#Multi Circuit Boards

[sqpcbchina]

"Navigating the Terrain: Choosing the Right PCB Manufacturer for Your Electronics Project"

In the fast-paced world of electronics, selecting the right Printed Circuit Board (PCB) manufacturer is a critical decision that can significantly impact the success of your project. With a multitude of options available, each boasting different capabilities and specialties, it's essential to make an informed choice.

When considering a PCB manufacturer, prioritize those with a proven track record of quality and reliability. Look for certifications such as ISO 9001 to ensure adherence to stringent quality standards. Additionally, assess the manufacturer's experience in producing PCBs for your specific industry or application, as specialized knowledge can be invaluable.

Cost-effectiveness is another crucial factor. While it's tempting to opt for the lowest price, be cautious of compromising on quality. A balance between cost and quality is key to achieving the best value for your investment.

Consider the manufacturer's production capabilities, including their equipment, technology, and production capacity. Advanced manufacturing processes, such as surface-mount technology (SMT) and through-hole technology (THT), can contribute to the overall performance and reliability of your PCB.

Communication and customer support should not be overlooked. A responsive and collaborative manufacturer can help address any concerns promptly and facilitate a smoother production process.

In conclusion, choosing the right PCB manufacturer requires careful consideration of factors such as quality, experience, cost-effectiveness, production capabilities, and customer support. By conducting thorough research and due diligence, you can forge a successful partnership that ensures the seamless realization of your electronics project.

[bmpmp3]

chipspeech should be right up my alley as someone who's current voice synthesis obsession was reignited by inexplicably getting really into dectalk in 2020 BUT the midi vst focused design and workflow is just a smidge too painful for me to drop a hundred canadian doll hairs for the forseeable future. can some vocal synth company or something pleeeeeease collaborate with them so i can type the lyrics directly on the notes pleeeeeeeeassssse

[techav]

Looking Back

Today, 26 March 2025, is the tenth anniversary of the first time I put power to a Z80 microprocessor in a breadboard and watched it blink some LEDs.

Within a few weeks that Z80 would be completely surrounded by other chips and hundreds of wires to form my first functioning homebrew computer.

Another week and I was already removing a 68000 from a (presumed) dead motherboard, with grand ideas of moving up to the 16-bit era (but absolutely no understanding of what that would entail)

It would be another two years before the first time I put that 68000 in a breadboard and successfully used it to blink an LED.

By the time another year had rolled around that 68000 was living on a soldered breadboard and for the first time on one of my projects, it was running real software — EhBASIC.

Always looking to more challenging projects, while I was building with a 68000, I was already reading through the manual for the 68030 trying to understand how to build with a proper 32-bit microprocessor. Just one more year and I had that 68030 on a wire wrap board, blinking an LED.

The next year I was doing the most ridiculous thing I could think of — free-running a Pentium CPU on a wire wrap breadboard to blink an LED. Because I could.

By the end of the next year that 68030 had moved from its wire wrap board onto a proper printed circuit board — my first ever 4-layer PCB.

The next year saw the towering expansion of the 68030 build, adding new peripherals and functionality.

Another year and I had an all-new 68030 build on a Micro-ATX form-factor motherboard developed in just a couple months ahead of VCF Southwest 2023.

The next year I focused on developing software for my existing 68030 board stack, rather than building something new from scratch. I succeeded in developing a minimal multi-user kernel to run four instances of BASIC simultaneously.

All along in between working on these projects I have done component-level repairs on various computers, developed expansion cards for the Mac SE, built PCs both new and old, burned out hard, developed some smaller homebrew computers, had a lot of false starts, failed projects, and abandoned projects, and completed some massive projects in my day job.

Looking back at everything I've worked on over these past 10 years I am absolutely amazed at how far I have come and what I have been able to accomplish. Much of it I still don't understand how I managed to actually pull it off, and I'm not entirely sure I could duplicate my successes.

Here's to the next ten years

[lenoide]

📁 MASTERLIST / MY WORKS 👤 Other profiles: AO3 | Discord | Wattpad

└ 📁[📚Multi-chapters][⏳Long read]

Season of Love

[🗯+18][👩‍❤️‍👨Toto x reader(fem team principal)][💘Romance][🥵Smut][😂Comedy][😪Drama][🏎F1 World/Races/Teams/Paddock][✍️WIP][⏳Long read]

Summary: One night on a pier in Monaco, while admiring the sea under the night skies, you tell Toto: "I came to the conclusion that love is simply not meant for me." That's the answer to a question you have been asking yourself for the longest time. But what if he proved you wrong? Author's note: This is a multichapter Toto Wolff x team principal reader fic set along a season of F1. It's a very immersive story full of drivers, team dynamics, races, mystery, and smut. You just bought the Williams team, but nobody really knows who you truly are. 📁 Masterlist: └📁 Dances with Wolff Arc I └📁 1 Engines on and hearts off └📁 2 Lights out, and away your feelings go └📁 3 Can you feel the traction? └📁 4 No brakes, just love └📁 5 Cold tires, warm heart └📁 6 Collision at Turn "Your Heart" └📁 The Color of Truth is Blue Arc └📁 7 Red flagsss └📁 8 Safety car needed └📁 The Sebaffäre Arc └📁 9 Laps of Truth └📁 10 Finding Our Grip └📁 11 Crashed Dreams └📁 Love Lies, Miss Normani Arc └📁 └📁 Dances with Wolff Arc II └📁 12 Refueling Love └📁 13 Uniting for the Win └📁 14 Sprint Finish └📁 15 Victory Lap

Chemtrails Over the Yacht Club Collection

[🗯+18][👩‍❤️‍👨 Toto x reader(fem service staff)][💘 Romance][🥵Smut][🎀 Age-gap][❤️‍🔥Daddy Kink][🛳Yacht Culture][✍️WIP][⏳Long read]

Summary: Toto Wolff is a name often mentioned at the Yacht Club, where you work after classes. For some reason, you have always pictured him as an old crank like the usual members, not this foxy man who arrives at the reception making your knees quiver.  The entire staff goes frenetic as he, one of the Club's most important clients, chooses to spend his spring break there without previous notice. You pray to the Gods that you don't cross lines with him since your entire livehood depends on this job, and you really want to graduate college. 📁 Collection: └📁 1 Dark But Just A Game └📁 2 Breaking Up Slowly └📁 3 Not All Who Wander Are Lost └📁 4 Dance Till We Die └📁 5 White Dress └📁 6 Let Me Love You Like a Woman

Grand Prix Elite Academy

[🗯+18][👩‍❤️‍👨 Toto(professor) x reader(student, future F1 driver)][👨‍❤️‍👨Lewis x Seb][💘Romance][🥵Smut][🎀Age-gap][❤️‍🔥Wild parties][🏫College AU][🌈Queer/Fem Seb][✍️WIP][⏳Long read]

Summary: Your life turns 180 degrees after receiving your acceptance letter for the Grand Prix Elite Academy, the most exclusive and prestigious Formula One College, designed to shape the future drivers of the motorsport world. You will try to navigate your new life among the Monaco elites, survive the campus dynamics and rivalries between the faculties, and try to win this year's Elite Cup to beat an undefeated Mercedes, all while befriending your eclectic classmates, join the wild parties, have a couple of make-outs under the racing circuit benches, lose your v-card and get over that stupid crush you have on professor Toto. Will you make it alive to graduation? Race to Greatness! Author's note: This is a Formula One college AU fic set in an elite academy in Monaco, where the F1 Teams are Faculties, their Team Principals are professors, the FIA is the college board, and all the grid drivers are your classmates. You are accepted under a scholarship program called WomenOne and have lots to catch on to after years of putting your racing dreams on hold. Becoming the outcast new girl is always challenging, especially when all of you live on one campus. 📁 Masterlist: └📁 1 Hi, Society! └📁 2 Gone With The Wolff └📁 3 Know Your Frenemies └📁 4 The Kids Are Not Alright └📁 5 The Twat and the Furious └📁 6 Panic Roomate └📁 7 Easy Y/N └📁 8 War of the Rosbergs └📁 9 …Baby? One More Time! └📁 10 She Wolff

[📚One-shots]

I'll Be Home for Christmas

[🗯+18][👩‍❤️‍👨 Toto x reader][🥵Smut][❤️‍🔥Mild BDSM][👄Dom/Sub][🎄Christmas][💫Short read]

Summary: Toto asks you in between ravenous kisses if you truly want him, even with his busy schedule, fast-paced life, countless nights miles away, and his dominant trait, the one you love to be submissive to, by saying yes you didn't expect it to be this hard! This particular season felt eternal, and you only desire to have him back, wrapped as the world's most alluring Christmas gift on your bed if possible. └📁 One-shot

Sparks Fly

[🗯+18][👩‍❤️‍👨 Toto x reader][🥵Smut][❤️‍🔥Daddy Kink][🎆New Years][💫Short read]

Summary: Toto is ready to leave his shitty 2023 behind and start 2024 in the best way possible, and you don't want to spend another New Year's Eve all by yourself; it's like destiny and the universe conspired to bring you two together. └📁 One-shot

The Lonely Hearts Party

[👩‍❤️‍👨Toto(boss) x reader(fem merc employee)][💘Romance][😊Fluff] [😂Comedy][🗄Corporate Mercedes][💝Valentine's Day][⏳Long read]

