#cement producers

[wondercementpvtltd]

How cement producers set prices and how to navigate them as a buyer

Cement is one of the essential building materials used in the construction of any project ranging from residential buildings to commercial buildings, bridges, and highways. In India, the construction sector is a highly competitive market, with numerous cement producers like Ultratech Cement, Wonder Cement, Ambuja Cement, ACC Cement, etc., vying for a slice of the pie. However, for those who are working in the construction sector and rely on cement for their construction needs, understanding how cement producers set prices and how to navigate them as a buyer can be a daunting task. In this article, we will take a look at the factors that effects cement prices.

Various factors influence the cement price, ranging from the cost of raw materials to supply and demand dynamics, regional pricing differences, and even weather conditions. Raw material costs, including the price of limestone, clay, and other materials used in cement production, can have a significant impact on pricing. These costs can vary depending on the location of the cement plant, government regulations, and the availability of these materials in the region. Limestone is the primary raw material used in cement production, and it typically accounts for 60% to 70% of the total raw material mix. Clay is the second most important raw material in cement manufacturing, and it typically accounts for 10% to 15% of the total raw material mix. Gypsum is the final raw material used in cement manufacturing, accounting for less than 5% of the total raw material mix. So if the price of a cement bag is around Rs 400, then the GST levied by the government will be 28% of the total price, which means the GST is Rs 112 per bag. Apart from this, various other factors such as availability of raw materials, transporting of raw materials, finishing goods, supplying the finished goods, etc., are other such factors that affect the prices.

Prices tend to rise and fall depending on the supply and demand dynamics. Regional prices also play a huge role in cement pricing. For example, cement produced in coastal regions may be cheaper than inland regions due to the cost of transporting materials to and from the plant. Finally, weather conditions can also impact cement pricing. Extreme weather events, such as hurricanes or heavy rainfall, can disrupt transportation and production, leading to supply chain disruptions and higher prices.

For buyers looking to navigate the cement producers for them, one of the most effective methods is to maintain a strong relationship with cement producers. By building long-term partnerships, buyers can secure favourable pricing and ensure a reliable supply of high-quality cement. Another strategy is to stay informed about the market outlook for cement products. This can involve monitoring industry publications and reports, as well as engaging with industry experts and attending industry events. For example, the latest trend says that Indian cement manufacturers will announce discounts and schemes so that there will be the availability of cement for sale to meet their year-end volume targets and may raise prices in early April 2023, as per the reports by Motilal Oswal Financing Services. This up-to-date market development has influenced buyers to make decisions about when to buy and when to hold off on purchases.

It is also important for buyers to negotiate with cement producers to secure the best possible pricing. This can involve leveraging economies of scale, negotiating delivery times and terms, and working to build trust and mutual respect with producers. By taking a proactive approach to negotiation, buyers can often secure more favourable pricing and terms than they would otherwise be able to.

Finally, buyers should consider working with a trusted third-party logistics provider to help manage their cement supply chain. A logistics provider can help to optimize transportation routes and schedules, reduce transportation costs, and ensure timely delivery of cement. This can be especially important for buyers who operate in regions with high transportation costs or supply chain disruptions.

[terroreigns]

Randomly Generated Headcanons!

[Rules: use this site to generate headcanons for your muse!]

[tagged: @cursedfortune ]

[tagging: ya know the drill]

Anarchy knows the lyrics to every Britney Spears song by heart. ✅️

Anarchy knocks people over by hugging them. ✅️

Anarchy does not know how to read. ❌️

Anarchy was forced to eat cement as a child. ❔️❔️❔️✅️

It would not take much for Anarchy to turn evil. (Haha)

Anarchy cannot drive. (But drives anyway)

Anarchy gets bullied on roblox. ✅️

Anarchy doesn't know how to say they're sorry. ✅️

Anarchy has a diary that they write in with a glittery gel pen. ✅️

Anarchy is very good at walking in platform heels. ✅️

[falsenote]

of course

[scribeofmorpheus]

Why Dragon Age Veilguard isn't a "Cathedral"

Concept art by Matt Rhodes

"To disinherit the storylines of past games goes directly against the notion of building cathedrals."

What is inherent with Veilguard that keeps bothering me is the fact that the world's choices truly didn't matter--and it doesn't simply bother me from a player perspective, it's not simply a grievance borne of frustration to what I (as a longtime fan) have lost. It's about the very culture of the arts under capitalism's new media habituation cycle [x][x].

Yes, I spent hours of my life playing and replaying each instalment of Dragon Age. Yes, I painstakingly curated a 'canon' world state by replaying what came before in preparation for Veilguard. Yes, I am even more unsatisfied with the end product--time hasn't helped, it's just widened the divide. But, and I can't stress this enough, these very personal gripes aren't what hit home the most. It's the inherent disregard of legacy. A legacy that the previous writers and game developers were building towards.

In the DAV artbook, "cathedral" is the word used to describe the process of making a game. Matt Rhodes' exact words are: "One artist can make a painting, but it takes a team to build a cathedral." Cathedrals took centuries to build. The architect who drafted the first blueprints would likely never see his work realised, he had to rely on those who came after him, like-minded and passionate, to see it through--for the culture, for the future, for legacy. Painters took on several apprentices for this reason too--giant frescoes were not completed by one man's hand, even if it is one man's name that immortalises them. Similarly, if you weave a narrative around choice, what good does it do to take it away at the final act if not to fall to caricature?

To disinherit the storylines of past games goes directly against the notion of building cathedrals.

Late-stage capitalism and profit-margin-obsessed game producers forcing developers to churn out meager content, to make a known brand into something it's not, to chase a fad or a popular trend... o, how reductive and cliche you've been forced to become Bioware. We have lost the cultural thought patterns relative to Cathedrals. We know only of barn-raised churches--done in a day but unlikely to last the turn of the seasons.

And don't even get me started on the music of Veilguard either. From Origins to World of Warcraft to Everquest to Baldur's Gate to Dungeon Siege, you can hear the intricate interconnected weave of sounds inspired by the Dungeons and Dragons-esque fantasy genre. You hear it in the repeated use of certain instruments, in the harmonic weeping notes of a bard-like singer or the foreboding echoes of drums as if of war. In tavern songs. But then, rather than hire someone who loves these worlds and this genre, who is a hungry artist looking to make a name, a legacy if you will, for themselves with a spectacular score, you hire any already sated composer, one well-into the encroaching years of career fatigue, whose notes repeat in countless projects, who feels less concise and more uninterested with each new project. One who has long since cemented his legacy. Someone in it for a paycheck and nothing else! And, to top it off, you let him compose something so minimalist? I am offended actually.

Cathedrals! We should have witnessed the final tile being placed on the Dragon Age cathedral. Instead, some architects walked up, tore down the interior and installed IKEA furniture and called it authentic before having to call the previous architects to come and fix the "load-bearing issues", forcing them to rush and add a coat of varnish and a few 'aged' details for authenticity.

[kiryoutann]

warning(s): MDNI, sexual contents, attempted baby-trapping.

Simon baby-trapping this, Simon baby-trapping that. How about you trying to baby-trap Simon instead?

Like a fish out of a tank, your lips formed a perfect 'O'—an invitation he accepted as he slipped his rough fingers into your mouth and tucked them beneath the blanket of your tongue. The brush of warm flesh made his cock throb, drawing a muffled sound from you.

Simon put his free hand to continue steering your hips, maintaining their steady rhythm as they started to falter. The angry crown of his cock pulled out before slamming back in and disappearing between your plump labia. He let his ears feast on your cry, watching your eyes squeeze shut as he reached that sweet spot inside. Saliva dripped, running down the curve of your chin and down between your swaying breasts.

The ah-ah! sound becomes the only thing you can produce after he liquifies your brain into a tangled mess, trapping your tongue under the weight of his calloused fingers.

Your inner walls fluttered and clenched around his length, your climax peeking and cresting, forming high waves. Simon growled through clenched teeth. Your back arched, head falling back as you surrendered to your second peak.

His grip on your hips tightened as a warning. “Off, love—fuck, ye gotta get off, now.”

You did not heed him, continuing to bounce on his twitching cock. He groaned, trying to hold back the inevitable tide of his release.

“Love,” he tries again before calling your name, his own hips stuttering.

“No, please- I’m—I’m on the pill,” you gasped—

And the lie slipped through your lips without thinking.

Even as a part of you knew this was wrong—that you were trying to trap him and you were being reckless—you kept going. Simon stopped trying to get you off him, letting you slam your hips one last time before he emptied thick ropes of seed into your womb.

Sex and your indifference to potential consequences permeated the air, screaming for your attention. A voice curses you in the back of your mind, full of snarls that you have gone too far; that you have hated Mother too much to dismiss everything she says—even the true ones—as nonsense. That you will only live to regret this.

But you have to—it's a necessity, driven by the roots that tell you to cement this bond between you. Sure, it may be born out of a desperate fantasy of your own insecurities, but you need this.

“Nothing can make them stay, my dear. Not for love, not for sex, for all your years of devotion to them, not even for their own flesh and blood!” Your mother is screaming in your head.

(Nonsense. Nonsense, all of it.)

You watch his chest rise and fall; somewhere deep within the confines of his strong ribs is a heart that beats in almost the same rhythm as yours. The dim lighting of the room you only acknowledge when it reflects faintly on the slick of his scar-littered skin. Those brown eyes stare at you beneath a canopy of blond lashes, moist lips pulled into a slight smile under his strong nose—and you return it with a wider one.

Would a child make you stay, Simon?

[part of chapter 10 of "A MAN'S HEART IS TRULY A WRETCHED, WRETCHED THING.".]

[diejager]

👉👈 imagine reader as a cow living in a nice farmer but because they doesn’t produce any milk than other cow, the owner was worry so they brought lot of Bulls (task 141, kortac) to chose as mate but all of them wanted the cow.

Credit to @frogchiro and @nymphany for this!

Pasture Cw: hybrid, mention of breeding, milking (milk and cum), SLIGHT DUB-CON, SLIGHT DARKFIC, tell me if I missed any.

