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starswornoaths · 3 years

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Prompt 1: Foster

The polycule finds themselves in the company of a stray kitten that Estinien fetched from a back alley from who-knows-where.

And they're going to rehome her. No, really, honest. They're not keeping her, or anything lol

Word count: 1,900

~*~

A rare rainy day off in Ishgard— on a rarer day off, no less— had left Serella happily cuddled up in bed, under the blankets. Joined by her betrothed, and their beloved Violet, what time wasn’t spent idly dozing, was a warm, floating haze of hands and lips brushing idly where they found skin. Though they were swathed in the overcast, pale light that spilled in through the curtains, its chill was far from them, the roaring hearth, gilding the gloom where it collided, its warmth reaching beyond its light. The perfect picture of coziness.

Which was why she was particularly miffed, when their dearest Estinien stumbled in through the door, soaked to the bone, and holding his bundled up jacket to his chest: it meant that she had to get up, to investigate.

As Estinien caught his breath from sprinting in the pouring rain, his paramours all collectively, if sluggishly, opted to disentangle themselves from the blankets enough to see what on earth had made him bluster in so.

Aymeric was the first to rise from their little nest of blankets, ambling over gamely. Serella wasn’t far behind, though stilled when she heard him melt over whatever it was that Estinien had bundled into his coat.

An animal, then.

Sure enough, she neared just in time for Aymeric to reach a hand out, and be met with a sooty paw reaching up to curl its little bean toes around his index finger. He cooed again, and his posture melted further toward the bundle—ah, it was a cat, then.

“Hello, little love,” Aymeric greeted, his voice turned sing-song, and pitched a few notes higher, as it always did when he greeted an animal.

Already, Serella knew this was trouble.

All the more, when Hyana gasped as she scrambled to free herself from bed fully, hissing and cursing as a blanket stuck stubbornly to the pointed ridges at the end of her tail. Freeing herself, she stumbled over eagerly, completely blowing past Serella as she did.

After giving the two of them a few more moments to coo, she and Estinien passed a look between them, and silently agreed that it was time to be the responsible ones. For a change.

“Alright, alright, what do we have here, then?” Serella called, gently nudging them away to give the little creature some breathing room.

“Creature” almost seemed an apt description for the cat nestled within Estinien’s coat: covered in rain water and mud, it was almost impossible to tell what the cat’s true fur color was. It trembled, even pressed against Estinien’s chest—must still be cold. Those large eyes squinted up at her, as the little kitten sniffed and sneezed at her proffered hand. The cat’s shivering made its purr sound tinny, like it rattled the poor thing’s lungs just to do it.

“A bath first, before we do anything else, I think.” She said aloud.

With a breath to steel herself, Serella accepted the bundle of cat and coat in her arms, when Estinien relented to her. Despite the shivering, and the wetness of its fur, the kitten felt warm against her chest, when it immediately snuggled up to her body warmth. Reminding herself that they already had two dogs and a cat—two cats, technically, if she counted Duchess back at Borel Manor—Serella rounded the corner out of their bedroom, and into the bathroom.

Her polycule trailed in on her heels. It was hard not to liken them to a gaggle of Scholasticate kids, all crowding around the door to watch. It warmed her, how even the most standoffish of her loves couldn’t resist the draw of a cute animal.

The bathtub would be too massive, for the little kit—the sink suited just fine. Hyana was kind enough to fetch their bottle of feline shampoo, and set it on the counter for her.

As she let the water run to get a bit warmer, Serella lifted the kitten, gently, to hold it—her, Serella realized, with a glance—at eye level.

“You won’t like me for this,” she warned the kitten. “But that’s alright, it’s only temporary.”

The kitten squirmed, and licked the tip of her nose. Ignoring the way her insides turned to softened butter, Serella dutifully set to work, carefully bathing the kitten.

Unsurprisingly, the water was, at first, most unwelcome, and the cat had no scruples with voicing her complaint and trying to clamor out of the sink. For such a small thing, her wailing meows of discontent were rather loud—good. That meant her lungs were healthy. Once the warmth of the water sunk into her skin, however, she relented, somewhat, though instead sat in the shallow, warm water, and vibrated from the intensity of her disgruntled, rumbling meows.

It was hard not to liken her to a rat, watching her quake with the effort of vocalizing her displeasure. With each careful massage of Serella’s fingers into the kitten’s fur to wash away the grime, however, her true coat began to shine through.

As it turned out, her fur was still mostly black—save for her white capped paws, and her underbelly, all the way up to her chin. All downy soft, thin fur, in a sleek coat. Once she’d gotten a chance to dry out, under the careful ministrations of Aymeric drying her down with the softest, fluffiest towel he could find, she was actually a rather beautiful cat.

When she still shivered, as she finished drying, Aymeric would brook no negotiation, and immediately bundled himself—and her—back in bed, with the blankets. It seemed to be exactly where she wanted to be, as she promptly loafed herself upon his chest, and shook with her purrs.

“We need a name for her,” he said, not taking his eyes off the little kit, as her eyes began to drift shut.

“Absolutely not.” Serella tutted. “It isn’t responsible for us to take in another cat—here, or Borel Manor—and no, she doesn’t look ready to be a road companion, before you even entertain suggesting it.”

“Act like you don’t want to keep her.” Estinien scoffed. “You didn’t even ask me how I’d found her—you do that, when you do something I don’t like. You ask questions.”

“She’s a stray, you found her, and brought her here. What else is there to know?” Serella huffed, and even to her, she sounded a touch defensive.

“We can’t just turn her out after a bath, either, though.” Hyana argued, in the gentlest tone Serella had ever heard from her, as she snuggled up to Aymeric’s side to offer her hand to the kit. “She’ll have to stay for a while.”

“Until we can responsibly rehome her, of course.” Aymeric hastily added on, unconvincingly.

Serella wrinkled her nose when Estinien made a noise of agreement, even as the both of them also crawled in bed.

Once they had hemmed him in on all sides, Aymeric piped up, “But we have to call her something, in the meantime.”

When Estinien reached out to pet her, both of her paws shot out, to wrap around his hand. Her claws pricked at his skin, as she tried to force his hand over to her head. He snorted.

“Krile, perhaps? The little snot seems keen on getting her claws in me.” He grumbled, with no real venom behind his words; he hadn’t even taken his hand back.

Alas, he had already been lost to this kitten’s wiles, it seemed. Probably was, the moment he found her.

“I’ll tell Krile.” Hyana replied in that same, cooing voice, not even deigning to look at Estinien, as the kitten wriggled across the broad expanse of Aymeric’s chest, to bump her forehead against Hyana’s.

It was fascinating, watching how all three of them—powerful, stalwart warriors, all—had turned to puddles under the might of this singular kitten’s cuteness. Danuja, Vardr, and Rhalgr were already getting jealous, she realized, when she felt their collective, agitated curiosity on the fringes of her focus.

“Menphina,” she suggested, before she could stop herself. When all present turned to look at her, she elaborated, with a wry twist of her lips, “She’s certainly charmed all of you enough to warrant it.”

“…Menphina.” Hyana tried again, speaking it to the kit instead. At the curious mrr the cat trilled in response, Hyana nodded. “She likes it. It’s settled, then.”

When the weather improves, I’ll put up signs, she resolved to herself, just as the kitten laid her paw atop Serella’s hand, over Aymeric’s heart.

To her credit, she did. But the problems that trickled in after that came threefold: there was little demand for a beautiful runt, all the more of an indeterminable breed of cat. What demand there was, was often in the interest of Menphina being a “practice pet,” for a child. Fearful that that would translate to unsupervised children treating her like a toy, until she was injured, Serella would be the first—and firmest—to rebuke such offers. Add to all of that, the kitten’s propensity for extended bursts of high energy, that demanded that she be played with, ruled her out for any of the elderly candidates that applied, looking for a calm housecat.

To say that she had no success finding a suitable home for Menphina, would be a gross understatement.

Every time, she would come home, and Menphina would have to crawl out of the collective fur of Vardr and Rhalgr, just to trill up at her in greeting. And every time, Serella would have to scoop her up, and tell her how sorry she was, that it wasn’t meant to be, for that applicant.

“There will be others,” Serella reassured her, every time.

A few moons down the line saw Menphina still very much fostered in their care—to the point, that she was tucked close, huddled in the bend of Serella’s knees, as she’d curled up on the couch with a book. She’d fallen into a sort of pleasant lull, where her focus was on her book, though she could still pick up on Aymeric and Hyana chatting amicably in the kitchen.

At the mention of the date, in the midst of their conversation, Serella’s ear perked; she couldn’t recall the exact date, that Estinien had hauled this scrawny little kit in from the cold, but as she looked down at Menphina again, now filled out on good food and loving attention, she realized, with dismay, that she had not been strong enough.

“You were never a foster cat, were you?” She grumbled accusingly at Menphina.

The kitten looked up at the sound of her voice, and gave a questioning mrr?

As though she didn’t know what she had done. Smiling wryly, Serella gave her affectionate scritches between her ears.

“No, I suppose you never were, at that.”

Taking this as an invitation, Menphina unfurled herself with a long stretch that morphed into a yawn, and scampered up Serella’s hip, and settled in on the curve of her side, as though it was just for her.

Groaning, Serella let her head hit the back of the couch, as she finally admitted her defeat loud enough for the household to hear: “We’re keeping the cat.”

Amidst the giddy celebrating, she swore she distinctly heard the clink of coin being exchanged—they’d gone and taken bets, on how long it would take for her to crack.

Gremlins. Hellions, all of them. Hers. How she loved them, as they were—Menphina included.

#ffxivwrite2021 #ffxiv #Aymeric de Borel #Estinien Wyrmblood #Hyana Geriel #Serella Arcbane #unstoppable forces and immovable objects #featuring: catte #'I'll be the responsible one and say we're not adopting her' Serella said. like a liar.

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honeymoonjin · 4 years

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pairing: namjoon x jimin genre: smut, 18+ readers only word count: 5.1k

summary: namjoon has worked as a bodyguard for an upscale BDSM dungeon for long enough to know that jimin is the most sought-after dom there. it only takes one miscommunication for namjoon to discover firsthand why that is.

warnings: unedited, sexually explicit content, power bottom!jimin, sub top!namjoon, unprotected sex, degradation, light pain play, BDSM dynamics, kinda temperature play, i think that's it but i'm so out of practice so i apologise if i missed something

a/n: this piece came to fruition thanks firstly to the @armyadvocates AAPI Justice and Advocacy initiative, and secondly to the kind commissioner @goldenwallsvol6 on twitter who requested this (i'm so sorry for not including everything you asked for, i got a little carried away kdsjfdssk). please check out the AAPI initiative here, consider donating, and check out the resources that come with it.

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Clocking in to work has become such a routine for Namjoon that he often finds himself switching his brain off, preoccupied with half-thoughts as his body runs on autopilot.

He signs in, uses the staff changing room to replace his sweats with the company standard uniform - a tight t-shirt and slim fit jeans, the belt of which he hooks his keys on. He doesn’t actually start his shift for another couple minutes, and so he ducks to the bathroom, chews a breath mint, and stretches before heading out of the office and down the narrow hallway that leads to the den.

In fact, it takes him a few steps into the dungeon before his automatic schedule is disrupted.

It appears Namjoon is entirely alone in the facility.

His steps, taken with heavy-duty boots, echo around the hollow space with nothing but the walls to absorb them. It’s a Thursday night (he consults his phone just to be sure) and he was on the closing shift. On any usual day, he’d be starting work right at the bustling high of the BDSM dungeon, yet he finds himself wandering alone.

Shaped in a rough X, the center of the dungeon is open-plan, with more private spaces forking off. The wing he’s in is generally full of swingers and kinksters making use of costume changing stations and a room full of cleaning supplies and disposables like condoms or wet wipes. It was always the calmest section, but never dead like this.

In a daze, Namjoon glances inside the rooms anyway, half-expecting the place to burst into life at any given moment. But it stays undisturbed, and in no time he’s in the central atrium, weaving through bolted-down couches, benches and racks until he can sink onto a stool at the bar.

Coherent thought escapes him. His brain flails for a reason, but the absurdity of an entirely vacant sex dungeon has him lost for words. After a moment, in restless futility, he stands back up and goes behind the bar, back further into the mini storage/kitchen that he knows features a window.

Outside the narrow, slightly dusty frame is an empty parking lot. His heart sinks, feeling sorely left behind and out of the loop, but a glint catches his eye. Pressing his nose to the glass, he squints and peeks a somewhat familiar vehicle, pulled into the closest park to the entrance of the dungeon.

Namjoon stares pointedly at the Hyundai, racking his brain. God, who was it that had a-

A wooden scrape from behind has Namjoon jumping in violent fright, catching his forehead on the protruding frame of the window. Cursing, he whirls around and glimpses movement further inside. Another drawn-out scrape is followed by a very human-sounding huff.

Heart still racing, Namjoon makes his way out of the storage area and stands behind the bar, seeking out the presence.

“Oh, shit, you gave me a heart attack!” Park Jimin stands off to the left of the room, hands on his hips and head tilted back in relief. “I thought you were a burglar.”

“No,” Namjoon states redundantly, mouth not quite working beyond that. He knew he recognised that silver SUV - every Thursday he watched Jimin hop into it and pull away after a long night of scening. The two had exchanged words often, more than Namjoon could say for most patrons. Being the bouncer for a sex dungeon didn’t lead to that much genuine conversation, but he always appreciated the effort Jimin would put in, hair wet with sweat and lips curved with happy exhaustion but still asking Namjoon if he’d managed to work out whether it was birds or the neighbour’s cat eating his strawberry plants.

He forces himself to check back into the present when current-Jimin cocks his head with a slightly sheepish grin, awaiting an actual explanation. “I, um,” Namjoon stutters, having to avert his eyes to construct anything coherent, “I didn’t realise the club was shut, I’m honestly a little confused.”

Jimin’s smile drops, plush lips rounding in surprise. “Oh, really? Hoseok-hyung said he sent out emails to all the staff. There was a pipe leak so we called off our whole calender until Monday. Did you not get it? We’ve had troubles with work emails getting stuck in spam; something about a sex dungeon really seems to set off the detectors,” the man quips with a jovial lift of his brow.

Namjoon bites down on his tongue, offering up a silent nod of acknowledgement. He’d seen Jimin more times than he could count in black, red, royal purple. In the club he favoured leather, not buckled and studded but sleek and tight, often decorating his lithe body with harnesses, gauntlets and heavy rings instead. More often than not, he’d boast unsmudgable smokey eyes with sharp liner, cheekbones as harsh as they were dewy. It had taken a while, but Namjoon had eventually grown used to the sight, able to prevent chubbing up at the mere sight of his ass as he bent to open his car door.

For some reason, seeing him outside of that whole persona is far more intimidating. Still covered in a light sheen of sweat, that’s the only linker to the Jimin Namjoon is faced with today. He’s got chunky white sneakers weighing down his feet, long overalls rolled up at the cuffs to let some air reach his ankles. The overalls prove particularly problematic to Namjoon, as they don’t seem to have anything underneath. Namjoon can see collarbones, glorious collarbones, and the lean bare sides of Jimin’s torso. If he bent over, Namjoon would probably get a glimpse of his nipples. The thought dampens his mouth with need.

Jimin himself seems unaware of, or at least unbothered by, the way Namjoon stares him down. Instead, he reaches down to push a cardboard box as tall as his waist across the hardwood floor closer to the bar one shove at a time. “Anyway, you’re welcome to head home. I’ll get Hoseok to add half an hour to your payslip for your troubles.”

“What are you doing here then?” Namjoon asks reflexively, cringing at how loud he’s accidentally pitched his voice.

Jimin’s face is surprisingly round without the stroke of makeup to emphasise dimensions, and when he beams at Namjoon, it softens his whole face even more. “I’m taking advantage of us being closed to install some new furniture. D’you wanna see?” He seems to reconsider, shooting Namjoon a worried look. “It is sex stuff, though.”

“I wasn’t expecting a bookshelf,” he answers honestly, and is rewarded with the bubbling sound of Jimin’s laughter, drowned out prematurely by another shove of the box. “Here,” Namjoon says suddenly, darting out from behind the bar, “let me help.”

At first, Jimin pushes while Namjoon pulls, but after a few grunts of exertion, steps back and lets Namjoon take over, not disguising the way his eyes linger on the way Namjoon’s biceps and pecs flex under his t-shirt sleeve. Obediently, Namjoon lets the bleach-blonde guide him to an open space near the centre of the room, depositing the weighty box there.

With a satisfied hum and a lingering glance at Namjoon’s body, Jimin bends over with a pen from his pocket, using the nib to pop and rip the tape on the box lid, yanking back the flaps with ferocious enthusiasm. He lets out a delighted cry upon lifting a frame of styrofoam out of the box, revealing the goods inside.

One at a time, he takes out oddly-shaped plates of metal, plastic baggies of bolts and screws, and some rubber caps. Kicking the empty box away, Jimin slots his hands back on his hips and grins at Namjoon. “Can you guess what it is?”

Namjoon takes a moment to consider the different sections of stainless steel. The largest isn’t flat, but a rectangle with a slight curve to it, the gentlest arc. The rest come in mirrored pairs, most just for structure, but four of them featuring heavy-duty O-rings. Though he works outside the play area, Namjoon can guess what those are for. “Something for bondage?” he ventures, stomach flipping when Jimin eyes glint with thinly veiled interest.

“A breeding bench,” Jimin explains, squatting to let his fingers trail down the side of one bar, “the metal feels sterile and cold for those that like it. Have you used one before?”

Namjoon feels unsteady on his feet. “No,” he answers, but the softness in his voice betrays his lack of aversion to the thought. But Jimin might think he was a dominant, too, Namjoon worries. Everyone else tended to. “Not yet,” he adds after a moment.

Jimin sucks in a silent but sharp breath, chin lifting. “I could use a hand setting it up. Would you mind…?”

“Oh! Uh, yeah, no problem.” Namjoon tries to clear his throat, but the lump of anticipation remains. “Happy to help.”

“Excellent,” the dom beams, fishing around the pieces of styrofoam to locate the printed instructions, handing them to Namjoon. As Namjoon begins to make sense of them, looking over the basic diagrams, Jimin sits down on a nearby ottoman, intended for viewing the other stations, but continuing to face his new help instead. “I’ve been wanting to get to know you more anyway,” he divulges in a honeyed tone.

