#he has a US patent number on his torso

[in-tua-deep]

Good evening I’m getting into doll customization as a hobby and decided to go to a thrift store after work today

Usually there’s pretty much only girl dolls, sometimes an articulated one if I’m lucky? Today though I found two (2) articulated male dolls, which like, score, right?

Anyway one of these happens to be the MOST unhingedly hinged doll in existence. If I counted right I think this man has twenty-three points of articulation

He is also absolutely shredded

Why

[psychosistr]

FOWL Facets- Chapter 1

Summary: After going missing for more than a day, Steelbeak’s team finally gets word from the missing gem and goes to pick him up, but something seems..off.

Notes: This is fic number two for my 100 Follower Fic Giveaway! This one is for the anon who requested something with Steelbeak and @eleanorose123 / @thefriendlyfour ‘s awesome OC, Dominic Domino, in the Steven Universe!AU (Fearsome Facets) that I’ve been working on with @abbythegamergirl . As a special bonus, I also got to use @deldraws19 ‘s wonderful OC Loony Toony for this story! ^.^ Enjoy!

Daily life continues as it usually does for the organic creatures of the planet Earth. They go to work or school, eat, sleep, and live out their dull, short lives. All of them completely and blissfully unaware of the creatures prowling about their world and blending in among them- some for noble reasons such as to protect the planet, some for more sinister motives such as its destruction, and even more who walk the line between the two sides for their own benefit while hiding in the shadows.

This is a tale following those who work from the shadows, unaligned in the fight of good and evil…

Slowly circling the Earth, hidden high above the clouds and beyond the detection of standard Earth-based scanners, a black ship flies unseen through the skies. The surface of the ship is sharp and angular, looking similar to an obsidian arrowhead with four wings/thrusters sprouting from the back to form a sideways X shape along the flatter back end of the ship. It’s dark, reflective coating looks as if the whole thing were carved from a single large stone rather than many pieces of metal like most ships native to the planet- the only exceptions to its deep black color being speckles of white along the undercarriage of the ship and an angular red windshield on the front. The dark material works to its favor, however, letting it blend in with the starry sky behind it and giving it a natural camouflage with its surroundings.

Within the cockpit of the ship, amongst the many red and white panels with their hologram-projected interfaces, a small panel on the dash lights up with a pinging sound. A hand with brown feathers and black fingerless gloves taps the panel, bringing up a large hologram of the planet in white with a single, small, glowing black point pulsing on it.

“Steelbeak’s beacon just came back online.” A female voice says while the gloved hands zoom in on the black point of the hologram.

“Confirm that it’s actually him and double check for any other gems in the area.” A male voice commands from the other side of the hologram, red eyes watching closely as the image zooms in on the black point.

“Way ahead of you.” The female voice from earlier responds. Once the hologram-map is zoomed in far enough, it changes to an image of a single figure outlined in black standing on its own in a large, open field. “No other gems on the radar..” A gloved hand taps the image of the figure, bringing up a square bubble of text in a language consisting mostly of glyphs. “Andradite garnet..subset, black melanite..ball cut..yeah, that looks like Steelbeak.”

“Hm..” The red eyes narrow slightly, looking closely at the black-outlined hologram. “Go pick him up, but keep an eye out for any traps. I want to know why he went off the grid without contacting us first.”

“On it.” The female voice responds, a pair of gloved hands coming down to an extra-wide red panel and moving over it to steer the ship.

Red eyes stay fixed on the hologram, the male voice speaking quietly. “What have you been up to, Steelbeak…?”

______________________________________________________

A being perfectly matching the hologram from earlier waits patiently in the middle of a flat, open field miles away from any nearby towns. It appears to be a tall rooster with a large red comb, green tail feathers, and, interestingly enough, a rather dangerous looking, jagged, metallic beak. He’s dressed rather classy for someone standing in the middle of a dirty field, wearing black slacks with a red button up shirt, a black bowtie, a white suit jacket, and black patent leather oxfords with white spats. On the left side of his chest, where one would normally see a pocket square or boutonniere, is a gleaming black ball-cut melanite gemstone.

“Geez, what’s taken ‘em so long..?” He grumbles to himself while pulling back his left sleeve to check what, at first, looks like a regular black wrist watch, but actually displays a small radar-like hologram of two black points steadily getting closer to each other. The clouds parting above him draws his attention up towards the sky. “About time..” At first it’s hard to see anything against the starry backdrop, but, after moving lower, it becomes easier to see the outline of the black ship against the re-forming clouds. It gets close enough for the bottom hatch to open and extend a ramp, the melanite climbing on board. He looks around once he’s inside and the hatch has closed behind him, tapping his knuckles against one of the nearby walls as he ventures further into the ship. “Hey, anyone home?”

The ship is loaded with plenty of control consoles, interactive panels, and devices built into the walls and ceilings of the ship, but is fairly sparse on things like furniture and decorations. In fact, the first decorative thing that he spots is a tall shelving unit built into one of the walls. The shelves have what looks like a translucent white energy barrier in front of them, presumably to keep the various small colorful objects (mostly toys, it would seem) from falling off and onto the floor. Seemingly curious about the shelves and the out of place items on it, the melanite moves in for a closer look.

“Hehe~” A giggle echoing through the room, however, stops him in his tracks.

“??” The melanite looks around, searching for the source of the laughter. “Hello..?”

“Hehe~” Another giggle, that time coming from behind him.

“?!” He turns to look, but sees nothing. He hears the sound of movement from somewhere behind him and starts to walk backwards to get away from it. When he finally turns back around to face where he’s going, however, he’s met with large, black and white eyes directly in front of his own.

“Boo!” The excitedly smiling black beak just beneath (above, from his perspective) the black and white eyes says before sticking a white tongue out at him playfully.

“What the-?!” The rooster, startled by the surprise appearance of the face in front of him, tries to take a step back but ends up slipping on a small stuffed blue teddy bear lying on the ground. “Woah!” He falls down onto the ground, rubbing his head after he lands with a thud. “Oof…that’s gonna smart…”

“Whoopsie! Sorry, Steely!” The person hanging from the ceiling begins to reorient herself, moving so that she’s right-side-up before dropping down onto the ground from her previous hiding spot on the ceiling. Doing so reveals her to be another gem like him, though in her case she has a smooth heart-cut black spinel gemstone in the center of her chest over her black and white-striped long-sleeved shirt. She has matching stripes along her legs with everything else she’s wearing- a pair of gloves, her slightly platformed shoes, a puffy pair of pocketed suspender shorts, the round cloth bindings between her torso and her arms, and a hairband holding her hair up into a ponytail- are all grey with the shorts, overalls, and main part of the shoes being a lighter shade while the hairband, gloves, soles of her shoes, bindings on her arms, and the buttons and pockets on her overall shorts are all the same shade of darker grey. Once her unusually long arms are detangled from the various wires and beams of the ceiling, she reaches down to offer the melanite a hand up. “You okay?”

He takes the offered hand and pulls himself back up to his feet. “Eh, nothing scuffed or cracked, so I’ll live.”

“Oh, goodie!” Knowing that he wasn’t injured seems to be all the go-ahead she needs to start laughing, her earlier smile returning full-force. “I haven’t gotten you that good in a while! You should’ve seen the look on your face!”

“Yeah, yeah, that was pretty funny.” The melanite’s slightly forced smile contradicts his words, but the spinel ignores him as she begins stretching her body around him- elongating her neck so she can peek around his shoulder from behind while her hands start poking and prodding at his pockets. “Um..whatcha doin’, doll?”

She stretches her neck further so that her face moves around in front of his. “You promised you’d bring me something, remember? You didn’t forget, right??” She begins to pout, looking disappointed by the lack of objects in his pockets.

He rubs the back of his head with a slight frown. “Oh, geez…sorry, somethin’ came up and I didn’t get the chance. My bad..”

“Awwwww…” Her entire body seems to deflate with the disappointing news, her elongated limbs and neck drooping down to the ground while her head remains upright in the air.

The melanite frowns a bit more at the sad look on the spinel’s face and pats her on the head. “Tell ya what? I’ll getcha three next time t’ make it up to ya. Sound good?” He offers her a smile to go along with his words.

“Really?!” She perks back up instantly, her limbs and neck snapping back into place as she gives him an excited smile.

“Sure thing.” He promises with a grin of his own at her renewed energy.

“Yay! Thanks, Steely!” The spinel throws her arms around the melanite in a big hug, the long limbs stretching so they can wrap and coil around him three times over. “You’re the best!”

“Heh, no problem.” He winces slightly from the tightness of the embrace. “Say, you seen Domino? I gotta talk t’ him ‘bout somethin’.”

“Oh, Dommy’s in his room.” She unwinds her arms from around him and points down one of the ship’s hallways. “Said he got a call from High Command.”

“Ah, cool.” He gives her another pat on the head before walking down the indicated hall. “Thanks, sweetheart.” He calls over his shoulder with a wave, not looking back at her.

“No problemo-!” She almost walks off, but stops and does a double-take, watching the melanite disappear down the corridor with a confused expression on her face. “Wait, ‘sweetheart’??” Keeping her eyes on him, she stretches her arms up to the beams on the ceiling and blends in with them once again.

The melanite continues towards his destination, unaware of the confusion from the spinel regarding his choice of words. As he passes one of the rooms, the door opens up and he bumps into someone right as they come out of what appears to be the ship’s control room.

