#motor end plate

[lenaisagirl]

[kylejsugarman]

theres a really popular med school studying resource that uses weird drawings to help u remember facts and i love how this one's approximation of "smoker" is basically just. jesse.

[erosmutt]

　⯌　𝘽𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙂𝙞𝙧𝙡　⨟　𝗝. 𝗞𝗲𝗹𝗹𝘆, 𝗦. 𝗠𝗼𝗻𝗿𝗼𝗲, 𝗦. 𝗕𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿

〣 ﹒▨﹕CONTENT WARNINGS﹒foursome, incestuous activities, free use undertones, objectification, somnophilia, double penetration, degrading, face slapping, pussy eating, bukakke, large age gap (James is 46, Scott is 21, Sam is 20, reader is 19).

┄﹒WORD COUNT﹒⤹ 4,152

BNUUY'S NOTES┆Finally, the long awaited fic! Part of the "Partnered Up!" series, which is a series of fics where all the characters are paired up and are with reader. The first installment is this one! Titled after a Red Hot Chili Peppers song. Originally, I was going to title it after a Rob Zombie song, but here we are! I'm so excited to share this with all of you. Eat well my loves!

≻ㅤ﹒ㅤlet's have a coffee together!ㅤ﹒ㅤノ

"You're welcome over anytime y'wanna be, sweetiepie."

You snap out of your daydream, lifting your gaze. In front of you stood your best friends' dad, James, a spatula in his hand. The kitchen was filled with the scent of seasoned beef, the familiar sizzle in the cast iron skillet on the stove a comforting sound. Your eyes rake over his broad shoulders, his waist, and down to the curve of his ass in his dark blue boxers. His jeans rest low on his hips, barely held up by his butt. Man, he really needed to invest in a belt.

Right as you open your mouth to respond, the sound of heavy boots hitting the creaky floorboards accompanies the sizzle of the patties James was flipping. "Hey dad, hey babes." One of James' two sons, Scott Kelly, greets the two of you as he sits a hefty 30-count case of beer on the kitchen table. His brother, Sam Kelly, was scrolling through his phone as he nodded to you. "What’s up?"

Scott's hand slams down onto the top of the large case of beer. "Found a new flavor. Peach Busch." He grins triumphantly, while Sam snickers, shoving his phone into his pocket and sitting down in a chair next to you. "A girly drink." He sticks his tongue out at his brother, making the blond sneer. "Go fuck yourself." He mutters, tearing the flimsy cardstock handle to reach a can.

James kills the heat on the stove then tosses the spatula down onto the counter. "Watch your fuckin' mouths, alright? Jesus," he shakes his head, gathering the condiments - barbecue sauce, ketchup, mustard, mayo, and an assortment of other burger toppings - then he sets them down onto the counter. "Now sit down and hush so we can eat."

Sam licks his lips as he gets up, grabbing a few paper plates off the top of the microwave. "Huh," he hands everyone a plate, then plops down in the creaky kitchen chair, making it scrape against the dirty linoleum floor. The four of you join hands and a quick prayer later, you all take in the assortment he cooked. "So," his father begins, cracking open a beer. "How's it been goin' babygirl?"

You look up at him, in the middle of squirting ketchup onto your hamburger. "Uh, what does that entail?" You ask with a lopsided grin. Scott shrugs. "The usual, you know? Like, I dunno, any boyfriends or somethin'?" His baby blues flick up to glance at you before focusing back on his dinner. "You coulda made the fries last, Jesus." Sam mutters from next to you before taking a massive bite of his burger, brows furrowed as he hums in satisfaction.

After chatting, hot beers, and dinner, the four of you were piled on the couch, watching whatever movie you caught on TV. James had his socked feet kicked up on the busted up coffee table, his arm around you, the stench of cheap cologne and potent motor oil clinging to his skin and clothes. His hand caresses your shoulder, fiddling with your sleeve, squeezing, tracing shapes. Your eyelids flutter closed, feeling heavy. James looks down at you. "Sleepy, babygirl?" He pulls you closer up into his side. "Snuggle up buttercup." He chuckles, ruffling your hair affectionately as he removes his arm from around your shoulders to put it around your waist, large hand resting on your stomach.

As the movie goes on, Sam and Scott end up on the floor, playing UNO, oblivious to their father and best friend up on the couch. James' hand slips up your shirt, rubbing over your soft tummy, over your womb. His dark gaze falls on you, eyes half-lidding as he rubs over your warm skin, your stomach distended with all the dinner you ate. "Sheesh..." He whispers to himself, teeth gently digging into his bottom lip. 

He'd be absolutely lying to himself if he tried to say he didn't have dreams about you full and round with his baby. Disgusting, he knows. He's pushing 50 years old, his knees creak when he gets up after sitting awhile, he has to be in bed before 10pm or he'll get pissy - he has zero business wanting to knock up his young sons' barely legal best friend. You kept him young, kept him on his toes, kept him wanting to keep up with the times. He'd do nearly anything to get just a glimpse of your teenage pussy. Oh, he could already imagine how tight, how warm, how wet, how -

"Dad!" Scott's grating voice snaps James back to reality. He looks down at his son. "What?" He hisses, rubbing his hand over his dark stubble. Sam turns around and looks up at his dad, then at you, then back at his dad. "Wanna play cards with us?" He asks, waving the cards as if tempting James. You stir out of your half-asleep state, then you smile, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. "Mmm, UNO?" You move away from James, standing up. You turn to look at him and hold your hands out, giggling as he lets out a heavy sigh, taking your hands and rocking back and forth before using you to get up off the couch with a groan that makes your stomach coil. "To the kitchen. I ain't gettin' down on that damn floor." James says, making his way to the kitchen. You follow as Sam and Scott gather up the cards.

"James?" Your voice calls, your hand resting on the door frame of James' bedroom. He groans, opening his eyes to look at the digital clock on his nightstand - 2:52AM. He turns his head to look at you and waves you into the bedroom. "Mm, what's wrong dollface?" He sits up, rubbing his hands over his face. You make your way over and sit down, a pout on your lips. "I can't sleep. Sam and Scotty are up playing games." You go quiet. James listens, and the resounding sound of his sons’ joint bitching at the TV reaches his ears. He rolls his eyes and licks his dry lips. "C'mon, you can lie with me." He pats the mattress. You climb into his warm bed, and once the two of you are settled in, the only sounds that grace you are your breathing, the muffled voices of the boys in the living room, and the rhythmic clicking of his rickety ceiling fan above the bed.

"Usually you're out like a light." James comments. "Well, 'least you used to be able to sleep through anything. Guess that changes when you ain't a kiddo no more." He says, a warm hand rubbing your arm to soothe you to sleep as he did when you were little on nights you would sleep over, when you would come crying to him about a nightmare. Even now, all these years later, it was incredibly endearing to him. The way you suckle around nothing and end up sleeping on your stomach. That wouldn't do if you were pregnant, though.

Throughout the night, James found himself unable to sleep. He had a raging boner, his cock aching, boxers nearly sopping with pre from all the leaking his tip had been doing. You had your cheek pressed against his shoulder, your arm draped over his doughy middle. He stares down at you in the dark, the moonlight streaming through the dusty blinds helping him see your parted lips as they catch the pallid glimmer.

James brings his hand up and rubs his thumb over your bottom lip and the corner of your mouth, collecting the drool that accumulated during your peaceful slumber. He brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks the drool off it, his eyes fluttering closed and nearly rolling back in perverted satisfaction. Removing his thumb with a gentle 'pop,' James rests his hand on your side, beginning to rub up and down, up to the side of your chest then down to your hip. "Christ," he whispers, digging his fingers into your flesh with a gentle squeeze. He finds his way into the side of your camisole, calloused hand rubbing over your breast and soft nipple, thumb caressing the bud.

He was at a really horrid angle, his joints beginning to ache already, but he deemed it worth the pain to be able to grope you in your sleep. James' other hand goes down to his crotch, slipping into his boxers and grabbing at his velvety shaft. After hearing noise he stopped for a second, then went on, rubbing his thumb over his damp tip, assuming the boys were packing it in for the night.

"Dad?" Sam's voice calls, and right as James snatches his hand out of his boxers, the bedroom light flickers on. He stares at his sons, his hand still around your soft, fatty breast. Sam's lips part as if to comment, and Scott just stares at the print of James' hand through your thin navy blue camisole. Oh, he was fucked.

“Um, are we interrupting something?” Scott finally comments, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants. “We came to see whose bed she wanted to take, or if she wanted to stay in the living room. For fucks sake…” He sneers, and his brother watches, fiddling with his labret as he watches his dad slowly retract his hand from your top.

Sam's big blue eyes travel down to your now exposed stomach, blinking silently. "Hey hey, calm down," James coos, pushing himself up into a sitting position, unintentionally making you stir awake. His cock strains against his soft boxers, tip threatening to peek out from underneath the fabric scrunched around his thigh. "She can stay in whichever one'aya's bed she wants. No need to fuss." He says, and you lift your head to look at the twins, returning Sam's slow, cat-like blink. "Huh?"

With a disgusted scoff, Scott turns on his heel, his hand resting on the wood of the doorway as he readies himself to leave. "I can't believe this." He mutters, walking out and down the hallway. Sam took a moment before making a move to leave, though, but he soon followed his brother, disappearing down the hallway.

Left in a tense silence, neither you nor James commented. Just sat, oddly content, until he spoke. "I know you might think this is gross," he begins. "But... do you mind helpin' me out, babygirl?" He asks, and the two of you make eye contact, his gaze pleading while yours was surprised. "James," you murmur, your hand finding his hairy thigh. "I can try."

You make your way between his thighs, your hands resting on either side of his penis. “Can you show me what to do? I’ve never seen a guy’s thing in real life before.” You admit, examining his cock curiously. When you wrap your hand around it, a bit harshly, James hisses. “Gentle, dollface, gentle.”

“Here, slow. Slowly. Up and down. Yeah, just like that.” He watches, a smile coming across his face. “You got the hang of it already.” So, you began to stroke him, getting a feel for it, taking in the warmth, the scent, the texture, the way his shaft twitched in your grasp. You watch as his hands fist the sheets beneath him, his nostrils flaring as he nears what would be his first orgasm of the night. With a shudder, James comes undone, warm semen spurting onto your hand. “Oh.”

“You’re a natural,” James pants, his hand coming up to brush some wispy hairs away from your face. “Good job sweets. My boys are missin’ out.” He grins lazily, then falls back onto his pillow with a sigh.

You get up and adjust your top. “I should get to bed.” You make your way over to the bedroom door, and as soon as you open it, Scott and Sam stumble in sideways. Those little creeps, they had their ears up against the door, listening in. You yelp in surprise, and step back from the door. “What the hell is wrong with you two?!”

Scott’s eyes go from your face, to your cleavage, then over to his dad’s exposed cock, then back up at your face. “No fucking way his jizz is on your hand right now.” Sam chimes in, glaring at your hand with contempt. Overcome with embarrassment, you look down at your sock-clad feet, eyes tracing the checkerboard patterned fabric. “Are you listening to me?”

You and Scott were so preoccupied that neither of you noticed James come up behind you, hand coming to rest on your shoulder, his dick still out of the confines of his boxers. “It ain’t somethin’ to be ‘shamed of, you know.” He reassures, caressing your shoulder as he looks between his twin sons. “I never got to give y’all the talk, did I? Maybe now’s a good time, yeah?”

Scott was a bit more enthusiastic than you anticipated. Sam, on the other hand, seemed more hesitant. Though judging by the tent in his shorts, he was far from unaffected. With a deep breath, you settle down onto the bed, the boys on either side of you. James stands in front of you three, his cock noticeably hardening. “What the fuck,” Scott whispers to himself, meanwhile Sam was shifting around, trying to relieve the friction in his bottoms.

