#express fiberglass

[boatporn]

So who wants to go in on buying an Alerion Express yawl with me?

They want $79k and I gotta say, that’s a lot (A LOT) of dollars but I think it’s also about two thirds of what I’ve seen these sell for otherwise.

[todayisafridaynight]

Daigo has so many genuine connections, all these people who would stand by him regardless of if Tojo still exists. It just sort of feels like it plays to the way Masato is just chronically blind to the love around him and the strength of Ichiban's whole thing and surrounds himself purely with transactional relationships. It's the way Mine viewed the world before he met Daigo, but Masato is purposefully cultivating this environment around himself. Masato HAD those bonds where Mine didn't, but Masato's "those who use and those who are used" still feels like a worse distillation of Mine's philosophy, or at least that the two rhyme even if they aren't the same. Daigo originally defying Mine's worldview led to a longing to understand it and be a part of it; Daigo defying Masato's would probably just lead to more seething lol. Tojo going away, not only is just 'oops daigo already planned on that' robbing Masato of the satisfaction, idk it just further highlights that without being wrapped up in the status of Chair that these people are still with Daigo. Aoki bought his connections through lies and money and destroyed the only ones he sincerely had by following "use or be use" to its end, but Daigo could just fuck off anywhere he wanted and still have not just friendship but as Masato might see it absolute loyalty (esp in a Mine lives scenario; Aoki's lil pet bastard Kume's devotion is absolutely a speck vs **Mine** ). Both Aoki and Daigo can lose their positions of power, but its only Masato who feels like he's lost everything. sdfklfsjld idk goodbye anyway the brainrot is strong please keep going I'm here for every second

OK BUT LIKE. ALL OF THIS. ABOVE MY FIREPLACE AND FRAMED

the note bout mine and masato's worldviews IS SUCH an interesting point too: in essence they both believed the same thing (genuine bonds are a myth and people only use each other), it was just that mine held onto the small hope that he'd be wrong one day. by the time daigo does prove him wrong, he's almost automatically willing to accept it. his problem is that he became so attached to daigo that when the possibility of him being taken away became real, he went off the deep end

in masato's case. Lord he's a field day to explore psychologically maybe in another post, but he did have those bonds mine wanted so earnestly for more than half his life, exactly. ever since arakawa saved him- hell, even after sawashiro realized the life he inflicted upon him, masato was showered with nothing but love from the arakawa family. it's a wonder that despite that fact, masato still insisted he was neglected and alone. settling for relationships he knew were fake and for the most part temporary, he wanted to protect himself- he didn't want to be attached and become hurt and vulnerable again

it really is a cruel twist for masato and daigo and how they end up: despite daigo actually having grown up alone, that didn't stop him from having a warm and inviting attitude towards people and giving him a sizable amount of people who'd follow him to the ends of the earth. inversely, masato had become greedy and wanted more adoration, even if it was superficial or surface level.

[csuitebitches]

A Brief Guide to Yachts

This is a continuation to my cultural education segment (aka my rich bitch guide).

The yacht is an invention of the 14th century Dutch. The Dutch used small, fast boats for chasing smugglers, pirates and criminals. Rich ship owners and merchants began using these small “jaghts” to sail out to celebrate their returning merchant ships.

The first yacht club in the world, called the Cork Water Club, was established in Ireland in 1720.

Some famous clubs include:

USA:

1. Annapolis Yacht Club: Surrounding the Spa Creek Bridge in Annapolis, the Club boasts over 75 wet slips and dry dockage. The club began in 1886 as an informal canoe club, and today has 1600 regular members active in social, racing, and cruising programs

2. Chicago Yacht Club: Founded in 1875, Chicago Yacht Club is one of the oldest and most respected yacht clubs in the world. The Club is home to more than 1,400 members, including a winning America’s Cup skipper, and Olympic medalists.

Italy:

1. Circolo Canottieri Aniene

2. Circolo degli Esteri

3. Compagnia della Vela

Canada:

1. Royal Canadian Yacht Club

2. Royal Vancouver Yacht Club

Yachts are most active in the summer months (May- August in the northern hemisphere) or the winter months. many yacht owners decide to keep the maximum number of guests onboard to 12 (plus crew) for chartering.

Different types of yachts:

Sailing Yacht: a yacht mainly propelled via wind and sails

Motor Yacht: a yacht propelled via one or more motors

Gulet Yacht: a hybrid yacht with both sails and motors

Open Yacht, Cruiser, Cabin Cruiser, Express Cruiser: an otherwise uncategorized standard yacht for cruising and entertaining

Luxury Yacht: a yacht that includes high-end finishes and features and the latest in modern performance technology. The term ‘luxury’ can precede any type of yacht, i.e. “luxury motor yacht”, “luxury sailing yacht”, etc.

Sports Yacht: a yacht geared towards fishing, water sports, or cruising with a sleeker design and more powerful motor for faster cruising speeds.

Catamaran Yacht: a yacht with two hulls (pontoons) often made of fiberglass that can be used in shallow waters.

The most popular destinations:

1. Monaco

2. The French Riviera

3. Greece

4. U.S. Virgin Islands

5. Palm Beach, Florida

6. Costa Smeralda, Italy

7. St. George’s Parish, Bermuda 

8. Newport, Rhode Island 

9. Nantucket, Massachusetts

10. Greater Victoria, Vancouver Island

Insane super yachts

Football club owner Shahid Khan's 95 metre Lürssen Kismet was delivered in 2014. On match days, a four-metre silver statue of a jaguar, its paw resting on a football helmet, graces the bow. Elsewhere, its sizeable foredeck has enough space for Khan's beloved football team, the Jacksonville Jaguars, to stage a practice.

The 70 metre Feadship superyacht Joy features a deck that's wide enough to enjoy a tandem jog around. This yacht is all about exterior living, which includes making use of these ample decks with some great sporting facilities. A basketball and badminton court is set all the way forward on the owner's deck. This is complemented by her large gym and dedicated spa. All of this adds up to make Joy an ideal choice for those interested in a yacht with ample fitness, wellness and sporting amenities.

[paingoes]

Destroyer - The End

(Masterlist)

well there’s no easy way to say this but this is the end. thank you all for coming along for the ride!

(Content: living weapon whumpee, broken bones, dehumanization, past abuse, fear, conditioning, suicide mention, implied child abuse, physical violence, verbal abuse, choking, drowning, death)

===================

“I cannot work here anymore,” Simon said.

