#manufacturer of water bubbles

[suhajoarts]

water bubble with pole

Imagine a magical scene by the water's edge. You spot a fascinating water bubble with pole, a captivating sight that draws your attention. This unique water bubble with pole is like a shimmering, glass-like sphere, gently floating on the surface of the water, reflecting the world around it.

The water bubble with pole seems almost like a tiny universe of its own. As it bobs on the gentle ripples, it mirrors the blue sky, fluffy clouds, and the lush green trees that surround it. The pole, a slender and elegant structure, seems to hold the bubble with care, creating a harmonious balance between water and air.

Children love to play by the water's edge, trying to catch a glimpse of this enchanting water bubble with pole. Its elusive nature and ever-changing reflections make it a source of endless wonder and imagination. When the sun's rays touch the surface, the water bubble with pole glistens like a jewel, casting prismatic colors all around, creating a truly magical moment.

[oleander-nin]

Horrortober Day 3- Run(Yandere Rise Donnie x Reader)

A/N, not important: this idea was from my friend @rex-ray! They're wonderful and I adore them. ALSO! Donnie is OOC in this. I say this because his mannerisms are purposefully dramatized and unstable. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

Tw: Breaking bones, Donnie being OOC, shock collar, yandere themes, dark themes

Words: 1862

Summary: Donnie gets bored and wants you to run.

You kick the door of what Donatello called the ‘misbehavior room’, anger and frustration bubbling up in your chest. It wasn’t fair. You had barely talked back and he stuck you in here again without so much as a warning. You walk back to the small bed he provided, falling onto it with a groan. The mattress wheezed under your wait, sinking down and molding around your body. Your eyes meet the ceiling, a blank stare marking your face. Nothing about this was fair. You just wanted to go home, to be free of the purple terrapin once and for all.

It had been almost an hour since he first put you in here. Or, you assumed it had been at least an hour. Maybe it had been no more than ten minutes, or maybe a full day had passed. You had no way of telling, the room stripped of anything that might help you. Your cheeks puff out as you try and think of a way to escape, your eyes burning from the bright light on the ceiling. It annoyed you to no end, the light never turned and made it harder to just sleep the punishment away.

The room was warm, warmer than his lab. It was just shy of uncomfortable, but not enough to cause you harm. It was just supposed to be a room you hated to be in, and Donatello had manufactured that perfectly. It was a shame you kept ending up in it.

The sound of a lock clicking out of place catches your attention, your eyes drifting to the door. You sit up as the mechanical door slides open and reveals the lab just outside, cool air rushing in and chasing the heat away. Donatello stood in the doorway, his eyes uncommunicative to any thoughts or feelings he had. You lay back down on the slightly uncomfortable mattress, having no desire to converse with your purple banded kidnapper.

“Someone’s grumpy.” He mutters, taking a step into the room. You don’t fail to notice him leaving the door wide open. He moves farther into the room and comes to a stop by your side, his eyes following yours towards the door. He looks down at you, his face still carefully neutral and not giving anything away. He stays silent for a moment, eyes flicking back and forth between your own and the door. He exhales slowly, the careful mask slipping for a moment and giving way to the rage just below the surface.

“Run.”

You blank, sitting up fully and glancing towards the door. “Excuse me?”

“I said, run. You’ve wanted to escape since I brought you here, have you not? Well, the doors wide open. Run.”

You stare at Donnie in slight confusion, but get up either way and start to hesitantly head towards the door, not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth. This was not an opportunity you were going to waste, no matter how strange it be. 

“By the way,” Donnie starts in a low tone right as you reach the door. You pause for a moment, letting him know you were listening. “Despite what you may be thinking, this is not a free leave. I will be chasing. You have a three minute head start. For your sake, I hope I don’t catch you.”

You don’t hesitate any longer, bolting through the lab and into the hall, taking a sharp turn towards the maze of sewers. Your socked feet pad against the ground, the cloth muffling your steps as you run. The lair fades behind you, adrenaline flowing through you and pushing you to run faster. Farther. You didn’t want to find out just what Donnie had planned if he caught you. You highly doubted it would be something as simple as another couple hours in isolation.

Your foot hits water and you gag, stumbling slightly before righting yourself and continuing on. You couldn’t afford to trip, not with Donatello right behind you. You briefly contemplate the terms of the chase. Was there a time limit before you ‘won’? Or a distance you needed to reach? A small, horrible feeling settles deep in you, infecting every part of your person as you realize there may not be a way to win. You shake your head, pushing the thought away. No, no there must be a way for you to win. There has to be. You just need to make it to the surface, that was a reasonable place to get to. You try your best to ignore how Donatello was never reasonable when it came to you.

You take a sharp left through the sewers, the ground slick and unforgiving. You refused to take a break, not wanting to slow down for even a second. This may be the only shot at freedom you ever get. Your lungs burn from the run, your legs cramping. Donatello, while expressing trying to maintain your health, never let you run like this. Treadmills could only simulate so much.

You duck into a tunnel, trying to catch your breath for a slight second. Your brain is screaming at you, telling you to run and run and never stop, but your body refuses. You had been sitting for less than a minute, and you could already hear the quiet hum of Donatello’s approaching battle-shell. You duck farther in, hoping more than anything the shadows would conceal you enough.

You focus your ears, trying to pinpoint the hum of the tech that was moving ever closer, your eyes darting around in an attempt to see where he was coming from. Your brain barely registers the arms that loop around your waist and tug you into the sharp plastron of the mutant softshell, a scream being ripped from your lips before you even have time to process it.

“Shhhh,” He murmurs against your ear, his chin resting against your shoulder. “It was a good run, baby. You did so well.”

Your lower lip trembles as he picks you up, holding you firmly in his arms even as you start to thrash and struggle. He brings you out of the tunnel the way he came in, the wide mouth opening up to show a manhole cover and a ladder to the surface, just barely twenty feet from where you hid.

The realization of how close you were to escaping, how close you were to your freedom, hits you like a truck. You go quiet in Donatello’s arms, your eyes watering as you start to sob. He simply grins smugly as he walks you back to the lair, seeing the excursion as nothing more than a game. Well, to him, it was a game. Setting you off with high hopes and being able to chase you down was exhilarating for him, a high to chase off the frustration you had caused. He smiles down at you. It was too bad you still needed to be punished for the excursion, he couldn’t let you get away with running after all. There were still rules to follow.

He brings you back to the lab, his dark eyes lighter than they had been in weeks. He kisses your forehead, setting you down on a table in his lab. He cups your cheeks, looking down at you softly. “I told you you shouldn’t have let me catch you.”

You look up at him, fear and confusion laced in your eyes. “You told me to run…”

Your protests mean nothing to him, a small smile fixed on his face as he rolls his shoulders, looking more relaxed than he had in weeks. “I did. And you really did so well, I must admit. However,” His smile turns more sinister as his eyes darken once more. “I did warn you not to let me catch you. You could’ve stayed back, but you took the chance. I’m not letting you off scot free for that.”

Your heart drops and your sobs grow, Donnie racing under the table he had you on to grab a familiar collar. It was purple and sleek, a much more refined version than the one he had given his older brother all those years ago. Your eyes widen, knowing exactly what the object was and the pain it brought, your panic rising significantly as you try to jump off the table. Donnie wraps his arms around you, keeping you still. He glares down at you, not impressed with your attempt to avoid the collar. He grabs your chin and holds you firmly, his eyes meeting yours and all earlier peasantry gone.

“Don’t fight me.” He snaps, giving your jaw a harsh squeeze. He drops your chin and brings the collar around your neck, pressing a button and watching in satisfaction as it shrinks until it is skin tight. His eyes trail over you for a moment, his eyes landing on your legs before snapping back to your face. You shift uncomfortably, but don’t dare speak or move lest he decide to activate the collar.

He takes a double hook with no chain in between, snapping one end to your collar and shoving your head down before snapping the other to a sunken rod in the table. You grimace, trying to pull your head up, your hands clawing at the hooks in an attempt to get them undone. A small beep sounds and you freeze instinctively before your nerves shout out, every inch of your skin feeling as if it had been lit on fire. Your hands clench and your muscles spasm, making it hard for you to even move. The shock ends, your breathing heavy as you try to relax the muscles in your body. Donnie had upped the charge.

You shakily put your hands down on the table, residual spams coursing through your limbs. You don’t even notice the needle Donnie had produced until it was in your hip, the sting from the injection bringing you back to your senses. You look at the needle in confusion and slight fear, your vision hazy.

“What was that?” You ask, your speech slurring as you feel your body grow heavier and sink on the table. Donnie glances up, and you barely recognize him. You may hate him, but there was something beneath his eyes you just couldn’t place. Something terrifying just below the surface.

“Hush.” He says, checking your reflexes and looking satisfied when they’re much slower then normal. Your body feels heavy, as if a small weight had been placed on each section. He walks down the table until his hand rests on your left leg, his eyes cloudy with anger.

“You know,” He drawls, picking up your leg and lightly squeezing the calf. Your breath hitches as your eyes water. He couldn’t. Gosh, you hoped he wouldn’t. A scream is stuck in your throat, your lips unable to part to let it loose. “This really is your fault. I was going to settle for the collar, but after you threw such a fit over it, I can see you really haven’t learned a thing. Your actions have consequences, and it’s time you learn.”

The first bone snaps and you sob.

[maleficentmrsofallevil]

Dye, doll, dye

I did a dyeing thing - a white Resinsoul centaur (Dawn) and different vinyl shell parts of an Obitsu 50 cm body (whitey and super whitey).

What I used:

A big shiny pot. Life pro tip - if you have an induction cooktop, check your crappy pot that you ordered from Amazon right away. Amazon sellers are liars.

Lots of towels (water everywhere). Dye (RIT DyeMore is what I used, because it's specifically for synthetics), isopropyl (rubbing) alcohol and a melamine sponge (Magic Eraser) for oopsies, and weed whacker trimmer string for the parts. Plus coffee.

Strung doll parts. NOTE: before I dye resin or vinyl, I soak it in cold water for 10-15 minutes. Resin is porous. Water will help open the pores for a slightly more even dye distribution.

So one thing I see over and over that drives me CRAZY is people dumping the whole bottle of dye directly into the water.

RIT has recipes. Here's the recipe for Fallen Star using "small" items:

It doesn't matter which small item you pick - the recipe is the same. For a more intense color, increase the amount of dye (Fallen Star is 2 teaspoons of Royal Purple, 1/2 teaspoon Frost Grey, 1/2 teaspoon Sapphire Blue per 4 cups of water). If you dump in the whole bottle, 1) you're wasting dye, and 2) you're not going to get the color that the dye is supposed to produce.

Dye measured - and then I measure one more batch in a separate cup. As stuff goes in the water, dye is absorbed and removed from the water - so you gotta add a little back. Like, an eyedropper at a time, a little.

I set the water to be just under a boil - no bubbling, but still painful when you accidentally stick a finger in there. It's soapy because RIT recommends adding a tiny bit of dish soap and a little salt to the dye bath to help disperse the color evenly.

Dunk:

The resin parts got 3 minutes each. The vinyl parts got 6 minutes.

Horse butt magnet came unglued, and there's something on the butt that prevented it from absorbing dye. I don't know what it is. I'll have to color correct with pastels. Also: the horse body was cast in two parts that were glued together, and the seams sanded. This became immediately apparent post-dye.

The floating blobs top left are vinyl thigh parts after 3 minutes in the dye bath. The darker blue human parts of vinyl parts after a six minute bath.

A few more things: whatever that butt glue was, it liquified in the pot and stuck to stuff. I am not happy about this.

Because parts are thinner in some places and thicker in others, when I pulled a part out of the bath, I would run it under cool water. Then I grabbed my melamine sponge and scrubbed areas where the dye was darker or absorbed funny. Isopropyl alcohol can also help remove some of the dye.

The dye continued to process, even after I rinsed all the parts. When I woke up the next morning, everything was an even more intense blue - especially the vinyl.

My self-imposed max time for resin in a hot water dye bath is 3 minutes. 2-part epoxy resin reacts quickly and hardens to equilibrium - NOT completion. When resin parts are put into almost-boiling hot water, the reaction is reactivated. The resin parts will shrink. I read on a resin manufacturer's website that after 20 minutes, the resin will become extremely brittle and fragile. From past experience, I know that 3 minutes in hot water is enough to make a resin part shrink.

Since the resin parts were dyed for 3 minutes each, this means I will NOT be attempting a gradation with dye. I'll use pastels instead.

But vinyl, however - vinyl can take some heat. Heh heh heh.

Next up: purple!

[diabolus1exmachina]

Iso Grifo Targa Series II (1 of 4). 

