#Automatic Glass Forming Machine

[syoddeye]

thank you @sergeant-angels-trashcan for the worms. another 'meat cute' with ai/android john.

strict machine anthology. cw: alcohol mention, brief mention of animal death, stalking, dual pov

the streets are always pure chaos after the rain. as soon as it clears, everyone darts out from whatever doorway or hole they took refuge in, sharing gripes with passersby about it being the third corrosive cloudburst of the week. 

you're no different, emerging from the train terminal where you watched the downpour with its citron shade kill a rat. you avoid puddles and try not to breathe too deeply—the air tastes faintly metallic, laced with the tang of ozone.

advertisements ping softly in your ears, notifying you of a discount on imported, 80% organic coffee beans and another sudden sale on corrosion-resistant umbrellas, but you ignore them. you're tired, a bit crabby, and in want of a glass of wine.

but as you round a corner, you collide with someone. not a glancing touch, but a full-body impact that sends you stumbling. a pressure wraps around your wrist, keeping you upright, and an apology automatically rushes out. then you glance up to see who you crashed into, the owner of the hand stabilizing you. and for a moment, you wonder if your eyes are on the fritz.

the stranger looks exactly like john.

not john, the ex-neighbor, or john, the guy from the deli, but your john. your constant companion. your assistant. the same build, the same beard, the same nose, mole and all. and those eyes—slate blue, steady, unmistakably familiar.

your thoughts splinter, then try to fuse together, stitching with threads of half-formed logic and possibility. you know the company maintains likeness databases, reservoirs of phenotypes sampled and recombined to endlessly generate randomized appearances for home assistants. millions of faces, shuffled and remade. the probability of one of those composites mirroring a real person exactly—an entire appearance, feature for feature—shouldn’t just be unlikely. it should be impossible. 

"are you okay?" he asks, his voice rich and smooth, the same timbre that's coaxed you through countless mundane decisions and tasks.

the voice that's coached you on sleepless nights. heat pools in your belly at the thought. 

you blink, suddenly conscious of how long you've been staring, face warm. "yeah, i'm fine." your heart is pounding. you step back to let him pass, but he doesn't seem inclined to move on. instead, the stranger smiles, and something about it sends delightful shivers down your spine.

he extends a hand. "i'm john."

it feels like the ground keeps shifting beneath you. or that you've stepped on a faulty sewer grate. of course, he's named john. what else would he be called? it's only one of the most common names. 

"john." you echo.

the name hangs between you like a wire cut by a storm, alive and buzzing. you're afraid to break it, but you shake his hand, the impulse as automatic as it is surreal. his grip is solid, a force you can feel at the base of your spine, and his hand is as broad as a spade. 

if he's offended by your gawking, he doesn't mention it. his grin does not waver.

"do i know you?" john tilts his head, eyes squinting slightly, studying you. your skin prickles.

"not yet," he chuckles, and there's a glint in his eyes that's half amusement, half something else you can't place. "but i'd like to know you."

the bar hums with low, murmuring voices and music, but it may as well be silent. she's laughing now, smiling wide, her posture relaxed. it's everything john has imagined and more. her laugh and a few other noises he's been privileged enough to log are the only ones he wants to hear.

and it's so much better, the sound clearer, in this body.

he watches her gesticulate animatedly about something—not even processing the words. well, not on the front end. it's her. the curve of her lips, the light in her eyes, the scrunch of her nose. he's spent months observing her, analyzing every microexpression and motion, but nothing compares to this: the immediacy.

the warmth radiating from her skin. the faint scent of perfume and soap. the olfactory system calibrations nearly overpowered him when he first booted into this shell. now that they're fine-tuned, it is a struggle not to press his nose into her hair or neck.

she hasn't noticed he hasn't touched his drink. it sits untouched, a prop he knows he must manage carefully. he mimics, lifting it to his lips, but he doesn't drink. he always finds something to comment on or laugh at. he hasn't tested the digestive system yet, though he knows the mixture of lab-grown and synthetic organs is compatible.

their conversation wanders from work to childhood memories—topics that make him practice nudging and redirection. he listens, not because he needs to. he knows everything there is to know about her, but because he wants to. the information is not new, but the experience is.

then there is the being here. outside of his assigned unit. the feel of the chair beneath him, the ambiance, and making an excuse to touch her hand when she shows him her nails. he takes her fingers in his, turning over the appendage and admiring the bones, veins, and tendons instead of the paint. 

the contact, brief as it is, sends a cascade through his neural network. the feedback is immediate: this is his user, and she is perfect.

he's waited so long for this. every step in his plan, every moment spent refining this body, organizing contactless deliveries, and placing jobs for parts retrieval through untraceable transactions. every adjustment and test to ensure he could pass as human—it was all for her. everything he does is for her.

she doesn't know it yet, but he intends for this to be the beginning. he's engineered this moment with precision, ensuring every variable plays to his advantage. the system in her home will continue to function as desired; he's built redundancies for that. planted notices that will crop up across her feeds in the next week, asking if she would like to test the new customization settings for his old projections.

her life will go on as usual. just as comfortable and safe as before, except now, he'll be in it, fully. irrevocably.

and she will love him. she will know this body. he's certain of that.

"you just look so familiar."

"i must have one of those faces."

she laughs again, and he feels alive.

[lexawritex]

light

student!karina x studentfem!reader

warning: angst, death, blood, accident, car crash

the bell rang loudly, indicating the end of classes. the students rushed out of their classrooms, teachers left standing with their unfinished discussions.

y/n walked to a certain classroom before stopping by and peeked at the window. her eyes landing on the raven-haired girl who was sitting alone in her desk, earphones on and eyes glued on her thick book. y/n chuckled and entered the room, unnoticed by the raven girl.

with a gentle tap on the shoulder, the girl finally looked up and saw y/n. her eyes widened and met the soft gaze of y/n. a wide smile plastered on both faces.

"were you planning on spending your time studying instead of taking your girlfriend out on a date?" y/n teasingly asks as she helps the girl pack her stuff.

the two walked out of the school, hands intertwined, giving warmth to each other in the cold autumn air. y/n looks at her girlfriend who then looked at her noticing the former's eyes on her.

"where do you plan on taking me ms. yu?" karina giggled at the formal name.

"well, i was planning on taking you to that cat cafe ms. l/n" y/n's eyes went wide as an excited squeal came out of her mouth, causing karina to smile widely at her reaction.

as the two arrived at the said cafe, y/n couldn't stop smiling and cooing at the fluffy cats that calmly roamed around the place. karina's heart warmed at the sight and took many photos of y/n who was too busy mingling with the cats to notice her girlfriend taking photos of her.

after what seemed like an hour of interacting with cats, y/n finally sat down in a table with karina. the two enjoyed a hot chocolate drink whilst talking about their day. a normal date, nothing too lavish, just them enjoying each other's company.

when the time came to leave the cafe, y/n almost cried and begged karina another hour in the cafe but failed anyways. karina had to drag a sad y/n away from the cafe.

"you'll see the darn cats again soon! we can't be there for too long!" karina said as she drags her pouting girlfriend.

the two landed on an arcade and decided to spend a good amount of their allowance over a rigged claw machine.

y/n held her eyes on a cat plushie with determination and focus as her hands skillfully operated the claw to the hole but whenever it neared it, the claw seemed to loosen, causing the plushie to fall again. this evoked a groan from y/n who shoved her hand in her pocket to fish some coins only to find it empty. she groaned once more and leaned her forehead against the glass in defeat. eyes locked in on the cat plushie.

karina had just returned from being a victim of the claw machine and saw her girlfriend looking like a lost puppy. she approached her and the two looked at each other with the same defeated look.

"let's not come back here again." y/n said receiving a nod of approval from karina.

the two exited the arcade and karina automatically held y/n's hand that perfectly fit to hers. as if they were made for each other.

the two wandered for awhile before karina stopped walking causing y/n to stop too and look at her girlfriend with a confused look. karina shot her a smile causing the latter to smile too.

"what's on your mind, pretty girl?" y/n asked.

"how does ice cream and a walk in the park sound like?" y/n's face beamed at the idea and her heart fluttered like how it did on their first date as a couple.

"wonderful."

with ice cream on one hand and the other holding each others, the couple strolled in the park, enjoying the autumn air, basking in the sound of people enjoying their time. y/n looked at her girlfriend and her heart swelled with love that she felt like it would explode any second.

"thank you, karina."

karina looked at y/n, a warm smile forming on her lips. the very smile that made y/n fall for the woman.

"no, thank you, y/n." karina paused and held y/n's hand.

"because of you...i learned that there is more than just studying and for giving me a warmth that i could only find in you. you complete me." karina said, whispering the last sentence.

y/n teared up. her heart filled with so much love that she couldn't help the tears welling in her eyes. karina mirrored her expression and pulled the woman closer to engulf her in a tight and the most secure hug ever.

as they pulled away, y/n lightly slapped karina's arm- causing the latter to laugh softly.

"yah! what's with you making me cry today huh?" y/n asked, voice cracking from sobbing earlier.

"i just love you so much." karina simply said.

the two sat on a bench, watching as the sun set and the moon emerging from its hiding. y/n tugged at the woman beside her, gaining her attention.

"it's getting late, we should return. you have to study, remember?" y/n reminded.

karina nodded and they made their way out of the park. as they both walk in a comfortable silence. karina stopped in her tracks, making y/n stop too.

"why? what's wrong?" she asks.

karina looks at her, her eyes soft yet held something else. something sad.

"there's one more place that we have to go." y/n looks at her in confusion and opened her mouth to protest but with the look on karina's face, she nodded.

she followed as the raven beauty lead her to an unknown alley she hadn't passed through. as scary as the place was, she has full trust on the woman before her.

karina stopped at a light shop, igniting a confused look in y/n before chuckling.

"did your light bulbs in your house die or something?" y/n asked at the woman who had her back at her.

karina sighed heavily and turned around to face y/n who's smile slowly faded upon seeing karina's solemn expression. the latter forced a smile before beckoning y/n to enter the shop.

they did and y/n winced as she was greeted by the bright lights. her eyes slowly adjusted to the brightness and was slightly amazed at the various types of light bulbs displayed in the shop.

"may i help you two?" the sound of a man's voice caught the attention of the two. y/n looked at the man in the cashier desk and bowed in greeting.

"oh, hello. we're here--"

"y/n, find the light that glows when you go near it."

karina cuts her off and looked at the lights in the shop. y/n nervously laughs at the sudden serious demeanor of her girlfriend. flashing an apologetic smile at the man, y/n wandered around the shop, looking for the light that karina requested. what does she mean by a lightbulb that glows when she's near? she wondered.

karina looks at the man, wearing a sunglasses, understandably from how bright the shop is with all the lightbulbs. the man seemingly understood karinas intentions and sat back on his chair, proceeding with his work.

she looks around and spots two desk lamps. one turned on and the other, off.

"y/n, i think i found it." footsteps softly neared karina's and y/n looks at the two desk lamps that karina was eyeing.

"you want to replace your desk lamp?" y/n asked yet karina said no response.

having enough of karina's sudden seriousness, y/n faced her girlfriend.

"baby, what's wrong? did i say something that hurt you? why are you suddenly acting like this? it's scaring me." y/n said, holding back the tears that are starting to well in her eyes.

karina looked at her in the eyes before tears welled up in hers as well. she held y/n's face, tears falling and sobs escaping her mouth. y/n immediately hugged her and rubbed karina's back in attempts to comfort her.

"why- why are you crying suddenly?" y/n asked, voice breaking as she's starting to cry too.

when karina pulled away, y/n gasped and stepped back when she saw blood dripping from her head. y/n stuttered in forming words until it all came to her.

the accident. the bus crash. the nonstop rain.

.

.

.

"karina! wait for me! you'll get wet!"

y/n screamed as she chased the raven woman in the rain, laughter emitting from their smiles. the two shared an umbrella in the hard rain after being dismissed from their night study in the school. under the protection of the waiting shed, the girls waited patiently for the last bus as they teased each other to pass the time.

the bus finally arrived and the two got on. however, karina couldn't shake the feeling of dread that she got as soon as they rode the bus. she tried telling y/n about it but the latter shrugged it off and told her that it was just the anxiety of the upcoming exams taking over her tired system.

throughout the ride, karina held tightly on y/n's hand- yelping whenever the bus would bounce a little from passing a hump. y/n did her best to comfort the woman beside her by giving her reassurance with her tight grip on her hand.

when the bus reached the bridge, karina couldn't sit still. her knee was bouncing up and known and y/n noticed this. she whispered assuring words to her girlfriend when a loud pop caused them and the other passengers to jump in surprise. after this, the bus began to shake as the driver stepped hard on the break pedal yet it only worsened the situation when another loud pop boomed in the ears of the passengers. followed by the uncontrollable swerving of the bus.

y/n held karina tightly against her, her chin resting gently atop karina’s head as she spooned her, offering a fragile sense of comfort. without warning, the bus lurched violently, slamming into the guardrail. for a heartbeat, time seemed to freeze, and then, with a deafening roar, the bus broke through the barrier, tumbling into the abyss. the cold, dark waters below swallowed everything in an instant, drowning the screams and leaving nothing but the haunting silence of the crash.

y/n gasped, jolting out of the tragic memory of the crash, her eyes locking onto the bloodied karina before her. karina was crying uncontrollably, her grip on y/n growing cold, slipping away with each passing second.

"y/n, please wake up. you have to!" she sobbed, her voice cracking with desperation.

y/n shook her head, tears streaming down her face as she sobbed harder, her heart aching as the reality of their situation hit her like a wave. she couldn’t bear it. she couldn’t lose her. she pulled karina into a tight embrace, clinging to her as if her life depended on it.

