#cheap domes

[narvin]

listen gallifrey is a nightmare death planet I have to believe that time lords can be easily converted back into terrifying apex predators if they spend a long enough time outside. like how domesticated pigs will revert to wild ones within a few generations

[transgender-catboy]

nothin breaks my heart more than being a poor, uncrafty furry

[arctic-hands]

rip in peace calvin klein plain white all cotton mens t-shirts I got as a gift like 8 years ago that are super comfy and just the right thickness and are only just now starting to become threadbare and stained but I am not paying thirty-five dollars for 3 new plain white tees that were probably also made in the same factory as the 6 pack of hanes cotton plain white tees I bought by overseas laborers for slave wages

[grimxark]

Im sooo tired of the “Rodimus hates himself so much he would kill himself. He has so many self steem issues” take. no he wouldn’t. he quite literally loves life despite the horrors. “Well there was that one time in g1-“ he was being funny. You were meant to laugh at that. Hope that clears things up

[salty-dracon]

HI I’M SALTYDRACON, AND WELCOME TO JACKASS. TODAY WE’RE MAKING PROTESTANTISM MORE WELCOMING AND FUN BY DESTROYING THE WORLD AND REPLACING THE CHURCHES WITH LIBRARIES AND FILLING THEM WITH MURALS AND SOUP

[hashipebbles]

I swear to GOD acrylic takes a thousand years to dry (<- is just impatient)

[filmcel]

i think i’m gonna cry i think my cap and gown r the wrong color for my fucking graduation hahahaha!

[notjustjavierpena]

Diner

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: My first darkfic and based on that one picture of Pedro in Freaky Tales. READ THE TAGS!!!!

Summary: You get more than you paid for during your visit to a roadside diner.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, non-con, degrading language, condescending language, blood and violence, threats of violence, forced masturbation, forced orgasm, forced creampie, reader does NOT enjoy this! 

Word count: 3.3k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52941784

Diner

Something about roadside diners makes you feel like you are in an alternate universe. It starts the second that you step out of your car and onto the asphalt, a weird sensation of not being in the real world overtaking you as you listen to the cars drive by at a dizzying speed. There are a few cars here already, but you suspect that most of them belong to the people staying at the motel just next to the small and informal restaurant instead of people eating dinner. It is late after all, so late that you can see you are just in time for a coffee before they close. 

You’ve been driving home in the summer heat for your sister’s wedding, crossing state lines for days now to make it in time, and it means quick dinners, cheap coffee, and sleeping in your car. At this point, you’ve actually come to like the greasy fried food and the coffee that almost resembles tar with how strong it is. It helps you regulate your body temperature in the car, forcing you to cool down because it’s scalding hot in your stomach. 

A tiny bell rings as you walk through the door. The checkered tile floor seems slightly sticky as you move through the place with the taste of stale coffee already present on your tongue as if the setting has triggered a memory. You notice the single customer sitting in a booth along the window, all broad shoulders and sleeves rolled up as he eats two slices of toast with eggs and bacon, but you don’t think much of the man as much as you think about eating breakfast foods at night. It’s always oddly satisfying, weirdly rebellious. 

You squeeze in between two chairs from the line along the counter. You brush away a few granules of sugar from it, smiling slightly as you are approached by what you assume is the only staff at this time. 

“Just coffee?” The lady behind the counter asks as she notices you not looking at the menu and not checking out the pie underneath a glass dome to your left. 

“That’d be great,” you reply.

“And no milk or nothin’?” She continues. 

You shake your head no and look around at nothing of importance the second she walks away to start up the coffee machine. It gurgles a few moments later. 

Behind you, the man has finished his meal. He gets out of the booth to use the restroom, leaving you to sip your coffee alone with the waitress who makes no effort to start up a conversation with you (then again, you don’t start chatting with her either). 

Time passes. The song playing from the radio in the background ends. The stranger reemerges and shakes his hands dry on his way to his table again. He doesn’t sit but instead carries his plate to the counter. 

“Thanks, Doris, great like always,” he smiles, turning to you briefly to acknowledge your presence. He nods in greeting. 

“Anytime, Joel,” Doris blinks at him, batting her lashes. She is clearly infatuated, and you can understand why; the two of them seem to be about the same age. Joel is tall with broad shoulders in an open flannel with a t-shirt underneath, his hands look rough and used to hard labor, and his hair is slicked back by what you don’t know whether is gel or sweat but it looks like he has run his fingers through it several times today.

“Well, I’m off, see ya tomorrow,” he turns to go gather his things at the table where he has been eating. You think nothing more of it.

“Anything else, honey?” Doris asks and you shake your head.

“No thanks,” you say politely, “I’m all good.”

“I’ll have my smoke break then,” she states, untying her apron and hanging it on the wall only to proceed to dig out a package of cigarettes from the pocket on the front, “You can just leave the money on the counter when you leave.”

And then it’s just you and Joel and an eerie feeling settles in your stomach at being alone with a man you don’t know, especially in between cities and even moreso at night. 

You glance over your shoulder to watch him carefully but he is just picking through his wallet to leave a tip on the table. You look straight ahead again and shake your head at how ridiculous you feel about your anxiety, rolling your eyes at how you could think such things about someone who is having eggs at midnight. 

Still, something feels wrong. You steal another glance over your shoulder and see the table with the empty plate, and the crumbled bill beside it. What you don’t see is Joel, which is weird because you haven’t heard the bell from the door being opened and clo-

A rough hand settles on the back of your neck. It grips you hard until it hurts, causing you to crane your neck and gasp loudly into the room. Joel’s voice makes your skin crawl, “Fuck, you are pretty.” 

You hear a deep inhale through the nose followed by a satisfied sigh, “Smell pretty too. Been driving all day alone?”