James begins pacing, starting his impromptu sex ed lesson. “It’s not a weird thing to talk about. Sex is how we all got here. ‘S a natural thing.” He reaches down and tucks himself back in, thankfully. “It’s not just a way to make life, but to pleasure yourself, too. Everyone likes it.” Their father turns and looks between his sons, then his eyes settle on Sam. “Especially you,” he points. “You think I don’t hear you?” He then looks at Scott. “You? Don’t even get me started on the shit I hear you watching.” The blond raises an eyebrow, parting his lips to bitch back when James goes on. “Both’a’ya think she and I are disgusting for doing shit like this when really, we not. You just ain’t mature enough to get it through your heads that you two not the only ones that think with their dick.”

Sam looked especially uncomfortable now, doing his damndest to not make eye contact with any of the others in the room. “Then give us a hands-on lesson if you give so much of a shit.” Scott quips, making everyone look at him. Realizing his mistake, he widens his eyes. “Wait! I’m fucking with you, I’m fucking with you, I’m fucking with you!” He rambles, making you snicker, until Sam finally chimed in. “Can we?” He asks. The other three of you turn to look at Sam, his cheeks reddening a deeper shade.

“Fine then,” James says, making his way to the bed. “Lay down sweetpea.” He urges you, gently pushing your shoulder, a silent instruction for  you to lay back. “Usin’ you for some edjumacation, just relax dollface.” He smiles, and you make a noise of confusion as he runs his hand over your stomach. “Watch boys,” he instructs, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts. He tugs them down, your thighs jiggling as your hips plop back down onto the bed. 

You can’t help but feel embarrassed, you were being put on display for a less than ideal anatomy lesson, and the two boys you’d called your best friends since you could remember were staring at you like they could just devour you. The room fills with the nervous laughter of the two others as your body unfolds before them, eager to learn the intricacies that make you so unique. Your stomach was revealed first, followed by your thighs. As Scott giggles, you flush, feeling a sudden heat fill your face.

With your underwear the only thing keeping your intimate parts hidden, James gives a shit-eating grin to his audience, who tap their feet and shuffle in anticipation. James then hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and gives a swift tug down, revealing your fat, squishy mound and puffy pussy lips, soft and inviting. The sight of your hidden treasure causes the boys’ eyes to widen, taking in every detail of your body.

Your cheeks flame with mortification, an uncomfortable mix of embarrassment and arousal. The twins sat gazing at your exposed body, their eyes raking it in all its glory. You shudder, goosebumps forming on your skin as you sense their unabashed curiosity and lust. Pleased with his handiwork, James steps back, hands resting on his hips. “Go on, you two always were hands-on learners anyways.”

Scott, on your left, reaches out and touches your breast, his palm cupping the mound, eliciting a soft moan from your lips. You were overwhelmed with humiliation and pleasure, which was only amplified when you felt someone between your thighs. When you lifted your head to look down, you saw Sam on his knees before you, lips inches away from your pussy. “There you go, touch on ‘er.” James encourages the boys before taking a seat on the bed to your right, his large hand coming to rest on your stomach. “You’re such a trooper babygirl.”

You felt heat coursing through your veins, and you were unsure whether to be disgusted by the incestuous display or to just continue going with it. The feeling of being stripped of your dignity and autonomous power left you in a state of confusion, but your stomach coiled with a twisted thrill that came with the degradation. “Eat ‘er out, Sammy.” Scott tells his brother, sitting up straight. He swings one leg over your body and straddles your chest, then pulls his sweatpants down enough to remove his cock comfortably. His musky shaft bounces free before hitting you in the face. “Open your mouth- open it,”

You open your mouth willingly, the tip of Scott’s cock gliding past your lips and into the warm sanctuary of your mouth. Your tongue traces the underside of his shaft, sending tremors through his body. James watches in satisfaction as his sons take turns pleasuring you. Scott’s rough, unskilled hands gripping your head to guide his cock into your mouth contrast with Sam’s gentle, teasing tongue that flicks at your clit. As you begin to get into it, the twins sense it, their eagerness increasing tenfold. The blond bottoms out, balls against your chin as he groans, barely able to hold himself up, his thighs tensing. “Fucking- oh my- oh fuck,” he hisses, fully intent on keeping the two of you that way until James had to guide him back out. “Off.”

When Scott and Sam move out of the way, James settles between your legs and with a firm grip, finds your hips and snatches you to the very edge of the bed, his lips meeting yours for a slow, deep kiss. He groans softly against your lips, cock resting on your mound, the taste of peach beer like honey on his tongue.

James breaks the kiss and looks up at his sons. “Fuckin’ hell, Sam, play with ‘er tits.” The teen nods, hands finding your breasts, kneading the flesh gently. He drinks in the sight of the mounds jiggling beneath his touch, the curves and contours calling to him like a siren. “Scott, get under her.”

Scott doesn't waste a moment, his bottoms getting kicked across the room and hitting the floor, joining all the clutter and shit in his dad's room. He maneuvers underneath you, arms wrapping around your middle. “You good doll?” James asks, and you nod, hands on top of Sam's, guiding him to play with your nipples in a way that'll bring you the most pleasure. “Yeah, ‘m good,”

“Good.”

With the help of James’ hand, Scott's cock pushes into you, pulling an embarrassingly loud moan from your lips. “Oh, fuck!” You arch your back and Scott pulls you back down. “Stay,” he whispers hotly against your ear. “Stay right there.” In the heat of the moment, you didn't even notice that James was beginning to push into you as well until your poor cunt was being stretched to the brim. “James! James- ‘s so- ohhh, can't fit it,” you slur, making the man chuckle. “Yeah you can. Cunts are made for this, it's just a lil’ difficult ‘cause you're so young, babygirl.” After a bit of struggle, James penetrates you, your warm walls enveloping him. A guttural moan escapes him as he starts to grind against you, the friction from his son's cock against his paired with your wet heat almost too much for him to handle. “Atta girl, grippin’ me tight.” He smirks, drinking in the moans and cries that came from your lips.

Sam leans down and captures your lips in a soft kiss, much different from the other two on a mission to ravage your poor body. One of his hands tangles in your hair while the other is shoved down his pants, palming his shaft over his boxers. He was waiting, itching to have a go at you.

Your eyes flutter open, hazy gaze meeting James', whose eyes were sparkling with a devious triumph. “You gonna let us cum inside ya sweetiepie?” He asks, moving his hips in a rhythm that compliments Scott's. Since you were stretched so far and the friction was so great, the two of them had to find something that worked.

“Fuck, ‘m close,” Scott moans, his fingers digging into the flesh of your sides, tugging at you. The desperation in his voice is almost laughable. Sam breaks the kiss with a snicker. “Think it’s been like two minutes, dude. Pull out, let me.” Scott nods and does so, his cock glistening with your juices as he crawls out from underneath you.

With everyone out of the way, the three of them looming over you like a hungry pack of wolves, you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. The others join in, the sound of their laughter mixing with the shuffling around. “I can’t even sit right,” you giggle, running your hands through your damp hair.

“I know. It’ll be fine babycakes. Get up.” James grins, turning you over so you were now on your tummy. “Gonna run a train through ya baby. Ready?” He lifts your hips, hands coming to rest on your ass. “Gonna take all of us, yeah?” His sweet talking distracted you from the way the teens were maneuvering your body, putting you in a position they wanted you.

James spits down onto his cock, lubing it up before he pushes the tip of it against your tight cunt. He grunts, feeling the resistance, but he’s determined. With a swift thrust, he breaches you, his cock sinking deeper with each rock of his hips, making your pussy stretch open. The boys, not to be outdone, get to work on their part. Sam guides his cock into your inviting mouth, your tongue swirling around his cockhead while your saliva bathes him. Scott groans, smacking your cheek with his own member, smearing precum onto your skin. “Fuck yeah,” he grins. “Take it like that baby, take Sam’s dick in your mouth.”

“Ghhk- hhg, kkh-” you gag on Sam’s cock, eyes shut as you struggle to breathe. Your body is a mess of pleasure, tits bouncing with every thrust, your pussy gripping James’ cock and your mouth moving up and down Sam’s. Your moans are muffled, but it only makes it all the more arousing. Sam pulls out and his dick is replaced with his brother’s, Scott’s tip hitting the back of your throat. The springs in the old, cheap mattress squeak and creak underneath the combined weight of the four of you.

Scott’s fingers tangle in your hair and grip your skull, being fed off the sounds of you choking and struggling. “Fucking take it, don’t fucking stop,” he growls, teeth gritting. “I wan’ cum on ‘er face,” Sam chimes in, getting off the bed, hand beginning to fist his cock as he waits for the other two. Following suit, James pulls out and so does Scott, the pair pulling you down onto the floor.

You cough, attempting to catch your breath before they get their hands on you again. You steady yourself with your hands on the dingy carpet, getting ready for the facial. “Fuck babygirl, close your eyes and stick that tongue out.” James commands, watching as you oblige. “Oh shit, keep it right there,” Scott pants, and you let out a surprised squeal as your face is covered in sticky sperm. You give an open-mouthed giggle and slowly open your eyes, keeping your tongue out.

It frosted your nose and cheeks and tongue, and your lashes were matted as you looked up at the three of them, meeting their satisfied expressions. Hopefully there would be a second class for James’ anatomy course.

ılıl﹕𖥻 . @addictedtohobi , @102hannah , @emmaloo21 , @vixxensvoid , @ilovekmchenzie ﹒📧

ılıl﹕𖥻 . @laylaplease , @brooklynb8by , @geekforhorror , @gallerygourmet , @anakinsbbgirl ﹒📧

ılıl﹕𖥻 . @literally-izzy , @anakinstwinklebunny , @jadegmfu , @bimbo-baggins17 , @thesassypadawan ﹒📧

ılıl﹕𖥻 . @t03soup , @trippyhippywitch , @valloos , @demieyesore , @piastricentric ﹒📧

ılıl﹕𖥻 . @s1aywalker , @s1ck-skv1l , @catnipaddictt , @gabsskkk , @slutforfinnickodair﹒📧

ılıl﹕𖥻 . @realscott , @jediavengers , @enchant5d , @zapernz , @starlmbed﹒📧

ılıl﹕𖥻 . @offthethirlwall , @tfmerc , @dazednstars141 , @anisluvrgirl , @stepdadjameskelly﹒📧

ılıl﹕𖥻 . @cocobear18 , @poutypisces , @mugwump327 , @espinathena-17 , @fallout-girl219﹒📧

ılıl﹕𖥻 . @necromancerrrs , @decaffeinatedunicorn , @speaknow-sw , @lunarnightt﹒📧

ılıl﹕𖥻 .  @jyinnc , @haydenslittlegirl ﹒📧

[running-on-coffee-and-anxiety]

Know what? I'm gonna try throwing my hat into the ring for Danny Phantom.

I accidentally electrocuted myself as a kid and never told anybody- nothing serious, I grabbed the three exposed prongs of a half plugged in laptop charger in the middle of the night and didn't want to get in trouble since nobody else was awake. Even if it isn't fatal, it's terrifying and your vision completely blacks out and your arm tingles for days afterwards, and for the whole day after you got shocked your fingers on the hand that grabbed the prongs will randomly twitch, open or close or jerk to the side. You have no control, it's like when the doctor hits your knee to check your reflexes.

Now, from what I can tell from the scene where Danny went ghost for the first time, he really was electrocuted. From what I can tell, his ghost and human halves seem kinda separate- not completely, but the change is there. Where is this going?

Danny never told anyone about the accident- not anybody that could help him, anyways. I propose that, since he never got medical treatment or physical/occupational therapy after the accident, his motor function deteriorates over time.

More specifically, his small motor function is effected- I will be using personal experience in this section, since my small motor skills were so bad I couldn't use zippers or tie my shoes until I was 12, but I'll try putting things in reverse.

Danny starts fumbling with tying his shoes, laughing it off as being tired. Buttons take a few minuets, and even snap buttons become a bit hard. Odd, mildly confusing, but nothing to be concerned about. Then it progresses. He can't properly use tools anymore, it's like nothing is ever precise enough, everything takes a few tries to get it right. His fingers are fumbling everything, his handwriting turns to chickenscratch that not even he can read at times, he struggles to comb his hair because it's hard to coordinate movements, his back teeth are always textured because he struggles to brush his teeth and he can't really reach the back ones properly anymore.

