expansion chamber

anonymous asked:

Senator Cassian J. Andor of Fest exchanges vital information from the Alliance with Senator Jyn Erso of Vallt over lunch.

The senator from Fest had “people”: secretaries and assistants and aides, whereas Jyn, as the elected representative from little-populated Vallt, had only herself. But despite this, Senator Andor came himself when it came time for the exchange of information. She knew his face from the holos–had seen him briefly across the wide expanse of the senate chambers, but this was the first time face to face.

He was wrapped in a blue overcoat lined with fur even though Coruscant rarely got that cold. It struck Jyn as odd–they were both from ice planets and yet here he was still cold. She had long gotten used to the glacial temperatures of her birth planet and merely wore her senate robes while she waited for him to arrive at lunch.

“My apologies for the delay, Senator Erso,” he said, bowing as he arrived at their table where his water glass was wet with condensation and his salad wilting under the weight of the dressing.

She rose and bowed her head. “It’s no problem, Senator Andor,” she said, even though it had been an inconvenience–even more, really, because this wasn’t usual senate business. This was a covert exchange of information. This was rebellion.

“Please, call me Cassian.”

“Jyn,” she said more out of courtesy than anything.

He sat down at the table and she returned to her seat, and sliding his hand across the table to his water, she saw him drop a data card out of his sleeve onto the white linen. Jyn reached over to reach for her wine and swiped it up into her palm.

“It’s cold today, isn’t it?” he said idly even though she watched his eyes dart around the room. The smile never left his place–neutral and pleasant, and his demeanor, she thought, seemed more well suited for a spy than for a senator. But then, she only had to look at herself–she was more a brawler than a politician, but the cards had fallen that way and she had rather see herself in the position than the opposition.

“Is it not cold from where you’re from, too?” she asked if weather was to be the topic of discussion today.

“Not as cold as from where you are from,” he said, and he smiled, lines crinkling around his dark brown eyes, a burst of real warmth that surprised her.

“You know much of me?” she asked, forking a leaf of lettuce she had no intention of eating.

“I do,” he said. “But there’s always so much more to know about a person, don’t you think?”

“They say the greatest weapon we can have is information.”

“It sounds like you are quoting Saw Gerrera,” he said, running a finger across the rim of an empty wine glass.

“Is he wrong?” she asked, making a mental note to look further into the senator, to find out more about his past and not just his present.

“He is not.”

A silence fell between them, and Jyn wondered again why he had not sent his aid instead for this very basic passing of intel, but she was good at handling the unexpected.

“Unfortunately I must cut this lunch short,” he said finally, salad still untouched. “But perhaps you’d be interested in doing this again?”

“Person or professional?” she asked pointedly, squaring her gaze on his face.

He looked down and chuckled. “Why not both?”

“Fraternizing between senate colleagues? I think the rules frown upon that,” she returned, coy, but still she flushed a little bit, feeling warm under her collar.

“I thought Jyn Erso of Vallt was known for being something of a … rebel.”

“I never said that I adhered to the rules, Senator,” and her retort garnered another smile from him, wider and genuine. She wondered again why he had chosen to come himself for the hand off, but this time was less concerned and more intrigued.

“Cassian, please,” he said, rising to his feet. She followed suit, and he reached across the table and took her hand, kissing her on the knuckles. She followed his eyes, and saw the seriousness in them before he lifted his head, and then she understood: he wanted to recruit her to the secret cells of the rebellion. And he had to be a member himself.

“Your people will contact me then?” she asked, even as she saw eyes on them in the restaurant: spies or gossips, it didn’t matter. She could keep playing at this.

“I’ll do it myself, if you’d like,” he said instead.

“I would like that,” she replied, and was surprised that she meant it.

“You’ll be hearing from me soon then, Jyn.”

Jyn nodded. “I do hope so, Cassian.”

For my 1k celebration–I had to get back to these prompts since I am chugging my way toward 2k, eep!
Never No More

Warnings: mentions of abuse and angst.

