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attapullman · 6 months ago

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Robert's Laundry Service | Neighbor!Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: A broken washing machine and a clogged bathroom sink lead you and Robert to explore the next part of your secret relationship.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Bob Floyd x afab!reader, no use of pronouns, no y/n, a little angsty, very smutty, 18+ ONLY as always, unprotected PinV, use of sex toys, language, a lot of cum mentions, neighbor!Bob being perfect as usual

A Note From Mo: Did anyone else miss neighbor!Bob? He needed some love, and that's what he's getting today! Thank you to @roosterforme for inspiring this idea that I took entirely too far. If anyone needs me, I'm going to be hoping that he moves into the empty apartment next to mine 🙏 p.s. this takes place before Stupid White Car

It’s hard to pay attention to the bad diagnosis he’s giving when your visual is just those threadbare grey sweats. Painted to his strong thighs, poking out from behind the washer like a personal serving of eye candy. You’re meant to be shining the flash light, but you long abandoned that task in favor of the view.

“…you can borrow mine in the meantime. I’ll call a guy Monday.”

Reluctantly, you draw your eyes from his lower half. Just as his words sink in.

“It’s broken?!”

Robert gives you a kindly amused grin. “Sweetheart, did you hear anything I’ve been saying?”

You grace him with a sheepish smile, caught red-handed.

“The tube disconnected from the wall and needs to be properly - professionally - connected before you use it again. I know it’s not the same, but you can do laundry at mine until someone comes out. I can make you tea and we can watch that undercover dating show you like?” His soft smile is as sweet as his offer.

You narrow your eyes at him playfully. “Hey now, you like that show too.”

Those cornflower blues shine, glad you’re not objecting. “I do, but only because it’s funny when you yell at the drama.”

He wraps his arm around your waist and guides you away from the laundry, back to where the two of you had been trying to decide on takeout over a game of checkers. Allowing him to drag you down to the couch, hips colliding into the soft fabric, you resume a lovely afternoon with Robert.

Robert, your helpful Mr. Fix It neighbor. And maybe, one day, your boyfriend.

Robert lending you his laundry room for the weekend is so generous. It feels a bit silly carrying your delicates through his back yard (especially when you know a few pairs are crusty from your…sleepovers) but you’ll take his selfless offer if it means clean laundry and a lovely afternoon spent with him.

As you work your way past the kitchen, you’re caught off-guard once again by how charming his home is. The little bits of personality, the framed photographs and handmade trinkets. While you know he can’t get any more perfect, his home makes a compelling argument.

The laundry room is fairly unremarkable - washer, dryer, large farmhouse sink for the unsavory jobs too nasty for the kitchen - but you do like his view of the neighborhood from the window. You’re almost curious if anyone will walk by and notice you standing in the wrong house, lacy balconette bra in hand.

Already regretting the amount of folded laundry you’re going to have to haul back through the gate after this, you begin prepping a load of lace and satin. Brainstorming ways to expedite the process, you overshoot pouring detergent into the water-filled drum and spill the cobalt goo all over your hand. Shit.

You rush over to the sink, subjecting yourself to freezing water to wash the detergent off your fingers. Once sufficiently clean, you reach for a cloth to dry off. And that’s when you see it.

Oh. You’ve never seen one in real life before, just in porn and the odd naughty ad while scrolling. It almost feels as if you’re being punk’d. Like if you sliced through it, it would actually be cake.

A cock ring, soft silicone and all. Casually sitting on the sideboard, freshly cleaned.

Every muscle in your body freezes as the implications of seeing something so private wash over you. Something meant between lovers that you had never seen in the weeks since that fateful night you let him in for a cup of tea.

It’s been a few days since you had last slept over. A scary sinking feeling fills your gut…was there someone else?

You had been so focused on the neighborhood not knowing. Staying in your homes, using the back gate. It wasn’t like you had ever verbalized your intentions with him. You couldn’t blame him for thinking the two of you as casual, as much as it twisted your insides.

As your thoughts spiral, there’s motion in the doorway and Robert is suddenly there, big shoulders and a soft smile on his face at seeing you in his space. Exactly where he wants you.

“You get it going in here? Find the detergent okay?”

Those kind cobalt eyes follow your gaze to the sink, where you can’t break your focus on the dark silicone device. The one he meant to put away before you came over. His cheeks flush as he steps into the room to attempt to explain why he has something so private sitting out - in his laundry room of all places.

But as he goes to open his mouth, you cut him off. “You don’t have to explain. I don’t need to know everything in your….sex life. You’re obviously welcome to do whatever you like in the privacy of your home.”

His eyebrows raise, unsure why you seem so upset when the only issue is a clogged sink in the ensuite last night.

You edge around him, desperate to get out of this space - his space - away from everything that reminds you of him as he figuratively slips through your fingers. “We never discussed being exclusive, so I get it.”

“What are you-?”

Tears threaten to spill over as he follows you toward his back door. “But if I’m being honest, I’m not sure I’m comfortable with us seeing other people, so-”

Robert’s eyes bug out of his head. Seeing other people? His blood pressure rises as the dots connect behind those pretty eyes, and suddenly he’s racing to cut you off. You’re faster than you look, but before you can turn the handle of the back door he’s plastered his body against the wood, effectively blocking you from leaving.

The pain behind your eyes begs him to move, to let you run back to the safety of your own home so you can cry and despair over not locking him down sooner. Of course there’s someone else. Of course you’re not the only one who can see how great Robert Floyd is.

“Robert, I need to leave. I need a moment alone. Please.”

But he holds his ground. The second you walk through that door he knows he’s lost you. His eyes are cautious behind those thick lenses, wanting to obey your wishes but the risk of losing you making every nerve stand on end. Whatever is wrong, he can fix this. He will fix it.

“Sweetheart.” His fingers reach into the space between you, hand clenching into a fist when he’s unsure whether he’s allowed to touch you right now. “There isn’t anyone else. I promise, you’re…you’re the only one.”

You eye him hesitantly, wanting to believe his words. But that cock ring has never made an appearance in your sleepovers. Never once brought up when he’s standing between your parted thighs, lips slotted against yours.

“I really want to believe you, I do. But why else would you be cleaning your, erm, toy?” You can’t bring yourself to say cock ring without bursting into frustrated tears.

It’s now that the fight within him drops, and immediately his shoulders release. Embarrassment floods his features and he drops his gaze, no longer able to look you in the eye. This is not how he anticipated bringing this dynamic into your relationship.

“That…it’s…I-I use it when I’m alone. I like to, uh, edge myself.”

His cheeks are flaming and the burning despair inside you dissipates into intrigue. A flame traipses through your abdomen, curious and hungry.

“You use it…alone?”

He desperately nods, tentatively reaching out to grasp your hands, needing to feel you. Those thick, strong fingers rub against your knuckles soothingly. Despite the whiplash of emotions conflicting inside you, his presence immediately soothes and you lean into his touch.

“The nights you can’t come over…I prefer to save my orgasms for you. Only you.”

His blush reflects yours as you look into those ocean-deep eyes, the desperation clear across his features. He’s being honest, laying out every last secret he’s got to keep you here.

“So, there’s no one else?” Your voice feels so small, barely a whisper in the kitchen.

He shakes his head definitively, using his grip on your hands to bring you closer as he stares deep into your eyes. “There’s no one else. And the fact you would even think that means I’m not doing a good enough job proving how much I care for you. Because I like you so much, sweetheart, so, so much.”

The tension in your body breaks, and you allow yourself to lean into his strong body. His panic dissipates as he holds you to him, one arm flush against your waist as his hand holds your face to his chest. He’s never letting you go, of that he knows for sure.

He can’t believe there would be any doubt in your mind of his intentions. The sleepovers, the dinners in, the way he’s made a home between your thighs…that makes you official, doesn’t it? He’s never been one for the right words, but he was pretty sure his actions proved he was in this for the long haul.

You’re too important to mess up. To allow any seed of doubt to spread.

His nose traces along your temple, warm breath kissing the delicate skin. “Can I take you to bed, sweetheart?”

Your face lifts from his chest to take in his honest face. The loose tendril of sun-lightened brunette that’s escaped his neat hairstyle. The thin lopsided smile you trust in. Eyes behind corrected lenses that are serious and playful in the same breath.

In lieu of an answer, you mold your lips to his, drinking in his taste you’ve deprived yourself of for days. His kindness and sincerity sink into you, surrounding you the pleasantly overwhelming way his body does as he wraps around you. Holding your hips as he swallows your tongue, shifting himself to feel every dip and curve of your body.

As his lips find your neck, the laundry room comes back into view. A delicious thought swirls in your mind and the words burst from your mouth.

“Can I see?”

He nuzzles against your jaw, grinding his erection against your thigh.

“See what?” He’s distracted by how good you smell, how soft your skin feels beneath his fingers.

“I want to see you with the cock ring. Show me, please?”

Arousal floods his mind, images of you naked beneath him while his balls throb with cum just for you. No words needed before he’s pushing you in front of him to his bedroom. He’s ready to show you just how devoted he is to you.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, it feels like the first time with him all over again. Anticipation of the unknown, drowned in heavy lust.

His eyes rake over you as he enters the room, lust darkening those soft blue eyes. You’re exactly how he wants you always - in his bed, eager for his touch. Right now, he’s yours.

Taking the spot between your legs, strong fingers stroking along jean-clad thighs, his broad frame bends toward you to rest his forehead against yours. That button nose knocking into yours.

“There’s been no one else since the day you moved next door. I’m yours, only yours.”

