gear oils


(via Nicole’s Track Bike | I have gone on many rides with Nicole … | Flickr)

Condition oil and dressed candle clearance post!

Alright, you guys. I am going to be moving again in a few months, am going back to Haiti to get married to my spirits, and am going to be changing up packaging in the future, so that means…

Time for a sale! I’m clearing out my stock of condition oils and dressed candles, which means good deals for you on handmade materials for your own spiritual work.

All condition oils are handmade by me with natural and/or organic materials, and have ‘cooked’ and worked for at least a year, if not longer. Natural preservatives give it a long shelf life, and all color and fragrance are naturally occurring as a result of the ingredients and process. Oils can be used to dress candles or objects, added to your own work, applied on the skin (patch test first, please), or however seems best for your goals.

Candles are dressed, pressed, and prayed over in preparation for your work, with all natural and/or organic materials. Candles can be be burned with petitions for work, on altars, on jars, or for larger work.

Here’s what’s left:

All oils are bottled at roughly 1 1/3 oz, so you’re getting quite a bit. Oils are $7 each, plus $3 shipping.

Glass candles are $12, plus $5 shipping.

Chime candles are $20/set of 4, plus $5 shipping.

I combine shipping for multiple items.

FIERY WALL OF PROTECTION OIL: Potent oil suitable for heavy duty protection work. I have used this oil on walls/windows/doorways of my homes, and to lock down mirrors. Contains irritants. 7 bottles left.

INFLAMMATORY CONFUSION OIL: Heat your target up, make their head spin, and leave them disoriented and confused. Good for revenge work and to make someone squirm. Contains irritants. 4 bottles left.

CROSSING OIL: Fuck'em up. Tie up their luck, turn opportunities against them, and make them wonder how they ended up being the toilet of the universe. Dark and murky, a little goes a long way. Contains irritants. 5 bottles left.

PEACEFUL WAY OIL: A gentle road opener for when things need to change and obstacles need to move, but you’re not looking for explosions or earthquakes. Contains blessed palms. 4 bottles left.

SWEET DREAMS OIL: Creates a state more conducive for vivid and prophetic dreaming, and can aid in the remembering of dreams. 3 bottles left.

FEMININE PROTECTION OIL: Geared towards feminine folks of any gender, limited batch was made at the request of a friend who was being harassed because of their feminine gender expression. 1 bottle left.

JUGGERNAUT OIL: This was made as a joke, except it really does it’s damn job, really REALLY well. It is an oil that was designed to open stubborn spiritual ears to hear what the divinities were saying, especially when one is doing divination. SOLD.

LUCKY IN LOVE CHIME CANDLES: Set of 4 chime candles dressed with suitable love-drawing herbs, curios, and oils. Suitable for any gender. 2 sets left.

I have quite a few glass 7 and 14 day candles dressed for clarity/spiritual discernment, luck and/or money drawing, protection, love and/or lust, and I have materials to custom dress for your cause/condition. Pick your poison, all priced the same.

First come, first served!

House Lionheart is recruiting!

“We will be the Lionhearted.” 

- Valkorion X. Lionheart, Patriarch of the Warring Lion. 

House Lionheart is actively recruiting all ranks! We are seeking experience, well-spoken and engaging officers, along with more enlisted-toned ranks. We’ve a position for characters of all sorts in our house! Magi? Knight? Accountant? Maid? We’ve got a place for you, even down to the cooks! 

      We firmly believe in the growth-and-development of the individual, which means, we openly write and encourage plots-lines that help you grow in-game! There is nothing more satisfying than natural, meaningful growth of your beloved characters. We strive to give you a sense of responsibility, making you one of the many critical gears in our oiled machine. 

     My officers and I have come to draft a whole bundle of events, things that’ll be in short-coming! Everyone plays a part, and that is where our sense of community is founded. 

     We promote positive, engaging and actively healthy role-play for the realm. We will not and have not ever fed into toxic developments that may encourage or kindle lore-breaking pursuits. It’s just the way things are, as we do not actively go out of our way for such things. We simply avoid it. 

    House Lionheart is open to all pre-writes, meaning; we will write your character into the going-ons. 

    Inquire today! 

What is House Lionheart?; We’re a noble role-playing guild, of course! We enjoy the intricacy of aristocracy, thrill of duty and ultimately sacrifice! We promote stability in the realm, through means of our absolutes.

