#hot water tanker

[abawaterheater]

ABA Water Heater

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[skyrigel]

Think about Simon working on his bike, the garage is open, allowing penetrating hot rays of sun inside and then there's you, with little princess jus' woke up hair and a cute pink dress, barely reaching your knees. You are carrying a tray with a glass of gleaming slushie, a cute grin on your face as you step in his work space. “Look at you, working so hard, my baby.” you settled the tray on the desk, already covered with screws and nuts. It was an inside joke and you relished in the way Simon looked back at you, raising a brow in warning, like he was really saying, you want that Mrs.Riley, here ? You raked your gaze to his squatted thighs, watching his groin with your shameless eyes, he noticed it too, smirking as he made a show of getting up, “Good morning lil' dove, why do you have to so sweet, huh ?” he smiled, kissing your cheek as he took the glass, his lips bright in the sun as his throat bobbled, like thrusting, each coil rolling within his skin and your mouth was suddenly too dry, you can already feel yourself getting wet just at the sight of your husband, a remarkable sight indeed, he's not wearing a shirt and his vest is completely drenched in his sweat, allowing you to see through, his abs are so breathless and it doesn't matter how much you had admired his body, he just gets more slutty, “Well couldn't let you work hard and then no reward, phew.” reward, You made a show of walking to his bike, the very beloved bike that he took you home after your second date, and also how things heated up, right there on this leather, oh — you were dripping by now, juice coating your inner thighs and you knew Simon knew it too, he was glancing at your ass like a punky teenager who's never been laid, a feral way that makes you squirm and want him more, and ofcourse you were a naughty-naughty girl, you had earned it, mewling like a proud cat when he called you, “You never taught me riding.” you huffed, jumping on seat from one side and letting him see as you sprawled your leg on the other, leaning back, your back against the tanker, a full display for your already hard husband, you could make out his big dick through his pants, your mouth watering. “Huh?” no offense, but he looked so hot when he got nonsensical like that, he wasn't even pretending, he looked at your pussy and raised a question at you, gawking you deliberately. “You never taught me how to ride—” you pouted, “—your bike.” Simon's breath were already panted, he was sweaty and hot and so needy, sitting upright in front of you and pulling your thighs so you were closer to him, almost pressed, his cock rubbing against your clothed pussy, stiff as a rod, “I think I had before.” he had, his nose nuzzling in your sleepy warm body, “You had ? I don't remember.” You whined, wanting the friction that he was making you crave, wanting him to fuck you so hard, you didn't care if your garage was open, didn't care if Mrs. Wilson might be watching, it just turned you more hot, can you want him any more because you just can't get enough of him, no matter how much he fills you up with cum you're already begging for more, a naughty-naughty girl indeed. “oh, don't worry, you will remember it now for days.” and you'd be a liar if you won't, smiling as your dress rode and his greedy hands and mouth were everywhere, chasing you, good luck Mrs.Riley, because you signed up for it.

Teheeeeee period wooshhh

Masterlist

[probablyasocialecologist]

Most of the daily crimes against Palestinians on the West Bank take place only a few miles from the homes of Israeli citizens within the pre-1967 borders of the state. Particularly vicious events are sometimes reported, in relatively subdued and peripheral ways, in Haaretz, the only respectable newspaper in the country, and also, rarely, on the evening news that everyone watches. Still, even peace-oriented, left-wing Israelis often express shock when I tell them of witnessing violent attacks by settlers and soldiers on Palestinian shepherds and peasant farmers. It is as if that kind of knowledge were pushed away from conscious awareness, or as if the knowledge itself exists somewhere in the mind but knowledge of that knowledge does not. (Classical Indian logicians claim that one doesn’t know something unless one consciously knows that one knows it.) In short, much of the population of Israel has lived through the last five decades in varying modes and intensities of denial. Here’s a typical example. One night in late July I slept in the Bedouin village of Ras al-‘Ain in the southern Jordan Valley. Adjacent to the village, in a fiercely hot, arid zone, a cool, clean stream flows down from the hill country. The villagers need that water to survive and to sustain their herds of sheep and goats; each day they fill up five or six tankers, hitched to tractors, from the stream. Israeli settlers from the illegal outposts nearby are doing whatever they can, including committing vicious attacks, to block Palestinians’ access to the water; the goal is to dry them out so that they will have to leave their homes. The army, the police, the Civil Administration, and the military courts are all colluding with the settlers in their ongoing minibattle with the shepherds. Our activists are by the stream, night and day, to protect the Palestinians as best we can. We spent an hour or two that evening fending off knife-wielding, masked young thugs from the settler outposts who were trying to block a lone tractor and its attached tanker from bringing water to the village. Often Israeli settlers from the older settlements, who may be less prone to violence than those from the new outposts and are usually Orthodox, come to picnic by the stream. A friend of mine, a long-standing member of the Israeli peace camp and an Orthodox Jew—and thus adept in the settlers’ language—spoke to two of these middle-aged settlers about the situation in Ras al-‘Ain. “What?” they said. “You mean there is violence here? That’s impossible.” A total surprise—for people living in the heart of the West Bank, on stolen Palestinian land. I don’t think they were pretending to be shocked. Mainstream Israelis living in Tel Aviv or Jerusalem are even less likely to grasp the reality of systematic state violence directed against innocent Palestinians when news of it somehow filters into the public sphere. Simply stated, they don’t want to know, or maybe they don’t much care.

21 August 2024

[bluebelly-sun-serpentine]

August 28th, 2024

A couple days ago a fire started on the ridge above the big grove of eucalypts (picture number 4). Thankfully it was spotted quickly, a mild wind was blowing in the opposite direction, it had recently rained, and wildfire response resources were not deployed elsewhere; I watched the water tankers hovering over the spot for a while, grateful for everything, but especially for the fact that fire prefers to go up hill rather than down, and that this fire started in the ridge rather than the canyon. Eucalypts are not native to my area, and greatly increase the risk of out-of-control wildfires. They drop a ton of highly-flammable litter – tannin rich leaves that also leave an acidic, nutrient-poor soil few other plants can survive. So most of what's down in that grove is (also highly flammable) poison oak. Worse, if fire reaches the overstory, the whole thing can go up in what is basically one big explosion.

What you can see peeking through the afternoon fog in the first picture is over a century of cow-forward fire suppression; non-native grasses on (what is now public) land grazed by privately owned cows (damaging the watershed and increasing the risk of catastrophic fire in the long run). What you see in the bottom photo is an example of a more modern form of fire suppression: fire goats raised a couple counties away are hired to graze this field and clear small growth (mostly poison oak, since that's the most opportunistic plant around) annually in mid-summer, and it's mowed somewhat regularly. There have been attempts to thin or remove the eucalypts in the canyon entirely, but they are stubborn resprouters and starting from scratch poses its own dangers.

I think it's unlikely there won't be a catastrophic fire here in the next 50 years. There's just too much fuel. We just need an unseasonable lightning storm, a bad fire season with first responders deployed elsewhere, reckless smokers in the gully at night with the winds blowing west. Every year I prepare myself for this possibility. We've had wet winters and hot, dry summers, and that's probably only going to get worse. Why would I stay here?

I don't know. I can walk down into the canyon and the eucalypts, unaware of their own malignancy, yawn and groan as they bend to touch one another in the wind. I get to watch coyotes hunting for wild plums in the evening; the plums aren't native but I'd guess the coyotes don't know that, either. My neighbors plant gardens you couldn't grow somewhere without this much warmth and sea fog. Crows harass red-tailed hawks in the few redwoods planted here to evoke a recent, unreachable past. I know where the nearest great horned owl lives. I know what the arrival and departure of naked ladies means, which oaks are which and which I love most, when thimbleberries might arrive, how to scare a mountain lion, where to go to find cool elders and willows when I'm feeling hot and low, how to tell toyon from everyone impersonating toyon, when the newts migrate. One one side of the ridge I can hear the train screeching unmistakably, but if I hop over into the next watershed it's gone, replaced by bickering scrub jays, happy dogs, children playing near the creek far below me. Would you know how to leave?

[bekolxeram]

No, OMG! I'm so sorry if my ask came off this way. I was genuinely curious if there was any way this could work, hence the question. I used to believe it was Tommy who flew the plane, but once I saw your explanation, I actually subscribed to your view. It does seem more believable. I wish it was Tommy, but I think you're right, it wouldn't make much sense. I was just curious if Tim and the writers were to confirm in the future that it was indeed Tommy who flew that plane, whether it would be at least somewhat believable. That was the purpose of my ask. I didn't mean to disregard your theories. I'm sorry. I LOVE your aviation analyses; I even sent you a coffee from the Kinley cafe 🫣 I hope you don't stop. Whenever I see you posted something, I have this huge smile on my face because I know I'm about to read a banger of a post. It's all so interesting!

