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lamalefix · 3 years

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Hey the anon who asked for angst here! I want what you did wirh Eddie in your story with Buck now. Like stopping functioning and things like that... But i'm a sucker for happy endings! Maybe even bittersweet and uncertain. So to answer you, yes yes yes. I know what I'm asking fpr. I want you to hurt my feelings. do your worst!! and thank you!!

Hey there angsty anon! (now that's your name)

You asked for this, so... here we go, this is going to be a multichapter thing, but somehow i was inspired? So please read it carefully.

thank you for your words, I hope you find this of your taste

Relationship: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV) Characters: Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV),Evan "Buck" Buckley Tags: Medical Procedures, Blood, Major Character InjuryDeveloping Relationship, Angst with a Happy Ending, Post-Episode: s04e13 Suspicion

Can’t have you disappear [1/3] (also on ao3)

When deployed, soldiers need to complete a range of physically demanding tasks. And they train for those tasks. It occurs that you have to move under fire, carry equipment, transfer ammunition and… well, the worst of all evacuate casualties. A casualty drag is excruciatingly challenging and involves dragging a fellow soldier from a hazardous environment to a safe location as quick as possible.

That’s what comes to Buck’s mind after a few seconds. He’s on the ground. Asphalt tastes weird in his mouth, copper-like, strong and salty.

He blinks and takes in, drinks in, the body, the pair of eyes that look lost, not so far away.

There’s the voice of someone barking orders in the radio, the same person that’s holding him down. And when Buck blinks again, he clearly sees that person, that body, not so far away.

Eddie. That’s Eddie. That’s Eddie in the middle of the road, a pool of blood under his face. Hand outstretching slightly, fingers trembling. Eyes fixed on something. On him maybe? Or maybe lost.

Asphalt doesn’t have that weird, coppery and salty taste. But… blood has.

He needs to do something.

Do something.

He blinks again ad remembers his preparation as a Navy SEALS before the other one as a firefighter. Close down, bottle up, no emotion. Nothing.

He needs to move. Do something.

When he first started casualty drags simulation during training, he dragged dummies all covered in gears that could even weigh 132 kg total, crawling as fast as he could.

And at some point, he moves.

He doesn’t even notice when he does, with an impossible ache, urgency, he just moves. It’s like muscle memory, it’s like some other part of him kicks in and takes his place. It’s like the gear rolls backwards and clicks in that very spot, the right one and he reacts as he knew, as he was before. A Evan Buckley that was so long forgotten in his new almost-happy life over here. The Evan Buckley who at some point decided that being a Navy Seal was a good idea, that maybe was even good at suppressing emotions and being like a robot.

It’s fun that at some point you need to do what you resent the most, uh?

But, well.

He needs to do something.

That’s how he grovels and takes Eddie, dragging him while crawling back between the ambulance and the firetruck. Muscle memory, soldier training, casualty evacuation.

Fast.

He needs to be fast. Faster maybe. The fastest he can.

That captain, whose name he doesn’t remember, barks something and he growls a guttural, raw sounds that escapes his throat and sounds like an echo from another distant memory. But that gear runs backwards again, and clicks back in.

He needs to do something.

Do something.

And so, he focuses on the wound.

Not on the blood that soaks Eddie’s uniform and spatters on his own white shirt, that wedges in the bed of his fingernails, that moistens his palms.

He needs to focus on the wound.

He tears Eddie’s uniform shirt, and assesses the breathing, uneven, labored, almost strangled, there’s a sound like a hiss.

Sucking chest wounds happen when an injury causes a hole to open in the chest, usually are caused by stabbing, gunshots or other injuries that penetrate the chest.

It’s about the size of a coin, the blood looks like boiling, at every hissing breath, as it’s being sucked back in the chest at every inhale and sputtered out at every exhale. And the blood doesn’t even look like blood anymore, around the wound, it’s more like foam, bright red, maybe pinkish.

When he moved, when he dragged Eddie in a safer place, between the truck and the ambulance, Eddie made a weird sound, like a protest, that ended up with coughing blood.

But he needs to move, he needs to move, he needs to do something.

And it’s became a silent mantra.

No emotion, get your shit together.

He would stop, a part of him would stop and talk, because he talks a lot, a whole lot, and that’s maybe what he does best, but now there’s Eddie bleeding out, so he has to focus and do something.

So he repeats the drill. Sucking chest wounds care. He knows how it works. He just needs to act.

Sterilize your hands. No time for soap and water, but he has a sanitizer gel in his pocket (thanks covid-19?), he doesn’t have time to put on gloves, he couldn’t even find ‘em if he wanted now. He has to focus.

Maybe he mutters something, a silent prayer, Eddie is someone who prays so he should do that for him, or maybe he just says sorry, sorry, sorry when he points his hand hard over the wound. You’d usually ask someone else to keep a hand over the wound while preparing a dressing, maybe even the patient, but Eddie lies there, still, not even moving his chest to breath, eyes open.

That’s when Buck moves his hand to cup his cheek. That’s when he finds his voice back.

“Eddie? Eddie, stay with me? Please, please, please. Stay with me” it’s all he manages to say. “We need to get you back home to Chris, y’know?”.

And that’s when Eddie coughs again, and blinks, and his eyes roll back for a moment, a weird staggering sound that comes from his mouth.

“Hey, hey, no. Okay, no weird sounds. Just stay awake for me” he murmurs, and moves to get something from Eddie’s medic bag. Because God, he has that bag with him! There should be a fucking Halo Chest Seal, there better be one.

But he needs to focus, he needs to.

The best way to do this is to spill the contents of the bag on the ground, maybe not the right choice, but the only one if you are working with only a hand, while the other is still applying pressure on the wound.

The gear rolls back in place. And he repeats the drill from where he left off.

Find a chest seal or a sterile, medical tape or plastic to seal up the wound.

“Eddie breathe, please. Breathe out” he asks, and Eddie, ever the good soldier, breathes out, a broken, painful breath.

Someone is barking orders around them, but Buck has to move. Buck has to do something.

Do something. Faster. Faster. The fastest you can. Even faster than that.

That’s his mantra. He doesn’t have that much time. Eddie doesn’t have that much time.

The Halo Chest Seal is one of the very first chest seals made commercially. It’s no-frills, and works very simply. It’s essentially a sterile piece of plastic with an adhesive backing.

He cleans the wound, wiping off the blood with a gauze he found in the bag before spilling its content on the ground, so that the adhesive can stick and he murmurs something that sounds to his hears like a prayer, but then again is maybe something he is asking Eddie. Stay awake. Stay with me.

When he applies the right pressure Eddie groans softly.

Then he needs to move him on one side, he needs to be fast. Faster. Because Eddie lost a lot of blood, and even if he just coughed up blood only once, once too many.

He tears the remnants of the shirt off, and uses another gauze to wipe again the blood and the dirt, from the entry hole on his back, and this time Eddie groans louder.

And maybe in his head he plays a weird conversation with him, maybe a reassuring one. I know it hurts. But you are safe now. We are going to save you.

The captain of 133, Matha? Metha? Whatever barks something again and that makes the other gear, the one on which he usually moves slip in the place and take over.

But Eddie does a thing, a odd sound with his mouth. Shortness of breath, eyes lost and glassy. The seal is trapping air that’s escaping from the lungs. No. Not the right time to develop a pneumothorax. Not while there’s a fucking shooter on a roof. Not while their aid isn’t here yet.

A needle, he needs a needle. A fourteen, or maybe a sixteen gauge needle, an eight centimeter needle is more successful than a five centimeter one, but increase a risk of injury to underlying structures. He maneuvers him back supine, and when Eddie does that sound again, Buck just moves faster.

Do something.

Faster.

