#Aluminium Turned Parts

[mxmparts]

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[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

what a pretty flower.

the single morning glory stands out, fresh spring sunlight accentuating its indigo hue, glimmering like a shooting star just behind the chain-link fence. in the peripheral of your vision, it almost seems to glow; solitary and ephemeral, as if coaxing you into stepping closer.

and you can’t resist its call.

suguru blinks, a little dazed, when he feels your hand slip from his. the warmth of your intertwined fingers follows closely behind, and the loss of contact leaves him feeling slightly vexed, replaced by the gentle chill of the air.

he doesn’t get an explanation, either. attention entirely fixed on that mesmerizing indigo blur, you don’t say a thing — and with an eager kind of giddiness, you skip over to the fence, ready to fish it out.

suguru just sighs, mildly amused.

it’s nothing out of the ordinary, really. if you see something that captures your attention, suguru has come to learn that you’ll drop just about anything to go get a closer look. does it exasperate him, ever so slightly? sure. the involuntary twitch of his fingers reveals as much, almost as if coaxing him into waltzing over and grabbing your hand again.

but suguru is a patient man. especially when it comes to you. and, above all else — any habit of yours is endearing to him, even ones that include you leaving his side for a moment or two.

so he simply watches over you from afar, knowing you’ll return on your own; with your jacket tucked between his arm and his torso, a can of cold, too-sweet coffee in hand. suguru hasn’t put his lips on the aluminium in about five minutes, saving whatever’s left for the inevitable moment you start whining for just one tiny sip, please?

(he’ll roll his eyes, and tell you not to drink yours so quickly next time, but still hand it to you with a smile he’ll make sure you don’t see.)

suguru’s gaze is unspeakably fond, as he idly admires how the sunshine wraps you in its embrace. you almost seem to sparkle, in his vision, like a butterfly dancing in the wind — fluttering just barely out of reach, too fragile to touch. too beautiful to sully with human hands. maybe it's a tad dramatic, but suguru couldn't care less.

the air is warm, full of life. cicadas chirp from afar. within his veins, his blood buzzes with joy and cheap caffeine, and everything smells like spring. like something new, something delightful. something that makes him think of you.

suguru watches as you crouch down, watches how your nimble fingers struggle to fit through the narrow gaps of the chain-link fence. he can’t see the little frown that tugs at your lips, and he can’t hear your little muttered grumbles — but he can somehow feel your frustration, all the same. something about the way you ducked your head just now, the way your fingers tap against your bended knee.

but then, finally, your valiant efforts bear fruit. with a number of failed attempts that you’d rather not mention, you manage to pluck the small flower, bringing it to your side of the fence without too much of a fuss. suguru doesn’t have to see your face to know that your eyes must be bright, lips curled up into a victorious smile. one that always makes him feel a little weak in the knees.

dusting pollen and tiny pieces of grass off your knees, you stand up straight, wasting no time in turning on your heel and making your way back to his side — with the precious morning glory in tow. 

suguru waits, patiently, for you to return to him. 

when you do, he doesn’t even get a chance to speak; you part your lips before he can give you the usual raise of his eyebrow, soft tilt of his head, teasing inquiry of did you see something nice, sweetheart? all he can do is lean a little closer, making sure he hears every word your lovely voice graces him with. seeking the feeling of your breath against his skin, the warmth of your body when it’s tucked into his side.

(but he can’t get too greedy. so suguru keeps his distance, eyes rich with affection, looking at you like you’re the first flower blooming out of spring.)

and you speak, nearly bouncing on the balls of your feet, eyes shining with something giddy and honeyed — all too eager to see your idea through, the idea that crossed your mind the moment you laid eyes on the little flower.

”suguru,” you smile, sweet and excited. ”lean down.”

a blink, and a questioning look sent your way. your boyfriend shoots you a lazy smile, paired with a raise of his eyebrow that you’ve come to associate with him and his love.

despite the vague confusion painted on his features, suguru obeys your command without hesitation. always so willing to indulge you. he bends forward, compliantly, until he’s at eye level with you — face just a little too close for comfort, dark hazel eyes staring into yours in a way he knows flusters you terribly.

the butterflies in your stomach erupt at the intimate proximity, wings tickling your ribcage like soft petals sputtering after being rooted up from the ground — but you don’t allow yourself to falter.

(it’s a little tough, though. he looks so pretty, with the spring breeze caressing his cheek, soft streaks of sunlight falling over the contours of his handsome face. so, so pretty.

but there’s something that would make him look even prettier.)

so, with a gentleness that never fails to have suguru’s heartbeat hitching in his throat, your palm goes to smooth along his jaw. his eyes never leave your face, gazing intently at the way you press your lips together in concentration, barely resisting the urge to lean forward and kiss you. patient, as he waits for you to be finished.

it’s a tender motion: the pads of your fingers against his sunkissed skin, tucking the little flower behind his ear, its stem resting between his soft, silky locks. the indigo colour blends together well with his black hair, like a shooting star blooming in the night sky.

you lean back to admire your work.

”hmmm...”

suguru bites back a chuckle, at the intense contemplation etched onto your features. seemingly very deep in thought, you furrow your brows and absentmindedly stroke your chin — studying him with a serious expression, a tilt of your head and narrowed eyes, as if you’re an art dealer examining a painting on display. 

(you’re so silly, he thinks. the thought is positively overflowing with fondness.)

finally, you seem to reach some kind of conclusion; and your eyes soften, crumbling a little at the corners, painted over with something suguru can’t quite place. whatever it is, he suddenly finds it a little harder to breathe — all that love crammed into the confines of his chest, clogging up his throat. your eyes crinkle when you smile, oh so sweetly, burrowing your way deeper into his heart.

(you’re already in so deep he doubts he could ever dig you out.)

”yeah,” you exhale, a little breathless. still admiring how pretty he looks, with the morning glory in his hair. like a princess, your princess. 

your pretty, pretty boy.

a smile rests on your lips, laced with adoration. suguru feels his heartbeat pick up with a jolt, and he somehow doubts it’s just the caffeine; the sensation only deepens when your smile shifts in the light, melting into a soft grin.

”purple suits you best.”

suguru blinks. giving him no time to respond, you turn on your heel and continue walking, expecting him to follow. thoroughly satisfied after seeing your sudden objective through to the end — he looks just as pretty as you knew he would.

but suguru has to take a moment to simply watch, as you skip on ahead. always excited and off in your own world. the sun personified, he often thinks, peeking out after a rainshower, shining as you please. bringing light and warmth wherever you go.

maybe he would feel embarrassed, if he was another person. someone more insecure in their masculinity, less in love with you.

fortunately, that is not the case. suguru lifts a hand to stroke the flower, delicately, careful so it doesn’t loosen and flutter away with the wind. his heart feels warm. cheap caffeine and sweet thoughts rushing through his veins.

”— suguru?”

his gaze flits up to meet yours, where you stand a little further ahead, confused eyes looking into his own. a little tilt of your head is all it takes for him to move; catching up to you in long strides, a smile on his face.

”sorry. got lost in thought.”

you take his hand in yours, fingers intertwining with his own, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. as if your hands belong together. his smile widens.

”don’t like it?” you ask, nodding vaguely in the direction of the morning glory. suguru squeezes your hand reassuringly.

”not at all. thank you, baby,” he soothes, a teasing tilt to his smile. eyes hopelessly softened. ”does it look good on me?”

a little chuckle flows from your lips. breathing out a silent response — don’t ask me questions you already know the answers to. but you opt to indulge him, all the same, turning towards him with an affectionate gaze. ”of course,” you coo. ”you’re the prettiest.”

suguru can’t bite back the soft grin that blooms on his lips, and he wonders if you notice the red hue crawling up his neck — faint, but awfully telling. to distract you from it, recognizing a glint of familiar mischief in your eyes, he reaches a hand out to pull your cheek. gently, not enough to hurt you.

the little wince that escapes you tugs at his heartstrings, though, even though he knows you’re just being dramatic to make him feel bad. he can only hope the teasing smile he sends your way will be enough to fluster you, his eyes smoothed over with a deep sincerity.

”you’re one to talk.”

it takes a second or two for his words to sink in. and he can pinpoint the exact instant that they do, from the way you avert your gaze, swiftly, face heating up adorably. suguru stifles a coo.

a little huff leaves your lips, vaguely embarrassed — muttering something unintelligible under your breath. you let go of his hand and take a couple long steps forward, to avoid his teasing gaze. 

suguru follows behind, dutifully, with a fond chuckle. it scatters away in the spring breeze, dancing up into the blue of the sky, caressing the morning glory in his hair.

he takes your hand in his, once more. 

you don’t let go.

[sleep-i-ness]

Maybe They're Born With It, Maybe It's Trauma

Summary: You make a new friend at rehab.

Content Warning: Drugs, rehab

TUA MASTERLIST | GENERAL MASTERLIST

“I hoped we wouldn’t be seeing you back here so soon.” The dour face of Dr Hartleben greeted you as you waltzed into the rehab centre, a grin splitting your face in two.

“How could I stay away? I simply adore the early morning yoga sessions and going around in a circle after lunch explaining why we’re all so fucked up.”

Dr Hartleben’s pursed lips and sour expression conveyed all she had to say on the matter as you turned sharply on the ball of your foot. She took large strides down the corridor, and you had to jog to catch up, your scruffy trainers squeaking on the shiny linoleum floor. This place was like a second home to you, having been in and out every few months for the past 7 or so years.

You’d tried to hold down a steady job, really, you had. But all you had to show for it was a place as a flautist in the local orchestra, which did not pay, and a spacious but surprisingly cheap apartment in the dodgy part of the city. That you’d bought with money from your past life, when everything had been fine and on track to at least a minimal amount of success. But all in all, you’d decided that there was no point in trying to regain some semblance of normalcy in your life when all you ever did was try to escape the ghosts from your past.

Dr Hartleben pushed open the dull aluminium door with your foot, a shaft of sunlight illuminating the room. Ah, home sweet home. The stale scent of iodoform and sweat wafted out and you breathed deeply. This was the one thing that never changed, no matter what.

“You know your way around, the top bunk on the far left is vacant. I expect to see you adding your name to the duty rosters and coming to group therapy this afternoon,” Dr Hartleben was itching to leave you in the confined patient dormitories, barely even standing on the faded doorstep of the room. “Your stuff will be brought to you as soon as it has all been checked.”

You scoffed. “I’m always a model patient, I’d never jeopardise my spot in this wonderful place by bringing shit in with me.”

“Then why are you back again? I’ll leave you to get settled and make your bed. Your sheets should be on the end of your bunk. The others are in the garden, one of the nurses will be round in 10 minutes to escort you.”

With that, the door swung closed, and you were left standing in the dank and poorly lit room. The frosted windows were too grimy to let much light in and the bulb in the lamp buzzed a faint yellow. At least this time you had a top bunk, which was clearly the superior spot.

That was the problem in having so many drug overdoses on your medical record; every so often you’d be sent back into rehab, with or without a court order to stay. You had forgotten the strict rules that had to be followed and the lack of freedom; you didn’t need a babysitter. At least in rehab you wouldn’t be quite so lonely, you had roommates to keep you company now. And everyone had their own demons to face, otherwise they wouldn’t be here. There was no room for judging.

The crisp sheets smelt of starched linen, over washed and firm to the touch. No more comfy bed sheets, you mourned. The mattress was lumpy and had a suspicious dark stain on the plastic that you straight up refused to touch, choosing to flip it over instead and hope that the other side was less grimy.