Alignment?; Lawful-neutral. We believe our means of doing things can often be unconventional, dark, and totally zealous in some cases. Of course, our leaderships and membership makes that call based on circumstance. 

What is your recruitment process like?; We have considerably strict standards for races, classes and all things in-between. We firmly believe that some characters simply do not belong in noble role-play. [ Kaldorei. Draenei. Alteraci. Etc…] It’s the standard and tone we most enjoy writing, as it does create that atmosphere of zealous; pompous nobility. We have a two week probationary period for any and all appointed enlisted or officers, along with a series of in-character interviews. We carefully observe the individual as they are fitted and adjusted to our banner, though, we are entirely chill out-of-character. We’re a fun group of guys-and-gals.

Do you have any community efforts?; We’d love to draft some cool-plots with our community counterparts, for sure! It’s something we intend to do in the future, once we’ve the membership to do so. 

At the end of the day, what is your goal as a guild?; I’ve said it from the get-go; promote a better Wyrmrest Accord. Quality first, quantity last; positive engagements all around the board. 

How do I join?;  I’d simply take the time to message either myself here, in-game or anyone running our with House Lionheart beneath their name! We are all willing to take meaningful strides and answer any questions you may have. 

GM In-game; Valkorionn

GM B-tag; InternetFeud#1963

First-officer In-game; Skeletonmaan

First-officer B-tag; Roguetiger#1105

We can’t wait to hear from you!

[ I am open to all forms of messaging, asks, and other engagements here on tumblr. ]

The Two Billion Songs On Love

Cross posted on AO3.

Pairing : Yoonseok / Side : NamJin/TaeKook

Word Count : 15K+

Summary : 

All he remembers is how Hoseok’s hands find his under the fairy lights.

All he remembers is how warm, bright things Yoongi couldn’t name came in and out of existence like shining orbs in front of his eyes as Hoseok breathes into Yoongi’s neck.

All he remembers is how fast his heart had been beating as Yoongi’s eyes slowly flutter close.

All he remembers is that the next morning, Hoseok is gone.

Yoongi has developed a system by now.

He wakes up ten minutes before Monday morning classes begin, gets hurried by Jin over ‘Yoongi, for goodness sake, can you try waking up in time for once?’, manages to grab leftover instant kimbap as an excuse for a nutritious breakfast (in his defence, kimbap has seaweed and that’s counted as healthy no matter what stats Jin throws at him),watches Jungkook on the couch lounging about as he eats because somehow his photography grades were at a constant high whether he attended classes or not, or Jimin fixing his hair before he left for dance practice, and is pushed out of the door in a blur of the rest of the frat members’ mumbled, half awake 'hellos’ and 'You look gorgeous this morning, hyung’ as Yoongi flips them off.

No one said the system was easy, just reliable.

Yoongi doesn’t depend on a lot of constants in his life, which has less to do with the fact that he’s a math major at college and no, this is not a pun, and everything to do with what kind of a guy Yoongi just is.

Yoongi is fantastic at watching 'could-have beens’ remain that way and allow 'just maybes’ stay just that, which meant that though Yoongi clings to stability, things change around him constantly, and people leave because that’s how things are and Yoongi accepts this and life goes on.

But he digresses.

Despite all his complaining (which Yoongi is a grade A defending champion at, though it may be hard to believe), Yoongi is glad at the finality of the routine he had settled into when he enters college and stumbles upon the what they have all settled on calling the Judicial Collaboration Fraternity their first drunk night (which was funny, because no one except Namjoon even studied Law there, but if anybody asked they 'gather knowledge on Law and discuss applicability in society for future generations and development’, a line which Namjoon force fed to them the second night of their stay), or JCF for short (which all the members jokingly called Jin is in Charge Forever, or something else along less PG lines).

Yoongi had no idea what convinced him to sign the stupid form for the fraternity house in the first place, which in retrospect, was probably because Taehyung was the only one he knew in college back then since they both came from the same Daegu high school and had been forced to sign the dotted line because Taehyung had heard of the cute guy Jungkook in the frat and 'couldn’t do it alone, hyung’. Yoongi hated that sappy face Taehyung used as an excuse for favours, so he had given in.

