#Multi shot mold

[yueyimold]

multi color bath spoon mold

China 2k mold maker, offer two shot water spoon can, biocolor hang drifting watering spoon, multi color bath spoon, double material plastic water holder mold

[innovationsinengineering]

Kore Industries: Engineering Precision, Innovating Excellence

In the dynamic landscape of plastic manufacturing, Kore Industries stands out as a trailblazer, leading the charge in precision and innovation. Renowned for its diverse competencies and global reach, Kore continues to redefine industry standards, offering solutions that marry engineering excellence with cutting-edge technology.

Meticulous Craftsmanship: Unveiling Kore's Distinctive Competencies

Precision Unleashed:

1. Precision Plastic Gears: Kore Industries sets the benchmark for precision with its intricate plastic gear manufacturing, catering to the most demanding applications.

2. Precision Plastic Mould and Production: From concept to completion, Kore's mastery in precision plastic molding ensures the seamless realization of diverse projects.

3. Multi-Shot Mould and Production: Embracing advanced techniques, Kore specializes in multi-shot molding, a testament to its commitment to efficiency and accuracy.

4. Overmoulding and Insert Moulding: Kore's expertise extends to overmolding and insert molding, enhancing product durability and functionality with every project.

5. Tandem Mould and Production: Addressing complex molding needs, Kore excels in providing innovative tandem molding solutions.

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Kore Industries distinguishes itself by collaborating closely with clients before production. Armed with robust engineering knowledge, a spirit of experimentation, and meticulous execution, Kore is a proactive problem solver.

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Elevate Your Vision: Connect with Kore Industries Today:

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[gudmould]

You must be clear about two-color injection molding technology for car lights!

Two-shot injection molding is currently one of the more popular advanced injection molding methods, which provides meaningful saving potential and new design possibilities for product manufacturing. This article mainly discusses development status and trends of two-color injection molding, with particular emphasis on application of automotive lights. 1 Definition of two-color injection…

[fastlikealambo]

hi all, call me jane! here are the two upcoming dune fics I will be writing.

holy crowns || paul atreides x black! reader

summary: it was supposed to be your sister, your bene gesserit trained sister molded by the great houses, spy for the imperium. with no warning, paul chooses you instead and changes your life forever. some call him messiah, others an abomination, but you will call him husband. this will be a multi chapter work and 18+only.

gospel of pain || feyd-rautha harkonnen x black!reader

summary: you've heard the rumors, you know what becomes of his concubines. to survive your wedding night, you will make him worship you as his wife the only way he understands. this will be a one shot and 18+ only.

if you'd like to be tagged in either story or both, please comment!

[kallie-den]

Your Type

Paige, a trans woman, goes on a date with a reality-warping lesbian who is determined to mold her into ‘her type’

If you like my writing, please consider supporting me on Patreon!  For less than the price of a cup of coffee each month, you can get immediate, early access to everything I write - 4 pieces of hypno-smut a  month, including the latest chapters of all the multi-chapter stories I write. Your support helps me keep writing and is greatly appreciated <3

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“So,” Paige said, watching her date carefully over her wine glass as she took a sip. The bar’s house white - good, but a touch dry for her palate. “What’s your type?”

Sophia, the woman sitting opposite her, laughed, amused. “Quite a question, for a first date. It really puts me on the spot.”

“Does it?” Paige challenged playfully.

She was having a good time. Paige had been skeptical - when you were a trans lesbian, dates with strangers could be risky. But she’d decided to take a chance and, fortunately, Sophia was making a good first impression. The woman her friend had set her up with was dressed smart, in a white, satin dress that matched nicely with her fair skin and platinum hair. She was pretty, too, and seemed professional - a good match for a career woman like Paige. Yes, it was strange that she was wearing darkened sunglasses inside a bar, but Paige was happy to overlook a small affectation.

“Well,” Sophia mused, stroking the rim of her glass, “if I tell you that you’re my type, it sounds like nothing more than boorish flattery. But if I describe anything else, then I’m offending you. I’m in a bind.”

Paige laughed too. She was pleased her date could enjoy a little verbal sparring. The atmosphere was perfect for it. The bar was classy - quiet but not dead - and the two of them were tucked away in a private corner so they could talk. Paige had come straight from work but she’d still been able to steal some time to freshen up, and she knew she looked good in her tailored suit, with her long, brunette hair up in a nice ponytail and her nails newly-manicured.

“It’s actually something I ask on all my first dates,” Paige explained. “The answer tells you a lot about someone.”

“And what are you looking to hear?” Sophia shot back, smiling.

“The truth.” Paige shrugged. “Look, I’m not expecting to be exactly your type. That would be one in a million. I just want to see if we have a real shot. I turned thirty a few years ago, I don’t feel like playing games anymore. I’m in your strike range? Wonderful, and we can make sure the mismatches aren’t deal-breakers. If I’m not? We make this just a drink, maybe a night of fun, and go our separate ways.”

Paige knew exactly how that sounded. In fact, it was part of the test. If Sophia got spooked by Paige’s no-bullshit way of doing things, it wasn’t going to work out. Better to find out now than in two months’ time. Fortunately, Sophia was still smiling. The other woman raised an eyebrow as she sat back to sip her wine.

“You’re a woman who knows what she wants,” Sophia noted. “I like that.”

Paige nodded appreciatively. “Oh, and I’m not afraid to put my cards on the table first. You are definitely my type.”

Sophia giggled. “Well, thank you. I’m happy to share, really - I love games, and this is a delightful one. So, let’s get very clear on something first, shall we?”

“What’s that?”

Suddenly, Sophia leaned forward and reached up to lower her sunglasses. She fixed Paige with a devastatingly sharp gaze.

“You are going to be my type. In fact, you need to be. You’re desperate to be.”

For a moment, as Sophia spoke, Paige stopped breathing. It wasn’t Sophia’s words. It was her eyes. Her irises. Paige had never seen anything like them. It was impossible. They were moving, shifting, a hundred times a second, endlessly; an infinite fractal-pattern of shapes, sharp and round and spiraling all at once. And the colors! Every color was in those eyes. In those patterns. A rainbow, kaleidoscopic, but more than that, too. Colors Paige had never seen before. Impossible colors. Maddening colors.

Staring into Sophia’s eyes was like looking into a glitch in reality. And the longer she looked, the more she felt like that unstable glitching was spilling out. Enveloping her. Engulfing her. Paige felt the very fiber of her being as it was unwritten and rewritten - and all just because she’d seen those eyes. It made the skin of her own existence feel so perilously thin, and her very reality feel dizzyingly malleable.

But then Sophia pushed her sunglasses back up over her eyes, and it was all gone. And then the words caught back up with Paige.

“I’m going to…” Paige repeated dumbly. “I need… desperate…?”

She looked at Sophia, in urgent need of clarity. Sophia just nodded.

“That’s right, Paige. You’re going to be my type. You need to be my type. It’s probably why you’re so keen to ask me about it.”

Paige’s mind was racing with a million questions. The big ones - what was wrong with Sophia’s eyes? What was that feeling that had washed over her? - were far too great to fit into words. Perhaps that was why, instead, she found herself latching onto the small incongruities.

“N-no,” Paige said slowly. “No, that’s not right. That’s not why I ask. Like I just told you, it’s because I think-“

Paige stopped talking. She froze because she was realizing that somehow, impossibly, she was wrong, and Sophia was right.

She needed to be Sophia’s type. She was desperate to be. And she was going to be.

Paige barely understood what that meant, but all the same, she was filled with a breathless eagerness. She felt like a butterfly about to burst from its cocoon, ready to taste the world in newly metamorphosed lungs - but to experience that plunge, that freedom, she needed an answer. She needed the answer that only Sophia could speak. Suddenly, Paige’s need for it was agonizing. She was trembling. Craving it, like an addict for a fix. She needed to know what Sophia’s type was.

But clearly, there was something more important than that going on. Paige suppressed the new urge and gripped the edge of her seat, knuckles white, to steady her nerves.

“What did you do?” she demanded, shocked.

“Hm?” Sophia seemed faintly surprised. “Oh, yeah, you’re probably a little distracted, aren’t you? Let me explain, although I won’t get technical on you.” She reached up and tapped the corner of her sunglasses with a fingertip. “With these eyes, I’ve got reality wrapped around my little finger. Past, present, future. Body, mind, soul. All of it.”

“You… you can just… change reality?” Paige was dumbfounded. It sounded impossible, but the urge welling up inside her was all the evidence she needed. Was the woman sitting across from her a superhero? A goddess? “How is that even possible?”

“Tsk.” Sophia shook her head. “This always happens. Sorry babe, but we’re supposed to be on a date. I’m gonna need you to focus on me here. So…”

Once again, she reached up and lowered her sunglasses. As soon as Paige realized what was happening, she tried to look away - but it was too late. The very first glimpse of those impossible, reality-glitch eyes had her captivated. And there it was again: the gnawing, discomforting awareness of her own malleability. As she stared, entranced and powerless, Paige felt like nothing more than an origami doll. Her existence was as thin as paper - and here was a woman who could bend and fold her into new shapes.

“Just don’t worry about it,” Sophia told her.

Paige blinked back to life as those eyes once again disappeared behind the sunglasses. As the existential unease faded, Paige expected her intense concern about the nature of Sophia’s abilities to return - but it didn’t. It just didn’t. Somehow, Paige couldn’t seem to muster up any particular feelings about what Sophia could do, or what she was doing to her. It simply didn’t seem important.

She wasn’t worried about it.

“Oh…” Paige said faintly, as that dawned on her. “OK.”

Perhaps not worrying should have itself worried her, but she proved to be equally cut off from that. Instead, as momentous as Sophia’s power seemed, it quickly became unremarkable to Paige. She wasn’t worried about it. Her date with Sophia was far, far more important.

