#crusher wear parts

[bdiwearpartssite]

Automobiles Filling Up Junk Yards and Landfills

We see run-out, decaying, junky cars in front yards, in fields, tow yards, auto auctions back yards, junk yards and dump areas set aside for this purpose. Hawaii, the Big Island we saw areas where the cars were just piled up. Well on an island it is a big problem because as population expands so do the cars and if people buy new cars what about all the old ones? Well they just pile up and then what do you do? It costs money to ship cars off the island, so you trade in your old car and let the dealership deal with it, but he doesn't want it either.

We have seen in front yards of mobile homes years of junked cars rusting away in GA, AL, LA, MS, SC. We are talking total junk, not just undrivable but neighborhood rodents and varmints living in them. I can remember as a kid the local cities would have junk days where they would go tot he canyons and hit the streets to pickup abandoned vehicles and take them to a metal recycler or crusher. CA had a CRV-California Redemption value so you could get money for the metal in aluminum cans, old cars or plastic containers. Each year in this country vehicles are recycled, crushed, sent to the middle east in containers and of course recently in the last six years  Crusher wear parts we have had a big push to donate to a church or synagogue or non-profit. Good idea, I can remember making money for one non-profit group allowing people to smash a baseball bat for $1.00 per hit, with a guaranteed uncorked bat. But suspension if you hit the safety glass. Later when OSHA standards came out as Senior Class President of the HS we started wearing goggles when we allowed the people to smash the car. Then a friend whose dad owned a tow company took it to Pick-Your-Part Junk Yard in the Valley, today totally wired with every make and model and part listed on the Internet and most hard to find stuff on eBay and all the junk yards are all interconnected on a trunk repeater Motorola Radio System. The junk yard business has really progressed over the years.

America has a love for the automobile and many of the old cars are fixed up. About a decade ago you may recall a program where oil companies in some states could buy old cars and get them off the streets and trade for pollution credits, of which El Paso and Enron both enjoyed trading. Enron traded everything from Lumber futures and pollution to energy and just about anything consumable that the Boys in Chicago had not yet created the market for. If it is not bolted to the floor and contracts were drawn for future use, you can bet it was on the potential list to be traded. Bandwidth, oil pipeline capacity, water you name it. Commoditizing the world has advantages and this is one way to control the junk and costs associated. This has always been a free enterprise theme to reduce pollution here in the US.

see more : https://www.bdiwearparts.com/

[liebheavy]

[johnheine]

When it comes to finding the right kind of primary crushers in Australia, select the one that performs the best operation on the material to be crushed. Apart from the material, consider the feed size, the product size, and the desired capacity required.

[hopefloats1111-2]

Y’all love our boobs and I love boobs too! Today was my boob check day! First time they’ve been handled by someone other that me in almost a year.

Here I am wearing my Wonder Woman cape waiting to get the girls crushed in the machine like it’s making a boob patty.

And here’s the boob crusher! Boob gets lifted onto the black part and the clear plastic piece comes down and gives one boob at a time a squish! Then the images are collected.

So, there is your breast cancer awareness info and remember to schedule your boob check.

[shepnicolo]

Halah Iris - Jean Kirstein/reader 18+ MDI! LV PT 3

okayyyy this is the third part of lily valley, orginally posted here on ao3. im really not excited to post this one even though its my favorite...its just so shitty jfkjrk - 9k words

PART ONE *** PART TWO

(but should i write more of lily valley? thinking about it and some people seem to enjoy it, ESPECIALLY @theragethatisdesire - i consider her my biggest fan rn shes absolutely lovely and so so so so talented and you all know that) and im expecting no one to read/like this but SHE DOES!!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT - EXPLICIT CONTENT

cw; smut obv, oral sex (fem recieving), unprotected vaginal sex, cringe overload, melancholy?, a little slice of life, fluff at the end (dont read it or ill fucking kill you its so cringe) not that slow of build this time i dont think, kinda rough sex but im bad at writing smut, dirtyyyyyy talk, horrible characterization lets be real, pet names "baby" and "sweets" ofc

————

Heavy two a.m eyes, crusted with deep black mascara, stare back at you in a dusty window. With your gentle fingers, you press your lashes up to your brow and your knuckles are left with strays of Covergirl residue. Clump Crusher.

The sill of the window encases you like a wanted poster, but as your lips press to the glass in a goodbye kiss, you’re looking back at yourself once again, seeing a flier for underaged drinking and the dangers of it.

A carnivorous mouth smothered with red possibility and with hair still pinned up between his fingers, even though you’ve left his bed days ago.

You still feel his hands over you, in you, beneath you. Heart beating like the bass on your favorite song under his collar bones and your legs speaking the language of more.

The sandals were ritualistic, they were high heels on a catwalk—slapping against the wooden porch and creaky doors, you really couldn't wear these shoes without feeling your clit twitch. You noticed yourself relating everything to him, sometimes his smile, more than often how he made you feel pretty. You wondered if you'd come back to this place in some time from now and still feel that trembling and twitching all around when you see fireflies and another red mustang.

It's a real good summer.

Change it. Change it. Change it until it's better.

You couldn't say that now, not when dressed like this. Not when countering your comfortable imprisonment with dress-up and colors splattered across your cheeks like animal print.

Not when you had one thing on your mind:

Jean Kirstein.

You were seeing him everywhere, following you around like all your lethal decisions come to life. Even when you thought you shouldn't, you wanted to see him.

With the loaded gun in his nightstand drawer and the wipe of his wrist along his cunt-tasting lips, you left a love note in his bed, your spine writing in cursive as you rolled to your side in his sheets, one last kiss, then another.

It's been only three days since and your skin is still hot to the touch, your eyes seemed to have gone into black and blue bruises, still looking as they did in his dark room at midnight.

They never seemed to light up at anything but him, even as the sun rose through your blinds that morning—you couldn't sleep after that, after him. He forced you into insomnia, into criminalistic sweetness that most girls would be afraid of, and you loved it.

You didn't mind that they stayed rolled back, he said it was a pretty look on you. Or did you say that?

And now you're dressed for him, you've been waiting up all night. Losing sleep, gaining energy. Sometimes you forget.

Just beyond the wooden ceiling fan, you can hear fireflies and singing cicadas groveling against the soil.

Maybe summer was washing away too fast. You wished it would stay a cool, crisp 72 at night then coast across the sky in the afternoon when the 94 degree sun begins to melt off your makeup, taking your bra and panties with it.

Maybe you wanted the summer back a year ago, a month ago. Paint it all over. Relive it again.

A year ago when you were only in swimsuits and tight, ruffled tops. Eating ice cream for breakfast, dipping your feet into the river to escape the heat. Familiar leaves falling from familiar trees. Nobody touched you, men lingered in their reflection off your melted lip gloss, except him. He's there too.

You felt blue, unlawfully beautiful, ribboned up in green marks from cheap rings and the plastic wrap from junk food, shaken in your bathroom, stomach feeling like a snow globe; meditation and medication; reading and responding.

Too bright to not shine, too dim to have rays.

The pristine reflection of the words boredom and longing flooded your mind. There, it was fresh and delicious, new and valued, but cheap. To you, it was blurry and only visible through hand held mirrors at just the right angle under the sun and beneath a waterfall of sprinklers.

If you had one, a bejeweled pocket mirror, you'd shine it up to the sky, treasuring it like a slumber party game. An Ouija board, asking God if he'd ever touched you how you wanted. Light as a feather, stiff as a board. Heavy as man, soft as a woman.

You couldn't speak to anyone about this.

Except, maybe, him. He could hold you in the right hands, listen in ways no one else had. It was different, the way he listened.

Find ways to show him. Ribbons he wouldn't rip.

The clouds looked so clear in his eyes as he laid beside you. He showed you a scar where a dog had bitten him on his knuckles, somehow you never noticed it. Then another on his shoulder, beer bottle glass broken into his skin, streaking down his back like your nails did.

Some were lighter than others, some were deeper than others, like the one on his wrist that he didn't tell you about.

He was so heavy in bed, he was writing his own cursive.

And you missed him.

After three days alone, you missed him. Tenderly.

You missed how he drove you home, watched as you climbed back through your agape window, how he let you cling onto him, no, please, stay here, and how he gave into you in every way possible.

He talked to you a lot after, not through the phone, not through the days following, but as you laid in bed, sweating, the cool air basking the valley of your stomach, he told you little things.

Between the words you know and alright, he told you more about himself. Fleshing out this character you revolved around, he gets nightmares, he couldn't say he liked Jesus, but told his mother he did. He bought his car from his dad before he died. He's true and thinks he's boring, he's everything you imagined.

Before he could say another word, you already guessed it. You knew he liked girls in sundresses. You just did.

You're looking like a tramp, like a video vamp, and you're already opening your legs for him. Already feeling your hips tighten as he plays you like a game. You needed him now. You were growing hungrier by the second, hungry for something that you couldn't pretend was there anymore, hungry for a live show, not a VCR.

Jean Kirstein. You take the keys. Jean Kirstein. A car that doesn't belong to you. Jean Kirstein. You open the door. Jean Kirstein. You close it. Jean Kirstein. Jean Kirstein. Jean Kirstein.

-----

Sitting around a 70s couch with legs spread as wide as a wingspan, Jean drinks icy Bud Lights that crack against the kitchen counter when he pops them open. An ashtray of Marlboros and beer caps, the walls change in silence and he sits, watching TV with eyes so forgetful in the 2 a.m morning. Bonding through the screen, braiding hair.

He thought you were—

Words he couldn't describe. 'Thought' didn't correlate with 'think' in your presence. Vocabulary was shot down.

Men like him have got to fight. To take care of things. To relax with a back rub and long, beautiful legs they eat up, gentle fingers along their callouses. Tight around thick. Soft around hard. Beautiful quiet.

Men don't need much. They don't have much. But for a girl to hold him like a baby, love him like a woman, twist in his arms, and to stand on his shoes while slow dancing, that, they needed.

He thinks he forgot his wallet on the porch.

-----

Your skin itches and your hair sweats with irritability, you scratch and scratch at your forearms until you may be able to fight off your own appetite, biting your lip as a tear into your pleas. You can't think.

Driving a car you didn't have the license for, your sandals pressing the gas faster than he ever did, you wait in aching pain for the street signs you memorized to come into the headlights. A turn. One turn and you'll be there, finding out if a good girl turned insatiable girl turns fed.

Speeding cause he did it too. It didn't matter. It wasn't a big deal.

Once your eyes see just the roof of his house, you feel air coming between your teeth and the corners of your mouth stained with lipstick. You smiled, smiled even wider seeing the living room light on.

You park beside a curb, scraping tires along cement and open the door, not wasting a second.

It didn't matter if he was asleep or that should have called, that you took a car you shouldn't have, that every move you took played before you without conscious nerves that could've been telling you to stop, what mattered was that you were here, stepping up wooden stairs to his porch, feeling lighter than air.

You're now looking at that door, standing under a lantern with mosquitoes and moths fluttering around the glass. Before raising your fist to knock on the door, to pound on it until he comes rushing to you, you look at the two lawn chairs sitting empty. One of them has a leather wallet on the armrest.

You don't think. You open it and see his ID. 21. Gorgeous, looking back at you, wondering what you're doing out here, baby. The smell of money and whatever you could take filled your lungs.

You take a twenty from inside his wallet and leave the rest.

Stuffing the money into your shorts, you raise your hand again, consumed into a figure of light beneath bugs and figments of your bad intentions come to life.

For the third time, you are at a door, halfway between loss and capture.

Just as your knuckles were about to beat on the door, you hear the turn of the door knob—for a moment, you thought it was yourself, stepping out with shoes in hand and a timeless smile, your heart drops.

It opens with a big gust of wind and you're jerked forward with your mouth open and guilty, wide eyes.

Jean.

The light beckoned from the living room curved around Jean and shined on you, your eyes brightening once they widened beneath heavy lashes, shocked he somehow met you halfway yet again.

Some part of you thought he saw you coming from a mile away. Was he waiting on you?

