#packing materials foam

[rrccases2]

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[toytulini]

im not brave enough to wear it myself yet so I'll just put this idea out there for free:

drag outfit (i guess?) leather codpiece. with a horrible little Scrunched Up Face on it. Like this?

but its a codpiece instead of a fanny pack?

[lorelune]

i THINK i have the majority of this jing yuan wig game plan solidified. i just need to figure out a base for the ponytail extension ...

[oatmealdaydreams]

Ur a malleable moot to me!

Thanks, Duckie!

I am like squishy sea foam, or... foam. All I can think about is foam. Like those weird yellow foam thingies you find in couch cushions.

Thanks for the ask :D

[from this ask game]

[rogue-ai-cat]

I deep cleaned my kitchen today and found this cute little tea spoon behind the stove

The appliances were new to the previous owner, and this spoon is stainless steel, so it's not like I found anything antique or valuable, but it's still neat and weird to find nice things that aren't mine in my house.

[fazalkhan2914]

Best Stretch film in Dubai-Krishstargt Looking for an industrial packaging provider in Dubai. We are here to assist you with any of your packaging needs. Visit our website or contact us directly. https://www.krishstargt.com/

[giazhou1]

SINOYQX melamine resin foam can provide effective thermal insulation, fire protection, heat preservation, lightweight, low-cost, and other comprehensive solutions for new energy power battery packs. It provides efficient thermal management, safety, and low-cost solutions for power batteries.

[sentimental-sil]

having the best conversation with my dad rn hang on let me describe this

so the past few weeks I've been working on this self-proclaimed "prototype" upgraded pack-basket to use at work since our current one is pretty uncomfortable to wear for excessive hours out in the field. (really practically everything about it is pretty uncomfortable, but what else are you gonna carry stanky beaver meat and skunk lure in other than a big plastic woven basket on your back?) (sidenote: a real pack-basket made of brown ash would probably feel a lot more comfortable to carry, but would be more expensive and less tolerant to all the rough handling we put our pack through.... plus plastic is just easier to hose down and clean 😕)

anyway, point is I've basically just been testing out different ways of attaching a hip belt to the basket so that it distributes weight better, and takes weight off the shoulders - my coworker had a spare backpacking hip belt around that she kindly contributed to this noble cause that would benefit both of us! "Prototype 1" was basically just duct-taping the belt to the shoulder straps of the pack-basket.... a nice attempt by said coworker, but unfortunately not sufficiently functional in the field. "Prototype 2" was more of a passion project in thoroughly securing the belt directly to the plastic woven basket straps, which I had got about 2/3rds of the way through... before realizing I had probably set the belt too low for both of our short-torsoed bodies! but I was too committed by then to turn back, so I finished the prototype and consequently we have been carrying around a still-unsuitable pack-basket for the past week and a half.

I finally put the time in to complete the third (and hopefully last!) "Prototype 3" this evening, which is the same as Prototype 2 but with the belt adjusted about 4" higher in the basket. given that my dad is a very design-oriented guy, I figured I'd text him a picture to show off my work. here's how the conversation went:

me: check out my new product! ✨ weight-distributing pack-basket ✨

dad: great! homemade? what's the problem you're trying to solve?

me: *explains uncomfortable features of pack-basket*

dad: okay, and so you can't use a regular soft-shell backpack?

me: we carry chunks of beaver meat and skunk lure in this thing, so definitely don't want that getting into fabric (skunk lure will stay in fabric perpetually even when washed). plus we carry tools in it, and the basket is big enough to fit our snowshoes!

dad: ah so it's an equipment hauler. have you thought about adding EVA foam to cushion shoulder straps? *sends link to foam product* where'd you get the hip belt, harvested it from another pack?

me: thanks! yup, coworker provided the belt

dad: nice. in the industrial world this is called "ad-hocing"

me: basically like making adjustments to a premade product so that it functions better?

dad: exactly. you bought a rigid easy-to-clean basket for carrying gross stuff, but it didn't exist in backpack form so you harvested a belt from another pack and will improve the shoulder straps.... you could add a sternum strap for the cherry on top.

dad: *sends me this picture of an anime character carrying a box-like backpack*

me: ???? 😆 [can see the resemblance but wondering what the context is]

dad: your sister watches this anime where the main character carries his demon sister around in a box on his back

me: haha yeah that's basically the same thing as my pack-basket! why is his sister a demon though?

dad: she got attacked and didn't fully transform into a demon b4 Tanjiro saved her

dad: you know, complicated characters like in full metal alchemist

dad: she'll die if she's exposed to the light.

me: oh so it's like an "Ed bonding Al's soul to a suit of armor" type of deal

dad: yeah

me:

dad: anyway

dad: here I have some spare EVA foam that you can have for your shoulder straps.

[laxmienterprises]

EPE Sheet Production line machine Laxmi Enterprises laxmie360@gmail.com

Polyethylene foam sheet(film),also named as pearl cotton, is a kind of new-type packing material with the features of dampproof, shockproof, sound insulation, heat preservation and good plasticity . It is an ideal substitute of traditional packing materials and used widely in the packing of electronic product, commodity, glass, pottery, electrical household appliances, spraying, furniture, hardware product, toy, etc.

[hellenhighwater]

I'm putting together materials to safely ship my ceramic work, and I prefer to recycle or reuse what I can. So when I saw an ad on marketplace for a roll of packing foam, I figured: score. I talked the seller down to $40, which isn't bad--packing foam isn't really cheap. And then went to go get it. And. Uh.