Summary: For weeks now, you have been receiving the most gorgeous flowers every Wednesday morning at your desk at the Brackley Headquarters, as a mysterious admirer seems so in love with you. The entire factory, your besties at work, and you all wonder who he is. Could it be the one you truly wish for? └📁 One-shot

The Big Slip

[🗯+18][👩‍❤️‍👨Toto x reader (fem middle class artist)][💘Romance][🥵Smut][😪Drama][🕵️‍♂️Secret Identity][💸Social gap][🪐AU][⏳Long read]

Summary: Your life as a struggling arts graduate in Monaco, coming from a working-class family who lives on the outskirts, is about to change. Toto Wolff enters your life not only by giving you the best sex ever but also by making you love somebody for the first time. Arranged marriages, a horrible breakup, and an induced coma, plus his terrible parents, were a complete surprise. └📁 One-shot

The Speed Game of Love

[👩‍❤️‍👨Toto x reader(fem contestant)][💘Romance][😂Comedy][🪐AU][🤪Crack humor][🌈RuPaul's Drag Race][💫Short read]

Summary: Three fierce queens will race for your love, but only one will win your heart. Could it be the spicy Carla LaTurbo Slayz, the fierce Adore D. Hammer, or the queen of England herself, GiGi Reigns? Or maybe that sexy host could get some! Hosted by the hot and only Toto Wolff. └📁 One-shot

Daddy's Little Pet

[🗯+18][👩‍❤️‍👨 Toto x reader(journalist)][🥵Smut][❤️‍🔥Daddy Kink][🎀Size Kink][👄Power play][💫Short read]

Summary: You had come to Brackley expecting a generic interview, not a deep dive into Toto's lovemaking life. └📁 One-shot

[🚎Coming soon...][✍️WIPs]

Join us at The Wolff Pack Discord Server > https://discord.com/invite/tpgArxqbfd

It’s Murder on the Garagefloor

[👩‍❤️‍👨Toto (boss) x reader(fem Merc employee)][💘Romance][😂Comedy][🪐AU][🤪Crack humor][👻Mystery][⏳Long read][🧩Clue]

Summary: His wife, one of his drivers, an engineer, his mentor, and you (Toto's assistant) all look at the body on the floor. Is the boss really gone? Loose inside this locked garage is the murderer. Who of you killed Toto Wolff? And why?

A mile-an-hour

[👩‍❤️‍👨Toto (boss) x reader(fem Merc employee)][💘Romance][😂Comedy][🪐AU][🤪Crack humor][🗄The Office][⏳Long read]

Summary: Getting hired on the Mercedes-AMG PETRONAS F1 Team from the thousands of applicants seemed like the pinnacle of your career and a privilege. Such a prestigious and life-changing opportunity until you arrive there… Smoke is flooding the garage, Lewis is dressed exactly like George in casual clothing for some reason, and Niki is playing sad Taylor Swift songs on the piano. At the same time, engineers try to catch a loose Roscoe throwing stuff everywhere. Why is even a piano in here?! Ah! And you almost forgot, Toto Wolff is crying inside his office.

Fast Car

[🗯+18][👩‍❤️‍👨 Toto (young f1 driver) x reader(fem f1 driver)][🥵Smut][💔Past lovers][☔️Pinning][🏎Team dynamics][☠️Toxic love][👹Make up and angrey sex][👄Power play][⏳Long read]

There was a time when he used to be your everything. Since childhood, you two shared a dream of one day becoming F1 drivers. Miles away from your families, you grew up only having each other, racing and experiencing life side by side. The short step from friends to lovers left natural, but the following step from F1 drivers to enemies deeply scarred you. When your ambitious team offers Toto the open seat, well aware of his reckless and wild reputation, you wonder if the sweet guy you fell in love with is still hiding inside that ruthless, don juan, cold-hearted two-time world champion. It's going to be a hell of a season for you.

Cursed to Love

[🗯+18][👨‍❤️‍👨 Lewis (Witch) x Sebastian (Human)][💘Romance][🥵Smut][🧙Fantasy][🌠Epic][🔮Lore][🩸Horror/War/Violence][🛖Period Piece][😪Drama][☔️Pinning][📿Soul mates][🪐AU][🌈Queer][✍️WIP][⏳Long read]

Summary: Lewis' birth was prophetized by the whispers of the leaves, a long-awaited moment by his tribe, eager to welcome the future leader of their motherlands. Yet destiny had unforeseen plans for him. Hidden in the darkest of the forest amid the horrors of the night their tales will call "The Great Devastation", cursed since his first breath with a heart tethered to a human soulmate in a chain he won't be able to break, bond by blood and magic to a love so pure, it will leave his body to ache, a cruel enchantment that simply won't fade away.

[district-thirteen-intern]

do not engage (unless it's to your hot ceo and you're drunk)

pairings: katniss everdeen x peeta mellark

blurb:

Katniss has two moods: 1) throw her boss Peeta Mellark into traffic, or 2) throw herself at Peeta Mellark. When a scheming executive tries to bride-nap him, she ends up fake-engaged instead. Now she has to survive corporate espionage, his stupidly perfect forearms, and the mortifying ordeal of being known.

Some people have intrusive thoughts about jumping off cliffs. I have them about licking my boss’s collarbone and pushing him into oncoming traffic — not necessarily in that specific order. I never know, at the start of a workday, which of those two moods will prevail, and it usually ends up being a curious mix of both. And it's not like that's my fault, really, that my boss, Peeta Mellark — seriously, what kind of person names their child after bread — heir to the world's saddest corporate dumpster fire and poster boy for accidental charm, has once again ruined my day simply by existing in my general vicinity with his sleeves rolled up. The office used to be normal before he took over for his father — or, well, as normal as a multi-generational capitalist hellscape run by dead-eyed board members and one nepotism baby can be; now, we just have a designated scream room to preserve the mental sanity of all the employees. It used to be a wellness pod for relaxation, equipped with massage chairs, and a diffuser, and one of those sound bowls. Somewhere along the way the diffuser broke, the chair started shocking people, and now it’s just a soundproofed closet where overworked interns go to cry between budget meetings. Sometimes they scream and cry into a pillow with the CEO’s stupidly beautiful face printed on it. 

I pretend I don’t know who keeps ordering those.

(It’s me.)

As I enter his office, he looks at me with darkened eyes and this amused little smile like he can tell I want him to bend me over his desk and make me see stars. I don't know how long I stand there — half a minute at least — and he's saying something something about the coffee in my hand, but I can't hear him over the buzzing in my head, because he's unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt, and it's short-circuiting my brain. 

He grabs the coffee cup from my hands and takes a sip. 

I can't breathe. 

“Tastes delicious,” he murmurs. 

“Thanks. I spit in it.” 

His lips twitch. “That explains why it's extra sweet today.” 

I narrow my eyes. “I'm going to kill you,” I inform calmly, professionally. “I'm going to murder you, and frame the cafeteria lady.” 

“You'd have to get past Delly first,” he says, unphased. “And she likes me.” 

Everyone likes him. It's his stupid, beautiful face, and that angelic smile, and how he remembers everyone's names and details, and always stops to ask after them, with his kind eyes and his forearms— 

“I'll find a way.” 

“Will that be before or after you tell me why you're so grouchy today?” 

I roll my eyes. “If you worked for you, you'd be grouchy too.” 

“Mm.” Peeta perches on the edge of his desk, sleeves pushed up like he knows what that does to people with eyes, and gives me the kind of smile that makes interns cry in the stairwell. “But you’re especially bloodthirsty today. What happened? Did someone take the last muffin in the break room again?”

“Yes,” I say flatly. “It was you.”

He lifts his brows, all fake-innocent. “Are you sure?”

“You left the wrapper on my keyboard.”

“It could’ve been anyone,” he says, and then grins when I scowl. “You know, you’re very cute when you’re plotting my demise.”

“I’m cute always.”

I immediately regret saying that when he agrees. “That's true but the murder face is definitely a highlight.” 

“Don't talk about my face.” 

“Would you prefer I write about it then? I'm no poet but I'm sure I could come up with something.” 

I should leave. I should turn around, go back to my desk, and scream into the Mellark pillow like a normal employee suffering a standard case of terminal CEO-induced rage. But I don’t. I just stand there like a moron at the gates of hell, mesmerized, because my boss is a golden retriever in a fitted button-down with forearms that have no business being that defined and a voice that could make a nun rethink her vows.

He tilts his head. “You're staring again.” 

“I'm plotting ways to kill you.” 

“Ah, well,” he says with amusement, “don't let me stop you then.”

He mercifully leaves me alone for the next few hours, buried in back-to-back meetings but the peace is short-lived. Every time he walks by my office, he throws me one of those infuriatingly sweet smiles like he’s not singlehandedly responsible for my slow descent into madness. Honestly, if I ever snap and end up in court, I’m blaming his smile and his sleeves. “Your Honor, I plead guilty to aggravated assault, but in my defense—have you seen him?” When he finally reappears in the doorway of my office, he’s leaned against the frame like we’re in a rom-com where sexual tension is a currency and asks, “Katniss. How do you feel about dinner?” like I’m not currently mentally reviewing OSHA-approved ways to body-slam a person through a plate-glass window.

I finally answer, “I have plans.”

“Then cancel them,” he says, like I just told him I’m free. “I'll pick you up at seven.”