Dr.Martino glared at him with contempt. It was not the first time he had threatened to quit. It was the first time he had done so in front of other people. It was alright, though; Delta didn’t seem to be listening in the first place.

“It’s only for tonight.” Dr.Martino argued, “If you’re going to have a tantrum, you’re not going to do it in my office.”

Dr.Martino extended Delta’s arm. He rotated it to get a better angle at the cast. 

“Are you going to help or not?” He asked.

“No, I’m not helping. Didn’t you have to take an oath before y-“

“You can get out then. Thanks.” Dr.Martino shooed him away. 

Simon left. He slammed the door behind him.

“Crybaby,” Dr.Martino rolled his eyes, “Hold still, Delta.”

“Yes, sir,” Delta answered blankly. 

The saw spun to life. Dr.Martino placed the edge of it to Delta’s cast, pushing through the layers of fiberglass. He ran over it evenly until a straight line had been carved from top to bottom. The saw ran into the cotton below and abruptly stops. The shell popped off. Dr.Martino unwinded the bandages from around his arm.

The wrist had returned to its normal shade, but it was obviously not healed. It still jutted out at an odd angle. 

“Try not to move it.” The doctor shrugged. Delta couldn’t have if he wanted to.

=============

“Your nose!” Sierra gasped as soon as she saw him. The splint had been removed — just for the night. She touched the spot gingerly. Delta visibly winced.

“Oh no,” she whined softly. Delta didn’t think it was that bad, truly. Sierra had an eye for subtle changes in appearance; it was her life’s work. Still, her cooing over him as if he’d been disfigured embarrassed him. 

She went to work anyway. Her primary objective was just to cover up the signs of violence. At this point, that was an endeavor in and of itself. She sponged foundation onto his face, igniting the tender spot where the bone was still healing. It couldn’t be worked around; it was right in the center of his face. He bit his tongue to keep from making noise. 

She hummed, still a little dissatisfied with the end result. Delta could tell from her expression when she was frustrated. Nevertheless, she moved onto wardrobe.

It was all silver. Sierra tended to go for cool colors. They complimented his complexion very nicely. The material looked synthetic, but it reflected the light in a subtle, gentle way. They almost looked like they were made of water. The material was both firm and smooth. It tripped him out the longer he looked at it. Sierra put a simple undershirt beneath, then draped him in the fabric, tying it up around his waist to create a silhouette. It hung loosely off his shoulders.

“Look,” Sierra held up the boots, “I just got these commissioned.”

They were shiny and reflective, with lifts and sharp angles. Delta stepped into them. She laced them up for him.

“I know it’s kinda high fashion. I usually like traditional, but that’s what everyone’s going to be wearing for the Centennial. I thought it’d be fun to try something anachronistic. Fuck with the old guard some.”

She smiled as she looked him over. Almost in apology for her earlier fussing, she presses her nails to her face, “You know you’re my favorite to work with? I swear you can pull off anything.”

Sierra chained his wrists. They were the same shade of silver and too long to be practical as restraints. He couldn’t spread both his arms out, but they didn’t hinder his movement otherwise. They went directly over where the cast had been. He wondered if she even knew. 

There was a light jingling sound as Paris entered. Delta dropped to his knees with a haste that even shocked him. It’d been automatic.

Sierra rushed forward as if he’d been hurt, but quickly stopped herself when she realized what had happened. 

“Your Highness?” she chirped. 

“Hit this,” He held out the wax pen to her. She scurried over, taking it from him. Delta heard her cough a little. Paris laughed.

She mumbled something about vitamin C. Delta couldn’t hear the rest of their conversation, just the outlines of their voices. Sierra’s was excited, if a little weary. Paris spoke casually, if a little stoned. Delta supposed the fact that he was speaking at all was a good sign. 

It took several minutes before either of them even acknowledged him.

“Uh, you can get up,” Paris called. It had been an afterthought. 

Delta slowly rose to his feet. He stole a furtive glance at the prince. He looked…normal. Whatever rage had come over him before seemed to have subsided. All that remained were the bandages up his arm in the place where Delta’s nails had cut into him.

Paris had not spoken to him since that night. There’d been a full week without contact. Delta knew he was avoiding him; he did not know exactly why. 

Sierra needed the space cleared up for her to work with Paris. She skipped past Delta, back into the closet. Paris put a hand on Delta’s shoulder. He flinched instinctively, but the touch wasn’t harsh. Paris guided him to sit down on the steps that partitioned the room. He did so. To his surprise, Paris smoothed his hair back affectionately. Delta glanced up in confusion.

He just barely glimpsed his expression. It had been quick and it had been subtle, but the look Paris had given him was unmistakable. 

It was shame.

Paris withdrew his hand quickly as Sierra emerged from the closet. They resumed their conversation as if nothing had happened. Sierra stripped the shirt from his back to redress him. Delta saw the star-shaped scar right over his heart.

=================

He didn’t like the plan anymore. He’d thought it was shaky in the first place, but as the Centennial drew nearer, the more sick with worry he became.

The ball was hosted on an airship. Everyone needed to board right on the shore before the the craft took off. It would float above the expanse of the Ars Adriatic, mimicking the same flight the forefathers had made to reclaim the disappearing ground. A century later, the land had all been swallowed up by sea anyway. 

The silence dragged on. Paris wasn’t speaking. Delta obviously wasn’t speaking. He hoped his anxiety wasn’t visible — or if it was visible, that its source was masked. After all, Delta was terrified of Paris. He felt it every time he breathed, each time the pain in his lungs ignited. It was just not his most pressing concern at the moment.

He tried to reassure himself. If the plan failed, he’d kill himself midway through. That was the only moral alternative to remaining in Empire’s hands. One way or another, it was ending tonight.

Once inside, Paris chained his collar to the throne, but he himself seemed hesitant to actually sit in it. The Centurion Ball was a tradition older than Paris had been alive. He hadn’t arranged this one more than he had any of the others. The only role he’d played in it was agreeing to show up. Delta caught the look in his eyes — hungry, itching. Paris disappeared for a long time.

===========

He blinked. There was a bat hanging from the ceiling. Delta stared at it, trying to figure out if his eyes were playing tricks on him. He couldn’t have been that tired. Everytime he looked back, it was still hanging there. Nobody else seemed to notice.

