#custom pyramid boxes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

howaboutcastiel · 2 years

Text

Set the Record Straight (Steven Grant x Reader)

RATED 18+ minors get out

Summary: In the heat of an argument you imply that Steven is a pushover. He doesn’t take kindly to this, and he defies all your expectations in proving you wrong.

Word count: 4.7k

Content: smut, lots of sass, dirty talk from your fave Steven Grant, softdom!Steven, punishment kinda but it’s pretty vanilla (reader is fem bodied but I always try to keep language gender neutral where possible)

A/N: this is MY reward for reaching 200 followers. Poorly written, filthy smut. Enjoy losers.

Very not proof read. Also I’m asexual so you better eat this shit up.

It was the second time this month that you’d had to cancel date night with Steven. Donna had put him on inventory again, supposedly as a consequence for poor sales and for trying to info-dump on his customers. He had promised you that he would reschedule, but you were tired of your plans being upended. In your mind, Steven was letting Donna walk all over him and you were tired of being the one to face the brunt of the consequences.

“I don’t care that you’re going to take care of rescheduling!” You snapped at Steven as he waited for his morning tea to brew. “We shouldn’t have to be rescheduling in the first place!”

“Love, I’m sorry!” He pleaded with you, still barely awake, “You know how Donna can be. She’s impossible!”

“She’s not impossible, Steven. It’s just that you won’t stand up to her. You’re not even breaking any bloody museum rules. You need to call her on her bullshit punishments.”

“What, and risk losing my job? I’m a gift-shopist, not the bloody Queen of Sheba.” He took an aggressive bite of his breakfast wrap, throwing his work bag over his shoulder.

“You’ve got to stop being scared of her. She’s not going to fire you, as much work as she already puts on you now. Just stop letting her take advantage of you. Be a man, honey.”

Steven’s expression changed instantly at your last add-on. Be a man. What a low blow. You felt guilty as soon as you said it, but you were too upset about your canceled date to admit that. He raised his eyebrows, resigning the conversation as he poured his tea into his thermos. He didn’t look at you again as he made his way out of the apartment door.

“I’ll make the reservation for tomorrow, love. Have a nice day at work.” Now you really felt guilty. You didn’t respond to him, instead watching in silence as he closed the door behind him. You focused on making your own breakfast, running late on your morning routine due to your argument.

By the time you walked back through your apartment door at nightfall, you’d nearly forgotten about your fight with Steven. Sure, you remembered that he was on inventory tonight and that your date was pushed back to tomorrow, but you’d conveniently forgotten the part where you’d basically called your boyfriend a pushover.

So you were fairly unbothered as you made yourself a frozen TV dinner, curling up to watch sitcoms on the couch as you waited for Steven’s late arrival. You even texted him to ask if he needed you to make something for dinner, but you figured he was too busy scanning merchandise to respond. You were also unbothered by his normal, cheery demeanor as he finally arrived home an hour later than you. Perhaps he’d forgotten your argument, too.

No harm done then. Or so you thought.

“Evening, darling!” Steven cooed as he walked through the apartment door, a box of Chinese food in hand. At least he’d gotten himself dinner after all. You were focused on the sitcom on screen, not even turning to look at him as you patted the couch cushion beside you, motioning him over.

“How was work, Love?” You inquired, reflexively wrapping your arm around his shoulder as he settled next to you. “Besides being on inventory, I mean.”

“It was good.” He pulled at your blanket so that you were both under it. The screen turned to commercial, and you finally focused your attention on him fully. “Pretty uneventful, really. Except I found more gum in the pyramid again.”

As you turned to him, you noticed immediately that he was holding himself differently. It was a subtle change, not even out of the ordinary for Steven, but his demeanor didn’t exactly match his words as he recalled his day. His eyes were heavy, pupils blown as if he’d been drinking. But there was no hint of alcohol on his breath—his cheeks weren’t flushed and his speech wasn’t sloppy. Something was different though. He looked a bit… frenzied. He almost looked angry.

“Someone really needs to put up a glass or something.” You didn’t mention to him that you noticed his odd mood. It was obvious that he was trying to conceal his feelings. After all, the change was so subtle that you didn’t know what to make of it anyway. You could almost have been imagining it.

“Yeah, suppose they could find that somewhere in the museum budget, couldn’t they?” He took a large bite of his dinner, letting the conversation drop. Neither of you were particularly interested in it, anyway. Steven’s mind was certainly somewhere else, though you had no idea where.

There was silence between you as he finished his dinner. Not an awkward quiet, filled at least by the mindless sitcom showing on the telly. Steven said nothing as he scraped at the bottom of his box, tossing it in one swift motion to the bin beside his desk. He took you in his embrace, cuddling you as he did every other night after work. He held you ever so slightly tighter, though, and your suspicion about his mood lingered in your mind.

Steven let out a dramatic sigh as the end credits finally rolled across the screen. It was a part of your nightly routine. Steven would make a pretend drama of getting up off the couch, attempting to amuse you after a long day at work. He would go brush his teeth while you changed into your pajamas, then the two of you would switch places. Half of the nights would end with the two of you cuddling until you fell asleep. The other half included some cheekier activities. Judging by the way Steven’s eyes lingered on you as he made his way to the bathroom sink, tonight would be falling into that latter half.

There was nothing particularly racy about the intimacy that you shared with Steven. You were both gentle and patient and fairly easily satisfied. You never felt the need to do much experimenting in the bedroom. Steven in particular was very respectful of your boundaries. He tended to let you lead him where you wanted.

That being said, he surely knew how to rile you up. Tonight was no exception to that fact. Considering Steven’s already pent-up state as he exited the bathroom—coupled with his notice of your especially revealing pajamas—you had no doubt he was going to do everything in his power to get you worked up.

You didn’t even know how right you were. You had no idea what was going on in that brain of his. If only you’d remembered your argument from this morning, you might have had an inkling of what was going to be happening next.

After brushing your teeth, you emerged from the bathroom to find Steven in his T-shirt and boxers. At this point it was evident that he was more excited than usual, his eyes followed you everywhere as you made your way around the room. From the moment your knees touched the bed, Steven’s hands were on your body, his lips colliding with yours more feverishly than you were used to. He made quick work of moving his mouth down along your jaw and neck, eliciting soft gasps from you.

“What’s gotten into to you, honey?” You asked through uneven breaths. He looked up at you with a drunken gaze, an almost devious grin on his lips. “You’re very intense right now. That’s not like you.”

He was deceptively calm and sweet as he coaxed you down into the deep softness of the mattress. Steven planted small kisses along your neck, sprinkling you with pet names and peppering red and purple spots all across your throat. He was almost more generous than he normally was, massaging your chest and arms with the tips of his fingers.

You melted into his kiss, relaxing your muscles into the smooth surface of the bed. You stroked his biceps with your palms, feeling his skin tense across them as he grew more energetic, more wired. It was intoxicating, feeling him and seeing him like this. You didn’t know what was going to happen now. Steven had never had this… attitude with you before. He was usually assertive and decisive, but he held you with an unfamiliar strength. Almost an aggression.

Suddenly, he paused. His eyes were cold, yet genuine as they locked with your own.

“No, it’s not like me, is it?” Suddenly his hands were on yours, holding you firm against the mattress. You felt an unfamiliar tinge of excitement, but you were confused. His voice was teasing. “No, not like pitiful little Steven. He’s not intense about anything, now is he? I’m just trying something new, darling. Isn’t that what you said you wanted? You told me to—what was it—be a man?”

Heat pooled at the tips of your ears and cheeks. Your mind rushed back to the argument this morning. Of course that’s what this was about. What was Steven trying to do, prove his manliness to you? No. He was more than comfortable in his masculinity. So this must be something else. He was proving a point. Being a man. In the cheekiest, pettiest, sexiest way that he could. He would show you what a man he was.

“I didn’t mean it like that—” You instinctively tried at damage control. Steven shushed you, a condescending tone in his voice. He peered at you with fake innocence, hands still pressing you into the bed.

“I’m not trying to pick a fight, darling. I’m just trying to give you what you want. You want me to stand up for myself, don’t you, love? Don’t you want me to take control of my life?”

The devilish expression on his face sent fire down between your legs. He intended to take control and that was exciting enough. But it was more than that. He intended to punish you for your statement this morning. For your implication that he wasn’t man enough for you. He couldn’t let a jab like that slide. Not when you both knew that it wasn’t true.

“I do.” You managed to reply in an exasperated breath. That was all it took for Steven to press his lips into yours, kissing you with fervor as you struggled underneath his grip. You were apprehensive about what he was going to do, even borderline scared. But you were also very turned on by his new demeanor, and you trusted him to not take things too far.

He continued his innocent act as he moved his mouth down to the collar of your shirt. Steven massaged circled into your skin, gasping at the way you tried to grind up into him. His mouth was deceptively sweet. At first.

“I want to make you feel so good.” He murmured the words between kisses to your neck. “Make you satisfied so you’ll have no doubt who you belong to. You’re not even going to be able to walk tomorrow, darling. I’m going to show you I’m not the pushover you think I am.”

“I don’t think you’re a pushover.” You were almost delirious at this point. You stared down at him with what could only be described as hunger, taking in his ravishing appearance on top of you. His eyes were tightly closed as he sucked a purple mark on the top of your collarbone. You wanted to snake your fingers through his hair, to tug at the curls as you guided his head where you wanted it. But you knew he wasn’t going to let you do that. Not tonight.

He lifted himself slightly at your denial of his words. Opening his eyes, he raised his chin so that he was staring down at you, patronizing.

“Oh, it’s okay, love. You don’t need to save face for my sake. It’s my fault that you think so little of me. I haven’t done enough to prove you wrong. To fulfill your need for a big, strong man. I’m gonna change that right now.”

God, he was going to drive you insane. And he knew it.

It was surprising how gently he could use his authority. He grabbed a fistful of your shirt, guiding you up into a sitting position without ever having to tug on the fabric. He lifted your hands above your head and there was no point in fighting his grasp—even though he never guided them with more than a nudge. He raised your shirt with equal care, tugging it gently but confidently over your head until it no longer touched your skin.

“Steven—” You barely got a breath out before he was kissing you again, one hand on your bare chest and the other behind your neck, holding you close. It was only serving as a warning; there was no force behind his grip. But there was no mistaking your situation, you weren’t going anywhere he didn’t want you to.

You tugged at his shirt, feeling exposed as he was still underneath a layer of clothing. He gave no reaction to your thrashing at the cotton, continuing to kiss you as if your movements were insignificant. Steven’s fingers danced gingerly over the skin of your breasts, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Unsatisfied with his lack of response to you, you decided to put your hands somewhere he couldn’t ignore.

Steven caught your wrist in the tight grasp of his hand before you had even made contact with the fabric of his boxers. He let out a quiet tsk against your lips, his grip aggressive against your soft skin.

“Oh? Impatient are we darling?” He leaned back, separating you from his touch apart from his control of your hand. “Don’t worry. I’m going to make sure you get what you need. Lie back, baby.”

You hesitated at his words. He didn’t move to undress himself, he just stared at you with an impatient pride. He seemed disappointed that you didn’t follow his request.

“I said lie down.” His tone was sweet and his voice was barely audible, but his words were most certainly an order. And you were not about to disobey. You quickly positioned yourself on your back, not breaking eye contact with him. Once your shoulders made contact with the sheets, Steven surveyed your body with a marvelous thirst.

You had to resist the urge to push at his arms as he slid your pajamas slowly down your legs. He had bought you the matching set a short while ago, admitting it to be a selfish gift. Steven surely appreciated the clothes, but he was much more satisfied as their removal revealed what he considered to be the world’s greatest work of art underneath. The articles had barely made contact with the floor when he was already planting kisses on your thighs. He wrapped his strong arms around your hips, preventing you from bucking into him. Steven gracefully lifted one of your legs onto his shoulder, effectively restraining you in his muscular grasp.

