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gfs-tanks · 9 months ago

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Galvanized Steel Water Tanks are Reliable Solutions for Water Storage Needs

Galvanized steel water tanks stand as durable and dependable solutions for a wide range of water storage needs, from residential to industrial applications. With their robust construction and long-lasting performance, these tanks are a preferred choice for those seeking reliable water storage solutions.

Strength and Durability

One of the primary advantages of galvanized steel water tanks is their strength and durability. These tanks are constructed using high-quality steel that is coated with a layer of zinc through a galvanization process. This zinc coating provides exceptional protection against corrosion, rust, and environmental elements, ensuring the tank's longevity even in harsh conditions.

Versatility in Applications

Galvanized steel water tanks find applications across various sectors, including residential, commercial, agricultural, and industrial settings. They are used for storing potable water, irrigation water, firefighting water, and industrial process water, among other applications. The versatility of these tanks makes them suitable for diverse water storage needs, from small-scale household use to large-scale industrial requirements.

Cost-Effectiveness

In addition to their durability, galvanized steel water tanks offer cost-effective solutions for water storage. The initial investment in these tanks is often lower compared to alternative materials, making them an attractive choice for budget-conscious consumers. Moreover, their long lifespan and minimal maintenance requirements contribute to cost savings over the tank's operational lifetime.

Easy Installation and Maintenance

Galvanized steel water tanks are designed for easy installation, allowing for quick setup and integration into existing water systems. Their modular design and lightweight components simplify transportation and assembly, reducing installation time and labor costs.

Furthermore, maintenance requirements for galvanized steel water tanks are minimal. Routine inspections for signs of corrosion or damage, along with periodic cleaning, are typically sufficient to ensure optimal performance and longevity. This ease of maintenance makes these tanks a practical choice for homeowners, businesses, and agricultural operations alike.

Environmental Sustainability

From an environmental perspective, galvanized steel water tanks offer sustainable benefits. The zinc coating used in galvanization is a recyclable material, promoting resource efficiency and waste reduction. Additionally, the durable nature of these tanks reduces the need for frequent replacements, further contributing to environmental conservation efforts.

The design of galvanized tanks strictly adheres to the AWWA D103-09 standard and undergoes galvanization according to the GBT13912-2020 standard. These tanks are convenient to transport, easy to install using on-site bolted connections, cost-effective, and boast enduring internal and external finishes.

Product Quality Certification

The galvanized tanks produced by Zhongzhong Technology comply with the AWWA D103-09 standard. These tanks undergo galvanization strictly following the GBT13912-2020 standard, ensuring outstanding corrosion resistance and long-term durability.

Adherence to Standards:

All production processes strictly adhere to the AWWA D103-09 standard, ensuring that tank design, manufacturing, and testing meet the highest industry standards.

Galvanization Process:

The galvanization process follows the GBT13912-2020 standard to guarantee the quality and uniformity of the coating. This not only enhances the tanks' corrosion resistance but also improves stability in various environmental conditions.

Material Selection:

High-quality base materials are used to ensure the structural strength and durability of the tanks. The galvanized treatment effectively resists corrosion from atmospheric, water, and soil factors.

Product Packaging and Transportation

Galvanized steel sheets are a special coated steel that typically requires specific packaging and transportation measures during manufacturing and transit to ensure product quality and surface coating integrity. Here is a detailed explanation of galvanized steel sheet packaging and transportation:

Inspection and Confirmation:

Before packaging, carefully inspect each galvanized steel sheet to ensure there are no noticeable defects, scratches, or other surface damages. Confirm the coding and quality of each sheet for subsequent traceability and management.

Isolation and Protection:

To prevent damage to the surface coating of the steel sheet, use PE foam to isolate each galvanized steel sheet. PE foam material provides excellent cushioning performance, effectively absorbing impact forces from vibrations and collisions, thereby reducing the risk of surface damage.

Pallet Covering:

Neatly stack all isolated galvanized steel sheets on a pallet, then use plastic film to cover the entire pallet. This step not only helps protect the surface of the sheets but also securely fastens all the sheets on the pallet, preventing movement during transportation.

Fixing and Strapping:

To further enhance the stability of the packaging, use steel straps to strap and secure the entire pallet. Steel straps provide strong support, ensuring that galvanized steel sheets remain stable during transportation, preventing vibration and collisions.

Wooden Crate Packaging:

Place the entire pallet and well-packaged epoxy resin steel sheets into a sturdy wooden crate. Wooden crates provide additional protection during transportation, preventing external objects from affecting the packaging and providing an additional protective layer for the product.

Through these detailed and comprehensive packaging measures, galvanized steel sheets are well-protected during transportation, ensuring the quality and appearance of the product remain uncompromised. This packaging method not only helps reduce losses during transportation but also ensures end-users receive high-quality epoxy resin steel sheet products.

Center Enamel is a comprehensive high-tech enterprise primarily engaged in the research, development, manufacturing, and sales of enamel-assembled tanks and diversified environmental protection equipment, as well as undertaking environmental protection EPC projects and anaerobic process segments. Throughout its project practices, the company continuously increases research and development efforts, gathers scientific and technical forces, and establishes a service system covering everything from research and development to after-sales, providing tailored solutions to customers quickly and with high quality.

The measurement standards for projects not only need to meet technical and quality requirements but also must shift towards overall standards of sustainability, quality improvement, energy efficiency, and carbon reduction. In response to market and policy changes, Center Enamel actively leverages its rich experience and research and development strength to empower innovative research and development technologies for enamel-assembled tanks, contributing to the smart manufacturing of diversified environmental protection equipment and environmental protection EPC projects. This aims to meet the diverse needs and project requirements of customers.

Currently, Center Enamel's business covers areas such as kitchen waste, leachate, municipal sewage, biogas projects, aquaculture wastewater, industrial wastewater, drinking water, and firefighting water. In the future, the company's research and development achievements will be further promoted and applied in more projects, striving to achieve a win-win situation for economic, environmental, and social benefits, driving the high-quality development of the environmental protection industry.

#water tanks #bolted steel tanks

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glassfusedsteel · 9 months ago

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Glass fused bolted steel tanks

Saan TMCC is the premier provider of Glass Fused Steel tanks in Abu Dhabi, UAE. Specializing in water storage solutions for utility, irrigation, fire, and drinking water needs, the company offers a diverse range of options including glass-fused bolted steel tanks, Zincalum bolted liner tanks, and Glass Lined Steel Tanks. With a commitment to quality, innovation, and customer satisfaction, Saan TMCC has established itself as a leader in the industry, delivering durable and reliable storage solutions tailored to meet the specific requirements of its clients.

#glass-fused bolted steel tanks #Zincalum bolted liner tanks #Glass Lined Steel Tanks #structural steels #stainless steel & water storage

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onepieceisreeeeaaalll · 2 months ago

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Christmas Comfort - Law x Reader

Wrote this blurb on a whim, I'm feeling hyped up for Christmas! Featuring a scroogey Law. It's barely been proofread, I'll probably continue editing it as per usual.

CW: Small trauma mention. GN reader. SFW!

~1.6k words

----

The Heart Pirates weren't exactly known for being festive. The ship was typically viewed as cold, medical, sterile. Steel, rounded walls would almost become hypnotic to anyone pulling the late shifts, and it was a common occurrence for people to gasp for air whenever the ship would surface. Life was hard, methodical, strict, but the bond among the crew and the sense of duty they shared was the thread that held them together. There was real love there, even if the ship itself seemed like a death-clad tank piloting through the deepest layers of the ocean.

It never seemed to bother anyone on a day-to-day basis, but as the holidays rolled around, the energy between crewmates would always get increasingly restless. As December crept closer, Christmas merriment began to spread through the ship in hushed whispers and secret gift exchanges, nobody willing to incur the sneers of their captain urging them to get back to work. That is, until he gave the all-clear to Bepo that the crew could decorate the walls of the Polar Tang.

It was almost immediate - an overnight transformation into an underwater Winter Wonderland. Tinsel and bows hung along bolts and lined portholes, carefully strewn about by the joined efforts of Shachi and Penguin. At Port, somebody even had the great idea of dragging in a Christmas tree, which was decorated with homemade ornaments and old medical equipment that was no longer viable. Bepo directed crewmates to string lights along the inside of the galley, and it was already beginning to look a lot like Christmas. Eggnog became a nightly offering with dinner, and all seemed merry for the season.

It was now Christmas Eve. The stockings have been hung, the ship smells of pie and cinnamon, yet Law remains locked up in his own little world going over paperwork and research. As per usual.

“You're such a grump, you know that?” You sigh, leaning against the doorframe of Law's office.

“Is that all you came here to tell me?” He responds curtly, his eyes never leaving the medical texts he was always engrossed in.

“No. I also came to bring you some hot chocolate Ikkaku made. Since you don't want to take a break, though…” You say with a tone full of tempting mirth.

Law glances up only briefly to see the mug held casually between your hand and your hip. Damn. How did he miss that? The interest only lasts a moment, though, before his eyes look back at the textbook in front of him.

“Can't. Too busy.” He says simply, before adding a quick, “You can leave it, though.”

“Nu-uh. Christmas grumps don't get any hot cocoa.”

Without any other warning or indication, Law's hand lifts into the air, his fingers moving in that familiar way that makes your frustration flare up.

“Don't-”

“Room. Shambles.”

In the blink of an eye, the ceramic mug in your hand is swapped with some kind of paperweight from Law's desk, heavy and edged. The mug, still steaming and otherwise undisturbed, now sits beside Law, though he doesn't bother looking up to check. He doesn't have to.

“Really?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, picking up a pen to mark a specific section of the page he reads. With a groan, you toss the paperweight to the floor, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Law-”

“If that's all, I'll see you when I'm finished.” He responds, his tone bored and otherwise disengaged.

There's a pause between you two, the only sound being the far-off cheers of the Heart Pirate crew singing carols and the sound of the Polar Tang's engine.

“You can't be serious.” You say, your tone barely containing the edge of hurt and frustration. “It's Christmas Eve. There aren't any patients in the unit and everyone else is celebrating. There's no way you'd rather be alone.”

Law doesn't respond, though his eyes are no longer scanning any text. He's got that familiar glaze over his eyes that you've come to know all too well. It's as if he's trying to come up with some sort of explanation or response, a clear attempt to carefully curate his words. Law isn't one to sugarcoat how he feels. You prepare yourself for whatever lecture you might get from him, ignoring the tugging concern that's growing in your gut.

With a sigh, Law pushes himself back from his desk, leaning back in his chair. A hand runs through his hair methodically, fingers shoving tufts that have been left over from his trusty hat. Finally, gold eyes peek up to meet yours. There's something noticeably off about them this time - the bags under his eyes are darker and the glint in them appears dull.

“I don't…do well around Christmas.” He murmurs, eyes quickly averting down to the floor. “So don't take it personally.”