“Really?” Namjoon glances up from the instructions, feeling the heat of Jimin’s gaze. Even in worn overalls and unstyled hair, the man strikes a gorgeous image, and his posture screams distinguished dominant down to the curl of his fingers. His mere presence has Namjoon feeling off-balance in the most electric way. “There’s not much to know.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Jimin replies immediately, deadpan. “Why are you standing outside every night when you’re just as kinky as those of us indoors?”

“Excuse me?”

Jimin leans forward, legs splayed wide and elbows on his knees. His eyes are intently focused, blazing. “For a while it drove me crazy,” he starts, “you looked so familiar. I saw you every evening and couldn’t put my finger on it. But you used to scene here, didn’t you? Years ago.”

Namjoon’s heart stops beating, sitting heavy behind his ribs instead. “You- You’re not meant to approach people you know from the dungeon outside. It’s against the rules.”

“We aren’t outside,” Jimin counters. “I want to know why you stopped. You don’t look happy, Namjoon, seeing others come and go while you’re stuck to your post. Help me understand.”

Taking a few deep breaths, Namjoon stays silent, opening his mouth seeming too daunting a task. After a moment, Jimin swallows hard and sits back again, giving up the inquisition. Namjoon chooses to continue the task at hand, consulting the instructions.

The bench itself is a relatively simple setup. There’s two long cuts of steel in an X below the main panel for stability, four legs with the O-ring bars at either end, and the rubber caps on the bottom to avoid scratching the floor. As he putters around with the nuts and bolts, using a tiny spanner provided in the baggies to tighten them, he feels Jimin’s curious gaze on him. Silent.

Eventually, the silence has its desired effect, and Namjoon lets his internal thoughts vocalise. “I played here for a while. My partner and I ended up going our separate ways, and I wanted to give him space.” He doesn’t make eye contact, pulse thudding and heating the pieces of metal he fiddles with.

Jimin takes a short moment to reply, but it feels cavernous. “It’s been years, then. Hasn’t he had enough space yet?”

Namjoon’s eye twitches. How many nights had he stayed up with that exact question in mind? “It doesn’t feel right anymore. People would know me for who I was then. And I’m- I’m not that person.” His partner, an eager sub with a need for a firm hand, had asked Namjoon one day if he was sure he was really happy being a dom, and it had entirely dismantled the place in BDSM that he’d cultivated for himself. That sub was right, and he didn’t know how to adjust his course to fit his true desire.

So he’d pulled away entirely, unable to fully leave this world, but unsure of whether it still had a spot for him inside it. He just wants to feel what it’s like to let go in the way his subs did. And as his hands focus on constructing the heavyset bench, his mind wanders deeper in this vein, loose-lipped enough to confess it all to Jimin.

Jimin listens without judgement, not even seeming surprised when Namjoon admits to feeling more submissive, and the lack of reaction is liberating in a way he couldn’t have expected.

It’s not until the final bolt is fastened in place and Namjoon leans back, slightly breathless, that Jimin stands up and approaches him again. He crouches in front of Namjoon, eyes tender and hesitant, reaching out a hand.

Confused, Namjoon holds his out, palm-up, and Jimin takes it carefully, circling his fingers around the narrowest part of his wrist. Still, it’s too meaty for Jimin’s fingertips to connect. He squeezes lightly, carefully, before locking his gaze with Namjoon again, who swears he’s no longer breathing.

“Do you want to try?” Jimin asks. His voice is low, soft but full-bodied. “Do you want to try to let go? Club rules would apply.”

And Namjoon is nodding, and the grip on his wrist is tightening, restraining, and Jimin’s surging forward, lips on his.

His free hand comes up to hook around the nape of Namjoon’s neck. He’s held there, unforgiving, as the dom deepens the kiss. There’s no space between them, just skin on skin, tongue on tongue. It’s uncoordinated on Namjoon’s part, but so calculated and thorough on Jimin’s, like he knows the exact way to unwind him.

Jimin’s fingers scratch up into Namjoon’s hairline. He’d been growing out the length a little for winter, just enough to cover his ears, and it provides leverage for Jimin to grip on and tug, tug, tug in sharp bursts, timed unevenly enough that Namjoon is never ready. Every pull sends an electric shock down his spine, right between his legs.

He’s hard already, achingly so, and it just worsens when Jimin shifts his weight, bringing a foot forward and over Namjoon’s thigh, half-caging his body flush against his.

Jimin’s body is hot, even through the denim overalls and searing when it’s skin-on-skin. Namjoon can hear himself panting when their mouths split apart briefly, but he can’t stop his head from spinning long enough to care.

Before long, a rumbling growl escapes Jimin’s throat, and his teeth find Namjoon’s lower lip, scraping and nipping at the flesh. It’s not until Namjoon’s hand is shaking in Jimin’s grip that he pulls away, eyes wild and alight.

Namjoon must look utterly debauched, with swollen lips, hazy eyes and rucked-up hair, but his cock is screaming to be touched, and his breaths become infused with pleas for more, begging Jimin to touch him.

“God, you greedy little thing,” Jimin remarks in wonder, and a shudder takes over Namjoon’s body. Jimin quirks a brow. “Good? Bad? I don’t know what you like.”

“Good,” Namjoon insists without shame, “oh my god, good. Say m-more like that.”

Jimin hums with a grin, hand on Namjoon’s neck slipping around front to fist his shirt, yanking it suddenly. “Up, then,” he barks, standing himself, “I want you on the bench you built for me. Thank God that body is good for something; it’s not much fucking use now, is it?”

Namjoon’s breath leaves him in a rush, and he gets up shakily, almost tripping over his own feet as he lowers himself back down on the end of the bench. It’s chillingly cold even through his jeans, and he trembles at the thought of touching it with bare skin. Jimin has no such qualms, however, planting his palm on Namjoon’s chest and pushing him backwards, insistently guiding him down without knocking his head on the metal.

His teeth chatter briefly, but it’s nothing compared to when Jimin clicks his tongue and reaches down to strip the thin fabric of his t-shirt off with one fell swoop, the stitches breaking as they’re forced over the broadest part of his shoulders.

Ice erupts across his back and he gasp, shooting up. Jimin’s hand prevents him from getting far, and his breathing grows loud and sharp, shivering violently as his body fights to warm up the steel. The slight arch of it slots perfectly into the divot of his spine, meaning every inch is flush against him.

“You stay where I put you,” Jimin scolds, flicking at a nipple in punishment. “It’s pathetic, isn’t it? You, lying here, asking to be degraded by somebody half your size? Pathetic. You’re lucky I’m a giving man.”

“Th-thank you,” Namjoon offers up with wide eyes. He doesn’t know the protocol, doesn’t even know how he should be acting as a sub, let alone as a sub for Jimin. He can barely believe the situation he’s ended up in, but he’s never felt so alive. The cold steel is a wakeup call to sluggish veins, his blood rushing faster than ever, most of it going straight to his dick.

Jimin huffs like he’s not quite pleased with the response - even as his eyes crinkle and glint with satisfaction - and simply hooks a finger into the waistband of Namjoon’s jeans, frowning. “Can’t even get undressed yourself. For goodness’ sake.”

Namjoon’s cheeks burn, and he squeezes his eyes shut, feeling so overwhelmed. Though it was years ago, the habit of being in control hasn’t left him, and part of him feels anxious being so vulnerable. Closing his eyes eases that, and Jimin lets him, briefly reaching up to give his upper arm a squeeze, a lilting hum asking the unworded question.

“I’m okay,” he breathes to the darkness behind his eyelids, and the squeeze returns before Jimin straightens up again, fingers yanking impatiently at Namjoon’s jeans, undoing them and yanking them off, taking his briefs with them.

The new level of nudity sends another shock of cold to his system, but this time Namjoon welcomes it with a groan, tilting his hips up so that his cock rests on his lower stomach. His fingers twitch, aching to wrap around himself.

His desire is answered, not with the delicious grip of fingers, but with the hard press of the heel of Jimin’s palm, pinning his hardness down without mercy. A moan dies in Namjoon’s throat as his body tries to curl inwards. A second hand holds him down still, leaving him unable to escape the heavy pressure.

He pants, writhing and toes curling, but Jimin just sighs softly, like he’s more relaxed than ever. “Such a waste,” he drawls, his voice blooming with all the flourishes of a Disney villain, “wanting to be treated like a slut, but what am I getting out of this? Hm?”

“U-uh-” Namjoon has no idea what to say, cracking his eyes open to seek out the comfort of acknowledgement above the level of the scene. His breath is taken away at the sight. Jimin, above him like an avenging angel, golden-haired and glittering with sweat, still fully clothed (as fully as you could call a single piece of denim). He finds Namjoon’s searching gaze and sends him a calm, dreamy smile of encouragement, before twisting his palm against the base of Namjoon’s dick, wringing a strangled groan out of the man. “You can take me,” he pants, filled with the urge to provide, to serve, “take what you want.”

Jimin tilts his head to the side, like this proposition is worth considering. As he makes a show of pondering, he taps his fingers lazily against his cock’s dripping head. Namjoon swallows the whimpers that threaten to bubble up, and forces his hips not to budge. “I’ll be honest with you,” Jimin says finally, “because you don’t deserve sugar-coating. If I was here with a fleshlight or a dildo, I would’ve come already. You’re wasting my precious time, sweet boy. I don’t want you to lay here and simper, I want you to be a good toy for me. So what’s it gonna be?”

Namjoon’s muscles are trembling; from his lips to his toes, he feels like he’s vibrating slightly, restless down to the very atoms that make him up. Jimin is patient, lazily drawing sticky patterns of precum on Namjoon’s abdomen with his pinky finger. Namjoon fights against the primal part of his brain for something coherent, replaying his words. Fleshlight or dildo. Be a good toy. Jimin was offering him the choice to top or bottom, Namjoon realises, and his cock twitches, feeling liberated and thoroughly taken apart with that heady mix of submission and power. He was giving control to Jimin, but never losing his choices.

For a moment, he does consider what it might feel like to let Jimin take him. He’d never bottomed before - at least not for anyone but his own fingers in his experimental years - but if anyone could make him feel safe, he suspected it would be the dom leaning over him. It’s once he really thinks about it that he knows he’s not ready, a thin strand of dread winding around his lungs that won’t go away until he’s stammering to Jimin that he can have Namjoon’s cock if he wants it.

Jimin sucks in a slow, pleased breath, a smile curling at his lips as he lays the weight of Namjoon’s length across the palm of his hand, looking it over. The chill of the steel beneath him is nothing compared to the iced shiver that runs through him upon being inspected in his most private area. Second most private, he corrects. Baby steps.

“I suppose,” Jimin declares finally with a sigh, “this should do. Not winning any awards, though, is it?” Namjoon’s cheeks burn with shame at the comment even as his face scrunches up in disagreement. If there was one thing to be proud of physically, it was that he could always bring his partners pleasure with the equipment he grew into.

Jimin sees the unfiltered reaction on Namjoon’s face and suddenly claps his free hand over his mouth, turning away. The giggle, impish and delicate, doesn’t get as muffled as he probably intended. “Dammit,” he mumbles, “stop being funny, that’s not fair.”

Namjoon blinks, still stark naked and hard as rock beneath the clothed and chuckling dom. “...Apologies,” he says after a pause, “but do you want to- um- are we-”

“Sorry, sorry,” Jimin says, clearing his throat and wiggling the muscles in his cheek to force the smile down. His fingers reach nimbly for the straps that hold his set of overalls on, and undresses down to skin as he takes some deep breaths as if to hype himself back into character. Once he’s done, he swings a leg over the metal bench and straddles Namjoon’s thighs with a swiftness that takes his breath away.

While it may take Jimin a second to slip back into his dom headspace after the break in mood, all Namjoon needs is the feeling of Jimin’s plump ass cheeks settling onto hs lap and he’s being smacked in the face with submission, ready to beg to feel it more intimately.

Jimin doesn’t wait for him to beg, however, rolling his body forward and down, all the way until their cocks are pinned together between their stomachs, and their noses bump. Close enough to kiss, Jimin stays right there, a breath away, and Namjoon freezes, unsure if he’s allowed to close the gap.

Pleased with the restraint shown, Jimin smirks, eyes wandering over Namjoon’s face in pure bemusement, slightly cross-eyed with their proximity. “Most toys can’t kiss back,” he mentions, a hand sliding up Namjoon’s forearm and shoulder to thumb at his jaw, tilting his head back and holding it in place, “so I figure I might as well treat myself.”

“Most?” is the final worried exclamation Namjoon manages to get out before lips are descending on his, and heat erupts.

There’s no way Namjoon could keep up. Not when his face is pressed tightly to Jimin’s, lips nipped at, tongue sucked at, and mouth thoroughly explored. Not when every inch of his front is pressed to Jimin’s, the latter’s nipples hard against the soft, relaxed flesh of Namjoon’s chest. Not when he becomes aware of slow rocking, Jimin grinding their cocks together.

It takes him an unknowable eternity of this to realise that the slow, indulgent groans passed between them aren’t all his, and that Jimin’s shifting motions are brought on by the way he’s reached behind himself with a finger slick with their shared spit, working himself open.

It’s that realisation that becomes the last straw for any of Namjoon’s reserves. He feels so - so passive, not even prepping the man who’s about to take his cock. He’s lying on unforgiving steel, body used as a grinding post and mouth deeply plundered, just a mindless toy, dumbed down to pleasure and need. He isn’t even really aware of his own body where Jimin isn’t touching it; he isn’t too sure where in space his hands are, or what his feet are doing. His lips are for Jimin and his cock is for Jimin and that’s enough to make him light-headed.

When Jimin sits up, Namjoon grunts a bit and fights for some clarity to help line himself up against Jimin’s awaiting body, but the dom just tuts and rebuffs the advances, suiting himself. Part of his weight is on Namjoon’s right shoulder as he props himself up, slowly bearing the rest down so that the head of Namjoon’s cock pushes inside.

The moan that leaves Jimin’s mouth is enough to make Namjoon’s bones shake, wishing he could hear it on repeat, and the dom certainly seems to be doing his best to make it a reality with the enthusiastic way he works his hips down in tight circles, clenching around the intrusion.

Namjoon feels like he’s floating, the hard edges of steel no longer grounding him. He doesn’t lift his hands up to hold onto Jimin, he doesn’t fuck up into him, he’s barely even looking at him with how low his eyes are lidded, but there’s liberation in that inaction.

The pressure to perform is entirely lifted, and he feels the pleasure twofold, once from his own sensation and then again like an echo with every sigh and groan that leaves Jimin’s lips.

The dom has the stamina of an athlete, lifting a leg up onto the metal base beside Namjoon’s hips to gain better leverage, and Namjoon has a front row seat to the way the muscles in Jimin’s thighs flex. They’re corded and thick, such an erotic contrast to the softness of his ass, and Namjoon feels drunk off of it.

He lets Jimin take what he wants, and he feels, and that’s all.

He doesn’t even think, not really, nothing deeper than mindless observation.

Jimin is beautiful, like nobody he’d seen before, and the lack of makeup and unstyled hair certainly doesn’t change that. It’s a reminder that he’s real, and that he’s sharing this experience with Namjoon. He sits up, leaning backwards with a hand on Namjoon’s knee instead of his shoulder, and the first time he plunges down, his whole body is wracked with a violent tremor.

“I’m close,” he pants outs, eyes flicking down to Namjoon, a lazy grin appearing momentarily, onto to be knocked off by an expression of pure euphoria as he swaps the bouncing out for grinding. He rocks his hips back and forth, Namjoon buried deeply inside, and seeks out his own end irrelevant of the body that cock belongs to.

Namjoon doesn’t care, loves the near out-of-body experience he’s having, and wills the pleasure to simmer long enough for Jimin to come first.

When Jimin gets really close, he loses some of the fluidity in his movements and becomes jagged, seizing up more and more until he’s stock still, breaths staccato and mouth wide open. The physical release follows soon after, and Namjoon shudders as hot white paints the underside of his chin and his chest.

Jimin has a hand around himself, tugging out every last drop as he sucks in desperate lungfuls of air, slowly curling in on himself until his burning forehead is on Namjoon’s shoulder. “Fuck,” he curses under his breath, chest heaving.

Namjoon reaches his end without even noticing. The pleasure throughout his whole body is so electric that an orgasm is barely a notch higher, more so a spreading warmth throughout his body. Wet where Jimin’s still joined to him, and damp everywhere else with perspiration, but it’s blissful nonetheless.

Jimin heaves himself back upright after a brief interlude, brows furrowed as he glances down at Namjoon. “Did you- oh,” he remarks, shifting a little and seeing the cum that’s split around the base of Namjoon’s cock. He lets out a deep sigh, eyes slipping closed for a moment as he tips his head back. “Okay, bye-bye dom.”

Namjoon’s mind slips back into awareness at a snail’s pace, feeling first the way his throat has dried up a little and his jaw hurts from clenching his teeth. Then his voice comes back to him, and he coughs a little, blinking up at the dom above him. “Does dom have a return date by chance? That was… fucking incredible,” he admits.

Jimin laughs, the action causing him to clench around Namjoon. With playful fingers, he reaches down and lightly pinches the fat of Namjoon’s cheeks. “You’re too cute,” he declares, before lifting himself up and off, clicking his tongue at the rush of wetness that drips down his legs. “Far out, it’s like you haven’t nutted in a year.”

Namjoon feels his cheeks heat against his best intentions. “That’s just normal.”

Jimin sends him a sharp look, searching his face. “Holy fuck,” he muses, stalking over to the nearest station to raid a small drawer of wet wipes, “and you’ve been letting that beast sit out in the cold every night instead of coming in here? Masochist.”

It takes all the energy left in his body to sit up, but Namjoon gratefully accepts a fresh wad of wipes and begins to clean himself off. “The beast doesn’t pay the bills,” he quips, already feeling more casual with Jimin after their intense shared experience.

“Then I suppose I’ll have to enjoy its company on your free time,” Jimin offers up, avoiding Namjoon’s gaze with what appears to be a shy streak as he dresses himself.

Namjoon smiles, appreciating the gorgeous sight of Jimin’s body before he covers up. Appreciating even more the way he feels so comfortable in his presence, enough to let go the way he did. “I’d like that.”

#armyadvocatesaapi #minjoon smut #dom jimin #sub namjoon #bts smut

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ikeromantic · 4 years

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Kitsune Haunting

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfic, approx 2500 words, silliness and sort of scares?

