#steel road rods

[srjsteel]

How Dowel Bars Enhance Road Lifespan: The Unsung Heroes of Pavement Longevity

Introduction: The Critical Role of Roads in Modern Infrastructure

Roads are not just tracks; they are lifeblood between communities, enablers of commerce, and facilitators of travel. Yet again, nature's forces and day-to-day stress of vehicular movement call for smart solutions to make roads endure longer. Among all contributing factors that make a road resilient, dowel bars rank as unsung heroes providing smoother transition, stress mitigation, and considerable elongation of pavement life.

Understanding Dowel Bars: A Fundamental Engineering Solution

What Are Dowel Bars?

Dowel bars are small, cylindrical steel bars cast across joints in concrete pavements. Their function is basically to transfer loads from one pavement slab to the next with a balanced distribution of load and weight without cracking or failure at the joint. These humble yet vital pieces are often overlooked but play a crucial role in the long-term durability of roads, especially those subject to high traffic volumes.

The Scientific Principles Behind Dowel Bar Technology

Concrete, though very much durable, expands and then contracts with temperature changes in a natural manner. When this happens, it pushes the joints apart, providing uneven surfaces that compromise functionality as well as safety. A dowel bar counters by:

Load Transfer Efficiency: Ensures that the distribution of weight across slabs is equal, thus minimizing localized stress.

Joint Stability: Faulting, or height differences of slabs, is more unlikely to happen because its alignment is maintained.

Crack Prevention: Minimizing the kinds of stresses that, left on their own, will surely crack and wear off fast.

Why Dowel Bars Are Indispensable in Modern Road Construction

Advanced Pavement Life

Without good means of load transfer, road pavements are soon susceptible to degradation under repeated stressing through vehicles. Dowel bars help to sustain large stresses; thus, there would be a long service of the pavement.

Smoother Road Surfaces

Smooth transitions between pavement slabs create safer, more comfortable journeys for motorists. Dowel bars help maintain these transitions, reducing vibrations and wear on vehicles.

Cost-Effective Maintenance

Proactive use of dowel bars reduces the need for frequent repairs and overhauls, saving considerable time and resources in the long run.

Environmental Benefits

Dowel bars also help in sustainable infrastructure development as they prolong the life of roads, thus reducing frequent reconstruction. This conserves materials and energy.

Diverse Applications of Dowel Bars

Highways and Expressways

In high-traffic areas, dowel bars are crucial to accommodate the weight and frequency of vehicles, ranging from commuter cars to heavy-duty trucks.

Urban Roads

City streets are subject to extreme thermal stress combined with large vehicle loads. Dowel bars maintain their integrity under challenging conditions.

Airport Runways

The stresses generated by airplanes during landing and take-off require a solid pavement design. Dowel bars assure that runways continue functional and safe under extreme conditions of stress.

Critical Installation Techniques

The effectiveness of dowel bars is not only in design but also in proper installation practices. Some of the major considerations include:

Precise Alignment: Proper placement is necessary for effective load transfer.

Corrosion Resistance: Dowel bars coated with materials such as epoxy are long-lasting because they cannot rust.

Joint Sawing and Sealing: Making sure joints are correctly cut and sealed to complement the dowel bar system.

Comparing Dowel Bars to Alternative Solutions

Although there are diverse measures of increasing pavement sustainability, dowel bars are by far the most effective, though most expensive, ways to strengthen pavement. Even if such alternatives as continued reinforcement have the potentiality for greater costs and less realisable uses in certain road settings, dowel bars, without any doubt find themselves balancing between performance and expense.

The Future of Infrastructure: Investing in Quality

Long-term investment in infrastructure projects will need to focus on the quality and sustainability of dowel bars. The idea of dowel bars as part of pavement design strategy ensures that roads are fully functional and safe for centuries to come.

For engineers and construction companies, selecting a high-quality dowel bar specific to the needs of a project is essential. This includes material composition, size, and coating options that relate to the expected load conditions and environmental factors.

Conclusion: The Road Ahead

Modern infrastructure demands innovation, durability, and cost efficiency. Dowel bars meet these demands, serving as a cornerstone of resilient road construction. Their role in distributing loads, maintaining stability, and reducing wear ensures that roads can handle the stresses of daily life while remaining safe and reliable.

Investing in dowel bars is an investment in infrastructure that lasts. By integrating these simple yet effective components, construction professionals can build roads that not only endure but excel.

[allzelemonz]

Just What He’s Looking For: Demon X Male Reader

Fictober Prompt: Day 1, Overstimulation and Size Difference Pronouns: None Mentioned, Reader referred to as ‘boy’ and ‘man’ Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: E/Smut Warnings: Demons, Hoodoo, crossroads deal, anal fingering, anal sex, sex for money, he doesn’t want your soul, unrealistic sex, magic gag, magic restraints Summary: A crossroads deal for money doesn’t cost you your soul, but something much more intimate.

The road is empty. Dirt and gravel long settled as if a car hasn’t passed over it in days. The time on your phone blinks into a new day, midnight coming to glow back at you. The dirt under your shoes starts to feel like something more solid, packed from how long you’ve been waiting in the middle of these roads. The Hoodoo X, the meeting place of devils and demons.

“Welcome, child.”

Your spine stiffens like a steel rod at the impossibly deep voice. It sounds as if bass came to life and learned to speak for itself. Everso slightly, you turn your head. Standing behind you is the man of legend, ‘the black man’. And that he is, pitch black. Like the infinite void of space wrapped itself around a man’s body. He’s impossibly tall with broadness to match, but every other feature is hidden in the black.

“Been a while since I’ve had a deal.” He smiles, his teeth unseen in the black. “What can I do for you, boy?”

You swallow your nerves, turning to face whatever creature it is that’s appeared, be it devil, demon, or something else entirely. “Money. I need money.”

He chuckles, deep and shaking. “Doesn’t everyone now?” He steps closer. “Folks used to ask me for skill. Playing guitars or winning Poker, but the tides are changing. Handsome young men gotta ask me for just plain money now.”

“What does it cost?” You manage to keep the shutter from your voice as he rounds you, his eyes feeling like fire on your form.

“Your soul, usually.” He hums so deep it sounds like music. “But yours doesn’t interest me.”

His hand feels like warm water as it drapes itself around the back of your neck, squeezing just enough to make you feel like a scolded dog. He pushes you down and onto your knees, the dirt immediately dusting onto your pants.

“No, from you I want something else.” He sighs, squeezing lightly at your neck. “It’s been centuries since I’ve had a decent looking man.”

Your mind settles on the implication. “You want--”

“To bed you, yes. Now lie down and take what you're given, money will come.”

It seems a small cost in the grand scheme. Letting a demon fuck you for a lifetime of money and ease. So, without protest, you settle face down in the dirt and let the warm hands position you properly. He pushes your head down, allowing you to turn your face, but props your hips up with some invisible force to hold them there.

The warm feeling of his hand slides through the very fabric of your pants as if they’re not there at all and slips into you unceremoniously. His fingers feel like water, warm and expanding, but you’re unable to make a sound with some unknown silencer muting you entirely. Effectively it all turns you into a living sex doll for the demon to use.

And use you he does.

Unmoving and mute, your mouth open in silent cry, he fills you entirely. Every inch is like warm water, but somehow solid. His massive size takes over your whole body, pressing around your insides until tears stream down your face at the tip peeking through your lips. The demon groans in your ear as his inhumanly large body drapes over you, yet no breath hits your ear. The thrusting feels like an entire digestion, fucking through your whole body as if it was made to be a simple cocksleeve and not an intricate set of organs.

It goes for hours. Hours of use, hours of filling you, hours of invisible hands pumping and palming you to completion after completion. When it finally ends, when the massive length of the demon finally leaves you, your mind is nothing but a cloud and your body nothing but an empty sleeve. The dirt covers your clothes, nestles into your hair, and dusts your lips, but you are unable to care as your eyes fall closed and it feels as though your heart stops.

But then you wake up. A sunny morning in bed, birds chirping, and a bank notification on your phone.

[artdcnaldson]

What about crybaby Art with daddy Patrick sounding his cock....he selects the thinnest road in the kit he barely needs any lube cause his sweet boy's eyes aren't the only part of him that's wet.

Art's shaking and whimpering as Patrick dips the steel into the tip of his cock. The hot lick of raw pain and pleasure brings on a fresh wave of sobs. Patrick shushes him sweetly tells him to be a good boy for daddy...

Ouuughhhh moaned a bit.....

Poor Art is sooo nervous but he trusts Pat so much :(( Makes the most pathetic, choked out noises as Pat guides it in. He's trying not to squirm too much but he's clawing onto Patrick's arm. He sounds soooo needy— all, "F-fuck, Pat— ah!— fuck, fuck— ngh— stop, stop, ah!"

Patrick's fucking grinning too. "You're so loud, Art. Just take it like a good boy and shut up about it." He licks at Art's ear, makes him shudder and whine and cant his hips up, which sets off another round of pathetic moans. He can see the wet track of tears slipping down his face, his pretty open mouth panting as the rod sinks deeper. "That's it, Art— you can cry if you want, I've got you."

[echo-goes-mmm]

Kitty Elliot AU #6

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: mention of animal death, non con

The box was dark. 

So dark, his eyes could not see through it. The first time, there was light from the keyhole, but then Master fixed it and the light was gone.

It was a strong box too. So strong he could not claw through it. And the punishment after hurt too much to try again. 

It was small, and cramped, and often Pet would sweat and have to breathe through the pressure on his bruises and neck and feet and everything. The box hurt.

But it was not the worst part of the box.

The worst part, in his opinion (which he had lots of time to think about), was that the box could be moved.

He could be taken anywhere while inside. He could be tossed into a fire, or left by the side of a busy road. Or his worst fear, thrown in the river to drown, as if he were a sack of unwanted kittens.

Master loved the box as much as Pet hated it. Convenient, he called it. 

The only thing Master liked more (and which Pet hated more) was the muzzle.

Gods, the muzzle.

It was a horror of a device, leather straps and metal face panels and it hurt hurt hurt.

Tears dripped down his face as Pet sat still, staring at the bundle of steel in his hands. Master loosened the straps, unbuckling them slowly as if to taunt. 

“You’re going to be a good boy, right?”

Pet nodded. He’d been good for years. He didn’t need the muzzle anymore, but Master never played fair.

He whined through gritted teeth as Master fit the metal over his nose and under his jaw.

“Shh,” Master said. “Or I’ll get the bit too. Do you want the bit?” 

The bit was a steel rod that went between his teeth and over his tongue, forcing his mouth open. It made the tight muzzle even tighter, and together they were the most awful thing in the world.

Pet froze and made no sound, which was the correct answer. “I thought so,” said Master.

Master adjusted the leather, the metal cutting into his face and squeezing his jaw shut. Pet screwed his eyes closed, trying not to let anymore tears fall.

If he began to bleed again, the salt would sting, and he didn’t want anymore pain.

“Good boy,” Master said, patting his cheek. Pet leaned into his palm, already miserable.

He could only breathe through his nose now, and it was a struggle not to claw at the thing on his face. The steel noseband cut into the bridge of it, and his scar reopened as it always did. The skin there was already sore.

Blood slowly pooled and dripped down his nose. He whimpered, but it was a mistake.

Master grabbed a fistful of hair, yanking it back. “Quiet,” he hissed. “Not a sound. Understand?”

Pet silenced himself, pain radiating down his spine. Tears welled up in his eyes against his will, Master becoming blurry.

“Stupid animal,” Master said, and he was so angry. Fear buzzed in Pet’s ears, and he hoped Master would be merciful.

“Get up,” he ordered, and hope vanished as quickly as it had come. He stood, Master’s hand still buried in his hair.

Master dragged him upstairs, and shoved him over the bed. Pet gripped the sheets, fur raised in terror.

Master kicked his legs apart, yanking down his underwear, the only clothing he was allowed besides the collar.

Pet heard the tell-tale sound of Master’s belt slipping through the loops, and he shuddered. He could barely breathe, and his heart was rabbit fast.

Master cupped his ass, smoothing his tail up and out of the way. He was always gentle before a punishment, and Pet savored the fleeting kindness.

He pushed a thumb down on an old bruise, and Pet choked on his tears to keep quiet.

“Don’t get any blood on my sheets,” warned Master, and it was an impossible order.

He jolted at the first blow, the sudden sting surprising him. He focused on breathing, but each new strike knocked it out of him.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Soon his tears began to mix with blood, the salt getting into his cut.

His ass burned but Master didn’t stop. Pet buried his face into the bed, screaming closed-mouth into the sheets and praying he wouldn’t be heard.

His legs shook and his fists clenched the blankets so hard he distantly thought they might tear.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Pet cried and cried, until Master finally, finally stopped. His hand stoked over the welts, and Pet couldn’t help but flinch away.

“So cute,” cooed Master. “I like you best when your butt is all red and sore.” 

Pet sniffled, and the metal dug deeper into his skin. 

But it was not over. 

He heard the sound of a zipper, and Pet forced himself to blink away the tears. He tried to relax his muscles, but he was paralyzed with dread.

