#Chain Link Fence Materials

[vgfence]

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[categorised-art-tutorials-tips]

How to draw Fences (Wooden & Chain Link)

[hsmagazine254]

Affordable and Aesthetic: Cheaper Ways to Fence Your New Plot

Budget-Friendly Options for Fencing Your Property When it comes to securing your new plot, there are several cost-effective ways to fence your property without breaking the bank. In this article, we’ll explore budget-friendly options for fencing your new plot while maintaining aesthetics. Setting Your Fencing Budget 1. Define Your Budget Determine the budget you’re willing to allocate for fencing…

[xxanaduwrites]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ a residue series installment ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

honey, are you comin’?

previous part: sweet talkin’ | from the hive: session 1

✎ elementary-teacher!reader (miss.honey) x biker!benny 🏍️

summary: in which benny finds honey again. this time near a honeycomb, hopin’ for a taste on the road ;) (p.s.: if you were wonderin’, yes — the title of this was so inspired by måneskin)

warnings: not much of anything besides some minor talks of cruelty towards children, peeps being judgmental as hell, & smoking. they’re subtly flirting here basically. it’s cute! that’s really it. x

author’s note: oh my goodness! you have no idea how STUNNED i’ve been by all the love miss.honey!benny have been getting so far. fully was not expecting this. deadass wrote sweet talkin’ for fun. no thoughts, head empty type beat. just wanted to thank you honeys so so much. i can’t thank ya enough i fear! i literally still can’t wrap my head around this, but i love you all sm & can’t wait to share more with you! 🍯🐝🫶

word count: 2.7k

💌 requests are open, send ‘em honey 💋

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Another unbearable wave of heat managed to remain the very next day. Your students squirming against their metal chairs, antsy as ever for a reprieve. And so were you too. Thankfully, it just so happened to be your turn as fellow recess monitor with one or your fellow co-workers, Miss. Margie. Marge just so happened to be a newly breaded fresh faced teacher just like yourself. You enjoyed her company, more so than the older teachers who were rather cruel to the students. Especially when they did something wrong. Marge wasn’t cruel so to speak but she was a tough cookie, putting her foot down when needed. You two as a duo were rather perfect for the school grounds. You as the comfort go to when a knee was scraped, and Marge as the tough love go to when a particular student needed a stern talking to.

You worked well together, and it showed. Your relief was rather prominent when you stepped out the back door near the playground. An immediate swarm of giggles and chatter from small voices buzzed about, and you couldn’t help but smile as you adjusted your eyes to the sun, protected under your heart shaped sunnies. It didn’t take you long to find Marge who was already planted near the monkey bars with her arms crossed over her chest like a drill sergeant. Considering her father’s status as a war vet, by no means was it shocking to you or anyone else for that matter to see her in such a state.

“Hi Margie,” you greeted her once materialized next to her. “How’s it goin’?”

Margie's clear concentration dropped at the sound of your voice. “Oh no wonder,” she commented without looking at you. Her brows shot up in genuine intrigue.

Your honey coated lips parted in confusion instantly. “Huh?”

“Your three o’clock, Hun.” Margie tilted her head to the right subtly, directing you to her line of sight. A sight that made your heart curl into itself in a warm beat. Right behind those chain-linked fences that kept the kids contained was Uncle Benny. Yet, today his status as Uncle appeared to be rather amiss. Instead of Johnny’s car flanked near the curb, he was leaning against a neat Harley Davidson. The same one you saw him on that mornin’. You figured he was dropping off the girls or somethin’, but your curiosity got the better of you when you saw Mrs. Davis with them instead.

Now in the no parking zone, he stood out like the sorrest of thumbs. Practically a puzzle piece thrown into the wrong box. With no thoughts behind those pretty blue eyes of his besides you.

“That biker of yours stood up like a torpedo as soon as you walked out,” your co-worker added.

You took a moment to adjust your glasses, moving them to the tip of your nose to get a better look. Sure as shit, you weren’t having a heat stroke. It was really him. He was still here. Had he been out here since the mornin’ or left to come back? And if he was here for you like Margie said — why? You were certain he wasn’t much of a fan of you the day prior.

“He’s — He’s not my biker,” you mangled out, words twisting off your tongue as butterflies danced around your tummy.

Margie snorted. “I hate to break it to you, Hun. Lookin’ like he is now.” She paused a moment, shifting her footing as she spotted a youngin’ running roughly across the pavement, almost banging into another student. “Hey — watch where you’re goin’. Don’t push it Mikey!” She reprimanded before fixing herself upright and asking you, “What was all that about yesterday anyways?”

“What y’mean?” You questioned, not quite sure what she was going on about.

“You know — lettin’ the Davis girls go with ‘em. Caused a bit of an upheaval with the parents apparently. Heard all about it in the break room this mornin’. Doesn’t sound like Principal Rubs is real happy about it either.”

Your ears couldn’t believe what you were hearing. What business did the parents have putting their two cents in about somebody else’s family members? As for Principal Rubin, well, she was Principal Rubin after all. There wasn’t much to it there. The damn woman was a stickler with the sprinklers yesterday after all. Never a ball of fun as far as you were concerned.

“Why wouldn't I?” You challenged, becoming rather defensive.

“The guy pulled up like a maniac all greasy and shit. Almost gave everyone a heart attack,” Margie reasoned, her features churning in disgust.

You knew if he was some clean cut military guy in full uniform, she wouldn’t have made a comment at all, which kind-of pissed you off. Sure his clothes were lookin’ as if they hadn’t seen a washing machine in a cycle of days, but hey — what did that have to do with character? There were plenty of people who gave this outward canvas of perfectionism, far off from who they truly were deep down inside. You knew that, and you saw it every single day within the cruel clusters of your modern society. You saw it in the faces of your Ma and Pa when you didn’t fit the supposed mold they were trying to conform you to.

“So? He’s their Uncle, Marge,” you countered, defenses climbing high. “Did you ever think that maybe the man was runnin’ late? Worryin’ about the girls. That’s why he was speedin’.”

Margie sighed. “Not with that Vandals shit on his vest, but whatever you wanna believe, Hun.”

It went quiet between you two then. A clear indication that this conversation wasn’t gonna get the two of you anywhere.

“I should go talk to him,” you announced, snapping the awkward silence in half. There was no denying that you were now suddenly eager to find out what all this was about.

“Yuh should. If you don’t I will, and I doubt that will end well,” she joked, her eyes sparkling in amusement. Oh and she was right about that. Knowing Margie, you knew the idea of her approaching Benny would formulate a recipe for disaster.

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, the mental image of such a scene. But also — you were utterly glad for this newfound banter popped open from a bottle of tension. “Alright Colonel, I’ll be back,” you quipped, before heading across the playground.

You could feel his eyes burning across your form on your journey to the edge of the property, your tummy flipping again in a bit of nerves and excitement. A part of you felt somewhat disappointed when you found yourself coming to a halt — stuck behind the monstrous fence that separated you from him, while another was glad for some security. You weren’t quite sure what his motive was, but knew it couldn’t be anything bad. He was just sitting here, smoking and minding his own business. Well — minding you.

“The girls don’t get out of school for another few hours, y’know,” you said matter-of-factly, eyeing him through the grates of the fence that reminded you far too much of a honeycomb.

He didn’t say much of anything, just raised a brow as you as he took one last drag of his cigarette. You watched as he put it out against the pavement, amongst a garden of other buds with his boot. Your suspicions were coming into fusion then, the realization that he’d been planted here for as long as your delusions imagined.

What could he possibly want from an innocent elementary school teacher like you?

He reached for that packet of Marlboros in his vest pocket all over again, clearly on a chain smoking spree. “Y’want?” He asked, stopping in his tracks. Those lean fingers of his calloused to the bone holding out a fresh cigarette in your direction. A cigarette that he’d been saving for you just in case.

You looked around for a moment, not quite sure what to do. The coast seemed to be clear though. Margie looked busy with some of the kids. Had a cluster of ‘em around her with her finger wagging about in every which direction. With her eyes no longer trained on Benny and you, and your form more than halfway across the school yard, you figured it wouldn’t hurt. Besides, you were having a day and could really use a cigarette. “Sure.” You shrugged nonchalantly.