“Y/N?” A knock sounded at the door and a nurse popped his head round the door, clutching your overflowing crochet shoulder bag. It was a face you hadn’t seen before, and you quickly plastered on your friendliest grin.

“Hi, yep, that’s me. Is my stuff all okay for me to take?” All there was in the bag was a change of clothes, some toiletries and spare underwear. No point bringing anything too nice, someone was bound to nick it otherwise.

“Yeah, yeah.” The nurse returned your smile, holding out the bag for you to quickly grab and sling over the end of your bed. He was quite young, you would guess late 20s to early 30s. You pitied the poor guy, having to deal with them all the time. Well, he had chosen this.

“Dr Hartleben said that the other patients were all in the garden, can I join them?” You skipped over to the door, your colourfully patterned skirt swishing round your ankles. You hadn’t been quite sure that your outfit was particularly fitting for the centre; it had felt a bit too bohemian but seeing the drab and dreary walls reminded you that a pop of colour would do this place some good.

The garden was a bit of an overstatement really. It was more of a paved courtyard with weeds growing between the cracks in the slabs and a couple of small flowerbeds, one of which had been a vegetable garden the last time you had been here but now appeared to have been taken over by weeds. It was the space for the newest patients, who couldn’t be trusted to go into the slightly more expansive grounds yet. It was depressingly barren, and you eyed the patients morosely milling around with a grimace. How boring.

“What’s growing in the beds at the moment?” You turned to the nurse, whose name you hadn’t learnt yet, with a dazzling smile.

“I don’t think there’s anything particular being grown.”

You pursed your lips. How sad. Any life or nature in this place really was stifled and stamped out in the end.

--

You trudged into the group therapy room, eyes following your feet as they left scuff marks on the shiny floor. You slipped into a spare seat, barely making eye contact with anyone else. If you could get out of this without a single person trying to become your new bosom pal, you’d count it as a win.

“Hi, I’m Ella and today we have someone new joining us, so I’d like everyone to go round in the circle and introduce themselves by saying their name and why they’re here. Louisa, if you wouldn’t mind starting off for us.” The irritatingly cheery voice of the therapist was grating on your nerves, you hated these sessions with a passion. What was the need in sharing the same stories every week?

“I’m Louisa and I’m an alcoholic.”

“I’m Mark and I’m a heroin addict.”

“I’m Susanna and I’m a drug addict.”

“I’m Brent and I’m an alcoholic.”

The droning of voices soon became a wave of background noise that washed over you like a sea of calm, each introduction as monotonously boring as the next. The person to your left spoke and you yawned softly, daintily lifting a hand to cover your mouth. “I’m Y/N and I’m an addict.”

There was something so tiring about rehab. Between the withdrawals and the endless therapy and need to be in touch with emotions, it was draining both physically and mentally. You couldn’t wait to get out; you only had a couple more weeks to go.

“And, our newest member, would you like to introduce yourself?” You could practically hear the beaming grin in Ella’s voice, and you rolled your eyes. Bit much.

“I’m Klaus and I’d like to say I’m a tortured soul-” Your head snapped up to look curiously at the newbie. Heavily eyelinered brown eyes stared back at you, a mischievous twinkle shining in them. “But to stick with the same pattern as everyone else, I’m an addict.”

He lifted a ringed hand to wave to the circle, winking at you. And you felt yourself flush, ducking your head from his intense gaze.

Group therapy had never felt so long as today, not that you could recall anything discussed, not when your eyes kept straying towards Klaus. And boy, did he notice. Every time his eyes met yours, he held the eye contact, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, and you flushed redder and redder.

How unfair that someone this gorgeous was at rehab; how were you meant to even attempt to recover when he kept looking at you!

It wasn’t until the end of the session, as you all shuffled out, that he properly made his way over to you, a cheeky grin on his face. You glanced at him, turning your head back to the door with a small smile which you tried your hardest to fight back.

“Hello, Y/N,” he murmured, voice so low it felt like a conversation that was only for you. And you bit at the inside of your cheek to squash the blush crawling up inside you.

“Hiya,” you whispered, hoping you didn’t sound quite as excited as you felt.

“Come here often?”

You giggled, hating how much like a schoolgirl you sounded, and finally plucked up the courage to make eye contact with him. “Yes, unfortunately.”

“Court mandated as well?”

You nodded, picking at a stray thread on your skirt.

“Well, we’ve got each other now.”

And you chewed at your bottom lip, beaming grin splitting across your face as a heady rush of giddiness filled your chest. “Yeah, I guess we do.”

“Want to go see the garden with me?”

You nodded, a little too quickly and eagerly, and he just chuckled at you.

Maybe rehab wouldn’t be as bad this time around.

[andmaybegayer]

For a different project I was reading about developments in induction heating technologies and realized I had a small misunderstanding about how induction stoves work.

So, the classic misunderstanding is in why steel works on an induction hob but aluminium doesn't. Most people assume this is because you need a magnetic material in order to induce a current, but if you know your physics you know this isn't true. You can induce a current in any conductor, and indeed inducing currents in aluminium is something that happens in industry all the time.

So then you get to my understanding of why you can't use aluminium and copper, which is that they're too good at conducting electricity. Induction generates a voltage that pushes a current through the material. Aluminium and copper are much better conductors than steel, so the generated potential is lower and the overall current is lower as a result of material interactions with the field, so you don't get nearly as much heat out of induction on aluminium as on steel. This was what I thought. This is also wrong, although it's closer.

The actual answer is one step deeper. Induction hobs have to operate at pretty high frequencies, usually 24-ish kHz, both for audible noise reasons and, crucially, because they rely heavily on the skin effect. Interestingly this makes that first wrong explanation kind of more correct, I'll get to that in a moment.

The skin effect is a thing that happens when you have an alternating current in a bulk material; the AC signal sets up magnetic fields that force current to flow in a thin layer closer to the surface of the solid rather than flowing evenly throughout the material. This increases the effective resistance of the material, since you end up with a reduced effective surface area through which current can flow. The skin effect gets more pronounced at higher frequencies, and it's part of why you'll see bundles of smaller cables used to conduct high power AC: each cable has its own skin that can carry more current than the same quantity of material in one bulk cable.

In the right kinds of steel and iron, 24kHz is enough to generate a current carrying skin only a few tenths of a millimeter thick, which has a high enough resistance to generate the heat needed for cooking. Ferromagnetic materials have very high magnetic permeability, which causes them to experience much stronger skin effects. Copper and aluminium, between their high conductivity and lower magnetic permeability, have much weaker skin effects, their skins at 24kHz are much thicker, and so you just can't kick up enough resistance to the current to generate heat, it just spins around in there getting kind of warm but you'd have a hard time actually cooking with it. Indeed, non-magnetic stainless steel also won't work on induction hobs, because it also has a much thicker skin effect.

So you have the "real answer" being a fun hybrid of the two incorrect explanations.

The main side effects I take away from this are twofold.

1) you can absolutely make an induction hob that will heat copper and aluminum and non-magnetic stainless steels, you just need a high enough frequency to generate a strong enough skin effect to generate heat. Panasonic makes one that uses 60+kHz induction under the brand "Met-all".

2) if you physically constrain the current by having a really thin piece of metal, you can induction heat it anyway. When I read this, I stopped, took out a piece of aluminium foil, and stuck it on my induction cooktop. It almost immediately got incredibly hot and I pulled it away before anything bad happened. Turns out you could definitely melt and maybe even vaporize aluminium this way. So don't do that. Apparently people do this with lightweight titanium cookware too, which would not be able to sustain the necessary currents in a large bulk solid but can if you thin the base of the pan out enough.

[superficialdomina]

Lost (Into Submission, Part 3)

Part 2: Pain

Series masterlist

AN: Loki's determined to prove you wrong, so he takes himself to a BDSM sex club to get his Dom on.

As always, an enormous thank you to @acidcasualties for making this whole series happen.

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: 18+; minors DNI. Explicit smut: oral (male receiving) PIV, elements of rough Dom!Loki. Hints of orgy/voyeurism. More Loki angst. Ana is 100% consenting, but naive. A reminder to young subs out there: always have pre-negotiated limits, and a safe word that you're prepared to use (I know you know, but I was a bit worried about Ana after this).

Also, writing Dom!Loki was surprisingly hot. Maybe I do get it after all.

Loki checked up and down the grimy street before he stepped out of the limo. He’d been driven right to the door of the club, but it wouldn’t do to be recognised in the few metres’ walk from the curb. He had handed the driver a crisp $100 bill as he left; the man’s salary from Stark Towers already paid for his discretion, but Loki wanted to ensure that his gratitude for that silence was understood. Straightening his suit jacket, he turned the door handle.

Inside was as nondescript as the outside; Loki navigated downwards through two floors of industrial concrete and metal to find what he was looking for. The deeper bass notes of electro-grunge seeped through the plush ruby door, and Loki felt the familiar thudding of his heart in time with the music. As always, he swallowed his budding anxiety, straightened to his full height, and stepped through the doorway of club Genuflexa.

The interior of Genuflexa – known as "the Gen” only to those who had never been inside – was darkened, but Loki’s eyes adjusted quickly. The basement floor was open, opulent, and luxuriously furnished, with beams, frames, rings and anchors adorning every surface at regular intervals. If it weren’t for the lack of windows and the faintly musty odour, it would be easy to forget that he was several floors underground. Bodies clustered at various points around the room, some playing, some watching, some lounging on the lush sofas where they pleasured themselves or each other. With skill that belied centuries of practice, Loki pushed the feeling of overwhelm from his mind.

“Mr. Smith,” a honeyed voice came from his shoulder. “It’s been a while.”

He looked down at the latex-clad brunette who had appeared beside him, giving her as smouldering a look as he could manage. Image. “Nervo,” he purred. “It’s good to see you.”

It wasn’t her real name, just as it wasn’t his, although unlike her, he genuinely didn’t know who she was outside this basement. The Genuflexa’s excessive membership fee paid for the privacy of all its patrons; nonetheless, as with his driver, he would leave Nervo a hefty tip to show his appreciation for her discretion. She may know his real name, but she certainly wouldn’t speak it.

“Can I take your jacket?”

“No.” He idly thumbed the edge of his sleeve. “I’ll keep it with me, thank you.”

Nervo smiled. “Let me know if there’s anything else you need, Mr. Smith.”

Loki briefly scanned the opulent surroundings, trying to ascertain the club’s energy tonight. The was a wildness in the air; something savage and untamed and feral that covered the luxurious décor like an invisible fog. It was exhilarating, and equally - Loki admitted it only in the deepest parts of his mind - frightening.

Loki turned to the abandoned bar, searching for something to do with his hands. There was never any liquor served here, but expensive bottles of still and sparkling water lined the countertop. He took an imported bottle of San Pellegrino, and closed his eyes for a moment to savour the crack of the aluminium lid as he twisted it open. The bubbles danced gently on his tongue; the cool of the glass was divine in his hands.

By the time he he opened his eyes, they had seen him.

They didn’t quite rush to him, but there was an eagerness with which they surrounded him, pressed their hot bodies against him, gazed up at his face in rapture. One – blonde, slender, notably bolder than her peers – met his eyes with hungry, dilated pupils.

“Are you-“

“My name is Mr. Smith,” Loki interrupted. He hesitated for a beat. “You may call me Sir.”

Her eyes narrowed for the briefest moment, then she giggled. “Mr. Smith, Sir, are you here to play?”

She looked so fragile, her waif-like frame buffeted by the beat of the music. I could snap her in half. He instinctively wanted to decline her invitation. Instead, he affected a well-rehearsed mask that, despite being achingly familiar, was never truly comfortable.

