#Slitting Machine price

[diejager]

Imagine that the hybrid 141 was getting a teammate and that teammate was a hybrid and Laswell wanted it to be a surprise for the team what they are as in hybrid was and soon as they get off the aircraft and onto the tarmac, the boys realize that they’re with another dragon hybrid and her “heat” would be soon upon her (dark blue in to black better for stealth or, whatever you prefer, she also has her wings) how would the boys handle that you can take the story anyway you want 

This… I might make it self-indulging because this idea has been clawing at the back of my mind for a long while. Cw: mating/heat cycle, fire/water magic, tell me if I missed any.

Laswell had Price wait for the surprise she had planned, the secret she kept from them when they received your file. It had all he asked for in attributes and skills, but all things personal that should have been on it were scratched out in black. He was told that it was a need to know basis, your name, age or species wouldn’t be divulged unless you told them yourself. He knew you from words from mouth to ear, ad read of your skill and efficiently but nothing he heard and found told him an ounce about you as a person. Your character was a mystery he died to know.

So when he got word from Laswell that your ETA was just over half an hour, he had the boys reconvene to the airstrip, watching the aircraft carrying you land not too far from them, the rotors slowing to a steady thrum. The anticipation that bubble din his chest made this moment crawl at a snail’s pace, the ramp lowering too slowly for his liking and the droning sound of the aircraft’s irking his ears. Then, seconds after the ramp fully dropped, he caught sight of blue horns, tines growing from a singular robust beam, segmented like those of a scale. Your head, covered by a custom made helmet to let your antlers peek out and sit comfortably on your head (at least you wore something, unlike his constant frustration with finding one that wouldn’t bother his horns), followed after you walked out, decked in your gear and a bag slung over your shoulders. 

You weren’t what he was expecting, not exactly. He read that you had a masterful experience in hydromancy, stealing water from the air and humidity and contorting it to cause havoc in the field and cutting through the enemy. He and the others shared their theories, one possibility made you into a water witch, a leviathan, or one of those creepy monsters from the deep sea. Not what… whatever you were. You had elk-like horns painted in the deepest blue he’d ever seen and a tail covered in scales of the same shade, glistening under the light like it was wet with tufts of hair - or was it fur? - crawling down the base of your fourth limb to create a silky and soft end with long, slowing locks. 

What were you? What was that smell? It got sweeter the closer you got, a softness that clung to his nose and made him salivate. He wondered how strong it must be for the Soap and König who’s noses were more enhanced and sensitive than any others, they’d probably sniff the source - you - out and answer his undying question.

“Captain Price,” you nodded your head, a small smile gracing your lips, your slitted eyes narrowed in greeting, “Hope I didn’t make you wait too long.”

That sweetness lingered around you and stuck to his hand when you shook hands, giving him a firm shake and stronger grip that he could admire for the strength you showed. Had you face been as bright as it was a few seconds before? Perhaps it was the musk that oozed off you, it was uneasily addicting and pleasing to his lizard brain, slowly moving the cogs of hos old machine. He watched you take a step back, making some distance between his Task Force and you, and his mind got clearer, nose less stuffy and cheeks wash away the slight flush. Then it hit him, the sweetness, the dazed perception of you and the growing need in his body, he was reacting to you. 

“Sorry, I was told I’d be off for the week once I landed,” you cocked your head, sharing an apologetic smile, “My cycle follows the Lunar year.”

Ah, everything made more sense now, the gracefulness of your beautiful tail, the glistening of your scales and the sharpness of your horns. He had agreed to welcome another dragon to his Task Force, he was fortunate that Asian dragons were calmer and benevolent than his European counterpart. 

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @thigh-o-saur @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

[uglypastels]

Hey can you do a coffee shop AU ab Gambit where the reader works at the shop Remy frequents? But one day there’s an attack and her mutation manifests?? Love your writing!

stick with me as I try to figure out how to write his accent lol. it's just a quick and fun lil thang but i hope you like it. [also, is this my first ever coffee shop au?? it might be. don't quote me on that tho]

warnings: slight cursing. supervillain attack.

~ X-Men Requests Open ~ Masterlist ~

‘Will that be the usual, Remy?’ You already pulled out the paper cup to write his name and order on it, looking up expectantly for him to confirm your suspicion.

‘You know it, chere.’ 

‘One cafe au lait, coming up.’ You chirped with a smile, noting it down on the side of the cup. Like the well-oiled machine the two of you have become over the past weeks, he didn’t need to hear the price and just slid a five-dollar bill across the counter and pushed another exact bill through the slit of the little tip jar next to the register.

‘Well, you know,’ and just like any other time, you couldn’t help but comment on his generosity, ‘you really don’t have to do all that. It’s just coffee.’ As much as you appreciated his gesture, a twinge of guilt struck you as he practically paid double for what already was an overpriced beverage.

‘It ain't for the coffee,’ he smirked, which, with a flash of heat, immediately radiated onto your cheeks. It all happened like clockwork, and so you reminded yourself that that’s just who he was.  You were sure he did it with anyone, so you mustn’t let it get to you. To not get too hung up over a customer who made it a habit throughout his day to flirt with his barista.

‘Here ya go,’ you presented him with the drink. 

‘I donno how you do it, belle,’ Remy said after his first sip, a satisfied expression spreading over his face. ‘Perfect. Evry time.’

‘Why, thank you.’ You reciprocated his smile, but really, it was no big deal. You were just doing your job—something that was only easier considering your talents. Practically being a human heat conductor made preparing a perfect cup o’ joe fairly simple. Still, when a charming Cajun walked into your establishment and showered you in compliments on a nearly daily basis, the effect might have been a bit stronger than a one-off comment from a stranger. No matter how hard you tried, it was impossible to deny his allure. 

For a Tuesday morning, the café was surprisingly clear of customers besides a couple of taken tables at the windows, where some early birds had begun their day by reading the paper or getting a headstart on their work. And so, with no line rushing him off behind him, Remy sipped his coffee right by your side. 

‘Say, don’t you have somewhere else to be, Rem?’ you teased as you wiped the counter.

‘With a beautiful lady righ in front of me, there ain't nowhere I rather be.’

‘Oh, shush, you.’ You tried to ignore it, but the steam coming off from the once wet handtowel you used to clean was saying differently. Both of you were about to open your mouths, the snarky banter already dripping from both your lips, but that all faltered as the ground beneath you shook. The soft ambience brought on by the instrumental music playing in the background over the speakers was overrun by the aggressive shaking of all the products and measuring jugs falling to the ground. But soon, even that was silenced by the screams that followed. A stampede of morning commuters was running through the street, eyes wide and pale with fear. 

‘What the–’ you muttered out, carefully making your way to the window. Perhaps not the smartest move, but the curiosity had gotten the better of you. And it sure had; as right as you had reached your lookout point, all your senses were thrown off guard by an explosion. The world around you turned upside down— or was that just you as you were thrown off your feet and across the room following a million pieces of shattered glass? 

You were ready to fall into the puddle of shards, but instead, you were met with the hold of two strong arms, and once you dared to open your eyes, you saw a pair of glowing red ones. 

‘You alright?’ Remy put you down on the ground. 

Still, in shock, all you could respond with was a nod. You watched as Remy made his way across the glass-covered floor, calling out to the fear-stricken people in the café. 

‘Is gonna be all right, everyone.’ He helped a lady get back up on her feet and make her way to the back of the room. ‘Stay inside. Get z’away from the street.’ And even though you wanted to listen to his command, you found yourself walking back towards him. 

‘What are you doing, cher?’ With his hand on your shoulder, he held you back from taking another step. 

‘I wanna help.’ It was clear enough to you that he was about to fight whatever it was that was scaring all those people outside, and there was no way in hell you’d let him go out there on his own. 

‘Do you even know what you’re up against?’ 

‘Do you?’ you hit back, and that response clearly pleased him. The worry on his lips turned up into a smirk. So, the barista had a spark to her. It didn’t surprise him, necessarily. If anything, the excitement from seeing this side of you sparked a rush through his whole body. 

Side by side, you ran out into the street, avoiding the last few incomers who were trying their best to escape whatever it was you were about to greet. And what that was, you soon found out. All you had to do was look up into the sky.

‘Le Bon Dieu.’ Remy cursed under his breath.

‘Damn.’ You gasped at the sight of what you could only describe to be a giant robot floating above the tall buildings. Eyes glowing with a fire that burst in jetstreams of destruction.

Perhaps you were way in over your head, getting into a fight with a steel giant, fighting with a nearly complete stranger, and yet, when you looked up at him, and your eyes met, you had a feeling that you’d be just fine.

the end.

thank you for reading 💗

if you enjoyed the fic, please consider reblogging and leaving a comment. or send a message via my inbox. requests are also more than welcome. 💗

[zombieplaygrounds]

cw: virgin men, masturbation, sexual fantasies, implied age gaps, implied inexperienced sexual relationships, oral sex, masturbation, whats the thing where you get caught jerkin it? that.

Everyone loves virgin! Simon who's unknowingly a sex god while he bullies a fat cock into your horny cunt. Huffing and puffing in your ear as he asks you how good you feel, accidentally overstimulating you but far too clueless to even consider that your shaking and trembling is related to how dumb he fucked you. 'Course, he was just trying to be sweet to you, maybe get some coffee if you hadn't jumped on him for a good ride on his meat.

