#but i did add all the tubes and wires and shit to his design. but i love skull masks so i gave him one anyway sshh dw about it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

loreleismusings99 · 8 months

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Chapter 3 Sneak-Peak 💫

Hi y'all, so the 3rd chapter is still underway, but I'm almost done with it, i just need to finish writing the last section and do a read through to make sure everything makes sense before I release it. Until then, enjoy this sneak-peak! ✨️

The field was already packed, and the field wasn't even open to visitors yet--and despite the slight cloud cover, the sun felt like it was beating incessantly on you while you tried to set up your booth’s tent on your own. There was a ring of tables populated with a smorgasbord of science demos lining the edges of the field the organizers put you all in. There was a booth being managed by a local bioengineering company to the left of your own with a wild mess of tubes transporting a bunch of red fluid--supposedly a replica of a human circulatory system. To your right, there’s a constructed functional model of one of da Vinci’s flying machines that some undergrad MechEs built for a design process lab project. Someone’s drone buzzed overhead, presumably just to test out the inevitable aerial shot they were going to use for marketing the event, but the wiring of the small quadcopter’s motors only added to your discomfort and irritation while trying to deal with the heavy and surprisingly fragile canopy.

After getting your hand pinched for the umpteenth time that morning and letting out a yelp and a string of colorful expletives that seemed to fluster one of the undergrads setting up next to you, you hear someone chuckle behind you and ask, “You need some help with that?”

You whip around and see Mark carrying a box of decorations in his arms. The surprise at seeing him causes you to lose focus while holding up the tent’s frame for a second too long, and the structure starts to fall with you standing under it. You let out a "SHIT!" as you try to handle the tent quite literally starting to crumble around you.

You hear a frantic "woah, woah, whoa!" as Mark rushes into the falling structure to help support it and stop it from folding you into it.

Mark lets out a grunt and pushes away a pane of polyester fabric to see your face. Once he locks eyes with you and sees your disgruntled expression he huffs out a "hey-" through a laugh and asks "You alright there?"

"Yeah, I think so…" you adjust the tarp above the two of you before continuing."What the blazes are you doing here?" You ask, letting an incredulous look twist your features, hopefully communicating your confusion.

"I'm a volunteer;" He nods towards the t-shirt he’s wearing which says in bold lettering SSF VOLUNTEER, which you grimaced at how obvious it now seemed. "I did my undergrad here, and I like to pay it forward when I can" Mark adds with a wink and a smirk, making you roll your eyes.

Trying your best to right the crumbling structure around you, you ask "Well, since you're 'paying it forward' today, would you be available to help me set this up? I'm here representing Adler." Mark responds with a cordial 'for sure' before taking the other side of the tent and helping you expand it fully, locking into place its folding joints. You let out a sigh and thank him before moving on to setting up the prize roulette table

Mark props his fists on his hips and says, "I'm guessing you'd like some help with that too?" Gesturing towards the collapsed gravity table frame in front of your tent.

You pop your head up from your place under the table while trying to get its legs to stay in place and say, "Yeah, if you don't have anything else to get to right now. Usually, we're sent out with at least one other person to make all this manageable, but I somehow got sent out alone." You say that last part with thinly veiled irritation as you finally get the table legs to straighten out. You stand and brush the grass and dirt off your dark-wash jeans before looking up to see how Mark's tackling the gravity table. You watch him organize the parts according to size and type and huff out a small laugh, causing him to look up at you from his seat on the grass. He looks like he's about to say something before he looks up at you and stops in his tracks; his expression morphs quickly from questioning and amused to the same ambiguous and hard-to-decipher look he gave you before leaving you at the front door of your building on trivia night. The sudden change lightly startles out and you ask, "What? Do I have something on my face?" You raise an eyebrow in an attempt to look at least a little unflustered while being scrutinized by Mark.

"No… uh, no, no you don't. Just spaced out…" There's a beat of silence between the two of you before Mark clears his throat and asks, "Does this look right? I think you guys had this set up last year, but it's been too long for me to remember how it was set up." He stands and awkwardly tries to brush blades of dead grass off the seat of his pants.

