#shell fleet solutions

[luv4arinn]

I Just Wanna Feel

Author’s Note: So—sorry for not posting in weeks, but I had a massive writer’s block, and well… I’m back! I was heavily inspired by THAT Robbie Williams song. Yes, I watched his biopic. Yes, I cried. Yes, I recommend it. And… surprise?! There will be a whole chronology with the others, all themed around Robbie’s songs! Yayy <3!! Consider it a gift? from me for taking so long 🥺. Love you all.

Pairing: Bayverse!Donnie x female reader

Tags: Intense fluff, nerd having an emotional crisis, extreme overthinking, unexpected kisses, Donatello’s mental breakdown, romantic panic, “oh no I messed up” but in HD, happy ending.

The sound of the keyboard echoed through the room—a rhythmic, steady tapping that blended with the low hum of the monitors. The bluish glow from the screens cast irregular shadows across his face, reflecting off the lenses of his glasses with every line of code appearing and disappearing on the monitor.

Donatello was there, as always.

The work was easy. Thinking was easy.

It was like a well-structured algorithm: receive information, process it, execute a plan of action. The world had rules, patterns, probabilities—formulas that predicted outcomes with near-absolute precision. No matter how chaotic a situation seemed, there was always a logical solution waiting to be uncovered.

Computers don’t lie.

Data has no biases, no whims. It doesn’t suffer irrational fluctuations. It doesn’t beat faster without reason. It doesn’t have to remind itself to breathe.

But then…

There’s you.

And everything falls apart.

Not immediately. Not like a fatal error shutting down the system in the blink of an eye. It’s more subtle. Like an unexpected variable in an equation that had, until now, been perfect. Something that doesn’t fit into the rigid structure of his world—but something he can’t ignore either.

He thinks about it often. About how his brain operates like a well-calibrated machine, each thought clicking into the next like the teeth of a moving gear. Logic is his native language. Reason, his compass.

And yet, when it comes to you, all that logic becomes blurred.

The gears grind.

The code becomes erratic.

The equation fills with unknowns.

Because when you step into his space, when your voice disrupts the steady rhythm of his keyboard, when you lean over his desk without a second thought for the scattered circuits and switch off his monitor without warning…

His first instinct is to think. Analyze. Quantify.

What does this mean?

Why does his heart react this way?

Why does his skin register the shift in temperature more intensely when you’re near?

But thinking doesn’t give him answers.

Feeling does.

And that is terrifying.

Because feeling isn’t predictable. Feeling has no neatly arranged lines of code, no graphs to chart behavioral patterns, no equations with exact solutions.

Emotions, in themselves, are a chaotic system.

And you…

You are the anomaly he still doesn’t know how to decode.

Nights shouldn’t feel this short when spent alone in front of a screen. And yet, when his mind drifts to the memory of a laugh, the fleeting image of a glance, the echo of an accidental touch… time dissolves in a way not even quantum physics could explain.

When he feels the weight of his name on your tongue. Like an access key to a system he never thought anyone would try to hack.

And he watches you from the corner of his eye as you lean closer, and in that instant, every variable in his mind shifts. Every equation rewrites itself.

A shiver runs down his shell.

Feeling.

He knows because his chest tightens with an undefined pressure, a sensation he can’t attribute to any specific physiological variable. His heart rate isn’t elevated from exertion. He’s not under attack. He’s not in danger.

So why does his body react as if he is?

There’s no equation to explain this.

Because if there were, he would have solved it long ago. He would have identified the problem, broken it down into its components, eliminated any errors. But every time he thinks he’s close to an answer, another unknown appears, shifting all previous solutions out of place.

Music filters through his headphones, slow and melancholic.

“I just wanna feel, real love…”

A shiver runs down his spine.

His body reacts to the sound before his mind does. It’s absurd. It’s ridiculous. There is no logical reason why a progression of chords and a set of words arranged in a certain way should have this effect on him.

And yet, here he is.

Fingers hovering over the keyboard, motionless—caught between the instinct to keep working and the strange, undeniable realization that… he can’t.

Not because he’s tired.

Not because he lacks information.

Not because there’s a problem that requires more processing.

But because, for the first time in a long time, the data isn’t the most important thing.

The screen flickers with information he should be absorbing, but he isn’t. His glasses reflect numbers and graphs that would normally hold his full attention, but his gaze is empty, unfocused.

The room remains unchanged—draped in shadows, illuminated only by the bluish glow of his monitors and the faint blinking of LED lights from his equipment.

The mission had been difficult. The margin of error had been higher than he liked to admit.

It wasn’t often that his calculations failed.

But sometimes, calculations weren’t enough.

Sometimes, reality simply… refused to adhere to logic.

���Feel the home that I live in…”

His jaw tightens.

He doesn’t know how that song ended up on his playlist.

But he has a reasonable theory.

One that involves Mikey, his blatant disregard for personal privacy, and his insistent need to “help him connect with his emotions.”

(Sure. Right.)

And yet…

The lyrics hit him harder than he’d like to admit.

It’s not the melody itself. It’s not the chords or the rhythm. It’s the way the words seem to slip through the cracks in his mind, seeping into the spaces that logic has never quite managed to seal shut.

“I just wanna feel, real love…”

Donnie exhales slowly, his fingers still hovering over the keyboard, motionless.

He thinks about the battle.

The mistakes.

The risks they took.

Numbers flash through his mind like a simulation running in reverse—impact probability, the margin of error in his calculations, the reaction speed needed to avoid damage. Fractions of a second where the difference between victory and absolute disaster depended on decisions made under pressure.

But more than anything—he thinks about you.

He thinks about the way, at the end of the fight, you rushed to check if he was okay.

About how, without even thinking, your hands—warm, alive—ran along his arm, searching for injuries he had already identified and dismissed milliseconds before with his visor.

He could have told you it wasn’t necessary.

That he was unharmed.

That he had concrete data to prove it.

But he didn’t.

Because logic dictates that worry should be extinguished by facts.

But feeling…

Feeling dictates that your touch lingers, even after you’ve gone.

That the sensation of your skin against his stays beyond his capacity for reasoning.

That the light pressure of your fingers on his forearm still burns in his memory, like an unsolved equation looping endlessly in his mind.

“Come and hold my hand…”

Donnie closes his eyes.

He could turn the song off.

He could erase the anomaly from his system.

He could rewrite the equation, adjust the variables, find a way to rationalize what he feels.

But… he doesn’t want to.

Because for the first time in his life, the result of a problem doesn’t matter as much as the unknown.

He doesn’t just want to think.

He wants to feel.

He wants to understand why being with you feels like the only constant that truly matters.

And then—you arrive.

Without warning, without fanfare, without the slightest idea that the world inside Donatello’s mind is teetering on the edge of a collapse even he can’t explain.

The lab door slides open smoothly—barely a whisper against the silence, thick with static electricity and the faint murmur of music in his headphones.

He notices everything.

The shift in air pressure.

The sound of your footsteps, softened against the floor.

The faint scent of shampoo and fabric laced with the chill of the night.

The way the temperature in the room rises by just a fraction of a degree when you step inside.

But he doesn’t turn around immediately.

Because he doesn’t know what to do with the anomaly that you are in his equation.

He doesn’t know where to place you within the rigid parameters of his logical, structured world.

His operating system slows, his brain—so used to processing information with the precision of a surgeon—stalls in an endless loop, searching for a resolution that refuses to exist.

And then—your voice.

“Donnie?”

Soft. Not because you’re hesitant, but because you know him. Because somehow—through a method he can’t quantify—you can read the tension in his shoulders. You can see the way his fingers have stopped typing, even though the screen is still waiting for input.

He closes his eyes for just a moment, as if that alone might be enough to reboot him, to restore the control that feels like it’s slipping through his fingers.

He knows he should say something.

He knows he should act normal.

But his normal means efficiency, speed, precise answers delivered at the exact right moment.

And right now, every command in his mind is failing.

You watch him with quiet curiosity, tilting just slightly toward him—just enough for the air between you to feel heavier, more tangible.

“Everything okay?” you ask, voice soft in that way that completely disarms him. Then your gaze sharpens slightly, scanning him with quiet scrutiny. “Are you hurt?”

He doesn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he looks at you.

His mind runs an automatic analysis of your expression—eyes slightly narrowed, lips barely pressed together, the faintest crease in your right brow, as if you’re already calculating the probability that he’s lying.

Logic dictates that he should reassure you with data. That he should tell you his visor has already run a full diagnostic scan and that his physical condition is optimal. That there is no rational reason for concern.

But then his gaze drops.

And he sees his own hand, still resting on the desk—still tense.

And for the first time in a long time, he chooses to do something without overthinking it.

He looks at you again.

His throat feels dry. Without realizing it, he wets his lips—a quick flick of his tongue over skin cracked from hours without proper hydration.

Then, in a voice so quiet it barely sounds like his own, he asks:

“Can I… hold your hand?”

It’s not the kind of question anyone would expect from him.

And he knows it.

Because it doesn’t fit his usual patterns. It’s not something that makes sense in any logical context.

But right now, logic is utterly useless to him.

Your lashes flutter in subtle surprise, as if the words take a few extra seconds to fully register.

“What?”

His instincts scream at him to backtrack, to rephrase, to find a way to explain what even he doesn’t fully understand.

But he doesn’t.

“I want to…” He inhales, trying to reorganize his thoughts. “I mean, just—”

He shuts his eyes for a second, frustration flickering across his face. He has never felt this clumsy with words before.

When he opens them again, you’re still there. You haven’t moved. You haven’t looked away.

And somehow, that alone gives him the courage he’s lacking.

“I just… want to feel it.”

The truth escapes him so easily, so quietly, that it almost embarrasses him.

Your expression shifts.

It’s not amusement.

It’s not rejection.

It’s something softer. More intimate.

And without questioning it—without hesitation or unnecessary words—you let your hand slide over his.

Not hurriedly.

Not hesitantly.

Just with the quiet certainty of someone who understands exactly what he’s asking for.

And when your fingers intertwine with his, Donnie feels every equation, every algorithm, every carefully structured rule in his mind… simply dissolve.

As if they had never really mattered in the first place.

“Well?” you ask, your voice carrying a faint attempt at lightness.

Donnie knows you’re trying to sound casual, that you’re masking your uncertainty behind a relaxed tone. But he notices.

He notices the delicate dusting of pink on your cheeks, the almost imperceptible tremor in your lower lip, the way your thumb brushes against the back of his hand—like you’re adjusting to the contact just as much as he is.

And something inside him… softens.

His lips curve, at first unconsciously—a smile, small and barely formed. Then, from deep in his chest, a quiet laugh escapes, unbidden and genuine, as weightless as the air after a storm.

It’s not mockery. It’s not disbelief.

It’s something purer. Something real.

—Nothing, —he murmurs, his thumb moving awkwardly against your skin— Just… this is nice.

The confession catches him off guard.

Because he hadn’t planned it.

Because he hadn’t filtered it through his logic before speaking.

Because it simply happened.

And then, you look at each other.

Maybe for too long.

Maybe just long enough for the world around you to blur into a distant murmur, as if nothing else exists except the space you occupy together.