“What are you doing?” You are frozen to the spot. He has trapped you between the counter, two barstool chairs, and himself. The hand holding you in place is uncomfortable but mostly, its iron grip has started to make you lightheaded due to his thumb and index finger pressing into your carotid artery. It makes you not want to move in case he grabs harder. 

“I just realized that I haven’t had dessert in a while ‘n’ pie just doesn’t seem to cut it,” he replies, breathing labored already from how he has control over what your body can or cannot do. The words make you squirm but you still, for some reason, haven’t thought about screaming for help.

“No,” your voice quivers and bravely you try to decline the offer, “I don’t want that. Please.”

“Afraid you’ll like it too much?” You can feel he has moved his head closer, can feel the smirk in his voice. You feel sick like you might actually puke if you weren’t working on an empty stomach.

“Doris’ll come back,” you reason. 

“She’s closing up in ten,” he laughs as if it’s the most ridiculous thing he has ever heard, “She’ll use every second of those ten minutes to have what she considers fresh air but I don’t think we need much longer, do you?”

You whimper, and then suddenly you’re on the move but it’s not by yourself. No. Joel is hauling you backward, moving you around like you weigh nothing, and causing your feet to stumble several times. However, he doesn’t seem bothered by your clumsiness caused by terror, just uses a bit more force until he can shove you down onto an empty table. 

That’s when you feel panic starting to rise in your body. You start thrashing, grabbing at whatever you can reach on the table to throw it down onto the floor and make a racket. You cry too, shock setting in and causing tears to flow desperately as emotions become too much. This is it, you think, this is what prey must feel when they’re trying to escape.

Joel growls in anger, holding you roughly in place so your efforts are to no avail, “Shut the fuck up. Stop crying.”

You absolutely don’t. That is until your forehead and nose connect with the surface of the table. Joel has pushed you on the back of your head so harshly that your face has been violently knocked down onto the table, and it hurts, prickling in your nostrils and nausea settling more in your stomach. The impact makes you feel dizzy enough to not continue fighting him. 

A sudden taste of iron fills your mouth. You are bleeding from your nose, you realize, and it replaces the salty taste of your tears and drips onto the surface of the table. Pathetically, you try grabbing at anything in front of you and you end up smearing the bloodstains across the white. It’s not the sight that makes you gag but the fact that Joel seems aroused by it. 

“Relax,” he responds to your whine, “‘tis just a bit of blood.”

But that’s not what causes your noise. It’s the position you are in; it makes your ass stick out and Joel’s crotch rests against it whilst he reaches out for your hair, bunching it up in his strong hand and creating a makeshift ponytail to tug on. You try to make sense of what is happening but all you can focus on is how big he seems in his jeans, rock hard against you as he yanks your head up by the hair. It may be your foggy mind’s way of protecting yourself from realizing what this is, particularly because you had a brief thought earlier about how nice his hands would feel if they touched you. They feel horrible.

When he straightens behind you, his free hand starts tugging on your pants. He is rough in his movements but careful enough to make sure that nothing rips, knowing he shouldn’t leave evidence of your ravish behind. 

“Please,” you slur with desperation.

“No begging now,” he purposely misunderstands, “I’ll give you what you need real soon, sweetheart.”

When your pants sit around your knees, he lets the hand go down between your legs. Your mind is suddenly very clear. 

“Are you a virgin?” He asks with a dark smile evident in his voice. His hand skims along the inside of your thigh, and you feel your feet trying to move away. His fingertips are so close to where you don’t want them. He kicks your ankles hard enough to make you unable to breathe, unable to balance on your feet so you can’t even try to flee.

You whimper in reply. 

The satisfied growl he lets out sends a shiver down your spine, cold sweat making you feel lightheaded. 

“No,” you finally manage to stutter out, trying to convince yourself that replying is going to make the heartbeat in your chest less intense as you’ve made yourself less interesting to him. Instead, you realize that you have only disappointed him.

“Just when I got my hopes up,” he tuts, suddenly palming your cunt through your underwear. You want to scream and cry but somehow, you simply cannot and it dawns on you that your body is too scared of making him furious to do your most instinctive act of fighting back, “Can’t say I’m happy, but I am surprised at having a whore on my hands. Wait till I tell the guys back home ‘bout you, they’ll be so envious.”

His fingers curl around the fabric of your panties. He tugs them down your thighs and the fabric snaps at the violent yanks that he does. It was only the pants, you think, it was only those that needed to be saved for keeping up appearances. 

The way the skin of his hand touches your bare thighs feels like fire, and you don’t know whether to feel relief that nothing has happened yet or become hysterical when your underwear sits around your knees too; you know the rest, know what he is about to do and now, you just have to wait for it to be over. 

And then briefly, it’s gone but you don’t dare think that he might have changed his mind but when you lift your head, you can see him in the reflection of the window, sucking on his own fingers to wet them until they’re shiny with saliva. 

“Stay still,” he commands, and the hand on the back of your neck slides down so he can rest his forearm on the small of your back to still hold you down. His wetted fingers go right between your legs to search for your clit, and he presses down on it until you let out a whimper from a sudden state of arousal slowly taking over your body. 

He rubs you off for a few minutes where you fight every single nerve in your body to not enjoy it but suddenly you let out your first involuntary moan, pussy starting to wet against your will and shame setting in. You rest your cheek against the table, tears sliding down over your nose as you occasionally moan helplessly. Your poor treacherous body burns deep below your navel, and the tingling in your core makes you think that maybe, just maybe, it won’t be so bad. 

“That’s it,” he says in a gentle voice, a tone that makes you hold back a gag, “Knew you wanted it, just needed a little encouragement.”

“Please,” you sob, “I can pay you.”

