#apparently if i want drops i'm interested in i need to tank

[witchofthesouls]

How would the DJD react to a lone carrier? Maybe the carrier is stuck on a another planet trying to negotiate with the local market for tickets or shanix to get home? Would they go feral or would they just only somewhat interested? What if the reason the carrier is stuck is because they got abandoned by their partner who is on The List and didn’t want to cross paths with the DJD so left them behind to save their own ass, that could be juicy…

(Tarn's dignity will always suffer with me, so he majorly fucks up because of regulations he inputted himself in the initial days of his gun-ho zeal to the Cause and Megatron's worldview.)

Camiens have a reputation for falling in love too fast and too hard, and like any blitzed and infatuated mechling swooning over their first love, you fell for the rugged outworlder. It was like a tale from a stupid romance holo, but instead of a deepening connection from constant hardship, you were left destitute on a planet that didn't need your expertise and a forge full of newsparks.

The mech was happy enough to frag you silly and more than content to have a ward manager to weld his wounds, but you warned the mech of your spark-lineage and its coding quirks and the mech still had the audacity to not only freak out at impending sirehood but to actually do a runner as well.

Apparently, death caught him before you could because the mech took all the damn credits and shanix with him.

Luckily the group that got Deadzone had a functioning ship to drop you off near Camnius at the low price of your ex-lover's T-cog.

And you delivered that T-cog, still warm and wet from his fritzing corpse into the leader's hand. Beautifully intact despite his smelted frame.

Nicket, their CMO, dragged you to her medbay before any of the mechs could do anything, and practically shoved the empty job posting into your nasal ridge while checking your progress.

"Let me get this straight," You rub your temples, trying to force the stress away when Nickel tells you the reason why she nor any of the other mechs can't help with your carriage. "Instead of being able to proposition any of the mecha here, I have to sleep with the one that finished off Deadzone?"

"Unfortunately true." The medic grouses as she wipes her servos with a rag and you close your panel. "Some idiot thought that the winners caring for the losers' mates in gladiatorial matches was romantic."

There's a story behind that and you're not sure if you want to find out. Instead, you focus on the important part. "And that idiot?"

"Tarn." Nickel says, flatly.

"And who got Deadzone?"

"Also Tarn."

You're stuck with the mech that has no idea what to do with you, so he defers to stiff, awkward politeness. Nickels notes your expression and offers full use of the medical supply closet to have a private meltdown inside of it.

Sometimes, being a ward manager does have its perks.

_______

Because Nickel memorized the schedules, you approach Tarn on his downtime and knock on his habsuite door to rip the patch off.

"Hello, Tarn, I'm here for donor services." You pray that Nickel had beaten into his head that carriers needed resources. Otherwise, his refusal will launch a rut-induced riot by your own activated heat-protocols.

The mech nods and steps into his habsuite and you follow the nonverbal permission.

"Would you like something to drink?" He asks, gesturing to a cabinet and a spare convertor.

"No, thank you." You're being awkwardly polite because Tarn is as well. Your sensory panels twitch, partly anxious, but mostly to check if there are hidden cameras in the room. You click your glossa, door wings twitch again, and it reads as clear.

You have no idea what kind of weird scrap he's into, but you didn't expect the tank to simply... lie down on his berth.

"Do what's necessary then." And he just lies there, staring into the ceiling as if it held the secrets to the galaxy.

Solus save your spark.

You take a deep inhale and exhale through your vents.

"Okay," you step forward and eye his pelvis. "I'm going to need you to open this-" you tap twice over the panel that covers the spike housing "-and pressurize. I need to know what I'm working with."

He follows your instructions to the glyph. And it's a very generous proportion to the mech, there are treads lining its sides, deep grooves underneath the shaft, and solidly purple with a fat node sitting beneath the crown.

It was also dry.

You reach for the extra lubricant bottle in your subspace and smear a hefty dollop across your palm and digits because you want to minimize friction burn since he's definitely the largest spike in your experience.

You grip it firmly, sliding up and down the underside as you thumb the tip, it weeps and it's a healthy bright pink hue with no detection of infection. You don't feel anything off with the texture that would have denoted hidden spines or a knot or an expansion mod. The plating does overlap to create subtle ribbing...

Your face may be impassive, but your valve eagerly wets itself in anticipation, it gnaws and you can feel the innermost calipers trying to set to their widest setting, and you blame the active carriage because you never had been so turned on by a silent handy on a mech that reads 'clean' to your diagnostic tools before.

You tell him that it's best that you ride him, and it's true. You don't voice that you're 99% percent sure he has no prior experience, but you did voice that Nickel would be displeased trying to repair valvular lining and mesh on a carrier with only one valve.

You straddle him, nudging him to your rim until it catches, so you hold him firm to sink down in slow increments. He's big. Your thighs strain with the painfully slow pace of sinking down, hitching up, and sinking down further to carefully pop the next rib into you that spreads you wider and wider until you feel like bursting from the fullness.

Tarn is not as unaffected as he projects, despite that air of neutrality you can feel the underlying hunger nipping at your field, see his digits claw into the berth, and feel that massive spike twitching hotly as you brush over sensors you didn't even know existed inside your frame. You keep your own spike shut with medical lockdowns because you have no idea if Tarn would tolerate that mess on him.

You finally meet his housing and it takes a good moment to acclimate, frame slick and already steaming from that effort. You set to slow grind, bracing on his chassis, biting your lower lip as that node slides over a cluster of nodes that sets your valve to spasm and ripple.

There's a familiar wetness at the back of your valve that makes your spinal struts shiver and sensory panels rapidly flick to disperse the sudden swell of charge.

"Did you just-" You strangle out the words because merciful Pits the mech is big, and heat bursts directly into your chamber putting you on edge.

Tarn, who hadn't uttered a single noise ever since you mounted him and still hasn't looked at you since lying down, then said, very quietly, "I'm sorry."

You're far away from home, fucking a beyond awkward stranger because of archaic bull-scrap of a rule since the mech that was nearly your Conjunx wasn't the person you thought he was.

Tears start to well in your optics and you blink rapidly to keep it away since Tarn actually makes contact with your face and gets a dipole-deer-in-the-headlights expression, even with the mask.

That stupid fucker was dead and you're still here seething over it.

Tarn had said, Do what's necessary. Well, this is damn well necessary.

You lift yourself off his spike and immediately turn around to face the door. Without a word, you seat yourself again by not-so-gently guiding him back into you. And it's easier this time, granted you ignore the jarring sensation between too much and please more.

You can deal with an awkward-as-the-Pits frag, but you will not tolerate that pity.

Because you're ridiculously wet and primed since carrier-coding is in an absolute tizzy over this spike, you viciously ride said spike at a brutal pace, clanging hard enough to leave bruises upon protoform, and ignoring the stretch in your valve, your vents practically wheeze with every drop that shoves Tarn to the back of your throat and leaves your insides quivering, unsure if it's from pleasure or overwhelmed by the sensation of taking a mech that's beyond your schematics.

Luckily it had an adjustment period, Tarn isn't thrusting upward, and nothing in your system is currently red-lining.

The tank doesn't say anything else, he doesn't even touch you. Instead, you hear something breaking in the room, but it isn't your frame and you can't bring yourself to care.

You keep the pace for the rest of the ordeal, annihilating your thoughts until it channels all of the urges to raise the dead back to life (just so you could personally gut Deadzone over and over) into getting the newsparks the transfluid they need. You can taste Energon in your mouth, bleeding down your intake, cooling fans roaring, and beneath the mad clanking, there's the audible noise of lubricant splattering out.

It's hard to say what burns harder, your frame and fuel lines or the hate boiling in your spark.

You keep it up even when your chamber bloats, heavy and hot, forcing your howling thighs and back through the onslaught, ozone thick with the Energon on your glossa as you speed and lose count of the overloads, and it isn't until Tarn's spike fully softens within your calipers' death grip do you finally stop.

And because you refuse to crash here in the mech's room, you don't pause to rest, you simply swing off of Tarn.

"Thank you and good night," you shout at the guy. Raging and hurt you may be, but you still have manners and Tarn did his duty to the damn regulations.

You hobble-stomp back to the med-bay, a wildfire as your spark, even as your pelvis throbs and joints scream to rest. Nickel takes one look at your face and immediately points to the supply closet. "I sent you the code."

You jam in the sequence and the moment the door shuts, you scream.

____________

:: Tarn, what did you do!? ::

:: Nothing. ::

:: I can tell. ::

#ask #transformers #the donor clause au #transformers idw #idw #mtmte #reader insert #cybertronian!reader #tarn #nickel #valveplug #pregnancy #bitlets #sparklings #cybertronian culture #cybertronian biology #maccadam #My writing #minor character death #the ever growing saga of tarn and his suffering that's self induced

[themarvelliteraryuniverse]

It's two in the morning, Sherlock can't sleep, and his fingers aren't accomplishing as much as he hoped they would.

He'd been explicitly banned from playing violin at odd hours, which he found dreadfully unfair seeing as he didn't even have his violin and refused to fiddle with one of the school's instruments for hours to get it to sound right. Scott had apparently read the books about him and made wild assumptions about the type of house mate Sherlock might be based on said descriptions.

Only they weren't descriptions of him, were they? But that of another mutant posing as him which has it's own existential quandary. Yet another thing to keep him up, but it's not the reason for this night's delay.

Sherlock sat at his desk, the head of recently used needle jammed into the wood as the detective idly twirled it. Since his untimely stumble to the universe he currently sat, he'd been falling back into nasty- comforting- habits. Who would scold him for it? Who did he have to disappoint? Closing his eyes, Sherlock lifted the syringe and tossed it back down again to make it stick in the desk. He couldn't think like that. He'd never get home if he did.

His addiction isn't the reason for the delay, either. He'd grown used to the ache that plagued him, homesickness, he supposed it was, but tonight it had taken a more aggressive approach. The ache permeated his entire being, and soon he found himself biting his lip as he imagined a thick cock pressed heavily against his tongue.

He missed his husband. His voice, his presence, his scent. But in that moment, he missed his cock the most. Sherlock exhaled, dropping his head into his hands. He could handle the situation himself- he tried to handle the situation himself, but he only managed to get three fingers inside of him before he realized he needs more. He needs someone else's hand, someone's cock.

It takes twelves steps to stand outside of Logan's door. Sherlock clad in just slacks and a half open button down as he raises his hand to knock but he stops. What would he say? Logan had flirted with him when he first arrived, but it didn't take long to realize Logan flirted with anyone old enough.

No, this is stupid, he decides, and turns to leave just as the door opens and Logan leans against the door, fist planted on his hip. Sherlock tries to glare again, to give him the coldest shoulder he can manage, but Logan looks good. Tank top that leaves nothing to the imagination, and pants hung low enough on his hips that Sherlock can see a trail of dark hair that he foolishly follows with his eyes before they snap up to Logan.

Logan's grinning- no. Smirking. And Sherlock feels his face flush, already predicting how their conversation would go.

"Why are you still awake?"

"Started smellin' you an hour ago. Wanted to see how far you got before you set out lookin' for help. Didn't expect you at my door, though. You're jus' full of surprises."

"You can smell me? I'm insulted."

"No, you're not. We gonna keep doin' this or you gonna admit you're here for an easy fuck."

"Not many people I know would sound so proud to be considered easy."

"I know what I want. Do you?"

Sherlock knew the more he spoke, the more likely he was to talk himself out of this. But what would he do? Try to sleep again? Because that'd gone so well the last four hours he'd tried. He couldn't exactly take another hit unless he wanted to risk over dosing. He needed relief. Logan was that relief. Sherlock hesitates, and he can see Logan inhale to begin speaking.

So Sherlock surges forward and kisses him before he can. He doesn't want to talk, he doesn't want to struggle with making an excuse neither of them would believe. Sherlock's here for one thing, and he'll get and then be on his way.

Logan's hand around his waist is confirmation enough that Logan's just as interested in their encounter as Sherlock. He pulls him into the room, free hand shoving the door shut before both hands are on the detective, lifting him off the ground to carry him to the bed. It's second nature to wrap his legs aroung Logan's waist, one arm braced around his shoulders while the other slides a hand into waves of black.

They're almost to the bed when Sherlock grasps Logan's hair and forces their lips apart. The air between them is hot as Sherlock pulls to force Logan's chin up and bites the underside of his jaw.

"Sit," He commands. "I want to ride you."

His response is a throaty groan, but Logan obeys and sits on the edge of the bed, Sherlock set firmly in his lap. The friction is already better than what his fingers had to offer, and Sherlock is too far gone to concern himself with how improper he might look grinding against the outline of Logan's cock. They move together in just the right way, electric pops of pleasure rattling up Sherlock's spine until he needs more. There's too many clothes in the way.

With a growl of his own, Sherlock stands and steps away to get his trousers off while Logan pulls his shirt off and shifts just enough to free his dick from fabric constraints. Sherlock stares- leers like a stranded man who's just spotted a rescue boat on the horizon.

"Christ," Logan begins, and Sherlock watches as his gaze moves up and down to take in the entirety of him. "You're gor-"

"Don't speak," Sherlock's hand covers his mouth as he moves closer, keeping the hand there while the other strokes Logan's cock and holds it steady. He feels precome smear the inside of his leg as he lowers himself on Logan's waiting cock. It'd been too long since he last felt this full, since he felt his body stretch and that bone deep ache was finally satisfied.

He doesn't fully seat himself. Despite his earlier efforts, it's still a lot to take and he lifts himself up just enough so only the head of Logan's cock remains inside him. Beneath him, he can feel Logan shiver, and Sherlock's grins, the gesture laced with pure deviance. His movements remain shallow, teasing. He feels Logan's arms and legs go taut the longer he plays the game until two large hands finally grab his waist and pull him all the way down.

His breath catches, his cry caught in his throat as Logan's cock sits fully inside him now. Even with his head thrown back, he knows Logan's smirking at him, and Sherlock gathers himself enough to finish what he set out to do.

With hands press to Logan's chest as leverage, Sherlock moves with a singular purpose in mind. His pleasure. Chasing that elusive high he couldn't give himself. It's mounting, he begins to shake with the strain of maintaining his rhythm, but he doesn't stop. He buries his face in the crook of Logan's neck and rides him home.

Logan smells like home. Like sweat, and smoke, and pine. Shit. He's so close, he just- he- he needs something.

Logan's climax surprises him. But it's precisely what he needed to fall over the edge with him. His cock pulses inside of him, and just knowing ribbons of hot white seed follow every jolt sets Sherlock's nerve alight all over again.

