#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.

Pharmaceutical Machinery, Tube Filling Machinery, Tube Sealing Machinery, Soft Drink Filling Machinery, Container Filling Machinery, Pharmaceutical Equipments, Pharmaceutical Machine, Food Processing Machinery, Chemical Equipment, Plastic Tube Filling Machinery, Multi Head Container Filling Machine, Cone Blender, Volumetric Bottle Filling, Filtration Unit, Rotary Bottle Washing, Rubber Bung Washing Machine, Storage Tank, Pressure Vessel, Cosmetic Filling Machinery, High speed Multi Head Container Filling Machine, Multi Head Container Filling Machine, Plastic Tube Filling Machine, Plastic Tube Sealing Machine, Plastic Tube Coding Machine, Plastic Tube Cutting Machine, Automatic Multi Head Container Filling Machine, asia, asian, india, indian, mumbai, maharashtra, industrial, industries, thane, pune, nashik, aurangabad, ratnagiri, nagpur, ahmednagar, akola, amravati, chandrapur, dhule, jalgaon, raigad, sangli, satara, belgaum, kolhapur, belgaon

[demonic0angel]

Could we have some more tim/kon/ellie art 🙏🙏🙏🙏

Maybe something more angsty 🙏🙏🙏

Love the ship idea 🩵🩵🩵

Asking for angst is crazyyyyy, but here you go :3

Image description below:

Panel 1 has a far away picture of Tim in his hero costume in some sort of cave filled with machinery. Everything is glowing green.

Robot: Attempt eighty-nine unsuccessful.

Tim: … what?!

Panel 2 has a closer up picture of Tim bent over and slamming his hands down on a table/machine, shouting.

Tim: No! No!! Dammit! What keeps going wrong?!

Panel 3 has an even closer picture of Tim, with only his face showing as he covers his eyes with a trembling hand.

Tim: No… please…

Panel 4 has his back showing, still slumped over with a hand on his face and the table. In front of him are two tubes filled with green liquid. The naked half-figures of Kon and Dani are in each tube. Each of them have their eyes closed and are turning into bubbles.

Robot: Beginning disintegration procedure to restart cloning process.

Tim: Kon… Dani… please…. tell me what to do…

[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.

[maybeelse]

what happens when you win

Victory should have been sweet. Standing over your foe's corpse, augmented muscles straining to yank your spear from her ruined heart, should have triggered a flood of dopamine. It should have felt like your handler's hand in your patchy hair, the rush of hearing her clicker in your ear—

You thumb your radio's buttons.

Nothing.

It's as dead as your enemy, as dead as everything else within a dozen meters. Another few hours and your battlefield will be fatally irradiated; you can hear the rising buzz of radiation leaking from her ruptured engines.

The enemy used to load their mechs with scorched-earth traps, beads of antimatter magnetically isolated. Victory—or, in many cases, an unfortunately placed shard of flak—meant devastation. No one bothered to tell you when they stopped, or why. Maybe they decided that poisoning the land was better than destroying it.

Warnings hum at the edge of your vision, damaged subsystems and requests for maintenance. Her desperate struggles as you pinned her down and took her to pieces inflicted more damage than you realized. Nothing deadly, but the section of your life support responsible for managing your neurotransmitter balance is completed unresponsive: no tasty combat drugs for you.

That, then, is why you feel nothing except the last, fading remnants of war-trance and a slowly growing sense of failure.

Bad hound. No orgasm. Go back to the barracks and think about what you've done.

Not your handler's voice. Just your conditioning rising up to punish you.

You need to get back to base. If you don't, if you can't—

This is your enemy's fault.

Parts of her body are still intact. Her head, probably; you didn't land any hits on that part of her mech. No point, really; obliterate the pilot's mind and the mech's guidance systems go feral trying to read intent from whatever is left behind. Unpredictable and dangerous, like you're supposed to be.

Her armor bends and tears. It's not so hard to take her apart, really; active countermeasures get all the funding. Don't be seen; don't be hit; don't make the mechanics spend more time putting you back together. It's a pity that yours didn't work better.

There's a face under there, buried in broken machinery and leaking plastic tubes, still visible through the bismuth-like growths that encrust her skull. Still alive, barely; her eyes flutter in the sudden light, struggling to focus, failing.

There's something familiar about it. Something in the tilt of her eyes, the shape of her nose, her lips—not what your handler looks like, not at all, but what she feels like. The impression her face leaves on you when you see her in the hanger, between missions; the way your heart always skips a beat.

You shouldn't recognize her face. You have never seen the enemy's face before. A warning siren keens in your ear, filling your heart with hatred, but—how do you know her? Why?

She says something, a word your augmentations will only let you hear as painful static, and you reflexively drive your fist through her skull.

Destroying her doesn't save you.

The last thing you feel before your own scorched-earth countermeasure activates is the bloody pulp cooling on your skin.

