#Air Conditioning Mansfield

[optimumaircompany]

Optimum maintains and repairs most makes & models of air conditioning system. Guaranteed price quotes. Service in Arlington & all of DFW. 24/7 Emergency repair

[csairinc]

Securing Home Comfort with HVAC Company Near You

The significance of home comfort cannot be understated, and maintaining a comfortable temperature within your home plays a massive role. Whether it's the sweltering heat of summer or the biting chill of winter, having an efficient HVAC system can mean the difference between enjoying your homes' coziness or enduring discomfort.

Understanding HVAC System Importance

"HVAC near me" is more than just a search query—it is a way to ensure your residence remains a sanctuary, regardless of what the weather outside is doing. How so? Your Heating, Ventilation, and Air Conditioning (HVAC) system ensures your home remains habitable throughout all seasons. It controls your indoor climate by heating in cold weather and cooling during hot spells.

More importantly, your HVAC system also assists in managing indoor air quality by eliminating airborne contaminants and regulating humidity levels. Hence "air conditioning repair near me" is not just about fixing a convenience but preserving health as well.

When Should You Contact HVAC Companies Near You?

Various signs indicate when you need professional help from "HVAC company near me." The obvious ones entail total system failure—where either heating or cooling doesn't function at all. Other indicators include unusual noises emanating from your unit, unexplained spikes in energy costs, or uneven cooling or heating throughout the house.

If any of these issues arise, getting assistance swiftly can save you money on costly replacements down the line.

Comprehensive Air Conditioning Service Mansfield 

When you have identified that there might be an issue with your AC unit through stringy research for "air conditioning repair near me", fear not! Comprehensive air conditioning service Mansfield has got it covered!

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Looking for "AC installation near me" also falls under their service offerings. These Mansfield based HVAC professionals will guide you through the selection process, install your new unit with precision and even provide after-sales support to keep your system running smoothly.

For More than Just Cooling - Heating Services

Needless to say, "air conditioning service mansfield" covers more than just AC units - they're masters in the heating department too! Their suite of services encompasses everything from heating repair to parts replacements. And in the event your existing system is past salvaging, expert HVAC installation contractor Mansfield can install a new one tailored to your needs.

Conclusion

Proactive homeowners recognize the value of acting swiftly when dealing with HVAC issues – from understanding what's at stake when searching for “HVAC near me” or “air conditioning repair near me” to appreciating why it’s smart to reach out for assistance before a minor issue morphs into a major, expensive problem.

With the help of reliable HVAC companies offering comprehensive heating and air conditioning services Mansfield residents can enjoy peace of mind knowing their home’s comfort is well taken care of – regardless of what elements Mother Nature chooses to throw our way.

C&S Air, Inc Address: 2214 FM1187 Bldg 8, Mansfield, Texas, 76063 Phone: 817-783-9848 Website: https://www.candsair.com/

[triplecsshvac]

Professional Air Conditioning Installation in Mansfield

Looking for reliable and efficient air conditioning installation services in Mansfield? Look no further. Our team of experts provides top-notch installation services to keep you cool and comfortable all year round.

[bethanydelleman]

Who is the Hottest Hero in Austen?

Hard to tell, given that Austen hardly describes anyone, but here is my personal rating based on quotes:

1. Edmund Bertram: drop-dead gorgeous. Of all the books, Mansfield Park really seems to dwell on how attractive the Bertrams all are as a family. Edmund’s hotness is so overwhelming that Mary is ashamed of his profession but impressed by his arm-candy qualities (I will take a moment to note that Mary does love Edmund for his integrity, it isn’t only lust on her side) 

They were a remarkably fine family, the sons very well-looking…  that the Mr. Bertrams were very fine young men, that two such young men were not often seen together even in London…. He will not do by the side of your cousin Edmund… my friends here are very much struck with his gentlemanlike appearance. Mrs. Fraser (no bad judge) declares she knows but three men in town who have so good a person, height, and air... 

2. Captain Wentworth: very handsome. I give him extra props because Sir Walter Elliot is one of the most critical people of appearances and he is even impressed. Was he very fastidious in his hat wearing while at sea? Because you would think the harsh conditions would have affected his skin. Good genes I guess.

He was, at that time, a remarkably fine young man... a certain glance of his bright eye, and curl of his handsome mouth…  how much handsomer, how infinitely more agreeable they thought him than any individual among their male acquaintance,.... No: the years which had destroyed her youth and bloom had only given him a more glowing, manly, open look, in no respect lessening his personal advantages. She had seen the same Frederick Wentworth….. when he [Sir Walter] saw more of Captain Wentworth, saw him repeatedly by daylight, and eyed him well, he was very much struck by his personal claims, and felt that his superiority of appearance might be not unfairly balanced against her superiority of rank

3. Fitzwilliam Darcy: handsome and tall. We do not get as much time focusing on Darcy’s looks as his wealth. So while I think he is good looking, he doesn’t seem to be quite Edmund or Wentworth level. Important to note: Wickham is almost certainly more physically attractive than Darcy.

Mr. Darcy soon drew the attention of the room by his fine, tall person, handsome features, noble mien… The gentlemen pronounced him to be a fine figure of a man, the ladies declared he was much handsomer than Mr. Bingley, and he was looked at with great admiration for about half the evening… “it is a handsome face”... “I am sure I know none so handsome”... “To be sure, Lizzy,” said her aunt, “he is not so handsome as Wickham; or, rather, he has not Wickham’s countenance, for his features are perfectly good.”... so handsome! so tall!

4. Charles Bingley: secondary to Darcy in hotness and wealth, but that’s okay, because everyone likes him better anyway.

Mr. Bingley was good-looking and gentlemanlike; he had a pleasant countenance, and easy, unaffected manners… He is so excessively handsome!... “He is also handsome… Oh! he is the handsomest young man that ever was seen!

