#pavement components

[srjsteel]

Why Construction Rings Matter Even in Pavement Engineering

Dowel bars in rigid pavement function as important load transfer devices that distribute weight across concrete slabs, stopping differential agreement and extending pavement lifespans. These essential additives require the right spacing and alignment, which is where construction rings emerge as valuable. Super Rings and similar construction rings provide the necessary support framework to maintain dowel bar positioning during concrete pouring, ensuring structural integrity throughout the pavement's service life.

The Critical Role in Infrastructure Longevity

The placement of dowel bars in inflexible pavement requires precision that cannot be performed through guide methods alone. When improperly hooked up, these bars fail to transfer loads efficiently, leading to untimely pavement deterioration and costly repairs. Construction rings manufactured to strict tolerances help maintain exact positioning during the critical concrete pouring phase. The correlation between properly installed dowel bars in rigid pavement and extended service life makes these seemingly small components remarkably significant.

Quality Super Rings feature corrosion-resistant materials that resist harsh conditions both during production and throughout the pavement's lifetime. This durability ensures that the dowel bars in inflexible pavement hold their positioning and functionality many years after installation, maintaining the structural integrity that highway departments and transportation authorities demand.

Engineering Benefits Beyond Basic Support

Construction rings contribute to pavement performance through multiple engineering mechanisms. Beyond simply holding dowel bars in rigid pavement, they provide proper alignment that ensures smooth load transfer across joints. This alignment minimizes the development of step faults between adjacent concrete slabs, maintaining ride quality and reducing vehicle damage.

Professional contractors recognize that Super Rings offer superior dimensional stability compared to generic alternatives. This stability translates into consistent dowel bar positioning, which proves crucial when temperature fluctuations cause concrete expansion and contraction. The predictable behavior of properly installed dowel bars in rigid pavement depends significantly on the quality of construction rings used during installation.

Economic Impact on Project Lifecycle

Initial material costs often drive purchasing decisions, but experienced engineers understand that construction rings represent a minimal percentage of total project expenses while significantly impacting long-term performance. The difference between premium Super Rings and substandard alternatives might be negligible in upfront costs but substantial in lifecycle value.

Highway departments increasingly specify performance requirements for dowel bars in rigid pavement that can only be achieved with precision-engineered construction rings. These specifications recognize that proper load transfer across joints reduces maintenance frequency and extends rehabilitation intervals, generating substantial taxpayer savings over decades of service.

Installation Considerations and Best Practices

Construction rings must be selected based on assignment-specific requirements including concrete thickness, predicted traffic loads, and environmental conditions. Heavy-duty Super Rings offer the stability needed for highways experiencing significant truck traffic, while standard construction rings might suffice for lighter applications. This selection process requires understanding how dowel bars in rigid pavement perform under varying load scenarios.

Temperature considerations during installation affect concrete behavior, making adjustable construction rings particularly valuable in extreme climates. The thermal expansion properties of concrete create forces that can displace dowel bars in rigid pavement unless properly secured with high-quality construction rings designed to resist these pressures.

Advancements in Materials and Design

Modern Super Rings incorporate innovative materials that resist construction-related impacts and vibration while maintaining dimensional stability. These advancements address historical challenges with dowel bar movement during concrete placement and vibration, enhancing the performance reliability of dowel bars in rigid pavement.

Forward-thinking pavement engineers continuously evaluate how construction rings interact with new concrete formulations and pouring techniques. This evolving relationship between materials and methodology drives incremental improvements in how construction rings support and position dowel bars in rigid pavement, resulting in more durable infrastructure with reduced maintenance requirements.

The seemingly small decision about which construction rings to specify can significantly impact pavement durability.

[savi0rr]

love the viktor with wife scenarios!! can u do one where they're on a date and COINCIDENTALLY (or not) jayce and mel found them!

prollt viktor saying "I genuinely dont know why my brain stops whenever I'm looking st you. Maybe I'm going crazy"

silly arguments and all

jayce finally realizes that viktor indeed has a wife

Sneaky Wife .ᐟ

Viktor x Fem! Wife! Reader

In which, planning dates can be a little difficult, having to sneak around and all. But in the end, it’s all worth it…kinda.

a/n: thank you, queen, for requesting I was starting to run out of ideas

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Are you ready?” Viktor asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper, as he tilted his head to the side, his expression serious yet curious. He slowly rose from the bed, gripping his cane tightly, the faint creak of floorboards accompanying his movement. You nodded enthusiastically, wanting to convey your eagerness as you applied the final touches to your outfit at the vanity. “Yes!” you replied cheerfully, your excitement evident as you stood up to face him. With a playful smile, you twirled slowly, letting the fabric of your attire flow around you before your eyes landed back on him. 

Viktor remained silent for a moment, his gaze roving over your carefully chosen ensemble, taking in every detail from the subtle embellishments to the way the colors complemented you. He finally nodded, his voice a gentle murmur as he said, “Looks good,” though his eyes flickered to the side, betraying a hint of something unspoken.

With a playful smirk, you walked over to him, your confidence shining through. “You don’t look too bad yourself,” you teased, winking at him. However, the playful banter was met with an intense glare from Viktor. He huffed in response, his tone light but firm as he said, “Don’t push it,” before taking a step out of the room, the doorframe silhouetting his figure.

You giggled at his reaction, a lightness filling the air as you quickly followed after him. “Wait up!” you called out, your laughter ringing as you hurried to catch up. Viktor rolled his eyes at your antics, a suppressed smile threatening to escape despite his attempts at maintaining a façade of annoyance.

Meanwhile, in a different part of Piltover, Jayce had enlisted Mel to help him pick up some parts for a groundbreaking new project he was working on. However, these components were decidedly illegal in the city, necessitating a late-night excursion to retrieve them. The two of them walked cautiously down the quiet, dimly lit street, their eyes darting over their shoulders intermittently, ensuring they weren’t being followed.

Abruptly, Jayce halted, coming to a stop right in front of Mel, forcing her to pause as well. “Jayce?” she asked, an eyebrow arched in question, curiosity and concern mingling in her voice. The atmosphere grew thick with anticipation as a sense of urgency settled between them, both aware of the risks that loomed ahead.

“Shh!” Jayce hissed urgently as he quickly maneuvered Mel away from the open street, guiding her behind the rough stone wall of an old building that stood in shadow. The air was thick with tension as he peered around the corner, prying his eyes from the dark to glimpse you and Viktor stepping onto the pavement ahead. A sly smile crept across Jayce's face; he raised an eyebrow, tilting his head in curiosity before letting out a knowing smirk. “That’s definitely his wife,” he muttered under his breath, a glint of mischief flashing in his eyes.

His hands moved swiftly, and without a moment's hesitation, he shoved the heavy box filled with intricate, expensive parts into a nearby trash can, the metallic clang echoing slightly in the stillness of the night. Mel’s eyes widened in disbelief, her face shifting from confusion to incredulity. “You just spent a fortune on those parts, and you’re dumping them?!” she exclaimed, her voice low but fierce. She peered over his shoulder, her expression transforming into one of utter disbelief. “Seriously?” she added dryly, disbelief dripping from her words.

Jayce shrugged nonchalantly, a flicker of nonchalance in his demeanor despite the seriousness of the moment. “I highly doubt anyone will see these,” he replied, casting a glance back at the box, half-buried in the refuse. He was trying to appear dismissive, but Mel's worry hung in the air like a thick fog. Mel sighed, exasperation etched on her features as she shook her head, her frustration palpable. “You’re lucky I’m invested in this,” she muttered, her voice laced with a mix of annoyance and affection. 

Jayce flashed her a quick, reassuring smile before darting after you and Viktor, a flicker of determination evident in his stride. 

Meanwhile, you walked alongside Viktor, who moved carefully, his crutch tapping rhythmically against the concrete sidewalk with every determined step he took. Small huffs escaped his lips, a testament to the effort he was exerting. Concern gnawed at you as you glanced over, an eyebrow raised in genuine worry. “Viktor, love, what did I say about pushing yourself?” you gently admonished, coming to a halt to face him head-on. 

Viktor paused, his brow furrowing deeply as he looked up at you, a familiar defiance stirring in his eyes. “I’m fine,” he muttered, though the weariness in his voice betrayed him. He straightened slightly, trying to project confidence, but you could see the tension in his posture, the subtle signs that he was indeed straining against his limits. The night felt heavy with unspoken concerns, but you knew better than to push him too hard—he’d always had a stubborn streak.

“When did you develop an attitude?” you teased playfully, tilting your head to the side with a sly smirk dancing on your lips. Viktor's cheeks flushed a faint shade of pale red, indicating his slight embarrassment. “I do not have an attitude,” he grumbled defensively, shifting his weight against his crutch for support. He hesitated for a moment, avoiding your gaze, then looked back up at you, his expression softening as he added, “I’ll... slow down.” The admission seemed to hang in the air, suggesting he preferred to concede rather than endure a lengthy lecture from you, which he knew all too well could stretch on for twenty minutes.

Just then, Jayce and Mel peeked around the corner, their curiosity piqued by the playful exchange. Jayce raised an eyebrow, a confused frown creasing his forehead as he grumbled to himself, clearly struggling to decipher the conversation between you and Viktor. Mel, ever the pragmatist, rolled her eyes at Jayce's low mumble before quickly covering his mouth with her hand. “Be quiet,” she muttered under her breath, her tone a mixture of exasperation and amusement, before her gaze shifted back to you and Viktor, a look of mild concern on her face, wondering how the two of you would continue.

You and Viktor had made it to a small grassy area near a serene little water body. The two of you settled onto a wooden bench, and Viktor let out a small sigh of relief, feeling his body relax. You giggled and raised an eyebrow. “Feeling better?” you asked, tilting your head to the side. Viktor nodded and placed his crutch beside the bench. “I told you so,” you said teasingly, leaning in closer to his ear. 

Viktor tensed up and shot you a glare. “Don’t even start,” he muttered, a frown creeping onto his face. You giggled again, leaning in even closer. “Don’t start what, dear?” you asked, your hand slowly inching toward his. As your fingers brushed against him, he shivered. Viktor gulped. “You’re… making it quite hard to think straight,” he admitted, feeling his heart start to beat faster than usual. You fluttered your lashes at him, giving him an innocent look. Viktor clicked his tongue in response.

As the night draped its dark cloak over the forest, a tense atmosphere enveloped the scene. From their concealed vantage point behind the twisted trunks and thick underbrush, Jayce and Mel peered intently at you and Viktor. Their hearts raced with a mix of curiosity and dread, torn between the urge to remain hidden and the inexplicable desire to unearth the secrets unfolding before them. They were acutely aware that they were trespassing into a realm of mysteries that were never intended for their eyes.

Jayce, driven by an urgent impulse, shifted slightly closer, doing his best to remain concealed amidst the foliage. Yet, with a fateful crack, his foot stumbled upon a weathered branch, shattering the silence that enveloped the woods like a heavy fog. The sharp sound pierced the air, causing you and Viktor to instinctively turn your heads toward the disturbance. “Maybe it was just an animal?” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, glancing sideways at Viktor for reassurance. His silence spoke volumes; his focus was riveted on the shadowy treeline ahead, his expression a mixture of alarm and intrigue.

As if responding to your tension, the thick clouds overhead began to part, bathing the forest in a soft, ethereal glow from the moon. This pale light created dancing shadows among the trees, casting an enchanting yet eerie aura. Viktor’s eyes widened in realization as he caught sight of indistinct shapes lurking within the misty darkness. Confusion painted your features; you leaned back slightly, your heart pounding. “Oh gosh,” you breathed incredulously, the realization dawning upon you. In that moment, Viktor’s grip on your hand tightened instinctively, a silent promise of protection as both apprehension and curiosity swirled in the air around you.

Jayce and Mel exchanged wary glances, a shared understanding passing between them as they realized they had been caught in the act. Jayce let out a long, heavy sigh, the weight of their situation pressing down on him, and he slowly stepped into the dim light, the shadows relinquishing their hold. Mel followed suit, her own resigned sigh escaping her lips, a testament to the gravity of the moment. 

“Viktor…” Jayce began, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with an undercurrent of nervousness that betrayed his calm exterior. Viktor’s brow knitted together in confusion, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the unexpected presence of his friends. “What on earth are you doing here?” he asked, a mix of irritation and concern evident in his voice.

Jayce and Mel exchanged another glance, each hesitant to completely articulate the truth lingering in the air. Mel stepped closer to Viktor, a determined yet uncertain look in her eyes. “Well, Viktor,” she started, her voice faltering slightly as she struggled to find the right words. “It’s hard to explain,” she continued, glancing away momentarily, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.

“It was my idea,” Jayce interjected, his voice firm yet gentle as he placed a reassuring hand on Mel’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he added, his eyes drifting down to their interlocked hands in a moment of vulnerability. As he glanced from their fingers to Viktor’s face, something clicked in his mind—the unmistakable sight of Viktor’s own wedding ring. The realization hit him like a wave, and suddenly, the gravity of their situation became all too clear.

