#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!

[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

[lesbianhalflifeposting]

Android GLaDOS is hot and all, and I definitely think she's got a body like that tucked away somewhere, but I feel like that's missing the point of what makes Her so intoxicating.

The omnipotent presence, watching your every move. The overpowering feeling of insignificance that comes from being in a world that's entirely hers. She could restructure this entire place in a second without warning, and you'd be powerless to stop her. You're a speck to her, a mere mortal compared to a perfect, immortal machine. Even physically, she's absurdly large, dwarfing you.

But there's something so human about looking this figure in the eye and bringing her to her metaphorical knees. Making the being that could end you in a moment beg and whine through pleasure, bending her immense power to your will.

Look man, what I'm trying to say is that to appreciate fully GLaDOS, you gotta have something of a Blasphemy Kink or this isn't gonna work between us, ok?

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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. 

[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.

[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.

[peskellence]

Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: Post Pacifist Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Smut, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Masterlist

Read on AO3 here (18+):

Summary: A lot has changed since the revolution. Crimes against androids are now being treated with greater severity, with many being subject to the same penalties as crimes against humans. While anti-android attitudes are on the decline, transforming the mindset of an entire city is no simple task.

A reluctant Gavin Reed and his new partner RK900 have been assigned to investigate a string of disturbing murders. Despite the shift in Detroit's social climate, Gavin still holds reservations about whether or not androids are truly alive. Will his developing feelings for 'Nines' prompt a shift in perspective?

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Depression/Self Destructive Behaviour, Smut

Word Count: 3.3K

Arriving at the apartment, they were greeted almost immediately by a needy chorus of mewls coming from the bathroom. Upon registering the noise, Nines' head perked up with interest. His feet moved reflexively, trailing towards the source, when a hurried hand shot out to stop him.

"Oh no, you don't. No goddamn cats, they can wait."

"I did not intend on staying for long," the android replied, briskly defending himself. "Just a quick hello. I've missed them."

As endearing as the response was, Gavin was in no mood to exercise patience. He kicked the front door shut with enough force that he almost broke it. Then he pulled Nines around, propelling him into a swivel until their bodies faced each other. 

There was a modest distance between them, but it didn't stay this way for long as the disgruntled man quickly advanced. Bunching his hands into the front of the android's black undershirt, holding him firmly in place as he pinned him against a nearby wall. "Yeah, well, I've missed you too, and I take fucking priority." 

It was a completely superfluous gesture. Nines could have easily broken the hold had he wanted to, but he seemed willing to humour him. Allowing Gavin to savour in his fleeting moment of victory. 

Revelling in their closeness, the man glanced up at his former partner and greedily surveyed his features. Taking in the freckles and moles he had come to love so much, wondering just how far they spread across his body—and if it would be possible to count them all using his mouth. Focus shifted to his neck, seeking a preview, when he was hit by an unwelcome blockade. The obnoxiously high collar of a CyberLife jacket. 

The garment covered far too much, to the extent it seemed genuinely criminal. He wanted nothing more than to crumple it up and throw it in the trash. Allowing it to end up in a landfill somewhere—decomposing, forgotten to time.

"We needn't rush things," Nines whispered, leaning in close. "I think both of us have waited quite eagerly for this."

"Exactly, and I'm not waiting any longer." One of the hands that had been bunched in the android's shirt moved to cup his jaw, thumb trailing across his lips. "I want you now asshole."

Nines hummed against the digit as though the suggestion was something that required genuine consideration. The longer he remained silent, the more Gavin began to wonder if he was toying with him or if he'd actually changed his mind. Then, with a firm sweeping gesture, his hand was smacked away. 

The android captured his lips in a slow, indulgent kiss. Gavin offered little resistance when his arms were grabbed and firmly pinned above his head. If anything, he encouraged the action with a shameless roll of his hips. 

The taller man shuddered, making no secret of how much he had enjoyed the friction—before responding in kind, moving their bodies together with fervid intensity.

"I thought you wanted me to take you to your room?"

"Changed my mind," Gavin clipped back. "Couldn't give less of a shit where you fuck me, as long as you hurry up and do it…"

Nines pursed his lips, seeming to deliberate on the invitation. Then, without warning, he reached down—scooping a strong arm beneath the man's legs and effortlessly hoisting him into the air. Gavin yelped in surprise, hooking onto his neck in an effort to avoid tumbling backwards. 

He knew the android had made some strides in his social capabilities. On his own admittance, he had been practising, but being quite literally swept off his feet was something that had caught the detective off guard. Glancing up at his former partner, face burning with embarrassment, he noted how thoroughly pleased he seemed with himself.

"While I'm sure we'd both enjoy exploring the numerous places I could fuck you, I think that the bedroom would be the best place to start." Nines planted another kiss on his lips, ensuring there would be no room for debate. "Let me take you there."

It sent shivers down his spine as it struck Gavin just how attractive he found the current situation. Nines holding him up like a prize in a flagrant display of dominance, having done so with zero exertion. His mind flooded with scenarios of how that strength could be put to use. All completely depraved, and none of which he thought would be entertained given his current condition. 

"My legs still work, dickhead. I can walk", he grumbled in a weak attempt to save face. 

"I do not wish for you to strain yourself preemptively. Not with what I intend to do to you."

Any further protest died on his tongue as the excitement coiling in his stomach amplified. The air around them felt hot, almost stifling, exacerbated by the warmth that radiated off the android as he carried him through the apartment. 

It was something that Gavin had more idly noted back at the hospital. Just how warm he was. The heat seemed to be mounting in the wake of their current situation, leaving him wondering what Nines might be feeling. Questioning if he felt any of the same burning, carnal excitement currently raging within himself. 

