#oil tin filling machine

[nichromepackaging]

Why you Need a Case Erector and Case Sealer

Why you Need a Case Erector and Case Sealer

The ultimate goal of a packaging line is the creation of the perfect and most functional package box. Machines have taken up the various tasks and procedures previously carried out by people in distribution centres, which has led to an increase in the speed and accuracy of operations. Now, companies of all sizes can access the most advanced technology with the initial investment becoming…

[genevawren38]

Tubbo isn't alive.

Now, I have a bunch of ideas that I am just gonna ramble out here surrounding the lore that happened today [Philza POV here].

Creation mentioned that Tubbo is missing his purpose, and theories point towards that being the create mechanic.

I agree.

Tubbo's whole thing, from day one on the QSMP, was to build factories. He sees his use through how much he can help others [I relate] and with an impressive amount of knowledge built several machines within his first week alone that benefited himself and others.

People noticed him and came to him when they needed things, allowing him to form bonds with those nearby.

Tubbo's goal since day one was to help others and give them resources they need.

He makes a goal and puts everything towards accomplishing it, because that's always been his place. Its to be the being they turn to when they need something, always filling that emptiness of never truly being one of them.

Finding love in gifts of service and help, giving his all to fufill everyone else's desires because he has none of his own. He is a robot trying to fit into a world of flesh and the cracks are beginning to show.

He strives to use the create mechanic to it's fullest because that's the only way he knows how to persist, feeling useless is this void of data he can never pour enough into.

All he knows is factories, oil, cogs and machines. Dropped into a place with that being restricted and forced to rely on others, he doesn't know how to ask for a direction because his own has been stripped from his core. He's a wandering enigma with no one to solve him, becoming more tangled like the wires within his chest on where to go next.

So when the bet happens on his life?

He jumps right it, because its a release from the torment of feeling like a burden on others. A silence from his tin heart wishing with all the oil it held that he could be allowed to create again to help those he loves because he doesn't know how to be himself.

Without creating life, Tubbo is dead.

[lungtied-tonguelied]

Whump Month: Day 1, “Are you okay?”

Guess who’s writing on tumblr for the first time in years? I’m not waiting for a response cos this is a text post (har har I’m so funny). But after joining this wonderful fandom and the Ghost Writers I am very excited and creatively motivated so we’re BACK IN BUSINESS BAYBEE!! But do give me some grace, I am very new to this lot and also my fanfiction writing bones are still thawing, so I might come back to this and make it better at some point, but this is it for now!!

So without further ado, here is the first of hopefully many ficlets written for the Whump Month prompts! 

Relationship: Phantom & Copia (can be read as Phantom/Copia), with referenced Copia/Aether and Sodo/Rain.

Summary: Copia is longing for someone who can’t be with him, and Phantom is longing for someone to belong with. They find one another.

Word Count: 2,262

Rating: Gen

   He felt out of place.

   Something about his existence in the space of these other ghouls, the ghouls that moved so fluidly around one another on stage, and even in this sardine-tin tour bus, felt like a skin-and-bone elbow to the ribs every time he attempted to move. They just knew each other so well, and their energies melded so easily that Phantom - a ghoul of quintessence himself, this should’ve been his strongest suit, melding, slotting into place like a missing cog that finally lets the machine move oiled and sure - couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. Their routine was so clearly set, and the longer he spent standing in the doorway of the bus watching them settle, strewing their belongings around and entangling themselves into one another, tails, and limbs, and horns, and all, the more and more Phantom felt wrong. The more he recognised that there was no place in their routine for him.

   So he waited. (He was more than used to waiting, at this point.)

   He’d settled himself outside of the bus, on the fold-down step that left a rigid feeling in his ass no matter how he wriggled against it, and waited until the commotion within settled to comfortable, peaceful quiet. All the ghouls had found their places, and all that was left was for him to find somewhere that would fit him enough that in the morning, when they all went about their routine again, he wouldn’t be an almost-familiar pile of limbs, an inch enough to the left that he caused an obstruction.

   Phantom sighed, as he stood, half wishing the myth of quintessence ghouls being a hivemind were true, if only. Because then - he entered the bus with his shoulders tight to his ears, and his tail coiled around his leg for fear of accidentally thwapping someone in the face if he let it lash nervously - maybe he would know how to make himself fit properly instead of - a bunk had been left vacant for him, untouched and pristinely made up with a black throw blanket - highlighting exactly what was missing, because he was just to small to fit the boots he was filling.

   Hopefully, he thought to himself as he ducked beneath the large calloused hand that dangled from the bunk above his designated one, as the tour wore on he could ease himself in with these ghouls, and maybe - he peeled back the throw blanket to tuck himself under it, curling his tail around the edge to keep it pinned against his body - just maybe, before he was dismissed (the thought tugged his eyebrows to a furrow, tight enough that he felt it pull the golden scar taut across the side of his head) he’d be able to feel like he belonged. 

   It’d been a very long time since he last felt like that, in fact, he hadn’t even gotten the chance to find out exactly how long it’d been before a mask and a uniform had been thrust into his arms. One moment, he was nothing, an energetic concept without the capability of a thought, and then he existed again in the blink of an eye. It was jarring, and nauseating, and (though he would only ever admit it to one other soul) terrifying. But he’d taken it in stride, he had to, the sheer need to be useful, helpful, and wanted far outweighed everything else, but necessity only takes you so far.

   And sometimes the boots are just too big to fill out of necessity alone. (The bed beneath him dwarfed him so much more than the stage had.)

   And sometimes the family is just too tight knit to slip into. (Across from him, in another bunk, Sodo and Rain’s tails twirled around one another off of the edge of the bed, and suddenly his own tail felt cold.)

   This wasn’t his rightful place, Phantom could feel that. The bed was untouched for a reason, it hadn’t invited him to claim it, it was telling him what he needed to know. What he already knew. He needed to get out of it. It didn’t want him there, they didn’t want him there. Why had he even assumed? It wasn’t for him, it wasn’t for anyone, it was a marker, reminding them all of what wasn’t there. Of what he couldn't be. 

   Fuck. He couldn’t stand the feeling of the blanket wrapped around his shoulders, the itch of the fur against his bare arms, or the looming shadow of the top bunk and its occupants above him, he needed to get out of this fucking bed-

   When did it get so cold?

   A heaved breath escaped him and clouded in front of his face as he stepped bare footed out onto the fold-out step of the tour bus. Instinctively his arms and his tail came up to wrap around himself as he sat for the second time that night on the uncomfortable, ridged step that indented his ass. Maybe this was where he fit; just outside of it all, watching, but not participating. 

   But he wasn’t the only one existing on the outskirts tonight.

   As he wriggled on the step, hoping to find some semi-comfortable position for him to nap in, his ears twitched and twigged onto a noise that at first could’ve simply been the sleep-soothed breaths of the ghouls from inside the bus, but the longer he listened, the more the breaths sounded forcedly even, and every few exhales would hitch and hiccough in the same way that he remembered his own doing the last time he…the last time he existed. Phantom remembered the painful shudder in his chest as he cried before he was dismissed; he knew what it had sounded like from his own throat, unsuppressed and free, but this was different.

   Whoever was crying didn’t want to be caught crying. He could hear the nuance, the stutter in their breaths and the way it caught in their throat with a muffled whine. It made his own chest tighten in sympathy, and his throat threatened to close like theirs had, fucking- sometimes Phantom hated being like he was, a quintessence ghoul with no designer. 

   He couldn’t help latching onto other’s essence and feeling everything they felt, he knew he couldn’t, but as tears stung his eyes he hated it more than anything right then. Or at the very least, he would’ve hated it if he had the capacity to feel anything beyond the intense feeling of something missing. A feeling he was familiar with, but magnified, like there was a gaping hole in his very essence. 

   And he needed to fill it. (He needed this more than he’d needed anything in his existence.)

   Phantom stood from the step, his ears tilting radar-like towards the source of the shuddering cries, and heaved himself up onto the top of the tour bus with the help of a few convenient footholds in the door. The ghoul crossed the roof quietly, approaching the silhouetted form at the roof’s edge slowly, hoping to give himself away enough that he wouldn’t startle them into falling clean off the side of the bus. 

   Though perhaps he should’ve been worrying more about himself falling off the roof when his foot dipped into the skylight beneath him and he ended up tripping face first into the figure in front of him.

   They both yelped as Phantom’s jaw connected with their shoulder, and their arms came up to wrap around him to ensure he didn’t keep falling, until an unnatural, synchronised stillness fell over them as they both waited to hear the ghouls stir from within the bus. The two of them stayed entangled, and silent for what felt like an eternity until they unanimously agreed without a word that the coast was clear. Only then did Phantom turn to face his saviour, almost nose to nose with the man who still had his arms tight around his waist - just in case.

   “Papa?” The ghoul whispered in much the same tone that one would have yelled the phrase.

   Copia sounded just as frantic, and tear choked, searching the ghoul’s face with glistening, tear-lit eyes for any sign of pain, “Are you okay?”

   And Phantom found it in himself to laugh. “I-” he gasped, tightening the lid on his laugh knowing that if he let the bout of amusement continue he would no doubt wake all of the ghouls here and in the Pit, “I actually was hoping to ask you the same thing, Papa.” He explained, leaning away from Copia to fold his legs beneath him, his tail flicking behind him.

   “Oh- yes,” Copia turned away from Phantom then (only when he was sure that he was fine, deciding that the ghoul was just too curious for his own good), his voice reaching only just above a whisper, and still tight in his throat from crying. “I’m fine.”

   Phantom’s head tilted, his lips pursing into a pout, “You know, Papa,” he began, a teasing warmth colouring his tone, “I may have been gone for a long time, but I am almost certain that tears,” he thumbed gently at the tears that had dared to spill over Copia’s cheekbone, “Still don’t mean fine.”

   Which cued Copia’s turn to laugh, a bittersweet little laugh that betrayed the hiccoughing breaths that still had his lungs in an iron grip. “No, I don’t suppose tears have changed all that much since then.”

   The ghoul was half tempted to ask when ‘then’ was, but he didn’t want to chance upsetting either of them any further as his lungs began to constrict again, the shock of the situation giving way to Papa’s upset once more.

   “Have I,” the ghoul shifted to sit more beside Papa than facing him, “done something wrong?”

   “No-” Copia replied quickly, turning to catch Phantom’s gaze before it could fall to his lap, “No, you haven’t done a thing,” he wrapped an easy, comforting arm around Phantom’s shoulder, drawing him closer. “You’ve been perfetto, I-I-,” the word seemed to get stuck, refusing to continue from the back of Copia’s throat.

   The ghoul didn’t urge him on, he could feel the frustration building behind the other, overwhelming emotions in both of their chests.

   “You’re a quintessence ghoul,” and were it any other person, in any other moment, Phantom might’ve found it in him to say ‘very astute of you’, or some other comment that would have him tail-thwacked for his efforts, but it didn’t suit either of them at that moment. “You must know how it feels,” Papa explained further by reaching his free hand to his sternum, and tapping at his heart. “Like something, some part of me is m-” And again, it gets stuck, elongating the sound, but Phantom completes it this time. 

   “Missing.”

   Of course Phantom knew. He knew better than anyone could. The other ghouls, they miss people, they miss each other. He’d seen how they needed one another, each part making the clock tick, and how they had to work around their missing pieces, and how the gaps were obvious. But they didn’t feel it, they didn’t feel what was missing. Not like Papa felt what was missing.

   Not like Phantom felt what he was missing.

   A quintessence ghoul and their designer, they need one another. They are what completes one another, while they both exist, and their essence is tied together, joined by the simple act of summoning them, their absence is gaping. Like the whole world has stopped turning around you, and you can’t fathom how everyone else can just…move on. Phantom knew that’s how Papa felt, he felt it then, the hole, the gap in his soul that only Aether could fill. But he knew not only feeling it in that moment, but even alone. It was a feeling that hadn’t left him since being resummoned.

   A quintessence ghoul needs a designer, or at least a strong sense of purpose to function, but Aether still existed out there, so Phantom wasn’t summoned for Papa, he wasn’t made for him (he didn’t belong to him, he just didn’t belong at all). Phantom was summoned as a temporary replacement, soon to be dismissed once Aether was returned, so why should they bother going out of their way to fill all the requirements for a happy, healthy quintessence ghoul? It left Phantom feeling frayed, and unfinished, his essence grasping at those around him for anyone that might…might treat him like theirs. 

   It was only made worse by the way his essence yearned for his designer, the man he was summoned for before. The man who-

   Tears sprung to Phantom’s eyes again, his own this time. And he felt Papa’s arm tighten around him, pulling the ghoul to rest against his chest.

   “It doesn’t have to be missing,” he whispered, the words comfortably rumbling through Phantom’s skull, and the ghoul couldn’t help the way his tail thwapped against the roof of the bus. “Not anymore.”

   Phantom’s own arms snaked up to wrap around Papa’s waist, cold tears soaking through the man’s nightshirt. Syphoning his warmth in the cold night air felt familiar, in a way that only made him hug tighter. And the words slipped from his lips as a whisper, like he hadn’t meant to say them at all.

   Because he hadn’t, how could he commit to this knowing it wasn’t meant to be? It couldn’t last, he couldn’t belong. That was the one thing he knew for certain.

   And yet the words fell from his lips all the same.

   “Not anymore.”

[themummersfolly]

Octoboss content: chapter 2

This is posted on my AO3 under the title Highflyer, btw.