I failed to visualize how big this was.

This is in fact so large that I can't pick it up alone because I simply can't grip it. Which is a problem, now that I'm back at my house. Where I live. Alone.

Time for some creative ropework.

[marlynnofmany]

Other Uses for Packaging

I waved goodbye to the customers — other humans this time — then sat back and waited for the trash pickup. I didn’t blame them for not wanting to take all the packing material out into the spaceport. They hadn’t brought a hovercart or forklift, and had been unprepared for the huge crate full of bubble wrap and foam.

Other times, our little courier ship had done deliveries where time was short or regulations were tight, and all we would have been able to do was advise them on where to rent a hovercart or buy a crowbar. Luckily for these customers’ convenience and my conscience, today we could stick around and help them unpack the custom end table or whatever that was.

They’d left happy, with something much easier to carry, and Captain Sunlight had headed for the cockpit to call in the station’s trash crew. (Apparently this was a regular feature at this space dock, which was a nice change from the last few where we’d had to move the ship’s garbage over to the trash area under our own power.)

Zhee looked over the crate that he’d just taken great joy in disassembling. “Wood may be valuable here,” he said with a thoughtful click of a pincher arm. “If not to the station at large, then surely to another ship. I wonder if the captain thought of that.”

I glanced back at the open cargo bay. “Probably?”

“Probably,” Zhee agreed.

We were both silent for a moment while the spaceport bustled around us.

“I’m going to check,” he said, tapping his way up the ramp on his many bug feet. “Make sure none of that blows away.”

“Sure thing.” I looked at the piles. The only breeze in here was the faint wafting of ventilation systems and the occasional gentle landing of other ships at a safe distance, but I understood the impulse to be careful. That one package awhile ago, full of styrofoam beads, had been memorable. And terrible. The darn stuff was almost as bad as glitter, what with the way it stuck to things with static electricity. Nobody wanted a repeat of that.

This set of packaging was much better. The boards made a tidy stack, the foam was in rubbery sheets that didn’t leak bits everywhere, and even the bubble wrap was in long rows instead of individual panels. This was no top-of-the-line cryo suspension or force field generator, but it was respectable.

I organized the mess a bit while I waited. The rest of the crew either had stuff to do on the ship or out in the station, so despite all the ambient noise, things were quiet.

I started rolling up the bubble wrap, thinking someone might want to use it again, but found that many of the bubbles had gotten popped in the disassembly, leaving it only good for one thing.

The first bubble popped with a satisfying snap. By the third I’d pinpointed which direction the sounds were echoing from most, and I enjoyed the different noises I could get by tilting my head. None of the pedestrians were close enough to pay much attention, so I happily worked my way down the roll. I’d seen multiple other types of bubble wrap, some made by different cultures and different materials, and most of them didn’t actually pop. What a simple joy to find the regular old Earth kind again.

Mur’s voice from the cargo bay asked, “What’s making that sound?”

I sighed and turned. “Don’t tell me, this is another swear word in your language.”

Mur waved a tentacle. “No, of course not. I just wanted to know what’s breaking out here. It sounded like a problem.”

Before I could answer, Paint appeared behind him in a rush. “Is there a problem??”

“No,” I hurried to say. “Everything’s fine. It’s just bubble wrap. See?” I held up the section I’d been working on and popped another bubble.

Paint winced. “Is there something wrong with it?”

“No, it’s just garbage.” I rolled up the part I’d already flattened, then twisted it to pop the next row all at once.

“Okay, that almost sounded like a swear word,” Mur admitted.

I had to laugh at that. “Of course it did.”

Blip and Blop hurried out to join the growing crowd in the cargo bay. “What keeps breaking?” Blip asked, frills waving anxiously.

“It’s just bubble wrap!” I exclaimed. “See?” I held it up and popped another one.

Instead of nodding and going back to whatever they’d been doing, my alien coworkers remained perplexed. “Why does it keep popping?” Blop asked. “Are you doing that?”

“Yes!” I exclaimed.

“Why?” asked both Frillians at once. Paint and Mur also looked curious.

“Because it’s fun?” I replied, scrambling for an answer. I hadn’t thought this needed explaining. But apparently it did.

Paint asked, “How is that noise fun?”

“Well, it echoes—”

“You don’t need to worry about condensing materials for the trash pickup, if that’s the concern,” Mur said.

“Yes, I know—”

“Are there food items on your planet that you have to open like this?” Blip asked. “Large fish eggs, maybe?”

“No, ew! It’s just—”

A shadow loomed taller than the Frillian twins. “It is violensssss,” Trrili hissed, making them twitch. (I don’t know how she found a shadow in the cargo bay. Sometimes I think she brings them with her.) “Small-scale, sanctioned violence. These can be destroyed without repurcussionssssss.” She was choosing which words to hiss on, for effect.

“Sure,” I said, spreading my arms and lifting the bubble wrap. “Let’s go with that.”

Trrili wasn’t done. “Each tiny section can be crusssshed individually, with precision, or multiples at once for maximum volume.” She glided forward on quieter feet than Zhee’s, and the others made room for her.

I held out the bubble wrap. “You want a turn?” Her pincher arms didn’t seem suited to it, but I was curious to see where she’d go with this.

“Plasssssse it on the floor.”

“Sure.” I flapped the row out in front of her like a red carpet, and she moved like the predator she was to crush one after the other. With precision. And shiny black bug feet.