Renzo Rivolta was an omnipresent industrialist and serial innovator. Tracing his manufacturing roots to before World War II, he built everything from refrigerators to scooters before the sale of his Isetta bubble car venture to German giant BMW. The proceeds of the deal launched Iso Rivolta as a car manufacturer proper, with its eponymous Bertone-styled four-seat coupé arriving in 1962, followed three years later by the sportier Grifo.Styled by Bertone’s Giorgetto Giugiaro and engineered by Giotto Bizzarrini, the new model was a gran turismo in every sense and a true competitor to the Ferrari Daytona and Maserati Ghibli. But like the Rivolta—and very unlike its rivals from Emilia Romagna—the Grifo was powered by an American V-8. Simple, rugged and powerful, Chevrolet’s 5.4-litre small block was rated at 300 horsepower, offering performance to match Bertone’s eye-catching coachwork.By 1968, the 186-mph 7-Litri arrived, propelled by Chevrolet’s famed “L71” Tri-Power V-8. Things only got better two years later with the debut of the Series II, which brought with it more refined styling with stunning and contemporary hide-away headlamps—not to mention the option of the Bowtie’s 7.4-litre big-block V-8, which was fine-tuned with forged connecting rods and dry-sump lubrication.Due to eye-watering cost, just four Series II cars left the factory with open-topped Targa coachwork; chassis 350 is one of these special examples. The car was built on 4 July 1971, specified with a reinforced chassis frame and 300-horsepower 5.7-litre Chevrolet V-8 mated to a five-speed ZF manual gearbox and 3.31:1 rear axle. The car was also fitted with factory air conditioning.

[coldgoldlazarus]

Something else I've come back to while thinking about my theoretical Metroid II re-remake, is another interesting thematic element of the descent.

I commented in a previous post several weeks back, that it's kinda interesting how for the most part Samus Returns and AM2R are pretty similar in how they interpreted most of the areas, with the distinct exception of The Tower. But on looking back at fully-detailed stitched map for Return Of Samus, it actually makes a lot of sense, and I was somewhat underselling the strength of its design before. The fact that the remakes mostly match up on what's a temple, what's a factory, and so on, stems in no small part from the tilework in the original game.

(Even the divergence between interpretations of The Tower comes from emphasizing different aspects; AM2R focuses more on the interior with all the beams, and the lake of acid/lava at the bottom, to make it a weapons facility and geothermal plant, while Samus Returns instead focuses on the twisting vines and thorns climbing up from the surrounding caves, to make it into a marshy jungle.)

---

But taking a step back to look at the big picture, there's a very very interesting progression as you delve deeper. The first section you visit seems to be a temple or a place of residence. Some weapons in the basement, and expansions out the wazoo, but the actual area is pretty innocious.

Second area, some sort of water processing facility given the pipes and the lake out back, which AM2R stuck close to, while Samus Returns reenvisioned it as more of a big dam structure. I actually like that slight modification a lot and will be incorporating that, partially because it fits slightly better with the following thematic progression IMO.

The third and fourth areas are sorta thematically linked with two sides of manufacturing; the factory, and the mines supplying it with raw materials. Here we see a more heavily industrious side to the Chozo, something AM2R in particular picked up on and emphasized further in a lot of ways.

Then there's The Tower. Has one of every beam, sits atop a lake of lava, thorny vines growing up the sides of the cavern it resides in. Setting aside both of the remakes' more colorful interpretations, there's something just very grandiose and dark about it, and one area where MII's level of screen crunch is kind of a detriment to fully appreciating. And I think, even in the absence of the need for redundant beams, AM2R had the right idea in labeling this a weapons facility.

(Following this is where AM2R inserts the Distribution Center. I love it, and it is a great extension of the industry idea, but in hindsight the placement after the Tower feels a little bit awkward.)

Long long tunnel, classic Metroid bubble area and Omega gauntlet. This all seems to be nature, so less relevant to this discussion, though the bit in the middle where the first Omega is introduced is something I wanna shine a spotlight on in a later post. Anyway, it's a long remote trek away from all the other places of civilization, ending with ascending a huge abyss to the final facility built above it.

And that final location, where the Queen resides, is a lab. Even before it was ever explicitly stated anywhere that the Chozo created the Metroids, I have zero doubt that the implications here were intended when the game was originally made. But it's an especially interesting thing when you look at the sequence it is the capstone to.

It's easy to miss otherwise, but looking at them all in context to each other, you wind up with a clear progression in the roles each facility plays. Simple hallmarks of civilization, to mild use of nature for that civilization, to heavier industry, to war. And beyond that, genetic engineering and extinction.

The Ice Beam is available again in the laboratory, behind a shattered statue. A gameplay convenience, but also a key piece of storytelling.

[blissfulip]

Dopamine

On AO3

Viktor x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, dubious science, mostly canon compliant, no use of y/n, chemist!reader, eventual smut.

Cw: That weird guy being weird

Words: 1.6k

[A/N: tags and content warnings to be updated in each chapter, updates weekly. (also, let me know if you want to be tagged in fic updates!)]

Previous Next

Chapter 2: Walking through water

He slept in for the first time in over a year, and although catching up on all those missed z’s was a welcome feeling, as soon as he woke up and sat at his desk, the uneasiness of not knowing what to do rushed over him.

Walking through water instead of air, the feeling of resistance that accompanied every task Viktor worked on drove him up the wall. It was bad enough that he had no access to any of his equipment, but he was also not allowed to retrieve any of his annotations from the lab to take home, so he was left with a pair of notebooks and some blueprints he had in his briefcase. It wasn't enough. 

Resignation. He was usually capable of extracting even the smallest things from thin air, but the circumstances and the maddening lack of resources had finally gotten the better of him. Before long, he felt the onset of something he hadn’t experienced in years: boredom. The invitation of his brain to play, desperate for stimulation. But Viktor was lost, this wasn’t something typical of him, and he didn’t know how to quench this thirst. 

He rummaged around the few volumes he had on his desk—nothing he hadn’t read at length before. Cleaning was quick and fruitless, it turns out that not spending any time in your own home proved to be the best way to keep it clean and organized. And of course, the fridge was empty, he didn’t remember the last time he ate a meal in that kitchen, let alone made one, but at least this need for sustenance could be turned into an assignment, so off to the market he went. 

It was sunny out. Not scorching, but pleasant enough to make this short walk enjoyable. The bubbling sounds of children running around, two people fighting near the fruit stalls, and vendors trying to talk over each other, the citric scent that turned into earthy basil that turned into peppery spices almost overwhelmingly fast—it was nice, he thought, and he lazily dragged his feet along the market, lingering a bit too long before walking back to the dormitories with what he needed.  

Cooking was surprisingly enjoyable as well, and he tried (unsuccessfully) to find a justifiable reason as to why he didn’t do it more often. Soon enough, the meal was finished, the food eaten and the dishes done, and the gentle feeling of rich accomplishment he had felt so far melted away when he found himself bored stiff.

And when he accepted that this problem had no solution, his mind landed on you, the culprit. He recalled all the previous instances in which you had interfered with his work before, like the time you had burned your eyebrows off with some strange flammable substance and had the progress day presentations postponed, and the time you had used all the magnesium alloys for an (excessively scaled, he thought) ‘experiment’ and left him without any for the pieces he was manufacturing, or the time the first hextech intern he ever hired had a complete meltdown over you rejecting him and had to be transferred. Granted, that last one wasn’t your fault, and Viktor never really held it against you, but it was just another case in point to prove that if something was related to you, it would probably be a problem for him. 

When memoirs are written about exceptional minds in history, there’s always something about all the trials and tribulations they had to endure—the obstacles on their way to greatness. And it’s not like Viktor thought he would ever get something like that written about him, but if he did, if he ever invented something revolutionary enough to warrant something like a memoir, it pained him to think that there would probably need to be a whole chapter about the pesky chemist that constantly tormented him. 

Even when he wasn’t working, you were there, a constant. Your thunderous laugh and the clicking sound you always made when you were in deep thought, your sarcastic remarks and the eternal self-satisfied grin you carried. Viktor found himself thinking about that way too often. 

-----------------------------------------------------------

The notification on your door to be present at the conference hall the next morning ruined your mood. You had been having quite the day off and were already making plans to get back to reading all the poetry books you had bought at the fair last summer, so the sudden promise of work had you deflating like a balloon. 

You noticed that the hall was packed, and that it probably wasnt equipped to host the entire roster of researchers the Academy had. You tried to distract yourself from the claustrophobic feeling brewing in your stomach by chatting with Moira about the crazy date she'd had the night before. Unfortunately, you were not going to get to the best part, since Heimerdinger came up and tapped the microphone lightly before she could talk about the guy's bad table manners.

"Attention, please, everybody! There, quiet down, please. Yes, thank you.” He started. “I’m sure you might all be wondering why I have gathered you here, and I am happy to announce I have great news to give you!”

Murmurs could be heard from various places along the hall.

“As you all know, the Academy had to make the difficult decision to close the laboratories temporarily due to the recent explosion at the manufacturing facilities. We know how distressed and impatient you must be to go back to your work and how frustrating the prospect of an entire month of idleness feels to brilliant people like you all,” he paused, seemingly for effect. “Thus, the Academy has decided to organize a seminar with some of our brightest minds at each of our research divisions, which will take place at the conclusion of this month-long absence of activity.” 

The quiet muttering gradually became a cacophony of confused exclamations and flat-out grunts of annoyance, but after people started to quiet down again, he continued.

“Everyone will be required to attend, but only one person per department is to be voted internally, both to be involved as an organizer and as a speaker. I shall leave you to it now, and expect a list of the chosen people at my desk by the end of the day, as well as one update at the end of each week leading to the date of the event. Good luck, my dears!” 

With that, he jumped off the platform he had been standing on to reach the microphone and left the room, ignoring any and all clamors of bewilderment. After some minutes of complaining, though, the people from each department begrudgingly got together to get the voting over with. Some of them chose randomly, others put it up to an actual vote and chose the person everyone thought was a better speaker, and others had volunteers. To your dismay, you were chosen to speak on behalf of the chemistry department. And, not surprisingly, Viktor volunteered on his end. 

No more than 30 minutes later, everyone else had left, except for the chosen people. A man from Biology you weren’t familiar with, Lara from Arts and Performance, a lovely older lady from History and Anthropology, Corso from Language and Literature, that weird guy from Poli-sci, Viktor, and you

The morale was not up the walls, even though you were all happy to have something to do, having to organize an entire workshop conference as well as the presentation each one of you had to give felt like more work than you would normally do at your respective labs. Not to mention, you knew this was nothing more than a copout for the academy, throwing this at you so that you didn’t get any free time without them having to get involved in any organizing themselves. 

Regardless, after a short talk, you decided to split into three groups. One would be in charge of the scheduling and agenda; the second would take care of the venues; and the last would take care of advertising, leaving Lara to design and print the flyers and posters. 

“Let’s team up, sweetheart, I know this amazing place downtown where we can organize everything.” You came to learn that his name was Asher, and you thought that name was not fit for how much of a sleaze he was.  

“Oh, I’m sorry, but I’m banned from that part of the city. I caused a three-way collision between 2 horses and an electric bike; there were no casualties, but I can’t be within a 3-mile radius of there.” You said with a deadpan expression. 

“What? Seriously?” He asked. Everyone else was either completely confused or mildly horrified, but Viktor knew you well enough to let out a small huff. 

“Of course not.” You chuckled and then picked up one of the folded-up pieces of paper Lara had been writing on for everyone to draw a name from. 

It was your turn to be horrified when you unfolded the paper and read Viktor’s name on it. After the initial shock wore off, however, you could’ve sworn you felt something akin to relief. Perhaps it was due to being saved from having to go with Asher, or maybe it was because Viktor was the only person there that you knew, even if you didn’t get along. 

But as it usually happens, any positive sentiment you ever harbored towards him came to a halt as swiftly as it came, when you heard him grunt in displeasure. You weren’t in the mood to throw any jibes at him in front of everyone, so you simply rolled your eyes. 

“1:00 p.m. tomorrow at the café near the night market. Bring a notebook, I left all of mine at the lab.” You said not bothering to look up at him as you gathered your things to leave the hall. 

You interpreted his silence as agreement. 

[filthforfriends]

Chapter 10: Little

Author's Note

Word count: 8.4k (whoops)

Read the rest on my Masterlist!

This would be easier if Damiano was’t saying all the right things all at once. A minute in between, or even a warning, would make the turn in conversation more bearable.

“There was a point, a couple months in, where I would have traded a lobe of my poor liver for you to be all clingy and needy in Little headspace. I miss being your Dom so fucking much, so fucking much.” He’s putting such emphasis into his words that it slightly strains his voice. “With your anxiety, having your Dom basically disappear…and we’d spent years building the dynamic into something that was both pleasurable and therapeutic. All that trust and I…the head fuck, I can’t imagine. I don’t want you to think that it wasn’t the most special thing in the world to me.” The sobs are coming so fast that you can’t inhale in between and end up literally choking on your own misery. It's the way a toddler with no self-regulation skills cried.  

“I know, at points, I’ve done power play with other partners.” He’s wincing as he speaks, which is totally unnecessary. You just didn’t get the inclination to submit to anyone else. 

“But I’ve just been stuck on the thought that you might have felt replaceable.” You shake your head and try to gather the air to speak. Instead of just embracing, an hand snakes under your blouse provides pressure through calming, even strokes along your back 

“Felt impor – ortan –ant,” you manage, face tucked snuggly against his neck. Damiano sighs in relief.

“Good. Thank god.”

“Knew I mattered.” Although all the syllables come out right, the next phrase is such a struggle that it's almost indiscernible. “Knew…loved, not – not a…burden.” It was the way your well-intentioned, but often unequipped parents made you feel: like more than they signed up for. It's hard to articulate negatively about a good childhood. They bought roses for your middle school graduation, but you’d rather sit on the bathroom floor with the flu alone than endure your frantic mother or patronizing father. How could a kid they very much intended to have be emotionally over-demanding? Must be something wrong with the kid. 