Benny re-adjusted his stance, shoulders straight as he sauntered the sidewalk to meet you against the fence. His rough knuckles brushed across your polished ballet slipper fingers as he passed you the cigarette though the honeycomb, a sweetness shooting up your arm in an instance. You left it sticking out for a moment so he could light it up for you, and you could feel his hot breath fanning against your face. The casual interaction felt rather intimate in the moment, and you were more than happy when you got to take a step back on your first drag.

“Thanks,” you voiced your appreciation as he popped a fresh cig against his lips, now lighting up his own. You couldn’t help but notice that he had a sweet little freckle etched into his bottom lip. No wonder he had beautiful lips, you thought.

Surely, they’d be sweet to the kiss.

Jutting your hip out, you tapped your foot against the dry grass in impatience. “You stalkin’ me or somethin’?” You ripped off the bandage then, getting right into the real stuff. It was too hot out to sugarcoat anything any longer. Plus, the more you stood here the more Marg would get curious, and you’d be caught slacking on the job.

His lip curled up to the side naturally, just like it had yesterday when you introduced yourself to him. “Ain’t a stalker,” he confirmed, re-pocketing his lighter.

You found his candid response refreshing’. Naturally a honey rumblin’ laugh tumbled out of you “Good to ‘ear. My co-worker y’see ‘round over there?” Flicking the residue on the end of your cigarette out of the way, you pointed at her simultaneously. “She thinks ya are. Doesn’t appreciate the loitering.”

He shook his head then, long pretty eyelashes fanning his lower lids as he puckered his lips against the cig. His eyes squinted across the campus for only a second until his gaze landed right back on you. You in another denim overall number with a whole new canvas of embroidered fun. This time, knowing that you were gonna be out in the yard come afternoon, you opted on a classic jean overall. There was always the possibility of having to kneel on the grassy ground or near the sand pit, having to scoop up a youngin’ that refused to leave the playground. You learned your lesson rather quickly within your first few months of teaching. Tripping over yourself in such a situation left a tear in your favorite skirt. A skirt you still frowned about every time you found a certain piece in your closet that would make the perfect pair.

Funnily enough, if Benny knew of such a thing he would’ve made sure the same exact piece of clothing was at your doorstep and back in your closet before the thought crossed your sweet little mind.

But you didn’t know that. Not yet, that is.

And Benny — well Benny wasn’t payin’ as much attention as he would’ve liked to what you were sayin’, and he wasn’t quite interested in Margie anyways. His interests lied with you, and in his defense, the sight of you in your heart shaped sunnies wasn't helping the cause one bit. It was hard to take you seriously when you looked that stinkin’ cute. Made him wanna put you in his jacket pocket for safe keeping. And hell was he itching to just drive his bike right through the fuckin’ fence to break the barrier between you two. He was still beatin’ himself up for not taking your hand when you offered it to him yesterday. Hence why he was here, stakin’ you out. Hoping to fix his mistake.

Because the last thing he ever wanted to do was fuck this up with you.

Instead of enertainin’ your comment or makin’ a move to leave upon your far from subtle hints, far from linear to your own wishes, he changed the topic completely. “What time y’get outta ‘ere?”

You took a long drag of your cigarette, to calm your anxieties. The smoke circled ‘round your face for a moment before it traveled across the fence, reachin’ for Benny. Ironically, it was as if the smoke mirrored your desires of clinging onto the man in front of you. “‘round the same time as the girls, a little after,” you replied, curiosity adding, “what’s it to ya?”

“Wanna go for a ride?” He inquired casually. As if he was just stoppin’ by and hadn’t been sitting here for a good three quarters of the school day waitin’ for you.

The simple question spilling from those pretty lips of his made you melt in an instant. If it wasn’t for the obvious heat as a buffer to such a state, your mind would’ve found him as the culprit. “Where?”

“‘round.” He shrugged, not offering much of a plan. His casual demeanor remained concrete to his form.

An innocent smirk stretched across your face, blooming the apples of your cheeks and creasing the plane of your forehead. Now you were the one to flex amusement against a cylinder wedged between honey glossed lips. Now Benny was the one to be somewhat grateful for the honeycomb — if you will. Cause if the fence wasn’t there, he knew he wouldn’t be able to contain himself. He’d have your honey gloss all over his lips, tasting your sweetness without a second thought. Without caring about Margie or the students on the playground. Without caring about anyone really, but you.

Always you.

Perhaps anyone else would be rather suspicious of a plan with really no plan at all. Sure Margie would need a bulleted itinerary on fresh stationary, color coated and attached to a clipboard respectfully. But you — no, you appreciated his carefree mentality. It was peaceful in comparison to the stressing atmosphere that surround you on a daily basis, dotting on the kiddos in your classes, worryin’ constantly about ‘em.

Two could play this game, you thought.

Just at the end of your cigarette, your pretty fingers reached between a ring in the honeycomb, motioning it back to him. “Would ya put this out f’me?” You asked sweetly, mascara coated lashes batting about behind those obvious heart eyes of yours. “Don’t want the kids to find it in the grass.”

“Mhm,” Benny hummed, finding your concern for this children too fuckin’ cute. How could he ever say no to a sweet thang like you? He just couldn’t.

Your fingers grazed his as he took it from you, a touch that you found yourself thanking your faith for allowing you to bask in again.

This time he not only put out his cigarette, but yours too in the garden of buds that would blossom into a metaphor. A metaphor that had you joining his crew. Becoming a part of the club, joining his family, and fulfilling your wifely duties of planting a seed or two more along the way. Growin’ Benny some baby honeys of your very own.

Your lack of a reply to his offer didn’t sway him by any means, only fueled his fire tenfold. Turning on his heel then, you couldn’t help but frown, thinkin’ your hesitance turned him impatient and over the prospect completely. Especially when you watched him mount his bike and rev the engine, ready to ride away without another word. But Benny — no he still had somethin’ to say, and he was gonna say it alright. “I’ll see ya out front after school, Honey.” He decided, “I’ll be waitin’.”

The sound of your nickname rolling off his tongue — as smooth as honey sliding down your throat in a soothing tea — was all you needed to make your decision.

With your fun little backpack — straps resting against your shoulders — absolutely decked out in pins and keychains alike, you’d spot him at dismissal, and he’d be waitin’. Waitin’ for you to come. Wonderin’ if you were comin’.

Askin’ himself ‘Honey, are you comin’?’

Of course you would. You always would with Benny, no matter what.

And when you mounted his bike, your body molding into his like you were made for him, and your hands wrapping around his waist, Benny’s mistake proved to be no more. Suddenly, everything felt right in the world.

Right because you were one step closer to being his honey.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

hi-ya, i hope you enjoyed part 2! there’s so much more to come. expect a from the hive 🎙️🐝 installment real soon :)

also to note, my requests are open for any miss honey x benny cross works + any convos about these two in general. don’t be shy honey, i’m all for yapping in the asks.

+ don’t forget to comment if you’d like be added to “da bee hive” (my version of da tag list)

smoochies. all da love xanadu 💋

da bee hive 🐝

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[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Danny covered his nose with his hand. Where ever he landed smelled absolutely foul, like rotten fruit and burning tires mixed with chem lab.

"Remind me to bring a face mask the next time I explore the Infinite Realms." He muttered, before kicking a soda can down the alley he was in and being repulsed by the squelch sound it made when it came into contact with a very questionable looking puddle, "Better yet, a gas mask." He glanced at the puddle again, "Or I could go full Hazmat." Clockwork had told him this world was full of superheros and villians and to steer clear of it, but once he learned there were aliens in this world he couldn't help himself. Danny had always been weak to his curiosity, but he liked to believe he was cautious, and chose to stay in his Phantom for for added protection.

Turning on his heel he exited onto a deserted street lined on one side by a chain-link fence. The sky above him was filled with clouds so ominous and dark that Danny honestly couldn't tell you if it was night or day, all he knew was that it was going to rain soon and hopefully these awful smells would be drowned out by the downpour.

Danny got his wish only minutes later. Thankfully Phantom was unbothered by the cold and could just bask in the rain as it fell apon him. A lesser known fact about ghosts is that thier clothes are made from thier ectoplasm and are part of thier bodies, much like a second layer of skin, so one would be able to feel things on thier clothes as easily as they would with thier bare skin. The level of sensitivity varies with the type of clothing however. All this to say Danny loved the feeling of the rivulets of rainwater traveling down his ghostly hazmat suit.

