fabrication labs

Crossed Wires

(sterek week day 4, mates, 5k, some language and vague references to past unhealthy relationships)


Derek doesn’t tell anyone at first, both because it seems crazy and also it would cause problems that he’s not quite ready to deal with.

Generally mates only realize they’re mated when they touch for the first time. Sometimes when they’re in the same room for the first time. That’s less common, but still not so rare that people regard it as strange. Occasionally there have been reports of people feeling a tug from across a town, across a campus or building, and upon following it they found their mates. It’s never been scientifically supported though, and while romantics like the idea, most people tend to scoff at it being true.

Derek’s parents discovered they were mates in college, like so many people do. They were lab partners and had spent the semester brushing arms and hands against each other but their skin had never touched, a layer of plastic gloves or lab coat fabric between them. At their final exam, right before the papers had been handed out, Talia had finally reached over and squeezed Dominic’s hand and they knew. When telling the story Dominic always likes to jokes about what a miracle it was either of them passed their test, with how distracted they both were with this new realization.

Derek is twenty-five years old and has not found his mate. Most of the time he’s fine with that. People find their mates at all ages, and it’s not at all unusual for people not to meet them until their thirties or forties, it’s not like Derek is an outlier here. Sometimes, when Derek is feeling particularly lonely or self-pitying he wonders if he’ll ever meet his mate, or why it’s taking so long. His dating history has been…not great, so it’s been a while. The best relationship he’s had to date was his high school girlfriend Paige, but she’d found her mate the summer between junior and senior year, and it hadn’t been Derek. He’d been gracious about it, but occasionally when they get together for lunch or text he still gets a small ball of jealousy somewhere deep in his chest. Not of her mate, Derek loves Paige but he’s not in love with her, he knows the difference. But just that Paige found her mate so early, has had a loving supportive partner all this time while Derek has dated a series of increasingly manipulative and unstable women. It hasn’t been a hardship, really, to stop dating entirely. He doesn’t miss the feeling of being used or gaslit, but yeah he does get lonely sometime. Sometimes he wonders if something is wrong with him, to always attract the kind of people he does. But he’s okay. His mate is out there somewhere, and someday they’ll find each other.

He’s twenty-five when he finds his mate. Maybe. Either he’s found his mate, or he’s lost his mind. Just in case it’s option two, he keeps it to himself.

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“Top Hat Troubles” (Villainous Drabbles)

“Top Hat troubles” Drabble 1

Dr. Flug was sweating more than usual as he stood above the sleeping demon known as Black Hat. His lab coat was already stained with wet sweat, and the stressful situation was made worse by Dementia poking him in the sides. 5.0.5, the lovable blue bear, was shaking behind the two with his paws over his head. He already knew the outcome if they were to ever wake the dreadful villain Black Hat.

Black Hat was sleeping in his red chair from his private office and had made it very clear to never be disturb him under any circumstances. He was sleeping peacefully, which was a surprise and a honor to see from their cruel boss, who always wore a devilish grin or scowl. His gloved hands were over his stomach, as if he were thinking, but his slow breathing made it obvious he was in a deep slumber. Dr. Flug’s fingers twitched in nervousness over his Boss’s black top hat and flinched when Dementia poked Dr. Flug’s side again. He whirled around at her and stomped his foot silently on the carpet.

“Dementia!” He whispered harshly. “Would you stop that? D-do you want to wake him up?!”

Dementia put her hands behind her back, giving him an innocent smile. “I’m not doing anything and besides, if you’re too chicken to do the dare you can always show me what’s underneath your paper bag?” She grinned, gently stroking the bottom of his paper bag. He swiftly pulled down his bag, his eyes widening behind his goggles.