And Paige’s new need came roaring to the forefront of her mind.

“So, um,” Paige said restlessly. She took a sip of wine to try and calm herself. It didn’t help. “What’s your type? I really need to know.”

“You do, do you?” Sophia's thin smile widened. She sat back again, clearly pondering. “Let’s see… what’s my type today?”

Paige was hanging on her next words. She could sense they would mean everything to her.

“You know,” Sophia said eventually, with an air of frivolity that was entirely at odds with how Paige felt about the pronouncement, “I think my type is girls with short hair.”

A pang of disappointment made Paige inhale sharply as, for the first time ever, she regretted her commitment to growing her hair out. But it faded just as suddenly as it had appeared, when Paige realized there was no problem whatsoever.

She had short hair.

Paige had to reach up and check, which was funny, because having short hair was perfectly normal for her. That was just the kind of girl she was. Sure enough, instead of a ponytail - why had she expected a ponytail? - her fingertips touched the ends of her short bob. That seemed wrong - but only for the briefest of moments.

“I… I have short hair?” Paige said dumbly. She wasn’t sure why it came out like a question.

She had short hair. Of course she did.

But why? That fact seemed oddly incongruous. After all, long hair had always been so important to Paige. It was a symbol of her transition. Of her femininity. She’d always hated the thought of getting it cut. So, why would she have short hair? The more she dwelt on the incongruity, the more it became an insisting, throbbing ache at her temples. She needed to make it make sense.

And then it did.

Paige felt herself plunged into an unfamiliar memory. Herself, rushing to a salon the morning after a sobbing breakdown, voice trembling as she asked the stylist to cut her hair off. It had felt so freeing. Her long hair had become a prison of expectations. Cutting it off had been a ritual. An affirmation.

She didn’t need long hair to be a woman. To be feminine. She simply was. Paige could look the way she’d always wanted. Peering further back, to those miserable college days before her egg had cracked, her memories of her transition goals were shifting. Sigourney Weaver in Alien. Winona Ryder in Girl, Interrupted. Of course. Of course Paige had ended up with short hair. It made perfect sense.

Soon enough, her memories lost that unfamiliar flavor. They had always been like that. She had always been like this. Paige had short hair.

“Wow,” she giggled, “I’m off to a lucky start. Looks like I’m your type.”

Right away, the fact of her short hair became euphoric. She had short hair. She was Sophia’s type. That was wonderful. Amazing. It was the best news she’d heard in months. It was what she needed.

“Indeed.” Something twinkled in Sophia’s eyes. “You’re rocking the look.”

“Thank you.” Paige reached up and touched her hair. She did that a lot. It made her happy. Short hair didn’t take a lot of effort to keep neat and sleek, but still, it was nice to be complimented for it. “I’m glad you like it.”

She was. She was unbearably glad. Paige just had to hope her grin wasn’t too off-puttingly eager. Knowing she was Sophia’s type made her so happy.

Only, surely Sophia’s type went beyond just hair. The gnawing craving in Paige’s chest itched at her anew. It wasn’t even close to sated.

“And…” Paige pressed. “What else? Tell me more. What’s your type?”

She had to strain to keep her voice measured. Paige didn’t want to make this creepy. But she couldn’t help sounding a little urgent. This was so important.

“Hmm…” Sophia mused. It was plain that she was enjoying the way Paige was sitting forward, shoulders tense, desperate for an answer. “Now that you mention it, I’ve always felt like girls who are all about pink are my type. Know what I mean?”

“P… pink?” Paige said plaintively.

She tried to reason with herself over it. Paige liked pink. She liked it as much as the next girl, anyway. Didn’t that count? In her heart, she knew it didn’t. Sophia’s type was girls who were all about pink, and Paige had always felt faintly at odds with the color. Pink clothes, pink lipstick, pink accessories - they all made her feel like she was stereotyping herself a little. Girls didn’t need to wear pink all the time.

But Paige did.

It hit her like a roaring wind. The infatuation. The obsession. Paige loved pink. It was a touch stereotypical, yes, but that was exactly why Paige adored it so much. There was something indulgent about surrounding herself with it. It was something she could rest her identity on. Blue was for boys, but pink? Pink was for girls. Girls liked pink.

“Pink,” Paige sighed happily, reverently, as the story of her life flailed and twisted out behind her like a serpent’s tail.

When she’d started her transition, pink had felt like coming home. Everything pink she’d bought had become a source of joy. It was funny, though, because Paige remembered feeling a little tokenized whenever someone - a family member, a friend - had given her something pink to clumsily signal their acceptance. Then, a moment later, she remembered more. She remembered overcoming that little hang-up. All of a sudden, her unwillingness to embrace pink was recast as early-transition blues; as holding back, as instinctive repression.

She’d overcome it, of course. And now Paige was all about pink.

Paige looked down. Her suit was pink. Of course it was. She owned a black suit, sure, for somber occasions, but mostly it was consigned to the black of her closet to gather dust. Paige always wore pink suits to work. It turned heads, naturally, but she didn’t mind - not as long as when people looked at her, they saw ‘pink’. Plus, she rationalized - and as she rationalized, it became her truth - it was a nice way to make sure her short hair didn’t mislead people into thinking she was aiming to be androgynous.

“I’m all about pink!” The words burst out of Paige; a cry of joy, a plea for attention. She was Sophia’s type, and she needed Sophia to know.

“So you are,” Sophia giggled. “You’re quite the Barbie.”

The comment made Paige shockingly euphoric. But why wouldn’t it? She was all about pink, and what was pinker than Barbie? Paige remembered seeing the movie posters, and the ads, and- no, no, suddenly she remembered seeing the movie itself. Making time on opening night, despite the pressures of work.

It had been so worth it. So much pink.

“Thanks,” Paige replied, still glowing with the pleasure of being Sophia’s type. “I know it’s getting a little much, at my age, but I just can’t help-“

“At your age?” Sophia seized on that gleefully. “That’s another thing. My type is younger girls, actually.”

“Younger girls?” Paige was immediately crestfallen, but she could already feel the explosive energy of change welling inside her. Already, lines were disappearing from her face. She was caught between despair and hope. “Younger than… you?” She wasn’t sure how old Sophia was, exactly. Suddenly she was hoping for late thirties. Perhaps even pushing forty. “H-how young?”

“Oh, you know.” Sophia seemed to be deciding. She made a little show of counting down on her fingers. “Early twenties, say.”

“Fuck,” Paige breathed - both out of regret, and out of awe at the reality shift that was starting to take her.

This one was different. It made her head throb like nothing else. It felt like her skull was going to implode. Paige could feel her past not just changing, but contracting. Memories gone. Birthdays snuffed out. Suddenly, the nineties she’d grown up in was nothing more than a set of images on TV; a set of anecdotes recounted by older coworkers.

Growing up without the internet? It was a crazy thought, suddenly. Paige found that, even in her last moments of remembering it, she couldn’t seem to comprehend it.

The process was terrifying - or it should have been. But Paige wasn’t worried about it. Couldn’t worry about it. Instead, her eagerness to please, to be Sophia’s type, forced its way through her confusion.

“T-that’s good,” Paige struggled to say. “I’m y-younger.” And she was so pleased about it, too. “I’m… I’m…”

It was a little alarming to realize that she didn’t know quite how old she was. Paige’s age was still in flux. It was like Schroedinger’s cat. She’d yet to settle on it. Paige found herself torn. How young was ‘younger’? Part of her wanted to push her luck. To save what could still be saved of her past. Twenty-four? That could still be ‘early twenties’, right? It was younger than twenty-five, at least.

But what if it wasn’t good enough? That was the other thought, and it soon carried the day. Above all, Paige needed to be Sophia’s type. It was so important.

“I-I’m twenty-one!” Paige sang out, in a voice that was suddenly just that bit fresher and higher.

Twenty-one. Of course she was twenty-one. It had only been last month - her birthday, that little ritual, going to a bar, buying a drink with her real ID as her friends cheered and the bartender winked. As moments passed, that memory became more and more solid and concrete in Paige’s head. It was real, undoubtedly. Far more real than the ten or so years she’d just lost, all of that life and time metaphysically shredded into nothing more than hypothetical abstraction.

“Twenty-one?” Sophia cocked an eyebrow playfully. “That’s kind of hot.”

Paige tittered and blushed. That was so naughty. There was something thrilling about going on a date with an older woman - why did that thought taste so new? It wasn’t. Paige was sure of that. At least, she thought she was. She’d been giddy with anticipation ever since her friend had, with a knowing wink, proposed setting her up with Sophia.

Paige had a thing for older women. She must. Why else would she be on a date with Sophia? Her attraction to Sophia took on a new flavor.

“Twenty-one,” Paige repeated. The thought was settling. “Yeah. Um. Yeah.”

Twenty-one. She was twenty-one. Fuck. She was younger than Sophia.

She was still dizzy from the change. So much of her life had been put into flux. Only slowly was it falling into place. Paige struggled to make sense of it all, grasping at possible solutions that turned to stone - to reality - as soon as she latched onto them. Her transition moved backward, to her teenage years. The miserable, closeted portion of her life was high school now, not college. College - that felt like just yesterday. Paige had only just graduated. She was so young!

But of course she was. She was twenty-one.

It changed everything. Only the bare outline remained fixed. Suddenly, instead of Sigourney Weaver and Winona Ryder, Paige had been showing her hair stylist pictures of Miley Cyrus. Kristen Stewart. Those were her idols now - at least, in some ways. Neither of them was quite pink enough for Paige’s liking.

2010s pop culture was pouring into her head, replacing what she’d lost. It was a wild experience. And somehow, it felt like it had always been there.