“460 cc’s, four stroke, air cooled.” The sun was down, and the woman sat cross-legged with the bikers at their campfire. “Machined up north, me pa’s design. Ain’t nobody can make an ultralight like he could.”

“How much guzzoline’s it drink?” Tyro wanted to know. Beside him, Sketch had gotten over his disappointment and leaned in, listening with interest.

“I don’t feed her straight guzzoline; mix it with oil. But she’ll drink a lot of things. I’ll pick up old cook oil from over at Bugtown, swap it for dry fish coming south and bullet lead coming north.”

“Where’s Bugtown?” VW asked, stirring the stewpot with a ladle. Tonight’s fare was made from lizards, mystery meat jerky, and the last of the crumbled up hardtack. The woman had contributed a packet of crusty-looking dried blobs; a lifetime in the Wasteland had taught the men not to question what they ate as long as it was food, and no one asked what they were. Huxley had tried one before they went in the pot and said it was sweet, that it would go well with the lizard.

“That way.” The woman pointed northeast. “About a day and a half flying. But there’s a big patch of salt between here and there. Don’t see nobody riding on it, so I don’t think you can cross it except by air.”

The Octoboss had taken off his helmet and leaned one elbow on it. “What kind of mileage you get?”

“She’ll go for about four hours on one tank of fuel. I can go longer if I glide and use thermals.”

He pondered this for a moment. “That what you were doing when you landed? Why we didn’t hear no motors?”

“Yeah. Can’t fly with a blown motor. So I switched it off and glided till I found a good spot to land.”

VW gave the pot another stir and lifted a ladleful out to sniff. “Think it’s done.”

It was a custom the Octoboss had established years ago: his point riders ate first, then any sick or wounded. Then the rest of his crew got their share. He himself ate last. Tonight, he nodded his head toward their guest.

“Let the lady eat first.”

She fished a tin cup out of her pack and held it out to receive the first ladleful. The others followed in their usual order, then he took the ladle from VW and filled his own cup. The following silence was broken only by slurping and by Brakeline swearing when he burned his mouth. Finally, when they had all licked the last of the grease from their fingers, the woman reached into her gear and pulled out a small round drum.

“You like music?”

“Know any metal rocks?” Huxley leaned forward. The old songs were a favorite in the Horde, and Dementus was known to reward anyone who could play a banger about fast cars, pretty women, and good times. It was a good way to cool tempers and get everyone’s engines revving together. The woman thumped her drum thoughtfully.

“How ‘bout Paradise City?”

The song was practically sacred to the bikers of the Wasteland. The woman’s voice rose over them, backed by her hand drum and the growl of the others singing along, then Tyro, who was the only one of the crew who could carry a tune in a bucket, took over with a couple lesser-known verses. Paradise City was followed by Highway To Hell, the Immigrant Song, and Manic Mechanic; the woman’s voice rose like a kite or rumbled like wheels on a good smooth road, and she belted out the words with the confidence of a History Man. When Huxley suggested a song she didn’t know, Tyro sang a few bars to give her the beat and she accompanied him on the drum while he sang Back In Black. As they wound down, she shifted to a slower beat and two songs they’d never heard before: one about hard work and choking chemicals, the other a wistful number about dreams and visions and rain. The Octoboss stretched out his long legs to the fire, watching her, as lost in the song as she was in the singing. The fire died down to embers; the last notes of the song drifted up with the sparks. Sketch and VW were already asleep; Huxley was curled up under Tyro’s arm, and Brakeline lay on his back, gazing up at the stars. Quietly, the woman tucked her drum into her pack. She glanced once at the Octoboss, then turned toward her plane. He rose to his feet as she did.

“I’ll walk you back.”

The silence of the desert seemed almost benevolent in the wake of her singing. The moon was full tonight, and he studied her as they walked down the slope.

“You got some pipes on you. Like a bird.” They were almost to the plane. She glanced up at him, quizzical, and he fumbled a little. “Not a crow, I mean, something nicer…” Something he hadn’t heard since he was young, and had never learned the name of.

“A lark.” She caught the fumbled thought and tossed it back to him. “’Least that’s what we say back home.”

“Yeah. Lark.”

She returned his gaze, didn’t look away, didn’t flinch. The derringer was in the thigh pocket of her coveralls; she had crossed her arms, tucking her fingers into her armpits. He took as step towards her. She didn’t step back.

“That was a slick move you pulled back there.” His voice was low, appreciative.

“What, pulling a gun on you?”

“Pick the one the others look to and cap him. You knew they’d back down.”

“I figured you’d stop ‘em. Or else I’d give a good accounting of myself on the way out.”

“They’ve got my back. Or my front, as the case may be.”

“They gonna leave me alone?”

“They will. I told ‘em not to bother you.”

“You got a lot of faith in your boys.”

Something almost like a smile pulled at his mouth. “Yeah.” She was a full foot shorter than him; if they stood toe-to-toe, he could rest his chin on top of her head. He was tempted to try, just to see how far her fearlessness went. Instead he broke the moment off and turned back to his camp. “Watch out for camel spiders. They’re bad around here.”

“Yeah. You too.”

He couldn’t resist one last look over his shoulder, at the plane, at its pilot. “G’night, Lark.”

[retropickens]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Vtg Brother Sewing Machine Accessories Metal Tin Box Filled Parts Attachments.

[nichromepackagingmachine]

THE IMPORTANCE OF ACCURATE WEIGHING AND FILLING IN SNACK PACKAGING

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[brakeliningl]

The largest share is made up

Tin ore crusher There are generally a lot of useful minerals associated in tin ore which are as follows: ferrous metals like iron, manganese minerals; copper, lead, zinc, bismuth, tungsten, antimony and other non-ferrous minerals; titanium, zirconium, tantalum, niobium, beryllium, indium, germanium, gallium, cerium, lanthanum, thorium and other rare minerals and rare China OEM Brake Pads Manufacturer earth minerals; and non-metallic minerals such as sulfur, arsenic, fluorite. Thus, in the tin ore dressing, we must use a variety of joint methods for prehensive recovery of these associated useful minerals. Design Absorber System The use of heat pumps has been increasing for many years. Growing environmental awareness and significant increases in oil and gas prices give rise to rethinking on the part of consumers.

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Gulin is the experienced, leading support manufacturer of Peak Performing Ball Mill Gearing for the Major Mill Suppliers and End Users. Gulin has long been a predominant mill gear supplier as a result of our track record with the development and manufacture of Large Critical Gears. Gulin's World Class Manufacturing Facility is home to unparalleled Machine Tools, Inspection Technology and Critical Welding Capabilities. Our unsurpassed Quality sets Gulin's reputation above and beyond peting Ball Mill Gear manufacturers. Stone crushing plant is used to crush stone with less than 350mm,such as hard limestone,granite,basalt,pebble.Product with various sizes can be made according to customers'special requirements in hydroelectric station,building materials,highway,railway,urban construction,etc. Impact crusher can be replaced by cone crusher according to customers'requirement or hardness of stone.Tin ore crusher, Design Absorber System, Aggregate Ball Mill

[nichromepackaging]

Why you Need a Case Erector and Case Sealer

The ultimate goal of a packaging line is the creation of the perfect and most functional package box. Machines have taken up the various tasks and procedures previously carried out by people in distribution centres, which has led to an increase in the speed and accuracy of operations. Now, companies of all sizes can access the most advanced technology with the initial investment becoming significantly affordable. 

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Case Erectors 

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Case Sealers 

One of the most important steps on the packaging line is sealing the package before being shipped to the customer. This task is executed by carton box packing machines called case sealers. These machines allow for the creation of perfectly sealed cases every time. Case sealers bring with them benefits such as consistency and cost savings. 

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Are case erectors and case sealers the same? 

No, they aren’t. Both machines have different tasks for the creation of an ideal box package. Case erectors are used to build the initial box while case sealers seal the box once it is packed. 

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Most companies choose to integrate one of them at a time in order to save money while still speeding up the packaging process. The best way to save costs in the long term and have consistent packaging is to integrate both machines into your packaging line. 

Semi-automatic or automatic? 

A semi-automatic machine is the best choice if you’re still looking to keep an operator involved in your end-of-the-line packaging as these machines are generally smaller and more affordable. If you want a machine that is powerful and can handle high volumes, a full-automated machine would be the best choice. 

Conclusion 

If you are looking for a tin Filling machine, can seamer machine, bottle filling line, carton packing machine, box packing machine, flow wrap machine, namkeen packing machine, oil tin filling machine, shampoo packing machine, powder bottle filling machine, sugar packaging machine - whatever your requirements are, connect with Nichrome - one of the best case packer manufacturers in India. 

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[feigeasia]

Filling machine applications and their types

Filling machines are devices that are intended to aid in the process of packaging finished products especially food and beverage products, into a suitable container which can be easily transported to the retailer and consumer without getting spoilt or tampered so that the contents remain safe and intact. Fillers, by which name they are generally referred to, are filling machines, and these fillers are not only useful in filling food and beverage products but are also employed in other products too.

Apart from food and other edible products, filling machines are used to fill shampoos, oils, ointments, pastes, glues, and a variety of other daily-use products as well. These products are filled by various filling machines into a bottle, pouch, or can, depending on the nature and physical state of the product. Since the usage of filling varies, accordingly, different kinds of fillers or filling machines are employed in the packaging sector or industry.

Usually, the type of filling machine that has to be used is determined by the nature, type, and physical state of the product that has to be filled. Apart from this, other requirements include the level of quality to be retained, shelf-life, availability to the consumer, feasibility of the type of packaging, and other different variables. Since the type of products may be solid, semi-solids, liquids that are free flowing, liquids that are viscous etc., any filling machine with more flexibility and adaptability are preferred accordingly. Selecting the proper filling machine can surely increase the production line's capacities, enhance sales, and contribute positively to the business's success.

Liquid filling machines or free flow fillers are employed mostly in the food and beverage industry since the dispensing capacity is very precise, especially in the case of liquid products where the need for filling various types of containers such as glass or plastic bottles, paper or thermocol cartons, tin or plastic cans, or cups must be fulfilled. While this filler is used in cases of liquids like mineral water, carbonated or soft drinks, sauces, cooking oil, and soup, the machine comes in manual, fully automatic liquid filling machine, and semi-automatic liquid filling machine variants for more convenience.

Other kinds of filling machines are powder filling machines used in filling free-flowing as well as non-free-flowing granulated products, vibratory weigh filling machines employed in controlled dispersal of unsuitable products, capsule fillers made use of in the pharmaceutical sector, and positive displacement pump fillers mainly used in the case of high-viscosity liquids such as gels, creams, and lotions. Feigeasia, a leading company for top-quality filling machines for liquid and pasty products, delivers quality products and appropriate and flexible solutions regarding filling machine technologies that are exceptional and strategic and meet needs in all respects.

[notmuchtoconceal]

The Black Delilah

Against a plane of barren drywall, Horacio is looking at pornography.

The door to his room does not lock, but he is a master at the simultaneous swivel and click-away. On screen, splattered with droplets of sweat and pressure spray from cans of Mountain Dew, a Japanese schoolgirl stands buckled with a twelve inch pink strap-on, bowing to enter into a young and nubile cephalopod of ambiguous morphology. Its head is octopodal, with far too many arms to warrant the shape. Its wide eyes, with shamelessly human iris and pupil, watering from impossible mammalian tear ducts, signal a clenching in what the artist seems to assume is its sphincter, but can only be its beak.

“Wow, uh, I don’t know what I ever saw in this,” he says, with both hands lodged firmly down his pants for maximum output.

He moves the mouse with his tongue, feeling on his tastebuds the rubbery texture of a fungus. One click and the image on the screen is replaced by a faint glow.

“Really, I’m just bored. It’s either this or... uh, homework?”

He clicks on another link and the screen fills with the slideshow of a familiar vidjea gaeme princess, all pink frill and blond fringe, undoing an uncharacteristically slutty corset in virginal white lace. Her inhumanly clean mounds are lovingly rendered.

“Oh yeah, I can get into this,” he says, his voice droning like an adding machine.

Pushing on himself like a plunger, he clicks the mouse with his tongue, staring upwards at the princess’s mechanical striptease. Faster and faster, a new realism crawls into the plasticity of her skin and the polygonal slopes of her panty line. As though vents of botulism opening across her arm, tiny pores break through the gradient, glistening with sebum and natural oils, tiny hairs and freckles marring the thin layer of cream which coats her wireframe. It is now impossible to overlook the faint disgust in her eyes, the whites ruddy with the reds of infinitesimally small veins, the greens and blues of the stroma so milky and wormlike around the aperture.

“Man, this is really... realistic.”

This isn’t him breathing. The grate of his monitor expands and contracts. The edges of the screen curl forward and back, the amputated arms of a starfish feeling for something they cannot yet reach; moving in and out of the sole source of illumination, that which they themselves provide. The veins no longer centralized to the flesh of the princess bulge at the edges of the screen, tinted red in a liquid crystal afterbirth. Spasms shake the desk. Warm gusts of stale breath, moist with cervical mucus, pour from behind the monitor and blow back Horacio’s hair.

“Wow, they’re coming really close to perfecting 3D technology. I’m not even wearing glasses.”