He forget he's holding Logan's mouth until the man bites him and it's enough to jolt Sherlock out of the post climax endorphin rush. Jerking his hand back, Sherlock glares. But Logan only grins.

"Stay the night?"

"No, that won't happen." Sherlock stands, hands tight at his sides as he feels the overflow of Logan's spend run down his legs. "And this never happened."

Before Logan can make another witty remark or make Sherlock's ears burn anymore than they already did, Sherlock shoves his legs into his trousers and snatches his shirt from the floor. He leaves without looking back.

#round tWO becayse tumblr fucked my last one #☆ the detective ☆ #The Multiverse ○||○ Stranded #wolvlock #have I converted anyone to this ship yet. do i need to he more annoying about because I can and I will #no beta reader we die like logan's children #;;clever drabble tag #;;clever usft tag #cw drug abuse mention #cw infidelity #i mean kind of it's complicated.

[ragnarokhound]

18 + 20 for the ask game!

<33

18. Do you use any tools, like worksheets or outlines?

I have tried to use proper outlining before, writing something out in full before I start really writing the prose, and honestly it sometimes sucks the idea out of me prematurely @_@ It tricks my brain into thinking 'ah, yes, good job you have told the story. We're Done Now' and the rest of me goes 'wait what' - so a full outline of the story usually doesn't get written lol

But I will drop notes for a scene idea as they come to me when I'm in the middle of writing, so that I don't lose the idea and can flesh them out later as needed. I like being able to move them around in the continuity like little notecards, but still be grounded in my word doc. I tend to jump around (the morning of the sex scene in Sit, Stay, Speak was one of the first scenes I wrote for it lol) so I'm often bridging from Point A to Point G with my little [Jason finds something else in the apartment] notes helping pick up the slack in between. Can't just go from [Jason finds the photos] to [Jason wakes up with Tim naked (EXCEPT THE COLLAR OwO)] straight away lol we GOTTA WORK FOR IT

I also write notes about the story at the end of the word doc for myself to reference if I'm stuck; when I needed to know why Tim was mad in my latest fic "sigh no more", I worked out some key notes on his emotional timeline during the two and half weeks that Jason went missing, and it helped a lot with pinning down his dialogue and emotional state!

So tldr - sort of? It's been kind of fun discovering my own writing process and how trying to force myself into a mold of how I ""should"" be writing doesn't really work lol

20. Describe your perfect writing conditions.

Anything that gets the hyperfocus to trigger lol - when I get stuck on a scene I have to find a way to trick myself into finding it interesting which usually means framing it as a puzzle to be solved, and also cutting off my brain's usual distraction shortcuts. Like, no girl, I know you're conflict averse but we don't need another cup of tea just because you don't want to write the girls fighting.

(side tangent: there was this guy I knew in college who I found Awful - but who i was also attracted to against my will. He was funny and smart and a little bit sad (! the bait), but also wore a shirt that said "ayn rand is my home girl" and was a poli sci major. He was the definition of "i can fix him". Two of my friends quietly fought over him and I think it damaged their friendship irreparably, if not outright killed it. He had evil charisma and I never understood wanting to punch someone in the mouth yet also wanting to dick them down until I met him. When I write Tim and Jason's early relationship like, right after Titan's Tower, this is the energy I seek to capture)

ANYWAY Usually the coffeeshop down the road does the trick: temperature controlled, wearing a light layer I can take off or put on but hopefully don't even need so I stop being distracted by it. Music playlist that becomes white noise. Ready access to tea & food. Sitting upright in a chair and, unfortunately, not curled up on anything too comfy :') Blinds open so I can stare outside rather than at tumblr when I'm trying to think something through - tumblr steals my problem-solving brain from me, and I need that program to be running uninterrupted when I'm stuck lol

And apparently the ability to pick up my laptop and walk around with it - ever since my laptop battery busted and I need to be plugged into a wall to use it, my ability to write from home TANKED. It doesn't help that my roommate uses the dining table (the preferred spot) when they're working from home, and my laptop can only barely make it to the coffee table in the living room (the next runner up) from the outlet. Also it's a pure brain trick - my laptop is fettered. Therefore I am fettered. I must be FREE OTL

That got really long Thanks for the questions! <33

#I still think about that poli sci guy sometimes #hope he's different #hardlycats #I hear you're still sick dear :( I hope you're getting lots of fluids and resting when possible!! emergen-c helped me when i had covid #get well soon <3 #asked and answered #my writing #ask game #writing

[munatarswrestlingassociationrp]

Justin Roberts: "This bout is set for one fall with a 20-minute time limit! Introducing first, from Boston, Massachusetts, weighing 200 pounds... Mike Bennett!"

Jim Ross: "And Mike Bennett, looking primed and ready for this one-on-one contest!"

Jerry Lawler: "Yeah, but... where's his wife? Don't they usually enter together?"

Jim Ross: "Maria Kanellis is an active wrestler in the women's division, so I imagine she a bit too busy preparing for her own matches to be playing valet all the time."

Jim Cornette: "And, plus, I'm more interested in seeing the abilities of the man himself, not who the fuck he married! Leave that shit to the dirt sheets and let the action speak of him itself!"

Jerry Lawler: "Oh, God, this guy..."

Jim Ross: "A familiar face of the mid 2000's and early 2010's. A man looking to make a comeback after a promising career was derailed by some unfortunate events-"

Mr. Anderson does his signature pose, and a mic drops into his hand.

Mr. Anderson: "Ladies and gentlemen... this guy's a pretty good lover boy, huh? Faithful, fatherly... BUT YOU SEE, THE SO-CALLED "POWER OF LOVE" DON'T WIN YOU SHIT IN THE WRESTLING RING! Now that he's out there on his own, it's gonna take a real "miracle" for him not to get his ass kicked tonight. Kicked... by a man FROM GREEN BAY WISCONSIN..."

Jerry Lawler: "Oh, god..."

Mr. Anderson: "I am... MIIIIIIIIIIIIISTEEEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR... ANDERSON!!!!"

He holds his mic up to the fans.

Fans: "Anderson!"

Jim Ross: "And here we go! The bell rings, and the two square up. Mike Bennett, driving Mr. Anderson to the corner!"

Jim Cornette: "Impressive display of strength by "The Miracle" Mike Bennett."

Jerry Lawler: "Oh, and what a clothesline in the corner of the ring! That ought to knock Mr. Anderson for a loop!"

Jim Ross: "And he takes him to another corner and does it again! And again! And again!"

Jim Cornette: "You know, it's great he's found a move that works, but sooner or later, Mr. Anderson's gonna have to find a way to neutralize that attack."

Jim Ross: "And now Mike Bennett, waiting in the ring... and he drops Mr. Anderson with the superkick!"

Jerry Lawler: "Good grief!"

Jim Cornette: "But come on! There's no need to taunt like that! Get back on the attack!"

Jim Ross: "Looks like he's about to do just that, as he picks up Anderson and drops him down with the spinebuster!"

Jerry Lawler: "I could feel my spine rattling from seeing that move!"

Jim Ross: "And he waits for Anderson to get up... and drops him with the cutter! Cover, 1... 2, no! Anderson kicks out at 2!"

Jerry Lawler: "I just can't believe how hot Mike Bennett started out this match! It's a miracle!"

Jim Ross: "Well, it looks like the miracle's coming to an end, as the two now lock up... and Mr. Anderson drops Mike Bennett with the belly-to-back suplex!"

Jim Cornette: "Textbook wrestling fundamentals, folks. Textbook wrestling fundamentals."

Jim Ross: "And Anderson, now, picking up Mike Bennett... Irish Whip, and he hits the running clothesline! Cover 1... not even close! Bennett kicks out at 1!"

Jerry Lawler: "He's still got plenty of gas in the tank... wonder if he's thinking of his wife through all this?"

Jim Ross: "Anderson now, with the drop toe hold, sending Bennett into the ropes. And he follows it up with the leapfrog guillotine!"

Jim Cornette: "You'd have to be really dumb not to go for a cover here..."

Jim Ross: "Apparently, Anderson is. He wants to inflict some more punishment in the form of a dropkick! Bennett, getting out of the ring to regroup for a moment!"

Jerry Lawler: "I don't blame him, either. Mr. Anderson's on the warpath now!"

Jim Ross: "Anderson, though, in pursuit and sending Mike Bennett crashing into the ring stairs!"

Mr. Anderson: "That's right! That's what you get when you step into the ring with the real competitors!"

Jim Cornette: "And a bit of taunting by Mr. Anderson! Come on, enough's enough! You want to talk the talk, you better walk the walk!"

Jim Ross: "Anderson, though, back in first and Mike's not in for a second before he's hit with the Green Bay Plunge! Anderson, now climbing the... oh, no. Mike's gone to the corner to regroup... that turns out to be a bad move as Mr. Anderson just scrapes his head with the face wash!"

Jim Cornette: "Guys, I just don't think Mike Bennett has it in him anymore to win this one."

Jim Ross: "Anderson setting up Mike Bennett in the center of the ring... and there's the Kenton Bomb! Cover, 1... 2... no! Mike Bennett kicks out at 2 and a half!"

Jerry Lawler: "I think we might be seeing the beginning of the end here!"

Jim Ross: "You may be right, King, as Anderson sets up Bennett... and drops him down with the Mic Check! Cover, 1... 2... 3, it's all over!"

Justin Roberts: "The winner of the match... Mr. Anderson!"

Jim Cornette: "So long, thanks for coming Mike Bennett!"

Jim Ross: "It was a pretty hard-fought battle, I'll tell you that much! But in the end, there could only be one winner, and this time, it was Mr. Anderson... Anderson!"

Jerry Lawler: "Oh... I hope his wife's wrestling in the next match! I can't wait to see her!"

#the miracle: mike bennett #the asshole: mr. anderson

[traceemerald]

-December 8th, Factory Tyrant's Journal, Entry 10-

Today, I'm going to start work on actually building my slime farm.

Since it's just a vanilla slime farm, the building process isn't that interesting, so I'll just skip to when I've completed it.

Anyway, the functional part of the slime farm is done.

I was going to use marble for the spawning platforms, but I need them to be made of slabs so there's enough room for large slimes to spawn, and marble apparently doesn't have a slab form. so I just used cobblestone.

It doesn't look the best at the moment, but I'd like to wait until I have concrete before I decorate it.

It's also a safety hazard at the moment, I'll fix that when I decorate it.

Since slimeballs aren't an issue anymore, I can make lots of fluid pipes and can probably connect my lava pumping setup to my ore processor, but the lava lake down there is starting to run out, so I'm not going to be doing that.

Instead, I'm going to do a quick test to make sure setting up a pump at the bottom of the nether ocean is actually worth it.

The quick test was successful, but I can't just send a lava pipe through a nether portal, so I'm going to try out block placers and block breakers to see if I can use a dropper to send a lava tank through a nether portal.

Openblocks and Project Red both add a block placer and a block breaker, and I want to see what the difference is before I use them for anything.

After a little bit of testing, I've found out that both block breakers and both block placers are very similar, with the main difference being that the Openblocks machines activate continuously while provided with a redstone signal, and the Project Red machines activate once when given a redstone pulse.

Both block breakers will instantly mine the block directly in front of them, and will put them in an attached chest (assuming there is one).

Both block placers have an internal inventory with 9 slots, and will place blocks from that inventory directly in front of them.

Main difference between the breakers is that the Openblocks one is more expensive (requiring a diamond pickaxe while the Project Red one costs no diamonds), can mine obsidian, and will drop the block as an item if it doesn't have a place to put it.

The Project Red block breaker will eject the block behind it if no external inventory is provided, and it won't break blocks if there's nowhere to put them.

Main difference between the placers is that you can close the Project Red one's GUI by pressing E, because for some reason the Openblocks one requires you to press ESC (this is probably a glitch).

Anyway, I think I prefer the Openblocks machines just because I think they'll be easier to use in redstone contraptions.

Before I head into the nether ocean, I'll brew some fire resistance potions, which I don't think I'll actually need if I'm careful, but it's good to have them just in case.

Getting under the nether ocean was actually easier than I thought it would be, since I can use gravel to make a tunnel through the lava for myself, so now I just have to move my pump down here and make a second nether portal to send my tank through.

I'll do that next time, though.

-End Journal Entry 10-

#minecraft #tekkit classic reloaded #journal entry

[dragons-bones]

@aethernoise great minds glam alike apparently

#final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #hyur #hyur highlander #oc: synnove greywolfe #dt's screenshots #apparently if i want drops i'm interested in i need to tank #though i was going for the maiming boots this week #this is way cuter on lady highlanders than i was expecting #though i don't /love/ it so uh it's already been glammed over >_>

[sebstanseabass]

Afterglow (A Bucky Barnes AU fan fiction) - Chapter 4

Previous chapter links:

Afterglow chapters

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

CHAPTER FOUR

The cab ride towards the White Wolf was much faster and louder than you anticipated. The cab driver's blaring music from the radio was so loud it felt like you were inside a rave. You and Bucky had to yell over the music for you to talk about what has been happening in your lives for the past few months. You couldn't summarize everything in a five-minute cab ride. So far, these were just some milestones you both gathered (well, more of his): while Bucky was in different parts of the world (Greece, Macau, Amsterdam, Monaco, Aruba) managing interrelation business and hosting nightly parties and whatnots, you were just in New York tending to drunkards (and that includes Peter sometimes) and taking photos of whatever products that come your way.

At that moment, you saw your life pass by in black and white, while Bucky's in color -- just a parade of rainbows trailing behind him wherever he goes.

Yet he still found the things you did interesting.

You wondered what the word interesting meant to him. Of course, you didn't bother asking him that. Perhaps he just felt sorry and wanted to make you feel good.

The moment you got out of the cab, you guys took a deep breath, thankful that that awful ride was over. The music floated away as the cab sped up in the streets.

"What a dick." Bucky commented, watching the cab race through the streets. Any more speed, the cab would've flown in the air.

"I know." You snorted. "God, that was an awful ride. I felt like I was at a frat party."

"Funny. You don't look like someone who would go to one." He joked.

"I went once." You defended. "With Parker."

Bucky raised his eyebrows at you and stared.  Blue eyes piercing right through you in disbelief. "Okay." You sighed. "I picked his drunk ass up at that party. But I really have been to a party with Parker." You left out that detail of you and Peter making out at that party. That was just between you and Peter and you wouldn't want to include his stepbrother in it. Or perhaps Bucky knew about it. You did just found out they talk to each other almost every night. But as you told Bucky about that party, you received no reaction whatsoever which meant he knew nothing. You felt good about that.