“I don’t want cash,” he replies simply, sliding his digits through your slick, “I want you, sweetheart, and it seems this pussy wants me too.”

Joel’s fingers leave you and you hear him suck his fingers clean with a hum. The air feels cool against your swollen cunt which is so wet by now that you start to believe, albeit barely, that a part of you wants this. How can you say you don’t when you are close to dripping?

“I’m gonna let go of you now but if you try anything, I’ll cut your fucking tits off with a steak knife, got it?” Joel’s threat doesn’t seem empty.

You nod, paralyzed, and he stretches. You shiver at the sound of his belt unbuckling and his zipper being pulled down. There’s a bit of shuffling and then you feel the blunt head of his dick poking into your ass. 

He doesn’t waste his time it seems, because he rubs the tip through your wetness and starts to breach you. Color drains from your face at the realization of his size. 

“No, no no no,” you pant as he pushes into you. He teases you open but only at first; you let out a sharp cry as he enters you fully and with no warning. The head had been a warning of how big he was going to be but now that he is sheathed inside of you to the brim, you feel like nothing could have ever prepared you for his size even if you had wanted him. He kisses your cervix, splits you open, and your cunt clenches in an attempt to push him out and pull him in.

“Fuck,” he moans and draws out the word, “Tight heaven.”

He fucks you like a ravenous animal and you turn into a helplessly moaning mess, held down to the point where your hips are hurting against the table because Joel uses all of his weight to pleasure himself with you. 

His fingers dig into your hips enough to bruise and his zipper gnaws into the back of your thigh. You have never taken anyone as big as him before, and it’s almost an out-of-body experience to be stretched out again and again by him. He swears above you, rhythm faltering, every time you accidentally find a shred of pleasure in his thrusts.

You feel fucked out of your mind but you are stuck there, having to take each bruising thrust that sends pain shooting through your body each time Joel’s cock bumps the back of your cunt (which is every other crash of his hips due to his size). 

“Ah,” you whimper shamefully when he nudges against your g-spot. It takes some of the pain away, and soon, you let out a breathless gasp. Would you actually enjoy him if circumstances had been different? If he’d chatted you up and booked a room at the motel next door? 

You close your eyes, squeezing them shut. It leaves you to focus on the way that your cunt squelches from your wetness, how Joel grunts behind you as he continues driving into you. 

“Listen to that, you really think your whore-pussy would sound like that if you didn’t want this?” He taunts.

“No, Joel,” you say without any tone to your voice.

“You wanna come, sweetheart? Touch yourself,” he pulls you back by your hips a little until you are able to move your hand to your crotch. His thrusts relent and bring you relief from your throbbing and pained muscles. You don’t move, and he grows impatient and cruel. You almost want to laugh at the contrast of his next line but you find yourself too scared of the unknown, “You think you get a choice here, you little bitch? Do it now.”

Reluctantly, your hand slides down between your legs but you still feel relief as you start touching yourself. In the moment, you try to remind yourself of what you like to do when it’s just you alone and you find that your cunt stirs with interest. It’s followed by a string of ahs as you begin to actually enjoy it, circling your clit with determination to finish.

“That’s it, wanna feel you milk me,” his breath is more ragged now. He is close you realize, and he is not going to pull out. 

It feels shameful when you make yourself come, cunt setting off into spasms that should feel beautiful but just makes you hate yourself for enjoying the way they make you feel. You moan louder than intended, completely at the mercy of the pleasure that has been built up deep inside of you and is now coursing through your nervous system.

Joel seems to understand your conflict, radiating claustrophobic warmth as he speeds up his hips as if he is using your body to masturbate with you. His voice is breathy as he talks, he sounds nearly on the edge of coming, “Shh… It’s supposed to feel good. It should feel good.”

He finishes inside of you a moment later, warm and sticky with a looming threat of what could happen from this act. The groan he lets out is one you don’t think you will forget. He gives you his final thrusts, fucking you through each spurt of his cock, “Take it, oh fuck. Thaaat’s it.”

Time stands still after that. You don’t move despite him removing himself from you. Instead, you listen to him tugging himself back into his jeans, the rustling of the denim, and then the noise of his zipper and him buckling his belt. 

After a moment more, his hands pull up off your shredded underwear and then he tugs your jeans up over your hips again. He hauls you up and holds your arms tightly so you don’t fall over once more. You don’t look at him and it seems to infuriate him. With a strong grip around your jaw, he forces your head towards him, “Hey, look at me.”

When you still don’t, he shakes your head a little, “Eyes here.”

You eventually follow through, vision blurry from how much you have cried. He scans your face, “You don’t tell anyone about this or I swear. I don’t usually hunt down pretty girls like you but I will. You go into your car and you drive away. I’ll watch you from here. Got it?”

Your body aches as you nod but your expression is blank, even when Joel pushes you out of his grip so you stumble and even when you see him stuff your panties into his pocket. 

“Go,” he snaps when you’re still immovable. 

You don’t know how but suddenly, you’re walking out the door, barely noticing where your feet hit the ground, and doing exactly what he has said. You probably shouldn’t even be driving let alone on the highway but you do until you feel nothing at all except his come dripping from your aching cunt.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[jymwahuwu]

Content warnings: yandere, angst(?), some descriptions of capitalism, you're locked up

Summary: You are a bakery owner and you and your shop are going to be evicted by the IPC. Unfortunately, Aventurine is the one handling the plans.

Note: I suddenly want to write this very much...sorry, I don't know what I am writing...🥹

According to the calendar of your home planet, you spent all your savings and bought a bakery three years ago.

