#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

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.

[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

[zin-fan-del]

Holdin' Out for a Hero

~5.000 word story featuring gay lizards and blueberry inflation. Also available for reading here on my main website!

"I've been holding out on this until I found someone like you." Windsor's words filled the quiet, dimly-rit room so suddenly it made the scales on Mehji's back momentarily crawl. Beneath the idyll autumn sceneries at the ranch house, he had been led to a room packed with machinery and chemical equipment. The crisp air and warm-hued leaves gave way to a well-camouflaged den of metallic greens and blues.

"Don't say cryptic things," the perturbed lizard just over half his height rebuked, keeping up pace behind his tour guide. His hands dug deep into the pockets of his sweatpants, despite the warmth radiating from the machines all over. As they walked, Mehji snuck several glances away from the curiosities all around to try and read Windsor's face. All he could make out was a confident, smug grin.

"So," the pale dragon's march stopped as the two approached an unusual display glowing with minty green light, "this is my magnum opus." He turned on a heel to face his guest, wearing the same baffling smirk… Next to this stellar contraption, though, a sparkle danced in his eyes.

Mehji's gaze broke with Windsor as he sized up the machine. Inside, like a sample floating in an enormous test tube, a full-body jumpsuit, boots, gloves and a mask were suspended. Looking at it, even up close, it was difficult to tell whether they were actually submerged in liquid or resin. The glass container appeared ethereal, draped in fluorescent viridian shining from lamps below. The tube was embedded in a steel base platform decorated by flickering control panel buttons.

The torso of the bodysuit was decorated with interweaving stripes that diverge and trace the outer arms and legs. A slim black belt featuring an elliptical metal buckle outlined in studs divided it in half vertically. The gloves and boots had cuffs shaped into wide spikes splayed outward. The lurid crimson fabric patterned with bold gray details appeared well-made, albeit strangely large and baggy.

"Is… is this your Halloween costume?" Mehji surmised, scratching the back of his head and forcing a smile. "It's, uh, cool. Which superhero was this again?"

Reacting to the lukewarm response, Windsor's face dropped into a disappointed frown. Unsure what he could have said wrong, Mehji chuckled nervously.

"This is not some measly costume. This… is Wrath." As the white dragon spoke of his creation, he turned to cast a prideful gaze thereupon, a smile creeping back onto his face.

"Isn't that one of those cardinal sins, mister…?" Mehji prodded jokingly. But Windsor simply sighed and faced him, speaking up with a serious tone.

"Mehji, do you remember the day we met?" Windsor's serious, seemingly off-the-cuff question was startling, though easily answered.

"Of course, though I barely believe it. We rolled people the size of zeppelins out of a restaurant…" Giving a brief nod, Windsor carried on.

"Aster City has been ravaged by that same incident happening again and again. People all over the place, in small groups, uncontrollably blowing up. It's a rapid growth that turns your body blue and fills you with juice." As he recounted the events of the past weeks, Windsor's eyes closed tight and he tapped between his brows with an index finger.

"The… the blueberries…" Mehji pulled a hand out of his pocket to insinctively carress his stomach, casting his mind back to the situation in question. His face must have contorted slightly as he spoke, because the taller reptilian's smug grin returned. A nervous feeling raging through Mehji spawned beads of sweat on his forehead.

"You were of great help that day. In fact, I don't think I've seen anyone else quite so excited to do heavy lifting." A gentle blush rose to Mehji's cheeks and his eyes forced themselves away.

"I- I just like being a helpful lil' guy, is all," the embarrassed green lizard attempted to clarify. "Was just following your instructions, really…"

"Then you won't mind putting this suit on for me." With a fluid motion, Windsor reached out and pressed a large eject button on the container's control panel. Immediately, the tube's glass walls slid down to the base, flooding the room in glowing seafoam hues. The garments gently fluttered down to the platformbeneath them, landing at Windsor's waist height.

"Right now? You want a superhero strip show?" Mehji jabbed into Windsor's side playfully with an elbow. "Ya gooner."

"W-what?!" Now, it was the alabaster reptile's turn to blush, which he poorly hid by turning his chin up and away. "To make fast-changing possible, it's designed to fit around any kind of dresswear. You don't even need to take your shoes… off…"

His spiel was abruptly interrupted upon reopening his eyes. Mehji's lower half was already stripped down to just boxers, and his arms were raised over his head to remove the white wifebeater formerly obscured by a large jersey. As he casually tossed the shirt into a pile of his other discarded clothes, their eyes locked. This time, it was Mehji's turn to meet a stunned, flushed face with a cocky smirk.

