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sweettu1ips · 3 months ago

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PAIGE BUECKERS x FEM!READER

REQUEST: Can you do one where Paige and get gf get caught making out (or full on doing it) in one of the team facilities and they get bullied (in all good faith) for the entire day but the next day they show up with hickeys on their necks and the whole team including coaches see and teammates make fun of them. Later in the day they see hickeys on their thighs and asked crazy questions again and do not let it go | request here

WARNING(S): (18+) slight smut ⋮ oral (r!receiving) ⋮ hickeys on neck + thighs ⋮ making out ⋮ getting caught ⋮ teasing ⋮ established relationship ⋮ think that's all ..

WORD COUNT: 4.9K

| MAIN MASTER LIST |

THE GYM STILL PULSED with the ghost of motion, the energy of the game clinging to the air like an echo that refused to fade.

The sharp squeak of sneakers on polished hardwood still lingered in my ears, phantom footsteps chasing each other across the court.

The overhead lights buzzed faintly, casting long shadows that stretched and swayed as if they, too, were reluctant to let the night end.

The air was thick—humid with the weight of bodies in motion, steeped in the sharp, briny scent of sweat and adrenaline.

It wrapped around us, a heady mixture of exertion and something else, something less tangible but more intoxicating. Something unspoken yet undeniable.

Laughter and chatter rippled through the gym as teammates gathered their things, shoving each other playfully, shoulders bumping, voices overlapping.

The scent of worn leather and cooling skin mixed with the artificial sweetness of sports drinks, the occasional pop of a water bottle cap punctuating the noise. One by one, they trickled out, disappearing into the night, the open world waiting to swallow them whole.

But not us.

Paige and I lingered, the pretense of duty draped loosely over us like a threadbare excuse. Gathering stray basketballs, stacking neon cones, looping resistance bands over our arms—movements automatic, practiced, but our minds were elsewhere.

The silence between us wasn’t empty; it was charged, humming with the friction of something unspoken but growing louder with every second.

It had started during practice, or maybe even before that. The slow, burning awareness of each other, the weight of her gaze when she thought I wasn’t looking. The brush of her fingers against my back, my waist, my hip—each touch fleeting but deliberate, setting my skin ablaze in ways a full game never could.

This wasn’t just cleanup.

This was stalling.

Dragging out these last few moments before the inevitable pull became impossible to resist.

Every stolen glance, every fleeting brush of her fingertips had been kindling to a fire that had long since ignited—its embers buried beneath my skin, glowing, crackling, spreading like molten honey through my veins.

Heat curled in the pit of my stomach, thick and insistent, twisting like smoke from a slow-burning wick, waiting for the moment it would finally catch, finally consume.

Even now, as I stood gripping a stack of disc cones, I could feel the weight of her gaze—heavy, dragging over me like a painter’s brush, tracing every line, every curve with a deliberate slowness.

Mapping the length of my legs, the dip of my waist, the way my sweat-slicked shorts clung to me like a second skin.

Paige wasn’t just looking. She was studying. Committing me to memory in a way that sent a sharp, thrilling ache curling between my ribs.

"Are you even listening?" I narrowed my eyes, placing the cones inside the storage room, my voice sharper than I intended, though it did nothing to break her focus.

Paige didn’t answer.

Instead, she moved—fluid, intentional, her every step humming with a quiet sort of control that made my breath catch. Her hands, warm and unyielding, found my wrist, her grip sending a jolt of anticipation up my arm, down my spine. She tugged me into the narrow hall, the space suddenly feeling too small, too charged, her body a live wire against mine.

Her eyes flickered around, scanning for stragglers, but the way her fingers tightened just slightly around my wrist told me everything.

I knew that look.

And I knew exactly where this was going.

And then, before I could even shape her name into something solid, before the thought of resistance could form, she was moving—swift and sure, pushing open the locker room door, guiding me inside with a silent kind of urgency that sent a sharp thrill down my spine.

The heavy door swung shut behind us, the world outside fading into nothing but muffled echoes, leaving only the pulse of her presence, the charged air stretching taut between us.

“Paige—”

I barely breathed it, barely formed the syllables before my back met cold wood, the shock of it biting through the heat coiling in my veins.

The wooden locker bench rattled behind me, a hollow clang swallowed by the hush of the room, by the press of her body against mine—so warm, so solid, so devastatingly close.

The air crackled between us, thick with something unspoken, something waiting to snap. My skin burned, every nerve alive with the anticipation of her touch, every cell in my body tuned to her. And then—

Then, she kissed me.

It was reckless, molten, a kiss that stole the breath from my lungs and replaced it with fire. Her lips crashed into mine, not tentative, not teasing, but claiming. A collision of want and heat, of something that had been simmering too long, finally spilling over.

The weight of her against me, the way her hands grasped at my hips like she couldn’t stand the distance—God, it was intoxicating.

I gasped into her mouth, fingers clutching at the fabric of her jersey, dragging her closer, needing more, needing her in a way that felt primal. But it still wasn’t enough.

I needed her like a body needs air. Like fire needs oxygen to burn.

I let my hands slip beneath the edge of her jersey, fingertips grazing the soft warmth of her skin, pulling it up slowly as if I could feel every inch of her body alive beneath my touch.

The smooth curve of her waist, the hard lines of muscle beneath, each shift of her body beneath my hands made me ache with a need that settled low in my belly. Every ridge, every dip of her form seemed to hum against my skin.

A shiver ran through Paige, sharp and electric, as my fingers traced the contours of her body.

The quiet groan that rose from her chest vibrated through me like a low hum, something primal, something desperate, and it cut through the haze of wanting, striking me like a blade to the heart.

My own pulse quickened, blood rushing to my ears, the ache inside me sharp and deep.

And then—without warning—I was lifted.

Paige’s hands slid beneath my thighs, strong and steady, lifting me effortlessly as though I weighed nothing at all. My back left the cool, hard wood of the lockers, and I was weightless for a moment—caught in the air, held in her arms.

Her strength was a kind of magic, and when she set me down on the couch, I could feel the weight of her presence settling between my legs. Her body pressed into mine, full of warmth and heat, every inch of her against me—so close that my head spun, my breath shallow and ragged.

The pressure of her, the force of her body moving against mine, made my chest tighten with a craving so raw it nearly stole the air from my lungs.

Her lips left mine, trailing a path of fire down my jaw, each kiss a whispered promise, each breath a silent plea. Her mouth found the curve of my neck, her breath warm and soft, sending shivers skittering across my skin.

She paused at my pulse, lips brushing, then pressing firmly as she sucked—tender, then teasing, then possessive in a way that made my body arch instinctively towards her.

I gasped, fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her closer, not caring if she could hear my desperate need in the way I tugged at her, urging her deeper into me. A sigh slipped from her lips, vibrating against my skin, and I felt it all the way down to my bones.

Goosebumps rippled along my skin in the wake of her touch, each fingertip leaving a trail of fire and ice in its wake, as if her hands were both a balm and a blaze.

The contrast was sharp—cool, electrifying shivers meeting the molten heat pooling low in my stomach, a tension so thick it pulled tight across my chest.

My hands roamed the wide expanse of her back, tracing every sinew, every curve, as though trying to memorize the way her muscles moved beneath soft skin. I felt the subtle shift of her posture, the delicate flex of her body as she adjusted, as she pressed closer, her breath mingling with mine.

Each movement was deliberate, every inch of contact like a silent conversation—an exchange of yearning and promise.

We were caught in the tide of something that wasn’t just lust, wasn’t just the desperate need of bodies craving each other.

No, it was thicker than that, heavier—like a dark, intoxicating storm that rolled in without warning, flooding me with a desire that felt like drowning, but in the best way possible.

The ache in my chest, the throbbing pull in my veins, was more than just physical. It was the quiet desperation to feel her, to be with her, to lose myself in the space where she and I collided. We were fire and fuel, each breath a flame that threatened to consume us whole.

When Paige’s lips found mine again, it was slower, deeper—an unraveling.

The kiss wasn’t frantic; it was a quiet, lingering hunger, a study of each other’s mouth, of the rhythm we created, of the way our bodies knew how to bend and fit together, like two puzzle pieces that had been waiting their entire lives to meet.

Each brush of her lips was a gentle claim, a slow unraveling of tension that had been wound too tight. My hands tangled in her hair, urging her closer, needing the weight of her against me, needing to feel the full depth of her hunger.

My lungs burned, but I didn’t care.

Paige wasn’t just my breath.

She was the wildfire consuming me, turning everything to ash and desire, leaving only the scorched remnants of myself behind.

Paige’s back was faced towards the door, her body a steady, comforting presence against mine. We were so lost in each other, the touch of her hands, the press of her lips, the weight of her gaze—that everything else in the world faded away.

The hum of the gym, the sounds of our teammates disappearing into the distance, the lingering burn in our muscles—all of it dissolved into the quiet intimacy of the locker room.

We were cocooned in our own world, where nothing existed but the electric pulse of our skin against each other.

The only sound was the rhythmic thumping of our hearts, syncing in a frantic dance that echoed through the silence, our bodies swaying as if guided by some magnetic pull.

But then came the footsteps.

A faint shuffle at first, barely perceptible, but loud enough to snap us back to reality, to shatter the fragile bubble we had created. The sound of sneakers against tile grew louder, sharper, like a warning bell ringing in the distance. Panic flared up in my chest, sudden and hot.

Before I could process the rush of alarm, the door slammed open with a loud crack that felt like it shattered the space between us.

The sound echoed in the room, jarring us from the fragile cocoon we had woven around ourselves.

My body jerked back, nearly losing balance, but Paige’s hands were like fire on my waist, quick and strong, anchoring me as I crashed into her.

Her breath hitched in shock, her eyes wide with surprise, but there was a flash of something else too—anger, protective and fierce—as she twisted around, her gaze sharpening into a glare, directed at the intruder as if daring them to even think about encroaching on our space.

Her posture was all fire, like a lioness ready to protect her territory, and I felt the power of it settle deep in my chest. The room felt smaller now, but it wasn’t the tightness of walls—no, it was the weight of being caught, of being exposed, that made the air thicken.

We pulled apart, hearts still racing, our faces flushed with the rush of embarrassment and the remnants of heat we couldn’t shake.

But when our eyes found the source of the interruption, it wasn’t anger we felt—it was an awkward jolt of vulnerability.

Our friends stood in the doorway, their wide eyes taking in the scene, none of them saying a word, but their grins spoke volumes. Ice, ever the instigator, raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a sly, knowing smile.

My heart was pounding, and I could feel the heat creeping up my neck, my cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and confusion.