Delta watched as its left wing extended. A pale claw emerged against the black fur. It scratched into the support beam, carving out a concave arc. It extended a straight line down, followed by another little circle.

“?”

Delta cupped his left hand into a C-shape. His right hand he could not move much at all, but he returned the symbol as best he could. He watched as the claw retreated. The bat flew out of his sight. Delta’s heart was beating out of his chest.

============

He did not know how much time had passed in between the signal and the execution. He only felt the body drop down behind him and the chill that it carried. It leaned in close to his ear. 

Go.

There was a sharp sound as the axe swung down, severing the chain that connected him to the throne. The dark shape moved in front of him, facing the crowd of partygoers. He bolted. 

The entire ship began to rock at the first impact. Delta stumbled. There was so much noise. He made his way down the corridor, down the same way they had entered the ship. The door to the open air hung wide open. He heard the sound of the ocean below.

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” The voice rang out. Delta stopped dead in his tracks. It inspired such an ancient terror in him.

Dr.Martino paced down the hallway. Delta flinched back, shaking. He felt like a child again. Martino snatched up the chains of his wrist, dragging him closer. 

“Trying to run out?” Martino slapped him across the face at full force. Delta gasped for air, pulling away from the grasp. Martino’s grip stayed firm.

“I’ve known what you were from the first day I met you,” He hissed, “Snake. Destroyer. We should’ve knifed you in the cradle.”

The whole room shook as another volley was launched at the ship. Delta took the opportunity, letting the bright arcs of lightning come off from his hands, electrocuting the doctor. He freed the chains from his grasp, scrambling towards the exit. Martino chased after him, less careful now. He got a better grip on Delta. Delta threw himself to the floor in response, dragging the doctor down with him. It was a shower of sparks. The open door was so close — there was nothing outside of it. Open air and open water. 

The ship rocked violently. The two of them fell out into the void of night.

==============

The cold cut through him. Immediately, it was the death throes, panic building on panic building on terror. His clothes and his chains tangled up in his limbs. Somehow Martino was still holding out, hurting him. Delta needed air. He was too far beneath the surface. 

The gills on his sides flared out, taking in the icy sea water. It was an entirely new situation, but he felt a primal calm as his oxygen balanced out in the sea water. Martino still writhed, not as fortunate. He clawed out at Delta’s face and arms, shedding his blood into the water. Delta wrapped the chains that bound his wrists around Martino’s neck. The pressure on his broken wrist ached. He was so weak. He was so fucking tired. But all he had to do was hold still. The water would do the rest. After a few minutes, Martino stopped struggling. Delta untangled the chain and let his lifeless body drift down into the abyss. 

Delta looked up. The ship was burning above him. The fire was visible even from several meters underwater.

At the surface, the air smelled like gunpowder. Delta treaded, popping in and out of the sea. The airship was crashing down soon. It was the only ship he saw. Had they already left?

The bat flew a few feet above his head. In the distance, the headlights clicked on. The jet skimmed the surface of the water. It turned around and lowered its ramp into the water. The light inside was bright orange and warm. 

“Find him?” A voice called from inside. Its owner stepped out onto the ramp, soaking his ankles in the sea water. He called out again.

Delta swam forward. The boy inside the ship extended a hand out to him. With his good arm, Delta took it. 

[its-avalon-08]

lando norris x reader part6

part 6 guys <3 themes enemies to lovers flirty interactions female Formula1 driver

Red Lights, Racing Hearts: Chapter 6 - Collision Course

The once playful camaraderie at the arcade felt like a distant memory as Y/N navigated the unforgiving corners of the practice track. She pushed the car to its limits, adrenaline coursing through her veins, the taste of asphalt and competition thick on her tongue.

Then, in a heartbeat, everything went wrong. A miscalculation, a split-second lapse in judgement, and Lando Norris was bearing down on her, his car a runaway missile heading straight for hers.

The impact was brutal, a sickening crunch of metal and fiberglass. The world spun, her car swerving across the track before coming to a halt in a shower of sparks and smoke.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, panic clawing at her throat. She unbuckled herself, fear and anger a potent cocktail in her veins. As she emerged from the mangled wreckage, adrenaline masking the throbbing pain, she saw Lando standing beside his own battered car, face pale and expression unreadable.

"WHAT THE FUCK NORRIS?!?!" Y/N roared, her voice echoing in the stunned silence of the pit lane. "Are you fucking blind?!"

Lando's mouth tightened. "It was an accident, L/N. Don't make it sound like I tried to take you out."

"An accident?" Y/N spat, a hand instinctively flying to her forehead. A metallic tang hit her tongue, and she pulled her hand away, seeing a smear of red blossoming across her palm. Panic spiked, fear forgotten, replaced by a surge of primal terror.

Lando saw the blood, his initial defensiveness dissolving into concern. He reached out, fingers hovering hesitantly near her face.

Y/N flinched, swatting his hand away with a hiss. "Don't you dare touch me!" she screamed, her voice thick with fear and fury.

Lando recoiled, hurt flickering in his eyes. "I was just trying to see if you're okay," he protested, his voice tight.

"Yeah, right," Y/N scoffed, tears stinging her eyes. "Like you actually care."

Lando's anger flared. "Don't act so fucking high and mighty, L/N," he snapped, grabbing her shoulders, his grip surprisingly firm. He brushed aside her hair, his thumb gently wiping away the blood trickling down her forehead. "You put yourself in danger every time you get behind the wheel. Don't expect an ounce of sympathy if you can't handle the heat."

Y/N stared at him, his touch sending a jolt through her. His words were harsh, laced with anger, but his eyes held a concern she couldn't ignore. "Don't pretend to care, Norris," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You wouldn't know what caring looks like if it hit you over your head"

Before Lando could retort, Max and Daniel materialized beside them, their faces grim. They saw the raw emotions playing out, the anger, the fear, the flicker of something deeper that danced beneath the surface.

"Alright, that's enough," Max said, his voice a low rumble, pulling Lando away from Y/N. "Both of you, take a breather. We'll talk about this later."

As the tension slowly dissipated, replaced by a wary silence, Y/N looked at Lando, his face unreadable. Was there genuine concern in his eyes, or was it just another mask in his repertoire? She didn't know, and the uncertainty gnawed at her.

The accident had been a jolt, a stark reminder of the dangers they faced every time they strapped themselves into those high-powered machines. But it had also unveiled something else, something hidden beneath the layers of competition and rivalry. A spark of connection, a flicker of humanity, that threatened to disrupt the carefully constructed walls they had built around their hearts.