But things had gone incredibly well, much to Yoongi’s surprise.

Namjoon was clumsy, smart, and way too tall for his own damn good, as Yoongi had told him often. But really, Yoongi enjoyed their long 3 AM conversations which could only be drawn out on Yoongi at mind numbing hours of the morning amidst terrible long study sessions, but he would rather die than tell Namjoon that.

Jin was clean, obsessed about his Mario figurine collection and good at cooking. Like really, really fucking good. Like the kind of good that had Yoongi possibly thinking his own mother would be jealous, and that he should probably appreciate Jin for caring about all of them so much.

Jimin was loud, happy, and spent most of his time practicing dance. Yoongi suspected it had more to do with his weight loss regime than anything else (“Jimin, it pains me to say this, but you’re fine the way you are,” Yoongi tells the younger, and though Jimin beams, the guy is adamant with his slimming green teas and bland tofus that tasted like watered down puke).

Taehyung was weird, annoyingly hilarious when he wanted to be, and well, just generally Taehyung. How else could you describe a guy that woke up at 1:52 in the morning because he had cheese-pancake cravings? You just couldn’t. But of all the constants Yoongi lacked, he was glad Taehyung was not the variable.

Jungkook was quiet, orderly, and a massive workaholic with anything except him major, which Yoongi respected a whole lot more than he ever let on. It was a different thing that Jungkook was a giggly mess around Taehyung and vice versa, but Yoongi ignored that factor as much as he could when it came to the youngest guy in the group.

And so the six of them co-existed in Saturday night noraebangs of awful singing (mostly from Yoongi and Namjoon), and late night shots at the bar till they were all more than a little hung over the next day (for which Jin always prepared well for, in the 8 tubs of ice cream and 6 instant unsweetened coffees he bought every Friday), and then proceeded to spend all of Sunday watching movies, gaming loudly and yelling obnoxious profanities, or just generally anything that made boys just scraping unwillingly into adulthood excited over.

It didn’t seem to matter that Namjoon couldn’t work without blasting music around him and Yoongi couldn’t stand disturbance in the middle of Advanced Calculus, or that Jin hated messes that Yoongi was fantastic at creating, or that Taehyung invaded Yoongi’s personal space more with every passing day, or even that Jimin liked to talk and Yoongi hated to listen, and that Jungkook didn’t get why Yoongi didn’t like ketchup with his bingsu. Because somehow, through all the imperfections, they made it work, and it was Jimin who first admitted that he felt incredibly lucky about how things worked out with the six of them, but Yoongi couldn’t have put it better himself.

It was a good cycle, albeit a difficult one sometimes, what with the lack of privacy and how annoying the guys got, but for however different all of them were, the six of them clicked like oiled gears; effortless, noiseless, and just well.

So Yoongi is more than a little surprised when a new pair of shoes at the entrance and a grin the intensity of the fricking sun greets Yoongi in the form of Jung Hoseok after the first month of his stay at the frat.

Damn Seokjin and his I’m-everyones-mother-it-doesnt-matter-that-I-didnt-push-you-out-of-me personality and his weakness for smiles like Hoseok’s.

Keep reading

Finding Clear had been as much as a surprise as Ren, and ignoring him had been just as much of an option. Not because Mink considered him a loose end, but because he was in the way. The robot smelled of nothing. Not bolts or gears or oil. No synthetic scent. Just emptiness. Mink was sure he had a fragrance before, something light and clean.

Hey ahmerst, think the Harley would gain sentience without Tori if Clear gets reused as spare parts? And come to think of it, this is the third different way I’ve had Clear die. How many can you come up with?


A story by Sven….  Adapted by Alan

My friend Tony is only just twenty-one buy know and understands just what he wants - that is to be in rubber and to be a slave . I met him through an advert but have now become his friend as he searches for his Rubber Master . 

He was never very good at school and , thing being what they are at present , he has been looking for a job ever since he left - until last week that is , when he saw an advertisement in the local paper for an antik-corrosion and underseal worker in a garage a few miles away . 

It looked as if it would be a dirty job , washing and applying antik - corrosion coating and underseal underneath cars , vans and trucks , but this suited Tony as he had always been interested in dirty work  , particlarly if it was connected with rubber or dirty gear . 