The build up of emotions behind your eyes threatens to spill over as he presses his lips to yours. Cups the back of your head as he leans into you, applying the softest pressure. Pouring every ounce of his devotion into his kiss.

Your legs wrap around his slim hips, needing to feel his security and care. He’s the most helpful man to exist, and you know he’ll guide you through this dynamic.

Kisses turn sweet to frantic to passionate as Robert holds your face. Your lips are chapped when he finally pulls away, strong chest rising and deflating. You know you mirror his disheveled aroused appearance. His hand reaches behind to his back pocket.

He holds the black cock ring between you, freshly washed, gleaming in the afternoon sunlight peeking through the curtains. “Are you sure about this?”

Your apprehensive eyes meet his, although a slight smile plays along your lips. “Play dirty with me. Please.”

Condensation beads on the lower rims of his glasses as he dips his face to kiss you, his skin flaming hot. The kiss is sinful yet curt, not wanting to lose himself before practicing restraint. You run your tongue along the seam of his lips, savoring his flavor. He hums against your mouth as your hands find his waist, heart picking up speed as your fingers find the button of his jeans.

Robert clenches the cock ring in his fist, already struggling to hold his load as the softness of your skin wraps tightly around his hardening cock.

His eyes are lidded, thin mouth already agape from the pleasure of your fist stroking firmly up and down his shaft. Can barely keep focus between the way you squeeze his deep pink tip and the spectacular view down your top, his mind running wild at the all the skin he needs to touch. He’s practically forgotten the reason for his view until you lick your lips sweetly and ask.

“Can I put it on?”

Fingers unfurl and present the silicone ring to you, warm from his clenched fist. You press the ring between your fingers, taking in the smooth design and thick circumference. Glide your thumb along the little button that makes it vibrate.

He’s panting above you, already wrecked at the vision. The only two things he deems worthy of his cock, right in front of him.

Bringing the ring up to your lips, he watches as you run your tongue along it, gathering your saliva to glisten along the silicone for a smoother glide. Your fingers effortlessly slipping along the edge before you touch it to the sensitive tip of his cock.

His fingers curl around the nape on your neck, holding the hair there, grounding himself. Between your ministrations and the pressure of the ring slipping down his length, he’s dizzy with stimulation. His cock immediately swelling in response. Lip between his teeth to contain the gruff moans you’re desperate to hear.

Your eyes are focused on the firm grip the ring has on the length of him, sliding down until your thumb is brushing his heavy ballsack, pulsing with need.

“Sweetheart, I’m not going to last.” He’s panting against your forehead, trying so hard to be patient, but wanting nothing more than to thrust into your fist and chase his orgasm.

You tilt his chin to press a chaste kiss to his lips. A promise to take care of him, because you and you alone are responsible for his pleasure. Always.

Sliding back onto the soft coverlet, you raise your hips to remove your jeans. Skin growing warm at the wanton look of need in Robert’s eyes as you unbutton your top. His voice but a whine when you sit in front of him in nothing but the delicate chain around your neck.

“So beautiful.”

It’s impossible to tell whose whimpers are more desperate as you run the shiny-slick swollen head of him against your core. Moaning as it catches on your entrance, ready to sink deep into those velvet depths. Voices becoming one as you impale yourself on the thick shaft that’s all yours.

He can’t believe anything could be better. This is Nirvana. Until you reach between to where your bodies meet and hit that tiny little button.

“Fuck!” He never swears, and yet that filthy word streaks through the room with a bite. Yelped loudly as he buries his face into your neck. The combination of vibrations and warm, tight pussy sending him into a spiral. Groaning out praises into your neck like it’s his last day alive.

You can’t help the grin on your face as you experience him come undone. How had you been denied the pleasure of watching him like this? The salt of his neck, the wayward curl stuck to his forehead? It’s a toss up if you’re getting off on being stuffed with his engorged cock or by watching the way his chest heaves for breath as he fights off his orgasm.

“Are you going to cum for me?” You’re drunk on power watching him like this, rutting his hips into you over and over for a pleasure that won’t come until you decide. His nod so desperate it goes right to your clit. His swollen cock stretching you beyond what you thought possible. The frisson of skin on skin, those tiny yet powerful vibrations, and his affection for you is overwhelming.

The ring fully still in place, your orgasm wracks your body, convulsing over the sheets. Barely able to notice his soft lips brushing the arch of your breasts as he consumes your satisfaction. Drinking in the sounds of your moans as they mix with his wet thrusts.

Your sleepy eyes are all he focuses on as he chases his orgasm, fighting past his usual routine of stopping here when he only has his hand. Right now he gets to have it all - the constricted blood flow, the vibration, and you. Perfect, wonderful you. His hands fist in the bedding, rooting himself, as sinks his hips deeper with precise strokes.

He can do this. He will show you you’re the only one for him.

Body quivering, his face is bright red as he thrusts, exertion bringing the vein in his forehead out with a matching bead of sweat. Robert feels his body take on a new consciousness as you ask for his cum once more.

His grunts are filthy - animalistic and deep. The first stream of cum he’s ever experienced with the ring on filling your stretched pussy, claiming you as his. Head fuzzy, he takes a moment to pull himself from your soft embrace and jerk his engorged cock, shot after shot of cum pumping out across your body. A painting only he gets to witness.

His tank now empty, you feel the soft thump of his body fall beside yours. Hear him catch his breath in the quiet afternoon air.

Exhausted, his face knocks into yours - glasses already lost to the coverlet - as he comes to reality once again. Strong arms reaching to pull you to him. Lackadaisical kisses to your cheek before risking a glance down and laughing abashedly.

“T-there’s so much cum. It’s everywhere.” Another kiss. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

The carefree yet sheepish grin he gives you melts your heart. You kiss him back, not needing to look as you feel his seed dry on your skin in the golden hour light. He very truly marked you as his, just as he is yours.

Smoothing your fingers through his hair, memorizing every little detail of his face - what a handsome face - you ease his embarrassment. “It’s not a big deal. We’ll just throw the sheets in the washer and enjoy dinner. It’s fine, really.”

His washer currently filled with your delicates complicates things, but your big, sweet smile soothes his self-consciousness. He returns the grin back, holding you closer.

That night is spent eating Robert’s lasagna and playing cards until every light on the street went out. It’s far too late when the sheets are finally clean and dried, and even later when they’re successfully on the bed. But it’s worth it to him when you crawl under the duvet and beckon him closer, needing one last kiss from your boyfriend before sleep.

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thealbatrovss · 17 hours ago

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wind song // logan(2017) x fem mutant reader

(mini series)

synopsis : you dream of a life without your powers. logan needs them to help locate some dead guys cash. a roadtrip to the Nevada desert with your ex was always bound to be a mistake. but, maybe it wasn’t.

Chapter 1 - blood money

chapter summary: after breaking up over a year ago, you reunite with logan at a diner in Texas. he needs a favor.

warnings: 18+ ONLY // MDNI - suggestive content, mature themes/subject matters, death, swearing, eventual violence and smut.

word count: 2k+

wind song masterlist // my other masterlist

The coffee was burnt. You pretended to like it that way.

The white mug was too hot to hold with your hands, so you opted for a straw instead. You found it in the corner of the booth. That earned some stares from the old couple eating lunch a few tables over and your waitress.

“That’s gonna melt the plastic right into your drink, you know?” Her Texan accent wasn’t as thick as the other waiters. There was red lipstick on her teeth. “Just wait for it to cool down.”

You picked the plastic tube from the liquid, inspecting it. It was still intact. “Looks fine to me.” And you popped it back in. There were sugar packets on the table. They reminded you of pixie sticks. You started to feel nauseous.

The lady shook her head, putting her notepad with your orders away. “Whatever gets you through the day.” And she left to go get your food. Or complain to her coworkers about the woman melting plastic instead of sugar into her coffee.

You wanted to drink it like normal. But you’d used a similar cup like this before to solve a case a few months back. It just didn’t feel right. Objects never did after they helped you locate the missing person. Another strange aspect of your powers. It’s like the people lived on through their things.

You could see his car pulling in through the driveway. He was right on time. Like always.

All kinds of emotions were running through you. You’d just arrived here out of state for a funeral. You were still wearing the black dress from attending this morning. Logan had called as you debated in your car whether to attend the after-services or not. Guess you got your answer. But it was still a surprising one.

You hadn’t seen or heard from him in over a year. Not since the incident.

The front doors opened, and the bell rang to let everyone know. You sat up a little straighter, nervous fingers folded in your lap.

Logan seemed to bring down the entire room as soon as he walked in. He wore a white tank top, with a white button-up over it. His black suit jacket was covered in specks of dirt and dust. His beard was a lot fuller now, his hair a bit shorter. Both growing gray. It glistened with the beads of something that smelled like moonshine.

For the first time in your life, you could see his age catching up to him. And the exhaustion. It was written on the bags underneath his eyes. In the way he held his aching knuckles to his chest, staring at where his claws hid.

He took a quick swig from his flask, ignoring the waiter's glare from behind the main counter. He was looking for you, drink still in hand.

You let him find you.

“Nice dress.” He started with. Your heart rate increased. You bit the inside of your lip. He still had that gravitational pull that made people want to either run and hide or get closer to him. He slid into the booth across from you. The sugar packets made shaking noises. He left his flask out on the table. “What’s the occasion?”

Your hands played with the black fabric ending at your knees. “Funeral.”

Logan nodded his head in understanding. He took out his glasses, looking at one of the menus.

“Oh, I’ve ordered already.”

“And I’m hungry as shit.”

“I ordered for you.” You emphasized.

Logan paused, staring at a picture of a salad. His eyes peeked out over the menu. “The usual?”

