two wheels only

8

mood: Eliot advising Hardison to be more assertive in his relationship with Parker, realising he’s the one asserted over the whole evening, ending up secretly proud of it.

a comic about me learning how to drive

Jin stole TWO army bombs tonight at two separate times, I hope this means he was having a blast

Tesla Coil:

*Patent No. 462,418: Method of transformation of electrical energy by oscillatory condenser discharge. It was predicted that this apparatus afforded vast possibilities and would play an important part in the future.*

“This type of apparatus is identified with my name as certain as the law of gravitation is with that of Newton. I know that some have claimed that Professor Thomson also invented the so-called Tesla coil, but those feeble chirps ne'er went beyond Swampscott. Professor Thomson is an odd sort of man; very ingenious, but he never was a wireless expert; he never could be. Moreover, it is important to realize that this principle is universally employed everywhere. The greatest men of science have told me that this was my best achievement and, in connection with this apparatus I may say that a lot of liberties have been taken. For instance, a man fills this space [break D] with hydrogen; he employs all my instrumentalities, everything that is necessary, but calls it a new wireless system – the Poulsen arc. I cannot stop it. Another man puts in here [referring to space between self-inductive lines L L] a kind of gap – he gets a Nobel prize for doing it. My name is not mentioned. Still another man inserts here [conductor B] a mercury[-arc] rectifier. That is my friend Cooper Hewitt. But, as a matter of fact, those devices have nothing to do with the performance.

“If these men knew what I do, they would not touch my arrangements; they would leave my apparatus as it is. Marconi puts in here [break D] two wheels. I showed only one wheel; he shows two. And he says, “See what happens when the wheels are rotated; a wonderful thing happens!” What is the wonderful thing? Why, when the teeth of the wheels pass one another, the currents are broken and interrupted. That is the wonderful thing that happens? The Lord himself could not make anything else happen unless he broke his own laws. So, in this way, invention has been degraded, debased, prostituted, more in connection with my apparatus than in anything else. Not a vestige of invention as a creative effort is in the thousands of arrangements that you see under the name of other people – not a vestige of invention. It is exactly like in car couplings on which 6,000 patents have been taken out; but all the couplings are constructed and operated exactly the same way. The inventive effort involved is about the same as that of which a 30-year-old mule is capable. This is a fact.“

–Nikola Tesla

(Tesla explaining his wireless art in a pre-hearing interview with his legal counsel in 1916 to protect his radio patents from the Guglielmo Marconi and the Marconi Company.)

“Nikola Tesla On His Works With Alternating Currents and Their Application to Wireless Telegraphy, and Transmission of Power.” Twenty First Century Books, Breckenridge, Colorado, 2002.

Two Guys, One Scooter--A Secret Santa Fic

This holiday fic is a gift for my non-fandom secret santa recipient @paintmeahero. It is late, for which I’m sorry, but hopefully it is both intelligible and enjoyable nonetheless.

Thanks go to @ilarual and @bendandcurl for the eyes, as well as @therewithasmile who looked at the beginning. Also, Salt Chat gets credit for LYLAS.

This is a silly, cracky, fluffy HS AU inspired by nothing more than my actual real life amusement at recently having seen two guys on a tiny motor scooter.  TWICE.

You can also read it on FFN and AO3.


It begins innocently enough. Soul has broken his pencil, and his good friend (who he maybe kind of sort of really likes in a not friend sort of way) has finished her exam predictably early and excused herself to the restroom, so he helps himself to her bag to find something else to write with.

Instead, he finds something wrapped in festive holiday paper with a card taped to the top, his name scrawled on the envelope with a heart drawn around it. A heart. What does that mean? Hell, why has she gotten him a gift? Sure it’s the last day before winter break, but they never exchange holiday gifts.

Except, apparently, now they do.

Well, shit.

Soul manages to stop gaping into her bag like a hooked fish long enough to find a pencil and return to his half finished test.

Desperate times–he hasn’t studied anyway, so he employs the Star method of exam taking and makes patterns in the bubbles, finishing quickly. He is handing in his own exam and excusing himself to the restroom when Maka returns. Offering her a small wave, he goes to seek the one person who might be able to get him out of this mess.