You and Bucky stood in front of the White Wolf, trying to shake out the ringing in your ears. Stupid cab ride. Why you couldn't just walk here was because of Bucky. Apparently, he was still a bit hungover. You wondered what would take him to get fully sober.

You stared at the wolf headstone once more, admiring it for the second time today.

"I commissioned an artist for that." Bucky spoke, poking his finger on his right ear. "Just found him on the subway one day. He was selling some sculptures he's made. Asked him if he could make me one and ta-da!"

"It is beautiful."

"I have others he has made inside." With this, Bucky started to walk towards the inside of his hotel.

The uniformed man greeted you on the steps. You sent him a knowing smile once his eyes landed on yours. He smiled back as you introduced yourselves to each other.

"Is she still in my room?" Bucky asked the uniformed man who you now know goes by the name Leonard.

"Yes, sir." He replied. "She said she'd -- "

"I know what she said." Bucky groaned, remembering what you'd told him earlier. "I'll call you from up there if anything goes wrong, okay Leonard?"

"Yes, sir. I'll be on alert."

You watched the exchange in utter fascination. It was like watching something straight out of an action movie: "I'll be on high alert" "I'll tell you when the coast is clear" "Roger that" "I'll call you when something goes wrong"

The only thing was, this wasn't some action movie though Bucky did have a plan. You just never knew about it until you got in the elevators.

"Here's the plan." He started. "We go in holding hands, I'll introduce you as my girlfriend. Maybe fiancé! When she sees you, tell her you're my fiancé and when she tells you that she slept with me, I'm going to deny and you're going to believe me because as my fiancé, you deeply love me and believe everything I say."

"Ew, it's like I'm a sub."

"Wow, you're a dom?"

"I can be." You winked at him.

"Huh, I honestly thought you're a virgin. You know, that type of 'never been kissed, never been loved' type."

In your head, you started singing the rest of the song. "I'm an angel in the streets and devil in the sheets, Bucky." You joked which he took seriously seeing it on the look on his face. "Anyway, your plan?"

"Right! She'd yell and go nuts until she gives up and then leaves the hotel -- "

"Then we get married and let Peter pay for our honeymoon!" You finished for him with a sarcastic smile on your face.

He smirked. "I like the way you think, Aria. But I don't think Peter's gonna want that."

"What do you mean?"

"W-well, he's not gonna afford it is what I meant."

"You're probably right." You gave him a low chuckle. "You're rich. Pay for our honeymoon." You joked.

"As soon as we get this bitch out of here, yes I will, doll." He scrunched his nose up and winked at you right before the elevator doors opened. Swiftly, Bucky grabbed your hand and intertwined your fingers. "Let's do this."

Hand in hand, you stepped out of the elevator. What stood in front of you was the same woman from earlier this morning. Body still clinging to Bucky's shirt. Faint red lipstick still smeared on some parts outside her lips. Blonde hair still disheveled. If you didn't know any better she was just here in the penthouse, waiting, not moving even a single inch.

You put your hand on Bucky's arm, hiding a faint expression of how big it felt against your skin. "Honey, who is this?"

"I-I don't know!"

The unnamed woman managed to step forward, looking Bucky in the eyes. "What do you mean you don't know? We slept last night!" Then, she looked at you. "Who the hell are you?"

"His fiancé." There was a sly smug tone in your voice. Even on your face.

"Fiancé? He didn't tell me anything about a fucking fiancé!"

"What the hell are you saying?" Bucky yelled. His grip tightened on your hand. "I've never even met you! How did you get in here?"

"We spent the night together, what the hell, Bucky!" She bellowed like a monster, then her voice softened. "I-I told you I love you."

"You're crazy."

"Call security." You said. "Now, Bucky!"

While Bucky grabbed for his phone, the woman pleaded, still trying to convince you that she slept with your fake fiancé. "If he says he doesn't know you," you responded, "then I believe him." Bucky slipped away from you, probably calling Leonard from downstairs. He gave you a knowing look, as if ushering you to unleash some kind of hell on his one-night stand. "You need to go, lady, if you don't want to be banned in every hotel here in New York. Yes, my fiancé can do that. So better get your ass out of here or -- "

"Okay, okay!" She held up her hands, giving up. "I'm out of here! Jesus fucking Christ -- " She mumbled more under her breath as she took of Bucky's clothes, revealing a white tank top underneath. She picked up her heels that were scattered on the living room: one shoe on the couch, the other near a foot of a small table. Picked up some pair of jeans on the carpet before stepping inside the elevator.

"I wish you luck in your fucking marriage." She said, tone filled with rage. Then, she proceeded to flip Bucky one last time before she disappeared behind the elevator doors, eyes boring into Bucky's.

"Okay, she's going down. Tell her to never come here again. Thanks, Lenny." Bucky dropped the phone call and gave you a smile. "And thank you for your performance."

You bowed, like how actors bow after a play ends, and flashed him a smile. "Why, thank you."

"Thanks to you I'm never gonna see that woman again in my life."

You turned your back on him, seeing the place for the first time without a tainted image of the woman. A line of little sculptures near every wall (perhaps the ones he commissioned from that subway artist). Family photos, albums and trophies took up a whole cabinet. You shifted your gaze towards the living room where a nice brown couch sits on top of a beige rug, which faced a huge flat screen television. Two pairs of love seats sat across from each other. A glass table set in the middle. On the back wall was a photograph of Bucky which took the whole space. He wore a neat, well-pressed grey suit, sitting on what seemed like a throne inside a home office, one leg stretched outwards and one leg just resting normally on the floor. He had this head tilt on one side, right hand under his chin, blue eyes looking directly at the camera. On its floor were stacks of magazines, and papers.

Even you couldn't deny how good Bucky looked in the photo but the photograph itself? You knew you could do better than that.

You turned around and found Bucky nowhere. "Bucky?"

He then emerged from what seemed like a kitchen because he was carrying loads of food and trod towards where you were and placed everything on the coffee table. "Yeah?"

"If I wasn't here, what would've you done?"

He shrugged, and opened a yogurt. "Probably stay in your apartment forever."

"Wow," you sat on the couch, watching him devour the food on the table, "seems like you've planned everything out."

"Seems like it, yeah."

"Do you always do this, Bucky?"

"What do you mean?"

"Have sex with girls, then make up a lie to get them out of your life."

"Oh, that was the first time." He replied. "Those three words really freaked me out. I've never heard that come from someone besides my family. Never even told anyone I've loved them, again, except my family."

You nodded in response and looked around the penthouse some more, admiring some paintings, big and small, on the walls. Perhaps some were real, perhaps some were just school ofs. On your right, was a draped curtain covering a whole glass wall that overlooked New York city. Bucky clicked some button somewhere which let the curtains open, letting some of the New York sun inside. From here, one could see the whole view of New York. All its pleasure, glory, grime, and lowliness.

Oh, the things you would give to live in a place like this. If you wanted to take in the beauty of New York, you had to climb up on the fire exit towards the rooftop. And the view from up there wasn't as pretty as this one. All the pretty spots were behind million dollar skyscrapers.

You looked at Bucky once more who leaned against the love seat, then closed his eyes. That same fuzzy image, which you thought you had buried at the back of my mind, resurfaced.

"Bucky?"

He shot straight up. "Yeah?"

"Have we... met each other before?"

A frown formed on his face, his blue eyes meeting yours, his gaze intense; as if he was trying to put a finger on something, on you. But then he gave up, telling you perhaps you'd just seen him somewhere here in New York the last time he was here, bumped into him. Something like that.

You agreed. Maybe that was it.

Again, you pushed that image at the back of your mind, hoping it would never come up while Bucky was still here.

You were about to ask Bucky how long he was planning to stay in New York before partying in every country outside America when your phone rang.

It was Steve. You picked it up immediately. "Hey, Steve. Is everything okay?"

Bucky shot his head towards you, perhaps wondering who this Steve was.

"Hey." He replied. His voice was groggy, like he just woke up. "There's been some misunderstanding with the shipments. They thought I said drop them in the morning. Long story short, the shipments are just outside the pub's door."

"What? They can't do that!"

"They have a lot of deliveries today so they had to. I told them to wait for you but those are impatient bastards. New shipment boys."

You cursed then stood up. "I'm actually not in the apartment right now. I'm somewhere else. Not important. I'm on my way."

"Get there fast, Aria."

"I will, don't worry. Bye, Steve."

Once you got off the phone, you told Bucky the whole situation.

"Let's go then!" He said with much enthusiasm. "Those drinks are no good sitting out there. How else am I going to make you the best drink you'll ever have, darling?"

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes smut #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes story #fan fic #fan fiction #bucky barnes fan fiction #thank u so much 4 all the support ily all #chapter 4 yay

[mx-julien]

cole is strong enough that the weights at dareth's gym aren't actually enough for the kind of workouts he wants to do. fortunately, zane is very heavy and willing to be picked up by cole specifically. cole may die of pure flustered energy but that's ok it was his turn to anyways.

Glacier; Gen

also read on Ao3

P.S. this is s2-ish Cole, who is younger and not very good with things. same with Zane, who is a bit more awkward. also my writing here is a lot more casual, which is not really my style usually just a btw.

///

Dareth's Studio isn't the Monastery, but it's more training-friendly than most other places, so it does fine. It does have a big display window at the front, though, so it's better for showing off than being clandestine.

Cole pulls out weights from the rack, sliding them onto the bar one at a time. There's no one else in the main room; everyone else has hobbies to go to on their free days. He, on the other hand, drew this morning and lost all inspiration a few pages in, so weightlifting it is. He used to get a spotter for these things, but now that he's supernaturally gifted with strength, he doesn't need to worry about how much he can lift. The only concern nowadays is how much the gym has to offer him. The ones here total at 200 lbs, which is pretty good, but still a light workout.

Cole catches himself staring out the window. Jay and Nya are usually game for balancing on the barbells, but they're out on a date right now.

A door opens behind him.

It's Zane. The last time Cole had seen him, he'd been in pajamas making breakfast for everyone. Apparently those responsibilities never get the day off. Now, he's in a light blue button down with the sleeves rolled up and top button fastened. That and the khaki pants he's wearing are probably pretty hot, but he never seems to mind much with the temperature unless he's literally on fire or surrounded by lava.

Zane still has a hand on the doorknob, "I hope I'm not interrupting," he has that little side smile on and Cole's trying to figure out what he was even doing before- Weights, right.

"No no, of course not," he moves to lean on the wall, "I was just getting ready to-" he gestures at the bar in front of him, "What's up?" he looks up and attempts to smile nonchalantly.

Zane glances at the weights and walks into the room fully, "Oh, I was-" he stops for a second - probably thinking about whatever it is he's heading off to do - and then resumes, "You're the only one that's off on their own today, so I figured I'd see if you wanted any company."

"Oh yeah! That'd be great, I'm- um," he looks around the room, "Well, I'm working out right now, but-" He can't just invite him out somewhere, can he? It'd probably be too forward. Cole shuffles his feet and glances back at him.

"I don't mind," he moves sit on a chair next to the wall, "I just thought I might keep you company. No need to stop," he crosses his legs, "For me."

He'd do a lot more for him, honestly, with sharing the gym equipment being somewhere close to the bottom of the list. He stares for a moment, "You know, if you want to lift weights, you can use these. They're not enough for me to workout with, anyways, and a day off won't make me deflate."

Zane smiles at that, setting his hands on his knee, "I'm not interested in working out. I'm just here to keep you company," he cocks his head a little to the side, "Like I said."

While he's working out? Why would he do that? It's nice, maybe, but a little awkward for the both of them. He relents, though, because Zane might be using this as an excuse to be around others if he can't admit it to himself. Better awkward than lonely, so he bends down to grab the bar, "Okay. Cool. I'll just," Did these things get heavier since he last used them? "Get started then."

~*~

After twenty minutes or so of lifting, he's sweaty, drops tickling his chest and soaking the back of his tank top. All his black ones are in the wash right now, so he probably looks disheveled in his sheet white top. He's not as tired as he should be after lifting 200 pounds, and the empty weights rack mocks him from across the room.

Zane, however, is still sitting there and seems to have spaced out when he was looking over at Cole. He shifts his gaze to Cole's face as he sets the bar down, though, so he's not out of it entirely. He smiles a little again, "Water?"

"Yeah, I've got some," he grabs his water bottle and sits down on the floor near Zane's chair, "Not that tired, though," he sets his bottle down, having drained it, "Dareth doesn't have enough weights for that," he looks over and smiles at Zane. Now's probably the most casual time to bring up something else to do. Maybe the park or the bookstore or-

"That's about 200 pounds, isn't it?"

"Yeah," where is he going with this? He's considerate, so he might've ordered new weights to be delivered or looked up gyms in the area with a serious lifting area.

"I could help, if you'd like. I'm about 400 pounds, after all," he's tapping his chin in thought, a habit he's picked up since they watched some old black and white detective movies, and doesn't notice that Cole's frozen in place, "I have a great sense of balance, too," he smirks, locking eyes with him.

He's messing with him. That's all. He's gotten more of a sense of humor now, that's all. Even though he didn't always know when to use it. Like now, he's just using his sense of humor in a weird context, that's it.

Cole's probably sweating again, though this time it's not from exercising, "I mean- you could- I would probably-" He couldn't just ask him to balance on the bar, he'd practically have to hold it vertical for that to make sense and then Zane would just be wrapped around it like a- a koala. He'd look ridiculous. The only thing that would make sense would be-

"For this to work," he stands up, brushing invisible dust off his pants, "You'll need to pick me up." He's looking down at Cole, who has set his water bottle down.

"Um," very eloquent and, he can feel a slight warm tingling in his cheeks, subtle. What's going to happen next? Accidentally asking him on a date?

Zane's eyebrows pop up and he starts laughing, "Is that so strange? I figure it's not so strange since we're frequently in close quarters."

Of course he'd see it like that. "Close quarters" aren't the issue here. It's the little bug Cole's caught that, when in some situations with Zane, make him turn red and limbs suddenly have minds and directions of their own.

"Well, only if you really don't mind, I guess," he's weak, so weak. It's just been a bit since they got to hang out, is all. He looks over at his water bottle again, smoothing his thumbs over the drops of condensation.

"I don't mind," Zane stands up and Cole scrambles the tiniest bit to join him, willing away the blush.

"Of course, yeah, okay," he stands still for a moment, then realizes that Zane can't initiate being picked up, "I'm going to, uh."

Zane walks over to him and hesitates slightly before putting his arm around Cole's neck, though he avoids his gaze at the last second, "This better?"