"What? Are you gay?" He teased, flexing his right bicep playfully. Windsor's jaw dropped but his brain had yet to catch upto speed.

"Well, but… It's not like… Y-you just don't have to, um, undress if you don't want to," the words raced each other out of his gaping maw, but Windsor's composure wasn't regained whatsoever.

"Enough yapping, you dork. You wanna see these guns in a tight suit?" Windsor's diamond eyes shot back and forth from the nearly-nude hunk actively teasing him, unable to conjure up words. "I wanna see more of that look on your face."

As he spoke, Mehji took hold of the suit and unfolded it before him. It unfurled all the way out onto the floor, despite being suspended in his hands over his head. Expeditiously, he unzipped the flashy suit from the top down to the tail-hole, and stepped inside with one leg.

"It's huge," he noted aloud while dressing himself. "You couldn't have secretly taken my measurements better?"

"… You'll see how it works," Windsor retorted, cheeks still rosy. Mehji raised a brow, uncertain what that could mean, but continued, trusting the dragon's guidance to be benign. As he slid his arms down the sleeves of the costume, he turned around.

"Help me out," Mehji instructed, gesturing with one hand at the zipper running down his back. Windsor stepped forward and, with a single decisive tug, closed it all the way up to his neck.

"Excellent. A perfect fit!" Windsor exclaimed with glee as Mehji slowly turned around. The suit was, contrarily, extremely loose and tall, despite being sealed quite firmly around his wrists, ankles, the base of his tail and the top of his neck. As he slid on the boots and gloves, Mehji felt the accessories snap into place like magnets. Despite the unflattering fit, there was a remarkable degree of care put into every piece.

"So, this is what you're into…?" Mehji probed, his tone landing between serious and jokingly pejorative. Most of the fabric was exaggeratedly draped around him like a blanket. He waved his arms slightly up and down, expectedly uncomfortable. "I think some, uh, adjustments might be necessary." From behind, Windsor raised the bandana-like mask up to the smaller reptile's eyes, fastening it into a secure knot below the spikes on his head. Despite their stark-white eyecaps, the mask conferred surprisingly unimpeded visibility.

"Quiet, now… Just follow my lead. You know which arm is your right one?"

"I'm not completely helpless, mister." Mehji smirked, and gestured with the according arm.

"Good. Snap your fingers with that hand."

"Like this?"

Upon triggering the click between his index finger and thumb, a small but distinct beep from the suit's chest area rang out. Before he could react, with the light sound of a vaccuum sealer, the entire garment restricted against his body.

"Guh--" Mehji gasped, puffing out his chest as he felt the soft fabric grow quickly tense. A sense of surprise stunned his jaw open as he held out both arms, contorting around to survey his body with wide eyes. "Holy… That scared me shitless." But as he continued to twist around, the initial shock gradually settling, an emphatic grin spread onto his face. "Hah… haha! Wow. How the fuck did you pull this off?"

The garment was fitted, in the blink of an eye, to perfection. Every curve of his body appeared sculpted beneath the unbelievably smooth fabric. With awe illuminating his visage, the green lizard was stunned into staring at himself in the reflection of a tall machine. This comfort level in such a tight garment was unthinkable to him. It would take hours of meticulous stitching to achieve anything similar.

"You look incredible." Windsor spoke up after letting his newly-dressed partner look himself over. He walked up behind the distracted man and planted both hands on his shoulders. Mehji, who had been on-edge just moments before, didn't react at all. "What you're looking at… What you're wearing… is how I'll fix the blueberries. This is Wrath."

"Your answer is to become a superhero?" Mehji curied, still transfixed on his own reflection. "I thought they caught the guy behind the breakouts already."

"Not quite." Windsor's hands began to explore his guest's figure. "I'm no hero. All I have is this flashy suit…" His palms follow the lines down Mehji's arms before gripping the sides of his chest and sliding down to his waist. "The blueberries just keep popping up, no matter how many culprits get arrested." His words kept Mehji from melting into the gentle massage. "You might now know, but some even remain afflicted long-term, expanding repeatedly…"

Mehji's body, mostly cool beneath the breathable bodysuit, couldn't resist warming up with big hands prodding at it. With an audible gulp, he stared into Windsor's calm eyes and spoke, "I thought permaberries were mythical."