Master began to stroke himself, and Pet could hear the skin on skin. Master sighed, content, and Pet felt the heavy heat of his cock rest on his ass. 

Pet took in a sharp breath as Master forced himself inside. It burned burned burned, and stung and tore and Pet gritted his teeth and tried not to scream.

It didn’t work.

___________________

“We’re going on a trip,” Master said, packing a trunk with clothes. “Go fetch your box.”

Pet obeyed, dragging it upstairs. He didn’t want to, but there was no choice. Pets didn’t get choices.

“Good boy,” Master said, patting his hair. “Are you going to need your muzzle?”

Pet shook his head. “Let’s keep it that way, hm?” He gently pushed Pet down into the box, and Pet curled up the best he could, heart pounding. It was already hard to keep calm, and the lid wasn’t even shut yet.

Even worse, the inside was dusty and dirty from lack of use. It would take effort not to sneeze.

Pet closed his eyes, and pretended he was just going to take a nap.

He heard the hinges close, the lock snap shut, and he was sealed in.

He gasped for air, and slapped a palm over his mouth. Not a sound, not a sound, not a sound-

taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain @secretwhumplair @paintedpigeon1 @whump-blog @whump-em

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@hellodecisionparalysis @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94 @risk606 @i-walk-on-the-dark-side @phoenixpromptsandstuff

[angel-inked]

Winding down with them

Just time spent relaxing with the boys

Taglist: @vvkingofgaybisciutsvv @thequeenofthewinter @thedevilshardy @mollybegger-blog @wandawiccan60 @cameleonhardyfan63 @hoodeddreams13 @inkwolvesandcoffee @liliac-dreamer @potter-solomons

The rainy morning.

Thunder rumbled quietly outside as droplets raced each other down the window, the soft whirring of passing cars added to the ambience of the rain drumming on various different surfaces, ranging from the roads to the sidewalks to the rooftops. Well the weather made a dreary morning for those who had jobs to get to, safe to assume the weather reflected their mood, others took this morning as a sign that it was time to have a lie in. A well-deserved lie in, Tommy thought, sinking deeper into the pillow being held in place by his brawny arms. A dull ache settled around his right eye, the blow he took from his opponent's knee had caused some deep colored bruising, but any tension he'd held onto from last night was currently being massaged away by your hand wandering up and down his back. He released a satisfied sigh as you applied gentle pressure at the top of his spine with your thumb and ran it down the middle of his expansive muscle mass. Occasionally your mouth would make contact with the back of his neck, kissing and suckling, pulling away before you left any marks, neither of you were in the mood, let alone had the energy for that sort of thing. You nuzzled into him, slowly moving up from the base of his thick neck up to where his hair started and back down.

Tommy was vaguely aware of the sounds of the movie you put on coming from the laptop speakers, something about Virginia moonshiners waging war against twisted and corrupted law enforcement, truth be told he hadn't exactly followed most of the plot, his consciousness had been floating somewhere between sleep and barely awake at most due to the slow pace of your touch. Last he remembered was thinking about was how he related to the youngest of the three brothers, who were at the front line of all the fighting. He knew what it felt like to feel as though you were living in the shadow of your older sibling and often wished that could've been the only complaint he had from his childhood. At least in this moment, he felt as far removed from his past as he felt he could get. Your hand continued its path up and down, your mouth continued to caress his skin, and your warm breath and body against his in the bed remained one of his favorite sensations in the world. All the horrors he'd experienced, during his time as a US Marine and as a kid, were worth it in comparison, he found he was glad the initial internal kamikaze mission he'd entered the military with fell through.

He felt the skin of your cheek press against his shoulder, he heard you release a soft sigh of pleasure, and all his sleep drunk mind could think was that he couldn't be bothered to move. Your arm snaked its way around his bare torso and the muscles in one of your legs stretched lazily as it splayed across his, like it had the right to be there, truth be told, it did. On top of what he thought to be music playing over the credits, Tommy could hear your soft humming, could feel the vibration of your vocal chords in your throat against his skin. Between the soothing sound pulling him closer and closer to sleep, and the rain still plummeting down outside, straight and silvery, like a punishment of steel rods beating on the roof. That thing that grew inside of him as a boy, a seething rage that he tapped in the cage and when his dad went too far and Tommy used what the old man had taught him against his teacher, that thing that usually wreathed around in his chest had settled, still there, but settled.

The seaside.

The seaside was surprisingly sparse with people. The sun beating down had almost everyone who was there seeking refuge in the water, which remained cold as if it were intent on defying the sun. The soft white sand greedily soaked up the sun's rays as you hauled a pail of water across it, a mischievous grin playing on your lips. You had your sights set on your fiance, napping the afternoon away in the shade of a tree. He was in for a rather rude awakening. You almost felt a little bad as you approached him, the content expression of peacefulness on his face, the way his full pink lips were slightly parted in sleep, a part of you wanted to kiss them and another part wanted to see the shock on his face from receiving an ice cold shower of sea water. Both parts won out eventually. You leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, pulling back with a grin as he, even mostly in his sleep, instinctively tried to follow your lips. That grin widened as you lifted the pail up and turned it over, dumping the contents onto his head.

Farrier jolted awake, "Gah!" He sputtered in surprise, wiping water from his face with the back of his hand as you doubled over laughing. "You little..." Farrier exclaimed, and you took off down the shoreline as he got up to chase after you, laughing and dodging his first attempt to grab you. He caught up to you eventually, "You think you're clever?" He laughed as he slung you over his shoulder. "Tom!" You squealed amongst laughing fits, wriggling in his grip. "No, you're not getting away that easy." He grinned as he tightened his hold, hauling you into the sea and tossing you into the water to give you a taste of your own prank.

You surfaced with a loud gasp, the cold water feeling like it was seeping into your very being, you splashed him in the face once more for retaliation. Farrier laughed again, shaking the water from his head in a manner similar to that of his black and white border collie, Confetti, after she had just had a dip in the pond, pulling you into his arms and flush against his chest. "Think I was missing my alarm clock, did you?" He asked with a grin, nuzzling his face into your soaked hair. You pulled back slightly to stick your tongue out at him in a pout, "Cheeky." He murmured with an easy smile, guiding your head back to his chest.

Too crowded.

Fall harvest, celebrated with a barn dance, a ruckus rising hoedown. Forrest hated it, how ever good for business it was. He hated it. A whole horde of people, dancing, touching, socializing, most would be drunk off illegal liquor, his illegal liquor, before the night was half over. Call it what you will, but being in a crowded building made him feel like he was suffocating. So, he parked himself on a bail of straw by the entrance. The fresh night air felt blissful in his lungs, combined with the smoke of the smoldering cigar he held between calloused fingers. Several party goers greeted him as expected. He was well known for what he considered rather undesirable reasons. The idiots, he thought, were the ones who stopped and tried for conversation, only earning a grunt here and a measuring look here and there before being hauled back off into the crowd. Closing his eyes and exhaling a smoke cloud sharply as he leaned his head back against the wall behind him. A few deep breaths before his hazel orbs flickered open again, staring directly up at the harvest moon. He wondered for a moment if he was even needed here. If not for keeping his brothers in check, he wouldn't be. With all the alcohol involved, Jack couldn't handle Howard on his own, not that he could handle the man particularly well sober either. Then he began to wonder if his older brother was ever truly sober. He shook his head at himself, feeling kinda stupid for wondering that, of course he wasn't.

The crowd emerged from the barn just as it had disappeared inside. the only difference that occurred to Forrest was that they were headed in the opposite direction. The music was done, but the festivities were far from over. He stretched his legs out straight, grunting quietly in satisfaction, then standing with another low sound, this one coming out as a strained groan. He was used to feeling older than he was, this eventful life he'd gotten himself into, It'd be the death of him sooner or later. He reached a hand behind himself to brush off whatever straw was clinging to his brown corduroy pants and then straightened up the rest of the way. He took a few steps toward the crowd, stopping at the edge of it, scanning the flow of people for his brothers, and finding them within a few minutes. Spotting Howard above the crowd was fairly easy with his height, Jack was trailing along behind silently with his head down, glancing up at Forrest like a child who had just been caught mid-squirmish. There was still a part of Forrest that was tucked away somewhere far in the back that wished Jack didn't look at him as such, but someone had to step up, and he wasn't going to chance leaving that to Howard. The middle brother eyed the empty wooden crate in Jack's hands, "Go on." he waved him off with one hand, and the other reached for the crate. Jack looked up at him with wide questioning eyes, "Well, you wanna run around, don't ya?" Forrest asked, and he didn't have to ask twice.

Howard guffawed as he watched Jack scamper away, Forrest shook his head at both of them for the umpteen time. His eyes landed on a blonde, seemingly conversing with a friend. "Who's that?" He asked, inclining his head toward the pair. "Patricia Holliday, she's the mayor's daughter from a couple counties over," Howard answered, Forrest turned to him, how Howard always seemed to know everyone, and their mother was beyond him. not bringing the same warm body home twice probably had something to do with that he figured. "You're gonna need a crowbar if you wanna get inside her, baby brother." Howard smiled, Forrest roughly punched his shoulder for his rude comment. "I'm not looking at her, dumbass!" He barked, loud enough that his voice carried to someone never intended to hear. "Does that mean you're lookin' at my friend?" A voice asked sweetly, sounding particularly amused. Forrest turned to the voice and found himself face to face with a grinning Patricia Holliday. "Um..." Forrest grumbled, removing his hat and stiffly nodding a greeting to Patricia and then to her friend, mentally cursing Howard, who appeared to be enjoying his baby brother's increased awkwardness with a grin. "Hey Howard!" Patricia beamed up at the eldest happily. "Y/n... you don't mind if I leave you with Forrest, do you? I think Howard and I have some catching up to do." She said, tucking herself under Howard's arm, her head barely reaching his shoulder, and smirked up at him as she pulled him into her with an arm around his midsection. "Sure, why not? Besides, he's cute." You grinned, watching with satisfaction as Forrest flushed pink.

You linked your arm with his, feeling him tense against your side, managing to get a distance of what you thought to be out of earshot of Howard and Patricia before Forrest decided to stop dead in his tracks. "Where in, and I do beg your pardon, the hell are you so intent on dragging me off to?" He asked. "Anywhere away from Patricia and that brother of yours, if they're 'catching up' the way I think they are, I have no interest in being anywhere near them." You explained, noting how Forrest seemed to relax once you had let go of his arm. He merely shrugged in response, "Guess I've heard enough of Howard to not think about it." He murmured, and you cocked your head to the side as you narrowed your eyes. "Living together does that." He added because that deserved a little more eloquence. "Alright then," you said, silence taking hold as you wondered, 'what now?'. "Um.." Forrest started hesitantly, looking off in a direction you thought he seemed rather keen on. "Yes?" You asked, trying to gently ease him along. You knew enough from Patricia to understand he wasn't exactly a conversationalist. "Was just thinkin' we could head toward the pond, fewer people there than here I'd reckon." He uttered, refusing to meet your gaze head on. "Let's." You agreed, gesturing for him to lead the way and you became increasingly more intrigued as you watched people make a point of moving out of his way as he did. He did seem as quiet and awkward as Patricia had said he was, but she left out the part about how people would huddle and whisper amongst themselves as he passed by. However, catching glimpses of a jar tucked into the pocket of his sweater gave you a few ideas. Learning about the quaint character hidden under his shyness on a peaceful stroll away from the far too dense crowds sounded miles more interesting than what Patricia and Howard were doing.

Sturgis

His shipment went to Pierre, the capital, but he couldn't pass up stopping off in Sturgis on his way back, not knowing if he would get the chance again. The streets were lined with hordes of bikes, a few classic cars, and some hotrods. Johnny thought the best part to be the feeling swelling in his chest that he was home, though It wasn't the place that felt like home. It was the crowds attending bike week, the fact that nobody gave him anything other than a nod, a wave, a smile, no judgment to be found in their bright expressions. "Hey," a bearded biker called to get his attention, "catch!" He exclaimed, tossing a beer can into Johnny's hands. "Cheers." Johnny said, holding the can up in the air and smiling at the cardboard sign that read, 'Ask me for a beer!' with an arrow pointing at the man's cooler. He continued walking with a relaxed pace, and the smile stayed plastered to his face. He wasn't being othered, alienated, or ignored. He was getting to be 'just Johnny' for a couple of days. Something in that wild streak he never grew out of seemed to settle somewhat in a way, settling happily into the understanding atmosphere. Johnny was welcomed as he was, being who he was for once wasn't leaving him more alone. His smile widened as a couple on a trike waved to him. The man had a prosthetic leg, and the woman was missing an arm, but they couldn't care less because they were happy and enjoying themselves. Of course, everything had a price, and nothing in the world was free. The memory of overhearing his wife discouraging the kids from speaking about who their daddy is like it was something for them to be ashamed of felt like a large fist slamming into his chest. His marriage had been good once upon a time, great even. By the time his firstborn started going to school was when everything went to shit. Suddenly, his wife was more concerned with keeping up the image of a perfect little American family, but apparently, a tattooed biker Johnny didn't fit that image according to her. He pulled the beer out of his back pocket and clutched it to his chest, hopeful the kindness of the man who tossed it to him would seep into him through the aluminum can and bring back the happiness with it.

