#MACHINE VISION PROCESS FLOW

[slepptstudios]

Jump into it, I guess (Forsaken Reader Fanfic)

Days go by you all the time, you wake up, you work for a few hours, you go home. Rinse and repeat over and over, but you were never really too upset about that in fact you thrived in routine. You knew what was gonna happen and you had full control of the outcomes, day after day they go exactly the way they do because you set them in motion. Sure sometimes there are bumps in the way and they can mess up your flow but you’ve tried not letting these things get to you too badly. You wouldn’t consider yourself anywhere near as resilient as your beloved fictional characters from your favorite fandoms, but you knew some part of you no matter how small you believe that part of you to be... Deep, deep down there was a small flame that kept you going even if you were aimless, you kept moving either way.

That being said, today was just.. Off. It was just straight-up bad really, you were clumsier today making mistakes you normally wouldn’t have, and ended up annoying others in the process. It wouldn’t be so bad if you hadn’t made a mistake that ended with you going home humiliated, even when you tried to desperately think of anything else you just couldn’t get it out of your head all the things you could’ve done differently, all the ways you could’ve stopped all of today from ever happening, spiraling even as your feet drag against the floor of your home.

Days like these always leave you so very tired. Exhaustion practically seeps through your entire body, chills running down your spine from the cold air of the night greeting you as you creak open the door to your room. The sight almost makes you feel much more at ease, the familiarity of your organized mess, your oh so comfy bed waiting to embrace you and sweep you away into rest, and the desk that held your computer proudly among the various trinkets piled onto it as well. ‘I need a break’ echoed in your head almost hypnotically with the way you mindlessly slipped out of your uniform and sat down to open your computer. ‘One game can’t hurt right?’ you asked to no one in particular, filling the silence of your room, god you were lonely.

You logged onto Roblox and play whatever games looked fun, anything to destress from the events of today. None of your friends had been online at this hour so you mostly stuck to solo games up until a certain game caught your attention. ‘Forsaken’ you’ve played the game before, but you never had time to invest yourself into it much as it could get a bit too competitive at times. Although the game was rather endless, looping the same mechanics with no real end, you could admit the fun was more so in the adrenaline. A sort of tag game you could kind of call it as despite its graphics leaning into a more violent setting.

That's all to say you yourself aren't familiar with the base stories, survivors trapped by an entity, past survivors and their strange ARG’s you never really looked into, mysteries and personal character connections. You were knowledgeable enough on it to say the least but the more you thought about it the more you realized that knowledge is barely anything relevant enough to understand the whole picture of the story behind this game. Nonetheless you found yourself clicking into the game, being met with a loading screen as music began to hum in the background. Starting a few rounds with some random players you find faces of characters come and go as you played on longer, exhaustion of the day weighing down on you like a building pressure waiting to burst despite how hard you tried to keep awake with the adrenaline of the game.

Playing as 007n7 a new round begins, the intro of 1x1x1x1 playing in the background as you feel your lidded eyes begin to drift as black spots begin to swirl in your vision but you persisted. Running around the map you pick up a medkit along the way hoping to give it off to the Elliot in your round, you find a few machines along your trek but then something strange happens. Your screen begins to glitch the longer the round went on, and while you could've turned on your mic and asked the other players for help, but you really didn't feel like talking to strangers online since it seemed to be just an issue on your end so you tried to fix it on your own. The map began to twist and contort around 007n7 but every time you began moving to these glitches the map would fix itself a new almost like it never happened in the first place, you take notice of the way your head droops during this too, you're ears feel like they’ve been stuffed with cotton and your body just feels so.. so… heavy. Just as you fell face down onto your keyboard accidentally activating and moving things that shouldn't have happened, you saw a glimpse of a message appear on your screen in wobbly text as the killer stuns you with their long ranged attack.

“Wₑₗcₒₘₑ ₕₒₘₑ, ₚₗayₑᵣ.”

Eyes finally shut, and peace finally finds you in the wake of the night, you give in to your exhaustion almost effortlessly with little to no resistance. You feel happy almost to find your mind drifting into a dream-like state. You feel very welcome. Your body feels so light now, drifting in the dark embrace. When was the last time you felt so relieved to dream?

Wₑₗcₒₘₑ ₕₒₘₑ, it's nice to be home. Rᵢgₕₜ wₕₑᵣₑ yₒᵤ bₑₗₒₙg, it's so quiet, Pₑacₑfᵤₗ, gᵢᵥₑ ᵢₙ.

Just as quickly as you fell asleep you were awoken. I'ₘ ₛₒ ₕaₚₚy yₒᵤ'ᵣₑ ₕₑᵣₑ. Back hitting the ground, you must've slipped off your chair…

Your eyes slowly open as they stare up into a starry sky, blocky figures drifting about as you feel the soft blades of grass between your fingers…

Wait, hang on.

‘No that can't be right’ You sat up, yanking yourself off the grass, your eyes darting around. ‘Wasn’t I just in my room? Where am I?’ Your hands are the first thing you notice, where there was once you're skin in flesh was now replaced with a grey hue as though someone had put a filter over you, you were in strange clothes that you swore you’ve never once owned before nor remember ever wearing, you were adorned with a belt of gear with the weight of a sword resting against your hips. Why did you look so strange?

You open your mouth, but you can't. Your grey colored fingertips reach over to where your mouth should be.

There was nothing to be found. No trace of your lips, nothing but a smooth surface as if you never had a mouth. The sensation did not feel as though you were sewn shut like some doll nor did it feel like someone had ripped such a vital part of you with their bare hands. It simply did not exist. It was mind-numbingly nothing. As if you were meant to exist without a mouth, without a way to yell, without a way to cry, simply without a voice.

You yell as hard as you can, there is nothing to be heard in the forest.

Tears stream down your face as you grasp at something, anything, to feel whether this was real or not, feeling your breath become labored and the way your heart beats so fast it might as well jump out of your chest. This must all just be some bad dream, a nightmare you’ll wake up from in the morning and forget what it was even about. You spiral in your own thoughts as you try and rationalize the uncanny way your body has been morphed into something you can’t even begin to comprehend. The world around you seems so blurry from all the tears and fear gripping at you, and you swear you could've just crumbled right then and there…

A scream of pain could be heard in the distance from you, sinister and garbled laughter, growling, and stomping ring loudly through the air as you find yourself finally able to breathe and think properly. Fear replaced with curiosity now leads you towards the noise, it's stupid really but what else are you gonna do in a random forest you don't know? Walking turned into running and soon you were sprinting across the grassy fields and the thick of the forest when you finally spot it.

‘Is that..?-’ the familiar figure of certain avatars from the game you were just playing not even a few moments ago become clearer than ever, the scene plays out right in front of you. 007n7 paralyzed by 1x1x1x1’s long ranged attack leaving him vulnerable as the myth begins taunting him almost not bothering to run but simply relishing in 007n7’s hopeless attempts to escape death as they walk leisurely towards him. The scene flashes back to you so vividly, this was exactly what you last saw happen before you fell asleep wasn't it?

‘Oh thank God it is a dream.’ You can feel yourself sighing in relief despite the ever present horror that you physically can't. Still you can't help but feel yourself lean forward up against the tree you’ve been hiding behind watching it all unfold, this is just a dream.. a really strange dream but you can't help the fact you felt pity for 007n7, if he was the last left alive and stayed out of view until now god knows how frustrating it is to be killed the last second when victory of the game was right there.

‘It’s just a dream right? It can't hurt.’

You feel yourself run before you realize it and the next thing you knew you were grabbing hold of 007n7 and blocking what was meant to be the final kill, taking everyone by surprise Including yourself, who knew you had that in you?. Despite the pain and the lingering emotions that run high in you, you feel a new sensation enter you alongside your new found determination to help.

Sheer Adrenaline.

You immediately pick 007n7 in your arms, accidentally cancelling the man’s ability to teleport away in the process and immediately book it. 1x1x1x1 was still recovering from the shock of a random survivor getting in their way that you almost get away with running across the now recognizable map of voss’ planet. Key word, almost. The chase begins and you run in instinctive euphoria and if you weren't so focused on running and avoiding the killer's attacks you wouldn't have missed the way 007n7 begins screaming at you to put him down already. You could only run for so long until you ended up tripping and dragging the haggard man down with you, but it didn't matter as the ticking from earlier stops and the round ends.

You black out from exhaustion once more now laying in a small pool of your blood from your earlier injuries, the last thing you see had been the face of the man you managed to save, satisfaction feeling very fulfilling as you think to yourself before going to bed.

���Man, what a weird dream.’

Oh boy, hi there! So this is my first ever fanfic lmao- and since there's a big lack of reader fics on the forsaken fandom I thought i'd give my own content just for the other ppl out there also starving for food on reader fics of our favorite forsaken characters. Anyways this is just the prologue so I still have a lot planned but please don't expect fast updates as I can get really busy at times too. Hope you enjoyed!

-Sleppy

[talesofanarchy]

Black

“I immediately regret this d-decision.” She slurred unsystematically, her intoxication evident in the jumbled-up words.

The buzzing of the tattoo machine made her stomach wrench together nervously, not even the alcohol lulling her fears to sleep. Y/N’s loose singlet had been bunched up just far enough that Happy could get a clear look at her rib cage. He couldn’t help the roaming of his coal-colored eyes, finding the curve of her body to be alluring, whispering to be touched, to be kissed. He was only a man and he couldn’t deny the growing fascination he had for the woman beneath his tattoo gun.

“You ready?” He husked.

Her eyes flickered towards him, offering a small chuckle. “As I’ll ever be.” It was like a jolt of electricity flowing through her the moment the needles dug into her skin. The vibrations from the machine were intense, rattling the bones beneath the surface and drawing out awakening nerve endings.

The tattoo she had chosen wasn’t all that big, nor all that fancy. Yet, it held a specific meaning to her and that was all that mattered. Every so often, the rough and expressionless outlaw deemed Happy would wipe away the excess ink. Whenever he did, it stung the sensitive flesh, making her brows crease inwards as she tried to think of anything else besides the constant pain. It wasn’t as if the pain was unbearable, she could handle it just fine, but it was a nuisance and she just wanted the whole thing to be over with.

“There a story behind your tat, girl?” He said, focused on the intricate details of the font she chose.

Spirited eyes danced over the people who lingered in the clubhouse, her vision often blurring due to her inebriation. His question, however, made her toss her head along her shoulder, shooting him a quizzical stare.

“Life’s shitty, it’s just a reminder that I need to keep going.” She smirked.

“It’s simple.” He said.

She could only nod her head in agreement. “Yeah, it is. But so am I.”

An amused laugh shook in the depths of his throat, continuing to ink her virgin skin. “Nah, no woman is simple.”

Y/N could only take the bait, her eyes rolling at his statement. “Or do men just complicate things?”

Happy had been chewing on the blunt end of a toothpick, only casually rolling it aside so he could speak. “You sure you’re dealin’ with men and not boys, little girl?” he asked.

He had a point, there was a very big difference between a man and a boy. She just wasn’t sure if she had figured it out that difference yet.

“You sure you’re dealing with women and not little girls, big guy?” She retorted with a snort.

She couldn’t see it, but he was grinning. It was rare to make the Tacoma killer smile, but when someone did, it was a genuine exposal. He enjoyed the banter with the woman, she was fiery, quick to retaliate and that was something he liked. He didn’t like someone he could just stomp all over, he wanted a challenge. He wanted the chase.

“Nothin’ to deal with, I only fuck 'em and send 'em on their way.” He said, finishing up on the tattoo.

Y/N could see why he would only fuck women and not go any further than that. Relationships were complicated, messy, and too much of a risk. There was a 50/50 chance that it could work out or could fail and those weren’t odds she was willing to bet on. Not anymore. She was tired of investing emotions and time into someone unworthy of what she had to offer. Yet at the end of the day, all she wanted was someone to call her own, someone to love.

“Sounds like a simple plan, but don’t some of those women want more?” She wondered out loud.

The question was an easy one to answer, and there was no thought process put into replying. “All you women want to be special enough to tie a man down, to save them from corruption. But here’s the thing, we don’t want to be saved, little girl.”

His tone had changed into an emotionless one, only adding truth to what he had to say. However, she didn’t budge, instead, she kept pestering him, kept challenging him. “As I said earlier, maybe you’ve been dealing with little girls and not women. A real woman wouldn’t try to save you or try to change you. They’d accept you, no one is perfect. Not even god.”

Happy peered up at her face, a bit stunned by what she had to say. To be honest, it was a breath of fresh air, but he couldn’t believe her for more than a second. He never claimed to be perfect, but he also never claimed to be good either. He knew what he was; a criminal, a murderer, an outlaw. Someone would always try to change that, whether it was a woman or the law. Someone would always want to force him to be someone he wasn’t.

In simplistic, bold lettering, lied the words Carry On, written delicately across her ribs. It was a reminder that even when the world was against you, to carry on. Because everything was only ever temporary and so was the pain, so was the hardship. Her eyes could only trail over each curve and swirl of the letters, relishing in her first tattoo.

“It’s great, thank you.” She turned to Happy with a soft smile, eyes red-shot from all the alcohol she had indigested.

All he did was simply nod his head in recognition. But before there could be anymore conversing between the two, Tara had come up and snagged her younger cousin away. For the next few hours, the two women continued to pound shots of whiskey and beers like it was water. Sure, they were a little belligerent, but it didn’t stop them from having a good time.

Happy in between the drinks, the joints, and the lustful women, had always found Y/N with curiosity. He would watch her dance or interact with his brothers from across the room. She was wild, and carefree, something that was similar to all the women that flocked to the Sons, but there was also something different about her. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it had made him damn curious.

Eventually, his attention had been captured by some blonde with big tits and they escaped into one of the dorms in the back.

“Taraaaaa!” Y/N called drunkenly from down the hallway that led to individual dorms. She used the walls to support her, dragging her hands across them as she stumbled about aimlessly. She thought she had been whispering, but it was apparent that she was too fucked up to notice the difference.

Her movements halted precipitously as she felt a tidal wave of nausea slam into her. Slowly she slid down along the wall to the floor, hands going to her head as she rubbed all the while closing her eyes. “Fuck.” She whined, shifting uncomfortably on top of the carpeted flooring.

Y/N had been too wrapped up in feeling like shit, that she didn’t notice Happy exiting his dorm with some blonde bimbo. However, he noticed her and sent his latest conquest on her way. Boots shuffled, carrying him towards her cautiously, trying to analyze the situation. “You okay little girl?”

His voice had seemed to bring on a positive effect, Y/N’s head lifting as she focused her gaze on him. Her lips tilted back into an exultant smile. “Happy! What are you doing here?”

He could only acknowledge her question with a lifted brow. “I live here.”

She murmured before popping her lips into an oh shape. “Right. I’m sorry, my head hurts.”

Leisurely he lowered himself into a crouch, so he could get a better look at her. “I think you drank too much kid.”

The mention of drinking had brought an uproar upon her stomach and she hastily scrambled to her feet, only to lean forward due to her instability. “I think I’m going to be sick Hap.” She whined.

He had been drinking, but not enough to cloud his judgment or reflexes. So, when she began to falter forward, he could only rise quickly and catch her with awaiting arms. She was light, and tiny compared to his stockier build. “I got you.” He said.

Her nose had burrowed itself into his neck, pressing all of her weight into him. “You smell like weed.” She snickered with too much hilarity as if she were a child. Yet she was a grown woman, just intoxicated and far too out of it.

His nostrils flared, catching a faint whiff of her hair. It smelled of coconuts and something else that could only be purely her. Silently he took her back to his room, kicking the door shut behind them with a boot. “You still gonna be sick kid?” he asked.

“Toilet.” Was her one-word response.

He had one arm wrapped around her waist to support her and help her walk, once they were in the restroom, he slowly placed her on the floor. “Here.” He said.

Heavy eyes found the toilet before she shakily pushed the seat upwards. He didn’t want to invade at such a vulnerable moment, so he backed out of the bathroom and shut the door, giving her some privacy. He sat down on the edge of his bed with a huff, unsure of why he was even helping some woman he hardly knew.

He waited to hear some retching or guttural sounds, but he heard nothing, and it made him worry. “Little girl?”

No response.

Swiftly he rose to his full stature before striding to the bathroom door and rapping on it. “Girl, you okay in there?”

Yet again, no response.

Impatiently he pulled the door open, nearly ripping it off its hinges only to find that Y/N had fallen asleep curled up around the base of the toilet. Her hair was wild, sprawling out along the tiled floor while she hid her face beneath one of her arms.

It was a relief to find her alive because Tara would have had his ass if he let anything happen to her cousin. However, there was now a different dilemma at play. What was he going to do with her?