Even virgin! König had a considerable amount of attention for his monstrous cock that he'd never be able to fully fill you with. Too much of a jock-ish idiot to even know where to begin with foreplay, just rams his fingers up your cunt until you're sore and bucking your own hips against his palm to help smear your sloppy juices down his wrist. Every single "do you feel good?" is followed by your crying whines for him to shut the fuck up and keep stroking his own cock. Eyes wide watching pearl tears drizzle from the angry tip.

But where do I, the writer, draw the line? Virgin! Price. Old bastard aged like fine wine, his values held to something much more conservative - planned to spend his first time with a beautiful woman he dressed in pretty white silk on her wedding day. Someone who made his heart throb passionately; not with lust and the greedy desire to consume and ravage away her beauty.

Ideally, a woman to grow a family with.

Of course, considering his job, the risks his simple existence poses on any of those close to him - he cowered. Though, Price never really did see a true need to focus on that one, simple wish. He was satisfied with his 141, a group of rebellious young men he considered his own children; he was satisfied with his rare takes of leave, where he spent his time hiking and hunting, occasionally catching up with old friends from his civilian life; most importantly, Price was content.

Was.

A past tense term, considering his "ideals" of what made life so damn tolerable were thrown out the window. Shattered into billions of pieces that painted maps around the single coffee mug that was left on his desk one early morning. A note in your handwriting, with the coffee made just exactly as he liked it, and maybe even a small pastry from the vending machine - a pastry which was his favorite. Usually one that was hard to get because it was so damn good. And the note?

Have a good day, Cap'n! Love ya! btw, this is your favorite, yeah?

Fuck. You were too cruel. You and your pretty handwriting, smudged in blue gel pen ink. It was cute, sweet, endearing from a young thing like you. Made him feel sick and perverse, adjust the tightness that began around his crotch - because it felt so fucking dirty to be some turned on by a kind gesture. Especially a gesture from something as sweet and innocent looking as you.

All of those thoughts in his mind brought to a painful, stirring silence. Price would've almost felt shame for his next actions, the somehow graphic act of taking a huff of the sweetly scented drink made just for himself by you. The smearing of his finger tips against the note and getting a faint whiff of your sweet scented hand cream, the one you keep in the staff fridge, bitching at anyone who touches at it (something he was personally victim to).

The gentle, candied scent was enough to make his cock stir; rub against the rough fabric of his boxers, through his pants, through to his palm that somehow assisted in a slow, grinding motion against his self. His hand tilting backwards, eyes rolling back. Was the door locked? He wondered, not bothering to even give himself a glance at the knob to see if the slit was tilted horizontally or vertically; none of it mattered, too consumed by the peak edge he needed.

Too consumed by filthy, tainted thoughts of you. Your lips smeared in his own milk white sperm, no doubt still virile despite his years of maturity; wondered if his load would take if you just gave him the chance. Wondered if you'd pant, or moan his name. If your cunt dripped or creamed around his throbbing cock; what he'd kill to see your entire body trembling from a few bounces against him. Shove his calloused fingers into that pretty mouth of yours, begging you to be silent, and good.

You would be his first and final; a crossing thought that blurred past his mind. And the thought of putting a pretty jewel on that little ring finger of yours made him audibly gasp, sweat droplets splatter down from his cheek to his chin. And you, you're so young, full of potential. A real energetic pup that would probably eagerly teach him all the ways to make you feel good.

By now, Price was roughly, almost brutishly, fisting his own cock. Panting and hunched over the pretty note made by pretty you. His eyes squeezed shut as he bit into his fist, trembling at the splattering liquid that filled his palm. Droplets hitting the floor beneath him, a mess that would be so fucking frustrating to clean; the last thought on his mind.

Because how could he focus when you stood at the other side of the desk, a palm on either side as you leaned forward. So softly whispering: "Cap'n, did you like the coffee that much?"

Virgin! Price, who gives you the honor of being the first missus to wrap a warm mouth and plump lips against the tip of cock, kitten licks to clean away pearly beads of arousal that dribbled down the shaft. His clean hand rubbing your scalp so gently, humming soft, purring coos; mentally pondering your ring size as you greedily fit him inside your mouth. Whining vibrations fading the thought away once again.

tagging my fwends: @yandere-kokeshi @kettlemouse @babybimbo777

[141goblin]

Hi people. I’ve been toying with the idea of writing a fanfic and I thought i’d put a feeler out there to see if people are interested in reading my silly little brain worms and thoughts. Word of warning, it’s little rusty and definitely still a work in progress. I don’t yet have a title or anything like that, but i wanna share (ok ok leave me alone)

Part one: Soft.

Reader described as plus-sized. Fem reader. Implied past abusive relationship.

John Price X Reader.

“Amelia, I said no!” I huff into the phone, getting increasingly frustrated at my best friend’s insistence. She had been going on and on about some big military party that her boyfriend was going to, and of course, because we’re basically attached at the hip, she ‘needs me there’.

“Oh, come onnnn! It’ll be fun! And who knows, we might finally find you a man for you to spend time with instead of you sitting in your apartment and watching reruns of gilmore girls twenty-four-seven.”

I huff and roll my eyes, grateful that she isn’t able to see me. Honestly, the thought of having to drag myself off of my couch and go through the motions of getting ready and attempting to doll myself up makes me feel physically ill. Truth be told, I haven’t left my apartment for weeks. Not since i had that god-awful night with my arsehole of an ex boyfriend.

My mind drifts back to that night, the time I spent getting ready and psyching myself up, all for me to get there and be completely disregarded and used. Like a piece of meat. He’d been blowing up my phone with messages ever since, insisting he was sorry, and that it won’t happen again, and he just got carried away. I hadn’t had the mental capacity to message him back.. My best friends voice pulls me back to reality.

“You’re coming. I’ll be at your flat in twenty minutes with pre drinks. Shower and shave.”

Before I get any chance to worm my way out of this ridiculous ordeal, she kisses me good-bye through the phone and hangs up. I throw my phone to the opposite end of the couch and groan into a pillow. Just when I was settled, watching gilmore girls for the umpteenth time, with a glass of wine and a bowl of crisps… Shit, maybe I do need to get out…

I down the rest of my glass of wine and wince at the taste. I make a mental note to stop being cheap and buying shit wine just because it’s cheaper. After all, it’s not like I can’t afford to buy nicer tasting wine. But truthfully, I don’t go to tescos at 8pm in my pyjamas and buy nice wine to be all sophisticated. I do it to buy cheap wine and get drunk while i watch gilmore girls and cry, wishing i had the same relationship with my mother that Lorelai and Rory have. It’s pitiful, and pathetic.

I huff and drag myself off of my couch and make my way into my bathroom to shower. Once undressed, i notice just how hairy my legs have gotten. But, is it really worth the effort, the sweating and red face just to have smooth legs? I brush off the thought and step into the hot shower. I do my usual: wash and condition my hair, wash my face and body, and then actually decide to shave my goddamn legs. It takes me the better part of fifteen minutes, but beauty is pain, as they say.

Just as i’m stepping out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel that’s all too small to cover my stomach and wide thighs, my best friend makes herself known, clearly having used her spare key to let herself into my flat. Her face is all scrunched up in disgust at the state of the place and she’s begun to pick up my clothes that are strewn about the place, throwing them into the washing machine. I roll my eyes and make my way into my bedroom, and she follows. She has that shit-eating grin on her face that I know all too well. No doubt she’s going to make me squeeze into some tiny outfit in the hopes i’ll impress some random man and hopefully let him fuck my brains out. She’s highly mistaken.

Instead of a skimpy outfit, we compromise. I end up wearing a mid-length silk dress that has a risky slit up the leg, but not too high that it shows off my cellulite, one of my biggest insecurities. She does up my hair into a messy bun with a few curls framing my face and insists on me wearing her favourite red lipstick, telling me i’ll look ‘fuckable’, her words, not mine. After strapping some heels onto my feet I take one last look in the mirror, face slightly flushed from the two or three glasses of wine Amelia practically poured down my throat to loosen me up. I should feel beautiful, but I don’t. I can’t help but feel like a pig, wrapped in silk and smothered in ridiculous lipstick. Ready to be taken off to market and ridiculed by men that think it’s shameful to like a fat girl. My ex-boyfriend’s attitude and words from the duration of our relationship echoing around my head.

“They don’t see you like I do, babe. They don’t see your personality.”

“You’re wearing that?”

“Oh come on, babe. I was only looking at her. She’s a model, what do you expect?”

After a too long uber ride full of pep-talks by Amelia and discreetly drinking from the remnants of a bottle of wine, we’re standing outside of what can only be described as a fucking mansion. The type that has stairs leading up to its entrance that’s held up by beautifully structured pillars, the type of place i write about in my short stories. There are too many windows to count, most of them lit up by subtle golden glow, the soft buzz of music that’s able to be heart from outside, something soft and jazzy, like the type of music you’d hear in an old jazz bar in New York.

I’m too busy marvelling at the ‘fucking mansion’ in front of me when I hear the recognisable voice of Amelia’s boyfriend, Johnny. Johnny is the type of guy that can make any girl weak in the knees with his charming smile and sparkling blue eyes. He’s sweet and cheeky, but not my type.

“There you two are! Was beginning ‘ter think ‘yaes got lost.”

I give Johnny a polite smile and continue looking up at the grandeur of the building in-front of me while he gives Amelia a kiss and whispers something flirty in her ear. Johnny and Amelia are solid, and he’s good for her. Plus, he knows we come as a package deal, so he makes sure to make me feel included when I end up tagging along on their days out or evening drinks.