He finds himself mesmerized by you.

Fascinated.

But not in the way he is fascinated by a new equation, by an unexpected pattern in the data, by the perfect symmetry of a well-designed structure.

This is different.

This is raw.

This is visceral.

This is feeling.

His other hand, trembling in a way he doesn’t understand, lifts with a slowness that borders on reverence.

And when his fingers brush against your cheek, the touch is so light it feels like an experiment in itself.

He feels.

He feels the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips, the way it molds so effortlessly to his touch, the way your body leans ever so slightly toward him—responding to an equation he hasn’t yet written but, for the first time, doesn’t feel the need to solve.

He feels the erratic pounding of his own heart, too fast, too unsteady, as if it has forgotten its natural rhythm.

He feels the heat gathering in his chest, expanding outward like a shockwave, defying all logical explanation.

And then, he hears you sigh.

Small.

Soft.

Almost imperceptible.

But he feels it.

He feels the warmth of your breath against his skin, the subtle vibration of your exhale in the nonexistent space between you.

Feels,

feels,

feels.

As if every one of his senses—once so meticulously calibrated to process information—has now been repurposed for a single objective:

You.

Your warmth seeping into his skin.

Your quiet, rhythmic breathing.

The barely-there weight of your gaze resting on him.

The familiar scent of you, imprinting itself onto some hidden corner of his mind he never thought necessary.

Just you.

Only you.

Nothing else exists.

Nothing else matters.

And then—without thinking, without calculating, without rationalizing it into exhaustion like he always does—

he kisses you.

It’s brief. Just a brush of lips.

A moment suspended between doubt and need, between impulse and fear.

A single heartbeat contained in a single point of contact.

And then—

He hears you gasp.

His entire body locks up. Every muscle goes rigid with a tension so sharp it’s almost painful.

His brain—so efficient, so precise, so relentless in its ability to analyze every variable in a situation—enters a total shutdown.

He stares at you, eyes wide, pupils blown.

Oh, no.

No, no, no.

He misread everything.

What the hell was he thinking?

You don’t see him that way.

Why would you?

Why would you ever?

Shame crashes over him like an unstoppable wave. His stomach twists, his skin burns, his heart clenches into an invisible fist that threatens to crush it from the inside out.

He pulls back, his hands loosening, his voice catching in his throat.

—Oh, God, I didn’t mean to— —he stammers, his voice cracking under the weight of his own panic. His thoughts are a mess of unsolved equations, of probabilities collapsing into a singularity of pure dread— I just… I thought it was a good moment, I—

—Yes.

Your voice cuts through his spiral.

His brain short-circuits.

—It was.

…

What?

His breath halts.

The air thickens, pressing in from all sides, as if the entire universe has stopped—right here, right now, in these words, in this reality he never accounted for.

And then—

You close the distance.

You are the one to bring your lips back to his.

And his mind—his brilliant, overanalyzing mind—

for the first time in his life—goes completely silent.

And he simply—feels.

[azucar-skull]

I totally didn't forget about the costume change till the very end shh what are you talking about-

FERAL CASEY AU HAS JOINED THE COMPETITION! But wait...where did Casey go? The turtles will need help from their fellow competetors! Expect some of you to get them reaching out to you in your inbox. ;)

Here's some brief context to help:

Leo - The leader of the Resistance. Leo’s main focus is "fix the problem at hand" and hardly ever lets his people see his fear. Injuries include a cracked shell he hides behind his scarf and his amputated right arm. If it can be helped, he actually prefers not to wear a prosthetic, only wearing it for missions (this event kinda counts). He's also transmasc and wears a metal plastron chestplate built to look more rigid since female turtles have flat plastrons. Leo is dating Yuichi Usagi, a jackalope samurai, who is currently missing and presumed dead. Leo’s relationship to Casey Jr is a complicated one. In the comic, he's seen as skeptical and on guard around the kid. Little does anyone know that Leo blames himself for Casey’s infection and with that the entire apocalypse at large. He's just trying to fix the problem at hand.

Raph - Head Commander of the Resistance’s soldiers with April as her right hand. Oh yeah, Raph is bigender btw, switching between he and she. Currently in the comic, Raph is she. Raph’s gender presentation in the comp will switch between depending on whatever is convenient. (Idk I'm trying to work this out-) Raph is recently widowed, her partner Cassandra died when the team learned she was a Kraang for the past 8 years and had no choice but to put her down. Raph is left with Casey Jr, a son she didn't know about till a week ago. But she welcomes him with open arms and strives to be the best mother-father ever.

Mikey - When Casey was first rescued, Mikey was the first to show him compassion. He gave him sweets, taught him to read, write, and sign in ASL, and showed endless amounts of kindness and patience when it comes to Casey’s reintegration into society. To put it simply, he's the favorite uncle. The only one whose not afraid of his Kraang side.

Donnie - Master of multiple domains in the Resistance. Captain of the fleet, leading scientist and mechanic, in charge of the greenhouse, global network, and even is the head surgeon. His relationship with Casey is indifferent. Doesn't hate the kid, but never was one to show compassion either. His main focus is finding a cure to the Kraang infection, Casey’s hybrid body being a key to that solution. Either way, he's the only one who can neutralize Casey with a tranquilizer gun, should Casey ever go into his Kraang form.

Casey Jr - The one and only Kraang hybrid, half-alien half-human. He's only 8 years old but those 8 years have a lot of history. From being born Aztec, losing his biological family in a plane crash, getting adopted by Cassandra, getting briefly infected as an infant and becoming a hybrid, and being raised in Kraang society. After being rescued and witnessing his mom get put down in front of him, Casey’s worldview has been shattered. The turtles do their best to support him and help him unlearn the Kraang superiority mentality. Being a hybrid, Casey can transform into any Kraang monster he desires. It activates on its own when triggered by stress. And speaking of, the kid doesn't even know how to smile yet. He needs support, he needs to remain calm, and absolutely under no circumstances...should you ever let him starve. (Warning, Casey Jr has been susceptible to child abuse from the Kraang. Approach with caution.)

Good luck! (Also their outfits are based off the playing cards. Raph, King of Hearts, aka the "martyr king" who represents love and trust. Leo, Jack of Diamonds, who represents value and importance. Mikey, Queen of Clubs, who represents a change in the status quo and master of mind tricks. Donnie, Ace of Spades, who represents logic and death. And last but not least, Casey Jr...the Joker. Representing versatility, disguise, and the ability to take on any form.)

[justshortpedrofics]

Always Comes Back

Wrote this in an hour today after the G2 promo came out. It's not edited, so my apologies for that. I know nothing about the character but he looks good and I couldn't help myself.

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x reader (unspecificed gender, written with a female in mind)

WC: 1.1k

Rating: M for dark themes and some implied smut

Summary: Marcus Acacius always comes back to you, and it's been that way for a long as you can remember.

He always comes back to you. 

He comes back from wherever they’ve sent him to do all of the things that he won’t ever talk about with you, yet he comes straight to you. 

And when he does, you’re there waiting, every single time. 

You’re waiting for him to come back, to come home, even if he can’t call it that anymore. You’re waiting for him to appear in your doorway, his skin bruised and battered, dried blood crusted beneath his nails and in his hair. 

But there’s never blood on his weapons or his armor; he knows better than that - cares more about that part of himself than to ever let something so important go neglected. 

Marcus Acacius doesn’t neglect the things he takes pride in, and you’re one of them. 

His armor is a symbol of his strength, of the victories he’s had on the battlefield in and the rooms of the various castra he’s been housed in. When people see it, they know who he is and what he is capable of. And when people see him, they know it, too. 

He is imposing and fearsome, his full lips more often than not set into a thin line, the man’s brow furrowed as he contemplates what is before him. He is smart and fast, quick with both actions and solutions, his certainty about what must be done inspiring not only the men he leads but those that witness him do so. 

But that isn’t the man you know. 

The man you know - and know well - is the opposite of the one he presents to the public and to the Emperors. 

His hands, so deliberate deadly during battle, touch you with a gentleness he would kill to keep people from knowing he possesses. 

His body, so broad and muscled, perfect for overpowering his enemies and anyone in his way, is used to pleasure yours long into the night. 

His mouth, quick to fire off orders or insults, tone deafening, is nothing less than worshipful of yours, along with your skin. He has never once raised his voice toward you, and he never will; you’re certain of it. 

His eyes, sharp and focused, constantly flitting from one thing to the next to keep himself alert focus only on you -  constantly on you, the softness in them almost enough to make you forget that the time you have together is fleeting. 

There is still enough of him inside the shell of a warrior that you’re able to bring it back each night you spend together, and you’re thankful for it. 

You know that you shouldn’t keep seeing him, keep allowing what is between you to continue. 

You’re well aware of the other woman he shares a bed with and what anyone finding out about you might mean. He would do his best to protect you if the need arose, and you know it. But the simpler thing would be to tell him no, tell him that you cannot watch him walk away from you, time and time again, not knowing what will become of him. That you cannot keep sharing him or his heart or his body, even though you also know that he can’t fully give you anything in entirety, at least yet. 

But after all the years and the battles, after all of the separations and the heartache, after knowing what he does and is expected to do because of his position, he is still not General Acacius to you. 

He’s just Marcus Acacius, the boy you grew up with. The one with dreams and plans, who idolized a different General, many years earlier, and vowed to be just like him someday. He’s the man you shared your first kiss with, just outside of the gates of your home, right before he left to train. He’s the one that came back to you months later, bigger and stronger and still excited for the prospect of more, though you could already see the distance in his eyes.

Marcus took you to bed for the first time that night, solidifying the connection between the two of you. 

When you removed his clothing, gasping at the sight of his body covered in scrapes and bruises, deep purples and blacks and green blooming across his skin, he stayed silent and held you while you kissed every one of them, whispering comfort with each press of your lips. This will heal. You will be fine. You can come home to me and I will do this every time if you let me. I will wait for you. Always. I love you.

And that’s why it’s so hard to let him go; because you love him, and you always have. 

You love him despite the distance. 

You love him despite the pain being without him causes. 

You love him even when he leaves your heart bruised and bloody, in a much different way than he does on the battlefields. 

You love him because even though to you, he will always be Marcus, to them he has become a symbol of so much hope. 

You love him even though you know his love for her has forced his hand, the Emperors using those feelings against him and as punishment to get their way. 

But that makes you love him even more, you think, because while he has allowed them to see what he feels for her, they don’t even know you exist. And to you, that means he keeps you even closer to his heart; keeps you safe and protected at all costs - even that of his own true happiness by prolonging his career and his usefulness. 

His body will break down eventually, and there will be someone younger and stronger in his place, someone more willing to do what he is told. There will be a time when Marcus Acacuis must retire his armor and step back, letting things move forward.

And you’ve talked about that, many times before. What his after would be like, and where you fit in. 

With me, of course. Away from Rome. Away from this. Just the two of us, as it should be. 

And you believe it. 

Because the alternative is unthinkable to you. You refuse to believe that they don’t know you exist because he doesn’t care. You refuse to think that everything he’s ever told you was a lie. You know him better than that; better than anyone, at least according to him. And he wouldn’t have - couldn’t have misled you for years.