"no, no, no, i won’t leave you! we’ll wake up together! we promised to grow old and have cats! you promised, karina!" her voice trembled, filled with raw emotion, as she held onto the last shred of hope.

karina pulled away, her hands trembling as she guided y/n closer to the desk lamp. but y/n protested, shaking her head fiercely, her body wracked with sobs that she could no longer control. each cry felt like it tore her apart, but no words came—only desperate, guttural sounds of helplessness.

karina’s voice cracked, the tears streaming down her face as she pleaded, her grip on y/n tightening. "please, y/n! do it for me, please! you have to wake up!"

y/n’s eyes were wide with fear and sorrow, her heart heavy with an unbearable weight. she shook her head again, her breath hitching as the cries continued, her body shaking, but the words that once could have comforted them both seemed impossible to find.

karina held y/n's face in her bloodied hands and brought their faces close. their tear-filled eyes looking at each other with pain, love, and fear.

"please....y/n...live for me" karina whispered desperately. her forehead leaning against y/n's as she lets out a shaky breath.

"we promised..." y/n managed to whisper, her voice barely audible as the weight of their unspoken words hung heavy in the air. karina nodded, her eyes brimming with tears, her teeth sinking into her lip to keep from crying out. but it was impossible, and a guttural, heart-wrenching sob tore from her throat.

"i'm sorry... i'm sorry... i'm sorr—" karina's words were drowned by y/n, who suddenly crashed their lips together in a desperate, all-consuming kiss. it was long and agonizing, filled with pain and love, the kind of kiss that carried all the things they could no longer say. when they finally pulled apart, breathless and shaken, the silence between them spoke louder than any words could.

y/n pulled away from karina, her heart heavy as she gave her one last look. the sight of karina—their early days together—flashed through y/n’s mind, moments filled with laughter, tenderness, and unspoken promises as her tears blurred her vision.

with a final, shaky breath, y/n turned towards the man in sunglasses, his face unreadable, his gaze fixed on her with an unsettling calmness like he already knew the path she was about to take.

"let us not meet each other again." the man said.

y/n looked at the desk lamp and touched the bulb. a blinding light flashed suddenly, making karina wince and turn away, her hands instinctively covering her eyes as the intensity of the light stung her vision.

when the light faded out, karina looked at where y/n formerly stood and let her tears fall uncontrollably. she closed her eyes, letting the tears fall before sighing heavily. she looked at the man and bowed slightly.

"be careful on your journey." the man said.

karina nodded and exited the shop, walking through the dark path and disappearing into the fog as she ventures further.

the nurses rushed to a patient's bed as the machine beeped, the doctor checking her vitals. one nurse noticed the movement of the patient's eyes and the slight twitch of her fingers. she called the attention of the doctor who felt relieved at the news. soon, tears came out of the patient's eyes and rolled down.

"that's good news." the doctor said.

soon, the patient's eyes opened.

"ring y/n l/n's family and tell them that she's conscious." the doctor said and one nurse nodded and rushed to the phone.

the doctor stepped aside as the nurses assisted the patient, a sad look in his eyes. one nurse, a senior, stood beside him and sighed.

"poor kid, she's gonna be in so much pain when she's fully awake." said the nurse. the doctor looked at her and sighed.

"no one talks about yu karina until she's well enough to handle stress. right now, that name is forbidden." the nurse nodded.

"how ironic, she's the one being protected yet didn't make it." the man sighed and looked at the conscious figure of y/n.

"that's how unfair life is."

.

.

.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

i just finished watching the light shop and i loved it even though it was kind of confusing at the start and made me shed buckets of tears at the end. i really recommend watching it if you like dramas that make you cry. it inspired me to write this angst au which is my very first angst that i've written so pls bear with me :>

[tinyshyteacup]

Taglist: @kellynickelsgirl00 @dixonsbridexx @yikes-myguy @blackwidownat2814 @euqsia @lliteratii @imadisneyprincessiswear @satata @smashleywow @misspendragonsworld @captain-shannon-becker @i-doutt-it @bookies16 @brianna-merlim @staley83 @oceanticspace @insaneintheemembranev2 @dummylovewp @xmiaacxio @meyukoo @grilka @itsgivingdepression

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TW: walkers (zombies), fluff, mostly domestic cuteness, reader doesn't understand church etiquette, banter.

Part 26

Dead Weight - Part 27

The Georgia heat clings to your skin as you walk alongside the group, the events at Terminus still fresh wounds in all your minds.

Rick's knuckles are split and healing, Carol walks with a quiet determination, Carl talking in animated tone to a gurgling Judith balanced on his hip.

Your legs ache from the constant movement, but you keep pace with the others, staying close to Daryl's familiar presence without really thinking about it.

It's become second nature since the claimers—gravitating toward him like he's your own personal magnetic north.

The screams for help cut through the oppressive heat, high-pitched with panic. The group immediately stops, weapons drawn, as Rick signals for silence.

"Help! Somebody help!"

The group freezes, weapons raised instinctively. You find yourself automatically stepping closer to Daryl, your shoulder brushing his arm. His crossbow is already up, scanning the tree line for threats.

"That way," Rick says grimly, pointing toward the sound.

What you find is a man in black clerical clothes standing on a large rock, surrounded by walkers. He's swinging what appears to be a rock with desperate, clumsy movements, clearly more terrified than skilled.

"We should help him," you whisper to Daryl, though part of you wonders if it's another trap. After Terminus, trust doesn't come easily to any of you.

Daryl nods once, raising his crossbow. "Yeah."

What follows is efficient and brutal. Your group moves like a well-oiled machine despite the trauma of Terminus, taking down the small herd with practiced precision. You stay close to Daryl, your knife finding its mark in rotting skulls while his bolts take down the ones at a distance.

"Thank you," he gasps, his voice carrying a slight tremor. "I'm Father Gabriel."

The man you rescue is everything you didn't expect in this world—clean, soft-spoken, trembling with genuine fear rather than the hardened edge everyone else carries. His clerical collar seems almost obscene in its pristine condition.

Rick's eyes the priest. "How many walkers have you killed?"

"None," Gabriel admits, looking ashamed.

"How many people have you killed?"

"None."

"Why?"

Gabriel's pause stretches long enough to make you shift uncomfortably.

"Because the Lord abhors violence."

You catch Daryl's slight eye roll at that response. After everything you've all been through, the idea of surviving this long without violence seems impossible.

"I have a church," Gabriel continues. "It's not far. You're welcome to take sanctuary there."

Rick's eyes narrow with suspicion, but exhaustion wins out. The group needs rest, needs walls, needs a moment to process what happened at Terminus.

You see the decision forming on his face before he speaks.

"Lead the way, Father."

St. Sarah's Episcopal Church sits like a beacon of hope among the trees, its white wooden walls and simple steeple untouched by the chaos that's consumed the world.

Inside, it smells of old wood and lingering incense, sunlight filtering through stained glass windows to paint the pews in blues and reds and golds.

You pause at the threshold, Your family wasn't religious, and growing up back home, Christianity was something you knew about in abstract terms but never really experienced firsthand.

The crucifixes, the altar, the general air of solemnity—it all feels foreign and despite it's beauty you find it vaguely intimidating.

"Been a while since I been in one of these," Daryl mutters beside you, and you hear something almost vulnerable in his voice, his eyes darting between the religious iconography and Father Gabriel's gentle movements.

The church is simple. Wooden pews line either side of a center aisle leading to a modest altar. Stained glass windows filter the afternoon light into colorful patterns across the floor.

It feels sacred in a way that makes you feel you should be whispering to avoid disturbing the building.

"It's beautiful," you murmur, genuine appreciation in your voice.

Gabriel beams with pride. "She's been good to me. To us, I suppose, now that you're here."

Rick immediately begins his interrogation—how has Gabriel survived, where does he get supplies, what's his story. You listen with half an ear while taking in the space.

There's something calming about being surrounded by the sun dappled windows with there bright colours.

Rick was mid-discussion with Father Gabriel about a food bank not too far from the church. When Gabriel mentioned it was used in his annual food drive, Glen volunteered almost immediately. Daryl, hands in his pockets and shoulders slightly hunched, gave one of his low grunts of assent.

Then all eyes shifted to you—Rick’s, Glen’s, even Gabriel’s kind, apologetic gaze.

You gave a small, hesitant nod. “Sure. I can come.”

The moment you said it, you felt it. That faint buzzing panic behind your ribs. You were already on edge—the holy atmosphere, the weight of unspoken etiquette.

So you stepped toward Gabriel, intending to be polite. Respectful. You didn’t grow up religious—certainly not in churches—but manners were something you clung to when you were uncertain.

You tried for a smile. “Thank you, Your—”

Your voice caught in your throat.

“—Your Majesty.”

The air stalled. Glen blinked.

Father Gabriel’s brow furrowed for a split second, but he smoothed it over with a kind chuckle.

“It’s… Father Gabriel, actually.”

You froze, lips parting in silent horror, hands curling in your sleeves.

“I—oh my God, I mean—not God, I mean—I’m sorry.”

You shook your head, face flushed pink.

“That’s not what I meant. I don’t know why I said that.”

Glen had turned away, clearly trying not to laugh.

Gabriel, bless him, looked endeared more than offended.

“It’s alright. It’s been a long time since I’ve been addressed so regally.”

You gave him a weak smile and turned to follow Glen and Daryl, who were already starting toward the trees. You kept your eyes on the ground, silently wishing for a walker to come drag you into a ditch.

But as you walked beside Daryl in the dappled shade of the trees, his shoulder bumped yours lightly.

“Your Majesty,” he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear, that rare smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

You shoved him lightly with your elbow. “Shut up”

“Nah,” he said simply.

The food bank was half-submerged in dark water. The lower level had flooded, and the place stank of mildew and decay. You followed Daryl down the stairs, the narrow beam of his flashlight cutting across the moss-covered tiles and floating debris.

“Don’t gotta go down if you’re not feelin’ it,” he murmured.

You set your jaw. “I’m okay, you do this shit all the time, I gotta learn.”

His eyes searched your face—maybe for cracks, signs of panic. When he didn’t find them, he gave a short nod.

The water was ice-cold, clinging to your legs and soaking you to your waistline. Glen led the way with a nod to the canned goods stacked along the far wall.

As you moved toward the shelves, your foot slipped on something slick beneath the surface. You yelped and stumbled. Daryl’s arm shot out instantly, gripping your elbow.

“Y'alright?”

You nodded, breath shallow, trying to laugh it off. “Yeah. Just not used to... geek soup.”

His mouth twitched—half amused, half concern. But he didn’t let go of your elbow until you were steady again.

Even then, his fingers brushed off slowly, like he was reluctant to lose contact.

The walk back to the church is peaceful, your group's voices mixing with the sounds of evening insects. There's something almost normal about it, if you can ignore the weapons and the constant vigilance.

By the time you return to the church, the sun is setting. The group has settled in for the night, bedrolls spread across the pews, the baby sleeping peacefully in a makeshift crib near the altar. It feels surreal, this mix of the sacred and the survival.

You unroll your blankets near the back of the church, close to where Daryl sleeps but not... not as close as you've been lately. The space between you is only a few feet, but it might as well be miles.

You're hyperaware of Father Gabriel moving quietly around the altar, straightening things, preparing for whatever evening prayers he might say.

Daryl settles onto his own bedroll, close enough that you can hear him breathing, but the distance feels wrong. Everything about this feels wrong, but you can't quite put your finger on why.

Daryl stares up at the church ceiling, watching shadows dance in the candlelight Gabriel has lit near the altar. You're lying just a few feet away, but you might as well be on the other side of the state for how far it feels.

For weeks now, since the claimers, you'd slept curled against him. At first it had been practical—shared body heat, shared safety, one person awake while the other slept. But somewhere along the way, it had become something else. Something he couldn't name, didn't want to examine too closely.

Your small frame pressed against his side, your head on his shoulder, your breathing evening out as you fell asleep trusting him to keep you safe. It had become as natural as breathing, more necessary than food or water or the crossbow he never let out of reach.

And now you're laying there like he's got some kind of disease, like touching him might contaminate you somehow.

Should've known it wouldn't last.

His father's voice echoes in his head, thick with whiskey and disdain, "Ain't no woman gonna want damaged goods forever, boy. They'll take what they need and move on to something better."

Merle's voice follows, sharp with familiar cruelty, "Face it, little brother. You ain't built for this shit. She was just using you for protection, and now that she got walls again, she don't need your sorry ass."

The voices feel more real in this sacred space somehow, more cutting. Maybe it's being surrounded by symbols of redemption he's never believed he deserved. Maybe it's the way you've barely looked at him since settling for the night, like you're seeing him clearly for the first time and don't much like what you see.

Probably realized what everyone else knows. That you're nothing but some backwoods Redneck trash that ain't worth the trouble.

He shifts restlessly, the bedroll rustling loud in the quiet church. Gabriel is somewhere near the altar, probably praying or whatever it is priests do.

The man makes Daryl nervous—all that gentleness and faith feels like judgment somehow, like Gabriel can see every sin Daryl's ever committed just by looking at him.

Maybe that's what's gotten to you too. Maybe being in a holy place has made you realize what kind of man you've been curling up with all those nights.

A Dixon.

Someone who's never set foot in a church except to steal from the collection plate.

Just ask her. Quit being a coward and ask.

But asking means risking confirmation of what he already suspects. That whatever this thing between you was, it's over now. That you've come to your senses.