Steven had a lot of practice with this. He was always insistent on making you feel good and sometimes that required a bit of work on his part. He’d become pretty experienced in eating you out. It was one of his favorite things to do. But you thought that this was supposed to be a punishment. There must be some kind of catch.

“Look at you, already so excited for me.” You jerked underneath him as he pressed his thumb into your clit, but his strong hold ensured that you didn’t move far. He let out a soft chuckle at your desperation. You whimpered as he slowly pushed his middle finger into you, fumbling fruitlessly under his grip. He was moving at an excruciating pace; you all but screamed as he curled the digit upward inside of you.

“Now, darling, just let me know if you need anything.” The cheekiness had returned to his voice. He said nothing else as he added a second finger, rubbing slow circles with his thumb. Without warning, his mouth joined in on the work of his hand. His tongue was capable of unspeakable things. You felt a steady wave of pleasure rising in the pit of your stomach, clouding your thoughts and focusing your senses on only one thing.

“Steven—baby, please—” You brain failed to form coherent sounds, the words more reminiscent of whimpers and moans. You weren’t normally one for swearing, but the only words filling your brain were expletives and pet names for your Steven. He seemed more than satisfied at your utter undoing.

“What’s that, Love?” He moved his mouth away only an inch to mutter the words against your glistening skin. “You’re going to have to speak more clearly.”

He was certainly enjoying himself. You felt your orgasm building at record speed and there was no way you would be able to hold yourself back any longer. You racked your brain desperately for a way to warn him, still struggling to make your mouth work in sync with your thoughts.

“Don’t stop.” Was all you managed to produce between your string of whines and swears directed toward him. He obliged your request, steadying his pace and persisting in working his fingers alongside his wonderful mouth. Pleasure ripped through you as you reached your tipping point, practically screaming Steven’s praises. He moaned against you at the sounds of your enjoyment.

It was then that you realized the catch. Steven’s pace persisted as you rode out your orgasm, not stopping to let you rest or breathe. It was too much for you, the stimulation between your legs. You felt as though an electric current was running through you, taking your breath.

“Baby, no.” You tried weakly to push him off of you, but you knew that your strength was no match for his. Your legs burned against his skin as he continued pumping his fingers, his mouth working with remarkable agility. “That’s enough.”

“Nonsense.” He pulled away for barely a moment. You couldn’t hold back your squirming, though he held you in place with little effort. “I’ve got to make sure you’re thoroughly satisfied. What kind of man am I if I don’t even take good care of you?”

“I get your point!” You gasped, pushing again at his head and arms. At anything you could reach to force him away. You could feel a second orgasm growing and you were conflicted between chasing the pleasure and resisting the overstimulation. Suddenly, Steven stopped all of his moments, pulling away from you and sitting up straight. You felt a mixture of relief and longing at the loss of contact.

“That’s great, love. But I’ve got another one to make.”

Well fuck.

As he leaned back, the bulge underneath his boxers became visible to you. Steven was nothing if not patient, though you knew that he must be uncomfortable. All you could do was lay there and pant, your body struggling to regain its strength. Steven waited for you to steady your breath.

“I need you to get up.” He cooed. “You’re gonna put that mouth to good use. You know, besides expressing your disappointment with me.”

This time, the sarcasm was nowhere to be found. In fact, Steven was eyeing you with mild concern, like he was waiting for you to tell him he was going too far. But you weren’t going to stop him. You were captivated by the change of pace, and ironically enough, you were loving his assertion of control over you, no matter how petty it had begun.

There was a slight problem, though. While Steven was quite experienced when it came to oral, you were much less versed in using your mouth to give him pleasure. That was mostly due to the fact that Steven would never ask it of you; he never wanted to feel like he was being selfish or taking advantage of you. You had tried to explain that you wanted to do it, but he would only ever say yes if you agreed to let him return the favor afterward. You guessed things were going to work a bit out of order this time.

“On your knees, darling.” His voice was soothing, coaxing you more than commanding. You followed his order shakily, your body all but wrecked already from the ‘points’ that he was trying to make. Steven threw a pillow on the floor as something to protect your bare knees from the hardwood. At least to him punishment wasn’t synonymous with pain, it seemed.

“I’m not very good at this,” you blurted as he moved to stand in front of you, his clothed erection only a few inches from your face. You didn’t want to disappoint him, you wanted always to make him feel good. A lump formed in your throat in anticipation and Steven met you with a comforting half-smile.

“Don’t worry about it.” He cooed, placing one hand at the nape of your neck. With the other he stroked your cheek gingerly, grazing your skin with his knuckles. “Just relax. I’ll guide you through it. And I’ll be sure not to hurt you. You’re gonna do great. I promise.”

You felt yourself blush as he turned his hand over, pulling down your bottom lip with the tip of his thumb. A shaky breath escaped the tiny gap between your lips, and Steven pushed your chin up to keep you from dropping away from his gaze. He sank his thumb deeper into your mouth, moaning at the hot wet feeling against his skin. By now, precum was forming a spot on his boxers and you wondered how he managed to remain so patient.

He withdrew his hand from your face, instead using it to finally pull out his length. Just the sight sent a sharp wave of heat down to your already abused core, re-clouding the senses of yours that Steven had already wrecked. You knew your face was bright red as he slowly stroked his hand from base to tip. His hold tightened slightly on your neck, almost as a gesture of reassurance.

“Okay, baby,” he spoke at nearly a whisper. “Open your mouth for me.”

He sank in slowly, testing to see how far you could comfortably take him. You were surprised at how long you managed to go before gagging, impressed by the skill you’d never had the chance to learn you had. He pulled out instinctively at the first sign of discomfort, and ironically you felt the need to reassure him of your contentment.

“I’m okay. Keep going.” You leaned forward to take him back in, his hand on your head hesitating to follow behind you. Your mouth stretched uncomfortably around him, but it was exhilarating to be in this position under Steven. You wished he would do things like this more often.

“Oh God. Feels so good, love.” He hummed through ragged, shuttering breaths. It was all Steven could do not to buck his hips into your face, but he would be damned if he ran any risk of hurting you. “Holy shit.”

You set a slow rhythm as you started to slightly bob your head, letting the anxiety melt away as you gained confidence in your movements. Steven used the bedpost to brace himself, struggling not to pull your hair as you worked him over. You could feel him twitching in your mouth; his own concern was dissolving with each moan and hum from your lips.

“Doing so good.” He whimpered as you tentatively swallowed around him, tightening his grip on the dull metal post. You weren’t sure who was in control of who at this point, but Steven’s strength still outweighed yours as he began to move your head, failing to resist his urge to fuck your mouth at his pace. He was becoming more unhinged by the second.

“This’ll—teach you—to talk about me—like I can—be walked—all over.” His words were punctuated by each thrust into your mouth. Steven was gasping for air as he fought to restrain his hips from bucking too strongly into you. You ran your hands up and down his chest, not knowing what else to do with them.

Before long he was struggling to keep his rhythm. You selfishly didn’t want him to finish like this. You pushed against his hips and he begrudgingly pulled away from you, worried that he’d somehow hurt you while trying to chase his own pleasure.

“What is it?” His demeanor changed in an instant. He bent down to meet you closer to eye level, but you shook your head at his concern, calming him of his assumption.

“You can’t—I don’t want you to cum yet.” Your heart was in your throat. You could barely hold your eyes open to meet his tender gaze. “I need you to fuck me, Steven. Please. I need you.”

Your begging came out as delirious muttering. Steven gave a soft chuckle at your request, more than happy to oblige. He cupped your face for a moment before stumbling over to the nightstand, digging in the top drawer for a condom. He helped you to your feet, pressing his lips to yours as soon as you were upright again.

He kissed you more tenderly, more lovingly than he had all night. It was like he’d somehow worked out all his frustration, even though you weren’t nearly done yet. You crawled back onto the bed as he worked the condom on, this time finally removing his shirt and boxers in two clean motions.

This next part didn’t last quite as long as you wanted it, but you had to admit that it felt like the best sex you’d had in months. Steven was gentle as always, but he didn’t hold back his sounds of pleasure as much as he normally would. You supposed it was something to do with making a point again. Or maybe he just felt that damn good. For all of his talk of teaching you a lesson, he fucked you as lovingly as you could imagine was possible. Filthy praises found their way into your ears, tucked between whimpers and expletives.

Steven made sure that you both finished at the same time. When he felt his own orgasm approaching, he began to circle your clit with his fingers to draw you toward the edge at equal speed. He rarely stopped kissing you all throughout the endeavor, craving as much contact with you as humanly possible. When he finally came, your name fell from his lips with a religious exaltation, though you could barely hear it over your own sounds of pleasure.

You weren’t sure if you could even move as Steven pulled out and fell on his back beside you. For several minutes, you only could lie there and heave. Bliss simply wasn’t a strong enough word. When you finally regained your composure, it took all you could muster to turn and lay your head on Steven’s shuddering chest. He wrapped his arm around your back, lazily nestling his chin on the top of your head. Bliss wasn’t a strong enough word for him, either.

“I hope that was okay.” He mumbled, breathing in the scent of your shampoo. A felt a huff above you, reminiscent of a laugh. “And I hope that you learned your lesson. For whatever it may be worth.”

“Oh.” You smiled. “I definitely learned something.”

You turned your head to meet his eyes. His beautiful, satisfied, endlessly curious eyes. They squinted at you.

“And what’s that?”

“That I should complain to you more often.”

Tagging the lovelies (idk if all of you want to be tagged in this but this is my tag list so 🤷‍♀️)

@libsybum @rmoonstoner @fandoms-pizza-wifi-ym13 @moony-artemis @gabewerk @theluckyplaces @ahookedheroespureheart @lunarlockley @eunike-flower @dopeqff

#steven grant #moon knight #marc spector #steven grant x reader #oscar isaac #steven grant x you #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you #jake lockley #moon night fanfiction #steven grant smut #masterlist

940 notes · View notes

stevebattle · 7 months

Text

Pyramid Rover (2002) by iRobot, Bedford, MA. This robot was built to explore a mysterious shaft within the Great Pyramid of Giza, Egypt, featuring in a live worldwide telecast from the Queen's Chamber, for National Geographic. "With a grant from the National Geographic Society a custom built pyramid rover was commissioned just for the job. It's an ingenious device that can carry a range of tools and cameras. The electric motor drives two sets of treads; top and bottom, for added traction. It can also expand and contract depending on the height of the shaft. … The Pyramid Rover is cleverly divided into two parts. The front looks like a miniature tank. This is the powerhouse, it's designed to crawl up the steep forty degree shaft dragging its brains behind it, in a kind of black box jammed with electronics. The rover has five tiny digital cameras for steering, and for sending back detailed pictures of the shaft and stone." After adjustments to negotiate a step, and surviving a 200ft fall back down the shaft, the rover encountered a stone door blocking the way. An updated Pyramid Rover 2.0 carried a device to measure the thickness of the door, which turned out to be 3 inches thick. Armed with a drill the robot created a neat hole, beyond which it discovered yet another sealed door.

#cybernetics #robot #iRobot #2002

49 notes · View notes

ultragift · 5 months

Text

FROM: @zerosocialskillz TO: @vicesario A Gift For The Security Bot

A/N: V1 goes by it/they, V2 goes by he/they.

Also this takes place in an AU I made but it ain’t really that important.

It’s Christmas right now.

A red robot sat underneath the Christmas tree, making a replacement for their left arm after someone stole his original arm.

It is going to be a replica for his original arm after it is made clear that his predecessor is not going to give it back, as it has taken a liking to that bulky thing. That bastard.

V2 thought as he soldered a couple of wires in place. It’s going well so far, his predecessor not entering the room he is in, which is somewhere in the lust layer, where everyone is staying. For some reason.

He didn’t really care for the history of this place.

A knock on the door.