Watching him closely, you try to decipher exactly what could be plaguing him. There are plenty of reasons why he might not be doing well. You’ve spent countless nights retreading shared trauma, hearing about his family in Flevance and his time in the Donquixote family. It’s the most intimate Law can be, sharing the smallest glimpses into the nightmares that still seem to permeate in his head. Christmas, though…you’ve never been aboard the ship before during Christmas. This is entirely untreaded territory. You take a few careful steps into the room, closing the door behind you. Mustering your courage, you look at your boyfriend with empathetic eyes, taking a deep breath to ask the question.

“How come?”

Law looks at you with that same, tired gaze, though there’s the slightest hint of his face falling at your question. A reluctance to answer. He doesn’t look away from you, though, and for a moment you think he almost looks grateful that you’ve actually pried a bit further.

“It just brings back memories I'd rather not think about.” Law answers simply, his voice just a little quieter than before.

You’re not sure what he could mean - surely he’s celebrated holidays since losing his family. You look at Law for several moments, debating in your head the best way to approach this. Finally, there’s a compromise made in your mind.

“What if we made some new memories?”

Law’s eyes flash with surprise at your question. He was clearly expecting a series of invasive questions, prodding into what exactly has him down. Looking down, he lets out a long sigh and closes his eyes briefly.

“Y/N-ya--” He starts.

“I know it's not that simple.” You interject quickly. You have to try to get a word in before Law completely shoots down the idea. “I know I can't erase what you've been through or fix it, and I don't want to. It's all a part of who you are. I just…don't want you to be alone. You have a family. We all want you to have a good holiday.”

Another pause. He seems so thoughtful, so lost in trying to figure out what to say. It’s almost heartbreaking. Taking another step forward, you let out a small sigh of your own. It’s at least worth a try to make sure he doesn’t isolate himself.

“How about this - you come out into the galley for, say, ten minutes. Watch the gift exchange, drink some cocoa. Spend time with your crew who loves you. Then, if you're really still not feeling it, I'll come back here with you and we can just hang out. Read or something. No expectations.” You offer, your voice soft and gentle.

The tender gesture surprises Law again. He looks over at you again, straightening in his chair. His face is as enigmatic as usual, though the corners of his lips turn up slightly at your gesture. It’s subtle, but present.

“You don't have to do that for me. If you'd rather be with the crew-”

“Law, I'm not leaving you by yourself. I want to be with you on Christmas, even if it just feels like a regular day. Just…spend time with me. I'll make it worth your while.” You offer again, this time taking another small step forward. “You can say no.”

Law seems lost. For a brief moment, he looks back at his desk and the pile of paperwork. His eyes land on the text he was marking up. It’s quiet for long enough that you almost think you’re being dismissed until-

“Okay.”

You blink as he reaches for his hat, placing it atop his head. He makes his way around his desk, and you can’t stop the smile that rises to your lips.

“Okay, then. Let’s go.” You say softly, holding out your hand for him to take.

And so, the rest of the evening is spent in joyful festivities and good company. Law stays for much longer than ten minutes, enjoying the eggnog and the shenanigans of his crew. Gift exchange kicks off with Bepo entering the galley in a Santa suit, easily Law’s favorite moment of the night. When the last of the carols are sung and presents are given out, you walk out of the galley together, fingers interlocked. You feel a gentle tug on your hand as you’re about to cross the threshold and when you look back, Law gestures vaguely with his eyes up to the mistletoe hung in the doorway. Giving a mirthful smile, you lean forward and press your lips tenderly against his. It’s soft, a caress full of love as your lips move in sync. As they part, Law opens his eyes, gratitude and affection evident in them. He pecks your lips one more time before mumbling a gentle,

“Merry Christmas.”

#one piece #one piece x reader #law #trafalgar law #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #one piece fluff #one piece fanfiction

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atarathegreat · 1 year ago

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Angry-Chiro Shinichiro Sano

Nestled down a dark, wide alleyway between two much larger buildings was SS Motors. A squat little mechanics shop where you could buy spark plugs, gas caps, and tools on the shelves, and in the back was the garage. The garage was a little smaller than the whole building, big enough to fit a car while still having enough room for the mechanic to shift how he needed.

Shinichiro Sano took tremendous pride in his little shop, even had dreams that it would be bigger and placed in a more accessible space in the city. Fixing things was his passion, ripping out the bad parts or, in his current case, gutting a whole bike frame, was also part of the fun. Normally.

"Mother-" The sounds of ricocheting tools echoed up to the shop where you were helping customers. Steel on concrete or bouncing off the other metal work tables made you cringe as you hurled excuses again and again at Shinichiro's expense.

"Our mechanic is currently indisposed." You were all kind smiles and soft words when people were asking for him. They would sigh and nod and leave names and numbers, all while hearing the temper tantrum from the back of the shop. It wasn't new and many of the patrons were ignoring it for the most part, but you still worried about Shinichiro and the temper you knew he was capable of having.

While the rest of the shoppers were busy, not that there were many in such a secluded shop, you snuck back to the garage and peeked in. Shinichiro was fixing the bike frame back on a stand, leaving you to assume that maybe he'd gotten pissed enough to kick it over. "Shini?" The sound of your voice was enough to make him take a deep breath and look over his shoulder. He looked tired, his dark eyes not even really looking at you, "It...the bike...bolts..." Shinichiro was so mad he could hardly form a coherent sentence as he waved both arms at the frame, and that was fine, you were used to piecing together the issues. "It's alright. Steady hands, remember? Take it slow." Another soft smile and a little wave as you returned back to the front counter.

Closing early was surely going to set Shinichiro off even more, if he ever came out of the garage, but you closed early despite that. It wasn't good for business if the manager slash mechanic slash owner was seen as an angry man who couldn't keep tools from becoming an airborne item. Wrenches weren't meant to be birds and bolts definitely weren't rain drops.

"Son of a bitch!"

You sat up in bed, rubbing quickly at your eyes as more clanging woke you from a short nap. It was dark and your eyes hadn't yet cleared enough for you to see the bright red lines on the alarm clock. Moonlight almost kept you from tripping over the pile of shoes, your stumble becoming a valuable reminder that you would, eventually, have to buy a shoe rack. Cold air hit you quickly as you stepped from the mini living quarter and you reached back in to grab a coat before heading back out to trudge through the shop and to the garage. It got colder the closer you got.

"Shinichiro?"

The man turned quickly, a glare set in his features, as if a sculptor had snuck in and using clay and water to fix his beautiful smile into a scowl. "It's freezing, darling, come inside." You crossed the coat over itself to pull it tighter in hopes to keep some semblance of warmth for your skin.

"Can't. This stupid fucking thing isn't working with me and now this bolt won't even line up correctly." He slammed a wrench to the ground, glaring at the gas tank he was trying to connect to the newly cleaned bike frame. "To top it off, the rust took me nearly all day to get off and I can't even track down the right kind of seat for it!" Shinichiro huffed, leaning back against the toolbox, "How am I supposed to fix this by my deadline?"

Tools and dirty rags covered the garage floor as you stepped around and over them and bigger parts, crouching next to him, "How about I hold the tank steady and you secure it, and then we go in so you can get a drink, eat dinner, then we'll go to bed?"

Shinichiro shook his head, wiping a rag at the frame as if he was doing something, though he knew he just wanted to look busy, "I set a deadline for myself, Y/n, I want, need, this damn thing to be on the streets come spring." He always reached the goals he set for himself, so you knew it would kill him for yet another deadline with this particular bike to be pushed back.

It already wasn't a promise that he would've found the frame in Puerto Rico, and then the airlines tried to run you both around in circles over the metal until you went in and dragged it out by yourself. And then all the parts up to this point had to be ordered and the deliveries were delayed due to the winter weather, further ruining Shinichiro's plans. He stayed up night after night just to get a little bit further along in the process, all while neglecting his bodies needs for food, water and sleep. Being cooped up in the cold, horribly lit garage wasn't good for him. He looked gaunt and exhausted.

A heavy sigh fell from his lips, getting trapped somewhere between the rusty trashed parts and pile of boxes filled with new parts that had yet to be used. "I can't let it sit for a long time, I'll never get back to it." His bones spoke loudly as he stood and stretched, each pop was another cry for rest.

"You'll return to it, Shini." A weight was lifted from his shoulders when you smiled like that, like you believed in every move he made and every decision he was set on. "You never leave anything unfinished, y'know." The warmth from your hands was stolen from you as you held the tank steady for him, "And you can always call on me if you need help. I can work more than a register."

He was sure you could absolutely do more than a register, but your hands weren't supposed to be covered in grease like his, or calloused like his. You were supposed to have clean hands, manicured hands, dainty hands. Yet you didn't seem to care about any of that. Not as you leaned over the de-rusted handlebars to hold the gas tank so Shinichiro could fix the washer and bolt where they belonged and tighten them.

#anime #manga #x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev #tokyo rev x reader #shinichiro sano #sano shinichiro #shinichiro sano x reader

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explosionshark · 1 month ago

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💛 for fuffy?

yellow is for reunion kiss/relief!

thanks for this one, bud. fun to do something a little dramatic.

Buffy can feel her hands shaking where they grip the haft of her axe. She keeps waiting for the calm that comes over her in a fight — that flow state, the part that’s always felt like the Slayer waking up, taking over, when she moves more than she thinks, when she becomes violence and efficiency and death itself. She closes her eyes, and waits, breathing hard. Begs for it, futilely, thinking please, please, please with all her might until a light touch to her shoulder snaps her back into her body.

Kennedy is watching her, serious, but not judgemental. It was a light touch, two fingers to Buffy’s shoulder that she withdraws right away. She nods to the compound in front of them

Willow had only been able to send two slayers through the portal for this. She’d protested against it — they had no idea what they were up against, if this was a trap, how safe they would be.

You said that’s where they’ve got Faith, Buffy had pointed out. Willow nodded, helplessly. You said she’s alive. Another nod. Then we’re not waiting.

Backup is on the way, Buffy knows, but they’re using conventional means. It will be an hour, maybe more, before the squad of other slayers from the west coast hub can show up to reinforce them.

Buffy still feels sensitive, nauseous from the portal, and too aware of herself. She can hardly control her racing thoughts, the parade of worst fears marching through her mind. What if they’re too late?

“It looks empty,” comes Kennedy’s voice, low, barely audible.

“It’s not,” Buffy says. It can’t be.

Kennedy nods. “You ready?”

Their luck is rotten right from the start. They enter the building in near silence from hatch on the roof, but they’re barely inside for five minutes before they bumble their way into a tripwire that sets off an explosion. Kennedy takes the brunt of it, getting thrown into a concrete wall and earning a nasty burn on her arm, but to her credit she barely lets that slow her down. The worst part is how it gives them away. Within minutes they’re facing waves of demons who seem to just materialize from the dark.