"On the contrary, there are many. And twenty-ton life isn't easy in the city. You just don't fit in anywhere." Winsdor lifted his hands away from Mehji's hips and turned on a heel to take a few steps away. Windsor grew unxpectedly quiet as his brow shaded his downturned eyes. An indiscernable but painful emotion rose with him, expressed clearly through his self-assured facade.

"What're you going to do then? Find out whodunnit? Or run around, juicing everyone in your path?" Mehji brainstormed lightheartedly but his lanky suitor's demeanor refused to lighten.

"Nah." Click. Turning to face Windsor, Mehji heard the distinctive click priming the raygun pointed in his face, which began glowing with electric vigor. "I'm gonna make the problem so bad someone else solves it." Shivers rocketed up Mehji's spine and a sweat drop fell from his chin. "How about it? Just one beam and you'll get your dream body. It's like magic." Windsor responded, staring down his quaking partner deviously.

"W… wait…" the man sizing up a gun pointed his way sputtered. "What…? Dream body? It'll make me ripped if I want?" Mehji couldn't contain his questions, startled by the sudden attack. In his racing mind, the short lizard pictured himself bulging with muscles in the stunning red suit.

"Only if you truly dream of that." Windsor assured as the gun's charging light grew ever vibrant. Mehji groaned quietly, uncertain. Never in his dreams had he imagined himself so rich in brawn. But if this was a chance to quickly grow, he'd kick himself for declining.

So, with a face stiff as steel, he consented concisely.

"Hit me."

A bright ray blinded him as it collided with his midsection, disspating into him as a warm light. Windsor blew on the red-hot tip of the raygun forcefully, breaking up a steam cloud pouring off of it. As his eyes reopened, Mehji looked down to survey his body again, but nothing had visibly changed about it. He patted himself down with gloved hands, unable to sense any dramatic alterations to his figure as Windsor placed the raygun on a nearby counter.

"It didn't work…?" Mehji pumped an arm in the air, flexing it as dramatically as possible. "I haven't gained a pound."

Windsor laughed snidely. "It takes a while so you can really savor the change," He watched the suited-up lizard hastily squeeze at his own muscles, testing for any identifiable growth. "But it looks like it's working just fine to me."

Several questions rose to mind but were beaten to Mehji's lips by a loud belch. He raised a fist to cover it as best as possible, embarrassed. With his other hand, he rubbed at his belly just above his belt. Paying close attention, he could sense bubbles rising in his stomach before they rose sharply in volume. But still, his midsection was no flatter than normal. His brows furrowed in confusion.

"Surely this isn't a gun that just makes you gassy, mister?" Mehji joked. But as he pulled away the hand covering his mouth, he noticed a strange effect creeping its way down his arm. "Wait, huh…?" A deep cornflower color had sneakily appeared around his upper torso. On closer inspection, however, the splotchy effect was spreading like airbrushed paint toward his wrists. He leaned over, watching it race down his front, traveling past his groin and knees down his legs.

As the realization sank in, his breath paused momentarily, then picked back up into a rapid rhythm. As he turned his head back up, the sight of Windsor's euphoric grin made butterflies go wild in his stomach. Blood rushed to his face with such speed enough to nearly knock Mehji out. Embarassed to beet-red, he span around to the mirrored surface from just moments ago…

But the face that greeted him was a deep, rich indigo. In fact, in just seconds, blue hues swallowed his entire body, as though he was dipped in a vat of dye.

"I think I know where this is going," Windsor ominously murmured through a giddy sneer. Mehji's panicked eyes shot back up as his arms dropped to his side. "And that means I chose correctly with you," the taller lizard's tail grew erect as he watched on, struggling to contain elated laughter.

"No way," Inside his mind, Mehji was torn between fear and excitement. But his stomach was churning like an ice-cream machine, kicking up a racket even as he doubled over, pressing into it with both hands. "In my dreams, it doesn't… start this fast…" He was overcome with the sensation of having ravenously eaten past his limit. Through the thin fabric of his suit, he could feel his belly protruding scantly. Between the clamoring of his strained stomach and the soft gut where defined abs just were, the grumbling lizard began bloating up like he went overboard on soda.

The tall dragon released a deep belly-laugh he had kept bottled in for a while. Across the cool tiles he strode, placing a pair of fingers beneath Mehji's chin and lifting it to meet his gaze directly. He spoke warmly as he stroked it gently, ogling his helpless victim's face cloaked in the vivid hues of spirulina. "I'll keep you safe. I promise." Mehji swallowed dramatically as the gurgling from his gut continued, embarrassed to have his upset stomach heard by Windsor. But the white dragon stood close in front of him, their bodies separated by less than an inch. "Just enjoy the ride."

