#welding rigs

[selwyngrimm]

Did some real steamfittering yesterday. Sometimes it's a four come-along problem...

[cosmicgesture]

mad at trade jobs again

[mobydyke]

just tried to take off my boots without untying them so that's a wrap on my 90 hour week y'all

[astartesting01]

Rig Inspection Services Company in Singapore | Astartesting

Astartesting stands out as a top Rig Inspection Services Company in Singapore, prioritizing safety standards adherence. Their thorough inspections assure clients of compliance and reliability in the intricate rigging industry. With a team of certified inspectors and state-of-the-art equipment, Astartesting offers comprehensive evaluations, minimizing downtime and ensuring operational efficiency.

[hbsmanpowerconsultancy]

Find the best and experienced welders here( https://www.hbsconsultancy.com ).

[cordeliawhohung]

pet!au part 6 | ghoap x fem!reader | tag list | early access available on patreon

open wide

cw: overall theme of non-con, dub-con medication taking, mouth inspection, lots of exposition

Everything hurts when you wake up.

Though you’re plagued by an ache that targets your hips, shoulders, and back, it’s namely your throat that hurts the most, which is something to be said considering you’ve been sleeping in a kennel for the last week. It’s a surprisingly spacious cage, tucked into the far corner of the bedroom across from the large bed Johnny and Simon sleep on. A small, foam pad fits perfectly inside of the bottom of the cage, providing you with some cushioning between your body and the frigid, metal bottom of the cage, but it’s certainly far from humane. There’s not enough room for you to stand up in it, but you’re grateful to at least be able to stretch the full length of your legs out.

It’s jerry-rigged, you’re sure of it. Not store bought, but handmade with spare metal bars and a half decent welding job. By the size of it, you’re certain it used to hold something much larger than yourself. As for what — or who — it was, you don’t even want to venture a guess. Every night, Simon locks you in with a padlock, trapping you for the hours everyone is asleep. You wake each morning with a full bladder, but he wakes you up no later than six in the morning, allowing you to use the bathroom before he starts getting ready for his day.

In some ways, Simon is considerate like that. Always ensuring you’re not going too long without any sort of need. Never starves you, or has done anything to intentionally cause devious harm. But there are many instances where he is not so generous.

Like last night, when Johnny got needy. He had complained something fierce the first night Simon locked you up. The man can hardly go a few hours without needing to put his hands on you in some capacity, and you took note of the way his blue eyes grew misty seeing you locked away out of his reach. Simon assured him it was only a temporary solution until he could get you fixed — which you’re still too scared to ask what getting you fixed means — but that could only quell Johnny’s emotions for so long.

He had lasted six days before he needed to put his hands on you again. To his credit, you had expected him to crack significantly sooner, and a part of you wished he had. Perhaps he would have been easier on your throat if you hadn’t pitifully shrugged off all his attempts he passed at you during the daytime while Simon was away. It all came to a head last night when Simon was getting ready to lock you away until morning when Johnny decided he just couldn’t handle it anymore.

Johnny has a way of begging that makes you feel bad for him, and Simon has a gaze that tells you it would be stupid to refuse his favorite pet. So you obeyed. Got on your knees like a good pet while Johnny abused your throat with his cock. You’ve gotten better at not crying when it happens, and he’s gotten better about letting you breathe while he uses you. Still, your eyes water on their own volition, blurring your view of Johnny above you and Simon behind him, going about his nightly routine as if you’re not being torn to shreds on the bedroom floor.

You’re still feeling the effects of it this morning as Simon unlocks your cage and allows you to relieve yourself in the restroom. In a way, it almost feels like strep. Raw skin sticks to itself, and you try your best to choke the ache to soothe the pain, but it always seems to come back. It dries and cracks, and you’re wholly surprised that you can’t taste blood when you swallow.

Breakfast that morning is the same as it usually is: eggs, toast, milk, bacon, sausage — everything fresh and homemade. Simon insists that the three of you sit at the table for every meal as if he’s afraid you’ll choke and die off without him. No one makes conversation, and if anything is said, it’s usually some sort of comment made by Johnny. He thanks Simon for the food, and compliments how juicy the bacon is before he silences himself by eating. All you do is keep your head down and attempt to keep the attention off of you.

It’s a strange thing, surviving in that place. You exist so quietly you hardly feel like you’re in your own body. In order to live, you have to play the part. The chew toy. The pet. Bonnie. It’s a balancing act between remembering who you are, and behaving well enough that Simon has no reason to punish you. Whether you like it or not, it’s easy math. You stand no chance of escaping that place on your own. Still, as you pick at your eggs and nibble on your toast, you quietly promise to yourself that you’ll get out of there one day. No matter what it takes.

Something’s different when Simon leaves for work today. Johnny’s not hounding you the moment the door shuts. Usually, he demands that you sit with him to watch a movie of some sort on the countless DVD’s and VHS tapes stored on old bookshelves in the living room. It’s not a terrible way to pass the time, and there are a few movies you rather enjoy. Every now and then you’ll fall asleep and wake up with his hands groping your chest or shoved down your pants like you’re some play-thing, but he’s oddly quiet this time.

Once breakfast is finished, he takes his plate, cleans it up and then leaves you alone after giving you a chaste kiss on the cheek. His figure vanishes down the hallway that leads to the back of the house — a place you have yet to explore. His disappearance is marked by the shutting of a very squeak door, and you finally feel like you can breathe easier. You’re not curious enough to follow him, and you’re certainly not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. A moment of peace and quiet in your life is rare these days when you’re too busy playing the pliable fawn so that you’re not hurt — or worse.

Enjoying your rare solitude, you take refuge by the open window in the living room. There’s an old recliner that smells vaguely like oak and grass that you like to curl up in while you read one of the old classical books Simon has stored next to the fireplace. It’s been a few days since you’ve really been able to get a breath of fresh air, but it doesn’t do much to calm your nerves. Though you’ve been there for a week, it’s strenuous trying to comprehend the situation you’ve found yourself in. Your fingers fiddle with your name tag as you rest your eyes from reading and look out at the trees that line the edge of the property, lush with the summer heat and rain.

It’s an enticing view with foliage that dances freely in the breeze. Grass and moss covers the field haphazardly, covering everything in a soft blanket of vibrant green. It whispers for you to run toward it and never look back. To soak in the feeling of the earth between your bare toes.

You know better than to run from a man who already has your scent memorized.

Your mind flashes back to the bath Simon gave you a few days ago, where he had you get dressed in clothes you already owned, and washed you with the same soap you’ve been using for years. How many signs did you miss? How long did you live in blissful ignorance to the insidious intentions that were being planned for you? Would you still be at home right now, safe in your own bed away from these freaks had you done anything different? Or were you always destined to be stuck there? Locked away in some home. How cruel and fickle fate can be.

Simon smells like blood and muscle when he gets home. You’ve gathered from the fresh nicks on his knuckles and old scars that litter his hands that he does some sort of blue-collar work. Judging by the fact he always seems to come home with some type of meat to cook up for dinner, you’re guessing he’s a butcher. You wonder if that’s why he’s keeping you and Johnny. Perhaps something in that twisted, stupid brain of his is unable to love the animals he tears apart limb by limb. Maybe he keeps you in order to cover up his guilt.

When Johnny emerges from whatever room he had holed himself up in for the entire day, he’s disheveled. Messy, black strands of hair stray flippantly from the shape of his mohawk, and the sides of his hands are darkened with some sort of grey dust. It reminds you of the graphite stains you would get as a kid practicing writing skills in school. Still, he’s all giggles and grins for Simon as he rubs up against him. Sickeningly loyal. Such a good dog.

He stays just as close and attached to Simon all throughout dinner, and just like you did that morning, you keep your head down while you eat. If Johnny wants to play the part of the devoted pet, that’s fine by you. Anything to keep Simon’s burning gaze away from you.

As he eats his meal, you wonder if he dreams of cutting you up. Shredding tendon from bone and shoving you into his maw like you’re a well deserved meal. You wouldn’t put it past him, that type of violence. He’s been more than content with collaring you and treating you like an animal, it would make sense. You wonder if he likes playing with his food before he eats.

“Bonnie.”

There’s hardly enough time for you to wash your plate after dinner before Simon’s demanding your attention. Despite the insane size of this man, he has an odd ability that allows him to sneak around the house nearly undetected, and by the time you turn around to answer him, he’s already in your space. You swallow as you look up at him. That terrible rawness still plagues your throat, but you know better than to stay silent.

“Yes?”

He has a small package in his hands that he keeps rotating, inspecting it closely, drawing your own eyes to it. It’s a thin sheet full of several small tablets that are meant to be poked through the foil encasing it. You count each row — seven tablets each in four total rows. An odd sensation tugs at your stomach as you realize what he’s got: birth control pills.

Relief floods through you as Simon fetches a small glass of water. You’re not sure how he got them — and you’re not sure you want to know — but if this is his idea of fixing you, then you’ll take it. It’s certainly better than your other theories of him potentially trying to perform an actual surgery on you himself. You’d wager he’s good with knives, but not that good. Though, he’d probably like tearing you apart like that, but you refuse to entertain that thought. You’ll take the pills.

Anything to not get pregnant.

Simon places one of the small pills in the palm of your hand, and you turn it over in your fingers. It looks legitimate. Not something that’s manufactured in someone’s basement, at least. You pray that your instincts are right as you place it on your tongue before swallowing it down with a gulp of water. It goes down just as easy as you anticipated, and it settles in your stomach without protest.

There’s hardly enough time for you to set the glass on the counter next to you before Simon’s fingers dig into your cheeks. You whine as you brace your hands against his chest, eyes already wetting from the pain as his grip grows too firm to be loving. You wince at the pressure and stare up at him with bewildered eyes.

“Open,” he demands.