Well, maybe he can. He just initiated something. It's probably unintentional, though, so Cole doesn't try to make it weird. Zane's probably just been watching Dareth's collection of Schwarzenegger movies. He nods, trying to avoid saying anything since his voice would sound as dry as it feels. He wraps his right arm around Zane's waist and bends down to pick his legs up from behind the knees.

He stumbles for a moment and takes a second to catch himself. There's saying 400 pounds, and then there's picking up 400 pounds. Forgetting about his poorly-timed complexion change,  Cole closes his eyes, focusing entirely on breathing.

~*~

It's only when he feels like his arms are starting to shake that he sets Zane down again. He would go longer, but dropping a 400 pound person isn't great for the person themselves or the floor beneath them.

Cole grunts; he walks over to the water bottle refill station and leans on it. Looking at Zane, he realizes that he's trying not to laugh, "What? I'm thirsty."

"You said you weren't tired beforehand. I've seen you hold up a half ton for ten minutes and then take down half an army."

He groans, "Okay, so maybe I was tired," he chugs the whole bottle, then places it back on the refill place, "Two hundred pounds isn't nothing, you know."

"That's not what you said earlier," oh, so he's being obstinate now.

"We haven't had the right equipment for months, now. You can sue me."

"I'll consider it," he nods and walks over to the door.

Now's the time. Cole stands up straight, failing to look more composed but he does feel the slightest bit more confident now, "Hey, um-"

Zane stops and looks over his shoulder, a little flustered. It occurs to Cole that there's a chance that Zane might've thought that he wouldn't want to spend more time with him after that. That needs to be corrected.

He smiles slightly, "Once I'm done showering, if you don't have anything else to do, we could go to the bookstore?"

Zane turns fully around and Cole sees his eyes widen a fraction.

"I mean, you just kept me company while I was working out and I figured- since you helped me that we could go to the bookstore and I could pay, if you'd like."

At that, Zane cocks his head to the side, wrinkling his nose a little, "You don't need to repay me," he sounds like he's referring to some inside joke, a payment that he received that they're both aware of, but all Cole really did was work out in the same room as him and use him as a weight. On what world is that fun?

"Yeah, but I want to," he downs the refilled water bottle, "Okay, I'm going to shower off and we can take the 3 PM bus to the shop, that okay? You don't have any other plans?"

"Nope," Zane puts his hands in his pockets, turning to examine the scene out the front shop window. He's back to his, more quiet self. His personality seems to fluctuate a bit these days, as he's absorbing more media and seeing others experience more of the emotional spectrum. It's really endearing.

"Great," Cole grabs a fresh towel and jogs to the bathroom door, "Be right back!"

He jumps into the shower and who can blame him if he rushes through it? He has somewhere to be, after all.

///

did Zane just walk in because he wanted to ogle Cole on his day off? yes, yes he did. please let him crush on Cole in peace. and, oh Cole, sometimes you're really aware and other times you're... not.

next fic is longer (and actually in my writing style, unlike this abomination) and about Zane and Lloyd's methods of being strategist and leader, respectively. sometimes they have to be creative when it comes to plans. again, Zane is very heavy and occasionally that can come in handy. there's a dick joke! Sensei Garmadon! elevators! it's here!

#ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago headcanons #ninjago fanfiction #glacier #glaciershipping #zane julien #cole brookstone #zane x cole #mentioned jaya #mentioned nya smith #mentioned jay walker #weightlifting but flirty #LRGwritesthings

[holycatsandrabbits]

Tollense, an original serial romance by Dannye Chase, Chapter 4

A history professor falls in love with his best friend, a 3000-year-old vampire.

READ FROM THE BEGINNING

PREVIOUS

NEXT

Chapter 4

1997 (One year later)

The convention center had been beautiful under the blue Minnesota sky when Liam had arrived, and it was still beautiful now with its windows backed by heavy showers of falling snow that threw diffuse, moving light onto the walls inside the conference room. Beautiful and alarming.

Liam’s university was located in Florida. Florida was quite nice in January, and besides, there were theme parks. Didn’t people always like theme parks? But instead, the conference was being held in Minnesota, and this was the final day. In an hour, Liam and his colleagues, other faculty of the history department, were supposed to start the twenty-some-hour drive home.

“Could have been at Disney World,” Kurt remarked, startling Liam. Liam had been too busy watching the storm to realize Kurt had come up beside him.

“What on earth?” Liam asked, quite rightfully surprised, not by Kurt’s sudden unexpected presence, as he was used to that by now, but because Kurt was not a history professor, and therefore didn’t have a reason to be at the conference.

“Thought I’d drop in,” Kurt said. “See how things were going. Anyone interested in your research on Tollense?”

“Everyone. It’s very exciting.” Liam kept his voice low. “Am I talking to myself, or can everyone else see you?”

Kurt smiled at him. “I wouldn’t give you that kind of reputation. I’m visible.” Liam could see it was true, as Kurt’s good looks were attracting a few appreciative glances. “Are you ready to come home?” Kurt asked.

“Yes, we’re due to head out soon. Not that we’re really looking forward to it.”

“Well, your co-workers can head out whenever they like. I’m taking you home.”

“What?”

Kurt looked surprised by Liam’s surprise. “You’re from Florida. You have no idea what to do with snow. They’re pulling locals off the roads, Liam. I'm not letting you drive in this weather.”

“But you don’t even know how to dr— wait.” Liam felt a bit of a shiver crawl up his spine. “Oh, no. I’m not teleporting home.”

“I’ve been doing it for thousands of years. With humans. You know that. It’s perfectly safe.”

“No.”

Now a bit of hurt flashed over Kurt’s features, and like all his dark expressions, it was vaguely unsettling. “You don’t trust me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I just don’t want to teleport.”

“Why on earth not?”

Liam hated to lie to Kurt. Partly, it was because Liam was not entirely sure that Kurt couldn’t somehow tell that he was lying. Kurt claimed that he couldn’t read minds, but he was a vampire who could teleport himself from Florida to Minnesota, and Liam would not have been at all surprised to find that Kurt was aware of the snowstorm confronting Liam without having checked the weather.

But it was also true that Kurt was Liam’s best friend and it seemed wrong to lie to him. Except Liam couldn’t tell him the truth about this, because that wasn’t going to help anyone. It was better if Kurt didn’t know that Liam was in love with him, that for over a year now, Liam had been obsessed with the memory of Kurt kissing him, slow and sweet, and that the last thing Liam needed now was for Kurt to pull him close and show off his impressive supernatural abilities in a rescue. Kurt had made it clear that he never allowed himself to fall in love with humans that he met, and Liam had to be protective of his heart, already cracked and in danger of breaking.

“Look, if you are so dead-set on it, you can use your mind-control powers to convince me,” Liam joked, and immediately realized that was worse than lying, because Kurt flinched.

“If I do that,” Kurt said, in what sounded like a carefully controlled voice, “I will lose you anyway.”

“Wh— you’re not going to lose me. I’ll get a hotel, then. Drive home later.”

“I don’t want you driving to a hotel!” Kurt looked exasperated. “Liam, you are the most adventurous person I know. Why not this?”

“Oh, I’m hardly—”

“Yes, you are. You’re like an explorer, always hungry for something new and unusual. You’re brave, and not terribly cautious, which is bad for your driving habits, but it’s perfectly safe when it comes to me, because I am never going to let anything happen to you.”

Kurt had stepped close, and Liam could tell how upset Kurt was because Kurt was losing his grip on the human appearance and mannerisms he tried to put on. Right now he looked sleek and strong and shadowy. He didn’t reach for Liam with his hands, but Liam could feel something surrounding him, like a faint cool mist. It felt oddly familiar, and Liam got the impression that the mist might actually always be there, a piece of Kurt holding onto him, and Liam had just never been consciously aware of it before.

And then everything suddenly snapped back into place: Kurt looked ordinary again, and Liam realized with a shock that a couple of his colleagues had approached them.

“What do you think?” asked one of them. “We’re talking about getting a hotel.”

“I have a ride home,” Liam said faintly. Everyone looked at him in surprise, including Kurt. Few of Liam’s fellow faculty had met Kurt, partly by Kurt’s design, because he wasn’t terribly social, and partly by Liam’s. Liam was aware that his very close friendship with a very handsome man was likely to give him a certain other reputation, one that was quite deserved (though sadly not much practiced), but not very wise in the current political climate.

Nothing for it now. “Chris Mullens, Doris Sullivan, this is my friend Kurt, ah, Smith. He was in town for something else and is heading back to Florida today. He offered me a ride.”

“Is it safe?” Doris asked, looking concerned.

“Kurt’s a very good driver. Got a— a car like a tank.”

Doris laid a hand on Liam’s shoulder, and to Liam’s surprise, Kurt seemed to bristle at that, almost literally, and the whole room seemed to go with him, the air around them feeling oddly sharp. Liam understood that Kurt was concerned that he’d change his mind and be convinced to travel with his colleagues, but it undoubtedly looked like something else from the outside— a sort of possessiveness.

“What a nice friend,” Chris said lightly, looking at Kurt in a way that Liam did not like at all, as if Kurt was not a person but a problem, not a good-looking man but a tempting trap. Liam’s personal belief was that men who were so vehemently opposed to homosexuality were probably terrified that they themselves might be vulnerable to such a “trap,” but it was better if that went unsaid.

Kurt rescued him, of course. “Yes, Liam and I have been friends for a while. I used to date one of his students, Martina.”

Chris’s face cleared a bit, losing some of its distaste. He had apparently not heard of bisexuality, or whatever word might describe Kurt. “Oh. Sure.”

“Ready to go?” Kurt asked Liam. He barely waited for an answer before steering Liam out of the room. They walked down an empty hallway where the storm winds were pushing hard enough to make the windows shift in their frames. Kurt spoke in a gentle voice. “Give it a few years. The world is becoming more tolerant again. Humans keep discovering their natures over and over.”

“This must all be very trite to you.”

“Not in the least.” Kurt’s eyes were sharp on him. “Do you think Chris is the one sending you those threatening letters?”

Liam scoffed. “He barely knows how to tie his shoes. Worse than even the typical history professor.”

Kurt looked unconvinced. “I’ll keep an eye on him all the same.” He held out a hand to Liam. “Let’s go home.”

Liam looked down at Kurt’s hand. A pale blue vein ran delicately along his wrist, and Liam wondered what flowed there, if anything. “What about my luggage?”

“I already picked it up from Dr. Sullivan’s car. It’s at your place.”

“You’re awfully confident that I’d say yes to this.”

Kurt sighed, exasperated. “I can’t believe you haven’t asked me sooner. I thought I’d be taking you to the Louvre every weekend. Or Rome. At least Antietam.”

Liam laughed. “I should have.”

Kurt smiled, looking at ease for the first time since he’d arrived. “You should.”

“Next weekend then.” Liam finally took Kurt’s hand, and their fingers fit together easily. As always, Kurt was slightly cool to the touch.

The convention center faded away into a sort of bland white light. Liam felt like he was floating, but still with his feet planted on the ground. He looked down and found his own office floor beneath his shoes.

“Stay still a moment,” Kurt warned. “People can get dizzy when they’re not used to it.” He dropped Liam’s grasp and put a steadying hand on his arm instead. And now was the moment Liam had dreaded: Kurt was so close, so strong, and so hauntingly strange.

“We must seem so very fragile to you,” Liam said.

“You are fragile.” There was a harsh coldness in Kurt’s voice.

“So how did you learn to do that? To teleport?”

Kurt shrugged. “Just always could.”

“Always?” Liam frowned. “I thought a vampire’s abilities were based on age.”

“They are.”

“But if you’ve been doing it as long as you can remember— since at least Tollense— doesn’t it follow then that your origins would have to be a great deal older than that?”

Kurt narrowed his eyes, considering.

“Or else,” Liam said, “maybe you’re not a vampire.”

“I drink blood.”

“A lot of creatures— uh, beings— are said to drink blood. I’m sorry, it must be so frustrating not to be able to remember.”

Kurt looked at him with a sort of gratitude, but then he turned away, toward the door. A second later, there was a knock, and Kurt finally let go of Liam’s arm.

It was one of Liam’s graduate students at the door, Jonah. “Hey,” he said. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything. Just have a couple of questions. I thought I heard you talking. Do you have company?”

Most of the students never met Kurt either, despite the fact that he was around quite a bit. Liam had learned by now that Kurt only appeared to those students he thought he might start a relationship with. Kurt had been alone since Martina had graduated, and Liam assumed it would only be a matter of time before he picked another student, someone to provide him with blood and share his bed. In between lovers, Kurt drank blood from animals, but he had told Liam that it was much better to have a human source. Kurt chose those people whom he thought would be open to the idea of a finite relationship with a vampire, those who wouldn’t be afraid of him but also wouldn’t want to stay with him indefinitely. Because Kurt never got attached.

“Let’s find out,” Liam said, and opened the door wider. His heart sank immediately when he saw that Jonah could see Kurt standing by the desk. Liam thought back for a moment to Kurt’s reaction when Doris put her hand on Liam’s arm. But Kurt wouldn’t get jealous, of course.

Liam definitely was.

READ FROM THE BEGINNING

PREVIOUS

NEXT

Updates Fridays on Ao3 and DannyeChase.com (rated E), and Tumblr (rated T)

Want to create fic, art, or other works based on this series? Please do! Just dm or tag me.

My previous serials are for Good Omens: Mr. Fell's Bookshop and Love's Endless Light

My Carrd

#Dannye writes #original fiction #serial fiction #tollense #vampires #romance

[theunstuffedpepper]

Tagged by @losingitinvirginia - thanks, friend!

Rules: Answer + tag 9 people you want to get to know better and/or catch up with!

Favorite Color: Green

Last song/album: When I'm not listening to the best podcast in the world, Armchair Expert by Dax Shepard & Monica Padman, John Legend's Bigger Love is on repeat all the time over here.

Last Movie: I am way more a TV person than a movie person. Does a comedy standup count as a movie? No? Too bad. :) B and I watched Douglas by Hannah Gadsby, who was previously unknown to me, and it was SO, SO FUNNY. Highly recommend!

Currently Reading: I haven't actually started it yet, but I picked up The Comfort Food Diaries by Emily Nunn from the library the other day.