The air between us was thick, suffocating with the pressure of what had just been interrupted, but the doorframe suddenly filled with the faces of our friends—wide-eyed, mouths agape.

And then Ice’s voice cut through the tension, teasing, light but pointed, as her grin stretched across her face like a wolf circling prey.

“I’m sorry, were you two...?” she drawled, her voice dripping with mischief as she let the question hang in the air. The rest of the team filed in behind her, already laughing, already knowing—too much, too soon.

“Nothing happened!” I shot back instantly, the words tumbling out too quickly, too defensively. My face burned, hotter than anything Paige had made me feel just moments before.

“Nothing, huh?” Sarah’s voice was laced with playful challenge as she gave us a knowing, half-smirk. “We’ll just tell Coach then, no big deal.”

“Shut up!” Paige muttered, her voice thick with laughter that didn’t quite cover the surprise still rattling through her. She tried to brush it off, but it was clear—she was as flustered as I was, and the teasing was only beginning.

Azzi’s voice rang out across the room, teasing and loud, almost playful enough to pierce through the tension.

“You guys are so cute,” she teased, the words thick with a mix of affection and mockery. “Kissing in the locker room like it’s a rom-com!”

“Yeah, how long have you two been sneaking around, huh? Making out after practice?” KK’s voice joined in, her grin cheeky, her wink a clear challenge.

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes, leaning into Paige’s side for support, her warmth grounding me even as the teasing escalated.

She wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer, her own quiet laugh vibrating against my ear as we tried to cover the embarrassment we both felt.

But the teasing didn’t stop there. It continued in small bursts—every casual glance from across the room felt like a spotlight, every whisper coated in an undertone of knowing.

The rest of the team didn’t let up. For the rest of the day, we were the subject of every whispered conversation, every sly look, every playful jab.

It was harmless, all in good fun—but still, the intensity of it all made us feel like the center of a universe we hadn’t meant to create.

THE NEXT DAY:

Last night had been something out of a fever dream—clothes flung carelessly across the room, the lingering scent of sweat and skin, the remnants of our desperation painted in bruises along our bodies.

Every inch of me ached, a slow burn of pleasure and exertion coiling beneath my skin, a testament to the way we had taken each other apart, piece by piece, only to put ourselves back together again.

But the morning… the morning was no different.

A slow, building sensation—warmth pooling low in my belly, something slick and wet teasing against the most sensitive part of me.

Even in the haze of sleep, it sent shivers up my spine. My breath hitched, my legs twitching beneath the sheets as pleasure stirred me from the edges of unconsciousness.

Then came the first real stroke of her tongue, languid, deliberate. My hips jerked slightly, a moan slipping past my parted lips.

“Oh, fuck—” My voice was rough with sleep, my fingers blindly searching for something—anything—to hold onto as my body arched against the touch.

My eyelids fluttered open, the dim light of morning spilling through the curtains, and there she was. Paige, mouth hot and eager against my folds, licking into me like a woman possessed.

She pulled back just enough to press a kiss to the inside of my thigh, her breath warm against my damp skin.

“Good morning, baby.”

Her voice was thick with amusement, smug and knowing, before she dove back in, this time wrapping her lips around my clit and sucking, sending a jolt of electricity straight through me.

My back arched off the mattress, a sharp gasp tearing from my throat, my hands tangling in the sheets.

I kicked off the duvet, the fabric pooling at my waist, revealing Paige in all her sinful glory—hair twisted into a messy bun, blue eyes locked onto mine, her mouth glistening with me.

My legs were thrown over her strong shoulders, her grip bruising against my thighs as she held me open for her, completely at her mercy.

And God, she looked starved.

"M’sorry," she groaned, voice muffled as her lips pressed deeper against me, her mouth hot and unrelenting.

The apology was empty—pointless—because the moment her tongue flattened and dragged through my folds, all I could do was arch into her, thighs trembling.

A shuddering gasp tore from my lips as the vibration of her words rippled through me. "Got hungry, baby," she murmured, her grip on my hips loosening just enough to tease me with the absence. One hand left its place, drifting lower, a featherlight caress against my entrance that had me keening.

And then—Paige filled me.

Two fingers, warm and deft, stretched me open with a slow, deliberate thrust, the kind that sent a sharp, needy cry tumbling from my lips. My breath hitched, nails clawing into the sheets as pleasure curled low and deep, winding through me like a live wire.

"Please," I gasped, voice shaking, body trembling against her.

She didn’t make me wait. Paige was never cruel like that. Her fingers curled inside me, finding that devastating spot with a precision so sharp, so consuming, that my vision blurred at the edges.

A white-hot rush seared through my spine, my back arching off the mattress as my legs quivered beneath her touch.

"Right there," I moaned, voice raw, desperate. "Right there, baby."

She hummed in satisfaction, her lips never straying far from where she wanted to worship me.

Open-mouthed kisses burned along the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, her tongue flicking over the heat she left behind before she latched on, sucking slow, deep, claiming.

A moan spilled from my lips as I felt it—the mark she was leaving, a deep bloom of purple, a whisper of her possession etched into my skin.

"Paige!" I cried out, my hips jerking when she finally—finally—attached her lips to my swollen clit. The sensation was instant, electric.

The dual assault of her mouth and fingers—sucking, stroking, curling—had me spiraling, toes curling into the sheets as heat pooled molten in my belly.

My thighs tensed around her head, every muscle locking up, strung tight with the unbearable need for release.

My walls clenched around her fingers, desperate, unrelenting, pulling her deeper.

A strangled sound ripped from my throat as my head fell back, drowning in it, lost in her.

"Ugh—baby, I’m so close," I whimpered, voice breaking, pleasure surging in waves. "Please—please, don’t stop."

"Come for me, princess," Paige murmured, her voice dark, coaxing, dripping with sinful intent.

And I did.

The coil inside me snapped, pleasure bursting like a tidal wave, swallowing me whole.

My back arched, lips parting on a silent scream as the world around me dissolved into nothing but heat, touch, and the sweet, unbearable pulse of release.

My thighs trembled, my body wracked with aftershocks as Paige worked me through it—her fingers slowing, her tongue soothing, kissing away the remnants of my pleasure until I was nothing but a boneless, trembling mess beneath her.

I gasped, shuddering as I came down, my mind hazy, limbs heavy, completely undone. The room was thick with warmth, with the scent of us, with the lingering echo of my moans still ghosting through the air.

Still catching my breath, I reached for her, pulling her up—bringing her close. Paige hovered above me, her lips glossy, eyes dark, watching me with a knowing smirk.

But I wasn’t done.

With a lazy, satisfied grin, I rolled us over, pressing her into the mattress, my hands already trailing down, teasing, promising.

"Your turn," I purred, voice still wrecked from what she had done to me.

Then, without another word, I disappeared beneath the duvet—ready to return the favor.

"Morning, y’all," Paige greeted smoothly as we stepped into the gym, her voice dripping with the same ease and confidence she always carried.

But this morning, that nonchalance felt almost too casual—like she hadn’t woken up and stared at the same damning evidence on her neck that I had on mine.

The second we crossed the threshold, the air in the gym shifted. Conversations stumbled to a halt, laughter simmered down, and a thick, buzzing silence settled in its place.

It wasn’t the usual quiet before practice, nor was it the exhausted lull after a hard workout. This was the kind of silence that comes before a storm.

And then—like a fuse finally catching fire—it spread.

Smirks ignited on familiar faces, creeping across lips that barely tried to hold back amusement.

Eyes flickered between Paige and me, scanning, assessing, then zeroing in with a focus so sharp I felt it like a brand against my skin.

Azzi. KK. Sarah. Ice. And—oh, for the love of God—now Aubrey, too.

Goddamn it, Ice and her big-ass mouth.

There was a certain mischief in their gazes, their smirks widening as they took in something Paige and I clearly hadn’t noticed yet. A slow, prickling heat climbed the back of my neck, my stomach twisting with unease.

Paige and I exchanged a glance. Confused. Searching. Unspoken words flickering between us.

And then I saw it. Or rather, I felt it.

A dull ache where her lips had pressed against my neck last night, kissing, sucking, marking. And the realization hit me like a slap.

Shit.

The matching bruises. The unmistakable evidence of last night’s reckless hands and wandering lips, still stamped across our skin like ink that refused to fade.

I didn’t even have time to react before KK’s voice cut through the tension like a blade.

“Oh, it definitely was a good morning, huh?” KK smirked.

"Guess you two didn’t just kiss yesterday," Ice hollered, her voice ringing through the gym like a gunshot.

A wolfish grin stretched across her face as she pointed directly at our necks. "More like… full-on making out, huh?"

Laughter exploded around us, bouncing off the gym walls, each chuckle and cackle making the heat in my face burn even hotter.

Azzi let out a low whistle. "Damn, y’all couldn’t wait till after practice?"

KK snorted, elbowing Sarah. "That’s why they volunteered to clean up last night. Thought they were being slick."

Sarah shook her head with a smirk. "More like sloppy. Y’all didn’t even try to cover it up."

Aubrey, of all people, chimed in with a teasing grin. "At least pretend to be ashamed."

And Paige?

Paige had the audacity to smirk.

She loved this. Thrived in it.

She simply shrugged, all lazy confidence, like she wasn’t the reason I was currently dying of secondhand embarrassment.

"Jealous?" she drawled, the smirk in her voice just as clear as the one on her face.

A collective groan. Eye rolls. KK threw a towel at her. A chorus of “oh, shut up, Paige.”

I buried my face in my hands, groaning as the teasing escalated, but even through my fingers, I could feel Paige’s eyes on me. Not just watching—devouring, savoring, enjoying every second of my suffering.

And across the gym, CD finally glanced up.

Her gaze flickered over us, cool and unreadable, before settling back down, like she were choosing peace instead of engaging in whatever the hell was happening. But it didn’t matter. The damage was done.

This wasn’t just any morning at practice.

We could pretend we had walked in like normal. We could act like nothing had changed.

But the proof was already there, written in bruises and smirks and the way Paige’s fingers brushed against mine like last night wasn’t enough.

And judging by the way our teammates were still grinning, teasing, and whispering, they weren’t going to let this go anytime soon… again.

My body was a canvas of aching muscles and fatigue by the time practice ended. Each movement felt like a betrayal, the weight of the day pressing into my bones, the sting of every drill lingering in my skin.

Geno’s harsh words were still burned into my mind, his voice echoing like a drumbeat, demanding more—more effort, more focus. He’d been relentless today, his critiques like sharp stones, each one sinking deeper than the last.

And then there were the girls—constant teasing, their laughter ringing in my ears, pulling at the edges of my patience. Nothing, absolutely nothing, had gone my way today.