“Looking good, bonnie.” Johnny says to me, with a cheeky wink. Amelia laughs, her signature sweet giggle, and it’s clear why she turns heads everywhere we go.

I force a smile and hold back a self-deprecating remark.

“Thanks, Johnny.”

Amelia takes Johnny by the arm and leads her inside, making me follow like an awkward third wheel. I try my best not to feel like an idiot as i’m led into the main ballroom, where i assume the party is being held. Johnny leads us to the bar and buys the three of us a round of drinks. I try to insist that I can buy my own, but both he and Amelia dismiss it and i’m left with a blueberry Martini sitting in front of me at the bar.

After a few minutes of awkward small talk between the three of us, mixed in with too much PDA between Johnny and Amelia for my liking, Johnny leads Amelia off to meet some of his friends, leaving me alone at the bar. I hoist myself onto a barstool, arse spilling over the edge. Fuck sake, I think. People need to start inventing barstools that are fat-girl friendly. I ignore the buzz of chatter in the ballroom and down the rest of my blueberry martini, flagging down the bartender for another one.

I begin sipping on the fresh Martini and start looking back around the room. I can’t help but think this would be a perfect scene to write in one of my stories. A room packed full of rich people dressed in fancy suits and expensive dresses, where everyone pretends to be on their best behaviour.

After a few minutes of being alone at the bar, I make peace with the fact that I will likely be alone for most of the night while Amelia mingles with Johnny and his friends. It doesn’t bother me, per say, but something deep within my belly wishes that one, just once, I could be the one to turn heads, to capture the attention of a group of people with nothing but my appearance and laugh, to have people willing to talk to me and learn about me, without feeling like it’s out of pity.

I shrug to myself and take a few more sips of my martini and let my attention wander over to my best friend and her boyfriend, and his group of (presumably) military friends. Johnny must’ve noticed me sitting alone at the bar and felt pity for me because I see him making his way over, sporting his disarming smile. I smile back.

“What’s the matter, Lass? Not enjoying ‘yerself?”

He leans on the bar casually, and it’s clear he’s making an effort to make me feel included.

“I’m enjoying myself just fine, Johnny. You can go back to your mates and Amelia, don’t worry about me.”

He cocks a brow and flashes that cheeky grin.

“Not gonna join us?”

I shake my head and take another sip of my martini, waving a dismissive hand. I attempt to play it off with a joke.

“Doubt i’d fit in with your military mates.”

He scoffs and looks jokingly offended.

“Aye, come on, Bonnie. We don’t bite. I know Si looks like a scary fucker, but we’re a nice bunch. I swear.”

I laugh and take another sip. Johnny is a good guy, there’s no denying that, even if it does feel like he’s taking pity on his girlfriends fat, single friend that looks like she’d rather be anywhere but here.

Judging from the way he talks about ‘Si’, I make an assumption that he’s the one with the dirty-blonde hair, the one who’s built like a brick shit-house and looks like he could snap anyone in half with one hand.

Johnny points to one of the other lads, a typical pretty boy with striking brown eyes.

“That’s Gaz. He’s a good’un. Likes to flirt too much, but e’s harmless.”

I follow Johnny’s finger as he points to the third man. A man who’s wide, and fucking muscly, but looks like he has a soft layer of fat underneath that expensive suit of his.

“And that, that’s the Cap’n. The best of us all. Keeps us in check when we cause trouble. He won’t admit it, but he’s a softie at heart.”

My eyes stay on the wide man a little longer than the others. I see a smile under his well-groomed mutton chops and moustache that’s peppered with little greys here and there. His shoulders look like they’re about to burst out of his shirt at any given moment, and his hips are exactly the same. That’s all contrasted by his blue eyes, like a deep pool that women no doubt get lost in. The man’s a fucking contradiction. Too wide, Too soft.

Johnny’s voice snaps me back into the room, averting my eyes away from the man I know as ‘Captain’.

“Come on, Bonnie. Come say hello, mingle a little. We don’t bite.”

[mi-i-zori]

When Silence is No More

CoD - Astronauts!141 x Cosmic Horror!Reader

SYNOPSIS : A quick thought about the 141 being stationed on a space station and catching the eyes of a cosmic horror.

WARNING : None. But this is intended to be a subtle kind of horror, so it might be unsettling. The x Reader part is very subtle, but it’s here !

Author’s Note : I was daydreaming, like I always do, and started to mix Space and Sea in a same setting again. So here you go.

I do not allow anyone to translate, re-use or re-publish my works, be it here or on any other platform, including AI.

Contrary to what people might think, a space station isn’t really quiet.

First, there’s the constant humming of the machinery. They tend to forget it a lot, having gotten used to it echoing day and night in the back of their heads. There’s also their own voices - bantering, chatting, laughing, yelling, cursing. When they work on whatever machine needs maintenance at the time, the clinking and banging of tools also adds itself to the subtle cacophony that surrounds them on the daily.

Over the years, they’ve come to find it comforting. It’s the reason why, when repairs need to be made on the outside of the station, the cosmic silence sometimes makes them even more uneasy than it should ; especially when exhaustion weighs heavy on their bodies after months of floating away from the world, in a void where Mother Earth and the Moon both linger on the infinite horizon.

Those daily sounds bring them peace.

Until they don’t.

-

It comes slow, at first. It takes them a while to realise why they’ve all been feeling like something’s wrong. They couldn’t say how long, but after days of anxious fidgeting, awkward and confused silences, and constant checking of the machinery inside and outside of the station, Kyle abruptly interrupts himself in the middle of a sentence, a look of strange understanding on his face.

« Do you hear that ? » He says, and it’s when they finally all focus on their surroundings that they hear it.

There’s a peculiar melody floating in the air. A mesmerising song made of laughter, coos, and other sounds they’ve never heard before. For a moment, they think they left a CD player run somewhere in the station, close enough for them to hear - but they quickly realise that it’s not the case, and the confusion only gets stronger as they rattle their brains in order to find where that music could be coming from.

Simon mentions that it sounds like it’s coming from outside. A crazy thought. But the more time passes, the more it seems to be true.

The cosmos is no longer silent.

-

Then come the lights, adorned with colours they can’t bring themselves to describe. They light up the corridors of the station in the strangest of hues, creating new shadows in the corner of their eyes. Unfamiliar silhouettes giggle and dart in front of the windows, taking a second to cut the streams of light before immediately disappearing.

Are they inside the station ? Or are they outside ?

-

Johnny is the first to mention the dreams. But they all have them.

They all describe the same strange, almost fish-like creatures they see dancing in the blaze of supernovas. The same voices, high and low at the same time, calling them from the abyss of black holes. The same feeling of drowning among comets and asteroids, suffocating under the force of cold, invisible currents before suddenly being pulled away by scaly limbs.

They always wake up in the middle of the night, sweating bullets and cursing at the same, distant vision of round, slitted eyes and glowing fins. One that keeps haunting the back of their minds during the day.

-

Price doesn’t know if he should mention it to the team waiting for them at home. He could swear his daily check-ins with the base back on Earth keep getting interrupted by a strange rhythm of static, even though there seems to be no problem with the comms.

There’s a strange pressure in their stomachs now, that keeps growing with every new event. When they don’t instinctively hold their breaths as if they were underwater, they can hear the harmonious remnants of waves in their ears, feel an unfamiliar taste of salt on the back of their tongues. Sometimes, it becomes impossible to know whether they’re still dreaming or not, and they have to pinch each other’s cheeks to the point of bruising to realise they’re wide awake. It all looks, sounds, tastes, smells and feels so real. Every single one of their senses is constantly filled to the brim with waves and waves of strange sensations.

The more time passes, the more they feel like they’re being watched. As if they had suddenly become a prey in the eyes of a being they are unable to see.

The radars, however, never show anything.

Are they having a collective hallucination ?

Or is there really something lurking behind the stars, watching their every movement, and tasting their fear with hunger in its eyes ? No matter what they do, the song never seems to stop.

And it’s the same thing with the growls.

[shxnigxmi]

[𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓!𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄] [ᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ]

Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable—

c/w: pining/getting together, kissing, fluff, vulgar language, violence, inserting an utterly useless side character to move the story along

a/n: not entirely proud of the second half of this, it’s eh… but imma post this anyway—

—

Why? Why did Price have to be such a meddling asshole?

This assignment would surely be the death of you, it wasn’t going to be by a bullet sent your way from an enemy’s gun but rather the Lieutenant you were paired with for the undercover operation.

The Lieutenant who you had a massive crush on.

And Price knew that, the smug bastard, the grin he sent your way when he had made the assignments telling enough of his unspoken intentions. Finally getting you together with the man you’d been pining for since joining up with the team two years ago.

He’d saved your ass in Las Almas and since then you’ve been madly in love with him.

What you didn’t know is that he had been equally —if not much more— in love with you. The stirrings of those familiar warm feelings in his chest erupting when you were first introduced. And you didn’t shy away from him or treat him like some kind of super soldier or powerful machine. When you spoke to him as a person.

He tried— really he did, to quell those feelings. Press them down until they were gone but he couldn’t, and his yearning only grew the more time you spent with him. Wether it was on assignments together, or just smoking with him at night whenever you found you couldn’t sleep. Talking the night away as you gazed at the stars above in the deep blue canvas the night sky cast.