It makes a grim sort of sense. It’s a demonologist holding Faith hostage, after all. This many years on, no one had expected Faith’s past to catch up with her, least of all Buffy. She’d tried to bury it, to not let herself dwell on Faith’s past deeds, the misery and hurt between them. It feels naive now, stupid, to think that Buffy had just let herself believe that things could be that easy. Apparently, there had been a price on Faith’s head for years, the cult she’d stolen the Box of Gavrok from had just been slow to collect. A few days ago, they had lured her back to California with a false lead about a demon Faith had been trailing on and off for a year now. Yesterday, they’d lost contact with her completely. A few hours ago, Willow had followed their lead back to the occultists that lured her and their connection to the Box.

They’re getting closer, Buffy knows they’ve got to be, because the demons are getting more dangerous, more wild. Their summoner must be getting desperate. Kennedy is flagging, slowed down by her burns and the other injuries she’s sustained fighting her way down the building alongside Buffy. But they’re so close, they’re so close, she can feel Faith now, that buzz on the back of her neck, different than how the other slayers feel.

“She’s here!” Buffy calls out, ducking the swing of a massive, bladed arm at her head. She rolls, shoulder cracking painfully on the concrete floor, breathing in dust and brimstone. “Through there! Go!”

It’s hard, sending Kennedy ahead, but Buffy’s chances against this demon are better. She’s got more in the tank, she’s more experienced, she’s less hurt. Buffy watches as Kennedy bolts past her, headed for the steel door leading to where Faith must be being kept. Her heart lurches sickly as Kennedy disappears.

Then the demon roars at her and charges her again.

“Okay, ugly,” Buffy huffs and launches forward to meet it.

It’s over in minutes. It takes way too long.

In the end, Buffy limps through the doorway, covered in sweat and demon muck, blood spilling down her neck from a scrape of the demon’s claws she couldn’t avoid. She slaps her palm over it, tries to slow the bleeding, decides she can worry about it later, once she knows Faith is safe. She’s exhausted, sick with nerves, dizzy and exhilarated and she can’t imagine worrying about anything else right now but—

“Faith,” Buffy shouts, pulling from her last reserves of energy to jog across the room.

Kennedy is kneeling down on the floor, next to Faith’s body.

“Hang on, wait,” Kennedy says, fiddling with the chains shackling Faith to the wall. She’s pouring something over them. Salt? “The bonds might be spelled. Will warned me about this.”

It’s a good precaution, because as soon as the powder in Kennedy’s bag hits the iron chains they fizzle and glow a nasty purple before dimming and smoking.

Kennedy lets out a long breath. “Thank fuck. I wasn’t sure that was gonna work.”

Buffy decides she’ll make it up to her later, the way she nearly knocks Kennedy over as she throws herself at Faith.

“Hey B,” Faith groans, allowing herself to be hauled to sitting, propped against the wall. “What took you so long?”

“Oh, you know,” Buffy says, voice shaking as she runs her hands over Faith’s body, inspecting her for wounds. “L.A. traffic.”

“Ah,” Faith groans. Her wrists are burnt raw where the manacles had lain. There’s a nasty streak of dried blood running down the side of her face. Her eyes, locked firm on Buffy’s face, are bright, intent. “What’d you take?”

“The 10 to the 405,” Buffy answers absently. The front of Faith’s shirt is stuck to her with blood. When Buffy lifts it up, she feels Faith flinch, and discovers a dizzying pattern of knife wounds.

“No wonder,” Faith wheezes. “Must have taken four or five hours.”

Buffy shakes her head, blinking back tears. “Faith…”

“What?” Faith asks, pushing Buffy’s hands away from her stomach gently. “Knock it off with that, I’m not dying. Or at least save it til we’re alone,” she flicks her eyes to Kennedy, somewhere over Buffy’s shoulder. “Thanks for the solid, Junior, but I got a rule against free shows. I’ll buy you a beer instead.”

“Anything but those stupid IPAs Xander keeps pushing on us,” Kennedy says. “I’ll leave you to it. I need to let Willow know no one died.”

“What happened to the guy who had you down here?” Buffy asks, as soon as she hears Kennedy step away.

“He took off after he sent that big nasty one at you,” Faith says. “Ugly fucker tried to take a bite out of him.”

Damn. They’re going to have to find him. They need to stop this. It won’t be over until…

“Hey,” Faith’s voice is soft, the hand she brings up to touch Buffy’s cheek is shaky, tacky with blood. “C’mere.”

Faith’s lips are rough, dry. Her mouth tastes like iron. Everything in the room smells like blood, like sulfur, like death and it takes this — Faith touching her, Faith breathing into her mouth, Faith kissing her in this dank, miserable room to make Buffy crack. She’s trembling, suddenly, leaning onto Faith harder than she should, harder than is safe, but she can’t help it. The relief is so strong it feels almost like pain — an overwhelming rush, a feeling so complete it saps the strength from her muscles.

All she can do is this — press her body into Faith’s, taste the salt of her own tears on Faith’s cracked lips, lift her palm gingerly and press it flat over Faith’s chest to feel the steady beat of her heart.

“I’m okay,” Faith whispers, between the desperate, gasping kisses Buffy gives her. “You found me. I’m okay.”

#replies #finalgirl1984 #fuffy #prompt fills #faith lehane #buffy summers #explosionfic

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emmitthechosenonesblog · 7 days ago

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Y’all have waited very patiently for my slow ass to post so here ya go-

(Origin stories and backgrounds are coming soon so here’s some “how the turtles met each character” stories 4 u)

“I don’t see how this is necessary.” The soft shell turtle grumbled, his tail flicking back and forth with underlying annoyance. “Aw c’mon, Dontron, it’ll be fun! Just imagine it: a whole day of facials, pedicures, lounging by the pool. I thought you loved all that stuff!” Leo exclaimed, slinging an arm over Donnie’s shoulder.

Donnie swatted his hand away, rolling his eyes. Leo was far too excited in his opinion. He thought it was a great idea to being Donnie along to his spa day, saying that he didn’t “get out of the house enough.” Truth be told, Leo brought him along so he could hack into the resorts security system so they wouldn’t have to pay.

“I only like that stuff when I’m not busy. And in case you didn’t notice, ‘Nardo, I am VERY busy. Not only do I have to fix the turtle tank from our last mission, but I also have to add some updates to the-“

“Ahhhbupbupbup- just be zen, bro. Chillaxxx~” Leo pressed a finger up to Donnie’s mouth, a grin plastered on his face as he teased his brother. Donnie sputtered at the sudden intrusion, smacking his hand away once again. “Zen? You’ve got to be kidding me. Well, Leonardo, you and your zen can kiss. My. A-“

“Look out!”

Before Donnie had any time to respond, a flash of white and purple soars past his eyes, knocking him onto the cold stone ground. He groaned at the sudden impact,

“S-Sorry! I let this little fella out of his cage. Didn’t think he’d bolt the first chance he’d get.” The girl exclaimed, sitting up and holding the small mouse with white fur in the palm of her hands

Donatellos eyes soon adjusted after being knocked down, widening when he saw the girl with purple skin. She had no idea what she was doing, did she? A light blush spread across his cheeks, his breath hitching in his throat.

“I let him out for one second and he’s already driving me nuts! I swear one of these days I’m gonna- oh.”

A blush ran across the moth girl's cheeks as well. She was sitting on him. Straddling him. She gulped, her breath shaky as she looked down at him. “O-oh…Hi…” she whispered shyly, a sheepish smile running across her face

"Uhm...Hi.." Donnie whispered back, a nervous and flustered look plastered on his face. The girl took a second before realizing she was still on him, sliding off and standing up. "D-Damn it, sorry! I-I didn't see you-" She rubbed her cheek, a bruise already beginning to form there thanks to the tumble they both took. She took a deep breath, steeling herself. "I'm Lilian. Lilian Sanchez. Again, I'm sorry about...well, falling on you, I suppose."

Donnie looked her up and down, noticing her shy demeanor. He huffed out a breath that he didn't even realize he was holding, standing up. That's when he realized just how short Lilian was. He cleared his throat, holding out his hand for her to shake. "It's alright. No harm done. I'm Donnie."

Lilian's face lit up when she saw how calm he'd gotten, happy he wasn't angry. She giggled softly, shaking his hand. "Donnie, huh? That's a pretty name! Oooo, what's that gauntlet do? Is your favorite color purple? What'cha doing here? Is that a battle shell or something on your back-" At this point, Lilian was buzzing. She flapped around him, wings fluttering as they lifted her off the ground slightly. Donnie blinked up at her with surprise. Nobody had ever been this interested in his work before. So curious. He chuckled softly, with a proud smirk as he blushed in return. "Well, as you can see, my fluttering friend...'

Lilian would be lying if she said she wasn't completely enamored of this man. He was so smart and interesting that it was hard not to be practically buzzing with excitement. The two sat down together, talking about his inventions and his likes and dislikes. He was just so...him. In the end, she handed him her number, a big old smile on her face. Donnie wouldn't be lying if he said she was adorable.

He was perfect.

Perfect in her eyes.

(Epilogue)

"Dude, who was that cutie you were talking to? The moth girl?" Leo asked as the two walked home, striding through the sewers with renewed fervor. Donatello shrugged, fiddling with the piece of paper with Lilian's number on it. The first girl to ever give him their number. Well, besides April, of course. "Some girl called Lilian Sanchez. She gave me her number. She was...excited to talk to me. Like, she didn't even know me and she was so happy to get to know me..."

After a long moment of silence, Leo perked up, eyes wide. "Wait, Lilian Sanchez? Dude, you talked to her and survived?" Donnie tilted his head in confusion. "What do you mean, 'Survived?' "

"Donnie, her dad's dangerous. I'm surprised you were even allowed to talk to her." Leo said with surprise, stopping in his tracks to talk to his twin. Donnie stopped as well, a few paces ahead of him. "Lorenzo Sanchez?'

The end

#tmnt 2018 #tmnt fanart #teenage mutant ninja turtles #save rottmnt #rottmnt oc #rottmnt fanart #rottmnt donnie #uwu #my art be uwu #silly #idk man #it me

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shankala · 4 months ago

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all my protags! gay women who save the world UNITE!

wrapping up inquisition in preparation for veilguard coming this month and man do i love these games... i love being able to play a big butch lesbian woman who saves the world and falls in love in between.

more info about them ↓

I find it easier to draw people when I draw them paper doll style, naked first lol. it helps kind of set up the character in my mind.

Like the warden who's built tough but compact, able to swing her battle-axe and tank hits from oncoming darkspawn hordes. Scars from longsword slashes and near miss arrows in her shoulders. She shaved her hair off after the attack on the cousland castle, getting a fresh start with the wardens and its convenient for war time, so the darkspawn can't grab ahold of her. She's clean-cut, no piercings and doesn't paint her nails but keeps them cut short and tidy, and slathers blue paint across her eyes before armoring up.