Once upon a time, you had your own ideals, which were woven into unrealistic dreams in your childhood paintings. When you become an adult, you realize that adults use lies to pile up in school and blow up beautiful bubbles. Those lies are probably the beginning of your idealized misfortune. Your dream goes from unrealistic to another. Under consumerism, you want a property of your own, with one room, a large living room, an open kitchen, and a ceiling where you can sleep while looking at the stars. Approximately 8,000,000 credits. You deposit money into the Cosmic Bank. Staring at the rising numbers in the bank account with tired eyes, health has been replaced by some slowly rising numbers and countless nights.

Then, you collapse. Your ideal transforms into a spaceship for 1,200,000 credits. However, classmates and friends of Universe University in the same year shared on social media that they had gotten married step by step, had children, and had a lovely next generation from the artificial womb. The venue for their proposal was on a romantic planet with endless sea, sky and seagulls. A growing sense of comparison creates unnecessary suffering. Others tell you, go ahead, just like others, work, save money, buy a house, buy a car, get married, have children, bring new blessings to the universe, and believe in an Aeon you like.

Best is Qlipoth. They said. Everyone said so.

That's the Aeon that IPC fervently believes in. They may not necessarily know about the walls and protections made by Qlipoth, but people must know that IPC is a huge company involved in the economy of the entire universe. Their golden bodies symbolize enviable wealth in people's eyes.

But spacecraft are out of reach. You figured this out through a cheap and unpalatable 10-credit lunch and a scolding from your boss. You know you should set a more realistic goal.

Then let’s get a car with 30,000 credits. There are also jewelry for 50,000 credits. I'll go shopping after get off work. you said so.

You walked into the store and bought a car that met your expectations despite the salesperson's inner eye rolls and eager sales. Stroking its shell, eager joy surges into your heart, as if your hard work has been transformed into a visible reward. This is valuable. And jewelry, you buy a necklace that sparkles around your neck.

Your face was hot with excitement. There is value in this, keep it to yourself and it will appreciate in value!

Trembling with excitement, there is endless emptiness behind the joyful smile. Cosmic Express is responsible for delivering express delivery to your home. You browse the Internet and buy a list of unnecessary things to fill your misery and pain and stop the bleeding that might come out.

Then one day you quit your job after another scolding, knowing that you are just a cog in the functioning of society. You don't want to live like this anymore, but you don't know how to live without money and without getting married like others. You buy a spaceship ticket and wander off randomly. Romantic, casual and comfortable life. You think idealistically again to cheer yourself up. No matter where you go, you have to start a new life.

You arrive on a new planet, a beautiful and highly developed space society. The dome has a transparent dome woven from Qlipoth that envelopes the entire planet. You have heard that IPC has its headquarters here, but some say it is just one of its branches. Regardless, they obsessively imitated the architecture of Aeon Qlipoth, constructing a towering building with a beautiful transparent glass dome. It is stationed on the planet like a banyan tree, tirelessly absorbing money and energy.

You bought a small, independent bakery on one of the shopping streets, renovated it and prepared it for opening and used up almost all the credit in your bank account. But, you are happy, from the bottom of your heart, practicing your baking recipes and thinking about a bright future. On opening day, you put up a sign with a design on it. And greets all guests warmly. They smell the aroma of bread, follow the traces and step into your store, buying this and that bread and drinks. The aroma of food, warm bread, that is the breath of life.

-

One month after opening, Aventurine stepped into your bakery. When socializing at work, he accompanied his clients to drink and enjoy haute cuisine, with a charming smile. During lunch, he would choose a coffee shop or an elegant restaurant to sit and browse the stock market and invest. Those tens of millions of money came and went, only in exchange for a smile or a sip of coffee from him. Wonderful afternoon. Beautiful gamble. But that day, he smelled a different aroma of bread, and realized that a new store had opened in the commercial street.

He walked into the store and browsed the golden bread. Aventurine spent 2 minutes choosing toast and croissants, listening to the sound of money arriving on his phone. He glanced at you, who was in uniform and busy. It was inevitable that he thought from a professional and utilitarian perspective, wondering how this narrow store did not meet the requirements of modern business. Decoration, bread production, marketing, and store staffing. It would be foolish to hire just one clerk. Hiring just one more clerk can lead to more revenue. You obviously have your hands full.

He spent 2 minutes in line. When it was Aventurine's turn to pay, you gave him a warm smile, as warm as sunshine. These days, you remember some familiar faces of your customers. You're a little surprised by the new-faced customers arriving at the store.

You greet him and ask if he wants a takeout or just enjoy it in the store.

"Right here, thank you." Aventurine replied.

So Aventurine sat down, right in the bakery. He munched his bread and invested his money, living his daily life. Day after day, weeks and months passed. Occasionally, he pays attention to you. You always do all the work in the store, packing the bread, putting it on the shelves, and doing the cashiering. So one day, He asked out of curiosity. “Isn’t the bakery owner going to hire an extra employee?”

You opened your eyes wide and smiled awkwardly. "I-I'm the owner of this bakery."

Ah, so here's the answer. Aventurine nodded, you may not have more funds, but he accidentally started to invest and play, just like the play he had not completed in childhood. He loved investing, which was like finding a pearl in the ocean, playing Monopoly, playing with his assets. A desire arose spontaneously, satisfying his heart. "Have you considered expanding the store and staff? I see your bakery is very popular. I've witnessed many, but none like this, and swear there's some potential here."

"Really?" You were a little shy in the compliment. He was surprised at your naivety. "Thank you, but I have no plans yet."

"Oh, you're eating Brioche today." You looked down at the bread he selected. "You are a familiar face. Let me give you a discount. It only costs 200 credits."

Aventurine was about to refuse, but heard your question. "If you don't mind, could you tell me what you do for a living?"

He didn't understand the specific reason. Aventurine didn't want to reveal his work in front of you, so he muttered vaguely. "I'm in the gambling business."