Noooo, it’s not you. I actually really appreciate your asks. And thank you for the Kinley Café order, you have no idea how happy it made me.

I don’t get asks often, but since the 8x02 title reveal I’ve gotten a few, all aviation related. I’ve been… honestly, elated. I have the chance to yap about my passion and do deep dives on stuff that never crossed my mind before. Sometimes I get carried away, I’m very much incapable of being normal about planes. Ever since I saw those planes in bts photos, my brain has been bustling with ideas, and at times I click rb/reply before thinking because I get too excited. I would worry later that I might’ve forced my theories on others without being asked about them. But it’s not like they’re harmful rhetorics or antagonistic hot takes, just an info dump about a lot of planes. So people can ignore and I’ll move on.

I especially enjoyed doing research on that C-130 in 2x14, I learned a lot about aerial firefighting in the process. I didn’t pay attention back then, but I noticed the lack of airplanes when Tommy was giving Buck the tour in 7x04, so I went back and found the line from the TV reporter saying it was CAL FIRE.

I suspect that line was shoved in there last minute, because some technical consultants told them firefighting air tankers are never used in an urban environment, the weight of water/fire retardant can flatten cars, houses, it has gotten multiple people killed. I can think of more instances where the emergency seems unrealistic at first, but then there’s a passing line making it kind of possible, just exaggerated. I know we always joke about Tim writing soap opera level surreal emergencies, but I feel like all the other people involved in the making of this show don’t get enough credit, especially those designing the opening big disasters.

I’ve noticed multiple times that shortly after posting stuff about Tommy’s pilot career, a post would pop up in the tag asking people to stop obsessing over timeline. I paid them no mind before, they were probably not personal I thought, a subsection of the fandom does have the habit to use Tommy’s age to call him a predator. But this time, well, my theory was mentioned by name, so they were talking about me.

I can handle bad takes or even attacks from the toxic part of the fandom, I don’t value their opinion at all. Seeing rb after rb from people on our side of the fandom, some of whom I admire, basically telling me to stop being so obsessive over realism, being compared to fans who nitpick certain actors’ accents, tattoos, grooming choices, that one stings harder than I thought.

I know I’m being thin-skinned, I’m making everything about me, I’m fully aware that I’m a disaster. But I find myself hesitating to answer the other aviation related asks in my inbox, one of them particularly asking about the possibility of certain scenario in real life. I’m just not sure my input is welcomed here. I have this fear of unknowingly annoying people with my over-enthusiasm. I feel like that kid who keeps yapping about trains at school that everyone secretly hates again.

I just really, really love aviation. I thoroughly enjoy uniting these 2 things that I love and maybe learn new things from it. I don’t mean to impose. I was very excited this morning when I received asks in my inbox, but now it feels like being slammed back onto the ground, and it’s not a good feeling. I don’t know, maybe it’s time to uncouple these 2 things.

[sepdet]

can

can we talk about the fact that in the past two decades we've had to convert increasingly large passenger jets to firefighting airtankers

we're up to DC-10 jumbos and Chinook helicopters:

I've seen that one overhead. The largest helitanker in the world, it flies at night when jets can't.

Seriously. You have to see what these guys do.

(The fire retardant is 80% water and 20% ammonium phosphate plus thickeners to make it stick, basically a sponge made out of fertilizer that releases water when heated. Nontoxic according to the US Fire Service, but of course too much fertilizer isn't great for waterways. Then again, neither are the mudslides when these overly hot fires kill the subsurface microbes.)

This is tanker 910, the legend, doing a drop near me:

There are a lot of tanker 910/911 videos on YouTube, if you ever feel like watching insane airmanship.

[eretzyisrael]

1/ 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗼𝗻 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗵𝘂𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿 𝗶𝗻 𝗡𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗵 𝗚𝗮𝘇𝗮, 𝗮𝗰𝗰𝗼𝗿𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝗮 𝗚𝗮𝘇𝗮𝗻 𝗹𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲, 𝗶𝘀 𝗴𝗿𝗲𝗲𝗱, 𝘀𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝗳𝗿𝗮𝘂𝗱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗳𝘁.

Hamza al-Masri posted a message today, 15 July, received from a North Gazan, which he says explains much of the food shortages and high prices in North Gaza.

𝗪𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗿, for instance - he says the charity organizing water distribution had an agreement with the donors that they would operate 10 water tankers, but they only operate one (and 10 boosters, whatever that means) that stops in 10 places, emptying just one load. The rest, they steal. He says their profit can be $1500 a day.

Another example he gives is that well-known families have taken control of red peppers, pressed olives and olive oil, which they store in their homes, selling a 50% watered down version of the staple Gazan hot red pepper sauce for 35 shekels ($9.65) a measure.

2/ Another example is the theft of the trucks with fruit and vegetables aid, and selling them: 

1kg of stolen onion - 180 shekels ($50)

1kg of tomatoes - 60 shekels ($16.50)

He says these are the same people who previously stole the flour and all the aid.

Illustration:

𝗪𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗶𝗻 𝗡𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗵 𝗚𝗮𝘇𝗮

A private water company fills water jugs in North Gaza, funded by Kuwaiti donors.

TikTok timestamp: 2 hours ago

[volivolition]

ok so. just curious but omg what are your favourite Unus Annus moments/quotes?

We rewatch compilation vids of unus annus vids alllll the time because Fuck we miss it so much BFNDSNDNDJS and some that have gotten burnt into our head recently areee:

Like that Whole first video with the sex toys. but especially the part where a guy just shows up at Mark's door and they're in fucking bdsm gear and cat ears eating breakfast FHDJXJDJD

The video with them making a sensory deprivation tank. "Mark, what's the main ingredients in sensorary deprivation tanker?" lives rent free in our head tbh we quote that so much. Same with that bit where Ethan accidentally unplugs the tub lmao "WHere's the drain??" ".... By your feet." ".... What do I do with it :)?"

This one's like HARD to find in compilation vids but I swear at one point Ethan was doing something with a knife and Mark was like, verbatim, "If you cut me I bleed oooouuutttt :)!!!" And the AMOUNT OF TIMES WE QUOTE THAT ONE. IS SO MUCH AUSJSJSJSDJXJXJDJ

Other moments that live in our brain rent free include but r not limited to That time Ethan was singing Mark's songs in the car ("I don't gonna VOOOOOOOTE"), That time Ethan started singing fuckin Eminem out of nowhere, and the egg toss scene where Mark threatens to kill Ethan (THIS one we can find a video of easily here it is). Oh also that one bit where Ethan was fucking.... Just talking nonsense which narrows it down very little actually. but he was saying shit like "Have You Ever Been Bitten by a Frog? Have you ever been bitten by a Log? Have you ever been bitten by a Dog? Have you ever been bitten,,, By The Fog??" that scene fucking kills us FJFJDJDJFJD

-Anti/Tulip

HI HELLO!! (this is a month old im so sorry hkjh) I ALSO MISS IT HKJGH it was such a good concept, i love the meaningfulness of life and death behind the channel, contrasted with the silliest fuckin videos imaginable, i thought it was so fun?? let's try new things! let's be weird and wild EVERYDAY!! it doesn't need to be complex, we can just shoot the shit because theres still worth in the mundane moments, and our time on earth is limited anddd my god i think its so nice hgkjh <33

THE FIRST VIDEO IS SO FUCKING ICONIC HJHGKF to think of making breakfast with sex toys in the first place, the execution, the GUY WHO SHOWS UP AND THEIR FUCKING PANIC THATS SO FUNNY HKJHG

QUOTES YOU CAN HEAR AS YOU READ THEM KJHGG, "Mark, what's the main ingredient! In sepfruary desperation tanker :)" unplugging the tub like, Ethan oh no hkjhg… Ethan noooo…

i don't think i remember that one but my god hkjhg i will bleed ooooouuuttttt :)!!

I LOVE THE SINGING IT'S DEAR TO ME hkjg suddenly just "TOAST!" in the middle of the lyrics like HGKJH I DON'T THINK THATS RIGHT BUT I HAVENT DONE ENOUGH OF HEIST TO DISPUTE IT HKGJH

"knees weak, arms are heavy, mom's spaghetti... HES NERVOUS,,!!!!"

"I get to kill you now!! I'm going to kill you!! :)" HAKJSH THE THREATENING AURA...