The preferred insertion site is the second intercostal space, in the mid-clavicular line, not even a inch above his wound, so he will have to insert the needle anywhere in that same hemithorax to decompress the developing pneumothorax. He just uses his antiseptic gel to prepare the area. And he should really find lidocaine to provide anesthesia, but there’s no time, Eddie has no time. And even if it will hurt like hell, periosteum and parietal pleura are highly pain-sensitive, he can’t waste time.

He pierces the skin over the rib below the target interspace, a couple of inches below his wound, and then directs the needle cephalad over the rib until the pleura does that little pop, that’s hard to hear when your heart beats like Buck’s now, but there’s the sudden decrease in resistance.

It’s when Eddie breathes better and doesn’t do that ominous, strangled sound again, that he inserts the chest tube. And while he does that, there’s the whistle of the ambulance siren that fills the air.

He shouldn’t hop on the ambulance, but that’s what he does, when the paramedics start to move Eddie. They are all under held targets, but they need to move, and bring Eddie to the nearest hospital.

His legs tremble when he sits near Eddie, his hand in his, his fingers trembling.

He outstretched his hand as if to come to Buck, to comfort him somehow, as he always does, with his touchy-feely show of affection. But what communicates the most, of Eddie, are his eyes. Expressive, soft, caring. Every single thing Eddie tells, comes before in his eyes, and seeing that the only thing he could do at that point was to look, glance at Buck maybe, it was his own personal way to comfort him.

And out of muscle memory, now, Buck 4.0 kicks in, and just lowers his gaze. Emotions showering over him, intense like a hurricane, but he can't, he can't break. No emotion, not now. Maybe it's time for Buck 5.0. The only thing he can do is focus on that hand, clammy and still, fingers cold and his. And he sturts humming voiceless prayers, an invocation to whoever is God and Holy to not take Eddie away.

Not from him, not for himself. He wouldn’t ask anything like that, not of Eddie, because he is very serious with Ana, but for Chris.

That’s how prayers work, right?

Something that’s not for you, asking for something that’s for someone else. And what’s more important than a child’s sake?

They saved a kid today, they earned this. Right?

#lamalefixwrites #s04x13 coda #911 spoilers #evan buck buckely #eddie diaz #major character injury #blood #graphic depiction of medical procedures #angst with a happy ending #angsty anon's tag #askbox always open

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1zashreena1 · 4 years

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I Am Having a Snuggle -10

18+, m/f, technically OCxDiego Jimenez [Power]

Summary: Princess doesn’t sleep much after her long distance meltdown. Soft Murder Panther to the rescue! Well, except for that one hard part.

WARNINGS: Ridiculous descriptions and ‘the code is more like guidelines’ outlook on grammar. Is it OOC if the character was given essentially zero development in canon???

FEELS. SMUT (aka The Good Stuff), the L word, plus size woman+fit man, soft!Diego (srsly disgusting and if you bring it up later he will stab you), coddled Princess, mentions of... The Belt*tm, is a relationship happening?? apparently. Leftover high school Spanish.

A/N: Princess took on a life of her own and has essentially become an OC. There are infrequent mentions of her description (specifically as plus size) and her actual name in later pieces (its Bicki). She started as self-insert so she looks like me (plus size, white, short, blue eyes, curly hair). If that is not your thing, I totally understand. And do not feel obligated to read this, I will not be offended!

I’m not a fan of “plot” so be aware that most of this series is just meandering through their relationship, angst-fluff-smut whiplash style. But with dick jokes.

Special thanks to @chelsfic for the shared Diego headcanons re: coffee preferences. ILY Mommy

TAGLIST: @chelsfic @symbiont13 @nicke0115 @bunnykjm @rosee-sensuelle @girlpornparadise @mandoplease @heresathreebee @xxsteph-enrixx @jetiikad @joalsglasses @mutantcookiesecrets @demoncatstone @squidlywiddly87 @lockedoutofmyotherblog @poeedamerons

You snap awake with a gasp. What woke you up? You lay there for a second, holding your breath and listening. With your vision being so horrible your hearing is a much more reliable sense. Its pitch black tonight, no moonlight breaking through the cloud cover. You don't keep any ambient lighting on while you sleep so you couldn't see anything if you tried.

There. A soft bang outside somewhere. Then another. It almost sounds like car doors. I wonder if the baby is sick again and First Floor Mark is taking her to the hospital?

Your worry is cut short when you jolt to full awareness because your apartment door is opening. You flip over to your back and dive for the nightstand. Glasses first, Smithfield 911 second. You sit up to brace yourself against the wall and hold the gun in your lap, fingering the safety.

The door closes and you hear it being locked.

With a heaved sigh you make sure the safety is on and wait. Heavy footsteps come ever closer to your bedroom and you can see the light of his phone before he appears in your doorway.

Diego freezes when he sees you sitting up in bed. Then he smiles. Wide and sparkling in the low light, you can't see them but you know the dimples are there.

"Princess, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you." He greets you warmly, voice like liquid velvet, wrapping you in heated comfort. You can tell he is wearing most of a suit, the jacket is gone, but you have no idea what color. His collar is unbuttoned. That's not distracting at all.

You arch one brow and struggle not to smirk. "Damnit Diego, you almost got shot." You display the gun, barrel pointed to the ceiling.

He rumbles lowly at you, purring in pleasure, as he spreads his arms open. "Princess, that is hot. Come here, now!"

With a bark of laughter you drop the gun to the bed and launch yourself at him. He staggers back a step but catches you securely. You wrap all your limbs around him and squeeze. His hands cup your ass and he returns the gesture with enthusiasm. Diego turns his face into yours, you know exactly what he wants and you give it to him with no hesitation.

His lips are soft but his beard is all scratchy tickles. You delight in the contrasting textures, moaning softly as you try to merge your bodies into one entity. His left hand climbs up your back to squeeze your neck right where you always carry all of your tension.

"Ohhhhhh..." Your mouth drops open and you go boneless in his grip. He gives no quarter and shuts you up with his tongue while his groan vibrates against your chest. Your nipples respond with alacrity.

He tastes like coffee and chocolate, maybe a hint of cinnamon. What the hell did he eat? You can't get enough of it.

You never favored long bouts of kissing, makeout sessions were too intimate and your previous partners were more than happy to skip right to the main event. But its different with Diego. He doesn't drool on you and his mouth is consistently at least ten degrees hotter than your own. He always tastes like coffee and some outlandishly ridiculous flavored creamer. The instant a new variety of non-dairy creamer is released he has to try it. His child-like excitement over it is incredibly endearing to witness.

You sink both hands into his hair to pull him back. His eyes are huge and you watch with rapt attention as he licks his bottom lip. "Princess. Bed. Now." He croaks, nodding his own head like he's trying to peer pressure you into consenting.

Completely unnecessary, baby.

"Yeah." Your soft whimper is stupidly needy. Only Diego does this to you. Has this effect on you. You feel like the cover of a really bad romance novel. A strumpet. The ludicrous term makes you giggle. You gaspingly add another request, "But naked!"

Diego jumps into motion and takes two huge steps to the bed. You're already fighting with the buttons on his shirt and you don't quit as he lays you down on your back. There is only absolute faith that he won't drop you.

The moment you're down his hands go to your cami, fingers sliding under the elastic band of the shelf bra and gathering the whole thing up to go over your head. You have to let go of him for a split second so he can fully remove it and that makes you whine unhappily. Diego tosses the shirt over his shoulder carelessly and smushes both of your breasts together to attempt a self-smothering. You laugh breathlessly until he latches onto a nipple.