You were ready for the ambition, the ride of your life, a night you'd never forget, pushing out your chest for his hands to find and squeeze, to have him lift your feet off the ground, to do so much more, but he only stepped through the door and walked on the porch towards you.

He says your name, "Jesus, are you alright?"

The screen door left open while the other closed, he took a step near you. He's searching for scrapes or bruises, tears and scars, whispers of something bad, searching if you drew blood and wrote protect me on your arms.

He couldn't find a thing.

It was different than before, outside the store with his car. There, you weren't expecting him. There, you were jittery and unsure how you'd end the night. You were kissing in the rain, unpretty and boyish but passionate and raw. Caught in your habitat, unprepared for him.

Hindsight isn't 20/20, it's waterlogged like an old photograph and unscary like a cheap horror film where the blood looks like acrylic paint. You wondered what the movie would be called if the poster was you and him in the car that night, he looks straight ahead while you look at him; Starry Night, the painting, in the windows, your eyebrows raised, saying, what's next? I'm ready for it.

You wondered what the movie would be called if the poster was this: the height difference, an expression nobody could name on your face, his arms waiting to take you in, lightning bugs and moldy wood—its soundtrack, songs that would sound just like the summer you were living in.

"No." You don't hold back on sincerity.

"What's wrong?" He looked how he always did, unreal and mirrored, looking like a challenge to be won.

"I missed you."

"What?"

"I missed you." You say and Jean feels sorry.

He pauses a moment, looking down at himself from his six foot stature, before gently grabbing your wrist.

Your feelings and thoughts can't be captured, you really couldn't understand what he was doing.

He pulls you into his chest, wrapping his big arms around you and you realize, for the very first time, you were being hugged by him. He was so warm.

You thought he was bringing you into a kiss, molding you into the position he wanted so that he could take you right there, on the porch like the pews at church. Be quiet.

But he didn't. He was being so gentle. His arms are just as heavy as they are huge and you wanted to be somehow even closer.

"What're you doing?" You say, looking at your wrist being bitten by a mosquito as he squeezes his arms around your waist tighter.

"Missed you too."

"You're a creep, Jean."

There's still so much, so many oranges to be eaten, so many shirts to iron, so many lightning bugs to catch, so many records to lull to. Maybe that's on his mind as he does whatever he needs to, hugging you, he leads you into July between his biceps, back to the house where you only watched, never touched.

He pulls away and you're left with a clammy feeling embracing you better than his hug did, a sweater of tremors left on your shoulders and an insulted strum on your heart for some reason you didn't want to explain.

You stand there before him, feeling yourself tied to summer and tied even tighter to what it means.

The bugs sounded louder than before.

Taking Jean's hand in yours, you sit him down in the lawn chair, his big frame occupying it under the light you've grown to like more and more.

You sit on his lap, his legs spread beneath your bare and soft ones, he leans back for a moment, watching your face come in two pieces, one understood, one completely unintelligible, both experiencing an eclipse from the aura around the moon.

"How'd you get here?" He asks, voice just above the buzzing.

"I walked." You lied softly, and he knows. He sees the keys chained to your belt loop then the familiar car parked nearby.

His hands hold onto your waist, you kiss his eyelid, just beneath another fading scar and summer freckles.

"What happened?"

"Nothing." You say and look to the window behind the two chairs.

"Come on," He bumps his knee up beneath you, needing you to look at him, "Don't be like that. Something's wrong."

He's careful with you, swiping away moths that fly around your hair, keeping you up and loose. You watch his face expect some sort of answer, some words to burn and cherish, but you don't say anything, only look at the shadows carving his face, wondering if he'd ever hug you again.

"Stubborn little thing." He sighs and lets you kiss him, not his lips, but his unshaven cheeks and jaw, he lets you claw your fingers into his hair, to get comfortable on top of him.

"You're always some place you shouldn't be, huh?" He laughs, petting your hair as you kiss his cheek.

You couldn't decide if you wanted to say anything or not.

"Don't get all quiet on me now. How're you, sweets?" He asks, nudging his nose against yours. "Hm?"

"Lonely," You whisper the right words, "Alone."

"Oh, you're lonely," His temples pull back, "That's no good." He lets his head fall onto your shoulder as you nuzzle closer to him, not wanting to hear a lecture.

His breath tickles you as he breathes in your hair, glittery shampoo, and he could already see a drawer filled with your things beneath the one with the gun. Why do you have so many pills? Helps me sleep. You barely sleep, though.

"Please?" You whisper, nuzzling your head into his neck, nibbling on his skin. "Please?"

He only hummed and petted your hair, kissing your cheek back when he could.

"Stop it," You laughed, dragging out your words like he was picking you up and wouldn't let you down. "Come on, I'm getting cold."

He didn't say anything, looking away with a smile.

"I was thinking about you all day," You say and he blushes. It's so sweet when a guy blushes. "What, you want me to talk to you?" You play by the rules.

"I'd like to know why you missed me so much, what's on your mind, all that. Why the hell you're here, climbin' on me." He smiles back, playing with your hair, admiring how girly and delicate it looks between his callouses.

Your mind was somewhere, filled with so much you could tell him, but you knew he just wouldn't be able to understand the barrier between dresses and skirts, what makes you happy and what is supposed to but makes you dazed and unorthodoxy. What's on your mind is the taste of blueberries, how good it feels to be kissed while having a fever, and the colors matching your smile. He didn't understand.

"Well, I missed how strong you are..how you take over me. I missed that song you showed me. I really missed being with you. I just can't get enough of you. It's so fun. But, I get so scared all the time, I don't know why. I keep crying. You've got it. I just want to find you everywhere and do it all with you. I don't wanna leave. I've got this… Please. I don't know what to do. Please? I came all this way."

You said all this with a smile, breathy laughs between words. Unintentional. It blew through you before you could've ever caught it and took it back.

A cricket chirps.

"I think that's the most I've ever heard you say."

"Is it good enough?"

He didn't need to know anymore, if he did, he'd be scared. Just a kiss. But don't let it be.

As his hand cupped your cheek, you wondered when you stopped lying.

He couldn't imagine himself telling you no. He couldn't imagine himself pulling you away and doing what was right. He couldn't imagine himself not bringing you into a dreamy, forget-me-not kiss beneath your shimmery halo.

His lips press into yours, a bittersweet kiss, the lingering beer on his mouth and hums of excitement radiate through your skin. It felt not only good, but warm. A kiss over and over. You feel your bones collide into his, your hands drop to his shoulders as if you were falling—caught, helped, freed.

"Jean,"

"Look at you," He whispers, hands touching your waist, "You look like an angel, you know that? A little angel that fell right into my lap."

"Please.."

"Is that the only word you know?"

His voice was gentle, down from the man he was to a man consumed by and beneath your being; the warmth, the curiosity, the perky breasts and small legs broken over his.

And you, lost, knowing where you were headed.

"I'll…" He stops for a moment. "What am I going to do with you?" He smiled and sighed, shaking his head, already knowing the answer.

"I can think of a few things," You both breathe out.

You start to rub your hips on his thigh and he can't take his hand away from the body of your hair, letting it become one entity in his palm, moving on its own.

"You don't have to be scared, baby. Nothing's scary with me. I promise."

You smile, wanting to believe it.

“Let’s get you inside. You can tell me more, huh?”

It was happening so fast, now it was slow—it'd get fast again, then again, and again.

Standing up from the chair, Jean keeps you in his arms and you wrap and cling your legs around his waist. Using only half of his strength, you knew, to keep you tangled around him, he spun around to the door before remembering his now lighter wallet and taking you inside.

He’s always been so strong.

With that, you felt hot and cold as he took you to his room, every so often lifting you up by your hips again so you wouldn’t fall. Kissing your head through your hair, finding some way to say words he hasn't yet, he’s gentle for the moment, but he’s riled up.

And so are you. More so. Undoubtedly, uncontrollably aroused. The words you said before, needy. The visions you remember, anticipating how he gets over the sheets, over you.

He moves without pausing, slow and careful throughout the house. There was so much on his mind.

"Don't wanna waste anymore time." He mumbles, carrying you through the moon-dappled dark bedroom.

Cool wood presses against your thighs, your head leans back to an even cooler wall. He put you on his dresser, you couldn't see a thing. You're kissing him. Your legs spread across the dresser, one sandal dangling off the edge while the other bends up and out, opening up.

It's quiet for a moment. Hums and sighs between kisses, his hands all over your arms and back, your heart beating close to his.

Then, you're gathered in his arms again. Spun around.

You’re placed on your back on his unmade bed, it felt how you remembered, but you don’t let it stick for a second. You move out of his control, sitting up on your knees on the bed, ready to be told what to do and how to do it, you watch with bright eyes as he undoes himself, you could’ve done it for him, but you knew you wouldn’t waste time on undoing clothes.

Through the zipper, you could’ve managed, so long as you felt close enough for your breathing to stop.

He ruffles your hair as one hand takes off his belt after his shirt. You both look at eachother with sweet smiles, knowing every inch of your body better than anyone else. You were on edge, waiting to be satisfied.

"So pretty." He kisses your knuckles.

Maybe you were worse than he knew. Good girls don't steal for the taste of a man, a face fuck at two a.m. No matter how many times he called you it, you weren't a good girl.

You reach out your arms and he comes into them immediately, crawling on top and pushing you to the bed.

His heart beats against yours and he kisses you with either hand on the side of your face. Passionate kisses, his bare chest against your shirt, your enveloping legs wrapped around him so he can't get away. His hips buck into yours, you giggle, he forgot you were still dressed.

"What're you laughing about, hm?" He teases, kissing your neck with a smile, "Want me to get you naked? Nice and ready for me?"

Under his weight, you whimper and nod and feel his hands shaking around you as he gnaws at your neck,

"Lift up for me, baby." He mumbles and you do, you arch and writhe under him until he can take off your tank top, exposing your bare chest above the valley of your stomach.

For a moment, he just looks, squeezing and fondling your breasts between his fingers. You wondered how you'd survive this.

He ran his hot, open mouth over your breasts, breathing out when he could. He took a nipple into his mouth, the intensity of it all sizzled down, his soft lips around the sensitive, delicate skin, and his stubble scraped the underbelly of the swells.

"You feel that?" He asks and you do. "It's all for you. It's gonna fill you up so good."

Between your thighs, you feel his cock growing bigger and harder against your soft skin. And as if in one movement, one turn of his body, he undoes your sandals, catching a glimpse of red painted toenails with little jewels in the dark light.

Then he brings his big hands to your shorts, the denim just begging to be thrown to the floor. You have a painful, wide smile in the dark as he unbuttons and unzips your shorts. They slide off your legs and you push up your hips for him, panties tight around your wet cunt.

His thumb swipes across the pink cotton, remembering these were the ones he dressed you in a long time ago.

"Just wanna tear you apart." He smiles and presses a kiss to your stomach, then another, another and another until at your chest again.

"This pussy missed me, huh?" He nibbles at your chest and you squeeze your legs around his waist, wondering if you could ever hurt him, "Missed how I stretch you out?"

You squirm and whine beneath him, feeling heat pile between you two, even warmer where his hips touch yours. Your nails claw at his back and you move like you're trying to get away, but it's the very last thing you want, and he knows.

"Shh…settle down, okay?"

He pushes himself off of you and you feel his absence, the lack of muscles pressed against your skin. You lean up as he does so, and your mouth feels empty; maybe you've said enough tonight.

But you're laid back again. His palm finds your heart and pushes you to your back. He takes the lead entirely, kissing down your warm belly, finding his big hands to the side of your hips, telling you in every way to stay still.

"Now," He whispers, "Just sit still n' do what I say, alright? You can do that."

Tremors from your ankles rise up to your thigh, nearly to his cheek where he nuzzles his head. You tremble as you feel his hands inch down your body, not willing to stop.

"Jean," You call out, he bites your thigh, making you yelp.

"I know it's hard to relax when you're with me," A kiss left on your clothes cunt drives you crazy. "But you can do it. You can let me. Just let me, baby."

So you try. You keep your legs open between his head as he blows cool air onto you, you play with your breasts and breathe slowly, letting him take his time with the precious view.