And then there was her job. Paige was a successful career professional. She worked in management. A twenty-one-year-old manager? Wasn’t that absurd? Paige tried her hardest to cling to that one thing. She was so proud of it, after all. Mercifully, the thread of reality she was pulling on didn’t quite snap.

Right. Yes. She remembered now. She was a twenty-one-year-old manager. Paige had started interning in college, and she’d made a big impression at the company she’d worked for. They’d been willing to take a chance on her and hire her into a senior role right out of college. She was a rising star. It was rough sometimes, of course, having so many subordinates who were younger. It was a fight to get them to take her seriously. Especially given all the pink she wore. But Paige couldn’t be stopped. The pink became a statement. Young women - young trans women - of her generation could do anything. She was a girlboss. The world was her oyster.

And a thousand other things about her reality shifted. Big changes and small ones, spreading out along implications and possibilities like cracks in ice. With the strange power Sophia had infused into her, Paige was rewriting her entire being - and all of it, just to be Sophia’s type.

“How old are you?” Paige asked. She just wanted to hear it.

“Old enough,” Sophia replied rakishly. “The waitress probably thinks we’re mother and daughter.”

Paige shivered rapturously. It wasn’t the age gap, not really - although, yes, she found that hot, now. Frankly, working in management was a little distracting in that department. So many hot, older women were Paige’s coworkers. It was the kind of thing a young lesbian could get worked up over. But what mattered far, far more than that was that she was Sophia’s type.

“So… I’m perfect, right?” Paige was desperate to be. It was written into the fiber of her being now. “Perfect for you?”

“You’re getting there,” Sophia offered. Just hearing that was intoxicating. “But… oh, I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t say it.”

“What?” Paige’s heart skipped a beat. The mere possibility of a mismatch between herself and Sophia’s ideal was panic-inducing. “No. No, tell me.”

She needed to know. She needed to know, so that she could become.

“It might be a big ask,” Sophia warned. The smile on her face was more than a little cruel. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“Yes!” Paige answered at once. Her apprehension was swept away effortlessly by gnawing desperation. “Please.”

“If you insist,” Sophia replied. Her manner was painfully unhurried. “The thing is, my type happens to be girls who are… well… dumb.”

“W-what?” Paige whimpered. “That… that’s…”

It was awful. Sophia’s type was dumb girls, and Paige had always prided herself on her intelligence. But as much as she feared losing her brains, the inexorable pull towards becoming Sophia’s ideal was stronger. Paige could already feel it, taking her into its flow, draining hard-won knowledge out of her head.

“I’m dumb,” Paige pleaded, half-sincerely, searching desperately for an angle to shoot for. “At least… um… m-maybe a little forgetful? My friends are always saying-“

She froze. Saying what? Paige could feel reality shifting beneath her feet as the memories came back to her.

Ditzy. Airheaded. That’s what her friends always called her, wasn’t it? After all, she’d always been the slow one in the friend group. Even in college, someone had to be the dumbest. Of course, in Paige’s case, they even joked it was a miracle she’d been able to graduate. Paige could feel it, even now. Her head getting a little foggier. Her thoughts, a little simpler and cruder. As soon as she felt it, it became familiar.

“Oh, no,” Sophia said, dashing her hopes. “I’m afraid it goes a little beyond that. I’m talking about really dumb girls. That’s my type.”

Paige’s head throbbed painfully as she absorbed that, and reconfigured herself again. College? No way. She’d tried, sure - middle-class family expectations - but Paige had ended up dropping out in her first year. She simply couldn’t follow along in lectures.

“I’m… I’m really dumb,” Paige confessed bashfully. It was kind of embarrassing, coming right out with it on a first date - but hey, it was better than a new lover dumping her after three months once she realized Paige couldn’t hold an intellectual conversation.

Not that she had to worry about that with Sophia, of course. Dumb girls were Sophia’s type, and that alone made it something to be proud of. For the first time ever, Paige was truly, wholeheartedly glad of what a total ditz she was.

"That’s really cute, honestly,” Sophia told her, any predatory glint in her eyes concealed behind those dark sunglasses. “Adorable.”

Her approval was like a red rag to a bull. “When I first got my job, everyone was, like, so surprised!” Paige gushed. “I mean, me? Working in management? That was… was… um… I-I mean, that wouldn’t even make…”

A fresh wave of dizziness hit Paige as the total incongruity of her career dawned on her. It didn’t make sense. A twenty-one-year-old working in senior management was already pushing it. Only exceptional aptitude could possibly justify that. Now that she was dumb - which, of course, she’d always been - that particular thread of reality was finally snapping. It gave way, plunging Paige into another pit of uncertainty.

What was her job again?

There was only one real answer, as embarrassing as it seemed. Paige was a secretary. Not a manager. A secretary. Why had it ever seemed like she’d been anything else? Secretary work was the only kind of office job Paige could handle.

“When I first got my job,” Paige said slowly, trying to pick up the anecdote, “people joked that I might not be cut out for all that, like, reading and typing. Sometimes I kinda need help with some of the more, um, technical documents.”

It was true, she realized a moment after. Paige could now remember hearing workplace rumors about how she’d only been hired because her pink outfits really brightened up the office. She looked down. Her legs felt a little chilly all of a sudden - only, it wasn’t sudden. Paige had been wearing a cute little pink pencil skirt all day. Not pants. A pantsuit was a little much, for a secretary.

“I guess I’m kind of a bimbo,” Paige giggled self-consciously, as she joined the dots between her ditziness and her obsession with all things pink.

And she was. She really was. Maybe that was why she was so confused. Maybe that was why she kept half-remembering another Paige - a Paige that was older, and smart, and successful, and serious. But that wasn’t her. Not anymore. No, not ever. That Paige wasn’t real.

She was becoming less real by the moment, as the waves of this latest change rippled back into her past. Her high-school grades retroactively plummeted. When she’d first started transitioning, there had been more than a few sexist little jokes about being girly and pink suited her better than trying to be smart and serious and masculine. The dizziness started to recede as, more and more, Paige’s life started to make sense again. Once again, the implications went deep. Everything about Paige was malleable. The only fixed points were the things Sophia liked.

Paige wasn’t worried by that, of course.

“A real girly girl,” Paige added, as her reality settled. “You… you like that. Right?”

“You know?” Sophia mused. “Now that I’m seeing it, I’m not so sure. It’s a little, well, cliché.”

“Cliché?” Paige echoed, in a wounded voice. “Is that, like, bad?”

It certainly sounded like a reprimand, but Paige had to be sure. Already, she felt her existence becoming fluid again. The sensation was like nothing else; a dizziness, a fuzziness around her thoughts, around her memories, especially, as they blurred, ready to change.

“I suppose what I had in mind was something a little… rougher?” Sophia continued. “Punk? Is that the word I’m looking for? You know what I mean. A little bit of that blue-collar charm. Dumb, strong, rough.”

“B-blue… collar?” Paige panted. “Punk?”

The headache was like thunder inside her skull. Gale winds, too, blowing away the Paige she’d been steadily coming to terms with. There was no fighting it. At once, Paige’s head was flooded with stereotypes. Punk girls. Working-class girls. She dredged up every impression she’d ever had of them to fuel her transformation. A transformation that tore her life story to shreds.

College? Fuck no. Her family had never had a lot of money. They couldn’t afford to waste it paying tuition for a girl with rocks for brains. Paige had struggled to graduate high school, let alone get a degree. What would have been the point? You didn’t need book smarts to haul ass on a construction crew.

Right. Construction. That was where Paige worked. Suddenly, the idea of herself as a secretary seemed preposterous. Lame. Paige would take fitting joints and carrying pipes over some stuffy office any way of the week. Hers was a good, respectable, union job. Those ran in the family, didn’t they?

Yes. Yes, of course.

Paige was good at it, too. Strong. Sophia had mentioned strong, hadn’t she? Paige was sure of it. Her self-confidence was bolstered back a little. Everyone wanted a strong girl like Paige on a construction site. Even a trans girl. Oh, sure, she’d heard plenty of shitty comments about that. But Paige didn’t take them lying down. She wasn’t that kind of girl. She could stand up for herself. She was rough.

Paige smirked at Sophia. She let her legs fall apart as she slipped into her natural, girlspreading stance. For some reason, wearing a pencil skirt crossed her mind. She wrinkled her nose at the thought. That sounded so needlessly restrictive compared to her loose-fitting pink jeans. The glass in her hand wasn’t wine anymore. Beer.

“Good news, miss,” Paige said, and her accent sounded classless and coarse to her until it didn’t, because she’d always talked that way. “Looks like I’m your type, right down to a fucking T.”

Sophia giggled. Paige lapped up her approval. It felt wonderful. Being Sophia’s type was all-important. Now, though, she was used to girls giggling at her that way. What kind of lesbian didn’t love a tough, strong, working-class dyke?

“You sure are,” Sophia cooed. “You look really punk.”

Paige really did, she realized. In fact, she was a little out of place at a classy bar like this, with her studded choker, heavy boots, and her battle jacket - blue, but covered in pink patches and pins, of course. She’d always dressed that way. Ever since… when? Paige soon supplied the answer. Ever since she’d come out as trans. Her transition goals shifted again. Siouxie Sioux. Joan Jett. The goddesses of punk rock.

For a moment, the fact that Paige liked pink so much bothered her, but her warping mind soon resolved the contradiction. Pink was punk. That was now - always - Paige’s defiant battle cry every time someone questioned her punk cred. In a world that hated women and denied trans women at every turn, pink was punk.

Paige’s music taste, having lurched violently away from pop, started coarse-correcting back. She was punk, for sure, and she loved the classics, but she had to admit that pop punk was a guilty pleasure. Avril Lavigne was so hot. She really got it. Pink was punk.