I tried to shake it off, willing the exhaustion to loosen its grip on me, but before I could even gather my thoughts, Geno’s voice cut through the air again, sharp and direct.

“Y/N.”

My name bounced off the walls like a sudden storm, filling the empty gym with a weight I wasn’t sure I was ready for.

I turned, locking eyes with him, trying to steady my breath. His gaze was different now, less harsh, almost softened by the weariness of the day.

He ran a hand through his hair, the familiar gesture signaling that he was about to say something important—something that, for once, might actually make me feel like I wasn’t just the target of his frustrations.

“You know I push you because I believe in you, right?” His voice was quieter now, more personal, like he was trying to reach through the tension between us, to calm the storm in both of us.

I let out a breath, slow and controlled, nodding. “I know.” And I did. I knew he was tough on me because he expected the best. Because he believed I could handle it, even when I felt like I was breaking.

But today... today had felt different. The weight of every word, every move, it had all piled on, and no matter how hard I tried, it was impossible to shake it.

The gym was emptying out now, the sound of bag zippers, shoes squeaking on the floor, and quiet chatter filling the space.

I bent down to grab my bag, my fingers brushing against the cold floor as I tried to push all the noise from my head. But then, behind me, a sharp gasp broke through the hum of the room.

“Oh my god…”

It was Paige’s voice, thick with disbelief, and the instant she spoke, the whole world seemed to stop. I froze. I didn’t even need to turn around. I already knew what she was staring at.

The marks. The dark, unmistakable hickeys on my thighs.

I swallowed hard, my heart stuttering in my chest. No. No, not now. Not here.

Azzi’s voice rang out, light and teasing, as if she’d just found the greatest treasure. “No way,” she said, her words drawing a sharp laugh from the rest of the team.

“You guys are out here with hickeys on your thighs now? What’s next? A map of your entire body?”

And just like that, the weight of my embarrassment crashed into me, a flood of heat rushing to my face. I wanted to disappear. To sink into the floor and never come back. But of course, that wasn’t going to happen.

“Stop it!” I groaned, half-laughing, half-wincing. The teasing was relentless, each word digging deeper, a playful but pointed reminder of my private life spilling out into the open. “You’re making it worse!”

Sarah stepped forward, arms crossed, her expression dramatic and serious, but her eyes sparkling with humor.

“Where’s the line, huh?” she asked, her voice dripping with mock concern. “Are we gonna see them on your backs tomorrow?”

The entire team erupted into laughter, the sound of it echoing in the gym, bouncy and light, as if the day’s weight had been lifted by this moment of shared chaos.

Even our coaches, who’d been trying so hard to stay professional, couldn’t hold back a chuckle under their breath.

Paige stood next to me, her face a mirror of my own—exasperated, embarrassed, but also unable to do anything but laugh with the team. We exchanged a glance, our eyes saying everything without a word.

This was the price we paid for trying to keep something private in a world that was far too eager to share it.

And yet, there was something freeing about it too. Every time they found a new angle to tease us, every time the jokes started back up, it felt less like an invasion and more like a badge of honor. We had earned this moment. We were owning it, because what else could we do?

The teasing didn’t stop, but neither did we. And as the laughter rang in my ears, I realized it wasn’t the worst thing in the world after all.

…or maybe it was.

requests are open! Also just wanted to say that I loved writing this <3

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers x fem!reader #paige bueckers imagines #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers x you #paige bueckers x y/n #paige bueckers smut

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cameronsbabydoll · 1 day ago

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BASIC TRAINING — CHAPTER SEVEN

WARNINGS — Oral (f receiving), consensual silence kink, light gagging (hand over mouth), control kink, explicit sexual content, power imbalance, sneaking around, risk of being caught, 18+ only.

You’re not supposed to be out this late. The base curfew is 10 p.m. sharp, a rule your dad made clear the day you arrived, his voice booming about discipline and safety. “No exceptions,” he’d said, his eyes fixed on you like you were one of his soldiers. You’d nodded, promised to be good, because that’s what you do. You follow rules. You stay safe. You don’t sneak out.

But Rafe doesn’t care about rules.

It’s 12:43 a.m., and you’re crouched behind a storage crate near the barracks, your breath hitching in your throat. Your sundress catches on the rough wood, and you tug it free, heart hammering so loud you’re sure it’ll give you away. The night is humid, heavy, the kind of heat that clings to your skin and makes your hair stick to your neck. You’re shaking, not because you’re cold, but because you’re terrified of getting caught.

And Rafe? He’s loving every second of it.

“Keep moving, sunshine,” he whispers from the shadows ahead, his voice low, teasing, like this is a game. To him, it is. He’s leaning against the barrack wall, half-hidden in the dark, his dog tags glinting faintly under the moonlight. He’s in a black t-shirt and cargo pants, boots silent on the gravel, looking like he belongs in the night. Like he owns it.

You hesitate, glancing back toward the officer’s quarters, where your dad’s probably asleep, oblivious. If he knew you were out here—if anyone saw you—you’d be done. Grounded for the rest of the summer, maybe worse. You swallow hard, your sandals scuffing softly as you dart toward Rafe, keeping low like he told you.

“Good girl,” he murmurs when you reach him, his hand catching your wrist, pulling you against the wall beside him. His body’s warm, solid, and you can smell him—sweat, cologne, danger. His thumb brushes your pulse, and you know he feels how fast it’s racing. “Scared?”

You nod, biting your lip. “What if someone sees us?”

His grin is sharp, predatory. “Then we better not let ‘em.”

You don’t have time to argue. He’s already moving, tugging you along the wall toward a side door to the barracks. It’s unlocked—probably his doing—and he pushes it open just enough for you to slip through. The hallway inside is dim, lit only by a flickering exit sign. It smells like metal and boot polish, and every creak of the floor makes you flinch.

“Rafe,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “This is a bad idea—”

“Shh.” He turns fast, his hand covering your mouth, gentle but firm. His eyes lock on yours, dark and intense, and you go still, your breath hot against his palm. “You trust me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t. But you nod anyway, because it’s Rafe, and he’s got you wrapped around his finger, and you’re too far gone to turn back now.

He drops his hand, smirking. “That’s what I thought.”

He leads you down the hall, past closed doors where soldiers are sleeping, their snores muffled through the walls. Your heart’s in your throat, but Rafe moves like he’s untouchable, like he’s done this a hundred times. Maybe he has. The thought makes your stomach twist, but not in a bad way. In a way that makes you want him more.

His bunk is at the end of the row, tucked in a corner where the overhead light doesn’t reach. It’s sparse—a thin mattress, a folded blanket, a pillow that’s seen better days. There’s a photo taped to the wall, too faded to make out, and a half-empty pack of cigarettes on the locker beside it. It’s so… him. Rough, temporary, like he could pack up and disappear any second.

He pulls you inside, shutting the curtain that passes for a door. It’s not much privacy—just a thin sheet of fabric—but it’s enough to make you feel like you’re in his world now, cut off from everything else.

“Sit,” he says, nodding toward the bunk.

You perch on the edge, your hands smoothing your dress over your thighs, your knees pressed together. You’re still trembling, every sound outside—a distant cough, a creak of springs—making you jump. Rafe watches you, leaning back against the locker, his arms crossed, like he’s got all the time in the world.

“You’re cute when you’re nervous,” he says, voice low, almost tender. But there’s something darker in it, something that makes your skin prickle. “Makes me wanna fuck it out of you.”

Your breath catches, and he chuckles, soft and mean.

“Relax, sweetheart. We’re not there yet.” He steps closer, dropping to his knees in front of you, and your heart lurches. He’s so big, even like this, his shoulders broad, his hands steady as they rest on your knees. “Just gonna make you feel good. You want that, don’t you?”

You nod, because you do, because you always do when he’s looking at you like that, like you’re the only thing that matters. His hands slide up your thighs, pushing your dress higher, exposing your skin inch by inch. You’re burning under his touch, your panties already damp, and he hasn’t even done anything yet.

“Spread your legs,” he says, and it’s not a request. It’s an order.

You hesitate, just for a second, and his grip tightens, his fingers digging into your thighs—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you who’s in charge.

“Don’t make me ask again,” he murmurs, his voice soft but edged with steel.

You obey, your legs parting, your dress bunched around your hips. He groans low in his throat, his eyes fixed on the damp spot on your panties, and you feel your cheeks heat, embarrassed but thrilled, because he’s looking at you like you’re his.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he breathes, and it’s the first time he’s sounded anything less than in control, like you’re doing something to him. His fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down slow, deliberate, until they’re around your ankles. You step out of them, your sandals squeaking faintly, and he tucks the fabric into his pocket like a trophy.

Then his hands are back on your thighs, spreading you wider, and you gasp when you feel his breath against you, warm and teasing. “Rafe,” you whisper, your voice shaky, “what if someone—”

“Shh.” His lips brush your inner thigh, soft at first, then a nip of teeth that makes you yelp. “Told you to keep it quiet, sunshine. You gonna be good for me?”

You nod, frantic, your hands fisting the blanket beneath you. He smirks, satisfied, and then his mouth is on you, and the world stops.

It’s nothing like you imagined. It’s better. Worse. Overwhelming. His tongue is slow at first, lazy, like he’s savoring you, and you bite your lip so hard you taste blood, trying to stay silent. But it’s impossible, because he’s good at this—too good—and every flick, every suck, every swirl makes you unravel a little more. You’re whimpering now, soft little sounds you can’t hold back, and he growls against you, the vibration sending a shock through your body.

“Quiet,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to look at you, his lips slick, his eyes dark. “Or I’ll stop.”

You shake your head, desperate, your hands reaching for him, tangling in his hair. “Please,” you whisper, “don’t stop.”

He grins, wicked and proud, and then he’s back, his mouth relentless, his hands pinning your thighs so you can’t squirm away. You’re close, so close, the pressure building like a storm, but the sounds you’re making are getting louder, and you can’t help it, you can’t—

His hand clamps over your mouth, hard.

Your eyes widen, but he doesn’t stop, his tongue pushing you closer to the edge, his palm muffling your cries. “Told you,” he mutters against you, voice low and rough. “Keep. It. Quiet.”

You try to nod, but you’re too far gone, your body shaking, your hips bucking against his mouth. His hand stays firm, gagging you, controlling you, and it’s that—the control, the secrecy, the risk—that sends you over. You come hard, harder than in the supply closet, your vision blurring, your body arching off the bunk. His hand smothers your scream, his tongue drawing it out, making you shake until you’re limp, gasping against his palm.

When it’s over, he pulls back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes gleaming like he just won a war. He drops his hand from your mouth, and you suck in air, your chest heaving, your body still trembling.

