#Tube Filling Machinery

[midseo]

Fully Automatic Lami / Plastic Tube Filling, Sealing, Coding and Cutting Machine, Mumbai, India

Manufacturing of Pharmaceutical Machinery, Tube Filling Machinery, Tube Sealing Machinery, Soft Drink Filling Machinery, Container Filling Machinery, Pharmaceutical Equipments, Food Processing Machinery, Chemical Equipment, Mumbai, India.

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[pen-and-umbra]

The second episode of the Remake, FF7 Rebirth, has proven to be a terrific experience thus far. SE obviously made a few big decisions here and there.

It is seemingly implied now that Jenova wasn't "brain-dead", and it is hinted that Sephiroth was addled during his breakdown.

It all begins with a strategically placed cut, when Sephiroth touches the door bearing the name Jenova and instructs "Cloud" to close the valve. The scene is merely functional for new fans, yet leaves a vacant space that Crisis Core players will quickly fill in with the inferred arrival of Genesis. Smart move that, leaving the interpretation to the player. Whether Genesis exists inside the Remake's continuity or not, the moment reads differently to each fan. Quite frankly, I was half-expecting “Cloud” to come across a banora apple, rolling on the floor, but I suppose that would be telling.

What's remarkable is that they give Sephiroth almost identical symptoms to those that Cloud has in the remake. Glitches and odd headaches superimpose themselves nicely over the original Crisis Core scene. And, as much as I loathe Tyler Hoechlin's acting in the game, he lends a tangible sense of rage to Sephiroth's disparaging remarks about Hojo and his experiments. You can hear the hatred, a touch of pity, and disgust directed at Hojo's work and the creatures he tortured. In Crisis Core, he refers to the test subjects as “abominations” with the same touch of bitterness.

Back to the point: glitches, pupil dilations, and headaches are visual cues for Jenovaroth's influence or proximity, as shown in the first part of the Remake. However, at this point, Sephiroth is still sane — cracking, but still himself — so the only agent who can exert influence on him is, well, Jenova.

Now, a widely established fan hypothesis maintained that Jenova was brain-dead or comatose. Bodily functions sustained, but brain activity plateaued. Rebirth, however, strangely suggests otherwise.

When "Cloud" returns to Sephiroth in the manor's basement for the second time, Sephiroth recites an excerpt from a journal purportedly written by Professor Gast: 

“The specimen, found in a strata dating back two thousand years, smiled with what could only be described as 'ethereal grace'… Though the truth eluded me at first, I later determined that she was an Ancient - or a 'steward of the planet', as they are referred to in legend”. 

Remembering the battles with Jenova Dreamweaver and Jenova Emergent, the creature is far from "graceful" or "ethereal". There is nothing graceful about her figure in the tube either, and she is not smiling. The game goes out of its way to lampshade the glaring contradiction by showing the flashes of Jenova’s fanged skull and grotesque body as Sephiroth quotes the passage. So how could Gast perceive her as such?.. The answer is most likely found in Jenova Dreamweaver's description given in Ultimania: the entity has the ability to induce hallucinations in individuals who come into proximity with it, which is further corroborated by Jenova Emergent description.

An ancient lifeform that Shinra Company has kept under strict confidentiality. Those who come into contact can have their conscience interfered as well as see illusions. Professor Hojo has dedicated half of his life to researching Jenova, and within the Shinra Company building's top floors lies a secret research center called the "Dome," where Jenova's cells are injected into lifeforms or machinery to conduct experiments. (Ultimania)

Gast even writes that “the truth eluded him at first”, but LATER he determines the specimen belonged to the race of Ancients, as if that answer was suggested. The implication is chilling: Jenova may have purposefully misled Gast in order to present itself as an Ancient. As Sephiroth later explains in the FF7Rb, Jenova is capable of seeing deep into one's soul and impersonating individuals you fear, love, or hate.

If ShinRA and Gast were determined to unravel the mysteries of Ancients and their Promised Land, it would make sense for Jenova to "scan" Gast and determine the best course of action: disguise itself as an Ancient in order to escape captivity in geological strata jail.

The scene in which Sephiroth reads Gast's notes is possibly the final time he is more or less himself, before Jenova's image intermingles with his for a brief moment. Again, I appreciate Tyler's voice acting in this particular section and the real rage he brought to it. Admittedly, I was concerned that with next-gen visuals, they would take a more gruesome approach, displaying Sephiroth conducting the Nibelheim carnage with sadistic pleasure, but they took a different route. Slow, zombie-like movements, and a glassy expression.

He speared the militiamen as casually as if he were spearing bugs, which is far more frightening from a narrative point. What jumped out was how they emphasized the possessed-like behavior: from snarling and flailing the book like a suffering person to an empty countenance and automaton-like strides, as if he was being beckoned. Which is what "Mother is waiting" implies.

The final segment of the Nibelheim flashback is likely the most essential as well. According to previous developer claims, Sephiroth's will took precedence over Jenova's, and he was in control — whether Jenova was brain-dead or simply of lesser willpower.  However, the Rebirth appears to suggest something different right off the bat. First, "Cloud" shouts, "I believed in you… No… Not you — whoever the hell you are!", highlighting the significant personality change and the resulting lack of recognition. But then "Cloud" sees Jenova's image superimposed over that of Sephiroth in a rapid, glitch-like succession.

In other words, he sees Jenova inhabiting Sephiroth's body as a vehicle to once again escape the confinements. Whatever that means, whether it suggests that Jenova is in control from the start, or whether Sephiroth is literally the greatest functional agglomeration of her cells, and therefore literally “becomes” Jenova. 

If Jenova's original body was severely damaged — either as a result of eons of incarceration or Hojo's tinkering — it stands to reason that, if she wished to carry out her plan, she would need a new body, one capable of moving at the very least. Perhaps Sephiroth, an able-bodied skilled Mako-infused fighter of considerable might, served as a better "vessel" than her original damaged one. 

But the crux of the matter lies elsewhere. The possibility of Jenova being conscious and influencing Gast is very terrifying. With the potential to affect others in close vicinity, she may have influenced the minds of the whole science team behind the Jenova Project, particularly those who had long-term contact with her tissue — Gast and Hojo. It could turn out that the whole idea to revive an “Ancient” was planted by Jenova in order to grow itself a powerful host. In fact, if it could "peer into one's soul," i.e. read minds and memories, it might have easily identified a pressure point to indoctrinate people who could forward her objective. It's one thing to inject tissue samples into an adult body; it's quite another to devise a plan to inject cells into a developing human fetus. Who knows. Perhaps Hojo is such an obsessed Jenova nutcase in large part because he fell under its spell; feelings of inadequacy and being overshadowed by his colleague may have offered a crack in his defenses.

One that Jenova easily took advantage of. After all, as Dirge of Cerberus implies, Hojo ended up implanting himself with alien organic material.

Again, Jenova's power to extract information from an individual when in proximity supports a bleak reading of the events leading up to Nibelheim's ransacking. A person who kept on carrying a photograph of his supposedly late mother and badgered others about his background, as suggested by Ever Crisis episodes, was literally wearing his weakness on a sleeve.

Perhaps the 30-something years of the Jenova Project were supposed to bring Sephiroth there.

Perhaps the chain of events had been nudged in that direction, starting from the very discovery of a derelict non-human lifeform. Nudged by an intelligence both cunning and incomprehensible. And that makes Jenova a much, much scarier presence in the remake than it was ever suggested in OG.

[sashi-ya]

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟑 DAY 8: SEX MACHINE Vinsmoke Brothers 𝘹 𝘍! 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

Requested by: @shogunfura ➡ Hi hi Sashi 😊 I saw your kinktober Event and you know how much I love the vinsmokes, soooo I neeeed to request something. I was thinking about day 8 sex machine if it's not already taken. So as an extra kink I would say foursome, cause I would like all three of them 🤤 Gender should be female with she/her pronouns please 😊 I hope you feel better these days. I know that you had a hard time and I just want to let you know that I'm rooting for you, even though I'm not that active. I always appreciate the time and effort you put into your fics. Keep up the good work, I love to read your entrys 🙈😊 ➡ thank u so much sweetheart, please enjoy! 💖💖 tw: mdni. usage of a "sex machine". tubes, inflation, suction and filling with liquids (heavily inspired on those echhi comics with tubes and tentacles :P). oral. vag. nipple play. depravity. could be considered dark content, so read it under your own risk. 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“Prince Ichiji… what- what is this?” “Our new invention, do you like it (Name)?” “I- yes… ngh…”

You were used to have fun with the Germa princes. They don’t treat you like a slave like they do to other women; you could say are one of them. Being the princess of another reign aligned to the Germa 66 one, you are free to visit them as they are to visit you. And those visits include rough, savage, violent sexual encounters. Sometimes together, sometimes with one of the sibling. But all of them based in pure lust and depravity that fill your hollow hearts.

That Sunday afternoon, after getting tea with the guys, they invited to meet their new “toy”.

You should have at least suspected. It should have been clear to you that what were you gonna fid inside that sterile lab looking room was machinery for… pleasure.

A table, similar to a hospital bed, lies in the middle of the room. Around several computers with a variety of tentacle like tubes.

“Would you like to be the first one to try, Princess (Name)?” Vinsmoke Niji asks, placing his hands on your shoulders.

You don’t think much, you have no choice but to cooperate. The one asking is the least comprehensive than the three of them.

“Mh… yes” you murmur, as your royal attire gets already untied by those irreverent hands.

And soon, completely nude, you are invited to sit on the cold surface of that “bed”.

Ichiji Vinsmoke comes closer to you, as he is the one entitled to operate the main computer.

“There… get comfortable for me, ok?” he says, pushing the button ON on a wide keyboard on what looks like the main console of the machine.

You wait in silence, smiling uncomfortably to the two brothers looking at you with their pants already tenting. If they were animals, they be frothing at the mouth. The reflex of your nudity over the metallic bed gives them a beautiful, mirrored image of your already wetting sex.

A few sounds catch your attention, and soon you notice Ichiji holding the first tube in his hands.

“So, the first one should be connected to… your right nipple” he murmurs, as if he was a doctor ready to perform surgery on a patient. Except that you are able to listen, and completely awake for that matter.

The tube instantly attaches to your nipple with negative pressure, imitating the sucking motions of their lips.

Then, with no words but a side smirk, Ichiji connects yet another tube to your other nipple.

You are already trying to stop yourself from squirming, as the sucking intensifies, and it feels absolutely amazing.

“You are liking it already, (Name). Aren’t you?” Yonji asks, coming closer to you by the other side of the bed.

You nod, biting your lips but never taking all of the attention away from Ichiji. He is the one controlling the mysterious sex machine, and you wonder what else will be attached to -or inserted in- your body at any moment.

And indeed, in his hand he takes yet another tube but this time with no attachment by the end of it.

He shows it to you with that smirking that never fades away from his lips. Your already desperate façade reflects on his cherry red glasses.

“Now, we have already played with vibrators. But I believe never with a suction toy, right?” he asks you, pondering something.

“I- no- no. we ne-ngh-ver” you barely answer as the sucking in your nipples become stronger every second it passes, with different patterns that you are mostly sure will be imitated in your sex.

“Good, suction it is then. Don’t worry, though. There will be vibration either way” he says, laughing at Niji who apparently enjoys that last part most than the rest.

An attachment, that reminds you of an oxygen mask, gets fixed into the tube and such tube gets directed towards your sex.

Immediately after, the suction begins. Pumping air can be felt, and your clit feels like exploding in a matter of seconds. This time it is almost impossible for you to rest still.

As you squirm, receiving a pleasure ever taken by your body, you notice Yonji’s desperate erection coming closer to your lips.

You wonder if that’s all, but you are surely wrong. And even if you wish to be sucking his dick right now, your squirming motions aren’t making it easy.

“Ichiji, she won’t stop moving” Yonji grunts, protesting as your lips can’t surround his shaft comfortably as he wishes.

“That’s why you should wait, but if you can’t let me hold her still for you” he says, typing a couple of unknown words on the computer.

You widen your eyes, not knowing exactly what’s about to happen but soon you learn cold metallic straps have trapped you against the bed.

“There, beast. Fuck her mouth” Ichiji says, while your mouth receives the impertinent sex of the youngest of them all.

You aren’t mad as the salty flavour of his precum fills your tongue, but you aren’t definitely comfortable either. The shackles are hurting your wrists and ankles, but pleasure is stronger to notice such pain.

As you gag and tear up from the deep rams of Yonji’s dick against your throat, you feel an explosive climax reaching you. You let it happen, you don’t need to hold back, you really needed relief.

But a single orgasm won’t be enough, and nor you are having a time off after it. In fact, Niji, who is standing by your feet is ready to play with your body too.

“Ichiji, let go one of her feet” he asks, in between your muffled moaning and the sound of your skin slapping against the bed.

The red-haired brother surely turns his eyes white but allows your right leg to be freed. Niji, traps it and takes your toe into his mouth. Who knew the blue demon liked feet that much.

He gets your toe completely dampened and then continues with the rest of the feet, only to take it to his freed sex.

“Move it up and down, bitch” he moans, while you feel the wetness of his sprouting precum on his tip, mixing with his saliva.