"So. Anything else?” Paige asked. In this new reality, she was cockier and more confident than ever - but she couldn’t help being insecure about exactly one thing. “Or am I completely your type?”

“You know,” Sophia said slowly, looking Paige up and down as she weighed her up. “I think you’re exactly what I was feeling today. Yeah. You’re my dream girl.”

Paige grinned. Her whole body was thrumming with the delicious pleasure of affirmation. It was like a gnawing emptiness inside her had just been filled. And now she felt so good, there was only one thing on her mind.

“In that case,” Paige said, sitting forward, “how about we get out of here and I show you exactly how good I am at laying pipe?”

She laughed at her crude double entendre - by her standards, an impressively witty joke. A classy, older woman like Sophia was out of her league in at least three different ways, and Paige would hate to blow her shot by moving too fast, but this kind of bar really wasn’t her scene, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to keep up in conversation. Besides, she knew Sophia liked her rough edges. She was Sophia’s type, and she couldn’t wait to have her moaning all over Paige’s bed.

Paige had undergone a head-splitting number of metaphysical changes throughout her date. But one thing that had remained constant throughout was that Paige was a top - and a damn good one.

But Sophia didn’t seem to agree. “Actually, maybe you’re not my type after all,” she said, with an air of particular malice.

Paige was immediately heartbroken. “W-what?” she gasped, shocked. There were tears in her eyes.

“Sorry.” Sophia didn’t sound sorry at all. “It’s just, I’m not that interested in the kind of girls who lay pipe. Bottoms are really my type.”

Paige head started throbbing dangerously again. “I…” she pleaded. “I could… I can bottom.”

And she could, Paige realized as it became true. She called herself a top, sure, but that was just part of the game. Paige could feel her orientations and preferences shifting beneath her feet.

“Really?” Sophia replied idly.

“Yeah!” Paige panted, eager to convince. “I-I love to bottom!” A secret thrill entered her voice. Oh god, she really did. It went against her vibe, her style, her demeanor - but that was part of why it felt so fucking good. “ I’m, y’know, v-… um… I’m… vers?”

It just didn’t taste right in her mouth. Paige wanted to say it - wanted to keep that part of herself within her grasp - but she soon realized why she couldn’t. Sophia had said she wasn’t interested in girls who top. Even being vers was out of the question. Paige felt a sorrowful pang as that part of herself vanished into abstraction - but then the sorrow vanished too, because this was just who she was.

A complete and total bottom.

“Are you now?” Sophia queried.

“No,” Paige admitted. She blushed and leaned in, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I just… god, if word got around, I’d never hear the end of it, OK? Big, tough Paige? But I’m… um… yeah. A bottom. Totally.”

Still the rough kind, of course. Paige wasn’t the type to go down without a fight. She needed to be overpowered. To be dominated. To be shown who was boss. A punk brat. That was her, she decided. It was a little frustrating people always mistook her for a top. What did they think all the pink was about? Couldn’t they take a hint?

Sophia giggled, and said in a teasing voice, “A punk bottom. Now that’s fun.”

Paige stiffened briefly at being mocked, before that, too, was folded into her sexuality, and she squirmed in her seat. Sophia liked bottoms, so she had to be a top, right? Paige loved getting teased by tops. It was so hot.

“It’s kinda embarrassing,” Paige offered, eager to please. “I get these subby girls coming on to me all the time, but… god, I just wouldn’t even know what to do with them in the bedroom.” Her blush deepened, but she made sure to flash Sophia a defiant look that she hoped would stoke her interest. “But… I don’t know if I believe you’re the kind of woman who knows what to do with me.”

Prove me wrong, she was begging with her eyes.

Sophia didn’t rise to the taunt. At least, not directly. “You wouldn’t know what to do with them?” she repeated curiously. “That’s pretty cute. So would you say you’re a pillow princess?”

Paige bit her lip. She could feel it inside her again. The empty, gnawing need that was the furnace of her transformations. “Would… you like it if I was a pillow princess?”

“Oh yes.” Sophia laughed at her. “Definitely. That’s my type, for sure.”

“Fuck!” Paige whimpered, as she was rewritten once more.

She was so pleased. An older woman who liked pillow princesses? Paige had hit the jackpot. She couldn’t let herself fumble this. She just needed to stop pretending to be something she wasn’t.

Bratting? Giving a top some attitude? She’d tried it once, sure. It had seemed a little more dignified, somehow. A little more like what people expected from a punk girl like her. But it hadn’t felt right. Paige was the kind of girl who blew over in a stiff breeze.

She loved the way Sophia was toying with her. Playing with her expectations. Making her change to match them. Paige could feel herself getting hard under her jeans. She’d never been so turned on. And the best part was, she could sense that she could count on Sophia to understand that just because she had a cock, it didn’t mean she was interested in using it.

“That’s better,” Sophia purred approvingly, as she watched Paige whimper and squirm. “Yes, that was just the finishing touch you needed. Now you’re perfect.”

“T-thank you,” Paige whined instinctively. God. She knew how absurd it was for a rough-and-tumble punk like her to sound so meek and submissive. She hoped Sophia was going to bully her about it. “So, um. Maybe, if you wanted, w-we could… get out of here now? Please?”

It was pitiful to beg, but Paige couldn’t help it. She was burning with need. Being around Sophia made her feel even stupider and more tongue-tied than she always was.

Sophia just stared straight at her. Paige could sense those ineffable, eldritch eyes burning behind her sunglasses. “Please what?”

Paige let out a low moan. “P-please, mistress.”

“Good girl,” Sophia told her. Paige moaned again. She could feel herself making a mess of her panties. “Very well.”

Paige shot to her feet with embarrassing eagerness. “Thank you! Um. God. Thank you. I-I’m just really excited, you know? I really got lucky here.”

“Don’t mention it,” Sophia replied kindly, as she rose to her feet. “Besides, I’m the lucky one.”

“You really think so?” Paige asked timidly.

It was hard to believe. A young, dumb punk with a construction job? Paige knew she wasn’t much of a catch for a lady like Sophia. Compared to her classy outfit, Paige’s pink, punk style and short hair were more than a little garish. And she couldn’t even top.

“Of course,” Sophia giggled, leading Paige towards the door of the bar. “How often do I get to meet a girl who’s exactly my type?”

---

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[themonotonysyndrome]

I miss Bright Eyes <-never got to listen to their audios

Honestly? I've been thinking about making 'The Sun Will Be Ours Again' into a multi-chapter fic instead of a one-shot.

I love the idea that with the money William gave them, Bright Eyes bought a reasonable-sized van, turned it into a mobile cabin, and traveled around the USA like a nomad with A'Xerahn. No longer affiliated with the Solaire Clan. And, of course, they left without telling anyone except William 'cause, ya know, he's the king.

Throughout their travels, A'Xerahn kinda teaches/molds Bright Eyes into becoming his perfect vessel. Having learned from his mistake, he's not trying to change them back into human but rather... make Bright Eyes the first Vampire that can walk under daylight. Make them powerful enough to act as his tethered so they can bring him over to this plane of existence.

Bright Eyes, at this point, desperately wants to feel normal again, accepted his deal.

The story begins when A'Xerahn informs Bright that he feels one of his kin has one foot in this world already. Whether he would urge Bright to meet up with Blake or not is undecided.

I just like the idea of Bright Eyes being a nomad 😂

But we'll see if I ever write this into reality! Got a lot of things going on in my personal life now.

[imperatorrrrr]

You Know What? Fuck It. Here’s my Fuck Lindy Ruff Manifesto.

Alexander Holtz - For a coach who was hired and praised for his ability to mold the youth and allow them to make mistakes and grow and give them grace and patience, he surely is doing the exact opposite with Alexander Holtz. I understand the want to make him a well rounded player who is solid defensively, but to continuously put him on the fourth line and bench him or limit his ice time is actually ludicrous. He has proven himself all season with the limited minutes and the shitty lines he’s been on. He’s a pure goal scorer. Let him do what his fucking innate skill is. Stop trying to make him into a player he’s not and then punishing him for not being exactly the player he’s not supposed to be anyway.

Player Usage Generally - I don’t think he actually understands the strengths of the players he’s coaching. He doesn’t know when to use them or where or how. Why is Timo constantly playing on his off wing? Why isn’t Holtz’s shot consistently on one of the power play units? Why does he not know what to do with Nico? Does he fail to understand that Nico isn’t just a defensive forward? Does he not realize Nico was a Selke finalist because of his offense AND defense? And how about Nico being one of the main factors in Taylor Hall’s Hart trophy win? How do you look at Nico Hischier as a player and not give him actual fucking goal scorers on his wings? Like why was Nico being deployed on a damn checking line? Like is he blind?! His overuse of Brendan Smith. Last season his benching and scratching of players like Shango or Siegs. His fucking goaltending decisions.

Timeouts - Why does he refuse to use timeouts. When your team has just given up three consecutive goals on three shots, when your team gives up its two goal lead and then is losing altogether, when the other team scores in bunches against us. How do you not call a time out? Use that time to slow the other team’s momentum. Use it to get the team out of their heads. To regroup. Anything.

Slow Starts - For two straight seasons we have rarely if ever been ready to play at puck drop. That is a coaching issue. Or at the very least a problem that needs to be addressed by the coach if it’s not his fault. How has it been a season and a half and he hasn’t fixed this.

Home Record - Another multi-season issue. Why has he not been able to address or fix or make any progress on the fact that the boys can’t put a solid effort together in front of a home crowd. They’re an amazing road team but they get to the Rock and it’s never as easy.