You look down and nod, "Yeah, that looks good. Just need to put the legs on and turn it right side up." You pick up two PVC pipe legs and hand another set to Mark, and the two of you finish constructing the frame. You take the elastic fabric that goes with the table and stretch it out over the frame, making sure one side of the ring doesn't have more fabric draping off it than the opposite side.

"Need any more help setting up?" Mark asks, causing you to look up from the fabric. If you didn't know any better, you'd say it looks like he has a hopeful glint in his eye, but of course that wouldn't make any sense. The two of you are becoming more friendly now, but that doesn't change the fact that he clearly hated your guts not even two weeks ago. Not to mention how much work needs to be done around other parts of the fair, there's no way he has the time to stand around here.

You give him a soft smile and say, "Nah, I think I've got it from here. Thanks, though…genuinely." You look down and run a hand through your hair. Your thoughts begins to spiral as you finish clipping the fabric to its PVC frame; Did that sound too soft? Too nice? God, why are my palms sweating so much???

"Alright; flag one of us down if you need any more help, I can't imagine running two different activities is, uh, easy." Mark picks back up his box of decorations and is back on his way to what you think is the Biology building.

You look up at him and cross your arms, sporting a smirk of your own. "You underestimate my ability to multitask," you call out to him and hear him let out a loud and singular 'HA!' as he turns his back to you.

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Hope you enjoyed that! Sorry it's short, but I don't want to give too much away before I post the whole chapter. I hope you're doing well and taking care of yourselves out there 💖

#mark watney #the martian #the martian(2015)#gn!reader #mark watney x gn!reader #mark watney x reader #self insert #andy weir #academic rivals #no use of y/n

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thecorteztwins · 4 years

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Werewolf Shinobi @esteicy-blog! Also tagging @acaprioglino @shattered-catalyst @sammysdewysensitiveeyes because I think you’ll enjoy it, as it has your chaotic dumbass boy! Shinobi Shaw was not a good werewolf. The first time he transformed, he didn’t rampage, or attack livestock, or eat people. He just had a really hard time adjusting to having four legs and tottered around the house falling all over his own paws, then barked at the mirror for two hours. He then had proceeded to just hide under his blanket with his nose poking out. His next few full moons had not gone any better. And worst of all, got sprayed by a skunk. His human form was just as embarrassing. He got distracted by squirrels mid-flirtation. He was starting to get really into sniffing people at parties. He attempted to run after cars, but still wasn’t in good enough shape for it so he just got worn out and started wheezing and whining and begging anyone he was with to carry him. And while making out with a guy at his apartment, the man’s cat had walked in. Immediately, Shinobi had jumped down to all fours to chase it...only for the cat to beat him up. Needless to say, his pack leaders were not pleased. He was before them now in his wolf form, which looked more like a coyote-sized black fox that anything, slim and silver-ticked with white paws. His tail was tucked, his ears were drooping, and his amber eyes were upturned in supplication towards the trio passing judgement on him from the rocks above that served as their thrones. Emma Frost. Erik Lehnsherr. And Sebastian Shaw, Shinobi’s own father. The representatives of the three most powerful werewolf clans in the territory, and the sternest, hardest-hearted, scariest people that Shinobi had ever met...with his father being the worst in all three categories. It wasn’t just that he was mean, or yelled, or told Shinobi he was a worthless idiot every time he saw him. It was the fact he hit him in human form, and bit him around the neck as a wolf, every time Shinobi disappointed or failed him. Which was often. Shinobi was trying not to cry.