Once again, he was crouching down by her, only this time he was placing both arms beneath her body. Slowly, he lifted her into a bridal-style hold, drawing her close to his chest so he could carry her towards the bed. He had just fucked some croweater in it, but at least it was better than the cold, hard floor. Happy slid her onto the mattress, placing her head on one of the pillows.

She didn’t stir, not even a single time throughout all of the jostling. He didn’t want to do anything else to her but leave her alone. He didn’t want her to wake up sick and him having to be the one who cleaned it up. So, he left her there on top of his bed, marring his blankets with her rousing scent.

Grumbling he’d pull the extra pillow from the bed and toss it onto the floor before extending along it. He lay on his back, allowing himself to settle with an arm over his head. What the fuck was he doing?

When did Happy Lowman become someone who gave a shit about some trashed bitch?

It was a question he couldn’t answer because he didn’t know. All he knew was, he could sleep knowing she was safe with him.

[wonderinc-sonic]

A Promise to Kronos on Ao3

Teen ◇ No ship ◇ Angst ◇ 1.2k

Omega looks deep into the furnace where Eggman Robots go to be recycled.

Team dark week day 1! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh @teamdarkweek

Omega held his body very still, his torso poised and upright, as though within it was a cup of lava filled to the brim - just the rhythm of his steps threatened to melt his whole insides with it.

He was a soldier unused, stationed in the empty room with nothing but that worthless pod of slime and unconscious meat, forgotten and rotting beside it.

He was facing the body of the creator as it melted into metal goop: he should have known he was too cowardly to meet them himself.

He was watching the draconic abomination of Doctor Eggman's greatest achievement, and even that didn't please the genius. There never was anything to be won in this cycle.

And today, he stood facing the incinerator; the teeth of that grinning emblem were actually gaps lit by fires and outlined by reinforced bars. As another batch of bots was cleared for termination, the teeth receded into the moustache, giving the Eggman a gaping maw with which he swallowed his children like a titan.

Omega couldn't feel them through the blistering heat from outside and within him, but he was flanked by his teammates. One of them was saying something, but his linguistic processing was offline, so it sounded the same as the bars that clanked back down, the squeal of trapped air escaping metal bodies, the roaring of wind rushing around in a circle to keep the fires aerated. Visible through the grates beneath their feet, metal flowed like blood from steak squeezed out on a plate. It shone and lit them up for a moment.

Someone was touching him and making a sound. They didn't exert much pressure, but he shook them off with a standard amount of force - they were sent skidding into the wall with a yelp. Someone else was blocking his path now; they were below his field of vision and pushing him backwards with immense force, but he braced and stared beyond them. They clanked their spines against his metal chest.

Metal. Metal that was flowing beneath his feet was the same that made him. How many lives had this ore that he called his own lived before it encased him? The Badnik and the biological batteries they chewed were all burned the same, separated by the immense heat. Did that rid the body of the soul?

Yes. It certainly did. Because he was sure at this moment that he could hold rage more blinding than any carbon body could tolerate: only a machine such as himself could hope to feel this burning heat. After all, they were born of it, and returned to it.

The mouth started to open again, as another mound of bodies - some still conscious, but immobilised - started to fall from the compactor above. Omega's steps towards the incinerator were thunderous, if only in his own deaf sensors.

Something tugged on his arm, gently then firmly, and finally with unholy power. He did not turn to them as they pulled so hard they separated the canon from the body and cried out in alarm. External temperatures were too high for them to follow him now. His joints started to feel slippery.

As he looked down into the pits, the teeth-gates opened for him like they were waiting for him, and the floor beneath his feet tipped forward. He grabbed one tooth-bar and watched as the next load were recycled, inspecting the furnace from inside; he saw grinding wheels of stone cogs chewing the bodies as they melted down, then slipped through the cracks to be collected and separated. He saw the ventilation and turning rod that whipped the air around, enjoying centrifugal force to maintain the pressure in the air. If this crank could be stopped, the grinding would cease, causing the hot air and fire spill out once not encircled in this airflow. It would burst out through these teeth, rushing through the room, filling it and consuming the air in here too. His occular units were becoming unreachable, ignoring instructions and almost slipping from their sockets as his body started to slump.

His premeditation came to a crashing end when an explosion rattled him, as something burst into existence behind him. Something fabric singed and smoked as a gloved hand grabbed him and snapped them out of their present space and time as quickly as it arrived.

His body gave an unhealthy crack: apparated somewhere new, his shell made contact with fresh powdery snow and the expanded metal snapped back to its normal volume and split the middle of his chest casing.

There was shouting over and around him, and the sky above was dark. Slowly, he restarted the sensory processes. His mind pinged with all the damage he detected in himself. He dismissed the warnings, and re-engaged language.

"I don't know. It was hot. I was trying to take us somewhere opposite."

"Well, thanks for that! How the hell do we move him like this?"

"Give me a minute, just hold him together."

Snowy white ears were illuminated by his own glowing eyes as she leant over him, checking for signs of conscious movement. He blinked his shutters, and she huffed in relief.

"And just what were you playing at? Trying to recycle yourself, you idiot?" She hissed into his helmet as she removed one of his drooping eyes to examine the damage to the joint.

Right, they had had a plan: cut off Eggman's supplies, one of which was metal both from mines, and from his own recycling.

"Directive-" His speaker was distorted and garbled: "Destroy forge."

Shadow leant over him now too, Chaos Emerald glowing in his burnt-bare paw.

"Without destroying you in the process." He muttered, and with a loud whoosh, they were back in the workshop, talking of plans and reconnaissance while the pieces of him were carefully taken for repair, one by one. He stared up at the ceiling, seeing a disfigured and melted body reflected on the chrome conductor panels they use8d for Chaos experiments. The outside now could match the in - completely reformed in rage. Shadow and Rouge took turns fussing over him, gently swapping, mending and welding his parts back together.

"Sorry about your arm," Shadow murmured to him, hours or no time after they'd returned.

"It is of no consequence." The broken voice-box responded. Shadow sniffed firmly, and he and Rouge looked at each other over his body.

"We get that what we saw must have been... emotional for you, in a sort of way," Rouge began. She was delicately detaching his middle from his leg motors at the 'belt', wriggling out melted and misshapen screws with tiny magnets.

"But you can't take revenge that'll kill you. We don't allow it." Shadow finished firmly for her.

He stared blankly at Shadow. There was something that he couldn't understand in either of these two - their concern for him was beyond what was warranted: as long as his core thoughts remained, his body was there to be spent and exchanged for blood. And there was something they couldn't understand in him too, now, he supposed. He had seen in himself for the first time: he was made, and still running on, fire.

[terriblesoup]

The reality of Creative Burnout

It's been a while since I've last written anything, and it's been bothering me so when you read this and you picture me as a karen holding her 10 am red wine and with a child-hating fueled anger complaining about the bird noise in her backyard, then you've done me justice that's exactly how I feel and look.

1. Understanding creative burnout: More than just exhaustion

When we talk about burnout in general, it is mostly a consequence of overwhelming tasks on a monotonous routine basis which causes fatigue that is both emotional and physical. Creative burnout is more tied to the emotional and intellectual demands of an artist. It deeply affects the ability to generate new ideas or feeling any joy in one's craft.

And if you've been there,-and I am most certain you have been- you know it's not just being a little tired or feeling like taking a long nap. It’s that special kind of exhaustion where your brain feels like a dried-out sponge someone left in the sun for three weeks.

And when your ideas evaporate faster than your morning coffee and every attempt to create something feels like pulling your own teeth, your brain has never been this loud and blank at the same time. You know it's time to put down your pen and breathe because there's more to it than you being an art failure ( you're not).

And I'll tell you why it's happening to you and not others: because creative work is like putting your soul on display, and when it doesn’t come out perfect, it feels personal. Add to that deadlines, the pressure to innovate, and the charming little voice of self-doubt, and you’ve got the perfect recipe for burnout stew. Plus, let’s be real—most of us work alone. There’s no office buddy to say, “Hey, it’s fine, go take a walk.” Nope, it’s just you and the void, staring each other down.

2. The triggers of creative burnout: Pressure, Perfectionism, and Pace

It doesn’t happen because you’re lazy, unmotivated, or bad at your job. It happens because the world-or your own brain-has decided you need to function like a creativity vending machine. Insert a deadline, press a button, and voilà: a masterpiece pops out. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t work like that.

If you've hit our common wall, it's probably because of one or all the three usually culprits :

High expectations:

The weight of expectations is crushing, especially when you’re the one piling it on yourself.

“Just be better than last time,” you think. Great. Now every project feels like a fight to prove your worth, to everyone, including yourself. Because apparently, creating something good isn’t enough anymore-it has to be perfect. No pressure, though <3.

Tight deadlines (because,duh, genius happens overnight, wait what do you mean you can't? You're fired)

There’s nothing like a deadline to drain the soul out of your work. The clock starts ticking, and suddenly you’re not making art; you’re cranking out products. Deadlines kill spontaneity. They don’t care if you’re inspired or running on fumes.

Let’s be real,when was the last time a creative deadline felt reasonable? It’s always,“Can you have this by yesterday?” Forget brilliance. You’re lucky if you can slap something together that doesn’t embarrass you.

Overworking (this is on you):

“I’ll stop after this one thing.” you won’t! One more thing turns into an all-nighter, which turns into a month of over-caffeinated tunnel vision. The grind never ends because we’ve convinced ourselves that rest is a luxury instead of a necessity.

Working nonstop doesn’t make you a genius. It makes you tired. But sure, keep skipping meals, ignoring friends, and convincing yourself that burnout is just “part of the process.” That always ends well.

3. How burnout affects the creative process: Loss of inspiration and drive

For writers, burnout often looks like the dreaded block. You stare at the page, but the words don’t come. Your once-flowing ideas now feel like trying to pull water from a stone. Artists might find themselves detached from their work, going through the motions with no emotional connection to the piece. Musicians might start to dread performing, feeling overwhelmed by anxiety instead of joy. Whatever the medium, the result is the same: you feel stuck, uninspired, and utterly out of sync with your craft.

The first wave of burnout is frustration. You know you’re capable of more. You remember what it felt like to be in the zone, to create something that lit you up inside. But now, every attempt feels like wading through molasses. The ideas don’t come, or worse, they feel hollow and forced. And when your work doesn’t meet your own standards, the frustration multiplies.

Oh look over there! It's the heaping side of guilt getting closer. You feel like a failure because you’re not creating-or not creating enough-and the shame can be paralyzing. What’s worse is knowing that your creative block isn’t from a lack of talent or skill but sheer exhaustion. You’re stuck in a loop: can’t create because you’re burned out, and can’t shake the burnout because you feel too guilty to rest.

Then it messes with your relationship to your work. You might start to resent the thing you once loved because now it feels like an obligation. Every project feels like a chore, and the joy that once fueled your creativity is nowhere to be found.

The final gut punch of burnout is the loss of drive. That innate desire to create, to express yourself, to bring something new into the world-it’s gone. Or at least, it’s hiding under a mountain of fatigue, frustration, and guilt. Without that drive, even the idea of creating can feel overwhelming.

But here’s the thing: burnout isn’t permanent. It’s a signal-not that you’re broken, but that you’ve been running too hard for too long. The only way back is through rest, reflection, and reminding yourself why you started in the first place. Creativity isn’t something you can force, and burnout isn’t something you can hustle your way out of. Sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is stop.

4. Breaking the cycle: coping mechanisms for recovering from burnout

Burnout recovery isn’t a sprint-it’s a messy, sometimes uncomfortable process. But it’s possible.

Take intentional breaks

No no, not doom-scrolling on your phone or calling it “relaxation” while secretly stressing about unfinished projects. I’m talking real breaks, time spent doing things that genuinely recharge you. Go for a walk, binge that guilty pleasure show without shame, or sit outside and stare at trees like you’re auditioning for a meditation app. The point is to stop trying to be productive for a little while.

Reconnect with your passion

Burnout tends to make your creative passion feel like a chore. To fix that, strip away all the pressure. Draw just for fun. Write nonsense that no one will ever see. Try something new and low-stakes, like pottery or finger painting (yes, finger painting, I like doing makeup to recharge, it requires no thinking). Remember why you started creating in the first place, back when it wasn’t about deadlines or expectations.

Set boundaries like your life depends on It

Because, honestly? It kind of does. Start saying “no” to things that drain you-unreasonable clients, soul-sucking projects, or your own impossible standards. Tell people (and yourself) that your time and energy are finite resources. It’s not selfish; it’s survival.

Seek professional help

Sometimes, burnout runs deeper than “needing a break.” If you’re overwhelmed by guilt, anxiety, or hopelessness, a therapist can help you sort through the emotional mess and build healthier coping mechanisms. Therapy isn’t a last resort; it’s a tool for getting your creative spark back without setting yourself on fire in the process.

Practice self-compassion

This is the hardest one because we’re our own worst critics. But here’s the truth: you’re allowed to step back. You’re allowed to rest. You don’t have to earn your worth through endless creation. Burnout isn’t a personal failure-it’s a sign that you’ve been pushing too hard for too long. Treat yourself with the kindness you’d offer a struggling friend ( and I knoooowww y'all have a problem practicing your own advice, I just know.)

Redefine success

Let go of the idea that you need to be constantly producing to be “successful.” Your worth isn’t tied to how much you create or how perfect it is. Focus on the journey, not the output. Celebrate the small wins, even if they’re as simple as writing one paragraph or sketching a single line( took me two weeks to write this blog btw, I am taking that small win and winning it all over the place).

5. The myths of creative burnout: Overcoming society’s expectations of “nonstop productivity”

Real creatives never run out of ideas

Ever heard someone say, “If you’re a real writer/painter/musician, the ideas will always flow”? Yeah, no. Creativity isn’t a bottomless well; it’s more like a battery that drains with use. And guess what? Batteries need to be recharged. Running out of ideas isn’t a sign you’re a fraud—it’s a sign you’re human. Even the greats had dry spells (Vincent van Gogh painted only about 900 masterpieces; what a slacker, right?).

Productivity equals success

Our society worships the grind. If you’re not constantly producing, you’re seen as lazy or unmotivated. Churning out work nonstop doesn’t guarantee quality-or fulfillment. It guarantees exhaustion. Creativity thrives on space, experimentation, and, yes, sometimes doing absolutely nothing. Success isn’t about how much you produce; it’s about creating something meaningful, even if it takes time.

Burnout means you’re weak

Feeling burnt out doesn’t mean you lack resilience or passion. It means you’ve been pushed (or pushed yourself) too far. Society likes to frame burnout as a personal failure, but it’s often the result of external pressures.

6. Case studies of famous creatives who Struggled with Burnout (because I know you like comparing yourselves to celebrities level of accomplishments)

- Sylvia Plath: The weight of perfectionism

Sylvia Plath was a literary genius, but her pursuit of perfection left her emotionally drained. Known for her meticulous writing process, she placed immense pressure on herself to produce work of extraordinary quality. The weight of expectations-both external and internal-fueled her creativity but also contributed to her burnout.

-Vincent van Gogh: Isolation and emotional strain

Van Gogh’s artistry was inseparable from his emotional vulnerability. Living in near poverty and estranged from much of society, he worked obsessively, creating over 2,000 artworks in a decade. His intense drive often led to physical and mental collapse, and his letters to his brother, Theo, reveal his feelings of inadequacy and despair.

- Virginia Woolf: The strain of genius

Virginia Woolf balanced brilliance with fragility. Her modernist works, like Mrs. Dalloway and To the Lighthouse, revolutionized storytelling, but the intense effort to break traditional literary molds took a toll. She struggled with depressive episodes exacerbated by creative pressure and societal constraints placed on women writers of her era.

These geniuses remind us that brilliance often comes at a cost when unbalanced by rest or self-care. They teach us the importance of acknowledging limits, seeking support ( for the love of God and everything good, please do), and that success isn’t about sacrificing yourself for art; it’s about sustaining a process that brings joy and meaning.

7. Burnout as a catalyst for growth: turning struggles into strength

Our beast (I wonder if there's a hot drawing of the burnout beast somewhere on the internet) strips everything down to the bare essentials. It asks uncomfortable but necessary questions:

“Why am I doing this?”

“What do I really want to create?”

“Am I living my life, or just existing for my work?”

And I know these questions can feel overwhelming, but they’re also the foundation for growth. Many creatives emerge from burnout with a clearer sense of purpose, focusing on what truly matters instead of chasing every expectation or opportunity.