You nodded, swirling the straw around in the cooling cup of coffee. “Most places have what you like.”

He removed his glasses, rubbing at the irritated spot on his nose. “Next time, let me get my own tab.”

When she returned with the food, you ate in silence.

Logan stuffed a plate of sausages in his mouth before finishing attacking the eggs. He occasionally reached for his flask, like it was something he had ordered.

You didn’t feel like eating. The sugar was grinding in your ears. You’d have to take this sandwich to go. The coffee was going cold now.

“So,” you started. You were suddenly aware of how sticky the seat was beneath you. “Why did you call?”

“Why did you answer?” He kept eating. His fork made noises when it hit the plate.

You thought about the weeping mother and the small casket. “Well, it was either this or dwell on my last case. And I’d rather talk with an old friend than think about any of that.”

He stopped chewing, swallowing hard. “Well, then you’re not going to like what I have to say.”

Your brows knitted. You leaned back against the headboard. “I’m listening.”

Your ex took another shot of the hard alcohol. It was still the afternoon. But alcohol didn’t have the same effect on him as it did on other people. His abilities wouldn’t allow it. But it was still a problem.

He stuffed the flask back in his shirt pocket, only after it was empty. “I’ll make it short. A client of mine owes me a lot of fucking money.”

You crossed your arms. “How much?”

He put up five fingers. You remembered how they used to squeeze your hand in comfort. Sometimes they’d wipe away your tears. Other times they gripped your thighs and pulled you closer.

It was bittersweet. Those sweet and intimate memories. Even as the world continued to go to shit and mutants became less and less, you still had each other. Until something took that all away. You could recall the whistle ringing from your lips. Your cheeks were cold during the early days of fall. Logan was yelling about how you should’ve seen this coming. But he knew how your abilities worked. They didn’t work on the living.

“5,000?” You guessed.

“50,000.” He corrected.

Your jaw dropped. “Jesus. Were you his chauffeur or were you sleeping with him?”

He smiled. It was a weak one but it was still there. If you weren’t so used to it you would’ve missed it. “Look, he was a rich asshole who promised me a big tip. That's all.”

“That’s not a tip. That’s my salary.”

Logan set his utensils down after taking one last bite. “Then you need a fucking raise.”

“Or a new profession.” You joked. But it came out flat.

Being a private detective could’ve been a more fulfilling job. If it wasn’t for the fact that your mutant gene gave you the ability to track any person or creature. But only if they were dead.

You’ve worn this dress too many times to too many funerals.

Logan seemed like he was fighting with himself, whether to respond to that confession or not. He didn’t. Instead, he pulled out a fancy fountain pen from his jacket. “This is all I have of his.” He placed it on the table in front of you. “Will this be enough?”

You wanted to roll your eyes. “I haven’t even agreed to anything yet. What makes you think he’s dead in the first place?”

“Because, when he called saying he had the money, I heard gunshots. Then the phone went out. It’s been three weeks.”

“And no one’s reported him missing?” That was odd.

“Nope.” He looked from your eyes to your lips. “He never even told me where he was. I think he was out of state. And before you ask, yes, I already tried to trace the call. Nothing.”

The waitress came by, handing you a to-go box and whisked away his empty plates. Her eyes lingered noticeably longer on Logan as she walked back into the kitchen.

You continued your questioning. “Does he have any family? Maybe they know where he is.”

“No. He told me he was an only child. Parents died by the time he was 40. No other living relatives. People say a lot of shit when they’re drunk in the back of a car. Or just damn lonely.” His hand instinctively went to rest on the flask in his pocket. He motioned towards the pen. “If you need more than this, I can get it.”

You hesitated to pick it up. “You know how much I hate doing this.”

“I know.” He licked his lips, leaning towards you. “Yet, you’re still looking for people.”

It was true.

As much as you hated your powers, as much as they hurt; they could be used to help. Even if that meant only ever bringing people back to their families dead instead of alive.

A quote from your old Professor echoed in your mind. From a time long lost in the unforgiving hands of time and a powerful mind.

“Sometimes, doing the right thing can hurt you. But, it can give peace to the ones that you’re helping. What you give up, you give away. For good or for evil, now that’s up to you.”

You shut your eyes and took a deep breath. An old friend was asking for your help. But would he do the same for you? There was a time when you would’ve never doubted it. You hated yourself for that.

The pen felt icy in your hands. Maybe Logan was right. Maybe he was dead. You could already feel something beating through the object. It didn’t feel alive. “When do we start?”

A glimmer of light radiated off of Logan’s rugged face. For a moment there, it was like he was his old self again. The light flickered out just as quickly as it came. “Tomorrow morning. 8 am. I’ll pick you up.” He placed a 20-dollar bill next to your half-empty coffee cup.

You stared at the dead man on the paper. “I’ve already paid.”

“This is for the tip.” He stood, a slight uneasiness in his steps. He seemed so tired.

Were his regenerative powers still getting worse?

He paused before heading out, messing with the cuff of his sleeves. “Don't worry. I’ll make sure you get paid for this.”

I don’t want your damn money. I want to be rid of this haunting.

You let him think you were deep in thought. You tapped your chin. “I’ll take 60%.”

Logan put a hand on his hip. He sighed. “Now don’t piss me off.”

You rolled your eyes. “Would never dream of doing that.” You packed your untouched sandwich away in the box.

Logan cursed under his breath. It sounded like he was muttering between fuck it and fines. When he left the small diner the room felt lighter again.

You watched him drop his keys in the parking lot and stomped them further into the Texas dirt.

“See, I told you!” You turned to your waitress who was pointing at your cup. The plastic was starting to crinkle and melt. You could see it poking out from the brim of the liquid. “Next time, just drink the damn thing normally.”

I would if I could.

Logan was already gone by the time you looked back out the window. The sugar packets shook as you stood to leave. The cup rattled. The pen pulsed in your hands. Like it was trying to mimic a heartbeat it no longer had. You could feel your powers radiating through the objects.

That night you played with the lamentation on the corner of a photo.

Your motel room was small but surprisingly homely. There was a TV playing at full volume in the room next door. It kept you awake. Sounded like an action movie. It seemed to go on forever.

The photo was of you and Logan. You still kept it in your wallet. It was hidden behind old coupons and a stick of gum. Sometimes you forget it was even there. Most of the time you self soothed by peeling off the lamentation from the corners. The sides looked like the melting straw in your cup of coffee.

It was 9 pm. You ate most of your sandwich. A corner piece sat in the to-go box on your bed. Someone finally shut the TV off. A dog was barking in the parking lot. Cigarette smoke hugged the air. You put the photo back into your wallet, this time behind your credit card.

“Logan’s phone.” You heard Caliban's voice sing through the line. “Sometimes mine if he lets me use it.”

It was nice to hear from him again. A tracker similar to you but only with mutants. He was always mesmerized by how your powers worked. He used to show you the sketches of the figures you blew into the wind when you whistled. You wondered if he still kept those drawings.

“Hey. It’s me.”

“I know. He’s still got your contact name in his phone.”

You smiled a little. “Is he there?”

“He’s working. Some bachelor party, I think. He’s probably pissed he left his phone here.”

You looked at the fountain pen sitting on the nightstand. “When he gets back, could you tell him we’re headed to Nevada.”

“Nevada? What the hell are you two going to do up there?” He paused for a brief moment as if he just remembered. “Oh yeah. The blood money.”

“Did he promise you a cut too?”

He let out a laugh. “Logan can hardly part with a 5-dollar bill these days. I’ll probably get paid shit for watching Charles while you two go off getting married in some shitty casino or something.”

“It’s just a business trip. Nothing more.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree on that one, my friend.”

There was a storm happening outside. The wind howled like a river of ghosts against the motel walls. You thought you heard old teammates and friends whispering in it.

A cough came from the other line. “By the way, if you come across a Vegas snow globe, I’d very much like to add it to my collection.”

“Sure.” The howling outside continued. “Take care, Caliban.”

“You don’t want to ask how Charles is doing?”

You took a sharp inhale. You didn’t need to ask. You knew exactly how he was doing. And you didn’t want to talk about him right now. Maybe some other time. You kept putting it off. You’d deal with that guilt another time.

“I’ll get you that snow globe.” And you hung up.

You fell asleep, still wearing that black dress.

#the wolverine x reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #the wolverine #the x men #ravens masterlist #wolverine x reader #wind song masterlist #logan

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eliyips · 1 year ago

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HOW DO YOU MAKE X SO FRIENDSHAPED?!

But also genuinely curious about the design translation from the actual skins to your interpretations due to the small but mighty details added in

Infodump as hard as you want!

If i ever pass up an opportunity to talk about my X design, it will be because I am either dead, or dying!!! neither are true at time of posting, so here you go! I will be going over my ENTIRE design process for Xisuma, starting with my initial design:

My initial design for Xisuma wasn't anything special, in my opinion. Most of what I included was directly ripped from the classic Doomslayer. Though, the face scars were inherited from fanon, of course. :) The changes that I did make were in service of having things make more sense for Xisuma. Namely, the belt buckle, and the fabric covering the arms...

The belt buckle is simple - bullets didn't really make sense as a design motif, all considered - but the fabric is more complicated. I have a couple different ideas about why Xisuma wears the suit, but I haven't settled one way or the other on some of the specifics, so forgive me if I'm a bit vague. Ultimately, It is just my impression that X is not comfortable having his body visible more than it needs to be, whether that be for health-related reasons or for personal/emotional reasons. I don't intend to ever draw Xisuma with his helmet off, because of that. To me, it feels like a violation of boundaries. To be perfectly clear though, that's just for me - more power to other artists who draw him without the helmet/armor! :)

By the time I was full-on fixated on Xisuma, I realized I was unsatisfied with this first pass at his design. Mainly, in regards to the helmet. So I did more work on it!