“Good girl,” he says, soft but smug, and you whimper, because those words again, that tone, they own you now. He stands, towering over you, and you’re too weak to move, too wrecked to do anything but stare up at him, your dress still bunched, your thighs still slick.

He leans down, kisses you, and you taste yourself on his lips, salty and strange and him. “You did good, sunshine,” he murmurs against your mouth. “Kept it nice and quiet for me.”

You nod, dazed, and he chuckles, pulling you to your feet. Your legs wobble, and he steadies you, his hands firm on your waist. He picks up your panties from his pocket, but instead of giving them back, he tucks them away again, smirking.

“Souvenir,” he says, and you flush, mortified but too overwhelmed to argue.

He leads you back to the door, checking the hall before nudging you out. “Go,” he whispers. “Before someone notices you’re gone.”

You stumble into the night, your heart still racing, your body still humming. You make it back to your room, slip inside, and lock the door, your breath coming in ragged gasps. You collapse onto your bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to piece yourself back together.

Your notebook’s on the nightstand, but you don’t touch it. You can’t write about this. Not yet. Not when you can still feel his mouth, his hand, his voice telling you to be quiet.

You’re his now, more than ever.

And he knows it.

#cameronsbabydoll ⋆. 𐙚 ˚#military!rafe #rafe cameron #rafe cameron headcanons #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron x yn #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe obx #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron series #drew starkey

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iloveboysinred · 1 year ago

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Hiiii how are you ??

Hope your okay, would it be possible to have a lil smuty keith x afab reader fic, at the episode where they go to the pool that allura told them about (I don't remember wich episode it was), and like he gets all flustered from seing reader in her bikini, and a lil jealous cus lance tries flirting with reader.

Ofc take ur time, and I hope you rest well !!!!<3<3

Rendezvous | [Keith Kogane]

mdni 18+ content | Keith Kogane x afab! reader

cw; explicit sexual content, p in v sex, jealous Keith, rough sex, mean Keith, spanking, semi-public sex, orgasm denial, not really canon adjacent.

hi! I'm doing okay, it took a lot of will (and spliffs) to write this since writers block and lack of motivation has been whooping my ssssaa. Anywho, I hope you enjoy!

masterlist

Landing on a tropical planet for a temporary break was like a dream come true for you and the other paladins. The warm, humid climate almost made it feel like you were all back home on a regular sunny day. The whole crew had decided to spend their break time differently, fully taking advantage of the few hours of peace, savoring every second of paradise before you were up and running around space again.

Shiro had decided to take the productive route, opting to spend his time strengthening his bond with the black lion, deeming it absolutely necessary after the recent battle against Zarkon, where he almost took complete control of the vessel. Pidge and Hunk spent there's in the kitchen, no doubt creating new recipes with the food items collected on weekly supply hauls from local planets. Allura had been in her room all day, playing games like dress up and hide n' seek with her mice, the castle walls echoing her laughter while Coran made some maintenance repairs to the castle.

You, Keith and Lance had mutually agreed to share the pool, the rising temperature of the castle prompting you to finally wear your bikini. It was a simple but sexy red once piece, the panty accentuating the curve of your hips and the connecting top snuggly holding your breasts in place.

Keith shamelessly eyed you down as soon as he saw you, his face slightly flushing at the sight of your exposed skin. It was fun, seeing him so flustered-- especially knowing he had seen it all before. You played coy, bending over in front of him to pick up something you had "dropped" and adjusting your breasts in the bikini top over and over again, making sure he caught the way they settled back in to place, knowing exactly what was going through his mind, his hungry gaze making it all the more obvious.

You knew you took it too far, though, when you began to play around with Lance. The two of you splashed at each other, swimming around the pool competitively. Lance's natural affinity to water made it hard to keep up. He swam circles around you, calling out flirty little comments as he doused you in water whenever he got the chance. Keith remained in rigid silence, watching the both of you interact with a furrow in his brow. You could tell he was irked, his expression twisting into one you knew well the closer you got to Lance. He was Jealous. Brazenly so.

It was that same jealousy that had you where you were now-- bent over in the pool storage room, your hands gripping onto the wire shelf in front of you. The shelf rattled against the wall from the movement of your bodies, Keith rocking you back and fourth on his dick. The grip he had on your hips was bruising, his fingers digging into your skin as he fucked into you, his teeth grit tight, trying hard to keep his groans of pleasure concealed. You had less self control, your moans and whines for more echoing through the room, all shame and fear of getting caught out the window the second he entered you. He pressed his chest to your back, the bikini you had been wearing discarded and forgotten somewhere in the room, leaving your body completely open to his touch. He huffed and groaned into your ear, his hands leaving your hips to roam up and down your body, coming up to knead and fondle your breasts, squeezing them roughly while he thrust into you.

"Keith s-slow down" you gasped, the breath barley able to escape your lungs, your mouth hanging open in ecstasy when his fingers found your clit, rubbing tight circles over the bud and effectively putting a pause to your pleas. "Slow down, baby?" he grunted, his voice a deep rasp in your ear, sounding nothing like the gentle lover you knew so well. "I thought this was what you wanted" he pulled you closer to his body, grinding his hips into your ass, the tip of his dick pressing into you deep. The vicious pace of his hips combined with the euphoric stimulation on your clit was starting to make your vision blur. "Parading around that asshole in that tight, fucking bikini." he sunk his teeth into the flesh of your shoulder, making you cry out. "You think he could fuck you better than me? huh?" his hips snapped into you, hitting your sweet spot with abandon, the obscene squelching of your pussy made you flustered, the erotic noises made you cover your face from his view as your body fell apart beneath him.

He took in a breath, delivering a stinging swat to your ass when you didn't speak. "What, you don't hear me talking to you?" he sneered, smirking in satisfaction as you trembled beneath him, your quivering pussy gushing from your still building arousal. His hands came down to your ass, kneading the fat in his hands to soothe the sting. "C'mon baby, tell me what I wanna hear" he panted against your ear, his hips never ceasing their assault, the thick head of his dick abusing your sweet spot over and over and over. "A-ah, ah! no, k-keith no" you answered, your words fading from coherency to mindless broken words and babbles, your brain foggy from the pleasure buzzing up and down your veins. "mmmh, good girl" you felt him smile against the nape of your neck, grabbing your chin to swing your face around, leaving a bruising kiss against your swollen lips. You whined into his mouth feeling your body begin to tense, your swollen clit pulsing from the continuous stimulation from his fingers.

Right when you were on the brink of your high, your body contorting in pleasure from your impending orgasm--he pulled out of you quicker than you could blink. You whipped around to look at him in shock, eyes glossy with unshed tears. He acted oblivious, casually tucking his still hard dick away into his swim trunks. You watched him in silent outrage as he picked up the forgotten bikini, setting it down on the shelf in front of you.

"Keith, you can't be fucking serious" you gasped, your boyfriend giving you a sheepish shrug in response, "What, can't take what you dish out?" you scowled at him, frustration shooting up your spine at his snarky remark, your legs shakily holding you up as you struggled to slip the bikini back on. Keith chuckled, pressing one last needy kiss to your lips. "I think I'll head back to my room..I've had enough swimming for today" he whispered against your lips, his words holding a double meaning, an invitation. He pulled away from you, rendering you breathless as he walked out the door, leaving you no choice left but to follow, pouncing on him as soon as you reached his quarters.

#❥iloveboysinred #keith kogane #vld keith #keith kogane smut #keith kogane x reader #vld keith smut #vld keith x reader #vld x reader #vld #voltron smut #voltron legendary defender

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oraeliaa · 2 months ago

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What of it?

@hi-fidelitea’s prompt: Lucy and the Ghoul arguing about the most Low-Stakes issue at the most High-Stakes moment

So this is the first one I’ve done for this prompt, I do have a second idea hahaha - also I thought I’d start releasing one or two of these before I go away, because I can’t resist!

If anyone has any other prompts, just let me know!

“Ghoul?”

Of all the… The Ghoul turned towards the annoying, distracting woman he’d invited along, and gave her a look that he intended to mean - Really? Now?

She couldn’t wait just an hour or so before asking him some inane question? She really had to pipe up, now, after he’d all but dragged her and the pup into the small storage cupboard, obviously trying to keep them hidden?

The room was dark, the light above them obviously non-functional - even if this place still had power, the bulb was long since broken - but her Pipboy lit the room in an almost eerie green light that left a sickened glow on her skin.

Had one of the Cazadors stung her?

She was pale but flushed, eyes narrowed, and he hated the annoying spike of worry that surged through him as he gave her a quick once-over. She wasn’t bleeding, as far as he could tell. There was no blood on that monkey-suit of hers, or, well, no more blood, anyhow.

If the poison was eating at her, it needed to do so quietly. He’d have an antivenom down her throat soon enough, but right now, they just had to be quiet. He could hear their enemy in the distance, slamming around, and turned back towards the door to try and glance through and see how close it had gotten. The glass had shattered long enough ago that it no longer crunched underfoot, that it had been replaced by thin slats of wood, nailed into place. He couldn’t see much through the rotting gaps, but if he squinted, maybe…

“Is that-”

He turned again, glaring fully, this time; his train of thought vanishing in lieu of survival-driven panic. Were they not taught common fucking sense down in that vault? He put his finger over his lips to try and mime for her to shut the fuck up, and held his goddamn breath as he tried to pay attention to the world outside their humid little cell.

She glared at him in turn, snorting through her nose like he was being ridiculous, when all he was trying to do was keep them both - and the dog - alive long enough to make a half-way decent attempt at catching up with her dad.

“-My finger?”

Oh.

He’d been wondering when she’d finally notice, though, considering it was held up against his lips, right in her face, it was only a matter of time.

She’d lowered her voice, at least, practically a hiss at this point, but her indignation was clear as day.

It was his turn to snort, to huff air out of his nose and inflame her even further. This close, he could see the dilation of her pupils and the angry rush of blood into her cheeks; and liked it just as much as he had every other damn time he’d managed to provoke the reaction.

“And what of it?”

He turned back towards the window, looking for a shadow, a silhouette, movement, even. He couldn’t see much, but he could hear just fine, and knew it’d scarper, eventually. Wander away, taking its young and their equally sharp talons with it.

“What of it, I, well, um,”

He turned back towards her, eyebrow raised, and back to the window.

“Spit it out then,” he murmured, keeping his tone under control. “Don’t go making threats you ain’t gonna see through, vaultie.”

She hadn’t been threatening him, not really, but as he glanced back he could see those expressive, wide eyes, could see how annoyed she was.

It suited her.

“I am not threatening you!”

He didn’t turn, waving his hand - the one with her finger - beside him to tell her to shut the fuck up. He could see it, outside.

Maybe.

