#or one of each in laminated denim's case

[doedipus]

I have issues with that other user's creepy to wet spectrum of king gizzard albums so here's mine

[urobourosnull]

Global DEFCON 1

[Chapter Two]

RESIDENT EVIL

DEVASTATION

In the busy urban sprawl of a grand cityscape, skyscrapers stand and dance throughout the concrete jungle land. As vehicles dash to and fro in all directions, the morning sun casts its brilliant light throughout the skyline. One particular car is being driven by a man with long, straight, brown hair, wearing a dark blue buttoned shirt with a black elastic-denim coat, black slacks and black dress boots.

His phone rings. He picks it up without looking and brings it close to his steering wheel so he can view the caller ID: “Claire Redfield”, he answers the phone.

“Hey Claire,” the man says with pleasant surprise, “What’s up?”

“So Leon,” Claire coyly responds, “I hear you’re on babysitting duty?”

Leon chuckles at the remark, “Yeah, a team of babysitters for VIP Michael Enslin, even if they have me on standby.”

“Wait, you’re not on frontline detail?”

“No,” Leon says with a sigh, “They said they wanted to have enough backup just in case anything happens, but they don’t need everyone on deck. So for now, I’m just on the back burner.”

“Oh, but you’re still in the area?”

“Yeah, I’m headed there now. Why? Is something wrong?”

“Well, I do have some important information that I need to discuss with you. How would you like to meet up at the cafe around the corner?”

“How close is it to the administration center?”

“You’ll be close enough to keep an eye on your VIP, don’t worry, Leon,” Claire mocks before switching back to a more casual tone again, “Besides, we always meet up under some pretty hectic circumstances. It would be nice to catch up with you. Remember what you said? Next time we bump into each other, let’s hope it’s someplace a little more normal. Well, I’m reaching out now while things are still pretty normal. So let’s hang out!”

Leon laughs, “Alright, when did you want to meet up there?”

“Right now, I’m already waiting.”

“Wait, what?”

“See you soon!” Claire says cheerfully before hanging up. Leon glances at his phone and chuckles to himself, “What a gal.”

As Leon pulls up to the cafe, he sees the administration center within visual range, and shakes his head with a smirk, “It’s almost like she planned this,” and continues inside.

Walking in, Leon sees the cafe is full of random people, one of which is a young woman with red hair only slightly younger than him, wearing a red buttoned shirt with the sleeves rolled up, blue jeans, and motorcycle boots, all while she’s holding a binder of files. She looks up and notices Leon with a smile and asks, “How’s everything going?”

“Been better,” Leon sits down in front of her, “But at the same time, been worse. You already know, we can’t complain too much.”

“I get it. Surviving Raccoon City makes everything else a walk in the park!”

“Is that how *you* feel about it, Claire?”

“Yeah. I mean, for the most part…” Claire starts to trail off a little before slightly shaking her head, “But we’re not here for that.”

“Hmm?” Leon questions silently.

Claire opens her binder of files, “There’s been some activity and I want to see what you think about it.”

“Okay…?” Leon responds with his voice full of obvious confusion. This is one of the few times that he ever sees Claire outside of a life-or-death scenario, usually it’s after another apocalypse-type situation and never long enough to truly experience the “real” her.

“TerraSave has been conducting some of its own investigations into a few different matters,” Claire slowly begins while flipping through pages in her binder. After a while, she slips out what is clearly an aerial surveillance photograph of a larger man, taken at an angle, and shows it to Leon, “Does this guy look familiar to you at all?”

Leon examines the laminated image that Claire has slid over the table to his side. The man in the photo appears to be of Slavic descent of some sort. Nothing in particular stands out to him.

“Sorry,” Leon responds honestly, “Never seen him.”

Claire sighs in response but quickly spits out, “That’s okay, this is Igor Barkov. He’s supposed to be some big financier, but we don’t know much else. He was last seen a week ago having talks with known terrorist cells.”

“Sounds pretty deep, what connection lead you to him?”

Before Claire could answer, everyone hears two muffled pops that seemingly came from across the street. Everyone’s heads dash in different directions, wondering what the sound was and where it came from. Leon is focused on one particular window of the building across the street.

“Hold that thought,” Leon says before getting up to leave the cafe. Claire, still somewhat shocked and very confused, puts all of her files back in her binder and quietly mutters to herself, “What the hell is going on?”

Approaching the building, Leon noticed the entry door begins to spew out a group of what appear to be Russian soldiers wearing balaclavas and helmets with a dark grey pattern camo of uniform. They’re rushing out of the building and into a van that is parked as close to the building as possible. The scene causes Leon to mouth the words, “What the hell” to himself before ducking behind a car with his hand on his gun, keeping it holstered but ready for a fight. He peeks up again and takes a mental note of the license plate: 2O4-86E.

As the van speeds off, Leon moves over to stay out of its sight until he watches it turn away, but notices that it turned toward the administration center. Standing up and walking towards the building’s entrance, Leon speaks into a radio on his chest that is attached to his torso holster, “Condor One to Roost.”

“Go Condor One,” a friendly voice returns, “This is Roost.”

“Hunnigan, I’ve witnessed some suspicious activity. A van full of soldiers wearing dark grey just came piling out of a building. I’m going in to investigate, but they sped off and are headed towards the admin building, plate is Two-Oscar-Four-Eight-Six-Echo, how copy?”

“Full copy, I’ll notify patrols. Leon, please be careful.”

“Understood, Hunnigan, thanks. Try not to miss me. Leon out.”

Entering the doorway, Leon visually scans the area and even checks behind him back towards the street multiple times, trying to avoid getting any unwanted surprises, before pulling out his gun.

The gun itself is an all black handgun of compact size with a small engraving of a deer and the word “Blacktail” next to it on the front part of the slide, near the end of the barrel. Checking the chamber, Leon says to himself, “Let’s do this,” and goes further into the building.

Going through the hallways and checking the rooms, Leon keeps his handgun at the ready, confirming and trying to avoid potential sight lines. One room has its door already open, and when Leon begins to enter it, the smell of spent gunpowder invades his nostrils as he sees a group of bodies on the floor.

5 men in suits lay dead with one dead soldier in grey. As Leon enters the room, empty shell casings roll around from his dress boots. Leon can piece together what happened. The 5 men are all joint operatives from different agencies to protect VIP Michael Enslin.

“Hunnigan, come in,” Leon speaks into his radio, calmly defeated into sorrow, the mourning clear in his voice, “We’ve got casualties.”

“What happened?!”

“Looks like our boys were ambushed in this small room, the enemy lost one of their own in the fight, but our team bit the dust. Good men here. Lieutenant Townsend, Sergeant Kaufman, Staff Sergeant Mason, Commander Gillespie, Colonel Sullivan. These men had extensive careers in their respective branches…” Leon pauses before concern washes over him, “Actually, these are some pretty big names here. Hunnigan, what do they want with Mr. Enslin?”

“No idea, but I’ll try to look into it and I’ll let you know if I find anything. Keep me updated, Leon.”

“Will do.” As Leon examines the aftermath, he slowly looks up and notices that he can easily see the admin building from the window, and the van he’d seen earlier is barreling towards it still. Just below the window that he’s looking through, he sees a bomb attached to the wall. Panic overrides him as he dashes out of the room and back towards the entrance, grasping at his radio.

“HUNNIGAN, GET—“

An explosion rips apart the wall and sends clouds of debris all over the inside and outside of the building. Outside, Claire is shocked at the eruption and beckons for her friend. “Leon! Oh my God, Leon!” Running inside the partially destroyed building, she pulls out her handgun, a small CZ 83 chambered in .380 ACP, and readies it while calling out Leon’s name.

Following the destruction, Claire finds Leon, breathing and moving and thankfully alive and mostly uninjured, starting to get up from laying down into a sitting position, wiping some of the dust off of himself. “Leon! Are you okay?!”

Leon starts to cough a little bit before responding, “Guess I didn’t get the demo memo.”

“That was stupid,” Claire responds with a chuckle, “but I’m glad you’re alive. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“Yeah,” Leon grunts while getting up, speaking into his comms, and rolling up the sleeves of his jacket, “Hunnigan…”

“Leon!” Hunnigan excitedly shouts back, “What happened?!”

“Our guests left a bad review and blew up at me, but I’m fine. Listen, I need you to notify Birdhouse Alpha.”

“I’ve been trying since that explosion just now,” Hunnigan answers with a worried tone, “But I haven’t been able to connect to them. There’s no telling how long the connection’s been cut, I can’t even contact the CO!”

“The commanding officer’s been…?”

“I don’t know if anyone has been compromised or terminated, but since you’re still alive, I need you to go check it out while I try to contact reinforcements! Sorry to push all of this onto you, but you’re my eyes and ears right now!”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll handle it. I’m getting used to things going wrong.”

Claire springs up with determination, “I’ll help!”

Leon looks at her, their mutual escape from Raccoon City immediately blaring into his mind. He tends to give her credit for being the survivor because even though he survived the same incident with her, he has no idea what she went through during their time apart during that nightmare, and assumes she must have had it worse than him. It may have been their shared nightmare, but since she still counts as a civilian, the rookie cop part of Leon still wants to give her the praise for standing up to the plate when she shouldn’t have had to. He signed up for this, she didn’t. At least, that’s how Leon thought of it. She was just trying to find her brother, and even though she eventually did, he wasn’t in Raccoon City, which made Leon feel a bit sorry for her that she went to Raccoon City for her brother when he wasn’t even there, even if she did find out there and still eventually found him. The horrible atrocities that they witnessed, experienced, and escaped from were nothing short of hell itself.