Luckily, it was Emma who spoke, otherwise he might have lost that battle, and no one wanted to see a wolf weep. ”Shinobi Shaw, three times you have been granted the opportunity to prove yourself worthy as a werewolf of the Hell’s Fire Pack. Three times you have failed---and in rather spectacular fashion, I might add.” It had indeed been spectacular. The first time had involved a lake, the second a tanker truck, and the third time....a grand but accidental fireworks display that had frightened off every prey in the area during a hunt. Shinobi still wasn’t sure how any of it happened, but he suspected that the “liquid courage” he had consumed beforehand to “calm his nerves” might have had something to do with it. ”Three chances is traditionally all one gets,” Emma continues, “And it is typically MORE than one ever needs.” His ears drooped lower and he slumped. ”However...” His ears perked up. ”When the three of us assumed leadership of Hell’s Fire, part of the mandate that united us was the belief that some traditions must be torn down or at the very least modified to better suit the modern age and to best serve the pups of this generation. Lone wolves are a risk not only to themselves, but our species as a whole, and we would prefer for such a fate only to be earned by malicious action, not mere incompetence. Thus, for the time being...you are permitted to remain here, though you are still counted not counted as having any rank or truly belonging to the pack. But you are also not counted as a cub either. You are...your own category. Until we figure out what to do next with you.” His own category? He looked up. He was unique! He was special! He was so clever and amazing they had to make a new category just for him! As delusional as that was, it was either that or face the sense of crushing failure that was weighing down on his slim canine shoulders, so he embraced it...and avoided the stony GLARE of his father from on high, silent at Emma’s side, opposite of the other male, Erik. He had a feeling that his father probably had NOT been the one to vote to let him stay. But he would show him! He would show them all! He was just having a rough start, but he would be the best wolf ever! The best wolf the Hell’s Fire pack had ever seen in HISTORY! Bounding off into the woods after his dismissal, ignoring the laughs and taunts of packmates, his slender chest filled with determination, with confidence, with courage! He was going to--- He stopped in his tracks, kicking up quite a few leaves from the forest floor, as he realized, fuck, he didn’t know what to do. How could he prove himself? Let’s see...he had failed three attempts at the Rite of Passage, in which a young werewolf was given a task to prove himself worthy... Aha! That was the problem! The challenges were wrong! He would just have to make his own! And to do that, he needed inspiration! And for inspiration, he needed...BOOZE! So he trotted down to town and went into the nearest bar....and was promptly chased out with a broom by the screaming bartender. Oh, right, he was still in wolf form. He shapeshifted into his human state, and went back in...only to get chased out again, this time because he was naked. Man, some people were so uptight! After procuring some proper attire---meaning he swung by the designer boutique up the street where he had a personal account, rather than just go back to his penthouse to get clothes he already owned---he returned to the bar, told them they had made a huge mistake and he would now take his business elsewhere, and asked if anyone could lend him a $20 for an Uber. No one did. Then he remembered he had a driver he could just call. So he asked if anyone could lend him their cell phone. Wolves really needed to develop pockets in their coats. Eventually, he did manage to get to the upscale club he had in mind, though only by taking public transport like a SAVAGE. But he’d felt unsafe on the subway was a beautiful and affluent-looking human, so he’d shifted back into his wolf form for the trip... Meaning that someone was on a subway car with a wolf that was wearing fabulous sunglasses (at night) and a big fuzzy brilliantly purple haute couture coat. He was probably responsible for a WHOLE lot of people thinking they were either on drugs, or needed to quit them. He shifted back, got into the club, and... That was the last thing he remembered before waking up in the dog pound, in his wolf form again and without his new clothes. Oh, well, no big, this had happened before, he would just--- ”Hello there.” A WOMAN IN A LAB COAT was looking down at him. Something about her reminded him of Emma Frost, and not just because she was an attractive blonde. His tailed wagged and he hoped for pats. ”Don’t play puppy with me, wolf,” she said in a smirking tone, and his eyes went wide. She knew! ”Yes, I know what you are,” she continued, as though she had read his mind, ”Just stay in your current form, and everything will be fine. I’m getting you out of here.” Oh wow, he had found an ally! The pack would be so proud of him! She had on the white coat so she must be a doctor, maybe a vet! That was great! They needed people like her! After she had filled out his adoption paperwork, she walked him back to her car on a leash, something he enjoyed IMMENSELY. Once he was in the passenger seat, he turned into his human state again, to let her see just what a gorgeous specimen she had procured for herself. ”Hey there babe. I’m Shinobi Shaw, and I’m all ready to be your new pet. Or should I say---” ”Oh, shut up,” was the last thing he heard as she sprayed a can of knock out gas at him and he collapsed. When he regained consciousness, he was in a cage once again. A lab this time. Even he could recognize that, with all the beakers and test tubes around with unpleasant looking fluids in them, not to mention the other animals and people---people!---in cages there too. Many of the animals were squeaking or crying in pain, but the people...they didn’t move. And they didn’t look good either. Their naked skin had strange green patches, almost like they were growing algae from their flesh. Skin tags the size of plums drooped at random places. Liver spots were swollen and growing small horns. Teeth were sticking out of places that were NOT there mouths. And some of them were...kinda oozing. It had the antiseptic smell of a hospital...mixed, paradoxically and disturbingly with the smell of rot. Rot, and radiation. What kind of crazy medical kink play had he gotten into?! ”Oh hey babe---or should I say Mistress? Doctor, maybe?” he posed in as sexy a position as he could in the cramped cage as the blonde woman entered the lab. A hush fell over it, the animals too scared to continue their howls and squawks, the people too far gone to speak. As soon as he tells me everything I need to know, I’m wiring his jaws shut and excising his tongue, thought Dr. June Covington. Out of all the supernatural creatures she was studying, she’d expected werewolves to be the most taciturn, thinking they would be more like animals than people....although, in a way, she was right, this guy WAS an animal. And a dumb one at that. “Shut up,” she said simply, just as she had in the car. She unlocked the cage, grabbed him by the neck, and hauled him out. As she expected, he went willingly; it was why she hadn’t used anesthetic on him as she usually did with such creatures. She’d thought that his enthusiasm might wane as the experiments began, and yet, it did not. He clearly enjoyed them, writing around and making kinky innuendo throughout. She finally muzzled him, and he just clearly enjoyed that. She began considering anesthetizing him just so she wouldn’t have to put up with this shit, but she went through a LOT of sedatives, it was unwise to waste it on him if she didn’t have to. She’d hate to find herself facing down a PROPER werewolf without enough sedatives on hand when she needed it. This proved to be a fatal mistake. When she turned him over to insert the thermometer meant to check the temperature changes involved in shapeshifting, that was when things went to hell. Oh, he didn’t resist it, quite the opposite, he was clearly HAPPY about it. Too happy. Though still in human form, his tail sprouted, and he began wagging it. Hard. Very hard. So much so, he knocked over a VERY precious combination of chemicals.... “No!” was all that Dr. June Covington had time to get out before the place EXPLODED. The next thing that Shinobi remembered, he was waking up in one of the caves that the pack used in their meeting place in the wolves, surrounded by the concerned faces of packmates. “He’s coming to!” said one of the healers. “He’s awake!” “He’s going to be alright!”