He was so preoccupied with enjoying the sensation that he didn't notice anything was wrong until he was jolted forward from the weight of someone landing on his back. The person was quick and precise, taking no time at all to have his wrists pinned behind his back and- weirdly enough- thier teeth digging into the material around his neck.

His parents designed the Hazmat suit Danny was wearing not only to deal with dangerous chemicals, but to fight supernatural foes. The area around the neck was reinforced with the intention of protecting against fatal gunshots and decapitations so naturally someone's jaw wasn't going to be enough to break through to his neck.

Danny let out a laugh as the person kept chewing on his neck like a confused puppy. Oh, Danny thought, they've gone feral. It was odd for someone to go feral but it could occur when a person has gone through something traumatic recently or through extreme stress. It made sense since the person ridding piggy back on him was dressed like a superhero. Danny wondered if that was why the person didn't have a scent. Danny learns facepalmed when he remembered that scentblockers existed and not everyone's scent dramatically changed whenever they went out as a hero. The scent change was probably one of the few things that have kept him alive up to this point to be honest.

"So, I guess you're not going to tell me why you're chewing on my neck like the worlds most pathetic vampire, are you?" No one deserves that title more than the fruitloop to be honest. He made a mental note to use that one against Vlad the next time he saw him.

Chewy whined at this, seeming to slump a bit from the apparent failure to bite him. What was that about? Was this actually a vampire? How would a vampire even react to Dannys ecto-blood combo meal anyway? Would it be like food poisoning? Or would it taste amazing from one undead to another. "I'm not exactly human, are you sure you wanna bite me? I might not taste so good." Danny warned, but the moment he mentioned letting the person bite him they were eager again.

Danny chuckled and unzipped the material only a bit before it was loose enough to move out of the way. The vampires bite came with a sharp pain like he expected but there was no suction. No drinking of blood. Just some weirdo biting Danny on the neck. Huh.

Danny hoped he didn't get rabies from this.

He must have accidentally said that out loud as there was a small laugh from the rooftops above them. There stood another person in a superhero outfit with some really tall dude dressed as a giant bat, and that was when Danny decided to bail. It was one thing to let a maybe vampire bite you in a random street in the middle of the night but more of them? And ones a big scary furry? Hard pass.

Phantom did as Phantoms do and went invisible and intangible, escaping from Biteys jaws and startling the heros. He ignored the distressed whine Munchy let out after loosing their spookyest chew toy and quickly rubbed the scent gland near dannys jaw on the top of thier head as an act of comfort before bolting.

----

Danny poked at the bite mark on his neck. Screw rabies, he better not get turned into a werewolf. He didn't need that on top of his ghostly crap. Sam seemed fascinated by the mark, after all, it wasn't every day that Danny got a scar, especially one so obvious. Most injuries heal quickly and leave no trace of him ever being injured in the first place which helped a lot in keeping his secret identity.

Luckily Danny hadn't needed to lie to mom and dad. He truthfully told them about some wierdo jumping off of a nearby rooftop and plunging thier teeth into his neck and that two other people had tried to corner him during this. He assured his mom that he had gotten away quickly but was a little shaken by it and his dad praised him for being brave and managing to escape.

That was nice. But he still had to figure out what was up with this bite...and why he felt so compelled to go back to that city.

Back to that hero.

-----

Aka an A/B/O au where in Danny's universe all the Alphas are extinct and the betas followed soon after and the DC universe all the Omegas went extinct and betas followed after . Not like a "they finally went extinct in the 1700s after centuries of thier numbers dwindling" thing and became a myth/fairytale (tho I like that too) but a "this might be the missing link between cave men and modern humans" kinda thing.

Its up to you which bat bit Danny and exactly what that means. I love abo aus without smut cause there's so much potential for chaos and I am very much ace.

[kaizokuniichan]

Attention - Part 1: Mossy Musings

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro/Afab Reader (referred to as she/her)/Trafalgar Law

Summary: There’s something going on with you and Law. But there’s also something going on with you and Zoro.

• This chapter is very tame and just kind of sets up the plot. Supposed to take place after Dressrosa so Law is onboard the Sunny. Everyone is pining.

CW: none for this chapter

Word Count: 2k

Next Chapters: Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

*This specific chapter doesn’t have any inappropriate material but the rest of the story will so MDNI

(Divider by @cafekitsune Banner by @/eelnoise)

Zoro knew you had a thing for Law. For someone as perceptive as him, he’d especially mastered reading you. Normally you were very precious with which parts of yourself you revealed, but when you liked something, that preciousness began to slip away.

He wasn’t jealous of Law, far from it actually. He respected the hell out of him, respected his strength and how formidable of a fighter he was, and respected how much he trusted Luffy as an ally despite how tentative that allyship was. But he was curious as to what exactly attracted you to him. He knew objectively he was a good-looking guy, he was older, and he had an underlying angst that seemed to appeal to you. But he was just as guarded as you were, and if your walls were a chain link fence, needing to be rattled to shake off little nuggets of your innermost self, his walls were a 20 foot tall, thick slab of concrete.

Maybe it was the mystery of wanting to figure him out and getting him to open up, something that seemed impossible given the incompatibility of his personality with the raucousness of your crew. But you did have a disarming air, and a penchant for making people comfortable enough to reveal their vulnerabilities. So maybe throughout the time Law spent on the ship you’d began chipping away at that concrete slab.

Law was even harder to read, though not impossible. Zoro saw the way his eyes lingered, intrigue pooling in his irises. How he seemed to anticipate your needs, wordlessly filling your plate with more vegetables and rice during meals; always at the right place and the right time to catch you whenever your clumsiness tripped your feet. How his scowl softened when you came to him with a question about an ailment you’d been plagued with since Chopper wasn’t available. It was subtle, but the tension in his shoulders, and the grit in his teeth (irritated by Strawhat antics) would dissipate as you followed him to extract yourselves from the chaos any time your social batteries depleted. Just like Robin, you were someone he seemed to have found comfort in, but it was different with you. He was different with you.

Zoro observed the two of you, tucked away in your favorite corner of the deck overlooking the glittering reflection of the setting sun. Law sat next to you at an appropriate distance, back against the railing and arms rested on bent knees. He didn’t face you but his body was positioned in a way that suggested he was actively engaged with your presence. A subtle movement of his mouth made you giggle, obviously in relation to something he’d said. Law didn’t say things that were intended to be funny, but sometimes his dry platitudes were so dramatic one could find them quite amusing. Your laughter pulled his attention back to you, eyes shifting to your face and lips curling into a barely perceptible smile. It took him several moments to drag his gaze away from yours to look down at his hands.

You must’ve complimented his tattoos, something you’d not so subtly alluded to liking on more than one occasion, though not to Law directly. To Zoro’s mild surprise Law held his hand out for you to trace your fingers over the ink. He watched as you gushed, biting your lip in concentration as you admired the intricate shapes and patterns. Law’s eyes never left your face, heated pride radiating from his skin. A hint of pink dusted his cheeks as you placed his palm on top of yours, curling and threading your fingers to you compare the sizes of your hands. Zoro snickered; this was your classic move. He’d seen you do it countless times in a local bar with some nameless patron; hell, you’d even done it to him. It always turned the person into putty, and the effect on Law was no different.

Zoro’s snort caught your attention as both your heads snapped over to him. Law discreetly snatched his hand from yours, subtly shifting further away. Zoro took pity on the man, obviously not realizing he’d had an audience, and raised his jug of sake in acknowledgment. While the two of you waffled about, trying to put some space between you, a workout in the crow’s nest suddenly felt very appealing as Zoro took his katanas and made his way back inside. As he approached the door leading to the kitchen he caught sight of Robin sitting at her little table, sipping on a cup of tea. She greeted him with a serene smile and a friendly wave which Zoro returned with another lift of his jug. Just as he was about to pass she turned to him, tinkling voice lilting over the lip of her teacup.

“Does that bother you?” She asked, eyes drifting over to you and Law still pretending to not have been canoodling on the other side of the deck.

Zoro knew it was pointless playing dumb about what she was implying. She was always in tune with everything going on aboard the ship.

“No, not really,” he huffed, already knowing where this was going.

“Just curious?”

Zoro looked back over his shoulder at you, still dragging your fingers along Law’s arm.