You had spent another day busy, running back and forth up the corridors as you tried to balance the duties of home and kingdom. As a subject of Erebor, you were bound to contribute, spending many an afternoon sewing tapestries, shirts, overcoats, and even socks for the dwarves busy in the forge. Dis sat as the head of the dwarrowdams and gossiped loudly with her closest ears as you found peace in the simple stitching.

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Summary: Rick leads Negan into a trap only to have an unexpected turn of events causing things to heat up between them.

Pairing: Negan x Rick Grimes

Word Count: 3337

Warnings: NSFW, strong language, violence, apocalyptic gore, dubcon, domination, angry sex, asphyxiation with a scarf, ass slapping, fingering, anal sex, orgasm denial, Rick being a prick

Tags: @negansmutweek @negans-network @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash

A/N: Written for Ash’s 2K challenge and Negan Smut Week. Somehow all my smutty one shots slowly evolve into dark erotica. Sorry not sorry. Rick had a mind of his own here. Not my fault. Did I actually write this?

Originally posted by hardyness

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It’s time for our Bikes Of The Week, and this killer two-stroke Yamaha scrambler heads the list.
It’s a super-light 210 pounds of tweaked RD350 insanity. The builder is Arjun Raina of Moto Exotica, and he’s added a custom swingarm, KTM 200 suspension and a complete new seat, tank and tail section.
Check the exhaust: it’s been TIG welded from 45 separate sections, including those gorgeous, stainless steel expansion chambers

Hit the link in our bio to see four more killer builds that caught our eyes this week.
#yamaha #rd350 #scrambler #motorcycle #builtnotbought #bikeexif

Howl - Halloween AU | Closed - nephilim-tibicinem

                                                    A man who is pure of heart
                                                   And says his prayers by night
                                                       May still become a wolf
                                                When the autumn moon is bright

⊰ Ꮗ .Ꮦ . ⊱─────
                    Our story begins in Pembrokeshire, Wales. The year was 2015, the day, All Hallows. On this night a boy sat idly at his window, staring up at the moon that slowly rose over the horizon as the sunlight faded in a great display of colorful hues. Reds, oranges, purples and finally they faded into black, the emptiness of the sky dotted brilliantly with stars. The great orb tinted with rich orange that was purely fitting for the time of year was waning only faintly from it’s full roundness just days previous. Daintily pink lips curled upwards, perking youthful white flesh in a joyful smirk. The autumn night breeze stirred, white gold hair swaying gently, kissing the face that was tilted so happily skyward.

                   William Twining was the young lord of an ancient lineage, heir to an earldom in existence since the city of London had been first conceptualized centuries ago. The first family of London, they had settled many years ago in Wales, when the territory had first been acquired. Since then the family had passed both tradition and expectation down the lines, remaining pure and influential in the Kingdom’s affairs. A lineage traced back to King Solomon himself, they boasted standing with the royal family and deeply influential secret societies alike.This child, a pretty thing of fifteen years, was the only descendant of this nobility, and he carried the pride of generations within him. But he cared little for his duty and less of his privilege, as his parents called it. William was a boy who longed for normalcy, something his life so rarely afforded him.

                   Most of his young life had been lived indoors or at his manor which rest deep in the countryside, kilometers from any and all persons. A lonely existence, until he had been permitted to go into boarding school in London. A college for noble young persons known as Stratford College, a boy school in the East district of London. There he had made friends and gained new ambitions that lead him astray from his intended purpose, much to the displeasure of his family.

                   William was sickly, spending only a few months at a time at the college. He was homeschooled as he battled his condition which affected him so greatly that his family often considered denying him a return to London all together. This had caused a deep strain on the family, and their son had become aloof as of late, or more so than usual. William was a headstrong boy, exceptionally intelligent and quick witted, he was in a constant crescendo for his own freedom to choose rather than having his life be chosen for him. It was an uphill battle, one that had both sides weary. He complained of a need to experience more of life on his own merit. His parents begged him to consider his condition; a blood disease, one the family kept well shrouded in secrecy, like so many other things.