His speculation came to an end when one of his dangling legs brushed against the android's crotch, striking the telling firmness that strained the front of his pants. He wanted nothing more than to rip them off—most practically with his hands, but more alluringly with his teeth. Desperate to see what he was hiding within the confines of the increasingly taut material. 

As they entered the bedroom, Nines took great care not to trip on the multitude of discarded clothes littering the floor. It was hilariously transparent just how desperately he wished to clean the mess, coupled with a vehement desire to resist the temptation—not wanting to get distracted from the task at hand. 

With gentle consideration, Gavin was set down on the sheets, disappointed by the sudden absence of warmth. This disappointment was only fleeting, as in a fluid motion, the android had joined him. Crawling onto the bed, caging his body with powerful limbs. He leaned in closer, wasting no time in claiming the man's eager mouth once again.

As they kissed, wandering hands searched his body. Starting at his neck and moving down his arms. Ultimately, they fanned inwards, melding to the firm contours of his stomach.

Nines played with the hem of his shirt, teasing the fabric, before pushing up and slipping his palm along the expanse of newly exposed flesh. He moved slowly, ensuring that every inch was searched with carefully applied weight. Fingertips flitted curiously, interspersed with firmer presses—as though he were seeking to map out a template. 

Gavin was struck by two things. The first was excitement, speculating on what Nines intended to do with such a vividly constructed image. The second was jealousy, as he cursed the limitations of his own imagination. His fantasies could never lend themselves the same degree of realism, something he had longed for immensely during his many lonely nights. 

Except now, he reasoned, that he didn't need a more distinct manifestation. The Nines in front of him was real—touching and holding him, as though his body were the only thing that existed.

"Remember what I said", he whispered, the smooth resonance of his voice complimenting the gentle strokes of his hands. "I'm going to do the work. Do not move unless I say you can." 

In the past, Gavin would have levelled some form of resistance. If only to goad a reaction from whoever he was sleeping with—but there was something about the juxtaposition between Nines' featherlight touches and the heady dominance of his command that compelled him to relent. 

This was clearly a good decision, as the android allowed his hips to drop, rubbing against him in a sensual motion. Regrettably, the action never lent itself to any increased weight or force, as he seemed displeased with how Gavin's jeans sought to minimise the friction.

"You are wearing too many clothes."

The matter-of-factly way he said this elicited a scoff from the detective. He gently shrugged his shoulders in a show of false commiseration. "Can't get undressed if I can't move, genius."

Nines sought to remedy the situation immediately. Toying with his belt before unfastening the buckle and smoothly sliding the leather from the loops of his pants. The sight of the android brandishing the item left his mouth dry. 

Fuck, wonder what he could do with that.

He continued to undress him, taking his time as he fussed with his clothes, folding them neatly to one side. The strange behaviour proved difficult not to laugh at, but Gavin was distracted from his amusement as the final item of clothing, his boxers, were unceremoniously ripped away. 

He was left to lay bare across the sheets. Painfully hard, chest heaving in anticipation. Nines stared down at him, trailing every inch of his body with shameless indulgence. 

Then, a sound escaped his throat. Almost like a growl, but underscored by harsh, metallic twangs. Without warning, he dipped forward, and Gavin watched on in giddy delight as a head of meticulously styled hair slipped its way between his thighs. 

He explored the tender flesh, leaving marks with his lips and teeth. His intent to chart his course seemed mingled with a hint of possessiveness, as though he were trying to establish a claim. 

His wandering mouth swept inwards—as a curious tongue ran a stripe along the bottom of his length. Gavin shuddered in disbelief, pulling his head forward as he struggled to get a better look. From the fleeting glance he was permitted, he concluded that he'd never seen anything more arousing:

Nines knelt between his legs, greedily lapping at his cock. Bright eyes stared at him, trained intently on his face. He started at the base of the shaft before running his way up. Swirling an enticing wetness around his tip before capturing it with a teasing suckle. 

The captivating show was taken far too quickly, as Gavin felt a weight on his chest, pinning him to the bed. 

"I told you not to move."

He whined in protest, but the noise lodged in his throat as a tight heat promptly engulfed him. The android hummed around his arousal, low and throaty, sending vibrations throughout his body. 

Holy fucking shit—

Gavin was forced to bite the back of his hand lest he find release there and then. It had been a long time since he last shared this sort of intimacy with someone—and even longer since it had felt this good. He didn't want it to end pre-emptively, wishing to revel in the sensations for as long as possible. 

With every bob of his head, Nines inched further down his length until his nose was brushing his stomach. He allowed the erection to strike the back of his throat with repeated vigour. 

Staving off release became increasingly difficult as Gavin groaned in appreciation, head flopping against the sheets. His hand fisted its way into the back of the android’s hair, tugging encouragingly. An action which, in all technicality, required some movement—but Nines neglected to complain.

Then, his hand was forced upwards as the seal around him was removed with a sinful pop. Cool air struck his skin unpleasantly as he made a heated sound of protest. "What the hell, why did you stop?"

"I don't want you to finish. Not yet." Nines quickly pulled himself up, pressing his mouth against the sensitive crook of his neck. Skilled lips sucked and teased, eliciting a shiver. "I want you to come with me inside of you. Would you find that agreeable, Detective?"

The way the title was practically purred—the fact he knew to say it at all—was a testament to just how observant he had been in studying Gavin's responses. Understanding all the tiny nuances that drove him completely insane. 

All blood rushed from his brain, promptly heading south. He'd never wanted anything more. It pained him just how deeply he desired Nines to have him. Taking everything he wanted, ruining him for anyone else. 

"Very," he growled, voice like gravel. "I need you to fuck me. Please."