So you sit and wait and bide your time with your memories, letting him leave you to fight their wars and do their bidding, to appear with her and appease the people of Rome in a way that makes sense for someone in his position. 

Because he always comes back to you. 

Until he doesn’t.

[0perfectimperfections0]

Shell-Shock: Part 6

Don't you guys love it when someone finally updates a series after it's been, like, months and you have to reread everything prior to that just to remember what all happened?

Well, the writer has to do the exact same thing...so...

_______

The wind died down and the storm clouds settled. They still loomed overhead, but the lightning left as soon as it had come. The lights in the Institute calmed down, glowing slightly dimmer, as if trying to hide. Lou didn’t look behind him at the others or the crowd of dolls that were frozen in shock and fear. His eyes watched the smoke roll off the robots and into the air. The oversized bullet still had streams of electricity trailing over it periodically. 

He didn’t know what had overcome him at that moment. He had been storming off to go to the recycle the second the opportunity presented itself for him to sneak away. The next thing he knew, the herd of robots chasing and cornering the dolls had caught his attention from a distance, and something emotionally overpowered him. 

Now he didn’t know what to do. He was exposed, everyone knew now, and there were dead robots scattered across the ground. He should have just left to go to the recycling. His powers seemed to only be making things worse. Lou didn’t have the courage to turn around and face the other dolls. Whatever had overcome him before was gone. 

A hand rested on his leg, and Lou didn’t have to look to know it was Ox. The whole Institute was dead silent, save for the tremulous murmurs of the crowd. Ox spoke softly. “How…did you do that?”

Lou didn’t know how to answer that question. Had he even thought about what he was doing? It felt like adrenaline and anger and fear had been coursing through him and the only way to let it out was…

“I don’t know.” Is what he said instead of trying to explain all the thoughts slamming around in his head. 

One thing had to be done, though, and that was to try to figure out how to get the crowd to calm down. Their murmurings were becoming more audible, and Ox could pick out a few sentences here and there. None of which held any kind of respect for the fact that Lou had saved their lives. But from their perspective, Lou being stronger than them in any sense couldn’t be a good thing. They had insulted and tossed him around. Subjected him to ridicule to, arguably, a worse extent than what he had subjected them to. They kind of had a good reason to be afraid. Lou could very well justify turning against them. 

Ox turned to face the crowd, rubbing a hand over his mouth as he thought about how to go about doing this. He raised a hand to get their attention, offering a nervous smile to the crowd. “So…that happened. Nothin’ to worry about, though, we’ve got it all under control. Right, Moxy?” Moxy stiffened, eyes widening, when Ox addressed her with a pleading look. She quickly nodded and walked over to stand by his side, sweeping a look over the dolls. “Uh, yeah! We’ll clean up the mess here and everyone can go back to normal!” 

That did very little to appease the crowd. The dolls looked a little irate at the vague solution to the elephant in the room. One of them spoke up, vaguely gesturing to Lou. “And what about him? Did you know about this?”

Ox faltered for a second, glancing beside him at Lou. The blond exchanged a look with Ox, just as uncertain with how to handle the situation. Ox cleared his throat and put on a more assertive look. “The point is, Lou ain’t a threat, alright? He just saved our lives. We’re figurin’ this all out, too, so there’s no reason to jump off the deep end.”

Another doll spoke up, just as heated as the previous doll. “He destroyed a whole fleet of robots. What doesn’t make him a threat, exactly?”

“He ain’t a threat to us.” 

“He could be! I’m not putting my trust into the same doll that lied to me my whole life!” Other dolls began to murmur their agreement. Ox was feeling like this was taking a turn in the wrong direction. It was like the scene at the Gauntlet all over again. And still, Lou was the target of their anger. 

You’ve only been alive for a few months, Lou couldn’t help but think bitterly towards the doll that had just spoken. He didn’t feel like he had much room to put in a sassy remark, though, because his life was on the line.

But was it? These dolls couldn’t lay a finger on him, and that was probably the catalyst driving their fear more than anything else. The fact that Lou posed as a threat to them, and they couldn’t toss him in the washer or toss him to the dog again. They were helpless against him if he actually chose to do anything.

Ox held a hand up and waited a minute for the protests to die down. He rubbed his temple with a finger before giving them a hard look. “Alright, here’s the reality of the situation. Lou has powers and we ain’t in any position t’ tell ‘im what t’ do. If ya’ll are scared, stay inside. But Lou ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

“So, what, we’re just at his mercy now?” Another doll spoke up angrily. 

Ox didn’t get a chance to respond - not that he really had a good answer to that question, anyway - because Mandy suddenly spoke up, looking around. “Wait, guys, where did he go?”

The bunny blinked and turned to see that, once again, Lou had vanished. He pulled down his ears, tugging on them and trying not to get frustrated. There was so much going on right now and he had no idea how to handle any of it. “How does he keep doin’ that!?”

The dolls in the crowd began to panic again as they realized Lou was now “on the loose” as some chose to phrase it. Moxy tried to placate them. “Okay! Everyone calm down and just head home, alright? We’ll find him,” she offered a tense smile that had little effect on the crowd, but they relented and began to slowly disperse back to their homes. The portal was still closed, anyway. There was little else they could go. Moxy turned back to Ox, her tense smile fading immediately into worry. “How are we gonna find him now?”

Ox stared at her with a pinched expression, not even knowing if there was a chance that they could find Lou. They hadn’t even found him the first time. He had come back to them. Nolan, however, walked up beside Moxy, looking at Ox gravely. “I think I might know where he went off to.”

_____

Lou stared at the lifeless machine. He should have expected that the Uglies would turn the recycling off. What good was it now that they were being distributed in the Big World? He stood at the edge of the pipe that opened up into the cavity of the recycling centre. This had been his initial plan from the start, and now what was he supposed to do? Where could he go?

“Lou?”

The blond closed his eyes, rolling them behind his eyelids before opening them again and turning to face the group of mixed dolls. Ox was the one that had spoken, his ears flopped back as he took in what Lou had been aiming to do. His expression hardened quickly, though. “You know as well as I do that killin’ yourself ain’t the answer.”

“Because you seem to have all the answers, don’t you?” Lou retorted back, but his voice was softer. Defeat. It echoed hollowly through the pipe. 

Nolan put a hand on Ox’s shoulder when the bunny was about to respond. Nolan took a few steps forward, a hand on his chest. “Can we just talk? Away from the deadly, doll-eating machine?” His voice shook a little, but it was his best attempt at making the situation a little more lighthearted. 

Lou didn’t think there was much to talk about, but he obviously wasn’t getting anywhere with a machine that wasn’t even on. Begrudgingly, he walked back towards the group, giving Nolan a hard glare. “It’s not even on, you know.”

“Yeah, well, doesn’t really make for a good atmosphere,” Nolan shrugged. “We want to help you, though, and it’s kinda hard to do that when you’re trying to destroy yourself at every chance you get.”

“The last time I trusted you guys, I ended up locked in a room,” Lou swept his gaze over to the others behind Nolan. A few looked away sheepishly, but Ox and Wage maintained his stare. 

“If it’s any consolation, that wasn’t my idea,” Nolan pursed his lips with a not-so-subtle glance over his shoulder at the others. Namely Ox. The bunny merely redirected his glare onto the brunette instead. Nolan faced Lou again. “Destroying yourself isn’t an option anymore-”

“Just turn the machine on,” Lou bit out through clenched teeth. “Actually, you know what? I’ll turn it back on myself.” He moved to brush past the group, but Nolan grabbed his wrist, forcing the blond to stop as he whirled on the brunette.

Nolan spoke before Lou could say some scathing remark. “Destroying yourself,” Nolan punctuated his words more harshly, “isn’t an option anymore. Your Creator just sent a whole fleet of robots to capture you. Something tells me he’ll flip if he finds out you offed yourself and will burn this place down just to get his anger out.”

“You want me to play hero now? Is that what we’re doing?” Lou retorted sarcastically, eyes narrowed. “Look, I don’t even know how I did what I did back there. That was a fluke. And that’s not even regarding the fact that I still hate these stupid abilities and that I want to die.”

“Well, you’re also not regarding the fact that you’re one step closer to controlling them and that we don’t want you to die, so,” Nolan left the sentence hanging as he gave Lou a sassy look right back. Two could play at that game. 

Lou narrowed his eyes. “You’re annoying.”

Nolan mimicked the expression, unphased. “And you’re stubborn.” He released Lou’s wrist and started walking back out of the pipe. The others looked between the two with varying incredulous expressions. 

Lou stayed where he was, scoffing at Nolan’s retort. “Let me guess, you want me to follow? More experiments to try and control my powers?”

“Nope. We’re gonna clean up the mess first that you were about to leave for us to clean up on our own,” Nolan turned on his heels to walk backwards, arching a brow at the blond, “thanks for that, by the way.”

Lou squinted and shook his head a little. Despite the circumstances and his growing frustration with these dolls…he couldn’t deny they were beginning to grow on him a little. And it seemed like Nolan had a bit more attitude to him than the blond originally took him for. With a final glance to the others, Lou rolled his eyes and followed after Nolan. The group exchanged confused, yet slightly intrigued looks before following suit out of the pipe.  

_____

The only place they could put the damaged bots was in the ocean. Wage helped Ox toss one of them over the cliff, waiting for the impact against the water before heading back to grab another one. “You really think it’s a good idea for Lou to stay here?”

Ox jabbed a thumb behind them. “He defeated a whole army of robots. He saved our lives, Wage. So, yeah, I think it’s a good idea.”

She shook her head. “I’m not saying he didn’t save our lives…but accidents do happen.”

“You think he accidentally saved our lives?”

“No…more along the lines of it was on purpose this time, but what if he accidentally hurts someone? What if he loses control again? Maybe this was a fluke and…I-I don’t know…” She trailed off, losing her train of thought with where she was going with it, only to realize that was the point of her statement. “Don’t you just think it’s weird he suddenly learned how to use his abilities like that?”

“Look, we don’t know anything ‘bout all of this as it is. I don’t think we can start overthinkin’ things yet till we learn more ‘bout what’s goin’ on with ‘im.” Ox’s gaze trailed over to where Lou and Nolan were tossing another robot off the cliff. “We need ‘im right now…that much is sure.”

Lou watched the white foam of the ocean envelope the robot before descending back to its source. He had half a mind to throw himself over the edge. It would be so easy, too…just…barely half a step–

“Lou?”

The blond looked back at Nolan, seeing that concerned look again that all the dolls had now. Most of them were concerned for their own safety. He took one last look at the ocean before walking back to Nolan. “I’m fine.” He wasn’t, which was evident enough that Nolan didn’t need Lou to admit it. But Lou still had to admit it to himself. 

“How long are you going to lie to yourself like this?”

Lou glared at the brunette as they walked back to the carnage. “I’m not lying to myself.”

“You’re not fine–”

“Because I’m a freak now?”

“Is that what you call this?” Nolan gestured to all of him. “You think you’re a freak because why?”

Lou whipped around to face the doll now, eyes glowing. “Because look at me! Look at what I’ve done!” He swung an arm towards the damaged robots. 

