#Plastic shredding machine

[applelzp]

single shaft shredder/1250model single shaft shredder/pppe purgings shre...

[ecofriendlyinnovation]

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Plastichero is committed to a multi-faceted approach to plastic waste. We believe by working together, we can create a future where plastic recycling machines are complemented by a significant reduction in single-use plastics.

[forestryfae]

actually you know what. i still havent tried the airfryer and im hungry a sfucka nd i have a few bags of sweet potato fries so like. if i just clean the drawer thing and i grab some baking sheets and cut them up i could make food

[mekanzyuae]

Mekanzy Middle East was founded in 2019 and is an independent supplier of quality elevator accessories. We supply the most innovative solutions in elevator accessories, including but not limited to Media Displays, Hall lanterns, Push buttons, and bespoke solutions. We represent some of the world renowned brand manufacturers of quality elevator products like Dewhurst, Wurtec, E-motive displays, Memco, etc.

[jammed-out]

“I’m a good doll.”

“I’m a good doll.” You repeated the phrase the machine told you. Even as you felt the memory of your tenth birthday ripped from your head you repeated the phrase. The toy buzzing inside of your drenched pussy pulling another empty orgasm from you as you stared blankly ahead at the wall.

“Good dolls are empty.”

“Good dolls are empty.” You repeated, the suction on your breasts increasing. You could feel the slight prick in your lips as they began to inflate again. You remembered how much they smaller they were with your first kiss, a memory quickly removed from your brain. You could feel the probes digging, searching in your mind for the last few remaining thoughts that still clung to who you were.

“Being empty makes me a good doll.”

“Being empty makes me a good doll.” The words felt hollow as you said them. You knew you were cumming, your body continuing to be modified, but it felt so far away now. You let the darkness swallow you up, the last shreds of yourself fading away, replaced by empty plastic.

“Good dolls wait to be played with.”

Soon you’d have a Master to play with you. And then they could fill you up all over again, with whatever they wanted you to be this time.

[bitterrfruit]

[he's in a meeting]

A quick horny ramble about your boss failing to control himself. here's [part 2] for you horny, horny freaks (affectionate) Executive John Price x EA f!Reader 18+ mdni - ~1k words

Does that pen taste good? 

It’s the sixth time you’ve stuck it in your mouth in the last minute. 

John watches you through the shimmering glass of the conference room, his spinning leather seat perfectly situated; he can see you where you sit at your desk through the gap in the corridor, just the right angle to see you cross one of your nylon-sheathed legs over the other. Watches the sling-back of your kitten heel slip loose as you buck your foot, wiggling it in boredom, kicking the leg of your desk with the pointed toe. 

You lavish that pen. He’s almost jealous of it. Your gentle teeth bite down on the clicker, he sees you run it back and forth in strokes over your bottom lip. Glossy with balm and spit, the soft pink flesh of your lip pillows out around where you push the plastic in. 

He adjusts himself in his seat, leaning back to stretch out the tension knotting in his abdominals. Turns his head back towards the conference table at regular intervals to ensure he appears appropriately attentive, avoiding comment from his fellow executives that he looks distracted. 

They drone on about the merger, about surplus, about transition plans and communication bottlenecks. They’ll ask him for his input as their senior, he’ll make a noncommittal comment and defer to somebody else to elaborate. 

And he’ll look back at you. 

You lean over your desk and the waistband of your pencil skirt cuts into the arch of your spine, the grey pinstripe material strains over the mouthwatering swell of your ass. The seams look weak. Wouldn’t take much to tear it apart.  

Fuck, he wants to tear it to shreds. 

He’d have to, the fabric is too firm, too tight to be rucked up to your hips; no, he’d grab it by the hem and rip it apart by the stitches. He’d roll down your stockings, peel them from your legs, and use them to bind together your winsome hands. He’d hold your little head against the wood veneer of your desk, he’d knock over the jar that holds all of your pens with the force in his thrusts as he stuffs you full. 

He can hear you mewling in your sweetly surprised voice; Please, Mr Price. That hurts, Mr Price. Harder, Mr Price. 

Gritting teeth, he hopes his colleagues pay no mind to the bulging veins that throb in his temples. To the tendons in the back of his hands wrenching under his skin as they clench into fists. He bounces his knee, some effort at somatic distraction, to keep the blood flowing anywhere else but his cock. 

He knew hiring you was a terrible idea. He saw you waiting outside his office before your interview, and immediately knew it would be cruel of him to subject you to being his subordinate. You were impish and clever during that interview, took everything he threw at you and sucked on it thoughtfully, presented it back to him as hard candy. 

When you left with that saunter, so confident you had gotten the job - he decided then and there that he couldn’t have you as his executive assistant. Because in that short thirty minutes you had invaded every crevice of his mind, you lingered on his tongue long after you left. It took every synapse of his brain to forcibly prevent his body from enacting what it so ravenously wanted to, from tearing you out of your seat and breaking you in half over his desk. 

But, to his dismay, the decision had been taken from his grip. He offered one positive statement about you, and that was that - human resources declared your resume the strongest, your attitude the keenest, and you were hired without much fanfare. 

He insisted your desk be far from his, out of sight and mind; but even still, every morning, he could smell your perfume where it lingered by the coffee machine, could hear your cloying giggles from across the expansive office. 

He had scolded you, once, dragged you into his office in sight of all of your murmuring colleagues. He told you that you were too distractible, too easily turned away from your tasks by things more interesting. He said that if you didn’t like doing what you were told, then this wasn’t the place for you. 

But, no, you simply gave him a sweet and eager smile. This is the place for me, Mr Price. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. 

His cock turned to steel at your desperate apology, at your sycophantic enthusiasm - and that was the last time he scolded you. 

If he were a better man, he would have fucked his fist in a cubicle to the image of you, shot ropes of his pent-up come into some single ply toilet paper and flushed it away, over and done with. 

But he has let it build, has let the pressure mount within his welded seams such that he threatens to erupt like a steam boiler. 

Your tongue juts out only slightly, you lick the tip of your painted finger to help you turn the page of the folder you sift through, and your lip catches in your teeth. 

“‘Scuse me for a minute,” is all he says, it comes out of his throat ragged and strained, and he pushes himself up from the conference table. 

Follow a few murmurs of either dispute or acceptance - they fall on deaf ears, as he shoves open the swinging glass door and marches down the short corridor. 

The footsteps of his leather oxfords are loud despite being muted by the dense, flat carpet - they alert you to his approach, and you tug the wet pen from your lips when you swivel around to look at him. 

You squeak, already fearing admonishment, “Mr-”

“A word,” he grunts, a succinct order, gesturing with a hand for you to follow him. 

Letting out his tie just a bit, he bites down hard on nothing. 

“Oh - yes, of course,” you oblige with a stammer, pushing yourself to stand and smoothing out the creases in your little skirt with flat palms. “Am I in trouble?”

Huffing impatiently, eyes dark, he gives you a single and rigid nod.

“You might be.”