“Actually,” she continued, all but verbally stomping on the ground, “maybe I am threatening you! Maybe I’ll take it back, what do you have to say about that?”

Why had they put these slats so fucking close to oneanother? He could barely see, even at a squint, and whilst the dog was perfectly still and quiet beside them both, the woman in the room with him wasn’t, and if he could hear her rapid-fire complaining behind him then the Deathclaw out there certainly could.

She grabbed at him - fingers sinking into the fabric of his coat, and pulled him away from the door to face her, instead.

“And that’s why I’m going to ask that you give it back, otherwise I’ll be forced to take it, well, by force!”

“Shut the fuck up.”

They spoke in unison, her tone angry, his moreso.

Hers a lot louder than his, even if her words petered out towards the end

He heard the roar outside, and slapped his hand - the one with her finger - against her mouth, pushing her away from the door until her back hit the wall behind them both.

“Finders keepers, Vaultie,” he hissed, leaning in close enough that his scarred lips brushed against the shell of her ear. “You took my finger, I took yours. It ain’t my fault you didn’t think to hang onto mine. This here finger, I’ve grown attached. The only way you’re gettin’ it back is by biting it off again and believe me, now is not the time.”

He pulled back, glaring down at her - expression stuttering slightly when he saw how wide her eyes were, how blown her pupils had become. The realisation of her arousal hit like a freight train. She… liked it. The room was small, but felt miniscule as he stared down at her, looking up at him like something from…

The dog barked, and he all but screamed at her to shut up, body tense, confusing interaction shoved to the side.

Postponed, but not forgotten.

These two were gonna get him fucking killed.

Claws ripped through the ancient metal of the door, and he pulled his guns from his holsters, gesturing for Lucy to do the same.

“This is why I work alone.”

#fallout #ghoulcy #fanfic #fallout fanfic #fallout ficlet #fallout prompts #cooper howard #lucy maclean #lucy x cooper #vaultie #vaultghoul

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hooter-n-company · 7 months ago

Text

Since I mentioned him here, might as well officially introduce this big fella. Also because @twistedtummies2 is a big fan. 😉

No one knows exactly where Bubba came from, but ancient legend goes that he is the living essence of the primordial swamp, laying dormant beneath the muck for who knows how long before he was discovered by the local tribes. The humans noticed a section of the ground beneath their feet shifting, rising and falling with the beast’s breath. Believing it to be some kind of slumbering god, they created ceremonies, myths, and cautionary tales warning to never disturb the deity from his slumber, or risk incurring his wrath. However, a corrupt shaman thought that he could control and exploit the powerful “god” for his own gain and proceeded to cross onto the sacred patch of land where he slept before digging him out. Unfortunately, the shaman didn’t have much time to enact his plan as he was immediately gobbled up by the creature, who promptly vanished into the murky depths.

Despite his elusive nature, the amphibious creature can still be seen roaming the swamp, devouring all in his path. The tribes still revere him as a godly figure, providing him with numerous offerings to appease him…and to keep him from turning his appetite back on them one day…

More info under the cut:

Name: Bubba

Pronouns: He/him

Age: Unknown

Species: Unknown amphibian/fish hybrid/possibly a god

Role: Pred

Height: 10 feet tall, 17 feet long

Abilities: Elastic tongue, super sticky saliva, tissue regeneration, can hibernate for centuries, breathes both air and water

Personality: A lazy, greedy, gluttonous, and incredibly territorial beast. He’s a complete loner who is perfectly content living by himself and views all other creatures are potentially edible, incredibly annoying, or both at the same time. However, he isn’t a sadistic creature who goes out of his way to hurt people. He just wants to be left alone with some peace and quiet, so if you keep your distance, he will happily do the same. When Bubba is alone in his element, he can be surprisingly relaxed, mellow, and laid back, even jovial at times when he’s engaged in his own personal interests. His appetite heavily dictates his mood, as he tends to get irritable and short tempered when his stomach is empty. He is driven by simple motivations (mostly filling his belly), but he can be a surprisingly cultured and curious creature with a fair amount of intelligence.

Likes: Food (especially jambalaya and gumbo), cooking, discovering tasty ingredients, collecting unique trinkets and useful items, sleeping, mud baths, hot n’ humid weather, learning about the outside world, scaring people for fun, living a minimalist lifestyle, being alone, smoking

Dislikes: Bland meals, severe boredom, trespassers, poachers, pollution, rival predators in his territory, people interrupting his naps, an empty stomach, annoyingly loud critters, cold snaps

Other Info:

-Has a THICK southern accent.

-Has taken up cooking as one of his main hobbies. Despite not being picky in the slightest, he has developed quite a refined palate. He really loves gumbo and jambalaya.

-He begrudgingly tolerates the local tribes who worship him, mostly because they provide him with food and useful materials at his request. Although he does get a kick out of scaring the bu-jeezus out of individuals who wander into his territory.

-When injured, Bubba can regenerate large chunks of damaged tissue, including entire organs and limbs if given enough time.

-Croaks like an enormous frog to warn nearby creatures to stay out of his territory. Can also puff himself up for defense and intimidating enemies

-His first stomach is like a “storage pouch” to hold extra food, but also has powerful muscles to churn meals and coat it with enzymes. These aren’t strong enough to cause serious acid damage, but they work in tandem with the juices of the second, primary stomach, making it easier to digest tough meat and hard materials like shells and bone.

#hoot hoots #hooter’s ocs #hooter draws #bubba #character bio #vore pred

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sonicpilled · 2 years ago

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Pull You From Your Guilt (Zombic AU)

Chapter One - “Gone”

Content warnings: suicide, detailed death description , razor blade mention

word count = 2903

sonic+shadow angst (for most of it)

“Three months. It had been three months.

That wasn’t enough. Not at all. That wasn’t enough time to get over this. It had been just three months since he had died. Three months since Shadow found him curled up in the blood-stained bathtub.”

enjoy!! or hate!! Ya!

Three months. It had been three months.

Sonic had called him the night before. Shadow had been busy, checking out one of Dr. Robotnik’s many abandoned bases. They talked for a bit, Shadow had to go, and Sonic was left alone. Sitting against the bathtub, his gloves and socks on the floor beside him. Why couldn’t he stay on the line just a bit longer?

It was pouring that night, the air humid. The water was warm.. Westopolis’s weather is unpredictable, but it didn’t help that rain in the summer was unusual to begin with. The rain is supposed to be with the cold, and the heat needs to be with a bright sun. Things never work out how they’re supposed to. The shitty weather didn’t matter anyways, not to Shadow, atleast. He was there for a reason, and it wasn’t sightseeing.

Most of Robotnik’s unoccupied facilities consisted of old storage units, filled with unused badniks and tech that just collected dust. Prototypes, failures, whatever. It was all kind of useless. Yet, Shadow considered that looking through the place wouldn’t be a total waste of time. These types of.. scavenging days were just Shadow looking through boxes and shelves for anything that even looked a smidge useful. You never know what you might find. There’s always new information waiting to be uncovered, He thought to himself, as he walked through the dark halls.

He was cautious, like always. Carefully stepping through the corridors, being mindful of any potential triggers of alarms or robots. The quiet clank from his metal boots hitting the ground was the only thing that could be heard. As Shadow looked through drawers and cabinets, breaking locks, he felt himself growing bored. He hadn’t searched the entire facility yet, so he’d still have to be there for a while.

A quiet beeping from the communication device on his wrist snapped him out of his thinking. It was sonic. Shadow huffed a little in relief, knowing he wouldn’t be so bored much longer. Though he could be pretty distracting, he really did enjoy talking to Sonic. Though it wasn’t announced officially or anything, (except to Rouge) they did have something going on. He had been meaning to check up on him for a while, anyways. Shadow looked around the dusty storage unit, checking his surroundings before he answered the call.

Sonic sat there, up against the porcelain bathtub, the tapping of his claw on the bathroom floor a common stim of his. The water was on, filling up the tub with cold water. He preferred showers over baths, but there was something comforting about a bathtub sometimes. Large bodies of water did freak him out, there was no doubt about that. Yet, being submerged in a moderate, controlled amount of water made him feel safe.

He spent the gloomy day out, going for a run in the rain. That's what he always did when he wasn’t feeling well. Sonic had stopped by Tails’s workshop, just to check in. Of course, he was working on some new project. Sonic didn’t wanna bother him, seeing he was pretty focused. It was fine.

He passed by Amy’s, she was with Blaze. That’s okay.

Knuckles was already a no-go, he didn’t like being bothered on Angel Island. That’s alright.

The Chaotix was working on some case. That’s cool.

And of course, not even Robotnik was causing any trouble that day. That’s good.

“S’all good! I’ll stop by another time,” he’d say, because it was all good. It was fine that everyone Sonic knew was busy. The world didn’t revolve around him, now, did it? He decided he needed some time alone anyways. He went home, and stayed there. He did grow.. bored. And lonely. There was one person Sonic hadn’t looked for, because he knew he was doing something that didn’t need to involve him. He had hoped that maybe he was done now, and that he could have someone to talk to. So, he dialed Shadow’s number.

Sonic took his shoes off, then his socks, and then his gloves. He set them aside, staring at the bottom drawer on the bathroom cabinet as he waited for Shadow to pick up. He grew impatient after the phone not being immediately answered, reaching over and opening the drawer.

He should have locked that drawer, and thrown out the key. He had been clean for two weeks, he should have tried harder to keep it going. But oh.. he was so tired.. One iffy day shouldn’t have made him relapse. It was too late to dwell on, anyways. In the drawer was a first aid kit, and a ripped open package of gillette razor blades. Sonic grabbed one, and left the drawer open. Shadow picked up the phone.

“Hey.” Shadow's voice startled him, as he quickly set the harmful object on the ground, as if Shadow was there to even see it. He stared at his phone with a little tired smile.

“Hey, Shadz! I, uh.. Are you busy? Ya doing anything?” He spoke with a bit of urgency, just a bit excited for the chance to have a conversation with someone.

“I’m busy. Though.. I suppose it couldn’t hurt to chat for a bit. What's up?” Shadow whispered into his communicator, looking over where he was searching while he spoke with Sonic. There was a bit of a silence for a moment, Shadow growing only a little skeptical. “Sonic?”

“Yeah, yeah. I heard you. Sorry about my terrible timing! Look, if you’re too busy right now, I really don’t wanna be a total bother to you,” Sonic spoke quietly, the water running in the background. He tried to hide his disappointment, but Shadow saw right through it. He always did. For someone as impulsive and carefree as Sonic, he really did do that a lot. To back down from things like expressing how he felt, yet run right into explosions like it was nothing. Shadow sighed, leaning back against the wall as he stared at the ground. He took a second to process Sonic’s words and obvious hesitation, knowing that something was definitely wrong.