Hawke who is taller and lankier, mostly fighting mercenaries in the back alley, so she doesn't need to be quite as built as the warden but still has to swing her big sword around and fight qunari. She's depressed the whole game, so sometimes she doesn't take care of herself as she should, forgetting to eat at times. Long scars from big qunari axes and being impaled by the arishok. Pierced ears and a lip ring, iconic red swipe across her nose, hawke almost always has painted nails, a feeling of control for her.

And the inquisitor, who spent most her life as a mercenary. Being qunari she's naturally more built, but a hard life has her built like a tank. Eyes turned supernaturally green, altered by the mark. She's a mage turned knight-enchanter able to zip across the battlefield and lash out close combat. Her scars are more sporadic, wiggly scars from magic and demons from the fade, more scars from cross-bolts than arrows as the times change. Horns wrapped in steel, tipped with gold that matches her pierced ears. She lets josephine paint her nails sometimes, usually to match her vitaar. She always paints up before going out, more elaborate designs for bigger battles, the design incorporating the inquisition's eye, a reminder that the eyes of the world are upon her.

#dragon age #adaar #inquisitor #qunari #dai #cousland #da origins #warden #hawke #my fart

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southern-god1 · 5 months ago

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Beer And Thunder: Thor and The Southern Avengers

Out of the clear blue Florida sky, there was a massive bolt of lightning, followed by an earsplitting crack of thunder that boomed for miles. The bolt of blueish lighting was immense, and persisted for a few moments, unlike regular lightning. The literal bolt from the blue shook the ground and left a deep crater, as though something had slammed into the Earth at high speed and with great force. From the smoking crater came a large hand, gripping the lip of the crater and hauling someone up.

The figure stepping from the crater was a huge man. No, not a man; a god. Standing at 6 foot 3 inches, he stood tall and strong, and would have loomed over many a mortal. He wore a suit of armored plate that weighed as much as an Abrams main battle tank, yet he barely felt it. His armor covered his chest, leaving his massive biceps free, ready to swing the immense hammer in his right hand. His long blonde hair fell down over his bright blue eyes, and he swept it away. Thor, Son of Odin, frowned in confusion. This was…definitely not Midgard. Or, not the Midgard he remembered. Where was the snow? The “big” and “strong” Viking warriors -small to him, like all mortals- come to offer him tribute and mead? The small mortals bowing before the mighty God of Thunder? And why was it so hot?!? It was hot and humid, like the fires of Muspelheim! In the far distance, he saw strange clusters of steel and glass, rising into the horizon. Ah, mortals! He begin to swing his hammer, before slingshotting himself far into the distance.

It was a fine day in Jacksonville, Florida. There was going to be a Gators game later that day and people were getting ready for tailgates; buying beers, brats, and Yankees to worship them as they enjoyed the game. Huge trucks drove through the streets, blaring both the AC from the vents and bro country from the speakers. That changed abruptly when something came slamming into the pavement, leaving a small indentation where it landed. A huge Ford slammed on the breaks, narrowly avoiding toppling into the hole, front wheels hanging into the hole. Baffled passersby got close, only to see a tall and muscular figure with long blonde hair standing in the hole, climbing out. He was tall, very muscular, and was already sweaty from the heat as he rose and took a look around, surveying the mortals.

“Ah, mortals! I have found you, at last. I am Thor, Son of Odin, God of Thunder, Lord of Asgard, and this land is mine to claim!”

Thor looked around, confused when they did not kneel before him in stunned worship. These mortals were quite tall, some even taller than him. They must be giants? Their words had a strange accent as they whispered.

“Who is he?”

“One of the Avengers?”

“Claim? This is Florida, not California!”

Thor had no idea of where he had landed; one of northern Florida’s biggest cities and the birthplace of Tim Tebow, Jacksonville was full of Southern men who did not take kindly to the idea of being “claimed”. He knew it was hot, and he was sweaty.

“Mortals! Bow before-“

Before he could finish his sentence, a booming voice cut through the crowd.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Thor turned to see a trio of men, each standing at least 7 feet tall, looming over even the Mighty Thor. One of them was a tall and thin -relatively, he was still quite muscular- figure with a scruffy beard, wearing an armored jumpsuit in grey and dark red. His hair and beard was dark brown, and a pair of intense green eyes peered at Thor as he hefted a heavy shield; it was clearly very sturdy, strong, and bore a red, white, and blue emblem Thor did not recognize. It was pointed at one end, enabling it to be used offensively and defensively.

The man next to him was not a man at all, at least Thor didn’t think so. Its flesh was shining in the Florida sun as though made of metal, and was red and blue. A central sphere glowed, as did the creature’s eyes. The only way Thor knew it was alive was that it spoke.

“Getting impressive energy readouts Cap.”

The first man nodded curtly. The third figure loomed over even his comrades; he was a bulky behemoth of a man, huge and beefy, with muscles that made even Thor look small. This impressed and confused Thor. He wore a tight-fitting shirt that hugged his arms, and a pair of mesh-like pants that did little to conceal his beefy ass. It was a mix of red and grey and blue and orange, an odd mix that managed to work surprisingly well. He said nothing, but his blue eyes roved over Thor. He folded his arms over his pecs and smirked, satisfied that he was bigger. The first man spoke again.

“Again, who the fuck are you?”

Thor hefted his hammer.

“I am Thor, Son of Odin, God of Thunder, Lord of Asgard! And yes, I am quite impressive, metallic imp. Who are you? It is clear that you are the lords of this land, aye? You must be related to Frost Giants! But this land is not yours; Midgard rightfully belongs to me. Do you intend to deny my righteous claim as Lord of the Nine Realms?”

The first man almost laughed.

“I’m Captain Confederate, and you seem to be lost; this ain't a damn renn fair…and is that a goddamn hammer?”

The metal man spoke to Cap, evidently the team lead.

“Uh, Cap; Thor was the Norse god of thunder, lightning, fertility, and trees. I think that’s Mjolnir, his hammer.”

Thor brightened.

“So you have heard of me. Good, the mortals still worship me!”

The third man unfolded his arms and strode forward.

“Thor, huh? God of Thunder? I’m Tim fucking Tebow, but you can call me Stonewall. Yer lookin pretty puny for a god, and you sure as hell ain't from here, so you ain't a god. Put down your toy before I have to break it.”

Thor grew irritated and indignant.

“You dare challenge my might, ogre? I shall claim this land for Asgard, and you shall kneel before your rightful Lord. Now, feel the wrath of the Mighty Thor!”

Thor aimed Mjolnir at Stonewall, and there was a huge blast of lightning, arcing from the mighty hammer and into the humungous football players beefy chest. To Thor’s astonishment, the hulking brute was knocked back maybe half a step, but was otherwise unharmed when the smoke cleared. Stonewall glared at Thor.

“That tickled. Now I get to break you.”

Taking two steps forward, Stonewall swung his huge fist at Thor, hitting him right in the chest and sending him flying into a wall. Thor was dazzled, but stood from the wall and charged forth. Just as this occurred, the tall Texan, Captain Confederate, took a running leap, vaulting up a truck and leaping from the roof, coming down as fast and hard as surely as a shell on Fort Sumter, his shield with the battle flag slamming down hard into Thor. The shield itself weighed several hundred pounds, and there were several hundred pounds of Texan muscle behind it as well, propelling the pointing shield down onto his head, a single tiny drop of divine blood falling from his forehead as he was propelled backwards by the impact. Thor roared and emitted a mighty blast of lightning all around him, throwing Captain Confederate back, though he swiftly converted the tumble into a deft roll backwards, already kneeling and using his shield for cover as he fired on Thor with his custom 1911. The bullets compacted into tiny metal discs upon impact with Thor’s massive muscles, completely useless. Cap frowned, concerned by this, as Iron Rebel hovered overhead, blasting Thor with his energy weapons.

The Alabama billionaire hovered in his armored suit, blasting Thor with his repulsors, but was confused. They didn’t seem to be having much impact. His AI, Jaxon, chimed to life.

“Sir, energy levels rising in the target.”

“Explain.”

Colin replied as he kept blasting Thor, pumping up the energy in the blasts, hoping they might prove more effective.

Thor grinned below, and locked eyes with him.

“Energy levels increasing dramatically s-"

Before he could finish his sentence, Thor emitted a burst of lightning directly at him, thunder rumbling through the cloudless Jacksonville sky. The suit was of course, fully insulated, but the sheer power behind the blast shut down his armor, and he dropped like a rock, slamming into the ground and attempting to reactivate his systems, cursing loudly as he did so.

The clang of Iron Rebel against the ground drew Cap’s gaze, and he rushed to his aid, still firing with one hand at Thor. Stonewall gave his partners a quick glance, and, almost sensing that Colin was ok despite having fallen from the sky, strode towards Thor. The bulky footballer walked forward casually, as though walking out to the middle of Gators stadium for the coin toss. He reeled back to punch Thor again, casually ignoring another blast of lighting as he drew closer. Thor, frustrated that nothing seemed to be hurting the Florida football colossus, hefted a nearby truck that had been abandoned, and hurled it at Stonewall. That caught his attention, eyes widening as it came hurtling towards him. Tim put out his arms, and, to Thor’s astonishment, he caught the truck and simply set it down, gingerly, as though he wanted to avoid breaking a fellow Southerners property. He continued to stride towards Thor, steps leaving small divots in the asphalt as he grew himself slightly bigger with casual ease, gaining two more feet in a few strides, looming over Thor. The thunder god hurled Mjolnir at Tebow’s head, which actually seemed to have an impact; the force behind the throw seemed to hurt, knocking his head back on his neck as though he had just received a strong punch to the face. His casual grin was now an irritated frown.

Thor held out his hand for Mjolnir, waiting for it to come back to him. It came racing back to him, but then, at the last second, the red and grey figure of Iron Rebel rocketed past, snatching Mjolnir from the sky. Iron Rebel was surprised by how easy it had been to chart the hammers course and arrange an intercept pattern. His systems had rebooted and he was eager to do something, so upon seeing him hurl his mighty hammer, he decided he could at the very least take away Thor’s weapon. The hammer strained, exerting force, trying to return to Thor, but Colin’s armor -and his muscles under it- was strong enough to keep it firmly held in his gauntlet. Thor was about to fry the iron pest when Tim Tebow slammed into him with all the force of fifteen freight trains, propelling him backward. His legs, which had driven even other Southern Gods back with their sheer driving force on the gridiron, pumped, combat cleats tearing into the asphalt, muscled arms pushing Thor back, and then pinning him. Thor fell onto his back, and felt an impossibly heavy weight on his chest; Stonewall’s huge combat cleat, pinning him to the ground as if he was a magnet stuck to it. He struggled, but couldn’t move.

“Unhand me, ogre!”