V2 stopped soldering. He got up, then opened the door.

It’s his predecessor, V1. It’s carrying a present, lovingly wrapped in red with yellow ribbons. Knowing them, Gabriel helped with that too.

V2 pointed at himself while tilting his head. V1 nodded gleefully. Remembering that one prank that has something to do with a box (and a lot of glitter, courtesy of that angel), V2 glared at them. V1 shook its head.

The security robot doesn’t believe them, but he lets the war machine in anyway.

...when the heck did they get along, after they tried to fight each other to the death?

Well, V2 did die, but that’s in an alternate timeline only V1 remembers anymore. Long story.

(Perhaps that previous timeline turned V1 into a magnet for enemies to friends—and even lovers—scenarios.)

Setting the present on another table separate from the knuckleblaster replica, the two V units unwrapped the box. It’s rectangular, very much so. It’s long, but it is a little wide. Long enough to fit a...!

Once the present is unwrapped, the two V units saw a brown box. Both of them are very hyped for what is inside, although V2 is pretty sure V1 already knows.

V1 and V2 grabbed the lid simultaneously, much to the two machines’ shock. They decided to do a little countdown and open the present together.

V1 brought up three fingers on one of their free arms, making sure V2 saw them. It then counted down from three.

Two fingers.

One finger.

A fist.

The two Vs opened the cardboard box that seemed to be custom made for whatever is inside, and wow was it gorgeous.

It’s V1’s standard left arm, the feedbacker. But... V1 already has one. Unless...

It’s a replica, isn’t it?

Oh, there seems to be a letter alongside the blue arm.

“I asked the angels (read: Gabe) if they could make a copy of my feedbacker! They agreed, even though I killed some of their inhabitants in both timelines.

Odd, isn’t it? I am a war machine and you two tried to kill me both times, and yet I chose to save and befriend you all.

And you know what? I prefer this over dying alone after running out of fuel! -V1”

V2 looked at the blue robot. He then mimicked a laugh, gently moving his shoulders up and down. They then gently pushed the war machine.

“Did the winged crybaby make it for me?” V2 asked through sign language with a smug look on his face.

V1 fell to the floor, ‘laughing’ very hard by the nickname V2 had assigned to poor little Gabriel.

While V1 was busy rolling on the floor laughing, V2 plugged the feedbacker on his left alongside his whiplash. Apparently, in the original timeline, V1 stole that too. After he died by falling off that pyramid. That bastard.

(To be fair, the knuckleblaster fell from his arm after the first fight, a fight it participated in after it was clear to V1 that it had no other choice but to, lest it die once more.)

(He’s still pissed that V1 decided to keep it, still.)

Moving the joints on the feedbacker replica, V2 tested the blue arm out. It seems to be well-made. Gabriel can seriously do that? Or did he actually get help from someone else?

Preferably not their creators. They suck. V2 and V1 can agree that much. V2 stood up, beckoning V1 to stand up. They seemed to know exactly what V2 was thinking. “Spar?” V2 asked through sign language. V1 excitedly nodded. They can’t wait to see how V2 does with the blue arm.

#ultragift 2023 #ultragifts

22 notes · View notes

agaypanic · 15 days

Text

The Closing Shift (Stanley Barber X Reader)

Masterlist

Request Something!

Summary: After a closing shift with your boyfriend, you figure the best way to unwind is to grab some food, put on some music, and light up.

A/N: warning for drug use but its stanley barber so thats not really shocking lol

***

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Huh?” Stanley turned around to see you looking at him and the bowling alley counter. He glanced back at what he was doing. “Stacking cans.” He jutted his thumb towards the pyramid of empty beer cans that he had made, giving you a smile.

You rolled your eyes fondly at your boyfriend’s shenanigans. “Well, don’t forget to take out the trash.”

By the time you and Stanley finished closing, you two were absolutely starving. Luckily, the Fiddle’s Diner was still open, so you got some food for takeout. You snacked on your fries while Stanley drove, leaning into his side so he could drum the radio’s beat into your shoulder.

“You staying over?” He asked, even though you both knew the answer. Having dated for a long time and being so close to graduation, you practically lived at Stanley’s. You considered it practice for when you’d get out out of this town the second you got your diplomas.

You fed him a fry. “Yup.”

Stanley pulled into his driveway, and you were both relieved to see that his dad was still out of town. Being the gentleman he was, he slung your backpack over his shoulder and opened the car door for you. The two of you quickly ran inside the house to escape the somewhat chilly air and headed down to the basement.

You two quickly fell into a routine that had become muscle memory. You set the food and drinks on Stanley’s little table and then looked through his music collection for whatever record you felt like listening to. Meanwhile, Stanley grabbed his special box from under his bed, which was filled with his best stuff. Strictly reserved for you and him, none of his customers. He rolled a joint and set it on the table with your food before running to the kitchen to grab some water for you to drink when you’d inevitably cough out a lung from taking too big of a hit.

When he barreled back down the stairs, Bloodwitch was filling the room, and you were sitting on the floor, taking a bite of your burger. He sat beside you, setting the water bottle next to your coke. “Ready, baby?” You swallowed your bite and nodded. Stanley grabbed the joint, holding it close to your lips. “Ladies first.”

Stanley grabbed the lighter that he always carried in his pocket and ignited it, holding it up to the end of the joint. Once lit, you took a deep inhale before handing it to your boyfriend. He waited until the smoke left your mouth before indulging himself.

You held your hand out to Stanley, sipping your soda while you looked at him sweetly. “More?” He laughed, shaking his head.

“Be patient, Y/n.”

“Please.” You begged, giving him a pout.

Stanley sighed, knowing he could never resist you and your begging. “Fine.” Instead of giving the joint back to you, he inhaled it himself. Then he set it in the ashtray before taking your face in his hands and locking his lips with yours. You moaned at both his touch and the sensation of the smoke drifting from his mouth to yours.

When you parted, you inhaled before quickly blowing out the smoke, turning your head so it wouldn’t hit Stanley.

“Thanks.” You leaned forward, about to kiss him again, when the harsh tickle in your throat made you cough into the crook of your elbow.

Stanley quickly grabbed your water, helping you take baby sips. “No problem.” He laughed, and you laughed along once your lungs caught a break. You quickly became lightheaded in the best way, and you leaned into your boyfriend’s side while you slowly ate and listened to your favorite band.

By the time the record went silent, it felt like hours had passed. You and Stanley, with now full bellies, had moved to lay on the couch. You reveled in the sound of his heartbeat against your ear and the feeling of his hand stroking your hair.

You yawned quietly, snuggling further into your boyfriend. “Ready for bed?” Instead of saying anything, you made a slight noise of confirmation, too tired and dazed to do more.

Stanley, more awake than you, sat up and guided you over to sit on his bed. Even though you had some of your own clothes at his place, he knew you liked his more, especially for sleeping. So he grabbed a random shirt and some boxers and helped you change out of your work clothes that you were too lazy to take off when you got home.

After you were taken care of, Stanley also changed. When he returned to the bed, you were already lying down and half asleep. But when he laid down beside you, you immediately latched onto him like magnets. You whispered goodnights to each other before succumbing to sleep.

#agaypanic #stanley barber x reader #stanley barber #ianowt #ianowt x reader #i am not okay with this x reader #i am not okay with this

7 notes · View notes

uwmspeccoll · 1 year

Text

It's Fine Press Friday!

For this fine-press end of the week we present an artists-book rendition of Edna St. Vincent Millay's 1921 poem Low Tide by our very own Melissa Wagner-Lawler. Melissa is an Associate Lecturer in the UW-Milwaukee Department of Art & Design where she teaches 2D Concepts, Printmaking, and the Book Arts.

Low Tide was produced in Milwaukee in 2022 in an signed edition of ten copies. The type is Charter Roman and Italic and the pages were printed letterpress using photopolymer plates on Rives BFK heavyweight and lokta papers. The triangular book is bound using a wire-edge method invented by Massachusetts binder and structuralist Daniel Kelm. This type of binding allows for maximum flexibility where each page may be turned in opposite directions and allows the entire book to be opened and laid flat.

The first half of the poem is printed twice on both sides. On the exterior side, the poem is easily read, with each line or stanza flowing across the shoreline. On the interior side, the tide has receded and has washed the poem away. This half of the poem reads:

These wet rocks where the tide has been, Barnacled white and weeded brown And slimed beneath to a beautiful green, These wet rocks where the tide went down Will show again when the tide is high Faint and perilous, far from shore, No place to dream, but a place to die,— The bottom of the sea once more.

The book rests in a triangular cavity that is inset into a tray housed in a custom box. Removing the tray reveals an hexagonal trough where the book may placed as an hexagonal pyramid. Inside the trough is the remainder of the poem, which reads:

There was a child that wandered through A giant's empty house all day,— House full of wonderful things and new, But no fit place for a child to play.

View more posts related to Melissa Wagner-Lawler.

View more posts on artists books.

View more Fine Press Friday posts.

#Fine Press Friday #FIne Press Fridays #Melissa Wagner-Lawler #Low Tide #Edna St. Vincent Millay #letterpress printing #artists books #Charter type #Rives BFK #lakta paper #wire-edge binding #photopolymer plates #fine press books #poetry

49 notes · View notes

warrioreowynofrohan · 1 year

Text

There were great, round, pot-bellied baskets of chestnuts, shaped like the waistcoats of jolly old gentlemen, lolling at the doors, and tumbling out into the street in their apoplectic opulence. There were ruddy, brown-faced, broad-girthed Spanish onions, shining in the fatness of their growth like Spanish Friars, and winking from their shelves in wanton slyness at the girls as they went by, and glanced demurely at the hung-up mistletoe. There were pears and apples clustered high in blooming pyramids; there were bunches of grapes, made, in the shopkeepers' benevolence, to dangle from conspicuous hooks that people's mouths might water gratis as they passed; there were piles of filberts, mossy and brown, recalling, in their fragrance, ancient walks among the woods, and pleasant shufflings ankle deep through withered leaves; there were Norfolk Biffins, squab and swarthy, setting off the yellow of the oranges and lemons, and, in the great compactness of their juicy persons, urgently entreating and beseeching to be carried home in paper bags, and eaten after dinner.

The Grocers'! oh, the Grocers'! nearly closed, with perhaps two shutters down, or one; but through those gaps such glimpses! It was not alone that the scales descending on the counter made a merry sound, or that the twine and roller parted company so briskly, or that the canisters were rattled up and down like juggling tricks, or even that the blended scents of tea and coffee were so grateful to the nose, or even that the raisins were so plentiful and rare, the almonds so extremely white, the sticks of cinnamon so long and straight, the other spices so delicious, the candied fruits so caked and spotted with molten sugar as to make the coldest lookers-on feel faint, and subsequently bilious. Nor was it that the figs were moist and pulpy, or that the French plums blushed in modest tartness from their highly-decorated boxes, or that everything was good to eat and in its Christmas dress; but the customers were all so hurried and so eager in the hopeful promise of the day, that they tumbled up against each other at the door, crashing their wicker baskets wildly, and left their purchases upon the counter, and came running back to fetch them, and committed hundreds of the like mistakes, in the best humour possible; while the Grocer and his people were so frank and fresh, that the polished hearts with which they fastened their aprons behind might have been their own, worn outside for general inspection, and for Christmas daws to peck at if they chose.

I love this passage so much! It’s partly that no one in our day wites like this any more, and I love the richness and delight of all the descriptions, and it’s partly that virtually no one in our day would think of rhapsodizing about the things Dickens does, because they’re so taken for granted. Most of these are things you would see in your local supermarket! Sone of them are my particular favourites (filberts, aka hazelnuts, are always a treat), but who of us would imagine rhapsodozing about onions? Apples and oranges aren’t generally treated as anything special either. (Norfolk Biffins, if you’re wondering, are a dessert apple - I’d never heard of them outside A Christmas Carol.) Tea, coffee, raisins, almonds, cinnamon - Dickens make us see the wonder in things that would otherwise be commonplace. A good challenge for me is to go to my local grocery store and try to see everything through Dickens’ eyes.