----------------<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3------------------------

The antiseptic sting of the disinfectant brought Y/N back to the present. Max, crouched before her with a cotton ball, focused on cleaning the graze on her arm, his expression unreadable. The heat radiating from his proximity made her cheeks warm, a stark contrast to the chill gripping her heart.

"There," Max mumbled, tossing the used cotton ball into the bin. "You'll live."

Y/N huffed, a weak attempt at humor. "Thanks, Pretty Boy. For saving me from myself, that is."

Max paused, his hand lingering on her elbow for a beat longer than necessary. "Or saving you from Norris?" he said, his voice low and neutral.

Y/N's jaw tightened. "It was an accident," she snapped, more to convince herself than him.

"Accidents happen," Max agreed, "but sometimes, they tell a story."

Y/N met his gaze, a flicker of apprehension flashing in her eyes. "What story?" she whispered, dreading the answer.

Max chuckled, the sound surprisingly warm and gentle. "The story of a girl who can't stop talking about the boy who almost ran her over," he teased, a knowing glint in his eyes.

Y/N's face flushed crimson. "I do not!" she protested, her voice cracking under the pressure of his gaze.

Max raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Really? Because all I heard was 'Don't pretend to care, Norris,' not 'Don't come near me, you reckless maniac.'"

Y/N opened her mouth to retort, but the words died on her tongue. Max was right. Her anger towards Lando had stemmed from something deeper, something she hadn't even admitted to herself.

Silence stretched between them, charged with unspoken words and blooming emotions. Max's hand reached up, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His touch was comforting and calm in contrast to the turmoil she was facing internally.

"Look," Max said, his voice turning serious, "Lando might be...well, Lando. But I don't think he meant to hurt you."

Y/N sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "I know," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "It's just...there's something about him. This anger, this darkness. It scares me but it is so fucking inviting."

Max nodded, his expression softening. "It scares me too. But maybe, just maybe, there's more to him than meets the eye."

Y/N considered his words, a flicker of hope battling the fear in her heart. "Maybe," she breathed, her gaze flitting towards the window where the setting sun painted the sky in fiery hues.

But even as she allowed herself a sliver of hope, a voice whispered a stark warning in her head. Lando Norris was a storm, a tempestuous force that could consume her whole. Was she strong enough to weather it, or would she be swept away in its fury?

Only time would tell. And as the shadows lengthened and the silence deepened, Y/N knew that the real race had just begun - not just on the track, but within the tangled labyrinth of her own heart.

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

𝕂𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 🎃💦 ∘₊✧ 𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝟙𝟙 ✧₊∘

|| ︶꒦꒷𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥꒷꒦︶ | main masterlist ||

@absurdthirst's Kinktober 2023 Prompts

Day 11: Body Hair/Shaving, Exhibitionism/Voyeurism, Teasing

𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧

| PAIRING(s): Ezra x fem!reader | RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT: 1.1k | CONTENT: established relationship, body hair kink, sweat kink (?), Ezra bein the nasty lil slut we all love | SYNOPSIS: Ezra mourns your decision to shave your private area even though it's just to feel more comfortable in the heat of the summer months.

You left the bathroom door ajar even though that almost guaranteed you’d see Ezra’s pouting face emerge and disappear in the hallway as he took obvious glances at your current task.

“May as well just come in here and see the carnage up close, Ezra,” you deadpan loud enough for him to hear around the corner.

A few soft footsteps later and the door creaks open. Ezra rests his forearm against the doorjamb and leans casually into it as he looks you up and down.

“Carnage is surely to be sired. Unbridled ruination of a perfectly unfallowed meadow,” he hums in disappointment.

“Ezra,” you snip, “I told you I don’t care in the winter, but when it’s hot out like this it gets so scratchy and itchy.”

You pull the plug on the bath and sit up straighter to reach the shaving cream and razor. “Give it a few months, and I’ll be back to my usual Highland Cattle self.”

“Must it be razored? Would a robust clipping not suffice?” he argues. He plops down onto the closed toilet lid and eyes you mournfully. 

“You’re being very dramatic about something that you wouldn’t even knew happened in the first place if you saw me a few weeks later. It’s hair, Ezra. It grows back.”

He snorts and huffs in disagreement but doesn’t say anything else. You roll your eyes and begin the task of shaving your private area. You’d long given up on aesthetics and appealing grooming habits, and, luckily for you, Ezra seemed to like you better the more hair you had. 

He’d lick at your coarse armpits, groaning with a primal urge if you were still sweaty from the day’s work. He’d press the wiry curls of your calves against his hips as he fucked into you. He’d run his fingertips over the hairs around your asshole, moaning as she shoved his tongue into you. He’d ramble endlessly about how you were never to rid yourself of any of it, that he wanted you raw and bristled and brushy.

His brow drops as he watches you now, lathering up the cream between your legs. He’d always been a free spirit – to put it lightly – who encouraged and at times demanded you follow your own individual call, whatever that might be. To watch him sulk as you groom yourself in contradiction to his personal likes was nothing short of comical.

“Last chance to look away,” you taunt.

His eyes narrow the tiniest bit before he juts his chin out for you to get on with it. You look down between your spread legs and pull one side of your labia taut. You press and guide the razor carefully around your curves until you finish the stripe. You flick the end of the razor towards the drain, clearing most of the residual cream and hair from the blades.

You start your second pass when you notice Ezra sit a little taller. You finish the second pass and clear out the blade again. It makes a soft splat against the fiberglass basin surround. You’re just about to start the third pass when Ezra clears his throat. You look up to find him donning an indiscernible expression.

“Yes?”

“You may want to–ahem– part the bits of flesh that enshroud your divine womanhood,” he rasps. His tongue flits against his lips, darting here and there to patches of worried flesh. “So as to not rend yourself as you proceed inward.”

“I’m gonna do the inside of the lips after I do the outside, Ezra, but thanks for the helpful suggestion,” you quip.

You go to shave again, but Ezra jerks forward on the lid until his backside occupies the smallest edge necessary to remain seated. You pause and try to read his face. It’s something akin to desire and exhilaration, but you can’t imagine what in this current situation would elicit such a reaction.

“Indulge me,” he murmurs, low and heady.

You bulge your tongue into your cheek when you realize Ezra is turned on by something about you shaving yourself. You click your tongue against the roof of your mouth and decide it could be fun to test your hypothesis. You slowly spread yourself with two fingers, opening yourself wider for his viewing. His eyes snap shut for a moment as he groans.