Captain Confederate strode forth, glaring down at Thor, and placed his shield against his throat, the pointed tip like a guillotine blade.

“I should kill you right now for what you’ve done. Challenging us, hurting my friends, causing so much damage. For challenging our honor…”

He pressed the tip into Thor’s neck, a tiny pinprick of blood oozing forth. He did not press it further, thinking. Stonewall spoke up.

“Thanks for that. First real fight I’ve had in ages. That hammer a yers packs a punch.”

Speaking of the hammer, Iron Rebel strode up, still holding Mjolnir, effortlessly keeping it from Thor’s hands.

“Please just cut his head off Jensen. I’m going to have to completely redesign the suit now.”

Thor let out an indignant roar, struggling anew against the combat cleat. Stonewall frowned.

“Naw, that’d be a waste. He’s big, strong, hot, just needs a haircut to get rid of that damn hippy hair and a Rebel Brew to become a real God. Let’s Southernize ‘im.”

Colin was alarmed by the idea.

“WHAT? No! I am NOT being partners with a walking Tesla coil! You saw what he did!”

Jensen paused, seeming to consider this.

“You recovered. Tim’s right.”

He pulled the shield back, resting it beside him, as he reached into a small pouch on his belt. Between his fingers rested a small metal vial, marked “SS-004 CONCENTRATE.” A heavily concentrated form of Southernizing agent, he kept a few vials on his person if he ever ran across someone worthy of ascension during a field op. He opened the vial’s lid.

“I heard ya like beer? Get ready for the best beer of your life. Yer about to become one of us.”

As Thor continued to protest, he leaned down and poured the vial right down his throat. The god spluttered, almost gagging on the substance.

Thor continued to protest the mortals when the scruffy one with a heavy shield poured something right down his throat. He spluttered as it splashed down, the intense taste of hops too much even for him. Almost immediately, a strange heat washed over him. Then, his eyes almost rolled back in his head from the sudden explosion of power blasting through his body. The warmth washed over every inch of his body, every atom suffused with energy and power. His biceps and triceps, already impressive, began to grow before the eyes of the Southerners. Thor’s muscles, be it in his boulder biceps, thunder thighs, princely pecs, or elsewhere, grew hundreds of times denser and stronger in moments, flooded with strength, strong as white titanium. His muscles and sinews stretched, bones popping as they expanded. Sweat covered his body anew, glistening in the hot Southern sun as he kept growing. His cock would be an impressive eight inches when completely soft, balls churning with superior seed as his DNA was augmented and remade into a hybrid of Southern strength and Norse divinity.

As if being diverted from one part of him to another, Thor’s long blonde locks receded back, becoming a much more conservative cut, as a beard grew out, thicker and mightier. His feet strained against his boots, growing several sizes in moments, stinking and sweaty. Thors mind began to change. He felt a haziness wash over him, clouding his memories. No longer had he been entirely Asgardian. No, his father had had some fling with a mortal from the South, and he was the result. A mighty hybrid, raised to take over when his father passed. He felt an immensely strong attachment to the South, having visited it and fallen in love, and now he fought alongside the Southern Avengers when he was not expanding the Asgardian Empire, which he ruled as God-Emperor. Thor looked around, wondering why he was on his back. His armor had expanded to accommodate his new size, but now bore motifs of miniature battle flags alongside norse runes, his dual heritages reflected in his armor and his accent when he spoke. Standing up, he opened his mouth to speak, but something else came out.

“BBBBBUUUUUUURRRRPPPP!”

The thundering beer-heavy shockwave of his burp shook the ground under his feet, and shattered windows already weakened by their fight. He flexed his immense white biceps, soaked in sweat, and proudly proclaimed.

“I am Thor - Son of Dixie!”

He smirked as he flexed, feeling absolutely at home in the Jacksonville sun. The others watched him in awe, and Thor was puzzled.

“What’s wrong my friends?”

Jensen spoke first, improvising quickly. He was pleasantly surprised by the results of the vial. Perhaps because Thor was a god to begin with, the results were especially impressive, making him into a very literal Southern God.

“Nothin Thor. That was just…a damn good burp.”

“Of course it was! What has happened here?”

Tebow spoke up now, clapping Thor on the back; he was delighted by the new stud, his muscles rivaling his own beefy muscles.

“Oh, we took down some terrorists. Made a real mess, but nobody got hurt. Ya did good today Thor. Now, let’s help em fix things up, then we all go out for some dinner?”

Thor nodded enthusiastically, and began effortlessly hefting vehicles that had been turned over.

Two Days Later:

The ground shook as the Yankees prayed, invoking their precious God, imploring him to save them, to deliver them from evil, to watch over them in their hour of need. The ground shaking was itself not unusual; Southerners frequently made the ground shake for one reason or another; walking, burping, farting, rumbling by in their huge trucks. But now the stained glass windows shook dangerously, quaking in their frames as if the saints themselves feared what was coming. They prayed harder. Then, a huge hand ripped apart the church steeple, massive fingers ripping apart the roof and steeple, sending beams falling down into the church and onto the terrified parishioners. The hand pulled away and the remains of the roof and steeple were casually tossed over the titan’s shoulder as if it were merely a beer can. A huge face bent down to peer at the puny Yankees; it was huge, filling the sky, a scruffy dirty blonde beard taking up a lot of the view, each hair easily three times the size of the largest man north of the Mason-Dixon. They didn’t recognize him, but that, again, wasn’t unusual. Southerners came and went, sowing havoc in their wake as surely as ozone follows lightning. He smirked down at the tiny Yankees, and chuckled, voice shaking the ground when he spoke.

“HELLO YANTS! ARE YOU PRAYING TO YOUR RIGHTFUL SOUTHERN GODS?”

The accent was not one they recognized; it was kinda Southern, but there was something else. This was confusing. He peered closer, and his huge lips pursed into an irritated frown.

“ANSWER ME, KNAVES.”

Knaves? What sort of person called someone a knave?

The terrified father seemed to regain some small measure of faith and stood, trembling but still standing.

“N-no, we are worshipping the one true God-“

He was cut off by an amused guwaff from the titanic stud looming over them.

“GOD? THERE IS NOT ONE GOD, PUNY BUGS, BUT AN ENTIRE RACE OF THEM LIKE ME. BOW BEFORE THE MIGHTY THOR, GOD OF THUNDER, PATHETIC YANTS, AND PERHAPS I SHALL TAKE YOU AS MY PLAYTHINGS.”

The terrified Yankees stared up in horror at the colossus. Since when did the so-called gods have dominions? Some were already on their knees, knocked down by falling debris, the quakes from his footfalls or the beer-scented wind from his booming voice. Others, however, refused to kneel, secure in their faith, albeit still alarmed. Thor titan waited for a few moments, before opening his mouth to speak again, only for a hurricane-force burp to rumble forth from his mega stomach. There was an ominous rumble and then when his lips parted, hell burst forth into the sanctuary.

The beer-and-protien-scented shockwave of gas and heat obliterated all the remaining stained glass windows as if purging the land of false idols in an act of masculine potency and southern rage, leaving not a trace remaining. The doors flew off their hinges, one door slamming into and through the store across the street, the other door reducing a passing Yankee to a bloody smear on the sidewalk. The walls bulged and strained, bulging out in crazy angles in some places, completely destroyed in some places. The inhabitants fared worst of all.

The sheer heat of Thor’s massive burp seared them, their screams utterly inaudible as they were cooked to a crisp, burned and charred in a few mercifully quick seconds before death supervened. They had literally been fried by the heat, skin forming a crust-like texture of flash-hardened burns.

A low whistle came from beside Thor. Stonewall towered beside him, having been watching beside Thor as he exercised his power.

“DAMN! YOU COOKED EM!”

Thor grinned with pride.

“DIDN’T KNOW I COULD DO THAT! I WONDER…”

He trailed off and grabbed one of the petrified Yankee bodies, still kneeling in terrified supplication, and tossed it into his gaping maw.

“NOT BAD! CRISPY AND WARM.”

He reached down and grabbed more, as Stonewall just laughed, thunderous laughter shaking the ground. This had been quite a fun way to see Thor in action, allowing Tim to gauge how he was acclimating to his powers. Evidently he was adapting quite well. He knew it had been a good idea to Southernize the colossal Nordic hunk, and this casual display of power and dominance seemed to confirm it. He smiled and patted his friend on the back.

“WANNA GO FIND SOME DUMB PROTESTERS TO STOMP ON, MAKE SOME YANTS BOW DOWN?”

Thor grinned.

“OF COURSE! MAYBE I CAN FRY SOME MORE!”

With that, the two stomped off, Cap joining them, having been busy stomping out a minor disturbance under his boots. The trio of titans stomped off to find more Yants to have fun with, knowing that they would tremble at the sight of the newest member of the Southern Avengers: Thor, Son of Dixie.

How Thor joined the ranks of the Southern Avengers! Hope y'all liked it! Lemme know that ya think; comment, send me a message, or via an ask -anon or otherwise-.

#southernization #southern avengers #story

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diabolus1exmachina · 2 years ago

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Lamborghini Urraco P300

Despite having been conceptualised as the model to dramatically increase sales and bring Lamborghini greater financial stability, the Urraco P250 proved a commercial flop. Production started in late 1972 following major equipment and floorspace investment. However, by late 1974, less than 500 had been delivered. The Urraco should have gone into production two years earlier than it eventually did. Lamborghini had originally conceived the model with a view to selling over 1000 examples every year.

The disappointing reality left Lamborghini deep in the red, but the Urraco was only partly responsible for a difficult few years.

Compounding the firm’s troubles had been delays for the Countach, a worldwide recession, problems at Lamborghini Trattori and unionised labour, all of which contrived to take their toll on the company founder. In 1972, Ferruccio Lamborghini had sold his tractor company along with 51% of his motor car business. He cashed out of the final 49% in 1974 when the world was in the midst of an energy crisis that slashed demand for gas guzzling machinery.

Throughout this tumultuous period, development work continued on the Urraco. It mainly focused on the Paolo Stanzani-designed V8 engine that had been created especially for the new model at considerable expense. In November 1974, an uprated Urraco P300 was launched at the Turin Motor Show. It immediately went into production alongside the Countach LP400, Espada Series 3 and Jarama S.

Most significantly, the Urraco P300 came with an enlarged three-litre engine. Equally importantly, the power unit now incorporated dual instead of single overhead camshafts.

To take capacity up to three-litres, Paolo Stanzani’s all-alloy 90° V8 was stroked from 53mm to 64.5mm. Bore went unchanged at 86mm for an overall displacement of 2997cc (an increase of 534cc). Compression was dropped from 10.5:1 to 10.0:1. Four new Weber 40 DCNF twin-choke downdraught carburettors were installed to replace the old 40 IDF 1s used previously.