Nines pulled away and swiftly began removing his clothes. Gavin was starting to question whether he would—or if he was enjoying the dynamic of still being dressed whilst the other was left completely exposed. 

His jacket was removed first, much to the detective's overwhelming delight, before skilled fingers deftly unfastened the buttons of his black undershirt. The sleek material parted, revealing a growing margin of skin. 

The freckles, Gavin soon discovered, were everywhere. Flawlessly distributed, dotting the pale canvas in just the right amounts. Nines' body was the perfect balance of enticing softness and lithe muscle. Without any exaggeration, he was a masterpiece. It left him feeling woefully inadequate in comparison, but overwhelming desire quickly circumvented any envy. 

"Did they use my wet dreams as the fucking template when they built you?" His appreciative gaze trailed the marks, tracing patterns. "Because whatever they paid the perverted bastard who was in charge of designing this, it wasn't enough."

The android chuckled at the strange compliment, planting a firm kiss against the base of his neck. "The admiration is mutual; I find you equally appealing." 

He had no doubt Nines meant this, the weight of his desire permeating every syllable. Despite the assurance, he snorted, struck by the absurdity of someone so perfect being anything but underwhelmed by his appearance. "Yeah, sure. Whatever."

The affectionate kisses stopped. Nines reeled back at alarming speed, features tensed and eyes blown as though he'd been struck in the face. "You’re beautiful," he said quickly, almost like a reflex.

The abrupt sentiment had caught the detective off guard and proved enough to tip him over the edge. He laughed, loud and unrestrained, unable to suppress it any longer. The android looked entirely crushed, a sharp burst of red casting over his increasingly forlorn expression. 

"I’m sorry, just—that wasn't what I thought you were gonna say," Gavin explained, interspersed by lingering wheezes. "No one’s ever called me that. It’s not something you really expect to hear. As a guy."

The LED faded into a contemplative yellow, as though he were committing the information to memory. "I fail to understand why not. It seems to be a fairly apt descriptor." 

Before Gavin could seek to protest this, hands were on him again. Carefully avoiding the sights of his most recent injuries, paying special attention to his scars. Nines traced each with careful precision as his synthetic skin retracted, revealing the white tips of his fingers. 

"Your body tells a story that mine never could. I find it fascinating." As he spoke, his skin continued to fade until the entirety of his hands were exposed. "I could spend all day here—looking, touching, studying every detail."

Overwhelmed by the unabashed admiration, Gavin held his breath. Something swelled inside his chest, seeming to grow in intensity with every second shared between them. Maybe he understood what he was feeling better than previously assessed.

Then, a knee brushed the neglected ache between his legs, promptly derailing the sentiment. Reminding him of other, more urgent concerns. "You gonna keep waxing poetic like that, or are you gonna fuck me already?"

"I think you'll find I am capable of doing both."

His pants were finally removed, revealing a pair of dark boxer briefs. Perplexingly, they appeared to be CyberLife branded—with the company's name on the waistband, alongside a small triangle marker. Gavin was about to make a joke about how closely they resembled the uniform of a certain club when the garment was silently slipped away.

Suddenly, he had no idea what he had been thinking about. Instead, he was focused entirely on the junction between the android's thighs, taking in the sight hungrily. 

Nines brought a set of fingers to his mouth, flicking the ends with his tongue before slipping them past his lips. His head tilted back as he sucked, eyes subtly lidded—an action that seemed almost effortlessly sexy. As he pulled the digits out, they were coated with a thick, jelly-like substance. 

Gavin could have easily fainted from excitement upon realising what it was. "You produce your own lube?" 

"...Is that a problem?"

"I mean, no, obviously not—but damn, Nines. You sure you don't moonlight as a Traci?"

"Lubricant can be used for an array of purposes. I don't think my designers had this situation in mind when they implemented the feature."

Before the man could respond, slicked fingers brushed his opening, applying pressure to the tight muscle. He bit the inside of his cheek, stifling a whine. Then, the movements stopped, just shy of breaching his warmth. 

You've got to be fucking kidding me.  

He was about to bombard Nines with a series of suitably impassioned grievances when he noted the subdued vulnerability in his eyes—and halted himself immediately.

"I've never done this before, so I apologise if my performance fails to meet your usual standards."

Oh…

Oh.  

Truthfully, Gavin already suspected this was the case, but he was uncertain how to proceed upon receiving confirmation. Understanding just how significant this moment was, and not wishing to take the privilege for granted. He knew he needed to offer Nines some form of reassurance. Lest he go down as one of the biggest assholes in history. 

"You okay if I move now?" He asked playfully, motioning to the covers beneath him. "Or am I still on bed arrest?"

The troubled expression relaxed a bit as the android let out a small huff of amusement. "I think that would be okay, provided you take it slow."

In compliance with his wishes, Gavin reached forward slowly until his hand had brushed the side of his face. He trailed the length of his defined jaw before gently cupping it. "If you last longer than two minutes, you'll meet my standards. Hell, you'll exceed them."

The response to this was mixed, with Nines appearing both saddened and relieved by the revelation. He leaned into Gavin's touch, turning his head and pressing his lips to the heel of his palm.

"I'm sorry to hear that your previous partners did not set higher expectations. My stamina greatly exceeds that of a human. I also do not have a refractory period, so we can go for as long as you feel comfortable."

Fuuuuck. "Okay, so that's sounding really great. Before we start, though, mind if I ask you something personal?"

The android glanced down between them as though making a point of their shared undress. "I suspect we’ve passed modesty at this stage."

"Right, yeah, so… shit, are you going to be able to feel anything?" 

As soon as the words left his mouth, the detective flinched. He had wanted to approach the subject as delicately as possible and was unsure if he was already botching his efforts. If the perplexed expression that had greeted him was anything to go by, he likely was. 