“I hope you can forgive me,” Jayce said quietly, breaking eye contact as he looked away, unable to fully meet Viktor’s gaze. The tension hung thick in the air, a palpable mixture of fear, regret, and the lingering hope for understanding..

Viktor remained still for a moment, the air heavy with unspoken words, before he slowly pushed himself to stand. With deliberate movements, he grasped his crutch, its polished wood glinting softly in the fading light, and tucked it firmly under his arm. You felt a sense of urgency bubbling inside you, compelling you to follow his lead. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jayce,” Viktor murmured, his voice low and almost reflective, before beginning to make his way down the path. You quickened your pace, eager to keep up with him.

As you both faded into the growing shadows, Jayce stood anchored in place, eyes locked on your retreating figures, his expression a mix of curiosity and contemplation. “Did you see that?” Mel broke the silence, her arms crossing tightly over her chest, a hint of disbelief in her tone. Jayce stared after you and Viktor for a moment longer, then nodded slowly, the gears in his mind clearly turning. “Matching rings,” he finally said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, feeling the rough stubble there. “I didn’t know Viktor was that kind of guy.” His words hung in the air, laden with surprise and perhaps a touch of admiration, as they both processed the moment they had just witnessed.

[angelically-yours]

Disease | Billy Butcher x Female Reader Oneshot | 18+ SMUT MDNI!!!

Plot: After the disaster with Neuman and the supe-killing virus, you find yourself trailing alongside Butcher on whatever road trip he’s taking you on. Where? He won’t say but the car ride is long and silent. You’re terrified of him, for obvious reasons, after seeing what he was capable of, but you both still can’t help but feel the tension from before, despite his new powers.

Warnings: Porn with some plot, Reader uses fem pronouns/fem anatomy, mentions of blood and canon violence, NO use of y/n, smoking, DUBCON(???), Butcher is meaaaan and manipulative/slightly ooc uses his tentacles to stimulate you but no penetration, teasing, nipple play, Unprotected PinV (don’t be dumb, plz wrap it), doggy position, nicknames (Pup, Dove, Love, etc.), swearing, downright filthy I’m so sorry-

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: It’s here!! I wasn’t expecting so much love and enthusiasm for this prompt so I can’t thank you guys enough for this! ❤️ please enjoy! I’m so sorry this took so long 😭

A disease, as defined by Merriam-Webster, refers to a condition that disrupts the normal operations of a living organism or its components. This condition is typically marked by specific signs and symptoms. Merriam-Webster also defies a disease as a disordered state of the mind or intellect, or a corrupt state of morals in society.

There is no better way to describe William Butcher than that.

You were currently stopped at a gas station in Bumfuck, Nowhere. Somewhere just on the border of New Jersey and Pennsylvania. Billy was pumping gas as you came out with a slushy in hand. Cherry mixed with Coke, of course. You tossed the plastic bag full of snacks into the passenger seat through the window, gazing up over the hood of the black Cadillac to him.  It had only been over an hour since what happened with Neuman, the memory surging through your veins and swirling in your stomach.  You saw it all. You were right there next to Hughie discussing with the rest of the team on how to use the virus and Victoria against Homelander. Her daughter was right there. Butcher went MIA after passing out in a bar days ago, so imagine your surprise when he showed up, looking like when you first met. The color in his skin was back, the menacing light in his eyes returned. You knew that look. You remember the gross black tendrils that ripped through his chest towards Victoria. The sound of blood splattering on the pavement was engraved, on a broken record, ringing through your ears. Butcher’s large hand engulfing your bicep took you out of your daze of deep red, meeting his icy blue stare. His voice was a low rumble. “Yer with me, luv’.”  He called out to the rest of the team who was just in as much shock as you. “Oh, by the way…” “You’re all fuckin’ welcome.”

The next thing you knew, you were here, as if waking up from a nightmare. Only the nightmare was real. “Where are we even going, Butcher?” You asked over the hood. His nose scrunched up a little, annoyed by the question you’ve been asking for the last hour. “Come off it, luv… do I need to remind ya of what happened? Could jog yer memory…” He threatened with a low timbre. This wasn’t the Butcher you worked with over 5 years ago. This was some other monster and you hated him. Without another word, you got back into the car with him and he began to drive again. The only sound was the soft drone of the wet and dark road under the tires. The soft glow of street lights as they passed illuminated his face. Your eyes drifted down to where his jaw met his neck. A small, black, worm-like creature under his skin snaked its way up his jaw towards his ear, making goosebumps form on your arms. You quickly looked away, looking back to the road.

A couple minutes later, his voice cut through the silence harshly.

“Fuck off, mate…”

It startled you a little, making your shoulder move up in a soft jump. You’ve heard him mumble to himself before, but he was more confident with it now. You recall a memory…

MM had just kicked Butcher out of TruthCon. Butcher was rightfully pissed. You decided to follow shortly after getting a talking to from MM after he nearly knocked out Billy and by the time you approached…

“Oi, fuck off…” Butcher’s voice carried through the empty backlot, as did the sound of one of his recent coughing fits.

Did he spot you? You grew closer and he turned, his reddened eyes meeting yours. He looked pale, sickly.

“Sorry… I’m just trying to understand why you have been acting this way.” you prodded.

He let out that stupid signature smirk followed by a scoff.

“Don’t know what ya mean, luv… I’m just tryin’ to get shit done around ‘ere. Got no time to sit around jerkin’ these fuckwits off and doin’ fuck all while Sage is in there.” As he rambled, his eyes went back behind him. You could see the look of confusion as if he was… looking for someone.

“Hey, I’m not done yelling at you.” You teased, trying to lighten the mood and get him back to your eyes. When his steel eyes met yours again, he shook his head softly, parting his lips to speak again. There was a silence, a moment of understanding as he looked at you.

“Come on then… Boys’ll need us…”

You settled onto the slightly damp sheets of the cheap motel. The only sound was the drone of the rickety air conditioning unit. It was ungodly humid so you went to crack the front door open, just to be stopped by a large hand snaking from behind you. Butcher’s warmth radiated from his coat through your flannel shirt and jeans. Too close. “It’s humid.” you spoke sternly. “You’ll live.” He replied shortly before securing the gold latch above your hand. You didn’t even give him a chance to sit before finally hitting that breaking point. “Okay, what the fuck is going on?” You placed your hands on your hips, like a disgruntled parent.  He looked at you incredulously, raising an eyebrow and letting out a short laugh through his nose. “Don’t know what ya mean, luv.” He replied, taking off his trench coat. Your eyes couldn’t help but dart to his arms, those same arms that you wished would wrap around your head and- Nope. Not right now. Push that thought away.

“How about we start with you disappearing for three days straight and then coming back all of a sudden looking like you didn’t have cancer?” You asked, your tone sharp.

Butcher looked at you, pausing in his steps momentarily. Like you were actually getting through to him…

“You took V. And you didn’t tell me.” You spat once more, standing taller. Braver.

“And don’t even get me started on all this secrecy, me not knowing where we’re going, why you dragged me into this without asking me?”

“But you came along anyway, didn’ ya? Obedient pup, you are…” he mumbled, his smile challenging. That damn smirk…

In a way, he was right. You didn’t have to follow, but you did. You didn’t ignore the flutter in your stomach at that name either.

‘Pup’.

“I promised I was in this with you until the end didn’t I? After TruthCon? After what happened with Ezekiel?” You reminded him, your voice gentler. You moved your hands to cross your arms.

He looked at you, studied you. Like he was looking at a ghost. But he went back to his duffle, his tone low.

“Yeah… ya did. Guess that’s why I picked ya…” he replied, a rasp to his voice.

The room fell silent suddenly and you took the opportunity to take a shower after a long day.

The water wasn’t hot, but warm enough. The shampoo dried out your hair and the conditioner was useless. With a sigh, you used the small bar of soap to rinse off the grime of the day, your eyes landing on a drop of blood in your arm.

Nueman’s blood…

You scrubbed at it until your skin was raw, the warm water from the shower only making things worse. But you didn’t care. No matter how hard you scrubbed, it was still there. Under the surface, spreading like a fungus to your hammering heart.

Just breathe. It’s over, You tell yourself. It’s all over…

When you exited the shower, you were alone. Each bed empty and the door outside to the balcony propped open with the safety latch. Wrapping the stiff towel around you, you padded across the damp feeling carpet towards the front door, peeking through the crack.

Billy was outside, smoking a cigarette. The cherry red end lit up his lower half, catching the shine of some grey hairs that stuck to his dark beard. You couldn’t help but squeeze your thighs at the sight, your argument long forgotten.

“Havin’ a nice look, aye?” He muttered, his whiskey smooth tone sounding stuffy past the white stem of the cigarette between his lips.

“Can ‘ear your heart from here, luv…”

His broad shoulders turned to get a look at you, both of his elbows resting against the railing as he tilted his head. His tacky palm leaf shirt was buttoned low. He was watching you carefully. His eyes were black, dangerous, as they raked down your body.

You swallowed and took a step back, noticing his shadow moving with you under the door. The artificial light behind him cast a figure in the doorway, making him appear menacing. You couldn’t help but feel that familiar warmth spreading just under your stomach. You watch as he tilts his head yet again, slowly.

A low rumble escapes his throat, a laugh.

“You always ‘ad such an interestin’ flutter to your heart, pup… ‘eard it when I took that Temp V… can ‘ear it now…” He spoke lowly, so full of bass it nearly shook your chest. He took a couple steps forward, heavy boots against carpet, before closing the door.

And suddenly, you felt trapped. Not that you were complaining.

“I know you’ve noticed me talkin’ to somethin’… somethin’ that ain’t there…” he smirked.

“And it says a lot about you…”

You couldn’t help the tremble in your voice.

“W-What about me?” You prodded, the back of your legs hitting the edge of the closest bed.

“How it absolutely wants to take you and ravish you ‘til you’re gaspin’ and pleadin’ us to stop.” He spoke so matter-of-factly. As if it was destined to happen eventually.

And maybe it was.

And that’s how you ended up here.

Your towel was long forgotten in the floor, thighs parted as he eyed at you like artwork. He was rudely still clothed, unable to get enough of the sight. Your hair was still wet against the pillowcases, spreading out in a fan.

“Just let ‘im play with your pretty tits, yeah? Won’t ’urt you, promise…” he spoke smoothly against your ear, his beard scratching as he kissed just below it. Your skin prickled as his breath fanned over you, the heat feeling almost too much.

There was a squelching sound, familiar to you from before. And then you felt it.

Sticky, but not uncomfortable as it slithered up your abdomen towards your breasts. Heavy and hot. Your breath hitched at the contact.

“B-Billy, I don’t know-” you stuttered out, but he cut you off.

“S’alright, pup, let ‘im play…” he crooned, deep and threatening.

The tentacle flicked over your hardened nipples, resulting in a whimper from your throat. Your hips rolled up against this beefy thigh that sat between your legs.

“Look at you, luv… pretty as a fuckin’ paintin’ you are…” he hums, his lips moving down your collarbone.

Another squelch came from his chest, quiet and ominous as it wrapped around your thigh, parting it for him. Another tentacle wrapped around your other thigh, parting it as well. Billy finally pulled up and you could have smacked that stupid grin off his face if he wasn’t so hot.

“My girl… all spread and drippin’ for me, eh?” He chuckled. His thumb found your clit, swirling the digit around and making you whine. Your thighs struggled against his tentacles.

“B-Billy, wait-”

“Nah. Waited too fuckin’ long.” He interrupted, his finger not slowing despite you pulling against the current

The tentacle that once sat pretty on your chest slithered down, leaving a slimy black trail behind that left you both thrilled and disgusted. It flicked over your clit, replacing his hand as his fingers brushed against your weeping cunt.

“Already so fuckin’ messy, huh pup?”

You couldn’t help the moan that escaped you, your hips writhing as he inserted a finger, curling it upwards against your gummy walls. You muttered his name, low and sweet as your lashes fluttered.

“Look at you, good fuckin’ girl just can’t help herself… s’alright, poppet…” he teased rudely. So mean.

“Gonna let me fuck this pretty pussy, yeah? She’s beggin’ me, she is…”

The way he spoke to you was enough to result another whimper from your lips.

He inserted another finger, moving them in a scissoring motion for you. You groaned his name, your hips bucking up against his hand as his tentacles kept their strict position on your thighs. Butcher let out a low and mocking hum, kissing your temple and letting his beard scratch at your jaw.

He teased you relentlessly, mocked you, made you feel used… and you liked it. The way your skin prickled under his breath, his fingers scissoring you open… it was all so delicious and yet felt so wrong.