“Hey, watch it!” The person he bumped into turns out to be another gem, this one looking like a brown-feathered female chicken with short dark hair. Her outfit is pretty casual, consisting of a black shirt with torn sleeves, ripped black jeans, black and white sneakers, black fingerless gloves, and what appears to be a white lab coat tied around her waist. As she rubs her head, the black gemstone on her left shoulder catches the light- at a glance, one could be forgiven for seeing it as just a regular black stone, but, as it refracts the lights overhead, the white star in the center appears, revealing it to be a round black and white star-sapphire. She looks up at the melanite she bumped into and rolls her eyes. “Steelbeak…why am I NOT surprised..?” She asks sarcastically.

The melanite helps her to her feet. “Sorry ‘bout that, toots.” He nods his head in the direction he was going before he bumped into her. “Domino’s still in his room, right?”

“……” The star-sapphire eyes him with an unreadable expression after he helps her up. “Yeah, I think so. He should be finishing up his call with High Command soon.”

“Good to know, thanks.” He continues on his way, unaware of the suspicious gaze following him as he walks away.

He walks to the end of the hall and looks at the five doors, each one imprinted with a different gem on the front: The first one on the right has a round black and white star-sapphire on it. The one right next to it has a heart-shaped black spinel. The first one on the left has a black ball-cut melanite. The one next to it has a step-cut black and white snowflake obsidian. The gem on the final door, located on the wall between the two sides of the hall, has been shot at, burned, and shredded so badly that the gem on it is no longer recognizable- all that remains are a few traces of blue between the bullet holes and gauges in the material.

Finding the door that he’s looking for, the melanite knocks twice on the one with the snowflake obsidian on the front.

“It’s open.” A voice from within calls, sounding distracted.

Activating the small panel beside the door, the melanite calmly walks in. “Hey, Dom.” He greets the room’s only occupant with a quick wave.

The gem in question is a loon with striking red eyes and a step-cut black and white snowflake obsidian on the right side of his chest. Unlike the other two gems on the ship, his outfit could be considered a bit more refined, consisting of a white collared shirt under a black buttoned-up vest, a red bow tie, a white hat with a red band holding a small domino in place, and a long white coat that went down to just past his white leg feathers with a red inner-lining, a domino on each shoulder, an unclasped red belt with a white buckle, and a pattern along the bottom featuring large black lines that were each topped with a black circle.

“Hm..?” The snowflake obsidian had been busy reading something on a datapad when the other gem walked in. Seated at a small two-person table built into the left wall of the tastefully decorated room, he looks up when he hears the melanite’s greeting. He cocks an eyebrow at the taller gem, setting the datapad aside for the time being. “Since when do you knock?”

The melanite just shrugs, stepping further into the room and letting the door close behind him. “Heard you was takin’ a call from High Command, didn’t wanna interrupt anythin’ important.”

“That’s never stopped you before.” Domino gets up from his seat, looking the other gem over slowly. “Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, mind telling me why you suddenly decided to deactivate your beacon and have been ignoring our calls for the past twenty-eight hours?”

“Eh, just ran into a bit of trouble.” He shrugs again, leaning against the wall casually. “Nothin’ I couldn’t handle.”

Domino crosses his arms, giving the other gem a mild glare. “If you ‘run into trouble’, you’re supposed to call us immediately. Code 67, remember? ‘All F.O.W.L. agents operating in teams of two or more are to call for backup to neutralize any threats above Class 2.’ Considering you had to go dark for more than a day, I’d say that threat fell far above a Class 2.” He watches the melanite closely, stern eyes picking him apart with their sharp gaze.

“Like I said, it wasn’t anythin’ I couldn’t handle- no need t’ get you an’ the ladies involved.” The melanite waves off the reminder and the stern glare, not noticing the way the other gem’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Anyway, we’ve got bigger things t’ worry about.” He looks down at Domino, his previous demeanor changing to something more serious. “I found somethin’ big you’re gonna wanna see for yourself…but I don’t think we can take the others with us for this one.”

“Oh?” Domino’s eyebrow raises again in a look of curiosity. “We have to go without Loony and Gandra? That does sound serious. Where exactly are we going?”

“Can’t talk about it here.” He says with a shake of his head. “Let’s just grab one of the backup pods, I know the way.”

Domino walks closer, pulling back the sleeve on his right arm to reveal a black watch similar to the one the melanite checked earlier in the field. “Just a moment, I got a message from High Command earlier and they wanted me to make sure everyone else got it.” He pushes a button on the screen shaped like a star-sapphire. “Gandra, I got a message regarding a possible Code Zultanite. Did you?”

The voice of the star-sapphire from earlier is heard through the watch’s speakers. “Yeah, I got that message. Loony?”

An image of a heart-shaped spinel appears on the screen as the spinel from earlier can be heard now. “Code Zulta- ohhhh! Yep! I got that too!”

“Good to know we’re all on the same page.” Domino walks over to the door and puts his hand on a small panel next to it, opening the door up quickly. “Now that that’s out of the way..” He doesn’t finish his statement- instead, he raises one hand and a white barrier forms in front of him. He then thrusts his hand forward, sending the barrier crashing into the melanite with a great deal of momentum that sends him flying out of the room.

“!!!” The melanite hits the closed door on the other side of the hall, wincing from the impact. “Hey, what’s the big ide-?!” He ducks just in time to avoid a burst of flames aimed directly at his head. “Woah!” He scrambles to get out of the way of another shot of fire, running down the hall to avoid the attack.

Domino follows him out into the hall, a pistol held in his right hand. “Oh, I think you know what the ‘big idea’ is…or do I have to make it even clearer for you?” He brings his left hand to the gem on his chest, the stone glowing as he pulls a second gun identical to the first out of his gem. He aims and fires the second gun at the floor below the retreating gem’s feet right as the barrel turns an icy blue, a bullet of the same color hitting the ground and freezing it over with a smooth sheet of ice.

“Ack!” The melanite slips and falls over, wincing again when he hits the ground. He isn’t given long to linger on the sensation, though, as he’s forced to quickly roll to the side to avoid a yellow bullet sparking with electricity that had been aimed right at his head. “Stars!” He swears under his breath, getting to his feet again once he’s off of the icy patch and trying to run while keeping an eye on the snowflake obsidian.

Unfortunately, this proves to be a mistake for him, as he doesn’t notice the black and white striped leg stretching across the floor in his path until it’s too late. The spinel from earlier stretches down from the ceiling and gives the melanite a light shove with her hand. “Tag, you’re it!” She laughs as he ends up tripping over her leg.

“Not yet, Loony.” The star-sapphire from earlier is standing over him when he lands on the ground, taking off one of her gloves. With the black fabric gone, dark lines that look like circuitry wired into her palm are revealed. “Now he’s it.” The lines on her hand light up right before she touches his face.

A powerful bolt of white electricity goes through the melanite’s body, making him spasm and twitch before everything goes dark…

Next Chapter-> End Notes: Keeping the first chapter fairly short to help with the pacing and properly establish each of the characters :)

Fun side note- I wanted to make Steelbeak and Domino part of a team as a mirror to the main story that focuses mostly on the Fearsome Four with occasional appearances from the Crystal Ducks (Darkwing, Launchpad, Gizmoduck, and Gosalyn). Both of the other main teams for the series were in groups of four, so I thought it would be fitting to make a F.O.W.L. team too :D Gandra was someone I’d already thought of putting on the team because I liked her DT17 design and already mentioned her before in the character bios along with Steelbeak.

When trying to figure out who would be the best option for the final member of the team, I remembered @thefriendlyfour ‘s and @deldraws19 ‘s pictures of Domino and Loony and felt like she would be a perfect fit that perfectly balances the group on multiple levels: Her cheerful disposition serves as a counterbalance for how sarcastic or cynical the others can get sometimes. Like Gandra, she’s a gem that doesn’t have a weapon of her own since she was never made to be a battle gem, but her stretchy, impenetrable body acts as a weapon in and-of-itself, similar to how Gandra uses the electrified white gem-destabilizers in her hand as a way to fight despite her purpose. I also really liked the balance of short to mid-range attacks she would be capable of in combat and enjoyed the idea that the girls (Gandra and Loony) on the team would be more of the up-close brawlers while the guys (Domino and Steelbeak) would be more of the mid to long-range fighters with their weapons. Add to all of this the fact that her and Domino have a sibling-like relationship AND that she would be someone who knew him back when he was with Checkers and there’s no way I could resist asking Del for permission to use this awesome character and I am so so SO glad I did because she works so well off of everyone else!

[xxx-cat-xxx]

Surprises

For @whumphoarder​. Happy Happy Happy Birthday, Bethany!

This is set in my favourite alternative universe where everyone’s alive after Endgame and staying together at the reconstructed Avengers compound. Fluff & Humour.

Thanks to @sallyidss​ for beta reading!

_____________________

It’s 2am on a Friday night and Tony is sitting his lab, working on the solar-powered spider car he is planning to give Peter for his birthday. 

The gift had technically been ready a week ago, but then Morgan broke into the lab and spent a happy afternoon using various spray paints to add a personal touch to the vehicle - a cute gesture, but Tony doubts whether Peter would want a car with a five-year old’s “golden glitter spiders” painted all over it. Tony came down to the workshop hours ago - originally only in order to clean the mess, but then he got the sudden inspiration of adding a pizza slice holder to the passenger door, and after that his ideas only kept multiplying, and who needs sleep anyway?

