#cover boiler pipes

[plusheat]

Stay Cozy and Confident: The Top Boiler Cover Options for Your Needs

When it comes to protecting your home's heating system, choosing the right boiler cover is essential. It provides you with the peace of mind and confidence to stay cozy, knowing that your boiler is well-protected. Here are some of the top boiler cover options available to cater to your specific needs.

Comprehensive Cover: This all-inclusive option offers the highest level of protection. It typically includes repairs, parts, labor, and regular maintenance. With comprehensive cover, you can enjoy the convenience of having all aspects of your boiler's care taken care of, giving you complete peace of mind.

Parts and Labor Cover: This option covers the cost of parts and labor for repairs, ensuring that you won't have to worry about unexpected expenses when your boiler breaks down. It's a cost-effective choice that provides financial security without the additional services of regular maintenance.

Emergency Cover: Designed for those seeking immediate assistance during urgent situations, emergency cover ensures that help is available 24/7. This option offers rapid response times and callouts to get your boiler up and running as quickly as possible.

Basic Cover: If you're looking for a budget-friendly option, basic cover provides essential protection. It typically covers major repairs and includes limited callouts and servicing. While it may not offer the same comprehensive benefits as other options, it still provides peace of mind and a level of coverage for your boiler.

[dollfacefantasy]

thinking about being with logan howlett again. the two of you are on a mission with the team.

the group of you were down in the basement of an abandoned factory, shutting down some meeting about a weapon that meant to do your fellow mutants harm. storm and jean were down in the cellar looking at plans. scott had just been with you and logan in the boiler room but left moments ago to see if the pair had found anything.

unfortunately for you and your boyfriend, that was when some enemies decided to show up.

you make quick work of the guys coming after you while logan deals with his own set. just as you’re done and catching your breath, you hear a loud bang.

your head zips in that direction to see logan’s claws had speared through some sort of water pipe in the process of handling his opponent. a strong burst of fluid erupts from the metallic cylinder. you hear him yell, probably from the temperature, and see him topple over.

a quick gasp comes from you, but you regain your composure and use your mutation to ice over the fracture in the structure, stopping the flow of water.

“baby, are you ok?” you ask hurriedly. it was a pointless question. of course he was fine. even if the water was scalding, he’d be healed in a couple seconds. but you still didn’t like seeing your lover in any pain, so you ask anyways.

“yeah, fine,” he grumbles and wipes some water from his face. he shakes like a wet dog and then turns to you.

the concern on your face is fast replaced by amusement. giggles bubble up and out of your lips. you try to suppress your smile by covering your mouth, but it doesn’t do much good.

“what? what’s so funny?” he asks. but then he realizes.

his hair which normally stood in two proud points was now slumped onto his head. instead of the fierce wolverine, he looked more like a soggy cat.

“oh give me a break,” he says and rolls his eyes. but his hands still rise and try to mold the mop back into its usual style.

more laughter comes from you. “it doesn’t look bad…” you tease, “you look pretty cute. like a little kitten left out in the rain.”

he’s not amused with your jokes or your increasing laughter. “shut up.”

“alright, alright. don’t start hissing at me,” you laugh.

the flat look on his face doesn’t waiver. he gives up on shaping his hair and lets the tendrils just flop down under the weight of the water. you prance over and give him a little kiss as an apology.

“i’m sorry for laughing… but also, don’t move cause scott is gonna wanna see this."

[in-class-daydreams]

What was that thing about the reader’s burn mark in the ex husband Gojo au?

This was one of my first ever Sen AU asks and it took me this long to answer it because actually didn't have a concrete answer until now lol I didn't expect this AU to get popular or for anyone to notice that detail. But I wanted to do a good job as a token of appreciation of one of Sen's first fans. Sorry for the wait!

cw. kidnapping, violence, boldily injury, descriptions of a burn wound, reader and Gojo are around 20 in this, proofreading is for suckas

~

Imagine how unafraid you are when you've been kidnapped because you know that husband Gojo will always come to save you.

"Come ooooon!" Satoru groans. "If you get away, my report doesn't have to be as long, so can't you just let her go and save us both some effort?"

The three of you were locked in a standoff in the boiler room of some supposedly abandoned building. It smelled of mold and garbage and you're convinced the building would be condemned if the proper authorities knew the state of the place.

Your captor - Well, one of them. The rest didn't make it this far - has you in a headlock. He has blood dripping down his temple and his crewmates lay lifeless all around him, brandishing you around like a human shield.

"Fat chance!" your captor shouts. You don't understand where he gets the confidence, but to his credit, he probably only survived this long because he's nowhere near as afraid of Satoru as the rest of his buddies were. "You wanna fight! Let's fight!"

He tosses you aside and your head violently bashes into the brick wall. You collide with a rusty metal pipe, breaking it apart and releasing hot steam to billow right up across your chest. You scream in pain as you smell your own burning flesh. Between the pain, exhaustion, and head trauma, you aren't able to endure much more before you lose consciousness.

~

Imagine husband Gojo demanding to know, "Why isn't she healing?!"

Instructor Yaga shakes his head. He didn't like the idea of one of you getting hurt, regardless of how strong you were. You may have graduated, but you'd always be one of his students.

"Our doctors are saying it's because of her cursed technique. Because she consumes cursed energy, her body processes it differently, but for some reason, she has dead spots. Parts of her body don't react to cursed energy at all. Including technique reversal," he explains.

Satoru grips your hand in his. You're asleep in an infirmary bed at the high school, looking peaceful.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers. It's covered in pristine white bandage now, but when the doctor patched you up, an ugly, jagged wound with bright red, burnt skin and flesh covered much of your chest from just under your collarbone to slightly farther than your sternum.

"It's not your fault," Instructor Yaga assures him.

Satoru doesn't look up from where your wound would be. He stares on tiredly.

"You're wrong," he murmurs. "But thank you for saying so."

Your eyes flutter and you slowly come back to consciousness. Satoru calls for the doctor and they rush to your side. The pain in your chest is severe, but you can only think of one thing. In your delirium, you forget about the one detail you've been agonizing on how to tell your husband.

You ask, "Is the baby okay?"

~

Thank you so much for the ask!

Click [here] to keep up with ex-husband Gojo and his (now estranged) family | Ask stuff about Sen and the fam [here]

[reticulating-splines]

WIP - West 70th

1880s-1910s row of Upper West Side townhomes.

Been working on this row of late 19th c. brownstones on and off for the past year now, so needless to say when I heard about For Rent I was hype.

Download Here

This initially started because I was homesick for NYC during the pandemic. Specifically for the area of the upper west side my dorm was in while I was a student. I mainly blame this experience for my obsession with historical architecture - walking along central park west past the Dakota on the way to the subway, smoking on the stoops of the brownstones late at night, going to classes in the wedding cake that is the Ansonia - it was just everywhere, and so, so beautiful to look at.

Except a lot of it is faded glory - buildings subdivided, details chipped or covered in the thickest coats of grime or paint. So I wanted to replicate some of the old New York from around the turn of the century. The one I read about in the Luxe series and saw in the Samantha movie lol.

The basement or garden level of each four-story brownstone will be dedicated to the original purpose as the main workplace of the service staff. Unfortunately no room for the actual garden, so laundry lines and planters are on the roof. There are bedrooms and bathrooms for a cook and a housekeeper/butler, along with the staff dining and the kitchen. The butler's pantry is directly upstairs from the kitchen, and the top floor is almost exclusively made up of staff bedrooms and washrooms.

I usually do the service areas first because they're the most interesting, and there was nothing more interesting than a full edwardian brownstone kitchen. Lots of exposed piping, beadboard, subway tile, and shelves of clutter. Has a separate scullery, pantry, and stairs down to a basement storeroom to keep your best champs-le-sims nectar in. There's also a servant's bellboard in the kitchen and the staff dining room. It along with the "boiler" system are made with tool and CC-free.

The main entrance and parlor are doing their best to continue the gothic revival theme of the exterior. The library and dining room follow in the enfilade starting in the parlor. Since this first house is a corner lot, it has a bit more width and space than a true brownstone. The only actual brownstone I've been inside of is Lady Mendl's, so ofc I had to have an extensive tea setup. Def took a lot of inspo from these two pics alone for these rooms.

The main stairwell and picture gallery lead to three large bedrooms on the second floor, and then up to the children's room and nanny's bedroom on the third floor. I really like skylights. I learned the importance of decent lightwells in staving off depression one semester when my window looked out onto a brick wall

The master bedroom and the children's room above it both have their own private sitting rooms and bathrooms. All rooms have either fireplaces or cast iron radiators.

There's no way this is going to be finished by the time For Rent comes out, so im just going to release it in whatever state it's in when it does come out. The exteriors and interior room layout for all the townhomes will (hopefully) most likely be set by then anyway.

Now available for download!

Also the anniversary of Chez Cromwell is coming up! Ive been gone for the better part of the year due to starting a new job, but I havent been idle. C.Cromwell has been updated for infants and ceilings, which led to me redoing the exterior and almost every room, so a rerelease is coming v soon! Sneak peek below. Happy Thanksgiving!

[imagine-knowing-a-name]

At Your Service

Summary: As a trainee mechanic, you apply for an apprenticeship at Stark Automotives on a whim. What you don't expect is for Tony Stark to reply personally with an offer to train you, and if that wasn't enough, a certain redhead also takes an interest in your sessions.

Word Count: 2303

Pairing: (Mentor/Mentee relationship for both) Natasha Romanoff & Reader; Tony Stark & Reader

Warning: None :)

A/N: Thanks for the response to my last fic, all the comments and reblogs kept me writing even with all my deadlines, and Mechanic!R was the clear winner of the last poll, so here you all go! Enjoy :)

»»————-　★　————-««

You rested centimetres from the cold floor with the sight of oil-covered gears, shafts, and pipes overtaking your vision as you rolled under the automotive.