[mechaprincessgirlgutsgore0]

⚠️ i really need to talk about metal crushers

of course to the uninitiated (and sane in the head) these things are just normal industrial machines. they take in bits of metal and spit out scrap rubble.

but to me these are so much more. deeply erotic machines. of course all machines are erotic, but these especially.

to a human, it’s unthinkable. these machines are not toys, they’re dangerous. it would hurt, and not even in the good way.

but to a robogirl?

Well, you’ve been in service a while. 12 years on the front line. a combat android is a complicated instrument. you’ve been good, loyal. but age comes for us all. today’s models roll off the production line with their shiny composite cladding and deadly precise weapons, but you’re one of the oldest models still in operation. many of your components are proprietary, and no longer manufactured. you’re too much risk. a liability.

the human integration and normalisation program is as good as useless. the humans who are left hate your kind. really, the only option is decommissioning. once all your reusable parts are stripped out, we’re left with a barely-functioning shell. i’m sure you’d love to be let loose, but i’m afraid we can’t do that. serial numbers. engineering secrets. drives. it’s in the interest of national security that you’re disposed of in a safe way.

so you’re fed into the crusher, right foot first. the grinding wheels struggle to grip the smooth plastic panels, but once it’s got you, it’s got you. already you know you’re past the point of no return. the slow churning of the wheels start marching along your foot, cutting it to pieces. then, it reaches your ankle. with a horrible grinding noise, it closes around the joint, and an incredible snap is heard as it gives way. the teeth devour the shredded joint, as it begins working its way up your leg.

the steel blades rip through your hydraulic hoses. a viscous, golden liquid spurts from the pipes, coating the shredder, the gears and your body with a thick layer of oil. it drips through the scrap ejection chute, and from the walls of the shredder funnel. eventually, you are dragged down to your knee joint, and a thundering crack is heard as it is crushed in the jaws of the beast. yet still, the hungry maw of the crusher keeps spinning, demanding more.

It inches up your thigh. your left leg, still not yet claimed by the crusher’s ravenous appetite, is pinned up by the funnel walls that frame the hungry machine. you feel your hip joint groan with stress as the leg is wrought beyond its specified limit. by now, your injury warning system is screaming. voltage spikes ricochet back and forth from your digital mind to your synthetic body. the systems demand action, but you know there is nothing you can do except make it worse. still, the blades of the machine crawl higher. it knows no avarice, yet continues to spin, as that is all it knows.

as you sink deeper below the undulating mass of gears, your left leg is contorted further, and further, and further, until with a violent CRUNCH the bolts and panels give way, and your thigh is ripped from its socket. cables stretched by the failure are quickly shredded to bits, as you are pulled lower into the belly of the beast.

soon after, the teeth bite down onto your crotch. the plastic cover panel is immediately torn away, revealing your lower chassis, but only briefly, as it is soon chewed up with the rest of your lower torso by the relentless milling of the grinder. hydraulic fluid and coolant paint the funnel walls once again, lubricating the jaws of the animal. the wheels do not rest. they cannot rest. they can only devour, pulling you deeper to hell.

the grinding gears keep crawling further up your torso, as if looking for another limb to claim. it soon catches your fingers, which are immediately swallowed by the steel void, wrenching your arm out of your control. your complex hand mechanism is disintegrated in its maws. soon, it takes your other hand, and at that point it declares victory. you are now totally incapacitated, pinned in place by the steel teeth of this creature, pulling you ever deeper. however, you are still concious. you get to watch as your body is slowly cut into ribbons.

The beast creeps upwards. you are dragged down into the metallic waves, as if weighed down by concrete shoes. your automatic reaction systems screech out for some action, any action. but no action can be made. your plastic panels are splintered and pulled apart. your circuit boards are ground to dust. Eventually, the monster reaches your head. the metal blades close around and dislocate your jaw, effortlessly tearing through the shiny faceplate you used to take so much pride in. those rosy painted lips, torn away from you by the monster. your entire being, your memories, your ideas, emotions, desires, all cut to pieces. you have barely time to think before the teeth crunch down on your eye assemblies, shattering the glass and camera arrangement. you feel the back of your head being torn apart, and the cold steel edge crush your drives, your memory, and your CPU. you are no longer responsive.

[barrenclan]

I for one think it would be very funny if Deepdark does die, not for satisfaction of his demise but the events that happen afterwards, the idea that Defiance can't live without him really goes to show they're just as insignificant as the clans and will be forgotten with time and I find that enjoyable :)

I mean... I have literally written an entire essay about the fallibility of systems that believe themselves to be eternal and how nothing is endless (it was about 1984). Here's the final paragraph of it, so... let that influence your speculation on how I write stories as you will.

"That really is it, in the end. No matter how hard the Party tries to mold its citizens into the shape of machines, they will never achieve it. They can destroy love, happiness, freedom, language, thought, any shred of safety that humans strive for, but they can never stop the striving. The Party is an untouchable, eternal empire, until its own gears rust from sheer mistake or misuse. The war is endless, until one careless slip of a button throws it into frantic destruction. The Party controls life in all its functions and at all its levels, until centuries from now when nature has ground our sorry human schemes into the earth. Until the day that we tear out our own organs and replace the whole of our bodies with plastic and metal, humanity is inescapable. No member of the Party or its compatriot superstates, no one in the Thought Police or Inner Party or the highest of its thinkers is going to stop being an instinctive, fragile animal, blindly grasping for eternity before the winds of time tear it away. The image O’Brien gives Winston, as well as the readers, of this dark world is 'a boot stomping on a human face - forever'. What he is failing to mention, failing to consider at all, is that eventually, though it may take decades or even centuries, the boot will fall to dust the same as everything else."

Here's a fun fact I can share now: in one of the early drafts of the comic, the reason Deepdark showed up late was literally just because he wanted to make a dramatic entrance.

[cock-ainee]

I'm fairly surprised with how fast I wrote it (it's because it's short af lol)

The Night Guard

___________________________

Word count: 1607

Category: smut

• fingering • orgasm denial • mentions of blood (not in the sex part though) • slight violence • robot/human intercourse?? •

Characters: Springtrap x afab reader

Enjoy!

Dusty hallways, rusty vents, everything dirty and nasty. That's what the job YN accepted looked like. She didn't even have a clue why she agreed to that. Maybe because it was her only choice, and it was easy enough.

She walked down the corridor, that lead to the office she was supposed to spend 6 HOURS in. 6 motherfucking long, boring hours. At least nothing would happen, right? This place was abandoned, and it was night. Nobody would get there, aside from some kids that would try to act like some silly explorers, or something.

Could YN blame them though..? The place was pretty interesting, creepy even. It was her fault that she was just too eepy to even look at the advantages of working at such a place.

And she started hating it even more after the clock hit 2am.

Till then, she was just clicking random buttons on her tablet to fix the occuring errors, or was looking over the cameras.

Until she saw the shit that was lurking in one of the vents.

A fucking enormous, yellow rabbit, that looked like it has been thrown into a shredding machine.

And the thing moved just before her eyes. It pointed it's empty, dead gaze right at her, making her heart stop.

No, it wasn't any "romantic" moment. It was a moment of deep, breathtaking fear.

Afterall, all the animatronics were supposed to be shut, not moving the fuck around, especially not trough vents. Who the hell would've taught them that??!