He’s currently bent over his StarkPad, completely immersed in updating the safety system once again, when something pokes him in the shoulder.

“Oh yeah, coffee sounds great,” Tony mutters and turns around, fully expecting to see his self-propelled cup holder hovering next to him with his hourly dose of caffeine. 

Instead, his gaze falls onto a very bloody kid. 

“What on earth?” Tony exclaims. With a quick gesture, he orders DUM-E to pull a cover over the car on the other side of the lab, hoping that Peter hasn’t taken notice. 

“Uhm, Mr. Stark, I can explain…” Peter mumbles. 

“What happened, kid?” Tony asks, stunned. Peter is pressing a rag against a wound on his ribcage, which seems to be the main source for the blood, but it’s all over his body, some drops have even made it to his hair. “I thought you went to sleep, not crime fighting!”

“No, this wasn’t a criminal - it was Black Widow’s knives,” Peter admits sheepishly.

“What?” Tony frowns. “Nat’s not even in the country!”

“No, no, not Natasha - I got cut by the knives in her cabinet-”

“You opened Natasha’s cabinet? Are you mad?”

“No, Mr. Stark, just listen, please! Cassie and I had a bet that I couldn’t do a triple backflip without touching the ground, but Captain Rogers and Mr. Barnes were wrestling in the gym, so I went to practise in the attic. I got distracted by watching Falcon fly upside down in front of the window... and then I crashed into the cabinet,” he spills without taking a breath in between.

“You...What?” There are so many things wrong with Peter’s explanation that Tony’s doesn’t even know where to start. It definitely seems like a nanny would be a good idea for most of the compound’s inhabitants.

“Uhm…” Peter interrupts, suddenly swaying a little. “I think I should sit down…”

“Shit.” Tony feels his chest goes tight in worry - the lecture can wait for later. He pushes Peter down onto the lab stool. “Okay, let me see.” 

Tony unceremoniously pulls up the boy’s t-shirt and raises his eyebrows at the mess. There are a number of cuts all over his torso, but the most worrying one is an approximately 5-inch slash on his rib cage. “Yeah, this definitely needs stitches,” he assesses.

Peter bites his lip. “I’m sure the spider healing will take care -”

“You know yourself that it won’t, or you wouldn’t have come to me. Come on, let’s move you over there.” Tony wraps an arm around Peter’s shoulders and supports him to the sofa in the corner of the lab. “Lie down, kid. I’ll fix you up.”

“Are you sure you can do this?” Peter asks doubtfully. “No offence, just, you’re not exactly a doctor…” The kids eyes glance at Tony’s left hand, which is trembling a little like usual. 

“Well…” Tony lifts his right arm dramatically, and a needle extends from his index finger. “The perks of being able to design your own prosthetic arm. I got it patented, it’s fully approved to perform simple medical operations.” 

“Wow!” For a moment, Peter seems to have all but forgotten about his injury. “That’s amazing.”

“Amazing is my middle name.” 

(Tony doesn’t mention that the main reason for incorporating the feature is that it provides him with an easy way to avoid consulting medical about his own frequent work injuries.)

“What else do you have in there?” Peter asks, eyes gleaming.

“Anything and everything you can imagine. Sometimes I wish I had thought of something like that earlier, the self-cleaning function would have come in handy while changing Morgan’s diapers…”

Peter chuckles. But when Tony dabs Lidocaine on the wound and goes on to insert a surgical thread into the eye of the needle, he presses his lips together, his face paling.

“What’s wrong, kid?”

“Nothing.” The boy’s voice is shaking a little.

“Sure, Pinocchio.”

“I just - I don’t really like needles,” Peter admits, biting his lip and eyeing the device nervously.

“Oh, kid.” Tony feels for him, but he can’t help but add, “On the plus side, at least I don’t have to worry about you getting an I love Justin Bieber tattoo on your bicep.”

 “Justin Bieber? How old are you?” Peter exclaims in honest shock.

Tony gives him a stern look. “Watch it, boy.” 

Tony hears Peter’s breath quicken when he bends over the boy and pierces his skin with the needle. “So, tell me about that physicist you never shut up about, what’s his name? Saran Wrap Twigson?” 

“Søren Thygesen!” Peter corrects indignantly. “You totally know his name.”

“What’s his newest discovery?”

“You’re just trying to distract me,” Peter points out. He flinches when Tony places the next stitch.

“Never, kid,” Tony says in fake earnestness. “So, Søren Thygesen. He plays the, what was it, saxophone? Bagpipe?”

“Didgeridoo,” Peter grumbles. “He even won a national competition in Denmark, it’s all on YouTube.”

“What did he have to say about NASA’s newest Mars mission?”

When Peter doesn’t respond, Tony glances up between the careful movements of his fingers. The kid’s face has taken on a slightly dazed look and he is swallowing thickly. 

“Don’t puke on me,” Tony warns.

“Huh?” 

“I know that look from Morgan. That’s the I’m going to barf in the next five minutes face.”

“Nah, I’m good.” Peter swallows once more. It’s more like a gulp this time. He glances down at the needle. “Okay, maybe I’m feeling a little queasy.” 

“Uhm.” Tony warily eyes the trash can on the other side of the room, then looks down at his handiwork. “Just hold it for another minute, okay? Two more stitches.”

Peter nods and squeezes his eyes shut. His face has taken on an ashen tint and there is sweat running down his temples. 

Tony finishes the stitches as quickly as possible. “Done,” he sighs with relief. The nanotech of his small finger retracts to reveal a scissor. “Just let me cut-”

“Daddy?” 

Morgan is standing in the door frame, all messy bedhead with a Spider-Man plush toy in her arms. She looks from the blood-covered t-shirt on the ground and the surgery equipment poking out from Tony’s prosthetic hand to the gash on Peter’s chest, and promptly bursts into tears. 

“Hey bud, don’t worry,” Peter mumbles. He struggles to sit up a little straighter and tries for a reassuring smile which quickly morphs into a pained grimace. “I’m fine.” 

Then, without further warning, he leans forward and throws up all over Tony’s pants.

*

Five years of parenting have done wonders for Tony’s patience, but after calming down one puking and one crying kid, changing everyone’s clothes, getting the bots to clean up the lab and settling Morgan back to sleep (and reassuring her about 3000 times that Peter will indeed be fine), he is pretty much at the end of his nerves. 

When he returns to the lab, Peter is waiting on the couch where Tony has left him with a bottle of gatorade and strict orders not to move from there before the end of the night. 

“How’re you holding up?” Tony asks, hoping his tone doesn’t betray his own exhaustion.

“Okay, I guess.” Peter is still pale, but not looking in any immediate danger of being sick or passing out, so Tony counts that as a win.

“Let me see.” The engineer lifts the gauze the kid was pressing against his ribcage. The stitches are neat and regular, and Tony mentally congratulates himself for his precision work. Maybe he’s imagining it, but it looks like the edges of the wound are already starting to grow back together. “I’ll bandage this and then you can go to sleep. You’re staying home tomorrow, and no acrobatics for at least a week.”

“But Mr. Stark, what about the backflip? I bet Cassie for the clip of her dad and Mr. Barton performing Umbrella at the New Year’s party!” 

“Will you stop, please?” Tony growls. “My lecture on responsible behaviour will follow in the morning, once I’m properly awake. But don’t dare to even think about doing anything like that in the attic again.” 

“On second thought…” Peter smiles cheekily, “I kinda did manage the triple backflip before I hit the cabinet, so if I could just get a hand on the security camera feed and show them to Cassie…?” 

Tony sighs. “FRIDAY?” 

“The footage has been sent to Mr. Parker’s email account, Boss.”

“Thanks. Now, on to the important issues…” Tony starts to dress the stitches on Peter’s chest as well as the smaller wounds. Peter stays quiet, but he can’t suppress a wince when the disinfect burns in the cuts.

“Do you want a painkiller?” Tony asks. “Actually, scratch that, I’m ordering you to have one. Dum-E?” 

The robot whirs off obediently to retrieve one of the Super Duper Painkillers Bruce and Tony cooked up for Peter’s enhanced metabolism. 

Meanwhile, Tony finishes the dressing. “That’s done, but no hasty movements with this, you gotta promise-”

There’s a clatter from behind, and then Tony hears Peter suck in a gulp of air through his teeth.

“What?” Tony turns around and sees, to his horror, that Dum-E managed to get entangled in the sheet covering the car and pulled it down completely, revealing the present to Peter.

“Oh my god,” Peter whispers. “Is that for me…?”

“No, I’m designing a red-and-blue cobwebbed-themed car for Hawkeye,” Tony snorts. “You were not supposed to see that. Great work, Dummy.” The robot whirs apologetically. “Yeah, yeah, that’s not gonna help you.”

“A car…oh my god...” Peter’s face is an adorable mixture of shock, surprise, gratitude and awe. 

“It’s not just any car,” Tony clarifies, then stops himself before he can give away the special features - spider legs to take over in dangerous terrain, or the swimming ability, or the wings, oh yeah, the wings... The mechanic has still got some surprises up his sleeve.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark, thank you so much! That’s amazing, that’s, that’s -” the kid is clearly lost for words. He looks at Tony with a huge grin and tears in his puppy eyes that have nothing to do with the pain from his injuries, and the engineer can feel his heart go warm. 