“You’re enjoying this,” you charge with a delighted giggle.

Ezra smirks to himself and nods before settling onto the floor in front of the tub. His hands reach in, and he presses his thumbs against the bottom of your lips to hold them open. He takes short, excited breaths as he eyes your half-shaven pussy.

“I will serve as anchor to your precious flesh while you continue,” he proposes.

You hold yourself from the top of your intended path and gently guide the razor against your scratchy, wiry hair. Ezra mindlessly rubs small circles with his thumbs, and it’s close enough to get you aroused but too far to be satisfying. Sensing your shift into where his mind currently sat, he grabs at the fat of your backside for more leverage.

“You just keep pruning that hispid little cunt,” he gently commands. “I will see to it that you have all you desire if you let me bear witness to this.”

You manage to shave yourself quickly and without any nicks. Ezra runs his fingers through the deflated foam and hair mixture near the drain for a moment with a groan before turning the faucet on and gathering enough water to douse your skin.

He ruts into the side of the tub as the water slowly clears all remaining shaving cream and hair. Ezra stands abruptly and fishes something out of the linen closet.

“Oil? What are—”

He snaps the cap open while his eyes are trained on your shaven pussy. He splashes several drizzles onto your skin before yanking his pants down and revealing his leaky, rigid length. He falls to his knees and squirts some of the oil onto his weighty cock. He strokes himself a few times as he spreads the oil against your skin. It glistens across your newly bare private area.

You moan as his fingers slip against your sensitive skin and clit.

“So exposed for me. The shameless parade of her entreating valley to me,” he murmurs. His eyes are locked onto your entrance where his fingers tease. “Perhaps an unencumbered view of me feeding my cock into her will countervail the loss of such springing growth.”

You try to adjust yourself so that he might have a more advantageous angle to test his supposition, but the round of the tub makes it difficult.

“Still, my Starshine. I will take you here and take you again in the bedroom.”

You lay back as much as you can just as Ezra begins pumping his fingers into you. He tugs himself in equal paces and mutters something about wildflowers sprouting in the meadow as his eyes burn into his work.

[dr-trafalgar-law]

Trafalgar Law X CisFem Reader

5

"What?" you croaked as he pulled away to look at your face.

"That brand of cologne doesn't really suit you." his silver eyes sharpened while he watched you formulate a response.

"I went to visit a friend who was having a breakdown, that's all."

He knew that wasn't entirely true; the cologne on you now was so familiar but he couldn't place it.

"And who might this friend be?" now he was sitting up watching every expression you made.

You shifted chewing on your lip, "It... It was Marco."

Law's frown deepened as it clicked, that scent was on you that night back in November before your anxiety attacks started.

"So, you just casually meet up with your married ex-boyfriend in the middle of the night?" he could feel the fury blooming in his chest.

"It's not like that." you murmured, guilt plastered all over your face.

"Please tell me what it's like then?" he raised his voice making you jump.

You choked on the lump in your throat and averted your gaze.

"Well?" he crossed his arms and huffed, "Have you forgotten that we are to be married in less than two months? You promised you'd try and the first chance you get, you run off and break the law?"

He was exhausted, upset and infuriated by your unwillingness to be a part of this relationship, just when he'd had a glimmer of progress.

You remained quiet too shocked by his uncharacteristic outburst.

"Am I that bad? That unworthy of trust?"

You were, now, resembling every other woman he'd encountered.

"L-law..." you stammered feeling your breath grow shorter.

Not now.

He watched still scowling, waiting for you to continue.

"I-it ...it was... really nothing." you were gasping now, "Nothing. Please."

Recognizing the symptoms of your anxiety attack, he calmly reclaimed his place at your side and eased you into the bed on your right side. As you began to curl into yourself and involuntarily sob he clasped your wrists together with one hand and tipped your chin up to open your airway with the other. His expression was soft and calm now, but he was hardly holding it together.

You truly didn't deserve him.

"F/N-ya, deep slow breaths, in through your nose out through your mouth," he ordered in a soothing tone.

"C-can't." you murmured frantically.

"You can," he moved your hair from your face, "I'll do it with you. Relax."

For ten minutes he laid with you; softly instructing you to breathe until you finally calmed down. Once he felt your pulse was somewhat normal he stood and stepped into the bathroom returning with a damp washcloth. As he helped you clean your face you noticed the crease between his brows had reappeared.

You wanted to come clean and apologize but your throat felt like you'd spent the night swallowing fiberglass.

"We'll talk tomorrow," he ran his tattooed fingers through his messy hair, "I can't do this right now."

You could only nod as he exited.

Crossing the apartment to his room Law shut the door and collapsed into his mattress. He pulled a pillow over his face and groaned shielding his eyes from the morning light. Surely, he was just being sensitive because of the girl that reminded him of Lami.

You just made him feel so defeated, and that was embarrassing. He knew from the beginning that this was just a legal obligation, for him it was too. Somewhere on the way watching you heal and start to open up things changed. Things he was still unwilling to admit, things you were blind to.

Right now, he wasn't sure how he'd be able to face you without being angry and raising his voice which clearly upset you. And even though it was completely warranted he didn't want to see that terrified look on your face.

He rose and changed shirts before slipping back into his coat and grabbing his keys. There wasn't any way he'd be able to stay home with you today.

His phone chimed as he locked the door.

F/N: Be careful. You haven't had enough rest to drive around.

Ignoring your concern, he pocketed his mobile and continue to his car.

An hour later he parked in front of the small brick cottage and took a short moment to run his hands over his exhausted face. Slouching to the front door he fumbled looking for the right key, it had been a while since he was last here.

"Law? What a surprise!"

"I'm going to stay here for a few days," he replied with a sigh.

_______________

"It was around six when he left, I sent him one text, but he never answered." you sighed dragging a stressed hand through your hair.

"Well, to be honest, I'd probably ignore you too." your cousin replied propping his feet up on your desk, "You haven't exactly given him any reasons to want to speak to you."

"Thanks for sugar coating it."

"That's not how this works and you know it." the greenette smirked tossing a ball of rubber bands in the air, "What the fuck are you doing sneaking around with that old guy anyway?"

"We weren't sneaking around. He just wanted to talk."

"In the middle of the night, at a secluded lake house?" he deadpanned.