Leon’s only response to Claire as she stood there steadfast in her decision, driven by her desire to help others, was a simple yet deeply meaningful, “I believe in you.”

With a smirk, she smacks his arm, “You’re not too bad yourself,” and they both head towards their vehicles to get to the admin center.

As they run, Claire asks, “So what exactly happened in there?”

“Clown car of soldiers in grey, killed some of our guys, now we have to stop them from killing Enslin.”

“Why do they want to kill him?”

“Don’t know yet, but I’m not sure I want to find out.”

With this, they slightly part ways so that Leon can get in his car while Claire gets on her motorcycle as they both speed off towards the admin center. While driving there, Leon acknowledges that he has no visual on the van and the concern in him grows even deeper. He pulls up to the admin center as Claire does, and both disembark and begin searching for VIP Enslin. As they search, Leon reaches for his mic, “Hunnigan, come in.”

Leon hears only static in response. Leon figures it out, “There must be something jamming the area…”

Looking around, Leon sees the VIP and his men up ahead and runs up the steps to speak with them. “Mr. Enslin,” Leon addresses the VIP as he walks up, but a nearby officer stops him Leon before he can say anything.

“What’s your business with Mr. Enslin?”

“It’s alright, Sebastian,” Mr. Enslin reassures the officer, “Mr. Leon Kennedy, this is Detective Sebastian Castellanos, both of you are officers so there’s no need for suspicion between you two.”

“Sir, there appears to be a major security problem going on.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Mr. Enslin responds, laying heavy on the sarcasm, “Our comms are down and you turn up looking like a hot mess, no wonder shit is fucked up.”

“Your comms aren’t down, sir,” Leon explains, “They’re being jammed. We need you to evacuate.”

Just as Leon says this, everyone hears a massive explosion down the street, near where Leon came from. Everyone’s heads turn towards the explosion. A small building begins to fall as a thick, slow, green mist fills the damaged area. Leon sees people trying to escape, and the ones that don’t make it are immediately slumped to the ground. His eyes stay focused on these bodies, praying that what he’s grown used to happening isn’t about to happen again. VIP Mike Enslin is being escorted inside the admin building by his security personnel, but none of them exist to Leon in this moment. As they scatter and hustle around him, fumbling to maintain themselves and keep their heads cool in this situation, Leon’s worst nightmares come true once again.

The first body begins to move on its own. First minor twitching, then it gathers itself in a deadly calm, and stands up like nothing had happened. The reanimated corpse looks over at the admin building, seeing the living flesh cowering in fear, and begins to shamble towards them. The thing’s body didn’t even look mangled or injured, the body itself seemingly died of asphyxiation as the skin has turned that deathly purple hue of a husk with no essence to fill its flesh any longer. This body is fresh, so fresh that it almost still looks like a living human. Mankind turned man-eater, while maintaining that visage.

Horrified as Leon was to see something like this again, he regains himself and snaps back into action, helping to escort VIP Mike Enslin inside. Whatever is happening, Mr. Enslin is still Leon’s top priority. He’s got a job to do, and his sense of duty will not allow him to falter, no matter the risks. This was the beginning of yet another nightmare.

Rushing up behind him, Claire grabs Leon’s back and says, “I’m here!” and as they get to the door being held open by Detective Castellanos, Leon confirms that Enslin is inside as well, lets Claire in past him, and takes one last look at the horrors outside, the army of the dead slowly approaching, before Sebastian slams the door with everyone inside.

[honeyhan-123]

Say Thank You II

Series Summary: After saving your life, Steve decides to teach you some manners. 

Chapter Summary: Steve makes a dark promise to himself. 

Warnings: masturbation, hints of non-con aspects, dark!Steve, PTSD.

Series Masterlist:

My Master List:

I. New York 

II. Madrid

The next time he saw you was in Madrid.

A few months after the battle of New York, you were still having nightmares of being trapped under that car, chitauri surrounding you. Every night you would wake up in a cold sweat, heart racing erratically as you tried to reassure yourself that you were safe now, they were gone, the Avengers had saved the day. But it never worked and eventually you just became afraid to fall asleep, so afraid of the ever present night terrors that you would try to stay awake for days at a time. 

Of course when you had bags so dark underneath your eyes that it hurt to rub them, your eyesight occasionally going blurry from lack of sleep, you finally had to give in, only to wake up mere hours later in an even worse state. 

In the beginning your friends had tried to be there for you, sharing similar horror stories of that day, but they didn’t seem nearly as affected as you were. They could still go out at night, walk down the street without constantly looking over their shoulders, you couldn’t. After the first month of having to endure your constant state of panic, they started drifting, so slowly that you hadn’t really realised until one by one they had left you all alone, with no one but the Chitauri to keep you company. 

You finally realised that you needed help when the sound of a car backfiring outside the cafe you worked at had made you cower in fear, shattering a stack of glasses in the process. The table which you had hidden under protected you from the external horrors, the heavy wood above your head, although littered with marks from its many years of service still held strong, little rainbows dancing along the underside, reflecting off of the glass shards that dug into you.  

That night you had gone online and booked a one way plane ticket, maybe if you ran far enough your nightmares wouldn’t be able to find you.

Madrid would be your new home. 

+

 Steve had been undercover at a cantina,  waiting for the mark to come by when he saw you again. To say he was shocked to see you here, in Madrid of all places, would be an understatement. It was only his first day here, he had joined Bucky and Nat on the stakeout last night and neither of them would have recognised you but he did. He remembered. 

 He remembered the way your body had felt in his arms, your perfect curves that had been hidden by too many layers, your pink lips that had been screaming to be kissed. He also remembered your ingratitude. 

 At first it had just served as a reminder to Steve that times had changed while he was in the ice. This world was so different to the one he had known; once people had to work for their dreams and had proper manners. Now however, they just expected everything to be handed to them on a silver platter. Yours wasn’t the first case of it that he had noticed, but it was the one that stuck to him, plaguing his mind. 

 The way you had just shrugged him off made him feel like he was back in the 1930’s, still the skinny kid from Brooklyn whom dames always passed over, always preferring his sole friend, Bucky. He had thought that after getting the serum his days of being ignored and treated like scum were over, but apparently not.

 In the weeks after the battle instead of focussing on the clean-up of the city, his thoughts had been completely occupied by you and your indifference to him. During the nights his obsession never let up as he dreamt of finding you, of teaching you some manners. 

 Initially he had been ashamed, horrified even. Never in a million years had he ever thought of treating a dame in such a way but as the nights continued, weeks turning into months, so did the dreams that were growing increasingly hard to resist. 

 Many times as he awoke too soon to blame his stained sheets on purely just his dream. On those occasions his hand you make their way down his body, into the waistband of his boxers as if on their own accord, freeing him of the constricting material. One hand would wrap around his painfully hard cock, the other would start tugging at his balls as he chased the fleeing memories of his dream.

As he worked his hand up and down his length his mind shifted between ideas of how he would force some manners into you; sometimes he would simply imagine bringing you the brink of an orgasm, continually denying you until you were a mess, begging for him, pleading him to let you come, promising him anything. On his darker days however, he would imagine you tied up, hands and legs bound, spread eagle on his bed as he ravished your body, just as helpless as you had been stuck under that car, completely at his mercy. Maybe that would teach you some manners. 

 As time had passed he had become increasingly obsessed with you, obsessed with what he would do to you if he ever saw you again and now here you were, so close that he could reach his hand out and grab your ass if he wanted to.

 Steve watched as you made your way around the tables, taking people’s orders in both English and Spanish so easily that he wondered if you had always been able to speak it. His palms rubbed against the rough denim of his jeans as you neared his table, he still couldn’t believe you were here, so tantalizingly close to him. 

 He knew that he couldn’t be recognised, it would blow the whole recon mission so he pulled his dark blue baseball cap pulled low, further over his brow even though Nat had said the full beard he was now sporting was disguise enough. It pained him to avert his eyes from you as you stopped, standing at his table, ready to take his order, but he knew he needed to. There would be time enough for watching you after the mission was finished.

+

Five years had now passed since the battle of New York and Madrid was still your home. At first it has been hard, living in a new place, trying to find work with the handful of Spanish you had picked up from here and there. Eventually you found your saving grace, Mariana, an older woman who owned a cantina near the hotel you had been staying at. She hired you despite your complete lack of Spanish and over time you helped each other, you taught her English while she gave you work and a place to stay at a small cost. 

 As the months turned into years, your nightmares started fading away. Not all at once and definitely not completely, but they no longer took ahold of you every night or occupied your every waking thought. Instead they settled, taking up residence in a back corner of your mind, occasionally stirring every now and then. But it was manageable now, far away in Madrid, protected by the great mass of water separating you and fifth avenue. 

 + 

 It was a slow day today at the cantina. Barely any tables had patrons sitting in them but that was just as well though, you hated when it was packed, reminding you of the crowded streets of New York. as you flittered between tables, taking orders and bringing out dishes you noticed a man had taken up one of the empty tables. 

Immediately you knew he was American, his baseball cap practically screamed as much. You had never realised until you had come to Europe just how painfully obvious Americans always were when they travelled. 

‘Good afternoon, here’s our menu but can I get you anything to drink while you decide?’ You asked, passing over the laminated paper, shivering as his fingers brushed over yours. 

‘Just an Americano thank you.’ You smiled and nodded and went to walk away. There was something oddly familiar about him but you couldn’t put your fingers on it, you felt like you had seen him before  but where you had no idea. He definitely hadn’t come into the cantina before, that you were sure of. 

Rounding the countertop by the coffee machine you glanced back over your shoulder, trying to place the strange man only to be caught in the act, his eyes already on you, watching you intently. Something about the way his eyes stayed fixed on your body as you made his coffee had you squirming inside, you didn’t want his eyes following your every movement, practically undressing you in his mind. 