"Like, I'm assuming it's all functional down there..." He made a loose circling motion towards the android's crotch and immediately regretted it. You're making it worse, you stupid asshole, "but does it come with any sensitivity?"

"I have indulged in the feature many times and can confirm it is very enjoyable."

Nines said this with an air of casual finality, as though he expected the conversation to tidily breeze along. Needless to say, this did not happen.

"Oh yeah?" Gavin replied, trying his best to downplay his interest but failing miserably. He smacked his rapidly drying lips, seeking moisture. "Wouldn't have pegged you as the type to jerk off. Seem a bit uptight for that."

Evidently, the android was not about to let the joke slip by without consequence. The fingers that had been left to trail idly against the man's entrance suddenly pressed forward, breaching the first ring of muscle. He gasped at the sudden intrusion—a sound which quickly transitioned into a low, appreciative moan as he shamelessly arched towards the digits.

"It is an unsavoury habit for which you are entirely responsible," Nines informed darkly, finding himself at the shell of his ear. Gently blowing into the canal with targeted synthetic breaths. 

The fingers continued to tease him, working their way skillfully through his body. Brushing the sensitive walls, pushing and spreading in line with his eager responses. 

"You saying you think about me when you touch yourself?" Gavin asked, surprised that the words were even coherent amidst a series of husky pants. 

"Who else would I think about?" 

The sound that escaped his lips could barely be considered human, not helped by the fact that the fingers had brushed a bundle of nerves before steadily retracting. 

"Easy", he warned, his voice strained by the increasing weight of passion, "If you say, or do, anything else, this is gonna be over pretty quick."

There was a moment where it appeared as though Nines may comply as his fingers continued to recede. When suddenly, they pushed forward, and curled, striking the nerves full-force with targeted precision. 

Gavin almost screamed as his vision filled with stars. He was helpless to do anything but writhe against the sheets, bathed in a growing sheen of sweat. The high of the sensation peaked and tapered, allowing another string of garbled words to escape his lips. "Jesus fuck—you sure you've never done this before?" 

"I watched an extensive catalogue of pornography, as well as conducted several pre-constructions, in preparation for this moment—" 

Nines skillfully changed the angle. Teasing him through his dipping high, building it up again in a way Gavin didn't think was possible. He balled his hands into the covers, trembling as he did so. 

"I then learned that such material is riddled with misinformation and cited some more credible sources." 

"Well, they were good fucking sources because you're about to make me come without even touchin’ me."

The android withdrew his hand, seeming intent on keeping true to his original promise. The fingers continued to stroke and massage as they left his body, and the man beneath him groaned in a confusing mixture of pleasure and exasperation. 

If this bastard doesn't let me come soon, I'm going to riot. 

"So it feels good?"

"More than good", he grunted back, disliking how empty he suddenly felt. "Would feel even better if it was your dick instead of your fingers."

Ever responsive to the man's needs, Nines quickly repositioned himself—until his hips were pressed against his opening, rubbing against it. 

He entered him slowly, controlling the movement as he firmly gripped his hips. His LED was going crazy—a frenzied light show that seemed to worsen with every inch that disappeared into the willing heat beneath him. 

The thrusts started shallow and testing as his thumbs traced loving circles against the man's skin. He seemed lost entirely to the sensation, his pupils blown and lips parted, as wisps of styled brown hair cascaded down his forehead. 

Gavin bucked forward, encouraging Nines deeper inside and causing the android to tremble. It sent vibrations through both of their bodies as his eyelids fluttered open and closed. Garbled static leaked from his lips, mingled with throaty moans, as his head rolled back appreciatively. 

"You feel incredible."

"So do you." He bucked his hips forward again, with greater zeal, desperate for more. "Now go faster. This is torture, I can’t take it."

There was hesitance as the android's eyes surveyed the scattered bruises that marred his chest. Streaks of black that were fading into sickly shades of purple and green. 

"I don't want to hurt you", he said softly, planting a kiss against each of them as though willing them out of existence. 

"You won't." He reached up, draping his arms across his shoulders. "If I need you to stop, I'll say. Promise."

Taking advantage of how the man had sought to crane forward, Nines shifted his weight back, ensuring their bodies stayed connected. Their positions had changed, with Gavin sitting in his lap, straddling his hips. "I will allow you to set the pace." He suggested, holding him close, burrowing his face into a mess of tousled hair. "And then I will take over."

Gavin groaned brazenly before bringing his hips up—and firmly thrusting down. He repeated the motion several times, steadily building in intensity before his weakened muscles started to ache. Nines, sensing his mounting exhaustion, was quick to take over. 

The pace was fast, in seamless rhythm with what the man had sought to establish. Their bodies were pressed firmly together, trapping his hardness between them. It rubbed against Nines' taut stomach, creating a delicious friction.

"Yes, fuck—just like that—"

It wasn't long until the android lost any semblance of self-control. The movements became desperate and unorganised. With their current proximity, Gavin could hear the sounds of his inner components, building from a steady hum to a fierce rumble. 

His skin was hot—almost burning—as patches faded in and out, revealing shifting blotches of white. Unlike the action performed on his hands, this seemed entirely involuntary. Gavin couldn't help but find it mesmerising, as well as inexplicably attractive. 

A hand snaked between them, capturing his hardness in a tight fist before moving it in measured strokes, matching the rhythm of the thrusts. 

"Oh my god." The additional stimulation proved more than Gavin could take. A rising heat coiled in his stomach, begging for release. "Shit—I'm so close—don't stop."

With his available hand, Nines pulled him into a firm embrace, nails digging sharply into his shoulder. Gavin clung back, body arching, as he panted into the crook of his neck. 