He forced his legs to move him forward, trying to find something to distract himself with. He noticed a wet T-shirt contest in full swing, which didn't exactly have much to do with bikes, although most that were gawking probably thought the skimpily clad bebes looked better straddling the hunks of metal between their legs, it wasn't hurting anyone, so why not?. He moved on to the burnout contest. That was more to his tastes, standing amongst the crowd watching contestants prepare as much as you could for something like this. The smoke and squealing tires were a welcome distraction, onlookers clapped and hollered, some lewd whistles were thrown around as one of the contestants entered the box with one girl on his bike in front of him and another behind him, Johnny rolled his eyes with a snort, concluding that he was the only one actually looking at the bike instead of the women.

As the sun sunk lower, he found himself sitting on the window ledge of some business, inhaling the tobacco of a freshly lit cigarette, glancing up at the 'no smoking' sign near the entrance with a light scoff, like that was gonna stop him. His coping mechanisms may be worse than his actual problems, but memory keeps tapping a gun against the inside of his skull, demanding the dead be brought back to life. Some dinky sheet of tin wasn't going to stop that either. The rally wasn't a place where rule-followers went, it was a place for people like him. Who really just had a craving to be understood.

[forgeline]

No compromises. Rodd’s incredible 1969 Chevrolet Camaro convertible was built by Ambition Road Hot Rods and Muscle Cars, who fabricated this trick removable steel hardtop to provide all-season performance. It’s powered by a Holley fuel-injected Chevrolet Performance LS2 mated to a Tremec TKO-600 5-speed manual transmission and rides on Detroit Speed suspension, Wilwood disc brakes, 285/35ZR18 & 345/30ZR19 Michelin Pilot Super Sport tires, the Forgeline Flush Loc centerlock conversion (with the Hex nut), and 18x10/19x12 Forgeline forged three piece CF3C Concave wheels finished with Transparent Smoke centers & Brushed/Transparent Smoke outers! See more at: https://www.forgeline.com/customer-gallery-rodd-kneeland/cgk2786

[offbrand-valk]

Angsty snippet of a caitvi thing I'm working on beneath the cut. Featuring dictator!Caitlyn, and some S2A3 spoilers.

Because I'm too excited that I'm writing not to rub it in peoples faces.

Vi stumbled backwards into the machine which whirred to life; strong mechanical arms grabbing on to her limbs and holding them in place, leather straps wrapping around her chest, neck and forehead, a gag forcing its way into her mouth before securing itself with spring tension.

Suddenly Caitlyn's demeanor changed to a mask of cold sadism. "It's a device meant to restrict prisoners who's a risk to themselves and their surroundings. It was deemed too expensive to mass produce, but we kept the prototype in storage. I suppose as a conversation starter."

Vi struggled against her bonds without luck, she couldn't move, even her fingers were kept in place by a pair steel rods.

"I told you I needed to trust you Violet! I told you, you're all I have left in the world." Caitlyn's mask started to crack, and she couldn't fix it fast enough to keep the tears entirely at bay. "You mean so much to me, can you imagine how much it hurt me to learn that you have been using the power i trusted you with to steal from honest Piltover merchants?"

Vi looked on in horror, shouting against the gag, as Caitlyn turned away from her to wipe her face.

"So why did you do it? Why destroy what we had worked so hard to build?"

The gag came off with a mechanical click.

"It was some stupid pastries the fucker was about to throw away. What does it matter if I let some kids have it?"

"It's not about the pastries Violet, its about the betrayal! For the rest of my life, whenever something from Piltover goes missing, I will have to look over my shoulder, and wonder if you pawned it off to some chembaron."

"I wouldn't do that! You know I wouldn't do that!" Vi tried to jerk her head in anger, forgetting the straps keeping it in place.

"Do I? If Maddie taught me one thing, its to not mistake assumption for certainty. For all I know you could fancy yourself the next Silco, and me letting you run the market was a step on that road."

"Fuck you Cupcake, and stop calling me that!".

The gag clicked back into place over her mouth, keeping her from slinging her entire arsenal of curses at Caitlyn.

"I think you'll spend some time here, think about what you've done, I'm sure it will do you good."

Were it not for the red underneath her eyes, Caitlyn's face would not have betrayed a single emotion, as she walked out of the cellar and closed the door behind her.

Leaving Vi to the cold darkness of her own thoughts.

[st6rly]

gods no longer.

SYNOPSIS: love, as in the feeling, is fate. love, as in the choice, is conscious (or in other words, 4 times where zhongli gets close enough to the truth of the matter and the 1 time he does) | word count: 1.8k

characters: god!office worker!zhongli x deity!barista!gn!reader

categories: apocalypse au, modern au, angst, hurt / comfort, fluff, 4+1 fic

warnings: mentions of typical apocalypse stuff ( blood, injury, death, etc.), mentions of food & drinks, ooc zhongli sorry TwT

notes: i went a little too silly and related falling in love to the cycle and formation of a rock. ok the au sounds confusing but i promise it makes sense- also i ended up using parallels as a writing device way too much in this my bad :’D

surprise surprise @lychniis / @ainescribe !! im your astro twerk secret santa :DD im sorry if this fic is messy in structure and probably doesn’t make sense in the long run but i hope you enjoy some parts of it at least TwT happy holidays !!

I. WEATHERING & EROSION.

The world was crumbling to its knees and yet, all Zhongli could think about was how his morning tea was bitter. 

Gravel crunched under his foot, topsoil turned over to reveal the small bits of life that had yet to fall through the cracks. The pavement had split, rumbles having left long and jagged fractures in the ground and buildings tilted. Sun bore down on skin battered with small cuts and contusions, a layer of dirt covering both his forearms and the formerly white dress shirt he wore. His shoes scuffed along the deserted road, steps deliberately languid. He screamed, thrashed around in his mind, prayed that others had survived. In the back corners of his mind, he hoped none did. 

Selfish; maybe that’s all he’d ever be to the people. Gold ran down his arm, trickled from the punctures left from stone and debris. The ichor in his veins served as a shackle of what he could not have and Zhongli stared down at it in disdain, fist clenched. For the better, he assured, pulled free a steel pipe from the framing of a store, and continued on. Gods couldn’t die by a knife to the throat. They could if forgotten. 

Zhongli knew he tore a seam in the dress shirt he wore when range of motion wasn’t such a struggle, able to lunge himself up over fallen street lamps and what once used to be apartments with ease. There was no destination and he was sure that if he had one, it wouldn’t be standing. 

He walked because if he didn’t, then nobody else would. Zhongli does not die easily; not in this way at least.

II. TRANSPORTATION.

The world was at an end; you wished it had come sooner or not at all. 

You pulled yourself from beneath the rumble and broken frames of the shop you had so dearly loved, clawed a hand through sharp edges and chipped paint, to come face to face with the remains of flattened machines and shattered glass panes. The first thing you noticed was the front entrance that withstood the initial fracture. The next was the blood and dusty limbs that laid on the floor. 

The grief was worn like sticky sunscreen on a beach day, a protective and mocking cover over your skin as you ran, scuffed sneakers thundering along ridges and bumps in the uneven lane. In hindsight, it was stupid of you to exert so much force when there wasn’t a place you could run to; you just needed out, to scrub the dirt and grime and blots of red and gold until the only thing that was leftover was whatever shred of dignity you still kept. Flee and leave it all behind, there was nothing for you anyways.

Until him.

“It’s you,” the man stated, finger poised accusingly, “you gave me the wrong order of tea.” 

You blinked back owlishly, lost for words as he pointed at you with a scowl. Hesitation in your actions, you slowly lowered the plank of wood with one nail stuck through it in your hands and squinted your eyes. The sleeves of his shirt were ripped and rolled to his biceps, hair tied back loosely, and posture high on alert as he clutched onto a metal rod with a death grip. 

“And you are…” you trailed off, voice cracked and lips dried as your throat protested the strain of letting the words out. It had been months since the dirt beneath your feet started to split; weeks since you’d seen another share the means of language. 

“An unsatisfied customer.” The reply was blunt and left no room for argument. It was not a final answer. 

If he hadn’t just been locked in a stare down with you mere minutes ago or held himself in such a manner, you would’ve snorted and laughed it off. 

“Listen, I really don’t think now is a good time to be talking about tea.” you groaned, a heavy sigh falling from your lips. “It’s not like I can fix it either.” 

The stranger responded with silence. His eyes darted quickly over your figure and you shifted your weight from foot to foot.  

“Travel with me.” 

You blinked once, twice, stared at him until your eyes burned and forced you to close them again. Words died out on the tip of your tongue, the embers and syllables smothered out in the muddled mess of your own thoughts.

“What?” you croaked out. He looked back as if it were common sense. 

“You’re one of them.” It was only after those words that you realized he had fixed his gaze to your arm. A shaky breath left your lips, the sting of the cut underneath a flimsy wrapping of torn cloth grounding. You could feel it now, the way the liquid gleamed when caught under the light, its brilliance shown as it started to trickle down your skin again. 

One of them. 

“There’s nothing left here,” he muttered, the ghost of a smile on his lips. Your jaw went tight and nails dug into the soft flesh of your palms. 

“You think I don’t know that?” The words were bitter as they left your throat. “Do you think I’m that detached?” 

He ignored you. 

“Come with me,” he took a step closer and held out a hand. “You won’t be forgotten.” 

It was neither warm or inviting, but enticing nonetheless. He knows, you calmed yourself, he knows he can’t kill me. 

“If not for that, then for the company?” 

Blindly, stupidly, you took it.

III. DEPOSITION.

Tin cans rattled softly, the noise muffled by the worn fabric of what you called a backpack, as you rummaged through food and water supplies. The box you pulled out was supposed to be white, the plastic smooth and red cross marked in the centre bright and bold. Somewhere underneath the dirt, it still was. 

He’s all too familiar with the furrow of a brow and the soft brush of fingers against his shoulder. He suppressed a shiver when your breath tickled his neck, held in a sigh when you blew gently on the cut after cleaning. With careful movements, you wound the bandage around his arm, the occasional ghost of your skin against his startling. Zhongli found it wasn’t unwelcome. 

It was you who broke the silence. 

“You aren’t who you say you are,” you stated, words hushed and still rough around the edges. He locked eyes with yours, searched them only to come up empty; not a single bit of malice or spite was present in the look you gave him. That was either a good thing, or an equally bad one. The ground was stained with tinges of gold, bits that clumped up dirt, left shimmer in its wake. The small pads of cotton used to wipe the bleeding were stained vibrant yellow. 

He barked out a laugh; the sound was foreign to his ears. 

“You’re one of them. One like me,” you whispered when his voice died down. 

“And we’re different in every way,” he said, hand clutched to his ribcage at the cramp that began to form. “Why do you insist on fighting so hard?” 

“What?” 

“We’ve lost what makes us like this. Why do you continue to try?” 

“We were, I was, never a proper god to start with,” you spoke carefully, considerate. “It was never up to me what went on.” 

“In the blink of an eye,” Zhongli matched your tone, “you could wish this all better.” 

“Just as you could make it all the worse.” You hummed and leaned your head back, eyes averted away from him. “I guess I just found something worth trying for.”

Zhongli’s heart pounded.

IV. METAMORPHISM.

“Grab my hand!” 

The Earth groaned and rumbled, opened its mouth, swallowed up buildings and wires without much thought. You braced yourself against the broken chain fence, glancing up at where Zhongli stood up on the roof opposite from you, having made it before the cracks had begun again and the distance grew. 

Grave desperation set his nerves alight, every fibre alert, and arm reached out to where the joint could’ve pulled loose had he gone farther. His face pulled into a cruel grimace as the concrete ledge of the other building dug into his stomach below the ribs and something in him burned, shouted and throbbed beneath layers of flesh and bones, in an intelligible mess of tightness and ache. 

“Please, Y/n!” he shouted. Begged. He’d bare his throat to you in a heartbeat if it meant you believed in this, believed in him.  

You jumped. His heart dropped to his stomach, legs weak, when your hand grasped his wrist and met his eyes. Feet dug into the cracks of the barrier, he pulled you to him, the quiet gasp of relief he let out once you touched down on solid ground lost to the wind. 

God can’t die. Gods cannot die, he repeated to himself, a mantra of painful reassurance. Zhongli’s hands melded with the fabric of your shirt, cloth twisted in a similar way that could only mock the feeling in his chest. 

You tugged on his hand, laced your fingers slowly with his before the rumbles started again. Down the both of ran, across unsteady roofs and rusted fire escapes, until the sky turned dark and the shakes stopped, 

Adrenaline, nerves, the worry he’d lose you again, whatever it was, he fell for it. It was winter when he first kissed you under the moonless sky; it felt more like early spring with the warmth that still laid heavy in the air and the dry crust of dirt that coated everything. 

“You should have just let me,” you had mumbled against his lips the same night. 

“I made a promise and I intend to keep it,” he replied back, the words sitting just right as he spoke. “I wish it were more. You deserve more.”

“This,” you hummed, a hand cupping his cheek, “is more than enough.”