You instantly comply, praying that he’ll loosen his grip if you do, but he doesn’t. Instead, he starts to tilt your head side to side, inspecting every inch of your open mouth as he presses the inside of your cheeks against your teeth. He looks about ready to shove his fingers into your mouth, to feel every inch of your wet tongue and dull teeth, but he doesn’t. Once he’s determined that you’re not hiding the pill underneath your tongue or in the pockets of your cheeks, he relinquishes his grip on you. His fingers leave a lasting pain that throbs just underneath your skin, and you stare up at him like he’s betrayed you, as if you should have expected any better of him.

“Good girl,” he says, voice dull.

“Does this mean I can have her now?”

You hadn’t realized Johnny had been behind you, and when you turn to face him his eyes are full of wonder. This is the downside of birth control, you realize. Now that you’re on the pill — now that you’re fixed — Johnny’s going to have free rein of you. If he fucks you as often as he abuses your throat, you know you’re in for a bad ride. Your cunt already hurts at the thought of it.

“Down boy,” Simon snaps.

Johnny’s shoulders tense and he frowns at Simon’s harsh tone. The poor, pathetic thing looks wounded as Simon disregards you and approaches his favorite pet. His pale hands look out of place on the warmth of Johnny’s arms as he pulls him close. It’s uncharacteristically soft. Johnny melts at his touch and leans into him, lips parted in a silent plea for an embrace.

“Look at you. Poor mutt,” Simon croons. Despite the abrasiveness of his words, his voice is the softest you’ve ever heard from him. “Have I been neglectin’ you? Gone too long without a proper fuck? Want me to fix that?”

A switch flips inside Johnny. You can tell by the way his eyes widen and how he begins to paw at Simon’s chest, like he’s trying to tear his clothes off right then and there in the kitchen. Something freezes you to the ground. Forces you to stay still, as if they won’t see you and forget about you if you don’t move. Nothing but prey, hiding from the predators.

“Yes, please Simon,” Johnny whimpers.

“C’mon, I know you can beg. Used to do it all the time before we got Bonnie, yeah? Beg,” Simon demands.

“I’ve been so good,” Johnny says, words exploding out of his mouth before he can stop them.

“Have you?” Simon challenges.

He nods. “Haven’t fucked her, just like you asked. Didn’t even touch her at all today while you were gone.”

Simon smirks, and you avert your gaze like it’s blinded you. “That why you’re so worked up?”

“Please,” he tries again. “I miss you.”

The only thing you hear after that is the sound of their lips crashing together. It’s wet and hungry, and you flinch at the sound of Simon’s groan. Something terrible and sharp twists in your stomach, and you feel sick at their words. Despite the terrible things Simon does, and the grotesque words he calls him, Johnny seems helplessly in love with him. So starved for affection, he’ll take it from the very hand of the man who’s hurting both of you.

“Good boy,” Simon whispers.

Reality shifts, making the air feel thicker, and that’s when you realize that Simon’s attention has been brought to you. There’s no time for you to retract as he reaches his free hand toward you and slips a finger in the loop of your collar. With a swift yank, you’re tumbling toward him with your hands grasping his forearm to try and keep yourself steady.

He chuckles, and you realize you think it’s the first time you’ve ever heard him laugh. You don’t like the sound of it. It’s dark and grating. Gargled like a wolf’s laugh. Something that precedes pain.

“C’mon, Bonnie. Johnny’s hungry.”

[machinetraining]

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[oneforthemunny]

spooky series entry: modern!eddie munson

based off the first part of this ask from @belokhvostikova! part of my spooky series with modern!eddie :) enjoy! eddie edit creds @themunsonator5000 !

contains: 18+ minors dni, alludes to smut, really just fluff. reader and eddie do a couple's costume.

“God, I think I’m gonna pass out in here, babe.” Eddie coughed over the hiss of the aerosol can spraying in the bathroom, the vent on and a window open doing little to insulate the fumes. 

“I told you to do it outside.” You huff, eyes rolling in irritation. Eddie had taken over the bathroom, leaving you to the bedroom. 

“It’s fuckin’ freezing out there.” Eddie scoffed, a rather hard hack of a cough following that had you looking towards the cracked door. “And I needed to see.” 

“Could’ve taken a mirror.” You muttered, dragging your eyeliner along your waterline, the perfect sultry and smokey look- just what you were going for. Eddie was going to love it, he always did when you’d make your makeup a little darker, a little moody. 

“I can’t hold a mirror, and my hair, and the spray.” Eddie rolled his eyes like the idea was so silly. Like fumigating the apartment was the obvious best choice. 

“I still need help getting it to spike.” Eddie turned his head towards the ajar door across from him. You were hidden behind the half opened door, depriving him of seeing you- your process, your costume, the deep purple cape he was a little too excited about. 

“Use the hairspray.” You call, and he can practically hear the eye roll in your tone. 

“I did.” Eddie grit, running the brush through his matted half green curls. “Still not working. Got a lot of hair, babe.”

“Yeah,” You snorted, the jingle of your belt and necklace sounding with every step. “I know. It’s everywhere.” 

Eddie smirked, a smug counter on the tip of his tongue that fell short when he saw you. A black high cut bodysuit, fishnet stockings he just wanted to tear apart, and best of all- the cloak. The fucking cloak, velvety that you‘d gotten off Facebook marketpace in September when he told you his vision for your costumes. 

“What?” You eye him, clipping the loose, link belt around your waist so it settled slouchy over your hips. Eddie had helped you make it, a rigged up welding job to get the large, plastic rubies on and in the right place. 

“Nothing.” Eddie’s eyes roamed up and down your frame, taking in every single detail like if he looked away it would be gone. “You, uh, you look very good.” 

“Very?” You repeated, a raised brow that had his head bobbing, blush rising up his skin. “Really? The cloak is doin’ it for you, hm?” 

“Oh, you have no fuckin’ idea.” Eddie groaned, stepping towards you. “Think this might be my new thing. My new kink.” 

“Capes?” 

“You in capes.” Eddie nodded, reaching out to touch the soft velvet. 

“Uh! No!” You clicked, stepping back. “Your hands are green.” 

“So?”

“So you’re not touching my stuff and ruining it, Ed. Wash your hands!” You point to the sink, crowded with hair products, stray hairs, and faint green spray. You frown, glaring at him. “I told you not to make a mess.” 

“I’ll clean it up.” Eddie hums, eyes meeting yours through the mirror, shoving the content out of the sink and hitting the faucet on. 

You roll your eyes. You know he will, really. “Do you want me to grab the gel? See if I can blow it up like Pauly D?” Your lips curl in a half smirk. 

“No.” Eddie shakes his head, the water stained green from his hands. 

“I can try, baby, but I don’t know if it will work. You’ve got a lot of hair. I don’t think it will stand that tall. Maybe the bangs-” 

“-No, it’s fine.” Eddie muttered, wiping his hands on the hand towel, for once. You guessed he didn’t want to ruin his costume. 

“Ed, I can do it for you.” Your voice drops lightly into a softer tone. Maybe you’d been too mean. You didn’t mean to snap like that at him. Was it that mean? “I can try if you want me to. I just… I don’t know how it will turn out.” 

“No, it’s good. I’ll put it on a bun.” Eddie turned to you, taking in your slight frown. 

“Are you ok?” You ask awkwardly. It sounded better in your head, when Ed said it. 

“Yeah, yeah, ‘m good.” Eddie nodded, brushing his hair back, tying it off with a hair tie- your hair tie. 

“Eddie, I didn’t mean to piss you off. I just don’t want green shit everywhere, it will stain.” Your arms found their way back over your chest, defensive and annoyed. 

“No, I know. I’ll clean it.” Eddie swallowed, eyes cutting to you in the mirror, spraying his bangs down one more time for a final touch. 

You huff in annoyance. “So you’re mad at me for what then?” You snap, glaring at him. 

Oh, that smokey eyed glare, the black lipstick, the fishnets, the metallic boots, the goddam cloak. Eddie wasn’t lasting, not when you used that tone, that mean tone- huffy and annoyed, snapping at him. Eddie’s fingers curled around the counter. 

“Mad? I’m not mad.” Eddie shook his head, eyes zoned in on the ruby necklace settled between your collarbones. His knees tightened.

“Then what?” You snap, that snip of a tone that had Eddie’s ears tingling with excitement. “Why are you being weird, right now?” 

“Can you do me a favor?” Eddie asked, brown eyes rounded too sweetly for it to be a mean request. 

It made you falter, your annoyed demeanor faltering for a second. “What?” 

“Can you,” Eddie shoved the bottles of hair spray and brushes back in the sink. “Can you sit right there for me? Just for a second.” 

You glared at him, annoyed and a little confused. “Eddie, what? Can you be serious for a second, just one fucking second, and tell me what is wrong-” 

“Nothing’s wrong, baby, I promise.” Eddie schmoozed, that little coo that had your head spinning. He grabbed at your fishnet clad thighs, pressing them until you were settled on the edge of the bathroom counter with a huff. “Just sit right here for me. Just like that, baby.” 

“Eddie, you need to finish getting ready, seriously. We’re going to be- what are you doing?” Your voice shrills, pushing at his sticky, green stained hair when Eddie drops to his knees. 

“I told you this was doin’ it for me.” Eddie hummed, green stained fingers pulling at your thighs, hips on the edge of the counter, his fingers hooking around the tiny strip of your body suit, pulling it to the side easily. 

“Eddie!” You gasped, his fingers running through your folds. “Eddie, we’re- oh shit- we’re gonna be late!” 

“Harrington won’t notice.” Eddie hummed, a cheek pressed to your fishnets. “It won’t even get fun until after ten, promise.” 

An hour and half later, you arrived at the Harrington house, spilling out with party goers in a multitude of costumes, some pulling Eddie to the side to buy. 

“Well, well, well,” Steve smirked around his plastic cup. “Look who finally showed up.” 

You scoffed, looking at the basketball jersey he’d put on, his “costume”. “And what are you supposed to be? Troy Bolton?” 

“Somethin’ like that.” Steve grinned. “Are you a witch?” 