With a final, targeted thrust, his vision went white. There was a rush of heat, filling him up until it dripped in rivulets down his thighs. His hold slipped from the android's neck, and in the loss of the support, his body flopped unceremoniously to the bed. 

"...Nines, did you just come?" He reached between his legs, testing the theory. His eyes lit up in disbelief as he examined the opaque material coating his fingers. Almost indistinguishable from the real thing, save for a subtle blue tinge. "Fuck me."

"I believe you'll find I already did," Nines said back, smirking coyly at his stunned expression. "My sexual components are designed to simulate human intercourse as much as possible. The release is optional, but I thought you might like it."

Gavin hummed in distant acknowledgement as he tried to establish some control over his increasingly debauched thoughts. Wondering if the substance was safe for consumption. How it might feel and taste filling his mouth—

"I can refrain from doing it again in the future if it is not in line with your preferences."

"Don't you fucking dare", he shot back, wiping his fingers off on the bed. "If that wasn't already the best sex I've had in my life, you filling me up would have tipped the scales." 

He rolled to his side, body limp, as he made a clumsy gesture for Nines to join him. The android slipped into place, ensuring they were face-to-face, as he trailed a languid path up and down the length of his arm. 

"Are you satisfied, or do you wish to continue?" 

The question elicited a greedy moan from the thoroughly spent man. "Fuck, I’d give anything to say yes… but I won't be able to do that again for a while. Everything hurts."

The delicate trails paused as Nines gripped his forearm, fingers tensed. "Why didn't you tell me to stop?" 

"Because I didn't want you to, dipshit." Gavin chuckled to himself before the added exertion it placed on his chest caused him to wince. "The mind is willing, but the body is weak. Stupid flesh prison."

"Nothing about it is stupid", came a stern correction as the android took one of his hands and placed it to his mouth. Sweeping the fingers across his lips, peppering each with gentle kisses. "It will be well worth the wait until I can have you again."

Gavin hummed contentedly as he closed his eyes, indulging in the pleasant sensations. "Looking forward to it."

"Do you want me to get you anything?" 

"Not right now, just…" The sentence hung suspended in the air, waiting for elaboration. Casting aside any lingering concerns of pride or fear, he committed himself entirely to the simple bliss he was feeling. Choosing to trust in it.

"Stay with me."

As he opened his eyes, an adoring gaze stared back at him—wide and searching—before being accompanied by a comforting smile. Their foreheads were pressed together in an action that promised love and security. 

"As long as you want me to."

[snowysoong]

ok y’all remember my last art post about the toxic daforge yaoi

i will tell u guys more infact.

so this au brewing in my head for MONTHS but basically something infects the enterprise and they get fucking LAUNCHED outside federation territory where no ones been and after that data is infected by whatever it was bc all the machinery is infected by it and you know. data. android. yea

this infection is up to no good bc he has control over the enterprise now and (get this) KILLS EVERYONE. except geordi. geordis spared. this is the toxic yaoi part cuz somewhere in there data is still like “no. that is my boyfriend.”

so geordi would basically be trapped on the enterprise with no way of the ship or knowing where the hell he is

oh yeah and my idea is also that like. data connected to the entire enterprise due to the infection but has to stay in engineering to stay connected. so you could imagine geordi would go down there bc hes the fucking head engineer. gay people fight breaks out and geordis visor is snapped in half he is now half blind :3

lore fans i didnt forget about you guys hes in this au too! not for long tho! the au takes place between brothers and descent so while hes doing whatever the fuck he finds the enterprise and transports onto it. geordi fills him in on everything and for a while theyre stuck with eachother (no this is not lore x geordi bait THIS IS A TOXIC DAFORGE YAOI AU!!!!)

not for long tho lore confronts data and uuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh he gets mami madoka magicaified (decapitated) yeah

BY THE WAY THIS IS IN NO WAY ROMANTICIZING TOXIC RELATIONSHIPS!!!!!! this should NOT be interpreted as a healthy relationship, this is a man clinging on to his old happy memories while his supposed boyfriend completely changes as a person. DONT ROMANTICIZE THIS.

i hope this is understandable help……….

@hermannsprecursors this is for u :3

[dnfao3tags]

Monthly Fic Roundup - March 2023

hellooooo :]

if you liked the fic, dont forget to kudos and leave a comment (no matter how small) !

— Do Androids Dream of Poetry? by ABirdWithoutFeathers (teen | comp. | 3k)

> Happy birthday!! Who are you? > My name is George! it is so, so nice to finally meet you. What is a birthday? > It’s the anniversary of the day you come into existence, when you start being. Today is your very first day in the world. Oh. Well, what do I do now?

— like slush & kissing by findingahome (teen | comp. | 2k)

Dream eats all of the frozen mangos; chaos ensues.

— kiss me like your fantasy by astroscythe (teen | comp. | 3k)

George asks Dream to help him practice kissing, and Dream is too (jealous) nice to say 'no.'

— purple (you've had too much) by crabnap (expl. | comp. | 8k)

Dream learns something new about George after a night of drinking. He can’t get it out of his head.

— i'll take what i can get by demonstars (mature | comp. | 20k)

George going insane, in full resolution.

— all of you, a verb in perfect view by findingahome (mature | wip | 11k+)

despite being soulmates, they do nothing about it (well, okay, maybe not nothing).

— infinitely ordinary by twostorms (teen | comp. | 5k)

3 times George and Dream's secret relationship isn't much of a secret—and the one time that it is.

— karma is a cat purring in my lap by jack_not_found (gen | comp. | 2k)

Patches misses George while he's away.

— from the outside by nervouswaltz (gen | comp. | 3k)

Tina and George find some common ground in the stupidity of boys.