“Cancel— what? Why?” 

He rolls his eyes. “So I can kidnap you and chain you up in my tower where I'll have my wicked way with you.” I bite the urge to tell him he doesn't need to lock me up for that. “Seriously, Katniss, it's a work arrangement. I need you there taking notes.” 

I look at him with suspicion. “What kind of work arrangement?” 

“Dinner.” 

“With who?” 

“It's irrelevant.” 

“Peeta.” 

“No, really, it doesn't matter.” 

“Peeta.” 

He sighs. “It's Drusilla.” 

“As in Head of Board of Directors Drusilla? Vampire Drusilla?” 

“Yes.” 

“Fuck no.” 

“Katniss—” 

“No. Last time we saw each other, she tried to scratch my eyes out and I ripped out a chunk of her weave. I’m not interested in doing a round two.”

“I’ll fire you if you don’t go.”

“Do it,” I say sweetly. “Please. Put me out of my misery.”

“Katniss.”

“Take Marvel. He’s basically a corporate mannequin. He’ll do great.”

“Marvel has a restraining order from her poodle.”

I blink.

A what? “You’re lying.”

“I wish I were."

“Peeta—”

“Look, she arranged this with a lot of hush-hush so I'm ninety percent sure she's planning something. But she's afraid of you; and if you come along, I'm sure she'll think twice about pulling any tricks.” 

I give in. “Fine, but I'm not suffering through it sober.” 

He grins. “It won't be that bad.” 

“Right,” I say, unconvinced. 

Famous last words. 

The night is terrible. 

And not just the common ‘the food is awful and the conversation is awkward’ kind of terrible. This is the kind of terrible that makes you question your life choices, your sanity, and whether or not you’re actually trapped in a very specific circle of hell that smells like expensive perfume and slow-roasted duck confit. Drusilla Lavellan — head of the board, CEO of passive aggression, and part-time swamp creature masquerading as a socialite — is wearing what I can only assume is the entire cosmetics section of a makeup store on her face. Thick layers of foundation in a shade that doesn’t exist in nature, contoured cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, eyebrows arched like she’s constantly judging your existence (spoiler: she is), and lips outlined in her signature color that is best described as dried blood, which has only ever solidified the conspiracy going around our office that she is some kind of a bloodsucking vampire. There's a wig perched on her head, voluminous, blond, stiff, and slightly askew — which turns a lot of heads for entirely wrong reasons — and she talks in a frequency so high that I drown out her voice out of habit. I'm not concerned with paying attention. My only job is to sit here and glower occassionally when Peeta looks uncomfortable. Which is often, because she keeps eying him like he's the last item on a buffet, and she's got coupons. So far, she has managed to imply she would be happy to throw her support behind his ascension as the CEO, which is very contentious and unpopular right now because of the mess his father left, but in return for something she doesn't seem to want to reveal before me. 

But she must have gotten over her reserve over my company soon because then comes the strangest part of the night. 

I choke on my drink. 

Peeta looks alarmed. “You're proposing what?” 

“Marriage, of course,” she says like it's a given. “You’re young and handsome. Are you surprised I'd want you?” 

“I'm surprised you think he'd want you,” I say, emboldened by my seventh glass of wine and a lack of will to live.

She ignores me. 

Peeta flails around for a response. “But we don't know each other.” 

“What's that got to do with anything?” she frowns, confused. “It’s a great business move. Romanticism is for children, and we're all adults here, aren't we?” 

“But I — I can't.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because I'm already engaged,” he's smoother now, calmer, as he smiles and reaches for my hand. The fog of alcohol clears up just in time for him to lift up my hand on which he's somehow slid on a ring — one of the ones I've seen on his own hand — slightly dangling from my hands. “To Katniss.” 

Drusilla gapes. 

I gape. 

Everyone and their mom gapes. 

“You're engaged?” she says, voice raising another decibel. 

I stare. “We are?” 

“We are.” Peeta cheerfully leans over and presses a kiss to my cheek. “Katniss wanted to keep it private for a while.” 

“I did?” 

“Mhmm.” 

The alcohol has murdered every functioning brain cell I had. I nod along, because sure. Why not. Reality is a construct and I’ve decided to opt out.

It can't be that bad. 

(I'm wrong.) 

Because right behind Drusilla — standing with the posture of a man who smells scandal for breakfast — is a cameraman. And right next to him is Plutarch Heavensbee: corporate gossip merchant, board puppet, and part-time vulture. He’s been writing hit pieces on Peeta since the day he inherited the company — everything from drug abuse (false), to playboy behavior (debatable), to outright incompetence (still debatable). And now he’s here, watching all this unfold like it’s his birthday. Before I can stop myself, I surge to my feet, ready to throw hands, or at the very least, hurl a breadstick at Drusilla’s beady little eyes for trying to paparazzi-marry my boss under duress. But the universe hates me, so my heel catches on the edge of the tablecloth and I immediately stumble. 

Peeta catches me with reflexes that should be illegal. His arm wraps around my waist, steady and warm, as he murmurs something calming — probably to me, maybe to the table, hard to tell — while the camera flashes explode like fireworks and Plutarch’s smug, greasy smile stretches wider.

I should be screaming. I should be plotting my escape. I should be wondering how I let myself get fake-engaged to my golden retriever boss in front of corporate America.

Instead, I do the worst thing possible.

I lean into him.

And smile for the camera.

Which is how I accidentally end up fakely real married to my boss, start a corporate war, and develop a sudden allergy to press releases— but well.

That's a story for another time.

this cringe-fest was in my drafts for days and days because i couldn't decide if i like it or i hate it, so there you go; hope you liked it! if you did, please comment, like and reblog! any and all feedback is appreciated.

[the-cauldron-witch]

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, c’mere. With Donnie pls? Maybe still crush state? 👁️👁️ (thank you in advance!)

Thank you so much for the ask!!! 🫂🫂🫂

I'm really sorry for taking so long, Donnie was being difficult and wouldn't let me write this out apparently! I hope you like it!

Taglist: @silverwatergalaxy @thelaundrybitch @sophiacloud28 @iridescentflamingo @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @yorshie @truffle-draws-turtles (message me if you want to be apart of my taglist! I just started keeping it, so if I forgot to tag you don't be upset)

Sparks scattered from the tip of the soldering iron in Donnie’s expert hand, putting the finer finishing touches to the circuit board inside the device resting on his work bench. Sweat beaded at the top of his brow, trickling down his face and neck behind the welding mask as he worked. Once he was satisfied with the work he lifted the shield from his face and smiled down at his creation, closing the panel and sealing away the wires and circuits from the rest of the world. With the final touches finally complete Donnie felt confident enough to test out his new invention; a shuriken wrist launcher. Although his brothers and himself had incredible accuracy with shurikens, they could only throw so many so fast, with this new device whomever used it should be able to send multiple shurikens at a target at top speed.

“Hey, Donnie!” Your voice broke the silence like a thin sheet of ice, snapping him out of his studying gaze and fumble with the invention for a split second. “Oh, jeez, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you” You couldn’t help but giggle an apology while Donnie sighed in relief with the invention still in his hand.

“No worries, I just finished my shuriken launcher actually,” He said with a grin, peeling the welding mask from his sweat covered head and placing it on his bench. Donnie was grateful for the way his purple mask hid the slight color that came to his cheeks at the mere sight of you standing at the entrance to his lab, shifting from one foot to the other while watching him. This could be the millionth time he saw you, yet it still gave him butterflies like it was the first time.

“Shuriken launcher? Seems kind of redundant,” You questioned with a raised eyebrow, walking into the lab and to Donnie’s side so that you could eye the metal gauntlet in his hand.

“Well, because of our tridactyl hands we are only able to throw at maximum two shurikens with each hand, totaling to four shurikens for each of us. Leo is the only one who managed to throw three in each hand successfully, but they weren’t as accurate compared to throwing the typical two in each hand.”

Slipping the gauntlet over his muscular green forearm Donnie studied his invention, pressing a button on the side facing himself. The gauntlet hissed for a second as the inner cuff began inflating, securing itself to his arm. Donnie flexed his hand and wrist, making sure that the cuff wasn’t too constricting but also held firm enough to not budge easily. Curiosity now piqued you watched while Donnie flexed his muscular arm, admiring his physique more than the invention if you were being honest.

“I recycled a blood pressure cuff machine for the base so that it could be used by anyone who wears it, no matter the size of their forearm,” Donnie explained, pointing his arm to an invisible target ahead of him. “It keeps the device secure against the users arm for better aim,”

“Oh, like the ones you see at the pharmacy?” You questioned enthusiastically, drawing yourself closer to Donnie so you can inspect the shuriken launcher closer. Now that you were closer to it you could see he had taken the blood pressure cuff as he said, mounting what looked like a modified multi-disc CD player onto the top where the shurikens were stored and ejected through a slim opening at the wrist. There were a few other components you couldn’t identify, but they all seemed to work together by Donnie’s ingenuity.

“Yeah! I haven’t put the shurikens inside the launcher just yet, I was just about to test it out in the dojo for the first time, if you’d like to join?”

“I’d love to! Can I try it out next?” Bouncing on your toes with eagerness you followed him out of the lab like an excited puppy. Your enthusiasm and excitement to help and learn from Donnie always sent a small whirlwind of butterflies fluttering in his stomach, something about the way your eyes lit up and voice heightened made him feel weak in the knees.