Price, the gentle, bear-looking farmer, had initially planned to have you milked, his high-end and pedigree from an ancestry of HoJos spanning many generations that he bought for a high price, soft and plump in just the right areas. He heard from Kate that she and her wife had bought a couple of HoJos, making quite the profit on their milk, fatty and thick, but silky on the tongue. He wanted to have such luxury in his arsenal, a cute, little heifer that he’d milk for the sake of tasting and drinking it to fill his stomach with warmth until he decided to sell a few bottles.

He wasn’t in any need for money, he had enough to last the rest of his life without lifting a finger, but he liked keeping busy, work and routine beaten into his body from the military. He already had a business with the amount of bulls he bought, broad and sturdy, powerful hybrids that he could milk for their potent semen and labour. Most were obedient despite a bull’s temperament, listening to his orders like his subordinates would, following them to a T without a complain. But there was always that one who acted out, either from sheer cheekiness or mischief, he would reprimand them, punish them if it went too far.

He thought he’d experiment with you, his new little obsession he would coddle and pamper with a house of your own and an open stall. You were so well behaved that he could leave the house open to let you graze and sunbathe under the warm sun when you weren’t busy with him training you with various aspect of your new life as his prized possession. You were everything he could’ve ever wanted, obedient, gentle, soft-spoken and eager to please him, letting him suckle on your swollen and heavy tits, your ears flickering back and forth and tail wrapped around his thigh.

His only issue was that you had problems producing milk. You would produce trickles of it some days and a gush of milk the other, it was a disorderly affair that he sought to fix if he wanted to create a stable trade with you alone. When he brought the issue up with Kate, she told him that cows usually produced more milk after birthing, breasts heavy with milk and aching to be milked of it’s produce, thick and rich tasting to raise a little calf that he would soon sell than let them take your attention away.

“Introduce her to the bulls, they might help,” were the mind blowing words that Kate’s wife gave him, the cementing proposition that had him make his mind on the next step.

He introduced you to his bulls, bringing them outside of their stalls and letting them roam the fenced pasture beside yours, watching you lay under the sun and ears flick away a buzzing bug. They’ve seen other hybrids before, women especially, but have never shown any interest in of them. He feared he’d have to introduce you to another farmer’s hybrid (Price wanted to take thing into his own hands, but he didn’t know how you’d take it to his advances) if you didn’t catch their attention, bringing in a stranger to breed you.

Fortunately, they were quick to scent you out, seemingly riled up and pumping out more seed since he bought you, restlessly wandering in circles in their stalls to sate the need to get to you as fast as they could. Their eyes gleaming with arousal and nostrils flared to sniff you out, stalking to the edge of their pen, the metal unflinching to their harsh grip on the fence. They looked starved - possessed - with how eager they were to cross the barrier, hollering at you and trying to coax you towards their side of Price’s land.

Soap and König looked the most out of it, slumped over with deluded perversion of need and hunger, arms reaching for your seated figure, staring at the group of bulls with wide eyes. Nikto wasn’t any better, both he, Krueger and Ghost glaring down at you with vicious and burning eyes, lost in their minds of dark desires and corrupted dreams. Gaz and Horangi were softer, more hesitant to spook you, but they were as restless as the rest of their housemates. You were none the wiser, gazing at them with your pretty, doe eyes, meeting their eyes with innocent and a cute smile, always ready to please others.

Perhaps he should’ve acquainted you all before.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1969 Ford Mustang Boss 302

This iconic 1969 Ford Mustang Boss 302 is a true muscle car legend. Its aggressive styling, powerful engine, and legendary racing heritage make it one of the most sought-after classic cars of all time.

10 Amazing Facts About the 1969 Ford Mustang Boss 302:

1. Racing Dominance: The Boss 302 was originally designed for racing, and it quickly became a dominant force in SCCA Trans-Am competition.

2. Powerful Engine: Under the hood, the Boss 302 featured a specially tuned 302 cubic inch V8 engine that produced an impressive 290 horsepower.

3. Distinctive Styling: The Boss 302 featured unique exterior styling, including a revised front grille, hood scoop, side stripes, and rear spoiler.

4. Limited Production: Due to its racing heritage, the Boss 302 was only produced in limited numbers, making it a highly collectible car today.

5. Investment Opportunity: Boss 302 Mustangs have a strong track record of appreciating in value, making them a desirable investment for car collectors.

6. Cultural Icon: The Boss 302 has appeared in numerous movies, TV shows, and video games, cementing its status as a cultural icon.

7. Performance Legend: The Boss 302's reputation for performance and handling is legendary. It's a car that delivers an exhilarating driving experience.

8. Nostalgic Charm: The Boss 302 evokes a sense of nostalgia and takes you back to the golden age of muscle cars.

9. Timeless Design: The Boss 302's styling is so timeless that it still looks stunning today. It's a car that will never go out of style.

10. Pure Driving Joy: There's nothing quite like driving a classic muscle car like the 1969 Mustang Boss 302. It's a car that inspires confidence, excitement, and a sense of pure driving joy.

[webslingingslasher]

I need a peter x cherry fic ft dry humping and making out

*cleaning out my drafts. contains nsfw content.*

'peter?'

you watch him slowly push your legs apart, laying down between your thighs like a perfect fit. peter's closer than he's ever been, he's more direct than he's ever been.

a brush of his denim under your skirt has you breathing deep, his strong hands push your thighs wider. 'peter?' you quiet when he shushes you, biting at your bottom lip when he gives teasing kisses across your neck.

'shh... i'm giving you what you want, baby.'

baby. you close your eyes as peter marks your skin, a red patch no doubt produced from his teasing. 'what do i -' you clutch his arms tightly, a shocked, yet excited look takes over your face. peter rocks his hips into yours again, you think you're about to bite through your bottom lip.

'yeah? my pretty baby likes that?' peter's rubbing up against you and it feels heavenly, his praises are about to make your head spin. peter holds your right leg up, a switch in his position and you're clasping a hand over your mouth while you scream into it.

'let me hear you. i want to hear how needy i make my girl.' you drop your hand, eyes rolling into the back of your head as peter grinds into you. 'so good. so, so good.' it's all your mind can come up with.

'you've been such a good girl, you've been patient, haven't you?'

you'd agree to anything if it meant he kept going and talking to you like this. 'yeah.' peter pouts, he finds your pleasure adorable. 'tell me. tell me how needy you've been, i wanna know how long you've been thinking about this.'

it feels like years, god you just want him to keep talking. you're feeling something build in your lower stomach and you're not about to lose it now. 'so so long, peter. i want you all the time.'

'i know you do. you think about it every time i kiss you. every time i wrap my arms around you-' you can't keep your eyes open anymore. peter's voice sounds thick, he's praising you while calling you needy. he's giving you things you didn't know you wanted.

'every time you're in the shower, that's when you want me the most, isn't it?' he's reading you like a book, small whimpers falling from your mouth are amplified when peter pushes in, you can feel all of him.

your head is filled with white noise, it's sudden and it rips you apart. your hands clench your bedsheets, curling the fabric between your fingers while you involuntarily buck your hips into his.

a red hot, pounding heat. peter's name comes out choppy, he's telling you to open your eyes but you can't. it shutters through you, peter rides it out with you, a broken hiss when you can't handle it.

'see how good i can make you feel? all you have to do is tell me.'

you nod but your ears are still ringing and your body feels like cement. you can't keep your eyes open, each blink comes with longer and longer gaps.

there's a slow drum in the background, you listen closer, it sounds familiar. it gets louder, it sounds like it's outside your door. as you sit up to ask peter what the noise is, you enter the real world.

you rub your eyes and look around, the only other person in the room is your roommate and she's blissfully asleep. you identify the beat and shut your alarm off, the small movement had you rip your blankets off and stare down at your thighs.

you had a wet dream.

an extremely vivid, full completion, sex dream.

'shit.'

a shower wasn't in your morning plans but it was now, and the entire time you replayed your dream. you felt a little guilty of dreaming about peter like that, you got off on an idea of him. just thinking about him right now makes you feel warm and giggly.

'see how good i can make you feel? all you have to do is tell me.'

you can't shake it from your mind no matter how hard you try.

-----

'how's my cherry-bomb doing?'

the second peter's arm hung over your shoulders, your heart started to race. everything about him was screaming at you. his weight, his cologne, his voice.

'good. how are you?' all you can hear are his words from last night. you shake your head slightly, you're trying to tap in but you're dying to straddle his lap and mimic what he did in your sleep.

'i'm good. better, now that i'm with you.' god, he's wearing that amused grin he had when he was grinding himself against you. you think he said something but all you heard was 'you're such a good girl.'

you shake your head, a physical act of batting your ideas away before asking him 'what did you say?'

'are you doing alright, cherry? you're acting weird today.'

'today?'

'more than normal.' you can’t tell him, it’s embarrassing. ‘i’m okay.’ you freeze at a kiss on your cheek, your mind flashes back to last night. your eyes close as you remember his breath washing over your neck. another kiss at the corner of your mouth, your stomach jumps like he’s under your skirt.

a finger tracing shapes on your shoulder feels like it’s branding you. heat washes over you, you can still recall the grinds he was giving you and how real it felt.

you think the real thing would be better. would he be a tease? would he talk to you the same? one thing without question, he’d be just as dominating for your pleasure.

a swirl on your skin has you standing, by consequence peter’s hand falls. ‘what’s wrong with you?’ you brush out the pleats in your skirt, peter’s eyes follow your movements, you block his view with your bag.

‘i’m busy. super busy. like, mega amounts of busy so i should go. sorry, i shouldn’t have joined you. i’ll see you later. maybe.’ you book it before he could try and sweet talk you into staying.

peter watches after you while he throws his hands up.

‘you were here first!’

———

'did my pretty baby miss me?'

peter's between your thighs again and you're holding in every gasp you muster. 'she's so needy, isn't she?' you swallow hard on a sharp thrust, a whimper tumbles from you.

'i told you all you had to do was tell me- look at how well i'm rewarding you, i have you shaking under me.' peter rolls his hips, the bed moves underneath you.