The princess comes out of sync with her rendering. A chain of repeating limbs saturates the screen and reverts to photonegative. The monitor cracks and blood squirts across the keyboard and onto Horacio’s face. Pixels garble the screen. The speakers hiss and grind. Someone is screaming on the other side, the echo receding into the infinity of a tin can and reverberating back twice delayed. The base of the monitor bubbles, spews smoke and melts forth into roots beckoning limb. Horacio has to press his face to the desk to stay focused.

“Who keeps changing the default browser to Internet Explorer?”

The princess stands in profile against digital noise. She is divided into three conjoined faces by the cracks in the screen. Her neck rotates with a wet snap. Permanently puckered doll-lips salivate at the sight of Horacio’s young and slender body. The crack in the screen morphs into painted lines on latex as the princess pushes out. Her bony arms, faint with the embroidery of her gloves, stretch the membrane of the screen and grab outside the monitor. She comes slow, the screen skintight and glistening over cheek and collarbone, blank spectral eyes staring with only hunger to motivate their advance. With the strength of a soldier ant, she pushes the width of her stout body into the three dimensional world, of which Horacio’s bedroom is ground zero. What little remains of the imaginary barrier between here and there, hangs from the points of her crown in streamers of viscera, translucent and smelling faintly of rubber.

“Helloooo,” she says.

“Uh, hey yourself,” says Horacio, tangled with his chair on the floor. “You... you got a little something...”

The screen is beyond repair. It is stretched to twice its previous width, sagging in a wet mass, oozing an internal wall of ruptured polyps.

“Please come to the castle, I have baked a cake for you.”

“Does cake mean what I think it does?” He asks, as the princess drops her gown.

Around her ankles, the lining is a veined, membranous leather reminiscent of a bat’s wing. There is still faint bloodflow occurring beneath the dermal layer.

“Oh, uh… yeah?”

She giggles, holding in her folded hands a death-cap painted red. Her face a porcelain mask ready to detach, she smears the flesh of the mushroom around her cheeks and into the rigid opening of her mouth. With a pixel fanfare, her already overdeveloped tits undulate and swell. The expansion is rapid enough to tear the skin, and the girth near mammoth enough to snap what must surely be her pubescent frame in half.

Horacio’s mouth hangs ajar like an idiot moribund cow.

She takes a single step, segmented eggsac mammaries sending a tremor through the floor. What once had been her areolas snap and drool with the mandibles of a bobbit worm.

Horacio’s virgin mind overloads and he breaks down explosive as an overheated turbine. The princess, bulges rippling beneath her porous cunt, peels apart her mons to expose the tip of a lily-pink ovipositor, steaming in the cool air, honing in on Horacio like a dowsing wand.

“Oh, did I win?”

Picture dissolves against a sigh like a funereal dirge. Open unto the dull mahogany and off-white stone of the school auditorium.

“I got laid! I got laid!” Horacio cries, dancing a ridiculous jig.

“It doesn’t count if it happened online,” I mutter, half to myself.

I have been staring at this page for well over an hour and have not yet gotten past the first line. My motivation would seem to be to kill them all, puree their bodies and serve them at a soup kitchen, then observe the homeless for signs of a human analogue to Mad Cow, but I’m willing to humor other interpretations.

“But it wasn’t online!” Horacio says. “She was.”

“And you weren’t?”

“Well, yeah, I was.”

“Then it doesn’t count. This isn’t healthy for a boy your age. You need to make sporadic exits through the front door and attempt to locate a real woman, your age, who isn’t a man, unless of course you’re open minded enough to try something different.”

“Oh come on, you could never tell she wasn’t real.”

“She wasn’t real, or they weren’t real?” I ask.

“Who isn’t real?” she interrupts.

Sickle Cell, my first love and my cancer. She is the tumor on the backside of my brain, daily coated with fresh layers of neoplasm and forever out of reach of my probing fingers. She looks into my eyes, flickering and grainy as through transferred from decaying film and onto untested tape stock, and there is a scan line running down me, from cap of skull to base of pelvis, and the red glow of light through flesh, I can see faintly beneath her navel, in the shape of a Goat’s head, or divided tree.

“Sickles, Horacio got some last night.”

“But he’s a virgin at life!”

“As are we all...”

Flash of a world inherited by crustacean women. In sand congealed with vaginal lubricant, a plaza of domes and archways spreads out to a cardstock horizon of Bikini Atoll gift shop stationary. A man in a metal cannister, skin shedding full body radiation burns, is beating off to a high-gloss print of a mushroom cloud. The heat of numbness wishes to drag my body down the front of the stage, but I will not go so easy. Sweat is pouring down my face, though my internal temperature must be that of a corpse frostbitten beneath the icesheet when dust fills the sky for that final time and not even storm clouds could push the gravel. Her head is not facing me, is in fact back to me, but I can feel her looking. Sickle Cell swims into the jar vault of my capillaries, allowing her anemia to trickle through, crawling into the exposed forebrain and licking it clean with misplaced sensuality, saliva lingering dense and euphoric.

“So who’s the girl?” Sickle’s infection asks.

“What reason have you to press the question, beloved? That you may assimilate her along with the rest of your kind into a single vaginal mass and send globules off egg into the atmosphere? I’m on to you. I’m on to you plenty.”

“Well, she’s a princess,” Horacio says.

“Ruler of the country of the great fanged cunt. Praise be unto the sagging, clitoral uvula beckoning the mastication of indifferent cock.”

“No, she had mushrooms,” he says.

“Omnivorous breasts where the milk has not only curdled, but viscosified a gelatinous fluid reminiscent of the blood cap, slathering imitation Greek yogurt across clogged pores where the skin may welt, and tiny tits may bud and feed.”

“Okay, you need to stop that,” Sickle whines.

“That I may fall prey to sedation of your vaginal enzymes? I think not!”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“You know. You always knew.”

I clench my stomach. It’s too much to stand now.

My nights are filled with visions of something inside of me trying to pull the brain down. Milky as a lamprey, sinuous as a pin-up girl, it comes from the abyss of the lower bowels where the stomach acids may dissolve the knowledge I hath forbid.

“What is it that I know?” Sickle asks.

Deadpan. A curiosity too feigned to be called condescension.

“You knew about all of them. Who told you?” I say.

My voices echoes through pale grey mountains beneath a black sky

She stands on the lip of Mons Vetruvius where once there had been sky, engulfed in the paint-streak of falling stars

“I know only what I was lead to believe,” she says.

The world around her is vibrating.

This is my blood. It hits the transparent surface of the Petri dish and spreads slow and methodical as an infographic on bubonic plague. The television blares in the background, begging me to end these weeks of neglect. In the slide under the microscope, I peer into the plane of its abyss. I am seeing myself seeing this. Every cell is being gnawed upon by organisms with the blunt, slightly alien taxonomy of Precambrian fish, and all of them unmistakably Piscean--microorganisms which have evolved latticed tails and flared fins unmistakably fishnets and garter belts, and I think oh yes, oh yes, God is real and he is watching us murder each other in this ant farm, a bottle of lotion and tissues at the ready. They are feeding down there. A coral reef of proboscides needling into the decaying cytoplasm, and seeing it I praise him, her, God is a lady with a cock forever inseminating herself and she is doing this to spite me, and my body flings itself backwards and in that fervor, the microscope falls to the hardwood and shatters. Christ, oh Christ, was he dressed like he was asking for it? Nail him harder, his toes aren’t curled. Pressed against my televisual mother, the ramblings of the reporter stick in my brain.

“Earlier today, the body of a teenage girl was found mutilated in a landfill on the outskirts of Lake _____. Authorities believe the girl was still alive when she floated onto shore, only to die of blood-loss after crawling, of her own volition, into the landfill. She had been found with her breasts hastily amputated, though after what has been presumed to be weeks in the sewers, the wound had been afflicted with partial gangrene. Disturbingly or perhaps yet intriguingly, the body was found alongside what appeared to be a personal computer assembled from materials within the landfill. In addition, wires tapped from a nearby sanitation office, lead police to assume the girl may have been using the Internet as she was bleeding to death. Coroners assume rape.”

I awake in a cold-sweat in the fat man’s classroom. His dumb face, both immature and aged, hairless and wrinkled, stares at me as time displaces itself around me.

“Dude, are you on drugs?” he laughs.

“That’s the type of question an idiot would ask. You’re idiocy personified. I’ve plenty on the agenda today, and you’re an obstacle I must cross mountains to detour. It is not my existence which is an unmitigated error, but yours. Have a pleasant day.”

Standing up, my sense of direction dissolves. I stumble backwards, managing to catch myself at the last second, then take one step back and fall immediately on my face in spite of that.

“Yeah,” he says, “that’s the look of a man who has his shit together.”

“Occasionally, I enjoy a bit of levity. Dragging myself from place to place is excellent sport. Frankly, I do it all the time, but you’re not looking. Probably have your face in a hamburger wrapper.”

Reaching out with my left hand, I pull this paralytic frame forward. A screech of linoleum against my belly.

“Whatever, dude,” he says, “You dragging yourself to practice?”

“I may take a personal day. Think mother is up for a full frontal lobotomy. Ought learn to shut up. Wish they were cuttin' off her goddamn mouth.”

The door swings open and a tidal wave of greasy blood pours into the room. Desks and computers swirl into a lipid maelstrom pulled by that constant malpractice suit gravity toward the windowsill.

On the power lines, My arms are inanimate rods fit not even for flailing uselessly and I am pulled once more, inevitably, tragically, into the black warmth from which none can ever escape.

I awake in the hallway.

“Hey! Wow!” Gertrude say, “What are you doing down there.”

“There isn’t any feeling in my legs. Can you be a dear and drag my crippled ass down those stairs? I’d do it myself, but, sad to say, victim of circumstance--may break something. Sure you understand.”

“Oh. Sure. Okay.”

“Thank you, my dear. Can always trust a bull-dyke. Or was it never? Don’t follow gender politics, much. Absolute tedium. Too many hurt feelings I can’t be bothered to warrant. I thought I would be condemned to die on this endless fiery plain. I swear to whatever heathen God you claim that there’s something awfully wrong with that Sickle.”

“Yeah. I noticed she’s been kinda flaky lately.”

“Afraid you are tragically out of the know, my dear. Ever look at your own blood? Forget I asked.”

Tiny drops of black bile roll down my face and hit the floor with a great bass thud. They spill across the tile and form words. I stare at a page of paper covered with an insane scribbling. A salad of lines transmogrifies into a buffet of legible type.

Between these revelations, I had managed to write up a few pages of detailed notes concerning the nature of the sickness. I read them aloud to myself, solely to be certain that my own voice was, in fact, coming from my mouth.

“Although I am unaware of the source of the infection, Sickle Cell is the current carrier—able to, in her Typhoid Mary way, seem wholly innocent while bringing death and destruction to everyone around her. It seems to be a relation to the specific strain of cancer used in Harlequin back-brain mutation, as a similar telepathic link is established between the infected and infecter. I have learned the voluminous ponderings of stray cats, and found them inconceivably dull. The mutagenic capabilities of this new disease, which I have dubbed ‘Hungry Cunt’—after the great Dr. Newbury Rehnquist Cunt—are currently unknown. Symptoms thus far have included distortions of time and space, vivid hallucinations and semi-regular bouts of temporary paralysis. The primary goal for the disease—if I may be so blasé as to attribute will to a virus, which I am—would appear to be an attempt at siphoning confidential information from the last great apparatus of securing confidential information, the human brain. I have come to only one possible source of action: termination.”

Gertrude’s lips are moving, but no sound is coming out. Ash hangs in the air, smoke on the horizon. My eyes grow faint, compensating for a compromised nervous system. When I manage to pull them open again—and Christ, do I regret what I see—I’m sitting in the dull haze of the auditorium staring into the mechanical features of Horacio.

“So yeah, I need to lay off the chips, I’m getting kind of fat.”

“Kind of fat? You look like someone shoved a watermelon up your urethra. Don’t they put disclaimers on porn these days?”

“Yeah, uh, nobody reads those,” he mumbles.

“Listen freshman, this isn’t natural. You’re not supposed to swell up to twice your size in one day. It’s a biological improbability”

“Yeah, I was thinking that too. But the thing is, I figured this growth was caused by a metabolic relapse or something.”

“A what?”

“A metabolic relapse. It’s when your metabolism suddenly stops working and all your undigested food instantly turns to fat.”

“That’s the most repellently idiotic thing I’ve ever heard.”

I make a mental note to research ‘metabolic relapse’.

“But then I’ve been vomiting too, and I’ve got all these awful cramps. I guess it could be food poisoning.”

“Afraid to say this, dear boy, but the ‘growth’ as your denial begs you to see, is solely located in the lower abdomen. I would wager it isn’t fat.”

“Then what could it be?”

I stroke his belly teasingly.

“You figure it out, genius.”

I am lying against the television set.

“Mommy, I’m so hungry.”

Buttons on the set swell into plump teats swollen with vitamin enriched milk. With an open mouth, I bury myself into her pillowy speaker grating as mother, with the static laced voice of an angel, preaches the events of the day to me.

“Across the country, a flood of witnesses claim their electronics have begun making suggestive advances on them. One concerned mother of three met us in tears earlier today, claiming her barely out of the box WI-fi toaster had referred to her exclusively as ‘sugar-tits’ pending operation. Electronics manufacturers have refused comment, though do suggest purging by fire pending a recall,” she raises another piece of paper and turns her head. “In an unrelated story, the amount of unplanned teenage pregnancies has increased tenfold within the last week.”