“What is your name, girl?”

“Ana, Sir.”

“How old are you, Ana?”

Ana giggled again. She was chewing gum, which Loki found highly unappealing. “I’m 25, Sir.”

Loki raised an eyebrow at her. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you, Ana?”

“No, Sir.”

Loki caught Nervo’s eye over Ana’s shoulder; she gave a half-nod, half-shrug. The tiny woman was of age. He swallowed, and placed his San Pellegrino back on the bar.

“Come then, Ana – let’s find somewhere... comfortable.”

Ana squealed, taking his tie in her hands and pulling him towards her, snaking her lithe body against him as she walked him backwards across the club floor.

“My safe word is never,” Ana spoke loudly into his ear as they moved through the furnishings. Her unpleasant chewing continued, and she lowered her voice to a stage-whisper. “As in, I’ll never use it.” She giggled once more at her “joke”, batting her eyelids at him conspiratorially as her back met the rolled arm of a large, lush sofa. Loki managed not to roll his eyes.

The crowd had followed them; Loki tried to shut out the voyeurs who peered at them through the dark, to focus only on the sweet body before him. Ana. Loki hoped, for her sake, that it was not her real name. He lifted his chin, and straightened again.

“Get rid of your gum, girl,” he commanded. Ana didn’t look away as she spat her gum on the floor. Loki seethed.

“Not there, you filth.” She looked slightly taken aback, but she picked the wet wad of gum off the grimy floor and tucked it into her black corset. Loki hoped the revulsion in his face would be misconstrued by the onlookers as contempt. He loomed over her as he spoke again.

“Kneel.”

Ana’s mouth hung open; that word, from this man, this God – because of course she knew, they all knew, exactly who he was –  

But they don’t know, do they? The voice slithered through Loki’s mind like a serpent. Nobody knows. Nobody…

And for the briefest moment, your face swam in Loki’s eyes. Your luscious, curvy body, wrapped in straps of leather and softly jingling brass, his hands bound, prostrate before you, and your beautiful mouth so close –

Loki grabbed a fistful of Ana’s hair, pulling her down and forwards so that she stumbled to her knees. He lowered his voice, sneering.

“I said kneel, girl.”

The smirk was gone from her face, all trace of brat vanished as she sank back to rest on her heels, mouth and eyes wide, hands resting demurely in her lap. Loki had not released his grip on her hair; with his other hand, he freed his cock from his suit trousers. Mesmerised, Ana watched it grow hard before her as he pumped himself slowly, his fist only centimetres from her open mouth.

He tugged roughly at her hair, pulling her up to face him.

“You will look me in the eyes as you take me in your throat. Do you understand?”

Ana nodded, not breaking eye contact, straightening on her knees and widening her jaw to take him as he guided her forwards, fingers still wrapped tightly in her hair. As her mouth enveloped him, he lifted his own hand off of himself and stroked her cheek with his fingers. She was ambitious, her hot, wet mouth bobbing eagerly, saliva running down her chin as it spilled from around the edges of him. He watched her cheeks hollow with every lunge she made.

“Use your hands, girl,” he growled, and she whimpered, lifting her arms precariously to run her fingers over the fabric covering his thighs, tracing the ridges of muscle beneath. Loki grit his teeth. “Not there.” He took her hand and guided it to the base of his cock, curving her fingers around him. She gripped him hard. Still she did not break his gaze.

Loki felt the room pressing in; felt the hot, filthy gaze of the crowd as they wordlessly egged him on, their heavy breaths and moans pushing and demanding, and Loki’s own voice telling him not to fail, don’t fail, and Ana’s sweet young face stared back at him with those wide, dark eyes-

Without warning, he pulled her head back, causing his cock to slip from her wet mouth with a grotesque slurp. She was gasping for air. He let go of her hair, watching her closely.

“Stand.” Ana did so, unsteadily, but consciously. The collective audience grunted and moaned; Ana seemed somewhat recharged by their encouragement. “Turn around.”

Delighted, Ana turned, arching her back so that her petite bottom poked out from under her short skirt. She was clearly naked underneath; even in the dark, Loki could see the outline of her surprisingly plump labia between her slim legs.

“Put your forearms on the couch, and spread your legs.”

“Yes, Sir,” Ana breathed, and she bent forward so that her skirt tipped up over her midsection; Loki roughly widened her legs with his foot until she seemed suitably off-balance. He placed his hands on her slender hips, tracing the lower curve of her exposed buttocks with his thumbs.  Ana gasped theatrically.

“Are you going to spank me, Daddy?” Ana whined, peering back over her shoulder at him.

Loki glowered at her. “You will call me,” he said, bringing his wide palm down on her silky flesh with a thwack, “Sir.” He swapped hands, slapping her other cheek in punctuation. Ana flinched, crying out in pain with each strike. Loki softly stroked the reddening skin, soothing her. “Never” indeed, Loki thought cruely, scathingly. I could have you safewording out in minutes if I-

But in truth, he had no interest in hurting her. He trailed his gaze over her small body back up to her face, and realised with quiet horror that she had tightened restraints around her own wrists; the cuffs, which must have been waiting within her reach, were affixed via a long chain to the base of the sofa. Loki suppressed a shudder.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” Ana whined again. “Are you going to fuck me now, Sir?”

Loki’s mouth was dry; he wished he hadn’t left his water on the bar. The crowd pressed in again, and Loki could feel them now, actually feel them, their bodies moving against him as they jostled for the best view, desperate to watch this young woman be fucked and flogged and beaten and broken by a God… And Loki knew, as he had known from the moment he stepped out of the limo and descended the Genuflexa’s concrete stairs, that he would give them all what they wanted.

He purred at Ana menacingly. “Would you like that, girl?”

“Yes, Sir. Please, Sir.”

With one hand still on her hip, he guided himself to her, pressing his wide tip against her and feeling her wet, slippery resistance as her body stretched to take him. He could feel the heat of her, the elasticity of her. She was so hungry for him. She will likely be fast, he thought with relief as he eased into her.

He began to move in her, and she moaned, and the crowd moaned with her as they ground and gyrated against each other. Loki felt like he was fucking all of them at once, and he knew that it should make him feel powerful, to have their eyes on him, their desire, their pleasure at his mercy. Instead, he felt hollow. Mechanical. Yes, he would give them what they expected from their beautiful alien Prince, whose bloodlines and arrogance and titanic vanity must surely imply his need for dominance, for control, for carnal power.

Loki glanced up, still numbly thrusting into Ana as she writhed and moaned against the soft arm of the sofa. Across the room, through the dark haze (was it the club or just his eyes?), he could make out a young man, naked, facedown over a covered wooden beam. An elegant series of Shabari knots restrained him from shoulder to toe; a tall woman, dressed entirely in leather, stood over him, a short riding crop in her hand. The young man’s eyes were closed, his forehead resting on the beam, as his entire body was stroked and touched and teased. While Loki watched, the leather-clad domme lifted the crop and struck him swiftly across the buttocks; the young man flinched slightly, but did not open his eyes.

Loki stared, enthralled. The scene was utterly beautiful.

And for the second time, images of you came to him unbidden. You, standing before him as he lay restrained; you, binding his body in beautiful knots, bending him to your will, taking your pleasure from him and making his pleasure your own, and he, Loki, giving that power to you because he knew it was safe, because he knew it was what he truly wanted -

With a strangled cry that was eerily mimicked by the masturbatory audience, Loki pulled himself from Ana’s body and spilled his Godly seed over her cheeks, which were still marked red with his handprints. His own cheeks burned with shame. What had he done to her while he was lost in this fantasy? Had she climaxed? Was she hurt?

“Ana, are you alright?” For a moment she remained slumped over the arm of the sofa, but at his touch on her shoulder, she straightened, and turned to him with a sex-drunk smile across her face. The crowd were reaching for her, stroking her skin, her hair, any part of her that they could touch; for a few moments, she was their Queen. He took her shoulders, eyeing her closely. He repeated his question. She nodded mutely, still smiling dreamily. Loki turned, looking for supplies that were usually present at the foot of the lounge, but found none.

He roughly grabbed the arm of the closest of the watching horde. “You,” he barked, then took a deep breath. Don’t overcompensate. “Please, I need a warm washcloth and some drinking water.”

But when Loki turned back to Ana, she was gone; vanished into the clutch of her adoring audience.

Loki stood still as the crowd around him dissipated, consumed with shame that no one else would see. He couldn’t look at the young man in the Shabari restraints; couldn’t speak to the woman who returned with the cloth that Ana would never use. He could only reflect on the last few minutes, replaying the scene that had appeared in his mind in his final moments of ecstasy. Loki clenched his jaw.

Fuck.

Continued in Part 4: Training

Tags: @lokisgoodgirl @acidcasualties @infinitystoner @lady-rose-moon @coldnique @thomase1 @kats72 @holymultiplefandomsbatman @tomlugirl @lokisninerealms @missmushroomsstuff @ladyloki3 @fandxmslxt69 @sinsandguilt @sarahscribbles @lunarnights95 @meowmeow-motherfucker @simplyholl @divine-knight-hand @gigglingtiggerv2 @lunarnights95 @eleniblue @loz-3 @redfoxwritesstuff @wolfsmom1 @beksib @nyx2021

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[cherrychilli]

18+

Mean! Steve x AFAB reader, sub! reader

Oral cockwarming, oral sex(m), roleplay, degradation, humiliation, Steve takes pictures of reader in a compromising position (everything's consensual)

That almost unobservable, yet entirely present smile remained on his lips while you were forced to wait, as patient as you could stand to be until he decided it was time to give you some attention again.

“Y' doing alright, babe?”, Steve reached down to lightly grazed a thumb along your cheek, voice sweet and touch tender but it's all faux concern, made obvious by the way his eyes flash with cruel glee.

At any other time you would have said something; called out his mock sincerity with a scoff and thrown in a quick riposte but you couldn't.

Not with his cock resting on your tongue.

Hours of your day had been spent wrestling with thoughts of Steve as you failed to distract yourself with housework and errands; wanting him, growing more pliant and willing in the absence of his touch. But there's a particular side of Steve that you're craving tonight - a temporary departure from his usually soft and caring treatment of you.

He senses your mood when he returns home, finding you in the hallway with your hands restlessly picking at the hem of your dress, pulling your now slightly swollen bottom lip from between your teeth to offer him a sweet smile at his return.

The exchange you have following him kissing you hello is brief, your quiet but mounting impatience giving way for you to voice the request that'd been weighing heavy on your tongue all day.

"Stevie?"

One of his broad hands smoothed down the back of your hair, chin resting on the top of your head while your arms tightened around his waist.

"Yeah baby?"

"Want you to be mean again", you murmur into the front of his shirt, just loud enough for him to hear even with your face buried in his chest, shying away from his gaze.

It always brought a smirk to his face when you got like this, all bashful and needy.

"You sure?"

You nod in answer, the hair on the top of your head tickling his chin from the movement.

"Anything for you, sweet girl", and he pulls back to kiss you on the forehead, fingers lacing with yours to lead you further into the house.

You follow him into the kitchen from there, his back turned to you, watching him pluck a beer from out of the fridge and take seat at the the little table where you shared all your meals together, often with his toes playfully nudging yours underneath because he couldn't go very long without touching you in some kind of way.

But that side of of Steve wont be making an appearance for the rest of the night, this confirmed when he turns to you again, his face completely absent of all the warmth and consideration he'd shown you when he first arrived home.

Exactly what you'd been waiting and aching for.