He hooks his fingers on your panties and pulls them to the side, smiling at how a string of slick connects to the cotton, just another way of showing him how you fall to pieces in his touch. In his sight.

"You're so messy, baby."

His lips dive into your clit, drowning it in more than what you had been aching in. Your eyes widen, then shut, seeing milky white spots curl around your vision. You seem to come all into his mouth, every bit of you on the roll of his tongue. The skin of your cunt is kissed with each buck of your hips, you just couldn't control yourself, not when it was so soft, so warm, so rebellious.

Like before, he spreads you out while your legs stretch out just the same. A sting of pain, it nearly hurts how good it feels. He was eating you up until he was full and you were empty.

You broke out into moans he was expecting, so were you. Repeatedly, you were whispering his name. Gravely, you were tied to the comfort of his mouth, his tongue, his hums and eagerness.

His tongue flicks your clit just how you like, you press a heel to his shoulder, painted toes curling, arching up into a swollen, moaning position where you have just enough leverage to hear the sizzle of blankets behind your ears and cry out for more.

You feel every sense tingling and coming to life, he sucks and licks your tender clit, the right spots to make you even more helpless. The crooks of your knees try to find something to bend over, each turn of your flesh is out of control, just like your whimpers and moans; you can't stop.

Neither can he. His lips wrap around your clit, making your cunt tighten then loosen inside you, stomach easing and rising. He applied soft pressure while he swirled your clit, knowing how to play with it just how you liked.

He licked and sucked, finding a slow rhythm that ignited your spine up and down. He groans into it, wanting to taste more of this delicate thing, give it more, learn more. His thick, dripping tongue suctions over your clit and you couldn't stop screaming even if you tried. You were lost in the heat of his mouth, melting and unconscious.

Your body was a mess of muscles and skin twisting closer into his mouth, your fingers were like the summer highlights in his hair, you gripped onto it and pulled. Were your eyes open? You could see new colors flashing beyond your vision, exotic and fiery—psycho and wet—he wasn't wasting any time with you, just how he said.

Two long, thick fingers push into you—his middle and ring finger—they pump in and out, being squeezed by your flooded cunt, walls so warm and wet, so small and tight around his big fingers. You couldn't let him go.

Then, you feel it. Faster than before. Faster and faster, warmer and warmer, tighter and tighter. Why was it so fast this time? He's so sweet to you. Your legs tremble and those colors you saw before streak over your breasts. You whimper and whine, noises you forgot you could make as he eats you up more.

It burns. Burns so hot it must be branding you. You're a loaded gun, hot from firing. You need it.

He takes a heavier lick all over your clit before taking it in-between his lips, silky smooth, puffy lips over your clit; they work you until your screaming.

"—I-I'm gonna cum, Jean, please let me cum, I wanna, fuck," The last thing you do is breathe, your chest swells with honey, bubbling up inside you all over.

Jean groans into you, nodding his head, the pressure on your clit ripples throughout your body. You're right there.

His fingers curl up and stay inside while he makes rough, thick noise against your clit. His lips kissing into a flutter, a deep groan, feeling you clamp around him and his tongue to swirl faster, trying to get it out of you, to feel it.

And finally, you feel it hit, just as your breath billows back, choking you, your legs shake and lock over his head as you feel a sick thrill spark inside you, then light up like a trail blaze. It's cosmic, between worlds of his bed and somewhere you thought was heaven, summer but all the time, tan all over; you stretch and tighten, unsure if you were above or beneath him, but you were close and loved, that's all that matters.

You shatter and cum, living it out longer than you remember you did before. He drips with your slick and cum. He groans, deep and low, into your core and you can feel it racing up your body, the vibrations finding the rings of your throat as you arch back further.

Before your world comes back together, it rests in figures of light, broken glass reflected off the sky.

Jean pulls himself away, breathing in what he could in the sultry, sex air. His lungs finally fill as he watches you squirm, riding it out in your twitching nerves.

"You came so fast, sweetie," He whispers, lips messy and shiny with your cum all over him. You're syrupy and washed in waves of pleasure, sweat around your hair and in the dips of your neck. It's wet and hot and only going to get so much better.

As your bones go limp and skin nerveless, he slowly pulls away, kissing up and down your temperate left leg, gentle, knowing you were hot to the touch. You feel a soft, long, caring kiss to the basin of your knee, where there was a bruise. It hurts, but you don't jerk away. You breathe out, in again, missing his weight on top of you.

"Good girl. See? Not so scary. Knew you could do it, just needed a little help."

He slowly takes off your panties. You're wet all around, dripping and coated with slick, still squirming.

Whispering into your ear, you felt Jean's presence closer again. His chest pressed into yours, yours still buzzing with unimaginable pleasure.

Your tired legs find some strength to wrap around his waist, jerking him forward into you. They tighten so he can't get away, every other muscle in your body is restless; you aren't sure if you're breathing or if it's just him, moving you how he wants.

Jean leans up to his knees, out of your leg's lock. You're nearly blind from the mess of your sweat and mascara stinging between your eyes, melting and pressing your lids close.

You don't remember his underwear coming off, but you feel the thick, firm muscle of his thighs pushing against yours with his cock bare resting on your stomach. You could feel it twitch and ache, pulse and push against your belly, right above how deep he'd be.

He slaps it against your belly, "Now, tell me," He has you right where he wanted, "Do you still play with this little cunt while thinking about me?"

You sling your arm around his neck, trying to pull him closer to your small, vulnerable body under him. He lets you cling onto him the best that you can, but that smirk on his face doesn't wash away, even with your neediness begging him to fuck you.

"Come on, baby, you can tell me. You missed me so much. Do you even touch yourself anymore?"

You shake your head, mind scattering and hips bucking up, "Please—"

"No? You don't? Don't tell me my baby doesn't know how to cum all by herself," He laughs, cupping your cheek and rubbing your clit with his tip, smothering his cock with your slick cunt.

"Aww, poor thing. This pretty pussy can't cum without me? These little fingers aren't big enough?"

"Please, j-just put it in…I wanna feel close." You whimper, rubbing your cunt to his tip, trembling all over.

"Shh..no whining, okay? You know how bad I wanna be inside your little cunt, fill you up with this dick, hear those pretty noises you make," He whispers, pushing his cock further into your warm, blooming folds, "You know that, right?"

You nod, feeling the words travel down your spine. He's right there, right between your legs, the apex reaching its highest point, and you reach up to feel him, his stiff, muscled biceps leaning over you.

With one soft roll of his hips, he pushes inside of you.

Fucking Christ.

Through the tight, sloppy ring of your cunt, Jean sheathes himself inside and your legs immediately spark up and wrap around his waist, making you both a mess of flesh and skin, wrapped together by your clammy shins. The breath rises out of you, gasps and inhales of sweat. The heavy weight of his cock inside you makes your stomach twist and clench around him, trapping him there, marinating in your tight walls.

Cannibalistically, you sucked him in. He watched it, your small legs snaking around him, knocking the wind out of him again, not letting him move, just making him burn in it.

"Shit," He groans, "Baby, you gotta, gotta let go of me. Let me—let me fuck you, you're squeezing me so tight."

He sunk into you while you sunk into a different state of mind. He pushes your legs away, they fall back near your chest, knees close to your shoulders, and finally, he's in control.

You squirm under him, he starts to thrust, soft, tender, meaty thrusts into your cunt, splitting you apart with each deep jerk inside you. You clench and squeeze around him, hands trying to press to his chest and get him closer. He pushes them away, they fall back to your chest, everything was heavy and weightless, open and closed.

"Harder, harder, please, Jean," You mewl and squirm, unable to think about anything than how good it stings when he fucks you fast and rough.

He pumps in and out of you, his hands gripping beneath your knees to make sure you stay put, he throws his head back, a deep groan and growl sparking from his throat. You feel his thrusts faster and harder, his skin being slapped against yours, each time rougher than before.

"Harder? That's what you want? Harder?" You clench around him, making yourself only more fuckable, ruinable, a tight, wet cunt for him to fuck.

And then he pulls out, leaving your stomach to empty for a devastating second, before slamming into you so hard your body jerks up, almost like flinching at the feeling. The heavy, pounding feeling of his cock deep inside you, the cracking sound of his skin pummeling into yours—your eyes roll back like a command.

Your twitching palms reach down and feel the bulge in your belly reappear with each roll of his fast hips, fucking you like he was insane. You were. You were, you were really fucking insane for him.

"You feel that? You feel that, sweet baby? Feel me stretching this little cunt out?" He angles you up just a bit more so he can take you into his lips, kissing you, grinding his mouth into yours.

You respond the best way you could, a shuddery scream and a choked-out, messy kiss back into him. He was going so fast, putting you down and slamming into you, the hot, blinding pressure making your head spasm and writhe uncontrollably.

He fucked the words out of your mouth, your throat stung with each moan—moans sounding more like screams, you couldn't take it but it was all you wanted. You wanted to devour and swallow it all the time, your blue turning into an explosion of stars, your pain turning into pleasure. You could take it. You could take it everywhere.

Jean groans and growls into you, each of his movements rigid and tight in his hips, feeling his cock as deep as it can go inside you, but you feel it so much more than he does. It bursts throughout you, your cunt not only experiencing the most exciting thrill of your life, but every curve of your body feeling him.

"Shit, always—always so good, huh?" He mumbles, eyes rolling back, "Bet you think it's real cute to show up here and get me worked up, don't you?"

He doesn't stop there, his fucking becoming harder and faster, making your mind blank and hazy, colorful with whimpers and moans.

"Oh, I know," He's mumbling out words, heaving hot breaths, "I can feel it, you're so needy. Gave you a little—fuck—little taste now you can't get enough." All he wants to do is leave you with this feeling then have you come back for more, squirm and whine just the way you always do, he couldn't get enough and neither could you.

Your arm reaches up between the flesh of bodies, the hard pounding, uncontrollable movements, and finds his throat. Your hand, the curve between your thumb and forefinger, wraps around him, just beneath his Adam's apple. Choking him. Bringing him closer.

It doesn't hurt. Not at all. Your small fingers curling around his neck, he falls into it, a deep and close kiss, unsure who was stealing whose breath. He didn't break that rough thrusts into you, not even for a second, and it was burning inside you.

"Come on, baby, choke me, choke me harder," He groans and you're already there, squeezing his neck just as hard as you're squeezing his cock, so close to that release, that first time again.

He wanted to cum, he could've, at that little sight of you trying to hurt him, those small nails digging into his neck and you're messy pants and moans, he thought it was so cute how you wanted him all to yourself. You didn't want him to get away and he'd let you do whatever you could to keep him with you, choking or worse. So cute.

"Go on, take it." He whispers. Instead of telling you to take it, he tells you to steal it, to bring it back and take what's yours—him.

And you do.

Harden and tense, you take it. Arching back and shuttering, you cum, lighting your body up in the brightest way possible, quivering and shaking, locking and curling, you cum through his thrusts just how you wanted.

Your fingers flex around him, clawing his muscled neck like a man, hurting him just for a moment as your body tensed up then relaxed, coming down from the high like burning yourself with a cigarette, he can breathe again.

"That's it, that's it," His words drift off just as your hand goes limp and falls back to your chest, "Fuck, you're so fucking tight when you cum, fuck,"

For just a second, your heart bursts—into flames or into dust, you don't know.

Before you realize it, his arms hook beneath the arch of your back and jerk you into his chest, the gravity of everything spinning and your heart beating faster than you've ever felt it, all the blood in your body twisting around just as you do. He's picking you up.

You don't feel the comfort of his bed, only the thick muscle of his arms bending around you and the dangerous, dangling wind of being spun around, all you can do is wait for the impact—

He's slamming you onto his dresser, your head rocks against the wall, legs spread out all over, and you're absolutely devoured. Just as his cock thrusts inside you, you're impaired, blind and nearly deaf, tasteful and stuffed full, completely out of breath.

"Yeah, that's what you need," You feel the wet, slippery slick dripping down between your ass and onto the dresser, just as much as you hear the vulgar noises it makes, "Harder, till you can't take it? Till you're crying?"

And, fuck, was it harder—you were unsure where his body ended and yours began, if it even did. You were a tangled mess of bodies with the exception of his cock pounding into you, just the few slips of air before his skin came colliding with yours again.