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: A Fun Lesson

This fic is a little longer than most of my posts. This one was inspired by one little line in the game . . .When Mitsuhide and MC reach the Chugoku province, the chatelaine reflects on their trip (which we didn’t get to see!) - she mentions that one night, Mitsuhide ‘haunted’ her. If you like it, I might post a part 2 with additional shenanigans.

Mitsuhide listened to the whispers of the bamboo forest. He found it soothing. The music of wind and branch was so different from the hum of Azuchi. There were no human voices to interrupt his thoughts. No politics here, or plots. Only the endless sea of green, and the long shadows cast by the setting sun.

His little mouse did not look to be enjoying the ride as much as he. She kept turning her head at each clack and clatter. Her shoulders were tense too. Perhaps she feared bandits, he thought. Or something worse? His lips curled into a small, wicked smile.

“We’ll camp here,” he called to her when they reached a small clearing. The bamboo grew far enough apart to place their bedrolls, and to dig a small fire pit for cooking. But the leaves covered the red and gold of the sunset with their greenery, sliding slowly to black as the light left.

“Can’t we keep going? I thought we would be out of the forest before dark.” She hunched her shoulders and squinted at the dim-lit path ahead. “It’s probably not much further, right?”

Mitsuhide kept a straight face. “Perhaps, but I do not want to risk the horses. They could trip on a dark path, and we would be delayed.”

She sighed and nodded. “I didn’t think about that.” Then she dismounted stiffly. The chatelaine was unused to long rides, or riding in general. Though she didn’t complain, her discomfort showed in every stilted movement as she unbuckled her pack and began to unload the horse.

“I can do that,” Mitsuhide told her after a moment of watching this awkward dance. “You go stretch, try to get comfortable.”

His little one gave a grateful smile. “If you insist.” She stepped away from her horse and stretched her arms over her head. “I feel like my spine is half fire. If fire was steel. Bending it hurts.”

“Riding all day is hard at first,” he agreed as he removed the packs and saddles, and began to rub down the mounts. “You do get used to it eventually.”

“You must do this a lot.” She sounded a little jealous. “How long does it take to - to not feel like you were beaten with hammers at the end of the day?”

Mitsuhide shrugged. “I don’t remember when I stopped being bothered.” He glanced at her over his shoulder and grinned. “Maybe you can tell me the exact moment riding becomes comfortable?”

She frowned at him.

After the gear was unpacked and the horses cared for and fed, Mitsuhide dug a small fire pit and got out their rations. Onigiri tightly wrapped in a bamboo sheath. The rice was flecked with black sesame and filled with pickled plum. He handed her the travel food, knowing she would eat it even if she wished for something sweet.

“Thanks,” she said, resting back on the bedroll Mitsuhide laid out for her. “These aren’t bad. Did Masamune make them?”

“Yes.” He did not tell her Masamune tried to send them off with all sorts of experimental recipes for traveling. He’d turned them all down, opting for something quick and easy to eat, simple to pack. Besides, more elaborate food might break their cover if they were searched.

“His food is always so good,” she sighed. Her eyes were focused up, on the little glimpses of starry night sky.

Mitsuhide felt a stab of jealousy. He did his best to ignore it. His little mouse could taste things, so of course she preferred Masamune’s cooking. It meant nothing.

A loud crack interrupted the quiet. It sounded close. The chatelaine squeaked and reached for her pack, where she kept a small knife.

“Frightened?” It was normal to hear snapping branches at night, as animals prowled the forest. Sometimes it was just a stalk too old to stand against the wind. Whatever the cause, it wasn’t a human sound and so he was not worried.

His little mouse shook her head, chin jutting out defiantly. “No. But it could be a monkey or - or a bandit.”

He laughed softly, which did nothing to calm her down. “What if I told you I was sure it is neither of those things?”

“Why should I believe you?” Her temper was still hot.

“Mmm, because I have traveled this forest several times. And I can tell you for certain that no bandit would prowl here at night. Even the monkeys are wise enough to stay away.” An idea took form right then, a little piece of fun.

The red in her cheeks drained away as he spoke, leaving her pale. “W-what do you mean?”

Mitsuhide gave his crescent moon grin, all wickedness and sharp edges. “Because, little one, this place is haunted.”

“Heh, y-yeah. Now you’re trying to scare me on purpose! Stop teasing.”

“Oh? Then I won’t tell you why travelers avoid this place.” He finished his meal and stood.

The chatelaine watched him, her whole body tense despite her defiant attitude. “Where are you going?”

“I will check around the camp, and the path ahead. I want to keep you safe, even if you don’t believe there is danger.” He stepped silently outside the small circle of firelight. She watched him go without saying anything else. But she did pull the knife from her pack, setting it, still sheathed, beside her.

Her determination to be brave was adorable, but it made him want to tease her more. As he walked the perimeter of their tiny camp, he picked up bits of dead, dry bamboo stalks. He put a few holes in them, and with a bit of thread, hung them high in the branches. They began to catch the breeze almost immediately, adding a soft, low warble to the rustling leaves.

Then he went a bit further afield to a nearby pond - it was easy to find by the night sounds of the forest toads. He scooped up a large male and laughed softly as it wriggled in his hand. “Don’t worry. I am not going to eat you, gama. We are going to help each other tonight. I just need you to sing.”

The toad let out a long, rasping cry in response. Perfect. He loosed it a few feet from the chatelaine’s bedroll, where she sat staring at the fire, oblivious to his presence.

When he came back to camp, announcing his arrival with a purposefully loud step, she stood to greet him. “Oh! You- you were gone awhile. Everything ok?”

“I found nothing . . . unexpected.” He looked at her solemnly. “But I think we should both stay here, near the fire, until dawn.”

“You - you’re just taunting me. Is there anything out there or not?”

Mitsuhide sat down on his bedroll and stretched out his legs. From the darkness on her side of the camp, came a harsh croaking. It was loud and held for several heartbeats.

“Ah! What is that?” She spun to stare at the bamboo thicket.

“I was going to tell you but . . . you said to stop.” Mitsuhide shrugged. “Do you want to know or not?”

“I - yes. Please tell me.”

He regarded her with narrowed eyes. He could tell her heartbeat was fast, her eyes were wide. She pulled her mat closer to the fire pit.

“You must promise not to interrupt.”

His little mouse nodded.

“Good. Then I will tell you why wise travelers avoid this forest, especially at night. It was before I was born, when my parents were young. There was a Chugoku princess known through the nearby provinces for her extraordinary beauty and her cunning. Her father refused to marry her off to the many suitors that came to their castle, because he cherished her. His youngest child and only daughter. And he relied on her wise advice.”

The chatelaine opened her mouth to ask a question, but caught herself. He could tell she was trying very hard to abide by his request. She was so cute, holding her curiosity in, that he almost gave her a chance to speak.

“Eventually, of course, a young warrior came to court her. He was very handsome, and wealthy. The princess was quite taken with him, as were most of the women in the castle. From the princess’ maid, to her elder mother.”

“This sounds like a fairy tale,” his little mouse said.

Mitsuhide raised an eyebrow in disapproval.

She clamped a hand over her mouth.

“I will pretend you said nothing. As to the truth of this story, you may ask some of the older servants at the castle - they will tell you the truth of it. Some still live that knew the princess, her maid, and the young warrior.”

The chatelaine’s eyes grew wider, and as if planned, a gust of wind made the improvised bamboo pipes give a fluting wail.

“Now, as I said. All the women in the castle were taken with the young warrior, but none so much as the princess and her maid.” Mitsuhide looked out into the dark forest and gave a heavy sigh.

“The maid was as ugly as the princess was beautiful. A girl disfigured by a terrible burn. Her face was twisted into a grimace that marked her out from even the plain women of Chugoku. The princess was the only one to look past her scarring and see the intelligent, kind woman behind it. The two were inseparable, until that charming warrior came.”

His little mouse nodded, her hand still covering her mouth as if she was afraid she would speak again.

“Though no one knew it then, it was the maid that gave the wise advice everyone sought from the princess. She spent her time reading and watching, listening to people. She knew the town’s most closely held secrets. The princess relied on her knowledge and her spying. And so, when the maid fell in love with the warrior, she begged the princess to let her try and win his affection. She thought she was owed at least the chance to find love. The princess only laughed.”

Mitsuhide did his best to imitate a woman’s voice. “No one would love a girl as ugly as you. Now get to your room and stop asking me for the impossible! I will marry that warrior, and you will always be just an ugly, unwanted maid.”

His little mouse looked appropriately horrified by that cruelty.

“The maid told her, ‘If you don’t at least let me try to win his heart, I will tell everyone the true source of your wisdom. They will know you are nothing but an empty-headed doll. Pretty but stupid.’ Enraged, the princess beat her, and drove the maid from the castle.”

“And she came to this forest to live?” The chatelaine asked, unable to help herself.

Mitsuhide shook his head. “If only she had. No. After the maid left, the princess began to worry that the maid would tell everyone the truth. She devised a plan to stop her. The princess called the warrior to her room and began to weep. She claimed that the maid threatened to curse her. She said the burned girl was a witch, and that she was afraid for her life. The warrior was uncertain, but he wanted to win the heart of the beautiful princess. After drying her tears, he agreed to find the maid and take her to the forest, where he would slay her and bury her bones far from the castle. Then the princess could be safe. And in return, she would marry him.”

The forest toad rasped another desperate cry. His little mouse jumped at the sound, her head whipping around to look back at the bamboo grove. “C-can I come sit with you? While you finish the story?”

Mitsuhide nodded. He made a space for her beside him where she sat, her leg brushing against his.

“Now, the maid was no fool. She feared the princess would lie about her, but she could not believe the warrior would harm her. Especially when he came to her hovel and asked if she would walk with him, and talk. He seemed so sincere. She wanted to believe he came because he worried for her. The maid told him that it was her wisdom on the princess’ lips that made the beautiful girl famous.”

He slipped an arm around his little mouse, and remarkably, she only settled against him without a single word of protest.

“The warrior believed her. After all, witches have great wisdom. Knowing this did not change his plan. He brought the maid here, to this forest. The whole way, he listened to her talk about her life. Her dreams. She opened up her heart to him, believing he cared. It was only when the warrior told her to kneel before him that the maid realized what he intended to do. She begged for her life. She promised him anything he wanted, if only he would let her live. The maid told him that she loved him. Her words fell on deaf ears. The warrior saw only the princess’ beauty and wanted nothing to do with the wise but ugly maid.”

“Men are so stupid,” the chatelaine murmured.

“Sometimes,” Mitsuhide agreed, thinking of how he had been so easily ensnared by a pretty girl. “Stupid or not, the warrior cut off her head. Then he carried her body away from the well traveled path, and buried her in an unmarked grave. The princess waited for him, but when she felt it was taking too long, she slipped away from the castle and walked the forest path, looking for her love.”

“Oh no.” His little mouse breathed the words into his chest, her eyes half-closed.

The warlord smiled down at her. “You are right to worry. The princess met her warrior on his way back from burying the poor maid. He swept her into his arms, smearing her with blood and grave dirt. He told her it was done, and she was so excited that he had done her bidding, that she kissed him. And then the warrior laid her on the forest floor and made love to her.”

Mitsuhide shifted, definitely not thinking about taking his little one here, in this clearing. Not thinking about that at all.

“The maid’s spirit could not rest, not with such a violent death at the hands of the man she loved. And not after witnessing this final betrayal. She appeared before them, holding her head in her hands. She threw it at the princess, gnashing her teeth and wailing. The princess caught it, and died right there from fright. The warrior should have died then too, but the maid could not kill him. She still loved him. Instead, she cursed the warrior to a life of loneliness.”

“That is . . . so sad,” the chatelaine murmured. Her eyes were closed now, almost asleep.

“It is. The warrior returned to the castle, and found that all had turned against him. They say he died some years later, a lonely and bitter man whose heart was stone. The princess’ body was retrieved from the forest, but the servants that brought it back swore they heard weeping and gnashing teeth. And after that, many beautiful maidens disappeared in this place. The men that travel these roads say they hear the maid, still crying. Her teeth clacking together.”

Another gust of wind rattled the branches and sent low tones skirling into the night air.

His little mouse shivered. “N-none of that is true. It’s just a - a story.” Her sleepy voice sent a happy chill through Mitsuhide. He imagined she would sound like that early in the morning, waking before dawn to make love and then fall asleep again.

“Ah, it was told to me as a true story. But I have never feared these woods. Even if they are haunted by a maid that curses men to loneliness. I am already cursed.”

“Mmm, yeah,” the chatelaine agreed, “but I’m not. Can I . . . sleep next to you?” Her eyes opened a fraction.

“Of course. I would not want to lose you to a vengeful spirit.” Or anything else. He laid her down on his mat, and watched as she drifted off to sleep. Such folktales had their uses, he thought. Like frightening silly, sweet girls.

Next: Kitsune Dawn

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen mitsuhide #mitsuhide akechi #otome #otome guys #fanfic #fanfiction #ghost story #haunting

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dependabletubebending · 1 year

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https://www.blogbangboom.com/blog/metal-tube-bending-a-comprehensive-guide

Metal tube bending is a versatile process that can be used to create a wide variety of shapes and sizes. It is a relatively quick and inexpensive process, and it can be used to bend tubes made from a variety of materials. However, it can be difficult to get a smooth bend, especially with thin tubes.

#aerospace tube bending #steel pipe bending near me #tube bending suppliers #mandrel tube bending near me #tubing bending #pipe bending shop near me #tube bending shops #aluminum tube bending near me #tube coiling #cnc tube bending near me #bending tubes #tube bending near me #tube bending services

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softly-savage-mint-yoongi · 4 years

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Estiferous;

es.tif.er.ous /adjective/ Producing (much) heat. Pairing: Chanyeol x f.reader Rating: angst Words: 3k I spent the entire day in a seething rage about certain events that happened yesterday and so, this was born. In part because the lovely @saebyeog-i just adores him with her entire being and we’ve not stopped talking about everything wrong with the entire situation and how much he deserves to be LOVED.