'my needy baby feels so good, doesn't she? my good girl.'

your throat stings at the groan you release, it's instant this time. your hands dig into his bed sheets while peter rocks you through it, you feel empty but whole.

'i love making you feel-'

you gasp while peeling your eyes open. peter, the real peter, is standing above you shaking your shoulder. 'you alright, cherry?' you're not sure if you were saying anything.

'why?'

'your face was all scrunched up, i thought you were having a bad dream.'

he has no idea. 'not a bad dream. definitely not a bad dream.' two wet dreams back to back is crazy.

peter gives you a funny look and sits back down at his desk. 'okay, weirdo. i didn't mean to ruin your nap.'

'don't worry, i finished.' you squeeze your eyes shut, you feel slightly out of breath. you'd been so good at pushing every inch of the dream from your mind that your subconscious tapped in and doubled down with a second one.

you take a few minutes to calm yourself down before making an excuse to grab water just so you could get away from him for a second.

you swore you were better, you pushed every aspect of your dirty dream deep down and was able to stomach being around peter again by excusing yesterday as a fluke and telling him you had homework on your mind.

peter bought it but you don't think he believed it.

'hey, did you see- jeez, cherry. what has you so on edge?' you jumped at his touch on your shoulders. backing away, your lower back hits a kitchen drawer.

'nothing. i'm just thinking about my dream.' this time you're honest but peter keeps going.

'is anyone giving you any problems?' your eyebrows scrunch together, 'no.'

'are you really stressed out or something? did someone tell you something that's bothering you?' you shake your head again, the confusion you're feeling must show on your face.

'you know i care about you, right?' you nod.

'good.' peter looks relieved. 'and if anyone was messing with you, you'd tell me?' he takes a step forward, you inch to the side, you need him at arm's length.

'no one's messing with me.' except you, but you leave that part out. peter's hiding something, he's able to hold it in for twenty seconds before he's bursting.

'you're acting weird. really weird. you were weird yesterday and you're weird today and i need to know what's going on.'

no, it's embarrassing, dirty and humiliating. you'd rather pull off your fingernails than admit what you were thinking. 'i told you my mind was on homework.'

'then where is it?'

you falter. you can't come up with an excuse before he's pushing further. 'because if you're this stressed about homework, where is it? all you did was come over and stay three inches away from me at all times before taking a nap.' the more he talks, the more it makes sense.

peter's head tilts, he looks over your face before taking a few steps back. 'if you don't like our arrangement anymore, that's okay. we can end it here and still be friends.' it's the last thing he wants but you don't seem comfortable around him anymore.

your eyes widen and you set your glass down a little too harshly, that's the last thing you'd want. 'no! no, no, no! just- no! i like you, i really really like you and what we have going on so no, not that. please not that.'

'then tell me what's going on.' peter sounds defeated while you stare at the ground. your silence is screaming and he takes it as withheld information. 'cherry, if i did or said something that made you upset, i'm sorry. just tell me what i did and we can work it out together.'

you're a terrible person for keeping up with your charade. 'i'm on my period.' you rush the words out, it was a classic fail safe that always stopped follow up questions.

'oh.' why does it look like he doesn't believe you? 'are you sure that's all it is?' because he doesn't. you further commit to the lie with a head nod, you swear he stares into your soul but he gives up.

'okay.' you know by his tone it's not, but you're not going to push your luck so you agree with him. 'okay.' you get an instant stomach ache, you can't handle the stress of keeping secrets from him. you promise, no, swear to yourself that tomorrow you'd bury this so far down that he'd never question you again.

or feel like you didn't want him or what you had because it quite honestly couldn't be further from the truth.

---

good news: you didn't have another wet dream last night.

bad news: you're still thinking about wet dreams.

but you're committed to making peace with your thoughts and being a normal human being around peter before he has a total breakdown.

so, you ignore the flashes of imagery when you wear the same skirt from your dream and watch a youtube video to distract your mind while you sit in front of your mirror and touch up your look.

you even make it all the way to his frat house before you break your vow on forgetting. the first dream was in your dorm, the second was in his room. surrounded by his sheets, suffocated in his smell and touch. while you wore this skirt, the one tickling your mid thigh.

shaking your head, you shake off your daydream and go straight for his room while collecting yourself and putting on a smile. you knock twice before letting yourself in and shutting the door behind you, peter's sitting at his desk and in the zone.

peter's computer has at least seven open tabs. one monitor has a word document, the other has a ted talk. there's two open textbooks and several pieces of scrap paper laid out in front of him. you're unsure if he's doing two classes at once or if it's just one hard piece of work.

you get a small acknowledgement before he's back to reading, halfway mumbling the words to commit them to memory. he's absolutely gorgeous and you understand what it means to burst with want.

there was a time when just kissing him made you nervous but you swear a flip switched and all you can think about is him, him, him. but you swore you'd be normal, so you lean over his shoulder to give him a kiss on the cheek and heavily ignore the part of your brain screaming at you to sit on his lap.

it's even worse than you thought, he's wearing the exact same outfit from both dreams. denim pants, black socks and his frat t-shirt. you lose all capability to breathe but peter's too invested in his reading and wiping away the sticky residue you left on his cheek using his shoulder to notice.

'oh, hey, i'm not like, super well versed in periods or anything but i got some stuff i heard girls like. i was gonna get you some... whatever you call them but there's so many kinds and i don't know what you use but i can get you some to keep here, or you can bring some over next time.'

you've never had anyone care about you like this. you've never had anyone go out of their way to try and buy you pads or tampons, you've never had anyone buy you things just because you're on your period.

'i got some peppermint tea but i think ethan has a bunch of different kinds if you want something else. oh, and chocolate. and reeses cups because i read that sometimes girls crave peanut butter but i call dibs on one. i also got this stuff called midol.'

you feel like a monster, he put in all this effort for a lie. you can't do this to him, it's so unfair. you look away from him when you confess. 'i'm not on my period.' if you could see peter's face all you would find is a funny look.

'like, not anymore or...?' you're inspecting the corner of his room when you shake your head. 'i lied. my period is next week.' peter goes quiet for a minute before you hear his desk drawer slide open and plastic crinkling. you're brave enough to look over to watch him stuff a peanut butter cup in his mouth.

'what?' you can barely make out the muffle. 'there's no way i'm letting these sit around for a week.' you didn't want to tell him why you lied but you're a little upset he's not asking why you did. peter passes one over to you, you take it gently.

'you need some sugar. turn that frown upside down.' he goes for his second, you peel the paper back and take a hesitant bite. you can't stomach it, you can't enjoy a treat while you're still simmering in guilt.

'why aren't you asking why i lied?' peter swallows and holds his finger up to pause the conversation while he chugs some water. 'did you lie for a reason?' not for a good one but it was still a reason.

'yes.'

'was it about your personal safety?' you shake your head, 'no.' peter shrugs, he's indifferent. 'well, it's obvious you're bad at lying but if you have a reason that doesn't concern your mental or personal safety, i trust you.'

you frown, 'i'm not bad at lying.' peter snaps his fingers into a gun before breaking into a grin. 'okay, okay, that's a good one. do another, oo, what color is this pen?' you keep a straight face while you say the wrong color, this time he softly claps. 'i take it back, cherry. you're an excellent mediocre liar.'

'you're making fun of me.'

'i'm allowed to. you lied.' you huff at him and eat the rest of your treat before sitting on the edge of his bed and flopping backwards. peter goes back to scribbling on pages, the only sound in the room were his speakers lowly producing a playlist he made.

it's not getting better. the more you try to forget, the more it's on your mind, the more it's on your mind - the more being around peter is unbearable. especially when he's so sweet and kind, when he's forgiving and trusting.

you want him, you want him all over you and under your skirt.

'have you ever had a sex dream?' it comes out before you could even think about it. peter spins in his chair to look at you, you're drumming on your thighs and bouncing between posters on his wall.

everything falls into place at once, the dodgy eye contact, the constant space you've given him. how you got antsy when he touched you, how you lied just to get him to stop asking questions.

'that's why you've been so weird? you had a sex dream?'

panic. he wasn't supposed to name you. you sit up and stare at him wide eyed. 'it wasn't me!' well- that just confirmed it. peter wants to laugh, instead he's kind and easy with you. you'd been stressed for days over nothing- or what he considers to be nothing.

'yes, i've had a sex dream before.' he's not making fun of you, he's being really delicate. you play with your hands while you mumble the real question. 'have you ever had a wet dream?'

oh. that's why you've been so secretive.

peter still keeps his calm demeanor and lets you poke where you feel comfortable. 'i have.' you sit in the comfortable silence, just asking the question had you relaxing.

'i've- my friend has never had one.'

peter clicks the pen in his hand three times while thinking of an answer, you both know who you're talking about but peter will play along. it's one of your favorite things about him.

'they're totally random, she- they shouldn't freak out about it. i had one about my fifth grade teacher like a year ago and that still haunts me. so unless it's something like that, they shouldn't stress it.'

'right. but what if they can't stop thinking about it? and it's really hard to be around the person it was with?'

peter deserves an award for his poker face.

on the inside, he was screaming. he had an idea, but your confirmation made him want to let out a quiet 'let's gooo.'

on the outside, he was none the wiser.

'i think it depends. why is it hard for them to be around this person?'

‘see how good i can make you feel? all you have to do is tell me.'

it feels too real, you go quiet again. peter won't let you, you started it and he's not letting you turtle shell. it's a lesson in being vulnerable, if you can't talk to him about a wet dream how is he ever supposed to go further?

'cherry?'

you trace your name over your knee, you do it until you can look at him and choke out the truth.

'because i really want to do it.' you know what you said, so does peter. he hates the awkward air, there's nothing to be shy about. peter pretends to be shocked. 'oh, so not a friend?' for a moment you can't remember why you were so scared to tell him.

'not a friend.'

'would i be narcissistic to assume it was about me?' you nod at his question. 'you wouldn't be wrong.' peter has a thousand questions but he leaves it up to you.