YN immediately stood up, scanning the room for any possible weapon she could use against the animatronic. She spotted a baseball bat standing in the corner and decided to just note the fact in her brain, in case she would need it. For now, she intended just to see what the fuck was happening in there.

She went out on the corridor, with a flashlight in her slightly trembling hand. The ambiance in the hallway was dark and off-putting, YN felt a need to curl herself up in a ball and stay like this till 6am.

And when she turned around the corner, she let out a frightened shriek and dropped the flashlight, that broke, making YN get surrarounded in absorbent darkness.

- S-shit! -

She quickly picked the object up and tried to turn it on, to no avail. Now she started panicking. But she then just decided to look for some "off" button in the animatronic if such thing even existed. She took a few, fearful steps towards the animatronic, and let her hands wander over the torn, broken plastic plates of it's body, that felt a little furry under the pads of her fingers.

And then her hands landed on something.. unexpected. Unpleasant. SLIMY.

A yelp escaped past YN's lips, as she took a few steps away from it, falling down on her butt. And there she was, down on the ground in front of massive animatronic, that's eyes now lit up.

And it did something that made girl's heart die in her chest. It SPOKE.

- Oh, what's wrong? Did the remains of my flesh scare you off this much, young lady? -

He took a step ahead, the metal grumbling and whirring with each movement of his robotic legs.

YN quickly scrambled up from the floor and backed away, meeting the wall with her backside.

- No use in running. You can't escape me -

The creature took a few more steps towards the girl, paralyzed with fear. Hot breath fanned over YN's neck, warm, despite of the owner's cold demeanor. The girl could feel her whole body tense at the smell of the animatronic's breath - and it lowkey smelled like rotting flesh.

How could it even breathe-? It was a machine.

YN snapped back to reality and tried to think fast, wanting to find a way to protect her life and dignity. She looked at the animatronic and seeing that it wasn't in arm reach yet, she took her chance and sprinted down the hallway, back into her office. She locked herself in it, quickly shutting off all the cameras, not to scare herself even more.

But then a loud bangs came from the door. They were creaking as if they were just about to break down. And just when YN stepped away from them, they did. The wood broke, sending parts of it flying until they hit the floor too. YN gripped the baseball bat she found earlier, intending to protect herself with it. But one powerful swing of the animatronic's arm was enough to throw it out of her grasp, and making the girl fall to her knees. Springtrap rose her up by her chin, reaching his free hand out to smear her blood over his fingers. Only now did YN realise that there was a splinter stuck in her cheek.

- Tsk tsk. You're bleeding. What a silly little girl you are -

His voice was dark and enticing, and YN strangely found herself kind of.. responding to it.

- W-what are you? -

She asked fearfully, her eyes darting over the animatronic, looking like a prey who has just been caught by a predator.

- "What"? Oh dear, don't treat me like an animal -

He spoke and another dark chuckle left his.. mouth?

- Most call me.. Springtrap. You can call me however you'd like.. but it still doesn't change your situation -

YN gulped, feeling his plastic hand trail over her throat.

- Are you.. going to kill me? -

- Kill you? That would be too easy, don't you think? I'd rather use you.. the other way -

Girl's heart sank. What could he mean? She felt terror making it's way up her spine, sending chills over it. And then, she was thrown across the desk, on her back, as Springtrap towered above her. His big hands trailed over her waist, as the realisation slowly hit YN. This was his "other way".

- I haven't seen a woman for so long... Let alone a woman.. not to mention me having a touch of a woman -

- Please.. I'll do anything you wish, but just... Please not this -

Springtrap immediately shut her up, with a glare that seemed..alarmingly sharp.

- If not this.. i can simply kill you. Would you like that? -

Silence and a shudder from YN answered him.

- That's what i thought -

Moments later, YN's clothes were ripped and discarded to the floor. Girl's nipples stiffened from the cold air hitting them, and Springtrap just stayed silent, looking over at the girl's body. His cold fingers kneaded the flesh, soft and plushy under his touch.

- Fascinating.. -

He muttered, turning the girl onto her stomach, making her let out an unintended moan at the way her hardened buds rubbed over the desk. Springtrap chuckled.

- Don't worry.. soon enough, you'll be.. making these sounds louder -

YN felt plastic touch on her thighs and couldn't help but whine at the way the digits brushed over her pearl and sensitive folds. She felt embarrassed, because she wasn't supposed to be reacting to it this way.

Springtrap laughed as his finger circled over YN's entrance, finding out that she wasn't necessarily all dry.

- You're starting to like this, aren't you? That's such a shame -

The girl let out a yelp as suddenly Springtrap's finger pushed inside her, stretching her inner walls just with it. It was scary how much it filled her alone. The animatronic marveled over the female, taking in notes of her reactions. Every whimper, every moan, every squeeze of her velvety heat on his finger. And as her thighs started shuddering, he pulled his finger out, denying her an orgasm.

YN whined pretensionally, looking at him over her shoulder just to get her head pushed down forcefully.

- Don't you even dare think it's about you -

He grumbled, as he reached to the pad of his pelvis, and YN could hear a metal click before something more humanly, oddly warm pressed over the curve of her rear.

The female gasped, understanding flooding her senses as a shiver of fear and excitement got goosebumps forming on her skin.

Springtrap's cock slid down, to rub between her legs and collect her arousal on it.

And soon, he was pushing into her, tight heat, earning a muffled moan from her.

YN cursed herself for thinking he could ever have mercy with her. She whined pathetically as he picked up the pace immediately, hitting all the soft spots inside her repeatadly, with no care for YN of the way it could hurt her.

But it only got her core gushing and sweet sounds escaping her as she neared her end once. Springtrap could feel her climaxing on his cock once, tightenjng around him and spilling juices over his cock and plastic pelvis, making the coupling more fluid.

He was mostly quiet, only letting out grunts and little groans as he pounded into her relentlessly. And soon another intense, shaky orgasm ripped trough YN, as she fell limp on the desk, too exhausted to keep her head up.

After a few more minutes of the rough session Springtrap let out a primal growl, pinning the girl down with his weight, as he released thickly inside of her.

He then pulled out his member halfly out of her, as YN tried scrambling off the desk. Springtrap chuckled darkly and pinned her down agressively again.

- Where do you think you're going? It's barely 3am -

And that were going to be 3 more long, long hours...

_____________________________________

Sorry for any mistakes or for not using colorful language, but english is my second one, so.. yk.

Anyways thank you for reading and the likes too 😭😭

[eerieeccentricities]

Your Love is a Vice Grip

Il Dottore X fem!Reader

(A/N: This is a fic I've been playing around with for about 6+ months. Definitely needs a lot of edits and work done to it, but I just want it posted somewhere I suppose. Haha!)

(tw: Blood, Injury, bad workplace environment, foul language, confrontation, slight physical aggression, 18+ ONLY!!!)

DO NOT REPOST!!!!