Putting on a brave face you returned to him, trying to hide the way your hand shook holding the ceramic mug. ‘Here you go, anything else I can do for you?’

A photo album of ideas sprung to Steve’s mind at your question. There were a lot of things you could do for him, with him, but he bit down the words, he could do them all later.

‘Yes but I’m good for now.’ He didn’t miss the confusion that crossed over your face as you turned away, but he didn’t pay any attention to it, the mark had just walked through the door and Steve smiled to himself. The quicker the mission is completed, the quicker he would have you as his. 

He waited, sipping his coffee as the mark, Alejandro Garcia, ordered his own to go, spending far too much time talking to you in the process for Steve’s liking. His anger grew as he watched you laugh at something Alejandro had said. If only you knew what he had done. Who this man obviously flirting with you really was. Clearly you weren’t very good at making your own choices but Steve was reassured that soon that freedom would be taken away and you would be safe, from yourself and from others. He just had to wait. 

 When Alejandro finally left, Steve followed soon after, chucking a twenty on the table and glancing back at you as he neared the door. 

His last sight was of you joking around with a new customer, a smile on your face, blissfully unaware of the dark promise Steve was making to himself.  

+

III. The Apartment

My Masterlist

Series Masterlist:

-Tags will be added in a reblog

[illshowyourhurricanes]

A Familiar Face (Part 2)

Here we go again! Reader had a feeling she’d encounter the mysterious Ryan once again, and she gets new insight into the man that he is.

Word count: 1175

Rated: PG

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to my taglist!

You saw Ryan again the following day. It was supposed to be your day off, but another one of the full-time employees at the diner had come down with the flu. It was your fourth day straight, and with just half an hour until closing time, you were exhausted. It had been busier than usual, what with the work week coming to a close, and somehow,  even usual down-times hadn't been slow. It was great where tips were concerned, and several hours seemed to disappear from the clock entirely.  You were wiping down unoccupied tables and had just delivered the check to one of the three groups of people that were left. An older couple requested two coffees to go, and as you poured the steaming liquid into two disposable cups, the bell that hung from the door rang. Figuring that it was just your group of patrons that had recently requested their check on their way out , you turned around and handed the couple their drinks, thanking them and bidding them goodnight.

It was at that time when you glanced at the two remaining tables when you saw Ryan. He was sitting patiently in one of the booths, and as he caught your eye, he smiled. You smiled back brightly, pleasantly surprised at his presence. "I've got it," you assured your co-worker. "If you could just bring 5 and 12 their checks when they're ready, the tips are yours." Nodding to acknowledge her thanks for the tips, you were already beyond the counter and making a beeline to the the table Ryan was sitting at.

"Hi, we close in half an hour, what can I get you?" You were joking with him, playfulness evident in your tone. Closing time was, in fact, in thirty minutes, but there was a register to count among other menial, tedious tasks. You'd offered earlier in the day to close; your co-worker was in college and had a midterm the following day.

Ryan chuckled quietly at your greeting. "I know, I'm sorry. I'm that guy." With a shrug, you slid into the other side of the booth he was occupying.  "I'll just assume you got caught up playing and lost track of time. And as a bonus, I won't ask you to either confirm nor deny that fact."

His eyes had dropped down to the table top though he was still grinning, and there was a playful glint in his eyes as he lifted them to your face. He looked almost impish, and you felt your pulse quicken. It wasn't lost on you that Ryan was attractive, but something about his expression had an effect on you.

"And the catch?"

"One song." Your answer was almost immediate. "Though I should admit, I'd be the only audience member. I'm closing tonight."  A group of teenagers chattering to each other walked past your shared booth just before heading out the door. As they exited, a burst of cold air entered. "That's the catch," you added, the chill dissipating. "You'll also get a longer break from the cold."

You didn't know where Ryan was staying, and you didn't dare ask. It was obvious in the way that he reacted to your questions the day before-- not rude or clipped at all, but void of any personal detail-- that he wasn't the type of man to verbally reveal much. Besides, the last thing you wanted was to pry to the point of avoidance, especially considering his choice of location for playing. You'd kick herself every time you passed that bench on the way to work while he was in town, being inexplicably drawn to that man with the guitar and his music and unwelcome to stop for a chat or a listen.

"S'pose I can agree to that." Ryan's voice brought you out of your anxious state of mind, and you snapped back to the present.

"In that case... we've got freshly-baked, warm apple pie." You smiled across the table from him, propping and elbow up on the table top and dropping your chin into your hand. "And ice cream, if you're the a la mode type."

His dark eyes appeared tired, yet lit up in a childlike way as you mentioned the sweets. You wondered again if he had a warm place to stay, but quickly pushed the thought out of your mind. "You seem interested," you observed with a laugh, nodding your head. You moved to slide out of the booth, bidding a good-night to the last table of guests heading toward the door.  "Coffee? We've got decaf."

He looked up at you, studying your face for a moment before nodding. "Sure thing, Y/N."

Suddenly feeling extremely self-aware, you offered a chipper "Coming right up!" before turning and hurrying away. Your face felt warm and you were willing to bet anything that your cheeks were flushed.  Busying yourself with scooping the remainder of pie onto a plate and spooning a generous heap of ice cream on top, you poured a full mug of decaf coffee before switching off the machine for the night.  

"Go ahead home," you said gently to your co-worker. "I've got things from here. Kick ass on your midterm!"

By the time you returned with Ryan's food, your face had cooled down a considerable amount. As you approached, you noticed he was scribbling in a small, bent-up notepad of some sort. "Keeping a food log?" you quipped, grinning as you slid his plate and coffee in front of him.  You didn't even notice your co-worker leaving until the bell over the door let out a ring.

You checked your watch. Eight minutes. You locked the door behind Sophie and reached to the light switch, flipping off half of the bright overhead lights. Every business closed a bit early sometimes. 

Giving Ryan some peace as he ate, you vanished quickly enough to retrieve the old-fashioned mop and bucket used to clean the floor. It was one thing on the list of nightly duties the closing employees were required to do, as well as wiping down each table and counting down the till. Abandoning the mop and hot, soapy bucket of water for a moment, you began to stack chairs upside-down on table-tops. Less than ten seconds passed before Ryan was on his feet, single-handedly flipping chairs seat-down onto some of the remaining tables.

"No, sir. Shoo!"  You waved a hand in his direction as if you were dismissing him. "You're insulting my pie."

He held two hands up in surrender, and you worked quickly until you heard scuffling behind you. A feeling of curiosity mixed with dread washed over you, and you turned to see Ryan working at getting the bar stools off the floor. You just shook your head and laughed, finishing up with the last of your lifting; the diner was mostly furnished with booths.

"Thank you." You very much appreciated his help, and it was adorable that he insisted on doing so.  The two of you were virtual strangers. You didn't even know his last name. You did, however, happen to catch his eyes for a moment, and he was the first to break eye contact, averting his gaze to the floor and nodding his head, acknowledging your thanks. "Don't you dare go in the direction of that mop," you added in an effort to fill the silence.  "Besides. You owe me a song."

At first, he just looked up at you with his eyes, then lifting his ducked head. With a small yet adorable salute, he sauntered back to that booth in the corner. As you pushed the mop along the floor, you heard the un-clicking of his guitar case, the soft strumming of the instrument's strings to check the tuning by ear. Meticulously, he turned the pegs back and forth until the tuning was to his satisfaction, and you just had half of the laminate flooring left to clean.

Surprisingly, the acoustics of the place weren't all that bad. The rich sound of an unfamiliar melody he began to play reverberated off the walls, filling your ears in a completely different tone than it had outside. You paused momentarily, caught up in the way the fingers of one hand effortlessly danced up and down the neck of his guitar, the other plucking the strings with perfected precision. His fingers were long and thin, and you noticed once again the tattoos he had inked over each.

His voice was startling as he began to sing, and you began to quicken your pace. You did a haphazard, careless mopping of the rest of the floor, vowing to yourself to come in a half-hour early in the morning to do a better job. You wrung out the mop one last time and carefully took a few steps on the slick floor; your intense curiosity about this man was flaring up again.

There was a slight change in Ryan when he played, and as you listened, you watched closely. His eyes were closed. There was a slight furrow of concentration about his brow, yet his face seemed relaxed. Long legs covered in worn denim stretched out from where he was settled, his posture was straighter. He was comfortable and confident with the barrier of the guitar in his lap, the comfort of its weight resting on his legs. When he held his guitar, he was home.

You found yourself slowly sliding into the empty seat of the booth, sitting just across from him as he played the closing notes of the song. Still for a moment, you began to smile as you shook your head in sheer awe.

Ryan chuckled and hunched down to carefully place his beloved guitar back into its case, snapping it shut with two soft clicks. "Thank you," he said, smiling back at you as he sat upright again. He understood your praise even though you'd not uttered a sound.

Unexpectedly, he stood and hoisted his pack onto his back. "And thank you for the pie." Before you could say another word, Ryan clutched onto the handle of his guitar case and turned to the door. Quickly, you stood and joined him there, wordlessly turning the lock.

"Where did you come from, Ryan...?"

“Brenner. Ryan Brenner.”

He stopped only for a beat before pushing the door open, a rush of cold blowing inside. "See you around, Y/N."

You turned the lock as you watched him walk away into the cold and turned to clear his dishes. He'd left a few rumpled bills where he'd been sitting, and you laughed aloud.

@dylanobrusso @obscurilicious @the-blind-assassin-12 @something-tofightfor

[timetravelingpigeon]

Excerpt: The Life and Life and Life of a Time Traveling Pigeon

In Which Columba Spots the Thread

[[PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT]] [ 13 / 33 ]

[cw: gun violence]

I found myself, on the night of October 2nd, using the running lights of a medivac helicopter as a compass needle, pointing me to the next piece of this puzzle.