It was oddly unintentionally romantic, and you continued to fall harder and harder for him— and he you, as time passed. Fuck he was in trouble. And it was on one of such nights when he’d felt you were close enough to finally open up to you about what he had endured. When you acknowledged his pain and reassured him he was more than his trauma he was sunk.

And he’d strangle his Captain for the position he’d put him in tonight. Posing as your bodyguard as you took the cover of a multimillionaire interested in purchasing things more on the unconventional side. Weapons and people alike— the latter of the two making you shrivel internally as a bolt of disgust and rage lanced down your back at the thought.

These people were easily the absolute scum of the Earth, and you’d relish in putting a bullet in the heads of some of the most prolific political figure heads here. All of them unbothered and seemingly thoroughly elated at the thought of purchasing other human beings.

And you could guffaw at their ignorance, detached and out of touch to the world outside of their circles. Circles of people with money and power. And ignorant to their killer —you— as you shook hands and spoke terms of agreements on joining some of their underground drug and trafficking rings and cartels.

Fucking morons.

“Visual on the target.”

You acknowledged Gaz in your earpiece and made sure you were subtle as you visually swept the gala hall. And sure enough, there she was.

Selena Hardy.

An American politician that sat comfortably as the head of the senate board. And a serial arsonist with connections to criminal organizations and terrorists collectives all over the globe.

She was the one you and Ghost were here for. A capture mission that would go down flawlessly so long as neither of you were compromised and the intel Laswell provided regarding the woman was air-tight.

Selena was entering the building in a sleek black dress, a slit up her thigh and a white fur coat over her shoulders. She appeared unapproachable and looked deadly. An image she no doubt put together with the intention to appear powerful and important.

It was your job, posing as a rich business investor, to proposition her with a deal to make trade in armory and weapons. And you had all the firepower about her personal life, of which involved a clueless husband and two daughters, to wield against her.

You and Ghost agreed to let her intake a bit of alcohol first, hoping the buzz of the liquor would be enough to loosen her lips enough to get her to slip. Even if a small one you’d be able to use to your advantage.

Your patience was well-rewarded as you approached her and were able to strike up a conversation she entertained because of the liquid poison traveling through her blood.

When you off-handedly mentioned that you were seeking a new and darker business opportunity she took the bait and opened the conversation to other topics. But, she wouldn’t divulge anything further regarding her personal connections and such. So, you encouraged her to talk by playing your trump card. Threatening her family, with precise locations of their exact whereabouts at that exact moment and that there was a bullet awaiting them if she resisted any further.

Reluctantly and peeved beyond measure she complied, and you told her to follow you upstairs. Where you both could “continue your conversation”. Not willing to risk the lives of her family she followed easily, and ordered her guard post themselves at the bottom of the stairs.

When she stepped into the office you were quick to grab her around her shoulders. Despite her furious thrashing you were able to jab her in the neck with a sedative, ensuring the needle caught a vein and pushing the plunger down to drain the liquid directly into her blood. The location of the prick being so close to her brain made the chemical work far quicker than normal and she was out like a light.

But the sound of your struggle had attracted the attention of her guards, and they were quickly climbing the stairs. You looked to Ghost from your position at the door, he��d just finished tightening the zip ties around her wrists when you had turned to him.

“Incoming. And fast.”

“Bloody hell.” He grunted, his roughened voice laced with annoyance that was tainted with a firmer tone. He was irritated your covers have possibly just been blown but he was ready for anything that barged through that door. He stood before he bent down to grab the target by under her armpits and drag her to hide her behind the desk in the office. Then, he was at your side just as the voices reached the other side of the door.

You panicked when the doorknob twisted and turned to Ghost, pulling the black mask covering the lower half of his face down just as the door swung open.

“What are you—”

Ghost’s question was abruptly cut short when you connected your lips to his.

Honestly, you couldn’t help the way your tongue swiped across the seam of his lips as you relished in the warm pleasure that pooled in your chest and stomach at finally being able to kiss him. Finally feeling what it was like to have his lips on your own.

And fuck it was amazing.

Simon accepted your kiss, and felt the same roar of fire in his blood when he opened his mouth and your tongue met his. He eagerly followed your lead as you made out, swinging your arms up to wrap around his neck.

You wanted this kiss to last forever, locked in each other’s embrace as you finally met his lips after two long years of wishing for nothing more. But you remembered your mission. And you pulled your mouth off of his in feigned shock at being caught as the man in front awkwardly cleared his throat.

Simon was quick to pull his mask back up to hide the aroused flush of his cheeks as he straightened behind you when you turned to face the men. Tall and intimidating in all his beastly glory as he flicked the switch instantly back to cold and dark bodyguard.

“Oh I’m sorry! We were just looking for a little privacy,” you explained as you willed an embarrassed red hue to your cheeks. Once again expertly feigning an emotion you were not feeling in the slightest.

“Where’s our boss?!” The man roared and you didn’t waste a single second before you were lunging forward and grabbing the barrel of his pistol to redirect where the firearm was pointing. You swung a hard lunch directly to his temple with your opposite hand and he dropped. You held the gun tightly, wrenching it out of his hand as he fell to the ground unconscious.

The others jumped in immediately and Simon was there to defend you, fighting together like a well-oiled machined it wasn’t hard to dispatch the rest of them.

Once you dropped the last guard Simon paced over to you and pushed you roughly against the wall before he pulled his mask down to attach his lips to your own once again. You moaned into his mouth as he engaged the tongue play this time, encouraging you to make out with him by furiously licking into your mouth.

“Si,” you whined as he growled into the kiss. Prolonging it for just a minute longer before he was pulling away with a sharp bite to your bottom lip.

And you looked into his rich brown eyes as he leaned his head down to press his forehead to your own.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since the day I met you.”

Struck dumb and utterly shocked by his confession you gaped at him, wanting to ask him when exactly it was he fell for you. Wanting to tell him that you’d been in love with him for the longest time— but you didn’t want to reveal that quite yet. Not without knowing why it took him so long to make a move. “Then why didn’t you?” You asked instead.

He swallowed and you watched as he shut his eyes to take a deep inhale, exhaling the breath raggedly as he opened his eyes to gain eye contact with you once again.

“I was afraid, afraid you’d reject me. And I would never have the chance to love you like I so desperately want to.” He spoke in a quote voice, explaining to you why he had waited so long in an odd moment of vulnerability. Odd coming from him. So you decided to meet his courageous display of openness and honesty.

“If it’s any consolation, I fell in love with you in Las Almas.”

He chuckled deeply, and you would’ve loved to hear it always and forever from this moment forward as it tumbled warmly in his chest. Then, he was leaning down once again and you met his lips in a delicate and tender kiss. Drastically different from the wolf display of yearning moments ago.

“About time you damn muppets.”

“Aye, get it L.T!”

“Finally bagged the babe, eh Ghost?”

Right. The dumb, childish assholes that made up the rest of your team.

Simon pulled away from you and dropped his head to your chest with an irritated growl, and you laughed as you cradled him, carding your fingers through his hair.

Okay, maybe Price meddling wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

—

a/n: gaz is up next! <3

[justaghostingon]

Fashion Fail: Three Demons and a Cultivator Loose in the Modern World

A scum villain crack au

It all starts when Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua collapse without any warning, appearing to be dead, (but still breathing)

Naturally Binghe is freaking the Hell out, as is all of Cang Qiong

But the dream demon interupts, revealing that something has taken their souls away to what appears to be another world, sincw he can’t access it

That’s all Binghe needs to start slashing holes through the universe (after stealing Xin Mo from the other Binghe)

With him he takes Mobei-jun, Sha Hauling, and Liu Qingge, who wasn’t invited but refused to be left behind

Eventually they find the right world, but its a strange one, where people live in moutains of steel and glass, and wear scandalously little clothing.

Liu Qingge looks as if he’s about to pass out when hr sees his first skinny jeans

Naturally three handsome men and a beautiful woman in cosplay is attracting a lot of attention. Too much in fact, and the requests for photos and autographs is starting to impeed the speed of their quest

So binghe makes the call for everyone to blend in, taking them to the first merchant shop he sees with clothing inside

Its a second hand store, with all sorts of options everywhere at cheep prices, because Binghe’s luck is just that good

Binghe chooses his clothing carefully. He listens to the female workers giggling about which outfit they’d want to buy if they could, and buys that, confident he’s picked an Outfit that will give him respect

Its a vivid red Prom Dress, floorlength skirt with a slit over one leg, off the shoulder straps. Binghe loves it. He looks beautiful.

Mobei-jun doesn’t care what he wears so he just grabs the first things he thinks he can put on

These end up being hot pink sweatpants and a real fur coat, plus crocks on his feet. He looks ridiculous, but he’s also huge and scary, so no one is gonna say it

Sha Hualing is having a great time. This worlds cultural clothing styles were made for her!

She ends up in a bikini with bright pink flamingos on it, plus a neon green feathery boa she drapes over herself like her old silks

Liu Qingge refuses to change. He’s not dressing in these absurd clothing styles, no matter how much Binghe insists it will help them blend in.