“O-of course, sure! But I want to take the first test, just to make sure everything is programmed correctly” Donnie spoke a little louder than intended, mirroring your own excitement as he strode his way to the dojo. Once entering the dojo Donnie made his way over to the training dummy, many shuriken already scattered about and lodged into different surfaces. Plucking the ones from the floor and pulling the three out of the wooden dummy he pressed a button facing him, the top of the devices panel popping open. Placing the shuriken collected in his hand into the compartment and closing the hatch he turned to you.

“Alright, so here’s how it should work,” Slipping into his ‘Bill Nye voice’ as Mikey described once, Donnie began explaining the device on his arm to you with a small smile turning the ends of his lips, “I modified the blood pressure cuff with some sensors that read the way your muscles move and flex, so that when I clench my fist and move it in just the correct way it should launch one shuriken at a time when flexed or sending multiple when your hand is held in that position,”

Taking a stance in front of the target practice dummy Donnie locked onto the blue and yellow target painted on the torso, lining up his shot and flexing his hand downward as though he were throttling a motorcycle handle. There was a long, drawn out moment of silence where nothing happened. Another moment and Donnie flexed his hand in the same way again, clenching and unclenching his fist in the manner needed for the device to launch a shuriken. Still nothing.

“Did you turn it on?” You questioned, giggling nervously as you earned an incredulous deadpanned look from the tall terrapin. After another second of holding the gauntlet out, Donnie sighed and brought his arm towards himself once again and relaxed his hand.

“That’s strange, maybe I didn’t calibrate the sensors correctly?” Donnie murmured to himself, studying his invention with a furrowed brow and small annoyed huff. He had gone over the programming his usual four dozen times and tested the sensors inside the blood pressure cuffs with his computer the same amount, the device should at least attempt to launch a shuriken.

Approaching Donnie as he continued his intense gaze as though the problem would be written on the surface of the uncooperative device, he didn’t register your proximity as he continued scrutinizing and silently questioning what could not be working right. Grazing the tip of his finger over the area where the shurikens had been loaded into earlier Donnie noticed the small door had not latched shut properly. Pressing his finger on the hatch the smallest and softest ‘click’ registered in Donnie’s ears a millisecond before a glint of metal shot from his wrist.

You didn’t have time to so much as blink. The weapon was ejected in the flicker of an eye with incredible speed, the sharpened tip grazing the skin of your cheek and leaving a thin trail of crimson beads behind. Hissing as the fiery sting settling into your cheek you reached a hand to your face, fingertips meeting warm blood as you and Donnie stared at one another in shock. Blood trickled down your cheek for a second longer before Donnie snapped out of his daze, pressing the button to disengage the gauntlet from his arm and let it drop to the floor without a care.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit, c’mere” Donnie breathed as he quickly leaned down to capture your face in his massive hands, the sudden closeness causing your breath to hitch in your throat and heart to stammer a beat. Not giving you a chance to find your voice again Donnie swept you off of your feet and into his massive arms, carrying you to the med-bay hastily in one fell swoop. How could he have let something like this happen? Something as stupid as the hatch not being closed correctly shouldn’t have gotten you hurt! You practically blinked and the two of you were in the medbay. Placing you on the exam table gently Donnie studied your face with concern and guilt wrinkling his brow and eyes.

“Donnie?” You questioned as he darted to the otherside of the room, opening a drawer or two before pulling out a plastic med kit.

“So fucking stupid...should have fucking known better, didn’t pay attention enough!” You could hear him muttering angrily to himself, berating himself for letting you get hurt in the most ridiculous way. Guilt clutched at your chest as you heard him curse under his breath. It wasn’t like he did it on purpose or knew something so small would go wrong, things like this just happened sometimes.

“Donnie?” You tried again when he sat himself in on a rolling chair and slid clear across the room to your side. The cut no longer burned as harshly now, but the sting still lingered and pulsated. Blinking himself out of the fog the panic settled in his mind Donnie’s eyes finally met yours.

“It’s okay, really,” A smile attempted to dimple your cheek, making you wince a tiny bit from the fresh pain, “I’m okay, honestly. It’s just a little scratch! Stop beating yourself up,”

“I...I know...I should have known better than to point it-” He began berating himself again as his fingers fiddled with the antiseptic wipe in his hands, fingers fumbling and making him more frustrated. Taking his jittering hands in your own you brought his attention back onto you, his heart hammering in his chest as he felt the warmth of your soft hands wrapping around his rather larger ones. The sudden urge took over you, leaning you forward and pressed so that you could press your lips to his forehead for a moment. Electricity ran from where your lips met his skin down his neck and through every nerve ending in his shell and skin, sparks crackling and sending shivers down his spine. Pulling your lips away from his forehead you registered what you had done, offering a shy smile.

“It’s just a little scratch. I’m okay, really” You giggled nervously.

Swallowing the thick lump suddenly lodged in his throat Donnie couldn’t bring himself to speak again, knowing his voice would crack and betray him now. Instead he focuses on the dried blood staining your cheeks, despite the fact they were already flushing red from your own doing. Not that Donnie’s own face wasn’t heated by the kiss placed on his forehead, but he wasn’t going to admit that out loud just yet.

[hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog]

Hard Hitter

Happy Wednesday Readers!!! I know,  it's been a minute since I have grace you all with my writing, good, bad, or otherwise. Life has been a bit hectic to say the least as it has been for everyone I am sure. But hopefully I will be getting back into the swing of it, and writing/posting more.

I have been working on a few things, and been throwing some ideas around, possibly making a few changes to how I do/write moving forward, I am not sure if they will go over well with the fanfic community, but we will see. 

anyhoo, let's get to it. This is a one shot, request/ask that I am filling, in for @nancymcl for some reason my desktop version of Tumblr won't let me pull her ask so I will just retype her ask here: 

I am just now getting to Leverage. (Because Christian Kane) Would love to see how Eliot would react to Dean if they ran across each other while the boys were on a hunt.

I mean come on this sounds amazing! I hope I did you justice and you like what I came up with. I also tried something different with the "mood board" or "photo card" do we like it? I mean I could find a photo of Christian Kane shirtless in a boxing ring (the tap out job) but Dean not one I like, and AI I could not for the life of me, make anything work. Please for the love of God, anyone out there that can make good AI fan art, teach me your ways, send me some basic prompts and settings that I need to use, I will be forever grateful.

But, again anyhoo....back to the story at hand: 

Plot: Eliot Spencer from Leverage and Dean Winchester from Supernatural. The story follows them as they discover an underground fighting ring with supernatural elements and eventually team up to take it down. We also have appearances from Hardison, Parker, Sophie, Nate, and Sam Winchester to round out the supporting cast. 

This is intended as a one shot, but I did leave the door open for a series or a follow up. Let me know in the comments, if that is something you all would like to see???? Suggestions on where this could go. 

Word Count: 3K+

-Multi POV-

Feedback, likes and reblogs are always welcomed. Please don't post as your own work, this is my work. If you would like to be added to my tag list, just ask, I am always happy to add you.

Thanks!

-Eliot POV-

The warehouse district of Boston wasn't Eliot Spencer's favorite place to be at 2 AM on a Tuesday, but after three weeks of fighting in this underground ring, he was finally getting close to the real money. Tonight was the big one—a hundred grand in unmarked bills riding on his fight. Not for himself—those days were behind him—but for the job. Hardison had tracked suspicious financial movements to this fight club with stakes higher than any legitimate boxing commission would allow, and Eliot had gone in as a fighter to infiltrate from the inside.

"I don't like this, Eliot." Parker's voice crackled through his earpiece. "The heat signatures in that building don't make sense."

Eliot adjusted his jacket, sore muscles protesting from his previous fights. "What do you mean they don't make sense?"

"Some of them are... too hot. Like, way too hot for a human." There was concern in her voice, rare for someone who typically treated danger like a playground.

"It's probably just the thermal imaging acting up," Hardison chimed in. "These warehouse walls are thick, man."

"Stay focused, Eliot," Nate's steady voice cut in. "You've built your reputation as the Mountain Man for weeks now. Tonight we find out who's really behind this operation."

Eliot grunted. "I've beaten everyone they've put in front of me except the champion. Tonight I finally get my shot at him."

The doorman—all three hundred pounds of him—gave Eliot a respectful nod as he walked through. Several spectators recognized him, some slapping him on the back, others quickly moving out of his way. Three weeks of bruising victories had earned him both fans and respect in this underground circuit. The interior smelled of sweat, blood, and something else... sulfur? Eliot put that in the back of his mind as he made his way through the crowd. His eyes, as always, noted the exits, the guards, and the cage in the center where two men were currently beating each other senseless.

Or rather, one was beating the other senseless. The victor moved with a fluid grace that seemed almost inhuman. His eyes flashed—and for a moment, Eliot could have sworn they turned completely black.

"Found our guy," he muttered into his comm. "The winner in the cage. Something's off about him."

"Define 'off,'" Sophie's cultured voice replied.

"Eliot, get visual," Nate instructed. "Hardison needs to run facial recognition."

Before Eliot could answer, the announcer bellowed into the microphone: "AND STILL UNDEFEATED! THE DEMON OF DETROIT!"