Oh! Real quick, funny library story. I had picked up two library books last month and kept them tucked under my sofa end table in the living room. I spend most of my downtime on that end of the couch, and it's easy to just grab a book and read a few pages when I get a minute. I was trying to quickly scarf down a big ol' plate of pasta and meatballs one night so I could help with the baby, and balanced the food on the arm of the sofa, like I've done a million times before. Except this time, I stabbed a meatball and the ENTIRE PLATE went bottom up... all over the library books. I was MORTIFIED. I cleaned them up as best I could (LOL, because marinara ain't coming out of those pages) and sadly brought them back to the library. Rather than shamefully leave them in the book drop and drive away, I walked them in and told them my son had spilled food on them, apologized, and wanted to make it right. (Ha, the perks of having a kiddo?) The woman helping me was so kind and gracious and told me the charge for these two books would typically be $50, but she so appreciated me coming in and letting them know because that hardly ever happens, so she asked if it would be okay if she charged me $20 instead? YES. What a nice moment that ended up being.

Okay, back to it.

Currently Watching: The 4400. Just finished season 3 of Virgin River. Also just watched Crazy, Not Insane on Hulu, which was a really interesting spin from a psychiatrist who has studied childhood trauma/brain injury as it relates to the violent acts committed by serial killers.

Currently Craving: A good night sleep, which has been rare this week!

Coffee or Tea: Lately it's coffee, but a hot cup of tea is so comforting.

Tagging: @momsgotwine, @whathappenshappenswithpurpose, @beenjen, @modern-montessori-mama, @boo-badger, @angesaurus, @adventuresasmrsfindley, @katiegirlwanders, @funnybutnot

----------------------------------

In other news, my babe is somehow 6 months old already. How did this happen?! We took some cutesie 6 month photos and in one, me and pep are making literally the SAME face. It cracks me up every time. B created a version of said photo which includes a quokka in the corner, because apparently we look like a family of quokkas.

I've been losing some sleep these past few days mostly due to my impending return to work on Wednesday. When I left in January, everything was a hot mess, and the culture of the team in general has been tanking for the last year. They're restructuring a lot of teams, demoting or otherwise moving long-time members to other roles, and bringing in new outside hires for management of the teams. Who knows what I'll be returning to, but I don't think I'm long for this company. We shall see.

I now need to go catch up on all of your lives and blogs to see what I've been missing!

#no reblogs please #momblr #6 months #tagged in #07182021 #operationkay10

[midnxghtsunwrites]

SMOKESTACKS | 16, NO MORE SURPRISES

previous post

warning: ⚠ domestic abuse ahead ⚠

FOR THE SIXTH TIME IN TWO hours, Nadine's phone blares its annoying ringtone. She could only assume that those calls are coming from the same people she's been avoiding for the past week. Nadine has managed to take the week off of work to avoid seeing Gemma and/or Jax.

Now, she's sat in a bar on a Friday night, sipping on a gin and tonic and bobbing her head to the music playing over the speakers.

She glances at her screen to see the familiar name pop up.

Jackson Teller.

She was in her feelings when she changed his name in her phone and she doesn't see herself changing it back in the near future. Honestly, she doesn't know what to do. It seems impossible to avoid these people considering everywhere she turns, someone associated with the club is in her face.

Of course, her friendship with Lyla was the only constant and based on the fact that the porn star brings up Jax in every one of their conversations, he knows it too. Does she want to just wait it out until they're tired of trying to reach out to her or does she try to make another getaway?

She just got here and she loves her job and her kids and she already can't imagine leaving them.

Guess she'll have to suck it up.

"I really can't tell if you're drunk or just vibing," The voice belongs to a black woman who'd been sitting beside Nadine for the better part of thirty minutes. She has an eyebrow raised and a glass of scotch raised to her lips, "Or both."

Nadine shakes her head in amusement, "Definitely both." Sticking a hand out, she introduces herself, "Nadine."

"Amelia." The woman shakes the teacher's hand, "Why haven't I seen you around before?"

"That is a great question," Nadine jokes as she sips her drink. She's barely tipsy, which is far from where she wants to be. The conversation continues to flow as the woman is drowned out by Nadine's phone blaring obnoxiously for the third time in ten minutes, the teacher ignoring every call.

Noting this, Amelia tilts her head in interest, "Boyfriend?"

The teacher scrunches her face at the thought, "Nope."

"Girlfriend?"

"I wish."

"Almost boyfriend?"

At Amelia's teasing tone, Nadine rolls her eyes in amusement, "Definitely not."

NADINE WAS DOWN THREE GLASSES of whiskey before she felt the effects of the alcohol on her senses. She giggles, fruitlessly as she tries to drink from her glass only to miss completely and basically pour it down her shirt.

Amelia bursts out into laughter, drunk to her ass. The women had been drowning themselves in tequila shots — for reasons they choose not to admit. Apparently, Amelia has lived in Charming her whole life — she's an OR nurse at St. Thomas's Hospital and extremely talented when it comes to her job.

Nadine didn't get much more than that.

"Oh, crap," Nadine snorts as the woody aroma from the alcohol wafts to her nostrils.

Amelia points in amusement, her eyes squinted as a loud laugh escapes her, "You smell like a bar!"

The teacher nods and leans back on her stool, almost falling on her back, "That's 'cause we're in a bar, silly!"

Staggering forward, Nadine peers through the mirrored wall behind the shelves of alcohol — the clear space allows her to look at the rest of the bar patrons behind her. She takes note of the large spot on her grey shirt and groans, exaggeratedly as she throws her head back.

Luckily, drunk Nadine still has some sort of logical reasoning, "I'll be right back — I gotta clean this up before it stains."

Amelia just tilts the rim of her glass of scotch towards the teacher and sends her a dopey smile, "Have fuuun." She sings, joyfully.

"I willll," Nadine mimics as she throws cash for the drinks on the bar counter.

Fortunately, the dark spot hadn't dried in the time it took Nadine to go through the line of women standing outside of the bathroom. A lack of stalls seemed to be the verdict for the long queue. Standing there in the bathroom, she hovers over the sink, wiping a damp paper towel over her tank top.

The stain is almost out — the woody smell being replaced by stale tap water. She should've just kept the stain there if that's the case.

Suddenly, it's like time stops. Chills run down her back and the hairs on the back of her necks rise. Goosebumps line her arms as she furrows her eyebrows. There's a sinking feeling in her gut — so deep that Nadine is knocked out of her drunken stupor and forced to grab on to the ceramic sink.

Almost as if she could predict it, there's a knock on the door. Nadine blinks profusely and calls to the person, "Someone's in here." That doesn't make the person on the other side back off — no, instead, the doorknob that was once locked is twisted and pushed open.

So much for locking the door. She ponders.

The figure that enters is tall — and so familiar. It's too dark for her to see a face but for a moment, Nadine assumes that Jax found her. She didn't put it past him considering he has so many connections that probably tipped him off and she doesn't put it past him to break down any barriers between them.

This leads her to her beginning sentence, "You don't have to check up on me, Jax. I just need time to myself."

As the figure steps closer, Nadine's breath hitches in her throat. Fuck. Tears fill her eyes as she looks upon the man that's caused her so much turmoil for two years. The man she fucking ran away from. Ezra Moore in all his mysterious obscurity stands just feet away from her.

She tries not to let her gaze shift to the pepper spray in her bag.

The man smirks, sadistically as he steps further into the room, almost steps away from his target, "This place should really get some better locks."

As his patronizing tone, Nadine jumps towards her bag on the sink, only to be shoved backward by her assailant. Her back lands against the filthy tiled wall and he holds her there, a grimey hand wrapped around her neck.

There were times when she loved to peer into those chocolate brown eyes — they used to give her a certain comfort. Now, they're the epitome of terrifying.

"What? You thought you could get away from me, you little bitch?" He growls, leaning so close into Nadine that the palm of his hand pushes into her larynx and the stench of cigarettes and nasty beer invades her senses. "No matter how far you go, what name you use, or if you change your phone — I will always fucking find you."

"Please —"

"Shut the fuck up!" He yells into her face, spit flying to land on her cheek (the way my COVID brain just threw up). "You know you can't run from me, Nadine." His voice lowers as he jerks her head to the side and leans towards her ear. His lips wrap around her lobe, bringing tears to her eyes. His grip tightens, taking her breath from her — "You've been a little slut since you left me, haven't you? Fucking Jax Teller? That little biker I've been seeing around here?"

She can't speak. She can't breathe.

Ezra doesn't care.

"Answer me!"

Whipping her head around swiftly, she shakes her head and gapes her mouth, wanting to speak but no words can make it past Ezra's tight grip. Seeing this, he loosens it for a split second so Nadine can muster a small, "No."

That wasn't the answer he was looking for, "Don't fucking lie to me! That's all you've been doing since I met you." He forces her to look at him, frowning for a moment at the sight of tears running down her cheeks, "You're a fucking liar, you know that? And such an actress. Even right now — all these crocodile tears that you've been saving for me. For two years. All that fake love. Did you even love me?"

Nadine watches in pure horror as Ezra's voice breaks and tears begin to fly down his face. This man is insane, she sobs. Thoughts flurry through her mind as his grip loosens significantly. She's so taken aback that even her mind seems to be lagging. She wants to go home where the locks work.

"I did." She whispers, cringing as her voice cracks, "I-I do. I do love you, Ezra." It pains her to speak these lies, but she has to go and the only way to do that is to feed into his crazed actions, "I love you, baby. So much." She lifts a shaky hand to cup his cheeks, willing her tears away at the thought of touching her oppressor. "I'm sorry I left you. I don't know what I was thinking."

Her back stiffens when he falls into her, dropping his head into the crook of her neck. He sobs, savoring the feeling as she runs a hand through his scalp. It was something she did years ago to help him out whenever he had a stressful day — she used to love doing it.

Now, she feels like she needs to take a shower in acid to scrub the feeling of him off.

Her neck is sore when he releases her — surely, she has bruises.

Now is her time to get away — with that thought, she swiftly thrusts her knee up in between his legs and pushes him off of her body. He falls to the floor with a pained groan, cupping his groin.

"You bitch!" He screams at her as she shuffles along quickly to make her getaway. She snatches her bag from the sink, grabs her pepper spray and unleashes hell on the man writhing on the floor. He screams bloody murder before Nadine exits the room, closing the door behind her.

Nadine tries to wipe away the messy mascara under her eyes before heading for the exit of the bar, ignoring as Amelia calls after her.

The teacher drove home in fear that her shaky hands would make her swerve into oncoming traffic. That and her blurry vision, eyes filled to the brim with unshed tears. She's spent too much of her life crying over that man — she'll be damned if he gets anymore from her.

Taking extra precautions, she checks behind her every few seconds to make sure she isn't being tailed — even taking the long way home.

When she arrives at her apartment complex, she double checks the locks on her car before making her way up the stairs, her key already in one hand and her pepper spray in the other. When she sees another figure crouched by her door, the woman jumps. She doesn't want any more surprises tonight.

As she steps closer, arm extended with her pepper spray, her eyes catch sight of the familiar dark hair and the lit end of a cigarette. Nadine holds her breath as she realizes that that cigarette belongs to the woman she's been ignoring for the past week.

With a broken voice, Nadine freezes and whispers, "Gemma?"

smokestacks taglist: @saccreigns @gwenspacy @complacentviawattpad @rosenoirwrites @bettergetusetoit @mcj39623 @palmstreesallday @kmhappybunny @buttershea07

general taglist : @gwenspacy @saccreigns @complacentviawattpad @rosenoirwrites @random-ficreader23 @kyla-queen

let me know if you'd like to join any of my taglists! feel free to like, reblog, and comment! also, my asks are open — and im taking requests!

#charlie hunnam imagine #charlie hunnam #jax teller imagine #charlie hunnam fanfiction #jax teller fanfiction #jax teller x black reader #charlie hunnam x black reader

[foximator-blog]

Even though my Redesigns of "Mega man Dr Wily's Final Attack!" didn't get much attention, I'm going to show my Redesigns of the robot masters from "Mega man Rocks!" A game created by Eric Ruth. Eric made this game as a joke so at times the level layouts and programming is a bit infuriating, but I honestly just want to work on the robot designs. At the end of this post, I have a link to a full play through of the game, but be warned that the music can be hard to listen to.

Snow Man☃️

Snow man is a robot that does look like a literal snow man, but mixed with a snow plow. Originally his arms were just the snow pusher and his head would lift up to reveal his Snow blower attack. For the redesign I made his body a bit more rounded, gave him arms, and a smaller snow shovel. Snow men make me think of Christmas, so I added a bit of red and green. His head lifting up to reveal the snow blower felt off to me, so instead I made his hat lift up. Originally in the game his weakness is Repo claw since he's part vehicle, but I don't think heavy treads work the same as tires, so I made him weak to Fire popper instead, since heat melts snow (plus, I feel his room layout could hint at it being his weakness). This is the only weakness chain where I mix it up a bit. My version of Snow blower would still work like the original, It's a fairly decent weapon that fires a short range but multi-hitting blast of snow.

Mechanic Man🔧

Originally named "Repair man" (as all robots are supposed to have pun names related to professions and such in this game) I decided to redesign him with extra tool arms and made up in his lore that he's made for testing a new experimental tool which Wily decides to weaponize after stealing him. He's originally weak to the Fire weapon, but in my new chain he's weak to Snow Blower, since his prototype phase design hasn't been properly weather proofed yet. His original weapon, Repair blast, is usually just a boring and semi slow projectile that heals enemies rather than harming them, and only interacts with machinery, which is interesting... but makes it not really a weapon. The Laser Wrench takes what was interesting about the Repair blast, but adds three aditional perks: armor piercing, upwards aiming, and the ability to heal Mega man at the cost of high energy consumption, like the original it still interacts with machinery too.

Anchor Man ⚓

Anchor Man originally had an airmen body type like he does here, but that was it really... he was just a round boi who could swim and drop sinking scrap metal for apparently no reason... so I took his shape and worked with it a bit more. His face is now the bottom hull of a boat/submarine, and whenever he swims up you can see that his back is the top of a ship. Why does he drop scrap? Now he has a hatch where he collects scrao and cleans the ocean. Originally he's weak to repair blast, but only when shooting the scrap and turning it into sea mines that float back up to hurt him, which is actually cool. I kept that weakness, but since Laser Wrench can pierce through his armor and won't heal him you don't have to rely on a single attack phase just to hit him with it. His weapon now works a little differently too. Instead of just being a boring projectile, it can also be aimed up a bit so it bounces.