Blake “call me Black Star” Barrett is, rather predictably, in the boys bathroom, flexing in the mirror. With his eye-searingly blue hair, he is hard to miss. The kid spends half his time away from class, his inability to focus legendary, and the toilets are a favorite hangout for whatever reason. Personally, Soul hates them; they always reek of urine, shit, and cheap pot– foulness incarnate–and he’d rather hold his piss all day than step foot inside when he can help it. Most days, he can help it.

But again, desperate times. He has three classes until lunch, three classes to try to get Maka a present without her realizing he didn’t have one to begin with, and Blake is the only person he knows with both a propensity to ditch and his own transportation.

“Eater, my man!” Star greets him with an overly enthusiastic clap on the shoulder, causing Soul to wince, “What brings you into my office this fine afternoon?” 

Soul doesn’t beat around the bush–doesn’t even scoff at his friend equating the shitter with a workspace like he’s fucking Fonzi–with Black Star, he’d be wasting his breath.

“Wanna ditch?”

“Seriously?” Star raises both eyebrows. “Won’t Mak–”

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” He grins sharply, and Star guffaws.

“Now that’s what I like to hear!” he shouts. “Let’s blow this Popsicle stand!”

They leave the bathroom as the bell rings, and Soul purposefully steers them away from Maka’s regular path on their trek to the parking lot. They arrive soon enough, looking like they have every right to take off as they please as they approach Black Star’s ride.

It’s an electric blue motor scooter emblazoned with a yellow star emblem. Soul has given him shit for it a thousand times, and Star has defended it as a vehicle worthy of an aspiring deity just as often, and now Soul is about to ride bitch on the tiny thing like the little bitch he so clearly is.

Desperate, desperate times. If only Kilik were the ditching type–he actually has a car. But no, it’s scooter or bust, so Soul swings his leg over after Star and fishes behind him for something to grip because no way in fuck is he gripping Star’s waist; that would be crossing at least half a dozen lines he has no interest in being anywhere near. Just no. He doesn’t even like hugging his own brother. Hugging Star, even out of necessity, would be tantamount to needing a dozen showers.

He finds the rack on the back and holds on tight, arms twisted awkwardly behind him. He knows they must look absurd–hell, Star looks absurd when he drives it alone–but his choices are this or no gift.

Soul takes his punishment like the masochist he is, sacrificing his cool card in the name of green eyes, ash blond pigtails, and a wide smile.

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for some reason, i really like to think about john riding motorcycles, so

how about teen!john having a bike and sherlock being a bit scared to ride with him on it at first, because well, it’s got only two wheels when it’s supposed to have four, and he’s seen how fast john goes when he rides it, but he decides to give it a try once and he loves how the wind hits his face and the adrenaline and he gets teen!john to teach him how to ride it 

6

Anna (previously Ritter) has been through a lot in her short life: At just 12 months old, she’d had three different owners, suffered from extreme fear and skittishness, and even ran feral for three days after a surprising escape. Finally, she was transported more than halfway across the USA to her fourth and final home. 

I decided to do the first leg of that journey with her. It was a long drive - Western Oregon to Southeast Wyoming. The mountains through Idaho were treacherous, and my truck was armed with only two-wheel drive, so I headed north into Montana before dipping south again to avoid the tougher terrain. I afforded myself one extra day to make the journey, expecting setbacks. But in just over 48 hours, I had made it to my destination. 

My support crew back home (amazing members of the rescue community!) set me up in a motel for the night, as I was coming down with an illness and didn’t want to spend another cramped evening in the truck with two dogs. I decided to take advantage of the utilities available, and gave Anna a bath. 

Up until this point, she had been just as skittish around me as she was around any other stranger. I saw it as no manner of slight; she had been through a lot, and it was reasonable behavior given her background. So coaxing her into the tub was a bit of effort. But I was surprised to find that as soon as I began to pour warm water over her haunches, Anna’s body language began to change. She stopped shaking, didn’t make to pull away from me, and even leaned against my bare legs as I continued to scoop up buckets of bath water to pour across her back and shoulders. 

She was still dirty from her three-day ordeal as a canine fugitive. I at least wanted to clean the mud from her brilliant cream coat. 

And the surprising thing is that she let me - no fuss, no balking, no shaking, no slinking away. I didn’t even need to hold her leash; she simply stood and enjoyed the bath. I think it was the first time since I’d fostered her that she actually expressed a sense of “I think I’m okay. I feel safe now.” 