“No, dingus.” Robin rolled her eyes. “She’s obviously Raven.” 

“Raven?”

“From Teen Titans. God, you really didn’t have a good childhood, hm? Were you a PBS kid?” Robin rolled her eyes. 

“Bet you weren’t allowed to watch Spongebob, either.” You grinned. 

Steve rolled his eyes. “My bad. I’m assuming Eddie and his green hair is your counterpart?” 

“He’s Beast Boy.” Robin smiled at Eddie, waving him over. “That’s so cute. Your idea?” 

“Please.” You scoffed lightly. “Eddie’s. He loves Halloween. He’s been planning this for weeks.” You grin, taking the plastic cup he offered you. 

“Hm,” Steve’s tongue rolled over the inside of his cheek, looking at you then Eddie. “Guess I see why the two of you were late.” 

You frowned at Steve, his grin only growing bigger. “Beast Boy, you’re not a natural green-head, hm?” He snickered, Robin’s face falling in a laugh.

You looked down, through your fishnets and saw it- the green residue left between your thighs, no doubt from your thighs closing around his head. You flushed, eyes cutting to Eddie’s dangerously. 

Eddie bit back a smirk, shrugging gently. “It’s Halloween.” He said simply over Robin and Steve’s howls of laughter. 

[copperbadge]

Well it is definitely being a real fifth of Wednesday.

The HVAC started leaking again and as I told the company when I called, "The trickle has become a flood" -- my bathroom rug and the pad underneath it were soaked by the time I found out, and essentially I can't run the A/C for more than about half an hour without the leak starting up again (it's condensate that's somehow not draining properly).

There are actually three leaks -- two of which are physical faults. The drainage pipe is cracked where it connects to the unit, so it's dripping, which is not actually a huge issue because I can just put a pan under it, but it will need to have the part changed out.

The real problem is the other two leaks -- one from just above the filter rack, one from a gap in the weld below the filter rack. Those are an issue because you can't "catch" the water, it's running down the housing and onto the floor.

I did manage to rig up a solution until the tech can come out -- it turns out using packing tape to secure a sheet of plastic (cut up trash bag) to the housing actually works really well to channel the water off the housing and into the pan. (See the vertical seam in the metal next to the "HOT" label? Water's coming out the bottom of that, as well as out of the interior of the unit into the gap just above the HOT label.)

So at least the water's now going mostly into a pan and not onto the floor, and I don't have to change out towels every few hours, since I only have three towels to start with and no in-unit dryer.

The bathroom reeks right now, which I think is mainly down to the bathroom rug being draped over a chair in the shower with a fan going on it to dry it out. But at least most of the condo doesn't smell, and I can run the A/C without flooding the bathroom, so, small victories.

Dearborn has been watching from her favorite perch, on a sweater storage bag in the hall closet, and is Very Unimpressed.

[lakesbian]

Are there any spesific moments you wish to see be adapted/animated from worm? Do you think your's differ from most others?

i too am unfortunately not immune to the fact that worm is a Big Fucking Book and it's easy to forget or lose visuals that were striking in the moment but some ones i remember really wanting to see drawn in the moment:

THE OIL RIG. taylor literally turning into a bug and being furious with scion scanned like something that should be an iconic fandom visual to me the first time i was reading it, but i would also like to see the bit w/ sveta clinging to the metal rails & weld coaxing her onto him with the sky and sea and disaster as backdrop

this visual of alexandria:

also from the echidna fight, when the part of the-thing-that's-still-getting-called-noelle that still looks like noelle is just entirely lopped off....and then regrows, but with her arms wrapped around and attached to her chest like a flesh straightjacket, and she sort of keels back and is tipped up at the sky. incredible visual and also i love it as an indicator of like. Ohh. It's been getting called noelle because it used to be noelle, but she's long gone now. reports are in: ship definitely not theseus's anymore

the part in arc 17 where krouse and to my memory jess find a pet bird in the house they've broken into bashing its head against its cage over and over again and they're like hm that can't be good

when the travelers are crawling across the now-horizontal apartment building with krouse carrying noelle on his back and the simurgh is like. Right there where they can see her. fanart of this please please please youre nothing

there is probably more i could think of if i pondered longer but alas i do have tasks. no idea how different or not they aren't from other people though

[livwritesstuff]

I love steddie doing all these TikTok trends and having the kids just be general gremlins about trends I need more!!!!

ask and you shall receive, my friend

okay the exxon mobile trend on tiktok is literally everything. for those who haven't seen it - you basically call a loved one and tell them you got a job doing underwater welding for exxon mobile and listen to whoever you called flip out because that job is basically a guaranteed early death sentence. it's usually girls calling their dads and their reactions are so delightful.

Obviously, Hazel sees this trend and has to try it. Problem is - she's seventeen, in high school, lives at home, and isn't in the market for a job. Steve and Eddie would immediately see through her BS in a second.

She asks Moe and Robbie if one of them wants to try. They decide amongst themselves that Robbie should do it because she is actively looking for a job at the time, and Moe films Robbie as she makes the call.

Eddie, picking up the phone: Hello Robert.

Robbie: So you know how you're forcing me to get a job if I want to stay in New York over the summer?

Eddie: Don't love your choice in words there, but yes.

Steve: You got a lead?

Robbie: Yeah, actually. Have you heard of a company called Exxon Mobile?

ex-mechanic Eddie in disbelief that he's being asked this question: Uh, yeah.

Robbie: Okay, so they're offering this program where you go out on an oil rig and do underwater welding.

Robbie: And, I dunno, I did swim team for, like, years, so I figured it wouldn't be too hard.

Eddie: Yeah, absolutely not.

Steve, who knows nothing about this: What's the deal with underwater welding.

Eddie: It's literally the most dangerous job on the planet, pretty sure.

Steve: Jesus Christ, yeah, that's a no.

Eddie: Hon, there is a big world of opportunity out there for you.

Eddie: But it is nowhere near big enough to include this.

Robbie: But why?

Eddie: First of all - you don't know how to weld. Not a great place to start.

Robbie: I mean, I'm taking a jewelry-making class where we learned how to solder metal. That's pretty similar, right?

Eddie: About as similar as walking in a park and climbing Mount Everest.

Eddie: This one's not for you, babe.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Thankful for class consciousness

On November 27, I'm appearing at the Toronto Metro Reference Library with Facebook whistleblower Frances Haugen.

On November 29, I'm at NYC's Strand Books with my novel The Lost Cause, a solarpunk tale of hope and danger that Rebecca Solnit called "completely delightful."

Before the term "ecology" came along, people didn't know they were on the same side. You care about owls, I care about the ozone layer – what does the destiny of charismatic nocturnal avians have to do with the gaseous composition of the upper atmosphere?

But as James Boyle has written, the term "ecology" welded together a thousand issues into a single movement. When we talk about "looking at our world through a lens," this is what we mean – apply the right analytical lens and a motley assortment of disparate causes becomes a unified, coherent project:

https://scholarship.law.duke.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1013&context=dlj

Unfettered, planet-destroying, worker immiserating corporate power is only possible in the absence of such a lens. Before neoliberalism can destroy our lives, it must first convince us that we are all disconnected. "There is no such thing as society," isn't just an empty slogan: it's a weapon for dismantling the democratically accountable structures that can stand against industrial tyrants.

That's why neoliberalism is so viciously opposed to all kinds of solidarity, why corporate apologists insist that the only elections that matter are the ones where you "vote with your wallet." It's no surprise that the side with the thickest wallets wants to replace ballots with dollars!

Today, at long last, after generations of deadly corporate power-grabs, we are living through an ecology moment where all kind of fights are coalescing into one big fight: the fight to save democracy from oligarchy.

There are many tributaries flowing into this mighty river, but two of the largest are antitrust and labor. Antitrust seeks to ensure that our world is regulated by democratically accountable lawmakers who deliberate in public, rather than shareholder-accountable monopolists who deliberate in smoke-filled rooms. Labor seeks to ensure that contests between profit for the few and prosperity for the many are decided in favor of people, not profit.

This coalition is so powerful that the ruling class has never stopped attacking it. Indeed, the history of US antitrust law can be viewed as a succession of ever-more-insistent laws enacted solely to make it clear to deliberately obtuse judges that competition law is aimed at corporations, not unions:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/14/aiming-at-dollars/#not-men

Rising corporate power and declining worker power is bad for all of us. The failure of successive US administrations to block airline mergers led to sky-high prices and a proliferation of "junk fees" that can double the price of a ticket. The monopoly carriers stand to make $118b this year from these fees:

https://www.fastcompany.com/90981005/airlines-fees-118-billion-dark-patterns

The consolidation of the agricultural sector led to cartels that conspired to rig the prices of our food. These Les Mis LARPers rigged the price of bread!

https://www.cbc.ca/news/business/canada-bread-price-fixing-1.6883783

Remember eggflation? Nearly all the eggs in US grocery stores come from a single company, Cal-Maine, which owns dozens of brands, including "Farmhouse Eggs, Sunups, Sunny Meadow, Egg-Land’s Best and Land O’ Lakes eggs":

https://www.cnn.com/2023/01/13/business/egg-prices-cal-maine-foods/index.html

With all our eggs in one basket, it was easy for a single company to rig the egg market, blaming everything from bird flu to Russian invasion of Ukraine for doubling egg prices while their profits shot up by 65%:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/23/cant-make-an-omelet/#keep-calm-and-crack-on

Antitrust isn't just about monopoly – it's also about oligopoly. The American meat cartel pretends that it's not rigging markets by outsourcing its price-fixing to a "clearinghouse" called Agri Stats:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/04/dont-let-your-meat-loaf/#meaty-beaty-big-and-bouncy

Agri-Stats gets data from all the Big Meat companies, "anonymizes" it, and publishes it back to its subscribers, who use the service to coordinate across-the-board price-hikes that have cost the public billions in price gouging (meanwhile, Big Meat was able to secure $50b in public subsidies).