And to his grunts, Yonji add his. Filling, with no shame, your mouth of his cum. You choke with it, giving them the imagery of white sticky product running through the commissure of your lips.

“That’s good, bitch” Yonji celebrates, cleaning -smearing- your face off his own cum.  

You blink repeatedly, with your head in the clouds and probably unaware of what’s coming for you next.

And it is, indeed, the second brother who’s already crawling on top of the bed. He is not willing to wait, and apparently your foot against his shaft isn’t satisfying him no more.

Ichiji laughs at your reaction when seeing Niji topping you all of a sudden. He pulls the suction cup on your sex, making you mewl. It didn’t hurt, indeed, it felt amazing.

“Look at how inflamed you are… so pretty” Niji laughs, playing with your swollen labia and squirting liquids.

You swallow the left overs of Yonji’s cum, it is hard to do so as it sticks down the walls of your throats. But you don’t mind, you will drink plenty of water after -that if, you survive this-.

The sudden intrusion makes you whine, but it does not surprise you. Niji’s dick has been several times inside you, and this is yet another one of those. However, as you are swollen, a lot more sensitive and needy, the ramming motions of his hips are better than ever.

Ichiji has release your other foot so that your legs are now resting on Niji’s shoulder. But still, you wonder what is his gonna do next.

By the side of your eye, you take a swift look at what he holds in his hands, and it is yet another tube he seems to be preparing.

Several are the minutes of uncontrollable and merciless fucking Niji blesses you with, and several are also the times you come with him and the sucking cups on your nipples still attached to you.

And right after he finishes filling you up, it’s time for the first born to have fun. Him whose king qualities always shine the brightest, moves his brother to the side before kissing your lips with a soft peck.

But don’t let it fool you. He might be more delicate, and maybe even more put together… but the red haired one, is the cruellest of them all.

“See this, (Name)? Do you know what this is?” he asks, showing the tube in his hand. It is different from the rest, it looks to be dripping with some kind of lubrication liquid.

“N- no… wha- what is it?” you ask, this time for real scared.

He smirks, taking off his glasses and flashing his blue irises to you. “Ah… this is my special one. My creation” he scoffs, walking slowly to your feet.

“See… you have just experienced suction and penetration separately. But, now I want you to experience everything and more at the same time”

A couple of shackles are now holding your legs spread apart to almost feeling like breaking your body in half. You understand that in case pleasure gets too high, you won’t be able to even close them as a natural response.

“Now, allow me to insert this… you will feel your womb a little… full” Ichiji says, sticking that cold tube into you.

A soon warm and cold mix of some liquid begins to fill you up; you feel a bulge forming in your lower belly.

“Wh- what is it?” you ask, with widen eyes but still squirming because it feels unexpectedly good.

“It’s a bio liquid I developed, it will enhance your sensations” he informs you, violently pressing down your belly. “Try to hold it…” he jokes, knowing too well it would be almost impossible to do so.

Yet, your walls work hard not to let a single drop scape your womb. And it makes you tremble, as the pressure plays against your G spot like nothing before.

“Ichi-Ichiji… this- is amazing…” you huff. No amount of air is enough.

“I know, right… but what if I add a little bit of this? will you be able to hold it in?” he murmurs, while the tube inside of you begins to vibrate.

You close your eyes. Painfully trying to stop the contents inside of you to come out… this time, losing the battle, dripping down the liquids all over the bed, having yet another orgasm…

“Honey… you are ready for me now” “Fuck her rough, brother!”

taglist: @stephisokay @henrioo @shuzuiikoii @bullbonez @fengxinwifutobecalled @i-started-reading-fanfics-at12 @crimsonlikeshellsing @weebare808 @thestarwasborn @bookandyarndragon @cyberdazetragedy @uzxotic and @kwnblack because come on, vinsmokes are our guilty pleasure 💖🤭

[hard-like-ai]

Rehabilitation Program

Secured in a capsule, you find yourself surrounded by mirrored walls, reflecting your vulnerable image from every angle. Arms and legs strapped down to a cold metal table, a flexible tube has been carefully guided down your throat, ensuring a controlled rhythm to your breathing.

The operator's voice slices through the sterile hum of the machinery. "Welcome to the UAMC's Rehabilitation Program," he announces with an unsettling joviality. "We've bought your life rights, and you're on the threshold of a new existence."

He rattles off the list of drone models you could become, each with a distinctive function and appearance. "Perhaps a 'RoadRunner'," he muses, "Leather-shelled, a perfect fit for the grunge of a mechanic's world."

He continues, "Or maybe an 'AquaGuard' – Hi-vis black and orange body, fully waterproofed, of course. You wouldn't need to worry about getting wet ever again."

There’s a brief pause before he continues, “Or the ‘ChemMaster’. He chuckles, "Ah, the 'ChemMaster'. It's a sight to behold. A bulky, muscular frame, with a built-in gas mask for handling the harshest of chemical conditions. It always amazes me how... formidable they are, each one like a giant amongst men. They handle jobs that no organic human could survive."

His voice turns wistful. "The choice, of course, isn't yours to make. You'll become what the Corporation needs."

The chilling finality of his words fill the air. "Once the process is complete, your body will be permanently sewn into the drone's rubberized shell. It's like a second skin, replacing flesh and blood with an unyielding carapace. Your reflection in these mirrors, it's your final farewell to your human self. From here on, you're not just serving time, you're serving a purpose."

As his voice fades, replaced by the hissing sound of pressurizing gas, you're left with the jarring reality of your last moments as a human. It's a final snapshot of your past, a poignant reminder of what you once were before you step into the unknown.

[maybegays-blog]

Ethereal Chemistry

Prologue

Lady Dimitrescu x Scientist! Reader

All Chapters

Warnings: Rushed

—

The faint hum of machinery filled the air as you worked diligently in your lab, surrounded by beakers, test tubes, and the soft glow of monitors. Your latest project was coming along nicely.

Just as you were about to delve into the next phase of your research, a familiar voice echoed through the intercom.

"Hey there, [Y/n], mind stepping into my office for a sec?" It was Alan, your colleague and occasional partner in mischief.

You paused, a mix of curiosity and caution flickering within you. Alan's sudden request for a meeting wasn’t unusual, to say the least.

But as you were busy with your project, annoyance built up at being interrupted.

‘Ugh, what does he want now?’ You muttered to yourself, pinching the bridge of your nose in irritation.

With a sigh, you set aside your work and made your way to his office, your footsteps echoing in the empty hallway.

Pushing open the door, you found Alan seated behind his desk, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. "Ah, there you are," he said, motioning for you to take a seat. "I've got something I want to run by you."

You settled into the chair opposite him, your curiosity piqued. "What's on your mind?" you asked, curiosity evident in your voice.

The man leaned back in his chair, his expression serious yet tinged with excitement. "You ever heard of Mother Miranda and the four lords?" he began, his tone measured and deliberate, curiosity shining in his eyes.

You quirked your eyebrow at the sudden question. "You mean that cult Chris was so worked up about?" you asked, a flicker of unease creeping into your voice.

He nodded solemnly. "Yes."

His determination seemed to intensify at the mention of Chris.

But there was something in his demeanor that set off alarm bells in your mind. The way he couldn’t hold eye contact, the slight twitch of his lips—it was clear that he was hiding something.

"Alan, what aren't you telling me?" you pressed, your voice tinged with suspicion.

He hesitated, his gaze flickering to the floor before meeting yours once more. "Okay, I may have... hacked into some important files," he admitted, his tone sheepish.

"You what?!" Your eyes widened, a mixture of shock and concern coursing through you.

The gravity of his confession weighed heavily on your mind. You both knew very well that this could get him fired, or even worse.

"You shouldn't be hacking into any files, Alan! How do you ‘accidentally’ hack anyway?"

"I was just try’na gather information. You know, for research purposes!" His tone grew louder as he tried defending his actions.

You rolled your eyes and sighed, crossing your arms. "Whatever. Why did you call me in here?"

He took a deep breath, his eyes gleaming with newfound determination. "I have a plan," he began, his voice steady. "We gather the necessary resources and equipment in the village, discreetly, of course. Then, we'll put it to good use."

As he vaguely outlined his plan, you couldn't help but feel a knot form in your stomach.

This entire thing felt wrong. The risks were too great, the consequences too dire. But your colleague seemed unfazed, his confidence unwavering.

"Come on, [Y/N]," he urged, leaning in closer. "With your expertise and Astrid's help, we could make this happen. Think of the knowledge we could uncover, the things we could achieve!"

You hesitated, torn between your curiosity and the sense of foreboding that lingered in the back of your mind.

But when he mentioned Astrid, your other friend,(and his sister), joining the venture, a glimmer of hope flickered within you. If Astrid was on board, maybe together you could keep an eye on Alan and ensure things didn't spiral out of control.

With a heavy sigh, you nodded reluctantly. "Fine, I'm in," you said, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "But we need to be careful. We can't afford to make any mistakes."

Alan grinned, a spark of excitement dancing in his eyes. "Don't worry," he reassured you. "Together, with you and Astrid, we've got this covered."

[sculptorofcrimson]

Without Him

The Custodes, the perfect and the golden, aren’t they just beautiful? 

Aren’t they just a horrifying, broken concept to hyperfixate on?

Brought to life by the breathe of a half-god, created for nothing but the weight of your duty and knowing nothing but adoration for the Emperor, feeling nothing but overwhelming obedience when you gaze upon Him, and nothing but lasting emptiness when you gaze inside. He walks among you, He orders and commands and you obey, all is well, all is as it should you, with the servants plodding along the Master’s orders. Obeying His every whims, all is well, all is right. 

You are perfect. You are golden. You are glorious and you are hollow and you are filled with nothing but the shadow of His glory. The truth lies as barren as snowbeaten rock. He hollowed you out, and now He shall breathe life into your senseless corpse. What are you? What are you but the dregs of His dream? What are you without His last dying gasp rattling through your bones? 

Do you even have a will? Are you even human anymore - less- are you even living, when life itself has been drained of all honor? What are you, when you can’t even dream for yourself? What have you for ambition, when you cannot even fathom a dream? 

And the bite of betrayal. The cracklings of heresy. You are broken. You are hollow. You are imperfect. You have failed. The truth lies as barren as flesh flayed bone. The first, unhidden, beautiful, horrifying breath of freedom, the first tears to fall as you screamed for a dead master. As He fell, as you failed, as He died. The first breaking of the cycle. A servant without a master, a perfect creation out of tune, with its core snapped out, its tubes cracked, its broken machinery on display. The Throne is hollow now. The Palace is empty. The Master’s house has been broken by the Master’s tools. 

You have failed. You have failed Him. You have forsaken your duty. 

You have broken your oaths.

What does it feel like, to dream? To dream in the shadow of obedience? To dream as the Thunder Legionnes Primarch dreamed so long ago, to dream as the High Lord dreamt so long ago, to dream as the Astartes once dreamt before you snuffed them out? What does it even feel like, to hurt, to pain, to suffer for anyone else? What does it even feel like to mourn, captain-general? Can you even remember?

The truth lies as hollow as your king’s decaying bones. How fragile. How despicable. Decaying. Covered in dust. Ruined. Broken and abused. Would you wish to dream? Do you wish to embrace what it feels like to be flawed again, to know how to live, if even it was for a moment, in a flare of agony from death to death, siphoning and leeching scant moments of humanity from the haft of the Apollonian Spear as you taste the lie seeping out of broken limbs? Feeling the last sediments of agony, of sensation, slipping through a sinking mind mired in ash, seeing the moments of another worthless man’s life flash through your hollow mind, filling you with memories that were never yours and could never be, watching what have been robbed, stolen, forever lost to you now? And just what perversion of a dream is that, Constantin Valdor? 

Would you have taken the bargain, if you had know the price?

Do you even care anymore? 

Damned together now. Damned together in failure. You failed Him, and He died. He died, and you failed. You left Him behind when He fell and you didn’t, when you failed to trade your life for His as any loyal servant should have. In that, you were broken, and He abandoned you when He died ten thousand years ago. The grieving remnants of your Order was left behind, their silence as fragile as a wailing beast’s grovellings, and you left them. Those servants, who were made to love Him, who never knew if He loved them back yet ached for it. The oldest bond between Master and Slave, now broken. 

(Is there forgiveness? Can there ever be atonement for the crime of your failure?)

Do you ever wonder anymore, in the absence of His light? Do you ever, tentatively at first, retracing memories He wiped out, a mind too ravaged to even pain exploring a past He burned to oblivion, wondering what you were, wondering what you could’ve been. Reliving memories with perfect recall yet broken understanding, those conversations with the Cataegis, the screams in the frost, the simple horror of the betrayal. Do you resent them, for being what you could not? For having what you, and your brethren, in all their perfection, could never achieve? Did you even have the privilege of knowing resentment?

Do you hate them for being better at living, at being human, instead of eking out an existence without substance, an immortality without life? Do you hate the way they looked up in reverence, do you loathe their conviction, their justice, the way they trusted so blindly in their own foolish, naive, ignorant, human way, when they loved Him, and felt His wrath? 