Player Treatment - Players are not treated the same. Luke and Nemo are constantly allowed to mess up, which good! Holtz, however is benched. It’s been happening for two seasons at least actually probably longer. If you’re gonna be punishing type coach then do that and do it with everyone. If you’re gonna be a coach that gives people a chance to make mistakes and still go out there again then do that! He has never treated players equally. There have always been guys that get away with murder while others are benched instantly. Two players can make the same exact mistake and only one gets benched. Explain the logic. Treat your guys equally!

Lack of Adaptability - When teams figure us out, Lindy has no solutions. He thinks doing a line blender will solve everything, but it doesn’t. You need to be able to change game plans and adapt quickly and he just doesn’t. Same with our season of injuries. He’s trying to hide behind the fact that we aren’t playing as well due to our treasure trove of injuries this season, but if your entire play style is around one or two players and you can’t coach this incredibly deep and talented roster to wins in the absence of the Jacks and the Nicos then that’s a coaching problem. This team should not crumple without Jack.

Line Changes - Fairly certain we have the most too many men on the ice penalties in the league because we can’t complete a damn line change properly. Also so many of the high danger chances against or goals against come off of bad line changes or slow line changes. That’s such an easy fix Lindy! Fucking do your job!

Physicality v. Skill - I think Lindy prefers the old school style of hockey and values players that bring grit and physicality that’s why he was so high on Miles Wood. It’s why he’s high on McLeod. It’s why my beloved Nate is being promoted to third line when Holtzy is on the fourth line. It’s why Brendan Smith is getting starts. But this team and this league is moving past that style of play. You have some of the most skilled players on this team when it comes to the puck: Jack, Jesp, Nico, etc. Your team identity and the way you play needs to prioritize that skill. I’m not saying physicality is bad but it’s not the focus on this team. Lindy tried to change this teams identity with the first two games of the Rags playoff series and look what happened. When we played our game then we shut out the Rags TWICE during a playoff series.

I’m sure I’m missing some massive points, but I’ll leave it at this.

Goodnight.

[accidental-king]

BURYING THE NOT QUITE DEAD: A DISCO ELYSIUM FANFIC

My take on the events after the game featuring a multi-fic HarryKim slowburn. I'm also just a sucker for case fics. This is just a snippet from Chapter 1 but I actually have several chapters written. I'll be posting them on AO3 eventually but I'd like to run it by some beta readers first. Feel free to DM me if you're interested!

SHIVERS - As the sun begins to lower over Jamrock, the dome of an old silk mill shines like brass in the golden light. It's not difficult to see a time in which masses of workers filed in and out of its entrances, and the motor lorries lined up along its western wing to collect their wares. Miles upon miles of lustrous textiles to be shipped across oceans and isolas to glide across the skin and furnishings of those few who can afford it. The Revacholiere will never be one of those people. 

The long and blocky building projects off of either side of the dome like a russet brick ladybird, splitting its chitinous hide and stretching its wings between half-demolished tenements and modern high rises alike. Its masonry tells tales of a time before the deathblow. A time when even the utilitarian still showed a thread of residual vanity in the form of granite steps, sharp stone arches, and molded concrete cornerstones. Original varve clay brick, brown like dried autumn leaves, sit in contrast to newer, coppery replacements, highlighting the scars of war and neglect in cracks, blotches and even an entire end of one wing. Always visible like a reality you can't unsee. 

ESPRIT DE CORPS - It has been a Police Precinct longer now than it was ever a Silk Mill but its old purpose still lingers in the bones of its columns, trusses, and long abandoned smoke stacks.

INLAND EMPIRE - It’s all that you have left.

What’s to the North?

What’s to the South?

What’s to the East?

What’s to the West?

What’s inside this building?

Shudder and blink

YOU - What’s to the North?

SHIVERS - A peninsula. A district left abandoned by its surrounding infrastructure. Bombed out ruins and mountains of shipping crates slowly turning red. The harbor has been locked up tight since shots rang out in the square. Blood and heavy fuel oil paint an old mosaic red and hang in the air like a fog that dares to challenge the sunlight. Motor lorries still sit abandoned in the circle, where you left them. A bookstore is no better now than your last visit, and a hostel is now empty of guests minus a few lucky souls who now grieve their lost brothers in the Union booth.

INLAND EMPIRE - It was your home for the past week.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - It is your birthplace. Born of a drug and drink deluge, on a floor covered in a lifetime of mistakes. 

YOU - And beyond that?

SHIVERS - An islet of crumbling concrete and steel. The wind whistles through water reeds and swathes of tiny white petals that push through the last spring snow. Ashes of a fire long gone out blow out into the sea to be swallowed like the memories of the cause that built it. Its only resident is gone now, taken away for medical treatment and for a prison sentence that will see him to his final days.

What’s to the North?

What’s to the South?

What’s to the East?

What’s to the West?

What’s inside this building?

Shudder and blink

YOU - What’s to the south?

SHIVERS - An apartment building. Mostly stone, though partially the ivy and wisteria that have done their part to claim it in an attempt to reach the heavens. They are a part of one another now; inseparable without either coming to ruin. Inside, a marriage has been strengthened thanks to an unusual discovery made by an unusual officer of the RCM. Husband and wife embrace as they look over the colorful image between them.

YOU - And beyond that?

SHIVERS - A wind whips down the long stretch of Boogie Street that barely contains the buildings and crowds on either side. Neon signs illuminate dark windows that are rattled by the music within. Lively chatter fills the air both inside and out. A young woman walks out with her lover in hand. She presses close to his side to fight against the chill of the spring air as her dark brunette curls whip about her face. The man flashes a charismatic smile and he pulls her in closer to lead her away to a shiny white lacquer motor carriage parked just off the main street. They each know something the other does not.

What’s to the North?

What’s to the south?

What’s to the East?

What’s to the West?

What’s inside this building?

Shudder and blink

YOU - What’s to the east?

SHIVERS - Seemingly endless blocks of brutalist apartment buildings that tower over the residences that survived the revolution 43 years ago. The whole district lies in a millennium old riverbed, leaving it forever in shadow of Jamrock to its west, the GRIH to its north, Grand Couron to its east. Grand Couron and the Old South district maintain their borders with two of La Delta’s canals. 

INLAND EMPIRE - A mark of constant probability. Everyone of Revachol West is just one bad couple of weeks away from moving to the Eminent Domain or the Burnt Out Quarter.

SHIVERS - Across the water, a woman in a satin robe sits with her elderly dog, surrounded by shining white marble as she peers out her 11th story window. The glass leaves the evening in an emerald tint. She would have the Eminent Domain wiped from the face of the Earth if it meant sparing her view. The canal and a financial cushion are all that separates her from the proles.

And beyond that?

SHIVERS - La rivière Espérance and Revachol East

What’s to the North?

What’s to the South?

What’s to the East?

What’s to the West?

What’s inside this building?

Shudder and blink

YOU - What’s to the West?

SHIVERS - A home you will never see again. Trees and underbrush devoured the old hospital and surrounding buildings of the Pox long before you even had a chance to remember it. Stray vagrants find their way through the bombed out ruins, shuffling past abandoned wire bed frames and rusted carts of broken tare. There is nothing left to be found here but a little bit of shelter from the wind. But the Valley of Dogs lurks nearby and most know never to stay unless they’re entirely out of options. This place will likely never be safe again.

What’s to the North?

What’s to the South?

What’s to the East?

What’s to the West?

What’s in this building?

Shudder and blink

YOU - What’s in this building?

SHIVERS - As day begins to fade and the lights begin to slowly begin to blink on across the city, multi-story factory windows will slowly transition from the concealing darkness to exposing illumination of what is no longer the East Insulindic Textiles Company. The loading docs have now become the motor pool for the 41st Precinct of the Revachol Citizens Militia. An old Coupris 40 whirs past a vehicle of a similar model and one of a decidedly newer model as it turns into the garage for the evening. Both MCs it passed do not belong to the 41st.

Inside the building proper, a stern looking man in a well tailored uniform walks toward the elevator at a brisk pace. His left breast is heavily decorated in medals and ribbons. One from the Suzerain, three from the Commune, most from the Moralist International. He bears the weight of the whole city on his shoulders but he carries it with an air of pride and authority. He’s heard tell of some strange happenings and without seeing it for himself, he’s not sure he believes it. 

Across the precinct, in the East wing, tucked into the far end of the first floor an eclectic group of men sit inside a dimly lit Lazareth. Three surround one in a way not too dissimilar from how the interviewee had been earlier in the day.

What’s to the North?

What’s to the South?

What’s to the East?

What’s to the West?

What’s in this building?

Shudder and blink

YOU - A violent shudder passes down your spine and you find yourself suddenly aware that you have been staring off into the ether for about 3 minutes. You are one with your body once more.

PRECINCT 41 - The Lazareth Office of Dr. Nix Gottlieb is small despite the size of the precinct that it maintains. Cabinets and shelves line just about every surface in some manner or capacity. And each and every surface was crammed packed with medical supplies, specimens, and piles upon piles of folders and textbooks. There isn’t much space to move, let alone work. The center of the room is dominated by a surgical table that is currently sporting a flimsy pad that serves as a cushion for your injured ass.

INLAND EMPIRE - This is the closest thing to private healthcare you’ve seen in years.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - Your bullet riddled leg has already been looked over. You’d managed to pull your stitches and partially reopen the injury during your little jaunt about Martinaise and the islet.

PAIN THRESHOLD - You wish you’d been unconscious like the first time you got sewn up. Gottlieb is quick and efficient but he’s merciless in the empathy department. In other words, you cried. And your leg still hurts like a bitch.

EMPATHY - Kim radiated pride and relief behind his subdued expression when the doctor had complimented his work.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - [legendary: failure] He’s just glad it wasn’t worse.