5. Henry Tilney: good looking. He’s no match for his older brother, but he makes up for it by being awesome.

He seemed to be about four or five and twenty, was rather tall, had a pleasing countenance, a very intelligent and lively eye, and, if not quite handsome, was very near it… He looked as handsome and as lively as ever,... “How handsome a family they are!” … even supposed it possible that some people might think him (Captain Tilney) handsomer than his brother (Henry), though, in her eyes 

6. George Knightley: Good looking. Unfortunately the only report I could find of Mr. Knightley’s physical appearance comes from Emma, who is an unreliable reporter given that she’s secretly in love with him. So I am not sure how well we can judge this quote (if you can find a better report of his looks please let me know):

His tall, firm, upright figure, among the bulky forms and stooping shoulders of the elderly men, was such as Emma felt must draw every body’s eyes; and, excepting her own partner, there was not one among the whole row of young men who could be compared with him

7. Colonel Brandon: he’s just a normal looking guy. And he wears flannel waistcoats, which is a mortal sin.

His appearance however was not unpleasing, in spite of his being in the opinion of Marianne and Margaret an absolute old bachelor, for he was on the wrong side of five and thirty; but though his face was not handsome, his countenance was sensible, and his address was particularly gentlemanlike.

8. Edward Ferrars: the dubious honour of being the least attractive Austen hero. He is plain.

He was not handsome… At first sight, his address is certainly not striking; and his person can hardly be called handsome, till the expression of his eyes, which are uncommonly good, and the general sweetness of his countenance, is perceived.

I tried to collect as many quotes as I could, but Jane Austen specifically points out that when you like someone they become more attractive, so it is very hard to judge exactly who is hot unless it is a first impression or narration.

Honourable mention: Robert Martin is also plain, but I’m not going to hold it against him. He’s a dear.

[talia-rumlow]

Home Sweet Home (AU Brock Rumlow/Original Female Character) 18+ Chapter One

WORDCOUNT: 6267

TRIGGERS: Age Gap, 911 Call, Police

CHAPTER ONE - SOMETHING JUST LIKE THIS!

The blistering Texas sun beamed down on the pavement, smothering downtown Mansfield in an oppressive heat wave. The cloudless sky stretched on in an expanse of clear blue, offering no respite from the sweltering 93°F temperature. The only escapes from the relentless rays were the shady trees in the parks or the cool relief of air conditioning indoors.

As Calleigh locks the office door, she feels the heat radiating in from outside. Having worked in her dad's delivery business for a little over three months now, she easily navigates the building, double-checking that everything is secured for the weekend. Approaching the exit, the intense heat worsens. Calleigh lifts her shirt, revealing a cute pink butterfly piercing on her belly button - a small act of rebellion she got after her first visit with her dad following her mom's move to New York with a new boyfriend. Pushing aside thoughts of New York and the boyfriend she detests, Calleigh fans her exposed stomach with her shirt in a futile attempt to withstand the heat on her way out, silently thanking the universe for Fridays and weekends.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Brock backs his day-old black Chevrolet Silverado 1500 as close to the garage door as possible. Searching for the key to turn off the engine, he suddenly remembers this truck has a keyless start/stop system—all he has to do is push a button. Brock chuckles a bit of his lack of knowledge about his new car, before he makes a mental note to get used to the new feature.

Though the car met all his needs, Brock struggled to adjust to its high-tech features. While he wanted to embrace the smart house, smart phone, smart car lifestyle, at heart he was old-fashioned. To Brock, a car should just be a car, and a phone just a phone. These days, cars were becoming more like living spaces, packed with extra gadgets and gizmos; and those new phones were multipurpose devices that served not only as phones, but also as calendars, alarm clocks, cameras, journals, and computers. He almost felt that he was too old to keep up, with his 46 years, Brock started to feel that his youth had passed him by long ago.

Placing his toned muscular forearm on the center console; Brock looks over the dashboard. The car's built-in entertainment system was bigger than his nephew's tablet. The right side of the screen informed him that the temperature was a scorching 94°F and climbing; moving over to the left side, where he could decide on what radio station to listen to, operate the car's cameras, use the built-in GPS system, connect his phone via Bluetooth and a bunch of other stuff he'd probably never use.

A quick glance at the clock told him that he had to get to work. He had promised Jack ages ago that he would fix the Oil leak, change the filter, the camshaft belt and do an overall service on the car. But the parts he needed weren't always easy to come by. So here he was, grabbing his mechanic's creeper off his truck, to finally do the job; four months behind schedule.

Brock swings open the garage door, revealing the stunning 1967 Chevy Impala. The sleek black exterior gleams in the sunlight, resembling a rare diamond. Despite its age and need for repairs, the Impala exudes charm, blending masculinity and nostalgic charm. Like Brock, Jack shares a fondness for vintage cars, true American muscle cars such as this. The old cassette player still hums within, and Jack hasn't altered a single detail on the car. There's a palpable sense of trust between them as Brock cherishes the responsibility and level of trust Jack has placed in his hands.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Calleigh frowned at her license photo. At only 20 years old, she had not yet grown comfortable with her appearance. She felt her nasal bone was too thick, making her eyes seem too far apart. Makeup helped camouflage this to some extent, but no amount of makeup could alter her height. At 5'10", she was taller than average, which made finding flattering clothes a challenge. She often wished she had her mother's petite 5'3" frame, having clearly inherited her stature from the Rollins side of the family. While she could live with her blonde hair, she wished it had more volume. Her lips were too pale and thin for her liking, though makeup could fix that as well. Unlike her mother's ocean blue eyes, Calleigh had green eyes, another Rollins family trait. Glancing in the rearview mirror, Calleigh took stock of herself - blonde hair, blonder in summer; green eyes; lightly pinked lips with distinctive dips cupping her nose; a high forehead. She was a harmonious blend of both parents.