“Good morning on this fine twenty-ninth of October! It’s a chilly one out there ladies and gentleman. Those gray skies are here to stay today, and it looks like the rain will be steady through most of the evening,” says your partner from his place at the left side of the table. He glances sidelong at you as he turns back to his notes, “Ah, Y/N you’re looking so happy about that!” You blink once, caught in your daydream and stumbling for a response. Looking at the cameras positioned in your direction, you quickly recover, “Even with the chill and the rain I just love this season.” The man beside you gives a flamboyant chuckle that turns your gut, “What do you love about it?” “The colors,” you reply with honesty directed toward your viewers, “They’re like fire. The last reminder of the Summer warmth.” Your co-anchor touches at his in-ear briefly, “Oh, speaking of fire, take a look at this!” He spins his chair to face the large monitor that serves as the background of the studio, “Breaking news of a rogue Evolved out on the streets!” The way he says the words fill you with horror while you force your body to turn. On the screen, a shaky, grainy video- clearly from a cellphone some yards away- shows a disaster scene. Dusty clouds and smoke drift in thick and thin wafts across the screen, and the back of a tall and gangly man comes into view. Immediately your body stiffens as you watch his frame against the backdrop of a burning building. There is no air in your lungs, turned to stone as you absorb the video progression. Whoever filmed this is clearly terrified, by their deep breaths and coughing, high on adrenaline. There’s a barricade of fallen metal. You hear the man taking the video shout in warning, whispering an ‘oh my god’ as a dozen large steel pipes fall on top of the man he’s filming. Some grunting and distressing sounds pass the few seconds it takes for the next moment to come. Through the smoke and dust renewed, something glows faintly at first beneath the pile of metal. Then, between the haze, the video catches a form rising from them, accompanied by the sounds of heavy metal banging against the ground. One glows to a white-hot redness before bending and falling from what appears to be the Evolved’s hand. ‘Holy shit, what kind of monster is he.’ Says the owner of the recording in a choked whisper, clearly filled with absolute terror. You’re still frozen to your chair with your heart thudding loudly in your chest as you watch the rogue man change. Gently at first as if he appears to be lit on fire slowly, until everyone watching realizes he is engulfed in flames of his own making. Oddly, he checks over both shoulders before he takes off into the burning wreckage of the building. The moment the video ends, your co-host whirls back toward the cameras with too much enthusiasm, “Amazing, aren’t they, folks? What a world it has become!” He pauses, looking over some new papers that had been passed to both of you. Looking down at your own, you read the words as they’re said by your partner, “Wow! Looks like this video was taken by someone who had just escaped that building with their life! Then this Evolved showed up right before the fire department.” It makes you jump as another video pops up on the screen behind you, of two children animatedly talking, albeit a bit hoarse. ‘It was amazing, like PSSSKKKHHHHHHAAAAA!’ says the smaller one, throwing his smoke-stained hands up into the air and then coughing. The larger child nods along enthusiastically, ‘Yeah, yeah! This guy came and grabbed the metal stuff in the way and, and-‘ he tries to find the words but needs to stop for a drink of water from an woman that coddles them both on a hospital cot. ‘-and he melted it all away like this. Hhhhnnngggg!-‘ he says, clenching both of his tiny fists and squeezing his face tight to make a bending motion. The smaller one interjects by jumping off of the cot, ‘and then he helped us outside.’ He looks sad for a moment before he shrugs and adds, ‘But I think he was shy ‘cause he wouldn’t come outside with us.’ ‘Go find the firetruck!’ hollers the older boy in a mocking tone. ‘But what do we say to the man, boys?’ the person filming asks, clearly the father. ‘Thank you for saving us!’ the boys chime together with grins too big for their cheeks. You smile to yourself, thinking of the kindness shows to these two children in such a scary situation. It doesn’t last, as hell breaks loose with the very same video of the Evolved across several social media sites. Tweets and Instagram shares and YouTube reaction videos. A few that are impressed to see such power from an Evolved, and a rogue one no less. Although much more common in today’s world than generations past and protected under their agencies, they are still the minority. Most of the buzz around the now viral video is alarming. Hateful spews of threats and accusations that this rogue started the fire himself. Calling him Hellspawn, or the devil himself. Threats and ugly words thrown around out of fear and jealousy. A few demanding the Manifestation Rehabilitation Center arrest him and lock him up so he isn’t a danger to society. “You heard it here first, Channel sixty-one news station. We’ll be right back,” says your co-anchor. He stands from his chair and adjusts his tie, stretching his back, “What an awful creature,” he comments dryly under his breath. It’s enough for you to catch. “What did you just say?” you ask him from your seat, back straight as a spring board. He looks at you blankly, and you decide in that moment that you hate his over-gelled slicked back hair and his tie is the ugliest shade of puke green you’ve ever seen. “Come on now, you know that thing probably started that fire. It’s lucky everyone made it out alive, but what about the damage?” It takes you a moment to consider his words and if he is really standing here in front of you or just a dirty apparition, “Excuse me?” He has the audacity to sneer, “What?” “That ‘creature’ you just called him, is a person! He didn’t ask for that manifestation!” you scream at him. The director and camera coordinators all jump, spilling coffee and turning back toward you at the news table. Even your co-host seems to fumble for words at your outburst, “Are you really so small minded? You’ll jump to that conclusion without all of the information?” He raises his hand at you to speak, “It’s probably true though. Looks better for the news at least. You saw how quickly it we-“ “Stop talking! This is unbelievable! You want to know who the real monsters of this world are?” your anger is rising like acid up the column of your throat, “You are! People who only care about their fucking money or their fucking story or their five fucking seconds of fame!” You spit more words at him before he can make a rebuttal, “You don’t give a shit about the people your stories might hurt? Are you so content with yourself that you don’t have an ounce of shame for the words you say about others? Are you serious right now? Have a bit more compassion for humanity!” He laughs. The man within striking distance of your palm actually laughs. It is as the phrase ‘I don’t care.’ Leaves his lips that your palm meets his cheek. It stings harshly, but your refuse to let it show. And then you walk out, flinging your fistful of notes in the air to scatter about the news studio as your heels carry you sharply across the floor and out the door with your coat and purse. ______________________________ “Unnie, I’m so sorry.” You mumble, wiping at your tears and sniffling to keep them at bay as you walk. On the other end of the line, a woman coos at you, “Don’t worry about it. Are you okay?” You feel terrible. Channel sixty one was the only news station that would even look at your resume straight out of college, and only on Yoora’s word that you were perfect for the junior anchor position that got you in the door. A year later and you were promoted to anchor, gleefully dropping the ‘junior’ title from your work. Thankful to her as always, you feel even worse as you admit that you walked out. “I just quit,” you say in one breath, “Unnie they were talking about Chanyeol.” The other end of the line goes quiet for three seconds, “Where is he?” You sigh, tilting your head to hold your phone between it and your shoulder so you can unlock your car while the other holds your umbrella. “Not sure, but I have a feeling I know. I’ll text you when I find him. I’m just… I’m really sorry after all of the hard work you did for me.” She hums, “Seriously don’t worry about that. We’ll figure it out later. For now, just make sure he’s okay, please.” “On it,” you whisper, ending the call as you situate yourself in your car. With both hands on the wheel, you take off in the direction he’s most likely to be. _________________________________ Nearing late afternoon, you’ve decided there’s only one place left to find him. His G65 is tucked nicely under the foliage of a large tree. It’s the only one left in the parking lot when you pass by the only other car on their way out of the park. You don’t bother checking your phone. He’s not answering anyone’s messages or calls and he’s turned off his location. Luckily, you had your gym bag in your car, intent on having gone today after work. Running shoes and a hoodie are much better for this kind of weather as you hunt for the man you love. It doesn’t take long to find him, since the park is scarce otherwise and he never carries an umbrella. He only ever needs to for the sake of his attire. Pulling open your messages, you text Yoora that he’s safe. You save her the detailed description of your lover; sitting on a bench with his ear pods in and the length of his legs spread out into the walkway, comfortable in his slouched position. He’s wearing his scuffed-up converse, favorite jeans and a large gray hoodie. One hand, large even from a distance, is extended in front of him. You know, even from this distance, he is watching every droplet evaporate from his skin. It is obvious in the Summertime, in the way his body steams as if it were asphalt when he doesn’t care to regulate his external temperature. You smile when he lets the hand drop to his lap and his head lulls back against the bench. He exhales into the chill, a gently puff of humid white from his volcanic chest into the late October breeze. It pulls a quiet laugh from you. His head rolls in your direction, and he is not surprised to see you standing ten yards away. His expression doesn’t change, but you know it isn’t personal. His cheeks, usually high and glowing, have deflated to sag near the down turned corners of his lips. Although he still exudes warmth, it makes your heart feel chilled. As you approach, traces of his tears become evident, pink around his round eyes- staring up at you from his resting spot. “You okay?” you ask, moving your umbrella away from yourself to shield him, “Your clothes are getting soaked.” A dissatisfied hum is your only reply at first, until he sits up and grabs your free hand to tug you closer. In his hold, you let him guide you to stand in front of him so he can comfortably wrap his arms around your hips. Leaning his head into your stomach, Chanyeol sighs. “You know you saved someone, Chanyeol.” You speak the words into the breeze with such conviction, letting your free hand raise to pet his hair. Even without the sun, you are happy to notice you can still see the auburn riding the waves of his chestnut curls. “It doesn’t matter. So many more hate me for starting a fire,” he mumbles into the thickness of your hoodie. Dropping your umbrella, you sink into a squatting position between his knees and revel in the warmth of his skin against your palms where they touch his cheeks, “But you didn’t start that fire.” He groans, voice cracking with stress, “Everyone thinks I did. It’s all that seems to matter. They are making jokes about it, too.” “I don’t think you did.” For the first time, he meets your eyes. Hesitantly, “I know.” He pulls you back up against him, hugging you into his larger frame as if you were his favorite stuffed animal, but commits nothing to the conversation otherwise. “What if you signed with an agency?” you wonder aloud. Sure, conversations had come and gone about it before, when they first began gaining popularity and legitimacy, but Chanyeol had always shrugged it off for the sake of keeping his manifestation private and doing what he wanted. He hadn’t thought that far about it, thinking there would never be a need to expose himself. “Might have to now. Still don’t want to,” he admits. “Why did you risk yourself then?” He lifts his chin and tilts his lips onto yours briefly, “The kids. They wouldn’t have made it.” The words are sobering to you, as they probably were to him. “You did that for them?” He takes a deep breath through his nose. It’s clear he is exhausted, “Would you have?” “Without a second thought.” You wrap his head in your arms again, leaning down to kiss at the crown of his head and inhaling his scent. Smoky and warm, tinged with the fresh rain. “That’s why I think you should find an agency.” Chanyeol hums, squeezing you tighter, “Later. For now, let’s go home and forget about the world for a while.” He kisses you again, “Thank you for finding me.” “I will always come to find you. I just want you to be safe and happy and loved,” you remind him gently, stealing a kiss on your own from his perpetually pouted lips. He takes your hand and stands, giving you the tiniest smile- just an uptick at the corner of his lips- at the happy sound you make when he squeezes your hand in his. It is unusually warm, like always. He takes the umbrella from your other hand, looking every bit like a normal couple trying to shield themselves from the chilled rain under one small piece of fabric. Chanyeol stops a few feet from the gate you came through, and his hand grows hotter in your hold. Enough that he lets you go and subtly moves you one step behind him, “Can I help you?” Lost in your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed a man leaning against the grill of Chanyeol’s Mercedes. He’s wearing a black overcoat, bucket hat, and dark sunglasses. Even without the weather, he is immediately suspicious. The man smiles, lifting himself from the car and uncrossing his arms. He looks down and back up, lips twisted in a smirk. Not quite cocky, but almost. Chanyeol must be able to feel something off because he reacts with one small puff of flame from his breath. You don’t miss the way he spreads his fingers wide with the hand he keeps in front of you, alerted by the way his fingertips become daker pink and then red as if sunburnt. The man approaches gracefully, and something feels a little cold. You watch, transfixed and a little afraid of the way the rain doesn’t quite seem to touch him. “Easy there, let me make this a little more comfortable,” he says mysteriously with a quick look around. You immediately notice the way the sound of rain on your umbrella has stopped. Chanyeol noticed too, and hesitantly moves the umbrella. Above your heads, the rain is not suspended. Upon closer inspection, you can see it is moving around you three instead. “See? Now she won’t get wet, right?” says the man, grinning. He removes his sunglasses and lifts his head to meet Chanyeol’s eyes. “Can I help you?” Chanyeol asks again, a little less polite than before. The man, clearly an Evolved, clears his throat and holds a card out to your boyfriend, “My name is Junmyeon. CEO of JM Enterprise, an agency for Evolved.” Your lover stills, relaxing from his threatening posture. You peek around him, curious, “Wow.” Junmyeon smiles at you, “I’m particularly selective in recruiting myself. I’m looking for a partner whose manifestation is complementary of my own. Natural element types if you will.” “Are there more?” Chanyeol asks quickly, his curiosity getting the better of him. Junmyeon smirks again, a bit lopsided. “A few. Currently, five including myself. I’d like you to make it six.” “I’ll think about it,” Chanyeol agrees a bit reluctantly, clearly finished with the conversation. He takes your hand once more and moves past the CEO toward the cars. “Oh, and miss Y/N?” calls Junmyeon. Both of your heads whip back around to face him. He holds his sunglasses with both hands, sliding them back over his eyes, “We could also use someone of your journalist talent, since you’re looking for employment now that you quit.” You squeak, trying to ignore Chanyeol’s wild eyes boring into the side of your head, “You quit your job?!”

#chanyeol x reader #superpower!au #chanyeol drabble #chanyeol fanfiction #exo fanfiction #chanyeol angst #in true fashion as of late... JUNMYEON WOULD NEVER #i had to because it makes me feel better #and chanyeol is a whole ass softie but protective babie #AN: this is totally unedited sorry not sorry

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artificialqueens · 3 years

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Down with the Recipe, Bake from the Heart, 9/10 (Taywhora) - Juno

Chapter Summary: It’s the semi-final, and patisserie week will see the bakers face a tricky signature, an even trickier technical, and the trickiest showstopper ever seen on Bake Off. The four semi-finalists are all feeling the pressure, but they’re all determined to make it to the finale, whatever it takes.

WEEK 9: PATISSERIE WEEK

Tayce’s work had been almost a welcome distraction this week. Sleep had gone right out of the window for her for the last two weeks; all that occupied her spare thoughts was baking. Baking, baking and more baking. All she saw when she closed her eyes were proving bowls, baking trays, and KitchenAids - her own white one now blinding her.

Last week was too close. Shit critiques, shit bake. I need to nail this week.

Her weeknights were spent practising. Patisserie weeks were fiddly, intricate, and stressful, but she knew this was the one that separated the master bakers from the amateurs. So she’d practised until she had no bowls left, no ingredients, until her mind fogged as if with condensation, filled with no thoughts but baking.

I’m going to the finale, whatever it takes. I’m not doing all this for nothing.

——

Tayce painted eyeliner over her eyeliner, concealer over her concealer, and chugged another can of Monster - why had she let Ellie introduce her to Monster? - all while she was waiting for the connecting train at Reading Station, delayed as usual, when she saw a familiar person on the platform, checking her phone. Tayce stomach leapt to her throat as she realised it was Aurora.

Aurora was getting the same connecting train! Maybe they all did, but this was the first time Tayce had seen someone else on the same train as her.

Aurora hadn’t spotted Tayce, and Tayce’s mind whirled. Should she go and talk to her? Tayce wasn’t sure whether their NDA would stretch to them chatting in public before the show aired. On the other hand, who would know that they were just talking?

Can’t hurt, can it?

But the tannoy announcement came overhead for the train - only five minutes late, practically on time for trains - and Tayce saw that Aurora had disappeared into the crowd as she stood to board.

She couldn’t see that Aurora in her same carriage, so she found a seat and sat down with a sigh. Even though it was early on a Saturday morning, the train was already packed with people - mainly groups of women chatting and laughing, dressed in lots of fine dresses and enormous hats and drinking gin cocktails from cans; taking up all the table seats, excited giggles filling the air.

Tayce hadn’t a clue what this was in aid of - Ascot or just a wedding? - but for a split second, she’d have given everything to be as carefree as they were.

——

Signature: 24 Choux buns

“Your Choux buns this week should have a delicate and tasty filling. Twelve should be iced, and the other twelve topped with craquelin.”

“Topped with what?” Matt asked.

“Craquelin,” Noel said.

“Oh. Still didn’t understand that but alright.”

Tayce still managed a laugh, but Lawrence and Aurora on the other side of the room could only just crack a smile, and God only knew what Veronica’s face looked like in front of her.

“On your marks -“

“Get set -“

“BAKE!”

The general mood between the bakers was tense, but exhausted, as if they were all struggling up the last few feet to the top of a mountain. But although all of them were starting to bend under the pressure, Tayce was determined not to be crushed.

Even though she hated patisserie.

“It’s just so fiddly,” she’d complained to Cara during the week, the only person she’d managed to tell as part of her NDA. “I’ve done about three hundred practise choux buns and they never come out alright. I think the choux pastry just doesn’t like me.”

And whisking the ingredients together, waiting for that moment where she could check to see if the pastry was ready, gave her the chance to look around at the other bakers.

Her eyes stayed on Lawrence the longest. Lawrence had told her at the end of last week, after Bimini’s departure, that patisserie was her favourite. And although Tayce had assumed no one could like patisserie, Lawrence seemed to have regained some of her smile this week, sipping from a can of Monster herself as the choux pastry whirled in the deep purple KitchenAid on her workbench.

Veronica, with her emerald green one, was having a similarly peaceful time. Tayce had glanced at her a few times so far, mainly as she was directly in front of her, and found that every time she did, Veronica was fine. There was no clinging to the bench, no sighing, no shaking - just Veronica humming something as she put all her ingredients into the KitchenAid and let it spin, sipping her tea.

“Hi, how are you?” Blu was accompanied by Paul and Matt, coming round to do the usual on-camera talk with the bakers about the bakes.

Tayce’s stomach somersaulted whenever Blu was around - it was the accent mainly, but also Blu always seemed to be full of energy, even when the rest of the tent was dour as it was right now. Tayce couldn’t help but to smile back at her.

“Morning, love! I’m good!” She grinned. “Just trying to make sure sure my choux pastry behaves itself!”

“Oh, God, tell me about it! I don’t even know why I agreed to judge this week, patisserie is a triggering word for me after last season!” Blu laughed. “But Prue still has to recover, so here I am! Tell me what you’re doing this week, then.”

“So I’ve got two lots of choux, the iced choux buns will be full of cherries and coconut, and I’m icing the top to make it like a Bakewell tart. I love Bakewell tarts,” Tayce simpered, “and the craquelin ones, I’m doing those ones filled with vanilla cream and coffee. Bit of a kick first thing in the morning. Bit of a wake up call, you know what I mean?”

The judges had looked pleased enough with her flavours, and after they’d left, Tayce put her spatula into the mixture to test if it was ready to pipe, glancing at her timer as she did. It could have done with another minute or so to mix, but time was not on her side, so she picked up the piping bag and decided to get on with it.

“I’m making blood orange filling and a lemon curd icing for one set,” Aurora was saying on the other side of the tent, “and for the craquelin ones I’m making strawberries and lime.”

“Lime?” That was the one-word Paul Hollywood takedown. Aurora would have known that by now, but Tayce watched, a pang in her stomach as Aurora glanced down, the dimple on her cheek fading as her smile slipped down her face a little.

Come on Rory. You know better than to take that to heart.

“Yeah, lime.” Aurora nodded, but her voice was dimmed, and her dimple didn’t come back.

No, don’t start doubting yourself now!

“How’s the buns?” Tayce said, sidling over to Aurora once the judges had moved on.

“They’re fine.” Her voice was still stiff, and so were her movements. “Just getting the filling done.”

“Ignore what they said about the lime,” Tayce said into her ear. “It’s gonna be great. I know it already. I can’t wait to get out of here and taste one of them.”

“Thanks.”

But Aurora wouldn’t look at her, crouching down to look into the oven again at her second batch of buns.

“Do you want a cup of -“

“No thanks.” Aurora’s sharp voice was a surprise, as she indicated the can of Monster on the corner of the desk. “I’m good.”

“Alright! Jesus! I was only asking!” Tayce chuckled. “God, you can be a right moody mare to everyone when you’re stressed! Chillax!”

And this time, she didn’t wait for Aurora’s retort before heading to the tea tent.

She just takes out her mood on other people all the time. What’s the problem with her? She was better last week, and this week she’s back to being Mardy Margaret.

When she brought her tea back into the tent, Aurora was watching her, her hands on her hips. “You do an awful lot of talking for someone who’s meant to be baking, Tayce. You should focus on that instead.”

Maybe it was Tayce’s rattled nerves from lack of sleep. Maybe it was the semi-final pressure. Or maybe it was the raw, simple vulnerability that Tayce felt with Aurora, baring her soul, telling her that she was falling for Aurora last weekend. Whatever it was, all of Tayce’s emotions were on her sleeves, far too near to her skin …

… and this time, Aurora’s words were the last straw.

“Rory!” she yelled, “Just calm down! You’re not the only one who’s stressed here today! Stop taking your nerves out on me!“

Aurora’s jaw twisted, and she slammed down the choux buns she was taking out of the oven onto the steel with more noise than she meant to.

Lawrence, startled at the sound, turned to face them both, choux bun and piping bag in hand. “Not right now, alright?”

Tayce bit her tongue, bit back the reply that she’d taken Aurora’s moods, and her sharp words, with little retaliation the last couple of weekends, and that she was getting near to her limit with how much she would take. After all, Tayce was stressed too. Tayce hadn’t slept a wink. Tayce was just better at hiding her nerves.

She cocked an eyebrow at Aurora, who wasn’t even looking at her anymore, and concentrated on filling her piping bag, shocked at how much her hands shook as she tried.

Forget Aurora for now. We can talk calmly later. Focus on yourself.

The rest of the Signature was a blur, a fast blur of a morning which Tayce recalled virtually nothing about, until the moment she stepped out of the tent, baking completed.

The only thing she remembered about the Signature were the judges comments. And that was because they stabbed her, pricking her skin and staying there like hedgehog spines.

“Tayce, the filling is leaking.”

“The pastry could have done with a little more mixing.”

“Over baked - the choux shouldn’t really crunch.”

“The icing is lumpy.”

“I can’t get the coffee flavouring.”

At least she’d managed to correctly present the full twenty four. Aurora had managed to fill and ice twenty one of hers in the time, presenting twelve with craquelin and nine with icing; while Veronica had miscounted and made fourteen iced and ten with craquelin. Meanwhile, Lawrence might have swiped her perfect-looking choux buns straight from Paris.