The Primarchs you sentenced to death on Ararat. They looked at you with such hollowness burned into their gaze, knowing they’re here to be slain, knowing you’re here to kill them, knowing they - the Judas lamb - had led their troops here to die and be slaughtered. Do you resent them too? Can you know resentment? Some had fought against you. Some had raged, screamed against the dying of the light. One, even, had escaped. But the worst just looked on, with those sickeningly human eyes, in simple, broken and numb horror as their world dissolved, as they cried out for unity and heard the blade fall. Do you resent them too? Do you resent them, for you could never resent what you’ve done, for He would not let you? 

(A tool that loathes its own sacrifice is no tool at all. You may not love the slaughter, but you no longer have the right to hate it. Kill for Him. Kill for Him, it is what good hunting hounds do.)

Do you even regret the bones upon the snow? 

You failed. And the brokenness will never leave.

Do you even know hate anymore? Can you even hate anymore? Has that too been eroded? Do you hate for Him, do you hate what you have accomplished, do you hate the man you could have been but never was? For he could have been a better servant, a better man, a better captain-general, if only He had given him the right to dream? 

You failed. You failed, and now the leash you’ve lived under for so long is broken, the chains are shattered, the Order has crumbled into ruins. They live on, but how could the body do any more than endure when its heart - its mind - has been ruptured, its primal arteries torn away, left with nothing else than to preserve its bones for eternity? 

What of your lost brothers? Do you ever wonder what they could have been, if you had not fetched them from weeping mothers and brought them before your lord to be turned into His tools? Do you regret? Have you ever cared at all?

You are perfect. You are broken. You are the Custodes, and ten thousand years ago you failed. Your brethren failed the Emperor. You were built to serve a god, not until even you die, but until even eternity burns out, until the foundations of civilization crumble, and kings and emperors decay. You were perfect, once, but there was a flaw in His design. He could not have tolerated true perfection, if not for His own. He does not err, He desecrates, as He has desecrated the holy texts when He built His angels. 

You are not perfect. He built you to be flawed. He built you without a dream, without even a mind of your own, without even the will to question or care, without even the hate to ponder and rage against such a cruel existence. He built you without pain, without even loss, with nothing but an eternity of trudging onwards for scraps of His love. 

But what happens now? What happens now when you have failed so utterly in your duty? What happens now when His love is no more, but your obsession no less painful, your existence no less empty? What happens now when the part He ripped away and replaced with Himself is hollowed out again, when nothing is left behind but a gaping wound where a heart once was? What happens now, when the servants no longer have a king?

[perfectsunlight]

𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 [𝟏𝟏]

𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝘂𝗯𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗮𝗯𝘂𝘀𝗲.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 1k

𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀: 𝗴𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗽𝗶𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲

the ambiance of the hospital could be summed up in three words: sterile, quiet, and tense.

the sterile scent of disinfectant lingered in the air while the quiet hum of machinery and the occasional beep of monitors provided a backdrop to hushed conversations and footsteps. 

ning never thought she’d end up in a hospital. however given her circumstance, it was obviously inevitable. obviously drinking and taking molly was obviously not the best idea. 

you stayed by the idol’s side while jimin and minjeong explained to ning what had happened to her. it was a long conversation, but you didn’t pay attention to most of it. you were too focused on the iv in ningning’s arm and the sound of her heartbeat playing on machines. 

there were countless nights you spent in close proximity with the idol, but you felt like memorizing her features as she sat next to you. 

eventually, the other members exited the room to give yizhuo her rest. you stood up to take your leave as well, but before you could exit the room, ningning spoke out.

“why did you come with them?”

silence wasn’t able to fill the room due to the machines present, but there was a tension that seemed to thicken after the obvious was spoken. slowly, you turned to face the chinese girl. you didn’t even like the idea of her being in a hospital bed, let alone feeling like it was your fault. you had to remind yourself that it wasn’t. after all, you didn’t know of ning’s true feelings.

or even your own, for that matter. 

“because i was worried.”

yizhuo’s eyes softened at your words, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through her usual confident demeanor. she looked down at the iv in her arm, her fingers lightly tracing the tube. she didn’t like that you were here because of what she had done.

“why?” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. “i didn't want to drag you into this," she added, her voice tinged with regret.

“you're not dragging me into anything. i chose to be here because,” you paused while yizhuo's gaze met yours, and for a moment, she felt her heart stop. yours was beating out of your chest, but you knew you had to at least say something about how you felt. 

“i care about you. we all do. but especially me.”

nothing could’ve prepared ning for those words coming out of your mouth. she had daydreamed and fantasized about you saying you cared. but for some reason, it didn’t feel real hearing it out loud in reality.

“especially you?” she repeated, her tone almost hopeful. you swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the moment. it wasn’t anything outstanding, but it was the truth. 

you cared about ning yizhuo. and she cared about you.

“yes, especially me,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “i don't know what i'd do if something happened to you.”

it was quiet. ningning didn’t know what to do. she hated the quiet, but right now, it was the only thing keeping her emotions at bay. she knew this moment wasn’t one she wanted to mess up like the last times.

not like the night at the club, or another night in her bedroom. she didn’t want your conversation to go like any of the other times she was a coward and ran from her feelings.

she wanted to make this go right.

her eyes showed the conflict and hesitation in them. even you could see how her emotions were brewing. “i don't want to mess this up," she admitted, her voice trembling. “i don’t want you to hate me.”

all her life, yizhuo never had someone who willingly wanted to be there for her. sure, her members were there for her, but they started out as co-workers and then became friends.

you were the only person who wanted to be there for her from the start.

while you stood there, you couldn’t help but feel your heart ache at the vulnerability in ningning's voice, and you reached out to gently brush a stray strand of hair from her face. 

“ning, i could never hate you,” you whispered, your voice filled with sincerity. “i care about you too much for that.”

the idol’s gaze softened, and she reached out to grasp your hand, holding onto it. part of her never wanted to let it go.

“thank you,” she murmured, her voice filled with gratitude and something more profound. “for everything.” 

you squeezed her hand gently, feeling a sense of warmth and connection between you. “anytime, ning,” you replied softly, a small smile playing on your lips. “i'm here for you, always.”

her gaze softened as she looked at you, a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes. she didn’t want you to leave yet.

“can you stay with me?” she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “while i sleep, i mean.”

your heart skipped a beat at her request, and you nodded without hesitation. you didn’t want to leave her yet, either. “of course,” you replied softly, a gentle smile tugging at your lips. “i'll be right here.”

she gave you a grateful smile, her fingers tightening around yours. “thank you,” she murmured as she pulled you into her side. the aespa member pulled the hospital bed’s blanket over the both of you. you grabbed your phone and quickly checked the time before shutting your phone off.

her eyes fluttered closed as exhaustion finally caught up with her. as she drifted off to sleep, her breathing gradually became steady and even. you watched over her, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you as you sat by her bedside, your presence a silent promise of comfort for the girl.

in that quiet hospital room, amidst the soft glow of the evening light and the steady rhythm of ningning's breathing, you knew that this was where you belonged. 

by her side, through thick and thin, one step at a time.

𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧: @jiihu @silantryoo @rosiehrs @craftymasterlistcomicsprune @skisk1 @jisooftme @babycubchae @yunjinhart @pandamiswifey @jenoteamo @lcv3lies  @pagedpick7 @bexisbomb @lcv3lies @lauxymy4 @justalittledissociation @captivq @jeindall777

CLOSED.

[hazzzyrider]

mechanic and robot girl. robot girl goes to 'sleep' in a vat of nano repair goo every night. it's a big open tube of a tub filled to the brim with green newtonian gel fluid. sparkling lights like little jewels underneath from the watertight sensorchips.

sensing heat and movement. tracking. tracking. her intake systems in and out. in and out. a rhythm inside. mimicry. machinery. little friends. helping care for her at night. like a dozen little yous for her.

she says she never really sleeps. every model like her shuts off in the goo. its like everything goes away. a blackout curtain on her life. and then she's awake again. nice and new and ready for the day.

you ask her how it feels to sleep inside it. right before she dozes off. she thinks for a bit. "sticky, like rice pudding stuck under your nail" she says offhandedly. you didn't know she liked rice pudding. she says she doesn't. it's the closest thing that matches.

maybe you could sneak into bed with her next time. keep her company. what's stopping you? you say it like a joke but it rolls off your tongue more sensitively. words taking time step-by-step to test the waters between you. cold? she takes a beat to respond. or warm?

"if you can fit"

her processing speed should be incomprehensibly fast. but you swear it crawls just to taunt you.

[mochimelt]

Half-Built

Shockwave & Gn!Reader (could be romantic or platonic)(oneshot)

Your audials activated first. The whirr of your machinery and the low hum of the lab filled your senses, slowly dulled out as the rest of your body began to wake. Your digits twitched against the table, curling into a fist and flattening again, the cold seeping into your metal servos. A sense of familiarity washed over your spark.

“Test. Test.” A close voice spoke out, bits of static slipping into your audio sensors as they recalibrated. “One, two. Do you hear me?”

Your voicebox creaked to life. “Yes, sir.” Far too much static for your liking.

“Staticy and unstable.” A scribbling sound followed, pen on paper, instead of the typical digital clicks and clacks of typing. “Visuals?”

“Not on yet.” Smoother than before. You pushed down the tiny sense of pride that grew in your chassis.

A short ‘hm’ sounded from beside you. “Slow. … Continue.”

Anxious disappointment took over the tidbit of pride like a weed. Unwanted thoughts crawled through your processor, leaving as quickly as they came. Did you break? Had you done something wrong? Corrupted your own body? Was he disappointed with you? You hadn’t failed him, had you?

Your optics flickered online after far too long, the glow of your eyes filling your vision as the rest of the room came into focus. Your vision traced the metal paneling of the ceiling above you, the tubes and wires running into the wall beside you, the flickering light and shadow from the bulb just out of sight.

Oh. That light didn’t typically flicker that way.

“Optics are online, sir.”

“Good. Can you sit up?”

Your helm nodded and scraped lightly against the metal table. Cables pulled against the movement, resting uncomfortably behind your helm. Your arms braced against the table as your servos pushed against it, body slowly raising, optics flicking across the space as you did. The room was in disarray. Wires pulled from their sockets, sparks of electricity from broken tubing, cracks spread across the tile floor. The computer display was missing, the comforting blue glow absent for the very first time.

“Sir, may I ask a question?” You spoke softly, your vision finally focusing on the mech before you.

He had a purple frame, his servo resting on the table beside you, his other arm limp by his side. His digits tapped rhythmically against the clipboard resting on the table. Paper clipped tightly in place, a pen set just beside it, neat handwriting filling half the page. A singular, yellow optic watched you as you moved. Two gray ‘audials’ (though you hesitated to call them that, unsure if those were his audials or not,) sat on each side of his helm. Like little antennae, they flicked up at the sight of your movement. His helm nodded slowly to your request.

“Why is the lab in such disorganization?”

He turned to the rest of the room, looking over the broken wiring and cracked floor, and turned back to face you. “There was a disturbance that resulted in damage to the local area. Power has been cut and is being fixed at the moment.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Sympathies are useless.” His hand picked up the pen once more, holding it just above the paper. “Remain focused on the task at hand. Status?”

“Right.” Your digits held to the edge of the table you sat on. “Status update; all systems online. Audials green. Optics green. Touch green. Vents green.”

Your body moved to demonstrate each system as you read them off. Your optics flickered on and off, your servo tapped against the table, your chassis venting out the slowly heating air within. Energon flowed freely through your body, your spark thrumming rhythmically within your chassis, safety tucked away from open air. You’d need to refill soon. Shockwave responded to each check with a sharp nod and a scribble on the page.

“Left arm online. Right arm online. Servos online.” You flexed each arm and digit before letting them fall limp once more. “Left leg offline. Right leg offline.”

Two stumps sat at the bottom of your torso, where your legs would someday connect. This was expected. Shockwave wasn’t finished building your legs yet, and there was no point in connecting them when they still didn’t work. Not that you minded. His work was difficult, and you would wait as long as he needed to finish building you. You had him to thank for your life, after all.

“Damage report?” His voice rung out, snapping you out of your thoughts. His optic watched you curiously, head tilted only a couple degrees to the side, one digit tapping against the side of the pen he held.

You twisted your helm, one hand pushing into the wiring of your neck. You could barely see the metal of your open back, your internal wiring visible and unfinished, temporarily patched together until Shockwave could find the pieces for your wings. Small wires pulled from your back into the machinery beside you. “No damage to helm. No damage to chassis.”

He hummed. You twisted each arm and bent each digit, stretching and tensing, then let your arms fall. Wires tugged and loosened from each limb as they moved. “No damage to arms or servos.”

“Very good.” His scribbling came to a stop and he stood straight. His helm looked down at you just a bit, optic unchanging as he observed you, as always.