Calleigh connects her phone to the car's entertainment system, the little screen in the middle of the dashboard makes it easy to navigate through spotify to find her song, Coldplay and The Chainsmokers with Something Just Like This. It’s a song that seems fitting for her life right now.

Ever since she moved back to Texas, and Mansfield, she felt like her whole life was already planned for her.

She would get a seat at the board of directors alongside her dad and her grandfather in the delivery business on her 21st birthday in December. It would give her a comfortable and financially steady life, but very few choices.

With an exasperated sigh, Calleigh places her purse in the passenger seat. The black leather seat had small stitched details, a lighter shade of burnt orange in color, along the sides, giving it a more luxurious look.

When her dad had offered to buy her a new car, Calleigh had opted for the Mini Cooper, a car she felt was more suitable for her needs. But Jack had his mind made up on a 2020 Chevrolet Impala, black of course, to have it blend in with the other cars in the garage. After a bit of discussing back and forth, Calleigh had just given up. A car was a car, and she needed one. Although she would have given almost anything to have a convertible right now.

She was thankful for the car, it was nice and spacious with its four doors and five seats, it had room enough for both Calleigh and her friends.

The trunk suited all of her needs with enough room for both grocery shopping and a shopping spree at the local mall. The black leather seats with the burnt orange stitching offered comfort with their user friendly adjustment mechanism. The center console, designed with faux wood, held a spacious storage compartment and a double cup holder, one of which now held the almost empty Venti iced caramel latte that Calleigh got from Starbucks this morning.

The comfortable, highly equipped steering wheel made it easy to answer the phone, change songs, adjust the volume, as well as the heat in the winter. The 2020 Chevy Impala did indeed deliver a luxurious and comfortable driving experience.

She grew up in a well off family, both of her parents came from money. Both the Rollins Delivery Service and the Lewis Jewelry line had been around for generations, earning themselves a good reputation and money to live a more than comfortable life. Despite all of this, Calleigh had never seen herself as spoiled. She knew nothing came for free, that she had to work hard in school, and she had to earn her allowance. Her parents, even if they were never together, had made sure of that.

The drive from downtown Mansfield to South Pointe was roughly 10 to 15 minutes long, depending on traffic. But in this heat, Calleigh feels that it took two hours. Her shirt is sticking to her back, and her throat screams for water to the point where she's about to chug the last of the latte that had been sitting in her car all day. All she wanted was to change into a bikini and spend the rest of the weekend relaxing by the pool in the backyard.

Despite having to spend the weekend alone; without her two best friends. Jessica was preparing for her undergraduate degree, and Molly had been assigned to take a HR Masterclass in Seattle. Her dad was away as well, having a tiny legal crisis in Chicago, he had decided to fly over there himself, to oversee the negotiations. Calleigh looked forward to a weekend by the pool.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

As Calleigh approaches the house, she notices the black Pickup truck that's backed all the way into the now open garage door. Not a truck she recognizes, and they rarely had any other unannounced visitors other than her grandparents or Brock from time to time. But Brock was on a work spree these days. Calleigh hadn’t even seen him since she moved back home; which was strange, because in summertime he practically lived in the garage. Fixing her dad’s various vehicles, as well as his own; whilst sharing some beers with her dad. It was almost so that she thought that they had fallen out. But the legal crisis in Chicago had occupied her dad for quite some time, so that might be it. The two men simply didn't have time for social get-togethers these days. Even Friday Night BBQ was put on hold for the time being.

The Friday Night BBQ was one of Calleigh's most cherished traditions. Her dad and Brock manned the grill while she and her friends frolicked in the pool or yard. As they aged, they took on more duties. Molly routinely brought her signature focaccia and salad— a recipe Calleigh unsuccessfully tried recreating time and time again. Jess handled dessert; her Texas-style peach cobbler was unrivaled, the moist and buttery delight created a sweet symphony on her pallads, and topped with a scoop of peach ice cream, it became unresistable no matter how much anyone had for dinner. Occasionally Molly's mom and Jess's parents joined, packing the expansious backyard with joy, nostalgia, and hearty laughter.

With the memories of time well spent, playing like a movie in her head, Calleigh drives past the house at 2 mph as she examines the truck that's parked in front of the garage. A black Silverado, newer model. Having grown up with a father like Jack, with his fondness for cars, she's picked up a thing or ten. Of course it also helped that she spent numerous afternoons at the Rumlow garage in her early teens, when her dad worked late, or her mom spent time with that new boyfriend.

Calleigh's body goes cold when she remembers the 67 Impala in the garage. Jack's favorite car. He spent years finding the perfect one. If someone is trying to steal it, or parts from it; Jack would go ballistic. And given his military background, it'll not be pretty. For a second Calleigh feels like a six-year old, not knowing what to tell her parents when she broke a glass or spilled water on her bed.

Though South Pointe was a gated community, there were no guards on site. To enter, you needed either a code from a resident or a chip that automatically opened the gate. With the recent expansions and the constant flow of workers going in and out, it was easy for anyone to get in, whether they belonged there or not. And with a truck like the new Silverado, you could easily drive in, fill the spacious bed with whatever you were stealing; and then drive back out, without anyone raising a brow.

Calleigh takes a deep breath, weighing her options. Should she call the police or confront the person in the garage herself? Having spent four years in New York, she knows how to handle situations and always keeps pepper spray in her purse, even in Mansfield, where crime rates are lower. Despite the safer environment, she's aware that appearances can be deceiving, and anyone could pose a threat.

