#Metal organic frameworks

[materialsscienceandengineering]

Nanostructuring MOF crystals unlocks their potential, retaining electrical properties with enhanced sensitivity

Scientists at IMDEA Nanociencia are working on the development of materials whose properties can change as easily as we flip a switch. They focus on joining molecular switching (spin transition), electrical transport properties and porosity in the same material. Such materials have an enormous potential to host gas molecules, such as carbon dioxide or hydrogen, and feature responsive properties in the presence of these gases. In their latest work, researchers report on a metal organic framework (MOF) material that exhibits spin crossover (SCO) behavior, i.e., it can change its magnetic state in response to an external stimulus. This is of enormous interest to the development of electronic applications such as data storage or sensors, as the electrical transport properties depend directly on the spin state of the material.

Read more.

[whats-in-a-sentence]

MOFs offer a potential solution to this gas separation problem as their pore volumes and surface functionalities can be tuned to preferentially separate one gas from another (figure 6.9).

"Chemistry" 2e - Blackman, A., Bottle, S., Schmid, S., Mocerino, M., Wille, U.

[tenth-sentence]

In addition, the ability to systematically modulate the pore dimensions and surface chemistry within MOFs is a feature that was previously largely absent in zeolite materials.

"Chemistry" 2e - Blackman, A., Bottle, S., Schmid, S., Mocerino, M., Wille, U.

[headspace-hotel]

Notes on Torturing The Character In The Science Facility

my takes on this trope rarely if ever have anything to do with the character being "special" or being studied for powers they innately have, if they are special its something that was done to them

it's about the medical trauma

it's about the violation and lack of bodily autonomy

the "living weapon" trope, but the key characteristic is catastrophic functionality

i love, love, love the concept of "catastrophic functionality" in a person: character that can tank ludicrous amounts of damage and just Keep Going in virtually all circumstances barring outright dismemberment. They can keep going, so do they "deserve" rest and/or pain relief?

after a lifetime of having their distress treated as whiny and unreasonable, they have what would be a dangerously high tolerance to pain and exhaustion.

another key function of the Science Facility is to fix the damage Character takes, maybe using enhanced healing technologies or 3D printed organs or something. this leads to Character's body being treated as relatively disposable cause "we can just fix them"

extreme version of this: Character can't die even if they wanted to

people who work with Character are informed that they're dangerous and arbitrarily violent, and their fear of Character makes it easier to justify restricting autonomy

It is TRUE, cause Character does not have tools to set boundaries or protect their body other than violence. vicious cycle of being perceived as dangerous and therefore denied autonomy, and being forced to use violence to defend autonomy

the restraints used to hold Character look like major overkill, which underscores how dangerous they are. LOVE this trope

character being desexualized to the point that their non-consent to touch, to being stripped down and examined, or to procedures is trivialized. There is no non-clinical context for their body, and the "clinical" framework eclipses any possibility for bodily violation to be understood as violent.

types of uncanniness: Character looks human but has some subtle inhuman traits or characteristics. (I'm obsessed with reflective eye shine, personally.) OR Character looks like they've been taken apart and put back together, like flesh pulled over a much more unforgiving and indestructible metal scaffold. OR Character gives off "undead" vibes; they're just not quite alive in a way that sets off air raid sirens in people's brains

Often, Character is dead and Came Back Wrong (varying levels of literalness)

anyways yeah. i never stopped writing this trope and probably never will. it's a good one

[civilmentor1]

Current Affairs - 2 September 2024

1.World Gold Council (WGC) Syllabus: GS2/ International Organisation Context The World Gold Council (WGC) has raised its projection for India’s gold consumption in 2024 to 850 tonnes from 750 tonnes. World Gold Council (WGC) WGC is an international trade association for the gold industry formed in 1987 by some of the world’s most forward-thinking mining companies. Governance: The World Gold…

[chematix]

Makes me think of elementary school classroom posters

DOI: 10.1021 acsenergylett.9b02625

[sightseertrespasser]

Odds of Survival Part 6

Prowl comes up with a grim but viable theory, misses his ESP (Emotional Support Pterodactyl) and Jazz has a “cultural exchange” with Bluestreak.

