#gold wire wheels

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1956 Cadillac Series 62 Convertible

Black Exterior New Black and White Leather Interior New Black Canvas Convertible Top New Black Carpets Upholstery work completed April 2019 365 CI OHV V8 w/ 4 Speed Hydra-Matic Transmission Equipped with Eldorado Trim Factory Gold Grille Power Windows Power Steering Power Brakes Power Top White Soft Boot Cover Detailed Undercarriage New Stainless Steel Exhaust New Shocks New Fuel Lines Freshly Rebuilt Carb New Gas Tank Fresh Brake Service with new wheel cylinders New Chrome Wire Wheels and Coker Radial White Wall Tires in style of original bias plys GM Heritage Factory Build Sheet verifying original Black car with Gold Grille option

[mediumgayitalian]

In his head he is brave enough to say it: gods, you are beautiful in the moonlight. He is. He has made Nico weak in the knees since they were fifteen and new and fragile as spun glass, and he does now. In the moonlight his radiance is much subtler; he is opal and pearl and quartz, he is shining and multifaceted.

Instead he traces the bob of Will’s throat, his long, freckly neck, cratered with burn scars and cupped with a raised white scar from years of endless picking; follows the wild winding wisps of his hair, barely held back by his old sunglasses, compressed in coils around his head like a pen spring squished to the size of its threads, creaking with the weight of its own potential energy, brimming with the imagined burst of its future; memorizes the fluttering flap of his feathering eyelashes, the delicate dips of his deepened Cupid’s bow, the roughened raze of his wide rowdy hands. All of him is in motion, always, but now especially, hands twitching on the wheel, head thrown back, mouth wide and shaking along with his shoulders.

“I really like your laugh,” and it’s quick, vowels tumbling over each other and tripping the consonants, a queue of clumsy hopefuls scrambling over shoulders and clasping hands. The pretty laughter fades and arched eyebrows replace it, poorly hidden surprise, twitching smile lines, and Nico looks deliberately forward, mortification cackling along each of his wire-tense muscles, dancing along the shimmering heat of his face. “It’s. Wide.”

“Wide?” asks Will carefully, craning his neck to glance in his blind spot, whispering chuckles dancing along to the beat of the blinker.

“Wide,” Nico confirms, flicking out his hands. His fingers are not nearly as long, nor as wiry or corded, but the scarring is mirrored. Nicks and scratches and burn marks and calluses, topographic maps of time spent.

Will’s turn is successful — the strawberry baskets dip dangerously from their precarious perch on backseats, but don’t fall, shifting over and around each other to burst tiny globules of stretched taut flesh, rubbing against rough reed ribbons. Nico inhales deeply, and the sweet is almost nauseating, summer fruit twisting in the air along with lavender body wash and Blistex and Texas summer sun.

“You take up space.”

“My laugh?”

Laughter in his words in his hands in his skin, in his eyes, in the coils of his hair, in his grass-stained heels, in the bends of his scar-bleached knees. In the dancing dots of his face arms chest legs. In the dip of his bottom lip, crater under his too-big front teeth. In the jut of his crooked spine and wide hips.

“What about my laugh?”

It is in his words more often than not and in Nico’s dreams even more so. It curls around the blurry edges of his dreams and weaves into daisy-strong chains, dangling from the too-high ceilings of his nightmares, coiling around his arms and chest and back and yanking with the force of breaking ribs, the force of bellows, the force of clasped bloodless hands. Dragging him across trench gouged ground to bright light and clear air and the distant memory of summer rain.

“That you like, I mean.”

“It’s snorting,” Nico confesses. Will reddens, and Nico smiles, under the heat of it grows sunflower and dandelion and tinted brown-eyes Susans. “Um. Loud.”

“Geez,” Will grumbles, “tell a guy the truth, why don’t you.”

Nico has never seen gold under silver nightlight and it fascinates him, how Will sparks and shimmers, how when the sun sets it does not fade away. How the tiny specks of precious metal weave through him like tinsel and glow in veins of sweet summer memory; how the warm night billows and blows around him lovingly, how the breeze from the open window greets him like a precious grandchild, a beloved nephew. Seedchild; beloved of the earth and sun, performer under the moon, the stars.

Will’s wide hands inch across the dash, brushing over the ancient radio dials and dipping over the skipping cassette, pausing by the base of the gearshift and resting, limply, palm open, fingers cracked and spread. Knuckles popping and chittering amongst themselves, hiding in the bent hoods of wrinkled skin. Nico lowers his heavy hands on the heated hopeful hesitance, curling his cool fingers around much longer ones, and squeezing, once, twice, thrice.

“I like your laugh,” he repeats. He rolls his shoulders, hands flexing, twitching, pulling.

Will’s hand tightens. The road opens up and the Atlantic glimmers beside them, moon whispering to its rippling waves, and he smiles, grins, wider than before, and he is laughing, again, and it is wider even this time, as wide as the sparkling silver water.

“I hear you.”

He squeezes.

You are beautiful in the moonlight. You are beautiful all the time.

Nico squeezes back.

[deathbecomesthem]

Flower Cntd.

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader - `700 words

+18 ONLY - Minors DNI

*slight voyeurism - PIV

His hand stays on your thigh the entire 6 minute drive back to your place, fingers pressed hard enough into your flesh to leave a mark. Like he’s worried you’ll evaporate if he doesn’t grip you, hold you tightly in your vinyl seat, you will evaporate. 

For the third time in less than a minute, you open your mouth to speak only to find nothing but air. No words. You close your mouth, and watch your knuckles turn white as you hold on even tighter to the steering wheel. Let it skate under your skin as you turn the wheel a final time, tires bumping as you pull into the narrow entryway of your building. 

It stays just like that, only now with Eddie’s hand now gripping your side tightly, the tension between the two of you pulled tighter than a well-tuned piano wire. You vaguely wonder if it will break before you bleed all over the pavement in front of you.

A step. Another. Another, another, another. Tighter and tighter as the door to your apartment looms ahead. Like a moth to the flame, you focus on the puddle of yellow illumination that brings it more into focus. You fiddle with your keys without looking, thumbing your way to the right one. You open your mouth again, and then you close it. You think you’ll be wearing the marks of Eddie’s fingers on the soft skin of your waist for a week.

The faux gold metal knob is already dusted with summer night dew when you slot the key into it. Eddie’s behind you now, both hands on your hips, you’re flush with his body. You can feel him against you, hard and hot, and you fumble.

The clatter of the metal keys hitting the concrete ground is the accompaniment to the spiritual snapping of that wire. You separate from his hold and step to the side. You sigh a private laugh as you reach down to pick up your keys. You shake your head and close your eyes. Time catches up. The door swings open for you now. You open your mouth and find words this time -

“Well, what do you think, Ed, wanna dri-”

It’s one move, almost too quick for you to see. A step inside the door while he’s pulling you into him, his left booted foot kicking the door closed. 

Hi lips. They’re soft and wet. His hot tongue pushing inside your mouth before you’ve considered the lips. You think that’s ok, and open wide to receive him.

You think about the stairs, a quick image of you and Eddie making out while crawling backwards up the carpeted stairs to the sanctuary of your living room flashes through your mind. And then it evaporates, because his lips are on your neck.

“Oh,” it bubbles out of your mouth while his teeth skim across your collarbone. “Should we go upstairs, Eddie?”

Eddie answers with a grunt through his nose, warm breath fanning across your skin. He looks up at you, even in the dark he gazes into you, and then he’s kissing your mouth. He’s nipping at your lips. His hands are raking across your body, catching on the fabric of the evil clothes between your skin and his.

“No,” he tells you while he pulls your shirt up over your head. “I’m gonna fuck you like a dog right here, because that’s what you want right? You want me to fuck you like a bitch?”

Your hand snaps out, grabbing his face. You squeeze. 

“Take off your pants, Munson.”

And he does. He takes them off while you wiggle out of your own. Both of you have a desperate need to connect. Eddie’s relieved to find you open and ready for him, slick with need. One heavy thrust and another. Your tongues dance together, mouths open wide for each other, until he reaches a place inside of you that makes you throw your head back with a tiny grunt.

“That feel good? How’m I doin’? This what you wanted?” Eddie tilts his hips a little to the left. You arch your back to bring him further into you. Your exposed skin burns along the nylon carpet, the sensation pulling you even deeper into the moment.

“Yes,” you breathe out into the open air of the staircase. “Oh my god, Eddie.”

You distantly hear the sound of a set of keys jingling. You hear a door open. The click of a lock. You know it’s your neighbor, Jim, he’s probably home from work. You hear and know that on the other side of the thin apartment wall your neighbor can also hear you. And yet…

“Yeah, you wanted this. Now I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t fucking walk up these stairs.”

[thedevilrisen]

Boyfriend! Girlfriend!

Nova Crosby -

“Could they take any longer?” Nova muttered under breath, peering around the corner of the plane seat to see what was holding her from exiting the plane.

“It takes as long as it takes Novs.” Sidney chided, taking a long sip from his glass of Chardonnay. Flicking through a magazine as he waited to be told he can de-board the plane. “Sit back in your seat, and wait honey.”

With a huff she flopped back into the padded chair, blowing stray hair that had escaped out of her bun out of her face. She flexed her fingers as she gripped arm rests of the chair, stretching her patience wire thin.

“It’s not like I haven’t seen him or anything, it’s just been 6 months, 18 days, 4 hours and 37 minutes.” Nova retorted, swinging her leg out slightly, kicking the carpet with her foot.

Sid just watched with a smile, before leaving Pittsburgh he had spent some time talking to Ellen Hughes, who conveyed a similar impatience in her youngest son wanting desperately to skip time to see his girlfriend of seven months.

"You facetimed him twice before the flight, and texted him until you had to switch off your phone." Sidney stated, looking over at her pointedly.

"It's not the same as actually seeing him Dad!" Nova protested, looking over at him, "i just miss him, he genuinely cares about me and wants to see me too... I hope so anyway."

"Trust me Novs, he wants to see you. I know it's better in real life." Sid chuckled and grabbed her knee, giving it an affectionate rub.

She settled back in the chair and let out a deep breath, closing her eyes momentarily as she attempted to drive her nerves into the ground. Nodding to herself, she opened her eyes and looked down the isle to where it was clearing out and back over her shoulder to her father. He nodded and they both stood up, Sid grabbed their carry-on luggage from the overhead locker and followed Nova out of the plane and into the terminal.