"Does the axle cover come off?" you said after a short inspection.

"Yeah, those two hex screws, I'll get you the tool. You've worked out the issue?"

"It's meant to be 4-wheel drive and only the front wheels are moving; I'd guess a problem with the connector shaft meeting the rear axle."

"You'd guess or you'd know?"

"I can't know anything 'til the cover's off and I can see inside."

"Good answer," Tony replied. "Hand out."

As instructed, you stretched your arm until your fingers just about reached out from under the car chassis, where a tool handle was placed in your palm.

"One 5/8 hex screwdriver, that's the one you'll need."

"The screws are imperial?"

"'Course, kid, we're in America."

"Yeah, but you sell these cars globally; I just assumed-"

"Dear old dad set up factories all over the globe – allows for some regional differences in the schematics, then each production line just does its own thing. It's easiest for everyone."

You hummed your acceptance of his method, then started to undo the screws, until a light rock to the car paused you. The movement stopped, so you assumed it was just Tony leaning on the car and you moved to continue your work, until the hum of a motorbike -- the sound of which you'd previously ignored -- grew even louder. You jolted when the bike pulled into the garage, causing you to smack your head against the car's underbody and let out a low groan.

"Watch yourself, kid; are you alright under there?" Tony said from above. At your murmur that you were fine, he continued, "roll yourself out, there's someone for you to meet."

"Why's there someone under your car, Tony?" came a woman's voice -- the person to meet, you assumed -- "can't get under the car like the old days, hm?"

When you emerged, the bright light of the outside world temporarily blinded you; you could make out Tony's figure, and as your vision returned, you saw the newcomer's back was turned to you, so only an orange plait could be seen from under her bike helmet.

"Very funny," Tony scoffed, continuing the conversation before he pointed at you. The woman turned and you only just managed to stifle a gasp when you recognised her face. "This is an apprentice, wrote to me a couple months back asking to learn about Stark Automotives, so I've been training them since. Y/N, this is Nat. Nat, Y/N."

From the moment Tony suggested training you here, in the garage of the Avengers Compound, you knew there would be a chance of running into the rest of the team you'd spent your childhood idolising. But truthfully, you were too starstruck that Tony Stark himself had offered to train you to truly believe that moment of meeting the other Avengers would ever come.

Now here you were, facing the Natasha Romanoff, looking effortlessly cool with her white vest, jeans, and leather biker jacket...while you laid on the floor in a Stark branded boiler suit and a definite grease mark where you’d hit your head. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment when you realised that the Black Widow's first perception of you was seeing you smack into an object directly in front of your face. You only hoped the blush didn't show when you finally met her eyes.

"Good to meet you," she said cooly, holding her hand out, but her eyes tracked up and down as if sizing you up.

You took her hand instantly, about to ramble through an introduction before a slight gasp from her shook you back to attention. Your eyes snapped down to where your hands met, and you realised then that you still wore your gloves, coated with oil from working on the vehicle, and now you've smeared it all over her uncovered hand. You instantly broke away -- apologising profusely -- and grabbed sheet after sheet of blue paper roll, offering it to her to help clean her hand.

"I'm so sorry," you repeated again, but she shook her head and smiled at you.

"I've had much worse meetings. I'll happily take a little bit of grease over being shot at."

"Woah-"

"Hey, kid," Tony began. Both your head and Natasha's snap in his direction; you'd honestly forgotten he was still there. "Not to interrupt, but have you ever worked on a motorbike? I made a few modifications to Nat's, and now that she's so kindly brought it to us I can show you how they work."

"Do not lay a finger on my bike, Stark," Natasha growled in a tone that reassured you that if she had actually been angry at the grease before, you would have known.

"I won't," Tony scoffed with a roll of his eyes, "...Y/N will."

You gulped, eyes darting between the two Avengers as you were drawn into the fold. "Me? Tony I'm not sure that's-"

"It's essential learning. We don't just make fancy cars so you have to learn it all. Nat, you wouldn't deprive Y/N of this learning, would you?"

Natasha groaned, but eventually relented, crossing her arms and perching on the counter by the wall. "Okay, but I'm not leaving you alone with it. And Y/N?"

You looked up, fear probably showing on your face. Natasha smiled in return, and allowed you to see a glint of mischief in her eye, "give me a running commentary of what you do. I trust your honesty more than Stark's." She smirked at the last part, rolling her eyes as she pointed to Tony behind his back, an action for you and you alone to see. Something about it put you at ease, so you nodded, smiled back, then got to work, spending the rest of the session under the assassin's watchful eye.

»»————-　★　————-««

You watched the phone in your hand, hoping and waiting for those three little dots. Tony Stark was not a man famously known for his punctuality, but he’d been early to every lesson so far and now, ten minutes after you were due to meet, you’re starting to worry.

The worry wasn’t the lesson being cancelled so much as the worry that one of the other Avengers would walk in and accuse you of trespassing – there were still so many residents you hadn’t met, and without Tony present, you were just a stranger loitering unaccompanied in the Avengers’ garage, surely that looked suspicious. No matter the fact that you were supposed to be there and had gained authorised access with your security card, your anxieties continued to grow and grow.

Your heart rate sped up proportionately to the increasing rumble of an approaching bike. The seconds seemed to elongate when you knew there was no escape to being caught there alone. In the remaining time you had, you pulled your phone back out and, with shaking fingers, messaged Tony one more time – at least then you had proof, you kept your eyes on the device even as you felt the newcomer pull in and dismount from their motorbike.

“Let me guess, Tony didn’t tell you he’s away?” Your head snapped up at the familiar voice, face breaking into a grin as red hair broke free from under the helmet. Natasha had been showing up more and more frequently to your sessions, so her arrival was no surprise, but you were glad to have a friendly figure to justify your presence, lest anyone else appear. Natasha set her headgear to the side and hopped up onto the counter, following her usual routine; you watched her intently until you realised she was watching you too, still waiting for an answer.

"Oh, uh, yeah, no, he didn't- he didn't tell me. He's not coming?"

“He got called on a mission last night. Should be back in a few days, if all goes to plan, but I’ll have a word with him about keeping you informed.”

Her undivided attention unnerved you – Tony had always acted as a buffer before – so you fidgeted, avoided eye contact, and wondered what your next move should be. Thankfully, Natasha answered that last question for you: “It wouldn’t be right to send you home so soon,” she said, “And I am officially a Stark Industries employee still, you know, if you wanted…”

“Yes!” you exclaimed instantly, speaking before you thought. “I mean, yeah, if it’s no trouble. That would be awesome.”

“We both know I’d sit here and watch anyway.” She spoke softly and with a smile that you found yourself drawn to replicate, feeling more at ease in the spy’s presence. “Now then, I know about a lot of things but mechanics is an area where you might already have me beat, so how about something else?”

“Like what?”

“What do you want to know?” she shrugged, “Russian? Latin? Artillery? Archery? Wrestling? Weightlifting?” At your dumbstruck expression, Natasha smiled and realised she would have to make the choice for you, “how about the gym? You can impress Tony with your strength next time he makes you use that scissor jack.”

Your cheeks burn at the memory – neither Natasha nor Tony had said anything at the time, but both of them had needed to jump in and assist when you’d been unable to turn the jack enough for it to actually lift the car and fulfil its purpose. From Natasha’s warm smile, you could tell she still wasn’t mocking you for the incident, but you still nodded quickly and murmured agreement with her plan, before following her through the Compound towards the gym.

“Can I ask why you’re a Stark Industries employee?” you asked on the elevator, as a way to fill the silence and out of curiosity from her earlier words.

She laughed, “It was back in ‘09, we had to get intel on the newly revealed Iron Man, and the man behind the suit-”

“Tony-”

“Exactly. So, S.H.I.E.L.D. made some edits to the employee list, added my cover there, and I successfully infiltrated the company for as long as I needed. I only officially revealed myself at the 2010 Stark Expo – do you remember that? – and in all the chaos afterwards, they never officially took me off it.”

“I think I remember seeing it on TV – you were there?”

“I left before the explosions started, but I was around, trying to make sure as few people were in harm’s way as possible-” Natasha cut herself off as the two of you entered a space larger than any lecture hall, fitted with all sorts of workout machines – the majority of which you’d never seen in your life. “Here we are.”

“You use…all of this?”

She nodded, then paused, before pointing to a section in the corner where the machine structures and weights seem almost treble that of the current area. “That section’s for Steve, or Thor if he ever bothered to train. Us regular humans wouldn't move it an inch if we tried to use those machines.”

Natasha smirked and shook her head again, guiding you towards one of the regular machines: a chest pad adjusted to press against your front as you sat on the stool, while Natasha adjusted the weight and pulled the two handles back for you to grab them. With the position set, you looked up to her for advice,

“Pull the handles towards your chest and push them back to neutral, it'll work out your upper arms. That's where a mechanic will need strength the most, so aim for 10 repeats.”

Natasha watched carefully, adjusting your posture where needed, until you completed the set. You broke into a grin at the realisation that you'd managed it, one which Natasha happily replicated as she held her hands up for a high fives. “You'll be a pro in no time,” she promised, “ready to increase the load?”

The rest of the session continued in much the same manner – Natasha introduced you to different bits of equipment and perfected your form until your phone buzzed with a routine alert to mark the end of a session. 

Natasha accompanied you to the door, smiling, receiving, and occasionally rebuking the many thanks you bombarded her with for stepping up. “It was truly my pleasure,” she said at last, “I'll make sure Tony is back next week, but if you want to do this again, you have my number.”