The kitchen curtains haven't been drawn yet, an obsidian sky coloring the paned glass of your window as a creeping tingle of excitement worked its way through your body when you caught his eyes flicking to it and back.

You know where this is going.

He pulls back the tab on top of the can until the aluminium cracks open, alcohol fizzing and white foam frothing up through the opening when he asks you to strip, equal parts casual and cocky about it.

That tingle intensifies and you let it wind its way through the spaces between your ribs, ascending to settle in your throat, the thought of a neighbor noticing the light still on in your home and peeking in forming a lump you struggle to swallow.

The heady mix of clawing nerves and perverse exhilaration make you pause, yet to comply with what he's asked you to do while you side eye the window in search of any passersby. But Steve didn't like to be kept waiting at times like this, showing his impatience by tapping his foot against the tiled floor, the rhythm matching the steady ticking of your wall clock, redirecting your attention to it next.

Nearly 1AM.

Your shoulders relax after taking note of the time, telling yourself it would be alright. That no one else would be up at this hour, all of your neighbors likely deep in sleep and will awake tomorrow completely unaware of what you and your boyfriend were getting up to next door. At least you hoped so for the sake of avoiding any awkward run ins in the morning.

But you've made up your mind now, desire overtaking your concerns. Steve watches closely as you pull at the thin straps resting on your shoulders, dress coming loose off your frame and fluttering to the floor. He's pleased to see that you're not wearing any underwear, completely nude for him as he holds the rim of the chilled can up to his lips, eyes never leaving your body while he sips on the sour alcohol.

“On your knees, sweetheart. Hands behind your back”, he instructed when he set the can down on the table, and though he says it calmly, you recognize it as the command that it is.

There's no more stalling when you drop down to oblige. Sinking into position feels natural to you at this point, hands set behind your back with your palms cupping your elbows, chest pushed out and weight supported on your knees.

You liked being obedient for Steve, seeing that glimmer of approval in his eyes, being told how good you were being for him but having waited all day, you can't help but weaken to an urge that has you acting before he's given you permission to do so.

Leaning in between his spread legs, your soft lips brush the outline of his hard cock over his tight denim jeans, tilting your head to the side so that your cheek rubs against the bulge with uncurbed yearning.

Any sense of shame had been shed entirely now and thankfully, Steve doesn't take issue with you giving into your impulse, showing leniency while you nuzzle into him like a cat in heat. He groans approvingly in tandem with your sultry, longing sigh, hand caressing your hair again when you peek up through your lashes to look at him.

“Y’ really missed me, huh baby?”, he coos, entirely taken with how amorous you look between his legs, a space meant only for you.

You nod, tongue slipping out between your lips to lave unabashedly along the girth of his clothed erection.

"Shit- bet you want a reward huh? something for waiting all day?", he prompts, hissing quietly at the way your spit saturates the denim, sloppy stains darkening his jeans.

The mention of a reward had you perking up, more than eager for what you think he has in store for you.

But you're quickly reminded that you're dealing with the callous side of Steve tonight, the crude part of him that took pleasure in making you earn your satisfaction.

He made it clear that you weren’t to suck to his cock yet when he undid the button on his jeans, pulling the zipper down much slower than you would have liked before he lowered them enough to pull the turgid length free.

“Open”, he grunts curtly, holding it by the base, tapping the sticky, flushed head against your lips and you obey eagerly, parting them to grant him entry into your waiting mouth.

“Now stick your tongue out”, he orders next.

You do so and he rests his cock on your warm, wet tongue, letting his precum pool on it so that he's all you can taste, that sticky salt you wished to lap at and swallow.

“Now be a good girl for me and maybe, I’ll let you suck it”

That's when you wilt under his gaze, stomach dropping at the possibility of being denied, a very real possibility if he was feeling extra mean, but you prove yourself determined to please him.

It’s been a little over ten minutes now and your bottom lip and chin are coated in a tacky layer of saliva and precum, the viscous combination narrowing into a thin trail that drips down along the column of your throat and makes its way between the valley of your breasts, doing little to cool your burning skin.

The ache in your jaw is equal to the one that pains your poor knees, nothing soft slipped underneath to cushion them like he usually did to relieve you.

Steve's cock lays heavy on your tongue and you resist the urge to swirl the muscle over his ruddy tip, longing to lick at the translucent beads that spill plenty from his weeping slit, desperate to be allowed to wrap your sore lips around it and really savor the taste of him.

Instead, you're tasked to remain still, treated like an afterthought while Steve sits unbothered in his chair. He'd kept himself occupied with a second beer and his phone, scrolling through the contents while you fight against the whine trying to claw its way out of your throat.

How much longer?, you'd been wondering that for what felt like hours now, thighs hot and quivering, sweat beading on your back.

For a moment, you think your patience might be rewarded when he meets your eyes, finally looking at you again but that spark of hope dulls in your belly when you see his thumb swipe over his screen, realizing he's angling the camera at you.

“So fucking pretty. I think I’ll have to make it my wallpaper”

The shutter sound clicks several times and echoes within the kitchen walls, picture after lurid picture filling up his gallery.

You nearly choke at the sight of the obscene pictures he’s taken when he turns the screen towards you, barely recognizing yourself in them but all it does is make your stomach flare with so much more heat and want for the man responsible for your current state.

“Jesus, look at the mess you’ve made. You’re gonna have to clean all of that up, honey”

Still reeling from the humiliation, you're certain he's referring to your saliva puddling on the floor, that is until you feel him stretch his right leg out, carefully positioning his foot between your thighs, lightly tapping his shoe against your neglected cunt.

It's the only real stimulation you've been granted since this all started, hips jerking and a pitiful, garbled whine spilling out of your throat when your throbbing clit catches on the tip of his shoe.

"Shit it's all over the floor. Wanna see?"

He pulls back his foot to take another picture, this one making you feel more vulnerable than the last given the placement.

"Look at that", he turns the screen towards you again, grin impossibly wide.

You stare at the picture of your bare pussy helplessly, stunned by the amount of slick pouring down your thighs, stringing into a little puddle on the floor.

"Just letting it all go to waste", Steve tsked, shaking his head like it was real shame.

"Can't have that. Start sucking, darling"

The words you've been aching to hear finally come and it's like the floodgates have been opened.

He chuckles darkly when your eyes light up, lips wrapping around his cock like you'd been starved of it, tongue delving, mapping each and every pulsing vein you could find, head bobbing to fill your throat with him.

"I'm feeling generous today" he adds while you work him sloppily, reaching down to fondle your breasts, pulling and pinching at your perky nipples until you whine around him.

"When I'm done I want you to get on the table. I'm going to take my time tasting you, sweet girl"

Maybe he wasn't going to be so mean tonight after all.

[makeitmingi]

The Cat and Dog Game [Chapter 43]

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Comedy

Pairing: Yunho x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Chef!Reader, RestaurantOwner!Yunho, MaitreD!Hongjoong, Waiter!Yeosang, Waiter!San, Waiter!Mingi, SousChef!Seonghwa, SousChef!Wooyoung, PrepChef!Jongho

Summary: Yunho's dream was to open and run his own restaurant. But he doesn't know anything when it comes to cooking. Until you came along and accepted the job, bringing with you a small crew. How will the black cat tame the energetic golden retriever?

Word count: 3.2K

"Hey, wanna swap?" You came over to where San and Yunho were grilling the meat. Yunho smiled when he saw you, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"No, we're good. Let us cook for all of you now." San chuckled, turning you around and gently pushing you back in the direction of the table. You went to help Seonghwa make the ramen for the table. There were two pots going from the sheer amount.

"Taste test." Wooyoung called. You went over to help him taste the bean paste soup.

"Good." You nodded in approval. Wooyoung grinned and leaned in to give you a peck on the cheek but you dodged it.

"Hey! You knowing dodging it is only going to make it worse." He frowned, trapping you in his arms to forcefully try and peck your cheek. You squealed amidst your laughter, trying to escape.

"Stop, I need to make the tamagoyaki." You slapped his arms. He laughed and let you go, stealing a peck on your cheek first.

"What tamagoyaki are you making?" He asked as you stood in front of the fridge.

"I'll do a mentaiko one and a cheese one... I think. With the amount of people, we'll definitely need at least two." You said, looking at the ingredients you bought.

"Two should be sufficient." Wooyoung hummed. You cracked the eggs and began to make the tamagoyaki with the different fillings, cooking the delicate sheets of egg layer by layer. Yeosang came to help wash the lettuce, perilla leaves and chili peppers that you all would eat with the meat.

"What's next?" Jongho came over.

"Spring onion salad. Red pepper flakes are in the cupboard with the soy sauce." You informed. He saluted and started on that. Wooyoung prepared the garlic and set aside some to be marinated.

"Can that be marinated in time?" Jongho asked, seeing Wooyoung mix the soy sauce mixture with the garlic and onions.

"We'll see. I'll heat it up a little to hopefully speed up the process." The older shrugged.

"The first portion of meat is cooked. When you guys are ready, we can eat." Yunho entered the house, going to the fridge to grab a beer and a soda, presumably, for San.

"Okay. I'll go set up and the grill for the seafood then." You grabbed the tray of prepped seafood and box of rock salt.

"Can I use this part of the grill? Before we put the marinated meats on." You asked. San nodded, stepping aside and dramatically gesturing for you to take over. First, you laid down the aluminium foil then built a salt bed.

"Is it hot, love? Want help?" Yunho asked.

"I'm good, Yun. Thanks." You said, laying the layer of rock salt down on the tin foil. It only took 5 minutes before the salt started popping and sizzling.

"Be careful. It may jump." You cautioned Yunho and San. Once the salt was hot, you laid the shrimp down first.

"That looks good." San said in awe, him and Yunho flinching slightly when the salt popped.

"Ramen's ready. I'm going to get the rice now. We're all having rice right?" Mingi asked. The 3 of you nodded in confirmation. The taller went into the house to grab the rice.

"Hongjoong hyung, I need help to carry everything!" He yelled from inside. Hongjoong stood up and quickly went over.

Everyone was busy their own thing, running around and preparing or cooking. Finally, everything was done. All 9 of you sat at the long table on the deck to begin eating. Jongho gave out glasses to everyone, him and Wooyoung making sure that everyone's glasses were filled with alcohol.

"Woohoo! Cheers!" All of you clinked glasses and began digging into the delicious food. This reminded you of the first time you went out for dinner together.

"This reminds me of the first dinner we had together as a team. To celebrate one week of the restaurant being open." You smiled.

"And now we're celebrating one year." Seonghwa said. You nodded, clinking glasses with him again.

"Mmm, so good." Yunho groaned happily, falling onto your shoulder in pure bliss. A happy smile on his face as he chewed his food. You snorted at his reaction.

"Drama queen." You couldn't help but laugh, patting his cheek. You made a wrap to eat.

"I asked you to make a wrap for me when we ate at the barbeque restaurant." Yunho remembered, watching you make the wrap.

"Exactly. Thinking about it, I don't know if you genuinely enjoyed it or you were just trying to flirt." You raised an eyebrow. Mingi, Yeosang and Hongjoong winced at your words, loudly 'ooooooh'ing, while Yunho pouted at you.

"It was actually good! I wouldn't lie about that!" He whined. You smiled and grabbed his chin in your hand, leaning forward to give him a peck, earning jeers from the rest of the table.

"Come here!" Wooyoung tried to kiss Jongho, who in retaliation, jagged Wooyoung hard.

"Oww! Yah!" He howled, grabbing his ribs. You knew that was going to leave a bruise for sure. Hongjoong refilled everyone's drinks.

At the end of the night, the food was finished and everyone helped to clean up the area before moving into the living room to continue drinking.