Nolan barely spared a glance behind him. “Saved our lives?”

“Just because you weren’t the one hurt doesn’t mean I saved lives.”

Nolan couldn’t help but just stare in bewilderment even as Lou turned back around to keep walking. “They were robots, Lou, not…not sentient beings like us.”

“Us?” Lou shot back over his shoulder. 

Fists clenched and Nolan sped to catch up with the blond, stepping in front of him to block his path. “You’re not a robot, okay? You’re not a machine or device or–”

“Weapon?”

Nolan went quiet. 

Lou looked between his eyes, speaking lowly. “Maybe the only reason my Creator kept me alive was to be a weapon. Because if he can control me to do whatever he wants…then who can stop him, right?”

“Can you at least do us all a favor and stop making it so difficult for us to get through to you?” Nolan’s voice was rising now in frustration. “We’re not your enemies here, alright? We’re trying to help you.”

Lou glared at the brunette, leaning in to speak lowly. “That’s real rich coming from the same doll that tossed me in that washer.” Nolan opened his mouth to retort, but Lou kept talking. “Look, I made my peace with some of those sock puppets. They were following Moxy’s lead. You made your own choice. Ox made his own choices. Moxy made her own choices. Every mindless doll in this institute made their own choice to turn on me–”

“Well then maybe you shouldn’t have been such a jerk! Ever think about that? You called me ugly ever since I stepped foot here and for no reason! At least I’m able to go to the Big World!”

“Sorry I hurt your stupid feelings! But news flash, everyone gets called stuff that they’re not! Perfect, ugly, stupid, smart–all of it! If you can’t handle the dirt that gets put on your name here, then you can’t handle the dirt in the Big World when it gets on you.”

Lou leaned in close, eyes glowing. “The real world is a horrible place. Humans are horrible. Dangerous. And everything they make is just the same. Why do you think I exist?”

Nolan pursed his lips, face pinching in irritation and shaking his head as he looked to the side. “Just because your Creator made you for a purpose, doesn’t mean you have to see it through,” he looked back at Lou. “And for the record, I made that choice to toss you in the wash because it was the only thing I could think of that didn’t involve you getting killed.”

Lou blinked, taken aback by that last statement as the brunette turned and continued walking to the pile of steaming robots. He watched Nolan walk away for a moment before shaking his head and shooting a glare at the ground. He didn’t want to keep doing this. It felt the entire Institute was against him.

Except for these dolls. 

He sighed through his nose, looking back up to see Nolan struggling to drag another robot toward the cliffside. Lou’s expression softened a little as he looked at the others. Wage and Ox were dragging another robot. Babo and UglyDog were doing their best as well. Mandy, Moxy, and Luckybat were walking back to grab another robot. 

“A little help would be nice,” Nolan’s voice grabbed his attention again. The brunette had his hands on his knees, looking worn out, but his expression was as defiant as ever. Lou rolled his eyes and began walking again to help him.

[bathic]

2. A means to an end.

Word Count: 1.9k

The expectation was death, how could it not be when you’ve taken a headfirst stumble down into a cavernous hole. It had to have a bottom. A means to an end. A place where you’ll rest, where your bones will be shattered and scattered for soil to eventually cover, blood to water the ground and guts to feed the insects lying in wait.

But you didn’t.

Plummeting through inky darkness didn’t conclude with your demise but rather after what felt like hours (but simply a handful of minutes) falling down an infinite rabbit hole did the shadows fade from your vision and a cacophony of lights gather in a swirling tunnel below you. To you, in a fleeting thought, did they look to be dancing. Like fireflies in the summer, blinking in and out of sight. A part of it made you sick to look at, thinking that this was that metaphorical light at the end of it all. And of course, yours just had to be something drowned in bitter feelings. Summer and fireflies and the blinking of their lights in the humid evenings— dancing around your beaten body with ignorant glee. You loathed them.

You wished they would hurry to you and drown you in their luminescence. End every bit of your suffering through this free fall. Make the welts that have scarred over so much that the skin is bubbled and uneven, rough and layered, completely disappear.

With a pop, and the realization that there hadn’t been not a single sound since you’ve entered the pit, a grand orchestra of noises blasted through your ears and bounced around your head until it became too much to bear. Something wet caught around the curve of your earlobe and dragged like a dog’s tongue up and over the outer shell. You’d lift a hand to wipe at whatever it was, facing red stains that smeared across your fingertips when pulling your hand back to observe. The lights had grown brighter by now, their approach swirling together and stretching into finely pointed lines that threatened to snag your body and sink into every battered fiber of your wrought soul.

Wishful thinking or perhaps, depressive thoughts.

But no matter the steadfast approach of those lights, you wouldn’t be meeting them in any death riddled embrace. Instead, you and something else or another collide mid-air, the impact yanking you harshly off-course and barreling into a netted roof. You bounce harshly, smacking into the rope and flipping over the edge of it with what— or who— right on your heels.

The second landing proved much harder, clipping a well-worn canopy that didn’t stand a chance against you and the ‘who’ that tore right through its weak fibers. Below it was the ground, hard and wet. Your body hit it with a rather heavy ‘plap’, stomach down, halfway into a sludge puddle that jumped and scattered to soak into your clothing. A bit off from the mark was the tag-a-long, crashing into several stacked boxes that splintered into many fragmented chunks, some of which ricocheted off the backs of your legs.

Logically, you’d be dead. Realistically, you’d also be dead— or at least heavily injured to the point that death would be the only solution.

But you weren’t, just a bit dazed and pressed for the sweet feeling of air passing through your lungs; having it knocked and stolen never was a pleasant experience. The fabric of your jeans felt heavy and oddly sticky, clinging to your legs as you shifted onto your back, allowing more of the puddle’s remaining ichor to soak into the cotton of your tee. A small gripe at the back of your mind, groaned in hopes of it just being rainwater and not something vomit-inducing. You don’t think you’d be able to stomach the possibility of lying in… well, waste of some sort.

Beyond your bare feet was a groan capped off with several foul-mouthed grievances, a bit of shifting and the occasional wood bit sliding rough across the ground. It was stone, you could feel the partially smooth surface and bleeding jagged edges beneath your hands.

“Hey, are you dead? ‘Cause you better hope you are.”

You stir enough to bend a knee just as the owner of the voice (and the several rounds of pearl-clutching ramblings) was suddenly leaning over into your vision like a curious bird does a small and insignificant lizard. While his face was difficult to see with the varying stringed lights crossing over one another just above where you landed, what wasn’t was his clearly projected threat.

“Oh, guess you aren’t.”

Very much like a beetle who had been overturned by a handsy child, you scuttled as best as you could across the stony ground and away from the stranger, but the traction of your soaked jeans mixed with the wet stones only made you kick around in place comically. Well, at least he seemed to find it a little amusing if not by the teasing giggle and tilted head. Still, you couldn’t make out what his expression was.

The humor could very well be misplaced and the opening for some entirely different emotion— a close relative to his threat only seconds ago.

“Did the stag’s get your tongue or what?”

You coughed, throat feeling hoarse and dry as dirt after a month-long drought. “Stag’s?”

“Yeah, the stag’s— you know, down by the rot.” He waited for you to give any kind of indication that you knew what he was talking about but seeing as you still looked up at him like he was some kind of bizarre entity spewing utter nonsense (which wasn’t exactly far off); it was telling that you didn’t, in fact, know what he was referring to.

“Forget it, you clearly weren’t there. Otherwise, if you were then you wouldn’t have been able to say anything.”

You blink, once then twice and contemplate screaming for help but who, in actuality, would? In a foreign place that you happen to crash land into after nosediving into a gigantic hole, whoever resided here in this place are patrons of the pit. Mysterious and strange and foreign—

And possibly dangerous.

That thought alone settled a heavy rock in your gut, a wariness building up in the back of your legs that traveled all the way up your neck where the hair there stood on edge.

You hadn’t realized he had still been talking.

“— so that could really only be the case. Obviously only recently winged moths would fly as terrible as you. I mean, seriously, no offense but your form was atrocious. Who even fly’s straight down like that?” He pauses, and for some reason that makes you tense up. Nothing good came from a halted thought.

“Unless...” He starts after a brief moment, head eerily adjusted into an uncanny downward crane that looked ever more ominous by the obscurity of his face. “You aren’t a moth at all… say, what did you say you were?”

The warning sirens blared hard and loud within your head, screaming at you to move, to kick off the ground and run and to not be so helpless for once. Because that was what you were— are.

“I… I didn’t say I was anything.”

“Oh? I guess you didn’t. But that wasn’t the answer I was looking for; I want to know whether or not you are—“

“Wooyoung!”

The man quickly turns on his heels, and the ever-growing stronghold of his presence shrinks as another figure appears with some kind of flourishing of fabric at their back. You couldn’t tell by how the man standing by you seemed to block your sight from painting a fuller and clearer picture, but you assumed it was some kind of cloak.

“What the hell happened? I took my eyes off of you for one second and the next thing I see is you eating roof rope and disappearing to the ground.” Steadfast did the newcomer approach, oblivious of you soaking in stagnant puddle water.

Wooyoung huffs, kicking a booted toe at the stone ground. “Wow, Yunho, not a single— ‘Are you okay?’ or even, ‘Are you hurt anywhere? If so, let me kiss it better’. I’m really beginning to think that my well-being is nothing but lint on your blouse.”

“You and I both know that if you were well and truly injured then you wouldn’t be yapping to yourself.”

Yet he wasn’t, this Wooyoung. He hadn’t been talking to himself this entire time and he knew that, and you knew that and now you were sure that the freshly inserted stranger would come to know as well.

“Funny, but I wasn’t talking to myself.” He shifts his body to the side, enough to remove the wall blocking your view of whoever he was speaking to and give said person a shabby eyeful of your surely unpresentable form.

A tall man with broad shoulders and lanky arms and slightly humidity-curled brown hair stood perplexed at the sight of you. Like the unveiling of something unexplainable that— rather— than urged forth the need for further inquiries, just completely swiped everything into an empty space of utter silence.

You looked at him like he was another Wooyoung.

“Oh… hello.” His gaze jumps to the other man, a jolt of his eyebrows upwards feeding for an explanation.

“She’s the reason I crashed.”

“Her? Seriously?” Yunho glossed over you from the frazzled state of your hair to the dirt powdering your bare feet.

“You’re joking?”

Wooyoung throws his hands up, something on his back fluttering restlessly, the movement catching your attention. “Do I sound like I am joking? She smacked right into me and sent me hurling to the ground!”

“I did not— you… you… whatever you did or were doing had hit me hard enough to throw me to the side.” Not exactly sure what bug of confidence had crawled into your head, but you found your voice enough to retort defensively.

“If you had been watching where you were going and didn’t fly into my path—“

“Fly? I was falling, you motor-mouthed idiot!”

“Motor-mouth?!” Wooyoung took a stiff step towards you, his fists balled at his sides.

Yunho reached a hand out to latch onto his upper arm before he could close in on you any further. “A word, Wooyoung.”