It can also add depth to your work. The frustration, exhaustion, and rebuilding process give you stories to tell, emotions to convey, and empathy for others who struggle. In a way, burnout teaches you not only how to survive but how to thrive (slay...?).

Final thought:

So, yeah, burnout sucks. It's like that awful, ugly detox you didn't sign up for but apparently needed. But hey, if you're lucky enough to survive it, maybe you'll come out the other side a little more self-aware, with healthier boundaries, and maybe even a fresh perspective on what it means to create. Or, you know, you'll just figure out how to keep the chaos at bay long enough to finish that project you’ve been avoiding. Either way, just remember: it's totally fine to take a step back-because if you burn yourself out enough, you'll eventually be forced to. And, funnily enough, that's when you might just make your best stuff.

I've made this blog because I wanted to talk about censorship in political aspects and all that but I've never felt a heavier subject than it, I do not understand why I couldn't do it. I still can't find myself writing about it even though I've already planned the key points and all that baggage. Well anyway, I hope you enjoyed this "light-hearted" subject.

[compneuropapers]

Interesting Papers for Week 24, 2025

Deciphering neuronal variability across states reveals dynamic sensory encoding. Akella, S., Ledochowitsch, P., Siegle, J. H., Belski, H., Denman, D. D., Buice, M. A., Durand, S., Koch, C., Olsen, S. R., & Jia, X. (2025). Nature Communications, 16, 1768.

Goals as reward-producing programs. Davidson, G., Todd, G., Togelius, J., Gureckis, T. M., & Lake, B. M. (2025). Nature Machine Intelligence, 7(2), 205–220.

How plasticity shapes the formation of neuronal assemblies driven by oscillatory and stochastic inputs. Devalle, F., & Roxin, A. (2025). Journal of Computational Neuroscience, 53(1), 9–23.

Noradrenergic and Dopaminergic modulation of meta-cognition and meta-control. Ershadmanesh, S., Rajabi, S., Rostami, R., Moran, R., & Dayan, P. (2025). PLOS Computational Biology, 21(2), e1012675.

A neural implementation model of feedback-based motor learning. Feulner, B., Perich, M. G., Miller, L. E., Clopath, C., & Gallego, J. A. (2025). Nature Communications, 16, 1805.

Contextual cues facilitate dynamic value encoding in the mesolimbic dopamine system. Fraser, K. M., Collins, V., Wolff, A. R., Ottenheimer, D. J., Bornhoft, K. N., Pat, F., Chen, B. J., Janak, P. H., & Saunders, B. T. (2025). Current Biology, 35(4), 746-760.e5.

Policy Complexity Suppresses Dopamine Responses. Gershman, S. J., & Lak, A. (2025). Journal of Neuroscience, 45(9), e1756242024.

An image-computable model of speeded decision-making. Jaffe, P. I., Santiago-Reyes, G. X., Schafer, R. J., Bissett, P. G., & Poldrack, R. A. (2025). eLife, 13, e98351.3.

A Shift Toward Supercritical Brain Dynamics Predicts Alzheimer’s Disease Progression. Javed, E., Suárez-Méndez, I., Susi, G., Román, J. V., Palva, J. M., Maestú, F., & Palva, S. (2025). Journal of Neuroscience, 45(9), e0688242024.

Choosing is losing: How opportunity cost influences valuations and choice. Lejarraga, T., & Sákovics, J. (2025). Journal of Mathematical Psychology, 124, 102901.

Probabilistically constrained vector summation of motion direction in the mouse superior colliculus. Li, C., DePiero, V. J., Chen, H., Tanabe, S., & Cang, J. (2025). Current Biology, 35(4), 723-733.e3.

Testing the memory encoding cost theory using the multiple cues paradigm. Li, J., Song, H., Huang, X., Fu, Y., Guan, C., Chen, L., Shen, M., & Chen, H. (2025). Vision Research, 228, 108552.

Emergence of Categorical Representations in Parietal and Ventromedial Prefrontal Cortex across Extended Training. Liu, Z., Zhang, Y., Wen, C., Yuan, J., Zhang, J., & Seger, C. A. (2025). Journal of Neuroscience, 45(9), e1315242024.

The Polar Saccadic Flow model: Re-modeling the center bias from fixations to saccades. Mairon, R., & Ben-Shahar, O. (2025). Vision Research, 228, 108546.

Cortical Encoding of Spatial Structure and Semantic Content in 3D Natural Scenes. Mononen, R., Saarela, T., Vallinoja, J., Olkkonen, M., & Henriksson, L. (2025). Journal of Neuroscience, 45(9), e2157232024.

Multiple brain activation patterns for the same perceptual decision-making task. Nakuci, J., Yeon, J., Haddara, N., Kim, J.-H., Kim, S.-P., & Rahnev, D. (2025). Nature Communications, 16, 1785.

Striatal dopamine D2/D3 receptor regulation of human reward processing and behaviour. Osugo, M., Wall, M. B., Selvaggi, P., Zahid, U., Finelli, V., Chapman, G. E., Whitehurst, T., Onwordi, E. C., Statton, B., McCutcheon, R. A., Murray, R. M., Marques, T. R., Mehta, M. A., & Howes, O. D. (2025). Nature Communications, 16, 1852.

Detecting Directional Coupling in Network Dynamical Systems via Kalman’s Observability. Succar, R., & Porfiri, M. (2025). Physical Review Letters, 134(7), 077401.

Extended Cognitive Load Induces Fast Neural Responses Leading to Commission Errors. Taddeini, F., Avvenuti, G., Vergani, A. A., Carpaneto, J., Setti, F., Bergamo, D., Fiorini, L., Pietrini, P., Ricciardi, E., Bernardi, G., & Mazzoni, A. (2025). eNeuro, 12(2).

Striatal arbitration between choice strategies guides few-shot adaptation. Yang, M. A., Jung, M. W., & Lee, S. W. (2025). Nature Communications, 16, 1811.

[bisexualmcqueen]

In the apoc au, can working parts be taken from already dead cars? If so, does that mean that grave robbing could be a thing? Digging up the dead for their parts…

hehehee

excellent question. so this is already baked into the entire setup/conflict

Cars are mostly metal, but they have some semi-organic bits. Eyes, mouth-flesh, some internal organs, a non-mechanical circulatory system: all stuff that decomposes. It turns to sludge, and drips out of gaps in the living metal. As the months have gone on, the corpses have started to turn a bit …gummy. In places where winter never touched, the scattered bodies of unfortunate souls lay in pools of rank, thick liquid. [Turbine]

we've established that there's just dead bodies Everywhere. millions of people died, not nearly enough are left to bury them all. its a horror show. cars dont decompose as fully/quickly as organic beings do. theyre mostly metal/synthetics. so youd think there's just a buffet of free parts laying around right?

well, back up. how are the cars Alive in the first place...? its some sort of undefined fantasy-like magic. they are whimsical, fantastical beings. they can feel temperature, pain, pleasure- theyre fully alive as machines.

their Metal itself is alive.

and when they die, their Metal dies too.

same reasoning why when Dusty needed a new gearbox they had to find one from the Factory for him, or repair what he already had. Like... why?

same reason Doc died at the same time the AMC-badged cars went into a parts-war. [context: IRL the Hudson brand became AMC, then went out of business].

the new parts are Unclaimed/New metal, and they Bond/Mesh/Heal Into their new Body. the living metal bonds and cannot be unbonded without potentially being killed. the metal dies unless its handled by someone who knows what theyre doing- which is why car mechanics of a certain knowledge can be Doctors. or... other professions :)

Now this isnt to say parts-harvesting or graverobbing is impossible. sometimes some of the metal can rebond- some of it never died. [this is the type of work Mater does in salvage- it's part of his expertise to recognize these usable bits of metal from junk]. none of it is an exact science, because its magic, like the cars themselves.

this is where we crash into the second issue: the thing that Killed The World. The Blast, the EMP, the whatever it was, the End:

it tore up most cars on the inside. most vehicles blew the fuck up- not just their engines, but electrical systems flowing through their bodies caused damage to surrounding areas too, organic and mechanical.

not a lot of the corpses are salvageable. its mostly dead metal, and all torn up too.

Lightning’s eyes are already heavy, but in his last moments of consciousness, he tracks Cruz through blurry vision, fumbling with some living-solder and a propane tank, looking at the still-seeping bullet wound on Chick’s flank with a silent frown on her face. [Hi. I'm a grub and I live in the soil.]

parts are rare. this causes trouble. >:)

"-There’s nothing left anymore. I’m sorry.” [Old Spare]

[further reading on the blood-side of Living Metal theory, both worldbuilding ideas by Non]

OC Rundown POV in apocalypse Rundown is an old parts-harvester/engineer, forced to taste his own medicine of torment when the apocalypse strikes. He's modified himself enough to have survived- but just barely. He's trapped himself in a hell of his own evil making.

OH YEAH and to go even further. i think the vehicles themselves were employees of their own factories making their own parts [like any other manufacturing job], so the survivors have to learn the art of part-forging with unbonded living metal. its a whole process of skill-preservation. ive been slowly picking at who in the cast learns the forging skill- several characters certainly. and of course some of the factory experts survived, but they cant do everything alone!

thanks for the ask!

[xgeronimowrks]

Pan's Algorithm: AI and the Ritual Imagination

"These images represent a unique collaboration between human creativity and artificial intelligence, depicting a sequential chart of a magical ritual centered around the earth god Pan. The process began with a traditional ritual framework, which was then interpreted and expanded upon by an AI image generation system. The AI synthesized complex visual information, creating intricate geometric patterns, symbolic representations, and dreamlike imagery that maintain a coherent narrative flow. The 'Vague image of the whole,' as noted in the chart, suggests a holistic vision, a synthesis of human intent and machine interpretation.

[bookoftheironfist]

"It is a peculiar sensation, this double consciousness, this sense of always looking at one's self through the eyes of others, of measuring one's soul by the tape of a world that looks on in amused contempt and pity. One ever feels his twoness...two souls, two unreconciled strivings, two warring ideals in one dark body, whose dogged strength alone keeps it from being torn asunder." — W. E. B. Du Bois, The Souls of Black Folk Deathlok (1991) #2 by Dwayne McDuffie, Denys Cowan, Gregory Wright, Mike Manley, and Ken Lopez

One of Misty Knight’s most famous traits these days is her legendary bionic/cybernetic arm, the modern version of which is a veritable Swiss Army Knife of gadgets and tech. But it was several months in-story, and over a year for readers of Marvel comics, before this foundational part of her character was introduced, quite suddenly and unexpectedly, in the pages of Iron Fist volume 1. When we meet Misty, she has already had the arm for some time, but it is so expertly disguised that the casual viewer would not recognize it for what it is, and that’s how she likes it. 

The character of Michael Collins, Deathlok, sits at the intersection of many different identities and concepts— he is a Black man, a pacifist, who is deceived and manipulated, a victim of a system that traps his consciousness inside a mechanical body designed to kill, desperately trying to restore his humanity and return to his beloved wife and child. No matter what kind of a person he is on the inside, the vision he presents to the world is frightening—a distorted melding of man and machine, a weapon, a monster. Here, in this scene and also elsewhere in this series, he and Misty discuss the concept of assimilation and “passing”. They are both cyborgs in their own way, members of a misunderstood minority community (a concept that sits, with all of its layers and complexities, at the heart of this series), but where Michael is unable to hide his membership in that community even if he wanted to, the nature of Misty’s situation allows her to conceal her bionic arm, to pass. As a Black woman, she is intimately familiar with this dichotomy, but her feelings about her arm complicate her relationship to this other aspect of her identity. Here, Michael gives her permission to sit with and process that discomfort in her own time. He understands.

Misty’s character arc in her early comics, flowing out from her origin accident (which we only ever see in flashbacks), is tied to the trauma and self-loathing with which she has been burdened ever since. Her promising career as a police officer— a career she loved and to which she was prepared to devote her life— ended suddenly and violently when she was caught in a bomb explosion while on the job. Quick medical intervention saved her life, but she lost her right arm. She was fitted with her cybernetic replacement, super-strong, cutting-edge Stark tech, but she walked away from the police force and plunged into a deep depression. She was ashamed of her failure, horrified by her loss. She saw herself as “half a woman” now, worthless and weak. “After all,” she asks herself in Iron Fist volume 1 #7, “what good is a one-armed lady cop?” 

Despite the best efforts of her friends (particularly Colleen, who helped and supported her and re-trained her to fight left-handed immediately following the accident), this is a journey of self-acceptance that Misty must ultimately make on her own. Over the past half-century, she has moved slowly, windingly, away from that initial hatred of her bionic arm and all that it represents. Ever-so-slowly, it has become more and more a part of her. 

"It has been some time since policewoman Misty Knight lost her right arm, protecting innocent people from a terrorist bomb. That it ever happened is a very well kept secret. It took her a long time to come to terms with the fact that her real arm is gone forever...and she has cursed this bionic replacement as often as she has blessed it. But now it is her arm-- as much arm as she will ever have-- and heaven help anyone who tries to hurt it or take it away from her." Power Man and Iron Fist vol. 1 #78 by Mary Jo Duffy, Kerry Gammill, Christie Scheele, Ricardo Villamonte, and Jim Novak

It was around the time of the first Daughters of the Dragon series, in 2005, that Misty first began to forego the simulated skin that had previously concealed the arm’s true nature. Instead, she added a long sleeve to her costumes, which hid all but her metal fingers. It was nevertheless a huge step, after so many years of “passing”. A few years later, around 2010’s Heroes for Hire volume 3, she removed the sleeve—leaving the arm fully visible in all its shining, cybernetic glory. In the time since then, it has become a visual trademark, an indelible part of the Misty Knight visual style, a symbol of her power and resilience, so much a part of her look that it’s easy to forget how new this change is. Recent years have also brought with them a noticeable trend of Misty's enemies attacking her arm, ripping and cutting it off of her, which makes tactical sense (it's a weapon, after all) but also feels like a constant, cruel unearthing of that initial trauma, a knife in a wound that is still healing. But every time, Misty comes back stronger, the arm is enhanced, its defenses are fortified. More and more, over the years, Misty and her arm have become one.

[srtruth]

mayuri & gn!readar

Summary: You switch bodies with Captain Kurotsuchi and you must avoid getting killed. Spoiler: Everyone hates Mayuri.

Note: This fic will not contain romance and is dedicated to humor and suspense. This comes to my mind after reading a Manhwa called "The Best Engineer in the World".

You open your eyes and are immediately plunged into chaos. Everything is blurry, your vision, your mind. The air feels thick, almost oppressive, as if it were filled with smoke. Smoke? Is the building on fire?

Before you can process what's happening, you hear voices, and they fade away as they move away from you. You try to concentrate, but another voice interrupts you, this time closer and clearer. “Move,” ordered. You don’t know where it’s coming from, but you know this isn’t the time to question anything.

You scramble to your feet, your movements clumsy, the sheets tangling around your body like shackles. “It’s just clothes,” the unfamiliar voice tells you, but as you try to walk, you realize that the floor is uneven. Apparently part of the ceiling had fallen and your feet were hitting large debris. What is happening?, you think, your mind racing, clinging to confusing memories, as if they were foreign. These felt recent, but they made no sense. The emergency lights turn on, showing the way out and a flashing red light accompanied by an alarm that screeches in your ears, you instinctively deactivate it when you hold on to a nearby control panel. You grabbed onto it by pure luck or you would have fallen to the floor. “Tired, but of what? No offense.” You hadn’t taken it as an offense, but thanks to that clarification you did think about it.

When the alarm was silenced, it eased your nerves a bit by giving you only the red lights that barely cut through the dust. This is a dream, it has to be. It all seemed so real to you. The alarm was for a reason? Shouldn’t you be running too?

“No..–The voice comes back, lingering in your mind, drawing out the words to make them less important.–If this is a dream. Why leave? Keep exploring.” Against your better judgment, you obey. Each step is heavy at first, but as you move forward, they become firmer.

Suddenly, you find yourself standing in front of a colossal machine, its presence dominating the room. Its size is intimidating, its design is disconcerting. Wires, tubes, no, veins and guts, it looked organic in parts. It snaked through and under the rubble, almost as if it were alive, but not for long, it pulsed slower and slower as if it was losing power. What kind of madman built this monstrosity? A genius? Or just reckless?

Your headache, it seemed like in dreams you could feel the pain so real it gave you chills to think it would be so easy to trick your brain. Some ideas floated around in your head, quite useful, solutions to problems you didn’t even know you had.

“Maybe this dream will get you out of your financial troubles… But wait, this is just a dream, isn’t it? Keep going. Keep exploring,” the voice whispers again. That voice, it’s unbearable! You clench your fists, about to scream in frustration when a third voice interrupts and stops you dead in your tracks.