For forty years, governments have ceded power to "autocrats of trade" who usurped control "over the production, transportation, and sale of the necessaries of life":

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/20/we-should-not-endure-a-king/

But that era is coming to an end. In the past year, American regulators have blocked airline mergers and promulgated rules banning junk fees. They've dragged price-fixing clearinghouses into court:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/why-turkey-eggs-and-air-travel-just

They're getting results, too: for the second year in a row, turkey prices are down. Cranberries, too (18%). Same for whipping cream (25%). Pie crusts are down. So are russet potatoes. Airfares are down 13.2%.

The egg cartel just lost a long-running court case over the last egg price-fixing campaign, which gouged Americans from 1990-2008:

https://www.pymnts.com/cpi_posts/kellogg-kraft-secure-victory-in-price-fixing-lawsuit-against-egg-producers

The same fact-pattern that was revealed in that court case is repeated in this year's eggflation scandal:

https://farmaction.us/wp-content/uploads/2023/01/Farm-Action-Letter-to-FTC-Chair-Lina-Khan.pdf

That's terrific ammo for the FTC, and will doubtless benefit the Democrats running against would-be Indiana senator John Rust, whose family owns convicted egg cartel member Rose Acre Farms and whose wife just stepped down as chair of the board.

One underappreciated aspect of the global war on corporate power is that the same corporations commit the same crimes in countries all over the world, which means that whenever any government establishes evidence of those crimes, they are of use to all the other governments. Competition enforcers from the UK, EU, USA, Singapore, South Korea and elsewhere are coordinating to target the Big Tech cartel. Maybe Google and Facebook and Apple are bigger enough to resist any one of those governments – but all of them?

https://cmadataconference.co.uk/

One notable absence from the anti-monopoly coalition is Canada. While other countries merely stopped enforcing their competition laws in the neoliberal era, Canada never had a good competition law to enforce. Canada's official tolerance for monopolies has allowed a handful of companies to seize control over the economy of Canada and the lives of Canadians:

https://www.canadaland.com/shows/commons-monopoly/

These monopolies are largely controlled by powerful families, Canada's de facto aristocracy, whose wealth and power make them above the law and subordinate the country's democratic institutions to billionaires' whims:

https://www.canadaland.com/tag/dynasties/

At long last, Canada has called time on oligarchy. Last week's Fall Economic Statement included an announcement of a muscular new competition law, including new merger guidelines, a new "abuse of dominance" standard, and Right to Repair rules:

https://www.linkedin.com/feed/update/urn:li:activity:7132855021548769282/

The law also includes interoperability mandates for Canada's highly concentrated – and deeply corrupt – banking sector. These measures are strikingly similar to new measures just introduced in the US by the CFPB:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/21/let-my-dollars-go/#personal-financial-data-rights

The arrival of Canada's first fit-for-purpose competition rule coincides with all kinds of solidaristic movements in Canada that are fighting corporate power from the bottom up. Even Ontario, led by one of the most corrupt premiers in provincial history, can't break its teachers' union:

https://globalnews.ca/news/10105600/ontario-elementary-teachers-reach-contract-deal/

It's not just workers who benefit from solidarity: Tenants' unions have formed across the province in response to corporate takeovers of scarce rental stock. These finance-sector landlords have armies of lawyers who've figured out how to bypass rent-control rules and evict tenants who balk. Rather than rolling over, tenants' unions are organizing waves of rent-strikes:

https://macleans.ca/longforms/rent-strikes-canada/

As with Big Tech, the illegal tactics of the rental sector aren't confined to a single nation. In America, Wall Street landlords have dramatically increased the price of housing and kicked off an eviction epidemic the likes of which the country has never seen:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/16/mortgages-are-rent-control/#housing-is-a-human-right-not-an-asset

And as with Big Meat, landlords use arm's-length clearing houses to rig rental markets, coordinating across-the-board rent hikes:

https://www.propublica.org/article/yieldstar-rent-increase-realpage-rent

In other words: to fix the housing market, tenants all over the world need to learn the tactics of labor unions. Housing regulators have to learn from agricultural regulators. Americans tenants have to learn from Canadians. These aren't 1,000 different fights – they're one big fight, and the coalition for dismantling corporate power is vast and powerful.

The most powerful weapons our bosses have is convincing us that we are weak and they are strong – so strong that we shouldn't even try to fight them. But solidarity is absurdly powerful, which is why they go to such great lengths to discredit it. In Sweden, the solidarity strikes against Tesla – who refuses to recognize its maintenance workers' union – have spread to nine unions.

Tesla can't get its cars offloaded at the ports. It can't get its showrooms cleaned. No one will deliver its mail. No one will fix its chargers. The strike is spreading to Germany, and workers at its giant Berlin factory is set to walk out:

https://www.metafilter.com/201514/Swedish-Tesla-workers-go-on-strike

There's something delicious about how palpably frustrated Elon Musk is by all this, as he realizes that neither his billions nor his bully pulpit are a match for workers in solidarity:

https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2023-11-23/elon-musk-calls-swedish-tesla-strikes-insane-as-impact-spreads

It's a reminder of just how fragile and weak billionaires are, when we stop believing in them and deferring to them. Rebecca Solnit's latest Guardian column adds up the ways that allowing billionaires to run the show puts us all in danger:

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2023/nov/20/billionaires-great-carbon-divide-planet-climate-crisis

They are the unelected "autocrats of trade" who control "the production, transportation, and sale of the necessaries of life." They are the force that this new ecology movement is coalescing to fight: across borders, across sectors, across identities. No matter whether you are a worker, a tenant, a voter, a shopper or a citizen, your enemy is the billionaire class.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/24/coalescence/#solidarnosc

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Just One Sip: Chapter One

Just One Sip: You take a job as a security guard at an old manor to pay off your crippling student debt. You did not expect to be guarding a mysterious man trapped in a glass cage or to fall under his starry eyes. You were going to break him out, but becoming his snack was not part of the plan.

Warnings: Blood, Gore, Vampire Shit (Obv.), Accidental Wounds, Explicit Language, Kidnapping, Territorial Morpheus, Coworker Harassment (Welcome to the Steven hate Club, He’s a Sexist Twat), NOT EDITED (CAUSE I’M LAZY).

To Note: Vampire!Dream x Female!Reader, It’s a little dark but Reader doesn’t complain.

Word Count: ~7.0k

Masterlist | Next

Why did you ever think that taking this job was a good idea? Oh right, you were broke, the pay was stupidly high, and your desperation was at it’s last straw. Your student debt was looming over your head like a rock threatening to tip over and crush you. When you saw seen the listing for this job in the paper, your eyes had just about bugged out of your skull. They were paying how much to be a security guard!? You hadn’t even bothered to read the details of what the job entailed, you just figured that you would apply and hope that your luck hadn’t run out.

It hadn’t, but upon arriving at Fawny Rig, you knew that something wasn’t quite right about the place.

So you’d been directed through the manner where you had to sign a bunch of non disclosure contracts and a whole bunch of other paperwork, then given a rundown of the place. You were allowed almost everywhere, a cook would be fixing meals for the skeleton service crew three times a day, and your room and board were given to you. There was just one little fact that you had to get used to: you were on the night shift. You weren’t alone of course, no guard was supposed to be on duty without back up… but the change in your sleeping schedule had put you on grounds duty until you were fully adapted to sleeping during the day.

One of your main clauses in your contract was absolutely no sleeping or dozing off while on duty. It was absolutely forbidden. Hence why you had been slowly eased into your new position. You found that making sure you had copious amounts of caffeine on hand helped, and had little difficulty staying awake and alert all night by your second week in. That’s when the bomb shell of your job had been dropped on you, and you found out why you were being paid so much, and why you had signed a million papers.

You were guarding a hauntingly beautiful man trapped within a glass bubble within the bowels of the grand manor.

That wasn’t right. He wasn’t a man, as you had been told, but something else. And very dangerous.  So dangerous that it was forbidden to fall asleep in the same room as he, there were multiple occult drawings on the floor below the cage, and the glass cage itself was welded shut. How did he breathe? Was he even fed? No, despite your disbelief in what you had been told, the man was never given water, was never given food. He was never given anything. His cage was untouched, proof being the thick layer of dust clinging to the heavy chains holding the glass ball in the air.

Apparently, the man with pearlescent skin, starry eyes, and midnight hair had been trapped in the basement of Fawny Rig for over 106 years. You spent your mornings, tired and red eyed, pondering how he had become trapped and how inhumane it was, while trying to fall asleep overhead the trapped man. You wanted to do the right thing, you really did. But you couldn’t exactly go to the local police and tell them about him, and explain that he wasn’t human and had been trapped for over a century. They’d laugh in your face. You had also basically signed your life away in taking this job. If you spoke to anyone about what you saw, you’d never see the light of day again.

When had he last seen light? When had he last stretched his legs? Walked, ran, had basic decencies? He was so pale, so devoid of warmth, how could he just sit there with an emotionless expression and not go crazy?

“Evenin’,” Jarred from your inner thoughts, you looked to your left where you saw Ernie stifling a yawn.

“Good evening,” You echoed as the day shift guard rubbed her eyes and reached for the coffee pot on the table you were standing in front of. How could she drink coffee when she had already been up all day and was clearly tired?

“Just checked in with Mr. Burgess, says he wants to start you on basement full time this night,” Ernie continued, refilling her mug and sniffing the coffee. She began drinking it straight black.

“Full time?” You repeated nervously, uneasy at the idea of spending a full twelve hours down in that basement with someone who wasn’t human, and made you feel like a prey animal. “But I—”

“Ah it’s easy,” Ernie cut off your protest. “Just sittin’ there for twelve, boring as hell but you don’t gotta do nothin’. He doesn’t move save for occasional arm shifts. Sides’,” Ernie yawned again and gestured to you with her coffee cup. “You won’t be alone, you’ve got Steve with you, he’s been on the job for three years now, he has. You’ll do alright.”