I wish that we could get the mood of Christmas back to one he describes, and not one of hurry and stress and frustration!

#dickens december #a christmas carol #charles dickens

43 notes · View notes

dont-f-with-moogles · 1 year

Note

Hey Terra! I have another drabble request: number 40, pleease (and thank you) 🩷

Drunk Drabbles 40: “The kids, they ambushed me.” For Alice and Brandon @ranger-danger-hoover

A Snack on Titan II Characters: Reiner x Bertolto, Gabi, Falco and those other Marleyan Brats Word Count: 859 words Fluff & parody

The air was abuzz with activity as people swarmed down the central boulevard, clutching overfilled food cartons and packets. There were so many bodies pressed in between the market stalls that it was almost impossible to squeeze past them. Amongst the chatter of customers came the continuous sizzle of freshly fried foods. Every stand was crowded with dizzying sights: giant wheels of cheese which wafted a bitter tang; freshly baked loaves, some loaded with olives, others topped with cheese; pyramids of pickled delights; proud displays of sliced, cooked meat and cured sausages. All around was the smell of fragrant curry sauce accompanied by the salty scent of the fish stall which bore its tanks of wriggling crustaceans. Upon others mouth-watering arrangements of baked goods were laden: large, flat cookies, thick slabs of moist chocolate brownie, curls of pastries dusted in pistachio crumbs.

Reiner stepped back from one of the food stalls and, turning, passed two packets of golden halloumi fries to Bertolt.

“Is this the one with the tzatziki?” Bertolt glanced down into the first paper bag. “You know I can’t handle heat.”

“Yeah, the other one has the chilli sauce…” Reiner was fumbling for his wallet. The man who was tending the stall held up his hand to halt the customers crowding behind them. Bertolt watched, holding the steaming bags, whilst Reiner peered through the wallet’s folds.

“Is everything alright Rei?”

“I thought I had a twenty…” Reiner muttered under his breath, his shoulders stiffened. Bertolt glanced around him helplessly.

“I only brought my card but I don’t think they’ll take it here!”

“No. No,” Reiner assured him firmly, giving Bertolt’s arm a squeeze. “You always pay. It’s my turn.”

“What’s the hold up?” The stall owner was leaning aggressively over the countertop. Reiner lowered his hand and uttered a sigh of defeat.

“I’m not paying for the fries and neither is he. We have no money.”

“‘Scuse me?”

“I had cash on me but it was the kids… they ambushed me.” At this, Reiner gestured towards the lower end of the street. Just visible between the movements of people’s elbows and the swing of tote bags was Gabi and her three friends. The group were speaking animatedly as they pored over small, brightly-coloured cardboard boxes. Gabi extracted a sugared doughnut from her own and bit fiercely into it, sending a splodge of cream down her blouse.

“Why are you telling him Reiner?” Cold beads of sweat were beginning to break out upon Bertolt’s forehead. His head snapped between the group of children and the stall owner. Bertolt’s voice climbed higher with insistence as he sought wildly for some form of explanation.

“Please, he’s just tired!”

Beside him, Reiner rubbed his face with his palm.

“Sorry… what the hell was I thinking? Have I really gone crazy…?” Reiner chuckled to himself, causing Bertolt to cry out in alarm. The stall proprietor was shaking his head as he reached for his heaviest kitchen implement.

“No… it’s just that I’ve been stuck in this place for too long,” Reiner concluded. Bertolt was no longer convinced that he was the one being spoken to, but decided against pressing the point. Reiner’s features seemed to relax for an instant as he glanced back over at Gabi and the others. His cousin had slumped down upon the floor, her hands clutching her stomach whilst Falco lowered his head in embarrassment. “Don’t blame them. They’re just kids, they don’t know anything.”

“Reiner-” Bertolt reached for his shoulder as Reiner walked past. The pack of customers who had been circling the stall surged forward to fill the space he had vacated.

“Some would say that I need to face the consequences of my actions,” Reiner announced heavily. He did not turn his head.

Bertolt almost lost his grip on the packets of fries. He could feel sweat clinging to his nose as it trickled down from his temple. His eyes roved the scene, taking note of the constraints of the narrow alleyways, the close positioning of the stalls, the flocks of people filing into every conceivable gap.

“Reiner… are we doing it now? Right here?”

“We’re settling this right now,” Reiner replied. Too late, the stall owner rushed around his stand, brandishing a metal ladle and hollering a warning at the armed soldiers stationed nearby.

Bertolt hugged the bags of halloumi and hurtled away from the stall. Just ahead of where he was positioned, Reiner fell into a low crouch with his left leg extended. Then, using it as a spring, he propelled himself forward…

…Gabi was sitting propped against a grey swing bin, her legs trailed out in front of her. She shifted her head against the plastic and let out a loud belch.

“I wish we could have festivals everyday!” she sighed blissfully. Falco, who had been licking the sugar granules from his hand, jolted at a sudden commotion. His head jerked up, eyes following the movement of people to their left.

“Gabi, your cousin and his boyfriend are running away.” Gabi craned her neck around to see.

“...and now we have no money for the train ride home,” he added bitterly. ...

2 drinks down! Anyone else fancy a spin on the ol' Drunk Drabbles wheel? 👈 Send me a number and you could get lucky! Unless my faculties to read and spell start you - you know 📉

#drunk drabbles #reibert #reiner braun #bertolt hoover #reiner x bertholdt #bertholdt bertolt bertolto birth control #RIP Reiner's wallet #god I want halloumi fries so bad #😭#there's A Snack on Titan 1 somewhere on my blog but you'd have to go all through the archive cause I can't remember what became of it!#attack on titan #snk #aot drabbles #my writing

19 notes · View notes

space-mermaid-writing · 2 years

Text

Faded Black Ink [IronStrange] - Chapter 14

Relationship: Doctor!Stephen Strange x Mafia!Tony Stark

Tags: Mafia AU, Angst, Romance, Idiots in love

Ko-fi | Series Masterlist | Read it on AO3 | Previous | Next

Chapter's note: Thanks to the wonderful people at the IronStrange Haven Discord Server for helping me with ideas for Tony’s tattoos! No beta. I binged-wrote this and now I'm going to bed. Good night.

Chapter 14: Gifts

The next three days Stephen ignored any text and call from Tony.

Then the gifts began to arrive.

At first, it was a tall mug filled with coffee. Stephen thought Christine was kind enough to leave him before rounds. The mug seemed custom fit to his grip, had a thick handle and wide rim. It didn't burn his palms the way the paper cups in the cafeteria did.

The following day, the staff room had a brand new espresso machine that came with coffee so rich and dark Stephen found himself licking his lips all day trying to savor the taste.

The cafeteria changed food supply companies three days later and the grey gruel disguised as the basic elements on the food pyramid disappeared and were replaced with meals patients actually are instead of dumping it in the trash next to them. Stephen considered actually eating at the cafeteria for the first time he worked here.

A week later, the dean showed up as Stephen was signing the delivery slips to a brand new MRI machine the hospital desperately needed, but he couldn’t find a purchase order for anywhere. The dean lingered by the door, hands shoved his pockets. His eyes met Strange’s and he nodded very pleased with the latest addition of tech. “Good job.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Stephen replied, highly confused.

“Of course not.” The dean winked at him. “After all, you’re not a messenger.”

Stephen dropped the pen to the floor. I couldn't be! It had to be a stupid coincidence. It was probably the dean's revenge for Strange being so snappish with him at the gala. The dean must have placed the order himself. An MRI was way too expensive; only he had the authority to spend that much of the hospital money.

Stephen picked up the pen and dismissed it as a bad joke.

For lunch he met with Christine at the cafeteria. He hadn't told her about the UCSF offer yet. The business card was lying on his work desk at home; he hadn't dialed the phone number on it yet. Funny. Not long ago he would have accepted the position on the spot, packed his bags and left New York behind. Stephen saw himself as someone who was focused on his job, his career.

The fact was, it was still in his focus, but he felt he had built something here. New York felt like home, which was ridiculous, because it was a giant, chaotic city.

He chose fish for lunch, because it looked like real fish and not some cheap and mashed together fish-like something. The MRI machine came back to his mind as he looked at his plate. He told himself it was a coincidence. The hospital had clearly made good profits this year.

The next day, Stephen showed up later than usual for work. His only appointment today was a surgery. A routine procedure and he didn't need to prepare for it other than to be rested and re-read some details. Putting his jacket and bag down in his office, he spotted a small box sitting on his desk. That was odd since his door has been locked.

The box was square with a logo of Arnold & Son. When he opened it, he found a piece of art of mechanism and titanium. Elegant and sleek. Stephen was sure that if he tried the watch on, it would fit perfectly on his wrist.

He walked to the station office on the same floor, which was also responsible for making his appointments in his absence, functioning as some kind of secretary. "Has someone been here to see me today?"

Billy glanced up from his computer. "Not that I know of. Why?"

"There's something on my desk I didn't put there."

"Oh yes!", Billy remembered, snipping with his finger. "A delivery was left for you at the front desk. I put it in your office."

"Do you know who dropped it off?"

"Sorry, no. You have to ask Sarah."

Stephen turned around and chased down Sarah from the front desk. But she could not help him either. The watch had been brought by a private courier. The nondescript, generic type.

Back in his office, Stephen stared at the watch. He remembered Stark's joke to show him his collection. But Tony had stopped calling him, after Stephen refused to talk to him.

Despite the expensive gift, Stephen still didn't call Tony back. He wouldn't even know what to say.

Two days later it was raining. Stephen drove his car to work as usual. He was running late, the streets were crowded. More people than usual were driving their cars, trying to get less wet on their way to work than by any other means. So Stephen's mood was not at its peak anyway. Then, arriving at the hospital, he saw that his personal parking space was occupied. He stared at the flashy sports car that had the audacity to stand in the space that was clearly assigned to him by a badge. The color of the Porsche 918 Spyder was so obnoxious that Stephen was sure it was a special paint job.

He knew of only one person who would drive such a car and who liked to sneak into his personal space. Grumbling, the doctor parked elsewhere – farther away from the main entrance, getting a lot wetter, although he hurried into the building with long strides. He went directly to the front desk.

"Someone is parking in my spot." Already in a mood he was willing to have the car towed. It was Tony's own fault to provoke him like that.

Sarah's face lit up as soon as she saw him. "Doctor Strange!" Her voice was a singsong even though she had no right to be this cheerful on such a rainy day. "Something's been dropped off for you again. And I also believe it's the solution to your problem."

Before Stephen could ask what the hell she meant, she pushed a jingling car key into his hand. Hanging from it was a personalized leather keychain with his initials. There was no mistake. Still, Stephen stared at the thing, taking a moment to realize what it meant. He blinked before looking back at Sarah. "Is someone waiting in my office for me?" He was wondering if Tony finally showed up. This was a way too expensive gift to not deliver it personally.

Sarah frowned – she probably expected a different reaction – and double checked the digital calendar. "No. You don’t have any appointments this morning."

Stephen turned away with a muttered "Thanks." With the key in one hand, he pulled out his phone with the other. He needed to talk to Tony. It couldn't go on like this. He couldn't put off a conversation with the man any longer. No one could tell what Tony Stark would do next. So he dialed his number.

Surprisingly, no one answered. Stephen waited until he was transferred to his voice mail. So he tried again. Stephen had never called Tony before. They had always just texted. He knew Stark was busy, but normally he always got back to him as soon as he had a free moment.

Stephen scoffed in irritation. After going to so much trouble to get Stephen's attention, you'd think Tony would be waiting for a message from Stephen.