I KNOW THAT LAST ETHAN QUOTE BUT I DONT REMEMBER FROM WHICH VIDEO HKJHG but i know the exact intonation he's saying it in hkjhg

personally enjoyed like, basically every time they sang, and also like. so many ethan moments hkjh i was an unus for real <33

i was still singing the disclaimer song for like, MONTHS after unus annus ended hkjh "Don't try this at home~ If you do you might dieee~!!" and the dance of italy still makes me laugh and the drive to camp with vocal warm ups were REALLY FUN, reminds me of my choir days <33 also "diggin my friend a grave~!! DIGGIN MY FRIEND A GRAVE~!!!!!!"

THE DRUM DATE DO YALL REMEMBER THE DRUM DATE?? theres a point where it actually sounds surprisingly good and im INCREDIBLY FOND OF THEM JAMMING OUT hfhj

this clip of ethan in the hot tub burbling is me whenever im in ANY water source ever hfjgj

im also fond of the real sensory deprivation tank experience, that was really fun getting to see the real deal compared to the. bathtub hkjhg

"Siri, call us daddy." "I couldn't find a father in your contacts" [TWIN LOOKS OF AGHAST SHOCK] FUCKGIJGN????? OH MY GOD... FUCK, MAN HGKJH

"a ski... skee... skipple... skiiiir... skirtle... skrittle... A SKITTLE!! no wait..." <- BIG FUCKIN MOOD HKGJH

i think the last video (other than the stream) that i rewatched from them was Ethan Teaches Gymnastics because i really do love just Ethan showing off all the moves he knows. COMPETENT GYMNAST!! THE BACKFLIP GUY HKJGH <333 the part where ethan talks about having to see how many fingers his instructor was holding up and mark flipping him off was really funny to me hgkjh that video holds a place in my heart hkjgh

ohhh theres probably so much more but these are what i remember hkjh <33 thank you for asking this, and thank you for sharing your favorites too hehehe!!! :3 <33 <22 i love reminiscing about this, i miss this channel jhkjgh <333 memento mori!!! :D

[lark-in-ink]

So yesterday while I was driving down to the social security office I had to stop to get gas and while I was pumping the gas the pump got jammed in the open position and I accidentally pulled it out while I was trying to figure out what was going on and I got gasoline all over the car and myself so when I finally got home I stripped off my clothes and put them in a bucket with dish soap to soak and then when I woke up in the morning I had to drain them and put in fresh hot water and washing soda for soak #2 and then I went and bought more gas (because I stopped after pumping a mere 3 gallons at the Defective Pump gas station) and began my usual 2 hours in to my one in person day at work. HOWEVER, when my navigation app did not tell me to take my usual turnoff from rt 495 to rt 3, I did not heed the warning (because I was mad and untrusting towards it because it decided that sending me down an unlit back country road that connected a college campus to a cluster of cheap bars was a great way to shave 5 minutes off a drive on a saturday night) and SO. I took my usual turnoff. Unbeknownst to me, perhaps 10 minutes earlier there was a collision involving a pickup truck, a tesla, and a gigantic tanker truck, and rt. 3 was covered with 'several thousand' gallons of fuel oil, so I was stuck there for two hours before I could reach the next turn-off and take a different route to work, and then I finally got to work and had a short day, and then had to drive home with rt 3 STILL closed (on account of the several thousand gallons of fuel oil taking awhile to clean up) which meant that every normal alternate route was ALSO jam packed, so I had to trust my stupid navigation app to lead me along unlit backroads again in order to make it home in 3 hours instead of 4 or 5, and then I finally got home and it was time to do a 3rd 12-hour presoak of my gasoline-infesting clothing from yesterday.

Anyway none of this would have happened if there was a goddamned train

[sleekervae]

A Pirate's Life | Pirate Radio [1]

So... I fell down a Sandman rabbit hole... and then I fell down the Tom Sturridge rabbit hole. And then through him I found my new favourite movie, Pirate Radio (aka The Boat that Rocked) and I seriously recommend ya'll go check it out! Anyway, I fell in love with Carl -- he's just the softest little bean 🥺 -- and I was compelled to write something just to get it out of my system. I might write for the sandman in the future too but for now... please enjoy this baby pirate being the sweetest thing since cherry pie.

If you haven't watched the movie, I suggest watching it before reading this. And if you haven't, I tried to give as much context as possible for everything. But you should still watch the movie because it's fucking amazing!

Thank you for coming to my ted talk...

Pairing: Carl x OC Fem Reader

Summary: Young Carl forges a profound friendship with the bitter tart of the Radio Rock tanker.

Summer 1966

Sharp shivers raced down Carl's spine, his heaviest coat had provided him little to no protection against the sloshing, violent waters that splattered across his ferry ride. And yet, being inside the rickety old tanker was little relief. What more could he expect from a tanker ship, though? He only prayed that Quentin, his god father, was good enough to maybe provide him with a hot meal or a cup of tea.

The heavy metal door swung open with a vile squeal and Quentin led his god son down the metal stairs, minding him to watch his step should he slip in his soaked wellies. He was introduced to the entire team, or just barely so, as they all continued to go about their tasks while giving the lad fleeting glances.

The star of their enterprise, The Count, held his own charismatic charm that Carl found himself envious of, while his new roomie, Thick Kevin, was as delightfully daft as a door nail. Dave was a partier, if not unorthodox in some of the things he did for sheer amusement. Felicity seemed sweet, if not a little overwhelmed from the excess of male energy in her constance presence.

And then there was Sally. Carl didn't even spot her at first; she was curled up in the back of the sitting room with a wool blanket thrown over her legs, her nose buried in a book, and a cigarette balanced between her lips.

"Sitting in the corner and being delightfully antisocial is our vinyl librarian, Sally," She hardly looked up when Quentin called her up to introduce her. She didn't see much to be impressed by anyway; the boy was lankier than a toothpick, slouched and jittery with his fringe practically curtaining over his eyes.

Despite her aloofness, young Carl couldn't help but take a second -- well, fourth -- glance at Sally. She had a face that he could liken to a pixie, and it was difficult to pick off whether or not she was older or younger than him. Regardless, she exuded a confidence and maturity that was way beyond years for most girls her age. She was easily the most strikingly beautiful thing he had laid eyes on -- though considering his lack of experience with women, that wasn't saying much.

Carl glanced aimlessly around the ship, quite taken with the extensive radio booths for the boys' segments as Kevin led him down the deck to the room they would be sharing.

"And this room belongs to Nick," Kevin pointed out, "And Felicity has the room next to us. I like it because she's the quietest when the girls come to visit. You get more sleep that way with quiet neighbours,"

Carl's lip quivered a little as he spoke up, "W-What about Sally?" he asked.

"She stays with Felicity, but she's not a lez, if that's what you're thinking," Kevin shook his head, "Dave made that assumption once and he still has the scar to prove it,"

"Scar?" Carl cocked an eyebrow as Simon came to pass them in the hall.

"She clocked him," he pointed to his own chin, "Right there,"

"Not that he didn't have it coming," The older Irishmen chuckled heartily at the mention of their resident book worm, "Lemme' put it to ya this way, boy-o; don't get any ideas about Sally. She's off limits to all of us,"

"How come?" Carl asked.

Kevin leaned in close, as though to whisper a secret the walls themselves couldn't hear, "She sleeps with a screwdriver under her pillow,"

"She's not all sour lemons, though," Simon assured the startled boy, "Once you get to know her, she's a right good time. Pulled a hell of a prank on Angus a while back,"

"He didn't get any scars," Kevin informed sadly.

Regardless of warnings from all the lads, Carl found himself having quieter moments with Sally. He was taken aback when she greeted him on his first morning when they passed each other in the hall, and try as he might his voice was caught in his throat for too long to utter anything more than a simple 'hi'. More over they'd run into each other in the galley to fetch some tea. She's ask him how he was doing and he's reply with a jovial 'fine', as would she when he asked her the same. It seemed though that their conversation never spanned more than those few exchanged in the first weeks of Carl's stay.

Within the first two weeks of Carl's stay, the boys had invited a ferry of girls to come and visit for the weekend. The ever so young and innocent boy stood out like a sore thumb in the sea of his overly horny shipmates.

That was when he ran into his first real spot of trouble with Sally. Somehow, Dave had convinced him it would be good for him to pop his cherry quickly, and the older lad had devised a scheme to make the boy a man by tricking his own date into make believing that Carl was actually Dave making love to her. It was a long and arduous story, but Dave was convinced that just keeping the lights off would be enough to get them by.