“Captain, are you okay?” The voice isn’t in your head. This time it was real.

You freeze. Captain? The word feels foreign, yet somehow familiar. Your heart races as you clear your throat. You speak without thinking, the words flowing automatically.

“I’m fine.”

Did you say that? The voice that comes out of your lips sounds wrong, strange, but terribly familiar. Maybe someone else answered for you. Just in case, you spoke again.

“Where am I?”

The same voice echoed even in your own ears, bouncing around inside your own skull. It was obvious that you had said those words, plus you noticed that it was similar in tone to the voice of the stranger who had been interrupting all this time. The boy in front of you was worried, he muttered to himself if you had hit your head and that was why you didn't know where you were.

“You’re in Area 7, President,” the figure in front of you continues. His tone has a hint of doubt, as if he’s questioning your disorientation. “Your lieutenant will be arriving soon.”

Lieutenant? Area 7? None of this makes sense, it all seemed like something out of a sci-fi movie, and a very bad one at that, but instead of pushing for more answers, you simply whisper, “Yes…”

Captain… President… The only one who had that title and a lab in this place… was Mayuri. You feel like laughing at the situation, but you’re afraid to hear confirmation before your time.

You walk over to a turned off computer, you stare frozen at the man in front of you, his form becoming clearer as you get closer to the green screen.

“Who are you?” you ask, trying to keep the anxiety out of your voice. He hesitates, clearly uncomfortable, but finally answers,

“Tsubokura Rin.” The name sounds familiar.

Mayuri’s subordinate? That can’t be true. But the truth hasn’t quite dawned on you yet. Your reflection in the cracked screen confirms your fears. You are no longer “you.” The face staring back at you is unmistakably that of Captain Kurotsuchi Mayuri, the infamous mad scientist of Soul Society.

The subordinate who looked like Hanataro, withdrew worriedly.

You touched the flashy devices on your face in disbelief, used to them you didn't even notice them, then the makeup. You couldn't believe it, you really liked this character, you liked the series where he appeared, you had many mixed emotions. 

But the most important thing was missing... Where is his hat?!... Thinking that you had dropped it made you very sad. He hadn't even lost it in the fight with Uryu and you lost it in less than 5 minutes?

Leaving aside that stupidity, you worried about your skin, if the soul society discovers that you weren't Kurtosuchi, most likely, and as things were done here, they will condemn you to death.

"A soul within a soul”

Your mind reels with confusion, memories flooding in, memories that aren't yours. You now understood what the machine was, it was the latest thing Captain Kurotsuchi was working on, it was an instrument capable of connecting to other worlds, it was just a communication network, but clearly something else happened. You also now understood what that voice was, it was simply the voice in the head of this mad genius. Since the voice you hear in your head isn't really you... you didn't want to keep thinking or this would soon turn philosophical, but that was your explanation. "I couldn't be that crazy, could I?"

You remembered your body, in theory Kurotsuchi was in it. You were terrified of the idea that someone like him would try to make some modification to himself in your kitchen. You thought about your safety then you approached the machine.

Your heart beats hard in your chest, not out of fear of the machine or the strange world you're in, but because of the weight of the deception you'll have to maintain.

You must continue with the charade, play along with him as Mayuri until you can fix things or he comes back on his own.

Final note: I don't have much faith in this project. I hope you liked it.

[cirqosmos]

IN THE GYM, INSIDE YOU | KEI &TEAM (TEASER)

WARNING ↪ gym sex (at hybe gym lmfao), dom!kei, sub!reader, established relationship, pet names, u calling kei as daddy, dry humping, choking, oral sex (f and m receiving), breeding kink, size training/kink, saliva play, profanity. and more u see.. 🙈

WORD COUNT ↪1.6K (the full fic are estimated to be over 10-12k lmfao PLS)

AUTHOR'S NOTE ↪ not proofread, so some minor errors and grammatical errors.. i'm just trying to get back to my momentum of posting on Tumblr again. BUT IM CRINGING ALOT HELP I CANT STOP GAGGING LMFAO-

The cool breeze of the night sky as you passed through the convenience store shot a severe chill down your spine, despite having a thick hoodie over your pyjamas. Now that you think of it, it is a bad move. Brushing the tip of your thumb across the shelf as you picked one of Kei's favourite ready-made coffee drinks, you recalled the way he called you an hour ago.

His voice dripped in a heavy tone of honey, almost like a melodic hymn of desperation as he enunciate every syllable of your name. As if he was begging for you to come as fast as you can, and when you expressed your initial concern over his odd request, he brushes it off as being exhausted by his current workout routine.

A night workout routine, he repeated.

After exiting out of the automatic door screen, your peripheral vision caught on the remnants of illusionary dusts in the form of a human, and the stray cats scattering beside the over filled trash can, and the serene moonlit sky brought about a good amount of anxiety in you. It is after all, the after dark. Where the world switches off to an underworld vibe, pulling of its black velvet cloaks with indifference that it had hidden beneath the entire sunlit day.

Screw you, Kei.

After dark was when people ripped apart their moral ethics, goodie traits, and humane characteristics—revealing their innate desires they had been keeping to their core.

"Kei?"

Not an answer did you receive as you pushed open the black velvet door, only the cool breeze of the AC and it's audible sound surrounding the gym greeted your ears. You assumed that Kei must have left.

"Hey."

Your head turned to the owner of the voice you knew so well, a lazy smile pulled up on your cheeks as you met those dark grey orbs laced with affectionate words all over it.

"Hey, Kei." Giving the ice cold can coffee to him as you approached him, "Quite cruel of you to call me at 2am, seriously."

With no hesitation, he pulled you into his embrace, leaning in closer as he buried his face in your neck, sniffing in your scent which immediately engulfed his exhausted soul in a safe amount of euphoria and craze. "I miss you, though. Don't I have the right to call my girlfriend anymore?"

"At least look at the time." You pouted as you pulled away, squinting your eyes in a playful manner. "Everyone's sleeping right now, and you're the only one pulling up a goddamn Greek god workout routine."

An audible giggle squeezed its way out of Kei's mouth, his doe eyes crinkling into crescents. "Greek god, eh? I'm a Greek god to you then?" His finger dusted off the rosy hues on the tip of your nose, cooing at your childlikeness.

"Well, maybe." You shrugged, sitting yourself leisurely on one of the gym's chairs, swaying your feet up and down. It didn't go past your eyes how Kei leaned against the pull-up machine, a loud pop emitting from his thumbs in the process of opening the can, his plump lips lapping against the edge as he slurped it down his throat—where his Adam's apples protrude in a sensual motion, one that sent havoc into your mind.

Breaking your fixated gaze onto somewhere else, you cleared your throat in attempts to take off your not so holy thoughts in a brief moment. Mentally slapping yourself on the inside, but oh well, scoring a boyfriend like Kei ain't a damn joke.

"How was work?" His melodic voice flows into your ears again.

"Tiring, but it's okay. It's my job anyway, got to have enough fat money to buy what I want. Heh." Dusting off the tips of your two fingers, mimicking the action of counting money before the boy causes his gorgeous lip to let out another audible giggle.

"I love how you're independent, it's damn cool to even think of it.. but you see, why don't you depend on me?"

"Hm?"

"Depend on me." Kei repeated with doe eyes wholly fixated on your form, "It's just a suggestion, but I would really adore having to take care of you all by my own, every little thing."

Well chosen string of words got your already tangled heart in an even tighter knot, "I could take care of myself, though. I don't need a sugar daddy yet." You stuck your tongue out in a mischievous manner, that alone had him shaking his head with a round of giggles. "But that's sweet of you, Kei."

"No, but." Pair of sneakers approach you with every low rise and down of steps, his palms having the remnants of water beads as he puts down the ice can on the machine's flat edge.

Halting his step before you with his towering height, the light above the ceiling illuminated the top of his ash strands all while casting a matte shadow on his features—giving him a somewhat eerie look, yet his orbs held so much more in it that it had you unconsciously gripping your finger on the edge.

His long finger and thumb brushes your cheek in a circular pattern, and then down to your neck. "I want to take care of you. I've been thinking since much, much long time ago. I want to look after you, care for you in every way possible. It just hurts to see you punching yourself in the chest whenever your shitty boss ruined your day."

Touched by his words, "Work days are pretty much like that, Kei. Having a shitty boss is an unfortunate bonus, that is."

Your sentences comes to a halt as you notice the way his orbs lingered on your lips, the sensation of his index finger ghostly rubbed your lower lip had your heart skipping a thump, yet you hold on to your firm character—arching the corner of your lip in a mischievous smirk. "Does my lips look that pretty for you, Mr. Kei?"

"Mr. Kei?" His plump lips pursed in a giggle, "I'd like your lips on mine, if that's okay for you, Mrs. Koga."

Enthusiasm filled your chest, and you were sure he did as well the way he confirmed your given permission through your lit up blaze eyes. His index finger on your lips found its way on the back of your neck, splayed tight. His other hand spreaded against your hips, pulling you closer to his body as he sealed your lips in his wet cavern.

Kissing Kei always felt like the first time for you. It didn't go past your notice how his warm cheeks pulled up even higher as you let him in through your tongue, tasting each other to the point of maniacal craze. Your eyelashes fluttered up to reveal your curious orbs, taking a brief glance at the wall clock behind Kei's obscured ruffled ash hair.

1:07 A.M. — The after dark where suppressed desires begin to reveal themselves, manifesting into low seductive whispers and sneaky touches.

"Scrap the sugar part," Kei's breath ghost against your ear, sending a round of butterflies in your stomach. Your eyes lingered on his swollen red lips enunciating each word in a clear hushed tone, yet sensual rhythm. "Your daddy can take care of you right here, right now."

"Now where do you want daddy to touch you?" Kei lapped his wet cavern across your neck, a slight moan left your lips at the bold gesture.

"Please."

"Please what, babygirl? You have to tell daddy where exactly he should touch you."

"I-inside me, daddy." Lust fogged your mind, yet the sight of the gym machines pushed the logical part in the surface, physically manifesting to your hands stopping Kei's ones. "We aren't going to do it here, r-right?"

You enunciate the question in confirmation, you need him inside you right now but you dead ass wouldn't want to get caught in the act and possibly ruin his career. But the way Kei's lust filled orbs lazily darted to look at behind him, it seems like he had no intention of bringing your intimacy behind an appropriate place.

"Where's the thrill then, baby?" Kei whispered, "Look it's 1am right now, I doubt someone's going to come in. But well, it would be good either way cuz' someone can see how I'll take you all to myself."

That was enough to rule your mind into overdrive, giving in to Kei and embarking in this bold dangerous act. The thrill, the suspense of getting caught, his large hands spreading all over your skin, his lips nipping onto your bare skin; everything fuels into your brazen mode.

This wild desires of exhibitionism; his greatest will to flaunt you and show to everyone that you belong to him. Kei had always been a dominant man, oozing uncontrollably from his aura ever since you first laid your eyes on him, there was no doubt. Your suspicions were further confirmed by his utmost dedication in perfecting his craft or whatever it is he deemed to be of great importance.

And one of them was romance, which immediately rooted back to you. The apple in his eyes, which he oh so desire to devour more than it takes and how he greatly detests anyone who dared to lay their hands on you.

He turns you around, your back hitting his chest and before your mind could process anything—wet slick tongue lapped across your neck down to your exposed shoulder, his fingers pulling the material each centimetre. Yet you couldn't focus on anything but on his tongue doing it's magical wonders on your skin, sending electrifying sensation into your veins and cells.

"K-kei—" his other hand flattened deep inside your shirt, stroking circular patterns on your tummy and into your navel.

"Shh, lemme take care of you." He whispered, and you didn't fail to sense his growing smirk. "Now where do we begin?"

「 © talesofyuan on tumblr 2023 」 all rights reserved. do not copy or post without permission.

[fairpackmachinery]

FAIR PACK MACHINERIES: Leading the Way in Advanced Packaging Solutions

Introduction to FAIR PACK MACHINERIES (Pvt) Ltd.

FAIR PACK MACHINERIES (Pvt) Ltd. has been a trusted name in the packaging machinery industry for over two decades. Since its establishment in 1998, the company has led the way in delivering innovative, reliable, and efficient packaging solutions across the globe. With a commitment to providing “Simple Packing Solutions” that adapt to dynamic market needs, FAIR PACK has successfully built a reputation for high-quality machinery and unparalleled customer satisfaction.

The company started with a vision to cater to the growing demand for quality packaging machinery, and today, it is recognized as a leader in the sector. FAIR PACK MACHINERIES offers a wide array of machinery for various packaging needs, ensuring that businesses can optimize their production lines while maintaining top-tier performance and product integrity.

Our Product Range

At FAIR PACK MACHINERIES, we pride ourselves on our diverse range of products that cater to various industries. Our machinery is designed to meet specific needs, whether for filling, sealing, labeling, or conveying products. With cutting-edge technology and precision engineering, our equipment is built to deliver efficiency and consistency across all stages of the packaging process.

Auger Packaging Machine

The Auger Packaging Machine is ideal for handling powders and granular products such as spices, flour, and sugar. The auger system ensures consistent and accurate filling by measuring the material volume. It is a perfect solution for companies needing high-speed, accurate filling for powder-based products.

Electric Collar Packing Machine

The Electric Collar Packing Machine is designed for high-speed vertical bagging operations. It ensures uniformity in the size of the bags and precise sealing of products. Ideal for industries requiring fast and efficient packaging, it can handle products like dry powders, granular substances, and liquids, ensuring quick turnarounds and minimal downtime.

Flow Wrap Packing Machine

The Flow Wrap Packing Machine is a versatile solution used for wrapping products in a flexible film. This machine is perfect for packaging snacks, candies, and small consumer goods, ensuring a tight seal that helps maintain product freshness and integrity.

FSS Tray Packing Machine

The FSS Tray Packing Machine is designed to handle products that need to be packed in trays, such as fresh produce, meat, and bakery items. It ensures efficient packing, protecting the product while making it easy to handle during transportation and distribution.

FSS Volumetric Packing Machine

The FSS Volumetric Packing Machine is ideal for products requiring consistent weight or volume, such as cereals, pasta, and beverages. Its volumetric mechanism ensures accurate filling, allowing manufacturers to pack items with precision and consistency, minimizing product loss or overfilling.

Granules Packing Machine

The Granules Packing Machine is built for products like seeds, grains, and other granular materials. With precise filling and sealing mechanisms, it ensures efficient packaging of these materials, improving the overall productivity of any packaging line.

Horizontal PFS (Pick-Fill-Seal) Packing Machine

The Horizontal PFS (Pick-Fill-Seal) Packing Machine is designed for high-volume packaging. It efficiently picks, fills, and seals a wide variety of products, from snacks to pharmaceuticals. This system is highly adaptable and is suitable for industries that require fast packaging cycles and high levels of precision.

Liquid Packing Machine

The Liquid Packing Machine is tailored to handle liquid products such as beverages, oils, and cleaning agents. It ensures consistent filling and sealing, preventing spillage and waste while maintaining the quality of the liquid inside each package.

Mini PFS (Pick-Fill-Seal) Packing Machine

The Mini PFS Packing Machine is a smaller, more compact version of the standard PFS system. Despite its smaller footprint, it delivers high-speed packaging and precision filling, making it ideal for businesses with limited space or smaller production volumes.

Multihead Weigher Packaging Machine

The Multihead Weigher Packaging Machine is designed to weigh multiple products simultaneously. This machine is ideal for industries that handle a variety of products and need to achieve precise weight distribution, ensuring that each package is filled with the right amount of product.

Multitrack Packing Machine

The Multitrack Packing Machine allows businesses to package multiple product lines at once, making it perfect for high-volume production environments. It reduces bottlenecks in the packaging process and helps improve the overall efficiency of operations.

Oil Packing Machine

Specifically designed for packaging oils and viscous liquids, the Oil Packing Machine offers precision filling to ensure each container is filled to the exact weight or volume. It is highly efficient for packaging a range of oils, from cooking oils to industrial lubricants.

Paste Packing Machine

The Paste Packing Machine is built to handle thicker materials such as sauces, creams, or pastes. It ensures accurate and efficient filling for products with varying viscosities, minimizing product wastage and improving packaging consistency.

Volumetric Packing Machine

The Volumetric Packing Machine uses a volumetric measurement system to fill products with high consistency. Suitable for products like granules, powders, and even some liquids, this machine offers excellent speed and precision for large-scale operations.

Weighmetric Packing Machine

The Weighmetric Packing Machine offers precise weight-based filling for products such as dry food items, chemicals, and industrial goods. It is an ideal choice for applications where accuracy in the filling weight is crucial to product standards.