So he rang up and was told to come over straight away to see about the job . When he got back , I have nver see him so excited and he could not stop talking about all the dirt , oil and gear he had seen . Apparently in the garage there was just one other man , a big hunk of a guy about 30-35 with a shaved head and an oil smeared face , wearing a dirty old boiler suit and rubber boot . Hehad asked Tony a lot of questions about why he wanted the job and told him that he would be working in dirt and filth all day .  He was alos told to in the next day when the guy would telephone him to tell him whether or no he had got the job.

Since then I have not seen him or heard from him , so yesterday I thought I would go over to the garage to see if he had got the job. 

The address , when I got there , was one of those places underneath the railway arches . I know I must have the right placeas , as soon as I got there , I smelt that woner ful , dirty , oily smell . The door into the garage was open and so I went in and found the shaven headed guy Tony had told ne about sitting in a small office on an old broken down chair in his dirty boiler suit and turned down rubber boots and with oil and grease smeared all over his face . On the table beside him were a pair of long heavy , rubber working gloves .

When I asked for Tony he grinned and said  “ You know the little punk ? “   I told him that Tony was a close friend of mine .  “ Not any more “  he said .  My heart sank , imagining I know not what . 

What do you mean by that ? “ I said .  I mean that he is no loger your friend or any body else´s . He paused for what seemed like forever , then said  “ He is just a piece of shit , a working machine . He is my slave , working in this garage and , when I want to I can use him just as it pleases me . “   “ How come ? “ he sais .  Because he has signed a contract saying that he gas no right to a free lifr any more and that , among other things , he is my property . “  Can I talk to him ?   No you can´t  You can see working but he is not to be disturbed . “ I will come back later when he has finished his work , if it´s more convenient . “  That won´t work because  I lock him up untill morning . “   But I only want to ask him a few question . I can do that as he goes to your car . “  He doesn´t go from here to any car . I keep him here all the time “   was his reply..

But…” I was totally confused by now . He has to sleep , eat , piss , relax . Doesn´t he ?    A working machine has no such needs “   But he is a human being…. I know “  he replied “  I have take care of hat .  How ?  Why are you asking so many questions ?  He is my slave and that´s the end of it.. But…But.. “  I mumbled . Oh shit , what the hell “ said the guy and with that he walked to a door and opened it . It led into the garage and there on the other siad of the room was someone working unde a car which had been hoisted up on a ramp.. He waswashing away the dirt and the old underseal with a high pressure water hose and he was a beautiful sight - all wet and dirty . He was dressed competely in rubber - heavy chest-high waders , heavy rubber jacket and gloves . His neck and head wre covered with a rubber hood and over his face he wore a breathing mask which completely  covered his eyes , nose and mouth.  Just as we entred , he was finishing cleaning the car with the high pressure hose . He then turned of the water and came towards us . He must have see me , but his Master shouted to him as he got to the middle  of th room that he was to start on the next car without delay . I saw him nod , then bend his head and walk back towards the other car . This car was hoisted high so that he could walk under kit. He turned the pump for the chemicals and then went back and stood underneath as he began to work spraying the underside of the car . As the heavy , black , oily stuff was applied to the unerside , the residue that didn´t reach the bottom of the car of didn´t stick fell on him and slowly covered him.  

Let´s go back to the office “ said the man .  “ You wanted to know how he managed “   It´s not all that difficult .  As I told you ,  I keep him her the whole week when he is working and I keep him in his  working gear all the time . He can´t take his glover of anyway as they are padlocked on and he is not allowed to take his mask off except to eat and sleep . It´s much easier that way ..

“ But he need to eat and take care of his bodily functions .. How does he doe that ? I asked ?  Easy…  He always weare a catheter up his cock which is connected to a rubber bag which collects his piss..  I let him chang the bag every 24 hours .  He also wears  an inflatabe plug up his arse . Whenhe has finished work he is allowed to remove the plug so as to have a shit and then I give him an enemas to clean him out and maybe fuck him . After that he puts the plug back .  Once a week I might allow him to take a shower , then I shave his head and his crutch , but as he is now shawer from head to toe , including his eyebrows and cock and balls , he does not get that dirty.. 

A/N: I just really wanted them to hug a bit more…

5x14 Missing Scene


It’s not so impossible


Killian Jones is no stranger to ‘surreal’.        