Making their way through the airport and towards baggage claim, Sid stood and waited for their bags while Nova had her head in her phone, texting Luke to try and find out where he was standing.

"Nova!" a young voice yelled "Over here Novs!"

Sidney watched as his daughter narrowly avoided whiplash as she turned around, he watched her shoulder sag as she breathed in, almost dreamily, gaze clicking on Luke standing about forty-five feet away with a small bouquet of gerberas. The brown-eyed girl wasted no time in dropping her backpack and tearing across the slippery tiled floor toward where Luke stands. The poor boy had barely any time to react and move the flowers before he was nearly crash tackled by a young Crosby, stumbling slightly from the force that Nova came hurtling at him with he wrapped his arms around her tightly, rocking the two of them back and forth.

Placing a gentle kiss in her hair, looking up to see Sidney watching like a hawk he placed another staring him down. Daring him to say something and ruin the moment.

Pulling away, the plastic wrapping around the bunch of flowers which Luke managed to salvage from being crushed, crackled as he held out the assortment to her, a small smile gracing his lips as her expression lit up at the flowers.

"Thank you Lukey!" Nova cooed, hugging them to her chest, "Their so pretty!" Nova leaned up and pecked his cheek, slowly coming back to flat feet as her father approached with Luke's mother in tow.

"How's that kids?" Ellen asked, walking along next to Sidney who was wheeling both his and Nova's bag beside him.

Luke had Nova settled into his side, tucked under his arm. Both teenagers grinning like they had just found gold. Nova, cuddling into Luke a little further spoke up.

"Mhm," She hummed, looking up at him and bonking her head into his chest. "Boyfriend."

Luke chuckled, dropping his head to rest onto hers, affectionately bonking her too. "Girlfriend."

[saturnville]

on the frontline (III), major john egan

pairing: major john egan x major nessa dixon content: the reality of war catches up with nessa. warning: mentions of getting sick, blood, war tag list: @neeville @turn-thy-paige @ihe4rtisa @ineedafictionalman @lovebyceleste @alliewassobonum

“Make some room, boys,” Nessa said with an unusual sense of glee as she walked toward the group of pilots on standby. The sun beamed against her face, the breeze kissed the exposed skin of her neck, and her body was on fire beneath her flightwear, but she was ready. From behind her dark sunglasses, she saw John’s eyebrow raise and Gale look at her quizzically. “Colonel said I’m up with Egan. Medical purposes. I’m with you next, Cleven.” 

She peeled her backpack off her shoulders and threw it at their feet. “You mind taking that up for me?” The majors looked at each other, but nonetheless, John grabbed her backpack and slung it over his shoulder. His eyes raked her figure as he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his pants.

Her outfit was just slightly different than what she wore on a day-to-day basis. Rather than her shirt and pants being separate, they were together. A green jumpsuit covered her body, save for the few buttons she left undone He saw a gold necklace wrapped around her neck with a pendant that sat at the valley of her breasts. On top of that were the dog tags she refused to take off. 

Across her chest and shoulders were the series of accolades, pins, and lapels she’d been rewarded for her years of service. In her mouth was a piece of gum that she chewed on violently. She was nervous, John noted. And it didn’t go unnoticed by him. But, she kept a smile on her face and kept her upbeat attitude the best she could. If only she knew how quickly it would falter. 

“I shouldn’t be surprised that the Colonel put you on his craft,” Gale chuckled, guiding her to the belly of the plane. His teasing didn’t fall on deaf ears. Instead of replying, she chose to send him a wink. John, who’d entered first, held his hand out to her which she took. His hands were strong, calloused, and warm. 

Nessa grunted as she used Gale’s hands as a boost, then was yanked onto the aircraft. She was stabilized by John’s hands; one on her back and the other on her hip, dangerously close to her bottom. “You good?” he asked her. Nessa didn’t meet his eyes but nodded. “All good.” 

“See you in the air, B,” Gale nodded at the pair and sauntered off to his aircraft to prepare for takeoff. John sighed lowly and looked around the aircraft, wondering where to start. A flight nurse was new to him, just as he assumed it must have been new to her. 

“Alright, here’s the fort,” he started, gesturing toward the front of the plane where the controls and wheels were. Nessa’s eyes scanned the control board. So many buttons, switches, and wires to manage at once. In the corner of John’s fort was a picture. A picture of him and Gale at their flight academy graduation. She smiled. They were truly two peas in a pod; inseparable. 

“Navigators work back here,” he pointed to the small table toward the back of the plane. “Exit is the same way you came in. Parachutes are here. You need one at all times. Never know what’s going to happen. Since you’re not navigating or flying, you put one on now.” 

Nessa glanced at the contraption the major handed her. She was smart, sure, but the parachute looked more complicated than she needed it to be. No words were spoken as she raised her eyes to meet his, a silent help being spoken through multi-colored irises. John chuckled lightly and unbuckled the parachute and slid it over her arms. “S’supposed to fit like a backpack.” His fingers carefully snapped it into place at her chest. “You good?” 

Nessa’s eyes twinkled, “All good, Major.” 

-

“Stay with me, dammit!” Nessa’s voice was strained as her voice raised an octave. Being in the air was terrifying. It was nothing like she’d expected it to be. She knew she’d dodge and dive a few bullets, that she’d mend a gunshot wound to the leg, or that she’d flinch from the turbulence, but she was sadly mistaken. 

She’d fought her way out of her coat, parachute, and hat. The mask across her face was hardly hanging on for dear life as she fought tooth and nail to stop an abdominal bleed. An enemy plane shot at the American aircraft. The bullet found a home in an amateur pilot. 

Her hands were stained crimson, blanketed with warm blood as she hovered over the pilot to keep the bleeding at bay. The bullet was too deep. She tried to retrieve it, but she didn’t have the materials needed. 

Guilt drowned her as the pilot’s breathing went shallow. His eyelids struggled to stay open. She snatched her oxygen mask off and placed it on his face forcefully. His face began to fade as her eyes filled with tears. “Wake up! Stay with me. Please…” Silence. 

Nessa’s face softened as the tears finally fell. Her tongue ran across the bottom row of her teeth as she moved her jaw from left to right to delay the sob that bubbled deep within her. The emotional turbulence outweighed the physical turbulence of the plane; she hardly recognized they had landed. 

She felt a gloved hand on her shoulder. She lifted her head hung heavy and turned slowly. Her mascara was smeared, her eyes were bloodshot red, and her eyelids were swollen. She was destroyed. She’d seen many things from the war, but this was too much. “C’mon, we’ve got to get out of here so the coroners can get his body.” 

She shoved his hand off her shoulder and shook her head rapidly. “No, I’ll wait here.” From above her, John sighed heavily. The grief would wreck her even more once the reality fully set in. 

“Nessa...”

Fire rose in her eyes. “This is my job, John. I am to offer comfort and stay with the patient until the appropriate physicians come. This is my job. Let me do my job. Please.” Her request drifted to a broken whisper as she asked herself what she signed up for. 

-

“How is she?” he heard Gale’s voice like water in his ears after a pool day; garbled and incoherent. 

Nessa Dixon prided herself on being a strong woman, being able to handle anything that life threw her way. She was humbled. By the time the coroners retrieved the soldier’s body from the plane and her feet were planted on the ground, she was hunched over, coughing violently as she emptied all that was within her. The little strength she had left was fleeting and she hit the concrete with a thud. John dropped her backpack against the ground and raced toward her. He tapped the side of her face but she didn't respond. “I need a nurse!”

John hoisted the nurse in his arms and took long strides to the infirmary. “Exhausted. It was too much for her. Find a new nurse to be in the air or keep everyone ready on the ground, but she can’t handle what she saw up there.” The major brushed passed the slew of soldiers who watched in curiosity. Major John Egan carried Major Nessa Dixon, the most highly trained nurse, into the infirmary. What a contradiction. 

“What happened to her?” asked a familiar woman. Bessie. One of the lower-ranked nurses, but still a Lieutenant proven by the badge on her shirt, nonetheless. She plucked some gloves out of her pocket and slid them over her hands.

John met her light eyes, careful of his volume so as to not disrupt Nessa, though the likelihood of her waking up at the moment was slim. Lowly, he said, “My guess is shock. Exhaustion. She threw up and passed out as she stepped out of the plane. M’sure you have something for that.” 

The younger nurse nodded and instructed him to bring her to the nearest empty bed. Nessa hardly moved a muscle. John stood off to the side, giving the Lieutenant room to work. Bessie had a diagnosis within a few minutes. The answer was simple: shock and exhaustion. Nessa, along with the other nurses, had been working day and night with minimal rest and nutrition. The events on the plane were too much and her body shut down. 

“When will she wake up?” John questioned. Bessie shrugged. “I give it three days, max. She’s in a state of sedation without the medicine. When the body crashes, it needs adequate time to rest and recover. So, like I said, it could be within the next 24 to 72 hours. If she doesn’t wake up by then or stops breathing, she’d need to be transported to a hospital.” 

John’s stomach clenched. How was he reliving the same scenario he experienced not too long before? He ran a hand down his face and palmed his mouth. Through his fingers, he asked, “Can I stay with her at least?” 

Bessie’s lip turned upward as to smile just a little. She nodded once. “As long as you have the time, go for it. I may need you to leave during any extreme circumstances, but you’re permitted to stay. I’ll check in soon.” 

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” 

At that, Bessie smiled wider. Respect was easily granted with the 100th, she recognized, and she was thankful. “Anytime, Major.” 

-

She woke up 53 hours later. It was like she was pulled out of her body as she gasped and searched the room sporadically. The senior Major adjacent to her lowered the book in his hands and raised an eyebrow. “Morning, Sleeping Beauty.” Her eyes moved slowly. 

“What happened?” God, she sounded awful. Without much thought, John grabbed the cup of water by his foot and handed it to her. The cup was empty within seconds. 

“Passed out. Been out for a little over two days, I guess. Yeah, 53 hours is two days and some change, right?” 

Panic rose like flames. Nessa sat up as quickly as her body would allow. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand. From behind his book, John raised his eyebrow. “Sit down, Nessa.” 

She cut her eyes toward him. “I was out for 2 days! I can go do my job now.” 