The shorter man let himself be maneuvered several feet away, enough distance to drown their whispers into a dull hum. You couldn’t pick up what they were saying, only watching cautiously when Wooyoung’s hands fly up and wave around and Yunho clapping him on the back of the head before huddling him closer. It was like a barrier of secrets between the two of them, no space spared an opening to let anything slip through.

And then they went silent, turning to face you with partial obscurity graced by the shadows and lighting now at both of their backs.

You swallowed, wishing your tongue would have slipped down your own throat, suddenly regretting your outburst.

════════════════════════════════════

Masterlist

[nahalism]

Do you have any advice for feeling so shitty in yourself pls 🥺 like my skin is so bad at the moment, I’m so so unhappy with my weight gain. I don’t know where to start in fixing it or how to even get the energy to, feeling like this should be enough, but it isn’t. Idek how to explain.

But I’m so unhappy, I feel so ugly and disgusting.

i wish i could climb in your skin and place my own philosophy in it. <3 — this is the thing, lets say you're ugly, your spotty, and your fat, and that that will never change. does that mean you dont deserve love? or to feel good in your favourite outfit? that you dont deserve kindness? or consideration? that you shouldnt be seen as valuable, sexy, worth love, worth affection? does it mean that you should hide and stop showing up in the world in the way you want to?

i can think of a million reasons why that isnt the case. the problem is, any advice i give you in solution to the problems youve stated can only be superficial because the issues your speaking on are on the surface. i could tell you how i get my self together when i feel how your describing, or how i got rid of my acne, how i lost weight etc, but the real issue is beyond the surface. its about how you feel about you

who are you? what is your character? how do you show up in the world? where do you bring value? what are your biggest virtues? how do you combat your biggest vices? do you treat yourself with compassion? do you extend that compassion to others? what does your humanity look like?!? what does your love feel like?— these are the things that make someone beautiful. — and in terms of what is attractive and sexy, its so much deeper than appearances. sure appearance is important, especially in society. i wont ignore that, but society advocates for a whole lot of crazy shit. there are trends, and then there is what is timeless. the essence of what you are is timeless, holding it to the standard of a fleeting trend is short sighted. you have to value yourself for what you are, not what you look like or what what you look like means for how others treat you. only once you have some self respect will your external begin to match, because people who love themselves act lovingly toward themselves. its a ripple effect.

in terms of looks and feeling yourself, which is very important, you have to question, if someone is willing to count all of who and what you are out because of what you look like, is that someone you want? anyone of us could have an accident that changes our appearance forever. what then? what you feel about yourself and how you carry yourself as a consequence, is what makes you alluring. when someone is into YOU (not your shell) and (tmi but..) turns you on, or makes you moan, or sees you happy (!!) that is infinitely more attractive to them than you having the perfect body or appearance. because even the most perfect person is not perfect (& they know it, they just have you convinced that theyre as good looking as they feel or portray themselves to be). literally its all about youuuu. if you cant see that, you will always try to cover you up, so no one else will see it. nor will anyone make you able to see it. you need to step up and treat yourself with some humanity. you are a whole being, created uniquely and entirely complete. completion is perfection.

if u want my skincare routine, or how i lost weight, or literally whatever information im happy to share it. but 100000s of other people already have their routines out there for u to follow. i mean it with the utmost love and respect when i say, u need to start looking at yourself as a living, breathing being with so much to offer and so much potential for growth beyond what you already have to give. have some self compassion. you are beautiful and worth your own love, let alone other peoples. acknowledge yourself before time shows you how blind youre being. 💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

[tertiusdecimusfilius]

Ships passing in the night usually didn't see one another.

Usually.

It took a mere twenty minutes from the destroyer-escorts of the Ultramarines and the Dawn Legion discovered each other until the time that the twin fleets were facing off side-by-side, rows of macrocannons staring down Lance batteries like fleets on ancient Terra with decks of cannon aimed and ready.

"Macragge's Honour," Celaya muttered, mild disbelief ringing through her tone. "The same markings, the same iconography, the same support fleet."

"Roboute never was particularly fond of changing what works," Tlatia replied.

Alarms blared throughout the ship as the Ultramarine fleet was brought to full combat readiness and the Dawn Legion did the same. Marines, both superhuman Astartes and mortal shipboard defense crews, rushed to their battle stations with weapons at the ready. Damage control teams went to standby alert. Weapons crews plotted firing solutions and prepared their guns, either charging them or loading them with colossal macrocannon shells.

The twin fleets sat there for five agonizing minutes, guns ready and drawn, shields high and humming. Five minutes of infinite chances for bloodshed ticked by before a message was sent.

"This is the Dawnbringer, hailing Macragge's Honour."

The other fleet hadn't made an attack yet which put him a little at ease. However, both fleets were ready for a battle, should it come down to it. Roboute stared at the ships opposite them, eyes wandering over the shape of the ships, the colors, the symbols.

They looked familiar. It wasn't something his mind could place right away. There was a nagging sense that he should know, that he knew, this other fleet. It wasn't the same feeling he'd gotten when he'd first met Aurelius and discovered the remnants of the second legion all those months ago. But this was certainly similar. The Primarch chewed his bottom lip. The name of the flagship escaped him.

His mouth opened to give the order to hail the other ship, but before he could, the voxmaster piped up. The other ship was hailing them.

"Open the frequency," Roboute ordered. The Dawnbringer? The name rung a bell, but-

There was the familiar spark of pain in his head. It only confirmed the feeling he had about this. It was likely that this was the other lost legion. Though it was strange. He couldn't remember much about them, probably from whatever power Malcador had used to erase the existence of the two legions. However it wasn't causing the same level of pain. Either the eleventh had been as thoroughly scrubbed from existence as the second, or having already remembered the second was making it easier to remember the eleventh.

"This is Macragge's Honour. What business do you have within this sector, Dawnbringer?" he asked.

[xartus]

Now that the frantic lust of adolescence is long past

I find myself more than ever missing what I once had. Or the possibility of such. Of being wanted be the same people whom I wanted

I'm quite positive that I would've had a date and some time of physical interaction by now, after the divorce, if I were still a woman. Yes, there were intimacy issues in the marriage but I don't blame neither she nor I

I was woefully unprepared for the realities of dating women not only as a man, but as a trans man. Its much easier to date women as another woman. I feel acutely the rejection by my ex and by society as a whole as a trans man

People talk about touch starvation and I've thought I felt it in the past but that wasn't this. I had close friendships in the past in addition to dates. Intimacy phyiscal and emotional, romantic and platonic galore. What I was feeling then was more akin to a type of lust, albeit a deep one. It doesn't even compare to the utter desolation, frustration, and crushing isolation that I feel now. What seemed barren before is a lush ecosystem full of life compared to this

I want to cry thinking about a girl kissing me, or embracing me. If that ever happens again I'd probably cry in relief from the human contact. I want to cry about how, holy fuck, I WAS wanted so much beforehand and I didn't even realize it. Compared to now, where its so painfully obvious that I'm not

Obviously I won't detransition as this is who I am and who I was meant to be. More indicators that this wasn't something I did for anyone except myself (get fucked, transphobes). I don't know what the solution is. I wish I had someone to be present with me, someone who I felt comfortable being so vulnerable in front of. And then someone to just fucking touch me with the reverence and care that I KNOW exists because I've felt it before. My person, my soul has only grown and gotten better; its the shell that's the issue

And that's the thing isn't it? The more authentic you are to yourself, the harder it becomes in a society not prepared for that. Like you the the spiritual- the more you know, the more you experience and grow; the less stable your foundation becomes, reality that you thought was solid becomes fluid and fleeting, and you ask yourself if ignorance really was bliss and if this madness is worth it. But you can't go back, and you don't want to, and you know you were you built for this gnosis because you sought it out

Circles in circles

[zillyeh]

Turned Tides

Technically an immediate precursor to this drabble. only cws i can really give is talks of bombing towards the end, lmk if i need to add anything here<3 Synopsis: Around 150 sweeps ago, Heiress Halosa Delhon discuss what to do with the den of rebels in the north of Delhon city, with the added input of some unfortunate guests.

Your heavy footsteps echo across the marble castle floors. The mere sound of your approach had always been enough to quiet a room, but since the execution? A pin could drop upstairs and you could hear it. You almost miss her air headed giggling as she draped herself over the throne.However.

You admit that you prefer what it's done to Heiress Halosa.

She sits motionless on her throne. Hollow. She is a shell of the Delhon you knew. You'd behead Bridal again just to watch the light leave Halosa's eyes.  

The heiress did not wear her mourning whites for long. She was already back to her caped fleet uniform. The golden rank pauldrons sat spiky and and important on her shoulders. They glinted with the rest of the gold inlaid in her uniform in the jade and pink moonlight. Even this subtle combination of colors bouncing on her lap seemed to be grimming her already sour expression.

You greet her with a kneeling bow. 

"Your highness," you say. She hardly moves but to flick her wrist- an instruction to stand. 

"Steris," she says, the gravel of her voice deeper than you've ever heard it. "Approach. We don't have time for a round table. Visitors."

"Visitors?" you ask incredulously, climbing the short few steps to her side. "Now?" A quiet Delhon castle is a Delhon castle in shambles. To bring in others before you get a moment with her is… inconvenient. For you.

"They have a solution for me." Her voice is robotic. Halosa is running low on willpower. Anyone but you would think she’s just as hard as ever, but you can see her foundations beginning to crack. Mentioning Bridal in just the right way could break her, bend her to your whims, but you need her alone.

She hums, shifting in her seat. With an unenthusiastic flourish, she bangs her serpentine scepter on the ground. The ornate main doors of the throne room open, and the quartet of trolls that enter makes your thin lip curl.

They aren't clowns of yours, but they are clowns. Masked laughsassins with Enfaris' signature gaudy frills, all except for the tall elder in the front of them. He was certainly as Enfarian as the rest, but he had the decency to mute his colors and show his face. His paint was obnoxiously intricate- they have so much time for it don't they?- and did work to fill the deep lines of his face. His hair fell around his face in thin, tight braids, beaded in green and red at the ends.

"Your 'ighness," he greets. The phlegmy yet airy dust of his accent on those two words alone make your skin crawl. The beads in his hair clatter softly as he shifts. He bares his throat in place of bowing. Whatever ailment requires his cane seems to prevent his fellows from dropping to the floor as well. Disrespectful.

"Father Jortis, I take it?" Halosa asks, not looking for an answer. "I apologize for having no announcer to your entrance. It is no secret that my court is in unacceptable disarray. Please, speak."

"It is quite alright, Madame Delhon," Jortis says, gripping the cane in front of him. You do not hide your grimace when you realize it has a honking horn at the handle. 

"My church received most disturbing news from someone in zis province," he continues, "A rather eloquent plea for assistance. I 'ave an embarrassment of my own you see: in short a few, shall I say incorrectly zealous of our church stole some of our‐ qu'est que ce- 'idden members. I am to believe their fleeing brought zem 'ere, based on my informant's descriptions."

"This should be our priority why exactly?" You can't see his angle. You don't like that. "What do you mean by hidden-"

Halosa puts up a hand again. 

"You will be addressed when you are addressed, Steris." She can't make her voice sound as scary as it used to be. Regardless, you shut your mouth, narrowing your eyes at the clowns in front of you. 