It gave me an idea. “Hey, wanna see who’s faster?” I grabbed another section and laid it out to one side. “You’ve got more feet, but my shoes are bigger.”

Trrili spread her mandibles in her favorite creepy smile. “Challenge acssssssepted.” She crouched like a spider and waited for me to be ready.

I glanced back at the others. “Anybody else wanna race?”

Mur spun on his tentacles and scooted back into the ship. “No thanks! I’m going back where it’s quieter.”

“Me too,” Paint said. “But thank you!” She scampered off.

Blip and Blop looked at each other in silence for a moment, fins waving. Then they turned to me. “We’ll judge,” Blip announced.

“All right!” I said. I wrangled my own section of bubble wrap, roughly the same length as Trrili’s, and struck my own ready pose. “Say when!”

The twins chorused, “Start!” and we were off. Pops filled the air along with Trrili’s delighted hisses and my laughter. There were probably people staring, but that didn’t matter.

Maybe I could talk Trrili into a dance-off afterward. On whatever was left when one of us was declared the champion of small-scale, sanctioned violence.

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[julik0vatay]

New couch for tiny dolls!

Made with foam packing material + fabric + bamboo chopsticks

[sourbites]

Cottonmouth

People are starting to catch those early-autumn colds. A sneeze here, a cough there. It makes yours and Kirk's sniffling less conspicuous. It wasn't that long of a walk to your shared hotel: probably a block or three. Neither of you were really paying any attention. The air smelled tartly crisp when you were out, saccharine-sweet from the leaves changing from green to browns and oranges and yellows. Some people were even getting out their carved pumpkins to dress up their doorsteps for the mid-October evenings that always seem to come earlier and earlier each year.

The heavy pack of beer is swooshed on the floor as soon as you make it into the hotel room. Stepping through the threshold, you realise just how bitterly cold it's getting. Your nose is chilled, your fingertips numbing, and your coat is suddenly making things a little too warm. You shake it off, ignoring the rattle of loose coins and other amenities, and hang it up above the radiator, hopefully so the rising heat will dry it, curing the rain-dampened material.

"It's still a good night," Kirk hums to you, interlacing his fingers with yours to hook you into his chest. You glide the heels of your palms under his too-big leather jacket. You bite back a cheesy grin. You can't tell if it's him making your heart flutter — or the few lines of coke making your veins glow with heat.

"Which means what? You want to keep going?" You test, looking up at him through your thick eyelashes. His big hand splays on the small of your back, knuckles prodding against you through your thick turtleneck.

⸻

Bodies are lowered sluggishly into the mattress. The daze of a coke-fuelled evening makes everything slow down and speed up at the same time. Kirk’s knees dig into the bed as he kneels, crouched down over you like you’re a psalm he’s going to take shelter under. His plump lips capture yours, sloppy and wet kisses making your mouth tingle, migrating down your chin, teeth clashing as you swallow each other’s doped-up laughs.

You have to part after a few moments; your throats choked up with sand and cotton. You manage to find salvation in the neck of a beer bottle. It foams up in your mouth, bubbling molasses-soaked promises down your throat. This intermission is easy, and it’s familiar. Wordlessly, you press the cool glass into Kirk’s waiting palm.

He mumbles a low thanks before he polishes the rest of the bottle off. Tenderly, so gingerly that it melts you, Kirk’s hands cup your face, sweeps his thumbs along the apples of your cheeks, and presses a tingling, wetted kiss to the tip of your nose. His brown eyes look like pools of nothingness; his pupils too dilated to let the honey-browns or impish reds shine through. His gaze is piercing through you, and reaching down deep to your soul.

"Comfy for you?" Kirk grins. His hand on your sides, your shirt compressed and bunched up around your fluttering ribs, slow tenderness to soothe you and that cocaine daze of excited restlessness. You're not sure where he learnt it from — being soft.

"Uh-huh," You nod, too busy helping him ease your shirt off to give a more profound answer. He rucks your bra beneath your chest, hot lips and tongue mouthing at your bared skin.

"S' a good fit here." You manage to add, shuffling down against the fort of pillows.

Kirk agrees, "Yeah." His eyes drink you in appreciatively, the way your eyelashes flutter against your browbones when you look up at him, his gaze tracing over the flushness in your skin.

"Good fit." He echoes lowly, latching onto your nipple, wetting it with his tongue, rasping his teeth against it until it pebbles.

Your hands trace over his spine, curling your fingers around the hem of his sweater as you drag up and up — until you break his mouth's union with your chest, guiding his sweater off his warmed, goldenly shining skin. The heels of your palms slide easily along his bare skin. Beneath your touch, Kirk shudders, his lower lip caught between his teeth. Skin sweeps along skin; the pads of your fingertips gingerly trace the plane of muscles along his back and neck.

Kirk's hands take hold of your hips and ease your jeans off your form. You're glad he does so. Everything is warm, too warm, and you can feel your coke-addled blood simmering and foaming in your body, like a neglected pot that threatens to spill over. Sinking further into the mattress, you sigh, your legs rasping against the bedsheets. Above you, Kirk guides your thighs to bracket his head, his flushed cheeks smooshing into your inner thighs. The heat blooms between you.

"What you doing?" You slip a hand into his black curls, sweetly sweeping along his clammy forehead. He tilts his head up for a moment, keening into your touch. His long eyelashes kiss the swells of his cheeks as he dimples, grinning, his eyes closed. This is what trust looks like.