[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 💖🤭

[knoepfl]

♡~A Beautiful Abomination~♡

This was requested from my dear BFF who's just as wierd as me. This is for you♡ Characters:

- Il Dottore (Genshin Impact)

- Reader (Experiment/His S/O)

Trigger Warnings:

- Body modification

- Mild possession/obsession themes

- Medical procedures (non-graphic)

- Unhealthy relationships

- Slight Yandere tendencies

Masterlist

Word Count:1,020

Here is part two -> Bound by Creation

---

The sterile scent of chemicals filled the dimly lit laboratory, where glass instruments clinked and tubes of strange liquids bubbled quietly. Dottore stood at his workbench, gloved hands steady as he made minute adjustments to a mechanical device—a device that pulsed with the same rhythm as a heartbeat. In the far corner of the room lay *his most perfect experiment.*

You.

A beautiful amalgamation of flesh and machinery, your body was a testament to his brilliance. When he found you, you had been fragile, broken beyond repair. But that didn’t matter to him. You were no longer just human. Your bones had been strengthened, muscles enhanced, and where organic tissue once failed, intricate mechanisms now pulsed in harmony with your blood. And through all of it, you remained conscious—awake through every procedure, tethered to him not just by your new, enhanced body but by something far more dangerous: affection. "How are you feeling today?" Dottore’s voice cut through the quiet. It was soft but laced with that clinical detachment you’d grown used to.

You shifted on the table, the cool metal under your back reminding you how far from human you had become. The whirring of gears within your limbs echoed slightly as you adjusted yourself to sit up. "Functional," you answered, a small smile curling your lips. "Though I think you already know that, considering you’re the one who made me like this."

His lips twitched at the corners—something almost resembling amusement. Dottore was not known for kindness, but there was a strange satisfaction he seemed to derive from your presence, as if you were the culmination of all his experiments. Yet, you were more than just a subject to him, weren’t you? "You are... improving," he remarked, stepping closer. His gloved hand reached out to lift your chin, tilting your face to the dim light.

His sharp eyes scanned every part of you, searching for flaws, imperfections. But there were none. You were his creation, after all. A masterpiece. "Do you ever regret it?" you asked softly, the words breaking through the silence like glass. "What you did to me?" Dottore’s hand paused, still cradling your chin. His scarlet gaze lingered on you, and for a moment, you thought you saw something beyond the cold exterior—something resembling pride. "Regret?" He scoffed, but it wasn’t cruel. "You were weak. I made you better. Stronger. You should thank me." "I do," you whispered, leaning into his touch.

His thumb grazed over your jaw in an almost delicate motion, a gesture that seemed strangely out of place from someone like him. Dottore did not know love in the way others did. He knew only control, precision, and obsession. Yet, with you, those lines blurred. You weren’t just an experiment. You were his. Entirely, irrevocably his. "Do you understand, now?" he murmured, voice low and deliberate. "You are the future. A perfect fusion of flesh and machinery. Without fear, without weakness. That... makes you valuable."

You could tell from the way his gaze darkened that 'valuable' meant something much deeper. It was the closest thing to affection you’d ever get from him, but it was enough. You didn't need his love—not in the way others might. You needed *this*: the way his eyes lingered on you as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered, the way his hands brushed your skin with a possessive tenderness no one else would ever experience.

"I wonder," you said, tilting your head. "Do you ever think about what I was before? The person I used to be?" He chuckled—a low, velvety sound. "No. That version of you was insignificant. *This* is who you were meant to be." And in that moment, you realized something: Dottore had not just made you his perfect creation. He had made you his obsession. A masterpiece he could never tire of. He leaned closer, his breath ghosting against your ear. "Do you doubt my work?" You shook your head slowly, a small smirk playing at your lips. "Never. But I think you enjoy this version of me a little too much." "Perhaps."

His voice was a purr now, dark and full of unspoken promises. "And if I do? You belong to me, after all. Mind, body, and soul." And strangely, that didn’t bother you. In fact, you found comfort in it—the knowledge that no matter how monstrous you’d become, you were *his* monster. A beautiful abomination crafted by the hands of a madman. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

---

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this dark little fic featuring our favorite mad scientist, Dottore. Feel free to send in requests if you have any ideas you'd like me to write next!

[badboydevotee]

A Genius' Birthday Surprise: A Dose of Affection

Summary: "You...remembered my birthday!? Ahem... If you wish to give me a present, make it either a talented assistant or a useful test subject." -Yuri's Birthday voiceline.

The laboratory was a whirlwind of organized chaos. Papers cluttered the desks, test tubes filled with colorful liquids lined the shelves, and the faint hum of machinery punctuated the air. Amidst it all stood Yuri Isami, the self-proclaimed “genius and visionary.” His teal hair caught the sterile fluorescent light, and the sharp lines of his blazer gave him an air of authority. He was focused, as always, hunched over his latest experiment, a hint of classical music drifting from the speakers in the background.

“Yuri!” you called, stepping into the lab, your heart fluttering with excitement. You had been planning for days, secretly preparing a small celebration for his birthday. His stern expression flickered, momentarily softened by curiosity as he turned to face you.

“What is it?” he snapped, though the edge in his voice didn’t quite mask the intrigue in his teal eyes.

“I, um, wanted to surprise you,” you stammered, revealing slowly a perfectly wrapped cake in a box behind you. “Happy birthday!”

He blinked, an unusual flush creeping into his pale cheeks. “You… remembered my birthday!?” His voice rose a bit, disbelief painted on his features. You could almost see the gears in his mind grinding to a halt. This was the most flustered you had ever seen him, and it was adorable.