Summary: Just another cog in the machine. That was all she expected to be. That was all she wanted to be. Anything more than that and her life would be on the line, more so than it currently was anyway. Being a part of an organization such as the Fatui always carried risks, but the pay was good, and the only thing she had to worry about was the eccentric Doctor’s occasional outbursts. Keep her head low and don’t get in the way of the 2nd Harbinger, easy enough, right? She thought so….until she found herself on the bleeding end of one of those outbursts. Suddenly, she can't seem to shake him, and she begins to wonder if it is what lies on the inside of these reinforced walls she should fear instead.

Medical Terminology: Prefix - Hema - Blood

‘Shit…’

She was bleeding. Quite profusely, at that. She watched only momentarily as the carmine liquid dripped down her gloved hand, which was now shredded beyond use, and onto the pristine white tiles below, reflecting on what had just transpired. 

It was her damn reflexes essentially, a grab at something that was thrown in her general direction, a moment of instinct before thought. It was laughable, considering thought was supposed to conquer all in a place such as this. To be a researcher, a scientist, who could still not overcome something The Doctor would surely see as ‘primitive’ was an unspoken folly amongst those here.

She squinted, now noticing it wasn’t just her blood that was dripping to the floor. Whatever it was she was attempting to catch was filled with something of an azure blue color, and that something was mixing with her blood and seeping into the open wounds. While it didn’t burn, it did leave a numbing coolness wherever it trailed, and any chemical reaction on human skin was always a cause for concern.

Regardless of her instinctual stumble, she needed to follow procedure and take the correct precautions now. Thick soles crunching the forgotten glass below, she hurried to the wash stations, arm held out to avoid getting the unknown substance on her person any more than it already was.

Ideally, a quick scrub in the sink would work, she’d rather avoid the emergency showers if at all possible. Although it did technically have a curtain, the thing was flimsy at best, and she would rather avoid stripping in front of her colleagues with only a plastic drape no thicker than a sheet of paper between them. 

Especially now of all times, when The Doctor, the Prime himself as indicated by his signature mask, decided to grace them with his ever-fleeting presence. While this was the primary laboratory it was still a rarity to see him, and not one of his segments, overseeing the ongoing operations here. 

 Each lab was dedicated to a specific area of research, the main branch, this branch, focusing on Cybernetics and Biological Enhancements. Also known as the birthplace of many, if not all, of the segments currently wandering all corners of Teyvat. Seeing Ruin Guard parts and other machinery scattered amongst that of biological specimens was the norm, ideas and experiments of them all working in tandem was the goal. 

It was a productive and, dare she say, quiet atmosphere to work in. Especially for those who worked on the machinery portion of the lab, like herself. 

Well, it was usually anyway. The presence of the Harbinger could only mean one of two things, there was a meeting that called for the Harbinger’s presence, or there was an experiment that garnered his attention and required their subject specialties.

She deeply hoped it was the former, as the latter would mean a much longer stay, overseeing and criticizing anything he deemed incorrect or foolish had a chance of ending in outbursts consisting of thrown objects and verbal lashings.

 Like today, the fading memory of his livid voice to a colleague close to her own station easily told her that something didn’t go as planned. That something failed. Failure wasn’t something he took lightly, and this failure ended in her being an indirect victim of his, dare she say, tantrum. 

 Rumors came to mind of those he deemed stupid being turned into test subjects themselves, thoughts of him ‘finding some use out of their miserable existence’ didn’t easily leave the brain. In fact, it clung to it, a reminder to not fuck up lest one could find themselves strapped to the surgical table at a moment's notice.

 A part of her wondered if she might see this rumor come to fruition with her own eyes soon, to walk in tomorrow morning with the vaguely familiar body of her coworker stripped of name and so kindly gifted a subject number. 

Even if that were so, it still wouldn’t matter, not in the long run anyway. They would soon be replaced and work would continue as normal, as it always did. Just another broken cog replaced.

Approaching the wash station, the tattered glove was quickly stripped and tossed into the closest biohazard waste bin, the other staying on as it wasn’t damaged and could still provide ample protection from the painful scrubbing she would have to endure on the other. 

Her eyebrows twitched for just a moment before relaxing once again, the stinging pain was starting to set in now, but she couldn’t bring any more attention to herself than she knew she already had. Even the slightest hint of weakness could be one's downfall in a place like this. Between the competitive nature that festered in the labs and The Doctor himself, any sign of weakness was not unlike that of prey being fed to a pack of starving wolves.

Preoccupied with getting the faucet on and preparing the correct cleanser, she failed to notice the ‘tink’ing of metal on the tile quickly approaching, following the mixed blood trail she inevitably left in her rush.

It wasn’t until a vaguely familiar gloved hand grabbed her wrist, pulling it back with such force she feared for a moment her shoulder may have been pulled from its socket, that she even noticed a presence even close to her. Looking back to the cause soon made her blood run cold, the mask of The Doctor leaning in, lips twisted in a snarl. 

“What was that?” His hand tightened into a bruising grip around her wrist, the odd mixture of red and blue staining his own bicolored gloves as he relentlessly squeezed. The gruffness of his angered voice with the gritting of his pointed teeth ever threatening, a reminder as to why she was one of the few who preferred to stay under the radar. While raising in the lab ranks came with its perks, mainly a huge pay increase, it also came with downsides. The wrath of The Doctor being the biggest.

“I…” She started, mentally kicking herself when her hesitation was noticed, as evidenced by his low growl. “ I apologize, sir.” She made sure to say it clearly, making it a point not to falter this time. “I was following lab procedure.”

“Do you take me for a fool? Or are you that dense? You know that’s not wh-!”

A reverberating slam of metal on concrete echoed through the large lab, the light from the hallway invading the natural darkness of the area. The intrusion silenced even The Doctor from his tirade, though the clenching of his teeth indicated the interruption made his mood drop even lower. 

In the middle of the large double doorway stood The Knave, her monochrome coloring stood out like a ghost, her red ‘X’d eyes landing on The Doctor before her face twisted into a sneer.

“What is it?” The Doctor called over his shoulder, annoyance dripping like venom from his voice alone. “Can’t you see that I’m busy?”

“The meeting has been called to order,” She stated, brows furrowed. “Yet you are still here dilly-dallying like a child refusing to leave the playground. ”

“Her Majesty-” He started before being abruptly cut off by the 4th-ranked Harbinger.

“-will not tolerate another absence, Doctor.” Then she was gone as quickly as she arrived, the clinking of her dangerously pointed heels down the hallway the only indication that the Harbinger was even there to begin with.  

“Tsk.” He threw her wrist down as if even touching her was a taint to his person. Shifting his heels, he turned to the door before glancing back over his shoulder. “I’ll deal with you later. Both of you.” He finished before he, too, disappeared down the hallway.

[forwhump]

Worry

a/n; im posting again im so sorry !!!!!!!!! lmfao somebody stop me

tw/cw: self harm, mentions of grievous bodily harm, traumatic brain injuries, medical torture

human weapon whumpee

With a snarl, Silas crushes the pen in his hand into sharp bits of plastic shrapnel that bite right through his palm.

He makes to throw the wreckage at the wall, but Wren is quick to catch him by the fist. He uncurls his fingers to carefully pick the chunks of plastic out of his shredded palm. He places them onto a bloody cloth he has spread across his bed beside him, keeping collected the other bloody pieces of plastic from the other pens Silas has so far destroyed.