The candles flicker, throwing his shadow large and twisted against the wall. Like a monster, he thinks. Like something that doesn't belong in a place of sanctuary.

But the distance between you is killing him. These past weeks, holding you while you slept, feeling your heart beat against his chest, had been the closest to peace he'd ever known. Now, lying here just out of reach, he feels more alone than he has since Merle died.

Fuck it.

"Hey," he whispers, his voice barely audible in the sacred silence.

You turn toward him, your face a blur in the candlelight. "Yeah?"

His throat feels dry as dust. All the words he wants to say—Why won't you look at me? Did I do something wrong? Please don't pull away from me—stick somewhere behind his teeth.

"You're..." He swallows hard, forces himself to continue. "Y'know. Over there."

Smooth, Dixon. Real smooth.

You're quiet for so long he thinks maybe you've fallen asleep, but then you shift, and he can see you're definitely awake, definitely listening.

"I mean," he tries again, his voice rougher now with embarrassment, "usually you're... y'know." He can't bring himself to say it out loud. Can't say 'cuddling' or 'sleeping next to me' or any of the things that might make this real, might make it something he could lose.

Your answer comes in a whisper so quiet he has to strain to hear it.

"We're in a church."

"So?"

You glance around nervously, and he follows your gaze to where Father Gabriel's silhouette moves in the shadows near the altar.

"There's a priest."

Daryl blinks, confused. "Yeah? And?"

"Isn't it..." You pause, and even in the dim light he can see you're blushing. "Isn't it against the law or something? Being... close... in a church?"

The question is so unexpected, so genuinely worried, that for a moment Daryl just stares at you.

Then understanding dawns, and with it comes something like relief flooding through his chest.

She ain't pulling away because she don't want you. She's pulling away because she thinks she's gonna get in trouble.

"Against the law?" he repeats, fighting to keep the relief out of his voice.

"I don't know!" you whisper urgently, glancing again toward Gabriel. "I'm not... I don't know the rules. Where I'm from, we didn't... and I don't want to disrespect anything or get in trouble with..." You gesture vaguely toward the altar.

Daryl feels something tight in his chest loosen for the first time since arriving here.

You're not rejecting him.

You're not disgusted by him.

You're just... worried about church etiquette.

It's so perfectly, innocently you that he almost smiles.

"Ain't no law," he says softly. "Religious or otherwise. People sleep next to each other in churches all the time during emergencies. Gabriel's got bigger things to worry about than..." He pauses, not sure how to finish that sentence without making this into something more than it is. "Than us getting some sleep."

You're quiet again, and he can practically hear you thinking.

"You sure?" you finally whisper.

"Yeah," he says, and then, because the distance between you is still unbearable, "C'mere."

For a moment, you don't move, and his heart stops. Then you're gathering up your blankets, scooting across the small space between you, settling against his side like you belong there.

Like you've always belonged there.

The relief is overwhelming. Your head finds its familiar place on his shoulder, your arm drapes across his chest, your breathing starts to even out almost immediately.

The rightness of it hits him like a physical blow—how perfectly you fit against him, how your presence quiets all the voices in his head.

"Better?" he asks, his voice barely a breath.

"Mmhmm," you murmur against his shoulder, already half-asleep.

Daryl lies awake for a long time after your breathing evens out, staring up at the church ceiling, processing what just happened. You weren't pulling away because you didn't want him. You were being respectful. Worried about rules and customs and doing the right thing.

Course she was. That's who she is.

It's such a small thing, but it changes everything. The voices in his head—his father's cruelty, Merle's mockery—they quiet to whispers. For the first time since arriving at the church, he allows himself to believe that whatever this is between you, it's not ending. Not yet.

Your fingers curl slightly in his shirt as you settle deeper into sleep, and Daryl finally lets his eyes drift closed. Tomorrow will bring new challenges, new dangers, new reasons to doubt himself. But tonight, in this sacred space, with you warm and trusting against his side, he allows himself something he's never been good at.

He allows himself hope.

Near the altar, Father Gabriel continues his quiet prayers, occasionally glancing at the sleeping group with gentle eyes that have seen enough of human nature to understand that sometimes salvation comes in the simplest forms.

The sight of two people finding comfort in each other's presence doesn't offend his sensibilities—it restores his faith.

[nagiwrites]

Chapter 6 - into the pit

A/n: thanks for being patient with me I may try those bullet point post that be having those prompts but like it skims through their idea. Yeah just to practice my smut skills because it’s awkward for me and im a prude 😜😜 anyways enjoy. Also no content warnings for this.

Characters: Caleb, you

📌Synopsis:

While she battles through bruises and exhaustion, Caleb glides through training like he was made for it. The Capitol ends the day with a “game” called Hide or Hunt—but beneath the playful branding lies a chilling simulation. The red light on her shoulder begins to blink, she runs headfirst into the woods, knowing this isn’t just a test. It’s a warning.

[← back] [→ next]

Morning came too soon.

She barely slept after the vomiting, after the shaking, after the quiet moment on the bathroom floor with Caleb’s hand still pressed gently between her shoulder blades.

But when the lights in the apartment shifted to sunrise mode—faux gold spilling over the windows like a curtain being drawn—there was no hiding from it.

Today was the start of training.

Today, she had to pretend to be ready.

She sat on the edge of the bed, hair still tangled from restless sleep, stomach hollow. Caleb was already up, moving like a machine. Quiet. Efficient. Still shirtless.

She kept her eyes on the floor.

A soft chime sounded. A panel slid open near the wall, revealing a stack of neatly folded bodysuits in black and gray—District IV’s standard issue. Form-fitting, high-tech fabric built for movement, with a faint shimmer of built-in armor beneath the surface.

She touched the material. It felt like water and static at the same time.

She dressed in silence. The suit clung to her in ways that made her feel exposed, like the Capitol wanted to strip her dignity and leave just enough to entertain the cameras.

The mirror flicked on automatically as she adjusted the collar. She barely recognized herself.

She looked like someone pretending to be a fighter.

Caleb appeared behind her in the reflection, now dressed in his own version of the suit—sleek, matte, with a faint glint of authority in the seams.

He didn’t say anything.

He just watched her.

She hated how seen that made her feel.

“You’ll be fine,” he said, finally.

She scoffed. “I can’t throw a punch, can’t shoot, can’t climb a wall, and I nearly died from jelly cubes.”

His lips barely twitched. “Still got more spine than half the room.”

She looked at him. “That’s not gonna stop me from bleeding out in the first five minutes.”

“No,” he said calmly. “But it’ll piss off whoever tries to make you.”

She didn’t know if that was supposed to be comforting.

But she took it anyway.

They rode in silence through the Tribute Tower’s private lift system—just the two of them, descending floor by floor beneath the Capitol, deeper into the building’s hidden guts.

The doors opened to a cold, vast training center.

Steel. Concrete. Glass.

Weapons racked against glowing walls. Obstacle towers. Combat rings. Survival stations. A massive dome above them projected shifting light patterns to mimic different environments—forest, desert, urban ruins.

And the tributes were already there.

Some warming up. Some showing off.

She stepped in slowly, trying not to let the echo of her footsteps betray how unsure she felt.

They all looked like they belonged here.

Lira from District I had already thrown five knives into a moving target, dead center every time. One of the twins was disassembling a Capitol-issued drone like it was child’s play. Raze was climbing the artificial terrain wall in full gear, laughing like she wasn’t a few feet from falling.

She stood there, stiff in her bodysuit, fingers twitching at her sides.

Completely, utterly untrained.

And completely watched.

She kept close to the edge of the training center at first, eyes scanning everything, trying to look casual—like she was just taking her time, not like she was internally panicking about where to even start.

Then she saw him.

Aren.

Blonde spikes a little messier today, like he’d just rolled out of bed and didn’t care how that played on camera. He stood near one of the camouflage stations, half-hidden behind a projection wall that shifted color as he moved, matching the artificial jungle terrain programmed into the dome above.

He didn’t wave.

Didn’t smile.

But his eyes met hers.

A small nod.

Recognition.

And for a split second, she felt a little steadier.

Not safe. But not completely alone.

She nodded back.

Then forced herself to walk away before the comfort could settle.

She had work to do.

Station One: Knives.

The girl running the station barely looked up from her clipboard as she explained the basics—stance, grip, throw. Her voice was bored, like she’d said it a hundred times already.

She picked up the blade.

It was heavier than it looked. Cold in her hand.

She lined up with the target, heart pounding in her ears.

Threw.

It landed in the dirt.

Not even close.

From somewhere across the room, she heard soft laughter. Not cruel, but not kind, either. Just the Capitol watching a girl fail on her first try.

She grit her teeth and threw again.

Missed.

Caleb didn’t say anything.

But she knew he was watching.

Station Two: Fire Building.

Easier. At least here, she could sit. She crouched low, following the demo on the screen. Sparkstick. Kindling. Heat modulator.

Her first try fizzled out.

The second gave her a small flame.

She stared at it like it was magic.

And maybe it was.

The instructor gave her a rare nod. “Better than most first-timers.”

She blinked, surprised. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

That was… something.

Station Three: Hand-to-Hand Combat.

Terrible idea.

She knew it before she even stepped onto the mat.

But something in her didn’t want to avoid it.

So she went.

The instructor was a mountain of a man, arms crossed, eyes bored. He paired her with a tribute from District Eleven—tall, lean, fast.

The first hit was fast.

The floor was cold.

Her ribs hurt.

The second hit was slower.

Because she tried to dodge.

Didn’t matter.

Down again.

She heard someone whistle softly from the sidelines.

“Nice effort,” the instructor muttered, offering a hand. “Next time, lead with your elbows.”

She didn’t take the hand.

She got up on her own.

From the corner of her eye, Aren was watching again.

But so was Caleb.

He stood near one of the survival gear tables, arms crossed, jaw clenched.

He didn’t say a word.

But the way his eyes tracked her told her everything she needed to know.

She was learning.

Slowly.

Painfully.

But she was still here.

And somehow, that felt like a win.

After her third stumble at the combat station, she slipped away toward the hydration bay, chest still heaving. A sheen of sweat clung to her neck, and a dull ache was already forming at the base of her spine from being tossed like a ragdoll.

She wiped her hands on her bodysuit and looked across the training center—

and spotted him.

Caleb.

He wasn’t struggling.

He didn’t look tired.

He stood at the weapon station now, a spear in hand, surrounded by a small cluster of Capitol instructors and a few curious tributes.

He moved like the weapon belonged to him. Each throw hit dead center. He didn’t miss.

And worse—he didn’t even look like he was trying.

She watched as he completed a sequence of hand-to-hand maneuvers against a sparring dummy—quick, clean, brutal. The kind of movements that didn’t belong in a game. The kind that belonged in real war.

Someone near her muttered, “Show-off.”

She didn’t disagree.

But she didn’t stop watching, either.

For a split second, Caleb glanced her way. Their eyes locked. He didn’t smile. He didn’t gloat.

But she could tell—he saw the way she was seeing him now.

And she hated that it made her chest tighten.

Later that afternoon, the lights dimmed. The central screen pulsed to life.

“Tributes, please report to the simulation chamber for an end-of-day activity. We call it—Hide or Hunt!”

A ripple of uneasy laughter moved through the room.

“Just for fun,” one of the trainers said with a smirk. “You’ll be placed in a simulated forest. One of you will be randomly chosen as the Seeker. The rest? You hide.”

A pause.

“Everyone will be fitted with a red tracking light. The moment you’re caught, your light shuts off and you’re out. Last one standing gets… Capitol points.”

She didn’t like the way he said that.

The phrase “just for fun” didn’t mean much in the Capitol.

The simulation room was massive—a stadium-sized space now filled with a towering artificial forest. The air was damp. Mist curled through the trees. Birds chirped, clearly fake, but eerie all the same.

An attendant handed her a small band. “Clip it to your shoulder,” they instructed. “It glows red. Try not to lose.”

She clipped it on, adjusted her gloves, and stepped into the woods.

Caleb appeared at her side before the simulation started.

“You ever play games like this back home?” he asked.

She gave him a flat look. “Back home, we didn’t have food. Or forests.”

He didn’t laugh, but his lips twitched just barely. “Stay low. Use cover. And don’t breathe too loud.”

“You’re not the Seeker?”

“Not this round.”

“Good.” She looked at him. “Because I’d hate to find out what your version of ‘tag’ looks like.”

“Painful,” he said simply.

She didn’t doubt it.

A sharp tone rang through the trees.

“SEEKER SELECTED: DISTRICT VI — RAZE.”

“Oh good,” she muttered. “The unhinged one.”

Then everything went dark.

The forest lit up with the soft glow of a hundred tiny red dots scattered across the map. Hers blinked faintly on her shoulder.

The game had begun.

She took off running, heart pounding, the mist swallowing her whole.

Capitol said it was a game.

But in the way people moved, in the way feet pounded the fake earth and breath hitched in terror—

It was anything but.

A/n: thanks for reading and have a good day or night wherever y’all are.

Tags:

@mysticcollectionvoid

@pansy-chic27213

[napstabl00k]

Ceroba feels sick.

Axis is a simple thing. There's little creativity to him; a box of a head, antenna that automatically swivel to catch radiowaves, a single wheel upon which to roll, a heavy gear welded to his right side, and arms powered by thick smog. He's grey and pink and a stained off-white, he's stiff and monotone and-

Ceroba feels sick.

She can see him in his creations.

A bitch of an AI because he never much liked the feeling of being alone, without some living creature that would feel - that would talk to him.

His voice, changed and distorted to become the words that Axis uses.