"Drink! Drink! Drink!" The boys cheered on Yunho and Jongho, who were racing each other.

"I win!" Yunho slammed his empty glass down, throwing his arms up victoriously as the others cheered for him.

"Did you see me win?" He cuddled up against you. You nodded, too busy laughing at how drunk Yunho was already. You had stopped drinking a while ago, already feeling the buzz but you wanted to be somewhat sober. Yunho leaned on you and threw his head back, laughing as Mingi tripped over something.

"Be careful, Mingi!" Yeosang went over to help the taller male, sitting him back down on the couch. Mingi blinked with a dazed look in his eyes, confused at what was going on.

"You aren't drinking anymore?" You asked San, who was sitting on the floor with Wooyoung laying in his lap.

"Nope, not after what happened last time. Two drinks are more than enough." He chuckled.

"Just leave him there later. He can sleep anywhere when he's drunk." You said, nodding over to Wooyoung. San laughed and nodded his head, stroking Wooyoung's hair.

"Baby, pay attention to me." Yunho frowned, grabbing your cheeks to make you face him.

"I am paying attention to you, Yun." You said.

"Good." He gave you a big smile, which was adorable with his red cheeks and red ears, giving you another kiss. You smiled softly, stroking his cheek. He leaned against your chest and you put your arm around his head.

"I miss Whiskey... He hates me but I love him~" Yunho sniffled, a sad pout on his face.

"Aww, I miss him too. And he doesn't hate you, Yun. He just shows love differently, you buy him snacks and toys. I'm sure he misses you too." You comforted.

"Whiskey is our first son... Our very cute son." He smiled up at you. His words made you choke, you felt your own cheeks heat up.

"I'm sleepy." Seonghwa groaned.

"Let's get you to bed." You stood up, leaving Yunho momentarily. You put Seonghwa's arm around your shoulders and tried to keep him steady, guiding him to his room.

"There we go, Hwa. Goodnight." You said, tucking him in. Seonghwa hugged you down to his chest.

"Goodnight." He whispered in your ear before letting you go. You chuckled and made sure he was fine before leaving the room.

"I've put Wooyoung in his room. He's out like a light. Didn't even notice me carry him." San said, coming out of Wooyoung and Jongho's shared room. When the two of you returned, Hongjoong was shakily topping up everyone's glass, squinting his eyes to focus on getting the alcohol into the glass.

"Come on!" Hongjoong pulled Yeosang over. Poor Yeosang was tipsy too, staring into space and not really saying much. He looked dazed, it was cute.

"Baby, where did you go? You left me." Yunho frowned when you returned to your spot.

"I went to put Hwa in bed, Yun." You replied patiently.

"Come on, Mingi. Don't sleep out here." San couldn't carry Mingi like he did with Wooyoung so it was amusing to see the tall giant's body slumped onto San's.

"Yah. We're going to fall. Wake up for a bit." San stumbled from Mingi putting his entire weight on him.

"Let me help." You stood up but Yunho grasped the end of your shirt to stop you.

"No. Don't go." He stopped you, the frown still on his face.

"I got it, (y/n). Don't worry!" San waved you off and brought Mingi to his room. You sighed and sat back down. Yunho grinned, happy he managed to 'persuade' you to stay with him. Considering San didn't come back out, you assumed he slept in Mingi's room.

"Oh... There's no more." Hongjoong pouted when there was only a measly drop that came out of the soju bottle.

"Good. Let's get all of you to bed." You patted Yunho's head before going to help them. Jongho, although drunk, seemed to comprehend instructions the most out of all of them.

"Alright, this way." You guided Jongho to the room and helped him get into his bed.

"Goodnight." Jongho yawned. You smiled and patted his hand then went to check on Wooyoung before coming back out.

"Yeosang~" You waved a hand in front of his face. He just stared at you, his eyes glazed over as he swayed a little. With some encouragement, you managed to get him to stand up.

"Where... are... we... going...?" Yeosang blinked in confusion.

"Going to your bed to sleep." You replied. You carefully helped him into his bed but he just sat there. So you laid him down on his pillow, on his side, and covered him with his blanket. Whether he will actually sleep or continue to stare at the wall in a drunken daze was not something you could change.

"Last one, Hongjoong. Let's go." You patted his shoulder.

"No!" Hongjoong turned his chin up in defiance, crossing his arms like a child throwing a tantrum.

"Joong, there's no more alcohol anyway. If you don't go to bed now, I'm going to leave you here all by yourself. You can sleep here." You raised an eyebrow.

"No~" He whined. You held your hand out to him. He sighed, shoulder slumping in disappointment.

"Fine." He had a look of disappointement on his face but still slipped his hand into yours. You put your arm around his waist to support him.

"There we go." You pulled the blanket up to his chest.

"We'll get more tomorrow, alright? If you're up for it." You coaxed not sure why you were giving in when he's drunk and wouldn't even remember his tomorrow.

"Promise?" He held his pinky up. You nodded and laced pinkies with him, making him smile in satisfaction. Before leaving to go back to Yunho in the living room, you went to check on Seonghwa again, being Hongjoong's roommate.

"That leaves us, Yun." You yawned. Yunho reached out to hold your hand quickly, grasping it with two hands.

"Don't leave me again." He commanded.

"Okay, I won't." You patted the back of his hand. By some sort of luck, you managed to get Yunho up the stairs unharmed. He leaned against the wall.

"Come." You led him to the bathroom. You gave him mouthwash to rinse and spit since he can't brush his teeth.

"Go to bed. I'm going to shower." You ushered him to bed.

"Okay." He nodded and yawned, falling onto the pillow. You quickly showered and brushed your teeth, that helped you sober right up. You climbed into bed with Yunho after drying your hair.

"Still awake?" You asked. He hummed and turned around to face you but made not effort to close the gap between the two of you. Even when he was flat out drunk, Yunho wouldn't miss any chance to cuddle you and have you as physically close to his body as he could. You shot him a questioning look.

"I'm mad at you. So no cuddles." He declared, reminding you of a child like how Hongjoong was earlier.

"And why are you mad?"

"Because... I saw you... You put your arm... around Hongjoong hyung's... waist. You... cheated... on me..." He accused, squinting his eyes at you.

"I didn't cheat on you. I was just helping him to the room. He's drunk, like you are." You pointed out.

"I'm not drunk. And that is cheating." He corrected.

"Fine. Be that way, stay mad." You shrugged, turning off the light on your nightstand and laying on your pillow to sleep. You missed the way Yunho's jaw dropped, not expecting that.

"You're lucky I love you." He mumbled as he pressed himself to your back, wrapping his long arms around you.

"I know, I am very lucky. And I love you too." You lifted to his hand to kiss to back of it. Yunho let out a little snicker to show his happiness, snuggling his face into the back of your head to show you affection like a puppy.

"Go to sleep, Yun." You murmured. Soon enough, you heard his little snores by your ear, signifying that he had really fallen asleep. It lulled you to sleep too.

"Ugh my head." You were woken up by Yunho's groan as he rolled away from you.

"Come here..." You sleepily called out to him, turning around. He turned back to you, resting his head against your chest.

"You need to drink a lot of water, you're dehydrated." You said, massaging the back of his neck to help him relieve some of the pain in the back of his neck. He melted at your touch.

"I'm never drinking so much again." He groaned.

"You always say that... Feel better?" You yawned. You felt him nod as you continued your actions.

"We should get up soon. You need a warm shower, have some food and water in your stomach. It'll make you feel better before going back to sleep." You said, stroking his hair. He shook his head in refusal, tightening his grip on you, bunching the material of your shirt in his hands on your back.

"Come on. After that you can spend the whole day in bed." You patted his shoulder to persuade him. Yunho reluctantly got up, sitting up and yawning.

"You go first, love." He nodded over to the bathroom. You hummed, going to shower and brush your teeth.

"Yunho, I'm done." You came out to see him sleeping faced down.

"Yun~ Wake up." You shook him lightly. He nodded and sat up, sliding out of bed and stumbling to the bathroom. Once you heard the water running, you left the room to go downstairs.

"Oh, everyone's here." You blinked. Jongho was at the stove, cooking a big pot of rice porridge.

"(y/n), sorry for disappearing on you last night. I must have passed out because I woke up cuddling Mingi." San apologised.

"No worries, San. Thanks for helping me with getting everyone to bed." You giggled. Everyone else was strewn around the living room, too hungover for a conversation right now. You poured yourself and Yunho a cold coffee.

"You were the one that helped us to our rooms?" Yeosang asked. You nodded your head.

"San carried Wooyoung and moved Mingi. I moved everyone else, one by one. Safe to say, it was very interesting and rather eventful." You laughed.

"Stop right there, I don't want to know how bad it was." Seonghwa winced, laying his head in your lap as you drank your coffee.

"You were all very adorable." You giggled. In response, there were multiple jeers and protests from the room.

"Ugh." Yunho trudged down my stairs.

"There's my golden retriever." You teasingly cooed. He glared at you, going to get the coffee that you left on the counter for him. He sat beside Mingi since Seonghwa's legs occupied the couch you were on.

"But for real, (y/n). Since you were sober, who is the cutest drunk? Me, right?" Wooyoung snuggled to your other side from the arm rest, making you and Seonghwa groan, having to scoot down slightly to accommodate him squeezing onto the couch. You raised an eyebrow at him, shaking your head.

"Cutest is Yeosang. He's so dazed, it was absolutely adorable. Then he would sway from side to side like this with his head." You mimicked Yeosang last night while giggling.

"Y-Yah (y/n). Don't go exposing people like that." Yeosang called out, his cheeks turning red.

"I'm not the cutest?" Yunho said in disbelief.

"You and Hongjoong were the whiniest. Gosh, like trying to put 5 year olds to bed. Had to pinky promise Hongjoong to give him more alcohol today." You raised an eyebrow.

"Hahaha that's so funny, hyung! You're legit a little kid." Mingi and San burst out laughing, keeling over.

"Stop it, (y/n)~" Hongjoong shook his head with despair, covering his ears, not wanting to listen to your exposé anymore.

"And Yunho wouldn't cuddle me because he was mad and throwing a tantrum. Said he saw me cheating on him with Hongjoong." You rolled your eyes. Hongjoong and Yunho both choked on their coffees, coughing violently.

"What?" Yunho squeaked.

"You kept whining about me leaving your side to help the others to bed. And you said the way I support Hongjoong to his room was basically me cheating on you." You scoffed.

"Please no more..." Yunho cried out. Jongho saved everyone by announcing that the food was done.

"I wasn't mad the whole night, right?" Yunho leaned over to ask you in a hushed voice.

"No. You weren't happy that I accepted you being mad and came to cuddle me right away. I would say you gave up in about 20 seconds?" You chuckled.

"Good. Because I would hate my drunk self for giving up any opportunity to cuddle with you." He laughed.

"Oh, Yun..." You melted, shaking your head and reaching up to stroke his cheek.

"Thanks for cooking, Jongho." Everyone chimed. You and Yunho decided to sit outside at the deck table with your bowls of hot porridge. The others didn't join you, to give you two some space as a couple and because the glare of the sun was not helping the hangover headaches.

"This is relaxing. How's the hangover?" You asked him.

"It's good. I bounce back a little better than the rest. And I have a great nurse to take care of me." He teased. You scoffed and nudged him.

"I know you've been stressing about your employee contract ending, haven't you?" He suddenly spoke. Your hand paused in mixing your food as you slowly turned to look at him.

"I know you well. And I've been thinking about it too." He smiled softly, eyes leaving yours to look at the shore in front of you.