Needless to say, Carl was shaking; the poor boy was so nervous! And Dave's pep talk in the loo did very little to calm him as he stripped off his pants and hurried down the hall, praying he wouldn't run into anybody.

Carl peeked into the room, finding it pitch black indeed. He slipped inside, assured that this was indeed Dave's room. However, his blood ran cold when he heard a familiar, feminine voice.

"Felicity?" and before he could register what he'd done, the lights flipped on, and he found himself stark bollock naked in front of a mortified Sally.

Needless to say, she screamed bloody fucking murder at the sight of him and Carl followed suit. Of course he had to get the wrong fucking door!

"What the fuck are you doing!?" her thick South Shields accent hollered at him, though she kept her eyes averted to the wall covered in various film and music posters.

Carl wished more than anything to have the ground open up and swallow him whole, put him out of his fucking misery. He tried to cover his modesty as best as he could with his hands, "I-I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, Sally! Wrong room!" he babbled on with his apologies, trying to explain but tripping over his words more than a drunk at three in the morning

Sally, angered and embarrassed beyond anything, grabbed the first thing she could -- which happened to be a towel -- and tossed it at him so he could cover up, pointing sharply to her door, "Get the fuck out, Carl!"

"I'm sorry!" Carl begged as he backed out for the door, his eyes then training to the pillow on her bunk, "Please -- please don't stab me!"

Sally's hand flew to her mouth when he finally exited her room, her skin crawling and lungs gasping to catch a breath. She slapped at the rod to her bunk bed, in the back of her mind suspecting that Dave had something to do with this, "Fuck me!"

Only seconds later did the door open again, but much to Sally's relief it was only Felicity. She looked just as gobsmacked as Sally, "Did I hear screams? What happened?"

Sally simply shook her head, "Nothing, nothing. There was just an seventh grader in hear trying to find his willy,"

The next morning was humiliating, needless to say. Carl kept his head down best his could, steeping his tea and rolling his eyes as Dave went on and on about last night's sexual escapade. And though nobody spoke of it, he could tell from the glances and sniggers the boys were exchanging that they'd heard about what had happened with Sally. Carl wasn't sure what was worse; the fact that he'd gotten the wrong room or that he was about to dupe another hapless woman in the same span. He made a memo to himself, though: never ever again would he listen to Dave.

The chatter in the dining area came to a stall when Sally entered; bundled up in a turtle neck, plaid jacket and her grey slacks. Her dark long hair was tied messily atop her head and her latest read clenched tightly in her hand. Despite her clear irritation, she continued to be so effortlessly beautiful.

She inhaled sharply as she paused in front of the boys, glaring briefly at the portly Dave with a look that could've murdered him on the spot.

Kevin, ever so daft, proceeded to ask, "Sleep well, Sally?" Mark sniggered next to him, while Sally rolled her eyes and rushed to the kitchen to make herself some tea. She stopped momentarily when she saw Carl was already there, and the look on the poor boy's face was a grimace that begged for death -- or to be literally anywhere else in the world but here.

She was silent as she grabbed her usual mug and waited for the kettle. Carl seemed to be frozen on the spot, staring down into his tea mug and praying that the kettle would hurry and heat the water. He could feel her eyes on him, piercing, judging, probably calling him every name in the book in her mind. When she opened her mouth, he fully expected her to to lambast him again for last night, though instead, the words that flew from her mouth were sympathetic.

"Simon told me what happened," she said quietly, "So last night wasn't entirely your fault,"

Carl glanced at her from the corner of his eye, unsure whether or not she was putting him on. Though she didn't strike him as the type to laud him on for a laugh, her eyes were genuine and the corners of her lips were almost -- almost upturned in a tiny, sympathetic grin.

"So... so you're not angry, then?" he asked cautiously.

"No, I'm traumatized," she assured in short, "You're a git for having listened to Dave in the first place. But -- the blame isn't entirely on you,"

Carl nodded slowly, "Oh. Well... thanks for understanding, I guess,"

Sally then leaned over on the counter top, resting her elbows on the wood as she glanced ups t him curiously, "Can I ask you a question, though?"

"Sure," Carl shrugged, glancing at the tea pot once again. What the hell was it taking so long for?

"Did you... why did you think I was gonna stab you?" she asked, her voice just a key above a whisper.

Despite his pale complexion, Carl felt his face go red -- for maybe the tenth time in twelve hours, "Well... K-Kev told me about the screwdriver you keep... under your pillow,"

Much to his surprise, Sally began to chuckle, "Kevin told you that?" she was flabbergasted at the notion.

He tried to get himself to relax; she was smiling after all, the tension within her had de-escalated, "You don't have one?"

"I made that quip to Mark so he'd stop hounding at me. Not like it worked but... I have the door locked and a bunk mate," she explained, "Besides, Quentin made it very clear; any twat makes us girls uncomfortable then they walk the plank -- so to speak,"

"Fair," Carl agreed, "I'm really, really sorry, though. It won't ever happen again,"

"Damn right it won't," as she spoke, the kettle finally began to whistle. She reached to take it off the stove top and poured herself a cup, "Because I do like you. It'd be a shame to throw you overboard,"

In his heart he knew it was only a joke, but he couldn't help the shiver that ran down his spine as she took her mug and book and went for the table. Despite his fear, he called out for her again, and she turned on her heel swiftly.

"What're you reading?" he asked.

Sally paused momentarily, glancing at the cover of her new novel. No one on this boat -- not even Felicity -- had ever asked her about her books.

"Dune," she replied, "It's a science fiction thriller in a futuristic desert. It's got giant worms and shit,"

"Is it good?" Carl inquired.

"So far, yeah," she replied, "If you want, um, you can borrow it when I finish,"

Carl felt himself begin to smile, and his frigid exterior began to relax, "Sure. Yeah, I'd like that,"

"Cool," Sally nodded, sporting her own small grin, "Enjoy your tea, Carl,"

She went to take her seat at the table between Simon and Kevin, and Mark being Mark, he smirked with giddy at her.

"So Sally, I have to ask -- what were you doing with your lights off last night anyhow?" he asked.

The boys all turned in her directions, including Carl as he still kept stationing with the kettle. Sally sipped her tea idly before replying with the most fitting response.

"I was tryna get to sleep early so I wouldn't have to listen to you twats measure your cocks between the walls,"

A couple of weeks had passed, and Carl and Sally were getting more and more comfortable around each other. Sally found that Carl was more enjoyable to talk to out of the other lads, and more often than not she'd find herself seeking him out between takes in the broadcast. They chatted about everything; how they grew up to the things they hated most in school.

And Carl had learned quite a lot about Sally, more than the boys on the ship had learned. She had just turned the ripe ol' age of eighteen, grew up in Newcastle, and she was invited to come work on the tanker so she could escape her morally oppressive and abusive father who had more of a taste for mulled wine than a steady job. Neither of them were ultimately sure if they were being paid or not, but regardless they found life on Radio Rock to be all the more swell compared to their lives on the mainland.

Just as she'd promised, when Sally was done reading Dune, she passed it off to Carl to peak his interest. So he would take his torch beneath his blanket and read, becoming truly engrossed in the vast landscapes and vivid scenes of war, destruction, and love. And when morning came he would sit with Sally at the end of the long dining table, and they'd chat on and on about the story, and Sally was happy to answer any questions he had.

This didn't mean however that she herself had become an open book to Carl. Despite their blooming friendship she still kept him at an arms' length, and Carl was perplexed as to why when he had practically told her everything about him.

It was a gloomy autumn night when Quentin had called Carl up to come see him in his quarters -- because of course he had the nicest living quarters out of everyone. With Carl's eighteenth birthday coming up, Quentin had decided to gift him the gift of a good time -- with his niece. And of course, the shy but excitable lad jumped at the opportunity.

When he told Sally about it, she feigned her happiness because it was his birthday and she could tell that he was beaming like a kid on Christmas. However, the notion of it all turned her off -- after all it seemed like a bargain deal for a girl to come aboard a ship with her rich uncle, and all she'd have to do is have dinner with a stranger. There really was no promise of anything for Carl here. Nevertheless, Sally chose to keep her opinions to herself and wished him well as he dashed off to find something to wear.

Sally meanwhile continued to go through the boxes of older records, organizing the older pieces from the newer ones for The Count's segment. John approached her from behind, tapping her gently on the shoulder whilst he tried to untangle his headphones from around his neck.

"What's the crack with him?" he asked.

