#process piping standards

[little-p-eng-engineering]

Unleashing the Potential of Little P.Eng. for ASME B31.3 Process Piping Calculation Services

In the ever-evolving landscape of the process piping industry, ASME B31.3 Process Piping Calculation Services stands as a paramount standard for design, inspection, and construction of process plants. As we delve into the complex world of piping engineering, we encounter Little P.Eng., an innovative engineering consulting firm pioneering the application of these industry standards.

With years of profound expertise and a cutting-edge approach, Little P.Eng. shines as the gold standard in providing ASME B31.3 Process Piping Calculation Services. This article aims to shed light on the instrumental role that Little P.Eng. plays in revolutionizing the field of process piping.

Understanding ASME B31.3 Process Piping Standards:

ASME B31.3, a prominent subsection of the American Society of Mechanical Engineers (ASME) B31 Code for Pressure Piping, is a comprehensive set of guidelines for process piping. It includes various aspects such as materials, fabrication, examination, testing, and much more. Given its criticality, these standards must be implemented with utmost precision and accuracy, an arena where Little P.Eng. truly excels.

Little P.Eng.: Your Reliable Partner for Piping Calculation Services:

As a recognized leader in the engineering consulting sector, Little P.Eng. is fully equipped to handle all facets of ASME B31.3 process piping calculation services. Leveraging the expertise of highly-skilled professionals, the latest technologies, and deep-rooted understanding of ASME standards, Little P.Eng. delivers innovative, accurate, and cost-effective solutions.

Little P.Eng. and Comprehensive Calculation Services:

Little P.Eng.'s range of calculation services spans from pressure design of piping components, flexibility and stress analysis, to support design and selection. Their commitment to precision, comprehensive reports, and prompt delivery, all tied to their deep-rooted understanding of ASME B31.3 standards, ensure that they stay ahead of the competition.

Embracing the Latest Technology:

Little P.Eng. makes optimal use of the latest technologies to provide unmatched ASME B31.3 process piping calculation services. Using state-of-the-art software tools, they simulate, analyze, and validate designs, leading to safe, reliable, and efficient process piping systems.

Customer Satisfaction: Little P.Eng.'s Hallmark:

With a steadfast commitment to customer satisfaction, Little P.Eng. prioritizes its clients' needs at every stage of the project. This results in services that not only adhere to ASME B31.3 standards but also align with the specific requirements of the clients.

Let's delve deeper into the pressure design calculations performed by Little P.Eng. under the ASME B31.3 Process Piping Calculation Services. Here are the key types of pressure design calculations:

Wall Thickness Calculations: One of the most crucial aspects of pressure design calculations involves determining the minimum wall thickness required for pipes to safely contain the pressure. Little P.Eng. uses sophisticated software tools to compute this accurately, factoring in variables like operating pressure, material strength, temperature, and pipe diameter.

Flange Rating Calculations: Little P.Eng. expertly handles the complexity of flange rating calculations, which involve determining the maximum pressure that flanges can handle without leaking. The process considers factors such as temperature, bolting material, gasket type, and flange material.

Branch Connection Calculations: When designing a process piping system, engineers often need to calculate the reinforcements required for branch connections. Little P.Eng. performs these calculations with precision, ensuring the integrity and safety of the piping system.

Expansion Joint Pressure Thrust Calculations: Expansion joints are vital components of process piping systems that accommodate thermal expansion or contraction. Little P.Eng. uses advanced tools to calculate the pressure thrust exerted on these joints, thus ensuring their optimal design.

Safety Valve Reaction Force Calculations: Little P.Eng. also determines the reaction force exerted on safety valves when they open in response to excessive pressure. These calculations are essential for the safe and efficient operation of the process piping system.

Pipe Support Span Calculations: Pipe support span calculations are critical for ensuring that the pipe doesn't sag excessively under its weight and operating conditions. Little P.Eng. performs these calculations meticulously, keeping in mind various factors such as pipe size, material, and temperature.

High-Pressure Piping Design Calculations: For high-pressure piping systems, Little P.Eng. offers specialized calculation services that consider unique challenges such as material selection, joint design, and testing procedures, ensuring the integrity of the system even under extreme pressure conditions.

Conclusion:

The ASME B31.3 Process Piping Calculation Services can be quite challenging to navigate without the assistance of an experienced partner like Little P.Eng. Their meticulous attention to detail, robust understanding of industry standards, and unflinching commitment to quality make them an invaluable asset in the realm of process piping.

Little P.Eng.'s team of expert engineers works tirelessly to stay at the forefront of evolving industry standards, technologies, and market demands, ensuring their clients get the best of what the industry has to offer. With their forward-thinking approach, they not only provide services but also contribute to shaping the future of the process piping industry.

Keywords:

Little P.Eng., ASME B31.3 Process Piping Calculation Services, engineering consulting, process piping industry, process piping standards, pressure design, flexibility and stress analysis, support design and selection, customer satisfaction, Wall Thickness Calculations, Flange Rating Calculations, Branch Connection Calculations, Expansion Joint Pressure Thrust Calculations, Safety Valve Reaction Force Calculations, Pipe Support Span Calculations, High-Pressure Piping Design Calculations.

Tags:

Little P.Eng.

engineering consulting

Expansion Joint Pressure Thrust Calculations

Safety Valve Reaction Force Calculations

High-Pressure Piping Design Calculations

ASME B31.3 Process Piping Calculation Services

process piping industry

process piping standards

pressure design

flexibility and stress analysis

support design and selection

customer satisfaction

Wall Thickness Calculations

Flange Rating Calculations

Branch Connection Calculations

Pipe Support Span Calculations

Engineering Services

Pipe Stress Analysis Services

Piping Design

Located in Calgary, Alberta; Vancouver, BC; Toronto, Ontario; Edmonton, Alberta; Houston Texas; Torrance, California; El Segundo, CA; Manhattan Beach, CA; Concord, CA; We offer our engineering consultancy services across Canada and United States. Meena Rezkallah.

[batboyblog]

Things the Biden-Harris Administration Did This Week #39

October 18-25 2024.

President Biden issued the first presidential apology on behalf of the federal government to America's Native American population for the Indian boarding school policy. For 150 years the federal government operated a system of schools which aimed to destroy Native culture through the forced assimilation of native children. At these schools students faced physical, emotional, and sexual abuse, and close to 1,000 died. The Biden-Harris Administration has been historic for Native and Tribal rights. From the appointment of the first ever Native American cabinet member, Secretary of the Interior Deb Haaland, to the investment of $46 billion dollars on tribal land, to 200 new co-stewardship agreements. The last 4 years have seen a historic investment in and expansion of tribal rights.

The Biden-Harris Administration proposed a new rule which would make contraceptive medication (the pill) free over the counter with most Insurance. The new rule would ban cost sharing for contraception products, including the pill, condoms, and emergency contraception. On top of over the counter medications, the new rule will also strength protections for prescribed contraception without cost sharing as well.

The EPA announced its finalized rule strengthening standards for lead paint dust in pre-1978 housing and child care facilities. There is no safe level of exposure to lead particularly for children who can suffer long term developmental consequences from lead exposure. The new standards set the lowest level of lead particle that can be identified by a lab as the standard for lead abatement. It's estimated 31 million homes built before the ban on lead paint in 1978 have lead paint and 3.8 million of those have one or more children under the age of 6. The new rule will mean 1.2 million fewer people, including over 300,000 children will not be exposed to lead particles every year. This comes after the Biden-Harris Administration announced its goal to remove and replace all lead pipes in America by the end of the decade.

The Department of Transportation announced a $50 million dollar fine against American Airlines for its treatment of disabled passengers and their wheelchairs. The fine stems from a number of incidences of humiliating and unfair treatment of passages between 2019 and 2023, as well as video documented evidence of mishandling wheelchairs and damaging them. Half the fine will go to replacing such damaged wheelchairs. The Biden administration has leveled a historic number of fines against the airlines ($225 million) for their failures. It also published a Airline Passengers with Disabilities Bill of Rights, passed a new rule accessible lavatories on aircraft, and is working on a rule to require airlines to replace lost or damaged wheelchairs with equal equipment at once.

The Department of Energy announced $430 million dollars to help boost domestic clean energy manufacturing in former coal communities. This invests in projects in 15 different communities, in places like Texas, West Virginia, Pennsylvania, Tennessee, Kentucky, and Michigan. The plan will bring about 1,900 new jobs in communities struggling with the loss of coal. Projects include making insulation out of recycled cardboard, low carbon cement production, and industrial fiber hemp processing.

The Department of Transportation announced $4.2 billion in new infrastructure investment. The money will go to 44 projects across the country. For example the MBTA will get $400 million to replace the 92 year old Draw 1 bridge and renovate North Station.

The Department of Transportation announced nearly $200 million to replace aging natural gas pipes. Leaking gas lines represent a serious public health risk and also cost costumers. Planned replacements in Georgia and North Carolina for example will save the average costumer there over $900 on their gas bill a year. Replacing leaking lines will also remove 1,000 metric tons of methane pollution, annually.

The Department of the Interior announced $244 million to address legacy pollution in Pennsylvania coal country. This comes on top of $400 million invested earlier this year. This investment will help close dangerous mine shafts, reclaim unstable slopes, improve water quality by treating acid mine drainage, and restore water supplies damaged by mining.

Data shows that President Biden's Inflation Reduction Act (passed with Vice-President Harris' tie breaking vote) has saved seniors $1 billion dollars on out-of-pocket drug costs. Seniors with certain high priced drugs saw their yearly out of pocket costs capped at $3,500 for 2024. In 2024 all seniors using Medicare Part D will see their out of pocket costs capped at $2,000 for the year. It's estimated if the $2,000 cap had been in effect this year 4.6 million seniors would have hit it by June and not have had to pay any more for medication for the rest of the year.

The Department of Education announced a new proposed rule to bring student debt relief for 8 million struggling borrowers. The Biden-Harris Administration has managed despite road blocks from Republicans in Congress, the courts and law suits from Republican states to bring student loan forgiveness to 5 million Americans so far through different programs. This latest rule would take into account many financial hardships faced by people to determine if they qualify to have their student loans forgiven. The final rule cannot be finalized before 2025 meaning its fate will be decided at the election.

The Department of Agriculture announced $1.5 billion in 92 partner-driven conservation projects. These projects aim at making farming more susceptible and environmental friendly, 16 projects are about water conservation in the West, 6 support use of innovative technologies to reduce enteric methane emissions in livestock. $100 million has been earmarked for Tribal-led projects.

[chaotic-minds-think-alike]

Finally got around to finishing this houugh... it was a lot of work but I really like the end result!! Naturally, I'll try my best to list some of the thoughts I have in mind for these guys below. Long post ahead!

These lizards are intended to be ALMOST fully arthropod-like but due to my lack of understanding of bug anatomy and creative liberties, they are in that gray spec bio area so don't take any inconsistencies too seriously (or rather, fuck logic, and accept them how I describe them regardless)

Inspirations: - my lesser detailed lizard design - my friend's slugcats - wasps for the head contours, various insects for the exoskeleton guidelines, caterpillars, various stylistic slugcats across the #rainworld tag - the burning need for something more detailed and cool in my drawing vocabulary

The actual meat of the post; extra facts: - Lizards are related to slugcats (in my au, if you wanna call it that?) or at least the very early version of them. This idea is borrowed from this post and in my au, lizards evolve a similar tail to a slugcat's to aid in propelling themselves through tight spaces, acting as a 5th limb. - Similar to my old vulture post, lizards share a similar lifecycle. The majority of the larval stage is spent underground and in tight spots, far from their main predator. Lizard larva will undergo pupation similar to how beetles do, leaving behind broken cavities in pipes where carnivorous plants favor to take root. Additionally to the vulture's terrible parental drive, they often mistake their own larva for lizard hatchlings. - A lizard's skin is leathery and retains moisture for quite a while. Some lizards have a thicker layered mantle than others, allowing them to take punctures to the abdomen and still recover. - Not pictured, but will be described, are a few outliers to the standard lizard body plan. Caramels have muscular hind legs akin to a grasshopper but this means their legs cannot slot together and thus they have a wider leg splay than other species. Eels and salamanders are not lizards but lizard mimics. Yellow lizards' antennae attach to a hump on the snout rather than the rear of the head as seen here. Cyan lizards' mantles are more square shaped due to their leap drums on either side of their bodies and have a 3rd mantle that runs the length of their tail and caps the tailtip. - Cyan lizard's organs are called leap drums and act similarly to our lungs. They are a ring of muscle which contracts and acts as a spring loaded mechanism to propel the creature via combustion through a mysterious chemical process. Because the color of debris left behind during a leap share the same color as the lizard, perhaps they are discarded scales, formerly in place to protect the cavities housing the explosion. - They have similar organs to vertebrates within their abdomen, probably surrounded by cartilage. (not that important, I haven't thought that much about this) - (More may be added later as I remember)

[ccorinthians]

Omg I’m already in love w this account!! Not much Dallas Winston stables anymore😔but could u write a Dallas x fem reader fic where Dallas takes her virginity and gets kind of rough towards the end of it?

a/n: aaah thank u sm!! this means a lot and sorry for the wait this took me a while to actually write. i wanted to make this a good length so it took me just a little longer to think of. p.s i don't actually write fem readers too well but i hope it was up to ur standards!