"Ohhhhhh. Fuck. Yeah. Yeahhh." Nice porn moan, only practicing self-affirmation here. You still can't believe this works. The strong suckling sensations go straight to your cunt. No wonder other women always said they liked it. This is unique to Diego, too. He is the only person that your body has ever responded to in this. Sure, you liked your breasts fondled, squeezed, compressed utterly flat. But your nipples? No, they had some kind of epiphany the first time Diego sealed his lips around one and sucked.

You pet over his hair and he rumbles into your skin, the vibrations make your back arch. Your hands push on his shirt collar. You wanted bare skin earlier, now you need it. His hands disappear, then so does his shirt, but the attention to your nipple never falters. His sneaky fingers snake down over your stomach, he pauses to squeeze the squishy middle, then continue to your pants.

"No!" You yelp and Diego freezes. He releases your harried nipple to look up at you in puzzlement.

With his brows drawn together he questions you, "Princess. What is--"

You don't let him finish. "Take your damn pants off right fucking now! I missed you, not your clothes!" You even sound frantic to yourself. Desperate. And you don't care.

He growls at you but straightens up and reaches for his belt.

Oh god. His belt. Your gulp is audible. Its the same belt from that time he detained you on the jet. Spanked you delirious with it and then fucked you over a seat. All as punishment, of course, for sending a booty pic to Julio. You spent the next day on your belly while Diego torturously worshiped your ass. It was amazing.

His slow, evil smile confirms that he witnessed the entire memory play out across your face. That predatory stare never leaves yours as he opens the buckle and whips the soft leather free of the pant loops. He holds the belt up in the air, then drops it to the floor off the side of the bed. "Next time, Princess. We have the whole flight together. Maybe this time I'll make you keep count of how many times you come."

The threatening promise (promising threat??) makes you keen, high and piercing. Diego laughs at your obvious need, but he resumes stripping at a faster pace. You pop upright to get your pants off and complete the maneuver just in time to witness his cock achieve freedom. Before either one of you realizes it your hand is wrapped around him.

Diego collapses forward into you but catches himself on his hands before you get crushed. Not a bad way to go. You think. Crushed by hottest criminal sugar daddy with a heart of gold just for her. A beautiful obituary.

You tighten your fingers around him; each one individually and in consecutive order, creating a rippling effect. He drops his forehead to your shoulder with a purr. You turn into his face to nuzzle up along his jawline. "Baby," you breathe, punctuating it with a long lick up the shell of his ear. "I missed you. So. Much."

His answering growl triggers violent shivers. He uses those wide shoulders to force you down onto your back. Planting one knee on the bed between your legs, he insinuates both hands under your ribcage and shoulders to slide you up the bed. His hands are so massive that they span the entire width of your back. That fact should scare you, instead you feel secure, even treasured, with how gently he handles you. He can be delightfully rough, you've been on the receiving end of that before. But right now is Soft Murder Panther hours.

He has to move up with you because you are not relinquishing that magnificent erection.

"Princess," he rumbles directly into your ear, "Let go now or you will be disappointed later. I spent the entire flight thinking about every soft inch of you. Need to be inside you. Nowww." His confession ends in a breathy sigh as he begins pressing kisses over your entire face.

You reach up to take off your glasses but he's already there, holding them by the frame around the lenses and not the easily bent arms. You blink back tears as you watch him stretch over to set them on your nightstand exactly how you do it.

When he comes back you cradle his face with your hands, holding him still so you can just take this all in. His eyes search your face, looking for any hint of discomfort as he rests more of weight onto you. You nod gently and he gingerly, deliberately gives you the rest of his bulk. His presence drowns out everything else. All you know is Diego. Everything you ever wanted.

With minimal effort you guide him down until his forehead meets yours. He whimpers softly for you and your hands pet down his stubbled cheeks. This kiss is no less passionate than the wild ones earlier but somehow sweeter. You open your eyes to find him watching you, gaze unguarded and face completely open.

You stroke over his cheeks again, one thumb gliding along his plush lower lip. Diego nips your thumb, then engulfs it in his mouth to suck. Your moan is pure need, "Please, baby."

His hips roll and you feel the underside of his shaft rub the entire length of your labia. You arch and move with him this next time. The third pass lands the perfect angle and his thick heat spreads you wide. Your mouth opens but no sound comes out as you press your head back into the bed. He keeps pushing until you're completely filled. And then he pushes a little more. Just enough.

You gasp in a shuddering breath and your back arches off the bed while you clench down around him in waves. He groans long and low as he watches you come on him. "Ohh, Bonita. Good girl."

Your quiet huff of laughter dissolves into a moan as he sets a steady pace. Long, solid strokes so you can feel every glorious inch, an inexorable push on your cervix every time he bottoms out. Your fingers claw into his shoulders, clinging like your life depends on it.

He burrows into your neck to sear your skin with his beard, soothing the burn with soft licks and velvet kisses. "Princess. Diego's perfect little princess. Its good? Tell me." He pants, open-mouthed and greedy.

You nod into his hair. "Perfect. Is perfect. You're perfect." He shakes his head 'no', rubbing his face on you. His right hand reaches down, gripping your thigh with purpose. He pulls your leg up, wrapping it around his waist, the other follows of its own accord. His knees spread, widening his stance and shifting the angle of his thrusts. Incredibly, he manages to get deeper inside you. Without a conscious command your mouth opens to spill out pure desperation and mangled ecstasy. "Yes, baby. All of you. Give me everything…"

He drops frenzied kisses all over your face while you two share the same air. His tone turns emotional, raspier, "Want to. Please. Please, please, please let me. Take care of my princess, be better. Just for you. Please, mi amor."

That's new. New and heart-wrenching. You can't decide if its being used as a pet name or a declaration. It doesn't matter, the agonizing emotion behind it still makes you seize up with pleasure. He moans in approval, moving continuously throughout your entire climax. Just as your back begins to loosen he accelerates his thrusts, driving you right back up into another orgasm. You realize the ringing in your ears is actually a noise being made by your mouth.

"Yes, Princess. Come for me. Let Diego please this pretty little pussy." I am never going to regret admitting that I love his dirty talk. You congratulate yourself for that moment of successful communication. Diego hasn't shut up since then and you are so very grateful.

He sweeps hands down your sides to grasp your hips. Even at your current size 16 his fingers still curve around both your front and back. He makes you feel small and delicate, vulnerable and fiercely protected. Cherished. Loved.

He half kneels under you, pulling your pelvis into his lap. Every intense, short thrust hits your g-spot and makes your vision swim. Your trembling never stops, its just constant rolling pleasure. You reach up for him, needing to be joined together endlessly. The muscles in his arms ripple and contract as he scoops you up.

He has you sitting upright in his lap, legs around his waist and your arms tight behind his neck. Your entire weight rests on his left arm under your butt, holding you steady while he thrusts up into you with abandon. The right arm climbs up your back for him to thread fingers into your curls and press your forehead to his. Your mouth hangs open while you sob in bliss.

"Si, Princess. Dame uno mas, come for your Diego. Be mine." You have no defense for his fierce begging whispered directly into your face.

"Diego. Diego, baby, yes I-I-" Your voice cuts out as your orgasm sends you into convulsions. He presses your hips down fast to his so he can pump his own climax deep with a gravelly moan.

He collapses forward, both of you dropping to the bed like a stone, then proceeds to just lay on you and pant. After an undefinable amount of time, Diego rubs his cheek against yours. He is purring again, the deep vibrations rumble through your chest. You pet over his hair, scratching his scalp with your short, practical nails. His back arches and his hips roll; he's still buried deep inside you. "Princessss. Bicki. Mi amor." His sigh is content.

You kiss his temple. Murmuring breathlessly to him, "Love you too, Murder Panther." You nuzzle into his beard, relishing all the textures. His breath catches, then his chest heaves. He pulls back from you, extricating his limbs so he can flop onto his side next to you. Your head turns for a kiss and he is already there, sealing his mouth to your own languidly.