"Oh, the boy's becoming a man -- for real this time,"

Carl had put on his nicest shirt and a sweater over top, and his heart raced so quickly he feared it would leap out of his heart. His mind was racing, wondering what this girl, Marianne, would be like. Was she pretty? Would she like him? What if she thought him laughable, small or not even worth her time?

Regardless of his worries, he exited out of his room and made his way up to Quentin's living quarters. He passed Sally on his way up, she was on her way down with a box of old records clutched in her arms.

"You look nice," she commented quickly.

"Thanks. I'm just going up to dinner," he replied, trying to play it off as casually as possible.

Sally refrained from biting her tongue, "Oh, with Quentin's niece? Was that tonight?"

"Yeah," he glanced down at the hastily kept together box, "what's all this?"

"Off season shite," she nodded swiftly, continuing to trot down the stairs, "Good luck with your date, yeah?"

Carl, being ever the young gentleman he was, tried to chase after her, "Hey, you need a hand?"

"No! No I'm good," she assured, stopping momentarily, "Compliment her shoes,"

"Excuse me?" He cocked an eyebrow.

"Compliment her shoes. We like when boys notice our effort," she explained.

His eyes then averted to Sally's shoes. She was wearing a simple pair of converse, dark blue, worn down in the sole and laces. And yet they still complimented her dark slacks and jumper quite well. Her smile was kind, yet blunt, as she trotted down the well and Carl leaned over the rail, watching her disappear into the hull of the ship.

The night was going splendidly well, and from the moment Carl first laid eyes on Marianne, he was a sworn believer in the trope of love at first sight. And despite their being chaperoned by Quentin, the older gent was shockingly lenient when it came to giving Carl some alone time with his niece.

However, things inevitably took a turn when Dave became involved. From openly flirting with Marianne, to gobbing off about the condom Carl had sneaked away in his pocket, Carl was sure that he would strike out yet again. And then he was sure he was safe again when he tossed the condom out of the porthole, assuring his date that he was attracted her regardless of whether she would put out with him.

But the final blow came when Carl left her alone for not even ten minutes in search of another condom -- only to come back and find that Dave had swooped in and knicked Marianne out from under his nose. Regardless to say, he was crushed.

Sally wandered back into the studio at some point during the evening, exhausted but relieved to have finished moving the show's older inventory. She wasn't surprised to find Harold or John, John after all was setting up his late night news segment. However, she paused when she spotted Carl sitting alone in the sound booth, staring into space glumly.

She turned to the boys awaiting an answer, and all Harold had to say was 'Dave' before she could get the hint. She shook her head, seething to wonder just what it was that pompous pig had done now. Regardless, she didn't want to leave the poor kid alone like this. So she went into the kitchen to grab a tin of Bourbon biscuits and some chocolate milk. Regardless of whether it was a tempestuous break up or a bad day in general, chocolate always had a knack for making Sally feel better.

Music from Mark's current segment continued to play in the background. Sally approached Carl slowly, placing the plate of biscuits down before him and the glass of milk next to it. She sat down beside him, not that he bothered to glance her way. They sat in silence together, Carl was unsure whether he should spill his guts to Sally and Sally was unsure of what to say to him. She didn't ask him if he was okay, she knew fully well he wasn't, and she also knew she was going to tear a strip off of Dave in the morning for being such a twat.

And so she took a biscuit, dunked it in the milk, and took a bite; glancing his way momentarily before she opened her book and began to read -- or, pretended to read, anyway.

The cycle continued for a minute or two. Sally ate her biscuit, skimmed a few lines, and looked up at Carl now and again to gauge him. He glanced at the plate now and again, his resolve coming to a break as he swiftly reached over and took a biscuit. It was hard for Sally to contain her smile as she watched him eat. He gladly accepted the milk she offered him, laughing quietly when the end of the sopping biscuit she dipped nearly fell into her lap.

Mark watched them from his booth, the cigarette sizzling between his lips as he watched the pair smile together. Not that he would ever admit it, but he found them kind of sweet together. A coy smile dwindled at his lips as he switched his vinyl to the next track.

Eating biscuits like little children, Carl was surprised when Sally slung an arm around his shoulders to give him a hug, and she promised him that everything was going to be okay. He didn't feel alright, but he felt better just being with Sally. And she couldn't complain either, despite his demure and naive attitude, the lad was alright company. A breath of fresh air, one could say, from the booming testosterone-filled shenanigans of the other boys.

[starlitangels]

Marked and Claimed

Imperium AU AU... enjoy! 2.3k words

CW: non-consensual trancing, biting, and feeding; also blood

—

Ignoring the commotion outside, I stretched my aching wrists and looked at my progress at scrubbing the floor of the Spire’s throne room. How long had I been doing this day in and day out? One year? Two? Ten? No... it couldn’t have been that long.

Could it?

I shook my head and went back to scrubbing.

Quinn’s fangs gleaming in the darkness. David’s sharp teeth tearing into him while I took care of the pair of cronies.

Quinn breaking away from David. His fangs sinking into my throat.

Darkness...

Then the Spire. Queen-Imperial Sofia’s cruel look when I regained consciousness to the Healer sealing my wounds up.

I tried not to blame David. It wasn’t his fault. Quinn torturing my friend wasn’t David’s fault. But sometimes... sometimes I couldn’t help but blame him. If he hadn’t had eyes for Queen Sofia’s son’s unempowered partner, maybe Quinn wouldn’t have tortured my friend. Maybe David wouldn’t have died. Maybe it would have been me instead. Maybe he’d be the one kneeling on the cold, hard floor with a large sponge and his magic muted. It was hard to mute a shifter or vampire’s magic, but possible.

I shifted my weight to make my knees ache less and sighed.

A tone dinged over the comms system, indicating an announcement. I curled in on myself, waiting for Damien’s sharp voice to order the Enforcers around again. Maybe... no. It was too much to hope that he’d order the servants to release their hold on my magic and let me fight. He knew I’d turn on him the moment I had my wolf back.

“Hello, Imperium,” a low, gravelly voice said. “Not a fittin’ name for long, but... it’ll do for now.” The accent was distinctly Southern. “My name’s Sam. I’m speakin’ to you from the royal quarters of the Imperium Spire.” My jaw dropped. Someone had breached all that security to get to Damien? Or was this Sam lying to freak out the fighters outside? “And your ex-king is currently lickin’ the dirt from between my boot treads.”

“What the hell?” I whispered, looking up at the speakers, as if I could see this Southern Sam through them. The servants who had been supervising me all did the same, as surprised as I was.

“And those of you who still have a view screen intact, feel free to watch,” he continued.

He kept going on, and I realized he was a Mass-Maker vampire. He declared himself King Samuel Collins of Dahlia, inviting other Mass-Makers to vy for territory outside the capital.

The servants who had been supervising me all rushed out of the throne room. None of them even ordering me to follow them back to my cell in the basement.

After a moment, I felt my magic flood back into my body. They were out of range.

I didn’t immediately move to get up and run away. I would have liked to, but my knees were so stiff from kneeling on the cold floor that they wouldn’t obey me without warming them up and stretching them out.

Still, I finished scrubbing my spot on the floor out of sheer, stubborn pride before hurling the stupid sponge back into the bucket of dirty, soapy water at full force. Once the bucket stopped wobbling from how hard the sponge struck it, I started stretching. Slowly, to not aggravate my poor, stiff joints.

Once the ache had eased, I pushed myself to my feet. “Okay,” I muttered. “Just like riding a bike.”

I bent forward. Arms out and ready to land on all-fours once my hands were clawed paws, and reached for my magic for the first time in... who knew how long, now. My Threads shuddered. They were stiff too from being completely unused for so long.

“C’mon, Tanker,” I growled. “Come on!”

I tried to shift again. My Threads crackled like old, dried out rubber bands.

“C’mon. You can do this. You can get outta here. Maybe Ash and Milo are still alive—” I ground my teeth. “I have to get home.”

I yanked on my Threads again, burning my Core hot.

“C’mon. C’mon, c’mooon—”

Zip!

A hand closed around my throat and I was slammed into the wall. “An’ just what do you think you’re doin’, darlin’?” That same Southern voice. Full of condescension. I gagged, scrabbling with broken nails at skin too tough for me to pierce, weakened as I was. “That piece-a jewelry around your ankle marks you as one of the criminal slaves. You try to shift, and you might damn near crush your ankle bones.”

His hand around my throat disappeared. I sagged to all fours and gasped for air.

With a clang, the ankle tracker’s pressure disappeared.

“Wh... why?” I choked out, looking up at him. “Why let me go?”

He scoffed. “I’m not. You’re a shifter. I recognize the aura—and that tattoo on your arm. Shaw Pack’s symbol, right?”