Turning her car at the end of the street, Calleigh retrieves her phone from her purse, its cute pink cover with butterflies and faux diamonds contrasting with the ominous atmosphere she envisions in the garage. Without overthinking, she dials 9-1-1.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” a calm female voice responds after a few rings.

“I'm.…I think someone is breaking into my house,” Calleigh says, suddenly unsure if 9-1-1 was the right choice.

“Are you in the house, ma’am?” The voice persists. Calleigh hesitates, considering whether to hang up and face the intruder alone. “Ma’am, are you inside the house?” the voice repeats.

“N..no. I.. I'm outside.. In my car. I don't know what to do. I… I..” Calleigh is desperate, on the verge of crying. She can't remember the last time she didn't want to be home alone. But this is one of those times.

“What's your name ma'am?” The voice continues, still in that calm tone.

Calleigh takes a breath “Calleigh Lewis Rollins.” She replies, with a shaky breath. Trying to calm down her beating heart.

“Do you know if they're armed?” The woman on the phone continues. Calleigh feels that ice cold feeling in her stomach. Armed? She didn't think about that at all. What if they're armed, what does she do then?

“I don't know. I don't know!” She shakily replies. Her voice on the verge of breaking. Without realizing that she does, she reaches for her pepper spray. The little 3 inch pink container designed as a keychain was easy to carry around, easy to use and it had a neutral design, which made it perfect to carry around for self defense.

“Calleigh, calm down. You're going to be fine. I'll dispatch a unit to your location. What's your address?” The voice continues in a calm soothing manner, which helps to calm Calleigh down.

“2837 Chandler Court” Calleigh replies, happy that she remembered the address. She hasn't lived here too long, and in this particular situation it's things like that that usually slips.

“Do you have any firearms in the house?” Another question about guns. It's not that Calleigh wasn't used to them, it was just that in this situation, guns didn't feel like a safe topic. And this is Texas, everyone has firearms.

“Y..Yeah, we have some. Seven or ten maybe.” Calleigh replies as she does a mental runthrough of the house, trying to remember where Jack keeps all his guns. The gun cabinet in the living room, the hide away cabinet in his bedroom, and the safe in the….. garage. Calleigh takes another shaky breath as she imagines some bad ass crocks breaking into that safe.

“I've dispatched a unit to your location. They'll be there in about ten minutes. And Calleigh, please lock the doors, and stay in the car until the unit arrives.” The voice on the phone informs her, still calm and collected. Calleigh can't believe how they manage to be this calm with people in shock, pain, rage, people who're scared out of their minds. But now, today, she's extremely thankful for it.

Clenching the container with pepper spray in her hand, Calleigh almost whispers into the phone “Yes. Thank you.”

“Calleigh, please stay in the car.” The lady on the phone says again. But Calleigh can hardly hear it. She flips the top of the container in her hand, as she hangs up the phone, and slowly exits the car.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

With half an eye on the wrench around the unwilling screw, and half an eye on the bucket for the oil, Brock tries to get the screw to give. His left foot firmly planted on the concrete garage floor to steady himself, as he struggles to get the screw loose. His biceps flexing, the veins on his arm popping. His teeth clenched in concentration, and the sweat dripped from his forehead.

Brock applies just a bit more muscle power, determined to get the screw to give. The sweat on his hands makes him lose his grip around the wrench. His hand flies up, hitting the car, as the wrench falls to the floor, creating an echo around the oversized garage. “Aaaa, fuck,” he almost screams, as he shakes his hand to try to ease the pain.

The sound of metal hitting concrete, the echo that follows and the screaming make Calleigh jump. Her heart is beating out of her chest, and that ice cold feeling in her stomach comes back. Yes, the 9-1-1 dispatcher told her to lock the doors and stay in the car. But ten minutes? They should know how much damage that can be done within ten minutes. She had to leave the car. But with the screaming and the noise. Maybe she should've stayed put. Anyway, it's too late for that now.

Calleigh places her thumb on the top of the pepper spray container. “Stop what you're doing I have a weapon!” She yells, surprised by how firm her voice is, she lifts the container, ready to attack.

Brock jumps under the car from the voice yelling, something about a weapon. Startled, he tries to sit up, but since he's under the car, sitting up only serves for him to bang his head against the car. “Fuck! Shit! Don't shoot, I'm unarmed!” He yells back in a haste. Quickly moving the creeper, so he can stand up.

Getting up faster than he's ever done before, raising his arms to show whoever it is that he is indeed unarmed. “Don't shoot! I'm un-,” when he sees Calleigh he stops for a second “armed….” He breathes out in surprise at the woman standing before him. Beautiful. That's the only thing he can say about her; Silently in his mind of course.

Calleigh carefully drinks in the man in front of her. His well-worn jeans sit comfortably on his hips, a cloth tucked into the right side. His V-shaped lower abdomen is unlike anything she's seen before, leading up to a six-pack and impressive pecs that could be straight out of a commercial. The oil stains and sweat on his upper body add a sexy touch. Moving upward, she notices strong pecs lightly dusted with chest hair. As she lifts her face, broad-toned shoulders barely register in her mind compared to the veiny upper arms that make her knees feel weak. Before fully revealing the rest, she takes a breath and discovers a strong jawline, dark facial hair, followed by soft, playful, and kissable lips, a broad nose perfectly placed on his flawless face. As her gaze reaches further, she encounters two soft hazel brown eyes adorned with dark lashes and brows. Calleigh's heart skips a beat, and in surprise, she breathes out, "Brock?”

Brock had never seen such beauty and grace. Calleigh had blossomed into a stunning woman, with shoulder-length blonde locks with a few curls framing her face. Her soft pink lips were slightly parted in surprise, complementing her petite nose and accentuating the delicate curves of her upper lip. Her emerald eyes shone like gemstones, undoubtedly a Rollins family trait.