The consequence of these improvements was a dramatic jump in output. Peak power was up 40bhp to 260bhp at an otherwise unchanged 7500rpm. The torque rating also rose considerably; 195lb-ft was now on tap at 3500rpm compared to 166lb-ft at 5750rpm for the P250.

As before, ignition was via two Marelli coils and a single Marelli distributor.

Lamborghini’s five-speed manual gearbox was beefed up to cope with the increased power and torque. Transmission was via a single dry-plate clutch and Lamborghini differential. New damper settings improved the ride, but otherwise little was changed to the existing platform The P300 was based on the same steel monocoque body shell as its predecessor. The engine was housed transversely like the Miura.

Suspension was independent all-round with MacPherson struts, coil springs and telescopic shocks. Anti-roll bars were fitted at either end The twin circuit brake system incorporated unchanged 278mm ventilated Girling discs. Campagnolo’s handsome five-bolt cast magnesium wheels were retained. They measured 7.5 x 14-inches and originally came shod with Michelin XWX tyres.

An 80-litre fuel tank was fitted in the engine bay.

Visually, the only change made to the P300 Urraco was a switch from a two-bank to six-bank radiator cooling vent on the front lid. The rest of Marcello Gandini’s soft wedge creation was unaltered.In a decade not exactly renowned for design longevity, the Urraco proved somewhat timeless. Compared to Bertone’s other mid-engined 2+2, the Ferrari Dino 308 GT4, the baby Lamborghini aged very well, even though it was ultimately outsold by the Maranello product by five to one.Build quality was considerably improved over earlier examples and nowhere was this more apparent than in the cockpit.Bertone had originally been responsible for furnishing the bodyshells, but by the time the P300 was on stream, this work had been taken in-house.

Lamborghini used better quality materials and ensured a higher standard of fit and finish.To this end, P300s were generally equipped with full leather interiors instead of the often garish two-tone leather and fabric combinations seen earlier.

The full width dash layout was still just as haphazard though. The rev counter and speedometer were located at either end of the instrument binnacle and angled in towards the driver. Supplementary gauges and various rocker switches were housed in between.

Lamborghini’s unusual deep dish steering wheel with its four arced horizontal spokes and leather rim was also retained. Like the P250 (which remained in production for a few months longer to use up an overstock of parts), the only update was the gradual shift to anodised black bumpers, wipers and window frames. A more conventional three-spoke steering wheel was also introduced towards the end of production.

#Lamborghini Urraco P300 #Ferruccio Lamborghini #Countach LP400 #Espada #Jarama S #Miura #Ferrari Dino 308 GT4 #Bertone

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sameeksha-4717 · 1 hour ago

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son1c · 2 years ago

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rouge wins the prize of "most trustworthy person sonic has met so far" by default

falling stars fic masterpost

The bat Mobian was deathly silent. The whole room, in fact, had suddenly become a void of noise. The only sounds to be heard were the soft hums of the fluorescent lights, and the bubbles lazily rising in the tank in the middle of the floor.

With an icy glare, the bat Mobian looked at Sonic. His accusation felt like a slap in the face. "What do you know? You're just another one of Eggman's toys." She adjusted the bands on her wrists protectively. Almost like she was daring Sonic to take them from her. "Shadow is gone, sweetheart. You can't steal from the dead."

Sonic shook his head. He felt dizzy from the sudden resurgence of memories--memories that his ruptured code couldn't hold back anymore. In his mind's eye, he saw Shadow, asleep in the pod in the basement. Now, it made sense why his wickedness, Doctor Eggman--blech, no. Let's try that again.

It made sense why Mr. Ivo didn't want him going down there. He would've broken free from the doctor's vice immediately if he'd seen Stripes. And Omega was down there, too. Trapped behind that locked door. Sonic felt himself growing angry just thinking about it.

The Robian said, "You're wrong. He's alive, and I can prove it!"

With her hands balled into fists, the bat spat, "This isn't a very nice trick, Blue. Even for an Eggman robot--it's low."

"I'm not a--" Sonic started to say, but stopped. He looked down at his hands. They were made of steel and screwed together with bolts. His argument held no water. Right now, he was an Eggman robot.

But it didn't matter. Robian or Mobian, Sonic wasn't gonna let this thief walk out of here with Shadow's inhibitor rings. And once he got them back, he was going to break his friend out of the basement, and then they would leave. Whatever information the doctor still had about their pasts wasn't worth being at his mercy.

However, before Sonic could charge at the bat, a badnik appeared at the base of the hole that had been smashed into the wall during their fight. It wasn't the motobug with the star on its head; it was a caterkiller that Sonic had saved from falling into the trash compactor last week. It looked worried.

Then, a buzzy bomber appeared. The same one that Sonic had caught after it flew into a live wire that caused its wings to lock up. And after that, a pair of eye stalks peeked over the ruined wall. They belonged to the crabmeat that somehow always managed to fall over and get stuck on its back. Luckily, Sonic had been there to pick it up and flip it back onto its feet every time that happened.

When Rouge saw what Sonic was looking at, she tensed. She knew this place was crawling with robots. She'd seen them when she'd snuck in. But that was why she'd been sneaky--so she didn't have to fight all of them. And now it looked like she was going to have to deal with a whole motley crew.

"Phoning in friends already?" Rouge asked the Robian. She kept her voice light and casual, despite the danger. "That's hardly fair. But you're gonna have to try a little harder than that to intimidate me!"

Sonic ignored her. He actually took his eyes off her entirely, so he could look down at the caterkiller and crabmeat that were now at his feet. The buzzy bomber joined them, although this badnik chose to perch on his head instead. It buzzed at him insistently.

"Sorry, guys, but you gotta go," Sonic said. He attempted to shoo the badniks out of the room, but they didn't budge. "I'm kinda in the middle of something right now, and it's not safe for--"

While Sonic was distracted, Rouge attempted to stomp on the crab robot. Take out the easy ones first, then worry about the big guy, she figured. But she was unsuccessful. Sonic caught her boot with one hand, and shot her a red hot glare.

"Leave them out of it," he said, his robotic voice crackling. "You want to fight? Fine. Waste your time. Just don't forget who you're up against!"

Sonic's grip on Rouge's boot tightened. Then, he grabbed her leg with his other hand, and spun her around, before letting go. She sailed through the air and crashed into one of the computers lined up against the wall. When she tried to push herself back up, her hand caught on a switch, and flipped it down.

The tank in the middle of the room started boiling like the water inside was being heated by lava. But Rouge ignored it, her eyes focused on the strange blue robot that was still glaring at her from across the room. She'd never seen anything like him before. It was already a rarity for Eggman robots to be able to talk, but to be protective over other bots? That was unheard of.

And he'd mentioned Shadow. But there was no way he was serious. She'd seen it herself, through the windows of the Ark--Shadow had fallen to earth, along with the blue hero. They were both dead.

Right?

"Let's get back on topic, hmm?" the bat said, a little tightly. She didn't want to think about that bad memory anymore. "I'm here for Eggman's secret treasure. Should be behind a big locked door. Ring a bell?"

Sonic frowned. The only locked door he knew about had Shadow behind it.

Rouge saw his expression change and smiled. It wasn't a nice smile, though. It was greedy. "Perfect!" she said. Her wings stretched out behind her. "Thanks for the confirmation. Now, are you going to tell me where it is? Or should I get my hacking gear ready for after our little dance? I'll get that information out of you one way or another!"

The crabmeat snapped its claws in Rouge's direction, and the caterkiller hissed at her. The buzzy bomber trilled threateningly.

Sonic stepped in front of the badniks, so that he was between them and the bat. He glowered at her. "You want what's in that room?" he asked. He might've been willing to take her there before, but not anymore. Not now that she'd threatened the badniks. "You better get used to wanting. Cuz you're outta luck! Those inhibitor rings are the only things that'll be changing hands!"

Rouge's smile faltered. The rings again, huh?

Sonic rocketed forward. He attempted to grab the bat's shoulders, but she was expecting it this time, and caught him by the wrists. Using his own momentum against him, she hurled him into the frothing tank in the middle of the room. He hit the water and sank to the bottom of the tank like a stone, momentarily disoriented.

The three badniks screeched. They charged at Rouge, their various blades and pincers ready to run her through like a shish kebab. Rouge turned to face them, prepared to defend herself.

But they never collided. The Roboticizer, with someone now inside of it, activated. A bright white light filled the room, and Rouge had to cover her eyes with her arm to keep from being blinded. She and the badniks flinched at the horrible noise emanating from the machine, a noise that sounded like rusted brakes, metal on metal.

And then, as quickly as it began, it was over. The water drained from the tank, and Sonic, no longer a Robian, was laying flat on the floor of the machine, shivering.

It was cold. So cold.

Rouge covered her mouth with her hand. She was shocked. No one could've survived falling from space. Not even Sonic the Hedgehog. That was what she'd thought, anyway. Even when Sonic's little fox friend insisted upon the contrary; she stayed realistic. And so the possibility that, this whole time, Sonic was alive and had been captured by Doctor Eggman had never even crossed her mind.

But if he was here, then that could mean Shadow was, too.

Rouge set her jaw. She ignored the black smoke pouring out of the cables hanging from the ceiling and flew into the tank. "Hey there, Big Blue," she said, offering her hand to him. "Long time no see. No hard feelings about our little spat, right?"

Sonic forced himself up onto his elbows. It felt like the world was spinning, but he was tough. Tougher than post de-Roboticization sensory overload. He pried his eyes open. Looked at Rouge. She looked back at him, her own eyes widening a bit.

"You're no good at first impressions, lady," Sonic said, his voice hoarse. Still, he grabbed her hand and pulled himself up onto his feet, using the wall of the tank to keep himself steady. "But if you're done trying to dismantle me, I won't complain."

Curiously, Rouge looked Sonic over. "I think I get it," she said after a second. "You don't remember anything, huh?"

"I remember plenty," Sonic said, a little annoyed. He hoped this exchange wouldn't happen every time he met someone from his past. "Like those rings. You gotta hand 'em over. Stripes needs 'em back, pronto!"

Rouge raised an eyebrow at the nickname. "Stripes?" she repeated.

"Yeah, you know, black hedgehog. Red stripes. The name's pretty on-the-nose, if you ask me." Sonic remembered what Eggman had told him before, that Rouge couldn't be reasoned with. But the doctor had turned out to be a scoundrel, so maybe he was lying about her. "He's in trouble. Without those rings, he'll be in deep water. You gotta give them back!"

Rouge glanced at the badniks on the other side of the glass. They looked like they wanted to kill her.

But only her.

She turned her attention back toward Sonic. "Usually I'd ask a pretty hefty price for something like this," she said with a dramatic sigh, "but since you saved the world and all, I'll cut you a deal. Consider it a 'thank you,' from me to you." With one twist of her wrists, she removed the inhibitor rings. But she didn't hand them over to Sonic just yet. "You can have these, on one condition."