Except nothing made you feel more right than Dami kneeling on the side of a bubble bath, contentedly washing you with a baby-pink washcloth. He used lavender scented soap and smiled adoringly at how quickly you became non-verbal. 

“Feel floaty, little one?” he’d coo, asking if you’d entered headspace just from this intimate act of service. No pain. No sex. The dynamic had reached a point where just his presence and intention was enough since Damiano, himself, was completely tranquil. It created a euphoric energy exchange, always nurturing. He enjoyed it, you blossomed, but that all came to a grinding halt as soon as the trust wore thin.

“Selfishly, I miss feeling in control, too. I tried to sublimate, but I couldn’t wait for the scenes to me over. It felt manufactured with new partners and just…wrong. Gross, even. Fuck, why am I saying this?” he groans. “I just wanted something to click so badly and it didn’t.

“S’okay.”

“I know this is asking for a lot. Really, I shouldn’t be asking for anything at all, considering living together is more than I realistically hoped for. You know what? I’m gonna shut up.” You shake your head, drying your wet face on the cotton of Dam’s shirt, only for it to  be full of tears again. “Okay, I wish that — I want there to be a way that I earn your trust again, dynamic wise. I miss my little girl.”

That one physically hurts, like a side cramp from running after drinking too much water. The stabbing pain emanates deep into your torso because “yeaning” doesn’t begin to describe your emotions. You literally ached to be curled up in Dami’s lap while he hit his weed vape during The Little Mermaid. Of course, half an hour in, he was humming the melodies into your ear. Sometimes he even did voices or rocked back and forth to the beat of the songs, the soft pajamas he’s dressed you in pleasantly brushing your skin.

“I miss holding you and feeling the pure joy at convincing me to watch one of those Disney movies that are intolerable except for the music. You try to hide how excited you get and I try to act like I wasn’t gonna say yes to anything you picked.” 

“Damia…” You ball your hands into fists, fingernails biting into the soft flesh. It's a bad habit, but an effective one. The little bit of pain keeps you present when you’d like to fawn. This wasn’t the place: rehab facility, in a previously sterile, closet–size room. The couple times you’d accidentally slipped into subspace semi-publicly had been scary. If you were meeting him on tour, Damiano was extremely intentional about creating a controlled environment, and if he didn’t feel confident, you wouldn't play.

Perhaps, without realizing it, the hand under your shirt is stoking at the same pace as an even breath. When one body was upset, the other subconsciously moved to calm it. All you needed was to breathe in time with his hand against your back, and allow yourself to fall into submission. Every cell in your being had been screaming for this, waiting months for Dami’s reassuring touch, but you couldn’t allow yourself to enjoy it. Hell, you shouldn't be allowing it whatsoever because based on recent history you’d end up hurt. Worse still, you’d feel helpless, which was an emotion you’d clawed your way out of with cut up hands and bleeding fingernails. 

“I need to stand up,” you decide, clambering off his lap. It takes Dami by surprise and he hangs onto your wrists while you struggle to get your feet right. He can tell something is awry.

“Okay, you're standing. What now?” he asks in his gentlest voice. Speak. Fucking speak. Maybe you could go home and fall back into memory, pretend it wasn’t a temporary fix that would ultimately deepen the wound. 

“Look at me.” You can’t stop your face from turning, so you squeeze your eyes closed and feel a rush of tears. “Look at me.” You pout your lip and shake your head, whimpering in distress. The lip pout was a dead giveaway, so you bite it instead and taste blood. The palms of your hands hurt, your lip hurt, your heart hurt. How was a person supposed to contain this much hurt and be unaffected?

“When we split you didn’t have another dom. How long did it take you to find one, y/n?” He caught on too easily. Your left leg begins shaking, quivering at the knee like it's about to give out. Your body tries to contain nervous energy. It’s too much. The sobs are so frequent you struggle to breath, coughing on snot.

“Did some piece of shit hurt you, piccola mia? What did they do wrong?” You choke on your own spit at the tone of his voice, covered in goosebumps. Damiano probably didn’t realize how dominant he sounded. His little girl making a mistake within a new dynamic wasn’t even a possibility to him. Had to be the dom’s fault because you were perfection.

“When you’re ready we can redo the scene and it’ll go exactly how you want. I’ll be so careful to replace that bad memory with a good one. Hmm?” You shake your head. There had been no bad substitute dom, because there’d been no other dom at all.

“Open your eyes,” he commands, tightening the grip on your wrists. Dami sits forward and pulls you between his spread legs. You stare at your left shoe. One of Princess’s hairs was on the bland, gray carpet, nearly camouflaged. 

“I haven't submitted to anyone,” you whisper so quietly that not even crying can distort the words.

“Look at me.” It's another command, more forceful. His grip on your wrists aches, just enough to draw attention. Keeping the kicked puppy expression off of your face became impossible ten minutes ago, so when Dami looks, he sees. He’s absolutely devastated, then kicking himself for not putting two and two together. 

“You’re going to be Little for a while. Sit on my lap.” Now that the decisions made, you’re so awash in relief that your oxygenation gets even more fucked up.

“Can’t breathe.” He makes the decision physically, too, and pulls you down to him. You go completely pliant, so sitting on his lap becomes laying on his chest. Dami turns both your bodies to fit semi-comfortably along the tiny bed. You peel off your shirt to reveal just a sports bra, worn to keep the boobage under control. Now all that matters was his warm hands on your bare skin. The shirt falls to the floor and Princess sniffs it out of curiosity. 

“Let me change into a tank top,” he murmurs. It's a sign of respect, since he’d go shiftless any other time. “Loosen your grip. I’m just getting something from my dresser, you're okay, topolina.” Subconsciously, you’d wrapped your arms around Dami and established a vice hold, so he’d have to pry your arms apart to get away. It was a desperate move.

“Sorry.”

“You’re not allowed to apologize unless I ask, surely you remember that.”

“I remember,” you slip into Little Voice and watch Damiano’s from out under your lashes. It’d be so much quicker to get out of bed, but instead he props himself on his left elbow and reaches to open the drawer with his right hand. As a result you get to stay on his chest and listen to his heartbeat through the cotton.

Every movement is done together. Sitting up with a firm arm around your waist is done together. You even help him pull off the baggy t-shirt and unnecessarily smooth over the straps of his tank top. He’s gained muscle fast. Already you can see the difference in Damiano’s biceps and shoulders. It’d still be nice to see a healthy layer of body fat. Right now he’s a bit sinewy.

“They have a gym here.”

“You noticed,” he beams. Rather than answer his gaze, you stare at where your thighs touch and feel yourself get wet.

“Mm, you forget that I can feel what you’re thinking when you’re on my lap, michetta.” Why in god’s name did you wear cheap trousers and thin underwear? Even your ear’s burn with embarrassment. 

“Awe, now did I say you were allowed to blush that pretty?” He takes the hair tie from your wrist and pulls your hair back, so he can see your face from all angels. “Does this feel nice?” Dami fingers combs your locks, stropping whenever there's a tangle until the full ponytail is clutched in his first. Then he pulls from the base of your skull. You're too braindead to provide resistance. Rather than pull your hair, Damiano ends up tilting your whole head back. You freeze, afraid it's your mistake.

Initially, all Dami does is breathe, and you can feel the air hitting your stretched neck. He just sits there, with your head craned back, enjoying the view of all your exposed skin, like a predator before butchering its meal. Just allowing this stance is an act of submission by you. His eyes fall to the notch at the base of your neck, across your clavicles, along the flat expanse of your breast bone, and landing on the line of your cleavage.

“Notice your breathing.” For the first time in several minutes, your awareness turns inward, away from your dominant. Was the pattern of your inhale-exhale normal? No. But was it panicked? Also no. You were panting, aroused by the knowledge of Dami’s eyes on your neck. It was a ridiculous reaction. 

“‘S better.”

“Mhm.” The hand around your middle slowly rises to your throat. Damiano simply sets the bottom knuckles against your trachea, not applying any force, intricately observing your reaction. Then he folds the entirety of his warm palm around your neck, keeping tension with your hair. Finally he wraps his fingers around the column of your neck, leaving you in rapture. At any moment, he’ll apply force, restricting blood flow and subsequently flooding you in endorphins when his grip releases. Dami’s thumb tenderly rubs behind your ear lobe, the gentle sensation a precursor to some brutality that never comes.

“You are okay.” Using both hands, Damiano brings your head upright. As soon as he lets go you feel the weight of the world and yearn for his guiding touch.

“Signore?” you say his chosen Honorific in confusion. His careful hands are back, tucking your face securely between his shoulder and neck. One resumes the delicious tension with your hair and the other cups your cheek as he lays back down. 

“So good at keeping your eyes closed, piccola. Remember I had to train you to do that? Now, you give in without me even asking. Such a perfect pet.” He kisses your forehead and rubs your bare back while administering the occasional validation. “Curled up just right, topolina. You are my sweetest little girl when you’re snuggly.” Just when you’re prepared to swan dive into subspace for the foreseeable future, Dami jostles your shoulder. “I need you to stay verbal.” You groan in protest, feeling disoriented as you search for words. They’re unreachable objects, floating around in your submissive mental fog.

“Ssh, shh. I didn’t want you to startle. That's my fault and I’m sorry,” he coos, stroking your hair with gentle pressure that coaxes you to lay down. “Take a deep breath. Mhm, that's just how I asked, piccola mia. You’re doing a really good job.” 

“Brain off,” you groan. Damiano chuckles, but keeps his hand at the same pace. He’s good at that. As a dominant partner, his physicality often had a hypnotic quality. 

“I’m sorry that I have to keep you at the surface. I wish it was different, that I could be a better Dom.” 

“You…good Dom.”

“Three whole words? I’m impressed. I’ve seen you go non-verbal for so long I wondered if you’d talk the next morning.”

“Mm…nice.”

“Yeah, I bet that sounds nice right now. Maybe we’ll do that when I get home. This can be non-sexual for a while.” The bastard properly yanks your hair for the first time as punctuation, just enough for a violent full-body shiver and a little sting at the nape of the neck. It was your favorite.

“Fuck you.” Simultaneously, you stretch like Princess in the sun, coiling yourself tighter around Dami. “Fuck you and the way you smell.” Your nose was nudging against the back of his head, where all the sweat collected.

“I’m one day past needing a shower. Sorry, I know you only like that when you’re ovulating and feral.” And right now. He smelled grubby in a way you wanted to taste too. Would he notice if you licked him? With inhibitions compromised, you lick the nape of his neck, feeling the short hairs at the top with your tongue. Damiano startles and pulls away, shocked.

“Did you just lick me?” It's such a harsh reaction that you immediately regret it. Now that the cuddles have stopped, you feel uneasy with self consciousness. What kind of invasive, tone deaf pervert does what you just did? And here you’d lectured about boundaries. 

Damiano’s face dissolves from shock into pity into regret. He cups your cheek, thumb brushing back and forth. Were you crying again? You couldn’t feel your face, or anywhere else on your body. He hasn’t given you permission to apologize. Even so, the words are almost bursting forth. 

“You surprised me,” he explains slowly, speaking like you’re a confused child. It’s healing, to be talked down to, but not demeaned, in a world where your senses are in a constant state of being assaulted by information.

 “Good surprise. I shouldn’t have jumped. I’m sorry, pet.” It was the second time he’s said ‘I’m sorry,’ while you weren’t allowed. “It’s been so long since I had the privilege of our dynamic and…” Dami looks out the window again, and sighs in thought. He pulls you close again and rolls over so he’s resting on top this time. With his familiar weight pushing you into the mattress, not wrapping your legs around his hips becomes a very conscious choice.

“You are uninhibited by shame in the expression of your submission.” A single finger on your chin brings your eyes to his and Damiano’s gaze is the only thing necessary to own your attention. “So strictly platonic might not work for us, because I will never put limits on your sexual expression.” The moment is so intense that you mentally beg for Dami to release it, but he grasps it with an iron-clad fist, willfully. “So things are going to be partially experimental, at your discretion, because hard boundaries are not comfortable for you. They are not where you thrive.” 

You’re nodding along in wide-eyed agreement, dreading when this moment ends and you have to have an entire thought on your own. Dami is holding himself very still, rather than relaxing against you as is normal. It's undoubtedly because he’s hard. Wanting to feel that validation you begin to raise your knees, intending to wrap your legs over his hips and bring him close enough to eliminate any secrets. With a firm hand on your thigh, he stops the gesture, legs returning to the bed.

“Breathe,” he reminds, caressing your ribcage. 

“I wanna apologize,” you whimper, embarrassed at your own horny behavior.

“No. Breathe into my hand.” Each inhale, you focus on the sensation of Dami’s skin against yours and his weight on your left side. “I will not allow you to apologize for organically acting out your desires. I am here to regulate your behavior. I don’t expect you to do it.” Damiano’s face begins to blur as you slip deeper into submission and try to claw your way towards the surface.

He resituates your bodies to lay facing each other. One hand is cupping your ribcage, the other rests at the base of your neck. The immediate adrenaline rush makes you more cognizant. Curious about all the movement, Princess hops on the bed, meowing a complaint that there is not enough room to lay between your torsos.

“I'm busy, babygirl,” he tells her. She meows again and turns her head away, as if she understands.

“Okay, brain turning on.”

“Just keep breathing. That’s all you have to do and you’re listening so well.” He rubs circles on your chest and in response your nipples get hard, even though the bra’s padding. “I love it when you touch me like this,” he muses. Gathering all your focus, you slip a hand under Dami’s tanktop and lay it on his sternum.