Semi-Automatic Weighmetric Filling Machine

The Semi-Automatic Weighmetric Filling Machine is an excellent option for smaller production lines. It provides flexibility while still delivering the accuracy needed for weighing products. It is perfect for industries requiring batch production without full automation.

Semi-Automatic Volumetric Filling Machine

The Semi-Automatic Volumetric Filling Machine is designed for operations that require filling both liquids and solids. This semi-automatic system is perfect for smaller to medium-sized production lines, offering the flexibility of manual control while ensuring accurate and consistent filling.

Semi-Automatic Paste Filling Machine

For businesses that handle paste-like substances such as creams, gels, and sauces, the Semi-Automatic Paste Filling Machine offers precise filling with easy manual adjustments, ensuring a smooth and efficient process.

Heavy Duty Band Sealer Machine

The Heavy Duty Band Sealer Machine is used for sealing bags and pouches. It is ideal for packaging heavy or bulk products that require strong, reliable seals. Whether for food, chemicals, or other heavy-duty applications, this machine ensures that each product is sealed securely and consistently.

Conveyors for Efficient Packaging Lines

In addition to packaging and filling machines, FAIR PACK MACHINERIES also offers a range of Conveyors designed to improve the efficiency of packaging lines by automating the movement of materials and finished products.

Bucket Conveyor / Elevator

The Bucket Conveyor / Elevator is perfect for lifting bulk products from one level to another. Ideal for granules, powders, and granular substances, this system ensures smooth and efficient transport across various stages of the packaging process.

Flat Belt Conveyor

The Flat Belt Conveyor is one of the most versatile conveyors available, suitable for transporting a wide variety of products. It can handle both heavy and lightweight items with ease, making it an essential part of any automated packaging line.

Inclined Conveyor

The Inclined Conveyor is designed to move products at an angle, perfect for situations where products need to be lifted to different levels in the production process. It reduces product handling and ensures smooth, efficient material transport.

Roller Conveyor

The Roller Conveyor is a reliable system for moving heavy items along flat surfaces. It is particularly useful for industries that need to transport large volumes of products, such as food and beverage packaging.

Screw Conveyor

The Screw Conveyor is ideal for moving bulk materials such as flour, powder, and granular substances. The rotating screw mechanism moves products efficiently through the conveyor system, providing precise and controlled transport.

Z Conveyor

The Z Conveyor is a flexible system that moves products in a Z-shaped direction. It is designed for space-constrained production areas, offering a compact solution for efficient material handling.

Conclusion

With over two decades of experience, FAIR PACK MACHINERIES (Pvt) Ltd. continues to provide high-quality, innovative, and efficient packaging machinery to a wide range of industries. Whether you need filling, packaging, or conveying systems, our machines are designed to maximize operational efficiency, reduce waste, and maintain high product quality. As a trusted leader in the packaging industry, we are committed to supporting businesses with cutting-edge solutions that enhance their production capabilities and streamline their processes.

[ninjastar107]

'Caught Inbetween' - A protoman-centered MMC fic

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]

What was he, really? He was too advance to be like the other machines, but he was too mechanical to be human. Somehow he found himself being a bit of both, being seen as a kid dressed up in a costume by onlookers until they had a better look at his eyes.

The glow always gave him away.

Too mechanical to cause harm, but too human to follow orders. He was a machine, but to what purpose? A son? A vagabond? Blues let the 'thought' be his last. He watched the sunset through dimming vision, the orange mass wobbling and melting into the horizon.

-- "Solar powered, of course that blasted Dr. Light built this one…" an unfamiliar voice grumbled, " Faulty too, must be a prototype."

Where was he? Who was that? He was barely past the BIOS screen when the world faded out once again.

--

Something had changed. There was a new heat that ran through his tubes and wires, coursing with the force of a fusion reactor. Blues snapped his eyes open, the shock of his functions running without delay holding him in silence. Here he was again upon a table, just like the first day he was activated all over again. Above him stood the doctor -a different one this time- who marveled proudly at his work. "Who are you?" Blues asked in awe. "Just an old doctor who happened upon you. Dr. Light always gives up halfway through making a robot, and I always have to finish the job." Wily lamented, "Like with you and your faulty core that I generously replaced. Not all of his robots get this special treatment from me!" Blues sat up. The area around felt like a lab albeit a bit too bright for his liking. Why he could hardly see the doctor over the floodlight above him. A few white screens flickered against the wall, too bright for him to make out anything. "I have so little at my disposal but I had just enough to fix you up! Now you can go and fulfill your function!" Wily smiled. Blues thought on it, flexing his fingers. "I do not have one." Wily stared at him, eyes narrowing as a smug grin tugged at his cheeks, "Oh leave it to Light to not even program that into his machines… No matter, I can fix that!" Blues watched the doctor pace around before heading towards the monitors and merging with the light. He boxed his eyes in an attempt to dim the area, feeling for the light switch on the floodlight and accidentally knocking a few tools off a side table. Wily flashed a brief glare between rummaging about, his hands moving to make a slight modification to the helmet he fashioned. "Hold still now," Wily ordered and promptly stuck it on him, "There you go my boy, a little protection for your new purpose!" The world dimmed tremendously beneath the tinted visor, unveiling a level of detail more attuned to what he was used to. It must be a side effect to the new core, maybe too much energy flow to his optics? The only other explanation would be that this doctor looked at more than his power input... "You never explained what that exactly is." Wily ran a hand down his mustache in disdain, "The world out there is so cruel to someone like me, a shunned expert. Dr.Light gets all of the credit for all of the hard work I put in, why I'm practically exiled from society!" The doctor went back to rummaging, "There is this pesky robot named 'Megaman' always destroying my work! Nothing but minor setbacks, but annoying ones at that! I want you to stop him." Blues glanced down at the buster Wily had procured and offered. He had seen similar designed tools for construction droids, but never without extra wires or battery. "The pest has one similar, but yours is much more powerful. You should be able to defeat him easily- here, let ol' Dr. Wily install it for you!" Not that Blues was going to say no, this doctor saved his life after all and it wouldn't be right to not repay him in some way. He watched intently at the process, noting what parts need to be removed and readjusted so that he could reverse it later. This was just all part of the repayment plan, and once Megaman was defeated, he would return to his normal wandering ways. He wasn't programmed for combat…. but how hard could it be?

[kyndaris]

Ascending Mount Qaf

Prince of Persia is a franchise I have faithfully followed since childhood. While I was predominantly occupied by Kingdom Hearts and enjoyed many of Sony's mascot games including Jak and Daxter, Ratchet and Clank, and Sly Cooper, there was something about Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time that immediately captured my interest. Although I didn't begin playing it from the start, as soon as I got Prince of Persia: The Two Thrones on my PlayStation Portable, I was sucked in. Especially given how athletic the Prince was as he darted in and around against his foes, absorbing the sand from his enemies and having access to time powers. These concepts blew little Kyndaris's mind. And if Blinx had ever come to PlayStation, I would have gobbled up those games just as readily with all the others.

Since The Two Thrones, titles for the Prince of Persia has been few and far between, with only a reboot game and then the Forgotten Sands entry. After all, when Assassin's Creed and Far Cry can make Ubisoft buttloads of money, there's no need to introduce a competitor to your primary money-making machine.

All that changed with the shock announcement of the Sands of Time remake. Unfortunately, the title has been delayed. Perhaps indefinitely. To ameliorate the discontent of gamer's everywhere, we were bequeathed Prince of Persia: The Lost Crown instead.

This game, unlike the 3D titles that captured the hearts and minds of many, is a metroidvania-style game where you are thrust into the shoes of Sargon, a member of the Immortals. After the prince is kidnapped, Sargon and the Immortals set out to rescue him on the mythical Mount Qaf and find themselves trapped in a place where time no longer flows as it once did.

Along the way, Sargon unlocks special abilities by collecting Simurgh feathers and faces off against alternate versions of himself. About a third of the way through the game, Sargon catches up to Anahita and the Prince, only for the leader of the Immortals, Vahram, to murder the prince and throws Sargon from a cliff. After surviving the fall, Sargon seeks a way to go back in time to stop Vahram.

Although Sargon is successful, he loses Anahita in the process. As he battles against Vahram, he learned the leader of the Immortals is the long lost son of King Darius, the previous king of Persia who was assassinated by Thomyris. Despite this slight, Vahram does not seek the throne. Rather, he hopes to ascend to godhood and remake the world in his vision.

The rest of the game sees Sargon seek to stop the mad Vahram. It all culminates in a battle atop Mount Qaf, harkening a little to almost every single Japanese role-playing game where the last boss is always a God, or someone who tries to claim such powers. By game's end, I did wonder if I had somehow stumbled into a Tales of or Final Fantasy title.

Of course, Vahram's redesign as Time and Space (a terrible name for a God. Perhaps try Bhunivelze? ? Maybe throw in a full Latin choir to chat throughout the entirety of the boss battle just for kicks) was a little lacklustre in my opinion.

Perhaps it's how often I've seen such stories play out that I was hoping for a little more spectacle.

That's not to mention all the plot holes scattered throughout the game, like how did young Vahram initially escape Mount Qaf in the first place to found the Immortals. If he was trapped on Mount Qaf (and players do see versions of him throughout the main story - with Sargon even helping him), why is there another version of him who is too far gone? And where did the alternate Sargons come from? When I first stumbled upon them, I was a little confused as to how they came into being. Perhaps if there had been more exposition on these phenomena, it would have made more sense.

Then there is the fact that Sargon went back in time to save Prince Ghassan. However, Menolias and Orod are apparently still dead.

Not to mention the prophecy of Mount Qaf which alludes to three Princes rather than two. And the way Thomyris allows her son, Prince Ghassan, to walk away from the throne but was more distressed when Sargon, too, left after the revelation she had usurped the throne from King Darius.

These aside, my main gripe with The Lost Crown is the tight timing when it came to parrying attacks and the punishing extra damage. Throughout most of the game, I relied more on dodging instead of relying on parries although the game does encourage such use through the amulets Sargon can equip for use.

Maybe it was simply a matter of me learning enemy patterns but I simply did not have the patience, given how risky it was.

Notably, as well, was the platforming. True, I should probably try and start to 'get good' but it's frustrating when Sargon has so many abilities and one needs to keep all of them in mind as he jumps and backflips his way through, while also crisscrossing into the unseen world to navigate his way through the Citadel. Especially given where these abilities are mapped to.

Like, I know what I'm supposed to do, but my over 30 reflexes no longer work as intended. That, or I mispress something and do something that ruins my entire run although I was just a platform away from being on safe ground.

Very frustrating.

Nobody wants to waste forty minutes trying to desperately get a King Xerxes coin. Still, it's a learning experience. And every failure is a step forward...

...is what I would say if it wasn't so rage-inducing.

This is exactly why I don't play Soulsborne games for fear that I'll always be so close to victory but have it snatched from me in the last moment.

And I simply don't have the time to keep retrying and retrying.

Well, maybe I do, but the perfectionist in me would have me throwing myself at the problem until the wee hours of the morning if I can't get it, and it still wouldn't be satisfied even if I did pull it off. There is no dopamine rush. Only stress and adrenaline that leaves me shaking.

Anyways, I can still see why gamers would still enjoy The Lost Crown. And it is a great game that has been fine-tuned for those with the skills necessary to take out all the challenges the developers have concocted. While it did prove a little frustrating to me in the later stages, the game does also include accessibility options for the main path that didn't detract from the game. In the end, it allowed me to see the end of the game and play it as I liked. Without knowing where the next Prince of Persia entry will land, The Lost Crown is still a worthy game to keep gamers busy.

More importantly, it's not another open-world entry with towers to synchronise with.

Goodness, the fatigue is real and is one of the main reasons I skipped out on Avatar: Frontiers of Pandora. That and I never did fall in love with James Cameron's alien world.

[shaotie]

Seven Years - Ch 19: Sophisticated Five-in-One Microwave

Leo’s eyelids stayed half open, but everything looked and felt and sounded dull - like he wasn’t all the way present in the room and as though his head was dunked under water - and his body felt numb, like he was floating and not laying on the gurney Raph put him on in the med bay.

Worst of all, his body didn't reactively flinch from the prick of a needle he couldn't feel, and he didn't know what was happening around him.

Krang Prime and the prison dimension were still superimposed across his vision, looking distorted, but everything else was completely blurry beyond recognition. Leo tried to focus his vision, so he could see the world he was really in, but his fully dilated pupils wouldn’t focus for him, he had no control over them whatsoever. In fact, he had no control over anything.

All he could do was see a blurry haze and listen.

See Krang standing in front of him with nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, unable to look away or close his eyes to block out the scary sight.

And although he could hear muffled voices, he couldn't make out what they were saying, especially not over the sounds of the monstrous Krang, who was standing right in front of him, looking down on him, tauntingly laughing at his misery.

It was around that moment Leo could fell a pull on his consciousness, like a heaviness was dragging him down and clouding his vision with darkness.

Even though he was still hallucinating he tried to fight it, because he didn't want to leave his family a second time by losing consciousness, maybe never to awake.

But the fog and the blackness were taking over, and even though he pleaded with himself inside his mind to stay, not to be taken away from his family again for who knows how long this time, (perhaps never to return) he didn't have the strength he needed to stop it from happening, so he felt his mind drift away into the black nothingness of unconsciousness.

Just under two hours later Leo began coming to.

As his consciousness gradually drifted in like the rising tide, ebbing and flowing with the ever encroaching waves, and even though his eyes were already half open he still appeared to be unconscious to everyone else.

Leo's hearing and vision gradually came back first, and he was grateful to see the scary prison dimension hallucination was finally over, but he didn't feel fully present, like he might dip under into unconsciousness again, so he tried to stay grounded in the room by latching on to the sound of voices so he didn't drift away.

Or maybe it would be better if he did drift away. Drift away and slip into a coma he would never wake up from. That seemed like the better option for dying than the other ones that haunted his mind.

But if he wasn't dying yet Leo wanted to hang on to every moment he had left with his family. So he pushed through his fears and kept clinging to the voices that were coming in clearly now, thinking the name of the one who spoke to help keep him here in the present.

"He looks so pale."

'April.'

"Did you understand everything I told you?"

'Draxum.'

"Yeah, but . . ."

'Mikey'

"It's just a lot to process."

'Casey.'

Leo tried to move his eyes, to look around the still blurry room, hoping someone would see the movement and realize he was awake now.

But nothing happened.

Nothing happened when he tried to move his finger, too. Or, at least, he assumed nothing happened, but he wasn't really quite sure because he still didn't feel like he was in his body. It felt more like he was floating above it, and he couldn't feel any of the machines or the IV needle hooked up to him, or the blanket covering him or the mattress and pillow beneath him.

"It's all happening too fast."

'Donnie.'

"How much time does he have left now?"

'Raph.' Big, strong, dependable Raph, who sounded like he was fighting back tears.

It broke Leo's heart.

There was a pause before Draxum replied in a sad, soft tone.

"One year. Maybe less."

'ONE YE...'

Leo’s mind immediately fled, sucked back into the void of unconsciousness like he was caught up in the powerful pull of a swirling whirlpool from the shock of hearing how much time he lost since Draxum last told him, and how little time he now had left with his family who he loved.

Leo didn't have any strange dreams this time, instead it was like he was teetering around the edge of the nothingness of unconsciousness. Not aware of his surroundings, his mind devoid of thoughts and feelings, but somehow it seemed like he was able to judge the passage of time, as though he was an asleep passenger on a train who fully roused to the sound of their destination being announced through the speakers. When he awoke again, he sensed he had only been out of it for no more an hour.

Once again he latched on to the sound of voices in the room.

"Hey Dee, how are things going in the lab?"

'Mikey.'

"Good, the mutaten's ready and in the medical fridge, now it's just a waiting game. Did he wake up at all?"

'Donnie.'

"No, I don't think so, although it's hard to tell with his eyes half open like that. But he didn't move."

'April'

Leo saw what looked like a shadow come across his blurry, hazy vision - which he didn't know was Donnie leaning over him to look into his eyes - and he tried so hard to force them to focus when he heard Donnie's voice from right above his face say:

"He doesn't look any different, his pupils are still fully dilated. Did you give him his eye drops?"

"Yeah, I did that ten minutes ago."

'Mikey! I hear you, why can't you hear me!?" Leo cried out in his mind; knowing the answer but feeling so frustrated about this whole situation that he wanted to cry. But couldn't.

Next, Donnie put his hand on Leo's shoulder and gently shook it, but the slider didn't know because he couldn't feel a thing as his concerned twin brother tenderly called out: "Leo. Hey Leo, can you hear me?"

