#Vehicle Scrapping Company
Text
If you have an old or unwanted car on your property, selling it to a scrap car removal company is the best solution. By getting in touch with them, you will be surprised to know that your damaged car still has some value. Also, it is the easiest and most affordable option when you are comparing it to selling your car to a potential buyer.
#Vehicle Scrapping Company#recycling lives scrap car#sell car for scrap metal near me#car scrap company#best car scrapping company#scrap car company near me#local scrap car company#car scrap service near me#recycling lives car scrap address#the scrap car company
0 notes
Text
0 notes
Text
Stuck in a Snowstorm (m) | pjm
*Part of 'the winter collection'. Read part two. Part three coming soon!
Summary: You don’t know how you ended up here. Stuck with your mortal enemy, Park Jimin, in you car – in a fucking snowstorm.
Pairing: Jimin x female reader
AU + genres: enemies to lovers, pwp (very little plot – let me be honest, it’s just pure smut). Humor/crack, smut.
Rating: Mature/explicit/R18 - this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.
Word count: 6,1K
Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸
Warnings (general) + triggers: Jimin is just a mean jerk and reader is a brat 😂 Lots of banter, crack and anger towards each other.
Warnings (explicit): unprotected sex, dirty talk, orgasm denial/delay, hair pulling, oral (female and male receiving), breasts and nipple play. Also, use of a tie 👀
Author’s note: This is actually a story that I planned to write all the way back in 2017 – better late than never, right? 😂 I had only made the plot with some outline, so I basically started from scrap. But it had been stuck in my mind since FOREVER and now I just miss Jimin a shit ton, so I made this. I hope you enjoy it! Also, it shouldn’t be taken too seriously, it’s just smut with minimal plot and don’t question the characters bad actions or some minor plot holes 😂 (Also, I did not proofread this, just because).
Also, merry Christmas / happy holidays – this is my gift to you wonderful people out there 💜
AND are you guys looking forward to Jimin’s ‘Closer than This’ tomorrow???? 💜
If you prefer to read on AO3 you can read it here 😀
“I can’t believe this…” in disbelief, you mutter, your voice tinged with uncertainty, while you desperately activate the windshield wiper, yearning for even a fleeting glimpse through the thick curtain of falling snow.
“I can,” Jimin declares from his spot beside you in the passenger seat. His playful critique follows swiftly, delivered with a pout and a firm voice, as he shakes his head in mock disbelief, “You're a terrible driver.”
“Am not!” you retort defiantly, your voice cutting through the air, even as your unwavering gaze remains fixed on the snowy expanse ahead.
A curtain of thick snow descends, veiling everything in an opaque white shroud. The road ahead is swallowed by the relentless onslaught, turning visibility into an elusive challenge.
Your hands clench the wheel with a vice-like grip, the strain evident as your knuckles whiten under the pressure. The tension in your entire body is so palpable that it hurts to fucking drive.
Exhaustion weighs on you heavily, a relentless burden, yet the realization hits that you're only halfway to your friends' Christmas party. Two more hours loom ahead, a daunting stretch of time spent in the company of Park Jimin, your sworn enemy.
The decision to share a car ride is a mystery even to yourself; perhaps it was a fleeting concern for the planet, a noble intention to save fuel by consolidating into one vehicle. Yet, as the journey unfolds, the real reasons behind your choice become an enigma.
Regret courses through you like a bitter undercurrent as you ponder the altruistic intentions behind considering the planet and the environment. The thought of advising Jimin to take his own car nags at you, a missed opportunity for a peaceful solo drive. In a self-cursing moment, you rue your own kindness.
“Let me drive; I’m a better driver than you anyway.” Jimin declares with casual confidence, his tone carrying an air of nonchalance.
“Fuck off, Jimin!” you hiss, frustration dripping from your words like venom.
You squint against the relentless assault of heavy snow, the world outside morphing into an indistinct blur as visibility dwindles.
Your pace is deliberate, a cautious dance with the road, but after several minutes, you relent, succumbing to the inevitable by slowing down even further.
“Fine!” you declare, seizing the steering wheel in a determined clench, bringing the car to an abrupt halt.
You pivot your gaze towards Jimin, the words cutting through the tension, “You fucking drive then.”
Shifting the car into park, you unclip your seatbelt with a determined click, swing the door open, and brave the biting embrace of the freezing snowstorm outside.
In synchronized movements, Jimin mirrors your actions, and together, you step out into the frigid air. The two of you converge outside, a silent agreement palpable in the crunch of snow beneath your feet, as you navigate around the car, preparing to swap seats.
“If you crash my car, I’ll kill you.” you menace, venom seeping through your words as you stride past him, positioning yourself in front of the vehicle.
He nonchalantly shrugs his shoulders, a smug satisfaction evident in his demeanor, relishing the fact that you've conceded to let him take the wheel.
Jimin confidently eases his plump figure into the driver's seat, and you avert your gaze (definitely not looking!). With a self-assured demeanor, he expertly adjusts the seat to accommodate his frame.
You attempt to thaw your chilled hands under the blast of hot air from the air conditioner, the sour mood hanging heavy around you as you settle into the passenger seat, donning a visible pout.
“Relax, I’m not gonna crash your precious car,” he teases, the playfulness evident in his voice, just before smoothly shifting the car into gear and forging ahead.
In response, a huff escapes your lips, arms instinctively crossing in a silent declaration of your lingering displeasure.
You surrender to a sense of ease as Jimin takes the wheel, his deliberate pace aligning with caution. It's a mutual understanding — in this snow-laden terrain, slow and steady becomes a shared creed for safety.
The once teasing atmosphere now gives way to palpable tension, the air thick with the weight of swirling snow that has intensified. Jimin, too, struggles visibly against the heavier onslaught, the challenge of navigating through the snow turning the car into a place of shared unease.
Your gaze fixates on Jimin, observing as his fingers clench the steering wheel with a tension mirroring your own, and his shoulders stiffen in sync. A chuckle escapes you, unexpectedly audible, as you notice the ironic similarity between his reaction and your earlier demeanor.
“What’s so funny?” Jimin spits, the tension reverberating unmistakably in his voice, each word a note in the symphony of strained emotions.
“Your driving,” you start to chuckle, the amusement laced with a hint of mischief.
“You're not exactly outclassing my skills,” you declare, sinking into the seat with a self-assured smirk, relishing the satisfaction of your own driving prowess.
“You’re a fucking brat, you know that?” he seethes, the words charged with anger, his gaze sharply turning towards you, locking onto your eyes.
Despite Jimin's cautious speed, the car subtly veers, casting doubt on whether you're still on the road or lost in the oblivion of the thick snow. The blinding white landscape offers no clarity, leaving you uncertain and immersed in a disorienting wintry haze.
“I can’t see fucking shit!” he exclaims, abruptly bringing the car to a halt and cutting the engine in an instant, plunging you both into an eerie silence amid the obscured surroundings.
Your gaze locks onto him, urgency etched across your face. “What are you doing? We've got Seokjin's Christmas party in less than an hour!” The frustration in your voice reverberates, a ticking clock amplifying the stakes of the impending deadline.
“It’s not safe to drive in this freaking snowstorm!” he bellows in response, frustration escalating in his voice, punctuated by the sharp flick of the hazard warning lights, signaling the urgency and danger of the situation.
“I just want to get there already. I'd rather not be stuck with you,” you seethe, teeth gritted, a visible huff escaping in a cloud of anger. The tension hangs heavy, fueled by the biting words that linger in the now frosty air.
“Like I'd willingly be stuck with your sour attitude,” he retorts, his gaze sweeping you from head to toe for some inscrutable reason. “I don't even like you,” he declares, the words loaded with an unspoken tension that hangs in the frosty air between you two.
You gape at him, the bitter truth resonating in the air—an unspoken agreement that neither of you harbors any liking for the other. The animosity between you has solidified into a hostile dynamic, despite the shared circle of friends that consistently throws you together, much to your enduring displeasure.
Jimin exudes an infuriating level of cockiness, ceaselessly pushing your buttons and expertly tapping into the art of annoyance until it feels like your nerves are unraveling at his mere presence.
You'd willingly brave the biting cold rather than endure the prospect of an unpredictable future confined with him inside the car. Fate seems to revel in mocking you, as the car rapidly succumbs to the encroaching chill, each passing minute intensifying the unwelcome cold that now permeates the confined space.
You clutch your arms tightly around your body, desperately running your hands up and down in a futile attempt to gather some warmth. A curse slips from your lips as you question your own sanity—why in the world did you take off your jacket for the drive? Now it's trapped in the damn trunk, and the thought of braving the freezing cold to retrieve it is utterly unappealing.
“Cold?” he chuckles, the sound carrying an edge of amusement that only amplifies the chill sinking into your bones.
You nod your head.
“Well, I’m not giving you my jacket,” he states matter-of-factly, cocooning himself in the evident warmth of his puffer jacket. Damn Park Jimin and his infuriating nonchalance, he's truly a master of being a jerk!
“Can't even manage a simple act of kindness,” you mutter with disdain, the words escaping in a sharp hiss, a low and almost grumbling tone, accompanied by a dismissive eye roll.
“What's that?” he asks, a smirk playing on his lips, relishing the snug warmth of his jacket while you shiver in the cold.
“Fuck you, Park!” you shout directly in his face, your words laced with frustration. Instead of a retort, he just chuckles, the sound taking on a manic edge that lingers in the frosty air, leaving an unsettling resonance to your heated exchange.
An indeterminate amount of time slips away, lost in the relentless snowfall that shows no sign of relenting. Frustration building, you reach for your phone and decide to text Seokjin, realizing that this damn snow isn't planning on letting up anytime soon.
You [15.42]: Stuck in a snowstorm with fucking Park Jimin. I don’t know when we’ll arrive 🙄
Jin [15.48]: Just stay safe 😂
Fuck Seokjin! You’re convinced that he’s somewhere enjoying a good laugh at your misfortune.
A surge of realization hits you like a bolt of inspiration—there's a blanket tucked away in the backseat. Swiftly moving up, you make your way to the center console.
“What’re you doing?” Jimin questions, his curiosity evident in the quirk of his eyebrow as you navigate over the center console, leaving him bewildered by your sudden, mysterious movements.
“There's a blanket back here,” you announce triumphantly, finally laying hands on the sought-after comfort. With a satisfying plop into the seat, you tug the blanket snugly over your cold body, a gesture that transforms the atmosphere within the car from chilly discomfort to a brief oasis of warmth.
After a few contemplative minutes, Jimin breaks the silence with a question that hangs in the air, “Mind if I join you?”
Your mouth falls agape, and your eyes widen in astonishment at his unexpected question. Collecting yourself, you respond with a hint of sarcasm, “You weren't keen on sharing your jacket with me. What makes you think I'd be willing to share my blanket with you?” The tension between you and Jimin escalates with each word, hanging palpably in the cold air.
Without a pause for your response, he defies the silence, navigating over the center console with the same determined crawl you had exhibited moments before. The unspoken tension between you both amplifies, turning the confined space into an arena of silent rivalry.
Seated beside you, he makes a grab for the blanket cocooning your shivering form. Resolute, you refuse to surrender it, your hands engaging in a tug of war with him.
“Share, you brat,” he hisses with a mix of irritation and amusement, his determination evident in the forceful tug at the blanket.
“No!” you hiss back defiantly, the word laced with a stubborn refusal as you hold your ground.
With a forceful yank, he wrenches the blanket from your grasp, and in the struggle, he ends up with it draped across his lap. The victorious outcome of the skirmish leaves a charged atmosphere between you and Jimin, the warmth of the blanket now a coveted prize in his possession.
A triumphant smirk plays on his lips as he envelops himself in the captured blanket. His eyes lock onto your moping expression before descending further, a mischievous gleam indicating that his victory goes beyond the simple conquest of the blanket.