"I don't know why I talk to you."

"Because I'm all you've got and the only person who loves you." he snickered.

"I hate you." you grumbled, "And get your feet off my desk."

Zoro sat upright placing the ball back on your desk, "So what was this talk that was so important you were running around in the middle of the night?"

You let out an exasperated sigh.

"His wife is pregnant." You murmured.

"That's not really news the family is sharing yet, F/N." a voice piped from the doorway, "It would be best if you didn't share with anyone for a while, you know first trimester and all."

"Ace." you sat up straight.

"Don't worry I don't care enough to say anything," Zoro muttered crossing his arms. 

[rimon-limon]

Solarpunk Aesthetic Week: Worldbuilding Thoughts Part Two, Electric Boogaloo

(Worldbuilding is my strong suit, I will definitely have a lot of these!)

In a solarpunk future, people should be able to rely less on money to get what they need! But if currency remains a thing then my leftist dad told me about a concept called global minimum wage (I think) where everyone gets an unconditional steady income, of say.. 20$ an hour per 12 hours of the day becoming 240$ per day. If we're not doing much with money, can't hurt to give lots of it to everyone, yeah?

Besides that, I was thinking about carbon-neutral skyscrapers. Our current method of steel and fiberglass is woefully inefficient in that regard, but in terms of space, building upwards is incredibly efficient. Ideally we would strike a balance with carbon-neutral, long-lasting materials that are good and sturdy!

Oh, and clear solar panels to be put in windows? Imagine stained glass religious reliefs generating power, whole 'glass' buildings becoming beacons of energetic output, self-sufficient houses full of light..

Languages! Languages in the air, signs in so many different alphabets, songs and laughter and family said in so many words but still understood and respected.

Sign language would be commonplace! Mischievous students signing to each other after their mentor told them to hush, parents signing over their sleeping baby, divers speaking merrily to each other while tens of feet down in the deep and expressing their awe for nature. Hearing-impaired folk would be able to move through society with ease and understanding.

BRAILLE LABELS. On stuff in stores, on signs, textured curbs to catch a cane.. but really on stuff especially. You know how hard it is to shop while blind? Everything is identical. It's awful.

Community decisions are decided by council, and anyone who wishes to join the council meetings can. Even children! Especially children. Their voices are heard and respected, because they live in our communities too.

If someone is truly acting harmful and cruel to others, and does hurt people, at majority community vote they are removed from greater society and put in a rehabilitation commune with therapists and social workers to assist them on the right path. With love, not hate and mistreatment.

Has anyone heard of dementia villages? A whole village for those elderly suffering with dementia, constructed for the purpose of their autonomy. Communes would not necessarily become as such and they may not be as necessary- for we all would love and care for each other, especially those infirm- but settlements would be constructed in a similar fashion for ease of navigation, with lots of signage to help point people where, and perhaps dedicated guides if necessary.

That concludes this group of thoughts! Here's a reminder to drink some water and eat something today if you haven't already. Happy Solarpunk Aesthetic Week!

[eiirisworkshop]

Between Takes

A Hazbin Hotel ficlet. 364 words. Can be read on Ao3.

__________

Angel wriggled uncomfortably against his bonds, took a deep breath, and let it out. He and Lupé were tied next to each other to the side of a faux-stone obelisk, hands above their heads, apple boxes stuck under their feet by the grip department, at least for shots that that wouldn’t show them. Or, like now, between shots. 

“So,” Lupé rolled his head boredly toward Angel, “I gather from Vinsta that you are fucking your bodyguard? Or was that staged?”

“Oh, it was staged,” Angel snickered. “But I am totally fucking him. Dating, actually.”

“No fuckin’ way,” Lupé chuckled. 

“Mhm!”

“How’s the sex?”

“Makes me come harder than you do.” Angel lifted a foot to lightly kick Lupé’s ankle. 

Lupé stuck his tongue out at him. Angel returned the same then they both leaned back against the fiberglass stone. They were quiet a moment, half-listening to the assistant camera arguing with a grip. 

“Kitty got the dick barbs?” Lupé asked. 

Angel grinned. “Yup.”

“Nice.” Lupé laughed appreciatively, but then his expression sobered and he lowered his voice.  “Big boss know?”

Angel shrugged best he could.  “Hasn’t said anything, hasn’t interacted with the post, but my schedule sure did spawn a bunch of fourteen-plus hour days all of a sudden.”

Lupé hummed.

Angel snuffled a couple times then manifested his third pair of arms to rub at his face.

“Angel!” the assistant director yelled from the side of the soundstage.  “Put those arms away!”

“My nose itches!” Angel yelled back, holding those hands up indignantly.  “And it’s not like we’re fuckin’ rollin’!  Jorge can go sit ,” he gestured to the mass of translucent teal tentacles sprawled across three folding chairs with an iced coffee and a magazine, “and, I mean, I get that the ropework takes too long to reset but that means we’re stuck up here!  Gimme a fuckin’ break.  I’ll put ‘em away when camera gets their shit together.”

The assistant director glowered but turned to attend to other matters.  Angel huffed.  Lupé grinned to tease, “You have a nose?”

“Loop,” Angel said with a thin veneer of patience, “I’ve snorted coke off your dick.  You know I have a nose.”

Lupé laughed.

[msweebyness]

DuPont School for Monstrous Youths- Eloise Matuidi

🎶Don’t unplug her, or sh-shut her down!🎶 Eloise is powered up and joining the scene! @artzychic27 @imsparky2002

Species: Robot (Modern Tech)

Appearance/Attire: Short, black hair made of metal wire in a bob cut, Chrome antenna with red sensors on left side of head, Green power button in center of forehead, Fiberglass eyes with glowing pale green irises, constantly displaying data transmission numbers, shiny chrome skin with orifices at joints that glow with green energy, rocket boosters in feet and hands, short and slender build. Headband made of braided copper wire, bright green polo shirt, steel gray choker with red buttons, metallic gray cardigan, fingerless green gloves, khaki pants with a circuitry designed belt, red leather penny loafers.

Bio: As logical and even-tempered as they come, Eloise was built only recently with all the latest digital enhancements. With the intellect of at least five people, especially in the field of mathematics, she’s one of the school’s leading stars in academics. While a loyal and dedicated friend, Eloise often struggles with understanding ‘organic’ concepts such as emotions, especially since those she’s programmed to feel aren’t as strong as the real thing. This can cause her to come off as cold and apathetic when she doesn’t really mean to. However, she does her best to understand and is always willing to lend a hand modicum when someone needs help with their studies. She may be an artificial being, but she cares for real, especially about her best friend Anais.