Only on his third try in a row, Tony finally answered. "Stephen, bellino, are you alright?" Tony sounded concerned – probably because it was so unusual for Stephen to keep ringing – but also curt. As if Stephen were bothering him. That, in turn, bothered Stephen.

"Yes, We need to talk about the 'presents' you're sending me."

A brief pause arose and Stephen heard something in the background from Tony’s side. "Can I call you back?" he asked. "I'm kinda in the middle of something."

Stephen snorted, feeling offended. "No! Your meeting can wait for five minutes or I'm changing my mind about talking to you altogether."

Tony sighed silently. Holding his phone to his ear, he gestured with his other hand, in which he held a gun, to Steve, to keep the rogue group of a rivaling gang at bay, while he stepped to the side. "Alright, tesoro, I'm listening."

"You have to stop sending me stuff. It's getting ridiculous."

"Didn't you like the watch?" Tony asked.

"It's a nice watch," Stephen admitted. "But that's not the point…"

"I can get you a better one."

Stephen was losing patience. He felt like they were having two different conversations. Why was he talking to Tony about watches? "No, Tony. I don't want a watch. Do you even know why I'm angry with you?"

"Of course, you said-… hey! Who allowed you to get up? I'm trying to fix things over here..." Gunshots rang out and Stephen stared at his phone in horror before hearing Tony's voice again. "Sorry, doc. Some people just have no sense of decency. Where were we?"

"Where are you? Are you okay?"

"Aw, are you worried about me?" The smile on Tony's face sounded in his voice and Stephen sighed loudly.

"Can we meet?" he asked.

"Sure, I'll send Happy to get you after I'm finished with the scum here."

"I'll come to the tower after my shift." Stephen didn’t need the driver, he had his own car. Two of them actually, thinking of the key that he was still holding in his hand.

Stephen parked his car – his own, not the new Porsche, thank you very much – outside and entered the tower through the lobby. The receptionist nodded politely to him before Stephen stepped into the elevator that took him upstairs.

He had noticed on previous visits that the entire tower was monitored by video cameras and suspected that nothing happened inside without Tony himself or his men knowing about it. So it didn't surprise him when Happy picked him up from the elevator. "Hello doctor. The boss is still in a meeting. He asked you to wait in the living room."

He took him there and Stephen sat down on the couch. Happy himself didn't seem to want to keep him company and disappeared into the hallway and out of Stephen's sight. The doctor crossed his legs, not happy about having to wait. He was impatient, feeling antsy. It wasn't like him at all. But ever since he'd met Tony, he wasn't even sure what was like him anymore.

He propped his elbow on the backrest and rested his head in his hand. Mentally, he reviewed the evening of the gala. After Stane's words, he had become quite upset, possibly overreacting. What he had heard had surprised – and hurt – him. He should have at least let Tony explain it.

The sound of clicking heels approached him.

"Doctor Strange." Pepper looked at the empty coffee table in front of him. "Can I get you a drink? Coffee, tea…something else?"

Stephen's first instinct was to decline. He didn't want to talk to Pepper, didn't even want to see her. Then again, he had no idea how long he'd have to wait. "Coffee would be nice," he therefore said.

Pepper nodded and stepped into the kitchen. Stephen heard the sound of a coffee maker.

Shortly, she returned with a tray on which were two cups, as well as milk and sugar. She set one of the cups down in front of the doctor. The second she took herself and sat down on an armchair opposite him. "I wanted to talk to you," she told him, but first turned to her coffee and weakened it with plenty of milk. Her eyes darted him a pointy look, before she settled back and took a sip.

Stephen added some sugar to his coffee and waited for what she had to say.

"I'm Tony's lawyer. So almost everything that concerns him also concerns me," she said. "I'm also his friend, so that doubles that statement."

Stephen raised his eyebrows and suppressed the jealousy that was rising inside him. On the outside he managed to maintain a neutral demeanor. "I heard once you were more than friends."

He felt like Pepper was indeed sitting as a lawyer in front of him and Stephen was her latest case. No. Tony was the case. And Stephen was on trial.

Pepper watched him calculating. In their last meetings she had displayed a polite friendliness towards him, but now she was all business.

Fine. Two could play that game, Stephen thought. As a doctor, he often had to deal with difficult patients. And even if it was not one of his favorite tasks, he had acquired a professional business attire of his own over time.

"We were," Pepper told him. "But we realized quickly that we work better just as friends." She tilted her head. "That was quite a while ago and shouldn't concern you."

"It does if it's a regular occurrence that Tony falls in bed with people who work with him," Stephen objected. They were Stane's words but they haunted him.

Pepper looked as if she suddenly understood something, and her gaze softened a bit. "I've known Tony for many years and I've only seen him falling in bed exclusively with the same person a few times. And he never talked about them as much as he does about you."

To this Stephen doesn't know what to say and he looks down at his sweet but untouched coffee.

"Why are you here?" Pepper asked suddenly. "Do you want to end things with him?"

"I wouldn't even know what it is I would end." Stephen snorted, but it was true. "I don't think he does even know why I was angry, and he bought me a goddamn sports car anyway." He pinched the bridge of his nose, still not understanding the behavior of Tony.

Pepper made an amused sound. "Have you even told him why you started that fight?"

It didn't surprise Stephen that Tony had apparently told her. She probably wouldn't be sitting here in front of him otherwise. He thought about her question, though. Stephen hadn't told Tony, but really it should be obvious – shouldn't it?

"Tony does talk a lot," Pepper continued when Stephen didn't answer. "But honestly, communication isn't always his strongest point. Sometimes you need to spell things out for him. You, on the other hand, should finally start to listen – to truly listen – to him."

Stephen tilted his head as Pepper put down her empty cup. "Why are you telling me this?"

„Like I said: I‘m a friend of Tony and I hate seeing him like this. You are different. You‘re not intimidated by him. I like that about you. It would be a shame if I had to change my opinion about you.“ She said the last sentence with emphasis. Pepper Potts was not someone Stephen would want as an enemy. In the short time he had known her, he already respected her a great deal. He could well imagine that she had the same reach of influence as Tony, but she was more subtle about it. Like a cobra waiting in the tall grass until her unsuspecting prey was close enough to attack.

"Sorry to keep you waiting." Tony entered the spacious living room and both heads turned to him instantly. He stopped, not sure what to make of the fact that his lover doctor and his lawyer had obviously talked about him. The sudden silence that greeted him was loud enough.

Pepper smiled knowingly and stood up gracefully. "I'll leave you two to it." She gave Stephen one last look and then left the room.

Tony approached, his face emphatically neutral. "You wanted to talk?"

Stephen nodded slowly. "Can we go upstairs?" He preferred to talk to Tony in his penthouse, where they wouldn't run the risk of someone barging in.

"Sure."

They made their way up in silence and it was kinda awkward. At least, that's how it felt for Stephen. Tony was unusually quiet. He kept his fingers to himself, respecting Stephen's personal space. It was very different from what they were used to – even before their first kiss in the doctor's office.

Once in the penthouse, Tony headed straight for the bar. "Drink?" he asked Stephen over his shoulder. The doctor declined, and Tony poured himself two fingers' worth of amber liquid. He swirled the glass and waited for Stephen to start talking

Stephen thought of Pepper's words and maybe she was right. Maybe he had to spell it out loud.

"At the gala I learned that you and Pepper were a thing in the past. And that you have a thing for replacing your lovers rather quickly."

They had never talked about being exclusive. Neither Tony nor Stephen thought about themselves to be men that were looking for something serious. And yet they stood here, not sure where this argument left them. What it made them.

"You accused me of buying you." Tony's voice was bitter. He didn't care if someone accused him of something he had done. But when he was accused of something he had been so careful not to do – not even for his own sake, but because he had listened and wanted to do better – it hit him all the harder. "I want you to think about it: after that first check you ripped oh so gloriously, did I try to give you another?"

"No," Stephen admitted. "But people are not only bought with money. All those gifts from you… that's called bribing."

"Is it?" Tony crossed his arms, no longer caring about the drink. "So, if I – like you said – pay you, what do I get in return?"

That was the question, right? What did Stephen have that Tony could possibly want? He wasn't bribed to be his physician. Stephen had declined that money and the gifts hadn't started until way later. Was it sex? Maybe. But Tony wasn’t the type of man that needed to bribe people into having sex with him. There were plenty of willing women and men.

"Who told you?" Tony asked when Stephen said nothing, not wanting to hear the silence. "At the gala, who told you about me and Pepper?"

"It was...you know, never mind, that's not important." Stephen wouldn't mention that it was Tony's own godfather who had told him. He didn't want to start another argument. "Maybe I overreacted slightly."

A snort escaped Tony, half amused, half scowling. But it was probably the closest thing to an apology the doctor had to offer.

Stephen suddenly had another question burning on his tongue. One he had had for some time, but had not yet dared to ask it. But if this was the point of all or nothing, then why the heck not as well try it. “What are we?” Because it has been fun and games so far. And yes, also blood and anger and passion. But at the end of the day, when Stephen thought about ending things with Tony and walking away – he didn’t like that thought.

After their fight at the gala, Tony had really made an effort in reaching out to him. If it wasn't a bribe and not a payment for just casual sex, then what was it?

Tony, ever the business man, returned, "What do you want us to be?"

It was so unusual to have a conversation with Tony Stark without him taking up Stephen's personal space. And maybe that was the point. From day one, Tony had marched into his life and claimed his attention. Maybe that was the reason Stephen hadn't felt the shift of whatever they had into being something genuine. He had always assumed that Stark took what he wanted and Stephen was just along for the ride. He hadn‘t even thought about Tony being serious. But now he was standing there, several feet away from Stephen, waiting for him to make the decision. And accepting whatever outcome occurred.

The doctor bridged the distance between them with a few steps, invading the space Tony occupied at the bar. When he licked his lips, Tony's attention instantly zoomed in. "You play dirty, Doctor,” he murmured. And wasn’t that just a deja-vu of their very first meeting. Just sans the gunshot wounds, fortunately.

“What if I want more than you’re willing to give?” Stephen’s voice dropped an octave.

“Bold of you to assume how much I’m willing to give.” As if Tony hadn’t just given him a ridiculous expensive car this very morning. But Stephen wasn’t talking about money.

Tony still didn’t lay a finger on him, but his eyes – dark and hungry – spoke volumes.

“Maybe I want all of you.” Finally, finally, Stephen kissed him. It was slow and sweet and very different from what they were used to.

Tony reacted immediately. His fingers sneaked under Stephen's shirt, yaking him possessively against him until their hips were sealed. They kissed until their lips were swollen and their cheeks sported a faint red.

It wasn’t the end of everything they had to talk about, merely the beginning. But they were at an understanding that this was more than they both thought it would be. Stephen would have thought that this fact scared him – surprisingly, it didn't. It felt natural.

He arched, planting small kisses and soft bites along Tony’s jaw.

A small moan tried to escape Tony’s throat, only held back by his teeth – Stephen heard it anyway – while Tony tried to form his thoughts in actual sentences. “I didn’t want to buy you.” It was very close to rambling. “Fuck, I probably have never respected someone more than you. You’re not shy to tell me off. You’re intelligent, gorgeous and very tempting. But don’t ever tell me to not pamper you with nice stuff. You deserve it. I’d love seeing you wearing the watch I bought you. Love seeing you enjoy it. I don’t care about the money.” Tony looked at him and Stephen had him never seen so open, so vulnerable like right now. “Let me take care of you. You can pay for dinner, if you insist, I don’t care. But don’t reject a gift from me. It’s like you stab me with a knife. And I take stabbing very personally.”

His words were very dramatic yet very Tony. And Stephen understood. He understood the sentiment behind them and where Tony came from.

“I won’t.” He kissed Tony’s collarbone then wandered higher to his lips, halted right in front of them without touching them. “If you promise me not to get over the tops with the gifts.”