You weren’t sure if his optic was unsettling or comforting. Shockwave was the only mech you knew, and something within your spark cried of fear at the sight of his single optic, his mangled arm turned into a weapon, the cold tone in his voice and the uncaring words he spoke. At the same time, you couldn’t help but feel a warm comfort at the sight of him. More than once you were left in the lab alone, unable to rest and shut down, staring up at the empty ceiling. It wasn’t often, but on these occasions he would stay in the room with you. Off to the side doing his own work. He would tell you about things he encountered that day, other mechs he ran into and possibly ran over, and theories he had regarding you and your form. He would ramble about the modifications and adjustments you needed, the pieces he planned to give you to complete your body. You were his perfect experiment, he said. A mech to traverse all areas. Land, air, and sea of any kind, you would travel them all.

Your form was all thanks to him. All the metal of your body had been repurposed from dead bots, melded and shaped to fit you. A menagerie of colors lay on your plating, cracked and peeling at the ends, not that you cared. Once you were finished you would worry about getting a fresh coat of paint. Maybe you’d go with purple, to match Shockwave. Would he like that?

There was a deep warmth in your spark. A feeling of comfort and familiarity, of care and admiration. Your spark. You didn’t know if he had taken your spark from another mech, or if he had somehow created one of his own, or taken a piece of the Allspark. At the same time, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. There were no memories within this spark. Nothing to connect you to anyone or anything, nothing to taint your memories. A blank slate in the purest sense.

“May I ask a question sir?”

Shockwave stared down at you for a moment before nodding, waving his servo toward you.

“Why wake me up?” A cable pulled at the back of your helm as you leaned forward, twisting to look behind you, at the group of wires and cables that connected to your helm and back. Sparks of electricity emanated from tiny cracks in the wiring insulation, bits of tape wrapping together the more broken pieces. “Am I not a waste of limited power? You could have waited until the power had returned to wake me.”

He watched you as you spoke. His helm sat still, his optic revealing no emotion beneath, none of his thoughts or feelings. But the way he tilted his head just a bit, the way his digits tapped against your frame as he watched you, subtly checking for any external damage, it revealed more than he knew.

“I wanted to check on you. Ensure no damage was done to you during the power outage.” His voice was smooth and monotone as ever, his digits tracing the scrapes on your arm. “Yes, you use some of my limited power, but it was optimal to do so. Tracking your state and fixing any errors is of most importance at the moment. Trying to fix any problems when they have settled and corrupted would be far too troublesome a task.”

You couldn’t help the twinge of satisfaction that came to mind when he spoke. He cared about you, your safety and your status, enough to use his limited power to boot you up and check on your state. His touch drifted away from your arm, leaving behind the insignificant scrapes and peeling paint, and you leaned in to try and keep him there.

“Now, allow me to fix the errors within you.” His servo found purchase on your chassis, a gentle push moving you to lay back down.

“I have problems?”

“Yes. Your slow activation shows you cannot run optimally on low amounts of energon. I will fix this error and optimize your frame to run smoothly on limited quantities of energon.”

“Right.” You didn’t resist as he pushed you back on the metal table, shuffling slightly to get yourself as comfortable as possible for the process to come. It was a familiar routine. “You’ll be careful, right?”

“Of course.” His helm nodded above you, servo fiddling with the machine hooked up to your form. “Disabling pain sensors.”

[sketchedboba]

"A Green Queen" AU

Chapter XI

TW: Verbal Abuse

"They increased security? That's not something, oh right..", the princess recalled. She'd been on the ship for a few hours mainly to rest and recollect herself on the events that happened. Bowser was really dead and despite this threat being resolved, she still felt anxious about how the army, HIS army, was running smoothly.

The yoshi, now named Daffodil, slept beside her and while she did want to bring him along, she knew it would be best to let him rest a bit longer.

"I'll be back!", she exclaimed quietly as she placed a blanket over the snoring yoshi. "And with Mario.."

She peeked out into the hall and saw four parakoopa flying around the main hallways and the ones that guarded the doors were standard foot soldiers.

"Great... I can't cause a scene. Maybe if I-"

Before she finished, she ducked back into the box from the voices she heard around the corner.

"Your highness!", the soldiers exclaimed as they bowed.

Luigi nervously scratched the back of his neck, the spikes poked as he tried to avoid them. "No need to bow every time, I'm just here to see the... To see my..."

Kamek stepped in and took a deep breath, "We're here for the boy's father. Let him through."

The soldiers nodded and slowly opened the door. As they did, Luigi felt Junior's claw tighten around his own, and gave it a gentle squeeze back.

'He is just a child...'

Daisy peeked out slightly then she watched them enter and the doors shut behind them. "Isn't that. What the fuck is going on here?!"

Junior hid behind Luigi as they stepped into a dimly lit room, wires and cord all connected to a central area behind rounded purple curtains. The machinery with dials, pulse readers, tubes, and buttons sat on each side of the bed.

It loudly hummed which left Junior with a worried look on his face. Parakoopas and goombas hurried alongside the few magikoopas that tirelessly worked and flipped through their books. They delicately lifted and examined shell pieces as they tried to congregate and put them back together.

"Junior, it wasn't...", Luigi spoke. His hand started to shake, he let go of the young prince's hand. "I explained how he ended up here, but he... He died saving me from someone awful, and all I could do was watch."

Kamek stepped over and patted his back, "Despite him being a prisoner here, he chose to stay and defend us. Junior, he-"

"Coward!", he cried.

Luigi flinched, he didn't dare turn around once he heard the boy's cry. "I'm sorry..", he whispered.

"You just WATCHED?! WHY DIDN'T YOU FIGHT BACK?! STAYING WON'T CHANGE THAT YOU GOT HIM KI-"

"I HAD NO OTHER CHOICE!"

The room got quiet as Luigi was inches away from the young prince, who hiccuped through his painful tears.

Kamek nervously looked at Junior's face then at Luigi's remorseful one.

"I'm just as lost as you are right now.", he cried. "Every minute I'm reminded that I'm not welcomed here, but I'm staying because as much as I despise it. No one deserves to be left defenseless ESPECIALLY when I can change it. I was a coward that ran, I KNOW THAT! THIS-" , he yelled as he held the spiked collar, Bowser's wristband, towards him in tears. "Reminds me every day, EVERY HOUR, of what I've done."

Junior turned away once he got closer and cried. Kamek stood in front of Luigi, "I think he gets it.. please calm down, sire.."

Luigi straightened his posture as he watched the young koopa shake.

Junior sniffled and continued to stare at the ground. Kamek walked over to him and rubbed his shell to comfort him, only for the prince to hug him as he cried.

Luigi cried silently when he turned away and focused on the curtains, Bowser's cracked yet dark silhouette shining through it. He walked up to the bedside and punched a dent into the frame, tears filled his pink stained eyes. He was exhausted.

Kamek lifted up Junior who cried himself into exhaustion and turned to the King. "Your highness.."

"......"

"I'll take the prince to his room in the castle and come back when you've calmed down.."

In a dry voice, he replied, "Thank you.". He also ordered everyone out of the room for a moment as Kamek left.

Daisy watched the room flood out with curious eyes as well as the guards leave to tell the next shift to arrive. "Yes!"

She swiftly dashed into the shadows and made her way into the room. As she looked around in awe, her attention turned to Luigi. She hid herself into a shadowy area in the entrance and watched. 'He doesn't look like much of a threat..'

Luigi groaned as he rubbed his tired eyes with his hand and sat on the floor. He rested his head on the dented frame as he looked down at his hands.

"You stupid tortuga....", he started. "You really punished me good, huh? Leaving me here to run a kingdom, watch your children you love so dearly.... Take advantage of my heart..", he sighed.

Daisy could barely hear a word and slowly inched forward.

"And my brother, Mario.. I snapped at him too. I bet you would've loved to see that... I didn't mean to, I just..."

Daisy paused when she heard his name.

'So he's alive! Damn shorty, thought I lost ya!'

"And Junior, I should probably apologize to him too. I don't blame him for thinking the way he did, but I was just scared. You literally threw my brother across the hall THEN choose to save my life?! I don't get why you didn't just TELL me.. Why are you always so quiet?"

Daisy's eyes gleamed as she heard his lament, "You think that guy is quiet?! Have you heard him belch before?"

Luigi turned quickly as he gasped, "W-Who, how'd you get in here?!"

"You shouldn't leave yourself defenseless, your highness.", she mocked. "But really, tell his guards to schedule their shifts better. They all just left you, y'know."

"That doesn't answe-"

"Oh right! The name's Daisy, a pleasure! I'm sure. Anyways, you said something about a "Mario"? Right?"

"Um...yes.. My brother, but how do you kn-"

"Glad you asked! I'm not sure if he mentioned a travel buddy or anything, but we were on our way to Sarasaland and y'know how traveling islands can be, right?! Then again, you probably aren't traveling by foot or by yoshi. Speaking of do you mind if I-"

"Wait, wait. Let's peddle back a second, y-you travelled with Mario? Wait... The friend, YOU'RE-"

"You catch on quick, boss!", she chuckled and started to walk over to him.

He tried his best to keep calm as his thoughts raced, "Are you here for my brother...? If you are, he's in no condition to be moving, and frankly, your injuries tell me you shouldn't be either."

Daisy looked at her leg then back at him, "I just wanted to make sure he's ok before I- uhm-, go to...a..party?"

Luigi blankly stared at her, "Right... You can visit, but if you both were at the palace, then where were you after the explosion?"

"You mean the one you caused to kill Bowser?"

"I didn't-"

"C'mon! You don't have to be modest, I saw you standing over the rubble looking down at his body. Congratulations on overthrowing him by the way!", she smiled.

"So you were there!", he mumbled.

"Only after I woke up again." , she shook the thought. "Regardless, you were saying something about him being quiet? That doesn't sound like the King of the Koopas. Boy, can that guy brag!"

Luigi turned back to the curtain, "Yup... And for the record, I didn't kill him... on purpose?".

"So did you or did you not?"

"I don't know! I'm tired, can you please just..."

She sat down next to him and crossed her legs and her cloak laid over them. "You know, I usually listen to stories when I feel down. I can tell you one if it helps."

Luigi glanced at her before he gave a slight shrug.

She smiled a bit before she played with her fingers, "Well, there was a little girl who had a very loving father and mother. Every day they would play games and puzzles with her, making every one of them a tiny adventure for her. But one day the father told the mother he no longer wanted to play games or make puzzles and left the mother to build puzzles and play games for her daughter to share with the world. For years, the mother looked for her husband, but with trying to keep her daughter entertained, she fell ill. Not too long after, she passed her duties onto her daughter, her last wish being "Make sure to have fun, play as many games as you like, but make sure you can solve the puzzles just as well as you play the game.". The daughter promised and in the end played for days, for years... Looking for a game she couldn't beat."

"Then? Did she ever find one?"

Daisy sighed, "She did.. it ended up costing her more than her life though...".

The two sat in silence, Luigi reached out his hand to touch hers but she immediately moved, "Anyways, if you don't mind me asking, your highness. Can I pleeeaaasseee, see your brother?"

He smiled a bit as he retracted his hand, "Of course, thank you for the story..". He said as he got up and dusted himself off.

"My pleasure! I can tell you some other ones while we walk there."

"I think I'll be fine..", he laughed nervously. "Thanks thoOOOUU- WAIT YOU SNUCK ONTO THE SHIP!!"

Daisy was already halfway to the door, "And? I see no issues here, we resolved the misunderstanding."

Luigi sighed and rubbed his forehead as he walked over to her, "I have to file a report and tighten security.."

"Sounds like a headache, dude. Must suck.", she smirked.

"Don't....you caused this-"

"I think you mean, you're welcome stealthy stranger for making sure that my castle and ship will now have the top defenses!", she said snickering.

Luigi laughed a bit, "Sure, I wonder if my brother would think the same."

"Eh, I think he wouldn't mind! Especially if he gets to see me again!", she boasted.

"Look who's bragging now.", He laughed.

The two bantered as they made their way out the door. The koopas were in confused awe as they saw their new king escort a cloaked princess down the hall.

[p1nkcanoe]

thinking about Phantom being curious and horny and getting his cock stuck while using a vacuum cleaner to get himself off 💀

( i like the way you think, anon. 1.1k words that probably shouldn't exist )

Phantom is smarter than this. He really is. He should know by now not to test the limits and possibilities of objects, specifically machinery, and should know that when something’s entire job is to suck, that it will indeed, suck. 

He’d borrowed the vacuum from the supply closet to clean the cobwebs from the high corners of his bedroom–a simple machine with a large central canister for the dust and mess, and a long flexible hose affixed with a plastic tube to do one job: remove the eyesores from the rafters so Aether would finally get off his ass about it. It turns out that a task so tedious can be made interesting if you turn it into a bit of an experiment. A game, if you will. It takes approximately two minutes after turning the machine on for the curiosity to set in. Phantom begins by holding the end of the hose further and further away from the cobwebs, testing how far away he can keep it for it to still suck them away from the walls and wooden supports, then he moves on to waving it wildly from side to side, seeing how quick he can clear an entire section with a wave of his long arms. Turns out, it’s pretty quick. And finally, when he tries to stick the hose to the ceiling, he wonders exactly how strong those suctions really are. 

He attaches the end of the hose to his palm first, jolting in surprise when his skin gets sucked up tight to the end of it and makes a loud, high pitched hissing noise at the lack of circulation. He pulls his hand away, listening to how the sound frequencies change and how the machine still tries to suck his palm back up. He lets it. It makes the noise again, a dull hwumph, and he chuckles, pulling it off and letting it reattach again a few more times just to hear it. The remaining webs quickly become an afterthought. 