“..Are you.. Are you alright?” Shadow’s tone softened, only a hint of worry in his voice. He knew Sonic too well.

“Yeah! For sure, for sure. Don’t worry about me, dude. I’ll be fine,” he replied all too quickly. He was lying. Sonic knew it was wrong to lie about his feelings, he just hated to be worried about. He stared at the bathroom tiles, with a small wince at his own words.

“Alright.. I suppose I’ll take your word for it. I.. I trust you. I’ll call you tomorrow. I promise,” Shadow paused. He furrowed his brow at the communicator, thinking of how he could phrase the next thing he was going to say. “You have a lot of people you can talk to, you know that, Sonic?”

“Yeah, yeah.. I know,” Sonic mumbled. Shadow was right. He didn’t have to be hiding like this, it wasn’t good for his health.

“Please keep that in mind. Goodnight. I love you.” Shadow spoke softly, staring at the ground as he waited for a reply. He really did care about Sonic, and did what he could to show it to him.

“..I love you too.”

That was the last time they spoke.

The next time they were together was the next night. The rain died down, now it was just another warm summer night. It felt normal again. Shadow called and called, but Sonic never picked up the phone. Maybe his phones dead, he thought, trying not to think of the worst. He got worried, and used his spare key to his apartment. It was.. abnormally quiet. Usually, Sonic would be watching a movie, or attempting to cook, or napping. He was always doing something. But that night, it was quiet. Maybe he went out, he said to himself. He just wanted to convince himself that Sonic was okay.

He stopped walking after only a few steps into the apartment when he could smell it.

Shadow knew where he was now, as he crept down the hall. His nose was more sensitive than most mobians, which only worsened the fact that he knew exactly what he was going to see when he walked towards the bathroom, where the smell was strongest. He knew this scent well.

The stench of death.

His heartbeat quickened, as he grabbed the doorknob and twisted it. No, no, no, no.. Shadow pushed the door open with a long creak. The only light in the dark bathroom was from the outside. He stared, wide-eyed. He saw which drawer was opened, he knew what exactly was in there. He knew exactly what Sonic had done to himself. He winced, as he flicked the light switch on.

The shower curtain was covering most of the tub, but Shadow knew exactly what was behind it. He slowly stepped towards the bathtub, and pulled back the stained curtain.

He was curled up in the bathtub, the water cold and completely red. Blood was caked onto his arms and thighs, his fur not at all that bright cobalt blue anymore. Stained and ruined, by his own hands. Shadow didn’t even want to look, but he just couldn't help it. He stared for a long time.

So, he sat there, holding a blue hedgehog in his arms. Shadow had pulled him out of the tub, Sonic’s fur wet from the water and crusty from his own dried blood. The mix of blood and water dripping on the bathroom tiles and all over Shadow. The mess was the least of his worries, as he held his love in his arms. Shadow had known he had problems with things like this before, he knew he had been clean for a short amount of time, he knew he was impulsive with stuff like this, he knew it all. Yet, it had never occurred to him that Sonic would actually end it. He was happy, he was never alone. He had so many people to talk to, to vent to. He seemed so happy.

Shadow knew that suicide wasn’t always predictable. He supposed he just couldn’t see Sonic as the type to consider it. Then again, that's… not the best way to think of the situation. Over the next few weeks, he had created a wall around himself. He’s gone through loss before, he's held a dead loved one in his arms already. He could get over it. He could push through it. So, he did. He pushed through calling an ambulance. He pushed through giving out the news about his death. He pushed through the funeral. He pushed through the silent motorcycle ride home. He pushed through it all.

He wasn’t okay.

How could he be?

The third week after Sonic’s death, a week after his funeral, Shadow had spoken to nobody. What would he talk about? He knew that they were mourning, but so was he. Shadow didn’t need to talk about how he felt when they were feeling the same exact way. Atleast, that's how he thought about it. He kept to himself, like he usually did.

One particular morning, he had been staring at the ceiling. Shadow had woken up maybe an hour ago, yet hadn’t gotten up to get ready for the day. It wasn’t by choice. His phone rang on his nightstand, and he only glanced at it. He didn’t really care who it was, as he’d let it go to voicemail either way. It was Rouge. Her message played on his answering machine. For a moment, he thought of how Sonic would poke fun at the fact that he still kept such an outdated piece of technology in his home. Shadow would explain to him the importance of preservation, even if he was just going to keep making fun of him the next time he came over. He missed that.

“C’mon Shadow. You can't just hide in your apartment forever, hun. You have to come out of that shell you’ve trapped yourself in,” Rouge spoke, her tone knowing yet tired. Shadow rolled onto his side, staring at the machine with weary eyes. She sighed.

“..I know you’re hurt. I know you loved him. And I know you blame yourself. But.. you have to understand that you couldn’t have known. Please, talk to us. We love you. I love you.” Her voice was soft, and he could tell she was frowning as she spoke. Shadow lowered his gaze, closing his eyes as the message was over.

Rouge was right.

He was hurt.

He was hurt so badly, he couldn’t even lie to himself and say he wasn’t.

Every little thing reminded him of Sonic, reminded him of how he was gone. Motorcycle rides around the city that were once exciting, just because he was there with him. The way he’d laugh, sitting close behind Shadow with his arms wrapped around his waist for support, urging him to speed up even if they were already well over the speed limit. Now it was quiet, the only sound heard being the noise of the engine .

As Shadow would walk along the beach, where they'd spent a few afternoons together at, he still felt like he would see Sonic by his side. Of course, he’d always get too close to his side, forgetting about personal space as he’d avoid the water. Not that Shadow minded being close to him, anyways. He missed that. The ocean breeze was much too cold now, as he’d stare at the sand in silence.

Shadow would be watching the news channel, and the news anchor would say some stupid pun. He’d glance to the spot at the couch where Sonic would always sit, just to see him snicker and smile, because he always thought dumb jokes were hilarious. But, he wasn’t there. He would never be there again.

All of that was thrown away.

Happy memories, now replaced with that terrible image of his body.

The worst of it was the dreams, which eventually became night terrors. He’d watch the same thing happen repeatedly each night, playing over and over again in his mind. Shadow couldn’t get it out of his head. It was his fault he was gone, that's what he’d tell himself. He’d visit Sonic’s grave, after those nightmares. Whatever time it was, he would be there.

For three months after Sonic’s death, he’d have those reoccurring dreams. A terrible one this time. It started nice, and sweet, an overwhelmingly happy memory. Like always.

The sun shining, the blades of grass and lavender petals dancing in the cool breeze. That pretty bright blue looked so nice in the sunlight. He fell down onto the colorful garden, his chest rising and falling. His laughter, something Shadow could never forget. It's a great thing he’d never dream of wanting to. Sonic grabbed his arm, pulling him down onto the soft, green grass. He grinned, looking up at him.

The blue hedgehog glanced away for a moment, peering out at the beautiful nature. He spoke softly, his voice only slightly muffled.

“It's amazing here. Why.. Why couldn’t you stay?” Sonic stared at Shadow, wide-eyed. He didn’t know what to say. He knew what he meant with his words, yet he just stared right back.

“I couldn’t have known. I couldn’t have known,” Shadow whispered urgently, looking down at the grass. He squeezed his eyes shut. “I couldn’t have known.”

“You knew. You knew..”

He opened his eyes, weakly. No longer was the grass and flowers dancing merrily. No longer was the sun shining. No longer was the blue fur bright and vibrant. He stared at the grimy bathroom tiles, the bloody paw prints along the floor. He stared at the dead hedgehog in his arms.

“You knew,” he spoke harshly.

Shadow gasped, sitting up in his bed. His fur wet from his own sweat, the night air quickly cooling it. He took in shaky breaths, covering his face. He sighed weakly, peeking out from his fingers and staring at the wall. Immediately, he tugged on the pull-cord of his vintage lamp, letting un-natural light into the room.

He stood up, immediately pulling on his boots. Shadow quickly opened his closet door, grabbing his leather jacket and putting it on. He took the green scarf, a christmas gift from Sonic, and wrapped it around his neck. He stepped out of his warm and cozy apartment, and out into the cold snow.

Shadow stared straight ahead as he rode his motorcycle to the cemetery. It was a little over two in the morning, but he didn’t care. He was used to this. This routine that shouldn’t have ever been a routine. He left his bike at the gate, following his mental map to Sonic’s grave.

He sighed, looking up from his set gaze to the ground with tired eyes. When he got to where he wanted to be, he stopped dead in his tracks. The hole in the ground, in which Sonic had been buried three months before, had been uncovered. Instead of the flat dirt surface that had been there all those nights, all those previous visits, was a mess of dirt and rocks. It didn’t look like a perfectly dug up hole. If it wasnt that Sonic’s grave was defiled, then what was it? He stared at the mess, frozen.

“..What the hell?”

(and thats it! )

first fic ive ever written.. pls give feedback 🙏

#pull you from your guilt #zombic au #my fic #bowies art #?#sonic #sonadow #sonadow angst

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greenlanesc · 1 month ago

Text

When Every Second Counts: Greenlane SC’s Onboard Courier Service Explained

In today’s hyper-connected, globalized economy, speed is no longer a luxury—it’s a necessity. Whether it's a crucial piece of medical equipment, sensitive legal documentation, or vital aerospace components, there are shipments that cannot wait. In these critical moments, when every second truly counts, Greenlane SC’s Onboard Courier (OBC) Service stands as a beacon of reliability and urgency.

But what exactly is an Onboard Courier service? How does it work? And why has Greenlane SC become a trusted name in this field? In this blog, we’ll take a deep dive into the world of OBC, exploring how Greenlane SC delivers peace of mind along with packages—fast.

What is an Onboard Courier (OBC) Service?

Reliable Onboard Courier service, also known as hand-carry service, involves a dedicated professional (the courier) physically carrying critical goods as baggage on a commercial flight. Unlike traditional logistics services that move goods through distribution centers and cargo holds, OBC bypasses many layers, reducing the risk of delay, damage, or misplacement.

The result? A fast, secure, and personalized transport option ideal for time-sensitive or high-value shipments.

Greenlane SC takes this concept a step further by offering a comprehensive, white-glove OBC experience tailored to each client’s unique requirements.

Why Choose OBC Over Other Delivery Methods?

When you're racing against the clock, conventional freight options may fall short. International express courier services or air freight shipments typically follow rigid logistics protocols that leave little room for improvisation. Delays due to customs, security checks, or cargo handling mishaps can jeopardize the integrity of your delivery.

Greenlane SC’s Onboard Courier service eliminates many of these potential pitfalls:

Speed: OBC is one of the fastest methods of international delivery available.