NIX GOTTLIEB - The doctor is a bespeckled elderly man, dressed in civilian clothes, a dark, woven turtle neck covered by a brown blazer that stopped fitting him in the shoulders about 10 years ago. His forehead and brow are permanently creased by stress and a deep look of concentration. His brow deepens when you shake yourself out of the thought. “Welcome back, Detective.”

RHETORIC - That was sarcasm. He doesn’t care.

PERCEPTION [smell] - On his breath, mingled with the scent of Tioumoutiri cigarettes, you catch a whiff of peppermint schnapps.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - If we play our cards right, maybe he’ll share a belt.

VOLITION - We’ve been clean this week. Don’t fuck this up now.

NIX GOTTLIEB - He scratches at his wispy white hair and beard as he speaks over his shoulder at two other men. “And how long would you say these episodes tend to last?”

KIM KITSURAGI - Your partner of the last seven days looks between you and the blue notebook in his hands, occasionally flipping through its pages. He still stands in his field attire; Orange nylon bomber jacket zipped up to his collar, white crew shirt hidden beneath it, brown aviation mechanic pants tucked neatly into his black boots, and his brown leather driving gloves. 

KIM KITSURAGI - He thumbs over a couple of pages before answering, “Anywhere between a few seconds to several minutes. This… is one of his longer episodes.”

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Wait! Has he been taking notes on you?

LOGIC - [medium: Failure] Of course not. We’ve already established that this is his method of working through his thoughts. This is likely a method of recall for him.

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - A lean blonde man in a tailored suit looks over you from where he stands, with fascination glittering in his hazel eyes. You saw a similar light when you spoke with him in front of the defunct Feld R&D when he spoke of their pre-revolution efforts. He was also one of the only ones in the fishing village who stood up for you against your partners onslaught of insults.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - This man is a special consultant taken onto the Major Crimes Unit in C-Wing. His well-traveled knowledge and personable demeanor has lent itself invaluably to the task force.

AUTHORITY - /Your/ task force.

INLAND EMPIRE - Not anymore. You’ll be lucky if they’ll even let you back into the field as a patrol officer, given the circumstances.

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - “And what do you experience during these… lapses, Harry?”

HALF LIGHT - Don’t. This is a trap.

[RHETORIC - challenging] Explain the skill set

+1 Kim is here -1 Butcher doctor -1 This sounds insane

[VOLITION: legendary] “The city speaks to me sometimes.”

+1 Revelation in the church +1 She loves you -1 This sounds insane

[DRAMA - godly] Convince them your thoughts are normal (lie)

-1 Kim is here -1 Butcher doctor -1 You’re already insane

“A real shit show of internal monologue that drowns out the world around me.” [continue]

Really? Anything else?

YOU - Really? Anything else?

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Nope.

[RHETORIC - challenging] Explain the skill set

RHETORIC [challenging - Failure] What spills forth is a vomited spew of half finished sentences, aborted gestures, and some words you’re pretty sure you’re misusing. You throw in some apologies and self-depreciation for good measure like a dog half-heartedly trying to bury its own shit.

NIX GOTTLIEB - “Try again. But in Vacholian this time.” His arms cross and his fingers drum impatiently on his bicep.

[RHETORIC - challenging] Explain the skill set

[VOLITION - legendary] “The city speaks to me sometimes.”

+1 Revelation in the church +1 She loves you -3 This sounds insane

[DRAMA - godly] Convince them your thoughts are normal (lie)

-1 Kim is here -1 Butcher doctor -3 You’re already insane

“A real shit show of internal monologue that drowns out the world around me.” [continue]

Really? Anything else?

YOU - “Just a real shit show of an internal monologue that drowns out the world around me.”

KIM KITSURAGI - “It’s inconvenient at times, but he often comes through with concepts and ideas I never would have considered. Unorthodox as it may be, it was invaluable to the investigation.”

DRAMA - [Medium: Success] He means it, sire.

EMPATHY - He’s concerned about your well being, but he also doesn’t want to see you misrepresented in the eyes of these men.

+1 Morale

[tparker48]

Request for Booty132

"Okay okay, hear me out. What If I bent down like this?" The client adjusted himself, planting his feet on the ground before coiling his fingers to the bubbled mounds bulging his shorts. His fingers caved the slim wares, spreading his glutes apart. "Huh, Huh? Pretty good angle, right?"

On a platform below, Trevor eyed his client’s widening legs. He twisted the nozzle along his lens, aiming it at the maw of the giant man’s backside. A blurry frame, the seventh one since they came to the gym.

"That’s not it either, your ass is cluttering too much of the frame.." Trevor refocused the lens. “Go back to your original position.”

"Again? I thought it was a perfect shot!” The client's legs waddled beneath them, pampering his glutes as they reunited beneath his shorts. “We’ve been going at this for an hour, a selfie would be faster than this!”

“We could have been done if we just went with multi shots."

"That'd take more work if we took that route, this shot has to be perfect, and I’m not taking any chances of you charging me a fee for random butt pics.” The client burrowed his finger in his crack, an earthy aroma tainting the air as a dark stain dressed the middle of the malleable valley. "Maybe if I just squat a bit more."

The plattform creaked as the client’s thighs slouched over its edge, shaking trevor’s balance as he stammered to the sash of their duffle bag. The arc of the glutes bulged against the side of his camera, caving one of its metal legs as it toppled over.

Trevor leaped as he caught the camera in his arms, shielding it from the moon sized muscle as its warmth spooned his back. “Careful! This equipment doesn’t come cheap, you can't just toss your weight around like that!"

"Well I gotta get this shot done somehow." a chime rang from the speaker’s, echoing through the corridors as other gym goers grabbed their gear from their lockers. "Great, they're about to close, and we still have yet to get the perfect photo. Aren't you supposed to be a fashionable photographer? Quick slacking off back there and take the picture!"

"You can’t just rush a picture taken, this takes delicate work!" Trevor replied.

Trevor wrestled the crippled leg back into position, standing the camera on its feet. A drop of sweat dampened his hair, his fingers plucking at the tufts in efforts to eradicate the salty fluid. But he paused, looking to the ridges of the mounds spilling over the waistband. It jiggled in place, the ample muscle rippling as if it were a giant balloon.

Yes. Yes, that could work.

"Lower your ass down." Trevor requested.

"Huh? You just told me to stand up!"

“Just do it.”

The client grumbled, his rump lowering to the metal platform. When the slim shorts came within arm’s reach, Trevor grabbed the rubbery band, yanking them down like a curtain on a stage.

"What are you-?!” the client clinged to the front of his shorts. “Are you crazy? We're still in a public space!"

"You wanted to get this done right? So let me work." Trevor took a step back, as if he were looking at a fresh page of a landscape drawing..

He cupped his fingers together, angling his tips to the air. He peered an eye through the border frame and to the massive rear, a streak of sweat clenched behind the mounds as they filled the space. There it is, with those shorts out of the way he could see things more clearly. Trevor climbed his client’s backsack to his dampened staging sprouting from the crack, grabbing drier spots as he molded them behind the smooth ridge.

"Great, as if being pantsed in public wasn’t enough, now I’m being treated like some sculpture.” the client said. “You better not get my sweat stains in the frame!."

"As if I'd let my work be tainted that way." Trevor caressed his chin, tapping the loose clothes as if it were a spider web.

A fold sunk from the back sack, hiding the bottom half from view.

A spark lit in his eyes. "Big guy, you might want to cling to something." He cracked his knuckles, taking to the dampened cavern.

Trevor raised his sleeve to his elbow, striking the soggy fabric as it sunk into its valley.

The mounds flexed around his arms, yanking his feet from the platform before letting him land.. "Hey! Watch where you're punching.." The client winced, squelches lingering below as Trevor maneuvered himself along the crack. "What are you doing back there?"

“Giving me a good shot."

Trevor moved his arm from between the mounds, its dampened hairs flattened against his skin. A shriveled eyed filled its place in the crack, funneling between the mounds like an eye in a storm. He raised a foot to the tender backsack, and proceeded to work.

Step after step, he pressed more of the underwear between the giant's cheeks, forcing a path as their ample form swallowed the dampened spots. The mounds squished and flexed like a giant portion of putti, molding at the slightest twist Trevor made in his efforts morph it into something more than its distilled state. It was a cakewalk from here, he just wished he could say the same for the rest of the giant.

His senseless squirming was a challenge he admitted, fiddling with his ass sweat while sweating himself wasn't a good formula for his physique. A mere moment turned to minutes as he wrestled the slim wear into submission, stomping the loose shorts from the client’s waist to access more of the sagging folds hidden aways. As they tucked themselves into the mouth of the crack, Trevor took a step back to admire his work.

"Hmm.."

The client’s legs quivered, sharing a glance between his thighs. " Are you..done yet?"

"I'm not sure,” Trevor pinched the side of the left cheek, the underwear’s surface barely budging from the muscle. “it just looks all lopsided."

"Well can you please figure it out, my legs are cramping up here."

Always quick to rush, such is the life of a photographer. He can't just rush his progress, it'll throw his whole groove out the window. No, he’s missing something here, but he can’t put his finger on it. Trevor stared at the wrinkled folds clumping the mounds, their hold unraveling as they clenched and pouted along the metal edge.

One of the client’s testicles bloomed from his inner thigh, the fabric slanted behind the opposite ball as a crease streaked up the mound like cracks in a sidewalk.

"That's what it is!"

"What?"

"A fold got stuck behind one of your nuts." Trevor clung to the fold, tugging it backwards. "Sucker’s a tough one to straighten out, but I think I can fix it."

Trevor rubbed his hands together, planting a foot against the nut. He dug his fingers along the flap beneath his client’s thigh, and proceeded to heave. Skin collided with wool, the client's tightening body as his balls jostled beneath Trevor's feet.