Mother’s milk has made my hands twitch. Deep inside, unmistakable pangs of writhing. Besides the machine, a meat-cleaver still red, never un-red, never never. It gleams in the dim light of mother both across and near. Looking to my wrist, a spider web of off-white lines is spreading. This is not human instinct which guides me, but the instinct of an animal chewing off its leg to escape a trap. The hand shakes, clinging to the knife. Outstretched, the other hand, hand-stem, wrist, lies not across, but is the table. It does not quake, refuses the attempt to crawl away, accepts fully the circumstances of this moment. Flying into my wrist with the velocity of a shooting star, the knife unleashes a torrent of blood too thin and too pale gray to be blood, but blood I still call it for the words are not coming, the words have abandoned me and had they not this sensation I could only describe by bashing my skull against the keys to try and divert sensation. I am not depression era farmland. Not once did I touch the machine. Not ever, ever. I refuse to sit in court while the machine refuses to make eye-contact, on the verge of tears, with an anatomically correct doll while a bunch of prissy near fossils in curlers and facial masks erode me with their eyes. Is that it? Is that really it? All of my cells are talking to me. They retract all at once. Clench, clench. No suppository for me, thank you. I’ve got a wife at home. I am disgorging. It is already coming up. The blunt end had been down my throat and the sharp end before my eyes and it was enough. The mouth heaving, throat widening. It comes across the blank pages on the table and lies there not screaming, but wanting to scream if only it could have a mouth, could have lungs and nerve receptors. Bulbous head, soft and round. I saw it once. It was a mercy killing. She was a certain naive charmer. The strike of a poisonous barb, she stood beyond the waters, swathed in a red silk veil, held up by the menstrual brigade, creatures all labia and no self-preservation, and they couldn’t hold, or refuse to hold, the head falling back, her spine cracking and guts spilling, the lithe contours of the female form now a breeding tank for pink and tan spiders, leering at me with an alligator’s insatiable maw. Mama. Papa. From Where Was It You Came?

It tries to leap for the window. I pierce it with the meat-cleaver and it sings a death cry like a kitten’s meow and falls still. The mass which I can only generously call a face, where is it here, on which of these bulbs, on which of the nerve nets it hath unfurled? It was mine, it was mine, the courts will never take it away. I may be a single mother, but that makes my love no less real. We can be a family, we can be a family. She was dying, and I killed her. She was dying, and I killed her. I had wanted to hold the limpness of her baby’s palm within my hand, but I could not tell which appendage was her hand, and seeing myself in her, not tell which appendage was my own. I was licking her with what I hope was my tongue, though my hands were moist with tears and I could taste the salt of her mucus membranes through my fingertips. This is touch, I told to her. This is taste. Open your eyes, open your eyes, which of those spherical bumps is your eye. I wanted her back inside of me. It had nothing to do with scientific curiosity. It had nothing to do with the predatory hierarchy of nature, or the belief in God which I will not claim, but is forced upon me. I wanted her back inside. I pan fried her with butter and she was delicious, but I knew she would not return to wherever she was. I knew she would be destroyed by tooth and by stomach, but I had to feel her there one last time, what I had never known, and knew not that love was a sickness when I gave myself to it. Gave myself to it fully.

The next several hours are a blur. I must have taken up smoking, for the trays were full of cigarettes and I was down thirty dollars.

I felt so sad I wanted to die, for reasons which were not wholly clear, but not out of the ordinary enough to be worth investigating. I sat and I thought and I said to myself “This is the clearest I have thought in days.” Is it going to start again? I think there is no way to avoid it starting again. I cannot bring myself to suffer through that again, but I have reason enough to continue living that I must simply bear it. I found what remained of the specimen, tucked away in the back of the freezer, presumably for leftovers and I was not ready to look at it, to say nothing of studying it. I shoved it in my bag, presumably to let it defrost and I waited. The nausea was coming back. I was still sweating. What am I going to do about Horacio? Why do I say the things I do to Sickle? These moments of clarity are so rare, I want to say this is the real me coming to surface. The other man, he is an imposter. He is my sickness. I cannot avoid becoming him. But that’s not true. He is more real than I. When this is over, I will wake from it as though from a dream and I will tell myself what disgusting weakness that was. It will happen over and over, and there is no way I can stop it. Is that all it is in the bag? What about it fills me with such revulsion? Does it tell me what I’ve always known, or what I don’t want to know? It wasn’t in me. It came from somewhere. Did it come from me? Did she put it there? I don’t know. I know I know it was her. I don’t want it to be her. Let it be me. Let it be me so I can die without troubling her again. But it was her! It had to have been her.

God help me, I want to kill her. I want to kill her again.

“Sickle, is that you?” I say, the next day at school.

I’m standing in a dark classroom, the door slightly ajar, my eyes gleaming in the thin strip of light.

“What are you doing in there?” she asks.

“It’s very cold. Won’t you please join me?”

“No.” Why is she backing away? “I need to go meet the thee of them downstairs. I’ll see you later.” She turns slightly to the dark.

“So soon, are we? Might you have misplaced this?”

My satchel falls to the floor.

A plastic freezer bag held out into the ray of light and there glistening comes a strip of flesh from that which I hath spewed. My daughter, my beloved. Sickle Cell’s hand leaps to her breast.

“No! I don’t know what it is! I have to go.”

“You seem tense.” The meat-cleaver behind my back glints in the light. “Would you care for a little girl talk? I haven’t had my nails done in years.”

“Really I have to go. Good-bye!”

A stumble breaks into an awkward dash down a flight of stairs. Sliding the blade into my back pocket, I follow after her feeling much prouder of myself than I think I should have any right.

“Hello, ladies.”

“I really feel awful... ” Horacio whines.

“That’s nice,” I say. “How are the rest of you?”

Gertrude, having been gently stroking a guitar she carries like a baleful wooden arm, drops the instrument and hugs me. I can feel the benign infection of her skin.

“Hey,” says Ofelia.

She sits on the table next to Gertrude, the face of an Angelina Jolie look-alike who’s been dead for two weeks.

“Girls, we need to talk.”

“’Bout what?” Sickle asks.

“To be blunt, Horacio’s pregnant.”

Two of them burst into a confused, estrogen fueled shriek.

“Oh my God, who’s the daddy?” Ofelia says

“Well, I believe Sickle knows. Am I right dearest?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s obvious, my dear Sickle, that you’re lying!”’

“Are we just going to sit here and let this charlatan call me a liar?”

“Come on Heather, what exactly is a charlatan?” asks Gertrude.

She is telling me, telepathically, to place my hand on her left tit.

I say, “I wouldn’t touch those annelid mounds with mechanical claws!”

“Oh God, I think it’s kicking!” Horacio shouts dully.

“Oh! Let me feel!” Ofelia shrieks. Bending to a tumescent hive, she feels a swell of spasmodic tendons. “Ah! I think it’s twins!”

“Let me feel, I can talk to babies.” Gertrude explains, “Infants have this sort of wave frequency where they sense their mommies. It’s suppressed after you learn language, but I can still translate.”

Sickle stares not at, but into Horacio’s enlarged gut.

The evidence is mounting. It is only due to my keen sense of justice that I am bothering to be partial and collect any at all.

The girls giggle and caress under her blind eyes.

Since she’s distracted, I pull a syringe from my pocket and stick her in the neck. With a barely audible groan, color fades from her cheeks and she slips to the floor as delicate as a silk cloth.

“Sickles is just taking a nap, its best not to disturb her. Probably test anxiety. Does she have a test coming up? One lucky lady in Japan experienced the onset of such severe test anxiety studying for her college entrance exams, she drove a number two pencil straight into her eye in the middle of the auditorium. By some divine prank, the punctured viscousity fills with lead and falls over her paper, hitting all the correct answer bubbles. First perfect score in the history of the institution.”

“I totally have to learn your baby telepathy,” Ofelia says, “does it work on cats too? ‘Cause Mr. Freckles disappears every weekend and I want to know where he’s going. I bet there’s a secret kitty nightclub somewhere. It’s perfectly reasonable to imagine him swallowing ecstasy and grinding on a bunch of other naughty kitties.”

“Nah,” Gertrude says, “if it did, I’d go to the shelter and teach them to fight back. Just imagine all those cats taking over the pound and destroying the gas chamber.”

“That’d be so cool! Then we could... Hey, what happened to Sickle?”

“She’s drunk,” I say.

“Ah yes,” Horacio says, “the inability of women to hold their fluids at work.”

“Speaking of which, old chap...”

“Ow!”

“Blood test is a necessity, I’m afraid. Don’t want your kids born with some, uh... horrific cunt-like virus do you? Can work on an antidote unless you’d prefer spewing dead tissue from your, oh... mangina? I wonder how this is going to work.”

Four blood samples sit before me. The first two are my own. One from before my anorexic miscarriage, and the second afterwards. The third is Sickle Cell’s and the fourth from Horacio. The results speak for themselves: the first, third and fourth display remarkable similarities, though enough fascinating divergences to warrant an in-depth analysis I shall explore in a future report. I cannot bear to bring to my lips that single detail which explains so succinctly where the virus had originated.

When we gave up the holy doctrines, we did not anticipate that the social body would bow to the textbook mound. We were believers in those days. There was one truth, and it was formless and unchanging, as void of motion as the mountains or the Earth. Now we know that mountains crumble, that continents drift, and we are not all living in the same time. The dark ages have never left, they inhabit the minds of the every day, and the reign of fear and superstition casts doubt about the future in others living now. Nothing goes away. It is not only what we think, but who were, what were were, the days we’ve lived and deaths we’ve died. All the past in the moment will be siphoned out with eventuality. The revisions cast aside for the more up to date, they collect and ferment in the all-consuming bin of the primordial recycling plant. Further and further down, in layers reduced to petroleum by pressure and age, extinct ancestors, the evolutionary middle child, decays alongside the digital refuse of more advanced hominids. This filth contains a wealth of untapped potential, even in crude, waiting to be absorbed by those who even now can not yet speak. My estimate: a case of cellular plagiarism.

“Sickle, I must say for once, I am impressed.”

This I say not as compliment, but as lament.

“The body of the mutilated girl found earlier this week has disappeared from the morgue. A set of footprints was found leading to a window on the sixth floor, but police are baffled as to how the window was broken from the inside and directly six stories down was left nothing but a moderate dampness. The trail of slime streaking down the side of the building, black but for algal speckles and and kelp tatters, warranted only the comment that someone else could figure it out. ”

The television fizzles out.

“Well ladies,” I say, “your test results are in. One of you is conspiring against me. Tell us Sickle, where did your cunt come from?”

I barely have the energy to go on. I don’t know why.

“My mom?”

“Listen, I am well aware that your mother is a breeding ground for infectious death, but her sagging hide could never dream of producing a pathogen as complex as this.”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to prove,” Sickle says, “but none of us have done anything. All you do anymore is string nonsense together, just let it go!”

Horacio is sweating in droves “I... uh...”

“I am quite sane, beloved. The three of you should be quarantined. You could have passed this around the entire school by now. Tell me, how many of you use the facilities here? Anyone spread around any semen or saliva? Don’t lie, I’ve seen you.”

Horacio: “Actually . . .”

Gertrude: “Dude, relax, we’re fine.”

“Of course you’re fine. You’re just carriers. Mere plagued rats. There’s a grander scheme here. The architect of this pathogen is a genius. Brainwaves blueprinted onto protein strands. Can you comprehend the magnitude of this epidemic? We’ll be a nation of telepaths. What are you after, Sickle Cell? What is it you need to know so badly, you’d defile my brain to get at it? Not that your usual lack of foresight is any surprise.”

Horacio vomits blood.

Sickle Cell: “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Were you the source of Horacio’s microbes? You had to have been. It’s an inside job. You’re the only one who’s ever been close enough to see my insides.”

Sickle Cell: “Slander!”

“If this thing goes any further, the walls of the brain will be torn open. Psychic barriers will cease to be and one thought will be all thoughts. We will be as ants, and which among you can claim the role of queen? You’d risk our separate wills for such petty adolescent scribblings?”

“Shut up!”

Horacio falls to the floor, urinating placenta.

His scrotum swells in menstrual agony until his abdomen bursts, a tidal surge of worms spilling out across dusty tile.

Ofelia: “Ewww! This is so gross!”

Gertrude: “They’re in my shoes!”

Sickle’s face loses motor function as the tiny worms puddle around her ankles. Breaking into a stumble, she runs to the bathroom.

Horacio: (His offspring nourishing themselves off his body) Tell my mom not to look under my bed.

Reports flood in from every corner of the globe. People burst from the inside out! On the highways, automobiles running off the edge. On the street corners, pedestrians march autonomously over infant decay. Mother buys a Game Boy to occupy little Billy while she’s at work, only to come home to find them in bed together: “You little slut! I let you into my home and this is how you repay me?” Billy explodes into meat chunks.

Horacio’s a statistic, sent to the hospital with a broken sacrum, sixty stitches find their way into his belly. Nothing changes.

Blood turns grey from bright light.

Dissolve to the sun beaten pavement of the school parking lot. I walk into the light and across from me is Sickle Cell.

I must say something. It must have come before the next few moments.

She does not reply.

Only stares with aborted cell eyes. Lips purple blue with the texture of aquatic snails rotate mechanically. No sound comes. Her mutilated body is strangled and held too rigid to by a harpsichord of wires I cannot see.