“Doesn’t matter,” he sighed, continuing on his journey and ignoring the amused glint in her eye.

“She seems to have a type, handsome and powerful swordsmen.”

Zoro stopped in his tracks as he shook his head, laughing to himself.

“Seems like her attention span is fleeting since there’s a new boy toy around.”

“Are you saying you’re also her boy toy?” Robin prodded, eyebrows raised in mock surprise and still infuriatingly calm and collected as she flustered him.

“I’m not saying I’m anything,” he muttered, grinding his teeth as his ears burned. Robin had a knack for zeroing in on the most humiliating parts of himself. It was why he avoided her as much as he could.

He started to stomp away, but she reeled him back with one final jab.

“If it does bother you, you should act fast. Something tells me he’s feeling more bold the closer we get to Zou. He might want to snatch her up before you get to her first.”

A niggling sense of dread ate at the center of his chest as he pictured you leaving the crew to join the Heart Pirates. To be with him. He knew there was no way that would happen, but the thought still shook him, ice filling his veins. He wasn’t going to let Robin’s predictably dark musings rattle him; he was fine. It’s not like he had anything going on with you anyway, save for some fleeting glances here and there, a lingering touch in passing. You two hadn’t even kissed. Neither of you were the type to commit to anything on a romantic scale, and Zoro wasn’t the type to delude himself into believing that any of it actually meant something. There was too much on the line with him working to achieve his goals, and your relationship as crew mates. A little mutual attraction was irrelevant in the grand scheme of things.

After a few hours of blowing steam in the gym, Zoro collapsed onto the bench, muscles groaning with relief. He’d brought the jug of sake with him upstairs, and took a healthy swig, gulping down as if it were water.

As trails of escaped sake ran down the sides of his face, your head suddenly appeared above the ladder, eyes meeting his and face blooming into a smile. As more of your body lifted up into the space he smirked. You’d donned an old sweatshirt of his, worn and fraying hem falling halfway to your knees. His mouth betrayed him as he grinned, feeling slightly gleeful that you’d chosen a piece of him to adorn yourself with.

You walked over to where he sat, the sound of your slides slapping your heels echoing against the walls. As you stood in front of him, you thrust your hand out and made grabby motions at his jug.

“Use your words,” he tsked, clutching the sake to his chest.

“Gimme some of that,” you pouted, still offering your hand to him.

He grasped your hand, pulling you down to collapse next to him, dragging you closer.

“You smell horrible,” you huffed, wrinkling your nose.

“You knew that when you came here.”

“I didn’t know you were gonna be here,” you grumbled, finally snatching the sake from him.

“But you knew it was a 50/50 chance.”

“Hm. Don’t flatter yourself.”

He snickered as he watched you take a sip, gagging at the taste. He’d busted your balls enough times about how you couldn’t actually handle it, so he’d let it slide just this once.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“No, I’ve hardly been able to at all this week.”

“Too busy thinking about Tall Broody Sideburns?” He couldn’t help himself.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mumbled, lip poking out in another pout. Normally you wore an armor of stoicism when you felt exposed but now you weren’t even trying.

“You sure weren’t shy when you were making googly eyes at him earlier.”

“Don’t be jealous,” you rebounded, mushing his face with your hand. He caught your wrist in a loose hold, looking into your eyes.

“You know it’s not a good idea to fraternize with the enemy.”

Your shriek of laughter caught him off guard, but he buzzed with satisfaction for making you smile.

“You’re so annoying you know that?”

He let go of your wrist, stretching his arm along the back of the bench. You shifted closer, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I thought you said I smelled.”

“You do but I’m getting used to it. Color me shocked.”

His hand came down to grasp your shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

“You know it’s fine with me right? It’s no pressure you know.”

You turned to look at him, an unreadable expression on your face.

“No pressure about what? There’s nothing going on.”

Zoro knew he’d said something wrong, your body pulling away from his grasp. You stood up preparing to leave when reached for your hand.

“You know how complicated this is though, right? He’s technically our enemy when all of this shit is over with.”

Still standing, you turned back to throw him a conflicted look.

“Yeah I know I just…I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You wanna be greedy and have us both?”

You pulled your hand from his, shaking your head.

“I just want to feel wanted, you know? I can’t help that I like…who I like,” you sighed, briefly catching his eye. “I just. I know none of this, any of this, can become anything. It’s all so fucked.”

Zoro grunted as he straightened up in his seat, wrapping an arm around your waist to plop you back down at his side.

“If you’re worried that this will put a damper on…whatever’s going on, don’t worry about it. It’s up to you to determine what you want. I’m obviously not going anywhere.

“Obviously?”

“You know that.”

His words seemed to melt the tension as you settled back into his side.

“Why are you being so accommodating?”

He nuzzled the side of your face and pulled you closer against him.

“Because. We live together stupid.”

You scoffed, playfully flicking his forehead.

“And because I respect you. And at the end of the day I do care about you.”

You turned in your seat to look at him, curiosity painting your face.

“You know, you’re a lot cuter than you give yourself credit for.”

He rolled his eye but couldn’t wipe the smirk tugging at his lips.

“Being cute isn’t something I strive to be.”

“So you just can’t help it. That makes it cuter.”

Refusing to argue any further, he squeezed your sides, eliciting another one of those banshee shrieks he always teased you about.

You were both unaware of the man at the bottom of the ladder, listening intently and brimming with a new resolve.

[picknmixsims]

Sims 2 Tools - SceneGraph Plus

SceneGraph Plus

SceneGraph Plus is an application to display and manipulate scene graph (mesh and material) resources.

While it is similar to SimPe's scenegrapher, it has major differences:

it is a standalone application;

it can open and write multiple .package files simultaneously;

it displays all connections between resources, and not just those in the chain starting at the "top-most" resources;

it understands recolours (MMAT/GZPS/XMOL/XTOL), wall/floor coverings (XOBJ), fence (XFNC) and roof (XROF) scenegraph chains;

it understands links from STR# resources (0x0085 Model Names to CRES and 0x0088 Material Names to TXMT);

it supports renaming resources - maintaining the integrity of the chain (both names and TGIR values);

it supports relinking resources - enabling broken chains to be repaired.

A scenegraph chain with multiple issues

The same scenegraph chain after fixing directly within the app

A complex scenegraph chain across multiple files (one for the mesh, one for the recolours and one for the materials.)

TXMT, TXTR and LIFO resources can be viewed.

Lots more details, and an introductory video, on the web page.

[musekicker]

Ford between dimensions finds himself in the pound.

Ford did not have the exact time, but he knew he had been trapped in this place he was currently for two days. He was only guessing though considering meal times and changes in staff had happened only twice. But he could be wrong.

There was no other way for him to really tell the time in this place. No clock was in sight and room where the line of cages were was always lit. No windows to even look outside.

He did not have a idea of time, but he was pretty sure that he knew what kind of place he was in. And that would be in a pound. A place meant for lost or wandering pets. Though in this sense the pets were all of the sentient creature types. And that Ford knew because he had heard the other captives speak to some of the workers more then once. There was sentience in their words and their stares.

The cages were mostly reminded Ford of chain link fencing one may see for a dog kennel. Except the chain link was made bright blue light that was a lot more solid then it looked. Not that he could even test the material of the kennel fencing. Not with his arms secured behind him with metal cuffs and chain anchored to the wall.

Some of the beings that Ford saw looked just as mad as Ford was about the situation. Pulling at the chains. Others looked more forlorn and subdued. Having long ago given in.

Ford was not in the given up category. He was still pulling at his chains and trying to think up a plan. Anything to get out of this place. He would be shouting more if not for the muzzle that had been placed onto him soon after arriving to this place.

Apparently bite one guard and you got muzzled. Ford had done just that before he had been dragged into his kennel. The muzzle had followed soon after that. For some reason this cage of wires and blue energy was as effective as a gag. Maybe there was a sound dampening system in the build of the thing?

He was still trying to think of a plan to escape this place when a voice broke his out of his thoughts.

"It'll be nice to get your pet back to you. It's a good thing you marked him or we never would had known to contact you." a worker said.

"That's one of the reasons why I marked him!"

Ford froze, knowing that voice all too well. He wished he could tell himself he was wrong. But he knew he wasn't. So it wasn't a complete shock when Bill Cipher floated into view at the kennel door.