“No big deal,” he dismisses. “Now, take your painkiller and then move over.” 

He fetches the pills from Dum-E and shakes one into Peter’s hand, who swallows it obediently and then shifts on the couch to make space for his mentor. 

Tony groans when he drops into the cushions. He watches as Peter curls up on the other end of the couch. The boy’s eyelids are already drooping, the exhaustion of the day catching up with him. Gratefully, he notices that the pain is slowly dissipating from the kid’s features.

Tony is feeling more wiped out than he usually does after a week-long workshop binge. Kids are a plague. But, he realises with a smile when Peter falls asleep with his arms wrapped around Tony’s legs, they’re worth every second of it.

_____________________

I stole the flying saucer, Søren Thygesen, and the Super Duper Painkiller from whumphoarder’s and @awesomesockes’s wonderful fic universe.

Taglist: @toomuchtoread33  @yepokokfine

All my fics

[johnsonofbrian]

IndyWrestlingLife Interview: Jumping John Myers

How long have you been a referee? I’ve been a referee since 2003 (I wrestled in 2000).

Where did you learn how to become a referee? I attended the Prof. Tütree’s Umpire School for Gifted Children at a young age, where you spend 7 years studying all aspects of officiating. Lessons would include proper hand signals, general fitness and learning the proper technique for a sweet knee slide.

Why did you become a referee? Like most referee’s it wasn’t so much a passion for wrestling, but a calling. This calling can manifest itself in a searing vision, an out of body experience where you are visited by one of the great referees of old…or (like myself) a striking birthmark of thick black lines on the torso (similar to the referee shirt that you are present with at the end of your training).

What is the referee’s role in the match? It’s been said that wrestling is an “Art Form” – and if that is the case then it is the referee’s duty to ensure that the combatants stay inside the lines.

What are the various ways of communicating with the talent during the match? I find yelling to be the best way. Occasionally I have had to resort to being more physical – a stiff finger-poke to the chest or a vicious ear twist tends to drive the message home.

Tell us about the first time that you refereed a match. Well I didn’t get to step foot into a ring to referee a match until I had left Professor Tütree’s School, so I was very excited for my first match/show. I have no big memories from it however, I’m sure if I could find the match on VHS tape though I would have a good cringe.

What was the most memorable match ever refereed? Genuinely I would say it wasn’t a match with any “big stars” in it, or even in a big venue (probably lucky if there was 100 people there)…but it was a match (fairly early on in my career) I was refereeing with a guy I had trained with who was wrestling in the main event for the big title in that promotion. I’d known the guy for a lot of years, we’d been to (real) school together, and he managed to win that night – and I’ll probably never forget handing him the belt, his first belt, and raising his hand.

Have you ever been injured during a match? If so what happened? I’ve legit dislocated my shoulder during a match (my counting arm no less!), and it was a show with no back-up ref so I did the only thing I could do which was force the shoulder back into the socket and finish the match/show. The couple of days I was pretty sore.

How many matches have you refereed in your career? I know a lot of referees who have kept records of this, and it’ll probably be one of my big regrets in wrestling that I haven’t kept a track of the exact number – but I think it’s somewhere around the 1100/1200 mark.

How do wrestlers communicate to you when they’ve been seriously injured? Screaming does the trick…or they’ll grab hold of you to make sure you understand. Really it’s one of the main duties to make sure everyone involved with the match is okay at all times.

How do you handle that a wrestler is injured so badly that the wrestler can no longer continue? Professor Tütree always said that the well-being of the competitor’s is paramount. If these guys are hurt, they may well have families, this may be how they make a living and pay their bills…stopping a contest due to one of the wrestlers being unable to continue is a totally legitimate finish to a match (and does happen on occasion) and it would be that way in any other sport.

What do you wish the public would know about your role as a referee? On occasion…a referee may…miss something. One of the wrestlers may…get an unfair advantage, due to the referee…missing a call. The public need to understand that yes, when people talk about “the record books” in wrestling, they’re a real thing – the record books. The second the bell rings at the end of a contest, that match is logged and the winners name added. To reverse a decision after something has come to light at the end of a match…the amount of paperwork associated with reversing said decision is quite frankly ridiculous. You can spend hours filling in forms, giving evidence on video tape, showing a lawyer what exactly happened (through the use of very official cuddly toys). It’s a nightmare – and something I, myself, have had to do when necessity obligated it.

What advice would you give someone who would be interested in becoming a referee? Finding a good school really is the best way (I’m not saying that you could get into Prof. Tütree’s Umpire School for Gifted Children like I did…the exams are proper hard). Really you need to get online and have a look around what is in your area. When I started out it was adverts in the paper, or in the back of wrestling magazines. Finding a school with a good track record of turning out good wrestlers, and that have good trainers will be the most beneficial way for someone with a desire to learn the proper way.

What are your family and friends think of you being a pro wrestling referee? I don’t know if “proud” is the right word…but I can tell by the misty eyed, almost vacant (glassy?) look on my wife’s face whenever I arrive home from a show and proceed to explain (in detail) the blow-by-blow account of each match that she must be holding back the tears of adoration that she feels towards me.

What would you like the wrestlers to know about your role as a referee? Things would go a lot smoother if everyone involved in the match would abide by the rules and listen to my instructions. There are serious ramification to be had if I am ignored (please see above reference to the ear-twisting).

Have you ever been in a confrontation with an overzealous fan who doesn’t realize that the whole thing is scripted? I real I will say this I’ve had my fair share of grandma’s hit me with their handbags at shows. They were soon laughing the other side of their false teeth when I had security throw them out believe me.

Is there anything else you’d like to share about what you do? I think wrestlers are amazing, the amount of time they spend on the road and away from their families, and the punishment they endure on a regular basis is a remarkable thing…that being said, referees need love to – and I have merchandise for sale: Check out: https://www.tshirtstudio.com/marketplace/-refclub

Where are you located? The North East of England.

What promotions have you worked for? What Culture Pro Wrestling, NGW, Absolute Wrestling, NORTH Wrestling, Tidal Championship Wrestling , First Class Wrestling , RISE Wrestling, Three Count Wrestling , Hybrid Pro, Allstar Wrestling , LDN Wrestling, North East Wrestling Society, Wrestle-Zone Wrestling, All-Action Wrestling, Independent Wrestling Federation, Main Event Wrestling…so far.

Have there been any instances during the match with the wrestlers turned it into a shoot, and what did you do? Not too long ago I was refereeing a match between Primate (an amazing UK Wrestler) and Chris “Dirty Daddy” Dickinson (a wrestler over from the states). It didn’t get to the point where I needed to step in…but literally I was about 1 second away from having to get between these two giant men. I’m not sure what I would have done if I had got between them with the punches and kicks that were flying about…maybe break out the patented ear twist again.

[kinkykinard]

1500 Follower Ficlet #8

Requested by the wonderful @thefanficfaerie!

Fandom: Star Trek AOS. Pairing: Jim Kirk X Female Reader. Prompt: Corsets. Rating: 18+. Warnings: oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, nipple play. Words: 2677.

The ballroom is alive with an excited energy all around you as you spin in Jim’s arms, dancing among the Orion debutantes at the planet’s annual alliance day ball, celebrating the historic moment when the Orions had finally joined the Federation.  There are humans and aliens alike in everything from simple, conservative suits to fantastical, flowing robes and gowns.  You yourself are dressed in a floor-length skirt and a brocade coutil corset colored to match, the ribbons holding the bodice tightly in place trailing down your back in lazy curls.

Though you’ve stopped moving, the room around you continues to spin in a dizzy haze, the twinkling fairy lights strung from the rafters blurring in haphazard streaks in your vision.  The dizziness pulses around you, waxing and waning in time with each heartbeat in your chest, and before you can realize what’s about to happen you start to fade from consciousness.

You’re not sure how long you’ve out as you start to come to again, but it’s been long enough that Dr. McCoy has found his way over to where Jim is cradling you in his arms.  You move to sit up but Jim’s grip tightens around your shoulders, keeping you pinned close.

“You gave us quite a scare, darlin’,” Dr. McCoy murmurs, moving directly into your line of sight when he sees your gaze flick to the crescent of people standing around behind him and gawking.

“I’m fine,” you say quietly, your breathing a little hindered by the constriction of the corset you’re wearing.

Dr. McCoy frowns and gives you one of his patented disproving looks.  He reaches out and runs his fingers over the corset, his touch catching on each of the garment’s wire bones.  The fabric is so taught across your skin that you barely feel the pressure of his fingers.

“Bones?”  Jim asks worriedly.

“She’ll be fine, Jim,” Dr. McCoy reassures him.  “Just take her back to the Enterprise and get her out of that god forsaken corset.  It’s got a vice grip on her lungs.”

You can feel Jim’s worry continuing to radiate off of him, but he nods regardless and stays close to you as Dr. McCoy offers you a hand up.  You’re a little shaky on your feet and you’re just about to put some of your weight on Jim when you feel your feet leave the floor.  Yelping in surprise, you cling to Jim’s neck as you’re swept up into his arms, your heart fluttering frantically in your too-tight chest.  Jim smiles at you apologetically and turns toward the exit, but pauses just long enough to glance over his shoulder at his best friend.

