceptions. If you catch my drift ;) (okay. one exception, to throw it in the washer when it gets dirty.)

fhsdlfjsdlkfjsd hope you enjoyed me drooling all over the place with this. I'm starting to become shameless when it comes to sharing this kind of stuff in the best possible way. it's the lord's year of 2024 imma do what I want and write about all my favorite fictional men

[yandere-wishes]

General Grievous is not a nice yandere. I hc that these feelings towards his darling are more suitably classified as a morbid obsession or curiosity.

The Bride of Grievous

(A snippet from a Yandere!Grievous fic I've been dying to write) 

You have no idea how feral I am over this man!! The body horror that would come with being his sweet little darling!! I'm studying Robotics and Mechatronics at university and I gotta say I LOVE Robot/cyborg characters. They are my holy grail!!😍💞😍💞😍💞😍

You're 100% right Grievous is one of the worst Yanderes. He's obsessed with turning his darling into something he finds attractive and worthy. overdosing in a morbid curiosity to see just what he can turn you into. 

Listen Grievous does NOT like organic beings. He prefers cyborgs and droids to anything else. So for this to work, you're going to have to already be a cyborg to even catch Grievous' eye. Sure a talented mechanic or the heiress to a droid manufacturing company would also draw the general's eye. But there's something about your mechanical essence that draws him in. Bonus points if you're both. 

Now I'm playing off the idea that the reader comes from a wealthy family of engineers who are the prime supplier of droids for the empire/separatists (idk which timeline to set this in exactly). You've been left with a few cybernetic implants after an accident that happened when you were too young to have formed a functioning memory. 

There's something about you that's...not right. You build the most advanced automatons but instead of programming them to become soldiers or anything remotely beneficial to warfare. You merely treat them as family. As your children. Your dolls. Doting on them as a mother would. You blame it on your heritage. On the accident that left you tettered between machine and mortal all so many years ago. 

Not quite human 

Not quite robot.

Another option, a secret third.

Glitching between realities. 

When Grievous makes a personal visit to your family estate. Needing to strike a new deal for a rather large shipment of androids. He's surprised to find you, the heiress, taking charge of the transaction. He's even more interested when he notices your cybernetics. And how you don't hide them but instead seem to have made many personal enhancements to them. You're pretty too, and it's been such a long time he's been with someone sentient. 

He's just so interested in you. Following you around like a wolf does its prey. Listening carefully to your jovial tone as you go into great detail about all the new features of this new batch of battle droids. He's even taken aback when you reprimand him for belittling a R0-GR.

Maybe somewhere along the line, you offer to work on him. To implement some new weapons. Add a few folding missiles into his casing. Even going so far as to propose giving him a speedy digital processor to clip into his brain. He scuffs at your boldness, pushing you aside as he moves past you. What a disgusting offer.

So why does the thought linger in his head?

When he returns to base, he finds his mind wandering to you. To your bizzare existance. You've practically shredded your humanity. Yet it still clings to you like a leech. He wonders if you'd thank him for taking it from you. Swoon over him for having saved you from the pesky flesh and blood. He falls asleep dreaming of the sounds your new metallic body would make as it clangs against his. 

He kidnaps you soon after that. Stealing you away in the dead of night. Your family can search all they want, and send all the bounty hunters they want to try and retrieve you. But Grievous won't let you go. He loves watching as he makes you take him apart. Nibble fingers peeling away metal layers to access his wires. Pulling off prosthetic limbs to enhance them. With you by his side, the Jedi will never be his match ever again. 

But it's Grevious we're talking about. He's a greedy creature, never satisfied with what he's given. He blames Dooku for this behavior and blames the benefits of being half Sith and half machine. He's become spoiled. Maybe it's not such a bad thing. 

He starts to return the favor. Tearing you apart piece by piece. He used his lightsabers to cut through bone and replace it with metal. Drugging you with ecstasy and spice as he plucks away your humanity. He adores the love-sick looks you give him. Loves how, even when you've come down from your high, you still crawl onto his lap and litter his cold body with kisses. He'll keep your face just the way it is. He loves the feel of your chubby cheeks and soft lips too much. 

Soon Grievous will turn you into a creature much like himself. 

His perfect little creation.

A loving robot who can think for herself (with the general's help of course)

He's finally found a lover worthy of him.