Credit to @keferon for creating the AU!

———————————————————————

The cascade of Prowl rapidly drumming his fingers on the console was the only sound in the room. His gaze was fixed a million miles away, boring a hole through the far wall.

Hypothesis: Jazz, and possibly others, were secretly cold constructed by the Functionalists for the sole purpose of fighting Quintesson forces.

Many of Jazz’s eccentricities fell into place within that framework. He lacked a subspace, which would make it very difficult to hold onto personal items or contraband. His anatomy was was entirely specialized for battle, all curved angles, narrow gaps and thick plating. Likewise, Jazz’s subdued reaction to injuries could be accounted for if the Functionalists had removed a large portion of his sensory network and replaced his extremities with non-living metal prosthetics.

Prowl shuddered.

He turned from the physical to the mental. Jazz was smart, undeniably, but also severely starved of information.

The Functionalists were exceedingly well practiced in the art of secrecy and subjugation.

Keeping their custom soldiers in the dark about the greater galaxy would significantly reduce the chances of their mechs trying to escape or revolt. The muting, or possible removal of Jazz’s EM field would prevent him from easily emotionally connecting with other mechs and would hamper his ability to detect malicious intent from any handlers.

That alone could account for Jazz’s extremely tactile extroversion. It could be a form of compensation or maybe just a coping method for the loss of sensation. Add a manufactured language barrier, and even if Jazz had had previous brushes with mechs other than his handlers, he wouldn’t have been able to communicate with them. A perfect isolation tactic ensuring total control.

Until now.

Prowl finally straightened, creating a task list to execute once the ship arrived.

- Get Jazz seen by Velocity immediately. Both to treat his injuries properly and to document any evidence of prior abuse. He trusted her to catch and catalogue details only a medic would know.

- Debrief Elita One. He would need to phrase things carefully to ensure Jazz isn’t unfairly imprisoned or executed for possibly being connected to the Functionalists.

- Awake Green from hibernation. Despite his initial reluctance to interact with his therapist mandated “work-life balance tool”, the organic had grown on him. Further more, his Flyt afforded him an entirely neutral sounding board for times when speaking aloud was the best way to sort his processor.

The theory was good, but Prowl could still feel an itch in his processor. He was still missing something. He rubbed at the heat beginning to build under his helm.

Prowl tacked on a fourth task:

- Stick entire helm inside tub of coolant.

The tactician almost quirked an irritated smile as he made his way back towards his brother and the walking processor ache.

At least the likely hood of Jazz dropping us off another building was lower.

(14%)

Marginally.

For now, the Functionalist Creation Theory was still just that. A theory. He needed more information on where Jazz came from, and for that, they’d need to overcome more of their language barrier.

Thankfully, Bluestreak had offered to assist in catching Jazz up to speed on more Common.

Prowl keyed the door open.

“Frugg!”

Primus help him.

Jazz had his back turned to the door, free hand waving away Bluestreaks mispronunciation.

“Na, no R sounds. It’s Fuck.”

“Fugg!” Bluestreaks face was the picture of determined ambition.

“Getting closer! Now drop the Guh and replace it with Kh.” Jazz nodded encouragingly.

“Fruck!” His brother shouted, servos slapping on his knees.

“Nope, you’re putting an R back in there again. Like this: Fuck. Fuh-uck.” Jazz moved his hand through the air like a conductor, enunciating each Phoneme with clean cut clarity. “Try again, you got this man. Fuck.”

“Fuck.”

Jazz turned around at the perfectly pronounced cuss word.

“Heeey! What’s up mother fragger! How’d the meeting with your slag head boss go?”

Prowl turned on his brother so slowly you could have mounted a telescope on him. “Adequately.”

Prowl continued his one sided stare down with Bluestreak, who was lightly clapping his hands together while seemingly fascinated with the far wall.