“Piccola mia, look at me.” He only has to ask once. “You are okay. I know this was just the beginning of what you needed.” Instead of crying as a response to everything, you access that little well of calm inside you, and find that there's steadiness to be had. “If we were to do a scene, you might not feel safe here, or you might feel uneasy afterwards. Also you need to drive home.”

“I understand.” You strain to kiss Dami’s nose.

“Breathe. You are okay.”

“I am okay,” you repeat back, automatically. 

“You are okay.”

“I am okay.” You finally consider the words and nod in understanding. “I’m okay. I’m not actively trying to keep it together anymore. Holy shit, I actually feel alright,” you exclaim in surprise. He hums in agreement, and pulls you onto his chest. Being constantly reminded to breathe steadily has manually calmed your nervous system down. Your body physically knew that it wasn’t in a state of distress anymore, panic gone.

“Fiveish minute warning,” Damiano announces, like a nanny at a playground.

“No,” you grumble, getting a more secure grip and nuzzling.

“When you feel like you’re gonna turn into a sinkhole from all the pressure life is applying, find this feeling again. It’ll still be there. You don’t have to use it or owe it to anybody. Just have some peace and know I believe in your capabilities unconditionally.”

“I believe in you unconditionally.” Dami scoffs and pats the mattress.

“This bed we’re laying on, is in a rehab facility that I didn’t even get myself into. My brilliant, persuasive girlfriend tricked the entire Italian healthcare system and babysat me on the way here.”

“Technically I committed a crime, so don’t put me too high on a pedestal.” He frowns with just the right side of his mouth, eyes darting back and forth on the textured ceiling. “Hey…” You fold both hands on his chest to prop up your chin.

“Hey.”

“You’re missing the point.” He cocks an eyebrow. “We’re laying in a bed in a rehab facility that I tricked my way into together.” This earns a full smile and a suggestive lip bite. It's humanizing to view Dami from an angle that gives him a double chin, as he gazes down in adoration.

“That is a good point.” His eyes scan your face, repeatedly darting down to your lips. It is a very intimate position.

“Okay, so this is a question, not a statement.”

“Mhm.”

“Are you trying to get me to kiss you right now? Because I can’t tell.” You blush and break eye contact, laying a cheek to the cotton of Dami’s tank top. “Ah, fuck me. That’s a no. Fuck.”

“Not yet,” you whisper, tracing the lines of a cat tattoo on the inside of his bicep.

“I’m not trying to pressure you.”

“I know. It doesn’t come off that way.”

“Good because I don’t…I’m really happy with where we’re at and I don’t want to do anything to damage it.”

“You’re not, Damia and I don’t wanna…freak out and get snot all over you.”

“Are you kidding? That’s the first normal reaction you’ve had to all this. I’m relieved. Anger and tears are reactions I can understand.”

“I’ll be sure to yell at you next time.”

“You say that as a joke but it’d be nice to get it out of the way.” That comment rubs you the wrong way and you sit up.

“Do you think I’m just harboring secret rage, waiting for a moment where I can cause optimal damage to unleash it?”

“Wha – no. No, I don’t think that.”

“I haven’t held back on our phone calls or when we split up. I walked out of the hospital and I blocked all ways for you to contact me.”

“I know, I just feel like I deserve…more. More punishment.”

“That sounds like some shit you need to figure out with a therapist, not put on me.” Damn, subbyness gone. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Ugh!” You splay out on his chest once more, missing the simplicity of the previous moment.

“I ruined it.”

“You can’t be constantly debilitated by self-loathing because staying sober and putting our relationship back together isn’t gonna work with that weight. I don’t resent you the way you’re bracing for.”

“Why?” he presses.

“Because you are not the person I broke up with! Become that person again, and you will feel the wrath of a thousand hell demons. But this person –” you poke the middle of his chest with your pointer finger. “I fell in love with at 18 and continue to love. I know you didn’t act maliciously, or as your true self. Anger is just…so simple. Too simple.” He softens and traces his fingertips up and down your spine. “I will be an absolute prison warden about drug testing though.”

“Good, that’ll make me feel better. And I’m glad that you’re acknowledging the hurt I caused, even if it wasn’t my intent. Intent doesn’t heal the wounds.”

“Well, except…“knowing you didn’t mean to hurt someone takes away a lot of the betrayal, so it does matter.” You shift and sign in contentment. God, he really smelled unreasonably delicious. “Plus I’m a big girl, I can work through my emotions.” His fingertips massage your scalp in a way that damn near makes your eyes roll back. Instead, you shiver while he gathers your hair in a fist.

“My turn.”

“Huh?” Damiano flips you on your back again, but instead of keeping his head level, he lowers his face to your chest. You still don’t understand what's going on until his tongue licks between your cleavage, up to your collar bones. From there he kisses along your neck with tongue, pulling your hair to make the area more accessible to his mouth.

“Hnngg mm, Damia. Ahh, okay.” His tongue runs along the shell of your ear, making every body hair stand on end from the stimulation. “Huuuh, fuck. Not fair. Mm-mmm, not…not fair.” His chuckle is ridiculously sexy and he takes his time pulling away. “Not fair.” Damiano wears a self-satisfied smile, knowing he’s bested you, in addition to turning you on. Perhaps two orgasams before visiting wasn’t enough, because you actually consider lunging forward and kissing him hard. Maybe that's what he wants, to bait you into action without implicating himself. It's a challenge that he doesn’t mean to pose. Regardless, you take it.

“Princess?” You make a couple high-pitched trills and she jumps on your chest. Dami is surprised to have the focus pivoted away from him. Ever the attention whore, Princess rubs her cheek against his before settling down.

“Do you think she misses me?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Cause clearly, you miss me.” Sitting up, you brush the cat hair off your shirt and pull it on. Damiano makes a wounded noise in protest. 

“Looks like you’ll have to lick something else now,” you quip. By that you mean an arm or the fabric of your top, not the lightning fast comeback Dami delivers.

“I would lick something else. Now, if you’d like. Happily.” He gestures to his bed and your cunt burns, despite cunnilingus not even being an option. 

“You’re funny.”

“I couldn’t be more serious.”

“Pretty sure intercourse is against the rules. Wouldn’t want you to get in trouble.”

“I’m pretty sure that's what they think we’re doing right now,” he grins. Horrified, you yank the door open while Dami cackles. Luckily, he manages to catch Princess before she makes a run for it. Her short leash hangs on the bedpost closest to you. In a whisper, he repeats an earlier phrase while reaching for it.

“Did I say you were allowed to blush that pretty?” For a moment you’re speechless and sweaty. He sets Princess down and holds out the leash. Your mind is too preoccupied to realize that he’s offering it to you. Dami smirks as he steps out into the hallway. You try to think of some little gesture or a phrase that will do to him what he’s done to you. Everything that comes to mind is either not good enough, or too public. You’re fumbling and he loves to watch you lust for him.

“You want to have some gelato outside?” 

“If you promise to be civil.” He wiggles his eyebrows in a way that does not suggest compliance. You decide to be crude rather than clever, pinching his ass right before he steps into the hallway. Damiano yelps and jumps half a foot in the air, as does Princess. 

“Oops.” You skirt around him before he gets the chance to return the favor, skipping towards the stairs. The building was grand, with a high, intricately carved ceiling. Behind you, Dami was speed walking, Princess struggling to keep up. He ends up having to stop and scoop her off the floor, by which time you’re waiting at the end of the hall with a devilish smile. Maybe you were destined to play games of chase like this, until you trusted things enough to be caught.

His eyes scan the surroundings twice before growling, “c’mere.” You shake your head and hop down the steps as soon as he nears touching distance. It's not like Dami could grope you in the common areas where everyone gathered between meals and therapies, but this space was empty. You look over your shoulder, undecided if you’ll let him catch you, and he can see that indecision. Suddenly, it feels like a not so innocent game of prey and predator. Your focus oscillates between Dami and your feet walking backwards down the steps.

“Y/n, behind you!” You freeze and see a frail woman who could be anywhere from 40-70 years old with an amused expression. She was climbing up the stairs, minding her business, like a normal person.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry. Uh…sorry,” you cringe. First you flatten yourself against the railing, then realize she might need the railing. Already the woman has silently moved to the opposite side of the staircase. Dami’s nose is scrunched up in embarrassment, too.

“Lovely cat,” she murmurs so quietly only Dami realizes she's spoken.

“Oh, thank you!” His normal voice booms through the foyer in comparison. Damiano glances at Princess, as if noticing her for the first time, then sets her down. She meows just before her splayed paws hit carpet and looks up in apparent disappointment. 

“Come on, Miss Sassy Pants.” Once he’s in lock step, you lean over and whisper, “do you know that lady?”

“Mm-mm, she’s new.” His tightly controlled expressions indicate the obvious, that notoriety is a taboo subject in the facility. 

“Have people given you any trouble?”

“Thank god, no. The other patients have been in their own worlds for a while. Plus, no internet access, remember? Lord knows what they’re saying about me.”

“Really nice, genuine, complimentary things,” you deadpan. 

“Oh, really? That's a relief.” The paparazzi were publishing every sallow picture after a night out they could get their hands on, and even better if there was a model in the frame. Alot of the pictures were with women he’d never slept with, and while simply hung-over, not high. Of course that didn't matter. The more they had to recycle material, the more preposterous the claims got. 

“Last week they said you’ve been away managing a secret sex cult, not in rehab.” He scoffs as you walk towards the kitchen.

“Could be worse, I guess. Or less interesting.”

“Yeah…until the claims that it was mostly 16-year-olds started up.” Damiano stops in his tracks with an expression like he’s drunk sour milk. “But it got disproved in like a day! Fans started leaving horrendous reviews on the tabloid sites. Some of them were actually really funny…” You trial off, because Damiano is visibly seething. “Hey, literally no one believed it, Dam.”

“But the fact that they even thought it was acceptable to publish that, with absolutely no evidence, like it was news makes me sick. We always consciously avoided the groupie narrative and now…” He throws his hands up in frustration. 

“Pop culture doesn’t differentiate between a womanizer and a predator because it's normalized that sex be coerced. That's on society, not you.” 

“Maybe I’ll say something to that effect as part of my great rebranding. God it's just…” he stares at the carpet and scowls, mulling it over. “I don’t want to be angry, right now, while you’re visiting, this just really, really pisses me off.” After personally giving dubious and questionable consent in his mid-teens, the subject was a sore spot for Dami. He was very intentional about never doing that to someone else.     

“Maybe you can sue them for character deformation? Use the publicity to bolster releasing an In Nome Del Padre type single?” 

“Now there's an idea,” he allows a sliver of a smile.

“It would sure suck if paparazzi started harassing the journalist who wrote the article after seeing them in court.”

“Now that would be a great tragedy.”

“Perhaps there would even be a support group, for the fellow grievers.”

“I think that’s called a party.”

“I’ll bring the balloons if you bring the cake?”

“Deal,” he finally grins. “Christ,I can’t even…” Damiano shakes his head and sighs heavily. “Maybe I don’t miss the internet.”

“Porn.”

“Good point…But mostly I miss my camera roll.” You try not to turn red.

“Certain pictures on your phone make me very nervous.” 

“They are very safe.” According to many technological precautions you didn’t understand, Damiano’s camera roll was highly secure. But more so you trusted that, as a Dom, he’d never let images of you being Little be viewed by anyone. Yes you were happily non-monogamous, but as dominant, Damiano fucking lived for the fact that he didn’t share your submission. The polyamory was completely separate from your personal daddy/sub dynamic. 

What he got off on most of all wasn’t the nudes, or necessarily kink, but pictures he’d carefully orchestrated of you having sex together. After getting consent, he’d set up the phone camera with a random timer. Not knowing when the picture was going to be taken meant you couldn’t pose. Rather than his usual rhythm, Dami gave you as much stimulation as possible right out the gate, so you’d forget the camera by the time he found a slow groove. Then he’d rev the sex back up with tantric work, toys, dirty talk, and considerate angles. 

The result were images of you sweaty, flushed, gasping, half cognizant, and blissed out. Either captured at a moment of tension, or the release right after. They were not pretty. If you were kissing it could be downright ugly. Damiano always looked just as fucked out, but he wore it like a sex god. Sometimes, the full body shots of you on top felt beautiful, but he never preferred those. Dami loved the gaping mouth, furrowed brow face you made when rubbing your clit against him the exact right way. He’d excitedly point out the crescent-shaped nail marks on his chest you left when dragging your slick pussy along his pubic bone for the sake of orgasmic friction. In real life, or in the pictures.

“You didn’t delete them?” Dami stops in his tracks, face revealing that he hadn’t thought about this until now.

“Should I have?” he says slowly.

“I guess not. I didn’t set up a contingency, so it wasn’t violating anything. I just thought since we were – are, that you wouldn’t want…I mean you had access to all – wait did you take pictures with other people?” Exchanging and creating sexual images with other partners wasn’t even a conversation because of the fame. Now your voice comes out wounded and accusatory at the thought of him sharing this practice during your time apart.

“Not…” He guides you towards the empty kitchen to finish the conversation, as you wear an expression of shock. Intimate photography had only existed between you two out of necessity, not because you forbade it with other partners. It wasn’t until he mentioned it that you realized this closed practice had created territorialism. You’d fallen right into the trap of monogamy – of wanting exclusive rights to Damiano’s sexual autonomy – at the first opportunity possible.  The hum of the refrigerator and Dami’s hand on your mid-back bring you to the present. Princess is meowing persistently, probably because this is where her food is stored. 