Tony took his well-deserved kiss. "Bellissimo, have you met me?" He looked at the Doctor, a mischief twinkle in his eyes. "I'm always over the top."

They didn't make it to bed. Yet it felt more intimate than ever. It wasn't hungry and hot headed like usual when they fell over each other. Instead, they took their time, moving slowly. The air tasted sweet with desire and full of feelings. It was both addictive and infectious.

Stephen was the most handsome man that Tony had ever laid his eyes upon. That, he would admit without hesitation. Tony forced himself to keep his eyes open and watch as Stephen threw his head back and let out the most luxurious cry as he came hard.

They stayed on the couch, tangled together, afterwards.

Stephen's fingers chased the tattoos on Tony's body. They were all on his torso and not visible when he wore a shirt. The amount of colors would have surprised him when he treated him back then after his gunshot wound, if he hadn't already seen a similar view on Peter and hadn't been so tired after his shift plus the emergency surgery.

Tony was a piece of art. He belonged in a gallery next to the greatest painters and stone carvers. Yet Stephen was selfish enough to be glad that this view was only for him.

He traced to outlines of colorful and elegant flowers sitting right above Tony's navel.

"Those are Camellia flowers." Tony's eyes followed Stephen's fingers. Their eyes met for a moment before both looked again at the painting. Each of his tattoos had a special meaning. He understood when someone got a tattoo for aesthetics, for the sake of art. For him, every image on his skin was a reminder. A sign that he did not forget and won’t ever for as long as he lived. "They were my mother's favorite."

"They are beautiful." Stephen examined more tattoos, taking time for each to look closely at the colors and patterns. They had fascinated him from the first day he had seen them. "Is this a code?" Questioningly, he pointed to a number block of 0s and 1s.

"It's the name of my first friend in binary."

"That's a long ass name."

Laughing, Tony cupped his cheeks and pulled him up for a kiss, to which Stephen was only too happy to respond. Then Stephen moved the kisses further down and covered each tattoo with one, starting with the great, blue centerpiece on his chest. He wasn't sure what the circle and lines represented, but it was familiar to him by now, as were the scars underneath that it hid. It belonged to Tony.

Stephen's finger settled on the capital A, which he had also seen on some of Tony's men, if it was placed visibly. "A for Anthony?"

"Maybe." Tony chuckled. "Would be fitting for me, wouldn't it?" His fingers brushed through the doctor's dark hair, chasing the lighter streaks on his temples. "Nah, too easy. The FBI would love it though."

"Then what does it mean?"

„Avengers. Don‘t laugh! It started after my parents died. I was in a dark place back then. Angry. But the name was fitting. Still is for most of us,“ „Steve and Bucky are ex-military. Bucky lost his arm in action and they both suffer from PTSD. It was hard for them to find a place to fit in. They only know war and function best under stress. Clint was a kid from the streets. Circus runaway gone rogue. He tried to steal from me but I caught him. He taught me some basic ASL. One day he brought home Natasha. An orphan, born in Russia. Somehow found her way overseas. I made her residence legal.“

Every single one of his most trusted people had their own story. And few of them were happy stories.

„What about Peter?“ Stephen asked in a quiet voice, almost as if he was afraid of the answer. They all had their past, sure, but Peter was still so young.

„He had nobody left when I found him. He deserves so much more,“ Tony explained as Stephen snuggled up next to him, still listening. Tony sighed. He had made the traffickers, in whose care he had found the boy, pay. It still hadn't been enough, in his opinion. It never would be.

"I met most of that weird bunch of people after I became head of the business." After his parents died. "Did you know I was shot too that day?"

Stephen looked at him in surprise. "What?"

"They were ricochets. Three shards in my chest." Tony put his hand on the blue ink. "Two inches to the side and they would have been in my heart."

"That's… how did you survive?" It was incredible. Gunshot wounds like that were mostly lethal.

"I don't know. Luck I guess. Maybe someone up there had other plans for me." Tony shrugged his shoulders as if to dispel the thought. With a naked Stephen next to him, partly spread across him, he didn't want to think about those old stories.

"Has anyone told you about the six aspects of the Avenger's yet?" he therefore asked to change the subject. As he did so, he pointed to the colored dots next to the capital A. Stephen shook his head. "They are time, space, reality, mind, soul and power. Every member of the Avenger's earns their aspects for their use. Time, for long time members. Reds, Reality, are the executive force in the streets. People who implement plans and actually change things." Tony slid his fingers to the top, purple dot. "Currently there are only three people beside me who got this one. Stane, Rhodey and Pepper. If anything happens to me, they are the next in line of command. I trust each of them with my life."

Stephen suppressed the stab of jealousy that briefly ran through him at the mention of Pepper's name. He can't help it. But he had come to understand that she was no competition for him. To Tony, she was family.

Smiling, he looked at Tony – the man that chose him, Stephen.

"Thank you for sharing this with me."

_____________________________

Tony: makes ridiculous, over the top gifts. Christine to Stephen: “Please for the love of all of our sanity: talk to him before he buys the hospital and renames it. I will quit if I’m forced to work at Strange Hospital.” That long ass binary name of Tony's first friend: 01001010 01100001 01110010 01110110 01101001 01110011

Tag List: @hidden-treasures21

#IronStrange #StrangeIron #stephen strange x tony stark #doctor strange x iron man #Stephen Strange #Doctor Strange #Tony Stark #Mafia AU #Mob Au #Italian mafia #Angst #Drama #Romance #Idiots in love #Faded black ink #ironstrange family

16 notes · View notes

uptondecker17 · 10 months

Text

Vape Cartridge Reviewed: What Can One Be taught From Other's Mistakes

The ceramic vape cartridge allows a leakage-free design resulting from the top silicone seal. Custom Candle Boxes Custom Cardboard Boxes Custom Cream Boxes Custom Eyeliner Boxes Custom Eyeshadow Boxes Custom Foundation Boxes Custom Hair Extension Boxes Custom Hairspray Boxes Custom Lip Balm Boxes Custom Lip Gloss Boxes Custom Lotion Boxes Custom Makeup Boxes Custom Mascara Boxes Custom Nail Polish Boxes Custom Perfume Boxes Custom Eyelash Boxes Custom Lipstick Boxes Custom Archive Boxes Custom Book Boxes Custom Business Card Boxes Custom Cardboard Boxes Custom CD/DVD Storage Boxes Custom Cigarette Boxes Custom Corrugated Boxes Custom Cube Boxes Custom Die Cut Boxes Custom Folding Boxes Custom Game Boxes Custom Invitation Boxes Custom Medicine Boxes Custom Paper Boxes Custom Playing Card Boxes Custom Postage Boxes Custom Presentation Boxes Custom Product Boxes Custom Pyramid Boxes Custom Shirt Boxes Custom Sleeve Boxes Custom Software Boxes Custom Sports Boxes Custom Suitcase Boxes Custom Tie Boxes Custom Toy Boxes Custom Wedding Card Boxes Custom White Boxes Custom Window Boxes Custom Wrap Boxes Custom Mailer Boxes Custom Vape Cartridge Boxes Custom Triangle Boxes Custom Bath Bomb Boxes Custom Hemp Oil Boxes Custom CBD Boxes Custom Soap Boxes Custom Pillow Boxes Custom Bakery Boxes Custom Cereal Boxes Custom Chocolate Boxes Custom Cupcake Boxes Custom Muffin Boxes Custom Pie Boxes Custom Snack Boxes Custom Wine Boxes Custom Cake Boxes Custom Chinese Food Boxes Custom Coffee Boxes Custom Donut Boxes Custom Noodle Boxes Custom Pizza Boxes Custom Tea Boxes Custom Candy Boxes Custom Chinese Takeout Boxes Custom Cookie Boxes Custom Macaron Boxes Custom Pastry Boxes Custom Truffle Boxes Custom Cone Sleeve Custom Popcorn Boxes Custom Ornament Boxes Custom Handle Boxes Custom Gift Card Boxes Custom Gable Boxes Custom Favor Boxes Custom Silver Foil Boxes Custom Gold Foil Boxes Custom Kraft Boxes Custom Bux Board Boxes Custom Display Boxes Custom Cosmetic Display Boxes Custom 1-2-3 Bottom Custom Auto Bottom with Display Lid Custom Full Flap Auto Bottom Custom Seal End Auto Bottom Custom Four Panel Cd Jacket Custom Six Panel Cd Jacket Custom Two Panel Cd Jacket Custom Bowl Sleeve Custom Double Locked Wall Lid Custom Double Wall Tray Boxes Custom Foot Lock Tray Custom Gable Bag Custom Glass Carrier Boxes Custom Ice Cream Cone Holder Custom Regular Six Corner Custom Side Lock Six Corner Custom Bookend Boxes Custom Double Wall Tuck Front Custom Four Corner Cake Boxes Custom Gable Boxes Auto Bottom Custom Hexagon Boxes Custom Hexagon 2 Pc bins Custom Tray and Sleeve Boxes Custom Two Piece Boxes Custom Four Corner Tray Custom Reverse Tuck End Boxes Custom Seal End Boxes Custom Straight Tuck End Custom Tuck End Auto Bottom Custom 1-2-3 Bottom Display Lid Custom Double Wall with Display Lid Custom Five Panel Hanger Custom Paper Brief Case Custom Double Wall Tuck Top Custom Four Corner with Display Lid Custom Gable Bag Auto Bottom Custom Gable Bag Bottom Hanger Custom Self Lock Cake Boxes Custom Advertising Packaging Custom Apparel Boxes Custom Auto Lock Boxes Custom Beverage Packaging Custom Candle Packaging Custom Candy Packaging Custom Carrier Bag Full Custom Chipboard Packaging Custom Chips Cup Custom Cigarettes Packaging Custom Corrugated Packaging Custom Cosmetics Packaging Custom Boxes with Logo Custom Product Packaging Custom Dispenser Boxes Custom Diy Pizza Boxes Custom Emily Chicken field Custom FL BROWNFLA Custom Foil Medium Takeaway Box Custom Foil Takeaway Box Custom Generic Printed Pizza Boxes Custom Kraft Card Boxes Custom Laminated Sandwich Bag Custom Medium Fish 'n' Chip Box Custom Sovereign packing containers Custom Takeaway Bags Custom Takeaway Box Custom Takeaway Plates Custom Tuck Boxes Custom Union Yard Custom White Corrugated Pizza Box Custom White Small Slice Cake Boxes Custom 6 x 9 Pocket Folders Custom 9 x 12 Presentation Folders Custom 9.5 x 14.5 Pocket Folders Custom Business Folders Custom CD & DVD Folders Custom Corporate Folders Custom Die Cut Folders Custom Document Folders Custom Embossed Folders Custom File Folders Custom Folders Printing Custom Gate Folders Custom Legal Size Presentation Folders Custom Letter Sized Presentation Folders Custom Mini Size Folders Custom Pocket Folders Custom Presentation Folders Printing Custom Spot UV folders Custom Tri Panel Folders Custom Address Labels Custom Anniversary Seals Custom Auto & Car Decals Custom Auto & Car Stickers Custom Business Label Printing Custom Business Stickers Custom Car Bumper Stickers Custom Car Decals Custom Car Window Stickers Custom Clear Vinyl Stickers Custom Cut Vinyl Decals Custom Decals Custom Labels Printing Custom Stickers Custom Double Sided Decals Custom General Purpose Label Printing Custom Hologram Stickers Custom Jeep Bumper Stickers Custom Magnetic Bumper Stickers Custom Oval Bumper Sticker Custom Pro Cut Vinyl Stickers Custom Religious Bumper Stickers Custom Sticker Printing Custom Vinyl Bumper Stickers Vinyl Stickers & Decals Custom Static Clings Custom 2 x 6 Bookmarks Custom Bookmark Printing Custom Personal Bookmarks Custom 2 Part Carbonless Forms Custom 3 Part Carbonless Forms Custom three Part Carbonless Forms Printing Custom four Part Carbonless Forms Custom four Part Carbonless Forms Printing Custom 5 Part Carbonless Forms Custom Business Forms Custom Carbon Copy Letter Custom Carbonless Books Custom Carbonless Form Printing Custom Carbonless Pads Custom Carbonless Forms Custom Order Forms Custom eleven x 17 Brochure Printing Custom 8.5 x 11 Brochure Printing Custom 8.5 x 14 Brochure Printing Custom Bi Fold Brochures Custom Brochure Printing Custom Medical Brochures Custom Travel Brochures Custom Trifold Brochures Custom Business Cards Printing Custom Business Cards with Foiling Custom Embossed Business Cards Custom Folded Business Cards Custom-Standard Business Cards Printing Custom 2 Panel CD Jackets Printing Custom 4 Panel CD / DVD Jackets Custom 6 Panel CD Jackets Printing Custom CD / DVD Boxes Custom CD Jacket Printing Custom 2.8 x 11 Table Tents Printing Custom 4.25 x 5.5 Table Tents Printing Custom Table Tents Printing Custom 10 oz Vinyl Banner Printing Custom 12 oz Vinyl Banner Printing Custom 10 Envelopes Printing Custom 9 Envelopes Printing Custom 9 x 12 Envelope Printing Custom C6 Envelopes Custom Envelopes Custom DL Envelopes Printing Custom Envelopes Printing Custom 4 Color Catalog Printing Custom 8.5 x eleven Catalogs Custom 8.5 x 5.5 Catalogs Custom Book Catalog Printing Custom Catalog Cards Printing Custom Cheap Catalog Printing Custom Commercial Catalog Custom Wholesale Catalogs Custom 12 web page magazines printing Custom 16 Page Magazine Printing Custom 8 Page Magazine Printing Custom Magazine Printing Custom Magazines Printing Custom Fabric Bags Custom Paper Bags Custom 16 Page Booklet Custom 20 Pages Booklets Custom 8.5 x eleven Booklet Printing Custom 8.5 x 5.5 Booklets Custom Booklet Case Custom Booklet Cover Custom Booklet Envelope Custom Booklet Folders Custom Booklet Printing Custom Brochure Booklets Custom CD / DVD Booklets Custom Christian Booklets Custom Color Booklet Custom Booklets Custom Digital Booklet Custom Folded Booklet Custom Instruction Booklets Custom Large Booklet Custom Marketing Booklets Custom Photo Booklets Custom Pocket Booklets Custom Wholesale Booklets Custom Bottle Necker Printing Custom 1 Page Calendars Custom 12 Page Calendars Custom 6 Page Calendars Custom Calendar Printing Custom Auto & Car Clings Custom Car Window Clings Custom Cling Decals Custom Die Cut Clings Custom Double Side Static Clings Custom Static Window Clings Custom Vinyl Clings Custom four x 9 Door Hangers Printing Custom 5 x eight Door Hangers Printing Custom Door Hanger Advertising Custom Door Hangers Printing Custom Personalized Door Hanger Custom Political Door Hangers Custom Real Estate Door Hangers Custom 4 x 6 Flyers Printing Custom 8.5 x 11 Flyers Printing Custom Flyers Printing Custom 10 x 7 Greeting Cards Printing Custom 7 x 5 Greeting Cards Printing Custom 8.5 x 6 Greeting Cards Printing Custom Greeting Cards Printing Custom Personalized Greeting Cards Custom Certificate Holders Custom Invitational Cards Printing Custom 8.5 x eleven Letterhead Printing Custom 8.5 x 14 Letterhead Printing Custom Letterhead Custom Letterheads Printing Custom Menus Printing Custom Notepad Printing Custom 4 x 6 Postcard Printing Custom 5 x 7 Postcard Printing Custom 5 x eight Postcard Printing Custom 6 x 9 Postcard Printing Custom Postcards Printing Custom Posters Printing Custom Tags Printing Custom Jumbo Tickets Custom Standard Tickets Printing Custom Tickets Printing Cannabis Boxes Custom Cannabis Chocolate Boxes E-Juice Boxes Custom Pre roll Packaging Pre-roll Joint Boxes Marijuana Boxes Marijuana Edibles Packaging CBD Bath Bomb Boxes CBD Chocolate Boxes CBD Display Boxes Custom CBD Tincture Boxes Hemp Boxes Custom Vape Boxes Custom Vape Oil Packaging Boxes Custom CBD Brownies Boxes Custom Cannabis Counter Display Boxes Custom Hemp Milk Boxes Custom Vape Gift Boxes Custom E Liquid Boxes Delta-eight THC Display Boxes Delta-8 THC Dropper Bottle Boxes Delta-eight THC Gummies Boxes Delta-eight THC Boxes Delta 9 Cannabis Packaging Boxes Custom Rigid Boxes Cigar Boxes Kraft Paper Box Wholesale Dab Packaging Boxes Crepe Cone Packaging Christmas Boxes Paper Coasters Burger Boxes Valentine Gift Boxes!