Jazz was laughing again. “Don’t be too disappointed in him. I do have a much better understanding of Common now.” He stood taking the anesthetic tape with him.

“Aight, it’s your turn, sit down.” Jazz patted the bench.

Prowl broke his stare down and cycled his optics. Bluestreak stopped pretending to stare at the wall.

“That is unnecessary.” He said automatically. “We need to be ready to leave in one breem.”

Jazz crossed his arm over the sling, cocking his head to the side. “Well then you better sit your shiny ass down so we aren’t late.”

Bluestreak kept silent through sheer force of determination to not ruin this moment.

Prowl couldn’t move Jazz, and Jazz knew it.

He sat. Glowering.

“Thank you!” Jazz sang, warbling across the vowels. He tossed the tape to Bluestreak. “I’m pretty talented but handling sci-fi duct tape one handed isn’t for me.”

Bluestreak sputtered briefly, before going to work tearing off small strips.

“How. How? It took us VORNS to get Prowl to take care of himself even a little bit! And you pull it off in less than a cycle? I had to get blown up before he’d even step into a normal med bay AND Smokescreen had to basically drag him in! You could not BRIBE this mech into self care if you had all the shanix in the entire galaxy!”

Bluestreak talked and worked quickly, knowing he was on a time limit before Prowl would try and escape.

“Hah, I feel that. Whenever I go back to the {Shatterdome}, er, “base” they basically gotta corner me to do any kind of check up.” Then Jazz sounded almost nostalgic. “{Ratchet} had it down to a science before he left.”

As the small aches and pains began to dull, Prowl took lead of the conversation for some subtle information gathering.

“So Jazz, how many of your kind are there?”

Prowl ignored the hard flick Bluestreak gave him. However, Jazz seemed unfazed by his bluntness.

He leaned against the wall, looking up slightly in thought. “Uhhh let’s see. The base I’m from has five mecha. There’s me, my little brother {Ricochet}, {Hot Rod}, {Blurr} sort of, aaaand {Vortex}.”

He counted off on his fingers. Then made a so-so sign.

“Well, Vortex isn’t the uh, the person? The real Vortex died a long time ago. Now it’s just a uh.”

Jazz struggled to translate something, unaware of the Praxians steadily growing looks of confusion.

He snapped his fingers, “Dead-Not-Dead location stay? Some people think the Dead-Real-not-Real Vortex is still in there. I think it’s just a {Death trap.} Dangerous to be near positive-positive-positive.”

Jazz made a gesture above his head. “Vortex kills more quintessons than people though, so the high-important-leaders won’t get rid of the thing. They just,” he shrugged a little uselessly. “Keep feeding us to it.”

Is he… Is he describing what I think he is?

“You live with a Sparkeater?” Bluestreak broke the silence.

“Spark-eater?” Jazz sounded out the syllables. “That sounds like a good word for it, yeah.”

At least Prowl could finally confirm Jazz couldn’t detect EM fields. His and Bluestreaks horror saturated the room.

“…You guys okay?” Ah. Just dulled then.

“Yes.” Prowl reeled in his field and elbowed Blue to do the same. “Simply surprised.”

“And concerned.” Bluestreak chipped in. “Is your brother going to be okay? I mean, he’s alone with that thing! Are your leaders going to feed him to the vortex next? Is that what happens to mechs that don’t perform well enough?!”

Jazz startled upright, quickly shaking his head from side to side. “No no no! He’s fine! They won’t do that to Rico, he’s already proved himself plenty and it’s just new fighters they send to Vortex.”

“They don’t always die either, sometimes they just go crazy.” Jazz made a circling motion with his index finger next to his head, stopping awkwardly mid gesture.

“That.” He put his hand down. “Sounded better in my head.”

Bluestreak clasped his servos together behind his helm. Mouth pressed into a thin line.

Prowl twitched as he received a ping from their ship. “Our transport has arrived. We can discuss that later.”

Later.

Yes, let’s discuss the horrifying implications of your entire existence later. Perhaps over some lightly warmed energon?