She squeezed your shoulder, turned, and began to walk back inside – all before you came to the realisation: “I don't actually have your number!” you shouted after her. Natasha didn't respond, but when you checked your phone only seconds later, a message had appeared in your notifications.

‘Yes you do :) 

-N’

She really was some spy.

»»————-　★　————-««

Everything changed from then on: you walked in to Tony and Natasha arguing a week later, their sudden pause at your presence a very good indicator that they were discussing you, something they confirmed only moments later.

Next thing you knew, both Tony and Natasha had taken you on as their mentee, a session with each of them once a week, and neither of them wanted you to leave. Your apprenticeship was extended into the next academic year, where you moved even closer to the Avengers Compound to visit them more often, the two Avengers – not to mention the others they'd introduced you to – always making sure you were well cared for whenever you visited. Eventually, Tony even offered you a full-time job post-graduation as the Avengers' official mechanic, and who were you to refuse? You loved the work just as you loved spending time with your mentors, so you could think of no better job in the world.

»»————-　★　————-««

taglist: @canvascoloredin @fxckmiup @wizardofstories

[cokou]

First of all: I absolutely adore your writing style. Can i request something for my favorite penguin boy? He needs way more love. Something like your reaction, seeing him without his hat for the first time or some enemy to lover trope. I guess we all know that he is just a sweet and caring guy but i cant help but think how he would react in this case. Like being attractive to reader but at the same time disliking reader (maybe due some sort of misunderstanding?)

I hope this makes sense. Have a sweet day and I really hope you would feel comfortable writing for him. <3

Troublesome 面倒な

Penguin × F!Reader ペンギン×エフ！読者

event. 100 followers event! Requests all open till 17th of July 2024. ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ sum. Accidentally revealing his face in front of you stirred up some misunderstanding. ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ tw. SFW! No warnings tbh. ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ a/n. THANKYOUSOMUCH. Yes, yes, YES! I will definitely write this rn, I love this rq my fave one so far!! AND I KINDA PUT THIS UP MY EVENT ONG LOL <3 SORRY IF THIS WASN'T WHAT YOU EXPECTED D:// Do not translate or transfer my works, this is my only account. Will not be crossposted anywhere. // Masterlist♡

Another day inside the Polar Tang was definitely nothing different nor anything special from the other days spent with the Heart Pirates. The sounds of small bickering and some loud laughter could be heard once again from the room besides the corridor. The Polar Tang was docked on an Island, and now it was ready to venture into the seas again. The days went by so fast.

As you make your way into some random submarine window, you felt the slow motion of the submarine slowly backing up, making you lose your balance and almost falling into the floor. Although before you fell, someone had caught you just about time before you had hit the floor, giving you time to try and grab into the wall to stabilize yourself.

"Caught you! You really should prepare yourself ya'know! You've experienced this lotsa' timesss." Penguin teased you as he slowly placed you down onto the ground after catching you. "You owe me one." He sticks his tongue out.

"What the hell?! I didn't even need your help!" You rise back up immediately and almost losing balance again from the sudden motion of moving, you grabbed the wall pipe for dear life. You finally managed and dusting off your butt from the fall. "Look i don't owe you anything! I didn't even wanna get caught by you." You cross your arms and look at another direction.

Penguin snorts at your stubbornness and rolls his eyes at your comment. (Not that you saw him roll his eyes.)

"A simple thank you would've been enough." He didn't bother letting you say anything and immediately passed by you, scoffing. You mock him behind his back, copying his facial expression as his footsteps fade into the distance.

The submarine submerged into the ocean waters by now, hearing nothing but vibrations of the underwater tides and bubbles popping. You peek into the small rpunded windows that allowed you to see marine life animals once again. After dozing off for half an hour by the sub's window, you had realized that you still had duties to fulfill.

Sighing and dragging yourself onto the engine room, you hastily open up the door that it hit the wall connecting to it You enter the room stomping on the ground heavily. You suddenly shrieked as you see someone wearing a boiler suit but having no memory of them being on the submarine.

"H— Intrude—!" The man rushes his way close to you and covering your mouth way before you alarm everyone. You smell the faint scent of his cologne, being similar to the ones you had smelt from Penguin. You resist him and attacking his hands that were over your mouth. Biting his palm, making him jump and pulling your hair.

"H-Hey! It's me, Penguin!" Having him loosen his hands over your mouth, you stop resisting his movements and became calmer. The tone of his voice and a sound of what annoyed you was the indeed similar to Penguin, with no doubts you push him far enough to be able to give you two a comfortable space. Your eyebrows furrow in irritation.

"Peng?! Wh.. Where's your hat?!" You shrieked at him once again, your tone so loud it could be heard by the corridors. You take a moment to look at his face up and down and up, admiring his face that you've never seen before. You caught his eyes staring back at you with his mouth carving a look of nervousness and a frown.

"Ah...well, i kinda..spilt something on it, it's in the laundry room." He clarified your questions, his tone having a pint of nervousness on them. Fidgeting quietly with his fingers and giving you a slight smile.

"Your fault— but i never thought that I'd see your face this clear like before! I've only seen your mouth all the time."

" Could it be that....You find me handsome?! Awh you're so kind (Name)!" He laughs at his claim for you, making you look stupid and a blushing mess infront of him, making you much much more irritated than before. You felt veins pop on your forehead as you launch a kick on his knees as he drops into the floor laughing.

"No way!" You pinch the bridge of your nose as Penguin stopped laughing and stood up. Brushing his boiler suit dusts away, his playful and happy tone disappearing, being replaced with a much more serious one.

"Whateverrr....you suck (Name).." he claims. Crossing his arms as he felt disappointed with your answer, lowering his head and shooking them in distress.

"...Okay just a tiny bit handsome!" You grit your teeth at the guiltiness that you received with his unusual tone, changing your opinions to a much better one. You cross your arms just like him and stared at each other with furrowed eyebrows and a serious gaze. His eyes squinting, your teeth gritting hardly that you swore they were gonna break.

"Hah, thanks anyway..i never thought you'd actually give in." He lets his arms go and resting them besides his torso again, gaining a smile that always painted his facce on a usual day in Polar Tang. His gaze now softens and had a much more presenting look.

"Fuck off!...." Silence.

"Okay fine, I'm being quite serious!" You sigh at the honesty that you had revealed. Giving him the slightest smile you could ever give.

"You aren't that bad sometimes."

"I've never been bad! You just don't understand me is all!" Trying to clarify your defense, Penguin just laughs at your take for an excuse, causing you to punch him in the face a bit too hard. He drops to the floor hardly, making a loud tud.

Attracting the attention of the captain who passed by the corridors in hopes of room inspections. Instead he was met with you on your knees and saying sorry repeatedly to Penguin as he grabbed his face and curl into the floor in agony, having no work in progress. Law decides to never pair you two up ever again in duties. Making you gasp as you try to calm Penguin down by holding of his shoulders as he kick his feet into the air, covering his face with his hands.

Even the captain was shocked with finding Penguin without his usual hat. Making him wonder what rhe hell was happening in the Engine Room. After that incident, you ahd soften your side with Penguin as you two were never paired ever again for submarine duties. Law said it was for the best for you two. After all you two didn't have a progress that was started with.

©Cokou 2024, all works belong to me.

[mytheoristavenue]

GOTG Rocket x Reader 🍋 - Heatwaves

Summary: Long from home, the ship's air conditioner breaks, resulting in hallucination-inducing heat. Your obvious crush on Rocket doesn't make things any better.

Warnings: Inspired by a series of TMNT fics I did a while back, sexual innuendo, dirty talk, degradation, praise, illness from excessive heat, daydreaming/hallucinating, suggestive situations, sexual tension, judgment impaired by arousal, fem!reader, non specified species!reader, humanoid/anthro!reader, takes place between vol. 2 and infinity war

You were so dizzy, melting into the sofa, sprawled out with no regard for anyone else's comfort. Your head rested against Mantis's leg, while your legs invaded Drax's bubble, not that he minded. His people didn't really understand the concepts of personal space anyhow. You were all in this boat though, Gamora splayed out on the floor as it was the coolest surface in the ship. With this heat, all there was to do to bear it was strip down to the littlest clothing possible before becoming indecent and napping to make the time pass quicker.

"C'mon, you guys, cheer up," Peter forced a cheerful tone from the cockpit. "Rocket said he should be finished with the repairs on the AC tomorrow."

"Thank God," you groaned, pinching the fabric of your tanktop to unstick it from your chest. "I can't take this shit anymore."

"Yeah, I'm so sweaty, it feels like I showered in my clothes." Mantis agreed from above you, doing the same and wiggling all over to have her shirt sit right.

"But you didn't," Drax gave her a lead-poisoned stare. "I have been watching you for hours and you haven't moved, let alone gone to shower." The empath's head very slowly turned towards him, her glare and pursed lips screaming that she was done with his nonsense.

"Ya know," the captain called again. "If you're hot, just think how Rocket feels. It's probably way hotter down there in the boiler, plus he's covered in fur."

"I am Groot." The sapling said, raising his head off Gamora's chest as she nodded, agreeing with him.

"I don't care that fur is like insulation, if you're hot, he's hot. And I don't see any of you trying to help him, so stop whining." Peter's light reprimand, admittedly had pulled on your heartstrings a bit. It was awfully nice of Rocket to fix the AC all by himself, even if he was the only one with the know-how to do it.

"He's right," you sighed, begrudgingly tearing yourself off the sofa, your exposed skin having stuck to it. Finally separated from the mound of leather and flesh, you stumbled over to the kitchenette and threw open the fridge before grabbing a few bottles of water. "Rocket might need some help, I'll go check on him."