I want to say something like “Feeling cold?” or “You left the house like that” but I cannot look at her, cannot even move my mouth, it takes all I can not to fall to the pavement and cry. It makes no sense. That all happened before. Before. The rest came after. I could not have been twice. But it was. They’re not running together.

“I wanted to see you, one last time.”

It isn’t fair. She can’t say that. She should have said die.

“Good-bye forever.”

A screaming red light passes overhead.

A windowpane shatters. Broken glass falls like spring rain. They are in her eyes. The garbage she is holding is a pillar of smoke, and her eyes are bleeding. The meat-cleaver in my back pocket goes into her cheek, extending smile from ear-to-ear. It was a mistake. I was a mistake. This whole damn thing was a mistake. Her lips flap like the fins of a goldfish. I had to sever her head. This had nothing to do with guilt. This had only to do with the future. I am out of time. There is plenty of time left, but I will see none, because I am no longer in it. She stares at me from beneath the plastic. It will die with me. I won’t die with her.

Upon my ears comes the sound.

“Hey,” says Sickle “Is Horacio okay? Are Ofelia and Gertrude still here?”

Then her eyes fall down.

“Oh, my God,” eyes symmetrical with gaping mouth. What is...”

Sickle looks down at a dying kitten. It is lying on its side, thin lines of blood draining from its mouth and ears.

“Poor thing must’ve been hit by a car.” I say.

“Wait here,” the voice sounds faint to me. I’ll get help.”

“No one can help it now...” I mutter to myself.

I contemplate balancing its thin neck in my hands.

With a tender snap, I could crack its neck. Holding its frail body, I look into its eyes held shut by the brink of death. If I place it back on the ground, with one step I could smash its head.

But I never do.

[relbowwho]

The largest share is made up of brine heat pumps

Gulin has long been a predominant mill gear supplier as a result of our track record with the development and manufacture of Large Critical Gears. Often, however, it is not possible to develop the usual heat source for the use of geothermal heat; the reasons may be a property that is too small, too expensive drilling operations, prohibitions in water conservation areas, etc.. Ball mills are often used in the alloying process to producing alloys from powders. Ball mills rotate, partially filled with the material to be ground and the grinding medium (flint pebbles, ceramic balls or stainless steel balls Ball mills can make your material into a fine powder.

Stone crushing plant is used to crush stone with less than 350mm,such as hard limestone,granite,basalt,pebble. Gulin;s World Class Manufacturing Facility is home to unparalleled Machine Tools, Inspection Technology and Critical 20-63mm ball valve factory Welding Capabilities. Thus, in the tin ore dressing, we must use a variety of joint methods for comprehensive recovery of these associated useful minerals. Aggregate Ball Mill Ball mills are large or small tubes used in grinding and mixing materials such as ceramic materials, ores, chemicals and paints etc.

Design Absorber System The use of heat pumps has been increasing for many years. Impact crusher can be replaced by cone crusher according to customers;requirement or hardness of stone. Growing environmental awareness and significant increases in oil and gas prices give rise to rethinking on the part of consumers. Gulin is the experienced, leading support manufacturer of Peak Performing Ball Mill Gearing for the Major Mill Suppliers and End Users.Tin ore crusher There are generally a lot of useful minerals associated in tin ore which are as follows: ferrous metals like iron, manganese minerals; copper, lead, zinc, bismuth, tungsten, antimony and other non-ferrous minerals; titanium, zirconium, tantalum, niobium, beryllium, indium, germanium, gallium, cerium, lanthanum, thorium and other rare minerals and rare earth minerals; and non-metallic minerals such as sulfur, arsenic, fluorite.

The largest share is made up of brine heat pumps with the heat source of geothermal heat due to the fact that these systems have proved to be extremely reliable and cost-effective.Product with various sizes can be made according to customers;special requirements in hydroelectric station,building materials,highway,railway,urban construction,etc. Our unsurpassed Quality sets Gulin;s reputation above and beyond competing Ball Mill Gear manufacturers

[thedisneychef]

Can Any Cake Recipe Be Made In A Bundt Pan

Hello friends! Have you ever been curious if any cake recipe can be made in a Bundt pan? Well, I'm here to tell you that the answer is yes. With just a few minor adjustments, it's easy to make your favorite cakes in a Bundt pan and get delicious results every time. In this article, I'll walk you through what those adjustments are so you can start baking amazing Bundts today! Maybe You Also Like: - Can Any Cake Recipe Be Made Into Cupcakes - Can Any Cake Recipe Be Used For Cupcakes - Can Any Bread Recipe Be Made In A Bread Machine Choose The Right Cake Recipe Yes, almost any cake recipe can be made in a bundt pan - it just might require some adjustments. Before you begin baking, consider the type of cake batter and how well it will hold up when baked in a different shape. If you’re working with a light sponge or angel food cake, for example, your cake needs to have enough structure to hold its shape after being transferred from one bakeware alternative to another. Heavier cakes like pound cakes may need texture modifications if they won't fit into the mold of the bundt pan. When swapping out pans, keep an eye on the size. Bundt pans come in all sorts of shapes and sizes and are usually deeper than regular round cake pans. After transferring your batter into the new pan, adjust your baking time accordingly as baking times tend to differ based on depth and composition of various bakeware materials. For best results, use an oven thermometer and watch closely until you know exactly how long it takes for your recipes to cook through in this particular pan. No matter what kind of cake you’re making, take care not to overfill the bundt pan – about 2/3 full should do nicely! With these few tips in mind, you'll be sure to get perfect results every time you swap out that traditional round cake tin for a fun-shaped bundt! Adjust Cooking Time And Temperature Now that you have the perfect cake recipe, it's time to consider how to adjust your cooking when using a bundt pan. The first thing to remember is that most cakes require an increase in baking time and temperature when cooked in a bundt pan compared to other pans. This is important for ensuring a well-cooked center without burning the edges of the cake. Additionally, some glaze options may need minor adjustments due to the shape of a bundt pan. For example, if you are making a traditional drizzle over the top of the finished product, be sure to move around each crevice so that all parts of the cake get covered with icing or syrup. If you're looking for more creative variations on this classic method, try brushing melted butter onto cooled pieces of cake before rolling them into cinnamon sugar or dipping them into melted chocolate! No matter what type of cake recipe you choose and which baking vessel you use, don't forget that practice makes perfection. Be sure to experiment with different temperatures and times until your culinary masterpiece looks and tastes just right - then share it proudly with family and friends! Grease The Pan Properly I always grease my bundt pan before I bake any cakes. It helps ensure that the cake doesn't stick to the sides after it's done baking. To grease a bundt pan, you can either use butter or margarine, or substitute oils like coconut oil, vegetable oil, and olive oil. Just make sure not to overdo it - too much will cause your cake to become soggy instead of light and fluffy! If you want to add fillings into the middle of your cake batter when baking in a bundt pan, I suggest using something thick so it won't leak out during the baking process. You could try adding jam, Nutella, mousse, or even marshmallows for an added surprise inside your finished product. To get started on your next delicious creation with a bundt pan all you need is some creativity and a little bit of time! With just those two ingredients there are endless possibilities for flavors and additions that will have everyone begging for more. So what are you waiting for? Get greasing and let's start baking! Use The Right Flour Blend I'm sure you've noticed that some cake recipes call for a specific type of flour or flour blend. But have you ever wondered why? Well, different flours can create vastly different textures and flavors in your cakes! There's no need to worry if the recipe doesn't specify what kind of flour to use – there are plenty of ways to substitute flours and get creative with different flavors. One way to switch up your baked goods is by blending two types of flours together. For example, try combining white all-purpose flour with almond meal for a light yet nutty flavor. Or mix whole wheat pastry flour with coconut flour for an earthy-sweet touch. If you want something more unique, experiment with spelt, teff, buckwheat, rye, or even garbanzo bean flour! The possibilities are endless when it comes to creating delicious combinations. When adding alternative flours to your baking routine, keep in mind that they may require additional moisture as well as modified cooking times and temperatures. So be sure to watch your bundt pan closely while it's baking so that you don't end up with dry or burnt results. With a bit of experimentation though, you'll soon find out what works best for the perfect bundt pan creation! Consider Adding Extra Liquid Once you've found the right flour blend for your cake, it's time to consider adding extra liquid. This is especially important when using a bundt pan as it ensures the cake will cook evenly and release easily from the pan. Adding sugar to the recipe helps add additional moisture, so be sure to stir that in until everything is combined and smooth. If you're baking a dense or thick batter, like pound cakes, you'll want to use a stirring technique called “cutting-in” which involves running a spoon through the mixture in an up and down motion while moving it around in circles. This type of stirring not only helps combine ingredients but also adds more air into the batter - another key factor when baking with Bundt pans! Lastly, don't forget to let the finished cake cool before removing it from its pan; this will ensure that all those added liquids won't cause any issues during removal. Frequently Asked Questions What Is The Best Way To Store A Bundt Cake? The best way to store a bundt cake depends on the type of icing you use. If you used an icing that contains dairy products, it should be stored at refrigerator temperatures. If there is no dairy in your recipe, then room temperature storage will work fine. However, if you are planning to keep the cake longer than three days, storing it in the fridge is still recommended even for non-dairy iced cakes. To preserve moisture and flavor, place the cake in an airtight container or wrap it with plastic wrap before refrigerating. Is It Possible To Use A Bundt Cake For Baking A Cheesecake? Yes, it is possible to use a bundt cake for baking cheesecake! Although the taste and texture will differ from those of traditional cheesecakes in terms of variations, you can still achieve delicious results with some experimentation. The flavour may be slightly different due to the shape and size of the pan, but that doesn't mean it won't taste amazing. You'll just need to adjust your baking times accordingly depending on how big or small your cake ends up being. Plus, by using a bundt pan you get an interesting presentation which makes it look extra special! How Can I Make Sure The Cake Doesn't Stick To The Pan? When baking with a bundt pan, it's important to make sure the cake doesn't stick. To achieve this, use the right greasing technique for your recipe and pan shape. For example, if you're using a traditional round or fluted bundt pan, grease with butter or margarine and flour—coat the entire inside of the pan evenly. This will give you an easier release once baked! Is It Necessary To Line The Pan With Parchment Paper? Yes, it is necessary to line a bundt pan with parchment paper before baking any cake recipe. This helps prevent the cake from sticking in the pan and makes for an easier clean-up process post-baking. Additionally, using parchment paper can help reduce the temperature of your bake since parchment paper has insulation properties which will keep some heat away from your cake allowing it to cook evenly. To ensure that no part of the cake sticks to the sides, make sure you use enough cake flour when dusting or spraying the inside of your pan - this ensures that all areas are properly covered! Is It Possible To Use A Bundt Pan To Make A Layer Cake? Yes, it is possible to use a bundt pan to make a layer cake. Depending on the size of your pan and type of cake you are baking, you may need to adjust the baking time. Also, consider different icing techniques for applying the frosting between layers or coating the outside of your final product. If you choose to go with a cream cheese filling or something heavier than buttercream, be sure that your bundt pan has walls tall enough so as not to overflow when baked. Conclusion In conclusion, baking with a Bundt pan is an easy and convenient way to make cakes. Yes, almost any cake recipe can be made in a Bundt pan - layer cakes included! However, it's important to follow the right steps when using one of these pans. Be sure to use parchment paper or spray oil generously so that your cake doesn't stick to the pan, and store the finished product properly. With proper care and preparation, you'll have no problem creating beautiful Bundt cakes for years to come! If you're looking for more delicious recipes to try, be sure to check out The Disney Chef's recipe categories! Whether you're in the mood for something sweet like a cake recipe, something savory like a chicken or pork recipe, or something fresh like a vegetable or seafood recipe, there's something for everyone. And if you're a meat-lover, don't forget to check out the beef recipes category for hearty and satisfying meals. With so many options to choose from, you're sure to find a new favorite recipe to add to your collection. Read the full article

[nichromepackaging]

Importance Of Integrated Packaging Solutions From Nichrome

Packaging line efficiency as well as the choice of packaging partner are crucial considerations for product manufacturers. Among the basic requirements of these manufacturers includes the capacity of the packaging solution supplier to manufacture and configure a completely integrated line - from primary to secondary to tertiary packaging. The advantages of having such an accomplished packaging partner include single-source convenience, improved cooperability between machines in the line, and overall flexibility of layout. A turnkey supplier is a vendor that provides holistic services - from the design to manufacturing to installation and after-sales assistance of the packaging line. Important considerations for Integrated Packaging Lines 

Some important considerations when configuring integrated packaging lines include: 

●     Desired production speed

●     Layout design and floor space utilization

●     Possibility of further expansion

●     Packaging line workflow

Overview of the Types of Packaging: Primary Packaging Primary packaging is considered to be the packaging that is in direct contact with the product and is the first level of protection of the product. The chief objective of primary packaging is to contain, protect, and preserve the finished product - especially against contamination. This type of packaging is primarily intended for the end-user/consumer. It makes it more convenient for consumers to handle the products while making the product packaging more aesthetically appealing. It can also convey statutory information regarding the products printed on the packaging. Secondary Packaging Secondary packaging is an additional layer of packaging for products applied after the primary packaging so as to group a certain number of products into a single SKU. The primary role of secondary packaging is the provision of protection to the products as they move through the supply chain. It also preserves the integrity of the primary packaging. Secondary packaging also makes it easier to transport large quantities of the packaged product from the manufacturer’s facilities to the end-user or point of sale.