Fortunately it doesn’t matter, standing next to four people in equally good cosplay he mught look like an actor, but standing next to three weirdos he looks just as weird

The final touch is the three matching ducky hats on the three demons. Demon marks need to be disguised after all, but shifting is hard to do in this strange world, or any of their powers really

So ducky hats. It kinda works on mobei-jun (aka its so weird it fits) but it absolutely ruins Binghe’s gorgeous dress affect, and Sha hualing’s weird beach athestic

Now everyone is staring at the four of them for a very different reason, but at least they aren’t coming up to talk to them

What’s more, it’s because of their strange clothing they manage to find Shang Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu, who are both stuck in the hospital

Binghe and friends were given instruction to go there by some teenagers messing with them

Jokes on thrm, because while they were walking up a loud voice screams “my king?!!!”

Mobei’s head whips around so fast it gives him whiplash, but he doesn’t care. All he cares about is the small stranger shrieking at him from a high window, waving his arms excitedly and chattering like mobei’s beloved right hand

And beside him is a man who looks very like Shen Qingqiu’s plant body, Shen yuan

It takes a little while to get to then, shang Qinghua and Shen yuan can’t just leave the hospital intensive care ward, and the receptionist takes one look at four weirdly dressed people demanding she “release your captives” and calls security

It takes three break in attempts, a wheelchair, a seduction attempt (curtesy of sha hualing) and liu qingge fighting a vending machine with a real sword for them to be able to reunite with shen yuan and shang qinghua

Liu qingge takes one look at the paper hospital gowns and promptly faints

And there are many things to say, even more things to explain, like transmidiagation and the doctors trying to convince him it was all a dream, but the only thing that comes out of Shen Yuan’s mouth is: What the hell are you wearing?

Binghe, who up until that moment had been feeling confident, bursts into tears

it takes 30 minutes to get binghe to stop crying, to assure him shen yuan still loves him, he does look good, better than liu qingge - hey! Goes liu qingge in between faintings- and have shen Yuan internally confront and conquer his many bigotted views on gender and style in the name of reassuring his husband

Meanwhile mobei glares at shang qinghua, silently demanding compliments for dressing up

Shang qinghua: …that’s what you’re wearing my king? (Mobei glare increases) it looks…unique

“Good” mobei says, pulling out a matching set and shoving them on shang qinghua “match”

Binghe promptly pulls out another prom dress, this one a lovely green with a short skirt to show off his shizun’s beautiful legs

And thus shang qinghua and shen yuan are smuggled out of thr hospital in a pack if weirdly clothed friends, looking so wierd that no one questions them

And the all go home

But binghe keeps the dresses. He has…plans…for them

[fandom-gt]

COMMISSION TYPE: Full Page +1 addon

PRICE: 65

FANDOM:  MCU

CHARACTERS:  Steve Rogers

REQUESTED SUMMARY: ”I'd love a continuation of the growing Steve Rogers quick fill! He's a few kilometers tall and is just getting off on his new power and size, Avengers try to stop him but are absolutely powerless. And when he's done he ends up tripling in size again. Please keep me anonymous when you post this!”

WARNINGS: Violence and implied tiny death, mass destruction, nsfw

——

Steve Rogers has been a large man for a number of years now. Ever since they slipped his small, skinny body into that machine and let him come out the other side feet taller, a hundred pounds heavier, muscular and strong, he’s known that he was always supposed to be big. It felt good at first, but after a while, a secret part of him had kind of wished for just a little bit more. 

Finally, here smack-dab in the center of New York City, Steve’s finally got his wish. He stares down at the roaming little dots that make up people, the slightly larger little squares that must be cars, and a thrill of absolute satisfaction runs through him. 

Everything below him, every building, every structure, every person, is tiny. The ruined tatters of his uniform are all but invisible to his naked eye now, and it’s only because of the serum enhancing his eyesight that he can even make out vague details of those ant-sized people.

He kneels, naked, knees crushing pavement and concrete and roads and sidewalks and anything that happened to be in their way as he grew, massive craters beneath his muscular thighs and calves, with barely even the hint of resistance despite being made of reinforced steel beams and the finest construction the human species is capable of. It all crumples like paper under him.

What really gets him going, once he notices it, though… is the tiny cracked crater underneath the place his cock gently dipped and smacked onto the road. Even it, even just the engorged head of his member, is enough to devastate what must be most of a city block. It brings a surge of heat through him, has his balls tightening, and he can’t keep himself from reaching down to wrap a hand around it.

Down below him, the world is in chaos. He cannot hear the screams, he doesn’t know the sight that he makes to the regular-sized humans trapped underneath his crotch. Tony stares up from his place on the cracked and broken sidewalk, mouth agape in utter disbelief even as he engages the nanite of his Iron Man suit. 

Steve’s too large for him to take in all at once. All he can see at first is the shadow of his cock filling Tony’s skyline bigger than any skyscraper, the size of an entire mountain, with every vein and every ridge and every wrinkle of it in hyper-vivid super-high definition detail. 

Before him, he watches in horror as a new monumental event enters the chaotic landscape — Steve’s massive hand descending from the heavens to wrap around his titanic dick. The rush of wind blows back signs and people’s hair as his hand moves forward in one stroke so big it almost seems slow-motion thanks to the scale. The sound of it, skin on skin, is deafening. People too close to him feel their eardrums splitting under the immense pressure of Steve’s low grumble.

That’s not what scares Tony. What scares him is the glistening pearl of precum that buds at the volcanic crater of Steve’s slit. It builds in size, in volume, an avalanche of sticky fluid, and he knows with a great, mounting horror that the second it drops, it’s going to wipe out an entire apartment building. 

One single drop of precum will devastate dozens of people, will wipe out entire households, and Steve doesn’t even seem to notice — let alone care.

This can’t be happening. This can’t be real. He has to do something -— and so he kicks off, the rockets at his feet carrying him up, up, up a full kilometer in the air. Even with all that upward thrust, he still barely manages to make it to Steve’s waist. 

One sharp jerk of Steve’s wrist sends a gust of air that throws him out of balance, sending him careening head over foot and slamming into a wall of flesh.

With his back against something sticky, he realizes in horror what he’s stuck to right as he sees the barreling momentum of Steve’s hand in his next jerk. He’s swallowed in an avalanche of skin, and lost on Steve’s body.

Steve did not even see him. Steve didn’t even notice the little speck lost in his lazy masturbation. He’s too busy staring down at the ground beneath him as another growth spurt ripples through him, carrying him outward, carrying him upward. He must be miles tall now, he can’t even imagine the math, he can’t even compare it.

What he does know is, all those little grid lines beneath him are city blocks, and his dick spans a dozen of them. He also knows, with a rippling jolt of pure arousal, that if he were to come… if he were to just jack off and finish, it would flood an entire city.

And god, that thought gets him harder than anything ever has in his entire life. His hand works harder, works faster, jacking his cock with a renewed frenzy that sends the population between his thighs into despair. They know what’s going to happen, and it’s all they can do to run — knowing that even if they move as fast as they physically can, even if they hop into cars and somehow escape the gridlock of traffic, even if they manage to put literal miles between themselves and the place Steve’s testicles crush their city, they won’t make it far enough in time.

And they’re right.

Another groan rumbles, and this time every single person in the state of New York can hear it. Windows shatter under the sound of it. Earthquakes shake tremors in the ground through voice alone, to say nothing of the untold devastation as Steve shifts on his haunches to dip forward and press the head of his dick into the ground, rutting through entire counties and leveling them in one aimless, heated hump.

As he rolls his hips, as his enormous glutes tighten in fervor, as he drags himself along irreverent to the thousands of crushed people beneath him, Steve Rogers wipes Queens off the map entirely with one earnest rut. 

It’s too much. He shifts again, one elbow planting on the ground, his knees and thighs comfortably stretched out beneath him, and he works himself hard, mounting, building, wide blue eyes forced open so he can watch it when it finally hits, when it finally happens.

His orgasm tears through him in a torrent of semen bigger than any tidal wave. His release washes through city streets, drowning everything, sticky and unstoppable. A flood, a thousand rivers, the best god damn thing he’s ever felt. Every person in its wake is consumed by it. And all he did was just let himself come.

[babygirl-riley]

Baroness Pt2

You had your guards take the 141 into a private room, are they friend or foe

“I’m on trial, waiting till the beat comes out.”

Warnings: talks of smut, sexual tension, military talk, violance, swearing

simon x reader guide

simon x reader smut list

Pt. I

You watched as each guard took them up towards the office. You didn’t meet up with them for a while, needed them to stir a bit before going all interrogation on them. You spent the time with your guest, greeting them, laughing with them. You even gave a whole speech for them, telling them you appreciate for their presence and money for the charity.

Deep down you couldn’t stop thinking about Simon. He was here. Close yet far away. You turned to one of your guards and indicated that you would be leaving to them. Getting close to the office room you heard voices behind. They were taunting one of guards trying to get him to spring.

However you taught your men that even if you were cornered to hold your ground. They knew the consequences if they didn’t. You opened the door, feeling the eyes lay on you. Particularly Simon’s, the only eyes you wanted.

“They are trained to not budge Sargent,” You said slyly, knowing it was the Scottish one. “Leave us.” You ordered to the two guards.

Simon’s eyes watched you as you fully walked in. You were beautiful still, how much anger boiled inside him, he still loves you. He wanted to hug you hold you but after this pull he wants to yell at you fuck you against a wall even. When both of you had bad days at work they would use each other with code words. Red. Red was the word. Hard. Rough. No talking. Just moaning, screaming, and grunts. Just junking about it had Simon having more of a difficult time unthinking it. Especially the fucking slit on your leg, traveling up to where he couldn’t stop thinking about.