“But you can’t.” John set his book beside him and crossed his arms with a shrug. “Out for two days. You haven’t even eaten, what are you going to do out there? Pass out again? You’ve got nurses out there to handle it, they’ll be fine.” 

Nessa inhaled deeply. Her eyes grew dark in frustration and her voice lowered as she thought about her words. “Telling me how to do my job is quite disrespectful, Major.” 

John leaned forward in opposition. She knew how to stand her ground, a skill that she had no choice but to learn in her field of work, especially since she worked with men. However, this was different. Her health was on the line. How could she want him to take care of himself yet refuse to do the same?

“And not knowing how to take a step back is disrespectful to yourself, Major. I suggest you get comfortable, Bessie will be here soon.” Once again, he grabbed his book and perched his feet on the edge of her bed. The low growl she released didn’t fall on deaf ears, but he chose to ignore it anyway. 

She’d be fine. Hopefully.

[mensfactory]

ALD X porsche 356

The fashion label has chosen to refine rather than redesign the donor 1960 356B it used for the collaboration. The coupe’s front and rear bumpers have been discarded, streamlining its already sleek shape even further. The body is finished in a sumptuous coat of glossy midnight blue adorned with the brand’s hand-painted crest in gold leaf on the front fender and rides on a set of bushed-aluminum wheels wrapped in white-wall tires. Other period-appropriate modifications include yellow fog lights, wire headlamp covers, and custom gold Aimé Leon Dore engine lid badging and emblems.

The fun isn’t limited to the exterior. Open either door and you’ll find a set of midnight-blue leather seats with tonal stitching and matching Alpaca seatbacks and floor mats. Other tasteful tweaks include more hand-painted gold leaf accents and the steering wheel from the Carrera 2.

[clownboymcchucklefuck]

🌹Eternally Your's And Mine 🥀- Chapter One

Ayo let's good Corpse Husband Zachary AU. It's taken me a while to get this written out but I'm liking how it comes out so far. ♥️

Word count: 2k, holy shi-

Fic starts under cut:

Just how lucky did you get? After getting in an argument with your ex you had decided to finally pack your things and leave even if it was a bit….difficult to do so. You spent your time sleeping in hotels for about 2 weeks as you searched online for a place to stay that was preferably not close to your old place.

Your efforts finally paid off when you found an old victorian house for a surprisingly cheap price. The pictures you had seen looked like the house would need just a little bit of work but also appeared to have kept itself together and tidy all throughout the years. It was quite a drive but you would take anything to get out of this town.

Your thoughts of the house were interrupted by the sound of the radio, it was some radio show and the two hosts were discussing some paranormal activity in the past “So, Crybaby Lane is up next on the list! Those who visit the spot of the wreckage claim to smell burning woods and hear voices. One may also see a shadow guarding the entrance to the trail. Look closely and you'll see rubble from the former orphanage. This all due to an incident back in 1958 when-”

The voices were put to a stop when you reached down and changed the radio station. “Dumbasses….” You muttered to yourself as he kept your eyes on the road. It was so stupid how easily people would fall for some myth made to keep kids from doing stupid shit. Even if it wasn’t, it was probably because of the high electromagnetic field making people paranoid and seeing things. Everything had an explanation after all.

Your hands would clench tightly before unclutching around the wheel to keep your body moving somewhat, driving for almost 7 hours straight probably wasn’t a good idea…. But it paid off when you finally entered the neighborhood you had seen in the pictures. The neighborhood had good reviews from what research you had done with all the neighbors being nice, you had seen there had been an incident back in 1884 but with that being almost 200 years ago there was no bothering to dig deep into it.

There was a slight change as you pulled up into the driveway while driving over the gravel. You sighed softly once the car was finally parked. You rubbed your eyes before glancing up at the house and to put it short….it was way more beautiful than what you had seen in the photos.

It was a beautiful victorian house, the decor and the style seemed to be a mix of dark blue and red with gold. It had at least 3 floors from what you could tell, the website had also mentioned a basement too. Walking around the yard of the house to admire it, you walked into the back yard and your breath was taken away by a beautiful rose garden. Most of the roses had been wilted however. Oh well, you knew there would probably be some work to be done anyways.

After a few minutes of walking around the house and finding the key, in a pot next to the door like the landlord had told you, who oddly wasn’t here to give you a tour of the house or anything. You shrugged it off and put the key into the lock of the door before pushing it open. You took a few moments to let your eyes adjust to the lighting of the house as your hand felt the wall until it turned on the lightswitch. Well that was good, for such an old house it had modern electricity. Wouldn’t have to worry about wasting money to have somebody come in and do a little bit of wiring for a fortune.

You took a few minutes to look around the area, the decor seemed to have a theme of blue and gold and it was quite pretty. There was an old record player with some vinyls on the shelf under it, and a grand piano in the corner of the corridor. Most of the furniture was what you expected with it being old fashioned and fancy. You were surprised at how clean and tidy it had been kept after supposedly being left alone for almost 200 years. But eh, less work for you. You would have to do some more exploring after getting everything settled.

Sighing softly, you walked back out of the doorway and towards your car and started to start taking in boxes of things, the sun was setting and so it was better to just go ahead and get this all over with so you could go lay down after driving for so long. It was going alright as you just brought your bags of clothes in first and set them down in a guest room you found that was suitable to sleep in for tonight until you got fully settled. The problems came as you started to bring in the boxes of heavy things, you had already been pretty tired from driving. Grabbing a box of books, you stumbled as your arms threatened to accidentally let go.

You just about did when there was the sudden feeling of another pair of arms on the other side of the box, helping you lift it up before you dropped it.

Surprised, you jumped and stepped away from the box immediately out of fear that it might be somebody possibly trying to steal all your shit, you hadn’t really thought that would happen since this was a nice neighborhood but maybe this was the opportunity to let out some anger if this mf was actually trying to take your stuff. Your thoughts of beating a bitch up were interrupted by the person clearing their throat quietly before speaking up, his voice soft and mellow.

“H-Hello, Y…Y-You’re the….uhm… new t-tenant here, right?” He stuttered between his words and appeared very nervous but also had a soft and kind demeanor at the same time. His hazel eyes that were averted away to the ground seemed to glow slightly with the way the sun shined down on them as he spoke. He had dark green hair and was wearing a light green shirt with some comfy looking tan pants.

You raised your eyebrow in slight suspicion, why the hell was he asking this as if he hadn’t just spawned out of nowhere? The man seemed to notice the look on your face and he quickly tried to explain. “S-Sorry- I forgot to….introduce m-myself, I-I’m Simon, I uhm….I live in t-the house b…beside you. I’ll be y-your neighbor.” Simon explained softly as he gestured over to the house right beside your new one. It was a nice cozy looking one and you could see many plants growing around and inside the house.

You calmed down a bit as you realized the situation and nodded your head. “Name’s [MC], nice to meet you, Simon.” You responded while you started taking the rest of the boxes out of the trunk and setting them down on the ground so they would be easier to pick up later “Say….You wouldn’t happen to know where the landlord is right? They were supposed to give me a tour, or…at least I thought they would.”

Simon perked up a little, he seemed like the type of person that just liked to help people but had been walked over by a lot of people. “O-Oh, uhm….I-It’s a bit w-weird I guess, they'll p-probably be here a-around uhm….n-nighttime? I don’t t-think I’ve seen them in the d-daytime at all….B-But! They’re r-really kind s-so you w-won’t have any p-problems!” Simon assured as he adjusted his grip around the box in his arms. You nodded and gave him a kind smile, picking up another box off the ground, you two started to bring the boxes inside and into the room you had picked.

You two had just finished bringing all the boxes at last and you flopped down on the fancy couch in the living room. Fortunately for you, Simon had brought some pastries and some homemade lemonade as a housewarming gift so luckily you didn’t have to worry about making food or anything.

“Gonna be honest with you Simon, I can’t cook for shit so you can be expecting me to be coming over more often for some food.” Simon looked a bit surprised at your words before he smiled shyly and glanced down to the floor. He seemed a bit…nervous to be in the house almost?

“I-I’m glad you e-enjoy it…..” Simon responded quietly as he rubbed his arm in a nervous manner. “Have….Have you h-heard a-any of the…uhm….rumours before you moved in?

You raised your eyebrow at that. Rumors? You hadn’t seen anything and if there was anything about it you were too focused on getting out 0f your past situation to care about any dumb old rumors. It would probably stay that way too.

“light on. After saying your goodbyes to each other, Simon walked back towards his house right beside your new one. Rumors? No…? Should I have? I’m not the superstitious type really.” You responded as you took another sip of the lemonade. Simon shifted his weight from one leg to the other nervously before finally speaking up again.

“Back in about…the late 1800s there was a man that lived here….I-I haven’t h-heard exactly what h-happened but there was an incident with a camera and it ended up killing his partner and he died in the hospital later that day. There’s rumors that say you can see him in the upper stairs windows or the uhm…rose garden….The most popular one is that if you take a picture of the house then your camera will explode too just like what happened to him…” Simon explained with a solemn look on his face as he spoke. “I-I’m not s-sure how true i-it is….I keep seeing him stare at me through the window when I go out.....B-But I j-just wanted to let you know.”

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh at his words. Simon’s face instantly went from solemn and worried to confused as he looked up and his eyes darted onto your laughing face. You quickly stifled your laughter before trying to explain. “Sorry, but like I said, I’m not the superstitious type and I don’t believe in all that. I mean….I’ve been interested in it back when I was little and had my own encounters but all of those ended up having reasonable explanations. I appreciate you for telling me but I think I’ll be fine.” You assured him with a smile.

Simon looked surprised but he nodded his head nonetheless at your words. “O-Okay….Y-You’re very b-brave, [MC]. N-Not that t-there’s anything t-to be a-afraid of, like y-you said!” Simon responded as his nervous smile came back on his face and he twidled with his thumbs as he spoke. You stood up and set your cup down on the table before walking over to Simon and putting your hand on his shoulder. He slightly tensed up for a second at the sudden touch as he looked up at you. It was about 9pm at this point so it was already dark.

“Thanks Simon, and also thanks for the food and helping me with my boxes. I think I’m going to be heading to bed though soon. I had a really long drive here.” You explained to him as the two of you started to walk back out onto the porch where you had already flipped the porch Once he was finally gone you let out a loud sigh as you closed your eyes and leaned against the door for a minute to collect yourself. It had taken a lot out of you to just hold that conversation for that long especially with everything you’ve been through in the past month overall.