V. ROCK MELTING.

It was summer when the ground beneath his feet first began to give out and the streets ran rampant with silence; it’s summer again when he found a new life with you.  

This was all laughable, really. Hands intertwined, the sun that peaked over the horizon and set alight to the dust in the air, the domestic nature, it all was a joke. You’d, turned and brushed stray hairs from his face with light touch and features set into a grim, yet foolishly hopeful, face. 

He gazed at you like you could craft the universe anew, match his destruction blow for blow and reverse everything. In some sense, you could. Not this one though. 

“You could find them again, you know,” you mumbled, not so he couldn’t hear but it felt right. “What would you do if you did?”

Zhongli paused, licked his lips as he stared out into the open expanse of the wasteland. 

“My love is a choice,” he smiled as he spoke, a delicate thing, “and that choice is you.” 

“Took you long enough,” you chuckled with a soft nudge to his shoulder. 

“Yeah,” Zhongli released a long sigh, squeezed your hand and traced an outline around the joints of your thumb, before letting out a small ghost of a chuckle when you squeezed back. How low he had fallen, mad at something as simple as the grime that separated the true touch of your palm in his. “It did.” 

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

The Orbitron

The Orbitron is a custom car built by Ed Roth and feared lost until its rediscovery in Mexico in 2007

A second generation to Roth's original Beatnik Bandit, which was built in 1960, the Beatnik Bandit II features a one-of-a-kind fiberglass body with PPG lemon meringue pie paint, stylized Rat Fink designs on the sides, and chrome by Metal Masters of Salt Lake City, UT. 

Beatnik Bandit II includes many unique design features, including an electronic console which operates the digital instrument panel and other features such as a digital readout of the car's latitude and longitude. 

The lack of a rearview mirror is not a problem on this car. A "TV mirror" video monitor is mounted on the console with the actual camera mounted in the rear panel. The bubble top is also lifted electronically. 

Beatnik Bandit II was built entirely by Roth, who credits "Revelations from Father in Heaven" for his achievement. The car has been shown in major U. S. cities, including Boston, Los Angeles, Chicago and Houston, as well as in Yokohama, Japan.

The Beatnik Bandit

Ed 'Big Daddy' Roth was an artist, cartoonist, illustrator, pinstriper and custom car designer and builder who created the hot-rod icon Rat Fink and other characters. Roth was a key figure in Southern California's Kustom Kulture and hot-rod movement of the late 1950s and 1960s The Beatnik Bandit was one of his first creations from the early 1960s. It was built from a 1949 Oldsmobile, the chassis was shortened 5 feet, the Olds engine was given the classic hotrod look with GMC blower and twin carbys, everything was chromed except the blower belt. The white interior featured single joystick, that operated turning, throttle and braking. The bubble top was created using compressed air to inflate a sheet of plastic into a dome in a pizza oven. On display at the National Automobile Museum in Reno

Mysterion

Ed Roth built the Mysterion in 1963, he got the idea from the multi engine dragsters he had seen at the dragstrips. He combined two Ford engines, two transmissions, plus two welded rear ends for the foundation. It featured an offset headlight and the typical Ed Roth bubble top. On display at Galpin Auto Sports.

The Road Agent by Ed “Big Daddy” Roth.

Mysterion

Custom builder and artist Ed "Big Daddy" Roth completed the Mysterion in 1963. The bubbletopped custom featured a completely original fiberglass body and twin Ford big-block engines. The weight of the engines was too much for the frame to bear, and the Mysterion fell apart. Tribute versions have been built, including this precise replica from Galpin Auto Sports.

The Surfink

The Surfink, created by Mark Glaz as a tribute to Ed Roth and Ratfink, features a large Ratfink figure atop a surfboard complete with a blown V-8 engine.

The Orbitron

Built in 1964, the vehicle was powered by a 1955 or 1956 Chevrolet V8 and was backed by a Powerglide automatic transmission. The body was hand-laid fiberglass, hiding Roth's extensive chrome work to the chassis. The cockpit, set at the extreme rear of the vehicle in the manner of a dragster, was lined with fake fur and featured an 11-inch General Electric "1-Touch" portable television inserted in the console. Topping the cockpit was a custom-made, hydraulically operated Plexiglas bubble top. One of a series of ordinary doorbell push-button switches atop the hood activated the top from the outside.

Other mechanical features included a 1956 Chevrolet rear end, dropped Ford front axle beam, Buickbrake drums and early Ford brakes. The frame was handmade of rectangular 2x4 inch steel tubing. The engine was a leftover from one of Roth's 1955 Chevrolets, having been removed to make way for a then-new Mark IV big-block given to him by General Motors. It was one of the very few completed cars Roth deemed to be a "mistake" because he felt the car did not show well since the heavily chromed engine and most of the chassis were hidden. The Orbitron was, in fact, one of his few customs to have a hood. Reportedly, the hydraulically operated hood did not fit well due to rushed fiberglass work.

The vehicle's most distinctive feature was its asymmetrical front end with red, green and blue tinted headlamps. It was thought that the three beams when combined would produce an intense white light; the idea came from the then-new medium of color television.

By Jerry Thompson - originally posted to Flickr as 2C7O4069, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=5973582

By Jerry Thompson - originally posted to Flickr as 2C7O4066, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=5973591

The Baja Bandeeto

Custom car builder and renowned painter Fritz ‘Spritz By Fritz‘ Schenck recreated with his bubble top roadster; the Baja Bandeeto.

[justcallmesakira]

Dazai x reader valentines

Dancing under the rain after valentines dinner. The reader isn't good of a dancer and doesn't like getting drenched in the rain.

"SET LOVE TO THE RAIN"

Sypnosis: You hated the rain and getting drenched and you were not really a good dancer until you lover forcefully brought you out to have a quick dance.

Dazai x reader

Genre: fluff, romance

A/N: hi there I am rlly sorry it took me so much time I know it's past Valentines but yeah yk mental health heehe♥️

You and dazai were on a date at a nice cafe for valentines

It was cloudy all day but the atmosphere was filled with love and cheesy couples. You could smell coffee and cheescakes too.

Both of you talked for a long while. None of you could care less about what was happening around.

"Say say, Bella! Do you like dancing?" Dazai asks you with a childish tone, one containing flirt and excitement.

You paused for a moment.

"No not really, I am not that good fo a dancer" you non chalantly speak out. You never liked those cheesy romantic waltz moments. Especially since you were not a great dancer.

If anything, you would question why they do those childish acts especially in public.

"Awwwh why donna'? It's so romantic! Plus I am sure you can dance with those amazing leather boots. Hah like that one girl from titanic"

Osamu exclaims and make a fake put, he probably knew why and the reasons but of course like the man you knew he will question you about it.

You shot him a small glare as much as you wanted him to have a nice dinner date on this day you prefer staying put in your comfort zone.

The weather soon started to deteriote even more. The moons dimness was also starting to hide behind large sets of clouds.

The evening clouds still looked pleasing. The heaviness of the blocks of soft clouds hovering over the lit buildings of yokohama and the light breeze brushing past your clothed skin made the scenary even more appealing.

It seemed that it will start drizzling soon.

"Oh god i forgot my umbrella...Though we are not going anytime soon" you spoke your thoughts out aloud as your coat shifts with you leaning against the chair to check whether it was really raining or not.

You brought back your head inside the shade of the coffee shop, the spalshing of water was reaching both of your shoes and creating a puddle to which your lips ticked.

Dazai noticed this and instantly arised from his seat with a big smile.

"Osamu?.." you called out when all of a sudden he grabs your wrists and brings out of the shade and out to the airy night.

You could only yelp in surprise as dazai takes your hand in his and grabs your waist tight.

The njght street barely had anyone present except a few lights on here and there which also turned off. The whole crossroad was empty.

The rain splished and sploshed on the footpaths and tall architectures it was hard to hear almost anything except clattering and the sound of water droplets hiting steel cold iron bars.

The thunder made sounds like a piano falling from wooden stairs as the rain poured like steel rods. Even so Dazais body moved along with yours.

What a beautiful and eternal moment but you didn`t like this, getting drenched in the rain and all of this.

As you wear taking in the natures features, completly mesmerized you sensed back to the scenery in front of you as Dazais bandaged arms guided your waist and body creating smooth movements of a dance.

''Samu! Calm down!!" you had to scream out because of the sound of both of your shoes clacking against the road cement mixing up with the clatter of the down pour.

"I wont belladonna! Just keep following my steps" he shouted back with a smile as he twists you around with a spin, your wet body moving itself with each sound of thunder. He danced with you and you did too, like a marionette.

Your head was slightly dizzy because of your wet hair and you hated this but seeing that smile on his face as he clasps your hand tighter and guides your foot to each side of the road just feels...so warm even though your soaked in water.

With each step you could feel your body adjusting to his craziness.

Finally after you swallowed your own spit you took a brave step and moved along with him, grasping his body for slight support.

A step over there, Another over there... A clack over there, Another thunder there... With two hands held together swifting here and there...

Your feet and hands felt elated.

"Dazai.." you huffed loudly as you tried to keep up with his energy. "This is stupid, why are we even continuing this?"

You questioned him even though you were starting to get the hang of it.

To which dazai only chuckled "But.. "

"I set fire to the rain! And i wanna watch it burn on your face!!"

He shouted out loud with his caramel voice echoing the hidden moon and skies. Such a soothing and melodic voice...

He twirled you around round and round, brought you close to his cold body and spun you again, clasped your hands and let them go only to bring it back.

The street lights flickered the weather only turning darker and gloomier but the thunders didn`t bother the two lovers dancing crazily in the middle of the road.

You only heaved a sigh as you put your whole energy on your steps and danced with him.

A dance under the rain wasn`t so bad after all especially one with your boyfriend.

A/N: if this flops i am going down the stairs like the piano :/

Divider crds!: @plutism

Tag!: +@riiwritesz @elizais @biscuits-spooky-corner @silverbladexyz @darling--angst-archived @saelique @ruanais @chuuyasboner @tojifile @yosanosboner @lanterndove @extemporeies @atlasnessie @heartsfourdazai

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Ford Mustang GT Enduro Prototype, 1980. Ford made 3 GT Enduro modified street cars that were sculpted after IMSA racing Mustangs which were competing in major road race endurance races. They were powered by 302ci V8 engines equipped with TRW forged pistons, competition steel connecting rods and a TRW roller timing set driving through a BorgWarner 5-speed manual transmission.

[archivist-crow]

On this day:

EARTH ENERGY ODDITIES

On September 7, 1930, there was a nine-car pileup on a highway between Bremen and Bremerhaven, Germany. The highway was one year old. Since its opening, over one hundred vehicles had crashed at the same location, the site of a stone marker for kilometer 239. The marker was located along a straight stretch.

Some of the survivors told police that just before their accidents they were overwhelmed by "a tremendous thrill.” Other people had experienced a gripping power catch hold of their vehicle and send it off the road. Perplexed police and investigators were at a loss to explain the abundant amount of accidents. A local dowser, Carl Wehrs, thought that there might be a subterranean stream producing an intense magnetic force.

Wehrs investigated his theory with a steel divining rod, which was ripped out of his hands four yards away from the marker. To counteract the current, he buried a copper box filled with copper stars at the bottom of the stone. No accidents happened. A week later the box was removed, and then three cars smashed up. The box was reburied, and the collisions have stopped.

Earth-energy research groups study a variety of forces such as magnetism, radioactivity, radiation, sound waves, and the electrical characteristics associated with certain stones. Evidence has shown that the granite stones known as Long Meg and her Daughters, in Cumbria, Britain, contain concentrated centers of energy.

A road by the Rollright, a stone circle by Oxford, generates an above-average radiation count, and an above-average number reports of hallucinatory experiences are associated with the area. People have told of a number of visions, including visions of a car disappearing as it neared the circle, a large wolf-type animal appearing and disappearing, and a gypsy caravan showing up and then vanishing.

Text from: Almanac of the Infamous, the Incredible, and the Ignored by Juanita Rose Violins, published by Weiser Books, 2009

[webhead3345]

This was born from two prompts I saw around the same time that seemed to go well together. This one and this one. (@candy8448, I don’t know if you’re interested but here’s this in case you are XD)

Tags: Hurt/comfort (I think?), Legend (LU), the Chain (LU), Ravio (even though I’ve never played a game with him), fires,

Words: 4,025

Legend’s House (fic beneath the cut)

Legend was babbling. He knew he was. But still, when they came across a mushroom alongside the road he found himself informing all the others that he only usually found those mushrooms in the forest and that the old potion witch could turn it into a handy magic dust.

The others listened with varying levels of interest, but no one tried to interrupt. Maybe that was only fair due to the rapt attention Legend always paid in the other Hyrules, or maybe they were actually interested in the little tidbits that he came across to talk about.

He didn’t really care either way. His chest was buzzing with excitement to finally be home again and for a chance to show his own Hyrule to the others. Of course, it wasn’t so sparkly and pristine as some of them, but just wait until they got to try his apples.

He knew it was harvest time by now and he hasn’t told them yet that he lived on an orchard, but once they got a taste of his uncle’s apples—

“How much farther?” Wind asked, practically jumping with excitement. Maybe Legend was putting it on too thick. If he got them to expect too much they would be disappointed in his humble abode. “Are we almost to your house?”