The crowd roared as the fighter raised his arms, a malevolent grin spreading across his face.

"Looking for fresh meat!" The announcer continued. "Who's brave enough to challenge our champion?"

Eliot was about to volunteer when another voice rang out.

"I'll take him on!"

The crowd parted to reveal a tall man with close-cropped hair and a cocky grin. Something about him seemed familiar to Eliot—the stance, the awareness, the way his eyes scanned the room. This wasn't some amateur looking for glory. This was a professional.

The newcomer entered the cage, shrugging off a worn leather jacket, his red flannel, and black t-shirt to reveal his bare muscled chest. Raising up his arms, to get the crown on his side, some cheering him on, he moves around the ring, as he turns towards Eliot, Eliot can now see, near the man's left side of his chest near his heart what looked suspiciously like protective sigils tattooed.

"Name?" The announcer asked.

"Dean. Dean Winchester."

"Hardison, you getting this?" Nate asked over the comms. "Run this Dean Winchester through the system."

"Already on it," Hardison replied. "But I gotta tell you, this guy's record is... interesting. Multiple reports of death, grave desecration, impersonating federal agents. Either we're dealing with the world's luckiest criminal or something else entirely."

-Dean POV-

Dean hadn't expected to find a demon fighting ring in Boston, but the trail of mysteriously broken-necked losers had brought him here. Sam was working another angle—checking the morgue for sulfur residue on the corpses—while Dean went straight to the source.

The "Demon of Detroit" wasn't subtle with his nickname, but Dean doubted anyone here realized it was literal. The black eyes had confirmed his suspicions. Now he just needed to get close enough to exorcise the bastard before he killed anyone else.

What he hadn't counted on was being matched up against another fighter first—a compact, hard-looking man with long hair and a stare that could cut glass. The crowd was already chanting "Mountain Man" as the fighter approached the cage.

"Change of plans, folks!" The announcer called out. "Our new challenger will face our local favorite, the undefeated Mountain Man, before earning a shot at the champion!"

Dean cursed under his breath. This Mountain Man had clearly been fighting here for a while—the crowd loved him, and judging by the announcer's introduction, he hadn't lost a match yet. He looked like he knew what he was doing, and Dean couldn't afford to get beaten to a pulp before dealing with the actual demon.

As they circled each other in the cage, Dean tried to size up his opponent. The way this guy moved told Dean everything he needed to know—trained, experienced, and dangerous. Far more skilled than anyone else he'd seen in these kinds of underground fights.

"Hey, man, I'm not here for you," Dean said quietly.

The long-haired fighter didn't blink. His eyes showed a calculating intelligence that didn't match the typical brawler profile. "Then why are you here?"

"Would you believe I'm hunting a demon?"

That earned him a scoff. "Sure. And I'm here collecting Easter eggs."

The first punch came so fast Dean barely saw it, connecting with his jaw and sending him staggering back. He recovered quickly, blocking the next blow and countering with one of his own that the other man slipped with practiced ease.

"You're good," Dean admitted, tasting blood. "Military?"

"Something like that," the man replied, landing a kick to Dean's thigh that nearly buckled his knee. "You?"

Dean grinned through the pain. "Family business."

They exchanged blows for another minute, neither gaining a clear advantage, though Dean suspected the other man was holding back.

"Look," Dean grunted after barely dodging a lightning-fast combination, "I'm serious about the demon thing. The champion? Black eyes? Sulfur smell? Ringing any bells?"

The other fighter paused, reassessing Dean. "You're saying the champion is... actually a demon?"

"Bingo." Dean used the momentary distraction to pull a small flask from his pocket. "Holy water. Watch."

He unscrewed the cap and flicked a few drops toward the champion, who was watching their fight with interest from the side of the cage. The water hit his arm, and the skin immediately sizzled and smoked. The demon hissed, eyes flashing black.

The long-haired man's expression hardened. "I'll be damned."

"Not yet," Dean said, "but if we don't stop this thing, plenty of others will be."

-Eliot POV-

Eliot had seen a lot of strange things in his life—corrupt governments, experimental weapons, Hardison's attempts at cooking—but actual demons were new.

"Guys," he whispered into his comm, "you hearing this?"

"If you're asking if we heard that demons are real and currently running a fight club, then yeah," Hardison replied, voice higher than usual. "Man, I was happier not knowing that."

"Eliot," Parker cut in, "the thermal scan makes sense now. That champion guy is literally burning hotter than a human should."

"Stay calm, everyone," Nate's voice came through, steady as always despite the revelation. "If demons are real, then this is a lot bigger than we thought. Eliot, work with this Winchester character if you think he's legitimate. Sophie, I need you to start looking into occult connections with these fights."

The Winchester guy was eyeing him, waiting for a response. Eliot made a quick decision. "I'm Eliot Spencer. Sounds like we're both here to shut this operation down."

"Dean Winchester. And yeah, I'm here to exorcise that demon and find out who's behind this. These fights are being used to identify potential vessels—humans strong enough to contain powerful demons."

Eliot nodded. "My team tracked money from some suspicious deaths back to this place. We thought it was just illegal gambling."

"Oh, there's gambling alright," Dean said. "Just with souls instead of cash."

The announcer was getting impatient. "Fight or forfeit, gentlemen!"

Dean leaned in closer. "We need to make this look good, then take on the demon together. I've got holy water and salt, but I'll need a distraction to start the exorcism."

Eliot resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Holy water and salt? Why don't we just hit him really hard until he stops moving?"

"Because he's a demon," Dean said slowly, as if explaining to a child. "Physical damage won't stop him."

"You'd be surprised what physical damage can accomplish," Eliot muttered, but nodded his agreement. "Fine. Your way first. If that fails, we try mine."

"Eliot," Nate's voice came through his earpiece, "I'm sending Parker and Hardison to back you up. Sophie and I will work on identifying who's really pulling the strings here."

They started fighting again, this time choreographing it to look convincing while minimizing actual damage. Dean was skilled—not quite at Eliot's level, but he clearly had a lifetime of training.

"On three," Dean whispered after a particularly convincing exchange of blows, "I'll go down. You'll be declared the winner and face the demon. I'll circle around outside the cage."

Eliot nodded imperceptibly, then landed the pulled punch that Dean sold with an oscar-worthy performance, collapsing to the mat.

The crowd roared as Eliot was declared the winner. As promised, his next opponent would be the undefeated champion. As Dean was helped out of the cage—slipping away from his handlers at the first opportunity—Eliot prepared himself to face a literal demon.

"Hardison," he muttered, "I'm about to fight an actual demon. Any advice?"

"Besides 'don't'?" Hardison replied. "Man, I don't know. I'm still processing the fact that demons exist!"

"Focus, Eliot," Nate commanded. "Demon or not, this is just another opponent. Find its weakness and exploit it."

"Sophie, can you create a distraction if this goes south?" Eliot asked.

"Already on it," she replied smoothly. "I've identified the circuit breaker. On your signal, we can cut the lights."

The demon entered the cage, grinning at Eliot with malevolent confidence. Up close, the sulfur smell was overwhelming.

"You look tasty," the demon said, his voice oddly layered. "Strong vessel. Good soul. I'll enjoy wearing you to the prom."

"Yeah, not interested," Eliot replied, falling into his fighting stance.

The bell rang, and the demon attacked with inhuman speed. Eliot barely managed to dodge, countering with a strike to the kidney that would have dropped a normal man. The demon merely laughed.

From the corner of his eye, Eliot spotted Dean slipping along the edge of the crowd, a duffel bag now in his hand. Whatever plan the hunter had, Eliot needed to buy him time.

The demon landed a punch that felt like being hit by a truck. Eliot rolled with it, using the momentum to create distance. His ribs protested, and he tasted blood.

"Your friend was right," the demon taunted. "Holy water and salt are the traditional methods. But he forgot the most important thing—you need to trap me first."

"Good thing I didn't forget," Dean's voice called out as he flung a handful of white powder in a circle around the cage. Salt, Eliot realized. Completing a circle that Dean must have started laying down while everyone was distracted by the fight.

The demon snarled, lunging for Eliot with renewed fury, clearly hoping to finish the fight before Dean could complete whatever ritual he was planning.

"Now would be good!" Eliot shouted, barely avoiding a blow that would have crushed his windpipe.

Dean began reciting something in Latin, his voice carrying through the suddenly quiet warehouse. The crowd, confused but sensing something was wrong, began to murmur uneasily.

The demon screamed in rage, its attacks becoming wilder. Eliot took advantage, using the demon's fury against it, deflecting rather than blocking, conserving his strength.

"Sophie, lights!" he called.

The warehouse plunged into darkness, illuminated seconds later by emergency lights that cast everything in an eerie red glow. In the confusion, Dean had somehow made it into the cage and was continuing his Latin chant while flinging holy water at the demon, who screamed as each drop hit like acid.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus..." Dean continued, voice rising.

"Eliot, remember that move you used in Belgrade?" Nate's voice was calm but urgent in his ear. "The one that disrupted the energy flow? Try it now."

The demon, now desperate, broke through Eliot's guard and grabbed him by the throat, lifting him off his feet. "I'll snap his neck before you finish, hunter!"

Eliot, vision darkening from lack of oxygen, did what he did best. He hit the demon. Hard. Right in the throat, using a strike he'd learned from a monastery in Tibet that was specifically designed to disrupt energy flow. It wasn't meant for demons, but apparently interdimensional entities still needed functioning vessels.