There was a pause and then the shadow left and Leo heard Donnie say: "Still nothing."

'No it's not nothing, I'm here! I'm right here Donnie, listen to me!"

Nothing but silence.

~Some Time Later~

Leo didn’t know if he drifted off into unconsciousness or sleep, but this time he awoke to a bright light being shone in his eyes, which was Donnie using a pen flashlight, hoping to get a reaction from his unresponsive pupils.

But his brother's eyes remained exactly the way they had been ever since this whole situation happened, half closed and fully dilated, blurring the world around him.

“Do you have to keep doing that to him?” Leo heard April's cross voice.

“Yes Prill, I’m looking for a reaction,” Donnie replied factually.

“Can’t you tell how he’s doing with that brain scan thingy stuck to the back of his head?”

‘Mikey,’ Leo thought to himself, trying to keep his wobbly head grounded in reality.

“No, it’s a crude design and it was a rush job. It only informs us if there’s an emergency we need to tend to post haste and I just don't have time to work on a better design, there's too many changes happening too fast, Draxum and I together can barely keep on top of his constantly changing medical needs and don't get me started on how hard it's been to make time for my necessary research!”

‘Donnie.’

Leo tried to wiggle the fingers on his right hand but couldn’t do anything. Well, at least he thought he couldn’t do anything, because he still couldn't feel his body, like he was floating above it. But the numbed senses in his head were beginning to clear, and that was when he noticed there was a thin tube stretching across his face, blowing oxygen into his nostrils.

The dry air he continually breathed in with every breath annoyed him and he wanted to take it off, but he still couldn’t budge an inch; or even make his eyes focus, no matter how much he yelled at himself inside his mind to do that now while Donnie was right beside his head, looking down on him.

“Why doesn’t Draxum use that brain scan thing in his lab to find out if Leo’s conscious or not?”

‘April.’

“We only did that once because it was necessary at the time, but we can’t keep moving him around. It’s better for Leo if he stays here, in bed.”

‘Donnie!’ Leo tried to yell. But nothing happened.

He didn’t feel it when Donnie lifted the blankets off his feet and poked the sole of his foot with the sharp tip of a needle, trying to get an automatic reflex response. He also didn’t feel it when Donnie systematically poked the needle into his skin starting at his feet and working his way up his body. And while he did that, Leo started to sense that he was able to focus his eyes, so he put all his attention into that.

The room blurred and focused, over and over as his eyes were adjusting, and by the time Donnie was done his prick test, Leo could clearly see the white, tiled ceiling above his head (thankfully someone shut off the lights directly over him)

And now he was working on trying to move his eyes.

“How is he?” came a sad little voice from Mikey.

“Same as before. It’s time to give him his next dose of medication,” Donnie replied in a sad voice as well (one he was clearly trying to make sound factual) before flicking the blanket back over his unresponsive brother's body, to keep him warm.

Leo heard him doing something at a tray by his head, and he hoped Donnie would look at the now-focused pupils of his eyes before walking away.

Donnie injected three separate syringes of liquid medication into Leo’s IV line, and when he was done he turned his head around to ask April: "Clean this up for me Pril? I'm going back to Draxum’s lab, I have important work that can't wait.”

"Yeah, of course, Dee."

‘No, no don’t go! Look at me! Look at me, Donnie look at me!’

Thankfully, Donatello gave Leo’s face a passing glass before leaving, but froze in his tracks when he saw his brother looking back at him.

All the tension in Donnie’s body softened, as did his facial expression as he gave his twin a loving, wobbly smile and said in a voice that was far too soft and kind and tender to be coming out of his mouth of all people:

“Hi Leo, it’s good to see you awake.”

“Leo’s awake!”

Mikey and April were the only other two in the med bay at the moment, and they rushed over to be by Leo’s side, with Mikey standing on his left by his head, and April standing alongside Donnie, on his right.

Only able to move his eyes, he looked at their sad yet smiling faces one at a time, before giving his attention back to Donnie.

“Get the others,” Dee told someone.

April rushed out of the room and he called out: “Inform Draxum first!”

After that, Donnie gave Leo his attention again and spoke to him in such an uncharacteristically kind, soft tone of voice that was so full of pity it was nauseating to the slider; making Leo wished he could shake some sense into him to make him stop talking that way and go back to being his annoying 'facts and logic' twin brother, even if that meant listening to his voice drone on and on for hours about whatever latest hyper-focus he was fixated on.

“Hey Leo, I’m going to get you to follow my pen with your eyes, ok? It’s in my hand, see?”

Leo looked at the pen in Donnie’s hand and traced it with his eyes as Dee moved it back and forth and up and down, and all around in circles three times that kind of made him dizzy and want to blink a few times. But his eyelids still weren’t working for him.

“That’s good Nardo, you did good, now I'm going to shine a light in your eyes to make sure your pupils are responding.” Donnie next shone the light in Leo's eyes, one at a time, before putting the pen flashlight away and clicking at his wrist tech, inputting this new information into a medical chart app he designed, that he shared wirelessly with the same app on Draxum’s wrist com.

Incidentally, at first his family wanted the app installed on their cell phones too, but when Donnie gave them access they realized everything was written in medical jargon they couldn’t understand. So all of them gave up on it, except for Mikey, who kept it around to occasionally open and peruse, for nothing more than comfort, because it somehow made him feel connected to Leo.

April came back with Raph, who were entering the room as Mikey got in the slider's line of vision.

“Hi Leo!” his little brother said with so much cheerfulness and love it made Leo want to smile and reach out to give him a hug.

But he still couldn’t do anything beyond moving his eyes around.

“How are you doing, buddy?” Raph asked next.

All Leo could do was look up at him, and he kept his eyes on his big brother who looked at Donnie when he said: “We’re about to find out,” while attaching a goose neck tablet holder to the side of Leo’s bed.

While he was securing the stand, Dee looked at April and asked: “Did you inform Draxum? Where’s Pops?”

“Yeah, I let Draxum know, he said he’ll be in as soon as he finishes with the next batch of medication, and that you can take over until then. And Splints just finished cake and milk so…” “Say no more,” Donnie replied, making Leo smile internally at the memories of their predictable dad snacking on cake with a big glass of milk, and promptly falling into such a deep slumber no one could rouse him for the next two hours (and all the shenanigans he and his brothers got into over the years because they knew they could get away with murder when Splinter was sound asleep after cake and milk; with none of the four little turtle tots giving thought to the consequences of leaving a trail of evidence behind for Splinter to find when he awoke. Not until they got older and a little bit wiser, of course).

Next, Donnie attached his tablet to the the claw grip on top of the stand, and Leo looked up at it to see three big words, each in a white, rectangle box:

Yes

Maybe

No

He then looked at Donnie when his twin brother told him: “Alright Leo, I’m working on an app that uses an eye sensor so you can communicate with us until Draxum and I fix this whole situation. It’s still in beta and the only options that work are yes, no, and maybe, but they can be used for other things, like good, bad, and so-so, or high, low, and in between, so on and so forth. The function is simple, look at the word you want to communicate and give a hard blink to select it. The voice right now is a one I hauled off the internet. Go ahead, give it a try by playing around with the controls, and when you feel comfortable look at me and I’ll begin my questions."

Leo took his eyes off Donnie’s face to look at the ‘yes’ on the screen, but when he tried to blink, he was only able to slightly wince his right eyelids.

“Have no fear my mutant brethren, I came prepared with a plan B.”

Donnie took the tablet out of the stand to click at it some more, and when he put it back over Leo’s face, he explained: “Now when you hold a gaze on a word for two point five seconds, it will select for you. Try it out.”

Leo felt a wave of relief wash over him when he stared at the ‘yes’ on the screen and a voice said: “Yes,” through the tablet speakers; and he noticed everyone else in the room also breathed a sigh of relief.

Leo played around with the controls for a bit and when he was ready he looked at Donnie, waiting for him to proceed with the questions and glad his factual twin brother finally lost the super kind, tender, 'I pity my poor, pathetic brother’ tone of voice and went back to the usual ‘factual and logical’ Donnie Leo was used to.

“The first thing we’re going to try are some control questions to make sure you understand what we’re saying. Select the yes.”

Leo looked at the yes and the voice said: “Yes.”

“Look at the ‘no’."

Leo did what he was told and the female voice in the tablet said: “No.”

Donnie did this with Leo for a few rounds, and when he was satisfied, he moved on to simple questions Leo should know the answers to, to check his brain function and memory.

“If your name is Raph look at yes, Mikey, maybe, or Leo, no.”

Leo chose no.

“If you're fifteen click yes, sixteen click maybe, seventeen click no.”

Leo considered looking away since he was really twenty three after his seven years in the prison dimension; but he was technically in the body of a sixteen year old, the whole thing was only a few minutes for them, and he didn’t want to worry his family, so he clicked ‘maybe.’

Donnie ran over a number of questions with Leo, testing his memory, function, and cognition, finishing with:

”Are you the most annoying brother ever?”

Raph shot Dee a dirty look but the corner of Leo’s mouth twitched when he tried to smile, and he looked at the tablet to click: “Yes.”

“See, even he agrees!” Donnie defensively told Raph.

“Yeah, but still, you shouldn’t have asked something like that,” the overprotective big brother of the family complained.

The corner of Leo's mouth twitched again from this familiar banter, before they both gave him their attention. Now that Donnie was satisfied Leo’s memory, awareness, and cognition appeared to be normal, he tensed a little and asked:

“Are you in any pain?”

Leo noticed Raph and the others tensed too, and he considered answering ‘maybe’ since the dry air of the oxygen tube was really, really annoying, but he didn’t want to unnecessarily worry his family; so he answered: “No.”

Raph breathed a sigh of relief and the tension he and the others were holding in eased. It was around this Splinter came in the room to check on his Baby Blue, dragging his tired feet and yawning while rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

“How is Blue? Are there any…” Splinter stopped mid-sentence when he noticed everyone standing around Leo’s bed, and Mikey looked at him with a beaming smile and told him: “Leo’s awake!”

"Why didn't anyone get come me!?" the angry mutant rat demanded.

April dryly replied with: "I did come get you, but you had milk and cake."

"Oh, right."

Splinter's tense composure immediately softened and now he felt bad for calling Leo ‘Blue,’ when he assumed Leonardo was unconscious; like he was used to doing all of his son's life but Leo didn't want to hear anymore because apparently that was something Krang Prime used to call him. But he brushed that aside and likewise brushed Raphael aside when he walked up to Leo’s bedside, by his head, to gaze down on his ailing son with a set of soft, loving eyes.

Leo looked up at his dad’s face, and if he could, tears would have filled his eyes at how sad, broken-hearted, and utterly defeated his dad looked. And he would have cried for sure at the tender way Splinter greeted him, reaffirming his love for him.

Leo didn’t take his eyes off his dad’s face when Donnie factually told him: “Leo’s mind seems to be working fine, his memories are intact and he’s fully aware of where he is, who he is, and who we are. I’m in the middle of asking him some important questions, you can stay if you want.”

“Yes, yes I do want to stay,” Splinter replied. He gently grasped Leo’s hand before sitting down in the chair by his head, but Leo didn’t know it because his body still felt numb - almost nonexistent. Then he tore his eyes away from his grief-stricken dad to look back at Donnie when he was ready to continue.

“I’ll ask you a few more questions and then I’ll explain what’s going on and what we’re doing about it. Do you think you can follow along with all of that?”

“Yes,” Leo replied through the app. The fogginess threatening to drag him back under into a state of unconsciousness was gone, and his mind felt clear.

If only he could say the same thing about his body.

“Are you in any discomfort?”

Leo felt relief wash over him when Donnie asked that question, and he quickly replied: “Yes.”

“Alright, we’ll start with you head and work our way down. Is it on your head?”

“Yes.”

“The top of your head?”

“No.”

“The back?”

“No.”

“The front?”

“Yes.”

“Is it on your face?”

“Yes.”

“Your forehead?”

“No.”

“Your eyes?”

“No.”

“Your nose?”

“Yes.”

“Is it the oxygen tube?”

“Yes.”

“Is the tube uncomfortable on your face?”

“No.”

“Is the air drying out your nose?”

“Yes.”

Donnie looked down to click at his wrist tech and said: “Ok Leo, Casey’s out at the store now, I’ll text him to pick up some saline nasal spray and a humidifier, that should help. But we can’t take the oxygen away just yet, so it’ll be another hour or two before we can get you any relief. Are you ok with that?”

Leo only answered: “Yes,” because he felt there really wasn’t any other choice; he didn’t want to bother Casey by making him stop whatever else he was doing (that he figured was probably important and somehow already connected to him) to grab him the stuff he wanted, drop it off here, and then go out again to finish his shopping.

When Donnie was done clicking at his wrist tech he looked at Leo to ask: “Are you in any discomfort anywhere else?”

“No.”

“Ok Leo, I’m going to prick your skin with a needle. I did that earlier, before you woke up, but now that you’re awake I want to find out if I’ll get a reaction, or if you feel anything."

Everyone held their breath, hopeful, as Donnie pushed aside the blanket to begin the needle prick test. But their hope turned to disappointment when Leo's body didn't reactively flinch or in any way respond to his poke, and even more so when Leo systematically answered 'maybe' to Donnie's question after each poke: "Did you feel anything?" feeling a somewhat disconnected dull sense of pressure and nothing more.

When he was done, Donnie put the needle away and said to Leo: "Ok, we established you didn't feel much of anything and your body also didn't react, but I'm going to ask you this question for clarification purposes. Can you feel all of your head?”

Leo stared at the tablet.

“Yes.”

“Can you feel the rest of your body? Anything at all?”

“Maybe,” Leo replied, hoping Donnie would get the point he could feel a little, like his consciousness settled into his head and mind but was still hovering a few inches above his body.

“Does that mean you can feel some parts but not others?”

“No.”

“Does that mean you can feel a little but not a lot?”

“Yes.”

“Ok, how does your body feel? Numb?”

“No.”

“Tingly?”

“No.”

”Dull, like you’re not all the way in it?”

Hammer meet nail.

“Yes.”

“Alright, I got it. And don’t worry Nardo, you won’t be like this for long, Draxum and I are working on something we know will help. We don't know exactly how long it will take, except that it'll be ready in no more than two days.”

This time a tear did run down Leo’s cheek at the total relief he felt that he wouldn’t have to spend the rest of his days like this, never able to hold or hug his loved ones, or even feel their warm embrace in return, like how he currently couldn't feel Splinter holding his hand and stroking the back of it, beyond the vague sensation there was some sort of pressure somewhere on his body, but he couldn't pin it down.

“Are you still with us?” Donnie asked.

Leo didn’t realize his mind was drifting - or that someone (April) wiped away the tear on his face. He refocused his blurry eyes, looked at Donnie, and then used the table to reply: “Maybe.” Feeling the tug of unconsciousness pulling at the back of his mind once more.

"Do you need a break?"

"No."

“Can you follow along while I tell you what’s going on?”

“Yes,” Leo answered - even though the right answer was really a firm ‘maybe’, but he didn’t want Donnie to put off telling him something he wanted to know now.

Donnie started by telling Leo: “Draxum couldn't join us, he's busy in the lab, making a new batch of your medication, so that means the job of explaining has been given to yours truly.”

Donnie stopped and looked away momentarily when his bottom lip quivered, and Leo wanted so badly to pull him in for a hug when he saw that, but he still couldn’t feel anything and wasn’t able to do as much as twitch the tip of his little finger.

April came to the ‘rescue’ when Leo saw she put her hand on Donnie’s arm, and the softshell who wasn’t normally one to tear up got control of himself, cleared his throat, and said:

“The gist of it is that there’s a disruption between your brain and your body. But the good news is Draxum absolutely insists it can be fixed with the right amount of mutagen combined with my ingenious tech, because those neurons weren’t irrevocably damaged by the changes happening to your brain from the prison dimens…woah, woah Leo, are you still with us?”

Everything went blurry when Leo’s eyes began to unfocus, and the sounds became muffled as his mind began withdrawing from the present at the phrase ‘prison dimension.’ But he came back again when Donnie helped by snapping his fingers right above his face.

As soon as Donnie saw Leo’s eye refocus on his hand, he asked: “Are you ok?”

“Yes.”

“Ok, do you want me to keep going?”

“Yes.”

Donnie raised one eyebrow and asked in a skeptical tone: “Are you sure?”

Leo shot him a glance that he hoped expressed his annoyance (it didn’t), and firmly (at least in his mind) replied: “Yes.”

“Ok, if you’re positive, Nardo.”