You made a sound of regretful agreement in your throat and filled a thermos full of coffee to keep with you in the basement. Breaks were allowed, but only in five minute increments. Not nearly enough time to sit down and have a full meal… so you grabbed a banana and a granola bar, stuffing them into the pocket of your work pants. The long periods in-between meals was sometimes difficult for you, but occasionally one of the staff would bring down more snacks for you and your fellow guard to eat. They never even blinked at the trapped man. Everyone was just so normal about having a man trapped in a basement. You hated it so much and at times thought to leave. But then you remembered that you needed the money to pay off your loans and weren’t financially able to be without a job.

You were stuck being a monster.

Ernie nudged your shoulder as she trundled passed you.

“See you tomorrow, kid,” She said over her shoulder, disappearing from the service workers dining room. Right, your job. You needed to head on down to the cold basement before you were yelled at for loitering around on the clock. So clutching your thermos full of coffee, you walked out of the dining room and headed for the basement door.

You were back.

Not much had changed in the 106 years Morpheus had been tapped within the glass prison and circle of magic. Guards came and went. Stone faced. Apathetic. Bored. It was just another job, they weren’t paid to care what he was or why he was trapped. Just to make sure he didn’t leave.

But then you had come along.

You weren’t like the previous guards. You were younger. You still had life burning within your eyes. You had empathy, and it was clear that this job bothered you greatly. If it wasn’t the looks you occasionally snuck at him when the other guard wasn’t looking, it was the way you sat in the stiff plastic chair. Tense and on edge. But what was most different from the others, was the haunting scent that the Endless could occasionally smell wafting from your skin.

It was like the richest of ambrosia’s, sweet yet light, beckoning in a haunting way. In all his eons of living no creature had ever smelled like you. Almost sinful. Mouthwatering. Morpheus could feel his incisors threatening to descend every time he caught a precious whiff of you. But that wasn’t the worst of it, no, he could hear each and every beat of your heart. Hear how your ambrosia pulsed through your arteries and veins. Your blood was almost singing to be drunk, to touch his lips in crimson waves, pour down his throat and fill the Endless with absolute pleasure. What Morpheus would do just to try even a drop of your vitality.

The blood thirsty monster within Morpheus wanted to rip every mortal in this manor to pieces for knowingly abetting Burgess in his endeavor to keep him trapped… but you. You, he wanted to bury his face in your neck, fill his senses with your bewitching scent.Yes, if you were still working for Burgess when he got out, Morpheus would leave you be, but not before sating his burning desire to find out if you were indeed as mouthwatering as you smelled. He only needed to press his nose to your flesh to ascertain the answer to that desire.

In the corner of Morpheus’s eye, he saw that Steven was giving you a run down of the full schedule for the guard shift. It appeared you had finally been upgraded to the 12 hour night shift. Rather than being almost tortured by your scent for merely a few hours, Morpheus was going to have your scent filling his mind for hours on end. A blessing or a boon, he did not know.

“But really, Y/N, you can bring a book with you,” Steven spoke to you, his focusing on your face. The mortal was appreciating what he saw. Morpheus didn’t need to hear the way his heart beat increased sitting next to you, or hear the way his tone shifted when speaking to know that he was attracted. You wouldn’t even look him in the eyes though, a peculiar response. It appeared that you weren’t comfortable with his overly friendly actions, or occasionally touches. That pleased the Endless for it only set you apart from the others.

“I’m being paid to watch,” You softly replied, trying not to physically jerk away from Steven. He was nice enough, maybe a little too nice and a touch flirty, but you were there to do your job. “Not to read.” Steven snorted and raised his eyes to give the trapped being an unimpressed look.

“Nothing ever changes and he doesn’t move,” Steven said smugly. “At this point in time you’re just being paid to sit there and look pretty, love.” You tried not to be insulted by his words, because it felt like he had reduced you to a pretty face and not someone competent at their job, but failed to hide the micro expressions flickering across your face.

Morpheus saw them all. Your disgust. Your admonishment. Your desire to be anywhere else.

This time his incisors were descending from anger.

You really didn’t like Steven. Niceness aside, he was pushy towards you. Always sought out a reason to touch you, or talk to you, or hold your attention. This was the first time you had received this kind of attention from someone and you found that you didn’t like it. You just wanted to do your job and go to bed, not go out with the older man for a morning cup of decaf, or shared breakfast. In complete honesty, you wanted to tell him that you weren’t interested and were simply there to make a paycheck… but you felt like that might jeopardize your job!

Not only were you stuck watching a mysterious man who was tearing your mind apart with moral dilemma but you had no financial way out of your situation. You had to grin and bear this job until you had earned enough to pay a decent amount of your student debt and could pick yourself up again. Even if you had just darted out on him after he had cornered you in a servant hallway to once again ask you out for breakfast.

You had tried refusing, saying that you weren’t hungry, but he hadn’t taken that answer. No, the larger man had grabbed your wrist and pulled you back, insisting that you go and get coffee instead. It was by pure luck that Ernie had popped by to ask you to watch mystery man for a few minutes for her while she and the other guard finished up some work from Mr. Burgess. You couldn’t run fast enough for the basement, your wrist throbbing from Steven’s grip.

Stumbling across the miniature drawbridge, you held your hurting wrist to your chest while looking over your shoulder in paranoia, worried that the insistent man had followed you. He had not. Letting out a shaky breath, you turned back around and stepped further into the open space. Then you stopped short when you realized that he was staring right at you, his head tilted ever so slightly. You’d never seen him move before. You blinked and looked down at your wrist, your fingers delicately massing your aching flesh.

“I’m just covering for Ernie for a few minutes.” You spoke, not knowing why you felt the need to explain your presence to him. “I— you wouldn’t happen to know how to inform someone that you are entirely not interested, do you?” His stare remained unchanged for a few moments, then his eyes dropped lower.

Morpheus could hear the way your blood crackled and popped, surged and swelled around your wrist. Burst. Something had caused trauma to your delicate wrist, breaking blood vessels and causing your bewitching scent to be touched by a note of pain. It added a bitter note to your smell, one he disliked. Something had hurt you. No, not something, someone. The endless could hear the spindles of broken blood vessels wrapped around your wrist, surging in places where it did not belong and spreading that bitter scent of pain up your arm. He could almost picture large fingers wrapped around your wrist, squeezing it until pain bloomed and blood vessels broke.

You let out a drawn sigh.

“I don’t know what I am doing here, or why you are stuck there.” You mindlessly whispered, glancing at the trapped man once more. “It’s not right and I— I don’t know what to do.” You looked lost, Morpheus could see that. You also did not belong, but he had little time left to contemplate what you were thinking, or further examine the spindles of what would soon become bruises… for Ernie finally came walking back in.

“Thank’s for coverin’ for me, Y/N,” Ernie spoke, walking over to her seat and sitting down. “You look like you’re gunna fall asleep on yer feet. Head to bed, I’ll see you when it’s time for shift change.” You nodded at her and gave mystery man one last look. He was still staring at you. Still gripping your arching wrist, you strode from the basement, eager to get to bed.

There had been a problem in the manor. What, you didn’t know… but it required an extra pair of hands and Steven had been called away from the basement. You were almost happy that he was gone and you were alone in the basement, but at the same time, you were alone with him. It wasn’t a big deal to you, nothing ever happened save for the sparse few times your eyes had connected with him. The man simply spent hours on end either sitting cross legged or stretched out on his side. You could only imagine how bored he was… and yet, he never spoke or asked for freedom.

You were both bored, that you knew.

For the last hour you had been reading a book from the library upstairs, but it was getting tedious and you were no longer processing the words on the pages. Closing the book, you dropped it to the tabletop in front of you with a heavy sigh. You massaged your temple and slouched back in your seat. What were you going to do now? Your eyes flickered to the man in the cage. He was still stretched out on his side, staring off at the corner opposite from you.

If this had been any other situation, you would have marveled at the complete and utter beauty he held. All of his muscles were beautifully defined (though you didn’t know if that was because he was dehydrate… did he get dehydrated?), his skin was a beautiful pearlescent white, and his ragged black hair onyx black. He looked like the male version of Snow White. You’d kill to have eyelashes like his.

“Stop it,” You muttered to yourself, turning to the left and reaching for the letter opener. Part of your job was to handle the ‘fan mail’ that Fawny Rig still received since the days that Mr. Burgess’ father, Roderick Burgess, was in his prime. Apparently he had started a secret occult society and there were still followers in the world. You only knew this because you happened upon a strange book in the library that was essentially a guide book to the society. Information you probably weren’t supposed to learn, but no one had said anything when you carried the book out of the library to read.

Getting back to the fan mail, your only job was to open the mail, give it a scan, and throw it away. No one expected anything from it, you were just supposed to make sure there weren’t any threats to the manor or to Mr Burgess or Mr. McGuire. Handling the letter opener, you tucked the tip of it into a thick envelope and pushed the blade across the brown paper. Setting the knife to the side, you dumped the package upside down and let the contents fall onto the table with a thump. You carefully pushed the contents of the envelope around, looking at them. More words that you didn’t understand, several occult ’spell’ questions.

A branch of lavender that actually smelled nice.

Nothing dangerous, just a bunch of occult material that you didn’t want to read… so you gathered the papers up and dropped it into the bin labeled ‘fire’. You were half convinced that Mr. Burgess was paranoid that the town of Wych Cross would find out that the manor still received mail regarding such topics, so all occult related letters and print, were burned. You mindlessly moved onto the next letter, cutting it open, giving it a quick scan, and dumping it into the fire bin. You were half way through wrangling a box open with the letter knife, it was taped rather impressively, when a loud bang from upstairs startled you and the letter opener slipped.

The wicked sharp blade easily sliced through the meaty part of your palm and a resounding yelp slipped from your lips. You jerked from your seat to a standing position, letter opener clattering onto the table while you grabbed your wrist. Bloody hell, you’d cut your hand right open!