Tertiary Packaging Tertiary packaging is the third type of packaging used for the protection of manufactured products for shipping or storage. Its purpose is not only to protect the products but also to protect their primary and secondary packaging. Tertiary packaging is usually not seen by consumers as it is normally removed by retailers before the products are placed on shelves for sale. Some examples of tertiary packaging include brown cardboard boxes, wood pallets, and shrink wrap. 

About Nichrome India Ltd 

Nichrome is considered to be among India’s pioneering packaging machine manufacturers and provides integrated packaging solutions for a wide range of applications across Food, Pharma and Non-food industries. With over 4 decades of operations in the industry and bonafide expertise, Nichrome has more than 10,000 successful installations and a presence in 45+ countries. Nichrome offers the product range and possesses the capabilities to deliver the optimal and cost-effective solutions. Integrated Packaging Solutions from Nichrome The aim of integrated packaging solutions providers such as Nichrome is to provide fully functional turnkey packaging lines that are designed and configured according to the customers’ specific requirements. Commissioning such an integrated packaging line simplifies the customers’ operations and saves time. For projects of all sizes, for Food, Pharma & Non-food applications, Nichrome collaborates with customers through the complete life cycle - innovating and integrating solutions that elevate productivity through performance. Nichrome offers bonafide expertise and single-source convenience for pre-primary, post-primary and end-to-end system solutions. 

Nichrome’s offerings in Integrated Packaging Solutions include: 

●     Automatic Pouch Stacking & Wrapping System

●     Bottle Filling Line for Liquids

●     Bottle Filling Line for Solids

●     Bulk Packing Machine for Solids

●     HDPE Bag Filling System

●     Tin Filling Line

●     Cartoning Machine

●     Flexibale 450 Baling Solution

Nichrome has a well-established practice of collaborating with its customers to design and configure the optimal solution. Nichrome’s expertise, technology, R&D and manufacturing setups allow them to deliver the ideal customised solutions. Nichrome also provides training for their customers’ employees for the operation of the machine and assures prompt service and maintenance support. Having Nichrome as your packaging partner, you’re sure to overcome your packaging obstacles! 

Conclusion 

Whether you are looking out for a tin packing machine, can seamer machine, bottle filling machine, carton packing machine, box packing machine, flow wrap machine, namkeen packing machine, oil filling machine, shampoo packing machine, powder filling machine, sugar packaging machine- whatsoever your requirements may be, get in touch with Nichrome. 

Make the optimum use of the available space, enhance efficiency and utilization of resources with Nichrome’s tailor-made integrated packaging solutions. With expertise that has been developed in over 4 decades in the packaging industry, and demonstrated in more than 10,000 installations across 45 countries across the world, Nichrome is your well-accomplished single-source partner for the most optimal end-to-end integrated packaging solutions.

Visit www.nichrome.com to find out more!

[minhyeong]

&. 𝐜𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝

genre: fluff, college au | word count: 923

↳ “Are you a big spoon or a little spoon?”

“I might have to call an ambulance for you if you drink any more caffeine.” 

Renjun shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he waited for the coffee to brew. He couldn’t tell if the jittery feelings were a result of having his seventh cup of coffee in the last twenty four hours or getting a total of five hours of sleep in the past two days. 

“I need it to finish the project,” he mumbled, voice trailing off as he rubbed his eyes. His vision became plagued with black dots from the pressure. He expelled a particularly loud exhale, tense shoulders drooping soullessly. His skin was smudged with charcoal after crouching over the art supplies on his floor for hours. A stain of oil that spanned from his chest to his stomach was left on his white shirt after he half fell asleep a few hours ago while he was shoving noodles into his mouth.

The neon numbers on the clock of his oven flashed 5:40AM. The dull colors outside the window were gradually saturated with warm oranges and yellows. 

You almost wanted to gag at the scent of the coffee that emanated from the machine after drowning your own system with caffeine the past week in order to complete your own assignments. At some point, you were positive you had consumed more coffee than water per day, and it led to bouts of insomnia that only exacerbated your fatigue and irritability. All it would take was another minor inconvenience for you to literally lose your mind and start a fist fight with the air.

Renjun poured the coffee into a glass mug. You zoned out as you listened to the gentle sloshing of the nearly obsidian liquid cascade down the ice cubes. Any longer and you might just slip into unconsciousness while standing in his kitchen. You quickly made your way back to the couch before your body could completely give up, your back colliding with the plush material with a force that sent the couch sliding back into the wall behind it. 

His back cracked embarrassingly loud when he bent down to retrieve a straw from a drawer. Renjun groaned, features scrunching up as he thumped his hip. He rounded the counter, feet dragging against the wooden floor as he trudged back to where his artwork sat, a roll of white paper that stretched across more than half of the living room in his apartment. With a lazy nudge of his feet, he slightly adjusted the books that were holding down the corners of the paper. 

You took note of the way his body seemed to creak when he slowly descended onto his knees by the tin box of charcoal sticks, the way his expression was flat even after taking a big sip of his iced coffee. He was stuck, lacking inspiration. 

It was quiet for a few moments; you could almost hear your own heartbeat if you focused hard enough. Your eyes slipped shut as you sunk into the comfort of the couch, officially giving up on the unfinished paper due in two days. 

There was a faint sound of charcoal stroking against paper again from across the room. You cracked an eye open to glance at Renjun. He was hunched over, brows furrowed as he concentrated on getting the shading just the way he wanted it to look, fringe hanging over his tired eyes. He had to blink a little extra hard to get rid of the dryness. 

“Renjun,” you called for his attention, slapping the seat beside you on the couch when he lifted his chin to look in your direction. “Take a break.” 

He grimaced at your words as if you had just suggested something absolutely abhorrent. He didn’t reply and returned to his work. The sound of charcoal against paper filled the silence again. 

You shifted in your seat, feeling exhausted and impatient and rather lonely. “Give me attention before I rot.” 

“You know my final’s due soon. I'm not going to fail this class.” 

“Please,” you whined.

He groaned, tossing the charcoal into the box. “You’re so annoying.” He scowled, but he was still rising to his feet, straightening his oversized shirt that slipped past his collarbones, and dusting off his hands. Renjun took big strides across the room toward you. “You’re so annoying,” he repeated as he peered down at you and pinched your cheeks with his fingers. 

“Your hands are dirty!” You protested by wrestling his hands away from your face. 

The new streaks of black smudged across your cheeks made him tilt his head back and laugh, and you forgave him a little, amused by the way his shoulders scrunched up. You forgave him a little more when he dropped onto the couch beside you, letting you wrap your limbs around him. You bunched his shirt in your palms, wrinkling the fabric that vaguely smelled of fabric softener and old dried paint as you tugged him in. 

“Renjun,” you mumbled. 

He shifted under you and hummed in acknowledgment with dreary, half-lidded eyes. 

“Are you a big spoon or a little spoon?”

“I’m a knife.” 

You laughed and buried your face in his shoulder, snuggling as close as possible before he could change his mind and shove you off. 

Perhaps the five hours of sleep made him too tired and lazy to push you away. Perhaps he was in the mood to accept your clinginess. It didn’t matter when you were sleepy and Renjun put you at ease. 

[cocastyle]

Wish — ONE

Pairing — Maxwell Lord x reader

Word Count — 7,234

A/N — and here is the first official chapter! I’m so excited to explore this storyline with you all and having an already established relationship between Maxwell and Y/N is going to make this story just that much more interesting!! let me know what you all think so far in the comments and thank you for the support I’ve already received from you all! it’s so greatly appreciated :))

if you would like to be added to the tag list, let me know!

W I S H

Wish Series Masterlist

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾   ONE   ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

"Welcome to the future."

The familiar voice of Maxwell Lord spoke through the TV, the sizzling sound of bacon on the stove and the soft hum of a girl's voice harmonizing with the commercial just like it did almost every morning. It was a natural occurrence for the apartment, the familiarity of it all providing a warmth to the place that Y/N herself couldn't describe.

"Life is good, but it can be better."

The girl picked up a small piece of already cooked bacon and took a bite, her eyes flickering over to the small TV while her other hand absentmindedly flipped the bacon in front of her. Y/N let her gaze wander over the man upon the screen, the corners of her lips perking up with each crunch of the bacon between her teeth while she followed every single one of his animated movements.

"And why shouldn't it be? Everything we've ever dreamed about is right at our fingertips."

He was smiling towards the camera, towards the audience watching on the other side. Maxwell Lord was a man who was destined to be a TV star in some shape or form, even if that meant a commercial. His charisma, his charm, his whole being was something the world was meant to see and Y/N had known that since the moment she first laid eyes upon him that Maxwell Lord was meant for greatness.

"But are you reaping the rewards?"

Y/N flickered her eyes back over to the bacon, smiling with satisfaction once she noticed it was almost done. She moved across the room to where pancakes were currently covered with pieces of tin foil to keep them warm. She pulled the tin foil off, tossing the discarded pieces into the trash before grabbing the extra plate she had ready and bringing it over to the bacon which she began to take off the pan one by one.

"Do you have it all?"

Y/N hesitated at that, the question ringing through her ears and swirling within her head. She was too busy thinking that she didn't even register the sound of footsteps until two arms were snaking around her waist, lips gently pressing against his neck and leaving a soft kiss  where the lingering ghosts from the night before still peppered her skin.

Yes, she wanted to say. I have everything I could ever want.

Y/N let out a soft sigh of content, her eyes fluttering closed as she leaned back against Max, her free hand sliding up into his hair while he moved his lips up her neck and towards her cheek where he left a gentle kiss. "Good morning," Max whispered, his lips brushing against her ears and making her shiver before he was burying his face into her neck while he held her close.

"Morning," Y/N replied a little breathlessly, not being able to help the effect Max always seemed to have on her. She could feel his fingers trailing down her side, gently lifting up the night shirt of his that she had thrown on so that his hands could glide across her skin. He held her waist then, his thumbs rubbing soft circles against her skin while Y/N struggled to pull herself out of the daze she was already falling into.

The smell of bacon was the only thing keeping her from falling into a mess right then and there and she didn't hesitate to pull the rest of the bacon off the pan and on to the plate. She then moved the pan off to the side, quickly shutting off the stove before turning towards her boyfriend—the one and only Maxwell Lord.

He was already dressed to impress, his usual suit hugging his body and his blonde hair styled back to perfection. His brown eyes shone down on her, twinkling as they always did when he looked at her. Then there was that smile, a smile that was very similar to the one on TV but with an extra component reserved just for her. He was a sight to behold, his beauty something that never failed to make her heart skip a beat.

Y/N barely had time to smile before Max was pulling her closer by her waist, his head ducking down to close the distance and capture her lips with his own. She instantly responded, her eyes fluttering closed while her hands reached up to wrap around his neck and pull him closer if that was even possible.

It was a simple kiss, one that still managed to make her breathless while also preventing her from forgetting the food that she had spent a while making while Max got ready for work.

Max pulled away first, his smile never leaving his face as he looked at her before he wrapped both arms around her waist and nodded towards the TV where his commercial was just ending. "You like the new commercial? Same words, just a different concept," he explained.

Y/N smiled and let her hand cup his cheek, her thumb gently caressing the skin there as she said, "It's perfect because you're in it."

Max jokingly rolled his eyes at that, pulling away from the girl in order to help grab the rest of the plates and utensils they would need while Y/N grabbed their coffee and a bottle of syrup for the pancakes. Max set his things down before pulling the chair out for Y/N to sit in. She let out a quiet mutter of thanks while he just pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek and sat down beside her.

The two were like a well oiled machine as they got their food situated, neither of them even saying anything as they automatically began passing things to one another that they knew they would need for their food. Before long they were already eating, Max letting out a small moan of delight before whispering, "Honey, you've outdone yourself again. I still think you should quit your job at the museum and open your own restaurant or maybe even a bakery."

"You only say that because you don't want to cook it yourself," Y/N teased, raising her eyebrows at the boy with a teasing smile while he simply winked at her.

"Maybe the half about me not wanting to cook is true, but the half about me only saying it's great because of that is a lie. You seriously know how to cook," Max insisted earning a small chuckle from the girl.

"Well I'm glad you love it so much and I guess you must be right if you've been able to stick with my cooking for almost three years now," Y/N admitted, noticing the way Max's smile grew a little when she mentioned how long they had been together.

"I'm always right," Max insisted earning a small eye roll from the girl which made him chuckle. He bit into a piece of bacon as he lifted up his watch to check the time. "Shit," he muttered, already turning to his plate and beginning to pile all of his dishes on top of it. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I really have to head to work."

Y/N frowned at that, having not noticed it was already time for him to leave. "Really?" she asked, attempting to sound curious and not whiny. "Is it already time?"

Max knew what she was doing and let out a small chuckle as he set his dishes in the sink with the intent to clean them later when he got home. "Sadly, yes," he told her. "And if my calculations are correct, you have about half an hour before you need to head to work and unless you want to work in my shirt all day you might want to get ready. Not that I'm complaining."

Y/N turned to him at that, rolling her eyes at the smirk that dawned his face as he not so subtly looked her up and down. She looked away with a sigh and stood up muttering, "I wish we didn't have to work. I'd much rather spend the day here with you."

"I know, sweetheart," Max sighed, taking one last sip of his coffee before rinsing out the cup and setting it in the sink. "But we have to."

"Life is good," Y/N said before pointing to her boyfriend half heartedly and making the face she was so used to him doing on TV. "But it can be better."