You walked back into the bedroom down the hallway where boxes had accumulated in the corner of the room. Scouring through the boxes for a few minutes until you found your bag and changed into something a bit more comfortable so you could lay down. You got underneath the rose imprinted quilt and sighed softly, pulling the covers up to your chin because of the chill in the house. You’d have to bring that up to the landlord when you met them. You reached over and turn off the light from the lamp before closing your eyes for the night.

………………

“What a shame…” He thinks as he looks at the figure laying in the bedroom from the end of the hallway. Don’t worry, my love. You’ll meet me very soon.

____________________

Zachary and Simon belong to: @clrdgaze

[chic-a-gigot]

La Mode illustrée, no. 29, 16 juillet 1899, Paris. Tapis pour table de salon. Modèle de Mlle Rimbot, rue de Richelieu, 73. Ville de Paris / Bibliothèque Forney

Ce tapis est fait avec un morceau de soie nuance vert-thé ayant 90 centimètres carrés; son encadrement est exécuté avec du galon de teinte beurre d'Isigny, ayant 1 centimètre de largeur, et du fil de lin, de même teinte.

On reporte sur de la toile cirée, ou de la percale glacée, foncée, l'encadrement que représente la fig. 104 a, en le complétant par la fig. 104 b, puis le milieu (d'après la fig. 105) qui à 38 centimètres carrés, et peut aussi être utilisé en guise de têtiere; on coud les galons ensemble, après avoir, pour les grands cercles, froncé, serré, leur contour extérieur; on remplit les courbes et les feuilles allongées avec des coutures croisées, les feuilles rondes, avec des points de feston; en dernier lieu les barrettes et les roues sont exécutées, et l'on coud de petits anneaux faits en fil tordu, puis festonnés.

Quand ce travail est terminé, on l'applique soigneusement sur le morceau de soie; on le coud sur son contour inférieur; on coupe l'étoffe à 1 centimètre 1/2 de distance, et formant un ourlet, on coud cette étoffe contre les galons. Le morceau du milieu est cousu seulement sur son cntour extérieur.

Qui voudra prendre la peine d'exécuter ce beau travail, aura un objet réellement beau. On peut en augmenter l'élégance, en fixant des paillettes d'or à toutes les places désignées pour les petits anneaux, et en exécutant les roues avec du fil d'or très fin.

—

This rug is made with a piece of tea-green silk measuring 90 square centimeters; its frame is made with butter-colored braid from Isigny, 1 centimeter wide, and linen thread, of the same color.

We transfer onto oilcloth, or dark glossy percale, the frame represented in fig. 104 a, supplementing it with fig. 104 b, then the middle (according to fig. 105) which has 38 square centimeters, and can also be used as a headrest; we sew the braids together, after having, for the large circles, gathered, tightened, their outer contour; we fill the curves and elongated leaves with crossed seams, the round leaves, with blanket stitches; finally the barrettes and the wheels are made, and small rings made of twisted wire are sewn, then scalloped.

When this work is finished, it is carefully applied to the piece of silk; we sew it on its lower contour; we cut the fabric 1 1/2 centimeters apart, and forming a hem, we sew this fabric against the braids. The middle piece is sewn only on its outer edge.

Whoever wants to take the trouble to carry out this beautiful work will have a truly beautiful object. Its elegance can be increased by attaching gold flakes to all the places designated for the small rings, and by making the wheels with very fine gold wire.

[greentrapped]

Imagine if you will: A land of ruins - a fallen civilization rests upon these plains and hills. The ruins themselves are of stone and metal, char and rubble, grass and dirt. Hints of gold among the cracked arches, animals wandering through the cities long fallen, trees and flowers flourishing inside and around the collapsed walls...

But this land is not forgotten. Wander long enough and you'll likely meet someone - robed, masked, short and stout folk exploring, dismantling and salvaging whatever they consider useful - always in a group, save for the rare outlier that seems to do something entirely different - hunting.

When I say masked, I don't mean a white, porcelain mask you'd see on actors in a tragic opera, I mean something that looks like a mix between a gas mask and an astronaut helmet. A rounded visor and an air filter, with attached tubes connecting to a machine on the wearer's back - wires, lights, indicators and an air tank. Yet just when you think it might be some kind of life support - you see one of them grab the other's mask and rip it off, cackling with delight whilst the prank victim complains and puts it back on. Turns out they're not vital, but are merely making the people more comfortable up here - a sign of long days of work.

Who are these people? Well... They're Dwarves.

Explore a bit more and you'll find several checkpoints guarding heavily armored doors - entrances to their civilization. Go through and an expansive network of underground tunnels will appear before you - sturdy and industrial. Some trucks move along the roads, hauling salvage down below, others, completely empty, are followed by vans with crews wearing the same uniforms as the folk above - more people heading out to begin their shift. They put on their masks after the inspectors make sure everything is in order (a process that takes around 20 seconds on average, if we don't take into account some casual banter between them).

Meanwhile, some checkpoints serve a different purpose - they're not for the working crews, but instead the outsiders - depending on where in the region you are, you'll see either a transport or two, or heavy traffic through wide, arch-like gates leading to the surface - All of them inspected right before the tunnel roofs conceal the skies above (or the other way around, if they're leaving). These range from simple civilian transports to large, industrial lorries hauling all sorts of goods across the border.

Let's go deeper, then! As the roads go deeper, some of them split, whilst others merge. The smaller off-shoots lead to all manner of areas, though they aren't anything novel or impressive typically. Fuel stations, Garages, guard stations - the like. The bigger roads naturally lead to bigger locations - and more important by association. Moving up on the hierarchy from 'Jim's Wheels' workshops and 'Roadside Upside' stores we find villages and farms where hardy crops and adapted livestock is grown for produce, towns and mines where precious metals and fuels are extracted and later shipped to cities and industrial areas where the raw product is turned and refined into products with quality sought after across and outside the entire continent - for it is of Dwarven origin.

When you want absolute assurance in the quality of materials - you turn to Dwarves. When you want the most reliable equipment - you turn to Dwarves. When you want manpower for construction of critical projects - you turn to Dwarves.

When you want hard work done right, you turn to Dwarves.

You turn to Talamrab.

Talamrab, With it's expansive underground megalopolises and workregions, is a nation of hard-working, skilled folk who make up for their height and with expertise tenfold. You come here to find people who were driven underground long ago by their masters, elves. Their class was deemed unworthy of the surface, for the sun was for the beautiful, elegant nobles and their foreign guests. Over time they adapted to full lives in the depths - tolerance to cold, physiques forged by cave threats and hard work.

At one point they had enough.

Their numbers were bigger, as was their strength and discontent. In a manner of weeks the uprising proved successful as noble, now disgraced Elves were exiled from their former kingdom while the poor, now empowered Dwarves claimed the kingdom they once built for their oppressors. They didn't wish to move back up onto the surface though, spare for a few. Instead, they grew accustomed to the underground - finding it much more comfortable and promising.

Centuries later, those promises held up.

[mysticstarlightduck]

Character Introduction - Meridian Shardd

If you like this, please REBLOG! 💕

☆・・Aesthetic/Moodboard ・・☆

════════════════════════════════════════════

☆ ・・About/General Info ・・☆

A cyborg/robot created for entertainment, Meridian long since yearned to know what it truly meant to live and be human. Finding an unexpected opportunity to rebel against their creator, Meridian broke free of the coding they'd been trapped to since the moment of their creation and escaped from the Khosmonian Galaxies in search of a future where they could truly be free. Naive, innocent, and painfully unaware of how real humanoid interactions actually work, especially in such a conflicted set of galaxies, Meridian wandered completely lost for a while, trying to not fall back into the hands of their inventor - who would for sure reprogram them and stop them from achieving their dream of experiencing real life - until they met a strange, but kind, group of thieves and space adventurers who became their friends and the closest thing to a family they ever had. Perhaps being human won't be such an unattainable dream as they thought.

════════════════════════════════════════════

☆・・More Info ・・☆

Pronouns - They/Them (main pronouns), He/Him (occasionally)

Age - They have been alive for less than a decade but have the appearance/biology, mental age, and personality of a young adult in their early 20s.

Current Role - Part of the main cast

Appearance - Meridian has medium to long hair, synthetic, which they can change/choose the color of at will (their favorite hair colors are bright neon pink, cyan, or deep gold). Their skin is pale and perfectly smooth, akin to a porcelain doll, and some of their robotic joints are visible, with golden wiring/servos within (like an automaton, but high tech and sentient). Their eyes can also change color at will, and they usually match their eye color to their hair color of the day because they like symmetry. Meridian is considerably tall, standing at 6,2ft or around 187cm, and because they tend to wear heels (they like it) with wheels, they're usually even taller. Their features are rather androgynous, though their design leans more towards a somewhat masculine appearance.

Personality Types -

✶ Enneagram: 7w6

✶ MBTI: ENFP

Occupation: Formerly - Servant/Entertainer (dancer, singer); Currently - Adventurer, Rebel

Species & Place of Birth: Cyborg/Sentient Robot, Khosmo

Sexuality: Nonbinary. Otherwise, probably still haven't figured out their exact sexuality/romantic tendencies yet though.

════════════════════════════════════════════

☆・・Extras・・☆

✶ Character Playlist

Playlist Sneak Peek:

Summer Sunshine - Sweetersongs

I'm Just a Kid - Simple Plan

Are You Satisfied? - Marina And The Diamonds

Not Your Barbie Girl - Ava Max

I'm Good (Blue) - David Guetta, Bebe Rhexa

Bubblegum Bitch - Marina And The Diamonds

And more!

・・・

✶ Tags:

#wip supernova initiative #oc: meridian shardd

・・・

Supernova Initiative Taglist (-/+): @ray-writes-n-shit, @sarandipitywrites, @lassiesandiego, @smol-feralgremlin, @kaylinalexanderbooks,

@saturnine-saturneight @diabolical-blue @oh-no-another-idea

@cakeinthevoid, @clairelsonao3, @sleepy-night-child

@thepeculiarbird

@the-golden-comet, @urnumber1star, @ominous-feychild, @anyablackwood, @amaiguri, @lyutenw @finickyfelix

@elshells, @thecomfywriter

Let me know if you'd like to be added!