"Poor baby, you already are," He whispers, knees bruising against the dresser as he pounds into you, "Poor, sweet, sweet baby, crying all over me,"

He wipes your tears, his thumb stained with black, sparkly tears and he pinches your cheek, concentrating on every magical feeling you coursed through him, every bite you managed to sink into his shoulder, he was close.

And you feel yourself drowning in moans, being turned up and down, struck with hard, fast thrust making your knees tense and flex under his hands, dripping and draining all over, taking you for all that you've got.

"Shh.. I've got you, I've got you," He was lightning inside of you, each fuck faster and faster, agonizingly long and thick. Thrusts so quick the dresser rattled and shook just how your body did, the backlash of his hips hitting yours.

"You're shaking," A little laugh stifles through him, "You're shaking all over, you okay, baby?" Each syllable is broken up between the hard hits of his hips into yours, the wood dresser rocking back and forth, your own whines—

And you couldn't remember when it started to bubble inside you again, that ripe feeling wanting to burst, the waves wanting to crash, but as he makes one last motherfucking fucking thrust into you, you cum all over him.

"There you go, there you go," He grits between his teeth, anchoring your hips and knees in place just as he grinds against that sweet spot he liked to touch the most, the spot that made your toes curl and your body sweat all around.

But he doesn't stop, he isn't going to, not when his hips grind and stutter, halting in and out of you. Not when he's groaning and tensed up like that, every vein popping out and every muscle on the verge of flexing so hard they shatter.

You cup his face with restless small hands, massaging his clenched jaw and only sitting up by the invisible string that tied you to him, no support other than his groans and sighs and rough, big hand under your knee keeping you up.

"I'm gonna cum," He whispered into you, fast and all together, "Gonna, fuck, show my girl how much I love her little cunt."

He pulls out and every bit of his body seems to leave his skin just as you feel your cunt clenching around what used to be there, resizing down to its tight channel and sopping wet, feeling the restful emptiness.

He jerks himself so hard and fast, slick drips off of the tip with each rut of his hand, you hear the squelching noise it all makes as his tip angles right to your pulsing clit.

"So warm n' sweet n' tight for me—" His eyes roll back, "You're so good to me, baby, so so good to me, just wanna, fuck, wanna keep you here. Right here. Right here."

And finally, fucking fucking finally, he came all over your cunt, your hot, wet, tender cunt. He jerks out thick, steaming ropes of cum onto your pussy. Half broken, half together, he cums until the very last drop spurts onto you and you're both panting, drinking in the stuffy air, the passionate breathes you both took, coming back to fill your lungs once again—this time used and clouded with cigarette smoke, clouded with sizzling summer.

His breaths deepen and slow, swearing his way through feeling, chest rising in inches, then falling, caving, into himself.

His cum felt cool on you, ice on top of scorching sunburns, the only light and airy part of the room, steaming with sex.

He dips into you, a soft, real kiss over your hot lips. You let it happen, arms too tired to pull him in how you wanted, but it's okay, he did it for you.

Then he pulls away, you look down at the mess on your twitching cunt, wondering what would come next, what one liner would roll off his tongue like a lyric, but it stayed quiet. Sweet humming and his chin resting on top of your head, quiet. Foamy waves and careless hands all over you.

"Let's get you cleaned up."

It was a long night, a long twenty page night.

But it didn't stop there.

It broke the fourth wall and continued, writing more and more. Endless words.

Jean takes you to the bathroom, only then, as the light comes on overhead of you, you realize there's so much of his house you haven't seen. All of it in darkness, in a spinning, moonlit view where everything flashes by, you remember that. But as he places you on the bathroom counter, naked and hot to the touch, you see his home.

Your body glows under the light, legs spreading out, one foot in the bowl of the sink, the other propped up, sticky with sweat. He can't keep his hands off you. Warm, big hands hugging your waist, keeping you from falling apart. You could've, body burning so hot it drips like wax down onto the floor, you could've fallen apart.

Was this part of the movie? The mundane, unbelievable part where he wets a washcloth under the sink, drenching your foot in the process, and bringing it to your face, the waterfall of mascara over your plump cheeks, and cleaning it off. Up. Where he laughs at your smile, kissing your nose and you don't understand, but you don't want the credits to roll yet. Maybe not ever, if he keeps that tooth rotting sweetness.

Where he circled his fingers over the pool of your collarbones, like a lake, if he could dip his fingers in; where he knelt on the tile and rubbed your feet because they ached, the one dripping with faucet water. Where the small window by the shower showed no signs of morning ever coming, only a tall oak tree, blowing in the wind like rolling eyes.

"Stay," He says, "Stay here tonight. Just stay. I love seeing you. I'm glad you're..here. I really am."

Then he takes the soft washcloth to your most sensitive area, but he pulls away, dropping the rag and putting his fingers in.

Sweet tea and minty cookies, not so much junk as it is strange and scary, but delicious. So delicious.

-----

"Heart. Van Halen. The Cars. But I hardly listen to them anymore."

"Guns n' Roses?"

"They're sellouts, Jean. How stupid can you be?"

You were laying on his bed while he rested his head on your stomach, gingerly rubbing circles over the dimple of your elbow. Charmed, you were playing with his hair, rearranging it and putting it back into its place. Perfect place.

You were talking about safe, simple things. Things you let show instead of tell, but it all came out somehow. He got it out of you.

Then, he leaned up from bed and stumbled to his closet, forgetting how to walk after laying on you for so long. You were dressed in one of his shirts, a big, pillowy white button up and nothing else. He wore his boxer shorts. You both felt the cool blow of his fan on you.

He pulls out a box deep from the closet and sets it on the floor.

"Dreamboat, huh?" He mumbles, digging through a milk crate stacked with records, most faded and worn out, writing on the backs of some.

"Here," He had it. Dreamboat Annie. "Take it. It's yours."

"You're a magic man."

-----

Later, you both sat criss-crossed on the kitchen counter. You spoon fed ice cream into his mouth. He did the same to you. Your nerves frayed, in a good way, just as the cherry cordial melted in your mouth.

He'd clean up the mess of pink ice cream around your lips with his knuckles, you'd kiss them every now and then, distracted by the sweet taste down your mouth.

"You know," You say, smiling and spooning more out of the container. "I feel bad."

"Why's that?"

"We haven't even gone on a date yet."

"You're right," He says, taking the spoon you press to his lips in his mouth, "Where to?"

"I don't like dates, I change my mind." You laugh, tucking your legs to your chest.

"You'll like 'em with me."

You lean over the tub of ice cream and kiss him, milky and sugary.

-----

He cuddled you from behind, chin in the crook of your neck and hair billowing out between the bend of his shoulders. His leg was thrown over you, just like his arm. He held your hand. Held it tight.

You were close to dozing off. It was just before dawn and you were warm, not knowing where you were laying, but it was with him, that's all that mattered.

Then you hear him whispering, tingling your senses back awake.

"You said you kept crying." No. "You know you can," Don't say it. "Talk to me." Fuck you. "Whenever.. I'd like it if you did. I don't know why you don't call me, but you can—"

"You wouldn't understand."

Another cricket chirps.

"I'd try."

And suddenly the shift turned.

"Tell me about your wrist, and I'll tell you everything."

"Okay."

He got up and told you. So you did too. You stayed up just to hear it. To tell it.

-----

It was noon, maybe later, but it felt blaringly hot when you woke up. It was him, behind you, holding you still just how he did when you fell asleep.

You woke up gently, in a furnace of muscle over your dainty, sweet skin. Flashes of dark light come back when you see his arm slung around your chest, the skyline of his side huddling into yours, you remember everything, even in sleep. How he pulled you closer, how you rolled the back of your head against his firm chest, how sweat still managed to creep into the bends of your body, suffocating, inhaling.

Long, sleepy breaths pour onto your ear. He was sleeping. You've never seen him sleep. Never seen him so peaceful, no longer with a clenched jaw, confused or soft or piercing eyes, never felt his heart slow—you felt like a real being beside him, capable of seeing him in tender and vulnerable states, how he saw you. It was just the begining to a new thrill. A new summer.

You could see it, domestic, almost. Dinner and music, colorful and weary—mornings like this. Afternoons. Without sex. Stupid.

You knew you'd be sick of him in a week.

You crawled out from his arm and leg to find the ground, unsure when the last time you had walked was. You look around, everything else coming to thick, auburn colors; you feel stiff as you stand, only wanting to get back in bed with him again, you already feel his absence around you.

You find your shorts and dig through the pockets, then apply lipstick. You were blood sucked, it felt, when you weren't wearing that.

Then, too quickly, you heard the shuffling of sheets behind you. Jean. He was lulled, hazy and unopened yet, and searching around the bed blindly, trying to scoop up what wasn't there beside him.

"Baby," He mumbles, starting to lean up and rub his eyes. "Jesus, where are you,"

You look at him, half formed man in bed. Why was he so handsome? What're you even doing? You crawl back into bed with him, sitting on your knees as he comes to life.

He feels the weight of you near him and his arms, one half asleep, sling around your waist. The sun came in through blinds, you hugged him back, his nerves silently rolled back down his spine once a blanket slid off of him. It was good.

"You're so cute when you're tired." You whisper, letting him nuzzle into your waist.

"You're the cute one." That almost made you sick how sweet it was.

You scratch him behind the ears, like a dog.

"I took the car back after you went to sleep." He says, reminding himself of whatever happened after you slept. He inhaled your scent, it was stronger than the shirt you were wearing, and it was all he wanted to smell.

Oh, you think. You hadn't even thought about the car.

"You must've been tired." You rub his head.

"I was." He kisses your knuckles.

And suddenly, like every sound dropped and shattered on the floor, you hear knocking at the front door.

Despite being in heaven, you can never get a moment’s peace.

You both lean up and turn to his bedroom door, as if the knocking was so loud it was right there, disturbing you.

You didn't want to think about the outside, you didn't want to be there. Knowing that last night was fading away and soon you'd be cleansed and refreshed and no longer clouded minded was horrifying. If you could have one more hour with him before you're looking for a new piece of candy to suck, if you could lighten and pull back summer skies, maybe it'd be alright.

But you were being pushed into it, the outside again. Just by that knock.

But you were cool about it. The curve of your hair, your back twisting away from him, he'd never be able to tell. All you wanted was one more hour in bed before life goes on.

"Fuck, I forgot," He rubs his eyes, "It's my buddy, I forgot he was coming over."

A beat passes of him really coming awake.

"Could you let him in for me? Tell him I'll be out in a minute."

"Of course." You kiss his forehead and he falls off his elbows to his back, spreading out in his bed. You put on underwear and look back one more time; hoping today was the last you'd see him. A few cards and a letter and one long distance call, we drifted away like the leaves in the fall.

You walk through his house, a path you've remembered, feeling like you'll hate yourself for this years to come, but it doesn't matter now.

Your heels spin against the tile, your flimsy and awake, it feels like morning, but it isn't. You look like hell, but he doesn't think so.

"And bring me a beer, baby," He calls out, you laugh and sigh.

How'd that song go, Well, summer lover passed to fall, Tried to realize it all, Mama says she's worried, growing up in a hurry

As you walk towards the door, you feel an awful amount of wet arousal fall down your cunt, staining your underwear and making you shudder at each step.

Your hand curls around the doorknob and you swing it open, not a thought in your mind.

"Hey there."

Look away from the sky. Chase dreams. Chase ghosts. Sacred and scared. You've had enough.

[down4denki]

Ask her, dunceface.

This is my first time writing a one-shot ever so please be brutal and hurt my feelings in the comments so I can get better! I love Denki sm and shy nervous Denki is one of my favorites. I didn't proofread this, it's honestly just stream of consciousness lol

CW: not much? maybe a little cussing, jealousy, a little lusty Denki but that's not new!

Just thinking about a nervous Denki when he finally works up the courage to ask you out. Sure he’s asked out almost every 1st year girl at UA… but this is different. 