“N-no way! I’ll do the dumb dare.” He turned around and raised his hands up towards Black Hat, ignoring Dementia’s quiet giggles and 5.0.5’s whimpering. Dr. Flug had been dared to take off their boss’s hat due to Dementia’s curiosity. Black Hat always wore his hat no matter where they went, and even when he went to bed. Dr. Flug also found it curious that the hat seemed to stay in place when Black Hat slept or whenever he walked upside down on the ceiling. When Black Hat did remove his top hat, usually another small hat sat underneath. Even though Dr. Flug was frightened to attempt this suicidal dare, he also wanted to relieve his own curiosity to see what exactly was underneath Black Hat’s prize hat.

With a small breath underneath his bag, Dr. Flug gently grabbed the rim of the hat. Dementia and 5.0.5 leaned forward, their breath right on the doctor’s neck. With shaking hands, he slowly lifted up the hat. He watched in anticipation, as the rim was now above Black Hat’s forehead and in a moment the trio would see the secret Black Hat had been hiding underneath.

Unfortunately, due to Dr. Flug’s sweating problem, a drop of liquid seeped through the fabric of his lab coat and onto Black Hat’s monocle.

Black Hat’s eye slowly opened, his right pupil glancing at his monocle and seeing the liquid fall off the glass and onto his cheek. His eye quickly narrowed when he saw the trio in his peripheral vision and the young doctor invading his personal space.

“What…is…going…on…HERE?!” Black Hat growled, his voice switching to his demonic voice. Dr. Flug immediately dropped his hat, making it fall over his Boss’s eyes. Black Hat snarled, his sharp teeth snapping like a shark when he stood up, his claws extending out of his gloves. Another pair ruined.

Dr. Flug let out a pitiful scream when he fell backwards. He desperately began to crawl backwards away from his furious and advancing Boss. Dementia and 5.0.5 raced towards the door but one extension of Black Hat’s hand made the doors immediately slam shut. Dementia and 5.0.5 clawed at the mahogany door, their nails carving into the wood before they turned around and embraced each other as they fell to their knees. Usually begging for forgiveness would help appease Black Hat’s anger, which is what they did once Dr. Flug made it toward them. The trio fell face first onto the carpet, their arms extended out over their heads in a dramatic bow when Black Hat’s eye and monocle glowed red.

“Forgive us! Forgive us!” Dr. Flug cried out, the tears already running down his paper bag. “We didn’t mean to disturb you, Sir Black Hat! Boss! Master!” He clasped his hands together, silently praying for a miracle. He hoped this time Black Hat wouldn’t send them to the torture chambers.

“Didn’t I told you all that I did not want to be disturbed!?” He shouted, before letting out a terrifying, almost godzilla-like, roar. Dr. Flug and the others embraced each other, all of them crying out fearfully.

Dr. Flug did the only thing he thought off, which was to come up with an outrageous excuse. “We just wanted to tell you that your dinner is ready!” Black Hat’s demeanor swiftly changed into an unimpressed scowl, glaring right at Dr. Flug, who slowly made eye contact with him while also hiding behind his own shaking arms. Black Hat turned to Dementia and 5.0.5 with the same scowl. The two flinched when they heard Black Hat’s growl.

“Is this true?”

The two nodded feverishly, going along with the Doctor’s excuse. Black Hat narrowed his eyes, making the trio gulp before their Boss, then he straightened his back and adjusted his black tie.

“Oh, well, why didn’t you idiots say so in the beginning?” His claws disappeared back into his gloves and with a wave of his wrist, the doors opened. The trio fell backwards and became the foot stools of their Boss as he walked right over their backs. “It better be Chinese!” Black Hat grumbled, making his way to the dining room.

The trio got up and breathed a sigh of relief for having escaped with their lives. Dementia and Dr. Flug soon made the agreement to never dare each other if it involved Black Hat. From then on, they kept their games inside the lab and away from the demon.

—————————————————————————————–

Edited by @obsessivegeekgirl13

I hope you guys like this short Drabble! ^-^

6

In L’enfer, the daily scenes are shot in black and white, and Marcel’s visions and fantasies are shot in color, the improbable color of madness. To produce these “shock images”, Clouzot could rely on two exceptional technicians: Claude Leon, head of fabrication at LTC Labs, who would stop the lab to do his enigmatic printing tests and Michel Deruelle in charge of makeup who experimented in new ways: actors covered in sequins or olive oil, blue lipstick, multicolor makeup.