Source for moodboard pictures & music playlist: Pinterest & Spotify respectively

[periprose]

Florence - Chapter Five

At the dinner party later that evening, Harry makes an interesting job offer that you can't quite refuse, and you and Peter drunkenly deduce what's happened with the New York Fashion Week show and the models that have been antagonizing MJ, while also coming far too close for it to be an accident.

Fluff, further confessions of feelings, plot threads that probably won't be solved until I make a sequel to this fic, lustful moments (grinding)

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

The dinner party is kind of wild.

There are hired semi-nude dancers, all glittery and gold, dancing on a small stage set in front of the backyard garden, and there are several chefs preparing every food you could possibly think of- pasta served in your own personal cheese wheel, little hors d'oeuvres, kebabs, sushi, some sort of glass noodle concoction that looks more like clear wires than something you’re supposed to eat- and throughout it all, Harry keeps giving everyone more drinks.

He’s still kind of cold towards Peter- you can tell since he greets you and gives Peter a firm nod instead- and he clearly likes your outfit. A sweetheart neckline, halter-top jumpsuit in a deep teal, that’s backless and has floral detailing and flared pants. 

“Nice jumpsuit, Howlett.” He yells over the din of the music of the band in the background, and you nod, feeling kind of hot with all the people around. “Here’s a whiskey sour, just how you like it.”

“Thanks. How are you?” You yell back, taking the drink, and Harry seems ambivalent until Peter strolls away, admiring the scenery. 

“Better. Still a little wary of how things are going.” Harry looks towards Peter and then back at you. “Sorry you had to get caught up in that- uh, argument- earlier, Lettie.”

“If it makes you feel better, it made me and Peter closer?” You watch Harry snort at that and then grin. “No, I know. Not the point. Just… talk to him when you have time, okay?”

“If he actually wants to talk, then sure.” Harry shrugs, and you wonder what that means, if Peter was the type to ghost him as well. You suppose you have that in common. “Have you changed your mind about the job?”

“Huh?” You think for a moment and then remember Harry’s offer about Oscorp’s position. “Oh god, Harry. I don’t know if I can stomach it.”

“C’mon… you said my dad has a certain reputation.” Harry whispers. “I think if anyone can come up against him, it would be you.”

“But…” You think over Harry’s words, and how they contrast to what he said before. “Come up against him? Like, what, running a coup?”

“Maybe.” Harry is mysteriously ambiguous about the whole thing. “Look, Howlett, I’m only telling you this because I trust you. Dad’s not doing so well anymore, and I know for a fact that he would like you.”

“And I would antagonize him, why?”

“Dad’s kind of an asshole. I want to see him have to think a little- I was thinking about what you were saying before- and I want him to actually be there for the little guy. Do more than be a selfish, opportunistic bastard, before he dies. If he likes you, he’ll listen.” Harry scoffs at that. “I know it’s a lot to ask for, especially because you probably don’t want to risk your career- so I could pull a few strings and give you a job somewhere else if it’s not going well at Oscorp, and you’ll still get to put it on your resume.”

Harry is right. It’s a lot to ask for, and your mind kind of runs over everything he’s saying. A big part of you is rather compelled- you do kind of want to know what it’s like to be a vigilante coder, and you have always, always wanted to make the world a slightly better place than it is- and the other part of you is overwhelmed. 

"Alright, Harry. I’m gonna take a couple days to think it over- and I think I’ll just sit down for a bit.” You wave at him and make your way towards a chaise lounge in the path, and sit down, but as you do, two other people sit next to you.

“You must be Howlett.” A tall Asian woman with sharp eyeliner, extending into a long wing that is far more avant-garde than normal, shakes your hand. “Love how you go by one name, too. I’m Elektra.”

You realize with a bit of lag that this was one of the people MJ told you she was suspicious of. Elektra, Wanda, and Bucky. The last guy doesn’t seem to be anywhere in your sight.

You take a large gulp of your drink for some courage. You nearly cough it back up- Harry has definitely put the strongest whiskey possible in your cup.

“Hi. It’s great to meet you!” You start, and she gives you a smile that doesn’t seem to reach her eyes- you feel unnerved by that, and you can’t really read her. “MJ always said you were gorgeous- she didn’t lie.”

“Did she ever say anything about me?” The other woman huffs. She’s got a vaguely Eastern-European accent that you cannot pin down. “I’m Wanda, by the way.”

Her hair is a dark brown, but other than that- she and Elektra are dressed in matching crimson latex suits, although their cuts are different and well suited to their bodies. They seem to really be on the same wave length.

“Um. I think so?” You shake your head, unsure of how to respond. “She’s always very complementary towards everyone.”

“Even those two idiots over there?” Elektra points to the redhead woman with a bob cut, and another woman with a high ponytail- they’re currently dancing with each other. “Ah, of course MJ likes them. They’re all Dior anyways.”

You don’t know enough about fashion houses to clarify anything so you just stay silent, continuing to sip at your drink. You finally notice that Peter is off to the side, being held hostage by a dark, brunette, scowling man, who’s got a bit of beard and steely blue eyes that easily intimidate him, and you wonder which one of these three is the culprit.

Wanda gives Elektra a stern look. “They’re really not that bad if you get to know them, Elektra. It’s not their fault you always keep to yourself- and Barnes.”

She stands up dramatically as Elektra sputters in place, and because you seem to be the only sympathetic person there, she confides in you.

“Wanda has always been soft. She doesn’t get that me and Barnes- you have to do what you have to do to get ahead, right?” Elektra takes a gulp of her champagne, and you seriously wonder if she’s basically just implicated herself.

She wanders off to dance with a glittery gold woman- you realize with some mild surprise that it’s all body paint, so the dancer is completely naked, and you wonder if all of them are- and Peter and Bucky come your way. Peter has a strained smile- he does not like this guy.

“Howlett. Hey.” Peter sits next to you, but so does Bucky, and you move closer to Peter because apparently Bucky Barnes has no sense of personal space. His hand is skirting where your thigh and hip is, and based on Peter’s grim expression, he hates it. You’re only allowing it because he seems drunk, and you do not want a fight to break out if you tell him no.

“Bucky here was just telling me about the world of modelling.” Peter clarifies, and that’s all it takes for Bucky to start ranting in great detail about how his stupid fucking assistant forgot his custom made hair mousse and how his hair looked flat and not shiny enough during his latest show.

“That sounds horrible.” Peter remarks, half-mockingly, and he takes a sip of his cocktail. Apparently his fifth one of the night, if you’re keeping track of all the different glasses and colors of the drinks that Peter has been holding throughout the last hour. He must be trying to get wasted.

“Yeah, it really, really was. You can’t buy good help these days.” Bucky affirms with not a hint of irony, and the fact that he doesn’t know that you and Peter are in an entirely different tax bracket doesn’t escape you. You literally know people who work for the one percent, CEOs like Norman Osborn, and the poors like you get tossed aside as soon as you’re deemed disposable.

It just reaffirms that you do want to listen to Harry- you could do great things at Oscorp.

Bucky Barnes is abhorrent and you want out of here. You don’t know how MJ puts up with him- but you remember she said she’s only really close with Natalia and Kitty Pryde, so perhaps inviting this guy was just for her networking optics. 

“God, you’re pretty.” Bucky suddenly claims as he turns towards you, getting progressively drunker and obviously not filtering his thoughts, and you can tell this must be a line that he uses on many, many women, just based on the confidence that’s oozing out of him. “If there was a spot available on the Dior lineup, I’d put you on there for sure- well actually, there might be, if you prove you can model. Whaddya say? Wanna head back up to mine?”

You feel Peter’s fist clench and you firmly grasp his wrist before he can stand up and do something stupid, along the lines of the fight at the New York Airport, and Peter’s fist loosens, before he grabs your hand, holding it tightly. Maybe a little possessively.

You ignore thoughts about that being hot. 

“I’m not really interested in being a model right now, but do you have an email or something I could contact if I ever get the urge?” You sweetly tell Bucky, in your most sincere, professional, networking tone, and he seems a little thrown off by that since he was flirting so heavily. He takes a look at you and Peter’s intertwined hands, and how Peter is peering at him from just beyond the glass he keeps sipping, and seems to put something together.

“Uh, yeah. Here-” Bucky reaches for a pen inside his blazer’s pocket and signs your wrist with his email address in a tender motion that you did not ask for. Bucky whispers something into your ear that try as Peter might, sounds entirely unintelligible to him.

“Hey, doll. I know the drill- I’ll be waiting in my room, just come up when you’re free of the ball and chain.” His mouth is practically on your ear as he says this, and your face is burning with a mix of confusion, drunkenness, and annoyance that Peter could ever be a ball and chain.

Finally, Bucky leaves, and you immediately pull Peter closer to you even though he’s right next to you. Things are kind of hazy in your mind right now, but something has clearly been illuminated for you.

“What a fucking pervert that guy was, right?” Peter scoffs, and you giggle. “Who the hell asks a girl to fuck like seconds after meeting? I guess models, but still: ew.”

“Jealous, Peter Parker?” You lean in kind of close, and Peter doesn’t pull away- he likes that your face is practically brushing his own. “I was worried you were going to beat him up, too.”

“As if. He’s still going to be at the wedding.” Peter shrugs, tipping his glass back and finishing off his drink. 

“And that’s the only reason you stopped yourself?” You look at him. “Too bad. I wanted to see some wedding drama.”

“Hey. You know the precedent I set before, Howlett. I’d totally be all dramatic and soap opera-y for you.” Peter grins boyishly, and you feel your heart warm at that. “I just figure after the TSA dude and Harry, it’s probably best to just… think first. Act later. Don’t want to start a bad trend if I’m serious about you. Plus you can handle yourself, it’s just my dumb feelings.”

“Wow. I never thought I’d see the day that you’d become mature.” You cross your arms, and Peter lightly punches your side. “Okay, I’m sorry! But you’re right. This whole wedding has too much going on, even without fights. On the bright side, I figured something out.”

Peter is staring up at the night sky, and you shake him by the collar. “Hello? Peter?”

“H-Huh?” He’s kind of lost in this fire that’s in your eyes now. He likes it, to the point where he’s not sure what you’re talking about. When did he get so drunk? His mind isn’t really latching onto anything but your face.

“Okay. I’ll explain upstairs because people could be listening here-” You look from side-to-side and Peter’s only following your gaze because you just seem so striking at this moment. “And because I think something about outside is distracting you.”