“I can totally see your nipples,” he chuckles.
You glance down, and sure enough, your nipples stand out against the satin material of your dress. Swiftly, you react, pressing your hands over your breasts in a sudden move to conceal their visibility.
“Why the fuck are you look at my tits?” you yell at him, your frustration audible, but he merely chuckles in response.
“You must really be freezing, huh?” he observes, and you simply nod in agreement, a silent acknowledgment of the biting cold that permeates the confined space.
“I can warm you up,” he suggests with a playful wink, both eyes and eyebrows conspiring in unison. The underlying implication of his words hangs in the air, and you instantly grasp the nature of his playful proposition.
“I'm not that desperate, Park,” you scoff with a hint of disgust, the rejection laced with a prideful undertone. In response, he simply chuckles, finding amusement in your candid dismissal.
Following his suggestive remark, an electric charge seems to surge through the atmosphere in the car. Your mind involuntarily races, envisioning the prospect of warming up next to him, his hands tracing every contour of your body, his di—
Stop. You admonish yourself sternly, a mental command to cease the vivid thoughts involving him. He's your enemy, you remind yourself, emphasizing the intense dislike you harbor for Park Jimin. The internal conflict heightens, the struggle between attraction and animosity weaving a complex web within your mind.
His chuckle resonates beside you, a sound that grates on your nerves. Irritation mounts, and you sharply turn your head towards him, your annoyance evident in the flicker of your gaze.
“Need help?” he inquires, his gaze suddenly deepening, the darkness in his eyes unveiling a subtle intensity that lingers in the air.
“With what?” you spit back at him, the confusion evident in your tone.
“You're grinding against the seat,” he bluntly points out, his gaze fixed on your crotch. You glance down, discovering your unconscious movement against the fabric of the seat. A sudden realization dawns, and an expletive slips from your lips.
A wave of discomfort washes over you, an intense desire to squirm and disappear into the ground, engulfed by the embarrassment that now saturates the air. The profound sense of shame hangs heavy, making the moment so excruciatingly humiliating.
You inhale sharply, drawing in a breath that seems to shudder through you, and with a deliberate move, you roll your hips once more.
“No…” you murmur, the word escaping with a shaky uncertainty that even your own ears can detect.
Jimin scoots closer to you, the warmth radiating from his body sending sparks that seem to dance through yours.
He leans into you, his mouth dangerously close to your ear, and in a breathy whisper, he offers, “I can help you with that.”
His words alone send a jolt through your body, a sudden tightening that ignites a fiery sensation. Damn it. The internal conflict and desire entwine, creating a tumultuous storm within you in the presence of him. It's undeniable—your entire being yearns for the touch you never thought you'd crave.
His warm hand finds its way to your thigh, and a low moan escapes your lips at the contact. Fuck.
His hand ventures down to the hem of your dress, grabbing and pulling it back to expose more of your thighs. A shiver runs down your spine as the cold air embraces your newly exposed skin, and a hiss escapes your lips. However, the sensation is quickly replaced by a different kind of warmth as his hand cups your clothed core. A breathless expletive escapes your lips, leaving your mind in a blissful blank state.
Instantly, you feel the warmth of his hand intimately against you, and your head falls back against the seat involuntarily. A soft gasp escapes your lips as you respond to the touch, unable to resist rolling your hips into the sensation.
“You’re needy,” he breathes against your ear, the words carrying a provocative weight that reverberates through you.
His warm breath sends a cascade of shivers down your spine, clouding your thoughts in a haze of desire. The desire for release intensifies, eclipsing any reservations you may have about seeking it from your mortal enemy.
“Shut up and just touch me,” you utter in frustration, the words punctuated by the deliberate grind of your hips into his hand, a desperate quest for any kind of friction. You're acutely aware of the desperation seeping through your actions, but at this moment, you don’t give a fuck.
And touch you he does. His fingers begin to rub your clit over the fabric of your panties, and you don't hold back your moans.
Your hips gyrate, a rhythmic dance in pursuit of your impending orgasm. The sensation builds rapidly, a cascade of pleasure on the brink. The question lingers in your mind—why does your body respond so eagerly to his touch?
He tugs your panties to the side, his touch on your clit eliciting a gasp of pleasure from your lips. The warmth of his fingers against your skin amplifies the sensation, and you're already soaked.
“You're so wet already,” he chuckles against your ear, his lips teasingly grazing your skin. The desire to retaliate surges within you, but then, with a sudden and deliberate movement, one of his fingers enters your pussy, stealing your breath away.
He skillfully fingers you with one finger, the motion of his wrist simultaneously stroking against your clit, creating a sensation that's nothing short of delicious. The desire for more intensifies, an insatiable craving building within you.
“More,” you breathe, your voice escaping chapped and laden with a raw, lustful edge.
Jimin adds one more digit, and you relish in the precision with which he finds your soft spot, hitting it perfectly.
“Are you gonna come on my fingers?” he whispers in your ear, the suggestive question sending an instant jolt through your body, a yearning for more.
A throaty moan escapes your lips as you willingly spread your legs wider, granting him more space.
He deftly introduces a third finger into you, and you feel yourself losing control, swept away by the overwhelming pleasure. It's already so good—how is he so skilled with his fingers?
The way he skillfully uses his fingers inside you while simultaneously rubbing your clit with his wrist propels you relentlessly toward the precipice of climax. The knot in your stomach tightens, and you're on the verge of that intoxicating release.
“Jimin, fuck. I'm gonna come soon,” you pant, the urgency in your voice underscored by the rhythmic grind of your pussy against his hand.
He accelerates the pace of his fingers inside you, bringing you to the brink, but just as your body teeters on the edge of release, he abruptly withdraws his fingers and hand altogether.
His fingers and hand vanish, leaving you hanging on the precipice of your orgasm. The abrupt absence intensifies the frustration and desire you feel surge through your body. Fuck!
Your legs tremble beneath you, and a frustrated hiss escapes your lips as you pant for breath.
“You didn't want to share the blanket,” he spews, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he revels in your evident frustration.
You're on the verge of tears, overwhelmed with anger. The desperate desire for release compounds the emotional turmoil within you. The audacity of him! The frustration boils over, cementing Jimin as nothing short of a fucking jerk in your mind.
“I'm not letting you come unless you beg for it,” he adds in a smug voice, a smirk playing on his lips as he purposefully puts some distance between you.
You can't believe him. The brink of pleasure was within reach—just a few more rubs and you would have unraveled on his fingers. The yearning is palpable, a frustrating ache that intensifies with each passing moment.
You growl at him, caught in a heated internal debate about whether to plead with him or not.
Your pussy clenches around emptiness, a visceral reminder of your desperation.
“Please, Jimin. Please let me come,” you implore, locking eyes with him and turning your body toward him. The desperation in your gaze is palpable. Almost inadvertently, you press your chest closer, your stiff nipples drawing his gaze downward.
He licks his lips teasingly, a wicked glint in his eyes, before seizing your hips and drawing you irresistibly toward him. With a swift yet controlled motion, he manipulates your body, guiding you to lie on the seat. As you settle into the unexpected position, he chuckles at the genuine confusion etched across your face.
“Because you asked so nicely,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with sarcasm, and in a bold move, he shoves your dress up to your stomach. With swift precision, he snatches your panties, sliding them down your legs. “I'll give you what you want.”
He discards your panties with a deliberate flick, his focus unwavering as he plunges down to your throbbing pussy. There's no hesitation; he immediately delves into licking at your folds and clit with a hunger that matches your own.
Your body instinctively arches off the length of the seat, a wave of pleasure coursing through you. It feels unbelievably good. In the heat of the moment, your hands find his hair, fingers gripping and pulling at the strands, eliciting a guttural groan from him.
Your muscles tighten, and the echoes of the previous orgasm, forcefully ripped from you, return with an intensity that feels tenfold. Each breath is a furious pant as he continues to lap at your folds, the relentless pleasure building and intertwining with your gasps.
Then, with a skillful touch, he adds a finger to your clit, rubbing it in tantalizing circles. Your senses heighten, and just as you succumb to the pleasure, he skillfully continues to ravish your entrance with his tongue.
“Jimin!” you scream his name, a raw and unrestrained cry escaping your lips as you reach the peak of ecstasy on his tongue. Your body tightens, toes curling, and you involuntarily hitch your heels against his legs. In the throes of pleasure, your vision blurs, and you fight for air.
He chuckles, a throaty sound that reverberates in the aftermath of your high. Not giving you a moment to fully come down, he skillfully inserts two of his fingers inside you, drawing a hiss from your lips at the touch—your body rendered oversensitive.
He extends his fingers, proudly displaying them, glistening with your intimate juices. A wicked glint in his eyes, he issues a command, “Clean them.”
You meet his gaze defiantly, a spark of challenge in your eyes, before obediently rising to carry out his command. Taking hold of his hand, you sensually draw his slick digits into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them like a provocative dance. Your eyes lock onto his, witnessing the raw desire in his gaze as you release his fingers with an audible ‘pop’.
“I hate you,” you declare, breathless, the words carrying a mixture of frustration and desire. His response is a low chuckle, his perceptive gaze catching the teasing glint in your eyes.
He leans back, a provocative smirk playing on his lips, and starts palming himself through his dress pants. Your eyes involuntarily follow the movement of his hands, and a jolt of desire courses through you as you realize he's already rock hard. The unmistakable bulge strains against his pants, a visual testament to the arousal simmering between you two.
“I can help you with that,” you purr, a sultry promise lingering in your eyes, eager to reciprocate the pleasure.
He chuckles, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and smoothly turns his body to fully face you. With a teasing smirk, he unzips his pants, skillfully pulling down both his trousers and underwear enough to liberate his hardened dick.
His cock springs free, defiantly brushing against the bottom of his loosened tie, a sight that's undeniably tantalizing. Perfectly sculpted, it's veiny and slightly flushed at the tip, mirroring the allure of every inch of him. A surge of conflicting emotions overwhelms you – the hate, the desire, the acknowledgment of his undeniable appeal. You despise how effortlessly good-looking he is, from the tousled blonde locks to those lips you now crave to taste.
However, your gaze returns to his dick, noting its average size but with a satisfying girth that catches your attention. A subtle hint of anticipation flickers in your eyes, and your tongue instinctively darts out to moisten your lips.
“Then get to work,” he pants, a breathy command, as he sensually spreads his legs, creating an inviting space for you.
You descend eagerly, ensuring your mouth is generously coated with saliva before you engulf him, starting with just the tip.
He hisses the moment your lips meet his dick, his head instinctively colliding with the window behind him, an involuntary exclamation escaping, “Ah, fuck.”
You engulf more of him, your mouth descending entirely, and the sound of his primal moan reverberates in response. You add a sultry hum, a note of satisfaction coursing through you.
You initiate a slow, deliberate pace, skillfully sucking him off, and anything beyond your mouth's capacity, you sensually stroke with your hand.
His hands seek out your hair, effortlessly capturing the neatly arranged high ponytail that he grasps with a possessive confidence.
You revel in the subtle tension, accelerating your descent on him with a newfound urgency. Your tongue skillfully traces intricate patterns, dancing across his tip and the sensitive folds of his frenulum.
He moans in ecstasy as you withdraw with a satisfying ‘pop,’ only to treat the head of his throbbing dick like a tempting lollipop, your tongue swirling around it with deliberate sensuality.
As you glance up at him, he appears utterly lost in the moment. His eyes, once vibrant, are now dilated orbs of desire, his parted lips releasing audible breaths. The state of bliss enveloping him transforms his features into a breathtaking display of vulnerability and beauty.
You envelop him once more, relishing the subtle tremor that courses through him, a tangible response to the sensations you're skillfully orchestrating with your lips and tongue.
He yanks you away from him, his voice a raw whisper laden with desire, “I want to fuck you.”