“Just so I’m clear,’ he says to the CMO.  “You’re telling me that the way to treat this is to take my girlfriend back to my quarters and get her naked?”

The doctor rolls his eyes, his expression becoming incredulous.

“Unbelievable,” he mutters.  “The woman is slowly suffocating and you’re making sex jokes.”

As Jim turns toward the exit and strides through the door with a grin, you swear you can hear the CMO mutter something like infant under his breath.  You giggle a little, you head still swimming in the wake of your fainting spell, and cling to Jim tightly as he carefully sets you on your feet on the building’s lawn.

“Scotty, two to beam up,” he says into his comm.

A quick response from the man on the other end of the comm and the two of you are being whisked away in swirls of golden light.  Before you know it, you’re back on the transporter deck aboard the ship and Jim is scooping you up again.  You ride back to your shared quarters in his arms, passing blessedly few people in the halls.

Activating the door with a command, Jim carries you over the threshold and into the bedroom, gently setting you down on the bed.  You breathe a sigh of relief as the boning that’s been digging into your ribs in your crunched position eases up and makes breathing just the smallest bit easier.

“Are you okay?”  Jim asks, crouching next to the bed so he’s at eye level.  

You smile, nodding.

“Just need to catch my breath,” you reply.

Jim smiles softly, reaching out to gently stroke your cheek.

“I’m sure that’ll be easier with the corset off,” he comments.  “Do you think you can sit up?”

You nod and slowly prop yourself up on your elbows.  The corset makes your movements stiff and slow, but you eventually do him one better and get to your feet.  He follows close at hand, keeping his arms out in case you stumble.  It takes you a moment to steady yourself but once you do, you turn so your back is to him and glance over your shoulder.

“Would you care to do the honors?”  You ask.

“It’d be my pleasure,” Jim replies with a grin.

You feel a gentle tug as he pulls on one of the ribbons binding you, releasing the knot holding the corset in place.  You immediately feel the bottom couple of inches give, creating a slight lacing gap as the busk parts, the ribbon slipping through the loops.  You feel another pull a moment later and realize it’s Jim’s fingers sliding the two ends of the ribbon out of their grommets, slowly parting the corset further and further.

Your breath catches in your throat a moment later as his fingers find their way further up, his knuckles brushing your spine as he works more of the bodice loose.  Your breathing is already getting easier, but you still find yourself lacking in air at his touch.  Biting your lip, you close your eyes and relish in the touch of his skin on yours as he unbinds you bit by bit.

Getting the corset off is a slow, torturous process in Jim’s hands.  His touches are all but innocent and you find yourself growing desperate for more as you feel some of the middlemost eyelets give.  The corset slips an inch or two, coming to rest at your hips where the lacing is still tight.  It’s just enough that the very topmost binding brushes your nipples and sends waves of goosebumps erupting over the skin of your back and shoulders.

Jim’s fingers disappear from their place against your skin only to be replaced with the press of his chest against your back.  His hands skim the panels on either side of the corset, coming to rest on your rib cage for a moment before slowly slipping higher to cup your breasts.  You gasp as his thumbs tease your nipples and the sensitive little nubs harden in response to the attention.  You push your breasts into his touch, moaning softly at his gentle kneading.

“Don’t get distracted now,” you tease breathlessly.  “You’re supposed to get me naked, remember?  Doctor’s orders.”

Jim chuckles and leans his head down to the crook of your neck, pressing a few lazy, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses into the column of your throat.

“I wouldn’t want to jeopardize your health, now, would I?”  He ribs in return.

He pulls away slowly, deliberately dragging his hands over as much of your torso as he can on their way back to the lacing.  He makes wonderfully quick work of the rest of the garment, freeing the silken lace from the last of the grommets and catching the bodice as it slips off of you.  

Jim sets the garment aside as you take a deep breath, returning to you quickly and slipping his fingertips into the waistline of your skirt to untie the soft ribbon holding it in place.  The skirt gives way far more easily than the corset and before long it flutters to the ground, pooling around your feet.  You move to step out of it, but before you can even lift a leg, Jim is tugging at your panties.

“Slow down, tiger,” you say softly.  “I’m still not totally steady on my feet.”

Jim pauses for a moment.

“I’ve got you, sunshine,” he murmurs.  “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

He gives you a moment to get your bearings and then returns to his task, sliding your undergarments off with just as much ease as the skirt.  When he’s finished you’re left in nothing but your high heels and you cross your arms over your chest, suddenly feeling shy.

“Lie down for me, beautiful,” Jim urges you softly, gently nudging you toward the bed, pressing a kiss to one of your shoulders.

You nod and step out of your heels, complying easily.  You sigh happily as you settle on your back, the slight dizziness that’s been consuming you all evening finally fading.  You watch Jim undress from your vantage point, taking in all the hard planes and soft curves of his well-toned body.  It takes him far too long, in your opinion, to get totally naked, but he’s at your side the moment he does, propping himself on an elbow and looking down at your rib cage.

“That corset really did a number on you,” he murmurs, the fingers of his free hand tracing along the deep indentations left in your skin by the corset’s boning.

You smile wryly.

“You know what they say,” you offer lightly.  “Pain is beauty.”

Jim frowns momentarily before glancing up to meet your gaze, his usual playful smile back in place.

“Then allow me to kiss it better,” he says with a wink.

You bite your lip and nod, watching him closely as he sits up and shifts to a kneeling position, towering over you.  His touch is soft but electrifying as he cups one of your breasts, fingers kneading and massaging as he leans in to brush his lips against one of the indentations left by a seam.

His kisses are lazy and teasing, slowly traveling along each of the geometric lines left behind by the corset until he’s tended to every exposed, marred spot.  Satisfied, his kisses start to trail higher, up over the curve of your breast until he latches onto a nipple, tongue swirling around it.

You make a wordless noise of pleasure and feel Jim smile around the nipple in his mouth.  He scrapes his teeth lightly over the sensitive flesh and makes you shiver.  You arch your back, pushing your breasts out further, closer to his mouth, and you’re rewarded with a delicious suckling for a few moments before he moves on to the other breast.

It doesn’t take him long to work you into an absolute frenzy, and as he continues laving your nipple, you push desperately at his neck and shoulders in an attempt to get his attention.

“Do you want me to stop?”  He asks, his mouth never leaving you.

“No,” you gasp, shaking your head.  “I want more.”

Your words finally get a response from Jim and he pulls away, looking down at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Well, why didn’t you say so?”  He murmurs.  “Your wish is my command, sunshine.”

He dips his head down once more to give your nipples one last lick each and then starts to trail kisses lower, heading for your navel.  You part your thighs instinctively as his hand creeps to their apex and you moan in mingled relief and desperation as his fingertips lightly caress your clit.

His mouth follows his fingers and he fumbles for a moment as he climbs over your leg to settle in between your thighs.  As soon as he’s in place, he resumes his ministrations, replacing his fingers with his tongue and suckling gently on your increasingly sensitive clit.

“Yes,” you breathe, forcing yourself to keep your eyes open so you can watch him as he worships your body.

Jim turns his gaze up to you, meeting your eyes as he sweeps his tongue over your core in wide swaths, leaving your skin electrified and glistening.  Your heart is pounding in your chest as your breathing hitches every time he hits your clit just right and your fingers and toes are tingling from how tensely you’re holding your limbs in an attempt to stave your orgasm off for as long as possible.

You’re moderately successful for a little while, but then you feel Jim lick lower, his tongue darting just inside of you, lapping at the moisture you’re producing.  You can’t fight the sensations anymore and you drop your head back against your pillow, shutting your eyes tightly and reaching down to fist a hand in his golden curls.

His tongue works its way up again, teasing your folds and making room for his fingers at your entrance.  He takes it slow, singing just a single finger in at first, curling it up to work your g-spot as his mouth goes to work on your clit again.  He continues rhythmically alternating thrusts of his fingers and licks of his tongue, eventually filling you even more full with second and third fingers.  By the time you’re stretched around multiple digits, he’s worked you into a total frenzy and you’re tossing your head, writhing beneath his ministrations.

Your orgasm starts low in your belly, just a slight tightening of your core muscles at first.  It builds quickly as Jim continues to tease you, though, peaking as he finds just the right rhythm against your clit, flicking it with his tongue over and over.  You buck against his mouth and hand as your climax washes over you and cry out, his name falling from your lips like a frenzied prayer as you feel yourself being pulled apart.

Jim murmurs soft reassurances, punctuating his licks and thrusts as you ride out your orgasm, your core clenching around his fingers.  You feel a wellspring of wetness dribble from your stretched opening and the heat of it makes you hiss in a breath, your oversensitive skin stinging with the stimulation.

Your orgasm slowly starts to fade and you feel Jim respond to your weakening paroxysms by slowing his thrusting and easing back on his licking like he knows intuitively that the sensations are becoming too much.  You whine softly as you finally fall limp all together, your breathing harsh and fast for an entirely different reason now than it had been on the dance floor earlier.

You feel Jim pull away and straighten up between your thighs and you blink your eyes open, focusing your blurred gaze on him as he moves back up to lie beside you.  He’s got evidence of your orgasm shining on his lips, cheeks, and chin and your cheeks flush with heat at the thought of how wet you’d gotten at his touch.  He can see the chagrin in your expression and his own features soften into a lazy smile.