— one way ticket by dizzy (expl. | comp. | 60k)

George's family tells him he has to either get a job or go back to school... so in May of 2019 he applies to university in Florida and shows up on Dream's doorstep. Neither of them are really expecting Dream's youtube channel to blow up just after George moves in.

— invisible string by womanhunt (mature | comp. | 4k)

The sight is one that leaves him lightheaded. George is in his chain, and the way it looks sitting against his neck is breathtaking. “Now we match.” George seems elated at the idea, reaching out to squeeze Dream’s thigh as he says it. “Well, I mean,” Dream responds, unable to tear his eyes away from the chain. “Not really. They’re not, like, exactly the same.” “We match, Dream.” George emphasizes, reaching up to hold the chain around his own neck between his fingers.

— Cartwheel by ivegivenuponyou (expl. | comp. | 5k)

George gets too drunk and can't help but let everything fall apart.

— you'd be glad to say you know me (satisfaction guaranteed) by lovestruckdaggers (teen | comp. | 7k)

george is head over heels for the witty morning announcer in his school, dream. he also despises clay, the guy who keeps stealing his seat in compsci. shenanigans ensue.

— covid fics by tippysleeps (series | 4 works | teen, mature, expl. x 2 | 6k)

fics written when diseased. quality may vary.

— The Indiscriminate Indulgence of Morning Affection by lasciviess (expl. | comp. | 8k)

People can only withstand so much before they eventually give in, and that's exactly what Dream and George are: run-of-the-mill people who also happen to have been painfully infatuated with each other for somewhere between two and five years. The night that they finally break, it's like every single thing falls into place between them and the world finally snaps to its axis. Despite the fact that so many questions and uncertainties still remain when George wakes up the next morning, he knows that everything will eventually be alright as he watches Dream sleep the minutes away. What he doesn't know is exactly how much the stolen clothing he wears will affect Dream the moment he wakes up, and exactly how the man he just admitted to loving will choose to deal with it.

— out of focus by lodestones (gen | comp. | 3k)

The first time Hannah suspects that there’s something between Dream and George, she convinces herself she’s just reading into things.

— in the place of you & me by Orlaith (expl. | wip | 4k+)

Dream and George dated in 2019, but George, insecure and a world away, ended things. Now it's 2022, George is moving to Florida, and neither of them ever really stopped loving the other.

— every doorway and doorframe by wooowriter (mature | comp. | 36k)

in the interim of waiting to be with Dream, George starts sleeping with Wilbur.

— tonight i'll sleep with the dream of you by charoo (gen | comp. | 3k)

five times george fell in love with dream in person and the one time he realized dream had fallen in love with him.

— show me all your rings by preytall (expl. | comp. | 1k)

"Why're you looking at me like that?" Dream almost doesn't hear the words for the shape of his mouth as it forms them, and his response is reflexive, buying time: "Like what?" A laugh, some of its punch undercut by his panting, because Dream is still stroking him. "Like I've got something on my face." "You do." He could play it off but opts to play into it, instead. "You have two eyes... a nose... a mouth..." It's lame and obvious; George smiles, anyway, and shakes his head slightly. "Which one, Dream?" "Your mouth," Dream admits.

— the thought of it’s enough by mieldoux (expl. | comp. | 15k)

Dream and George haven’t had sex, but they’ve toed the line a few times.

[rwby-encrusted-blog]

So RWBY grimmverse style au, with a lot of the students being grimmified while hunting others to convert, so like, very high functioning zombies. Anyway so yeah Ruined city, numerous grimmified hunters-in-training scouring a city to find more to their numbers, before hearing a loud crash, heading over to find “patient zero” aka Grimm Pyrrha and she’s fighting or was fighting a Cyborg Jaune (Metal Gear Rising Revengeance style) and like they got a little excited and destroyed a lot of the building, so Grimmified hunters-in-training come in and see Grimm Pyrrha with her cloak off, which is not down often, and a Cyborg Jaune standing there in the ruins. So yeah Strongest grimmified hunter-in-training Pyrrha was equalled in power to Cyborg Jaune, with everyone surprised. 

Bonus: If Jaune explains how he became a Cyborg (Like survived an explosion and found a lab to survive in)

I don't know why I just got this sudden urge to ask this.

Thank you!

Pyrrha: Brothers! Sisters! Siblings of All Ages and ability! Our Goddess Has Given us a most Divine Mission!

The tension in the air was palpable, it landed somewhere between the moment before a bar-brawl and when Fans realize their team made the winning shot.

Pyrrha: Bring More Home~ Expand the Family! Unite all under her Glorious name!

Raccous cheering poured forth.

Pyrrha: But They Bring in Machines to stop us, Hurt us, capture and experiment Upon us! We all rememer when Our dearest Silver Angel was Stolen From us! The shame of failure to protect her was Too much for us to bear! We let loose our inhibitions and minds and fell to the like of the Beowolves and Beringel!

Shouts of Anger rung out, curses and swears unintelligible, but obvious.

Pyrrha: Luckily For us, those Machines need be told what to do, which means there is man behind the walls~ They've Backed themselves into corners all on their own~

Pyrrha: So if it's a game of Cat and Mouse, They are sorrowly mistaken about who is what.

Atlesian Airships landed in the distance, others dropping pods of Robots and Androids in the middle of the city.

Pyrrha: So without further ado, *Pyrrha pulled her hood over her head* Let the Hunt Begin~

Cheers of Violence and malevolence ring out from the Grimmified people, as they burst out from their hiding spots.

~Several Minutes Later~

Jaune: How are things looking out there Penny?

Penny: Not Well. We are losing Units at an astonishing Rate. Capturing the Rose family was very good for our understanding of what causes people to become 'Grimmified' and how too help them recover, but it seems that Ruby was very important to the others. They are attacking with more vigor and ferocity than ever.