You prop yourself up, captivated by the transformation before you. The usual arrogant Park Jimin is replaced by this vulnerable, needy version, and against your better judgment, a desperate craving for him builds inside you. You ache for him to consume you entirely.
A mischievous smirk plays on your lips as you echo his earlier taunts, “Beg for it,” you challenge, aware of the palpable tension between you, a shared desire pulsating in the charged air.
A low, throaty chuckle escapes him as his fingers glide through the tousled strands of his blonde hair, a mixture of frustration and amusement dancing in his eyes. “You’re really a fucking brat,” he hisses, a smirk playing on his lips.
He sits up, a subtle smirk playing on his lips as he sheds his open jacket, the confined warmth of the car now turning uncomfortably sweltering. You can't help but acknowledge the irony; at least you're not freezing anymore, which, after all, was the primary objective of this unexpected detour, wasn't it?
“Please let me fuck you,” his plea hangs in the air, a desperate echo of your own request, and you can't help but chuckle, slowly crawling closer to him.
“Turn around, let me straddle you. Leaning against the headrest will give us more space,” you suggest, and he shifts in an instant, his arousal evident in the casual sway of his dick with each movement.
Then you confidently straddle him, your hand instinctively reaching for his dick, guiding him to align perfectly with your eager entrance.
Before you lower yourself onto him, you sensually trail his dick through your wetness, relishing in the intimate friction. A moan escapes your lips as you then descend onto his lap in one smooth, sultry motion.
The exquisite stretch sends a shiver down your spine, and he effortlessly glides in, eliciting a breathless ‘Fuck!’ from your lips.
As your hands find their place on his shoulders for support, his eyes, now hooded, follow your every movement as you begin to ride him with a rhythm that echoes the passion pulsing between you.
You pant furiously, your breath hot against his face. The sensation of him inside you is nothing short of heavenly, an electrifying connection that feels as if every contour of him aligns perfectly with every curve of your pussy.
“Ah,” ecstasy courses through you with each fervent bounce on his throbbing length, a harmonious rhythm of pleasure escaping your lips in breathless gasps.
“You’re so tight,” his ragged breaths synchronize with the rhythmic clench of your walls, his hands anchoring to your hips, adding an electrifying intensity to each blissful plunge into your velvet warmth.
Between gasps, you manage to growl, “Fuck. I hate you,” only to be met with his deep, throaty chuckle as he continues the relentless rhythm of his thrusts, each one a tumultuous clash of conflicting desires.
Amidst heavy breaths, he accuses, “I know you're lying,” his words punctuated by the rhythmic tempo of his panting. Undeterred, he leans in for a searing kiss, his lips caressing yours with a softness akin to pillows. Your defenses crumble as you melt into his touch, tongues colliding in a fervent dance that defies the lingering tension.
“Why is it that you feel so damn good?” you gasp, interrupting the kiss only to plunge back into its intoxicating depths. Each moment spent in his embrace feels like a surrender to a passionate whirlwind. His every thrust reverberates through you, sending electrifying shivers down your spine, an exquisite dance of pleasure and desire that you find impossible to resist.
“Perhaps I should prolong your climax, just as you did to me?” you purr with a mischievous smirk playing on your lips, resurrecting the playful brat within you.
He chuckles, his hands leaving the curve of your hips to gracefully undo his tie at his neck. Your gaze fixates on him, observing each deliberate move as he frees himself from the constriction of the tie, all while you continue to ride him with an unabashed hunger.
“You really are a fucking brat,” he mutters, the corners of his lips quirking into a sly smile as he pulls off his tie. “Now, shut up,” he commands, silencing any potential retorts by expertly stuffing the tie into your open, protesting mouth.
You yield to the makeshift gag, sinking your teeth into the fabric, muffling the symphony of your own desperate moans.
A smirk plays on his lips as his hands reclaim your hips, commanding, “Now take it like the fucking brat that you are.”
His movements become a relentless rhythm, thrusting deep inside you. All you can do is cling to his shoulders, swept away by the force of his desire.
Ecstasy courses through you, and you can't help but moan into the fabric of his tie. It feels too damn good to contain.
His voice drips with satisfaction as he senses your walls tightening around him, and a smug grin plays on his lips. “You like that, huh?”
A guttural moan escapes your lips in response, the crescendo of pleasure building, and you sense the impending climax drawing near.
“Fuck yourself on my dick,” his command hangs in the air, thick with desire, as his hands abandon your hips, embarking on a journey down your back. With a swift motion, he unzips your dress, letting it cascade down your shoulders.
Your naked breasts dances to the rhythm of his powerful thrusts, an erotic ballet of passion and desire.
“Fuck. You’re not wearing a bra, just like I thought,” his eyes widen in delighted surprise, a devilish grin playing on his lips. His hands eagerly exploring the contours of your exposed tits.
His words hang in the air, sending a shiver down your spine. “Your tits are beautiful,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing delicate patterns around your stiffened nipples. Your body reacts instinctively, a primal moan escaping through the tie as desire courses through you.
Every grind and movement becomes a challenge as he expertly tweaks and pulls at your nipples, sending waves of pleasure and distraction through your body. You fight to maintain a rhythm, desperately trying to pleasure yourself on his dick amidst the electrifying sensations dancing across your chest.
As your walls clench around him, a whirlwind of sensations floods your body, signaling that the peak of pleasure is just a breath away. Every nerve is on edge, and the anticipation of an imminent climax tingles through you, a storm about to erupt.
As he skillfully massages your tits, he breathlessly teases, “You’re gonna come, aren’t you?” his words send shivers down your spine, intensifying the pleasure that's building within you.
With a fervent nod, you surrender to the sensations, your muffled moans echoing through the tie as pleasure courses through every inch of your being.
As he plunges into you, he urges you with a guttural command, “Cream my cock, brat.” The raw desire in his voice fuels the intensity of your connection, igniting a blaze of passion.
Overwhelmed by desire, his dick finding every exquisite spot within you, you unleash a guttural moan, your pleasure echoing into the fabric of the tie as you climax on his pulsating cock.
Jimin's fingers twist around your hardened nipples, sending electric shocks of ecstasy through your body. A guttural exclamation escapes your lips, muffled by the tie, as pleasure courses through every fiber of your being.
He pounds into you relentlessly, the rhythm building towards an intense climax. His hands firmly grip your hips, fingers digging into your flesh as he desperately seeks his own release.
He reaches the peak of ecstasy, his body shuddering with the force of his release as he spills into the warmth of your pussy.
Heaving for breath, the silence between you two speaks volumes, a shared understanding lingering in the air as you descend from the euphoric heights of your climaxes.
Collapsing onto his chest, you revel in the soothing aftermath, liberated from the restraint of his tie. As his body relaxes within you, the intimacy lingers, a tangible connection forged in the heat of passion.
His lips graze your neck with a gentle touch, igniting a cascade of thoughts about the significance behind this tender gesture.
As laughter fills the air, shattering the lingering tension, your attention shifts to the foggy windows and the oppressive heaviness in the car, making each breath a deliberate act.
As you hastily redress, Jimin slips into his jacket and steps out of the car, retrieving your coat from the trunk. With a gentle handoff, he passes it to you, and you quickly slip into its comforting warmth.
“Thank you,” your gratitude escapes in a hushed whisper, laden with a touch of bewilderment. The encounter, while undeniably electrifying, leaves you grappling with conflicting emotions. It's Park Jimin, your sworn adversary, and the intensity of the shared moment hangs between you, a paradox of pleasure and rivalry.
“You’re welcome,” his response carries a self-assured smirk, echoing the lingering traces of the shared intimacy. As he confidently returns to the driver's seat, you mirror his actions, settling into the passenger's seat, both enveloped in a charged silence that speaks volumes.
The snowfall has eased, no longer as relentless as before. A subtle nostalgia creeps in as you reflect on his desire to keep you warm. The gentle flakes now fall, leaving you yearning for the lingering warmth of his touch.
As he revs the engine to life, a gust of chilly air sweeps through the car, causing you to emit an involuntary grunt. His chuckle fills the cabin, accompanied by a smirk and a teasing wink. “I can warm you up anytime,”
You shoot him a moping gaze, wondering if he has a knack for deciphering your thoughts. Can he sense the magnetic pull, the unspoken attraction that mirrors your own inner turmoil?
You return his smile, a silent agreement resonating between you as he steers the car forward, setting the wheels and unspoken possibilities in motion.
Three hours fashionably late, you finally arrive at Seokjin's Christmas party. The distant hum of music greets you as you step out of the car, signaling that the celebration is already in full swing.
As you rap your knuckles against the door, you steal a glance at Jimin who's busy adjusting his attire. His fingers deftly tighten the knot of his tie, and his pants get a quick, inconspicuous tug into place.
As Seokjin swings the door open, a tantalizing waft of mouthwatering aromas envelops your senses, instantly sparking a smile on your face.
Seokjin's laughter echoes as he playfully accuses, “You fucked Jimin!” and your jaw drops in disbelief to the floor.
#jimin x reader#pjm x reader#bts x reader#bts fanfiction#bts smut#the winter collection series#reader: female#au: enemies to lovers#theme: winter#theme: christmas#vibe: comedy#vibe: smutty
701 notes
·
View notes
Text
Rust is my most hated nemesis. I have stared more than once into the crumbling mess of red death that was, long ago, a pristine steel panel. Many evenings have been spent cutting out rust, only to find more rust, and cutting out that rust only to find yet more rust. Everything on my car is actively trying to return to the earth, but I won't let it.
Maybe you're lucky enough to only own new cars, or so absolutely fortunate that you live somewhere that cars don't rust even when they get scratched. If that's the case, you can pretend that the rest of this story is actually talking about croissants. Croissants are delicious, rich, and buttery, and I'd probably have learned how to make them myself if I didn't spend what my Daytimer® estimates is three-quarters of my waking life fixing body and structural rust on my harem of shitbox cars.
For years, car folks have been lured by a series of snake-oil paints, oils, dyes, dips, and other formulations that promise to help prevent rust. Virtually all of them are horseshit: elaborate scams produced by an industry that knows they have a desperate customer, just like parachute companies. The most effective rust prevention is to hose your car down with lanolin, which is a sort of wax you make by crushing up sheep. It works well, but the trick is doing it every year, forever, perfectly, until you miss a spot and your car disintegrates at highway speed, like a sand castle being hit by an errant volleyball.
If you talk to someone rich, they propose simply driving a bad car in the winter, and keeping your good cars cooped up. This is impossible for me: not only do I have exclusively what the rich would call "bad" cars, but I feel shrieking agony every time I am destroying any vehicle at all through my carelessness and malice. That is, of course, unless I am racing the car, in which case it is understood by all involved that dying in battle is the most noble way for the car to ascend to Valhalla. There is no honour in scrapping a car because the rear subframe prolapsed on your way to work, so I enter my most precarious vehicles in ice racing in order to give them a good end-of-life experience.
Unfortunately, it turns out that the gaping rust holes reducing the weight of the chassis, and my devil-may-care attitude bumping rivals off the lake in fact is the secret formula to produce winning race cars. Now, I'm not as rich as your Inoues or your Sennas, but the $50 gift certificates to the local tire place really add up. I hear they've got anti-rust underbody spray, which seems like a good thing to do to whatever chunks of cars I can frantically weld together this summer in the few weeks before the leaves turn again. The cycle of life.
266 notes
·
View notes
Note
do you have any mech pilot oc's
Yes! I actually have an entire Mech pilot setting that I’ve been wanting to write about for a while. And since I can’t think of a better opportunity to talk about it I’ll do that here. Warning for lots of text and infodumping below, also all of this was originally an idea for a novel so if this sounds a bit like reading the back of a book or like the setup to something that’s why
The story takes place in an huge city in America, where the entrepreneur who invented* zero gravity technology got so wealthy off of it that he decided to build an enormous tower that now has 7 ringed districts floating around it, with each one getting more wealthy and fancy the higher up the rings go. Besides its bizarre structure, the city’s other claims to fame are being the birthplace of Mechs that use zero g technology to function efficiently and being the place where Mech combat as a sport, which is played in large zero g arenas, is played. Mech combat is primarily a sport in this setting, although combat Mechs do exist that are used by the oppressive US police forces and militaries (it’s a bit of a dystopian setting) but the focus is primarily on the sport part in the story I want to write. There are also Mechs used for construction and other practical uses.