“Of course! I made you a cake and—”

“Ahem!” He cleared his throat, regaining his composure, but the slight tremor in his chin betrayed him. “If you wish to give me a present, I need either a talented assistant or a useful test subject.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his self-importance. “I think I’m the best present you could ask for, Yuri.”

His eyes narrowed, half-annoyed, half-amused. “Is that so?”

“Absolutely! Besides, who else would keep your ego in check?” you teased, walking over to the table where the cake rested, a masterpiece adorned with intricate teal and white frosting—a nod to his signature colors.

Yuri’s gaze flickered from you to the cake, a subtle shift in his posture as he approached. “What’s this?”

“Your birthday cake!” You couldn’t hide your grin as you watched him examine it. “I thought you might like it.”

He scoffed, trying to appear disinterested, but the glimmer of curiosity in his eyes betrayed his excitement. “You think you can impress me with mere baked goods?”

You smirked, folding your arms. “Want to find out?”

He rolled his eyes, but there was a playful spark in his demeanor. “Fine. I’ll indulge you. But if it’s terrible, you’ll have to assist me in my next project—endlessly.”

You cut a slice and handed it to him, your heart racing as he took a tentative bite. The silence that followed was agonizing.

His eyes widened, and for a moment, he looked like a child who had just discovered the joy of sweets. “This… is surprisingly not bad,” he admitted, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“Yes!” you exclaimed, thrilled at his reaction. “I knew you’d love it!”

His expression shifted, the corners of his mouth lifting into a genuine smile, revealing a side of him you seldom saw. “You have potential as a baker. Perhaps I won’t need to look for a talented assistant just yet.”

You beamed at his compliment, warmth blooming in your chest. “See? I can be useful beyond just being your assistant.”

“Or a test subject,” he quipped, a smirk returning to his face, yet his eyes softened with a warmth you had come to cherish.

As the afternoon wore on, the cake vanished between laughter and banter. Yuri began to share bits of his ambitious dreams, revealing the passionate visionary behind the facade of arrogance. His fierce desire to revolutionize medicine and the vulnerability hidden beneath his bravado intrigued you.

“You really care about your work,” you observed, watching him as he animatedly gestured with his hands, the teal of his eyes shining with fervor.

“Of course! The world needs to recognize my genius,” he replied, but there was a sincerity to his tone that made your heart flutter.

“And you want someone to see it too,” you whispered, half-teasing, half-serious.

Yuri paused, his gaze fixing on yours, an intensity igniting in the air between you. “Perhaps. But it’s difficult to trust anyone with my vision. Most can’t keep up.”

“Maybe you just need to let them in,” you said softly, the moment stretching between you.

He shifted slightly, the distance between you shrinking as the atmosphere thickened with unspoken words. “And what if they don’t measure up?”

“Then you help them rise to the occasion,” you replied, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart.

He looked at you, truly looked, and in that gaze, you sensed a shift—a willingness to be vulnerable. “I… might consider that.”

With the remnants of cake dusting your fingers and the soft glow of the lab’s lights around you, you realized this birthday was unlike any other. It wasn’t just about celebrating a genius but finding a connection, two ambitious spirits navigating their world together.

As the afternoon melted into evening, the teasing returned, but now it felt like a gentle dance—two people learning to balance ambition and affection. In Yuri’s eyes, you saw the glimmer of something deeper, a promise of shared dreams and a bond that went beyond the laboratory.

Maybe, just maybe, he’d finally found a worthy assistant. And you were ready to be his greatest experiment yet.

Ao3 vers.

[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.

[beescrafting]

Well under control

This is a short writing for @gomzdrawfr for this post https://www.tumblr.com/gomzdrawfr/765175548574072832/angst-amnesia-trope-alien-controlbonus-3?source=share

It was so much fun writing about it.

I think they forgot to give me their a03, which was where I was going to post this, but idm posting this here now is fun and worth while.

_______________________

It was supposed to be a quick mission. A simple mission that only truly required the captain and Lieutenant.

It was supposed to become like that.

Not like… This.

Price was pinned against the wall as his Lieutenant strangled him. How the hell did it get to this point…

“Simon….” He managed to gasp out through a choked breath.

His Lieutenant’s eyes hazed over with something unnatural as that damn goop continued to bind itself to his mask and Baclava looked confused. “....Who?” He muttered in an unnatural tone Price had only heard once from when Johnny replaced his black clothing with pink.

His heart sank.

~~~0600 Hours, Military Base: REDACTED~~~

“This is a simple mission, John. I’ve done my background checks, it's just a facility close to a forest. Barely even 100 men.” The informate said handing over a paper.

It was a short meeting, a quick one brought up by the sudden appearance of this goop. That goop is found to control a person's mind. They needed to get a sample without infecting anyone to find a way to cure it.

“So you and the Lieutenant will be sent there. A quick in and out mission.” The informate sighed. “Kill if needed. Just make sure it's silent.”

Price Sighed, nodding, this was just a simple mission. Get in, get the package, get out. He glanced at Simon seeing the statue of a man studying the detailed map of the place.

It's nice to see Simon taking this seriously as always.

“You leave in 30 minutes. The sooner we get some of that stuff, the sooner we can find a cure to it.”

“Alright then,” Price muttered, nodding. He read the file, detailing the shift changes, vantage points, and as much information as he could get.

For such a sudden mission, they were truly well-informed. It was a good thing to do; it was way better than charging in blind.

“There are two entrance points I suggest each of you go through… meet in the middle,” The informate said tapping places on the map, they sighed muttering, “Good luck.” He said before leaving.

The informate left the room, leaving the Captain and his Lieutenant alone to review the plan. They could go over it as they were flown out as well.

Simple enough.