When I dried her off, she leaned into me again. She even turned and shoved her head into my hands so I could towel her face, and looked up at me for a moment with her mouth open and eyes sparkling. I had just witnessed a breakthrough. 

For the rest of the evening, Anna remained far more confident around me than she had at any point prior. She and Jude played briefly, and she even slept beside the bed that night instead of tucking herself into a corner. 

I awoke the next morning to find her standing just inches from my face, giving me the “I need to pee NOW” stare. She evidently remembered our breakthrough from the night before, and still trusted me with her close proximity. I took she and Jude out to do their business, and then we waited. 

Finally, a van pulled up to the motel. It was time for me to say farewell to Anna and hand her off to the original breeder, her very first owner, so that she could deliver Anna to her final destination. I was pleased that the breeder was involved in the rescue operation (though I still maintain certain qualms about her ethics) and she even gifted me a collection of audio tapes from vet conferences that pertained to important subjects such as bite cases, managing a kennel with multiple dogs, and the evolution of training methods used throughout history. 

The road home felt rather lonely with just Jude at my side. I became progressively sicker. But I was pleased to see updates from Anna’s travels as I continued my own, and I finally found myself back on Oregon soil at about the same time that Anna reached her Forever Home. In what I can only describe as an incredible twist of fate, Anna immediately fell in love with her new human. I never expected this. We were all prepared for the process to take weeks - possibly even months - and yet, on the very first day, she was giving her new owner kisses and sleeping by her side.

Seeing the success of this, Pack West’s very first adoption, made every mile of my journey worthwhile. 

Scraped Knees

Because I got such a lovely response from Cinnamon Rolls, I couldn’t resist writing another Harry and family blurb. Thank you as always for being so kind, and I hope you enjoy :) can’t wait to write more about this little family! 

“Just like that baby, c’mon you got it!” Harry calls out, cheering as Stella gets the hang of the peddles, her little pink bike gliding easily across the path.

The sparkly tassels hang off her handlebars, flying wildly as she zooms past you and her younger siblings. You are so proud, and just the tiniest bit nervous, rocking the double stroller back and forth next to the bench where you’re sat.

Today was Stella’s first day without training wheels. She’d been riding her bike for a few months now, every weekend with Harry’s help, and he’d announced at breakfast this morning, he thought it was time for her to ride a “big girl bike”. You almost choked on your omelet when he wheeled the little bicycle in, unaware that he meant for it to be so soon. Stella was your little daredevil, strong willed and stubborn, she was always bouncing off the walls and you’d rarely find her without a couple bumps and bruises. So you were cautiously optimistic on the drive to the park this morning, saying a silent little prayer while Harry buckled on her helmet. But of course, she’d taken to the two wheels so easily, only needing Harry’s hands to guide her for a few tries before she’s speeding off on her own, peddling as fast as her little legs would take her.

“Slow down, sissy!” you call out to her, rolling your eyes when Stella just peddles faster, her little giggle floating through the park.

“Daddy! Look!” she yells, turning in a half circle to make her way back towards him.

“I see you baby! You’re doing so good!” He answers, turning to you to give you an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

You return the gesture, grinning widely at Harry, before unbuckling a squirmy little Finn from the stroller. You sigh as he paws at your jean-clad thigh, silently asking to be sat on your lap. Finn was the snuggliest of the bunch, and definitely a momma’s boy. Rarely did you have a moment without his little hands tugging at your leg or hitched high on your hip, which was really saying something, because as a toddler he was rather heavy. You lift him up anyway, pressing a few kisses to his curly mop when he settles in against you.

“Look at sissy! She’s so fast, isn’t she?” you ask enthusiastically, nudging Finn to sit up so he could get a better look. He smiles, eyes following his big sister with something like admiration written in his features.

“Mummy, when can I get a big kid bike?” he lisps.

“When you’re big like Stella, bubby, you’re too little now,” you coo, rubbing wide circles into his back.

“But I’m a big boy,” he pouts, puffy little lip jutting out and you swear you see a glimpse of his father right then.

“Of course you are,” you laugh, “but sissy is bigger. And when you start to ride a bike you’ll be too big for mommy’s cuddles, you don’t want that do you?”