While the others went back to Norton Hall, Tayce stole away, slipping through the trees back to the lake, this time alone. The bench was a little damp from the rain on Friday, but Tayce took off the jacket she’d brought for the chilly turn the weather had taken, and lay it on the bench to sit on. The ducks, tame now to her footsteps, approached her thinking she had bread.

Only six weekends too late, she thought to herself. I wonder if ducks like choux buns.

——

Technical: Cornucopia / Horn of Plenty

“What advice do you have for the bakers this week, Paul?”

“It’s all there for you in the instructions.”

Cryptic as ever. Blu giggled next to him, her hands in front of her mouth, back in her Mary Berry disguise to judge them again.

Once allowed to bake, Tayce whipped off the gingham tea towel and read the title twice before it sunk into her mind. The ingredients were sparse, the instructions were for once really detailed, and they were all given diagrams of the shapes of the parts of the horn they had to bake.

In front of her, Veronica was groaning, leaning on her workbench, her knuckles white. On her right, Lawrence was clutching her hair until it started to come out of her bun, and Aurora was pacing up and down in front of the workbench, her face thunderous.

Tayce had the mixture done in no time, but shaping it was proving difficult. Not the consistency of the diced almonds, not melting the chocolate for decorating and piping the scrolls for the top - but the shapes, and everyone was struggling to grasp how they all went together. They’d all been provided with templates for each piece of the bake on laminated paper, eleven in all that were meant to fit together, but without a picture of the finished product for reference, it was difficult to see how it all would.

“How are you doing it?” Tayce asked Aurora, leaning at the corner of her workbench.

She didn’t look up. “I - I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“Tayce -“ Aurora raised her head, locking eyes with her, irritation etched in every line of her face. “I’m trying to focus. I need to do this right.”

“I do too! But we can work together, compare notes!” Tayce said, but Aurora held up her hand.

“Please,” Aurora breathed, turning her heavy eyes back to the laminated paper, the words dropping like lead from her lips, “… please just leave me alone to do this. Please. I can’t right now.”

Tayce had no choice. Every step back to her own workbench drained a little bit more of her enthusiasm through her feet as it slipped away from her into the floor. By the time she’d grabbed her cup of tea, she was empty.

Fuck it.

She had trusted the recipes all through the contest, and it had gotten her this far. She could keep doing it.

She weighed each piece of mixture and shaped them into rings, all eleven pieces in differing sizes, placing them on the baking tray and putting them into the oven to bake. In front of her, Veronica was tapping her alarm, before stepping back, fingers in her mouth, and Tayce noticed that her own nails, that she’d taken so long to grow out, were now bitten back down to the quick. A habit she’d worked so hard to break, sacrificed in the name of baking.

Veronica had put hers in to bake a minute or so earlier, but when they came out, Tayce thought they looked a little too brown, so she took hers out at the same time, the slightly paler colour looking about right. But when she watched Veronica, she realised how wrong she’d gotten the shapes.

“Veronica,” Tayce called, and she turned.

“What’s up, love?”

“How did you get yours to tilt on its side like that?”

Veronica’s Cornucopia was rounded in a curve as she fitted it together, like a horn, but Tayce’s wouldn’t form that shape, and Tayce felt like she was missing something.

“It’s on sealing the pastry. Did you have one side of each ring that was thicker than the other?”

Tayce looked at her rings of almond bake, but they were all an even thickness.

“They’re meant to be a bit thicker,” Veronica showed her one of hers, “so they fit together with a curl in them. D’you see?”

Tayce’s stomach filled with lead as she re-read the shaping instructions. She’d missed that part.

“Shit. I think I’ve got a disaster.”

“No, no, don’t say that,” Veronica soothed, “I mean - the biscuits are a bit wrong, yeah, but that’s not all that matters - the bake still has to be good, and the piping you have to do as well …”

“Vee,” Tayce stopped her, and Veronica sighed.

“I guess it’s gone a bit … pear-shaped, hasn’t it.”

“It kind of works at the bottom,” Tayce said, trying to fit the largest bits together, but the rest of it stood straight, leaving a strange shape that didn’t seem to stand up or lay flat.

“I’m fucked.”

“You’re not, Tayce …” Veronica’s voice faded away

“It’s fine. It is what it is.”

“You can still salvage it …” But Veronica trailed off again, and Tayce forced a smile to try to make Veronica feel better.

——

“Bakers, your time is up!”

Matt’s call couldn’t come soon enough. Tayce had had enough of this bake. The heat in the tent was making the piping drip, the caramel was hanging on by a thread, and the shape was definitely not what it needed to be. Veronica’s curve of the horn looked much more like it, and Tayce felt herself sink.

Once Tayce had brought hers to the front, she couldn’t help but look at the other horns, and felt a jolt of relief when she saw another one was also a mess, the same wrong shape as her own.

Oh, thank God for that.

But as she went to take her place on the stool, between Aurora and Veronica, she realised it was Aurora’s, and her blood turned to ice.

She almost couldn’t watch the judging. Paul and Blu in her Mary Berry disguise were sampling, Blu putting on Mary’s accent for the cameras, but none of the four of them on their stools let out anything more than stifled laughter and taut smiles.

“In last place we have this one -“

Tayce didn’t even need to look to see who would be raising their hand. Aurora’s face was white, chewing her nails as she claimed fourth place.

“Aurora - it’s quite over baked, the caramel is crystallised, and you’ve lost the horn shape - it’s just a pole. Not your finest hour, I’m afraid.”

Paul’s words were stacking on Aurora’s shoulders, she could see it plain as day as they weighed heavily on her. Aurora was nodding, but her eyes were blank, and Tayce was sure she couldn’t hear him.

“And third place is this one,” Paul continued, and Tayce knew it would be her, again without looking.

“Tayce - you started to get the shape right, but I don’t know what happened to the icing, and it’s a little under baked.”

Tayce swallowed the lump of whatever was at her throat and forced a smile. “Not my best!”

She felt Aurora’s eyes burning holes into her, but she didn’t turn to face her. She just focused on Veronica being called second and Lawrence coming out on top, all of them looking more and more anxious the longer judging went on.

This week was the week that the smallest thing could send any of them home. It was the semi-final. It no longer mattered where you came in Technical or Signature, because the Showstopper would probably count most. It was what the judges remembered, and the last impression could turn out to be the lasting impression.

I have to nail the Showstopper to stay. Whatever it takes.

——

“Surprise!”

When they all opened the door to Norton Hall, a loud burst of pink and purple hit them all, along with a nasal laugh. For half a delirious second, Tayce thought it was Bimini, back from elimination for whatever reason, but a few more steps revealed Cheryl, another contestant from the previous year, her smile warm and welcoming.

“Chez!” Blu immediately broke to a run past them all and leapt onto her girlfriend. “You didn’t tell me you were coming here!”

“Well how would it be a surprise if you knew?” Cheryl laughed, as Blu peppered her cheeks with kisses. “Put me down for a second, Blu! Jesus! I thought I’d get the party started! You’re all semi-finalists! We’re all semi-finalists!”

“Not all of us,” Blu remarked, eyeing her, while Cheryl nudged her.

“Babe, you’re not meant to remind me that I left the week before semi finals, that’s part of the agreement for us being on-screen girlfriends, remember?”

“On-screen?” Aurora squeaked.

“Yeah, we’re not really a couple, we’re just pretending for the cameras.” Blu said solemnly, disentangling herself from Cheryl and extending her hand. “How do you do?”

But Cheryl couldn’t keep a straight face; she collapsed into giggles as she took Blu’s hand and shook it, before slapping Blu on the arm again. “You’re a nightmare, honestly! Anyway, I can’t wait to try all your choux buns and the Cornucopias you’ve made!”

Blu sighed as she flopped onto the sofa. “Oh god, I didn’t know how much I’ve missed Norton Hall! This is where we all stayed too, you know.”

“Norton Hall?” Aurora said, putting a hand to her throat. “Is that what this place is called? I’ve been calling it Carr Hall since we got here!”

That was the catalyst. Tayce’s nerves creeping up her chest all day finally reached her lungs, eliciting a laugh, and once she’d started, she couldn’t stop. She put a hand to her mouth, but that only made her giggles bubble in her chest until they burst from her.

“It’s definitely Norton Hall, babe,” Cheryl said, shooting Tayce a confused look. “Check the leaflets. It’s got the name on it.”

But the others had fallen silent, the only sound Tayce’s uncomfortable wheezing laughter; Lawrence looking from Tayce to Aurora; while Tayce felt sharp fingers in the crook of her elbow, Veronica’s voice reaching up to her ear.

“For God’s sake, Tayce, please go and get a bun or something, please -“ Veronica steered her away to the table, and Tayce’s chuckles died down as she looked down at the buns, picking up one of everyone’s, even her own.

But as she looked at the Technical bakes, the Cornucopias, all now collapsed pastry rings, in pieces like all of their minds; all Tayce could hear as she looked at her bake were the judges words as they span round in her head -

Under baked … poorly iced … awful shape …

And Aurora’s at the other end, where the words were louder, stinging like thousands of tiny needles in her skin -

Over baked … just a pole … crystallised …

Her heart rattled against her ribs as realisation struck her so hard that stars danced in her vision.

It’s me or her.

And Tayce let her breath go, not realising she was holding it.

Whatever it takes.

Long, sharp fingers looped at her elbow again.

“Tayce?” It was Veronica, cautious and concerned, but Tayce couldn’t meet her eyes, squeezing her own shut so tightly so that she could stop herself from showing her pain by closing it back in.

“Tayce, what’s up, love?”

Veronica was gentle and her voice was soft, but Tayce’s skin was on fire, and she yanked her arm free and found her feet taking her away to the the stairs, taking the steps three at a time, ignoring the voice calling after her, a voice that was so familiar and so excruciating at once …

The door slammed behind her, closing out the world. But suddenly, her door was flung open and there Aurora was, in her doorway; the shock caused Tayce to say the first words that came to her head.

“Hey! I didn’t say you could come in!”

But Aurora’s eyes were wide, her hand trembling, as she pulled the door firmly shut behind her.

“What the hell -“

“Tayce, I’m not leaving until you tell me why you’re being so weird.”

But Tayce forced a laugh. “What? What do you mean, I’m being weird?”

“You’ve been annoyed all day, you’ve had a short fuse, even though -“

“You’re the one who keeps getting in a mood whenever I talk to you now!” Tayce cried, a bitter bark of a laugh escaping her. “I wanted to help you, and you just snapped at me, even after - after last weekend!”

Aurora took a sharp breath in, a flush creeping on her cheeks as she stood, silently surveying Tayce for a moment.

“I’ve had my first bottom in Technical. I’ve had my worst feedback in Signature. I’ve not slept all week because I was so worried with all my practises for patisserie week, and honestly, now I’m scared shitless.”

Aurora’s voice was low, and Tayce watched as Aurora scrunched her eyes tightly shut, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides, her lips pursing as she fought some internal battle; before finally relaxing again, opening her eyes to look into Tayce’s.

“So I’m sorry, Tayce, that I’m a bit on edge, and I’m sorry that I’ve snapped at you. I know that’s wrong. But …” The sigh she let out was slow, filled the air with fizzling nerves. “I’m going. I know I am.”

“You can’t go.”

Where did that come from? Aurora’s eyes flickered, she licked her lips.

“I already know it’ll be me. I’ve been so bad this week -“

“Stop saying that. Stop being defeatist.”

“I’m not being defeatist, Tayce, I’ve done the worst this weekend so far! It’s logic!” Aurora’s voice grew higher with every word. “All I need is to fail the Showstopper, like every time I’ve done it in practise, and -“

“Rory! Please!”

Aurora stopped as Tayce spoke, trying to regain control of her tongue.

“Tayce. Why can’t you just tell me why you’re being so weird this week -“

“Because I can’t deal with thinking about one of us leaving, alright? I can’t!”

Her voice was shrill, breaking in her throat, and she screwed her eyes shut tightly, but tears still overflowed, her whole body suddenly shaking uncontrollably. Her chest crumpled, she was laid bare again, impossible to hide anymore.

I came here to win this. I came here for the cake stand. But that was eight weeks ago. And now …

Aurora stepped back at Tayce’s sudden outburst, the explosion of emotion alien to her.

“What do you -“

“Remember when Tia went home? Remember?” Tayce interrupted her, finding words fully formed without her having to think about them. “Veronica was a bag of nerves all the next week! She still is! And Ellie, too! You were so sad. Lawrence was losing it. They were so close! They got each other through the days! Remember?”

Aurora’s voice broke. “Of course I remember.”

“That’s you, too.”

“Tayce -“

“You get me through the days. You made me smile every week. You - you were the only person to come talk to me when I was missing my Pops. You always …” but finally the words stopped, thoughts drying out, but Tayce took a shuddering breath, the most honest truth still to come. “And like, I can’t … I can’t imagine you going now.”

Whatever it takes.

… but not this.

Aurora’s expression was unreadable as she surveyed Tayce, peering into her eyes as if searching for some meaning behind them, something she was concealing.

“I mean it, Rory, I mean it, I’ve never meant anything more in my fucking life …”

Aurora tugged Tayce gently into her embrace, and Tayce yielded to her, resting her forehead against Aurora’s, and when their lips met, Tayce tried to put everything she could into the kiss, to tell Aurora with unspoken words everything that there were no words for. A kiss was the most honest language there was, right?

They might have stayed entwined for longer than they thought. But when Aurora pulled away, her lip shook, her chin quivered.

“You’d better not go this week.”

“Or you, you bitch. We need to be in the final three together. Just promise me you’re gonna bring it. Bring your best bake.”

Aurora blinked, stunned for a moment. “Tayce -“

“Promise! You can’t be giving up! Bring your best bake. Okay?”

She swallowed, nodding against Tayce’s forehead. “Okay. I promise.”

——

Showstopper: Meringue centrepiece, featuring 2 types of meringue and a dessert element.

“Most importantly of all, remember what Prue says all the time -“

“… it has to be worth the calories,” Tayce heard herself parroting back as Blu said it, the catchphrases all too familiar by now.

Once the clock started, Tayce wasted no time. She didn’t want to talk. She didn’t even want to see anyone else in the room.

This was about her and Aurora now.

We both need to stay. Come on.

She glanced up, watching Veronica separate her eggs, and over to Lawrence, frowning down at her instructions as her eggs whipped alongside her. Both of them were still here, but one of them had to go next.

Please, one of you has to have a disaster. Neither of you have had one. One of you must be due one now. You can’t both be this perfect.

But as time progressed, Tayce felt it in sand, slipping through her fingers.

Veronica’s ballet design was interesting, beautifully decorated, and really showed off her dancing past; while Lawrence’s pair of meringue flamingos, proudly stood next to each other, couldn’t have looked more perfect if Lawrence had painted them pink and given them a voice box with a bird call.

She was stupid, so stupid to think that Lawrence or Veronica would slip up. Neither of them had put so much as a toe out of line since the first week, and they weren’t about to start now, not now that they’d seen how much Tayce and Aurora were failing, scrambling to keep up with them both.

“Bakers, you have ten minutes left!”

Where had the time all gone? Tayce couldn’t remember half of what she’d done, but she had meringues before her, incorporating the two different types the judges had specified, and a dessert that was delectable, she hoped.

She glanced at Aurora, whose meringues looked pretty good, if Tayce’s judgement was worth any weight. The sculpture she’d done was delicate and beautiful, the meringue lined with fruit and spun sugar. It looked similar to Tayce’s own, and Tayce wasn’t surprised - there was only so much you could do with meringue.

They still both stood a chance. Veronica and Lawrence may still have a disaster.

“Bakers! Time’s up! Step away from your meringues!”

When Noel called for time, Tayce noticed the hairline crack in the largest meringue she’d baked, holding the rest of the sculpture upright, and cursed herself for not covering it with more fruit to hide it. She looked over at Aurora’s, at the shape, seeing hers was in pretty good condition - not as interesting as Veronica’s or Lawrence’s, but one of theirs could taste bad or be under baked.

But when Tayce was asked to present it, the crack in the upright meringue that she had hoped would last until this point, crumpled and collapsed, taking the rest of the meringue sculpture with it, tumbling to the floor.

——

The wait was the longest any of them had felt. The judges’ critiques had been kind as always, but there was still of course the lingering knowledge that the unthinkable had happened.

Lawrence and Veronica were definitely out of trouble. It was down to Tayce and Aurora for elimination.

Tayce took herself back to the pond; Veronica looked as though she wanted to follow, but Lawrence caught her arm just in time, shaking her head and pulling her back up the path to Norton Hall. But when Aurora hung back, approaching the same bench slowly, Tayce couldn’t move to stop her; nor was she entirely sure she wanted to be alone now.

Aurora sat heavily, as close to Tayce as she could get, and silently rested her head on Tayce’s shoulder. Tayce caught sight in the dimming light of her fingers twisting in her lap, her left foot jiggling up and down. Felt deliberately calculated breathing against her chest.

In for three, hold for four, out for five. Tayce remembered the rhythm Aurora had told her about and her stomach twisted, pained at Aurora’s worry. She let her head drop on top of Aurora’s, and Aurora’s hand slowly crept into hers, her skin cold and the scent of her hair filling every pore of her skin.

For what was looking more and more likely to be the final time.

They spent the next fifteen minutes wordlessly watching the ducks on the pond, coming and going, water rippling out beyond them.

So calm, so regal on the surface, but underneath their legs are kicking hard as they can to keep them afloat.

Once the team hurried them back into the tent, the air in the room felt like tar, too thick to breathe. Aurora’s fingers were so tight around Tayce’s that she thought she might lose all sensation in them; and as they sat down, and Aurora let her head fall onto Tayce’s shoulder again, she tried to ignore the wetness that developed on her shirt. Willing herself not to look down so as not to cry too.

On her right, Lawrence took her other hand as she settled onto her stool, stroking her knuckles tenderly, and Veronica did the same to Aurora, like they were four penguins in a row. Veronica clasped Aurora’s left hand in both of hers, muttering soothing words that were meant to calm them both.

But of course, both of them weren’t going.

The judges were back in the room in what seemed like the blink of an eye.

The final Star Baker award went to Lawrence, and for a split second everyone lost their contact, a strange cold gap between them as they applauded. Tayce, speechless in fear, pulled Lawrence in to hug her as Lawrence fought back tears.

“I’m so honoured,” Lawrence mumbled, nodding. “Thank you.”

