#New Boiler Grant
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Are your old boilers costing you too much money? Do you want to save on energy costs and reduce your carbon footprint? Invest in a new boiler and take advantage of the Boiler Grant, which provides financial support to help replace inefficient boilers with modern, energy-efficient models.
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Website : https://ecoenergysource.co.uk/
Address : 8 Pembroke Place, Edgware, Middlesex HA8 6EP
Phone :
0208 9056847
07365 142506
Our mission at Eco Energy Source is to dedicate ourselves to saving energy and preserving the future of our planet. We repair and provide boiler replacement within 24 hours of your call. Free boiler replacement government grants are available for eligible households, conditions apply. Our team of plumbers electricians and skilled boiler replacement engineers have years of experience in fast and efficient Boiler repair and replacement. By harnessing the power of natural resources and promoting green energy, we strive to make a positive impact on the environment and create a better future.
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Thousands of households can get grants for boiler replacements under little-known scheme – and you could save £840
Thousands of households can get grants for boiler replacements under little-known scheme – and you could save £840
THOUSANDS of households can get grants for replacing their old boiler \- and you could save £840 on your energy bills.The Energy Company Obligation is a government scheme to help hard-up households make their home more
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#Money#News#Thousands of households can get grants for boiler replacements under little-known scheme – and you could save £840#Top#UK#US
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Free Boiler Scheme - New Ones Grants For Boilers - Warm Front UK
In order to help with the expense of repairing their outdated, inefficient boilers, homeowners in the UK have access to a government-backed free boiler scheme. If you have an old or inefficient boiler, are a homeowner, and receive income-related benefits, you may be eligible for a grant to help with the cost of a new boiler. Warm Front UK will help you to achieve this. For more information, please visit: https://warmfront.uk/
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THE WORLD'S FIRST ELECTRIC ROLLER COASTER
Granville T. Woods (April 23, 1856 – January 30, 1910) introduced the “Figure Eight,” the world's first electric roller coaster, in 1892 at Coney Island Amusement Park in New York. Woods patented the invention in 1893, and in 1901, he sold it to General Electric.
Woods was an American inventor who held more than 50 patents in the United States. He was the first African American mechanical and electrical engineer after the Civil War. Self-taught, he concentrated most of his work on trains and streetcars.
In 1884, Woods received his first patent, for a steam boiler furnace, and in 1885, Woods patented an apparatus that was a combination of a telephone and a telegraph. The device, which he called "telegraphony", would allow a telegraph station to send voice and telegraph messages through Morse code over a single wire. He sold the rights to this device to the American Bell Telephone Company.
In 1887, he patented the Synchronous Multiplex Railway Telegraph, which allowed communications between train stations from moving trains by creating a magnetic field around a coiled wire under the train. Woods caught smallpox prior to patenting the technology, and Lucius Phelps patented it in 1884. In 1887, Woods used notes, sketches, and a working model of the invention to secure the patent. The invention was so successful that Woods began the Woods Electric Company in Cincinnati, Ohio, to market and sell his patents. However, the company quickly became devoted to invention creation until it was dissolved in 1893.
Woods often had difficulties in enjoying his success as other inventors made claims to his devices. Thomas Edison later filed a claim to the ownership of this patent, stating that he had first created a similar telegraph and that he was entitled to the patent for the device. Woods was twice successful in defending himself, proving that there were no other devices upon which he could have depended or relied upon to make his device. After Thomas Edison's second defeat, he decided to offer Granville Woods a position with the Edison Company, but Woods declined.
In 1888, Woods manufactured a system of overhead electric conducting lines for railroads modeled after the system pioneered by Charles van Depoele, a famed inventor who had by then installed his electric railway system in thirteen United States cities.
Following the Great Blizzard of 1888, New York City Mayor Hugh J. Grant declared that all wires, many of which powered the above-ground rail system, had to be removed and buried, emphasizing the need for an underground system. Woods's patent built upon previous third rail systems, which were used for light rails, and increased the power for use on underground trains. His system relied on wire brushes to make connections with metallic terminal heads without exposing wires by installing electrical contactor rails. Once the train car had passed over, the wires were no longer live, reducing the risk of injury. It was successfully tested in February 1892 in Coney Island on the Figure Eight Roller Coaster.
In 1896, Woods created a system for controlling electrical lights in theaters, known as the "safety dimmer", which was economical, safe, and efficient, saving 40% of electricity use.
Woods is also sometimes credited with the invention of the air brake for trains in 1904; however, George Westinghouse patented the air brake almost 40 years prior, making Woods's contribution an improvement to the invention.
Woods died of a cerebral hemorrhage at Harlem Hospital in New York City on January 30, 1910, having sold a number of his devices to such companies as Westinghouse, General Electric, and American Engineering. Until 1975, his resting place was an unmarked grave, but historian M.A. Harris helped raise funds, persuading several of the corporations that used Woods's inventions to donate money to purchase a headstone. It was erected at St. Michael's Cemetery in Elmhurst, Queens.
LEGACY
▪Baltimore City Community College established the Granville T. Woods scholarship in memory of the inventor.
▪In 2004, the New York City Transit Authority organized an exhibition on Woods that utilized bus and train depots and an issue of four million MetroCards commemorating the inventor's achievements in pioneering the third rail.
▪In 2006, Woods was inducted into the National Inventors Hall of Fame.
▪In April 2008, the corner of Stillwell and Mermaid Avenues in Coney Island was named Granville T. Woods Way.
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The River Jordan and Sweetpea are electric engines on the first railway on Mars.
River Jordan was the first one built, being the product of a collaboration between the nations who established the colony.
Sweetpea was donated by a coronal aerospace guild and assembled onsite. Her parts were imported and her blueprints were crownmade, so her visage is coronal.
Visage and the nature of living transport
Engines take the image of their creators. Their faces are not organic, and are more like a vessel for helpful senses and communication tools.
They come alive soon after they are built, once out of eyeshot for any moment. Attempts to stare at a new engine to see it stir are foiled somehow (blinks, saccades, CCTV malfunction, momentary lapse in attention). Not all engines come alive, as their animacy is often (but not always) decided by the intent of the builder.
Living engines can assess their circumstances and make judgements based on them. They are useful in volatile situations as an expert second opinion on conduct and design, and are capable of sensing external and internal problems quickly.
In calmer periods, they may not get adequate stimulation, and their personalities may interfere with their efficiency. For this reason, railways have their preferences when they build and purchase engines.
The facial material ends at the surface of the machine and is inscrutable in composition—the material appears to be made of itself, and is unusable for any other purpose besides as an engine’s interface with the world. If damaged, the material heals. If removed, it disappears. The conceptual self-referentiality of engines’ faces, souls, and senses deter scrutiny.
Living machines exist as a fact of the universe. Their animacy is cloaked in an analysis-averting antimeme.
Human Engines
Engines designed and built by humans possess dual-pinhole pupils that dilate into an elliptical shape, granting them a broad field of view and tolerance of rapid changes in light levels (such as in going in and out of tunnels). Deep set zygomata allow them to look directly to their sides, and with the dual-pinhole setup, they maintain some depth perception in monocular sight. Their pupil shapes are hidden by their black irises, which absorb glare. They can see clearly to their front and sides, but can’t see up or down very well. A tapetum lucidum retroreflects incoming light back through their retinas, granting them vision in darkness. The nictitating membranes and long eyelashes protect the eyes from dust.
The chemicals engines are capable of detecting are relevant to their purpose, e.g. distinguishing coal, gasoline, diesel, and wood fires from their smoke but not being able to distinguish or detect food smells. Similar to how cats, obligate carnivores, have lost their ability to taste sugar due to its absence in their diet, but can taste ATP for its presence in meat—engines can parse environmental and industrial scents, but will have wildly varied responses to food and fragrant compounds, often being unable to notice them.
To investigate an aroma, they slightly lower their bottom lip to take air into their vomeronasal organ located behind the upper incisors.
Engines do not require oxygen, but if debris enters the nasal passage, human engines will sneeze to:
Ensure their voice resonates properly,
Keep their olfactory facilities clean, and
Indicate to engineers that particle buildup may have occurred in other places, such as the boiler tubes for steam engines.
Crown Engines
Just as the tongue is the only colored object on a human engine’s face for distinguishability, so are the teeth on coronal engines. The positions of the upper and lower jaw indicate tone, functioning in communication similarly to eyebrows.
Coronal engine eyes consist of an armored cornea surrounded by a cuticle and muscular eyelid. The cornea moves with the help of the embedded eyestalk supporting it. The cuticle is lubricated with an oil-based film and is less susceptible to irritation than the aqueous solution on human engine eyes. The undersides of the eyelids and surface of the cornea are covered in setae, preventing chafing and reducing airflow on the cornea. The hairs catch debris and are combed out by the lids with a puckering motion.
To make up for unenhanced vision by human engine standards, coronal engine hearing is advanced, allowing the listener to pinpoint sound sources through triangulation of the four inner ears. Coronal engines, too, channel sound through their incisors and into their internal ears via the acoustic windows at the hinge of each jaw.
Coronal engines achieve their sense of industrial smell through the gustatory papillae that line their choana and pharynx. They supplement their olfaction by introducing cool air behind the heat pits inside their nares.
Coronal engines’ thermoception is more efficient than living crowns, as coronal engines’ faces do not produce heat nearly proportional to their mass.
Conversely, the tines heat up significantly hotter than the crown average for unambiguity in temperature tones. The origin of the tine thermal energy appears to be redirected from excess produced by the machinery, or from the face’s temperature directly.
Extramodal senses
Engines are capable of listening from within their cabs with greater acuity than mere conduction of sound through the body would suggest. Other unsubstantiated sensory abilities include:
Discernment of water/fuel quality within the framework of taste though intake alone
Somatosensory awareness in the entire body, not just the face
#BOA#the railway series#<- my cover all tag#the river jordan#sweetpea#crowns#my art#speculative biology#This is an AU of my sci fi story#thomas and friends
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THE WORLD'S FIRST ELECTRIC ROLLER COASTER
Granville T. Woods (April 23, 1856 – January 30, 1910) introduced the “Figure Eight,” the world's first electric roller coaster, in 1892 at Coney Island Amusement Park in New York. Woods patented the invention in 1893, and in 1901, he sold it to General Electric.