tw: nsfw + light mention of smoking at the end

⋆ well, it was my first time by @ccorinthians dallas winston fic ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

maybe it was because they'd been friends for a while. or maybe it was because the two just understood each other even if others couldn't. the way the two just knew what to say and do when they were together, and especially the way they made each other feel. it was like a routine, a daily routine that occurred between them each day.

but, perhaps the alcohol got the best of them. because after all, that's the only conclusion you could come to as he rubbed his clothed cock into the middle of your jeans, the head leaking through his denim pants. your entire body felt as if it were on fire with every touch and sensation of his hands, including that sloppy trail of kisses he left along the side of your neck.

it was either that or perhaps the way your hands just melted into one another, and the way he spoke soft words into your ear. his hands roamed from one place to the other. his grip was tight, almost painful but surprisingly loose enough to allow a small gap between your bodies as he walked with you in his arms. he carefully walked over his messy floor covered clothing and items on his floor as he led the two of you into his bedroom.

he actually almost tripped in the process. your hips lifted off of his arms as you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. a small gasp made it's way out your mouth as you slapped his bicep. "dallas! are you trying to knock me down?"

as if on cue, dallas happened to trip again, practically throwing you onto his bed as he caught himself on the edge of it. "sorry.. i wasn't tryin' to. but geez, will you pipe down for a second? im really tryin' my best out here.."

to be fair, dallas wasn't one for falling in love. he never was. in fact, he'd always come to you when he needed advice after an argument with a fling of his. and keyword, fling. never an actual girlfriend. he never understood what relationships even meant. gosh, he wasn't even sure any of it was even love. i mean, dallas winston never did love. he was, well, dallas after all. the only person he'd ever consider himself close to was johnny. and you. and perhaps the other annoying kids that pestered him every second they had like pony, and two-bit. and steve.

but, he was tougher, and meaner, and colder than the rest. so it was a bit weird.

it was weird, the way his lips brushed against the shell of your ear. his hands found their way to your hips as he positioned you on his lap, your legs extending to wrap around his waist. there was only the occasional beeping from his fire alarm that desperately needed new batteries. and, the taunting moans you let slip past your lips.

his own groans made their way to your core. the way he whispered so quietly, his tone was almost saccharine. it was quite addicting. his wandered under your shirt and back up your stomach until you felt his fingers brush against your covered breasts.

his hand then continued its journey, fingers dancing along the soft fabric of your bra and he unclipped it gently, lifting up your tshirt and pulling it over your head. there was a moment of silence as he analyzed you. every curve, every small dip, and especially every little mark your body had. all the birthmarks on the surface of your skin and even the ones you weren't aware of.

this, was something you hadn't ever experienced. not the warmth that pooled over your stomach, or the heat you felt rising in your cheeks. your chest rose and fell with every second that passed by, panting. this was great. everything you could've wanted with the most unexpected yet expected guy of your dreams.

and dallas. he was so gentle. every little movement he made was so slow, as if to not startle you. like you were some kind of entity about to poof away (i had no idea what i meant here).

and soon enough. the two of you were entangled in each other's arms. skin to skin. the room was loud with your cries and silent pleas, his name leaving your mouth in a mantra. your hands reached behind his already irritated back, leaving more marks as your fingernails dug into whatever part of his body you could find.

his face scrunched slightly as he neared his climax, and a little because his back ached but he didn't say anything. oh, but you, on the other hand had already finished maybe three times? gosh was the man brutal. you didn't bother to hide it either. instead, you spoke with what little strength you had, bottom lip quivering as you spoke in his face. your voice was strained, weak as you begged for him to finish himself off somewhere else, to get away from you.

"dally, get outta me! just finish yourself off, but far away from me. im tired, so tired!"

did he listen? no. his fingers instead reached to your sensitive clit, rubbing circles in a harsh manner. "c'mon doll.. 'ts only a bit more, yeah? ill be done before you know it." his free hand rested on your hip, runting his own into you without a break. his mouth fell agape, eyes fluttering closed as he leaned into the crook of your collarbone. you could feel his hot breath. sweat dripped down your temples and your hair clung to your forehead.

every ounce of gentleness he had showed earlier was sizzling away. not to say that he was being really rough, but he had almost completely lost himself in the way your walls clenched his length. those little squeaks you made when he bit down on your shoulder didn't help him hold himself back. he wanted so badly to toss and drain you until a few tears spilled past your cheeks. all with consent obviously. but, not because he was mean. he just wanted to see what kind of face you'd make.

"yeah, 'm so close.." his voice was shaky and his breathing was uneven, his chest pressing against yours as he let out one last groan before spurting strings of liquid into the condom (unfortunately).

what had started from such a gentle moment ended with him abusing (metaphorically) every area of your body and an interesting conversation to tag along.

he brought a blunt up to his lips, head resting against his headboard. "yer like. real tight, did'ya know that? not 'cause it's a bad thing but you almost split my dick in half." he wrapped an arm around you, blowing the smoke into your face.

you glared at him as you playfully slapped his face away and tossed a leg over his lap, raising an eyebrow. "i mean, it was my first time after all. it also didn't help that you attempted to stretch me out for two seconds before wanting to shove yourself into me."

"fine, next time you'll see how much of a gentleman i can be."

[til-all-are-loved]

{This Charming Man Part 7} MTMTE Megatron x Reader | SFW

Total word count 11k Chapter word count 2.2k

You meet with Ultra Magnus briefly—little more than an exchange of pleasantries and business. He stands as rigid as ever, posture impeccable, optics scanning you as if assessing your readiness for duty. You think about telling him. The words sit at the edge of your tongue, heavy and certain: I’m resigning.

But something stops you. Maybe the timing isn’t right. Maybe you just don’t want to deal with whatever reaction he might have. Instead, you nod along to whatever he’s saying, make an excuse about being needed elsewhere, and leave.

Elsewhere turns out to be the ship’s repurposed presentation room, now a makeshift movie theater. The walls still bear traces of their original function—screens meant for briefings and tactical analyses, now adjusted to accommodate entertainment. Your usual crowd is already there when you arrive: Swerve, talking animatedly; Tailgate, bouncing with enthusiasm; Rewind, inspecting the setup with keen interest; and Chromedome, standing slightly apart, arms crossed in a loose but thoughtful manner.

You’re here to help install some human tech—a simple but effective resolution upgrade that should bring the video quality up to standards a Cybertronian processor might not typically prioritize. It’s a task you enjoy, something tactile and familiar, and the banter around you makes it all the better.

“So, wait,” Swerve says, peering over your shoulder. “You’re telling me that your movies were always this... fuzzy?”

“Not fuzzy,” you correct, tightening a connection. “Just lower resolution. Human eyes are a lot more discerning than you’d think.”

Rewind, ever the archivist, hums in agreement. “It makes sense. Your visual fidelity technology had to be top-tier to make up for organic limitations. Cybertronian optics process differently—we don’t always need that kind of refinement.”

Tailgate pipes up, “Yeah, but I still think it’s weird. If you can’t see in, like, multiple spectrums, what’s the point of making it so crisp?”

You laugh. “Because we like things to look good.”

The conversation flows easily, filled with the kind of light-hearted exchanges you’ve come to expect from this group. But amid the chatter, your attention drifts to Chromedome. He’s present, polite when addressed, but never fully engaged. There’s a distance—not unkind, but undeniable. It isn’t the first time you’ve noticed this with some of the larger bots. They acknowledge you, even respect you, but there’s an invisible barrier between acknowledgment and true camaraderie.

Size. A simple thing, but a defining factor. The minibots don’t feel so out of reach—perhaps because they, too, know what it’s like to be the smaller presence in a vast world. You look at Tailgate, at Swerve, at Rewind, and feel a familiar warmth settle in your chest. The small have to stick together. Even if you barely reach Swerve’s hip, there’s a shared understanding here that transcends stature.

Eventually, the installation is done. Chromedome is the first to leave, murmuring something about needing to check in with Rewind later. The rest of you head into a backroom to start uploading footage, eager to see if the system works as intended.

And that’s when he arrives.

Megatron’s presence is felt before it’s seen—a shift in atmosphere, a tension that settles like a tangible weight. He steps into the dimly lit space, expression unreadable, optics glinting with something you can’t quite place.

The chatter dies down. Swerve, always one to recognize an awkward moment before it happens, mutters something about checking the front display and quickly excuses himself. Tailgate follows after a brief pause, Rewind lingering only a moment longer before he, too, disappears through the doorway.

That leaves just you. And Megatron.

He doesn’t speak right away. His optics flick toward the newly installed tech, then back to you. You sense his attention, but it’s not sharp, not demanding. Not yet.

“Y/N you seem… distracted.”

His voice isn’t just measured—it’s cold. There’s no room for pleasantries.

You rest a hand against the console, watching him. “Is that a problem?”

His optics narrow, something simmering behind them. “It will be.”

That lands heavier than you expect.

You swallow, holding your ground. “Why?”

He steps closer, not looming, but enough to make the distance between you feel small. “Because there’s no room for uncertainty here.” His tone is flat, clipped. “Not for me. Not for you.”

Your fingers curl slightly against the console. You crane your neck to meet him in the optic, “I don’t think I’ve been careless.”

Megatron’s optics flash. “Then what do you call this?” His hand flicks toward you—not quite a gesture, not quite dismissive, but something in between. “You hesitate. Your mind is elsewhere. I see it. Everyone sees it.”

You hold his gaze, pulse in your throat. “And what? That makes me a liability?”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t answer right away. Maybe because he doesn’t know the answer himself.

You exhale sharply. “One moment, you act like I barely matter. Next, you’re keeping me close. What am I supposed to make of that?”

That brings the briefest flicker of hesitation. It’s quick, nearly imperceptible, but it’s there.

“I’m not obligated to explain myself to you.” His tone should be final, but something about it isn’t.

You let out a slow breath, shaking your head. “I think you want me to be useful.” You glance at him, watching for any reaction. “Beyond that? I have no idea.”

His fingers twitch at his sides. There’s something unreadable in his expression, something too tightly wound. His vents cycle once, slow and deliberate, like he’s forcing the tension from his frame.

“…That makes two of us.”

That shouldn’t throw you. But it does.

For a second, it feels like the whole conversation is leading somewhere dangerous, like pressing forward might tip it over an edge you’re not sure you’re ready to face.

So you don’t. Instead, you say the first thing that slips past your lips before you can overthink it.

“…Would you like to watch a movie?”

He hesitates. Not out of doubt, not out of calculation—but because for once, he doesn’t seem to know what to say.

The moment lingers just long enough before he steps back, exhaling as he turns toward the exit. “We’ll see,” is all he says before he leaves.

The door hisses shut behind him.

You barely have a second to process what just happened before Swerve and Tailgate barrel back in, the shift in atmosphere immediate.

“So what was that?” Swerve says, grinning like he already knows the answer.

Tailgate bounces beside him. “Are you inviting Megatron to movie night?”

You roll your eyes, pushing off the console as you head for the door. “He won’t show.”

---

Later that evening…

The steady hum of Tailgate’s engine fills the corridors as he drives you toward the repurposed theater room, his usual enthusiasm bubbling through the quiet ride. It’s comfortable, even if the question he asks isn’t.

“So, you and Megatron,” he starts, voice light but curious. “What’s the story there?”

You huff a small laugh, leaning back as the hallway blurs past. “There’s no story.”

Tailgate lets out a thoughtful hum, turning a corner a little faster than necessary. “Well, yet,” he muses. “But, y’know… It’s kinda interesting, right? You two talk a lot. More than anyone else, I think.”

That’s an exaggeration, but you don’t bother correcting him. Instead, you shake your head, keeping your response measured. “It’s like, we speak to each other, but we say very little and yet it feels like a lot.” 

“But it’s not like that Tailgate.” you amended lightly

“But if it was, I’d be supportive!” he says quickly, like he can already sense your reluctance. “I mean, yeah, he used to be Megatron, but he’s, like, different now, right? He’s trying.”

You sigh, a small smile tugging at your lips. There’s something so earnestly Tailgate about this—about the way he sees the world. Simple. Hopeful. It’s hard to be annoyed when you know he means well.

“I’ve never been one for uncalculated risks,” you admit, watching the corridor lights flick past. “But now’s not the worst time to start.”

Tailgate makes an excited revving sound, and you flick his dashboard in response, a silent drop it. He gets the message, coasting into the open space near the presentation room.

“Okay, okay, I won’t bug you about it.” The second the doors slide open, he transforms and gestures grandly toward the entrance. “But if something happens, I totally called it.”

You step out, shaking your head as you walk inside. The theater space is already filling up, dim light from the projector casting long shadows along the walls. A few bots have already taken their seats, drawn in by the promise of a classic Noir films.

Rewind sits near the front, adjusting his lenses, likely preparing to compare the film’s historical accuracy against Earth’s actual mid-century crime scene. Rung has settled in beside him, hands folded neatly in his lap, watching the flickering previews with quiet interest. Perceptor, as expected, is in the corner, his optic display already analyzing the cinematography, probably breaking it down frame by frame. Chromedome, arms crossed, remains a little more detached, but he’s here, which means something.

It’s the kind of film that draws in the more analytical bots—those who appreciate subtext, who like stories that don’t tie themselves into neat resolutions.

You finish setting up the system. The film is about to begin. Then, just before the lights dim completely, the door at the back of the room hisses open. A presence lingers in the doorway. You don’t have to turn around to know who it is.

Megatron doesn’t enter right away. He stands at the threshold, scanning the room, the audience, the screen. Assessing.

And then, without a word, he steps inside and takes a seat.