They nodded their heads and walked out, you followed them, shut the door once they left. Laswell watched as you walked over to the side where none of them stood. You didn’t know who to trust or even know they would attack. “Not really a warm welcome.” Laswell commented.

“Not really enjoyed you breaking into my computer especially after I invited you here.” You snapped back, listening to the heels against the flooring, slowly taking off the mask and placing it on the table.

“You invited us here?” Simon asked having his body leaned up against the wall and arms folded. Guarded.

You smirked. “I only give out the invitations Simon.”

The room grew tense. “Simon? How do you know…”. Gaz asked; you knew of them, read their records, know lots of them.

You chuckled. “We go back don’t we?”

Simon glared at you, you knew that glare far too well. It meant shut it or I will for you. It was mostly used for a sexual act, which brought that feeling straight to your pussy. You inhaled deeply as you rolled your eyes. Trying not to think about the heat rising within you. God you wanted to just fuck right here, in front of everyone even. So addicted for nothing, he left simple as that. He thought this was better. So why couldn’t you stop undressing him with your eyes.

Was it beautiful chocolate eyes? The ones that would look at you lovingly every night. Was it the swollen lips? The one that would latch onto yours as you both battled for dominance. Was it his hands? The ones that would grip your hips has he would guide you to the bed you shared. You didn’t know. His jokes? His laugh?

“You realized you killed an government official?” Laswell said stating to the man that was found dead, CIA, he had the invitation at the scene.

You nodded being broken from your mind. “Very uncomfortable situation, you also realized that he worked for Makarov.” Everyone exchanged looks. “I take that as a no then.”

You walked to a computer that was linked to a screen against the wall. “How do you know that? Any evidence?” Price said looking over at Laswell.

“Damning evidence.” You commented pulling up a video showing an exchange the agent was making personally with Makarov.

All them watched closely before Simon slowly looked over at you. “How did you get this?”

“My guard, he was there for the exchange.”

“What were they exchanging?” Laswell asked.

“Intel, weapons. The same shit he has been wanting.” You explained leaning against the table.

“What intel?”

You froze, you knew what it was for. Information for Russia, Europe, US, and China. Things that he wanted for years, which was missile information. “Missile codes.”

Price scoffed. “And you let it happen?”

You rolled your eyes. “Happen? No I wasn’t there to stop it was I?”

“You work for ‘im.” Simon blurt out.

“Work,” You faked laughed. Of course he would think that. Simon was always the one to jump to conclusions as such. The worst in people. The wall between Ghost and Simon. You broke that wall down to have him trust you. Love you. Now the wall is back and not only standing in your way but Ghost was there waiting to slaughter if anyone went pass the all to Simon. “No I am his bitch. Meaning I give what he wants for Russia, politically. He wants to have the President here, I can make that happen. He wants black market weapons. I give. For exchanges for my loved ones. I don’t work for him. I am his dog. That’s why you all are here.”

“To bail you out.”

“To get shit done. I can’t do it not by myself. I got him at bay. He wanted to start immediately.” You explained.

“Start what?” Laswell asked standing up from the chair she was in.

“Another war.” You simply put, thinking about what would happen if his plan set foot.

They nodded. “What’s the plan then?” Price asked.

You pulled up all you had for them, showing them everything that Makarov gave you. It took a couple hours before being able to give information, locations, next meet. All of it. You were done. You wanted him gone. Dead. Simon kept looking over at you once everyone was settling in, making plans, and how to go about it.

You thought about the times he would stare at you like that during dinner. Talking about his day. Listening to your women drama. Or the way he would look at you when he pinned you against the mattress, having you mewling against his shoulder has he drilled into your oh so sweet spot. You missed him dearly. More than anyone would ever know.

You thought about how you could take him in the nearest bathroom right now even. Have him rip your panties off and tossing them somewhere in the bathroom. Sucking and nipping at your neck, leaving marks. Crying for him enough for your guest to know what you were feeling. How his grip on your thighs would dig in when he rammed into you over and over again until his and your releases. You were biting your bottom lip quickly, rubbing your thighs together.

Simon noticed, of course he did. He was side eyeing the whole time. Noticing your figure shift. Noticing your eyes set on him. The thing you most likely knew was him wanting to do the same, hearing you whimper his name as he fucking his cum inside of you over and over. Seeing that white ring at the base of his cock. He tried not to think about it feeling his blood rush to his cock.

“Baroness,” You snapped your head up, it was your lead guard. He signaled you to come over. You excused yourself grabbing your mask. “Kingfish’s second hand is here.” He whispered.

You snapped your eyes up at him before looking over at the rest. Price had his eyes on you. “You sure?” You whispered back. The guard moved to give you a sight on him. Sure as shit there he was. Shaking hands with one of your closest clients. Fuck. “Keep him busy, I will be there shortly.”

Once the door shut Price cleared his throat. “Problems?”

You stared at the door for a moment. Why was he here? Was there a rat? No it possibly couldn’t be it. “Yes. Today is your lucky day Captain, one of your targets have arrived to the party.”

[eolewyn1010]

Amateur sewing - The Goddamn Pirate Poet Shirt

So. I made a thing.

A vaguely late-18th / early-19th century-style shirt. And I'm saying vaguely because, while this has about the right look, I took a few liberties in construction.

First of all: I wanted ruffles. None of the tutorials I used added ruffles because, frankly, that's a whole lot of hemming work for not that much length of fabric, but I wanted the frill. Behold. Also visible in this picture: The dropped shoulders, which are in fact according to the historical references.

The collar from its better side. The other side, I had to extend with a little placket as this shirt has two modes: slutty pirate (open cleavage) and 18th c decency (closed with a cravat), and for the latter option I wanted to be able to shut it with buttons. For which I apparently took the wrong measure from my neck. Problem-solving!

The front placket isn't the prettiest thing in the world, but the closed collar is meant to be covered by the cravat anyway. And check out my darling nacre buttons! I love them so much that I used two on every cuff despite that not being strictly necessary. Probably would have gotten away with one on each side. But. Look. Shiny.

Altogether, I think I used up, like, 70 meters of linen thread? Which is not super economical, but 1st, I backstitched really everything, except when I was felling over the (already backstitched) hems. 2nd, there were the underarm gussets, and wherever a reinforcement patch / strip could go on, I put one in, such as both sides of the collar, the slits to both leg sides, the shoulders and cuffs. And 3rd, there were my neat lil' additional bits such as the long, long ruffles, the tie I added into the cleavage, and the cravat.

I learned that linen thread is a bit tricky; it's very strong, but it's not super even, and it knots easily. It also cannot be used in a machine, but I did this entire thing by hand anyway, so that didn't bother me all that much. Not because I'm a stickler for historical practice, but because sewing machines are scary. I may have to tackle this fear for the sake of my fingertips.

I need to work on my estimation of seam allowance, because I had to clean up the edges on the inside of my shoulder/sleeve seam with twill tape, because I hadn't left enough seam allowance to hem over all that scrunchy, ruffly bit. Twill tape is probably not historical practice for such a shirt; I think this only became a thing after Spinning Jenny was invented, but it served me well. I also need to work on my sewing vocabulary, because I learned most of it online - and thus, English, confusing the hell out of my friend when I didn't understand my mother tongue's term for "seam allowance" because I had literally never heard it XD

Fun fact: I bought the linen for this literally years ago (a bed-set, because it's a lot of yardage for a relatively cheap price; I still have lots leftover). But only now did I sit down and make a shirt out of it, and I love it. The sleeves are so poofy! And all that seaming was worth it; the shirt already had a round in the washing machine, and it's perfectly intact. I think I did a good job!

The cravat is, aside from the twill tape inside and the buttons, the only thing that's not 100% linen, because my mom crocheted the lace trim for me from cotton yarn. My draft is not quite how a historical cravat from the 18th / 19th century turn would look, but I honestly don't care; the combination makes the shirt so goddamn fabulous! I love this; it was super worth the work. Time to get on a snazzy waistcoat to go with this <.<

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

If you're looking for some indie novels to get you into the Halloween mood, let me recommend the works of my friend Ren Montgomery. She's self-published over on Amazon, and I want to get the word out for her three books.

Horror

Haunt is a period piece set in the late 1970s. It tells the story of the Stewarts, a dysfunctional family who are looking for a fresh start in a brand new housing development, but the trauma they bring with them feeds into something sinister within the house itself. Pete is an abusive alcoholic, Mae is a lapsing fundamentalist at her wits' end, and their three young girls Kelly, Robin, and Lori are just trying to get through the new school year without slitting each others' throats.

Ren explores what it means to have faith when your views don't line up with what your Church dictates, and when those in power don't have your best interest at heart. Haunt is about the ties that bind a struggling family together, for better, or more often for worse, and the pain they face while trying to break the cycle of abuse. The presence which darkens the doorstep of the Stewarts' new haunt heightens their worst impulses and brings each and every one of them to their personal breaking point.

Haunt is both terrifying and gripping, and the 70s setting permeates every aspect of the plot; it doesn't feel like a modern story with a nostalgic 1970s coat of paint over it, it feels like something straight out of the dingy, smoke-filled, no-seatbelts-or-airbags era, an oft forgotten aspect of the decade that so many authors struggle to capture on page.

Contemporary fantasy

Monsters Are We is a story about burning bridges, both accidentally and on purpose. With some relationships, when the passion is gone, you can cut your losses and go your separate ways, but Penelope Draven doesn't have that option. Her old life with Leo the soul-sucking cheater needs to come to an end so her new life can begin.