All this being said I now need a poly fic with Maul, Anakin, and Grievous with a cyborg reader. 

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

I’m sad that the obvious parallels between shadow and metal sonic set up in heroes never ended up going anywhere bc that was just. god. it could have been so peak. like they’re both artificial beings (and shadow is most likely based off of the super sonic mural at angel island, so they’re both designed in the image of sonic) designed to fulfil a purpose they cannot ever reach (metal can never beat sonic no matter how much power he has bc he’s a desperate obsessive mess who doesn’t care for his own well-being and ends up taking himself out half the time, geralds research on the ultimate lifeform was in part to help cure maria and she’s long dead) and who have both nearly killed everyone in a desperate attempt to reach some semblance of it. the difference is that shadow at least has the slightest vestiges of a normal life to remember, whereas even at it’s best metal sonic's life was spent being raised by a man who thinks animal abuse is fun and cool and childish sadism is a great hobby metal is what shadow would have been without a maria. and with the shadow androids and stuff like. even if metal sonic wasn’t the original one to make them he was also producing a ton of them and considering metal sonic generally does not like or respect anyone outside of his father (sometimes) and sonic (in a worthy adversary sense) it makes me wonder why like does he see himself in shadow? does he disdain him for being able to have what he can never achieve, on some subconcious level? is he simply trying to mimic what eggman would do? like they were going somewhere with that but then metal sonic was cut from 06 and after 06 they never quite wrote stories that focused on so many characters again. such a pity.

[floatingnebulas]

Rangers Apprentice Space AU

Ok, listen. I thought of a cyberpunk RA outer space AU earlier today. It was only a matter of time before I came up with a space au for RA since space aus tend to consume my thoughts.

Anyway, Araluen is an empire that spans a decent amount of interstellar territory. Not huge, but also not tiny, fairly average overall. All the other countries are other territories in the universe.

And, as always of course, Araluen is divided in a series of 50 sectors that are ruled over by the nobility. Each sector has one of the empire's 50 rangers assigned to it.

Rangers are essentially like they are in the series. The kingdom's special ops force that's really really good at what they do, and very good at sneaking around. They just have a bit more tech. The citizens of Araluen usually don't believe they're human, instead thinking they must be some kind of highly experimental android created by the crown to spy for them. It's the only way to really explain how good they are at fighting, vanishing, spying, hacking, everything. They're too good to be human, so they must be robots!

Of course, they're all humans (there are no aliens in this au). Rangers here use energy blasters instead of bows, and are crack shots no matter if they're using their close range pistols or long range sniper rifles. They also all carry small daggers made of experimental nanotechnology that can change form on a whim, letting them use daggers, saxe knives, and their strikers. Gilan has an even more experimental nanotech sword, and is one of the only people in the universe currently allowed to use it (he's helping test it out). His blade can shift between a few different types of swords so that he can use whatever he wants at that moment. Rangers also have a cloak woven with electronic fibers that allow them to disappear (not turn invisible but essentially an even better version of their mottled cloaks, one that can shift slightly to match how shadows change a little bit). They also all learn how to use technology and become fairly skilled, not the best in the universe but still pretty good, hackers so that if they're infiltrating somewhere they can always grab data. Each Ranger has their own custom ship with extremely fast warp drives and learns how to fly it even better than many competitive racers.

Morgarath used to be a member of the nobility and leader of his own sector, until he staged a rebellion a decade and a half ago. He used cybernetically enhanced forces (probably made up of some of his own people, some hired hands, and some abducted people. they would have a lot of the typical cyber enhancements that you see in cyberpunk media, such as weapons embedded into robot arms, eyes that can project things, enhanced ranges of motion, and increased strength/speed), and tried to fight against the king and his forces. The primary instrument of his defeat was the Ranger Halt, who managed to sneak behind enemy lines and implant a virus that infected the cybernetics the fighters had been implanted with. Morgarath was defeated and ended up being exiled to a planet in a very dangerous sector (haven't decided how it's dangerous yet), and no one is quite sure if he's still alive.

At one point in the war, Halt was cornered and nearly killed by some of Morgarath's soldiers, typically referred to as Wargals due to that being the model name of their implants. He is saved by a common soldier in Oswald's army, who dies defending him. Halt tracks down the man's wife and newborn son and fails to save the mother from death. So, Halt takes the child to the ward in Redmont Castle, the capital of the sector he's stationed in, and hands him over to Arald.