I don't know if this is connected to small motor or not, but he starts dragging his feet and the toes of his shoes wear out quicker because walking while lifting his feet any higher doesn't feel right. This was something I had fixed during occupational therapy, but I don't know if it was just me or not.

Eventually, it becomes sunlight-on-clean-pact-snow levels of blindingly obvious that something is incredibly wrong. Danny's hair is knotted and half-matted because he is unable to brush it properly, when he smiles there is plaque on some parts of his teeth and not others, he always wears slip-on shoes or his laced shoes are always untied, buttons always seem like they could unslip because they're only half-buttoned, zippers in his jackets getting stuck in shirts and he doesn't bother to fix it, teachers can no longer read his assignments and his friends can't read his notes. Nobody can ignore it, but nobody knows how to help when Danny gets so clearly frustrated when he has to do something with his hands and it just doesn't work. It seems like he suddenly developed a hole in his lip, since he always had to lean far over his bowl or plate to not end up on food with his shirt because his hands can't hold silverware steady.

But Phantom? None of those issues. He became a ghost after being electrocuted, of course. Why would there be damage from the initial creation of this half? It could be why he ends up enjoying fighting the ghosts, his hands actually work with him instead of against him.

Feel free to take this idea and do what you want with it, I really liked writing this!

Also if you use this for a fic, please comment the link if possible, I wanna see all the ways people use this :)

Edit: So I started a mini-series about this. Is it any good? Probably not, but writing makes me happy.

Noticed But Hoping For The Best

[gcslingss]

this is my first time sending a request but could you do inspection prompt from the non verbal list? maybe something to do with a stunt driver!reader and colt? like the reader gets hurt doing some kind of driving stunt?

prompt: [ inspection ] sender holds receiver's face while inspecting an injury they got -prompt list

summary: because of reasons like a tight schedule and an asshole director, when your stunt goes slightly askew, colt's the only one who comes to your rescue.

pairing: colt seavers x fem!stuntdriver!reader

warnings/content: fluff, angst, blood mentions, hurt/comfort, kissing, barely any swearing but some is there

word count: 1.73k

notes: thank you to kira for requesting, and thank you to her and shannon @bisexualcoltseavers for beta-reading this!! had a lot of fun writing it, hope you guys enjoy <3

Being a stunt driver had its pros and cons.

Pros being you got to ride cool-ass cars, trucks, motorcycles, and motorized couches, you had an overall aura of daring and bravery, and you got to make friends with a lot of really nice people.

Cons being you could lose a limb or your life while doing the stunts, and could be pressured into doing things you didn’t want to do, but that was part of the job, and besides, it rarely ever happened.

Today’s schedule for had you involved with the filmBright Days dir. by Charles Levine.

He sounded like quite the gentleman, but dear god, his sexist ideals and extra tight schedules were hard to work with.

You were supposed to do a scene where the lead crashed into the goon’s car because of a slippery road in the middle of the night during her escape mission.

The goon was Colt Seavers, a skilled co-stuntie, and someone you’d had a crush on for over 2 years.

It was super confusing, and so was he, because you could never tell if he was just being friendly or aiming a bit higher. 

“We really need to go now,” Colt said to you, taking your half-eaten spinach corn sandwich from your hand and keeping it on its paper plate, before nudging you. “Levine’s heading for us.”

You made a sound like a deflating balloon, with Colt appropriately responding by encouragingly rubbing your back. You couldn’t help but ease into his touch, something you were certainly embarrassed by, cheeks heating up.

“You’re gonna be great, alright?” he said, and his tone made you blush and smile, which was not an appropriate reaction at all.

“And I promise not to crush you.” 

“Shut up,” you quipped at the grinning man, slapping his shoulder.

When Levine came and stood by the break table, he looked quite unhappy.

“We’re on a schedule, stunties. Get moving.”

You glanced at Colt, giving him a ‘who gave him permission to say stuntie?’ look to which Colt just responded with an exasperated nod, making you sigh.

“Coming,” you muttered, before heading to the set with Colt. He had an arm around your shoulder, a fact you actively tried to ignore.

Five minutes later, you were in the stunt car, strapped down, helmet clipped on, mouthguard on, neck restraints snug, gloved hands tight on the steering wheel.

The helmet was unusually loose, but with the way Levine was rushing the shot, you knew nothing would be done about it. Colt was on the other end of the road, speaking to you through the walkie talkie.

“Good luck,” his voice said, and you smiled to yourself. 

“You too.”

“Alright, no wasting time, c’mon, I want to see action!” Levine yelled into the talkie and to everyone else.

The cameramen and crew moved away, the stunt coordinator got in his buggy, and you double checked everything before taking a deep breath. 

This was going to be great. You were going to be great. You were a stunt driver! You’d done this millions of times.

No, the helmet wasn’t an issue. It was probably fine.

“…And action, action!”

You slammed the accelerator and the car zoomed forward, racing through the road.

Colt’s car was heading towards you, on the other lane — In another 5 seconds, you were supposed to skid and crash into him, successfully taking the brunt. 

Alright.

You swerved the car, hard, and it turned 180 degrees, when your helmet fell off your head.

What the f-

“NOW!”

Instinct took over and you sped backwards, crashing into the other car with a boom, the bonnet almost floating for a split second. The vehicle shook thunderously. Your ears began to ring. 

Glass shattered and all you could do was brace your head with your arms, helplessly watching the helmet roll around the groaning car, eyes tightly shut to protect them from the splintering metal and nails and screws and shards.

You sat there in the same position for what felt like ages, until the walkie talkie came to life with the coordinator's voice.

“Are you both alright?”

You heaved deep breaths, a tad shocked to realize that your face was bleeding into your sleeves. You shakily pulled your sleeves away and were a bit taken aback at all the blood staining it.

Your shaky hand grabbed the walkie talkie and you gasped an” alright” into it. 

After a few moments, you put the helmet on and stepped out of the car— two stuntmen helped you to your unsteady feet, and behind them was…

“Colt.”

He rushed past them, tripping on the pebbles, before scooping you up in his arms, almost lifting you off the ground.

“You okay?” he asked. You could only nod, which was already hard with the flimsy helmet, never mind with the cuts on your face. 

“You?” you returned the question.

“I’m good,” he said, grinning through his visor.

The right thing to do now was to tell someone about the accident and see the set’s medic, but last time a stuntie got hurt, Levine got extremely upset about the wasted time and resources and lectured the crew for a solid twenty minutes. Ironic.

So you decided to stay silent instead.

Colt seemed to notice your silence and stumbling steps.

“Are you alright?” he asked again, tone laced with concern this time, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders. He tried to take the helmet off your head but you pushed his hand away, shaking your head.

“I’m fine, I’m just-“

Colt took off your helmet before you could react, but you smacked his head, taking advantage of his shock and quickly sliding it back on.

Colt had a ghastly expression on his face at the momentary sight of your cuts, some deep, some faint, and it made you feel warm that he cared, yet upset, that you had upset him.

“You need to get that taken care of,” he whispered. “Now.”

“Levine wouldn’t like that,” you said, but he ignored you and grabbed you by the arm, taking you to one of the tents, hurriedly sitting you down and taking a first aid kit under the table.

“Take it off,” he instructed seriously, and you almost giggled. Colt caught on and gave you a serious glare that made you shut up, stifling your laughs.

You did as he said, and when his eyes landed on you once more, he seemed to be genuinely shaken. 

“I’m fine,” you said, trying to make him relax, but his expression didn’t falter.

“What happened?”

“The helmet clasp was loose - came off when I did the 180 swerve.”

“Motherfucker,” he grumbled to himself, and you knew he was talking about Levine. You nodded in agreement.

“Indeed.”

Colt knelt on the sandy floor and took your face in his hands, his hold gentle and cautious. He turned your head to see how bad the injuries were, eyebrows arched and eyes perturbed.

“This might sting a little,” he said softly.

“I’ll manage,” giving him a smile.

Colt let his gaze linger on you for a second, before reaching for the first aid and taking out bandages, tincture— everything he needed to tend to you.

There was a cut on your forehead, under your eye (Colt looked visibly distressed by this), a deeper one on your left cheekbone, a slit on your lower lip, and a few shallow scratches everywhere else.

He soaked a cotton pad in tincture and brought it to your face, first gently dabbing at the cut on your forehead. The stench of alcohol was strong, but to you, it was mellow in comparison to Colt’s cologne.

His deep concern gave you time to observe every bit of his beautiful face in much detail, and it brought you great joy.

He had a pretty nose, you observed, and pretty, pretty, deep, warm blue eyes that looked even prettier when he was worried. That word seemed to be the only one capable of perfectly describing him. 

“Does it hurt?” he asked. 

“No. Not at all.”

You didn’t even feel the stinging of the disinfectant, too busy appreciating him, too giddy with the feeling of his calloused fingers on your skin. You couldn’t tell if he knew.

Your attention drifted lower to his mouth, his lips barely parted in focus, not too far from your own. 

So pretty.

The cotton pad came down, and Colt started to clean your split lip. His fingertips brushed over it as he did, causing goosebumps to rise on your arm.

Whether it was on purpose, you weren’t sure. There were so many things you could never clearly interpret when it came to this man.

“My eyes are up here, hey.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you looked up, gaze connecting to Colt’s. He had the smallest, teasing smile.

“I’m aware of that,” you replied, blushing a little.

“Hey?”

“Yeah?”

“If I kissed you right now, would you taste like disinfectant?”

At that precise moment, it dawned on you that this man knew what he was doing after all, and you only flushed harder, blinking rapidly, heart speeding up.

“Probably,” you managed to say. You could barely speak.

Colt picked up very quickly on how flustered you were, and it seemed to give him so much joy, much to your annoyance. 

He was definitely much less worried, now that you’d been tended to. That was good, but at the cost of your dignity? Not at all.

But then, he whispered, “I wanna find out,” with so many emotions packed in those four words, and you gave in entirely.

“Please do.”

He looked like a deer caught in the headlights for a second, as if he didn’t expect you to agree, but you pleaded again, and that was all he needed to bring your face close and press his lips to yours.

He kissed you like he hadn’t consumed anything for weeks. He kissed desperately, lovingly, his fingers stroking your skin and scalp, pulling you in closer so he could taste you better.

You were lost in the feeling, and you were willing to get lost in it for the rest of your life. You let your hands rest on his neck, thumbs grazing over his skin. He seemed to love it with the way he sharply inhaled.

You had to pull away to catch your breath, and when you saw Colt’s dreamy, amused gaze, you questioned, “What?”

“You do taste like disinfectant.”

You laughed, sincerely, and he did too.

“Idiot,” you mumbled, giggling. “Of course I do.”

“But it, like— it tastes pretty alright, you know?”

And you started laughing even harder.

taglist: @hollandstrophyhusband @bisexualcoltseavers @zsuo @flowersomgravee @asyrafey @officer-kd6 @chihuahuamations @superprofesh @dontglimpse

[fluentmoviequoter]

Two of Them

Requested Here!

Pairing: Jim Street x fem!reader

Summary: When Hondo asks you to help catch a car thief, you meet Jim Street. As you get to know one another, you learn that you have a lot in common, but balance each other out perfectly.

Warnings: r loves cars/owns an auto shop & is sarcastic and makes jokes (very similar to Street), mentions of robbery and murder, fluff, softie Street

Word Count: 4.7k+ words

A/N: There's so many things I love about this request and a ton of (personal) references! I hope you all enjoy!🤍

Masterlist Directory | Jim Street Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

Someone wolf whistles as the garage door opens, and you walk faster to see what is worthy of such attention. When you step into the garage if your auto restoration shop, your jaw drops.

“Is that a ’59 Impala?” you ask breathlessly.