There was a look in Ciphers eye that was very much Bill's version of smirking.

"Yup, that's my human. I'd know those six fingers anywhere." Bill said.

The kennel door was turned off to allow Bill to enter the kennel.

"I'll get the paperwork to sign him out." the worker said.

The moment that the worker left, Bill looked Ford in the eye.

"Well, well, well. Someones gotten themself into a pretty bad situation here. In this dimension creatures like you are considered pets you know? If I didn't pick you up, who knows what would had happened to you."

There was a mock pity to Bill's voice. A tone that only enraged Ford more. He shouted into the muzzle despite the fact that he could not be heard. Bill considered the muzzle, and ran a finger down one of the straps holding the muzzle onto Ford's face.

"The muzzle works so well for you." Bill said.

Ford snarled even though it could not be heard. Bill was amused by the clear rage in Ford's eyes. It made the triangle want to do so many dark things to break that defiance. The ideas were endless.

"Can't wait to get you home." Bill told Ford in a tone that brought a chill to Ford's blood.

The worker came back and approached Bill, a clip board with a variety of papers that Bill was meant to sign. A quick look up at Bill and Ford and the worker paused.

"Oh one thing, you have to leash your pet." the worker said. "More then one pet has tried to cause problems when their owners picked them up."

At the mention of the the leash, the glee in Bill's eye at those words was infuriating to Ford.

"Of course. Can't have my pet causing problems. And I know he would." Bill said.

A snap of his fingers and a bright blue, chain leash appeared in Bill's hand, the other end of it secured to similar in color and materials collar. It would not be something that could be broken with enough pulling or with anything sharp.

The worker, no longer worried that Ford would have the chance to possibly attack continued to speak in a calm tone. The scene before her not out of the ordinary or wrong at all to her.

"I wasn't on staff when he was brought in. But I heard he bit one of the officers that picked him up." the worker said.

Bill looked almost aghast. Even though Ford knew that expression was more for show then actually being shocked.

"Sixer! I didn't know you had it in you." Bill said.

The look that Ford was giving Bill now suggested that Ford wanted to tear Bill apart. Whether with hands or teeth. It wouldn't matter as long as Ford would be able to do it. The leash and muzzle would not allow for that.

The cuffs hold his wrists did not have any give either. Using his hands right now was out of the question. The only thing that was free right now were his legs. He did not have high expectations for that giving his a literal leg up on getting away. But it was better then nothing.

So when Bill pulled at the leash, ford pulled back. If he could had dug his heels down into the tile floor he would have. Anything to prevent himself from being pulled along towards what he knew would be a place where he was even less likely to escape from.

Bill looked back at Ford, eye narrowing slightly.

"You're just embarrassing both of us right now." Bill said.

Ford glared. And pulled back again. Bill turned a shade of red. Not quite completely angry, but irritated.

"Listen to me. If you keep this up I will summon up a carrier and put you in there. Is that what you want Sixer?"

From Bill's tone it was clear that Bill was done playing around now. And being put into a carrier did not sound like it be pleasant. Not to mention possibly harder to escape from. So Ford grumbled into his muzzle and stopped pulling. For now anyways.

Bill, pleased turned back to a yellow color.

"Better. Now come on Fordsy. Bringing you home."

[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x fem!reader

during - part eight

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

hope is a dangerous thing.

a/n: it’s heeeeeeeeere. full disclosure - it might be a few days until part 9 goes up; as far as I know, tonight’s ep shows some flashbacks which means I might have to do a bit of revamping! plus I really don’t wanna burn myself out with this one, there’s still so much ground to cover!!

word count: 4.5k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, angst, canon-typical violence and injuries, death, blood, yearning, nightmares, mentions/allusions to sex, if I missed something let me know.

✨follow @friskito-library for updates on new works/chapters!✨

The days bleed into months, and before you know it, the snow comes. Winter.

You haven’t left the mall. Or, haven’t been allowed to leave the mall. Every time you cross paths with Cowan, it’s the same conversation.

“Let me through the gate.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

You’re nothing if not persistent, but you try your best to make yourself useful. You and Deanna have formed some kind of friendship, and you help her out as much as you can. At first, you don’t know much about treating injuries besides the bit you remember from an old first aid course, so you pay close attention to her movements, handing her supplies when she needs it, taking her orders in stride.

She was an army nurse, you learn, and lost her husband long before the outbreak. “Just as well,” she told you, a sad smile on her face. “He barely came back to me after Vietnam. I don’t think he could have survived this.”

They never had kids, but she tells you her niece and nephew may as well have been her own. “They live in Cape Cod, on the coast.” Her face went dark. “Lived.” Then she looked at you. “You remind me of my niece, you know. Fierce little thing.”

She teaches you how to dress wounds and clean them, when something needs stitches and when glue will do, how to stretch the materials you have left as far as possible. When injured soldiers show up after the first snow, she puts you to work.

Cowan’s among them, a ricochet bullet in his shoulder. Deanna hasn’t shown you anything like that yet, and you balk a little as he pulls off his gear, blood pouring down his arm. “Wait here.”

You sprint across the floor to where Deanna is literally elbow-deep in another soldier who clearly hadn’t been as lucky as Cowan. “What d’you need, kid?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly, spying a pair of forceps on the table nearby and grabbing them. “Just these. I’ll come help you after—”

“You go take care of Nicky,” she orders, her voice almost stern. “You don’t leave his side until you know he’s all right, you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You sprint back to Cowan, finding him hunched over, hand pressed to his arm, blood staining his knuckles. You grab a pair of scissors from the tray beside you, hooking your arm under his shoulder and getting him upright. “Fuck!” he shouts, and you grit your teeth.

“Sorry.” You cut away his t-shirt, pulling the fabric from where it’s wedged between his fingers, and his other hand curls into a fist on the table. “What happened?”

“Bunch of runners,” he breathes out, and you yank his hand away from the wound quickly, replacing it with a thick scrap of towel, pressing your hand into his shoulder. He winces, tipping his head back. “Came right up over the fence.”

The corner of your mouth twitches. “I told you that chain link wouldn’t hold forever.”

“Yeah, yeah, you should run the world.” He meets your gaze, holds it. “You ask me to let you through the gate again, and I swear to god—”

“I wasn’t going to,” you say quickly. It’s not entirely the truth, but it’s not a lie either. “But I want to help, if I can.”

The towel has already soaked through with his blood, and it makes your gut twist. “Help?”

“Teach me to shoot,” you say. You’re trying to distract him, and grab his hand, pressing it against the towel. “Hold this.”

“Bat’s not enough for you?”

“No, but the rifle I found in the sporting goods shop upstairs will definitely help,” you reply, grabbing the forceps and wiping them down with a bit of antiseptic. “Especially once I get out of here.”

Cowan stares at you, that hard gaze he’s become famous for. “Why d’you wanna get out of here so bad? You’re—”

“If you tell me I’m safe here, Corporal, I’m leaving that bullet in your shoulder.”

He actually laughs. “God, you are something else, you know that?” 

You freeze, for a moment. Suddenly, you’re standing in your kitchen, in Austin. Joel Miller is handing you a bouquet of daisies and telling you you’re beautiful and kissing your cheek. The memory catches you off-guard, and you only come back down to earth when Cowan squeezes your wrist, peering at you.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” you reply instantly, shaking your head. “We need to get that bullet out.”

You hold up the forceps, bracing your hand on his collar. “This isn’t gonna feel great, is it?”

“Well, it sure as hell won’t tickle,” you admit. “Is this the first time you’ve taken a bullet?”

“No. Second.”

“Pull this away, when I say,” you instruct, tapping the back of his hand. “I gotta be quick.”

“Have you done this before?”

You lift a shoulder, a nervous little laugh falling out of your mouth. “I watched Deanna do it a couple weeks back. It was in the guy’s gut though, not his shoulder.”

“Did he live?”

You go quiet. “Move your hand.” He hesitates. “Now, Cowan.”

He moves his hand, pulling the towel away, and you push the forceps in. The air seems to go completely still as you fish for the bullet. Cowan’s face is screwed up in pain, both hands curled around the edge of the cot, white-knuckled. “Did the guy live?”