The film unfolds in flickering black and white. Rain slicks the streets, a lone detective leans against a payphone, the brim of his hat shadowing tired eyes. A woman’s voice crackles through the receiver—smooth, practiced, hiding something beneath the surface.

The room stays quiet, absorbed.

Megatron doesn’t speak. Doesn’t shift in his seat, doesn’t vent in frustration the way some bots do when they find human storytelling too slow. He just watches. You steal a glance at him once, maybe twice. His optics stay fixed on the screen, tracking every detail like he’s dissecting it.

He’s enjoying it.

You can tell by the way he leans forward slightly—not enough for most to notice, but enough that you do.

The movie rolls on. The detective chases a truth he already knows will ruin him. The woman in the fur coat isn’t who she says she is. The city is soaked in betrayal, and everyone’s hands are dirty. The atmosphere settles in like cigarette smoke in a room with no open windows.

And then, finally, the last line.

“You can’t rewrite history, but you can choose what parts to carry with you.”

A final shot—tail lights disappearing into the night. The music swells, then fades. The projector hums to a stop.

Murmurs rise from the audience. Rewind starts talking before the credits even finish rolling, already dissecting the historical accuracy of the setting. Nightbeat is animated, pointing out the film’s detective tropes with enthusiasm. You push yourself up onto your feet, stretching, satisfied that the night went well.

“I enjoyed that.”

You turn.

Megatron stands just beside you just out of periphery, arms folded, optics still carrying the last of whatever thoughts the film left him with.

You turn. “…Yeah?”

A small nod. “Yes. The dialogue was sharp. Efficient.” He tilts his head slightly. “And the conclusion—predictable, yet… satisfying.”

You covet a strange, almost ridiculous sense of pride at that. Like you won something.

“Well,” you say, “I’ll have to pick another one sometime.”

Something about that makes him pause. The set of his jaw loosens as if he was about to say the first thing on his mind, before tightening to reconsider. As if the thought is something he hadn’t considered before.

“…I’d be interested in that.”

Your fingers curl slightly at your side. You clear your throat, trying to shake off the warmth tickling your cheeks. .

Megatron shifts—only slightly—but then does something unexpected.

He smiles.

Not fully. Not broadly. It’s barely there. But it’s the honest to goodness real thing.

And worse—awkward.

The great and terrible Megatron does not know how to properly smile at someone. The realization nearly knocks the air from your lungs.

“Thank you,” he says, voice quieter now. “For the invitation.”

He straightens, stepping back toward the exit. He hesitates, just for a fraction of a second, then meets your gaze.

“Goodnight, Ambassador.”

It shouldn’t be anything. Just words. 

“…Goodnight, Megatron.”

The door shuts behind him.

A second later, the overhead lights flicker back on, bright and unflinching.

You blink against the sudden change, heat still lingering on your face. Your hand twitches at your side, resisting the urge to touch your own cheek—like that would somehow erase the evidence.

No one’s looking at you. No one cares that you’re standing here, flushed and off-balance over nothing. Absurdly, painfully obvious.

You inhale sharply, shaking it off as you scan the room. Tailgate is by the exit, already transformed, idling expectantly. You make your way over.

“Give me a ride home?”

He beeps his horn cheerfully, like he’s been waiting for you to ask. “Of course!”

The doors open, and you climb in, settling into the seat. The engine hums beneath you as he pulls out of the theater.

[clairdelunelove]

the problem with yuuji’s birthday is that he’s fine with literally anything. 

he isn’t the type to extravagantly celebrate the day and typically spends it running through his daily routine. he's a simple guy. doesn’t deviate from the usual unless his friends decide to throw him a party or plan a reservation. and he’s extremely grateful for it! don’t get him wrong! but honestly, the most he’d do is treat himself to his favorite restaurant, order a piping hot rice bowl with loads of toppings, and call it a day. to him, it’s just a regular, standard day. this is the same guy that immediately gravitates to wearing hoodies because he’s indecisive! it means everything to you, however. and its significance only grows when the two of you start dating and the precious day looms closer. 

“there isn’t anything that you want for your birthday?” you tilt your head as you desperately pry for some sort of lead that could point you in the right direction, “it could be anything!” 

“y’know that I’ll like anything you get me!” 

the statement is normally an automatic response for most people to say as a way to portray a bit of humility. similar to a dismissive wave of the hand. but when you peer at the blushy haired male beside you, he’s the epitome of genuine. like he truly would appreciate and cherish anything that you gifted him. no matter how trivial or insignificant it is. his eyes are wide, sincere in that oblivious habit he has that causes your cheeks to burn. 

“how about we go somewhere?” you suggest before rattling off a couple places that most would deem fun, “maybe to the new cafe that just opened? an arcade? we could take a trip to an amusement park?” 

his lips curl into a soft grin as his broad shoulders lift into an easygoing shrug, “sounds fun! as long as you’re goin’ with me!” 

-

you end up deciding to spend the day at the nearest park and having a picnic. and you’re bustling around– cooking/packing his favorite meal, rushing to pick up a small cake at the local bakery, and setting up at the perfect spot that overlooks the gleaming pond. you spent countless nights planning this day and you’d do anything to give back a fraction of the amount of happiness he continually gives you. so you’re sweating by the end of it. huffing and swiping at your flushed face while yuuji heartily laughs at your impassioned effort. 

“it looks great,” his hand drops to yours to give it a reassuring squeeze, “come and relax with me, yeah?” 

he pats at the spot beside him, gently guiding you to obediently sink down and finally rest. it’s adequately comfortable due to yuuji stripping off his jacket and spreading it over the picnic blanket so you can cozily sprawl. and the gesture is so sickeningly sweet– so yuuji. especially with how his eyes lowly droop to where his slender fingers reach to press against the frilly outfit you’re wearing. it’s a delicate piece that you bought just for the occasion and he murmurs his admiration for it. you’re just the prettiest for him.

but your mind is still frazzled. instinctively moving to open the wicker basket, you’re whisked away in another task and the loss of contact has him childishly grumbling. he’s tugging at you in an attempt to coerce you back to him. just needy, grabby hands at your waist. he wishes for you to unwind because it genuinely has been the best birthday he’s ever had. sees the effort you went through to put this all together. all the care and consideration that you’ve put into the small details that cause him to melt into a puddle. doesn’t understand how he’s deserving of your adoring love. 

the confession tumbles out from your pouty lips before you can process it, “everything has to be perfect, though. it’s your birthday, yuu.” 

and the sentiment has his heart crooning for you even more. he gazes at you, patient and tender. you’re beautiful. bathed in the sun’s rays and glimmering as the field’s flowers act as your backdrop. you’re a vision that he’d dutifully bid his time into studying. he’s memorized the slant of your brow and the sweep of your lashes. he would search for you in every life. fortunately, luck was on his side during this one. 

leaning in, he presses a sugary kiss onto your glossy lips. licks his own when he pulls away in a pursuit to taste you better. his strength and weakness is, inherently, you. 

then, he rests his forehead against yours before whispering, “it is perfect. I have you.”

-

isn't my best work but I wanted to write a lil something for his bday. happy yuuji day, loves •ᴗ•

[silentsneezes]

ignore this if you only write mlm but caitvi allergiessss.....

i generally write mlm relationships because i tend to hyper fixate on them more often, but i'm always happy to receive any asks! it's my first time writing cait/vi, so if their dynamic is off just lmk!

with that said, here's 1.4k of v/i suffering from allergies

After an admittedly rocky start to their relationship, Vi and Caitlyn have managed to settle into a peaceful domesticity. At least, as peaceful as it can be for the couple. They’ve only been living together for a couple of months, and it’s certainly had its ups and downs. Except now they seem to have found a steady contentment in sharing Caitlyn’s old apartment, which is nice by any standards. Its rich architecture differs vastly from the home Vi was raised in, but she’s started to make it her own as well: hanging posters where Caitlyn permits, reorganizing cupboards to better accommodate her height, and framing pictures of her family in the living room. 

There’s only one problem that’s currently at the forefront of their focus. It’s not nearly as pressing as any of the issues they've faced before, but it’s giving Vi one hell of a time. The problem being spring in Piltover; everything is in full bloom, flowers displayed proudly in most yards or gardens, and the spring breeze carrying enough pollen to create a yellow coating over most outdoor areas. 

Vi’s allergies have only really set in the past few days as spring has officially come about, and they’re practically insufferable for her. She’s not one to admit to weaknesses or discomfort, especially not to those she cares deeply for– ironic, isn’t it? The only person who can level with her stubbornness is Cait, and even then it’s a painstaking process. 

The couple sits idly in their living room, Vi’s leg draped over Cait’s as she stretches out on their couch. The windows throughout the apartment are sealed tightly, despite Caitlyn’s typical preference of leaving them ajar to allow for a pleasant breeze. She’d learned her lesson two days ago, having left the bedroom window without second thought, only to wake up to Vi muffling a fit into her pillow. It’s safe to say she won’t be doing that again.

As Vi pesters her nose with her shirt sleeve, rubbing the itchy appendage side to side roughly, Cait pulls a neatly folded handkerchief from her pocket, murmuring a soft, “here” as she offers it to her girlfriend.

“I’m fine, cupcake. I don’t want to soil your- hhhh-handkerchief,” Vi denies, her voice catching part way through the sentence but still continuing with steadfast determination. Cait rolls her eyes at Vi’s denial of her handkerchief, her gaze flicking down to observe the wet patch forming on her girlfriend’s sleeve. 

“So you’d rather soil your shirt instead?” she teases, pressing her hankie into Vi’s palm despite her refusal. 

“Point taken,” Vi mumbles, rubbing the silky synthetic fabric between two fingers. She turns it over, grinning as she notices Caitlyn’s initials embroidered neatly in the corner of the white cloth. She bites her tongue from teasing Caitlyn, knowing her girlfriend chooses to indulge in expenses such as these. Afterall, who is she to judge? If she’d grown up as rich as Caitlyn, she probably would’ve spent money on much more trivial things than embroidering a handkerchief— likely excessive amounts of booze and a good pipe similar to the one Vander had always used.

She smiles at Caitlyn with a fond expression, raising a hand to cup her cheek. Her fingers are rough and calloused against Caitlyn’s porcelain skin, and yet Caitlyn leans into the touch, her eyes drifting closed in a moment of vulnerability.

A moment rudely interrupted by the recurring itch plaguing Vi’s nose, “hhH- god, this fuckhhing- hhuh- hhH’sZSsChhew!” 

“Ble-,” Caitlyn starts, only to be interrupted with a second, “hhHSZxChh!” caught into the folds of the handkerchief. 

“Bless you,” she murmurs softly, watching as an allergic tear slips down her cheek, “oh darling, your allergies really are miserable today.”

Vi snorts back the liquid clinging to the base of her nose with a rough snNRK. Caitlyn restrains herself from tutting, hearing her mother’s sharp command of “Manners, Caitlyn,” ring in her ears. But she is not her mother, for better or for worse, so she shoves aside the urge to correct Vi’s behavior. 

Vi leans forward as she groans, burying her nose in Caitlyn’s shoulder and mumbling, “you’re lucky I love you enough to live here.” 

Caitlyn laughs, a hand coming up to stroke Vi’s hair, “lucky to hear your symphony of sneezes, hm?” 

Vi doesn’t reply, instead pulling away from her girlfriend and pitching to the side. She barely raises her arm in time to half-cover the sudden expulsions, “hh’ehTSCHhhew– hhKsSXCHh!” 

“Goodness, bless you,” Caitlyn exclaims in slight surprise at the force of the sneezes, cringing ever so slightly at the spray that lingers in the air. 

Vi keeps her wrist held loosely in front of her face as she scrunches up her twitching nose, trying to coax out the next sneeze. After a particularly disappointing false start, Vi finally lowers her hand. 

“You know, the handkerchief is only helpful if you use it,” Caitlyn prompts in amusement. 

Vi huffs quietly, but picks up the hankie and wipes her nose roughly, leaving it tinged with a pinkish red hue, “happy now?” 

“Very,” Caitlyn murmurs, her hand returning to its position on Vi’s head. Her fingers work their way through her girlfriend’s pink hair, scratching gently along her scalp and eliciting a quiet noise of contentment, one only Caitlyn has the privilege of hearing. 

“How do Pilties- hhh- live like thhhHis…not aghhain,” Vi’s taunt is broken between hitching breaths, her frustrated expression melting into her customary ‘pre-sneeze’ expression. A few seconds pass, silent save for her huffing and hitching. She groans as it only results in another false start, berating her nose once again. 

“I’d suspect most Zaunites are sensitive to the pollen in Piltover. Our ecosystems-”

“hhHSZCchh! snDf. Sorrhhy cupcake, not dhhH- hhK’tSCHhh! done,” Vi excuses lamely, tilting her head back against the couch in exasperation. Her nostrils flare, quivering with every inhale she takes. 

“Bless you, bless you darling,” Caitlyn murmurs for what must’ve been the hundredth time that day. Vi had given up in trying to convince Caitlyn to stop blessing her every time, knowing her girlfriend’s manners are far too ingrained for her to stop. 

“Thangks,” Vi mutters, kneading her nose against the palm of her hand with a wet squelch. 

“Vi,” Caitlyn tuts, unable to resist the slight admonishment at her partner’s lack of etiquette.

“Cait,” Vi responds with a grin, lowering her hand and smirking at her girlfriend's slight annoyance. Wordlessly, Caitlyn presses the handkerchief back into Vi’s hand, reminding her that there’s a better way to attend to her nose than with her palm. 