Max gave her a small smile at that before walking over and pulling her in for a hug, one hand holding her head against his chest while his other arm was wrapped around her waist. Y/N closed her eyes for a moment and breathed in, Max's scent instantly filling her senses and making her feel more relaxed than before.

Y/N then glanced up at the man who smiled and leaned down to kiss her. She instantly kissed back, her hands beginning to slide up his chest and inching their way towards his hair. However, before she could deepen the kiss and somehow convince him to skip work for the day, Max was already pulling away with an apologetic smile.

"I really have to go," he told her. "I'm going to be late if I don't."

"Right," Y/N agreed. "We're still on for dinner tonight after work, right?"

"Of course," Max assured her, smiling as she pressed one more kiss to his lips.

"Good. Have a great day. I love you," Y/N said, kissing him once more which in turn made Max chase after her lips to prolong the kiss.

"And I love you," he whispered before quickly pulling away and grabbing the last of his things. He went for the door and pulled it open before glancing back at Y/N who was standing in the doorway hugging her body with a small smile on her face. She lifted her hand and waved it ever so slightly in goodbye. Max smiled and sent her one last wink before disappearing out the door and leaving Y/N behind.

The girl stood there for a little while after he had left, her thoughts consisting of nothing but her boyfriend. She couldn't help but be slightly upset for this was what every morning was like,  Max rushing off to work while they were still in the middle of breakfast. And she knew she wouldn't be able to see him until that night.

Luckily it was a date night which meant he would get off early just to eat with her, but most of the time he would be at the office until so late that by the time he got back it would be time for them to go to sleep and repeat the whole process again.

The weekends were the only days she truly got to spend a lot of time with him, but those were also the days that they were in charge of watching over his son Alistair which meant she didn't really get to have him to herself very often. Y/N never complained about it, but sometimes she wished he didn't always have to rush off or wasn't always so busy.

She just wanted to be able to spend a little more time with him was all, especially at this time since he hadn't always used to be so busy in the three years she had been with him. Lately he had just been going through a lot of things at work and he kept referring to some project that he was trying to get started, but wouldn't tell her what it was because he wanted to surprise her when it was ready.

Max's reminder of work was what kept her from getting lost in her thoughts for too long and Y/N quickly went back to the kitchen to put away the leftovers and clean up the dishes. Once she was done, she went to hers and Max's shared room and got ready, throwing on a nice blouse, jeans, and heels like always.

As she put her earrings in, her eyes flickered over to the picture frame on their dresser, her eyes lingering on the photo of her and Max from a gala the year prior. Max was kissing her cheek, an arm wrapped around her waist and holding her close while she smiled towards the camera and kept a hand upon his chest. It was almost funny to think that back then she still hadn't even moved in with the man yet. Now here she was sharing an apartment with him and wishing for the day that he finally decided to pop the question.

Brushing away all thoughts of Max, Y/N checked her appearance in the mirror one last time before grabbing her bag and heading off to work. She had been blessed enough to work at the Smithsonian Museum for a while now and was probably one of the few people on the planet who really didn't mind working. It was just the having to get ready part instead of staying in bed that got to her.

By the time she reached the Smithsonian, Y/N was already looking forward to her day. She was so lost in her thoughts about what she planned to do that she didn't even notice the person trying to go in the door at the same time as her until she had accidentally bumped into them.

"Oh my, I'm so sorry," Y/N quickly said, snapping out of her thoughts and glancing to her side where she was met with a warm smile. "Oh, Diana, good morning."

Diana Prince's smile didn't waver as she looked to the girl. "Good morning, Y/N, and it's really no problem. I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings," she insisted.

"I assure you it was my bad," Y/N said with a small laugh. "I've just been lost in thought all morning and was kind of going through the motions."

"Is everything alright?" Diana asked curiously.

"Yes, yes, everything's fine," Y/N assured her. "I've just been trying to figure out my schedule for the day so that I'm able to go to dinner with my boyfriend tonight."

For a moment Y/N was sure she saw a flicker of sadness in Diana's eyes, but it was gone before she could fully register it was even there. "Ah, trying to juggle your work life and dating life can be hard," Diana agreed while Y/N let out a small sigh of agreement.

"You have no idea," Y/N said, the two girls chuckling softly before Y/N grabbed the door and held it open. Diana gave her a smile in thanks before walking inside. The girl followed after and was about to engage Diana in another conversation when she noticed that the woman was already gone.

Blinking, Y/N looked around for a moment before brushing off the interaction. After all, it wasn't unusual for Diana to disappear when the conversations became a little too friendly. Y/N didn't blame her. It was obvious Diana wasn't looking for a friend and she wasn't going to force her into any sort of friendship that she didn't want.

Y/N let her eyes wander around the museum as she headed for the back rooms, smiling slightly at all the history that surrounded her and the kids who pointed towards different exhibits in awe. It was only when she got to the back rooms that she reminded herself to focus, instantly heading towards the front desk where she began to pick up her papers for the day and any mail that had come in for her.

She was in the middle of flipping through her mail when she heard the sound of papers hitting the ground behind her. Y/N blinked before turning around, a curious look in her eyes before she noticed a blonde on the ground struggling to pick up her papers.

"Hey, Jake!" the blonde said, eyes locked on her coworker who was walking by at that very moment. "Jake, hi! Can you. . .can you. . .?" she began, but the man merely gave her a look before walking away.

Y/N rolled her eyes at Jake's behavior, not necessarily surprised since he wasn't exactly the kindest person there. She let her gaze shift back over to the blonde who was muttering to herself with a disappointed look on her face.

The woman didn't hesitate to set her stack of papers down before walking over and helping the girl pick her own papers up. The blonde blinked in surprise and glanced up, her eyes locking with Y/N’s as she sent her a smile and said, "Good morning."

"G-Good morning," the blonde replied, still stunned at the fact that someone was helping her and someone as beautiful as Y/N no doubt. Another pair of hands joined in and the blonde's eyes grew even more at the sight of Diana who flashed her a grin as she too helped pick the papers up.

"Hi," the blonde said to the two, still looking at them in slight shock. "Thank you."

"Diana Prince, cultural anthropology and archeology," Diana said as she reached out to shake the blonde's hand.

"Y/N L/N," Y/N greeted next with a warm smile as she too shook the blonde's hand. "Anthropology and curator."

"Barbara Minerva. Geology, gemology, lithology, and part-time cryptozoologist," the blonde said with a smile.

"Woah," Y/N said with a small laugh. "That's amazing."

"I kept busy in college," Barbara explained, quickly diverting her gaze as she grabbed the last of her papers and stood up. Diana and Y/B followed, each of them handing Barbara the papers they had managed to pick up. "Sorry. It's these heels, you know. It's stupid. I don't know why I was gonna wear heels. Scientists don't wear heels."

"Sometimes we do," Diana told her with a kind smile.

"Makes things fun," Y/N said, winking at the blonde. "And it might be just me, but I love the sound of my heels clicking down the hallway."

Barbara let out another nervous laugh, feeling slightly intimidated by the two gorgeous women in front of her who were both wearing heels. "Right. Right. Those are cool," Barbara said, pointing towards Diana's cheetah print heels. "I like those. Animal prints." She then did a small growl and Diana and Barbara both awkwardly laughed while Y/N let out a small breath and reached over to grab her stack of papers from the table nearby.

"Do you want to get lunch?" Barbara asked suddenly, her eyes flickering between the two women who blinked in surprise.

"I, uh. . ." Diana began, already sending the rejection that made Barbara's smile deflate a bit.

"Not now, obviously. It's morning. But later today, or whenever. Like, around. . .Like, at lunchtime?" she asked, hope still flickering in her eyes.

Y/N felt a wave of guilt wash over her and she gave the girl an apologetic smile as she said, "I'm so sorry, Barbara. I actually have to work through lunch today so I can get some stuff done."

"And I have a lot of work today as well," Diana said. "But maybe some other time?" Y/N nodded her head in agreement, both of them looking to Barbara who was obviously trying to hide her disappointment.

"Oh. Yeah, I'm busy today, too," Barbara muttered making Y/N feel ever worse.

"Great," Diana said, but before any of them could say anymore, their boss Carol came walking up, her fingers pointing towards Diana and Y/N.

"Ah! Diana, Y/N, do you happen to know who a Barbara Minerva is?" Carol asked, genuine confusion upon her face.

"Oh, hi, Carol. Hi!" Barbara exclaimed, forcing her smile on to her face despite the confused look upon Carol's face. "It's me. I'm Barbara. Remember? You hired me. Started last week."

"Oh!" Carol exclaimed, although Y/N had a sneaking suspicion that Carol really didn't remember her. "Gemologist?"

"Yes. And zoologist," Barbara added. "We had a couple interviews."

"Yeah. Well, the FBI are gonna drop off some artifacts later this afternoon," Carol told her causing both Y/N and Barbara's eyes to widen while Diana suddenly walked back over to the conversation.

"The FBI?" Barbara asked while Y/N let out a breath of disbelief.

"Wow," the girl muttered, knowing that whatever it was that the FBI had to bring in had to be good.

"Yeah. Yes," Carol told her.

"They're coming here?" Barbara asked, still in shock.

"The mall heist yesterday, apparently they were using a jewelry store as a front," Carol explained.

"Front for what?" Diana questioned and even Y/N found herself taking a small step forward out of curiosity and anticipation.

"Black market. Stolen jewels and art meant for private buyers. But we could use your help identifying one in particular," Carol explained, gesturing towards Barbara who smiled widely.

"My help?" Barbara asked before laughing. "Yeah, I'll help the FBI with whatever they need."

"Is that a yes?" Carol asked, obviously wanting to get the conversation over with.

"Yes. I would, um. . .I would love to assist you," Barbara told her.

"Wonderful. It's nice to meet you," Carol said before walking away.

"We've met," Barbara lowly called after her, her smile disappearing into a look of utter defeat.

Y/N watched the blonde for a moment before reaching out and placing a friendly hand upon the girl's shoulder. "Don't worry about, Carol. She treated me the same way when I first started working here," she tried to assure her earning a small grateful smile from Barbara in return. "I really am sorry about lunch, but I'll try and stop by later and talk to you for a bit if that's alright?"

Barbara's eyes lit up at that, her smile widening as she said, "Yes, yes! I would. . .uh, I would love that."

Y/N gave the woman a small nod before beginning to back away. "I'll see you then," she told her before turning and going to head to her office.

"Have a nice day," Diana said as she too turned to leave.

"Bye, Y/N. Bye, Diana," Barbara called after them, a small smile dawning her features all because of the two friendly faces that had made her feel not so invisible for the first time in a long time.

- - -

Y/N let out a small sigh of triumph as she leaned back in her chair, her eyes slowly flickering over the now finished work that she had laying on her desk. It seemed she was going to not only be off in time for dinner with Max, but now an hour earlier than she had expected. All she really had to do was go see Barbara like she had promised and then she would be free to go.

The woman had a little bit of a pep in her step as she got up and began to clean up her desk, putting away the papers that needed to be filed and sending the last couple of emails that she had written throughout the day.

It was when she was in the middle of filing the last of her papers that her phone went off. She didn't even bother looking at the caller ID as she picked it up and said, "This is Y/N L/N speaking."

"Good afternoon, Miss L/N. This is Raquel, Mr. Lord's secretary," the woman on the other end of the line said, her voice just a tiny bit shaky.

"Yes! Raquel. How are you, dear?" Y/N asked, not really paying full attention to the girl for she was too busy trying to file her stack of papers in her hand.

"I'm doing good, Miss L/N. Mr. Lord asked me to call you and deliver a message for you. He's really sorry, but he won't be able to make it to dinner tonight," Raquel said, her words making Y/N freeze almost instantly.

Raquel then went into this big discussion on how Max was held up at work and wouldn't be able to get home until later that night. Y/N could only stand there and listen as the girl rambled, her eyes closing as she sat down at her desk and leaned her forehead against her hand.

"Miss L/N?" Raquel's voice echoed through her ears.

"I'm here. I'm here," Y/N assured her before she let out a small sigh and sat back up in her chair. "Thanks for letting me know, Raquel. If you don't mind just letting Max know that we can just reschedule and that I'll see him when he gets home tonight, that would be great."

"Of course, Miss L/N," Raquel said. "Have a wonderful day."

"You too, Raquel. Don't let Max push you around too much, okay?" Y/N asked.

There was a small chuckle on the other end of the line before Raquel said, "Of course, Miss L/N."

Y/N smiled softly and pulled the phone away before setting it down to end the call. She sat there for a moment after that, momentarily glancing at the paperwork that she had so desperately tried to finish that day only for it really to mean nothing in the end.

Although, she really shouldn't be surprised. This had become an often occurrence in the past couple of months.

Letting out a sigh, Y/N got back up and made no effort to work quickly as she put the rest of the papers away. When she was done, she collected all of her things and made her way to where she knew Barbara would be dealing with the new artifacts.

To her surprise, Diana was already in there with the blonde, the both of them standing over a small box as Barbara muttered, "Here it is."

"What is it?" Diana asked while Y/Nnodded in greeting to a few of the workers as she walked over to the two girls.

"Um. . .Uh. . .I can't tell. Some light," Barbara muttered as she moved a lamp over the box.

"Whatever it is. It's kind of pretty," Y/N spoke up causing Barbara to jump in surprise before smiling once she saw that it was Y/N.

"Y/N, you came," Barbara said in slight surprise.