~~~0630 Location: Facility Southern Sector~~~

John Price stood at the door he was to clear. His radio was on as he called over to Simon.

“Ghost, how copy?” Price muttered.

“Inside, haven’t been spotted.” Ghost’s voice came over the radio explaining his status.

“Good” Price gruffed out as he inserted himself into the building. It’d be good to get this over and done with soon. Price didn’t need himself losing anyone to that damn goop. Not Soap, Not Gaz, Not Ghost damn it.

He couldn’t lose anyone to this damn stupid-ass mind-controlling goop… Who even comes up with this stuff?!

Price went through the building, hiding in the shadows and corners before taking the guards down and out. For the guards that were guarding the place, it was rather easy to kill them…

Almost… Too easy.

He muttered in a disdainful tone, “fuckin’ hell..” Entering into a dimly lit containment room. The soft blue light cast shadows from the filing and tubes throughout the room. Scientific machinery lined the area including in the middle of the room.

John walked further into the room studying the tubing. There were certain tubs filled with that goopy stuff, it reacted to him being near, moving to follow his form as it moved down more.

His steps were silent and quick, that was until something crunched under his foot. He glanced around noticing glass… He looked at the tubes around this section. A singular tube was broken open.

“Shit” He muttered pulling up his radio.

“Ghost… Ghost, one of the goops is out… don’t know if it’s infected anyone, be on the lookout…” He spoke on the radio.

He waited for a response.

He didn’t get one.

“Ghost… How to copy” He muttered again, something in his gut twisted in a deeply unpleasant way.

Still nothing.

It unnerved him in the worst way possible.

Instead of wasting time on getting the shit he was supposed to, he went straight to finding Simon. He couldn’t fail the other again. Not like with Roba… Not like…

He took a deep breath and walked through the dim halls. The lights weren’t on… The guards would have put the lights on by now, they would know that they’ve been intruded on…

Just what the hell was going on? And which muppet was he going to kill for this?

With haist, John found himself where he and Simon were supposed to meet up. Nothing, not even a dead guard or anything.

He went further north, heading to the area Simon should be if he was held up by a few guards, maybe even the infected guard. Yes, that had to be what happened. It explained why he didn’t answer his radio call.

Price went through the rooms quickly. He found a few dead guards, their bodies limply laid about in the utmost uncomfortable poses, his back could never, move passed them.

“Ghost, How copy?” He radioed again.

Nothing.

The pit that was growing in his gut was no longer a pit, but a fucking vast sinkhole.

This was just great… great…

He’s going to skin whoever made this damn goop.

He entered a room, that was darker than most, he frowned turning on a flashlight, and entering the room. “Ghost… Simon…” He mumbled, the worry in his voice was clear, it was strained with stress and the fear of failing the other once more.

Still, it was nothing. No sightings of Simon. Of Ghost. It was setting off so many alarm bells in his head he hurried. He no longer cared about being stealthy, Simon could be hurt or worse dying…

As he left the room and entered a larger filing room he in a matter of seconds was hit with a rather large being of mass. He slammed into the doorway with such vigor he could have sworn he felt a few bones pop. His eyes quickly went to the person who did this, only to see.

“Simon?” He mumbled with a groan.

Simon wasn’t there though. His gaze was just not fully there, his form wasn’t like before or any time he had seen him, almost slumped over with a slight head tilt. Blood was all over his uniform dripping from the hands to the feet.

With an unnatural movement for Ghost, he moved forward with a quickened pace, his hand reaching out and before Price could even react he was held against the wall, Simon's hand tightly bound against his neck. His grip showed he was going for a kill.

Fuck.

He reached out, his hand grasping the one Simon’s hand was using to strangle himself. That damn goop got to Ghost… OF FUCKING COURSE! Whenever he finds that damn muppet that made this shit, let’s just say General Shepherd had it fast this fucker is not going to have a quick one.

“Simon….” He managed to gasp out through a choked breath.

His Lieutenant’s eyes hazed over with something unnatural as that damn goop continued to bind itself to his mask and Baclava, he looked confused. “....Who?” He muttered in an unnatural tone Price had only heard once from when Johnny replaced his black clothing with pink.

His heart sank even more.

He knew he would have to well… disarm Ghost and take him down if they were both going to get out of this. With all the strength and adrenaline he could muster, he kicked the other off, aiming for the chest with a hard mule-like kick.

That sent Simon off, he’d have to apologize later if the lad would even remember. Price moved himself rather quickly, slamming himself into Simon now that he had stumbled back. He took the other leg out with a quick slide-like motion. Now that he had the goop-controlled Simon pinned to the floor, his hand went to ripping off that damn goopy baklava. He prayed to whatever god was up there that the goop hadn’t gotten underneath the fabric too badly.