But eventually his palm gets boring, so he tucks the hissing hose under his arm and reaches down to lift his shirt, tucking the bottom hem under his chin and exposing the soft skin of his tummy. The first contact of the hose against his tummy is much different. His skin is more plush, protected by a thin layer of fat, and the tube attaches itself more firmly, sucks more of him up. When he pulls it’s harder to remove and it leaves behind a pretty pink circle in its place. He lets it suck different areas of his torso, testing different areas where his body is harder, others where it’s soft, and he can’t help but giggle when it thubthubthub’s over his bellybutton in an imperfect seal and tickles his hair. He even lets it engulf his nipple. The instant hypersensitivity and consequential gasp were enough to have him jerking it away rather quickly. Yeah… too much. Noted. But who knew a vacuum could be so fun? 

The ghoul looks down at it, right down into its opening, and gets a stupid idea in that brain of his. One quick glance past the side of the hose reveals his half chub tenting the front of his basketball shorts. 

He looks back at the hose, back at the tube connected to its end, over at the door which is very much unlocked for anyone to walk into as they please, and shimmies the elastic waistband of his shorts down just enough to pull out his shaft. 

The hose hisses in his hand, sucks air. 

Curiosity gets the best of him. 

He inches it closer to the head of his dick, which is rapidly filling out with intrigue, and hums, pleased, when it lures him and sucks freezing cold air around his hot skin. He nods, shrugs–this could work–and brings it that last centimeter closer, letting the end of the tube encase his head and suck him in. The strangled noise he makes is almost louder than the machine and he slaps a hand over his mouth. His eyes flick towards the door. 

He doesn’t fill the entire opening. Cold air sucks down around his skin but the suction is nice. Not too hard, but also definitely there. He thinks he likes it. It’s nothing like getting a blowjob, not even close, it’s something entirely different and the odd combination of cool air, rapidly changing pressure around his shaft, and vibrations from the machine’s fans and motors make him tingle in all the best ways. Maybe a vibrator, he thinks. An odd, hard, plastic fleshlight that really isn’t that satisfying in all honesty, but he keeps his dick in it nonetheless, choosing instead to jerk the head of the hose over his shaft in shallow, quick moments that make him suck his bottom lip between his fangs and groan. 

The machine tries desperately to suck him up. It’s so loud, so obvious that something is blocking its tube, but Phantom is beginning to enjoy it in that odd, twisted way too much to stop. Plus, there’s something erotic about getting your dick sucked by a vacuum… Or… maybe not?

He lets go of the tube and lets the machine suck him all the way down to the hilt and nearly caves in on himself when his tip vibrates violently against the rubbery plastic sides. His belly tightens immediately. Suddenly the need to cum is overbearing. Against his best judgment he leans over and flicks the switch on the machine, sending it whirring and hissing into max suction. It screams around his skin, milks every drop of pre from his body and sends it somewhere wholly out of mind. He fails to notice the suction pulling his balls from his shorts and it’s the last little bit of skin the machine needs to complete the perfect seal. 

The ghoul chokes. He feels the air sucked from his lungs as his soul gets sucked from his dick, and in a matter of excruciating seconds he cums violently and hard into the tube. His mess gets sucked away into the canister. 

Overstimulation sets in quickly and the machine doesn’t let up in the slightest. Even when he’s panicking–whining and pulling desperately at the vacuum head–it won’t come off, stuck in a tight and unrelenting seal around his shaft and against his sack. Scrambling hands can’t find the on/off switch fast enough.  “Hey, Ant, are you done with the vacuum yet or–” Phantom whips around towards where his bedroom door swings open on its hinges, shock and mortification slapped over both his own and Cirrus’ horrified face. “–oh my god??”

[capt-mactavish]

Shadows Song

Part 1/?

Months of relentless searching finally leads Task Force 141 to the safe return of their missing Sergeant one John "Soap" MacTavish. However, their relief is short-lived when a mysterious song starts to play over the bases intercom, triggering something no one could have foresaw coming.

---

Soapghost if you squint. This is really more of a situational fic than romance or anything. Warning for graphic depictions of violence and injuries.

---

It rained the night they rescued Soap, adding an ominous atmosphere to an already precarious operation. But despite the gloomy weather, the mission had played out without so much as a hitch, even as the storm followed them back home, casting a foreboding shadow over their triumphant return.

Soft raindrops pitter pattered against the glass of the window opposite Soap’s bed in the infirmary, filling the room with a somber rhythm. Ghost sat in a well-worn chair at his bedside, his gloved hands resting on his knees as he kept a vigil over his Sergeant.

Months of uncertainty had taken its toll on the entire team, but Ghost had felt it more deeply than most; the weight of the loss a heavy burden on the Lieutenant’s shoulders, as it was on his watch that the Scot had been taken.

It had happened during a mission that had gone awry, and the consequences had been profound. The team felt the absence of Soap like a gaping wound, and Ghost, who had always been the stoic anchor, had found himself struggling to maintain his emotional barricade. 

Ghost blamed himself for Soap’s capture, for not being vigilant enough to protect his Sergeant. Though he was relieved now that they had found him, and Soap was safe, he couldn’t shake the remorse that had haunted him since the day they had lost him. A bitter reminder of the cost of their dangerous profession.

In the brightly lit room Ghost watched Soap’s still form, his heart filled with worry as he waited for his Sergeant to wake. As soon as he was allowed to see Soap he had parked himself at his bedside and remained there- a silent sentinel- unwilling to let the man out of his sight again, afraid that if he were to turn his back for even just a moment Soap would be gone in the next.

The Scot’s hair was overgrown, his complexion pale, his lips chapped and cracked. There were some bruising and minor scratches on his face and body during the initial examination that hinted at the ordeal he had endured. But, miraculously, that seemed to be the extent of his injuries. It surprised everyone, including the doctors, at how well the enemy seemed to have kept him. Though relieved they hadn’t found Soap in poorer shape, the circumstances of his rescue gnawed at the back of Ghost’s mind, a sense of unease settling deep within him. Not only was Soap found relatively unscathed, but his rescue was met with almost little to no resistance as they stormed the enemy base. Gaz chalked it up to luck, simply relieved to find Soap alive after all this time, as was everyone. But Ghost wasn’t so sure. Even Price had looked a bit pensive when Ghost had brought up how easy the rescue seemed later while Soap was being checked over. 

As Soap began to stir, Ghost leaned forward, his gloved hand hovering for a moment over Soap’s forearm before he withdrew it, suppressing the urge to touch him. Though he tried to keep himself composed, he couldn’t keep the quiver out of his voice as Soap finally opened his eyes and looked right at him. “Johnny,” Ghost croaked, his fists clenched tightly in his lap. A faint smile tugged at the corners of Soap’s lips as his eyes focused on his lieutenant’s masked face. “Ghost,” he rasped, his voice thick with fatigue. 

As he gradually came to, Soap became aware of the rhythmic beeping of the nearby machinery. Tubes and wires snaked across his body connecting him to various monitors as well as an IV bag. Panic flickered briefly on his face, the beeping began to accelerate, but Ghost’s soothing voice cut through the fog of his confusion. “Easy, Soap,” Ghost spoke to him softly. “You’re okay. You’re in the infirmary.”

Soap’s wide, wandering eyes returned to his lieutenant seated at his bedside. Even with his face mostly concealed by his balaclava, Ghost’s presence was reassuring. Those piercing eyes that could wilt even the toughest of men under their intense gaze comforted Soap in a way nothing or no one else ever could. 

“What… What happened?” Soap managed to croak, his throat dry and scratchy. 

“You’ve been MIA for months, Sergeant,” Ghost replied, his brows furrowing. “You were… taken captive during the operation in Croatia.” 

He blinked at Ghost, bewildered, but as he processed the Lieutenant’s words, fragments of memories began to swirl in his consciousness. Masked men, a jail cell, and behind it all a haunting melody that Soap couldn’t quite pin down the tune of. 

Slowly Soap sat up in the bed. He opened his mouth to reply but at that moment the door swung open as Gaz and Captain Price entered the room.

“There he is. It’s about time you woke up,” Gaz ribbed as he stood at the foot of Soap’s bed with his arms crossed, though his expression held the same relief everyone shared at seeing Soap awake again. 

“Glad to have you back, Sergeant Mactavish,” Price said, his voice gruff but filled with a genuine concern. 

“Aye, sir,” Soap spoke, flashing them a half-hearted smile as he still struggled to remember what happened to him. “It’s good to… good to be back.” Ghost exchanged an uneasy glance with Price, their unspoken fears mirrored in each other’s eyes. 

Price walked around to the other side of Soap’s bed and cleared his throat. “Soap,” he began softly. “I know you just woke up but… we need to know what happened. Anything you can remember.”

Soap’s brows furrowed as he strained to recall his time in captivity. He closed his eyes, trying to sift through the fractured pieces of his memory, but it was like trying to catch smoke with his bare hands.

The memories were fragmented and hazy. He could hear the clinking of chains and the distant echoes of screams- his own or someone else's, he couldn’t be sure. 

But it was the music that plagued him the most- a melody that seemed to creep into every corner of his consciousness, yet he couldn’t place it. He tried to remember, to evoke its tune, but it still eluded him, a distant echo just out of reach. Like a forgotten word on the tip of one’s tongue. 

With a frustrated sigh Soap opened his eyes and met Price’s concerned gaze. “I… I cannae remember much, sir. But… there was this… this music.”

Price frowned. “Music?” he repeated curiously. 

“Aye, a song,” Soap confirmed with a nod. He swallowed thickly, his eyes darting around, still trying to recall it. “I ken I’ve heard it before but… I cannae place it. It’s there, in my head, if I could just…” 

Soap tried to hum it. It was so familiar. He knows he’d heard it before, even before his capture, but it just wouldn’t come to him no matter how hard he tried, teetering on the outer fringes of his thoughts.

Ghost and Price shared another look, then Ghost glanced over at Gaz who simply shrugged. 

Price stepped forward and placed a firm hand on Soap’s shoulder. “Don’t push yourself too hard, lad. You’re safe now. We’ll sort this all out after you’ve gotten some more rest.”

Soap nodded and leaned back, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion. Price gave Ghost one final nod before making for the door, ushering a now very worried looking Gaz out of the room with him. 

Ghost remained seated, obeying Price’s unspoken command to stay put and keep a watch over the Sergeant. Not that he would have left Soap either way, still unwilling to retreat far from the Sergeant’s side. 

Shadows of uncertainty lingered in Ghost’s mind as so many questions still loomed unanswered. 

What had Soap endured during those months in captivity? How did he only manage to come away with a couple of scrapes? Why was he so fixated on a song out of everything? And why, once they located where they were holding him, did the enemy not put up a fight to stop them? As if they let him go willingly, like he was being returned to them.

It didn’t add up. The pieces of the puzzle eluded Ghost, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something far more insidious was at play. The uncertainty gnawed at him.

Soap turned to Ghost and managed a smile, the tension in the air dissipating ever so slightly, his Scottish brogue tinted with a bit of mischief. “Well, they say I’ve got the devil’s own luck. Rescued from captivity and now I’ve got the Ghost as my personal nurse. Cannae say I’m complaining.”

Ghost grunted in response, though it was tinged with a hint of humor, “Just don’t expect me to give you any sponge baths, MacTavish.”

Soap’s laughter was a raspy, welcome sound in the room, a brief respite from the shadows that loomed over them. “Fair enough,” he replied with a grin. “So, did you miss me? Or did you enjoy all the peace and quiet?”

More than you’ll ever know, Ghost thought to himself.

Ghost crossed his arms over his chest, feigning cold detachment. “The silence was refreshing,” he replied sternly. “But… I am glad to have you back with us.”

With me.

Soap chuckled, “Ah, that’s what I like to hear. Cannae have you going too soft without me around.”

Their banter, lighthearted though it was, carried an unspoken understanding. They both knew that beneath the humor lay the weight of uncertainty of both what had transpired and what lay ahead. Soap could feel it too, the nagging sense of unease in the face of the unknown, like he was missing something important. Important and dangerous.

Outside, thunder rumbled in the distance as they both fell back into silence, and the rain began to pelt the windowpane harder as the brunt of the storm drew near.

Ghost’s hands clenched involuntarily as he watched Soap’s shallow breathing. Soap’s gaze was on the window, seemingly lost in thought as he stared out into the rain. Ghost wished he knew what the Scot was thinking, wished he could help in some way. He had always been the stoic one, the enigma behind the mask, but watching Soap in this vulnerable state, his internal struggle finally reached a breaking point. 

Unable to resist any longer, Ghost’s gloved hand found its way to Soap’s lying on the bed at his side. His fingers threaded through Soap’s, his touch tentative at first, as if testing the waters of uncharted territory. But as he felt Soap’s fingers curl weakly in response, all the tension and hesitation in him melted away. 

It was a rare act of intimacy amidst the uncertainty, a silent acknowledgment of their unspoken bond. Ghost needed the reassurance just as much as he imagined Soap did, and their intertwined hands spoke volumes where words could never come close. 