His boat has been known to fly, and his age is far older than his looks. He’s been to worlds with only one colour in its spectrum, worlds with no colour at all, worlds with colours he had no idea even existed. He’s seen boys never age, and shadows you cannot touch rip and tear through the things that cannot touch them; jumped across realms, meddled with magic.

He has died and died – physically, emotionally, morally – and seems to exist to keep kicking on regardless.

In fact, Killian Jones and surreal are practically bedfellows, to the point where none of it is really all that ridiculous anymore. It makes him jaded, it makes him wary.

But one thing remains more impossible that the rest.

Keep reading


°You’re Jax’s new Old Lady who is very familiar with the club and their ways. You’re insecure and anxious about his past with women(cheating, pushing away) when times get tough. Jax does everything to assure you that this is not the case with you.

Getting the eggs out of the fridge, I made sure that Abel and Thomas were still preoccupied with the tablet.

All the other food was cooked except the eggs. I had gotten alot of baking done in the past 5 hours.

The club was on lockdown, so I had alot of mouths to feed.

Chuckie would stop in every 15 minutes to see if I needed help, but I told him no thanks.

I’m the new Queen of SAMCRO, so it was my duty to make sure there was enough for everyone.

Earlier this morning, I had left Jax to sleep. He was exhausted after running around with the guys trying to figure out who had put a hit out on them.

I knew the bike world pretty much all my life. My grandfather raised me. He was part of the first 9, but apart of the Tacoma Chapter.

I was well grown when he passed away. I just hoped that I was doing him proud.
When I finally met Jackson, it was really a love at first sight type of deal. I knew his reputation well, that of a ladies man who would usually push them away once things got difficult.

The murder of his wife, Tara had sent him spiraling down into the serpents pit and he was showing no signs of coming out of it.

I was asked to go down to Charming and help out, which I had no problem doing. Even though I’d been part of this world since I was born, Jackson and I had never really met; only through word of mouth and photos.

Walking into the clubhouse that night, I literally bumped into Jax. He caught me, his reflexes in top shape.

After that we talked, getting to know one another. He even ignored all the women that were looking to give him a good time.

The more we conversed, the more I could see the pain that he was in over Tara. He didn’t know what to do on the home front, his boys basically being neglected because he couldn’t work through his emotions.

That changed quickly when my Uncle Marvin asked me to go back with them.

Jax was shocked, but seemed relieved that I was moving to Charming.

It was bumpy at first, me trying to find my place in their hectic, upside down world.

Gemma didn’t help with the transition at all. She was always there, trying to throw a wrench into the well oiled gears.

It took patience and time but before we knew it, things were coming together and looking better for the club.
This lockdown was the first sign of difficulty that we’d come up against and I was anxious and insecure in the fact that I though I’d be in disposable.

I shook my head, trying to clear the negativity out, refocusing on getting breakfast made.

Sesame Street came on the kid’s tablet and I started to dance and sing along, making the boys laugh.

A tug on my shirt made me pause in whisking the eggs.

“Whacha need Honey?” I asked Abel.

“I’m hungry, Y/N.”

“Breakfast is almost done. Want a peice of bacon?”

He nodded his head vigorously. Giving him the bacon, he smiled, “Thank you.”

I kissed his head, “Welcome Sweetheart.”

People started to wake, coming into the bar area where Chuckie and the Prospects began serving coffee.

Soon, the clubhouse was bustling and I was finally done cooking.

“Abel, Thomas, my boys!” Chibs yelled, coming into the kitchen.

I smiled as they hugged their Uncle.

“Hey Lass,” Chibs greeted me, kissing my cheek.

“Want me to take these Little Monsters to the table?” He asked, picking up Thomas.

I nodded, “If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” Chibs looked at me strangely and was about to ask something, but his wife called him out to the bar.

Following behind the boys, I carried out the biscuits,toast and buns.

Chibs barked at the Prospects to help me bring out the food.

In no time, everything was set up buffet style and a line was forming.

A couple of the Croweater’s who had an attitude, flipped their hair and curled their noses as they walked passed me.

“He won’t be with her long.” One said.

I rolled my eyes, but deep down, the words hurt.

Jax still hadn’t woken up yet, so I fixed me a plate and went to eat in the kitchen.

I wished these insecurities would just go away.
Lexie, Chibs’ wife, leaned over and took Thomas from Chibs.