“Bet this is why I took you with me… for my use. When this fucked up lil’ life gets t’much…”

“Listen to her squelch, pup, s’fuckin’ needy…”

“Bet you like this, huh? Bein’ my good little doll, all for me… m’so lucky, sweethear’…”

You felt so hot and sticky, not only from the tentacles holding onto your trembling, plush thighs, but from how close he was. A small sheen of sweat was seen on his chest just under the tuft of hair on his pectorals. Your lips found the hollow of his throat which resulted in a deep growl that rumbled your chest.

“P-Please, Billy… too much…” you managed to stutter. Butcher tutted at your pitiful sob, but in his eyes, you’ve never been more beautiful. You looked absolutely broken, glossy eyes and swollen lips from his rough kisses that led to this moment in the crisp white sheets. The rise and fall of your chest with each gasping breath and pornographic moan. Soft and supple skin slick with sweat, thighs covered in your arousal.

He had enough.

In a swift motion, he had you on your stomach, bare ass high in the air and face smooshed into the cheap pillowcase. His tentacles were tight around your thighs still, another one emerging to press on your back to keep you down as he unbuckled his belt. The sound of metal was piercing to your ears.

“Billy, wait, we don’t have a condom-!” You protested, despite feeling the emptiness with his fingers now gone.

“No, no, dove, I’ll pull out. Swear on m’life.”

You didn’t even have to look at him to know that was a lie. You could hear the smile on his face.

You feel him slide against your soaked folds, gliding upwards towards the forbidden (for now) area of your puckered hole. He was searing, hot and heavy against your sensitive skin, not huge in length, but girthy and thick. Your skin was so slick that you couldn’t tell what part of his tentacles were touching you and what were his hands. But you felt him spread you apart to get a good look at every inch he could.

“Fuck me… been hidin’ this all along, havent ya? Look at ‘er…” he grumbled, more to himself than anything.

He leaned down, grabbing the nape of your neck in one large hand while whispering.

“Now just hang tight and let me feel ya, luv…”

It was slow, so painstakingly slow. Deep. A stretch that left you gasping for air.

“Eaaaasy, girl, easy… should see how she’s takin’ me, fuccck…”

His hiss caused a whimper and a hum of approval out of you. Something you never thought would come out of your mouth. Yet, here you are, ass up feeling him pulsing into you.

His tentacles wiggled gently like a snake around your limbs and left inky trails. His large hand tightened around your neck as if to keep him grounded. Like you were the only thing keeping him tethered that this was very real.

His thrusts were even and deep, so deep. You were so drunk on the feeling, you didn’t even notice the drool pooling onto the pillow as a groan escaped past your lips.

“Poor girl, droolin’ like the right pup you are… Ohhh… that’s a good girl.”

He let up his grip on your neck as his hands clawed down your back to dig into your hips. Just before you could adjust to breathing again, you feel a tentacle wrap around your neck as it tightens a bit. You could feel it… the shit eating grin on his face as him and his little helpers took you this way.

“Oh, if only you could fuckin’ see what a fuckin’ lovely mess you are, poppet…” he whispered in your ear, harsh through his smiling teeth. He picked up the pace, groaning deeply with each thrust to the hilt.

Hot tears streaked down your flushed cheeks and soaked the pillows. Skin slapped against skin, filling you to the brim of him. The scent of cheap cigarettes and whiskey from him, his throbbing cock in your wet heat, his large hands at your hips as he watched. You were so ruined, you couldn’t even pay attention to the words he was saying. He was so filthy.

The slimy tendrils suddenly tightened, including the one around your throat as he lifted you against his chest. The coarse hairs stung at your back. His pace never stopped, pulling out and slamming back into you like in a desperate effort. Like you were the only thing that could cure his hunger. His rough beard scraped against your jaw and his teeth, found your neck, biting into you like an animal pinning its mate.

“Gonna cum in this pretty cunt, yeah? ‘S all I want, luv, please?” He asked in that mockingly sweet tone. You were too fucked out to answer, too focused on the feeling of him all around you. In your fluttering pussy and on your arms and throat, all so sticky and wet with a sweet mix of sweat, arousal and inky slime.

“P-Please, Billy… need it so bad…” you managed to rasp out past a whimper. He smiles at that as your ass slams against his thighs.

“Gonna cum… please make me cum…”

“I got ya, cum on my fat cock, pup…” he cooed with a kiss to your temple. His tongue sliding over your salty skin was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

In a white hot wave to your senses, you let out a loud and whiny moan. He curses under his breath, muttering absolutely nothing into your ear as his cock twitches in you, spitting white ropes that coated your used walls in warmth. Time stood still for a moment as you both caught your breath.

Your skin stuck to each other, separating only when he pulls out and his tendrils retract back into the gaping black mass on his chest. You were left boneless against the sheets, limbs loose. The shuffling of sheets was the only thing keeping you in this reality of what just happened as he got a rag to clean you with. The towel was cold against your heated skin as he swiped off your mixed release.

The next thing you knew, your breath was knocked from you when he pulled you against his bare skin, big arms engulfing you. A soft kiss was pressed to your temple past his scratchy mustache.

“M’sorry for all of it… letting you see that… dragging you with me after it all. Deserve better than me…” he muttered, nuzzling into your hair and taking a breath.

“I… I don’t think so.” You finally confessed past a soft voice.

He chuckled at that, low and mighty.

“Yeah well… you’re stuck with me now, darlin’.”

A/N: Holy shit gang, we got here. Nearly six months later! Thank you to those who have been so patient with me. I really have my best friend to thank as well as she helped me write some lines (real queens help write smut)

Thank you SO much and let me know what you think! Banners: @fic-dumpster & @cafekitsune

[mostlysignssomeportents]

FTC vs surveillance pricing

Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

In the mystical cosmology of economics, "prices" are of transcendental significance, the means by which the living market knows and adapts itself, giving rise to "efficient" production and consumption.

At its most basic level, the metaphysics of pricing goes like this: if there is less of something for sale than people want to buy, the seller will raise the price until enough buyers drop out and demand equals supply. If the disappointed would-be buyers are sufficiently vocal about their plight, other sellers will enter the market (bankrolled by investors who sense an opportunity), causing supplies to increase and prices to fall until the system is in "equilibrium" – producing things as cheaply as possible in precisely the right quantities to meet demand. In the parlance of neoclassical economists, prices aren't "set": they are discovered.

In antitrust law, there are many sins, but they often boil down to "price setting." That is, if a company has enough "market power" that they can dictate prices to their customers, they are committing a crime and should be punished. This is such a bedrock of neoclassical economics that it's a tautology "market power" exists where companies can "set prices"; and to "set prices," you need "market power."

Prices are the blood cells of the market, shuttling nutrients (in the form of "information") around the sprawling colony organism composed of all the buyers, sellers, producers, consumers, intermediaries and other actors. Together, the components of this colony organism all act on the information contained in the "price signals" to pursue their own self-interest. Each self-interested action puts more information into the system, triggering more action. Together, price signals and the actions they evince eventually "discover" the price, an abstraction that is yanked out of the immaterial plane of pure ideas and into our grubby, physical world, causing mines to re-open, shipping containers and pipelines to spark to life, factories to retool, trucks to fan out across the nation, retailers to place ads and hoist SALE banners over their premises, and consumers to race to those displays and open their wallets.

When prices are "distorted," all of this comes to naught. During the notorious "socialist calculation debate" of 1920s Austria, right-wing archdukes of religious market fundamentalism, like Von Hayek and Von Mises, trounced their leftist opponents, arguing that the market was the only computational system capable of calculating how much of each thing should be made, where it should be sent, and how much it should be sold for.

Attempts to "plan" the economy – say, by subsidizing industries or limiting prices – may be well-intentioned, but they broke the market's computations and produced haywire swings of both over- and underproduction. Later, the USSR's planned economy did encounter these swings. These were sometimes very grave (famines that killed millions) and sometimes silly (periods when the only goods available in regional shops were forks, say, creating local bubbles in folk art made from forks).

Unplanned markets do this too. Most notoriously, capitalism has produced a vast oversupply of carbon-intensive goods and processes, and a huge undersupply of low-carbon alternatives, bringing the human civilization to the brink of collapse. Not only have capitalism's price signals failed to address this existential crisis to humans, it has also sown the seeds of its own ruin – the market computer's not going to be getting any "price signals" from people as they drown in floods or roast to death on sidewalks that deliver second-degree burns to anyone who touches them:

https://www.fastcompany.com/91151209/extreme-heat-southwest-phoenix-surface-burns-scorching-pavement-sidewalks-pets

For market true believers, these failures are just evidence that regulation is distorting markets, and that the answer is more unregulated markets to infuse the computer with more price signals. When it comes to carbon, the problem is that producers are "producing negative externalities" (that is, polluting and sticking us with the bill). If we can just get them to "internalize" those costs, they will become "economically rational" and switch to low-carbon alternatives.

That's the theory behind the creation and sale of carbon credits. Rather than ordering companies to stop risking civilizational collapse and mass extinction, we can incentivize them to do so by creating markets that reward clean tech and punish dirty practices. The buying and selling of carbon credits is supposed to create price signals reflecting the existential risk to the human race and the only habitable planet known to our species, which the market will then "bring into equilibrium."

Unfortunately, reality has a distinct and unfair leftist bias. Carbon credits are a market for lemons. The carbon credits you buy to "offset" your car or flight are apt to come from a forest that has already burned down, or that had already been put in a perpetual trust as a wildlife preserve and could never be logged:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/18/greshams-carbon-law/#papal-indulgences

Carbon credits produce the most perverse outcomes imaginable. For example, much of Tesla's profitability has been derived from the sale of carbon credits to the manufacturers of the dirtiest, most polluting SUVs on Earth; without those Tesla credits, those SUVs would have been too expensive to sell, and would not have existed:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/11/24/no-puedo-pagar-no-pagara/#Rat

What's more, carbon credits aren't part of an "all of the above" strategy that incorporates direct action to prevent our species downfall. These market solutions are incompatible with muscular direct action, and if we do credits, we can't do other stuff that would actually work:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/31/carbon-upsets/#big-tradeoff

Even though price signals have repeatedly proven themselves to be an insufficient mechanism for producing "efficient" or even "survivable," they remain the uppermost spiritual value in the capitalist pantheon. Even through the last 40 years of unrelenting assaults on antitrust and competition law, the one form of corporate power that has remained both formally and practically prohibited is "pricing power."

That's why the DoJ was able to block tech companies and major movie studios from secretly colluding to suppress their employees' wages, and why those employees were able to get huge sums out of their employers:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/High-Tech_Employee_Antitrust_Litigation

It's also why the Big Six (now Big Five) publishers and Apple got into so much trouble for colluding to set a floor on the price of ebooks:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_States_v._Apple_(2012)

When it comes to monopoly, even the most Bork-pilled, Manne-poisoned federal judges and agencies have taken a hard line on price-fixing, because "distortions" of prices make the market computer crash.

But despite this horror of price distortions, America's monopolists have found so many ways to manipulate prices. Last month, The American Prospect devoted an entire issue to the many ways that monopolies and cartels have rigged the prices we pay, pushing them higher and higher, even as our wages stagnated and credit became more expensive:

https://prospect.org/pricing

For example, there's the plague of junk fees (AKA "drip pricing," or, if you're competing to be first up against the wall come the revolution, "ancillary revenue"), everything from baggage fees from airlines to resort fees at hotels to the fee your landlord charges if you pay your rent by check, or by card, or in cash:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/07/drip-drip-drip/#drip-off

There's the fake transparency gambit, so beloved of America's hospitals:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/13/a-punch-in-the-guts/#hayek-pilled

The "greedflation" that saw grocery prices skyrocketing, which billionaire grocery plutes blamed on covid stimulus checks, even as they boasted to their shareholders about their pricing power:

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-06-12-war-in-the-aisles/

There's the the tens of billions the banks rake in with usurious interest rates, far in excess of the hikes to the central banks' prime rates (which are, in turn, justified in light of the supposed excesses of covid relief checks):

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-06-11-what-we-owe/

There are the scams that companies like Amazon pull with their user interfaces, tricking you into signing up for subscriptions or upsells, which they grandiosely term "dark patterns," but which are really just open fraud:

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-06-10-one-click-economy/

There are "surge fees," which are supposed to tempt more producers (e.g. Uber drivers) into the market when demand is high, but which are really just an excuse to gouge you – like when Wendy's threatens to surge-price its hamburgers:

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-06-07-urge-to-surge/

And then there's surveillance pricing, the most insidious and profitable way to jack up prices. At its core, surveillance pricing uses nonconsensually harvested private information to inform an algorithm that reprices the things you buy – from lattes to rent – in real-time:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/05/your-price-named/#privacy-first-again

Companies like Plexure – partially owned by McDonald's – boasts that it can use surveillance data to figure out what your payday is and then hike the price of the breakfast sandwich or after-work soda you buy every day.