“Almost,” Legend shaded his eyes and looked up at the tree line. The fact that they were in a familiar area he’d avoided during his first adventure because it used to be crawling with brainwashed knights was swept from his mind at the sight in the sky. “Oh no.”

That drew all the Links’ attention and gazes turned up to look at the dark plume of smoke billowing up above the highest branches.

Legend’s buzzing excitement turned to worry in half a second, just before Wild voiced his fears. “That’s a fire.”

Legend didn’t wait for more confirmation. He kicked his heels, pegasus boots activating, and dashed toward his house.

He hardly heard the others shouting for him to wait or be careful, and barely registered that Four was right at his elbow keeping up, or the sound of Epona’s hooves behind.

The others would catch up, but they couldn’t wait a second. He skidded to a stop, then turned and took a sharp corner, Four following deftly just behind.

Then his legs froze up so fast he nearly rolled through the grass with all the momentum.

His orchard. His house. All of it was burning.

“No,” the gasp strangled out between his lips, but he didn’t have a second to waste. Ravio could still be inside. He could be in danger. And if that fire spread…

Legend steeled his nerves, shoving down all the emotions and words that wanted to rise up inside of him and he dashed in quiet with resolve.

The fire roared and crackled, but now he could hear voices shouting over the sound. Soot stained villagers from Kakariko were casting buckets of water at the hungry blaze, and some were running back to refill them at the river.

A purple tunic and hood caught Legend’s attention and all his intention to dart into the burning building faded with the sight.

Ravio was coughing into a hand and a woman—one who always shouted for the guards when Legend’s wanted poster had been everywhere—sat beside him, patting his back and bandaging his other hand.

Safe. Ravio was the only other person in the house. Legend didn’t really have many visitors. He turned his attention to the blaze instead.

It was a deadly threat, to everyone here and to the rest of Hyrule, especially Kakariko. If they didn’t stop the fire, it could spread who knew how far.

Legend dug his ice rod out of his pouch and rushed in to help with dousing the flames. He didn’t think of anything else the whole time he worked. Didn’t have time to talk when he passed villagers or when he noticed the other links had arrived at some point and were also aiding in the effort.

It didn’t seem like long at all before he had to drink one of his green potions, but he did so without a second thought and set to work again.

With the additional aid the villagers and heroes were actually managing to get the flames in check.

As the sun was setting that evening, Legend slumped to the ground in exhaustion. His ice rod tapped the dirt beside him and he nearly just dropped it, staring out at the vast expanse of broken remains of charred trees.

His charred trees. Withered and burnt fruits littered the black stained earth, disgusting and destroyed. Not sweet and bright red as they once had been.

His uncle had always boasted about Legend’s careful tending of the orchard. His watchful and meticulous eye over every bit of it, even at a young age. His praise had made the job three times the worth of doing, and quickly shooed away all the wild ideas he’d ever had of being a knight.

Now Legend stared at his orchard. His home. And the pounding of his heart didn’t quite slow as he took it in and finally the calm collected mask of a hero began to drop as he saw the ruins of the last remaining normalcy in his life.

“Legend?” Time’s voice resounded with that same deep-throated command. That calm collection he always wore.

“How did this happen?” Legend couldn’t bring himself to say more than that, staring out at his trees. His uncles trees. His livelihood and life beyond adventures.

A strong hand dropped on his shoulder. “Sometimes accidents happen. We’re lucky the fire didn’t spread further than this one farm.” Time gave him a slight tug. “We’d best be moving on, if we’re going to get to your place before nightfall.”

Legend’s eyes stung and his ears burned. All his boasting before seemed idiotic now. His hands trembled as he looked over the lands, but a new thought struck him before he had a chance to say much else.

No.

Legend spun around, dropping the ice rod completely and scrambled to his feet away from Time’s firm presence and back through the charred stumps of once healthy trees.

He passed villagers having burns tended, some by Hyrule and Warriors, and some by other members of the village. He passed Wind and Wild throwing balls of soot at each other and laughing at how blackened they already were.

He passed Four, Sky, and Twilight gathering newly arrived children together for an effort of bringing water to all the adults.

None of that seemed to matter at all. It didn’t take him long to make his way over the familiar path to the old shack he’d spent the majority of his life in.

His home. His uncle’s home before him. Everything that he had left of him. His hands were trembling again as he moved to the door—half off its hinges—and pushed against it, the wood still warm.

The door gave way and dropped into a mound of rubble just behind with a puff of ash. Legend stared at the remains of his small home.

Everything he’d had he’d saved within these walls. Thousands of collections. So many different items, both helpful and totally worthless strewn about in meticulously organized chests.

Legend stepped in, surveying the damage and hardly even noticing the dangerous way the ceiling creaked above him. Though he did see places where it had already caved in, bringing some of the walls with it.

They had to be here. If nothing else, Legend had to find his uncle’s sword and shield. The first weapons Legend had ever taken up and the last thing his caretaker had ever given him. They had to be here somewhere.

“Mr. Hero.” The voice was a nervous squeak.

Legend’s trembling fists tightened into balls and he hunched his shoulders up toward his ears. “Not now, Ravio.” He started in, digging through the ashy piles of ruin and searching for anything that might still be intact.

“But Mr. Hero…”

“What happened?” Legend demanded, shoving through another useless pile of rubble.

“I-I don’t know,” the merchant stuttered. “Everything was quiet and I was looking through my wares and I smelled smoke and I thought maybe the oven, but no, and then I checked outside but I didn’t see any signs and then there was a blaze inside and I didn’t know what to do and I-“

“My stuff,” Legend grunted as he pushed a beam out of the way. “Did you take out any of my stuff?”

Ravio’s silence was answer enough.

Legend kept digging.

===

They didn’t know what Legend was looking for, but whatever it was it was clear it was important to him.

The chain gathered at the fallen door of the old farmhouse and gazed in at the wreckage, and Sky couldn’t help but wonder who the unfortunately soul to lose their house so suddenly might be.

Did they go back with the townspeople when they’d left earlier? Did they have family to stay with until they could rebuild?

Legend was digging through the soot in a serious silence, already stained ashy black and gray from fighting the fire, his efforts were only making it worse.

Similarly, the boy dressed in purple sat near the door with a bunny hood pulled over his face and his head hanging. He didn’t even seem to notice them when they tried to speak to him and that made Sky wonder if this was his house.

Was Legend looking for something for the man?

Four was the first one to move, rolling up his sleeves and screwing his face with determination. “Well, this is gonna take forever if we make him do it alone.”

And then they all filtered into the house after Legend and started sifting through the wreckage for anything they might be able to salvage.

It was dark, the area lit with a few lanterns and candles now. They’d found various odd items in different conditions. A few dented pots that could be salvaged, a chest that was only half charred full of outfits that were a little worse off but not ruined.

They had a small collection near the doorway now, and the man in purple had since joined the search in a sullen silence, and he didn’t lift his hood.

Sky let out a little gasp when he lifted a beam to find a mutilated sword and shield beneath, dented and half melted, and twisted in so many ways it shouldn’t be, he nearly left it there.

But his expression of surprise drew Legend’s gaze momentarily as it always did when they found something new.

Only this time the Veteran didn’t turn straight back to his work. He let out a strangled gasp and climbed over a hill of rubble between them before dropping to his knees in the ash and reaching a hesitant hand toward the sword and shield.

His fingers were trembling.

“Is this what we’ve been looking for, Legend?” Sky’s quiet question drew more gazes, but Legend still didn’t answer.

He didn’t touch the sword either. He pulled his hand back and hugged it to his chest as though he’d been burned and he didn’t move.

“Legend?” Sky lowered himself to a knee next to him, but the hero still didn’t look at him.

He’d been getting the idea for a while now that this meant more to Legend than some request from the owner. This was more personal than just some orchard in his Hyrule.

Sky set a gentle hand on his arm and the younger teen didn’t even seem to notice. “Legend. Is this your home?”

His shoulders hiked higher and his ears pinned against his head. And then it struck the Veteran at once and his shoulders started to shake.

Sky’s hold on his arm tightened and carefully he pulled himself closer and wrapped his arms around the tiny hero, who curled up and crumpled only seemed smaller.

Legend didn’t move to return the hug or seem to notice it at all. He still faced toward the sword, curled inward, and cried silent tears.

Sky waved the others off. He didn’t know if they realized what was going on by the sight of Sky hugging Legend, or if they were just ready to listen to any guidance given, but they backed away and gave the Veteran some space.

After another few minutes, the quiet hiccuping breathes choked off and Legend’s body stiffened, as if noticing the arms around him for the first time.

“I’m fine,” he said in a hoarse voice, gently pushing Sky’s arms off him and still not looking his direction as he scrubbed at his face. “I’m fine.”

By the reverent, almost scared, way he picked up the shattered and melted blade and shield and carried them out of the house with a hanging head, Sky didn’t really believe him.

===

“Ah, the comforts of an inn,” Warriors said sarcastically as he dropped onto one of the beds. “I guess we can’t blame the Veteran for failing to calculate a fire into his schedule, but I’d certainly hoped we were closer to his house than this.”

“Warriors!” Sky’s snap was enough to draw everyone’s attention in the room. “Didn’t you put it together?”

Their whispers floated over Legend’s ears like distant waves. He squeezed the sheet in front of him where he faced the wall, but he didn’t move more than that.

“That house was Legend’s.”

Sky’s simple words brought a silence to the others. Legend hated that even more. The pitying looks he knew—could feel—were being pointed in his direction. Not least of those coming from Sky who’d seen the way he lost it by his uncle’s old sword.

It was broken, beyond repair. It would never be used again.

Legend closed his eyes and tried to push the thoughts away. Tried to drown them in the idea that this was just another adventure and someday he would go back and find his home waiting for him.

It didn’t work. Even as each of his companions dropped off one by one, Legend couldn’t sleep.

Ravio had burned his hands trying to put out the fires. Knowing that made Legend feel a little guilty for blaming him for the whole thing, even if he’d never voiced any blame for the merchant to hear.

He knew the others wanted to talk without him by the not-so-covert glances they kept sending at him, so he took Ravio for a walk to get his hands rebandaged so they could have the chance.

He felt sick the whole way, half because of what he knew had happened, and half because he knew exactly what they had to talk about. He didn’t know if he could take any pitying looks. If he could take that constant reminder and that shame.

He could use more Red Potion. He considered for more than just a minute sneaking out the back of town and making his way to the witch’s to buy more.

But time wouldn’t really gain him anything. In the end, he would have to face them again, and when that time came, it wouldn’t be different than it was going to be now. There was no point in prolonging the inevitable, so together he and Ravio made their way back toward the inn and the ring of heroes gathered before it.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hero,” Ravio said quietly, fiddling with his sleeves over his newly bandages hands. “I-“

“It’s not your fault.” Legend’s words came out harsher than he intended, but Ravio didn’t try to take the blame again.

That was the last thing Legend wanted to be talking about when they re-entered the ring of heroes. Not to mention it wasn’t Ravio’s fault for all he could tell. He had to keep reminding himself of that.

The Chain was serious and quiet when they stepped up to the circle. It was a stiff silence that made Legend feel awkward.

He was about to break into it with an ill-tempered comment, but Ravio was faster.

“I suppose now would be a bad time to bring up the new flame-proof merchandise I have in store?” He chuckled a little beneath the bunny hood he hadn’t removed since the fire. “But the again, I’d hate to see the same happen to any of you and I’d be willing to part with a sample for only thirty-one odd rupees.”

Wind spluttered his shock, but Legend pushed Ravio’s words aside. “Well, I don’t have anywhere to take us to stay better than this. We might as well get down to business sooner than later. No sense sitting around doing nothing.”

“Legend…” Sky’s voice was soft and all too full of pity. Legend glared at him. It wouldn’t surprise him if the Skyloftian had spilled all the juicy details of Legend’s breakdown while he was away. Sky snapped his mouth shut at the look, but he lifted his chin and firmed his expression.

“We’re not leaving just yet,” Time said, crossing his arms.

“Yeah? Why not?”

Four hefted a hammer over his shoulder and gave a crooked smile. “Because we’ve got work to do.”

Legend blinked at him.

“We can’t replace everything you’ve lost,” Sky said softly, “but we’d like to help with what we can.”

Legend’s eyes burned again and his face grew hot. He pinned his ears and forced a half-hearted sneer. “Do what you want. I won’t stop you.”

Most of them grinned at that. They turned to start the trek toward where there was still a smoldering smoke in the air above his old house, and Legend felt off balance.

They took his comment with none of their own, their easy smiles and their willingness to help.

All his years on the road and adventuring, of course he’d had people help him, but…

Not like this. He’d never once experienced what it felt like to be on the other end of all those insistent quest, only he didn’t even have anything to offer to them in return.

He folded his arms in front of him and ducked his head as the reality sank in of how much he lost and how much their words meant to him. “Guys?”

The heroes ahead of him stopped at his tone, glancing over shoulders and casting him inquisitive looks.

Legend tightened his fingers in his sleeves and forced himself to meet each of their gazes, even if only for a second. “Thanks.”