I looked at the moon—full, with a crescent carved out of one side. Tattooed to my deltoid when my wolf manifested. Claimed by the Shaw Pack. Gabe had been a good man in a bad world, trying to keep his wolves safe as best he could. But he’d had my arm tattooed with his claim before I could say “no” or “wait”. A blessing disguised as a curse at the time, I supposed.

“Yeah,” I replied.

The vampire’s silver gaze bored into me. “Hmm. Shaw Pack’s—mostly—still alive,” he said.

“If you’re not letting me go,” I ground out around gulping for air, “why remove the tracker?”

“I’m Sam,” he said.

“I heard,” I retorted.

“What do they call you?”

“Tank,” I replied.

He raised a brow. “What kinda person names their child ‘Tank’?”

“I never said that was my name,” I retorted, pushing to my feet finally. “You asked what they call me. And they call me Tank.”

Sam looked amused. “Hmm. And why’s that?”

I looked at my ragged tank top and half-shredded jeans. All the exposed scars on bare skin. “Take a guess.”

His eyes roved me. Slowly. 

I stayed standing where I was. I knew better than to try and outrun a vampire, and I couldn’t fight a Mass-Maker with an army at his disposal that he could invoke to overwhelm me. But tension coiled in my muscles, ready to lunge if I had to. In whatever direction.

A smile spread up his face as his fangs extended, pressing into his lower lip. “Oh, you’ll do nicely,” he said.

I couldn’t take a step back since I was already up against a wall, but I pressed my back to it out of instinct. “For... for what?” I asked, eyeing his fangs. Quinn’s face flashed through my mind’s eye, replacing Sam’s in front of me for an instant. I swallowed thickly, pressing one hand into the wall behind me like I could melt into it. I knew how to phase through clothing when shifting, but not solid stone.

Sam folded his arms, regarding me. He stopped taking in my scars and sized up the rest of me. “Well, every king needs a trusted general, right?”

“You don’t know me. ‘Trusted’ is beyond a stretch.”

“Maybe. But I’m sure I can trust you to do as I say if I also warn you that steppin’ outta line will bring nothin’ but pain.”

I looked at my scars again. “Pain’s an old friend,” I said softly.

“Not to you, darlin’. No.” Sam shook his head. “To that pack-a yours.”

My blood ran cold.

Sam’s smile widened. “Ah. Struck a nerve, did I?”

“Why me? Why not one of your progeny who can’t lie to you and you can ensure will follow your orders?”

Sam made a face. “Where’s the fun in that, darlin’? You’re tough, given those scars. I imagine you’re capable.” He leaned closer to me. I smelled blood on his breath. “And sometimes,” he whispered, “it’s more fun to make someone dance just because I can, rather than because I’m forcin’ ‘em to with magic.”

“Piss off,” I muttered, no real fight behind the words.

“Careful, darlin’,” Sam warned, pinching my chin and forcing me to face him. “Your friends’ lives may hang in the balance if you push me.”

I snarled. “Don’t. Touch. My. Pack.”

He let me go forcefully, knocking my head into the stone wall. “Well now. That all depends on you, doesn’t it?”

I bared my teeth. Sam did the same.

“Let’s put it this way,” he growled out, “serve under me as my general as a shifter, or serve under me as my general as a vampire.”

My stomach dropped straight through the floor.

He pinched my chin again. “That said... you would make a gorgeous thrall,” he mused. “Pretty little thing like you? All musclebound but sittin’ in my lap on that throne, barely wearin’ a thing...” He glanced over his shoulder at the throne and tsked. “Ain’t gonna deny that’s quite the temptation.”

I ripped my chin out of his grip with a jerk of my head. “Fine,” I spat. “I’ll be your general. As a shifter.”

He smiled that fanged smile again. “Knew you’d see things my way, darlin’.”

I clenched my jaw.

“But first, to Mark you as mine,” he said.

I couldn’t dodge out of the way fast enough. He grabbed me by the shoulders, sinking his fangs into my neck. My shocked scream couldn’t make it past those teeth.

I knew the pulling sensation of him drinking my blood too well.

Quinn’s laughter ringing sinisterly in my ear. David’s bark as he tried to rip the leech’s throat out—

Then Sam’s fangs were gone and he let me go.

I stared at him, eyes wide and mouth agape, covering where he bit me with one hand. I didn’t feel any blood on my fingers. He’d healed me as he extracted his fangs.

He licked my blood off his fangs and lips, smiling smugly. “Damn, darlin’,” he said. “Are all shifters that tasty or is it just you?”

I didn’t answer.

“A’right. Next order-a business.” His silver eyes flared red. “Hold still.” The trance swept over me. I couldn’t move. I tried, but my muscles wouldn’t cooperate. “Markin’ you lets other Mass-Makers and vamps know you’re mine... but non-vamps won’t. Yet.”

He trailed the nail of his pointer finger over the tattoo on my arm, leaning his face close to it.

“Mm... what’s one more scar?” he mused quietly.

“Don’t rip off my tattoo,” I choked out.

“Rip off?” he quoted incredulously. “Darlin’, what sorta monster do you think I am?”

I didn’t have a safe answer to that, so I didn’t say anything.

He exhaled out his nose in what was almost a chuckle. “I’m not gonna rip off your tattoo. But... this is gonna hurt. In order to leave a scar, it has to.”

Before I could protest, he sunk his fangs into my deltoid. I almost screamed, but swallowed it down.

He ripped his fangs out of my deltoid, letting blood rush down my arm from the punctures. He’d put one fang at the top and bottom of the line art of my moon. The rest of the tattoo was left perfectly alone and intact.

He licked my blood off his fangs and lips again. “Never gonna get over that taste. But we can talk about that later.” He winked at me—

And the trance broke.

I slouched a bit, covering the wounds he’d left on my arm with one hand to staunch the blood. I glared at him but didn’t say anything. Another claim laid on me before I could say “no” or “wait.”

I doubted this one would be a blessing disguised as a curse later, though.

—

I stood behind where Sam was seated on the throne to the right. He hadn’t stopped, in the last few weeks, making comments about me sitting on his lap with barely any clothes on while on the throne, but I’d been ignoring them.

In some ways, he wasn’t as bad as I thought he’d be.

In others, he was worse.

The door to the throne room opened.

A vampire pushed in a familiar figure.

“Asher!” I exclaimed, surprise making me unable to stop myself.

My friend’s amber eyes widened. “Tank!”

He rushed at me.

In an instant, Sam was blocking his path. “That’s close enough,” he snarled. He shot a glance at me over his shoulder. “You weren’t kiddin’ about the nickname, darlin’.”

I shrugged but didn’t reply.

“Tank—what—how the hell are you still alive?” Asher demanded, leaning around Sam to see me. “I buried you.”

“I don’t remember. Everything went black and I woke up in the Spire to Healers putting me back together.”

“And you’ve been here ever since?” Asher’s eyes were watery.

I pointed to the scarring around my ankle from the tracker’s rubbing burns and nodded. “Two years.”

“Oh my God...” Asher whispered.

“That’s enough,” Sam put in forcefully. “I didn’t summon you here, Alpha, for you to play catch-up with my general.”

“Alpha?” I demanded.

“General?” Asher repeated in the same tone as mine.

Sam leveled a sharp, metallic glare at me. I straightened my spine and stood at reluctant attention. Asher watched my movements and a muscle flickered in his jaw.

Sam sat back on his throne. “Now. We have business to discuss about your pack remainin’ in Dahlia,” he remarked. His eyes met mine and a trance hit me again. “C’mere, darlin’.”

My muscles obeyed even though my brain rebelled.

I circled the throne and sat in his lap. Asher bared his teeth, but didn’t move closer.

“There we go,” Sam remarked, putting an arm nonchalantly around my waist and relaxing against the back of the throne. “Now. Let’s chat, shall we?”

—

Tag list: @zozo-01 @thegoldenlittlerose @mainhoesstuff 

[newstfionline]

Wednesday, February 8, 2023

Americans can never unsee the Chinese balloon—that’s the real danger (France Inter) The Chinese spy balloon shot down over the U.S. this week embodies the “Chinese threat” seen by many Americans. The most worrying thing in this case is not the balloon, but what it symbolizes. Shot down on Saturday by an American jet over the Atlantic after it drifted over U.S. territory, the balloon wasn’t a threat in and of itself. It’s a toy compared to the arsenals held by both countries. Still, this almost obsolete balloon has come to symbolize the “Chinese threat” that Americans hear about day and night. Until now, this threat was abstract, distant. It now has a face, in the form of this Moon-like balloon that appeared in the Montana sky, drifting above the state’s nuclear silos. The main effect of this symbolic appearance is to have raised anti-Chinese fever among the American political class, as well as strong, unanimous approval for the White House’s decision to postpone Blinken’s trip to Beijing—even at the risk of allowing an already tense relationship to deteriorate further. The balloon could set off a kind of “butterfly effect” of a small incident that leads to a much more dangerous showdown.