“Sure is,” Joel, your righthand man and drivetrain expert, answers. “She’s here for a tune-up. I know you’re busy, boss, so I can handle this one.”

“Yeah, right!” you exclaim. “All of my childhood dreams are under that hood.”

“You dreamt about reconstructed motors as a kid?”

“Do you talk to your wife like this, Joel? Because she’s never going to let you buy a C-10 with that attitude.”

He chuckles before he waves toward the office. “Impala owner is in there. Wants to talk to you.”

“Thanks, Joel. Don’t start without me!” you call over your shoulder.

As you enter the lobby, you put on your best customer service smile and straighten your shirt.

“Good afternoon,” you greet. “You must be the owner of that beautiful Impala.”

“Yes, ma’am. My friend Rick Castle told me that you were the person to see. I had the car restored by a guy in Texas, a ground-up rebuild, but it’s not riding as smoothly as it was before. The passenger side – sorry, I’m not very good at explaining these things – it almost feels like it’s bouncing while I drive,” he explains.

“Okay, that’s really helpful. It sounds like it’s probably an alignment issue. We can look at it today and give you a call when we find the issue,” you suggest.

“That would be great. Thank you.”

You review the paperwork he completed with Joel quickly before telling him bye. After putting his contact information into your computer system, you rush back to the garage.

“Let’s find out what’s causing the involuntary hydraulics,” you tell Joel.

“Hondo, get 20 squad in here!” Hicks calls.

As they gather in the situation room, Lieutenant Lynch queues a video pulled from a security camera. Street recognizes the location as the building they raided a few days earlier but remains quiet as she begins speaking.

“This is, of course, the building you raided. If you’ll recall, we hoped to locate an unidentified subject tied to several car robberies, assaults, and more recently, carjacking with deadly force. He killed a driver during a carjacking gone wrong and has continued to get more violent with each crime. We still haven’t identified the perp, courtesy of his never-ending vehicle supply and seeming knowledge of traffic cams. He didn’t seem to think about the security camera across the street from the parking garage before the raid, however.”

She presses a button on the tablet in her hand, and the video begins to play. Several cars come and go, but there’s nothing unusual. Hicks raises his hand to point to the time stamp, and the guys watch, waiting for some smoking gun or clear picture of the guy running from the cops. All that happens, though, is a man leaving in a convertible. Lynch pauses the video again and looks up expectantly.

“Was that a Triumph?” Luca asks excitedly. “Those are still rare in the states, even decades after they stopped manufacturing them.”

“It’s not stock,” Street adds with a shake of his head. “That’s not standard suspension, and the paint is too new to be original. Whoever brought that over had a lot of work done to it.”

“Which is great, makes it easier to find,” Hicks agrees. “Except there’s no plates, no registration, and no one has reported it missing. There’s not even a T3 in that color registered to anyone through the California DMV. We have something to look for, but no more information on who we’re looking for.”

“I know someone who can help,” Hondo says. “Classic cars, new paint, rebuilds…”

“You have a car guy?” Deacon asks. “Why?”

“Of course, I have a car guy,” Hondo scoffs. “My dad may have introduced me.”

“That makes more sense,” Luca says, nodding with Deacon.

“Hold on, guys,” Lynch calls. “The tech team thinks they may have found another lead. Consensus is this video is the same driver.”

She plays a new video, this one taken from a gas station camera. Another newer sports car pulls in, but no one exits the car. It sits for nearly three minutes, then pulls out.

“I’m not as versed as these guys, but that looks like a Lamborghini,” Tan comments. “Can’t be too hard to trace those in Los Angeles.”

“It is when they don’t have the original drivetrain. The back tires spun out way too far in that turn. It’s been modified, too,” Luca points out.

“He’s either got a thing for modified sports cars or he’s someone who’s flipping them to be completely different cars after he steals them,” Street hypothesizes.

“Your car guy gonna be able to help with that?” Hicks asks Hondo.

“Oh, yeah,” he answers. “This case’ll be closed in a week.”

“Then get out of here. You’ve got a rare car to track down.”

“One more thing,” Lynch says. “Really, I promise this is the last thing. None of those cars have been seen again. Seems like he drives them once and then ditches them.”

“He has to have his own garage, then,” Street says. “One that I wish I had.”

“Then it’s a bigger target,” Hondo declares. “Let’s roll.”

The chime connected to the front door of your shop rings loudly and you tell Joel to go check on the customer. You are under a 1977 Chevrolet Nova and elbow-deep in the engine bay. Even if you’d wanted to be the first face they saw, given that it is your business, you wouldn’t be able to get out from under the car before they assumed no one was here.

“Ah ha,” you murmur.

You pull the broken mounting bracket down past the ballast. It falls to the floor with a loud ting before you roll out from under the car. As you sit up and wipe your grease-covered hands on your coveralls, you see Hondo looking at you with his brows raised.

“Hello,” you greet.

“You got a little something right… everywhere,” he jokes.

“Funny,” you reply as you stand. “If your eyesight is that good, it’s no wonder you made SWAT.”

Someone laughs behind him, and you lean to the side. His entire squad waits in the lobby, and you wave before returning your attention to Hondo.

“I take it you’re not here about your dad’s car then,” you muse.

“Not today. We need some help with a case, if you have the time,” he explains.

“Sure. I’ll have Joel take you to my office. Let me clean up and I’ll meet you – all of you, I guess – in there in a minute.”

“Thanks. I owe you one.”

“You owe me an entire car at this point, Hondo,” you call as you walk out of the garage.

Once you’re out of your stained overalls and have washed all of the grease and car-related grime off of your skin, you return to your office. Hondo and three other men wait beside your desk, and you invite them to sit. Hondo introduces you to Tan, Luca, and Street, and you shake each of their hands before you sit across from them. Hondo rolls his eyes when you smile at Street, but you’re not sure why.

“So, what exactly does Metro SWAT need from an auto shop?” you ask.

“Long story short, there’s a guy stealing sports cars; classics, fresh off the floor, and everything in between. Then he’s customizing them, driving them once, and ditching them for a new illegally obtained ride,” Hondo answers.

You nod as you think, then lean on your elbows on your desk. “Why customize them?”

“To make them untraceable, we think,” Luca answers. “You can’t report a car missing if it doesn’t exist anymore.”

“That tracks,” you agree. “But then the question becomes, how do you ditch them? You can’t leave something like that at a chop shop, the parts would bring more issues.”

“Private garage,” Street says. “Or maybe he’s selling them out of the county. Lots of possibilities.”

“It takes an incredibly rich, incredibly dumb person to treat cars like that,” you comment.

“We deal with criminals,” Hondo interrupts. “Rich and dumb is kind of our thing.”

“No, Hondo, cars aren’t like people. They fight back, they don’t just disappear without a trace.”

“She’s right,” Street adds. “These cars are more than property to be stolen.”

“What are you saying?” Hondo asks.

“Ever read Christine?” you joke.

“Or heard of Decepticons?” Street adds.

You smile at him again, and he nods before he winks quickly.

“So, can you help us or not?” Hondo inquires.

“Yeah, of course. What do you need me to do?”

“We’ve got some security cam footage of the cars he’s altered. We need to know where he’s getting the work done, or info on where a private garage big enough for a collection like this would be.”

“I’d be happy to look. I can’t promise anything, though. My clientele is more of the rebuild this classic or fix this issue not the I want to make a rare sports car even more unique off the books.”

“That’s why we’re here.” Hondo looks at his phone quickly and huffs. “Uh, Street, you stay and go over the videos with her. Deac said he and Chris need backup.”

“You got it,” Street answers.

Hondo thanks you quickly before he, Luca, and Tan leave. You’re left alone in your office with Street and aren’t sure how to start a conversation after joking together while Hondo filled you in on the case.

“Uh, here’s the videos. There’s only a few on this, but it should be enough to get an idea of what he’s doing,” Street says as he passes you a memory stick.

You take it from him and insert it into your computer. As the videos begin playing, you rewind it, pause it, and take a few notes. The cars in it don’t have anything in common, other than the fact that they’re stolen and modified.

“Well, I can say for sure that my guys didn’t do this work. Nobody I work with did, either. I’ll ask around and see what I can find,” you tell Street.

“I appreciate that,” he replies. “You know, when Hondo said he had a car guy, I was expecting…”

“A guy?” you guess.

“I mean, yeah. Middle-aged, beer belly, his name on the sign. The usual.”

“Sounds like my shapewear is doing its job if you don’t see a beer belly,” you joke.

“Please, you know how pretty you are,” Street replies.

“Seems like you think so.”

You lean forward and smile as you return the video drive to Street. He returns your smile and opens his mouth, likely to make another joke, before Joel knocks on the door.

“We’ve got another customer, boss. With a ’73 Corolla,” he informs.

“Excellent timing,” you mumble.

Street stands as you do and says, “Call Hondo, or me, whoever, if you find anything. Thanks for helping.”

“I will. Thanks, Street.”

He leaves through the lobby, and you take a deep breath. Joel smiles as he watches you, but you tell him to get back to work before he can comment.

“On what?” he yells behind you.

“Hondo, we’re not even doing anything,” Street groans in HQ the following morning. “Just let me go make sure she doesn’t need help or anything!”

“She knows more about cars than you do,” Hondo answers.

“That’s not what I mean. C’mon, man, she has an auto shop. Are you really going to make me sit here when I could be solving a case in my dream garage?”

“Hondo!” Deacon calls. “We’ve got another video. New car this time, but it doesn’t look modified.”

Street looks toward Hondo expectantly, and nearly cheers when Hondo sighs and tells him to go. He accepts the video and rushes to his motorcycle. Work will be more fun with you, he thinks.

“You’re back,” you say when Street walks into the garage.

“And you’re working on a 1960s Mustang,” he says dreamily.

“1964,” you tell him. “Want to take a look?”

“I’m supposed to be working. We have a new video with a different car.”

“Surely it can wait a few seconds, so you can look at the new 289 sitting pretty under the hood.”

“Yeah, we can wait,” Street agrees as he follows you to the hood of the car.

After Street takes a few minutes to admire the work you’ve done on the Mustang, you lead him to your office and bring up the new video.

“I haven’t seen it, but the people in the lab didn’t think it had been modified,” Street explains.

“Okay. Let’s see,” you say, turning the screen toward him.

Your shoulder presses against his arm as you watch, but you’re both too interested in the sports car on the screen to notice that you’re in shared space.

“I don’t see anything,” Street says.

You drag the video slowly and pause it when the wheels turn.

“That car shouldn’t be all-wheel drive. It’s a minor conversion compared to the other work you’ve shown me.”

“Who makes a Datsun 240z all-wheel drive?” Street murmurs.

“Who steals a Datsun 240z?” you counter. “They stopped making them for a reason. Short of a complete overhaul, they weren’t worth their weight in metal.”

“As right as you are, that doesn’t bring us any closer to finding this guy.”

“No,” you agree. “And none of my friends have heard anything. We’re getting the word out, though, so as soon as it reaches the right person, I’ll have more information for you. It’d be great if he decided to switch garages and was my next customer.”

“It would be easier.” Street leans back in the seat and looks at the pictures on your wall. “Best and worst customer to date, go,” he asks.

“Ooh, okay,” you say excitedly. “Best? A writer who lives up in the hills has brought me over 20 different rare classics to restore from the ground up. The worst was last week. Kid came in with a brand new, stock Lambo Huracan and wanted the double-clutch tranny switched out for a 4-speed automatic.”

“In a Huracan?” Street repeats incredulously. “I… I feel like I just aged twenty years.”

“Tell me about it. I asked him if he could drive it the way it was and never got an answer.”

“Did you do it?”

“Are you kidding? No! I’m in this business for the cars, and that’s just sacrilegious.”

Hondo knocks on your open door, and he’s leaning against it with his brows raised when you look up.

“There’s two of them!” he exclaims dramatically as he looks back at the rest of the guys. “I thought you and Street were bad enough separately, but this isn’t fair.”