Maybe he likes Flyts. Jazz can pet Green while they both have mental breakdowns.

With a consciously steady ex-vent, Prowl stood, dipping his doorwings in thanks to Bluestreak. “If you would follow us, I will see to it you are comfortable until we are able to..”

Prowl briefly struggled to find the right term. “Sort out. Your… management situation.”

Jazz nodded, “Right, right. You mentioned transport?”

Gratefully, Prowl gestured for Jazz to follow him towards the airlock.

Before the partial vacuum could cut off their voices once more, Prowl nodded to the narrow window facing the landing strip.

Curiosity pulled visored mech over and when Jazz reached the window, he gasped.

Prowl lifted his doorwings and held out one servo, presenting their ship.

“Welcome aboard the Lost Light.”

———————————————————————

Jazz pov: “Huh. Spark eater. I get it, cause it metaphorically snuffs out peoples spark of life. Cool analogy for a death trap.”

The Praxians pov: “whaT Do YoU mEaN THERE’S A VAMPIRE IN YOUR HOUSE?!”

Little be of extra short hand, these {} denote a word being spoken in English. So Prowl is hearing the sound of the word but doesn’t know its meaning.

Extra bit of world building, the Shatterdome Jazz is from was the one that originally housed all the Combaticons, which is why it has specifically five mecha cradles. It’s also the number one Research and Development Shatterdome which is why you’ve got stuff like Blurr’s turbo fast mecha housed there.

In addition, Ricochet is a fairly normal pilot, but he’s housed there specifically because of his relation to Jazz. You know those tests they run with twins where they’ll send one into space for a month and keep one on earth to compare the differences? Basically Rico is the control group and Jazz gets to try the crazy shit.

- SSTP

[foxprints]

Newest version of my design for Murderbot, this time with all sorts of fun details! I just love drawing it so much!! And I have a similar design sheet for Three, though I'm still working on it.

Details about specific parts of the design are under the cut! Because I've spent too much time contemplating how everything works and why and figuring out which parts are organic and which are inorganic and how it's put together...

The ports on its back from the top down: data port, repair valve, external recharge port for primary power supply, resupply valve, and external recharge port for auxiliary power supply.

The light on its chest is a sort of power indicator

The primary power supply in its chest is what's used on a regular basis. It usually has a kinetic self recharging mechanism (sort of like a car battery in that moving helps it stay charged) that is entirely adequate in most circumstances. When the energy weapons are used, or it hooks itself up to a dead system to act as a power supply, or does a lot of intense movement/fighting/processing, the energy levels may drop enough that it either has to manually engage a recharge cycle or its systems force it into a shutdown to recharge. When this sort of recharge cycle is initiated, the power is taken from the auxiliary power supply. These power cells can last an incredibly long time.

Its eyes are inorganic, but not typically noticeable as such unless it's actively adjusting filters etc. They do have a slight glow to them and will reflect light like a cat's eye in the right circumstances

SecUnits eyes produce a saline solution not unlike tears to help clear out debris and keep the lenses moving smoothly. And SecUnits can cry -- the ability to is usually suppressed by the governor module.

Not actually shown here, but it has inorganic filaments throughout its body that help distribute energy from the power cells. They glow yellow and are visible from under the skin during an external recharge (which should be rare) or if there is an unexpected surge of power sent through it

Its insides are a mix of organic and synthetic, with organs being one or the other depending on how easy they are to replace or how much use they get. For example, the endocrine system is biological, the neural pathways and nervous system are mixed, the heart and lungs are inorganic. There's no need for a digestive system, bladder, or liver. It has synthetic organs similar to kidneys that help make sure the fluids -- both blood and synthetic -- are properly filtered and free of contaminants.

The skeletal framework is made up entirely of a metal alloy of some sort. This makes SecUnits and combat units quite heavy compared to a human. ComfortUnits have a lighter synthetic frame that keeps their weight comparable to that of the average human. The metal used in Combat SecUnits is heavier and more dense than that used in regular sec and combat units.