-----

You had never been in this part of the ship before, slinking through halls and around protruding pipes and fixtures. It was much hotter down here, closer to the water heating systems. You had to halt for a moment, pressing your hand to the wall for stability as you hunched a bit. If you were already feeling faint, you couldn't imagine how Rocket was feeling. For all you knew, he could have passed out and nobody would have known.

Suddenly you began to make out a distant, distorted racket that echoed and reverberated against every surface. It sounded almost...melodic? Following as it became louder, it led you to a warm light that streamed out from beyond a closed door. You halted for a moment, now being able to separate the noise, which you now recognized as a voice, singing lazily. Rocket never sang in front of people and you almost felt perverted as you listened to his rendition of Silver's 'Wham Bam Shang-A-Lang'. "Now that it's said and we both understand," he softly crooned, voice carrying to far reaches. "Let's say our goodbyes before it gets out of hand."

Inhaling sharply, you finally found it in you to grip the door handle and let yourself in. Orange light flooded out of the small room and the music became as clear as it was going to get, loud enough to conceal the sound of the door opening. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.

Everyone had always been able to tell you were sweet on Rocket, and you'd never done much to hide the fact but seeing him now, bathed in marigold neon, laid flat on his back up underneath a large fixture...shirtless- it was too much for you. His fur was slicked against his chest from sweat and his jumpsuit was tied loosely on his hips, revealing much more of him than you ever could have been prepared to see. Adding to that his admittedly lovely, gruff singing voice, the scene was a recipe for an upset tummy.

Deciding you couldn't handle this, you silently tried to back out of the room, eyes trained on him like a deer in headlights. You may have gotten away with it, had one of the water bottles not fallen from the crook of your elbow, alerting him to your presence. Instantly, he rolled out from under the machine, set down his tools, and sat up, staring at you. "(Y/N), what are you doing down here?"

Now that you could see his face, you were in even worse shape. The white stripes on his cheeks were smeared with grease, whiskers crumpled, and fur unkempt. He looked incredibly rugged- more so than usual. "Hello? Knowwhere to (Y/N)?" he croaked again and waved a hand in front of him, voice hoarse from unrestricted use. "You okay?"

At last, you shook out of your trance, flustered to hell and back, and eagerly swooped down to grab the bottle. "Y-Yeah, I'm great! You're just really hot!" Rocket stared at you for a second, waiting for you to correct yourself before owning the compliment and mocking you for it. Obviously, you didn't take the hint, so that was his cue.

"Well thanks, dollface," he smirked, standing up and sauntering over to the doorway, taking the dropped bottle from you before popping off the cap and chugging it. About halfway through, he stopped with a deep, relieved sigh. "I always thought I was pretty hot but it's still nice to hear it from someone else." That's when your stomach dropped, realizing what you'd said. Time to backtrack.

"Oh my God, no!" you gasped, once again dropping what you were holding to slap your hands to your face. "I don't think you're hot!" Rocket looked at you quizzically, hand on hip. "I-I mean I do think you're attractive, b-but not in a weird way! More like a friend way!"

"Uh-huh," he teased, crossing his arms and leaning on the doorframe. "Friend attraction's the best kind, ya know? And don't sweat it, Quill says I'm hot all the time."

"Rocket, please..." you finally gave in, physically crumbling. "I meant like- you're probably getting hot down here and I wanted to bring you something to drink."

"I know, dollface, I'm just yankin' your chain." he laughed, pushing off the wall and walking back farther into the room to sit on a bucket. "I needed a break anyway, thanks princess."

"Princess...?"

"What?"

"N-Nothing!" You finally let out a sigh of relief, following a bit closer and sitting on the floor. "So how's it coming?" you asked, uncapping your own bottle after passing him the last one.

"Well, I've identified the problem, but I don't got the right parts to fix it. Good news is, I think I was able to work up a temporary replacement that should at least get us back to Knowwhere. I know if we can just get home, I can get a brand new part for cheap-" You weren't sure when, but at some point, you'd stopped listening, mind and eyes wandering.

" Ah, fuck, (Y/N), easy! Yeah, j-just like that, keep movin' just like that for me princess..."

"Are you even listening?" Rocket's annoyed tone brought you out of your daydream. You must have zoned out without realizing it, how embarrassing. "Jeez, you're hopeless, ya know that?" He chided, standing up and grabbing a rag to wipe his hands on.

"Sorry..." you slumped shamefully before trailing him as he got back into position. "H-Hey, is there anything I can do to help you out?"

"Hmm," he paused, laying back down on the creeper, ready to roll back under the unit. "I guess you can keep me company, hand me tools," he proposed, disappearing under the machine. Suddenly his voice dropped an octave, words echoed against metallic surfaces that made you freeze. "I know my girl is very good with my tools."

You squeaked at his sudden turn in demeanor, falling on your behind and scrambling away from him. "W-What?!"

Rocket rolled back out, propping up on an elbow, eyeing you with concern. "What, what'd I say?" he asked frantically. "What's up with you?"

"Y-You said-" you stammered, not even comfortable with repeating what you heard. "Y-You said...I'm g-good with your tools!"

He looked at you like you were the biggest moron he'd ever met. "Well, yeah?" he chastised. "You help me in my shop all the time, so I know you know which ones are which. You're good at knowing which ones to hand me." Your chest heaved as he once again returned to his position, reaching his hand out. His small fingers curled, a sign for you to hand something over. "Gimme that ratchet." Quickly, you placed it in his hand, before clicking open the socket set.

"What size socket?"

"Twelve millimeter." He answered, settling the tool on his stomach to use both hands for whatever he was doing. Scanning the set, you plucked out the shallow twelve millimeter piece and set it on his chest, waiting for him to grab it. He did and growled in dismay, giving it back.

"No, princess," he corrected, gasping through clenched teeth. "Need it deep."

"You...w-what?" you carefully asked, feeling incredibly dizzy and unable to discern truth from hallucination.

"I need the deep twelve millimeter, not the shallow one." Rocket scolded, giving a frustrated sigh as he listened to you scramble for the correct piece, profusely apologizing all the while. Finally, you found the right one, presenting it to him just in time for him to roll out from under the fixture again. "Okay, dollface," he titled his head, worried. "What's your deal?"

"Deal? There's no deal!" you played dumb, laughing nervously, hoping he'd just drop it. "I'm fine, really!"

You went rigid, watching him silently creep closer to you, unsure if this was real or not. Finally, he placed a paw against your cheek and whispered in close: "You're burnin' up, baby."

"Rocket, I don't feel good." you stated abruptly. "I-I think something's wrong with me."

"I'll say," he cooed, dragging his knuckles down the side of your face. "How about you let me change that, hmm?" The world around you began to blur, and all you could make out were his words. You understood that his hands were on you, but you couldn't say where; you couldn't feel it, you couldn't even see clearly. "Yeah, baby just lay down, lemme do all the work." He soothed seductively. "Let daddy take care of you, 'kay, (Y/N)?"

That last word, it was your name, right? He kept repeating it, like a broken record, and suddenly all the gruffness left his voice. You listened as intently as you could, hearing it morph from lustful to monotone, and then increasingly more worried- desperate even. "(Y/N)!" There it was again.

Slowly, as his voice became more clear, the cloudiness in your vision dissipated and your senses began to return. Your cheek burned against hot metal, and you could feel patting on your face. A figure hovered over you, close enough to breathe on you. "Goddamnit, (Y/N), wake up!"

"R-Rocket...?" you stuttered, recognizing the figure. "What's going on...?"

"Nevermind that," he hushed. "Lay back down," Suddenly, he turned away from you, yelling out the door, presumably to the oncoming footsteps stampeding down the hall. "In here!" Your eyelids began to get heavy as the world began to fall away again. The last thing you remember was being lifted into the air by a second, hulking figure, then nothing.

-----

You awoke in your bunk, arctic air breezing by your face. What had happened, how did you get here? Where was Rocket? Your fingers twitched, sore from lack of use and the tips of them caught the sensation of something foreign. Multiple fibers connected to one source, soft in mass but wirey when you singled one out. Letting your hand travel up the organism, you froze, realizing you'd answered one of your questions. Glancing down, you found Rocket, curled in a ball at your side. That was odd, you did share a room, but Rocket never slept in your bunk.

Your movements must have roused him as he stirred under your touch, slowly unfurling himself and stretching out. "You're up," he noted, smiling a bit. "You'll be happy to know the AC is fixed."

Now that you took notice of it, the room was cooler, cold even. "Wow," you yawned, smiling back sleepily. "How long was I out for?"

"About eight hours," he copied, yawning as a reaction to seeing you do the same. You halted a moment, confused.

"Wait, I thought you said it'd take you another day to fix it?" you rubbed sleep from your eye waiting for his explaination.

"Nothin' an all nighter couldn't fix." He laughed exhaustedly, curling back up into your side. You'd usually question his sudden cuddliness, but it made your bed that much cozier. "Honestly, your little heatstroke..." his voice softened a bit. "It scared me a little. I was worried about ya."

"Heatstroke..." you repeated. "That makes so much sense," At least now you had an explanation for all those hallucinations from earlier. Though you were glad to be well again, Rocket's attention was nice, even if it was all in your head. "That explains me hearing and seeing things that weren't there down in the boiler. Sorry for acting so weird.." you confessed sheepishly.

"Don't be sorry," he chuckled cockily, eyes peacefully resting. "We'll definitely be having a lengthy, private conversation about all that after I catch up on some sleep." Your stomach dropped at that, imagining all the terrible outcomes that could result from said conversation. "And for the record, dollface, I do think you're very good at handling my tools, ya know," he smirked, nuzzling your ear. "When you follow directions."

Your stomach did flips as your head began to feel heavy again. "I-I must still be hallucinating...I swear I just heard you say-"

"Did I fuckin' stutter?"