He swoops down and kisses your slit over your panties. "Gonna eat you," He mutters tenderly. You can feel his smirk against you. He mouths at you like he would bite into an apple: hungry. Two index fingers hook onto the sides of your panties and slip them down.

He kisses your pelvis - your hips. Each morsel of you, he savours. Kirk uses the flat of his tongue to gather your growing slick, smearing it between his tongue and your warm, drooling cunt. Cocaine-dazed, you squeal, your socked heels scattering all over his back. He uses the pads of his thumbs to find purchase on both sides of your wetted slit and spreads you open, displaying you all for himself. Your hips cant against his face — you can't sit still for a moment. The moon is tugging at your hair, the cocaine is swaying within you. Kirk nuzzles against the softness of your belly, his burning hot cheek smooshed into your skin.

"Greedy," You laugh breathlessly, tipping your head against the pillows with a barely audible thump. Maybe if your heart wasn't pounding in your chest, you could've heard it better.

Kirk's hot mouth engulfs your cunt, suckling you as if he plans to actually swallow you whole. He relents to talk, making a wet pop once his mouth releases its hold on you. "Only f'you," He raises his brows once, playfully. He noses into the sponginess of your pelvis, right above your mound. He fits his mouth on you, bodies slipping together puzzle perfectly. You're not sure how it works. Maybe you were just made for each other. Maybe you've just got coke-tinted glasses on.

You can't get Kirk out of your system. Your heart stutters, your breath trembles. Your vision blurs, until you simply give up and squeeze your eyes shut. You melt into him. His filthy mouth shapes you as God's hand caresses the clay that was once humanity. Kirk downs your arousal like a shot glass of God’s flood, and he, the Ark. The wispy ends of his curly bangs brush into your skin, all fluttery and soft, practically kissing the promises that hymns bring up the apex of your hipbones. The way his hands cup your hips, sides, thighs — it's greedy, so shamelessly uncouth. He'll bite off more than he can chew at this rate.

All the while, you're rendered boneless, laying on the bed with him nestled comfortably between your legs like your limbs are jelly. He's got you pinned as he slurps noisily on your cunt as if you're the juiciest fruit he'll ever eat. Like you're a fig to fill his mouth. Your abdomen clenches, and the cage of heat that rests between your hips begins to ache. Your back arches off the bed, and you cannot swallow your gasps anymore. You're so full up with coke and terrible booze and heat that there's no room left for anything else.

Ambitiously, you try to encourage him. All you manage, thanks to his brain-melting efforts and the drugs that feel like cotton in your brain, is a whining, "Fuuuck— Kirk, I...I... God, yesyesyes—!"

His amused chuckle vibrates against you, indescribable heat and wetness drooling and bubbling up between his mouth and your sopping wet, puffy sex. Swallowing around you, Kirk swipes the pad of his thumb along your clit. You're bulldozed with rapt tension that scorches through you. He devours you whole, living off you with animal thirst (or maybe only the type of lust that a beast can muster). The lewd noise of your whines and breaths mingle with your cunt being slurped up. You can feel the crude smirk on Kirk's wanton, plump mouth. He licks you open relentlessly, and there's just so much of you, wetting between your thighs, the bedsheets, and thickly dripping down his chin, coating everything in a murky milk-film.

Starting at your neglected hole, Kirk rakes up through your slit and ends at your swollen clit. His splayed tongue rolls against you, pouring out a groan at your taste. You squirm, restless— aching for him, aching so much that your heart beats heavily in your chest, your pelvis taut with tension. Kirk uses his arms to keep you vulnerably open, effectively flattening you into nothing. You bite down on your lip when he sneaks a finger into your cunt. Liquid heat drips from you. He's the spark of fire that's getting dangerously close to your puddle of gasoline.

"Fuck me, Kirk," You plead shakily, combing through his ebony curls gingerly. "Please... I, I can't— I can't live without you."

"That's the coke talking, baby," He hums against you. Impishly, Kirk looks up at you through his lashes. There's no light in his dark eyes. His pupils are so blown out that they swallow the colour beneath. You probably look the same.

You laugh, breathless. Still toying with his hair. "Maybe a little."

Deciding to be merciful tonight, Kirk leaves your slippery-wet cunt with a kiss. "Beautiful." You hear him say through huffy exhales.

You swear you feel yourself clench on nothing as you hear his belt being unbuckled. Anticipation prickles through you. He kisses around the underside of your chin and your jaw as he gingerly breaches you. He pushes, groans, and tries to wrap you up in bubble wrap with his coos and kisses. Your slick, hot cunt swallows him in greedily. You feel his hard cockhead bump into your cervix before he withdraws — before eagerly shoving himself back in, punching straight through you and into the mattress.

You tremble; a hollowed-out moan rattles through you. Squirming, you hook your legs around his hips, drawing him into you. The bluntness of your nails bite into his biceps, finding purchase along his sweat-tacky skin. Kirk falls into a rhythm, his hipbones smack into yours, his hands squeeze tender bruises into the tops of your thighs, swathed around him as if he'll dissipate into smoke at any second.

Kirk's breath is erratic. It sweeps along your feverishly warm cheeks sweetly. Even if he smells of booze. You angle yourself as best you can to meet his thrusts, too eager to wait for his fat cock to slam into you. Long, flowing streamlets of slick squelches as his dick finds purchase within your welcoming, velvety insides, as your pussy puffs around his thick shaft, tingling distantly within your nerves.