'do you want to tell me about it or did you just need to get it out?'

you deflect. 'have you ever had one about me?' peter gives you a hint of a smile and you already know the answer. 'a few.' you're slightly impressed, you're on the border of a panic attack at two, (mostly) non graphic wet dreams and peter's casually brushing off multiple.

'tell me.'

peter's eyebrows raise, you're unsure of your request now. 'i'll tell you mine if you tell me yours.' peter thinks over the offer, he's going to keep the soft, sensual one for himself.

'a couple weeks ago i had one where you were riding me.' you don't know how peter is so honest about it. his is much more vulgar but he's acting like it's an everyday thing.

it's a little ironic, you had a dream where he was semi-riding you.

'what's yours?' this is where peter's interest is at, he wants to know what imagery got you off. yours seems insignificant now, peter's dreaming about the real thing, you got excited off his jeans.

'um, you were wearing that.' you gesture to his all over body. 'i was?'

you nod, 'uh huh, and i was wearing this skirt.' peter eyes the fabric and lets his eyes wash over your thighs. 'you were?'

'yeah.'

'what else?'

you fight past your awkwardness, you told him you'd tell him yours. 'you were... you kept talking to me and saying things that i didn't know i liked but i did. i really, really did.

'and?'

you suck in a deep breath and pull the plunge. 'you were dry humping me. i think.'

peter clicks his pen again, you allow yourself to imagine it as a way for him to restrain himself. 'you think?'

'it was the way you were talking to me. you were kind of mean but in a sexy way. i keep thinking about-' you almost give yourself away, you won't go that far. too late, peter's attention is on you.

'thinking about something i said?' you nod sheepishly, even if peter's acting like it's a normal conversation you still feel bad about thinking of him like that. 'what was it?'

it was a chain reaction. peter said one thing and it spiraled into all of this, you're not sure if you should be greatful or secretitive. you shrug like you didn't already tell him you couldn't stop thinking about it.

it's the reason you're here. you want this.

‘see how good i can make you feel? all you have to do is tell me.'

peter takes a deep breath, 'i see.' calm and collected movements, he sets his pen down and leans back in his chair. your nerves turn into excitement in a second.

'is this you telling me?'

'yeah.'

peter taps his fingers on his armrests, your heart starts to race. the way he’s looking at you is new, this is new. ‘come here.’ your skirt bunches up when you move off his bed and you don’t bother to fix it. you ignite when you're pulled onto his lap.

'is this how it happened?' you shake your head, it's not what you fantasized but it'll do. peter grips your hips and places a kiss at the bottom of your neck. 'what did i do?'

you speak around puffs of air, peter's wet marks are awfully distracting. especially when he gets under your ear. 'it was in my dorm.'

'mhm.' the vibration shot down your neck. 'i was in bed and you...' you open your mouth in a silent moan, there's going to be a hickey tomorrow morning and you don't care in the slightest. 'got between me and started, started- grinding.'

it's so much better than a dream.

all the built tension drops when peter pulls back, he's not denying you of your fantasy. if you want him crawling up the bed - he's going to do it. peter pats the side of your leg before nodding towards his bed, you know what he's asking and you shimmy backwards before jumping into his sheets.

anticipation builds when he stands, voluntarily and expectant, you spread your thighs for him. 'you're gonna make me feel good, right?' he never thought you'd be this bold, peter swears you just gave him an instant boner. 'it's my job, isn't it?'

peter wraps his hand around your ankle and tugs, you hit the center of the bed and feel it shift when he rests on the end. a trail of kisses up your left leg, into your inner thighs, skipping right past where you're craving the most attention before skidding back down your right leg.

it's ticklish, he repeats the pattern and you mindlessly bend your knee up, peter hooks his arm around it while he nibbles at your skin.

'peter,' he's close to you. inches from you. he's getting closer, his kisses slow and feel more like brushes over the area.

'don't worry. one thing at a time.' you relax, he's just being nice. when he reappears, you hum as he stretches your hips wide and slots himself just how you dreamed. 'what did i-'

'do it.' peter raises an eyebrow, 'is that what i-' you pick your head up to stare at his beltline. 'do. it.' peter's wish is your command, he rolls his hips into yours and you let out every ounce of tension and stress in one sigh.

this is what you wanted.

'i've been so good, haven't i been so good for you?' peter can sense a little bit of a praise kink in you, it's fitting. 'you're always good for me. you're my good girl, aren't you?'

a whimper, it's so much better when it's real. 'i'm your good girl.' a harsh grind, you clutch peter's forearm while you throw your head back. 'yeah? that feels good?'

'call me your pretty baby.' peter doesn't know where the direction is coming from but he likes it. 'does my pretty baby feel good?' an audible moan, he's fucking perfect at this.

'i'm needy.' you suck in air, 'tell me i'm needy.'

peter's keeping you pressed to him by his hands wrapped up in your skirt, looping his thumbs under the fabric while the rest keeps a tight hold on your waist.

if this is what you want - he can do this.

'my pretty baby is so needy for me.' you nod and push your hips up, you're rewarded for being greedy. 'so needy.' peter's enjoying your reactions more than he's enjoying the friction. not you, you're more than enjoying the combination and peter wants to know how much.

a slow in the momentum, you soften into a pout at the lack of attention. 'no, no, no. please don't stop.' peter likes this side of you, submissive and desperate. 'tell me how much you want it.'

your head thrashes on his pillow, your hair will pay the price. you paw at his arms and hands, anywhere you can touch. 'no, you're nice, be nice.' you don't like being teased, peter takes a mental note.

you sink your teeth into your bottom lip when he gives you what you want, it's an indescribable feeling and now that you've had it, you can't imagine ever going back. you dig under his shirt, your nails pierce the skin on his hips.

'my pretty baby was desperate for this, wasn't she?' he's so good at it, so, so good. he's so good you can't even talk, peter lifts you and nudges you even closer.

you swear you almost screamed at the new angle, the thick of his denim was giving you every bit of friction you craved. 'but she's been so good.'

'i only ever wanna be good for you.' peter tightens his hold, you can't say things like that to him. you reach for his biceps, peter isn't ashamed to admit he leaned into it to make it easier. he likes you touching every inch of him.

'you're my good girl, even when you're begging.' you nod with him, he's got a great rhythm and you're starting to feel how you did in your dream. 'yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.' you hiss through your teeth at a harsh grind, you swear you're about to explode.

peter watches you fall further into the cusp of total release. sometimes, he can't help himself.

'see how good i can make you feel? all you had to do was tell me.'

the dam broke loose, your eyes squeezed shut so tightly you see a multitude of colors, first black, then white, then hints of red. you didn't know it was possible. for the first time ever someone else was responsible for your orgasm and that made it even better.

'oh my fucking god!' you swear the world came to a complete stop for thirty seconds, your hips stutter as peter keeps going, he's riding the wave with you. he lasts as long as you want, taking the hint when you get loose and can't even hold your arms up anymore.

'better than your dream?'

you didn't do any work but you're breathless like you just ran a mile. you can't respond yet, your brain isn't working. peter pats your knee, 'you can put 'em down now.' your legs drop, they've never been so heavy.

'you didn't finish.' peter smirks, you get a sinking feeling because he totally did and you were so wrapped up in your own world you missed out on it. the first time you did something sexual and you didn't get to see his face or hear his voice.

'no fair! i want a redo.' you lift yourself up, even though you feel like a thousand pounds and push at peter's shoulder to try and get him down on his back so you can get another chance and make sure you don't miss out.

peter lets you lay him down but he stops you from straddling him. 'this is where i tell you about the refractory period between nuts. after i cum? i am a no go for at least twenty minutes. couldn't get it up if i tried.'

you're ultra serious about this. 'so, twenty minutes?' he laughs and holds a grin. 'i promise we'll do this again, there's no need to wear yourself out.' oh, there's no doubt about that. you're going to be asking for this every single day for the rest of your life.

'you're evil for that last comment.' peter's eyebrows pull together, 'what one? there's no need to wear yourself out?'

'no, when you said what you did in my dream.' you also might have pulled out your plea for pet names from the same one but peter doesn't need to know that.

'see how good i can make you feel, all you had to do is tell me?'

your cheeks burn, the verb change from have to had isn't lost on you. you told him what you wanted and he gave it to you, when he said it was under your control he meant it, he just keeps you from swerving off the road or driving too fast.

'yes. that.'

peter's way too amused. 'anything my pretty baby wants, she gets.' you freeze, it feels weird when you're not under him. 'no, stop it.'

'c'mon, be a good girl and play along.' you shake your head and point a finger at him, 'don't you dare.' peter opens his mouth to add one more jab but you beat him to it. 'if you call me needy i'll actually get upset.'

'alright, alright, i'm done.' he raises his hands to show he's not a threat. he's still got a smile on and you can feel your thighs slightly sticking together, your heart rate picks up as you replay what happened minutes ago. it's a strange time to feel shy.

'what? you're looking at me funny.' it was so hot in the moment and you were clouded with lust that it just felt natural. now that you've come down from that high you were almost self-conscious.

'we like, did stuff together. and now we're just hanging out but you like, just gave me a first. like, here we are but also you just literally copied a dream i had and you made me like,' you mimic an explosion. 'and now we're hanging out like it didn't happen but it did and i was already having impure thoughts about you but now it's gonna be even worse.'

peter absorbs your word vomit and only offers six words. 'post nut clarity is hitting, huh?' you release a deep breath, 'are you freaking out too?' he pretends to think about it. 'ah, no. not really.'

'am i broken?'

peter pats his chest and reaches out for you. 'come cuddle.' you find solace in his hold instantly, you don't feel broken. 'you're not broken, cherry. you just did something you've never done before with someone else and you're feeling vulnerable.'

'you're so smart.' he snorts, 'i wouldn't go that far, but thanks.' to show it he kisses your forehead. you swear you're totally melted in his arms, you both sat in a nice silence while he traced random things over your back, his other hand in yours being fiddled with. his watch is the most interesting feature, you keep spinning the dial and pressing buttons.

'i'm surprised you haven't fallen asleep yet.' you hold up his wrist to show him the time.