And the rest is history.

(I feel compelled to mention that in my mind, Halt lives on a planet that is pretty much uninhabited save for him, his cottage, his shipyard, and eventually his son apprentice. Also Gilan visits every chance he can and likes pulling stunts in his ship whenever he's with them to piss of Halt and show off to Will like the big bro he is)

(And when I say cyberpunk, I mean cyberpunk. Like, Halt leads Will on a recon mission in a futuristic glowing city with neon lights, they're driving around in spaceships (Halt has a mini copilot chair in his for Will until Will starts taking his own ship places), and Castle Redmont looks incredibly punk while Castle Araluen is very futuristic with a lot of curvy lines and such)

There is a very good chance I'll end up turning this into a oneshot series. Not a full AU because I don't have the time to do that, but some oneshots I could do! Probably.

[anzyll]

Some random stuff from a project that's probably dead, which I was working on with a friend who lost interest. Maybe I'll reuse it somewhere in the future. The idea for this character was a cowgirl who was mangled during a train heist when her brother blew up the track. I was having trouble giving her a name, but I was going to title her "The Iron Hoof", and have her kicking be one of the central mechanics, working as sort of a dash and attack simultaneously. She had big horseshoes on the bottom of her feet, and would leave a huge hoof-print on doors she kicked open.

Her deal was that she was presumed dead after the train bombing, but returned with a horribly mangled face and respiratory system to take revenge on her old gang. "Iron Hoof? You look more like an iron lung!" was some dialogue that stuck out a lot in my head for her. The idea was a sort of time-trial platformer using a shotgun and kicking to speedrun stages. In-between stages you'd meet silly characters and help them with little quests and such.

The enemies were named after numbers in Spanish, but with a G as the first letter. So Goon #1 was Guno, Goon #2 was Gos, and Goon #4 was Guatro. "Gres" probably would've been a more handsome man with a shotgun, but development stopped before I got to him. The weird alien-looking man on the far right was an NPC known as "Mr. Grey", the town's undertaker. Not sure what he would've done, but I liked the idea of someone that you weren't quite sure whether they were an alien or not. He was inspired by a book series I read as a kid called Hamish X, where there were secret service agents that were basically androids/aliens named things like Mr. Candy and Mr. Sweet.

Also had some fun ideas for NPCs, mostly based on in-jokes.

Won't spoil too much else about it in case I want to bring it back in the future somehow.

[gogogodzilla]

𝙾𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟸𝟽, 𝟸𝟶𝟹𝟷, 𝙿𝙼 𝟶𝟽:𝟶𝟶:𝟶𝟻

Summary: You get a drink after your first day at Cyberlife, and are bothered by a police officer who will not shut up masterlist ✩ read on ao3 ✩ next chapter ✩

To many, Cyberlife is a technological marvel. To you, it’s a fresh start that has led you to one of the dingiest bars you’ve ever seen in your entire life. 

The fluorescent lights of Charlie’s Hideaway reflect brightly off the puddles left from the earlier rain. You look left and then right once then twice before crossing the street. Autumn is in full swing, and the air's chill reminds you of home. It’s a comforting thought as you near the door to the bar. A red anti-android sticker stands out against the dark wood of the bar door, and you pull it open. 

The smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke engulfs you as soon as you enter. The bar is relatively empty except for the stray patron huddled over their drink. You take a hesitant seat at the bar, surveying your surroundings. To say the bar is run down would be an understatement. The vinyl is peeling off all the bar stools due to age and overuse, and various stains cover the floor. You focus on the clock barely hanging on the wall to your right. 7 o’clock on the dot. 

You aren’t sure why you agreed to meet your coworkers for drinks. Maybe it’s your desire for camaraderie. Perhaps it’s your desperate need to be liked by the people around you. They claim it’s to officially welcome you to the team, but the uneasiness that settles across you tells you otherwise.

The bartender, an older woman with red hair, keeps her gaze on you as you shift on the bar stool, the vinyl poking against your thighs. 

“You here to buy a drink or you just gonna gawk the entire time?” she crosses her arms over her chest as she takes in your appearance. Your peacoat alone costs more than this entire establishment, and you stick out like a sore thumb. Suddenly, you regret not dressing down more after work.

You rush out your drink order, cheeks flushing. You’re able to catch a glance at her name tag before she turns to grab a shaker and a bottle of gin. Charlie. Well, that answers that question. 