Woods was an American inventor who held more than 50 patents in the United States. He was the first African American mechanical and electrical engineer after the Civil War. Self-taught, he concentrated most of his work on trains and streetcars.
In 1884, Woods received his first patent, for a steam boiler furnace, and in 1885, Woods patented an apparatus that was a combination of a telephone and a telegraph. The device, which he called "telegraphony", would allow a telegraph station to send voice and telegraph messages through Morse code over a single wire. He sold the rights to this device to the American Bell Telephone Company.
In 1887, he patented the Synchronous Multiplex Railway Telegraph, which allowed communications between train stations from moving trains by creating a magnetic field around a coiled wire under the train. Woods caught smallpox prior to patenting the technology, and Lucius Phelps patented it in 1884. In 1887, Woods used notes, sketches, and a working model of the invention to secure the patent. The invention was so successful that Woods began the Woods Electric Company in Cincinnati, Ohio, to market and sell his patents. However, the company quickly became devoted to invention creation until it was dissolved in 1893.
Woods often had difficulties in enjoying his success as other inventors made claims to his devices. Thomas Edison later filed a claim to the ownership of this patent, stating that he had first created a similar telegraph and that he was entitled to the patent for the device. Woods was twice successful in defending himself, proving that there were no other devices upon which he could have depended or relied upon to make his device. After Thomas Edison's second defeat, he decided to offer Granville Woods a position with the Edison Company, but Woods declined.
In 1888, Woods manufactured a system of overhead electric conducting lines for railroads modeled after the system pioneered by Charles van Depoele, a famed inventor who had by then installed his electric railway system in thirteen United States cities.
Following the Great Blizzard of 1888, New York City Mayor Hugh J. Grant declared that all wires, many of which powered the above-ground rail system, had to be removed and buried, emphasizing the need for an underground system. Woods's patent built upon previous third rail systems, which were used for light rails, and increased the power for use on underground trains. His system relied on wire brushes to make connections with metallic terminal heads without exposing wires by installing electrical contactor rails. Once the train car had passed over, the wires were no longer live, reducing the risk of injury. It was successfully tested in February 1892 in Coney Island on the Figure Eight Roller Coaster.
In 1896, Woods created a system for controlling electrical lights in theaters, known as the "safety dimmer", which was economical, safe, and efficient, saving 40% of electricity use.
Woods is also sometimes credited with the invention of the air brake for trains in 1904; however, George Westinghouse patented the air brake almost 40 years prior, making Woods's contribution an improvement to the invention.
Woods died of a cerebral hemorrhage at Harlem Hospital in New York City on January 30, 1910, having sold a number of his devices to such companies as Westinghouse, General Electric, and American Engineering. Until 1975, his resting place was an unmarked grave, but historian M.A. Harris helped raise funds, persuading several of the corporations that used Woods's inventions to donate money to purchase a headstone. It was erected at St. Michael's Cemetery in Elmhurst, Queens.
LEGACY
▪Baltimore City Community College established the Granville T. Woods scholarship in memory of the inventor.
▪In 2004, the New York City Transit Authority organized an exhibition on Woods that utilized bus and train depots and an issue of four million MetroCards commemorating the inventor's achievements in pioneering the third rail.
▪In 2006, Woods was inducted into the National Inventors Hall of Fame.
▪In April 2008, the corner of Stillwell and Mermaid Avenues in Coney Island was named Granville T. Woods Way.
#granville t woods#black inventor#invented#world's first#electric roller coaster#1893#read about him#read about his invention#reading is fundamental#knowledge is power#black history
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I continue my agenda that TTPD is secretly a western album, I swear—
God. This song. This song.
At this point, I should put a boiler plate disclaimer that I understand these songs are very much about Taylor's life, and this one especially so. It's all about scrutiny, about the press and the media circus of being a child in the spotlight, about not being able to grow up (you stay the same age you get famous at in the public's eye, to paraphrase Swift.) It's about the mental side effects of that, of the suffering she admits to hiding: I want to snarl and show you just how disturbed this has made me.
I think there is an expectation that people (any people, not just celebrities) should only show signs of distress when they are at rock bottom. If you're functioning, if you're getting out of bed most days and still brushing your teeth, etc, you aren't depressed enough to complain. Who's Afraid of Little Old Me is Swift striking back at that mindset, that actually, she shouldn't have to perform rock bottom ( because she seems done with performing peak happiness ) 24/7.
However, I really want to dive into the imagery of the song, and then maybe elaborate on it too much.
I'd be remiss to say that I'm writing this the day after she performed it live for the first time, and I am so utterly obsessed with the live performance. The lights, the mirrored platform giving the appearance of levitation, and say they didn't do it to hurt me—
BUT WHAT IF THEY DID?
In general, that section of the bridge is my favorite. I've already referenced it twice! To give context, the full line is: So tell me everything is not about me, but what if it is? And say they didn't do it to hurt me, but what if they did? I want to snarl and show you just how disturbed this has made me.
( That is followed by the line that has become a meme, and I wrote a whole post being annoyed at that. It will forever rot in my drafts. )
The speaker's description feels like hypervigilence, the kind caused by a life time of whispers and daggers behind your back. If you've ever been the center of a workplace drama, or the odd kid out, or the New Person in a club or activity, or just have anxiety, you know this feeling well. You know the feeling of asking - is this about me?
I love the phrasing of I want to snarl, because it shows that she is expected not to. She is expected to... Actually. Let me set this up.
There's a parallel to her country contemporary Miranda Lambert's Mama's Broken Heart. Lambert details allowing herself to be dramatic and heart broken after she feels like her life went up in flames. Where Swift's speaker enacts supernatural revenge, Lambert's is more mundane (cutting her bangs with scissors, hunting him down at the bar in their small town.) The bridge, here, describes the expectation that is put upon young women:
Powder your nose, paint your toes / Line your lips and keep 'em closed / Cross your legs, dot your eyes / And never let 'em see you cry
Swift's speaker, jilted and in pain not just from her lover (the who's who of who's that) but also from the scrutiny she's placed under (by her community, her friends, maybe even the press) has decided that she will no longer be the picture perfect woman. She will no longer bow to their whims, and is executed by public opinion for it.
So I leap from the gallows and I'll levitate down your street.
This very strong imagery.
Historically, women who have been hanged are expected to act a certain way. We often think of witch trials, but women have also been executed for crimes like murder and theft. They are to act penitent, to appeal for public approval with their final breaths. If they serve as anti-examples, begging for God's forgiveness and showing other women to behave, how to not make their mistakes, then they are granted posthumous grace.
But speaking of witch trials. Women and men who were accused of witchcraft were not witches, not in the modern sense of the word, or the historical one. Some were midwives, some were just poor women, old women who had things their neighbors wanted to take. Some were widows, and some were just disliked. It had nothing to do with their "crimes," and all to do with wanting to get rid of someone "unseemly."
The witch trials are often used as emblems of sexism - because they were. They were a tool of patriarchal oppression against women who fell outside the system, for one reason or another. ( I'd also like to note this oppression went doubly strong against women and men of color. It's a very loaded topic. )
The imagery also makes me think of Margaret Atwood's Half-Hanged Mary, a fictionalization of the real life Mary Webster. Webster was accused of witchcraft by Phillip Smith, and taken to be hanged in Hadley, Massachusetts. Mary, a woman in her approximate 60s, survived the whole night, was supposedly buried, and still emerged alive.
Atwood's fictionalization has the same spite, the same rage as Who's Afraid of Little Old Me, "Tough luck, folks, / I know the law: / you can't execute me twice / for the same thing. How nice." By the end of the poem, she has become the witch they accused of her being.
Here, the speaker of Who's Afraid of Little Old Me does the same. Almost implied to be a ghost, but the imagery also implies a witch, a woman too powerful for the rope to kill - she decides to return to haunt her accusers, her killers. She crashes their party (there were often parties or auctions of the women's belongings)—
Like a record scratch as I scream — who's afraid of little old me?
She, too, has become what they accused of her being. I am what I am because they trained me.
Phillip Smith, by the by, didn't do so well. He disappears from the account around 1683. In The History of... Massachusetts Bay... by one Mr. Hutchinson, "...it happened that she survived and the melancholy man died." Webster went on to live for 14 years after her hanging.
It felt a very apt comparison to make.
There are other metaphors at play here - a media circus going on in the background, references to the stage animals that have killed their handler for their mistreatment. The title is a reference to Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf, a play about how lives are so complex behind closed doors.
But in the end, I think it all furthers that same metaphor.
The pain of being in the public eye for too long has hurt the speaker in ways that the audience can't understand, because they have not lived it. Very few people are at that level of fame and scrutiny, and while a non-famous audience can relate in some ways, the speaker feels the only way to get the severity across is to invoke death and false hangings.
She is asking for them to see her as powerful, but also as human, and flawed, and hurt.
#ttpdminutes#who's afraid of little old me?#waolom#the cassandra speaks#hanging /#sexism /#i don't agree w/ everything margaret atwood has written but i think that poem is very good sklfgds#long post
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A birthday surprise
synopsis: lately the work became a never-ending exhausting routine, throwing everything else out of Childe's head. He is lucky to have you though, always ready to remind him of important things that could possibly escape his attention. Guess what? Today is the case...
pairing: Childe x fem!reader
tw: fluff + smut, established relationship, masturbation, kinda bath sex, oral (male receiving), unprotected sex, mix of praise and degradation, a tiny bit of Sir kink, usage of Childe’s real name
word count: 7.1k+ words
a/n: I am SO late, but I really wanted to finish this fic, espesically since the moment I’ve got a small scene in my head about the Palace after watching the Fatui Harbingers’ trailer. Sorry for this belated present, you, ginger dumbass, and I hope you, whoever read this, will enjoy.
samovár (Rus) - literally means “self-boiler”. A metal container traditionally used to heat and boil water for tea
dédushka (Rus) - grandpa
chertóvka (Rus) - here is “wicked woman”
Finally, this farce of yet another meeting is over. Ever since Signora's death the amount of work increased astronomically and the moments of rest were extremely rare. Orders upon orders, decree after decree and meetings followed with dozens of new ones… The Fatui organization has probably never been this lively and the meeting hall has not been occupied so often.