*****************

Denki has had a crush on you from the first time he saw your big, bright eyes glance over him when Mr. Aizawa introduced you as Class 1-A’s very own transfer student. He remembered the blush that painted your cheeks as you stated your name, sounding more like a song leaving your pouty pink lips than a real honorific; the way your hands wrung the sleeves of the oversized UA sweater that was definitely out of dress code to wear as large as you did; your too short skirt just peaking out of the hem of the green fleece monstrosity that was swallowing your little frame; the fresh, white Converse sneakers you’d styled perfectly with the ugly uniform- even your hair made these ugly digs seem appealing.

He gulped hard as his eyes raked your body over and over, taking advantage of the few seconds he’d been blessed with to ogle you, free of repercussions. 

**********************

Denki had asked many girls out before (and been turned down most of the time) but he’d never felt nervous like this. He had to work up the courage to ask if you needed a pencil for your test after you’d stared at the “pencil only” note written across the top of the page for 10 minutes, tapping a pen to your lips. 

“Oh… thank you. We were only allowed to use pens at my old school…” You say with a sweet smile, taking the new yellow pencil from his clammy hands. He doesn’t know what to say in the face of such beauty so he just nods and hopes his face doesn’t look too short-circuited right now. He makes a mental note to get that pencil back another day, hoping you’ll forget it’s his and tap it to your lips mindlessly too.

**********************

Denki had asked out so many girls before this, so why was sitting across from you at the lunch table trying to make small talk like an Olympic sport? Kirishima noted the little charm hanging from your bag, “Hey, is that from that one Anime?” You lit up at the question and began spewing about your love of the manga, but you didn’t become a reader until you’d watched this one anime…

“Her character is just so confident and powerful… I couldn’t help but obsess over her!” You giggle and his heart explodes.

He knows that manga… he’d jerked it to the main character a couple of times, hey you kind of look like her… He only says the second part out loud thankfully, which earns him another giggle and a bright smile.

“You think so? I always loved her hair so I tried copying the style…” You beam, running your fingers through your hair and scrunching up your cute little nose. Speaking of noses, is his bleeding? He feels lightheaded but he doesn’t dare take his eyes away from you as you go on and on about the show. “ You’ve only ever read the manga? We should watch the show together, I’ve been wanting to do a rewatch.” You conclude and all he can do is nod stupidly.

***********************

Denki had gotten used to rejection, so why did his entire body sweat profusely and his heart sink at the thought of you turning him down when he asks if you want to be a part of his team for quirk training? Your quirks were compatible, so why not? When you agree, he has a hard time not shocking everyone on the training floor to death. 

**********************

Denki was used to being the crusher and not the crush, so why does his entire world stop turning when Bakugo welcomes you to the training team with open arms and flirty, heavy-lidded eyes? And why does time stand still when you give Bakugo the same sweet smile you’d previously reserved for him?

He didn’t even think to ask Bakugo if adding you to the squad was ok, but when Bakugo lets it slide so easily he feels suspicion creep in. You’d talked to other people, you’d made friends these past few months, so was it wrong for you to have become close with the yappy blonde boy? Was it wrong for that yappy blonde boy to flash smiles reserved for very few people every time you did something cute? Was it wrong for that yappy blonde boy to watch your movements the same way Denki did? 

You bend over, hoisting a human-weight dummy over your shoulder before crossing the obstacle course first and Bakugo’s hand moves to his nose… is it bleeding? Is Denki’s heart this loud to anyone else right now? Is the room turning red? Can anyone else feel how hot his blood is boiling as you turn and smile back at the stupidly handsome, talented, blonde, yappy piece of shit boy ogling you in only the way Denki should? Did he wait too long?

*********************

Denki had asked out so many girls he could probably play the alphabet game with just the rejections he’d gotten his first year at UA alone, so why is he so terrified as he walks next to you down the school hall to your next class like he always does? Because there's a question weighing heavy on his mind. Just ask her, dunceface...

He was not going to let Bakugo beat him to asking you first, even if he was turned down. He was determined to get the words out so when he stops you, hands on your shoulders, sparks coming off his shaking frame, eyes wide and full of nerves, and the question practically falls from his mouth, he’s not expecting much. To his surprise, you don’t laugh, you don’t turn away, you don’t gut punch him and rip his heart out with your manicured nails… you smile sweetly and release a breathy huff like you’d been holding your breath for this exact question for months.

“I would love to be your date to the dance, Denki…” You beam and he has to release your shoulders, for fear of crushing them, or electrocuting you, or crying tears of joy… “I was hoping you’d ask me.”

[vethbrenatto]

A Pikelan aside because TLOVM is starving me of content

Because there should have been more Pikelan content in eps 1-3, I started to reflect on why I love them so much and just sort of had a mind journey about them.

So, like, they’re opposite attract, right? Or they should be. They should be utterly and inherently contradictory and that’s how it looks from the outside. The loud, obnoxious fuckboy and the devout holy woman.

But then, they in themselves are contradictory. The entirety of S1 hammers in this point for Pike- she is a devout holy woman and a whole-hearted believer, but... she’s not a Saint. And she doesn’t want to be. She’s a badass, she’s a monster, she wants to kick ass and fuck shit up. Her best friend is Goliath skull-crusher and one of her biggest wishes is to be like him, which is why she wears the gauntlets. She sleeps in the nude and hell, she’ll fight like that too. She curses and she drinks and she’s not what you think a holy woman should.

And Scanlan is all bravado and performance and showmanship, but it’s so easy to tell that much of that is a confidence mask. The scene with Osysa hammers it in- a man who should be so polarizing- you love him or hate him, his big fear being that no one at all cares about him. They don’t give a damn either way, they’re apathetic. Another contradiction of a larger than life personality who should so easily garner opinion, being scared that no one has any feelings towards him at all. Probably a more common trope than Pike’s, he’s a fuckboy with feelings. He’s not who he appears to be at surface-value. His comedy is a cover-up for the depth of his emotions.

So, yeah, they are at surface value a promiscuous playboy and divine darling, but they’re not really that, are they? Or they’re not just that. They’re so much deeper than that individually and that’s part of what makes them so great together. I think they’re some of the only people who understand each other in that way. Scanlan is one of the first (other than Grog, who just gets Pike) to really praise Pike for not being a sweet little cherub but an intense fighter and Pike is one of the first to really comprehend that there’s depth behind Scanlan’s mask.

I think these quotes from the finale really encapsulate them:

“I know your life, what you like to do and I'll give you freedom.” “No, I think the most free I've ever been is with you.”

[opinions-about-tiaras]

Star Trek: Strange New Worlds is back for a second season after an EXTREMELY strong freshman outing, and I’d like to talk a bit about an opportunity this show has, if not this season than at some point, to right some previous wrongs.

I’m speaking specifically of those done to Jolene Blalock, and to her character, T’Pol. Let’s dive in, under the cut! This’ll be a long one.

All of the classic 20th century Trek series (TOS through to the end of ENT) had a female actress and character they did not do especially right by either on or off screen. TOS had Grace Lee Whitney’s Yeoman Rand, and Roddenberry did... not always treat Nichelle Nichols appropriately. (Roddenberry had real problems with women at times.)

TNG had Marina Sirtis’ Deanna Troi, forced to constantly parade around in that cleavage-showing onesie and regularly being written into really gross and weird situations. It also had Gates McFadden’s Beverly Crusher; the show just very clearly had no fuckin’ clue what to do with an actress of McFadden’s caliber, and while she had some incredibly episodes (Remember Me is one of the best of the series) she was grossly underutilized.

DS9 fares the best here; Terry Farrell’s Jadzia Dax was generally given a lot to work with on-screen and her character was treated with respect and dignity. Off-screen, however, she was basically harassed into quitting the show by Rick Berman. (She spoke out in detail about this for the first time very extensively in the 2018 DS9 documentary What We Left Behind.)

VOY never knew what the fuck to do with Jennifer Lien’s Kes, and it must have been extraordinarily humiliating for her to be fired to free up money for Jeri Ryan’s Seven of Nine. Seven, of course, became a colossal fan favorite and ended up having some dynamite scripts and episodes, holding up a LOT of the back half of VOY... but we can’t pretend or ignore that she wasn’t brought onto the show because they wanted a hot piece of ass to pour into those awful shiny skintight uniforms. Or that she wasn’t given some weird and gross materiel to try and make work.

And then we come to ENT, and Jolene Blalock’s T’Pol.

Blalock had a thankless task. She was the best part of ENT, hands down, carrying that show on her back through four seasons. For this, she was constantly put in very tight, revealing outfits while the rest of the cast got to wear, you know, uniforms, and T’Pol was often written as either a ball-breaking bitch there to be shown up by the much more clever and emotional humans, or as nearly on the verge of an explosive meltdown herself. She had a whole plotline devoted to her addiction to space cocaine.

The absolute nadir was probably the time Rick Berman responded to a press question about upcoming episodes saying they had a “fun, sexy T’Pol episode” coming up... and that “fun and sexy episode” was her getting mind-raped by another Vulcan.

(Rick Berman was a piece of shit and the franchise prospered in the 90s in spite of, rather than because of, him.)

This isn’t to say she wasn’t in episodes of worth; ENT managed to right the ship in the third and fourth seasons with the involvement of the Reeves-Stevenses, and even before that she was rather the breakout star in the same way Jeri Ryan had been on VOY before her. (It probably helped that, with respect to the rest of the cast, Blalock was leagues ahead of them as an actor and it showed.) But she wasn’t treated well, and she hasn’t been shy in speaking up about it.

This was all two decades ago, of course. What’s happening now?

Well, Star Trek as a franchise has been making some effort to... sort of apologize. I yield to no man in my utter contempt for Star Trek: Picard; I consider it a creative failure on almost every level, yes, even Season 3. But something it resolutely did RIGHT is to revisit the franchises female characters and try and make amends for past wrongs. Seven of Nine was allowed to grow into this complex, weary, mature woman, a proper leading character, treated with respect by the narrative she was in. Ditto Deanna Troi. Beverly Crusher... okay, it’s kind of weaksauce to have the doctor man the weapons console and blow some ships the hell up and quip about it as a way of demonstrating “Doctor Crusher was cool then and she is cool now, dammit” but their hearts were in the right place even if their writerly talents weren’t up to the job.

Which brings us all the way back around to Strange New Worlds, and the opportunity this affords narratively.

A major ongoing theme of SNW is Ethan Peck’s Spock trying to find his feet within both Starfleet and within Vulcan society as he grapples with his mixed heritage. This has been a theme of the character since Leonard Nimoy’s day, of course, but Strange New Worlds is finding new ground to break; Nimoy’s Spock was more mature, more seasoned, largely understanding himself and possessed of a strong, inner self-confidence and unflappability. SNW is showing him BECOMING that man we saw in TOS. Spock always engaged with Kirk as an equal, even if Kirk technically outranked him, but he clearly engages with Chris Pike as a MENTOR, which is a wonderfully different dynamic.

You know who slots directly into this narrative space, these narrative themes? Motherfucking T’Pol, that’s who.

You cannot tell me that T’Pol would not have a burning, intense interest in the first product of a mixed human/Vulcan marriage. Spock is the shadow of what might-have-been for her and Trip Tucker; where their own mixed child, conceived in secrecy and violence as a weapon, did not survive, Spock lives and thrives.

T’Pol was an unwelcome, burdensome addition to the NX-01 Enterprise, needing to constantly claw and scratch to earn the respect, trust, and confidence of her peers, distrusted by the human authorities and regarded as a suspect borderline failure by her own government. Spock is a beloved member of the NCC-1701 Enterprises family almost from day one, the first Vulcan to go through the Academy, the first of his people to be “proper” Starfleet... and a huge part of the reason he’s able to be that is the work T’Pol put in when in the UEG Starfleet, and the colossal lift she preformed in reforming Vulcan society. The High Command in her day would not have countenanced Sarek and Amanda’s marriage, and would never have admitted Spock to the Academy.

Spock exists because of T’Pol.

T’Pol would know this. SPOCK would know this. There’s no way he has not read, extensively, of the Vulcan first officer of the NX-01 Enterprise. T’Pol, in turn, would have maintained an appropriately Vulcan interest in Spock’s career, his successes and failures. As an elder, respected Vulcan, she would likely have nudged it along to the extent she was capable. She would have mentored.