"Of course. I told you I would, didn't I?" Y/N replied, smiling softly at the girl who only blinked with a look of disbelief on her face as if she couldn't understand that someone had actually wanted to talk to her.

"R-Right, of course you did," Barbara laughed awkwardly. "Uh. . .I was just showing this to Diana. It's the artifact that they wanted help identifying. I think the technical term here is 'extremely lame.'" She laughed in defeat while Y/N and Diana both chuckled softly with her. "Um. . .It's. . .It's citrine. A classic stone used in fakes throughout history," Barbara told them, gently picking the stone up and sighing softly. "I can't imagine this is worth any more than $75. What do you think?”

"Fakes aren't my forte, but let me see," Diana said, taking the stone from Barbara and beginning to examine it. "Mmm. Latin."

"At least it's an antique, right?" Barbara suggested.

"Or a purchase from a stall on the Ponte Vecchio last week," Diana retorted. "You never know."

"I wonder what it says," Y/N admitted, carefully reaching out to run her fingers across the Latin words while Diana kept the stone in her grasp.

"'Place upon the object held but one great wish,'" Diana read off earning a surprised look from both Barbara and Y/N as the later girl pulled away.

"You read Latin?" Barbara asked.

"Yeah. Yeah. Languages are a hobby," Diana explained.

"Wow and here my hobby is watching TV until the sky is suddenly screaming good morning to me," Y/N muttered between laughs which Barbara and Diana quickly joined in.

"So maybe it's, like, a lucky charm or something?" Barbara suggested.

"Yeah, I guess. Strange," Diana said, letting her eyes flicker over the rest of the objects upon the table and the box the stone came from.

One of Barbara's coworkers Roger must have overheard because he walked over and placed his hand upon the stone before saying, "I really wish I had a coffee."

Y/N cracked a smile at that while Barbara laughed a little too hard for Roger's joke and said, "You're funny."

It was at that moment that another coworker walked in and said, "Hey, I got Erika a coffee, but she's out sick. Does anybody want this?"

Roger blinked before laughing and looking back over at Diana, Barbara and Y/N, "What? Yeah, I'll take one." He took the coffee happily and went to take a sip as he walked away, "Ooh, hot! Hot, hot!"

Y/N watched the man go, furrowing her eyebrows slightly before glancing back at the stone that was in Diana's hands. Barbara let out a small gasp of disbelief, "Did you see that? Can you imagine?"

"If only," Diana whispered.

"Hmm. So many things, I don't even know what I would wish for," Barbara admitted.

Y/N smiled softly as she stared at the stone in Diana's hand before lowering her gaze and moving to look at the other artifacts. She knew exactly what she would wish for if given the chance—to spend more time with Max and Alistair, the two people in the world who made her the happiest she had ever been each time she saw them.

"I do," Diana said, a distant look in her eyes before she set the stone back down. "Well, um, anyway, sorry to bother you. If you need anything, I'm around."

"Oh, yeah, I'm good," Barbara told her. "But thank you for. . ."

"That's okay. It's my job. And I'll look into it more when I have a chance," Diana replied.

"Okay. Well, thanks for. . .talking to me," Barbara added before glancing towards Y/N. "The both of you." She let out an awkward chuckle and looked down bashfully. "I'm. . .I'm sorry, uh. . .I mean, I'm fine."

"You know, we could go and grab early dinner and talk about exactly how lame that stone is," Diana suggested, her words making Barbara look back up at her in surprise.

"Really?" Barbara asked, her voice barely above a whisper and sounding so fragile.

"Yeah, I mean, citrine? Who are they kidding, right?" Diana joked.

"So lame," Barbara agreed between laughs.

"Dorky," Diana added.

"Lame," Barbara said. "That's, like, the lamest of lames."

"Yeah, let's go," Diana told her and Y/N watched as the two began to leave before biting her lip nervously and then running after them.

"Hey, uh. . .if it okay if I come too?" Y/N asked. "My dinner plans kind of flopped and I'd really like to make up for the missed lunch."

Diana watched her silently and Y/N knew she was thinking back to what she had said about going to dinner with Max, but Barbara was already smiling and saying, "Y-yeah. Of course."

Y/N smiled widely. "Great," she said, falling into line with the other two women as they began to head out the building. "Thank you."

And with that, the three made their way out of the building and off to dinner while Barbara silently thanked whoever was looking out for her for putting the two amazing women in her life.

- - -

Y/N had to hold back a snort as she leaned back in her chair, laughter shaking her body while she tried to ignore the fact that maybe she had one too many drinks than she should've.

"Wow. You're so funny," Diana said as she looked to Barbara, Y/N quickly nodding in agreement.

"Oh. Thank you," Barbara said a bit surprised seeing as no one had ever told her that before.

"My sides hurt," Y/N admitted, using her hand to brush her hair out of her face as her eyes sparkled at the girls. "I think my smile is now permanently on my face."

"I've got to agree with, Y/N. Wow. I mean, no one's made me laugh like this in such a long time. I mean, it's true, I don't get out much socially, but—" Diana began, but Barbara gave her a loo of disbelief.

"You don't get out much?" Barbara asked.

"No, not really. No," Diana said and Y/N had to hold back her utter of agreement for she knew how anti-social Diana could be if she wanted to, but she didn't want to let her know that she had noticed it.

"I'm sorry," Barbara laughed. "I'm just surprised. Because you just seem like the kind of person who's, like, always out. Like, people are asking you to go out all the time and you live out. You're just out."

The three laughed at that as Barbara began making hand gestures, "Like, you never get in. You just seem like you'd be really popular. And I would know because I've never been popular."

Y/N frowned a little at that, feeling a pang of sympathy for the girl who no one really seemed to give a chance to. "I wasn't popular much either," Y/N assured her. "It happens to the best of us."

That made Barbara laugh and Diana joined before saying, "I'm surprised you two haven't. You're both so personable. So. . .free. I mean, honestly, I gotta say that I envy that."

"What?" Barbara laughed in disbelief. "You envy me? That doesn't make any sense. Oh, my gosh. People think I'm weird. They avoid me and talk behind my back when they don't think I can hear them. I'm like, 'Guys, I can hear you.'" The blonde looked down at that, awkward laughs escaping her lips while both Diana and Y/N looked at her sympathetically.

"Barbara, my life hasn't been what you probably think it has. We all have our struggles," Diana told her.

"She's right. As much as I wish it were true, no one's got a perfect life," Y/N sighed. "Life is good, but it can be better," she whispered like a mantra.

"Yeah, it just sucks," Barbara said and Y/N chuckled softly at that. The blonde let her eyes flicker over to her new friend and she gave her a curious look, "So Y/N, you mentioned earlier that you were supposed to be getting dinner with your man, what happened if you don't mind me asking?"

Said girl let out a soft sigh, her eyes focusing on the glass of wine in her hand and the way the liquid spun as she slowly moved it. "He got caught up at work," she explained with a sad smile.

"You don't sound surprised," Barbara pointed out.

Y/N glanced up to find both women staring intently at her and she just shrugged. "It's happened quite a bit lately, but it's okay," she said. "He's had a lot to deal with, so I'm not mad or anything. I just miss him is all."

"I'm sorry," Barbara frowned. "I know it must be hard."

"It is," Y/N admitted with a sad laugh.

"How long have you guys been together?" Diana asked.

"We'll be coming up on three years next month," Y/N replied, a genuine smile appearing on her lips as she thought about what an accomplishment that was and how lucky she was to have Max.

"Three years? Wow. You must really be in love with the guy," Barbara teased.

"Yeah," Y/N said with a small blush, her thoughts suddenly being consumed with everything that had to do with Max. "He's the love of my life and he has this kid who is just the greatest. I'm very lucky with what I have. I just wish we were able to spend more time together, you know?"

"I get it," Barbara told her, reaching out to gently squeeze the girl's hand in comfort before glancing at Diana. "What about you, Diana, you ever been in love?"

"Uh. . .Yeah. A long, long time ago," Diana told her. "You?"

"So many times, yeah. All the time. Often," Barbara replied instantly making Y/N chuckle softly despite the ache in her heart that had reappeared at the thought of Max. "So what happened? Where'd he go, your guy?"

"He, uh. . .He died," Diana explained, her words making Y/N still. She couldn't imagine the type of pain Diana had to be going through. She didn't know what she would do if Max ever passed away. "But I still think sometimes that I see him up there in the sky. He was a pilot."

"Oh!" Barbara exclaimed.

"That sounds fun," Y/N told the girl. "I bet he was an amazing guy."

"He was all kinds of things, but he was great. It was true," Diana said.

"I get it," Barbara said, her eyes flickering between the two women who were invisibly now thinking about theirs guys. The blonde was quick to pick up her drink, smiling at the two as she said, "Well, cheers to us. Wishing us better luck, I guess."

Y/N smiled softly at that before clinking her glass with the two beside her, but she would only be there in spirit for the rest of the dinner for her thoughts would be on Maxwell Lord.

Just like they always were.

- - -

By the time Y/N got home from dinner, she wanted nothing more than to curl into the embrace of the man that she loved. She knew she should be mad at him for ditching her once again, but she knew what it was like to be busy at work and would never blame him for working hard like he did.

However, she couldn't stop the small pit of despair that was growing in her stomach once she got back to their shared apartment only for the lights to still be off and for Max to be no where in sight.

The girl let out a soft sigh before walking towards their bedroom, stripping off her work clothes in favor of something more comfortable before pulling her hair back into a ponytail as she plopped down on the couch to watch a little TV while she waited for Max to get home.

It was at least another hour before the door opened up, Max tiredly shuffling inside before closing the door behind him. Y/N could already tell that he was tense and she frowned before slowly getting up from the couch, her eyes trailing over the man as he took his jacket off and went to hang it up.

Y/N came up from behind him, her arms snaking around his waist so that she could hug him from behind. She felt him relax under her touch, a small sigh escaping his lips as he leaned back into her while she rested her head against his back.

He sounded tired, but she could still practically hear the smile on his face as he said, "Hey there, sweetheart."

"Hi, Maxie," Y/N whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his back. "How was work?"

"Stressful," Max admitted with a small laugh. "I'm sorry about dinner. I just had a lot I had to deal with today and I didn't realize how long it would take."

"It's alright," she assured him, but Max was already turning around so that he could gently cup the side of her face.

"It's really not and I promise I will make it up to you, alright?" he told her and although she knew he would only forget just like the other times, Y/N still gave him a small nod and a smile in response.

Max smiled and leaned forward to press a kiss to her lips, his arm slowly snaking around her waist and pulling her closer before he pulled away and went to sit down on the couch. He held onto her hand and dragged her along beside him, pulling her down into his lap as he wrapped his arms around her waist and looked to her with a small smile.

"How was your day?" he asked. "A lot better than mine, I hope."

"It was the same as every other day," she told him, her eyes closing slightly in content as he pressed a small kiss to her neck before holding her tight and resting his face in the crook of her neck. "Just a lot of paperwork as always. I met a new coworker today at work named Barbara and went to dinner with her and Diana."

Max hummed in response before muttering, "Sounds like fun."

"It was," Y/N said. "Oh, and we got a shipment from the FBI with all of these cool artifacts."

Max hesitated at that and pulled his head away from her neck in order to look at her. His eyes sparkled with curiosity as he asked, "What kind of artifacts?"

Knowing that her boyfriend was intrigued, Y/N smiled and continued, not seeming to notice the way Max looked off into space as she spoke. "Apparently the mall heist the other day revealed the jewelry store was selling stuff on the black market. We got a big shipment of all sorts of artifacts. I only got to glance at a few, but there was this one gemstone looking one that I saw with this engraving on it. Diana said it mentioned something about making wishes with it and—"

It was then that she noticed Max's behavior, the way he was just staring off while being so quiet she would've assumed he was asleep if it weren't for the fact that his eyes were still open. "Max?" she questioned, her gaze flickering over him until he finally seemed to hear her voice and blinked himself back to reality.

His eyes flickered her way and she gave him a confused look. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"Of course," he told her, sending that smile of his in her direction that made her heart skip a beat. "I just love listening to you talk is all." He pulled her closer to his body if that was even possible, pressing a small kiss to her cheek before whispering, "I love you."

Y/N didn't even have time to blink before he was closing the distance between them, his lips capturing hers perfectly while his hands slowly moved under her shirt before resting upon her hips. She couldn't help the way that her eyes fluttered closed and she knew her face was heating up due to the intensity of the kiss that literally came out of no where.

When Max pulled away, Y/N was sure her face had gone bright red, but thankfully the only light in the room was coming from a lamp nearby which meant that her blush was semi-hidden by the darkness.

"What was that for?" she asked breathlessly.

Max just shrugged with a small smile as he whispered, "I love you."

"Yeah, yeah," she chuckled, her eyes fluttering closed once again as he felt him slowly begin to kiss down her neck. She leaned back with a heavy sigh while Max smirked against her skin.

"I love you so much," Max whispered, his emotions heightened even more as he tried to process how his beautiful girlfriend had been able to help him achieve his dream without even realizing it.

Y/N let out a breathy laugh as she opened her eyes to look at the man, taking note of the way his eyes seemed to sparkle as he stared at her. "Oh, really? How much?" Y/N asked, smirking at the man who merely chuckled before pulling her up off the couch with him.

His eyes were practically flashing at her as he slowly began to back her towards their bedroom, his lips curving up into a smile as he whispered, "Let me show you."

- - -

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