~

Series masterlist

[foone]

So, regarding Cartrivision and how the Red Tapes were effectively play-once, this idea of "you buy/rent a tape but you can only play it for a short while" so was enticing an idea that it keeps coming back. There's obviously ways this can be implemented on streaming services, but it was tried at least twice in the optical disc era, but amusingly in two entirely different ways.

And it was backwards from how you might think. The older one seems like it should have come later!

So first was DIVX (the disc format: it's unrelated to the Codec of the same name)

This came out in 1998, just as DVD was starting to catch on. They got a bunch of movie studios to sign on to only release their films on DIVX, not DVD, and tried to backdoor the format into acceptance: it was heavily pushed by Circuit City, then a major retailer. All DIVX players were also DVD players, so they would try to convince you to buy a DIVX player so you could play both.

How it worked is pretty simple: it is basically a DVD that's been encrypted. To decrypt it, you need a license. The DIVX player can talk to the DIVX server and let you purchase a license to watch the film, and the license would be valid for 48 hours before deleting itself. So the idea was that you'd pick up a disc for very cheap, like a rental, but when you could hang onto it for later, and re-axtivate the license by just paying the license free (a couple dollars) again. And if you didn't like the movie? No need to take the film back to blockbuster, you can just toss it in the garbage! (you could also pay a higher fee to get an unlimited license to the film, effectively converting it into a DVD)

But this was 1998, remember: very few people have always-on internet. How's it talk to the DIVX server?

Simple. It's got a modem. You plug your DIVX player into the phone line, and it dials up DVD HQ and talks to them over that connection. It's a very 1990s solution.

Anyway it died. People interested in DVD universally hated the idea, especially the part where some studios were only going to release films as DIVX. People had had VHS tapes for a while now, and they were used to buying and owning their films. Going to a time-limited rental system seems like a big step back.

And of course, movie rental companies hated the idea too, as it basically would destroy them as a business (years before streaming destroyed them anyway). So they refused to entertain the idea. So it failed, and it took down Circuit City with it. The funniest part? Remember how it talks to a server? Well, guess what happened to that server when the format was discontinued!

Yep, all DIVX discs are unplayable now. They announced the discontinuation in 1999, and by 2001 the servers were turned off. All DIVX discs (even the ones upgraded to forever-playable) are just paperweights. (and btw: I've looked into the feasibility of hacking the encryption. They used 3DES, which is far from the best but is still pretty secure. Give me a million dollars and a year of computation time and I'll be able to watch one film.)

So, with DIVX dying such a quick and painful death that it took out the major retailer that invented it, surely no one else would even consider this idea again, right?

Welcome to FlexPlay. A 2003 format where you buy a DVD for cheap, and you can watch it for 24-48 hours. Even better than DIVX, because you don't need a special player and you don't even depend on talking to a server!

Wow. What weird technical tricks did they do to make this work? Is there a special program on the disc? Some kind of computer code? Special encryption? Can you only play it on a PC with some DRM software installed?

Nope! While DVDs have anti-copying DRM and DIVX added limited-playback DRM, FlexPlay goes completely the other route and has Analog Rights Management: the limited playback is enforced by CHEMISTRY.

Yep. See, the way optical discs work is by shining a layer through the clear plastic and bouncing it off a mirrored layer of aluminium in the center of the disc. (Well, for pre-pressed discs. MO and CD-R/RW discs work differently)

But FlexPlay discs add a layer of dye between the aluminum and the plastic. This dye is initially transparent to the red laser used by DVD players (did you know that's why blu-rays are called that? They use blue lasers instead of the red lasers used by DVD , and the infrared lasers used by CDs), so it can be read just fine.

But they made the dye react with oxygen. As soon as the airless bag the disc is stored in is opened, the dye starts darkening, eventually becoming unreadable. So once you have opened the disc, you better watch it soon, or it will be unreadable.

This format technically lived on until 2011 before being discontinued, but it doesn't seem like it was terribly popular at any point. Part of this was probably that it couldn't live up to the dream of selling a film on a disc you made for pennies, and making tons of profit. Making the discs was tricky, as you had to make them in special inert-atmosphere conditions to keep them from prematurely darkening.

Anyway the final joke of FlexPlay is that they haven't been made since 2011, and while they were sold in air-tight packages, nothing is PERFECTLY airtight. So all the ones for sale have had the bags leak over the last 12+ years, and are prematurely unreadable. Whoops.

Anyway now that physical media is dead, movie companies finally have their time-limited rental they've always wanted. Streaming makes this trivial.

And two final notes:

1. There's not really any lost-media risk with these two formats. All DIVX-only films were later released on DVD when the format ranked. And all FlexPlay films had already gotten DVD releases, so there was never any risk.

2. My buddy Technology Connections did a video in FlexPlay a while ago, if you want to learn more about it.

[shibaraki]

THE JOYRIDE ┊ MIYA OSAMU

tags: SFW, GN reader (called ‘baby’ + ‘pretty’), newly established relationship, hobby motorcyclist osamu, motorcycle riding (back passenger reader), fluff and some PDA

wc: 1.7k

Every other Sunday, Osamu would close the restaurant early after the lunch rush and take his motorcycle out for a ride; a hobby he picked up from his late grandfather. There were secluded spots on the outskirts of the city he liked to go where riders and enthusiasts would gather, bonds forged through shared love and camaraderie.

When he if you would want to join him all those months ago you’d been equal parts excited and apprehensive. At first he let you get a feel for the bike. Painted black with copper aluminium trim, it is long and sleek yet supple in the right places; the shape reminiscent of a peregrine falcon.

Admittedly, you hardly remember a word he said— just the heat of his palms through your shirt as he supported you, perched on the seat, already held safely in place by the support stands fixed to both wheels. You had simply nodded along as he listed off the specs, his thumbs moving in slow circles at your waist, fingers splayed across your stomach.

“Y’look good,” Osamu murmured, smoothing over your hip and dipping to meet you in the middle. “Wanna take you out and show ya off”.

And that wish was solidified the day he sheepishly handed you your very own helmet. A shiny white finish, black visor and a small sticker of an onigiri with legs on the outer shell. Endeared by the deep blush crawling up his neck, you had pulled him into a feverish kiss, the gift caught awkwardly between your bodies.

You graduated quickly from the passenger safety belt. In the beginning you would lurch and lose balance, but now the muscles in your abdomen clench tight as you lean, synchronising with each turn. It was exhilarating.

Though you’re not sure you’ll ever get used to it— the way your bodies cut through the wind, how your centre of gravity shifts, or the intermittent roar beneath your thighs.

Your leathers fit snug, like another skin, but thick and heavy around your frame. You take a breath and flex your interlocked hands, heart beating wildly in your chest. You’ve been smiling for so long that your cheeks hurt, anchored tightly around Osamu’s waist, straddling the back seat of his motorcycle.

He must feel it, because he lets go for a moment just to squeeze your wrist, rubbing back and forth over the armoured knuckles. You wish you could talk to him over the blaring noise. The padding in your helmet presses against your skull as you lean the visor between his shoulders and crowd closer.

The road takes you through a dense forest. You are surrounded by tall, sylphlike trees, dewy afternoon sun drizzling through the gaps between their cedar fingers. Blurs of verdant green and yellow sharpen as the bike slows. The engine dwindles into a soft purr and the horizon clears at the next turn in, canopy parting as the treeline ends.

There’s a long lay-by to your right; usually it is used for families to park somewhere on their visits to the woodlands. Now, motorcycles of every size and colour are lined up side by side. Dramatic, arcing handle bars, heavy off road suspensions, multi coloured spikes and bold stickers.

Heads turn when you pull in; some giving a short nod of approval. Osamu reaches behind to squeeze your thigh as he rolls into an empty spot, boots hitting the ground with a dull thud. You cling to his back and he glances over his shoulder, flicking up the visor on his helmet.

You melt under his gaze. His eyes are unbearably warm and crinkled at the corners, smiling despite the lower half of his face being covered by a thin black scarf.

“You okay, baby?” he asks, voice bright with excitement and loud while his hearing readjusts. The answer waits on your tongue as his face scrunches in an abrupt frown and he turns to flick your visor up, too.

You blink against the sunlight and he says, “There. Much better seein’ your pretty face”.

People are scattered around, some sticking to their own rides while others step away to mingle. It isn’t too crowded, but just enough to make you nervous. You notice there’s a food truck pulled up at the far end where a larger group has gathered.

“Not gonna be so pretty when I take this off,” you grumble, knocking on the outer shell of your helmet. A sweaty mess underneath it, you’re sure. He hums a fond sound and watches closely as you dismount on unsteady legs.

Osamu kicks down the stand before getting down. The light glints against the gold trim and upper fairing as the bike leans at an angle. In a moment of appreciation, you find yourself patting the back seat, as if to praise it.

A familiar pair of gloves land’s unceremoniously on the curved tank pad, startling you out of your stupor. Two fingers hook into your chin strap. Reflexively, you press your tongue flat to the roof of your mouth to avoid any pinching as Osamu unclips the buckle.

“‘Samu—!”

You whine as he takes the helmet into his hands and drags it up. The padding squeezes tight to your skull until it sits on top of your head like a crown. Tepid air clings to your damp neck and you glare up at him.

The feeling that swells in your throat supersedes your irritation. His own black helmet hugs the top of his head, scarf pulled down to pool around his collar and hair laid wet to his forehead. You knew he looked unfairly attractive in his leathers but the view still sparks something in your belly.

A two piece matte black suit with silver and gold stripes on each outer leg and a triangular symbol in the centre of his chest that reminds you of a fox. The material fits him well— too well. Bulky around broad shoulders and thick at his biceps. Osamu isn’t lean by any means; stockier than his athlete brother with lingering definition from his volleyball days. Heaving a breath he unzips the jacket, earthy eyes tracking the movement of your tongue across your lip.

“Thirsty?” he teases knowingly.

“Shut up,” you huff, setting your helmet on the bike seat and relieving the pressure around your scalp. At the same time, Osamu bends gracelessly to catch your mouth in a long, chaste kiss. You sink into it and amusement vibrates behind his lips, tickling your own.

A suggestive wolf whistle cuts through the noise and he straightens with a final peck to your cheek.

“If it ain’t our boy Osamu!”

You turn toward the new voice. Adorning a worn leather jacket covered in vintage patches, an older man approaches with arms outstretched. Osamu sets his helmet beside his gloves before being yanked into a friendly hug.

“Glad to see yer still alive and kickin’, Daigo-san. Heard you earned a few more scrapes last week”.

“You know me. Just a spill,” Daigo gives a hearty laugh and slaps Osamu on the back. “Should’a told me you were comin’! Thought ya preferred that spot out by the mountains now”.

“Ah. Well,” Osamu rubs his neck and glances toward you with a proud grin. Heat prickles under your skin as Daigo appraises you. “It’s our first proper ride out together. Just stopping to stretch our legs and we’ll be headin’ off”.

Daigo crows, “Finally got yourself someone special, eh, ‘Samu?”

You self consciously pat the front of your leathers, bowing your head towards Daigo. “It’s good to meet you”.

“Sweet thing, aren’t’cha?” the older man steps forward and the gravel crunches beneath his feet. He takes your hand firmly, gloves tough and hard against your palm, and shakes it. “Pleasure is all mine. He better be takin’ good care of ya out on them roads”.

There is fondness in his voice. Grandfatherly in a way. Soft around the edges, wrinkles prominent around his thin mouth and kind eyes— arguably the youngest part of him. You smile, “Don’t worry. He takes good care of me on and off the road”.