“No,” you admit finally, feeling the soft clink of metal hitting metal. Bingo. “But we found a bite on his leg after, so the internal bleeding was probably the better way to go.” You twist the forceps, and he hisses in pain. “Tell me about the first time you got shot.”

“Are you trying to distract me?”

“Is it working?” you quip, and he actually smiles.

“It was basic training,” he starts, and you nod, focusing on his shoulder. The forceps pinch around the bullet, and you pull ever so slightly. “My buddy and I were just fucking around. He didn’t know the thing was loaded.”

“He shot you on purpose?” you ask, brows raised. You pull a little more, making sure the grip holds.

“Not on purpose,” Cowan replies, and you can feel his eyes on your face. “We were just kids, then. Just screwing around, trying to fill the time. And now…”

“He still around?” you ask, prompting him further. “Your buddy.”

“I hope so,” he replies. “He moved to California, after we finished basic. I really hope he—motherfucker!”

You pull the bullet all the way out with a flourish, dropping the forceps onto the tray and grabbing a fresh piece of gauze. He hisses again when you press the new gauze to his shoulder, and you scoff. “Baby.”

“You just pulled a bullet out of me.”

“I’m aware,” you throw back, pressing a little harder. “I still think you’re a baby.”

He gives you the signature Stare before glancing down at his shoulder, taking over the pressure you’re holding, and you step away to get an actual roll of gauze. “Meet me at the south entrance tomorrow, and I’ll teach you.” You turn back, your brows raised. “To shoot, I mean. Bring the rifle. You have ammo?”

Your jaw nearly drops. “Yeah, managed to find a few boxes.”

“Good.”

You nod, unable to hide the grin that pulls your lips. “Good.”

+

They’re somewhere near Nashville. He thinks; Tommy’s been navigating, Joel’s just been following his brother. The weather has held up mostly, but now they’re holed up in some shack Tommy found in the woods, hiding from the rain. It’s been constant, nearly three days now, and Joel can’t fucking sleep.

He hasn’t slept well since they left Austin, not that he expected to. The few beds they’ve found have been heaven, but every time he closes his eyes, the dreams come, and he’s reliving that night all over again. Doesn’t matter how many days go by, and he knows it doesn’t matter at all how much time passes. He’s never gonna forget.

He took first watch, told Tommy to get some shuteye and parked himself on the front porch, watching the rain slide of the metal roof, pooling in front of the shack, running downhill like a river. There’s mud caked on his boots, and he feels dirty down to his bones. It’s been a few days since they had real shelter, though, and he revels in the silence, being away from the main roads.

But the silence lets his mind wander, and when that happens, it lands on you, more often than not. Sarah is always there, in the back of his head, the sound of her voice forcing him further, but when he gets a moment alone — a rarity now — he lets himself remember you.

Your last conversation still haunts him. The fear in your voice, the way you’d sounded so out of it when you first picked up, and he’d brought you back down, focused you. Patch yourself up. Take what you can and go. Get the hell out of Boston.

I’ll find you, baby.

Sometimes, the hope invades his heart like a disease, branching through his limbs and making his chest ache with it. He has to hope that you made it out, that you’re alive somewhere, that your paths are leading straight towards each other. Every time they come over a hill or turn a corner, he feels that tug in his gut, a quiet promise that this time, you’ll be heading straight towards him, a big smile on your face.

But Joel knows that hope is a dangerous thing to let in, to nurture. As hard as he wishes you alive, he knows the opposite is more than likely. He sees it when he does manage to get some sleep, nightmares infiltrating his brain until he wakes up panting, the phantom feeling of his daughter’s blood on his skin melting away far too slowly.

Right now, he’s forcing himself to remember the good.

That last week, before you’d left for Boston. He took you to that open field every night, almost, held you in his arms, kept you close and never let your mouth get too far from his. He’d buried his face in your neck and memorized the smell of you, the feel of you, the taste.

You pulled on his hand, led him away from the truck and into the open field. You laid down in the grass side by side, the sound of crickets and the soft wind the only thing you could hear. He’d leaned over you, cupped your cheek in his palm, rubbed his thumb over your bottom lip. You kissed his fingers, giggling when he rolled himself on top of you a moment later, his mouth chasing yours.

He planted his hands either side of your head and you reached for his belt, dragging your hands down his chest. He could feel your heartbeat, when he pressed himself against you, the twitch of your knees along his ribs as you held him closer. That’s how it always was between you two, who could get the other closer, how much could you pull until the space between no longer existed?

Joel still remembers the noise you made when he pushed into you, right there in the grass. The way you’d dug your nails into his back so fucking hard it made him moan louder, the sound echoing through the night. The blissful smile on your face as the pleasure ripped through you, and Joel felt it, the tightness of your body, the way he could taste it on your tongue.

God, he loved you so goddamned much.

A clap of thunder yanks him out of his head, and he flinches hard, the gun in his lap sliding onto the wooden porch. He’s on his feet in a moment, shoving both hands through his hair, and without another thought, he steps out from under the shelter of the roof. The rain pelts him instantly, soaking through his clothes, making goosebumps rise on his arms.

It feels good. He tilts his face towards the sky, feels the water drip down his arms.

He hears your voice, in his head. What you said that night, under the stars, laid out on his chest, your eyes glassy. “I won’t ever stop thinking about you, Joel Miller. Not for a million years.”

He never should have let you leave Austin. Not in a million years.

+

Cowan stays true to his word. He teaches you to shoot, not just the rifle you’d stolen from the mall, but other guns, too. Shows you some tricks with the hunting knife you’d found in Dean’s bag, even teaches you how to build a fire. You stop asking him to let you through the gate, and he stops giving you the Stare. After a few lessons, he starts bringing you along on patrols. You carry the rifle and the bat, the hunting knife strapped to your thigh. The temperature is dropping, the snow sticking consistently, and the UPS jacket you’d stolen months back comes in handy, keeping you warmer than you expect.

There’s not much conversation to be had between you two, and when you do talk, it’s light shit. You avoid the subject of families, partners and the like. You mostly talk about music, and you laugh the hardest you have in a long time when Cowan admits to you that he’s seen the Backstreet Boys in concert three separate times. You’re bent in half with laughter, tears in your eyes, and he starts laughing along with you.

The laughter stops, however, when you circle back to the mall. There are four trucks outside, and the hair on the back of your neck stands up when you see Deanna step through the doors. Everyone else who’d been inside, faces you recognize, people you’ve met, they’re all coming out of the mall. Deanna has blood on her scrubs, a strange look in her eye.

“McCoy!” Cowan calls once you’re close enough, and a soldier turns. “What’s going on?”

Both the soldiers step to the side, and you make a bee-line for Deanna, swinging your rifle onto your back. “What happened?”

The older woman looks shaken, and she grabs you once you’re close enough, her hands digging into the sleeves of your coat. “T-Tim,” she stutters, and your brow hardens. You know who she’s talking about;  Tim, his wife Marcy, their two kids. Their cots weren’t far from yours in the department store. You’d helped their youngest son, Henry, when he’d cracked his forehead on the tile, tripped on his own feet chasing his little sister, Emily, around the mall. Hell, you’d had dinner with them just the night prior, you and Tim had made the kids giggle slurping your noodles. “He just…” Deanna trails off, and fear twists your stomach in an iron vice.

“Are the kids okay?”

She nods furiously, still holding onto you tightly. “But…but Marcy, she…he just…” She looks back towards the mall, gestures for a moment before clapping her hand over her mouth. “I’d never seen one up close before.”

Deanna collapses into your arms, and you hug her tightly, half worried she’s passed out, but the worry passes when you feel her hands fist in the back of your jacket. Over her shoulder, you see a soldier leading Henry and Emily outside. Henry still has a bandaid on his forehead, and Emily is clutching his hand, tear tracks on her face. Your heart aches.

“I’m gonna go with them,” Deanna tells you, pulling away after a moment, and you just nod. She jogs after the kids, and you turn back to where Cowan and McCoy are still talking. Cowan has a hard look on his face, and his jaw tightens as you approach.

“What the hell is going on?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest. “We’re supposed to be safe in the mall, Corporal. That’s what you said. I could have been halfway to Texas by now. Hell, I could have been in Texas by now.”

“I know what I said,” he bites back before heaving a sigh. “We got an update, from FEDRA HQ.”

You lift a brow. “And?”