Security: Your package never leaves the courier’s sight, from pickup to drop-off.

Real-Time Updates: Clients are updated at every checkpoint, offering total transparency.

Custom Handling: Packages are hand-carried, ensuring minimal jostling or risk of damage.

Greenlane SC’s Edge in OBC

While OBC services are not new, what sets Greenlane SC apart is its commitment to precision, planning, and people. Here’s what defines their approach:

1. Global Network of Couriers

Greenlane SC maintains a vetted, multilingual network of professional couriers across the globe. These individuals are not just delivery personnel—they are trained problem-solvers, capable of navigating complex travel itineraries, customs procedures, and last-minute changes with composure and professionalism.

2. 24/7/365 Availability

Emergencies don’t follow office hours, and neither does Greenlane SC. Their operations team is available around the clock, ready to deploy couriers at a moment’s notice. Whether it’s 3 AM in Tokyo or a public holiday in Paris, Greenlane SC ensures you’re never left waiting.

3. Tailored Solutions

Every OBC mission begins with a detailed consultation. What is being shipped? From where to where? What are the timing and customs considerations? Greenlane SC tailors every aspect of the mission based on these specifics—no cut-and-paste logistics here.

4. Technology-Enabled Tracking

In a world where transparency builds trust, Greenlane SC leverages the latest in GPS and mobile tech to keep clients informed. From pick-up to boarding, arrival, and delivery, real-time tracking and communication ensure you’re never in the dark.

Industries That Rely on OBC

Greenlane SC’s OBC services serve a wide variety of sectors where delays can cost time, money, or even lives.

💉 Medical & Healthcare

Time-critical medical equipment, organs for transplant, or life-saving pharmaceuticals can’t afford delays. OBC ensures that these shipments arrive precisely when needed, often with life-saving consequences.

✈️ Aerospace & Aviation

An aircraft grounded due to missing parts can cost tens of thousands per hour. Greenlane SC’s couriers ensure that essential components reach their destination rapidly, getting planes—and profits—back in the air.

🧪 Technology & Research

High-value semiconductors, lab samples, or prototypes often require controlled handling and ultra-fast delivery. OBC services ensure these delicate items are treated with the care and urgency they deserve.

🕴️ Corporate & Legal

Time-sensitive legal contracts, original documents, or confidential material benefit from the hand-carry service’s direct chain of custody and secure handling.

How the Process Works

Here’s a step-by-step look at how a typical Greenlane SC OBC mission unfolds:

Step 1: Request & Assessment

The client contacts Greenlane SC with shipment details. The team assesses feasibility, customs requirements, routes, and urgency before providing a quote and timeline.

Step 2: Courier Assignment

Once approved, a qualified courier—often located near the pickup point—is assigned. Their travel arrangements (flights, hotels, local transit) are booked immediately.

Step 3: Pickup

The courier collects the package, typically within hours. At this point, tracking begins, and the client receives regular status updates.

Step 4: In-Transit Monitoring

The courier boards a commercial flight with the shipment in carry-on or checked baggage (depending on size and regulations). The item remains under the courier’s supervision throughout.

Step 5: Delivery

Upon arrival, the courier clears customs and delivers the package by hand to the recipient—whether at a facility, airport, or private address.

Real-World Success Story

A global automotive supplier once contacted Greenlane SC at midnight with a critical request: a rare component needed to avoid a production line shutdown in Mexico. Within 90 minutes, Greenlane SC had a courier en route to Frankfurt, picked up the part, and boarded a flight to Mexico City. By the next afternoon, the part was hand-delivered to the plant, avoiding a multi-million dollar halt in production.

These are the kinds of high-stakes wins that define Greenlane SC’s impact.

The Human Factor

In a world increasingly dominated by automation and AI, it’s refreshing to see a service where people remain central. Greenlane SC’s OBC isn’t just about moving goods—it’s about problem-solving, adapting, and delivering under pressure. Their logistics service are not just carriers but custodians of client trust.

Conclusion

When the stakes are high and delays are not an option, Greenlane SC’s Onboard Courier Service offers unmatched speed, security, and reliability. From start to finish, they prioritize urgency, precision, and peace of mind—ensuring your shipment is not just delivered fast, but delivered right.

If you’re ever in a situation where every second counts, you now know who to call.

#freight forwarding company Singapore #hand carry services #Humidity controlled storage #international freight forwarder Singapore

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historyofguns · 9 months ago

Link

The article "How to Store a Gun for Home Defense" by Richard Johnson, published on The Armory Life, outlines the importance of balancing speed of access with security when storing firearms for home defense. It emphasizes evaluating one's circumstances, such as the presence of children, to decide on appropriate storage methods. The article discusses different storage strategies, including exposed storage, hidden storage, and secure lock boxes. Exposed storage offers quick access but lacks security, while hidden storage utilizes concealment to prevent unauthorized access. Lock boxes are highlighted as a secure method offering fast access to authorized users, suitable for both handguns and rifles. The author suggests practicing accessing firearms to ensure readiness in emergencies and finding a storage solution that works best for the individual's specific home defense needs.

#gun storage #firearm safety #gun safes #biometric safes #trigger locks #cable locks #gun cabinets #humidity control #ammunition storage #childproofing firearms #home security #safe room #gun vault #firearm responsibility #legal gun ownership #firearm insurance

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pearlypairings · 1 year ago

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I wish you’d write a fic where Trip finds out T’Pol is ticklish

your wish is my command! so much so, that I also posted this ficlet on ao3 as my first ever fic for Enterprise<3

trip x t'pol || fluff, humor, banter || ~1k wc

“You know, when I got the pitch to join Starfleet, I was promised unimaginable adventure, opportunity for technological innovation, a chance to advance mankind in the unchartered territory of space,” Trip lamented, shimmying his upper body to lay flat on his back. “No one mentioned the hours I’d spend trapped in a cargo box with our First Officer.”

T’Pol did not budge; she laid extremely still. In fact, if Trip’s eyes hadn’t adjusted from the past few hours of being held here in the pitch black, he would have been more concerned she’d passed out or fell into some weird Vulcan stasis. But he could see her chest inflate and shrink ever so slightly with what could be made out in the darkness of their snug crate.

They had been sent on an exploration mission for discreet observation only, no contact allowed with the vulnerable, primitive species on the newly discovered M-class Planet. But when their transport had been unintentionally found by the native humanoid species during a windstorm, they’d set it aflame along with most of their medical and survival supplies. Their comms were able to reach the Enterprise, but the transporter pads had already been halted for routine maintenance and would take hours to be put back online.

Instructed to hide safely away from the paranoid populace, Trip and T’pol followed orders and snuck into a storage lot, quickly picking an inconspicuous box to stow away in when the lot was inundated by workers. They had to wait inside, even after the area mostly cleared for midday meals, until their transporter pads or a rescue team would be dispatched. Armed with only phase pistols and communicators, they were hardly enjoying the hours cramped together without any breaks or provisions.

Trip tried to stretch his neck out, but the top of his head met resistance with the scrap wood surrounding them. A bead of disappointed sweat slipped down his spine. He sighed.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were dead. Anybody home?”

She stirred, just a little, near his left side. Her voice kept unusually quiet despite how close they were to each other.

“I would not call this a ‘home,’ Commander Tucker. I also find our predicament exceedingly unpleasant and am trying to meditate until we are free to return to Enterprise.”

“Meditate? Is that all you Vulcans do, meditate? Can you meditate this box to be bigger—because my legs….even my arms….are killin’ me.” Trip said with biting sarcasm, gradually uncurling his elbows maneuvering within the confines of their temporary prison.

“Vulcans do meditate regularly to control our emotions. Something you would likely greatly benefit from, it seems.” T’pol said coolly. “Here, allow me to move so you can have more space for your limbs and your untempered feelings.”

As the slender Vulcan acquiesced to her side allowing him to press his hands out and down, something peculiar happened. His fingers grazed T’pol’s side with the motion—they’d both moved simultaneously, getting in each other’s way as a result. Despite the heat and humid climate, her suit was fairly dry and cooler than his palm, a relief actually from the suffocating heat. Trip could feel the gentle curve of her rib, and for a moment, he wondered if Vulcan women had the same number of ribs as the human counterpart. His musing didn’t last long as his fingers found the dip of her waist and with it, a hard knee in his thigh and the galaxy’s tiniest squeak. Luckily, his pistol was hitched to his other side, outside of where T’pol could flinch into him.

“Commander, please remove your hand—” T’pol pressed out, squirming uncomfortably and still deeply puncturing his leg with her knee. She sucked in a deep breath. “My side is….sensitive. I am afraid I will hurt you or worse, ruin the mission by being located.”

His hand retreated with the bend of his elbow, letting the rough surface of the wood scratch at his skin. Trip’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you tellin’ me you’re ticklish?”

Her pinned effort to drill a hole into his leg relaxed with the absence of his stretch. T’pol shifted beside him to move onto her back once more, stiffening her arms across her chest.

“I am saying that sensation is extremely…discomforting.”

“I didn’t know Vulcans, with all their peace and control nonsense, could be tickled.” Trip said in awe. A chuckle tumbled out as he turned to face her and at the same time, allow more space for her.

“I assure you this is not typical.”

“Still, I’m keeping note of that for a later date.”

“Hmm,” she murmured. Even in the dark haze of their box, her profile looked pointed and pretty. There was no denying that.

“You know, I was thinkin’—”

Trip’s offer was cut off by the sound of his communicator's incoming signal beeping. Archer’s voice filled the hollow of their box.

“Commander Tucker, T’pol. We’re ready to extract you from the location designated by your communicators. Hold tight a little longer and we’ll have you back on board in no time.”

Trip clicked his receiver. “Message received, sir. Get the mess hall ready for us, ‘cause I’m starving.”

“I’ll turn that request into an order, Trip. See you sooner than later. Archer Out.”

T’pol turned back on her side, slowly this time to look at him. He could barely see the faint reflection of her eyes as she stared at him in the restored silence.

“If you make anyone aware on the Enterprise, Commander Tucker—” “Alright, alright. I know a threat when I hear one. I swear on my dear mother I won’t say a word to anyone else…..” He smirked. “For now. You’ll owe me one.”

#star trek enterprise #trip x t'pol #tripol #star trek fanfiction #fluff #cute banter

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eatyoursparkout · 2 years ago

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hello! this ask is prompted by a recent reblog of yours about rubber preservation. I'd love to hear your thoughts relating to TFs and preservation and plastics. what should folks know? any best practices for storage? do you think there's another way manufacturers could produce them to make them more hardy? etc etc. thanks :)

Sure! I'm not a conservator by trade (and even within conservation plastics are still somewhat of a new and niche thing), but I can offer some general advice.