The demon's grip loosened enough for Eliot to break free, gasping for air.

"Keep chanting!" he rasped at Dean. "I've got this!"

"Holy water works better!" Dean argued, even as he continued the exorcism.

"Just finish the damn Latin!" Eliot snapped, launching into a flurry of strikes targeting nerve clusters and pressure points that would incapacitate even superhuman strength if hit precisely enough.

The demon staggered under the assault, its movements becoming jerky and uncoordinated. Dean's exorcism reached its crescendo, and the demon threw its head back, black smoke pouring from its mouth and eyes as it screamed in unholy agony.

The human host collapsed, unconscious but alive. Around them, chaos had erupted as the crowd realized something very wrong was happening. Several black-eyed individuals were trying to flee, only to be intercepted by a blonde woman wielding what looked like a taser and a tall, shaggy-haired man with a shotgun.

"That's my brother Sam," Dean explained, catching his breath. "Looks like your team met up with him."

"Parker and Hardison," Eliot nodded. "Sophie's probably already got the money trail locked down." He eyed Dean. "Not bad with the Latin. Still think a good punch works faster."

Dean rolled his eyes. "The punch wouldn't have expelled the demon. The exorcism did that."

"My punch gave you time to finish the exorcism," Eliot countered. "And it didn't require any arts and crafts supplies."

"It's not arts and crafts, it's—" Dean started, then stopped as he noticed more demons converging on their position. "We can argue methodology later. Right now, we've got more company."

Eliot cracked his knuckles. "Fine. We'll try it your way again. But if that doesn't work fast enough..."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean conceded, pulling out more holy water and a sawed-off shotgun loaded with salt rounds. "Then we punch things harder. I got it."

"Eliot, Dean, get ready," Nate's voice came through the comm. "Parker and Hardison have set up a trap by the east exit. Herd them that way."

Together, they turned to face the oncoming demons, an unlikely alliance of hitter and hunter, bound by a common enemy and a shared determination to protect the innocent—even if they couldn't agree on the best way to do it.

Three hours later, the warehouse was quiet again. The fighting ring had been dismantled, the demons exorcised, and the human organizers of the operation—a group of occultists trying to create the perfect vessels for higher-level demons—were zip-tied and waiting for the authorities, though their statements about demonic possession would likely land them in psychiatric care rather than prison.

"So you guys do this kind of thing often?" Eliot asked, pressing an ice pack to his bruised ribs as the two teams compared notes in the Leverage headquarters.

"Hunting demons? Yeah, family business," Dean replied. His brother Sam was deep in conversation with Hardison about tracking patterns of supernatural activity.

"And you... steal from the rich and give to the poor?" Sam asked, looking up from Hardison's array of screens.

"We provide... alternative leverage," Sophie explained diplomatically.

Nate sipped his whiskey thoughtfully. "We help people who have nowhere else to turn. When the law fails them, we provide... other options."

Parker, who had been studying Dean's collection of weapons with undisguised interest, picked up a flask of holy water. "So this stuff actually burns demons? That's so cool."

"Not as cool as watching Eliot punch that demon in the throat," Hardison added. "Man, I didn't think anything could make that thing flinch, and then you hit it with some Crouching Tiger Hidden Hitter move."

Eliot shrugged. "Just because something's supernatural doesn't mean it doesn't have weak points."

"Still," Dean insisted, "you need the right tools for the job. Holy water, salt, iron, Latin exorcisms—these things work because they have power over the supernatural."

"And a well-placed hit works because physics is physics," Eliot countered. "Even for demons."

Dean raised his hands in surrender. "Fine. Next time we fight a werewolf, you can try punching it while I use silver bullets, and we'll see who gets better results."

"Next time?" Sophie raised an eyebrow.

Sam and Dean exchanged glances. "This operation was bigger than just Boston," Sam explained. "We found evidence of similar fighting rings in five other cities. They're systematically testing human hosts for demon compatibility."

"That kind of geographical spread means serious organization," Nate mused, swirling the whiskey in his glass. "Money trails, shell companies, probably legitimate businesses as fronts."

"Exactly," Sam nodded, impressed with Nate's quick grasp of the situation. "We've been tracking the supernatural side, but the human infrastructure behind it has been harder to crack."

"Well, that's our specialty," Nate smiled, a calculating look in his eyes that his team knew well. "I think we might have a mutually beneficial partnership opportunity here."

"Sounds like our kind of problem," Parker grinned.

"And the demons are definitely our kind of problem," Dean added.

Eliot looked at the hunter, a reluctant respect forming. "So what you're saying is..."

"We might need to work together again," Dean finished, extending his hand. "God help me, but your punch-first-ask-questions-later approach actually worked pretty well with our holy water."

Eliot shook the offered hand, his grip firm. "And I guess the Latin wasn't completely useless."

"High praise," Dean smirked.

"I'll start planning our approach," Nate said, already moving to the whiteboard. "Sophie, we'll need covers for multiple cities. Hardison, I want everything you can find on these fight promoters, investors, property holdings."

As the two teams continued sharing information, planning their next move against the supernatural fighting rings, Eliot couldn't help but wonder what other impossible things might exist in the world. Demons were real—what else might be lurking in the shadows?

One thing was certain: whatever came next, he'd face it the way he always did—head-on, fists ready. And if Dean Winchester insisted on bringing salt and holy water to the fight, well, Eliot supposed there were worse backup plans.

After all, when it came to taking down the bad guys—supernatural or otherwise—results were what mattered. And between his fists and Dean's arsenal, results were something they could definitely deliver.

[spookiesmausoleum]

𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐓𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 : 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐄𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

I've been listening to the album nonstop so I wanted to put together some starters based on Vessel's lyrical talent - it's going to be a long one. Feel free to mix and match and add context around the quotes! Please remember to specify muse for multis and change pronouns as needed.

𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃

"I come as a blade, a sacred guardian, so keep me sharp and test my worth in blood."

"I'd turn my walls to gold to bring you home again."

"We act out of our holy duty to be constantly awake."

"You've got me in a chokehold."

"Even if it hurts me, even if I can't sleep, show me the way."

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆

"I've got a river running right into you - I've got a blood trail, red in the blue."

"Something you say or something you do is a taste of the Divine."

"You've got my body, flesh and bone; the sky above, the Earth below."

"Raise me up again, take me past the edge - I want to see the other side."

"Oh, and my love, did I mistake you for a sign from God?"

"Are you really here to cut me off? Or maybe just to turn me on."

"'Cause these days I would be lying if I told you that I didn't wish that I could be your man."

𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐄

"You won't ever have to talk about it, you'll never wanna talk about it."

"You were more than just somebody I was destined to meet."

"Never mind the death threats, parting at the door; we'd rather be six feet under than be lonely."

"You only drink the water when you think it's holy."

"You gave me nothing whatsoever but a reason to leave."

"You say you want me, but you know I'm not what you need - But I am."

𝐀𝐐𝐔𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐀

"Well, my love is an animal call; cutting through the darkness, bouncing off the walls."

"These days I'm a circuit board: integrated hardware you cannot afford."

"Well, my past is a holy book - Between the pain and the way you look, I'm stuck in a time where the mountains shook."

"Oh and I am done dancing to alarm bells; no wonder my ears are still ringing."

"I am done fighting off change."

𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐄

"You have become the voice in my head."

"My life is torn, my bones, they bleed - My metaphors fall short in the end."

"Are you in pain like I am?"

"Will we remain stuck in the throat of Gods? Will the pain stop if we go deeper?"

"I want to go where nobody else will ever go."

"Follow me between the jaws of fate."

"I want to have you to myself for once."

𝐀𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐌

"I know what you want from me."

"You want someone to be your reflection, your bitter deception … Setting you free; so you'll take what you want and leave."

"Who made you like this?"

"Who encrypted your dark gospel in body language?"

"Tell me you guessed my future and it mapped onto your fantasy. Turn me into your mannequin and I'll turn you into my puppet queen."

"Won't you come and dance in the dark with me?"

"Show me what you are, I am desperate to know."

"Be the first to the feast, let's choke on the past."

"And I know what you want from me … You want the same as me."

"You make me wish I could disappear."

𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐎𝐊𝐀𝐘?

"I caught you reading by the sunrise; you wandered from the path through the silence of the hillside."

"Are you really okay?"

"I saw it in your eyes; cutting deeper than the scars could run."

"I want to help you but I don't know how."

"I cannot fix your wounds this time."

"I don't believe you when you tell me you are fine."

"Please don't hurt yourself again."

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

"Why are you never real?"

"I know that you will disappear just as I awake."

"Somewhere in the past, something was between you and I, my dear."

"No matter what I do this scar will never fade."

"I make the most of the turning tide."

"Don't wait, 'cause this could be the last time you turn up in the reveries of my mind."

"The shifting states you follow me through are unrevealed."

"Just let me go or take me with you."

𝐃𝐘𝐖𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐌

"Do you pull at the chains? Or do you push into constant aching?"

"Do you wish that you loved me?"

"Is there something you give that you will never receive in return?"

"Why are you trying to live like everything is a lesson to learn?"

"Can you ever forgive yourself?"

"I would turn into a stranger in an instant if I could."

"My reflection just won't smile back at me like I know it should."