He glances at the stream of people still filing out of the mall. “The fungus, the thing that’s causing this, it’s in the food. We need to check everything that was in the mall, everything that was handed out. Production dates, expiry dates, it’ll give us an idea of what needs to be destroyed, but—”

“But there’s a chance everyone in there ate something contaminated,” you finish, swallowing back the bile that rises in your mouth. “There’s a chance we’re all already infected.”

Cowan’s throat bobs. “Yes.”

“What do we do now, then?” you ask, jutting your chin towards the people filling the street outside the mall. “Where do we go? Standing around here like this, it’s just gonna attract them.”

“There are buildings that have been deemed safe,” McCoy tells you, and Cowan just nods. “The quarantine zone has been marked off. We take everyone there, separate you for now, keep an eye out for anyone changing.”

Cowan nods. “Check everyone for bites, again.” He meets your eyes for a moment before calling for two other soldiers. He starts barking orders, and you turn to McCoy.

“I thought the city was the quarantine zone.”

He shakes his head. “Too much space. FEDRA gave us the borders, showed us where to go. The walls’ll go up soon, and we’ll be that much safer.”

You balk. “More chain link bullshit?”

McCoy shakes his head again. “No, ma’am. Bricks. Guard towers, barbed wire. The whole kit and caboodle.”

You swallow hard. Shit.

+

The chain link stays up. The walls of the quarantine zone press deeper into the city, and as promised, you’re shuffled into apartment buildings. There’s still blood everywhere you look, damaged ceilings, broken windows. It’s not perfect by any stretch, but the building itself is intact, and that’s apparently good enough for FEDRA.

They put you in separate units, the number of survivors taking up less than half the building. You stay with Deanna and the kids. Emily clings to your side, her arms wrapped around your leg more often than not. She hasn’t said a word since you left the mall.

The soldiers patrol the streets and the hallways, and after a week, six more people turn. They’re put down without a second thought, their bodies carried out of the building. The food supplies are carted from the mall to a warehouse within the new zone limits, and everything that was given to you is taken back for inspection. It’s a lot of waiting, of pacing the floor of your new home, of trying to come up with ways to distract the kids from what’s happening.

Shortly after you’d been evacuated from the mall, they’d brought out Tim and Marcy’s bodies, and your hands had started to shake violently when you saw the blood on Tim’s face, the deep gouge in his wife’s throat. Bullets in both their skulls. It had all happened so fast.

And you’d been eating the same things they had.

The worry gnaws at your stomach. You’d protested, at first, when Deanna insisted you come with them. You couldn’t explain it, couldn’t bear to see the pain on the older woman’s face deepen when you admitted you feared the worst. She still managed to pull it out of you, later that night, after you’d put the kids to sleep in the only bedroom, the pair of you sitting at the kitchen table.

“If it happens, it happens, kid,” she said, gripping your hand tightly. “And we deal with it. That’s all we can do.” You’d nodded, and she’d reached into her bad, producing a bottle of gin. “Something to take the edge off.” You nodded again.

A week passed, the six were put down, and you were safe. Your mind started to wander. Trucks filled with construction material arrived at the edges of the quarantine zone every day; you could see them from the apartment. More FEDRA soldiers, some venturing into the city to find usable materials. Soon enough, the wall was starting to take shape.

And if the wall went all the way up, that meant you were never getting out of Boston. Never getting the opportunity to find your family, or Joel.

But, the wall has only just begun, which means there are still holes in the boundary, and with more soldiers assigned to the quarantine zone itself, that means the chain link is left unguarded, for the most part.

They announce curfew hours and the consequences for breaking those hours, and you start planning. Collecting things, weapons and food that won’t spoil, refilling your first aid kit. You take what ammo you can find, nicking a few boxes from the FEDRA tents when no one’s paying attention. You still have the maps from the bookstore, your hastily-drawn path still marked on the pages.

You wait for nightfall, and you run.

You leave Deanna a note, tell her you’re sorry, tell her you’ll try to send a message that you’re safe, once you are. The kids are fast asleep, and you kiss their heads before you go.

Your path through the city leads you right past your apartment, and your heart nearly stops. The entire front of the building has been exploded inward, no doubt a result of the bombings. If you look hard, you can see the edge of your living room, behind the twisted rebar and broken bricks. You want to linger, but you don’t, the shout of an Infected pushing you forward, gripping the bat tightly.

The construction of the wall left a lot of tools laying around, and it was all too easy to find a pair of large wire cutters. You found a piece of chain link in an alley within the quarantine zone, and tested it out. Sure enough, a clean cut.

There are still patrols along the chain link, but they’re more sporadic. The guard posts have been dismantled, dragged further inwards, set up again along the new walls. You see a soldier pass by the spot you’re aiming for, and wait until he’s completely out of sight before bolting across the pavement to the fence, pulling out the wire cutters.

You have one foot through when you hear a familiar voice.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Cowan’s kept his distance, since you moved into the building. It bothers you and doesn’t at the same time. But in a way, you got what you wanted from him; you’re more confident that you could make it beyond the fence now. Especially with the rifle strapped to your back.

Your head drops, and you pull your leg back out, straightening and turning on your heel towards him. “You really thought I wouldn’t try it?”

“I really didn’t think you were this stupid,” he shoots back, and you scoff, rolling your eyes. “I’m serious. You will die out there, why don’t you get that?”

You grip the chain link, the metal rattling beneath your shaking fingers. “I can’t just sit around here for the rest of my life, Cowan.”

“So you’d rather waste it, out there?” He gestures towards the fence with his rifle, to what lays beyond. “What good will that do? You’re smart, you know there’s a good chance your family is dead.”

“But until I know—” you start, and your voice betrays you, cracking on the word. You swallow hard. “Why can’t you just let me go? What difference does it make?”

His strange dark eyes narrow at you. They’re blue, you’ve come to learn, but a dark shade that sometimes looks black. “Come with me. There’s something I want you to see.” You open your mouth to protest, and he lifts a hand. “Come with me first; if you still want to leave afterward, then I’ll take you through myself.”

You stare at him for a long moment before slinging your bag from your shoulders, pulling out a length of rope. You thread it through the split fence, yanking the metal back into place and tying it off. Once you’re done, you get back to your feet, and when Cowan turns to leave, you follow.

He takes you back to the quarantine zone. A few soldiers shoot you looks, since you’re out past curfew, but Cowan waves them all off. “She’s with me.”

You keep following him, heart hammering in your throat as he leads you into one of the buildings they’ve cleared out. Down a long hallway, a few more soldiers giving you looks, before Cowan ducks through a doorway, waving at you to follow.

“What is this?”

There are tables everywhere, cords spilling out of boxes, hooked along the walls. On the walls, all sorts of maps and notices, FEDRA orders staring back at you. A soldier sits in the middle of it all, headphones hooked over her ears, twisting the knobs on a gigantic radio, adjusting the antenna. When she sees you and Cowan standing there, she pulls off the headphones, a grin on her face. “Hey, Nick.”

“Melissa,” he nods, and juts his thumb towards you. “Can you set it for the Austin base? And give us a sec?”

She just nods, her face falling slightly, and twists more of the knobs. Her brow furrows a bit until she gets the right frequency, and then she gets up out of her chair, holds the headphones towards you. “Hit the red button to talk, and let go once you’re done, or else they can’t talk back.”

“Thank you,” you say, taking the headset from her. You look at Cowan. “What is…?”

“It’ll connect you with the FEDRA base in Austin. You can give them the names, of the people you’re looking for. They’ll be able to tell you if they’re in the shelters there. If they’re not there, there’s no telling if they’re alive or dead, but at least you’ll know if they’re safe or not.”

Your brow furrows. “Is that supposed to be reassuring?”

“I can’t reassure you,” Cowan says bluntly, and as you sink into the chair, he perches on the desk beside you. “No one can. The world is a fucking minefield, and while yes, I’ll admit you’re a good shot and you clearly know what you’re doing with that bat, you will die out there. If your family isn’t still in Austin, I can almost guarantee you, they are dead.”

You rip your eyes from his face, turning your gaze to the radio, the little flashing lights and the knobs. “You don’t know that.”

There’s a hand under your chin a second later, and Cowan turns your face towards him again, drags your eyes back to his. “I meant what I said. If you still want to leave, I will take you through the gate myself, no more bullshit. But talk to the base first. Find out if they’re still there before you throw your life away on hope.”