This all creates a ton of narrative space for T’Pol to appear on SNW, to have some really dynamite interactions with Spock and T’Pring, and more importantly for her to get the same “uplift” that Seven of Nine, Troi, and Crusher got in Picard, just... hopefully with a lot better writing behind it.

Maybe the writers aren’t interested in going in this direction. Maybe Blalock has zero interest in returning to the franchise. But dammit, this possibility should be explored and explored aggressively. It’s a golden opportunity to salvage some of the best parts of ENT, which was, yes, a very bad Star Trek show but had some things of worth in it, and to do right by another woman, and another character, the franchise wronged.

[melonsap]

Tears of the Kingdom: The Final Analysis

Part 6

Part 5 here

Link flies through the air on his stone Loftwing.

And what is that? I'm tempted to say it's like the weird circle things down on the surface, but it looks way too smooth. It contrasts the other isles so starkly, though, so it must be something important.

We get a full view of the isles above the southern part of the map. Among the interesting ones are:

This flower-shaped island

This one, with a pond

This shiny stone monument

A lighthouse

And this massive one I'm going to call the City in the Sky.

Then below it we have two malice craters and a glowing tower.

Another glyph towards the bottom looks a lot rounder than they usually are.

Then Link's on one of the islands, facing down two Zonai Construct soldiers.

First off, they've got rusty gear. So it's very likely that Zonai weapons are going to be added to the Rock Octorok cleaning loot table.

And that is a seagull.

So we're near the either the Necluda or Akkala shore.

Link here has fused a Royal Claymore to a Royal Shield, weapons that are typically late game. Unless this is also late game, either they've been nerfed, or they're relatively easy to get early.

Also, shield on a sword lets you parry with a strike. Fun!

Next, Link glides over this floating orb, which looks to be the gatchapon machine from the outside.

The entryway hole has the same kind of greebling along its edge.

In the background of this shot, we can see the Rist Peninsula in the corner.

So the orb is somewhere in this area, northwest of Zora's Domain:

Then you've got all these weird pillar things.

Are they the weird towers from earlier, but taller? Is it something reaching up towards the sky? Whatever it is, it looks fragile and almost liquid-y to me.

Next, Link fights this fireball thing while wearing Flamebreaker stuff.

First, his weapon. Here's a better view of it a few frames later.

The main piece looks like a Cobble Crusher weapon, just without the detailing, and the "pick" of it is the moblin horn that we saw briefly in the battle for Hateno.

Also, in the background of this clip, we've got two baby Gorons watching near the entrance:

So it's very likely that fireball fight is some kind of voluntary challenge against a fired-up Goron.

Though it's worth noting that the room is full of weird splotches in malice red. The Goron could be corrupted, or be trying to fight Link to see who can take on whatever monster is deeper into the cavern.

I've hit image limit again. I'll be back with a link to part 7!

Edit: Part 8!

[maliwart]

An early birthday present for @janetfraiser 💕💕💕 if you don’t already ship Beverly Crusher and Kathryn Janeway this is your sign

[image ID: A digital painting of Beverly Crusher and Kathryn Janeway from Star Trek. They are shown from the shoulders up with an orange and purple pastel background. Beverly is leaning in for a kiss, her head tilted down. She has the hint of a smile on her lips. Kathryn is leaning up, her head tilted back. Her eyes are mostly shut, but she is gazing at Beverly. Her lips are slightly parted. Kathryn is wearing a star fleet gray tank top and Beverly is in her teal coat. The lighting of the piece is soft and warm. End ID]

[butterpony100]

Ok I have just reached the episode “queen banana” and I’m here to rant about the atrocities that are Chloe Bourgeois “character arcs” cause she deserves better, and how my personal take would go (this is just mostly me ranting and rewriting this dumpster fire to sooth my anger at the writers cause chloe deserved better

The first few seasons has many episodes showing that Chloe was a bully, but also someone with layers. Someone who was raised with no expectations about how she needed to act or who she needed to be with others. As the episodes went on, we were showed how she came to realize that not everything could be handed to her, no matter her schemes to get what she wanted. She was learning that sometimes she needed to give in order to get.

And then- she just regressed to who she was before?? No- she was actually made worse than she was previously.

Now I will not be blaming characters like Zoe for this change, despite her rushed introduction, she has no part in this. The only ones we can hold responsible are the writers who, despite months and even years of planning, apparently had this atrocious character assassination planned from even as far back as “queen wasp”.

So instead I’m changing that cause that’s bs

In season three, Chloe is forced to accept that she messed up her chance to be queen bee, but it’s still a hard pill to swallow. Instead of obsessing over getting it back like in the show, she puts in renewed effort to her personality change (with mixed results). We’d have Zoe introduced in the season 3 finale of miracle queen instead. Chloe would see her half sister, effortlessly kind and considerate, and able to make friends with ease, become frustrated. In those around her and herself. The catalyst to her becoming queen bee would be that she wanted to prove she was “worthy”. Worthy of what? Not eve she is really knows. All she knows is that she’s of no use to any one around her. The rest of the finale kinda goes the same but with a different version of Chloe when deakumatized. She would be drained and upset, mostly at herself, and instead choose to silently go home after returning the bee miraculous when the dust settles. When she gets home, she and Zoe talk. About how Chloe isn’t used to meeting expectations and how Zoe herself has always been forced to meet them. Both begin to teach eachother the benefits of both reaching expectations and letting go of others opinions. We cut Sole Crusher from season 4 completely and have a desperate plot of Zoe getting akumatized to be given a charm by lady bug. Banana queen would change that Chloe, rather than wanting to kick Zoe out of the movie, just wants to be in the movie. The movie has been in production by the class for months and Chloe’s initial reaction left most of them iffy about her joining (she said the same thing that they recounted in the episode) and she would say “well yeah I said that but I didn’t mean it.” And the whole class would be like “ehhhh…” Zoe and Adrien would eventually convince the class to give Chloe a chance. Of course, once the production is underway, Chloe’s old personality slowly resurfaced and similar events from the og episode occur. In the end they go through with their original script like in the episode, and Chloe gets pretty mad, mostly hurt and upset. Later, adrien mentions the promise they made and how he wasn’t sure they could be friend anymore. Chloe would be more visibly upset by his words and, while still dismissing him, would be mush more distraught by the time shadow moth contacts her. Zoe still becomes the new holder of the bee miraculous, but I imagine at some point in the future of this au, Chloe will be able to wear a new miraculous and be given a second chance, just as soon as she finishes her own journey of learning who she is.

Im thinking of calling this au “Sour to Sweet”, and basically reworking Chloe from the ground up with the crumbs of character development the show actually gave us. I’ve also fallen in love with Zoe despite only having her for two episodes, so she’ll probably play a big part as well.

If you have any ideas, feel free to share!

[dawnagustd]

danger || jhs

Part of the Jack N’ Jill Series: Encore | Danger! | Party Time

⇢ Drabbles: Kink Hours Drabble

⇢ title: danger! ⇢ pairing: hoseok x female reader ⇢ genre: smut | friends with benefits | bad boy!hoseok | brat!reader | crime au | set in the early 2000s | lead rapper!hoseok | drummer!reader ⇢ summary: After a show, you and Hoseok go for a joy ride…in a stolen car? ⇢ rating: R/18+ ⇢ word count: 1.8k ⇢ warnings: arson(this is a theme here) | strong language | criminal activity | mentions reckless driving | grand theft auto | corruption | evading arrest |  that damn camera makes an appearance | violence | guns and weapons | arrests | hand jobs | accidental voyeurism | pet names | exhibitionism at its finest | public sex | spitting/spit play I guess | dom!hoseok but the brat just won’t listen | cum play but not the kinky kind (something awful happens but this is fiction). As mentioned this is fiction and is probably not at all possible, do not try any of this at home. ⇢ a/n: Hi! So, this was obviously inspired by the Arson concept photos. It is edited a little bit lol. This part is before they became zombies? So if you haven’t read Party Time, you can read this first. Or not? All parts can be read a stand alones. ⇢ playlist: danger(been so long) by mystikal ft nivea | never scared by bone crusher | just the damn teaser for Arson honestly lol

“That was fucking insane!”

Adrenaline pumps through your veins as your shaky legs climb out of some stranger’s totaled Lexus. Everything was going fine until you hit that curb and lost control. The car went flying right into the steps of City Hall. Yet, you were still giggling over the fact that you let Hoseok talk you into stealing the vehicle anyway.

It didn’t take much persuading, but you’d like to think you wouldn’t have done it had he not been in your ear telling you how hot you’d look behind the wheel. And of course, he was in the passenger seat, capturing every moment on his camera. He doesn’t go anywhere without that thing; you’ve grown used to seeing it as much as you see him.

As you look around and inspect the scene, Hoseok comes up behind you, whistling as he takes in the sight as well.

“Well, this is bad,” he points out.

You look over your shoulder for answers, and all he does is smirk.

“So, what are we going to do? We can’t bring it back like this, can we?”

A bit of worry runs through your mind but not enough to put you on edge. Luckily, Hoseok has a solution for everything. 

“Baby, this car wouldn’t make it down the street. Surely, not across town,” he sighs. “But… I think I know how we can cover our asses.”

“Really?” You perk up after hearing that kind of news. You probably can get away with a little mischief, but a criminal record would get you kicked right out of college and your parents would not be happy.

Hoseok throws his arm over your shoulder and winks. 

“Yup. Watch this…”

“Come on, one more. Please?”

You snap off guard pictures of Hoseok peering into the busted window, trying to get his attention. 

“No,” he replies and continues to clean up the scene.

His idea of “taking care” of it meant causing an explosion that woke the entire downtown area. 

Hoseok circles the burning car swiftly, scanning the area for any evidence that may have been left behind. “Not this time, babe. We really gotta go.”

Stomping your feet, you beg him to take another picture.

“But you look hot,” you pout and he gives you a look. The look.

“I do?” he asks.

“Yeah, you do.” Your finger twirls your hair while you stare at him, biting your lip absentmindedly.

He smirks, and then turns to look at the rising flames. You realize instantly that he’s posing and you start snapping more pictures of him from different angles.

“White looks good on you,” you mention. 

Hoseok walks toward you with a small smile and wraps his arm around your waist. “It looks good on you too, babe.”

“But I’m not wearing white,” you say to him while looking down at yourself.

“You will be when I’m done with—“

“Put your fucking hands up!”

Out of nowhere a cop pulls up and flashes his lights. The two of you separate immediately and raise your hands so he can see them. It’s too late to run because his gun is already drawn.

You’re fucked. So fucked, but still you can only think about how good Hoseok looks when he’s pissed off. However, the officer’s voice pulls you away from your ogling and brings you back to reality.

“I can’t wait to tell your father who I caught you parading around town with. He’s going to lose his shit,” the officer laughs.

Those are the last words you hear before you’re handcuffed and thrown in the back of his police car, Hoseok right by your side.

You twist and groan in the cramped space, annoying Hoseok more and more the longer you sit there. His head rests against the glass. He appears to be calm but he’s been bouncing his left leg and sighing heavily for the past few minutes.

Eventually, he can’t take it anymore.

“Can you stop it?”

“No,” you whine. “These are too tight.” 

Hoseok throws his head back and kicks the divider. “Hey, dude. She says her cuffs are too tight, would it kill you to—”

“Shut up, Jung. We’re almost at the station,” the officer informs.

But you aren’t. 

You haven’t even left the crime scene. The guy’s too busy taking pictures of himself with Hoseok’s camera, so he can show your parents. He can’t wait to go around bragging about how he bagged two arrests at the same time; more importantly, someone that no one would ever expect.

“Dumb ass,” Hoseok mutters, and you start giggling.

Unbeknownst to both men, your cuffs aren’t bothering you at all. You only needed the car to be noisy so that no one could hear the click of your handcuffs snapping open. You’ve freed yourself using nothing but a hairpin that was tucked in your back pocket. You look over at Hoseok, who’s still clueless, and call his name.

“What now?” he answers rudely. “He said no, there’s nothing I can do.”