The going was slow, to say the least. Between wading through the half-panicked crowds near the station itself and the fact that this path seemed to love making me go diagonally across intersections, I spent way too much damn time waiting at traffic lights, glaring at “do not walk” signs in the hopes that I could intimidate them into changing faster. And since I was going around buildings, keeping my heading straight from block to block wasn’t exactly easy; I had to pause more than once to wait for another helicopter to pass overhead to regain my bearings. And I was trying to steer clear of wherever and whatever those explosions had been (or, rather, will be,) because fuck that. That was a mystery for another day.

Oh, and speak of the devil, there they were. Yeah, there’s one… and then there’s two. Huh, they’re west of me this time? They must not have been far from the station… I think. I don’t know; it’s been, what, sixty-some-odd years since my last trigonometry class? I mean, goddamn. If I’d known it’d actually be useful, I would have taken a refresher course or some— 

Gunshots; deafening and very, very fucking close.

I’m not ashamed to admit that I shrieked like a little girl, first out of surprise and, shortly thereafter, out of terror… especially since everyone else in a hundred-yard radius was doing the same. Without even the slightest thought beyond immediate survival, I dropped into a crouch, knees drawn up to my chest and hands behind my head. When you grow up in earthquake country, they drill this position into you young: when shit starts going down, get under your desk, curl up, and hold on for dear life. Didn’t have anything to hide under right now, but sometimes you just need to make do with what you have.

To my right, a pair of cars ram into each other as their drivers swerve erratically. Only one airbag goes off, but the dust thrown aloft remains just as potent. Shards of acrylic explode outward as their headlights shatter, skittering across the pavement. I didn’t care.

Behind me, screams of pain, tight and raw, erupt from scattered points in the crowd. These embers are nearly drowned out under the chaos, but the brain still picks them out of the white noise. A body collapses with far less grace than mine, the smack of limp flesh against the concrete. Droplets soak into my jacket. I didn’t care.

In front of me, a thousand pairs of legs blur together. They thin as their owners scatter, and all that remain are a mere six. Black silhouettes against the incandescent yellow of the headlights behind them. Muzzle flashes from in front of them, but they remain black. The tinks of spent casings go unheard beneath a sea of explosive cracks. I didn’t care.

To my left, though… Black shoes. Scuffed denim jeans, splattered with blood. The faintest glimpse of a white shirt, and then the whole ensemble leaves my field of view. Upwards.

Now I fucking cared.

I dare to look up. My eyes try to latch onto chips of stone as they tumble downward, but I force them to find the source. Glass shatters as the panes are hit by stray shots, but, ah, bless laminates; not a single fragment hits the ground below. The gunmen turn to track something arcing over the street, and I feel it, too, a blur just outside of my peripheral vision. Finally, I’m able to catch up to this motion as my eyes dart to a shower of sparks arcing off of a street light, clipped by a bullet. Behind that, as the after-images fade, I see a man, clad in an ash-grey hoodie and denim jeans, scrabbling frantically as he tries to haul himself up and onto the roof of a building across the street, seemingly more afraid of being shot than he is of being seven stories off the ground.

I wonder, briefly, just how the hell he got up there. He answers my question by leaping another three-or-so stories up to get onto the roof of a taller building next door.

… 

What?

I spent the next several minutes there, locked in place, as my brain desperately tried to piece together the last thirty seconds. It’s conclusion? “Fuck it, this is a problem for future-Col’s-brain.” I’d think this all over once I was back in the safety of my hotel room. Fuck this investigation bullshit, I’d had enough for one night. I’d had enough for one week, thank you very much.

Numb, I extracted myself from the remnants of the chaos that had swarmed this place. Both the mystery men in black and the man in the hoodie had managed to slip away as stealthily as they’d arrived. All that was left of their passing was yet another tragedy this city had suffered tonight.

Tagging:

@casperalexander @tracle0 @sunlight-and-starskies @donovyn--nox @typewriter-jade @joyful-soul-collector @awkward-cobra

If you want on or off the tag list, feel free to either drop me an ask or reply to this post :)

[lailyazkia-blog]

Kitchen Design and Decor Style

When intending your kitchen area you might require some design ideas. Choosing a style can assist you make most of your selections, when you recognize what fits in that design style. Things like architectural details, style, as well as shades can be discovered in the information for each and every layout style. No matter what layout style you select in preparing your dream kitchen area, if you have a counter with a prolonged overhang you are mosting likely to require support braces. Listed here are top layout styles and also some of their attributes. We hope this will certainly aid you in the planning and making of your brand-new dream kitchen area.

Rustic American - Stainless-steel is an appealing design component which complements the grey tones and pewter hardware. Steel kitchen counter support brackets can additionally be painted in the off white as well as neutral shades if you favor to match wall color.

Color accents in grayed tones or sun-baked colors with predominately white, off-white or neutral base shades function well. Surface options like ceramic floor tile, soapstone, slate and timber in a matte finish with a natural as well as heavy appearance are all ideal. Pewter, rustic steels, timber as well as functioned iron can all be utilized in equipment selections. Timber completes in oak, ache and walnut are the most popular timber varieties for these styles.

Modern/Contemporary -Sleek stainless steel contemporary brackets would certainly function well in this style. This layout style is an excellent complement to stainless steel countertop braces as noted in the equipment selections below.

Stainless-steel can be used as an accent color, yet vivid colors of blues, oranges, reds and yellows predominate. Recently, dark black-brown colors are becoming more preferred. Surface choices would certainly be all-natural stone, quartz or concrete as your finest choices. Nickel, chrome as well as stainless steel are the most proper for equipment. Straight grained timbers such as birch, maple and bamboo are the most widespread for wood surfaces in this design style.

Traditional/Country - In this layout style you might wish to utilize the covert assistance brace, or choose one an ornamental bracket to paint in a color that falls in the categories below.

Show initial dye shades from the American Colonial time period making use of reds, blues and also yellows. Items including tiny patterns also mirror this moment duration. Soapstone, granite, wood cut laminate and also solid surface area product with square edge accounts can all be used as your surface area choices. Equipment choices should be rustic coatings such as functioned iron and also oil massaged bronze fit in nicely as well as copper as well as antique brass. Light wood finishes on maple, ache, oak, birch as well as cherry function well in this style.

Missions/Arts and also Crafts - This style offers itself well to the metal finishes offered. Any solid developed, metal brace would be a relied on and stunning support for your counter. Cozy shades such as gold yellow, soft environment-friendly, natural dyes and also earth tones work in this style. All-natural rock, multi-colored porcelain ceramic, and the matte surface of harsh earthenware materials are natural choices for surface areas. Almost any kind of cleaned surface or metal, other than brass will certainly collaborate with this design. Missions influenced designs utilize mostly products created of oak. Arts & Crafts styles often make use of cherry instead of oak today.

French Nation - This design comes from France as well as has predominately curved lines as well as light shades. Numerous styles of brackets have actually curved lines that would fit well into this catagory. Pastels are the very best selection for colors in a French Country setting. Ceramic floor tile backsplash areas with laminate tops that have a timber side are suitable. You can additionally make use of all-natural rock, quartz as well as solid surface area materials. Your equipment choices would be nice hammered finishes in iron, pewter, copper or bronze. Your wood shades would remain in lighter finishes such as ache, walnut, or cherry with some distressing.

Tuscan/Mediterranean - Arched openings and also heavily plastered, large spaces together with vibrantly painted tile murals, and dark timber stabilized with soft bordered stone surface areas aid specify this style. Covert brackets would certainly provide themselves well to this design style for counter overhangs. Olive eco-friendly and terra-cotta have a guaranteed Italian feel to them as do warm colors in yellows, oranges as well as reds balanced by blues and also greens. Granite with an energetic pattern as well as various other rustic formed surfaces are proper in this style. Italian atmospheres sustain making use of metallic surface areas beyond equipment however in many cases, rustic steels as well as snapped surfaces on porcelain are excellent choices. Hefty woods with solid grain job well in this setting. Repainted coatings should be put on with and distressed.

Victorian - Middle ages themes such as stylized flower patterns, fretwork; lancet curved windows and also leaded glass panes are part of this layout style. Any type of brace in cool rolled steel material could be repainted at night shades that go so well with this time period. A black powder coat would give an attractive sustained counter. Golden tones along with olive environment-friendly, black and burgundy can be utilized as your color combination. Ceramic ceramic tile, granite, and wood are all suitable for surface areas as well as hardware could be ceramic or marble, you will usually see ornate polished brass. Hefty dark woods are typically utilized such as mahogany, blackened oak, walnut, satinwood or rosewood for your wood coatings.

Transitional - Is a reasonably brand-new design integrating Modern/Contemporary with even more Typical Old World design style, creating a bridge in between the old and the new style. Brushed steels would be really usual sight in this style. Stainless steel brackets have ended up being incredibly popular, come in numerous designs and are an excellent match in this setting. While colors in the contemporary style have a tendency to be intense and strong, more refined colors or a combination of colors lean even more towards the custom style. Incorporating granite or quartz with timber accent areas would certainly help specify a transitional room. Cleaned steels, oil rubbed bronze or functioned iron finishes will all function. Limited grained timbers such as maple, birch and also cherry can be made use of.