  • Romy SchneiderJean-Claude Bercq, and Serge Reggiani in test footage for L'Enfer d'Henri-Georges Clouzot (1964)
10

I’ve put all of the fabric painting tutorials into one big photo post.

Includes silk painting with resist (Elven Banner), free-hand painting on stretch fabrics (Jareth from Labyrinth), fake embroidery with puffy paint (Peter of Narnia), graphite transfer paper with fabric paint pens (Tali from Mass Effect) and regular Tulip fabric paint (TARDIS lab coat).

Maybe this format is better?

asksimbaandkovu  asked:

I don't know if you're still doing Paperhat requests, but I would love to see BH praise Flug like maybe as a way to calm him down after a panic attack or something like that. Bonus points is Black Hat is completely awkward about it and kind of does it in his own way (probably calls him a moron or an idiot in between). Idk. I just really need some fluff.

Hey! I’ve been on mobile so I have no idea how long this has been here I am so sorry! But here is my gift to you. :3

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Fun fact about this green paper: it has more glue than normal paper so it doesn’t produce as much particles, thus we use it in the cleanroom for my IC fabrication lab to record data and whatnot. During down time, I’ll doodle on the back of the paper, and someone told me we had to turn in all of our sheets at the end of the semester, so I hope my professor likes anime ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Allison- It’s Just Good To Have You Back

Requests-  Is the one where you are Allison’s sister and you die in her place because you pushed her, and took the oni hit instead. So in season 5 the dread doctors revive you, but you don’t have your memories, so Allison makes her mission to help you remember. Lots of fluff and cute ending please /  Can I request an Allison imagine I just really miss her so much

A/N- This is a part 2 to this imagine. I threw some season one stuff in there because I miss the good old days. Enjoy! Next up is a Theo imagine.