And then...they started cheering. Shinobi was very confused. More than usual, that is. In a daze, his packmates walked him to the clearing that was overlooked by the rocks on which the leaders perched. He was expecting a scolding, or worse, exile. Instead, what Emma said was, “Shinobi Shaw, you have proven yourself three times over and then some. You discovered, infiltrated, and destroyed one of our deadliest enemies. Dr. June Covington has kidnapped and vivisected thousands of our kind in her foul experiments, but you put an end to it---and for that, you have the gratitude of this pack, and all lycanthropes, all magical creatures, forever.” Shinobi stood there, stunned.

And he realized the best thing about this. It was a good excuse for a PARTY!

#fic #writing

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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Vigil Episode 5 Review: You’ve Got Some Nerve, Agent!

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Warning: contains Vigil Episode 5 spoilers.

What’s worse – drowning in your own sweat in a drysuit, or drowning in seawater in a torpedo tube? DCI Silva’s in the rare position of being about to find out, having survived the first scenario only to land herself straight in the second. If she gets out of this one, oh, the pub stories she’ll have to tell! Not that you can imagine Silva holding court on a bar stool, one licked finger in the crumbs of a packet of Cheddar and Onion McCoys, the other demonstrating how close she came to inhaling a nerve agent from a booby-trapped catering-sized tin of grapefruit segments. She’s a cold fish, a closed book, a locked box, an iceberg according to her ex. Ice pop more like, if that water keeps coming.

Silva’s also an ace detective who quickly sussed out that Jackie Hamilton was the monkey and not the organ grinder in this mess. (Not that mess.) The DCI realised that the Russian asset needed Jackie to kill Craig Burke so that he could be flown in to take his place (makes you wonder exactly how Deerborne, whom Burke was there to replace, really broke that leg of his. Slipped on a Russian banana skin?). Doward, the sniffy lieutenant flown onto Vigil at the same time as Silva, is our man. It was him, in cahoots with Peter Ingles, who jimmied the lock to force the reactor scram, deliberately snagged Vigil’s communications wire and bribed Jackie to kill Silva – or maybe everyone – with that tinned nerve agent.