I feel like my re-design process for the helmet is a good example of the importance of using reference. :) I did a lot of unsatisfactory sketches before pulling up pictures of real helmets, at which point I feel like I settled on something I was happy with very quickly.

Specifically, I referenced motocross helmets! My choice of reference was mostly driven by my passing interest in sports equipment design, though motocross helmets are similarly bulky and have the same distinct mouthpiece as X's helmet, so I think it was a good choice. I also feel like the pixels at the top of Xisuma's skin can be pretty easily read as the brim of a helmet, so it works out!

Other than the motocross helmet influence, I also made the choice to add tubing to the sides and back of the helmet. This rolls with my headcanons about the purpose of the helmet, connecting to air tanks on his back! I also think it helps to distinguish him from the doomslayer, in addition to the new helmet shape.

The only other changes I made were to the helmet's palette, added a few additional grey tones for contrast, and the positioning of his scars. I decided I wanted them to be a little off-center, leaning towards his left eye. I'm pretty inconsistent with how I draw the scars though, lol, so it changed again by the next time I drew him.

At this point my design is mostly settled for him, and I don't expect it to change very significantly any time soon. I don't have much else to say about it, but I listed the other iterative changes I made to the design above! I figure I will continue making small tweaks to his design every time I draw him :)

That said... I have yet to answer your initial question! So I will answer it now:

"HOW DO YOU MAKE X SO FRIENDSHAPED?!"

My answer is that it's (almost) all in the eyes!!! I have already talked pretty extensively about Xisuma's eyes. So I won't dwell for too long! In short, human facial recognition is very closely tied to the eyes. The ability to see the eyes of a character clearly affords you a lot of flexibility when it comes to making a design seem approachable, or "friend-shaped." I painted over a screenshot of doomguy to illustrate my point!

My drawings tend towards being a little cutesy, of course, so that helps :) but you can see that the bright, saturated color, big distinct eyes, and less harsh expression all contribute to making him seem like he is less of a threat, despite this literally just being the doomslayer.

Another thing that helps is, again, related to the style I draw in. My art is very "clean" looking, not gritty. I use a lot of soft shape language and don't texture things too heavily. With Xisuma specifically, I also make no effort to make him seem intimidating. I use very neutral angles when drawing him, I don't frame him in a way that makes him seem intimidating or imposing, I don't pose him too confidently or angrily. Because he's not that kind of guy! Though it would be an interesting challenge to try and make him look as intimidating as possible :) I certainly think he could be quite scary, if he wanted to be. Just a matter of what I'm trying to convey.

... I think that's all I have to say for now! Once again, blown away by all the nice things people have to say about my Xisuma design and my art. Everyone here has been so kind and encouraging, and I really appreciate that. Thanks for giving me the opportunity to yell about Xisuma! If you have follow up questions, by all means, I am ready to answer :)

#hermitcraft #hermitblr #xisumavoid #xisuma #character design #askeliyips #if you also can see the helmet brim on xisuma's skin please let me know #could be a mirage #mcyt

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lonestarbattleship · 3 months ago

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July 10, 2024 Update from the Battleship Texas Foundation

"BATTLESHIP TEXAS UPDATE

Battleship Texas in Galveston, Texas, undergoing repairs.

The ship is currently moored at Pier D in Gulf Copper Shipyard where it will continue to undergo repairs and preparations to become a museum ship once again.

Navy Blue 5-N has been applied to the forward sections of the ship.

STEEL DECK REPAIRS: The ship’s steel deck has been sandblasted and primed while repairs are ongoing.

Looking down on the bow of Battleship Texas. Steel deck repairs are ongoing while workers prepare the area for a new pine deck.

Comparison of Navy Blue 5-N (top) and Deck Blue 20-B (bottom). The ship's pine deck will be painted Deck Blue 20-B.

The ship is being painted Navy Blue 5-N.

PINE DECK REPAIRS: Workers have already begun fitting the margin planks to the ship’s deck. These planks are cut to length, fitted to the area of the deck they are going, and primed.

New deck studs (for holding the deck planking down) is being installed on the ship's bow.

A fresh coat of Navy Blue 5-N has been applied around the ship's superstructure deck and signal bridge.

Pictured is the Signal Records Room.

Pictured is the Navigation Office.

For more history on the deck of Battleship Texas visit: link

MAIN MAST: The ship's main mast continues to be blasted and primed following repairs. The radar top mast, along with its SG and SK, will be reinstalled.

The ship's main mast is being sandblasted and primed before a coat of Navy Blue 5-N is applied.

IFF antennas await installation on both the fore and main masts.

The ship's main mast is being sandblasted and primed before a coat of Navy Blue 5-N is applied.

BARREL STORAGE TUBES: Storage tubes that once held spare barrels for the ship’s 20mm anti-aircraft guns have been fabricated and reinstalled. Not every tube will be installed at this time, but it is one more step to presenting the ship in its 1945 appearance.

FLOATER NET BASKETS: Several floater net baskets have been added in a few areas aboard. These baskets held nets which were designed to free float if a ship were to sink and provide sailors something to hold on to until they were rescued.

Antenna mounts have been fabricated and installed. Small details like these help bring the ship back into its 1945 appearance.

Ladders are being installed into the correct positions on a clipping room. Small details like these help bring the ship back into its 1945 appearance.

UPCOMING EVENTS:

July 20, 2024 - Join us for a ceremony to welcome the return of the Battleship Texas steel that was flown over France during the 80th Anniversary of D-Day! The Battleship Texas Foundation would like to welcome you to join us on this special occasion. For more information visit: battleshiptexas.org/return-ceremony

FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS:

WHAT’S NEXT? - Battleship Texas will remain at Gulf Copper Shipyard while the ship’s new home in Galveston, Texas, is prepared. Additional steel work, replacement of the ship’s deck, further restoration, and painting will be done during this time.

Structural repairs are being made to the ship's cranes.

Brackets are installed which will hold the ship's siren and whistle. Both will be made to work again.

Workers lift parts of the ship's siren for a test fit of the newly installed brackets.

The ship's siren is being fitted to the smokestack.

TOURING? - The Battleship Texas Foundation will be offering touring options while the ship is in the shipyard. Participants will be able to view ongoing work and restoration or learn all about how the ship operated during its service career. An announcement will be made once touring options become available.

Looking forward from underneath the main mast aboard Battleship Texas.

REOPENING? - There is a lot to be done before the ship is ready for touring at its new home in Galveston, Texas. Reopening is projected to happen in the later half of 2025.

MISSING GUNS? - The ship's anti-aircraft guns are currently undergoing restoration. The guns and gun directors will be replaced once their restoration is complete.

Come on Texas!

To donate to the preservation and operation of Battleship Texas, please visit: battleshiptexas.org/

Support Battleship Texas by making a purchase through the ship's store: https://store.battleshiptexas.org"

Posted on the Battleship Texas Foundation Facebook page: link

#Battleship TEXAS #Battleship Texas Foundation #USS TEXAS (BB-35)#USS TEXAS #New York Class #Dreadnought #Battleship #Warship #Ship #Museum Ship #Update #Galveston #Texas #Repairs #Gulf Copper #Restoration #July #2024 #my post

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aliumfungus · 5 months ago

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Chipped and Shattered - Chapter 01: You Fought Well

Feyd-Rautha/Paul Atreides fic

Part 01 / ?

Warnings: noncon, drug use, violence

Adults only please :)

Chapter 01 - You Fought Well

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Droplets of painkiller gathered, bulged, and hurled themselves with suicidal fervor into the IV line. Morphine flowed into the tube that snaked across the landscape of the hospital sheets and terminated inside Paul’s elbow. It dulled his thoughts and annoyed him, too, because with Bene Gesserit training he required no anaesthesia for anything less than open heart surgery. The drug stuffed his skull with cotton and parched his mouth, and finally the young man had enough. Through force of will he lifted his free hand, grasped the needle embedded in his flesh, and yanked.

Blood spattered on the white sheets in a vivid, shocking spray, then melted into the fabric without a sound. The young man sighed and melted, too, sinking into the hospital bed. He closed his eyes and drank in the darkness he found there.

The fight with Feyd hadn’t gone well. Paul slew the Baron and rode the ecstatic crest of an unstoppable wave of religious fervour that filled him with godlike confidence. There was no way he could lose, but that wave crashed against the na-Baron Feyd Rautha’s blade… and broke, collapsed, with Feyd’s knife buried in Paul’s gut. The Fremen wailed and the Desert Mouse choked on a mouthful of blood and bitter defeat.

They were all dead now, Paul supposed. The morphine couldn’t dull the painful reality of that thought.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The IV continued its relentless administration, unaware its purpose had been severed.

Paul’s purpose, too, was severed. The realisation should have hurt, but instead he felt only shameful relief. The galaxy-wide immolation was quenched. The shrine of his father’s skull, that dreadful future place, would never be. When Paul looked ahead into the coming days, Leto’s skull crumbled to dust in the desert.

Relief. He shouldn’t feel it. Paul squeezed his eyes shut, turning his mind away from the now-foreign future, but the past offered no sanctuary either. Memories of the fight trembled at the edges of his awareness: tangled limbs, hateful stares, and Chani’s blue eyes boring holes in him as Feyd and Paul shared desperate gulps of hot evening air on their knees and Feyd forced his steel tooth inside him.