"My advisor does make a fair point, Father. You bring this to me now for the reasons I hope you do, yes?"

Jortis nods once.

"Not zat I would be so brazen as to peek into your mind, but I believe so. My informant claims to 'ave been abducted by rebels and forced to labor for zem- ones zat match ze description of my missing flock."

"Fascinating," you say, having never shut up for long before this. "Is your little informant with us tonight, Enfarian?"

"'E should be," Jortis says easily, catching you off guard. His aloofness to your own disrespect annoys you. Enfarians are so difficult to rile. "If 'e manages to-"

The doors behind the troupe open again, spilling in the last person you'd ever thought you'd see in Delhon's throne room. The guards who escort him in look like they can't get their hands off him fast enough.

"Ninefingers?" You almost can't believe your eyes. He looks genuinely afraid in a way you've never seen the Exacerbator look. He wrings his lopsided hands, warily moving beside the quartet of clowns before dropping to a bow for the Heiress.

"Your highness," he says with a shake in his voice. Closer you can see barely healed scars on his arms, and a bruise under his eye. His first finger has been replaced with something made of… wood? How barbaric. His curly hair had been pulled back tight. He looks even smaller than he already is without his mane. Crushable underfoot or under ax.

Halosa signals for him to get up, casting a wary eye at you. You step forward. He winces.

"I should strangle whatever information you have out of you, Aarika." You crack your knuckles, but Jortis and Halosa both put their arms out to keep you two from each other.

"Vionyi, fucking behave or I will force you to leave."

"Yeah, okay."

Halosa stands. She strikes you across the mouth hard enough to reverberate through the high-ceilinged hall. You swallow the bit of blood in your mouth, clenching your fists. Oh how you hate fighting the urge to do something back. Tears sting at your eyes, but you are well practiced in biting back pain. Closing your clear false lids also helps.

"We can have this conversation over your corpse if need be," she says, some of the real danger in her voice back. You grit your teeth, the hand shaped print on your face stings. Hard. 

"I apologize for my insolence, your highness," you say through tight lips. "I shall not let my emotions get the better of me again."

For a split second, you think you catch a smug little smirk on Aarika's face.

"If I may-," Aarika speaks up with the well practice shake of a fearful child. Halosa seats herself again. "I apologize as well for my- everything. My unacceptable transgressions against the Empire, what I assume is a nasty scar on the back of your leg-" You want to kill him. Never in your life have you had to contain it quite this much. Cleaving him in two would only be the start. "-all of it is my fault. After those pirates took me from- kept me under the deck until I was so wound up and starved that I-" he interrupts himself with a sob. Jortis places a hand on his shoulder. Pathetic. This was what had become of Exacerbator Ninefingers? 

"I- sometimes I feel like I'm still not fully come to. I'm sorry. That's not what I'm here for. Please forgive me." He clears his throat, shaking as he finds his composure. "When they landed last they took me here. Taking to the rebel groups. The Underground practically found him- us first."

"The Underground?" Halosa seems interested. That was your pet project for sweeps. He's going to take this from you, right under your nose. Or lack thereof.

He nods. "There’s a church, on the north side of the city. They call it the-" he shudders, as if remembering something terrible, "-the church of the Reverent. That's what they call their leader. He and a handful of others are Enfarian. You can hear it- and I've overheard things-"

Jortis seems to think that Aarika's frantic ramblings are enough. 

"I would like your permission to retrieve ze 'eads of my missing flock, your 'ighness," he says, gesturing back to his laughsassins. Ah. That's what they were there for.

"Infiltration is incredibly difficult," Aarika interjects. "There are tunnels they will use to evacuate at even the slightest hint of smoke, the-"

"Old snake tunnels, I am familiar," Halosa says, more lively than you've seen her in weeks. Ugh. "Do you know them well enough to block them off?"

He hesitates, but nods.

"They could be… encouraged to certain routes."

Halosa turns her gaze to Jortis.

"How much time would it take you, Jortis?"

"Twenty minutes if we linger," he says. His little trio of freaks nod in unison. Aarika looks just as uncomfortable as you feel with them. The welts he came in with are slower to fade than you thought they'd be. Exacerbator Ninefingers had been rumored to heal as fast as you could cut him, but you suppose not all pirate tales are true.

You are very aware of the chunk he cut out of your thigh as you stare him down. He balks under your scrutiny, reluctantly leaning towards the subjugs. You want to find something, anything about him that you can use to get him dead. His crimes against the Empire are enough, but if he uses this leverage to beg for his life now? After giving up the location to the biggest thorn in Delhon’s side?

Halosa was far too weak not to let him have it.

"If you intend to do this, I would suggest you do it soon," he says, freaky teeth moving as he speaks. "They are intending to mobilize somewhere- I'm unsure where, I would assume further north to disperse into the woods, or south to integrate into the city."

"Two very different directions," Halosa hums.

“That is by design, your highness,” Aarika says with a solemn nod. “They listen to me about… tactics. They know who I was, not who I am. I will do anything in my limited power to make sure that the one who stole your m-”

He stopped himself with a hand over his mouth, looking like he fully expected Halosa to strike him down. You wish she would. She sits up straighter in her seat, the hardness of a several thousand year old war-ender back in her eyes. When she speaks again it is a demand.

“Who stole my...”

“The unspeakably blooded rebel who stole your beloved, your highness.” Aarika dropped to the floor again in another bow. He was really laying it on thick, though you must begrudgingly admire his commitment to keeping his neck and his head attached. “You must know she is one of the Enfarians in that church. It’s where-”

“Enough.” Now Halosa Delhon’s voice was a thundercrack, reverberating off the walls louder than when she’d slapped you. “Father, you can personally see to the unmerciful, gruesome end of your ex flock?” Jortis nodded. Aarika looked up, still frightened, but for a moment the mask slipped to unfettered glee. You would see his teeth pulled out of his face and reintroduced into his eyesockets if you could. 

“Unmercifully shall tack on an ‘andful’s worth of minutes, but it can be done, easily. One of our riders has a vested interest in seeing at least one of zem dead. If I understand correctly, it is the very same.” Riders. They would have taken one of their noodly, violent dragons here. Enfarians have them to spare for every law enforcer over there. You wonder which of his troupe it is. If they aren’t out tending to it.

The shadow of a smile finds itself creasing the severe lines around Halosa’s mouth. This is bad for you. If they can just kill their leaders and get the few spies stationed to get the more egregious mutants, your position as her tactician is practically-

“Steris,” she says, alive. You stiffen. “You had plans for the city north, did you not?”

Is she serious?

“Your highness?”

“To simply kill the perpetrators of so much strife against my city is not enough,” she says cooly, rehearsing words you’d spoken to her already almost verbatim. “The rats nest must be wiped out, lest more vermin crop up. Wouldn’t you agree?”  

Something in the way you shift almost makes Aarika snort. You feel almost lightheaded. Is this truly happening? This is one of the best nights of your life. Aarika and the foreign clowns at the edge of your vision be damned, she’s actually going to go through with it.

“Of course, your highness,” you say breathlessly, “An example should be made to the rest of the city- rest of the province that you-”

“Won’t stand for this behavior from our citizens,” she finishes for you. “Contact Felzee and the other two, tell them they’ll have thirty minutes. Anyone else you find terribly important as well. Everyone else figures it out when the drones come.”

You give her a short nod.

“Shall we be walling off the rest of the city then?” She nods in return. Her control over Delhon’s drones could rival even the Empress. Shielding off just the north side would be nothing.

“Get Ninefingers to mark a map for you and Jortis.” You grimace, and he winces at being mentioned by name. “I will offer you one singular favor, Amillo Aarika, aside from sparing your life.” 

Of course she would.

Fucking of course she would.

That won’t sour your mood. Aarika could ask for a room in the castle and you’d still be over the moons. This is your idea, she’s listened to you, you are getting everything you wanted to do to that hole and more.

“A floor of the greenhouse tower in the center city,” Aarika says as if he’d been expecting this. “If you would be so generous. I- I want my life to be simple, all I’ve ever really wanted is to make-”

“I don’t care. It will be done. All of you come with me. This must be done now.”

When she stands, turning her back to your company, something in Aarika changes, shifts ever so slightly that you barely catch it. His shake stops. He seems more relaxed. He catches your eye and flashes you a smile, which you meet with a sneer. You know then that he’s also just gotten exactly what he wanted. Even if it doesn’t seem like much, you and he are united in this one desire- to see north Delhon torched.

That doesn’t sit well with you, but you have to ignore it. Right now you have a city to raze.

[simulamortem]

EGO RETENTION RELAPSES

in this house we love a messy bitch, and as it happens, Revenant's breaking his programming made him very messy.

Ego Retention can't pull him under again, but it TRIES sometimes. I call these incidents ego relapses, in which Revenant's perception gets stuck in its former state where he sees himself as human again. he KNOWS BETTER now, but that doesn't change his experiencing his human body instead of the mechanical shell - and he hates it.

after all this time acclimating to his machine body, getting stuck in his human body again feels extremely jarring. sensation is much more vivid for him in an ego relapse, especially pain. Revenant's been a bit spoiled as a simulacrum by learning that much of his chassis doesn't have much haptic to it, and he can basically switch off his perception of pain in some cases. but in an ego relapse he can't help how much things HURT, even knowing it's just in his head.

more than that, experiencing his human body again reminds him not only of the man he used to be - who he hates so much for having gotten him where he is - but also of all the violent deaths he went through under Ego Retention.

this excerpt from one of my threads puts it best I think:

"Besides the air in and out of his lungs, he could feel his damn ribs moving with each breath, and all it reminded him of was all the times he struggled for air, died a suffocating death or felt the burn of a bullet in his gut or choked on hot blood thick in his throat. The illusion of his human body may as well have been one big open wound for how many times he had SUFFERED its death."

while these relapses aren't common for him, they do have a variety of possible TRIGGERS:

EMPs or anything electrical risks damaging his neural processor in juuust the right way to kick a bit of Ego Retention back into gear

similarly, any direct physical damage to his neural processor risks a relapse

to a much lesser extent, technically any physical damage at all can risk a relapse, if his neural processor just ✨ decides to be a little bitch at that moment ✨

Revenant has made a habit of avoiding his reflection because there's always a chance he'll see his old self instead of the murderbot

though only likely to happen in the circumstances of a ship, if he's feeling relaxed enough, someone touching him very gently can sometimes trick his perception into thinking they're touching the human body instead of the machine body

when he first wakes up from sleep, especially if he wakes up in a bed, he'll sometimes go about his morning routine from when he was human until he catches himself

FIXES:

ego relapses can happen in just fleeting moments which Revenant is able to brush off - but they can also stick, in which case he usually wants to DIE as quickly as possible, as being stuck in a relapse makes him miserable and moving into a new shell is his quickest guarantee to getting back to normal.

however, he can also acclimate to some extent if getting killed isn't an immediately available solution. he just won't be happy about it, and it'll be very difficult for him to relax or feel comfortable.

there may be other ways to "fix" a relapse, but not without help; somebody Revenant trusts who could guide & ground him back to his mechanical body. the same techniques that work for helping panic attacks & dissociative episodes also have the potential to help him out of an ego relapse.