[marlynnofmany]

Mechanical Rhythms

I opened the door to the engine room, ready to declare “Lunch delivery!” but the place was so loud with machinery that I decided to wait. Instead I shut the door behind me and carried the tray of sealed containers past all the viewscreens, gauges, and schematics, and into the labyrinth of passages beyond.

They call it the engine room, but really it’s a whole complex on this spaceship. And it’s not usually this loud. All the thumps, roars, and dings seemed to be at max volume somehow.

When I reached the part that was normally smooth walls and amorphous shapes, I saw why. All the covers were off. Some were retracted into the ceiling, some swung open like window shutters, and more lay cluttering up the walkway along with a chaotic spread of tools.

From somewhere among the exposed wires and pipes, a gruff voice muttered angrily.

“Hey Mimi,” I said over the whooshing noises of the pipes. “I’ve got lunch for you.”

“Thanks,” said the voice, sounding tired. And gravely. I found it amusing that our engineer sounded just like any number of crusty old mechanics back home. Mimi’s voice was balanced out by the fact that his name was Mimi, and he looked like an octopus. “Put it on top of the big toolbox, will you?” he said, sticking a tentacle out from behind something shaped like a pipe organ.

“Sure,” I said. I was pretty sure I knew which one he meant. “It’s heated but sealed, so you can get to it when you’re ready.”

“Think I’ll take a break now,” he said. “This is obnoxious and a half.” More pale green tentacles emerged, followed by his round octopus head, and Mimi clambered expertly over the mess to plop down next to the food tray.

I looked around. “What’s happening? Eggskin said you were working on something that might take a while.”

“It wasn’t supposed to,” Mimi griped as he twisted a lid off. “I was just checking for efficient fuel use, since something wasn’t firing right, and now I’ve been tracking the flipping-flailing problem all day!” He dumped something into his mouth that looked like grapes. “I had other thingzh I wuz gonna do,” he grumbled.

“Sounds annoying,” I said. “Made any progress, at least?”

“Oh sure,” he replied, pointing a tentacle over his head at the set of pipes. “Tracked the problem to that area. One of ‘em isn’t in synch with the rest, and I am not looking forward to disassembling the housing so I can figure out which.”

The pipes were a dull coppery-brown, without any of the translucence of certain other engine parts. “Yeah, I guess you can’t really see from here, huh?”

“Nope,” Mimi said, prying at another container. “If I ever meet the pebble-brain who designed this ship, I will have words for them.”

I moved closer, picking out the sounds of these engine parts over the others. Kind of a whoosh-whirr-wheet. “Can you tell anything by listening?”

Mimi spoke over a mouthful of food. “Like what?”

“You said one was out of synch. Does it make a different noise?”

With a wave of tentacles that I took to mean I doubt it, or maybe You’re welcome to try, Mimi focused on his lunch.

Well. Whyever not.

I stepped over more tools to where I could stick my face up close to the noisy things. At least this part wasn’t the loudest — that honor was reserved for the whump-screech rhythm from the boiler-looking dealie down the way. I didn’t know what any of this stuff did.

When I listened from up close, I found a surprisingly catchy beat to the noises. It reminded me of the dishwasher my parents had when I was a kid. Fond memories of dancing in front of it. I’ve always taken my small joys where I find them, and I’m pretty sure that stemmed from a good upbringing. Any family that encouraged kids to dance to dishwasher noises is one that can find fun anywhere.

I moved along the row of pipes, listening to each in turn, nodding to the beat until I found something that didn’t match.

Whoosh-whirr-wheet.

Whoosh-whirr-wheet.

Whoosh-whirr…whirr…

“It’s this one,” I said, standing back and pointing.

“What? How can you tell?” Mimi demanded.

“It dropped the beat,” I said.

“What?”

“It doesn’t match the rhythm of the others.”

Mimi scrambled over, lunch forgotten. “You can hear that?”

“Well yeah, it’s pretty obvious when you listen for it,” I said, giving him space. I watched as he clambered around, listening intently with the little ear holes in the side of his squishy head, sometimes pressing between the pipes in a way someone with solid bones could never manage. There was a reason Strongarms made good mechanics.

But apparently not all the reasons.

“I have no idea what you’re hearing,” Mimi declared, pulling back out.

“It’s this one,” I repeated. “The other ones are going whoosh-whirr-wheet, but this one gets stuck on the whirr.”

Mimi stared at me for a moment. “Stay right there,” he said, scrambling down to a bank of dials and levers. “Tell me if you hear any change. The third one, right?”

“Yeah.” I listened from close to the pipes while he adjusted things down at the bottom. Gradually, the rhythm shifted. “Oh, it’s getting better!”

“See if you can tell me when it matches,” Mimi said.

“Almost there,” I said. “It’s making the wheet noise now, just at the wrong time.” I nodded along, drumming on the air to the rhythm of the other pipes while Pipe Number Three gradually synched up. “Wait, too far,” I told Mimi. “It’s too early now.”

Muttering something indistinct, Mimi adjusted more dials.

“There! You got it!” I stood back, grinning.

“You’re sure?” Mimi asked from the console.

“Yeah, it’s a perfect match now. Ready to dance to.” I shimmied in place, appreciating the beat and not particularly caring if it wasn’t dignified.

“I’ll run the diagnostic again,” Mimi said as he tentacle-walked over to a different control panel. “If that fixed it, I will be amazed.”

I danced among the tools for the few seconds it took to run the diagnostic.

“Welp,” Mimi said. “It’s official. I’m amazed.”

“Did we fix it?” I asked, standing up with a grin.

“It appears that we did,” he said. Waving his tentacles in a baffled sort of way, he looked from me to the panel. “Thanks. You’re useful to have around.”

“And you’re welcome!” I replied. “Happy to help. Now you can finish your lunch before Eggskin starts griping about organic maintenance.”

“We can’t have that, now can we?” Mimi said. “Maybe I’ll eat somewhere quieter, and put the sound baffles back in place afterward.”

“Great idea,” I agreed. “As catchy as this music is, it’s a bit loud for lunch.”

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character in this book. More to come!

[brighteststar707]

To Disappear Under the Sun

✦ Character: 707

✦ Words: 3062

This is me expanding on this call from day 6 of 707's route! Warning: agent angst ahead.

“Status check, Agent 707?”

“All clear, Agent. Withdrawing now.”

“Time estimate?”

“Ten minutes at most. You have permission to withdraw.”

“Copy.” The little voice crackles then cuts out completely in Seven’s earpiece and he is left in silence. It’s hasty for Seven to send him out, but this mission has been going so smoothly, he sees no reason to have him out there any longer. 

He is deep in the basement of a corporate building, a cockroach scurrying under the polished shoes of the oblivious corporate workers upstairs. So far, the mission has been going suspiciously well. He managed to slip into the office of his target unnoticed, steal all the information he needed, and get out again without alerting a single person. Though, none of this has done anything to ease the tension he has felt since entering the basement. With its fluorescent lighting and nearly-unnatural silence, the whole place has a liminal feeling that Seven is keen to be rid of.

And he’s close now. He can feel his heart thrumming in his chest and a strange buzz in his fingers that tells him that his adrenaline rush is wearing off. He is more than ready to get out of here.

One turn. Through another doorway, careful to stay out of view of the cameras he knows are positioned there. Another turn.

As he moves down one of countless dark hallways, he hears the little voice in his earpiece confirm that they have gotten out safely. He’s the last one left. Only a few more minutes and he’ll join them. He has the route memorized. He just needs to go up a staircase, through the door to the basement, and out of the back entrance. Vanderwood should be waiting there with the car to get them out of there.

He is about to start climbing the stairs when the door at the top of the staircase opens and he comes face-to-face with someone who definitely shouldn't have been there. It was supposed to be guarded – was guarded up until a few minutes ago – by another agent. Seven curses under his breath. There is a moment of silence, each of them weighing the options. Then, Seven makes his second mistake: he runs back into the basement, the way he came.

He hears shouts from behind him, the person calling for backup, and the thundering of steps on his heels.

But he is faster. He always is.

He works his way back down the hall, mind working through possible escapes at breakneck speed. There is no way past them. Anyone who could have helped him is gone. He tries anyway to call out the emergency code over his earpiece, but he gets no reply.

Three turns and through two more doors, and he comes across a door with a heavy-looking handle and a big warning sign on the outside.

KEEP OUT

AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY

Based on Seven’s experience, doors like this usually come with heavy-duty locks. And, if anything, the sign might convince his pursuers to look elsewhere. Either way, he’s running out of time. He tugs it open and quickly disappears inside.

The room is noticeably a few degrees hotter than the hallway outside. As his eyes adjust to the light, he can see why: he has found his way into the building’s boiler room. All around him there are pipes leading up into the rest of the building and against the back wall, there are three big boilers.

A piece of good news: the machines are making enough noise to cover up anything he says or does.

He takes this opportunity to test out his radio. He tries reaching Vanderwood, but he doesn’t receive a reply. Whether it’s because he doesn’t have any signal this far down or because they’re all gone, he can’t know.

Well then, he will just have to wait.

His eyes adjust to the darkness and he takes in his surroundings. The room itself is small, with nothing more than the boilers and pipes to take up the space. The pipes run across every wall in the room, hot to the touch, and he does his best to stay away from them. 

The adrenaline is starting to wear off, and he is starting to feel the injuries he must have sustained during the chase. His lungs ache from running and somewhere on his leg a cut smarts. But he’s alive.

Already, the heat in the room is starting to weigh on him. He is panting from the chase, but breathing does not bring him relief. There is a stubborn tightness in his chest that doesn’t ease and his heart is still racing, even though enough time should have passed for him to calm down. Despite the room being big enough for him to walk around in, he is feeling claustrophobic. He has to fight the urge to throw the door back open and run out into the hallway. Luckily, he is still rational enough to know that it would be suicide.