“You know what, it's almost dinner time. I’ll just feed her now so she’ll stop bothering us.”

“If it's almost dinner then I should go. Our time is up. I –”

“Y/n.” He holds you by the shoulders with intimidatingly intense eye contact. “I was not using sex in a healthy way. I was using it like drugs, okay? It was mostly inebriated and mediocre. Yes, I did photograph it on the rare occasion I was sober-ish and gave a fuck, but those photos never made it onto my phone.  Pictures preserve memories. There was nothing about that time I wanted to remember, especially how I acted.” He crouches down to pet Princess, self-soothing, and you hop up on the counter for something to do. Dami pulls a little metal dish from under the fridge and her meows only intensify. 

“I know, I know. It's happening. I’m getting your fancy dinner, babygirl.” He pulls open the door and the cool air hits your skin. “So I’ve been thinking about how our relationship is at a point where it's gonna evolve a lot.”

“Agreed.” Dami grabs ground, raw meat and a couple of plastic pump bottles out of the refrigerator.

“So even if we were to take a couple hours and hash our relationship all the way out,” he uses a measuring cup to transfer the meat to the bowl, “a week from now it might be…a totally different um, thing.”

“Right, and what’s that stuff?”

“Beef?” Damiano looks over his shoulder while washing his hands and raises an eyebrow.

“No, the bottles.”

“Oh! It’s fish oil, plus vitamins and supplements for her coat, her bones, her eyesight.” 

“Princess, the immortal, spoiled feline.”

“That's the idea, yeah.” She circles Dami’s legs, meowing incessantly, until he sets her bowl down.

“But, I agree about how fast our relationship will be evolving. I guess, ideally we’d sit down each time it felt like something had shifted, but that sounds…”

“Like a lot?”

“Exhausting. Doing the full negotiation while you’re still in the early days of recovery sounds emotionally overwhelming to be honest. And I’d like to say, ‘can’t we just agree to love each other with dignity and reverence,’ but that seems naive.” Damiano thinks for a few seconds, putting things back in the fridge.

“I’m,” he gestures with his hands “sort of doing a reset towards my – well, our fundamental principles. Because I really wasn’t conducting myself in a way I was proud of for several months there. And I want to talk about it.” He takes the gelato container from the refrigerator and retrieves a spoon. “Or rather I’m willing to talk about it” Dami grumbles while fighting with the lid. He finally manages to remove it, revealing the creamy, light green color. 

“Okay, this is gonna sound so cheesy, but I couldn’t eat gelato while we were broken up.” Using some grip strength, he digs the first spoonful out.

“Oh my gosh, Damia.” It’d been so long since you’d last felt butterflies. (Which you’d never outright attribute partially to him speaking in the past tense). Technically you were still broken up, but it didn’t feel like it. This was some uncomfortable in between, a limbo. However, Damiano didn’t call you broken up to his band mates, even though that label had definitely been put on your relationship in a mutual decision. 

“What's that face?” he passes you a spoonful. The handle is warm from his grip.

“You didn’t tell anyone we were broken up, did you?” He can see from your smile that you aren’t upset, which just makes him bashful. It's a rare occurrence to see Damiano David bashful. “Hah! You’re adorable.” He stares at his shoes while you enjoy the first taste of gelato. “Mister megastardom is blushing.”

“No, I’m not blushing. Shut up,” he grins. “And I may have, possibly…um, avoided using that particular label as much as possible. So yeah, I have said it, but I’ve also avoided it, to be honest. Vic has gotten good at hiding the visible pity in her expression, but Thomas especially has a ways to go.” You pry a spoonful out of the container and feed it to Dami. He stands between your legs, hands resting just above your knees.

“I propose that we are officially not broken up.”

“So then we are…”

“Not broken up.”

“Okay…” His tone is unsure, but he allows one of those precious smiles that reveal his gums and offers another up more gelato. “So are we friends?” As it melts in your mouth, you contemplate the requirements for friendship. It became too painful to continue relationships with a couple of my friends who were super into the club scene and bordering on substance abuse. But Dami was sober.

“Or no? Needing to allocate all my focus to staying sober and repairing my mistakes may not make me a very good friend.” He’s self aware and gracious which makes the decision harder. You scoop the gelato with so much gusto that it nearly ends on the floor.

“But consciousness about substance misuse and commitment to repairing relationships are really vital to my friendships right now.” You raise another spoonful to his lips. This time it takes Damiano a second to accept it. “So I don’t know, but it's really important that I do know.”

“Hey.” In a comforting gesture, Dami slides his hands up your thighs and leans in to make more meaningful eye contact. “I don’t want to exhaust you with this, sweetheart. I –” his self-awareness kicks in and he takes a step back, hands purposefully occupying themselves with the spoon and container. “We are roommates and you’ve already told me, in detail, your boundaries on that.”

“On your sobriety! There aren’t supposed to be hard rules in relationships!” You're exasperated and Damiano isn’t offended. Instead, he taps your lip with the spoon as a reminder to open your mouth.

“We are intentionally repairing our bond to work towards a relationship.” You nod and take a deep breath, feeling calmer. The gelato is beginning to melt, runny around the edges. If it overflows the container will never get un-sticky.   

   “You should put that in the freezer.” He sighs and stops meeting your eyes. The top of the container is stiff. Damiano carelessly tosses the shared spoon into the sink and the metallic sound is so loud that it makes you jump. He spins around right away with an anxious expression.

“Sorry, sorry! That wasn’t intentional, I’m just not used to having a metal sink. It’s basically always filled with water for doing dishes. I wasn’t tryna be intimidating or some bullshit. I’m sorry. I –” whispering to himself, Dami says “what the fuck is wrong with you” He clips Princess back onto her leash and loops it over the knob on a cupboard.

“That wasn’t me trying to change the subject, Damia. I got yelled at so many times for letting the gelato melt that it's like a Pavlovian response.”

“Okay.” He relaxes his shoulders, resuming his previous stance.

“Okay,” you repeat with a small smile.

“We know how to do right by each other and we’re on the same page. You’ve updated your boundaries. As far as I know, mine are the same. I’m sure shit will come up, but we’re good at communicating.” Unexpectedly, serenity washes over you at once again reaching cohesion. It was a familiar sensation with Dami, to be grounded in the presence of each other. He takes a deep breath in as well. 

“Nesting partners. It’s a label I’ve learned, but I know you’re not big into terminology.”

“No, tell me what it means.”

“It's the companion you live with. Not necessarily your primary.”

“Sounds like something from a documentary about birds.”

“It does,” you laugh. “Anyways, if you wanted a word for us, that’d be it.” 

“Are you asking me to be your nesting partner?” Subconsciously, he leans forward out of excitement, hands sliding halfway up your thighs.

“And you’re willing to have David Attenborough narrate your every shit for National Geographic broadcasting?” 

“Totally.” You suppress the urge to kiss Dami and instead pointedly look down at his hands, now creeping towards your hips.

“Well, then…”

“Shit, sorry. Sorry.” He stands upright, tries to put his hands in his pockets, then realizes these pants don’t actually have pockets. “I wasn’t trying to make a move or – I mean, I wasn’t thinking about it. I’m just really used to touching you.” Cue heartbeat skip.

“Trust me, I get it. Like when –”

The moment is interrupted by movement just outside of the kitchen. You push Damiano back by a hand in the center of his chest so things weren’t so intimate.

“Ah, there you are! Hiding from me!”

“I wasn’t hiding,” Dami defends, in a way you recognize as bluffing. A staff member, this time dressed in slacks and a wrinkled, blue button-up, walks into the kitchen. He’s amused, not frustrated, which is a small mercy. Maybe Dami doesn’t realize how close your bodies are, maybe he likes it, but you can’t get off the counter without running into him.

“Sorry, I’ll go.” You push him back again, and this time he finally heeds your request. 

“Don’t worry about it. It's just behavioral therapy,” he murmurs, as you adjust your trousers self-consciously. 

“Sounds pretty fucking important for an addict.”

“I would have to agree with y/n. I’m Dr. Rossi. I haven’t spoken with you personally, but I’ve heard so much about you from everyone.” He clasps his hands and looks at Dami expectantly. 

“Right, so they’ll have my purse and stuff at the front desk. So I’ll just –”

“How late am I?”

“13 minutes,” he replies, looking at his expensive watch with a flourish.

“Eh, damage is done. Let me walk you out.” Dr. Rossi nods curtly, gesturing at you to go forth first. Ignoring this, Dami takes his time grabbing Princess’ leash in one hand and yours in the other.

“What do you mean ‘damage done?’”.

“They write me up if I’m more than 5 minutes late. Then there’s a worse penalty at 10 minutes. At 20 it doesn’t count and I get billed for a missed session. Plus they scowl at me for a couple days.”

“Damia,” you groan. He shrugs and nods hello to someone else walking a snow white cat on a neon green leash. 

“That's Yeti. He’s a dog inside a feline’s body, plays fetch.”

“Okay, well thats fucking adorable, but you’re not gonna distract me from blowing off your therapist.” He sighs heavily as you reach the doors. 

“It's one appointment. Everything here is scheduled. I get the purpose, but I feel claustrophobic. You make me feel the opposite of that. Plus, even with visitor privileges, I’m only guaranteed one half hour slot every two weeks.” 

“Oh, your parents.”

“Uh, no. My mom can adequately berate me over the phone. I just fucking miss you and your energy.”

“But your dad…”

“She has him by the balls.” Damiano tries to shove his hands in his pockets again and looks at the floor. Sensing his stress, Princess sits on his shoe and gazes upwards. Only one of them feels like a caged animal and ironically it's not the one on the leash.

“Maybe I can talk to them?” He shakes his head, looking off to the side now instead of meeting your eyes. It was such an obvious tell.

“I don’t want you to spend your time doing that. In a way, I was the golden boy until this. I don’t know how she’s gonna react and I don’t want your feelings hurt on my account.” You momentarily consider proposing speaking to Damiano’s father, then realize that might feel like a betrayal to Andrea.

“It’s just a matter of time?”

“Yeah,” he agrees softly, pursing his lips.

“She’ll change her mind once you’ve been sober for a while,” you reassure, not knowing if it's true. He finally meets your gaze, cocking his head to the side, seeing straight through your empty platitude. Lost for words, you hug Dami, careful not to step on Princess’ paws. She seems content at the sight of her parents embracing. Or maybe you’re just deflecting your own emotions.

Three months ago you’d have called bullshit at anyone claiming Damiano would be setting a sobriety record, that being wrapped in his arms would feel so right and organic. You savor his smell and relax with an exhale as his hug tightens. For some reason the intrusive thoughts always bubbled up at greetings and farewells. The day's emotion, however positive, would probably result in nightmares tonight.

“I’m alive. I’m okay. I’m in love with you,” he murmurs, as if reading your mind.

“Ditto.”

“You don’t need to be okay.” Finally, amidst all the terror around Dami’s health, you ask yourself the question. Am I okay? Nightmares, severe and occasionally uncontrollable anxiety, mental stress from lacking a dom, general stress because of Damiano. A job that was supposed to be fulfilling, but made you too feel like a polar bear in a gray, plastic enclosure.

“What is it,” he murmurs.

“Shit, I don’t know if I’m okay,” you choke. The wave of emotion is so unexpected that it feels like getting jumped. 

“I’m going to take care of you. It's a relief to have the opportunity to take care of you.” The inner peace from earlier is harder to access than you like. Maybe you’d have to ration it.

“I’m gonna leave before I turn into a mess again,” you speak into the fabric of his tank top. Princess cocks her head to the side, and you miss her persistent little presence with a pang in your gut. You pull away and squat down to bid her farewell, stroking between her ears.

“I’ll see you soon, Sassy Pants.” As you straighten up, it's obvious Damiano is deeply conflicted. “I don’t want to let you leave like this. I want to make it all better.”

“It is better. It’s not perfect.” You stroke his face, then his hair. It’s at awkward length, spiking up at random angles. This touch prompts Dami to rub his head self-consciously. 

“It looks like shit.”

“It looks fine. You look good.” That, at least, earns a smile. It’s a better note to end on, so you decide to make your exit. Nervously slipping out was certainly easier than a ceremonious goodbye like this.

“I’m gonna go before you get a missed appointment fee.”

“Fuck the fee,” he responds ardently. You can feel the mood swing coming, but the volatility of his emotions makes them hard to read. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“Damia,” you whine, heart clenching.

“Sorry, that was unnecessary. Drive safe.” He bows his head to avoid your eyes. Wanting to make the leaving a little sweeter, you peck his cheek. 

“Bye Princess.” Less than a month and you won’t have to fight the urge to look back, because you’ll be walking out together. No more Orpheus and Eurydice. This is what ultimately sustains you as the heavy maple door falls shut. The sky – clear when you entered the building – is now plagued with clouds.  

Notes: Whew! The longest chapter yet and we sure covered a lot of ground with these two. Cutting it pretty close posting this late in the day, but I made it. I got distracted by giving my taglist a makeover and quite probably making it worse. Oh well.

- XOXO, Eden

Get on my taglist! (hard edition)

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[penultimatestalematewithdeath]

Just found out the OceanGate sub hull was made with Carbon Fiber???? Can fail under compression with one poorly manufactured air bubble carbon fiber??? Subjective to failure inducing embrittlement at low temperatures carbon fiber???? That carbon fiber????