China claims a second balloon (Foreign Policy) Beijing says that the giant balloon that was spotted above Latin America does indeed belong to China, and claimed that it was used for flight tests. China said the balloon had “seriously deviated” from its planned route and that it was over Latin America “by mistake.” China has also expressed outrage that a similar balloon, which was above the United States for much of last week, was shot down by U.S. forces. China has since said it “reserves the right” to deal with “similar situations.”

Ohio Train Derailment (1440) Authorities in Ohio yesterday released toxic chemicals into the air from five tanker cars of a derailed train to prevent an explosion along the border of Ohio and Pennsylvania. The train, which had been carrying hazardous materials, went off the tracks Friday night in East Palestine, Ohio, causing a large chemical fire that has continued to burn. The area’s nearly 5,000 residents were ordered to evacuate Sunday. No injuries have been reported. The five cars were transporting the industrially produced chemical vinyl chloride, which is used to make polyvinyl chloride, or PVC, a hard plastic resin in plastic products. The chemical is associated with an increased risk of liver, brain, and lung cancers, among other diseases. As part of the controlled release of the chemical, a small charge was used to blow a hole in the cars, allowing the chemical to go into a trench and burn off before being released into the air.

$17,000+ (WSJ) The median price to put an infant in daycare for a year in a major U.S. metro area. Care costs can be nearly a fifth of median family income in high-cost, large cities, the Labor Department found. In less-populated counties, the median annual price is $8,000 a year.

Chile battles deadliest wildfires on record as heatwave grips (Reuters) Chilean firefighters were battling to hold back forest fires on Monday as authorities said hot and dry weather would continue this week, potentially exacerbating what are already the deadliest blazes in the country’s recent history. The fires, which have consumed 270,000 hectares (667,000 acres) of land, have killed 26 people so far in south-central Chile, and already made 2023 the second worst year in terms of hectares burned after the so-called “fire storm” that hit the country in 2017. The state National Forestry Corporation reported that as of Monday morning there were 275 active fires, of which 69 were currently in combat. Chile is in the grip of an over decade-long period of dry weather, which the World Meteorological Organization called a “mega drought” last year, adding it was the longest in a thousand years and marked a major water crisis. The heat wave and strong winds have caused a rapid spread of the flames during the Southern Hemisphere summer season.

French protesters hold more strikes over pension changes (AP) Public transportation, schools and electricity, oil and gas supplies were disrupted on Tuesday in France as demonstrators were taking to the streets for a third round of nationwide strikes and protests against the government’s pension reform plans. Last week, an estimated 1.27 million people demonstrated, according to authorities, more than in the first big protest day on Jan. 19. More demonstrations, called by France’s eight main unions, were planned for Saturday. Rail operator SNCF said train traffic was severely disrupted Tuesday across the country, including on its high-speed network. International lines to Britain and Switzerland were affected. The Paris metro was also disrupted.

Outnumbered and Worn Out, Ukrainians in East Brace for Russian Assault (NYT) In a tiny village in eastern Ukraine at the epicenter of the next phase of the war, Lyudmila Degtyaryova measures the Russian advance by listening to the boom of incoming artillery shells. There are more and more of them now. And they are coming more frequently, as Russian troops grind their way forward. Russia’s military is preparing to launch a new offensive that could soon swallow Ms. Degtyaryova’s village of Nevske, and perhaps much more in the eastern Ukrainian region known as the Donbas. But already the impact of Russia’s stepped-up assault is being felt in the towns and villages along the hundreds of miles of undulating eastern front. Exhausted Ukrainian troops complain they are already outnumbered and outgunned, even before Russia has committed the bulk of its roughly 200,000 newly mobilized soldiers. And doctors at hospitals speak of mounting losses as they struggle to care for fighters with gruesome injuries. Two weeks ago, a Russian shell landed in Ms. Degtyaryova’s yard, and as she contemplated her future over the weekend, the remains of her barn still smoldered.

Turkey, Syria quake deaths pass 9,500 (Reuters/AP) Overwhelmed rescuers struggled to save people trapped under the rubble as the death toll from a devastating earthquake in Turkey and Syria rose past 9,500 on Wednesday, making the quake the deadliest in more than a decade. Turkish authorities say some 13.5 million people were affected in an area spanning roughly 450 km from Adana in the west to Diyarbakir in the east, and 300 km from Malatya in the north to Hatay in the south. In Syria, authorities have reported deaths as far south as Hama, some 100 km from the epicentre.

Race to find survivors as quake aid pours into Turkey, Syria (AP) Search teams and aid from nearly 30 countries poured into Turkey and Syria on Tuesday as rescuers working in freezing temperatures and sometimes using their bare hands dug through the remains of buildings flattened by a powerful earthquake. But with the damage spread over a wide area, the massive relief operation often struggled to reach devastated towns, and voices that had been crying out from the rubble fell silent. “We could hear their voices, they were calling for help,” said Ali Silo, whose two relatives could not be saved in the Turkish town of Nurdagi. Unstable piles of metal and concrete made the search efforts perilous, while freezing temperatures made them ever more urgent, as worries grew about how long trapped survivors could last in the cold. Snow swirled around rescuers in Turkey’s Malatya province. More than 8,000 people have been pulled from the debris in Turkey alone, and some 380,000 have taken refuge in government shelters or hotels, said Turkish Vice President Fuat Oktay.

Earthquake Strikes Syrian Region Already Mired in Humanitarian Crisis (NYT) Once again, Syrians heard the roar and thud of buildings coming down, once again saw dust rising from the mounds of gray, jagged concrete and twisted metal where houses and offices had stood. Once again, people dug in the ruins with their hands, hoping, often in vain, to save the people they loved. Across northwestern Syria on Monday, apartment blocks, shops, even entire neighborhoods were wiped out in seconds by a powerful earthquake, in scenes that were all too familiar to a region devastated by more than a decade of civil war. Millions of people displaced by the years of fighting have fled to the north. They sheltered in tents, ancient ruins and any other place they could find after their former homes were destroyed. The economic collapse the war brought on had made it impossible for many of them to get a decent meal. This winter’s fuel crisis had them shivering in their beds, without heat. Syria’s wrecked infrastructure had caused thousands to fall sick with cholera in recent months; the ruin of its hospitals meant many could get no health care. Then came Monday’s earthquake. “Anywhere else in the world this would be an emergency,” a spokesman for the International Rescue Committee said. “What we have in Syria is an emergency within an emergency.”

Putting That Shiny New Law Into Use (NYT) On Monday, the trials for 47 Hong Kong pro-democracy leaders began. The group of activists, lawmakers, and academics had all planned to run for Hong Kong’s local legislature in 2020, just one year after the city was disrupted by mass protests calling for freedom from China. All are expected to face prison sentences ranging from three years to life behind bars. “The trial of the 47 represents a turning point in the crackdown because it reveals the true purpose of the national security law,” said one Hong Kong expert. “They’re not targeting a small minority of people throwing petrol bombs. Those people have already been arrested. Instead, they’re targeting the legitimate opposition, people who believed there was still a little bit left to defend Hong Kong’s autonomy and freedom.”

U.S. firms in Taiwan making ‘contingency’ plans amid China tensions (Reuters) Almost half of companies surveyed by the American Chamber of Commerce (AmCham) in Taiwan are revising or plan to revise their business continuity plans amid tensions with China, while a growing number reported being impacted by those strains. China, which views democratically-governed Taiwan as its own territory, has been stepping up military drills across the Taiwan Strait since then-U.S. House Speaker Nancy Pelosi visited Taipei in August. In a survey released on Tuesday, which took place between Nov. 15 and Dec. 16, AmCham Taiwan said 33% of respondents said their operations had been “significantly disrupted” by the increase in tensions. While what it termed “personal anxiety” about increased military activity or tensions remained flat between August and December, 47% of companies said they either have revised or plan to revise business continuity plans “to address the new geopolitical climate.”