The door whirred open and Paul heard feet cross the threshold and advance. Training screamed for him to open his eyes and confront whatever new danger loomed, but Paul remained still and blind with eyes closed. Maybe he’d die, the young Duke thought, and his skull would join the piles of Atreides dead in the ruins of his fief.

Let it be so.

“You fought well, Atreides,” rasped the newcomer in a coarse, raven-like croak of speech.

Na-Baron Rautha.

Paul said nothing.

Fabric rustled as the visitor approached, and fingers brushed the inside of Paul’s elbow.

“You don’t care for morphine,” Feyd continued in what might have been either a question or a statement.

Sudden anger blossomed like morning sun over a distant hill and Paul opened his eyes to stare at the other man. Hate replaced shameful relief much to Paul’s gladness, and he leaned into the notion that he despised Feyd Rautha for the sanctuary it offered.

“That’s alright,” Feyd said, pale fingers resting on the spots of blood inside the Duke’s elbow. They gathered the liquid, lifted, and the na-Baron sucked his pale, boney digit. “Pain is just another sensation and all sensations are to be enjoyed, are they not?”

Paul didn’t answer.

Feyd smiled, a cold thing, and extended his hand with knuckles forward to Paul’s face.

“You may kiss the ring of your new Emperor,” the Harkonnen said with unbearable smugness. “You may swear fealty. I will accept your service.”

Paul spat.

Feyd blinked, then croaked out a laugh as he wiped his cheek. That liquid joined Paul’s blood in his mouth as the na-Baron–no, the Baron– licked his fingers clean a second time.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Feyd said, an infuriating smile tugging the corners of his lips to reveal teeth black as oil. “You’re thinking that your friends and family are all dead. They aren’t.”

It was Paul’s turn to blink.

“They’re alive and well,” Feyd added. “Even your Fremen.”

“Why?” Paul asked before he could stop himself. It didn’t make sense. “You hate the Fremen.”

“My dear, departed Uncle hated the Fremen,” Feyd said, still patient. “I don’t.”

“You kill Fremen,” Paul insisted, and his mind lanced ahead into the future until the dullness of morphine fuzzed his awareness to a useless blur. He was near-blind, confined to an incomprehensible present. He tried again, tongue tangling in his dry mouth. “You torture and hurt and brutalize Fremen, you–”

“I obeyed my beloved Baron,” Feyd interrupted, and he sat on the edge of Paul’s bed in a conversational way. “And now he’s dead.” “I killed him,” Paul said, unsure of what he argued for but aware that he wanted very badly for Feyd to finish the task he’d started. “I killed Vladimir Harkonnen. You must want vengeance.”

“And I will have it,” Feyd responded, benign. He examined his white fingernails, apparently fascinated. “I will have it and much more.”

“So why am I alive?” Paul demanded, rising at last from his sprawl against the hospital pillows. He struggled upright and a bolt of pain as brilliant as lightning shot through his torso. Paul gasped with the force of a drowning man, vision wavering with a sudden influx of involuntary water. “Damn you, why am I–”

“Because I want you so,” Feyd said, unconcerned with the other man’s agony. “Because it suits me.”

Bene Gesserit training allowed the young Duke to consciously constrict his tear ducts and the water in his eyes drained. His vision cleared and so did his mind as Paul grasped acidic hatred with a white-knuckle grip and clung to his pain for the refuge it offered.

“Chani,” he demanded. “The Lady Jessica. Stilgar. Where are they?”

“On Arrakis,” Feyd replied, eyes finally leaving his corpse-like nails and snagging Paul’s gaze to pierce his awareness like a sliver of wood in soft flesh.

“And where am I?”

“On my ship,” the Baron said. He shifted, braced one hand by Paul’s hip and leaned closer until he pushed into the space a personal shield would protect if they were still fighting. Perhaps they were. “You’re on my ship, Atreides.”

“You haven’t said why,” Paul replied, unwilling to show weakness by retreat. He lifted his chin, gaze hard as the empty space outside the hull and equally as unforgiving. “Why aren’t we all dead?”

“Because I am not a stupid man,” Feyd said. “I am not willing to kill what may aid me.”

“I would never,” Paul hissed. His lip curled. “Cousin.”

“Cousin,” Feyd repeated, and he shifted forward, closer, near enough that Paul felt Feyd’s bodyheat despite the hospital tunic and the knife-wound that throbbed a steady drumbeat in his gut. “Cher cousin. Why should family fight? Why shouldn’t you and I… join?”

Paul didn’t know how to respond. He blinked, mind stuttering over the odd phrasing. Join?

“Think about it,” Feyd added. “Your Fremen with my dominion as Emperor–who would dare to stand against us? Who could?”

Hatred and the warmth of bodyheat mingled in Paul’s awareness, broiled in a stew of conflicting emotions.

“You want me to order the Fremen to assist you,” the young Duke said, stalling as he tried to parse the situation. It was all so sudden. No doubt Feyd had told the medical staff to alert him the moment the Atreides awoke so Feyd could sweep in while Paul was off balance. Despicable tactics, but effective. “I won’t.”

“But why not?” the Baron pressed, dark eyes open like the yawning mouths of mass graves. “Why not accept my offer?”

“You haven’t made one,” Paul countered, tongue still thick in his mouth. He wished Feyd would move away. He’d started to sweat.

“Serve me,” Feyd said. “Attach your House to mine–we are cousins, are we not? Are we not already joined in blood?”

Static roared in Paul’s ears as Feyd’s hand settled over his on the hospital sheets and it finally clicked in the young Duke’s head what the new Emperor intimated.

“You want me as consort,” Paul said, disbelieving.

“I want war,” Feyd countered, fingers lacing themselves through the other man’s. “I want that holy war you promised.”

Paul yanked his hand free and stared at the Harkonnen with horror. Even through the morphine Paul felt the stormclouds of the holy war gather on the future’s horizon, churning and turning over with restless, eager energy like a pacing hunting hound before the excursion.

“No,” Paul whispered. The relief he’d shamefully enjoy curdled. “No, why would you–”

“Because I want to see it burn,” Feyd said, ghosting closer until his hot breath washed over Paul’s chin and collarbone. “All of it.”

“All of what?” Paul asked, dizzy, though he knew the answer.

“The universe,” Feyd replied with drunken elation. “Don’t you?”

“No!” Paul snapped. “I tried my best to avoid the holy war! I don’t want millions to die!”

“Everyone dies, cher cousin,” Feyd continued, a giddy gleam in his dark eyes. “Chani will die. The Lady Jessica will die. Stilgar will die. I’ll scourge Arrakis clean, metre by metre, cave by cave, building by building and room by fucking room, until there’s nothing left but sand and spice and worms–do you understand now?”

Feyd smiled, black teeth bared and breath quick. He grasped Paul’s hand in his again, brought it to his mouth and nuzzled against the younger man’s knuckles as he wallowed in fantasies of mass carnage.

“Do you understand? I’ll kill them all– unless you order your Fremen to obey me,” Feyd said, and he looked up from under his eyelashes in an absurdly coquettish, bashful look of adoration at the horrified man. “Everyone dies, but you can delay it if you join with me. Cousin.”

Paul couldn’t answer. He felt sick. He yanked his hand but Feyd didn’t let it go this time and freezing dread submerged Paul’s heart in brine colder than the oceans of Caladan.

“I’m not–I don’t–” Paul said, floundering and hating that fact. “Chani–”

“You’re trained by Bene Gesserit,” Feyd said. “You know how to control your body’s responses. You can make it work if you choose to make it work.”

“But why that? Why?” Paul asked. His heart battered his ribs over and over like a bewildered bird in a universe of glass panes.

“Leto ruled from the heart,” the new Emperor said, as certain as the death he promised. “It was his weakness. Yours, too. And over time it will yield and then I will have nothing to fear from you.”

“Idiot,” Paul hissed, pulling again but unable to break the grip Feyd maintained on his hand. “Why would you be so open?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Feyd purred, nuzzling the sun-burnt knuckles again, adoring. “You are your father’s son and I am my Uncle’s creature. I could tell you every day for a thousand years and it would still happen.”

He paused, turned his head, pressed his lips to the back of Paul’s hand.

“I will have nothing to fear from you,” he repeated, sure as the ticking of a clock. “I will own you and you will love me for it.”

“I hate you,” Paul replied, and he pushed every gram of bitterness he could muster into his voice, into his heart, into the baring of his white teeth.

“But you love your mother,” Feyd said. “And you love Chani. So you’ll agree to be my consort and you’ll give me your Fremen, the war will be waged, and sooner or later you’ll fuck your heart into my hand and I’ll own every last part of you.”

He smiled.

“Cher cousin.”

Paul wanted to die.

#fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #dune movie #feydpaul #paul atreides #feyd rautha

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uru-writes · 3 months ago

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'*•.¸♡ EXAMINATION ♡¸.•*' dg x eugene ꨄ︎

tags: established relationship, fluff, warning this is the most cliche thing ever

tw: skin chafing/itching/scratching, description of irritated skin

Eugene sighed and quickly unbuttoned his dress shirt, frantically itching at his bare chest as he sits on the edge of his bed. It was unbearable. Damn uniform. Who decided on such a harsh fabric, anyway? It had been bothering him all day, but a chairman can't be seen succumbing to something so derisory. Plus, it wouldn't help the comments about how girly and pathetic he already is.

"What are you doing?"

Eugene paused and watched Dagyeom proceed across the bedroom, who took one look at the hard nipples barely poking out of Eugene's shirt before grabbing his wrists and pushing him back on the bed. Dagyeom carefully pulled away his shirt, exposing red, irritated skin; some parts blotchy and some marked with clear nail streaks. Eugene frowned and squirmed under his partner's close examination, still not used to the proximity Dagyeom so enjoyed.