The Goop-controlled Simon did put up a fight, trying to keep the little shit protected. But with Price pinning the other's hands with a zip-tie and holding them down with one hand while removing that infected piece of clothing it was rather easy. Despite the bruised windpipe and a few other places.

Price threw the infected clothing away, across the room, he would get it back later once he was sure they wouldn’t need to shave Simon’s head.

Simon’s face… That scarred thing of beauty is a testament to all that pain he went through yet still survived. It was nice to see it again, even with the less-than-desirable reason behind seeing it once more. Simon didn’t seem to have any of the goop truly intertwined with his hair. Which was good. Very good.

Simon seemed out of it though… Which is, less than good.

“Ghost…” Price grumbled, shaking the other a bit now to see if the effects had worn off… This was a shitty situation.

Simon groaned. His eyes fluttered a bit with displeasure. “Fuckin’ hell…” He growled.

Price would sigh, relaxing a bit.

There’s the Simon he knows… There’s the Ghost.

“There you are…” Price purred with a slight smile. He got off the other patting his chest after cutting the other free.

Now it was time to deal with that damn infected clothing. And maybe even murder someone for nearly taking his damn Lieutenant away.

[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.

[dumbtruk]

The Clockwork Creation

The thunder roared, splitting the night in two, as jagged bolts of lightning illuminated the darkened skies above the lonely Snezhnayan lab. You stood outside the towering building, feeling your heart race with anticipation, knowing what lay within. Your hands trembled as you clutched the edges of your cloak tighter, hoping the cold night air would soothe the anxious energy surging through your veins.

It had been weeks—months, even—since you had seen him last. Il Dottore, the brilliant, enigmatic man you once knew, had withdrawn into his secret laboratory, obsessing over his latest experiment. Letters were few, and each one more cryptic than the last. His mind, once so sharp and full of purpose, seemed to unravel further with every success.

The heavy oak doors of the lab creaked open as if sensing your approach. Stepping inside, you were greeted by the harsh smell of chemicals, the scent burning in your nose. The place was darker than you remembered, the air thicker, suffocating.

You had known Dottore for years, working alongside him in pursuit of knowledge, always fascinated by his mind, his ambition. But something had changed in him. The brilliant scientist you admired had begun to twist under the weight of his obsession, pursuing power and discovery without regard for ethics or consequences.

It all started with one question that spiraled into madness: Could life be recreated?

Dottore had once confided in you his dream to conquer the boundaries of mortality, to shape life from death, to bend nature’s laws. What was once a philosophical debate had transformed into something real, something terrifying.

You swallowed hard, your footsteps echoing through the empty halls as you descended deeper into his workshop. Every corner was filled with the remnants of abandoned experiments—half-constructed automata, strange, ticking contraptions made of metal and sinew, and medical devices whose purpose you dared not imagine.

The sound of whirring gears and clanking metal grew louder as you approached the heart of the laboratory. In the center of the dimly lit room stood a towering figure—Dottore.

His back was turned to you, hunched over a large table littered with surgical tools, tubes, and vials of unknown substances. Sparks flew from the apparatus around him, filling the air with the stench of burning metal. He didn’t notice your presence at first, so consumed was he by the work before him.

“Dottore,” you called out softly, your voice barely audible over the hum of machinery.

He stiffened, then slowly turned to face you. The moment his eyes locked with yours, you knew he was no longer the man you once knew. His sharp red gaze gleamed with a feverish intensity, and a twisted smile tugged at his lips. He looked gaunt, hollow, as if sleep and sanity had long since abandoned him.

“You came,” he said, his voice low, smooth, but tinged with something unsettling. “I knew you couldn’t stay away.”

You took a hesitant step forward, your eyes scanning the room. On the table before him lay the culmination of his work—a creation. A body. It was large, humanoid, though something about it was grotesque in its stillness. The flesh, stitched together in patches, was pale and unnatural. Tubes connected to the figure pulsed with dark liquid, and electrodes attached to its temples sparked occasionally as Dottore worked feverishly on some unseen adjustment.

“What… what have you done?” you whispered, your throat dry as you stared at the lifeless form.

Dottore’s grin widened, his hands twitching with manic excitement. “I’ve done it. I’ve surpassed them all—Celestia, the Archons, the very laws of nature itself. I’ve created life!”

Your stomach churned at his words. “This… this isn’t life, Dottore. This is an abomination.”

His expression darkened, the once playful glint in his eyes replaced by something dangerous. “You don’t understand, do you? You never truly understood the potential. This creation—this being—is more than life. It is perfection, designed by me. It will be the first of many, a new race crafted from the brilliance of science and human ingenuity.”

You shook your head, taking a step back as the horror of it all sank in. “You’re playing with things no one should. This… this thing you’ve made—it’s not natural. You can’t just stitch together parts of the dead and call it life.”

Dottore’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you saw a flash of the man he once was. But that moment passed quickly, and the mad scientist was back, his voice dripping with condescension. “Natural? Do you think nature cares for the weak, the fragile? I’ve improved upon it. I’ve made something better. It can’t die, it can’t fail, and it will serve me as no living creature could.”