South Koreans wonder: Will the U.S. still protect us from North Korea? (Washington Post) The mood around Unification Village, just south of the inter-Korean border, has grown tense the past two years as North Korea ramps up its ballistic missile tests. Most recently, North Korean drones even infiltrated the border. “It is time we went nuclear,” said Lee Wan-bae, who has lived for 50 years in the village, just three miles south of the Military Demarcation Line that marks the official border between the two Koreas. For decades, Lee has had a front-row view of the fluctuating border tensions amid failed efforts to disarm North Korea. “It increasingly looks like matching the nuclear threat from North Korea is the solution that will bring long-desired stability to our village life,” Lee said. With North Korea threatening to strike the South with nuclear weapons and no sign of a return to denuclearization talks, South Koreans are increasingly debating whether they can still trust the United States to protect them in case of war on the peninsula. The South Korean public has become ever more supportive of having their own nuclear weapons, a sentiment that was once considered fringe but is now mainstream.

[ajunicetryagain]

From a reddit user in Black Mountain (emphasis mine):

I live in Black Mountain and have stopped by this ingles almost daily since the storm hit. The police only barricaded the doors during the first 2 days after the storm, and they were still giving some items away - we got bread Saturday. By Day 3 and still today, they are donating/giving away tons of food, water, diapers, formula, hygiene products, propane canisters & more. The store is also now open and operating cash only to sell whatever is left on the shelves. It is also a hub for trash drop off, water tankers, clothes donations, hot meals daily and the gas station has been open since Tuesday or Wednesday. We even saw a medical helicopter land in the parking lot, with the aid of the police, to pick up a woman who was in labor to take her to the hospital. The first few days after the storm, people were panicking and there was reports of breaking in and looting in other stores nearby (Dollar General, Walmart). So, I believe they were trying to ensure that the store wasn’t ransacked and damaged. They probably did not have enough staff available during the first 2 days to be able to handle the surge of people if they would have opened their doors. But by day 3 and beyond, ingles and the police have been generous, kind and critical for the town of Black Mountain in my experience. Don’t get me wrong, could they have given away diapers and formula to those in extreme need during the first 2 days? Yes, and they should have. But it was a challenging situation. I’m not pro Ingles or pro Police in general, but people need to look at the entire picture before losing their minds online and demonizing ingles and the police. It has been an extremely challenging situation, especially In the first few days. The organization and cooperation between businesses, law enforcement/first responders, volunteers, fema, citizens & everyone else who have come to help has been incredible!

Other users in the area noted that this particular store, a warehouse supplying Ingles, the company headquarters and its data center were all badly damaged in the storm. One said the Black Mountain store had several feet of mud in it (which would have slowed access and assessment of the safety of any goods inside) and that many of their employees died in the storm.

Several users in the thread pointed out that other, less affected Ingles stores took the same community-focused approach immediately.

I know both corporations and cops are pretty shitty but this entire narrative is based on one random guy on Twitter and a meme—two things you should not fucking trust as a "news source".

[the-firebird69]

It is an odd size and it's the same size as the one that he was drinking at UMass he just wasn't a very huge guy he's smaller than our son we tried to look bigger tried to act tough and it was weird it was definitely his screech show type act. And wasn't that bad but boy so this is 80 proof and our son and daughter say that's powerful anything that's above 60 will knock you on your butt and she used to say that but it is really strong and that guy drank a bottle a night for like a year and he got an ulcer and was sick and he was a lot sicker than that but it is just not the right thing to do this is a very strong whiskey it's a very basic whiskey it has a smoked flavor it is not really legal to drink a bottle at night you're drinking to get intoxicated and you should not be doing that but they do quite a bit and have excuses but we should talk but we want to make a label of our own and it is "John Daniel's" and they're all going to be saying they want to make news and we're going to be forced to go in there he says it this earlier you can do it with beer but this would work real quick and we can ship it already bottles and people wouldn't mess with it and we can make a portal portable bottling plant for beer and he's wondering if you could just do it would be like a keg you put in your fridge it would fit with that big huge pulling spring water thing goes and a valve would be more than sophisticated and better attached kind of recessed and really it would work because you'd show up you make it square and you have the tankers and you have like this big truck it's a factory and you can link them together and pump it in and fill up these kegs and you're putting the fizz in and go in one end they come out the other and they go into the truck it's really no brainer and it would take a few minutes and he says with new tech you don't need to open it and close it and it's true you can put it right into an intake valve and then you seal it it takes seconds to charge it I'm going to prove this idea I'm going to get the market and it's going to be the beer fridge and we can call it that but it's really going to be our brand name we do have a brand name and it's not generic and we should probably do that but yeah Jack Daniels is a different Brewer John Daniels is the name of the Brewer and we're going to go ahead and do it and the people do it they fail but we can make tons of stuff and we can carry cases all over the place it doesn't matter with whiskey if it gets too hot it doesn't effect I won't really it won't get too hot so getting ready to do this kind of thing and we are going to make it work

Thor Freya

Olympus

[amthorinternational]

Tanker Truck Guide: Mastering Operations and Logistics

The versatility of DEF tankers

Diesel exhaust fluid (DEF) tanks are a key part of the modern transportation environment, especially with increasing environmental regulations. DEF, a non-toxic solution composed of urea and deionized water, is used to reduce harmful emissions from diesel engines. DEF tankers are designed to safely transport this sensitive liquid while maintaining its purity and efficiency.

Custom Propane Carts: Safety and Efficiency

Propane, a widely used fuel source for heating, cooking and even as a vehicle fuel, requires specialized transportation due to its flammability. Custom propane tankers are designed with strict safety features for handling this volatile substance. These trucks are equipped with robust safety mechanisms, including pressure relief valves, emergency shut-off systems, and high-strength materials that withstand the pressures of compressed gas transportation.

Customization options for propane trucks include different tank sizes, configurations, and delivery systems. For example, some custom propane trucks are equipped with metering systems that allow accurate measurement of fuel dispensed and ensure accuracy of delivery and billing.

The importance of customization in tanker trucks

Customization for tanker trucks goes beyond simply meeting regulatory standards; it is about increasing operational efficiency, safety and reliability. Each industry has specific needs that cannot be fully met by commonly supplied solutions. Custom tankers are designed with the end user in mind, taking into account factors such as load capacity, terrain, climate and the nature of the substance being transported.

For example, a DEF tank operating in a cold climate may need advanced heating systems to prevent the liquid from freezing, while a propane truck in a hot environment may require special insulation to maintain safety. Customization ensures that these carts not only fit, but are optimized to perform in their specific roles.

Creating custom tanks involves a collaborative process between manufacturers and clients. It starts with understanding the specific needs and challenges the client faces. This may include site visits, consultations and detailed discussions about the operating environment, regulatory requirements and required functionality.

Once the requirements are clear, teams of designers and engineers get to work creating detailed plans and models of the custom tank. Advanced computer-aided design (CAD) software is often used to simulate various aspects of tank performance and ensure that the final product will meet all specifications and standards.

The manufacturing process involves precision engineering and high-quality materials for the construction of the tank. Whether it’s a DEF tank truck or a custom propane truck, the emphasis is on durability, safety, and functionality. Rigorous testing is performed to ensure that the tank can withstand the demands of its intended use, including pressure tests, leak tests and performance evaluations under various conditions.

As the industry evolves and new challenges arise, the demand for more advanced and specialized tankers is expected to grow. Innovations in materials are likely to increase the efficiency and durability of these trucks. Additionally, advances in automation and smart technologies could lead to more sophisticated monitoring and control systems that would improve safety and operational efficiency.

For example, the integration of IoT (Internet of Things) technologies into custom tanks could provide real-time data on various parameters such as pressure, temperature and liquid levels. This can help operators monitor and manage tanks more effectively, reduce the risk of accidents and improve overall efficiency.

Conclusion

Custom tankers, including DEF tanks and custom propane trucks, play a vital role in a variety of industries by providing customized solutions for the transportation and storage of liquids and gasses. The customization process ensures that these tanks meet specific needs, increasing safety, efficiency and reliability. As technology advances, the future of custom tankers looks promising, with innovations to further improve their performance and capabilities. Whether for DEF, propane or other substances, custom tanker trucks will continue to be an indispensable asset in the logistics and transportation industries.

[troglobite]

they also did this on mythbusters but with train tankers!

the episode is available here! in the end, tanker cars were just too big and too well built to get enough hot steam and enough cold water to get the same effect (though they DO get it with barrels like in the above!), so they resorted to just creating just the vacuum inside and it does eventually work. EXTREMELY fucking cool.

the drum is filled with hot steam and then sprayed with cold water. the pressure on the outside of the drum is far more than inside. the pressures try to maintain and find balance taking the drum as a casualty.