American Shaker - Defines a woodworking design that is magnificently performed as well as straightforward in detail. The Shaker's homes were multipurpose areas and they hung chairs on fixes along the external wall surfaces so floor area was offered for other tasks. This design lends itself to beautiful timber decoration. A solid steel L bracket with a wood facade supplies the tough toughness of steel with the lovely timber look to match this design style. Shades range from pinky tones and also terra-cotta earth shades, via yellow ochre as well as olive green, to green blues and also denim. Granite, limestone, slate and square-edged strong surfaces are all suitable for surface finishes. Timber pegs are one of the most genuine instead of hardware. You can likewise use simple steel or hand-forged coatings. Predominate wood selections consist of maple and cherry. Warm or medium variety timber tones are ideal.

[archive-hive]

Man, it’s a hot one.

By the time dusk unfurls upon Última Bebida’s gabled roof, ornate onyx tendrils pouring like molasses through airbrushed slats, the venue is alive with activity. It bleeds through stained glass in a flourish of finely-tuned guitars and amplified castanets, the intricate figurines painted upon the woodwork seeming to grin, thrilled, as fanciful percussion spills out amidst the crisp springtime atmosphere.

Michael’s skin burns pleasantly as he guides his companions toward the large crimson doorways, familiarity striking against his ribcage like raw timber and sandalwood; a genetic link to a world he has never been allowed to fully submerge himself within.

“This, um.. Th-This looks really cool, M-Micah.” Jeremy grins, utterly breathless. Jake’s arms braid themselves around his boyfriend’s fluttering abdomen, his lips leaving crimson bouquets amidst stark goosebumps as they pave his skin in platinum.

“Yeah, dude. Looks capital ‘TH’ sick!” Rich’s tongue presses flush against the backs of his teeth, exaggerating his lisp considerably. His arms swing wildly from side to side, uncertain of where to place his boundless energy. Michael’s dark fingertips brush against his own with every fluctuation backwards, curling in search of something warm but never quite getting there.

Michael laughs, his thumb bracketing against rough denim in search of the moulded canister tucked safely away inside his pocket - a mere crutch, a safety net in case his lungs inflate beyond their capability. Every time Rich’s hand collides with his own, his skin unfathomably cool, he finds himself tiptoeing closer and closer to his ultimate, monumental downfall.

“Yeah, well I hope we all have a super thhick time tonig-”

A broad hand presses against Michael’s chest before they can enter the building. The entity stood before them, with muscles as grotesquely developed as dimebags stuffed underneath his discolored skin, and features rougher than sandpaper on soil, spares a second to look Michael up and down before scowling disapprovingly.

“I’m gonna need to see some sort of ID, fellas.”

All colour drains from Michael’s face. He certainly hadn’t planned for any impromptu carding, his fake ID hidden at the bottom of an inconspicuous paper bag along with shards of torn tissue paper and the empty blister packs which had once housed his new ‘companion.’

“Um…” Michael rasps, squeezing against his inhaler with a little more gusto. “I’m a friend of the owner? He invited me here personally.”

“Name?”

“Michael. Michael Mell.”

All at once, the bouncer’s expression softens into something more palatable. His brows diffuse upon his forehead and his arm extends into a recognized gesture of hospitality.

“Ah, yes, he’s been expecting you, Mell. Sorry about the inconvenience. Are they all with you?”

It’s a simple phrase, an effortless string of vowels and consonants, and yet the inflection of that mundane three-letter word is enough to make Michael’s eyes burn underneath his contacts. All. As in more than just he and Jeremy. The dynamic duo plus two - the questionable quintet.

He nods three times in rapid succession and wordlessly contemplates the sustainability of his eyeshadow in the wake of unexpected dewdrops contaminating his vision.

Their guide leads them to a beautiful, large booth situated just adjacent to the varnished dance floor. Plump cushions are swathed in emerald velvet, two vanilla-scented candles placed at the centre of the table crackling prettily within their scarlet tumblers, and a hand-illustrated note lays beside a single scarlet rose.  The penmanship is an unmistakably crisp portrayal of calligraphy which invites Michael to have a wonderful evening.

“Holy shit, Mikey, you boning this guy?” Rich whistles, trying to keep poison ivy from belittling his tone. “Cos if you ain’t then you should. He’d probably buy you a yacht or somethin’!”

“Not boning, no. Though I think a yacht would look fabulous in my driveway. What ya think, Jer?”

Jeremy laughs breathlessly, sliding his body underneath airbrushed mahogany alongside Jake, who, in turn, returns Jeremy to his spacious embrace without a moment’s delay.

“Oh y-yeah, dude. N-Nothing says ‘go g-getter’ like a um… a grandiose y-yacht parked n-next to a sh-shitty little PT Cruiser.”

Michael opens his mouth to argue, tongue rolling against an unabridged declaration of love for his less-than-glamorous vehicle and all of those unique ticks and quirks which makes her so majestic, only to pause whenever Jake’s lips wrap around Jeremy’s earlobe. He’s reciting exquisite poetry against supple cartilage, his teeth punctuating every sentence until Jeremy himself has begun to sing.

It is a battle Michael has already lost.

And so, he chooses to slide in against Rich and his natural radiance. Rich slots his arm through Michael’s elbow in an action which could be deemed as nothing short of platonic but, fuck, if it doesn’t make Michael’s diaphragm flourish with the same intense rush of endorphins as slicing his nail through fragile plastic wrapping to retrieve his new game. Only this moment has no shelf-life, only visual gratification every time Michael’s fingertips find themselves wandering beneath the crease of his stomach.

“So you know the owner, huh? How fanshy~”

Michael’s eyes dart toward the feminine curvature of the salt-shaker taking centre-stage in the middle of the table and wills any and all colour away from his cheeks. Rich is just so handsome that it makes his jaw ache.

“Yeah, he’s a customer of mine. A cool dude.”

“A customer? Just what kind of things are you selling, young man?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Rich clasps his hands together, resting his chin upon mountainous knuckles and fluttering his lashes as though they were amber sails swallowing every tantalizing breeze. “I sure would!”

“Get a r-room!” Jeremy catcalls, his head rolling back to rest on Jake’s solid shoulder. His torso is a patchwork of dyed cotton and articulate fingertips, one hand blossoming upon his ribcage while the other autographs his collarbone.

The hypocrisy is tantalizing.

Michael’s tongue protrudes from his lips in a fluid, stabbing motion of pure petulence, but his hand extends across the table to link with Jeremy’s own. He squeezes Jeremy’s digits gently, affectionately, his thumb painting invisible heartbeats across candied veins.

“P-People are gonna l-look at us, um, f-funny. Think we’re in an o-orgy.”

“Wait, we’re not having an orgy?” Rich pouts. “I was promised a fun night!”

Michael reaches over to grab at one of the laminated menus held in place by monogrammed napkins. “I mean, I’d be down but I only wanna screw 2 people here, so…”

Jake lifts his head from Jeremy’s sweet, buttermilk throat to raise a disapproving eyebrow. He licks his lips as though to savor the very flavour of Jeremy’s skin, how it has been stippled in cologne and residual ash from freshly-rolled joints.

“Good. Feeling is mutual.”

Rich’s nostrils flare against a rather emphatic snort, his fingertips an inadequate partition around his lips as he turns toward Jeremy. “They definitely wanna fuck.”

“O-Oh for sure.”

Bouncing precariously upon narrow crimson heels, and with the folds of her skirt flouncing prettily in time with every decibel reverberating unequivocally from a camouflaged sound-system, a fair-faced waitress approaches their booth with a quartet of spicy-sweet margaritas, each with their own lemon wedge and an unnecessarily foreign parasol.

“Here you are, gentlemen!”

Michael watches, puzzled, as she divides the glasses between their modest group. “Oh, uh. I’m sorry, Miss, but we haven’t actually ordered anything, yet.”

She giggles politely, her fingertip worrying against the stylized ringlet plastered upon her brow. “Yes, I know, sweetheart. These are a gift from the owner!”

She gestures blindly behind her to the handsome figure tucked at the very back of the establishment. His narrow frame tilts at an obscure angle against the bar, cerulean eyes cutting acutely through a tapestry of unique bodies as they ooh and ahh over a myriad of extraterrestrial flavours, and he raises the large glass in his own hand as a sign of good will - a toast which has yet to pass between those narrow lips.

Michael grins, returning the gesture in kind, his lips glistening around a halo of himalayan salt as he allows himself to indulge on the sensation of caustic lime blistering his tongue and the tart counterpart of citrine liquer. The alcohol fizzles through the very synapses of his brain and instantly severs any sense he once held true - forever a lightweight when it comes to matters of an ethanol-related nature.

Jeremy is next to follow suit, his tongue pushing through a wave of ice and convoluted flavours.

But Rich does not drink. No, he’s simply staring across the table at Jake.

“Your friend is Atreyu?” Jake mumbles, using his thumbs to rotate his glass back and forth.

“Yeah! He sometimes gives me tattoos in exchange for weed. Why? You guys know him?”

“Nope, never heard of him.” Rich frowns, finally bringing his margarita to his lips after thoroughly surveying its contents.

-

Atreyu, as it turns out, is an exceptionally congenial host.

He had sent over another round of sharp, sacchariferous cocktails before they had even has the chance to finish their margaritas. Not long after that, they were being gifted a large heap of tortilla chips accompanied by a vast array of dips and sauces. There was even a complimentary shot of tequila with Michael’s name on it, a bonus donation for his role as guest of honour.

And, predictably, Michael had gotten trashed after a few measly mouthfuls of his inaugural concoction.

He scrapes a tortilla chip through a crisp line of guacamole and squeals in delight, teeth crunching against a fine smattering of seasalt, and smacks his lips in unrequited once he had polished the shard off.

“Esta mierda sabe tan bien!” He purrs, his body gravitating close to Rich’s side. “Eres tan guapo. Quiero lamerte.”