'why would i? it hasn't been twenty minutes yet.' 

[dandelionsresilience]

Good News - June 8-14

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $Kaybarr1735! And if you tip me and give me a way to contact you, at the end of the month I'll send you a link to all of the articles I found but didn't use each week!

1. Rare foal born on estate for first time in 100 years

“The Food Museum at Abbot's Hall in Stowmarket, Suffolk, is home to a small number of Suffolk Punch horses - a breed considered critically endangered by the Rare Breeds Survival Trust. A female foal was born on Saturday and has been named Abbots Juno to honour the last horse born at the museum in 1924. [...] Juno is just one of 12 fillies born so far this year in the country and she could potentially help produce more of the breed in the future.”

2. The cement that could turn your house into a giant battery

“[Scientists] at Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) have found a way of creating an energy storage device known as a supercapacitor from three basic, cheap materials – water, cement and a soot-like substance called carbon black. [... Supercapacitators] can charge much more quickly than a lithium ion battery and don't suffer from the same levels of degradation in performance. [... Future applications of this concrete might include] roads that store solar energy and then release it to recharge electric cars wirelessly as they drive along a road [... and] energy-storing foundations of houses.”

3. New road lights, fewer dead insects—insect-friendly lighting successfully tested

“Tailored and shielded road lights make the light source almost invisible outside the illuminated area and significantly reduces the lethal attraction for flying insects in different environments. [...] The new LED luminaires deliver more focused light, reduce spill light, and are shielded above and to the side to minimize light pollution. [... In contrast,] dimming the conventional lights by a factor of 5 had no significant effect on insect attraction.”

4. When LGBTQ health is at stake, patient navigators are ready to help

“[S]ome health care systems have begun to offer guides, or navigators, to get people the help they need. [... W]hether they're just looking for a new doctor or taking the first step toward getting gender-affirming care, "a lot of our patients really benefit from having someone like me who is there to make sure that they are getting connected with a person who is immediately going to provide a safe environment for them." [... A navigator] also connects people with LGBTQ community organizations, social groups and peer support groups.”

5. Tech company to help tackle invasive plant species

“Himalayan balsam has very sugary nectar which tempts bees and other pollinators away from native plants, thereby preventing them from producing seed. It outcompetes native plant species for resources such as sunlight, space and nutrients. [...] The volunteer scheme is open to all GWT WilderGlos users who have a smartphone and can download the Crowdorsa app, where they can then earn up to 25p per square meter of Balsam removed.”

6. [Fish & Wildlife] Service Provides Over $14 Million to Benefit Local Communities, Clean Waterways and Recreational Boaters

“The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service is distributing more than $14 million in Clean Vessel Act grants to improve water quality and increase opportunities for fishing, shellfish harvests and safe swimming in the nation’s waterways. By helping recreational boaters properly dispose of sewage, this year’s grants will improve conditions for local communities, wildlife and recreational boaters in 18 states and Guam.”

7. Bornean clouded leopard family filmed in wild for first time ever

“Camera traps in Tanjung Puting National Park in Indonesian Borneo have captured a Bornean clouded leopard mother and her two cubs wandering through a forest. It's the first time a family of these endangered leopards has been caught on camera in the wild, according [to] staff from the Orangutan Foundation who placed camera traps throughout the forest to learn more about the elusive species.”

8. Toy library helps parents save money 'and the planet'

“Started in 2015 by Annie Berry, South Bristol's toy library aims to reduce waste and allow more children access to more - and sometimes expensive - toys. [...] Ms Berry partnered with the St Philips recycling centre on a pilot project to rescue items back from landfill, bringing more toys into the library. [...] [P]eople use it to support the environment, take out toys that they might not have the space for at home or be able to afford, and allow children to pick non-gender specific toys.”

9. Chicago Receives $3M Grant to Inventory Its Trees and Create Plan to Manage City’s Urban Forest

“The Chicago Park District received a $1.48 million grant [“made available through the federal Inflation Reduction Act”] to complete a 100% inventory of its estimated 250,000 trees, develop an urban forestry management plan and plant 200 trees in disadvantaged areas with the highest need. As with the city, development of the management plan is expected to involve significant community input.”

10. Strong Public Support for Indigenous Co-Stewardship Plan for Bears Ears National Monument

“[The NFW has a] plan to collaboratively steward Bears Ears National Monument to safeguard wildlife, protect cultural resources, and better manage outdoor recreation. The plan was the result of a two-year collaboration among the five Tribes of the Bears Ears Inter-Tribal Coalition and upholds Tribal sovereignty, incorporates Traditional Ecological Knowledge, and responsibly manages the monument for hunting, fishing, and other outdoor recreation while ensuring the continued health of the ecosystem.”

June 1-7 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

[bigfootsmom]

left a ringing in my ear

bucktommy • hurt/comfort • 7.4k

for @iinryer <3

Prolonged exposure to loud noises can cause permanent hearing loss. The repeated abuse dampens the cochlear nerve and damages the little hairlike structures, called cilia, located in the inner ear. Noise at 120 decibels can cause ear discomfort, at 130 decibels it can lead to pain, and anything above 140 decibels can rupture an eardrum. A jet engine can produce a sound as loud as 160 decibels, depending on proximity and Buck had been pretty damn proximal. Buck is not thinking about cilia or decibels now. All he’s thinking is jet engines are really fucking loud as he braces an arm against the cement barrier and vomits all over the pavement.

read on ao3

[wondercementpvtltd]

Role of cement manufacturing plant in air pollution control

The Indian cement industry is one of the largest producers of cement in the world, accounting for around 8% of the global installed capacity. Due to the economic slowdown, domestic production stood at 294.40 million tons in the financial year 2021, but it rose to 356 million tons in the year 2022 and is projected to reach about 419.92 million tons in FY 2027. Dominated by 30 prominent players, the Indian cement industry comprises 210 large cement manufacturing plants. Some of the major players include Ambuja Cement, Ultratech Cement, ACC Cement, Wonder Cement, Bangur Cement, and Shree Cement.

Apart from this, the Indian cement industry is also one of the significant contributors to air pollution. Manufacturing industries emit a large amount of carbon, and the cement industry generates around 7% of the global carbon emission. Therefore cement company is understood to be a polluting industry.

Despite having a significant role in pollution, it still has uninterrupted growth due to various reasons. One of the common reasons is enjoying the reputation for being green and following the environmental norms by checking pollution and using air pollution control equipment.

Some of the air pollution control methods that are followed by the Indian industry are:-

Using waste materials as fuel by burning them at high temperatures. This process helps in disposing of solid waste.

Using fly ash instead of clinkers. Fly ash is easily accessible and decreases emissions and the amount of fuel used to produce clinkers.

Controlling industrial pollution and air quality with the aid of electrostatic precipitators and other strategies.

Using alternative fuel resources.

Some other pollution control measures taken by the cement industry:-

The cement production focuses on lowering ambient particle pollution by employing dust recovery devices to reduce the bulk load of dust emitted from stacks and other sources by less than 0.2 kg per metric tonne of clinker.

Normally, alkaline dust that has been extracted from kiln gases, is disposed of as solid trash. The proper precautions are required to prevent environmental issues from pollutants or trace elements when solid waste, such as pulverized fly ash, is utilized as feedstock.

Reduction of NOX up to 30% is done by applying a control optimization technique using proper kiln design, low NOX, and an optimum level of excess air. 

SOX is controlled by the decrease in its volatility at lower flame and combustion temperatures, and by the oxidizing atmosphere in the kiln, along with its stable operation by using low-sulfur fuels and raw materials.

Clinker reduction lowers energy use as well as the production of emissions into the atmosphere. The substances that are acceptable for use as clinker replacements may be natural or may come from waste products of various industrial processes, such as:• Industrial or natural pozzolans; fly ash from power plants; blast-furnace slag; silica fume from the ferroalloy sector; and calcined shales.

Having said that, senior management participation in research and development undoubtedly helps the sector adopt green practices. This not only increases the effectiveness of cement manufacturing but also reduces the industry's significant environmental problems.

[gotham-daydreams]

i just had a thought

you know what would really fuck up the batfam in the "not tonight" series imagine the reader instead of leaving gets kidnnaped and when the batfam saves them reader breaks down into crying in relief because they genuenly believed the batfam would not bother to save them

Imagine the absolute horror the batman would feel

I know its a little farfetched but i live for the angst

No, no! I love that idea!!! And it isn't all that farfetched seeing as the reader is a well known musician on some level, and even if that wasn't the case- they're still the kid of Bruce Wayne. Which, honestly, is enough motivation for someone to kidnap them, I'd say. Especially if the reasoning is for money, revenge/jealousy, or both honestly.

Besides all that, though- oh my god that would be awful! I love it!

Because imagine things from the reader's perspective (which, there is implied violence inflicted on the reader, mentions a blood, and a gun is pointed towards them. So, if it isn't your cup of tea then that's fine!):

Your 'family' that barely acknowledges you enough as it is, and the only guy who ever seems to notice that you're around is the single butler that basically takes care of everyone and everything in the manor. Now, you're kidnapped because of your relation/connection to the family, and have no hope to do anything besides just pray.

Maybe you have tried to escape before a few times at this point, but the punishment for such attempts have now gotten to the point where if you try again and fail, you'd surely die. Maybe you've also been trying so hard to escape yourself because you're just that certain and sure that the Batfam won't save you. Since, up until this point, anything dealing with or connecting back to you in some way has been ignored or dismissed one way or another. Why would something like a kidnapping be any different? Especially when they also haven't noticed other events where you have gotten hurt before.

Right from the gate, you're already thinking that the Batfam won't save you. Not that they can't, but just like with everything else- something will come up and steal away their attention, and you'll be left by yourself, and to defend yourself as always. That's what always seems to happen, and so why would now be different? In your mind, it wouldn't. So that's why when your attempts to escape fail, and the punishments not only get worse, but begin to pile up and reach a point where you think you're going to die- the situation quickly becomes much scarier.