Like every bad pricing practice, surveillance pricing has its origins in the aviation industry, which invested early on and heavily in spying on fliers to figure out how much they could each afford for their plane tickets and jacking up prices accordingly. Architects of these systems then went on to found companies like Realpage, a data-brokerage that helps landlords illegally collude to rig rent prices.

Algorithmic middlemen like Realpage and ATPCO – which coordinates price-fixing among the airlines – are what Dan Davies calls "accountability sinks." A cartel sends all its data to a separate third party, which then compares those prices and tells everyone how much to jack them up in order to screw us all:

https://profilebooks.com/work/the-unaccountability-machine/

These price-fixing middlemen are everywhere, and they predate the boom in commercial surveillance. For example, Agri-Stats has been helping meatpackers rig the price of meat for 40 years:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/04/dont-let-your-meat-loaf/#meaty-beaty-big-and-bouncy

But when you add commercial surveillance to algorithmic pricing, you get a hybrid more terrifying than any cocaine-sharks (or, indeed, meth-gators):

https://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/tennessee-police-warn-locals-not-flush-drugs-fear-meth-gators-n1030291

Apologists for these meth-gators insist that surveillance pricing's true purpose is to let companies offer discounts. A streaming service can't afford to offer $0.99 subscriptions to the poor because then all the rich people would stop paying $19.99. But with surveillance pricing, every customer gets a different price, titrated to their capacity to pay, and everyone wins.

But that's not how it cashes out in the real world. In the real world, rich people who get ripped off have the wherewithal to shop around, complain effectively to a state AG, or punish companies by taking their business elsewhere. Meanwhile, poor people aren't just cash-poor, they're also time-poor and political influence-poor.

When the dollar store duopoly forces all the mom-and-pop grocers in your town out of business with predatory pricing, and creating food deserts that only they serve, no one cares, because state AGs and politicians don't care about people who shop at dollar stores. Then, the dollar stores can collude with manufacturers to get shrunken "cheater sized" products that sell for a dollar, but cost double or triple the grocery store price by weight or quantity:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/27/walmarts-jackals/#cheater-sizes

Yes, fliers who seem to be flying on business (last-minute purchasers who don't have a Saturday stay) get charged more than people whose purchase makes them seem to be someone flying away for a vacation. But that's only because aviation prices haven't yet fully transitioned to surveillance pricing. If an airline can correctly calculate that you are taking a trip because you're a grad student who must attend a conference in order to secure a job, and if they know precisely how much room you have left on your credit card, they can charge you everything you can afford, to the cent.

Your ability to resist pricing power isn't merely a function of a company's market power – it's also a function of your political power. Poor people may have less to steal, but no one cares when they get robbed:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/19/martha-wright-reed/#capitalists-hate-capitalism

So surveillance pricing, supercharged by algorithms, represent a serious threat to "prices," which is the one thing that the econo-religious fundamentalists of the capitalist class value above all else. That makes surveillance pricing low-hanging fruit for regulatory enforcement: a bipartisan crime that has few champions on either side of the aisle.

Cannily, the FTC has just declared war on surveillance pricing, ordering eight key players in the industry (including capitalism's arch-villains, McKinsey and Jpmorgan Chase) to turn over data that can be used to prosecute them for price-fixing within 45 days:

https://www.ftc.gov/news-events/news/press-releases/2024/07/ftc-issues-orders-eight-companies-seeking-information-surveillance-pricing

As American Prospect editor-in-chief David Dayen notes in his article on the order, the FTC is doing what he and his journalistic partners couldn't: forcing these companies to cough up internal data:

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-07-24-ftc-opens-surveillance-pricing-inquiry/

This is important, and not just because of the wriggly critters the FTC will reveal as they use their powers to turn over this rock. Administrative agencies can't just do whatever they want. Long before the agencies were neutered by the Supreme Court, they had strict rules requiring them to gather evidence, solicit comment and counter-comment, and so on, before enacting any rules:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/18/administrative-competence/#i-know-stuff

Doubtless, the Supreme Court's Loper decision (which overturned "Chevron deference" and cut off the agencies' power to take actions that they don't have detailed, specific authorization to take) will embolden the surveillance pricing industry to take the FTC to court on this. It's hard to say whether the courts will find in the FTC's favor. Section 6(b) of the FTC Act clearly lets the FTC compel these disclosures as part of an enforcement action, but they can't start an enforcement action until they have evidence, and through the whole history of the FTC, these kinds of orders have been a common prelude to enforcement.

One thing this has going for it is that it is bipartisan: all five FTC commissioners, including both Republicans (including the Republican who votes against everything) voted in favor of it. Price gouging is the kind of easy-to-grasp corporate crime that everyone hates, irrespective of political tendency.

In the Prospect piece on Ticketmaster's pricing scam, Dayen and Groundwork's Lindsay Owens called this the "Age of Recoupment":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/03/aoi-aoi-oh/#concentrated-gains-vast-diffused-losses

For 40 years, neoclassical economics' focus on "consumer welfare" meant that companies could cheat and squeeze their workers and suppliers as hard as they wanted, so long as prices didn't go up. But after 40 years, there's nothing more to squeeze out of workers or suppliers, so it's time for the cartels to recoup by turning on us, their customers.

They believe – perhaps correctly – that they have amassed so much market power through mergers and lobbying that they can cross the single bright line in neoliberal economics' theory of antitrust: price-gouging. No matter how sincere the economics profession's worship of prices might be, it still might not trump companies that are too big to fail and thus too big to jail.

The FTC just took an important step in defense of all of our economic wellbeing, and it's a step that even the most right-wing economist should applaud. They're calling the question: "Do you really think that price-distortion is a cardinal sin? If so, you must back our play." Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

https://clarionwriteathon.com/members/profile.php?writerid=293388

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/24/gouging-the-all-seeing-eye/#i-spy

[dreadsuitsamus]

The Love You Gave | Vegeta x Reader |

author's note: just a short lil fluffy fic 🩷

pairing: vegeta x fem!reader

warnings: none, just fluff

Romance.

It's all around as you journey home from the grocery store, the air filled with perfumes and colognes as the couples do their best to impress. Your eyes glance over at just the right time as a man falls to his knee before his partner, and the emphatic wails of unity ring out as you continue stepping by the café.

Wishing out a call of congratulations, you resume the steady pace of your walk home. It's a good thing your paper bag isn't particularly heavy— you only needed a few things to complete tonight's dinner, and thankfully your rumbly tummy didn't convince your hands to pick up the extra snacks you passed on by.

There's a wait at the crosswalk and you're anything but able to resist people watching while the cars speed freely down the road. One pair in particular stands out as the light turns, the hotrod red car's top down exposing all of their horrible singing to the world. And yet they have zero cares for the minds of strangers like you as they belt out a Jonas Brothers tune. Smiling, your signal to cross lights up and you and your gaggle of strangers that piled up at the stop quickly cross the hot pavement.

Your mind wanders to the comments you've heard several times over the years. Your partner isn't much of a romantic, is he? No, absolutely not... But the idea that a man who brings you flowers has any more merit than the man that's waiting for you at home is nonsense.

Could the typical man bringing you flowers die for you and live to tell the tale?

The gentle curvature of your lips upon seeing your lovely little home matches the light in your eye when you see movement by the open window. Vegeta certainly sat there the entire fifteen minutes you were gone, surely cursing himself for not going with you. But someone had to stay at home while the oven is on, and your husband has become much too picky on produce— he still can't live down your teasing from the last time he took your little list to the local shop and returned over an hour later with absolutely pristine offerings.

The dichotomies of his royal upbringing and his feral biology make for a good little laugh sometimes.

Vegeta's halfway down the stone path from the door by the time you are, and though the bag is about as light as air he takes it anyway, tucking it into the crook of his elbow and giving you the chance to step before him and trek into the house. The smells of dinner greet you and Vegeta's already prepped the island with utensils to chop a fresh salad— which he's gearing up to prepare as he fishes the fresh head of lettuce from the grocery bag.

The sounds of his knife hitting the cutting board serve as light ambience in conjunction with the sauce's simmer from the opened oven door as you check on the homemade flatbread pizza you made together. Vegeta isn't much in the kitchen, but those muscles are just as made for kneading dough as they are for punching out his enemies, you think as you fondly recall the way his biceps flexed and his eyebrows furrowed, so deep in concentration his lips pulled into a pout.

"Just about done." You hum softly and close the door back up, turning around to witness your husband wiping his hands free of little bits of lettuce.

"Smells good." He murmurs deeply, muted as ever as he adds the tomatoes and other salad components into the bowl. Tossing it expertly, Vegeta plates your portions while you handle the pizza side of things, the barbecue sauce and chicken sizzling deliciously loud and your watering mouth craves a satisfying bite at the crunchy sound as you slice the pizza.

The homemade pizza sits between your plates, the even rectangular slices a particularly satisfying sight in the midst of your dinner table. The man sitting and calmly allowing you to snap a photo for social media is even more beautiful an image, and the tinge of red dusting his cheekbones when you kiss his temple fails to hide as he munches the first bite of his salad.

He's no bleeding heart romantic, though you'd prefer nothing else than this.

[materialsscienceandengineering]

Giving a second life to construction materials after demolition, engineers at the University of São Paulo and Princeton have developed an approach for recycling cement waste into a sustainable, low-carbon alternative that is comparable in performance to the industry standard. In addition to lowering the carbon intensity of the cement and concrete industry, the process could enable new uses for construction and demolition waste, of which concrete is a significant component. In 2018 in the United States, the total amount of construction and demolition waste was more than twice that of household waste. "Construction waste typically ends up either in a landfill, or, if it's recycled, will be used in low-grade applications such as in pavements or in soils," said research leader Sérgio Angulo, a professor of Civil and Urban Construction Engineering at the University of São Paulo. "It's exciting to show that we can, in fact, recycle this recovered cement waste into a high-quality application."

Read more.

[boxboxblog]

How Do F1 Cars Work?: Setup pt 2

Okay, so this is the second part to my post on setup. In that one I discussed the components that are altered as part of the setup and the basic setup types, in this one I will things more surrounding the circuits and driving styles around setups. Enjoy!

Track Specific Setup Requirements:

So, certain tracks need parts of the aspect to be certain ways. While these setups may still be within one of the basic types, most tracks have slight differences. It all depends on track style, the pavement type, and even elevation

Street Circuits - So, street circuits tend to be a lot slower, with complicated, twisty turns, tight corners, and just a general need for precision and strong handling (Monaco for example). For setup, teams usually go high downforce, soft suspension, less tire pressure, an open differential, and more rear brake bias. These all help maintain strong grip and take corners faster.

High-Speed Circuits - These circuits, often called classic, need a lot less precision and a lot more pace. They have very long straights and much less sharp corners (Monza for example). So here teams will go for low downforce, minimal drag, stiffer suspension, high tire pressure, locked differential, and more front brake bias.

Balanced Circuits - Simply, these are circuits that combine sharp corners and long straights, as well as slow areas and fast ones (Spa for example). They need a mixed set up, and going to far one way would make a car lose speed in certain areas of the track. this calls for balance across all elements.

Bumpy Circuits - The pavement type is actually also quite important for setup. Some circuits (like Interlagos) are well known for having rather bumpy pavement, so the cars must be prepared to handle that. This calls for usually an altered ride height, softer suspension, and usually a stronger tire pressure.

High Elevation Circuits - Circuits like these are up in thin air, which has a massive effect on the car (Mexico for example). This lower air density massively effects the tires, aerodynamics, engines, and cooling systems. To compensate teams will choose unique engine maps, lower tire pressure, maxing out downforce, and rider height is changed.

Driving Styles Effect on Setup:

It is more than just circuits, or weather, or elevation that effect the setup. The way drivers drives also has a major impact, and so teams try and tailor it to each driver. Some of them perform extremely well with one setup, then very poor with another. It's all about knowing the driver's style and preferences.

Aggressive Style (Max Verstappen) - With this style drivers tend to push the car harder and take corners sharper. Their cars tend to be set up to be much more sensitive, have a rear brake bias, a softer suspension, and open differential. They seem to prefer this because these types of setups allow for higher risk driving and taking corners particularly fast.

Smooth Style (Lando Norris) - These types of drivers lean toward a more consistent and calm type of style. They often prefer a more stiff/stable suspension, locked differential, a very balanced brake bias, and in general higher downforce. This helps them take corners the way they prefer, and keeps things steady and smooth. Technical drivers (like George Russell) also tend to prefer this setup.

Late Brakers (Lewis Hamilton) - These types of drivers take a very unique racing line and brake much later than other drivers do (helpful on overtakes and defending). They lean toward cars with setups with a rear biased brake balance, stable suspensions, and a balanced differential. These things help them keep the car steady after they brake so late in corners.

Strategic Style(Sergio Perez) - This style is categorized by a driver who lacks aggression but instead waits for the right moment. In this case they tend to prioritize tire management above all else, because they bide their time until the latter half of the race in the hopes that their opponent will burn out their tires. They opt for a setup with a softer suspension, and lower tire pressure. This all helps extend tire life.