And then it was the person leaving. Noel’s expression was grave, unnerving for him, as he said the immortal words of “I have the awful task of announcing who will be leaving us today.”

Noel was still speaking, but Tayce wasn’t listening; Aurora’s chin rattled against Tayce’s shoulder as she curled back onto it, and Tayce rested her head against Aurora’s, turning her gaze skywards so as not to cry; Lawrence’s hand almost as tense in hers as Aurora’s as they waited for the death knell -

“Tayce.”

The weight of the room seemed to slam her into the floor.

Noel’s mouth was moving still, but words were hard to hear.

All Tayce knew was Aurora’s whole arm shaking, and the whole tent crashing to the ground around her as time stopped.

——

“It’s been … a ride.”

The producer behind the cameraman waved a hand, trying to get Tayce to say some more.

Tayce hadn’t been sure how she’d feel at being eliminated, but now that she had been, if there was any sense of disappointment, it sat on her skin, refusing to sink any deeper at present. All that was going through her mind were the happy memories, running in a showreel being projected into the back of her head.

Joe’s store-bought fondant. Ellie’s questionable towers. Pip’s tiny handbag. Cherry’s seemingly endless supply of gossip. Tia’s adequate chocolate ball, filling the room with charm. Asttina’s playful glee at whipped cream. Bimini’s crimps with Noel. Ginny’s obsession with lemon and legendary exit.

What had Tayce brought? She wasn’t quite sure.

She threw back her head and laughed at the absurdity of it all.

No one will remember me at all!

“It’s been a really great adventure. I’ve met some amazing people, I’ve had the time of my life, and I’ve put Newport on the map, baby!”

The producer waved at her again.

“What? What more do you want?”

But as the words left Tayce’s mouth, she realised that she didn’t seem at all perturbed at going home.

She tried, but it just didn’t come to her.

The cold dread, that had once threatened to creep like ivy up her chest to her heart, had been conquered by the elation of each week, by the warmth of the others there, and by the depth of care she’d found in all of the contestants, severing everything negative that she could have taken away from not winning a baking contest.

The oppressive atmosphere of the contest had lifted.

She couldn’t believe that only an hour or so ago, she was hoping for Lawrence or Veronica to have a disaster to spare her. Thinking back to it, she felt ashamed at how much those thoughts weren’t like her. It made her laugh to realise now that she’d missed out on a cake stand, but that was all. And she could buy one of those anywhere.

How could she be sad to the camera?

But after her exit interview was done, she found all three of the finalists waiting for her, waiting to see her, huddled under one big golf umbrella.

“It’s … it’s raining. Why aren’t you back in -“

“Why d’you think?” Veronica said, holding her hands up. “You didn’t think you were leaving without a proper goodbye from us did you?”

“I’ll be back next week!” Tayce laughed. “I’m only gone a week! And I’ll be here to cheer you three on in the final and -“

“Tayce,” Aurora shook her head. “When are you gonna admit that you’re upset for yourself, for not making it to the final?”

“I’m - I’m not!”

But the more she stood before them, the more it started to creep on her, disappointment …

But not for the loss, not that I’m no longer competing. That I’m … that I’m leaving these people.

“Guys -“

Lawrence’s eyes were shining with tears as she hugged Tayce, and Tayce rubbed her back as they fell. Lawrence was shaking, and Tayce was lost for words, wondering if she should be trying to comfort Lawrence or reassure her.

“I’ll give Ellie a kiss for you on the loser side,” she muttered finally into her ear as they held each other.

“You’d better fucking not,” was Lawrence’s strangled retort.

Veronica was a little more nervous, holding her arms awkwardly at her sides, unsure if she wanted contact or not. “I - look, Tayce, I know I didn’t always -“

“Oh, Vee, lighten up! Come here,” Tayce said, pulling Veronica into a hug, and Veronica wrapped her arms around her, surprising her at how tightly Veronica squeezed. “You’re an amazing baker, and you need to give yourself more credit. And a bit of a break.”

“I know,” was Veronica’s muffled reply.

Aurora waited until last. Tayce could barely stand to look at her. Her brown eyes swam with tears, her lips quivered, and she took a shaky breath as Tayce came near to her.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.”

Tayce opened her arms out and Aurora let herself come into them, Aurora’s chin nestling into the crook of her neck. And the longer she held Tayce, the tighter her grip became, and Tayce tried to pull her nearer still until she couldn’t -

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

The heartbreaking words were breathed into Tayce’s ear, strands of silk in the wind, but hearing them made Tayce’s stomach flood with lead, a cold wave washing over her skin, and not from the rain as it grew heavier.

Those were the words that finally made tears spill from her eyes.

She took Aurora’s face in her hands, locking eyes on hers to confirm her conviction, her voice breaking with heartache.

“You can win this, bitch.”

——

THREE BAKERS REMAIN

#rpdr fanfiction #rpdr uk #down with the recipe #juno #uk2 #baking au #gbbo au #taywhora #tayce #a'whora #bimini bon boulash #veronica green #lawrence chaney #fluff #lesbian au

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ferrariexhaustsystem · 3 years

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Ferrari Exhaust System

Ferrari, when people think about this word they imagine almost two things: sport and speed. Ferrari is among the most well-known vehicles in history. Ferrari won many races compared to other car racing. It's also a sensitive machine because it is an extremely fast as well as furious sports vehicle. Ferrari has come to a good distance as its starts in the stock-races on to the modern road. Ferrari has been compared with many other wonderful vehicles as the Alfa Romeo and Bugatti. In my review let me tell you the starting and the future of this well known sports vehicle. Know more about Ferrari Exhaust

What's the best answer you ask? Novitec exhaust-system may be the answer. It's specifically designed for Ferrari characterized by the best quality materials, a superb fit, and amazing sound traits. However, most of all, the Ferrari Novitec-system goes over the power of roar from the rigorous legal bodies exactly where it should be to the vehicle owners them selves.

Ferrari 488 Exhaust System

You just need a couple of Ferrari Novitec back Mufflers with an X-pipe, flap regulation, that will enable the ideal conditions to combine gasses from each side of the V-12 engine and a Capristo remote-control to change the sound through the touch of a control button whenever you need.

There's a time and a spot for various sound-levels and the up grade allows the vehicle owner to use the valves positioned on silencers. This implies the car owner has complete control of sound delivery - for instance, choosing noiseless (valves-closed) mode for morning hours starts, night time returns, long-distance travels or city center traffic problems; and noisy (valves-open) mode for real traveling permitting the incredible sound to be removed from the engine.

Exhaust system and intake valve timing, geometry, velocity, and exhaust gas temperature, and Revolutions per minute all affect those features, and any system is just improved at one Revolution per minute range. The torque curve-shape is very responsive to these results, and it is inevitable a compromise between optimum power and driveability. The natural frequency of a pipe is scheduled by its size, every thing else is the same; the smaller the pipe, the much higher the frequency. As engine Revolutions per minute has increased through the years, the length of the exhaust-pipes for any provided engine settings has shortened

X Pipe Exhaust Helps make Ferrari F-430 Seem Like An Formula-1 Vehicle

It is probably the most F1-sounding road car we have heard.

When you're thinking of unique sports vehicle exhausts, Fabulous-speed has shown over and over again that it is a company that should be on every person's radar. The US-based performance exhaust system producer currently makes among the best exhausts around for the new mid engine Chevrolet Corvette, delivering weight-savings of Twenty-one pounds and approximately Eleven extra hp while appearing completely ferocious.

However even long discontinued exotics are worthy of some love, and Fab-speed is satisfied to oblige with its Ferrari F-430 Race Performance-Exhaust package.

Proven side by side with the Ferrari F-430's stock exhaust-system, Fab-speed's race exhaust system can make it clear how "tame" the company exhaust is, the 3.4 liter flat plane crank V-8 also wailing because it approaches its 7,500 revolutions per minute red-line. In tests, the vehicle on open public roadways, individuals at high speed might or might not have had the cops called on them by a few irritated neighbors.

The reason why it is so noisy? Fab-speed's F-430 race exhaust is basically a "straight pipe" exhaust system, without silencers to dull the sound. An Xpipe junction stabilizes the V8's 2 cylinder banks, as well as the exhaust system, may be run both without or with catalysts, however after that, it is a right shot from the merge-collectors to the exhaust system tips.

The Ferrari range of exhaust-systems at CAR-iD is just amazing. Everyone knows that Ferrari is the make to choose when you'd like to produce a statement about your preference in good vehicles when you need unusual power and overall performance in a vehicle. Along with the exhaust-systems at CAR-iD, your Ferrari will dominate the roadways and take its right-ful location towards the top of the race-league.

Produced from top quality stainless-steel, Ferrari exhaust systems are as strong as any thing comes, and can stay in a useful state as long as you have your Ferrari. These are made out of pure alloy, however, they're lightweight, a factor that can make them even a lot more good at increasing horse power in a vehicle. Exchanging the stock exhaust with some of these light alternatives is the simplest way to increase the weight to hp ratio for unequaled gains in overall performance.

Ferrari 488 Gtb Exhaust System

The 2 arrangements produce other implications, for example, the Ferrari exhausts enhance the mass of the tail-pipe, center of gravity, and part of the main pipes over the lower position possible with the McLaren-exhausts, and need heat protection for the body-work and top suspensions link, especially when they've produced in carbon fiber reinforced polymer (CFRP). Heat from the exhaust system also works on parts of the back wing framework which are usually spared and should be shielded or reinforced.

However, Formula 1 exhaust systems almost never complete over Twelve hundred kilometers since the need to help save weight ensures they need to be developed near to the limit. The width of the heat resistant alloy adopted in the aero-space industry can vary however is not over 2 mm. However what ultimately eliminates these waste gas artwork isn't vibration or temps of One thousand degrees and more, however, stress, Different radii of the several pipes eventually produce exhaustion which results in cracks in which the stress is greatest. Unsurprisingly, at this higher level of performance, even the very best exhaust system is soon worn out.

Ferrari Free Flow Racing Exhaust

A situation of the art valve exhaust-system for the best fit for your Ferrari. The exhaust-system will fit both, the Ferrari Spider and the Ferrari Coupe, and functions a 75 millimeters exhaust system valve control and enables higher performance and exhaust note, and as much as thirteen horsepower gain over the stock system.

The Capristo exhaust provides the best of all possible worlds via its power to produce an aggressive-exhaust note under speed and acceleration, and a more quiet sound for city traveling. At reduced engine speeds and through cruise operation, the valves are closed and provide a much deeper exhaust system note. At a wide open accelerator, the valves open, releasing the complete symphony of the engine.

The closing or opening of the Capristo valves is regulated by the engine Electronic control unit, for that reason doing work, in the same manner, the main exhaust system was made to function. The Original equipment manufacturer vacuum-pipes fit directly in to the CAPRISTO-valve-system.

However, you can fit the optional wireless remote control for the exhaust valves, that can give you the power to close and open the valves at a touch of a single button. In the closed situation, control is delivered to the engine electronic control unit.

Ferrari 488 Exhaust

CAPRISTO Exhaust-systems are made and produced using more advanced 3-d Laser Scanning, Computer-aided-design Design, Digital proto-typing, and computer numerical control bending/milling at our company in Germany. Each exhaust system is manufactured from high-grade T-309 (1.4828) Stainless and hand-polished to a mirror finish. After a thorough study, this unique metal was selected for its sound resonance attributes, lightweight, and staying power that is near to the attributes of Inconel (found in Formula 1).

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sxveme-2 · 4 years

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hidden // din djarin

description: the life of nobility wasn't one for everyone. some would rather duck under the shadows around them, especially after a great betrayal to the name of a planet. but despite being hidden, not everyone can avoid the blinding lights of danger. whether it be those after those who had escaped, or the poor bounty hunter who ended up picking her up. both with a large bounty on their heads. follow Cloak as she lives the days as an escaped noble, hiding from the eyes of serenno after the fall of count dooku, shacking up with one of the most sought after child and the mandalorian unfortunate enough to have a big heart.

Chapter two: the one with her new job

warnings: swearing

words: 3016

"shining light, come see me." her mother cooed, beckoning the young girl towards her bed in the large and grand room around her. her voice was weak and cracked halfway through, the effects of her illness continuing to push through the inevitable strength the queen had.

the young ten year old pushed off of the chair where she sat, reading a classic serennian tale to her mother. shutting the leather bound book, she hopped off of her tufted chair and walked towards the woman. her deep blue gown shifted around her gently, tickling at her bare ankles as she took a seat on the satin comforter that covered her mothers weak and failing body. those cold hands found themselves on the supple and tanned hands of the queens sole child. they were skeletal like, and she felt sick just thinking about it.

"can I ask a favour of you?" the dying woman whispered out, eyes fluttering shut before being forced open once more. those same eyes that reflected in the youngers head.

"of course mama." she whispered, eyes watering at the state of the woman she idolized.

"I need you to take care of the children in the galaxy, when I am gone." the cooed, voice falling weaker with each syllable, "you are always so great with them."

"mama don't say that, you'll be okay. father has the best doc- "

"don't play the fool, my shining light," the queen laughed weakly, "I grow weaker with each breath. you mustn't let your ideals blind the reality of the situation. it will only hurt more if you do so. I need you to promise this for me though...please."

"I promise mama." she whispered back, watching the light in her mothers eyes fail to exist as her own name fell from the queens lips for the last time.

-----

"I don't do being a nanny." she stated, going to turn away.

a part of her longed to take the job. to fulfill a promise she made more than a decade ago to a dying woman. a dying icon. but she couldn't bare to do it. she knew that if she took the job that the death would be true, that she fulfilled the dying wish of her. reliving the light draining from her eyes. hearing her name spoken from loved lips the last time. it killed a part of her every time she took the job to watch the children of the town. but those were children of her area, and were at most two days. this...this was a full time job. along with healing and caring for the hunk of metal that had dropped into the hanger that same day.

a tug on her cloak turned her back around.

"Cloak you're stuck in a rut here. I can't stand seeing you wake up and wander the sand dunes everyday searching for something you won't find here. out there, out in the galaxy, you can. and you will." peli stated, "I won't let you turn this down. I just won't."

"who said I even agreed?" that same robotic like voice called from beside her.

"I did," peli scoffed, "because you trust my judgement. Cloak here is an amazing healer and amazing with kids. you can't keep bringing him with you on missions. you're taking her." the mechanic concluded, dusting her hands off.

"...how much would I have to pay her?" the man asked.

she stared at him with eyebrows furrowed and nose creased. she didn't want the job...no, that's not true. she wanted the job. she didn't want the commitment. it was too long for her. because she'd be fulfilling that damn promise. the promise of a dead queen. eighteen years later or not, she had yet to come to terms with the loss. because it was after that loss that her entire life fell down a hill. it ate her alive everyday, knowing there must have been something she could do to stop it. but there wasn't. as far as she knew, the death was caused by an illness naturally, no foul play involved. but her heart didn't believe it, it didn't make sense. not with how fast her father married another and began another family.

"substantial, maybe even a bit handsomely. when I tell you she's the best, I mean it. no one would be able to come within an inch of the little guy without meeting the maker." peli chuckled, turning her attention back to her, "you're going, Cloak. would you rather die on this desert like the rest of us?"

"yes."

"oh don't be like that. you're taking it. now come, let's pack you up."

-----

she could have just refused. hopped on her speeder with reddan and sped off across the planet and found some town to plant her roots. or be killed by tusken raiders. either worked for her. but instead, she found herself lugging a bag onto a newly some-what repaired razor crest alongside a mandalorian and a little green child. with a new title to her name. caregiver. she was now in charge of keeping the child alive alongside mando. someone who she already disliked a bit anyways. he was too...she wasn't sure. she just knew it wasn't him she was doing this for. she took the job, or was forced into taking it, mostly because she could just tell the kid would be better off. but also, she could hear her mother reaming her from the other side. despite her convincing herself she would never fulfill the promise, she had already. sort of. with the children of tatooine. but she knew the risks of expanding off of tatooine, and letting herself be known elsewhere in the world.

"this place is a mess." she muttered, dropping her bag and looking around the ship, "I may very well be a blessing for you."

"not if you keep talking, you won't be." he scoffed, walking past her and up a ladder towards what she could assume was the cockpit.

she watched as he walked up. hearing the door to the cockpit shut, she ducked into the refresher. pulling off the large hood of her cloak and ditching the goggles, she let out a satisfying breath as her mask fell from her face. chocolate brown hair fell into her eyes as she stared at the small mirror in front of her. she saw the dead queens reflection in her own, her mother. the two looked so much alike. hazel eyes with a dominant hue of green. a perfectly swooped nose. cupids bow lips that were full and plump. her own were chapped and rough now, from five years of hiding underneath a mask on a dry planet. her high cheekbones sat perfectly under her eyes. whenever she saw them she remembered how clearly she could see her mothers on the final days of her life.

she hated her face for those very reasons.

her mother was the best person she had ever known. she was kind and caring, stern but nurturing. she cared for her more than her father ever had. the queen would read her to sleep every night, even when she became ill. she would wander into her mothers chambers and sleep with her many nights, especially near the end. her mother was unable to walk most of the time, so she simply was read to sleep in her bed. it wasn't like her father would wind up in it anyways. on her mothers final day, she read to her the entire day. feeling as though she needed it more.

a day didn't go by where she didn't miss her. the warm smile. the soft touches. the hugs. the tea parties. the soft singing voice. her kind words. everything. everything about the queen made her heart break. because she knew she'd never be that person to someone. a family wasn't anywhere in her sights. she could barely look at herself in the mirror, let alone fall in love with someone enough to raise a family. she didn't need to be that person. she'd rather be the lone caretaker and runaway. not having any real identity or attachment to someone.

"if you're done in there. I'll show you where you'll sleep." mando called through the steel door between them.

sliding her mask on over her mouth and nose and over her forehead, and returning her goggles to her forehead, she slid the navy blue cloak along her arms and pinned it in the front, pulling the hood over her head before sliding open the door to reveal the warrior. nodding quickly, the two made their way around a few boxes to a tiny cot she would be sleeping on.

"mind if I hang a curtain up around it." she stated, not waiting for an answer as she hooked a spare piece of fabric onto a few chains and attached it to a pipe above the bed, "don't need you creeping around."

"don't flatter yourself." he grumbled, crossing his arms, "we're heading to nevarro. there's only so much peli could do. though if you had actually helped maybe there could've been more done."