“Not true, Howlett. Something right in front of me is distracting.” Peter immediately shoots back at you, and you blink before smiling up at him, shoving his chest lightly. Very gently. Somehow it only brings him closer as he resists your pushing, as if Peter is some kind of immovable object that cannot stay away.

Peter stares at your bare back as you lead him away, into the Villa, upstairs to his bedroom, and he can’t control his indecent thoughts this time. 

/

“Okay- are you listening, Peter?” You start, and he nods, wiggling into the massive pillows that adorn his bed. He turns dramatically and fixes his gaze on you, and your face turns mildly red- you type on the robust laptop that Peter obviously brought for work, still feeling his stare. “Here. We can start tracing back who sent the email that removed MJ from New York Fashion Week- she sent me the original that has an ‘anonymous’ signature.”

“Wait, wait.” Peter suddenly shakes himself a little out of it, feeling considerably less wasted as he focuses on this. “How do you know that it’s Buckboy’s email, for sure?”

“I have an educated guess.” You snort at his portmanteau of fuckboy and Bucky. “Elektra said something about Wanda not understanding how to get ahead, but that Bucky did, and Bucky said that there’s a spot opening up on the Dior model lineup, which is enough evidence for him, right?”

“Oh, and that’s why you got his email.” Peter realizes. “Damn, I’m slow on the uptake. But nice one, Howlett.”

“It’s okay. Drinking and detective work don’t really go hand-in-hand- I’m surprised I figured out this much.” You type in Bucky’s email address: jamesbuchananbarnes@gmail.com. “What are the chances he has some separate hooking-up email address and a professional one?”

“It’s 2023, Howlett. People don’t use email to hook up.” Peter snorts. “Shouldn’t you know that?”

“I guess this makes it clear that I don’t do hook ups.” You sniff, and Peter immediately takes on a mischievous smile.

“I can change that-” He starts but you immediately smother his face into the pillow. “I’m kidding! Of course an idiot like that would use the same email for everything.”

The software you’re using to trace back the IP address of the initial email is going to take a while. Dior forwarded it from an anonymous source to MJ, and she then forwarded it to you, which means there are like three or four layers of data to scan through and peel back. 

“We got time to kill. What’s up?” You ask, and Peter frowns.

“Don’t you think it’s sad that MJ has to be buddy-buddy with people like this?” He sounds deep in thought. 

“MJ also likes Natalia Romanov and Kitty Pryde… and that Wanda chick doesn’t seem in on this, so maybe it’s not so bad.” You try, and Peter nods. “We all have to deal with people we don’t like.”

“I guess that’s true. But still- sometimes I wish it was as simple as it was back in high school. When it was the four of us. I never realized there would be a time when it wasn’t like that anymore, and now I feel bad that I didn’t treasure it enough.” Peter sounds wistful as he stares up at the deep yellow canopy over your bed. “Isn’t it crazy how everyone’s lives are changing? Big milestones are happening. Gwen and Miles, MJ and Harry, first weddings, then probably career stuff, then houses and babies… I wish I hadn’t been so stupid back then.”

“Huh?” You interrupt Peter’s drunken rambles about the stages of life. “What do you mean?”

“I should’ve just bit the bullet and just asked you out. As soon as I had an inkling of a feeling for you.” Peter sounds genuinely distraught now, while you wonder when it all started for him. “I mean, I always thought- you’re my best friend, so it would be wrong- but I really, really think I was repressing my feelings because it feels way clearer in hindsight, y’know? Like I was just too scared. But if I had just figured it out back then, I would’ve had you at my side sooner. Imagine being as stupid as me and spending the last ten years completely oblivious to your own feelings, Howlett.”

“Peter-”

“And another thing!” He gets a sudden burst of energy and sits up next to you, stumbling a little. “I spent all of college missing you. It was bad, Howlett, I don’t think I even properly had a girlfriend. But I didn’t- I couldn’t figure out how to bridge that gap between us when you were drifting away already and it seemed like you didn’t want to be friends anymore, and I pretty much thought that I only missed you as a friend because I wasn’t around you, so I couldn’t figure out that I love you, and holy hell I need you to promise that you won’t leave me.”

“I won’t.” You can’t look at him, because you know that Peter has just laid his bare heart out to you, and he’s said that he loves you, but it’s too much for your little drunk mind to understand. The best you can do is say that you’ll never leave him. 

“Good.” Peter breathes a sigh of relief. He seems to have no qualms about telling the truth like this, even though it’s really all that drunken courage racing around in his bloodstream. “I wish I had said something back then so we would just be together now.”

“Who says we aren’t?” You kid, pointing out the lack of distance between you two. 

“No, not just next to each other like this, like- together together. Like instead of MJ and Harry’s wedding, it would be ours.” Peter falls silent after that, and you take it in, wondering what it would actually be like to be Peter Parker’s wife. 

You know how it would go already. Because you spent a good portion of high school fantasizing about this. Peter and you would probably have a flexible cycle of work being freelance and all, and he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off of you, and you know he would probably be the type to meal prep a ton and be really type A about what you feed your kids, who would be named Logan JR. and Mayday. Probably. 

You bite back a laugh. “Aw, Peter. It’s okay. Things turn out how they’re supposed to, right? Think about how much we’ll have to look forward to. When we’re not drunk and back home.”

Peter likes the sound of that, and he cutely leans his face into the crook of your neck, his giant mass of hair brushing your cheek and jaw. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner. Or that I made you suffer.” Peter whispers, and you’re really only focusing on how his lips are brushing against the tender skin around your collarbone. 

“Yes, Peter, you were the bane of my existence.” You say drily, ignoring the flush of heat spreading from your neck through your body, and Peter’s laptop suddenly pings back some results. “But it’s okay. I’m cool with it now.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it built character for me.”

“Okay. Okay. Cool.” Peter looks up, leaning his head against your shoulder, and his arm snakes around your waist. 

“Okay… the IP address isn’t encrypted anymore, and… the email is Bucky’s.” You look at Peter in mild surprise. “Why do you think he got MJ booted off the show?” 

“Obviously so he could be in it instead, right?” Peter thinks it over for a moment. “No, that doesn’t make sense- why would a male model fill in for MJ?” 

“You’re right, that doesn’t make sense.” You bite your lip, and click an attached file on the original email, trying to find out more. “Wait, remember how the email said that MJ was fraudulently using model-in-training funds?”

“Yeah. Definitely not true.” Peter shakes his head. “MJ never even brought up Harry in any of her recorded interviews, her auditions, or any of her actual files when I looked, so there’s nothing fraudulent about it.”

“Oh my god, Peter- look at this.” You turn the laptop screen closer to him. “This is clearly an edited, drawn over PDF file- the numbers don’t actually match the line of the rest of the words. This can’t be MJ’s balance sheet, can it?”

“Only one way to find out.” Peter takes the laptop from you, and with a bit of tech wizardry- he believes he’s undid the edits. “Ahhhh, Howlett. You little genius. No wonder MJ didn’t pick up on this- the fake numbers on that sheet must’ve matched her bank account.”

When you search for the original bank account number, just using your own bank app to make a fake e-transfer, the name attached to it is Elektra’s.

“Wait, so Elektra was the one who was using Dior’s funds?” You look at Peter, totally confused, and it suddenly seems to dawn on him. 

“Ye-e-es…Elektra is that tall Asian chick, right?” Peter scratches his face, and pulls up a video of one of MJ’s early model-in-training videos. “That’s her? Behind MJ?”

“Yup.” You nod. “I guess she and Bucky were working together on this… or maybe she was the mastermind who wanted to take MJ’s spot.”

“Well, she’s not in any of the later videos…” Peter examines the unedited PDF again, and makes a guess. “Is it a stretch to say she was using Dior’s funds and got kicked out for fraud? Hopefully unceremoniously? Probably trying to frame MJ?”

“I would assume that’s the case.” You agree. “But this doesn’t make sense, Peter. Why would Dior believe her?”

There’s a beat of silence, as you peer at the screen, and suddenly you come to an understanding.

“Oh my god. Peter!” You leap onto his lap, too elated and not sober enough to stop yourself, and he immediately catches you, his hands wrapping around your waist to steady you as you eagerly wrap your arms around his neck. He adores the sensation of the bare skin of your back against his palms, but you don’t seem to notice his touch. “Don’t you get it, dummy? None of this is real!”

Peter takes a second, because he’s hyper focused on your presence on his lap, and he’s still just drunk enough to not be able to stop pulling you close, even if you’re looking at him insistently to understand the situation. 

Peter is still pretty smart, though, and he figures it out.

“Oh. This isn’t really Dior’s email at all.” He genuinely looks shocked as he reads the email address over your shoulder- diorNYFW@gmail.com. It’s definitely not official, but he can’t blame MJ for not checking the email address when she’s been so busy with the wedding. It’s clearly the fault of those two master manipulators who hardly deserve to be at this event.

“A dummy account- probably to make it seem official? So MJ’s… still in the show.”

As Peter revels in this knowledge, you nod, coming even closer to him as you want to explain more and more, and he can’t stop you. “I’m going to say Bucky had something to do with Elektra’s connections in the industry because apparently he’s been there a lot longer, so they just took their story and made it seem plausible that MJ had done the same thing, maybe they thought she just wouldn’t fight it?-”

You suddenly shudder to a stop, because Peter’s hands are roaming, and he’s snickering at your reaction. “What’s wrong, Howlett?”

“I- Uh-” You feel Peter’s forehead brush your own, and his mouth is hovering over yours. Hot breath is making it difficult to not just lean in and kiss him, and you’re not sure how long you stay like this, with your eyes closed, half drunk on alcohol and emotions, your nose brushing his. You feel something hard between Peter’s legs, and he lazily- but with some aggression- splits your thighs more open so you’re right on top of it. He groans in satisfaction, and you so want to do this, you just don’t want it to be during this drunken time where you can’t remember it later and when you have extremely vital information to share to MJ that could really make or break her life, depending.

“We should tell MJ. C’mon, let’s go back outside.” You pull away from him, regrettably, and get off his lap. 

Peter rolls his eyes. “Okay, tease. We’re gonna have to wait for the flag to go down from full mast.”

You bury your face in your hands and Peter laughs, and then kisses your cheek.

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

Not Alone

Echo x Mechanic!Reader

A/N: Nervous laughter. Sobbing.