With one last fleeting peck to your chin, he rolls you onto your side and pulls you back against him in one fluid movement. Your head is pillowed on his left bicep and you wrap his right arm up tight to your chest. The entire length of his body is spooned up behind you. Instead of being suffocating you find it soothing. His soft little snuffling snores lull you back to sleep.

I am having a snuggle.

#damnit diego #murder panther #soft murder panther #rough me up then dick me down #24 fucking 7 hours in this house #zash writes #feeeels #seriously this is disgustingly soft

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yandere-flower · 4 years

Text

Rookie

Some Desmond x female darling smut. I’m not sure if I’m happy with how this one turned out, I wanted the smut to be longer and the build up to be shorter, however I like the size of it for the act so it’s a toss up.

Desmond is more of a jerk than normal in this one cause of darling’s job but hey, he’s never nice to begin with

The fucking audacity that you would work this hard, the long, to get on the force only to be belittled by that emotionless fuck Desmond was killing you inside. You had admired him before you made detective, but now you're just pissed every time you have to see his face. Every smug little grin when you made a suggestion, every grimace when you handle evidence, it's no wonder he hasn't had a partner in so long. A safe assumption would be that he's unlikable, or maybe even fussy, but he was neigh impossible to work with. It frustrated you to no end that you had to work with him. If you refused, you would appear the disagreeable one. So, you had to play the dutiful partner, just for a little while longer.

This case was running your patience thin however. A double murder, female victims that closely resembled you. You scoffed at that paranoia. Basic detective work 101 is not to insert yourself into the narrative. You know that you weren't in the target range the victims were in, but it still weighed on you. Worse was you couldn't even talk to your own partner, who was sitting only a couple feet away from you reading over his own case files. Notes that he never shared with you, of course.

Mindlessly, you started to tap your pen against the desk in frustration. You didn't notice, but Desmond sure did. After a few moments you could feel his gaze on you. It was a feeling you were all to familiar with, his grey eyes needlessly staring you down, waiting for you to fuck up. A polite person would notice their slight, and stop, but fuck being polite today. You've been here 10 hours but Desmond insisted on staying late.

So you kept tapping.

You could hear his deep sigh from across the room, and it delighted you to think you were irritating him. You continued your tapping. If you looked up now, you'd imagine you would come face to face with the most horrible glare. But for now, you kept you nose in the file and hoped he would sit in his own irritation for a while.

What you hadn't expect, was for him to bring you over a cup of coffee, just the way you liked it to.

"Oh hey, um....thanks. Didn't think you knew my go to" you mumbled out, surprised by the man's gesture.

His frame stilled for a moment as you spoke to him, but he loosened up a bit and gave one of his signature cocky smirks. "Well, it's hardly a complicated order is it. What, haven't noticed mine yet, detective?"

God he was annoying. You've had enough of it.

"Listen, I feel useless right now, the least I can do is patrol the area, make sure nobody is walking home alone"

His cold and calm demeanor suddenly faded and he turned back to face you. "Are you fucking kidding me? Don't run off and get yourself killed,"

You had to scoff at the ridiculousness of what he just said to you. "Really, you're going to let some paranoia and a slight resemblance get to you? I thought you were suppose to be some stone heart big shot. Relax, it's protocol. You won't get in trouble for it because of me."

There was that grimace again. His eyes were like stone, unmoving and expressionless, but his mouth was tight and sealed shut. You didn't particularly enjoy this little showdown, so you had started to make your way pass him when he grabbed your arm and roughly threw you on the desk. You wanted to hit him back, but before you could bring yourself up, he had nudged his slim waist in between your legs and slammed his arms around you, encasing your body with his.

Shocked, you lied there. Those cold eyes staring you down, putting you in your place. Any moment now he would get up and laugh, but that moment never came. Instead, his face softened and he spoke in a low and calming voice.

"You know I'd never let anything happen to you, right partner?". His gravely voice tried to soothe you but his hand lifted to cup your face, a thumb rubbing your cheek only distressed you further. You couldn't help but chuckle, the bastard was really fucking with you.

"Listen, whatever weird hazing thing this is, I'm pretty sick of it. Get. Off.". You were proud of yourself, normally your voice would crack or you'd back down first.

He still wore that same soft expression, unfazed by your comment.

"That was tough. Really scared me there for a minute. But you're barely any bark with no bite, and we all know it. You have victim written all over you. It's hard doing my job when I have to worry about you to.".

Expecting your retort, his hand quickly went from gently cupping to pressing your cheeks together to silence you. "Listen, I think you're a good girl. A nice and pretty good girl". His voice trailed off as his gaze lingered over your body, only to meet at your eyes again.

You could try to argue, to fight, but you had to admit he was right. You worked hard to make detective, but that doesn't mean you were particularly good. You tried to avoid making eye contact with him, to try to preserve some dignity as he insulted you. But that quickly went away as you could hear a metallic clanging sound when he reached around for something on his desk. Like the dull detective you were, you hadn't registered what it was until he had the cuffs firmly around one of your wrists and the other cuffed to the desk. He lifted himself off of you, but only so he could get to work to undo your pants.

"Hey, listen Des. I don't know what the fuck you're on right now, but you need to stop it okay?".

You knew your plead would fall on deaf ears, but with no one in the office and your phone mere desks away, you had little else to rely on. A blast of cold air hit your thighs as he tore them from you, with little help thanks to you thrashing you legs about.

Panic grew deep inside you as his fingers delicately glided across the surface of your skin. His hands grabbing hold of your ankles only to glide up, closer and closer to reach the thin fabric that barred him from his desire. Struggling to get words out, you remained helpless as he made quick work of your panties, and they to found themselves carelessly discarded on the floor. Once he laid sight on your cute, quivering form, you knew there was no way you were getting out of this. The pleading look on his face told you that he was waiting a long time for this, just aching to see you at his mercy. Lying there, half-naked with him getting on his knees to come face to face with your most sensitive area, you could only hope that he would be quick.

His panting grew heavy, and the gusts of cool breath reaching your entrance caused you to quiver. He fingers pressed into your thighs, almost as if he was readying himself for a wild ride. You waited for him to start, but he sure took his time admiring your pussy. Eventually, after a life time, the tip of his tongue lightly glided up your entrance, pausing to suck on your shy clit as he moans at the taste of you. You started to squirm, but your thighs were firmly pulled back onto the desk with a displeased grunt to follow.

"Fucking stop okay, we'll go soon."

Before you could process that thought, he quickly found himself worming his tongue around your entrance, swirling his tongue in endless patterns, all while burying his face between your thighs. Slow and methodical, his pace started to quicken as your entrance because more wet with saliva and slick. Long strokes were followed by a suckling of skin before he continued to probe the inside of you with his tongue.

Between all the grunting and moaning, you can't help but think that this is the most expressive Desmond's ever been, and it's all while he's tongue fucking your sex. You shrieked as he quickened his pace, still holding you down but focusing all his attention on your growing arousal. Your thighs are almost squeezing his head now, and you're ashamed at your own body's betrayal as you started to grind your hips to match his movements. Anything to chase the way his tongue was working you. You hadn't even noticed that one of his hands had managed to worm it's way to your pussy and start working your sensitive clit in motion with his tongue lashing, and that warm, overpowering sensation started to overcome you. If you were stronger you'd fight it, but instead you had to grip the edge of the desk as you orgasmed into his mouth. Stuck within your own satisfaction, he savagely pulled you out of it by gorging on the fruits of your bliss, his tongue working to lather up every drop of your orgasm.