Brock swallows, his heart does a jump in his chest. “Calleigh?” His voice carried a bit of surprise. He remembered Calleigh as a rebellious 16-year old, getting belly-button piercings without permission. He did not expect this God sent beauty. And he's not sure how he should react. This is Jack's daughter. He shouldn't feel his heart jump like this because of her.

Jesus Christ, Calleigh thinks for herself. Did she just think about Brock's lips as kissable? Brock Rumlow? Her dad's best friend. Naha, no way. Take it back, take it back, take it back; she repeats the three words again and again in her head, like a mantra. It's all in vain, when Brock's lips slowly curl up into a half smile. His upper lip on the left side curls up, revealing his teeth. Calleigh feels drawn to it. It's like magnetism, an invisible force that's dragging her towards him. She swallows in a desperate attempt to keep her heart out of her throat. It's Brock, Calleigh! He's over 40 years old, and your dad's best friend; the voice in her head screams to her at this point.

"What errr..." Brock takes the cloth from his jeans and wipes his hands on it before continuing. "What are you doing here?" he questions, his eyes traveling over her. Her short-sleeved white shirt reveals the small dips by her collarbone, and Brock's fingers twitch as his mind imagines gliding his fingertips over them. He knows he shouldn't feel this way. Why does he feel this way? Further down the shirt lays tight over her breasts, Brock swallows from the sight of them. Jesus, get it together, Brock; he silently curses at himself.

“I live here.” Calleigh replies, before he can take in the rest of her. She rubs her hand on her neck. The garage offers shade and a living temperature, but she can still feel the heat from outside. And looking at Brock all sweaty and sexy isn't helping at all. “What are you doing here?” She continues, she knows that's a stupid question. He was on his creeper, under the car when she came in, and the oil stains are also a big giveaway.

“I'm fixing your Dad’s car,” Brock answers her question with a little smile, and a tap on the hood of the Impala. “How's that neighborhood watch thing going for ya?” He adds with a little chuckle.

“Huh?” Calleigh feels like she just fell out of the sky. And she imagines that it must look that way too.

Brock gestures with his head to the container in her right hand, and Calleigh looks down to see her thumb still firmly placed on the top of it. Quickly putting the cap back on, she puts her hand behind her back. “It's nothing. It's just…” she tries, but the damage is already done. The only thing she can hope for now, is that Brock won't tell Jack about it.

“For protection?” Brock asks, as he wipes his abs with the cloth. When Calleigh doesn't answer, he continues. “New York taught you a few things huh?” He delivers the question with an understanding head tilt.

Calleigh takes a breath “Yeah I guess you could say—“ she’s interrupted by sirens approaching.

Brock lets out a little laugh “You called the cops on me.” It's more of a statement than a question. Calleigh feels a rush of embarrassment, as Brock lets out another friendly laugh.

“Not so much on you.. I..” Calleigh starts, moving her legs nervously. “I.. I thought you were someone else,” she tries, but without any kind of words to complete that sentence.

“Well, guess I can only hope that they won't arrest me,” Brock continues to chuckle, as he swings the cloth over his left shoulder, and walks outside to face the police.

Calleigh stays behind for a second or two before she shakes her head and lets out an exasperating breath. This is too embarrassing. Did she really call the cops on Brock? Jesus, she's never going to hear the end of this. This'll be one of those stories that'll be mentioned in a speech at her wedding. She can just hear it in her head ‘And you can feel totally safe, Calleigh will protect her terf whatever the cost. I remember…’ Shaking her head again, she walks outside as well.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Not one, not two, but three units showed up. Thank you so much brain, for mentioning all the firearms in the house. Calleigh thinks to herself. Thankfully the misunderstanding was easy to clear up. Two of the officers knew Brock, which was understandable since Brock owned the only garage around that was certified to work on the police vehicles. And of course it helped that both the Lewis and the Rollins name was well known around these parts.

Just as the officers are leaving, Calleigh spots Mrs. Callahan across the street, coming out of her house with her walker. Mrs. Callahan was this tiny 4’9" little old lady, with long gray frizzy hair, she always wore white compression socks, a skirt with flower patterns on, a white shirt, a home knitted cardigan and brown slippers, she had lived across the street since forever. She was a really nice old lady, but she put her nose into absolutely everything.

“Miss Calleigh.” She yells across the street, with what little voice she has left. “Miss Calleigh, is everything alright?” She continues, as she walks across the street towards them.

“Yeah, Mrs. Callahan, everything is fine. Don’t worry.” Calleigh smiles at the old lady.

“I saw the police. Are you sure everything is alright? How's your father? Jack is such a sweetheart, don't you think?” Mrs. Callahan continues to talk. The thing with Mrs. Callahan was that after her husband passed away a few years ago, she had become very chatty. And if she started, there was almost no way of stopping her.

“Everything is perfectly fine Mrs. Callahan. It was just a misunderstanding” Brock shoots in, sending Calleigh an amused look when he says misunderstanding. “I can assure you that you can sleep safely.” He continues, giving the old lady a protective smile.

“O..Okay” Mrs. Callahan nods to Brock. Then she stops. “Would you be so kind as to walk an old lady back home, Brock?” She continues with her distinct old lady voice.

Brock sends Calleigh a small smile, before he offers his arm to Mrs. Callahan. When they start the short walk over the street, Calleigh can hear her say ‘Such a sweetheart, such a sweetheart’ over and over again. Calleigh can't help but smile. Both from the old lady calling Brock a sweetheart, and from the fact that Brock seriously makes her heart jump, and her stomach swoop. Both of which are feelings she's never had before.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Calleigh has just finished maneuvering her car into the garage when Brock returns. Still wearing nothing but his well worn work jeans, with oil stains and rips on them. And then that body. Calleigh swallows hard to not let out any type of sound that can give away how she reacts to this man.