Warrior’s grin broadens. “Don’t thank us yet. Who knows what this house is gonna turn out like.”

“Yeah! I don’t expect us to do all the work, either,” Wild said, waving for Legend to follow them. “C’mon! We never even saw the house when it was whole.”

Legend rolled his eyes and threw his hands into the air. “That’s not how side-quests are supposed to work and you know it!” But he was smirking too when he followed after them, Ravio dogging his heels.

The heroes made fast work, and even some of the villagers came to help. At least now that they considered Legend and hero and not a fugitive they were more than happy to lend a hand here and there.

He was especially glad for the presence of an actual builder to make sure his new house was sturdy and not just a pile of wood slapped together.

Legend went out to survey his trees, and some actually managed to survive on the outer edge, though a lot of them were saplings he only planted recently.

Legend tended to the endangered remains of his apple trees in a reverent silence, and once he sat back on his heels, wiping his face with dirt covered hands and looking at one of the small trees, he felt his throat tighten.

It wasn’t all gone. He hadn’t lost everything. He smiled and ran his fingers down one of the branches. “The next batch is sure to be the best one yet, Uncle. Just you wait and see.”

The heroes worked hard on the small cottage until they had it completed. They all cheered as Legend stepped into his newly built home and looked around.

The charred remains of salvaged goods sat in one corner, and in the other was a pile of new furniture the chain had either built or bought—he wasn’t sure because he hadn’t seen any of it until this moment—precariously wobbling as if it was ready to fall any second.

It was small and cozy, and so similar to what he grew up in, even if the differences were glaring and obvious. They were beautiful too.

Sky had carved some extra designs into the mantle when Legend mentioned the old one had engravings, but Sky’s were clearly from a practiced Skyloftian, depictions of loftwings, the Triforce, and pumpkins for some reason.

Wild somehow had a picture of the Chain framed on the wall, and Wind had hung hooks and shelves all over one side of the house for Legend’s various instruments.

Time and Warriors had worked together on his endlessly creaky door and actually got it to stop being the way it always was, and Hyrule and Twilight cleaned the whole place so it was more spotless than ever.

Legend stared at it, but his eyes caught on the empty hooks above the fireplace. The hooks that should’ve had something of great family importance hanging on them.

His heart twinged, but this moment was honestly too happy to let something like that bother him. He’d just have to find one of the weapons from his adventures to display there when this was all over.

“Ledge?” Four stopped just behind him and Legend turned to find him holding the shattered blade and shield in front of him.

His uncle’s weapons had been mended as well as their mangled frames would allow. They were still bent and melted and in no way sturdy, but they were certainly more suit for display now.

Legend took them gently and he couldn’t even bring himself to meet the smithy’s eyes. He just stared at that blade and his reflection in it. His dumbfounded and awestruck reflection.

All this. For him?

“Well? You gonna hang it up or stand there staring all day? Trust me, a real mirror would work a lot better than a battered blade.”

Legend snorted and raised his eyebrows at Warriors. “I haven’t a doubt that you would know.”

He turned and lifted them above the fireplace, and he paused after he’d set them on display, looking at the weapons that started this all. A small smile pulled at the corners of his lips. “I think we’ll be okay, Uncle.”

He turned and found all the heroes watching him with satisfied smiles, and even Ravio had his hood down in the corner where he was setting up a tiny shop.

He met Four’s eyes and gave him a single nod of thanks, then he stepped away from the fireplace. “I’ve got good friends watching my back,” he murmured.

“What?” Warrior’s grinned as he raised a hand to his ear. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

Legend rolled his eyes and shoved past him playfully. “None of your business, fancy pants.” He paused in the doorway and breathed in the fresh air of a northern wind, already blowing away the smoky scent. “Thank you all. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

Quiet murmured ascent drifted through the room after his statement. Then Wind broke through it all. “Does that mean we can stay here for free?”

Ravio opened his mouth and Legend had to rush to get the words out first. “Of course you can!”

Ravio hunched his shoulders and Legend smirked at him.

At least in this house he knew, even when this was all over, he would have a home and at least one friend to come back to.

He turned to look it over again and his chest warmed. And with all these reminders, he would remember each and every one of them.

[forensicated]

Information for use in fan fiction and anything else related to The Bill. This will be added to and edited every so often and please feel free to comment if you want to add or edit anything.

Part 1

The Bill is set in the fictional Sun Hill which makes up part of the also fictional Borough Of Canley. It's roughly set around the areas of Whitechapel, Stepney, Shadwell, Spitalfields, Portoken, Limehouse and parts of Aldgate, Bishopsgate, Shoreditch and Mile End. It's also known as the Tower Hamlets area. Mike Dashwood once describes its location as 'Tower Bridge and turn right'. Maps of Sun Hill show the Isle Of Dogs area.

The station address is: Sun Hill Police Station, 2 Sun Hill Road, Canley, London, E1 4KM. The telephone number is 020 7511 1642.

In 1988 Sun Hill (not Canley as a whole, just Sun Hill) was described as being 6 miles long and 2 miles wide.

The caution: I am arresting you on suspicion of (OFFENCE: eg murder or sexual assault). You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say will be given in evidence.

This MUST be said, IN FULL, each time someone is arrested and officers MUST make sure that the person understands it ALL.

Vehicle Call Signs:

Area Car (Sierra 1, Sierra 1-2, Sierra 1-7, Sierra Oscar 21 and Sierra Oscar 22)

Van (Sierra 2)

CID Cars (Sierra Oscar 5 to 9) (Sierra-1-1 has lights/siren hidden like below but they have a magnetic light to stick on top like below)

TSG (Sierra Oscar 1-3)

IRV (Sierra Oscar 2-3)

Panda (Sierra Oscar 8-4, 8-5, 8-6, 8-7)

Officer call signs:

Sierra-Oscar 5-2 - Superintendents used this so it was the call sign for Brownlow (and Derek when he was acting Super), Chandler, Okaro, Prosser, Heaton and finally Jack Meadows.

Sierra-Oscar 5-4 was for Chief Inspectors so Derek, Cato and Stritch but the call sign and role was retired at Sun Hill after Derek was killed.

Sierra-Oscar 5-5 was the call sign for DCI's so this is Kim Reid, Frank Burnside and Jack Meadows.

Sierra-Oscar 7-5 was used for Frank Burnside when DI

Sierra-Oscar 3-3 was used for Roy Galloway when DI

Sierra-Oscar 7-0 was used for Neil Manson when DI.

Sierra-Oscar 7-1 was used for Sam Nixon when DI

Need to check on those for Johnson, Wray, Haines and Deakin if required but they can just use rank/surname as described below.

Sierra-Oscar 3-2 was used for DS Geoff Daly

Sierra-Oscar 6-7 was used for DS Don Beech

Sierra-Oscar 2-8 was used for DS John Boulton

Sierra-Oscar 3-6 was used for DC Will Fletcher

Sierra-Oscar 9-8 was used for DC Gary Best

Sierra-Oscar 4-2 was used for DC Grace Dasari.

Sierra-Oscar 3-0 was used for DC Mike Dashwood

Sierra-Oscar 223 was used for DC Rod Skase (in All Change)

Sierra-Oscar 613 was used for DC Duncan Lennox (In All Change)

CID would most often use their rank and surname.

Sierra Oscar 1 was used for all inspectors at the station from Deeping, Kite, Frazer, Monroe, Matt when he was acting Inspector, Gina, Smithy when he was acting inspector, Rachel and then finally Smithy when full inspector. (Smithy was 833 as PC and 54 as Sgt)

SO25 - Rachel Weston

SO30 - Callum Stone

SO33 - Craig Gilmore

SO46 - Jo Masters (after moving from CID to uniform)

SO48 - June Ackland (SO643 when a PC)

SO48 - Diane Noble for one night (she was supposed to return but the ITV cutbacks and the show moving to one episode a week meant her two-parter return was edited down to one episode and new scenes filmed to explain she was transferring to Barton St.)

SO54 - Smithy (833 as a PC and Sierra 1 as an Inspector)

SO54 - Jane Kendall and Tom Penny

SO55 - Ray Steele

SO61 - John Maitland

SO66 - Sheelagh Murphy (SO661 when demoted to PC)

SO79 - Matt Boyden

SO82 - Joseph Corrie

SO87 - Nikki Wright

SO92 - Bob Cryer

SO95 - Stuart Lamont

SO96 - Alec Peters

SO99 - Phil Hunter (during a short punishment stint in uniform)

SO101 - Taffy (Francis Edwards)

SO128 - Lewis Hardy

SO134 - Phil Young

SO139 - Timothy Able

SO140 - Nick Klein

SO148 - Mel Ryder and Yorkie (Tony Smith)

SO149 - Gary Best (Changes so SO 9-8 in CID)

SO158 - Honey Harman

SO171 - Reginald Percival Hollis

SO201 - Dave Litten

SO202 - Kerry Young

SO201 - Pete Muswell

SO212 - Millie Brown

SO217 - Laura Bryant (was SO7667 when a PCSO)

SO218 - George Garfield

SO227 - Viv Martella

SO235 - Roz Clarke

SO249 - Gemma Osbourne

SO251 - Jamila Blake

SO258 - Beth Green

SO275 - Roger Valentine

SO294 - Danesh Patel

SO298 - Yvonne Hemmingway

SO315 - Dan Casper

SO330 - Robin Frank and Ron Smollett

SO335 - Donna Harris

SO340 - Dave Quinnan

SO342 - Abe Lyttleton

SO351 - Malcolm Haynes

SO354 - Arun Ghir

SO355 - Cameron Tait

SO358 - Gary McCann

SO361 - Emma Keane and Vicky Hagen

SO362 - Luke Ashton (for his return post-2002)

SO363 - Steve Loxton, Lance Powell and Kirsty Knight

SO408 - Nick Slater

SO416 - Sam Harker, Ken Melvin and Gabriel Kent

SO432 - Luke Ashton (for his first 97-99 stint) and Des Taviner

SO437 - Leela Kapoor and Leon Taylor

SO452 - Adam Bostock

SO469 - Polly Page

SO483 - Diane Noble (was SO48 for her one-night stint as Sgt)

SO487 - Cathy Marshall and Rosie Fox

SO510 - Billy Rowan (though poor love lasted half a shift)

SO517 - Mike Jarvis

SO518 - Cass Rickman

SO543 - Will Fletcher

SO561 - Debbie Keane

SO570 - Cathy Bradford

SO577 - Barry Stringer

SO595 - Tony Stamp

SO600 - Jim Carver

SO643 - June Ackland (SO48 as Sgt)

SO659 - Suzanne Ford

SO661 - Sheelagh Murphy (SO66 as Sgt)

SO682 - Di Worrell

SO686 - Sally Armstrong

SO740 - Ben Hayward

SO743 - Pete Ramsey

SO759 - Steve Hunter

SO795 - Ben Gayle

SO800 - Richard Turnham

SO832 - Delia French and Claire Brind

SO833 - Smithy (SO54 as Sgt and Sierra 1 when Inspector)

SO876 - Nate Roberts

SO876 - Nick Shaw

SO888 - Amber Johannsen

SO943 - Andrea Dunbar

SO988 - Eddie Santini and Ruby Buxton

FED REPS: Federation Representatives support and advise officers if they've been accused of something or matters like pay, rights, allowances, conduct, equality and development etc. It's often mocked, mostly when Reg is in the position as everyone's favourite busy body, however it is a responsible position and Reg was very good at it if only due to his nitpicking and love of the rule book.

Fed reps: Reg Hollis, Barry Stringer, George Garfield, Nick Klein, Leela Kapoor

The Area Car can only be driven by the officers who are qualified to drive them for example: Roger Valentine, Tony Stamp, Kirsty Knight, Callum Stone, Ben Gayle, Gemma Osbourne, Yvonne Hemmingway, Matt Boyden, Vicky Hagen, Gina Gold, Steve Loxton, Mike Jarvis, Will Fletcher and Des Taviner.

Civillian Staff:

Jonathan Fox - Senior Crown Prosecutor and one time boyfriend of Gina Gold. He left Gina because she wouldn't commit right as she was about to commit to him. She tries to tell him this when he returns during her cancer fight but he's moved on with someone else... she can't handle just being friends so asks him to leave.

Matt Hinkley - Senior Crown Prosecutor

Eddie Olosunje - CSE

Lorna Hart - CSE

Audrey ?? - A CSE who checked Gabriel's clothes and is very friendly with Gina - they play poker together.

Dean McVerry - CAD

Marilyn Chambers - SRO - Reg was about to propose to her and was waiting for her where they had their first date when Colin Fairfax drove his van into the front of the station.

Julian 'JT' Tavell - SRO

Robbie Cryer - SRO (SRO's used to be Front Desk Officers)

DOPA Mia Perry (Press Officer) - Mickey's girlfriend who cheated on him with John Heaton

Margret Barnes - Cleaner who was obsessed with Ramani

Special Constable Terry Knowles (Killed on his first day trying to be like Des)

PCSO Colin Fairfax - Racist who drove a van into the front of the station, killing Ken, Marilyn and Andrea.

PCSO Laura Bryant - Became a full PC.