[spacemothsota]

Cybertron Cybersphere

You know, we don't know much about the era of Cybertron when the tribes ruled, as well as about the worldbilding back then. We know about this period very vaguely, foggily, it seems like some bots should have been around during those times, but they don't really talk about them (we only have five really old mechs: Nova Prime, Cyclonus, Jhiaxus, Galvatron, and Dai Atlas ), not to mention the Thirteen, damn it, guys pulled Cybertron out of barbarian times, maybe you could throw in some info about what was before you? It's just that this time can't be nothing and emptiness, you know? Alpha Trion, am I looking at you? You were supposed to keep history like no? Okay, tribes, okay, but what about the world outside of this? A small conclusion I can make is that Cybertron was a pretty deserted place back then, but not devoid of life. I like to speculate a lot and although the organic approach doesn't really fit with metallic life forms, why not speculate a little on the topic.

Sometimes I think that in reality, before the industrialization we see in the comics and the unification of tribes in the past, Cybertron had a very unique biosphere (cybersphere? mechasphere? I don't know). My idea is based on such small things as the existence of acid rain, dust storms, "sorrow flowers". (I wanted to include crystals and Praxus gardens, but I couldn't find canon information about it).

Just imagine what kind of crystalline or metallic "plant" structures this world could have. It could be something familiar to us, like flowers and trees, or something completely unusual for people. Flowers made of crystals or metals useful for the developing culture of Cybertron. We know that there are flowers of sorrow that form from the remains of Cybertronian sparks, but imagine more complex cyber vegetation. Trees, flowers, bushes, vines, etc. Deserts, steppes… And although trees, for example, do not make much sense within the framework of Cybertron as a source of oxygen, like our Earth, could they have a structure with fruits full of energon? (Why not, that would be interesting). As for the "climate" zones, they generally would not exist, but given that Cybertron is Primus, it should also have zones with uneven heating, for example. Simply put, some zones may be warmer than others, but there are no sharp temperature drops on Cybertron. (I'm not a big fan of thinking that Cybertron is cold, maybe during the war it was like that because Primus almost kicked the bucket there. So probably during the war Cybertron was cold and a bit lifeless. Yes, my whole idea is based on the fact that Primus, a damn living giant and essentially the differences on the surface would be just what is needed to support his creations and himself. You know… As a single well-coordinated organism).

Incidentally, this would explain acid rain and dust storms, which would be the result of the disruption of the cybersphere and growing industrialization.

Because we don't know much about Cybertronian animals, sometimes I guess that Cybertronians were part of this system too (we know that there are turbofox, but if there are them, then we can speculate more about it). Each would occupy its natural "ecological" niche to maintain an equal balance for the work of Cybertron. From seekers in the sky like birds, to motorcycles (in my imagination they would look like cheetahs) or insecticons (in my imagination they are something like orderlies and protectors of the depths of Cybertron). Of course, with the development of Cybertronians, this faded into the background, industrialization absorbed the nature of Cybertron, leaving only a part in the wild areas. This would actually give unique interaction patterns for Cybertronians, between the bots' relationships with different altforms due to their past niche placement (Functionalists can go to hell, because their system is extremely industrial and denied the need for any given frame to exist for the well-being of their world. Thanks, no one likes extinction). It would also give more ideas for behavioral traits and cultures of different frames (thanks to the bird-like Seekers, I love them). I don't really have a precise diagram of what type of bot would do what in the "ecosystem", so I'll leave that up to you! Just remember that they are sentient and not animals, but Primus still needs them all to live a peaceful life.

In general, I have another idea related to this, concerning the Titans. In my opinion, the Titans are something like megafauna? These guys have such a large size and strength due to the fact that Cybertron does not have the same level of gravity as on Earth, they probably do not experience the feeling of being “heavy” (the same with other large bots like shuttles, etc.). Since their function is to preserve, distribute and found colonies, in essence, they would probably prefer “ecologically” clean places for their rest and the formation of settlements. Just imagine how the ancient Cybertronians see how Titan has calmly settled in a good place to rest and are like “Oh, since he settled there, this is a great place for prosperity and the founding of a settlement! Thanks a lot bro, we will take care of your comfortable rest! And the cybersphere will also flourish here. Primus will be happy”

Giaent cat found nice plase for rest

In short, the cycle of life and well-being, where everyone is needed. (I like the idea that everyone is connected to each other, it would solve all the problems with belittling and the system of damn functionalism.)