You sat on a cold metal table, your legs dangling off the edge as the veterinarian shined a light in your eyes. You were a little skittish because all the dread doctors had done was poke and prod at you, but you soon realized Dr. Deaton wasn’t a freakishly tall man in a mask.
The vet actually seemed pretty friendly, and you were positive you didn’t have to worry with Scott and Allison by your side. After they had dropped you off at the clinic, everyone had left. You knew it was because they were wary of you, and you were sure some of them were even afraid of you.
You didn’t blame them though, and after learning you had been dead for eight months, you were a little scared of yourself. The only two who didn’t seem to mind you were Scott, and as you had just learned, your sister Allison.
It was strange having people you couldn’t remember tell you everything about your life. Allison had grown up right by your side, even though she was two years older than you, and apparently you two had been close. You knew it hurt her that you couldn’t remember, and right now you wanted nothing more than to figure out who you were.
“Well,” Deaton said, turning off his light and tucking it into his pocket. “Y/n is perfectly fine, physically at least. She seems to be a very healthy chimera.”
“Chimera,” you repeated, testing the word out of your tongue.
As Scott and the others had explained, you were a human turned into some kind of supernatural creature by something other than the supernatural. It was confusing and you weren’t exactly sure what to think of it, but the boy with the blue eyes, Liam, had told you you should be glad you were just mixed with a werewolf and not something else.
While you were grateful you weren’t half scorpion, it still didn’t feel good to have no idea who you were. You wanted to get your memories back, and Deaton had told you that there was a way to do it, but it was dangerous.
When you replied that you didn’t care, he recommended that you try something else first, and if that didn’t work you could do it his way. He had sent Allison back to the apartment you had shared with your father, and he promised to let her try her own methods as soon as he had finished his examination.
“We just want to make sure you remain fine,” Deaton said. “After all, coming back from the dead is bound to have its consequences.”
“I’m fine,” you complained. “Can we please just get started?”
Deaton nodding, moving aside so you could hop down. Allison walked over to you and set a box on the now vacant table, beginning to pull objects out of it. There was a photo album, a set of knives, and a teddy bear.
She picked up the teddy bear, holding it out to you. “This is Mr. Bear,” she told you. “When I was five and you were three, Dad gave it to you. But I loved it so much, that you said we could share it, as long as you got to name it.”
“I must not have been very creative when I was three,” you remarked, plucking the bear out of her hands and running your fingers over the soft fabric. You tucked the bear under your arm as Allison moved on to the next object, finding it strangely comforting. You watched as her hands fell on a set of knives, etched with a fleur de lis.
“These were yours,” Allison explained. “I was always good at archery, but you were a natural with knives. You made these the night before…the night before you died.”
“This is the symbol of our family,” she told you as she tapped the fleur de lis. “When we finish learning to be hunters, we usually forge silver bullets, but we wanted to make our own weapons. Dad was so proud of us that night.”
You took a blade from her hands, running your fingers gently along the face of it. It seemed to fit perfectly in your hand, and in no time you were flipping it around with ease.
“Woah,” you said. “How did I learn to do this?”
“You practiced,” Allison told you. “For a really long time too. You were already good at it though. I guess your body hasn’t forgotten, even if your mind has.”
“Does that mean there’s a chance I can remember?” you asked excitedly, turning to Deaton.
The vet pursed his lips, his folded hands resting on the white fabric of his lab coat. “I’m not sure. This isn’t exactly a proven science.”
You frowned, turning back to Allison. “Next thing?”
She gave you a soft smile, reaching forward and picking up the photo album. She opened it up and the first thing you saw was a red-haired woman holding a baby in a hospital bed. She was flashing the camera a tired smile, and curled up against her side was who you assumed was a two year old Allison.
“Who’s that?” you whispered, feeling a pang of sadness you didn’t quite understand.
“Our mom,” Allison told you softly. “She died about a year and a half ago. She wasn’t perfect, but she loved us.”
Allison turned the page, but the image of your mother was burned into your head. You brushed it off, your eyes falling on a picture of you and Allison. You both stood next to a target run through with arrows and knives, arms wrapped around each other as you grinned into the camera. You couldn’t have been more than eight or nine, and Allison no more than ten or eleven.
“I’m guessing we were good?” you asked her.
“We both ranked nationally,” she told you proudly. “You for knife throwing and me for archery.”
“Wow,” you whispered. “We look so young. We look happy.”
“We were,” she told you, flipping to the next page. “This is us when we first moved here. We’re not so happy in this one.”
She flipped to the last page, pulling the picture out of the sleeve and holding it out to you. You took it and brought it closer to your face, examining it.
You were sandwiched in the middle of Allison and another girl, someone with bright strawberry blonde hair. You were making a face as she ruffled your hair, but your eyes were full of light. You could tell that you were happy in this frozen moment, and you figured it had probably been taken before everything had gone to hell.
“That’s Lydia,” Allison told you. “You haven’t met her yet, but you will. She was basically another older sister to you. Stiles took this the start of your freshman year. We were so excited you were finally going to going to high school with us. I’m pretty sure we made more of a big deal out of it than Dad did.”
You smiled, looking down at the photo. That was when you noticed Allison staring at you intently, and you felt a pang of sadness as you realized you hadn’t remembered anything. The most painful part was that you knew the memories were there, right below the surface. You just couldn’t seem to be able to reach them.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, feeling tears prick your eyes. “I just don’t remember.”
“It’s okay,” Allison told you, placing her hands on your shoulders. “We’ll figure it out.”
“What about the ice bath?” Scott asked Deaton.
“Ice bath?” you questioned, raising your eyebrows at them.
“It might be a way to get your memories back,” Deaton explained. “But it’s dangerous. Your heart rate has to drop considerably, and considering you’ve been dead for eight months, it might not be enough to support your body.”
“But it will get my memories back, right?” you asked.
“There’s no guarantee,” Deaton told you, his voice filled with regret. “I wish there was.”
You took a deep breath, gripping Allison’s hands as they rested on your shoulders. “I want to do it.”
“Y/n,” Allison said. “You don’t have to do this. I’d rather have you alive with no memories than-”
“I need to do this,” you cut her off. “Allison, please. It’s worth the risk.”
“I already died,” you continued when you saw her doubtful expression. “What’s the worse that could happen?”
“Dying again,” she told you, an edge to her voice.
“Please,” you begged quietly. “I need to remember and it’s my choice.”
“She’s right, Allison,” Scott told her. “It’s her choice.”
“Fine,” she finally said. “But if you die again, I’m digging you back up myself.”
Deaton nodding, leading you to one of the back rooms. “I had a feeling you might choose to do this, so it’s already set up. I should warn you Y/n, this is going to be dangerous. Your heart rate is going to be extremely low.”
You stared into the basin full of ice water, swallowing nervously as Allison came up beside you. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes I do,” you told her. “But if I don’t come back, tell dad that I love him. Promise?”
You had yet to meet your father, but Allison had suggested you hold off until you got your memories back. She didn’t want him to see you again, only to have you be ripped away once more.
“Promise,” Allison replied.
“And Al?” you asked.
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
You walked forward, stepping into the basin as frozen water began to soak through your jeans. You shivered as you lowered yourself into the water, gritting your teeth against the chill.
“Ready?” Allison asked.
“Ready,” you replied, closing your eyes in anticipation.
“Okay,” she said. “One, two, three…”