His body and yours entirely blur together, hazing the lines on where he ends and you begin. Marvelling at him, your fingers trace along your cunt, feeling exactly where he splits you in half on his excited cock. Kirk's thumb joins you, first dragging the pad of his thumb along the hard button of your clit, groping the raw nerves, before feeling your sloppy, puffy sex stretching around him, feeling himself disappear inside of you. Only to reappear as a little bulge in the middle of your pelvis.

His pace rolls into something messy; it degrades into something frantic. Honey-tongued, Kirk mumbles, "Thassit, pretty girl. Gonna make you come." His voice is shaky under the weight of pleasure, purring and low, syrupy to your ears.

"Uh-huh," Your mouth parts, trying to babble around your moans. They stutter every time he delivers a filling stroke into the bottom of your eagerly waiting pussy. His hands are worshipping you. He splays a clammy palm under your belly button, feeling the thick swell of his cock buried beneath your flesh. It's all so... so Bacchanalian. You feel like you're going mad. With every vicious squeeze of your laving cunt, Kirk is wound-up tighter, pawing at you, kneeling into you, piledriving his hips into you until you're practically hollowed out. And still, his hips piston into you relentlessly.

You stir your hips down onto him, squealing out his name as if he'll come save you. Your hands slip up his shoulders, cupping his head, steering him to nuzzle into the side of your face. Your cheek smooshes into his hair. You mouth at his earlobe. His moustache scrapes up your hairline, where he mouths lazy kisses. You feel as if you're being atomised with every eager cant of his hips. The soft flesh of your thigh is cupped into the crook of his forearm, and the hand connected sweeps down to circle along your raw, perky clit.

The sterile hotel room is filled with the sound of his cock pounding into your wetness. Your limbs are twisted together like some gory amalgamation of bodies like you've been Frankensteined together. A cold shiver shoots down your spine. Kirk presses a kiss to your mouth, swallowing your moan as he fiercely impales you.

Like a bass kick, the tempo picks up. Gets grittier. Your fingers curl into the ringlets at the base of his neck, your nails brand his shoulder blade with crescent moons, watching as the universe blacks out. He makes you shiver and sob with your whole chest as if you're molecules and you're about to fuse together.

"Fuck, baby," Kirk hisses, his teeth glittering like a predator's, bared and sharp as they clash into your own teeth, and nip at your lower lip.

You choke on a cry, dazed and fucked brainless. Your mind was already like Swiss cheese, thanks to the coke. The air you greedily gulp dries out your tongue. Something within you swells, making the already tight fit even more snug. His bulbous cockhead presses into all of you, sloshing your slick out until it dribbles and bubbles out of the seams of your fucked-open hole, painting his balls and sparse curls shiny with you.

Goosebumps crawl up your arms and legs. Your chest quavers with half-drawn breaths, shaking and clattering in your lungs. Kirk coos at you. His hot palms burn your skin as he releases your thigh and slides up your side, pulling shudder after shudder from you with each tentative swipe of your hip and waist.

"Want more?" His voice is honeyed, so smooth you want to gulp it down. Ease that itch in your dry throat, hoarse with moans. The hot, gorgeously sinful drags of his cock up the channel of your pussy quickens, forcing squelch after squelch to bubble up between your mixed huffs of air.

Your heart hurts. You nod, fucked too effectively to even attempt words. Kirk turns his face a little, lining up his mouth to land onto yours again. He kisses you. He kisses you mad — you see scarlet madness behind your eyes. His tongue dips and strokes along yours, mouths parted and breaths tucked into mouths. There's a cocaine tint to his tongue. Like liquid gold, he takes every ounce of you. You can feel the pull of his cock seeping into you, and then his hips withdraw. Gluttonous, you smack your hips down to meet his. His heavy dick makes you dizzy every single time, fucking you up the fort of pillows until the bedframe creaks in pain with every delicious swing of his pelvis.

You come at each other like this; eternity cannot be broken. With shaking breaths, your palms tremble and scrub frantically into Kirk's shoulders, finding something to keep your soul in your body. He curls his fingers into you, a hand at the side, another in your hair, and beats into you hard — until you're winded, and suddenly, you don't have enough breath in your body for that scream cooking deep within your belly. Your shoulders shake with noiseless, breathless cries and squeals. Kirk's mouth is nasty as it gulps you down, biting into your bottom lip, laving his tongue over every tooth-shaped divot in your flesh.

He's handsy. He hooks his arm around your back, lifting you an inch off the bed and into him. Your chests are flush. His heartbeat is so prominent, so deafening, that you mistake it for your own, as each crescendo of ba-dump smooths away any illusion of space that separates you.

In an overwhelming jolt and flash of some sort of higher dimension, your cunt spasms helplessly around Kirk. His hips stutter against your thighs, smacking into you so overzealously and thoroughly that it's almost mean. He spills molten hot, thick cum into you like a river, and you a stone, where every drop and thrust reshapes you into something smooth-edged. You feel stuffed. Your scream is voiceless. You think you have whiplash. He's filling you up with a heavy load that settles somewhere so deep inside you that you're not sure if you could possibly reach it. A drug-powered, carnally raging load that's so boiling hot that you feel your body temperature climb higher.