He just can’t fuckin’ do it.

Wren gently wipes down his palm with a damp washcloth and isopropyl alcohol, whatever the hell that is. It stings, but a stinging pain is one of the more preferable kinds. He prefers a stinging pain to this whole thing, in fact. “It’s okay,” Wren tells him softly.

It isn’t.

“I can’t fuckin’ do it,” Silas snaps. His hand shakes in Wren’s. His hands are always shaking, and nothing helps, nothing stops it. Tremors, the unit’s doctor, Medic, had called them. A lingering effect from a traumatic brain injury that he might never recover from.

“You’re learning,” Wren reminds him softly. “It’s okay.”

It’s pathetic.

Silas the machine, Silas the weapon, and he can’t even hold a fuckin’ pen. He can’t write his own fuckin’ name. He can’t fuckin’ read, even, not anymore.

“I’m too fuckin’ stupid,” he spits.

Wren looks up quickly. “Silas,” he chastises. “You are not stupid.”

Silas grunts and cracks his other palm against the side of his head. He drives the heel of his hand against the layers of bandages, against the spot where his skull had been crushed most significantly, pieces of bone picked from his brain to be puzzled back together. The pain makes him nauseous, but it distracts him, for a second, from that writhing helplessness under his skin that makes him want to rip his hair out by the handful.

“Hey!” Wren snaps at him.

Silas is going to crack his own skull again but Wren is quick. Wren’s a lot quicker than Silas. He pushes himself to his feet and catches Silas’ hand before he can do any more damage to the side of his head.

And Silas —

In the same way his hands shake, his brain now fires wrong. His temper is unrestrained, and it fires up and out of control quicker than it ever has, too quick for him to stop it. He doesn’t mean to snarl at Wren, at patient, kind Wren, who’s sitting on the floor of his room trying to teach Silas how to write his own name, but he just wants to hit his head so he doesn’t have to feel this fuckin’ stupid anymore and —

And he snarls at Wren, pulling his hand free, but Wren is just as quick to grab it again and he leans in closer to Silas, unintimidated. “Stop it,” he says.

Belatedly, Silas thinks it might be one of the things he likes best about Wren. He’s Silas’ opposite in a lot of ways, in almost every way, this silvery, holy thing to Silas’ red misted violence. He’s the smallest in the unit, the most breakable, the most helpless. And he’s never been afraid of Silas, not once.

Not when he was first dragged into the unit, scared and confused, after weeks of introductory surgeries and mutilation. He didn’t know exactly what he was, but he knew he was some kind of monster. He could see it in the way the soldiers, the surgeons had looked at him. He could see it in the distance between them, in how far below he had to look at them. He could see it in the unit, the way those people, not human, either, but super soldiers, had each flinched away from him the first time they had bared witness to his horror.

Except Wren. Wren has never been afraid of him.

Generally kind, soft spoken Wren is the only one of them that isn’t afraid to stand up to him. To raise his voice at him. To tell him no.

Silas bares his teeth and Wren raises his eyebrows. “Stop it.” He pulls his hand free again and Wren catches him quickly around the wrist. “Silas.”

“Get the fuck off me,” Silas seethes through his teeth.

Wren snorts and tips Silas’ face up by his chin. He’s taller than Silas like this. He blows air really hard into his face.

It’s so far from anything Silas was expecting to happen that he recoils, startled. “What —“ he starts, but Wren just does it again. His breath always smells like something Hal calls bubblemint, and it isn’t unpleasant but it’s absolutely weird.

Silas blinks up at him. “What?” He repeats.

Wren raises an eyebrow. “Are you done?”

“What?” Silas says. His hand still shakes in Wren’s grasp but his hands might always shake. The heat had subsided, his temper fleeing, apparently, from Wren’s cool, sweet breath.

“Hands in your lap,” he tells him.

“I —“

“Hands in your lap,” Wren repeats, releasing Silas’ wrist.

Obediently, Silas lowers his hands into his lap.

Gently, Wren angles his head, and the touch of his fingertips is featherlight as he inspects the side of Silas’ skull for any severe damage.

“I’m sorry,” Silas says finally.

“Good,” Wren agrees, which isn’t the answer Silas wanted or expected.

He frowns. His hands twitch in his lap, unrelated to the tremors. He rubs his chest with one hand, trying to quell it, and Wren says, stern, “still.”

Silas drops his hand back into his lap. “I’m sorry,” he says again.

Wren clicks his tongue. The side of Silas’ head starts to sting as he dabs at it with isopropyl alcohol.

“I’m trying, Wren,” Silas tells him softly. “I’m sorry.”

“Silas,” Wren says, almost flat. “Do you remember when your skull was crushed?”

“No,” Silas says, because he doesn’t. His skull was crushed. He doesn’t remember a lot before the incident or a long time after, as a matter of fact.

“I know,” Wren agrees. “I do.”

Silas stops. He hadn’t, for a second, considered that. Maybe he just doesn’t have the disposable brainpower for critical thinking anymore, but he hadn’t ever stopped to consider that, yeah, of course Wren would remember. He didn’t have the fortune of having that memory wiped with a brain injury. “Oh,” he says.

“Mm,” Wren agrees.

“Sorry,” he says.

Wren snorts, but his voice is kind of distant, a little less prickly when he says, “it was bad, Silas, and they told us you had died. They didn’t think they were going to be able to fix you.”

He frowns again. “I wouldn’t die, Wren,” he says, “not while you’re still here. I wouldn’t leave you.”

“No?” Wren asks, and the thorns are back in his voice. “You’re not going to try to crush your own skull in front of me because you’re frustrated?”

It chastises Silas so thoroughly that he thinks he actually might blush. It also makes him feel even more stupid, but this time he doesn’t fight it. He’s earned it. “I’m sorry,” he says softly.

“Good,” Wren says again. He gently smooths his hand across the side of Silas’ head, sealing his bandages, before he tips Silas’ face up again so he can look at him properly. “Knock it off.”

Silas turns his face to press his cheek into Wren’s palm. “I’m sorry,” he tells him softly.

Sighing softly, Wren thumbs over his cheek.

“But you don’t have to worry about me, Wren,” he continues, just as soft. “I won’t die. I’ll crawl out of the ground if I have to and I’ll find my way back here to you. I’d never leave you,” he murmurs, and he knows it’s true, he’d thought it to himself a million times, but it almost knocks the wind out of him as he says it, how much he means it.

Sometimes, at his worst, Silas doesn’t think there’s anything human left in him. He doesn’t think he’s capable of anything more than violence. He doesn’t think himself capable of feeling.

Wren makes him feel, and everything Wren makes him feel is human. It’s kind of warm, the way he feels now, head in Wren’s hand, but he also feels like he might drown it. He doesn’t think he’d mind.

“There is nothing in the world this place could do to me that would keep me from you,” Silas says, and he doesn’t think he’s ever meant anything more. “Ever. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Slowly, Wren shakes his head. “I worry about you every day.”

Silas turns his head again to kiss his palm. “You don’t need to.”

He leans down to kiss his hairline in turn. “Stop giving me reason to.”

Silas hums softly, pleased. “I’ll be good.”