“Y/n!” Allison called from the kitchen as the doorbell rang. “Will you get that?”
“Yeah!” you yelled, rising from the floor where you had been painting Malia’s toenails and jumping over Kira’s legs in order to get to your front door.
“Ooh, is that the pizza?” Malia asked.
“Malia,” you heard Kira complain. “Don’t move, you’ll ruin the nail polish.
You adjusted your pajama top and opened the front door, only to be slammed into by a flurry of strawberry blonde hair.
"Y/n!” Lydia squealed, squeezing you tighter than you had thought possible for a human being.
“Can’t-breathe,” you choked, before she finally released you.
“I’m just so happy you’re here,” she told you, her green eyes filled with adoration.
“I’ve been here for three weeks,” you reminded her. “I’ve seen you at least ten times already.”
“Well, this makes it eleven,” she told you, ruffling your hair, and walking into the apartment. “Who’s ready for The Notebook?!”
Two sets of cheers erupted from the inside the apartment, followed by a single groan.
“Why do we always have to watch this movie?” Malia complained.
“Because it’s a classic,” Lydia told her, kicking off her heels and flopping onto the couch beside her. “Plus Stiles won’t watch it with me.”
“Maybe because you already made him watch it a hundred times,” you told her as you popped the notebook into the DVD player.
She playfully threw a pillow at you, which you simply ducked to avoid. “You were a lot cuter when you didn’t have any memories.”
“Popcorn!” Allison cried, maneuvering over a nest of blankets, magazines and pillows to get to the couch. She plopped down on the floor next to you, handing the bowl of popcorn to Malia.
“Ah, no!” Kira cried, pulling the bowl from Malia’s hands. “Do not give her the popcorn. She ate it all by herself last time!”
“And most of the pizza,” Lydia remarked.
“Hey, I lived in the woods for eight years!” Malia complained. “I didn’t eat pizza or popcorn for eight years!”
“Are you still trying to use that as an excuse to eat us out of house and home?” Lydia asked smoothly.
You groaned. “Can we please just watch this stupid movie?”
A chorus of “fine"s erupted from above you, and you smiled as you hit play on the movie. Allison grinned at you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you laid against the bottom of the couch. The previews were just beginning to play when you felt Allison’s eyes on you.
"What?” you whispered.
“Nothing,” she told you with a smile, her brown eyes shining. “It’s just good to have you back, sis.”

anonymous asked:

darcy/steve - pillow fort

Darcy was a fan of pillow forts. Maybe it was something that hung on from childhood, or maybe it was the way it managed to block out the rest of the world and create its own tiny, compact little hideaway in the very center of everything. In any case, she was a fan, which was why she built one in the lab and holed up inside it after a long day. 