So, in general, these are things to know about car setup, It is very complicated and a bout a thousand things can effect it, but when the setup is correct you can see some magical races. We actually saw this very recently, in Brazil. For this race the Alpine team clearly picked a fantastic setup, and showed us unbelievable results. Whatever they did, it matched the drivers styles well and the conditions they were racing in, which is what the perfect setup should do. All in all, setup matters. It can make or break any race.

I hope it was informative and answered any questions surrounding this topic.

Cheers,

-B

[baratiddyappreciator]

hiii girl! Can i get huh, like a list of HC about Chiharu's and Hanayama's friendship, stupid shit they'd get themselves into or fights they'd have..Like they try both to ride the same motorbike and that shit begins breaking down through the way until they've both fallen into the side of the road and all that's left from their vehicle is dust..

Soooo I may have lied when I said I was off hiatus but I'm slowly working my way back to doing this stuff. I may or may not have like 8 blankets to crochet before Christmas and that's taking up most of my attention-span hahaha- ANYWAYS LOOK A POST!!!

Dumbasses of the highest caliber, but to different degrees. Hanayama is the quiet kind of dumb, where you'd assume he's incredibly smart until he opens his mouth and asks what the fuck a multiplication is, and Chiharu is ADHD dumb. He's really smart when it comes to some things, but he doesn't know a lot about other things. Ask him to name motorcycle parts and he'll name each component, but ask him if a carrot is a vegetable or a root, and he'll self destruct.

Put them in a room together and watch them actively lose braincells. They start talking about pride month and neither knows what it is.

"Pride month is when you are proud of someone. For a whole month. I'm proud of my boys, they work hard."

"DUMBASS! THAT'S NOT WHAT IT MEANS!! Pride month is when you're proud of yourself! So I'm proud of my hair, because it's still healthy despite all of the hairspray!"

There's a reason Baki likes the both of them, and that is because all three of them are actually so dumb. The average IQ in a room with all three of them drops by at least 50%.

They know they can't ride the same motorcycle, not because it'll break, no Chiharu's bike is sturdier than that, but because Hanayama is very much Not Fond of being on a motorcycle. You would have to trick him into sitting on one, and even then, it's not gonna go anywhere, his legs are too long, his shoes would get eaten up by the pavement and he'd probably break the bike with how hard he'd be holding onto it. He would rather a car, thank you.

Chiharu is the polar opposite, he will happily jump onto a random motorcycle as long as it's shiny and looks in good shape. It's like trying to get a cat into a bath when Hanayama tries to get him into a car though. He full on grabs the doorframe and plants his feet, he is NOT getting in there, he HATES the car! Actively claws at the door to get out Hanayama is so embarrassed, get that clown OUT of here, he just wants a nice calm ride.

They go through a LOT of clothes. Like, it's insane. Chiharu's get ruined because of grease and blood and whatnot, but Hayanama just rips his off whenever he's gonna take someone seriously?? Anyways, they go clothes shopping together just to buy fifteen of the same outfit.

Chiharu tried pink once and Hanayama gave him the most disgusted look ever and bro just sorta accepted that it Wasn't The Look and hasn't done it since. That being said, he keeps trying to get Hanayama to wear a light blue or a grey. He has good fashion taste for other people, but not himself.

[lestkarr0]

A dream?|chapter 3

Even the outside was swarm by people in silver knight armours that glistens in the bright sunlight;the light that was radiating bouncing off from its shiny material,sharp pointed swords tucked to their leather waist belt neatly tucked in.

Reaching to a stop near a horse barn where dozens of horses stood,tied and eating freshly dew grass ,the man got off neatly from the horse opening one of the leather bag that was tied around the horse acting as a belt; rummaging through the bag wina took this as an distraction to get off by herself so she won’t be an embarrassment like earlier.

Maybe what she thought was just a joke and understatement cause after one leg was trying to reach the ground she unintentionally trip as all her weight was on her left side

She shrieked and reach out for something to hold her up,luckily she caught on the mans shoulder who has finished looking through the components inside his leather bags;slinged on his shoulders

The man flinched when she came in contact with him her body toppled upside down the horse dragging half his body weight with her.

“haha my bad i slipped”she laughs akwardly and scoot herself up slowly

Using his shoulders as a support to get off from the horse she forgot to calculated the height from the ground and the horse was high leaving her dangling on the man her arms death gripping his neck as she shrieked

The man immediately hold her waists when her weight pull his neck down with her. With a annoyed voice he spoke up,”calm down.” Bending his knees so her feet could reach the ground

Letting go off of her death grip her face immediately scrunch up in disgusts coming in contact with the wetted ground when she forgotted she was barefooted ,the grass underneath her feet leaved a stranged wet residue mixed with mud stained on the bottom of her sandy feet - a nightmare for sensory issues people

The man set aside the horse closer to the other horses that was left behind by it’s owners. A wide color of horses with different shape and size;their sizes bigger than what a normal horse wina usually see.hooves seemingly looking more like a wide black plate rather than the width of a cup

Wina’s question remains the same how can the horses be bred this huge and well? Well surely there are breeds of horses that can achieve this build but a whole range of horses being the same size? Just doesn’t put two and two together.

“wina” a voice called out,she turned her head to the source and it was the man on the pavement leading to the entrance of the big castle. He beckoned her to come to him with a quick hand movement

She started walking through the muddy ground and onto the pavement,sliding off the mud that stick to her feet on the pavement in a matter of second she arrived just beside the man

The duo arrived infront of the entrance where a bunch of knights and vikings sat and stood but a particular man stood neared the entrance, gaze not leaving them. A chubby redfaced man with ginger hair-his face looks like it’s burning from the sun, clothes sticking onto his sides to the point where it could tear anytime. ‘If he talks to me I’m gonna run away’she thought avoiding his glaring stares

With his persistent gaze he walked slowly to where wina and the man stood.each steps of his felt heavy as she could feel the ground rumbling every step he took,the unsettling look on his face when he reached the duo

Now standing right infront them eyes not leaving wina's cheek who's facing her head to the side to avoid him but before he could talk directly to wina,the man stood infront of her blocking her sight from the ginger man

"Ah the noble knight and advisor of the king and who's this little woman you've brought?"the ginger haired man asked acknowledging the man who stood infront of him, the man nod,"reynald de chattilon"

Giving each other greetings as if they knew each other wina peeked her head out from behind the mans back eyebrows raised and look at the ginger hair guy who's name 'reynald de chattilon'

Reynald attention averted from the man when he noticed her head peeking out and tried to get past the man and went to the woman instead,in a matter of second a sword was threatened on his stomach the tip of the blade touching reynald tunic,"she's my guest,my business and the King's,you wouldn't play with the King's guest do you reynald de chattilon?"the man voiced out his language changing from arabic to a new type of ancient one and reynald stop immediately holding his breath and sucking in his stomach

A little gasp can be heard from wina as she cowered back behind the man in attempt to sheild herself from the ginger haired man and the sword that's threatening him

Reynald backed away from the sword and scoffed at the man’s face looking at his face with a slithering glare and silence before he walked away from the duo in an angry manner

The man tucked his sword away immediately to not catch any other attention from the crusaders surrounding the place who eavesdrop the whole conversation between him and reynald

"Who was that?"wina asked the man moving beside the man when he walked forward in heavy strides like the boots of his was weighted 80 pounds considering his size

"Reynald de chattilon,Lord of oultrejordain"he replied not sparing her an inch of a glance

'alright I'll just act like i knew who this reynald de baboonilon is and oultrejordain?the nfl player?'wina rolled her eyes not giving a thought to even get to know the ginger man who's a creep

Entering the castle was a big overwhelming for wina as eyes was on her each step she took,one look at her in disgusts and another eyed her with pity

'Why are they looking at me like that?it's not my fault my clothes are like this when i was brought here with no consent' she thought hiding her face from the pitiful gaze,unknown to her despite their pityful glares they will bow down and kiss the ground she walks in a matter of time

They reach to the interior of the castle filled with exotic and antiques vases and tables,the lighted candles brightening the dark hallways as the shadows of the knights who guarded the inside blink rapidly from the luminous fire

It was quiet and peaceful although the laughter and voices from the people outside can be heard it still give a calming aura

The silence soon ended when the sound of a stomach growling echoed through the hallway,they both stopped in their tracks and wina's eyes widened giggling nervously "sorry I'm kinda hungry right now"

The man sighed and said,"we'll get food soon and fill our stomachs i still have tasks to do" wina nodded and ask again,"where are we going?we've been walking for minutes and i still don't know who or where we're going to"

That question was ignored by the man as he walked a few steps and turned right to a narrow hallway,wina rolled her eyes at his attitude and walk in fast strides to catch up with the man

As she took another step she could feel her body freeze as a rock like an anvil was placed on her feet the sound of her heartbeat echoing through the hallways and the hair on her arms standing up

Her face scrunch up and the goosebumps made her body shivered as a hiker entering the tallest part of a mountain,taking a deep breath the feeling faded quickly and the weight on her both feet felt lighter now

'That was strange,the weather here is hot and dry but why does it felt cold all of a sudden?'shaking the thoughts in her head when she heard the man called her name out she ran towards him turning right to the narrow hallway

The man stood outside of a big door carved with symbols and decorated with lines it was truly beautiful,the man knock three times on the metal door before a voice called out saying for them to come in

A few seconds pass and the man push the door with his left hand and nodded to wina to enter the room with him

The step into the room made the hair on wina's arm stand up along with the goosebumps shuddering through her body

It was very strange to her that all this strange occurence are happening just before she enter this specifically one room

'What is happening to me right now?whatever it'll just go away in a second'she shrugged off the thoughts and entered the room with the man

Meeting with a whole sight of vibrant and dull colours colouring;not to miss the antique and beautiful carvings of vases and furniture all over the whole room

Wina gasp quietly looking around but her eyes got caught on the figure sitting quietly on a wooden chair it's colours still looking new and polished compared to the antiqued table they're propping their arms on

Fingers working diligently on a piece of light brown coloured paper,the silence in the room was demeaning as the only sound echoing was the blade of the quill squiggling on the paper

The person's face couldn't be seen only covered by a white coloured veil that went to a length until their shoulders,they both could only see the upper body of the person dressed in an all white cloak and white undershirt;bandages fully wrapped on both of the person hands

Wina looked at the man for an answer as to why they we're in this unknown person room but the man just glance at her before averting his gaze to the person before both of them

The man stepped one foot infront and made his way to the person in a slow manner his boots thumping on the well made beautiful carpet catching the attention of the person who held his head up by the sound

A sweet voice ring in wina's ear,"oh? pardon my selfishness i didn't notice your presence coming into my chamber forgive me". Her eyes widened when she realise the person was a man and could feel herself succumbing by how soft spoken the person was

With an appropriate distance between the man and the person,the man shaked his head putting his hand to his chest and bowed his head to the person infront of him before glancing back to wina and beckoned her to come

She obliged and stood beside the man looking at the person infront of him in a closely manner but she still couldn't see his face that was covered by the long veil,she could still see the change in his body language when wina appeared before him and stand next to the man

Wina was too busy staring at the man that she didn't notice the constant tapping of the man finger on her back,feeling annoyed she was getting ready to scold him but she noticed his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes narrowing towards his hand that placed on his chest

She tilted her head questionably at the man before realising what he meant and put her hand to her chest and bow her head slightly,'how far is this medieval roleplay going and why am i inclined to bow in such matters?'

A pregnant silence occured throughout the room seemingly waiting for the next order of the unusual 'pope' person sitting on his chair

"Rise my subjects"

He said with a little stuttered,presumingly that he was one of distracted by the mere presence of someone like wina when he hooked his eyes onto her

With that command both wina and the man raised their heads but wina's eyes was staying on one spot on the ground,her muddy footsteps leaving a trace on the beautifully handcrafted carpet

She sweated coldly and avoided eye contact from both the man and the 'pope',trying to wipe the traces with the tip of her toes but it just got worser,spreading throughout the spaces between the carpet.

"My lord,I'm hereby to give out the report regarding the subjects of saladin"the man spoke up breaking the unspoken tension in the room

The presumingly 'lord' not the pope now scoot his chair back making the floor creaked along with the chair creating a screeching noise that made both wina and the man flinched

He then stood up his movement slowed and elegant moving so slowly towards the man his steps presumed and holding support for the furtnitures nearby

The floor creaked from his steps due to him putting his body weight on one foot instead of both as the lord limped,after a few more steps he was infront of the man looking at him with a focused gaze,his blue eyes piercing through the man as if it's going to unravel everything about him

Wina who was busy trying to wipe the footsteps looked up since she could feel a cold run through her body,sending chills down her partially exposed body

Her breath hitched when she fully saw the brightly dressed figure infront of her,looking at her with a solemn and curious look

The disbelief and jaw dropping reaction filled her once nonchalant face creating a tension to both the lord and wina

Within a few second,she stuttered out a name that she thought she would never use in a real life situation

"King baldwin?"