Reluctantly, Kirk pulls away from you. His eyes are something tender as he scans you over, carefully lowering your limp body back onto the bed. His gaze falls onto your wrecked, split-in-half cunt, that's oozing your mingled orgasms. He watches, fascinated, as it washes out of you with each pulse of your hole. He uses an index finger to trace it— your slit, and gathers it up with two fingers, easing it back into you as if it belonged there. As if he was tidying up, and your sex was its rightful place.

The sweat-twisted blankets are halfway on the floor. Kirk scoops your legs together and guides you to lay on your side. His breaths are still a little laboured as he lazily presses his warm mouth to your damp temple. The haze of sex still clings onto the room (which you don't envy housekeeping in their cleaning this room tomorrow morning), though it is softened with the easy, gentle moment.

You clear your throat to say something. "Shh, beautiful. Rest." Kirk beats you to it, his voice soothing and gently urging. You bite your lower lip. You can still feel his teeth marks there. You want more coke. You want some terrible beer. Mostly, you want this moment. Forever and ever.

[mortallyminiaturewerewolf]

Unseen Time

Look what arrived in the mail today!

A new in pack Unseen Shadow Hawk, the undisputed champion of disappointment at the 55 ton weight bracket. Anyways this thing has been waiting several decades to escape its plastic prison so let's go!

There we go, perfect Dougram Vibes.

And here it is with that missile tube added. I can see why they shoved that in the chest on the modern sculpt, it really does crowd up everything with the cannon also there. This is gonna get painted up as the command mech for my Scorpion Empire force, a custom clan tech refit of one ancient Shadow Hawk

P.S I saved the blister pack don't worry, cause I love seeing old marketing material for Battletech.

I presume that little bit of metal wire hidden under the foam is for making aerials. I'm also guessing the 3.50 is the price which is probably USD considering where I bought this from. Quick googling tells me this is about 10 bucks in modern cash (assuming this is from 1986, the date on the model and card) which isn't a bad price.

[outerbankies]

so I'll watch your life in pictures like I used to watch you sleep, and I'll watch you forget me like I used to feel you breathe..." for the prompts

new light: last kiss

new light masterlist a/n: thank you for sending this in!! the 2k prompt celly slooowly trucks along. this takes place in part 9 of the og series!

When Rafe told Topper that Ward had called him home, he should’ve expected this exact scenario.

And yet, it’s still somehow a surprise when Topper and Kelce pull up to Tannyhill on Friday evening, mere hours since Rafe even pulled in himself. It was an exhausting drive home, and an even more exhausting talking-to from his father afterward. Add onto that that he hadn’t been sleeping much at all in the past week, and Rafe felt like half-dead climbing into Topper’s Jeep.

“Lodge?” Topper had asked. 

Rafe had shrugged, looking away with intention before he could see the look his friends exchanged between themselves. But the view out the window was no better when Topper drove right by your house. 

You were everywhere here.

Rafe knew coming home would be taxing. But it was like he could feel you in the stubborn humidity still hanging around in October almost as clearly as he had felt you in California only a week ago. In June, you’d insisted on leaving a window open to sleep because you missed the sound of cicadas in the summer, and Rafe would wake up sweating buckets to find you sleeping peacefully to his side, bodies pressed so closely together he could feel your chest moving when you breathed.

And it was he could hear your laughter in the sound of the ocean waves crashing on his drive right by the water, all the way out to Figure 8. The salt in the air, the chaotic noises of the marina. 

After a few drinks, Rafe figures he’ll probably be able to see your outline walking through town.

Topper’s whistle is shrill in his ear, and Rafe really needs to do a better job pretending he’s alright if he’s going to make it through this weekend without spilling anything. 

“Dude. What’s with you?” Rafe is asked. Even Kelce, never not known to fill an awkward silence, is looking at him silently from across the table. 

“Nothing,” Rafe decides sipping down the rest of his IPA until its foam. Wordless eye contact with Charlie at the bar, and another one’s coming.

“Old man give it to you pretty good today?” Kelce asks.

“Kinda,” Rafe answers. He can’t really remember at this point. It was a lot of the same; a lot about you. His distraction, his hindrance. His everything.

“Alright then. So… shots?” Topper asks hesitantly. Rafe shrugs, his go-to for the night he supposes, and Kelce nods emphatically; Topper’s taking that as good enough, venturing to the bar. Rafe watches him try and fail to cut through a pack of tourists with no luck. Tourists, at Rafe’s dingy bar on The Cut, this late in the season.

“Rafe.” Kelce says, and it sounds like it might have been the third or fourth try.

“Sorry, dude,” Rafe replies. “You know, I think I’m going home after this round. I’m exhausted—been driving all fuckin’ day.”

“No, no worries,” Kelce says. “I was just asking if you saw McCall’s story the other night.”

Rafe sees Kelce’s phone in his hand and averts his eyes as quickly as he can, squandering the urge to start choking on his spit by loudly clearing his throat. He trains his focus on his empty pint instead, dragging the glass and its condensation back and forth across the table, wondering when his new one—or better yet, that round of shots—will materialize. “No. I haven’t. You follow McCall?”

“Yeah, she’s hot. And shit was so funny, dude. Y/n/n was hammered last night,” Kelce laughs.

Rafe should’ve know that’s where this was heading—why else would Kelce bring that up. But he’s 15 again. Then 19, 20 and 21, too. All those ages in between. He’s every age he ever was before he finally got you to fall in love with him, dreading the moment Kelce inevitably brought up your name. 

Things were a little different this time. Rafe’s not an embarrassed and lovesick teenager willing his blush to creep back down his neck. He supposes he’s more of a man now, jaded and stuck walking around his hometown like an open wound, while you’re out with your friends. But he guesses he is, too. 