"You mean the casino?" You blinked.

"Yeah, yes," he replied.

"That must be hard…" You recalled the casino in the drama, where the gamblers seemed likely to fight. He must have been mediating frequently there. After thinking about it, you gave him extra drinks and bread. “Here’s today’s special offer!”

Aventurine held the drink at a loss, feeling that the cold drink was radiating heat.

-

On a rainy and windy afternoon, Aventurine won't sit at your outdoor table. He returned to the IPC with the bread and pressed the button for the lift. One of the members of Ten Stonehearts saw him and asked caringly. "I can't see you eating in the office lately. Can you be full just by eating bread?"

"It's okay. I fill up easily." He smiled politely, even though he had eaten some more bread… He didn't refuse your offer.

He finished chewing the bread while scrolling through your bakery’s social media feeds on his phone. You like to update the bakery's social media and have accumulated about a few hundred likes per post. In the photo, you shared a new type of bread, and your passion for life is reflected in your eyebrows and eyes.

The department meeting is just after lunch. The holographic screen fluttered IPC's business plans and developments. IPC announced that one of its small plans was to acquire a new commercial street and all the businesses would have to move out. His eyes reflected the glowing words- your bakery is on that commercial street.

-

Gradually, that friendly customer who works at the casino becomes too busy to visit your bakery, or he finds a new restaurant. There's something empty inside you, like a piece is missing.

New signs were posted in the neighborhood, and other store owners who often borrowed flour and other supplies from each other knocked on your door and told you that the Interastral Peace Corporation was buying the street and that every store was going to be evicted. This will be the place where a new type of space commercial city will be built. Many companies will settle in and open stores. It will be beautiful and modern, just like other space commercial cities. You'd better discuss a compensation plan with IPC now and strive for better terms.

IPC may compromise, but with other economic systems of the entire planet, not with a small commercial street. They do what they say they will do.

Like a bolt from the blue, you repeatedly confirmed and asked questions. Why does it have to be here? Why? What are their plans? How much will the compensation be? The IPC wants the compensation to be as small as possible, and the shop owners will fight for it, but the court is on their side. So don’t be too tough in your attitude, be more diplomatic, be more worldly, and seek more benefits for you. they said.

Many shop owners have signed up for the compensation plan. You are one of the few shop owners who are too stubborn to embrace the world. Guard this shop like a dragon guarding the last treasure. As the deadline gets closer, you notice more rude customers, the ingredient supplier says they can no longer serve you, and some negative messages and reviews appear to smear you. There are also people in all-black uniforms looking outside your store. That's downright creepy.

But you are not afraid, what you are afraid of is that something will be taken away from you again. Those capitalists are used to taking something from you and then giving you something in compensation. Before it was salary, now it's compensation plans.

Occasionally, you bow to reality and pay attention to some new stores, but those prices cannot be bought with compensation.

One night, before you close the shop, you hear the sound of construction work, destroying the original shops. It's not loud and noisy, it's a new space construction technology, but you're terrified and just want to pack up and go home. You have filed a complaint with the court. Once again, you place your hopes on the ethereal, and then you see a figure appear at the window of the bakery.

Ah, it's that customer. He must be here to support you and buy bread.

You maintained your smile and greeted him, "I haven't seen you recently. Where have you been?"

Aventurine just stared. There was some compassion in his expression, and his features were soft. He knew that the gentlest of measures would not work. “…let me talk to you about the new compensation plan.”

You were stunned for a while. "…What do you mean?"

He hands you a card with neatly printed handwriting and the IPC logo.

“Aventurine, Senior Manager in the IPC Strategic Investment Department”

You held the card and read it for a while before looking up at him. Your throat was dry but tears were streaming down your face. The holographic screen projects a new plan, specially prepared for you stubborn, idealistic people, to provide better compensation.

"…Go away, I don't want to see you!" You paused for half a minute before getting angry and pushing him out of the store. What flows inside is anger at the betrayal, even though you know he doesn't have to support you. Aventurine's arms opened up to embrace you. You were shocked, struggling, and sobbing. "I don't want to see you…you are with them…I have nothing, and you still want to take it away…"

Halted like an emotional kitten, you whimpered, tired from sobbing, sleep overtook you and darkness enveloped you.

You opened your eyes and found yourself in a luxurious room, with stars visible on the ceiling and a soft quilt covering you. Pillow supports your head. You adjusted to the light for a few seconds, frowned, and moved your hands, but the sound of the chain sounded. You looked at the chains on your hands, stunned, shaking and struggling. "What-what's going on?"

"Ah, you're awake." Aventurine opened the door and came in. He touched your forehead, and you realized that the clothes you were wearing had also been changed. They were a set of pajamas. "What happened?" You shook the chain in your hand in confusion. "Someone attacked us last night?" "Um, it's not like that actually."

Aventurine comforted you and shushed you. "You're locked in. Shhh...shhh, don't scream. I know this may be hard to accept at first, but you'll see the benefits."

He explained, to your expression like a frightened little animal. "…For business purposes, I looked into your background. You've been having a hard time, haven't you? Now you finally have time to relax. This is one of my houses, and it's yours, too."

"I didn't ask you..." Tears welled up in your eyes. Are you going to be locked up? "I know." Aventurine stroked your head gently. "I know, now just relax. I'll take care of the bakery. We'll open a new one somewhere with the ocean, you know, new plans."

You noticed that he used the word "we," which made your heart feel strangely warm. You were speechless, closed your eyes, turned around, a tear flowed down your cheek, and the chain creaked.

This is your new reality, but at least you can rest, right?

[petermorwood]

This post mentions the Le Creuset Doufeu casserole (Dutch oven) and several comments were "I want / must get".