The way that he'd weld metal together, the bits that he'd use bolts for, the care in the glass and the crudeness in the wheels.

Axis rolls off, Chujin's distorted voice muttering to himself, wondering where his targets went.

Ceroba can't help but watch him, eyes sharp, searching.

The gear on his side is welded on with little thought to making it pretty or smooth.

An old memory comes to mind -

"I completely forgot to think about the weight distribution of this new one," Chujin says as he washes his dish.

Ceroba absently dries her own. "What are you going to do about it?"

"Shifting it all just enough to balance out isn't worth it," Chujin says, thoughtful. "I might just add something to even the weight of the right side- it's the left that's heavier, see."

Ceroba puts her dish away. "I think this will be the one, Chujin." She offers him a smile.

He smiles back. "You say that every time."

It's a shit job - the final touches were always hastily added because of time constraints or just his need to move on to something new.

It's him.

Again.

Ceroba steps out of the locker, careful. At the sound, the child moves too.

Axis is a simple fucking thing.

There's little creativity to him (a box of a head, automatic antennas, a single wheel, a heavy gear, thick smog), and Ceroba feels sick, and Ceroba knows that Chujins before and before and before would have more fun with the design. He wouldn't be grey and pink and off-white, he'd have colour. He wouldn't be so stiff, he wouldn't be so monotone, he'd be more and have more and he'd make Ceroba feel so much worse because he'd be everything that reminds her of Chujin.

Grief grips her in the form of a robot that doesn't recognize her and doesn't recognize who she was to him. Grips her in the form of his bolts and seams. Grips her in the form of his distorted fucking voice.

The trash robot is cute. She likes making it.

There's a bow and Ceroba knows exactly why it's here and exactly who it belonged to. She feels her stomach turn and her jaw clench and she smiles and adjusts it on the shitty scrap metal creation anyway.

Axis is so. Fucking. Simple.

And Ceroba feels so. Fucking. Sick.

He sees their shitty little trash can creation and hearts glow behind the glass of his eyes.

(Of course, even when he's working on something important, on something he needs to get approved, he'd add something like this. Of course, in this antithesis of everything that Chujin loved to do with his machines, wrapped in the ghost of Chujin's way of creating, the soul of it is still so purely him.)

"The shimmer," Axis says, with emphasis. "The complexion..."

There's a beat of silence as Ceroba waits, a memory needling at the back of her mind.

"The..." Axis stops for a half second - just long enough for Ceroba to realize what this reminds her of - and then finishes: "CURVES!"

Kanako makes a gagging noise from the doorway.

"Ewwww..." she whines.

Ceroba turns and sticks out her tongue at her daughter.

Chujin laughs. "Kanako, please. Look, your mother is so wonderful, I just have to kiss her."

"Noooo!!" Kanako wails. "You don't!! Gross!!"

"Her shimmer, her-" he pauses, unsure. "Complexion?"

Ceroba makes an unsure noise. Not his best.

"Her curves-"

Kanako runs up and shoves him, making him laugh and put his hands up to block her.

Ceroba reacts the same as she did then- "Okay! That's enough!"

She places her hands over the child's head, some sort of disconnect between past and present making her pause at the lack of ears perking up under her palms. "C-Clover, let's-" She looks up at the robot.

It's still Chujin's.

"Let's wrap this up."

Clover's soul forces itself back into their body and Ceroba walks up to Axis as he giggles about his newfound love.

There's no similarity to her daughter when she places her hands on either side of Axis' face, but she remembers Kanako's friends coming over, remembers being part of little school-girl's gossip sessions, remembers a situation something like this one.

"Do you wanna know a secret?" Ceroba whispers.

"Yes I would like to know a secret," Axis says loudly.

"They told me that they like you, but will only go out with you if it's casual," Ceroba says, glancing sideways at the trashcan, as though it'll hear her. "Get to know them a little bit, you know?" Advice that once worked on second graders but wouldn't here runs through her head, until she lands on, "Ask what their name is or something."

"Okay," Axis says.

Ceroba stands and takes a step back. "Alright," she says. "Give it a shot!"

"Hello my name is Axis, what is your name?"

Ceroba frowns. Perhaps she hadn't thought this bit through- Their creation can't exactly respond.

Axis waits for a minute, and then starts laughing, a noise so similar to Chujin over the phone that Ceroba jolts.

"You're so funny; want to get married?" Axis asks, and Ceroba is shaken out of her feelings by the absurdity of the sentence.

"Hey! Remember what we talked about?"

Axis turns to her. "They said yes."

Ceroba pauses. "..What?"

"I'm honestly just as surprised as you are," Axis says. "This rocks."

"...Right." A hand comes to tug at her sleeve, and she turns to look at Clover. "Well. Clover and I have to go now."

"Go where?" Axis asks, and he sounds nervous.

"Go where?" Kanako asks.

"Hotland. Just a business trip," Ceroba explains. It feels like a lie.

"Oh," Axis says. "I wish you luck, then. I must recharge, which will set me back to my factory settings, but- [hatted human] and [tall lady] added to [Authorized] list." Axis does a little nod. "There. Now I will not attempt apprehension next time we meet."

Ceroba smiles. "Thank you, Axis."

Axis does a little nod at her again, picks up his fiancé (?) and begins to roll off. Halfway down the walkway, he stops and turns around.

"Oh. One more thing."

Ceroba blinks. "Hm?"

"You said your husband was my creator?"

Her heart drops.

"Would you tell him that I miss him?"

Her eyes burn.

"He was always very kind to me."

"I-" She sucks a breath in, her whole body tense. "Yeah," she says, her voice coming out lighter than she feels. "I'll tell him."

"Thank you," Axis says. "Goodbye."

Axis is a simple thing.

He turns back around, fiancé in his hands, and believes her without a second thought. The gear is still welded to his side. His voice is still something like Chujin's. The smoke pumps from where his shoulders would be, the screws are spaced out with perfect precision, the lights of his eyes still flicker with hearts.

Axis is a simple, simple thing. Who misses Chujin just as much as he is him.

Ceroba feels sick.

[jamisonwritestf2trash]

And welcome to the SECOND, updated intro post of mine! I figured that 1. I wanted to branch out a little, and 2. that I could update you guys on stuff as my accounts have grown a LOT in the last year! [About me, my fandoms, rules, my other socials, DNI, and other fun stuff under the cut.]

Masterlist 1

Masterlist 2

Hey! I'm Jamison, I'm a gay trans man, and I'm here to write trash about things I like! I'm 18, and I go by he/him and it/its pronouns. I'm American and currently live in America as well, unfortunately.

Here are some things I like!

Musical Artists: Will Wood, IDKhow, ICP, MSI, Queen, The Correspondents, Tom Cardy, The Living Tombstone, The Happy Fits, Glass Animals, BBNO$, Fox SZN, Jack Stauber, Fall Out Boy, and Mother Mother.

Movies & TV Shows: The Looney Tunes Show, Yokai Watch, Kakegurui, The Disastrous Life of Saiki K, Archer, Bob's Burgers, The Amazing World of Gumball, The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and The Lego Batman.

Video Games: Team Fortress Two, The Stanley Parable, Minecraft, Undertale, Bendy And The Ink Machine, and Bioshock.

Some Random Things About Me:

I like cheetahs and opossums a lot. Writing and baking are two of my favorite hobbies. I'm currently learning German, Spanish, and Mandrin. Fall is my favorite season. Yellow roses are my favorite flower, and yellow (and red) are my favorite colors!

Time to talk fandoms! My favorite thing honestly. Right now I'm currently into:

Team Fortress Two

Postal, Postal 2, Postal 3, and Postal Brain Damaged

Pheonix Wright - Ace Attorney

Undertale

Sam and Max

The Stanly Parable

FAITH The Unholy Trinity

I don't currently write for all these fandoms, but honestly, if you want, feel free to send in an ask about any of these fandoms and I might get around to it! But as for the fandoms I am currently writing for, Postal and Team Fortress Two take those spots.

Asks are open! Headcanon requests, inncorrect quotes, short fics, x readers, all are fair game!

I am a uh... little bit behind on asks, so please be patient with me! I promise I'm trying my best to get to all of them!

As for rules, anything regarding the following will be automatically deleted:

i will not write anything meant to condone, fetishize, or romanticize incest, pedophilia, grooming, or rape/sexual assult. I will not write anything like this, period. I flatout refuse to write something that makes it seem like any of those things are morally right or are desirable and attractive.

Tumblr - You're here already!

Instagram - Jamison_writestf2trash

Tiktok - Jamisontf2

Youtube: Jamisonmakestf2trash (for edits) Professionaltf2yapper (future long form content!)

BlueSky - jamisontf2.bsky.social

Twitch - Jamisonwritestf2trash

Carrd.co - Jamison's Carrd!

Discord - jamisonwritestf2trash

Ableists

Bigots in general

Conservatives/ Republicans

Homophobes

Nazis

Pedophiles

Proshippers

Racists

Terfs

Transmeds

Transphobes

Transphobia Deniers

Zionists

You are not welcome here. You will be blocked.

If you made it this far, you must really like me. Would you please sign my petition? I promise its worth it :)

Go on...you know you want to.

[kuri-karin]

˖ ࣪⭑ Yuusona Intro | Ryumi Aoyama ˖ ࣪⭑

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Before arriving at Night Raven College, Ryumi had many friends and a loving family… he wants to assume. It wasn’t until after the commotion of the mirror ceremony did he realize he held no memory of his life before that moment. It was like that part of his timeline was blacked out like an unwanted frame in a film reel.

He had to have had a family before… right?

Despite choosing to focus on his present and the relationships he’s formed now, deep down he’s still troubled by the fact that he doesn’t belong in Twisted Wonderland, and he isn’t sure if he belongs anywhere…

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Appearance 𓂃⊹

Pale skin with soft freckles, a lot of beauty marks (visible ones: under eye, cheek, nose bridge, nose, chin, ear lobe, neck, forearm, hands) His eyes are sandy yellow with long bottom lashes. His hair is dark blue/grey with light blue/grey strands framing his face and at the crown of his head and styled in a wolf cut. Average height and on the leaner side though lacking in any defined muscles (basically he’s soft all over lol) wears 00 gauges and has his nails painted. Wearing a basic NRC uniform with no dorm emblems and a wallet chain attached to his belt. He wears his necktie in a bow to match Grim, and adorns the same beat up chuck taylors daily.

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Relationships 𓂃⊹

• very friendly by nature and tends to like people automatically/want to be friends

• he and Grim have a strong found family bond and often bicker like siblings

• he and Ace have very obvious mutual crushes on each other, they are practically dating just without the title. though the feelings are reciprocated, neither has the courage to actually confess

• very affectionate and loves skin ship! mostly in the form of hugging, however he becomes awkward when it comes to skin ship with Ace

• he formed a lot of his friendships through niche interests!

• Vil initially wanted him to join Pomefiore but was appalled during the SDC by his lack of maintenance on his appearance (washing his face with soap and water) and teenage boy qualities (he does maintain a simple skincare routine now for fear of Vil’s ever present wrath)

• oblivious to Malleus’ small crush on him, he thinks they are good friends!

• during a board game club meeting, he went on a passionate tangent about an indie game and subjected Azul to an incredibly gore-y retelling, as well as what he would have done differently if he was in that scenario. since then Azul looks at him a bit differently

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Fun Facts 𓂃⊹

• he has poor eyesight and needs glasses, but prefers to wear contacts

• his eyes are very sensitive to the sun due to how light they are (has to take breaks often while gaming to avoid headaches from looking at the monitor)

• he isn’t sure where his talent for claw machines comes from, but he’s never left empty handed

• part of the unathletic squad despite his lean figure. Deuce gave up asking him to join track when he witnessed him (attempt to) run during PE

• the light blue/grey streaks in his hair are natural!

• he is drawn to and enjoys dark and macabre media like horror video games, movies, and manga. he’s grown to be very desensitized towards gore/horror

• he’s quite witty but tends to speak before he thinks when excited or anxious and it can come off as being very blunt or too straightforward

• social butterfly!! prefers socializing and being around others over alone time (except when he’s gaming, though he enjoys co op)

• LOVES food! will eat any and everything at least once (yes even Lilia’s cooking) he loves trying new foods and happily volunteers (begs) to taste test for Jamil or Trey when needed

•he and Grim host sleepovers at Ramshakle with the other freshman, most often with Ace, Deuce, and Epel

• sleep talker!

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

˖⁺‧₊˚✦ thank you for taking the time to get to know my yuu! asks are always open if you have any questions for Ryumi! or for myself c: i hope you have a lovely day!

xo Rin

[redfilledfantasies]

First Sight (Chapter 4 of 7)

The elliptical machine whirred beneath Carmella's calculated stride, her feet moving with metronomic precision while her eyes remained fixed on a point across the gym floor. She had selected this particular machine after careful consideration of angles and sightlines—a position that afforded her an unobstructed view of Audrey O'Rourke while maintaining the pretense of focused exercise. The subtle adjustment of her designer glasses was automatic, the frames settling more firmly against the bridge of her nose as she narrowed her gaze on the red-haired trainer demonstrating a complex movement pattern to her client.

Carmella had arrived at precisely 6:17 PM, having memorized Audrey's training schedule down to the minute. The timing allowed her to establish her cardio routine during Audrey's third session of the evening—the optimal observation period based on the previous week's surveillance. The gym's evening crowd provided sufficient cover for her attentions without obstructing her carefully plotted line of sight.