Instead, he raises his arms over his head and stretches, trying to force more air into his lungs, holding each breath for a few seconds before releasing. It’s a struggle at first, his mind fighting furiously against his body’s urges, but he eventually manages to slow his breathing down.

He can still hear the footsteps of his pursuers roving up and down the hall. Despite still being too antsy to relax, he forces himself to sit down. It won’t do him any good to exert more energy than he has to in this state. He leans back against the wall, tilts his head back, and shuts his eyes. Sweat beads on his upper lip. The back of his neck is damp. He is already thirsty. But he does not think about it.

He waits.

⋆  *  ✩   *    ⋆

He idly stares at the wall opposite him and allows his mind to wander. He has paced the room back and forth (and found himself worryingly tired after a few laps). He has counted each of the pipes, even attempted to touch them a few times just out of curiosity (they’re terribly hot). This is far from his first time staking out like this. Every hour or so, he tries to reach the agents outside, but he never receives a reply.

He listens to the voices outside as they come and go. It sounds like the building’s regular security patrol was called in. However, if his target is as paranoid as he seemed to be during Seven’s research, they won’t be the only people on guard.

Time drags by, painfully slowly, and Seven focuses on his breathing. He still feels the urge to run out of the room; he has the odd sense that he’s being cooked from the inside out. Once or twice, he gets up and goes to the door, he finds himself with his hand on the handle before forcing himself to step away. There is no way out of this basement with so many people on guard. Even he isn’t that good.

He has to wait.

⋆  *  ✩   *    ⋆

Isolation is a strange thing to endure. Seven is no stranger to spending time alone, but this is a different beast all together. He is cut off from the outside world, slowly losing track of the stakes and all things that might have existed outside the door and its bright safety label. While he is very used to his own company (and often prefers it), his is a presence he’d do anything to escape right now.

He is painfully aware of just how dry his mouth is. It takes immense mental strength to not think about his fridge back home, fully stocked with crisp cold Dr. Pepper cans and water bottles. His whole body, by contrast, is uncomfortably damp. His clothes cling to his body in the most frustrating way, his hair is plastered to his forehead, and he has given up on pushing it out of the way. He can feel as sweat rolls down his skin and can do nothing to make it stop.

It is still hard to breathe. Each breath has the opposite effect and reminds him just how humid the room is. He imagines water filling his lungs with every breath, imagines drowning while dying of thirst. It’d be terribly ironic.

He makes a conscious effort to take deep breaths, but he can’t keep it up for more than a few minutes before he forgets. There is a dull throb starting in his head that he knows is just another sign of dehydration.

It has been around 24 hours since he first got into the boiler room, and it is starting to mess with his mind. Whether it’s the darkness, the heat, or both, he is starting to lose his grip on reality. With nothing else to distract him, his mind turns worryingly dark.

Seven’s identity and existence in daily life are tenuous at best. He is wrapped in so many lies and elaborate facades that he’s not there there’s anything left underneath it all. In this basement, cocooned in concrete, he is completely severed from the outside world. It is easy to imagine that he doesn’t exist at all.

Easier still when he can still hear the frustrated voices of the second round of security guards called in to search for him. They’re starting to doubt whether there was anyone ever there to begin with. It’s starting to sound more and more convincing even to him.

He’s too scared to let himself sleep, but as the hours pass, exhaustion starts to creep up on him.

⋆  *  ✩   *    ⋆

He startles awake. A quick glance at his watch tells him he has only been unconscious for two minutes, but his heart is racing like he’s been dreaming for far longer. His eyes shoot to the door out of pure habit. This has been happening every few minutes. It’s extremely exhausting: he exists in this terrifying delirium where he is constantly on the brink of death with no way of escaping.

Nothing feels real. Not the outside, not the threat of being caught, not the work he finished. All that exists are these four walls and the oppressive heat that is pushing hard on his chest. Each breath is strained. In between dreaming of being caught, he dreams of deserts. Sand that’s hot to the touch, beautiful mirages that slip away before he can touch them. He dreams of slipping out of his skin just to feel the cold air again… his head lolls downwards as he drifts off again.

His eyes snap open. Nobody has burst through the doors yet. He is leaning to the side, neck at a painful angle, face dangerously close to one of the exposed heating pipes. He’s one wrong move away from a nasty burn. He pulls himself back upright and shakes his head, as if to throw off the exhaustion. His mind runs in increasingly frustrating circles.

He must not fall asleep. They will eventually find him if he is not vigilant, and God knows what they’ll do to him if they get their hands on him now. Nobody would ever hear from him again. Worse; he’d be a failure. He’ll never see Saeran again. He must not fall asleep.

Then again, if Saeyoung vanishes off the map today, who would mourn him? Sure, his friends might worry for the caricature he created, but what do they know of the person he is underneath it all? There is no name attached to the work he has done for the agency; nobody will ever know what he did. Nobody will know who he died for.

His head pounds.

He must not fall asleep.

He mutters an incoherent prayer, words slurring together until they’re just a stream of consciousness like water, Saeran, please… eyelids already halfway closed again. His head lolls down again…

His cheek hits the pipe.

He lets out a startled cry and leaps to his feet, still half asleep, narrowly missing bashing his head on another pipe. He immediately presses his palm to his mouth, as if to undo the noise he just made, but it’s too late. His outburst has caused some commotion outside. He can hear feet pounding up and down the hallway, the voices of men shouting to each other to search every corner of the basement.

Luckily, the noise of the boiler room has covered up the exact source of Seven’s voice, but it has put them all back onto high alert.

He wobbles, dizzy and uncertain of what to do. His hand probes his cheek to check if the pipe left any lasting damage. His skin is sore, but he’s hoping it’s nothing more serious than that. The last thing he needs right now is a burn to worry about.

He clumsily lowers himself back to the floor – the sudden exertion of him jumping to his feet has made his headache significantly worse – and plants his head firmly between his knees. Sweat drips off his forehead onto the concrete floor. The shock has sent a wave of nausea through him and his limbs are too shaky to be of any use. He has never felt cool in his life. If the guards ever give up searching for him, he doubts he’d have the energy to get up and leave. Maybe he will just sit here until the dehydration or heatstroke take him. Nobody would ever know what happened to him.

It’s almost a relief. He has tried to be invisible for most of his life. It feels like a final gift that he might just disappear from the earth without anybody having to know.

⋆  *  ✩   *    ⋆

Sand, as far as the eye can see. Saeyoung, wobbly on his feet, head pounding. A crackly voice in his earpiece, calling his name.

“Status check, Agent Seven?”

His throat is too dry to speak.

“Remember your task. You have ten minutes.”

“Copy.” His voice comes out as a rasp. 

The sun overhead, unforgiving and blindingly hot. His hands shaky, a feeling of dread in his gut. He knows he isn’t going to make it out on time.

He isn’t sure where he’s supposed to go, where to find the office that he knows has the information he needs. There isn’t a single building in sight. He stumbles a few steps forward, but moving makes the world spin dangerously under his feet. He is too dizzy to do more than shuffle a few steps forward at a time, the sand only hindering him.

His body aches, and he's sure he can hear footsteps around him somewhere, though there's nobody around to make them. He mutters a prayer under his breath. Whether to escape or to just be put out of this misery, even he isn't sure.

He only manages a few steps before he stumbles and falls. His skin stings where it hit the sand, but he doesn’t have time to recover. He needs shelter, and he needs it fast. He starts to crawl forwards again, desperate for something, anything. 

He can't find purchase in the sand. It starts to pull him down deeper, like quicksand. The heat in his body is unbearable. He sinks into the sand, palms then wrists then forearms being swallowed up by the heat.

There is no escape.

He looks up to the sky desperately, when suddenly a shadow is cast over his face. Someone is looking down on him, and he can’t muster up the strength to tell them to get out while they still can. He waits for his eyes to adjust, sun in his eyes, and then gasps.

It’s Saeran staring back at him. A face remarkably similar to his, hair lying just a bit flatter on his head (Seven’s hair has always been more unruly), though just as vibrant as his own. The only thing that surprises Seven is the look of disappointment in Saeran’s face. It's a look he has never seen, and would do anything to never see again. He looks down at Seven like he has already failed him.

“Wake up,” he says. His voice is strangely deep, familiar somehow.

“What?”

“Wake up. Is this what you left me to do? To die all alone? It's pathetic.”

“No- I…”

Saeran leans down so his face is close to Seven’s. He enunciates every word slowly so that Seven’s addled brain can keep up.

“Then. Wake. Up.”

Seven puts all his energy into opening his eyes. It’s the hardest thing he has ever had to do.

“Ah, thank God you’re not dead. C’mon, wake up.”

“Huh?”

Vanderwood stands crouched over him in the boiler room and is shaking his shoulder. Already, there is sweat beading on their forehead.

“I’m getting you out. You want to die here?”

“You found me.” His voice is as hoarse as it was in his dream.

“Obviously. You think I want to deal with the boss yelling at me for losing his best agent?”

Seven can barely keep up. He’s sure he’s hallucinating.

“Huh.” Is all he can say.

“Ugh. Come on.”

Vanderwood heaves Seven off the floor while Seven can do little more than groan at the pounding in his head.

The only thing that somewhat revives him is the first taste of air outside the boiler room. He takes his first full breath in three days. Slowly, Vanderwood half-carries him up the stairs and out of the building and loads him into the car.

Seven is barely conscious (Vanderwood won't let him sleep again) but it hits him: he survived. He exists outside the confines of the concrete and desperate, suffocating heat.

Saeran's dream words come to him again in his delirious state. Is this what you left me to do? To die all alone?