To hell with Functionalism and their caste system, that stuff doesn't work.

[materialsscienceandengineering]

A novel porous material capable of separating deuterium (D2) from hydrogen (H2) at a temperature of 120 K has been introduced. Notably, this temperature exceeds the liquefaction point of natural gas, thus facilitating large-scale industrial applications. This advancement presents an attractive pathway for the economical production of D2 by leveraging the existing infrastructure of liquefied natural gas (LNG) production pipelines. The research conducted by Ulsan National Institute of Science & Technology (UNIST), Korea, Helmholtz-Zentrum Berlin, Heinz Maier Leibnitz Zentrum (MLZ), and Soongsil University, Korea, has been published in Nature Communications. Deuterium, a stable isotope of hydrogen, plays a critical role in enhancing the durability and luminous efficiency of semiconductors and display devices, as well as serving as a fusion fuel in energy production. However, the increasing demand for D2 presents challenges in its production, primarily due to the need to separate from hydrogen through a cryogenic distillation process conducted at temperatures as low as 20 K (-253°C). While research has explored the use of metal-organic frameworks (MOFs) for D2 separation, their efficiency diminishes significantly at elevated temperatures.

Read more.

[vintagerpg]

Over the course of 1989 and 1990, Columbia Games released what I can only call a seven-volume series of zines that expanded on the magic system first presented in the HarnMaster rules. This organized the use of magic into six elemental schools (air, fire, earth, water, metal and spirit) which correspond to a variety of metaphysically important essences — for example, Odivshe embodies water, but also slowness, darkness, cold and ice. These schools are arranged in a wheel, which symbolizes harmony and provides a framework for progression — the mage must attune to the other schools, a task that proves trickier as they progress further around the circle (I think there is a good chance this arrangement inspired the schools of magic in 2E D&D). Supplementing the specialized spells of each school are a set of neutral spells available to all casters. Further, especially learned mages can transcend the limitation of the circle, becoming Gray Mages, a rare and powerful occurrence.

HarnMaster: Magic (1997) collects all that earlier material into one set of loose leaf pages (heavy stock, full color, droooool) and makes everything delightfully modular. Even in the zine form, I liked the Harn magic system and found it surprisingly usable, but here even more so, thanks the inclusion of the humble check box. Basically, every mechanic is accompanied by one, and if the GM wants to use it, they check it off. Unchecked boxes are ignored and if whole pages are unchecked, they can simply be removed from the rules entirely. I haven’t given a close look to the binder version of HarnMaster 3E (1996), so I don’t know if this is a something the entire ruleset employs, but it strikes me as a very clever and usable way to present a system that can scale to the desired complexity of the players.

The downside of the magic system is that while the spells are novel, interesting and useful, they are all named using in-world logic. I think Dream of Galega (which evokes a powerful healing coma) is a more interesting and evocative name than “Heal,” but on a mechanical level I prefer the latter as I know what it does without having to memorize or refer to the text. Boring though that may be. But that kind of balance between the fiction and utility is a challenge something like Harn is always going to face.

Eric Hotz on the art throughout. I like the cover a lot. It’s very cheeky.

[whats-in-a-sentence]

Among several candidate groups of materials for gas storage and separation, highly porous three-dimensional solids known as metal-organic frameworks (MOFs, which are also known as porous coordination polymers, figure 6.8) show exceptional promise.

"Chemistry" 2e - Blackman, A., Bottle, S., Schmid, S., Mocerino, M., Wille, U.