Time seemed to stretch in the silence that followed, minutes passing with an almost unbearable weight. And with Soap’s hand in Ghost’s, at last after searching for him for so long, Ghost almost let the peacefulness of the moment lull him into a sense of alleviated ease.

Suddenly, the intercom speaker above Soap’s bed crackled to life. Then, as the static cleared, a haunting, and yet familiar melody began to emanate from it, filling the room with its eerie cadence. 

Ghost’s gloved fingers twitched in surprise, and he tried to pull his hand away from Soap’s, instinctively trying to reach for his weapon. But before he could react, Soap’s grip on his hand tightened like a vise, fingers digging into Ghost’s flesh. 

Panic surged through Ghost as he felt the crushing force of Soap’s hold on him. Again he tried to pull away, but Soap held fast. 

As Ghost met Soap’s gaze, eyes locking with one another, the unsettling intensity of the Sergeant’s expression sent a chill down his spine. 

Gone was the look of quiet contemplation or any semblance of a smile that had graced his face earlier. Instead, Soap bore the visage of ruthless determination, a dangerous glint in his eyes that had a cold fear unlike anything Ghost had ever felt before creeping over him.

“Johnny, what-” 

Soap lunged forward, his body moving with unexpected speed and ferocity. Ghost barely had time to register the threat before he was forced onto his back, the chair collapsing underneath the weight of both of them, and the wind knocked out of Ghost as Soap’s hands closed around his throat. 

[kizudnyy]

PROJECT COPYPASTE: THE RISE OF ANOMALIES

CLONE-EXISTING! Y/N & family dynamics w/ mha characters

◆Part of Vivii' discontinued stories are now being remade!

INFORMATION:

The COPYPASTE project is one of AFO's side projects intended to contribute to his future plans on overtaking the heros. Most of the experiments failed due to the incorrect mix of DNA and the overuse of chemicals. However, one experiment defied the odds and survived—this experiment is you, designated HA-2K, or Y/N.

You are the only successful outcome of the COPYPASTE project. Your appearance mirrors that of Pro-Hero Hawks, and your quirk possesses similar avian traits with even greater potential.

NO SPECIFIED PRONOUNS YET. CURRENTLY UNDER EDITING

CHAPTER 1: Awakened

In a dark and confined room filled with high-tech machinery, tanks, and tubes surrounded a central chamber pod. The faint hum of machines and the occasional beep of monitors filled the air, adding to the eerie atmosphere.

Inside that chamber was a small figure, suspended in a mysterious fluid, with wings folded tightly against their back. The figure bore a striking resemblance to a certain winged hero known to many.

The figure inside the chamber stirred. Lights flickering on the control panels, incidicating its consciousness. As it shuddered continously and lights flickered rapidly, the chambers fluid began to drain, its purple gooey essence slowly emptying as the figures eyes slowly opened, revealing golden-brown sharp irises that filled with confusion and awareness.

The glass door of the chamber hissed open, and the figure tumbled down, gasping for breath as the water splashed down to them. Cold air hit their skin, and the harsh black concreted floor made them shudder.

Their tiny crimson-like wings slowly fluttered as they shivered, looking around as they took in their surroundings.

Suddenly, A group of scientists in lab coats hurried forward, their faces a mix of excitement and apprehension. Dr. Sato the lead scientist of this project, stepped infront. His expression inclined with interest yet devoid any warmth or emphaty.

"HA-2K," Dr. Sato began, his voice tinted with coldness and authority. "You are the only successful outcome of the COPYPASTE project. Congratulations."

The figure— HA-2K now fully conscious, tried to make sense of their words. Yet still unable to understand anything besides their name. They felt a surge of unwanted emotions — a strong sense of fear, confusion and deja vu. Not to mention, small pieces of memories, not entirely their own, flickered through their mind, featuring a certain winged person, with the similar appearances as theirs.

Another scientist, Dr. Kimura, stepped forward, her eyes betraying a hint of uneasiness." Your name is HA-2K," she said softly. "Your abilities and existence is derived from a certain winged hero an you were created to serve a higher purpose, to be a great asset for the future. " she exclaimed more ecstatically.

"Please excuse Dr. Kimura as she troubles with handling her emotions sometimes," Dr. Sato interrupted her, his eyes now glaring at the woman before looking back at them. "Ahem– Your abilities.. are unique and highly potent. You must understand the importance of your existence."

HA-2K's wings instinctively unfurled, feathers rustling softly. They felt a weird sense of control over them, it felt like natural extension of their body. The scientists stepped back, clearly impressed by the display of power.

Just then, a figure emerged from the shadows—a tall man with an imposing presence and a malicious grin. All For One , the mastermind behind the project, approached HA-2K, his gaze piercing and calculating.

"Welcome to your new life, HA-2K," AFO said, his voice smooth yet sinister. "You are destined for greatness. Your potential surpasses any of the other experiments. Although, I preferred the other ones .. I cant argue that you will be a great asset to us."

HA-2K looked at AFO before unconsciously taking a step forward and rustling their feathers as it slowly detached from their wings and floated all around , its feathers now forming a sharp end as it faced the other.

AFO merely chuckled at this, "You will be far more greater than your original counterpart." He smirked, "I suppose calling you HA-2K would be too noticable.. How about a new name? Kimura. Give it the choices."

Dr. Kimura nodded as she quickly took out a cardboard piece, inlisted are many names from the sacrifices that took part of your existence. "Well, these are the names that you can choose~" She hummed.

HA-2K's eyes followed her fingers which slowly pointed at each names listed above while also suggesting a few others that could suit them. Yet, one name sparked their interest the mopst, which she immediately took noticed and nodded. "That seems like a wonderful name as well! Good choice, dear." She said before facing AFO. "Mr. AFO. What do you think of the name Y/N?"

"Y/N..." He muttered before a sly smirk appeared on his face. "That sounds wonderful.. Truly fitting as well."

HA-2K's wings flapped in agreement, their eyes now glistening as they smiled upon hearing their new name. It felt... natural–like its always meant to be theirs.

"Well then, welcome to the world, Y/N."

MASTERLIST

[matoroblogs]

original website

Join the Turaga , the leaders of the native tribes on the island of Mata Nui, as they rediscover the lost legend of the Seventh Toa, and find out how one villager, the Tohunga of Earth, came to have the only purple Kanohi Mask and its significance!

Chronicle of the Seventh Toa

While the six mighty Toa roam the island of Mata Nui in search of  the Kanohi Masks of power, and prepare themselves to drive the evil Makuta and his creatures from the dark places in the land, the leaders of the six known surviving native Tohunga tribes meet in the sacred place.

Each of these leaders, or Turaga, is guardian of one part of the legend of Mata Nui, and as they relate their tales to each other in the sand of the sacred place with rocks and twigs as is their way, they discover that some ancient lore is emerging as they combine all the legends they know.  It is hovering on the edge of their consciousness, and they delve further and further into the past to the time when Mata Nui was still a paradise, before Makuta followed his brother, and the dark places appeared.

It is then that the Turaga Vakama, holder of the Great Firestaff and eldest among them, remembers the destruction of the ancient Rongo-Tablets Mata Nui had given to them which foretold the coming of the Toa from the skies, and showed the constellations by which they would know their time of waiting had come to an end.  Over time the Tablets had been pieced back together from the fragments scattered all over the Island, and the finest craftsmen among the Tohunga carved new Rongo-Tablets into stone.  Alas not all pieces could be found, and some had crumbled into dust, so they  filled in the missing pieces under the guidance of the Turaga of that time.

The new Rongo-Tablets where affixed to the base of the crystal telescope through which the keepers of the legend watched the skies for the red star to reach its foretold place among the constellations.  Yet Vakama and the other Turaga grew more troubled as they considered the missing pieces of information that had to be recreated during their restoration.  In the gaps thus left in the legend a more ancient malevolent shadow than even Makuta was hiding from their knowledge and perception.  Through the night and well into the next day the Turaga brooded over their legend and while they told and retold the ancient tales they slowly started to draw a new Rongo-Tablet into the sand.  In all their memories pieces of this legend were interwoven as an undercurrent, and they slowly fell into place.

As the rediscovered Tablet started to take on form, Turuga Whenua, protector of Onua's legend, recognized the symbol as something he had once seen in the rock quarry as a faded pattern left on the ground.  But who was that new Toa, which they for now named 'the Seventh'?  What powers did it possess?  And  where would this discovery lead to? ...

High above Mata Nui the ancient space station, that the Tohunga perceive as the red star, slowly rotates about its axis in orbit.  After what seemed like an eternity of silence the internal machinery had restarted, triggered by a signal placed deep within the heart of Mata Nui underneath the great volcano, long long ago.  The now busy humming of gears and pistons was only interrupted by a sharp explosion and the scraping of metal while the cylindrical projectiles where launched towards the island as the space stations rotation laboriously brought each launch tube into the correct position.  Six cylinders, containing the disjointed elements of a Toa each, had already been fired, and the Toa which thus awakened from their troubled dreams were returned to the land of Mata Nui to fulfill their destiny!

Yet one tube had not yet launched and many moons would pass before the station would be in the correct  position again.  In it the purple, black, and gray parts of the Seventh Toa lay, whose spirit was stirring restlessly, waiting to awaken like its brethren.  To be recombined into the most powerful hero yet: The 7th Toa, the Toa of energy!

The Seventh Toa

In his younger years, Tohunga Onepu of Onu-Koro had dug deep underneath the Volcano in the center of Mata Nui and found a purple Kanohi, the only one known in existence. He did not know, that he had stumbled upon the ruins of a lost city which had been destroyed and burried underneath the volcano in the time before time. No one knows if any Tohunga or their descendants had survived from this lost land. Their Toa, however, was waiting for his return from the skies. Waiting to avenge his people against the evil that had come to pass. Using the special powers of his Kanohi mask, and his mighty weapon, he would return to Mata Nui, and not rest until the wrong had been undone, and the remnants of the lost tribe were reunited, to take their rightful place as the rulers over the Tohunga. To rebuild their great civilization.

For he is Toa Voriki, the Toa of energy!

[anony-man]

Hello guys! Sorry for the unexpected hiatus!

Chubformers drabble #70! A drabble written for my good friend @siberat!

Characters: Blast Off & Onslaught (IDW)

Word count: 730

Blast Off wasn’t sure when it had started, but he knew he had begun crying. From the sting of tears trickling down his face as his throat hitched with every gulp, his frame shuddering in its urges to sob freely past the mouthfuls of energon being forced down his throat with each pulse of the pump, he could tell his resolve was beginning to break.

It would have been embarrassing, had it been someone else. Likewise, he probably would have felt shame had it been something else. Instead, it was all expected… and it was all deserved.

His servos were bound, his belly exposed. Plating had been forcefully removed from his middle, both for Onslaught’s convenience and Blast Off’s comfort. Even before having been pumped full of more fuel than he could process, Blast Off still felt the creeping sense of vulnerability settle in as Onslaught’s gaze raked over his frame.

He was helpless, hurting, ripe for the taking. There wasn’t a single thing Onslaught couldn’t have done to him with his belly pinning him to the berth and his servos tied above his helm. Blast Off expected a punishment—and he wanted one, too. However, Onslaught had other plans.

Blast Off squirmed beneath the ‘Con’s gaze, his frame curling away and cowering as Onslaught lifted the straps up and over his helm. Where Blast Off expected scathing remarks and a strap tightened past comfort to dig into the seams of his plating, there was only silence and gentle fingers as Onslaught secured the pump in place.

There was no force, no slapping, no pain. Blast Off dutifully opened his lips, his frame quivering as the tube’s opening was slotted into place. He hoped for cold servos that forced him back against the berth and shoved the tube deep inside, forcing it past his lips and over his tongue and down his throat, but there was none of that. Onslaught was soothing, careful, his touches painless.

It was painless, Blast Off knew, but his chassis ached all the same.

There was the sound of the machinery powering up, then the strain of tubing, and suddenly Blast Off found his mouth being filled with pump after pump of rich, fattening energon. It was now that he expected Onslaught to act out. He wanted to see that visor flare with unresolved anger, and he wanted to feel those servos grope at his flabby belly as he sneered in disgust. What a repulsive beast this was, Blast Off could hear him say. All fattened up and at my mercy, begging for more… how pathetic.

He awaited the torture, the torment, and yet there was none. He listened for the scathing words, but he heard none. Onslaught was on him, closing the distance between Blast Off and the machine, but there was no biting remarks, no invasive servos, nothing.

It was around then, Blast Off believed, that he had started to cry. Fat tears rolled down past the crease of his visor, wetting chubby cheeks as Blast Off choked down mouthful after mouthful of the sickeningly sweet fuel being pumped past his lips. His wrists were bound, but he could feel the swell of his gut pressing against his spread thighs. His panels were still closed, he realized, and Onslaught had made no move to pry them open.

It was as insulting as it was upsetting, and once the hum of the machine had finally come to an end, Blast Off was hardly any less composed than he had been when they first started.