Door Man🚪

Door man actually had a fairly nice design to begin with, so I just added my own little touch ups and focused more on explaining why he has a screen wiping flash attack and a rotating body. In my lore, he's a hotel managing robot with a rotating body for multitasking, but when Wily kidnaps him and modifies him for Combat, he decides to install experimental quantum Technology, which even baffles Door man himself. His weapon now called Quantum Door instead of Door Stopper still has a screen wiping flash, but my buff allows mega man to warm a short distance so it's not just a Centaur flash clone. His weakness is still Steel Anchor, as a heavy anchor makes a good battering ram and he wasn't made to be armored or heavy to begin with.

Police Man🔰

I was stuck on this one admittedly, so he ended up being heavily inspired by Fake man's concept art when redesigning him. During his boss fight he can fly for some reason with no visual indicator that he's able to, so I gave him a jetpack that Wily installed after kidnapping him. In the lore he's a good well intentioned cop, but he's a bit too serious and has a habit of jumping to conclusions, and getting extremely embarrassed and apologetic when he realizes he's done so. Originally he's weak to Hit Man's weapon, but his shield protects him from that super effectively, so I made him weak to Quantum Door instead. Even a shield is no match for a distortion of space. His weapon is unchanged, but has the added buff of destroying projectiles completely, even while being thrown.

Mercenary Man❌

He actually had a very cool design as well, but I decided to add my own creative twist to it and made him Cyclopic, with a target eye. In my lore he's actually built by Wily, not stolen, and was made to have very incredible and lethal aim. His weapon remains unchanged, as a target reticle that summons a bullet storm once it lands on a target is really epic. While he was originally weak to Door, he's now Weak to Badge barrier, based on the fact I gave it the projectile destroying buff and all of his attacks are projectile based.

Repo Man🗜

Repo man was originally kind of your generic Guts man styles big boi, but I added some extra traits like a backwards cap and parts based on cars. In his lore I made up, he's made to dismantle cars, but he loves to collect car parts, and has a keen interest in Turbo man. Originally he's weak to Police, but I decided to make him weak to Target Tag instead. Both play on the fact car repossession can sometimes be a shady business, you can sometimes get in trouble with the law, or make dangerous enemies. His weapon is also pretty solid and left unchanged, a powerful spiked clamp that can grab items is always nice.

Pipe Man🔥

Pipe man was originally named Fire man, so out of the eight robots he was the one who definitely needed a name change. While he is a hydrant, I also didn't want to name him that since that would imply he attacks with water. So I looked up Firefighting related words, and came across a page explaining Fire fighting slang, and found a slang term that fit with Eric's original profession pun style: Pipe man, the Fire fighter who runs right up to the Fire with the hose (Fire fighters refer to the hose as a pipe). While keeping his hydrant design, I gave him only one hose arm, a fire fighter helmet, boots and gloves based on a fire fighter, and a lore explinaton for his odd balloon weapon. When not fighting flames, Pipe man would exchange his water tank for a helium tank because he loves showing kids around the station and handing out balloons, but then Wily kidnapped him, using a flammable gas to weaponize both his hose arm and balloons. Originally he's weak to Snow Blower, but instead he's now Weak to Repo claw, since the clamp could pop his balloons and rip up his hose. His weapon also remains unchanged as a balloon that pops into a shower of fire upon contact with a surface or enemy is really cool.

Sorry if this post got long, I actually really loved redesigning these robots because while Eric made the game as a joke, I still kind of like the themes he went with for his robots. Here's that play through of the game I mentioned at the beginning, did I do Eric's bots justice?

https://youtu.be/-0VXAGhPXm4

#megaman #megaman rocks! #robot master #robot masters #fanmade characters #redesign

[teaboot]

hi i hope its okay to ask about your career? i'm on a crossroads in my life and one of the paths im interested in is fashion but im just so... torn? and i don't think many ppl take it seriously, like, as sth you do in life unles you profit really well... my family certainly doesn't see it as an option an im just very curious about your experience w/ studying and working in the industry

Honestly? I never in my life expected going to college for fashion. He'll, I spent half my childhood topless and barefoot in jean overalls, covered in dirt with a snake in each hand. My best friend from grades 4 through 7 was a sheep. I brought that sheep to a school dance. Seriously, fancy clothing was never for an instant a topic in my mind.

I always figured it was sort of shallow, you know? Fashion was for dumb rich people who paid too much for shoes you couldn't even hike in.

What I DID love, however, was Costume Design. All the cool outfits and armour and prosthetic bits in The Dark Crystal, and Star Wars, and Lord Of The Rings. And the practical effects! Ohhh I could go on. I loved it. I wanted to help create that magic.

And to be a Costume Designer, I had to go to school for Fashion Design.

And I will tell you right now: if someone is in a fashion design course? Good for you. It's hard work. But if you've GRADUATED your fashion design course?

Ho-lee-fuck. You have my immediate respect.

Getting a fashion design degree is a four year commitment, usually. Because I'm an idiot, I decided to finish it in two. And I did! But out of... I believe a starting class of 15-20? Only four of us graduated.

To highlight the worst of it? My family is poor. Pretty much all my classmates were either ludicrously wealthy or at least well-off. I had duct tape holding my sneakers together, and I worked on group projects with people wearing Louis Vuitton who had maids back home. They were nice enough, but the cultural disconnect was more jarring than I'd expected.

And the actual class work is hard. The people coming in with fantasies of becoming the next Kim K with little to no real physical labour or skill involved dropped out pretty quickly.

See, knowing how to draw was part of it, but the whole spectrum of classes involved Fashion History, Color Theory (Which is an ENTIRE course on just colors!), Life drawing, Digital illustration (for both factory instructions AND fashion images), Fashion illustration, Concept design and development, GERBER training (The only digitizing program for making patterns, apparently, which is garbage and makes me cry), Patternmaking, Trends (And how to predict/utilize them), Advertising, Basic web design, textile sciences (where we learned how to make fabric, design fabric, and analyze various materials and weaving/knitting techniques), and then the ACTUAL design and construction classes, where we finally got to learn how to use industrial machines and do a million sample pieces to cover sewing and ironing techniques before moving onto designing and sewing our own ideas.

If it sounds overwhelming, good. It IS overwhelming. I can't speak for others, but my mental and physical health both tanked. I worked 20 hour days and spent weeks at a time on campus without going home, mostly because I couldn't afford the train. If you have the opportunity to use the full four years, DO NOT RUSH LIKE I DID. It will CONSUME YOU. There were so many days where I woke up in a bathtub or under a table and thought, 'I made a mistake. I can't do this. I'm an idiot, I should quit, my life is hell.'

Really, I think the only reason I didn't because the only thing I am more than dumb is stubborn, and I have amazing friends and family who I could call and talk openly to, and I'd already flushed enough money down the campus toilet that quitting now with nothing to show for it would have been a move of eternal regret.

...BUT- and I must insist, BUT- I LEARNED SO MUCH. I had hardass teachers who made me cry, I learned about a system of corporate corruption and greed that starts with a seed and ends in farmers shooting themselves in the field and mothers losing children in villages across the world and the $3 dress you buy off the rack and the laws that make it possible. I learned that there are ways to Fuck that system, and I learned how to change that system. I learned where the problems are. I learned where the lies and misconceptions are. I learned about disability and ableism, fat shaming, diet culture, ageism, social hierarchy, revolution, historical trends that keep coming back and ideas so appealing that they didn't stop until people end up dead.

It's fascinating. It changes your worldview and the way you think. People need to know that fashion isn't just clothing- its everything from the way you hold your body to the food you eat, the color of your skin and hair, your wedding ring, your dog, your living room wall. It encompasses EVERYTHING, and I love that.

That being said, I graduated tired and hungry and went off to work a desk job just to breathe a little for about a year. Then I made fashion flats for factory production for a while, because the pay is good and I know how.

And I have so many opportunities open to me, now. I could work in a high-end boutique. I could be a patternmaker for wedding gowns, prom dresses, suits, costumes, bathing suits. I can and HAVE worked backstage in fashion shows. I can be a tailor, a costume designer, a stylist, a personal shopper, a curator- there are so many directions I can go from here, and for a while I even did small clothing adjustments for people to help ends meet.

It's a collection of skills I will always have that I can always use, no matter my social standing. I could lose my house, my family, my job, my mobility, but so long as I can communicate or hold a pencil I will have a valuable skill.

I'm in the process of applying for the IATSE film union, to be a costume designer. It's been four years since I started. I'm nervous, and excited, and anxious, but worst case scenario I can't get a foot in the door? I can make clothes for my children. I can tailor my own suits. I can do repairs for friends and neighbors. I can go to a store, look around, and say, "That's a bad deal. That's a bad investment. I can get good value out of this instead", and that's good, too.

At the end of the day, though, you know the most important thing I've learned?

My job is not my life. My job is what SUPPORTS my life. Having a job I love would be nice, but it's still only secondary.

Sorry, I ramble. Hope I could help!

#Suicide tw #fashion design

[the-mad-starker]

Starker Smut: Stuck in a Rut

... Maybe I should start off with an apology first cause I feel like this is a tease more than anything.

Also, not beta'd and only very lightly looked over. Forgive me for any mistakes 😭 and God save me from titles. I might change this one cause idek. 

Alpha!Tony starting his rut and omega Peter just wants to help, if only Tony would let him.

Notes: alpha!Tony, omega!Peter, intersex omegas, dirty talk, Rutting alphas, phone sex, size kink

💗💗💗

Peter could smell it.

It wasn’t something he was familiar with but that primitive part of his brain knew what it was. That scent… It drew him in, made him lean closer, made him want to hiss at all the other omegas that might come near his alpha.

Mr. Stark.

The heady musk that only virile alphas gave off during certain times… It was doing funny things to Peter’s head. He wondered if the bite made him more susceptible to his omega instincts. Because for the last few days, Peter has been on edge. Whether or not he was near Tony, he was anxious and unsettled.

Maybe it was just him, after all. Not the bite. Not his spidey senses, just Peter Parker, an omega in the prime of his life. And apparently, this side of him was fixated on Anthony Stark.

Perhaps it would be surprising to others, but it wasn't to Peter. He had been obsessed with Iron Man and Tony Stark since he was unpresented. Those feelings only grew and changed after he had presented as an omega. And then it changed once more when he found out that Tony was an alpha.

His instincts saw Tony as the perfect mate. And it had nothing to do with his financial security, though that was certainly a bonus for sure.

No, Peter was in love with the man’s brilliance. With his busy hands and unrivaled mind. His generous heart.

So when he started smelling this scent, Peter knew almost instantly. The first time he had scented it, his body had lurched forward as though a hook had been buried in his stomach. The very first whiff of Tony’s alpha scent caused a violent tug towards the alpha and he had stumbled.

Of course, Tony caught him, worried over his sudden stumble. How could he explain that his mentor's scent was just… too much for him to handle? That he was getting wet… His little cocklet growing hard and slick wetting his holes… Looking into Tony's concerned gaze, how could he tell the alpha that he wanted him so much that he felt like he was going in heat because of that scent...

Tony was just a man. An incredible, genius of an alpha, but he didn't have Peter’s heightened senses. Did he know he was going into rut?

A few days later and the scent was so strong that it turned the heads of omegas and betas alike. There was a stiffness to Tony's shoulders, a tightening of the muscles in his face that told Peter that Tony was well aware now.

“I want to help you,” Peter demanded. His voice was steady, unyielding, but his heart was pounding, quaking in his chest.

“Help me with what, kid?” Tony didn't look up from where he was making repairs. He was playing dumb, something Tony rarely did with him.

So Peter put down his own tools and took the five steps he needed to get into Tony’s personal space. Tony’s alpha instincts were revved up by now, his urges kept simmering just right beneath his sweat damp skin.

Carefully, as though he was approaching a wild animal, Peter placed his hand on top of Tony’s shoulder. He could feel the fine tremble beneath his palm, Tony restraining himself from reacting.

“Your rut, Mr. Stark,” Peter said clearly.

Tony’s gaze snapped towards him, finally dragged away from the illusion that everything was okay. That he wasn't falling deeper and deeper into the first stages of an alpha’s rut.

His nostrils flared, no doubt catching Peter's distinctive scent and all the subtle notes in it. Worry. Interest. Arousal.

“... The hell, Peter?” Tony growled.

The omega only clenched his teeth, fighting back the urge to step away. His alpha was still in denial

What stopped Peter from being mortified was that even as Tony stared at him, his own scent didn't change. It remained receptive, even deepening in the way alpha scents did when they were trying to lure in a mate.

Except Peter was the one trying to lure in his alpha.

“I smelled it. Days ago,” Peter told him. His hand slipped down Tony’s shoulder and pressed the cotton of Tony’s tank against the warm skin of his chest. “You’re going into a rut and I can help. I mean, I want to help, sir.”

Tony told him to leave.

Peter left but that didn't mean he stayed away.

The tower went on lockdown that night but Peter was back in the morning. He waited on the roof, talking to Karen in the spidey suit, asking her to relay messages to Tony.

He smelled so close to his rut that Peter fretted, just waiting for his alpha to come to his senses.

“Karen, can you tell FRIDAY that Mr. Stark needs to drink more fluids this week?”

“I will relay the message,” Karen said, reassuringly.

“He’s not skipping meals, is he?” Peter muttered, more to himself than actually asking.

This was why alphas and omegas did better with a partner. It was easy to forget to do things. The most basic survival instincts, eating … sleeping… all disrupted during a rut or a heat. All placed secondary to the need to breed and that need would run rampant without a partner.

It was already late… He should return home but he couldn't help pacing around the roof. Worrying. Fantasizing.

If Mr. Stark started his rut, there was a chance that just one floor down, his alpha was already touching himself. Was he thinking of Peter?

The omega bit his lip, feeling the faint stirring of desire grow stronger.

Surely, Mr. Stark had something to help him?

Without a partner, omegas had knotting dildos. Fabricated alpha scent to ease the ache.alphas had fleshlights and synthesized slick and omega scents.

Peter had to stop himself from whining right then and there because his instincts knew that Mr. Stark needed him. And his body responded to the thoughts, insides getting soppy and wet in preparation.

It knew what his alpha needed and being a good omega meant being ready…

With a muffled whine, Peter dropped to his knees in frustration. All the way up here, there was no one to see him…

Peter pressed his hand between his legs, palming his growing cock and wishing Tony would just– His head tipped back as he leaned against the wall. He wiggled in place and groaned when wetness made everything slick and slippery between his thighs.

“Mr. Stark…” Peter groaned, frustrated.

“Mr. Parker,” the alpha's voice answered from his comm.

The omega nearly leaped off the building in surprise.

“Mr. Stark?!” Peter's heart was pounding and he immediately did a 360, trying to see if the alpha was nearby.