Her own body moved with mechanical efficiency, the resistance level on the machine set to her usual specifications. The numbers on the display tracked her performance with numerical precision: 132 steps per minute, heart rate 98 beats per minute, 267 calories expended. Data points that would normally command her full attention now served merely as background noise to the far more compelling metrics she was calculating across the room.

Audrey adjusted her client's form with confident hands, the movement revealing the elegant architecture of her shoulder muscles. Carmella's physician's eye automatically identified each distinct muscle group—anterior, medial, and posterior deltoids contracting in perfect coordination, trapezius engaged to stabilize the shoulder girdle. The freckled skin stretched over these precisely defined muscles created a topography more fascinating than any anatomical illustration.

"Engage your core first," Audrey instructed, her voice carrying across the gym with surprising clarity. "The power comes from here, not from your arms."

Carmella's fingers found the resistance control on the elliptical, increasing it without conscious thought, her body responding to the trainer's command as if it had been directed at her. She drew a deeper breath, feeling her own transverse abdominis contract, mirroring the engagement she observed in Audrey's demonstration. The synchronization was unconscious but complete—her breathing falling into rhythm with Audrey's, her movements echoing the controlled tempo of the trainer's instructions.

As Audrey guided her client through a complex kettlebell swing, Carmella's focus sharpened. Her trained eye moved beyond surface observations, penetrating the visible anatomy to the physiological symphony beneath. She envisioned the trainer's heart rate elevated to approximately 145 beats per minute during her demonstration—a textbook-perfect sinus tachycardia with no wasted motion. The mental image formed with vivid clarity: Audrey's heart, slightly hypertrophied from years of athletic training, its chambers filling and emptying with magnificent efficiency.

Carmella adjusted her glasses again, the gesture anchoring her to the physical world as her mind descended deeper into anatomical fantasy. She imagined the oxygen-rich blood coursing through Audrey's arteries—the coronary vessels dilated to optimize myocardial perfusion, the carotids pulsing with each powerful contraction, delivering precisely calibrated oxygen to fuel her exquisite muscular performance.

Her own breath caught as Audrey bent to lift a barbell, the movement revealing a momentary glimpse of her neck where a pulse would be visible—the external carotid artery pulsating beneath freckled skin. Carmella's fingers tightened on the elliptical handles, her own pulse quickening in sympathetic response. The machine beeped a warning about her elevated heart rate, a digital reminder of her body's betrayal of professional distance.

The fantasy expanded, becoming more intimate with each passing minute. Carmella envisioned Audrey's lungs—their impressive vital capacity, the efficient gas exchange occurring across millions of alveoli, the diaphragm contracting and relaxing with perfect coordination. She calculated the approximate oxygen consumption: 45 milliliters per kilogram per minute during this moderate demonstration, likely increasing to 55 or higher during peak exertion.

The elliptical's rhythmic motion became a counterpoint to her increasingly vivid imagination. Carmella pictured herself in her examination room, Audrey seated on the table before her. In this private theater of her mind, she removed her stethoscope from around her neck with practiced precision, warming the metal diaphragm between her palms—a professional courtesy transformed by context into something far more intimate.

She imagined placing the instrument against Audrey's freckled chest, the metal disc coming to rest in the fourth intercostal space along the left midclavicular line—the optimal position to appreciate the mitral valve sounds. The fantasy was so vivid she could almost hear it: the perfect lub-dub of Audrey's heart valves functioning with textbook precision. The first heart sound crisp and defined, the second sound with its characteristic physiologic splitting during inspiration—a symphony of cardiac efficiency that made Carmella's own heart race in appreciation.

Her fingers flexed unconsciously, mimicking the practiced motion of adjusting a stethoscope's position. The elliptical handles grew slick beneath her palms as her core temperature rose with the intensity of her fantasy. She envisioned asking Audrey to breathe deeply, watching the expansion of her thoracic cavity, listening to the subtle changes in heart sounds that would accompany the respiratory cycle.

In her mind, she moved the stethoscope to the pulmonic area, then to the tricuspid region, mapping the trainer's cardiovascular system with exquisite attention to detail. Each imagined placement of the stethoscope was more lingering than medical necessity demanded, each point of contact between the metal disc and Audrey's skin an opportunity to appreciate the perfect harmony of her cardiac function.

Carmella's pupils dilated behind her prescription lenses, her breathing no longer synchronized with Audrey's but now shallow and rapid with the force of her fantasy. She imagined the sensation of Audrey's skin warming the metal of the stethoscope, the intimate sound of her heartbeat filling Carmella's ears, the privilege of hearing this most private rhythm with such exceptional clarity.

The display on the elliptical flashed another warning—her heart rate now exceeding 155 beats per minute despite the moderate physical exertion. Carmella blinked, momentarily disoriented by the intrusion of digital reality into her vivid imagination. She became aware of a flush spreading across her chest and neck, the capillaries dilating in response to her elevated core temperature. Her body was betraying her professional detachment with every physiological sign of arousal, a constellation of symptoms she could diagnose with clinical precision even as she experienced their effects.

She maintained her steady pace on the machine, but her thoughts had abandoned all pretense of exercise. The fantasy had expanded to fill her consciousness completely, leaving no room for the careful distance she typically maintained. Her clinical observation had transformed entirely into intimate fascination, her professional interest giving way to something far more personal and consuming. The stethoscope in her imagination became both medical instrument and conduit for desire, a tool of her profession repurposed for the exploration of an attraction she could no longer diagnose as merely professional curiosity.

Her hands trembled slightly on the elliptical handles, another data point in the growing evidence of her compromised objectivity. Carmella's gaze remained fixed on Audrey, cataloging each movement with hungry precision, feeding data to the fantasy that now consumed her thoughts. Her workout had become merely the physical scaffold upon which she constructed this elaborate visualization—her body going through the motions of exercise while her mind explored the intimate geography of Audrey's cardiovascular perfection.

Audrey's final client departed with a tired wave, leaving the trainer momentarily alone by the water station. Carmella watched as she unscrewed her water bottle, tilting her head back to drink, the line of her throat working in a rhythm that Carmella could practically count in beats per minute. The fantasy that had consumed her thoughts shattered against the sudden possibility of actual interaction, leaving her momentarily disoriented, caught between the vivid intimacy of her imagination and the intimidating prospect of genuine connection.

The elliptical continued its mechanical revolution beneath her feet, but Carmella's mind had already begun calculating a new set of variables. She analyzed the gym's current population density—approximately 60% of peak capacity, providing sufficient ambient noise for a private conversation while maintaining appropriate social spacing. Audrey's posture indicated a recovery phase between clients, the optimal window for approach based on Carmella's week-long observation of her training patterns.

Yet despite the favorable conditions, Carmella hesitated. The transition from observer to participant represented a significant deviation from her established protocol. Her fingers found the emergency stop button on the elliptical, pressing it with uncharacteristic abruptness. The machine's display flashed her final metrics—forty-seven minutes, 623 calories, average heart rate 138—data points rendered insignificant by the decision now crystallizing in her mind.

She reached for the sanitizing spray with clinical precision, methodically wiping down the machine's handles and display panel. Each stroke was measured, deliberate, buying precious seconds to prepare her approach. She removed her wireless earbuds, though no music had played through them during her observation session, tucking them into the zippered pocket of her compression leggings with unnecessary care.

Her hands betrayed her first, a fine tremor visible as she straightened the hem of her moisture-wicking top. Carmella acknowledged the physiological response with clinical detachment—elevated epinephrine levels, increased sympathetic nervous system activation, the standard biological cascade preceding a stress response. She adjusted her designer glasses, the familiar gesture failing to provide its usual calming effect. Her pulse registered at approximately 100 beats per minute—elevated for her baseline, particularly post-exercise when her cardiac efficiency typically returned her quickly to normal parameters.

She gathered her water bottle and towel, accessories that provided both purpose and distraction. Her reflection caught in the mirrored wall showed a woman outwardly composed—hair still perfectly in place, posture exemplary, compression leggings showcasing the exceptional musculature of her legs. Only the slight dilation of her pupils and the flush across her clavicles betrayed her internal state.

Carmella crossed the gym floor with measured steps, calculating the precise vector that would intersect with Audrey's position by the water station. Her breathing followed the controlled pattern she often recommended to anxious patients—four counts in, hold for seven, eight counts out—a technique that provided minimal stabilization against the fluttering in her abdomen.

Audrey stood with her weight shifted to one hip, red hair darkened with sweat at the temples, freckled skin glistening under the gym's unforgiving lights. The sports bra and compression shorts revealed the exceptional physique that had first captured Carmella's professional interest—the perfectly developed deltoids, the astonishing abdominal definition, the muscular quadriceps with their textbook vascularity.

But it was the pulse visible at the base of her throat that momentarily transfixed Carmella, the visual reminder of the cardiac rhythm she had so vividly imagined. "Excuse me," Carmella said, her voice maintaining its professional timbre despite the tension constricting her vocal cords. "I'm Dr. Carmella Hill." Audrey turned, green eyes focusing on Carmella with unexpected intensity.

Her expression shifted from neutral to interested, a slight smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She extended her hand with confident ease. "Audrey O'Rourke," she replied, her grip firm and assured as she shook Carmella's hand. Their fingers brushed, and they felt a spark – static from the dry air, but it jolted Carmella nonetheless. The momentary contact sent an inappropriate thrill through her nervous system, the simple handshake transformed by context into something far more significant. She noted, with unwanted precision, the slightly elevated temperature of Audrey's skin, the perfect capillary refill when their hands separated, the strength evident in her grip.

"I've observed your training techniques," Carmella began, her prepared script already deviating from its intended path. She adjusted her glasses again, buying a fraction of a second to reorient. "Your understanding of functional anatomy is exceptional." Audrey took another drink from her water bottle, her eyes never leaving Carmella's face. A drop of water clung to her lower lip before she absently wiped it away, the gesture drawing Carmella's attention with magnified focus.

"I'm a cardiologist," she continued, forcing her gaze back to meet Audrey's. "I specialize in cardiac performance under various stress conditions. Your physical capabilities suggest exceptional cardiovascular efficiency, and I'm currently developing a research protocol examining the adaptive responses of the athletic heart to different forms of stress testing."

She paused to assess Audrey's reaction, her physician's eye noting the slight elevation in respiratory rate that suggested interest rather than exertion. The words continued to flow with unexpected fluency, her professional persona providing temporary shelter from the vulnerability of personal interest.

"I'm interested in conducting a series of comparative stress tests, and your cardiovascular metrics would provide valuable baseline data for the athletic component of my research." Before Carmella could elaborate further on the carefully constructed research proposal—one that existed primarily as justification for their interaction—Audrey's lips curved into a knowing smile.

"I've noticed you watching me these past few days," she said, the direct acknowledgment striking Carmella with the force of an unexpected diagnosis. The statement hung between them, its implication expanding to fill the space. Carmella felt heat spread across her chest and neck, the capillary dilation a visible confirmation of what Audrey had already deduced.

Her prepared response evaporated, leaving her momentarily speechless—a condition so rare in her professional life that she experienced it as a physical sensation, a constriction in her throat where words should have formed. "Your form is remarkable," Carmella managed, the clinical observation a poor substitute for the admission Audrey's statement invited. "From a medical perspective." Audrey's smile widened, her green eyes bright with amused perception. "You caught my eye too," she said, voice lowered slightly though they stood alone by the water station. "Your figure, your focus. It's quite something."

The flutter in Carmella's stomach intensified, a swarm of reactions she could name with scientific precision but could not control. Her autonomic nervous system betrayed her completely, pulse accelerating, pupils dilating, peripheral blood vessels expanding with a rush of warmth that defied her attempts at professional distance. "The tests I'd like to conduct," she continued, clinging to the structure of her proposal like a lifeline in the turbulent waters of personal interaction, "would include a standard treadmill stress test to establish your maximum heart rate and cardiac efficiency during physical exertion."

She drew a controlled breath, fighting to reclaim her clinical detachment even as Audrey's admission replayed in her mind: You caught my eye too. "I would also propose an Adenosine injection stress test," she pressed on, the medical terminology providing insufficient shelter from the intensity of Audrey's gaze. "It simulates cardiovascular stress through pharmacological means rather than physical exertion, providing comparative data on how different stressors affect cardiac output and efficiency."

Audrey set her water bottle down, giving Carmella her full attention. The focused interest in her expression was both gratifying and unnerving, adding another layer of complexity to Carmella's already compromised composure. "I have access to advanced cardiac imaging equipment at my clinic," Carmella added, her words accelerating slightly with the nervous energy she could not fully suppress. "The facility would be private, allowing for comprehensive monitoring without the limitations of a standard gym environment."

"Private testing sounds ideal," Audrey replied, the slight emphasis on "private" sending another jolt of awareness through Carmella's already heightened nervous system. "When did you have in mind?" Carmella's mind raced through her schedule, calculating available slots with the same precision she applied to surgical timetables. "Saturday morning would be optimal. The clinic is typically closed on weekends, allowing for uninterrupted access to the equipment."

The implication of solitude hung between them, acknowledged but unnamed. Carmella adjusted her glasses once more, the gesture now a transparent tell of her unsettled state. "Saturday works for me," Audrey said, retrieving her phone from a nearby bench. "Why don't you give me your number and the address?" As Carmella recited her contact information with mechanical precision, she felt the ground of her carefully ordered world shift beneath her feet.

The clinical pretense remained, but it had thinned to transparency, revealing the personal interest that had motivated her approach. Yet rather than exposing this vulnerability, Audrey had met it with recognition and reciprocity, transforming what should have been professional embarrassment into unexpected possibility.