He moved closer to the table, his hands hovering above the switches and levers of the device connected to the body. The electricity in the room crackled with a strange energy, the tension thick and palpable.

“I invited you here,” Dottore said, his voice softening in an eerie imitation of warmth, “because I wanted you to witness the future. You’ve always understood me, haven’t you? You’ve been by my side for so long. I thought… you might appreciate the genius behind it.”

You stared at him, torn between the loyalty you once felt and the growing horror gnawing at your heart. He had lost himself, his brilliance consumed by ambition and madness.

“This isn’t right,” you whispered, taking another step back. “I can’t… I can’t be part of this.”

Dottore’s smile faltered, the disappointment clear in his eyes. For a brief moment, you saw a flicker of hurt, but it was quickly replaced by the cold, calculating gleam you had come to fear.

“Pity,” he murmured, turning away from you. “I had hoped you would understand. But I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore. When my creation awakens, the world will understand. You will understand.”

With a flourish, Dottore pulled the final lever. The room exploded with light and sound as the machinery roared to life. Lightning arced from the coils overhead, striking the body on the table with violent force. The air buzzed with raw energy as the figure convulsed, its limbs jerking in unnatural movements. The smell of burning flesh filled the room.

You watched in silent horror as the body twitched and spasmed, the once-lifeless form beginning to move with purpose. The creature opened its eyes—dull, glassy orbs staring into the void—and let out a low, guttural groan.

Dottore’s laughter echoed through the chamber, a sound of pure, manic joy. “It lives!” he shouted, his voice trembling with triumph. “I’ve done it! I’ve conquered life itself!”

The creature on the table sat up slowly, its movements stiff and jerky, like a puppet being manipulated by unseen strings. It looked around the room with blank, unfocused eyes, its mouth opening and closing as if trying to form words. But it was clear—this was no miracle of life. This was a mockery of it.

You couldn’t take it anymore. “Dottore, stop this!” you cried, your voice breaking. “This is madness!”

He turned to you, his eyes gleaming with a wild fervor. “Madness? This is brilliance! This is what humanity has been striving for all along. To become gods!”

But as the creature rose from the table, its body shaking with each movement, you saw something flicker in its eyes. Fear. Confusion. Pain. It was no god—it was a broken thing, pieced together by a man who had lost sight of what it meant to truly live.

The creature let out a low, mournful wail, its hands trembling as it looked down at its own patchwork body. For a moment, you thought you saw the smallest spark of humanity in its eyes, a brief glimmer of recognition. And then, it turned to Dottore.

The scientist stepped forward, his arms outstretched in a gesture of welcome. “You are my greatest creation,” he said softly, his voice filled with reverence. “You belong to me.”

But the creature’s face twisted into something dark, something primal. With a sudden, violent movement, it lunged at Dottore, knocking him to the ground. The two figures struggled, the sound of ripping flesh and grinding metal filling the air as Dottore’s creation fought against its maker.

You watched in horror, frozen in place as the scene unfolded. The scientist’s screams echoed through the lab, but there was nothing you could do.

In the end, Dottore’s obsession, his need to control life itself, had destroyed him.

As the creature stood over his broken body, it turned to you. For a brief moment, you thought it might attack, but instead, it simply stared. There was something in its eyes now—an understanding, perhaps. A sad, broken understanding of what it was and what it had been made to be.

And then, without a sound, it turned and lumbered out of the lab, disappearing into the cold night.

You stood there, the wind howling outside, your heart heavy with the weight of what had transpired.

Il Dottore, once the brilliant mind you admired, was gone—consumed by his own creation, a monster of his own making.

[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.”

[lookatmysillies]

Round 26 - Tallis POV

Tallis had been dreaming a lot lately.

After Round 24, he was sedated and tucked into his stiff bed so tightly it felt like a straitjacket. Whenever he woke on and off in the course of the worst night of his life, it was to hands - human hands - cradling his head. He was so out of it, he didn't know if he imagined it or not.

Before he woke from his coma to the intrusion of the tube in his throat (god, he didn't even want to think about that) he had flashes of awareness. He didn't know if he imagined those, either, and he didn't know whether he desperately needed them to be real or an illusion. He remembered hearing about kids who were always strung out on drugs, needles in their arms and legs and, in some horror stories, their eyes. Straps holding them down. Machinery positioning them like a doll. It wasn't something he'd had to deal with more than a few times at Anakt Garden, and they were very cursory tests, albeit uncomfortable.

But he felt different. He remembered them... doing things to him. Remembered strange helmets and wires on his head, unobstructed by his shaved hair; the needles and the straps. How could his brain conjure something like that up? He'd have to be crazy, and he was already scared enough that he'd gone crazy, or that this was all one long nightmare his mind created in his final moments and he had been dead on the stage of Round 7 all along with its morose lighting and ballad chords in the background, crooning tauntingly. He could practically feel the chill of the air - the weight of a coat lowering onto his body.

What made him doubt the reality of these flashes was that nothing had seemed to happen since he was taken down to that dark place. He woke up with the tubes and the IVs shoved into his body, prying eyes and alien voices surrounding him like he was some kind of spectacle, the kind of spectacle you never were on the stage. They sedated him whenever he panicked. They gave him some daily shots. Comparatively, that seemed relatively standard. The worst of it all was having to be hooked up to those fucking electrodes and watch his most beloved companions fight for their lives.