The palace feels like a freezer compartment, it’s much colder than the outside, sending chills on anyone’s skin even with all those layers of warm clothes, so Childe can’t help but let out a small smile in relief once the grand front doors come into view. The carpet is cracking under his feet like an ice crust, echoing in an empty hallway, with nothing but smooth walls and pillars with occasional tapestries hanging here and there, glorifying Her Majesty Tsaritsa and her trusty group of 11 - well, now 9 - Harbingers. Huh, such pathos within the overall lifelessness of the place, how miserable.
The train of thoughts in his way, only half done, is disturbed by one of the underlings approaching the man. With expressionless face Childe stops in his tracks, letting the guy come closer and bow respectfully. Honestly, he is exhausted right now, wishing for nothing more but to leave this place and go to rest. It's a wonder his shoulders do not drop right now in dull pain.
“What’s the matter? If it is work related, bring it to my office and leave it there. I'll check it tomorrow.”
“I am afraid it is urgent, Sir,” a hand comes into the ginger’s view and a small hint of surprise reflects in his eyes.
“A permission badge? Whose that?”
“That’s the thing, lord Tartaglia, we do not know,” the speaker shivers at the very clear annoyance suddenly radiating from the Harbinger and hurries to correct himself. “B-but, this woman also showed us a paper signed by the Fifth Harbinger, that granted her access up to the second level of palace and authority to ask the low-ranked Fatui soldiers for whatever she may need. She made a request to tell you she’d like to meet you in the palace gardens.”
Right, the gardens. Always covered in snow, yet everlastingly beautiful, this place was the level two in the Zapolyarny Palace structure. But why would Pulcinella grant anyone this kind of permission? Is it some kind of a business partner his curator wants him to meet? Well… was it not for “The Rooster” Tartaglia would’ve dismissed it, but it’s not like he has much of a choice - as much as he respects his superior, his lectures can be waaaay too long and energy-consuming.
“Alright, and where is this mysterious stranger?” The man takes the badge and puts it in an inside pocket of his overcoat.
“The guards led her to the pavilion in the west part, she must be waiting there.”
Childe nods and, after dismissing the guard, turns around to walk back to the exit closest to the said part of the garden.
He wasn’t lying, thinking of the place as beautiful: white marble statues, frozen fountains and snow-covered hedgerows that create an intricate maze, where anyone not accustomed could get lost. The Harbinger doesn’t waste his time on beholding all of its charms, wishing for nothing more but to get over with whatever and come to his residence to write another stack of letters for his family and then catch at least a couple of hours of a so needed sleep.
Ah, at last, the pavilion. He sees two Fatui agents standing outside, guarding the ‘guest’. There is a thin almost translucent ribbon winding from the inside and up into the air - as he gets closer he spots a steaming samovár on the table. Oh, the hospitality, he rolls his eyes, subtly nodding to the two men bowing to him, and putting his foot on the first step of the wooden stairs.
“Greetings, lord Tartaglia,” the woman decides to start the conversation and Archons does Childe halts in his way. Deep ocean eyes dart up and take in the figure clad in a black fur coat with a hood covering her hair. Hands, holding a teacup and a saucer, are clad in equally black gloves with a very familiar embroidery on the backs of them - he himself brought them from his last visit to the capital and gave them to you.
It is really you, his heart screams in joy, when his eyes connect with the ones he’s missed so much. Your orbs stand out and shine even brighter now that you wear a mask, which hides the top half of your face plus cheeks, offering him a perfect view of your pretty lips, pink from the hot tea you’ve been drinking while waiting for him.
Oh, right, you’ve been out there expecting him, and he almost decided to not meet you back then! No, that absolutely won’t do.
“Dismissed,” guards flinch at the sudden command, but, not daring to disobey or even question one of the Eleven, they bow again and quickly leave the scene. Childe waits a moment, then some more, all the while listening to their retreating steps and not breaking eye contact with you. Once sure it is quiet, the world moves too fast. There is a clink of china and then clicks of the heels on the wooden floor - those are the only sounds the man hears before he practically runs up the stairs and catches your body in a tight embrace and instantly hoists you up. He relishes in a soft squeal, twirling around with you in his arms, having an almost iron grip under your backside to not drop you.
“Love, put me down!” you demand in a hushed voice. Oh, your voice. Columbina may be the most magnificent singer of Snezhnaya - but the way you sound is better than everything capable of producing the most exquisite noises in the whole land of Teyvat. It caresses his ears so tenderly, he wants to hear more, he missed you so much - missed your scent, your caresses, your words, reserved only for him, your mere presence...How can you ask him to let you go? Surely you are not that cruel.
“Childe, seriously! What if someone sees! And after all the work I put into coming here unrecognized for you and your job’s sake!”
You are so cute when you scold him, and the lovesick smile he gives you instead of putting you back on your feet, only fuels you more. Maybe if he kisses you, you’ll be more-
“Tartaglia, no, no kisses, NO,” ah, you know him too well - one of the reasons he loves you. But he can’t love you without being a little shit, can he?
“I will grant your wish only in exchange for a kiss,” he turns his face a little, presenting you his cheek, prettily rosy from cold. A sigh leaves your lips - he’ll make sure to kiss them again and again in private - and eventually you land a quick peck to his skin.
“Will that suffice?”
“For now it will,” he grins, finally settling you down, but not yet releasing your waist from his firm but careful grip. “So, what are you doing here? I thought you were visiting mama and papa. Did something happen? How did you even,” he brings one hand away and into his inside pocket, fishing the badge out and showing it to you, “get Pulcinella sign all this stuff?”
“Wow, wow, easy there, gingerhead,” you tease him and snatch the metal token, pocketing it. “One question at a time. If it is allowed, could we take a walk? Honestly, even with a hot tea it’s freezing to just sit. That is if you have time of course.”
“Do not worry, for you I do. So,” he draws his hands back and motions to the outside of the wooden construction, “let’s head out then. We’ll pretend you are just some business partner, deal?”
“Oh my, such a quick shift in behavior,” you tease again, stepping out and back on a scrunchy snow. “That’s what I call a professional.”
Your lover only smiles, restraining himself from taking your hand or wrapping an arm around your waist, even though he really really wants to.
As you are slowly strolling through the big maze, you answer all his questions. First of all you tell him all the latest news from home, reassuring that everyone is fine, but very sad he can’t make it this month. Actually, that’s half of the reason you arrived in the first place. How did you manage? Well, the last time Pulcinella visited to pass some gifts and goodies to his younger siblings, you were there, watching over them, and while kids were busy looking through all the stuff the “kind dédushka* P” brought them, you two got into conversation. The Fifth Harbinger is aware of the relationship his mentee and you have and, being quite different from his colleagues, he doesn’t believe relationships between people to be a distraction. Especially in this case, when Tartaglia is clearly motivated whenever you come into picture, determined to improve and progress. Archons, the elderly man already considers you Ajax’s fiancee (the ginger is at fault, but none of you actually mind, being quite sure that eventually it’ll be the case).
So, with your concern of seeing your lover rarely expressed and weighing all the risks and benefits from an upcoming decision, Pulcinella laughed and said: “You are a good young lady, and I know how smart you are. Don’t see a problem of granting some privileges to Tartaglia’s future wife.” And then a couple of days later you received all the papers and the badge, accompanied with a Fatui designed mask for you to use.
“Exactly his words?” The man muses and reaches to unbutton his overcoat and loosen his scarf a little. You give him a stinky eye, letting your act waiver a bit to slap his hand away.
“Yes, exactly his words. I know the things your superior is capable of and I am so glad he developed a soft spot for us.”
“How could he not?” Childe gives it another try, but you once again force his hand away. “Especially when you are such a kind and caring soul. And the way you tend to my younger siblings? Everyone who ever catches even a glimpse of it will have their hearts stolen,” just to humor himself he lifts the hand to his buttons again, only to watch you giving him a ‘seriously?’ kind of look. He chuckles, raising both hands in surrender.
“Childe, you are such a child sometimes”, you shake your head, stopping when the pavilion comes into view once again. Looks like you made a round somehow. “Do you really want to catch a cold right on your birthday?”
Your lover stops immediately. By his widened eyes and a dumbfounded expression it becomes clear to you - he forgot.
“My what?”
“Your birthday. This is probably the main reason I am here. When you sent that last letter and wrote there you wouldn’t be coming for a while, everyone understood, but still were very upset, especially poor Teucer. I didn’t want him to pull the same stunt he did with his travel to Liyue - and the capital is much closer to Morepesok, - so I talked to your parents and we agreed on me coming to see you and bringing you all the gifts, cards and words of congratulation. I must admit, it was hard to calm your youngest brother down and explain why I can’t take him with me to the toy factory, but I managed, eventually.”
You give your lover a moment to process the information. You can practically imagine the gears moving inside his head, tearing the cobwebs of tiredness and leading all his thoughts to the realization.
“It’s today. Today is my birthday,” Childe looks blankly at the snow at his feet. A moment later it’s almost like he snaps out of a haze.
“Oh Tsaritsa, I forgot.”
“I figured,” you chuckle, taking a step closer and cupping his cheek. “But that’s alright, love.”
“It is?” the look he gives you almost makes your heart clench. “I always make sure to come home to celebrate with everyone!”
“They know, and they understand. They only wish for you to be well, and I can assure you - while I am here, I will look after you and your health. Want me to swear with a pinkie promise?” the teasing lilt in your voice returns a smile to his face.
“No,” a big palm envelopes yours and he turns his face to plant a kiss on the inside of it, “no need, I believe you without any vow. Thank you for coming, I truly appreciate that.”
The softness that reflects in the depth of his orbs brings a similar one to your face.
“Of course, everything for my dear Ajax,” his name leaves your lips in a hushed manner, but even barely audible it sends a fluttering sensation straight to his heart. He can’t conceal his affection any longer, he needs you in private.
“Where did you stop?”
“Oh, the hotel “Imperial”. I thought it wouldn’t be suspicious if lord Harbinger visited something this luxurious.”
“Forget it. Leave me the room number, I’ll send someone to fetch your things and bring them to my residence.”
“Wait, your residence? Wouldn’t this be alarming? I mean you, bringing someone random over?” he can feel your concern, he sees the doubt in your eyes, a smile fading a little, and he almost wants to tease you for having so little faith in him. Though he decides against it.
“My people are trained well, they wouldn’t even think of questioning anything,” a reassuring squeeze of your hand gives you only a small bit of comfort.
“Either way, shouldn’t we exit separately? Playing safe and all that stuff?”