It's all dizziness now, and your legs fall as he leaves your ravaged pussy alone. Still at his mercy and still cuffed to the desk, you have nothing left in you to wonder what will happen next. Panting can be heard from your partner, as he catches his breathe and wipes the juices from his chin before working to get your pants back on. The sound oh him rummaging though a bag could be heard, but again, you could care less at that moment. It's not until you felt the prick of a needle that you gained some surge of energy to open your eyes and look at him. Hovering over you with an empty syringe, he smirks as he starts packing up.

"Once I get you settled in, I won't have to worry about you so much anymore."

#desmond #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere writing #male yandere #yandere oc #fic

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watchcrunch · 3 years

Link

Hey guys, I'm Max and this is WatchCrunch. So at around $300, many would argue that the Seiko SKX is your best first mechanical watch. Now, I'm a little bit late to the game because I never thought that I could pull off a 42-millimeter watch, but thanks to its compact Lugs, the SKX actually wears more like a 40. Now, as you probably know, the SKX is a favorite amongst the modification community, partly because of the plethora of parts that exist for this watch. Now I've seen a lot of SKX mods floating around on the internet, and frankly, most of them are a little too extreme for my taste. For my first foray I wanted to retain the essence of the SKX but at the same time address some of the watch's shortcomings. So with that said, let's go ahead and get into the build.

Okay, here are the parts laid out on the table. We have the SKX case with a top hat Sapphire crystal that I had already installed. The case back. This is the original 7S620 movement with some Submariner hands that I had already put on there. Here is the old bezel and the new one with a planet, ocean style, ceramic insert, and the knurling on the side. This is the NH36 movement with a new STEM and a Seiko signed crown. And lastly, a Bark and Jack NATO strap.

First, let me show you how I got the bezel off. Take some really thick tape to protect the Lug. The bottom right one some say is the easiest. Then take this wedge and twist hard, and you should hear the bezel separate. Now removing the hands might be difficult on a non-hacking movement, but if you apply a little bit of counter traction on the crown, it can stop the secondhand long enough for you to do this. Taking the old dial off, taking care not to touch the face of it. Next, we get the NH36 movement out and fit the dial on there. Now, notice that the date wheel is slightly misaligned. I discovered that to resolve this problem, you actually have to swap over the date wheel from the old movement. This requires taking off the center C-clip and then reinstalling it once you swapped the wheels. This is not terribly difficult, but just make sure you have some really fine flathead screwdrivers. So, now when we pop the dial on there, you'll see that the date wheel is perfectly centered.

Next we move on to the hands. Now you want to make sure that the crown is set such that the date just turns over, then align everything at the 12 o'clock position, starting with the hour hand, then moving on to the minute hand, and let me show you a special trick for getting the second hand on there, because it can be difficult. You pick it up by the counterweight and gently set it onto the pinion. Then take the toothpick, get it started. Once it's aligned, then you can take the hand installer and fully seat the second hand onto the pinion. Check the alignment of everything.

Okay, now we're ready for the case, making sure to blow things off in between to make sure that no dust gets trapped on there. Now, I've already cut the new STEM to size and you want to do this carefully and make many small incremental cuts so you don't overdo it and waste the STEM. If you did it correctly, it should screw all the way down. Give it another dust off, apply the old ring and the case back.

Next, we re-install the click ring and then place the new bezel on top. And we'll be using the crystal press to get this back on. With the right fittings, press firmly and you'll hear the bezel seal itself. The new insert is secured with double-sided adhesive. So we removed the backing, get it perfectly aligned and then firmly press it into place.

Okay, well, messing with that misaligned date wheel problem really threw me for a loop, but having to deal with that C-clip wasn't as bad as I'd feared. Now, before we take the SKX out for a spin, I'm going to ask you to help this channel to continue to make quality watch videos by doing all those YouTube things like giving this video a thumbs up, hitting that subscribe button, and the bell icon below. This way YouTube will keep you up to date with future episodes as well. Thank you.

And here's the final product. I've always been impressed with the SKX's bezel action, which is on par with watches 10 times its price. Now, the tactile feel is even better with a gnarled edge. The top hat crystal gives it a vintage feel but maintains a slim profile. The orange accents on the dialing now match those on the bezel, bringing some cohesion to the design. And Adrian really makes a nice NATO strap with a [mild 00:06:43] buckle.

Now, we are probably all familiar with the SKX's dimensions, but I will put them up here again.

The loom is bright as a dive watch should be. And I chose to retain the original secondhand because I feel like the round counterweight goes well with the hour [inaudible 00:07:06]. Overall, I'm really happy with how this turned out. The watch still has an SKX sole, but the tasteful upgrades bring it into the 21st century.

All right. So, that's the build. Since the watch has some [inaudible 00:07:26] hands and a planet ocean bezel, I think I'll call it the SKX SubOcean. In the comments below let me know how I did on my first SKX build.

Well, thank you for tuning in, until next time, take care.

WatchCrunch.com

#watchcrunch #watchmod #seiko #seikoskx

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pizzahorse · 6 years

Link

Title: Favorites

Description: A little insert I wrote inspired by A Long Way From Home by @mamabutts! Some internal Peridot dialogue that spans across the fic, up through Chapter 6.

Chapter 1

Ever since her Manager had told her and the other new peridot's what fate awaited them on their upcoming missions, Peridot Facet-2F5L Cut-5XG had been ecstatic. It was unusual for a peridot to look forward to the potential brutality they would endure when assigned to a quartz gem, but perhaps Facet-2F5L Cut-5XG was not like other peridots.

"She will take you." The Manager had said. "She will claim you as her own. It will be violent and undoubtedly painful for you. You will assuredly be humiliated. But do not resist. You are to submit. Your quartz is your superior." she paused, looking over the see of fresh faced gems before her. "And eventually, you'll either learn to enjoy it, or become numb to such proclivities."

Several of the peridot's around Facet-2F5L Cut-5XG looked worriedly at each other, murmurs of shock or disgust drifting between them. As if any of them actually had a choice or anywhere else to go. The Manager had done this training hundreds of times before, and the slight disruptions of her pupils did nothing to phase her.

But Facet-2F5L Cut-5XG felt a thrilled shiver roll up her spine. Outwardly, her expression remained stoic, obedient. Inside, she was already imagining the hundreds of ways in which her assigned quartz might choose to take her. She wanted this. But when she glanced around the room, she couldn't see a single sign that anyone else shared her same desire. She didn't let the others lack of interest stop her mind from wandering.

She thought of a huge quart cock ramming into her, it's length and girth creating a little mound in her belly around its shape as it pressed deeper and deeper. How warm it would feel when at last her quartz succumbed to pleasure and released a hot sticky load of cum into her. The idea of being dominated by one so much stronger and more powerful than herself. Someone who could render her immobile, pin her down and just use her however she pleased. This wasn't something she would "learn to enjoy", as her Manager had indicated. Peridot Facet-2F5L Cut-5XG was looking forward to it.

There were so many scenarios that flickered through her mind, filling Peridot with delight. Maybe the quartz would suddenly enter the control room, throw Peridot onto the navigation console, and fuck her right there. Right in front of a window full of stars. And for a moment, it might feel like they're the only two beings in the universe. The two of them, out in the vastness of space, with no one around to see them or stop them. Peridot, being taken advantage of, and loving every second of it.

Maybe her quartz would be sitting at the controls in her captain's chair, and call Peridot over to ride her cock. Up and down, up and down Peridot would slide, feeling the large length press into her. Being so happy and eager to please. She would be such a good little Peridot. Always ready to serve her quartz in whatever way was necessary.

But what excited Peridot even more was the idea that her quartz might not take her in the traditional way. She was ready to attend to every whim of her overseer. But she didn't dare hope that perhaps one of those fancies might be to fuck her right in the ass. To spread her open, make her take every inch of that delicious cock, and form a tight seal between the two of them.