“Is Y/N okay?” She asked, giving Thomas a little fork.

Chibs shook his head and sighed. Leaning to his left, he placed a kiss near Lexie’s ear.

“Something has her bothered. These gashes aren’t helping any either.” He said.

Jax came from the dorm hall, shrugging on his cut.

Lexie nodded towards Jax, “Tell Jax. He needs to check on her.”

“Aye,” Chibs agreed. Cupping his hands over his mouth so he could be heard over the chatter, he shouted, “Jackie Boy! Get yer arse over here!”

Shaking some hands along the way, Jax made it to the table.

“Sup brother?” He asked, kissing his boys on the head.

“Need to see Y/N.” Chibs said, taking a bite of food.

Jax’s brows furrowed as he looked around the room.

“Kitchen,” Lexie pointed in the direction. “We’ve got the boys, so taje your time. She needs it.”

Jax clapped Chibs on the back and kissed Lexie’s cheek.
Standing in the door way of the kitchen, Jax watched as his Old Lady picked at her food.

Y/N sat on the counter, her legs swinging from side to side.

She looked down and out and he couldn’t help but feel like it was him that was making her feel this way.

He swore up and down to her that he’d changed and he’d never treat her the way he used to treat the women in his life.

Jax had grown and it was all thanks to his Old Lady.
“Hey Darlin’.”

I jumped, almost dropping my plate, “Jackson! I didn’t know you were awake.” I gasped, putting my plate down on the counter.

With his hands in his pockets, he came into the kitchen.

“Just got up a few minutes ago. Come up to the roof with me?” He asked, looking up at the ceiling.

I nodded, hopping down from the counter.

Following Jax, I let him go first, since the door to the roof seemed to stick. He opened it, hoisting himself through the square opening.

I climbed up, accepting his hand as I came to the top.

He helped me out, keeping a firm hold of one hand, while the other shut the door. Taking us over to our spot, he sat down.

Opening his legs slightly, I sat in his lap, facing him, my legs on either side of him.

The morning chill in the air had me shivering. Shrugging off his cut, Jax put the warm leather around me.

“Want to tell me what’s going on?” He asked, softly.

I shook my head, “It’s nothing, Jax.”

Using his forefinger to tip my chin up, I could tell that me not opening up was bothering him.

“Tell me, Darlin’.”

I sighed, closing my eyes. “I’m scared.”

“Of what, baby? As long as I’m here and you have one of us with you, nothing will happen.” He said, cupping my cheek.

I held his hand to my face, enjoying the warmth emitting from him. “I know… I’m scared that… that you’ll push me away.”

“Jesus.” He whispered. “Baby, look at me.”

Slowly, I blinked my eyes open.

“I’m not like that anymore. I swear on everything that I have. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“I know I shouldn’t let this get to me, but I don’t want to be pushed a side. It’s not so much that you’re going to do it, it’s just other people always saying something about it.”

“The Croweater’s? They don’t mean shit, baby.”

I looked down at my hands, playing the Reaper ring that Jax had given me, “I know.”

“Do you really? Because baby, you’re it for me. You’ve changed me for the better; made me a stronger man.”

I sniffled, biting my lip.

“If it wasn’t for you… I can tell you right now that I wouldn’t be here.”

I snapped my head up to his, shocked at his confession. “Jackson…”

“I’m serious, Y/N. I was ready to ride my bike head on into traffic before you straightened my ass out.”

I hugged Jax tightly, trying not to think of what it would’ve been like had that happened.

Jax ran his fingers through my hair as we pulled apart, “Don’t listen to those girls, babe. They’re just jealous that I’m actually happy.”

“I try not to…”

Jax tried another approach and because he was working so hard to convince me and talk this out, I knew he meant every word.

“Y/N, I love you. Everything that you do. You accept all the shit that goes on and take it like a champ. You’re a hell of a mother to our boys and you keep us all going.”

I gave him a watery smile. “I love you too, Jackson.”

Giving me a sound kiss, he pulled back only slightly, “Believe me when I say that you are my fairytale, baby. There’s no pushing you away; ever.”

I attacked Jackson with slow kisses, showing him how much I believed him.

We stayed on the roof a little longer, holding each other as he filled me in on the stuff that was going on.