Quotes:

“I apologize, I am not certain what emotion I am to express at this time.”

“Is this a custom of organic beings I’m unaware of?”

“One moment, my data receptors can only take in so much at one instance.”

“Deciphering complex equations is a calming process for me when my circuits are overheating.”

“Emotional systems overloading. Please hold for a moment while rebooting process commences.”

“I understand that in situations such as this, a hug is a good solution?”

She’s a bot, but the good kind! Leave your thoughts in the comments and reblogs!

[dandylovesturtles]

I'm curious: what does the matching jaw scar that 100ft Leo & Donnie have look like? A single straight cut, multiple jagged marks, a burn, etc? Or would that be a spoiler for how they get it?

Also, do you have any additional notes on the turtles' appearances that you don't mind sharing? I like being able to make an accurate mental picture of them in my head!

It’s a single straight cut! It was done fast, by someone who was angry but knew how to make it hurt without doing permanent damage (outside the scar, of course, which has its own long term effects). They’re about an inch and a half or so long on each of them and have faded a little as they’ve gotten older (though they’ll never go away).

I’m not really a character design person |’D but for a couple things (cw: mentions of violence):

Donnie has a lot of scars on his arms, legs, and shell, some of them from cuts, many of them from being whipped in a way that flayed his skin, and some from burns (notably electric burns, not from a fire). The big one on his face is the only one on his head, though, because the scientists and guards aren’t supposed to injure his head. Donnie moves in a way that is generally seen as more animalistic and even predatory: he sways a lot, tends to swim rather than walk around his enclosure, slumps down and slinks around when he is walking, smells his surroundings for danger, bares his teeth as a warning, and, of course, bites and scratches whenever anyone gets too close. He also spends a lot of time buried in the mud at the bottom of his enclosure when April isn’t around. It’s quiet and calm down there; good thinking space.

Mikey also has scares, mainly from whips and electric burns, fewer than Donnie but more than Leo because Mikey gets punished for Leo’s mistakes or transgressions. He doesn’t have any of the stickers on his shell he has in canon, sad as that is. He moves more like he does in canon, though he does pretend to be less agile than he is so the scientists underestimate him.

Leo has fewer scars. The one on his face is the most prominent, and there’s also a faint one on his neck from the one time his shock collar got triggered (because you always need a little shock collar drama for Leo haha). He does more animalistic, defensive movements in front of the scientists when Mikey is around (like trying to puff himself up so he looks bigger).

Raph’s claws and spikes are really overgrown because no one trims them and he’s not provided a way to take care of it himself. He hunches way down when he moves, sometimes flat out crawling but usually with his arms just pulled up under him. He has cracks on his plastron like he does in canon, and a few places where they’ve had to patch him up with fiberglass. They don’t let him get shell rot but he’s not exactly healthy either. He can see fine but he relies on his sense of smell more than his sense of sight because he doesn’t usually trust what he’s looking at.

Also this probably goes without saying but none of them are wearing clothes, not even their masks. Eventually, once they get out, they do start wearing clothes both as protection and a way of self expression.

[stevebattle]

Genus Home Personal Robot (1983) by Ray Raymond, World of Robots Corp. / Robotics International, Jackson, MI. “Robotics International, based in Jackson, Michigan, unveiled its domestic creature during the Winter Consumer Electronics Show in early January. In all its fiberglass glory, Genus stands 4 1/2 feet tall and 22 inches wide and weighs 120 pounds. It comes fully assembled with a CRT as its head. Company officials are still undecided about price but are hedging between $5000 and $8000. The first platoon of Genuses should be available at various computer stores by April. “A number of marketing studies show that home-computer users have expressed a need for a mobile platform, which, in essence, is a robot,” said Victor Pytko, Robotics International’s director of communications. The ultrasonic obstacle-avoidance mapping software alllows Genus to roam around the house, unattended, on its two casters, without bumping into furniture, the kids or the dog. When its 12-volt batteries get low, Genus zips over to one of the room’s electrical 110-volt outlets and recharges itself before it needs to juice up again. … “The basic Genus can be equipped to be a versatile, mobile, state-of-the-art robot capable of vacuuming, entertaining and providing home security without need for human monitoring,” said John Collins, Robotics International president.” – Genus – just what every happy li’l home needs by Kathy Chin, InfoWorld, vol.5, no.7, 14 Feb 1983, page 30.

[atonalginger]

WIP Wednesday and Update to Stowaway Savior!

Today is another twofer day where you get a peek and also a major story update. The search section of Stowaway Savior is written and I'll be uploading it in chunks as I work on the final third.

The latest update is eight (8) chapters (once again they're shorter chapters) and you can find it on ao3 by clicking HERE!

If you want to start from chapter 1 you can click here!

for the WIP Wednesday preview I have a peek at chapter 14 with Cooper and Moonlight.

When Cooper returned with his uniforms and his militia issued electronics and suit he found Moonlight had crushed the radio in their metal hand and were in the process of picking apart the internals, snipping wires with a special attachment in their arm and snapping larger fiberglass pieces.

“Having fun there?” Cooper asked.

“My processes are not programed for fun,” Moonlight replied, “this object endangered my captain. I am simply ensuring it will no longer work and therefore no longer endanger anyone again.”

“You’re angry then,” Cooper walked over to the ramp controls and bumped it on with his elbow, “and before you say your processes aren’t programed for it I will say that don’t matter, what you are doing is a display of anger.”

The model-A stood still as the bay opened up, the ramp extending out for them to walk out onto the rocky dirt surface to discard the gear. Cooper could hear the optical sensors whirring again. When Moonlight spoke their voice was softer than it had been, “my database confirms your assessment. I am acting on anger. This is bad.”

“I didn’t say it was bad,” Cooper corrected, “you will want to be careful how you express your anger but the emotion itself isn’t bad.”

“I am a model-A robot designed by Lunar Robotics. Our processes are not designed for emotional displays.” Moonlight shuffled their body down the ramp alongside Cooper, “This display is a bug.”

“I disagree,” Cooper said as he tossed his gear under the landing gear thrusters, “I know another model-A like you, Whiz, and she shows plenty of emotions.”