The lifespan of a THC cartridge depends on a number of components, equivalent to the amount of THC within the cartridge, the scale of the cartridge, and how usually you use it. So now that you recognize what to look for, head to our menu and start looking our number of THC vape cartridges! Yes, THC cartridges can expire. Once a cartridge expires, the THC inside degrades, making it less potent and effective. You'll be able to refill your THC cartridge utilizing a cannabis oil syringe. That is perhaps brought on by mixing botanical terpenes with distillate oil on this cartridge. When you find yourself utilizing a 510 cartridge vape pen, it usually has a transparent window to point out the cannabis oil quantity. How Weed Au Does a THC Cartridge Last? When your THC cartridge is working low, you’ll notice that vapor production begins to lower. Vaping THC might help with chronic ache by offering relief from the signs.

Chemically talking, delta 8 THC is almost identical to delta 9 THC, but it surely has a double bond on a unique carbon chain. How to put an order? For example, some strains are extra energizing while others are extra stress-free. We additionally provide a variety of various strains to suit your needs, whether you’re searching for an energizing Sativa or a stress-free Indica. Be sure to decide on a pressure that produces the type of impact you’re searching for. The expiration date is often printed on the cartridge, and you should keep away from utilizing it after this date. Green Machine’s packaging says it’s made with industrial hemp, however there’s no information about who's behind it. The drastic enhance accounts for the latest innovations in vape juice. You simply pop them out of the field, vape till they’re empty, and recycle them wherever applicable. Before setting your coronary heart to a specific flavor, you may discover which ones are accessible to you and whether or not or not they're at all times obtainable.

2: The Agricultural Improvement Act of 2018, also known because the 2018 Farm Bill. We additionally do discreet transport and supply to the USA , Canada , UK and Europe .

#marijuaba #weed #420 #kush #cannabis

2 notes · View notes

publicdomainbooks · 1 year

Text

THE SECOND OF THE THREE SPIRITS. (2)

The house fronts looked black enough, and the windows blacker, contrasting with the smooth white sheet of snow upon the roofs, and with the dirtier snow upon the ground; which last deposit had been ploughed up in deep furrows by the heavy wheels of carts and waggons; furrows that crossed and re-crossed each other hundreds of times where the great streets branched off; and made intricate channels, hard to trace in the thick yellow mud and icy water. The sky was gloomy, and the shortest streets were choked up with a dingy mist, half thawed, half frozen, whose heavier particles descended in a shower of sooty atoms, as if all the chimneys in Great Britain had, by one consent, caught fire, and were blazing away to their dear hearts’ content. There was nothing very cheerful in the climate or the town, and yet was there an air of cheerfulness abroad that the clearest summer air and brightest summer sun might have endeavoured to diffuse in vain.

For, the people who were shovelling away on the housetops were jovial and full of glee; calling out to one another from the parapets, and now and then exchanging a facetious snowball—better-natured missile far than many a wordy jest—laughing heartily if it went right and not less heartily if it went wrong. The poulterers’ shops were still half open, and the fruiterers’ were radiant in their glory. There were great, round, pot-bellied baskets of chestnuts, shaped like the waistcoats of jolly old gentlemen, lolling at the doors, and tumbling out into the street in their apoplectic opulence. There were ruddy, brown-faced, broad-girthed Spanish Onions, shining in the fatness of their growth like Spanish Friars, and winking from their shelves in wanton slyness at the girls as they went by, and glanced demurely at the hung-up mistletoe. There were pears and apples, clustered high in blooming pyramids; there were bunches of grapes, made, in the shopkeepers’ benevolence to dangle from conspicuous hooks, that people’s mouths might water gratis as they passed; there were piles of filberts, mossy and brown, recalling, in their fragrance, ancient walks among the woods, and pleasant shufflings ankle deep through withered leaves; there were Norfolk Biffins, squat and swarthy, setting off the yellow of the oranges and lemons, and, in the great compactness of their juicy persons, urgently entreating and beseeching to be carried home in paper bags and eaten after dinner. The very gold and silver fish, set forth among these choice fruits in a bowl, though members of a dull and stagnant-blooded race, appeared to know that there was something going on; and, to a fish, went gasping round and round their little world in slow and passionless excitement.

The Grocers’! oh, the Grocers’! nearly closed, with perhaps two shutters down, or one; but through those gaps such glimpses! It was not alone that the scales descending on the counter made a merry sound, or that the twine and roller parted company so briskly, or that the canisters were rattled up and down like juggling tricks, or even that the blended scents of tea and coffee were so grateful to the nose, or even that the raisins were so plentiful and rare, the almonds so extremely white, the sticks of cinnamon so long and straight, the other spices so delicious, the candied fruits so caked and spotted with molten sugar as to make the coldest lookers-on feel faint and subsequently bilious. Nor was it that the figs were moist and pulpy, or that the French plums blushed in modest tartness from their highly-decorated boxes, or that everything was good to eat and in its Christmas dress; but the customers were all so hurried and so eager in the hopeful promise of the day, that they tumbled up against each other at the door, crashing their wicker baskets wildly, and left their purchases upon the counter, and came running back to fetch them, and committed hundreds of the like mistakes, in the best humour possible; while the Grocer and his people were so frank and fresh that the polished hearts with which they fastened their aprons behind might have been their own, worn outside for general inspection, and for Christmas daws to peck at if they chose.

But soon the steeples called good people all, to church and chapel, and away they came, flocking through the streets in their best clothes, and with their gayest faces. And at the same time there emerged from scores of bye-streets, lanes, and nameless turnings, innumerable people, carrying their dinners to the bakers’ shops. The sight of these poor revellers appeared to interest the Spirit very much, for he stood with Scrooge beside him in a baker’s doorway, and taking off the covers as their bearers passed, sprinkled incense on their dinners from his torch. And it was a very uncommon kind of torch, for once or twice when there were angry words between some dinner-carriers who had jostled each other, he shed a few drops of water on them from it, and their good humour was restored directly. For they said, it was a shame to quarrel upon Christmas Day. And so it was! God love it, so it was!

In time the bells ceased, and the bakers were shut up; and yet there was a genial shadowing forth of all these dinners and the progress of their cooking, in the thawed blotch of wet above each baker’s oven; where the pavement smoked as if its stones were cooking too.

“Is there a peculiar flavour in what you sprinkle from your torch?” asked Scrooge.

“There is. My own.”

“Would it apply to any kind of dinner on this day?” asked Scrooge.

“To any kindly given. To a poor one most.”

“Why to a poor one most?” asked Scrooge.

“Because it needs it most.”

“Spirit,” said Scrooge, after a moment’s thought, “I wonder you, of all the beings in the many worlds about us, should desire to cramp these people’s opportunities of innocent enjoyment.”

“I!” cried the Spirit.

“You would deprive them of their means of dining every seventh day, often the only day on which they can be said to dine at all,” said Scrooge. “Wouldn’t you?”

“I!” cried the Spirit.