You don't hope that Batman will suddenly show up, and instead pray that your best friend will notice your missing somehow. You don't think that Nightwing, Red Robin, Spoiler, or Orphan will suddenly swoop in and save the day, but instead try and hope that your producer/boss notices that you haven't replied to his calls or texts and contacts someone. You don't even consider that Red Hood or Robin will come barreling in and quickly deal with your kidnappers before rescuing you — instead all of your thoughts are filled with silent whispers and desperate pleas that someone- anyone you know will notice that you're gone, or that something is wrong, and will contact somebody. With that 'somebody' being the police or anyone of help, but not the Batfam.

Maybe a small thought does slip by, but you can only internally laugh at yourself because you either think that you've already lost enough blood to actually try and believe that lie, or your just growing that desperate to have a little hope. To have something to cling onto in this moment, that you chose the one thing that you're so convinced will never be given to you. A thought that only further cements itself in your mind the more time passes. With hours turning into days, and days to weeks.

Perhaps that's why you try to escape again. Deciding that you had better odds of succeeding despite your injuries, than the Batfam ever coming to save you. Let alone even thinking about it, or even realizing that you were gone in the first place. Taking that risk of getting caught again, and potentially getting killed this time, because no matter how hopeless or unlikely it seems for you to escape and make it out- those chances will always be higher than any single person from the Batfam showing up, and even attempting to save you. Even on accident, or on a whim- that possibility is so unlikely in your mind, that it's basically nothing more than a made up scenario or daydream to you. It's not an 'if' or 'when', but a flat out 'won't'.

Maybe that's why when you fail you get so scared, but can't help but feel like this was inevitable somehow. Of course, you don't want to die- but you had tried your best. You fought until the very end, and it almost feels a little too fitting that things ended up this way. With your efforts ending in vain, and you having nothing to show for it. With your attempts futile, and almost seeming idiotic from an outsider's point of view, and maybe it was.

You never stood a chance. You were doomed for failure. Not even all the training and experience you had could save you- and only now could you see how truly worthless all your efforts had been. With a gun pointed to your head, and your own blood providing the only warmth you've felt in days.

There's an odd sense of comfort and familiarity in the chill that shoots down your spine, and the cold gaze that one of your kidnappers give you. They're carelessness and disregard for your health reminding you of something, with their rough attacks and harsh punches bringing back times where you really did need the Batfam, only for no one to show up. Your call dying down as fast as it had risen that day, and one you never even bothered to make again.

So maybe that was why you were so surprised when help arrived, and even more so when you saw who exactly it was.

Before you could even fully register anything, you began to cry. A wide smile full of disbelief grows on your face, and more tears begin to fall as the smallest of laughs escape you. 'Unbelievable' is the first word that comes to mind when describing what you felt, and thought when you saw Batman drop down from the ceiling and deal with the guy who was about to kill you, and heard some commotion just down the hall.

At first, your convinced it's all some silly dream, and that maybe during your final moments- your mind decided to give you something nice to send you off. Almost like a warm parting gift to distract you from the hopelessness, and reality of the situation. Though it's only when pain shoots through your entire body when you move a certain way, that the thought of all of this being some made up hallucination or delusion vanishes, and you can't help but cry harder.

You don't know if it's a good or bad thing that after all this time- the one time they actually notice that you're gone, is when you not only get kidnapped, but can't escape by yourself. That the one time they acknowledge you, you're almost dead, bleeding out, and the most messy and vulnerable you've ever been.

Maybe life really did have some grudge against you to go to such lengths to fuck you over, but right now you're too relieved to be saved to care at the moment.

Yet, to say the Batfam feels awful on a totally new level, is an understatement. They understand feeling relieved, but to this extent? It's like you never expected them to come and save you at all... and that little thought seems to be true when one of them tries to help you out, and you're still laughing weakly as you continue to cry. Asking through a broken, wavering voice if all of this is real, and isn't some fucked up hallucination your having to make passing on easier. That they really showed up, and as a last ditch effort to not make your death anymore painful then it has to be- this isn't just some... dream, to make you feel like you were actually cared for in your final moments.

It breaks their hearts, a lot.

Especially when you repeat questions, as if trying to really make sure that they're there, that they're real, and aren't just some figment of your imagination. That they actually came to save you, and weren't off saving Gotham or the world itself instead. Constantly trying to be sure, as if the moment you weren't- then you'd be convinced that you were slowly dying all alone, with no hope of help coming — not even thinking that the Batfam would come — and just have to sit with that fact as you take your final breaths.

The pain you feel is almost equal to their's, and what really worries and scares most of them is how sure and certain you are that they wouldn't show up. That either the thought would never cross their minds, or that something else would come up and they'd leave you for dead, or that they just wouldn't notice that you were kidnapped at all.

Which, said fright and worry is only amplified when you have to keep asking "Are you really here? Are you sure?" And the like, and they have to keep finding ways to prove to you that yes, they are here. They're helping you, and they're not leaving- they actually managed to save you, and that you're going be okay now. That they aren't going away, and are very, very real.

Each little, broken laugh chips away at the pieces of their hearts, and your own disbelief that they can't seem to get rid of no matter what they do or say, is just a punch to the gut. You didn't just think that they wouldn't show up, but were fully convinced that they wouldn't even bother with it. That own realization just... hurts more than anything.

Had they really been that awful to you? Had they really caused you so much pain and hurt that you'd not only think of such a thing, but fully believe it? They didn't remember doing anything in particular that would cause you to think that way... but maybe that wasn't the problem. It wasn't what they did to you, but rather what they didn't do, and that's when the pieces finally begin to click.

Of course some don't want to believe it, similar to how some of them in "Not Here" express a brief moment of denial and disbelief themself, but they don't get to experience such a luxury anymore. Not with you here- bleeding, hurt, and crying from both relief and disbelief, because you couldn't believe that they actually showed up.

Even when they do quickly take you to a hospital and get you treated, that image of you is still ingrained into their minds. They can't forget it- how you looked at them and spoke, and just how you treated the whole situation because of how convinced you were.

From here they'll try to rebuild what they can, and all definitely be 100% more protective then they've ever been. The moment you're able to come home (which, you ARE coming home. No if's or but's. You don't get a chance this time.), they're doing everything in their power to not only 'fix' everything, but make sure that you are safe at all possible moments of the day.

It's safe to say that the whole experience traumatized the whole family to a certain degree. Not only with you being kidnapped- but you trying to escape multiple times and almost dying, because you were so convinced that no one would show up to help. (Which, while it was also because you can genuinely handle yourself and did believe you could escape on your own, the Batfam doesn't entirely believe that (and you almost dying doesn't help with that) so they chalk it up to you being desperate, because you 'knew' that no one was coming to save you. Which also may or may not make certain people worse in the process.) So they're already leaning pretty heavy on the yandere tendencies. Which most likely develop over the time you're in the hospital, and into your first week or so staying in the Manor.

Which does lead us to your little addition:

Which, you are very correct!!!

Our boy Jason, put in very simple terms, doesn't take the situation well. At all.

Seeing you bloodied, bruised, abused, malnourished, and on the brink of death no less- definitely doesn't help with his reaction at all.

Don't get me wrong! All of them react pretty negatively to the situation, and many of them have very strong reactions- Jason in particular just has the worst and strongest one. :]

The moment he sees you, he's immediately reminded of his death. The urge to comfort you is strong, but he just doesn't know what to do- and so he ends up not doing anything until you're in the hospital. Which, leading up to that point, he's checking your pulse as often as he can.

He knows what it's like to be hopeless, and feel that helpless- but to know that you experienced that? To know that you almost died like he did? It ruins him. It fucks him up more than anything else.

From the way you looked at the Batfam- the way you looked at him, and just how utterly relieved you were, despite drowning in your own disbelief- it haunts him. The state they found you in messed him up enough, but all of your questions, and just how you were even trying to reassure yourself that them showing up and saving you was real, fucked him up big time.

Before he knows it, he's hunting down the people who kidnapped you, and wiping out whatever is left of their bloodlines. Not sparing a single person, as they didn't spare you- with their generations leading to your kidnappers being born.

He's making their final moments just as painful as yours would've been. Their agony almost matching his, as he couldn't forget the night they saved you. He refused to. That moment forever engraved into his mind, reminding him of what also was if they were a second too late, and how it made him realize just how much he's fucked up along with everyone else.

While Jason can't exactly just waltz into the Hospital to visit you, since he is still considered dead and everything, he sneaks into your room instead. Trying to give what comfort he can in his own silent, but close way. Holding your hand with a gentleness even foreign to himself, and saying how he's sorry and that he'll make it up to you. Promising every night that he'll make those that made you suffer pay with their lives, and then some. Saying how he won't leave your side ever again, only to be gone by the morning.

He brings what he can as well. Even if it isn't as showy or extravagant as any of the things that Bruce, Damian, Dick and so on are getting you, or as pretty and lively as the flowers that are placed by your bedside. It's just his own little way of trying to make it up to you.

The small, little gifts he gives you are indeed little, and he doesn't give much since he doesn't think that your forgiveness or love can be bought. But he still tries to give something. So he'll give things that can be as little as hair ties or bracelets, to earrings (that totally aren't matching) and a little music box that reminded him of the melodies you've made thus far. It's all just another way of saying that he cares about you, and not only wants to build your relationship but be connected to you somehow.

The earrings, even if you don't wear them but just have them, make him feel closer to you then he can. He hopes that in some little way, that whenever you wind and let that music box play its tune, that you are reminded of him or think of him in some way. That when you wear or even look at the few ties and bracelets he's given you, he comes to mind in some small way, and manages to bring the smallest of smiles on your face.

Jason doesn't yearn to be remembered or seen fondly, but he would like to and deeply appreciate it. Since when he looks at his earnings, he's reminded of you, and the pair he managed to give you. Leaving him unable to fight back the smile that grows on his face.

For the most part, he just generally tries to be more present, hardly leaving you alone unless he has to, and spending every moment he can by your side. Moments that begin to last longer once he finishes his buisness with your kidnappers, and their families. He doesn't push too hard or is super in your face and constantly invading your personal space. He just exists in your presence, and as long as you're around he's got no complaints.