“Come on, at least three people already know I am meeting someone. Besides, you are my new business partner, remember? Pulcinella’s permit isn’t offered to every other person, no one would ask you questions once you show them the signature. Now come on!” he tugs on the hand he’s been holding this whole time, setting you in motion and then letting go of it. “Let’s get going before it starts getting dark.”
Hours later the warm water envelopes your body, making it pleasantly tingle after the time spent out there in the cold. Strong scarred arm loosely rests around your middle, the very tips of the fingers gently tickle under your ribs. The man behind you is humming something contently, keeping the other arm on the edge of a huge tub, with yours laying on top of it, fingers intertwined. Just this simple moment of peace reduces the exhaustion in his system to a minimum, and Ajax gratefully presses kisses along your shoulder - a very markless shoulder.
“I know what you are thinking about…” your voice is so relaxed, and body goes limp against his. Your free hand comes to rest on his bent knee before you continue, “but I don’t want to put a strain on your body.”
“A strain on my body?” he huffs. “You know how strong I am, and I am getting stronger every day. Unless you don’t want to?”
Your gazes connect again and you feel an arm on your waist shift. The little shit knows you are in no mood to scold him right now, getting too much pleasure in having a bath with him.
“I wouldn’t say I don’t, it’s just… My things will be here only in the morning, and that new lingerie I bought specifically for you will go to waste.”
"Don't say that," a kiss to your cheek and a squeeze on your hip. "You can wear it for me tomorrow. Today I am way too tired to unwrap a gift," at his dramatic sigh you give his knee a small slap, making him grin widely. "What? Given the conditions of never-ending work without a glimpse of finish ahead of us, your arrival is the best gift I could've asked for on my birthday - which I forgot about. But you not only reminded me of it, but became the most splendid part of it."
"Glad to hear that, Ajax. On the other hand you are right - maybe I should leave this new set for later, wouldn't want you to tear it right away."
"Love, I can't help it! You are perfect and I am no commander of my desire for you."
You laugh at it and he joins you in the merry sound, nuzzling the side of your head with his nose, inhaling the sweet aroma clinging to your skin. Finally having you this close with no one to interrupt makes it painfully obvious how much he actually missed you, even if he didn’t give this yearning much thought. Now, when it registers in every little nerve of his body, Childe grows restless. It feels like fire ignites in his bones (despite him being a Hydro user) when he glances at your face and then down the rest of your body hidden under the water. He could manipulate the density of it to caress you and set the mood, but the urge to feel you directly overpowers the initial idea.
“Babe?”
“Mmm?”
“Can I touch you?”
“Oh? Aren’t you touching me already?” you shake your linked hands and then point at the one resting on your hip. Your lover blows hot air against your ear, making you giggle and press it to your shoulder.
“Stoooop!”
“Haha, sorry, sorry,” nope, the wide grin he hides behind your hair speaks of how not sorry he, in fact, is. “But you know what I mean. Can I touch you more intimately? Consider it a present for the Birthday Boy?”
You glance back at him, witnessing an oh-so-familiar begging look in his eyes, which you know is absolutely faux. However he is right - you can’t just leave him without a gift today, the ones arriving tomorrow, well, they will be tomorrow.
Once you give him a firm nod, that pleading expression disappears as if by a spell, turning it into a look of excitement and hunger. His head dips down, while yours tilts back out of habit and it's too late when you realize your mistake - hot wet kisses are placed all over your throat. A blissful sigh passes your lips, but doesn't stray too far before a strangled moan chases it. A finger found its way between your spread legs and is now lazely toying with your clit while kisses turn into nipping and sucking, littering your skin with lovebites.
"A…jax…" you whimper, arching your back and squeezing his hand still resting on the edge of the tub.
"Yes, baby… moan my name with that lovely voice of yours…" he now uses two fingers to stroke your slit to test your wetness. Your shoulder is next to fall victim to his attack, getting more and more marks with every passing second. You don't make any attempts to stop him, only writhing in his arms so needily, legs trembling in attempts to stay open and tits bouncing with every jolt of pleasure that passes through your body.
"You are so responsive to my touch," he starts rubbing your clit in tight quick circles, making your thighs shake with each pass over your bundle of nerves, relishing in your cries. "I've neglected you for a long time, yeah? I am sorry, princess, I'll make sure to fix it, just cum for me one time."
The lewd words practically groaned into your ear make your walls squeeze around nothing and you cry in frustration. You hate how fast this man could shift the mood from relaxed to horny and reduce you to a moaning mess, controlling your desire for him and playing you like some kind of a musical instrument. You need to get out of this bath, this position, this hold to get an upper hand, but right now you can only pathetically squeeze his fingers and knee, splashing the water with how much you move around.
"A-jax, let's go to- mhaaah! The bedroom!"
"Come on, Y/N," he bites the shell of your ear, pinching your bundle and making you squeal, "I feel your pretty little clit twitching. Give me one nice release and we'll continue in the bedroom, I promise."
You start grinding on his fingers, faster and faster, letting go of his his knee and grabbing the other edge of the tub to ground yourself. Childe shifts behind you, sitting straighter and sliding your body a bit lower to be able to have a better view of everything. He is drinking in the sight of your tightly shut eyes, parted lips, producing the most melodic sounds, neck and shoulder with red little roses blooming on your skin, hardened nipples, poking from under the water and then disappearing beneath whenever you rock and arch your body, soft mounds of your breasts that make his mouth water and the pulsating heat between your legs he mercilessly stimulates.
“I’m close!” Yes, he can sense it, applying even more pressure on your clit, pulling the tightly knotted string in your stomach until it snaps and your thighs clamp around his hand. You throw your head back against his chest, arching and spasming, mewling his name in a blissed out voice. Childe, being a good (even though often unfair) lover, helps you ride your orgasm out, pressing his lips to your forehead and gently caressing your hand with his thumb.
“You’ve done so well, princess. My sweet slutty girl, moaning like this just from my fingers,” ever the master of both praise and degradation he eases you up, slowly retrieving his hand and resting it on your stomach, rubbing it in soothing circles.
“What was that for??” still trembling you are trying to catch your breath, processing that it’s been the first time in a couple of months when your lover has touched you this way. Your own hands are never enough ever since you learned the pleasure he can provide, so, even if you are slightly mad at him for a sudden attack on your mentally unprepared self, the satisfaction overshadows it.
“Come on, babe, you gave me permission,” argh, that eat-shitting grin of his. “Don’t remember you specifying anything.”
Damn, he’s right. Well, you mentally shrug your shoulders, doesn’t matter, this orgasm was amazing.
“Besides…” he catches the lock of your dump hair, curling it on his index finger. ”It’s been years ever since I’ve gotten my position and this residence, and neither this bath nor the bedrom has ever been dirtied by sex. Now we fixed it, it almost feels the same as back home. Let’s proceed to the bedroom now!”
And that’s his proving point!? Un-fucking-believable.
The short-lived shock dissipates once you are in the said bedroom. You do not even have time to take a better look at anything, as Childe is kissing you like a man starved, groping you whenever his hands can reach and leading you straight to the king-sized bed you’ve managed to catch a glimpse of on the way to the bathroom.
“Sooo,” the ginger - who no longer looks like he hasn’t slept for days, running on caffeine only - stretches the syllable, and you know, something is coming, “does Birthday Boy get a blowjob from his loving girlfriend?”
Ah, there it is.
“Seems like this loving girlfriend’s Birthday Boy is too demanding and greedy,” you send him a challenging look, to which his grin only gets wider, baring the perfectly white teeth. Wants to play a predator? Fine, you’ll prove to him once again that he is not the only one who can be in control. It’s your turn now.
“Well,” hands plaster on his chest, feeling the muscle he’s been working day and night to develop, and then slowly and sensually slide all the way to the shoulders, “I can’t really say no, right?” with a firm press you get him where you want him - sitting on the edge of the bed. “Fulfilling wishes is a part of celebration after all. Spread your legs, handsome.”
Of course he is making a scene out of it, putting one hand behind on the bed to support himself and then wrapping the other one around his half-hard dick. He is slowly stroking himself, as his legs slide open, making enough room for you to kneel on the floor.
“I bet you are thirsting for it, aren’t you, princess?” The sweet teasing man disappeared with tiredness having been moved to the background. His natural confidence blends with obtained arrogance, which lifts its head and shows a fanged mouth. Is it going to intimidate you? Not anymore, as you know all his sensitive spots. You swear, soon he’ll be begging you like crazy to not stop your ministrations.
“I bet you are thirsting for my mouth,” retorting back only earns you a deep chuckle. Getting on your knees and situating your palms on his thighs though gives you a twitch of his length. Oh, how cute.
“Well, lord Harbinger,” you slap his hand, making him release the almost hard cock, “let’s see how tough you are.”
“Haha, amuse m- gh!”
The man squeezes the comforter with his support hand, fisting and wrinkling the smooth material. You smirk cheekily, running just the tip of your tongue along his slit again and he gasps, a beautiful shuddering inhale taken. Just to be sure you lick again and then start trailing butterfly kisses down the downside of the length, only to harshly suck on the base, making your lover choke on his own breath. Childe couldn't live without some pain in his life and you, being a ‘loving girlfriend’, do not mind to provide.
"What is it, oh mighty warrior? Cat got your tongue?" You roll out your own, dragging it all the way from the base back up to the head, stimulating every bulging vein, flexing the wet muscle so it would apply some pressure with the tip. Not really caring for his answer you blow chilly air on slickened flesh and with satisfaction see how it twitches, releasing pearly bids of precum. Fingers squeeze on his thighs when you feel his hand finding its way on top of your head. But before he can regain some composure and start commanding you around, you take the flushed head between your lips, sucking, working your tongue around at the same time. Another choked gasp which already sounds close to a strangled moan and you can't help but glance up at him.
Oh, Tsaritsa, your boyfriend is a sight to behold. Eyelids lowered, giving you just a small glimpse of his ocean eyes; cheeks are adorably red, beautifully looking close to his ginger locks; lips parted just slightly, even though you see his lower lip a bit swollen - probably bit it in an attempt to collect himself. Chest is rising and falling, and the sight of his well-defined pectorals moving makes you purr, sending the vibrations straight to his cock and making the man slightly arch his back.
Hm, usually he is more in charge and less receptive just to annoy you when you blow him, but maybe the lack of sex for a long period of time is the case, and he simply hasn't gotten used to the tricks you play on his body whenever your skilled mouth is included.