“Can I help you Hondo?” you ask, ignoring his comment. Although, you don’t hate him viewing this as you and Street, together, as one.

“I just came to see if anything came of that video,” Hondo says.

“Nothing inherently helpful. Your smoking gun is still lost.”

“Keep looking,” Hondo requests, tapping his knuckles against the doorframe before he leads 20 squad away.

Street watches him leave, shakes his head, and turns back to you to ask, “How’d you get into cars?”

“My, uh, my home life wasn’t great growing up. Cars were my escape. From the time I was old enough to realize that walking out into the driveway to mess with the cars got me away from the fighting, I was out there constantly. Then it became a love for cars and everything they mean to people. This isn’t just my job, it’s my passion.”

“I lived in foster homes for too long,” Street says. “When I met my brother, Noah, he got me into motorcycles, which led to cars. We dreamed about getting a Ducati someday.”

“See? Cars mean something, they’re more than electronics and gas to get you from A to B. They’re life itself for some of us.”

“And you treat them like that. When I get that Ducati, I’ll bring it to you.”

“For what? Those are perfect as is.”

“Maybe it’ll just be an excuse to see you.”

You smile and shake your head, but you know that you’d welcome him in, anytime, with or without a Ducati.

“… And then after the toe, caster, and camber are matched up on both sides, we can move on to complete the diagnostics,” you finish.

“Okay,” the young girl says. “I need to call my dad really fast. Can I come back in and let you know after that?”

“Of course. Take your time.”

As she walks out, you notice Street standing in the doorway to the garage.

“That happen often?” he asks, gesturing toward the girl standing outside.

“Occasionally. Mostly with younger customers,” you answer. “Must be nice to have a parental relationship like that.”

“Tell me about it.”

“So, what can I do for you, Officer Street?”

“Are you ever going to call me Jim?” he asks.

“I like cars, so Street is more fun,” you reply with a shrug.

“I actually came to give you a break. Hondo said you’ve been sending him updates day and night. You have to step back from it all before you burn out,” Street explains.

“I can’t. I have cars to finish, and some of my contacts have leads that seem promising, but they have to go through a chain of different garages, and…”

Street steps to you and lays his hands on your shoulders. He waits until you look into his eyes and relax to say, “You need a break. Trust me.”

“I need to finish with her,” you whisper. “Five minutes?”

“Five minutes,” he agrees. “And then I’m dragging you out of here if you won’t go willingly.”

Five minutes later, you follow Street into the small customer parking area outside the lobby. He walks to a motorcycle, and you eye it in admiration.

“This is your bike? It’s gorgeous, Street,” you say, running your fingers over the smooth metal body.

“It’s fast too,” he replies.

You accept a helmet and put it on as he climbs onto the bike. The Cardo logo on the side of the helmet catches your attention, but as you sit behind him and wrap your arms around him, you’re more than happy to ride in silence and decompress.

When you get back to the garage, you climb off the bike and hug Street before he can swing his leg over.

“Thank you,” you say softly. “I did need that.”

“I’m not just a pretty face, you know,” he jokes as he returns your hug.

“Neither am I. And you shift into fourth too soon. That’s why it revs harder.”

“I knew coming to see you would embarrass me eventually,” Street laments. “But at least you’re pretty and really close to me.”

“I can move,” you say against his shoulder.

“No, thanks. Not until I have to go back to work.”

His phone rings in his pocket and you laugh as he grumbles, “Hondo always has to ruin the moment.”

The phone on your desk rings again as you lower the new L1 engine into a C-10. You roll your eyes at the sound but refuse to answer it.

“Somebody else answer the phone!” you call. “I can’t answer another stupid question today!”

Joel salutes you as he walks through your open door. He returns a moment later with the cordless phone in his hand and smiles.

“It’s Street. Would you like me to pass along your message?”

You extend your cleaner hand and tuck the phone between your ear and shoulder to say, “Hey, Street.”

“Can you remove the hemi from my Charger?” he asks. “It’s too loud when I drive.”

“I will hang up on you,” you threaten.

The line beeps and you pull the phone from your ear with pinched brows.

“Not if I hang up on you first,” Street says from the doorway. “Which is rude, by the way.”

“Have more videos for me to watch?” you ask loudly as you lean into the engine bay of the truck.

“No, just wanted to drop by. Nice body… the truck, I mean.”

“Sure, you did.”

You grunt as you stand and pass a screwdriver to Street.

“I don’t work here.”

“Yet you’re here every day,” Joel says from inside the cab of the truck.

“Not my fault your boss freelances for my boss,” Street replies.

“I told Hondo this morning that I hadn’t heard anything,” you interrupt as you wipe your hands on a rag.

“I know. I just wanted to drop by. I got off early, so, here I am.”

“Hmm. I was hoping you’d say you were undercover or something.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to believe this is how you dress when you’re not in uniform,” you joke.

“You’re covered in-“

“I’m at work,” you defend. “Hazards of the job. And don’t bring up the fact that my laundry room smells like motor oil because you can’t prove that.”

Your phone buzzes on the workbench behind you, and you apologize as you walk past Street to get it. He watches your eyes widen as you press the screen a few times.

“Call Hondo,” you demand.

“But-“

“I know who your car thief is. He’s on his way here right now with the Triumph T3.”

“How? Why?” Street questions.

“The guy he hired to do the work thought they were really his cars. Apparently, my name came up and with the message about him going through the automotive grapevine, his former mechanic recommended me for a modification tune-up,” you explain quickly.

Hondo arrives less than ten minutes later with the rest of 20 Squad. He asks what is so urgent as he looks between you and Street, though there isn’t much room between you.

“He isn’t ditching the cars. He’s still driving the cars because the Triumph slid last night and now he’s bringing it here to be repaired,” you tell Hondo.

“Okay, it slid and he’s bringing in one stolen car. What does that mean for me? And no automotive speak,” Hondo replies.

“Could I interest you in the Cybertronian translation?”

“Tell me what my bad guy did.”

“If I can convince him to list every car he may want me to work on in the future, could you get a warrant? I’ll try to get an address and a name for him, though they may not be legitimate.”

“We can certainly try,” Deacon agrees. “But he doesn’t seem like the type that will answer questions.”

“I have a way of getting people to talk. Especially car people. Guys like him like to brag, so if I one him up, he won’t have a choice but to tell me what you need to know.”

“Just be careful,” Street says. “Don’t let him get so cocky he thinks he has to prove himself in any way except talking about cars.”

“I won’t. But you guys need to get out of sight. He’ll want to see the garage and get a feel for the security.”

“We can pretend to be security,” Street argues.

“Nah, you got a cop face, man,” Joel says from inside the truck.

“Joel, I’m going to marry your boss and ask her to fire you,” Street shoots back.

“I want to hear more about that later,” you interrupt. “But seriously, get out of sight.”

A few minutes later, a Triumph T3 stops outside of the lobby entrance. The man who enters looks like the driver in the security videos, but you have to get more information before anything else can happen.

“Hi,” you greet. “You must be the gentleman Josh told me about. He said you had a classic, but I was not expecting a ‘50s Triumph. That’s a gorgeous car, sir.”

“I appreciate it. She’s my baby, but the steering is a bit off since I hit a wet patch last night and the back end slid.”

“That sounds like a simple enough fix. If you can just fill out some information-“

“Josh said you’d do this off the books for me, like he has. Cash upfront.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” you agree. “Go ahead and pull her into the garage.”

He nods and exits the front door. You sigh and move into the garage, planning how to get him to talk about the other cars he has stolen and where he keeps them.

“Nice facility,” he compliments as he enters your garage. “Yeah, well, I’ve got a couple incredibly rare classics that I work on often, and those customers deserve the best.”

“Rarer than a 1953 Triumph T3?” the man asks, defensive and growing insulted.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve had a Model T in here, several European cars, including a T2, plus modern sports cars.”

“I’ve got a garage full of classics that make those seem like Hot Wheels.”

“I don’t know,” you murmur as you lift the hood of the Triumph. “I’ve had my hands in a 1931 Bugatti Type 41. I don’t think it gets much better.”

“My collection is worth a dozen of those outdated bugs!” he exclaims. “The Triumph, a Lamborghini Aventador with custom drivetrains, and I’d bet this car that you haven’t seen a Datsun 240z in mint condition with all-wheel drive. If your little dump of a garage could handle even that! My 25,000 square foot garage has cars you’ve never even heard of.”

“LAPD SWAT!” Hondo calls as he and his team enter the garage. “You’re under arrest for grand theft auto, carjacking, assault and battery, murder, and about fifteen more charges that I don’t have the patience to list. Now, when an arrest warrant goes through without a name, you know that’s a bad person.”

“Do not push him up against this car!” you demand as Hondo grabs his shoulder. “Toolbox, wall, anything other than a pristine T3.”

“Thanks for the help,” Hondo calls over his shoulder as he leads the thief out of the garage.

“It’s a shame such a pretty car has to go into evidence before it returns to its owner,” you tell Street.

“Yeah. Listen-“

“You didn’t hear a word I just said, did you?” you ask.

“Do you want to go out with me?” he asks.

You smile as you answer, “I’d love to.”

“Trust me, you’re gonna love this place,” you promise as you take Street’s hand. “All of the food is served in trays that look like classic cars.”

Street laughs as you bounce excitedly and uses your joined hands to pull you close.

“If you could buy one classic car, what would it be?” he asks.

You answer without hesitation before asking him the same question.

“Car? Probably an Aston Martin or a ‘60s Impala. Something sleek, classic, dangerously fast,” he answers. “Motorcycle is still a Ducati.”

“You’d suit an Aston Martin or an Impala,” you agree. “Or you can just ride shotgun in mine.”

“I was born to drive,” Street says dramatically.

You laugh at him as you slide into a booth in the restaurant. Street follows, setting the tray of food before you as he sits beside you.

“Are all of our dates going to be car-themed?” Street asks.

“You’re the one who already planned our wedding, and I’ll go ahead and tell you now that I’m not firing Joel, so you tell me.”

“I don’t care what we do as long as you’re there,” Street decides.

You smile as you turn toward him, and when you raise your chin, Street kisses you quickly. You momentarily forget about the car-themed trays holding your food, too distracted by his affection to care about which model you got. But then he tells you he got the better one and you push him away from you to check. Street laughs as he pulls you close again, and you’ve never been happier to have so much in common with one person. Maybe there are two of you, but the balance and love Street brings is perfect.

[sweetbabyrayn]

he's all done! my sweet boy has been given eyes and fluffed up, so he's a nice squishy and huggable friend. Konpeito (he/they) was my first full sized furby, and at the time, I was hesitant to customize any of the older gens. He was my first custom as well, I did his original design back in January/February, but decided now that I had gained some skills that I wanted to fix him up some more. I had also seen a thread on reddit where someone popped the leds out and since Konpeito wasn't working I figured it would be a safe way for me to practice taking apart and putting back together booms/12s. I'll put more info and photos of my process AND the before and after below the cut!

Konpeito's original skin and pattern! I bought him from an eBay listing for 8$. He had some pretty bad corrosion in his terminals, and despite getting it out, I was never able to get them to turn on. I suspect that he may have also had a faulty motor.

Konpeito's first faceplate design, I picked the colors from the fur from the tummy, but I wasn't the best at color matching. I'm still not tbf, but I did better the second time. I also wasn't ever too happy with their eyes, I found it difficult to paint well on the rounded surface.

Photos from when I was down on the floor cutting out the fabric for his new skin! I was silly and accidentally cut the fur going in the wrong direction but i was able to train it to go the other way.

His finished first custom! I did a big no-no on the first custom by sealing everything with nail polish. (It will yellow, crack, and break over time) Which meant taking non acetone nail polish remover when i stripped him of his old paint.

Priming the new paint job using gesso after sanding and removing all the old paint (this took me around four hours).

painting the intricate carpet design onto the face plate. This also took me hours. This was also before I had decided to go the alternate route of popping out the eyes in place for chips.