“You’re so beautiful,” Jim murmurs softly, leaning in slowly, his eyes tracing your features before locking with yours again.  “Especially when you cum for me.”

You gasp as his lips brush yours, tasting yourself on him and feeling dizzy at the memory of the things he’d made you feel.  Your tongue flicks out to brush his lip, beckoning him to open his mouth and let you in.  He parts his lips and meets your tongue with his own, stealing what little of your breath remains away with the kiss, leaving your head spinning.

“Careful,” you pant between flicks of your tongue.  “I might just faint again if you keep this up.”

Jim laughs softly against your lips.

“Careful, baby girl,” he says slowly.  “Or I might just have to stop.”

“Don’t you dare,” you threaten.

Shoving gently at his chest, you move with him as he rolls over, settling yourself astride his hips.  Though you’re still sensitive after your last orgasm, you know it’s only a matter of time before you take him inside of you for round two.  In spite of all that’s transpired, the mere thought of feeling Jim’s cock inside has you ready to go again in seconds, and you find yourself wholeheartedly looking forward to having your breath stolen away yet again.

[doomjournal]

Sunshine, on a Cloudy Day

It’s 5:30 in the morning as I type this, and I’ve been awake for about two hours. I got to sleep around 1 AM, so I am not feeling phenomenal. I don’t feel sad though, which is a plus. I’m back to that comfortable numbness, which is never fun, but I’ll take it over overwhelming hopelessness. I guess the way to put it is that I believe things can get better, I just think they’re awful right now. I have a blanket on my lap and a dog at my feet though, so I suppose they could be worse.

While the hopelessness is gone, I think I should still try to express and release some worries about the future. Honestly when I started this entry, the title was mostly about how I’m feeling better, but this isn’t so much about the stuff that makes me feel better, this is about the scary stuff in the world. So let’s talk about the end of the human race. 

Even though there are other important factors, it’s hard to compete with the west coast fire season as an demonstration of the awful power of climate change, and more importantly, the fact that even the powerful cannot completely escape its horrifying consequences. Hurricanes ravage the gulf, and more personally, freak storms tear a swathe through my erstwhile home, destroying a food crop that feels increasingly insecure. That I have not experienced famine does not remove it from my mind as a fear.

What really frightens me about climate change, however, is that it is an inflection point that has no real basis. The rise of fascism is terrifying, but ultimately familiar. I can look to history, to the dozens of examples it provides, and take solace at least in the predictability of things going as they go. Climate change does not afford me that same comfort. I do not even understand the science well enough to be certain I know what the doom will look like, but I am confident it will involve some combination of choking death and widespread crop failure and famine, which is an awful way to die, and a concept that makes me unsure about my longest-held goal, to be a father. 

How can it be love to bring a helpless and hapless life into a world you believe to be doomed? The speed of our ecosystem’s collapse seems to be accelerating, I have not even the confidence that the death will be my children’s after I am gone, I expect to share it with them. Perhaps that is better than to allow death to spare me the consequences of my actions, as my parent’s generation seems determined to do. (note: not my parents in specific, hello mom, I love you)

The spark of hope I have to cling to is a belief in the almost supernatural ability of humanity to invent our way out of a tight spot. I don’t know that it’s possible that we can return Earth to the state it was in before I was born, but we might be able to mitigate or prevent any further damage, to amputate the injury before the gangrene reaches the torso. Let us assume that such a thing is possible, that some technology could exist that will allow us to turn back the clock. It seems to me that there are a few potential scenarios based on this:

1.) We simply don’t try. 

Any operation on this scale would require a mobilization of a scale comparable only to global war. This will not be a pill or bomb developed by fifty scientists, detonated, and a job well done. I have seen a concept for a solar shield, essentially sunglasses for the Earth, that seems the closest to this, but to manufacture, assemble, and launch something of that size would be a titanic effort, and necessarily involve a great number of people, nations, and a truly staggering cost. This last seems the largest stumbling block. We live in a capitalist economy, and as such, the scales will always be tilted in the favor of a few wealthy sociopaths who operate in the mode that economists presume all people do, that they respond nearly exclusively to economic incentives. Saving the planet will never be the money-making choice. You cannot sell an undamaged atmosphere. You cannot exploit the absence of famine. So long as the largest economy in the world remains deeply committed to subservience to these sociopaths, no meaningful progress can be made, because they possess too large a share of our collective resources, and they are not interested in sharing. Bill Gates pledged to give away his fortune in 2010. Since then he has nearly doubled his net worth. Philanthropy is nothing but a PR expenditure, an attempt to stave off the guillotines that rightfully should already have been erected. 

Up to this point I have even ignored the fact that a massive part of the US political system has bet and doubled down on the idea that they will be dead before global warming impacts them personally. I do not grant them the moral shield of ignorance, they have been given far too many chances already. I do not believe in hell, but these people, who have constructed climate denial as a cultural issue... They force a test of my ability to love humans for their God-given humanity that I have not been able to succeed. I hate them. I understand the appeal of hell, because it would give a sense that eventually they would suffer the consequences of their actions in the hereafter, as I do not believe they will here on Earth. Upton Sinclair wrote that  “It is difficult to get a man to understand something, when his salary depends upon his not understanding it!” Writ large, killing my children and most likely killing me helps a few maintaining power, so I believe that it is unlikely that we will actually do anything about the disaster. We will see a smooth transition from “Climate change is a hoax” to “Nothing can be done”, and the octogenarians responsible will simply die rather than face any consequences.

2.) We act too late for most.

It is a patently true fact that the United States is directly responsible for “illegal” immigration. We plundered the Americas, deposed democratically elected governments in favor of dictatorships, and contributed disproportionately to climate change. What is left for the poor in countries like Guatemala? Increasing temperatures are causing crop failures, and they reasonably cannot hope for their government to be responsive, or if they can, to have the resources necessary to save them. So they flee, hoping to find salvation elsewhere. It is reasonable to think that all that wealth must have gone somewhere. Thus they are some of the first climate refugees, but they will not be the last. If my hypothetical climate Manhattan Project was finished today, we would still see repercussions for decades. It is possible that the conclusion of the American populace is not to stick to their guns and refuse to admit that the climate hangman exists until the noose is around our collective necks, but instead to act. I suppose it is not selfish to prefer this over my first scenario, but the spectre of ecofascism looms large. A racist, nationalist, angry populace may decide that the world would be more sustainable if there weren’t so many Others. In some ways this is already starting at our southern border, all it takes is a bit of specific spin. It is even possible that ecofascism could generate a solution, or buy us enough time to find one. This would be at a horrific cost, a final price paid in blood by the global south for the sins of the north. Barring unrelated disaster, I will be relatively well off in a temperate area of the United States, and I will be white. This scenario may allow me to dodge the consequences of climate change, but I do not know if I could live in that world, even if I had no ability to stop it. 

3.) We act, and have not delayed too long.

This scenario seems unlikely, as it relies not only on the ruling class either being deposed or convinced that their best shot is saving the world rather than trying to ride out the apocalypse in bunkers, but also the defeat and/or conversion of a substantial part of the populace to a more empathetic way of looking at the world. Any solution is basically guaranteed to involve drastic changes to our way of life at this point. The end of the suburbs, of meat-eating, private ownership of cars, possibly even resettling entire cities. I doubt that Phoenix will exist in fifty years in the same way it does now, regardless of scenario.

All of this assumes there is a way out to find, and that we will find it. To explain why we have not detected any traces of intelligent life in the galaxy, some have hypothesized a concept called the Great Filter. That there is some common biological process or self-destructive phase that life goes through, that prevents it from moving into the stars. In my youth I always assumed that this was mistaken, that one of the many other reasonable explanations made more sense. I didn’t believe that the world was coming to an end. I still don’t know if the Great Filter makes sense for its stated purpose, but I cannot help but begin to believe that survival until we are a mutiplanetary or interstellar society is a pipe dream at best. I wonder how the so-called “futurists” like Elon Musk can convince themselves that ensuring the future of humanity means traveling to Mars. There is zero chance that an un-checked climate crisis will give us the time needed for a self-sustaining Mars colony, so every penny spent on manned space flight would pay much greater dividends invested here, terraforming our planet instead.

I would love to end on a hope spot, but I don’t know that there is hope to be found, save for this: I am already doing essentially everything possible for someone in my position in life to do towards preventing disaster. I bear no individual blame, and do not have to shoulder this burden. All I can do is minister to those I can reach.