Sonic looked from Rouge's face, to the rings, and then back to Rouge. "Better make it count," he said.

Rouge gestured to the badniks with one of her wings. "You keep those bots off my back. All of them. The only thing I want to worry about while I'm here is how much loot I'll walk away with! Not how many nails I'll break fending off Eggman's guard dogs."

"Deal," Sonic said. His opinion on Rouge was still pretty low, but if she was willing to give up Shadow's inhibitor rings without a fight, then maybe she wasn't the absolute worst.

Rouge smirked. "Glad we could work something out!"

The bat handed Sonic the inhibitor rings, and he wasted no time pulling them onto his own wrists. Then, Rouge watched as he jumped out of the tank, and knelt in front of the badniks on the other side of the glass. He said something to them. Flashed them a thumbs up. They all looked at Rouge, still angry, but not outright murderous anymore.

The bat was a little surprised. She’d thought that, now that Sonic wasn’t a Robian anymore, he would go right back to destroying Eggman robots like he used to. That was what she’d meant when she told him to keep them off her back, anyway. But maybe his fall had changed him more than she’d realized. Not that it mattered to her—so long as the badniks left her alone, he was staying true to his end of the bargain.

Sonic motioned for her to come out of the tank. Rouge did so, a little warily. But the badniks stayed where they were, at Sonic’s side. The buzzy bomber was on his head again. It glared at the bat, but all of the anger left its expression when Sonic stood up, and the robot looked down at him, its electronic eyes now big and wide. Like she wasn’t even there.

"We're gonna need to go all the way down to the bottom of this place to get to that door," Sonic told Rouge. "It'll be faster if we skip the lift, but it's a long drop to the basement. Think you can handle it?"

With a hand on her hip, Rouge easily replied, "If the only thing standing in between me and Eggman's treasure is an elevator shaft, he can kiss his riches goodbye!"

It took some convincing, but Sonic was able to get the caterkiller and crabmeat to wait for them at the top of the lift. Originally, he was going to tell the buzzy bomber to wait there too, but then he realized he didn't have rockets inside of his shoes anymore. So, when he and Rouge jumped down into the dark elevator shaft, he did so while holding onto the wasp robot's abdomen.

Once they reached the deepest part of the Brain Bowl, they stepped out of the elevator shaft and onto the basement landing. Sonic let go of the buzzy bomber and looked around. There were three branching hallways to choose from, but luckily, Sonic remembered which one led to the room that was locked behind the blast door. He started toward it immediately, with Rouge trailing not far behind.

When they got there, they were faced with their next problem: the door. The only way to unlock it was with Eggman's handprint. But maybe if he had a running start, he could--

"Hey, kid," Rouge said, derailing Sonic's train of thought. "You still with me? The lock's almost cracked. Make sure you're ready for whatever's inside."

Sonic blinked. He looked over at the keypad, and saw Rouge standing in front of it with a small black device in her hand that she had plugged into the wall. So, her comment about hacking into his systems earlier wasn't a joke, huh? Sonic suppressed a shudder.

Then, the keypad changed from red to green, and the blast door slowly started rising. Sonic turned toward the buzzy bomber floating by his shoulder, and said, "Be right back."

The wasp robot circled his head, buzzing indignantly.

Sonic gave it a lopsided grin. "Hey, that's not true! Who else is gonna watch the door, huh?"

Rouge pocketed her hacking gear and glanced over at Sonic and the buzzy bomber. She frowned, but didn't say anything.

By the time the door had lifted three feet off the ground, Sonic had joined Rouge in front of it. She nodded at him, and they both ducked inside the room. It looked exactly how Sonic remembered it. Same gray interior, same blinking machinery stacked around, some of it tall enough to touch the ceiling. And the green pod, glowing faintly, still holding Shadow inside.

However, before he or Rouge could make any moves toward it, Omega jolted to life. His rage from being locked down here for so long was palpable, practically microwaving the air around him. And when he saw Sonic, the settings were cranked up from defrost to high wattage in a nanosecond. He pointed his blasters at the blue hedgehog and opened fire.

"ELIMINATE ALL EGGMAN ROBOTS."

#falling stars au #something's a bit off eh!

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glassfusedsteel · 9 months ago

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Glass fused bolted steel tanks

#glass fused water tanks #zincalume tanks #structural steels #stainless steel & water storage #Glass Lined Steel Tanks #glass-fused bolted steel tanks

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syncopein3d · 11 months ago

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@whumppromptoftheday This is from your prompt!

CW: badly injured whumpee, implied past violence, robbery, begging.

Broken World

1. Rescue

The Ripper stepped out of a violent tear in reality and into a dark hall. The rift in this universe annealed itself almost immediately, the maddening uncolors of the Other Place quickly vanishing. Then Ripper had to bend almost double for a moment, swallowing the taste of blood as they waited for the pain to stop. They didn’t make a noise. They’d learned not to do that a long time ago.

It was hard to get carnite. A lot of it had been mined out, and it was the source of one of only a few ways to permanently alter the function of metapowers without removing them. It was therefore tremendously valuable. The cache supposedly being kept here in Registered Metahuman Team 99B’s base was said to weigh five kilos and be worth about a billion dollars.

Ripper snorted back more blood inside the medical mask. Real costumes were for people who wanted to be on the news. Ripper was wearing gray sweats and a dingy white tank top with a black hoodie. Their mask was just a black N-95. They weren’t even wearing real shoes. They had tabi socks with lightly textured soles, almost noiseless on the institutional tile floor as they walked down the hall. Their gray backpack was the most expensive thing on them, metal-less, high-density ceramic zippers only.

All the lights were out because nobody was here. The Ninety-Nines were at a parade doing security for the mayor or someone. Ripper didn’t know who and didn’t have a reason to care. The important thing was that Silverant and Teledyne weren’t here, no annoyingly perky speedster, no super strong asshole who could break Ripper’s spine with a tiny finger-flick. None of the others were that dangerous to someone quiet and careful, Ripper told itself.

The ventilation hummed constantly, but the heat felt like it wasn’t doing much. The air was cold. The Ripper knew they were four stories below ground; they needed really precise imaging to get into somewhere they’d never been. It hadn’t been cheap, either. Not many people had been down here on the Vault level. The rooms on either side had little windows in their heavy steel doors. Ripper peeked in all of them until it found the one that looked like a biology lab more than a place to keep rocks: microscopes, fridges, centrifuges. A good look from the door was enough.

Ripper stepped back and reached into the world inside itself and tore it open, clawing at their chest. Their hands went from brown to light blue to flat black as they exhaled into a silent scream. Inside became outside, and now they were in the Other Place, grasping in front of them to tear at the membrane of something made of colors that weren’t real and didn’t make sense. They had to get out before they could focus on the idea that they weren’t real here, either, or it might stop existing before it could get through.

The membrane tore, burning and wet under their fingers, and they slid out into the glittering dark of the lab. They stifled a cough. There was no recording equipment this far down, but it felt so loud in the quiet.

They turned on the overhead lights and rifled all the cupboards. Nothing was locked, not a good sign. And while they were reading the labels on all the little shelves above the counter, someone made a noise.

Ripper froze.

It happened again. Someone had made a sort of whimpering moan that ended in a gasp, like maybe they’d breathed too deep and it hurt. It came from behind one of three doors in the back of the lab. These had bigger windows in them, laced with a diamond pattern of metal reinforcement, so it could see that two were empty. All of them were bolted shut.

In the third one, there was a man tied to a steel chair.

Ripper stood there staring, still swallowing blood inside the mask. That was normal. This wasn’t.

He was middle sized, dark haired, not as brown as the Ripper. He’d been in decent shape before someone beat him with… Ripper measured the size of their own fist with the bruises on his naked belly. The knuckle marks were bigger. Was that Teledyne, Ripper wondered, just pulling his punches? The man’s eyes were swollen, and there was a cut above one eye that had matted his eyebrow and blinded him with blood.

The blood looked sticky and half-crusted. Around his nose it was still red, in horrid congealed bits atop the black. It had taken longer to dry up. His eyes couldn’t be seen at all between the swelling and the dim overhead light. His cheeks were deeply hollow. Bands of muscle pulled tight and stringy across his ribs. A blow had left a mark there, black and blue and swollen. Ripper realized that some of the marks were yellow around it, and tried not to gag as they realized why, that someone had waited for the bruises to fade a little and then hit him there again. Cuts around his jaw showed someone had shaved him carelessly, and a deep shadow said it hadn’t been today. His light gray sweats were spotted with blood drips. His feet looked almost black. They had no toenails.

Hairs stood all the way up along Ripper’s spine. It almost cut and ran right then, but a billion was a lot, and maybe this man knew where it was kept. So instead they unbolted both bolts and opened the door. A thin slice of bright light seemed to hit him like a blow; he jerked back, turning his face away as he wheezed. Ripper heard him swear under his breath.

“I won’t hurt you,” Ripper said. “I’m not one of them.” Their voice sounded rough. It usually did. But it didn’t sound like anyone else’s voice. The man looked around, squinting at the bright light.

“For God’s sake, turn that off,” he said. The Ripper went to turn off the lab lights and came back.

“Tell me where the carnite is and I’ll take you with me,” Ripper said.

“Untie me and I’ll show you,” he said. It took him a couple of tries to get that all out.

The Ripper considered that, looking him over from under their hood. He wasn’t too big. Ripper was taller. And he was in bad, bad shape. Maybe he wouldn’t try anything dumb.

“Yeah, all right.” It walked around to look at the back of the chair. The man’s wrists were zip-tied to each other and the middle bar of the tall chair-back. He had pulled hard enough to make them bleed, but not too recently. The blood had dried all the way. The Ripper pulled at them slightly, getting them off his skin a tiny bit.

“Hold still.” The smallest tear between its fingertips, the smallest gate to the Other Place, separated the plastic like it had been cut. They did it again at the ankles, one by one. THAT didn’t hurt enough to matter. There was only a faint looming shadow for warning before the man crumpled forward. Ripper grabbed at his waist as his cheek smacked into Ripper’s shoulder.

“Hey, careful!”

“Stronger than you look,” the man mumbled, groping weakly at Ripper’s upper arms as he knelt there. He stank of old blood and sweat. “Tha’s good, cause you’re gon’ have to help me walk.”

“Yeah, fine. Come on.” Between the two of them, they managed to get him mostly upright, leaning on Ripper with his arm drawn across its shoulder. “Okay, where’s the carnite?”

“Can you really gemme out of here?” he asked.

“Sure. Organic bodies are easy enough. The Other Place doesn’t like metal, though. You have a pacemaker or anything? Fillings?” He didn’t seem to have any jewelry.

“Nah,” the man said. He wheezed every time he breathed.

“Then no problem. Where’s the carnite?”