"Urk-!" Mehji, captured in the moment, momentarily forgot what situation he was in. He looked down in disbelief, his jaw slightly unhinged. "It's… really happening!" The juice filling him up spilled over. His belly, once meticulously slim, puffed up into a growing mass approaching the size of a basketball. In and out, the short lizard panted, trying to rationalize his situation. With a single curious hand, he pressed into the dramatically swelling paunch, leaving behind a dark handprint-shaped stain. He moaned as his gut kept duly stretching outward, pursing out over the tight belt cradling it from below.

Windsor pressed his waist into the ballooning lizard's girth, wrapping an explorative arm around his waist. "How's it feel…?" His voice dipped into deep tones as he uttered the question, eyes meticulously soaking in every inch of his subject.

"I can't stop filling up…" Mehji spat out between breaths, his body overtaken by a flurry of senses. "You're going to fucking pop me!" He ballooned so quickly and with such force that a natural sense of alarm rang out. But as Windsor's weight leaned into the sensitive, swollen pillow forming on his front, a rapturous pleasure overtook him. Its forceful growth continued unabated, blocking his view below his own midriff, before juice began to trickle out into the rest of his body.

"You'll be alright," Windsor spoke with a genuine tone that betrayed his devious expression. "Just relax, berry boy. Your fantasies are coming true."

At once, both of his breasts swelled up, spurning another gutteral noise from Mehji. His chest pressed against his chin as it grew, deepening the ecstasy gradually welling up in him. As he stared into Windsor's calm eyes his anxious trembling from before dissolved into a ravishing calm. With a smooth motion, Windsor's fingers cupped around his partner's asscheek, giving it a firm squeeze.

As if choreographed, Mehji's cheeks surged with juice. First, his ass ballooned outward, the pressure of Windsor's squeeze growing as it pressed into it. A rush of delight soared in Mehji, to whom the sensation of a hand on his taut skin felt electric, only intensifying as billows of juice pumping into him.

Moments later, desperate for room, the juice worked its way up past his chest. His lips pursed, pressed together by his face swelling as though with millions of calories at once. Mehji's eyes rolled back uncontrollably, unable to be kept in control as the tide of sweet liquid sqeezed itself inside of him. The emotions ripping through him, spurred on by the pressure of Windsor's sensual grip, overloaded his thoughts.

"Now this is what I'm into…" Windsor grumbled, his face twisted in a nefarious, turned-on smirk. As Mehji ballooned up in his arms, staggering at the sheer heft of his burgeoning frame, he was forced to step back. Gripping the sides of the swollen lizard's waist, he admired his handiwork with delight. With each deep breath, his nostrils were filled with the scent of fresh blueberry. He bit his lower lip to hold in an unhinged moan.

"You gotta help me, man…!" Mehji shouted as his limbs fattened up with ease, forcing him to extend them into a pose like a starfish. The gurgling, creaking bedlam from inside of him overwhelmed his ears as he gushed with fluid. His skintight suit squeezed against his inflating body, stubbornly refusing to break at even a single seam. The dark juice handprints staining his apparel had spread to encompass him entirely. Traces of the saccharine violet fluid were pressed out of Mehji's every pore, stickying the floor with a puddle beneath his feet.

"How am I… supposed to live… as a blueberry?" Words eked out of the stout reptile's mouth between heavy breaths. He waddled about, desperately redistributing his ballooning weight. At first, most of his girth localized around his waist. But the unrelenting pressure mounting within him forced its way outward, rounding his frame out smoothly. Rapidly transforming in such a revealing costume was embarassing, no matter how well it contained his bulging form.

"Well, for starters, I hope you like the flavor." Windsor joked, stepping back again. "But besides that, you don't have to do much of anything. Kick back and go with the flow." Then, with a swift but gentle tackle, he shoved into the massive lizard. With a yelp, Mehji stumbled back before his balance gave out and his gargantuan rear collided with the ground. "Not that you have much of a choice at this point."

Mehji flapped his limbs with all the force he could muster, but they resisted, steadily growing bulkier with each passing second. All he could do was wiggle his hands and feet, reveling in the sensation of being blown up into the spitting image of a blueberry.