[answrs]

‘The Trouble with Mers’

note: the more I searched this the worse it got, and even harder to fix. some quotes and links will be thrown in below (and one in the text). we'll claim magic shenanigans and size for the lack of very quick orange sushi.

also, it’s google search info. I did skip over all the reddit/google answers links but they made up the majority of what popped up :T so take it all with a handful of salt (*badum *tss*). it’s just using what random info i found at 5am and jumps from there.

also note!!!: this is not prompted by any particular fic or au or even fandom, I was just thinking about the trope and decided to consult the googles. made it into a msa thing because that was honestly the first thing that came to mind, but as it’s a trope, it’s present everywhere (seriously, name me two fandoms that don’t have at least one mermaid au somewhere in them)

something always niggles at me when a story has a human befriend a mermaid from the ocean (or rescue one from an aquarium/lab) and then keeps them totally fine for days in their tub, leading to a number of humorous shenanigans. there’s even dumping waterbottles on them when they have to be moved, but uh. very rarely (if ever? I can’t actually recall any atm) are these mers from a lake or river. there really aren't many fish (or at least rarely the ones that mers are based on/made of) that can survive in both fresh and saltwater, and even then, they need to be acclimatized to the switch. and with lots of other variables in play too, there's a reason saltwater tanks are not recommended for beginners.

anyway, small snippet of something here under the cut. idek anymore, it's 830am writing this and I have yet to go to bed. please don’t take it too seriously.

arthur is turned into a mer somehow on a case (as he is). maybe a spell rebound or something, doesn't matter. He can still breathe air, but it's hard to do and hurts and he's drying out fast and needs water.

cue frantic running to the nearest place they can and throwing him into the tub, already half filled up with water. he's relieved at the sudden plunge that wets his gills, but suddenly starts convulsing as he tries to breathe through them.

he's a saltwater fish.

...fish which have only minutes in freshwater before their cells rupture (among other bad things). the best (or, honestly, worst) case scenario, most captive/pet species can last 7-10 minutes, the majority of it being a confused, horrible, painful death.*

luckily he can still breathe air somewhat, so lewis grabs him out before the delicate side and throat gills/tissues are damaged beyond repair, wrapping him in the hotel towels in a desperate bid to stop the hypersaturation.

“The fish won't swell, its cells will. The skin cells and Gills rupture and it dies. [...] The death is something between water toxicity, suffocation, and chemical burns.”

mystery and vivi on a frantic trip to the van to grab all the salt they have (which is barely a fraction of what it was before, now Lewis is back as a ghost), in a desperate bid to try and jerry-rig a mix to hold him over. meanwhile lewis is panicking on the phone with the nearest fish and pet stores. just some poor owner freaking out because it's late and his big tank just shattered and his very important large fish doesn't have enough water for the makeshift holding pool. or something to that effect, whatever works.

they end up buying out the nearest two pet stores of their (admittedly very small amount of) packaged saltwater. (the fish warehouse would have had plenty, but they asked too many questions. they know their fish facts and lew's cover that he refuses to add specifics to sounds, well, rather fishy (*badum tss*)... they do want to come help, though, the poor animal(s) shouldn't have to suffer regardless how shady their owner is. they even offer to hold his “pet” for him until its tank is fixed, which, obviously, bad idea. they probably think he’s keeping some illegal exotic(s) or some such thing, but still want to help.)

arthur in pain finally lifted from the wet tile (far too little salt and not enough time to dissolve what they did have meant pretty much no makeshift water for him, apart from maybe some small towels soaked in the saltiest water they could make to put on his gills) to a shallow kiddie pool (they can't risk any leaking out through the tub’s drain), and there's just enough water to submerge his gills if he flattens himself to the bottom. it's too small for him to curl up in, his spine can't bend like those mermaids in the cartoons, so his tail is almost completely hanging out the side. it's hooked over the tub’s lip so the weight doesn't crush the flimsy plastic and spill even more of the precious water. every few minutes vivi and mystery have to struggle to lift him up by his torso to re-wet the long appendage, arthur too exhausted and overwhelmed and in pain to stay aware of much.

thankfully with the money from arthur's patents they're able to get a wading pool or other would-be-huge-tank-if-the-fish-in-question-wasn't-say-human-size-with-an-even-bigger-tail-on-top is set up by lance, filters and recyclers and temp control and everything. they're close enough to home artie only suffers for an hour or two trying to squeeze his torso in the repurposed equipment case without too much water splashing out. wet towels help to get his neck and tail, but they can only do so much.

the worst part, even before they finally get him stable, is anything after that first ‘make-your-own-saltwater’ attempt lewis hasn't actually been able to really touch the blond, too much residual salt covering his body. (especially with the added stuff to try and level out the imbalance caused by the fresh water.)

lewis is obviously distraught, especially when the others are sleeping and he's keeping watch, unable to reach down to the bottom of the tank to shake the cursed fish out of a nightmare, even hug him for more than a moment of comfort. it hurts arthur worse to see lew trying to ignore the burning just to help him. he feels guilty he's hurting the ghost more, even indirectly, and shies away from the contact he and lewis both desperately want.

(if this was a musical now would be the time for a sad duet with them both lamenting being so close yet worlds away, hands touching through the glass dividing them with longing looks and parallel/synced phrases and everything.)

* interesting side note tacked on a few days later, this is apparently actually used as a quick treatment for some infections in larger fish, but the assorted variables must match their other tank exactly, and they generally shouldn’t stay in there for long. it’s also possible/absolutely needed in some !fresh water! fish cases to slowly acclimate said animal to salt in the water if they need to be in for longer**. but just dumping a clownfish into a goldfish tank is not a good idea at all. **now I think about it, I had to very slowly add small amounts of dissolved salt to fritz’s hospital tank day by day to try and help his fin rot. didn’t even think about that. but eh, whatever.

https://www.quora.com/What-happens-to-a-saltwater-fish-when-its-put-in-freshwater

https://www.cuteness.com/article/do-saltwater-fish-die-freshwater (perfect site name for content. 11/10.)

https://prezi.com/ttbd4_tnlcx2/why-cant-saltwater-fish-live-in-freshwater/

[husheduphistory]

Rest In Pieces: Mr. Moon and his Horrible Machine

It was June 11th 1876 and the maids inside the Lahr House hotel of Lafayette, Indiana were trying to get the rooms ready for a new round of patrons. One room was presenting a problem though, number forty-one, and maid Bridget Clogan was losing her patience with trying to get into it. Finally by 5pm that evening she had had enough. She unlocked room forty next door and used a door they shared to finally get into room forty-one. She walked in and screamed…and screamed…and screamed.

On the previous afternoon of June 10th, thirty-seven-year-old Civil War veteran James Moon bid farewell to his family and departed his home in Union Township, Indiana headed toward Lafayette with his horse and carriage. He would not arrive in town empty-handed, he brought with him a large trunk filled with planks of wood, leather straps, screws, dowels, and an assortment of other items that would accompany an inventor the likes of which Moon claimed to be at the Lafayette Hotel. He requested a quiet room and when the clerk showed him a 12’ x 14’ furnished space on the third floor Moon immediately nodded his approval.  He locked the room behind him as he left, he needed to go buy some supplies.

Postcard featuring the old Lahr House hotel in Lafayette, Indiana.

At the hardware store near the Lahr House Moon picked up a 12” long ax head and hauled it four blocks to Thomas Harding & Son’s foundry where he selected two heavy iron plates and asked the employees to connect them and his ax head together. When asked what it was for he told them, he needed the mounted blade for an invention he was working on to make fruit baskets. Satisfied with the foundry’s workmanship he took the heavy piece back to the hotel where he asked two porters to drag his heavy trunk of supplies up to his room. He urged them to be careful, the contents were all the pieces and equipment he needed for his “important invention to be patented.” With his supplies bought and the trunk placed precisely where he instructed inside his room Moon decided it was time to take in some of the nightlife of Lafayette.

After visiting a barber for a shave Moon met some friends from his Civil War days and they enjoyed an evening of dinner, drinks, and memories. After bidding the group farewell he returned to the Lahr House, ascended the steps, and closed the door to room forty-one behind him.

The next person to set their eyes on James Moon was the maid Bridget Clogan but she did not know it was him. All she saw was the blood.

 When Moon entered his room on the night of June 10th the last thing on his mind was getting a good night’s sleep or plans for the next morning. He unpacked his trunk, unwrapped his purchases from the hardware store and the foundry, and began working on his invention. He fastened the boards together for form a seven foot beam which he then attached to a cross pieces with heavy iron door hinges, securely screwed down to the floor. The other end of the beam raised upward six feet into the heavy air of the hotel room, secured in its upward position by a cord that ran from the beam to a hook in a nearby wall. On the same side of the room where the cord met the wall a shelf was fixed with a candlestick sitting on top. On the floor Moon meticulously stood a soapbox that he then bolted down along with leather straps. A dowel was screwed from one open side of the box to another. Eventually he looked at the scene he had created and nodded in approval of the room for the second time. He lit the candle. He laid down on the floor. He strapped his own torso and legs down with the leather straps. He put his head inside the soapbox and rested his chin on the dowel. The candle burned through the cord dropping the suspended end of the beam downward. On the end of the suspended beam was the iron plates and 12” ax. It only took seconds for the blade to come down and sever Moon’s head. His self-built guillotine had worked perfectly.

Sketch of Moon’s self acting guillotine.

When a salesman from Cincinnati and a Lafayette businessman heard a woman screaming they ran down the hall and found Bridget Clogan and an absolute bloodbath in room forty-one. When the authorities arrived on the scene the gruesome intricacies of Moon’s suicide by guillotine began to reveal themselves. His measurements were impeccable and the entire device was held together by screws that could be used silently in the night unlike the banging of a hammer. He had filled the soapbox with chloroform soaked cotton batting that was sure to knock him unconscious before the candle burned through the cord releasing the ax blade onto his throat. The dowel in the box was positioned to hold his head in place for the blade even after he fell out of consciousness. The scene was studied for two days but despite the clarity of Moon’s plan, his motive remained unknown. His family could only recall him vowing to someday “do something that will cause people to talk about me.”

Police-staged photograph of Moon’s device in room forty-one.