Dagyeom hissed quietly. "Why would you do this?" he muttered, gently brushing the soft skin with his fingertips.

"It was itchy . . . " Eugene mumbled, squirming until Dagyeom got up and left. He returned with a tube of anti-itch ointment. He straddled Eugene, despite more squirming. He unscrewed and squeezed the tube lightly, beginning to spread ointment across the chafed skin.

Eugene peered up at him silently, watching Dagyeom focusing on tending to him. He would typically hate being serviced so intimately, but it was oddly relaxing. Damn Dagyeom and his gentle touch. He had a way of softening him up in a way that was only slightly annoying. He was on the verge of complaining, but decided to wait patiently instead.

"You know, I was gonna do that myself," he finally said when Dagyeom finished.

"Yeah, sure," Dagyeom mumbled, absentmindedly screwing the cap back on the tube. "You're welcome."

"Thanks, I guess."

"I told you not to wear clothes like this anymore."

"Since when do I do what you say?"

#lookism #dg x eugene #lookism eugene #lookism dg #lookism james lee #lookism yujin #diego kang #kang dagyeom #lee jihoon #lookism fanfiction #webtoon #manhwa #fanfiction

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drstonetrivia · 11 months ago

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Chapter 222 Trivia (Part 1)

Fun fact: this chapter is from issue #2 of WSJ's 2022 collection!

The Apollo mission had spacesuits tailor-made to each astronaut, but these days it's easier to use interchangeable parts and switch them out according to the size of the wearer, rather than having the whole suit fitted.

However, the gloves are always custom-sized for dexterity.

Vinyl fabric doesn't seem to have ever been used as part of a spacesuit, however spandex and nylon have, especially in the inner layers.

Outer layers include Teflon, Kevlar, and aluminized Mylar.

It's possible that rather than being used for the fabric, the vinyl is used for the suit's interior cooling tube system, and the aluminum is used for the Mylar rather than for the exterior metal parts, as pure aluminum is easily scratched.

You probably recognize this panel from the end of chapter 219. The only difference is Ryusui's head has been swapped with Stanley's.

Japanese doesn't have a "V" sound, which is why Chrome says "by" rather than "vi" or "vy".

Generally English words used in Japanese make this switch, for example "violin" becoming "baiorin" due to the lacking of "V" and "L" sounds.

This building may be where they're assembling the SENKU 11 rocket, however in this first panel it appears completed, but in later ones it's still under construction.

The PS5 was first announced in April 2019, and released November 2020. First images of the console were revealed on June 11th 2020.

The first global petrification happened in June 2019, so this person would know about the console but not known what it was meant to look like.

The robot maid request is most likely a reference to "Me and Roboco", another manga currently being published in Weekly Shonen Jump alongside Dr. Stone. It's a comedy series that follows a powerful-but-clumsy maid robot in a grade schooler's service.

(Later, Me and Roboco came out with a Dr. Stone parody for the 15th volume cover)

The vacuum tubes are back in the form of cavity magnetrons. These produce the microwaves that bounce around the microwaves' interior body.

The cooking effect was first discovered in 1945 when Percy Spencer noticed a candy bar had melted in his pocket after testing magnetrons.

Plastic wrap is vinyl that has been flattened to between 8-12 μm thick, (approximately 0.001 cm). For context, this is about as thick as a spider's web or the size of a droplet of water in fog.

The film Senku makes here is cellulose triacetate film, which is less flammable than earlier celluloid film, earning it the nickname "safety film".

The 8 mm part is the width of the film strip.

Unlike reusable hand-warmers that use supersaturated sodium acetate, these are one-time use and rely on oxidation to create heat. Once the packaging is opened, air penetrates the bag, oxidizing the iron. Vermiculite is added to remove moisture & salt is added as a catalyst.

Chrome's design wouldn't work properly because he uses iron sand rather than iron powder. Iron sand is mostly magnetite, which is already an iron oxide and thus won't have the oxidation reaction or create heat.

The fridge (or maybe mini wine cellar/fridge?) design is a parody of Smeg, a kitchen appliance brand.

You can also see the Senku-brand PlayStation, robot maid, and protein powder.

(Next part)

#trivia #dr stone #chapters #222

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commitchanges · 9 months ago

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As technology progresses, and as machines become more ergonomic, I can't help but feel that we've lost our appreciation for the beauty of creation, and the respect towards the immense forces at play in these machines.

I visited the railway museum today and had the thought while waddling between steam locomotives; titanic masses of steel, wrought to serve the will of man after hundreds and thousands of collective hours of fabrication alone. Wild machines in which were used to tame the forces of nature, but yet still possessed the bestial will common to all of gods creations.

Mechanical joints, intricate pipes, infinite rivets, laid bare for one to see. These commanded wonder for the dedication of man. Relentless power harnessed from nature commanded respect for the power of machine.

The engineer operates the machine through primitive interfaces.

Opening and closing valves of the creature's circulatory system.

Shoveling coal directly into its flaming belly.

Looking ahead by leaning out the side of the cabin.

This is a beast of a machine where the human is both the most important component, but paradoxically an afterthought.

Now I'm not saying that this is comfortable or preferred by any means. I'd take the present day mech piloting paradigm of air conditioned lounge room over this any time. But with this ergonomic and minimalist design, we've also began to lose respect for The Machine.

Respect for The Machine isn't just a thing I made up here. As part of employee training, JR West used to require certain employees to crouch in a service ditch as a Shinkansen passed over head at over 300kph. Objectively terrifying, but also extremely effective at allowing one to feel the power of a 400m long 700ton aluminum tube traveling up to half the speed of sound.

youtube

The lack of respect for The Machine can be seen in how we go about our day to day. For those of us who drive, we hop into finely tuned machines consisting of thousands of moving pieces, and we take it for granted that we expect it to work. We use magical black rectangles which allow us to talk to the other side of the planet in milliseconds. And behind the sleek, streamlined veil, is a delicate ballet of electrons and metal, with not even a slight demand for attention or appreciation.

This effortlessness of use of technologies, coupled with design language comparable to Orwellian Newspeak results in us, as humans, struggling to viscerally understand the power and complexity of our own creations. Our lizard brain is just not capable of it.

Technology used to command your attention. Computers used to scream before connecting to the internet. Cameras used to hiss, tick and click. Telephones used to require at least three humans in the right place to operate. All these things are now abstracted and automated away for ease of use, and hidden away for ease of mind, and so; we take it for granted. As a result, the lizard brain thinks technology is simple. But now, one must peel back the Corning® Gorilla® Glass 5 to see the same arcane wizardry, artfully crammed into a portable rectangle. The culmination of human ingenuity.

Something about this disrespect for technology feels analogous to approaching wild animals without caution; like touching an irukandji jellyfish. Like the seamless and harmless looking jellyfish, magical technologies like Tesla Full Self-Driving lure us to approach it without caution. We place our lives in its its flawed, mechanical hands, and when it fails, we are met with it being "intended to be used only with a fully attentive driver".

OECD published a study in 2016 with regards to the international job-related skills. Of which they found that 69% (nice) were only capable of very simple tasks on a computer; and this is just computer literacy! Completely ignoring whether or not the person has an understanding of how a computer functions. This, I would personally would say, is very concerning given how integrated into our lives technology is becoming.

Minimalist design language not only leads us to be unaware of the hidden complexity, but also being uninterested. Unable to fathom the miracle of microscopic connections and diodes that lie milliliters below the the sleek glass exterior. None of the complexity to appreciate the craftsmanship. None of the teeth that the lizard brain would perceive as dangerous.

In the 80's, science communication was at the very least, a critical criteria in the decisions made in the pursuit of science. That whether or not it was to be Big Bird on the Challenger space shuttle, or some other educational figure. Where computers laid their internals bare to let you know "I'm serious business". There's something about it which gives you an appreciation for the complexity.

I think it's the same lack of appreciation which leads people recklessly to AI art. To self driving cars. To touching the irukanji jellyfish.

Undervaluing the process. Pursuing only the results. Unaware of the terms and conditions of service. Leading us to casually make dangerous decisions.

Ultimately, we are all weird apes with weird quirks; gifted with the double edged sword of creation. We swing it where we want, creating whatever we like. However, we have the ability to manipulate our environment beyond what our lizard brains evolved to understand. Thus, if we are going to create beyond the lizard brain's understanding, we should perhaps invest in understanding it instead.

All in all, technological advancement is inevitable. Accessibility of technology to the masses is good. But, we spent all this time and effort, tricking rocks into doing math; building our Tower of Babel. It's odd that we're not investing in some buttresses as well.

This writeup was inspired in part by @gallusrostromegalus and a conversation I had with @shitmynamewastoolong

#graphic design #design #product design #ai art #chatgpt #steam locomotive #train

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cinnabarsaga · 26 days ago

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Discussion today spurned some sketches as relate to uniforms, and clothing items, as they relate to tails. So I explored some of that graphically.

The sera have a few anatomical distinctions that set them apart, horns, long ears, long tongue, and tails to name the obvious. Tails in particular are fairly important to the Sera, as they are fairly dexterous. Serving often as third hands, in addition to serving in nonverbal communication, and aiding in balance; their tails are fairly important. Historically numerous forms of adornment and jewellery might have been fashioned for it, by nations across the continents. They however, were unencumbered by complex garments, and the tail draped naturally through tunic, toga, or cloak. However, as fashion evolved in complexity and comfort, so too did the need to accommodate their tail.