Examining the fabric again, Vi questions, “you really take this everywhere you go?”

“Yes, I do,” Caitlyn responds, her hand resuming its gentle affection against Vi’s scalp. 

“Hm, seems like a lot of work just to carry around a snot rag.” Caitlyn scoffs slightly at Vi’s use of the words “snot rag”, flicking her head in response. 

“Hey!” Vi laughs, “I’m just saying, it can’t be- hhH- can’t- hheh… hhiH-”

“Can’t what, love,” Caitlyn teases, knowing Vi will take it as a challenge to speak through the building sneezes. 

“Can’t bhhHSZXSxch! be saniiiH-iHSKSCHHhew! sanitary to hhuh- fugkKHSSZsch’uh!” Vi gives up, fumbling to grab the hankie and muffle the ensuing fit. Caitlyn’s initial amusement dissipates as Vi snaps forwards with sneeze after sneeze, gasping between each expulsion. 

Her hand moves to rub Vi’s back, murmuring soft comforts as the fit unfolds, “there you go, just breathe… I’ve got you… oh, that was a big one, hm?”

Once the sneezing subsides, Vi blows her nose messily into the folds of the handkerchief, tossing its sodden form onto the coffee table once she’s done. 

“Bless you Vi. Are you okay?”

“I’mb ogkay- snDFF- I’m okay,” Vi mutters, resting back against Caitlin in exhaustion, “but your handkerchiefs not,” she jokes with a slight grin.

“Nothing a simple wash won’t fix,” Caitlin reassures her, her eyes flicking to see the discarded fabric, wet with mess. 

The couple remains on the couch for the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening, staying closely intertwined as Vi struggles to control her allergies. Eventually, thank god, she finally agrees to take medicine to minimize her symptoms. Stubborn as she is, even she can recognize that she was fighting a losing battle. 

[tulliolamonster]

Regarding Transformers, energon, and food waste…

It seems as though energon operates as food/drink, blood, and machine fuel in the Transformers universe. When I’ve seen people discuss it online, it seems the general consensus is that the primary differences between these things is the way the energon has been refined and filtered. Natural energon straight out of the ground is completely unfiltered and unrefined, but can still be used as food and fuel. This energon can be filtered to become basic food (energon cubes) or highly refined to become engex (equivalent to alcohol). Both unfiltered and filtered energon seem to be able to work as machine fuel, and engex seems generally not useful for that purpose. Energon as blood is any consumed energon that the bot has consumed that has been digested and reincorporated into the body. To an extent, this can be used as food/energy for a bot, and it (generally) seems to be able to power machines only if that machine is specifically made with blood power in mind.

As the title implies, this has potential implications on Cybertronian consumption habits/food waste, but also on how access to blood/blood transfusions might work in the Transformers universe. This post will just be food waste for the sake of length (and my sanity.

If Cybertronians are perfectly capable of consuming raw energon right out of the ground without significant discomfort or risk, why would they filter or refine it? Well, for better taste, texture, and more efficient calorie/energy absorption! Think of it like how humans might chop, marinate, or cook food before we eat it. Humans are perfectly capable of eating a lot of things raw, but processing them before we do makes them taste better and allows us to digest more efficiently. Cybertronians probably filter their energon because it allows their frames to spend less time picking out things that can’t be digested and more time processing energon for energy, effectively making filtered energon a more efficient fuel source.

Well, if energon should be filtered for the best returns, obviously that requires equipment and expertise. That just raises another question: what is done with the elements that are filtered out? It seems most likely that raw energon would have higher amounts of minerals and metals found in the earth it was mined from, which would make taste, texture, and mineral content inconsistent from place to place. Filtration would likely lead to these levels being standardized across filtered energon supplies, but those minerals still have to go somewhere. The comics make it seem like some metals and minerals are used as flavorings or supplements in the Cybertronian diet, but even that can’t turn 100% of what was filtered out into something fully consumable. There is probably Cybertronian food waste, whether stemming from inefficient mining practices, products of filtration and refining, or just bots spilling or throwing out excess food.

Returning to the filtration centers, their presence raises more questions. For ease, imagine this is pre-war. Are energon filtration centers evenly distributed among the Cybertronian population? If so, are they all equally well maintained and reliable, or is there a marked difference between energon quality in urban and rural areas? There’s a possibility that urban populations, with a higher likelihood of having access to efficiently filtered energon, would have taste or texture aversions to less filtered versions, like those found in more rural areas, or even raw energon. Sure, they can still consume it, but it’s the equivalent of someone who’s used to bottled water drinking from a place where the pipes are really old and you can taste the iron in the water. Even with basic filtered energon, there’s already the potential for taste and consumption differences across the Cybertronian population.

Pair that with the impact alt mode might have on consumption patterns. Would the ubiquity of filtered energon as the current primary food source for a species that probably originated eating the unfiltered version lead to increased rates of mineral/vitamin deficiencies in the population? Bots with different alt modes likely have different dietary needs to maintain their frame, and basic filtered energon is unlikely to meet that. Either 1) there’s a thriving supplement industry on Cybertron (which the common addition of metals and minerals in food could support, also implying interesting taste preference tendencies between alt mode groups), 2) there are ways for urban-dwelling bots to access unfiltered energon that might meet their dietary needs, or 3) there are social and medical barriers that make bots with certain alt modes significantly less likely to live in urban areas, posing structural barriers to their participation in Cybertronian society and politics.

Back to the problem at hand: food waste. If urban-dwelling Cybertronians are more likely to consume filtered energon and meet their nutritional requirements through the consumption of additives and supplements in their food, it would stand to reason Cybertronian cities would produce greater amounts of food waste than rural areas, which consume a greater amount of unprocessed energon. Would this difference in access and consumption patterns lead to the development of culturally distinct cuisines? Are there efforts to curb food waste in cities or repurpose wasted energon/refining products into more food?

This all, of course, assumes that the Cybertronian energon/food market reflects a sort of class divide driven by access to industry. It is totally possible that things like food access, difficulties in repurposing refining products, frametype-specific nutrition, and taste preferences just… aren’t factors in Cybertronian society. Which is fair! Even if they were, the war probably changed a lot of that. Limited access to adequate filtration and low energon supply probably resulted in a Cybertronian population that is used to (and might even prefer!) unfiltered energon as their primary food.

The long and short of it is that attitudes towards food shift with access and culture. It’s a lot of fun to try to reconstruct a fictional society’s culture through diet (or the other way around!). The fact that energon is both so ubiquitous and so necessary for all aspects of Cybertronian life and society makes it a uniquely intriguing thing to consider.

There’s so much more here that I think could be discussed (how is energon refined into alcohol? What minerals are removed in typical refinement processes? Why can raw and processed energon be used as machine fuel, but blood can’t? How would upper class bots use food to signal their status?). This was really fun!

I hope this whole thing makes sense. If not, blame all the projects I have to work on. My brain is smooth as sea glass rn.

[tongue-twists]

My friend/dom plays a game with me where she makes me jerk off for as long as possible and just before I would finish, I have to stop and take increasingly big pulls from her pipe. Then she makes me jerk off to whatever picture or video she chooses and puts in front of me for the next round. She makes it more and more esoteric each time too, like we start with more standard porn and by the end it would be something completely non-sexual by comparison. Last night we actually started with your blog and it ended after 6 rounds with a documentary on The Alps. I finally finished when they did a wide shot of Mont Blanc.

I’ve gained like 15 new fetishes/turn-ons doing this, in case you ever need to speed run some new ones. Highly recommend.

oh that sounds lovely actually. I know a few people I'd want to try that with. Also I'm flattered to be the starting point, I guess I need to start posting about my more esoteric kinks if I want to make it further down the process

[xombigirl]

Black Moss Cupcake Recipe

Thanks to a review of Exquisite Exandria by CBR.com we now have the recipe for Uthodurn's infamous Black Moss Cupcakes!

INGREDIENTS:

Dark Chocolate Cupcakes Ingredients: 1 cup all-purpose flour 3/4 cup sugar 1/3 cup unsweetened cocoa powder 3/4 teaspoon baking soda 1/2 teaspoon salt 1 large egg 2/3 cup whole milk 1/3 cup sour cream 2 tablespoons vegetable oil 2 teaspoons vanilla extract 2-3 drops black food coloring (optional)

Chocolate Matcha Frosting 4 tablespoons unsalted butter 2 ounces full-fat cream cheese (room temperature) 1 1/3 cup confectioners' sugar 1/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder 1/2 teaspoon matcha powder 1 teaspoon whole milk 1 teaspoon vanilla extract 1 pinch of salt

Moss Cookie Crunchies 3/4 cup vanilla wafer cookies 1/12 teaspoon matcha powder 1/12 teaspoon light brown sugar 1 tablespoon unsalted butter, melted and cooled

Dust of Deliciousness: Ingredients redacted, food glitter recommended as replacement

INSTRUCTIONS:

Dark Chocolate Cupcakes

Set a rack in the middle of the oven and preheat to 325*F/165*C. Line the cups of a 12-cup standard muffin tin with paper cupcake liners.

In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, sugar, cocoa powder, baking soda, baking powder, and salt. In a second large mixing bowl, whisk together the egg, milk, sour cream, vegetable oil, vanilla extract, and black food coloring until no streaks of egg remain. Add the dry ingredients to the wet and mix with a rubber spatula until a smooth batter forms and no pockets of dry flour remain.

Fill each cupcake liner about two-thirds full. Bake, rotating the pan front to back halfway through baking, 16-19 minutes until a toothpick inserted into the center of a cupcake comes out with just a few moist crumbs attached. Let cool slightly, then transfer the cupcakes onto a cool rack and let cool completely.

Chocolate Match Frosting

In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, combine the butter, cream cheese, confectioners' sugar, cocoa powder, matcha powder, milk, vanilla, and salt. (Alternatively, use a large mixing bowl and electric handheld mixer.) Mix on low speed just until the ingredients are combined, then increase the speed to medium-high and beat until frosting is light and fluffy, 1 1/2-2 1/2 minutes. Transfer the frosting to a large piping bag fitted with a straight tip, or a zip-top bag with one corner snipped off.

Moss Cookie Crunchies

Place the vanilla wafer cookies in the bowl of a food processor and process until they are the texture of fine sand, 15-25 seconds. (Alternatively, place the cookies in a large zip-top bag and smash with a rolling pin or skillet.) Transfer the crushed cookies to a large mixing bowl and add the brown sugar and matcha powder. Add the melted butter and mix, using your hands, until the crumbs are evenly moistened.

Dust of Deliciousness

Frost the cupcakes by piping an even, generous layer of frosting on top of each. Working with one cupcake at a time, invert the cupcake and gently press the frosted top into the bowl of cookie crunchies, rotating so the moss sticks to the sides of the frosting until the top is evenly coated. Repeat this process with the remaining cupcakes. Sprinkle all with Dust of Deliciousness.

[little-p-eng-engineering]

Little P.Eng. Engineering: Your Go-To Source for Pipe Stress Analysis and Support Design Services

In the vast and complex world of engineering, precision and accuracy are paramount. Nowhere is this truer than in the field of piping systems, where even the smallest miscalculation or oversight can lead to catastrophic consequences. To ensure the safe and efficient operation of piping systems, the expertise of specialized engineers is required. This is where Little P.Eng. Engineering comes into play. With a reputation for excellence and a commitment to providing top-notch pipe stress analysis and support design services, Little P.Eng. Engineering stands as a trusted partner for industries that rely on flawless piping systems.

In this comprehensive guide, we will delve into the world of pipe stress analysis and support design services offered by Little P.Eng. Engineering. We will explore the importance of these services, their role in various industries, and how Little P.Eng. Engineering excels in delivering tailored solutions. Additionally, we will discuss the key factors that set Little P.Eng. Engineering apart from the competition and provide valuable insights into their commitment to safety, quality, and customer satisfaction.

Chapter 1: Understanding Pipe Stress Analysis

1.1 What is Pipe Stress Analysis?

Pipe stress analysis is a critical component of engineering that involves evaluating the forces and stresses acting on a piping system to ensure its structural integrity and safety. It plays a pivotal role in various industries, including petrochemical, oil and gas, power generation, and more. Pipe stress analysis helps engineers identify potential issues such as excessive strain, deformation, or failure that could compromise the functionality and safety of the system.

1.2 The Importance of Pipe Stress Analysis

The significance of pipe stress analysis cannot be overstated. Failing to perform adequate stress analysis can lead to a range of problems, including:

1.2.1 Safety Risks: Inadequate pipe stress analysis can result in ruptures, leaks, and catastrophic failures, endangering human lives and the environment.

1.2.2 Cost Overruns: Repairs and maintenance due to unforeseen issues can lead to substantial cost overruns in construction and operation projects.

1.2.3 Downtime: Unscheduled downtime can disrupt operations, leading to production losses and revenue reduction.

1.2.4 Legal and Regulatory Issues: Non-compliance with safety standards and regulations can result in legal and financial repercussions.

1.2.5 Reputation Damage: Incidents related to piping system failures can tarnish a company's reputation.

Chapter 2: The Role of Pipe Stress Analysis in Different Industries

2.1 Oil and Gas Industry

The oil and gas industry relies heavily on complex piping systems to transport hydrocarbons from extraction sites to refineries and end-users. Pipe stress analysis is crucial in this industry to prevent leaks, ruptures, and environmental disasters. Little P.Eng. Engineering provides specialized services tailored to the unique challenges of the oil and gas sector.