Osamu rubs at his cheek, meeting your gaze over Daigo’s shoulder. “Love you,” he mouths.

“Happy to hear it. We all need a bit’a love in our lives,” Daigo declares, relinquishing his grip and turning to Osamu. He knocks him on the shoulder. “M’sure the others would want to see you— both of you, if you’ve got time”.

“We ca—”

“We would love to!” you quickly interrupt. Osamu blinks in surprise, expression softening into quiet appreciation when you nod at him.

Daigo leaves with a pep in his step. “Alright then! We’ll come find ya in a few”.

This was the furthest you had been on his bike. The plan was to take a quick break at the halfway point before heading home. Osamu never wanted you to feel overwhelmed by his hobby, or obligated to participate in this part of his life. What he failed to grasp was how much you wanted to; seeing this side to him only made you love him more.

The sun outlines him in dewy gold. You reach to card your fingers through his dark hair, which is stuck up in every direction. “Ya sure about this, baby?” he murmurs, turning into your touch and kissing your inner wrist. His hands run idly over your hips, sliding to your lower back.

“They’re my pops old friends, so they’ve got a few screws loose”.

Breathlessly, “They’re important to you, right?”

He nods.

“Then I’m sure”.

A thrill tingles down your spine as Osamu crowds you carefully against the bike. Chest to chest, you guide him into another kiss. The air is crisp and you can hear it dance through the trees. Osamu cradles you closer. You fist the lapels of his jacket, cursing the thick material between your bodies.

“How’re you so perfect…” he mumbles between breaths, taking your face in his hand, thumb and fingers on either cheek and squeezing. You snort as he begins to press harsh, short pecks to your protruded lips. “Want ya to come with me again next time. Yeah?”

Your jaw aches but nevertheless, you grin.

“Yeah. I’d love that”.

[carionto]

A Proper Welcoming Party - P3

Part 1 and 2

Two more discharges from the Main Defense Railgun to make a final point, then, once the Vice Admiral Krastina's ship, Darting Juniper, jumped in a couple of minutes after the last of the pirate ships had engaged their hyperdrives for an emergency jump, Bertha's Bosom docked back to the Heart of Liquid Stone to resume loading cargo. The Vice Admiral hailed the mining station:

"We heard your distress call and arrived as quickly as able. Seems like the show's over though?"

"Yeah, after the call we did a more thorough scan of their ships and realized they were no more than tin cans. The freight transport ship, Bertha over here, took a few shots, to a bit of a shock honest - completely atomized them, you can still see the trail even. Then they all fled in random directions."

"Understood. I'll sound a general alarm for the entire system. It'll at least be good to have everyone put what we drill all the time into action, even if the threat is less than the fake "Not-a-drill" drills us military crews go through."

"Still, Darting Juniper, we know there are some dumb enough out there to try. Next ones might be flying aluminium cans!"

Joked the station manager, Garrison Bronhjaven. The Vice Admiral, while chuckling internally, gave an expected serious military response, then after a few hours of no new reports, resumed her regular patrol and monitoring duties.

This incident will be recalled unflatteringly as "That time Bertha smacked a pirate fleet with her Bosom out of Sol."

...

Big Thrasher was alone.

He punched in the coordinates himself, but forgot his physique was above standard console size and fat-thumbed a really random patch of completely empty space.

Navigation computers get scrambled after an emergency jump as they require precise input and reference data for both the start and end locations to maintain knowledge of where in space a ship is. Doing so takes time as the computers need to access and cross-reference their current location with that in the database, and then calculate for time, distance, and spatial distortion to know where each of the relevant landmark objects will be upon arrival.

With an emergency jump, you just punch in a direction and go for however long the current energy reserves in the drive will last. There is a minor delay to let the computer adjust enough to not head straight for any known celestial object, but other than that, seconds compared to the minutes you don't have in an emergency.

Another double-edged sword to this - emergency mode raises the power use limits of a hyperdrive to be above energy generation, allowing you to travel much faster at the cost of not being able to stop until the drive is completely empty. Then to get the drive working again takes anywhere between a few hours and several days as you need to charge it to full before you can turn it back on. And then even more time to integrate all the navigational data back into the hyperdrive so that it can actually go anywhere.

In short, Big Thrasher will have quite a lot of time to think about the choices he made in his life to get to where he is right now.

_____________________________

I'm kinda averse to killing off characters in my writings, so I think I've accidentally created a recurring comedy villain here. Also, technology details, was not what I intended to write about, it just sort of happened, the words come out and I just go with it and use them however seems fitting. Don't mistake all these details and additions and explanations for a plan - I don't know what is going to happen or what I'm building towards, if anything. But when/if I do figure it out, I will make all of this connect and make enough sense. Hopefully.

[mxmparts]

https://www.mxmparts.com China CNC Turning Service customize stainless steel turned parts, Aluminium turned parts, Copper and Brass turned parts.

[teejaystumbles]

Home is with You

(a short dreamling drabble I wrote because it was raining)

Hob is homesick and meets his stranger in his dreams. (AO3)

This evening, Hob doesn't know what to do with himself. He is bored, and homesick. There's something about the rain on the roof that makes him think of home. His old home, back in the 14th century. The rain had never sounded like it sounds now - back then, it had been more muffled, falling on straw and wood rather than aluminium and bricks.

As he lies on his couch and listens to the rain he wonders if he should go on vacation. Take a hike, camp out in the woods, or even better, book a stay at one of those old history reenactment sites, where he can sleep in the straw, smell the pigs and listen to the rain fall on the thatched roof.

Yes, that would be nice.

He falls asleep with the unforgettable memory of the distinct smell of pigsty in his nose, and dreams of his mother's smile and the way her hands had been smaller than his, at the end.

All the while the sound of the rain is a constant, soothing sound at the back of his mind. Soon the rain is all he can hear, his mother and home no longer visible. He is standing in a dark field, rain pouring down on him. Thunderclouds are rolling on the horizon and occasional flashes of far off lightning illuminate them.

"Hob," a familiar voice says to his right and he turns toward it.

"Hello, Stranger."

Hob smiles at the black-clad figure striding slowly towards him. His stranger stops only a feet away from him and Hob is fascinated by the fact that the rain is not making him wet. It seems to slide off of his stranger like from a duck's back. Meanwhile Hob can feel the rain running down his face and back, his long hair hanging in soaked strings down on his shoulders. The rain is warm, though. It doesn't bother him. Something else is, though, and he frowns at the stranger.

"I haven't seen you since 1889. Where were you?"

The stranger stiffens and a flash like lightning strikes through his pitch-black eyes before he turns them away from Hob, staring out into the distance. Hob follows his eyes and sees that the receding storm clouds have been hiding something - a castle, with more turrets and towers than Hob has ever seen. It looks like half of it has crumbled, though.

"There is much to repair," his stranger says and Hob looks back at him.

"Can I help?" he asks, hope unfolding in his chest. It feels natural that he should meet his stranger here, on this field, in the rain, although a small part of him is slowly realising that this is weird, this can't be real.

"Am I dreaming?" he asks with realisation, and his stranger looks back at him and nods slowly.

"Yes. Hob...I will visit you soon. Once the necessary repairs to my kingdom have been made," he says solemnly, and Hob nods and smiles.

"Please. I am waiting for you. Always."

Hob wakes up and remembers only a tiny smile on familiar lips.

[diabolus1exmachina]

Porsche 911 HLS 

The story of the forgotten Porsche began in 1964. Back then, this particular Porsche 911 sports car was happily running along in its standard form, little knowing that in 1966 it would be sent to the Automotive Engineering department at the University of Aachen. The mission: to turn it into a 'racing coupe' with a folding roof. The design study seems to take at least some inspiration from the pure racing Porsche 904 and its rear engine cover, which could be seen as a kind of retractable roof.

Technical drawings and a miniature model were devised before the in-house body department at the University of Aachen went to work on building a completely new body. To keep the weight low, many parts were fabricated in aluminium, including the characteristic rear louvres and the adjacent ‘Targa’ rollover bar. The fact that this Porsche had genuine racing ambitions can also be seen from the arrangement of the instruments on the dashboard: they were subsequently added to the right-hand side. The highlight of the study was undoubtedly the hinged cockpit canopy, integrated in its closed state to flow in harmony with the body line. Finally, the concept car, complete with its retractable roof, was sent to a paint shop in Würselen, a German town in the Aachen district of North Rhine-Westphalia, where it was given its bright green colour. Here, too, the model name Porsche HLS was added in black letters.

What happened next explains why the retractable roof Porsche 911  has, up till now, generated not a single entry on Google: it simply disappeared. Presumably, the slightly eccentric study found no favour in the Zuffenhausen headquarters, and so it was simply parked up at the bodyshop and left there…  for the next 40 years. 

[julians-muscles-and-tits]

"Lipstick Smear"

*NSFW REQUESTED JULIAN TRAILER PARK BOYS SMUT X READER FEM FIC*

You and Julian had known each other for years and he was a close friend, he was a stoic man who carried the stresses of the park on his broad shoulders well and because his demeanour was usually a serious reserved one there was just something about the idea of ruffling his feathers slightly that appealed to your playful fun loving side.

One night you were at Julian's trailer hanging out and having a few drinks while he was sat down on his silver shiny floor you kept looking around and wondering how the hell Ricky managed to cover every square inch of the place in aluminium foil but he did, the first time you saw it you couldn't help but quietly giggle in shock.

He's sat on the brown furry coat with his right bruised arm in a home made duct tape arm sling and was using his left arm to read a book about how to build and maintain a wealthy business, that was Julian always with his head in a book always cooking up new ideas and wanting to make money.

He's sat there with his sturdy back against the wall his crystal blue eyes fixed on the top of the page using the small amount of lamp light to read. You take a brief second to admire him and what a handsome man he is, even having been accidentally beaten up by his friends and being mistaken for a Samsquanch, bruised up with a huge reel of duct tape wrapped around his arm he was still as striking as ever with his focused but stern stare, Julian rarely smiled he always had a frown, a scowl or a deep in thought expression on his face, he was always so serious and blunt, you wanted to break the icy exterior and let a little light in for him.

He reaches over to pick up his glass of rum and coke and realises he's run out.

“I'll take care of that” you offer warmly taking the empty glass out of his hand.

“Thanks” he says quietly turning his attention away from the book briefly and then going back to it. You get up, go over to his kitchen to refill his glass with equal parts rum and coke, swimming in ice cubes just the way he likes it. You look over at the head of jet black messy curls as you hold the glass of dark brown liquid in your hands and you smile mischievously as you decide to be a little bit naughty so you take a small sip of his drink, the sugary sweetness combined with the bitter taste of the rum hits your tongue and taste buds as you walk over nonchalantly and hand him his drink sitting next to him with a small smile on your face. He doesn't notice the smear until he takes a sip himself and then spots the faint colour of your lipstick on the rim of the glass. His brows furrow into an annoyed frown and he looks over at you sternly.

“..did you take a sip of my drink?” Julian asks in a quiet irked manner.

“Hmm..maybe” you reply coyly struggling to contain your excitement and naughty nature.

“You left a fucking lipstick stain on my glass” Julian says irritably holding the glass up to present the evidence which makes your smile even wider and you're also struggling not to laugh, perhaps its the home made arm sling or the fact that he looks so adorable when he's mad but you find yourself filled with fiendish glee and also extremely turned on.

“Gee, I'm sorry Jules” you say sweetly as you twirl a strand of your hair in your fingers your voice has gone a little bit higher you feel a little bit nervous. Julian rubs his temples and the bridge of his nose seethingly but he's also equally turned on by how coy and flirtatious you're being, he sighs taking another sip and further examines the lipstick smear as he slowly twirls the glass around in his hand.