“There’s’s secret panel,” the man said. “Kick th’ wall by the blood fridge. That one.” He pointed weakly at a chest-high fridge with a clear front and rows and rows of vials. The Ripper hauled him over there and kicked at the wall with a heel in the spot where there was a smudge. Something hissed, and the panel popped forward and to the side in one abrupt movement.

Inside was a niche with a couple of shelves. There was a green gemstone as big as the Ripper’s fist, a pair of vials of red and blue liquid, and a steel case with a couple of wire fasteners like an ammo box.

The Ripper lowered the man to sit on the floor and reached in to get the case.

“It doesn’t feel like five kilos,” the Ripper said.

“More like four and a half. They. They’b. Been powdering it,” the man said, leaning against the blood fridge with his swollen eyes mostly shut. “So they c’n inject me.”

“What’s your meta?” the Ripper asked, popping the case open. Crushed stone lay in a fat cottony lining. It was the color and sheen of gore. When they poked it, it felt like shards of rock all right, but it was disturbingly warm to the touch. Their stomach turned over. This was it.

“I heal fast. Blood makes other people heal fast, too,” he said. “They said, they.” He stopped to breathe as Ripper closed the case. It turned to look at him.

“They said what?” it asked, a little more gently. They didn’t stop the process of shoving the baggy lining full of carnite into their backpack and zipping it up. They put the empty metal case back.

“Said one more treatment and it won’t. Wear off. Please,” he said. His head swayed as he tried to find Ripper’s face in the shade under their hood. “Don’ leave me here. I can help you. You’re sick, right? Y’sound sick.”

Ripper wasn’t sure he was even telling the truth.

He’d told the truth about the carnite, though. Who cared if he could heal or not? They had what they’d come for. And it would probably piss the Ninety-Nines off not knowing where he’d gone AND losing their cache of the most valuable mineral on the planet.

“You know what, fuck the 99B’s,” Ripper said. “I need both my hands, so you have to hold onto me, all right? Hang on tight.” It grabbed the man’s hands and pulled them around its waist as it turned around, kneeling on the floor. They could feel him resting his face against the backpack, each breath still wheezy and labored.

“Are you a man or a woman?” he asked.

“No,” the Ripper said, and tore the world open.

Part 2 here

#whump #whump prompt #villain #hero #agender villain #superheroes #superpowers #syncopein3d future reference #whumpblr #beaten whumpee #injured whumpee #reluctant caretaker #rescue #begging #cometverse

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angelwheat · 1 year ago

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The Mundane and the Magic

༻ a codz x reader story ༺

➶ Origins // ❝ Becoming One With Madness, A Chaos To Embrace ❞

➶ Chapter One , 1853 words

Clouds blackened the sky, stripping away the land of all its colour and life when a raging storm brewed overhead. Rainfall battered the land with vengeance, falling so heavily in a blink of an eye, appearing misty to see through when the raging winds swept in. Bolts of lightning blazed the sky, illuminating the grounds like a blinding strobe, as simultaneously, clashes of booming thunder rattled the wilting bunker walls.

The trenches, muddied and puddling with streams of water flowing through deep grooves of tank tracks, soaked the battlefield something dire. Each step taken would leave boots squelching and dripping in murky rainwater up to the ankles, trekking it over paths constructed of wooden planks, only for them to be engulfed in the sea of mud when vehicles rolled through.

A trio of enormous steel mechanisms, bodied as humanistic robots that stood as tall as skyscrapers, patrolled the treacherous lands in sync. The stalked in jagged ways. Their grappled hands swing by their sides, so cryptic as the embodied natural human motions. When its corrugated mechanical foot stomped its route, flattening anything that dared stand in its way, to trek over the crumbling bunkers, they had the power to provoke a sudden earthquake that could bounce items that lay on tabletops. When gazed upon from the ground view, the fearsome giants were truly a fright to behold.

Yet, one could question how a man could be so tame in the conditions he was surrounded by. Normally, a man would shudder in fear when he looked up to see a robot standing so tall that it’s helmet clad head was lost in the clouds. Nor could anyone averagely watch in wonder when soldiers fell right before their eyes, only to mutate into a ravaging creature with a dire need to devour flesh and bones.

No. Not him... Not Edward Richtofen.

A man best known for his divine intellect. He calls himself a man of medicine. A German scientist like no other. That was rightly true.

Working in the medical field had always been his lifelong destiny; his soul purpose only righteous of a path consisting of surgeons tools and test tubes. Since just a young boy, his interest lied in the study of the human body. Unlike the average teenage boy, Edward enrolled himself further in education constantly, later on expanding his interests in the scientific field, where he would learn and want to test the limitations of the human body.

Edward rightfully believed that his study of science and medicine would only prove to best histories discoveries. To which it had. But when he was approached by, what he unknowingly thought was a reputable source, and praised greatly for his intelligence by men of power, little did he know that he would fall under the command of men ranked high up in the German army.

Apparently his vast knowledge in the medical field, and unsolicited will to carry out experiments that would certainly be harrowing to the faint of heart, proved him to be the perfect candidate to conduct study when the Germans made the discovery of element 115 during the world war.

Despite working alongside and shadowing many elder scientists during his time spent in science labs, Edward grew fond of working with a man in particular, named Dr. Maxis. When he proved himself worthy, their compatibility was certified amicable from the very beginning. With their combined intellect, experiments ranged from making useful discoveries that would better aid the German army’s advantage at winning the war, to very abruptly, their somewhat reputable line of work took a twisted path southwards when they unleashed an atrocity; that was an army of ravaging undead soldiers. That was solely an experiment gone wrong.

At present time, Edward and Dr. Maxis are stationed in Northern France where they would continue to work and better their studies.

In a bunker, ruptured by the swarms of undead creatures tearing gaping holes from what were but only cracks and crevices, Edward stands before a tattered workbench.

His stare wavers from hand-to-hand, blankly looking through the bloodstains embedded into the creases on his palms. He gulps, tilting his head down to see the carcass of an elder man, his limbs roped to the table, an unruly rigid saw splattered with blood placed beside the man’s head that remained cleanly uncapped, his brain void in the rightful space it should be in the centre of his skull; instead preserved in a cylinder glass container nearby.

Dr. Maxis...

Had he committed a murder in cold blood? Had he just saved the decomposing state of the universe? Despite his blank expression, Edward’s mind rattled with questions. None of which he could answer himself. But whatever may be the correct question to ask, he believed that the preserving his co-worker’s brain was a righteous answer nonetheless.

Edward pressed his hands to the table and hunched, a juddered sigh slipping into the winter air creating a small cloud of mist. His eyes clamped shut when flashes of painful memory reminded him just how the man, now lying dead with his mouth agape and unhinged in front of him, thrashed and resisted Edward’s fight to revoke and rob him of the rest of his life.

“It’s all for the betterment of the universe.” Edward mentally assured himself, “The Kronorium said so.”

Ah, the Kronorium, Better known as a sick and twisted novel entailing details of threatened chaos and despair that will most certainly bestow upon the entire universe, written by god knows who.

For a book that seemed to magically appear on his workbench prior to the day he killed Dr. Maxis, Edward was eager to flip the leather cover and read it without questioning just where it came from. He was hooked the second he read the details of the first few pages, for it resonated with him in a strangely familiar sense when it told a back-story of a boy just like himself. That’s when he discovered that it wasn’t just a regular old fairytale novel. No...

It was a book that foretold the prophecies of the entire universe. A story that he alone must set in motion, no matter how catastrophic the consequences. Supposedly, alternate time-lines and dimensions that he would only theorise existed just like the one he was apart of presently. It taught him names of unfamiliar people. Others he had never met before in his life. Yet somehow they were associates in this story.

Edward couldn’t be convinced that the book was realistic in what it preached. However, after stewing on what he had read, the story wasn’t sitting right with him if he just ignored it. It was oddly precise with commands and instructions, written in a way that would sound like a regular story book to anyone that would listen.

Edward felt compelled to endure every aspect scripted in that book, even if he didn’t rightfully agree. Almost like it was his calling to pursue such an honourable duty, to ensure the universe would remain in tact. After all, he had already committed to something so heinous.

Why stop now?

That’s how he ended up in the current situation with his co-scientist dead and decomposing before his eyes. Edward believed he was going mad, but he kept repeating a specific phrase.

“This is what you have to do.”

A familiar sound of routinely thundering footsteps emitted faintly from the distance. One from the trio of monstrous robots was making its typical patrol across the outskirts and soon through the battlefield. Each time it marched across the land, the route programmed for it to take would make sure it step directly on top of the bunker Richtofen stationed himself in. With each hourly patrol, the bunker was weakening and being burrowed under the crushing weight of the giant machine. The ceiling had already somewhat caved in and crumbled in the centre. It was certain that the rest was to collapse at any moment.

Yet Edward made no hasty attempt to get to a safer location before such an event occurs. Although, no where was safe. An undead army had overrun the land within minutes of exposure to element 115. He was outnumbered, for sure.

Part of him urged him to go down with the book in hand, to never let the chaos unroll by destroying it and himself simultaneously. On the contrary, his curiosity was his worst enemy. He wanted to know just how the story would pan out, but he questioned everything.

Will it all go to plan? Will it fuck up somewhere along the way?

With his eyes still closed, Edward breathed deeply, his shoulders rising and falling once he exhaled. Edward knew that book was just one workbench over from him, and all he could think about was reading the next chapter of cleverly told instructions.

A cluster of sounds hit his ears at once. Rustling of heavy gear shifting on a persons being as they moved in swift motions, to be precise. Footsteps stalked closer in an uneven pattern. The weighted sound of multiple pairs of boots crushing fallen blocks of concrete on the ground indicated that it was not a singular person in the room with him, and judging by the lack of hissing and groaning, it was certainly not a stray zombie clambering in to tear him apart.

His head remained bowed until the sound of movement ceased, and the click of a gun being cocked turned his attention up to meet a narrow barrel of a vintage pistol pointed directly between his eyes, held in the gloved hands of a brawny, dark haired foreign man on the opposite side of the table.

On either side of the man in the middle, stood another man. To the left, one clad in winter attire and a bullet proof vest, a hefty shotgun clutched in his hands. To the right, one welding a samurai sword, majestically in a defensive stance, his jet black hair slicked back in a neat bun.

The trio of narrow stares looked him up and down, each feeling uneasy with the horrifying sight they behold on the table, but each making an immediate conclusion that they had stumbled across the man they had each been sent for.

“You’re Doctor Richtofen, right?” The man in the middle spoke, his accent distinctively American. “I’m taking you out of here.”

Edward never shuddered. Never flinched. Nor felt a measly pang of fear when three foreign soldiers invaded his quarters with weapons cocked and raised, ready to fire at him if he so much as twitched.

A gun clicked behind the tall man in the middle. Edward noticed the two men standing either side had instantly averted their attention to an unfamiliar source, apparently right behind the American that he was confronted with.

“We’ll see about that, won’t we?”

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