2.2 Petrochemical Industry

Petrochemical plants process raw materials into valuable chemical products. The precise and safe transport of chemicals through piping systems is essential. Pipe stress analysis ensures the structural integrity of these systems, mitigating the risk of chemical leaks and ensuring worker safety.

2.3 Power Generation

Power plants, whether they run on fossil fuels, nuclear energy, or renewable sources, require intricate piping networks to deliver steam, water, and gases to turbines and generators. Pipe stress analysis is vital to prevent system failures and maintain uninterrupted power generation.

2.4 Pharmaceutical and Food Industries

In industries where product purity and safety are paramount, such as pharmaceuticals and food production, pipe stress analysis ensures the integrity of sanitary piping systems. Little P.Eng. Engineering's expertise extends to designing hygienic piping solutions that meet the strictest standards.

2.5 HVAC Systems

Heating, ventilation, and air conditioning (HVAC) systems in commercial and industrial buildings rely on complex piping networks. Proper stress analysis ensures the efficient functioning of HVAC systems, contributing to comfort and energy efficiency.

Chapter 3: Little P.Eng. Engineering's Pipe Stress Analysis Services

3.1 Expertise and Experience

Little P.Eng. Engineering boasts a team of highly skilled and experienced engineers with a deep understanding of the complexities involved in pipe stress analysis. Their expertise spans various industries, ensuring that clients receive tailored solutions that align with their specific needs and challenges.

3.2 Advanced Technology and Software

Staying at the forefront of technological advancements is crucial in the engineering field. Little P.Eng. Engineering utilizes state-of-the-art software and tools for pipe stress analysis, enabling precise simulations and evaluations. This ensures the accuracy and reliability of their services.

3.3 Customized Solutions

One of the key strengths of Little P.Eng. Engineering is their ability to provide customized solutions. They understand that each project is unique and may have distinct requirements. By tailoring their services to individual client needs, they ensure optimal results and client satisfaction.

3.4 Compliance with Industry Standards

Compliance with industry standards and regulations is non-negotiable in the world of engineering. Little P.Eng. Engineering ensures that all their pipe stress analysis services meet or exceed relevant industry standards, codes, and safety guidelines.

Chapter 4: Pipe Support Design Services

4.1 What is Pipe Support Design?

Pipe support design is an integral part of piping system engineering. It involves creating structures and supports that hold piping systems in place, preventing excessive movement, vibration, and stress. Proper support design ensures the longevity and stability of piping systems.

4.2 Importance of Pipe Support Design

Inadequate or improperly designed supports can lead to several problems, including:

4.2.1 Excessive Stress: Unsupported piping can experience undue stress, leading to damage and failure.

4.2.2 Vibrations: Vibrations can affect the performance of piping systems and nearby equipment.

4.2.3 Misalignment: Improper alignment can cause leaks and inefficiencies.

4.2.4 Premature Wear: Unsupported piping can wear out faster, leading to maintenance and replacement costs.

4.3 Little P.Eng. Engineering's Pipe Support Design Services

Little P.Eng. Engineering offers comprehensive pipe support design services to ensure that piping systems are adequately supported and stable. Their services include:

4.3.1 Structural Analysis: Evaluating the structural integrity of supports and ensuring they meet safety and code requirements.

4.3.2 Custom Designs: Tailoring support solutions to the unique needs of each project.

4.3.3 Material Selection: Recommending suitable materials for support components, considering factors like corrosion resistance and load-bearing capacity.

4.3.4 Installation Guidance: Providing guidance and recommendations for the proper installation of supports.

Chapter 5: What Sets Little P.Eng. Engineering Apart

5.1 Commitment to Safety

Safety is Little P.Eng. Engineering's top priority. Their pipe stress analysis and support design services are driven by a commitment to ensuring the safety of people, the environment, and assets. They meticulously evaluate every aspect of a piping system to identify potential safety hazards and implement measures to mitigate them.

5.2 Quality Assurance

Quality is woven into the fabric of Little P.Eng. Engineering's services. They maintain rigorous quality control processes throughout the project lifecycle, from initial analysis to final implementation. This dedication to quality results in reliable and durable piping systems.

5.3 Timely and Efficient Service

Time is often of the essence in engineering projects. Little P.Eng. Engineering understands the importance of meeting project timelines. Their streamlined processes and experienced team allow them to deliver timely and efficient services without compromising quality.

5.4 Client-Centric Approach

Little P.Eng. Engineering takes a client-centric approach, focusing on understanding the unique needs and goals of each client. They engage in open communication and collaboration, ensuring that clients are actively involved in the decision-making process.

5.5 Continuous Improvement

In an ever-evolving field like engineering, staying current with the latest advancements is crucial. Little P.Eng. Engineering is committed to continuous improvement and invests in ongoing training and development for their team members.

Chapter 6: Case Studies and Success Stories

6.1 Case Study 1: Oil Refinery Piping

A major oil refinery faced ongoing issues with leaks and failures in its piping system, resulting in costly downtime and environmental concerns. Little P.Eng. Engineering conducted a comprehensive pipe stress analysis and identified critical stress points. They then designed and implemented reinforced supports and provided guidance on material selection. The result was a significant reduction in incidents, ensuring safe and uninterrupted operations.

6.2 Case Study 2: Pharmaceutical Facility

A pharmaceutical company needed to upgrade its piping system to comply with stringent FDA regulations. Little P.Eng. Engineering provided customized pipe stress analysis and support design services to ensure compliance with hygienic standards. The project was completed successfully, allowing the company to maintain product integrity and regulatory compliance.

6.3 Case Study 3: Power Plant Efficiency

A power plant was experiencing inefficiencies in its piping system, resulting in reduced energy output. Little P.Eng. Engineering conducted a detailed pipe stress analysis and identified areas of improvement. They designed and implemented optimized supports, resulting in increased energy efficiency and cost savings.

Chapter 7: Conclusion

In conclusion, Little P.Eng. Engineering stands as a premier provider of pipe stress analysis and support design services, catering to various industries where the integrity and safety of piping systems are of utmost importance. Their commitment to safety, quality, client satisfaction, and continuous improvement sets them apart as a trusted partner in the world of engineering.

Whether you operate in the oil and gas, petrochemical, power generation, pharmaceutical, or HVAC sector, Little P.Eng. Engineering has the expertise and experience to deliver customized solutions that meet your unique needs. By prioritizing safety, adhering to industry standards, and consistently providing timely and efficient services, Little P.Eng. Engineering has earned its reputation as a leader in the field of pipe stress analysis and support design.

Little P.Eng. Engineering: Your Go-To Source for Pipe Stress Analysis and Support Design Services

The listing below indicates a few of Meena Development’s most commonly served industries.

Steel and Metals Industry 

Energy and Power Generation Industry 

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Oil & Gas Industry 

Chemicals and Plastics Industry 

Pulp & Paper Industry 

Facility Services 

Residential Buildings Sector 

Hospitality and Hotel Sector 

Commercial Buildings Sectors 

Sports and Stadia Buildings Sector 

Education Buildings Sector 

Government Buildings Sector 

Hospitals Engineering Services 

Biotech / Pharmaceutical – Engineering Services 

Food & Beverage – Engineering Services 

Tags:

Pipe Stress Analysis

Little P.Eng. Engineering

Finite Element Analysis

Structural Integrity

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Thermal Expansion

Support Design Services

Oil and Gas

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Industry Standards

Power Generation

Stress Evaluation

Piping Systems

Safety and Compliance

Engineering Solutions

Precision Analysis

Industrial Processes

Petrochemical

Seismic Analysis

Customized Solutions

Pressure Analysis

Pipe Support Design

Safety Regulations

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Chemical Industry

Pharmaceutical Industry

Vibrations Analysis

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Seismic Bracing Experts

Located in Calgary, Alberta; Vancouver, BC; Toronto, Ontario; Edmonton, Alberta; Houston Texas; Torrance, California; El Segundo, CA; Manhattan Beach, CA; Concord, CA; We offer our engineering consultancy services across Canada and United States. Meena Rezkallah.

[goatswithtoast]

Part 4.5, Pixal :DD

As the group flew off from the town, Nya joked that they should throw a party to celebrate Cole joining the group, which Lloyd decided to make a reality, quickly steering Ultra down to the next town.

As the group made a list of party supplies they would need, They bump into a group of kids whispering at the corner of a shop. They're just in time to hear an accusatory "You went up the weird-house-hill?!"

"What's weird house hill?" Lloyd asked, the three kids jumping at the intrusion.

"Well... legend states that if you hike up this mountain in the dead of night, and-!"

"It's a hill with a house."

The other two kids looked at the third with disappointed looks.

"It's not that scary guys. Calm down."

With their interest peaked, the gang decided to pay this house a visit.

As they flew closer, they were able to make out this scary house-on-a-hill.

The house has a strange amalgamation of parts attached to it, including, but not limited to, a long cylinder on the roof pointed at the sky, a large brass horn pointed towards the valley the house looked over and several hundred pipes and tubes running circles around the building. The main two, however, were the two protrusions that looked suspiciously like a pair of squatted legs, with 'feet' and all.

"Look, there's a clearing." Nya pointed down below, where there was a patch absent of trees.

"Wait no, don't land there." Cole countered. "Look how rocky it is."

"Yeah, Ultra could kick a few around while we check out the house!" Lloyd suggested

Cole shook his head. "It's too unstable, they're loose rocks. We'd just tumble off the mountain."

Nya crossed her arms and looked for another spot. "Well, looks like we won't have any cover. They'll see us coming." She turned to look to Lloyd.

"Well, we're just going down to look at the house. How much trouble could we get into for looking?" Lloyd wondered with a shrug.

Once they had landed not too far from the house, Lloyd immediately ran up to the 'legs' to see exactly how they worked, with Nya quickly following him out of curiosity.

Zane and Cole, meanwhile, simply observed from where they landed.

"I do wonder who lives in such a building." Zane pondered aloud with a hand scratching his chin.

Cole shrugged. "Then why not ask?"

Zane looked to him quizzically before Cole elaborated.

"I mean we could just knock. Nothing's stopping us."

"Oh no, no. I wouldn't want to disturb them." Zane explained right before Lloyd gave a yelp as he lost his balance. He caught himself with his bending and shouted a quick "I'm ok!" back to them.

Zane sighed and walked up to the door.

"I suppose it would be better to apologize for the noise at this point."

After giving the door a few knocks, it's answered by a young woman who, strangely enough, sported a bun of grey hair. She slowly opened the door just enough that she could fit her head in the gap, essentially blocking their entrance.

"Good afternoon, how may we help you?"

Any notions Zane had of answering disappeared the second he laid eyes on her. His voice rendered useless under her bright green gaze.

At Zane's extended silence, Cole stepped in. "Hi, sorry to bother. We just came up to look at the house." He said with a smile, that turned strained when more shouts and thumps came from outside. "And to apologize for the noise."

The girl gave them a long look up and down before slowly opening the door to them. "You're earlier than we expected, but I can assure you the house is working as per your standards."

Cole was quite confused, Zane too, once he had processed what was happening.

As they went to follow this woman into the house they were pushed from behind by Lloyd. "I saw the door open. I wanna see what's inside!"

Nya walked in behind him and rolled her eyes.

Following this woman inside, they spotted all kinds of knickknacks and doohickeys scattered over every surface. Small balls would burst open to become a bigger one at the slightest touch, Cone shapes topped with propellers would spin back down when thrown up and tubes that each made a different noise.

"Hey, Nya!" Lloyd called. "Look at this for water bending!" He turned one of the tubes over. It did sound very much like rain hitting the roof. This earned him a playful punch on the shoulder.

Their exploring was interrupted by the woman ringing a bell. "My father will be down with you shortly."

After a few moments of silence, Zane blurted, "You have a lovely home!" Everyone turned to give him various looks of confusion. Zane even seemed to make one himself.

"...Thank you." replied the woman, fidgeting with her sleeve.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, a series of bangs and creaks became noticeable from the ceiling. After several concerning noises, a man in a chair wheeled himself into the room.

"Apologies! Deepest apologies! I had no idea you'd be back so soon!" He rushed to clarify. As he slowed down he gave the group a long look, as if analyzing them. "They're sending you lot very young." He barrelled past them towards a table with some mechanism. "No matter, I'm sure you're qualified to inspect our progress."

He held it up like he was about to give a lecture on it before being interrupted by Nya. "You two keep saying we're inspecting. You know we just showed up to check out your weird house, right?"

The man sat with his mouth open for a second. "You- you mean you aren't here for my weapons?" He shared a quick look with his daughter. "You aren't Fire Nation inspectors?"

Cole scoffed. "Spirits no. We just got done destroying one of their dams- he's the Avatar for crying out loud!" He gestured to Lloyd, who gave a small wave from behind Zane.

"The Avatar-?" The man gasped before giving a hearty laugh. "Well! My, isn't this a pleasant surprise!" He pushed himself back to the group to offer them his hand. "I must introduce myself! Cyrus Borg, inventor under duress. And this is my daughter, Pixal." He shook each of their hands as they introduced themselves.

Pixal nodded her head in greeting.

Zane turned to Pixal and held out his hand. "Zane." He introduced himself with a smile.

She took it, her own smile a small, shy thing. "Pixal."

"You have a lovely name." He said, a bit quieter now, as he looked down slightly while a blush began to creep onto his face.

After a few moments she replied "Thank you, yours is nice too." Focusing on the hem of her top in an effort to hide her own face.

"Aww, look at those two in the corner!" Cole nudged Lloyd, who had been picking at the various knickknacks on the tables, with a mock whisper.

