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Pepto-Bismol Pink Coolant
Or, how I learned to wear gloves.
See, in cutting up engines from Very Large, Heavy Pieces of Cast Iron into pieces no larger than 2" across, one cannot simply use a single large saw. Instead, I start with a large hydraulic bandsaw, then move down to the big Delta cut-off wheel, then the medium Leco cut-off wheel, then the small Discotom cut-off wheel. If necessary, I can go one step smaller, to the very cute, well-behaved Struers fine wheel, which performs precision cuts through the use of video game noises. No, I have no idea either.
The epic begins with the Delta saw not working. So Dave, whose job it is to maintain the saws, calls Maintenance to put in a work order. (No, of course he isn't allowed to do it himself. The Union has rules about that sort of thing.) They come down, take a look, and explain that the coolant has things living in it, which is gumming up the works. They looked at the other saws, and all but the Struers have things living in the coolant as well. Dave ordered an industrial-sized barrel of biocide, and new coolant which accepts biocide without reacting to it. This week, they have mostly been cleaning the grime off these wheels, then flushing the systems with biocide, then mixing up the new coolant formation.
The new coolant is not dirty dish water colored, as the old one was. Instead, it is pink. Bright, pepto-bismol pink.
It also irritates my hands. I mean, the old coolant did too, but not like this. I get hives from it. This is not because it is coolant, but because it is a slightly acidic buffer solution. It h as to do with the way that aluminum reacts with water to become caustic. You don't want your coolant eating through the lines, so you have to buffer the solution. It's just my luck that it irritates my skin. So I must wear elbow-length gloves while using these machines now -_-
In other news, the porn I have been slowly writing for weeks is done. It came out fluffy.
Title: Ten Thousand Ways
Fandom: DP, still not owned by me, which means that I still fail utterly to make money on this
Rating: R
Warnings: It's porn. Explicit porn. How much clearer can I get?
"Tell me what you need, Danny," said Dan, rolling his hips.
Danny cried out, lifting his own hips to meet the next thrust.
"Tell me how I can make it better. What do you want?" Dan purred steady-impossibly steady-in his rhythm, as slow and inexorable as the tide.
"Ah!" called Danny, arching his back. "Dan-God-you! Always you!"
"Always?" asked Dan, sliding a little. Danny knew what he meant: had someone told him two years ago that he and Dan would become something closer than lovers and still never close enough, he'd have called them a sick fuck, after assuring himself they posed no threat to Amity Park, and walked away. A year ago, he would have laughed bitterly and asked how the heartless Dan could possibly care for him beyond just a body with which to toy.
Things were different now. Danny was different now.
"Always," he affirmed. "Always and only and forever. Yours."
Dan leaned in to kiss him softly; Danny arched into it, wrapping his arms around Dan to hold him close. It went on for a long time, and when it did eventually end Dan only pulled far enough away to whisper, "So sweet," tongue flicking snakelike against his ear.
To Danny, Dan had always tasted like himself and the shock of unexpected ectoplasm, even when he'd hated him. It hadn't changed, not since that first horrible night. But Danny loved it now, sought it out after waking or before battle or just because. "Daaaaaann." He moaned it, but it was a warning and a plea.
Dan laughed, a low rumble through both their bodies, and said, "all right, my Danny." Then he changed his motion and the rhythm of his rocking almost imperceptibly. Just enough. Danny could not breather for the sudden onslaught of additional sensation, could not cry out, could do nothing but feel.
And move, of course, gasping and writhing and clawing livid emerald marks in Dan's back as he sought to bring them close still.
"Danny," shuddered Dan; Danny knew he was struggling to keep control, and took an inside-out kind of pleasure that this was how he affected Dan, had always affected Dan, even when he didn't want to. But he didn't particularly want Dan's iron self-control right now. He was just too close, too needy and too impatient by far. So he bore down and arched up and whispered some of the words that never failed to get that certain reaction.
Dan let go.
They came together.
Sometime later, after they had crawled and curled around each other, when Dan was spooned against Danny and holding him (occasionally, taking the time to stroke him from collarbone to hip, or press a wet, open-mouthed kiss against the back of his neck, but mostly just holding him) and Danny was lazing in the afterglow, dozing, Dan asked, "Did you mean that?"
"Mm?" asked Danny.
"Forever is a long time." Dan was still relaxed against his back, but his hand had stopped mid-motion and Danny knew that the person asking the question was not much different from a grieving fourteen-year-old, so hurt that he'd asked to have his own heart removed. Dan showed this side so rarely that Danny hadn't known it existed up until New Year's day, the morning after. Danny was careful to hold it like an egg, all fragile strength and possibility.
He answered Dan's fears with a question. "Are you planning on tiring of me any time soon?"
There was no pause. "No."
"Well, then," said Danny. "I'm here for as long as you want forever to last."
Dan didn't say anything. He didn't need to. The long, shuddering release of breath; the slight shift to pull Danny closer to his chest; the soft, chaste kiss on his cheek-all of these, and ten thousand other things each day told Danny of what lay in the impenetrable depths of Dan's heart.
So, yeah. That is Haunted Past. It took too long to write, not because I didn't know where I was going, but because I didn't know the road to take. Ah well.
See, in cutting up engines from Very Large, Heavy Pieces of Cast Iron into pieces no larger than 2" across, one cannot simply use a single large saw. Instead, I start with a large hydraulic bandsaw, then move down to the big Delta cut-off wheel, then the medium Leco cut-off wheel, then the small Discotom cut-off wheel. If necessary, I can go one step smaller, to the very cute, well-behaved Struers fine wheel, which performs precision cuts through the use of video game noises. No, I have no idea either.