“I'm gonna make myself another drink” you say brightly and you go over to his kitchen sink that looks like a shining mirror ball where you pour yourself a drink. You hear him come up behind you and immediately your knees weaken at the nice smell of his cologne, he's taller than you and is towering over you.

“You fucking naughty bratty girl,” he growls in your ear as he brushes your hair to one side of your neck, you feel goosebumps rise on your skin. “You did that just to rile me huh?”

“Maybe” you reply smiling wickedly. He looks down at you slowly, admiring your outfit, your body shape, the way your hair looks staring at you like he wants to devour you.

“Yeah?..fuck you look so hot right now,” Julian whispers sultrily as his muscular arm travels around your waist and you shiver at the touch, his muscles are your weakness and he knows it he's seen you check them out too many times when you think he hasn't noticed. “The things I wanna do to you” his deep gravelly Canadian voice makes you melt like butter inside.

“What-what things?” You ask quietly feeling a lightning bolt of arousal shoot through you, your loins burning. His hand slowly trails down from your abdomen snaking into your jeans and then his fingers dip into your panties where they're greeted by a warm gooey slickness. His eyes darken and he chuckles lightly feeling triumphant he's already made you wet with barely even a touch. His fingers wriggle and swim in the soaked lips until he finds your throbbing engorged clit and you let out a small gasp at how his whole hand is so big his fingers are practically covering your pussy.

“I wanna play with your clit until your legs shake and you cry out as you come all over my hand like a good little slut,” Julian whispers sensually and begins rubbing the pad of his index finger down and up on the bundle of nerves making you buck your hips uncontrollably and let out a small whine which amuses him as he laughs wickedly. “Then I wanna eat your fucking pussy, my wet face between your legs, my tongue rolling over your swollen clit making you come over, and over, and over again until I decide you can't take it anymore” you let out a shaky breath and whimper helplessly at his filthy obscene words beautifully pouring into your ear, his black beard and strong nose brushing up against your cheek and his warm breath, you feel feverish and drunk with lust, feeling how wonderfully your sensitive clit tickles and aches as he exquisitely presses and strokes it. You feel weak, your hands firmly clasping the tin foiled sides of the kitchen counter making a slight rustling noise, there's a pleasant heavy warmth swirling and pooling in the pit of your stomach and groin, your breathing feels ragged your clit is burning and aching so much more now and you twitch your hips again. He rubs harder making you even wetter and it's pure ecstasy.

“Oh fuck oh my god” you mewl your legs quivering, moaning even louder and feeling light headed. You're inches away from climaxing all over his meaty hand which your inner thighs have clamped around, your eyes are rolling back in your head.

“You gonna come?” Julian asks darkly lightly kissing your neck enjoying watching you crumble and the desperate noises you're making as you bite down hard on your lip and writhe.

“Mm-hm” is all you can physically utter out as your face scrunches up. You pant and whine feeling the waves of pleasure rippling through you.

"I don't think so,” Julian says huskily and immediately stops just as you're right on the edge and feeling your orgasm about to topple over.

“That's what you get for drinking my drink sweetheart” You open your eyes feeling exasperated and desperate, like the warm orgasmic rush got torn away from you and you feel deprived and frustrated knowing you fell for him edging you cruelly, that you should have known he'd get you back for the lipstick mark but your desire got the better of you.

He's smiling evilly and he lightly kisses your cheek as he removes his hand and brings his sopping digits up to his mouth to slowly suck on them licking them clean and appreciating every drop of you on his fingers that he made happen. You turn around looking up at him feeling painfully horny and aching for him, hoping and praying he'll finish what he started and not torturously deprive you of another orgasm. You need this man terribly you've never needed anything more in your life.

“Julian,” you whine his name like it physically hurts to say it. “Please make me come” he licks the last bit of you from his thumb then he passionately kisses you forcing you to taste your juices on his moist goatee and tongue. He wraps his good arm around you and guides you over to the spot on the floor where the coat is. You get down on your knees and kindly help him unbuckle his loud jingling belt as doing it with one arm would be time consuming and difficult and you pull his black jeans and boxer shorts down until you're greeted by his engorged erect cock. You decide to sweetly kiss it and give it a slow teasing lick from the base to the head tasting how salty he is from the precum and feeling how warm he is, making his muscly chunky thighs tense up slightly.

You remove your clothes until you're completely naked then you lay back on the brown fluffy material and spread your legs in an invitation, he gets down gently one knee at a time inching closer to you. He realises the difficulty of trying to do missionary sex with one arm and putting his full weight on it and the realisation of this makes him grunt in frustration.

“What's wrong Julian?” You purr.

“Turn around and bend over” he orders. You get up and crouch on all fours like a dog but you slouch down with your arse sticking up in the air in a doggy position giving him the perfect view. He enters you and you gasp out feeling his warm fat length stretch you out and fill you up, he groans with satisfaction his eyes fluttering its been a while for him since he's had sex and your hot dripping pussy is so deliciously swallowing his sensitive cock. He thinks about the lipstick stain on the glass, how you did it to tease him and ruffle his feathers, the mild annoyance but also how much it turned him on, he pulls himself out feeling your inviting snug walls tug his hardened flesh then he pushes himself back in helplessly groaning with satisfaction again and begins to swing his hips as he rams into your hole hard and fast.

Your eyes widen and you gasp loudly at response to the speed and the force, you're so wet every powerful thrust is making a loud squelching clap noise. He has his left hand fiercely clinging onto a fleshy part of your arse cheek for support and to maintain his balance and you melt letting out loud pleased moans and whimpers feeling him gorgeously pound his full weight in between your legs.

He's groaning loudly, his gold chain necklace is bouncing up and down, he's gritting his teeth he looks pissed off and like he's scowling but your pussy feels like wet, warm heaven around him your inner walls clamping, carressing and kissing like you want to drain every last drop of come from him, it's so good it's almost like a torture.

“Mm, ah FUCK!” He shouts out as his eyes scrunch up and he bites down on his lip and goatee while you're feeling how deep he is inside you the angle of how you're laying is making his dick strike your G spot in a curved way, making you aggressively cling onto to his “bed”. His grunts are deep and mannish. It feels so good you don't want him to stop. It's nasty angry sex, he's so strong so fierce and relentless, each heavy thud more delicious and addictive than the last, feeling him rub and massage your insides feeling how much weaker it's making you your legs are fighting an uphill battle to stay up they're beginning to cramp, you've lost track of time and how long he's been drilling you for he's not slowed down once he's banging every last bit of strength out of you and it's euphoric. You can't even speak all you've been reduced to doing is let out cries and moans like a sleazy slutty porn star from your mouth that’s hanging open in an O shape while he jack hammers you with immense force, reminding you that he's the one in charge that he holds all the cards because his thick rock hard cock is making you melt and fall apart underneath him and its completely out of your control as a woman, you feel heady, submissive you want to surrender your body to him let him use you up and keep chasing the feeling of him being inside you. It's impressive to say the least how he's doing all this with an injured arm and one that’s keeping him upright behind you.

“Oh fuck oh god, yeah right there, faster harder” you whinily beg in a muffle your face buried in the tickly dark furr making him let out a pleased rumble and he can’t resist the manly urge to lightly slap your arse. The noises of his grunts and moans and your loud moans combined with him penetrating your sensitive wet flesh are filling the trailer and because there's no furniture and it's empty these noises are reverberating more than they usually would be, you honestly wouldn't be surprised if Bubbles could hear you both from his shed you're being so loud.

He goes even faster now pulvarising your pussy your body jiggling. Your legs are sore, aching, your drenched pussy and hole smashed and pounded you don't know if you'll be able to walk after this, he begins slowing down panting as your eyes screw up his hips stutter, his cock is throbbing with the sweet promise of relief and release, his groin and thigh muscles seizing up as his blunt finger nails grip your arse while he throws his head back bellowing out a loud “Hah! ah! hoh! ohhhhhhhh! ohhhhhh! mmmm, hmm” and you can feel his dick spurting thick warm creamy come inside you. He shudders pulling himself out and collapses next to you laying on his back as your legs give out and you lay spread Eagled feeling completely obliterated.

You're both breathing heavily and you look over at him and smile at how beautiful he looks, his dark hair a moist sweaty mess, his soaked spent cock flopped to one side of his thigh, still with a shirt on and the arm sling. Your body is completely wrecked and you feel floppy and useless but in the most delightful way you feel drunk and completely drained of energy like you're struggling to stay awake and so is he, you try to get up but your legs fail you as they're too wobbly, you'll be OK in a minute you just need to rest them. You've never seen that side of him before, passionate, frenzied and carnal. You think about how orgasmic he felt between your legs, how it made you feel, every little beautiful detail. You watch him gingerly pick his glass up to have a drink and notice him drinking from the side where the lipstick is and you weakly smile feeling yourself glowing with affection and love for him.

#trailer park boys #julian #NSFW #smut #fem reader #x reader #reader #tpb Julian #"lipstick smear" #sex #trailer #suggestive #tpb

[daisychainsandbowties]

Absolutely love the 17776 au. Its such an interesting concept and im exited too see where it goes. Easily my favorite wn fic

🥺 your favourite? 🥺🥺 here's a little snippet of the next chapter just for you 🥰

...

Are you still there?

I’m sorry, it takes 11 days to charge enough for a message. I’m still here. I promise.

She sends this, what, after another week? A handful of days cupped in her palm like pebbles, like the baby teeth they wrestled from her mouth with too-big fingers and tossed into the wastepaper bin.

This Ava, who sits in a void the size of herself, has never seen a sunrise. She hasn’t yet invented stars, through there is one close enough and important enough that she’ll have to, soon.

per aspera ad astra

She’s weak, and small. A dim light too shy to shine but there, present as a cold shape in space, turning with her great metal wings casting no shadows. Not anywhere.

The light touches her, but not like that, not like a girl’s mouth and the hot wet progress of her tongue, down in the crease between thigh and oh god. fuck.

The light loves her maybe as much as that, as fervently but not as badly, lumens blushing over the white-tipped primaries, the mixed metaphor metacarpals of her body which is winged only in the sense that it soars.

They build satellites like this, in the afterimage of birds with wings that drink the light down the way you take a girl in your mouth. Ava’s not the same as them because so many are still cupped around Earth in a too-tight grip. Nothing is the same as it was.

would you recognise home, Ava? if it walked up to you and kissed you?

Ava’s old. She’s got that NASA decrepitude to her – built to be beautiful by accident, like the Apollo Lunar Module with her odd legs, her aluminium body drinking down dust. Bulky in her clothes, her tanks of aerozine 50 fuel, nitrogen tetroxide oxidizer, water, oxygen, helium… her pretty skirt of a descent engine.

They don’t tell children this, but they left this part behind on the moon.

Somewhere, out in the void that surrounds her, that is her, Ava senses a heat signature. With sticky fingers she reaches out and tries to touch it.

Stares at the light spilling out of them or through them. She is not the light but she is a light. Her fingers shock her almost half-awake.

These are real, at least. She puts them in her mouth and they taste like copper wires and nitrogen tetroxide, which tastes of equilibrium, of hypergolicity, of moon dust.

They taste like a prom date left behind on the moon, and whatever happened to her.

(nothing, if being lost can bear that description)(it cannot)

They feel like a girl’s fingers and Ava knows this because she has always been an open-mouthed thing. Call her hungry, call her awed, call her a slut.

Either way, you’ll know her by name.