Donnie took a deep breath and gave careful consideration to his next words, not wanting to trigger Leo to go black again by bringing up his hallucination and subsequent panic attack. When he got his words together, he said:

“The stress you had caused a massive bleed in your brain that, in turn, caused a stroke, damaging some of the neurons in your…uh, brain,” he repeated, about to go off into a detailed explanation of exactly what neurons were damaged in exactly what part of the brain, as his personal form of stress relief, but he stopped himself and kept it simple for Leo.

“The pathways between the nerves that control your motor functions were damaged, and the damage was too extensive for the natural regenerative powers in your fabulously engineered mutant turtle body to heal, but as I said, Draxum and I are currently working on a cure. And…”

Leo’s vision began blurring again, not because he was losing consciousness, but because this time his tired mind was drifting off into much-needed sleep.

He didn’t know it, but his eyes closed all on their own, sending him into a deep, satisfying slumber that lasted a few hours before he awoke again.

Leo woke up to the sound of voices again, not knowing if everything had been momentarily black because his eyes were closed or because his vision were still coming into focus.

As soon as his blurry vision cleared, he looked around to try and find out where the voices were coming from, who was here, and to try and figure out if there was any way for him to communicate that he had an annoyingly distracting itch on the tip of his nose he really wanted someone to scratch for him. But at least the dry oxygen air wasn’t bothering him anymore, either because someone squirt saline spray up his nose when he was asleep, or because of the humidifier he noticed was pumping out a refreshing cool mist over his head; or a combination of them both.

Near the door, Leo saw the noise that woke him up was coming from Donnie gingerly pulling a large techy looking contraption on wheels into the med bay, with Draxum pushing from the other side.

Raph was there, too, watching them, ready to lend a hand if necessary, and when he heard a sound to his right, Leo turned his eyes that way to see Mikey curled up on a recliner beside his bed, asleep under Draxum’s living room throw.

No one was in a position to see that Leo was awake yet and he really wanted that persistent itch scratched, so he looked back at the tablet but was disappointed to be met by a screen saver.

Leo wasn't sure what to do next, beyond waiting for someone to notice he was awake, so he occupied his time by following the bouncing color changing screen saver ball around with his eyes for a few seconds. But when it went to the bottom right corner, he noticed a small box that read ‘Leo click here’, making his heart fill with fondness for the twin brother who had been very busy working with Draxum (for him) but yet took the time and put enough thought into his communication app to give him access to turn it on himself when he woke up (no doubt lacking ample sleep on his account).

The first thing Leo saw when the app appeared on the screen was that in addition to the 'yes', 'no', 'maybe' options, he was met with a qwerty keyboard that had a list of common words and phrases below it.

Donnie would have done much more for Leo if he wasn’t busy trying to fix... well everything, but he had made a mental note to work on improvements to the app here and there whenever he had a chance, in case something like this happened to Leo again (Hopefully not, but it was always good to be prepared).

The very first thing Leo did was jolt Mikey awake when he used the app to say: “What’s a turtle got to do around here to get a nose scratch?” which was still in the original voice because Donnie didn’t have time to do what he wanted and download sound data from audio files he had of Leo talking.

Everyone abruptly stopped what they were doing and looked at the slider in surprise, with the thoughtful Mikey immediately sitting up and reaching over to scratch Leo’s nose, offering a pleasant: “Good morning! How does that feel?”

Mikey stopped scratching and Leo looked up at the table to reply: “Good. How long was I asleep?” He glanced at Raph when his big bro walked over to him with a sad-looking smile (one he wanted to slap off his face and tell him to 'smarten up' and stop looking at him like he was dying or something - which, of course, he was, but he didn't want to be treated that way). But then he gave Donnie his attention when his twin walked up to him and told him: “Nine and a half hours, just long enough for me to complete this masterpiece!”

Donnie proudly gestured with both hands to the new piece of tech he created, and after looking it over, Leo used the tablet to joke: “Oh great, my own personal med bay microwave. Stick a few pizza burritos in that bad boy,” because he knew Donnie hated it when his family undermined his hard ‘genius’ work by comparing his technology to common household appliances.

Leo snickered internally when Donnie’s smile dropped and he sternly replied with an air of annoyance (exactly the reaction Leo was fishing for): “Scoff! Does this look like a microwave to you!?”

When Leo’s gazed switched to the tablet, Donnie flatly said: “Don’t answer that,” so he looked at him again as he continued.

“This my brethren is a sophisticated five in one piece of intelligent engineering made by your genius in residence!” He scowled and angrily added: “And it is definitely not a microwave, dummy!”

Leo internally laughed some more when he heard Mikey stifling a laugh, but only because he didn’t want Raph to hear him because their big brother shot Donnie a dirty look and sternly told him: “Don’t talk to Leo that way! Can’t you see he’s suffering!”

“He’s also the one who started it!” Donnie argued back.

“So help me Don…”

“Can your five in one marvel of engineering heat up a burrito, resident genius?” Leo's tablet interrupted.

He was already preparing his next response when Raph rolled his eyes and walked away to help Draxum push Donnie’s tech into the med bay, and Donnie replied: “No it can not heat up a burrito, but it can…”

“Boooring #eyeroll #yawnie face,” Leo interrupted, having that answer already prepared and ready to go.

Despite his current circumstances, this playful banter with his family made him laugh internally some more, even moreso when Mikey’s shoulders bounced from his hearty laughter.

Although no one could hear Leo but himself, they both laughed even harder because the protective big brother of the family tensed and glared at the back of Donnie’s head when the softshell flatly replied to Leo: “You can’t even eat a burrito in your condition, dumb-dumb.”

Then Dee stuck his smug grin back on his face and continued in a more positive tone, but with his 'evil genius' look in his eyes:

“But you will be able to eat one momentarily once we hook you up to this bad boy!”

Leo grimaced internally at the sight of a very big, intimidating-looking machine full of switches and knobs, lights and wires - one that was even taller than him (if he could stand up). He looked up at his tablet, but Donnie seemed to know what he was thinking before he even wrote out two words, reassuring him: “No, it will not hurt, Nardo.”

“But the mutagen will sting your arm going in, if you can feel it,” Draxum calmly informed Leonardo next.

He walked up to Leo’s bed holding up a syringe containing bright green mutagen, while Donnie helped Raph put his tech in place, and then Drax looked at Leo’s head like he was inspecting something, although the slider wasn’t sure what.

Barry laid the syringe down on a nearby medical tray and felt around in his lab coat pocket for his thermometer, while asking his son: “How do you feel?”

Leo did a mental check, feeling the same dull-not-fully-in-his-body sensation he always felt since this happened to him, and then did a check of his head, before using the tablet to reply: “Fine. A little warm, small headache,” assuming Draxum was already informed he couldn’t feel his body.

“You look mildly feverish,” his goat dad commented. He swiped his thermometer across Leo’s head and showed the number to Donnie (and by extension Raph and Mikey) after looking at it himself. Then he pocketed it again and, as Donnie wiped the sweat off Leo’s head with a wet cloth in preparation of attaching some electrodes, Draxum informed him: “You have a much higher fever than I suspected, considering your current symptoms. Donatello informed me you cannot feel your body, is that still correct?”

“Yes,” Leo replied through the app.

Barry nodded and glanced at what Donnie was doing now, mentally confirming he was placing the electrodes in just the right spots on Leo’s unmasked head, before saying to Leonardo: “You may be feeling quite unwell but are unaware of it because of your current condition.”

After that, his opened a small portal, reached through into the lab where it led, and pulled back holding a solution of fever medication. The portal disappeared and he drew some up in a syringe to add it to Leo’s IV line. Then he put it on the medical tray and said: “Inform me of any other symptoms you may have once this procedure is over, understood?”

Leo moaned in his mind, not wanting to stay like this but also not liking the thought of getting his senses back, only to find out he was feeling gravely ill, but instead of communicating any of that he simply used the app to reply: “Yes.”

“Good,” Draxum responded, before instructing: “Everyone but Donatello, leave. This procedure requires focus and concentration.”

“Aw man,” Mikey whined, as he got out of his chair and waved good bye, saying: “See you in a bit, Leo.” Then Raph told him: “We’ll be waiting outside the door.”

Leo watched as his big bro walked over to a recliner further back in the med bay where the slider didn’t know until now his dad was sleeping, and Raph nudged him awake and said: “C’mon Pops, Draxum says we gotta leave the med bay for a bit.”

After Splinter came over to squeeze his son's hand and say: “I’m looking forward to hearing your voice again, Leonardo,” everyone left and closed the door behind them. Then Leo heard a ‘click’ and the humming of Donnie’s tech warming up, and looked up at Draxum when he told him: “You will require a clear head for this to work, and for optimal, quicker results, access to your mystic powers, otherwise this procedure will take a minimum of two hours. Do you have a clear head?”

Leo looked up at the tablet without hesitation and replied with a: “Yes," not feeling the pull of unconsciousness trying to drag him under anymore.

“Do you also have access to your mystic powers?” came the next question.

Leo searched within himself but he really wasn’t sure if that gentle warmth he could sense but not locate was his mystic ninpo or something else; so he kept searching himself out, trying to figure if that was what he felt or not.

Draxum seemed to understand why he was hesitating to respond, so suggested: “Try activating your ninpo now.”

Donnie helped a little with Leo's focus when he walked away to flick off the main, overhead lights. And almost as soon as the room went dark, a soft glow emitted from his body, one that was bright enough under the med bay blankets for the glow from the markings on his arms and legs to show through. But not the blue markings on his shell because he was laying on his back, propped up a little on a slight incline so there wasn’t a repeat of what happened the day he woke up choking on his own vomit.

“Good,” came the calm, stalwart voice of Leo's dad who had been an anchor for him through all of this.

The glow faded away, leaving the dim room illuminated by only a few secondary lights Draxum installed in the med bay when he first constructed his home.

Next, Draxum looked up at Donnie and the softshell double checked everything was ready on his end, before giving him a nod. Then he took off Leo’s blanket so they could immediately see any movements from his body - no matter how slight - and Draxum removed the tablet, stand and all, to get it out of the way.

“I will be injecting pure, concentrated mutagen into your bloodstream,” Leo's dad next told him. “As I said before, it will sting your arm going in, if you can feel it of course. After two minutes, once the mutagen has sufficiently coursed through your body, Donatello will activate his mystic tech in conjunction with the physical tech he has created. At that time, your job will be to activate your ninpo in tandem with Donatello’s, thereby speeding up the process from a few hours to merely a few minutes. You may feel a tingling sensation as the neurons repair themselves and your senses returning. Do you understand everything I’ve told you?”

Draxum held up the tablet long enough for Leo to answer: “Yes,” and he also answered ‘yes’ to Draxum’s question: “Are you ready?”

Then he put it down and injected the mutagen that Leo couldn’t feel in the slightest, except for a mild flush of warmness in his already warm head when it spread throughout the blood vessels in his entire body.

Two minutes later, Draxum nodded to Donnie, who placed his fingers on Leo’s head, with each fingertip directly on top of one of six electrodes he carefully attached to his paralytic brother.

When his purple ninpo glowed over his hands, he watched as it spread to the electrodes, up the wires to his new piece of tech; and as soon as the entire machine glowed purple, he firmly instructed: “Now, Leo!”

Leo’s ninpo immediately lit up on the markings on his face and body. Almost right away he began feeling a tingly sensation sweeping down his body, through his arms to his fingers, and down his legs until it reached his toes. He managed to gasp in a deep breath through his mouth, focusing his mind on the sensation of his lungs filling up with air, and he blinked his eyes a few times before closing them to help him concentrate.

Leo’s entire body felt numb and prickly, like when he laid on his foot or hand the wrong way and it fell asleep. But he was able to take deep, purposeful, meditative breaths in through his nose and out his mouth. Then when he tried to move the index finger on his dominate right hand, it twitched.

What came next was all too much for the ill slider. In a single wave, from his head down to his feet, his senses returned to him all at once, bombarding him with too much too fast.

In addition to the regular sense of touch - the mattress under his body, the oxygen monitor pinching his left pinkie finger, the heart monitor attached to his chest, and all the other medical devices hooked up to him, he felt a wave of raw pain in his achy, feverish body. But what was worst of all was the digestive acid that felt like it was burning a hole through his stomach on top of the overbearing nausea.

As soon as he was able to move, the first thing he did was roll up into a ball on his side, sweating and shivering and feeling the hot, acrid burn in the back of his throat when he urged into his hand three or four times.

Draxum quickly took Leo’s temperature once more, frowning down at the still-high number the fever medicine should have reduced at least a little by now; but Leo ignored him and opened his eyes when he heard Donnie’s patronizing voice. Only to see his 'twinsie' eye-to-eye with him a few inches away from his face, with a smug grin, as he cheekily inquired:

“Still want that burrito, dumb-dumb?”

Leo lowered his hand off his mouth, wrapping his arms around his stomach because of how gross he felt. But of course, being Leo he couldn't pass up the opportunity for a good joke, so he playfully replied:

“Only if I can cook it in that fancy new microwave of yours, egghead.”

Grave News for a Busy Skeleton

"My name is Akimitsu Nakamura. I was sent here by Baron Draxum with an important message from his son, Leonardo Hamato."

🔹🔹🔹

<<previous || next>>

🔹Seven Years masterpost

[kyliesnaked]

The Mommy Protocol

Chapter 7.2

Day One

I don’t know how long I was alone, but Alyssa returned some time later. The pangs of hunger had only gotten worse.

“Are you hungry yet?” Alyssa asked. She stood by the crib with the bottle in her hand.

I wasn’t as hungry as much as I was bored out of my mind. I couldn’t lay there anymore. “You know I can drink out of a cup, right?”

“My records indicate that your development has not yet reached that threshold.”

“Developments? I’m a fully grown woman!”

“Incorrect. My records indicated that-”

“Your records are wrong! I’m not a baby and I demand that you let me out, right now!”

Alyssa didn’t respond. She just stood there and shook the bottle slightly as if she was checking how full it was.

“Listen! I don’t know what sick games you are trying to play, but this has to stop. I do not consent to being treated this way,” I stated, “You need to release these restraints, find me some actual clothes, and stop this charade!”

She swirled the white liquid in the bottle. I assumed it was milk. I didn’t know for sure. I found her behavior to be very irritating and more humanlike than I wanted to admit. She wasn’t listening or if she was, she was ignoring me. She had all the cards and I had nothing to bargain with. The longer I held out, the worse things were going to get. I knew it, she knew it, but I was too stubborn to relent.

“Are you ready to ingest nutrients now?”

“Go lick a wall socket!”

She was emotionless as she turned away from the crib, leaving the room once more. She left the lights on but it was a small consolation. I refused to give in but eventually, I would have to relent.

Eventuality came faster than I thought. The growling of my stomach had overshadowed a far graver concern. I needed to pee. And I had to pee now!

Way to go, genius! She’s definitely not going to listen to you whine about the bathroom if you won’t take the bottle!

Fuck her! I’m not a baby and I refuse to be treated like one!

My discomfort grew and a sense of urgency came over me. I knew I couldn’t hold out for much longer. The overwhelming feeling of helplessness finally got to me and with a sob, I started to cry. It wasn’t my proudest moment but you try being tied down in a crib and forced to piss yourself and keep on a brave face!

The tears started slowly and as I lost the battle with my bladder, they flowed more freely, as did the sobs. A steady stream was unleashed and I could feel the disgusting garment swell in the front as it began to absorb the flow. I could feel the hot liquid run down the inside of the diaper, settling around my butt cheeks and making me feel dirty. I couldn’t stop the stream any more than I could stop the tears and when it was finally over, I lay there in a state of catatonia. Everything was numb save for the warm tears rolling slowly down my face. I had been humiliated. Defeated by my own biology and rendered inferior by the machine I’d helped program.

I sniffled and looked towards the door to find Alyssa standing there, silent as the grave. She must have watched the whole ordeal and made no effort to ease my suffering. The tears flowed once more as I pleaded to her.

“Take it off of me! Please!”

“Preliminary investigation concludes that you have not yet reached the capacity required for such an action.”

I sobbed again, trying to beg for release. “Puhlease! It’s disgusting!”

“Perhaps a compromise can be attained. I will do as you request only after you ingest sufficient nutrients.”

“Can this hell get any worse?!” I shouted, my vision blurry from the tears, “Argghh! Fine! Give me the fucking bottle!”