[babybatscreationsv2]

Cooling Metal

Marvel | Starker

Tony has been racing professionally for years, but the spark just isn't there anymore. When Tony catches sight of a street race happening he finds himself burning with adrenaline like he hasn't in years. Though he finds it hard to believe that a pretty boy like Peter really is the best street racer around.

Rating: Explicit

For my beautiful H <3

Warnings and tags: Racing au, praise kink, breeding kink, rough sex, hair pulling, rimming, cum play

Another race, another third place 'victory'. The tabloids were laughing at him. Saying he was past his prime, his reflexes were shot, he was washed up. Tony was afraid they were right. In fact, he was afraid of who he wasn't when he wasn't behind the wheel. Racing was all he'd known for so long. It was all he knew anymore.

That must have been what led him here. He'd been drawn in by the sound of engines revving. Then he'd followed the laughter and the bright lights. A long row of modded out cars blocked off the street. They looked like a rainbow. LEDs glowed in every color against the pavement. The cars were painted to match. Most of them were printed with noisy, eye-catching, decals.

Tony had never joined in any street races. He'd never needed to. His parents made sure he always had access to a track. This was something completely new to him. And it made his heart pound.

He parked his car on the street, out of their way and stepped out. The road began to rumble as the drivers started revving again. The noise of the crowd was drowned out by the engines. The shadow of a lithe figure passed across the headlights. They took their place in the center of the four cars, almost dancing their way along. Then they dropped a flag and the cars took off.

Adrenaline burned through him as they blurred past, sucking the air from the street as they went. Tony watched them go, a grin plastered to his face. He felt drunk just at the sight of it.

His ears followed the sound as they wrapped around the block. The crowd began screaming, waving, cheering. A car, neon green, came rocketing around the corner and finally slid to a stop just past the starting line. The next two were mere seconds too slow with the fourth and final coming up behind.

The drivers stepped out of their cars. The loser was ignored except for one woman who jogged over to give a man a consolation kiss. The winner was laughing, pouring beer over his face, screaming in victory in the center of a cheering crowd. Tony laughed along with them.

"You a cop?" A voice made him jump. Beside him now was a young man with too big eyes and not enough clothes. He'd cut his tank top off at the chest and his low rise shorts were barely long enough to cover whatever he was packing down there. He started at him curiously with his lips wrapped around a lollipop.

"Uh," Tony cleared his throat. "Just a spectator."

He pulled the candy from his mouth and let it pop between his lips. It was bubblegum pink and big to the point of being vulgar.

"We don't usually allow uninvited guests. But I know who you are," he said. "Just as long as you're not gonna cause any problems."

Tony held his hands. "No problems. Just uh... bored I guess."

"Right." The boy smiled. "We won't have much longer before we have to clear out, but feel free to mingle, Mr. Stark."

"Sure. Thanks, kid." The boy scoffed as he walked away. He joined up with a group that was chatting around a souped up Dodge Charger. With nowhere else to go, Tony followed after him.

No one seemed to recognize him or maybe they just didn't care. It was a blow to his ego, but it was also kind of refreshing. He took a spot where he could check out under the hood. He let out a soft whistle as his eyes roamed over the components.

"Nice huh?" The man beside him. He was a lot younger than Tony with a round face and a childish smile.

"Gorgeous. You put this together?"

"Nah," he shrugged. "I'm more of a computer guy. This is Peter's car. He's kind of the best of us around here, but he took the night off from racing. His aunt's been getting on him and- I uh, I guess that's personal." He blushed. "But hey, it really worked out for Bucky tonight. I don't think he's ever beaten Peter before which more or less means, he hasn't won in a decade."

They looked at the man now soaked with beer. He was making out with another man while a small and very drunk crowd stood around chatting and laughing.

"I'm Ned," he offered his hand. Tony shook it.

"Tony."

The boy laughed. "Yeah, I know. We're all pretty surprised you're here. Some of the other more legit racers show up sometimes, but no one's ever seen you around before. You havin' a midlife crisis or something?"

Tony paled. "No- uh, what makes you say that?"

Ned laughed. "I'm just messing with you. I'm sure you've done all kinds of street racing before. Guy like you. You're the best of the best, Mr. Stark."

"Yeah..."

The boy with the pretty eyes and the lack of clothes made his way over to the car. He smiled at Tony. "What do you think?"

"It's a nice car," Tony said.

"Thanks. I built it myself."

Tony laughed. "Sure, kid."

The other two started laughing. A bit hysterically even. Tony stood there, bewildered by whatever joke he wasn't in on.

"Tony," Ned sucked in a breath. "This is Peter. The guy I was telling you about."

Tony raised his eyebrows. "You're Peter? This is your car?"

"Yep." He grinned.

Tony looked at them both. "You're fucking with me."

Peter rolled his eyes and slammed the hood shut. "What would you know? You're seven flavors of washed up, Mr. Stark."

Tony glared at the back of his head. The hostility brewing in his gut didn't lessen when the boy turned and leaned against the hood.

"I am far from washed up."

"Really?" The boy reached into his back pocket and somehow retrieved a cell phone. He unlocked it and handed it over on the contact screen.

"Is this your idea of flirting, kid? Because I have to say it needs some work."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Just put your number in. I'll text you tomorrow. Then you can show me how not washed up you are."

"I don't have anything to prove to you," he said even as he typed his information in.

"No? Well I have something to prove." Peter stood and took his phone back. He was too close. His eyes were staring straight into the back of his own. Tony could hear his heart beat in his ears. Peter took a step back and sauntered around the car. He held his eye all the way until the door was shut. Tony barely noticed Ned climbing in the other side.

Sirens barely a block over made him jump. Everyone ran. Tony jogged back to his car and pulled onto the street, inching his way through the crowd. He barely made it out before the area was surrounded.

He had a few days off which should have been spent getting trashed at a party he said he wasn't going to, but instead he stayed in. He kept his phone within arms reach, jolting at every notification. The TV did little to distract him. Neither did anything else. His mind kept wandering back to candy coated lips and a determined scowl. The boy was cute. Interesting, too.

When the text finally came, Tony was ready. More than ready, he was pumped. It was hard to rein himself in to keep from running out the door early. Somehow, despite the adrenaline, he showed up at the spot just as everyone else did.

It was on the edge of the city where the roads became winding. The streets were lit only by headlights and LEDs. There were no street lamps or billboards here.

Cars were parked in the grass, but their drivers stood at the edge of the street. They watched as Tony pulled up next to the only car left in the road, Peter's Charger.

The window rolled down and Peter grinned at him from behind the wheel.

“I hope you remembered to stretch,” he teased.

“Is this a friendly race or should I have brought cash?” Tony called back.

Peter laughed. “I wouldn't want to rob an old man.”

Someone off the road called to Peter and he turned and nodded to them. Some girl Tony hadn't looked twice at stepped out between the headlights. Tony's hands adjusted on the wheel. He turned his gaze to the darkening road ahead.

The flag was dropped and they darted forward. Buildings overgrown and unkempt blurred past with increasing speed. Adrenaline burned under Tony's skin. A euphoric laugh burst from his chest.

He glanced at Peter beside him, nearly neck and neck. Even over the bumpy, cracked, streets the kid knew what he was doing. Then they hit a corner. Tony had never raced on roads that weren't paved smooth. All it took was a pothole to throw him off just enough for Peter to cut him off, drifting around the curve and leaving Tony behind. He wasn't ahead by much, but it was enough.

A small group of cars at the end of the street marked the end of the race. They sat in darkness until they spotted Peter coming around. Lights flicked on, hands waved from the windows. Tony was sure they were cheering.

No one cheered for him like that anymore.

He didn't win races anymore.

They both slid to a stop, Peter much more gracefully. They stepped out of their cars to cheering. A couple of hands clapped him on the back, but Tony only had eyes for the victor.

"Alright. You beat me, kid." Tony offered his hand and Peter shook it firmly.

He smiled sweetly, his pretty eyes aglow. "Don't take it too hard, old man."

Something bitter died on his tongue as his embarrassment faded. His eyes drifted over Peter's cocked hip, the crotch of his shorts that bulged just enough to be visible, his soft thighs that were begging to be touched. But more importantly, there was something in that tone that scratched at an entirely different sort of beast. Maybe it was stupid, but he wanted Peter's approval. Tony's slip stretched into a grin.

"I have something that will impress you."

"What's that?" Peter crossed his arms over his chest. That amused little smile on his lips made Tony's fingers twitch.

"Something even the king of New York's streets has never seen." Tony turned away and walked back to his car. He opened the door and looked at Peter. "Coming?"

He silently debated it for a moment. Tony considered just how much that sluttly little outfit and those pouting lips hid how just how smart he truly was.

"Peter!" Ned called from the group. "We gotta move!"

Peter looked at his friend with the slightest hint of anxiety as his decision hit a swift deadline. He grabbed his keys and tossed them. "Take my baby home. I'll see you later." Ned looked at them both, then sirens pricked their ears.

"You got it." He jogged over and slid into the driver's seat of Peter's car. Everyone scrambled.

Peter hopped into Tony's car and he slammed on the gas. They blew past city streets until the sound of sirens was far behind, then they slowed down and blended into the other traffic.

"Is it always like that?" Tony asked.

Peter laughed. Tony could see the adrenaline in his eyes. "Not every night, but pretty often. Someone eventually rats us out or the noise gives us away. Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

"You're not planning to drop me off a pier or anything right? Because Ned has my location and literally everyone knows where you live."

"Well if that's the case, you should know where we're going."

Peter looked at where they were and it seemed to click. "Aren't you gonna buy me dinner first?"

"That's a little presumptuous."

"I'm presumptuous? You didn't get the wrong idea about the little shorts did you? Everyone does."

"I'm sure you only dress like a whore."

Peter scoffed. "I'm not the paid kind anyway."

"That's too bad. You'd make a fortune."

Peter laughed. "I kind of already do."

"Oh yeah? You got some fancy condo around here?"

"Nah. My family has a lot of debt to pay off." Peter shrugged and looked out the window.

"Ned mentioned you had an aunt," Tony said gently. He could sense the tension coming off of him, but he was curious nonetheless.

"I don't wanna talk about that stuff."

"You got it, kid." He let it go, curiosity paused for now. But he would be lying if he said he didn't want to know every bit of Peter's story.

They reached the bottom of Stark Tower. The gate raised as the sensor recognized Tony's car and let them into the garage. The entry twisted around, up a dimly lit path.

"Fancy," Peter commented. Tony only smiled.

They turned the last corner and the walls opened up into the garage. Two rows of cars took up half the space with room in the center for the auto shop.

"Whoa..." Peter stared wide eyed at the room. "Wait, this is all yours? Just yours?"

"Yep. All mine. I built most of these. That one was a gift from Audi though, prototype. Never hit the streets."

"Holy shit."

Tony grinned. He parked the car in its spot and cut it off. He looked at Peter who smiled and jumped right out the door. His eyes were glittering. His smile lit up the room.

"Impressed yet?"

Peter laughed gently. "Don't tell me I got under your skin."

"Seems like you intended to."

"Maybe, but I figured you had thicker skin," Peter teased.

"Maybe I care what you think." It was a little honest, but Peter didn't laugh. He turned towards him, uninterested now in the cars. Tension thrummed between them.

"Why's that?" he said in a quiet voice. He drifted slowly toward him in small steps.

"I've been alive a long time," Tony laughed softly, humorlessly. "And somehow I've never been more alive than I am right now."

Peter gave the smallest nod, but it didn't even seem intended for him. More like he was answering his own question. He reached him, warm hands finding his chest. It snapped the tension like a rubber band.

Tony's hands wrapped around him, pulling him in chest to chest, pressing their mouths together. Peter made a little noise in surprise, but he melted against him. Tony's hands slid over his back to squeeze his ass and pull his hips against him. While Peter's hands slid down and found their way under Tony's shirt.

"You don't-" Peter started, struggling to pull his lips away. "You don't actually think I'm just slut do you?"

"I don't bring random sluts in here. I have a different garage for that."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Well then," he extracted himself from Tony's arms and backed away with a sly grin. He made his way back to the car and leaned against the cooling hood. "This seems like a good spot."

Tony licked his lips and followed after him. He grabbed Peter's thighs and lifted him off the ground, stepping between his spread legs. Peter gasped and reached for him. Tony leaned down into his hands and let Peter pull him in, kissing him slowly and deeply, to the rhythm of their hips grinding together. Peter whimpered. Tony could feel the way his cheeks heated in embarrassment. He gave him a soft moan in answer that had Peter pulling him in closer. But Tony was done with kissing.