The main character of said story, Wormgear, is a mech mechanic who lives in “the underworld” which is the poor city that is beneath the floating ring districts. Wormgear grew up in her moms’ mechanic shop learning directly from her mothers how to be a mechanic for servicing primarily construction mechs and other vehicles. When one of her moms caught a lucky break and got an offer to move to another city to work for a big construction vehicle company, their moms moved away, while they stayed behind and took over the shop. Living alone and working in a poor part of the city, they struggled to make ends meet servicing just construction Mechs and transport vehicles, but once she found her way into being a mechanic for Mechs used in underground illegal combat sport that is even more dangerous than the official leagues played up on the rings, she finally found her true calling. She built her own Mech and became a successful underground prize fighter while also advertising her business to everyone in the scene. Things are going well enough for her, until a masked stranger in a machine far fancier than most underground fighting Mechs shows up and starts dominating the scene. After one particularly grueling match, when Wormgear gets back to her shop, she’s surprised to find the masked stranger in here garage.
Penelope Darlington, is the daughter of a wealthy businessman who had early on invested heavily into the zero-g corporation that now owns the entire city and the technology used in half the machines in the country. Being passionate about the gravmech sport, her father invested all the best training and equipment in the world for his son to be one of best pilots in history, and when said beloved son changed her gender and began going by the pilot moniker “Darling” it was such a good idea for her personal brand that he never even thought of opposing her. Now a national celebrity and a rising star predicted to earn titles and break records in the sport, Penelope should have had everything she ever wanted. But when the off-season comes and she can’t get that exhilarating thrill of piloting, the boredom drives her to do something stupid and illegal. Anonymously commissioning the creation of a new Mech, she enters the gravmech underworld with a mask and a pseudonym. She had never anticipated that anything would go wrong with her plan, and after weeks of wiping the floor with her competition without a scratch on her paint she got too comfortable, and some punk in a hunk of scrap landed a blow that disabled some of her engines. She didn’t lose, but she now needed to find a mechanic that could be discreet. Following the advice of someone in the scene, she found herself in a Mech garage of the very punk who damaged her precious machine in the first place, and what’s worse is the lifts to the higher levels are shut down this late at night!
Gonna stop my early plot synopsis there I think. If you couldn’t guess from everything I wrote here, these are my lesbian mecha pilot ocs who I love very much and hope to be able to actually write the story for some day when I can actually finish or even just continue working on a writing project for once.
#mecha#mech#mech pilot#gravmech#<- my new tag for this concept in case I ever post about it again#Wormgear#Penelope Darlington#darling
105 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hello! I'm looking for an RPG that's set underground with a focus on mining and modern vehicles/technology, in the vein of Lego Rock Raiders and Power Miners. If nothing comes to mind, any systems you know that you think might be easily adapted to an underground mining setting works too!
THEME: Mining, Technology, Underground.
Hello there! I've got a few solo and a few multiplayer options for you, some about mining, some about tech, and some that might have to be tweaked but I think could still fit the bill!
Stoneburner, by Fari RPGs.
In his will, Brokur has bequeathed to you the cursed mines of the Long Belt, its dilapidated settlement, and the leadership of House Grandrock.
However, other dwarf houses seek to overthrow you and take control of the valuable minerals hidden deep within those cold tunnels.
To complicate matters further, most of the mines’ galleries are haunted by fire spitting demons from the underworld.
Cleanse. Rebuild. Survive.
Stoneburner is a sci-fantasy solo-friendly demon-hunting community-building tabletop role-playing game.
Inspired by the new school revolution movement, players take on the role of a group of dwarves who must assume control of a demon haunted mine, along with its accompanying settlement. A settlement which they inherited after the death of their distant relative. The game focuses on the dwarves' journey as they navigate the challenges of their new responsibilities, rebuild a new thriving community, and clear the mine of its fire spitting monsters.
Technically the mines of Stoneburner are in space, rather than underground, but I think there’s going to be some similarities nevertheless. The game is a combination of combat, survival and base-building, using the items that you find to create things that will help you hold your own. There’s machine upgrades, expeditions across a map, and problems that will show up every time you take a break. I think it’s definitely worth checking out!
Robo Goons, by Unknown Dungeon.
It is the distant future, humanity has disappeared from the surface of the Earth, and nature has taken back the planet. All that remains are overgrown man-made structures returned to the wild, vicious beasts that stalk the surface, and sentient robots who pick through the ruins of civilization for salvage. You are one such robot.
Robo-Goons is a lightweight, tabletop adventure game where the players take control of randomly generated robots and explore the ruins of humanity in search of upgrades and salvage. The core rules fit on a single page and all that's required is a pencil and paper, two six-sided dice, and some friends to play with.
Robo Goons uses the setting of a ruined civilization, with an added detail that your robots have solar batteries that need to be re-charged. If your robots are continuously salvaging from underground, or even just beneath heaps of scrap, then you have a natural cycle of going down and up again, giving you breaks as you play. The game also comes with a map, which represents the ruins that your robots will explore, with plenty of roll-tables to determine what kinds of places they’re exploring, and what threats might show up.
Astro Miners, by 7 Card Stud.
Astro Miners is a TTRPG about mining in space.
You are an robotic mining worker with a human brain. The only problem is your brain was wiped of all memory. You don't remember your name, your old life, even your sexuality and gender are all lost. You are a robot.
If you can mine enough material you'll earn enough credits to regain your memory and buy your freedom from the company if you want.
Astro Miners is built for 3 players, but if you don’t mind doubling up on character classes, you can probably play with 4 or 5. Since the game is built on LUMEN, I’d expect your characters to be hyper-competent, with plenty of room for upgrading and customization. There are dropships that you can call in order to be able to sell things you’ve found and buy things you need, and you can also buy robots to help you carry things, fight things, illuminate dark areas and more!
Numenera: Destiny, by Monte Cook Games.
This is the Ninth World. The people of the prior worlds are gone—scattered, disappeared, or transcended. But their works remain, in the places and devices that still contain some germ of their original function. The ignorant call these magic, but the wise know that these are our legacy. They are our future. They are the Numenera.
Set a billion years in our future, Numenera is a tabletop roleplaying game about exploration and discovery. The people of the Ninth World suffer through a dark age, an era of isolation and struggle in the shadow of the ancient wonders crafted by civilizations millennia gone. But discovery awaits those brave enough to seek out the works of the prior worlds. Those who can uncover and master the numenera can unlock the powers and abilities of the ancients, and perhaps bring new light to a struggling world.
Discovery (the base game) is mostly about exploration, but Destiny, the biggest and most useful supplement, gives you character options for building and crafting, as well as plenty of interesting machines and vehicles for you to build and use. Numenera isn’t explicitly underground, nor is it about mining, but I think there are plenty of places within the world that you could start building an underground base in, or at least something similar.
DELVE and UMBRA, by Blackwell Writer.
DELVE: A Solo Map Drawing Game is a map drawing game that puts you in control of a dwarven hold as you discover the horrors that lurk below. This 44 page zine has everything you need to generate natural formations, forgotten ruins, enemies, wyrd magics, and ancient monstrosities. It has a simple turn-based combat system, rules for building your hold and optional challenges for a harder experience.
UMBRA: A Solo Game of Final Frontiers is a map drawing game that puts you in control of a sci-fi colony as you struggle against starvation, the void, and the many threats that will assail you from above and below. This 48 page zine has everything you need to generate natural formations, alien ruins, enemies, technologies, and forgotten terrors. It has a simple turn-based combat system, rules for building your colony and optional challenges for a harder experience.
DELVE firmly places itself in fantasy, but it is first and foremost a game about delving underground. In contrast, UMBRA is about mining in space, while fighting of alien threats. You draw cards from a deck of playing cards to find resources and discover landmarks, while combat takes the form of a tower-defense format. There are a lot of supplements available for DELVE, as well as a Cyberspace and a Stations expansion for UMBRA.
Other Games You Can Check Out
Underground, by emmy.
Dark Delve, by Fedmar.
32 notes
·
View notes
Text
Autograph
Log 2600.04
Rating: General Audiences
Characters: Ivan (Alien Stage), Till (Alien Stage)
Pairing: Ivan/Till
Summary: Ivan talks to a fan. He doesn’t know his name, he doesn’t know his face, but he does know he has a strange inclination towards losing things.
Personally, he finds him very delightful.
“—she saw it, I saw it, we all saw it. It looked like a segyein took a dump and rolled in it all across the platform. Really smeared it in. All the toilet paper got painted red.”
Ivan chuckled. Coincidentally, the marker that the artist was using seemed to be painted red as well, most likely as a result of the incident.
He raised his sugary drink and sipped from the straw. “I’m starting to notice a pattern.”
“That so?” The artist drawled, his head lowered at the sketchbook in his lap, his second one. The first one laid next to two cups of espresso, both emptied in a manner of minutes. It was a ratty thing, that book. All his books were. They preoccupied the artist’s attention, so direct eye contact was scarce. Ivan barely saw a glimpse of a light, blue-ish color in the shade of his hood. Teal, perhaps. It was really hard to tell.
He placed his drink down and leaned against the table. “You’re very careless with your belongings.”
“S’not my fault I got more important things to worry about.”
“Yes. Like your—“ An idea formed, and Ivan pulled a random sheet of paper out of the sketchbook. His companion guffawed, bony hands reaching for it, but to no avail. Now he could properly see all the shades of gray imbued into his skin, his eyes, his hair. If the hoodie he wore under his white, sleeveless jacket wasn’t maroon, Ivan wouldn’t have realized that his eyes are green. He tilted his head at his discovery with a pleased grin.
“Sheet music,” he flipped the page over, his gaze flying over the dreadful handwriting. “With the dullest bridge I’ve ever seen.”
“Shut up,” the artist snapped, his tone a little sharper than what he was used to hearing. Ivan was immediately addicted.
“Hm. The lyrics are off. Is this supposed to be a ballad?”
“Mind your fucking business.”
“Well, I’m proficient in ballads. If you need assistance—“
Finally, he snatched the paper out of his hands. Ivan let him.
“Your girl’s here,” he mumbled as he flipped the binder of his ancient sketchbook open and attached the ballad to a page with a crooked paper clip. So many drawings were attached in the same manner. It was really a shame he never showed off his work.
Ivan looked out at the street, and noticed his Guardian’s pristine white vehicle. He hadn’t even noticed how much time had passed.
“So she is.” Rising from his chair, he called out to the bartender to pay for their drinks. It was customary, and the artist never protested.
When all was said and done, Ivan offered the man a picture perfect smile, snaggletooth included. He wished he could offer something better, but the expression was long engraved into his facial muscles, too deep to be scraped off. “Thank you for your company. I hope to see you again some time.”
He pivoted on his heel, white coattails fluttering, until—
A grip on his wrist. A yellowed sheet of paper in his face.
Ivan blinked in confusion, then relaxed. He took up the artist’s pencil and the sketchbook, holding it carefully with his palm so his signature won’t end up too shaky. “I’m starting to think you’re auctioning these behind my back.”
“No, I’m—“ The artist’s thin lips twitched. His fingers readjusted the white, vandalized scrap of a jacket worn over his hoodie. His most eccentric piece of clothing, Ivan concluded. “Careless. I got careless. One got caught in the segyein shitstains. Acrylic. Whatever.”