"Blegh! Why would you make me see that Cole? You weirdo." Cole just laughed and turned back to Cyrus and Nya, who was asking the man several questions about the mechanism he would've presented.

"And it would just keep going, no effort needed?"

"Yes, well see that's the idea." He replied, spinning a gear as he spoke. "This is only a prototype, it's had success on flat terrain, but it appears to be as stubborn as I am when faced with hill climbing!"

Nya waved the thought away. "A few more tries and that'll be sorted out. It's so cool!"

After a while of talking they eventually figured out why Cyrus worked for the Fire Nation when it was so obvious he didn't want to. "They locked us down." Was the simple answer given by Borg. "We had stopped on this hill for the night and when we woke up, we couldn't move. They had clamped us with locks too thick for anything I made to break, can't even pick the darned things." He lamented.

"I had wanted to see the stars." Pixal added remorsefully. "I insisted the hill was the best place to stop in this area, all because I wanted to see some lights in the sky."

"Pixal, that's not-"

"It is! If we had stayed by the trees like you had said, they never would've spotted us in the middle of the night."

Before Cyrus could reassure her, Cole piped up. "We could break them for you, smash them with a few boulders."

The Borgs shared a look of cautious hope. "We'd love if you could, however, the legs couldn't take a battering like that."

Zane smiled "We can try it with a bit more... Finesse." He looked to Nya and she understood.

"Let's break these locks!"

The group made their way outside to examine the locks holding the house down and were dumbfounded by the amount and size of all the locks, not to mention the variety of keyholes each one had.

"That would drive me mad trying to pick all of those." Nya said, shaking her head in disbelief.

"And you would have to do it twice over, remember." Zane pointed out, gesturing to the other leg.

"Well then, isn't it a good thing you won't have to?" Cyrus Borg clapped them on the back, directing them back to their task.

Nya and Zane nodded before getting to work. They each borrowed a portion of water out of the bucket Pixal had brought them. They chose a leg each and got started.

Nya chose a lock and began slicing the shackle with her bending, shooting the water back and forth like a hacksaw. All these locks wouldn't stop her. She'd break them down.

Zane guided the water as steadily as he could into the keyholes of his lock before freezing it. As the ice expanded, it pushed the metal to it's breaking point. He had to repeat the process a few times but soon, the lock fell apart.

The Borg's excitement grew with each lock that fell, and it was certainly contagious. Lloyd started to try and help Nya, she would start cutting and make a slash for Lloyd to follow. Cole kept a careful eye on the bucket, refilling it whenever it got too low for his liking.

Cyrus and Pixal knew how many locks held down their home, and with each one that fell, they counted down to their long awaited freedom.

Nya had sawed through almost all of the locks with Lloyd tackling a few behind her. Zane was in a similar situation on his side. A couple more minutes of sawing and bursting locks, and finally, the last one clanged to the ground, letting the Borg house free for the first time in years.

The group took a second to react after all of that. A shriek of delight erupted from Pixal as she rushed to hug her father, who himself, began to laugh in disbelief.

Zane and Nya wiped their brows with smiles and shared high fives with Lloyd.

"That was so amazing guys!" Cole congratulated, slinging his arms around their shoulders.

"Yes, we simply cannot thank you enough!" Cyrus piped up, making his way over to them. "I- I thought we might never be free again."

Pixal moved forward and shook their hands one by one. "If there's anything you might need, don't hesitate to ask."

When she reached Zane, he froze for a moment when he met her eyes. He quickly shook himself out of it and took her hand in both of his. "Helping you was all that I- we needed."

Pixal stopped for a second before wrapping her arms around him in a genuine hug. When she pulled away, she bumped him on the shoulder. "You know, the Birds always managed to find our house, wherever we went."

Zane could only blush in response.

And so, with a few playful jabs at Zane, and a promise for anything they may want from the Borg invention team in the future, the gang continued on to the rest of the kingdom to find others that may need the Avatar's help.

Part 1 (Nya, Zane +Kai) | Part 2 (Lloyd) | Part 2.5 (Morro) | Part 3 (Meetup) | Part 4 (Cole) | >Part 4.5 (Pixal) |

[quaranmine]

hot take but like why are we as a society still using lead in manufacturing processes in 2024...

anyway tldr of this is that you are not being exposed to lead unless the circular piece on the bottom of the cup is damaged. so, owning a cup like this will likely not result in lead exposure. this is similar to the fact that in older housing where lead paint has been painted over in subsequent decades, and that paint is in good condition, then it is not a risk. lead based paint only becomes an issue when it is deteriorating (chipping, cracking, peeling, chalking, etc) or being turned into dust during renovation activites. so yeah, in a similar way--you aren't going to get lead poisoning unless the steel compontent on this water bottles comes off.

but also this article says that these lead pellets that are used in the cups are an "industry standard" and i'm like: why? WHY is it industry standard in 2024? at least with lead pipes and lead based paint, we're just dealing with issues from prior decades. but this is current so there is a conscious decision to still use lead in products. also, i don't know enough about this subject (bottle manufacturing) to know why they prefer to use lead for this step, or where in the world they manufacture the cups, but my other concern is that even though the general public will likely not be exposed if it's covered, there are still workers who have to handle it during production.

anyway, i just find that i am constantly learning about more places that lead gets found and it's just. sigh. i know lead has many appealing properties which is why it is constantly found everywhere in everything but at this point it's incredibly clear that no benefits outweigh its risks....

[plumberpower]

     I was chatting with Kirm yesterday and came to a nifty realization about how I'd wanna portray my Mario. Before I was sorta just doing what came natural, and what that was felt like a rather stock-standard Mario "Jumpman" Mario that got the job done, yes, but. I dunno, felt a little hollow to me. But contextualizing a few things about the portrayal has me a bit more interested in the little man.

     First and foremost, though I'm sticking to writing him with his italian accent, I really like Brooklyn-raised Mario! Whether it's a New Donk Mario that's been around cartoony pipes and power-ups all his life, or the Super Show canon where he's from the human world and fell into the Mushroom Kingdom, I think Mario having New Yorker spirit really does his character good in my mind. Because no one on the planet is more spirited than a prideful New Yorker.

     It explains why Mario is such a go-getter. Why he puts his entire heart and then some into every little thing that he does. You kinda have to in a place like that, and Mario learned every little skill, job, and hobby he could in the process. Some things were genuine interest, some were tricks of the trade, and others were to just get by.

     And in trying so many things, he's met so many people from so many different walks of life. He's seen so much spirit in the world. He's found people that he trudge through hell and back and then back again for, and that too can be contributed to the New Yorker vibe.

     It's cliche, but I've always loved the stereotypical "You mess with one of us, you mess with all of us!" New Yorker line. It's overused, sure, but it's so wholesome! A place where every Tom, Dick, and Harry can be so vastly different from each other and still claim one another as their own that they'll defend until their dying breath is... it just hits good, man.

     Mario is the pack leader in his group for a reason. If you mess with his friends, he is liable to rain down the fires of hell that hath no foreseeable end in sight. He's a people person! He protects his own! He'll move heaven and earth for his people, it's baked into his bones. But that doesn't mean he's picky about who's a part of that group. His community is endless, there isn't a guy that Mario can't get along with if the other is susceptible to it!

     He'll open his arms to anyone and everyone, so long as you are respectful to those around him. His nature is infectious, and it's very easy to be pulled into his bountiful circle of friends if you let yourself. He's the most welcoming person in the world, he'd be more than happy to have you be a part of his community! All you gotta do is have your head screwed on straight and you're square.

     I think that, keeping that core value in mind, it informs Mario's actions and decisions far more for me and makes me much more interested in writing him. He's just an upbeat little guy with a real zest for life that believes in doing your best... Sorry, your honor, but he's just friend-shaped.

[hibewriter]

Mountain Glory

Masterlist   Read it on AO3

Call of Duty | Ghost x Reader / Poly!141xReader | 5.7K | E 

Tags: Public Sex | Somnophilia | One Bed | NonConsenual Voyuerism

John Price was dead to her.

Not truly. But if she ever survived this god forsaken mission she was going to have words with her legendary Captain and the fucking cigar he always inexplicably held in his mouth. The mission didn't seem real — there was something surreal about his grumbled words of a base on the top of a mountain in the Himalayas — some inexplicable feeling of dead as she was one of the few singled out of fresh faced Sergeants with something to prove. There was barely any time to pack, let alone process anything other than the zero dark thirty time call and mission brief.

There was room between the cold metal of the hanger and her point lead, but just barely. He was massive, a hulking figure she'd only ever seen at the periphery of the mess hall, but now his thigh was pressed snuggly against hers and she refused to acknowledge the warmth that spread through her — not while they were hurling over the Atlantic and various European countries for nearly fifteen hours. She was a professional. She knew how to do her job, had climbed the ranks to be here; lost enough blood, sweat, and tears fighting for a faceless leader.

Yet it's right when she's preparing to jump — geared up and harnessed into parachute — she realizes she's forgotten it. Her baklava, standard issue to prevent the cold. She pictured it clearly, sitting on the bed of her barrack bunk waiting to be packed into a bag that's a world away. And it's not John Price's fault. It's hers and hers alone. But god, it was easier to blame him.

Her point hands her the spare with barely a glance, simply locks into his parachute. She thinks maybe he won't speak, and she can pretend that her silence isn't rude. She locks herself into the harness, prepares herself to drop into the tundra below.

"How copy, Sergeant?" Ghost asks, but she refuses to meet his gaze. Instead she straightens her back, squares here shoulders.

"Good, copy, LT." The exit light turns green, she's in the air before he can speak again.

It's not the weather that has her cursing the whole thing. Though it certainly didn't help. She squinted against the wind through her borrowed baklava, the snow slamming into her face doing little to mask the scent of its owner from filling your nose. A clean aftershave and the muted hint of menthol that lingered couldn't be masked by the crispy wet of the mountain top. Though it seemed that her teammate's scent was the only thing the snow couldn't cover.

What had her cursing was Price's audacity to assign her with this team. This teammate to spend the bulk of her mission besides. It made sense — she was a sniper, Ghost was a higher rank who trained snipers. How many countless silent nights in the barracks did she spend, hand shoved down boxers brought on sale — a long forgotten pipe dream of a boyfriend loaning them to sleep in and an impulse purchase after another failed date — thoughts of Ghost seeping in to every fantasy she conjured. Each fantasy deeper, more vivid, until she came — voice muffled as she bit into her palm, fingers finally slowing and breaths coming down.

The only benefit to the promotion so far was having a private bedroom, and that wouldn't be found here.

_____

The ground, the sky, the flurry of pellets in the wind – it was all white. White as far as she could see with her natural eyes. If it wasn't for the locater preventing her from stuffing her hands into the standard issue field jacket, she would've believed the base they were searching for to be a myth. But no. It all came down to Makarov. Chasing Makarov, stopping Makarov – taking him out of the equation for good. But, as she was coming to find, chasing Makarov was one thing. Chasing him through the Himalayas is another.

"Ye'd think he'd hide a base i Miami," a gruff voice says over the comms. Soap. Two clicks south and a lot more annoying when he's cold and wet. Try being in the thick of the storm, she thought. But she learned early on it was best to keep her thoughts filtered. "At least then A wouldnae be freezin ma balls aff."

Maybe he is a dog, she thinks. A small smirk plays on her lips as she imagines an old chocolate lab with a mohawk, whining after stepping foot in the snow.

"Piss off," a different, graver voice says. It echoes in her headset, slightly off from the origin about two feet to her right. Ghost. "You'll be fine."

Maybe she grips the locator a little tighter. Maybe she doesn't. Still, she looks down at the device rather than evaluate why. Blue dot, flashing true and steady as it moves as quick as one could through a snow storm toward the yellow square. Soap was almost in position.

"Soap what's your non-ball related status?" She calls out.

"From yer mockery o ma pain? Severe, neit an evac."

"Captain," Ghost's voice comes, admonishing.

"Half a click. Ma engine is still runnin sae we're guid tae gae, mini-Sarge."

"Gotcha Cap," she says. She didn't have to look to see Ghost's disapproving stare. He hadn't said anything yet, but she had a sneaking suspicion that the Lieutenant didn't like the shortening of their ranks. But she wasn't going to defend light banter in a lights out mission. Their coms weren't being recorded, no one besides Price was monitoring their location. No one even knew they existed.

She withholds a huff, trudging forward. She doesn't bother to spare a glance at Ghost — knows he's barely struggling while the snow comes to her upper-thighs. It's easy to feel a little grateful, in the moment. Ghost didn't have to let her lead them to their pick off point. He didn't have to let her struggle through the snow either. Easily he could've hauled her and the gear up this mountain. But that's not what they did, not in this task force. Not in these units. She doubted they'd carry her anywhere if she was anything short of missing her legs.

Less than five yards away.

She was already doing adjustments in her head, trying to determine the likelihood of success for her shots. They'd scoped the point two weeks before. But the sky hadn't been flinging snow all around them and the wind had been calmer then. It was already pushing her max distance from her training, already pushing on the weak points she knew she'd not fully trained out of her system yet. But this was Soap's life in her hands. She couldn't miss on this mission. Maybe she shouldn't even —

"Relax, Viper." His voice was closer than she thought, and mentally she cursed herself for not tracking how close he was to her. Her code name sounded like a threat, a hiss in his voice that clawed the fear she'd spent so long trying to instill into her enemies. "Worrying won't make your hands steady."