Though he does get extremely protective and possessive. Especially if your sleeping or something, and someone walks in. God have mercy if they need to wake you up, and dare to try without saying anything to Jason first.

Which- all of this boils down to you getting scary dog privileges every night, which turns into an almost 24/7 type of deal when you get discharged from the hospital.

---

Sorry if this is a little all over the place. I wrote it all in one go for the most part and haven't really looked it over, so there's probably some mistakes I didn't catch and missed 😅

Still, I hope that's alright, and as you can see- i really enjoy this idea :]

[danyseastar]

hot take maybe but the only reason most show runners/producers/writers/etc. age up the (female) characters from book to show adaptation is to overtly sexualize them and not face mass amounts of scrutiny for it.

put 13 year old daenerys next to 30 year old drogo and the audience understands that daenerys is a victim to him and not an equal. put 22 year old emilia clarke as daenerys next to 32 year old jason mamoa as drogo and they’re seen as a budding romance with a tragic ending (by the general audience) due to their on screen chemistry.

flash forward to today, and now we’re dealing with 21 year old milly alcock playing rhaenyra from 14-19 and how her relationship with (28 year old fabien) a mid twenties criston is seen as -morally acceptable- and not a result of a degenerate pedophile taking advantage of and grooming his charge. “ser criston protects the princess from her enemies, but who protects the princess from ser criston?” rhaenyra was 14 when rumors started speculating that she slept with an almost 30 year old criston. a criston who had know her since she was 8 and had been her sworn shield since she was 9. obviously seeing a teenager in the early stages of puberty next to a fully grown man would emphasize rhaenyra being THE victim, as opposed to the show having an 18-19 year old explore her sexuality and seek out ‘consensual’ sex with her peer bodyguard. the discourse has even reached the point where certain stans try to paint the much younger woman as the perpetrator and aggressor of this event, who forced the unassuming man into having sex with her.

i’ll even take this a step farther, and bring up how if they had shown a 19 year old alicent abusing a 10 year old rhaenyra it would be identified and mutually agreed upon as a reprehensible act on alicent’s part. instead they’re of similar age, so people can attempt to paint the picture as two women of equal standing hating each other, and not a much older woman bullying a motherless child. once again however, some stans even go so far as to try and paint alicent as a victim of rhaenyra, and not the other way around. further cementing this is how both versions of alicent are younger than both versions of rhaenyra, AND how criston is still played by an actor who is younger than older!rhaenyra despite his character being the same age as daemon in canon.

they know exactly what they’re doing too, considering they aged alicent down to give her that innate compassion one typically feels when seeing children being abused on tv (something that can no longer be applied to rhaenyra). despite that never being her story; *she* was the abuser, and rhaenyra was her victim. criston’s victim. it’s a nasty cop out, and i wish more people would call out how sickening it is to flip the switch and attempt to make abusive individuals more sympathetic than the *actual* victims of said abusers.

[illusivelle]

just right

pairing: carmen 'carmy' berzatto x reader rating: t (for now) length: 1,699 words content: mild cursing summary: you go to the market every week like clockwork, normally one of the first ones there. but you don't expect to see a familiar face standing at one your favourite vendors. a/n: did someone say brain rot? hope you all enjoy this one. i just can't get enough of a neighbour trope apparently. not proofread although not exactly a middle of the night dump - more like middle of the day. read part one link to ao3 here!

You'd gone from never seeing your neighbour, Carmen — no, Carmy — to seeing him every so often. In the halls mid afternoon, when you'd just come home and were ready to settle in and it looked like he was heading out to start his evening. Sometimes out in front of the building while you exchanged your goods with your elderly neighbour, fresh bread for flowers and greens, Carmy strolling into the apartment with his own bag in tow. And now, well before most of the city had even had their first coffee, at the farmer's market.

At first, you thought you were imagining it. The silhouette of your neighbour that started to haunt your dreams at night. Floppy soft curls, stark blue eyes, tattoos littered over the carved muscles of his arms and hands. But as you slowed your pace to a near stop and focused, you knew it wasn't just your eyes playing tricks on you. There was Carmy standing underneath the tent of one of your favourite growers, a tattooed hand covering his mouth as he grazed his knuckles along his lips. Those blue eyes bright even this far away, darting between the offerings on the table and the familiar face behind the counter who was eagerly smiling and chatting him up.

And again, you were rendered frozen. He hadn't even looked your way and yet your feet felt cemented to the ground in your indecision.

Go to pick out your produce like any other day, or turn around and run?

The latter made your brows pinch together because why was that even an option? Carmy didn't own the market, and he sure as shit wasn't going to be the reason you leave the market fruitless (literally). But there was a churning low inside your belly, a wash of nerves as you started to close the distance between the two of you. Or rather, between you and the stall. The vendor — the real reason you were approaching now, and it had nothing to do with the undeniably attractive man standing there, too.

You didn't look at him. Instead, you busied yourself with the incredibly interesting purple cauliflower, flipping it in your hand a couple of times before you heard the soft grumble of somebody clearing their throat.

But still, you didn't look up from staring at the vegetable, like it was the single most fascinating thing in the world. And truly, it was, because you had no idea that cauliflower could even be another colour other than white, nevermind the fact that these stalks were larger than usual with its long leaves cradling them on every side.

Maybe that was your first mistake, going blindly for the first and nearest thing you saw instead of picking up something you were used to. God, why didn't you pick up the onion or garlic or tomato? Or maybe, just maybe, it was an unconscious choice to try to break through the hypothetical wall between you and your neighbour.

"Hi."

The look of shock on your face wasn't exactly fake. Carmy did surprise you. Partly because you weren't expecting him to say anything to you at all, but mostly because when you tipped your head to acknowledge him, he was suddenly so incredibly close. Close enough for you to catch the lingering smell of smoke, a hint of coffee, and fresh soap. A strange blend but on him, it oddly worked — and made you want to lean in closer.

"Hi."

"It's sweet."

"What?"

"A little nutty."

"I don't—"

"The cauliflower." A shy smile split Carmy's lips as he stared pointedly at the bunch of purple florets in your hand before he locked his gaze with yours. "Mostly sweet, though."

Right, the cauliflower. "Too sweet, you think?" Your attention faltered for a second and landed on his lips at the same time he decided to roll his tongue along the bottom one.

"Mm, just right, I'd say."

"Just right."

What was it about Carmy's presence that made you want to sit with it a moment longer? Your conversations with him have mostly been in passing save for the time you handed him his package, but even that was short, only a few words exchanged between the two of you. It didn't matter how little he said, you hung onto the words. Not quite grasping for more but appreciating that he wasn't the type to speak just to fill the air. Appreciating that there seemed to be more under the surface he wasn't voicing, but was clear if you just had enough courage to look into his eyes a little bit longer.

And today, you found that courage. Flicking your gaze up to him and holding his stare, a slow smile unfurled from one corner of your mouth to the other, shocked to see it mirrored in Carmy's face.

"Have you ever tried it before?"

"No, never."

"You'll have to let me know how you like it."

"Oh?"

"Roasted is usually a pretty safe option," he continued, picking up some sage and handing it to you, "but turning it into a soup with some crispy sage on top is better."

You glanced down at how easily Carmy placed the herb in your palm, smiling to yourself before nodding. "So you like to cook?"

"Uh," he chuckled, knuckles lifting to graze his mouth again as if he wanted to hide that smile, the indent on his cheek peeking out from behind his wrist, "something like that, yeah."

"A chef?"

"I, uh, yeah. I cook. I'm a chef. Of sorts."

"Of sorts."

"I used to— um. Used to cook fancy things, now I cook other things."

"Right," you drawled, and although your brows were bunched together, amusement lined every other inch of your features, "so, used to cook in your basement and now you cook…?"

"In a kitchen."

"Real food this time, though."

"Mostly edible."

A loud laugh escaped you, almost embarrassingly so. The banter between you two was quick, easy, fun even as you caught the way his chin dipped into his chest on a wider smile. His dimple was very much showing itself now and you were glad that your hands were full because they itched to touch him.

And that would be absolutely no fucking good, would it?

You barely knew Carmy — Carmen. He was just your neighbour, nothing else.

As your laughter dwindled down to nothing but soft smiles, the vendor came around to greet you. In his hand were some of the other fruits and veg you normally liked to keep, a handful of fresh lemons in a basket and extra radishes and red onion.

"D'you—?"

"Do I?"

"Come here often?"

"I mean, as often as I can given it only happens once a week." You teased.

Carmy redirected his attention to the man behind the small counter, and they did a similar exchange. Cash for produce that went right into the large bag you hadn't noticed was tucked behind his back. "Are you, uh, you gonna walk around a bit more—"

But a sharp ringtone sounded from his pocket and Carmy was already groaning, fishing for the phone and giving you an apologetic look. "Sorry, I gotta—"

"Of course."

With his back turned to you and his voice lowered, speaking in hushed tones, you moved to the side in an effort to give him his privacy. But you couldn't help your curiosity, peering over your shoulder to watch the way he tangled his hand through his hair and paced back and forth.

Who was he talking to? What was it about? Why was there a divot in his brow and why did you so badly want to soothe it with your fingers?

You shook your head in a shallow attempt to shake the thought, the thought that had no business forming in your mind. Carmy stared at his phone for a moment before he pocketed it again, turning to you with an uncertainty flashing in his eyes, like a cloud rolling through the sky. "Hey, I, uh, I gotta go, but… woulda been nice to have some company today."

"A chef's company, no less." You kept your tone light and easy, fingers wrapping around the straps of the bag you hitched higher on your shoulder.

But his tone was far less playful, laced with intention as he spoke. "Or just a person with a curious mind."

And there it was again, another moment that hung on a thin thread in the small space between you two, a ghost of a smile that made his dimple peek through the stubble on his cheek.

"See you around?" He asked quietly, his head slanted to level with your gaze.

Was there any other answer? "Yeah."

"Okay." Carmy nodded, wiping his fingers over his mouth before giving a nod to the vendor and turning back to you. "Okay."

"Okay."