All of Doward’s sabotage was an effort to make the boat surface so that the Russians could get a clean shot at her (or at least flex their muscles and show that they could if they wanted to), according to the latest theory at least. By next week, it’ll probably turn out the Russians are our mates and it’s Korea/mutant dolphins we really need to watch out for. Vigil’s that kind of show – every click of its Rubik’s Cube creates an entirely new pattern that overrides what came before. To think we once thought the Coxswain was the big bad. The naivety!

Even if the Coxswain did fail to keep his petty officer safely stowed when it came to Doc Doherty (side note: has ever before a passionate kiss on TV been preceded by the instruction “Rinse out your nostrils”?), he proved himself a goodie this week. He saved Silva from the deadly grapefruit tin and volunteered to go on a life-threatening mission that ended up threatening his life. He’s currently being turned into sweaty margarine by the Sarin that got in through a rip in his drysuit, and without the drugs required to treat him, is likely to become corpse no. three on Vigil’s patrol. Four, if Silva doesn’t get rescued from her tube sharpish.

Vigil Episode 4 Review: Who’s Been Russian Around Committing Sa-boat-age?!

By Louisa Mellor

Vigil Episode 3 Review: For Bros In Peril On the Sea!

By Louisa Mellor

Silva will be rescued. Why else devote so much time to explaining her complicated domestic situation if all of this isn’t going to end with her, Longacre and little Poppy skipping together through an autumnal park wearing Boden jumpers? If unlike me you felt impatient with last week’s romance flashbacks, then this week’s diversion to a child’s birthday tea during a key stage in an investigation that could result in nuclear war likely won’t have impressed. It’s one dramatic ingredient too many, the custody battle. The traumatic fiancé death was one thing, the break-up another, but add in the little girl with the sulky nan? Like Twitter nowadays, it’s too many threads.

Tea party aside, the penultimate episode was filled with exactly what you want from a submarine thriller, i.e. Paterson Joseph booming “Isolate the missile compartment!”, a decontamination station being A-Teamed up using sticky tape and toilet duck, and a Battleships bit where Russian ships were closing in on Vigil like the creatures in the ventilation system in Aliens. It was an hour-long crisis, tense and grave, with no let-up. Even the shower scenes were life or death.

Onshore, things weren’t a great deal more relaxed. Peace camp member Ben Oakley was unveiled as the wrong-un that his lurking presence had marked him out to be from the start. Precisely what kind of wrong-un I couldn’t confidently say. First, he appeared to be working with the Russians, but he’ll be top of their hit-list when he releases the photo of Ingles and Doward he stole from Jade’s laptop. Did Oakley conspire with Ingles in Jade’s murder? Somebody else will have to tell me. It’s been a long week and to tell the truth, I’ve only just worked out the difference between scram and scran.

It all ended on a bona fide nightmare seemingly custom-designed to really shit up Amy ‘hates water and enclosed spaces’ Silva, who at this point must be regretting not bringing her ladle. In a torpedo tube, no-one can hear you scream…

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Vigil concludes next Sunday the 26th of September at 9pm on BBC One.

The post Vigil Episode 5 Review: You’ve Got Some Nerve, Agent! appeared first on Den of Geek.

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#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

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racingtoaredlight · 4 years

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Hiwatt

When you see these images...even if you know nothing about guitar amplifiers...you’d immediately assume they sound like dirty, huge rock’n’roll amps. To a novice, you might assume they’re like those old Marshalls and Fenders...I mean, they have four inputs, and all that...and would naturally assume they have huge amounts of gain.

You’d be wrong.

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My second amp ever was bought from my uncle. A Hiwatt Custom 50 1x12″ combo that weighed probably 95 lbs. It didn’t distort. At all.

Because...despite the name “HIWATT” and the imagery and all that...these amps were designed to be clean monsters. Hiwatt doesn’t mean huge volume and huge saturation...it means you can run those watts to 11 (on the brilliant channel) and there will be almost no distortion. On the normal channel, there will be none, period.

Hiwatts were ahead of their time in two respects.