@dduane and I don't need one, but from curiosity I went looking to see what they cost, and what I said in the original post still applies:

New Le Creusets like the one above are hideously expensive...

Ouch!

Since buying by brand name Is A Thing, it seems to me that the words LE CREUSET on cast-iron cookware immediately jacks the price up by at least 100 £$€ currency units over similar items from other manufacturers; for curiosity I compared Le Creuset to Staub, which also aren't exactly cheap: 41cm oval Staub, €449; 40cm oval Le Creuset, €599.

OUCH!

*****

They can be found somewhat (and if lucky, much) cheaper on eBay and Etsy, or in yard sales, garage sales, car boot sales and thrift shops.

A bit of searching revealed that people have had some very good luck with vintage Le Creusets, quite possibly because the original owners didn't know what they'd got.

This has to be the best thrift shop bargain I've seen in a long time:

*****

We've got these:

Even though only the orange one is actually labelled as a Doufeu, the other two have recessed lids and also work that way, complete with condensation drip-points cast on the insides.

This seems standard on recessed-lid casseroles, Staub have them too, and makes me think that casseroles with those lids are a better buy, since they can be used for regular OR doufeu cooking while those with flat or domed lids can't.

Also, remember where I said "original owners don't know what they've got"...? I found a hint of that in a sales listing which says:

It has a multi banded lid with a sunken knob, enabling the lid to be inverted, and used as a serving dish, with raised studs to help stop the food from moving around when being carved.

I think what happened here was that whoever wrote the description didn't know what the studs were actually for, and defaulted to what they thought they were for.

They're not sharp enough to hold food in place, and while this style of lid can be balanced inverted, it's not so they become serving dishes, because they'll teeter off-balance again with the slightest sideways pressure, such as trying to carve meat. So, er, don't.

*****

The cream/brown Fontignac was bought new more than 30 years ago - I've mentioned the French Country Recipes (seriously yummy) cookbook that came with it a couple of times - and DD bought the orange Le Cousances Doufeu about 5 years ago on eBay.

The smaller black Tramontina (from Brazil) was bought new last year to find out if something at that price level was any good.

So far... Yes, it is.

Staub own the Fontignac brand-name and Le Creuset own Le Cousances, so here's what to look for on the base of vintage originals.

There must be other bargains out there, maybe even as good as that thrift-store capture, so good hunting!

[is-the-snake-video-cute]

sorry if you’ve already answered this but I’ve been considering getting a corn snake for a long while now so I was wondering around how much it costs to get all the stuff for the tank set up and whatnot, as I can’t really find a concrete answer online :) many thanks!

Hi there! Corns are awesome snakes, I'm so excited that you're considering one!

The reason you haven't been able to find a concrete answer, I'm afraid, is because it will vary very heavily based on where you live, the choices you make, and what's available to you. Here's a cornsnake shopping list that might be helpful, and in general I recommend budgeting no less than about 300 USD for initial setup.

A breakdown of that (specific to the US but hopefully you'll get the idea):

Enclosure! The cost of this will vary wildly. Adult cornsnakes need an enclosure that's at least 4 feet long and ideally 4 feet high, and bigger is always better. For baby snakes, you might very well want a smaller enclosure. It all depends on how old the snake is and your preferences, but I recommend no smaller than a 20 gallon for even babies, and you should be aware that you will need to upgrade. Depending on where you look you could spend 50 dollars here, or you could spend 500.

Depending on where you get it and the style of enclosure you choose, you might need to buy the lid separately, and they can be surprisingly expensive (anywhere from 20-75 dollars depending on size).

Heat and lights plus necessary accessories! You'll need, at the absolute minimum, a lamp, a thermostat, and the bulb itself. Ceramic heat emitters are no-frills options that'll last a good long while but cost in the realm of 30-50 dollars depending on where you find them, you can expect to pay about 20-40 dollars for the dome, and thermostats are another area where you can buy a cheap option (I have a 20 dollar one linked in the shopping list!) or you can buy a thousand-dollar one.

Hides! You can go as expensive as you like here, but my honest recommendation is to buy a soldering iron (~15 dollars) and cut doors into plastic containers.

Substrate! This will depend on what you choose and the enclosure size. Corns are very versatile here and you have lots of options, pretty much anything they sell in the reptile aisle will work just fine.

Decor and clutter! Again, you could go as expensive as you like, but at minimum you'll want climbing branches and clutter to give your snake things to explore for encrichment and provide hiding spots. On a budget, things like cardboard tubes, crumpled paper towels, and sticks and branches taken from nature (sanitized first!) are great options.

The nice thing about snakes is that, once you've got the enclosure set up, you can expect to budget about 20 dollars a month at most to keep your snake fed. But the intial setup can be pricey! I recommend making out a shopping list and checking the websites of your local pet stores so you can plan your budget.

[alizalayne]

Hello! this will be a quick process post so that you can see how I needlefelted a fursuit head!

I began by following the "bucket head" tutorial by Matrices, then added a layer of polyfill so that I wouldn't use as much of my merino wool. This is how I typically make a doll head, my "core wool" is often polyfill because it really likes to clump together and fuse.

Overall, this project took about two months of my spare time. This is the first fursuit head I have made, but not my first needlefelt project.

I would really like to encourage other people to try making masks this way! You can do any kind of subtle color with wool and the wool fiber is very cheap. If you wanted to make a fursuit head with the entirety of starry night flowing over it, or a head with tons and tons of complex colors, I think wool might be the best material. I also did not need to know how to pattern or sew in order to make this-- it was sculpture rather than sewing, which I am bad at.

The rest under the cut!

Another angle where you can see that I am building up the structure of the head.