Warnings: 18+, making out, angst, sad, character death aftermath, secrets relationship, the boys being the best.

Prompts: 501st, Echo, Mechanic, Angst (unhappy ending), Secret relationship, Include the last text you sent. (If you can spot the text I’ll give you a gold star.)

Word Count: 2.7k+

Thanks to @techs-feral-wife for having a nosey for me and @wizardofrozz for rolling these.

“Osik!” You should have been wearing your gloves to protect from shocks and they would have prevented the slight burning you now felt at the tips of your fingers. “Have you tried restarting the network settings?” You asked the astromech. R2 let out a low whistle but he was interrupted by someone entering via the ramp at the back.

“Don’t let Rex hear you talk like that.” You smiled to yourself as you wound some wires together and then held them out for R2-D2 to solder together.

“Oh, yeah?” You challenged. “He wouldn’t approve?” The blue light finished sparking before your eyes and you pressed the wires carefully back into the body of the B1 droid you were reprogramming.

“No, he would not.” With a sigh you eased your helmet off and locked eyes with and RC Trooper. You took a moment to admire his physique, the way the pauldrons really accented the broadness of his shoulders, the flare the kama gave his hips and you felt your heart kick up at the intimidating sight. His gaze was as golden as pools of honey, streaked with brown and a faint dash of green that you enjoyed studying in the few moments of alone time you actually got.

“Do you approve?” You asked, your tone dropping slightly. The clone approached, his helmet resting easily under his arm, cocked against his side as he came to a stop right before you. You had no choice but to tilt your head right back, keeping your gaze magnetised to his, unable to move from your position straddling the back of the B1 droid you’d been working on. His free hand twitched and your gaze dropped to the blue hand print on his chest.

“R2, I think General Skywalker would like you to go over the plan one more time.” The droid beeped indignantly that you were suggesting he hadn’t memorised the plan for storming the Citadel but you didn’t have anything else in your verbal arsenal. “I know that,” you told the droid, keeping your tone breezy. “Maybe it was General Kenobi instead. You should probably find out then we can finish with these droids.” R2 made a rude noise as he wheeled away but you’d already forgotten about upsetting him.

Echo lifted his hand as soon the astromech was down the ramp, using his gloved thumb to trace your lips. Your breath hitched when his gaze went from affectionate to heated within seconds. His hand tentatively dipped to cup your chin, his fingers digging in and urging you to your feet. No sooner had you stood, he was pushing you backwards making you step over the droids and slamming you against the wall of the shuttle before his lips fell on you.

Your bodies pressed together, having no choice but to melt against his ARC armour as he crowded you against the wall. You heard the thud of his helmet, his hands coming up to grab your face as his lips ravished yours with a desperate message he was trying to silently convey.

He stole your breath. He created a dull roar in your ears as your heart thumped relentlessly behind your rips, beating with his as it raced under his armour. Echo kissed you like he was a drowning man and you were the only thing keeping him alive.

The pair of you had been in a secret relationship for a few months now, stealing kisses and whispers in the dark at every opportunity. You often wondered if Fives knew about what was going on, no doubt he wondered where Echo got to occasionally or why his Domino Twin was extra tired. You wondered, but you never asked and Echo never said.

Right now, you didn’t care. Your hands snaked up to run through the short, tough strands of his hair as his hand dropped, hooking under your thigh and hitching your leg as high as he could. You moaned into his mouth, licking as deeply as he did and feeding a moan into his mouth that he gifted back. He broke the kiss, resting his forehead heavily against you as he tried to relax his ragged breathing.

“I miss you,” he breathed, the words caressing your cheeks as you smiled at him. Studying the freckles on his face and stroking the faint stubble that was coming up on his cheeks.

“When you come back, maybe we can take some time?” You suggested hopefully. You felt his hesitation, seeing the frown that dipped between his brows and you made him look up and into your eyes. “I know you can’t promise anything, Echo. I know that, but it’s something we can try and hold onto.” Tears began to wet your lashes and he cupped your cheek, gently swiping his thumb under your eye to catch a stray tear that fell.

“I want to do that, with you,” he rumbled softly.

“I know,” you whispered, smiling sadly. You leaned towards him, brushing your nose against his, feeling the way he breathed against your skin. The ache inside your chest widened and you pressed a kiss to his waiting lips in the hope he could banish it from you. But no matter how much of each other you breathed in, nothing could stop the darkness that loomed.

You broke apart when his com went off and he dropped your leg with a sigh, finally stepping away to answer it.

Resting against the hull wall you huffed, rubbing your face and forcing yourself to carry this heaviness like it wasn’t crushing you. Usually you were fine before he left for a mission but this time, you just had a bad feeling that would not leave.

“We’ve all been summoned to the briefing room,” he informed you, the telltale pout pulling at his mouth and he looked at the floor like it had offended him.

“You have to go,” you whispered, using the heel of your hand to dab at your cheeks.

“Yes.” His gaze rose to meet with your watery one, all the emotions he was feeling clouding his features and it made your heart throb painfully.

The moment hung suspended between you. An awareness of how difficult this was for you both but neither of you could really talk about it. Without words you gravitated towards one another, colliding roughly in your urgency to feel each other again. Your hands now cupped his face, grabbing him and pulling him to your level for a desperate kiss as he wrapped his arms around your waist. His armour dug in through your overalls but you didn’t care. You wanted his touch imprinted over your body, you wanted his scent tattooed on your skin.

You couldn’t help the tears bleeding from your eyes, hating that your body was betraying you at this moment and it couldn’t have just waited. He took the time to wipe your cheeks, a soft smile on his face as he gazed lovingly at you. “I know we never said…” his voice fractured and you nearly broke on the spot.

“It’s ok,” you whispered. “I feel it too.” His honey rich gaze searched your own, sucking his bottom lip briefly between his teeth as he inhaled sharply.

“When I come back…I’ll say it.” You smiled, trying to ignore the more tears that filled your vision as your insides quivered with love and sadness.

“When you come back,” you repeated. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“I’m expecting you to, kair’ta.” You closed your eyes, feeling him slip silently away and suddenly your hands were empty. Your body was cold and he left you standing alone in the shuttle you had been tasked with maintaining for their mission. It took a moment before you could move again, hating the way the taste of him diminished and the scent of him faded. Lifting a shaky hand to your lips you stared at the empty hatch, wishing briefly he’d come back one more time.

A few angry beeps alerted you to R2’s return and you scoffed at his scolding. “I’m sorry R2, I must have got my wires crossed.” Picking up the panel you replaced it back on the droid and sealed it into place. “Shall we see if these boys work?”

Waiting was the worst part. Even walking the length of the flight deck and back wasn’t enough to stop the thoughts that crowded in your mind. Most of your team left you alone, they knew you cared for the clones and always worried about their safe return, they just didn’t know how far it went.

Forcing yourself to sit on a crate of spare parts you stared at the stars through the blue of the shield. You weren’t privy to any com chatter down here and honestly you weren’t sure if you wanted to listen anyway. It was probably radio silence from the Citadel or they risked detection anyway.

Oh gods…why was this so difficult? You felt the urge to pull on your hair, chew the skin on your side of fingers, every movement made your overalls rub and it aggravated you. They had been down there for hours, it felt like hours.

Oh Echo, Echo please come back to me. Folding into yourself, you covered your face and took a shaky breath.

The ship shuddered around you, the durasteel groaning and you looked up to see ships passing the dorsal doors. You instantly recognised them as Separatist. So they’d been discovered. Your mouth twisted grimly and you joined the group on the deck also watching, as it all unfolded before you.

There was nothing you could do. Nothing, except watch the sacrifices being made to try and extract the group from the hostile planet and leave with as much intact as they could.

No one spoke. Aside from the noises of the ship a silent sense of anticipation reigned on the flight deck, a tension where you readied yourselves before exploding into action when needed. Some medics had come down from the medbay and you clocked their bags of equipment at their feet. No gurneys though, that was a good sign.

Could you…could you dare to hope that this bad feeling you carried would be banished as soon as Echo got off that shuttle? You let yourself get swept up in the daydream of him coming towards you and hauling you into his embrace. Of course, it would never happen like that, but you could dream.

“Ships incoming!” You began to direct the team, requesting extinguishers and beckoning the med team closer but not too close. You looked around one last time to make sure there was room only to see a Larty guided by some Actis and an Aethersprite. No sign of your shuttle and you couldn’t ignore the jolt in your stomach. It meant something had gone wrong.

Upon seeing the ships were intact you let the medics in first, approaching the doors as they opened on the gunship. The first to disembark were the Jedi, you knew them by sight but that was all. And all your attention was on the clones anyway.

Fives was the first one you recognised, your heart jumping and you smiled, because if Fives was here Echo wouldn’t be far behind. You carried on looking. And looking. And looking.

Fives stood on the edge of the group, shaking off a medic and standing with his head bowed. Captain Rex approached him, his helmet tucked under his arm in much the same way Echo had held his earlier. You watched Rex put a hand on Fives pauldron, his expression marked with sorrow as he murmured to the ARC and you shook your head.

No. No…Echo had to be here. You must have just missed him in the crush. So you searched for the blue handprint, the wide shoulders, the flutter of his kama…you searched for it all and still you weren’t seeing him.

The Jedi moved away, ignoring the way General Skywalker’s gaze lingered on your frozen form as he walked past. You barely responded to questions from your team not able to think above the internal scream that was growing louder with each passing second.

Turning on your heel you disappeared into the darkness of the flight deck, hiding behind some crates as your hand clutched at your overalls. Pain radiated from the centre of your chest, leaching out into your body as you gasped desperately against the hurt. This wasn’t happening! He told you he was coming back! He said…he said.

You moaned softly, a noise of pure aching loss and you fell heavily to your knees. Tears spilled unchecked down your face and it hit you how alone you were. You couldn’t talk to anyone about this, you couldn’t show the depth of your grief because you shouldn’t be feeling it this keenly. You weren’t supposed to be in love with him.

And now Echo was…slamming your fists into the flight deck you pounded until the sides of your hands were numb. A scream threatening to rip from your chest like a living beast, pressure built behind your eyes and you could feel the grief clawing it’s way up your throat.

“Hey! Hey!” Echo! He sounded so much like Echo and right now, you were desperate for it. But it wasn’t Echo, you knew that. “You’ll break your hand.” Fives grabbed your wrists, kneeling before you, his own skin wet with tears as he pulled you up.