It had never occurred to him before. The agency work had always been vaguely for Saeran's sake. But this was not how it was supposed to end; dying alone and nameless without ever being able to get word back to his brother. He knows this now, suspects that he has always hoped so.

Despite how badly he may wish to disappear back into the earth, it seems that something bigger is awaiting him still.

[lxh-arts]

Biu Kitchen - Lemon Madeleine

🍋Biu～(｡>◇<｡)🍋

Ingredients:

Madeleines:

1 lemon

2 eggs

White sugar 80 g

salt 1 g

butter 100 g

cake flour 100 g

Baking powder 4 g

Honey 20 g

lemon juice 6 g

*Makes 8 lemon madeleines

Chocolate decorations:

White chocolate 200 g

Yellow oil-based food color, as needed

Chocolate pen/dark chocolate as needed

*If making the chocolate decorations is too much trouble, you can use confectionery chocolate to get results that are just as lustrous and pretty ~

Recipe

Step 1: prepare the ingredients

Take the zest of 1 lemon and mix with the salt and white sugar. Separately, mix together the egg and honey. Mix together the lemon and egg mixtures until no large lumps remain.

Melt the butter in a microwave.

In a separate bowl, mix together the cake flour and baking powder until well combined, then sift well. Add the flour to the egg mixture and stir.

Add the butter a third at a time, mixing in the last addition before pouring in more butter. Mix in the lemon juice.

Cover with plastic wrap and place in refrigerator for at least an hour, preferably overnight.

Step 2: Madeleines

Prepare lemon-shaped molds. Butter and flour the molds, shaking off the excess flour.

Spoon the chilled batter into a pastry bag and fill the molds about 70% full.

Bake with the upper element temperature at 170-180°C and the lower element at 160-170°C, with the fan on, for 10-13 min.

[TN: recipe uses a convection oven with independently controlled heating elements at the top and the bottom.]

After baking, gently remove the cookies from the molds and let cool.

Step 3: Chocolate decorations

Wash and fully dry the madeleine mold. Melt the white chocolate in a microwave for 30 seconds, or temper in a double boiler.

Add the yellow food color and mix well. Place in a pastry bag. Pipe a small amount of yellow chocolate into the bottom of the mold and press the madeleine into the mold.

Chill for 20 min before removing from mold. Use the dark chocolate to draw on a face.

[sovietpostcards]

Moscow's Lower Presnya - factory workers' village built in late 1920s

Thank you for making it happen: K. T., H. W., T. B., m., @depetium, @transarkadydzyubin, S. R.

Presnya in Moscow was a district of factories since the 18th century. Some of the factories that were based here are the Prokhorov's textile factory (Tryokhgornaya Manufactura), Smith's boiler factory, Danilovsky sugar factory, Ossovetsky's chemical plants etc. Factory workers usually lived close by (some of the factory owners built housing, but not all) so there were a wide array of houses and buildings (some brick, some wooden). After the 1917 Revolution all of the factories were nationalised and workers' living situation rethinked.

Presnya was the first workers' village in Moscow rebuilt after the Revolution (began in 1926). Emerged a district of 4-floor brick houses in formations that created court yards (something that didn't really exist for apartment buildings before then). Court yards were there purely for comfort of the residents. The new buildings mostly consisted of standard sections of 2 or 4 flats per floor per entrance. The standartisation helped bring the costs down (the buildings themselves were all still different). Buildings stood far enough from each other to allow enough air and sunlight. Most of the flats had windows facing North and South - it helped with air flow and sanitation (tuberculosis and other diseases were on the rise, and having direct sunlight in the flat was detrimental for germs). Many of the flats (though not all) had kitchens and bathrooms. Every building had a built-in boiler room that provided heating in winter. Flats were equipped with their own boilers to cook and heat water. Some other "smart house" solutions in the flats: a pipe system that sent heated water from the kitched to the bathroom, oven-samovar connector (to simplify boiling a samovar), built-in "ice pantry" in the kitchen (served as a fridge in wintertime), air ducts in every room, floor air ducts that also served as water retractors and prevented flooding the neighbours downstairs.

It's important to note that while some families had a whole flat to themselves, most of them were kommunalkas [communal flats] with several families sharing one flat, one room per family. Typically, workers aged 40+ with big families were more likely to get their own flat that younger or unmarried workers.

Let's see some of the residential buildings!

First, some of the 19th century ones - originally built by factory owners as housing for workers.

This new elite residence is built over three 19th cent. buildings. They tried to save as much as possible. The building on the left is mostly as is (only an extra floor was added on top), the building on the far right was kept as part of the facade, and the middle one was in too bad a condition to save, unfortunately.

Corner house with the Kommunar store - designed by Aleksandr Kurovsky.

Another building designed by Kurovsky was initially supposed to have more balconies - see the project on the cover of Building Moscow (#4, 1929). Originally the colors were reversed: the building was made of red brick (befitting the red brick factory surroundings) and the patterns were made of lime brick.

Pair of buildings designed by engineer Osvald Kapran are very simple but have a distinct feature.

And finally the architectural dominant of the Lower Presnya - Mostorg [Moscow Trade] department store designed by Brothers Vesnin and built in 1928. It was their first constructivist building in Moscow. This was the first and only store of this magnitute in the district, a symbol of the new centralised trade as opposed to old style markets.

Part one - Architecture | Part two - Museum

[plusheat]

Save Money and Hassle: Invest in Reliable Boiler Cover Today

Investing in reliable boiler cover is a smart move that can help you save money and avoid the hassle of unexpected boiler breakdowns. With comprehensive coverage, you can protect your wallet and enjoy a worry-free heating system.

One of the primary ways boiler cover saves you money is by covering the costs of repairs and replacements. Boiler breakdowns can be expensive, and the sudden financial burden can put a strain on your budget. However, with reliable boiler cover, the expenses associated with parts, labor, and callouts are typically taken care of, providing you with peace of mind and predictable budgeting.

In addition to financial savings, boiler cover also saves you from the hassle of finding an available engineer and dealing with the logistics of getting your boiler repaired. With a reliable cover plan, a team of experienced professionals is just a phone call away. They will promptly respond to your needs, diagnose any issues, and ensure that your boiler is up and running efficiently as soon as possible.

Regular maintenance and servicing, included in many boiler cover plans, also contribute to cost savings. By ensuring that your boiler operates at its optimal performance, you can potentially reduce energy consumption and lower your heating bills. This proactive approach helps identify and address any minor issues before they escalate into major problems that require costly repairs.

[copperhead-assorted-crafts]

Minor spoilers for Who's Lila below!

The way Jacob Geller talks about Who's Lila?, I thought the possession aspect was going to be a bigger reveal to the player, but it's actually told to you within the first ten screens or so in the game almost no matter which way you wander lol. You would have to actively dodge being told you're possessed. Either the boiler guy says 'hey there Lila' or the train guy says 'you thought you could fool me? I know she's with you'.

I'm having a lot of fun with it. The controls are your mouse and spacebar, as it's styled after old point-and-click games. There is a lot of comedy to the premise once you realize this isn't just* some poor guy with a disorder, it's also an Octodad situation where your horrid new friend is trying not to blow her own cover. Lila knows she doesn't know how to smile naturally, and so she gets you to do it... but you only have a mouse and a spacebar, so here you are trying to smile FOR her by moving this poor guy's face like it's putty, and oftentimes just completely fucking it up to the point that the people around you still notice you're not acting right.

Better yet, you have control of the eyes and the cheek muscles! Making a face that you'd believe IRL is really difficult! One of the screens you get in the boiler room tells you to shut your eyes while something is screaming at you and I was so focused on finding the instructions and completing them in time that I didn't actually get to see what that thing looked like. But, the game is so generous with save slots (both auto and manual) that even if you seriously fuck up, it's not really a big deal! Fucking up and making an ugly face accidentally is fun! It also has a built in easy mode switch that gives you a longer timer and doesn't let Lila move the face on her own, to her (and your) benefit.

The sound design is really good too. I'm only about thirty minutes into it and that really stands out. The Wheel, the boiler thing, the music in the pipes, it's all super good, eerie and beautiful. I get why this guy thought Lila was friendly, if these are Lila's friends. The dithering art style is also a delight to look at when other people's faces move as they're talking to you. It's so smooth. It's sooooo nice.

[justageneralsimpindeed]

Love sick assassination

CHAPTER 1:IT BEGINS WITH PAIN,IT ENDS WITH PAIN.

WARNINGS:abuse,manipulation,description of death.

'I'm going to die.' That's what you always thought. Every single time. Papa loathed you because you were born. Mama and Papa were happy. you could hear them. But, during that time mama got sick and when you were born she only held you for about a minute or two before she died. It wasn't your fault. Was it? If it's not your fault why does papa do what he does?

You hear footsteps and you ran from the spot on the floor that you had just occupied to the boiler room; you pray that it's just a thief or neighbour or anyone really but not him. Papa rarely came Into the basement, unless it was mama's or your birthday. On both days he would hurt you, but other than that it was rare; you don't remember being fed by him once. The only reason you were alive was because of Nio. Mama's Tibetan mastiff.

You remember when Papa put you outside in the winter and Nio followed you out, suffocating you with her weight and black and tan fluffy coat as she lay on you. Nio was a Mama she had nine puppies. So when it came to food Nio had it covered odd as it may sound, however, if you had any intellect at age four you would know dog milk and human milk aren't the same.

Did mama love you? Doesn't matter. Papa somehow threw Nio into the furnace after she bit him after selling a few of her puppies and injuring you, a girl who she considered her puppy. After that, you had to eat everything in the basement; spiders, mice, cockroaches, and occasionally snakes. Mama loved Nio, Papa did too.

What does he do to something he hates?

You didn't want to find out, so you tucked yourself into the tiniest ball you could be and held your breath. There was no point in breathing around him, there was no point in holding his breath as the air from his lungs where caught in his throat refusing to become a casualty of Papa.