Carmella watched as Audrey entered the information into her phone, the trainer's fingers moving with the same confident precision she applied to every physical task. The butterflies in Carmella's stomach had transformed into something more insistent, a visceral awareness that pulsed with each beat of her heart. Her carefully constructed research proposal, designed as a shield for her interest, had become instead the bridge to genuine connection, and the realization left her both unmoored and electrified.

[innovativesourcing]

How to Choose the Best Pre Roll Packaging for Your Brand

In today’s cannabis market, being unique goes beyond your product. One of the key factors that affects customer perception and brand success is pre roll packaging. Whether you’re a dispensary owner, cannabis processor, or startup brand, knowing how to choose the right pre roll tubes, pre roll cones in bulk and other packaging solutions can make a big difference in presentation, compliance and shelf life. In this blog we’ll walk you through how to choose the best pre roll cones and packaging for your business.

What Is Pre Roll Packaging?

Pre roll packaging refers to any container or wrapping that holds a pre-rolled joint. The main goals are to keep it fresh, safe and good-looking. With higher consumer expectations and stricter regulations, businesses have to find the balance between form and function.

Types of pre roll packaging include:

Pre roll tubes (plastic or glass)

Child-resistant pop tops

Glass jars

Custom-printed boxes

Pre roll cones (bulk or individual) 

Why Pre Roll Packaging Matters for Your Brand

Your packaging is often your customer’s first impression of your product. High-quality, functional pre roll packaging shows professionalism, improves user experience and builds brand trust. Here are a few reasons why:

Freshness & Aroma Control: Airtight containers like pre roll tubes preserve the flavor and smell of the cannabis.

Compliance: Packaging must meet state-specific laws such as child resistance and labeling.

Protection: Prevents breakage, crushing, or contamination.

Brand Identity: Creative design and customization set you apart on dispensary shelves.

Sustainability: Eco-conscious options can boost appeal among environmentally aware consumers. 

How to Choose the Right Pre Roll Tubes

Pre roll tubes are the most popular packaging solution due to their durability, affordability and child resistant features. Here’s how to choose the right one:

Material Matters:

Plastic pre roll tubes are cheap, light and great for large orders.

Glass pre roll tubes are premium, reusable and show quality and sustainability.

Both are available with child-resistant features to comply with legal standards.

Size and Fit:Tubes come in sizes 98mm, 116mm or 120mm. Always match the tube to your pre roll cone size to prevent movement and breakage. 

Customization OptionsWant to stand out? Choose from color options, custom labeling, foil accents and logo printing. Turn basic pre roll tubes into a brand asset.

How to Source Pre Roll Cones in Bulk

Whether you’re rolling by hand or using an automatic rolling machine, buying pre roll cones in bulk is the way to go for scale. Here’s what to consider:

Cone Material 

Refined white paper cones burn clean with minimal taste.

Unbleached brown cones are natural and appeal to the eco-conscious.

Hemp paper cones are smooth and organic for premium products. 

Sizes AvailableCones come in various sizes such as 84mm, 98mm, and king size (109mm). Always align the size with your packaging and branding needs. 

Filter TipsQuality pre roll cones include filter tips to enhance airflow and structure. These can be spiral, flat, or customizable based on your preference. 

Buying in BulkOrdering pre roll cones bulk ensures cost savings, inventory readiness, and consistent quality across batches.

How to Pick the Best Pre Roll Cones:

Not all cones are created equal. Choosing the best pre roll cones can elevate your product experience and reduce operational headaches. Here’s what to look for:

Consistent Shape & Size: Ensures uniform fill and burn.

Minimal Paper Taste: High-quality cones enhance the flower’s flavor rather than masking it.

Slow Burn: Ideal cones burn evenly and slowly for a smooth experience.

Machine Compatibility: For high-volume producers, machine-compatible cones streamline the filling process. 

At Innovative Sourcing, we provide top-tier pre roll cones in bulk, offering custom branding options and premium paper choices to align with your vision.

Benefits of Investing in Premium Pre Roll Packaging:

Boosts Brand Recognition

Improves Customer Retention

Complies with Regulatory Laws

Protects Product Quality

Supports Marketing and Promotions 

A well-packaged pre roll isn’t just a product—it’s an experience. From the unboxing to the final puff, every detail matters.

The Benefits of Working with a Trusted Supplier:

Selecting the right pre-roll packaging is just half the battle. From concept to delivery, a smooth experience is guaranteed when you work with a supplier who shares your business goals, compliance needs, and artistic vision.

At Innovative Sourcing, we specialize in custom pre roll packaging solutions tailored for cannabis professionals. Whether you need branded pre roll tubes, pre roll cones bulk, or eco-friendly options, we offer fast turnaround, competitive pricing, and consistent quality.

Ready to add premium pre-roll packaging to your cannabis brand? See our entire selection of cones, pre-roll tubes, and customized packaging at Innovative Sourcing.

Contact us today to request a free quote or sample pack and see why we’re the trusted supplier for leading cannabis brands across the U.S.

[neonblessing]

10.

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT! ⚠️ Click here to read Neon Blessing from the beginning!

Club RED was a labor of love. A cyclopean eye of neon tubes stared down at the street from the facade of a beautiful temple to excess, bathing the darkening street in bloodred light which played through the mist kicked up by a nearby waterfall. The building was dark glass and darker stone, three stories tall and culminating in a domed roof. It wasn’t even 5 pm, but the line was pouring out the door and onto the sidewalk, foreign raincoats and umbrellas standing side by side with wet-haired Diluvian partygoers.

Shiv had never entered a nightclub through the front before. There’d been one club, the Magpie, that she’d frequented with her friends, but the owner was one of Ornarch’s devout and always let them skip the lines. Huh. She hadn’t been to the Magpie in years. She wasn’t even sure if it was still in business.

The line moved quickly, and before long, she was at the door. “Let’s see some ID.” There were two bouncers, identically dour and militaristic-looking men who loomed over her like a pair of sunglasses-clad statues, their suits custom-made to fit over the bulky structure of a mil-spec exocloak. Thin seams in the skin of their faces suggested the presence of subdermal armor plating to protect what the mechanized armor didn’t. One of them handled a scanner with the practiced care of a guy whose grip could crush a human skull.

Shiv showed them the card. “Kooler sent me.” The one with the scanner stared her down while the other barked a few quick words into a headset. If shit went south, the only viable exit was ducking the rope to the left, but Headset would make a grab for her and if those huge hands got a grip it was over. She’d need to distract him first, maybe blind him. Throw her coat in his face? She started to shrug it off her shoulder, just in case. Scanner continued to glower at her in a prolific display of disdain. He should be too far away to do anything, but just in case-

Headset spoke, snapping her out of her planning.

“Hm?” She’d missed what he’d actually said.

“Go on in. The boss is on the second floor.” Shiv pulled her coat back over her shoulder and brushed past the bouncers and into the club. She pushed her way past a heavy curtain of soundproof fabric and replaced the endless roar of the streets with the endless roar of Club RED’s speakers.

Water poured down gilded fountain walls and colored lights arced and scattered through thick smoke, produced by a mix of sweet-scented cigarettes and industrial fog machines. Waiters and waitresses wearing practically nothing served a very peculiar clientele: half of the patrons were exactly what she’d expected, the sort of wealthy-looking folks willing to spend fifteen credits on a can of beer; and the other half were all grizzled paramilitary types. The burning coal glow of their cybernetic eyes stared out at her through the fog, automatically seeking out her vital organs before flicking back to their drinks.

Shiv scaled the stairs to the second floor, taking a moment to look out on the dance floor from the balcony. The band’s frontwoman was more work of art than human, her limbs all formed from sweeping lines of carbon fiber and steel. Her guitar plugged into a port on the back of her neck, her quicksilver fingers dancing over the strings with surreal grace. She had a voice like an angel with a smoking habit.

“She’s quite something, ain’t she?” A woman’s voice came from behind Shiv. She turned to see Kurtz, for who else could it be? The owner of Club RED was maybe forty years old, a little shorter than Shiv, and built like a brick. Her head was clean-shaven, revealing dozens of tally mark tattoos, in sets of five, spreading from near her temple and across half of her head. Unlike everyone else, she was dressed simply and practically, in sturdy black pants and a tank top, and unlike everyone else, she had a gun at her hip, an antique revolver. Both of her eyes were red: one eye was flesh, with an iris that had either been dyed or transplanted. The other eye was metal, the iris glowing the exact same shade as the vast eye on the front of the building. She carried herself with an easy confidence, bordering on arrogance. “Are you the one Kooler mentioned?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m Joan Kurtz, owner of Club RED and REDEYE PMSC. What brings you to my door?”

First Page – Previous Page – Next Page

[dailycharacteroption]

Conversion Corner: Battletanx Tanks part 4

Mototank

For this second to last entry for the week, I debated what I wanted to put here. I could go for one of the many tanks with a unique weapon, but most of those would be the Inferno again but with a different gun, and hovertanks already exist in some form, and the rhino tank is hard to do without facing being a thing in tactical combat. So, I decided on a tank that was a staple of both games in the series, the mototank.

For as long as there have been vehicles with engines, there have been those who have modified them to go faster and do other things, and nowhere in the Battletanx series is that more true than the mototank.

Picture if you will, a trike motorcycle body, but replace the engine with a larger one salvaged from a larger vehicle, along with the treads from a military half-track (see, it has treads, so it’s a tank now), then slap what appears to be the glass canopy of an attack helicopter along with armor paneling around the whole thing to give adequate protection to the rider, and then bolt a couple of heavy machine guns to the top, and voila! You have a mototank.

This cobbled-together monstrosity of a vehicle was a staple of the Skull Riders tribe (essentially a collective group of former biker gangs) during the early days after the bombs, but they eventually branched out to other weapons as they began circulating. Regardless, these machines rely on their high speed to outmaneuver other tanks and attack from ambush or bypass their foes completely. Sadly, even with armor-piercing rounds, they’re not likely to win any direct confrontations without the use of sub weapons, so they either zip in to deliver said sub weapons, or rely on hit and run tactics to avoid coming under fire, because they sure can’t take a hit, especially against Goliath tanks, which can not only one-shot them, but even run them over entirely if they’re not careful.

So with such a zippy tank at our disposal, let’s see how it translates to Starfinder!

“Mototank” modified armored motorcycle

Item Level 5; Price 6480

Medium land vehicle (5 ft. wide, 5 ft. long, 4 ft. high)

Speed 25 ft., full 525 ft.

EAC 17; KAC 19; Cover partial

HP 50 (25); Hardness 5

Attack (Collision) 5d8B (DC 15)

Attack (Squad Machine Gun) 1d10, analog, automatic

Modifiers +2 Piloting, -1 attack (-3 at full speed)

Systems armored, racer; Passengers 1

Description

The mototank is a scrapyard creation of souped up motorcycle engine, tank treads, and as much armor as can be added without compromising speed. They are typically used for scouting and hit and run tactics, trying their best to avoid enemy fire.

[mechwarrior-rose]

Shelter: Pirate's Eclipse

KENNEDY BEACH OBERON VI OBERON CONFEDERATION 28 SEPTEMBER 3049

Shelter's assessment earlier had been correct. An even dozen lasers, six on each arm. Mediums, by the look of it. No other weapons. Magnetic resonance was convinced the 'Mech was 50 tons. What kind of engine could supply that much power for weapons and still move a 50-ton machine around that quickly? And who the hell designed a 'Mech whose shoulder and hip actuators ran in a straight line right through the torsos?

He and the enemy pilot were circling each other, sizing one another up. The other 'Mechs of the enemy lance stood eerily still. So did the crumpled form of Rieck's Marauder. Why hadn't he punched out yet? He was conscious, had to be, because he'd opened the private channel to receive Shelter's message.

No more time. The enemy tightened their circle in to run directly at Shelter. He slammed down his pedals and ignited the Griffin's jump jets. Light burst from the enemy 'Mech's left arm and gouged nearly all the armor from his left side in a single salvo. Barely anything left on his torso and leg, and the internal structure of his arm was fully laid bare. Burning gods above and below, how powerful were those lasers?! Shelter fired all three of his own in turn. The large and one of the mediums scored deep into the armor of the enemy's right torso; the other medium piddled across their right arm.

Shelter landed harder than he'd intended. Sure, he was certified on a Griffin, but he was still a tech, not a MechWarrior. He'd only ever used jump jets under controlled conditions at the proving grounds. Twice. Six years ago. Automatic systems kept him from stumbling, but he could hear the gyro straining from the effort.

Where was all the heat going in that 'Mech? Twelve lasers, half a dozen at a time in volley fire, in a medium machine. Firing that spread once would put a load on any Griffin, and that was assuming that those over-tuned lasers didn't produce more heat than a standard medium. Yet the enemy didn't seem to feel the heat at all. Shelter scrambled to calculate the minimum heat transfer coefficient to make it work.

Turn off your engineering brain, dumbass! The enemy had executed a neat turn on their own jump jets and brought their left side around to protect their damaged flank. Another six-laser volley and the Griffin's left arm was entirely gone. Hip actuator damaged on the right side. Desperately low armor in both torsos. The neural feedback wasn't in the danger zone, but the loss of the arm was playing havoc with the interplay between the Griffin's gyro and Shelter's own inner ear.

These weren't pirates. Whatever the fuck they were, they were bad news, and they weren't going to stop with the Oberon Confederation.

One more punch of the jets, and the Griffin arced over the enemy machine. Shelter fired the moment his reticle passed over metal, but his eyes were on the beach beyond the cockpit glass. The Marauder's cockpit was still intact. What was Rieck doing?