“You seek to close these places on the Seventh Day?” said Scrooge. “And it comes to the same thing.”

“I seek!” exclaimed the Spirit.

“Forgive me if I am wrong. It has been done in your name, or at least in that of your family,” said Scrooge.

“There are some upon this earth of yours,” returned the Spirit, “who lay claim to know us, and who do their deeds of passion, pride, ill-will, hatred, envy, bigotry, and selfishness in our name, who are as strange to us and all our kith and kin, as if they had never lived. Remember that, and charge their doings on themselves, not us.”

Scrooge promised that he would; and they went on, invisible, as they had been before, into the suburbs of the town. It was a remarkable quality of the Ghost (which Scrooge had observed at the baker’s), that notwithstanding his gigantic size, he could accommodate himself to any place with ease; and that he stood beneath a low roof quite as gracefully and like a supernatural creature, as it was possible he could have done in any lofty hall.

And perhaps it was the pleasure the good Spirit had in showing off this power of his, or else it was his own kind, generous, hearty nature, and his sympathy with all poor men, that led him straight to Scrooge’s clerk’s; for there he went, and took Scrooge with him, holding to his robe; and on the threshold of the door the Spirit smiled, and stopped to bless Bob Cratchit’s dwelling with the sprinkling of his torch. Think of that! Bob had but fifteen “Bob” a-week himself; he pocketed on Saturdays but fifteen copies of his Christian name; and yet the Ghost of Christmas Present blessed his four-roomed house!

Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, Cratchit’s wife, dressed out but poorly in a twice-turned gown, but brave in ribbons, which are cheap and make a goodly show for sixpence; and she laid the cloth, assisted by Belinda Cratchit, second of her daughters, also brave in ribbons; while Master Peter Cratchit plunged a fork into the saucepan of potatoes, and getting the corners of his monstrous shirt collar (Bob’s private property, conferred upon his son and heir in honour of the day) into his mouth, rejoiced to find himself so gallantly attired, and yearned to show his linen in the fashionable Parks. And now two smaller Cratchits, boy and girl, came tearing in, screaming that outside the baker’s they had smelt the goose, and known it for their own; and basking in luxurious thoughts of sage and onion, these young Cratchits danced about the table, and exalted Master Peter Cratchit to the skies, while he (not proud, although his collars nearly choked him) blew the fire, until the slow potatoes bubbling up, knocked loudly at the saucepan-lid to be let out and peeled.

“What has ever got your precious father then?” said Mrs. Cratchit. “And your brother, Tiny Tim! And Martha warn’t as late last Christmas Day by half-an-hour?”

“Here’s Martha, mother!” said a girl, appearing as she spoke.

“Here’s Martha, mother!” cried the two young Cratchits. “Hurrah! There’s such a goose, Martha!”

“Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you are!” said Mrs. Cratchit, kissing her a dozen times, and taking off her shawl and bonnet for her with officious zeal.

“We’d a deal of work to finish up last night,” replied the girl, “and had to clear away this morning, mother!”

“Well! Never mind so long as you are come,” said Mrs. Cratchit. “Sit ye down before the fire, my dear, and have a warm, Lord bless ye!”

“No, no! There’s father coming,” cried the two young Cratchits, who were everywhere at once. “Hide, Martha, hide!”

So Martha hid herself, and in came little Bob, the father, with at least three feet of comforter exclusive of the fringe, hanging down before him; and his threadbare clothes darned up and brushed, to look seasonable; and Tiny Tim upon his shoulder. Alas for Tiny Tim, he bore a little crutch, and had his limbs supported by an iron frame!

“Why, where’s our Martha?” cried Bob Cratchit, looking round.

“Not coming,” said Mrs. Cratchit.

“Not coming!” said Bob, with a sudden declension in his high spirits; for he had been Tim’s blood horse all the way from church, and had come home rampant. “Not coming upon Christmas Day!”

Martha didn’t like to see him disappointed, if it were only in joke; so she came out prematurely from behind the closet door, and ran into his arms, while the two young Cratchits hustled Tiny Tim, and bore him off into the wash-house, that he might hear the pudding singing in the copper.

“And how did little Tim behave?” asked Mrs. Cratchit, when she had rallied Bob on his credulity, and Bob had hugged his daughter to his heart’s content.

“As good as gold,” said Bob, “and better. Somehow he gets thoughtful, sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest things you ever heard. He told me, coming home, that he hoped the people saw him in the church, because he was a cripple, and it might be pleasant to them to remember upon Christmas Day, who made lame beggars walk, and blind men see.”

Bob’s voice was tremulous when he told them this, and trembled more when he said that Tiny Tim was growing strong and hearty.

His active little crutch was heard upon the floor, and back came Tiny Tim before another word was spoken, escorted by his brother and sister to his stool before the fire; and while Bob, turning up his cuffs—as if, poor fellow, they were capable of being made more shabby—compounded some hot mixture in a jug with gin and lemons, and stirred it round and round and put it on the hob to simmer; Master Peter, and the two ubiquitous young Cratchits went to fetch the goose, with which they soon returned in high procession.

Such a bustle ensued that you might have thought a goose the rarest of all birds; a feathered phenomenon, to which a black swan was a matter of course—and in truth it was something very like it in that house. Mrs. Cratchit made the gravy (ready beforehand in a little saucepan) hissing hot; Master Peter mashed the potatoes with incredible vigour; Miss Belinda sweetened up the apple-sauce; Martha dusted the hot plates; Bob took Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at the table; the two young Cratchits set chairs for everybody, not forgetting themselves, and mounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons into their mouths, lest they should shriek for goose before their turn came to be helped. At last the dishes were set on, and grace was said. It was succeeded by a breathless pause, as Mrs. Cratchit, looking slowly all along the carving-knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast; but when she did, and when the long expected gush of stuffing issued forth, one murmur of delight arose all round the board, and even Tiny Tim, excited by the two young Cratchits, beat on the table with the handle of his knife, and feebly cried Hurrah!

There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn’t believe there ever was such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavour, size and cheapness, were the themes of universal admiration. Eked out by apple-sauce and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family; indeed, as Mrs. Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one small atom of a bone upon the dish), they hadn’t ate it all at last! Yet every one had had enough, and the youngest Cratchits in particular, were steeped in sage and onion to the eyebrows! But now, the plates being changed by Miss Belinda, Mrs. Cratchit left the room alone—too nervous to bear witnesses—to take the pudding up and bring it in.

Suppose it should not be done enough! Suppose it should break in turning out! Suppose somebody should have got over the wall of the back-yard, and stolen it, while they were merry with the goose—a supposition at which the two young Cratchits became livid! All sorts of horrors were supposed.

Hallo! A great deal of steam! The pudding was out of the copper. A smell like a washing-day! That was the cloth. A smell like an eating-house and a pastrycook’s next door to each other, with a laundress’s next door to that! That was the pudding! In half a minute Mrs. Cratchit entered—flushed, but smiling proudly—with the pudding, like a speckled cannon-ball, so hard and firm, blazing in half of half-a-quartern of ignited brandy, and bedight with Christmas holly stuck into the top.

Oh, a wonderful pudding! Bob Cratchit said, and calmly too, that he regarded it as the greatest success achieved by Mrs. Cratchit since their marriage. Mrs. Cratchit said that now the weight was off her mind, she would confess she had had her doubts about the quantity of flour. Everybody had something to say about it, but nobody said or thought it was at all a small pudding for a large family. It would have been flat heresy to do so. Any Cratchit would have blushed to hint at such a thing.

At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the hearth swept, and the fire made up. The compound in the jug being tasted, and considered perfect, apples and oranges were put upon the table, and a shovel-full of chestnuts on the fire. Then all the Cratchit family drew round the hearth, in what Bob Cratchit called a circle, meaning half a one; and at Bob Cratchit’s elbow stood the family display of glass. Two tumblers, and a custard-cup without a handle.

These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as golden goblets would have done; and Bob served it out with beaming looks, while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and cracked noisily. Then Bob proposed:

“A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us!”

Which all the family re-echoed.

“God bless us every one!” said Tiny Tim, the last of all.

He sat very close to his father’s side upon his little stool. Bob held his withered little hand in his, as if he loved the child, and wished to keep him by his side, and dreaded that he might be taken from him.

“Spirit,” said Scrooge, with an interest he had never felt before, “tell me if Tiny Tim will live.”

“I see a vacant seat,” replied the Ghost, “in the poor chimney-corner, and a crutch without an owner, carefully preserved. If these shadows remain unaltered by the Future, the child will die.”

“No, no,” said Scrooge. “Oh, no, kind Spirit! say he will be spared.”

“If these shadows remain unaltered by the Future, none other of my race,” returned the Ghost, “will find him here. What then? If he be like to die, he had better do it, and decrease the surplus population.”

Scrooge hung his head to hear his own words quoted by the Spirit, and was overcome with penitence and grief.

“Man,” said the Ghost, “if man you be in heart, not adamant, forbear that wicked cant until you have discovered What the surplus is, and Where it is. Will you decide what men shall live, what men shall die? It may be, that in the sight of Heaven, you are more worthless and less fit to live than millions like this poor man’s child. Oh God! to hear the Insect on the leaf pronouncing on the too much life among his hungry brothers in the dust!”

Scrooge bent before the Ghost’s rebuke, and trembling cast his eyes upon the ground. But he raised them speedily, on hearing his own name.

“Mr. Scrooge!” said Bob; “I’ll give you Mr. Scrooge, the Founder of the Feast!”

“The Founder of the Feast indeed!” cried Mrs. Cratchit, reddening. “I wish I had him here. I’d give him a piece of my mind to feast upon, and I hope he’d have a good appetite for it.”

“My dear,” said Bob, “the children! Christmas Day.”

“It should be Christmas Day, I am sure,” said she, “on which one drinks the health of such an odious, stingy, hard, unfeeling man as Mr. Scrooge. You know he is, Robert! Nobody knows it better than you do, poor fellow!”

“My dear,” was Bob’s mild answer, “Christmas Day.”

“I’ll drink his health for your sake and the Day’s,” said Mrs. Cratchit, “not for his. Long life to him! A merry Christmas and a happy new year! He’ll be very merry and very happy, I have no doubt!”

The children drank the toast after her. It was the first of their proceedings which had no heartiness. Tiny Tim drank it last of all, but he didn’t care twopence for it. Scrooge was the Ogre of the family. The mention of his name cast a dark shadow on the party, which was not dispelled for full five minutes.

After it had passed away, they were ten times merrier than before, from the mere relief of Scrooge the Baleful being done with. Bob Cratchit told them how he had a situation in his eye for Master Peter, which would bring in, if obtained, full five-and-sixpence weekly. The two young Cratchits laughed tremendously at the idea of Peter’s being a man of business; and Peter himself looked thoughtfully at the fire from between his collars, as if he were deliberating what particular investments he should favour when he came into the receipt of that bewildering income. Martha, who was a poor apprentice at a milliner’s, then told them what kind of work she had to do, and how many hours she worked at a stretch, and how she meant to lie abed to-morrow morning for a good long rest; to-morrow being a holiday she passed at home. Also how she had seen a countess and a lord some days before, and how the lord “was much about as tall as Peter;” at which Peter pulled up his collars so high that you couldn’t have seen his head if you had been there. All this time the chestnuts and the jug went round and round; and by-and-bye they had a song, about a lost child travelling in the snow, from Tiny Tim, who had a plaintive little voice, and sang it very well indeed.

There was nothing of high mark in this. They were not a handsome family; they were not well dressed; their shoes were far from being water-proof; their clothes were scanty; and Peter might have known, and very likely did, the inside of a pawnbroker’s. But, they were happy, grateful, pleased with one another, and contented with the time; and when they faded, and looked happier yet in the bright sprinklings of the Spirit’s torch at parting, Scrooge had his eye upon them, and especially on Tiny Tim, until the last.

#a christmas carol

4 notes · View notes