His hand wrapped around Peter's neck and he pushed him down against the hood. With one hand he worked open Peter's shorts. Peter helped him shove them down, leaving them hanging off of one ankle along with his underwear. He let Tony manhandle him, flipping him onto his stomach and pulling his knees up onto the car.

Tony pressed kisses into his lower back, working his way down, until he found his hole.

"Tony," Peter gasped. His hands grabbed at the warm metal, but there was nothing but Tony's hands on his thighs to hold him up. He laid against the hood, moaning against the surface while Tony ate him out.

"Tony, fuck," Peter whined. Tony kept going, encouraged by the boy's noises until he needed more. He laid him down again against the hood only to turn him over on his belly.

Tony grabbed a fistful of his soft hair and pulled his head up. "Are you ready for me, baby?" He smirked at Peter's glassy eyes and slack lips.

"Uh huh," the boy whined.

"Tell me." Tony pressed his hips against Peter's ass. He watched his face as he tried to recover enough thought to speak.

"Fuck me, please," he breathed. His eyes finally focused on Tony's face.

"Good boy." Tony held Peter's hair in one hand and his own cock in the other, watching him as he forced himself inside him. Peter gasped, his mouth hung open, his eyes squeezed shut and a keening whine fell from his lips as Tony kept pushing in deeper.

"Fuck, you feel so good, baby," Tony groaned. Peter pushed back against him, moaning. His strong back arched. His hands pushed against the metal.

"Fuck me, Tony," he demanded. "Fucking breed me."

"Yeah? You want my cum, baby?"

"Please," Peter moaned.

Tony leaned over him, pressing kisses across his shoulders. He rocked his hips, fast but deep, enjoying that tight heat down the length of his dick. He wrapped a hand around Peter's cock, stroking him just as fast, listening to his voice pitch higher as he whined.

"So close," Peter gasped. "Please- please!"

"What do you need, baby?"

"Cum in me, please. I wanna feel it."

Tony moaned. "You got it, sweetheart." He pushed him down against the hood with a hand between his shoulders that slid down to hold the back of his neck. He was selfish now, fucking him how he wanted, but Peter only seemed to love it. He panted against the hood of the car, breath ghosting against the surface. Quiet pleas fell from his lips.

"You want it, baby?" Tony growled.

"Please, Tony," Peter begged.

"Gonna fucking breed you just like you wanted."

Peter whined. He slid against the warm metal as Tony pushed himself in deep and came inside him. Peter shivered beneath him. His hand slipped down to stroke his cock and before Tony had even recovered, Peter was cumming all over the hood.

Tony turned him over, moving him out of the mess. He kissed him, holding where his weight wanted to melt into the floor. Peter clung to his arms, breathing heavily and then finally slowing. He grinned.

"Sorry about the mess," Peter said with a soft laugh.

"You could always put those little shorts back on and make it up to me with a car wash." Tony wagged his eyebrows.

"I can do better than that."

"How's that?"

Peter slipped from his arms and bent over the hood. He met Tony's eye and held his gaze as he ran his tongue over the metal, licking his own cum from the surface.

"You tryin' to get fucked again?"

"I was hoping we could try out the backseat.”

[mecharose]

you can flatten a faerie with a car in RCU (iron components) but i guess the vampires can just peel themselves back off the pavement like a road runner cartoon (no silver). ok ❤️ yay ❤️

[antimatterz]

don't let me go

yanqing x gn!reader

summary: you find yanqing left to bleed after he's defeated by blade and dan heng il, and rush to his side.

cw: comfort, mentions of blood, can be read as platonic

enyo's note: after debating whether or not to write for him i decided to go through with it because i'm just too soft for this boy. and yes there's a genshin impact easter egg lol.

content under the cut | masterlist

you had no clue what was going on outside of the four walls that confided you. following jing yuan's command, you had to stay inside as chaos reigned on the xianzhou luofu. but as you listened to the general's urgent order, yanqing had rushed out to help, leaving you all worried and restless. it was fear that stopped you from hurrying after him, yet you grew impatient and it came to a point where you considered going after him.

but jing yuan asked you to – ugh. for the nth time, you paced back through the room to the position you came from, until a decision was made. you couldn't care less about what in the world was going on; you had to know if yanqing was safe.

now that you made up your mind, you fell into a state of hurry. you burst through the door, the heavy components falling shut behind you. you were outside now, away from your safe confinements. instantly you were met with a frozen yet perilous battlefield, motionless bodies of cloud knights scattered around limply and stained with blood.

fear stirred awake in the pit of your stomach. was it really a good decision to leave the safe zone? what if it would cost your life? you didn't know much about the enemy, as jing yuan chose to keep you mostly in the dark, but judging from the mangled state of the corpses that lay around, they didn't know mercy. what if you would run into them? sure, you could put up a fight, but you were no match for an entire army – and come on, if even the cloud knights had to bow down and face defeat, what could you begin against them?

right, you were only scaring yourself at this point. once, you glanced back towards the doors that now shut you out. then you broke until a full sprint, worry stopping you from acting discreetly. you had to find yanqing.

you ran as fast as your legs could carry you, often having to swerve left and right in order to dogde fallen soldiers. it was eerily silent, and no living being was in sight. it was clear that the fieriest battle had already pulled over this part of the xianzhou luofu, leaving nothing but a lifeless quietness and traces of bloodshed and demise.

until a scream pierced through.

a shiver ran down your spine as you recognized the voice all too well, even though it was laced with pain and terror in a way you've never heard before. you abruptly halted and spun around, not thinking straight as you ran into the direction of the terrible cry. only yanqing's name resonated through your mind, and you had to get to him, no matter what.

who knew what dangers lay ahead? you dashed into them blindly, spurred on by yanqing's call. adrenaline surged as you went, heavy breaths passing your lips. you knew this part of the luofu like the back of your hand, and navigated along the corners effortlessly.

finally, after eternally lasting minutes full of dread, you found him – or rather, his still figure. your heartbeat ran cold in fright as you feared for the worst. after freezing momentarily, you awakened from your state of shock and ran over to the boy you so adored. you fell to your knees right next to him, ignoring the sharp pain that shot through your joints as you hit the pavement.

"yanqing!" you cried, your hands finding his motionless body. fresh blood stained your fingertips, but you cared not.

hearing your voice made the boy stir awake, and you breathed out in relief when his eyes opened. irises with the hue of ancient rime gazed up at you with effort as he called out your name softly.

"aeons, you're alive." a hesitant smile fell upon your lips, but your expression turned sour once you realized how badly hurt the boy was. "yanqing, what happened?"

"s-stellaron hunter and a traitor," yanqing seethed weakly.

"you fool, why did you run off on your own?" you scolded him. careful not to hurt him, you brought your arms around his trembling body and buried your face in his bloodied shoulder. you hardly cared about the blood that stained you, all that mattered was that you were united with a very much alive yanqing.

yanqing flinched in pain upon feeling your arms around him, but he nevertheless reciprocated the hug with a small grunt as it put a strain on his injuries. just like you, he didn't care. after the sheer terror of facing not one but two seasoned fighters, losing the battle, and being left to bleed out, he was glad to be safe and sound within your embrace.

"i'm sorry, y/n," he apologized. "i just, i just wanted to do something." the boy coughed, splatters of blood staining both your clothes. "how would i be useful if i just sat and waited while everyone else is fighting to save the luofu?"

"you could've died," you said, stifling a sob. "you're so reckless sometimes, yanqing."

"but i'm alive," the boy said. "i'll be okay."

you knew he was right; though he was injured and bleeding quite a lot, nothing seemed life-threatening. yes, he needed medical care, which he would receive as soon as you brought him to the safe zone. for now, you allowed him a moment to gather his strength after a battle that nearly ended in his very demise.

"you're upset," yanqing stated. "i'm sorry, y/n."

"of course i am," you affirmed, even though the feeling was dissolving rapidly now that he held you in his arms. you were relieved more than anything else – okay, and maybe a little mad at him for being so reckless, risking his life. but all with all, most of that melted like snow underneath the scorching sun now that you were together again. "if any, i'm just glad you're okay."

you let him go just a little bit, just enough to be able to look him in the eyes. "but general jing yuan will hear about this!"

"aww, y/n, you can't be like that," the poor boy sputtered.

"he's bound to find out, anyway," you reminded yanqing. "like, we're both gone from the safe zone and you're injured. what kind of excuse did you have in mind to mask that?"

"i'll worry about that later," yanqing sighed, pulling you closer again despite the pain and discomfort it brought him. "for now, just don't let me go."

and you complied, holding the boy a little tighter – yet still careful not to hurt him. after moments of terror, you found him and he was alive and not in danger any longer. that was all that mattered, right? you wouldn't know what to do if he died today, if you found him too late and were met with his cold and mangled body, like all the fallen cloud knights you ran into as you sought yanqing.

if anything like this were to occur again, you'd go with him. there was no way you'd let him go on his own again. it had always been the two of you, like two peas in a pod. not in your darkest nightmares could that bond be broken, and today had gotten way too close. it scared you, and you did not want that to happen again.

you held him close, listening to how yanqing's breathing gradually grew steadier. with each increase of strength, another pinch of worry left your being. he was okay. and thus, so were you.

you wouldn't let him go.

[funnier-when-objectum]

i think the best part of riding a motorcycle is the intimacy of it all. weaving through traffic at unholy speeds in a full sport tuck, having to grip the frame with just my knees and thighs and use the rest of my body to dart nimbly into split second openings between the relatively slow and lumbering cars; moving in tandem with my machine, as if it were choreographed, to smoothly slide into and out of maneuvers, while we carry a conversation through the handlebars and footpegs (less an operator piloting an object and more lovers giving and taking in equal measure to find a certain harmony in velocity). i feel the singing of the engine through the fuel tank and into my chest, letting her embrace every curve in my body just as she lets me hang on to hers, and that moment theres no difference between the motorcycle and her rider, for one lapse in communication between one or the other will just bring both crashing to the pavement below

and the aftercare! pulling back into the garage, letting us both take a moment to cool down, before carefully inspecting every mechanism and structure, cleaning and repairing and topping up fluids and running checks on the electricals -- i am expected to maintain her in top condition if i expect her to keep me safe going faster than any squishy organic was designed to go, after all -- there is a certain level of trust to being allowed to run my fingers along her internals and diagnose and replace critical components.

i mean. hi i like ur blog sorry

honestly one of the best parts of running this blog is getting asks like this from people who are attracted to objects i'm not personally attracted to about their love for and intimacy with those objects. this is so beautiful, thank you for sharing it with me! and i'm glad you like this blog!

[birdkeeperklink]

So I finally finished watching Arthur Canon Doyle's Sherlock Holmes from 1968. Rambling, unedited thoughts below the cut.

Even with only 6 out of the 16 episodes surviving, it's extremely obvious how rushed and low-budget this series was. The camera work is shoddy (and at times outright bizarre, like why did we need a closeup of the sidewalk pavement) and while I mostly forgive the audio problems because these episodes were lucky to survive at all, sometimes it's pretty clear the unevenness existed when it originally aired. The production values by every metric, frankly, suck, but this is known. I have nothing to add on that, it's simply a case that it did not at all overcome the constraints of time and budget. These problems are really not that important to me, I've honestly watched and enjoyed worse productions 😂 But it's still worth mentioning for anyone thinking about watching.

Some of the acting by some of the people who were not Peter Cushing and Nigel Stock was...not great. I won't name names, but be prepared for that if you're a first-time viewer.

The writing is horribly, horribly uneven! I can't stress this enough - I have no doubt that it was also a victim of how rushed this production was, but it is easily the worst component of the series. It means that even the most compelling mysteries are often bogged down by bad dialogue or incorrect pacing (too fast or too slow at the wrong times).

There are moments when it's brilliant, with lovely reveals or genuinely funny lines! But these only make me sadder when it fails, flopping around like a dying fish.

However, the worst failure of the writing is how it treats Watson. Poor Nigel Stock was doing his utmost to bring the proper complexity to Watson, only to be foiled by terribly uneven writing that in one episode gave us a true Watson and in another gave us a slack-jawed idiot being spoonfed Sherlock's deductions even by their clients. Again, the moments where he's written well are perfect (him telling Sherlock 'no' when Sherlock equates skull size with intelligence 😂👏😎❤️), but the moments where he's not are...painful (Sherlock's looking out the window down at the people in the street and Watson's all '😱😱 how did you know there was a person outside?? Genius!!' 😖). Next time I'll have to pay attention to which writers were credited, maybe that has something to do with it....

But Peter Cushing is fantastic, because he always was, he didn't know how to give a bad performance, and he always met Nigel Stock halfway, so at the very least, their scenes together always shine even when the dialogue as written let them down - they kept the correct vibe in action and their body language and tone always conveyed the sense of camaraderie and affection that Holmes and Watson should always have. I still prefer Andre Morell in the role of Watson, but I grew very, very fond of seeing these two together, particularly in the last episode, The Blue Carbuncle. It's worth watching just for them, in my opinion.