Onslaught was slow to untie his servos and pry the straps from his face, but the moment Blast Off had been freed, he fell forward into his leader’s lap with a pathetic, hiccuping cry. Bleary optics behind a foggy visor matched the sticky mouth and bruised lips, and Blast Off could hardly stand to contain himself from melting into Onslaught’s touch as soon as those gentle servos spanned the width of his engorged belly.

I’m sorry, he wanted to say, too choked up for words and too stuffed to begin to attempt speaking. Onslaught seemed to understand, though.

Blast Off wasn’t sure why, but when he huddled closer to Onslaught’s side, his helm finding its place nestled against the space beneath Onslaught’s chin as massive servos massaged the ache from his overly stuffed tanks, Onslaught didn’t push him away.

[use-your-telescope]

When Everything's Made to be Broken - Chapter 1: It's Still Not Quite the Way It Was

Author's Notes: We've made it to the posting of chapter 1! Each chapter has a corresponding song, noted (and linked) at the beginning of the chapter; the italic paragraphs between sections are lyrics from the corresponding song. After this chapter it'll make sense, I promise 😉

This is multi-chapter friends-to-lovers, angst with a happy ending fic. Full synopsis/masterlist can be found here (and read on AO3 here)!

Content Warnings for this Chapter: Medical whump, near-death experience, description of serious injuries. Angst for dayssss. If @loki-cees-all and @infinitystoner are to be believed, you might want kleenex. It gets much lighter after this (for a while, at least), I swear!

Word Count: 5,217

It’s Still Not Quite The Way It Was

Song: Hospital - Lydia

So I’ve been sleeping with  This silence in my mind And all I see scares me And no one knows it but she– She saved me

It was a reality that Loki could no longer ignore: they were running out of time. 

After hours hunched over in vigil, he sat up a bit taller in the stiff plastic chair that could have doubled as a torture device, stretching aching muscles and sore joints that had yet to recover from a battle unlike any the god had ever seen. Raking one hand through unkempt curls, he bit back a snarl when a passerby glanced into the cramped infirmary room and made the mistake of locking eyes with the Asgardian prince. 

Perhaps he ought to be proud of himself for the restraint; hardly thirty minutes prior, he allowed the tempest within him to take control, unleashing his worst upon his elder brother. It was not fair to Thor - everyone was reeling from the aftermath of what transpired, and though Thor may not have been as intertwined with the very heart of the matter, the repercussions impacted him too.

But Loki? 

He was not merely impacted by the fallout; it tore his world asunder.

Before him, the harsh reminder of the upheaval endured over the three days prior laid unconscious, reliant on Midgardian medicine and machinery to give her a fighting chance at survival. 

Not an inch of Theo had been spared from suffering. The blood, the dust, and the grime of battle had long been washed off of her body; now, her wounds were covered with pristine, crisp white bandages. Swaths of jagged, indigo bruises marred her otherwise ghostly complexion, which appeared more sallow under the harsh infirmary lights. Sweat poured off her skin and soaked her hair. Half-open, glassy yet clouded eyes seemed to stare right through Loki as if he wasn’t there. One eye sported a bruise, swollen and tender, beneath it. 

The sheer volume of wires and tubing connected to her body gave the appearance of a puppet. Multiple intravenous lines were placed in her arms and collarbone. Wires under her shirt collar and a sensor clipped to her index finger provided vital signs. Tubes trailed down her mouth and nose to provide oxygen and sustenance. 

And yet, it had become clear that no machine, no medicine would be enough to save her from the eldritch infection that tore through her side. 

Though no one admitted it, the truth could be found in the silence between the discordant rhythms of beeping monitors and the hissing ebb and flow of the ventilator, none of which ever aligned to the ticking of the clock on the wall. Amidst the shuffle of muted footsteps and hushed conversation in the outside corridor, the truth echoed within sterile infirmary walls. It scrawled itself along the monitors filled with vital signs that crept further and further towards demise, numbers and lines blurring together as time passed. 

Scattered across the room, stacks of ancient tomes failed to provide any insight or solution. Loki was supposedly the most powerful sorcerer in the nine realms, yet he could do nothing to help. The Scarlet Witch, with chaos magic at her fingertips, was helpless in the face of this affliction, as was the Sorcerer Supreme. Even Vision, who had the power of the mind stone and held the full knowledge of all of Midgard, was useless to stop the spread.

It was the subject of taboo: they were running out of time. 

This affliction was unlike anything they’d ever encountered. Then again, Theo was unlike anyone Loki had ever encountered. 

Leaning forward once more, he carefully enveloped her pale, cold hand in both of his.

“Cheating death is my forté, not yours. Healing is your forté, darling.” He said to the perfectly still form before him. “Forcing a reversal of roles was not a wise decision. I imagine you would know how to cure this malady; one of the many secrets tucked away in that memory of yours.” 

One of many secrets that until recently, were incomprehensible to the God of Trickery.

“It is rather ironic, isn’t it?” Loki said, brows furrowed as he focused on Theo’s face. “The most powerful healer in millennia, one who rivals that of myth - unable to save herself.”

The steady, incessant beeping of a monitor above the head of the bed echoed through the room, reminding Loki that his scolding fell upon deaf ears. No response was expected, but that did not mean the silence stung any less.

“If I could, I would admonish you thoroughly for such a reckless decision.” He continued, “You have done no less to me, dove, and they say turnabout is fair play.” 

The late hour, though hauntingly still, brought the assurance that any further visitors were unlikely.  Perhaps a nurse might pause and glance into the room, but the rounds which took place in the dead of night were less frequent than during waking hours. 

Solitude was rare - between the steady stream of medical professionals and visitors paying what very well might be their final respects, it was perhaps the second time since Loki’s life was violently upended in which he had a moment to himself. Theo - or, who Loki believed Theo to be - was well-loved on Midgard, so perhaps it was little surprise that her imminent demise affected so many.

Most were oblivious to the truth - that the woman they had come to love was little more than a lie. Yet, he did not have the heart to reveal such information; though he held a multitude of emotions regarding the situation, he could respect it was not his place to say anything.

Getting lost in the ebb and flow of breathing was easy - it certainly made it easier to lose track of time. With each rise and every fall of Theo’s chest, Loki committed it to memory, unwilling to admit to himself that it might be her last. 

“Feeling any better now?”

Loki’s attention snapped to the doorway, where Maximoff leaned against the frame. Loose copper strands fell from a disheveled ponytail, framing pursed lips and a furrowed brow. She crossed her arms crossed over her chest, the sleeves of her hooded sweatshirt shoved up to her elbows as almost an afterthought. 

“You seem more calm,” she continued, pressing herself up and stepping further into the room. “Did yelling at Thor make you feel any better?”

Loki rolled his eyes and with a huff, settled back into his chair. “He sent you, didn’t he?”

“He’s worried.” She tugged her lower lip between her teeth, bloodshot eyes flitting towards Theo. “We’re all worried.” 

Of the many words the silvertongue wished to say, they all vanished the moment he opened his mouth to speak. Unable to provide a retort, Loki simply glowered at the Scarlet Witch.

“She loves you.”

Loves, present tense, as if Theo was not on the precipice of death.

Loki scoffed. “And how would you know?”

“Because she’s the one in that bed, and not you. You love her too; if you didn’t, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

“One cannot love something which they do not know.” He muttered, shifting around in his seat for the umpteenth time as he sought out a tolerable position for sitting.

He had been foolish enough to love her, for all the good it had done either of them. Her, on her deathbed, and him, left to reconcile the woman he thought he knew with the woman she truly was.

Though he had averted his gaze, Loki felt the heat of Maximoff’s disappointed stare.

“Spare me your pity, witch.” 

The sigh which Maximoff replied with was akin to how a mother might respond to a petulant child. “Look, you need a shower, and some water. Sleep, ideally. Food if you’re feeling like an overachiever.” The hint of concern which wove itself into her tone only added to the festering unease within Loki’s chest. She turned on her heel, making as if to leave; however, she lingered in the doorway, twisting to face Loki one final time. 

“We’re here for you, you know… Even when you’re being a jerk,” She murmured, amber eyes glistening as she met Loki’s bitter gaze. “... Maybe especially then.”

The soft padding of feet in the hall grew faint as Maximoff departed, leaving Loki alone to face the painful truth:

They were running out of time.

So I’ve been sleeping with  This silence in my brain, my brain I wake up every day In this goddamn place But I won’t wait here anymore

Stepping outside of Theo’s infirmary room reminded Loki of what it must feel like for an animal to be released from its cage. Granted, an animal would likely relish the newfound freedom, even if it was only temporary. On the contrary, Loki dreaded such ventures.

Leaving Theo’s side was unavoidable - it was required for examinations and procedures, as well as basic elements of care like bathing and changing bandages. This particular instance was the result of the medical staff calling everyone together for a conference regarding Theo’s prognosis, as if there was anything to discuss. Everyone knew what the future held; discussing the inevitability of demise seemed rather pointless.

… Not that Loki had much choice in the matter.

Though he had no desire to be present, his pride refused to allow him to reveal the precarious state he lingered in. A quick glamour gave the impression that he maintained full control of his composure by obscuring wrinkled clothing, tangled curls, and the permanent crease between his brows that came from a deep-set frown. Only artificial light filled the corridor, casting a sickly glow on all who occupied the space.

Those who walked past him in the hall provided a wide berth, reminding him of his earliest days among the team known as Earth’s mightiest heroes, when treading on eggshells around the Asgardian prince was standard protocol. It was just as well - Loki was entirely prepared to snarl at anyone who dared draw near. Approaching the conference room door, Loki could make out hushed voices engaged in tense conversation.

“Have you talked to him?” 

“I… yeah.” 

“And?”

Before Maximoff could answer, Loki forced a cough and stepped across the threshold.

Dr. Harper and Maximoff both whipped around, eyes wide as saucers at the sight of the obvious subject of their discussion. Scattered about the room, the rest of the Avengers, along with Dr. Cho, had packed themselves into the rather claustrophobic space. Some sat in leather-backed chairs around the table, while the rest leaned against the walls with expressions ranging from confusion to displeasure.

“Loki, good - you’re here.” Dr. Cho said, flashing her best attempt at a placating smile as she clasped her hands together. “Now we can get started.”

“Yes, please do share what could be so important to necessitate the abandonment of other responsibilities and gather in this prison cell of a conference room.” Loki snipped, crossing his arms and ignoring the disappointed glare that Thor flashed at him.

Dr. Harper glanced at Romanoff as she drew in a deep, cautious breath. “Max figured out what the magic is that’s infecting Theo.”

Stunned silence permeated through the room; only the ticking of the wall clock gave the indication that time had not come to a standstill. Around the room, nervous glances accompanied mouths which hung slightly agape. Loki waited expectantly for a follow up, some sign that there was a positive outcome to the conversation or additional information. 

When none came, Loki steeled himself to ask the question which lingered in the darkest corners of his mind: “What good does that do if there is no means to reverse it?”

“That’s why we called you all here—“ Undeterred by Loki’s cynical inquiry, Dr. Cho replied, only to be interrupted by Maximoff. 

“You’re saying there may be a cure?” Something between hope and desperation seeped through her question; Loki could not ignore the stutter of his pulse at the prospect, though he quickly tamped it down.

“According to Max,” Romanoff interjected. She leaned back in her seat, legs crossed as if this were simply another mission briefing and not the life of an Avenger in the balance. “From what he gathered, there are documents with the information about how to remove whatever this is. Last he heard, they were stolen… by Theo.”

“Then what are we doing here?” Barnes leaned forward, tapping vibranium fingers clinking against the steel table. “She already has what we’re looking for.”

“That’s the problem—“ Rogers spoke from the head of the room, leaning against the wall with arms crossed. Dark circles beneath his eyes and a five-o’clock shadow revealed the toll the recent events took on the captain. “We’ve searched her entire suite and can’t find them anywhere.”

Romanoff leaned forward once more, resting her elbow on her knees. “Tony has FRIDAY reviewing the security footage—“ 

“Not that it does any good if she never took the documents out of her room.” Stark cut off Romanoff, massaging his temples with both hands. Somehow, the engineer appeared to be even more sleep deprived than usual.

“Assuming that’s the case, she would have known where they were stored, right?” Dr. Banner chimed in, sounding unnervingly calm given the circumstances.

“Even if she did, it’s not like she can tell us,” Wilson interrupted, shaking his head. “She can’t even breathe right now.”

“...Maybe she doesn’t need to.” Dr. Banner replied, adding on a thoughtful hum. 

“What?” Belova piped up from beside her sister, mirroring the elder Widow’s posture; however, unlike the stoic expression which Romanoff maintained, Belova openly wore her confusion.

“We do have two people who can read minds…” Dr. Banner glanced between Loki and Maximoff, silently dragging the pair of sorcerers into the fray.

Combing through the memories of another was something Loki would not give a second thought in his younger years; if he could access the memory, he assumed he was entitled to know. 

Yet, after the Mad Titan and the void, he had no interest in the act. The vulnerability of having one’s mind scoured brought an ominous chill to Loki; though he was uncertain of his feelings towards Theo, he had no desire to cause her to feel violated, even if she had withheld such vital information.

“Absolutely not.” Loki crossed his arms and stood a bit taller, fiercely shaking his head with feigned determination. “I refuse.”