Well, all better for you.
You are sucking and bobbing your head, taking not much of him - concentrating on his favorite spots around the tip - and making some use of your hands. Oh how much he loves when you pair sucking him off with dragging your nails on his abdomen or inner thighs, almost scratching him. These bits of almost tangible pain make his cock leak harder, feeling your mouth with a bitter taste. Often you leave angry red lines behind, sometimes not enough to draw blood, other times drawing just a little, sending your man into a frenzy.
Today is not the latter case, as you are not trying to overstimulate Ajax, only excite him more than necessary. And by the way he tilts his head back, heavily panting, the tight grip in your hair and legs crossing behind your body, with heels digging into your lower back, you have all the indicators he is close.
And you pull away completely.
Childe's head snaps back upright almost immediately, eyes blown wide and staring at you, at your shiny with spit and his precum lips, at the slow manner of your thumb dragging over them, cleaning the mess of fluids. He can feel the same mess running down the underside of his dick, small globs pulling at his balls and dripping down on the floor.
"W-why did you stop?" He tries to not sound whiny, though a small hint slithers its way into his tone. You give him the most charming smile you're capable of, letting go of his thighs and grabbing his knees, forcing his legs to uncross and return to the position they were in the very beginning.
"Because it's time for the present~ You've had just enough of the birthday cake, we wouldn't want you to be too full, overwise you'd have to leave it for tomorrow."
With these words you get back on your feet, admiring your work from a new angle. A masterpiece as always.
"But sitting like that won't be all that comfortable… why don't you sit closer to the headboard, hm?" Your fingertips graze his flushed cheek, gently following the contour of his jaw and the man nods with a small gulp. How cute. Just a couple of minutes ago he was looking at you arrogantly, thinking he was going to be in charge of his own pleasure, and now one of the Harbingers is gazing up at you with figurative hearts and stars in his eyes, eager for your every move and word.
Not ten seconds later he is already lying against the pillows put against the wooden surface and you are climbing on top of him, claiming his hips like you belong there.
And you do.
The moment your crotches are close his hands find their place on your hips, kneading the flesh.
"Impatient, are we?" He only huffs at your teasing remark, growing more agitated when you do not put his cock right inside of your warm and tight pussy but start grinding it all over his length, smearing the wet mess all over his lower stomach.
"You… chertóvka*!" His words are meant to bite, yet you find them highly amusing, coming from a man of his state. Such a pity that a couple of days more and he'll take a hold of things again, making you regret everything you've done to rile him up by repeatedly fucking you into this grand bed. Or maybe not only the bed, this residence is huge after all.
Finally Childe thinks when you line his cock with your hole and begin sinking down. Oh Archons his mind screams when your tight walls wrap around his manhood. Your mouth already was a mercy to his sinful body and soul, but your sweet, eagerly sucking him in pussy must be a blessing. His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips, choking a suppressed whine out of you, and it takes all of his willpower to not just thrust into your heat - he’ll leave it for later, once you get used to his girth and length again, ready to get demolished.
The room is filled with heavy breathing and your quiet moans as you grind and bounce a little to loosen up and accept more of him inside. Your lover praises you in a hushed voice, reaching his thumb to rub your clit.
“M-maybe I should’ve used the lube,” you gasp, taking an inch more, walls fluttering around the rest that is already nestled inside. His caresses help you relax but it's been so many months since the last time…
“You are doing amazing, I promise” the man assures you, circling your bundle of nerves faster. “It’s just a few more inches, you got this, just please don’t stop completely.”
It may be the desperate edge in his words, or the pulsing flesh inside of you, pushing thick veins against your sensitive walls, but you grit your teeth, fist your hand on his hard stomach, and let your pussy swallow the final inches in one go.
A broken moan tumbles from your lips, a choked noise escapes from the depths of his chest.
Your head hangs low, while his is thrown back, eyes tightly shut.
Sweat is beading and running down the back of your neck, while on him it gathers between furrowed brows.
You can't stop slightly shaking from how full you are, he can hardly keep his legs pressed to bed, to not have the temptation of planting his feet firmly on the mattress to draw his hips down and back up, giving you both what you've been craving.
A minute passes, then one more. You slowly catch your breaths and get adjusted to each other. Staying connected like this shows just how long it has been since the last time you two were together.
The gingerhead is the first to come back to his senses, gliding his wide palms over your hips and sliding them right to your ass, cupping each cheek and starting to carefully grind you on top of him. Oh, what a delicious whine he hears and an excited glint in your eyes he witnesses. Carefully rocking your hips, you grab the headboard for leverage, testing the waters and your all once again found limits. It won't take long to push the maximum line further, but for now you have to be cautious, and Ajax understands that, watching all of the reactions attentively.
At some point your gazes link and you give him a smile, which he happily returns, reaching out for your cheek. Getting the hint you bend, capturing his lips in a kiss, deepening it right away. Soon you are devouring each other's mouths, creating a dirty melody of wet sounds and hungry noises, with all these battling your tongues are doing.
You feel how he is getting turned on, pent up energy evident in how frantically he pushes his hand from your cheek to hold the back of your head - leaving you no opportunity to stop this wild making out session. It's so wet already, slick is coating his cock, which starts sliding in and out more easily, but still firmly pressing against your tight walls, molding you into the shape of him.
Childe moans when you bite on his lower lip and suddenly lift your hips almost halfway up his dick, only to drop yourself back down on it. You repeat the motion, not forgetting to squeeze around him, and Ajax's fingers grip harder on your hair.
"You little-" he groans at the feeling of your nails scraping against his abdomen. Fuck, he forgot your hands have been pretty much not occupied since the moment you released the headboard to kiss him. Oh no, you better use them to hold tight onto him for what he is going to do next.
You jolt and half yelp half moan from a thrust his dick makes when he forces his body into a sitting position. There is a hand still squeezing your asscheek, the other lets go of your hair and is now fondling with your breast, squeezing the soft mound.
"Come on, ride your birthday man, love," and with that his mouth latches on your second tit. His plan works perfectly, as there are instantly hands gripping on his shoulder and hair. Childe pays it absolutely no mind, sucking on your hardened nipple and thumbing the other one. He leaves marks all over your pretty breasts the next moment and you are not left with much choice but to moan and whine while bouncing on his dick, trying to set the pace, which, with the distraction your lover is making, proves to be quite a task.
"Ajax," you try to beg, combing through his hair, though your fingers flex into a grip involuntarily whenever he stimulates the bud too harshly or the head of his cock nudges that spot inside of you, "please, c-calm down a little, I can't concentrate…"
The only answer you get is a mischievous glance from him and his mouth being full of your breast. Oh, and also that thrust he makes that almost forces you forward on top of him.
Childe hums, not missing how the vibration against your mound sends goosebumps all over your skin, and releases the less abused tit, grabbing your other buttock.
"Huh, you are so sloppy," he muses, flexing his arms and making the taut muscles bulge under his pale scarred skin. "Leaving all the work for me to do, while it is my celebration…But I am a merciful man, so hold still."
And that's the only warning you get before he starts fucking into you with a faster pace and steady rhythm, getting a bit fed up with how slowly everything was. He loves it when you are clawing at his back, moaning and screaming in his ear and at the back of his mind he thinks that it's such a pity he let all of his staff go, the fucker would love to have at least ears directed to his performance.
Which has you a slutty mess in a spawn of seconds, pussy squelching with wetness, walls contracting around his pulsating cock, gripping it deliciously and…
"Your pussy is so eager to milk me out of my cum, love," he practically purrs in your shoulder, giving you another bite. Fuck, you moan louder, holding onto his back for dear life, his dominant side is showing sooner when you anticipated. "I bet you want every last drop of it. I'll give it to you, but you have to promise you won't spill a bit."
The pleasure is so intense, you have no desire to fight him for control, too horny to care who is in charge. Your brain screams at you to respond, knowing all too well that Ajax is unfair, he can stop if you take too long, and it’ll be such an awful disturbance. You feverishly nod, trying to move too, to meet his thrusting, but the snapping of his hips is so unruled, you do not manage.
"Words, princess, I need words," the commanding tone makes you look into his eyes and you almost cum on the spot, reading the look of adoration twisted by hunger in his eyes of raging waves in a storm. You need a moment to collect your thoughts, but a palm, slapping your buttock, makes it quicker, prompting you to respond hastily.
"Y-yes, I want your cum! Please give it to me!"
"Aren't you forgetting something? That teeny-tiny word, hm?" The hand is squeezing your flesh in a warning, but you needn’t any reminder - the sting is still present.
"Please, Sir,” it goes straight to his dick and Childe groans, bucking his hips involuntarily, ruining the pace. A simple word he is called every day is but a mere reminder of his higher position, not once making his cock jump against its confines, but leaving your mouth… Never ceases to arouse him.
"What a good girl," he praises and brings your body even flusher to his own, chasing both of your releases, letting you shout wantonly into the sex-smelling air, hiding his own noises of pleasure in the crook of your neck.
When the high is about to hit him, Childe registers two hands grasping his head and forcing him to look up, and then there is a slobbery kiss right when your pussy constricts and you cum hard.
The last thing the man becomes aware of is his back hitting the mattress, your body falling on top, lips following lips and his seed shooting deep into your tight heat. Then everything turns white.
Orgasm continues to roll through you, as you grind and whine, feeling the warmth spreading inside and wild shudder running down your back.
“F-fuck…” a whimper against his swollen lips, but yours are no better. There is barely any strength to lift a finger, so you let your forehead bump into his chin, head heavy and thoughts all over the place. Eyes refuse to stay focused and eyelids slide shut. Palms are still holding his face. Hands are still cupping your ass. Your bodies refuse to let go of each other, staying impossibly close to share a heartbeat, to share one afterglow.
Time hardly matters, thus you both have no idea for how long you have been lying like this. The ginger opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling. He thinks he saw a beautiful dream, not having ever dared to wish for this to happen, but everything is real: this bedroom is real, this bed is real, the smell of desire and sweat is real, the heat is real, he is real, you are so damn real…
There is a slight movement and instead of his chin the lips are touching your forehead, just enough to power you up to lift your head and meet his softer and much calmer gaze.
“Hey,” you sweetly murmur, running your fingertips over his cheekbone.
“Hi,” his hands now rest on your waist and a voice is so sexily hoarse. “That was mind-blowing, beautiful.”