Their toes dug into the pallet of their sneaker’s "W..what are-"

"I just need to..get it high enough." He pulled harder against the fold, the flap sliding from beneath his foot as the sack’s soggy surface marinated his ankle.

A low, rough grunt escaped from the client, the platform's gears creaking under his tightening grasp. He reached a palm to his waist, but they fell short as Trevor tugged the fabric harder

The fabric caved, popping from behind the testicle with a wet squelch as it snapped back over the client’s rear. causing a ripple in the muscle. Catching his breath, Trevor hopped from rear and cupped his palm, framing the thick hide between his finger tips. The sunken folds were there, but faint as their rippling creases were camouflaged by the mounds' clenches, the dampened stains buried out of sight.

A smile dressed his face, and he fetched his camera. "Ah,that's better."

He angled the camera, pointing to the ridge of the giant ass. A flash sparked from the lens, a single slip of printed paper sliding from the end. He fanned it through as the photo dimmed, revealing the smooth crack captured in its bordered frame.

"Like looking at a fresh cut hill." Trevor said. “Alright I‘ve got it, you can relax now.”

The client’s knees bent as his rear slid from the metal platform.He crumbled to the floor, falling on his stomach as his ass pointed to the air. “Fucking finally..”

Trevor dug crumpled ziplock bag from his jacket, edging the corner of the photo inside as it slid to the bottom. The door creaked as a staff member peered inside, a vacuum in hand.

“I thought I heard commotion in this room,” The client said. “If you don’t want your stuff locked for the day, I suggest you two skedaddle.”

“Not to worry, we were just leaving.” Trevor replied,the staff member grumbling as they vacuumed the other room. He hopped from the metal platform to his client’s ass, using his back like a slide. “Well, looks like my job is done, quite the pick if I say so myself.”

He held the photo to the client’s face, his eyes furrowing. “You're gonna get one hell of a review when I get up.”

“If you’re unsatisfied with the product, you can always share the improper results. I’m sure the internet would love to know how much you sweat back there.”

The client opened his mouth to speaked, but resented, letting out a low grumble as he climbed to his feet. “What kind of photographer blackmails their clients?”

“One that doesn’t let whiners dictate their work.” Trevor typed at his phone, letting go of the plastic barrier as it fell on his client’s palm. “You can expect your receipt for your payment later, plus a convenience fee for threatening a bad review.”

“What? Why you little-”

“Would you like to include the heavy work I had to do into your bill”

“I..no.”

“That’s what I thought.”

[coffeeghoulie]

Kinktober Day #29: Masturbation

The Ghostober prompts were put together by @kroas-adtam, and divider made by @gothdaddyissues, thank you both so much!

Pairing: Swiss/Rain

Swiss finds a toy in Rain's room, and wants to see Rain take it for a spin. Inspired by this post by @crimsonclergy

Trans Rain, cock and cunt used to describe his anatomy, Swiss being needy and nosy and so incredibly whipped.

Read under the cut or on AO3!

"Rainy, have you seen the hoodie I lent you the other day?" Swiss asks as he sticks his head into the common room. Rain barely looks up from the screen, eyes focused on the Zelda game he's been playing for the last few weeks. He's this close to beating this boss, but Swiss's voice is enough of a distraction that he messes up his timing, and the boss lands a critical hit, enough to one shot him.

Rain sighs, reloading his save and bracing himself for another round with the Blight he's been trying to beat for three hours. "Should be in my room. On my bed somewhere."

Swiss grins, darting back into the hallway. "Thanks, Rainbow! Love you!"

Rain parrots it back, turning back to his game, reorganizing his inventory for the tenth time before rediving into the belly of the Divine Beast.

It isn't five minutes later when Swiss ducks back into the common room, pulling his hoodie over his head. "Hey, Rainy?" he asks tentatively.

Rain takes a deep breath, retreating from the boss and pausing the game. "Yeah, Swiss?" He asks, craning his neck to look at the multi ghoul. He's standing a little awkwardly behind the couch, and Rain turns to face him more fully.

"I couldn't help it, it was just kind of out, but when I was in your room looking for my hoodie, I found something," Swiss says, rambling just a little bit. Rain peers closer, tries to figure out what Swiss found when it hits him.

He had used his grinder the night before and didn't put it away, left it out on his nightstand to dry after he cleaned it. It's his favorite toy, a little secret he keeps from his packmates. Marbled blue and silver silicone molded into the shape of a mass of writhing tentacles shaped just right. It gets him off like nothing else does.

"What is it?" Swiss asks, eyes darting over Rain's face, watching a violet blush starts to bloom on the tips of his ears.

"It's one of my toys, Swiss," Rain says, willing the blush from spreading down his cheeks.

"I've never seen any kind of toy like it," He says. "What does it do?"

Rain sighs, turning off his Switch and standing from the couch. "This is not a conversation for the common room, honey. My room."

He leads the way back to his bedroom, Swiss following after like a lost puppy, tail swaying behind him eagerly. Rain shows him in, shutting and locking the door as he slips into his room.

The grinder sits right in the middle of his nightstand, in all of its tentacled, suckered glory, the straps folded up beside it. "This what you find, Swiss?" Rain asks, grabbing the grinder and holding it up.

Swiss nods, tail flicking behind him curiously. "Yeah. You're saying that's a toy?"

"Mhm," Rain says, still brandishing the silicone. "It's a grinder. You put it between your legs and go to town."

Swiss cocks his head, taking in the shape of the tentacles. "It seems very you, rainbow."

Rain raises his eyebrows. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

The multi ghoul raises his hands, showing Rain his palms in an almost submissive gesture. "I meant, it feels very water ghoul to have a tentacle toy."

Rain chuckles, leaning over to kiss Swiss on the cheek; his stubble scrapes his lips, but he doesn't mind. "You wanna watch me use it?" He asks, delighting in the way Swiss gulps, Adam's apple bobbing.

"Yeah, Rainy, I do," He says, hands coming up to rest on the water ghoul's lithe waist. Rain smiles fondly at him before stepping back, pointing to the wingback chair in the corner of the room.

"Take a seat, pretty boy," Rain laughs, pushing Swiss by the shoulder with the hand not holding the grinder. "You wanna watch? You're gonna watch."

Swiss keens under his breath, cock filling out in his sweats, but he does as he's told, sitting crosslegged in Rain's chair. He fiddles with the string of his hoodie, unable to tear his gold eyes from Rain or the toy in his hand.

Rain turns to his bed, grabbing a pillow out of the mound of plushies and cushions at the head of his bed.

"Sure, I could just grind on the toy, but it's got straps for a reason," Rain says, tossing the pillow to the center of his mattress and grabbing the straps off of the nightstand, threading them through the slits in the toy. "You could, I'd assume, strap this to someone's thigh, make that a little more interesting, but you said you wanted to watch."

"Rainy," Swiss breathes, and Rain's head jolts up to look at him. His eyes are blown out, a tiny ring of gold around each pupil.

"What?" Rain says, tightening the straps of the grinder around the pillow. "Don't you want to watch? See how this kind of toy is used?""

Swiss nods, breathing already heavy. "Yeah, I do, like seeing you when you feel good."

Rain smiles, stepping over to cup Swiss's head in his hands, pressing a kiss on the curls between his horns. "You can touch yourself if you want, baby. I just want you to watch."

Swiss smiles back at him, warm and contagious. "Whatever you want, Rainy."

Rain slips away, back to the bed, as he strips out of his sweats and shirt, revealing his pretty teal gills along his ribs, the silvery scars under his pecs. He grins as Swiss swallows harder, and he straddles the pillow, aligning the grinder against his already wet cunt. He bites his lip as the tentacles nudge just right against his cock, peeking out from his folds slick and dusky violet, the same color as his blush.

He rocks his hips against the toy, immediately dropping down to brace himself on his hands and knees as he humps against the pillow. "Shit," Rain breathes, using the same motion he would if he were riding someone. His dick twitches against the silicone as Swiss slips a hand into his own sweats, the movement of his shoulder unmistakable. "Feels really good," he whimpers, biting his lip hard enough to taste iron as his slick coats the toy.

"Yeah, Rainy?" Swiss groans, leaning forward to watch the toy disappear between Rain's thighs. "It looks like you feel good."

"Makes me cum so quick," Rain groans, eyes pressed shut as he rocks back and forth. "Use it all the time when I'm not with one of you."

"Kept it a secret from us," Swiss says, breath hitching as Rain's hips stutter for just a moment. "Even though this is probably the hottest thing I've seen in months."

"Flatterer," Rain says, biting his lip hard.

"It's true," Swiss weakly protests, but Rain believes him, seeing just how fast his shoulder works. The sight of Swiss getting off to him paired with his cock sliding against a suckered ridge just right has him cumming, soaking the toy and the pillow underneath it. His hips stutter, jerking back and forth as he keens.

Swiss isn't far behind, leaving a wet spot on the crotch of his sweats. He shrugs, kicking off his pants as he stands, taking the few steps towards the bed. His hands rest on Rain's shoulders, helping him dismount the pillow, the water ghoul's thighs trembling.

"Shit, Raincloud," Swiss says, smoothing a hand up and down his bicep, easing Rain back down against the pillows at the head of his bed. "You looked good."

Rain smiles, shark-like. "I'll look even better when I strap it to your thigh next time."

[dayseternal-blog]

Hi 🤍 i urgently need nh fics with the cliché of “who did this to you”

Thank uuu

I've been trying to think of fics that have that exact line, and I only know my own.

"Tell Me of Forevers" - Rated T, High School AU, Two-shot. Hurt/Comfort Original Prompt created by whumpster-dumpster on Tumblr: Character A tilting Character B’s chin up to get a better look at their face and the evidence of the fight. A delicately thumbs away the streak of blood by B’s mouth, saying nothing as they examine it. After a brief pause, B’s heart skips a nervous beat as A looks them dead in the eyes. Their voice is quiet and tense, their anger barely restrained. “Who did this to you?”