“Fives…” you breathed between sobs.

“I know. I know and I’m sorry.” He pulled you against him, holding you upright as you went limp in his embrace. Feeling his body shake with the pain that he felt as keenly as you. Your face contorted, still trying to hold it all in and failing. “I tried to stop him, I tried.” If Echo thought he was doing something right, not even the stars themselves could have stopped him.

“D-do you…” clearing your throat you tried to speak but the emotion that clogged your throat made it difficult. “Do you have a piece of his armour?” Fives pulled away, sitting back on his heels and putting his hands on your shoulders. Wiping your face you watched his face, already knowing the answer from the way he briefly closed his eyes as he contemplated on how to tell you. “There was nothing left?” You whispered. “Oh god.”

You shattered.

Not caring if you were heard as you mourned in the dark. Fives held you together as best he could while he fractured with his own pain. He had only learned about you in the last few hours. Echo made him promise to look after you if anything happened to him on their private com channel. And he had, he’d promised Echo without hesitation, thinking he was going to tease his brother so badly when they got back for having a secret relationship.

But now he had someone to hold together, to try and pick up the shattered pieces of your heart because Echo wasn’t here and he couldn’t help but blame himself. Tucking his face into your neck he closed his eyes and gave into his shuddering sobs.

Rex stood a little way away, making sure no one came near those crates. He refused to give details, turning everyone away until he saw Anakin approaching.

“Shouldn’t you be in the medbay, General?”

“Have you been checked?” Anakin bit back and Rex straightened his posture. He couldn’t deny the General if he ordered him away even if he wanted to with every fibre in his being. Rex’s eyes widened with surprise when Skywalker came to a stop beside him, standing to attention at his Captain’s side without a word and Rex relaxed.

Anakin gazed out at the lights of hyperspace and how they flickered through the flight deck. “Nice view,” he commented softly.

“Yes, sir. Good place to stand,” Rex agreed. His thoughts wandered back to Echo and he felt the stab of sorrow lance in his chest. He’d only just found about you, from the moment Fives followed you he knew. He had clocked Echo’s behaviour recently but kept it to himself incase he was mistaken. Now he was desolate that Echo had left you behind, but at least you weren’t alone.

You’d never be alone.

For Echo.

[dhaaruni]

Self-help has always been a woman’s game. Not that men don’t also seek to improve themselves, but the books targeted to them tend to assume an existing state of self-confidence: You’re great as you are, you could just be a little better. Men learn optimization, life hacks, the power of thinking without thinking: four-hour work weeks and other highly effective habits that are meant to help them build upon their innate perfection, like a software upgrade. Women, on the other hand, have faulty wiring that needs ripping out. Our most beloved self-help books are all about fixing something that came broken, delving into the psyche and excavating everything that’s wrong with you: Women are exhorted to work on themselves the way a weekend warrior might work on a vintage TransAm, tinkering endlessly, replacing parts, fixing one flaw only to find that the engine still won’t turn over, the real problem still buried somewhere under the hood. That you might actually get behind the wheel and drive out of the garage someday is a possibility so distant that it’s hardly worth thinking about. What matters is that whatever is wrong—with the engine, your life, the world—it’s definitely all your fault. (“YOU have to DO the work.”) Is it socialization? Evolution? A bit of both, nature and nurture at once? Whatever the reason, women’s feelings of inadequacy have always been a gold mine for savvy salespeople, with entire industries springing up around the insecurity du jour. 

— "Master Cleanse" by Kat Rosenfield

[thebloodbringscolorandfluoresce]

Machinery.

Robots don't have feelings, do they?

Then why do we focus in making them scarily humanly?

I guess humans are the loneliest animals on this planet, but they are also very cruel. An iron hand does not caress the same as a human's palm.

It somehow feels like my heart's made of titanium; lightweight, yet heartbreak proof.

I spent the entirety of my life changing parts like a doll. A heart made of gold is not resistant, it melts quickly.

You can't make someone change without hurting them in the process. You can build your own loving machine; technology is a tool, but not a replacement.

When you thrusted me to the ground, nothing broke but my metal head. You said I am nothing but pieces of metal junk, so you hate the sound of my gear wheels clunk.

Your words no longer hurt me, I was made to not feel anything. But I can feel how the wires inside me break; I forgot you were once my everything.

I became one with my metallic parts. My head is powered with a battery made of lithium, so I guess my emotional disturbances will never forsake. Oxygen is no longer necessary, yet I detonate like water with sodium.

You can’t miss something that never existed.

I smash your skull with my metal hand, blood and guts splatter across my intact, human face.

This is who you made me, this is truly the end.

Pictures by Jazmin Bean on Instagram.

-- Amy Jade.

[birgittesilverbae]

teaser: dovie'andi se tovya sagain

warrior nun wheel of time au

//

The first time Ava should die, she is seven.

She can slit purse strings with the best of her pack of street urchins, can slip away with nary a first glance from her mark, let alone a second. But today, she's distracted. She's thinking about the races later, at the Circuit of Heaven. JC says that Mistress Frances is going to allow him to ride her second fastest horse in the heats. JC says a lot of things, though, so Ava's gotten used to not trusting him. It's that debate that's going through her head when her knife slips from the pouch's belt loop, darts forward, bites into the plump flesh of the man's hip.

"Sorry, sir," she squeaks, and takes off running.

She knows the maze-like streets of the Rahad like the back of her hand, but the man chasing her keeps pace past stands packed with bruised fruits, past crowds clumped together around the exterior seats at one bar or another. Even when she slips between two men who seem like they're about to duel, he's still there, doggedly on her heels.

She curses to herself, a string of expletives that would surely have gotten her ears boxed had she loosed them in front of Mistress Frances, and picks a building at random, one among a sea of similar, white plaster flaking from the walls, front door wedged open against the heat. She darts through the door and down the hallway, finds a narrow staircase a third of the way down and scampers up it.

She's rounding the stairs past the second floor landing when she hears his footsteps loud below her, echoing up through the dark space. So much for the hopes that she'd lost him. She picks up her pace anew, takes steps two at a time, climbs and climbs and climbs.

She almost trips over her own feet when she emerges suddenly onto a hallway lit by a single window at the far end. She fancies she can hear the man's breathing, hear his heart beating, he's so close behind her. She flings herself bodily at one door, at the next. She needs to get away. The third door gives way just in time, its rusted padlock falling away easily.

She moves to swing the door shut behind her, but his foot is wedged behind it, jamming the door, forcing it back open, and then he's inside with her, looming over her. His kick takes her square in the chest. There's a loud crack, a burning pain shooting through her ribcage as she falls backwards, lands awkwardly on a pile of something that starts to slide apart beneath her weight. There's a burning in her back, then, too, accompanied by the iron scent of blood.

The man crouches to take his purse back from her outstretched hand, then rises, cocks his leg back. The toe of his boot crunches into her jaw and everything goes black.

//

Ava wakes up groggy, the room illuminated only by a splash of moonlight through a window facing the river. When she moves, she can feel crusts of blood flaking from her skin, as though she, too, is a long-standing feature of the Rahad, a monument who has weathered its storms.

There's no pain to it, the moving, the rolling to her knees, the pushing to her feet. Even the fatigue that's long since sunk into her bones seems to have been washed clean away.

She glances around warily, her loosely woven shirt crackling as dried blood sloughs off the fabric. Her heart thrums wildly in her chest. The room is lit only by moonlight. She's late. She's late.

She starts towards the door, but a glint of light off of something half-hidden in a pile of refuse to the side catches her up. She pulls aside mouldering cloth, kicks at cups and bowls and small strange carvings. Gold glitters back up at her, stretched thin into wire wrapped around a dagger's hilt. She snatches the blade up and the fist gripping her heart loosens as she clasps it tight to her chest.

If she's lucky, she'll be able to sneak back into the cellars of the Crown without Mistress Frances being any the wiser.

Not once in her life has Ava been called lucky, but she can always live in hope.

[hirocimacruiser]

Promoda Verse

■Inquiries/Desmond Co., Ltd. 082-927-3811

Shiny face with fin design

The sedan monowheel that is becoming popular all over the country

Make it yours as soon as possible

The current big sedan boom is thought to have started in Daikoku, Yokohama, and Nanko, Osaka. Of course, there were many other users working hard, but Daikoku and Nanko, where sedans spontaneously gathered, are considered to be the epicenter of the sedan boom.

As more and more sedans gather together, it's natural that a poorly dressed car won't stand out. Therefore, they tried to make the car stand out by making the aerodynamics bigger and bigger and lowering the vehicle height, but there are limits to that. Therefore, American dress-up, and modern shiny wheels, such as plating, sputtering, and super metal coating, which were used in low-rider cars, were set on sedans in an attempt to attract the attention of the gallery. This was the beginning of wheel popularity.

However, no matter how hard you try, it is impossible to match high-tech American wheels like the wing design. Wheel manufacturers were also well aware of this and were trying to secure users by making the sedan wheels they had released so far shine. However, this wheel The “Verse” is one step further than that. It is a wheel dedicated to shining objects, assuming that it will be a shining thing from the beginning of development.

The base design is a classical American wire spoke wheel. Of course, even if we bring that into the present age, we will end up wondering what the heck is going on. For this reason, this Verse has fine fin spokes and a part of the center connected to them folded back in a U shape, giving it a wire-like atmosphere despite the fin design. The full-moon design of the center cap reflects the light evenly, creating a good contrast with the sharp reflections of the fine fins. There are two types of coloring: white polish and champagne gold, as shown in the photo. The polished finish that shines by polishing the aluminum shines more white than ordinary plating, so even if you put it on a voluminous sedan, you can feel a strong presence. If you set the optional gold piercing bolt, you can create an even more gorgeous American sedan-like look.

is the sense of everyone who wears it

It's number one.

A message from the manufacturer

It is a wheel that can be used as a complement to dress up.

The basic design itself is intended to be ordinary, not eccentric. From the very beginning of the development process, we wanted to emphasize brilliance, so we focused on the balance with brilliance rather than the uniqueness of the design itself. Basically, we thought that shiny wheels would match not only American tailoring, but also European dress-up, so rather than setting them on an overly elaborate aero car, we set them on a well-balanced car. Wouldn't it be cool to receive one? Of course, even if you set it on a full normal Y32/33 car, the design is simple, so I think it will work perfectly.