“I know, right?” a smile tugs on your lips and Childe’s heart flutters, something that it does only around his dear ones.
“I missed this. I missed you,” now your heart skips a beat at his confession and your palms frame his face in a gentle hold.
“This is one hundred percent mutual, Ajax.”
“Y/N…”
“I am happy you loved the present. Even included me in your fun, which, now that I think of it, probably cost me an ability to walk tomorrow.”
A joyful laugh brushes your hair and one hand lifts to bury in the tangled strands, eliciting a purr out of you.
“That’s amazing, actually. You’ll spend the day in bed while I am away at work, and when I return you’ll be well-rested to continue. We have a lot to catch on after all.”
Humming against the skin of his neck, you gently nibble here and there, giving him small hickies. It doesn’t sound that bad, as long as no one disturbs you and you get the whole place all to yourself.
But it is to be discussed later. Somewhere in the residence a grandfather clock struck eleven - you still have a whole hour of today. Awesome, as you almost forgot to tell him the most essential thing.
“Happy birthday, Ajax. I love you.”
“I love you too, Y/N. Thanks for being mine.”
#genshin impact#genshin impact x reader#childe x reader#childe x fem!reader#tartaglia x reader#tartaglia x fem!reader#childe#tartaglia#genshin impact smut#moonlit pearl stories
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Maid of the Loch.
A few pics from Thursdays visit to Balloch. PS Maid of the Loch is the last paddle steamer built in the country in 1953. She operated on Loch Lomond for 29 years and as of 2022 is being restored near Balloch pier.
The boat is the last of a long line of Loch Lomond steamers that began about 1816, within four years of Henry Bell's pioneering passenger steamboat service on the River Clyde.
After construction the "Maid" was dismantled, and shipped to the loch by rail to Balloch at the south end of the loch, and there the sections were reassembled on a purpose built slipway.
Maid of the Loch provided a service from Balloch pier, initially to Ardlui at the north end of the loch, but later her last call was a few miles short of this at Inversnaid and she would cruise to the head of the loch. She was transferred to the Scottish Transport Group in 1969; then in 1973 to Caledonian MacBrayne.
As with other steamers, cost pressures led to her being laid up after a last commercial sailing on 31 August 1981. One problem was that some of the piers on the loch would become unusable, either because of poor state of repair, or silting making the area around them too shallow; some of these piers had not been built to take a vessel as large as the Maid of the Loch. A series of attempts to return the vessel to service under a succession of owners was unsuccessful, and she presented a sad sight gradually deteriorating at the side of the loch.
Dumbarton District Council bought the Maid of the Loch and restoration work started. In 1995 the Council supported a group of local enthusiasts in setting up a charitable organisation, the Loch Lomond Steamship Company, to take over ownership and carry on restoration.
Part of the problem that held up the restoration was the pier had to be adjusted, with no sea port, there was no easy way to take her to a dry dock. With a lottery grant and donations the pier was rebuilt and the Maid was hoisted out of the water in 2006, to where it now sits.
With help from funding from The Scottiah Governement and other bodies work has been ongoing to restore her, but they were dealt a blow in 2018 when a further Heritage Lottery Fund of £3.8 million was withdrawn.
Restoration work continues on the ship, with her interiors being returned to their original 1950s appearance while adding modern conveniences like a lift between decks, and also enabling her engines and paddles to turn slowly fed by a package boiler mounted on the pier.[14][15]
In 2019 the project was again set back due to a failed bid to the National Lottery Fund. However, it received £950k from the Scottish Government and £50k from the Paddle Steamer Preservation Society. This funding was used as described above. The charity has now built a new, more robust Slipway carriage using funds supplied by a variety of sources, most notably, Historic Environment Scotland as the slipway and the Steam Winch House form a Grade A listed structure.
You can get updates on the work, and how to make visits onboard to see how things are progressing, along with where to make a donation if you can, that will see The Maid of The Loch sail once again.
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if you want to write erotica youre going to have to get comfortable with your own desire.
you may find yourself frustrated when trying to write erotica especially if you aren't used to it. any type of writing is vulnerable and revelatory, but we tend to attach a special significance to sexuality, so erotica can feel like much more of an exposure. that makes it difficult to pick up. and then once you've started, you are still constrained by your concerns about your writing being unsexy, which is like, an additional new concern that you may have on top of just worrying about being bad. unfortunately, the more you are worried about this, the more your writing will suffer for it.
if you have read any amount of erotica, you have probably had the experience of reading a piece that comes off as generic. there's a lot of cookie-cutter stories out there that go like this: once upon a time two men had anal sex with each other. they both orgasmed, the end. i exaggerate of course, but genuinely I often have had the thought, "wow, you could replace these character's names with any others and it wouldn't make a difference." this is boiler-plate bad erotica, and it is what you are going to end up replicating if you are too worried about sexiness or, really, mass appeal.
i think that "sexiness" is a different thing entirely from eroticism, really. and erotica is different from porn, although we may casually conflate the two. audre lorde drew a clear distinction between them in sister outsider, in which she also writes:
however you feel about that, let's take for granted that creating erotica means putting onto paper and presumably sharing something that excites you deep inside. (again, the same can be said of all writing, but it scares us to look at sex too directly.) this means that in order to create work that you can be proud of, you need to know what excites you. ask yourself what is hot about the scenario you're picturing. look it in the eye and don't shy away from it. it's not "two bodies are in a room together having sex." why are these people doing that? why is now the moment for them to do it in this specific way? what makes this day different from any other day? if you are really open to answering these sorts of questions then i think you will find you have plenty to write about, and the question of whether to use the word cock or penis or dick will seem much less significant to you.
shame is the enemy of all good writing, but it probably is most prevalent when it comes to the writing of erotica. try not to dismiss your erotic writings as less important or presentable than any other writing of yours by virtue of their subject matter. reading good erotica enriches us just like reading any other literature, and your erotic self deserves to be respected just as any other part of you.
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TMNT Bayverse Boys x Reader: Hands on their weapons (4\4)
SFW FLUFF
This is it. This is my man. My beloved Donnie. My knowledge of engineering was able to add a twinge of realism to his cool gadgets, some of this is based on many years of conversations between engineers of different backgrounds. This one turned out sooooo long but also terribly proud of the drawing, though I might edit it with better color balancing. Enjoy!
Prompt: What would each of the brothers do if you picked up their weapons out of curiosity?
Donnie
It was a quiet observance of a federal holiday.
You were up at the crack of dawn due to some angry horn honking drivers on the corner below your apartment. Unable to go back to sleep you begrudgingly started your day earlier than expected.
Now you find yourself in the early afternoon with your chores and errands finished. You had expected to work this weekend but your boss mustered up some holiday spirit and closed the shop and granted the staff some early bonuses.
Unfortunately he only told you yesterday at the end of your shift so you didn't have much time to make any plans with friends or family.
But you did happen to know some folks who weren't going to be upset with a surprise visit from you; and they happen to be name after some wonderfully talented Renaissance artists.
You check the time and hesitate.
They are mostly nocturnal, so would anyone even be awake? You stood there, backpack on, scarf at the ready, one hand holding a half-turned doorknob, just contemplating if it was worth it to make the trip if you'd be alone for a few hours before anyone awoke.
After a few long minutes you rationalize that at the very least Splinter's insomnia might offer you a chance to hear some childhood stories about the guys.
Yeah, that was reason enough for you to at least try. Worst comes to worst you could probably just hang out at a nearby bagel shop and watch the news.
You grab your sewer parka and head to the far end of Manhattan to the only underpass with sewer access that wasn't also a homeless camp. You used this entrance on the few occasions when you'd visit the turtles during the day, otherwise most alleyway entrances would suffice in the dark.
You sipped on your second latte of the day as the flurry of faces and people piled onto the subway then off again at each stop. You stared at the illuminated ads above the heads of strangers while waiting for your stop.
The train slows and you see your stop printed in tiles along the station walls.
Those tiles must be from the 90s, you think, you just don't see that shade of torquise and purple anymore.
You exit through the turnstile and up the stairs. The cool winter air hits your cheeks and you brace as the gust aims to fuddle your already messy bun.
It's a few blocks to the underpass you're aiming for and along the way you stop to grab a couple of hot bagels and shove the foil wrapped lunch into your pockets.
You descend unnoticed into the sewer entrance, noticing it's significantly tidier than the last time you used it some months ago. A smile creeps onto your face just thinking about the guys spending the better half of a day just to keep this little part of the sewer, a place specifically design to be gross, clean just for potential visitors.
You knew they had a few friends between you and April and Casey, but you wondered which of you they really cleaned for, secretly you hoped that it was you. Though, unless you asked you couldn't be sure.
The next 20 minutes was a comfortable walk down a manageably lit path towards the lair. You didn't mind as much, the rumbling of trains echoed deeply, the cars muffled in the distance, and the occasional exhaust pipe whistled from some boiler tucked away in the basement of a nearby building.
A soft colorful glow appeared around the bend.
That was it, the lair.
You step through the draped plastic sheeting that formed the threshold of the cozy terrapin abode and separated it from the rest of the unkempt sewers.
You look around. The massive signature couch, empty. Donnie's control center with 30-some screens quietly humming and continually running programs or streaming news, empty. Kitchen where many mugs of tea were shared, empty.
You release a tense breath you didn't realize you were holding in.
Not an unusual noise to be heard. You sigh, slightly disappointed, but remove your sewer parka, scarf and gloves and hang them in the usual place.
You take the bagels and toss one on the kitchen counter, someone will eventually eat it. The other you keep in your hand to enjoy soon.
You feel odd. It's the middle of the day for you, maybe 2pm? But here it's like the middle of the night. It's almost liminal.
You stroll towards the dojo where you've seen many spars and meditations; empty again. You were sure you'd be able to hear any action from the half pipes had someone been there and decide not to get your hopes up. Aside from the bedrooms there's one last place to check.
The lab.
You walk around a corner into a short hall, at the end of it was another wall of draped plastic intended to isolate the lab. Although Donnie basically built it, it wasn't necessarily only his lab. Leo has his corner with a whet stone for sharpening his katana. Mikey and Raph had a makeshift sound booth and studio built at one end for their music production. And Raph even stored his less used knitting supplies in a locked cabinet there. Donnie just happened to occupy a great deal of the rest with all sorts of benches, mechanisms and scientific gadgets.