“You want Apple pie?” Brock asks, holding up two Apple pies, one in each hand. “Because I have two of them,” he continues, looking from Calleigh to the pies, and then back to Calleigh again.

Mrs. Callahan might be nosy to the point where Calleigh almost felt uneasy about it. But the old lady did make the most delicious Apple pies. Sweet, zesty and sugary. With the most amazing Granny Smith apples, cooked until perfection, with that sweet taste of cinnamon, a pinch of nutmeg and sugar. Calleigh remembers them from the block parties when she was a little girl. Finishing up her dinner as fast as possible, to make sure she could grab a slice before they were all gone. Her mouth still goes watery when she thinks about it.

“She gave you two?” Calleigh laughs. Smiling wide. Partly for the thought of eating Mrs. Callahan's Apple pies again and partly from the thought that she might sit down with Brock and eat them. Why is that thought so prominent? It's not like Brock hasn't had dinner or food in general in this house before. She practically grew up with him around.

“Two isn't enough?” Brock questions, placing the two pies on the roof of Calleigh's car, before he starts to turn around. “Because I'm pretty sure I can get like five more,” he continues as he starts to leave the garage. Brock chides himself. What the hell is wrong with him? Why is he suddenly acting like a fuckin' teenager? Playing stupid flirting games, so that Calleigh will try to stop him, touch him. Jesus, Brock. He thinks for himself. Calleigh must think he's insane.

“No, no, no,” Calleigh hastily replies, grabbing Brock's wrist. “Two is –,” she involuntarily stops mid sentence from the sensation of Brock's skin against her palm. “Two is fine.. it's –” she continues, meeting his eyes as she lets go of his wrist. One of Brock's fingertips brushes over her palm, sending waves of shivers up her arm “perfect” she breathes out.

“Alrighty then,” Brock smiles, as he once again takes the pies. “Just heat them on 350, for 15 to 20 minutes, and we'll have ourselves a treat,” he continues as he opens the door that leads from the garage into the house.

Calleigh examines his broad and perfectly toned backside. His jeans fit perfectly over his behind. Calleigh swallows again. Stop it, she once again tells herself. “Maybe have a shower first?” She suggests, before she follows Brock. A shower? Really, Calleigh? She thinks to herself, the thought of naked Brock in the shower makes her want to slap herself. Cold shower it is. A really cold shower.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Calleigh locks the door to the downstairs bathroom, before leaning her forehead against the door. Oh,God. Is she stupid? It's frickin Brock for God's sake. What is she thinking? Turning around, she leans her back against the door, as she glances over the bathroom.

The bathroom had undergone a luxurious renovation. The once white walls were now covered in sleek black and gold marble tiles that gave the space a rich feel. The wood-look flooring stretched out, making the room seem spacious. Acoustic panels in complementary black and wood tones lined the ceiling. Gone was the indoor jacuzzi that Calleigh loved as a child, replaced by a double waterfall shower. Concrete shelves anchored the masculine vanity area. Perched atop were two oval basins crafted from natural river stone, marrying masculinity with luxury. A sauna for four to six sat in one corner, unused but admittedly stylish. Though unfamiliar, Calleigh had to concede the new bathroom was rather nice looking.

Stepping away from the door, Calleigh removes her work clothes, tossing them in the laundry basket by the door. Before she steps into the shower, she once again takes a look at herself in the mirror. She looks… What's the word? Young and inexperienced. Small breasts, though still firm and pointing the ‘right’ way, they're still small. Narrow hips. Damnit! Why does she care so much about this all of a sudden? Brock.. Like he would ever want someone like her. “Why do you care, Calleigh?” She says to the mirror, before she enters the shower.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

The guest bathroom upstairs offers every accommodation a guest might need, whether it was a short or a longer stay. The modern design, such as the subway tiles in the shower, the floating shelves for towels and toiletries, the bathtub, with it's spa-like bath pillow, and the shower curtain, resting on a black shower rod, that stretched from one wall to another, mixed with the intricate black and white pattern on the floor tiles it gave the room a contemporary yet nostalgic charm.

Brock leans forward in the shower, leaning his arms against the wall as he lets the water wash over his neck, dripping down over his eyes and nose. He takes a deep breath. He'd almost forgotten that feeling. Aside from the fact that he'd promised himself to never go down that path again, he had to admit that it did feel good. That warm feeling, that was pumped out in his entire body with every heartbeat. That childish need for physical contact. But no. He couldn't do this. Not with her. Not with Calleigh. He's 26 years older than her, old compared to her. Though he was in good physical shape, he was still older than her. A lot older. After he took his therapist's advice to work out more to clear his head, his workout routine had become his safe place. A place where he didn’t have to think about Iraq or Afghanistan or Taylor. Just thinking about her name makes him feel cold. Calleigh, he thinks for himself. Calleigh with the gemstone eyes and perfect lips. Calleigh with the soft skin he felt when his fingers brushed over her palm. Calleigh… Yeah, Calleigh’s better. Calleigh’s definitely better. Fuck, what is he doing?

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Calleigh looks between the knee-length tights and the white cotton shorts, weighing her options. The tights that cover more of her body or the comfortable shorts that's more suitable for this weather. God, this is just stupid. And why would Brock care anyway? Why does she care? Since when did what she wore around Brock become an issue? Opting for the shorts, she rolls her eyes at herself and her teenage-like thinking. The shorts fit better with the top anyway, and for some reason it feels important to look good right now.