The sudden alteration in Michael’s vernacular leaves Rich thunderstruck. His eyes widen, a composition of dualtone oceans lapping hungrily against the sandstone shore of his cheekbones. “You speak Spanish?”

Michael tips himself down toward Rich’s mouth. “Síííííí~”

A mere millimeter separates their flesh, open-mouthed yearning heightened considerably by the scent of Michael’s blood rippling betwixt his watercolour veins. What he wouldn’t give to press his teeth in against his pulse, find a juncture of buttermilk skin to claim as his own, and play the boy as though he were wind-chimes left bashful from summer’s lingering caress.

But before he can act upon his voracious cravings, the pulsating music pouring through invisible speakers shifts into something new, an abrupt cacophony of drums and cadence and complex guitar riffs that has Michael leaping up onto his feet in utmost excitement.

“Holy shit, dude, I love this song!” He grins, clicking his fingers to the beat. “Come dance with me?”

Dipping his finger into a pool of marinated tomatoes and swirling it around, Rich shakes his head. “I appreciate the offer, but nobody wants to see my white ass pretending to have rhythm.” He pops his digit inside his mouth to suck it clean, wrapping his tongue over his knuckle and savouring the flavour as though it were the very plasma he finds himself lusting after.

“Oh, come on! Pleeeease?”

“Maybe in a little bit, dude. Go have fun.”

Michael’s lower lip unravels across his chin and fuck does Rich want to lick against him until he can taste summer upon that precious pout; pitted cherries and butterscotch icecream.

“Hey, Jer, do you wanna dan-”

Jake’s lips push across his boyfriend’s smooth, alabaster skin with a sense of urgency, moist tongue circling the sensitive patch of nerve-endings which illuminate his pulse. Jeremy mewls with every expressive brushstroke, and his fingertips tear miniscule holes inside his napkin from how tightly he grabs against the table.

Michael’s lashes crimp in mild annoyance, but he doesn’t dwell on the sensation for particularly long. Insead he ensnares his fingertips around his glass and brings it up toward his lips, polishing off what remains of his sangria.

With a newfound sense of galvanized vitality, Michael’s hips careen from side to side as he takes to the dance floor. He gravitates toward its centre, a polychromatic moth hypnotized by dynamic incandescence. His hand draws upward, dragging vertically from the centre of his belt across and across onyx buttons to rest upon his own throat, thumbs hooked into sugar-spun plastic to withdraw his choker and snap it back into place.

He moans in masochistic bliss, but the sound quickly dissolves when he stirs his pelvis in tandem with a husky vocabulary and a beat which plays to his mislaid heritage. His hands hover above his head, lock themselves in place, his body swivelling from side to side every time Carlos Santana’s digits caress individually woven strings.

Tipping his head back, Michael brings his hands once more to the hem of his shirt. He elevates the material in a slow, deliberate motion, flashing his sweat-slicked mocha skin to the entire restaurant. And still his hips roll; pure, unadulterated calligraphy often concealed by crimson and an uprising of anxiety.  

Unsurprisingly, Jeremy’s focus has shifted from the earth-shattering sensation of Jake’s torturous incisors into the vision of his boyfriend owning the entire dancefloor. His orbiting hips are nothing short of celestial - claiming the beat with every fluid undulation.

With all of the grace of a famished feline, Michael glosses a fingertip down Rich’s structured mandible to rest upon his pronounced pout. He dusts away a few stray crumbs which glitter upon his lower lip and Rich has to really concentrate on centering himself lest he pull that callous-roughened pointer straight into his mouth; oral fixation at it’s finest.

“Holy shit!” Rich breathes, the contours of his own pelvis beginning to quiver and quake. He pulls against his cargo shorts to readjust himself, his packer slick from his own arousal and falling out of alignment.

Jeremy giggles. “I-I think Rich has a um… a boner, don’t y-you?”

However, when Jeremy tilts his head backwards to glance at Jake his lover’s attention is directed somewhere else. His pupils are dilated, periwinkle skies lost to the captivating toxicity of a solar eclipse, and his mouth quivers in perfect unison with his short, shallow breaths.

Jeremy can barely contain his exuberant delight, pressing a stream of kisses along the underside of Jake’s impossibly taut jawline. “He’s really sexy, isn’t he?”

Jake nods, his fingertips flexing against the silken grooves of Jeremy’s airbrushed abdomen.

Michael’s performance comes to an end far too quickly. At least, that’s the unanimous consensus for everyone at his table.

He brushes his hands through an abundance of slick, curlicue ringlets and recalibrates the orientation of his shirt. There is an insurgency of power radiating inside of his sternum, primal, a sensation more extraordinary than a fresh hit of opiates infiltrating his bloodstream. He drapes himself down beside Rich with a happy little chirrup of accomplishment.

His palms brush over amaranth cheeks, thumbs dancing across a small bouquet of freckles peppered just underneath Rich’s twinkling eyes, and he pulls their mouths together to kiss him feverishly. Finally. Finally!

Rich tastes sharp, an aromatic combination of red wine and orange liqueur. Rich tastes sweet too, like sugar water and candy apples and every indulgent treat he has been fortunate to savour over his lifetime. But above all else he tastes like Rich.

And then they part once more.

Michael’s teeth clinking against an empty glass, his tongue curling toward the flavourful cubes beginning to thaw at the very bottom.

“Th-That was awesome, Micha!” Jeremy coos, his hand brushing over the back of Michael’s hand. “Y-You um.. Y-you looked so h-hot out there.”

“Whas I… Smooth?”

“Like b-butter, baby.” He pushes his elbow in toward Jake’s torso. “Jake c-couldn’t keep his eyes um... O-off of you!

Michael’s brow twitches upon his forehead as he regards Jake.

Jake shrugs, completely unashamed. “What can I say? I’m a hips and ass man.”

He presses his palms in against Jeremy’s pelvis and squeezes for good measure. Jeremy squeals in delight, his head resting once more across Jake’s chest.

“So the orgy is back on the table?” Rich grins, his cheeks stippled in crimson from the heat of Michael’s kiss.

“Absolutely.” Jake nods.

“I’m d-down!” Jeremy grins.

“Fuck yeah!” Michael purrs.

[rkwon]

baby, it’s cold outside.

DECEMBER 23RD, 2017. but it’s warm in your arms.

( tw !! blood, abuse, violence, homophobia, panic attack ) 

it’s cold. 

that’s the first thing he notices once he stops running. the second, it’s wet. the ground, as his knees drop down to it, scratching his jeans and soaking through the denim. his cheeks, as blood, tears and sweat trickle down them, and drip, drop, drip, drop onto the concrete, sparkling from the remains of a layer of ice not washed away by the earlier rain. 

it’s cold. 

he curls his fingers against the ground, clips his nails on tiny stones as he attempts to even out his breathing. there’s an unpleasant taste in his mouth; a mixture of regret and spoiled leftovers. it only takes one clean lick across his bottom lip to replace it once again with a familiar, metallic taste, and he sighs between sharp, haphazard breaths. 

his arms can’t hold him up much longer, he knows this, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it. he crawls over to the nearest wall, the outside of a closed store shrouded in darkness, and leans his back against it, hissing as the brick grazes the bruises that litter his skin. he reaches into his pocket with shaking, aching fingers but no amount of pressing wakes his phone. it’s not helpful right now, but he’s grateful it’s even in one piece. he’s grateful they don’t even know it exists. 

he can see a public phone down the street, but it’s worthless. he has nothing on him. not a won to his name, not even a key to get back in. ( worthless again, since there’s really nothing in the world that would take him back there now, except maybe the realisation that he had left his backpack behind, tucked under his bed as always, but in that case, he will just have to hope. there’s not a lot of hope left in him, but he spares a little for that. ) 

all his little remaining energy goes towards pushing himself back up to his feet with the guidance of the store front, his palm pressed firmly against the small window ledge. he leaves a little blood behind, and uses a little more hope wishing that the rain will wash it away before anyone can notice. 

as he stumbles in the right direction, feet already moving towards his safe haven, he relives each of the events of the night in each closing of his eyes. in long, pained pauses, it plays in slow motion — the heavy rising of his father’s fist, the curving of the corner of seungwoo’s lips. in quick blinks, it fast forwards, as if every punch is hitting him all at once, winding him and willing his body back to the ground. he forces his weight onto whatever’s nearest; a bench, a lamppost, a traffic light, and takes a moment to catch his breath. 

he should be screaming, angry at the agony they’ve put him through, but instead, he’s grateful — grateful to whoever he should be that he doesn’t have far to walk to the safest place on earth. 

the first image on the inside of his eyelids is always his boss’ frustrated expression upon seeing him, a mop in hand. he’d first wondered if he was doing something wrong— this is how I always mop, he thinks, but— “wonwoo, do you...” he’d groaned in annoyance, ran a hand through his hair and won had shrunk because he knows this scene all to well. as his hand flails, won understandably flinches away. it goes missed by his boss. “do you know what damage you’ve done to my business?” won blinks. “do you understand?”

“I don’t—”

“whilst you’re living the lifestyle you are, you can’t work here, wonwoo.” can’t work here? “parents won’t bring their children to a ‘homosexuality breeding ground’—”

“what?” 

the older steps closer, and won steps back. “why didn’t you tell me? don’t you think this is something you should have told me before I hired you?” another. “and to think I’ve been so nice to you all this time; you manipulated me i—” the loud crash of the mop handle against the laminated flooring cuts him off, and won’s back collides with the mirror behind him. “don’t come even near here ever again. I’ve been nice to you because I didn’t know who you truly were, but now I know and I don’t ever want to see you around here again. I have wasted time, effort and money on you— and lost money because of it all! get out.” won scrambles to gather his things in his arms, trips over his feet as he rushes away from the man he thought he knew. “get out! and tell everyone you know that you don’t work here anymore. your kind aren’t welcome here.”

it’s cold. 

the door clicks shut behind him. the artificial fire is lit but won’s body trembles regardless. it’s an amalgamation of an unsurprisingly low body temperature, anger and fear that has his fingertips dancing across his thigh as he moves through the jeon house and to his room, hiding his backpack before any of his biological family even realise he’s there. 