You ignore his bickering and proceed with the question you wanted to ask him anyway.

“You wanna see a magic trick?”

He looks at you with sharp eyes. “I don’t want to hear another word from you. We’re already fucked, and you of all people should be worried.”

“Fine,” you huff, folding your arms in front of you. The police officer is busy on his phone, asking his wife about dinner and not even paying attention to what’s happening behind him.

Hoseok sighs, annoyed by your behavior. He turns away from you, however, he quickly does a double take when he realizes you aren’t restrained.

He almost chokes on his saliva. “How–What the fuck?”

You place your finger on your lip and nod towards the cop in the front seat. Hoseok settles down and that’s when you secretly slide him the hairpin so he can free himself as well.

“Just do it for me,” he whispers sharply, but you shake your head.

“I’m busy.” 

Hoseok's mouth falls open, confused and wondering about what it is you’re doing.

“You better hurry up because once I’m done I’m out of here,” you tell him.

“So, you’ll just leave me?”

You reach inside of his white jumpsuit, feeling around until you’re able to slip your hand under his boxers. His face starts turning red but his state of shock won’t allow him to utter a word.

“I will if you don’t pull yourself together,” you promise.

“Fuck. Okay, fine,” he breathes once you gently pull out his cock.

You remove your hand for only a second to run your tongue up your palm, using your spit for some lubrication. When it returns to his shaft, he sighs and throws back his head.

The cop is still oblivious, so you face forward and place your right hand behind you. It’s still in the handcuff; you don’t want the sound to draw any attention to you just yet.

Hoseok begins to moan, but you remind him that he has to be quiet.

“You gotta slow down. I’m close and I’m still not out of these things,” he argues.

“That’s not my problem. We don’t have a lot of time. When that asshole finishes his phone call, we’re going straight to jail,” you say as quietly as possible.

Hoseok squirms and bucks into your hand once your fist starts to pump him vigorously. He tries to focus on his task and not to make any noise but he’s failing at both. You shush him repeatedly, however, he just can’t control himself.

“I almost got it, but…”

“But what, Hoseok?”

He chuckles softly. “I need your mouth. I’m gonna come.”

You smirk.

“Not tonight, baby boy.”

Hoseok isn’t happy with your defiance, of course, and scolds you even while he’s on the verge of tears, his orgasm threatening to wash over him at any moment. It’s a sin how good he looks. Sweaty hair, face flushed, and lips tucked between his teeth. You can hear his nails clawing at the seat as you administer the accurate amount of pressure to his pulsing cock. 

The skin feels soft and velvety in your palm and you’d love to lean down and have a taste of him. Unfortunately, tonight calls for a different method of disposal. 

“Fuck!”

Hoseok curses when his load shoots out into your palm. His body tenses as the pleasure takes him over, but thankfully you hear the lock click just as the officer looks behind him and catches you in the act.

“You heathens!” the man growls, hopping out of the front seat. “Nothing better be inside my car or I swear!”

“When the door opens, grab your camera and run, babe,” you tell Hoseok. 

He doesn’t respond but you figure he’s too caught up in lust to say anything. Hopefully, he has enough energy to bail because you for sure are going to get the fuck out of here.

The officer opens the door and you greet him with some well-deserved formalities. “Hi, bitch.”

“You little whor—”

Before he can finish his sentence, you slap a handful of Hoseok’s seed in his face and he turns away quickly. He wails and tries to wipe the substance off but it’s too much to get rid of with just his bare hands.

You take the opportunity to climb out, making sure Hoseok’s right behind you. While he’s retrieving his camera, you kick the embarrassed police officer in the balls for good measure and he crumbles to the ground to your satisfaction.

“Leave the pictures he took, Hoseok.”

“Why?” he asks, confused.

“Trust me,” you assure, thinking about all of the pictures the cop took of himself smiling with you giving a hand job in the backseat of his car. The idiot didn’t even think to look at the photos once they were spat out, but that’s what he gets for being a dumbass.

After Hoseok has covered your tracks, aside from the “scandalous” pictures with Mr. Officer, you both run off into the night still wearing your cuffs on one wrist but cackling like nothing could bring you down.

“That was so hot,” he tells you once you’re hiding in the old asylum’s dark lobby.

You shrug your shoulders. “That was nothing.”

You share more laughs and when it dies down he looks at you with hazy eyes.

“I still haven’t seen you in white yet,” he mentions.

“Oh. Well, is it too late?”

Hoseok shakes his head. 

“Not at all, babe.”

The incident downtown was never reported and the people who took that guy’s car have never been identified. No one went to jail that night, but trust, those handcuffs were put to good use.

[johnheine]

A Detailed Guide on Choosing Metal Casting Foundry Shop

When choosing a foundry shop in Sydney, Australia, one of the most important considerations to keep in mind is the supplier’s qualification. Meeting supplier’s qualifications are essential in purchasing process; otherwise, it could cause serious quality issues. Before committing to the supplier, an informed customer must check his qualification to avoid wasting business time and money in the long run.

Finding the right metal casting shop in Australia requires careful consideration. Here are the essential points that should be kept in mind while choosing the right foundry shop.

Work Experience

When looking for the best foundry shop in Australia, determine if metal suppliers have enough experience to handle the project effectively and deliver it in the required time. Working with an experienced supplier has many benefits — He can truly understand the products, applications, and pain points. Along with this, he can easily anticipate and predict potential problems in advance. Choosing a trusted and experienced provider is imperative, especially for defence, nuclear and other high compliance sectors, to avoid the slightest error.

Diversity in Process

Usually, a company deals with several types of products that require various designs, applications and sizes, which means that the best casting process for each product is distinct.

However, customers often get fooled by suppliers as they try to sell only one type of casting process, which is not worthy. For instance, a supplier that usually deals with the investment casting process may try to sell it by justifying why it is best. What if another process will be more suitable for the customer?

Therefore, it is recommended to look for a metal supplier that offers a range of casting processes, including sand casting, investment casting, low-pressure casting and more.

Metal Quality and Price

While buying a product, a customer must keenly observe the metal’s quality, service, and price. Different foundry shops have different price structures, be sure to keep the price structure in mind. It is a common myth that lower prices indicate bad quality, whereas higher prices assure good quality. It is not entirely true. The price structure often depends upon the process involved in forming a product or the provider itself decides it. So, before paying the amount for the product, check its quality first.

Additional Services

Last but not the least, check whether the foundry shop offer additional services that could be helpful in future. Many foundries offer their in-house professionals assistance, they can assist in design and material selection and provide valuable recommendations.

Conclusion

There are many foundries out there, which provides excellent services. That is the reason, the process for choosing the right foundry for specific application needs special consideration. Follow the above points and determine whether the prospective supplier meet business expectations and be sure to avoid costly mistakes by selecting the wrong partner.

About John Heine

It is a leading premium foundry shop in Sydney, Australia. It has managed to rank at the top position for providing exceptional metal casting products, including railway components, crusher wear parts, engineering parts and much more.

Need high-quality, hard-wearing components in Australia, Contact John-Heine today.

[ril-sillyart1st]

Human BTMM design (part 1)

I don't like some of the human designs of them that I have seen from Google & Tumblr which I'll make my own. So first of is Crusher!

So Crusher is a trans man (ftm) who got injured almost a lot of times by now. (Getting hit by lightning, getting his right hand and his left leg cut off, some scars, etc..)

He's cheaty bag is still there. It's hidden in his leather jacket. (His cheaty bag is a belt bag)

Other stuff:

Yes:

Use my version as long as you credit me. (Ex: design by *my username*)

Genderbend (as long as you still make him trans)

NO!:

NSFW! (This is a kids show not an adult show!)

Whitewash or make my design skinny.

Also bonus drawing of Crusher wearing a Pear custom.

[smoresthehalloweenqueen]

Gayle Fiesta the Toppat Clans finest Dungeon Master and Best Getaway Driver

This is how Gayle dresses up when they aren't busy cleaning up around the airship. They even wear this outfit on heists, it's comfy plus they look fabulous! Gayle usually doesn't go talking to many people on the airship aside from Jinx, Morgana, Brutus, Jay, Salem, Aria, Ulle, Danny and Crusher. They are very energetic and outgoing but only let that energy out around their close friends who happily listen to them info dump and ramble for hours.

Gayle tends to stick to simple tasks around the airship but mostly things involving reorganizing, cleaning and surprisingly numbers/math.

As far as powers go, Gayle can use their dice as weapons. Each is a different weapon, the four-sided die becomes four knives.

The six-sided die when thrown can contain up to six people within it (Gayle calls it Cube Prison).

The eight-sided becomes a bow and arrows.

The twelve-sided is a mace, the nine-sided is a rocket launcher and the percentile die aka D100 is a machine gun.

Lastly is the 20 sided die, it casts random spells based on the different numbers it lands on so it's anybody's guess what the fuck will happen when Gayle yeets that bitch.

But the best part is that if Gayle were to combine their dice, they'd make up a kick ass sword named "Natural Killer". A reference to getting a Natural 20 roll. Depending on the result of the dice in the hilt it will do fire/ice/poison/electric/corrosion damage. It is randomized and NOBODY will ever like that. Gayle always hopes to the dice gods that it won't do something crazy..but it does anyway!

Thought I'd share a little doodle of them and what their dice are capable of, yes, I WEAPONIZED their dice set. With @justpainterrobot's help I have given Gayle magical dice that not many Toppat clan members have seen them use since Gayle is usually a getaway driver for heists.

Expect a full body reference/drawing sometime soon along with some backstory/info!

Also @jaytoons7 and @capturecharlesau I mentioned your sillies in here teehee! :]

[grailfinders]

Grailfinders #323: Sei Shonagon (Berserker)

ngl it’s a little embarrassing to still have summer servants to build when the event’s already over, but tbh the party don’t stop until Sei Shonagon says so! with her new Berserker class, Sei is even less likely to listen to anyone else, but she’s still suspiciously close to her original form- she’s still a Bard, but this time she’s graduating from the college of Swords to shoot lasers out of a giant hammer. speaking of, her fighter side upgraded to Totem Warrior Barbarian this time to grab a skateboard and get some serious zerker strength.

check out her build breakdown below the cut, or her character sheet over here!

next up: molay oh oh, we come molay!

Ancestry & Background

Sei’s still a Human, though we’re dropping her mark in favor of just making her a variant human. that means she gets +1 Strength and Charisma, as well as proficiency in Acrobatics for cool skateboard tricks, and the Crusher feat to give her another point in Strength and to power up her hammer time. now you can knock a creature up to one size larger 5 feet away once a turn, and if you score a critical hit on a creature while dealing bludgeoning damage you give everyone advantage to hit them for a round.

we’re also slightly changing your background for more of a punk feel. I know we normally don’t do this, but you’re definitely not paying regular dues to anyone atm, so instead we’ll make you an Urchin variant, giving you Sleight of Hand and Performance proficiency for extra-skilled graffiti. though tbh the main reason I wanted this background was to pick up the urchin’s feature, City Secrets, halving the travel speed between any two parts of a city for the most liver-crushing bar crawls blackbeard’s ever seen!

Ability Scores

Sei’s still just as much a force of nature as before, so her highest score should still be Charisma. that being said, madness enhancement really helps your lift, so Strength should be second highest.  Dexterity is next to keep you from wiping out. that means our Constitution is a little lower than I’d like, so Blackbeard might outdrink you yet. of course, Intelligence is low, and Wisdom is lowest. I’m pretty sure I’ve said this every berserker, but madness enhancement is one hell of a drug.

Class Levels

1. Barbarian 1: normally I’d get the bard levels done first since Sei was already an artist, but we kind of need the barbarian’s extra HP and AC to survive the first few levels in a bikini. thankfully, barbarians come fully equipped with Unarmored Defense to add your constitution to your armor class, and you can even use a shield and keep your AC up! (if you can skate on a shield, can you use a skateboard as a shield? scientists demand answers.)

you can also Rage as a bonus action, both to give yourself resistance to incoming physical damage, get advantage on strength checks and saves, and you deal extra damage with melee strength-based weapons, as long as you don’t wear heavy armor. rage lasts a minute (or until you run out of stuff to hit), and you won’t be able to cast or concentrate on spells for the duration. right now, that’s not a problem.

one last thing, you now have proficiency with Strength and Constitution saves, as well as Athletics and Perception checks. maybe now you can beat blackbeard in a drinking contest.