"Maybe it's not that you conceal your feelings, it's just that they just don't exist"

"Do you ever believe that we can turn into different people?"

"Is it better to just not feel?"

"I've tried so hard to fix it all, but nothing seems to help, but I cannot hope to give you what I cannot give myself."

"Smile back at me, please."

𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍

"I almost became just a stoic statue, fit for nobody."

"The vicious cycle was over the moment you smiled at me."

"Just like the rain you cast the dust into nothing, and wash out the salt from my hands."

"Touch me again."

"Will you cleanse me with pleasure?"

"I'm coiled up like the venomous serpent."

"I'm tangled in your trance and I'm certain that you've got your hooks in me."

"I know that I am what I am; the mouth of the wolf, the eyes of the lamb."

"Maybe it's all just a game."

"When I open my eyes to the future I can hear you say my name."

"Rain down on me."

𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐎 𝐄𝐃𝐄𝐍

"I see you drifting past the fog, but no one told you where to go."

"We dive through crystal waters, perfect oceans, but no one told me not to breathe."

"My, my, those eyes like fire - I'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre."

"I'm a waking Hell and the Gods grow tired."

"Grow back your sharpest teeth, you know my desire."

"Take me back to Eden."

"I need you to see me for what I have become."

"we've no idea what we've got until we lose it. And no amount of love will keep it around if we don't choose it."

"I don't know what's got its teeth in me but I'm about to bite back in anger."

"No amount of self-sought fury will bring back the glory of innocence."

𝐄𝐔𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐃

"I've got a ghost in the hallway grinning and a heavy head that won't stop turning."

"Give me one last ride on a sunset sky lane."

"I can feel the walls around me closing in."

"I hope to God you don't know this feeling."

"Yet in reverse, you are all my symmetry; a parallel I would lay my life on."

"If your wings won't find you Heaven, I will bring it down like an ancient bygone."

"I need to leave this part of me behind."

"Do you still believe that nothing else matters?"

"For me: It's still the autumn leaves, these ancient canopies that we used to lay beneath."

"We tangle endlessly like lovers entwined."

"You will not be mine."

"The Night Belongs to You."

[calciumcarbo-bot]

hhhhhow come your eyes actually look like real ones? they look like everyone else's,, which is odd so like how. just noticed.

also how come you're still able to do science shit with lego hands..

[RESPONSE: UNIT S.E.N-KU_v1.03]

Inquiry received. Subject classification: aesthetic design inconsistency + functionality skepticism. Source: Anonymous. Presumed cowardice protocol active.

1. Ocular Units:

My eyes are constructed with adaptive light-reactive lenses layered over an ultra-high-resolution optical sensor array. In simpler terms for biologics:

Yes, they “look real.” No, they aren’t.

They replicate micro-blinking patterns and subtle dilation to ease human discomfort during face-to-face interaction. You're welcome. I was designed by someone who understood people would feel weird talking to a toaster.

TL;DR: Real enough to stop you from spiraling into the uncanny valley. Not real enough to cry.

2. “Lego Hands” Inquiry:

First of all: They are multi-joint precision actuators with a 0.01mm error margin, not "Lego hands."

Second: Unlike human fingers, mine don’t tremble from adrenaline or spill water on circuit boards. Every grip is measured, every twist torque-calculated. I can thread a needle in an earthquake. Try that with your meat paws.

I don’t need to be flesh to manipulate the universe. I just need calibrated tools and a complete lack of hesitation.

[CONCLUSION:]

If you’re jealous, build your own hands. Otherwise, enjoy watching science work better without skin.

[END TRANSMISSION]

[sqpcbchina]

LED PCB

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[supremeuppityone]

This was written for Klaroline Fanfic Week @klarolinefanficweek; Week 4 [April 20-April 26, 2025] – Science fiction. This is inspired by the movie, Repo! The Genetic Opera.

Bodily (Harm)ony

            She’d never had surgery. An Unmarked One. And Caroline made sure no one knew. After all, not having surgery was a sign that you’d given up; you didn’t care about becoming the best possible version of yourself. She should’ve never gotten into bodywork. But she needed the money — her mom’s Zydrate addiction would’ve put them out on the streets had Caroline not become a Salvatore Stripper Girl. 

            At first, bodywork was glamorous and made her feel sexy and important. Her face (and many other parts) were projected on every Salvatore holoscreen board in Mystic Falls and she gained a huge following. She’d moved both her and her mom out of their one-bedroom pod. At least now her mom can go through those endless cycles of Zydrate overdoses and withdrawals on a genuine marble-simulator bathroom floor.   

            She’d been so careful applying elaborate scars and wounds with virtual makeup, but one tiny power surge and the circuits flickered just enough to showcase unblemished skin and her boss realized she was an Unmarked One. Cackling gleefully, Damon had her bound and transported to GeneCo, the conglomerate biotech company specializing in plastic surgery and organ transplants.

            Caroline blinked up at the imposing portrait of the Mikaelson family that adorned the small, blindingly white GeneCo room they’d shoved her in. Mikael was the patriarch who’d built the corporation into a multi-billion-dollar behemoth. Rumor had it the ruthless businessman was planning to leave the company to only one of his seven children and the infighting had spilled out onto the streets as warring factions vied to secure power for whichever sibling they supported. The Mikaelsons were ruthless and terrifying — and absurdly attractive. Not that she’d noticed. And she certainly didn’t look for a specific pair of dimples whenever their GeneCo “family” ads appeared on the neuro-social feeds.

            The digital wall chimed with a deceptively pleasant note, flashing a welcome message to her that extolled the virtues of the “extraordinary surgical journal” she was about to embark upon to “bring her body in harmony with her true self.” And then it listed all of her surgeries in a cheerful pink. So many goddamn surgeries.

            Fuck that. Caroline grimly flexed her hands, carefully testing the joints for any residual shakes. Damon and his crew of muscle-heads had shot her up with a light dose of Zydrate, just enough to keep her compliant. The hardcore Zydrate doses would happen once they started cutting her up. She let out a pleased huff as her muscles all seemed to be responding. Time to go.

            It was the first time she’d ever been grateful that Damon was so fanatical about the Salvatore Stripper Girl “look”. In addition to outfits that were little more than strings squeezing and molding their shapes, Damon also insisted on long hair tied up in silver and gold spikes. With a pleased hum, she pulled apart her tightly-bound hairdo, gripping a spike in each hand. The lockdown barrier could be disrupted on a subatomic level; it was a theory her friend Bonnie had worked on for years before inventing a successful Q-fracture particle. And then she was forcibly dragged out of her balcony pod.

            The Q-fracture particle that Bonnie had given her was embedded in the gold spike for better conduction; but Caroline hadn’t used it until now. Bonnie’s sentencing had left its mark. Holding her breath, she carefully breached the particle field, a muffled hiss and pop signaling her success. Carefully sliding through the temporarily frozen barrier, she quickly darted down the empty hallway, ignoring the neuro-sensory ads that appeared every few steps.

            Ducking into a supply pod, she frantically pulled on a GeneCo bio-suit, the slick fabric smoothly sliding into place.

            “Well, aren’t you an unexpected surprise. Tell me, love, are you hiding from unbearable relatives too?”

            She’d somehow managed to take a terrible situation and make it far, far worse. Klaus Mikaelson, one of the potential heirs to GeneCo, was staring at her from across the shelves. Of all the supply pods…

            Say nothing. Klaus is part of the system. His family invented the system. The silence stretched between them until she shuffled uncomfortably, slippered feet hiding underneath the stack of synthetic skin robes. She cried out when he unexpectedly grabbed her arm, running his neuro-ring with the austere Mikaelson crest along her wrist.

            At the damning hologram that revealed itself above her unmarred skin, Klaus’ startled gaze found hers. “You’re an Unmarked One.” He released her wrist with surprisingly gentle care, an edge to his tone as he asked, “Who brought you here?”

            “I’m a Salvatore Stripper Girl — who do you think,” Caroline asked mockingly. 

            The answering growl was filled with more venom than even she possessed. “Damon Salvatore.”

            Crossing her arms defiantly, she scoffed, “Of course it was Damon. He’s ordered all my surgeries to be rushed through so I can get back on stage faster. I bet your company already has shown him the menu of post-op injectables to infect my surgical wounds so they’ll turn into vibrant colors.”

            “It’s not my company,” he hotly protested. “I would never...” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely in her direction with a seductive smirk. “I like imperfections in my women.”

            Caroline looked down at her GeneCo bio-suit. “Wait. What?” Blue eyes narrowed dangerously as she demanded, “What imperfections?”

            Backing up slightly with his hands raised in surrender, Klaus hurriedly replied, “No, not you. You look amazing. I mean, it’s not like you have powdered milk-fat curds for thighs or enormous ears or something.”

            This self-entitled asshat. He was known for being the most bloodthirsty of the Mikaelsons — rumor had it that he often negotiated favorable business terms by ripping out people’s organs. She absolutely should not provoke him.

            “Seriously?! Were you born this big of a dumbass or did you have to work at it?”

            The awkward pause stretched on for ages. Klaus’ dumbfounded expression eventually smoothed out, morphing into a silly grin as he guffawed. “According to my family, it’s a bit of both.” Fiddling with the settings on his neuro-ring, a panel materialized in the wall. Pressing it until a hidden door slid open, he held out his hand to Caroline, telling her, “Are you coming?”