During his sedation in the aftermath of Himei's... round... and between the brief sensations of human connection (and he knew he was safe when Eddy was there, because it could be no one but Eddy, and Eddy watched over him. They were no saint or savior, working for these wretched creatures, but they watched over him. They didn't hurt him) Tallis dreamt. He dreamt of sitting in a transparent, empty pod, and seeing a small girl in a pod across from him whom Tallis instantly recognized as a human, like him. A real human. Her pod was filled with trinkets, little toys and luxuries Tallis had never seen before. He remembered crawling closer and pressing his face against the glass to see the soft little toy she held in her richly dark hands, darker than his, different but the same, pretty. She had splotches of lighter skin here and there, but her hands were dark, and he remembered her hands maybe more than her face in that moment from watching them so intently. She smiled at him timidly. He didn't know how to smile back. He just smushed his hands against the container as hard as he could.

He dreamt of a girl with dark, wavy hair, gentle eyes, a bright smile. For some reason, she picked him, a scrawny boy with average looks, messy hair and premature worry lines, out of a crowd of children who looked like stars even from a young age. She picked him talentless and friendless from the masses, and she looked at him, smiled at him.

Tallis didn't know what to do with that, for a while. Maybe he never learned how.

They sat under Eden during their recesses and read together. She sped through books with ease, devouring each word without a second glance. He was slower, though, so she waited for him to nod his head against her shoulder to turn the page. He'd never been good like her at hurrying things. Whether it be a book, a song, a sweet-smelling breeze or the sticky molasses of emotion in his chest, it was in his nature to savor. He read every sentence twice. When a song ended, he couldn't even remember it beginning in the first place.

He dreamt of sitting by the stream with Himei. He saw wide blue eyes staring back at him from across the water, so he stood and leaned forward to get a better look. Cirrus sent something floating across the stream, and when Tallis stooped to scoop it up in his hands, he found it to be a lily pad. The petals of the lily itself were shred to bits, ruined; but an attempt had been made to position them so it might look whole. Tallis looked back up at his classmate, but they were gone. When he looked to the side, Himei was gone, too.

Tov remained where she had been sat on the other side of Himei, meeting him with a flat, steady gaze.

That was when Tallis had regained awareness and woke to Eddy wiping his face, soaked with tears, with a cloth.

They didn't say anything about it, so neither did Tallis.

He remained in bed almost constantly.

Small portions of food were all he would take. He didn't want to use the showers in the medical ward, and no one but Eddy seemed particularly interested in his hygiene. Every few days, Eddy woke him from his blissful (false) dreams of his girl, his crumpled lily, and urged him to his feet. They helped Tallis to the showers, and while he had to be monitored at all times, Eddy respectfully averted his gaze when they realized staring at his face while he was without clothes made him more than a little unsettled.

He wasn't a prude, he'd been intimate with Himei before, but that was different. It was natural for them to be without armor when they were alone together. There was a difference between their brand of intimacy and a friendly brand, and Eddy's was most definitely friendly - if even that.

If nothing else, at least they were another human.

Tallis doubted he would be sane if not for this strange, clueless, towering thing.

Fretting for Tov and grieving for Himei had come simultaneously. Himei was gone - he watched her die on live television. He watched her go out like a light and crumple to the stage floor, white suit drenched in crimson red. He felt something in his heart shift and snap loose.

Tov was still alive.

And he knew, because he knew himself and Tov was nothing if not his mirror - he knew she would lose, whether she consciously wanted to or not.

Tallis had barely any time at all before Tov was up on the chopping block. He knew she wouldn't make it. He knew he wouldn't make it.

Half of his heart was gone. He'd lived through a lot, but if the other half fell into the abyss with it, he wouldn't make it.

Eddy didn't tell him when Round 25 was. Tallis had to really press it for that information.

"Jae and Lang," Eddy murmured with sad eyes. "Tomorrow night. One of the contestant's last shows had some disruptions, so I'll be on patrol at the site that night." After a beat, they added, "They won't hook you up for this round, they're waiting for twenty-six."

Tallis mulled over that information for several long hours. When Eddy returned that night, they were a little teary, awed and downcast all at once.

"I liked her," it murmured to itself as it undid the straps on its clothes. Tallis wasn't supposed to hear - he followed Eddy, and he had particularly sensitive hearing compared to his peers.

He jerked back when he heard those words and hurried back to bed, tears stinging in the back of his throat.

He dreamt of a girl with black and white hair who fixed his harp when it broke.

Tov's round was in a matter of nights, and he could do nothing.

Oh Lang, Tallis thought tearfully through the next hopeless day, you were always good at finding solutions. Anyone could give you any problem and deem it unsolvable, and you would find a loophole within minutes. I don't have any loopholes. I don't have anything.

If a problem is meant to be solved, it'll be solved, Lang's voice intoned in the back of his mind. She always spoke about these things like it was the most obvious thing in the world. She always spoke with quiet acceptance. Is your problem meant to be solved?

It should. Tallis imagined all those wild fans roaring for Tov when she went up against Lark. It should. For her and for Himei.

Then you'll solve it.