It was alot to swallow and I came to the realization that he would have days where he didn’t feel like talking.

Days where he’d just want to come home and be with me and the boys, no club shit.

I had some what of an idea on what he had to put up with, but for him to go into great detail had me giving him mad respect for still being sane in all of this.

I had to be strong for my Old Man and this club.

I was once told that Old Ladies were the glue that held it all together. I just didn’t know how much that rang true until now.


So instead of working on any of my goals I spent the past 2 days restoring a 100 year old typewriter. 

I’m a huge nerd for typewriters and own a little Royal from the 40s that I’ve had for ages. I use it for writing poetry and in some art projects. But my all time biggest goal has always been to own an Underwood. 

Then, a few months ago I posted a painting I made of an Underwood on fbook and a coworker of mine told me he ‘has one of those old things in his basement’. So I told him if he ever wanted to part ways with it, to hit me up. 

Finding one of these in working condition is pretty hard and even if you do, getting it shipped (to Canada, no less) is really expensive because they weigh at least 35 lbs. It can be upwards of $500. 

So on Tuesday my coworker shows up and gives me this babe! She was covered in a pretty thick layer of smokey dust (probably 20 years worth according to him) and it took 2 days of scrubbing, cleaning out all the gears and then oiling and replacing some minor bits but now she runs perfectly! 

I’m such a nerd for these types of things… I mean, this machine was made in 1913 according to the serial number. That’s pre-WWI. I cant help but wonder who owned it before me, and what they wrote. Love letters? Business? Secrets written in codes? 

Now I kinda want to find a pen pal I can send letters to. 

And now I have some goals to catch up on… damn. Worth it though. 

anonymous asked:

Varric and Dorian bantering like "You love the warrior." "No, you love the warrior." until one day, Dorian slams the door of Herald's Rest open and yells: "Okay, so I love the warrior, your turn!"

It was Dorian’s first mission with the Inquisitor since the nastiness that was Haven falling and of course it had to be to the Storm Coast.  Sighing as his staff stuck in the mud for the tenth time since leaving camp, Dorian paused and put all his strength into tugging it from the wet ground.

“Better hike up your skirt, mage boy,” Bull chuckled as he came to a stop directly behind Dorian.

Scowling back at Bull, Dorian hissed, “I’m not wearing a skirt.”

“You trip on that bustling whatever, don’t come crying to me.”

Dorian growled, slinging his staff and storming up the trail.  As he passed Varric he could have sworn he heard the rogue mutter in a singsong voice, “You love the warrior.”

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A Day in the Life

Every morning at sunrise, rain or shine, Mayor Kevin M. Sourdough walks the streets of Peyroux. “Good morning!” he calls out to every ghost, every monster, every thing he meets.

The haunted village is small and sleepy, so large decisions are made by residents together and small ones are left to the mayor. Having served since the village’s founding, Sourdough is familiar with the challenges that crop up in a community populated nearly exclusively with ghosts, witches, and monsters.

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anonymous asked:

Could you write Ouma and Amami going on a double date with any other couple/ship for DRV3? c:

I have to say, that writing Kiibo and anything involving Kiibo is very very veeeeery funs ^u^ 

(PS, to the one who meowed, yer’s is next ;33)

Don’t Show Kiibo the Panta

Doing anything with both Ouma and Kiibo was like courting disaster.

Kiibo was a robot who takes everything too seriously and Ouma was a child who took nothing seriously. While Kiibo took everything literally and gave everything his best effort, Ouma was a slacker who’d push his work on other people. If you were to put Kiibo and Ouma alone in a room together, that room would be covered in Panta and Kiibo would be glitching out due to Panta-overload, something that has actually happened. It was safe to say then, that no one in their right mind would ever let Ouma anywhere near Kiibo again.

Unless… Ouma was dating Amami, who just so happened to be best friends with Kaede… who just so happens to be dating Kiibo… and who just so happened, to ask for a double date.

Amami couldn’t tell Kaede ‘no’ to her request, he just couldn’t! How could he pass up the most perfect opportunity to watch shit hit the fan? Kaede had no idea of the past Kiibo and Ouma shared, no one ever wanted to bring that up again! It was the perfect opportunity to watch his boyfriend wreak havoc and to watch Kaede shit her pants in shock.

Today’s going to be a fun day.