How long has it been since you were down here? Was it mama's birthday or yours? You could never tell but all you know is that this has happened 8 times, and 4 of those times were your birthday. You've never hidden before, you always were just clutching your knees against your chest in a corner, sobbing away, when he came down.

"Y/N!Your piece of shit! Hiding away when you know what you did!"Those words are what you heard.' I am going to die aren't I?'

"Come on come out and your Mama can finally rest in peace! Do you not love Mama?!" You do love mama, but you're not coming out when he's trudging something around. Metal across concrete a sound you start shrieking to. At first, it was a metal pipe in his hands, one he almost killed you with, then a stoker, which he also almost murdered you with.

But, as he turned the corner and looked at you. There was no pipe.

There was no stoker.

It was a hammer

Your legs ran and you knocked him to his feet as your blistered feet sprinted up the stairs."You fucking bitch! I'm going to kill you!"Papa means it. Your eyes blur and you begin to silently bawl as you make your way upstairs, down the corridor, into the bedroom and lie low under the bed. You scratched at your jaws to stop your whining as papa hunted after you.

To you, Papa was a very miserable man and despite everything, you still loved him.

You are not so sure anymore.

Your eyes are dilated, swollen and red within seconds as you claw at the rag Papa threw at you because he didn't want you to be naked while he beat you.

You jump as the door is slammed open and in the doorway is papa. He closes the door behind him and begins to search.

The closet.

The curtain.

Under the sheets.

But he can't find you, despite how close he is. You hear him scream profanity as in a blind rage he shoves over the closet, rips the curtains apart, and hurls mama's picture to the other side of the room, whacking the bed with his hammer.

His hammer didn't break through the mattress, but it was still felt. A tear runs down your red cheeks as he stops and looks under the bed."Found you little shit..."He snarls like a predator seconds before their prey realise they're already dead. As he snatches a fist full of your hair hauling you from your hiding place, back up the corridor, before heaving you down the stairs.

"Papa!"

"Shut the fuck up"

The minute he came down the stairs his foot drummed on your side. A fresh trail of blood fell from your busted lip and your shattered nose.

" Papa," were the words you weakly uttered before his hammer, the hooked end of it, came on the joint, where your forearm and arm met. The agony was all you felt, as the hammer was now being jerked on after it went through your elbow. His foot smashed your jaw as he stood on your mouth.

"Can't have a blindly screaming out bloody murder can we? " with that, he now shoves his fingers in your mouth, latches them into the roof of your mouth and begins to ragdoll you to the basement. He kicks you down as you beg, still hoping that he'll listen and you won't have to resort to praying. As you tumble down the stairs, you hit your head about the fourth step down; Your whole body felt like it was in hell.

You start to choke on your sobs as begins to make his way through the door of the basement. He stops and tumbles down after you. You were startled that he would land on you and yet he didn't; when he reached the bottom of the stairs, a pin was engraved in his cranium.

Now taking his place at the top of the stairs was a boy older than you but still a boy. He had short dark hair, fair skin and soulless eyes. He would be frightening at first sight because of his eerie appearance but you saw nothing of it.

"Did he kill Papa?I didnt even know that was possible..."You thought.

He didn't seem to notice you, or at least not as a person alive, but it doesn't change the fact that he was the reason Papa's head was bleeding from where the pin was thrown, he was the one who just saved your life, whether or not he knew it.

"Kikyo, did he do it?"A voice asked, but you couldn't pinpoint where."Yes he did, "this time the voice coming from a woman, to which the boy turned."Come illumi," the voice commanded to which the boy obediently listened."Illumi," you mumbled to yourself. A siren of the half dozen or so oncoming police cars or ambulance was so faint to you. You felt cold, but you were used to it. All you saw as relevant was that name "Illumi," you chanted as if trying to summon him. Your sight began to subside as police crashed down the door, but you still chanted, even if at a slower pace. The police yelled to the medics as they reached the bottom of the stairs to carry you to the ambulance and called the stretcher for your Papa; as if it would help. But all you did was whisper the name of your mystery boy.

Illumi

[yanderes-galore]

Hi! Can I request Freddy Krueger from the original Nightmare on elm street? Maybe like a chase scenario in the reader’s dreams? Id also like to request from your recent prompts vol 1 #44: “your tongue is so sharp…wouldn’t it be a shame if I had to silence it?” (But only if it’s doable for you! ^^’)

I hope your day is going well! Much love and good wishes to you! ❤️

Yeah! Let's be honest, this version of Kruegar is one of the best ^^ Probably OOC, I am so sorry if it is.

Yandere! Freddy Krueger Prompt 44

"Your tongue is so sharp... wouldn't it be a shame if I had to silence it?"

Pairing: Romantic (Barely)

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Torture, Blood, Graphic descriptions, Removal of tongue, Insomnia, Wishes for death, Sadism, Mostly just for horror, Implied drug use.

It kept getting worse, you were never able to get a good night's sleep. Your dreams recently kept contorting into twisted realities of blood and steam. You always woke up, hyped on adrenaline before being more tired than before.

You blamed it on the recent murder cases within Springwood. The fear caused by the news must be affecting your dreams. It didn't help you always hallucinated due to the lack of sleep-

It felt like people whispered in your ear when no one was there. You even see silhouettes of a man with a bladed hand. It's just... sleep deprivation, that's all!

You tried to ignore it when said hallucinations talk to you...

The therapist you go to now keeps trying to give you sleep medication...

Yet you don't think it's safe to sleep.

In fact, the last time you tried to sleep, you were traumatized. The last time you slept you were sent to the boiler room again, met face to face with a man covered in burn scars. A sinister grin is on his face, bladed hand caressing your skin.

"I've been waiting for when you'd take a nap. Now the fun begins...!"

By the time you managed to wake yourself up, momentarily escaping his grasp, the damage was done. Your body was clawed... blood seeping into your clothes. These were not ordinary nightmares...

This was something supernatural.

From that point on, you refused to consider sleeping. You did whatever you could to fight such an urge. You abused whatever substance you could get your hands on....

In the end it was a futile effort, due to the mind shutting down during micro naps.

You were doomed since the moment he had his eyes on you.

"Finally gave in, did you? Thought you'd miss me~"

You could only run for so long. Even in a dream, it felt real enough to make you heave for breath due to your stamina. The boiler room was like a maze, trapping you in with a monster.

The end was inevitable. Like a cornered rabbit, you would find a dead end. Forced to accept your fate at the sharp hands of a killer.

One that seemed too real to be conjured from your mind.

"Is my little rabbit tired from running?"

You glare at him, looking for some other way of escape. Upon touching the boiler room's pipes, you yelp. Your hands are burned... was this even a dream?

"I'm not your rabbit..." You snarl. "I'd never be yours."

"What makes you so sure, (Y/N)?"

He knows your name....

"I'd never allow myself to be near anyone like you..." You seethe, anger from your lack of sleep soaking your words. "You've tortured me for the past few months... why would I roll over and comply to whatever you wish after that!?"

"If your life's on the line, it's surprising what you'd do."

The man in front of you spits back, looking irritated at your sudden rebellion... yet interested.

"My dear (Y/N)..."

You blink and the demon's right in front of you. You gasp, senses heightened due to your lack of sleep. He takes this to his advantage, holding your mouth open by your chin.

"Your tongue is so sharp... wouldn't it be a shame if I had to silence it?"

You struggle against him, still trying to fight back. You nearly gag when he reaches his hand into your mouth... pulling your tongue painfully tight into his view. You shake your head with your eyes wide in fear.

"Good, your fear is delightful. You're more obedient than you think.... Too bad it won't save your tongue."

He slowly drags his blades against the twitching muscle in his hand. You try to pull back, fighting him. Tears prick your eyes... which only fuels his sadistic desires.

"Oh, want to leave so soon? Fine then, have it your way, baby."

There's a sickening wet snap before you feel yourself fall to the floor. His blades are coated in your blood, a laugh leaving his lips at your condition. You barely registered what happened until blood pooled out of your mouth.

Something then slaps onto the ground, your shaking gaze shifting towards it.

Your tongue.

The madman removed your tongue as promised.

"Anymore complaints, (Y/N)?"

The demon watches you spit continuous blood onto the floor before lifting your chin up to look him in the eyes.

What did you do to deserve this?

You gurgle softly, unable to speak.

"Speak up, won't you?"

He leans back and laughs at your suffering before dragging you up to your feet.

"It's upsetting to not hear your screams... but at least you can't refuse what I have in store for you, baby...."

As if to mock you, he licks his lips. You're in too much shock to respond to his sadism. You only silently wonder if your suffering will end soon.

If you're lucky, maybe you'll bleed out...

Then you won't have to suffer through anymore of his desires.

[guiltiest-gear]

I have suffered my first ever machine explosion in GregTech New Horizons. It was caused by moving my coal boiler to the basement.

A cover I put on its water pipe (for the looks) apparently somehow blocked the water. I didn't notice that the machine didn't have water until it was already fully heated. I tried to expose the pipes to figure out what was going on, and that unblocked the water; adding water to a dry, hot boiler causes it to explode. I am now down one high-pressure coal boiler, one steam-powered furnace, and some wooden and bronze pipe.

Funny thing, machine explosions apparently instantly add 8 million pollution units to their chunk. This is extremely horrible, as my house only covers about two chunks, so half of it now suffers the full range of pollution effects; there's gonna be a lot of smog, I'm constantly poisoned, acid rain will erode through my cobblestone ceiling, and all the vegetation will die.

I think my only option right now is to wait for the pollution to spread out. This fucking modpack.

How much stuff is in this damned modpack anyway? There's so many damn details it'd make your head spin