Other than that, fics that have Naruto getting revenge on the people who hurt Hinata....

I feel like this one matches this idea:

“Echoes of Silence” by @ellaroundpanda - Rated E, Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Ongoing. Hinata Hyuga was trapped. Her relationship with Toneri was leading to nowhere and she wanted to find a new Dom. Naruto Uzumaki seemed to be the answer to all her prayers, but her fiancé wouldn’t give up that easily…

hmmmm....I've been having trouble thinking of fics where one of them gets hurt.....

“Day 22: Technology” from “A Love Story Like Never Before” by @journalsofagoddess - Rated T, Canon-Divergent, One-shot. It was the same feeling he always got when she left on missions. He felt useless that he wouldn’t be able to be by her side to protect her from everything and anything. But he was here now and he wouldn’t let anything hurt her. He promised.

"Savage" from "NaruHina Erotica Oneshots" by Makuro767 - Rated E, Canon-Divergent AU, One-shot. Hyuuga Hinata looked at her clear temple before brushing her bangs over it. By tomorrow noon, it will be marred by the Caged Bird Seal. A few weeks ago she was poisoned during a routine mission and the her chakra was completely ruined. She couldn’t mold it to activate her Byakugan and it has become a matter of great dishonor to her noble clan.

"Midnight Sun" by Makuro767 - Rated E, Demons Fantasy AU, Multi-chapter, Ongoing. Hyuuga Hinata is stuck in a school for monsters and the supernaturals despite being a totally normal human girl. But she has a protector. Uzumaki Naruto is an Incubus and a prefect of Konohagakure no Gakuen. Sounds like your day to day girl meet monster, no?

“The Demon’s Contract” by Cheating Death - Rated M, Modern/Gangs AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. The mysterious blonde male smirked down at her petite, quivering form, a hint of amusement in his crimson eyes. “I’ll help you with your revenge in exchange for your soul…”

"Distorted Minds" by Cheating Death - Rated M, Canon-Divergent AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. Her lavender eyes slowly opened, her vision blurry and distorted for a few moments as she tried to look around. It was then that she realized that she was suspended a few inches off the ground, her wrists cuffed in cold, metal shackles that hung from the ceiling.

I'm reminded of Chapter 16 in:

“Serenity Prayer” by katarinahime - Rated E, Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. When their fairytale endings smash to ugly pieces, Hinata and Naruto help put each other back together.

I'm also reminded of this chapter, "Don't go messing with things" from "(common side effects)" by katarinahime, when Naruto and Hinata get jumped by thugs... but in a wonderful twist, it doesn't quite match your request ...

Wow. Okay, so most of these recs are very dark. And as far as I can remember, none of them except for my own has the "Who did this to you?" spelled out, but they all have that same sense of "don't hurt my loved one!" So I hope something here satisfies!

[yueyimold]

double colour collapsible wash cup mold

China 2k mold maker, offer gyratory mold folding cup with handle, bi injection kitchen ladle, two tone folding scoop mold, double colour collapsible wash cup mold

[scienc5life]

Everyone is distorting the sweet baby inc thing so much it's unreal. I'm genuinely pissed people are trying to use a gaming consulting company to scapegoat for multi billion industry titans putting micro transactions in their games, and shitting all over the mere concept of equity while they're at it.

It's fucking sensitivity reading, they don't come in and write a new plot and design assets. Like let's all be real here, you look at what people are saying and it's not really about the employee on Twitter, people are bashing the premise of DEI and it touching video game development whatsoever.

I don't use Twitter so I don't know how the "discussion" is going down over there, but christ everywhere I look I see the same shit?? Piss on the poor reading comprehension of talks / interviews.

To put on my Gamer Hat for a second:

What's been fucking sucking with AAA games and any other "big" game has been how tame and samey it is and loaded with micro transactions. It's become a thing with profit over fun, and the games have suffered for it. New ideas get shot down because it's seen as a risky investment vs ones that have worked in the past and fit the mold. How is that the fault of DEI.

[gudmould]

Introduction of multi-component injection molding process

Multi-component injection molding process Also called multi-color injection molding process, it refers to injection molding of two or more color materials or different materials through a mold with one or more runners. It was first represented by two-color injection molding, most of our daily contact with two-color products, such as toothbrush we use every morning and evening, handle is made of…

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

Amazing fanfiction South Park Avengers DCU Part 2

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/2Hmfne0 by spaggywag two authors pass this book back and forth every day in school. nobody thinks like us! best fanfic you'll ever read! I'd recommend skimming through the last story, but do what you please. You can skip ahead to where your desired fandom enters the story WARNING!!! you WILL be very confused but go ahead and give it a shot Starts With Avengers South park enters chapter 3: Craig tucker Pov Words: 3210, Chapters: 5/?, Language: English Series: Part 2 of Our super fun autism extravaganza Fandoms: South Park, Marvel, DCU, Teen Titans Go!, Lin Manuel Miranda - Fandom, X-Men - All Media Types Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: F/M, M/M, Multi Characters: Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Original Female Character(s), Craig Tucker, Tweek Tweak, Bruce Banner, Loki (Marvel), Thor (Marvel), Clint Barton, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Logan (X-Men), Lin-Manuel Miranda, Stephen Strange, Garfield Logan, Victor Stone, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Tim Drake, Alfred Pennyworth Relationships: Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Bruce Banner/Thor, Dick Grayson/Victor Stone/garfeild logan, tony stark & stephen strange & lin manel miranda & logan Howlett Additional Tags: Batfamily (DCU), Trans Bruce Banner, mold infection, Tony Stark Has PTSD, Parent Tony Stark, co-parenting stucky and batman, teen titan suicide, Drug Use, Mpreg, Self-Harm, Past Sexual Abuse, The Jester - Freeform, Suicide, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Dick Grayson, omegaverse trauma, heat - Freeform, Active Shooting, but its just a prank, Prankster Clint Barton, Clint Barton in the Ceiling Vents, Bad Parent Odin (Marvel), Autistic Tony Stark, Autistic Bruce Banner, Autistic Craig Tucker, Autistic Peter Parker, Autistic Tim Drake, Jason Todd Has PTSD read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/2Hmfne0

[averysexyleon]

Miranda's Crystal making vs Ethan and Roses

She had similar black spots on her skin.  Fluid trickling from her nose.  She was choking, and speaking rapidly in Romanian.  Ethan’s heart began to beat faster at the sight of her, but this was not Miranda in the flesh (or the mold.)  It was simply a memory.  The memory he’d asked to see.  Miranda braced herself up, pulling the buttons on her dress shirt aside to reveal more blackened splotches.  

He had no idea what she was saying, but now the woman grimaced, grasping one of the wounds with her thin fingers.  She extended her other hand, and a mycelial root slithered into it, linking her directly to the mold’s network.  The disgusting branches writhed around her almost expectantly and she screamed in pain, grasping at the stomach wounds. 

Ethan’s glare was intense as he watched her other hand, the one extended, reach out and turn palm up.  For a moment, Miranda’s eyes turned white, or rolled back in her head, and then from her palm, spikes danced and churned.  Her screams of pain turned to a rather gasping sort of maniacal laugh.  Miranda’s eyes shot open as she watched the crystal grow in her palm.  After another several moments she cradled it in both hands, her laugh less relief and more crazed power seeking as the woman’s fingers danced over the item. She grasped it so hard that her fingers were cut all over and began to bleed black, but she didn't even seem to notice. 

The crystal shone bright white, so bright it was almost blue, but as Miranda continued to caress it, it dimmed to a silvery sheen.  In a flash the image was gone, leaving Ethan to stare at a particular patch of nothing in the garden. 

With a nod of resolve, he dipped down to one knee and Maricara stood the toddler in her pajamas on the ground.  Rose was undeterred by the chill on her socks, and she immediately made her way to Ethan, her chubby fingers grabbing his thumbs. 

Ethan smiled at her, the babbles causing him to lose focus, but now he could feel the pull from the ground.  Stronger now.  He lowered both long legs, tucking them underneath him, feeling the bite of cold ground as he settled forward.  There was a growing sort of energy around the pair of them, and he wondered what it meant.  

As if reading Ethan’s mind--or perhaps he just felt the buzzing himself, as a creature of electricity, Heisenberg raised a palm and brought a magnetic field around the group.  The act didn’t change the engineer’s expression at all, but years melted from the Roma woman’s face as she basked in the strange magic that no doubt had filled her youth.  And Rose squealed as she always did whenever Karl did…well, pretty much anything.  

Ethan didn’t even have to ask for help this time.  It seemed like the most natural thing in the world, to tear this ‘essence’ as the Duke liked calling it, from his body.  The fluctuating and rotating fields moved around them like a pulse, urging the spirits? Souls? Forward.  Rose felt like an oppositional magnet to him, pulling what felt like splinters toward his upturned palms.  The white beads of--sweat? Mold? Now began to look like salt crystals, forming over the surface of his palm and cracking as they expanded in several directions.  

Maricara nodded almost knowingly, but Heisenberg’s was a true face of wonder as he gazed at the pair.  Though she was silent, Eva’s form was visible here and she clapped.  After several more seconds, Ethan exhaled deeply and realized that the pain and odd sensations in his body had left him during the process.  

And now he had two crystals, one in each palm.  They were translucent white, full of spikes, resembling multi-pointed stars.  The blond now clasped them and turned his hands over, inspecting his often ill-fated fingers.  

Healed, normal.  

One crystal was dropped as he clawed over his torso.  No wounds. 

Karl dropped the field abruptly and metal clanged to the ground all around them.  

“I’ll be damned,” came Heisenberg’s voice.