I am in absolute horrified Awe. Like. I don’t know much about submarines, but I know rockets and we use carbon fiber for hobby rockets and. You can’t?? Make a pressurized vessel out of carbon fiber?? And expect it to survive cyclical loads?? Especially one experiencing temperatures as low as the waters by the Titanic!! Like the polymer matrix would DEFFO experience embrittlement and at MINIMUM crack but more likely would fail catastrophically!! Your threasbold for acceptable cracking would be MINISCULE at that pressure; you couldn’t afford brittle cracking almost at all!!

This article goes into some detail about the safety concerns with the material used and how they were literally brought up and ignored! like. This is the literal scenario they train us for ethics wise in college! Legit the definition! Of when you should put human life before the company!!

Idk it’s just. There’s so much wrong with the situation, but like. To not perform nondestructive testing on the hull?? To ignore visible defects on a supplied material??

So many red flags, so many things that should Never have happened.

[lavareview]

THE FIRST LAVA LAMP...?

The history of the lava lamp can be quite muddled and confusing to approach. From its original invention to its manufacturing and sale, who exactly “did it first” is often unclear. Two lava lamp companies, Lava Lite and Mathmos, are said to be the originators of the lava lamp, and both draw their histories back to inventor Edward Craven Walker… Who himself is disputed as the true inventor of the lava lamp.

So, what’s the real story?

Well, it starts sometime in the 1940s with a Scot by the name of Donald Dunnet, a motor engineer living in South East England. Little information is available on Dunnet, and the most helpful source on him and his inventions is his great-grandson Charlie Leverett, who along with his father and aunt have tried to piece together accurate information on Dunnet and his invention.

According to an old (unfortunately dateless) newspaper article, which the family uses as a source, the original invention came about when Felicity, Dunnet’s youngest daughter and Charlie Leverett’s grandmother, broke the family’s egg-timer, coincidentally while there was a wartime shortage of egg-timers in the UK. Dunnet, who was described as a part-time inventor, set out to build a replacement – imagining, instead of sand falling down to measure time, a controlled rising of oil to the surface of water. This “inverted egg-timer” would therefore be the very first lava lamp prototype.

It would not, however, be the last prototype created by Donald Dunnet. In December 1950, Dunnet applied for a patent granted in 1954 for “a display device using liquid bubbles in another liquid” – making no reference to time measurement, it can be assumed that at this point the invention no longer had anything to do with egg-timers and was instead meant to be an aesthetically pleasing display.

The abstract further describes the invention as “a display device [which] comprises an upper layer of liquid 2 and a lower layer of liquid 3 in a transparent container 1, the two liquids being non-miscible and the upper layer being of lower specific gravity than the lower layer and means 9 for heating the lower layer so that it rises through the upper layer in the form of liquid bubbles […], the bubbles being cooled by the upper layer so that they return to the lower layer.”

Further technical detail is added, but with this initial description, you may already have recognized the basic workings of a lava lamp: wax or oil heated by a light bulb at the bottom of the lamp bubbles up through the fluid filling the container (typically water); the bubbles cool down as they reach the top of the lamp and fall back to the bottom, creating a continuous flow of 'lava'.

While there are no other patents I could find for further iterations on this invention, Dunnet continued to improve on his design. The family was able to find one picture of various models created by Dunnet: one resembles a large glass jug, one a long-necked, bulbous bottle, and three resemble lanterns (interestingly, lantern designs would later be sold by both Lava Lite and Crestworth). The picture is dated "Easter 1960".

Dunnet was even featured on “The BBC Inventors Club” (date of broadcast unknown) for another of his inventions, seemingly his “cleaner for flat surfaces” patented in 1955, pictured here:

According to Dunnet’s grandson, in the 1960s, the family still owned and used one of Dunnet’s lamps, which he says “worked really well and was well developed, quite far removed from his original ‘egg timer’ based design”. He further describes this lamp as using “a Grant’s whiskey bottle with Red lava”. He also declared his intention to create a replica of this prototype based on his memories of it, but it seems pictures of such a replica never materialized.

Sadly, Donald Dunnet passed away sometime between 1960 and 1964, and would never market his invention himself. According to his grandson, his widow had his workshop completely cleared after his death, and no surviving prototypes remain. Still – thanks to newspaper articles, family testimony, the 1950s patent, and the surviving photographs of Donald Dunnet and his inventions, it seems clear that he was the true original inventor of the lava lamp, though not the one who would come to market it to the public.

Unfortunately, Dunnet seems to have been widely forgotten from lava lamp history, with many sources not mentioning him at all, and only his initial egg-timer prototype being briefly credited as inspiring Edward Craven Walker in other sources. It seems Dunnet’s family passed on his story through generations and often spoke of his invention as being stolen, though his granddaughter Linda Leverett is “not sure what really happened”, and the family primarily expresses wishing that he was better known and recognized for his creations. You can take a look at various other patents held by Dunnet here.

So then, who is this Edward Craven Walker we keep hearing about?

Edward Craven Walker (1918-2000) was a British inventor, now known as the creator of the lava lamp. In 1963, Craven Walker found himself at the Queen’s Head pub in Dorset, England. There, he spotted a “blob light” on the bar, described as “a glass cocktail shaker full of oil and water with a light bulb beneath”. This was one iteration of Dunnet’s invention – already no longer an egg-timer as is often claimed, but instead a decorative item.

Craven Walker, learning that Dunnet had died, decided to take on the further development of the lamp himself. He hired British inventor David George Smith to further develop the device. In 1964, Smith applied for a patent assigned to Craven Walker’s company ‘Crestworth Limited’ and granted in 1968, for “a display device comprising a container having two substances therein, with one of the substances being of a heavier specific gravity and immiscible with the other substance […] and when heat is applied to the container, the first substance will become flowable and move about in the other substance”.

Craven Walker named this lamp the “Astro Lamp”, and this model was sold by Crestworth starting in 1963, making it the first commercial lava lamp.

The Crestworth Astro and its variations (such as the Astro Mini) have defined the classic look of lava lamps ever since. They were greatly successful throughout the 1960s and 1970s and are now icons of the era. Crestworth would be renamed Mathmos in 1992, and Mathmos is still one of the two best-known lava lamp companies in the world.

So, what’s with Lava Lite and its claim of being “the original lava lamp company”?

In the end, it’s simply a case of international manufacturing rights. In 1965, Craven Walker sold the US manufacturing rights of his Astro Lamp to two American entrepreneurs, Adolph Wertheimer and Hy Spector, who saw the lamp at a novelty convention in Hamburg, West Germany. Wertheimer and Spector founded the Lava Manufacturing Corporation in Chicago, Illinois, and the Astro Lamp was renamed the Lava Lite and brought to the US market. In the 1970s, the rights to the Lava Lite were sold to Haggerty Enterprises, and it would be distributed by a subsidiary called Lava World International. Lava World International was later renamed Lava Lite LLC. Finally, the Lava Lamp brand was acquired by toy manufacturer Schylling in 2018. This brand, often referred to as “Lava Lite”, is the other big player in the lava lamp world. Because both Mathmos and Lava Lite originate from Craven Walker’s initial Astro Lamp, both brands still lay claim to “the original lava lamp”.

So that’s the story of the lava lamp, as best as I’ve been able to piece it together! An original invention by Donald Dunnet, developed by Edward Craven Walker, and sold in the US by Lava Lite and internationally by Mathmos. A simple but ingenious device, originally only meant as an egg-timer, which would become an icon of the 60s and the 70s, and remains popular to this day.

Did I get something wrong? Am I missing details? Do you have more information on lava lamp history? Feel free to reach out with an ask or submission!

Sources:

The History of the Astro Lamp - Designs by Donald Dunnet - FlowOfLava

The History of the Lava Lamp - Smithsonian Magazine

Donald Dunnet - Original Lava Lamps Inventor by Charlie Leverett on OozingGoo

The Mystique of the Lava Lamps - BBC

Craven Walker - The Telegraph

[materialsscienceandengineering]

Researcher creates wood-based alternative to single-use plastic

University of British Columbia researcher Dr. Feng Jiang has developed a cellulose film that looks like plastic and behaves like plastic—but is biodegradable.

Dr. Jiang's process breaks down wood fibers (sourced from forest waste) in a solution of cold sodium hydroxide combined with mild mechanical blending. The sodium hydroxide is then recycled. The result is a translucent, strong and water-resistant film.

Other researchers have also developed cellulosic films, but the UBC project is the first to use small amounts of energy and chemicals in the manufacture.

Like conventional plastic, the film can be made into coffee bags or chip bags, pouches (like pouches for cereal or frozen fruit), or protective wrap like bubble wrap or envelopes.

Read more.

[dittolicous]

part three of raging stealth black!sanji i guess! (part one - part two)

sanji is very aware that he's just a means to an end. that he's being lied to and used and manipulated. he was given a butchered version of his 'life history' to make up for his amnesia, which included the strawhats abandoning him when he proved too weak and got hurt, something which he had no frame of reference to doubt when he first awoke from death

but if vinsmoke judge is anything, its being ridiculously bad at foresight and little details

honestly, how did he really expect to hide the relative truth with the strawhats being such big names? their journey has been documented, and while its clearly got some biases, sanji can read between the lines. little details are his *job*, thats all espionage is!

so, yeah. he knows hes being used to get the strawhat pirates, knows that he and his siblings are nothing but manufactured tools

it just adds another coal to the growing fire pit of rage in his stomach. its really all he can feel these days, this growing red hot anger, so bright that he perpetually, endlessly fights to keep flames from dancing along his form. he cant place it at first, has no reason to dislike his fathers hand on his shoulder the night he finally awakens, yet the weight lights something within him. his skin prickles where the hand had rested. he wants to scratch it off, to remove the tainted section of his body

he says nothing. good children are seen and not heard.... hes good, yes? right? thats... what he wants?

(can he even want? everything is so empty, so quiet... why-why-why-)

his brother's hollow laughter, the smell of bins full of rotting food, the bubble-filled cloning tubes, the taste of his sisters poison in the air as it lays waste to their enemies, the joyous smile on his fathers face...

sanji also knows he shouldn't be able to feel, yet he can very clearly name this white hot feeling taking root deep within him - rage, unabashed and uncontrollable

when hes not dreaming of sea salt, citrus, or distant laughter, he dreams of vinsmoke blood staining the ground, of satisfaction as his heels dig into ribs, of inflicting every wound they ever gave him right back at them (an odd thing, his waking mind supplies, seeing as his family has never hurt him...), of crushing the shells to the sailing snails which house this tyrannical kingdom

he had hoped to exorcize the demons haunting his dream by gathering knowledge, hence why he sought outside information sources (ie where ever judge deemed worth attacking), surely these unbiased sources would clear away this doubt that should never have exsisted!

instead the roots of his vitriol are set. there is no going back to sanji that woke to his family's supposedly loving faces

they are warmongers, destroyers... liars... they take more than they could ever need or desire... he isn't a son or brother, hes nothing more than another plunder of victory. a walking symbol of their prowess

what do these fools even hope to achieve with their senseless grapples for power? kingdoms?? glory of germa66? scientific might?

don't make him laugh

sanji might only be a means to an end, but so are they, not that those arrogent buffoons even realize

(he cannot say how he knows nor does he really care, but the danger of the world government runs deeper than any outsider could ever grasp - the five shadowy beasts of his dreams tell him so with guttural voices and air-tainting bloodlust)

all too soon it becomes clear that life is nothing but pointless suffering, engineered by tyrants just like vinsmoke judge, just like the shadow beasts whos screams having him waking in cold-sweats, there is no end... they are only free from this horrible cycle in the embrace of death. the dead cannot bleed nor starve nor struggling to breath through grief filled lungs. life is children sobbing over the prone form of their parents or hollowed faces taking mouthfuls of poisoned water to quiet aching stomachs...

the vinsmokes take blindly and foolishly, they took everything from him, took his life, his memories, his heart, left him nothing but a tense anger that leaves his muscles aching and fingers twitching to destroy, pride blinding them to the encroaching cliff into hell

if they wish for hell so badly, who is sanji to deny them? he will bring down the flames of hell and rip clean through the earth to deliver them personally. every sensless act of violence, every life taken without a blink of an eye, every drop of blood the fed the ground, sanji shall return tenfold, yet deny them the relief of death just as they stole him from his

he'll go along with their little plan to draw out the strawhat pirates, give them the easy satisfaction they desire, and just when they feel victory by the tips of their fingers.... they will learn what life is truly like by sanji's very own hands

(and if he holds tightly to the fleeting moments of calm like a balm on his burned exoskeleton, brought on by the face of his former captain or flashes of green from the perpetually lost swordsmen, no one has to know

none of it will matter in the end)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

wallflower 6

Warnings: age gap, creepin’, slow burn, stepdad-adjacent, possible noncon/dubcon, abuse, violence, self-harm.

Character: silverfox!Thor

Your mother meets a new man, but he doesn’t seem very interested in her.

Note: Here we go again. Another erratic drabble series. Appreciate any and all feedback. Love you all.

“Please, you don’t have to,” Thor says as he places the stack of dishes beside the sink as you run the faucet and test the water with your fingers. “You’re my guest, just as your mother is.”

“I want to. It’s only polite.”