You take a moment to check your watch— 7:05. They’ll be here any moment. 

Charlie sets your drink down in front of you, a faint gleam of disgust in her eyes. The door opens with the ring of a bell. 

“My usual, please, Charlie,” a man around your age requests as if he’s been doing this for years now. He sidles up next to you at the bar, standing slightly too close for comfort. Charlie nods and begins effortlessly making the man’s drink. 

He smells of cigarettes, and you lean away from him.

You steal a furtive glance in his direction, taking in his appearance. His navy police uniform blends in perfectly with the dark atmosphere of the bar. Even without the uniform, he holds himself like someone in a position of authority. A jolt runs down your spine as his gaze lands on yours. 

“Cyberlife, huh?” 

You straighten before meeting his eyes, which are focused on the badge you accidentally left on the lapel of your coat. You purse your lips and remove it before hastily shoving it into your pocket. 

Charlie wordlessly slides a glass of bourbon to the man, her eyes darting between the two of you.

The man nods his thanks. “You waiting for someone, or just felt like being somewhere you don’t belong tonight?” 

You swirl your drink, purposely ignoring his jab. You recheck your watch. 

7:08. 

“Let me guess,” he continues, “you’re waiting for the no-good dude your parents don’t approve of.”

You turn to face him, tilting your head. “Do you always harass the patrons, or is tonight just special?” 

Irritation flares in your chest as you meet his steely gaze. He barks out a laugh before leaning into your personal space.

“None of the people who frequent this place look like you, sweetheart,” he purrs. 

You cringe and turn to face forward once again. What a loser. 

“Seriously though,” he continues, “what’s a person like you doing in this part of town?” 

You aren’t sure what compels you to answer. Time is passing and the pit of uneasiness in your stomach is growing. They aren’t going to show. 

You sigh, “If you must know, I’m supposed to meet my coworkers for drinks.” 

He chuckles into his drink. “Sweetheart, those Cyberlife geeks would never set foot in a place like this. Didn’t the ‘No Androids’ sign on the front door hint that you were in the wrong spot?” 

“Obviously, I had my doubts,” you grit out. Your cheeks flush, immediately regretting opening up to this random stranger. 

“You new or something? Is that why they sent you here? Some nerdy hazing ritual? Survive the shady bar and you can live.”

He grins and it’s contagious. You can’t help yourself when you laugh at the absurdity of it all. You have a goddamn doctorate and the people who you’re supposed to work with for the foreseeable future played you like it’s nothing. It probably is nothing to them— just a way to remind the new hire who’s really in charge. 

“I’m a fool, aren’t I?”

Your question isn’t really for him, but the self-depreciation makes you feel slightly less bad about yourself. 

“Oh yeah, sweetheart,” he agrees far too quickly for your liking. “They played you like a fiddle.”

You press your lips together, nodding slowly as the revelation sinks in. You can’t ever go back there. 

“My name is not ‘sweetheart,’” you assert, wiping the look of dread off your face and forcing a glare in his direction. It’s easier being angry at him rather than at yourself.

He hums, raising a brow in your direction. You dare to give him your first name. You much preferred that over sweetheart.

For the rest of the night, he pointedly refuses to call you by your name. 

Not long after that, you learn his name is Gavin and that he wants to be a detective one day. He regales stories about his days as a police officer with the perfect mix of self-deprecation and narcissism that you wonder if he’s making everything up. You let slip a few tales of your own, mostly about the misery that was grad school. 

Eventually, the mostly empty bar becomes desolate except for the two of you. You pay your tab and call for a cab. You stand up, and the world sways slightly under you. You blink a few times, willing your vision to return to normal. 

“Liquor catching up to you?” 

You roll your eyes as you head to the door of the bar, Gavin not too far behind you. The cool night air hits your now-flushed skin and the fluorescent lights cast a pink hue over the two of you. 

Gavin lights a cigarette as you wait for your cab. It seems like for the first time of the night, you’re finally getting a good look at him. He’s handsome when he’s not scowling or snickering at your expense. He’s rugged, but a little disheveled. His usual piercing gray eyes are now muted underneath the bright pink lights. 

He blows out a puff of smoke, “It’s rude to stare, sweetheart.” 

“Don’t you have your own car? Why are you still here?” 