Marion Layland - Charles Brownlow's long suffering PA.

Rochelle Barrett - Drugs Referral Officer

Tom Kent - FME in the early 90's

Important Reoccurring Characters (Police):

Guy Mannion - Chief Super to Brownlow and then Borough Commander. Pain in the arse.

Trevor Hicks - DAC/Assistant Commissioner

Georgia Hobs - DAC

Roy Pearson - DAC. Neil Manson's father-in-law and user of rent boys. Murdered by one after attempting to retrieve a video that was being used to blackmail him.

Lisa Kennedy - Commander (Her son is involved in an altercation that leads to disaster at a football match)

Jane Fitzwilliam - Borough Commander

Louise Campbell - Borough Commander

Ian Barrett - Borough Commander - tried to blackmail PC Dan Casper into ending his affair with his wife, Rochelle. Ended up getting Dan held at gunpoint and left Sun Hill alongside his wife.

Amanda Prosser - acting Superintendent whilst Adam took time off following the death of his family in an RTA. Upset a bereaved father who then took her hostage at gunpoint and caused a siege at Sun Hill (second live episode)

Rowanne Morell - DI/DCI who came in to investigate a case and then came in as cover for Neil whilst he took some time off after his father-in-law's death/end of his marriage.

Andrew Ross - DCI if I remember rightly he was part of MIT and kept coming over for murders - the Serial Killer/Des's Firebombing/Cathy's murders etc.

Frank Keane - DCI from MIT. Rubbed everyone up the wrong way and thought the sun shone out of his daughter - Emma's - arse.

Karen Lacy - stuck up DI from SO15 who immediately alienated most of Sun Hill after Emma's death by refusing to let her friends in uniform help and would only let them man a cordon and then told Jack that CID could only help if EVERYTHING was run by her and came back to her and her alone.

Tom Baker - TREV which was a fan-coined term that stands for Totally Reliable Extra Veteran'. Tom was an outstanding backup CID member for over a thousand episodes. He's even in the Guinness Book Of World Records for it.

Terry Knowles - Terry was a Special Constable who idolized Des and wanted to be like him. He tried to copy how he'd seen him pick up a woman and flirt at a blonde in a convertible. Unfortunately, it all went wrong when she stabbed him in the neck and severed his jugular and he died, leaving a 2-year-old son fatherless.

Doug Wright - husband of Sgt Nikki Wright. Nikki transferred to Sun Hill when she got fed up with the confusion over two Sgt Wright's and then having to work opposing shifts. He's based at Sun Hill but they cross over to police a football match. Sadly Doug ends up getting stabbed and they realise there's a Cop Killer on the loose after he taunts them and goes on to murder new recruit Billy Rowan on his very first day.

Mark Rollin - Lance Powell's Boyfriend/Fiance/Civil Partner/Husband. Mark is a Sgt in CO19 and keeps his sexuality hidden to avoid the banter and bullying. He goes to pieces after shooting dead Jeff Clarke and he and Lance separate - only for Lance to go out drinking to try to cheer himself up. It ended with Lance being murdered by a gay serial killer pair.

Steve Hodges - an irritating little man who was the Detective Superintendent at CIB at the time that Claire Stanton was undercover trying to get information to prove that Don Beech was corrupt. He expected Claire to pull evidence out of her arse and moaned constantly.

Rachel Kitson - Crime Scene Photographer who murdered old school friend turned Super Model Cindy Statham. She got away with it and someone else was accused and locked up...but then Jo went back and looked at the footage again as she had a niggling feeling. Rachel realised she was on to her and took her hostage at gunpoint. It was Stuart getting suspicious when he received a text calling him 'hun' and realising that something was very wrong that saved her life with seconds to go.

Important Reoccurring Characters (Civilians):

Rod Jessop - June's second husband after Jim. He is a headteacher and a good man who has 2 children of his own. At first, June isn't too sure as she thinks he's a little too keen but she warms to him and they fall in love and take early retirement together.

Irene Radford - Mother of Karl, Wayne and David Radford, a large crime family with a history going back decades with Gina. She takes Gina hostage at one point and she and David are literally seconds from killing Smithy and Kerry at another point!

Louise Larson - Wife of Pete Larson. Unhappily married but settled until she met Smithy. Feisty, sarcastic and full of one-liners, she kept him on his toes and they wanted to leave after she agreed to give evidence (Pete was arrested after almost murdering Smithy. I'm sensing a theme here).

Abi Nixon - The cause of Sam shrieking "MY DAUGHTER!!!!!" Had a fling with Matt Boyden - as you do. Then ended up pregnant and engaged to Hugh Wallis - a profiler - who manipulated Abi into it as revenge. He forced Sam to think her daughter was a victim of the Serial Killer. She keeps the baby and her relationship with her mother improves.

Cindy Hunter - Phil Hunter's wife who sees all he does on the side and - usually forgives him, even when a major criminal demands he be allowed to sleep with Cindy. Gregory doesn't force her to sleep with him but does take degrading pictures of her to wind Phil up. She still forgives him... but she can't get past finding out he has a daughter with another major criminal's wife when they are trying for a baby of their own and they finally split.

Jenny Delaney - The girlfriend of George Garfield at first, Jenny is the nurse who looks after Dave Quinnan when he is attacked and left for dead in a youth club. She and Dave fall in love and have an affair which ends up in George leaving Sun Hill. They marry but do not get their happily ever after as Dave and Polly grow closer... and closer...

Kristen Shaw - Drug dealer who Zain goes undercover to catch and he ends up falling for her. She accidentally murders Honey by shooting her when the gun goes off in a struggle (Honey was trying to get Zain to do the right thing and arrest her with him). Zain reluctantly puts Honey's body in the water and they try to escape but in the end, he can't go through with it and refuses to get on the boat with her to escape. He removed the bullets from her gun and so both ended up arrested.

James Tennant - The father of Amy Tennant. This storyline goes on forever for over a year and Neil and James get close and become good friends through it before Amy is found.

Scott Burnett - Scott is the husband of a woman who is found murdered. At first his best friend is charged with it and as his FLO, Honey helps support him through it. They fall in love and in a whirlwind romance they get married.... only for Honey to realise that Scott actually murdered his first wife!

Laura Meadows - Jack's long-suffering wife of almost 30 years who put up with a lot, including affairs. It comes to a head when Jack - in full midlife crisis mode - thinks he's in love with Debbie McAllister and wants to support her and her new baby. Debbie thinks of him mostly as a father figure and is horrified when he finally puts the moves on.

Lilian Rickman - Cass' mum is devastated when her daughter is killed by the Sun Hill Serial Killer. She travels down and bonds with the team and later invites them to the funeral in Liverpool which some travel up to and then have to go straight on shift once they get back to London. She later returns to tie up the sale of Cass' flat and she and Tony grow closer and end up sleeping together.

Marie Graham/Carver - The bereaved mother whose daughter killed herself after being accused of sleeping with underage students. She's an alcoholic who seemed to understand Jim and all his problems... and then started to abuse him 2 days after their marriage. (he should have known it was a bad omen when he and June almost kissed the day of the wedding when trapped with Polly and Tony!)He is accused of abusing her before he ends up in the hospital (Gabriel hit him over the back of the head with a vodka bottle - long story) and he cracks under accusations and shows his many wounds. He leaves Marie and goes on to recover and get back together with June... only for Marie to turn up on THEIR wedding day and cause a scene at the reception and then fall down the stairs and knock herself out. Jim, with a sprained ankle, ends up going into hospital too!

Pauline Smith - Smithy's mum seen in Killer On The Run. His father was an abusive drunk who used to knock her and Smithy around until Smithy was old enough to go out with his friends. Smithy has little to do with his unnamed father and next to no contact. Pauline adores her son and is very proud of him. They are close and Smithy has a key to her house. He also had an unnamed little brother as a PC (mentioned in Soft Talking) but this seemed forgotten when he returned as a Sgt.

More family/love connections can be found here.

[upward]

I don’t want to go to Detroit in two weeks and my daughter asked why.

I told her about the good things I saw and the amazing dinner I had last time and what it was like to live there for a few years I didn’t like. I also told her about the view off the exit ramp and the boarded houses and bulletproof glass and barbed wire.

And even though she’s only 8, we talked about coal and steel and cars. Why her PapPap wanted to be so good at football and what that meant in western Pennsylvania. Why the question “where you from?” Is hard for mommy to answer because it’s steel-colored tidewater diaspora. The winding thread of the busy Delaware seen from a kitchen window can’t be reckoned with the mass of the James, wide enough to hide ghost ships in her fog, sleepily lapping at your feet.

Steel makes cars and steel is gone and that’s one reason why wood is boarded and burned over the parts of Detroit that I see when I loop off the highway and over the frontage roads. It’s splintered and rigid and Detroit does not hide it. Other places do and that’s worse. Festers.

But Detroit will not let me go unscathed. It knows what I have seen and the assumptions I am already making. Detroit surprised me as steam pours from the streets as I eat the best meal I’ve ever had. A day later, our friends from the state university relocate a meeting to a queer-centric space on campus and sneer at the bad politicians who make the city an unwilling lighning rod.

I go back to Detroit in two weeks and even though I don’t want to, it’s a place that makes me think of steel.

It’s kin to cities like Richmond and Memphis and Pittsburgh who roll their eyes at the word grit. Tired of everyone getting it wrong, tired of hamhanded metaphors bungled by people who haven’t sanded a thing in their lives. People who don’t know how fine that work is, that there’s diamonds on some sheets.

Who don’t know that grit is a measure of damage. How worn down you can get something.

[spacenut334]

Kagha's Penance

This is my first attempt at Baldur's Gate 3 smut, I had fun writing it and am looking forward to trying my hand at more in the future

Pairing: Zevlor x Kagha, Dammon x Kagha, Zevlor x Kagha x Dammon, Kagha x All Tieflings

Summary/Setting: Takes place at the tiefling party. Kagha must atone for her sins by servicing the entire tiefling party with her body.

Rating/Warnings: Dub Con, 18+ MDI

Word Count: 3600

Read on AO3

Notes: Inspired by this artwork by Po-ar with their permission

The sun was getting low, and Kagha could hear the preparations for the party underway as she paced in the makeshift prison cell.

It had been days since she ate, so when the Dark Haired cleric dropped off a flowery dish, she put caution aside and devoured it. As the last bits slid down her throat she felt the cold chill of loss, and it dawned on her. Sussur flowers! Where in goddamned hells did they get Sussur flowers? The anti-magic effects had already taken hold though. It looks like the last-ditch plan of wildshaping her way out was no longer an option. She felt bare without the warmth of magic, and her pacing quickened.

Kagha heard a light metal on metal squeaking as Dammon came in. He rolled a leather and steel contraption behind him. It had four small wheels attached to a heavy base, attached to the base was a crane. Dangling from the crane was what looked like a leather stick figure, with metal rods for the back and legs. At the end of each limb were Leather manacles, and a leather strap near the neck. 

Dammon looked from Kagha to the device, sizing up her measurements against the restraining device. He gave a small nod and turned to the cell. “Shall we get you ready?” It wasn’t really a question, and Dammon didn’t wait for a reply.

The amber tiefling snapped his fingers and in walked Rolan and Zevlor. As Dammon went to undo the lock, Kagha tried to jump over him and out the door. Her movement stopped against her will and she felt suddenly like she was being held by a large invisible blanket. Rolan was muttering something and motioning his hands in her direction. That damned wizard. The hold person spell stayed in place as the three of them picked her up and started fastening her into the device. She felt the heat of their bodies, and smelled the musk of men who have been on the road and unserviced for far too long.

All in all, the device was surprisingly comfortable, the manacles had fur on the inside, and the rods in the back and legs provided support, so she was more sitting than dangling. wouldn’t want to hurt me before the big show, she thought. She felt like an elven marionette as Dammon maneuvered her into a seated position and raised her from the ground so they could move the device. 

They left her clothes on, and they left her hair in place. She was still thinking of appearances even now. Hoping beyond hope that this was just one big practical joke from Halsin, and they would just dump her outside the grove.

The invisible hand released and she found that her arms were rather mobile, Dammon had put much thought into this. Kagha and the device were slowly rolled and carried towards the bonfire in the distance.

They passed by Alfira entertaining the children in the grove, it was a mercy at least that they would not be present.

They walked for what felt like an eternity until over one last hill they looked down to see the party below. There were a dozen or two figures around the fire. She started recognizing more people as she got closer. Tav was there with their eclectic adventuring party, likely still gloating about the sussur soup, Halsin was impossible to miss, the bastard, and some scrawny human man was playing a tune. She saw wine flowing freely from skins into gobets, and from the looks of things everyone was already a few cups in. 

As Kagha and her companions entered the edge of the clearing the music stopped. Everyone turned to see her, helpless, yet defiant, and somehow still putting out a smug aura. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her break, but the steadiness was just an illusion, and she didn’t think the crowd was buying it.

Zevlor stood on a rock to address the group as Kagha was raised up next to him, still seated in the device. 

“We’d like to welcome the Arch-Druid Kagha to our illustrious party.” The mockery dripping from Arch-Druid was palpable. The crowd chuckled lightly.