“You can leave them,” he suggests, “come and enjoy the evening with your mother. I can put on some coffee or tea–”

“Oh, I can do that,” you offer to the sink as you put the stopper in, “just tell me where everything is.”

“Honey,” he intones, “really, I don’t feel right having you and letting you do all this.”

You keep your eyes on the rising water as you add soap and bubbles foam over the surface, “I don’t feel right not doing it.”

He lets out a breath and clicks his tongue, “yes, I know.”

“Really, it’s not a big deal,” you shift the plates carefully into the hot water as he lingers close, adding to the heat of the steam roiling from the faucet.

“Hm,” he sounds unhappy and you squirm as you wet the sponge, “the coffee is above the toaster, tea too. Kettle just over there… if you need help, please ask.”

“Thank you,” you murmur as you plunge your hands into the sink.

“I feel as if I should thank you,” he says as he gives a gentle brush along your back.

You say nothing and keep your attention on the dishes. You hold your breath until he leaves, his steps reluctant and dawdling. When you dare to look back, you drop your shoulders and let yourself relax. You’re thankful for the excuse to be alone.

The familiar clunk of dishes muffled under the suds keeps you distracted as your eyes wander across the granite counter. The stainless steel toaster shines, each appliance the same sparkling sheen. You set the plates in the rack, ignoring the dishwasher as you note the kettle against the wall and the little crystal dish of sugar.

It doesn’t take long to finish the washing and you dry each piece, searching the cupboards and drawers for their place. When all is away, you flip on the kettle and venture across the foyer to the living room, your mother’s manufactured laughter guiding your way.

You stop in the doorway as she stands behind Thor as he sits in a chair. She rubs his chest from behind as she bends over the back of the recliner and mutters into his hair. He grimaces at the room as she lets her hand stray further.

“Er,” you clear your throat, “would you like coffee or tea?”

Thor catches your mother’s hands and pushes them off him, “please, enough. Sorry, honey–”

“I would prefer you leave us alone,” your mother snaps as she stands, wobbling slightly as she slurs.

“Kat,” Thor retorts as he sits up, “I’d like some tea, the breakfast blend is fine, and I think your mother would do well with some coffee.”

“I haven’t finished my wine,” she pouts and she rustles his hair, pulling a few strands loose from the twisted bun.

“Maybe it would be better if you didn’t,” Thor gets up and sighs, pacing across the floor, “did you need any help with that, honey?”

“N-no,” you give a look to your mother as she glowers at you from behind Thor, “no, please, I’m fine. I’ll go… get it on.”

“I’ll be here if you need me,” he offers.

You spin on your heel, fleeing from the doorway. Your mother’s voice floats out behind you, “I need you,” she purrs, “I could pay for her taxi and we could–”

He grunts but you hear nothing else as you enter the haven of the kitchen. You search for the box of breakfast tea before setting up the machine. It’s slightly different than the one at home and takes you a bit of fumbling to get the filter out, but you loud it and push several buttons before it brews.

You bounce on your heels as you wait, wandering back and forth as the kettle slowly comes to a boil and the aroma of coffee fills the air. You pour the hot water over the sachets. You twine your fingers together and bite your knuckles nervously. How long until you can leave? Your mother hardly seems in a rush but you’re only getting in the way.

“Hey, honey,” Thor’s voice draws you around, startling you, “your mother’s not doing so well, I’m going to put her in a spare room. I was gonna tell you not to bother with the coffee but…”

“Oh, sorry,” you tug on your finger, almost until it pops from the socket. He notices the nervous tick but doesn’t mention it.

“No sorry needed, if you’re still up to meet Fen, you can take your tea to the living room.”

“Okay, is mom okay?”

“She’s just had a bit much,” he assures you.

You nod and turn back to the counter. You near and pull out a tea bag. His shadow looms behind you for a moment before he goes. You toss out the used sachets and go to the fridge. You add a small bit of milk to your cup and leave his on the counter as you stop the grinding coffee machine.

The front room is empty as you enter. Uncertain, you put your cup on a wooden coaster and sit on the edge of the chair next to the square end table. You clutch your hands in your lap and stare at your socks. Maybe you should go see if your mom’s alright. It’s not completely unexpected, you often find her passed out on the couch after one of her girls’ nights.

Before you can muster the courage to go check in, Thor appears, carrying his mug with him. He smiles and puts it near the recliner.

“The couch is cozy,” he suggests and gestures to the chair you sit in, “that old thing is stiff as bones.”

“I’m okay,” you assure him as you pick at a fingernail.

“Shall I fetch the old beast?” He asks playfully.

“Um, sure, if you think… it’s alright.”

“Give me a sec, honey.”

He leaves again and you let your eyes crawl around the room. Your mother’s stockings are crumpled up on the floor and her wine glass is empty. Her fourth by your count. You’re almost embarrassed until you think of how ashamed she must be of you.

You hear claws tapping on the floor and sit up, watching the door expectantly. A great grey hound bounds in as Thor chases in after him.

“--back here, you oaf, god–” he stops himself as the dog nears you, “he slipped his collar.”

Thor holds up the thick band as the dog sniffs at you eagerly, wetting your knuckles with his long snout. He’s huge, his grey fur wiry and long, his grey eyes curiously as he looks at you, his nose nearly touching yours as he raises his head. In a moment, he hops up and the chair creaks under his weight as he forces himself into your lap, draping over you as you lean back and let out a squeak of surprise.

“Fenrir, don’t crush the kitten,” Thor booms and hurries towards you.

“It’s fine,” you gulp under the weight, “he’s being friendly.”

You pet him and he wiggles, bound to fall right off of you in his excitement.

“It’s rude,” he says tersely as he waggles his finger at the defiant dog, “but he does seem to like you. He’s usually a bit more standoffish.”

Fen lifts his head and twists to lick your cheek with his large tongue, you giggle and drag your hand over his side.

“He’s funny,” you let yourself smile as the dog’s warmth calms you, “I always wanted a puppy.”

“Ah, yes,” Thor hovers cautiously, ready to rein in the hound at any moment, “I wouldn’t exactly call him a puppy.”

[textbye]

For the Spring Summer ’24 we are introducing Halo Labels Knit. The meticulously designed stitching patterns are three-dimensional structure refers to textures of the fluid, 🫧💨💦foamy weaves, bubbly spring waters, steam. Offering both expandability and an exceptionally soft and lightweight feel. Collection created by a family-owned manufacturer in Poland. All is knitted from high-quality cotton yarn.

[sketchfanda]

Chestnut Stud across the Multiverse: Korra’s senpai.

Satan city locals couldn’t help but turn their heads at the couple walking hand in hand and really, who could blame. It wasn’t everyday you saw a sensational pro fighter and the ceo of a high grade mechanical manufacturing firm thst could compete with against capsule corp out in public. Especially together as a couple, not that it was scandalous or anything mind you, it just wasn’t often you saw out in the open like this, but Damn if they weren’t quite the picture perfect example of opposites attract. A stunning elements high class beauty who you know could live the good life and enjoy the finer things,and a rough tough tumble toned amazonian beauty of a tomboy. Their height difference distinct with the tomboy, Korra at 5 foot 7 and her lover Asami at an even 6 feet tall. If anything the only scandal would be what these two were getting up and the purpose for which was bringing them toeards their pending destination. One of Satan city’s 5 star hotels, with the penthouse suite booked for them and their guests for this little secret get together for the day. Yes sir,Asami Sato and her lovely gal Korra had a spicey side to their love life and this evening woild be no different. Especially for Korra who couldn’t really contain any sense of giddiness or excitement, and with good reason of course. Asami:”I have to say Korra,I don't think I've ever seen you so excited before. makes me feel rather jealous,you naughty girl you...”*walking hand in hand with her girlfriend in satan city,on their way to a high class hotel. Their choice of evening wesr stylish yet casual,her sensual feminine classy elegance in contrast to her lover. A bemused expression her face at how eager her water tribe she-stallion seemed* Korra:”What,really? Silly me,sorry babe, I just can't help it, I mean it's been a while since I’ve seen my old senpai. I Mean you’re the one who asked for the juicy details and arranged this little get together..”*the amazonian to buy teased playfully. A slight blush on her face and a catlike grin of delight on her expression.*

Asami giggled as she gave Korra a kiss on the cheek, curious to get to know this “senpai” quite well herself and likely as intimately. As they entered the hotel,getting their copy of the keycard from reception as the concierge informed them their fellow guests had arrived. Which made their pulses skyrocket as they got into the elevator,passing the time in the steady ascent of the compartment to cop a feel of one another. A simple casual makeout session as they assaulted one another’s bodies with some heavy petting to add fuel to the growing fire of lust and passion, burning between them for each other as well as what they were about to do. Faces flushed red as they stepped out the lift to make their way towards the penthouse suite door. Soon as Asami opened it with the keycard, they were greeted by the sight of a certain 5 foot compact fighter turned cop and his blonde bombshell of a wife, with Korra closing the distance gap between them as she hugged the cue ball. Her 7 inches of height different to him causing his head to be sandwiched between the valley of her bodacious boobs. Asami giggling at Krillin’s expression as did 18, before watching eith sensual delight as Korra planter her lips on his, giving him quite the passionate, lust fuelled kiss.

Korra:*purring as she broke the kiss,a little trail of saliva between them,panting slightly to control her racing heartbeat.* “Mm senpai it’s been way too long,you naughty man…”*she teased,giggling st the deadpan indigntsnt expression Krillin gave her, before she gasped and moaned as Krillin sudden,t gave her denim clad ass a swift slap,followed by grabbing and squeezing it. The well toned booty a lot more bubbly than it seemed.*”ooooh so forceful Sendai…but I’d expect nothing less from the stud who ruined me for other men…”

Krillin:*despite the grimace he wore on his face,he wasn’t hesitating in copping a feel of the tomboy’s amazonian beauty of a work of art of a body.*”There you go again, being so damn impulsive…”*rolling his eyes as Korra playfully stuck her tongue out at him and at the giggles 18 and Asami sent his way.* “but hey let’s not best around the bush huh? You came all this way and what not so let’s get right to it…”

Soon as he finished saying that,he began to strip, Asami humming sensually in approval whole Korra licked her lips with erotic anticipation. 18 herself stripping down to absolute nudity as she let the lair enjoy her compact hubby’s physique on display, a Herculean work of art with only his boxers remaining on as he sat in the edge of the mattress of the queen sized bed. Korra and Asami purring as eyed him up and down. Soon the tomboy found her lover pressing herself to her,as they began to make out. Giving Krillin a little lesbian show to which 18 added herself to the mix,her hands joining theirs in stripping them,as their lips and tongues all danced together in a blurry heat of growing passion. The sight of the erection now pitching a tent in the shirt king’s boxers spurring them on as soon Korra and Asami were now naked,their curvy bodies varying in their muscle tone,Korra’s from an intense workout routine while Asami despite her feminine grace knew her way around working and handling heavy machinery. They alongside 18 striking sensual poses for his enjoyment,before Korra strode over to kiss and make out with her senpai once more,kissing down along his torso with lusty thirst, soon kneeling on the carpeted floor as she tugged down his boxers. Removing them and throwing them aside as she licked her lips with eagerness. Rubbing his balls and grasping his raging hard cock, stroking as it as she looked at Asami like she was presenting and singing the praises of a national treasure.

Korra:*a shameless lewd look on her face,you’d swear pink hearts were glowing in her lust hazed eyes.*”Mmm just look at it asami, this length and girth..this is a real man right here. The feel,the taste, the scent….”*she couldn’t contain herself any more,as she began plant licks and kisses on Krillin’s cock. Soon latching her lips on it to suck and blow, drowning it with her saliva.*

Asami couldn’t find it in her make a witty comeback, too entranced by the sight of her butch tomboy lover acting like such a butch in what as she lavished oral worship on Krillin’s manhood. In the blink of an eye she wasted no time in joining them. Pressing her lips to his as they made out, hands massaging that muscular torso as she kissed her way down along physique, soon joining Korra in tagteaming him with a tandem blowjob. Hands rubbing her slit as she felt how wet she was, arousal skyrocketing at seeing her lover do the same. Now she can see how and why Korra had been so vivid in the details she shared about stories of her old senpai, the man she gave her first time to, a stud so amazing sexually thst it’s small wonder she proclaimed he ruined her for other men. Something she was going to thank him for,as they continued to shower his cock with lusty licks and kisses. Asami leaving red kiss marks thanks to her lip stark, marking his shaft and balls SWAK (sealed with a kiss). 18 of course licked her lips with delight at the display before her, soon joining them as she added her own mouth and tongue to the mix. Krillin could only tilt his head back to groan as the sensation and vision of his wife and two very kinky,horny lesbisexuals (bicurious lesbians) assaulted his manhood with their mouths and tongues. The 3 way blowjob soon rewarding their stunning fellatio skills as he erupted, his dick spraying with white hot scream. Catching it in their mouths and on their faces, making out with each other to clean it off as Krillin lied back on the bed, catching his breath.

Korra:*sensually grinning as she pried herself away from Asami and 18, climbing onto the bed as she straddled her former senpai, mounting him and grinding her slit against his still hard cock.*”Mmm, your protein tastes as good as I remember senpai,but I know you’re not done by a long shot…”*gasps as she felt Krillin grab and squeeze her bubbly booty.*”Oooh there we go…that’s the senpai I remember. Make sure You give Asami your A game,you sex machine you..”