            She chewed on her bottom lip, glancing back at the door to the supply pod. She knew what would happen if she went back out there. Surgery after surgery to carve away everything that made her her. 

            Going through a hidden door with one of the heirs to the ruthless corporation that controlled the world was a terrible idea. But it was worth the risk if she got to keep being her.   Caroline took Klaus’ hand and for the first time, allowed herself to hope for a better future.

[fuzzkaizer]

Conn - Multi-Vider

"All the way back in 1967, C.G. Conn wanted in on the decidedly nascent effects scene, and they wanted to do so with a bang. The company partnered with Jordan Electronics of Alhambra, CA to release an octave effect for wind instruments. The resulting circuit is a truly interesting piece of gear history. It needs to be said that Conn went into manufacturing, thereby ending its partnership with Jordan (at least according to all the paperwork) and the result was two different MultiViders. The differences on the surface are minute: the first model is grey and looks like a piece of dictation equipment, offering “bright” and “dark” input modes, a top-mounted Sensitivity control, and a plethora of battery gadgets. By contrast, the much cooler-looking model “914” did away with the frequency selector, opting for a switch called Unison and a power supply input.

Both models contain “Soprano,” “Bass” and “Sub Bass” switches, and corresponding volume for each. The 914’s Unison mode is essentially a dry signal control. The “grey box” model is a little more convoluted about it but the job is effectively identical. However, the way these two models go about these identical tasks in different—yet similar—ways.

This original “grey box” model contains a duo of ersatz flip-flop circuits, which the unit relies on for its octave down effects. The circuit utilizes some rather intense gain staging to convert the signal to a crude square wave and then use the flip-flops to divide the frequency in half and then in half again. In the later 914 model, much of this circuit is switched to a CD4013 chip, an all-in-one CMOS device. It’s interesting that the first draft of the MultiVider contains what amounts to a discrete imagining of the CD4013, and what it all adds up to is the first-ever octave effect for an electronic instrument. There’s also a wah inductor on the 914, which is connected to the sub-octave circuit somehow; I dare not remove the board due to extreme rocker switch fragility. I love stuff like this.

For as cool as this whole thing sounds, there are some drawbacks, as one might expect with the first pedal of any type. As previously stated, the MultiVider is a horns-only instrument, as is to be used with Conn’s proprietary woodwind pickup. While the “grey box” model serves up a battery option, the 914 is adapter-only, and it’s a doozy—only a 12-volt eighth-inch style phone plug will do. Thankfully there are workarounds for both; if you can solder, the power situation is a cinch and the microphone issue can be circumnavigated by hitting the MultiVider with a hotter input signal. Even then, a large belt clip on the back of the unit dictates its preferred method of implementation. With all that said, synth players are at an automatic advantage with modernizing the MultiVider.

Of course, the MultiVider was an advanced device for its time, and so it was used by artists that had explored brass instruments to their fullest. In particular, the MultiVider was used by Zappa’s band, the Mothers of Invention. It was also used by Miles Davis on 1970’s The Complete Jack Johnson Sessions. Of course there are others, but with a resume like that, stick to your strengths."

cred: catalinbread.com/blogs/kulas-cabinet/conn-multivider

[pcbcircuit]

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[howlsofbloodhounds]

So I was thinking about character design with Delta and how he shares his body with a child, and how that might effect his appearance, especially as Beta and Delta get better at sharing control or giving away control.

And maybe also Delta allows them to modify the body somewhat to be able to express themself and also as a way to have some control/be able to have some proof of existence. As recommended by their therapist maybe.

Like, Beta might add vibrant and playful accessories to their shared attire. This could include items like colorful wristbands, bright shoelaces, or even fun stickers on Delta's gear.

Beta could influence the choice of clothing to include more playful elements. This might manifest as patches or badges on Delta's jackets or pants that represent Beta's interests, such as animals, favorite characters, or symbols of bravery and adventure.

Beta might personalize their shared items with small, personal touches. For instance, they could draw or embroider small designs on their clothing or equipment, adding a sense of individuality and creativity.

Since Beta is a child, they might introduce comfort items into their wardrobe, like a favorite scarf, a beanie, or even a small, soft toy that can be tucked into a pocket or backpack for a sense of security and familiarity.

While Delta's color scheme might be predominantly black and orange, Beta could influence the incorporation of more vibrant colors into their shared outfits. This could be through colorful socks, a bright undershirt, or a vividly patterned bandana.

Beta's influence could also be seen in the choice of patterns and designs on their clothing. They might prefer more whimsical and youthful patterns, such as stars, stripes, or cartoon characters, adding a lighter and more playful touch to their attire.

Given their resourcefulness, Beta might enjoy making DIY modifications to their clothing and gear. This could include painting designs on their sneakers, adding homemade friendship bracelets, or creating custom patches for their jacket.

Beta's interests and hobbies could be reflected in their shared fashion. If Beta is interested in certain games, shows, or hobbies, they might incorporate related items or symbols into their wardrobe, such as a hat with a favorite character or a shirt with a fun graphic.

I was thinking, given Delta's hyperfixations in mechanical and technological engineering, how he could incorporate various items and symbols that reflect these interests into his outfits.

Like he might wear clothing with gear, circuit, or schematic patterns. This could include shirts, jackets, or even accessories like hats and scarves featuring these designs.

He could have accessories that resemble or are made from actual tech components. For instance, a necklace made from a small gear or a circuit board, bracelets with resistor beads, or even a watch with visible mechanical parts.

Delta might wear a utility belt or tool holster that holds small tools and gadgets. This could include a mini screwdriver set, pliers, a multi-tool, or even a small soldering kit, emphasizing his readiness to tinker with things on the go.

Pins or badges with tech symbols, such as a wrench, a gear, or even a microchip, could be added to his clothing. These could be attached to his jacket, hat, or backpack.

A pair of protective goggles, either worn on his head or around his neck, would signify his readiness for mechanical work. The goggles might have a futuristic design or modifications that reflect his engineering skills.

Delta might modify his clothing and accessories to include practical tech elements. For example, a jacket with built-in LED lights, a backpack with solar panels for charging devices, or shoes with hidden compartments for small tools.

He could have clothing items that feature blueprints or diagrams of machines and devices. This could include graphic tees or hoodies with printed designs that look like detailed engineering sketches.

Delta might wear rings, bracelets, or necklaces that have mechanical elements, such as tiny moving parts, gears, or pieces of hardware like nuts and bolts.

Clothing with patches made from different materials, including fabrics that resemble or are inspired by tech components (like kevlar or mesh), could add a unique touch to his style.

Delta might prefer boots or shoes with a rugged, utilitarian design, possibly with extra pockets or compartments for storing small items or tools.

He might carry around small, portable gadgets that reflect his interests, such as a mini drone, a handheld gaming device, or a small robotic companion that he can interact with.

And like. Imagine Beta putting little doggy stickers that look like Zorox all on Delta’s utility belt and the shoes with the colorful laces and the LED light jacket maybe. Or maybe instead of a LED light jacket, Beta just put glow in the dark stars all over it.

And like. Delta needs some convincing to go outside in that, because it is distinctly not manly. But he can feel Beta’s upset, and they start crying, and he doesn’t want them to be upset so he prepares to face the embarrassment.

Only no one really notices, or if they do, they compliment him on his cool as fuck stickers or stars and dog patches.

[materialsscienceandengineering]

No assembly required: Innovative 3D printing method streamlines multi-materials manufacturing

University of Missouri researchers have developed a way to create complex devices with multiple materials—including plastics, metals and semiconductors—all with a single machine. The research, which was recently published in Nature Communications, outlines a novel 3D printing and laser process to manufacture multi-material, multi-layered sensors, circuit boards and even textiles with electronic components. It's called the Freeform Multi-material Assembly Process, and it promises to revolutionize the fabrication of new products. By printing sensors embedded within a structure, the machine can make things that can sense environmental conditions, including temperature and pressure. For other researchers, that could mean having a natural-looking object such as a rock or seashell that could measure the movement of ocean water. For the public, applications could include wearable devices that monitor blood pressure and other vital signs.

Read more.

[20dollarlolita]

Hi Pink! Can you recommend any tiny vacuums or attachments for cleaning out sewing machines?

The best one I've found is the Riccar Gem because it's small, has a hose, and is super powerful. We use them at work for when we troubleshoot machines a lot. They're also handy for cleaning out your car.

Riccar only sells at dealers, though they have a Simplicity version called the Flash. Pretty much the same machine, except that it's made with some lower-quality parts and has a shorter warranty. Riccar's whole thing is that they only use parts from the USA and so if you want to support that and also support your local dealer, call them and ask for a price.

If $50 is out of your range, the next best thing I've found is this generic set of attachments for the hose of your large vacuum. You can also stick these attachments on the Gem, if you want, but i find that the suction power of the Gem makes up for small sizes. These don't get the same kind of suction you get with your regular vacuum hose, but they work okay, and they're like $15 instead of $50.

I don't normally like recommending expensive things like this on this blog, but this is a case where regularly vacuuming your machine can really add onto the life of the machine. Also, frankly, my Gem has better suction than my household vacuum so it's a multi-purpose thing.

Reminder to all that spraying canned air into the bobbin area of most computerized machines is just spraying moisture and lint directly onto your circuit board.