                   A fit had rendered him under house arrest since late summer, but tonight William was determined to break his chains. He left his place at the window with thoughts of freedom in mind. Dressed in costume, and a rather convincingly period accurate one at that, the boy looked a perfect picture of a victorian youth, save for a few aesthetic changes; a pair of wolfs ears perched atop his head, sharp little claws on his fingers and his mouth decorated with fangs. As he exited his expansive chambers he paused momentarily before a mirror to admire his good work. The transformation of his ethereal golden beauty into something pale and wicked was subtle and provided but a few touches with make up. A moment of primping and he considered the task complete.

                   His mother, however, had been less than amused with his skill. Both she and his father had said it was in poor taste. William, as was expected, was upset by their words and outright refused to sit with them for dinner. He had plans, he said. His mother called after him, effectively stopping him in his tracks.

                   “William, where are you going?!” The boy paused at the oak archway between one of the massive halls and the foyer. He turned only a little, just enough to glance over his shoulder.

                   “I’m going to Issac’s house. he’s expecting me.”

                   “Issac?” His father rose from his chair at the mention of his son’s schoolmate and he joined his wife in the hallway. “William, that’s across the border. You shouldn’t stray so far in your con–”

                   “My condition is perfectly stable,” the boy countered and he turned to face his father. It was a worthy argument, William concluded. His parents were insisting, but he needed this, ached for a chance to be with friends, to be with him. “Issac is having an All Hallows affair and I promised I would attend.” The couple looked at each other with a mix of displeasure and fret. His mother was worried for her child, but there was that sense of bad taste again, unhappiness with William’s choices which were not, as she would put it, in his best interest.

                   “Oh, darling, why All Hallows of all holidays?” she complained. “That’s the sort of thing the Americans value in celebrating.” William knew - of course he did - but that didn’t change the fact that he had been invited to a party. His dear friend Issac was an odd sort, one obsessed with the occult and all things supernatural. Though William was a non-believer, they had connected on a profound level because of the boy’s interest in the darker side of things. It was only right that he attend such an event. But there was another side to it, something very personal that made the holiday meaningful to William.

                   The frown that had been set on the boy’s features faded in favor of something more somber, but no less significant. he seemed almost sad, though upset still shined through. It was this look that melted his mother’s heart. “I like All Hallows,” William concluded and he turned from his stunned parents, who watched him as he began to walk off. “It’s the one night of the year I can feel normal.”


                   “I have to go.” He headed for the door, out to call for the family driver to take him to his friend’s home, away from this place, to somewhere he could feel like a normal kid. Only if for a night.

                   “Have you eaten, at least?” his father called to him. He returned the question with a simple answer as he gathered his coat and opened the door.

                   “I’ve eaten.” With that, he was gone into the night.


The Guns of Garand Part III, The Gas Trap Garand

In case you missed: Part I, Part II

While the M1 Garand was adopted by the US military in 1936, there was still yet one more major modification to be made before the Garand became “the greatest battle implement ever devised”.  A part of the original Garand design, early production M1’s used what was called the “gas trap” system.  This involved a muzzle extension which surrounded the muzzle to catch expanding gasses that left the barrel in an enlarged expansion chamber.  Those gases in turn would operate a piston which works the action.  

As M1 Garands began to be issued and used, it was found that the gas trap system proved to be unreliable.  Thus the design was modified in the late 1930’s, which used a simple gas tube with a 90 degree hole machined near the muzzle.  By the time the modification had been accepted around 50,000 gas trap Garands had been produced and issued.  The vast majority of them were converted by 1940.  Today original gas gas trap Garands are a highly prized  item among antique firearm collectors.  Beware! There are a lot of fakes out there.

The Gas Trap Garand pictured above has an estimated value of $14,000 - $22,500.