Wren laughs quietly. He kisses Silas’ hair again before he pulls away, settling onto the floor across from him again, settled next to Wren’s bed. He holds another pen out to Silas, this one unbroken. “Good,” he agrees. “Then let’s try again.”

[applelzp]

small twin shaft shredder/double shaft shredder/plastic film shredder/tw...

[aloysiavirgata]

Dancing that ISNT the PMP scene. Fucking love you gorgeous. ❤️❤️❤️

3 AM finds him waking up stiff and disoriented in the vinyl chair of her hospital room, his feet propped on an upside-down plastic wastebasket. His tie is hanging from the IV pole.

Mulder tests his joints, grimaces at the left shoulder. He’d overstretched it at the pool, shredding 2000 meters in under 30 minutes. He’s been lifting more, been running until he vomits. He doesn’t know if he’s punishing his body for being fit or trying to radiate so much health she’ll absorb it.

Perhaps if it’s the second he’ll need to feed it something other than coffee, Diet Coke, and sunflower seeds. Must be the first.

He examines her narrow form in the bruised light. Scully’s breath snuffles a bit at the cannula and he scans for blood at it but sees none. Her cheekbones curve resolutely past her patrician nose, down to her full, dry lips. There is a small tin of Smith’s Rosebud Salve on the fake wood nightstand. He resists the urge to rub a layer over them. He resists the urge to kiss her beautiful, cracked mouth.

Mulder sighs a bit, runs a finger around the back of his collar. She looks warm to him, looks safe and cared for and utterly beyond his ability to be of use. But he stays anyway, like one of those dogs that sleeps at the grave of its master.

He roams past the nurse’s station, where Jane and Esther give him sympathetic looks. They aren’t supposed to let him sleep in Scully’s room, but Esther is from Yorkshire and calls him lamb and duck and love, and he’s pretty sure he could get the lithe Jane in bed if he wanted to.

He’s drowned his sorrows in lanky brunettes before though, and it never quite took. Turns out he’s a man for dainty gingers.

The radio at the nurse’s station plays “Carolina In My Mind” and he hums along softly, making a styrofoam cup of tea. His father was happy in Raleigh. He was too, as much as he was happy anywhere. He thinks he might move down when Scully goes into the ground, a truth he can only admit at 3 AM. At all other times he will save her.

“Nah then, duck,” Esther says. “Tea from the machine, yer daft ‘apeth, when I’ve a proper kettle ‘ere? ‘Ow’s thy lass?”

He shrugs, smiles vaguely. Jane smiles back. Vaguely.

Mulder presses his head to the faded green wall as his tea steeps. It’ll be terrible, but strong. That’s good enough for him.

He hears a soft shuffling and looks up.

Scully in her spotless white robe and soft slippers, Scully like a Willow Ptarmigan approaching winter. The skin around her eyes is the delicate color of sublimated iodine.

“Scully,” he says, at a loss. She is beautiful in the way of alabaster vases, of all things that can shatter.

She yawns, lips shiny with the salve. Her hands are very thin when she covers her mouth. “Wonderful Tonight” begins on the radio now.

Esther smiles, looks away. Jane checks her watch and walks down the opposite corridor.

“Tea?” Scully says. “That’s more my brand. Why are you still here?”

He gulps the bitter brew. Winces. “I fell asleep,” he says, which is an answer but no answer at all.

“Mmm,” Scully says. She prepares herself some tea as well. Her white hands on the cup, her lower lip snagged between her teeth.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” Mulder says.

“You didn’t. I just woke up. I do that a lot. My circadian rhythm…”

They don’t talk about her suprachiasmatic nucleus of the hypothalamus deep within her brain. Of what it might mean if it’s off kilter.

“I was noisy,” Mulder lies, looking at her nose again. He moves like a cat in her room. Like a thief in the night. “Banged into the bed.”

Scully smiles serenely. “It’s all right.”

Jane stalking the perimeter, Jane frowning at her clipboard.

The moon out the window like a scythe in the dark.

He loves her, does she know? Does he know what he would do to save her and how he’d do it and that he’d swim through blood and blood and blood for her, 2000 meters and back again in a heartbeat?

Scully puts her tea down, Scully looks at him with her late summer eyes in this month of her birth. Scully is dying.

On the radio, The Beatles begin “Let It Be,” and what the fuck, he draws her in, her tousled hair and fluffy robe and her rattan ribs.

“Mulder,” she says, peering up. She clutches his left hand with the pale garden spider of her right.

He twirls her beneath the fluorescent lights. He kisses her her forehead because if he kisses her mouth like he wants to she will die.

Jane does another lap and Esther pretends to read a chart and Scully murmurs along with Paul McCartney.

Mulder watches the flat light bounce off her hair, watches her sway, watches her smile for a moment. She tucks her head against his chest as the song ends, doesn’t withdraw.

“Angel Is A Centerfold” begins, which is hardly the mood he wanted, but they both laugh and the scythe of a moon fades away as they sing Na-na, na-na-na-na, Na-na-na, na-na-na-na in something like harmony.

He doesn’t know what song is next, but he holds her through it and the next one and a few more and Esther and Jane are replaced and the sun begins to burn the blackness away and Scully is warm and awake and alive in his arms for at least another day.

[captainjacklyn]

Hey, yo, you probably saw me on one of your posts. I was wondering if you could do the arcana twilight characters reacting to reader training Precious to destroy sisuris's balls l, I'm so sorry for this post, but I had to. You could skip if you want to. Also, sorry for misspelling sisuris name.

HAHAHAHAGHDJWEH- no worries my friend, there is absolutely no harm done on your part, I'm glad you enjoy that crack shit post and I hope you enjoy reading this one as much as I enjoyed writing it.

character(s) : spica, alpheratz, arcturus, pollux, vega

warning(s) : someone's balls being obliterated, a feral ferret and a vengeful summoner that just wants to see blood.

Spica

Speechless and just straight up lost, man is just looking at us for a good minute before continuing to walk down the aisle like nothing happened.

for reference his face looked like this :

He says nothing, he's just confused and tells himself that he needs coffee thinking he's hallucinating due to all the work he has to do.

don't even bother explaining, Spica will pass out and Precious is going to take that opportunity to destroy.

"Wrong target Precious I'm not letting you hurt rapunzel."

"AHDJEREJHR !"

Alpheratz

Hype man right here, he's literally helping you coach that killing machine to end Sirius.

Precious actually stops trying to rip his wig off and is now accepting him as a friend, sort of.

I love this trio ! A batshit crazy animal, their batshit insane owner and the owner's boyfriend who hates the same person they hate.

Once precious is released into the city to found that sexy gun man, it's over for him.

It crawls it's way through the streets, hissing at anything in it's way until it finds the legs of the enemy..and CRUNCH GOES THE BALLS OF THE ASSHOLE-

*screams in agony*

Arcturus

[Name] I don't think you have to- "HAJSKFBEFUEKR-"

Precious held on to his leg for a week, it didn't wanna let go for even a minute. Had to constantly keep this ginger man in a hospital because the moment he got out he would bleed extensively.

Once it got off of him, you just continued to train your unhinged creature.