2. Barbarian 2: second level barbarians go a little wild thanks to their Reckless Attacks. you get advantage on all your attacks for a turn, at the cost of everyone else getting advantage on their attacks against you for the rest of the round. in turn, you get a Danger Sense, giving you advantage on dexterity saves you can see coming. having a skateboard is kind of like having haste. or it will be eventually. for now, being able to skate around fireballs is nice.

3. Barbarian 3: at third level we finally get our barbarian subclass! I’ll be honest this was a difficult choice. at first I thought about going with a zealot or beast barbarian to get some of Sei’s supposed psychological effects from her NP, but she doesn’t have a god backing her, nor does she bite people. (as far as I know. tbh I wouldn’t be surprised.) in the end, I saved all the mental mumbojumbo for the bard, and we’re going with Totem Warrior for some berserk powerplays and more skateboard.

at the start, all totem warriors are Spirit Seekers, letting you cast Beast Sense and Speak with Animals as rituals. it’s nice, but most people don’t use rituals that often thanks to the time constraints. the big draw this level is your Totem Spirit, an animal that gives you special powers when you rage. the most popular pick is of course the bear since it gives you resistance to all damage, but Sei’s not super tough! instead, we’re grabbing the Eagle totem to give everyone disadvantage on opportunity attacks and the ability to dash as a bonus action each turn while raging.

you’ve also been camping enough to get some Primal Knowledge, giving you proficiency with Survival checks.

4. Barbarian 4: use your first Ability Score Improvement to bump up your Constitution to improve your AC and your HP. it’s a retroactive boost, so you get four extra points of HP now!

5. Bard 1: okay, we’ve got some baseline not dying set up, let’s get artistic. bouncing over to bard nets you proficiency with Arcana, since you have to get your hammer from the servantverse, and that means you have to know what the servantverse is. you also learn Bardic Inspiration, giving you the ability to give a d6 to an ally as a bonus action. they can then use it to add a d6 to an attack, check, or saving throw made in the next in-game minute. or more likely they’ll forget about it almost immediately. kind of disappointing, but we have a much more fun way to use inspiration later. for now; Spells!

you cast these using your charisma, first off, and you can cast cantrips like Friends (Sei can power her way through a minute of conversation pretty easy) and Prestidigitation (you can use it to “soil” things, so that might count as putting paint on stuff), but for higher tier stuff you’ll need spell slots. right now your spells are Color Spray (blindness isn’t really Sei’s thing, but spraying paint in someone’s eyes will keep them from seeing), Bane (the psychological things her NP is supposed to do), Longstrider (more skating! MORE!) and Heroism to buff up the party with memories of all the summer fun they had together.

6. Bard 2: second level bards are Jacks of All Trades, adding half your proficiency bonus to checks you wouldn’t normally add it to. you’re pretty flexible, all things considered. you also learn a Song of Rest to add to your party’s healing over short rests. if they ever use their healing on short rests.

you can also use Silent Image to tag walls for up to 10 minutes in up to a 15’ cube of space. you can even move it if you really want to, but paint doesn’t usually do that.

7. Bard 3: at third level we get our bardic college, and as a Swords bard you can cast spells through your weapons, so a hammer laser is looking pretty possible. less importantly, you get a Fighting Style, either Dueling for +2 to one-handed attacks, or Two-weapon to add your strength or dexterity to your off-hand attack damage. neither one matters to a girl wielding a giant hammer, so it’s up to you!

the real benefit this level is your new Blade Flourishes. whenever you attack, you can add 10’ of movement to your walking speed that turn, and you can spend one inspiration die per turn on a hit to add a flourish to your attack. all three options deal the inspiration die in extra damage, but a defensive flourish also adds it to your AC, a slashing flourish lets you spin around and hit everyone near you, and a mobile flourish lets you knock a creature back even further than you already could and spend your reaction to follow them.

you also get Expertise in two skills for double proficiency, so boost your Performance and Acrobatics to go full Jet Set Radio on someone’s walls. or Bomb Rush Cyberfunk, if you’re hip.

also, you can Enhance Ability now for advantage on one kind of ability check- Strength also doubles your carrying capacity, while Dexterity prevents you from getting hurt if you wipe out, and Constitution gives you some temporary HP instead to cushion the fall.

8. Bard 4: use your next ASI to bump up your Strength for harder hammer slammers. it’s not complicated, but neither is a big hammer.

slightly more complicated are your new spells- Minor Illusion is a free can of spray paint- it only fills a 5’ cube, but it’s concentration free! that’s nice, since if you want to stay one step ahead of the city guards you might be concentrating on something like Kinetic Jaunt instead. it increases your speed by another 10’, prevents any opportunity attacks, and you can move through people without slowing down- perfect for weaving your way through a crowded room!

9. Bard 5: the fifth level is always huge for bards, since your inspiration grows to a d8, and your Font of Inspiration means you recharge uses on short rests instead of long ones!

you can also learn third level spells like Fast Friends, forcing a wisdom save on a nearby creature that if they fail they’re charmed and have to do what you way. you’re not the kind to abuse this sort of thing, usually just dragging people on sidequests and such, but if you did try to make someone do something bad or dangerous, they’d get another chance at that wisdom save.

10. Bard 6: sixth level bards get some kind of countercharm thing? but who cares we’ve got an Extra Attack now! that’s a second attack every attack action!

you can also Bestow Curses on people now, mostly to give your NP a more personalized feel. if the target fails their wisdom save, they can be cursed in any number of ways (reflavoured to fit overwhelming emotions, of course). with this, you can waste their turns, make them take extra damage, or do all sorts of fun stuff as long as the DM thinks a third level spell slot is worth what you’re asking for.

11. Bard 7: seventh level bards get fourth level spells like Freedom of Movement! this makes you or another creature immune to difficult terrain and effects that slow, restrain, or paralyze you. you can also escape from any non-magical restraints using only five feet of movement! being underwater also won’t slow you down any, which is the closest we get to a swim speed this build.

12. Bard 8: us your last bardic ASI to bump up your Charisma for stronger spells and more flourishes. speaking of spells, you tend to sow Confusion wherever you go, and now you have a spell that does just that. every creature in a 10’ radius of the spell needs to make a wisdom save or they’re confused for up to a minute, making their behavior a little random. they have a 10% chance to walk in a random direction, a 50% chance to do nothing, a 20% chance to hit anyone around them, or a 20% chance to act as normal. your rebellious attitudes are even affecting the enemies now! they don’t want to do what the DM tells them!

13. Bard 9: ninth level bards have a bigger song of rest, but they also get fifth level spells. Synaptic Static is the closest translation you can get of your NP, only missing out on being single-target. you blast a 20’ radius sphere, forcing an intelligence save on everything inside. f they fail, they take psychic damage, and have muddled thoughts for 1 minute or until they make another save, taking a penalty to all attacks, checks, and concentration saves. it’s hard to think when you’ve got every “song of the summer” playing in your skull at once.

14. Bard 10: tenth level bards can use a d10 for their inspiration and flourishes, plus they have another round of Expertise doubling up their Survival and Sleight of Hand checks. you can use a walkie talkie to send Messages to nearby allies, but the last and best magic we’re getting are some Magical Secrets, spells from any class- if we have the slots to cast it, it’s ours for the taking.

first up we’re grabbing Creation for our biggest and best tagging system yet. with this, you can spend a minute to create your own spray cans- you can make a lot of dyes out of berries, and we don’t need these cans to last too long, so you can now run around with real cans of spray paint that last a full day and tag whatever you want. or if your DM is a stickler and requires metal cans, they’ll last an hour. (you could technically just make the paint right on the wall, but then you’re limited to only a 5’ space unless your DM’s cool and accepts the argument that it can be rolled up into a 5’ cube.)

you can also use this to make literally whatever you want, but we’re here for paint.

oh right, we’re also here because of one other magical secret! sometimes, making a character after the story’s out helps you figure out what you want to do with them. sometimes you think you know what you want to do with them already, and then they go off on a random sidequest and whack-a-mole a monster back to its home dimension, and now you have to mess around with your build again just to shove Banishing Smite in there and give them a way to do that!

so yeah. spend your bonus action to cast, hit somebody, deal a bunch of force damage, and then send them back to their homeworld with no save if they’re below 50 HP. no minute grace period for you to drop concentration and send them back, just. gone. if they’re from the plane you’re on, they just disappear for up to a minute or until you lose concentration. still, if you want a Hippoponotamus out of your hair, it’s hard to find a better way to do it.

15. Barbarian 5: it’s been a while, huh? you don’t get another Extra Attack this level, but you do get some Fast Movement for even more movement speed. we haven’t even begun to shred! and yeah, we waited until level 10 to get extra attack instead of just sticking in barbarian one level because otherwise we’d have a dead level in the bard class with just… countercharm to fill it. ugh. if you want extra attack early feel free to move this back to before the bard levels.

16. Barbarian 6: sixth level totem warriors gain an Aspect of the Beast, granting you a boon that works outside of your rage as well. the bear aspect for even more lifting is tempting, but we’re grabbing the Elk aspect instead for faster travel times. gotta keep ahead of the columbuses somehow.

17. Barbarian 7: seventh level barbarians have a Feral Instinct, giving you advantage on initiative rolls, and you can ignore being surprised if you rage! also, as part of raging you can use an Instinctive Pounce to move up to half your speed. skateboards.

18. Barbarian 8: use your last ASI to bump up your Constitution again for more HP and AC. not dying is the best part of D&D! okay maybe not, but it lets you get to the best part of D&D!

19. Barbarian 9: ninth level barbarians get a Brutal Critical- whenever you crit with a melee weapon, you can add an extra die to the damage! never underestimate the power of an extra d10.

20. Barbarian 10: our final level of barbarian comes with another Primal Knowledge, giving you proficiency in Nature, now that you know the truth of Steggy’s origins.

you’re also a Spirit Walker, letting you cast Commune with Nature as a ritual to learn about the area around you, instantly giving you facts about water in the area, the makeup of the plants and animals around, extraplanar forces, and of course buildings, all within a 3 mile radius. it doesn’t really work in towns, but you’ve already got quadrupled travel speed in there, so you can wander a bit.

Pros & Cons

Pros:

you are one speedy zerker, with a walking speed that’s usually as fast as most people’s dash, ways to avoid opportunity attacks, and huge boons to your initiative rolls, it’s very rare that you’re ever in a position you don’t want to be in. on a similar note, your ridiculously quick travel times in cities are also nice, if not a big enough deal to warrant their own section.

if I had known how powerful Banishing Smite can be I’d have put it in a lot more builds. whittle someone down and launch them back to their home plane, no saves required. that would be powerful on anyone, but you have advantage on demand, making it even more ridiculous. even if you’re not fighting extraplanar threats that often, the extra damage and ability to knock someone out of the fight for ten rounds is very nice.

combining your crusher feat with your flourishes lets you shove people around pretty easily, with no saves allowed to stop you. being able to shove someone up to 20’ away while attacking is really fun, especially with your speed making it almost impossible for them to close that gap on their turn.

Cons:

your armor class is just plain bad for a frontline fighter, so you’ll be relying on your mobility more than most barbarians to keep yourself healthy. even rage can’t carry you all the time, after all. an AC of fourteen, plus reckless attacks, make most enemies more likely to hit you than not.

you’re also not great on defense against most spells. the advantage on dexterity saves is nice, but you still only have a +1 to that save, and a -1 to wisdom saves means you’re going to be falling for your own illusions a lot. make sure you don’t paint any tunnel into walls this summer.

casting and rage never mix well, especially in this case. you’d probably want your rage up for most of the fight against something you’re trying to banish, but then you have to spend your bonus action to end your rage early if you want to smite them, opening you up for a lot of damage while you wait a turn before finishing them off. most berserkers aren’t great at defense, but these three issues really put a dent in yours.