“Shit,” You uttered, eyes rapidly scanning the table for something to stop the bleeding with. It was sparely decorated and there wasn’t anything you could use. Ignoring the mess you made with your blood, you grabbed the letter opener again while reaching for your undershirt. You cut a strip from the bottom of your undershirt and hurried to wrap your hand. Then you realized you couldn’t tie the fabric. “Damn it!”

So you scrunched your face while squeezing your hand as tight as you could, and tried not to cry from the sharp pain. How could one cut bleed so much? In your panic, you hadn’t been paying attention to the man you were supposed to be watching. So when you finally noticed that something had changed in the glass cage, your head snapped up. Holy shit. He had moved.

Eyes locked with those that now looked completely black, you quivered in place in realization that he hadn’t just shifted an arm, or from one position to another, but was now standing up and staring at you. You weren’t even affected by his naked state, just blasting you with all his greek glory, no, you were frozen in place by the look in his eyes. In the rare instances that resulted in eye contact, his eyes had always been a captivating bright blue. Not this dark, soul sucking black that felt predatory. He almost looked inhumane. And entirely focused on the blood dripping down your hand.

Your smell was incredible and desirous. But the fresh scent of your blood dripping from your hand had taken control of the Endless’ body and mind. After 106 six years of having no blood to drink, to parch the dryness in this throat, to indulge on the thick and sweet liquid that was the life of humans, his thirst for you was insatiable and there was nothing more he wished than to sink his teeth into your flesh and taste what surely would be better than ambrosia.

But the way your blood was dripping from your hand, the way that the letter opener has sliced through your flesh. Morpheus greatly disliked it, especially when he could smell the unpleasant tang of your pain permeating the air. And yet the smell turned his focus back to his intimate desire. Rich and crimson, your blood continued to flow through the makeshift rag, staining your skin and running down your wrist. Oh how Morpheus wished he could lap up those trails, guide his tongue along your weeping vitality until his mouth reached your wound. He would seal his mouth there, run his tongue along the broken skin, numb you to your pain while indulging himself on the taste of you.

And oh how you’d moan for him, he was sure of it. Morpheus could only imagine the sounds you’d make as he drank from you, your precious vitality flowing down his throat. Hot. Viscous. Sweet. Everything he needed, everything he wanted. Someone untouched by the scourge of man.But while Morpheus was staring at the dripping blood and focusing on the pulses of your heart pushing more and more blood from your body, Steven had returned… and he let out a loud exclamation at the sight of you trying to stem the bloody mess that was your hand.

“Bloody hell!” Steven shouted, rushing forwards and grabbing your hand. You winced at his manhandling and the way he squeezed your already sharply pulsating hand. From behind glass, Morpheus’s gaze turned from desire and want, to possessiveness and anger. How dare he touch you. How dare he cause you further pain! “What did you do, Y/N?” Steven chided you, pulling you away from the desk and towards the iron gates.

“I— I was just opening post, accidentally cut myself on the letter opener,” You meekly replied, glancing over your shoulder to see the man still staring, but his gaze now darkened with animosity. He clearly didn’t like Steven. Steven further scolded you for being so careless, and unraveled your sloppy and hastily tied knot, before tightening the cloth around the wound to the point where you jerked your hand back with a sharp yelp. Your irate coworker tutted your reaction.

“You need to be more careful,” He continued to berate you while all around treating you like you were a child. You just pressed your lips together and held your tongue. “This will need Medical attention, head upstairs and see Lynn.”

“I’m on duty,” You tried protesting, looking back at your ‘charge’ so to speak. If it were possible, those blackened eyes would have vaporized Steven by now with how hard he was glaring at the man. Steven snorted.

“You can’t work like this, go,” He ordered like you weren’t technically equals. Any fight you had left about performing your job left, you felt belittled, like he had insinuated you did this on purpose, or were just too clumsy to be left alone. God, could the man make you hate him any more? So with your hand clutched to your blood stained shirt, you left the basement with your tail tucked firmly between your legs. The moment you disappeared, Steven rounded on the prisoner.

Fucking hell he was standing up and glaring at him in all his odd, strange glory! Did this creature have no shame? Displaying himself to you with such blatant want. As if you’d want a freak like him.

Steven sneered at the trapped being and stalked up to the outer edge of the binding circle.

“You can want her as much as you’d like, demon,” Steven spat out, his eyes glittering with disgust. “But she will never want you.” The human snickered as black eyes darkened and muscles bulged. “You think she’ll ever want a freak like you? She needs a real man to take care of her, to show her what to do. So you can stare at her all you want, you’ll never have her like I will.”

Morpheus liked to think he wasn’t a savage and cruel being. Not when he held the entire collective consciousness of the universe, not when he felt it all… but this human made him wish for violent things, vicious actions. Steven sneered one last time and finished his words.

“I’ll tell you all about what it’s like to fuck her like a real man. Shit, I’ll even put a ring on her finger and claim her as mine. How’d you like that? You can just sit there, alone and miserable, with the bluest balls knowing that pussy of hers is mine, and it’ll be my cock that fills her up with babies and keeps her home were she belongs.”

Morpheus was going to ensure that when he was free, and he would be soon, that this mortal regretted ever speaking about you in such a crude and disrespectful way.

Your hand had needed stitches. It was a bad place to have a cut, in an area where the skin moved and shifted. The stitches constantly ached and every time to used your hand, the stitches pulled. Steven chastised you, saying that if it hurt, you needed to stop doing what made it hurt… but how were you to do your job one handed? Your eye was twitching from Steven’s sexist remarks, but by some miracle, Steven was needed for Paul’s ground crew during the day, so he was off the night shift and you were alone on the night shift.

So you were walking down the basement steps to switch out with Ernie and Fred. Walking across the small bridge to the cold room where the the guards station was, you greeted the pair and watched as they packed up their things for the night.

“Moved an arm, shifted positions, that’s about it,” Fred told you as he got up from his seat and adjusted his belt. You gave him a chin nod and rubbed your wrist.

“Steve not on this night?” Ernie questioned while collecting her book and coffee cup.

“He ended up doing something for the grounds team today so no,” You sighed before giving the larger woman smile. “Have a good night Ernie.’

“You as well, lord knows nothing ever aspens round here.” The day guards bid their final farewell and left you alone in the basement. You let out a breath and lightly tapped your hands on your thighs, before glancing at your charge. He was staring at you, or more specifically, staring at your hand.  You looked down at it and flexed your fingers.

“It’s fine you know,” You told him. “Just needed a few stitches.” You didn’t know why you were explaining such a thing to him, it wasn’t like he was going to respond to you… but you felt like he had been concerned about your injury. Or at least disturbed by it. You wandered over the old magic circle drawn in the dirt floor, and held up your palm. “I’ve been banned from opening letters, too clumsy I guess.”

His head tilted to the side while his eyes scoured your stitched wound. It was red, still puffy, and clearly hurt. You looked down at the faded, hand drawn red symbols on the floor. You’d been told to never smear the lines. To never touch them, as they were vital in keeping the man trapped. You slowly lowered yourself into a crouch in front of him, your eyes glossing over the carefully inscribed symbols. The same ones you had seen in the book of occult in the library.

“What would happen if I break these lines?” You softly asked, your finger ever so gently brushing against the top of the old red paint. Pulling your hand away, you looked at your fingertip, red paint had transferred from the first to your skin. You rubbed it between for fingers, then saw a flash of white. Lifting your eyes, you saw that he was now standing up, staring at you with a look you couldn’t quite place. You rose to your feet and observed his eyes, they were back to that stardust blue, sparkling with cosmos hidden within. No hint of black or darkness.

He didn’t reply to your question, and you didn’t expect him to. Your eyes shifted to the glass and the steel structure holding him in. Even if you did break the circle, how was he supposed to get out? It looked like the structure was welded shut with him in it. You’d have to find a way to break the glass or loosen a seam. Running your fingers along one of the weld lines, you noticed that in some of the places, there was signs of wear and tear, rust. Rust indicated weak metal. If you found something sharp enough, like the letter opener, you might be able to pick and scratch at the metal enough to cause a hole. That was a good start.

You mulled over your options, and the repercussions that would ensue win you followed through with them. Surely you’d lose your job, the pay you were using to pay off your student debt… but he’d be free. You pressed your injured palm against the glass and let out a frustrated breath. Why did doing the right thing always have to screw you over? A pale hand pressed against the glass, opposite to yours. You could have sworn you felt a zap of electricity through the glass, or something that made your hand tingle.

“I’m gonna lose my job,” You told him honestly. “But I’ll do my best to get you out.” This time when his eyes started glowing bright silver, you didn’t shiver in place. You knew that he was acknowledging your words. Trusting. That made you feel relieved. You didn’t want him to view you as an enemy.

You were halfway through your shift, Steven was back with you, regretfully, and the letter opener you had grabbed before your shift started was a heavy weight in your jacket pocket. You had some hope that you’d have a chance to little away at the glass cage when you were alone, but Steven didn’t seem to want to take a break, or leave you alone. It was maddening, but surely Steven would want to go on a break at some point? It wasn’t like he was going to sit next to you for twelve hours… But as the hours slowly ticked by, and Steven didn’t budge from his seat… you decided to get creative.

“Steven?” You asked, forcing yourself to speak sweetly to the obnoxious man. The older man eagerly perked up and turned to you, a smile on his lips. “I’m feeling a bit hungry, but I don’t think I’ll be able to carry a food tray with one hand… do you mind fixing some tea and snacks for me?”  You words filled Steven with confidence. Finally, finally you were understanding that you needed to rely on him.

“Of course,” Steven told you, rising from his seat. He couldn’t help himself and gave the trapped being a smug look. “Someone has to take care of you.” You gave him a sweet smile and and resisted flinching when he brushed his fingers beneath your chin as he passed. Your hands were trembling as you kept them pressed into your lap, and it wasn’t until you heard the resounding echo of the reinforced door that you moved.