And if only it was that simple. If only he wasn't in some high-security bunker in the middle of fucking nowhere with nothing but a medical gown to cover his bare ass and a clingy guard to - what? Feed him soup and give him sponge baths?

What's stopping you?

Wires, he whispered into the damp, empty air. Wires in my nightmares and around my arms and legs, crawling into old bullet wounds.

He could practically feel Lang roll her eyes.

Then cut the wire.

Tallis guessed he was lucky that Eddy was a Tov fan.

The little stuff was nice to see. It was comforting to see Tov in the magazines Eddy read and left on the nightstand while it went to use the restroom.

Tallis hadn't thought it would be of particular use until now, though.

With Himei and Lang's voices looping in his ears, he tore a relatively blank page out of the latest issue of the Alien Stage magazine series - nothing but advertisements for pet human enrichment items - and scrambled for something to write with. He wasn't allowed to have sharp objects, though. Eddy came back to him and recoiled at the sight of Tallis standing with their torn magazine, hurt by what they perceived as a slight.

"Eddy." Tallis stumbled to them and grabbed their shoulders. "Please give me a pen. Please. Please. Just for a few seconds, please."

"My magazine," Eddy said forlornly. "Sungmin gave me that issue."

"What? No, it's only an ad. Eddy, please, please can I..."

"Why do you need it?"

With a little pressure, Tallis convinced them to let him write his sheet music over the ads. Then he gave it to Eddy and begged them to digitize it. To send his message so Tov might have a chance.

"No, that's not..." Eddy fidgeted with the page, shaking its head. "That's not allowed, Tallis..."

"I'll owe you forever," Tallis blurted. "I'll do anything, anything you want or need, forever, as long as I'm alive! I'll be - I'll be your best friend, I'll never leave you, I'll be your human companion, just please, please, I'll never ask anything again!"

Eddy's stare was so blank for what was most likely a few long seconds, though it felt like minutes. Their one coral-colored eye grew shiny with moisture, and Tallis had a brief flash of regret tug painfully at his gut - he'd quickly learned how lonely his keeper was, and time and time again, he used it to get what he wanted. Eddy was a human too. Eddy deserved empathy.

Before he could deflate, Eddy squeezed him tight enough to knock the wind out of him, and he had no air in his lungs to backtrack.

Eddy rationalized it by saying it wasn't a code or a lettered message - it was just a song. Eddy didn't know all this song represented for Tallis and Tov. Eddy knew it was a beacon of hope for Tallis's friend, and that's what they digitized and sent to Guardian Cassio.

What did promises like "I'll never leave you" even mean when Tallis was stuck here anyway?

When Tov and Akane sang, Tallis forgot all about the helmet and the electrodes, the eyes on him from behind a thick sheet of one-sided glass.

Lark hadn't stood a chance against Tov's might, but this girl, this girl was something else. She sang low and soft, yet her voice trembled with some powerful suppressed emotion that vibrated like a plucked harp string in her core. Tallis had never known Akane well - she was older and liked to keep to herself but for her noisy companion in the next class - but he felt struck by her, in some way.

Still, nothing could overcome the strength of his emotions when Tov sang.

She reached for her high notes with outstretched hands and sparkling eyes. She fought with every inch of her small being - her soul, too big and full of light to fit in her body, burst at the seams of her skin. When she trilled out Tallis's melody, Tallis physically jolted, the brain waves on the aliens' monitors spiking. Tears streaked his cheeks, full of faded freckles from so little time spent outdoors as of late.

Tov, his guiding light, clawed her way to a tie. When the score rested at exactly 50/50, her eyes widened, the hope and sheer power in the air around her freezing.

Tallis froze right with her.

No.

A red laser dot on Himei's forehead came to mind, Min's body blocking the unjust shot, blood spraying over Himei's shocked face.

Not this.

A split screen showed Tov and Akane both, opposite and equal, as they stared in shock at the screen.

A beat passed.

Tov's number ticked up.

51.

Tallis gasped at the same moment Tov sucked in a sharp, trembling breath.

Akane's expression shifted.

Tallis's mind blanked at the fast, violent display. The crowd screamed when a shot was fired into it. Akane smiled with exhausted, muted satisfaction.

Then her head blew up on the screen, making Tallis jerk his face away.

She's alive, he thought numbly as they unhooked the wires, Eddy moving to grab his face carefully in its large, spidery hands and shake him, trying to see if there was a hint of him there in his eyes.

"She's alive," he said dumbly.

She knows I'm alive.

He crushed Eddy in the first hug he'd ever given it of his own free will and exhaled, shaky, into its shoulder.

I owe you everything.

This was one of my favorites to write!!

Tov belongs to @ivanttakethis; Noora and Lark belong to @kamersona; Cirrus belongs to @cirrusoftheclouds; Jae belongs to @kofeedoggo; Lang belongs to @pwippy; Akane belongs to @aakaneeee; Min belongs to @starry-skiez; One of Nyx's (@rockwgooglyeyes) maybe siblings is mentioned and I FEEL LIKE I CAN'T REMEMBER THE NAME SO I MADE AN EDUCATED GUESS IT'S THE ONE WHO GAVE EDDY THE MAGAZINE CORRECT ME AND I'LL EDIT IT I'M SORRY