I then made the ears, which are translucent because they're felted, just like real ears!

I wasn't happy yet with the proportions at this point, so I spent a lot of time figuring that out and deciding where and how I'd be placing the eyes.

I made a pair of sculpey follow-me eyes by using a little soy sauce dish as a concave circular mold and tried a foam clay nose and teeth. The sculpey eyes could be more successful, they took a lot of shaving and adjusting to get right and they eventually cracked from the strain I'd put them through while making them more shallow. For a while, I intended to make wefts of white wool to use on the sides of the head, but I ended up preferring a domestic shorthair head shape because it reads the most clearly as a cat vs any other animal.

I originally intended to have the eyes behind clear plastic domes and used "shaker domes" that people use to make greeting cards to cover the eye, but in the end they made the eyes too dull. I made foam clay housing for the eyes and painted it pink with acrylic paint. I used stick-on car window tint to create the pupils. My visibility inside the head is really good!

Finally, after fiddling, one of the eyes was deeper than the other and I had to re-set both to account for it. I added spot glitter on top of the acrylic paint on the eye using some gold watercolor paint I had, which was silly because I'll need to wash the head at some point. I will probably seal the eyes before washing and hope for the best. I intend to spot clean the head until it absolutely needs to be washed, at which point I'll remove some pieces or find a way to protect them while soaking the head in a cool dr. bronner's bath.

I glued down a layer of felt fiber on top of the foam clay "tear ducts" and then felted new fiber over the tear duct skin and cheeks to blend them into the face. I also removed the teeth and closed her mouth because I didn't have time to adjust the teeth as much as I wanted before the con that my friends and I attended. I would like to modify this head so that she can open and close her mouth.

Lastly, I added wire whiskers with little glass beads looped onto the ends and paper eyelashes that I also watercolored and sealed, like the insides of the eyes. Like I said before, it's gonna be a problematic wash, but I'm confident I'll figure it out, and I can always repair her or replace her lashes if something goes wrong.

Last thing, to keep the inside of the head nice and cool and prevent fogging since in the end I closed the mouth and had sealed eyes, I made a snorkel out of a snorkel mouthpiece fitted into two collapsible auto funnels.

I would say that realistically this entire project cost me less than $150. I had some materials lying around, like the wire and the beads and the sculpey.

I added two ear vents on either side of the head so that I had options on where to feed the snorkel out. If you look at the other pictures on the blog of me wearing the head, you mostly can't even see the snorkel mouth. However, it was a little problematic to let go of the snorkel to talk. it would be perfect for a silent suiter, but I'm lucky that so many people wanted to talk to me. I'd like to try and replace the snorkel mouth with something I can talk in, but I'm not sure what to use. It should be something that can create a seal to keep my breath out of the head. it's possible that I will be able to make something with a painter's mask.

I hid the "seam" between the head and my body with two yards of tulle tied into a big bow and sewn down onto the neck so that it wouldn't move around.

I hope that if you try making something similar you'll show it to me!

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Wow, my adobe hut post hasn't been sold and has been on the market for 394 days! Built in 2008, it has 1bd, 1ba, $237K.

Maybe it's too disjointed. I don't know, why it's not selling. It's cheap enough for a vacation house. Anyway, here's an outdoor kitchen and dining area.

It has an odd layout- some of the rooms are in separate buildings.

The living room is in this hut and it's joined to one other room.

There's a pretty tile shower room.

And, that's it for this building- out the back door you go.

To the blue dome.

Which is a bedroom. Doesn't look finished, though.

I think that the double door structure next to the blue dome houses toilets.

Here in the back is an outdoor vintage tub.

In this dome is a kitchen.

And, a sleep nook.

Details of the ceiling.

Some sort of a workshop/kitchen.

I guess that's the water tank.

Solar panels.

17.93 acres of land.

The home has a name- Ransom Ranch. Sounds ominous.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/7581-E-Avenida-Del-Sol-Mc-Neal-AZ-85617/2058108272_zpid/

[cnestus]

what's your microscope/camera set up?

I mostly use a Leica M205C scope and my shitty old android phone. occasionally I'll use my Olympus TG-4 with a homemade light diffusion dome, but most of the time I'm way too lazy to bust that out. it does result in decent macro photos for a relatively cheap camera though:

[blubushie]

Home at last. Allow me to formally introduce Mattie.

Taken at the servo. Also have a pic Dad took while I was driving. He thought the sunset was pretty. Something in the orange.

Lemme tell you about this beastie.

I need a sparky to have a squizz at her cuz practically nothing electronic in her works. Radio works. Dash lights work. Brake lights work. Headlights work.

That's all that works.

She's got no rear lights, no rear indicators, no hazards, no horn, her petrol gauge doesn't work, her electric fuel tank switch doesn't work, it was a bitch and a half switching her tanks on the highway because I had no warning that she was about to sputter and then she did and I had to grapple around under the seat unable to signal to anyone around me that she's a hazard because her hazards DO NOT WORK and then it took her three gruelling seconds to kick back in after I managed to switch tanks.

But she went 25 in a 65 to 70 in about 3 seconds, so that's cool. Almost gave me a fucken nosebleed, heh.

Her headliner's falling in on the driver's side, her cigarette lighter doesn't work but she reeks of cheap Marlboro, her antenna's snapped off, but hey, at least she's got an 8track. But her tiller's also turned wrong—the bitch sits sideways. She's got some give to it too, takes some wobble to make the steering catch. No power steering, no power brakes, she screams when you drive cuz the vent windows don't seal properly so you need to leave them cracked open, but when you do that you can hardly hear the person next to you over the wind roar. Her heater don't work, her dash lights are so fucken dim you can't even see them until it's pitch black outside and even then you can barely make out any of the readings, her driver's side door sticks and you gotta breech it with your shoulder to make it open, her emergency brake only engages if you kick the fucken thing like a mule, her dome light don't work, and her headlights are so dim that the highbeams are the only thing what come close to normal brightness headlights.