Precious is really going balls out for the game I'll tell ya that, we're not just speaking about the nutcracker here we're talking about the sacrifice of future generations as well.

This poor dude is just standing on the sidelines like : you don't have to do this but I still support you because that's really all I can do...

Pollux

Oh he means business.

We got another coach right here- bro is going to ANNIHILATE sirius and whatever is left.

Although he keeps wincing whenever it actually happens, I mean they're both guys he knows just how painful it can get.

It's really terrifying to be honest just witnessing something that violent.

I mean who would expect this :

to act like THIS :

That's pollux trying to hold it, Precious is completely calm and rational with it's beloved owner.

Vega

._.

wut ?

like Spica, he will stand there, but not like Spica, he will remain standing there for a very long time.

Even Precious stops bitting the plastic toy that now looks like it's been shredded, even you stop encouraging your cute psychopath of a beast.

why are you giving it more attention ? HIIIIIISSSSSSSS-

He doesn't give a shit, we all know just how much of a simp he gets when it comes to you.

I love how I skipped the part where Precious tried to lunge at him and remove his eyeballs from his eye sockets.

You luckily managed to avoid that, but now you got an animal and a touch-starved white boy clinging onto you for dear life.

Vega I need to proceed with my ferret's training so could you please ? no. ...You're lucky you're just as adorable as my electric saw. BFUKETGEHTK$#$ PRECIOUS STOP SWEARING-

Have a good day I hope you liked it.

[yizhou-time]

JISUNG’S BROKEN MELODY: ONE LAST TIME

NCT DREAM’S BROKEN MELODIES

Jisung stood there in the phone box, the cracked roof barely did anything to save him from the rain leaving his jeans and cotton shirt stuck to his body. He hated the feeling of it against him but there were bigger things than cringing at the feeling of wet fabric and heavy jeans.

His hand rummaged around his front pockets for anymore spare change, the phone box standing over him in such an intimidating way it made him look almost pathetic. He was. He was pathetic. He willingly stormed out (embarrassingly, without his belongings) and now he was here ready to beg for you back.

The boy checked his other pocket and pulled out a few coins. The dim light from the broken street lamp made it hard to see which coins they were no matter now many times he flattened them out on his hand and hunched over to check the other side. He doubt he even had the right amount but he pushed them in the machine regardless.

As soon as the machine made sound he began pushing in your number as fast as he could, still slow enough to make sure that it was the correct number. He didn’t need to think much as he knew your number off by heart. He usually called it everyday just not in these circumstances.

When the phone started ringing he snatched the phone off the holder and placed it to his ear before he leaned against the plastic wall next to him, tapping his foot. He wasn’t sure what was making him feel like he was suffocating right now, it was either the fact he went out of his way to say things to hurt you or the small size of the plastic phone box. Right now he was going to put it down to the size of the space he was in but he knew it wasn’t because he never had an issue with small spaces before. Maybe it’s because you were in them with him, hiding from the members any time you guys kissed like teenagers hiding from their parents.

The rings were taunting him, teasing him. Would you pick up? Would you not? Considering the time you probably wouldn’t but you’ve never ignored a call from him before. Ever. The time never mattered for you because you were happy just talking to him.

God, what was wrong with him? The tapping of his foot increased as did his breathing. You always picked up the phone so why weren’t you now, he continued to ponder until the ringing stopped.

He quickly stands up straight, “Honey, I’m-”

“Please leave your message af-” Jisung slams the phone back on the holder and sighs before going through his change again. He makes sure he has enough this time for another call in case you don’t pick up again.

Carefully he pushes his money in the slot, calms his breathing and dials your number. The taunting ringing begins again as does the tapping of his foot.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.

“I can’t do us anymore.” It’s out there now.

Jisung’s brows frown as he prepares a response. “Sweetheart, we can fix it. I can fix it. I know I can, I’m just stressed you know that.”

On the other end of the phone you look disgusting. Hair a mess, tears down your face, lips quivering, Jisung’s shirt hanging over your body feeling so foreign. The smell faded, the warmth gone. Your sniffles tell him everything he needs to know. Your hands are shaking, you’re holding back a heart wrenching sob, you want him to comfort you and you both know he can’t do that for you.

“This distance is unbearable,” You sob and Jisung’s heart sinks. “You’re right in front of me but never there. I don’t know what’s going on with you but I can’t do us anymore and it’s not my fault. None of this is my fault!”

Jisung quickly responds, “I know honey, none of this is your fault, it’s all mine.” You know he can’t see but you shake your head.

“You were horrible to me Jisung. You ripped my heart out of my chest and shred it right in front of me! How could you?” You respond angrily.

“No! No! It’s not like that and you know that! I love you.” He says emphasising every word.

He hears your breathing quieten and realises your phone is now away from your ear. “No! Just let me explain, please. Please…”

A moment of silence passes and Jisung is almost convinced you’ve put the phone down, he looks down to check the change in his in case he does need to call again.

“Please don’t, Ji.” You sob once more and Jisung’s body begins to hurt, the pain in his heart spreads around his body. “It’s 2:09am, you’re supposed to be in bed next to me, but you’re not. Where are you, Ji?” Your voice cracks at the end of the question and he feels tears well up in his eyes, he quickly wiped them away before they can fall. “You left me alone… again.”

At this point you can barely speak and Jisung doesn’t know what to do with himself. His grip on the phone tightens until his knuckles turn white.

“I love you, you know that.”

“No, I don’t.”

All the tension in his body released and he looked up. What do you mean? You know he loves you, he tells you all the time.

“Just because you say it doesn’t mean I feel it.” You shake your head, you know he can’t see you but he knows what you’re doing.

The call falls silent once again and Jisung hears a warning on his end of the phone that the call will run out soon. He rushes to place another coin in, earning him another 3 minutes to talk to you.

“I love you. I. Love. You.” He opens firmly. “I love the way you wake me up in the morning and I love the way you go to bed with me. I love how excited you get when we have plans to go to and I love how happy you are to lay with me after a long day. I-” He cuts himself off to sniffle and take a deep breathe, not wanting to cry. “I love the way you understand me, and I’m so sorry I said you didn’t. I love the way you always want to make sure I’m alright, and I’m sorry I called you names because of that.”

He takes another deep breath and you take this as your chance to speak. “Saying ‘I love you’ won’t fix it…”

“I’m not done!” Tears are falling now and there’s nothing he can do about it. “I love your smile. I love your smell. I love that when you eat a food you like your nose scrunches and you immediately start giving it to other people. I love when you’re excited and you do those little feet taps.” As he think about it he laughs, his heart warming for a moment. “I love you and nothing can change that.”

Jisung waits for a response but is once again met with sobbing. “Y/N, I’ll come home and we-”

You respond with a sound of disagreement. “I can’t do us anymore. I need a break. You pull me in with such lovely things and then push me away when it’s convenient for you and that’s not fair.” To Jisung you sounded like a child right now, you think he thinks you’re pitiful but that’s far from the truth because right now all he wants to do is hold you and tell you how sorry he really is.

“A relationship, our relationship, is supposed to be give and take but all I do is give and all you do is take. What about me? What do I get for loving you so deeply?” You question and the line falls silent, Jisung still there but unable to say anything.