"alright buckethead let's not get ahead of ourselves." she muttered, bending down and picking up the child, "does this thing have a name?"

"grogu. and he's not a thing."

"...well then what is he?"

"I don't know." he concluded, before walking back up the ladder. leaving her alone with the small creature she was now tasked to look after.

dropping her head down, her eyes caught those large brown ones of the child. a smile broke out on her face as he showed his small teeth in a wide grin. she had to admit, he was really cute, and very loveable already. the way he would tilt his head or make small noises at her. how his sack like clothing covered his miniature body. her heart melted a bit each time he would coo at her and smile. until he would go and grab at her mask, like in that instance.

"okay kid, you're cute but we've got to work on boundries."

-----

"ever been here?" mando asked as the razor crest touched down on the planet.

readjusting the dark blue material of her cloak, she glanced over at him from underneath her goggles, "no. and please don't try to be friendly. I know you don't want me as much as I don't want to be here."

"just making conversation," he muttered, opening up the hatch, "if you don't want to be here why'd you take the job?"

picking up grogu and tucking him into her arm, she let out a forced chuckle, "I guess I just had a promise to fulfill."

without another word, the two walked from the ship out into the heat of nevarro. it was true, had never been to the planet. she had been to many places all across the galaxy, being who she was and all. she visited lesser planets to listen to her father and his wife make false promises, all while their children and her would stand by idly. she would often find herself wandering off from the family and giving loose credits to the young children and told them stories. those were her favourite memories, where she was alone and had the resources to give to those who never had enough, while she had plenty.

the two stepped down onto the dark ground, and the young child in her arms cooed. she smiled gently under her mask as they walked forward, readjusting the beige sack on her shoulder with the child's things. she wasn't sure what he exactly needed other than food, and that she could have just left on the ship or purchased something for him. but alas, mando had handed it to her so she didn't argue...he was sort of her boss now. despite the fact she will most likely not be listening to most of the things he told her to do. worst comes to worst, he drops her back off at tatooine.

"look who it is." a woman's voice called as they continued walking forward, "nice to see you again, mando. who's this?"

"hello cara," he returned, before glancing down at the girl carrying the kid, "this is um...I actually don't, know her name."

"Cloak." she stepped in, reaching her free hand forward, "just call me Cloak. nice to meet you." she introduced, shaking the woman's hand.

she lowered her eyes slightly at the woman before her. her voice seemed familiar, something that she could have sworn she had heard before. wracking her mind, she wasn't sure where but everything about her seemed so familiar. nothing seemed to pop up, but the words she spoke and the way she held herself as well as her stature was something that she knew. back on her home planet she had had stormtroopers at her home, due to threats and different things. and the tattoo on cara's arm gave her clue to her past. there had to be some co-relation...but she supposed right now wasn't the time for her to dive deep into her own past.

"nice to meet you, Cloak." she smiled, nodding down at the child she was carrying, "so are you this little guys new mom or something?"

"caretaker." mando stated, brushing past the two and walking further into the town that laid ahead of the group.

letting out a sigh, she nodded and looked up at the taller woman, "yes. I'm here to take care of the child and make sure he doesn't get himself killed, I supposed." she hummed, readjusting the child.

"it's nice to see he's gotten help, come on. let's let the mechanics finish up the job." cara hummed, gesturing for her to follow along as they walked behind the man,"...so you two like a thing or am I reading the tension wrong?"

a small cringe flexed on her face at the idea of anyone reading them anything like a couple or something like that. the two had only really known each other for a day or so. and the only reason either agreed was because both trusted peli's judgement and her own deep and philosophical growth within. there was nothing romantic and she was almost repulsed at the idea of ever being romantic with him. she wasn't a fan of his pompous attitude and she was sure he wasn't a fan of not knowing what she looked like as a security measure. she was sure if there were anyway, he would scan every record in the galaxy to learn who she was. however...she would do anything in the galaxy to ensure he never did.

"no," she stated simply, "no nothing of the sorts. I don't enjoy sitting in the same room with him for more than a few minutes at a time." she shrugged, glancing to the side at the woman.

"I see," cara nodded, "kid seems to like you. that's what's most important to him." the brunette chuckled, "though we won't stray too far for the first while. that kid is the most important thing to him."

she nodded and looked down at the little wrinkled green kid in her arms. she smiled softly under her mask, running her gloved thumb gently over his forehead and chuckling at the little noises he made. the way he would grab at her finger and smile whenever the two locked eyes. but he had yet to get over his habit of trying to grab at her mask and she figured he never would. she would have preferred that he grabbed at her hood instead, seeing as that was simply an extra precaution to hide her identity. he was one hundred percent taking over her heart, and she knew she had already become attached to the child. but the man that came with him? she wasn't entirely sure yet.

she recalled how she was with her own half brother. the two seemed similar. there was a large age gap between her and the young boy that her father created with the witch of a woman she called her step-mother. both were very grabby and smiley, and were able to brighten the room or galaxy with simply a smile. nodine was his name. she loved him very much, and a part of her wondered how someone like her younger brother had come from people such as her father and step mother, let alone related to the monster that was her half sister. the venom that now seeped through the veins of her old family was only slightly cured by that bright smile and kind words of nodine. he was the one thing that made her second guess her fleeing from her home planet. she pondered taking him with her, but she knew it would be no life for a kid like him. he deserved a life of stability and comfort. maybe that was another reason she found herself inclined to take the job with mando and grogu.

"well I promise I'll take good care of him. I do quite enjoy children." she stated simply, readjusting her position holding the child once more.

"he definitely seems like he likes you." cara stated, "now c'mon. why don't we get you and the little guy something to eat hm?"

nodding along, the two continued walking along closely to mando, only to find themselves paused right out front of a stall where mando was meeting with another man. he was taller and had a seemingly warm smile. she was slightly hesitant, for the air around the two men seemed a bit tense as they spoke in a hushed tone. glancing over at cara once more, she noticed the girl had wandered forward to the group. yet hadn't invited her. as much as she wanted to walk forward and join the trio as well, she figured it wasn't exactly her place. sighing softly, she bounced the young child her arms, glancing down at a bit of fruit at another one of the stalls. only to be interrupted by the large man of metal.

"we have a job here."

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian spoilers #din djarin #baby yoda #grogu #original female character #oc #enemies to lovers #star wars #star wars fanfic #fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian fanfiction #din dijarin fanfic

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raziroo · 4 years

Text

Kania | The Maze Runner Trilogy

Chapter 2 [Ignorance; अज्ञान]

'Ignorance is afraid of change.'

When she wakes up, the first thing Kania notices are the tubes connected to her body. She's not wearing an oxygen mask, and her breathing is deep and steady. She tries to lift her head, but feels weak, so weak that it's difficult to even do that small bit of action. Everything in her brain is hazy, and she focuses, trying to pinpoint exactly what happened.

Focus, focus, focus...

The strung-up bodies, the weird creatures, the laboratory... and her passing out, because she was taser-gunned. So why's she hung up with tubes in her-?

Oh. Oh no.

They were going to do something to her. They probably already had done something to her, that's why she was feeling so weak, wasn't she? And this faint throbbing in the back of her head, near the nape of her neck, the numbness in her arms and legs and hands and chest – they've done something to her. She has an idea about what they – Janson – could do, but she wasn't sure if they really would have done that, because as far as her knowledge goes, Janson doesn't know. But then again, how would she know if Janson really was aware of that? She did just find out that W.C.K.D. isn't as good as they wanted her to believe.

Closing her eyes, she musters up strength, and looks around. No doctors, no guards. Why so careless?

Well, it didn't matter – not to her anyways, it would only benefit her. Slowly lifting her head and moving her body, which now seemed to be twice as heavy as it was before, to sit up slightly, the girl patiently removes the multiple tubes and wires connected to her. First go the hands, which is painful, she has to admit, because all the wires are either injecting or draining something from her body, and since both arms are strung up, the first arm to move (the right one) feels a lot of pulls.

Finally, after a lot of winces and hisses of pain, Kania manages to get all the wires off of her body, and has successfully sealed all the tiny cuts made by the doctors using antiseptic cream, cotton, and duct tape.

Getting up and about is another task altogether. Her body is still numb and doubly heavy, and her muscles feel as if they're on fire. Gripping the metal stand connected to the drip, Kania gets up very slowly, trying not to yelp because someone is ought to hear her. She then takes a step.

Lift your foot... move it – ouch! – forward... and... place it on the ground. Good job.

And with such, albeit slow, progress, Kania's almost made it to the door when it strikes that it may not be the best idea to escape your ward-cum-prison cell where you're being drained of our bodily fluids unarmed. So she takes a few steps back, and reaches the doctor's table. Hmm... there's antiseptic creams, scalpels, syringes of serums... she picks up a particularly sharp-looking scalpel, although she knows she'll sooner become a fairy with wings than have enough courage to use this on someone, and slides it into the pocket of her grey trousers. Thinking it best not to only tread forward with a scalpel she's too afraid to use, she picks up a syringe with light green serum inside of it. As far as her memory serves, this is a particularly strong sedative; she checks the label, and gives herself an imaginary pat on the back for good memory.

Walking at a normal speed without yelling every few seconds was proving to be way more difficult than Kania had first thought. Walking at a slow speed without yelling was also quite hard, so there was that. At this rate, she'll never be able to-

Wait. What won't she able to? Yes, she's successfully managed to get out of that jungle of tubes and pipes, but what now? Only now is Kania realising that she may not have thought this through. At the moment, getting out of that bed and through that door seemed like a good idea, but now that she's already been out for a good ten minutes, she's drawn a blank. She can't possibly escape this installation on her own; there's the Scorch and the cranks and the harsh climatic conditions, and she doesn't even know where exactly this safe place is located. And yes, there may be a chance that Janson is the one behind all this, that Chancellor Paige doesn't know – a really, really, really thin chance, but it's there nonetheless – that Janson has been harvesting people; if those very much impossible odds are true, by the grace of all entities above, then Kania can contact Miss Paige and the dark-haired girl's sure to be rescued. But the rescue team would take time, about four hours minimum, and where would she hide for that span of time?

Before she could really mull over all the possibilities, alarms start sounding all over the building – oh no, oh no, oh no no no. They know, Janson knows she's escaped, and the alarms could very well be for some other purpose, but the probability of that is extremely low.

Kania starts jogging, ignoring the burning pain in her joints.

It's only been a couple of minutes when she hears male voices shouting round a bend. Kania's hand instinctively goes to the syringe, as she treads forward with caution.

Just as she reaches the turning, someone – a guard – starts shooting at someone out of the girl's sight. He doesn't notice her, so she slowly backs a bit, but doesn't completely leave. She's still listening to what happens intently.

'Minho!'

'Minho, what the hell are you doing?!'

There's footsteps, someone's running, then–

'MINHO!'

-a loud cry, and the distinctive sound of someone colliding with a wall. There's more scurrying footsteps, pants and heavy breathing, and a British voice says, 'Shit, Minho.'

Kania rounds the bend, and a guy with spiked hair, who just looking at his face Kania knows is Minho, swivels her head towards her. His eyes widen. A sharp pain spikes in the back of Kania's head, and she hisses. Other people – a blond boy, the doctor she saw pushing the stretcher around the other day, other boys, and a male with dark hair and a pale face who's reaching for the guard's gun – they all turn their heads unanimously, and the sight would've been funny if the pain in the back of Kania's head hadn't suddenly increased. She reaches out for the nape of her neck.

'W- what are you doing out-?' the woman asks, looking surprised and annoyed at the same time.

'I ran away. Just what were you guys planning to do to me?'

The boys aren't paying any mind to the doctor, though. They're all staring at Kania with bewildered looks, pure, raw shock etched onto the lines of their faces. Blondie and Minho share a look. 'Hey,' the blond speaks – so he was the brit – his voice cracks a bit. 'You were in the maze.'

He's not asking a question; he's stating a fact. And he's stating it with such surety that it leads Kania to be even more confused. The maze?

'What maze? I- I can assure you that I haven't been to any, uh, mazes, for... quite a long time. I haven't been to any mazes ever, not since I was born, actually.' She says the last part with a little shake of her head. The boys don't look convinced. After some time, though, pale-faced boy says –

'Come on, guys, we need to go,' and the others abruptly all snap out of their trance-like states, nodding furiously. They've turned and are about to go. 'Wait!' Kania calls out. 'Can I, uh, come with you? I need to get out of here, too.' She figures that these boys must have a plan. And plus – she doesn't want to be the only one against W.C.K.D. – more importantly, against Janson.

They all look at each other and seem to be communicating through eyes.

'Please,' she adds for good measure.

'Where is she? Where is she?!' the boy who she learned was called Thomas, exclaims, pointing his gun at the frightened doctors. The fat doctor's eyes go to a spot behind the group, and Thomas instantly swivells around and practically tears apart the curtains, thrusting the gun into Minho's hands, and reveals a beautiful girl – raven hair, pale, freckled skin, and as Thomas cradles her face, she opens her stunning blue eyes.

'Teresa,' the boy breathes out in what is clear relief, 'what'd they do to you?'

'Thomas,' the girl gasps back.

In the background, Minho and Newt are busy threatening all the doctors and tying up their hands. 'You'll never get away with this,' says the female doctor who'd been held hostage. Kania has an urge to punch her as she sneers that, quite visibly afraid. She has a very punchable face.

'What's going on?' Teresa gasps out, still looking very dazed. Thomas forces out quick words that definitely don't do any explaining, and helps her get up. He seems to be hesitant about pulling away a wire that's etched into Teresa's body with a cut. Kania steps forward and quickly pulls away the wire, at which Teresa hisses. Snatching a roll of doctor's tape from the floor, because Blondie had flipped the table to create a barricade, she tears away a piece and makes sure to stick it evenly and firmly. 'This'll stop the little bleeding there's gon' to be,' Kania whispers, and Teresa just stares at her. The former steps back when Thomas shields away Teresa and helps her stand up.

The guards have reached the door, and although the jammed table's stopping them for now, it'll soon be of no use. The crowd backs away further inside the room, as Minho shouts, 'They're here Thomas! What do we do?!'

Thomas looks around frantically, then picks up a stool, utters a 'Get back,' and rams the stool into the glass window. The window cracks considerably. Blondie picks up a stool, too, and both the boys hit the glass at the same time. The glass breaks.

Thomas and the others jump out the opening. Kania glances back, and sees that the guards have almost made it in. It's only Minho and her now; 'Go, go!' Steeling her nerves, Kania jumps out the window and lands in a rough position; her right foot's bent in a disastrous manner. Just when the anaesthesia fades away, this happens. Great.

The gun's been passed to Thomas, who takes the lead. A man bursts in from another door, and Thomas fires the taser-gun. The man is instantly electrocuted, and Thomas is physically taken aback by the sheer force with which the tasers shoot. He glances down at it, and mutters a 'Shit,' then charges forward.

These people can all run at a great speed – Thomas is bolting forward too fast even for his height; even Teresa, and the poor girl looks weak. Kania is limping, concealing hisses, behind all of them. They've turned around a bend and there's a gate – it's a vault door, and probably the main one. Skidding to a halt, Thomas whips out a stolen key card and swipes it once, twice, thrice, the pitch of his 'No!' increasing each time.

'Thomas!' Janson and his guards also turn around the bend. Slamming the useless card into Blondie's chest, Thomas rips away the gun, and faces Janson. Kania doesn't know if he's particularly courageous, or just plain old stupid, because that wasn't a good idea. He's walking away from his friends and towards the guards, damn it! Trying to look brave in front of Janson isn't going to work, he'll just shoot Thomas, the moron. If the gates open, won't it take more time for him to reach them now? The taser-launcher wouldn't harm one hair, the guards have all got shields.

'Open this door, Janson!'

'You really don't want me to!'

'Just open the damn DOOR!'

'Listen to me! I'm trying to save you,' the man says, approaching Thomas with his hands raised, the guards in tow. 'The maze is one thing, but you kids wouldn't last one day in the Scorch. If the elements don't kill you, the cranks will,' he says, his eyes glancing to Kania as he says the last part. 'Believe me. I only want what's best for you.'

Thomas pauses for a second. 'Yeah, let me guess, Wicked is good?' Kania's eyes snap to Thomas's backside, moving away from Janson's form. How does he know that? How is he connected to W.C.K.D.? What the hell is happening?

Janson huffs out air, putting down his hands. Kania looks back at him. Gone is the nice mask. Even though he's still smiling, it looks more like an evil smile now, than the nice guy smile. There's no trace of that I-just-want-to-help-you-I-want-what's-best-for-you expression on his face. He's become the sneering, scowling, man Kania knows.

Jerking his head to the side, Janson says, 'Thomas-'

'Janson!' Kania interrupts him, and now he's looking more pissed than ever. 'D- does... does Chancellor Paige know? About w- what's happening here?' Janson's orbs eyes meet Kania's, and even though he hasn't spoken up, she's had her question answered. she knows that her face has probably dropped considerably, and that that question alone will make these kids more suspicious of her, but the only thing n her mind is Miss Paige. She knew. All along. She probably was the one in-charge. How could Kania have been so dumb? How could she have let such a humongous detail slip past? How could she have been so ignoran-

'You're not getting out that door.' Janson's voice breaks her out of her bullet train of thought.

Just then, quite ironically, the vault door lets out a whir and starts opening. On the other side are two boys, both of them familiar to Kania; the pale one more than the other. Everyone rushes to the other side.

'Thomas, come on! Let's go!'

With grunts, Thomas starts launching the gun at the guards, but it's a real shame that no one gets electrocuted. He soon runs out of the tasers, and with a yell, throws the gun at the guards and starts running towards Kania and the others. Janson and his guards follow behind closely. 'Shut the main vault door, shut the main vault door!'

The door begins closing on Janson's command, and Kania's eyes widen. He'll never make it in time, there's just no way, even with all the beckoning and coaxing by his friends, the door's too far away, he's too far away, the door's closing too quickly –

'THOMAS!'

'Thomas!'

Miraculously, by some heavenly occurrence, Thomas slides from below the door just in time, and Kania is astounded by how athletic this guy is. The familiar pale, skinny boy slams a metal bat into the door controls, leaving Janson and his guards banging at the windows.

Thomas makes an obscene gesture at Janson, and then quickly follows after the others. Minho's stolen a backpack, and unknown kid no. 2, a gun. Kania can make out Janson saying something along the lines of 'You little shit,' to Thomas, but pays no mind, instead focusing on the fact that she needs to keep up with these kids with superhuman speed, while having a probable sprain in her ankle.