Peridot knew that it was not usual to be wanted in this way. She didn't care. Apparently, wanting to be taken by a quartz at all was unusual for peridots. But whether each of them wanted it or not, it was going to happen. They had all been assured of it. And Peridot could only hope that time and time again she'd be fucked, until she was spent and had no more to give.

"You should all already have your assignments." The Manager's voice pulled Facet-2F5L Cut-5XG from her fantasies. "You can access them via your holo-screens. Please report to your quartz gems immediately. They will be expecting you. Dismissed."

A flurry of screens popped up around the room as each peridot accessed her own. Facet-2F5L Cut-5XG pulled up her assignment, jaw dropping open at what she saw. There she was Jasper, Facet-9 Cut-9NC. And her file said she was the perfect quartz. Flawless. Peridot scrolled down further until she came to a photo. "Oh my stars!" she breathed. Facet 9 Cut 9NC was huge. She was a perfect warrior, a perfect brute, and Peridot could never have dreamed that she would be assigned to such a hulking, towering, powerful gem. It caused her to shiver again, a needy heat already growing deep inside her.

Facet-2F5L Cut-5XG was not like most peridots. She couldn't be sure why. All of them were supposed to be made exactly the same. Copies, almost, aside from the slight variation in facet and cut. But whatever it was that made Facet-2F5L Cut-5XG different, made her wish for the tortures that the other peridots cringed at. And she couldn't have been paired with a more perfect gem to fulfill her unorthodox wishes and fantasies.

Peridot had to stop herself from immediately running to meet her assigned quartz. She had to retain her composure and professionalism, after all. She had to be the innocent, new, tender gem that Jasper was expecting. She couldn't let her excitement bubble to the surface. From what her Manager had said, quartz gems liked to take advantage of their charges. It wouldn't be as fun for Jasper if Peridot let on that she was interested in the carnal delights.

But her mind continued to wander as she traveled to meet up with Jasper Facet-9 Cut-9NC. She imagined being forced to take that huge quart cock into her mouth, filling her up. Maybe her superior would even make her play with herself while she got Jasper off. A whole new slew of provocative daydreams built up Peridot's need, and prepared her for what Jasper surely had in store.

Chapter 2

The first mission left Facet-2F5L Cut-5XG confused and disappointed. Nothing had happened between the two of them. Jasper hadn't so much as touched her in any way. She barely even looked at her when she was barking out orders. Peridot did everything that Jasper asked without question. She was poised and polite and always ready to serve in more than just professional matters.

Peridot had expected that after the mission, she and Jasper would part ways. Maybe the quartz would give her one last slap on the ass to see her off. And then she'd shuffle home, sore, but satisfied, and looking forward to the next mission when the same thing would likely happen again. It would be just the two of them, mission after mission, Peridot and Jasper. Flying through the stars and fucking across galaxies. And in between off-world missions, she would hope that perhaps Jasper would call on her to visit her personal residence, to serve her there.

Nothing happened.

Not when they'd met for the first time.

Not when they'd boarded the ship for their first mission together.

Jasper had barely acknowledged her existence at all. Not that that really bothered Peridot. It was the complete lack of impassioned dominance that she had been looking forward to that really riled her up. She had been ready to relinquish control of herself, to give her all for Jasper. To let herself be taken willingly, to be used and abused and overpowered, all to appease the perfect quartz.

Every time Peridot had been engrossed in her work, she expected Jasper to storm in, ignoring any protests, and tear open her leotard to reveal the prize inside. And after that, things would change between them. There would be an understanding of their places. Peridot already knew and accepted hers, but she wanted Jasper to remind her of just how lowly and insignificant she really was. To remind her, over and over again, on every mission, just who was in charge here. But the quartz didn't have any physical contact with Peridot at all.

It wasn't fair! It wasn't fair for her Manager to get her hopes up like this. To assure her and the other peridots that they would belong to their quartzes, not just as tools, but for their bodies as well. And then FUCKING NOTHING happened! Peridot couldn't understand it. Shouldn't the perfect quartz contain the same primal, basic urges that every other gem on Homeworld possessed?

And yet the entire time she'd been dressed in her uniform, stoic and obedient. It was almost as if she was too perfect. Like she was trying to hide something. But Peridot didn't have any proof besides her own suspicions. All Peridot knew as that she was disappointed, angry, annoyed, and bitter. She had waited for this. She had been the only one in her entire training squad to want this. And she got stuck with the one quartz who didn't seem to want anything to do with peridots!

Things did get more comfortable as the missions went on. One day, when she was asked to pleasure herself in front of Jasper, Peridot thought that perhaps it might be time. They'd been together for months. Maybe it had just taken Jasper time to get used to having her around. To form some kind of bond of trust. Maybe to be certain Peridot wouldn't report her for such lewd acts. Whatever the case, Peridot was elated. Finally, finally the things she had waited for, the things that had been guaranteed to her, were at last coming true.

Peridot was further disappointed when, after she had brought herself to orgasm and showed off in front of Jasper (who had remained clothed the whole time), she nodded as if she was ever so slightly pleased, and then left.

She had expected that while she was in the midst of her afterglow, that Jasper would finally come and claim her. She had hoped that the quartz would not let her off so easily, would not let her rest and would force herself upon her while she was still oh-so-sensitive. None of that had happened. And it left Peridot pent up and unsatisfied.

Things changed after the Earth mission. It wasn't just because Lapis had now joined her as one of Jasper's play things. Truth be told, Peridot didn't mind being useful as some sort of sex doll. It didn't live up to her dreams of being completely submissive to Jasper, but it was something. It fulfilled some desire in Peridot, even if things hadn't turned out exactly as she'd imagined.

She'd resigned herself to the fact that Jasper simply did not partake in intercourse with other gems. Not with her. Not with Lapis. Not with any other gems that had accompanied them on other missions. So Peridot was sour about the fact that Jasper hadn't fucked her, and for the foreseeable future wouldn't fuck her, but at least she wasn't interested in someone else.

Until that pearl came along.

That pearl!

The moment that Jasper had touched that pearl, Peridot grew instantly jealous. Jasper had stated that she was going to rehabilitate her. But why did rehabilitation require Jasper to spend so much time with her? To go in and fuck her several times a day. To touch her in ways that Peridot had wanted for ages. It wasn't fair!

And then, it just wasn't enough that Jasper had been spending significant time trying to reform her. Oh no. Jasper took her, that pearl, into Peridot's room, and as if to add insult to injury, into Peridot's bed. She fucked that pearl in a way that Jasper had never seen her fuck anyone. She used her room, her bed, even her tools to do it. And then, when instinct became too much, she'd fucked her in exactly the way that Peridot had always wanted.

She'd given that pearl the satisfaction that Peridot had always craved. The kind of feral, violent fucking that she had wished for in all her fantasies. She gave herself freely to this worthless gem, and although Peridot kept her composure through it all, inside she was furious. After all this time, thinking that Jasper was only interested in pleasuring herself but never others, she'd relentlessly let that pearl have her.

She had been loyal to Jasper until that point. Never reporting her if she broke protocol. Covering for any mistakes she made. That quartz wasn't so perfect as she wanted everyone to believe. Everything Jasper had asked of her, she had done willingly. And her repayment for all her service was to get to watch Jasper fuck that pearl in her own room, in the place where Jasper should have been fucking her. Unbelieveable.

Maybe that jealousy, rather than an actual sense of duty, was what drove her to send the incriminating video. To reveal what was probably the biggest mistake of Jasper's life, directly to Yellow Diamond. Maybe some part of her hoped that now that the floodgates were opened by that Pearl, Jasper would be more inclined to fuck her. She certainly deserved punishment, didn't she? Jasper had been "punishing" that pearl for weeks. And Peridot wanted a taste, just as she always had. Yes, Peridot was a lewd, sordid, insatiable gem. And all she wanted, all she had ever wanted, was what that pearl currently had. Jasper, all for herself.