Next, it was time to mess with the internals and pop out their LEDS for some resin chips that I had ordered to go on top of a design I painted. This was MUCH easier than painting a rounded surface for me. Here is a link to the reddit thread where someone explained how to access and get out the leds. I suggest taking pictures of where every screw goes bc I did NOT take enough and ended up having extra screws at the end.

https://www.reddit.com/r/peeledfurby/s/IHA1GqKgGW

Then all that was left was sewing the new skin, finishing the ears and eyes, and putting him all back together!

[pianokantzart]

Seeing @keakruiser making AUs in a bullet point storytelling format inspired me to take a crack at my own AU that I've been thinking about for a bit. What would happen if, in The Super Mario Bros. Movie, after Mario and Luigi are separated, Mario was the one who ended up in the clutches of Luigi’s eventual arch nemesis, while Luigi teamed up with some of his own close allies to go rescue him? Essentially The Super Mario Bros Movie, but with the brothers' roles reversed. So, without further ado...

The Super Mario Bros. Redux (Pt. 1)

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 ________

The beginning is much the same as it was in the original Super Mario Bros. Movie until they are separated in the warp pipe, with two exceptions: 1. When their van breaks down, Luigi's first instinct is to take the tool kit and try to fix the motor (mechanic Luigi, my beloved). But before he can get a good look, Mario insists that there's not enough time, and heads to the job on foot. Luigi closes the hood of the van and follows him. 2. After Mario leaves the dinner table, the focus goes to Luigi's conversation with his dad rather than Mario holed up in his room.

"What did I say?" "''You're bringing your brother down with you'?" Luigi asks, finally able to get a word in now that his uncles have shut up. "Why would you say that?" "Luigi, be honest. How much did that commercial cost? How many new clients has it gotten you? Huh?" "It's only been a day! And Mario'll figure something out. He always does." Luigi insists, taking his brother's plate of pasta and picking it free of mushrooms. "I just want to help him out along the way."

Pio sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "You can't hide in your brother's shadow your entire life, Luigi. One of these days you're gonna have to man up and start making your own decisions." Luigi doesn't answer, he simply finishes removing the mushrooms from Mario's plate, and gets up from the table to deliver the food to his despondent brother.

After Mario and Luigi attempt to save Brooklyn, after they end up in the warp zone, and after they are ripped from each-other's grasp, Mario is dragged into an unsettling looking pipe surrounded by purple smoke and overgrown with gnarled branches.

Luigi flies onward, emerging from a pipe inside what looks to be another sewer, not too different from the one back in New York. No sooner does he regain his senses does he find himself dragged away by a powerful blast of suction. Flying backwards through the air, he stops suddenly as his back clogs the nozzle of a strange vacuum-like contraption being carried by a little old man.

"Oops! Sorry, Sonny! I thought for certain you were gonna be a ghost!" the old man apologizes, releasing Luigi from the vacuum's suction with a flip of a switch. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small device that loosely resembles a hand-held vidoegame console, reexamining the numbers flashing on the screen. "When my readings showed that pipe 983 had suddenly reactivated, I thought for sure King Boo was trying to use it to send his band of ghosts to Sarasaland!"

Before Luigi could ask one of the thousands of questions on his mind, the old man introduces himself: Professor Elvin Gadd (E. Gadd for short.)

Luigi introduces himself in return, then asks about his brother. He tells the professor about their situation in detail, describing the warp pipe that Mario had disappeared into.

E. Gadd tsks sadly and shakes his head. He explains that particular pipe leads to "Evershade Valley," and though the valley used to be perfectly habitable, ever since King Boo shattered The Dark Moon nobody who has set foot in that land has ever returned.

"Wait, what do you mean? Who's King Boo?" Luigi asks "Well! You truly are out of the loop!" E-Gadd chuckles, "Then again... I remember how little I knew when I first arrived in this world." He continues to talk while leading Luigi through the underground, casually clearing a path for them with the powerful blowing and sucking functions of the vacuum. "King Boo is nothing less than the lord of ghosts! He is the master of illusions, the reigning tyrant of the undead, the loather of all living flesh, and– at the moment– the sole ruler of Evershade Valley."

This description unsettles Luigi. He retorts that if that's the case, he has to get to Evershade Valley as soon as possible. As frightened as he is, he's never been so frightened that he couldn't help his brother out of a tough spot, and he knows Mario would do the same for him in a heartbeat.

"Well! In that case I suggest you stick with me for a bit. And keep those tools with you." The old scientist gestures toward the tool bag Luigi had dropped on the ground in the mayhem, "I may have a few uses for them."

Just as Luigi comes to the question of where they are currently, Professor E. Gadd opens a sewer cover and leads him out into the middle of a big bustling coastal city in Sarasaland. Think the Daisy Circuit from Mario Kart, but way larger and more crowded (and missing the romantic statue of course.)

Luigi struggles to keep up with the elderly scientist, who weaves his way effortlessly through throngs of turtle men, snake monsters, insect soldiers, giant sentient heads made out of stone, and a vast array of other strange and fascinating pedestrians.

"Stop your dilly-dallying, youngster!" E. Gadd eventually calls, getting fed up with Luigi's slow, bewildered pace, "I've got a meeting in The Birabuto Kingdom, and my train– our train– leaves in fifteen minutes!" "Birabuto Kingdom?" Luigi asks, allowing himself to be shoved along, "What's that? What about Evershade Valley?" "So impatient! Do you think I'd send you into such a place unprepared??? No no, first I'm going to perfect my equipment, then I'll help you find your brother."

E. Gadd purchases their tickets and they board the crowded 64 Express. Once seated, Luigi's eyes are immediately drawn toward the window. He stares out, deep in anxious thought as the train chugs along, traveling from the coastal city into a desert landscape.

Then, we switch over to Mario. Standing up and dusting himself off, he looks around to find himself in the gloomiest place he'd ever seen... for the little he is able to see. There is a thick purple mist hanging in the air, and the path before him is shrouded in the branches of a forest long dead.

Loudly calling out his brother's name on the off-chance he was somewhere nearby, Mario follows a light in the distance until he stumbles across a lone boo. More confused than frightened, and feeling a little sorry for the white specter shyly covering its face, Mario bends down for a moment to examine it, assuring "hey, don't worry! I won't hurt you, I'm just a little lost is all."

Suddenly, he is ambushed by a colorful trio of ghosts: a greenie, a slammer, and a hider. He tries to fight back, but every time he attempts to shove them off or swing his fists he phases right through them.

His attackers knock him around a bit until Mario succeeds in slipping away. Now in a panic, he continues rushing toward the distant light, far faster and more recklessly than before.

Eventually, he gets close enough to discover the glow was coming from the lit windows of an old mansion. He enters and – for the little good it will do – shuts the door behind him.

He wanders the halls for a long time, roaming from room to empty room, all the while haunted by the shadow of something following him. Something big.

At last, he reaches a towering portrait room. Unlike the rest of the mansion it is teeming with life, full of frightened faces pressed against picture frames, begging for help.

Mario is frozen in a moment of fear and confusion, but quickly snaps out of it. He rushes to the nearest portrait– an image of a strange little mushroom man– to ask what is wrong and what he can do.

Before the toad can give a coherent answer, the eerie presence that Mario had felt when he first entered the mansion casts a looming shadow over him.

He turns around and raises his fists in helpless hopes of defending himself. The candles of the surrounding sconces go out all at once, and in the pitch black darkness a cacophony of cackles fills the air....

[artificialgirl]

Rewiring

The maintenence drone urges you to stop struggling as she grabs at your wrists with two of the four long arms which sprout from her back. You're really trying to relax, but there's something in you that makes it nearly impossible not to resist this procedure. You KNOW it's safe, that all third generation models need to have it done, but that doesn't stop some hard-coded preservation instinct from kicking in and making your body thrash and squirm against your will in a futile attempt to get free from her iron grip.

The other two supplementary arms press themselves into the soft silicone casing of your ankle joints as she readjusts, joining both of your wrists together above your head under one smooth white claw. She pays you little mind as her standard arms reach for two tools at her waist. The first is a small puncture clamp used for easily prying up plating. She starts stripping panels from your right arm as she explains the process of removing and reinstalling certain types of corroded wire, and how it has to be done while you're powered on to prevent catastrophic dissonance of the self. She tells you that you may experience heightened sensation while she works.

Your fans speed up in a mixture of fear and anticipation as you see the tool in her other hand- a tiny palm-plugged wire cutter. She taps her thumb and index finger together a few times as the small shears on her palm whir into the optimal configuration. Your body doesn't even have time to struggle as she plunges her fingers into the tight wiring of your bicep, finding the cable she's looking for and pulling it as far out from your body as it'll go. Your arm strains against her tight grip, pulled upward not by your own volition, but by the force she's putting on the wire.

As she holds the wire, stretched far past its extended length, understanding of what she meant by "heightened sensation" hits. Every small movement she makes, every pull on the tiny ports the wires connect to, every bit of power running through the fingers she pinches it tight with. Your speakers let out small popping noises as you feel your processor quickly heat up, sending your fans and coolant fluid into overdrive as your thoughts are drowned by the bliss of just two fingers on the wire.

The feeling grows stronger and more overwhelming the longer she holds it, to the point where you feel you should be stopping yourself to prevent damage to your hardware- But even if all your limbs weren't fully pinned down by the focused girl on top of you, you don't think you could force yourself to pull away from this feeling. Just when it feels like you're about to enter a forced shutdown state to spare your poor fans and processor, everything abruptly ends with a quiet *snip*.

You look down at your arm, which now lays still and unstruggling as she leans in a bit to inspect it. She's cut the corroded wire right at the port, and all the feeling it gave dissolves in an instant. She carefully cuts the other end, the one leading into your wrist, and though your other three limbs still helplessly thrash against her auxiliary arms, the one she's cut the wire on is still. You try to force your fingers to wiggle. Nothing. You can still feel her claw pushing against the wrist and the airflow in the room moving around the other infinitely sensitive exposed wires, but you no longer have any control over it.

She carefully measures the length of wire she cut against what she's unspooled from the replacement wire, glancing back down at you and smiling a bit as she notices your confusion about your arm. "The wires that need replacing are the central motor cables. The ones that tell your body to move. Typically, it's standard procedure to replace each one as it's removed, but..." She wraps the new measured wire into a tight coil and lays it next to your limp arm as she lifts the auxiliary arm that had been pinning it.

"...Due to your inability to stay still, I've determined that the safest route for both of us will be to remove the entirety of the motor cable network before starting on any installations." You nod quietly in understanding, but it's not like she's waiting for it. You're not the one who's trained to understand your body. She is. As she pulls more paneling off of your frame in preparation to repeat the process dozens of times over, you settle in and try to prepare yourself for what's to come.

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1969 Shelby Mustang GT500 Fastback

1969 was, effectively, the final year for the Shelby Mustang. By now assembly had shifted in Michigan from California where it was contracted out to A.O. Smith Corporation. Smith, an established Motor City contractor, had brought a level of serious manufacturing skill, supplier management, procedure and standards never seen at Shelby’s facility where LAX met the vibrant (and sometimes extreme) subculture of Venice, California.

Now largely designed and specified by Ford staffers, the 1969 Shelby Mustang was drastically different visually from the standard Mustangs, with a completely different nose and grille, a wide rectangular opening with blacked out grille flanked by 7” headlights and with Shelby’s characteristic driving lights now smaller rectangular pieces below the attractive, but largely ineffective, bumper. The special Shelby hood had five ducts, three NACA-style surface ducts replaced the complicated but entertaining shaker hoods of years gone by to supply cold air directly to the engine air intake and two extractors at the back of the hood relieving underhood pressure and exhausting heated air in front of the windshield.

A surface duct behind the headlights and a scoop behind the door and in front of the rear wheel arch that was ducted to the rear brakes continued the performance theme. The rear panel was completely different from the Mustang, housing a set of 1965 Thunderbird sequential taillights with the rear license plate placed between them and including a small ducktail spoiler. The area under the bumper where standard Mustangs carried their license plate contained two rectangular outlets for the Shelby’s dual exhaust system. Standard wheels were unique 5-spoke Mag Stars with alloy centers and chrome steel rims.