You reach to push the plastic out of the way and pause.
You shouldn't be surprised to find it empty, but still, you feel nervous. Like you want someone to be there. Was it to make it feel like your visit was intentional? Or did you want to not be alone? Did you care who was there?
Instead of facing those questions you push your way through the heavy plastic drapes.
Empty.
Damn.
Most of the lamps above each workbench are shut off. But small LEDs on various equipment offered enough illumination to see that there had been very little activity here in the last few hours.
A distinct shape caught your eye on one of the soldering benches. You walk over, setting your bagel down on the only bench Donnie allowed food to be at, and made your way to the silhouette of interest.
Upon reaching it you flip the switch for the bench overhead lights. Before you lies what appears to be a newly crafted staff.
You know better than to touch it. You duck and bob your head taking in the details from what you could see without disturbing it.
It hasn't had the edges sanded down yet, and some of the soldering is still messy, but you can already identify some new features that weren't in the previous model but you recall Donnie excitedly raving about adding them to the next.
"So what do you think?"
You nearly leap out of your skin. You spin on your heels into a low defensive stance by instinct.
The tall nearsighted turtle had silently moved through the plastic curtains and had been standing in the archway. His curious expression doesn't change after your reflexes spun you around.
Recognizing that it's only him, you relax. You relax so much you feel a tension in your chest that was there since you arrived fade away as well.
"Why are you awake so early?" You ask.
"Occasionally I'll get up earlier than the others just to get some peace and quiet for a few hours." You knew how much of a ruckus the others made once they were awake.
"Ah, so should I leave?" You ask sheepishly.
"No," he answered quickly, "please stay."
You were both awkwardly quiet for a moment.
So what do you think? The question echoes in your head.
You glance back to the staff, then back to Donnie, who is walking towards you and you notice the second bagel in his hand. He motioned you over to have breakfast with him at the "food bench".
"Oh, I mean it's still got some work to do," you say sitting beside him and unwrapping your bagel, "but if you mean from a fellow engineers perspective, it looks like you've got the accelerometer upgrade in it that you've been wanting for months, the sleek tracking device ejector integrated with pneumatics, and quite possibly some degaussing wiring running along it, presumably to negate any magnetic fields you encounter. Did I miss anything? It looks like you've been working on the fabrication for a week or two now. "
As you had been talking Donnie finished his meal in just a few bites. You get to work on yours, expecting his response to be long winded, and you're excited to hear him ramble about his creation.
"No, you didn't miss anything at all. I'm glad you remembered that I'd been wanting to add all those features to my next staff. The planning was pretty easy, but finding all the specific materials I needed was the hard part. Getting just the right grade of steel and brass tubing of the exact sizes took me a month alone. The pneumatics are actually hypercompressed air into single use microcannisters... " He continued to ramble and you smiled through your meal.
Once finished you shoot back some questions. He answers and provides exquisite detail about his process.
"So how's the weight? It's not going to be too unwieldy is it? Sounds like the material change might throw it off."
He jumps up and retrieves the staff, "no actually I designed it to have the same weighted properties, and kept the weight nearly the same by changing the springs to lighter zinc but stronger push power."
He stands there, demonstrating the ease of use, shifting the staff between his hands and spinning it, "Here give it a try."
You set your bagel down, stand, and grab the staff carefully.
You'd given Donnie's old staff some tests before when you had first asked him about his design process for engineering it. This new one was indeed well balanced, it spun easily despite it being more than your own height and only felt slightly heavier than the previous model.
You nod, studying closely some of the fine craftsmanship near the springs.
He chuckles softly, "I'm really glad you understand the work I do. It's really a relief to talk to you and feel like you really understand what I'm saying when I go off about things. Sometimes my brothers try, I mean I know sometimes they want to support me, but I just know they haven't got more than a dial-up tone between their ears when I try to tell them what I do."
You look up with a grin of awe tugging at the edges of your lips. "Donnie, what you do is so cool. I couldn't do this, I know just enough to appreciate how incredible all of it is, though. The electrical engineering for the lair, the coding for security protocols, the design and MacGuyvering to make tools and weapons and tracking devices. It's nothing short of genius."
He looks startled at your response, "Y-you really think so?" He glanced down, bit his lip and fiddled with his thumbs.
"I know so." You say. You knew he had always been self conscious of himself. His brothers didn't understand his skill very well. He was scrawny when beside them, he just didn't have nearly the raw brawn to fight the same.
A smile grew on his face and his eyes met yours. Your heart skipped. You didn't have time to savor it because Donatello dashed away towards the back of the lab. "You know, uh, as a sort of, I guess, thank you," he was either excited or nervous, he didn't usually stutter this badly otherwise, your eyebrows furled in confusion watching him shuffle and tumble around bins of equipment.
"I would like, uhm, to ask if you'd like, uh, well, a staff of your own?" He appeared from behind a bench holding a mostly rudimentary staff with some very old electronic modifications to it.
Still not sure why he's suddenly offering, you answer honestly nonetheless, "Yeah I think that would be pretty amazing if it was decked out with some stuff I'd use regularly."
His smile beamed brighter. "Uh, well, this is the second model of my staves. I made it when I was 13, and, uh, I've reclaimed the few gadgets it used to function with, but," he swallowed, "I'd really like to refurbish it into something you'd like."
You, obviously flattered and jittery with joy at the possibility of getting a hand crafted gadget by one of the best engineering prodigies you knew, nearly fell out of your chair. "Seriously?!"
Mirroring your energy and feeding off the positive reinforcement, Donnie gained confidence, "Absolutely, just tell me what you want and it'll be yours. I can have it ready by your birthday easily. And I couldn't be happier handing it off to you because I trust you'd treat it with the respect it deserves, unlike some people..." He trailed off.
Still in your hands, you lift the large staff above your head and with a small leap swing it over Donnie's head and onto his shoulders, and with your hands still gripped you swing your weight back pulling the lanky turtles shoulders down to your level.
He dropped the small light staff and grasped at the large one suddenly dragging him down in elevation.
Frozen there, inches from you face, he looks into your eyes and sees a chaotic look only other mad scientists could recognize. He blinks, dumbfounded.
You smirk, "I want it to fold into the coolest walking cane you've ever seen when not in use, I want an emergency button that alerts you if I'm ever in trouble, I want pollutant and air quality sensors integrated, I want it to whistle a beautiful woodwind pitch depending on how fast I spin it and lastly, I want you and your brothers to sign it. Can you do that O' Masterful Donatello?" You question him smugly.
He licks his lips and nods. "Uh...yeah, yeah, yes certainly," he begins. You release your grip allowing him to once again tower over you.
"Great, I expect the full benefit of Donatello quality genius." Your heart again skips a beat.
Donnie looks to the side, his grin unable to melt away.
"May I watch and talk to you while you work on it sometimes? You know, just to make sure you are getting everything right..." You add.
He looks back to you, he seems almost out of breath, "Uh, y-yeah," he squeaks out, "I'll get started right away. Y-you want to stay a while and watch?"
"I suppose I could make room in my schedule for that."
For the next few hours the lab is aglow with more than just LEDs and overhead lamps.
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https://www.tumblr.com/radiokathryn-if/729583919855501312/found-a-new-one-give-me-a-ro-and-ill-write-a-lil?source=share
Ji Han and 14 :)
from this prompt list. 513 words. (snowed in!) canon divergence──MC has a house in this one.
Ji Han had simply been helping you carry groceries home when the snow started──It was light but it was sticking. You were shivering even once you were inside, behind a closed door where the wind and snow couldn't find you anymore. Ji Han had smiled at your suggestion of taking a warm shower but insisted you take one first, considering you were the one shivering of the two of you. You agreed after a few back-and-forths of both of you insisting the other go first──you had come back a few minutes later with fresh towels and clothes that might fit him before turning and running away to finally get warm again.
Ji Han had shook his head in amusement, the smile on his lips bringing out his dimples as he watched you go. He decided that putting away your groceries would be the best course of action, figuring out where everything went was easy enough for him.
When you entered back into the living room, finding Ji Han still standing (he didn't want to sit down in his damp clothing) his breath hitched slightly, seeing your bare face, still wet hair and casual comfortable clothes that looked suspiciously like pyjamas was something new for him and your awkwardly sweet smile sent butterflies through his stomach. He didn't take long himself, not wanting to overstay his welcome… to your shower. The clothes you gave him were a little small but the trousers were elasticated pyjamas so even though they were short he wore them comfortably anyway, smiling softly as you cracked a laugh at how silly he looked.
You opened your mouth to say something but was cut off by the power cutting out. His brows were drawn as you jumped slightly before he made his way to a window, drawing back the curtain to see the snow had built up a lot──a snow storm blowing in stronger winds.
"Looks like it's not stopping anytime soon." He informed you as you stopped next to him, peering under his outstretched arm to see what he was seeing.
"Please stay here for the night." You turned to face him, your nose scrunched up in concern. "It doesn't look safe to walk in."
He lifted a hand to cup your cheek, gently rubbing over the skin with his thumb as his heart melted at your worry for him, "Of course."
The downside of no longer having power was that the boiler wouldn't work either, at least you couldn't get it to work, meaning the house was almost as cold as it was outside. After a while of sitting separately on the couch and freezing in place you stood up and took his hand, leading him to your bedroom where the thickest blankets were. Ji Han wrapped himself around your body while he was cocooned in the duvet──the two of you warming up quicker now. He traced patterns into the exposed skin on your neck as you nuzzled into his chest, his cheek resting on the top of your head.
Snow grants the best opportunities, don't you think?