He shakes his head quickly then, tucking back into you and you smile, humming while you turns your attention back to Harry and Stella. An uneasy feeling comes over you, watching as Stella becomes less cautious, trying to make quick turns and peddling fast then skidding, each little tire skid sending shocks down your spine.

“Harry…” you calls uneasily, which is met with a reassuring smile from Harry,

“Don’t worry babe, I’m watching!”

That pacifies you for a moment, reaching into the diaper bag to pull out some grapes for your youngest Harper, laying the snack out on her little stroller tray.

“Gape, gape!” Harper giggles, not quite able to say her R’s yet.

“Chew, chew, baby” you reminds her, sticking out a finger to catch the little stream of juice that escapes Harper’s lips.

You relax quite a bit then, stroking through Finn’s curls as you talk softly to Harper, pointing out various things in the park for her to look at. There aren’t many people out today but Harper is fascinated by all the trees and flowers; and the ducks that are floating in the pond. In the middle of helping Harper sound out ‘duck’, you hear a sound that makes your stomach drop.

“BRAKES!! STELLA, USE YOUR BRAKES!!” Harry yells desperately, his words useless as you whip your head around, catching the last second of Stella toppling off her bike onto the cement. You nearly leap off the bench, setting Finn down and quickly grabbing the stroller. You’re running then, over to where Harry’s kneeling over her, loud wails wracking her tiny body.

“Shhh, shhh it’s okay, Angel. You’re okay I’ve gotcha,” he soothes, running his hand along her hair and scooping her up to hold against his chest, her face immediately burrowing there. She’s already crying so fiercely, big fat tears running down her cheeks and staining Harry’s Packers jumper.

“Stella, honey, are you okay?!” you ask terrified, kneeling down beside Harry with eyes that immediately scan for major injuries.

“You’re alright just a little scraped up,” he assures, gently turning her little knee to you where you can see the road rash that’s already starting to bleed a bit.

“Oh baby, what happened? Did you fall?” you ask, eyes welling up when you see your baby’s tear stained cheeks, her little lip wobbling as she nods her head.

“Yep, took a little tumble didn’t we Bells?” Harry soothes, “A duck waddled across the path and she couldn’t stop in time.”

You nod sympathetically, leaning down to press a kiss to Stella’s forehead.

“My poor baby,” you coddle, wiping your thumb across her cheeks as her crying quiets down a bit. She’s still breathing heavy and you know she’s pretty shaken up, her arms holding Harry’s neck in a death grip as he rubs a comforting hand up and down them.

“You’re alright though, little miss. Just a scrape, we’ll fix you up in no time, yeah?” Harry reassured, smiling when Stella nods her head slowly, a pitiful ‘yeah’ coming from her tiny lips.

“That’s my tough girl,” he says proudly, rewarding her with a kiss to her forehead.

“I’ve got a band-aid!” you call triumphantly, pulling one from your little first aid kit. “It’s Elsa baby, your favorite!”

“Wow!” Harry exclaims, playing along with your enthusiasm. It seems to do the trick because Stella cracks a small smile then, leaning up slightly to see the band-aid in question.

You gently rub a little Neosporin into the cut, pouting sympathetically when Stella winces a bit. Then you’re covering it with a band-aid and Harry’s shifting Stella a bit to get a good look at it.

“And a Daddy kiss to make it all better!” he says, placing a very dramatic kiss just above the kneecap.

“Daddy’s kisses are magic, they make everything better,” you add, rubbing a hand up Harry’s back.

“They do?” Stella asks inquisitively, eyes widening a bit.

“Mhmm, you’ll be better in no time,” you promise, reaching out a hand for Finn to put him back in the stroller, he’s standing stock still, watching the three of you as his little brain tries to decipher if he should be scared too, “let’s get you home and all cleaned up.”

…….

Later that evening, you rub soothingly along Harry’s chest, grabbing a handful of his t-shirt as he places feather-light kisses to your forehead.

“Thank you,” you whisper while tangling a leg with his under their bed sheets.

“For wha’, love?” Harry asks, his breath fanning across your face.

“For taking care of Stella today,” you answer, nuzzling into his neck and pressing the full length of your bodies together.

“We both did,” he responds, and then a beat later, “that scared you didn’t it?”

You let out a heavy sigh, nodding against his neck as you kiss the skin there, humming at the span of his hand across your shoulder blades.

“They’re so fragile,” you admit, “and I hate it when she cries, because then I want to cry. But I can’t because I’m her mommy, I’m supposed to be strong for her.”