His legs had grown so wide that they seemed to melt into the girth of his waist. His feet wriggled, vainly struggling against the force of his round groin gradually swallowing them up. The bubbling juice roared as it surged up his body to fill out his torso similarly, trapping his hands. As he swelled into a near-perfect sphere, losing complete control of his distended body, his suit miraculously stretched to encompass it seamlessly. The growing lizard moaned and groaned, eyes darting around to observe his impossibly huge body progressively expanding. Forced apart by his torso, he helplessly watched his hands disappear over the sides of his own burgeoning figure.

Windsor, with ever-curious hands, felt at the seams of the suit running flush down Mehji's spherical body. Despite showing obvious signs of tension, it remained unbroken, even around the areas that had fattened up the most. The thin belt wrapped snugly around the blueberry's midsection caused his flesh to purse gently around it. Like an artist surveying their own masterpiece, he radiated with joy, staring on at Mehji with a serene smile.

But Mehji continued to inflate. As he fattened beyond his own range of reach, his feet were ungrounded by the swelling fat between them. His body balloned outward, rising up like a nearly-full beach ball being topped off with air. Back and forth his globular body rocked, skin and suit creaking as though reaching their limits. Mehji's limbs stretched as far as they could, but his body swallowed them up as it swelled even wider.

"Mmph! Mmmm…" While being sucked into his swelling body, Mehji's plump cheeks sealed his mouth shut. All he could manage to vocalize were quiet grunts. He could hardly turn his head, let alone see over the rising girth encompassing it. Even his most mobile parts were similarly trapped, leaving his hands and feet incapable of more than gentle wiggling. "Helpff…" Raised up by his round backside, staring at the metallic ceiling, a single weak word rose to his lips.

"You're so ripe, I could just take a big, fat bite…" Windsor walked back up to the blueberry and embraced it again, pressing his face into the smooth, taut surface. "Or bake the world's biggest pie."

Rounding out, Mehji felt his inflation start to ease for the first time. As his creaking frame finally blew past Windsor's height, it rocked around its center point. The blueberry lizard's weight rocketed exponentially as the final traces of juice surged into him in a quick, steady burst. With that, Mehji moaned loudly, his face too swollen to vocalize anything more complex. As the final wave poured into him, slowing his expansion to a trickle, all that could be heard in the dark room was the raucous sloshing of fluid settling inside him.

Mehji was desparate to shout if it would relieve even a tiny fraction of the pressure to which he had been filled. Despite being painless, his turgid body was in an extreme excess of pressure beyond that which any person could reasonably reach. His face was still hot with feverish embarrassment, stressed largely by the immobility that so immediately overtook him.

"In fact, I have many plans for you," Windsor continued. While talking, he shifted his weight down, rolling the taut round balloon toward himself. It took a few tugs to position him correctly, but eventually, Mehji's puffy face appeared over the top of the round mass. The two watched each other intently as Mehji continued rolling, only coming to a halt as his face pointed down to meet Windsor's head-on. "You're the biggest berry I've ever seen, and that's saying something." Just like before, Windsor stuck a single hand beneath Mehji's bloated chin, caressing it with passion-filled eyes.

But this time, he leaned in to plant a kiss on Mehji's lips. The two closed their eyes and the moment froze for just a second before the lanky dragon pulled back.

"Thank you," he murmured, staring the blueberry straight in the eyes. "Now, go ahead and snap again. Right hand."

It took a moment before Mehji processed what he had been told. The sensation of being trapped in his own engorged body was frankly stunning. Moments later, though, he weakly forced his fingers together, accomplishing a single quiet snap. Instinctively, Windsor raised a single arm to cover his eyes and held his breath.

Incomprehensibly speedily, Mehji felt high tension envelop his entire body, pressing inward in all directions. "Holy--!" Before he could make sense of it, the fat distorting his face disappeared, allowing him to emit half of a startled interjection. Like a water balloon being popped, he deflated, a surge of juice spraying out and covering the room in all directions. As though his transformation played out in reverse, he was pressed completely free of juice in just seconds. In fact, it occurred so quickly that his belly was lifted away from the ground, leaving the short lizard momentarily suspended in mid-air.

But such conditions did not last, as he came tumbling down to the ground, landing on what remained of his cushy paunch before it quickly reverted to its original flat shape. As the wave of juice freed from him landed, raining from the ceiling, he clambered to his feet with a hand on his pounding head.

"I… I popped. I thought you said…" Mehji grumbled, patting at his midsection grumpily. At first, his perceived betrayal by Windsor sparked in him a flash of anger. But as he patted himself down top to bottom with both hands, looking over his decidedly normal-looking body, it fizzled out. "What kind of wizardry is this?"