Jaune: ... Somethings Wrong. Abort the Mission and Fall back.

General Ironwood: Arc, Stay there. I know You can handle whatever they may throw at you.

Jaune: Sir, Respectfully, You have put me in charge of this operation, and I am telling you to give the order to Fall Back. Somethings not Right, I can feel it.

Ironwood: Unless Something Catastrophic Happens, stand your ground. That is and Order.

Jaune: ... Sir, Direspectfully, Shove your Orders Up your Ass. *Shuts Off Communications Device* EVERYONE BEGIN TO RECALL WHATEVER UNITS YOU HAVE LEFT! WE ARE EVACUATING!

Penny: Jaune-

Jaune: Pen, I know what Ironwood Said, but He's not here, and I'll deal with Whatever corporal Punishment he thinks is neces- DUCK!

Jaune Pulls Penny low, a blood red Spear whizzing just above their Heads, Before retracting by Ebony Sinew and Tendons.

Pyrrha: Face the Divine Wrath of her CHOSEN Cowards!

Jaune: *Draws Aurum Exitium* Penny Get everyone out! I'll hold her Off!

Penny: I- Yes Jaune! Stay Safe!

Jaune: *Blocking another strike* I always make it back in the end! MOVE!

Pyrrha: The Fight's over here Huntsman!

Jaune: I know.

Jaune: *Tackles Pyrrha* But it's going this Way!

The two fall from the Atlesian's vantage point, tumbling down into the decrepit city.

Pyrrha: *Throws Jaune through a wall, causing part of a building to collapse* STAY DOWN DOGGY!

Jaune: *Breaking out of the Rubble* You'll have to do better than that!

Pyrrha Threw 'Akouo' at Jaune, who caught - and Pyrrha's heel in his face. He held tight to the Arm-Bound shield, slamming the redheaded monstrosity into the ground, dragging her face across the damaged pavement, before throwing her into the distance.

Jaune: I want to help you!

Pyrrha:*landing Deftly* You Kidnap Us! STEAL US From our home! We want to bring Enlightenment to you, and you meet us with Violence!

Pyrrha launched barbs that shattered against the bulkhead of a shield Jaune carried. He Retaliated with a strike from his longsword, the edge glowing blue with Hardlight Dust.

He whiffed the strike and the sword carved into the ground, Pyrrha Blasting him backwards with her semblance. Blisters formed across the pitch-black flesh, as her soul burning against it's monstrous bonds. She lunged at the stunned Jaune, aiming for the point between his eyes.

This dance of death, seemingly endless back and forth, A tactical mind meeting a being of pure skill, Remnants Greatest Mind's reconstruction of a Man holding against a near perfect amalgam of Man and it's Enemy, An Unstoppable Force fighting an Immovable Force.

Blow after blow, Aura ticking down, Grimm burning away. They stumbled into some old cathedral, standing a distance away from each other. Every breathe was heaved, exhaustion pulling at them. Even Jaune's aura had it's limits, and Pyrrha's arms were covered in open wounds, seeping Grimm-infused blood out of them.

Pyrrha struck first. Jaune Dodged and closed distance. Jaune fired a beam from Aurum Exitium. Pyrrha dodged and closed even more distance. They were in Melee with each other. Pyrrha Jabbed. The hit landed. Jaune attempted to Grapple. Pyrrha barely managed to avoid it.

Her cloak didn't.

Jaune finally saw his opponent's face and he was ... Entranced. Pyrrha, however, was Pissed.

Pyrrha: You ... Dare lay your FILTHY, UNDESERVING EYES UPON ME!

She through her spear once more, letting it truly free from her grasp. It flew through the air, Jaune barely avoiding it in his awe at her beauty. He flung the cloth wildly, the Spear piercing the hood and slamming into the great throne in the center of the building.

With all the rage of a disrespected Goddess, she dashed into Jaune, Stealing the techsword from his grip and pinning him against the chair, trying to press it's endlessly thin blade into Jaune's neck.

He Held against her pushing, forcing Aura into his arms as Darkness enveloped Pyrrha's forearms, more blisters forming on her arms.

Jaune felt his body lock up against her semblance, his own giving him the strength to resist her assault.

The held there for what felt like forever, long enough for swathes of Grimm-dark skin to fall from Pyrrha's arms, revealing the corded, red flesh beneath. Their hands shook. They both knew whoever gave out first would likely die.

Then a thin blade wrapped around Pyrrha's shoulder and pulled her away, Jaune's sword clattering to the ground.

Ren.

Jaune nearly fell to his knees, catching himself at the last moment and sprinting towards his brother- only to catch a glob of Acid in the face.

???: YOU STAY AWAY FROM HER!

Another Grimm girl, short, with and arm that looked like a cenitaur had been grafted on. She slammed the chittering apendage into Ren, throwing him towards Jaune.

Nora: It's been a long time since Cuddles had a playmate like you~

Pyrrha struggled to her feet, weariness obvious in those who were near.

Pyrrha: Stay, Nora. *She points at Ren and Jaune* You. Aren't. Going. Anywhere.

Black, staticy figures shuffled in, a Winged figure cascading from above with them.

Sun: Glad I wasn't late to the party. Let's help them join it, Eh Ladies?

Nora: *Glare*

Pyrrha: *Glare*

Sun: C'mon that's funny- Whatever. Bye-bye Huntsmen!

Surrounded and outnumbered, Jaune and Ren faced their fate with grim (heh) Determination. They always had a back-up, and she was arriving right now.

Brilliant green lasers blasted through the ceiling, a ladder falling through from a hovering bullhead. Penny was coming to her friend's rescue.