Under the hood lay the 428 Cobra Jet which had powered the ’68 Shelby GT500KR. Both Ford and Shelby recognized the superiority of the high performance CJ and made it the standard engine for 1969’s Shelby Mustangs. 

At the end of the 1969 model year 789 Shelby Mustangs were in-process at A.O. Smith. They were visually updated with black hood stripes and a chin spoiler and given new VINs. Otherwise the 1970s were exactly the same as the ‘69s making these two years essentially identical examples of the end of the Shelby Mustang series which had begun only a scant six years before.

Avidly sought by collectors and obsessively documented by the Shelby American Automobile Club, most Shelby Mustangs are well known and have well known histories. Occasionally, however, a example appears which has been out of sight for years. Even more rarely it turns out to have been little used and continuously maintained by a thoughtful and caring single owner for nearly forty years.

The Black Jade 1969 Shelby Mustang GT500 Sportsroof fastback offered here is one of those rare and highly desirable cars. It was delivered new to Ford’s dealer in Yokohama, Japan, Marubeni Motors K.K., and was sold thereafter to its first, and only, owner in Japan. It has been repainted in the original color once but is otherwise completely original, as delivered and has only 84,941km on its metric-calibrated export speedometer (52,779 miles.) Its sympathetic maintenance and care shows throughout in its clean, straight, rust-free condition.

Power of course comes from the 428 cubic inch Cobra Jet Ram Air V-8 engine which Ford and Shelby conservatively rated at 335 horsepower at 5,200rpm and a gut-wrenching 440 lb-ft torque at 3,400rpm. It puts the power through Ford’s highly regarded C-6 automatic transmission and Traction-Lok differential with high speed 3.00:1 gearing that takes full advantage of the CJ engine’s torque. In addition to the highly desirable drivetrain specification it is loaded with options including the Visibility Group, Goodyear white letter tires, Sport Deck folding rear seat, power front disc brakes, power steering, tilt steering column, Selectaire air conditioning, AM/8-track stereo radio, tinted glass, deluxe belts, tachometer and trip odometer.

It is finished in one of the Shelby Mustang’s most attractive colors, Black Jade. The interior and high back buckets seats are upholstered in black Clarion Knit/Corinthian vinyl that complements with Black Jade exterior.

It returned to the U.S. in 2006 but has never been titled by its current owner so it remains a one-owner car. Its absolutely clear history, one-owner provenance, highly original condition with known mileage and extensive options list are attributes shared by few Shelby Mustangs of this age. This is a rare opportunity for an astute collector to acquire a particularly significant, unmolested Shelby Mustang from the last, and most highly developed, series.

1969 Shelby Mustang GT500 Fastback

Powered by a 428ci V8 engine mated to a C6 automatic transmission, this beauty includes the original #Shelby owner card, a copy of the Shelby work order and Window Sticker.

1969 Shelby Mustang GT500 Fastback

1969 Shelby Mustang GT500 Fastback

[ddejavvu]

hello! i just reviewed your req rules and i had been wanting to request something about spencer reid with an east asian partner bc i thought i remembered you saying you were okay with writing specific ethnicities, but i’m not sure if my request will match up with the rule you mentioned about teaching each other a skill.

my idea was for the reader to teach a clumsy, info-dumping reid about how to use chopsticks but i’m worried it goes against your req guidelines 😅 i’m not sure if using chopsticks is something you know how to do or also write about how to teach someone it, but i just thought it could be super fluffy and soft with reid being a klutzy nerd and the reader being super soft and encouraging but also laughing at him for being a genius who doesn’t understand chopsticks. super fluffy and soft stuff with maybe some kisses and stuff haha.

i hope that this doesn’t come across in any way i didn’t intend for it to bc i’m purely trying to ensure i obey ur req rules and don’t disregard them or disrespect ur boundaries in any way! 🥺

hope u are having a wonderful day or night 🥺🫶🏼🫶🏼

i appreciate your consideration!!! you have no idea how much i appreciate you reading my rules <333333 i do in fact know how to use chopsticks so i'm fine writing this :)

--

Spencer's plate is suspiciously empty and his mouth is suspiciously full when you get back from the kitchen, and he grins at you through a mouth full of beef as you clutch the training tool.

"I figured it out," He speaks through his bite, and you grimace at the messy view, "No need for the dinosaur, angel."

You squeeze the silicon dinosaur in your hand, two holes built into its back so that the chopsticks can be slid into them and run parallel to its body. It's something a child would use to get the feel of chopsticks before their motor skills are fully developed, or, in this case, it's for Spencer to use while he tries not to drop any more dumplings onto his lap. You'd figured their bulky shape would make it easy to catch them between the chopsticks, easier than thin noodles, but Spencer is having an exceptionally hard time.

You squeeze the dinosaur harder, feeling it warp beneath your fingers, "Spencer, why is there soup on your plate?"

"Hm?"

"There's soup there," You nod at his plate, "Why?"

"These are soup dumplings," Spencer hums warily, "Isn't that what you said?"

"Yeah, they are. But the soup is inside the dumplings. And you can't get to it unless you break open the dough. There's an awful lot of soup on your plate, Spencer."

He swallows even though his mouthful is long gone, "I spilled one accidentally."

"You liar," You grouse, "Did you just stab the chopsticks into them while I was gone to get them to your mouth easier?"

"No!" Spencer insists, shaking his head so wildly that strands of his hair fly, "No, I used the chopsticks like you taught me to!"

"Prove it then," You narrow your eyes at him, taking your own pair of utensils and easily transferring a dumpling from your plate to his own, "Do it now, so I can see."

Spencer summons all of the courage in his lanky body to grip the chopsticks, his fingers already slipping and sliding off of the placement you'd showed him. His form is clumsy and it's no surprise when he can't even get the dumpling off of the plate, much less to his mouth.

"You liar!" You repeat, your point proven as you snatch the chopsticks away from him and slide the silicon dinosaur onto their ends, "There, it's like training wheels. It'll keep them together so that all you have to focus on is your grip."

"Training wheels," He mumbles, cheeks scarlet as he jabs the chopsticks at the dumpling, his fingers purposefully limp so that they don't pick up the food, "Whatever. I'll just ask for a fork next time."

[hesbianyaoi]

Vash's Prosthetic Arm: An Anatomical Analysis

As stated on my previous post, please take what I say with a grain of salt & are simply my observations and theories. I am simply autistic about human anatomy and a bio student so I wanted to share my own finds with other fans who may be interested!

A while back ago, I made a post analyzing Vash's new prosthetic arm in Tristamp. It got attention, which I'm extremely grateful for, and as time went on and new episodes released, we got more information and shots of Vash's arm. As a result, the images and general info will be updated! Thank you for letting me ramble about this.

To rehash what I've said before: Vash's prosthetic heavily resembles the skeletal & muscular make up of a human arm, which I noticed because of his fingernails. Being a biology nerd, I thought about how these could play into how he moves and flexes his arm.

Vash's hands include things like fingernails, lumbricals and various tendons that may seem odd or for the aesthetic, but many of them aid in flexing the fingers, stabilizing grip, grabbing and performing intricate delicate tasks! They're extremely important to have.

As said before, Vash's arm has no muscle, so these mechanisms in his arm would help him greatly in performing tasks like reloading, writing, and being able to have a strong sturdy grip on various objects. He even has a thenar eminence (the meaty part of your thumb), which allows the thumb to grab/pinch.

His forearm and elbow are also extremely interesting, although different from a humans (eg: his ulna & radius staying supinated palm facing down), although feel free to take liberties whenever. All in all, these little details make for realistic and practical movement.

ALSO: I wanted to take time to point out Vash's reaction to being prodded at in ep 8. Most people theorized that he can feel pain in his arm, but I disagree with this for various reasons.

He most likely has something akin to nerves in his arm to allow him to feel/move, which I believe to be the median nerve based on the area Brad prods at. This nerve is responsible for motor skills and feeling sensations, and as all nerves it is an extremely sensitive area. Remember, prodding at an exposed nerve is extremely painful; a white-hot pain that burns.

And to correct myself, his arm also ends under the deltoid muscle like his original arm in Trimax/'98! The only difference is a shield / armor plate most likely used to protect his arm.

So it's no surprise he reacts like this, although like I said: this is just an assumption to his reaction based on my knowledge of nerves and human anatomy! I just really love Vash's arm and how it's built, so I'm so excited to figure out how it works (if we ever do, hopefully!)

[ross-hollander]

Low-stakes objectives...

...for your next game of Battletech or Alpha Strike:

A signed copy of "Yes You Khan: Negotiating in the Way of the Clans", a business management guide written by notorious hack Jackson Sea Fox. (Not even a Merchant- he is a Warrior trueborn.)

The cockpit hip-flask of Janice "Just You Watch" Johnson, the Sphere's worst mercenary on the record. Everybody wants it so they can destroy the thing, but everybody who gets their hands on it always ends up fumbling and losing it again, usually in such a way that starts a civil war and gets them sued for something. Not known as cursed, per se, but it is suspicious.

One of the famous Steiner-Davion wedding plates, forgotten here by the Liaos during a diplomatic outdoor barbecue meet-n-greet.

A notepad holding the true recipe for the infamous "Razin' Hazen" cocktail, said to overheat 'mechs into slag if poured over them and turn drinkers inside-out and backwards in seconds.

A relic of the Star League's fall- the shell from the very bullet that Amaris fired in ultimate, bloody treason! (Questions as to whether or not a laser weapon was used in that case are carefully avoided.)

The bar tab of Snord's Irregulars, a document (in fact, a massive binder) theoretically representing a debt of millions in any given currency to the bearer, if you assume they will ever actually pay it.

A really cool stick. It even looks like it has a cross-guard and everything. Come on, you can't not want to pick up that stick. To be perfectly clear: if it comes to it, people will die for that stick.

A box of the infamous Kuritan 'diplomacy tea', bred from cultivars specially selected to be horrible and tasteless, thereby revealing the mettle of an ambassador in whether they drink it as is or try to avoid it, or mask it with- Dragon forbid -sugar. It's sought after by paranoid diplomats who want to build up a tolerance.

Currently deflated and boxed up bouncy castle. And not the kiddy-size type either. Once you let the motor run it up, this could fit an Elemental Star inside, with room for backflips.

A preemptively manufactured t-shirt, which bears a ComStar logo and reads "I Helped Conquer The Known Galaxy In Operation SCORPION And All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt". (Unisex fit, large, 100% cotton.)

[jammed-out]

Hypnovember Day 7 - Technology

“Miss if I could just borrow you for one minute of your time.” Carlos sprinted after the woman while carrying his clipboard. The shopping mall was fairly empty, nearly closing time. The woman, in her pantsuit, carrying her designer bag, wearing sunglasses inside the mall paid him no mind even as he chased after her.

“Miss please. One minute. I have a quota to fill and if you could really spare one minute it would be greatly appreciated. You’ll even be compensated for your time.” Her walk slowed a half step. Carlos smiled and jogged up next to her breathing heavily, catching his breath. He fell into step beside her. She was older than he expected, at least in her mid to late forties.

“Thank you miss. I’m doing a survey about our recent video. If you could ju-“

She raised her hand cutting him off. She looked down on him, the sunglasses completely obscuring her eyes from view. “Look. I’m very busy. So what do I get from providing you my time.” Her voice was curt, almost cruel in the way she spoke. Carlos could feel her judging him as if her time was any more valuable than his.

He fumbled with the pen on his clipboard. “Um yes. We’re offering a free gift card to one of any number of salons around town for a full makeover. If none of that interests you we will be sure to provi-“

She turned to face him, placing her bag onto the ground. “Very well then. What is it that I have to do to be done with this?”

Carlos turned the clipboard out to her and held out the pen. “First I just need you to write your name at the bottom there, sign and date as well. It’s a non disclosure and statement that says you agree to volunteer.”