“I'm not–” Tony's voice was rough. “I'm inside, kid. What are you doing out there?”

Peter shouldn't have been surprised but for some reason, that realization only added to his frustration.

“...I was worried…” Peter admitted.

A few seconds of silence.

“You don't need to worry about me,” Tony huffed. “I'm… I'm fine, kid. Perfectly fine.”

Yeah, that wasn't convincing.

“Liar…” Peter muttered quietly. Of course, the system picked it up perfectly according to soft tsk Tony made in response.

“This isn't my first rut,” Tony sighed, “I can handle it. I just need a few days and I'll be fine.”

“But–” Peter cut himself off. They'd already had this argument and he had a feeling that they'd just be in an endless loop if it started up again.

“I can make it good for you,” Peter blurted out. He was immediately mortified, even more so when he heard a choked huff on the line. His face burned, but he didn't take it back.

Tony sighed but said, “Have you ever had a heat partner before, Parker? Or helped an alpha through a rut?”

“Well, no–”

“Then you have no idea what you're asking for,” Tony interrupted. “You think you can handle it? Ruts are… They're rough, kid. The things an alpha would do to you…”

The things I would do to you…

That was the hidden message, wasn't it? Peter's heart jumped at the thought and he clung to it.

“What… what would they do to me…” Peter said softly, hoping that Mr. Stark would go off into one of his rants.

It wasn't his lucky night. Tony immediately picked up the change in his tone, the breathlessness of it telling the alpha that Peter was getting turned on.

“Kid–” A warning, a plea.

“I'm not a kid,” Peter protested immediately. “You're saying alphas would– That alphas in rut would do all these things to me but what if that's what I want, Mr. Stark? As long as it's you… The things I would do if I was there with you and you were in rut, it's so… so embarrassing but I would do it!”

Beyond mortified now, Peter was ready to swing himself home and hide beneath the blanket. The silence between them only added to his embarrassment and he really was ready to jump off when his ears picked up the soft, shaky breath that Tony inhaled.

“...What would you do…?” Tony's voice was barely a whisper but it was enough to make Peter suddenly hyper aware of where he was. What he was doing.

His mind was telling him to be careful. He didn't want to fuck up this change. But another part of him was telling him to take the plunge. It had gotten him this far, hadn't it?

“Anything you want,” Peter answered honestly. “I'd… I'd let you do anything you want to me, Mr. Stark…”

Soft rustling, barely audible. A soft sigh.

“I like that…” Tony admitted, “But that's not what I was asking, kid. I want to know what you would do. If you were right here, right in front of me.”

Peter swallowed, trying to picture it. He had so many fantasies and when he was in bed, his mind would jump from one scenario to another, trying to choose the best one to suit his mood.

Tentatively and a bit shyly, Peter said, “That depends, sir… Are you, um, hard?”

A strained laugh. “Maybe. I am starting my rut.”

Peter shivered, already imagining it. He could do this… He could tell Mr. Stark all the dirty things he imagined when he was alone in his room.

It was easier to do when he closed his eyes, the soft sound of his alpha's breathing keeping him grounded.

“I'd already be… um, wet,” Peter began, “I always am when I think about it. About you, I mean.”

His fingers twitched on his thigh. His cocklet had softened a bit during this initial talk but once the first few thoughts came tumbling out, it was like he couldn't stop it.

“I think about you a lot,” Peter confessed, “A-And I think about all the omega's you've had and I get so jealous. Sorry… That's not… That isn't what you wanted to hear.”

He took a deep breath, trying to center himself.

“If… If you were in front of me, Mr. Stark,” Peter began again, “I'd want to touch you… I'd want you to touch me.”

Then a soft whisper, his fingers trailing over his inner thigh, barely brushing against his erection.

“My… cock is getting hard,” Peter said, “But I'd want you to see how wet I am for you… I'd take your hand and bring it between my legs… I'd let you touch me… Feel how slick I am…”

“Are you wet now?” The alpha asked.

The only way Peter had known Tony was still listening was the ragged breathes the mic picked up. Actually hearing the alpha's voice made his insides clench down, hungry for friction.

“I… think so.” Peter knew he was, he'd only gotten even more slick once he started talking. He'd never done anything like this and telling Tony Stark, the alpha of his dreams, about all these intimate details was really getting to him.

“Check for me.” Tony murmured.

It felt like Peter's heart stopped then jumped out of his chest.

“I'm wearing the suit…” Peter replied like that mattered. His legs were already spreading apart, his hand moving down. He hissed when his fingertips brushed against his pussy, the fabric damp with his slick.

He only wore a tiny thong. Didn't want any lines visible through the suit. It did absolutely nothing to stop the slick from speeding through his suit  when he was aroused.

“Are you?” Tony asked once again.

“Yeah…” Peter gasped, pressing down harder. “I'm really… wet for you.”

He waited with bated breath, wondering if that was too far. But on the other side, he heard a soft groan, the unmistakable sound of a cap being flicked open.

“Mr. Stark…” He started to pant, lazily stroking along the sensitive lips of his pussy over the cloth. “Are you touching yourself?”

“...Yeah…”

Peter groaned, removing his hand and squeezing his thighs together.

“I wish I could see it…” he said without thinking.

He heard a dark chuckle in response. Then his mouth almost dropped open when the screen in his suit blacked out. He gasped when his vision was replaced with an image of his mentor.

His alpha.

In the lab with his pants open and a rock hard erection proudly curving up towards his toned stomach. A large, calloused hand was stroking it, thick fingers lazily pumping from root to tip. It was glistening with wetness, coated in lube so that every stroke the alpha gave it looked almost effortless.

“It's huge…” Peter croaked, hands reaching out in front of him like he was actually there.

“I'm glad you like it,” Tony rumbled. His legs spread apart a bit more, giving Peter a more ample view of his groin.

The visual was messing with Peter's head a bit. It seriously felt like he could just lean over and touch it… his hands clenched in his lap, a soft whimper caught behind his teeth.

“Have you ever seen an alpha's cock…?” Tony asked him, voice low with promise.

“Only in porn,” Peter immediately answered then blushed. “Yours looks… better. Bigger.”

The alpha smiled and Peter felt those butterflies return, making him feel giddy and turned on at the same time.

“How about an alpha's knot…?” Tony murmured

“I… I would really like to see yours,” Peter said, breathless at the opportunity.

The older man let go of his cock, letting Peter get an unobstructed view of it. Saliva flooded his mouth when he took it all in… The thick veiny length of it and the folds of skin at the base where the knot would form.

“Mr. Stark…” he mumbled. “If I was there, I'd… God, I don't know what I'd do but I want it. I want it in my mouth… I want it inside me. I'd let you do anything you want, I just– I need it.”

Now that Tony had opened the video between them, he could see how his words affected the alpha. That impressive cock twitched at his words, precome forming into cloudy beads of fluid at the tip before dribbling down the sides.

His eyes were fixated on it.

“I'd lick that all up,” he said, shamelessly. He shifted in place, his hand closing in around his stiff cocklet. “I'd… God. I'd climb onto your lap and ride it.”

Tony's jaw clenched. Peter was pleased to see how much the alpha was being affected.

“I don't know if that'd be a good idea,” Mr. Stark says nonchalantly. “You should probably start out slow… Rutting alphas… You get a hole anywhere near our cock and we'd just fuck right in…”

“I'd let you,” Peter answered right away. At this rate, he wouldn't be surprised if there was a small puddle of slick under his ass. ”I’m so slick, Mr. Stark… You'd slip right in…”

Tony's lips parted, eyes dark as he imagined Peter's words.

“... Peter… You need to be sure… I'll try my best to control it but– I can't promise anything.” He said, almost begging. “Once we start, I won't stop… I'll end up rutting you… Knotting you over and over again.”

Peter only had one thing to say to that.

“Good.”

He saw Tony's lips part as he breathed in, eyes slipping shut for just a moment.

The last thing he saw was the alpha opening his eyes, all uncertainty wiped clean. His gaze was that of a predator's and it felt like he was looking right at Peter through the camera.

Peter's screen returned to normal.

“Get inside,” his alpha growled.

#starker #madstarker writes #nff #alpha tony #omega peter #intersex omegas #mads 1000 party #omegaverse

[edourado]

I'm imagining Karen at university, it's autumn and she's wearing cute sweaters with little wool skirts etc, she's persuaded to go to a pretty rough bar in town, and that's where she meets Him. He seems rough and ready, but when they start dating he's so kind & gentle with her, always encouraging her to finish assignments, walking her to lectures & meeting her from the library at night. I'm starting uni next year & this is a fantasy of mine, perhaps someone might like to write. Love your writing!

Hey Anon! First of all, let me say congrats and good luck with uni next year. Stay away from the 8 AM classes if you can and a regular sleep schedule is going to become a distant fantasy, but you should fight for it. It helps a lot. As does exercising and LOTS of water.

Second of all: you didn’t SAY Frank, but you described and I saw him. So I wrote him.

I hope you like this. Thank you for the prompt, I had fun with it.

A study in black and blue

Josie raises her eyebrows when the door opens and this life size doll walks in.

Usually, the pretty girls that walk through the door are showing either too much boob, too much stomach, or too much leg, maybe all three at once. Or they’re pretty but don’t bother with anything more elaborate than jeans and a coat over a simple t-shirt.

This one has her shiny blond hair up on a neat ponytail, enough makeup to just make you wonder if she was born like this or her cheeks are really that shade of pink, a sweater with a swan wearing a crown, the sleeves rolled up and a skirt that stops a few inches above her knees, her caramel ankle boots rising a little bit above her ankle. The bag slung on her shoulder matches it.

“Hi”, she says to Josie. “Do you know where I can find Foggy? Or Matt?”

“Pool table”, Josie informs, nodding towards the back of the crowded bar.

“Ok, thanks”, she says with a polite smile, and Josie watches as she walks towards two of her regulars, and all the heads that also watch her go.

An hour later, she is coming out of the ladies room, looking at her phone, when she bumps into that one customer that Josie just can’t decide if she likes or not. Frank Castle. He’s polite, never caused any trouble, but the way he always scans the bar, as if assessing the place, or the suspicious black car that drops him or picks him up sometimes makes her wonder.

The blond doll gasps loudly at the drink that spills on her sweater and Castle is quick to apologise. Her big blue eyes are closed, and Josie recognizes the look of someone trying not to explode.

“It’s fine”, she says, short. “I wasn’t looking.”

Frank says something else, but she assures him again that “it’s ok”, turns back around and walks back into the ladies room, no doubt to try and wash the beer out of her sweater.

Josie watches as Castle stands there for a second or two, then turns around and walk to his table, where his friends are clueless to what just happened.

It’s five minutes before blondie comes out, her sweater on her hands, the tank top she was wearing under it showing off a lot of skin.

Now, Josie thinks, shaking her head, she looks like she fits in here.

“Listen”, she suddenly hears, and raises her head. Castle is standing in front of blondie again. “I feel bad for that. Is there something I can do? Like pay for the dry cleaners or something?”

She watches him with her blue eyes for a second, and then shakes her head.

“It was nothing, I washed it out.”

Frank nods.

“Ok. You sure?”

“Yep. Don’t worry.”

“Still”, he says, and looks towards Josie. “Their next round is on me, Josie.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s fine”, he says, reaching for his wallet. “I’ll feel better.”

He pays for all his drinks, plus the round he bought for blondie and Nelson and Murdock. Blondie watches him with a careful look.

“Again, I’m sorry about your sweater.”

And then he is calling on the three friends that were with him. Josie is not sad to see them leave. Frank has never caused trouble, but his friends, she can tell, are just waiting for a chance.

The blond woman - Karen, Josie finds out later - looks at her, questioning, and Josie shrugs, putting the three beers on the counter for her. With a polite smile, Karen picks them up and walks back towards her friends. At least those two Josie knows are nice.

.:.

Matt is punching the sandbag, and feels the sweat running down his brow.

“Left, Murdock, come on”, Frank says, holding the bag for him. He drives his left fist three times into the leather, feeling it move slightly. “Left, left, right.”

Frank is a good guy to train with. He knows they go to the same school, but they don’t take any of the same classes. The met at the gym, and it’s practically the only place they talk, their schedules being so different.

After they’re both done and Matt is unfolding his cane to leave, Frank catches up with him, offering his arm  to him as they both walk out.

“So”, he says after a small talk that Matt could just feel was leading somewhere specific. “You were at Josie’s last Friday, right?”

“Yeah. Why?” he asks, but he’s pretty sure ‘why’.

“There was this girl with you”. Bingo. “I spilled my drink on her.”

“Oh, that was you?” he asked, remembering Karen’s comments on how some stranger almost ruined her brand new Red Valentino sweater. “She was pissed.”

“She was, right? I knew it”, he says. “I offered to pay for dry cleaning, but she brushed me off.”

“Yeah, well. Karen is pretty independent. Not really the ‘letting guys do things for her’ type.”

Frank was silent for a second or two, and Matt could hear the cogs in his head. He had never seen Karen, of course, but just from the reactions she stirred everywhere she went, he could tell she was beautiful. Foggy told him only about a million times. Apparently, Frank was the last one affected by her looks.

He couldn’t really say he was friends with Frank. He was a pretty good guy, from what he could tell, even if he was very closed off. Matt couldn’t blame him, he was, too. The way he carried himself, though, it was almost like a soldier. If he wasn’t so young, Matt would say he was a veteran, or something along these lines.

When Karen shows up for class a week from then, accompanied by Frank, Matt resists the urge to frown.

“Murdock”, Frank greets. “I’ll see you tonight?” he asks, referring to their boxing practice.

“Yeah, sure thing”, he replies, trying to act like him walking Karen to class was not a bit… weird.

“See you around, ma’am”, and then he leaves.

“Hey”, Karen greets, taking his arm, pulling him towards the stairs so they can get to class. “That was the guy, the one who spilled beer on me at Josie’s.”

“Frank was the guy?”

“Yeah. He bumped into me at the coffee shop. Bought my coffee for me. He keeps apologising.”

Matt smiles, thinking that her tone betrays a little excitement.

“Is he cool? Because that night, he looked like he was ready to shoot everyone at the bar if someone rubbed him wrong."

Matt shrugs. “He’s nice enough. I only ever see him at the gym, he has a mean right hook.”

She hums and they walk into their classroom. He wants to ask more, measure the extent of Karen’s interest, but the professor arrives, loud and already spilling content and they’re rushing to open their books and get their notes and Foggy is throwing himself on the seat next to him, panting.

He’ll ask later.

.:.