[aronarchy]

[image IDs:

bp @/bp_plc tweets,

The first step to reducing your emissions is to know where you stand. Find our your #carbonfootprint with our new calculator & share your pledge today!

Mary Annaïse Heglar @/MaryHeglar replies,

Bitch what’s yours?

.

Shell @/Shell tweets,

What are you willing to change to help reduce emissions? #EnergyDebate

Greta Thunberg @/GretaThunberg quote-tweets Shell, saying,

I don’t know about you, but I sure am willing to call-out-the-fossil-fuel-companies-for-knowingly-destroying-future-living-conditions -for-countless-generations-for profit-and-then-trying-to-distract-people-and-prevent-real-systemic-change-through-endless greenwash-campaigns.

Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez @/AOC quote-tweets Shell, saying,

I’m willing to hold you accountable for lying about climate change for 30 years when you secretly knew the entire time that fossil fuels emissions would destroy our planet 😇

Jamie Margolin @/Jamie_Margolin quote-tweets Shell, saying, “This you?” with a Greenpeace photograph by Denck Hingle which shows a tiny Shell skimmer trying to clean up tens of thousands of tons of oil in the ocean, visible as giant patchy red stains.

Sunrise Movement @/sunrisemvmt quote-tweets Shell, saying, “we’re gonna dismantle your company babe” along with a reaction video of a laughing woman with acrylic nails.

.

Chevron @/Chevron tweets,

Lots of talks about Fleets today, so we thought we’d introduce you to one of the biggest ones out there chevron.co/fleets

Brian Kahn @/blkahn quote-tweets Chevron, saying,

I loved learning one of your ships can transport enough oil to emit ~820,000 tons of carbon pollution. This is extremely relatable! Keep it up!!!

.

ExxonMobil @/exxonmobil tweets,

We’re all in this together! Glad to be a part of the Oil and Gas Climate Initiative – working collaboratively toward solutions to mitigate the risks of climate change. @/OGCInews

Ilhan Omar @/IlhanMN quote-tweets ExxonMobil with the “We’re all trying to find the guy who did this” meme, showing an image of a man in a hot dog costume trying to pretend he didn’t do something while a room of people behind him look on unimpressed, from I Think You Should Leave with Tim Robinson.

Terry Metter @/TerryMetterJr replies to @/IlhanMN, saying, “The Exxon PR people looking at the metrics RN” with two stills from the same aforementioned show showing the actor Tim Robinson saying,

I thought it was gonna be a hit!

It turns out it fucking sucks!

/end image IDs]

Good morning to everyone who is going to troll an oil company today 😇

[unendingjoy]

Good day sunshine. The subtle nausea one feels after drinking a can of Monster and a cigarette for breakfast might be their body warning them of the unsustainable nature of their habits, but it could also be the body suffering through Monster Energy withdrawals, as there is no more beautiful gold-tinged liquid paradise left in the can.

How can you tell these apart, you ask me. Looking down, as I'm actually quite small. Quite small, but with a big can of Monster. Full of energy.

The way of telling these apart is by pondering, looking deep within both yourself and your environment. Ask around. "Mother, tummy ouchie!" "Yes, Child, for you have consumed far too much Monster Energy."

Heresy. Truth has no place in the words of this non-believer. Disregard the temptation of Satan, seek your truth, our truth elsewhere. The Universe is vast.

"Oh father, I'm feeling quite nauseous." "Yes, Child, you chugged way too many of those cans."

Heresy. Again. Untrustworthy and fickle parenting. But when one can't rely on their parents, they must look higher.

Drugs aren't good, yet they allow one to reach a plane above mortal existence, if only for a fleeting moment. Grab that moment, don't let it go, embrace it as if it were a newborn and let it consume you.

You're in nothing, but not alone. The presence around you overwhelms you, yet you refuse to kneel. Stare at it, feel it staring back, then ask.

"Oh God, why does my belly ache so?" "Child, you have yet to drink enough energy drinks to build up your body's resistance. The solution, thus, is not to stop drinking, but drinking more."

There is a deep, ancient wisdom in the presence's words. They fill your being with a truth as powerful as a thousand armies, you feel it consume every ounce of your being, burrowing itself in every part of your mind.

Indeed, there is but one path forward. You leave your drug trip a changed person and, with the resolve only seen once per generation, you walk towards the convenience store and buy yourself some Monster Energy.

You're at the checkout, yet before you stands beauty enraped in a mortal's shell. Man, woman, something in between? You can't tell, their beauty transcends gender itself, and all you can do is stare in awe. Your legs fail, you're on your knees. The cashier worriedly makes their way to you, and you stare up at them.

You're in your rightful place, oh you creature of average looks, staring up at the apex of human potential. Yet it doesn't look at you with disdain, for it is a being of unparalleled humbleness. Instead, it extends its arm to you.

You awake and realize what you've just done. Flustered, yes, but the butterflies in your stomach feel like anvils weighing you down. You feel like you need but a small push to get up, and then you see it. The cashier wasn't reaching out to help you up.

In their hands, a glistening can of Monster Energy blinds you with its luster. Blink, blink blink. Your eyes adjust to the beacon, and you grab it. It's cold, not freezing, perfect temperature for a refreshing beverage. This is it. The most important moment of your life.

You open the can and start drinking. It feels like being born, getting your first crush, losing your virginity, marrying the love of your life, seeing your child for the first time and dying at peace surrounded by friends and family, all at once.

Yet it doesn't overwhelm you, your tummy doesn't ache anymore. Where did this strength come from? Who are you, and why are you inhabiting your own body? Was it the wisdom of ages that you were blessed with earlier? Was it the kind gesture of the heart-stealing cashier? Does it matter?

No. It does not. You get up, and stare the cashier. Eyes at the same level, and they stare back. Connection. You are one, for a brief moment, and both reach out to each other. Your fingers touch, then you shake hands. They feel warm and gentle, and finally smile at you.

Everything after is but a blur. All you can remember is stepping out the store, with the cashier's number written in your arm. How did you even pull this off? It's as if the demon of charm possessed your flesh for a bit. Or maybe that's your newfound confidence doing its work. But that's a discussion to have with your therapist.

In the present, now, you stand proud with a can of Monster Energy in your hand, and a new sense of self. What will this world react to the new you? The potential is staggering, and it almost terrifies you. But it shouldn't, for you are the One. Prophecies will be written for you, and whether you choose to follow them will be up to you. Rise up and accept the responsibility that has been bestowed on you, and don't think twice about trampling over those that dare challenge you.

A God has been born.

[vijay34]

Global Offshore Lubricants Market: Trends, Opportunities, and Challenges

Rising Offshore Exploration and Stringent Environmental Regulations Drive Growth in the Offshore Lubricants Market.

The Offshore Lubricants Market Size was valued at USD 170.1 Billion in 2023 and will reach USD 236.4 billion by 2032, growing at a CAGR of 3.8% over the forecast period of 2024-2032.

The Offshore Lubricants Market is experiencing significant growth due to the increasing demand for high-performance lubricants in offshore oil & gas exploration, wind energy, and marine applications. These specialized lubricants play a crucial role in enhancing equipment efficiency, reducing wear and tear, and ensuring smooth operations in harsh marine environments. As offshore energy production continues to expand, the demand for environmentally acceptable lubricants (EALs) and high-performance synthetic lubricants is also on the rise.

Key Players in the Offshore Lubricants Market

ExxonMobil (Mobil SHC 600 Series, Mobil 1 Marine)

Chevron Corporation (Chevron Marine Lubricants, Chevron RPM Marine)

Shell Lubricants (Shell Alexia 40, Shell Omala S4 GX)

TotalEnergies (Total Rubia Marine, Total Azolla ZS)

BP (BP Vanellus Marine 15W-40, BP Energol HLP)

Castrol (Castrol Optigear Synthetic 3000, Castrol Tribol 302 N)

Valvoline (Valvoline Premium Blue Marine, Valvoline All Fleet 15W-40)

Lukoil (Lukoil Marine Oil, Lukoil VS 3000)

Fuchs Lubricants (Fuchs Renolin S, Fuchs Cassida Food Grade Oils)

Chevron Marine Products (Chevron Texaco Marine Lubricants, Chevron RPM Marine)

Future Scope of the Market

The Offshore Lubricants Market is expected to grow due to:

Rising offshore oil & gas exploration activities globally.

Increasing deployment of offshore wind farms.

Advancements in biodegradable and environmentally acceptable lubricants (EALs).

Growing demand for high-performance lubricants to enhance equipment longevity.

Stringent environmental regulations promoting sustainable lubricant solutions.

Emerging Trends in the Offshore Lubricants Market

The offshore lubricants industry is shifting toward sustainable and high-performance solutions. With the growing emphasis on reducing environmental impact, the adoption of biodegradable and environmentally friendly lubricants is increasing. Additionally, the rising investments in offshore renewable energy projects, such as wind farms, are driving the demand for specialized lubricants that ensure efficient turbine operations. Advancements in synthetic and bio-based lubricants are further enhancing the market's potential, catering to the evolving regulatory standards and operational efficiency requirements.

Key Points:

Increasing offshore oil & gas exploration and drilling activities.

Growing adoption of environmentally acceptable lubricants (EALs).

Rising demand for high-performance synthetic lubricants in offshore wind energy.

Stringent marine environmental regulations driving lubricant innovation.

Expanding offshore renewable energy projects fueling lubricant consumption.

Conclusion

The Offshore Lubricants Market is poised for steady growth, driven by the expansion of offshore oil, gas, and wind energy sectors. As environmental concerns continue to shape industry regulations, sustainable and high-performance lubricants will gain more prominence. Key players are focusing on R&D investments to develop eco-friendly solutions that enhance equipment performance and longevity, ensuring long-term market sustainability and competitiveness.

Read Full Report: https://www.snsinsider.com/reports/offshore-lubricants-market-4909 

Contact Us:

Jagney Dave — Vice President of Client Engagement

Phone: +1–315 636 4242 (US) | +44- 20 3290 5010 (UK)

[letrune]

"Dear councillors..." Peacebroker Flanni spoke up. "I won't waste our time. The Antaludian Republic is losing territory every year. The constant war drains their neighbouring allies and the larger Galactic Committee as the Xlarik regime is spearheading a massive assault towards the core systems."

"Do we have any more civilisations we did not called in?" Someone asked.

"There is the Community of Sol." Flanni said, to which whispers started, slowly increasing in volume. All eyes turned to the seats, empty. The Community of Sol was under a special arrangement since the war started. A couple mercenaries from Sol went to the frontlines but nobody dared to believe the rumours.

"We must have some other solution?" Someone else asked. Peacebroker Flanni shook her head.

"I am afraid not. The Xlarik regime started bombarding outposts of numerous of our members, so I have no other option but to put forth the vote: will we call in the Community of Sol for this war?"

Uneasily, the votes started. The yes outnumbered the abstains, only two no votes. Flanni sighed.

"Then it is settled." As she stepped down, she muttered to herself: "Now we summon the apocalypse."