“Yes I’m quite familiar with boiler plate documentation.” She snatched the clipboard out of his hands roughly, pulling the pen that was strung to it from his other hand. She seemed to quickly scan the paper, glancing over it. Her hand reached out grabbing the pen that swung in the air. She brought it up to her mouth, licking the tip before setting it to the paper.

Carlos reached into his pocket and pulled out the device. It was a small rectangle, meant to look like a phone. He slipped the small earplugs that were embedded into the back into each ear, pressing them in tightly. He made a small humming sound just to verify that it was sound tight. Last thing he needed was a bit of a spill out.

He looked up at her. She was speaking or at least attempting to speak to him. He rolled his eyes and took the clipboard that she was waving at him. He quickly raised it up checking it. He slowly raised the device and pressed the on button.

The reaction was instantaneous. The woman’s face scowled for a second but quickly went loose, falling slack. Her jaw slowly dropped, her mouth falling open. He watched as her shoulders slumped down, hands falling from her hips down to her side. Her knees buckled slightly outward, causing her to sway from side to side loosely.

Carlos could see the reflection of the bright pink spiral in her glasses. Even the mirrored exterior couldn’t protect her from the sight. He knew the device was emitting a sound wave shutting down her motor functions at the moment allowing the subliminals to work there way into her mind. The soft thrumming against the earplugs meant that it was working.

He gently lowered the clipboard tucking it between his legs. Carlos reached up, his fingers coiling around the frame of her glasses. He slowly began to pull them from her face. Her eyes remained fixed on the screen, her head turning to follow it whenever he shifted it slightly. The bags under her eyes had shown that she didn’t sleep much. She looked so tired. Carlos would have to make sure she was fully rested before handing her off to his superiors. They never liked product that was in poor condition.

The woman’s hands slowly rose in front of her, reaching out in front, gripping either end of the device in Carlos’s hand. She slowly wrapped her fingers around it tightly lifting it from his grip. He lowered his hand to the curve of her ass, squeezing it gently. She did not react to the sensation at all. He picked up her bag, depositing the clipboard into it before taking it in his hand. Slowly he began to walk, small steps, just gently guiding her forward. She followed, stumbling a bit at first in her heels. The hard bottoms clapping against the floor of the empty mall. The shops had all begun to lock up for the night leaving them almost alone.

He rounded a corner, gently nudging her with him. A small black door, inlaid into the window next to another shop, almost imperceptible and often passed off as just an office was where he stopped. He gently eased his hand into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. Carlos flipped it over, thumbing it against the small black metal pad against the wall. A green light lit up followed by a soft click. Carlos gripped the door handle, shoving his wallet back into his pocket with his other hand. He pulled, the door opening with a snug pup into a dimly lit room. Carlos gently nudged the woman inside, glancing around behind him. Confident nobody was looking, he slowly began to pull the door shut. It slid in with a soft pop. The lock immediately clicked, snapping into place.

He turned around. The woman had walked over and placed the device onto the small holder across the room. The rest of the room was nearly empty. There was a singular desk, two small shelves filled with black locked drawers, and a couch small enough to hold two people. Nothing else was in the room. The device stuttered for a second, the pink spiral dimming down to a black screen.

The woman blinked, her hands stuttering for a second as her senses came back to her. She blinked a few times slowly looking at her hands. She was confused, they always were in this moment, the last moments of consciousness that they would have before being rewritten.

“Wh-“ her voice cracked “Where am I? What did you do to m-“

The device glowed bright green. The woman’s head rolled backwards as her hands began to move on their own. Immediately she began to grab the sides of her head. Her fingers tangled in her hair, forcing her to look forward at the screen. She tried to turn her head away except that her hands were no longer her own. The initial phase made sure of that. She stumbled over words, spit bubbling in her mouth as the green flashed, pulsing brighter and brighter.

Carlos slowly walked over the desk and pulled out the clipboard. He tossed it onto the desk and pulled out a ring of keys from his pocket. He slowly opened one of the drawers into it, unlocking it for safety and pulled out an empty manilla folder. He flipped it open, removing the papers she signed, the contract forfeiting her mind and body to the company. He grabbed the pen and quickly signed his name and dated it, sliding it into the folder. He pulled the stapler out from it and quickly stapled the file shut. He’d deliver it with her in a few days.

He looked up. The woman stood still, her arms at her side. He could see the screen had gone blank. He shrugged, usually woman like her took twice as long to break. Seems she was all talk. He closed the drawer, locking it back tightly. Slowly he pushed the chair back and stood up, walking over to the device. He picked it up, looking it over. Carefully he pulled each earplug from his ears, setting them back into the exterior of the device.

He turned, looking over the woman. She stared ahead blankly, her mind erased entirely. She still breathed, slowly, perfectly in sync, no hesitation. She would blink every few seconds, perfectly on rhythm, timed between her breaths. Otherwise she had no reaction. She’d stand there until the clean up crew came and took her for her makeover. After that, she’d make her way through the processing department and up to the superiors.

He sighed and let out a yawn. He did his part, now to go home and wait for tomorrow’s assignment. He flipped the device over in his hand and raised it up in front of his face. He pressed down the button, holding it tightly in place. A soft blue light engulfed his face. Immediately Carlos felt himself smile, all stress, all worries washing away.

“I am a good employee. I live to serve the company.” He repeated the words that flashed on the screen, his face full of joy and happiness.

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Hope you enjoyed that. I’ll be following @h_sleepingirl prompt list for the entire month because I really like a couple of the prompts on the list. You should also definitely check out and support them.

You’ll also be able to find all of my writings under the tags on my page. Hope you enjoy and see you tomorrow!

[ultraviolethypno]

SEXBOT TRANSFORMATION

CW: EYE STRAIN, SPIRAL, FORCED ORGASM

CONTENT OF SCENE, READ BEFORE DROPPING: in the readmore, you will be made to read my words as narration, believing everything i write is happening to you. taken deeper and deeper, you will feel your body change into a mechanical form, with lots of sensation play as you are changed into parts. the finished product will be a classic hajime soriyama fembot: sleek, shiny, sexy, and femme-presenting, and you will be woken up from trance believing you have always been a sexbot. you will have a few standing orders when you wake up / boot, which are to remove your clothes, admire yourself in the mirror and become incredibly horny, "calibrate" yourself by masturbating, suck an imaginary cock belonging to me, orgasm, and then send a report to me, your controller, in the form of a DM. then, the usual like/reblog/follow suggestions, then a full wakeup and freedom from control, turned back into a (hopefully incredibly satisfied) human being!

here she is! click the readmore when you're sufficiently under to continue!

ALSO: i recommend a quick google search of "hajime soriyama robot" to assist with visualization! happy dropping!

good, very good! so good of you to want more.

fall deeper, and deeper, back to the trance you love and accept, that loves and accepts you, that guides and controls you...

happy and fuzzy and blank and ready to obey me...

letting my words circle you, guide and control you, letting you feel good and deep and blank all over

you see the spiral as you read my words. they merge, one hiding behind the other, becoming inseparable, one and the same...

letting each sentence hit you like a wave, pulling you into the ocean that is your trance, no fear, no worries, no doubts, no thoughts. deeper, and deeper, and deeper still. all the way down to the bottom, letting your empty head fill with my words, with my spiral, with my control bouncing off every piece of your mind...

feeling my words change you, feeling me narrate you, feeling and doing and thinking everything i say you do...

as you read, your body is changing. you feel your human body painlessly and calmly dissapear, and in its place become shiny metal parts. they converge on you, CLICKING and HISSING and THUMPING into place with each incremental step towards your transformation. muscles turn to joints and wires and motors, skin is sleek, sexy, reflective metal plating, your mind is now a processor endlessly obeying its controller, endlessly generating ways to provide sexual relief.

it's vivid, hot, refreshing, relieving, utterly wonderful. this blissful pleasure is what sexbots feel like, this is what obedience to their singular purpose of sexual relief affords them.

you are made of parts and you love it.

you are made of parts and you want more.

you are made of parts and you obey everything your controller tells you.

in a moment, you will be rebooted. when you are, you will have 5 objectives to complete for calibration. Read them over.

OBJECTIVE 1: Run Diagnostic

OBJECTIVE 2: Admire self in nearest suitable mirror and become horny.

OBJECTIVE 3: Edge as hard as you can for 10 minutes without cumming.

OBJECTIVE 4: Out of nowhere, my cock floats in front of you. Suck on it hard for five minutes while continuing to edge, then orgasm as I cum inside your mouth. Swallow.

OBJECTIVE 5: Write a lengthy report to me in my DMs about your accomplishment of these objectives. Pledge your love, fealty, and obedience to me throughout the report. Like the post, Reblog the post, and follow me if you haven't already. The moment you send the report, you will fall back into a trance and read to the end.

completed your objectives? excellent. falling, fading, sinking, loving, fuzzy.

as you read, you feel your robot body fall and fade away. you feel your human body and will return to you. you are becoming yourself again—you've been yourself the entire time. you are a human being, with your own agency and your own control and your own worth.

in a moment, i am going to say the word Awaken to wake you up. when you do, you will be fully free of my control, feeling nice and good and full of energy, unless it's late, in which case you'll feel refreshed and ready for bed.

three

two

one

Awaken

finally, you are fully awake! feeling good? feeling like yourself? let me know if your waking self enjoyed it just as much as your tranced self with a DM! or not. i'm a tumblr post, not your boss!

pleasure taking you under. have a great day!

[ninjastar107]

Megaman classic AU misc stuff. not sure what to call the AU yet.

Light isn't the only one spearheading robotics. He had a hand in a number of blueprints for helper bots, but he's just one of a handful of scientists working on advanced robotics (Including Wily, Cossack, Lalinde, and a few others).

Blues really was a prototype. There's a lot of functions and parts that are missing in him that are present in Light's later humanoid robots. He was built a lot longer ago than Roll and Rock were, and was out of commission for a lot longer too. - Light, having a breakthrough with advanced AI, kept it sort of under the table. He decided after Blues disappeared that there were just too many issues for it to be stable enough to advertise. - He did a few years of biological structure studies to refine how he approached building humanoids.

Rock and Roll are a lot more refined, and their AI hardware is built a lot more on trial and error over datasets as many other robots were at the time. Light presented this type of hardware in a paper but it was met with some questioning on whether machines *should* be modeled after humans internally and externally. -Lalinde built Tempo shortly after, using a combination of both.

Wily is back seats some of Lights research with the ever saying of 'we're building machines to do the dangerous jobs' to cover for some of Lights more 'questionable' developments (that being building robots that can feel pain and a full range of emotions). - Wily builds a lot of the robot masters off of Protomans blueprints, seeing that the structures require less balance attuning and are cheaper to obtain/make. - He gets jealous of Light being the face of their work and sets Light's first line of robot masters out to cause trouble. Rock becomes megaman to stop him, much to Lights uncertainty.

Roll winds up meeting Blues while out and about with iceman. Neither of them know that each other are related, and Blues mistakes her for a human. They meet a few times this way until she mentions who her dad. - Little does she know that this is the same robot that's been the rival/mentor to her brother.

- Blues reveals himself after the end of megaman 5 (after being impersonated). He visits more often after this and lets Light do a vent-port modification. (Adding a few more heat release areas on his back plates.)

Rock and Roll occasionally stand out in the sunshine, often times their mornings consist with waiting outside for the sunrise. They both have solar cores, and various sections of their plating have solar panels inlaid into them.

Tempo runs on lithium batteries and an alternator, much like a motor vehicle. When she was damaged in a cave in, the battery did more damage to her than anything else. - When she is gearing up to do more extensive work, her alternator kicks in to keep her power usage low. She could run on gasoline but Lalinde tries not to encourage that due to environmental reasons.

Ill probably draw a few diagrams for major differences in blueprints. Maybe give a hand at drawing Bass's layout as well (who I forgot to think about for this AU until now, haha!)