Modern garments for the Sera follow construction trends similar to trends in western fashion on earth with some unique developments to account for their anatomy. Lacking stretch fit fabrics, most breeches and trousers sit at the natural waist, as the base of the tail more or less springs from around the hip bone, and parts a little lower. As a result, the top of the pants requires an additional flap in order to stay tight around the natural waist. Belts, or suspenders are often used; but like traditional high wasted breeches, when well fitted, will stay in place on the hips.

The flap on most trousers is an M shaped panel made from one or two pieces with one fixed and the other open, with a button flap, snap, or zipper up the rear. However, often they have a second set of buttons for symmetry, or for an additional accessory.

In summer, most sera allow their tails to hang free and unhindered. In winter, however, weather conditions can get cold enough to cause discomfort or injury. So, many suit separates, come with an optional tail “sock” or sleeve. Some may also knit a tubular scarf to serve the same function. Generally constructed of a tube of fabric, sometimes with pleats or folds which allow the spade to pass, they can range from simple cuts, to complex multi part garments. Most snap or button into the existing fasteners, some use the suspender rear buttons, but a universal version exists which clips into the inseam of the pants or belt. Often lined, or with seams fringed or flocked in yarn, to keep out the cold. Some offer a button flap or zipper to allow the sleep to be temporarily slid back, to give better grip when holding items. However, sometimes a glove may be used in sustained cold weather use.

Generally, working or combat uniforms on Cerak, call for tail sleeves or “socks,” for protection or camouflage. In the case of military uniforms of the Central Republic, sleeves are the default for most uniforms after the world war. The bright skin color of the average seraf is often a dead give away which makes them a target. Loosing one’s tail is almost as embarrassing as loosing one’s horns. So the sleeve is used to supplement uniform’s camouflage. However, the uniform has an optional tip. Many rangers and sappers preferred carrying an offhand weapon, such as a tail knife or throwing knives, which the fabric interfered with a strong grip. As a result they tool to cutting off the bag end of their uniform. Noticing this, changes were made to the uniforms in accommodation. Likewise an official service issue tail glove was considered but never officially adopted.

(Also pictured, is a uniform cap, which converts to winter use by means of flaps stowed atop the cap when unused. Not unlike a budenovka, or ushanka, they fold down and cover the cheeks, chin, and ears, with pockets to cover their long conical lobes).

Many sera who find themselves on Earth, with or without disguise, find the garments fitted to human fashions, ill suited. Beyond the difference in average stature, (with sera on average being taller); the issue of tail placement and waist proves problematic. The lower waist of modern pants tends to sit either not low enough, or too low to allow the tail to comfortably sit. When concealing their tail, it often is tucked into the pantleg, which for long durations leads to muscle cranps and lower back pain. As alternative, some have taken to wrapping their tail around their waist like a belt or cummerbund, to the same effect. When not concealed, the tail often sits atop the inseam and beltloop, which for some may look akin to the “sagging” fashion choice, albeit unintentionally. For these reasons, Sera with some experience in Earth fashion have resorted to buying vintage high waisted pants, or women’s pants with a high waist, in order to have a more comfortable fit.

#concept art #digital art #worldbuilding #illustration #sketch #fashion #furgonomics #cinnabarsaga #tail clothing #fantasy #urban fantasy

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rainbow-0bsidian · 2 years ago

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“I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah, every inch, I know.”

“I like the painting.” It’s by far the nicest thing in this entire junk store. Maybe the only nice thing. Andrew concedes that it’s possible his perception is skewed.

“That’s not a painting, that’s what happens when someone is force-fed six tubes of paint and then made to vomit all over a canvas.”

Neil isn’t wrong, but still. “Fuck you, Josten. I’ve seen the kind of shit you call art and try to hang in our house.”

Neil grins. “It was one time. I had to bring it inside. Matt painted it for us.”

“It was fucking awful.”

“Why do you think I hung it in the entry? I have zero ability to say no to Matt these days. I was depending on you to halt its progression any further into our home and relegate it to the garage.”

“I should have relegated it to a dumpster and set it on fire.”

“It’s lucky you didn’t; they’re visiting next month.”

“Oh,” Andrew deadpans. “I must have forgotten.”

“Speaking of fires…”

Neil trails off. Andrew follows his gaze and is assaulted by the sight of a pair of wrought-iron fire pokers, topped with the melded naked forms of a couple apparently in the throes of passion. Delighted, Neil closes the gap and inspects each piece separately.

“Straights are so gross,” Andrew mutters. “And they have no fucking taste.”

“I’ll buy them for Matt and Dan,” Neil says, with a glint in his eye. “Payback for the terrible painting.”

Andrew gazes around the dimly lit space, spends 2.5 seconds trying to make sense of the chaos and promptly gives up. This part of the country is dotted with rambling buildings on the verge of collapse, poor cousin junk stores to the more-affluent areas’ antiques. Big smiles, broad accents, country service, selling second hand wares to idiotic city folk intent on bringing some wholesome rural goodness back to their sleek monochrome homes in the suburbs.

For every item that is both identifiable in its purpose and still in good working order, there are dozens more that are not. Ancient farming manuals sit beside chipped tea cups nestled in moth-eaten fabric scraps tossed into crumbling hat boxes. Rusty bicycles lean against shitty cabinets, their shelves filled with sepia photographs of people long dead. Decades old clothes hang from downtrodden hangers, one bad day away from despair.

Andrew thinks they smell like poverty and old men, but Neil is obsessed. There was one rocking chair, once, obscured behind a stack of large timber frames, its white and orange paint blistered and peeling from too many hot summers outside. Andrew had put his foot down, they weren’t 21 anymore, but Neil pointed to a warm brown strip of timber exposed on one of the legs, and promised to restore it. The black walnut chair now sat in their living room and was Andrew’s favorite place to sit and read when winter sun streamed through the window.

This junk store, aptly named Randy’s Remains at least acknowledges its proximity to imminent disintegration. Andrew wonders if all the shit lining the walls is acting as some kind of scaffolding and considers expediting the inevitable, buying a massive piece of hideous furniture and watching the whole building crumble as they drive away.

“What about this?” Neil asks from a nook or cranny somewhere beyond Andrew’s line of sight. God knows what he’s found now.

Andrew wanders in the direction of Neil’s voice and nearly trips over a rotting timber box of unidentifiable farming tools, rusted nails protruding ominously through the would-be joins.

“If we get out of here without tetanus it will be a miracle,” he mutters. He navigates a narrow passage, made more so by the bookshelf lining one wall and a bunch of random buckets fixed to the other. Here, a pile of round dial telephones, there a shelf of tea pots without lids and lids without pots. Hundreds of LPs threaten to escape their silverfish laced cardboard cases and roll to the ground. He steps over some rolled up posters that have already taken the plunge.

Against his better judgment, Andrew stretches up on his toes to eye the inside of one bucket and finds a collection of corroded harmonicas.

This fucking place. Neil can keep poking around if he wants, but Andrew’s going back to the van. He enters the back room to tell Neil as much and lets out a breathy “huh” when he sees what’s caught Neil’s eye. Hundreds of miles from its inspiration, in a crumbling junk shop full of worthless shit, is a painting of the rainforest in Jocassee Gorges. Andrew would recognise that suspension bridge anywhere. Sunlight filters through the canopy to the cool, clear water below and Andrew is taken back to Harriet’s maiden voyage that hot summer so many years ago. He stares at it for a full minute before turning to look at Neil, who of course is already looking at him. He can tell by the look on Neil’s face that his own is betraying his stubbornly held neutral facade, and he surrenders to the small smile he knows is there.

“Hold my pokers while I climb over this shit to get it down,” Neil demands, thrusting the iron abominations at Andrew.

Andrew lets them clatter to the floor, earning an eye roll from Neil, then watches as he climbs over an old church pew and picks his way past metal milk cans and a caucus of worn out golf bags, clubs poking out like unruly eyebrows on crusty old men who used to push them around.

The painting he does accept, turning it around to inspect the frame as Neil scoops up the pokers off the dart floor. It’s heavy, simply textured, and reminds him of the trees in the rainforest.

They pay the ancient lady behind the counter and Andrew makes a beeline for Harriet. He needs a hot shower, or a cool mountain pool. He’ll settle for the aircon.

“I like this painting,” Neil says, nudging Andrew’s shoulder as they walk.

“I like you,” Andrew replies, linking his pinkie with Neil’s. “Let’s get on the road.”

for @annawrites

(read the series here)

#aftg fanfic #aftg ficlet #prompt fill #long post

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wheelsgoroundincircles · 1 year ago

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• Ken Miles was born on November 1st of 1918 in Sutton Coldfield, England. During his early life he apprenticed at a British car manufacturer. During World War II, he worked in various duties that dealt with machinery and utilized his mechanical skills. He began motorcycle racing while in the service and this would continue after his tour. After World War II, he returned to the automobile industry and to automotive racing. He acquired a Frazer-Nash racer and installed a Ford V8-60 engine. It had mile success in local and club competition.

• In 1952 Ken Miles came to the United States where he accepted a position as service manager for an MG distributor in California. Later, he would became involved with a wide range of teams and races and have a profound influence on early American road racing. His skills as a driver and fabricator quickly evolved and he became legendary on the West Coast with his competitive Specials.

• Miles first racer (that he constructed) was in 1953, while working for Gough Industries. He had been racing MG TD's for Gough, but they were often outclassed by the competition. Gough helped Miles with creating a racer, though he was unable to provide cash. What Gough did provide was use of any MG or Morris and any stock spare part.