#Peridot #Jasper #Jaspidot #Steven Universe #SU #Steven Galaxy #Pearl #Favorites #Fanfiction #MamaButts

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rdgpcg · 5 years

Text

“Have you ever raced Steelman“? The question was posed to me by Dan Gleason as we jogged along the Chester Valley Trail. Dan had joined our little Friday morning running group. “Sure! Many times.” I replied. “Are you doing it this year?”, Dan asked. “Well, hopefully. If the weather is good.” Dan then explained that long-time race director Dale Winterhoff had retired and handed the reins over to a new race director. “Oh? Who’s that?”, I asked. “Me!”, Dan replied. “Well, me and my friend Dave Michener”. Dan went on to explain how he and Dave were hoping to reinvigorate Steelman. We agreed that local races like Steelman are quickly fading away and he and Dave hoped to add new energy to the race. He explained the changes they were making and hoped I’d sign up. After our run, while sipping coffee I did just that showing Dan my entry confirmation on my phone. “Awesome!”

Dan Gleason

Dave Michener

Two months later I found myself tooling up Lois Lane (insert your own snarky superman crack here) in Gilbertsville toward the house of my friend Jen Bush. We have a bit of a carpooling tradition for Steelman. It was o’dark thirty and when I parked in front of her house to load her bike I expected to hear the normal cacophony put forth by her trio of barking dogs but there was silence. Jen was waiting with her bike in the driveway and said “I think I managed to get out without waking anyone.” It is always good to catch up with Jen. I don’t see her that often which is preposterous considering we live no more than a half-hour from each other. We chatted the whole way to Lake Nockamixon, the home of Steelman. We were directed to a parking spot and headed for packet pick-up.

Still the best selfie I ever took. Jen and I at a race earlier this season.

Changes made by Dan and Dave were noticeable immediately. Transition was in the same spot but the finish line was moved to a more central location. Additionally, the old swim course had been replaced with an out-and back rectangle and we would do a time trial start. I loved the old swim course so for me, the jury was out on this especially since we would be heading straight East into the rising sun. But let’s wait and see.

A beautiful start to the day. You can see the swim buoys in the distance.

Jen and I got through the pre-race rituals: packets, bike and helmet stickers, body marking, and transition setup. By happy coincidence I was racked very near Christine Eadeh. She is a long-time Facebook friend whom I’d never actually met in person but we had been involved in lengthy on-line discussions about triathlon over the years. It was great to meet in person and it was like seeing an old friend. She and I were both doing the olympic distance while Jen was doing the Sprint.

The hustle and bustle of transition setup.

This summer in Pennsylvania has been hot. While it hasn’t bothered me even a little (I was a chameleon in a former life) nobody expected the lake to be cool enough to allow for wetsuits. But the chilly morning air and hard rains had done their job and we were pleasantly surprised to learn the lake temperature was 77 degrees and was wetsuit legal! Forget the fact that I hadn’t swam in my wetsuit since early May and had not raced in it in a couple years, I was happy for the added speed and buoyancy offered by my wetsuit.

As part of the changes for the time trial swim start, we were now able to warm-up prior to the start using the boat ramp. I skidded down the slick ramp and splashed into the water, and felt the thin layer of water form between my skin and the neoprene wetsuit. I began stroking for deeper water . . and then remembered my wedding ring. Shit! I turned and did my best to crawl up the slick boat ramp. It reminded my of the squirrels in my backyard trying to climb the waxed shepherd’s hook my bird feeder hangs on. I’d make it a few inches up and then slide twice that back down.

Finally, I knelt down and crawled up the ramp wedging my fingers in the traction grooves of the ramp. Warning boaters! Don’t get those back tires too far in the water if you don’t have four wheel drive!

I scurried back to the transition area, ignored that admonishment from a volunteer that it was closed, and stashed my wedding ring in my bag. My wife puts up with a lot of racing shenanigans but I’m assuming if I lose my wedding ring somewhere in the bottom of a deep, dark lake the result at home would not be positive.

I still wanted to warm up so hurried back to the ramp, plunged into the now empty lake, swam 50 yards or so, turned and repeated the squirrel crawl up the ramp. My quick swim had made sure my goggles were well seated and that I had invoked the mammalian diving reflex. I headed off to find the proper self-seeding line prior to the start. What’s that you ask? What the hell is the mammalian diving reflex? If you are a creationist, move along to the next paragraph. Otherwise the mammalian diving reflex takes us back to a time when all things lived in the ocean and, believe it or not, give us some chance of not drowning every time we are dunked in the water.

I made my way to the end of the 25-30 minute self-seeding line. I heard a familiar voice and turned around to find Christine had picked the same line. She and I would pair up to start together in the 2×2 swim start.

After a moment of silence for a local athlete who had died at a recent event and the National Anthem, the lines of olympic swimmers were led toward the lake. The sun had climbed higher but we’d still be facing significant glare for the swim. The line of buoys for the olympic distance course stretched to the middle of the lake. The local sailing club volunteers their boats to help with navigation positioning them in proximity to the course to make it easy for swimmers to stay on track and make the turns. This would prove infinitely useful.As Christine and I neared the end of the dock there was no wind and conditions were nearly perfect for a great wetsuit swim. Christine had just done the Escape from Alcatraz where athletes leap ten feet off of a ferry into San Francisco Bay before making their way through big currents, waves, pinnipeds (and the things that eat pinnipeds) back to the city of San Francisco. While we wouldn’t have seals, sharks, currents, or big waves to deal with Christine reminded me to hold on to my goggles while jumping. Good tip.

We jumped and started swimming. Happily there were no goggle mishaps. The sighting was as difficult as I suspected with the glare from the rising sun right on the water. The buoys were hard to see but I could see the splashes of the pack in front of me and the sailboats were to my left. All was well . . . except my Garmin still had a watch face on it.

Not the screen I expected to see when I glanced at my Garmin mid-swim.

I never set it to triathlon and hit start. Not that it was an emergency but I kind of wanted time and paces and useful stuff your Garmin provides throughout the race so I set about trying to get it going. Stroke, stroke click a button. Stroke, stroke, click.

I wear glasses. While I can survive in the wild without distance vision correction, reading is another matter. Without my glasses all the words on my Garmin menus look mostly like a smudge on the lens when I’m on land, with no goggles. Swimming in a lake, with goggles, and my watch in the water I picked something on the menu with a vague approximation of “Triathlon” and after a few more stroke/click sequences hit start. As far as I could tell I may have just started a round of golf or downhill ski run. Both seemed just as likely as having picked triathlon from the fuzzy menu items.

I got back to swimming and focusing on sailboats and buoys. The swim was awesome! I glided along in my wetsuit like a turtle. (Turtles are slow on land but are fast swimmers.) For most of the swim course, there were few collisions with other athletes. This is the beauty of a time trial start. In fact, I didn’t hit congestion until after the second turn. About half way back to land, I caught up to one or more of the sprint waves. At that point, it got a little crowded but nothing crazy. I was focused on the boat ramp and getting to the bike. One thing holds true for Steelman: I’m always sorry when the swim is over. In hindsight, despite the sun glare I like the new swim course.

The 2019 swim course.

Once back at land, a group of volunteers and a piece of astro turf really helped with the greasy ramp. I began jogging toward transition and heard a voice: “Pete!”. I turned to see good friend and multi-time Ironman finisher Tina Devlin along spectating along the fence.

My Iron-friend Tina.

I waved an acknowledgement and trotted on toward T1.