“Zack, I swear to God”, Trish says, dumping her books on her desk at the school radio station. “if you ask me about Karen Page and Frank Castle again, I’m gonna scream.”

“But it’s just so juicy!” her friend says, holding the papers for the lunch broadcast to his chest. “Have you ever seen Frank Castle walking anyone to class? Have you ever seen him with a girl during the day at all?”

“Honestly, I didn’t know he existed until you started babbling about him."

That’s a lie. She knew he existed. Has seen him more than once running with his shirt off really early in the morning, while she walked to krav maga. He looked good, Frank.

“Are they dating?” Zack asks, in spite of her warnings.

“I told you, I don’t know.”

But she knows. Has seen Karen giggle about him, has heard about the near Red Valentino disaster, had asked her about him, curious herself.

“No, we just have coffee sometimes”, her friend had said, two weeks ago. Now, she had a lot of juicy details about how good of a kisser he was. But she was not about to tell that to anyone.

“Is she still writing that story for us?”

“Yes, it’s due next week.”

“Well, can I ask her when she comes over? Maybe we could start a new social column, or something-”

“Zack, we’re not gonna write gossip about students or staff. This is an University, not high school. Take that idea out of your mind.”

But Zack didn’t really have to ask Karen anything. When Frank started walking her to her classes, hanging out waiting for her classes to finish and walking with his arm around her shoulder, greeting and saying good bye with kisses, the whole school seemed to be watching.

Never have they ever imagined someone as nice and bright as Karen would be dating brooding, scary and mysterious Frank Castle. But there they were.

Honestly, everybody half expected her to end up dating Matt Murdock or Foggy Nelson. But there she was, making Frank show his face outside during the day more and more often.

“No Frank today?” Trish asked when she ran into her on the way to Women and Gender Studies.

“No, he has a free period. Plus”, she said, with a move of her shoulder and a conspiratorial smile, dropping her voice. “He’s pretty tired.”

Trish looked at her and Karen waited.

“Are you just coming from his place?”

She nodded, looking smug and happy.

“Ok. Detour. We need to talk.”

Laughing, Karen let herself be pulled towards their regular coffee shop, where they got lattes and she heard all about Frank’s perfect body and amazing skills.

“Ugh, you bitch”, she said when Karen told her that Frank had, actually, no roommate, and she didn’t really have to keep her voice down.

That night, after Trish finished her shift at the paper and they walked to meet Jessica and Claire for wine, movies and popcorn, they all rolled their eyes when Frank showed up at the library door with his car, asking if they wanted a ride. They climbed in and then watched as Karen kissed him long and slow when he dropped them at Trish’s not so humble abode.

Eventually, they got into the elevator without her, laughing when Karen knocked on the door ten minutes later, no trace of lipstick on her lips.

.:.

When he graduated, she braced herself for an eventual break up.

Considering potential jobs for him, a new apartment, maybe even more interesting people, and her ever present pessimism when it came to relationships, there was always that little voice in the back of her mind telling her that this all could end very soon. She was still halfway through college, her graduation not coming anytime soon, and he was in the “real world”, now. “Real” women were bound to happen to him.

When, six months in, and he was asking her what time she was going to leave the library, so he could pick her up, asking her to come and check new apartments with him, still adjusting his schedule to hers, the voice started to quiet down.

He’s been living in his new apartment - the one he picked because she liked that it was near a park - for another six months, and he’s away for work for a week, when she opens one of his kitchen cabinets and finds a bag of the coffee she likes and he hates. The one from Starbucks, that he says is too weak and “too blended with unnecessary shit”, but she likes the smell of it and the taste of vanilla and the fact that when she drinks it with cream, it’s sweet and the taste lingers in her tongue. He bought it for her, even though it’s expensive and he hates it.

She’s missing him a lot, so she brews herself a cup, strips down to her underwear and sends him a picture of herself in her lingerie, lying in his bed, thanking him for her coffee.

He answers it three hours later, asking if she’s home (and she is, studying), asks for more pictures, tells her what to take off next and then she has phone sex for the first time.

The voice quiets down forever once he comes back, spends two hours making her see some stars on his ceiling, and then still manages to help her study, asking her questions from her index cards and, the next morning, wakes up at seven just to drive her to her 8 AM class, even if he didn’t have to.

Yes. Hush, now, voice.

.:.

Frank had known she was it for him for a while, now. Hadn’t said anything because it was, maybe, too soon, maybe she wasn’t ready, they were both very young, she looks the way she looks and is who she is, maybe she would realize that she’s very out of his league and want to dump him, something.  

Still, he knew.

He was sure when, after Shield promoted him and he started going on the field more often, which meant he had to travel a lot more, she went to pick him up at the airport once with a pitbull. A rescue.

“Happy birthday”, she had said, and he had, honest to God, forgotten it was his birthday.

He didn’t plan to, but he asked her to move in that night, after dinner.

“My place is bigger”, he reasoned when she looked at him with those big blue eyes on the other side of the dinner table. “You’re here all the time, my neighbors like you better than they like me.”

“Are you serious?” she asked, and he got insecure. Maybe she wanted to keep her place, she was a very self sufficient woman, Karen, valued her independence a lot.

He nodded, trying to look casual, but failing. He could feel it in his face.

But she smiled, took a deep breath and nodded, biting the inside of her lip and Frank loved her. He fucking loved her and he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop.

#kastle #kastle au #kastle ff #kastle fic #Frank and Karen #prompt #Hell's Kitchen Cronicles

[wellamarke]

Hey Joni :) Long time no speak, but wanted to see if you had any advice. I'm thinking about owning a stick insect, do you have any suggestions? such as, should I get more than one or are they happy being on their own? Do you use a heat mat under their tank to keep it warm? (also as Im planning to total own giant snails and giant leaf insects if I can in the near future but thats a step up! - are giant snails quite easy to look after?) x

[2/2]Hey Joni, You know that ask about stick insects and giant african snails I sent you a little while ago, can I add in a question? Ive read that snails carry salmonella bacteria like reptiles, does this make it difficult to keep them? I’m a bit of a germaphobe so salmonella makes me a little nervous but I’m absolutely in love with giant snails! Thank you!

Hellooooo! Sorry it’s taken so long for this to materialise. This is my third attempt at writing this, since my phone decided to eat it twice. Apparently I’m cursed. But now I’m here in a different app, praying that I’m not about to write an essay for nothing….

I thought I would post the reply publically so that anyone else who finds themselves interested in stick insects or snails can read it too. It might end up serving as a little FAQ section if my bug-keeping ways ever become known enough to be asked about frequently, heh heh heh.

So, here goes. Take three.

Stick Insect Suggestions

Plurality In terms of what they actually prefer - I’m not sure they mind much. I’ve kept them in pairs, triples, groups and - in the case of the recently departed Douglas - singles, and they seem to go about their Insecty business much the same, unencumbered by feelings of loneliness or rivalry. So I suppose it’s up to your preference how many you keep! Here are a couple of factors to consider, though:Babies sometimes die inexplicably. Well, perhaps to a doctor of stick insect ailments it wouldn’t be inexplicable… but through no fault of the owner, some nymphs don’t shed their skins properly, or fall from their tank roofs and damage themselves, and there’s not much you can do about it. So it seems best to start off with a handful of insects to ensure that you get at least one or two who survive into adulthood. (I still don’t know what happened to Carolyn, one of my original five. She developed a strange dent in her back that made her look as though she’d been snapped in half, but other than that seemed fine until it was time to shed her skin, which she couldn’t do. Babies are fragile, I guess. Once full grown they’re much less prone to random dying.) Ease of cleaning out. Once Douglas was alone it was soooo much easier to change over his leaves, because there was only one of him to keep an eye on why I did so. Cleaning out a tank while six of them are crawling all over the place requires a lot more presence of mind, obviously! Usually with just Doug I waited until he was in a convenient position where I didn’t have to disturb him too much, like on the roof or in one of the corners. If he was on the roof it was perfect because I could dump all the old leaves and swill out the whole tank. If he was in a corner I could at least wipe it. I tried not to bother him too much in his old age, otherwise I suppose I could have just moved him where I wanted him. This, too, would have been easier to do with just him to worry about.So you see there are advantages to having a group and having a single. Although you could get around the group difficulties by having a secondary container to deposit them in while you cleaned out their proper tank, I suppose.

Heat MatsHere is a secret about stick insects: they are easy to look after. Apparently on the internet, this is a secret. On the internet people like to overromanticise their Foreign Exoticness™, and would have you installing a heat mat, a miniature gymnasium, a salad bar and a skating rink for the comfort of your Foreign Exotic™ pets. But truthfully they are not fussy creatures, in my experience. Unless you live in the Arctic, your home is probably not too cold for them. I have never had heat mats for my sticks. I would say you need to guard against them getting too hot, rather than too cold - and I live in England!When I was about twelve, I had my very first stick insects, Stan and Laurel, for a rather brief amount of time that was cruelly cut short by them dying of heatstroke. They were left in direct sunlight for a couple of hours, and cooked. Meanwhile, the insects I’ve had since then have survived English winters with no ill effects - and no heat mats. Of course, mine are Indian Stick Insects, the most basic kind money can buy. I claim absolutely no expertise on any other kind of stick (or leaf, or indeed otherwise shaped) insect - possibly, some of the ones that truly have a degree of Foreign Exoticness™ will be glad of a good heat mat. Don’t quote me unless you’re buying Indians. Probably don’t quote me at all, lest the Righteous Exotickers descend on me…! But I would honestly say Indian stick insects are fine in most climates without a heat mat.

Other things:

I very rarely handle my stick insects - the few times I’ve touched them have mostly been accidental! Maybe it’s me projecting my touch-phobe ways onto them, but Douglas lived four months longer than the average so I can only guess that he was pleased to go undisturbed for most of his life. My defence here is that if I wanted a touchy-feely pet, I would have got one with fur. (Also, I read somewhere once that sometimes being picked up can scare them, and they’ll just drop a leg and run away, hopefully regenerating the limb later but if not, their attitude is “oh well, at least I got away from the scary human with my other five”. I have no idea if this is true, but I don’t touch them with my hands if I can help it. If I do need to move them I try and tempt them onto a leaf first. Though if a stick has decided it wants to be somewhere, you often have a job convincing it to move.)

I have recently taken to setting some stems with leaves on in little containers of water, which makes them last much longer. But the insects could drown in more than a few drops of water, so the containers are covered, with just a few holes in their lids to let the stalks through. I don’t know if that’s a good enough description, maybe I’ll add a photo here later of this setup.

They love to drink tiny water droplets, so a spray bottle is a good thing to keep on hand. You can get away with only changing the leaves every four or five days if the spray’s there to break it up.

They have cute little faces. Once they’re adult it’s big enough to see. Make sure you cherish their faces and tell them often that they are beautiful.

Don’t worry if the top part of their front legs start going red. I thought Doug and his siblings had developed some kind of disease when I first noticed this! But actually red “armpits” (as I began calling them) are a sign of healthy adulthood. If anything it just means you can stop worrying that they’ll die during skin-shedding, because they won’t need to shed anymore. (Again, I can only speak for Indians… perhaps in other stick species red legs is a sign that the End Times are upon us!)

I have recently taken to covering the floor of the tanks with tissue paper. I never bothered before this generation of babies hatched, but when they did I read that tissue is a good idea, because if they fall on it they’ll be protected. Now I just kind of do it anyway, even though they’re all about the same age as Douglas and Co were when I got them. Not only does it protect them a little from falling, it makes clearing out the droppings ten times easier, especially if they insist on staying put when you’re trying to do so. As mentioned, they are stubborn beasties. I wonder sometimes if they were called stick insects because their feet stick to things, and then we named wooden sticks after them because of the resemblance, rather than the other way round…

Giant Snails!

Are they easy to look after?Yes, I think so! They eat most kinds of fruit and vegetables - exhaustive lists can be found on Snail Forums, but mine are especially fond of lettuce and broccoli. They’re not that bothered about strawberries or cabbage, I’ve found. I don’t know if this is typical or just Snailsa and Shelemiah being awkward. It’s fun to watch them eating, and I just take out uneaten food once it looks a bit old, before it goes mouldy on them. I also don’t give them the outer leaves of lettuce etc, because it might have pesticides on. The other thing they like - for some reason - is flakes meant for exotic fish. No idea why, and I probably wouldn’t have thought to give it to them, but the people we adopted them from sent them with a tub of fish food, and sure enough, they can’t get enough of the stuff. If they’re sulking about something and won’t eat, I sprinkle a bit of fish food and suddenly everything is forgiven. Strange but true.They also need a sprinkle of calcium every now and then on their food, to help keep their shells strong. Everywhere you look people recommend cuttlefish bone too, and I have given mine some, but I’ve never seen them actually use it so for good measure I still sprinkle a little calcium. They like to be kept damp, so every day I spray them with water. Sometimes if they get too hot they seal themselves into their shells, and then they need a good dousing from the spray bottle to coax them out. The first time it happened I thought they were dead… but they’ve revived each time, and I just try not to let them get too dry for too long. I also have to check for eggs every few days, and they should be removed and frozen. (I’m not sure how easy/legal it is to breed your own baby snails. Everywhere I’ve read, it just says not to. You definitely can’t release them into the wild, because they’re not part of the ecosystem here.) I actually haven’t ever found an egg… so I’m not sure how often they’re supposed to appear?!I think snails do prefer to live in pairs or more, for what it’s worth. They are, to quote something I read online, “gregarious”. Love that word. Never seen it used in regard to stick insects, but… The snails have the kind of peat/soil stuff sold for large spider care, in the bottom of their tank to bury themselves in or dig around. I change that when it gets old but I’m not sure how often it should by rights be changed. Usually ends up being every other month or so.

SalmonellaYes, they do carry salmonella, which is a little unfortunate. I have a supply of plastic gloves that I keep with their tank, and I use them the whole time I’m handling them or their stuff. Then afterwards I still wash my hands with soap, because….. you never know! I’m not usually a germaphobe at all but I’m being unprecedentedly careful over the snails, heh heh. Maybe I’ll get lazier once I’ve had them a bit longer (as I’ve heard of other people touching them with their bare hands etc), but at the moment I’m taking the double precaution. It’s not much of a bother really, in comparison to how cute they are to look at :D

Well, I think that’s it, and woohooo, my phone has left it alone so far! Now let’s see if it will post. Doubtless I’ll come back and add more things as I remember them, but for now… this has been a Sticks & Snails PSA! Thank you for your attention.

#shut up about stick insects joni #shut up about snails joni #shut up joni #snelstick FAQ