“You’re lucky I enjoy doing this.” Ivan finished off his autograph with a flourish, cherishing the sketchbook’s texture before he handed it off. “Cheer up, sir, and good luck with your ballad.”
The artist didn’t respond to that. He never did.
As he entered the vehicle, Ivan leaned against the darkened glass to see him stagger forward, full of hesitation, only to bump into a rushing passerby. It took him no less than a millisecond to raise his middle finger and spout obscenities.
Ivan felt the silliest giggle bubble out of his throat. What a funny man.
“You should report him.”
His head swiveled to look at his co-passenger. Sua’s empty eyes stared through the glass, glued to the hooded artist as he shuffled his sneakers in the street and pulled at the seams of his fingerless gloves. “He’s been stalking you for two weeks now.”
“I know,” Ivan grinned. “I’m flattered.”
Sua’s fine brow lowered to her eyelids, a rare wrinkle rising on her temple. “He still has a gun in his backpack.”
He did. He never appeared without it.
His presence was consistent at Ivan’s favorite café. In spite of the place he claimed for himself, his silhouette smeared the small establishment like a splatter of paint. Ivan found the sight strangely mesmerizing, and he continued to stare long after the scenery in the window changed.
Sighing, Ivan hooked his arms above his head, shifting to one side, then another. He hadn’t stretched in the last two hours he’d been sitting in that café. His side was stinging again.
“He’s not dangerous. Just lonely,” Ivan said with confidence as he pulled out a black marker out of his coat’s pocket. The red acrylic on its surface chipped a little. Red flakes stuck to his fingertips.
“I should really bribe him for a name one day.”
34 notes
·
View notes
Text
lmao I have so many au's for this funky lil guy
Bike au! bike au! bike au! bike au! bike au! :D (please forgive any spelling/grammar mistakes)
Don't ask me how I drew the bike, I was like 'hey why not use the select tool and gradient tool?' and then I blacked out for a few hours and when I awoke there was a bike on the page. I should probably drop some lore with this too.
So the scarab is still an alien that came to earth, but it was attached to -essentially- an accompanying spacecraft which the scarab is directly linked to. Unlike the movie, the scarab/bike was claimed by Victoria Kord almost immediately after Ted Kord died, and she attempted to reverse engineer it for her own interests. Unfortunately for her, the scarab was completely unresponsive to external stimulus and no tools were advanced enough to take apart the scarab/bike. There was only one instance of the mechanisms reacting to something, and that was long ago -before Kord industries was established- and they weren't able to get even an understanding of this alien technology at the time. And no matter how persistent Victoria Kord is, she isn't able to do anything with it.
Kord industries (founded by Ted Kord, with the inspiration of the scarab and Ted's brilliant mind) focused on making bikes and other motor vehicles inspired directly by the scarab. He didn't know how the bike worked but he could theorise and make his own inventions that worked for him. The company became one of the main manufacturers of bikes in the world, and holds racing events every year or so to bring in more publicity. Victoria does not care for these races, but she understands that they're good for the company. Victoria is -non surprisingly- more concerned about the military research and developments in the company.
After years of ruthless and expensive testing on the scarab/bike, with no results, the share holders expressed their concern with the lack of profits and new designs coming out since Ted's passing. Her researchers express how even Ted Kord was not able to get the scarab to respond, and therefore it had been almost 50 years since the scarab was reported to have activated (allegedly). With threats to pull out investments, Victoria was forced to abandon the Scarab program and quickly focus on other RnD departments. Though she personally still wanted to harness the power of the scarab, but she could do nothing without the money.
Through the neglect of the dismissed program, the bike is moved about into storage. But with one miscommunication, it ends up in the wrong warehouse. More time passes, and the warehouse is ordered to be cleaned out without concern for what's in there. The bike ends up in a scrapyard where it cannot be destroyed, so the owner takes the opportunity to sell it to another mechanic for a bit of extra money 'the company wont even know it's been resold'. The mechanic -completely unable to do anything with the funky beetle bike- tries to make his money back by selling to another scrap yard. And there it stayed for another few years, all the while Kord industries still thought it was in storage. This is where Jaime finds the bike, by accident, trying to look for his uncle's "misplaced" bike.
Jenny Kord is still a thorn in Victoria's side, not only concerned with the questionable ethics of Victoria's research, but preserving her father's legacy before Victoria destroys all evidence of it. Jenny knows of the scarab/bike, but has been prohibited in knowing it's location and status. So She's forced to go undercover as a presenter/cameraperson (This will make more sense when I show her design) at the racing events to try and get evidence on where the bike is being held, which is definitely easier when you have control of many cameras.
I made this au before the movie came out, and when I finally saw it, I realised the plot actually lined up pretty well already -which is convenient. The only thing I had to change was the inclusion of Jenny (cuz I knew nothing about her before the movie came out), and adding more detail to the antagonists. I love Jenny's design in this au (soon, I will release the pictures) cuz I had total free reign and a cyber-punk motorbike racing aesthetic to base it off. Also, she rides a bike in the movie too so I can actually base her bike off of the pre-existing one.
#my art#blue beetle#jaime reyes#khaji da#au#jenny kord#dc#dc comics#ted kord#rudy reyes#victoria kord#bike au#motorbike#i'm not kidding when i say i have many aus with blue beetle#its one of those things that is so easy to create aus with because of its simple foundation and endless possibilities#maybe one day you'll see more aus#but then again I could disappear for a year#who knows uwu
78 notes
·
View notes
Note
Would you like to ramble on about some scenes that you wanted to add to a story and in the end you deleted for one reason or another? This question was sent for it! I'm happy to read the things that happened during your writing process
Okay, now I can get into very early ideas/scenes for Cryptid Sightings that never got to see the light of day until now!
When Y/N found Vanessa, I was aiming for Y/N to be oblivious to the demonic possession and run right for her to hug her before pulling back with a pain in their middle. They realize that Vanessa just stabbed them. This, however, was a very early concept as it didn't work with Y/N being a good cryptid hunter and putting all the clues together and Glitchtrap wanting a fresh vessel.
A possible reveal idea was Y/N catching Eclipse in the act of killing a rule breaker and ripping out the rule breaker's heart, but Y/N was, somehow, able to do this without Eclipse realizing they were there and slipping away. This would have led to Y/N struggling to keep composure when Eclipse came back and stressing about the demonic cryptid in their presence as they bided their time to figure out how to take them down, with a main focus on the boys' growing suspicious over Y/N's anxiety and sudden withdrawal. This was scrapped as it ultimately didn't work with Y/N as a character or the logic of the boys not immediately figuring it out right away, too.
A cannibal cryptid I ended up trading out for Shoh for the episode.
The scene towards the end of Chapter 11 (The Episode Of Glowing Eyes Part 2) originally had the boys' deleting Vanessa's message from Y/N's phone in the name of preventing more stress for their heart (and a general distaste for Vanessa) but I scraped that due to it feeling much too harsh and invasive for the boys.
I wrote a scene from Vanessa's POV that I had fully intended to place at the start of Chapter 17 (The Episode Bedeviling Bodies Part 1) but I decided against putting it in in order to keep up the suspense, however, you can read it down below if you'd like!
The Introduction Scene of Vanessa
Warnings for vomiting, body horror, and possession.
Before They Met
In the empty, expansive parking lot of Freddy Fazbear’s Mega Pizzaplex, Vanessa stares at the neon lit entrance in the pitch dark. She frowns during her scrutiny of the facility. In her lap sits a crossbow, already loaded with a silver, glinting bolt. She clutches her phone in one hand.
There are no stars tonight. There is no one else but her.
The faint lights of her truck’s dashboard illuminates the interior of her vehicle, casting a low glow onto the golden Bonnie plushie tucked into the middle console. Blood colors one floppy ear. She glances at it as her jaw clenches before she taps on her phone, the screen brilliant and washing her in white.
The last place she had left off was her email app. The simple message threatens her with a weapon that does not scare her.
Cease your current investigation or your employmentment contract will be terminated. —F.E.I.
Fazbear Entertainment Incorporated knows that she knows. She tastes disgust and fury. They send hunters out to kill these things—they’re hiding one in the bowels of one of their children’s play places.
She saw the signs: missing kids, sightings that led her directly to the bear mascot’s doors, unexplained blood in the few places she could sneak into before bots or human staff caught her and sent her away.
They will not protect this cryptid. Whatever it is, she will eliminate it. She will cut ties with F.E.I. and then warn you—she’ll reach you first. You two don’t need this corrupted company. Hunting’s in your blood, she told you just as much, and you two will continue to kill the monsters.
She finds your name in the messages app, familiar and laced with solace. She types in a careful crawl. She doesn’t know how much F.E.I. monitors their employees' phones but she doesn’t want to alarm you, or make them suspect that she’s going to meet you after this is finished. She won’t let you catch their attention.
She writes that she’s investigating a cryptid sighting. It’s getting bloody. You know how these hunts go.
She sends it to you. Stuffing her phone away, she opens the truck door, fixes her backpack over her shoulders with a quiet clatter from holy water bottles, and holds her crossbow close. She pulls out the detector with her other hand. Slamming the truck door closed with an elbow, she studies the radar and the quiet beep that echoes.
The creature is inside. It is unaware of its impending demise.
Crossing the shiny black pavement, she hurries like a phantom. Vanessa stands before the entrance. The neon almost hurts her eyes.
She’ll obliterate this child-killing cryptid, and any others that F.E.I. is hiding away.
She breaks the door with a sharp hit from the hilt of her weapon. Glass shatters. She steps over it, boots crunching, and enters the pizzaplex.
*
Vanessa stumbles from the black bletch of smoke, scraping against the broken door of glass, shredding her arm in thin, bloody scratches, before she stumbles onto the pavement. Heat rises. The fire burns in the belly of the pizzaplex.
She collapses onto hands and knees. Her weapons gone, the last of her holy water consumed—she convulses, her back arching before she vomits clear blessed liquid and thick mucus of a dreaded violet sheen. Black ooze drips from her nostrils, fills her eyes with black tears, and drips from her ears.
There is no more protecting her.
My vessel, reluctant follower.
You will serve me well.
She cannot scream.
86 notes
·
View notes
Text
Paying Back Goodness- Vampire!Miguel x F!Reader
Was this supposed to be just another vampire!Miguel fic during October? Yes.
Is it definitely almost December instead? Also yes.
I need practice writing smut with this man for my other fic, so I'm definitely going to pretend that this came out before that other story lol
cw: modern au, black fem reader, smut, mdni, praise kink, biting (duh), pet names, pussy-drunk Miguel (our favorite munch)
For the life of you, all you wanted to do was rest. Literally. Life was wearing you out, but when a hot stranger needs your help, things somehow get more interesting.
You wanted to get home as soon as possible. You spent the entire day running around for your boss to make sure he didn't miss meetings or forget to send important documents. You didn't see yourself being a secretary, but you took a break from your main career, and this job found you with good benefits and some relief. However, being the workaholic you are, you were just as committed and driven in this job that was only supposed to be a year. Now, it had been two and a half.
It was fine at first. Your first boss was a gentle, sweet old man, but he was replaced a cocky asshole once he retired. You knew that the company was wealthy which meant things needed to be in order, but your boss could totally be tyrant.
You groaned as you turned on your car which beamed with a light stating you needed to get gas. You rested your head on the steering wheel and cursed past-you for being lazy that morning. It didn't matter though. It was Friday, and you actually had the weekend off to disassociate from the grind.
You drove to your favorite gas station nearby and decided to go inside for a snack. It was the normal night commuter crowd who quickly came and went like you planned on. You stood near the register thinking about which candy bar to buy when you heard someone clear their throat in your direction. You turned disinterested but ended up surprised by what you saw.
The man towered over you but looked down softly. He had handsome features: board shoulders, strong-looking arms, high cheek bones. His eyes were gentle as well as his hair that waved at certain points. You gulped quietly.