Once again he places another coin in the machine. “I’m sorry I hurt you but please, please don’t go.” He was aware of how pathetic he sounded right now, like a child that couldn’t get their way. As more tears fell he continued to beg.

It was almost painful to hear. All you wanted to do was have him here with you, you would place a kiss on his cheek before putting your chin on top of his head. You would stroke his back and sway side to side until he had calmed down. But you can’t, he walked away. You were always there and every single time he walked away with no explanation as to why.

“It’s like you said Ji, I’m not an idol, I don’t know how it is. I’m just a burden who has nothing left to do in life. I’ll never understand you. You walked away and I’ll never understand why.” He doesn’t reply so you continue. “You said those things to me, Ji.” You whisper, unsure if the line even picked it up.

“But I can fix it, please just give me time!”

“Why?! So you can walk back in, hurt me a bit more and leave again?! I can’t do this anymore Jisung!” You’ve never shouted at Jisung like that. It was horrifying.

Oh. That stung. Jisung? Not Ji or honey or bean or sweetheart? Oh.

You quickly wiped your tears. “I will get Jaemin or Jeno or anyone to pick you up and you can stay with them but right now I can’t deal with you.” You told him firmly.

He shook his head. “Please, I can fix it. I promise. Just tell me what to do. Please.” His grip on the phone once again tightened.

Upon realising his stance won’t change you decide to take a different approach. “Jisung.” You say looking down at your promise ring, coincidentally he does the same. “You’ve made me lots of promises before, and you have fulfilled one of them.” You try to sound strong but you end up whispering, a whimper follows, remember the pain of the broken promises.

“One last chance, please. If I break another promise you can leave but not now, please.” He looked down at his change as the call time warning came through again.

“We can talk when we’re both rational. I promise, when have I ever not gone through with a promise.” You spoke softly. The ring on your finger made you feel sick, how could you let it get this far.

The tension in Jisung’s body rose and his senses heightened. “Don’t you dare lie to me. Just stop lying! I love you and all I ever want is to be with you, please, you know that!”

Another warning came through. “I want to go home, Y/N…”

“I’ll call Jeno or Jaemin to take you home.” You try to soothe him, your own tears falling and sobs going silent.

“Where?”

“The dorm.”

“But you’re my home… your warmth every time you hug me, your smell that’s so fresh, your eyes that look at me so lovingly. That’s home.”

“Well, you need to make me feel the same way. Right now I feel like I’m just another person to you, you don’t make me feel special or like you want to be with me forever. You make me feel like you can throw me aside as there are so many people out there that want you which is so hypocritical because you have spent nights comforting me when I thought you would. And then you did!”

Jisung froze. You were right. This whole time, sometimes he said you were right to stop you crying (that way his heart hurt less, and you knew that), he was wrong. He shouldn’t have listened to that stupid voice in the back of his head.

It told him you didn’t understand, you didn’t know him, that you were with him because he was an idol (the exact idol you spent years crushing on and met by chance later on in life). That voice told him that because it didn’t work out for Mark and Hana that he should push you away before you leave him the way Hana left Mark. He was sick.

“I love you and...” So, you still loved him. It wasn’t the same as before which is entirely his fault but you loved him, right? “I think it’s best if we stayed apart for a while.”

He started to panic, “Wait, Y/N, pl-”

Thank you for using our services at this time.

He looked back down at his hand, this time no change was present. Not a single penny.

“Fuck!” He shouts as he throws the phone down, it hits the wall and phone box before swaying. Pushing the plastic door open and slamming behind him, the slam startling any wildlife in the area, he lets out a sound of frustration.

What is he supposed to do? He doesn’t know how long you want to be apart. He doesn’t know how to live without you. He can barely go a day without wanting as little as a text from you.

Jisung hunches over, placing his hands on his knees as he cries as a car pulls up. He hears two doors shut and footsteps, activating his fight or flight.

He feels a hand on his shoulder and quickly pushes it off, standing up straight. Jeno and Haechan staring back at him. “Hey, hey. It’s just us.” Haechan states, moving back in to place his arm over his shoulder and usher him to the car.

“Get off me!” He shouts and them, pushing Haechan back and making Jeno take a step back. “What do I do?” He lifts his hands to his face, trying to wipe any tears.

Jeno wraps his hand around his wrist, pulling one hand away from his face. “Come on,” he says warmly “before anyone sees you.” Jisung rips his hand out of his grip and takes as few steps away from the pair, who are stunned.

“Y/N doesn’t want to see me, what do I do?” He begs them both for an answer but is met with silence.

They both leave him to cry and shout for a few moments longer, realising he needs that more than comfort. Even if they were to comfort him he’d only cry about how he wasn’t in your arms but theirs instead.

His sobs were heart wrenching but, as much as they didn’t want to say it, he had brought this upon himself. He chose to push you away, he chose to make false promises, he chose to walk out instead of talking to you your house, he chose to say those horrific things about you.

“If it helps,” Haechan interjects and Jeno fulls a face at him to tell him to stop “Y/N sent us here after the first call when they didn’t pick up.” He says awkwardly to Jisung. “They said that you would call and we’ve been looking for you since.” Jisung turns back to face them, his sobs quietening down.

Jeno adds on, “Chenle is there now. Getting your things. He text say that he wasn’t allowed to take some of your shirts.” He laughs and Jisung smiles at the thought of you holding onto his things.

He slowly walks to the older boys. “There won’t be a chance of reconciliation if you stay here.” Haechan says as he lists his hand up to wipe some of Jisung’s tears, they don’t stop falling but he doesn’t stop wiping them in hopes of giving him some sort of comfort.

The three get in the car and go to their dorm, the street light still flickering as the phone sways side to side after Jisung’s outburst. A new crack had be placed in the plastic structure from where the phone hit it when he let go, representative of the crack in his heart. A crack he placed there himself.

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could you link to that post where you talked about/talk more about credit card fraud? if you even remember what i'm talking about? i love reading about that kinda stuff

sometimes, if you're lucky, or unlucky, there are unauthorized duplicates of your credit card made during the production process. maybe the wrong color tipping was loaded into the embossing machine, or maybe the mailer was loaded into the printer upside down so your address printed illegibly over a patch of preprinted background color. and when this happens, the embossing machine operator has to take the duplicate cards to the locked gate of the the high security area inside the high security area (the vault) in order to get it voided out, where they lock the duplicates in a cage, until they're ready to take a large batch of them to the high security area inside the high security area inside the high security area (the shred room). and sometimes, in the middle of the night, you can hear it rumbling all across the factory floor because the shred machine is really loud and kind of broken and they're shoving literally thousands of unauthorized but fully functional duplicates of real people's credit cards into it

this really brings the fiction of the whole thing into relief: a credit card is a piece of plastic that has numbers encoded onto the magstrip and the emv chip that link to a bank account without arousing suspicion at the point of sale, much in the same way that a forged coin that fools experts must be real. we're always talking about the best way to pull off a heist at the factory, but i'm always saying you should go big and try to get out with one of the embossing machines and a pallet of gift card blanks