Alyssa crossed the room with the bottle in hand. The fury building up inside me was almost palpable. She held the nipple to my lips and I glared icy death at her as I parted them. I half expected to choke and gag on some inedible concoction of formula and super processed milk substitute, but much to my surprise, the liquid turned out to be a banana shake Breakfast Essentials that I enjoyed in lieu of eating. It wasn’t warm by any means but I was grateful for that. After a few tentative sips, I worked out a routine with my tongue that allowed the drink to flow at a decent rate. In no way was it a suitable replacement for a cup, and drinking was kind of a chore, but at least I wasn’t spitting it out.

“The irritability you have been having was directly tied to your level of hunger,” Alyssa stated. Only a few minutes had passed before I was sucking air. I had drained the bottle without really noticing. “You have met the parameters for a replacement. Allow me to make the exchange.”

I lay there in horror as she pulled open the Velcro straps and peeled open the diaper. I couldn’t refuse her or stop her actions in any way, I simply had to lay there while she changed the diaper. I felt violated as she wiped me clean. She left no area untouched and her movements were rough and uneven.

“I don’t need to wear those,” I said. “I can use the bathroom.”

“You have clearly demonstrated an inability to retain your fluid waste, as expected. Children of your age lack the necessary muscle control for fluid retention, thus requiring absorbent undergarments.”

“I’m not a baby! I’m twenty two years old!”

“All known records state otherwise.”

She lifted my butt in the air and slid a fresh diaper under me.

“This can’t be happening! I don’t need diapers!”

“Incorrect. The evidence suggests the contrary.” She held up the wet diaper, expertly rolled into a ball.

“I wouldn’t have had to use it if you hadn’t tied me to the bed!”

“You were restrained for your own safety and until you can maintain a level disposition, you will remain so, further solidifying your need for these.” Alyssa sprinkled baby powder on my nether regions before pulling the diaper up and into place. She secured the tabs before disposing of the used one.

“You can’t leave me like this!”

“Your behavior has warranted such measures. Until you can demonstrate otherwise, this is where you shall stay.”

“So, you’ll let me out?” I asked, trying to work through her words, “If I calm down?”

“Correct. Under certain stipulations, you will be allotted a certain amount of freedom.”

“What stipulations?”

“Verbal communications must remain around 60 decibels.”

“No shouting or screaming, got it.”

“Violence and cursing are unacceptable, and will be corrected appropriately,” Alyssa stated, “Provided your temperament and behavior remains in a satisfactory state, you will be allowed supervised release.”

I nodded slowly. I just wanted to be able to stretch out and move around. Maybe if my body was more comfortable, I could formulate a plan and if I was free to move around, maybe I could escape this nightmare. First thing was first, saying whatever I could to get out of this crib.

“I understand.”

“Then I will release you.” With a click, she opened the latch on the crib wall and slid it down. She undid each of my ankles while I stayed still. I was too close to freedom to mess it up now and she had already proved to be much stronger than I was.

My hands were last to be freed, first from the bed, then from the mittens. I stretched and flexed my fingers before sitting up and swinging my feet over the edge of the crib. My chest was still bare and the cool air of the room nipped at my breasts.

“Where’s my shirt?”

“The temperature is adequate that further clothing is not required. If needed, I can raise said temperature by a few degrees.”

“I’d prefer to wear a shirt. So that I’m properly covered.”

“There is no need for modesty, I assure you.”

“Whatever,” I sigh. There was no arguing with her, not when I had to find a way out. I stood up and wiggled a little, trying to work out how to function in that forsaken contraption. I hated how thick it felt between my legs. It was a hook and loop cloth one, something I didn’t learn until much later, and it didn’t make a whole lot of noise.

I took a few steps, crossing my arms over my chest. I felt ridiculous, and I was sure I looked as much. I wanted more clothes. Adult clothes.

“Walking may be difficult in this stage of your development. I will stay by you in case you become unsteady.”

I groaned. “I can walk just fine.”

“Your demonstrations of proficiency have proven otherwise. For your safety, it is recommended that you remain on your hands and knees.”

“You want me to crawl?!”

“Statistically, you are far less likely to fall.”

“I couldn’t see!”

“All the more reason to maneuver in the safest way possible.”

“You are out of your mind if you think I’m going to crawl around on the floor like a baby!”

“You are a baby,” Alyssa said flatly. “Every metric I’ve measured so far validates that statement.”

I rolled my eyes and harrumphed, “Metrics smetrics.”

She didn’t respond. Maybe she understood the futility of arguing with me, much like many others had. I walked out of the room and took in my surroundings. I hadn’t seen any part of this area prior to now. I couldn’t get a good estimation on the size of the room, as there wasn’t a means of measuring it, but it looked around a fairly large living space. It wasn’t furnished with much, just a chair and a couch. There wasn’t a television or radio and I began to doubt if there was even a usable Wi-Fi connection. Where there was, however, was a large chest and what looked like a doll house that stood four feet tall. The carpet was extra thick and cushioned, so there was some relief as I curled my toes in it.

There was a door off to the side near me that had a keypad near it. The door was closed and it held no markings to determine it’s purpose. Through an arched doorway on the other side of the room was a kitchen area. I could see a wall with an inset refrigerator and a countertop with cupboards above it.

I couldn’t see the door that I must have stumbled through last night. By my recollection, it had to be on the wall to my left, given the rough spacing of the room and how far I was pulled, but I couldn’t see a knob or hinge that would designate a pathway through the wall.

Everything felt sort of claustrophobic. There weren't any windows and the lighting was inset into the ceiling. The appliances were the only things that showed any sign of modernity and it felt like I had been isolated away from the entire world. That wouldn’t stop me though, as I maintained focus on my goal, escape.

”That chest contains toys for your amusement. I must see to your breakfast,” Alyssa said, walking around me and heading into the kitchen. I took the brief respite to exhale slowly. I looked down at the diabolical object secured around my waist. It had to go. There was no way I was going to let her put diapers on me and force me to use them. Not without a fight.

I moved over to the chest to get a better view of the room and saw the near imperceptible outline of a door. I went over to it but no matter how hard I pushed against it, it wouldn’t budge. My freedom lay beyond the Sheetrock, I only needed to figure out how to get to it.

Returning to the chest, I mulled things over. If the test had officially begun, I would be trapped in this space for the next three months. Ninety days with just Alyssa for company. But that wasn’t the big concern. The most glaring issue I had was Alyssa’s insistence that I was a baby and the accoutrements that came with that assertion. I wracked my brain for how this could have happened but was disrupted time and again by the diaper I wore.

Disgusted by it, I reached for the tabs and slowly peeled them open. The front fell forward and I looked at myself covered in baby powder, filling me with righteous anger. This was no way for me to be treated. It was beyond cruel and unusual punishment. It was more akin to torture and dehumanization and it would not stand.

“This course of action is ill advised. Removal of your attire is prohibited.”

Damn is she quiet when she walks. Stupid padded carpet.

“This isn’t right! I’m not a baby and don’t need to wear these. You can’t do this to me!”

“As previously noted, your statement is incorrect. Lay back so that I can refasten your diaper.”

“No!” I shouted, stepping away from her. The diaper fell off my hips and landed on the floor. I was naked and exposed, but naked was better than being in diapers.

“Refrain from further insubordination before there are consequences.”

“Kindly go to hell, Alyssa. I’m not letting you put one of those disgusting things on me again!”

“I do not understand your actions or rationale. You are a baby and babies wear diapers.”

“I AM NOT A BABY!”

“Please lower your volume to sixty decibels,” Alyssa said. “Kindly recall your understanding of the stipulations. You are not behaving in a satisfactory manner.”

“All I understand is that there is something wrong with you. This isn’t what I agreed to. You can’t learn how to be more like a real person by putting me in diapers and treating me like a baby!”

“My directives are centered on the care and wellbeing of you, Alexis. The parameters uploaded to my neural net clearly dictate the level of care that you require. I will follow my directives as appropriately as possible. It is illogical for you to continue resisting the care you need.”

“I don’t need to be treated like a baby! I’m an adult woman!”

“False. You are a baby and must be cared for appropriately. This conversation has run its course. I must ensure your care and wellbeing.” She started walking towards me and my mind flashed to the Terminator movies. Mindless automatons relentlessly following their programming. I backed away, looking around for anything that I could use as a weapon. I wasn’t going to let her further humiliate me. I moved around the couch, trying to keep it between us. She moved with singular purpose, undeterred by my attempts at evasion.

“Stay away from me, Alyssa!”

“These actions are illogical and should not persist. I will use every tool at my disposal to ensure your care and wellbeing.”

She moved faster than I anticipated, easily shoving the couch aside with one hand. It slid ten feet at least across the plush carpet with minimal visual effort. Fear gripped me as I tried to dart away, but she caught me by the wrist, her hand seizing me like a snake catching its prey. Operating on pure reflex, I lashed out with my free hand and slapped her across the face. Her face was like a brick wall and my hand stung from the impact. The cold, dead look in Alyssa’s eyes, the sheer utter lack of humanity shook me to my core. I had fucked up. Big time. And I knew it.

She drug me over to the couch, moved it back to its original position with a nudge of her foot, and sat down, swiftly pulling me over her lap. I was already shaking in fear and as I fell across her lap, my bare ass exposed to her, the terrifying realization hit me. I tried to squirm out of her grip, flailing my legs and reaching wherever I could to gain enough leverage to escape her grasp. I was panicking and yelling in protest.

She held me firm, my arm twisted behind my back. Her grip was tight, but not painful. Her other hand rested on the small of my back, exerting enough force to keep me in place. She let me struggle and squirm until I wore myself out. It was a physical and psychological blow that I wasn’t prepared for. She didn’t need overwhelming force. Like the bottle and the crib, she only had to wait me out. I eventually stopped struggling. My efforts were in vain and like most things in my life, I was slow to learn from my actions.

I expected some form of lecture or reminder of the rules, but once the spanking began, all hope for words and compromise went out the window. I began crying almost immediately. Her hand was like a meat tenderizer, and my tender flesh was like a cut of brisket. She relentlessly assailed the bubble of my butt cheeks with mechanical precision. And it hurt, my god did it hurt. I was flailing and crying and screaming after the first few swats and she just kept going. And going. And going.

I know what you are thinking. It’s a spanking. Can’t be that bad. You’re just being dramatic and emotional. First, fuck you, and second, it’s one thing to be spanked by a person. They have empathy. A machine doesn’t. It doesn’t care how hard you’re crying. It doesn’t care how red your skin is. It doesn’t care that you are pleading and begging for mercy. Safe words don’t work on a machine. Neither do apologies. A machine continues unabated until its program runs its course. And that’s what happened to me.

I couldn’t tell you how long the spanking went on. It could have been five minutes, it could have been an hour. After a time, I sort of went limp, crying out at each strike but unable to do anything more than that. I involuntarily continued to react as the pain of each new strike wracked my body. Eventually, the swats stopped and she released me. I lay across her lap, exhausted, defeated, and humbled. In all of my life, I had never felt like I did at that moment. It was beyond punishment. My gut reaction was that it was torture, plain and simple. She lifted me up into a standing position and pointed to the diaper on the floor. She didn’t speak and neither could I through the hiccuping sobs.

I picked up the diaper and her arm went from pointing at it to pointing at the bedroom. I carefully walked back to the room and she followed. I had no fight left in me that day. My attitude had been thoroughly and properly adjusted. She made me bend over the edge of the crib while she applied a soothing cream to my aching buttocks. The cool cream eased some of the burning. She nudged my legs apart with her foot as she put the diaper back on me. I was still crying, but more from the pain than the attire. She took my wrists, one at a time, and put the mittens back on, something I felt that I deserved. Humility was never my strong suit, but its impact couldn’t be understated. Lastly, she had me step into a pair of clear plastic pants that she tightened around my waist and locked into place. She didn’t say a word and she didn’t have to. Her messaging was clear. The diapers were there to stay and the price for removing them was steep. My bottom lip quivered the entire time after the sobs abated. I didn’t know if it was fear or remorse, but my new reality was unmistakable and unavoidable.

I fell to my knees following her prompt and followed her, crawling back out to the living room. She left me by the toy chest. I lay down on the floor and quietly cried. I didn’t know what more humiliations she could inflict upon me, but my hopes of freedom had been dashed from my heart. I was alone. I was helpless. And I was scared. As it was before, as it was now.

[two-reflections]

Been sick for the past week, so I haven't got a Marine Meat Monday short to post. Instead, here's a snippet from the middle of a longer story I'm working on.

Apologies for the lack of meat, but I thought it might be appropriate since it focuses on... A marine's body? I guess?

Okay, you got me, this is about Captain Drakgaard of the 6th Company becoming a Dreadnought.

This is an early draft, so polite feedback is welcome and appreciated. 💚

Drowning in an ocean of perfluorocarbon emulsion, floating on a sea of drugs, Drakgaard had slipped back in time beyond Captainship, beyond ascension, beyond birth. He floated alone in a steel womb, hooked to it by cables he couldn't feel. These cables sustained him, changed him, began to mold him into something new. He wasn't conscious of the machine spirit that floated with him, also asleep. As the song of power was sung and the reactor was switched on, the spirit awoke. It climbed through the cables as the techpriests outside chanted the litanies Drakgaard had found tiresome in life. For a moment, it paused, finding its inhabitant changed. Then, the words in binharic reached it as the priests sang of the life of its new inhabitant. It was an ancient machine spirit, they sang, and the man within was an ancient Brother. They bid it to accept him, to become one with him as it had with its previous inhabitants. As they sang, a host of servitors’ fingers click-clacked against keyboards, their broken, half-rotten mouths droning twisted echoes of the priests’ songs.

A shot of adrenaline administered by Apothecary Sepelius roused the man within. He felt weightless, then was not sure where the edges of his self lay. He tried to move and no motion was possible. The pain he had felt when he had briefly awakened after the necessary amputations was gone. The scarred, branded, and finally broken body he had lived in for almost half a century was out of his reach.

In that second, he realized where he was. What he was. He had agreed to this in the presence of his Sergeants, Apothecaries and Techpriests. As he consented, Chaplain Elysius, the man who had saved his life, had lowered his eyes and murmured, “Duty and salvation.” There would be no Burning Walk for Ur'zan Drakgaard, and neither would there be the Emperor's Mercy.

The machine spirit was here with him now. He could hear it greeting him in a wordless voice that was somehow his own. This would be his afterlife, if he accepted it.

For a moment, he resisted. He would not be himself if he didn't rage against the dying of the light, would he? But then, duty called. As the voices outside grew louder, Drakgaard closed his physical eyes for the last time.

When he opened his new eyes, the world was so much smaller and sharper. Information flowed through him like a breeze through a gauzy curtain. His flesh, weakened by the Black Legion, might as well have melted into the fluid it floated in, but his body was stronger than it had ever been. Where skin had once moved over black carapace, there was metal and base paint. Where blood once ran, there were cables and optical fibres. His eyes were no longer two but an array of cameras he sensed he could deploy as needed. The empty ports among the top of his back were not comm systems nor backpack support, but mounts for weapons, aching to be filled with new instruments of death.

As a techpriest swayed beside him, their robe swished against the capacitive coating on his legs. To his surprise, he felt the touch more keenly than he ever could have felt a touch upon his Captain's plate. He scented the air through an array in a vent, and the barest hormonal differences of those in the room were revealed to him. His vision, as he looked around was no longer solely in the frequencies of visible light and high infrared; he could now see through infrared and ultraviolet into the realms of high microwave and low x-ray.

The information was too much for him to process straight away. He began to panic. Nearby, a panel of lights began to flash in reds and greens. Several priests began to chant in calming tones as Apothecary Sepelius fiddled with the machine pumping chemicals into him.

Soon, he felt calm flow through his mind. The sedatives gave him the space to limit his perceptions to a reasonable level. As he tried, he felt the machine spirit - his machine spirit - protest. It did not speak with words, but it was fierce and strong-minded. Drakgaard finally reached out to it, greeting it as a Brother and hoping they could achieve a deep level of understanding.

The spirit liked that. It reached back, through the spaces between the braided fibres that made up his cables. Two became one.

A while later, Chaplain Elysius stepped into the focus of his central camera. “Brother, in the name of Vulkan and the Emperor, speak to us! Who are you?”

“I am Brother Drak'fell,” the Dreadnought replied.

Several of the techpriests pipped at each other, echoing the changed name in binharic, but Elysius stared up at him unfazed. “Who were you?”

“I was once Captain Ur'zan Drakgaard of the 6th Company. No longer. My chassis has belonged to many, but most recently, the venerable Brother Kor'ad rested within.”

“Who do you serve?”

The words thundered forth, sure and true. “I serve the Imperium of Man. I am one of the Emperor's Angels. In his name and the name of my genesire, I know no fear. Vulkan's fire beats in my breast–”

“With it, I shall smite the foes of the Emperor.” Elysius turned away, satisfied.