[paradoxcase]

keydekyie:

I'm going to explain Wells' Constructs for you, because they're a delightful cyber fridge horror and I love them, but tbh the books are great and you should just read them. Constructs are a blend of what you could consider a traditional "robot," with processors and inorganic internal parts (a "metal framework" for example, though the books never go into specifics) and cloned "vat-grown" human tissue. How this is achieved is never described in the text because our POV character (Murderbot) doesn't really care that much and never bothers. It is never specified how much of a human brain a construct has, it's only described as having some neural tissue somewhere in there. It also has organic human skin that can sweat and grow hair, some muscle, and a sense of smell. It has to breathe and has some kind of lung apparatus, but it's "different from a human lung" (again: how? we don't know) and doesn't need as much oxygen as a human. It also doesn't consume fluid or food or excrete waste. It has veins with blood (presumably to supply O2 and nutrients to its organic tissue) as well as some kind of other undefined "fluid." All this to say: it's not a human, but it has human tissue grown onto its body somehow. It's a robot with meat grown onto it. Is it a person? The books are LITERALLY about that question.

[Additionally, to help explain, here's a passage from Artificial Condition] When constructs were first developed, they were originally supposed to have a pre-sentient level of intelligence, like the dumber variety of bot. But you can’t put something as dumb as a hauler bot in charge of security for anything without spending even more money for expensive company-employed human supervisors. So they made us smarter. The anxiety and depression were side effects. In the deployment center, when I was standing there while Dr. Mensah explained why she didn’t want to rent me as part of the bond guarantee agreement, she had called the increase in intelligence a “hellish compromise.”

Interesting, thanks for this detail. So if it's just "neural tissue", we don't actually know to what extent it's a complete brain with the same connections a human's would have, and it sounds like the brain might be partially machine and partially human? I can believe the humans in this universe don't even have any idea how much they are or are not people

[emmg]

wip wednesday except it's saturday lol

I was tagged by lovely hunnybun @xxnashiraxx and someone else (I'm sooooory I don't remember!) I honestly don't have much cooking. This is just something from the creepy Emmlich x Rook fic I'm still fucking around with lol. It's not really edited or anything so eh

Tagging my usual boos but please do it and tag me in it if you're not mentioned (I forget people all the time.) I'm a hoe for wips.

@caffeinatedmunchkin @aldisobey @heylittleriotact @lavenderprose @thepalehorsevictoria @jainydoe

***

It does not hurt, as he promised, though her stomach turns as she watches his knife bite into her palm. He starts at the center, pressing just enough to break the surface, then drags upward toward the tip of her thumb. The sound is faint but sickening—a soft tearing, wet and fibrous. A line of tissue yawns open in its wake, pink and glistening, the raw fibers twitching faintly, helplessly. When the knife taps against her nail, he tilts it sideways, slipping it under the edge of her skin, working it loose. 

There is no blood. It feels aberrant for there to be none, and she realizes she’s muttered something, perhaps a question, because he answers her without looking up. “A spell, darling. No mess.” 

The ligament clings stubbornly to the joint, a sinewy, yellow strand refusing to tear. Emmrich tuts, presses the blade harder, and scrapes until it detaches in shredded, sticky ribbons. 

"I was thinking of taking a nap in the Memorial Gardens before... this," she says.

Her mouth feels very dry. She will vomit her soul. She desperately needs some normalcy.

Emmrich hums absently, a soft tune threaded through his breath. "Oh, we still can go," he says, his voice unnervingly bright. "They’ve added new blooms, you know. Mintroot has begun curling around our lonely Vasanthum tree. A charming display, I imagine." 

"I'm sure it is," she murmurs, barely audible. 

"Quite," he replies, almost giddily. "Did I ever mention my talent for weaving? Braiding, too. I could make you a flower crown, darling. Something delicate, something becoming." 

Her thumb begins to peel, a meticulous unveiling. The layer of skin and muscle separates with a moist crackle, exposing the stark white curve of bone. As the flesh sloughs free, the severed edges cling for a moment, stringy and reluctant, before giving way entirely. 

“You are doing beautifully,” Emmrich murmurs. 