Slipping from your seat, you reached into your jacket and pulled out the letter opener. You are in front of the glass cage in seconds, digging the tip of the knife into the rusty part of the metal.

“I thought he’d never leave,” You muttered out, trying to jam the letter cutter into the metal. Bright blue eyes watched as you wiggled and jigged the tip of your blade into metal, chipping away at it. For the first time since Jessamy’s death, Morpheus felt like freedom was within his grasp. You, were within his grasp. His throat ached with your proximity. He could smell the blood rushing through your veins, sweet and calling. Your heart was beating at a heightened pace, you were clearly agitated, he could smell your nervousness. Even the disgust you felt towards the other mortal’s action.

He shifted where he sat, drawing near to the glass separating you and him. His thirst had been manageable these years, but now? Now his throat ached terribly, his incisors digging into his lower lip, and his hunger was overtaking all ration within his mind. You were oblivious to starry blue eyes shifting to pure black, only focused on the task at weakening the structure as fast as you could. The letter opener was just starting to make a descent crack when you heard the sound of the basement door and Steven’s foot steps. You cursed loudly, jerking back from the glass cage. Your hands managed to shove the sharp blade back into your jacket when Steven appeared.

“Y/N?” He asked, his eyes narrowing. You scrambled to come up with a reason for why you were not at the desk. “What are you doing up?”

“Oh, I thought—” You glanced back at the man, before looking at Steven once more. You didn’t want to take your eyes off him. “I thought I saw him move, wanted to get a closer look to check.”

Steven set the tray he had prepared just for you, on the desk and approached you, is gaze narrowed. You were too close to the creature for his comfort, and he didn’t like the way it was staring at you. He knew it wanted you. He knew it watched you with want, with desire, always. Well he would show it that it was Steven who was going to have the pleasure of having you. So he grabbed your wrist and sharply yanked you back towards the desk. You yelped from his tight grasp around your wrist and twisted your hand, trying to break loose. You were swung around and bent backward over the table, Steven looming over you with a wild look in his eyes.

“St-Steven? What are you doing?” You squeaked out, your hands pushing at his chest. The man grunted against your soft flails and held you tighter.

“Making sure that it knows you are mine,” He growled at you, his hands roughly tugging at your uniform. You slapped at his hands, ignoring the stinging stretch in your injured one to no avail. There was a thud to your right, and your eyes shifted to see the trapped man standing and braced against the glass cage, rage in his eyes. The rage you could see, at least he could see how wrong this was. Steven’s fingers brushed against the bare skin at your waist and you finally retaliated. Your left hand cracked across Steven’s cheek so hard that for a moment blinding pain erupted in your hand.

Steven’s head snapped to the side, a splotch of red on his cheek from your hand. Heart pounding within your chest, you dropped your eyes to your pained hand. It was bleeding again, crimson liquid quickly seeping from broken stitches and down your wrist.

“You bitch!” Steven growled at you, lunging at you once more. You yelped and dodged to the right, slipping free of him and throwing yourself towards the cage. Your hands scrambled to pluck the letter opener from your jacket, for what, you didn’t know, but the moment you neared the glass cage and the man standing behind it, helpless to your predicament, hands snagged your waist.

“Let me go!” You shouted, grappling the letter opener. Steven’s fingers scratched at your skin in the struggle, and it became clear that you were not going to break free of his grasp. So in desperation, you slashed the letter opener at Steven, and he howled. Then you charge forwards and body slammed yourself into glass, sinking the letter opener into the thick material. Cracks splintered outwards from the letter opener and your own wild and slightly fear filled eyes briefly met pitch blacks ones. You were dragged back by an enraged Steven.

Fighting against the bigger guard, you clawed at his face and writhed around, trying to get out of his grasp. You were getting blood everywhere, in a world of panic, your hands were sliding around in a bloody mess. Steven was pissed, as you had cut his chin and were not acting as you should. He manhandled you away from the glass cage while you shouted at him and cursed him out. He threw you at the desk and you crashed into it with a grunt, your forehead hitting the edge of the desk and momentarily stunning you.

You slipped to the dirt floor in a daze, only vaguely hearing the sounds of breaking glass, grunts, and Steven crying out and screaming. You didn’t care what was going on with the man, you were in too much pain, bleeding, and entirely done with this hellish job. No trapped life was worth the money. Grappling the desk, you clawed yourself into a slumped position against the desk with a whimper. Your hand hurt unbearably and your head ached sharply, but you couldn’t let your guard down, not around Steven. So you mustered up the strength to lurch in a half circle and stagger a few steps towards the cage, hoping to retrieve the letter opener to defend yourself with.

Jaw gaped open when you saw the massive whole in the glass, and no trapped man. That was good, right? From behind you came a snap. You wobbled in a circle in time to see Steven crumpling to the ground, his head at an odd angle and blood pouring from several wounds in his chest. Eyes wide, they flickered to the trapped man who was standing next to Steven, in all his naked glory, a thunderously dark and hungry look in his eyes. Oh god. You began backpedaling quickly, stumbling over your feet. One moment you were backing away and the next he had you pinned to the nearest stone wall. One of his hands held the wrist of your bleeding hand up and his starry black eyes were entirely focused on the warm blood slowly slipping down your warm.

“What do you want from me?” You asked, a tremble in your voice. He didn’t respond, instead, he pulled your bloody wrist to his mouth and licked at the slowly drying blood. A quiver went through him as the sweet scent of your blood finally made it to hit tongue and he could taste just how delicious you were. Paralyzed yet fascinated, you watched the inhumanely beautiful being drag his tongue everywhere blood had dripped down your flesh. You hand twitched in his hold and your breath hitched when he licked at the base of your palm. God, please don’t make it hurt anymore. Squeezing your eyes closed, you waited for a burst of fresh pain…

It never came.

Rather than another piercing lace of pain that would rattle all the way up to your elbow, your pain began to dissipate when his mouth pressed over your broken stitches. You gasped, feeling his lips and tongue hungrily laving at your bleeding wound. You didn’t want to believe what you were seeing, what you were feeling. Someone who’d been trapped for over a century, someone who didn’t age. He had to be— a moan slipped its way past your lips when his tongue dragged itself the length of your wound. Your noise surprised you and made a rather pleased sounding rumble come from the mans chest.

Your bleeding wound was licked until your skin was clean and there was no more crimson staining your skin, and there was no more of your delicious vitality slipping from your hand. He was still so hungry. He pulled back and looked in your eyes, and you gulped at seeing the blood smeared on his chin and lips. Your wrist was abandoned and he slipped his fingers along your neck, gripping the back of it while his pitch black eyes dropped to the spot on your neck where your pulse raced. So hungry. So hungry. So hungry. The moment your neck was pulled and subsequently bared, your hand snapped up to grab his wrist while you pressed your other against his chest. A shuddering whimper departed you as lips pressed against tender skin. Your fear skyrocketed, but you didn’t push him away, or try to rip free. He had to be hungry, so hungry, that it didn’t surprise when he did bite. You bit down on your lip, sniffling a whimper of pain.

It was a strange feeling, feeling him greedily drink from you. But not unpleasant. No, you were surprised that the pain disappeared quickly and was replaced with a feeling of euphoria. Your nails scraped at his skin, unconsciously trying to drag him closer to you. More noises came from the being pinning you in place, noises of relief, noises of pleasure, noises of desire. All those weeks of smelling you, scenting your bewitching fragrant blood, had culminated to this point and he was getting drunk on your taste.

Then you started feeling lightened and your grasp wilted. Your legs began to collapse beneath you, but his hold you easily supported your weight. Eyelashes fluttering, you tried to fight against the sleepy feeling quickly overtaking you, but your arms felt like dead weight. Limp as a rag doll, you could barely feel your heart struggling to beat. One more sigh slipped past your lips before you slipped under that blanket of darkness.

Date Published: 5/6/23

Last Edit: 5/6/23

Masterlist | Next

[vasyandii]

NAK GEAR REFERENCES (+ ADDITIONAL INFO)

🦐 Creator Note: When I designed Nak, I took into account that Activision often used actual gear for their operators, in turn I did the same :D

The Components Beforehand

PLATE CARRIER

VISM Discreet Plate Carrier by NcSTAR

This specific plate carrier is simplistic, I felt that if her gear looked too detail heavy it would be difficult to draw, plus make her design look clustered

CHEST RIG

Barska VX-400 Tactical Chest Rig

I chose this one because of the ridges on the straps! They remind me of scales so they fit with her Serpent look :D

ARM STRAPS

T3 Tactical Armband

These are put usually on the forearms! Nak uses them for her upper arms though. One arm is for maps, one arm is for Indentification like her blood type, occupation, handler info etc.

CLOTHING

Propper CWU 27/P Nomex Flight Suit

Nak wears a flight suit for comfort! Hidden pockets are also a big plus. I felt that if she wore a flight suit, it would be a good way for me to stay consistent with her design since it's very reliable!

HOLSTER

Rothco Deluxe Leg Strap Adjustable Tactical Holster

On the occasion Nak doesn’t have access to the FN SCAR (her baby) she uses a Glock 19X, being the type to prefer heavy or “luxury” weapons

GLOVES

Giro LA DND Biker Gloves

They have reinforced fingertips! So she’s able to use touchscreen items :3

KNEEPADS

Blackhawk Advanced Tactical Knee Pads V2

Because of her upbringing, Nak’s Legs are the strongest parts of her body, so she takes extra caution in making sure nothing happens to them!

FOOTWEAR

Rothco G.I. Type Sierra Sole Tactical Boots

She chose these because she thinks they’re stylish “Aren’t they cute?”