She's danced this dance before, but this time around is going to be much more difficult for two very important reasons. First, she finally has something that makes her hesitate before throwing it all away, something she wants desperately to take with her when she goes; her teenage daughter, Clementine. Second, Leo knows what she is, what she's done, and what she's capable of, and he's not going to let either of them go so easily.

Ren explores the relationship between a mother and daughter from two very different generations, but who are more like one another than either realize. Monsters Are We is about figuring out who you are and choosing who you want to be. It's about being allowed to make irreparable mistakes so you can learn from them. The Draven girls find themselves on a road trip to hell and back which puts their lives and the lives of their closest friends into Leo's crosshairs. When they find themselves down on their luck, Penelope knows how to make her own, but it comes with a price.

Psychological thriller

Drawn to You is the story of the one that got away and one woman's twisted machinations to try and get it back. Ruby Deardon never got over her college crush, Sean Chaplin. They could have had something beautiful, Ruby tells herself, if only they had had anything at all. The timing was never right, the dominoes never fell the way she needed them to, so she lost her chance at her fairy tale happy ending.

Well, after nearly a decade of pining from a distance she decides to take matters into her own hands and insert herself back into Sean's life so they can finally have the life she's always wanted. He wants it too, she's sure of it, he just doesn't know it yet.

But just as she's about to zero in on Sean, she learns that Jeremy is zeroing in on her. She's was his one that got away, and while most women would be wary of his level of obsession, Ruby sees him as nothing but an obstacle standing between her and the future she's set her mind on. Jeremy is an unexpected dog in Ruby's game of cat and mouse, but cats have claws, and he has no idea what she's willing to do to make sure the mouse gets got.

[mechanical-magician]

BOMB RUSH CYBERFUNK HEADCANONS: CYBERHEADS EDITION

(Just general headcanons about how cyberheads work)

MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD

Headcanon Directory >>

> Cyberheads are only just now becoming common place, as the procedure/materials have become more affordable.

> Getting a cyberhead is generally only done as a last resort (ie: The Old Head who had brain tumors)

> A cyberhead that is PROPERLY dismounted from its body can control it for about a minute before there's issues. No head means no way to breathe, so it essentially works as long as the person can hold their breath

> Therefore, removing your head should only be done if absolutely necessary

> Red does not use this ability responsibly. He thinks the "what, no head?" joke is funny every time

> Each new group of cyberhead models become more efficient and compact, as well as moving certain things into better places

> Red's head model isn't as old as the Old Head's head, but it's not new by any stretch, hence why no one on the street has it.

> Specifically in Red's case, the 4 slits on the front of his face are for olfactory purposes (smells). He breathes through a system of vents that are on the underside of his head, around where his chin is (he doesn't like scarves because they make it harder to breathe. Later models were updated to move the breathing apparatus further up to avoid this problem)

> Cyberheads don't have a mouth, so they can't eat. They live off of a liquid diet, and as a result, smoothie/milkshake/other liquid specialty joints have exploded in popularity. Your regular fast food places also had to expand their options (McDonald's in this world ended up having a classaction lawsuit over their ice cream machines never working, as that left cyberheads with nothing of substance for them to drink. The results still haven't been figured out yet.)

> Other robotic body parts are still being developed, but are much more difficult to perfect, mostly owing to weight and pricing.

> As we learn in the game, a person's memories are transferred to the new head. The adjustment period is accordingly pretty long and rough.

> New cyberheads are prone to blackouts because of the system still adjusting with their body.

> Red being a sentient cyberhead with no human memories is a special case. He's the only straight up "robot".

> Cyberheads are waterproof! Well-- to fresh water. Salt water is VERY BAD for them, and can straight up kill them if the water manages to get to their memory core.

> Cyberheads are susceptible to overheating. All models have fans somewhere to expell heat and cool down, just like computers. Red's cooling fans are the two booster looking things on the back of his head!

> Moral of the story? Take care of your electronics

> Can Cyberheads get drunk? Not traditionally. If they drink an alcoholic beverage, they won't feel the drunk effects (however, they do still get alcohol in their blood, so they still need to drink responsibly). What has humanity always managed to do throughout history? Figure out how to get drunk. There's an underground market of things similar to batteries that can be inserted into a cyberhead to feel the drunken effects. Effects fade after a certain amount of time (basically the "battery" running out)

[brumeraven]

🪫: The Chains That Bind || angels, burnout, commoditization, dehumanization, exhaustion, I know that SCRAM is probably a backronym but it's so stupid I love it

"So, uhh..."

Shit, only three days. Knew I shouldn't have picked four in the pool... At least I didn't go with "Never," like Gloria from HR. Bitch should know better; they always, always ask. Might be a day, might be a week, but they always bring it up.

"You ever, uh, think about what exactly we're doing here?"

There it was. The million dollar question. Suppose that number should be revised well-upwards, honestly, power prices being what they were these days, but I couldn't be arsed to keep up with the current budget...

"Like, with that thing in there, ya know?" He gestured vaguely past the consoles before us towards the observation slit, as if there could be any doubt what he meant. Wasn't anything else to talk about around here, least of all the drab beige plastic that comprised every surface.

"Notice you haven't taken a peek yet, rookie. Superstitious much?" I kept my voice light, despite the lance of hot rage that pierced my breast. Close to a decade of experience meant I'd had practice enough at controlling Extrinsics.

"No! Just, I mean..." With a sigh, he stood and leaned forward to look, pressing forward with a near-reverent hesitance. I'd have to keep an eye on that. That spoke of assumptions, and assumptions lead to sloppy work.

I didn't need to look. Already knew what he was staring at.

And if I hadn't, well, it was painted on his face, plain as daylight. 4 solid inches of recycled cathedral glass lessened the intensity to something just-shy of blinding, but compared to the anemic fluorescence of the control room, he might as well have been staring at the sun.

"....hm." It was a disappointed sort of non-committal noise.

"Not what you expected?" Of course it wasn't, not on this side of the shielding. Anyone too sensitive would never have been allowed this close.

"It's...bright?" Disappointment, and the desire for confirmation.

"It's a toroidal cloud of plasma. What the hell did you expect?" Part of the ritual, this was. Debase, demean, lessen. Pinion its wings with the materialistic, the rational, the objective, the familiar.

I knew what he meant, but that part...that part was buried just out sight.

If a few hundred tons of concrete, ten of graphite, and a cell of industrial diamond could be called "just out of sight." Only been down there once; creeped me out when my clothes changed color. Tiny changes, but you never knew what tiny change in your genes would become cancer.

"Yeah, I, uh, can see. I guess I expected-"

"Arms, legs, wings? Some white robes? Maybe a harp or trumpet?" The first bit was true, at least sometimes. Music was a bad idea though. "It's not a person. It's a machine. A thing that was made to do a job. A car, not a yoked horse."

"Aren't you ...afraid though?"

"Afraid? Hell yes I am." That much was no lie. "I'm afraid my coffee is gonna become decaf in between sips, or my bra won't match my shirt, or some other Slip is gonna fuck up my perfectly good day answering your stupid questions." Easy, steady...

Woof. That was a pained look if I'd ever seen one. Fine, he needed more reassurance than that... "Look, of course I worry. Even without hypocertainty effects, there are ten thousand things that could go wrong here. And our job is to make sure they don't, okay?"

"Okay...but-"

"Look, keep your eyes on the gauges and the protocols in mind. Long as shit's all green, s'all good, yeah? Been here 11 years; most of the time when the alarms go off, it's just brumeraven buildup. We wet vent it out through the filters and someone gets a flat tire or something."

He nodded, if not with much conviction. "What's, uh, what's the worst that could happen?"

Fuck, where in the hell did they even find this guy?

Fine, if he wanted it... "Worst case, the Void coefficient inverts and goes positive. We end up with a criticality incursion, have to cut the outflows and you..." I leaned over to prod his arm for emphasis. "...you get to take ice cream and stuffed animals downstairs for it."

Well, that got a nervous giggle and a minute of silence. Probably for the best he thought it a joke for the moment. I waited, then, waited for the question he still hadn't asked, the one I knew was coming.

"But what...what if it breaks loose? What if it gets out?"

Bingo. It wouldn't. It couldn't. "It won't. It can't. Besides, that's my job." I tapped the badge clipped to my shirt, right on the crisp, serifed capital letters: SCRMNT. Safety Containment Responsibility Manager/Neutralization Technician. Corporate did love their acronyms...

"I mean, sure, no offense, but what exactly are you gonna do against that thing in there, if it breaks the control bonds?"

Ahhh, and there it was, the root of the misunderstanding. He still thought this was a prison of concrete and rebar, copper and steel.

"You don't understand. All this concrete and shit? That's all just shielding for our benefit. And for the power converters and all that. It's free to leave; not like we could stop it. But if she goes, whole power grid goes down."

It. Fuck.

"I don't understand. Why...?"

"Please, with all the hospitals and homes and hotels that depend on us?"

"..."

"You want to know how you keep an angel bound?"

The question hung in the air as I felt the hairs on my arm prick, and a fleeting sense of sorrow not my own slunk into my heart.

He nodded, waiting.

I smiled slowly.

"Responsibilities."