Penny: Stand down, and allow yourselves to be captured or face the consequences.

The trios stared each other down. A Leader. A friend. A savior in their time of need.

The whirring blades of Floating Array held charges, ready to decimate any attacker, while Sun's clones stood still and were prepared to strike.

The Jaune and Pyrrha started Backing away from each other, pulling their partners, back to their own escape routes. Once they got away from each other the released their bated breathes.

Nora: Pyrrha?

Pyrrha: That wasn't a fight we could win. We kept them out of the city. We've succeeded, even if we lost.

Sun: Man, I was itching for some action. But, we did do good, didn't we?

Pyrrha: That we did, Sun. That We did.

With her cloak in shambles, Pyrrha had no choice than to face the crowd openly. They hardly dared look at her. Sharp, bony spikes that stuck out from just behind her jawline and ears, her face pale with dark red veins running up her cheeks, and to her eyes. Eyes, that unlike every other Grimm-Fated student, were Green.

She was different than the others, And it was obvious. She relished in that fact often, it earned her praise and gifts from their God-Mother.

But in this moment it was nothing but another reminder that she wasn't like her siblings. She knew that man she fought was handsome.

~~~~~

Ren: General Ironwood Won't be happy about this.

Jaune: We failed, but we survived. It's a win in my book.

Penny: I am glad you are alright. Please don't do anything that irrational again.

Jaune: I can't promise you that Penny.

Penny: I- I-

Penny: ... I Know, Jaune. I don't wish to see my Brother be injured anymore than he already has been.

They all fell silent as they watched the city of Atlas come into view, Sat just behind Mantle, a mountain gazing over it's earth-toned buildings. It had been nearly two decades since the theft of the Relic of Creation, causing it to sink into it's crater.

~~~~~

Pyrrha: We kept the city, Mistress.

Salem: And what about recovering your siblings? Was the enemy annihilated as you guaranteed they would be?

Pyrrha: ... They were different this time. Far more of their machines than before, easy enough to take down, but there was ... Retreat before the final Charge was made. I separated myself from the horde to attack their post directly, and was stopped by ... Something between Man and Machine.

Salem: And just what did this 'In-Between' look like?

Pyrrha: He was covered in metal, though I could tell a fair amount was armor and plating on his outside - His legs and left arm were mechanical, with certain thing within him being something I couldn't control, but could feel. His face was mostly free, he had blue eyes and blonde hair tied back.

Pyrrha: He was brutal and savage, yet intelligent. He new how to use the terrain to his advantage, and how to avoid the majority of my strikes, and those he could not avoid he simply took and kept going.

Pyrrha: He was my equal until outsiders interrupted us. A lithe man that wore green, wielding machine pistol that had been locked in combat with Nora. I could not feel him, which means he was either truly at peace in his soul, or his semblance makes us blind to his soul.

Pyrrha: After their arrivals, Sun managed to surround them, but their Machine-Girl gave them the opportunity of escape. They ran like the cowards they are.

Salem: Do not lie to me Girl. You didn't strike at them as they ran, could you?

Pyrrha: I-I- I-

Pyrrha: I am Injured and Exhausted. I Was, and I could not fight anylonger. I ordered our retreat. I failed you. I am Sorry.

Salem: *Grabbing Pyrrha* Apologies are useless. You had your orders, and you Failed them. You are to see Tyrian for your punishment.

Pyrrha: Y-Yes ma'am.

Pyrrha hands Shook. From pain, from fear, from shame, and many delineations of those emotions. But still, she strode to her punishment with haste. Wasting time was worthy of further punishment. She barely managed a nod to Cinder as she passed.

Cinder: Hold it Nikos!

Pyrrha: Yes Ma'am?

Cinder: ... This'll sting, but it'll help.

Pyrrha: What are you-

Cinder: Open wounds will make you weaker in the future. I am disinfecting them, then you may be back on your way.

Pyrrha: The Goddess-

Cinder: What she doesn't know can't hurt us. Stay quiet.

Pyrrha hardly flinched when the Alcohol touched her wounds. She shouldn't have flinched at all, she was so worthless and stupid to think she could've done her assignment right. She was meant to be the best among her siblings, unstoppable and-

Cinder: *Hugging Pyrrha, shaking her from her thoughts* You will be fine. You will be fine. Run, now. I'm sorry I can't save you from him.

~~~~~

Jaune: Yang? How is Ruby doing?

Yang: JAUNE! *hugs Him* She's been improving! Her heart is beating on it's own, and she's been more responsive- I can't believe it. I- I have her back. Ruby's- Ruby's back. Almost. My family, whatever's left of it- we'll be together again!

Yang: But you need to see Ironwood! he's Pissed to the grimmlands and back over whatever you did.

Jaune: I told him "Disrespectfully, Shove your orders up your ass." then shut off my comms.

Yang: *chuckles* Really? Man you must have balls of steel!

Jaune: Nah, At least one of those is still mine.

Yang: Gross.

Yang: ... Still. You should go talk to him. He's not happy.

Jaune: I'll survive whatever he throws at me. Or throws me into.

Yang: Not getting that stuff removed.

Jaune: ... I'll be fine Yang.

And Jaune left the medbay.

~~~~~

If anyone seems out of Character, it's because, well, these aren't the same ones from Canon.

Pyrrha has been more Forcefully manipulated, and the stakes for her are far higher than falling off a pedestal - falling from it means death. She believes the words she says, and feels guilty when she questions it.

Jaune had *Something* happen that made him lose a fair bit of his body. Atlas put him back together at the expense of his freedom, à la Robocop. But he still cares about people and is willing to defy orders to protect them. It's a matter of how far he can bend the rules before he gets broken.

I'll explain more if people ask for it.