“there’s food in the fridge for you, ungrateful p—” 

“thank you,” he answers before his mother can continue any further, inching past her to seek out whatever had been left for him. he’s not surprised to find it’s leftovers; from a while ago, if the smell is anything to go by, but it’s all he has, so he tentatively takes a small bite or two and plates it up. maybe if I nibble at it like this, he thinks, I’ll trick myself into thinking I’m full. he moves back towards his room, passing her on his way. 

“where do you think you’re going with that?” 

he doesn’t hesitate before he answers and maybe that’s his biggest regret of the night — not thinking for even a second before he spits back, “my room?” and feels the sting of her palm against his cheek. for the second time, he drops everything in his hands, scraps of food spreading over the floor and the plate smashing into a three large pieces at his feet. 

the next two hours are a blur. he’s not sure where the cut on his finger comes from; picking up sharp edges of broken crockery or the beastly hands grasping at him and tearing him apart. 

it’s cold. 

that’s the first thing he notices once he stops running. the second, it’s wet. the third? that his weak fist makes the same thud against mingyu’s door as his head does, when his legs give way and he falls forward against it before someone has come to greet him. 

he hears the padding of footsteps before the click of the lock, and he does his best to stand up straight despite the spinning in his head; the disorientation and the knocking of his knees. 

“s-sorry it’s late—” he doesn’t have to say anything more than that — can’t, even — because within seconds, his best friend’s strong arms are wrapping around his torso, keeping him on his feet even if just for a moment. despite the fact that the older is holding him together, he falls apart instantaneously. “I’m s-so s-sorry...” he blubbers into his chest as mingyu guides him through to the sofa in the living room. he thinks he hears him call for sujin and hyunwoo, but his eyes are fluttering closed and he can’t focus on a thing, not until he sits down and breathes in, out, in, out, in a steady rhythm. “I’m s-so sorry,” he repeats, “I want to stay. p-please let me s-stay. p-please don’t make m-me g-go back there. I want to s-stay forever. I want to m-move in— i-if the offer s-still st-stands. p-please let me s-stay.” 

soon, he’s curled up in mingyu’s arms, bandages, plasters and cream soothing his wounds, and more importantly, protective arms around him soothing his heart, giving him the safety he’s always craved— needs, at this point. 

he cries himself to sleep eventually, but he notices one last thing before he drifts off. 

it’s warm. 

[youhatedspain]

JANUARY

i’m going to change tenses a lot. some of these things want to be present tense and some of them want to be past tense.

And so all the chefs came out of the kitchen for the count down holding champagne flutes on loan from Waitrose half full with the Cava our manager had bought us and everyone had glitter on their face and in their hair and my friend leant over the remnants of chopped lemon to ask the mirror if it was too much as she dabbed some more on under her eyes. And we turned on BBC for the count down but there wasn’t one, just a banging sound which could have been mistaken for the dropping of a steel pan. Then I looked at my phone and it was midnight and so it was midnight and so it was midnight and so it was the next year, instead of the year it had just been, only because of the four zeros next to each other all lined up like that in a row with the colon in the middle, and so, it was midnight, it was the next year. five days in to the year the four zeros told me it was, I listen to Lena Dunham all morning then go to meet Twin and her niece. We drink Mojitos, they are too sweet. It gets dark outside at half past three. Then Lily comes and eats a vegetarian breakfast while we drink rum and takes me to the cinema with her younger brother and we watch A Monster Calls. I don’t enjoy it and I wonder if I don’t enjoy it eternally or if there was ever a version of me who would have been moved by Felicity Jones sobbing in a headscarf underneath a hospital bedsheet.


Then the next week we think the Screen Unseen is going to be Jackie but actually it’s Hidden Figures. It is really, really, really good. If it weren’t for basic needs like going to the toilet and eating and sleeping I would have been happy for it to go on for seven hours. The next day I get up early.
 Southern rail on strike and so one train gets me to Portsmouth to see my mum, eat Wagamama and play records in her living room, then a coach gets me to Brighton to see Frank.
 On my mum’s living room floor I straightened my hair in the full length mirror we’ve had since I was five, a mirror that’s seen separation but not divorce, arguments but not separation, boredom but not depression. A mirror that’s seen all the in between stages of all the in between parts of our lives.

sitting in front of it we listened to Fleetwood Mac and I sang along with my hair in between the hot irons, and my mum sitting on the sofa said she thought it had been 1978 - maybe 1978, maybe 1979, she could never remember. She did so much in 1979. Sometimes she looks back on it and thinks, was that 1979 as well? All of that?

 I ask her what she did in 1979. Oh, just went all over. Met loads of people. saw loads of music.


After the coach journey sandwiched next to a nice girl who showed me on her phone where she thought the stop for Hove might be, I tell Frank about Fleetwood Mac and 1979.
 We think at each other, maybe this year will be 1979. A version of 1979.
 We spend a couple of days in cafes and pubs planning our route through America, I write hastily in the back of my grease stained notebook about Memphis and Nashville and New Orleans and we look at so many Airbnb listings that our eyes go blurry. 
 we drink Prosecco with her sofa pulled out to make it a bed and watch reality T.V. and play cards in a pub with Johnny Cash on the radio and then silence because nobody goes to change it. We eat expensive Vegan food we are probably too drunk to taste properly. We make fun of Alex Turner, shoe-less in her living room sliding around on her laminate flooring to Miracle Aligner. Everything is good.
 Louis and I go to watch La La Land at the cinema like everyone else. We think it’s good, like everyone else.
 On the 22nd I meet Twin on the train at Pokesdown and we spent the best part of three hours travelling to our freezing cold Gatwick airport hotel bedroom so that we can eat Marks and Spencer's salads on our beds and try to work out how to turn up the heating. 
 In the morning we have short showers in the white of the windowless hotel bathroom then catch our delayed flight to Madrid.
 Madrid is different to how I thought it would be. The street our hotel is on is lined with clothes shops, each one wearing the same costume as the one before it but with the sleeves cut off or the legs rolled up. Around the corner: a tapas bar specialising in Houmous, and a five minute walk away: a 1920’s style bar with red leather booths and neon signs on its outside.
 Punks. Tattoos on their arms, denim jackets with the sleeves cut off, white aprons on over the top of their leather trousers as they roll out the barrel with the specials written on it from inside the restaurant. A Vegan fast food cafe run by two bald men with black eye makeup and rings on every finger; they frown at the line of customers that has formed outside as they roll up the shutters. Incandescent light in the ceiling as pieces of fake meat fall out of our sandwiches.

We make a list of all the bars we want to visit and walk between each one using the GPS on my phone. Nobody is ever actually lost. I have the best margarita of my life in a cocktail bar where Salvador Dali used to drink; black and white photos of him on the walls and bronze cocktail shakers in display cases behind the booths. It’s us and two middle aged men and the bartender. Then it’s us and two middle aged men and the bartender and four good looking people in long scarves and laughter in the middle table, falling over each other into their seats. Then it’s us, and them, and a DJ, and the DJ plays Metronomy, and Twin uses Siri to find out the song then sends it to me on Facebook. Nobody is ever actually lost, nobody is ever actually without the answer.

This month I've enjoyed

READING Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix WATCHING Hidden Figures Brooklyn LISTENING TO PWR BTTM 

PWR BTTM might be my new favourite band. I listened to their album in one sitting and then bought tickets to see them in Brighton in April. Frank is coming with me. She has never heard of them but I know she’s going to love them.

[deztinywarriors]

The Linked Charms - Episode 18 (Multi Liverpool players)

[zanenews794]

8 Go-to Resources About Kevlar Denim

The specific suitable problem to obtain a guest is to the rider to become experienced as well as to be able to handle the many weight decrease effectively. You should not should look as a protection cone as a means to ride your motorcycle safely. If you are a novice to the sport, your initial concern is probably locating the suitable novice bike helmetthe one that is going to secure both your head and also your purse from injury!

Getting water-proof is an immense advantage as that will certainly get rid of the need for you to place on rainfall pants, which would be simply another layer, which could boost the heat accumulation and also cut back your wheelchair. It developed the suggestion of tessellating carpet ceramic tiles. Smooth the textile in the area where it'll be fixed, subjecting the hole.

If you remain in a big city, nevertheless, it is most likely that you're not also far from specialty denim store that could show you a variety of choices. There are numerous alternatives on the present market now it could feel a little overwhelming, consequently we've assembled a quick overview of points to think about when picking riding jeans. There are just a couple of mills left worldwide that still invest the time as well as effort to earn selvedge denim.

The location on the back does still lump weirdly when you flex onward and also you are going to intend to get a layer cover it or run the risk of getting your pants load up with water when it rains as a result of the straightforward accessibility arising from the protruding. It is vital to think about style as well as comfort of motorcycle denims prior to making any type of acquisition selection. If you like to remain in your road trousers for any reason, then this is only one of two choices.

Warm quilted lining in the coat that's particularly created for wintertime period is entirely detachable to make sure that you could take benefit of this coat in summer period as well. Furthermore, there is not quite adequate stretch inside them, despite the name. The majority of my preferred companies, that do every little thing else remarkably, have a tendency to completely miss the sphere once it involves making safety denims I will actually wear.