Moon’s death was declared a suicide and he was buried in the Farmers Institute Cemetery, located only a mile from his home.

Today the former Lahr House still stands in Lafayette, Indiana and has been converted into an apartment building and retail space.

The former Lahr House as it appears today.

[ausinetaus]

Cert iv Instrumentation | Starting Electric Violin - A Testimonial of Devices

Discovering to play electric violin shares lots of similarities with examining acoustic violin, with a couple of essential differences. The initial is that practically every acoustic violin is formed and tuned similarly. Electric violins, however, can be found in many forms as well as selections, consisting of 4-string, 5-string, 7-string, stressed, and some with the top bout eliminated entirely to enable less complicated playing in the greater positions. And also, as a matter of fact, your acoustic violin can be "transformed" right into an electrical by connecting either a microphone or a piezo pick-up to the body. Many various other electrical violins utilize a solid body, similar to the majority of electric guitars (such as the ubiquitous fender stratocaster). What adheres to is a testimonial of electric violins as well as a discussion of some of the additional tools you will likely call for.

  While there are lots of electric violins on the marketplace by huge volume manufacturers, a lot of these simply don't sound great. Some of the far better (as well as mainly handcrafted) electric violins are assessed below. I made my selection from tools that I have either played or owned.

cert iv instrumentation

As a whole, I am not a follower of standardized tools. But Yamaha makes some of the very best. Component of the Yamaha quiet series, the design SV-200 includes a double piezo pickup. This is expected to improve the level of sensitivity of the instrument to the subtleties of your having fun, specifically dynamic (quantity) range. Being available in at around $1000, this tool is less expensive than the others I will certainly review below. On playing the tool, I assumed it was certainly responsive, certainly much more so than previous Yamaha tools. The on-board pre-amp enables some audio manipulation on the tool itself as opposed to in a separate, detached device. The down-side of this is that it enhances the weight of the violin.

  One more preferred design is made by NS Styles. This business uses an exclusive piezo pick-up that is developed to be spick-and-span as well as sound more like an acoustic violin in its unrefined state. I tasted a 5-string version, and also I believed that the neck was extremely thick and the tool instead heavy. Still, if you are looking for a tidy sound, this might be an excellent option.

  Zeta has made itself a lot of hype partly due to the fact that Boyd Tinseley, of Dave Matthews Band, uses a Zeta instrument called (what else) the "Boyd Tinsley." Zeta also utilizes an exclusive piezo pick-up that has an extremely characteristic sound. If you have ever before listened to Santana play guitar, after that you probably acknowledge his unique noise that comes from the mix of his Paul Reed Smith guitar paired with a Mesa Boogie amp. The majority of the audio appearing of that amp, no matter exactly how the noise is EQ would certainly appears "Boogified" to me. In a similar way, I felt playing on this instrument that my sound would certainly get "Zeta 'd" by the pick-up. And also you either such as this audio or you do not. A large drawback to this zeta version is that it is quite hefty.

electrical instrumentation course

Mark Timber, One more "shop" manufacturer of electric violins, recognized that trying to hold a 7-string fretted violin under the neck is rather challenging, because of the weight. Hence, he made and also patented a "flying v-shape" with a strap that fits around your torso as well as holds the violin up in a having fun placement. Though it can take a while to get made use of to, this style actually does sustain the weight of the fiddle well. Make indisputable-- adding worries to the violin is a huge change for the timeless gamer. In fact, if you have actually ever before played a mandolin, you probably recognize how much the worries can alter things. Moving as well as vibrato methods are really difficult on a fretted tool. In my viewpoint, the worries are best for permitting guitarist as well as others acquainted with worried tools to prevent the normal demand of pinpoint precision with finger positioning which is needed for playing in tune on the an acoustic violin. The 7-string stressed version, which is the flagship tool in his line of electric violins, is priced at $3500. Mark Wood does not use exclusive piezo pickups. Rather, he utilizes either Barbera or Schatten pick-ups, which are mass produced piezo pickeps that are made use of in various electrical violins.

  A previous Zeta staff member, John Jordan makes personalized electric violins in virtually every combination of material, strings and frets that you can imagine. Jordan began his own style workshop when he ended up being disillusioned by Zeta's significantly industrial perspective. Jordan handcrafts each tool utilizing his copyrighted form, which removes the peg-box as well as puts machined tuners near the bridge. This is developed to make the instrument lighter. Jordan is very much the true luthier of electric tools. A number of his designs, specifically the ones constructed from wood, are really eye-catching. Jordan utilizes a variety of pickups, including Zeta's proprietary model. In addition, he likes the Barbera piezo pick-up for a more "Stradivarius-like" noise, as well as recommends this pick-up for timeless artists. For rock, jazz and pop, he recommends utilizing the darker, more "Guarneri-like" Ashworth piezo pick-up. Like most various other electric violin manufacturers, his 5-string unfretted is his most prominent design. It appears to have a thinner neck than other electrics, which permits the classic 4-string acoustic gamer to make an easier transition to electrical.

  Every one of the violins defined over are solid-body versions. This suggests that the instrument has no hollow, resonating chamber and consequently generates little to no sound unless it is "connected in." Nonetheless, one more means to create an "electrical violin" is to change the bridge on an acoustic violin with a piezo pick-up bridge-mount that can be connected in much like a solid body. The disadvantage to this is that these pick-ups can produce responses. Nevertheless, this choice can appear fairly great and retains the customary form and also light weight of the acoustic violin. Usual piezo versions are the Fishman series and also the L.R. Baggs. There are also a number of smaller sized "personalized" business that make these pickups, and it can be helpful to try these if you do not like the noise of the Fishman/Baggs. This configuration shares all of the same disadvantages as any other violin fitted with a piezo pick-up, as described listed below.

  What all electric violins share is the requirement for a digital pick-up to transmit your playing to a system efficient in sound control, such as a pre-amp or rack device, and ultimately to another unit efficient in audio manufacturing. The two major kinds of pick-ups in operation in today's plugged-in tools are piezo and electromagnetic. Piezo pick-ups are used practically solely for electrical violins. They have specific attributes that some players locate much less than suitable. While a bow change on an acoustic violin can be completely silent to the audience, the piezo pick-up will certainly always send bow changes as well as bow noise. The reason for this is that they use sensitivity to pressure as their primary ways of recreating noise, and bow stress is constantly variable. Also, piezo pick-ups tend to sound blurry. Various piezo pick-ups feed on the marketplace, and some electrical violin business utilize their very own exclusive designs. The other type of pickup in operation for electric violins is the electro-magnetic pick-up. This is the pick-up found in the majority of guitars, and is taken into consideration the perfect kind of sound transmission. While it is feasible to build this sort of pick-up into an electric violin, it needs instead comprehensive alterations to the electric violin's internal style as well as is hardly ever made use of. Maybe in the future this sort of pick-up will end up being more readily available.

  En path to reaching our ears, the electrical violin's signal usually is gone through an unit (or more frequently numerous systems) with the ability of audio adjustment. Many of the same devices utilized by electrical guitar players might also be utilized for the violin. As an example, reverb and hold-up systems by Vocabulary can give heat and also deepness of audio, while distortion boxes can allow the violin noise to approximate that of the guitar (a la Jimmy Hendrix playing America at Woodstock). There are actually numerous various devices, including foot pedals, that can manipulate the audio. Below is one of Lexicon's top of the line reverb shelf devices. Computers are additionally increasingly used for audio manipulation and also might at some point replace bulky sound control boxes.

  For electric violins employing a pickup, a pre-amp is necessary to escalate the signal from your violin, and also to permit you to EQ the noise. One prominent example of a pre-amp is the L.R. Baggs Para Acoustic DI. Some electrical violins likewise have on-board pre-amps.

  Additional noise control and also signal surge takes place when the signal is gone through an amplifier. Due to the fact that many amps function best with mid and also low frequency tones, it can be difficult to discover a great amp for the electrical violin, as well as even after that it is generally essential to spend a great deal of time playing with the EQ. A popular amplifier for electric violin is the Fishman Loudbox 100. An essential factor to consider when choosing an amplifier is that each leaves its very own imprint on your audio. Thus, attempting prior to acquiring is specifically crucial with amps.

  For a much more true recreation of your noise, a system with audio speakers can also be utilized. The audio can still be EQ would certainly with a personal system and it is feasible to protect the acoustic sound.

  Ultimately, the signal, after going through the various sound manipulation gadgets, is broadcast to our ears by audio speakers. Typically, these are constructed into the amp. You can likewise add added audio speakers to produce a stereo effect.

  If you are wanting to essentially duplicate your acoustic sound, playing electric violin may not be very satisfying to you. However, for taking part in a band, it enables the player to readjust their volume to match the various other instruments, and to modify the audio to suit better with a rock or pop style of music.

  That being stated, electrical violin generally needs a potentially rather costly venture right into electronic devices, which can be a great deal of fun however additionally challenging given that the audio you are looking for might take a lot of time to find, and may need testing a great deal of different equipment. Locating "your" sound can be a long trip. Several of the extra intriguing points you can do is to play on a 5-string, which includes a "c string," below your "g-string," or employ an octave pedal, which can drop your pitch an entire octave. Or you can play with distortion or a wah-wah pedal. And, while superb strategy is vital for symphonic music, electrical violin can be a lot more forgiving.