A few seconds passed where you thought maybe the rest of the world stopped. Just the endless swirls of the blue in his eyes, like the sky meeting the sea and each blink, a tide calling to you. A few seconds, a few blinks, before Carmy was nodding and walking past you, throwing you a tiny smile over his shoulder that you would've missed if you hadn't been staring so blatantly at him.

Carmen Berzatto, your next door neighbour that was clearly reeling you in whether he knew it or not. And for fuck's sake, you should really get a grip sooner rather than later, scolding yourself silently as you belatedly realized you'd been ogling him as he left.

When you went home less than an hour later, your elderly neighbour gave you the fresh bread and asked you what she was supposed to do with the purple cauliflower you handed to her. "Heard it was best roasted," you shrugged, but hung onto the vegetable, "do you want me to make you something with it instead?" This thrilled her, clear in the wide grin crossing her face as she shoved the bundle back into your bag, letting you know how excited she was and thanking you.

"Thank Carmy." You said without thinking.

And almost too quickly, she smirked. "Oh, why am I not surprised?"

[faggotbeloved]

Cold Metal Biting Soft Flesh | Yandere!Curly x Captain!M!Reader

1: Sanitized (~1k words)

Cw: Canon typical violence, my headcannons for post-crash Curly's wounds, no beta we close our eyes, body horror, lots of painkillers

This work does not contain smut but is 18+. Minors and fem-aligned people, please do not interact. AN at the end.

└───────────────────────┘

It had been only a few hours after saving a man from a three decade old craft when you’d determined that he was going to be under your primary care, aside from medical, from now on.

The man, as you’d discovered, was in fact the captain of the Tulpar. Upon inspection of his wounds, which only occurred back at the ship and with him sedated, Rhodes discovered the harrowing truth that he’d been in a state of third degree full-body burns for over four months. Worse still, he had one half-functional eye with the eyelid burnt shut though the other was severely dry, eyelidless, but still in surprisingly good condition.

Immediately, Rhodes ordered someone to get the passenger’s company issued bio-fabricator, a critical technology with the ability to take biological elements and grow genetically similar (but not identical) copies.

Technically, it was reserved for creating more plants or animals in a biosphere lacking most of the required succession elements, but it’d be easy to grow supplemental skin, hair, and blood to perfectly match the burnt man’s body. He also ordered silver sulfadiazine cream to soothe the initial burns, and for the first time since the man was in the accident he seemed to not be in agony.

──────────────────────

You sat beside the man. He still had his tongue and vocal cords, so he could talk (with much effort), but he was fully deaf so you had a captioning machine set up for him to read your words. Once he awoke, you silently showed him your badge with your name, picture, and title, which he read and nodded once he was done.

“Are you able to talk, sir? We need your name,” you said softly, watching as your head doctor, Rhodes, finally replaced the sticky, deteriorating bandages that practically cemented to his raw flesh. Luckily, the man was unable to feel it with how numb his entire body was.

He nodded weakly, eye never straying from you for long, and coughed. He spat up blood and saliva, to which you gently swiped a rag across his chin to remove it. “It’s okay. Take your time. This is Rhodes, he’s your doctor for now, but one of the passengers here is also a cosmetic surgeon and can start skin grafts once you’re ready.”

You sat back to give the man some space and idly wondered if the bio-fabricator could make enough connective tissues, nerves, and muscles to give him back his limbs. Rhodes left after replacing his arms and legs bandages, and soon the man tapped your resting hand with one of his handless arms and you looked back at him.

“C…url…y,” he rasped out. His volume was lacking, but he couldn’t hear himself so it was to be excpected.

“Curly? Is that your name?”

He nodded weakly. You spoke again, “Curly. Okay, and can you answer a couple questions for me? Shake or nod your head, if you can’t talk.”

Curly nodded, and you began questions. “Were you the captain of the freighter I found you on?” Nod. “Were there exactly five people, counting you?” Nod. “Did the crash do this to you?” Nod.

“Was the crash on purpose?”

He hesitated, then nodded very minutely.

“Did you–” you were cut off. “Jim…my,” he croaked. Well, it sounded more like ‘Jenny’ on account of his lack of lips, but you got the gist. “Jimmy crashed the ship?” Nod. “Did the crew know that?” Shake.

“Shit.” Nod. You chuckled at the nod and he looked up, like he was proud of making you laugh.

“So… do you have your ID with you?” you asked, and he produced a fresh ID from a lanyard under his gown. “Huh. Did Jimmy put that on you?” You asked, to which he nodded. “Was he your friend?” A weak nod. “Do you know why he went batshit? I mean, he’s the only one who could have killed all of your crewmates.” Curly tilted his head like he was wondering what you were asking. You rambled too fast for the machine to pick up. “Oh, yeah. Do you know of a motive?” Shake.

You glanced from the ID card to his face. There’s no mistaking those eyes. You notice there’s something written on the back, but the handwriting is awful. “Um, it looks like Jimmy tried to give me instructions and told a five year old scribe. Can you decipher this?” You asked, showing him the text. Shake. “Fine, I guess. It’s good you have this, facial reconstruction can probably get you pretty close to your face from then.”

He shrugged and laid back, gazing at you. “Wait…” he gasped. “‘lease.” Please.

“Yeah?”

“Stay?” He pleaded, using what remained of his forearm to lock around your arm and keep you (only barely) in place. “’m… s…cared."

“Scared?” You echoed, settling back into your chair and placing a hand on his thigh. “You’re safe here. Everyone who goes in and out of here has high clearance and I know them all personally.” Even still, Curly shook his head. “‘lease,” he echoed.

“I… suppose I could get Sealegs to move my desk into here. Would that be good?” Nod. Nod. Nod. “This is Captain to Sealegs, Sealegs, do you copy?”

“I copy. Whatcha need?” Sealegs hummed. The sound of a familiar video game caught your attention.

“Quit playing Snake on government computers, first of all. Wheel my workbench to the medbay,” you requested, only endearingly annoyed at your nephew. After a few minutes, a young boy with the same eyes and hair as you came in with a rolling desk equipped with robotics equipment, soldering items, and more. Curly seemed to relax once you situated beside him and the two of you slipped into a comfortable silence.

“Hey, Curly, can I take some measurements of you?” You asked after a couple minutes. “Arms and legs,” you added. Nod. Curly lifted up a handless arm and waited for you to start, to which you took diameter and circumference of his arm, approximate length, shape of the amputation, and more. You did the same for the other arm and both legs, then you sat back down to work.

──────────────────────

In a few minutes, you put your higher education to use and attached a crude prosthetic to his leg, but since he was numbed to hell it wasn’t causing him any pain. You worked, he watched, and soon he fell asleep painlessly for the first time in probably a half of a year or so, for him at least.

Once he stopped coughing every time you looked away for too long, you were able to get some work done and sent off an update to your boss–you told him that you had a new crew member on board, that you authorized the use of the bio-fabricator, and that you’d pay for his medical costs. Of course, you wouldn’t tell Curly that. Feeling indebted to someone is a terrible thing.

You were in for a long night. You wanted to give him the most mobility possible, but it’d be up to him ultimately to use them. The least you could do is build him the choice.

┌───────────────────────┐

I’m not happy with this, but if I didn’t get it out now it’d rot forever :( thank you to everyone who’s left kind words and reblogs and likes!! It means so much and if youve left any asks I’m so sorry but tumblr SAYS i have 6 asks but none show up :(((

[p0orbaby]

If your still doing blurbs, could I request something with Leah x Reader, Leah being drunk, like smashed, could literally be anything.

-

It starts with “just a couple of drinks” at some fancy bar Leah swears up and down she won’t enjoy. She’s not even supposed to be drinking—training starts Monday—but someone ordered tequila shots, and Leah has the willpower of a toddler in a sweet shop.

By the time you show up to collect her, she’s perched on a stool, gesturing wildly about something to Katie, who’s cackling like a banshee. Leah spots you instantly.

“Baaabe!” she slurs, nearly toppling off the stool in her enthusiasm.

Katie snorts. “She’s all yours”

You sigh, already sensing this is going to be a long night. “Leah, what did we say about tequila?”

“That it’s the devil’s drink,” she says solemnly, like she’s reciting scripture. Then she grins. “But I tamed the devil!”

She has not tamed the devil. She’s lost a very public battle with it.

You take her arm, but she’s too busy rummaging in her pocket. “Wait, wait, I got something for you”

“Oh, God”

She produces a crumpled napkin with what looks like someone’s phone number scribbled on it. “This guy tried to chat me up,” she says proudly. “I told him I had a girlfriend who could bench-press him”

“Romantic,” you deadpan, shoving the napkin back in her pocket.

Leah grins. “You’re welcome”

The walk home is even worse. She insists on stopping every five minutes to either a) pet a dog, b) tell a stranger they have “great vibes,” or c) try to climb something.

“Babe, get down,” you hiss as she attempts to scale a lamppost.

“I’m reclaiming my childhood!”

“You’re going to reclaim a concussion”

Eventually, you manage to bundle her into a taxi, where she spends the entire ride insisting the driver “looks just like Pep Guardiola” and trying to play footsie with you despite the fact that you’re sitting next to each other.

When you finally get her home, she collapses onto the sofa dramatically. “I’m starving,” she announces.

“You’ve had chips and a kebab,” you point out.

“I could eat again”

You leave her to wrestle with her hunger demons while you grab a glass of water and some paracetamol. When you return, she’s lying flat on the carpet like a starfish, mumbling about how the ceiling is “so big.”

“Alright, lightweight,” you say, kneeling beside her. “Time for bed”

“Can’t move,” she moans. “Floor’s my home now”

You roll your eyes but eventually manage to coax her into the bedroom. She flops onto the mattress with all the grace of a bag of wet cement, immediately trying to pull you down with her.

“Leah, you smell like a distillery”

“But I love you,” she says, her voice muffled by your shirt.

You can’t help but laugh. “I love you too, but you’re sleeping on your side. I am not cleaning up after you if you puke”

She grumbles something unintelligible but lets you tuck her in. By the time you turn off the light, she’s already snoring softly, one arm flung over your waist.