The tl;dr is that like 90% of other materials your best bet is to keep them clean, out of strong light, in an environment that isn't too hot or too cold, and to avoid temperature/relative humidity (RH) fluctuations as much as possible. And above all, make sure that they're well-ventilated.

The tl;dr tl;dr is that plastics just suck.

More detail under the cut! (...Lots of detail. Sorry.)

There's 2 main problems with plastics.

The first is that a lot of them are just kind of inherently unstable. Unlike a nice chemically stable material like glass, they want to deteriorate when exposed to things like....oxygen. Rip. And once damage has set in, it's basically impossible to reverse/treat.

The second is that there's really no regulations or standards when it comes to the manufacture of plastics. There's a bazillion different types, and even if you're able to identify the specific kind via chemical test (and this often damages the object in question) it's almost impossible to know what other kinds of additives went into the plastic soup that created the thing in front of you. This also makes it really hard to develop a standardized approach to caring for and treating plastics, because two things can react wildly differently even if they appear virtually the same.

That means that when it comes to plastics, preventative conservation is the name of the game. You want to mitigate the effects of the agents of deterioration on the object as much as possible. And in the meantime, make peace with the fact that nothing can be preserved indefinitely :')

TFwiki has an article talking about the common types of plastic used in TF figures, which is neat and useful. Gonna hazard a guess that most figures are predominantly ABS, which is great because it's a fairly sturdy hard plastic that probably won't show effects for a while. I'd be statistically more concerned about figures with squishy, rubbery bits (looking with apprehension at my Kingdom line BW figures).

So! While the ideal environment for plastics is cold, dark, dry and oxygen-free (lol), when it comes to personal collections you can obviously only take reasonable measures. They're in our homes, not a vault. The main things you want to keep in mind:

Light fades and discolours plastic over time, and can eventually cause certain kinds to become brittle. The more lux that your figures are exposed to, the faster that's going to happen. So while it's not reasonable for your house to maintain museum-level lighting or shell out for fancy UV filtered cases, I'd keep your displays out of direct sunlight at minimum.

High temperatures can increase the rate of oxidation, and low ones can encourage shrinkage and brittleness. Either one can do damage over time, but what's worse is fluctuations in temp that force the material to weather one extreme to the other. If you've got your figures in a storage unit or something, a climate controlled one would be ideal, or at least insulating the box so that they're kept at a more stable temp. In the home, I'd keep them away from any vents/heaters.

As far as humidity goes, it's less damaging to plastics than a lot of other materials, but you still want to avoid any large fluctuations that will cause the material to expand and shrink (and eventually crack). Wherever you're storing your figures, try to make sure it's somewhere <65% RH (this is a high cutoff compared to most materials, so your home is probably fine unless you live somewhere humid without A/C).

Pollutants are a big one for plastics. Dust can cause microabrasions and damage over time, so keeping your figures clean is a good idea. I'd use a soft brush to avoid scratching your figures, or a lightly moist swab of some kind. Don't risk any kind of chemical cleaners, bleach, vinegar, etc. and I'd even avoid compressed air to be safe. If you want to be really careful about it, wash your hands before handling your figures. Humans carry all kinds of oil and dirt on their fingers- that's why museum professionals are often wearing gloves.

And then there's the problem of off-gassing...

Plastics can unfortunately give off vapours that can negatively affect other plastics in their vicinity. The especially bad ones are called malignant plastics (evil, scary), but it's hard to ID them until they start falling apart or damaging the things around them. Best course of action is to reduce contact between different figures (pose them together, but maybe don't leave someone's hand on someone else's shoulder for five years), and make sure that there's good ventilation.

If you're going to box up figures, don't be like me and store them in your parents' basement for years in an airtight container :') Go for a more pourous material like archival grade corrugated board, and use something as a buffer between figures like polyethylene bags/sheeting so that they're not touching (there's pros and cons to sealing each individual figure in a polyethylene bag- it'll be trapped with its own gases which could speed up deterioration, but the microclimate will keep it from affecting other figures around it).

And if you have boxed figures.... either commit to leaving them boxed forever or crack those bad boys open. My partner opened up their Pacific Rim figures after several years of them stewing in their own vapours and sadly they ended up falling apart in their hands. Thanks NECA.

As for manufacturing, you'd have to ask a chemist! I'm not sure exactly what it is that turns certain plastics to gunk and causes others to shatter, but I'm sure standardizing the way we make them would go a long way. Unfortunately, the stuff that's going to better for the planet in the long run (biodegradable) is also going to deteriorate quicker by design, so that's a whole other issue.

Anyway! That's a lot of info, but I hope it was an interesting and/or helpful introduction to plastic care lol. If you're interested in more thorough reading, I'll direct you to the CCI's handy dandy free online resource. They're an invaluable resource for all kinds of materials care.

#oh and mechanical wear is obviously also a problem like #if you're constantly transforming your figures or moving their limbs eventually they'll break under the stress. but ymmv #my approach to plastics at work is to pick up the object. sigh deeply. and then put it in a drawer where we can keep an eye on it lmao. so #book.answers

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iamarealkat · 1 year ago

Text

SECOND COURSE - KITCHEN

(or at least the main parts i recognized)

mads mikkelsen and lydia hearst for "euroman", april 2010 by kenneth willardt.

1. GE Monogram 36" Rangetop

First up, the rangetop. Unlike a cooktop, which sets into a pre-cut space in a counter or island, a rangetop overflows the sides and extends beyond the boundaries of the counter with front-facing knobs. This unit in particular is the GE Monogram 36" Rangetop (ZGU366NPSS), with an MSRP of $3400, reversible grates, and six 18,000 BTU power boil burners.

2. 30" GE Monogram Tri-Zone Counter Depth Integrated Refrigerator

Next, a dual installation of 30" GE Monogram Tri-Zone Counter-Depth Integrated Refrigerators (ZIC30GNHIl, shown with optional custom panels for seamless appearance). With an MSRP of $6999 each, these units are made more shallow, known in the industry as counter-depth, to integrate properly with standard cabinetry. Featuring fridge, freezer, and convertible middle-drawer climate zones, this unit has a capacity of 14.09 cu. ft. overall, per unit. It has two separate sealed systems for constant temperature control, and uses the first HFC-Free refrigerant, which has a lower global-warming impact.

3. 30" GE Monogram European Convection Double Wall Oven

A 30" GE Monogram European Convection Double Wall Oven (ZET2SHSS). An MSRP of $5300, with two 5.0 cu. ft. capacity oven cavities. With easy-to-clean all-glass interior door panels, both self-clean and steam-clean options, ten-pass baking elements, and two True European Convection ovens, these units boast convection bake and roast features with closed-door broiling as to not overheat a kitchen, and a built-in temperature probe for perfectly cooked roasts. It also offers a proof mode to assist dough-rising for avid bakers, convection conversion as to not overcook standard recipes, can be monitored remotely with use of a smart phone and GE's WiFi Connect app, and is programmable in both Celsius and Fahrenheit.

4. GE Monogram 240v Built In Oven with Advantium Speedcook Technology

Behold, the GE Monogram 240v Built In Oven with Advantium Speedcook Technology (ZSC2201JSS).

This bad chicken has an MSRP of $3200 and has settings for Speedcook, microwave, convection, and warming. What the hell is Speedcook? It's a combination of microwaves and convection, delivering results up to eight times faster than conventional cooking, and without the need for pre-heating. This thing can reheat, microwave, toast, brown, bake, and gently warm to your heart's content, and has the ability to remember custom recipes.

5. 30" GE Monogram Warming Drawer

Next up, the 30" GE Monogram Warming Drawer (ZW9000SJSS). With an MSRP of $1600, this drawer has a 1.9 cu. ft. capacity, and has variable temperature settings of anything from 75*F to 230*F, and humidity controls from crisp to moist. Gross. It also has a half-rack so you can store more on the inside, and has ball-bearing glides so it pulls out and closes smoothly while making that soothing whoosh noise.

6. 24" GE Monogram Undercabinet Wine Reserve

We also have the 24" GE Monogram Undercabinet Wine Reserve (ZDWR240HBS). With a cool MSRP of $2000, undercabinet wine refrigerators are notoriously tricky because of their front-facing venting needs. If you suffocate refrigerators, even small ones, (like humans) they die.

This fridge features cooling settings suitable to red or white wines, full-extension sliding racks with both horizontal and vertical storage, and has a capacity of 5.5 cu. ft, or 57 bottles.

Hannibal also, apparently, does not believe in dishwashers-panel-ready, drawer-style or otherwise.

What he does believe in? Is coffee, apparently:

7. Royal Paris Vacuum Balancing Coffee Siphon by Royal Coffee Maker

This, dear Fannibals, is a Royal Paris Vacuum Balancing Coffee Siphon, specifically noted by Bryan Fuller to be crafted by Royal Coffee Maker.

Handmade by artisans with affordable materials such as genuine Baccarat Crystal, malachite, copper, obsidian, azurite, and plating of silver and 24k gold, these start at the low, low price of approximately $15,500.

Hannibal's model is the Royal Classic finished in silver, on a Piano Black base. It is, perhaps surprisingly or unsurprisingly, the most tasteful and least ostentatious of all available models.

This brings the approximate total of all Hannibal's kitchen appliances, plus or minus a few of the minor ones, to $45,000.

8. Additionally in his stolen borrowed home in Florence: La Cornue 43" CornuFé Range

In 1908, in the heart of Paris, Albert Dupuy ignited the flame of elite cuisine. It was there that Dupuy premiered the world's first convection oven. At the time, most ovens were mere flat-topped cavities that held racks suspended over a fire. The majority of people simply considered cooking to be heating food to eat. But Dupuy pondered: "What does it really mean to cook?" He developed his oven with a vaulted ceiling to usher heat around the food, rather than trapping it to burn beneath. To enable optimum precision, the oven drew upon the city gas lines that were winding their way to homes and street lamps throughout the City of Light. Dupuy christened the oven La Cornue after the French term cornue - the system for refining the gas that warmed the new creation.

Each range is made by hand and the labor is intensive. Each worker is a specialist, understanding the greater goal.

However they are not just craftsmen, but companions to each range along its journey from inception to crated final product. They are experts in steel, copper and brass, inspired by great design, working as a team to create an inspired tradition.

True excellence can only be achieved when every step in the process is in pursuit of perfection.

For over 100 years, La Cornue has continued to build upon Albert's initial convection innovation and they've expanded the designs and introduced new styles. As a result, the name La Cornue is supposed to represent a renowned spirit.

Hannibal's version runs about $10,000.

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