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Thousands of households can get grants for boiler replacements under little-known scheme – and you could save £840
Thousands of households can get grants for boiler replacements under little-known scheme – and you could save £840
THOUSANDS of households can get grants for replacing their old boiler \- and you could save £840 on your energy bills.The Energy Company Obligation is a government scheme to help hard-up households make their home more
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#Money#News#Thousands of households can get grants for boiler replacements under little-known scheme – and you could save £840#Top#UK#US
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A rainy night in Portland por Kevin Madore
Por Flickr:
A light rain is beginning to fall as the Maine Narrow Gauge Railroad Co.'s Monson Locomotive #4 hauls a 4-car passenger train at the west end of the company's 24" gauge track on the Eastern Promenade in downtown Portland, Maine. The cars behind #4 are original Maine 2-foot passenger equipment from the Sandy River & Rangeley Lakes and Bridgton & Harrison Railroads. Lumedyne lighting provided by Joey Kelly. On what was billed as her final day of operation on March 29th of 2014, Monson #4 ran 3 public passenger trips around Portland's Eastern Promenade. When those were completed, the engine and train picked up approximately 25 photographers and headed out to the far east (railroad west) end of the museum's track for a night photo shoot. The operation was a bit of a race with mother nature, because everyone was aware that a rainstorm was right on the doorstep and that this promised to be a very wet night. Still, a number of set-ups were completed before the rain became heavy enough to preclude decent photos. As a footnote, not long after this event, the Maine Narrow Gauge Railroad Co. was granted an extension on #4's Form 4, permitting some additional operating days later in 2014 and very early 2015. The locomotive made its last run on January 2nd of 2015 and has been sidelined since that time. Inspections revealed that a new boiler is needed as the existing one is beyond economical repair.
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The Ink Demonth 4
Today is Choice.
This is a snippet from near the end of my very self-indulgent "A Debt Repaid" story. Which I still need to finish writing the first chapter for.
"A Debt Repaid" is a sequel to "A Debt To Pay", which can be found here.
============================================
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Fiona asked as she trailed Audrey down the stairs to Wilson’s lab.
“I…I just want to hear him out,” Audrey replied. “If we don’t like what he has to say, we don’t have to go along with it. But I…I want to hear his plan.”
“Alright…”
The two of them descended further into the lab, surrounded by tubes of what appeared to be vibrantly colored ink. Audrey winced as they passed them, trying not to look.
Eventually, they came to a set of doors splattered in color, which opened automatically upon them approaching. Beyond that there was another set of doors, which also opened as they drew nearer.
And there was the lab. They could see it behind a glass window, sealed off from the little alcove area they now found themselves in with a single hydraulic door. There were lockers to their left which Fiona had to stop herself from searching, as well as another of the ink wells that Audrey could apparently now travel through.
“Audrey!” Wilson’s voice crackled through the PA system. “You made it. And you brought your little friend. Good! Come inside, my dear! We have much to discuss. But make sure you’re ready. Where we’re going, there will be no return until we’ve accomplished our mission.”
“So, we’re doing this?” Fiona asked, looking at Audrey.
Audrey nodded with grim determination, tightening her grip on her pipe.
Together, the two women stepped into the lab. Wilson stood before them, hunched over a table littered with blueprints and vials of what they assumed were ink. Further into the lab were various machines and pipes and boilers, none of which the women knew the purpose of. Fiona moved a bit closer to Audrey.
“Thank you for coming all this way,” Wilson said, turning to face them.
“I wanted to hear what your plan to destroy the Ink Demon was,” Audrey responded flatly.
Although externally she seemed cold and detached, internally she was terrified. She wanted to believe Wilson was going to fix everything and help her get home, but the words of both Fiona and Sammy had shaken her faith in him. He had brought her here in the first place. She’d just…She’d needed something to believe in. But Wilson might not have been the best choice.
“Of course.” Wilson nodded. “The Ink Demon is a formidable foe. To truly destroy such a monster, he must be dethroned. Humiliated.”
“Are you sure you need to destroy him?” Fiona asked. “I’m sure he could be talked to if you approached it the right way.” Granted, Wilson talking to the Ink Demon probably wouldn’t work, but she and Audrey certainly had a chance.
“Oh, my dear.” Wilson gave her a patronizing smile. “If only all problems could be solved so simply.” He patted her head as one would that of a child, then continued, ignoring the way Fiona’s hands formed into shaking fists. “For months now I’ve been working on something that will do exactly that. Cast out the demon and put a new deity in his place.” He began to walk, leading them to a large cylinder in the back left corner of the lab. “Stronger, more powerful, and controllable. Together, we just need to unleash our ultimate weapon. Come. Let me show you my creation.” He stepped aside as the tube opened, revealing a drawing on an easel.
The drawing was of a cherubic little cartoon boy with blond hair and chubby red cheeks. He was wearing what looked like a sailor’s uniform, standing in front of a blue ocean and a palm tree, with a little crab by his feet. The drawing was labelled “Shipahoy Dudley”.
“Isn’t he beautiful?” Wilson asked. “Simple, but elegant. A treasure. Powerful beyond anyone. The Ink Demon will fall, and we can have peace at last.”
“He is pretty cute,” Fiona begrudgingly conceded.
“It could work…” Audrey admitted. “But it sounds risky,” she added. “How will we control him? We don’t want to repeat Joey’s mistake.”
“Control him?!” Fiona sputtered. “He’s not some kind of puppet for you to jerk around on a string! If you bring him to life, you need to treat him like a human being! That was Joey’s mistake!”
Audrey shot Fiona a warning look. Poking the bear wouldn’t do them any good. They needed to hear Wilson’s full plan. Fiona shrunk a bit under Audrey’s gaze, but she was clearly still extremely upset.
“No. We don’t,” Wilson agreed, completely ignoring Fiona’s outburst. “All of the factors must be perfect.” As he spoke, the tube slid closed, beginning to rotate. “The right design, the right science, and…” The tube slid open again, revealing what appeared to be a person sized chamber. “The right soul.” Suddenly, sawblades appeared from slats in the tube, causing both Audrey and Fiona to stumble back.
“What?” Audrey’s eyes went wide.
“At last, your purpose is revealed, Audrey.” Wilson stepped in front of her. “This is why you’re here! With your soul inside him, my creation will live forever.”
“Stay away from me!” Audrey yelled. “You’re insane!”
“We need to go. We need to go right now.” Fiona tugged on Audrey’s arm, although she was shaking too much to run.
“Come now, Audrey,” Wilson said, voice sickly sweet. “Part of you knew this was your path. Although…” He paused, slowly turning his attention to the panicked Fiona. “If you truly cannot be convinced, perhaps your little friend will do.”
“No! You’re not using either of us!” Audrey snapped, putting herself between Wilson and Fiona.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to use her?” Wilson asked, taking a step toward them. “Think about it. If she provides the soul for my creation, we could rule this place together.”
“I don’t want to rule anything!” Audrey backed away, still placed firmly between Fiona and Wilson.
“Well, then I can send you home.” Wilson shrugged. “You never have to think about this place ever again.”
“I…I thought you said we needed to save your father!” Audrey tried to sound as angry as she had before, but they could all hear how her voice faltered.
Wilson smiled wide. “I lied. My father is beyond hope. Perhaps you know him. Nathan Arch, owner of ArchGate, industrial genius, business tycoon.” As he spoke, his expression soured. “For years, I’ve lived in his reaching shadow. He always had time for the grand creatives of the world, the doers as he called them. He knew only the best! The biggest thinkers! How could his lowly son ever hope to compete with that? But now, thanks to you, I can.”
“Well, that explains a thing or two.” Carmine’s voice came from Fiona’s bag.
Fiona looked on the verge of tears, looking frantically between Audrey and the door.
“What do you say, Audrey?” Wilson asked. “Why not let me use her? After all, you said yourself, she doesn’t understand what you’ve gone through. Wouldn’t you like to teach her a lesson?”
Audrey was silent, genuinely considering Wilson’s proposal. She was so tired of fighting. She was so tired of this awful place. She just wanted to go home.
You could leave this all behind, a small traitorous voice whispered in her mind. Wash your hands of your father’s sins. Move on. She wanted to come here, didn’t she? Let her stay.
Fiona tried to run. She didn’t get very far before Wilson grabbed her wrist and roughly pulled her back.
“Let me go!” Fiona screamed, kicking and attempting to hit Wilson with her free hand. She was starting to cry as she struggled. Wilson held her at arm’s length, keeping her far enough away that she couldn’t reach him with her short arms.
Despite her previous mental turmoil, Audrey knew her choice was clear now. “Leave her alone!” She surged forward, swinging her pipe at Wilson.
Wilson caught her wrist as she swung, halting the pipe’s trajectory. “So, that is your choice,” he said with a smile. He shoved Fiona away, sending her stumbling back to hit her head against the wall and crumple to the ground.
“Let us go!” Audrey tried to hit him with her other hand, but Wilson grabbed that arm and held it too.
“No need to struggle,” he cooed. “My signal prevents you from using those devilish powers of yours…and more importantly, keeps the Ink Demon from getting in. It’s time to die, Audrey…” He began to drag her toward the now whirring saws in the chamber. “And live again…” She tried to struggle against him, but it was no use. He was much stronger than she was. “As a god!”
They were almost at the chamber now. Audrey could hear her heart pounding in her ears. She couldn’t count on Fiona to help her. Not after being shoved into the wall like that. Plus, if Wilson could overpower her, Fiona stood no chance. And it wasn’t like Carmine was going to be any help. He’d already expended a great deal of energy getting them past the Keepers. Audrey had to get free on her own.
Spurred on by adrenaline and desperation, she used her limited mobility to whack the pipe against his head. This did little to stop Wilson from continuing to drag her, but it loosened his grip enough that she was able to get that hand free.
“No!” She ripped her hand away. “Not this time!”
Pulling her arm back, she swung the pipe with all her might, landing a solid enough hit to disorient Wilson and make him let go of her other hand as both of his went up to clutch his head. Not wasting a second, she used to opportunity to push him away. Right into the waiting saws. Wilson screamed. Audrey looked away. The tube slid closed again, a sign behind it lighting up, now reading, “Subject accepted”.
The sweet, metallic scent of blood filled the air.
Fiona let out a small, strangled noise that sounded like something between a sob and a squeak.
“Are you alright?” Audrey asked, turning back to her.
She didn’t want to look at the tube. She couldn’t look at the tube. Killing a human being was so different from killing an ink creature. The ink creatures simply dissolved back to the ink when they died, the only sign they’d ever been there being a small puddle on the ground.
A human remained.
Fiona didn’t answer, still staring at the tube with wide eyes.
“Fiona.” Audrey knelt in front of her, blocking the other woman’s view of the carnage. “Are you alright?”
“I…” Fiona took a shaky breath. “My…My head hurts. But I…I think I’m okay.”
“Good.” Audrey nodded. “We should…We should go.”
She helped Fiona to her feet, gently leading her toward the door that had opened in the back.
#bendy and the ink machine#fanfiction#the ink demonth#a debt repaid#audrey drew#bendy and the dark revival
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