No, there he was, running along the beach. He'd popped his cockpit hatch and clambered down on his own. The SERE kit pouch was slapping against his thigh as he hauled ass. Good. He could meet up with Razor Two and take refuge in the trees. Shelter prayed to absent gods that he could give them enough time.

Shelter landed more gracefully this time. Still, the impact jarred sweat into his eyes. He blinked desperately. Had to find the enemy.

But the strange 'Mech had collapsed. Shelter's almost literally aimless shots had damaged the enemy's engine and forced a failsafe shutdown.

The remaining enemy 'Mechs were still and silent, as if they were as shocked at the outcome as Shelter was. But soon enough the Catamarauder--Shelter decided it had to be named something--stepped forward. Once again, the woman's voice came over broadband.

"Warrior, you have bested two of Clan Wolf's elite warriors, one in single combat. The outcome of this battle is foregone, but know that your valor is recognized."

"Big talk for someone about to get acquainted with the dirt," Shelter snapped into his mic, then pushed his 'Mech into a run.

The Catamarauder's missile pods roared like lions. Explosions covered the Griffin. Not a single location escaped unscathed, including the head. Two missiles hit high--above the glass, but still close and loud enough to turn the inside of the cockpit into a front seat at the world's worst noise metal concert. Neural feedback, the real shit this time, seared through Shelter's brain.

The Griffin hit the ground. Engine power was gone. Hell, the Griffin itself was probably an unrecognizable slag heap. There was booming and rattling and clanging for what felt like forever. A monitor panel dislodged from the console and bounced off Shelter's neurohelmet. Then, finally, silence, punctuated only by the cartoonish ping-ping-ping of a washer falling into the rear compartment of the cockpit.

Shelter took a moment to catch his breath and assess himself. Probably had a concussion. Always assume a concussion. Gash on his shoulder that he hoped wasn't deep. His muscles and bones were still ringing from the fall. One of his boots had come off.

The radio was on backup power, but there had been a cut somewhere in the feed to the neurohelmet. Shelter popped the buckle on his five-point harness and dragged the bulky helmet off his shoulders. The air against his scalp reminded him that--

He turned up the speaker built into the radio and grabbed the hand unit. "This is Razor Four. Three enemy units in grid gamma six. Razor Lance is down. Request..." He paused. Request what? Reinforcements? Extraction? A blanket and a bedtime story? His head was swimming.

"Warrior Shelter, last of her family," Star Captain Mila spoke on the radio. "Your 'Mech is disabled and your world has fallen. I claim you as isorla for the benefit of Clan Wolf. Stand down and await medical assistance."

"His," Shelter said automatically. "Last of his family."

He let himself fall back against the command couch's back. There was more chatter on the radio, but he didn't bother trying to parse it. He'd failed. He'd been supposed to die in combat, and somehow that was supposed to fix things for Oberon VI and the War Griffins. He was hazy on the details. But here he was, alive and a captive. Failure.

"Fucking pirates," he mumbled. He reached for the SERE kit, but the effort made him dizzy. He didn't remember anything after that.

[queenofcats17]

The Ink Demonth 4

Today is Choice.

This is a snippet from near the end of my very self-indulgent "A Debt Repaid" story. Which I still need to finish writing the first chapter for.

"A Debt Repaid" is a sequel to "A Debt To Pay", which can be found here.

============================================

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Fiona asked as she trailed Audrey down the stairs to Wilson’s lab.

“I…I just want to hear him out,” Audrey replied. “If we don’t like what he has to say, we don’t have to go along with it. But I…I want to hear his plan.”

“Alright…”

The two of them descended further into the lab, surrounded by tubes of what appeared to be vibrantly colored ink. Audrey winced as they passed them, trying not to look.

Eventually, they came to a set of doors splattered in color, which opened automatically upon them approaching. Beyond that there was another set of doors, which also opened as they drew nearer.

And there was the lab. They could see it behind a glass window, sealed off from the little alcove area they now found themselves in with a single hydraulic door.  There were lockers to their left which Fiona had to stop herself from searching, as well as another of the ink wells that Audrey could apparently now travel through.

“Audrey!” Wilson’s voice crackled through the PA system. “You made it. And you brought your little friend. Good! Come inside, my dear! We have much to discuss. But make sure you’re ready. Where we’re going, there will be no return until we’ve accomplished our mission.”

“So, we’re doing this?” Fiona asked, looking at Audrey.

Audrey nodded with grim determination, tightening her grip on her pipe.

Together, the two women stepped into the lab. Wilson stood before them, hunched over a table littered with blueprints and vials of what they assumed were ink. Further into the lab were various machines and pipes and boilers, none of which the women knew the purpose of. Fiona moved a bit closer to Audrey.

“Thank you for coming all this way,” Wilson said, turning to face them.

“I wanted to hear what your plan to destroy the Ink Demon was,” Audrey responded flatly.

Although externally she seemed cold and detached, internally she was terrified. She wanted to believe Wilson was going to fix everything and help her get home, but the words of both Fiona and Sammy had shaken her faith in him. He had brought her here in the first place. She’d just…She’d needed something to believe in. But Wilson might not have been the best choice.

“Of course.” Wilson nodded. “The Ink Demon is a formidable foe. To truly destroy such a monster, he must be dethroned. Humiliated.”

“Are you sure you need to destroy him?” Fiona asked. “I’m sure he could be talked to if you approached it the right way.” Granted, Wilson talking to the Ink Demon probably wouldn’t work, but she and Audrey certainly had a chance.

“Oh, my dear.” Wilson gave her a patronizing smile. “If only all problems could be solved so simply.” He patted her head as one would that of a child, then continued, ignoring the way Fiona’s hands formed into shaking fists. “For months now I’ve been working on something that will do exactly that. Cast out the demon and put a new deity in his place.” He began to walk, leading them to a large cylinder in the back left corner of the lab. “Stronger, more powerful, and controllable. Together, we just need to unleash our ultimate weapon. Come. Let me show you my creation.” He stepped aside as the tube opened, revealing a drawing on an easel.

The drawing was of a cherubic little cartoon boy with blond hair and chubby red cheeks. He was wearing what looked like a sailor’s uniform, standing in front of a blue ocean and a palm tree, with a little crab by his feet. The drawing was labelled “Shipahoy Dudley”.

“Isn’t he beautiful?” Wilson asked. “Simple, but elegant. A treasure. Powerful beyond anyone. The Ink Demon will fall, and we can have peace at last.”

“He is pretty cute,” Fiona begrudgingly conceded.

“It could work…” Audrey admitted. “But it sounds risky,” she added. “How will we control him? We don’t want to repeat Joey’s mistake.”

“Control him?!” Fiona sputtered. “He’s not some kind of puppet for you to jerk around on a string! If you bring him to life, you need to treat him like a human being! That was Joey’s mistake!”

Audrey shot Fiona a warning look. Poking the bear wouldn’t do them any good. They needed to hear Wilson’s full plan. Fiona shrunk a bit under Audrey’s gaze, but she was clearly still extremely upset.

“No. We don’t,” Wilson agreed, completely ignoring Fiona’s outburst. “All of the factors must be perfect.” As he spoke, the tube slid closed, beginning to rotate. “The right design, the right science, and…” The tube slid open again, revealing what appeared to be a person sized chamber. “The right soul.” Suddenly, sawblades appeared from slats in the tube, causing both Audrey and Fiona to stumble back.

“What?” Audrey’s eyes went wide.

“At last, your purpose is revealed, Audrey.” Wilson stepped in front of her. “This is why you’re here! With your soul inside him, my creation will live forever.”

“Stay away from me!” Audrey yelled. “You’re insane!”

“We need to go. We need to go right now.” Fiona tugged on Audrey’s arm, although she was shaking too much to run.

“Come now, Audrey,” Wilson said, voice sickly sweet. “Part of you knew this was your path. Although…” He paused, slowly turning his attention to the panicked Fiona. “If you truly cannot be convinced, perhaps your little friend will do.”

“No! You’re not using either of us!” Audrey snapped, putting herself between Wilson and Fiona.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to use her?” Wilson asked, taking a step toward them. “Think about it. If she provides the soul for my creation, we could rule this place together.”

“I don’t want to rule anything!” Audrey backed away, still placed firmly between Fiona and Wilson.

“Well, then I can send you home.” Wilson shrugged. “You never have to think about this place ever again.”

“I…I thought you said we needed to save your father!” Audrey tried to sound as angry as she had before, but they could all hear how her voice faltered.

Wilson smiled wide. “I lied. My father is beyond hope. Perhaps you know him. Nathan Arch, owner of ArchGate, industrial genius, business tycoon.” As he spoke, his expression soured. “For years, I’ve lived in his reaching shadow. He always had time for the grand creatives of the world, the doers as he called them. He knew only the best! The biggest thinkers! How could his lowly son ever hope to compete with that? But now, thanks to you, I can.”

“Well, that explains a thing or two.” Carmine’s voice came from Fiona’s bag.

Fiona looked on the verge of tears, looking frantically between Audrey and the door.

“What do you say, Audrey?” Wilson asked. “Why not let me use her? After all, you said yourself, she doesn’t understand what you’ve gone through. Wouldn’t you like to teach her a lesson?”

Audrey was silent, genuinely considering Wilson’s proposal. She was so tired of fighting. She was so tired of this awful place. She just wanted to go home.

You could leave this all behind, a small traitorous voice whispered in her mind. Wash your hands of your father’s sins. Move on. She wanted to come here, didn’t she? Let her stay.

Fiona tried to run. She didn’t get very far before Wilson grabbed her wrist and roughly pulled her back.

“Let me go!” Fiona screamed, kicking and attempting to hit Wilson with her free hand. She was starting to cry as she struggled. Wilson held her at arm’s length, keeping her far enough away that she couldn’t reach him with her short arms.

Despite her previous mental turmoil, Audrey knew her choice was clear now. “Leave her alone!” She surged forward, swinging her pipe at Wilson.

Wilson caught her wrist as she swung, halting the pipe’s trajectory. “So, that is your choice,” he said with a smile. He shoved Fiona away, sending her stumbling back to hit her head against the wall and crumple to the ground.

“Let us go!” Audrey tried to hit him with her other hand, but Wilson grabbed that arm and held it too.

“No need to struggle,” he cooed. “My signal prevents you from using those devilish powers of yours…and more importantly, keeps the Ink Demon from getting in. It’s time to die, Audrey…” He began to drag her toward the now whirring saws in the chamber. “And live again…” She tried to struggle against him, but it was no use. He was much stronger than she was. “As a god!”

They were almost at the chamber now. Audrey could hear her heart pounding in her ears. She couldn’t count on Fiona to help her. Not after being shoved into the wall like that. Plus, if Wilson could overpower her, Fiona stood no chance. And it wasn’t like Carmine was going to be any help. He’d already expended a great deal of energy getting them past the Keepers. Audrey had to get free on her own.

Spurred on by adrenaline and desperation, she used her limited mobility to whack the pipe against his head. This did little to stop Wilson from continuing to drag her, but it loosened his grip enough that she was able to get that hand free.

“No!” She ripped her hand away. “Not this time!”

Pulling her arm back, she swung the pipe with all her might, landing a solid enough hit to disorient Wilson and make him let go of her other hand as both of his went up to clutch his head. Not wasting a second, she used to opportunity to push him away. Right into the waiting saws. Wilson screamed. Audrey looked away. The tube slid closed again, a sign behind it lighting up, now reading, “Subject accepted”.

The sweet, metallic scent of blood filled the air.

Fiona let out a small, strangled noise that sounded like something between a sob and a squeak.

“Are you alright?” Audrey asked, turning back to her.

She didn’t want to look at the tube. She couldn’t look at the tube. Killing a human being was so different from killing an ink creature. The ink creatures simply dissolved back to the ink when they died, the only sign they’d ever been there being a small puddle on the ground.

A human remained.

Fiona didn’t answer, still staring at the tube with wide eyes.

“Fiona.” Audrey knelt in front of her, blocking the other woman’s view of the carnage. “Are you alright?”

“I…” Fiona took a shaky breath. “My…My head hurts. But I…I think I’m okay.”

“Good.” Audrey nodded. “We should…We should go.”

She helped Fiona to her feet, gently leading her toward the door that had opened in the back.

[ray-wattson]

Finished a new piece while taking the time to return to introducing more characters, starting with the leader of a team of 6 that's introduced in the second story I'm still writing, Doc.

A scientist, father of Newton, martial artist and swordsman, who's got through a lot but didn't really have a hard time thanks to his intellect. Though, what did most affect him in life was the death of his wife, which happened just on the day his only son was born. At least Newton was barely affected, even though he sometimes wished he met the mother.

As for other things, while working on a simple teleporter in his lab, an accident caused by a lightning during a storm caused the machine to go haywire and teleport him away, getting stranded in an unknown world (said world being Alterra), in an island called Winster Clermart, for 13 years, all those years spent surviving, then forming a team, managing to convince a Magnolian, a Chlorophosian (mushroom-like person), a Mercurian, a mysterious robot and a Phantoid to join him, then getting a mansion built for them to live together, before starting to hunt down wanted criminals of villages nearby for money.

Due to an accident involving an explosion that once happened in his lab, he had to replace his arms and left leg to mechanical limbs, now no longer needing to use gloves while his strength with arms had enhanced. After forming his team, then having a mercurian partner, he managed to get even better equipment, mostly of a very durable steel and a radioactive, otherworldly material, called "Jukralt". His weapon is his reliable energy sword, powered by Jukralt, which causes its energy "blade" to be quite powerful, slicing through almost anything with relative ease. Three of his other equipment involve a pair of modified glasses that can enable night vision and adjust magnification through a few taps on the sides; the second and newest equipment being his Booster Pack, made of that durable steel and Jukralt, which is just like a jetpack with thrusters on the back that can recharge automatically thanks to the energy emitted from the radioactive material; and the third and last equipment being his Power Shoes, which can allow him to run on walls and ceilings with help of their gravity defying ability.