Firstly, they were designed to complete military specifications. This meant that a) wiring had to be perfectly neat, b) wiring had to be easily accessible, and c) both those qualifications would need to be met during repairs in the field, i.e. under pressure. Hiwatt’s were wired immaculately (first pic below), with the highest quality parts and transformers, and were extremely durable...here’s a pic of one of Gilmour’s original Hiwatt stacks (second pic). These things were indestructible.

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Secondly, Hiwatts were massively ahead of their time in how they were meant to be used. By having this massive amount of clean headroom with very little overdrive, it was the perfect platform for the burgeoning pedal market. Fuzzes, overdrives, chrouses, phasers, flangers, envelope filters...all that shit could be thrown in front of this amp and work perfectly. Because that’s what it was intended for.

Today, almost every major manufacturer has a “pedal platform.” Hell, Fender over the past two decades have almost completely cornered this market with their Blues Junior/Deluxe/DeVille/etc. A simple clean channel that stays clean even at relatively high volumes that’s well equipped to take pedals...

It’s cheaper to buy a new pedal than amp, and if you look at the pedal sub-industry you’ll see this massive maelstrom of competition for guitarists’ disposable $100-200. “Pedal platforms” are easier to use at all volumes, easier to get consistent sound out of, the amps you’ll most likely run into at gigs where backlines are provided...and it makes for a great platform to have fun with.

Hiwatt’s were the originals. They could be played clean at volumes where Marshalls and Fenders will be almost completely saturated.

So then why did they fall out of favor? When the original owner died, the guy in charge of all that great wiring design was forced to use substandard parts and change his schematics in the name of margins. They were Hiwatt in name only after that, despite keeping the 500 lb. casings.

It wasn’t long before Fender and Marshall caught up...it’s not like they ever took a backseat to Hiwatt to begin with...and music was evolving into higher gain territory already by the mid 70′s. Hiwatt just wasn’t the flavor of the month, despite all its design advantages. Simply put, outside of niche genres, music hasn’t evolved back to a world where Hiwatt’s will be practical. Their size, once a huge benefit, is a crippling liability in a world where even at shitty clubs, your amps are being mic’d.

Which means...would you rather carry 115 lbs. of clean amp to a gig, or 35 lbs. of amp that’ll be mic’d?

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All that aside tho, the designs are more than enough to endure and keep a niche in the guitar equipment industry. Because, despite the weight and size and volume, the clean tone is where it’s at.

There have long been established camps in the amp world...the big boys being Fender and Marshall’s various eras. After those two, things get more diverse...the mega-boutique Dumble, the never-changing Vox’s, the sterile and cloying Mesa Boogies (I guess Santana’s tone with a Mark 1 was great, but aside from that they’re truly mediocre amplifiers for anything other than metal)...then a bunch of third tier boutiques and/or copies that we don’t need to get into.

Before the modern era, there were always compromises. You got no dirt from Fender blackface Twins. You got a flat, characterless clean sound from Marshalls even though you got the volume. Fender blackface Deluxes couldn’t stay clean at higher volumes. Tweeds were club amps. Marshalls were dirty stadium amps.

When you didn’t have PA help and wanted to stay clean in huge venues, you did not have an option. That’s where Hiwatt came in.

It’s not quite a Fender blackface, even if they’re both sparkly clean...the Hiwatt has a wonderfully balanced EQ with neither a mid scoop or bump. More mids means more presence in a band mix with less overall volume. The character of tone, while reminiscent of the blackface amps, feels more like a British Marshall because of the EL-34 tubes. And it gets that beautiful chimey quality of a Vox without the early saturation you get from an AC-30.

If you want that overdrive, yea...Hiwatt’s probably aren’t for you. But if you use clean extensively and add pedals for dirt, it’s manna from heaven.

And while their popularity has waxed and waned, Hiwatt’s seem to be in more demand now than at any time in my guitar playing life. Probably because they’re a great pedal platform for guys playing medium to large clubs, and don’t have to haul their own gear.

Anyways, they’re great amps. I enjoyed my time with one, even if I moved on and sold it back to my uncle before moving to Texas. They’re unique even if they don’t really feel unique, because of how comfortable getting good sounds out so easily. The cleanliness and simplicity of the wiring was way ahead of its time, something almost every boutique manufacturer worth a shit does these days...even with things like eyelet-boards and PCB available.

So there we go. That’s all I got for today.

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