Krillin:”don’t get cocky with me,You cheeky girl…”*h quipped good naturedly,as he pumped snd thrust his cock into Korra’s pussy,making her toes curl and her spine arch,glowing hesrts in her eyes once again as they smacked their loins together in the ancient intimate dance of man and woman. Bouncing her muscular form as she rode that cock,letting her senpai bring them together to the peak of ecstasy. Just like this one glorious night together so long ago..*

Asami looked in with awe and arousal at seeing her proud,powerful Korra scream like the bitch in he’s she was being taken and claimed as. Seeing her and Krillin roll around between a mating and Amazon press, the sigh of their loins connected in that lewd,intimate embrace of sexual mating. 18 sitting behind her,idly making out with her as she squeezed her tits and kissed along her neck and shoulders to lock lips with her. Their tongues dancing together as Sato Corp heiress continued to probe her own pussy with her naughty fingers. The penthouse suit filling with the echoes of erotic moans and the smacking of skin on skin. 18 knew this little get together would be fun, but who knew Krillin’s old training kouhai was such a junkie for her man and his amazing oak tree class cock? Then again this was her husband she was talking about, him having a way with women and leaving an erotic impact on them was his best way of making a first impression for a good reason. Knowing Asami would become just as much of a chestnut junkie soon as she got her turn. Breathing in the scent of her perfume, waiting for thst sweet moment when Korra would get a nice wombfull soon as Krillin blew his load, which was more or less the unofficial signal for switching and changing up.

Asami:”Oooooh fuuuuck!! This is amazing! Aahn I’m losing my mind!! Aah Korra,we should,no we need to marry this man! One night isn’t enough!! More senpai,more,fuck me,fuck me!” *Indeed Asami was hooked the moment that felt that immense length and girth penetrate her. Taking it in missionary as Krillin thrust like a jackhammer,her legs hooked around his shoulders,hands squeezing her ass as he slapped and played it like a bongo drum. Tits bouncing,mouth drooling as a few mere inches from them,Korra and 18 laid atop one another in a 69, making out with one another’s pussies, the blonde cyborg lapping away at thse overflow of excess jizz from Krillin’s prior orgasm. The heiresss experiencing truly first hand why Korra held her former senpai in such high regard.*

18:”Mmm that’s it girls,you want to make this foursome official,earn your keep and show m the effort you’re gonna put in…”*the deadly beauty quipped erotically,riding her husband in reverse cowgirl. Moaning as she rode that sick with intimate familiarity,as she fingered Asami and Korra, who kissed and licked her body with sexual worship. Making out with her with sloppy kisses or suckling away at her bouncing titties. Krillin gif course being teased with just the sight of their splendid backsides and their glistening skin.*

The foursome showed no signs of stopping, even as dusk was starting to set in, the room bathed in the colours of the sunset as they went about two pairs of swinging,swapping one on one, two on one to three on one. Little more than pornographic animals casting aside shame and inhibition as 18 hugged her man from behind. Taking delight in him fucking Korra doggy style while the tomboy ate out her girlfriend. To Asami laying atop her lover,their tits rubbing together in sensual friction as Krillin mounted and fucked the heiress from behind. Any exhausting cast aside by the thrill of their mating, as if the two lovers were driven by the impulse to want to go all night and all the way to the morning and make sure they leave this hotel kmowing they’d be knocked up and carrying this stud’s babies. Idly wondering if they might follow through on Asami’s impulsive dirty talk and make their foursome truly official. The wedding would surely be spectacular and the honeymoon would be as good as this perhaps ten,no a hundredfold. For now of course, thst was the future and this was the moment they were living for. A moment they’d never want to end.

[rjzimmerman]

This story from Anthropocene Magazine tells us how some of the obscure research projects being conducted in labs around the world can produce some boring but environmentally stunning outcomes that can be beneficial to all of us. So be careful the next time you think "nerds." Excerpt:

A common mineral present just beneath the Earth’s crust could help to negate the carbon footprint of concrete, researchers report in the journal Royal Society Open Science. The study details a way to turn the mineral olivine, which also forms the green gemstone peridot, into an alternative for cement and other construction materials. The research team has launched a startup to commercialize their patented process.

Concrete, the most widely used material in the world, is a mix of cement, water, gravel and sand. The production of cement and concrete results in about 8 percent of the world’s carbon dioxide emissions.

Most of these emissions are generated when limestone is heated at high temperatures to produce powdery cement. The emissions come from burning fossil fuels for heat, but also from the chemical reaction itself.

Some manufacturers are reducing concrete’s emissions by replacing part of the cement with waste material such as fly ash and slag or adding other recycled materials. Studies have shown that this replacement does not reduce the strength of concrete.

Civil and environmental engineers at Imperial College London turned to olivine, a magnesium silicate mineral that is found in the rocks in the Earth’s upper mantle. The mineral naturally reacts with carbon dioxide from the air and turns into magnesium carbonate. But this process works at a very slow geological timescale.

The team wanted to see if they could speed up this carbonate-forming process. They crushed olivine samples and mixed them into sulfuric acid. This separated the silica from the olivine and created magnesium sulfate. When they bubbled carbon dioxide gas through the mixture, it reacted with the sulfate to produce magnesium carbonate, resulting in the sequestration of carbon dioxide.

The silica can be used as a cement substitute in concrete to add strength. And the magnesium carbonate can be used as a binder or filler in other low-carbon construction products such as bricks, blocks and board, the team writes in the paper.

Replacing 35 percent of regular Portland cement in concrete with the silica would give carbon-neutral cement, the researchers write. Replacing more than that could would make concrete carbon negative.

Further, they add that the olivine processing is not energy intensive and could be done electrically using renewable energy.

[ticklystuff]

For the three sentence fics, could you do lee!alhaitham, ler!kaveh, and ribs? Thanks either way!

send no more, thx!

i had so much fun with his one hehehe thanks for requesting and i hope you enjoy anon!

---

Alhaitham yawned as he stepped through the door of his house, making sure to shut it quietly behind him and toe out of his boots without a sound. Normally, the sound of Kaveh working away in his own room could be heard from outside the house, but things were oddly silent tonight. Granted, it was already quarter till midnight, but even if Kaveh did decide to tuck in early tonight, his snores often rang throughout the house, which was the very reason why Alhaitham still slept in a separate bedroom. The silence would be a godsend on most days, but now it was slightly unsettling.

"Kaveh?" he called out to the blond's room, but there was no response. With a shrug, Alhaitham headed towards his side of the house, figuring the other might be out with friends for the night.

Upon entering his room, the first thing Alhaitham noticed was a single Sumeru rose sitting in a thin glass vase filled with water. The vibrant blue shade of the petals indicated that the flower was freshly picked, but he couldn't recall a time when he went out to pick flowers and even then, flowers weren't exactly his first decoration of choice. All signs pointed to Kaveh's doing. Was he redecorating the room without permission again? Taking a step back, Alhaitham examined the room for any possible differences, only for his attention to be drawn to his bed.

Sitting atop his bed looked to be a thick book and a card. Alhaitham took the book first in his hand, feeling the smooth hardbound cover with the printed title 'Book of Optics: Volume One'. His fingers gently flipped through the many pages, the scent of fresh print filling his small bedroom. The book was already in his possession, lost amongst the many others filling his bookshelf, but this one was recently manufactured. Did Kaveh get this for him.. and why?

Next was the card. The card was relatively plain, with tiny hearts throughout the cover that Alhaitham found himself tracing with the edge of his nail. He finally opened the card to see Kaveh's familiar bubbly handwriting lining both sides. "Dear Alhaitham," he began reading the contents of the card out loud, "Happy Val- oh crud." His eyes widened as he quickly read through the rest of the card, sighing frustratedly as a mild headache began to take over, now finally realizing why the way things were when he arrived home.

Alhaitham had forgotten about Valentine's Day.

He took a quick glance at the wall clock to see that it was still ten minutes till midnight. The market close to his house often had stalls still open at this hour. His average running speed was approximately eleven kilometers per hour, maybe twelve if he sprinted. This would take him about two minutes to reach the market. Kaveh was quite picky when it came to presents, so two minutes to peruse the few stalls and pick out a Valentine's gift, add another in case the merchant wanted to have a quick conversation. Then, another two minutes to hurry back home. Factor in an additional minute to account for errors due to variation in timing and running speed. If all things went as planned, he could be back with a present with two minutes left in the day to spare, saving him from an earful of nagging from Kaveh the next morning. He nodded to himself once he finalized his tight agenda, before turning on his heel. Nothing he couldn't hand-

"Hello, Alhaitham."

Alhaitham immediately stopped himself at the sight of Kaveh standing at the door, arms folded over his chest. The blond was already in his pajamas and slippers, tapping his foot irritatedly. He looked about the room and sighed, greeting Kaveh with a "hey."

"Hey? Alhaitham, do you know what today is?"

"It's Valentine's," he affirmed with a nod. "Happy Valentine's, Kaveh."

"And do you know what it'll be in the next ten minutes?" Kaveh huffed with irritation. "Not Valentine's." 

"I'm aware," Alhaitham calmly spoke, taking a step forward to exit the room, "which is why if you let me leave right now, I can make it back in time with a present before-"

"Ibn Alhaitham, no!" Alhaitham stopped at the mention of his full name. "Do you know what couples normally do on Valentine's?"

"They buy gifts for each other," he motioned to the book on his bed that Kaveh had gotten him with his hand.

"Alhaitham, I know you're smarter than this," Kaveh said with a sigh, before approaching the other. "Couples spend Valentine's with each other, so we are going to spend the next ten minutes together," Kaveh took another step forward, pointing at himself, before motioning to Alhaitham, giving the scribe a pointed poke to his chest, right in the middle of his chest where his ribs resided. He couldn't help but flinch in response and brought his hand to the affected area to scrub off the lingering tingles.

"Wait, are you ticklish?"

Alhaitham looked up to see that the lividness in Kaveh's eyes had dispersed, replaced by a strange sense of curiosity. "Yes, aren't most people?"

"Well, I just didn't think-" Kaveh didn't even bother to finish his sentence, instead choosing to deliver another poke to Alhaitham's ribs, choosing to target the upper left side instead. Alhaitham reacted with a flinch once more, his breath hitching as the ticklish feelings spread throughout his torso. He began backing up with each poke to his ribcage, the rare sensation of bubbling giggles threatening to spill over. 

"K-Kaveh, plehehease," he stifled his laughter, unable to backup any further once his legs hit the edge of his bed. Kaveh paused his rapid assault of pokes to push Alhaitham into a sitting position on the mattress, before straddling his waist, placing one hand on Alhaitham's shoulder to balance himself.

"You want to know something interesting, Alhaitham?"

He looked up to see a mischievous glint in Kaveh's eyes that made him hesitant to ask. "And what would that be?"

"You're like an assorted box of chocolates," Kaveh said, squeezing one of Alhaitham's upper right ribs as if to prove his point. "See?"

"I-I don't understahahand," Alhaitham giggles in response, puzzled as to what Kaveh was supposed to be getting at.

"How about now?"

"HaHGH!!" Alhaitham yelped when Kaveh dug his fingers in the underside of his lower left ribs this time. He would've nearly jumped off the bed had Kaveh not been sitting on him.

"Your reactions are different depending on where you're tickled," Kaveh snickered with a smile, giving Alhaitham's middle right rib a tiny pinch. "It's like a box of chocolates, which is ironic because that's what I totally expected you to get me."

"A-AhahaHA!" He still couldn't comprehend what Kaveh meant because no matter where Kaveh's hands went, they sent identical ticklish shockwaves all the same. "Kahahavehe! Cohohome ohohon, stop!"

"It's only a few minutes till midnight. Won't you let me enjoy my Valentine's treat until then?"

Alhaitham was conflicted. On one hand, he was no longer being berated like he knew would happen if Kaveh caught him. On the other hand, being toyed like this was embarrassing, to say the least. It's not even like his laughter was set to the highest degree, yet each prod and poke sent a foreign signal of tingles that his brain was unable to process. The comparison to a literal box of sweets didn't help and Alhaitham felt an unusual wave of heat surging through him, only realizing how much the whole situation was starting to fluster him.

"EhehehAHAHA! KAVEHEHE!"

"I'm so glad I was able to find this spot just in time," Kaveh smiled amusedly, giving the upper right of his ribs one final squeeze, "but it seems like Valentine's day is over now."

Alhaitham jumped with the last of the poke to his ribs and breathed for air, holding Kaveh's sides in his own hands as he knelt his forehead forward, catching his breath. He could feel the other begin to play with the top of his hair and the two sat in silence for just a moment.

"You still owe me an apology for making me wait so long," Kaveh finally spoke, still tousling the grey hair in his fingers.

Alhaitham pulled away and looked up at Kaveh's expectant eyes, sighing before talking. "Sorry. You know that... I'm not particularly good at these things."

"Oh, I know," Kaveh scoffed. "I still remember what you got me for my last birthday!"

"Did you actually read it?"

"Of course not! Why you'd get me a book on flesh-eating bacteria is still beyond me," Kaveh laughed, before pausing with a sigh, "but it is my favorite paperweight."

"Ah, I'm glad." Alhaitham felt the corners of his mouth begin to tug into a little smile.

"Oh, but I'm still mad at you, so I'm sleeping with you tonight," Kaveh snickered to himself and Alhaitham's eyes widened.

"B-But you snore!"

"And?" Kaveh chuckled to himself. "Think of it as making up lost time for Valentine's Day, Alhaitham."