UNDER ARMOUR

in order; VISM Strike Face Ballistic Plate, DAS Leben Protective Arm Sleeves Guard Bracer, KEZZELED Welding Neck Protector

Because of her learned paranoid personality, she wears arm guards and a neck protector under her flight suit as a precaution. The ballistic plate comes with her plate carrier :)

CUSTOMIZATION

Her bandana is just a green cloth she bleached to make a snake pattern. Being in Chimera, a lot of the operators have patches of their unit! Nak usually puts hers on her holster, but it’s bound to move around on her gear. The serpent fangs markings on her plate carrier are in reference to Naga, a custom Patch that’s removable as well :3

[scholastic-dragon]

Since the first time I saw him, I was enamored with Rocket ♡

Prompt- 'comparing hand sizes'

Details- Rocket (GOTG), human f. reader, fluff, and the thought of MC having "larger" hands than Rocket is just so adorbs to me. I can't help but to imagine him either complaining that it means nothing compared to intellegince/strength or just straight up getting a tad flustered that they're touching ო̤̫

(ps. the Collector request was divine..! ⁽⁽٩(๑˃ᗨ˂)۶⁾⁾ )

I love this

Hands, hands, hands

Rocket x Fem!reader

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: Rocket being Rocket, Rocket with a crush, spelling mistakes, fluff

Summary: Rocket needs help fixing his new invention, you're more than happy to help

Having small and nimble fingers were always a bonus when it came to Rockets inventions. He could make and arm small bombs that no one else could deactivate.

It was always a bonus.

Until today.

He had to rewire one of his aero rigs and while his hands could fit perfectly into the opening and grab the wires...he couldn't hold both wires, put them in the right spot AND weld them at the same time.

He sighed, tucking his welder under his chin and twisting the wires around his fingers.

He refused to ask for help if he didn't absolutely need it.

Holding the wires he took the welder and turned it on, moving to press it to the cords. Like before, the cords moved again and the welder almost made a hole in his palm.

He groaned, shoulders slummping as he sat back on his haunches on the Milano floor. Turning off the welder he tossed it to the floor, rubbing his temples.

He needed help.

Pushing down his pride he stood from his pile of machinery and wandered down the hall to your room.

It was late, they were calmly drifting through space, the ship silent save for a few fans and filters working.

He came to your door, swallowing his pride as his hand came up to knock on your door.

He heard shuffling on the other side and half hoped you'd tell him to piss off and leave you alone, but he knew you'd never do that.

The door opened, revealing you in your comfy clothes with your hair down...your very soft looking hair.

"Oh, hey, Rocket, what's up?" You leaned against the doorframe, crossing your arms with a small smile.

"I...well...I have an aero rig I'm trying to fix....and my hands....well, I can't hold the wires in the right spot to weld them together and...I need your help," He sighed, stuttering and rubbing the back of his neck, unable to meet your eyes.

"Yeah, sure, I'll try to help you,"

He led you down the hall to his "work station" which he had claimed about 3 months ago. He kneeled down at his previous spot in front of the small machine.

You copied him, sitting to his side, waiting for him to instruct you.

"Alright, see that green and blue wire? I need you to twist them and hold them to that small port right there, I'm going to take the welder and zap them into that spot," He explained carefully, it wasn't like him, normally he brashly stated what to do.

"I'll try not to burn your fingers, but if I do, there's a first aid kit on the wall behind you," He looked at you, nodding over your shoulder.

You nodded back, pulling up your loose sleeves and putting your hands forward.

"Got it,"

He picked up the welder, then glanced to you.

Carefully you put your right hand into the tight opening on the machine. You could only fit one hand, and your fingers were backwards to the wires and port.

You twisted the wires and pressed the ends against the port, your hand bending awkwardly back, but you could hold it.

Rocket leaned forward with the welder, with his right hand he had to adjust the wires slightly you were a centimeter off.

In the process, he moved his hand right into your palm. He paused, something about how your hand dwarfed his made his heart beat faster.

His entire hand fit perfectly into your palm, and your skin was so soft and warm.

"Rocket?" Your voice was a whisper as his head whipped up at you, mouth agape, eyes wide. "The wires?"

"Right, yeah yeah, sorry," He shook his head, thanking the stars he couldn't blush. He cleared his throat, leaning forward and welding the wires into the port.

The wires sparked, catching your finger tips, you flinched, hissing at the pain, but not moving your hand.

"Oh, shit sorry," He internally smacked himself, shutting off the welder and putting it by his side. Grabbing your elbow and helping you move your hand out of the machine.

Your fingertips were bright red, and Rocket stood, walking over to the wall and getting the first aid kit.

You turned to him, rolling your legs and sitting down crossed-legged on the metal floor.

He opened the kit and pulled out a burn ointment. He opened his hand and gestured for you to give him yours. You layed your hand over him, once again, your soft skin touched his small hand.

His heart skipped a beat and his throat went dry but he pushed down those feelings and started to apply the ointment.

You hiss occasionly when he got to a sensitive spot, but other than that he was so gently, like how he was with Groot.

His movements were slow and calculated, afraid to hurt you more.

"Is that better?" He whispered softly, looking up into your eyes.

"Yeah, it didn't hurt that bad, just an uncomfortable sting," You shrugged, as if it was nothing.

"Well, even if it didn't, I'm sorry," He mumbled it under his breath. Never in your few months of knowing him had Rocket ever apologized to you.

"It's alright, I'm not mad. It's nice to not have you yell at me for once for messing up a project," You spoke without thinking, looking back down at your hand, which was still laying on his.

"I don't yell that often," He countered, feeling guilty when you simply raised an unimpressed brow. "OK, maybe I do,"

He sighed, putting down the ointment and picking up se small bandaids, unwrapping them with his teeth and gently placing them over the pads of your fingers.

"When...when I ask you for help on a project and something goes wrong, I hope you don't blame yourself for it," He starts, flipping your hand over and gently placing his hand in your palm. "I'm mostly just upset with myself for having to ask for help and it's easier to blame someone else than take responsibility,"

It was strange, this easy open talk on the floor in the late hours of the night. Rocket never knew what it was about you that made him feel so different.

He'd touched the other Guardians hands before. Quill when he wanted to know how to shoot a different type of blaster. Gamora when she got an injury on her hand. Even Groot was known to take his hand from time to time in stressful moments.

Yet, the feeling of his hand in yours made his chest feel tight and his head feel warm.

It didn't help that you were always calm, and nice, always sticking up for him in front of the others, and you never judged him for his past.

You were his friend. Honest to goodness a good person and light in his life.

And you were also very pretty, with bug expressive eyes and a warm smile.

Rockets fingers gently ran over your palm, he looked up to meet your eyes. His heart raced faster noticing you were already looking at him.

Without saying anything, your fingers enclosed his hand in yours, enjoying the warmth and slight tremble from his hand.

[blubushie]

So today, for a list of notes/shit I've gotta do to this ute to make it functional:

Tray rust: confirmed simple surface rust. Sandblast the rust off then put down bedliner.

Whatever dipshit painted the deep blue on there painted over the bevel. Gotta strip that off.

It has tow plug.

It has 1 original key, 1 spare, and 1 petrol key.

Manual choke.

Heater core needs to be flushed the bloke thinks. Might need replacing, says me. The latter's more likely.

Engine has not been tuned up since rebuild. Will need a tuning now that everything's settled.

It has new manifold gaskets on both sides, new flange gaskets on both sides, and dual exhaust.

Brake master cylinder has a booster—bloke thinks condition of master cylinder is because of shit coating that leaves the factory being the cause of them all rusting. "It's either shit metal or shit coating." I'm inclined to agree—every fucken one I've seen so far that didn't have a brand new—or painted—master cylinder is rusted to fuck. On the plus side the rust is just surface rust but I'm inclined to test that servo housing myself cuz I don't trust it.

Firewall looks good.

No water leaks, wipers are ok but probably need new pulleys.

Window rubber is tight and good, had a boot at one time.

HE HAS A SLIDE WINDOW SOMEWHERE HE CAN GIVE ME!! Probably the first thing I'm doing on this car is installing that fucken sliding window and my rifle rack.

Rear signals don't work because the pins/switches are mixed up, also horn doesn't work. Need to figure this out. If I can't do it maybe I can get that sparky down the block to have a squiz at it.

Engine sounds fucken incredible. 360 V8 with C6 tranny.

GVW is rated at 07500 so it'll hold Matilda.

Wheels are 16in 6ply.

2 petrol tanks, 20gal front & 25gal rear.

Fuel gauge doesn't work. Bloke has the new gauge ready, just hasn't installed it. Maybe there's a problem with the sending unit. Considering it doesn't work for either petrol tank I'm pretty sure it's not a float saturation problem.

Whatever dipshit installed the old manifold gaskets had the wrong size square which caused a leak (maybe F350?)—this is fixed now! She rides smooth.

Rust above windscreen rim causing improper seal along the drain rail—luckily it's not rusted through. Can be fixed but may need a plate welded on. I can do that myself.

Old BB holes in windscreen. I like them for their character but they're gonna crack the entire windscreen eventually, especially in the Australian heat as the windscreen warms. Need to replace windscreen.

One crack in dash around radio, dashboard is clean otherwise. I don't care about the crack but replace radio with an early 70s AM/FM with AUX jack.

ORIGINAL COLOUR IS PEACOCK BLUE WITH WHIMBELDON WHITE STRIPE! Restore to og paint because bloke wants me to. "I'm happy if it goes to someone who'll treat it well and make it look factory."

Passenger mirror is cloudy, needs a clean or possibly replacement.

Engine was rebuilt less that 3,000mi ago and has a 100,000mi warranty.

Bloke will get me a copy of the work order of all the work done to the ute—total of $12,000 for the work done.

"I know he did SOMETHING with the transmission." Tranny likely not rebuilt but WAS removed for alterations during engine rebuild.

Has hooks AND ringlets for turnbuckle attachment for camper.

Has rig mirrors.

Has reinforced tray springs. Has reinforced front, auxillary, and rear shocks.

No carpeting on interior. Get rubber mats I don't want blood in my carpet.

Get a seat cover so Misty doesn't ruin the vinyl.

Has manual steering and manual brakes. Get power disc brakes put in ASAP. I can do the power steering myself. In the meantime, maybe a suicide knob?