"I'm sorry to bother you, but I think I left my wallet. Could I trouble you in getting this drink for me?" he scratched his head awkwardly, but the emotion looked cute on him.
You blinked twice then nodded. "Oh yeah sure, no problem." you placed your items on the counter and were in your thoughts. The man was dressed casually, but you were sure it was nice quality stuff. You mean, the situation happens to the best of people, so there was no reason to judge.
"Thank you so much, hermosa. I hope I can pay you back one day." the man smiled. You told him not to worry about it and went your separate ways. He was parked near your car, and you peeked to see how nice of a vehicle it was. You nearly choked. It looked like something that would be driven by your boss' boss. You turned away quickly as you filled your tank. You could hear the sound of an engine starting before a curse and then a door slamming.
You peered up and met the very shy gaze of the man from earlier. "This is really embarrassing, but I seem to be out of gas too..." he trailed off and barely met your eyes.
You just finished filling up, and you smiled to yourself. "Okay then." you walked over to the man's car and inserted your card.
"I'm so sorry. I was in such a rush to leave, and now I'm here bothering a beautiful lady." the man went on.
You coughed at the compliment but tried to play it off. "I get it, but let's just get you home. No point in being stranded. That would suck." you giggled.
The man nodded before searching for a scrap of paper while the tank filled. He fished for a pen before scribbling quickly. "I owe you one. If you ever need anything, anything, don't be afraid to call me please." You looked at the paper and read the name: Miguel O'Hara. Why was that familiar to you? You pocketed the slip and nodded. After insisted that you would call, you two went you separate ways.
You threw on your pajamas and flopped on your bed ready to rest the night away--promptly forgetting about your small act of kindness.
~~~
You were beat.
In the normal chaos of things, you totally forgot about the upcoming fall masquerade that your company was hosting. Thankfully, the event was handled by the marketing department, but you spent hours searching for a dress and mask to wear. You needed to look presentable. Your boss lectured you on who he needed to impress and how you need to find any and all hot gossip about the important business people. It seemed there were some ambitions he wanted to act on.
You didn't really care.
You stared at the garment bag hanging on the back of your bedroom door. You had a couple of hours before you needed to start getting ready, so you pulled out one of your work binders and flipped through the VIP list. You looked lazily at stuffy professional photos, facts on various business adventures, and quirks in people's personal lives. A couple red tabs highlighted your boss' targets, and you tugged on one randomly.
The page showed the strong intimidating face of one Miguel O'Hara. You nearly chocked on nothing. You knew his name was familiar! You were a bit startled by the photo. He looked so serious and commanding--very much the opposite of when you met him randomly at the gas station. The car made a lot more sense now. The man's pockets were deep. You glossed over to the personal facts. Your eyebrow quirked.
There were several bullet points noting how the man was a bit of a recluse, didn't like meetings before 4pm, preferred working at night, etc. He had been a highly sought after businessman for partnerships and investments, but was notorious for wanting all the details and spotting a swindler miles away.
You snorted to yourself. Your boss was going to have to be on top of his shit if he wanted to get away with anything, and you highly doubted that he was.
You hummed to yourself, looking at all the information. It was interesting to see how one's professional life contradicted with the personal. The gas station incident made a little more sense to you now. You wondered what made the man leave his house in the first place. Must have needed something and his staff was away.
You figured it would be easy to spot him later that night. Your boss would be ready to kiss ass and shake hands, so you didn't think you'd have much interaction to mentally prepare for.
Hopefully it would be an easy night.
~~~
"What did you just say?" Despite the mask covering half of your face, you knew that your disbelief was shining through. You were so tempted to kick your shoes off and high-tail out of the gala hall. Be fucking for real.
Your boss scoffed before pinching the bridge of his nose--as if his request was as simple as bringing him another drink. "Please don't be difficult tonight. I hear that O'Hara has been having a bit of a dry spell. If he seems even a little interested in you, pounce on him. Get into his bed if you need to. I'm sure he's got some important information in his home office."
You stared dumbfounded. "I am not fucking him for you! What the hell!"
An eye roll. "Oh please, I'm sure it'd do you some good. You don't have a boyfriend. Plus, I'll give you a raise. You can-," Thankfully, another VIP target appeared to speak with your boss which gave you an opportunity to slip away.
You didn't necessarily hate parties, but this grand showings of your company's wealth was a bit annoying when you felt you could be better compensated for your performance. You grabbed a glass of champagne and walked around a bit--chatting with some co-workers and seeing what little habits the rich and wealthy had. You weren't above knowing a little chisme, just not going to fuck someone for work.
"These things are always a little stuffy." a friendly voice said in your direction.
You didn't turn to see who it was but chuckled a little. "Yeah, but you gotta let the rich people have their fun. Otherwise, they're gonna start torturing poor people again." you kept your eyes on the crowd. Most people you recognized from their files, but despite your boss' wants, you hadn't seen Miguel O'Hara so far. The party had been going around for awhile. You weren't sure if he was going to show up, but that wasn't too much of your concern.
"Mm, that's quite an interesting thought." there was a brief pause, "Well I don't quite find amusement in people's suffering. But sometimes discipline is required--especially when you keep someone waiting." there was some teasing under there, and your brief tipsiness faded when that voice went a little deeper. You turned to face the stranger and softly gasped. "I thought you would have called me by now, Miss y/n."
Somehow seeing him this time, Miguel's presence felt entirely too large as you faced him. He looked down at you confidently, and there was some of that strong demeanor in his eyes. It reminded you of reading his file from earlier. He was definitely in his element here even if he preferred to be at home. You, on the other hand, were not used to high-end parties and social mingling. That's why you were off to the side watching.
Miguel indulged in seeing you decked out in a gown and a lacy mask. Your face was lightly beat, and lips shone in the light. You weren't going overboard like some of the other women there, but it didn't matter. He planned to seek you out after seeing your name as a point of contact for one of rich bastards here.
You took a moment to get your words together. "Ah well, I've been a bit busy...plus I didn't want to bother you."
Miguel grunted. "Wouldn't have been a bother at all. I'm the one who troubled you."
You waved your hand. "Ah well, it's fine really. A simple act of kindness. It's all good." you mumbled a little. There was an amusement in the man's eyes, and they seemed to glow with how his own masked framed his face. "I'm surprised you recognized me..."
A chuckle. "Of course hermosa, how could I forget such a beautiful face? I-,"
And just your luck for your boss to appear. "Ah there you are! Mr. O'Hara, I see you've met my lovely secretary. I hope she's giving you some good company. I'm-," he went on some rant, and you saw this as a chance to try and dip. You did not want your boss getting the wrong idea that you were going along with his shitty plan to seduce Miguel and search his house for whatever blackmail he assumed existed. It did look as though he was paying attention to your boss, so you quietly took a step away.
Immediately, you felt an arm around your waist-- pulling you closer to Miguel. Your faced warmed up. How did he even notice you move?
"Ah yes, I think we have a meeting coming up together soon. I'm interested in the project you proposed." Miguel interrupted the boring ramble. He leaned by your ear for a moment. "Find me on the third balcony in fifteen minutes." he whispered in your ear before letting you go.
You glanced at him then your boss before nodding. Your boss sent an unsubtle glare your way as you walked off.
...
It took an hour before you found yourself alone on the balcony. You took a seat on the sole bench and glanced up at the night sky. You had watched as crowds of people went out of their way to talk to Miguel. From afar, it seemed as though he had such a charismatic control over people. He leaned into it with powerful handshakes and cocky grins.
You were tempted to go home, but then your eyes met his and he winked. You decided to wait a little longer since the man wanted to talk to you.
You sighed after taking off your mask. You fidgeted with the shawl around your shoulders.
"Your boss is pretty shameless." you turned and watched Miguel approached you.
You chuckled before looking back at the sky. "Oh trust me I know. You wouldn't believe what he's asked me to do."
You felt the man stand close behind you. "Oh probably sending out his secretary to tease me." you quickly turned up at him. Miguel had a knowing grin. He licked his lips. "He's going to have to get more creative than that, but," he paused and took in the curious look in your eyes, "I would be tempted since it's you."
Things felt like they were warming up despite the autumn chill. "Excuse me?"
Miguel took a seat right by you, and the closeness wasn't in your favor. "I was hoping to take you out once you called, but that didn't happen." he huffed. "I had to wait to see you at work event. Not so charming."
You scratched your cheek and messed with the shawl again. "Ah well, you don't have to worry about charming me--people!" you corrected quickly. "People are drawn to you."
"Yeah for my money, but I wouldn't mind getting the attention I want for once." he gently reached out and turned your chin so you could properly look at him. "Gosh you look delicious." he groaned. You gasped as a thumb ran over your bottom lip. "Excuse my forwardness, but your sweetness drew me. I just want a little taste." he leaned in, "may I kiss you?"
"Yes." you quietly let out.
There was a shock that ran through you body feeling his lips against yours. You wanted to melt immediately. Yes, the man was attractive, but it was like something was pulling you just from his closeness and attention. You wanted to be greedy and hoard it. It suddenly wasn't enough to be alone with him outside. You feel something a bit pointy graze the skin of your lips, and you opened your eyes to see streaks of red in the man's eyes. Confusion flashed through you though Miguel looked down at you with a gentle fondness and deep hunger.
He slowly licked around what was definitely a fang as he lifted your hand to his lips, kissing it, then placing it on his cheek. "Mmm, you feel so warm too." his voice vibrated through your skin and its sultry tone kept you aroused and intrigued despite the slow growing concern that things were not what they first seemed. Miguel could see it in your eyes--the curiosity just under that cloud of lust. "Oh nena, you're safe with me." another kiss onto your hand, "I just bite a little."
~~~
You didn't question why Miguel had a suite ready at a hotel nearby. You didn't question how he seemed to know where to touch and what to say. You didn't question what he was despite knowing that those fangs were real and how the pieces about him were coming together.
Miguel planned on being on his best behavior originally. He mentally prepared himself to be in the limelight with people flocking towards him on the pretense of business. He only wanted to speak with you originally about a casual coffee date or to ask you why you were working for a scummy boss. (So he looked into your job and company. Don't sue him) However, things were just so tempting seeing how you easily talked with him, how your dress hugged your body and color scheme lit up your eyes, how he could hear your heartbeat increase and watch the slight twitch of your neck.
He lost that battle to tempation.
So Miguel would take you away from the useless mingling and allow the two of you to indulge in one another.
You gasped as you bounced slightly on the bed and propped yourself up to watch the man. He eyed you almost drunkenly as he pulled at his tie and tossed his cufflinks to ground as if they were worthless. You moaned watching him undress himself all the way to his briefs and felt that hazy sensation when you were pulled to the edge of the bed. A leg was raised, and you bit your lip feeling that sharp grazing sweep over your skin. The skin didn't break, but the possibility excited you especially when the truth was becoming clearer. You saw how his eyes glowed in the dark, and you froze with both arousal and anxiety.
Miguel chuckled as he rubbed his face against your leg--kissing right behind your knee. "Mmm, I don't know how I want to taste you first." he muttered half to himself and you. He edged himself more feeling his teeth on you skin. He could sense your excitement. "It won't hurt, nena; I promise. Just want little bite, please." his sweet begging made you clench around nothing, and of course, he saw it. He reached up and dragged your thin underwear off you. He melted at the sight. "So eager to please me. Just want to be a good meal for a vampire like me? Yeah, I know."
You knew. He knew you did, but the confirmation did things to your body. You heaved for air, and body started to squirm for more. It did was so deliciously appealing to know that this man desired you in more ways than one. You spread your other leg quickly for him and whimpered as the air reached your core. "Please," you started off, "I want it."
Miguel chuckled as his hands ran further up than before, your dress pushing up and gathering by your waist. "You want it?" Miguel teased and mimicked you. "You want what baby? You gotta use your words pretty girl. I know you can do it."