All in all, I sound really down on it, but it's watchable. It tried hard to be a faithful adaptation despite the issues, the two main actors did their best with what they had (Peter Cushing seemed to be having fun playing Sherlock again despite the series' problems, and it shows!), and all in all, the good stuff makes it worth sitting through the bad stuff, at least for a Sherlock Holmes and/or Peter Cushing fan. I'd actually say that I'm sadder now about most of the episodes being lost than I was before, because I feel like it improved with each episode (the writing mostly).

Irrelevant side note, but is it just me, or was there something going on with Peter Cushing's teeth in the Blue Carbuncle? I didn't notice it in any of the others, but it sounded like he was whistling his S's far more than usual, and the few glimpses I got they looked uneven on top, which they are not in any other picture or show I've seen. Not important, just curious because I'm obsessed with Cushy trivia 🥴😂

Anyway, yes, this doesn't rank with the best Sherlock Holmes media, but it can be very fun and I'm glad I watched it. I'll be keeping it for future viewing. Next is the continued hunt to find a copy of The Masks of Death! 🥳

[brucenorris007]

Zero

Summary: In a world literally on fire, a robot encounters a hedgehog wearing boots half a size too big. The meeting becomes a catalyst that breaks the cycle Zero's been caught in.

1430 words

Zero trudged through the city, optics scanning at regular intervals for any indication of magmaggots or fried chicken. The hours he could safely operate at the peak of day grew shorter as coolant became harder to find. He could make do with functioning at night for a while, and he’d done more with less, but he’d have to move on soon. Traveling between the ruins of civilization without adequate supplies posed too great a risk.

Zero couldn’t spend the day in standby mode out in the open, and he couldn’t defend himself all hours of the day if his components were overheating. His internal fans hadn’t been up to the task for decades.

Options limited, he ventured into the depths of the city, returning to the dilapidated structure that’d once been a multi-story mall. He’d investigated it once already, but he’d been working quickly and thus less thorough than he would have been otherwise. Odds that he’d overlooked something were marginally better than that he’d miraculously stumble across an auto repair shop.

He briefly inspected the integrity of what remained of the entrance–the skeleton of a revolving door, chunks of thick glass scattered outward on the pavement, steel warped and several precarious cracks in the ceiling–before carefully making his way inside.

He accessed his RAM, called up the snapshot of a degraded mall map from his last venture. The details of the mall’s contents were spotty, but it provided a grasp of the building’s layout at least, so he wouldn’t waste time going over locations he’d already searched.

He’d discovered a hardware store in the southeast sector of the second floor; while he scoured over the lawn mowers and chainsaws, his receptors registered heavy footfalls from somewhere beneath him. He had a good guess as to the cause. . .

“AAAAH!”

. . .he was somewhat less certain as to the source of the screaming that accompanied them.

After stashing what meager supplies he’d found, he left the hardware store and treaded slowly to the banister overlooking the main lobby.

Below, as he suspected, a cindaruma lumbered and lurched, hoisting and hurling molten rock as it went.

“C’mon, c’mon!”

And its target was a young, scrambling hedgehog with bright fur and quills. One who, for some reason, kept waving his hands out in front of him and over his head as he ran. If his objective was improved aerodynamics, his methods were highly counterproductive. All that racket wasn’t doing him any favors, either.

Rmbl.

It only attracted more creatures; a second cindaruma grunted and crawled up out of the ground, embers and smoke marking the spot it had spawned from.

Worse, it was the blue variant; significantly hotter and thus more lethal.

Zero ran through numerous calculations. He prioritized evasive maneuvers in the city and an offensive defense in the wastelands; he didn’t carry ammunition with him when he was gathering resources. Had he been dealing with any other monster, he could have easily interfered; cindaruma boasted an obnoxiously sturdy rock armor, though.

He’d just about resigned himself to jumping down and improvising when the hedgehog’s hand emitted a strange glow; one of the fixtures of what might have once been a fountain in the lobby teetered and smashed down against the blue cindaruma’s shoulder. The sudden impact caused it to drop the fiery boulder it’d been about to throw.

Determining that the kid would somehow manage for a moment, Zero ducked back into the hardware store.

When he returned and leapt over the banister, it was with a roaring chainsaw in each hand.

The monsters turned their attention to the new, louder and larger target Zero presented.

He twisted his frame, aiming for the red cindaruma’s head.

VRR-R-R-GK-GK!

He caught its shoulder instead; the saw in his left hand sparked and whined. Stuttered after cutting two inches into the rock before stopping short.

He pivoted upon landing and drove the other chainsaw through the glowing red gap in the armor around its right knee.

The monster groaned.

Toppled down and crashed against the floor.

Zero didn’t wait to see how the blue variant would respond.

“Run.”

“Who-wha–? Wait, I gotta–!”

He grabbed the hedgehog’s arm; turned west toward the entrance he’d used to get into the mall.

“Not a suggestion.”

Zero pulled the boy along until he started running on his own.

The blue cindaruma’s thunderous footfalls echoed behind them, distance shrinking every moment.

The boy suddenly loosed the sort of whooping cough that rattled the chest. His pace faltered.

A sharp spike in heat behind them.

Zero dove, snatching the hedgehog under his arm and throwing himself to one side.

Flaming molten rocks careened past them; glass melted on contact. The fiery missiles exploded, leaving craters behind in the building’s cement foundation.

The cindaruma loomed over them, lunging with one hand outstretched.

Whack.

PSSSH.

A bottle of precious coolant exploded against the monster’s face.

The liquid evaporated instantly; steam sizzled and covered it from head to toe.

Their pursuer roared furiously.

Kid still in hand, Zero engaged his afterburners.

He raced through the lobby.

Heard the beast give chase.

Calculated how much of a lead he had.

Broke through the warped steel frame of the door with a loud

CLANG.

Finally braked and turned his optics back.

Watched the cindaruma charge at him–

Crack.

Just as structural integrity of the entrance failed. Zero retreated further as the initial collapse gave way to more.

Twenty-four seconds later, the rumbling stopped; and his opponent buried, flame suffocated under the rubble.

“Whoa.”

His passenger muttered from under his arm. Zero deposited him on the ground and scanned the area.

“Um, than–”

“Do not stay here. The noise will attract charmanders soon.”

The hedgehog blinked. Having provided sufficient warning, Zero turned and began his circuitous route back to his base.

“Char–? Hey, wait up!”

Zero did not wait up. He heard the kid tailing him regardless.

– – – – –

“So, uh, what’s your name?” 

“. . . Designation: Zero.”

“Oh! Uh, my name is Silver. I”

“You are stupidly reckless.”

“. . . I-I need to be able to fight them.”

“. . .”

“If I can’t handle his minions, I won’t stand a chance against Iblis.”

“. . .”

“W-well, somebody has to beat him! And no one can do what I can!”

“Run around screaming and flailing?”

“Mrrr. . . I just need practice. My psychokinesis works most of the time, it’s just hard to concentrate in a fight.”

“. . .”

“Wh-what?”

“Follow me.”

– – – – –

After a bit over an hour and some largely one-sided conversation

(“Charmander. . . is that what you call the fragments of Iblis?”

“Copyright has long expired.”

“Copy-what?”)

They arrived at Zero’s base. More of a temporary storage and hideout than anything, the nearest to furnishing were his ammo stock, spare coolant and the few other things he could carry without excessively burdening himself. Subterranean, as all his bases were, for the cooling effect of being underground.

Ironic that a day had come when Zero actively sought out basements.

“Conjecture: You require equipment.”

Silver tilted his head; somehow, gravity seemed to have no effect on whether or not his quills remained erect on his head.

“What sort of equipment?”

“You experience lapses in control of your psychokinesis under duress, correct?”

Silver frowned; lowered his eyes and gave a jerking nod.

Zero turned to his stash.

“Surmise that streamlining the process of channeling psychic energy will expedite your progress on the learning curve,” he said, digging through his things. “A pair of gauntlets would be appropriate.”

Silver already channeled his psychokinetic powers through his hands, after all.

“Wait,” Silver said, head popping back up with wide eyes. “You can help me?”

“Statistically probable.”

The kid’s face nearly glowed. Zero retrieved a worn yet well-kept tablet and turned it on; his CPU was still efficient, but an external backup was always prudent.

And not solely for practicality.

Zero did not possess any great inherent kindness. He couldn’t articulate precisely why he felt inclined to aid Silver in his frankly foolhardy desire to battle the Flames of Disaster.

A prompt for an administrator name and password blinked onto the tablet’s screen.

Perhaps Zero felt moved to do something of more significance than surviving.

He typed into the onscreen keyboard; matching entries for both prompts.

In the deepest corners of his motherboard, Zero might confess that it had to do with attempting to compensate for past wrongs; the boy being a hedgehog of all things. . .

Zero Michigan Three Nine Alpha

He tapped enter.

The prompts fell away, and a prerecorded audio sample of a slightly sultry, nostalgic voice greeted him.

“Welcome back, Omega.”

@generic-sonic-fan

[walkswithmyfather]

“The Armor of God” Sermon by In Touch Ministries:

“Learn the importance of being prepared to stand against the enemy.”

“Every command God gives us in His Word is given for our protection and our good. Dr. Stanley explains the importance of being prepared to stand against the enemy by putting on the full armor of God.

Sermon Outline: Believers need not feel daunted by the enemy, because God has provided everything we need to triumph over him. In this week’s sermon, Dr. Stanley explores how the Lord equips us for victory in every spiritual battle.

Ephesians 6:10-18 (ERV). [10] “To end my letter I tell you, be strong in the Lord and in his great power. [11] Wear the full armor of God. Wear God’s armor so that you can fight against the devil’s clever tricks. [12] Our fight is not against people on earth. We are fighting against the rulers and authorities and the powers of this world’s darkness. We are fighting against the spiritual powers of evil in the heavenly places. [13] That is why you need to get God’s full armor. Then on the day of evil, you will be able to stand strong. And when you have finished the whole fight, you will still be standing. [14] So stand strong with the belt of truth tied around your waist, and on your chest wear the protection of right living. [15] On your feet wear the Good News of peace to help you stand strong. [16] And also use the shield of faith with which you can stop all the burning arrows that come from the Evil One. [17] Accept God’s salvation as your helmet. And take the sword of the Spirit—that sword is the teaching of God. [18] Pray in the Spirit at all times. Pray with all kinds of prayers, and ask for everything you need. To do this you must always be ready. Never give up. Always pray for all of God’s people.”

God is always looking out for our best interests. He gave clear instructions in His Word about how to handle conflict with satanic forces.

“We have to deal with spiritual warfare every single day when our feet hit the pavement.”

There are many components to the armor of God, including the:

1. Belt of truth (Ephesians 6:14).

• Truth is essential for victory in the life of the believer. Without it, we can become fearful and doubt God’s promises.

• It’s essential that we know what the Bible says about our spiritual position, our relationship to God, and our power in Christ.

2. Breastplate of righteousness (v. 14).

• This refers not to our righteousness from Christ but to practical righteousness—living out the truth daily through right action, right thinking, and right relationships.

• A breastplate covers the heart, the symbolic seat of our emotions. We’re not to live on the basis of feelings.

3. Shoes of the gospel of peace (v. 15).

• As God’s children, we are always to stand on the firm foundation—that is, the gospel of Jesus Christ.

• When we know what we believe, we’re stable and ready to move against the enemy.

4. Shield of faith (v. 16).

• Our faith should be “large”—meaning it covers every aspect of our person and life.

• We strengthen it by reading God’s Word, watching what the Lord does, and keeping a diary to record His faithfulness.

5. Helmet of salvation (v. 17).

• A helmet covers the brain and therefore the mind. This protects us from doubting our salvation.

• Before leaving the house, we should pray that God would protect our thoughts and help us bring every one captive to the obedience of Christ (2 Corinthians 10:5).

6. Sword of the Spirit, which is God’s Word (v. 17).

• God’s Word is living and active (Hebrews 4:12).

• We must know how Scripture works and trust that it’s necessary every day and adequate for every circumstance.

“I challenge you: By faith, before you get out of bed, put God’s armor on piece by piece, and see what He does in your life.”

Prayer is essential to securing the victory (Ephesians 6:18). So each morning, verbally dress in the armor of God, using these words:

“I'm putting on the belt of truth; I’ll walk in the truth I know today.

I’m putting on the breastplate of righteousness to protect my emotions. I’m putting on the sandals of peace, to stand firm in the gospel by which I’ve been saved and which I’m willing to defend. I’m taking the shield of faith today to ward off all Satan’s fiery darts of temptation.

I’m putting on the helmet of salvation right now. God, protect my thinking all day long.

I’m wielding the sword of the Spirit—Your Word—as a weapon both defensive and offensive. May I help to bring somebody out of enslavement and to a saving knowledge of Jesus Christ today. In Jesus’ name, amen.”