She swallowed, pausing for just a moment. The gear dug into her shoulders, despite the padding on her flak jacket. The snow was beginning to seep into the material of her field jacket, her neck only protected by the borrowed baklava. A short nod.

"You got it, LT."

_____

It fell apart almost instantly.

They arrived just before Soap was supposed to get in position. Silently, quickly, she set up her rifle alongside Ghost. The locator sat perched next to her. Her eye tracked the blue dot diligently, waiting for Soap to get to his observation point. A second blue dot appeared on screen — Gaz, finally dropping in from the stealth jet above. They arrived at their positions at the same time, and for a brief moment, it looked like everything would go according to plan.

Soap was only in the correct position for five minutes. Five minutes of absolute silence besides the steady breaths that could be heard over comms. Just as she positioned her rifle, the scope zooming through the thick to show her the grey building in the small ridge, the locator goes off — Soap was running. The blue dot on the locator moved slowly but still, it seemed faster than she could track with her scope.

From the buildings the snow mobiles emerged, cloaked in the grey and white camouflage but those were easier to track. One breath — pfft — one combatant down.

The locator chimes again. This time, Ghost has fully set up, his position higher but equally as efficient. He's shooting in the opposite direction — Gaz. The only thing keeping her nerves steady were the soft breaths of her Lieutenant. Ghost was efficient — or maybe the definition of a robot — taking down the combatants chasing down their teammate while she concentrated on protecting Soap.

Pfft. Two.

Pfft. Three.

Three down, two to go, she thinks. Soap stumbles. He's sliding in the snow and the combatants are advancing quickly. She hears the pfft of Ghost's rifle, finds comfort in the knowledge he's there.

Pfft. Pfft. Four. A missed shot, a disaster in the making. If she dwells on it, the last shots will be worthless. Shut it down, take a breath. In. Out.

Pfft. Five.

Soap catches a rock. She can hear his pants on the comms, but nonetheless he's alive. So she starts to scan the area, her scope her second eye. Expanses of white.

"LT, combatants confirmed to be Makarov's," Gaz's voice calls. She furrows her eyebrows, confused for just a moment until Ghost speaks.

"I know," he says. He's already moving, only the sound of the shifting snow indicating her as such. "Seals on fallen confirmed. No sight of Makarov. "

"Sae we gae find the bastard," Soap chimes in. There's a grunt, a heavy thud over the comms before Soap speaks again. "A got a snow mobile. Wish we haed this earlier."

She looks to Ghost, watching as he surveys the land before him as he considers Soap's proposal. The mission, though a bit more violent than anticipated, was a success. Technically they had no reason to stay. But there was still a building Makarov thought important enough to defend, completely off the Nepal and Tibetan governments' radar. Shouldn't they know what he was hiding?

"Into position, Sergeant." Ghost's voice sounds off after a minute. A hoarse grumble that forces her mouth to involuntarily go dry. She refuses to evaluate the warmth that spreads through her body, a flush that makes her grateful for the baklava and winter gear. "The boys are going inside."

_____

Safety doesn't come on missions – this she knew. Still, for her first mission with the 141, she expected it to go better.

_____

The second the boys breeched the building, she heard nothing but gunfire and shouting. The base didn't have a lot of windows, but that didn't seem to matter to the boys when they breeched the building. It's was undeniable the sound of shots firing, blades stabbing, as Soap and Gaz made their way through enemy after enemy, traversing from room to room with a skill that only came from doing missions like this every time. Deeper, deeper. She trained her scope on the surrounding terrain, helpless from her position. But she can't move. Ghost didn't tell her to.

"LT," Gaz comes in, sudden quiet for just a moment. "We've found something, sending to you."

The screen of the locator changes, the feed from Gaz's body camera replacing the scene. The space was massive, bigger than it looked like from the outside. But the room was full, rows and rows of tall black boxes that stretched well past the view range of the camera. Gaz moved in, closer. The black boxes were made of blued steel, and encased on them? Wires. Miles of wires leading in and out of boxes that probably encased more wires.

"Servers," Ghost said, almost like a curse. Hurried and whispered as he shifted in his position. The connection finally forms in her head.

"Makarov's entire connection to the outside world, housed here." The silence is all the confirmation she needs. She's astonished at the magnitude of it. The room expanding into distance like some cliche out of an Indiana Jones movie. There had to be hundreds of terabytes of storage available for use, hundreds of isolated networks that connect Makarov across the globe with a mere click.

"Na wonder tis guarded lik' a jyle," Soap says, a low grunt accompanying him. There was only a slight muffle of a shift – a small thud on one of the server racks.

"Alright there, Captain?" She asks. She hates the tremble that accompanies her voice. The sudden rush of adrenaline that she thought was beginning to subside. She'd only known Soap for a week, barely knew his real name, but the idea of losing her teammate gripped her worse than she cared to admit.

"Juist peachy, ne'er better."

"He's grazed," Gaz states. Doesn't give her time to react, barrels through with the rest of his update. "It's wrapped he'll be fine."

She lets it go, instead leaning on the rock in front of her. She holds back her sigh of relief, forces herself to straighten.

"If we leave it be, Makarov might have this place fully guarded and operational again within a few days. Maybe sooner." The words surprise her too, flowing from her mouth before she had time to full think of the implication of what she was saying. Break the protocol, go well beyond the mission.

"Price wull be happy," Soap groans.

"It's against protocol," Gaz retorts. "We still have to —"

"Wait for Makarov to get up and running again before trying to take this place down? Let him use it to kill again?" She says. It's curt, a little too short for someone with no skin in the game. The comms fall silent, the team processing. She feels Ghost's eyes on her, guarded and inquisitive, but she refused to look back, stares into the snow.

"Right," Ghost speaks, breaks the silence. He returned to looking down the scope of his rifle. "Blow it."

"LT —" Gaz starts, but he doesn't let him finish.

"That's an order."

_____

The flamed reach the heavens, fire and smoke kissing the sky. Destruction to break the peace – yet it's as calm as she's felt the entire week. She watches, patiently, as Soap and Gaz take the snow mobiles as far as they could, before beginning to take the remaining click by food. There's silence between her and the Lieutenant, only Soap's muttered curses coming through.

The sky darkens – from the smoke and ash, yes – but the wind also strengthens from the billowing chill to a full blown howl. The snow increased, the white flurry mixing with the carried ash, removing almost all sight and visibility.

"The balloon's gone up," Price's voice crackles over the comms. The sky was blackened at this point. Soap and Gaz only visible on the locator held less than a foot from her face. Ghost grunts, adjusting the strap on his backpack as he did. "Sky's out, evac will be delayed until this thing gets cleared, likely in the morning."

"Right," Ghost replies, shifting as he looks out into the smog. "Ruck up, Sergeant, looks like we're camping."

_____

She's grateful she didn't do something as stupid as forget her part of the tent. The borrowed baklava still protected most of her face, though it's loose fit didn't quite keep it all away. Making camp without the required pieces and parts would be worse — she didn't quite think she'd survive that embarrassment, a rookie mistake that couldn't be overlooked. Though she doubted it could get much worse than trying to secure the tent poles in nearly three feet of snow. Or keeping the insularly tarp layer secured as they worked. Or locating their sleeping bags.

Maybe it was the fact they worked in silence. The only comfort was the huffs and grunts from Soap on Gaz over the comms, her eye constantly drifting to the locator to make sure they were on the right track. They were slow moving, but they never veered too far off the path. Maybe it was the way Ghost would silently take the cleaver from her hands when he saw her struggling with a particularly difficult stake. There was a warmth in her cheeks, a burning not caused by wind that happened to cut through her winter gear.

Was it indignation? Was it rage? Embarrassment? It could be frustration. But deep down she knew it was all and none of those things. She could do it herself. It could be slower, but also she would've done it. Instead she began to feel an ache. Not just in her head, but beneath the near hundred pounds of weight on her person. There was a hunger burgeoning, and she hated it. Each seemingly meaningless gesture was another pulse, another ache in between her thighs that she did her best to ignore.

He's just doing it to get done faster, she'd reasoned when he took over hammering the spikes to the ground.

He's just particular, she thinks when he stops her from zipping the bottom flaps of the tent to their insulated pouch.

This is just how Ghost tries to be nice, she lies to herself when he pulls her sleeping bag inside, directly next to his.

By the time the boys reached the checkpoint the tent was up and she wasn't sure the first layer of her gear wasn't soaked in her arousal. It felt pathetic, and she was determined not to think about it. It was just niceness and here she was no better than a school girl with a crush, turned on by the bare kindness shown to her. It was insane and embarrassing.

"Please tell me ye hae a fire gaun or somethin'," Soap's voice rings as they approach. She's not used to the baklava on his face. It makes him look like an imitation, the only thing missing a painted on skull and half a foot of height.

"We have a tent," she huffs. Bites back a remark about not helping, but now she just wanted to crawl into the tent, fall asleep, and put this behind her. Not every mission would go well, and she could always relocate to a different team. One that wasn't hunting Makarov across the globe. One that didn't make her lose all sense or reason.

This mission was a curse.

"How copy, Sergeant?" It was Ghost, again. She shrugged, shaking off her thoughts and emotions with a practiced ease.

"Good copy, LT."

_____

The tent was deceptive in it's size. From the outside it made sense that four people would fit into it with no problem. Maybe if her teammates were a normal size, that would be true. But Soap and Gaz alone took up over half the space, their sleeping bags regulated to little more than blankets they could wrap around themselves.

"I can sleep outside," Ghost offers.

"Don't be stupid," she says. "I'm smaller than all of you, I'm sure it'll be fine."

_____

Fine was an overstatement. Or perhaps it wasn't fine, and she just said it so that she could get through the night. Because while she was smaller than all of them, that didn't mean her gear was. It became apparent after crawling in after her Lieutenant. There was no way for her to lay without invading Ghost's space. Whether it was her thigh or her shoulder, every shift brought her into contact with her Lieutenant. It's after her fourth attempt that she lets out a low curse. Abruptly, she stands, unclasping the buckles on her flak jacket.

"What are you doing, sergeant?"

"Making room," she says. She doesn't pause, peeling out of the weighted jacket and over coat. Each layer resituated with her sleeping bag to help insulate it further, the outwear on top, the middle layer stuffed inside. She could press her bag against the wall of the tent, she could fit, and it wasn't like she was going to —

"Just bring your bag here."

"I'm sorry?"

Ghost stands, his presence more intimidating now that he was looking down at her. His eyes bore into hers, and she tried not to audibly swallow as he took a step towards her — full gear, fully masked. She felt small. Her heart racing as she watched him pick up her small nest of objects.

"We share tonight," he says. Finally he breaks eye contact, shifting his gaze to begin zipping their bags together. "Otherwise you'll freeze, and I'm not unnecessarily sending you to med bay because you're insane."

"I'm not —"

"Oi!" Soap's sleepy voice comes from under his lump of bag and equipment. "Juist cuddle, we've a' dane it."

This time she does visibly swallow, lips pursed as she looks from Soap's form to Ghost's. Ghost who was busy already taking off his flak jacket and —

"Wait," she hisses, "what are you doing?"

Ghost stops, shirt halfway up his torso as he stares back at her, entirely uninterested.

"Making it even." As if that were obvious. She watched as he stripped. The first layer of his shirt gone, then the first layer of pants. She averts her eyes, turning the second he starts to pull his thermals lower. "We're in rack ops, Sergeant. If you want to sit around waiting for daylight in your thermals go ahead. But the rest of us are going to sleep."

When she turns he's already under the blankets and clothes. He doesn't look at her, simply squishes himself against the wall she'd planned to. His eyes were closed, the only thing she could see beneath the baklava were his eyelashes, light and fluttered shut against each other. She bit her lip, shifting on her feet for a moment. The cold was beginning to seep into the tarp flooring, the only thing close to giving her saving grace was the small padding he'd made on the floor with their clothes and sleeping bag.

I'd freeze, she thinks as she sinks to her knees.

It's just for warmth, she reasons as she slips under the covers.

He's a fucking furnace, she's shocked to learn. She leans into his chest, hoping that he wouldn't mind. He simply wraps his arms around her, not opening his eyes as they shift into laying comfortably. She barely feels the chill that surrounds them, the insulation of the sleeping bag and the body heat coming from his body did everything to block out the frigid air.

Soon, his breaths were steady. Deep inhale in, deep exhale out. His hand, thick and large, rested on her lower back, just above where it would be inappropriate. She'd never felt so comfortable. Never felt so safe. Soon, her own eyes fluttered shut, and all her worry about propriety evaporated into her dreams.

_____

The dream is sickly sweet, almost too much so as it overtakes every inch of her mind. She should be having a nightmare, marred by the events of the day. Instead, with this dream, she knew it well, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth, floating on a cloud of syrupy goodness while she waited for — fuck.

Soft pressure, slow and focused at her cunt. Her clit, each soft circle of pressure ended there. She felt herself clench on nothing, a soft groan slipping from her mouth. Hungry. Demanding. She wanted to move her hips, grind into the sensation with abandon. But she couldn't. A weight was leaden on her hips, pinning them in place as the soft pressure grew into more. Something feverish, quick and decisive as she's rendered immobile, forced to just take and take the ceaseless pleasure as it zinged through her.

That was new.

The dream morphed. Something larger, thicker, took over. Each swipe now pressed against the lips of her cunt, slick and wet from the movement, the pressure. She wants to chase the feeling, each swipe against her slit driving a new ache inside her. An ache for that pressure to come inside, to burrow it's thickness inside of her as she begged, sleepy-drunk for it.