But you weren't sure what exactly. Him to fuck you, yes, but how would it feel if he did those other unspoken things he wanted? If he did more than just bite you but truly indulged in your essence? You didn't want to decide just then; either one would be beyond satisfying for sure. You shook your heard--still squirming and panting for more. "Give me whatever." You yelped feeling a slap against your wet cunt.
"Not the right answer. Be specific, dulce." Miguel went on to slowly run his fingers up and watch the slick coat his fingers. He was starting to lose himself more. You smelled sweet and delicious. He hadn't had the temptation to eat in a long time, but after meeting you, he couldn't shake the feeling. He was fighting so hard to be calm, collected. But you were such putty in his hands. He'd give you anything you wanted too.
"I want you to eat me out, sir." you threw the words together, but they seemed to work since Miguel went straight to work--sucking on your clit. He made himself comfortable wrapping his arms around your thighs; there was no way you'd be able to escape if you really wanted to.
He was messy.
If you weren't so caught up in your own pleasure, you'd think about how he seemed to be doing this for himself. The room sounded wet. You went from gripping the sheets to his hair and thrashing up and down--trying to get even closer to that sinful tongue that moved better than you'd ever experience.
Miguel was definitely pleased with himself and your reactions. Your hands gripped his hair once his fangs ever-so gently pressed on your clit. He was drunk off your scent, your sounds, your essence. He wouldn't have minded spending his night here at all really. He's please to devour you in any shape or form.
"Fuck, I'm gonna come." you breath out.
Miguel enjoyed that confession. He didn't let up at all. He lapped his tongue up and down, sucked on your pearl, teased your entrance. Your body trembled and only babbles were coming out. You were submerged in that intense feeling; you thought nothing could top it really...
But then you felt two pricks. And soon you were drowning deeper.
Miguel drinks from your thick thighs. He couldn't help himself. Your enamored expressions from coming pushed him to have you once again--more towards his nature. You were truly filling his being now. His brain was blanking only having that warm, comforting feeling of safety in ecstasy. Your pleasure became his and vice versa. He was lost in the way you accepted him so easily; he hadn't experienced that before.
The man pulled his teeth out and lapped at the bite deliriously. He rested his head on a thigh and enjoyed watching you come down from that consuming experience.
Your lungs finally seemed like they could get enough air, and you blinked away tears--first staring at the dark ceiling then moving your head down to see those glowing red eyes stare up at you--so much reverence and care. It took you by surprise, but you could only moan. Words still failing you.
"You're so beautiful, reina." It wasn't lost to you how he licked around his pink-tinted fangs. He pushed himself up and kissed his way back up. "So delicious, you have to mine." he was nearly pleading. Another kiss on your neck then lips. His eyes were so eager yet soft. He smiled sweetly at you. "Get some rest. I'll see you in the morning."
~~~
Apparently, eights hours was enough time for your world to be turned upside down. While you dreamed of warmth and care, Miguel seemed to have been working to make life a lot easier for you. Breakfast had been ordered. Clothes delivered. And a plan to buy your company, fire your boss, and get you back into your desired profession easily formulated.
You were none the wiser as grapes were gently placed into your mouth even after you insisted that you were fine enough to feed yourself. Miguel wouldn't be having that.
The man was still gorgeous in the soft lights of the hotel room, and it was hard to maintain eye-contact after the night's...festivities. You darted your eyes again, and Miguel chuckled. You looked back. "What?"
Another smile. "Why can't you look at me? Was it too much?" he almost pouted.
You scratched your cheek and fiddled with your hair. "It was amazing...but in my defense, vampires are not common knowledge." you opened your mouth to be fed without hesitation this time.
"Well, we like to keep things that way." he paused for a moment. "And I was wondering..."
The shyness didn't seem like at him at all. You met his eyes though they seemed nervous. "What is it?"
Miguel looked back at you. "I was hoping I could take you out after all of this...maybe some dinner or something." you laughed. "What's so funny!"
You waved your hand. "Nothing. You just showered me in goodness, and you're the one that's shy about me not wanting to see you? I'd be out of my mind." you leaned over and pecked him on the lips. "Guess good deeds to pay off."
I am a sucker for a vampire!Miguel. I want all the sexy, tempting goodness. Help people folks. You never know were it'll get ya 😉
~~~
It took me over a month to get through most of this, but only twenty minutes for the last portion. Writing is weird.
#spiderman#atsv#miguel o'hara#miguel x reader#atsv fanfiction#late halloween post#vampire miguel#black fem reader#modern au#mine#stewie writes#partyanimal167
32 notes
·
View notes
Text
Trump solicited about $1 billion from Big Oil at a fundraising conclave at Mar-a-Lago in return for future favorable treatment — if their filthy lucre helps him return to the Oval Office.
We lost four years fighting climate change during the previous Trump administration. A second term would do the planet grievous harm.
It's necessary to alert everybody concerned about the future of Earth of the danger of a second Trump presidency.
A new Washington Post report that Trump made explicit policy promises to a roomful of Big Oil executives—while urging them to raise $1 billion for his campaign—is a powerful story in part because it wrecks what’s left of that mystique. In case you didn’t already know this, it shows yet again that if Trump has employed that aforementioned knowledge of elite corruption and self-dealing to any ends in his public career, it’s chiefly to benefit himself.
That counter narrative is a story that Democrats have a big opportunity to tell—if they seize on this news effectively. How might they do that?
For starters, the revelations seem to cry out for more scrutiny from Congress. Democratic Senator Sheldon Whitehouse of Rhode Island, who has been presiding over hearings into the oil industry as chair of the Budget Committee, says it’s “highly likely” that the committee will examine the new revelations.
[ ... ]
As the Post reports, an oil company executive at the gathering, held at Trump’s Mar-a-Lago resort last month, complained about environmental regulations under the Biden administration. Then this happened:
Trump’s response stunned several of the executives in the room overlooking the ocean: You all are wealthy enough, he said, that you should raise $1 billion to return me to the White House. At the dinner, he vowed to immediately reverse dozens of President Biden’s environmental rules and policies and stop new ones from being enacted, according to people with knowledge of the meeting, who spoke on the condition of anonymity to describe a private conversation.
Giving $1 billion would be a “deal,” Trump said, because of the taxation and regulation they would avoid thanks to him, according to the people.
Obviously industries have long donated to politicians in both parties in hopes of governance that takes their interests into account, and they explicitly lobby for this as well. But in this case, Trump may have made detailed, concrete promises while simultaneously soliciting a precise amount in campaign contributions.
Just a mention that Tumblr formatting won't permit indentations inside indentations. As a substitute, I used red to depict double indentation.
Anyway...
For instance, the Post reports, Trump vowed to scrap Biden’s ban on permits for new liquefied natural gas exports “on the first day.” He also promised to overturn new tailpipe emission limits designed to encourage the transition to electric vehicles, and he dangled more leases for drilling in the Gulf of Mexico, “a priority that several of the executives raised.”
“The phrase that instantly came to mind as I was reading the story was ‘quid pro quo,’” Whitehouse told me. He also pointed to a new Politico report that oil industry officials are drawing up executive orders for Trump to sign as president. “Put those things together and it starts to look mighty damn corrupt,” Whitehouse said.
Trump may just be a pile of orange flab with a porcine mouth and bad hair, but that doesn't mean he shouldn't be taken seriously. Among many other bad things, Trump is a figurehead for Big Oil. Oil companies are already busy composing executive orders for Trump to sign.
If elected, Trump would throw into reverse our transition to a decarbonized future, one that’s creating untold numbers of manufacturing jobs—including in the very places that Trump has attacked Democratic elites for supposedly abandoning—all in exchange for mega-checks from chortling fat cats right out of the most garish of Gilded Age cartoons. For good measure, some of that loot could help Trump secure elite impunity for his own corruption and alleged crimes. We can’t say we weren’t warned. Trump has told us all this himself.
Progressives toying with third party temptations need to be set right: The only way to defeat Donald Trump is to vote for Joe Biden.
There will NEVER be a President RFK Jr., a President Jill Stein, or a President Cornel West. Such vanity candidates are usually little more than eccentric freaks. The last time a non-Democrat or non-Republican was elected president was 1848. But with American democracy and the future of the planet at stake, self-indulgence at the ballot box this year could lead directly to dystopia.
#donald trump#climate change#the environment#mar-a-lago#carbon-palooza#big oil#campaign contributions from oil companies#quid pro quo#tax breaks for billionaires#republicans#second trump term#sheldon whitehouse#election 2024#third parties#vote blue no matter who
16 notes
·
View notes
Text
ongoing
ok well so. the Subaru is declared a total loss. I'm just gonna witter on about that for a bit. But outside the cut I will ask for submissions and suggestions for Most Unhinged Bumper Stickers / Car Decorations, because this is how I'm getting through this, I'm making myself cry-laugh at all the incredibly unhinged bumper stickers out there on the Internet. I'll start the ball rolling with this one:
True Patriots Brake For America's Only Native Marsupial
I got irritated with the insurance company, because I was like ok, the sum total of information I have here is that you'll give me $X for the car. But what's actually wrong with it? You're not mentioning it but I know in the past I have had a car declared a total loss, and have taken it as salvage and repaired it myself, I know that's an option. Oh yeah, said the guy on the phone, you can do that. Want to do that instead? I can find out how much we'll give you for that instead. Well, I said, it depends on what's actually wrong with the car, don't you think? And he was like... not understanding me. He put me on hold and came back and rattled off a different figure and was like "so you wanna do that?" and i was like no because i do not know what is wrong with the car please tell me what is wrong with the car and he was getting increasingly confused and I was getting increasingly frustrated so I said please can you email me both figures you quoted me plus the repair estimate for the car so I can make an informed decision and he was like oh yeah sure.
and emailed me two identical letters with two different figures, which I think did match the ones he'd quoted me earlier but there was no text anywhere within the letters to explain what the difference was. Most notably, nowhere did it tell me what it's called when you take the total loss settlement, keep the vehicle, and repair it yourself, and I still don't know what that's called, so I sound fully idiotic when I try to describe it. There's a like two- or three-word phrase that means that, but IDK what it is! Owner Maintenance Something, or Owner Management Something, or-- I don't know! It was never written down for me anywhere.
Anyway. I called the repair shop, and said ok, I need to see the repair estimate, and they were like legally we cannot tell you that. What. But when I dropped the car off they'd texted me a link to a website with status updates, so I went and looked at that. And the $$ amount of repairs was extremely similar to the $$ amount they'd give me for the car as salvage. So I'd break even if i just kept it and fixed it. But it would then be worthless in resale because it would be marked that it was salvage, and it's likely those repairs aren't the only work it's gonna need. And I wasn't expecting to get a ton for this car once I'd driven it into the ground, but-- I also knew it had underlying problems and did not know if those problems were included in the repair estimate.
I emailed the insurance company and said, ok, I know we were not understanding one another at all on the phone, but what part of "i need to see the repair estimate so I can make an informed decision on this" was unclear? Please let me know so I can clarify. I don't know how you expect me to decide whether to take the payment and let you scrap the car, or keep the car to fix it, if I do not understand how much it will cost to fix or what is broken about it. I genuinely do not understand what part of this desire of mine is unclear, and I don't understand how other people make this decision without any of this information. Please can you send me the repair estimate, because I can't actually proceed without it. Please let me know if you do not understand this request. I don't know how else to ask it but I can try to explain further if it is still not clear.
So they sent me the repair estimate with a terse note, and I feel like some kind of jerk but I genuinely-- do people not ask?? Does nobody ever want to know what's broken??? HOW do other people make a choice about this without knowing ANYTHING????
The repair estimate was grim. Things I have zero doubt were actually broken-- the right suspension arm, but not the left. The radiator supports, god damn it. A hood is cheaper than I thought, but painting it is not cheap. The fucking plastic bumper, I knew was going to cost a mint. The engine was fine, the radiator was fine, but like. nothing else was.