~🪫

[orionc0re]

some things i made recently:

number one -------------—

i don't have a before photo of this skirt (because i get too immersed in the making process that i just forget to take progress photos most if not all of the time)

buuut it was a pencil skirt before (very unflattering on me), and what i did was:

- cut skirt in half

- cut a bunch of triangles out of the bottom half of the skirt (the half that didn't have the waistband (important)

- cut slits in the top half of the skirt equal to the amount of triangles (that part was eyeballed lol im not even gonna pretend i measured anything)

- attach one edge of the triangles to one side of the slit (very shit diagram below)

- repeat that step until all triangles are attached and the skirt should start to flare out (yes this is to mimic a circle skirt

- then attach lace trim (i don't remember where i got mine, pretty sure it's just craft store stuff, nothing special)

honestly this process is pretty easy if you know how to cut triangles and operate a sewing machine

QUILTING CLIPS ARE A LIFE SAVER FOR THIS OMG GET YOURSELF SOME QUILTING CLIPS

number two --------------—

this one i actually had a few pictures for:

this is a thrifted ragged priest sweater, obviously i rarely dress in brighter colours so i had an idea to replace the patches of fabric with scraps i had to fit more with my aesthetic

okay maybe i didn't have as many photos as i thought-

and in hindsight this idea just gave me more fabric scraps that i don't have anything to do with

anyways what i did was:

- cut out a panel that wasn't black from the sweater

- pick out some scraps from my fabric bin

- cut scrap according to shape of the original patch

- sew back onto the skeleton of what the sweater once was

- repeat until the sweater is done

like that

a couple more detail photos (i had to zoom in as my ceiling light doesn't look great, so it'll be a bit blurry)

number three ---------------—

i nearly forgot i even made this, but i did! i made this for a festival i was going to

and yeah i didnt get any progress photos as i was in the timest of crunches (yay procrastination)

yes this was also made of two thrifted items of clothing!!

1 was this faux leather tunic t shirt dress thing (i got it with the intention of using it as spare fabric bc the price was cheaper than just getting it by the meter), i cut about 2/3 of it for this skirt, admittedly it was more than i would've liked to use

2 was this pair of faux leather shorts which i wanted to use for the waistband and to make the fake d-ring garter belt thingys layered over the skirt itself

i did just use the process i used for number one so go and read the process for that

and then i just punched a few holes in the outer layer for the chain detail (its my favourite part of this skirt), and added studs!

--------------------—

i am pretty sure these three were all done within the last month of november, i do take very long hiatuses between projects bc my creative energy works in bursts unfortunately

future projects ----------------—

i have one distinct idea in mind:

i have this very tattered "fabric" i got from the halloween section, and i think im gonna make a top with an open back, fitted look, and flared sleeves (if i have the materials for it)

---------------------------—

i am very inconsistent on both what i am creating and when i will be creating them so as much as deadlines are very helpful i wish i had the drive to just make

it's one am i am sleep

ori

12/12/2022

[popculturebuffet]

Monthly Muppets: The Deranged Glory of Willkins and Wontkins (Patreon Review for Emma Fici)

Welcome back all you happy muppets and a bit of a schedule change as Follow that Bird's been bumped to march, though as a compensation next week you'll be getting TWO bits of monthyl muppet madness. For those just joining us welcome to monthly muppets where I look at muppety madness monthly and thankfully today's replacement is something i've been wanting to talk about since Emma brought it to my attention in the first place. It's also what was pre internet a pretty obscure part of Jim Henson's history: back in college, Jim was still finding his love of puppetry and one way to hone his craft and get some dough, something I can relate to given this is a comission and all, was to do adds. Wilkins Coffee, a now defunct coffee company, asked for some.. and the results were deranged magic that were so succesful it lead to tie in "hand muppets", over 50 skits and work that despite being decades old and only 10 seconds long held up so well it became popular again. So what are the wilkins coffee ads? Well like a lot of muppet concepts their simple but a lot to unpack: Wlikins, a cheery muppet usually offers wontkins, his gloomy red (though you can't see it in the ads as their black and white) victim a cup of Wilkins Coffee or brings it up. When Wontkins says he dosen't like it... and wilkins gets.. violent. Here's one of the more notable examples

Yeah and if you think him wiping blood off his blade after presumingly running a man through for not liking wilkins is just a one off, I did my due dillgence and recorded EVERYTHING that happens to poor wontkins over the course of 15 minutes worth of wilkins coffee ads.. over the course of the ones I watched, almost the complete filmography the following was inflicted on this poor muppet:

Wontkins got Blasted with A Canon, shot by some dude offscreen,hit by a club ran over by a bandwagon, blinked out of existiance, dynamited with TNT, threatned with a guiltoine, attacked by an evil dead tree, caked in the face and had hot coffee poured over him, beaned with a hammer, tarred and feathered, shot by an illicit coffee peddling wilkins, pelted with eggs, kicked out of a tree, stabbed to death with a fencing saber with Wilkins having to wipe the blood off, Wilkins making the washington monument fall on him with Telekinesis, hit up for 65 dollars, blown up along with his house!, attacked by a vengeful mr wlikins godlike powers, got his television blown up by wilkins who can apparently appear inside tvs, GIVEN THE ELECTRIC CHAIR, sawed to death with a giant supervillian Buzzsaw, clubbed three times till he spread the word of wilkins, stepped on by mr. wilkins, eaten by a giant fish that was subbing for a whale, shoved off a giant brick wall to his death, told he won't be paid till they sell more wlikins, hammered in some sort of torture machine, given some… weird box, nearly got knives thrown at him blind, nearly ran over by wild horses, married Wilkins, shot in the dick by a cowboy wilkins, drowned in a swimming pool of wilkins coffee, given tiny birds, had the price jacked up, boiled to death in a coffee of wilkins to be eaten by racist sterotypes, conked by a steel can of wilkins, scared by ghosts, given a malfunctioning parachute for a sight gag, thrown out of a hot air ballon, exploded or possibly shot again by wlikins pretending to be a fortune teller, stabbed, forced to be a reindeer, shoved out of a plane, shot with an arrow, shot out of a cannon, clubbed with a giant ball, had a bottle of ginger ale broken over his hair, had the pool of water for a hive dive moved dying by concussion, given a strike in baseball that shockingly wasn't a literal strike, lifted into the air and dropped by a vengeful god, shoved into the sea to uncertain doom, stamped with a checkmark for later extermination, shot AGAIN this time for democracy, clanged inside a bell, tortured with another hammer machine, had it implied his throat was slit, LITERALLY BRANDED WITH AN X, dropped down a sewer, eaten raw coffee, scared by a headless wilkins, RAN OVER BY A STEAMROLLER, left to rot in a tower. dropped off a mountain to his demise, sprayed by a water canon and implied he needs to be brainwashed, lifted up to his death by the hand of fate, had Wilkins cause an auto accident using his car to prove a point, got shot in the face with a camera, punched by a boxing glove, and dropped out of a plane via barrel roll

Just to tabulate all that I looked over those and followed James A Janeses kill count rules, counting how many times Wilkins defintely died from whatever wonkins did, even if we didn't see it, along with my own touch of every time he got assaulted.

So Wilkins got killed a total of TWENTY FIVE TIMES, and with a combind runtime of 14:58, that lead to a kill on average every 1.79 minutes. and he was assaulted about 20 which dosen't get a runtime for this bit. So you'd think this was a bit too cruel to work... and you'd be wrong. Yeah while obviously it's horrifying as it is hilarious that Wontkins suffered this much abuse it's done quickly and is so over the top, so disprortinate, so cruel.. ti's comedy GOLD. It's a delight to see just what horrible shit Wilkins does yet and honestly the ones where he tortures wontkins are always funnier than the ones with just some sort of sight gag for the most part. Jim Henson was a master of physical comedy and these shorts are some of his best. It's also worth remembering a LOT of muppets humor is built on slapstick cruetly and the trick is it dosen't pile on too much or has the targets be nondiscript enoguh for it to work. I do feel deeply sad for wontkins, but we don't see his pain linger enough for it to last and he's fine next short ready to get pummled, stabbed, shoved to his death or put in some torture device. and the sheer lengths Wilkins goes to are just sadistic. Would I want to hang out with Wlikins? Fuck no, wilkins coffee no longer exists and while he shilled for other brands I can't guarantee he's not rightly locked up in some deep muppet vault for muppet kind's own saftey and won't ask me for wilkins just to murder me and then ironically weekend at burnies my corpse as his own muppet.

But these adds are simple sharp and funny. Henson clearly plays both using a proto-kermit voice (though Kermit already existed by then, if not in his final form) for wilkins and something similar to Rowlf's eventual voice for wontkins. The results are just great. They do offer some logistics such as did Wlikins build a wagon, elaborate torture amchines and several buisnessses just to torment wontkins? The answer.. is probably yes and just adds to it. The fact he goes to lengths and commits enough crimes to get him put away for several life sentences just over coffee is the charm. I may not have nearly as much to say as I thought.. but I encourage you to seek these ads out and watch them.. and watch out for wilkins. If you see him lurking outside your house hide, call the police and for the love of god just offer him what cofffe you have and lie it's wilkins if you value your own life. Thanks for reading. Next month, we're doing some more early henson as it's the muppet show YAYYYY.. specifically the PILOTS: the muppet valentine's show and the muppets: sex and violence. See you later this week.

[machinedalal]

Used Foil Slitting Machine for SALE

Ruiyang - TYMB 1040

Buy Directly from SELLER -

Manufacturer: Ruiyang

Year: 2012

Machine Availability: Immediately from stock

Price: 9000 EURO

Location: Lithuania

#print #press #Machinedalal