All things taken into consideration, these denim and also aramid bike denims from G-Moto are a terrific alternative if you're looking for some metropolitan summer pants that fulfill a spending plan. I chose to obtain Hood as they're reputably, as well as visibly, amongst the most difficult motorbike denims around. The Karl Evil one jeans are offered in a fairly slim option of sizes with 36-inch being the most significant waist dimension they offer.

The idea of a single-layer protective jeans is surely appealing. So, using coat is the most ideal option for ladies to generate your attire appearance fashionable. There is a very easy formula in regards to riding boots.

A whole lot of the allure of synthetically troubled denim is it appears like dry denim that has faded. Your much-loved set of denims might be comfy, yet they certainly will not shelter you in a motorcycle crash. Appearance is of certain value in concerns to riding denims.

You look down as well as see your pants are wrecked as well as you've obtained road rash which is also filled with dirt. Currently, they are produced in any type of color that can be accomplished with cotton. Apart from the cut, they have the very same attribute listing.

In situation you've obtained an occurrence, an outstanding collection of purpose-built motorbike trousers could give you the perimeter of safety you must limit considerable accidents for your upper legs, hips or knees. Kevlar at the knee and also bum functions abrasion resistance in instance of a slide. Race handwear covers regularly have the pinky finger attached to the ring finger to reduce the prospect of it being over flexed backwards during accidents.

Nikwax has a detailed range of intriguing items and also a journey to their internet site could be exceptionally worthwhile (Find web links page on the Navigation Page) You need to access all of your riding equipment in problems of a crash and slide accident. Equipment needs to be gotten for the protective qualities and much less a style declaration.

Trip secure, as well as we are going to see you out on the road! In case you don't have a spot, you could constantly sew the opening. Yoga three times weekly on the roof.

1 acquisition should cover a long period of time. As you as well as the materials begin to respond to each various other. You are buying item which has actually been demonstrated using a world renown independent screening facility it works.

Various other attributes that have actually to be thought about is that product has to be water proof, resilient, adjustable so you can personalize it based on your requirement. It generally indicates you do not have to acquire the item yearly. Item ought to be breathableWhile buying motorcycle clothing, make particular that ruggedmotorbikejeans.com/collections/mens-biker-jeans-denim the product is completely breathable.

Bear in mind that shield could affect the fit of a vest as well as you might should acquire a bigger dimension. To take the area of a water resistant lining, you ought to search for pants that are constructed out of a water-proof breathable fabric layer like Gore-Tex that's laminated to the outside layer. In recap, our shield is dazzling!

The textile is very abrasion resistant Cordura 1000D that's custom made for Assero. Also the heaviest single layer of jeans can not give the abrasion resistance required to safeguard you in the occasion of a loss. When it relates to motorbikes, you intend to make certain that your layers are comfy and also protective because they're all you have actually obtained.

Gloves should certainly be specifically meant for the mining activity done. Not all fabric clothing is created from artificial products. The fabric isn't really waterproof.

[christinaannedaniel-blog]

Vinyl Cutting Machines

It is difficult to choose a quality vinyl cutter if you are a beginner when it comes to these machines. To make your dreams come true, you must look for a professional tracer that offers reliable quality. You must avoid certain defective equipment decisions because they generally lead to frustration and failure. In particular, one mistake I have seen new people in vinyl cutters is to buy only taking into account the speed, strength and price of a machine. That's not the best strategy, since you can easily find yourself in a situation where you have the hardest and hardest machine you can buy, but if you put it into practice in a professional sign shop, for example, you can not meet the reasonable requirements. cutting standards. So, if you want to start immediately, use the quick navigation bar above and buy your best vinyl cutter.

Also, before going any further, you can consult my articles on the best laser cutters and engravers, the best plasma cutters or the best CNC routers if you need other types of cutters.

To make this challenging decision, you must observe other factors and look beyond speed, strength and price (if your budget allows). Some reflections should be made about their particular objectives and needs. For example, try to think how complex and intricate your graphics will be. Determine how you manage your media, how thin and how thick. Later, anticipate the possibility that you will have to outline the printed images or make perforated decals. Last, but not least, always look for companies that offer excellent customer service, so that, in case of technical difficulties you may experience along the way, you will be provided with all the help you need. The better you understand this, the easier it will be to make a successful purchase of a vinyl cutter. Below I have put together the best and most popular vinyl cutting machines according to their particular strengths when used with a specific goal in mind to simplify the process of deciding which one suits you the most.

1. Cricut Explore Air 2 machine, Vinyl Cutting Machines

The Utah-based company of home-made die-cutting machines for DIY projects Cricut now offers its newest model with some impressive features that will definitely attract scrapbook enthusiasts. One aspect that stands out most is the promise to reduce and write up to twice the speed of previous Cricut Explore models.

Because time is a valuable asset, Cricut implemented a Fast mode to increase the performance of this cutter considerably. In addition to speed, the Explore Air 2 has the ability to cut almost anything from vinyl, cardboard and iron to much thicker materials such as leather. If you are the type of person who appreciates the details in their crafts, you will not be disappointed with the ability of the Air 2 to cut the finest details with impeccable precision. There is the possibility of using Cricut pens for handwritten projects and thanks to more than 370 typefaces you can create that perfect personalized style in a moment. If that is not enough, you can even use your own sources stored on a computer for free.

Another important feature that could get your attention is the Smart Set Dial to always find the best configuration related to your project. In case you like to design beautiful works of art, this vinyl cutter is up to the task. Design is possible on multiple devices, on a computer, iPad or iPhone due to Cricut's dedication to the more flexible user experience. The Design Space software is free, incredibly easy to use and cloud based to cover all your storage needs. There are endless prefabricated options and, of course, the option to load and modify your own designs.

With so much to offer, the only downside I can think of is the price of the Air 2, which is slightly larger than what some DIY enthusiasts of this type of technology are willing to spend. But if you choose to take the next step in your design hobby, Cricut Air 2 is absolutely a better buy.

List of specifications:

Built-in Bluetooth for wireless commands Smart Set Dial for easy setup Cut more than 100 materials of variable thickness, including leather Double tool holder Quick mode Cut Smart Technology Integrated storage compartments Upload your images with the extensions: .svg, .jpg, .png, .bmp, .gif, .dxf

2. USITutter TITAN 28-inch vinyl cutter with support and cutting software VinylMaster, Best Vinyl Cutting Machine

If you are a more casual fan when it comes to vinyl cutters, but you decide that you would like to upgrade to something more professional, then you can not go wrong with a plotter from the USITC TITAN series. They offer great value for the price that perfectly suits your needs.

When it comes to vinyl cutting, an essential aspect of a machine is cutting a lot of materials and the Titan 28 inch has everything you need to work with adhesive vinyl, hard cardboard, mask material, window film, template of sandblasting and many others. That's great, but let's take a closer look at what you'll find under the hood of this 28-inch model. "The frame of the machine is made of sturdy aluminum just like all moving metal parts. accurate, there is a four-wheel carriage equipped with laser-assisted alignment, high quality drag rollers and pressure rollers are provided for more precise tracking, and the Titan also has a super silent and reliable servo motor for cutting materials thicker you can use quickly and with perfect precision.

It is completely understandable that you feel a little overwhelmed when it comes to handling this type of machine correctly. But you can be sure, USCutter comes to your aid with a very intuitive software that acts as a reliable guide and has a very easy-to-use interface for all your design needs. To offer you more control, the Titan 2 has a large LCD screen along with a control panel to adjust the speed and cut pressure to your liking. Packed together with a floor stand and a catch basket, this vinyl cutter has the latest technology for your small business or just to satisfy some of the most demanding creative projects of an enthusiast of DIY craftsmen. All in all, this machine achieves a powerful balance between quality and price and for that reason I highly recommend it.

List of specifications:

Support with 4 wheels Aluminum alloy construction, precision ABS sides All moving parts are made of high quality metals USB and RS-232 connection compatible with Mac and PC Large LCD screen and control panel Connect and play Short adhesive vinyl, heat transfer vinyl, card stock, paint mask template, laminate, sandblasting mask, low and high intensive reflective material Servomotor for silent and precise performance

3. Cricut Maker, Best Vinyl Cutting Machines 

The new Cricut Maker can tackle almost any DIY project without sweating the seas. This is mainly due to the improved design of the rotary blade and the expandable tool set. By putting your hands on this professional cutting machine, you can enjoy a new level of performance, easily working with hundreds of different types of materials.

From the softest fabric and paper to the materials that lean most on the harder side of leather, balsa and matboard, the Maker adapts elegantly to each type of material to unleash its maximum creative potential.

The set of tools offered by this machine is completely exceptional. You can cut, write and score more easily a multitude of materials with an extra level of precision and control. Interestingly, Cricut does not stop here as it offers the possibility of constant expansion by bringing more and more tools on time. As the teacher grows in his office, so does the Creator.

One aspect that is definitely an important factor when evaluating the performance of any cutting machine is its accuracy. The rotating blade of the Maker does not retain a bit, since it transforms the cut of the fabric into a simple task with customizable precision. You can run professional level cuttings directly in your home on a wide variety of fabrics, such as cotton, denim and wool. Without backing material, quickly and accurately cut virtually any fabric.

The Adaptive Tool System is a function of the manufacturer that intelligently controls the direction of the blade and other aspects such as the cutting pressure to match perfectly with the material used. Cricut made some welcome improvements in terms of cutting power so that there are now more materials available to work with.

Small things like extra built-in storage, the docking slot for smart devices and the convenient USB port add up to make your DIY experience much more comfortable. The library of digital sewing patterns contributes to a pleasant craftsmanship experience, as it selects from hundreds of patterns, likes it, sends it to the machine to take care of the cut and