He should be happy, shouldn’t he? That you seem to be having fun? He’d ended it. You’d agreed. Even though he could tell you didn’t want to, you had. In way, you’d let him go, too. You’d made a choice just like he had, and maybe it wasn’t getting you down as much as it was him. He’d broken your heart, and you’d deleted your photos together and went out drinking with your friends. 

God, where are those shots?

“I didn’t even know Y/n still drank like that,” Kelce continues. “Not without you around anyway. I’m talking senior ditch day levels of shitfaced, if you remember that.” 

You blacked out on Kildare’s senior ditch day, Rafe remembers it well. Because he’d been the designated driver for Matteo’s party, which meant he was the one who had to then decide which friend was sober enough to watch the rest of your friends while he got you out of there, safely out of that house and into your own, all without losing it on whatever guy from the lacrosse team had got you that way and whatever friend of Rafe’s hadn’t been watching it closely enough. Rafe had been the one to hand you off to your younger brother, praying to god Dylan wouldn’t tell and make Rafe complicit in your parents’ future disdain. And he’d been the one to receive an embarrassed text from you the next day. And he’d been the one who didn’t care, just glad you were okay. That Rafe could never fathom sharing a first kiss with you, but the last one would make a lot more sense to him.

“Yeah, well. Not really my problem anymore,” he snaps, before he can decide to do otherwise, residual anger from that day toppling over the mess of emotions he already was.

Kelce rolls his eyes. “Please. You were making her your problem before she ever even was. And I’ll drink to that, actually—I wonder where those shots—”

“I broke up with her.”

Kelce cracks a grin, letting out a surprised laugh. A few seconds go by, and the grin falls. “I know you’re not joking about that, Rafe.”

A sad country songs takes over on the speakers, and Rafe hides his face in his hands, unable to bear the look on Kelce’s face when it finally dawns on him. It was hard enough around the only others who knew, and Rafe would honestly prefer his roommates in Georgia were still as oblivious as Kelce had been a few seconds ago, and as Topper still is at the bar right now. He’d tried to keep it that way, for a while at least, but it didn’t take long after Graham picked him up from the airport for his best friend to figure it out. 

Graham must have passed it on to Sawyer and Cody soon after, because he didn’t get a second of normalcy before the kid gloves came out. Those guys didn’t even know you, hadn’t even seen Rafe around you save for grainy FaceTimes over the summer, the ones Rafe had cut off in favor of giving you his undivided attention. He can’t believe he was even nervous at the idea of you meeting them at this point—he’d give anything to stress over something so idiotic now.

But Kelce knew you, better than he knew Rafe or maybe just the same. And Rafe didn’t know what to make of Kelce having no idea of what had happened, indication you’d told him as much as Rafe had. When his friends showed up at Tannyhill today, he’d half expected the death glare he’s getting right now when Rafe picks his head up again.

“Say it again.”

“Kelce,” Rafe groans, pained.

“Say it again,” he presses. “Say it one more time, Rafe, and I’ll know you’re serious.”

“I broke up with her,” he says. “We broke up.”

“You broke up with her?” Kelce repeats. “Or you broke up?”

“Whoa.” 

Topper’s reappeared, a flight of shots in his hands that Rafe is shocked actually make it onto the table and don’t smash all over the sticky ground. 

“Whoa,” Topper repeats dumbly. “What? Who broke up with who?”

“I don’t know, Top,” Kelce says, scooting his stool back, the feet scraping loudly on the same sticky floor. “‘Cause I’m having trouble understanding, too.”

“Can you not be so fucking dramatic?” Rafe sneers, picking the shot glass closest to him and downing it without a thought. He downs the second closest, too, just for good measure. 

“I’m gonna call her right now,” Kelce warns, his phone already in his hand. “You have one more chance to tell me this is the dumbest fucking joke you’ve ever told.”

“Guys,” Topper says hesitantly. He glances between Rafe and the only remaining shot, worried.

Rafe looks to Kelce, and having no doubt he’s serious, gives the only reply that comes to mind. “Will y’make sure she’s alright?”

“God fucking dammit, Cameron,” Kelce sighs, beelining for the front door, somewhere Rafe is glad he won’t have to hear whatever comes out of his mouth next. 

Topper sits down, looking bewildered, picking up that third shot. He offers it to Rafe, who waves him off, before taking it. “I’m sorry. What?”

Rafe hasn’t cried, Rafe doesn’t cry, but if his best friend makes him say it one more time then he might have to put stock into the tightening in his throat or the pressure behind his eyes he’d been feeling since he left California. 

He’d been sleeping in your bed a week ago, waking up hours before you because his body was still ahead, content to let you sleep as long as possible while he took in everything he felt being close to you again, how your face and hair and nails had subtly changed since he last got to see you in August. How you had pictures of him by your bed, stuck on your mirror in your bathroom, hanging in the hallway and even under magnets on the fridge downstairs. How your blinds were in need of fixing, your sheets smelled just like they did back in Kildare, how the stack of books on your bedside table—one of their pages split down the middle by a polaroid he knew was of him and Wilbur—was so close to falling off Rafe barely dared to set his phone and wallet down but did anyway. 

Because they fit, just like he somehow fit in your bed and in your heart and in your life, so grateful in these moments he got to love you without thinking twice about it, wondering how he ever got along without them. And you’d wake up with fake annoyances that he hadn’t woken you up with him, kissing him sleepily before going downstairs to start a pot of coffee. 