“Whiz,” Moonlight repeated, “she is in pieces in the engineering office right now. She was insistent she be loaded into a ship. She was…scared.”

“Her captain is missing,” Cooper pointed to the pile while glancing to the broken radio, “I’ve had the pleasure of working with her in the field and she takes her role seriously.”

“Yes,” Moonlight tossed the chunks of radio in a stiff mimicry of Cooper’s actions, “my database holds records of her work. Zeke gave me her history to better prepare me for this mission.”

“That’s probably where you learned anger then,” Cooper offered a smile and motioned for them follow him back onto the ship, “just make sure you don’t take out your anger on living organisms and equipment that still has use. And the ship, don’t hurt my ship.”

“Of course, Captain…er,” Moonlight’s voice hitched and a weird mechanical noise rumbled out of the chassis, something Cooper suspected was close to a clearing of a throat, “Rodeo.”

“It’s okay,” Cooper assured his robot, “won’t worry too much on it. Let’s get moving so we can scan this planet. This is going to be a long one.”

“Yes, Captain Rodeo,” Moonlight said.

Cooper turned to look at the model-A as the loading bay closed, swearing to himself that the robot used an ornery tone. As he studied Moonlight he thought for a moment he saw a glint in one of the optical sensors.

Cheeky bastard.

[chicanoartmovement]

CHICANO ART MOVEMENT visits: “Traditions” 2024

(“Traditions: Honoring Heritage, Ritual and Family” exhibition title wall at Muzeo 2024.)

CAM:

First exhibit of the new year brings us Muzeo Museum and Cultural Center of Anaheim to view “Traditions: Honoring Heritage, Ritual and Family.”

(“Sharky’s Billiard” by artist Jimmy Bonks, 2023. Acrylic on canvas.)

Via its mission: “What exactly is a tradition? It can be a shared experience established by a family and community to be sustained over time or part of a larger cultural expression, the origins of which may be lost to the past and distant spaces. Either way, our vast Southern California landscape claims many of these traditions as its own. Traditions pays homage to the many familial and cultural facets of our diverse region.”

(“I Hurt The Whole Way Through” by artist Jacqueline Valenzuela, 2023. Oil, aerosol and china marker on canvas.)

“This special collaborative exhibition, curated by Thinkspace Projects and Taloc Studios, celebrates the many ways we honor heritage, ritual, and family through the artistic expression of working SoCal artists.”

(“I Can Make You Dance” by The Perez Bros, 2023. Acrylic on paper.)

Within the “Traditions” exhibit, Anita was captivated by The Perez Bros and their newest painting titled “I Can Make You Dance.” The impressionist-style illustration with realistic qualities made it easy to picture myself within the crowd, dancing to the great tunes with lots friends & community members.

(“Big Wonder - Luna” by Giorgiko, 2022. Acrylic and aerosol on fiberglass and steel coated in gloss enamel.)

This exhibit runs from December 2, 2023 through February 25, 2024 and is located in the Muzeo Main Gallery.

(Travel poster included in the “Muzeo Express” diorama exhibition.)

Our last stop at the museum was the Carnegie Station to view “Muzeo Express a downtown Anaheim tradition that brings a whimsical holiday model train diorama to life in celebration of the season.” Anita loved all the details including one pre-historic reptile and pachyderm. The dioramas are on view from December 2, 2023 to January 28, 2024.

[forgeline]

Visceral. This fiberglass-bodied Downforce Motorsports Superformance Cobra 427 Mk3 is powered by a 427ci Shelby V8 mated to a Tremec 5-speed manual transmission and rides on a TIG-welded ladder frame chassis with fully independent front & rear suspension, Wilwood disc brakes, Continental tires, and center-locking 18x9.5/18x11 Forgeline forged three piece HL3-CL wheel finished with Gloss Black centers & Polished outers! See more at: https://forgeline.com/customer-gallery/downforce-motorsports

🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸

Forgeline formed in 1994 with the express purpose of manufacturing USA-made custom lightweight forged wheels for road racing applications. For 30 years since, we've built our reputation by engineering and manufacturing wheels that can withstand the extreme demands of sports car racing. With an unwavering commitment to strength, safety, and performance, we've earned our place on some of the world’s fastest track cars, including the factory-engineered Chevrolet C8 Corvette GT3.R, Chevrolet Camaro GT4.R, Ford Mustang GT4, and Hennessey Venom F5 Revolution. We continue to manufacture our forged wheels in Dayton, Ohio using exclusively U.S.-sourced parts, including our industry-leading APP aluminum forgings that meet the most stringent aerospace and defense industry specifications. Don't settle for anything less.

[mysterymanjoseph]

Walk Silently: mysterymanjoseph and wexarethewalking dead

It was not an 'instant' fall, it took the course of days, weeks, then, what one could call civilization was a shambles. His grandfather, having commissioned a study decades ago with a private think tank, laid out plans for several 'survival refuges' for the family to go to, to ride out the fall of society as it was known. Joseph was in the South East U.S. on business, when things started to decline. He had driven on the trip, rather than fly on one of the corporation's aircraft, so, getting all the way home was just not going to happen. Lucky for him, one of the refuges was in Northern Georgia. Driving as far as the gas in his Jeep could take him, and running out of gas to siphon from any abandoned vehicle he could find, it was the two foot express. That is when he really came to understand the scope, and ghastly nature of what was going on. The radio had mentioned riots, possible bio warfare, but, when the radio stations went quiet, and he was using the two foot express, his Bug Out Bag on his back, he saw what was happening. People, like out of a zombie movie, shambling around, attacking those that did not seem to be zombies. This was not one of the 'end of times' scenarios the think tank came up with, but, the end result would be the same. Stopping inside a Farm Supply store, he fashioned a weapon, attaching a sharpened metal 'blade' to a fiberglass axe handle. Early one, he discovered that the sounds from his rifle, or pistol, just drew the attention of this 'zombies'. Silence, and avoidance was the plan from now on. So, here he was now, avoiding towns, making his way North. He was looking for a place to bed down for the night, when he caught the sounds of movement, coming through the woodlands. He makes a slow, wide sweep around the sounds, getting some distance, and finds a place to observe what he suspects is an approaching group of the zombies. Finding he spot, he watches, seeing the shambling horde go by, then, closer movement catches his eye. Focusing, he see it is a woman, hiding from the same horde he is watching. He thinks, "Well, looks like someone is out here, trying not to die like I am, small world."

@wexarethewalkingxdead