After meticulously applying her make-up, Calleigh takes a good long look in the mirror. Her white shirt, with the blue and white butterfly pattern on the front sits perfectly on her body, hugging what's supposed to be hugged. Well, more like what's there to actually be hugged. Pouting a bit to her reflection and shaking her head at herself, she turns around checking if everything is in its right place. The straps on her bra are visible due to the shirts open back. After a few unsuccessful attempts trying to fix that issue, Calleigh gives up. Visible straps are better than a bikini anyway. No poolside relaxing today, there's no way she'll be strolling around in a tiny bikini with Brock around.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

The red light that indicates that the oven has reached its wanted temperature turns off, and Calleigh places the two pies into the oven. Thankful that Brock wasn't done upstairs yet. Those feelings she gets when he's around. They're… Calleigh doesn't even have the words to describe them. Sure she's been in love before, or at least smittened. She even had boyfriends, not too many or to long lasting, but still. But the feeling never lasted. And it was never like this. That feeling of her stomach doing gymnastics inside of her. What is that? Looking at the pies warming in the oven. Calleigh tries to make some sense out of all these emotions.

“Wouldn't it be funnier to… I don't know, watch a movie or something?” The voice suddenly talking over Calleigh's head startles her to the point where she hastily stands up. Banging her head into Brock's chin. “Ouch” Brock breathes out as he lets his hand glide over his chin.

“Oh, God,” Calleigh replies. Her expression is a mix of embarrassment and guilt. “I'm so sorry. Are you okay?” She continues, and without realizing that she does she lifts her arm to touch him where they collided. His rugged facial hair tickles her fingers as she carefully let them glide over his chin.

“I gotta say that your self-defense technique is a little unorthodox,” Brock smiles. “But it works, it definitely works,” he continues. The feeling he gets from Calleigh's touch is unlike anything he's ever felt before. A mix of excitement, guilt and that warm feeling spreading throughout his body.

Calleigh can't help but laugh. Brock always used to be funny, kinda like the cool uncle she never had since both her parents were an only child. She can remember millions of times when she was younger. Brock taking her to amusement parks, Brock dressing up as various animals or superheroes for her birthday parties, Brock letting her ride shotgun with him, even though Jack had told him not to. But for some reason the funny he shows her now, that funny feels different.

Suddenly realizing she's still touching him, Calleigh reatracts her hand, covering it with the other hand as she gives Brock an apologetic smile. What's gotten into her? Why does she feel like this around him all of a sudden?

“Is your head alright?” Brock asks, almost instantly regretting his poor choice of words. “From the… err.. bump,” he adds, when he sees the confusion on Calleigh's face. He lifts his hand, and carefully lets it glide over her head.

“Yeah”, Calleigh breathes out as she once again meets Brock's eyes. “I'm…” she continues, as Brock's hand glides down to her neck before stopping on her shoulder. “Good..” Whispering the last word so low that she's not sure Brock even hears it. It's definitely a connection between them. Or is it? Is she fooling herself? And if that's the case, then why?

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

The evening goes on. With Apple pies, ice cream, a movie on TV and a phone call from a worried Jack.

Mrs. Callahan had called him, and told him about the police being at the house. No surprise there. After about 14 failed attempts to call Calleigh, Jack had resolved to call Brock. Overprotective as he was, he was worried out of his mind. Before Brock explained how everything really went down, Jack was like two seconds away from jumping on the first flight back home. But after some discussion back and forth Brock had told him that he'd stay with Calleigh for the duration of Jack's stay in Chicago. For Calleigh, Jack's overprotectiveness in this situation was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing since this meant that she could spend some more time with Brock, and a curse for that exact same reason.

•─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

After getting ready for bed, and before she turns off the lights, Calleigh sends a message in the group chat she shares with Molly and Jess.

‘Call me ASAP. I need to talk.’

No matter if there's a connection there or not, Calleigh needs to talk to someone about this. It's way too heavy to carry by herself. And what better people to talk to, than her two best friends.

Next Chapter ------->

@nekoannie-chan @rip1009 @late-to-the-party-81 @ladysif8

[w0lp3rtinger]

So… I’ve been thinking.

Shadow’s immortality has always been a subject of interest to me. There’s no one neat definition that ‘immortality’ fits into and so until otherwise given frame and limitations, it’s very ambiguous.

Is it a pristine immortality, where they will never age?

Is it a limited immortality, where they age very slowly and in a fundamentally different way than regular people?

Is it a conditional immortality, where they will live longer and age slower, but those bonuses are dictated by how often a regenerative factor is needed, or how often they are in contact with Chaos Energy?

But then, I was listening to Dawson’s Christian by Ernie Mansfield, Leslie Fish, and Vic Tyler, and I realized there is a fourth option I had not considered.

Is it an immortality of the soul, long after the corporal form has ceased to be?

In Sonic Battle, Rouge tells Shadow that Gerald gave him ‘Maria’s Soul.’ … We’ve no idea what that means. (We also don’t know how seriously to take Rouge in regards to Gerald since we don’t know what information she is privy to and as such cannot judge the quality.) You could take it literally, you could take it figuratively, you could do a lot of things, and each one has its own implications.

But for the sake of this headcanon…

I think Shadow’s soul is immortal.

No matter what happens to him, if there’s enough of a body to come back to, he’ll live. If there is no body left to come back to, or the body is no longer salvageable/viable, he will go on without it. The guy runs on Chaos Energy, and we’ve seen Chaos energy do strange, wonderful, terrible things. We also know for a fact that ghosts exist within Sonic’s world (SA1 and SA2 are the examples that come to mind).

However you think their immortality would or would not affect their body, would or would not affect their ability to physically age, the soul would continue on after and continue to do the job Shadow has taken upon themself, which is to protect the world.

What would this look like? Oh man. I can’t draw, so for those who need a visual of what is swirling around my head before I give a written description, I point you to these two very, very talented individuals who have inspired me with their art.These designs I’m linking come with their own lore, or the lore is being developed. I am not claiming them to use here, merely pointing towards them as an example of something akin to what I’m mulling over. @soloiho has an amazing design called Black Hole Shadow which is positively ghastly, whereas @redsunlight has a very interesting design for their lore called Prismatic AU which utilizes all the different colors of the chaos emeralds due to Shadow crushing them all for reasons detailed in their story.