"Peacebroker... I got the first report." Miali whispered to Flanni. She took the dataseed and opened it to see what was in it.

The CSWS Deathdirge arrived to the Antaludian frontlines two days after the vote. The behemoth of a ship opened fire on the Xlarik ships and utterly decimated them, their energy shields unable to block the shells and rockets from the human war machine.

Elsewhere, the CSWS Prometheus and the CSWS Antaludia Cheers had broke a siege of fifty planetburners. The report did not indicated what sort of ships Sol sent there, but the report stated that there were no survivors from the Xlarik side.

The CSWS Spear of Pericles was leading a counterattack, alone, and managed to hold the entire fourth fleet at bay.

Flanni skipped a bit on the report, arriving to the second portion.

The CSS Breadbasket, a trade ship, arrived to the besieged frontlines and made sure every Antaludian citizen who remains had enough food for two months, and when met Xlarik scouts, blew them up. Flanni was curious if it meant the Breadbasket had guards or the ship itself was armed.

CSS Antaludian Choir, a new ship, had rescued a million stuck behind enemy lines from a space station.

Flanni skipped again.

The final report says that the frontlines are being pushed back, the shortages are being alleviated, and about ten million volunteer doctors arrived to treat the injured, on their private ships, before the official Sol medical teams.

Within four days, the losing war turned around. The Homo Sol was kept away from this, and now they could get their share, they jumped in, fresh and full of energy. Flanni shruddered what would they do if they would not be so friendly.

For 10 long years war has raged while the Galactic Committee held a tight leash on the humans; stating “We do things a certain way”. Now, with the enemy closing in, the leash comes off.

[delicateduckpeanut]

Marine Lubricants Market Set for Steady Growth Amid Rising Demand for Fuel Efficiency and Environmental Compliance

Marine Lubricants Market Set for Steady Growth Amid Rising Demand for Fuel Efficiency and Environmental Compliance

Market Overview

The Global Marine Lubricants Market is experiencing steady growth, driven by increasing demand for fuel-efficient, high-performance lubrication solutions in the maritime industry. Marine lubricants play a crucial role in reducing engine wear, enhancing efficiency, and minimizing friction-related energy losses in ships, offshore vessels, and naval fleets.

With stringent environmental regulations pushing for low-emission and bio-based alternatives, the market is witnessing rapid innovations in eco-friendly marine lubricants. The adoption of high-performance synthetic and biodegradable lubricants is growing as shipping companies seek sustainable, cost-effective solutions to comply with IMO (International Maritime Organization) emission standards and other regulatory frameworks.

Free Sample Report:- Sample Request | Marine Lubricants Global Market Insights 2023, Analysis And Forecast To 2030, By Product Type And Application

Market Insights & Trends

Growing Demand for Low-Sulfur and Bio-Based Lubricants: Stricter emission control norms are driving the adoption of low-sulfur and environmentally friendly lubricants in the shipping industry.

Advancements in Engine Oil Technology: Increasing focus on fuel economy, engine durability, and improved lubricant formulations is shaping market trends.

Rise in Global Seaborne Trade: The expansion of international trade and maritime logistics is fueling demand for high-performance marine lubricants to support vessel operations.

Shift Toward Synthetic and Hybrid Lubricants: The superior performance, longer lifespan, and enhanced efficiency of synthetic-based lubricants are increasing their market penetration.

Technological Innovations in Lubrication Systems: Automated oil condition monitoring, predictive maintenance, and smart lubrication solutions are enhancing operational efficiency in the marine sector.

Key Players in the Market

The Global Marine Lubricants Market is highly competitive, with key industry players focusing on product innovation, sustainability, and strategic partnerships. Major companies include:

ExxonMobil Corporation

Royal Dutch Shell Plc

Chevron Corporation

BP Plc

TotalEnergies SE

Castrol Limited

Gulf Oil Marine Ltd.

Idemitsu Kosan Co., Ltd.

Fuchs Petrolub SE

Lukoil Marine Lubricants

These companies are investing in eco-friendly formulations, high-performance synthetic lubricants, and next-generation engine oil technologies to cater to the evolving needs of the maritime industry.

Get Full Report:- Marine Lubricants Market Research Report, 2030

Regional Insights

North America: The United States and Canada are witnessing increased demand for sustainable marine lubricants, driven by strict environmental policies and growing shipping activity.

Europe: Leading countries like Germany, the UK, and Norway are focusing on bio-based lubricants and IMO 2020-compliant solutions for maritime operations.

Asia-Pacific: The largest and fastest-growing region, led by China, Japan, and South Korea, due to high shipbuilding activity and expanding trade routes.

South America, Middle East & Africa: These regions are experiencing growth due to rising offshore exploration, naval defense investments, and port expansions.

Market Outlook & Growth Prospects

The Global Marine Lubricants Market is projected to grow at a CAGR of over 4% through 2030, driven by:

Increasing global shipping and seaborne trade

Stricter emission regulations promoting eco-friendly lubricants

Technological advancements in marine engine lubrication

Growing preference for synthetic and hybrid lubricants

Expansion of port infrastructure and naval defense investments

With continuous innovation in lubricant technology, a shift toward sustainable solutions, and rising maritime trade, the marine lubricants market is set for significant growth and transformation.

Enquire Before Buy:- Enquire Before Buy | Marine Lubricants Global Market Insights 2023, Analysis And Forecast To 2030, By Product Type And Application

Conclusion

The Global Marine Lubricants Market is evolving rapidly as environmental regulations, technological advancements, and fuel efficiency concerns reshape the industry. Companies are focusing on next-generation lubricants, sustainability, and smart lubrication systems to enhance engine performance and reduce environmental impact.

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[gunningcranes]

Revolutionizing Pool Installation in Lake Macquarie and Construction in Newcastle

When it comes to heavy lifting, precision, and efficiency, few companies match the expertise and professionalism of Gunning Cranes. For years, Gunning Cranes has been a trusted partner in industries ranging from pool installation to large-scale construction projects. With a reputation built on reliability, cutting-edge equipment, and skilled operators, the company has become synonymous with excellence in Pool Installation Lake Macquarie and crane hire for construction in Newcastle.

The Role of Cranes in Modern Construction

Cranes are indispensable in today’s construction and installation projects. Whether lifting materials to great heights or assisting with the placement of heavy equipment, cranes streamline processes that would otherwise be labor-intensive and time-consuming. For tasks like Pool Installation in Lake Macquarie, cranes play a pivotal role in ensuring precision placement, reducing risks, and maintaining project timelines. Similarly, in Newcastle, construction projects demand the flexibility and power of advanced cranes to meet the high standards of modern architecture and engineering.

Why Choose Gunning Cranes?

Expertise in Diverse Projects

Gunning Cranes has extensive experience in managing a variety of projects, from residential pool installations to large-scale commercial construction. Their team of skilled operators and technicians ensures that every lift is executed safely and efficiently.

State-of-the-Art Equipment

The company’s fleet includes a range of cranes designed to handle diverse requirements. Whether you’re looking to Hire Crane for Construction Newcastle or need assistance with a unique installation in Lake Macquarie, Gunning Cranes has the right equipment to meet your needs.

Commitment to Safety

Safety is paramount at Gunning Cranes. The company adheres to stringent safety protocols and conducts regular equipment inspections to ensure that every operation runs smoothly without compromising the well-being of its workers or clients.

Pool Installation in Lake Macquarie: A Case Study

Lake Macquarie, known for its scenic beauty and vibrant community, has seen a surge in residential and commercial development. Many homeowners in the region are opting for pools as a way to enhance their properties and enjoy the region’s sunny climate.

However, pool installation isn’t as simple as digging a hole and filling it with water. The process involves precise excavation, the delivery and placement of pre-fabricated pool shells, and the careful alignment of various components. This is where Gunning Cranes excels. By using advanced lifting equipment, the company ensures that pool shells are placed seamlessly, even in challenging or restricted spaces.

Benefits of Using Gunning Cranes for Pool Installation

Precision Placement: The company’s cranes enable accurate placement of pool components, minimizing errors and ensuring structural integrity.

Reduced Installation Time: By leveraging high-capacity cranes, Gunning Cranes speeds up the installation process, saving homeowners time and money.

Customized Solutions: Gunning Cranes adapts to the unique needs of each project, offering tailored solutions for properties with limited access or uneven terrain.

Crane Hire for Construction in Newcastle

Newcastle, a bustling hub of industry and development, is home to numerous construction projects ranging from residential complexes to commercial skyscrapers. These projects demand efficiency, reliability, and innovation—qualities that Gunning Cranes consistently delivers.

Advantages of Hiring a Crane for Construction in Newcastle

Versatility: Gunning Cranes offers a variety of cranes, including mobile cranes, tower cranes, and all-terrain cranes, to cater to diverse project needs.

Cost-Effectiveness: Renting a crane from Gunning Cranes eliminates the need for long-term investments in equipment, making it a budget-friendly option for contractors.

Expert Operators: Along with state-of-the-art equipment, the company provides skilled operators who bring a wealth of experience to every project.

Key Projects in Newcastle

Gunning Cranes has been instrumental in several landmark projects in Newcastle. From assisting in the construction of modern residential complexes to handling delicate restoration work on historical buildings, the company’s contribution has been invaluable. Their ability to adapt to the unique challenges of each project has cemented their reputation as a go-to crane hire provider in the region.

How Gunning Cranes Stands Out

Customer-Centric Approach

Gunning Cranes takes pride in its customer-first philosophy. Every project begins with a detailed consultation to understand the client’s specific requirements. This ensures that the right crane and strategy are selected for the task at hand.

Advanced Technology

The company invests heavily in technology to enhance its services. From GPS-enabled fleet tracking to advanced lifting systems, Gunning Cranes stays ahead of the curve by embracing innovation.

Community Engagement

As a locally owned and operated business, Gunning Cranes is deeply committed to supporting the communities in which it operates. The company actively participates in local events, provides employment opportunities, and supports sustainable practices to minimize its environmental footprint.

Tips for Choosing the Right Crane Hire Service

If you’re planning a project in Lake Macquarie or Newcastle, selecting the right crane hire service is crucial. Here are some tips to help you make an informed decision:

Assess Your Needs: Determine the type and scale of your project to identify the equipment required.

Check Credentials: Ensure that the crane hire company has the necessary licenses, certifications, and insurance.

Evaluate Equipment: Inspect the company’s fleet to ensure it includes modern, well-maintained cranes.

Prioritize Safety: Choose a provider with a strong safety record and comprehensive safety protocols.

Read Reviews: Look for testimonials and case studies to gauge the company’s reputation and reliability.

Conclusion

From transforming backyards with stunning pools in Lake Macquarie to driving large-scale construction projects in Newcastle, Gunning Cranes has established itself as a leader in the industry. Their unwavering commitment to safety, innovation, and customer satisfaction sets them apart, making them the preferred choice for projects big and small.

Whether you’re looking to Hire Crane for Construction Newcastle or need expert assistance with Pool Installation Lake Macquarie, Gunning Cranes is ready to exceed your expectations. Reach out to them today to discuss your project requirements and experience the difference that comes with working with industry experts.