“We all appreciate Volo’s tunes, but I think tonight’s entertainment will be much more… satisfying, and I hope that she will provide a warmer welcome than when we first arrived.”

She could feel the heat radiating off him and saw his tail rise. She recalled that Tieflings’ early signs of arousal included raising their tail at the base to prepare for a rut.

Kagha noticed from the corner of her eye that Zevlor was freeing a razor-sharp dagger from his waist. Her body tensed as he leaned in with the knife to her breast. He reached out and gently pulled the neck of her tunic out, slipping the blade beneath it and began cutting through the fabric. She felt the cold steel easily work its way from the throat to navel, sending a shiver down her spine every time the blade brushed against skin. She felt the outside air silently rippling across her bare skin as he pulled the torn fabric apart exposing her to the crowd. She saw bright eyes tracing up and down from her waist to her plump breasts and hardened nipples. 

Some in the crowd laughed, some applauded, but she couldn’t help but notice More tails in the audience beginning to rise.

Zevlor had resumed his work and she felt the knife again, going once down each sleeve, and the light tensing of fabric before her robe was torn away completely. With a gleeful look in his eye.

Kagha’s bold façade had crumbled, and she stared at Zevlor imploringly her bright gray eyes into his fiery yellow: “Please, isn’t there any other way?”

“No.”

Damon moved her legs to spread position. Zevlor looped his finger under her trousers and small-clothes at the hip, and moved the blade under. The knife traced its way down from thigh to calf to ankle, and then the same on the other side,

A clawed hand grasped the fabric at her buttocks and In a single smooth motion Zevlor yanked the last remaining covering away. 

There was a silent moment that felt like an eternity, and then the crowd cheered. Every tail was up now, and eyes filled with lust were upon her. 

She was frozen in place, unable to cover herself and unable to turn away. They all looked at her, at her taut breasts, her bare feet, and her spread cunt and hole. The light from the large fire left nothing to the imagination, no more shadows, no more secrets, just Kagha laid bare. She could see some of the tieflings already stroking themselves under their clothes, some had already pulled themselves out and were polishing their lengths in preparation. She felt herself moisten from the attention. 

Zevlor waited for the cries to die down and spoke again: “Ladies and Gentlemen, tonight’s entertainment! Volo, why don’t you play a song!”

The wiry human began plucking a merry tune at a slow pace.

Kagha was lowered to waist level. All pretext was dropped, she saw robes being discarded and trousers dropping. There were rock-hard cocks and dripping wet cunts coming out from under the falling fabric. They were all for her, and she was here until Every. Single. One of them had been sated.

Zevlor was already stripping down. The usually formal tiefling had been hiding bands of muscle across his arms and chest, with battle scars covering his body. The tip of his tail was flicking erratically and the tenting of his pants was unmissable. Zevlor slowly pulled down his trousers and she saw the length of him emerge fully erect and twitching. His member was ridged and as Kagha looked at the crowd from waist level it seemed the pattern was unique to every member here. Zevlor’s ridging was more pronounced and rather than stopping at the base, ran nearly to the tip and wrapped to the sides – an odd thought to fixate on but relevant considering what was about to happen - He stepped between her open legs, and he let his hard length rest on her, stretching from maidenhead to navel. “Well Darling, let’s begin.”

Kagha was preparing to wince, but he dropped to one knee, and she felt his hot tongue starting to explore her folds. She felt herself slicken involuntarily, as Zevlors large horns bobbed between her thighs. His tongue found the pearl of pleasure at her apex and she shivered in glee. The crowd was staring at her, stroking themselves, some of the women were preparing the men with their mouths as they all waited for their turn with the wood elf.

“I don’t understand, why not just get it over with?” she said, scowling down at the sharp cheekbones between her thighs.

He looked up long enough to say: “We’re tieflings, not monsters” and then resumed.

She was wracked with waves of pleasure and shame. Pleasure from whatever that knightley tief was doing with his tongue, and shame that she had nearly extinguished the lives of this crowd of unique, horned, and horny individuals.

She would show them all she was sorry; her body would be an instrument of apology, and she would allow any who wanted to play it. 

She felt the tongue depart as Zevlor stood. He slowly worked the head of his cock into her entrance, wetting it with the results of her pleasure. She felt an emptiness and he ache, she needed to be filled. He leaned in. Her eyes saw stars, were all tiefling cocks this warm? She shuddered with pleasure at the vibrations caused by his ridges against her walls. She felt herself contracting around his length as his tempo slowly increased.

The bard's pace picked up, and Zevlor matched it. There was a musk about Zevlor that felt intoxicating and alluring. She felt her pleasure and desire intensify with every breath, and from looking at the crowd she wasn’t the only one getting worked up, it was like a chain reaction as each person was hit with the scent, it drove them to the same heightened state. Even the usually stalwart adventurers were tossing their garments aside. 

Dammon was closest behind Zevlor, and his patience had worn out. She felt herself being navigated into a new position. She was spread eagle with Zevlor still thrusting into her and Dammon positioning his waist by her head. The rod by her back provided plenty of support and the position felt natural. She looked up at the amber tiefling, he had eyes of blue-gray fire, the softness of his expression was countered by the hardness of his manhood. 

He looked at her bare body, assessing, calculating, and moved his length over her breasts, stimulating himself with her nipples before moving up. He brushed the head of his cock across her lips and she pressed out her tongue to meet him. She slowly licked the underside as he ran it across her again. Dammon groaned in pleasure. He moved his tip inside gently and she swirled her tongue against the hot soft underside of the blacksmith's cock.

She felt him stiffen and twitch in her mouth, and tasted the salt of his pleasure as he began thrusting, slowly she could get used to him, and then faster as lust overcame thought. 

Volo’s music intensified. She felt Zevlor pull out of her slit as Dammon slid his length down her moist throat. Dammon pulled out, and Zevlor moved into her again, pushing harder using her buttocks for leverage. Dammon thrust in again. He reached his muscled arms towards her chest and fondled her breasts, tracing the outline of her tender nipples delicately with his thumbs and index fingers. Kagha shuddered again in pleasure.

They thrust Back and forth, back and forth. She saw glimpses of the crowd. Rechel was on all fours as Cal rutted from behind. Back and forth. Halsin on the ground with Tav between his knees and the Raven-haired girl on his face. Back and forth. Lakrissa and Asharak holding each other’s heads between their thighs as their tails wrapped around each other’s necks.

The music was reaching a fever pitch, and with every increase in tempo, the muscled tieflings inside her sped up. Her vision narrowed. She felt her face flush and her dripping cunt tighten. Her vision was now just a pinpoint, then exploding in stars. Kagha writhed in ecstasy driving Zevlor and Dammon to increase the pace again. She shuddered until she was spent.

She felt Dammons pace become erratic as he groaned. She moved her tongue up and down the length inside her mouth until he began to tremble. He pulled out one last time, gripping his own cock shooting hot seed across her face and body. She gently sucked the last drops of his essence from the tip as he stood reeling. Kagha swallowed. 

Zevlor’s pace had grown erratic as well and Kagha ground her hips into him, anticipating his release. She felt his grip tighten sending shocks of pleasure and pain where his claws indented into her ass. He pulled out and pressed in one last time before shaking as spilled his hellish seed inside her.

Kagha tasted Dammon’s saltiness on her lips, and felt it sticking to her once pristine skin. Zevlor slowly pulled himself out of her; seed was leaking out of her open lips, and slowly dripping down to her hole and then the dirt below. How she must look now to the tieflings frantically rutting around the fire looking at her cunt as they squirmed against whoever was closest. She felt another tinge of pride knowing that just the act of looking at her was bringing others to climax. She grew wet again as she basked in the view of the crowd.

Gods, and that was just the first two of the night, she thought, quivering with anticipation of pleasure to come.

Any sense of order was gone as the crowd grouped up in twos, threes,  and one group of four near the frog-eyed girl.

Komira and Locke walked up. Kagha felt her face flush with guilt, remembering what she had nearly allowed to happen to their daughter. They eyed her, and Komira said, “Just consider this payback.”

Komira situated herself over Kagha’s face while Locke plunged himself into her dark wetness. Kagha darted her tongue in, out, and between her folds as Komira ground herself against Kagha’s face like a cat in heat. Komira moved her slit until Kagha found the pearl beneath. She sucked gently as Komira squirmed in ecstasy.

Komira leaned over Kagha and met Locke in the middle, their tongues intertwined as they used Kagha for pleasure. Kagha could see lock gently circling and then entering Komira’s hole with his fingers as Kagha kept on sucking Komira’s nub with her tongue and lips.

Kagha felt a cock in each hand and went to work on them as well. It was a swirl of appendages as Kagha expertly took care of the group.

Volo was playing a lighter tune now, but it was nearly drowned out by moans of pleasure coming from the tiefling woman mounted on Kagha’s face. 

After a few minutes she felt Komira shudder and gush in pleasure. Locke rutted a few more times before spilling himself on her stomach. She felt his sticky accumulation in her navel as he groaned and brushed the last of his seed off between her folds. She had only a moment to savor the sweet juice on her lips and tongue before another tiefling woman took Komiras place, and Locke was replaced by another eager cock. 

Kagha returned her attention to her hands as she tightened her grip and quickened her pace polishing the firm shafts. She felt them twitch in her hand and she gripped harder. There was a duet of groans and she felt the warm wet release on her stomach and breasts, adding two new brush strokes to the canvas. 

There was no rest or reprieve, she felt one hand being guided into the wet folds of a beautiful tiefling, and the other placed on another firm member. 

From what she glimpsed; a similar story was playing out across the camp as the fires slowly burned down to embers.

She was still spread eagle, but lower to the ground now, low enough that someone had managed to get underneath her. She felt hot breath on her neck and Zevlor whispered in her ear. “I’m back for seconds, you’ve been quite the naughty girl.”

There was someone else still in her, where was he going to go? He wet himself with her juices and started swirling his tip around her hole. Kagha’s eyes widened. There. He slid into her hole while another cock thrust in her cunt. She felt so full she had to catch her breath, but she started to see stars again.

She heard Zevlor softly moaning into her ear with each thrust, and he nibbled the length of her ear, sending chills and bumps down her spine. She took his length again and again. She was stretched to bursting and could barely concentrate, the sensations were too many and too varied.

Her tremors grew to an apex as Zevlor continued to take her from behind. Her body was wracked with spasms for what felt like minutes before she gained awareness again. Zevlor deserved a treat, she flexed her cheeks and heard him gasp, moan, and then shudder as he released once again inside her.  She rubbed against him, extracting every last drop before allowing him to collapse to the side from exhaustion. Taking his lead, the other tieflings joined in, claiming her last hole for themselves.

At some point she was unhooked from her harness but continued her duty.

She saw the brash wizard Rolan: “You! lay down!” She motioned to Rolan, who seemed to grow even more red, but obeyed. She slid her cunt over his hard shaft and then sat down. She could hear his soft whimper and knew this one would be fast. After five short seconds and an embarrassed groan it was over.

There were some remaining stragglers who she dispatched with ease, gathering some additional salty wet trophies across her face, cunt, and chest in the process. She was a sparkling painting of seed, and it made her wet just feeling it on her and seeing the others see it on her.

How many had she had tonight? She lost count, and Zevlor wasn’t the only one who came back for seconds… or thirds, gods the constitution of some of these tieflings.

Volo had stopped playing and the fire was nearly out. Kagha’s once-pristine hair was in a tangle. She was proud but exhausted and just wanted to snuggle up and fall asleep. She spied Zevlor passed out by the fire near a pile of tieflings and she sauntered over to him. She lay behind him, using his broad shoulders as a pillow, and the heat radiating off him made her forget the need for clothing.

She felt his body stiffen at her touch and saw the growth between his legs.  In that moment she decided to give one final apology to the tiefling she had most mistreated. She slicked her hand with her mouth and reached down to grip him; he moaned gently in response. 

She moved her other hand down to the base of his tail and felt him shudder again in pleasure. She had a firm grip on both sides as she gently churned the tiefling. His helpless moaning made her wet. He twitched in her hand and she slowed her pace, teasing him. She traced him with her fingers from base to tip while gently squeezing his tail. He whined in exasperation until she gently squeezed his tip with her hand. Zevlor moaned lightly. She felt him flex and then spill himself for the final time that night. 

“Thanks for that,” he half moaned, half whispered. 

“I think my debt has been paid” she whispered into his ear and nibbled on it.

“I’d say so,” he chuckled and groaned as she caressed his chest.

“I’m thinking about throwing you out again just for another round of punishment… but maybe not tonight.”  Kagha joked.

They both chuckled but Kagha winced as she finally started to feel the soreness gathered during the night.

Zevlor turned to see her pained face. He placed his hand on her stomach and whispered something under his breath. The accumulated chafing, stretching, and soreness of the party was pushed away, slowly replaced by warmth radiating from the outstretched hand.

“Thank you for that.” She pulled his hand up, brushing her lips against it and smelling the smoke of the dying fire on them.

A smile curved at the corners of Zevlor’s mouth as he turned back. She pulled herself tighter into him, falling asleep to the snores of the satisfied public.