Interval Time of Day Split Split Pace Age Rank Gender Rank Overall Rank

Swim 7:34:34AM 00:27:49 01:52 min/100m 5/24 19/176 31/290

I know I have been focusing on the fun in racing this year, but for the second time in a row transition was not fun. The wetsuit legal thing caught me by surprise. I should have practiced ripping it off once or twice. I should have put Body Glide all over my legs. After a couple minutes of wrestling, I was ready to go to the food tent for a knife and start cutting. After a small eternity I finally managed to wheedle it off over the timing chip and my giant feet. I threw the suit under my bike in frustration, put on bike shoes, glasses, and helmet, bid Christine a good ride and headed out. A glance at my watch showed that, miraculously, I had picked triathlon so I clicked “Lap” to move it to bike mode. I left transition, mounted up and headed for the difficult climb out of the parking area.

Interval Time of Day Split Split Pace Age Rank Gender Rank Overall Rank

T1 7:38:15AM 00:03:42 – 18/24 128/176 193/290

One of the things I love about smaller events with shorter courses is the variety of people and bikes you see. I’m not a bike snob. I don’t care what kind of bike you have and it certainly isn’t necessary to have a bike that requires a second mortgage. The game is swim, bike, and run. Not swim, spend, and run. In the grand scheme of things you can do this on whatever bike you have. That said, at least make sure it fits. Climbing out of the parking lot, I passed a gentleman that, so help me, looked like he borrowed his kids bike.

Any bike will do for triathlon but maybe find the right size.

His knees were never less than 90 degrees on a pedal stroke. Just when I couldn’t figure out how he was going to make it up the hill, he got off and started walking. I couldn’t imagine riding the 12 miles required for the sprint like that. I couldn’t imagine riding 12 yards like that.

The bike course at Steelman features one or two loops on a closed road depending on whether you are doing the sprint or olympic distance. An additional change they made was to move the second turn-around so that athletes didn’t have to jam on the brakes at the bottom of a big hill to turn. Instead, we went partially up the next hill before turning. This was a great change.

Let is show for the record that I suck on the bike. It certainly felt like I was going fast out there but I got passed by everyone and his brother. And his grandmother. I may have even been passed by the dude on the kids bike. Clearly I have under emphasized the bike in training. That will need to change for next year. Still, conditions for the bike were ideal. The air temps and humidity were low and the road had been freshly paved. Even at my pace the miles flew quickly by and before I knew it I was descending back into the park toward T2.

If sloths could ride a bike, they’d have passed me.

Interval Time of Day Split Split Pace Age Rank Gender Rank Overall Rank

Bike 8:56:22AM 01:18:08 18.37 mi/hr 12/24 96/176 115/290

I knew T2 wasn’t going to be fast. I need to work harder on the bike next year but I also need to figure out a way to speed up T2. In the past for the run I always used Zoot shoes that were designed to be used barefoot but that was before I had orthotics. I cannot run without the orthotics or rather I cannot run without orthotics assuming I like to be free of pain and able to walk at all. I quickly learned that orthotics and bare feet don’t mix leading to major heel blisters as the orthotics reposition my foot in the shoe. But putting socks on in T2 takes forever providing plenty of opportunity for the people that forgot their bike pedals, or had mechanical trouble on the ride to pass me in T2. I’m gong to experiment with duct tape. (‘Cause that’s what guys do.)

If it doesn’t move and should use WD-40. If it moves and shouldn’t . . . or gets blisters . . use duct tape.

Anyway, I’ve gotta figure out a way to skip the slow procedure of putting on socks for the run.

Interval Time of Day Split Split Pace Age Rank Gender Rank Overall Rank

T2 8:58:13AM 00:01:51 – 14/24 106/176 155/290

The run course at Steelman is fun. Like the bike, it is an out and back with one loop for the sprinters and two for the olympic distance. The course runs on a partially shaded, paved trail that, at a glance, seems narrow but really provides plenty of real estate if runners are courteous and patient. You get to see everyone at least once on the run regardless of what distance they are doing. I saw and acknowledged many old friends and former teammates along the course including Jen and Christine. Jen looked great and was nearly finished with her sprint event as I headed out for my first loop. I didn’t see Christine for a while. Like everyone else, she passed me on the bike but had called out that I would probably catch her on the run. I had my doubts, but did pass her shortly before the finish.

Steelman run course albeit from a previous year.

Every time I’ve done Steelman I have always chosen the the olympic distance. Nearly every time, I look longingly toward the finish as I make the turn for lap number 2 of the 10K run. That wasn’t the case this year. Like the bike, the low temperature and humidity made the run fly by. I could have kept running all morning. The last time I did Steelman temps were nearly 80 degrees as we setup transition in the dark and reached a boiling point in time for the run. It was misery. Not so this year.

The new run finish was much better than the old. At the end of the second loop, we ran out on to the marina loop then back through the parking lot to the finish. They had a timing mat a few yards before the finish allowing the announcer to call us out by name as we crossed. It seemed very professional and very well done. Kudos to Dan and Dave for the positive changes!

Before I was a triathlete I was a runner. I’ve always prided myself on my run splits. It is where I catch a lot of those people that pass me on the bike. But my age group is getting fast on the run! I can still hold my own but it is clear that if I want to have an eye toward the podium that I need to not only work harder on the bike but add in some speed work to be able to gain some advantage on the run again.

Interval Time of Day Split Split Pace Age Rank Gender Rank Overall Rank

Run 9:45:03AM 00:46:51 06:49 min/mi 5/24 52/176 68/290

I crossed the line, surrendered my timing chip and received a spiffy looking finishers medal. The medal was another change by Dan and Dave. Finishers used to receive a cold, wet towel. With the gorgeous weather, the medal seemed nice but in the back of my mind I remembered how awesome that wet towel was at the end of a steamy run.

We may miss these towels on less ideal days.

I was thirsty. I looked around and spotted the line for the food tent. After a moment of recovery I headed that way assuming that is where beverages were. There were a lot of sprint finishers in line already and it took a good ten minutes to get through. Jen found me and we chatted while I waited. Typically I am not hungry after a race. The fact that I was testifies to how good the weather was. The spread of food was impressive. One thing I had emphasized to Dan when we ran that Friday morning was to be sure to keep the fruit! Steelman happens in prime Pennsylvania fruit season and Dale always had piles and piles of cold watermelon and other choice summer fruits at the finish. Dan had listened and there was no shortage. I loaded my plate with watermelon, grapes, and oranges and gleefully wolfed it all down in the shade. After eating, I found coolers full of water and Gatorade alongside the food tent. My one piece of feedback to Dan and Dave is to have water at the finish. Medal. Water. Perhaps not in that order.

I knew with my slow bike and transitions that I was not going to be on the podium but went to check results regardless.

Race: OLYMPIC

Division: M50-54

Showing 1 to 15 of 24 entries

Rank

Name

Bib

Time

Hometown

Gender

1 Martin Brans 32 02:08:53 Allentown, PA M 2 Michael Vannata 301 02:24:07 Bethlehem, PA M 3 Don Mack 178 02:26:46 Royersford, PA M 4 Simon Moore 211 02:34:14 Allentown, PA M 5 David Dauphinais 63 02:36:34 Phoenixville, PA M 6 Peter Githens 104 02:38:18 Reading, PA M

This is not bad for me for a competitive even. I think Martin Brans will win our age group forever. That dude is one awesome athlete. Only 12 minutes separated me from 3rd place and 14 minutes to 2nd place. Heck I gave up 3-4 minutes in transition alone. The rest will require some work on the bike. Overall it was a perfect day to race.

A Perfect Day to Race "Have you ever raced Steelman"? The question was posed to me by Dan Gleason as we jogged along the Chester Valley Trail.

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