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Clockwork constructs are the technological cousins of golems, constructed with a combination of magic and precise technologies dependant upon the internal churning and turning of thousands of intricate springs, screws, and gears.

There are those who would scoff at the work of clockwork engineers, whose constructs seem at best merely imitations of the creations brought to life by practitioners of the purely arcane arts. However, those canny enough to realize the potential of clockwork engines know their true power to be both exotic and potent. In worlds where clockworks are common, these creatures can rival even the most powerful of golems for raw power. Massive giants comprising countless nuts and bolts have torn entire empires asunder. Time and time again, clockwork creatures have proven themselves a formidable presence in the face of more traditional rivals, and those who have borne witness to the feats of these creatures know to hold their tongues before questioning the constructs’ power.

Clockwork creatures function by combining magical energies and clockwork mechanisms. The myriad metal parts that go into the construction of a clockwork creation require absolute precision in order to function properly, so they must be built by only the steadiest of hands. Amateurish attempts at clockwork construction typically result in nonfunctional units or misfires, and many an engineering lab has been burned to the ground by novices seeking to learn the basics of clockworks and the elements that power them.

Particularly guileful crafters may construct miniature clockwork spies that can record sound, and rumors tell of even more advanced technologies that allow visual recording. While magical wonders such as spells can allow the user to scry information or to see where one isn’t normally physically able to, clockwork spies provide an edge in that their memories are concrete and incorruptible, enabling them to make flawless recordings of events not subject to the regular perversions of human memories.

Clockwork creations, as their names suggests, must be wound up before they animate. The creator of a clockwork crafts a unique key for each creation. This key is typically inserted into the clockwork’s back and turned clockwise to wind it. Turning the key counterclockwise has the effect of winding the machine down, though only a willing (or completely helpless) machine will allow itself to be unwound in this way, meaning either its creator or someone its creator has specifically designated can normally do so. Since each key is totally unique, construction of a new key (or bypassing a key entirely) requires a successful Disable Device check (DC = 20 + the clockwork’s CR). Larger clockworks tend to have larger keys, and particularly huge keys require more than one set of hands to turn. Rather than seek assistance from other engineers, eccentric or hermetic inventors often rely upon other clockwork creations to help them turn keys or aid in the creation of more monumental constructs. Other times, engineers give copies of keys to their most trusted clockworks, which can be programmed to wind allies and even themselves as the situation requires.

Much like golems and animated objects, clockwork creatures can be given any number of commands; a perpetually turning script in their core records those orders and programs the rest of the machine. Only one who possesses a key to the clockwork can program it, but any commands given to the construct last until the clockwork is reprogrammed or destroyed. An individual clockwork’s potential is only limited by its creator’s innovation and aptitude. Unlike many golems, which are trapped in bodies resembling lumbering and fallible cages, clockwork constructs can be repeatedly reworked and reengineered—gears can be oiled, springs can be replaced, and pistons can be fine-tuned. The ever-adjustable framework of these mechanical beasts allows for extreme variation from creation to creation.

Since clockwork creations are mostly mechanical and are at the mercy of their creator’s adeptness with the technology, they are prone to the follies of human error. Loose bolts, improper programming, or lack of maintenance are all cause for malfunctions, errors that can range from minute energy leaks to deadly explosions. The most common cause of malfunction, however, is not imparted by the creator, but by the clockwork’s destroyer. Creatures attacking the machine gradually unhinge screws and twist cogs with each landed blow, giving the clockwork a greater chance of backfire. Many combat clockworks are thus accompanied by clockwork servants—servitor clockworks that quickly and readily fix their mechanical allies in the heat of battle.

In the earlier days of clockwork technology, many practical hindrances prevented rapid maturation of the devices. Clockwork machines were powered by inefficient, costly resources; however, the advent of arcane enchantment not only has allowed for greater precision in the crafting of gears and other key components, but has also opened up a wide new range of possibilities for defensive systems and offensive weaponry. Early attempts to combine clockwork with steam power or other nonmagical forms of energy tended to overcomplicate the already delicate machinery, and have long since been abandoned as a result. Whispers abound of an even more unusual category of clockwork that has solved this problem and has merged the complexities of steam power with the adaptability of magical energies, yet such exotic and unusual clockworks remain nothing more than rumors in most worlds at this time.