But her engine purrs heavenly, and she's got good bones, and I love her. I love her for all the work I get to put into her. I love her for everything wrong with her that I get to fix.

Fifty-six years ago tomorrow, my father went to Vietnam. And fifty-six years ago, this car was built. And today, the day before the fifty-sixth anniversary of my dad going to Vietnam in 1968, I've got myself a 1968 Ford F250 Camper Special Custom Cab, my dream car. So here's to brighter days and better tomorrows, and more sunrises than sunsets.

I'm gonna go make myself a drink and wake up at the arsecrack of dawn tomorrow morning so I can wash her before putting her over to the grease monkeys so they can have a crack at her, because sometime this weekend we're heading back south to pick up Tilly from the repairshop, and I'm not driving home in the dark with no fucken lights again.

[godesssiri]

Champaign Tastes on a Bottled Water Budget (because let’s face it, even beer isn’t cheap anymore) Thrift Tips

People are over living in white boxes. We now want richness and texture and colors and interest. Traditional design styles with lots of molding and detail and antiques are very in. People are making a living selling antiques online. Décor bloggers aspire to being able to bring back a container from European flea markets. People want to make their homes look like you have generational wealth.  But how do you have a home full of beautiful old things when you’ve got no money? Thrifting.

1. Always always check the art. Remember if you love the art but hate the frame you can always put it in a new frame, or makeover the current one. And vice versa, if you love the frame but hate what’s in it then it’s the simplest thing in the world to swap it out for something else, another piece of thrifted art, a print from Etsy or one of the many other places artists sell digital copies of their work, a color photocopy from a library book. And frames are very easy to make over, sometimes just changing the matting or painting a frame a different color or adding a little rub n buff makes a world of difference.

2. Rub n Buff or similar waxes are your friend for getting a gorgeous, antiqued look. The thrift stores are full of pieces that have great shape but they’re too modern looking for what you’re trying to achieve. But rub gold on the high points or a dark wax into the crevasses and suddenly they look completely different. I’ve got a ceramic parrot that looked very 80s when I got my hands on it but when I covered it with gold (leaving the original dark colors in the crevasses) he immediately looked like an antique. Just spray-painting something gold doesn’t have the same effect, using a wax creates depth.

3. Darken it up. Most old things are darker than new things. Darker furniture, fabrics, accessories, add depth and richness. If something is already dark, then when you thrift it then great. If it’s not then that’s what dye, paint, and stain are for.

4. Old souvenir pieces. I’ve got a load of old pieces that people have bought back from Greece and Rome, from Egypt, from China. They make my home look like it belongs to someone who has been on a Grand Tour. A lot of them are copies of ancient pieces which means they look timeless. They’re cheap tchotchkes that people have bought at gift shops but mix them in with old books and candle holders and natural pieces like chunks or crystal or large seashells, and they look classy and interesting.

5. Old books. Do you have any idea how many old books get thrown out by thrift stores? Like genuine antiques that get sent to landfill? Most thrift stores don’t want to deal with old books because they smell and harbor dust mites and are out of date and often look tatty. You may even be able to get a bunch for free if you sweet talk the volunteers. If you’re worried about dust mites, then pop them in the freezer for a few days. I know there are those who look down on people who use books just as décor, but if you using it as décor saves it from a landfill or a junk journaler and preserves it for a future generation then isn’t that a good thing?

6. Glass display items. Putting things behind glass makes them look lux and precious even if it’s some cheap trinket or even a bunch of dried leaves or other completely free natural items. Look for domes, plain clear vases you can turn upside down and glue a knob on top, display boxes holding ugly stuff that you can rip the ugly stuff out and re-purpose.

7. Antique reproductions. There’s been many points in history since humans started to mass manufacture stuff, that we have looked to the past a re-created what our forbears made by hand. There’s so much that ends up in thrift stores that looks old even if it’s no more than a few decades old. Cleverly mixing this stuff in to your décor can help you achieve the look of a home furnished with antiques at a fraction of the price.

8. Search ‘Old’ ‘Antique’ and ‘Vintage’ on FB Marketplace. Don’t get more specific than that, just literally type those terms into the search bar, set a distance you’re willing to travel, and scroll. People are always selling stuff that they don’t quite know what the heck it is, but they know it’s old. Yeah you’re gonna see a lot of trash but it’s worth it to find the treasures.

9. Candle holders and candles. I’m actually pretty meh about candles, I get why other people like them but scented candles mess with my allergies and I don’t get any joy out of candlelight – but if you feel the opposite to me, I do understand and encourage that. Candles are wonderful décor objects if you’re going to light them or not. Always check the section where your thrift store keeps candles, there’s often some really good ones. And candle holders come in so many different forms that you will always find beautiful and interesting ones. A figural brass candle holder will make my heart go pitty-pat. You don’t just have to use them for candles either, I have a gorgeously detailed pewter candle holder that I use as a display stand for a large mother-of-pearl shell, and my pair of huge Victorian cherubs currently have clear quartz crystals sticking out of them.

10. Actual antiques. I have hundreds of antiques big and small. I just tried to remember how many of them had been bought at actual antique stores and I think the total is 5. Real genuine antiques turn up in thrift stores All The Time. Sometimes the thrift store realizes what they’ve got and will price it up, more than you’d usually pay at the thrift but still way less than it’s really worth. Sometimes they don’t know/don’t care, they just want to turn over stock so they price it at whatever will get it out the door. You CAN furnish your home with antiques entirely from thrift stores. It just takes time and patience.