“I don’t know what to tell you, Top,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Well—tell me what happened, to start,” Topper says. “Or—are you ready for that?”

When Charlie finally, finally, brings over another beer, Rafe figures he might was well try. “I felt like I wasn’t doing anything right. She’s crying all the time, I’m fucking up and pissing her off left and right. Her friends… fuck, I don’t even know if they liked me. I’m sure they don’t now.” 

“But that’s not why…”

“I know you’re trying to understand, but—”

“And I can’t, dude. What? You broke up with Y/n/n?”

“Yes, dude, fuck! Alright? I broke up with her. I fucked it up. I don’t know why everyone’s so fucking surprised—I was bound to screw it up at some point, wasn’t I? I’m a mess, I lied to her, I was never gonna be good enough for all of it or her.”

“You lied?” Topper asks. 

“I lied to my dad,” Rafe corrects, frustrated. “Why  do you think I’m here? This is my life. This. My job, my dad, this shitty bar on this shitty island. And she’s…”

So good, too good. Way too good for Rafe.

Topper must agree to an extent, and Rafe doesn’t know why that makes him feel better, that his friend lets the silence drag for so long. Maybe it gives Rafe time to convince himself he hadn’t fucked up, that he’d made the right move in letting you go. He doesn’t know how he ever convinced himself this wasn’t the only way this could end.

Topper finally nods his head in recognition. “That’s heavy. No chance you’ll work it out?”

He barely thought at all this week, going through the motions like a zombie, ignoring his roommates when they changed their tack and decided Rafe needed to get over it by going out or calling up an old favorite. The nausea that kind of thinking gave Rafe left him with no other choice but to start locking his door and stop answering their texts until they’d worried he died.

Kelce approaches the table again, and Rafe looks for any sign he can that will indicate how it went, but he only addresses Topper.

“I can’t get a signal outside—fuck The Cut—I’m gonna try the bathroom. And you,” Kelce says, pointing at Rafe. “You better find your own way home until I can figure out if I need to punch you in the face or not.”

“Stop, Kelce, what the fuck, man?” Topper says, watching him go. But he stands to follow him before turning back to Rafe. “I’m gonna go cool him off, alright? Don’t go anywhere, you’re shitfaced. We can work this out.”

Rafe watches them walk away, wondering briefly if he’s gonna lose either of them over this. He might deserve it, he decides as he ignores Topper’s only instructions, tossing a few bills at the end of the bar along with all three shot glasses stacked neatly inside the empty pint he’s holding. Charlie nods at him as he does.

Rafe pushes the door open, deciding he could use the walk.

[hewkii]

Acht (Dedf1sh) Cosplay Rundown

feel free to copy or take inspiration :]

assembly instructions and print settings/materials for 3d printed parts are on thingiverse (headphones) (other parts)

models designed by me are in brackets in the materials list

Hat/Tentacles

black trucker hat with blank white front panel

[dedstencil.stl]

fabric paint

shiny indigo fabric

less shiny white fabric

glow-in-the-dark pigment powder

polyfill

metal marbles (to weight the ends so they hang properly)

two of [octosucc.obj] in different sizes

acrylic paint

conveniently enough i've had this hat hanging on my door for years. i got it with N from pokemon in mind but i never actually did that cosplay ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

here are the sketches i based my patterns on (1 square=1 cm). don't forget to add seam tolerances

Headphones

full details on thingiverse (mudmouth not included)

Arms

mesh bolero with built-in gloves

rit dye

fabric paint

10 of [finger_claw_vase.stl] in varying sizes

i wear claws under the gloves, but sometimes i'll wind up taking them off after a while since they can get uncomfortable and they make it hard to use my phone :/

Bracelet

[acht_bangle_vase.stl]

acrylic paint

glow-in-the-dark pigment powder

glossy clear coat

a cut up mello yello bottle

packing tape

eva foam

Misc. Doodads

red mirror shades

color chips

necklace chain

[acht_tag_jelleton.stl]

[acht_tag_ident.stl]

[acht_tag_hook.obj]

did you know that acht gives eight a mobility chip in the trailer but a power chip in the actual game? bc i didn't notice until after i'd already finished making the mobility one. so i've got a spare chip i guess

the dogtags were kind of a spur-of-the-moment creative liberty. i had the jelleton one sitting around from some experiments with composite filaments, and while i was brainstorming a way to incorporate acht's cool fish hook into the cosplay without needing to actually get my ears pierced it all sorta clicked together. i made the ident tag shortly afterwards and swiftly forgot what the text says :P

the rest of it

dress tunic thingy

metal eyelets

red string

camo pants

combat boots

i skimped on accuracy in favor of comfort for the lower half ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ the dress is more of a shirt, i added comfy pants bc i hate wearing colored tights (or god forbid painting my thighs green), and shorter boots bc more accurate ones are expensive as hell. plus any heel higher than this makes walking feel like playing qwop (skill issue). speaking of which does it bug anybody else how long acht's feet are on their in-game model or is that just me

idk if it counts as part of the cosplay but i also add a leather jacket when my arms get cold. i think it goes hard

To-Do:

ink the shaved streaks onto the hairnet

swap out the red leather cord for something less stiff

see if beans would work better than marbles

hand bandages?

single pointy tooth?

make a pre-sanitized version so i don't have to scrub off face paint every time