She nods, though her throat is too tight to swallow. 

His free hand dips into the molten metal in the bowl perched precariously on his lap. She cannot look away as his fingers vanish into the liquid iron, a viscous, glowing mass that shifts and ripples at his touch. In another life, his flesh would have blistered, bubbled, shed away in wet clumps. But in another life, he had flesh. 

He stirs it with the casualness of a man testing the temperature of a bath, and she watches, horrified. The iron clings to his fingers like sap from a freshly cut tree, thick and heavy, glistening as it drizzles back into the bowl.  

Without pause, he lowers those shiny fingers into the yawning wound on her hand. The molten iron hisses softly as it meets her exposed phalanges, a sound that seems alive, sentient, as it spreads itself across the bare bone. The metal clings tightly, flowing into every groove and hollow, encasing the fragile framework in layers of shimmering grey. It hardens as it moves, forming a lustrous shell that is as unnatural as it is permanent. 

The smell is unbearable; sharp and acrid, laced with the faint sweetness of something organic cooking away 

"I would like that," she says eventually, her voice flat and far away. She doesn’t lift her eyes from the bone, its pallor now overtaken by the dull sheen of grey, and tries, feebly and absurdly, to think of flowers. 

"Wonderful." Emmrich’s smile stretches, slow and just a little too broad, as though it might spill from his face entirely. He tilts his head, considering. "Something sturdy, enduring, but not without charm," he muses, as if discussing an old trinket. “Wax flowers, I think. Subtle, fragrant, and remarkably long-lasting. They endure neglect with such poise, don’t you find? Even out of water, they hold their shape beautifully.” 

As he shifts, the folds of his robes part, and the hollow in his chest gapes wide. Her eyes fix on his ribs, so very exposed, their delicate curves dipped in gold. They shine in the low light, grotesquely ornate, as if mocking the flesh they once protected. She knows there are other places like this on him—the soft, breakable parts made permanent, harder, resistant. Her gaze darts between the gleaming ribs, her thumb, and the bowl of molten iron in his lap, and something tight and monstrous begins to unfurl within her. 

It starts with a shiver in her chest, a strange pressure that deepens into a sickening pull. Her lungs seem to cave inward. She can feel them shift, the slick, spongy mass grinding together, rolling and twisting into a single, suffocating ball. It churns inside her, alien and wrong. 

When she exhales, it moves, dragging itself upward. She can taste it now, bitter and metallic, something slimy and pulsing that claws at her molars, trying to wrench them loose. It presses against her teeth, her tongue, desperate to escape, to spill out of her mouth in a choking flood. But it never does. It lodges there, a writhing, sweltering mass that stretches her throat and fills her mouth. 

What escapes her is not a scream but a wail, ugly and pitiful. She shakes her head wildly, her voice cracking on each repetition. “No, no, no,” she says, first a whisper, then louder, the words piling up, tangled and frantic, until they bite at her lips. “I don’t want to be like you. Gods, I don’t want to be like you, Emmrich.” Her eyes feel swollen, burning, ready to rupture, to spill themselves down her cheeks, to run away from her face altogether. “I don’t want to die, but I don’t want to be like you—I don’t want to die in Nevarra—”

Her voice collapses into a torrent she cannot untangle, her breath heaving as she jerks her half-flayed hand, desperate to free it. The iron spills from the bowl in his lap, hissing as it splashes onto his knee and dribbles down. 

“No, no,” Emmrich says softly, as though comforting a skittish animal. His hand remains steady even as hers thrashes. “Not like me, dear heart. Never like me.” Drip, drip, drip, the iron sings, pooling on the floor in slow, glowing puddles. “But I must finish or else it will keep breaking, again and again and again...” He pauses, his voice shifting, adopting a light, almost cheerful lilt, as though trying to smother her rising panic beneath a veneer of warmth. “Afterwards, we will go to the gardens, just as you wanted. Mintroot and Vasanthum, remember? And I shall weave you that flower crown I promised. Wouldn’t you like that?"