• Miles began work on the MG R-1. The frame was created from mild steel tubing and attached to MG Series "Y" independent front suspension. The rear was comprised of a live axle. Alfin aluminum drum brakes with two-wheel cylinders were used to provide the stopping power while a Morris Minor rack-and-pinion kept the vehicle in the drivers control.

• Under the hood was an experimental racing engine that had a 1466cc displacement size. The engine would later be used by MG for their MG TF 1500. The engine had twin SU carburetors and a 10.5:1 initial compression ratio. The compression ratio was later increased to 11.6:1. The 83 horsepower engine was mated to a stock MG TD transmission which sent the power to the rear wheels.

• The car was clothed in a hand-formed aluminum body. The overall weight of the vehicle was less than 1,230 pounds. The car made its inaugural appearance in 1953 at a rainy Pebble Beach. The car had not been tested but this did not seem to matter, as it emerged victorious. Throughout the next year, the car would win all of the races it was entered, except for two. Its racing career came to an end in 1954 at Pebble Beach, when it suffered mechanical difficulties and failed to finish the race. The flywheel bolts fractures which allowed the flywheel to come loose. This resulted in the engine over-revving and it threw a rod. The R-1 Miles Special's racing career had come to an end.

• The second Miles Special racer was constructed in similar fashion to the first, but incorporated many key mechanical and design changes. Many MG components were still utilized, such as the gearbox and 1466cc MG XPEG engine. The space frame chassis was constructed from one-inch steel tubing which was lighter than its predecessor, but still retained the structural rigidity. To reduce frontal area, the driving position was lowered by nearly four inches. Other techniques were used to reduce the frontal area. The engine was tilted down in the front which did much to achieve this goal.

• The car was narrow and low, which meant changes were needed to fit all the engine components in the engine bay. The MG intake manifolds were installed upside down which allowed the carburetors to be angled and fit under the hood. The design of the vehicle was similar to the MG TF. This was done for brand recognition and to help promote the MG line of vehicles. There were differences; the R-2 had an envelope body with fenders that flared up, and over, the front and rear wheels. In the front was an MG style grille with headlights on either side. The car was finished in British racing green.

• The car was given the nickname, the Flying Shingle. Its inaugural race was in 1955 at Willow Springs. It failed to finish the race. Many of the other races in which it entered, it emerged victorious. Among its accomplishments were first place finishes at Pebble Beach and Torrey Pines. Miles was doing well in small-bore racing, but the competition was consistently keeping pace. Soon, a new machine was needed.

• Miles acceptable a position at Johnny Von Neumann's Porsche dealership. He raced during the 1956 season in a Porsche 550 Spyder and began work on a new racing Special. With von Neumann providing a generous budget, and Porsche providing ample stock components, Miles was able to construct a proper, large-budget racer. Power came from a Porsche Carrera four-cam engine that displaced 1500cc. The chassis was a Cooper Bobtail with a modified nose. The suspension was an independent setup with drums in the front and rear. The body shell was constructed of aluminum which aided greatly in the vehicles low weight of just under 950 pounds.

• Near the close of 1956, the newly created Special was brought to Pomona where it was piloted by Miles to a second place finish. At Paramount Ranch, the car was driven to a class win in the 1500cc class, and beat-out the big-bore modified class as well. The car was raced in 1956 and for part of 1957 before the von Neumann dealership was given the break they had been desperately searching for - a Porsche 550A. The car was supplied from the factory with orders to sell the R-3 Pooper Special. The R-1, R-2, and R-3 are still in existence in modern times. They are used in vintage competition and are shown at events.

• Ken Miles life came to a tragic end on August 17th, 1966 while driving a Ford J-car prototype. The car was traveling at 175 mph on a back-strech. Ken began preparing for a corner, slowing the vehicle down, but it went out of control and over an embankment. Ken was thrown from the car as it spun and went end-over-end. This tragedy brought an end to a brilliant career that began during the very early 1950s.

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sawantgroup · 10 months ago

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Best CNC laser cutting machine in India

As of my last knowledge update in January 2022, I don't have specific information on the latest CNC laser cutting machines available in India. However, I can provide you with some popular CNC laser cutting machine manufacturers that were well-regarded globally. It's important to note that advancements in technology and new models may have been introduced since then.

TRUMPF: TRUMPF is a globally recognized company for manufacturing high-quality CNC laser cutting machines. They offer a range of laser cutting solutions for various industries.

Amada: Amada is another well-known brand in the CNC machinery industry, including laser cutting machines. They have a reputation for producing reliable and efficient equipment.

Bystronic: Bystronic is a Swiss manufacturer known for its advanced laser cutting systems. They provide solutions for sheet metal processing and have a presence in India.

Mazak: Yamazaki Mazak Corporation, commonly known as Mazak, is a Japanese company that produces CNC laser cutting machines. They are known for their precision and innovation.

Han's Laser: Han's Laser is a Chinese company with a global presence, manufacturing laser cutting machines. They offer a variety of models suitable for different applications.

LVD: LVD is a Belgian company specializing in sheet metalworking equipment, including laser cutting machines. They are known for their innovative solutions.

When considering the best CNC laser cutting machine for your specific needs, factors such as the machine's power, cutting capabilities, ease of use, support services, and overall reputation of the manufacturer are important to consider.

To find the latest and best CNC laser cutting machines in India, it's recommended to check with local distributors, attend industry exhibitions, and explore online reviews and forums for updated information. Additionally, contacting the manufacturers directly or consulting with industry experts can help you make an informed decision based on your specific requirements.

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tubetrading · 1 year ago

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The Role of MS Plate in Modern Structural Engineering

Utilising high-quality materials is essential for the safety and longevity of buildings, bridges, and infrastructure projects in the dynamic world of contemporary structural engineering. Plates made of Mild Steel (MS) serve an important role in structural engineering. MS plates for numerous construction applications are in high demand in Vadodara, Gujarat, and their significance cannot be overstated. This blog will examine the role of MS plates in modern structural engineering, with a concentration on the availability of MS plates from suppliers and distributors in Vadodara, Gujarat.

MS Plates' Evolving Form:

Structural engineering has made great strides with plates of mild steel. Initially, iron plates were employed, but they lacked the required strength and durability. As a result of metallurgical advancements, MS plates have become the material of choice for a variety of structural applications. MS plates are fabricated from low carbon steel, making them ideal for welding, bending, and forming without sacrificing structural integrity.

In structural engineering, the function of MS plates:

MS plates offer remarkable strength and durability, making them an excellent option for supporting the load-bearing components of structures. The durability of the structure is ensured by the ability of these plates to withstand large loads and adverse weather conditions.

MS plates are extremely versatile and can be used in a wide variety of structural applications, such as building foundations, bridges, and industrial structures. They are an indispensable component of modern engineering due to their adaptability.

MS plates are renowned for their excellent weldability, enabling for the creation of strong joints and connections. This characteristic is indispensable in structural engineering, where precise welding is frequently required.

MS Plates in Vadodara, Gujarat:

When sourcing high-quality MS plates in Vadodara, Gujarat, it's crucial to work with dependable suppliers and distributors who can provide the appropriate materials for your projects. Tube Trading Co. is a reputable provider and distributor of MS plates in Vadodara, Gujarat, and their dedication to quality and customer satisfaction sets them apart.

MS Plates Supplier in Gujarat's Vadodara

In Vadodara, Gujarat, Tube Trading Co. takes pride in being a dependable supplier of MS plates. To meet the diverse requirements of the construction industry, they provide a vast selection of MS plates. Whether you need MS plates for a residential project or a large-scale industrial undertaking, they have the knowledge and inventory to meet your needs.

MS Plates Distributor Vadodara, Gujarat

As a dedicated distributor of MS plates in Vadodara, Gujarat, Tube Trading Company ensures that you have convenient access to high-quality MS plates whenever you require them. Their efficient distribution network and on-time delivery services make them the preferred supplier for contractors and engineers in Vadodara and beyond.

Why Buy MS Plates from Tube Trading Co. in Vadodara, Gujarat?

Tube Trading Co. is dedicated to delivering MS plates of the highest quality, meeting or exceeding industry standards. Their products undergo stringent quality inspections to ensure their dependability.

They offer competitive pricing, which makes the use of MS plates cost-effective for projects of any size.

Expert Guidance: Their seasoned team can offer valuable guidance and recommendations to assist you in selecting the ideal MS plates for your specific project requirements.

Final Thought

MS plates are indispensable in contemporary structural engineering because of their strength, durability, versatility, and weldability. If you are in Vadodara, Gujarat and in need of high-quality MS plates, Tube Trading Co. is your reliable source as an MS plates supplier and distributor. Their commitment to quality and customer satisfaction ensures that your structural engineering projects will have access to the finest materials on the market. To ensure the success of your upcoming endeavour in Vadodara, Gujarat, select MS plates from Tube Trading Co. It is impossible to overstate the significance of MS plates in contemporary structural engineering. Their strength, sturdiness, weldability, and adaptability make them indispensable in the construction of safe, dependable, and lasting structures. Tube Trading Co. is your trusted partner when it comes to procuring premium MS plates in Vadodara, Gujarat, ensuring structural consistency and adaptability in your projects. Choose Tube Trading Co. as your MS plates supplier and distributor to enhance your construction projects and reinforce structural integrity in Vadodara and the surrounding areas. MS plates from Tube Trading Co. are the best option for your construction project's success.

#MS plates supplier in Vadodara #MS plates supplier in Gujarat #MS plates distributor in Vadodara #MS plates distributor in Gujarat #MS plates in Vadodara #MS plates in Gujarat #Jindal Pipes #Tube Trading Co.#Gujarat #Vadodara #business

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