And the underlying defect with the steering that my buddy Chris at the shop had grimly diagnosed and told me he couldn't fix without a warranty recall, which was in effect for every other model of this car but not this one-- wasn't on there, they hadn't noticed it. And the transmission sticks sometimes in Park. And the wheel bearings were just replaced, but if the suspension is damaged on one side, how do I know it's all right on the other after all....
The previous Subaru, a third-hand stick-shift Impreza, died at 125k miles, which is objectively reasonable but I thought was premature. The starter motor failed, along with something I can't recollect now about the steering. It was driveable but I had to start it with a hammer. Coming on for winter, I gave up on it, and got this one, which was fantastic because that was the winter we suddenly had a bunch of Great Plains blizzards the Impreza absolutely would not have made it through.
This one was at 94k miles.
So, reluctantly, I figured, I've got to let it go. Someone who can turn a profit on the labor can rehab it and make it drivable for another 50k miles probably, but that someone isn't me. I hope they sell it cheap and some college kid moves home and back another five times with it. I hope it has a lovely second life and someone actually uses that roof rack. But I had to let it go. I turned in the spare keys and cleared it out and cried.
I'm shopping for... something similar I guess. I can't get by with less cargo space, I stuff that thing full on the reg. I don't like a low-slung car, I need ground clearance just for my parking spot on the farm let alone anything else; ideally I want any vehicle of mine to be able to make it up the forest road and around the loop in reasonably dry conditions, so that if something happens to block the loop at the barnyard end I could still get out, and so if I need to haul something up to the compost I can make it there in my vehicle (or like if I want to collect woodchips or something).
I was hoping electric vehicles would have advanced enough for me to get one of those. But I need either a 300-mile, foolproof, not optimistic but will really do it in all weather conditions range, OR there to be reliable, available charge points at intervals halfway, and the Thruway rest stops are so torn up that there are many points at which there's nowhere to get gasoline, let alone an electric charge. And all the articles I read were about the etiquette of waiting in line for a charge-- oh my god. if I were a different person this would be fine, i would make it work, but I am not that person, I cannot cope with that kind of uncertainty, I would forget to plug it in or something, with my luck there'd only be one charge point on the whole westbound I90 and there'd be some jackass charging a dead truck on it for two hours-- I can't do it yet. Dude's next car can be electric. But mine can't be, not yet.
I might get a hybrid, even though they are an expensive, inefficient half-measure.
I have the incalculable privilege that I can get by without a car nearly indefinitely. It's complicated and difficult, but I can borrow cars each end, and thank God, the Amtrak runs, and I'm on it now. It's pricey but not that much more than the cost of gas, and it's pretty direct and I have friends at each end who'll pick me up, even though there's no public transit to speak of either place. So I can wait for the check to come from the insurance company, and I can use it for a downpayment on something, and if what I want isn't available I can order it and wait. I'm much more fortunate than most.
I'm just bummed, so please, send me the worst / best / most hilarious bumper stickers you can find.
30 notes
·
View notes
Text
Best Place to Get the Right Price for Scrapping Your Car
The intended use of an automobile determines its worth. You might get a higher rupee value with the help of a good auto scrap service provider. Additionally, they'll provide you with a formal guarantee that your vehicle and its engine won't be misused.
0 notes
Text
NASA and Boeing were forced to stand down from an attempted launch to the International Space Station on Monday because of a last-minute issue that cropped up with a valve on the spacecraft’s rocket.
Boeing’s Starliner capsule had been scheduled to lift off at 10:34 p.m. ET from Florida’s Cape Canaveral Space Force Station on its first crewed test flight. NASA astronauts Barry “Butch” Wilmore and Sunita Williams were on board the capsule and strapped into their seats when the launch attempt was called off, roughly two hours ahead of the planned liftoff.
NASA announced early Tuesday that a second attempt would occur no earlier than Friday.
Mission controllers declared Monday’s launch “scrub” after an anomaly was detected on a valve on United Launch Alliance’s Atlas V rocket, which the Starliner capsule was to ride into orbit.
United Launch Alliance officials said in a post on X that the launch attempt was scrapped “out of an abundance of caution for the safety of the flight and pad crew,” adding that the team needs “additional time to complete a full assessment.”
The analysis will include whether the pressure regulation valve, located on the rocket’s upper stage, needs to be replaced, which may cause a longer delay.
The crewed Starliner flight, when it occurs, will be a crucial final test before NASA can authorize Boeing to conduct routine flights to and from the space station.
Officials at NASA and Boeing have said safety is paramount for the spacecraft’s first flight with humans onboard.
The scrubbed launch is yet another setback for Boeing, which has already dealt with years of delays and budget overruns with its Starliner program. It has fallen significantly behind SpaceX, which has been flying crewed missions to and from the space station for NASA since 2020.
Both SpaceX’s Crew Dragon capsule and Boeing’s Starliner craft were developed as part of NASA’s Commercial Crew Program. The initiative began more than a decade ago, following the retirement of the agency’s space shuttles, to support private companies in building new space vehicles to take astronauts to low-Earth orbit.
Starliner’s first uncrewed flight in 2019 was thwarted by software issues, forcing mission controllers to cut the test short before the vehicle could attempt to rendezvous and dock with the ISS. A second attempt was then delayed several times by fuel valve issues, and it wasn’t until 2022 that Boeing was able to carry out a successful uncrewed flight to and from the space station.
11 notes
·
View notes
Text
Me and boats don’t get along. Because of my unique upbringing, I never learned how to swim. This hasn’t been too much of a problem, except when one of my beleaguered cars decides that it’s tired of having more than one ball joint and augurs directly for the nearest drainage pond. You don’t need to know how to swim to drive a boat, I hear you say, and you’re correct. This is really just an elaborate excuse for being poor.
Even though your average boat costs the approximate GDP of Guatemala to own and operate, this is nothing in comparison to speedboats, the drag racers of the seasickness world. They have big engines (and a lot of them,) drink fuel like crazy and need a lot of space in order to operate. They also attract the most expensive members of the opposite (or same) sex. If that form of imminent death isn’t enough for you, they also make cigarette boats, which abandon all pretence of comfort and practicality in favour of pure speed. They’re so fast that the coast guard needs special helicopters to catch up to ‘em, which means that every minute you’ve got that throttle pinned wide open is another good citizen’s entire lifetime of 1040s being chewed up in the military-industrial machine.
Of course, as we’ve already established, I can’t enjoy any of these mysterious sea-going vehicles. Sure, sometimes I can get a ticket on the local slow ferry, and enjoy the company of Birding Mable (she likes birds, but be very, very careful which ones you talk to her about) and her husband, Trashbag Stan, the origin of whose nickname is unknown to everyone in town, including Mable. As long as nothing goes wrong. If something does go wrong, due to the aforementioned not-swimming, I’ll probably drown in the middle of the bay, which makes it about as dangerous as taking a city bus downtown.
Because of my addiction to buying scrap and near-scrap land-going automobiles, it seems unlikely that I’ll ever make cigarette boat money. There is one thing that I can do, though, and that’s buy a little wind-up toy boat, and play with it in the tub. That’s the life. There’s still something missing, though, and that’s why I’ve got this old Mercury outboard from some dude that ran into a bridge while the coast guard was chasing him.
114 notes
·
View notes
Text
Tankiste Operating Inside the Tank
This is an impression of a French tank crewman operating inside their tank. One may see this uniform on tankiste when in their vehicles during battle. The iconic leather 'Veste en Cuir' can be seen, similar to the coats worn by the Paris Fire Brigade. These coats were mainly issued to motorists and tank crews, however its fire-resistant qualities meant that flamethrower troops also wore them into battle. Many variants of this coat exist and the model shown here is a standard double-breasted version with a leather collar and left breast pocket. Other more common examples would feature a felt collar. The black coat was worn over the light blue tunic as its color masks the constant bombardment of vehicle oil and grease the tankiste would attract when operating inside their vehicle. Burn resistant gloves can be worn as well, mainly used to handle hot extracted shells from the tank's guns.
What is truly unique to the tankiste uniform of the Great War is the tank crew splatter mask, seen looped around the neck and worn. When bullets and other projectiles impacted the outside of the tank, the shock of these objects would sometimes cause the armor to spall on the inside. Flakes of armor would fly off inside the tank and depending on the impact strength and size of the spall, could cause irritation, wounds, or even death to the crew. By far the number one leading cause of injury in the tanks was head injuries. Because of this, the British would design a splatter mask that protected the wearer from medium to small sized armor spalling and burns. The masks consists of a steel faceplate perforated with horizontal slits with a nosepiece and chain mail covering the lower face. The faceplate is covered by brown leather on the outside and chamois leather on the inside. The mask is fastened to the face using four canvas ribbons.
The AS would obtain the masks through American officers who had trained with the British tankers and 1,840 masks would be first issued to crews of the Schneider CA and Saint-Chamond tanks in May 1918. The first three light tank companies’ part of 501e RAS named AS 301, AS 302, and AS 303 would also be entrusted to test the splatter mask in real battle conditions in late 1918. While the mask was effective in protecting the crew's face from spalling, many would opt to not wear it in order to maintain unobstructed visibility when inside the tank. This is an original example which I am incredibly happy to have as they are quite rare nowadays.
Another unique piece of kit for the tankiste was their Adrian helmets - or more specifically the modifications the tankiste would perform to them. As the Artillerie Spéciale was considered to be part of the regular artillery, the tankiste were issued standard Casque Adrian Modèle 1915 with the artillery badge of a flaming bomb over two crossed cannons. The front brim of the standard Adrian helmet did not allow the tankiste to get decent visibility through the 5 mm wide vision slits on the tank, so the tankiste would cut off the front brim to allow for closer viewing. Some modified helmets would have makeshift padding of either cloth or leather on the front of them. Others just folded over a few millimeters of the brim so the sharp edge of the cut was not exposed. The modifications would begin to be seen in late 1917 and was widespread among the crews by late 1918. It would spread naturally through the tankiste in the field and by the time that Generals had taken note of the unauthorized modifications, they would have already seen the combat improvements this modification would give the crews and allowed for it to be done. This helmet features the second model liner with six teeth and four corrugated aluminum spacers which reduce helmet wobble. The leather helmet liner was fixed onto the Adrian helmet through the use of two spikes on each side which puncture the scrap wool outer panel on the liner and are then folded over to secure the liner to the helmet.
Also pictured is a pair of civilian racing binoculars. It was up to the tank commander on whether they wanted to purchase a pair of binoculars for use in the tank. There were several options available at the time, both within military bazaars and within the civilian realm. Soldiers equipped with basic civilian binoculars was not an uncommon sight.
We also see the use of a flare pistol, specifically a Pistolet Géant pattern flare pistol designed by Manufrance before the war. As a tankiste within the Artillerie Spéciale, a flare pistol such as this would be used to signal supporting friendly artillery to lay down smoke shells to mask the tank's movement during attack. Each tank was, in theory, provided a flare pistol for this purpose. Smoke was important for masking the movement of the tanks during the attack because the tanks main threat apart from mines was accurate German artillery fire. There were several methods the AS would use to prevent German guns from being able to engage the tanks such as having an aircraft that would accompany the advance of the tanks. This aircraft was mainly tasked with directing counter-battery fire on enemy artillery. A further six fighter aircraft would be attached to protect this plane from responding enemy aircraft.
#history#tanks#renault ft#technology#world war one#reenactor#uniforms#reenacting#reenactment#reenactors#tactical gear#uniform#ww1 history#world war 1#warfare
10 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
setaflow
If Anyone Asks, I'm Outstanding
polkanomertri
П N III
10bixnet-blog
10xBiz - Expert Zoho Consulting
30compressions
30 Compressions
car-litos-way
Cars... Cars...Cars