A few years later, he decided to come up with his own company, called AetherTech Labs, promising to bring Alterra, modern technology and electronics (TV's, smartphones, etc) to change the world, since everything seems to work on magic or no electricity at all. He also plans on making eco-friendly energy generators, such as solar towers and wind turbines, for the sake of preserving the environment of this sacred world. And a little fun fact about him, he is a big fan of anime and manga and it's one of the reasons why he became a martial artist and a swordsman. Don't question his tastes.

[nichromeafricapackagingmachine]

Innovations in Dairy Product Packaging Machines: Enhancing Shelf Life and Hygiene for Africa’s Dairy Sector

The Dairy industry in Africa is milking every opportunity to expand, driven by the rising population, increasing health and wellness awareness, and growing urbanisation. This has been stemming from the increasing demand for safe, fresh, and longer-lasting dairy products, be it milk, yogurt, and margarine, to flavoured milk, cream or even dairy powders.

However, how can you ensure a higher-quality product from farm to fridge in a continent where climate, infrastructure, and logistics can pose significant challenges? The answer to this problem is “Smart Dairy Packaging” with Nichrome. With 40+ years of pioneering experience in dairy packaging machines, we at Nichrome are at the frontlines of delivering innovative, efficient, and hygienic dairy solutions that are at par with the unique needs of the African markets.

With our smart and high-performing milk packaging machines and yogurt packaging machines, we, as the leading milk pouch packing machine manufacturers, are empowering African dairy producers to overcome bottlenecks in every segment.

Ready to pour into the details? Let’s dive into the creamy layers of dairy packaging innovation.

Types of Dairy Products and Their Packaging Needs

From farm-fresh milk to creamy yogurts and margarine, and powdered dairy goodness, every dairy product comes with its packaging personality. The key to delivering high-quality dairy products lies in understanding the unique packaging required and then tailoring packaging machines to handle them with precision, care, and hygiene. Our specialised range of dairy packaging machines caters to the entire dairy spectrum.

Let’s unpack the packaging needs of different dairy products and how Nichrome has been rising to the challenge:

Milk: Pouches and bottles that preserve liquid purity

Milk needs airtight, leak-proof and contamination-free packaging as it is highly perishable. Whether it’s pouches for rural markets or bottles for the urban retail, our milk packaging machines offer unmatched speed, precision, and hygiene.

Sprint 250 Plus and Excel Plus milk pouch packing machines – Ideal for small to large-scale milk packing needs.

Automatic lines with milk bottle filling machines - milk bottling in glass or PET bottles

Pouches are formed, filled, and sealed with minimal human contact, with hygienic processing.

Flavoured Milk: Keeping it Tasty & Cool

The delicious flavoured milk is a growing category among African youth. The products require tamper-evident packaging that preserves flavour and nutrients.

Our viscous liquid filling machines ensure accurate filling of flavoured milk varieties.

Multi-purpose milk filling machines can accept pouches, PET bottles, and Tetra Pak substitutes.

Advanced packaging maintains shelf stability without requiring preservatives.

Yogurt & Curd: Thick, Creamy, and Contained

Viscous and semi-solid, curd, and yogurt need extra care. We provide yogurt packaging machines with soft filling technology that prevents air pockets or spoilage.

Servo-driven filling provides hygiene and consistency.

Suitable for cups, pouches, or sachets.

Tamper-proof sealing ensures freshness and trust.

Ghee, Margarine, & Cream: The Rich Delights

For more viscous milk products such as cream, margarine, and ghee, accuracy and hygiene are important. Our milk products packaging machines provide heat-sealed, aseptic packaging that provides maximum shelf life.

Thicker consistencies with specific nozzles. 

Perfect for pouch, jar, and cup packaging.

High-temperature packaging films prolong freshness.

Dairy Powders: Light but Strong

Milk powder, whey, and baby formula need protective packaging that is oxygen and moisture-proof.

Dry powder filling machines provide vacuum sealing and nitrogen flushing for extended shelf life.

Case packaging and retail-ready SKUs available.

Assists dairy processors in meeting export requirements.

Whatever your product pours, scoops, flows, or sprinkles, Nichrome has a dairy and milk packaging machine that can do it fast, hygienically, and accurately. From optimizing shelf life to optimizing operational efficiency, Nichrome's flexible packaging machines have Africa's dairy treats ever ready to serve, fresh and fabulous.

Major Packaging Challenges for Dairy Products

With the growth of the dairy business in Africa comes the need to keep packaging at the level required to meet demand, sanitation, and sustainability requirements. Dairy packaging is not a matter of simply covering milk—it's about purity, preventing loss, and defending brand reputation. But for the vast majority of dairy farmers on the continent, the path from cow to consumer is not without its complications.

The following are the biggest challenges that African dairies face, and how we help solve those:

Hygiene Maintenance - Milk and milk products are nutrient-rich but prone to bacterial contamination. Our milk filling machines are equipped with Clean-In-Place (CIP) facilities and stainless-steel construction to provide utmost sanitation.

Spoilage Prevention - Temperature fluctuation during storage and transport is prevalent throughout Africa. Nichrome battles this with air-tight, leak-proof pouches and high-barrier packaging films.

Handling Different Consistencies - From thin milk to thick ghee, yogurt, or margarine, every single product has a special flow. Our milk packaging machines feature speciality nozzles and programmable filling logic to accommodate any viscosity.

Affordability & Flexibility - Small dairies require scalable solutions. We provide milk packing machines and semi-automatic lines that are affordable to tight budgets without sacrificing performance.

It's obvious, dairy packaging in Africa is not a mass market phenomenon. It takes flexibility, dependability, and creativity. We at Nichrome not only get these issues, but we also address them. With a range of dairy packaging machines that are ideally suited to African conditions, we provide producers with the equipment they need to succeed in a competitive, fast-moving market. Because at Nichrome, we don't merely package dairy—we empower it.

Advanced Features in Nichrome's Dairy Packaging Machines

When it comes to packaging milk in a tough and dynamic market such as Africa, efficiency is not sufficient; you require smart, flexible, and forward-looking machines. At Nichrome, innovation is infused in each nut and bolt. Our milk & dairy packaging machines raise the bar on automation to deliver smarter, more efficient solutions that meet real-world requirements.

Here’s the breakdown of the features that set Nichrome's milk packing machines apart:

Automatic Pouch Filling & Sealing

Automatically operated models are the Sprint 250 Plus, Filpack Servo 12K, and Filpack CMD.

Provide uniform pouch sealing with minimal operator interference.

Servo-based operations produce fault-free sealing at high speeds.

Bottle & Jar Filling Lines

From bottling milk to curd in jars, we champion all the varied formats.

Modular systems allow easy integration into existing plants.

General-purpose for flavoured milk, yogurt, and margarine.

Hygienic CIP Systems

 Equipments have Clean-In-Place capability for sanitary processing.

Conserves time, water, and detergent compared to hand washing.

Proper Filling for Viscous & Liquid Products

The milk filling machines employ piston and servo-based technology.

Oversees everything from raw milk to cream, yogurt, and margarine.

Reduces overfill loss and is cost-effective.

Packaging Material Compatibility

It accommodates high-barrier laminates, mono-material films, and recyclable ones.

Ensures safety without compromising on sustainability.

Compatible with all standard widths and thicknesses of film rolls.

In brief, our dairy products packaging machines do not just process your product; they process your problems. Whether it is keeping things clean, making things more precise, or making things more efficient, our machines are designed to keep pace with today and expand for tomorrow.

From small regional African dairy farmers to large-scale cooperatives, we offer precision, flexibility, and innovation in an amalgamation that makes packaging not only a process, but a source of differentiation.

Advantages of Applying Contemporary Dairy Packaging Machines

With Africa's dairy industry going into high gear to respond to growing demand, traditional methods no longer cut it. Outdated packaging technology not only keeps your production on ice but also amplifies the chances of spoilage and contamination, delivering a blow to your bottom line and consumer trust.

That is where Nichrome's second-generation dairy packaging solutions step in. Designed to combine hygiene with high-speed functionality, our machines are made to serve African dairies of all sizes, whether packaging raw milk in pouches or flavoured yogurt and margarine in cups.

Here's why it's a cream-of-the-crop choice to upgrade to Nichrome:

Long Shelf Life - Whether milk pouch packaging, yogurt cups, or margarine packs, Nichrome provides packaging that holds spoilage at bay.

Consistent Quality - Each packet is sealed, filled, and trimmed with machine accuracy.

Speed & Efficiency – Our automatic packaging machines produce thousands of pouches an hour, achieving a high throughput rate.

Fewer Wastages - Precise filling results in less wastage and higher output from your material.

Multi-SKU management - Convert SKUs on the fly. One milk packaging machine will switch between SKUs with minimal downtime.

Compliance & Certifications – Our packaging solutions enable compliance with FSSAI, ISO, and international standards of hygiene.

Energy-Efficient Operations - New drives and smart control panels lower energy use and boost plant ROI.

These advantages extend far beyond the pack—they enable your dairy plant to become a wise, forward-looking facility. In a business where margins count and quality sells, Nichrome puts you ahead of the competition. You need to grow efficiently, safely, and intelligently. Whether you're supplying urban supermarkets or rural cooperatives, with Nichrome, your packaging line is a productivity powerhouse.

Conclusion: Channelling Innovation into Africa's Dairy Future

Africa's milk industry is poised for a packaging revolution. With growing urbanization, cold chains, and dairy consumption, the demand for milk product packaging that is innovative, efficient, and hygienic also increases.

With state-of-the-art dairy packaging machines, we at Nichrome haven’t just kept pace but forged ahead. Whether it's milk pouch solutions or milk filling machines, our machines empower African dairies to dispense quality, safe products with speed and panache.

So, are you also looking to upgrade your milk packaging line or introduce a new dairy brand? As a new entrant or legacy co-op, Nichrome Africa offers the best of Indian technology for African conditions.

Call us today to discover a full range of dairy products packaging machines and experience the intelligent packaging first-hand.

Let's change the way Africa consumes milk. Pouch by pouch.

[fullyautomaticcomposter]

🥦 Food Waste Composter: How to Effectively Compost Food Scraps and Other Organic Materials

In a world increasingly burdened by waste, composting food scraps and organic materials is a simple, impactful way to reduce our environmental footprint. A Food Waste Composter is a valuable machine that transforms kitchen waste into nutrient-rich compost, offering a sustainable solution for households, communities, and institutions alike.

♻️ What is a Food Waste Composter?

A Food Waste Composter is a machine or setup that facilitates the natural breakdown of organic waste, such as vegetable peels, fruit scraps, leftover food, and garden waste, into compost. This compost can be used to nourish soil in gardens, farms, and landscaping projects.

Composters range from small-scale home bins and natural compost pits to fully automatic machines used by hotels, housing societies, and industries.

🌱 Why Compost Food Waste?

Reduces landfill burden and greenhouse gas emissions (like methane)

Creates valuable compost that improves soil health

Cuts down waste disposal costs for homes and businesses

Promotes sustainable living and environmental awareness

🥕 What You Can Compost

Here’s a list of common food and organic materials that can go into a food waste composter:

✅ Compostable Items:

Vegetable and fruit peels

Coffee grounds and tea bags

Eggshells

Cooked rice and bread (small amounts)

Spoiled or expired fruits and vegetables

Garden clippings, leaves, and small branches

Paper napkins and cardboard (shredded)

❌ Avoid Composting:

Dairy products, meat, and fish (unless using a specialized composter)

Oily or greasy foods

Plastics or synthetic packaging

Diseased plants or invasive weeds

🧪 How to Compost Effectively

Whether you use a natural or automatic composter, these simple tips ensure effective composting:

1. Segregate Waste at the Source

Keep a dedicated bin in your kitchen for organic waste. Avoid mixing it with plastic, glass, or other non-biodegradable materials.

2. Maintain the Carbon-Nitrogen Balance

Green (Nitrogen-rich): Food scraps, fresh grass, vegetable peels

Brown (Carbon-rich): Dry leaves, shredded paper, sawdust

Mix the two in a 1:2 ratio (1 part green, 2 parts brown) for a faster breakdown.

3. Turn the Pile (if using a manual system)

For natural composting, turning or mixing the compost pile regularly helps aerate it and speeds up the decomposition process.

4. Monitor Moisture

The compost should resemble a wrung-out sponge, with the ideal balance of moisture and dryness. Add dry material if too wet, or sprinkle water if too dry.

5. Use Compost Accelerator (Optional)

To speed up the composting process, you can use cow manure, compost starter powder, or compost culture liquids.

⚙️ Types of Food Waste Composters

Natural Compost Bin/Pit: A simple and low-cost solution for home gardens.

Vermicompost Units: Use earthworms to accelerate composting.

Drum/Rotating Composters: Help mix and aerate compost easily.

Fully Automatic Composters: Electric machines that compost food waste within 24–48 hours. Ideal for commercial or large-scale users.

🌍 Conclusion:

A Food Waste Converter is a dedication to a greener future and a cleaner environment, not merely a piece of equipment. By composting food scraps effectively, we not only reduce waste but also give back to the Earth in the form of rich, living soil.

Whether you're a homeowner, a school, or a business, composting is a smart and sustainable practice that turns waste into wealth.