She still thinks it's a dream with the first push. The slow, too big, stretch of a hard cock as it pushed it's way into her. She whimpers, trying to shift but the weight is actually a hand, pressing her hips into the ground as the cock forced itself into her space. She goes to scream, but there's a hand around her mouth, muffling her when thick hips meet her ass.

"Shh," a thick voice whispers. It's low, deep. A voice she'd heard all day. One she'd clenched her thighs together to, just for him to part them whenever he wanted. "Just be good for me, okay?"

She nods, just barely, as he withdraws. Each inch of his cock rubs against her walls with ease, a soft squelch escaping before he snaps his hips back in, filling her in an instant. She grunts, muffled into his hand. Still, she feels the gush of arousal from his antics. The bunch of clothes underneath her are uncomfortable — odd lumps pressed into her stomach as she scrambles for some sort of purchase. She ends up gripping his jacket, feeling the cotton blend material yield to her fingernails as he continues to drive his hips into hers.

He pushes past where she's taken before, and before she can even cry out into his palm, he's angling her face up. Her back arched, eyes watering. It's dark, still in the night, but she can just make out his form above her. Still wearing the baklava, but those eyes bore into hers. Finally, finally, his composure was broken. His eyes almost seem black, pupils blown as he railed into her. And she clenches, her whole body tightening but she knows he can feeling it.

His grunt is long and low, his hips stilling for just a moment.

He removes his hand from her mouth, placing it on the ground as he withdraws. This time she knows she can't rely on him to keep her silent. She bites her lip, tears welling in her eyes as he pushes in. And he repeats. Slow, steady, punishing. Each thrust makes her forget their locale, the fact of how she woke up. Soon, soft ah, ah, ahs escaped her mouth. It's too much, it's not enough. The tears begin to flow.

Ghost turns feral.

He pulls out, ignoring her soft whine in favor of turning her over where she lay. Her thermal pants are still on, barely shoved to her knees, but it doesn't deter him. He gathers both of her legs together, pulling them so they rested on his shoulder as he presses back in. Her hands scramble, grasping again at what she could, until she feels his skin — the flesh of his forearm — under her fingers.

Her shirt had only been pushed just enough to show her stomach, the clear rush he was in to get inside her another aspect to turn her insane. Almost enough for her not to notice when she looks down, the skin of her belly stretching slightly as he stretched her past her limits.

He notices it too, eyes blazing as they seem transfixed on where they're connected. She only looks away when he places a particularly harsh thrust inside, hitting a spot inside of her that sent her reeling. He was forging a place inside her, reshaping her cunt to him.

"Fuck," she breathes. Her legs drop back, and she's suddenly thankful for adding yoga to her free hour in her early days in the army. Her knees leisurely at her chest as Ghost presses himself closer. She doesn't imagine it's comfortable, the scratch of her thermals on his chest, but it doesn't seem to bother him, he lifts his mask – just enough for his lips to come into view – and slams his lips into hers.

Its sloppy – a mashing of teeth as he drove into her. Each shift of his hips an attack on her senses. She whines when he pulls away, ripping the thermals from her legs. It almost made her giggle, the feel of it being ripped from her body. But then he's dropping her legs again, and she goes to wrap them around his waist. Too thick to cross her ankles, the best she can do is hang on as he sets a new pace.

Slower, but he was hitting that spot inside of her. The one she could never reach with her own fingers, and she had to wonder if he was able to tell. Each retreat she did her damndest to keep him inside, thighs cand cunt clenching around him.

"Fuck," she cried, louder than intended. "Ghost, I can't I'm –"

She's cut off with a whine, his hips stilling entirely inside of her. She shudders, tears truly streaming now. The frustration of a cut off orgasm, right on the edge of the precipice.

"You're going to ask nicely for it," he says and she wonders how his voice is so calm as he's wrecking her. "You're going to ask or you won't get it at all."

She bites her her lips, eyes wide. She knows they haven't been exactly quiet, but the idea of Soap, or even Gaz, hearing her as she — there's a mirth in Ghost's eyes. He tracks his eyes over to their teammates, and she follows his gaze just to feel her heart clench at the site in front of her.

"I don't think they mind, do ya Johnny?" Ghost gives a sharp thrust, forcing her mouth to drop open as she took in the sight in front of her.

The blankets were off, the chill in the room apparently not a problem as Gaz's fist wrapped tightly around Soap's cock, pumping slowly as Soap looked intently at her, barely registering Ghost's question.

"Nae at a', Si," he breathed. She could hear the hitch in his breath as Ghost resumed his thrust. Gaz, peering over his shoulder, making sure his hand moved at the same pace.

"In fact," Gaz says, and she can finally see the way his hips are moving – no, grinding – into Soap. "I say she needs to beg."

She whimpers. Eyes transfixed, her brain on overload but there wasn't a coherent thought between her ears. Her hands gasp as the arm next to her head, her vision torn away from the scene in front of her when a thumb swipes across her clit, circling it in rushed patterns. Ghost's eyes are ravenous, watching each twitch and writhe of her body as he plays her like a fiddle.

"Sounds tempting," Ghost muses. He leans down, whispers in her ear. "Don't worry, this is as much as I'm willing to share."

It breaks her. The last shred of her sanity snapping as she begins to babble.

"Please, please, please," she whines, lip bitten as she gazes up at him. "Wanna come, need you please."

It's like a switch goes off in his head, and he begins to punish, pressing in deeper, faster, harder. His hips practically drill her into the packed snow beneath the tarp. Cool on her back, but fire above her. His thumb moves against her clit, and she can hear how quickly Gaz's hand was moving against Johnny, the tent filled with nothing but the sound of skin slapping against skin, the soft grunts and moans as they began to lose themselves.

And then it happens. His voice, raspy as he finally gives into the feverish heat of her, directly in her ear. Incoherent as he is, it's enough.

"Come for me," he pants, his hips stuttering their pace. And who was she to deny her commanding officer? She only last a thrust or two more before she's falling apart. Her body clamps down, the sudden rush of release as she clings to him, nails digging into his shoulders.

"Oi, she looks lik' a dream whin she comes," Soap groans out. She see it, his hips humping into the air, chasing the firm push and pull of Gaz's hand.

"You wouldn't believe," Ghost sighs. It drives her as close to insane she's ever felt. Her body feels taught, oversensitive as she begins to feel a second wave. It's too much, Ghost doesn't stop, pressing on as his hips never slow. She can't help but watch Soap now, the desperation on his face as he watches, eyes wide and feral as Ghost continues his punishing onslaught.

"Fuck," she breaths, head knocking back onto the pad of clothing. Her body goes limp, but he presses on, hips never slowing. In fact, now it felt as though he was chasing that sweet release, pushing closer and closer to his completion.

"Wanted this the second I saw you on base," he murmurs into her ear. If she could speak, think of anything better to say, she would've. Instead she brings a hand up, grasping at the hair at the base of his neck. She can't help but moan, barely above a whisper as she holds him tight.

Soap and Ghost come at the same time. She feels the warmth flooding her as Soap's cock sprays, landing on his arm, chest, and over Gaz's hand. It's a mess but all she can think about is the mass of weight that sinks into her. Ghost lies fully, panting as he catches his breath. He's softening inside her but he keeps pushing his hips, as if to drive the last vestiges of his spend inside her.

They lay there, breath catching in their throats. She can't tell if he's just as frazzled, brain empty except for the orgasmic haze of contentment and satisfaction. The haze is broken by the cackling of the comms in her ear, coming to life for the first time since they'd fallen asleep.

"You're all getting reprimanded when you get back," Price's voice crackles through, barely audible over the static of their receiver.

There's silence for a moment. Every person frozen as they realize that they never turned off their mics. That Price heard it all. She should be embarrassed. But instead the laughter bubbles up in her chest. She's giggling like a child, only stopping when Ghost pulls his softening cock out of her.

"Aye, Captain," he says, before leaning in to kiss her again.

"We wur juist welcoming her tae th' 141," Soap calls out, and she devolves into a fit of giggles again.

[mesaprotector]

Clarity trumps efficiency.

*I would've liked to write this essay to be understandable for someone without a programming/Linux background, but it was a bit too difficult. If you skip to the paragraph beginning with "...", it gets a bit easier from then on.

If you’ve ever written your own shell scripts you may have heard of the phrase “useless use of cat*”, or less tactfully, “cat abuse”. This refers to the practice, common among new shell script enthusiasts, of writing commands like “cat file.txt | grep name”, when “grep name file.txt” would serve perfectly well. Tools like shellcheck will bug you about it—along with similar constructions like “ps ax | grep Discord | wc -l” instead of “pgrep -c Discord”.

Well, I’m here to defend cat abuse! There are two arguments I see against the cat | grep construction, one of which is valid but situational, and the other of which is completely invalid. The former is that the extra pipe just adds additional overhead into the command. Yes, it does. And it’s unlikely to matter at all if you’re using it on 20KiB text files on a system built in the past 40 years; however, in production, when writing tools that need to be able to deal with arbitrarily large text files as efficiently as possible, sure.

The latter is “well, it’s just unnecessary”. I disagree. I think the cat | grep construction—along with similar such as grep | wc, ps | grep, ps | awk, and so on—serves a very important purpose in that it makes shell scripts easier to read, easier to modify, and easier to debug.

Consider this example from above:

ps ax | grep Discord | wc -l

Read the process table; filter for "Discord"; count the number of lines. It’s very atomic. Each operation can be swapped out for something else without confusing the reader. On the other hand:

pgrep -c Discord

Now, this does the same thing—counting the number of lines in the process table with "Discord" in them. It looks like only one operation... but it’s really still three in disguise. And worse, imagine you suddenly want to add another filter; sorting not only by Discord, but by processes that include the word “title”. This is not straightforward at all! It turns out that while regex has a standard way of searching for alternatives, it really does not provide an easy method for searching for BOTH of two words. On the other hand, with the atomic version, it’s easy:

ps ax | grep Discord | grep title | wc -l

Take that, “useless” use of cat.

There’s a broader meaning, though, to my statement of “clarity trumps efficiency”. I apply it to every aspect of use of electronics, from web searches to backup routines to yes, silly little shell scripts that use cat.

I use command aliases, but to a pretty limited degree; I avoid cutesy stuff like “ll” for “ls -l” and “yeet” for “pacman -Rns”, along with possibly-dangerous substitutions like “rm” for “rm -i”; I’d never dream of aliasing “nano” or “vi” to my preferred text editor (vim). I believe strongly that my commands should be transparent, and saving me from my own muscle memory once or twice is not worth making them completely opaque.

Tab completion on the other hand is one of my favorite features in the shell. It’s the perfect combination of transparent and convenient; without having to alias any of my application names or get hit by the information overload fuzzy finding gives you, I can still launch any of them in no more than four keystrokes. (Except audacious and audacity, admittedly.)

I use a floating window manager (Openbox), and when I need to briefly use a tiling layout, I have a very boring way of doing so: focusing each window one by one and moving it into the slot I want. (While holding down the Super/Windows key, 1-C-2-V does a basic left-right split.)

... I make some use of spellcheck on assignments to be turned in, but never autocorrect, which I abhor even in messaging apps. Every change to your inputs should be deliberate; otherwise you’ll never learn what you’re doing wrong, and you’ll never need to be precise because you’ve turned over that part of your brain to the algorithm.

This leads me to an important corollary of my principle: “it’s better to have a slow algorithm that you understand, than a fast one that you don’t”.

Satya Nadella’s vision of the PC of the future is one where you tell it what to do in natural language and it interprets that using LLMs and so on into machine instructions. Instead of viewing a PC as a toolbox you go into the workshop with, and work on projects with in certain defined ways, he wants the PC to be an assistant; you give the assistant directions and pray that it gets things right. Of course you aren’t allowed into the workshop with the tools anymore; that’s the assistant’s job!

Anyone who’s used Google Search over the past ten years knows how miserable this model is; you search for a specific phrase that Google “helpfully” corrects to something it thinks you meant. There was a learning curve to the old way, but once you learned how to state queries precisely, you were done; now you need to play psychologist, sociologist, and statistician all at once.

This is a decent part of why I dislike generative AI, though far from the main reason. I don’t want an opaque algorithm making decisions for me, unless those decisions are incredibly low-level stuff like core parking that no human should be directly involved with in the first place.

To get back to my own setup, I have a whole text file documenting the system maintenance process I go through once every month; most of it could be automated, but I make every step a deliberate choice. Not to go all new-age, but for me specifically—it all ties back in to mindfulness.

I think people have only a vague concept of what mindfulness is. Until two years ago or so, I was the same way. But to who I am now, mindfulness means not doing anything on autopilot. Instead of letting yourself half-doze off on a drive home, scarcely remembering the 20 minutes from the parking lot to the garage, be conscious of every turn. Instead of immediately putting on music and blocking out the world on a train ride to the next city, force yourself to be present in the train car, and notice the way the light reflects on the plastic seat two rows in front.

And to me, clarity in code, and in UX, is a part of this mindfulness. Programs that are easy to read, easy to modify, and easy to debug encourage you to look closer—to consider every atom that goes into their statements instead of taking them for granted. Slow algorithms that you understand can help you think of improvements; fast algorithms that you don’t encourage you to give up and leave the real thinking to someone else.

So write silly little shell scripts with five pipes in a single statement, and yes, that uselessly use cat. Rather than doing anything wrong—you’re allowing yourself and others to think, to try, and to improve.