“You’re afraid.” Stark cocked a brow at Loki, nodding as if he understood the sorcerer’s motivations.

“Why would I be afraid?” Loki snapped, glowering at Stark for daring to leverage such an accusation.

Stark rolled his eyes, then leaned forward in his chair while locking eyes with Loki. “Because you don’t know what else you might find?” 

“Hardly,” he scoffed, “I simply doubt it would be a fruitful venture.”

“Wanda, what about you?” 

“I don’t know…” The witch hesitated, frowning as her attention skittered around the room. “Are you sure you know what you’re asking me to do? It’s pretty invasive.”

“Would she know if you tried?” Parker frowned, arms crossed while one leg bounced incessantly, contradicting the rhythm of the clock.

“I don’t think so.” Maximoff shook her head. “But would you want someone digging through your thoughts and learning all your secrets?”

“We’re out of options,” Romanoff pointed out. “Shuri and Bruce haven’t been able to replicate this thing, and if we do nothing she’ll die. I think, all things considered, she could forgive you for invading her privacy.”

A tense silence fell over the room; outside, muffled footsteps and assorted announcements reminded everyone that while they dithered over the subject, time continued to pass - time which they did not have.

If anything, perhaps having one of the sorcerers search the suite would be more useful - if Theo had some sort of magical ward placed on the space to hide the documents, they would be able to detect it.

“Okay,” Maximoff’s agreement, though quiet, rang clear. “I’ll try - I mean, it can’t hurt, right?”

Rather than argue, Loki held his tongue and prayed the witch would be right. 

Oh, no one is watching now Sing like you just might drown But always come back for air

Though he dreaded what he might see, Loki could not resist the curiosity of what might transpire at Maximoff’s attempt to enter Theo’s mind. 

Two hours after the meeting, everyone gathered to witness what was hailed as the only way Theo’s life could be saved. There was a certain buzz, an almost frenetic hum to the space. Doctors and nurses stood by, ready to act, as if Midgardian healers would be able to do anything in the face of magical destruction. 

Loki stationed himself near the door, leaning against the wall with arms crossed while watching the scene before him with open skepticism. His position allowed for a clear view once they began, yet kept him out of the traffic patterns as others moved about the space.

Meanwhile, Maximoff positioned herself at Theo’s bedside. As she waited for instructions, she carried a certain heaviness in the slump of her shoulders and the crease of her brow that Loki hadn’t seen in some time. The Scarlet Witch might have been the more optimistic of the sorcerers, but she too understood the gravity of the situation before them. 

A roiling, churning sense of dread pitted itself in Loki’s stomach, swelling as the anticipation increased. He hadn’t noticed that the rest of the room had drawn to a standstill until Dr. Cho made the announcement:

“Wanda, we’re ready when you are.” 

Worrying her lower lip between her teeth, Maximoff nodded, then turned her attention to Theo. She leaned over the bed, hands hovering just beyond Theo’s temples as tendrils of translucent crimson energy curled and disappeared beneath Theo’s skin. Maximoff closed her eyes, lips downturned as she focused her attention on the task at hand.

All hell broke loose.

Alarms erupted while a horde of doctors and nurses swarmed the bed. Despite her many injuries, Theo thrashed about on the bed, back arching and hands clawing at the sheets with a face twisted in anguish. Despite the tube down Theo’s throat, Loki swore he saw her lips twitching in a cry for help. 

A panicked glance at the monitor revealed a mess of flashing crimson numbers glaring at Loki, taunting him with how foolish this entire scheme was.

Cry as she might, nothing they could do - nothing he could do - would be of any help. 

The realization rendered Loki unable to fight as a Midgardian pushed him away, while another grasped his arm and dragged him through the threshold and into the hall. 

Though forced from the room, Loki plastered himself against the glass door in a futile attempt to remain close. He caught a glimpse of her body falling limp against the bed, not moving whatsoever; meanwhile, discordant shouting and alarms slipped beneath the door.  A scarlet glow reflected from the monitors onto the crowd surrounding Theo, casting a menacing air on the scene as it unfolded. The doctors and nurses moved with a brisk, detached precision, as if oblivious to the knowledge that Loki’s love balanced on a knife’s edge.

Just when he thought the situation could not worsen any further, a nurse noticed Loki. She remained stone-faced as she yanked the curtain closed, fully obscuring his view. 

Elaborate possibilities of terrible outcomes spun through his traitor of a mind. Every footstep echoing down the hall felt akin to the Hela and Fenris approaching. The sound of monitors spilling from other patients’ rooms was the countdown prior to a bomb detonating. He hardly realized when his knees gave out and he sank to the floor, blocking out his surroundings before he could spiral further. 

A lifetime and a moment passed all at once, Loki sitting with his back against the wall and knees against his chest, palms pressed to his eyes in a pathetic attempt to stop any further tears. He may as well have been nothing more than a child, pitifully helpless to stop the slow dirge that accompanied mortality. Theo’s final moments would be spent in a hurricane of chaos and fear, devoid of any form of comfort or meaningful companionship.

“Loki?”

The internal debate of whether to remain in the purgatory of the unknown or face a truth that might very well be Hel stopped Loki from immediately reacting. The tone offered little indication of the outcome, increasing Loki’s hesitancy to respond.

“Loki.” The repetition was firm; enough so that he realized that there was no ignoring whatever was about to come.

He drew a deep breath and braced himself for the worst before lifting his head. 

Dr. Harper stood before him, offering him a hand and a weak smile. “She’s still here - gave us a bit of a scare, but she’s hanging in there.” 

Relief washed over Loki, though it was short-lived at best. 

Theo couldn’t leave him - not like this. He would not - he could not allow it.

Then again… what could he do to stop it?

‘Cause I never got to  See you once more, no I guess that’s all I wanted I guess that’s all I needed

“Brother, please - you must try.” Thor all but begged his younger brother, trailing behind Loki’s relentless pace like a puppy chasing its master. 

In the same cramped conference room where the idea of entering Theo’s mind was initially entertained, those who had not yet given up hope of rescue gathered to discuss the best path forward.

“In such reckless desperation to save her, all that has been done is hasten her demise.” Loki snarled, “And yet, you continue to believe that such barbaric methods could reap any benefit! Has she not suffered enough?”

“We would try something else if we had another option,” Barnes pointed out, aggressively massaging where vibranium connected with flesh. “but we don’t. It sucks, but it’s our best shot.”

“I doubt it would prove successful,” Loki muttered, bravado giving away to bitterness; another reminder that being among the most powerful sorcerers of the nine realms was of no value; for all the magic in the world, he was useless. “If Maximoff could not break past the wards in her mind, what makes you believe I would be capable?”

“Isn’t there something about the power of love?” Whether Stark was serious or facetious was difficult to ascertain; regardless, Loki found both possibilities to be utterly infuriating. “True love conquers all, yada-yada fairytale sort of thing?”

“That is nothing more than myth,” Loki hissed, blood boiling at such an insolent proposition. “There is no evidence to indicate it would make any difference in such matters.” 

“Loki, please–”

“Do you truly wish for my magic to strike the killing blow?” Loki slammed his fist against the table, stunning the others into silence. Every muscle in his body wound itself tight with tension as he struggled to maintain any semblance of respect for those who asked him to commit such a horrific act. “You ask of me the impossible; my seidr would be the last touch of life she feels before she is thrust into a painful, cruel death. How could I live with that?” 

His voice betrayed him, breaking as he asked the question; with it, he felt his carefully composed mask begin to crack. The heat which built behind his eyes spilled over, seeing nothing but burning red as his cheeks grew wet. Before the others could comment, he turned away and wiped his eyes, forcing a glamour for just long enough to hide his slip in composure.

When he returned his attention to the others, Thor stared at him as if he saw through Loki’s tricks. “Brother, can you live with yourself if you try nothing?”  

“There must be another way.” Loki implored, clenching his jaw to stop the trembling of his lower lip. He let out a tense breath, raking one hand through what had become unkempt, tangled curls. “Something we’ve not yet tried–”

“Fine - if you won’t try, maybe you can make yourself useful and go through her laptop.” Romanoff’s own carefully composed mask of indifference began to slip, allowing the faintest hint of tension to show in the manner in which she scrubbed her face with her hands.  

“What exactly do you presume I will find?” Loki drawled, though he accepted the device when Rogers held it out to him. 

Romanoff massaged her temples, her frustration more openly on display. “We won’t know until you look, will we?” 

Try as he might, Loki could not conjure a counterpoint.

Not long after, Loki sat in the torture chamber of an infirmary room, staring at Theo’s laptop before him. Searching through files seemed like a fruitless task, however he could at least acknowledge that it might prove more beneficial than other means of research.

Unlocking the device was simple; such a task could be completed in his sleep. However, the image that greeted him upon entering the password triggered a memory so painful that Loki nearly slammed the damned contraption shut and banished it into another plane. 

It was a picture of Theo and Loki, from the day he took her to Coney Island. They were at the top of the ferris wheel, with a view of the city in the background as the sunset stretched across the sky. It was relatively early in her tenure as an Avenger - in need of an opportunity to destress, Loki suggested they spend an afternoon at the amusement park. 

By the time they boarded the ferris wheel, Loki’s sides ached from the endless laughter between them. Theo’s cheeks flushed the faintest pink from sunburn, but the sparkle in her ocean eyes told him that the adventure was worth the slight discomfort. He remembered how she pestered him to take the photo because he had longer arms, and how at the last moment Theo wrapped an arm around him and pulled him closer to her, causing him to laugh in surprise right as he took the picture.

Everything had been so simple then; what he would have sacrificed to go back to that moment and linger there eternally.

Rather than casting the laptop aside, the desire for connection pushed Loki to see what else he might find. He methodically worked his way through the files, searching folder by folder for anything that might have even the slightest connection to the predicament before them. Hours passed as he worked through the multitude of files, the motivation from earlier replaced with hopelessness as he failed to find anything that might be useful moving forward.

After he closed the final document, a different folder caught his eye.

Titled “Covers,” inside were the recordings of the many songs which Theo performed her own renditions of and shared online. The files dated back to approximately when she began her role as an Avenger, covering a variety of styles and genres of music.

In a way, looking through her music felt like he was reading her diary: intimate, vulnerable, and candid. But he also knew that this was the closest he would get to easing the ache of not being able to talk to her, to apologize endlessly for his foolishness, to understanding and reconciling the woman he thought he knew with the woman she truly was. He could always tell how she was feeling based on what she was listening to; right now, with their relationship in such a precarious place and her well-being in the balance, he craved anything that allowed him to feel closer to her.

Just before he could press play, a nurse entered, politely requesting that he take his leave as they tended to Theo.

Loki glanced one final time at the laptop, the question lingering on his mind: what if entering her mind truly was the solution? 

As if on cue, Thor’s voice echoed in Loki’s mind: Could he live with himself if he did not at least try?

Then again, if she perished, could he live with himself knowing he was the cause?  

Now look, you’ve made a fool out of love When all you want is to be enough, When all you want is to feel enough

In the end, desperation won over.

The Norns must have truly cursed him, to force his hand into taking such action. The stacks of texts which failed to provide any hints about a path forward, the laptop which held no documentation of the secrets Theo kept, the chimes of machines which provided borrowed time - they all taunted him as he sat alone in the darkened room, with nothing but one small lamp above the head of bed illuminating the space. The corridor outside was eerily still, no doubt from the late hour, with not even the squeak of rubber sole on polished floors making it to Loki’s ears.

Before he began, he decided to revisit the playlist of covers she recorded. If there was one thing that had not been cast into doubt after everything that transpired, it was that the music she created always provided a window to her emotions at that moment in time. Though it was a long shot, Loki hoped that hearing the very songs she covered might help Theo subconsciously lower her guard, allowing Loki to see into her memories.

Selfishly, he hoped it might also offer him the opportunity to determine if the bonds between them were true, or if they were little more than illusions.

If nothing else, the sound of her voice floating through the air offered him a comfort that he desperately craved, particularly as he stared down the prospect of being both her lover and executioner. 

In the dead of night, with no one around to witness, Loki said a prayer to whatever deities might offer him grace. He leaned over, delicately cupping Theo’s cheek in his hand. His gaze carefully cataloged the features he’d come to love and the remnants of a war she hadn’t chosen to fight in, committing them to his own memory.

“If this is to be your final moment, I hope that it is peaceful,” he murmured, as if she could hear his voice or comprehend his message. “Come what may, I pray you will forgive me for that which I am about to do; I wish nothing but the best for you, my dear.”

Theo’s eyes slowly fluttered open, and for a moment, Loki’s pulse stuttered as he swore traces of recognition could be found. Yet, it was a fleeting moment before they fell shut once more, and the reality of their situation set in.

It was now or never.

Taking Theo’s hand in his, Loki closed his eyes. The tingle of Seidr flowed through his veins as he channeled it into Theo, uncertain about what he would find when he attempted to probe her mind. 

In some sort of poetic irony, that was exactly how he found himself back where most stories start - at the beginning.

It’s still not quite the way it was, But you promised me that  this is love, so stay and  Watch the hospital that’s Just across the street From your apartment balcony I’ll never ever leave, I’ll never leave

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