"Hahahaha," Windsor laughed heartily before scooping Mehji up into a bear hug. Oddly, the former was drenched in deep blue juice, while the latter had reverted to his typical coloration. It ere as though it never changed. "It worked! What a success!"

"Whoa, whoa, what do ya mean?!" Mehji, held up by a pair of arms around his midsection, continued to survey his own hands. "How did you get all that out of me so fast?"

"Alright, I'll explain," the tall dragon set Mehji back down on his feet gently. "This was all a test for that suit. It didn't break and the compression mechanism worked flawlessly." Mehji gave a baffled look, so he continued. "It can basically squeeze you back to shape. See, look! That was all in you!"

Windsor spun around with his hands extended wide, smiling more than anyone witnessing so much property damage ever should. There was a thin pool of juice beneath their feet and not a single centimeter of wall space wasn't coated in the substance. Mehji patted his belly, cogs turning in his head, as he examined the damage.

Did any of that even really happen? He thought pensively. Is this… a dream right now?

"Do you… wanna give these suits out to people?" Mehji inquired, trying to imagine what could have motivated such a mystical invention. "That's your plan to solve the blueberry epidemic?"

"No," Windsor replied directly, still surprisingly cheerful. "Like I said, this world isn't built to accomodate for berries to exist." While speaking, he strolled over to the table upon which the raygun from earlier was set. Mehji recoiled instinctively as he picked it up but relaxed upon seeing it resting on its side in his open palms.

"I must admit I lied about this," Windsor gingerly raised the weapon in the air. "This gun just makes blueberries out of everyone it hits. The only thing here that can read your dreams… is me."

Struck at the understanding that he had been deceived, Mehji's mouth fell agape. What he had just experienced was a snowstorm of emotions hardly able to be captured by words.

"My plan? Simply fill the world with blueberries until it changes." Windsor laid out his intentions plainly.

"Are you the one who started all this, then?" Mehji probed with a gravely serious tone, still unmoving from where he originally stood up.

"No," answered Windsor, his eyes fixed upon his partner to convey his words with identical gravity. "I have my suspicions as to who did but am uncertain." For a moment, in the sickly-sweet subterranean study, the two tensely stared each other down. "So, with all that said…" Windsor stepped forward, still suspending the gun in outstretched arms. "I would like to ask you to be my partner in crime."

Mehji could not have predicted what transpired in the past few minutes. As he looked down at the firearm being given to him, he reached up with a single gloved hand to accept it but froze just inches away. With unsteady eyes, he sought for comfort in Windsor's warm, intent smile. Then, returning his focus, he picked it up by the handle, resting a careful finger on the trigger guard.

The weapon entered his grip comfortably, weighing subtantially less than he anticipated. Windsor relaxed his arms at his sides, glowing with pride at the sight of Mehji in his suit.

"I suppose that does sound a little fun," Mehji smirked as he posed with the gun pointed toward the porcelain-white dragon. He held it for a moment before angling his aim to just narrowly miss to the right. "Who know what else you have stashed down here, too?"

For the first time since he began swelling, Mehji soaked in the room in close detail as he lowered his weapon. All around him were workstations, machinery, tools and clothing. The scene was almost fantastical, decorated with active monitors and branding painted across the walls. A rather simplistic emblem in the shape of a W appeared in more places around the laboratory than he originally noticed.

"Well, in that case, welcome to Wrath HQ… rookie." Windsor's frigidly serious demeanor defroze as he offered a playful handshake. With his empty hand, Mehji reached out and accepted it. "So, how's about we get to cleaning u--?!"

Rambling made Windsor visibly inattentive, so Mehji gave him a swift tug on the arm, pulling the two men into a firm embrace. Before his eyes could flutter open, the short lizard delivered a passionate kiss unto the lips of the other. With one of Mehji's arms around his waist, Windsor let himself slide into the liplock.

Suddenly, the room flashed white. A warm sensation disspiated into Windsor from his back. As though unbothered, he pulled away from kissing the man that just shot him with a toothy, satisfied grin.

"Before that…" Mehji looked directly into Windsor's eyes as he tossed away the still-warm raygun. "I wanna see if your dream body is the same as mine…" He gripped behind Windsor's ass firmly on both sides as the two reptiles pressed into each other, exchanging loving, menacing grins. "…And I wonder if juice tastes sweeter when harvested with revenge." Windsor took in a deep breath as he rested his arms on Mehji's broad shoulders. "Don't hold out on me, now…"

But across the happy face he gazed into longingly, a vivid blue had already begun to spread.