Your response comes out harsher than intended, the embarrassment of being caught adding venom to your words. But, he just laughs. 

“Can’t have you out here all alone, now can I?” 

The next few minutes passed in comfortable silence, as you watch the stray cars pass and Gavin finishes his cigarette. Your driverless cab pulls up to the curb and you shoot a glance in Gavin’s direction. 

“Thanks for keeping me company, even if you were annoying.” 

He chuckles, “Anytime, sweetheart.” 

You roll your eyes and enter the cab. As it pulls away, a small part of you wonders if you’ll ever see him again. An even smaller part of you secretly hopes that you will.

[wynterscribbles]

Somewhere between the soul and soft machine (109863 words) by wyntereyez Chapters: 21/? Fandom: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Elijah Kamski/Leo Manfred Characters: Leo Manfred, Elijah Kamski, Original Chloe | RT600, Carl Manfred, ST200 "Chloe" Android(s) (Detroit: Become Human) Additional Tags: Android Elijah Kamski, Android Leo Manfred, Unethical Experimentation, Human to Android Transference, Angst, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Drug Addiction, Red Ice (Detroit: Become Human), Slow Burn, Body Horror, Road Trips, Android Gore (Detroit: Become Human) Summary: One act of violence, and Carl had lost both his sons. One to revolution, and the other to a fatal injury. In an act of desperation, Carl calls his old friend Elijah and demands he transfer Leo’s mind to an android body. The procedure is a success, but Leo is left without a place in this world. He’s no longer human, but he’s not an android, either. He hides himself away with the only person who understands what he’s going through, man-turned-android Elijah Kamski. But Kamski is a mystery, and Leo has doubts about Kamski’s motives. Is Elijah Kamski an unfeeling machine who wants to bring about humanity’s downfall? Or is he a man who has lost all hope?

This is now my longest fic!

[lady-loveluck]

can’t say this on main, but i always wondered why paul 23 never noticed emma being a android through sex but then the idea that she just has a robot dick entered my mind and paul obvs bottoms so there’s that, transfem emma entered my mind, then fem paul, the it just sort of spiralled somewhere

also i just want to say, fuck you and your art i hate it so much your officer bailey and boy jerry art lowkey (highkey actually) got me thinking about them so here’s headcanons of it

bailey and boy jerry met many times before they even had sex because of the disappearances that happen at abstinence camp, almost every interaction ends in an almost brawl between the two because they piss each other off so much

bailey sometimes believes that boy jerry has at least a little part in the disappearances along with girl jerry but with no evidence and both of them being nerdy prudes and religious fanatics the possibility seems insane even to him so he does nothing about it

boy jerry firmly believes that bailey is some sort of test from god otherwise why would he not only have absurd ludicrous dreams about girl jerry but ALSO bailey, sometimes both in the same dream? obviously this is a test on whether or not he would succumb to homosexuality and lust

the most ironic part would be that boy jerry is just as much as a freak to others as he is to girl jerry, he sees someone that he likes or attracted to and for the life of him can not act normally around them which is why whenever bailey even gets close to him boy jerry starts acting touch-starved his freak mode is on it’s why bailey is kind of put off from him but only at first

one time bailey handled boy jerry roughly and he moaned, boy jerry immediately pretended nothing happened and proceeded to pray to god and wash his body way more than usual

there’s a running joke in the police department about boy jerry having a crush on bailey and keeps reporting just to have an excuse to see him

even though boy jerry pisses bailey off, he’s his favourite reporter excluding dan and donna because they’re absolutely beloved by everyone in town

the first time they ever had sex it was during an interrogation for another disappearance, bailey and boy jerry got pissed off at each other, when one of them punches and it turns physical they both got turned on and it just escalated from there

boy jerry almost goes the grace chastity route it’s his post-nut clarity but then it happens again and again and he’s now just sort of expecting maybe even looking forward towards bailey’s interrogation

bailey’s wondering if having sex with the suspect is against the rules but honestly he doesn’t care cause boy jerry’s basically offering himself up

any officers that use the interrogation room after bailey and boy jerry absolutely hates them, the room just smells of their nasty rough hate sex

— 🥮

I LOVE THEM SO MUCH SO SO MUCH GRAHHH AMAZING HEADCANONS!!

They give me brainworms fr I gotta draw them again. Damn I have to draw just Bailey again too because I love that man he's a fucking ass.