In my mind, I see Shadow - for clarity’s sake let’s call it Wraith Shadow - as pitch black. There is no noticeable muzzle. You can’t even see his mouth. Where his hands and feet would be sort of becomes whispy and fades into nothingness unless he requires a limb to be solid (like to kick someone in the face, he’d need a foot, right?)

The only change in color you would see would be the light that emanates from where his red stripes use to be, from his eye sockets, and a swirling dark hole where his chest fur used to be. If he opens his mouth, there is light there too. When he moves his limbs with purpose, to attack or gesture or anything of that nature, there is a light trail that drifts from them. The light would be brighter when experiencing intense emotions and fainter when not. They very, very rarely speak. It requires a very special person or situation for them to be so moved as to do so. They can touch without the intention of causing harm, but it feels like running into very dense, warm air.

What color other than the darkness is there? Reds and oranges, like in the old SA2 style. Maybe even with a translucent sort of grainy texture, like looking at space dust.

And please make no mistake- Wraith Shadow is the most boiled-down components of Shadow, all of the critical best and worst parts smashed together and concentrated. You thought they were bad before, it’s about to get ten times worse. I’ve always thought that the main motivating components for Shadow were Love and Spite and they’ve been cranked up to 300% of what they were when alive.

And they’re not happy about this situation, not at all. Upon no longer being able to inhabit their physical form, which Wraith Shadow had assumed would mean that FINALLY they die, they are understandably upset because they know now there is no rest for them.

There will never be rest for them.

As such, though they fight for Justice, and Hope, and Mercy, they are not a pleasant thing. You do not WANT to run into Wraith Shadow. If they show up, it’s bad, and more likely than not, you would have died had they not shown up… but maybe that would be preferable than having to live with what you just saw.

When they are not doing their duty to protect the Earth, an unfortunate or unwise trespasser may find them haunting the halls of the ARK, or passing through the remains of a garden where the lavender bushes are massive and the roses are overgrown.

More likely than not, however, you’ll probably catch them sulking about the Master Emerald shrine and deep below the earth where the chaos emeralds sit and gather dust in their ancient chamber.

After the last protector passes away, someone has to do it after all.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"Prowler Is Given Term," Border Cities Star. June 22, 1933. Page 3. ---- Man Caught in Cellar Of Church Sent To Penitentiary --- Draws Two Years ---- Plea for Leniency Spurned By Court as Record Is Offered ---- Charles H. Crownshields, 31, native of Belleville, whose police record dates back to 1916 and covers a wide range of jails - city, state, federal, American and Canadian - was sentenced this morning to a term of two years in the penitentiary at Portsmouth for breaking into the Immaculate Conception Church here. The sentence was meted out by Magistrate Brodie in city police court.

BEGS FOR LENIENCY Crownshields, who insisted he had only forced his way into the church basement for a night's lodging, that course being recommended by a fellow-traveler on the highway as a comfortable place, put up a strong plea for leniency in view of his promise to a girl to go straight. The promise was given, he explained, during a five-year stretch in Portsmouth. He had been sent away on that occasion for shopbreaking in the Town of Essex and for carrying dangerous weapons.

While appreciating the possibility that a man, some time in life, despite a long criminal career, may suddenly decide to reform, Magistrate Brodie was doubtful of the outcome if he sent the defendant to the Guelph prison farm. He suggested Crownshields, despite good intentions, would yield to an impulse and break custody again. His record, dug up from Supt. Wilkinson's files, showed he had broken away from an industrial farm many years ago and later from the town jail in Elkhart, Indiana.

HAS LONG RECORD Crownshield's record, international and varied in scope, revealed convictions for driving away automobiles, burglary, holdup, shopbreaking, breach of the American immigration laws. carrying guns, and breach of promise to marry a girl in Lockport, New York.

When arrested, Crownshields was wearing black gloves and carried a flashlight and a jackknife which was missing from a certain dwelling which had been entered just after the defendant's arrival in Windsor from the west.

ASKS PROBATION Crownshields asked for five or 10 years' probation "on his personal honor" but Magistrate Brodie said he couldn't do much for him in view of his remarkable record for getting into trouble.

Crownshields served terms in the U. S. prison at Leavenworth, Kansas, and in the Ohio State penitentiary. And, according to Detective-Inspector Renaud, he had anticipated at least seven years on the latest count.

[AL: Crownshields was 32, single, 'sallow' and known also by the aliases Charles Luftman, Henry Davink, and Henry Miller. He was born in Picton, Ontario, of German immigrant ancestors, but lived at times in Detroit and Windsor. His record was indeed long, including a stint in Leavenworth prison, Elmira reformatory, Mansfield prison farm, and a previous term as #674 at Kingston Penitentiary. He was convict #3104 this time around at Kingston Penitentiary. Crownshields worked in the Coal and Wood gang, shoveling coal off of delivery ships, weighing it, hauling it to storage, and distributing it to the boiler plant. Tough, sweaty, dirty work, though it afforded some freedom outside the walls. In July 1933, he signed a petition with the other inmates in his work crew:

“…We are working under conditions worse than any other gang….we are working in stifling heat and suffocating dust…[this] work is no play, we would gladly prefer a change of work to continuing under the present conditions...You [meaning the warden] have said that we are not entitled to fresh air and exercise. We do not know because we have no rules and regulation…all men working inside are entitled to it…we are working inside a building inside!” “We believe that our request for consideration in just…”

This apparently worked and they were granted more exercise and recreation in line with what the other inmates had won after the riot in 1932. He was released March 1935.]

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