The epic begins with the Delta saw not working. So Dave, whose job it is to maintain the saws, calls Maintenance to put in a work order. (No, of course he isn't allowed to do it himself. The Union has rules about that sort of thing.) They come down, take a look, and explain that the coolant has things living in it, which is gumming up the works. They looked at the other saws, and all but the Struers have things living in the coolant as well. Dave ordered an industrial-sized barrel of biocide, and new coolant which accepts biocide without reacting to it. This week, they have mostly been cleaning the grime off these wheels, then flushing the systems with biocide, then mixing up the new coolant formation.
The new coolant is not dirty dish water colored, as the old one was. Instead, it is pink. Bright, pepto-bismol pink.
It also irritates my hands. I mean, the old coolant did too, but not like this. I get hives from it. This is not because it is coolant, but because it is a slightly acidic buffer solution. It h as to do with the way that aluminum reacts with water to become caustic. You don't want your coolant eating through the lines, so you have to buffer the solution. It's just my luck that it irritates my skin. So I must wear elbow-length gloves while using these machines now -_-
In other news, the porn I have been slowly writing for weeks is done. It came out fluffy.
Title: Ten Thousand Ways
Fandom: DP, still not owned by me, which means that I still fail utterly to make money on this
Rating: R
Warnings: It's porn. Explicit porn. How much clearer can I get?
"Tell me what you need, Danny," said Dan, rolling his hips.
Danny cried out, lifting his own hips to meet the next thrust.
"Tell me how I can make it better. What do you want?" Dan purred steady-impossibly steady-in his rhythm, as slow and inexorable as the tide.
"Ah!" called Danny, arching his back. "Dan-God-you! Always you!"
"Always?" asked Dan, sliding a little. Danny knew what he meant: had someone told him two years ago that he and Dan would become something closer than lovers and still never close enough, he'd have called them a sick fuck, after assuring himself they posed no threat to Amity Park, and walked away. A year ago, he would have laughed bitterly and asked how the heartless Dan could possibly care for him beyond just a body with which to toy.
Things were different now. Danny was different now.
"Always," he affirmed. "Always and only and forever. Yours."
Dan leaned in to kiss him softly; Danny arched into it, wrapping his arms around Dan to hold him close. It went on for a long time, and when it did eventually end Dan only pulled far enough away to whisper, "So sweet," tongue flicking snakelike against his ear.
To Danny, Dan had always tasted like himself and the shock of unexpected ectoplasm, even when he'd hated him. It hadn't changed, not since that first horrible night. But Danny loved it now, sought it out after waking or before battle or just because. "Daaaaaann." He moaned it, but it was a warning and a plea.
Dan laughed, a low rumble through both their bodies, and said, "all right, my Danny." Then he changed his motion and the rhythm of his rocking almost imperceptibly. Just enough. Danny could not breather for the sudden onslaught of additional sensation, could not cry out, could do nothing but feel.
And move, of course, gasping and writhing and clawing livid emerald marks in Dan's back as he sought to bring them close still.
"Danny," shuddered Dan; Danny knew he was struggling to keep control, and took an inside-out kind of pleasure that this was how he affected Dan, had always affected Dan, even when he didn't want to. But he didn't particularly want Dan's iron self-control right now. He was just too close, too needy and too impatient by far. So he bore down and arched up and whispered some of the words that never failed to get that certain reaction.
Dan let go.
They came together.
Sometime later, after they had crawled and curled around each other, when Dan was spooned against Danny and holding him (occasionally, taking the time to stroke him from collarbone to hip, or press a wet, open-mouthed kiss against the back of his neck, but mostly just holding him) and Danny was lazing in the afterglow, dozing, Dan asked, "Did you mean that?"
"Mm?" asked Danny.
"Forever is a long time." Dan was still relaxed against his back, but his hand had stopped mid-motion and Danny knew that the person asking the question was not much different from a grieving fourteen-year-old, so hurt that he'd asked to have his own heart removed. Dan showed this side so rarely that Danny hadn't known it existed up until New Year's day, the morning after. Danny was careful to hold it like an egg, all fragile strength and possibility.
He answered Dan's fears with a question. "Are you planning on tiring of me any time soon?"
There was no pause. "No."
"Well, then," said Danny. "I'm here for as long as you want forever to last."
Dan didn't say anything. He didn't need to. The long, shuddering release of breath; the slight shift to pull Danny closer to his chest; the soft, chaste kiss on his cheek-all of these, and ten thousand other things each day told Danny of what lay in the impenetrable depths of Dan's heart.
So, yeah. That is Haunted Past. It took too long to write, not because I didn't know where I was going, but because I didn't know the road to take. Ah well.
no subject
I, uh. Caught a few typos.
It went on for a long time, and when it did eventually end Dan only pulled far enough away to whisper," tongue flicking snakelike against his ear. - unneeded ", or you accidentally deleted the text there.
"Daaaaaann." He moaned it, but it as a warning and a plea. - was
Danny could not breather for the sudden onslaught of additional sensation, could not cry out, could do nothing but feel. - breathe
And move, of course, gasping and writhing and clawing livid emerald marks in Dan's back as he sough to bring them close still. - sought
he was just too close, too needy and too impatient by far. - forgot the caps on "He".
So he bored own and arched up and whispered some of the words that never failed to get that certain reaction. - bored down? maybe?
no subject
Also, I am a comment whore. Thanks you for pandering.