Harry hums, nuzzling at the top of your head for a moment before answering. “You are strong, baby, you’re the strongest woman I know. And that’s why I’m here, I can be strong for the both of you.”

Your cheeks burn from the wide smile that creeps across your lips then, leaning back to press Harry’s full lips against your own. You indulge in a few loving kisses until he’s pulling away.

“I’ll be strong for her always, for all the scraped knees and all the broken hearts. I’ll always be there for our baby,” he vows, voice taking on an air of conviction as he says it.

“I know you will, honey, I know.”

NOTE: Not sure if it’s common anywhere else but “Sissy” is a pet name that my family called me all growing up, it’s not a typo! lol Let me know what you thought, and what you think Harry and family should do next! xx

what better way to start off a semi-art blog than with a 20 minute sloppy doodle of an edgy fusion gem huh

This is Azurite-Malachite, fusion of my gem Snow Quartz and @accursedasche‘s Fluorite. I thought the two would fuse nicely, since they both have skate-y feet and the colours go great together lmao. Fluorite and Snow Quartz’s fusion dances both have something to do with skating, too, so wooOOO

Their weapon is just Fluorite’s blaster.


Even though they have similar physiques and ‘’jobs’’ (that job being scouting), making their fusion swift and well-coordinated, their clashing personalities came together to create the mind of an edgy 13 year old. They’re pretty much the gem version of that ‘i cant tell where Leto ends and the Joker begins’ meme lmAO

veritascara  asked:

Okay, I came up with a prompt idea! It's kind of vague, to be honest, but here you go. I know we have a deep mutual love for Nine, and I don't think you get nearly enough chances to write him, so if you have the time, I'd love a little birthday story that involves Nine + Rose + one of the adventures we hear about but don't see (Justicia, San Kloon, Kyoto, Woman Wept, etc.) + lots of glorious UST. I'll leave it up to you whether you set it pre or post Jack's arrival on the TARDIS. Sound good?

“Dress warm,” the Doctor barked through the wood of Rose’s bedroom door. He offered no ‘good morning,’ no ‘are you up yet,’ or even the instruction to ‘wake up.’ Just the sharp command and the sound of his boots retreating down the hallway back toward the console room.

Rose sighed and turned back to the wardrobe into which she had been staring morosely when his voice had interrupted her quiet. Perhaps his ship had let him know that she was up, thinking about clothes, and could use his guidance. She had a feeling that such a thing would have led to a much longer rant about stupid apes, taking too long dressing, and the fact that the resident aliens wouldn’t care much what she looked like anyway (this last with the unspoken, subtle, and disappointing reminder that the resident alien on the TARDIS didn’t care much what she looked like either).

Rose sighed as she pulled a pair of lined jeans off of a shelf in her wardrobe and pulled them on. No matter how many times she told herself not to think of the Doctor as a man her mind would inevitably wander down the paths that were only natural for a healthy human girl travelling the universe with a being to whom she was mightily attracted. Paths that seemed to remind her what people said about blokes with big ears (and big hands, Rose thought, big feet as well). Paths that only grew more worn as the Doctor got jealous of Jack and took her into his arms to dance. Paths that always seemed to lead only one place- Rose in a cold shower (or a hot one, seeking a bit of relief). Because, simply put, Rose was certain that the Doctor was not like that.

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7

1965 Mercedes-Benz 250SE (W111).


It is soothing to see a speculator’s dream where it really belongs: out on the street on a sunny weekend afternoon and not in a millionaire showroom. As always on those special occasions, here are the geeky bits:

• note the rich blue, colour code DB 904, which looks black depending on the angle
• note the speedometer wood framing, later replaced with a leather finish
• note the two-piece wheel caps, only correct on the 250
• note the original convertible leather hood cover: so thick it’s gonna resist rain, pigeon dirt – and even careless cyclists
• note the Becker Mexiko TR tuner with original tape extension
• note the Germany-only „Kathedralen“ headlights, standard until the sealed-beam export version became optional
• note the VDO Kienzle clock with round edges, only to be found in the 6.3 (W109) and W111 convertibles
• note the M129 engine that some wiseasses still discredit as not highspeed-proof – which is pointless today since nobody’s gonna put a vintage 150k Euro convertible through its paces in 2016