#tmr #tst #the maze runner #the maze runner: the scorch trials #thomas #newt #minho #teresa #chapter 2 #ignorance #character x OC #raziroo

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indecisiveroomtempcola · 4 years

Text

The silence is a great friend

Chapter 1:Despair Upon One's Heart

His thigh burned with every step, drenched and tired. He was out of his mind his only goal was to reach the station, from the extraordinary golden gilded homes of the noble district to the run-down mills and houses of the lower class plebeians, townsfolk dressed in shabby outfits, rags and cloth nothing more over the top than sheep wool. The mundane colours of the plebaien’s homestead are uncomparable to the aristocrats’ distinguished estates.

Going through a crowd, the Central Market. All the townsfolk sell their goods here but some sell more valuable merchandise in the darker corners of the Central Market. Today had more hustle and bustle than the others, a coming festival, an event? Miller could have not given a single hint of interest as he pushed through the hoards of people trading and haggling. An even larger crowd stood in his way. Stumbling while dragging his body through the crowd into the centre while he kept running pushing something aside as it crossed his path and he struggled through the other end, one more turn and he’ll reach the station. Adrenaline filled his veins and he made one last dash for it, a loud hiss could be heard yards away from the hunkering orange bricked building.The last locomotive, he could not afford to miss it, no he can’t miss it. The sound of the whistle made a nerve racking hiss, it stung Miller’s ear every single time. His hand instinctively went up to his ear, trying to block the irritating sound. Someone could be heard shouting at him, multiple steps of boots stomped against the stone brick floor.

A few more seconds from the edge of the entrance, bursting through the brass coloured gate onto the locomotive platform, he searched frantically, the locomotive just started moving. Hope filled him as he was so close, forcing the last of his strength into his bare bone legs he jumped grabbing the pole on the back of the locomotive, his shoes skimming on the edge of the railroad, a troupe of guards could be seen at the corner of his eyes, edging near the end platform. They seemed confused but one of the guards pointed towards Miller as the locomotive sped off into the cold evening.

Using both of his hands he grabbed the metal pole and climbed on to the end of the locomotive, a small platform with red railings surrounding the edges with a small metal roof covering the top. He laid wasted against the backdoor, his chest heaving, breathing in mouths full of air. His body began to tremble but the sense of dread that hung onto the back of his mind was washed over by a wave of relief, the air seemed calm with a breeze that danced around Miller, while droplets of rain tapped the top of the roof, pitter pattering. The earthly scent filled his nose, his eye blinking wanting to be close, but that moment made him feel everything around him. The sweat that soaked his clothes, the wretched smell of raw fish and pig, his thick brown hair was a mess, strands splattered against his forehead and the grinding of each metal wheel when the train stopped. Today’s unlucky streak would come to an end when he reached the small cottage on the edge of a clearing, his cozy little home.

---------

A ruined warehouse, half of its roof coming in on itself but the other still stayed intact, signs of cracking traced the building. Even some parts of it were covered by green ivy, an old dark oak tree looming above the warehouse, its leaves rustling against the soft wind while the branches sway lazily.

The serene atmosphere’s melodious tune of nature is as though being orchestrated by a masterful conductor each wave of the baton creates another symphony interrupted only by a low hum coming from the warehouse, gradually becoming louder and louder. The inside of the warehouse was lit only by the translucent light bulbs that hung idly with a thin silver metal cord, each hung at different lengths giving the room its on esthetic, the middle, sat a monstrous machine. The hull made out of translucent Ceilium glass, its engine bare, showing the conductor booth that sat behind the hull, a grey box, enough to fit only one man, its was shape after a locomotive but its design’s stand out, with exhaust pipe lining the sides of the machine, its cool thin frame that curve down when it meets the hull and a large mechanical orb that was hung loosely from where the furnace would be, it was only a hole that fits the orb.

The orb had an intricate design, lines and shape that was engraved into, a man walk into the booth, he took out a flask containing blue liquid, and poured it into one of the holes, closing the lid he grabbed the orb jamming it back, it clicked into place, the circular metal spun and stop on a dial.

“That's the last of my supply, hope this baby works.” his hoarse voice echoed through the room. He patted the top of the machine and got to work, like clockwork he started pulling levers and pushing buttons on the frame.Each cathartic click, deafen by the sound of the engine finally roaring to life,” Yeah!” He yelled in triumph. Jumping down with a clunk when his steel toe boots touched the grey concrete floor. “After decades of wor-” he stopped mid sentence as something felt wrong, he realized he forgot to turn on the stabilizer, the engine’s roar turned into a high pitch whistle, while the entire frame started to shake uncontrollably. He stared helplessly as the machine exploded into pieces, each individual part shot out in flames around the workshop.

He fell to his knees, with his mouth gaping wide. His head hung low and he let out a deep sigh. He rose slowly walking outside the ruin of a workshop and leaned against its brick wall, his palm rested on his greasy face, how could he be so careless. A vital instrument missing from a machine is as though one loses their own organs, a huge setback.The setting sun told the conductor it was about time to head on his way home, staring vacantly at the lavender field that range over the hills, “It never gets old doesn’t it Hannah” The conductor found his hand caressing the golden locket that hung around his neck, he gripped it tightly reminiscing how it all used to be… different. “Ahem.” someone cleared their throat ruining the moment the conductor had.” Was I interrupting something Agner?`` The high pitched voice imitated the whistle from before, giving Agner a headache. Agner recognised that distinct voice,” Leong, hasn’t it been too long since your last visit?” Leong pounder, then spoke “ Wasn’t it yesterday?” Agner rubbed his temples, clearly too exhausted. “Oh, i am just cracking a joke, Agner, did it really get on your nerves.”

“As a matter of fact your very existence gives me a fit every time you’re near me” still leaning against the wall Agner gestured to the Bishop asking him what he wanted this time? “ Oh c'mon Agner we’ve been going at it for weeks and the Pope isn’t at all happy” The urgency in his voice caught Agner off guard for a bit,” How so, Leong?” He was cautious now, eyeing around his surroundings.

“He’ll send Hunters if you cease to cooperate with us.” Leong said smugly, he walked around Agner trying to intimidate him like a tiger circling its prey.” Death threats aren’t uncommon, when coming from you Leong,” Agner’s arms are crossed, his chin held high.”The two clergy you sent didn’t seem too threatening for me.” the air between them was tense, both of their composure remained unwavering, not willing to bend to one’s own accord. “FIne by me then.” Leong stopped dead in his tracks, he shrugged. A blurry image headed straight for Agner, he rolled to his side barely dodging the attack, red dust swirled around them, the lights on its headpiece pierce the dust, pouncing once again at Agner. He was too slow as the massive hunk of metal crashed straight into him, the metal beast now on top of Agner, tried clawing at his neck but Agner held it at bay with his burly arms, swiftly he unsheathe a knife tucked underneath his thigh and struck it’s exposed neck.

The beast struggled while gurgling blood, Agner tossed him aside as the beast stopped moving.” I built those exosuits, Leong, I know where their-” Agner was cut short as he was completely surrounded by different kinds of mechanical animals, each eye glowed bright.” I did say Hunter’s’ Agner, not one but a whole squadron.”. Leong stood there with one of his arms on his hips the other showing the Hunters, one of them attached to the wall, four of its claws digged into the red brick. Another hovering over them, its wingspan large and wide with razor sharp ends, another with tusk the size of an elephant.

“Ironic isn’t it, its creator being forced to face against the machines he made.” Leong stroded towards him, Agner who was still holding his blade backed away into the warehouse.

:”Oh Agner this isn’t the last of your troubles, I sent someone to deal with the unruly wench you have for a wife.” Leong knew he struck home because he never saw a man with such fury in his eyes,”Come at me you bastards!” He roared charging at Leong but the Bishop flicked his wrist and Agner was tossed aside into a pile of coal,”Don’t ruin our plaything,We need him alive.” Leong walked away. Hunters jumped onto Agnar. The only sound that still remained was the shouting and clanking of metal suits.

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justjessame · 4 years

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Put Me In Coach 5

I was typing out a text to both Eric AND Mary as Negan was entering the house. Fuck fuck fuck.

9 1 1 NOW SOS FUCK

A buzz came as we stood for a moment in the foyer. I stopped Negan with a hand on his arm. “One second, please.” I pleaded, and he stood with me as I typed a reply to Eric’s triple question marked response.

NEGAN my house NOW.

As I held on to Negan’s arm, another vibration and looked down I smiled. “OK, let’s head in.” Before we could be seen through the doorway of the dining room the doorbell chimed again. “I’ll get it.” I offered, loud enough for Mom to hear and Negan shot me a look. “Come with me.”

Standing outside the door was the cavalry. “Eric,” I closed my eyes in gratitude for my best friend. “Mary.” I grinned at my other bestie. “Thank fucking GOD.” Negan was standing back staring at the three of us as we clustered together. We wouldn’t have long. Mom would wonder what was going on. She’d rush out and here we’d be, a clusterfuck of assholes. “Negan wants to meet Mom and Dad. Tonight.” I filled my best friends in as Negan stood there watching us with a combined look of discomfort and confusion.

“Wow, Coach,” Eric ran his gaze over Negan from top to bottom. “Balls of steel.” Fuck, don’t laugh, don’t fucking laugh. “Should have joined a fucking sport.” He muttered to himself, and I bit my fucking lip. Negan’s expression was going to undo me. Fuck.

“Guys,” Mary tried to refocus us. “OK, so if we all walk in, you,” she pointed at me, “can be like ‘oh, Mom, I’m sorry I invited my friends over and totally forgot.’” I nodded, it sounded like a good start. “And you,” she gestured to Negan, “you’re going to introduce yourself. And we’re going to EASE the relationship into the conversation, maybe, we'll see. No pissing on my girl’s leg, do you fucking get that?” Negan opened his mouth to argue, but she shushed him. “At school you’re Coach, but here? Here I’m Coach.” She shot Eric a look. “And YOU.” Damn it. “You are going to play referee. If you see the level of awkward shooting up, make it go away. If you sense that SOMEONE,” another look at Negan, “is about to go postal? You are going to fucking divert it. Fully. Fucking sing show-tunes if you must, but don’t let this shit get out of hand.”

“All gays DO NOT sing show-tunes, whore.” Eric muttered, and Mary shot him a glare that I was envious of. “Fine. I’ll sing like a fucking canary.” He held up his palms in surrender.

“I’ll run interference.” I raised an eyebrow. “Your parents want you and Joe to make tiny perfect bland babies, but trust me, I’ll make Joe want to practice with me first.” I giggled. “OK, that’s the plan. Let’s go before Mrs. Kendall decides to come find us.”

I had doubts, as we rounded the corner and entered the dining room. My mom’s eyes widened at my collection of misfits. My dad’s look of confusion. I made the excuses that Mary had concocted for their presence. I didn’t stumble through it, I held my head high, as though I often made such silly faux pas. My mother, knowing that to pitch a fit would be TOTALLY against her goals for this dinner, smiled through her irritation and graciously welcomed Mary and Eric to join us. Her gaze met Negan’s form and I had to fight closing my eyes from the churning of my stomach.

He did fine. He introduced himself without allowing for a comfortable opening to attack his clear age difference, and he even shot Joe a look as though daring him to mention school. Joe, I was happy to see, wasn't even paying the slightest attention, since he was focused on Mary’s cleavage. I had a flash of fear about his parents recognizing Negan, but then rolled my eyes internally when I realized they were cut from the same high and mighty cloth as my parents. Negan, as a mere teacher, was beneath their notice. Even when he was the one to force them to fetch drunk Joe from the dance.

We got situated around the table, Negan held my chair for me and Eric held Mary’s. Mary was seated between Joe and Eric, who shot me a wink as I realized Negan took the seat next to me, putting me between him, and since I sat at the corner, my mom. Great. Fuck.

Our dinner was served, courses and courses of dinner, because clearly my mother was in the impress the Malberrys mode. As I was about to sigh through the main course, I felt Negan’s hand touch my knee. I glanced at him and he was smiling.

“Joe,” my mother had been trying, with various levels of failure to draw Joe into a conversation that would PROVE to me that he was worth a second look, throughout each course. “What are your plans after graduation?”

It wasn’t Joe who answered. It hadn’t been Joe who’d answered ANY of Mom’s questions all evening. His mother fielded most of them, but his dad chimed in now and again. And my mom’s interest would wane for a moment, and her focus would shift. To Eric, asking him if he’d found anyone special, then flinching when Eric would say something about the GUY he was seeing. I bit my lip and looked at my plate. Or when she asked Mary if she’d heard from any of the schools she’d applied to and Mary deadpanned that she hadn’t but there was always cosmetology school. I knew that Mary got in to every fucking school she’d applied to, because she might be fun and silly, but she was also fucking smart as fuck. So was Eric, but no one ever noticed it.

“Negan, is it?” My mom had refocused, fuck.

He’d been taking a drink of his water and swallowed carefully before answering. “Yes, Mrs. Kendall, that’s my name.” His fingers were sliding on my bare skin, teasing me as he spoke with complete ease to my mother.

“You don’t look like a student.” Not a question, so he didn’t answer. “How is it you know my daughter?” Fuck.

“Oh, Mrs. Kendall,” Eric cut in, seemingly accidentally. “I think there’s a chip in my plate, I hope that a bit of the porcelain isn’t in my potatoes.” Oh my God.

“What?” Mom was on her feet and next to Eric’s seat studying his dish, leaning closer and closer as Eric kept pointing at I fucking hoped an actual fucking knick.

“You doing alright, princess?” Negan breathed close to my ear, not so close to draw attention, but close enough so no one could hear him.

“Fine, you?” I spoke to my forkful of broccoli.

“Highly fucking entertained.” And I sucked in a lungful of air when his finger traced up my inner thigh. “Your friends are fucking amazing, sweetheart.”

“Aren’t they though.” I smiled, taking a bite of my vegetables.

Mom had left the room with Eric’s plate, bitching about the nerve of the housekeeper/cook having broken the good china. Dear fucking god. I caught Eric’s eye and he winked and I had to bite my lip again.

“So, Joe,” Mary was breathing up at the big lug. “What brings you to Amara’s house for dinner?” Shit. Joe was looking down at her with an almost glazed look in his eyes and I wondered if he had hit the bottle again.

“Her mom called my mom and invited us.” Huh, he wasn’t drunk, he was just fucking HORNY for Mary. At my dinner table. Negan was right, this was fucking entertaining. “Glad you showed up.” Wow, thanks, I feel special now.

Negan’s finger was sliding ever higher up my inner thigh and I closed my eyes as he was nearing his goal. Fuck. “Amara, is something wrong.” Fuck, Mom’s back. I opened my eyes and looked up at where she was hovering at her chair. Negan’s hand left and he stood to hold out her chair, as he had mine. “Thank you, Mr. Negan.” Mr. Negan? Fuck.

“Nothing’s wrong, Mom.” I answered, forking a piece of chicken. “Just a bit of a headache.” Negan took his own seat again, once Mom had sat back down. “Dinner is delicious, by the way.” Sprinkle in a compliment, tramp down the worry, rinse and repeat.

She smiled at me and then her eyes fell on Negan again. “Mr. Negan?” Here we go again.

“Mrs. Kendall,” Eric, I swear to fucking God I would buy him whatever his heart desired after tonight, piped up. “My mom would die for the recipe for this-” he held up, I squinted, was that the fucking garnish?

“It’s cilantro, Eric,” my mom looked confused, and I could see her mind shoot to a question about whether Eric was high. And I was biting my lip so hard that I almost didn’t feel the return of Negan’s hand on my thigh. Shit, I wasn’t going to survive this.

“No, Mrs. Kendall, not this-” I watched, my eyes widening, as Eric flung the cilantro over his fucking shoulder like it offended him. “Cilantro tastes like dirty dishwater. THIS.” He picked up a bite of chicken. “Mom would LOVE the recipe for this, I know it.”

Dear fucking God. Eric was either earning every fucking BEST FRIEND MERIT BADGE ever, or he was going to die at my mom’s hands.

“Eric Sullivan!” My mother gasped, and I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or stand up and get between them. “Did you just toss the garnish-”

“He’s right,” my dad’s voice cut in. “Why do we buy this crap when we don’t actually eat it?” Twilight Zone. I must have been transported into an alternative fucking reality because my dad NEVER engaged during dinner. EVER. He didn’t toss his over his shoulder, but he did put it on the bread dish next to his plate. “It’s disgusting and quite frankly, it does taste like dirty dishwater.”

Negan was biting his own lip beside me. I could see it out of the corner of my eye. Jesus. “I don’t know.” Negan picked up his sprig of the greenery and bit into it. “I kind of like it.”

For fuck’s sake. What the hell was going on? And then the debate really got rolling. With Mary and slow Joe weighing in on Negan’s side. Pretty sure Joe would have voted for Hitler if Mary mentioned he had some good ideas, at this point. His parents were split, his mother, clearly trying to salvage the slowly fraying likelihood of Joe and me, sided with Mom and his dad, not reading any part of this batshit room was wondering why anyone ever used any garnish whatsoever.

“Princess, I think this shit has gone fucking all the way around the goddamn bend.” Negan’s voice was a breath again, someone I heard him over the very enthusiastic debate that was now going on about garnish period. I nodded, glancing around the table in disbelief.

Dinner was over faster than I expected, my mom never getting a chance to return to her twice failed interrogation of Negan. As we walked our guests to the door, a cluster of a group if I'd ever seen one, she tried ONE more time.

“Mr. Negan,” I held back a sigh. “I feel like we never did get to speak fully.” No shit, Mom, it was a concerted effort, trust me.

“I guess not, Mrs. Kendall.” He was smiling down at her, oozing charm.

“You should come to dinner next week.” Fuck. “This time, perhaps, Amara can NOT invite her friends without asking first.” Damn it. No buffer this time. “What day would work best for you?”

I zoned out. Shit. Although, alone with just my parents and Negan, maybe it wouldn’t be such a nightmare? As Negan crossed over the threshold to leave, the final participant in the world’s most strange dinner party, Mom and I offered our goodbyes, his eyes lingered on me for a beat and I knew I’d be getting a call soon.

Once the door closed, Dad was already in the family room with his paper, Mom focused on me. “When were you planning on telling me you’re involved with the gym teacher?” Shit.

#coach negan x student #negan x ofc #The Walking Dead

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