Jane had gone home (exactly twenty-three floors up and down a long hallway, wherein a red-caped hero also resided and the walls were very soundproofed for good reason). The lab rats had followed her example, but Darcy lingered. She wasn’t ready to go home and, after a long day (week/year/life), she just felt like laying on her makeshift bed of cushions (that she maybe stole from the communal living room) with various lab coats and one (emergency) blanket scattered over her desk and a few chairs, to create her little piece of quiet. 

She wasn’t holed up long before she heard a throat clearing nearby. The swish of the airlocked door was the first sign and the lights turning on could be seen through the fabric of the lab coats. 

“Yeah?” she answered. 

“Permission to enter?" 

Her lips twitched. "Permission granted, Captain." 

Steve crawled inside, careful not to disturb her (somewhat haphazard) building job, and flopped down beside her, his head close to hers. He was unnaturally large next to her, and his grace was just a tiny bit (a lot, actually) offensive when she maybe toppled three chairs trying to get into her own creation.

"Bad day?” he asked.

She hummed, shrugging a little. “Just long." 

"You wanna talk about it?” he offered. 

She might’ve sighed a little, and it had everything to do with the fact that he was completely genuine when he asked.

She turned over onto her side to face him and, instead of answering his question, wondered, “How’d you know it was me in here?”

His mouth turned up on one side, in a crooked smile that was entirely too attractive. “Well, aside from the fact that it was your desk, and everybody knows better than to touch your things… I can’t imagine anybody else building a pillow fort in here but you." 

Her nose wrinkled. "Is that a subtle hint that I’m on the immature side?" 

"No.” He shook his head, turning over to face her better, and wow, his eyes were entirely too blue. “No, it’s just… very you.” He cast his eyes around and smiled lightly. “And I like it." 

Nodding faintly, she turned back over onto her back. "All right. Nice save. You have permission to visit my forts in future, Captain Rogers." 

"It’s a privilege, ma'am,” he said, offering up his ‘aw shucks’ grin, that only made her snort and bump his shoulder. 

She was quiet for a few minutes then, enjoying the peace and the comfort of having Steve close. Plus, the close quarters meant that every breath was filled with the faint scent of his cologne. To say he smelled good would be an understatement. But, alas, pillow forts and sharing them with super (fine) soldiers were not made for forever.

“Do you think they’d deliver me a pizza in here?” she wondered.

He chuckled lowly. “How about I take you out for pizza?” he offered. 

Grinning, she nodded. “Sounds good. Keep it up and I might just invite you into Fort Lewis." 

He choked on air a bit, but she chose to ignore it (if by ignore she meant grin proudly), even though she knew that he knew she didn’t mean the one in Tacoma, Washington so much as the one in her pants. 

Twenty Things You Should Never Say To Your Tailor

20. It’s ok, I’m going to lose 10 pounds.

19. This looks great. I can’t wait to have a cheaper tailor copy it.

18. Why is there a discount for cash?

17. Is there an upcharge for a three-breasted suit?

16. Don’t worry, it’s ok, I read Fred Astaire did this to all his new suits.

15. You really should raise your prices.

14. I’ll post some pics on the Internet and let you know what needs to be changed.

13. So, who’s your favorite blogger?

12. If I change my mind, you can just remake it, right?

11. Could you measure my inseam a few more times?

10. I’d like no padding in the shoulders, only in the trousers.

9. Mind if I take a sample of this fabric back to my lab for testing?

8. Yea, I’m sure a good pressing will take care of it.

7. Which way do I dress? Up.

6. Do you think these pants are roomy enough to wear diapers underneath?

5. Do you accept blog posts as payment?

4. According to this guy on the Internet, here’s how it should be done…

3. I was referred to you by Styleforum member mafoofan.

2. Since you’re my Mystery Bespoke Tailor, I’m going to have to ask you to wear this disguise during fittings.

1. There’s no rush.