PREV | NEXT

[lex-the-flex]

My loveeeeeeee can we get our love Mr. Kennedy reacting to his s/o getting hurt pushing him or moving him out of harms way. Or... hear me out, a spider enemy because they get huge dragging her off and Leon Finding her in its web and hes relieved when he finally finds her. I am in a mood today. Love you!

Come Back to Me

Leon S. Kennedy x reader 

Warning(s): MEGA FLUFF, heavy angst, action and violence, descriptions of injuries, and my severe arachnophobia.

A/N: Thank you so much for requesting! Feedback is appreciated and enjoy! 

“Okay, are you ready? We could cut through that gun shop.” Leon advises, pointing down the street.

Leaning out from underneath the garage’s entrance, the bright red neon sign of: Kendo’s Gun Shop lights up against the wet pavement.

“Yeah, let’s do it. That jail gave me the creeps.” You reply, shuddering in the borrowed police uniform Marvin gave you.

Jogging down the street, Leon discovers that the gun shop is bolted shut. Proposing to go around through the open sewer drain, echoes of the Tyrant’s footsteps stomp from the police station. Hesitating toward a chain link fence, Leon pressed his shoulder against your body, shielding you from the incoming attack.

However unbeknownst to you or Leon, something else in the dark has plans for you. Looming on the top of the fence, a new type of enemy: an insect hisses above you and Leon. The sight of a mutated spider-like creature makes you scream in fear. Latching a tentacle around your neck, Leon immediately pulls out his knife, but isn’t quick enough.

“Leon!” You call you, reaching for the young officer.

Catching your hand, Leon holds into you all his might, refusing to let go. But the spider spews a string of venom in his face, which he dodges.

Breaking Leon’s grip, the Drain Deimos snatches you up and drags you along the catwalks between each of the brick apartments, deeper into Raccoon City.

“Y/N, no!” Leon shouts, only to receive no answer.

****

After searching for you for a few hours, Leon never lost hope. He was determined to find you above all else. Umbrella and Nest could wait. 

You were his top priority. 

Reaching the subway station, Leon opened the control room door and was greeted with a scary sight: spiders. And they were everywhere. Those things took complete control of the subway station, but Leon had to find you. 

Descending through the maze, Leon braced every corner in a panic as he half expected to see you dead. But we weren’t. Reaching the tail end of the maze, the soles of his boots could barely move as a mass of webs tried to keep him in place. 

Aiming the barrel of his shotgun, Leon quickly pointed the gun towards the cement flooring the second he saw you strung up in a series of strong spider silk. Equipping his knife, Leon slashed through the material and caught you as you were about to hit the floor. 

Tightly wrapping his arms around you, a giant wave of relief washed over Leon. 

“You alright?” He asked.

“Yeah, I’m good. Let’s just get out of here.” You pleaded, as Leon carried you to the exit. 

re taglist ~ 

@dreamliners

@iraot

@beautifuljellyfishqueen

@balach-cadalach

@murrdxcks

@fetaneecole

@odaschopsticks

@macabrecakes

@tiredsurvivoronmain

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@onewinged-sephiroth

@scariusaquarius

@momma-vi

@cilantro24

@thatdummy-girl

@acupnoodle

@slaughtrx

@rpd-rookie

@oreo-leon

@xxresi-rotxx

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@lottathoughts

@brittlecakes92

@mnjxs

@rebidemp-ebil

@chirikalovesjill

@paleepeaches

@dargoww

@blueyheart

[novankenn]

Perfection - A Homecoming (Ch7)

For the most part the remainder of the trip to the compound was uneventful and fairly smooth. After on final thump, the "truck" was brought to a top. Joan slid out of the turret and hit the release for the back ramp.

Joan: Welcome to la maison d'Arc. Watch your step.

Pyrrha waited for Jaune to exit the driver compartment, and followed him out of the "truck". Pyrrha didn't know what she was expecting when Jaune said they would be going back to his home, but a fortified compound was not anything close to what she had envisioned. On the outside of a barbwire topped chain-link fence, was a entirely cement walk way edged with a two foot concrete wall, which had at equal intervals the same type of automated sentry guns. The place would give Atlas a run for security.

Pyrrha: You grew up here?

Jaune: Only when I was older. I spent most of my time prior to age twelve in Ansel, going to school.

Pyrrha: Can I ask why... the fortifications?

Jaune: Preventative measures. Mom will explain everything to you, but let's just say there are things out in this valley that can't be let to escape. Things worse than grimm.

Pyrrha: Like those... what did you call them? Screamers?

Jaune: Shriekers., and something else.

Joan had vanished into the low plain looking concrete, bunker like house as Jaune and Pyrrha took their time walking and talking. Pyrrha did notice how the entire yard of the expansive space was filled with gravel. It crunched under their feet as they closed on the main building.

Joan had reappeared carrying a couple large rifles. she tossed one to Jaune without pause, followed by a bandoleer of some very large rounds.

Pyrrha: Jaune?

Jaune: Joan and I have to go out and check the last spot Dad was in. Mom will go over everything with you, and when I get back I'll answer any questions you have.

Joan: Sorry red. We're sort in a time crunch.

Pyrrha might not have been as geeky about weapons as Ruby, but she was very familiar with various firearms, and still not understanding what Jaune was referring to made her think that using anti-material rifles seemed like a little bit of over kill.

Pyrrha: Is that type of firepower needed?

Jaune: Yes. We taking the "truck"?

Joan: The jeep. Get out and back a lot faster.

Jaune: Sounds go. You drive.

Joan nodded and headed towards a line of various all-terrain vehicles, sliding into the driver's seat of a rather plain looking jeep.

Pyrrha: Are you going to be okay? I would like to come with you.

Jaune: We'll be fine, Pyr, and I would like that but you need the crash course on what we're doing out here.

Pyrrha: And after this "crash course"?

Jaune: You'll be good to be out there with Joan and me.

Jaune reached out and gave Pyrrha's hand a squeeze.

Jaune: Thank you for coming Pyrrha. I mean it.

Pyrrha: No problem Jaune... you're important to me.

Jaune nodded, before moving off and climbing into back of the jeep. He set his rifle aside, and took hold of the grips for a machine-gun mounted on a post in the back bed... rather it looked more like a mini-gun than a regular machine gun.

As the jeep backed out and took off into the valley, Pyrrha entered the main building.

(==[Table of Contents]==)

[undead-merman]

Garnet

December 31st 2015

To my horror, my father's scraps of rambling claiming to be research turned out to be true. 

Deep in this unnamed facility past a million warning signs was the monster. His eyes gleaming in the darkness, reflecting the light of my lantern. I swear his eyes bore into me as if he was reading my very soul. He shouldn't be alive, not for how long this place has been abandoned. Life behind a chain link fence with only stagnant air and dust particles. 

I pulled him out and seeing as how I simply came here to fight off my burning curiosity and hatred, I don't have a team to help me swipe the place and collect the research from the last group that contained him. I've contacted my most trusted allies to help me. They'll arrive any day now to my camp just outside this worn down concrete mess of a building. 

He's semi feral. He understands basic body language, but does not speak or respond to any spoken language. I've tried. He growls and hisses at the most basic of things. He didn’t even understand forks and knives. He doesn’t even eat with his hands, he kneels down and licks it up from the ground. It’s a sad sight, really. I managed to lead him outside with some scraps of my lunch. He hissed and shied away from the sun like it was a beast. The poor thing, I shielded him away from the sun and waited with him until the sun went down. I made him a spot in my tent, and I'm watching him. I can’t be too careful with how wild he seems to be. He’s sleeping in my bedroll. 

I cannot believe my father was right. The power of manifestation is true and has happened in the past, allowing a billion gods to be born over the years… Garnet, as I will be calling him from now on, doesn’t seem to look like one. He looks more like a demon. Garnet horns, a long tail, rough skin with pillars of said stone growing out of his spine and across his skin. His skin I can tell is supposed to be a much more saturated red, but with who knows how long he’s been in there he’s surely gotten paler. 

I’m going to do my best to look after him. I think I should look into my father’s notes more as well. 

January 5th 2016

A few days have gone by, and I want to compile my notes here. My new team has arrived, a few of my late father’s friends, a few friends of my own. All of them know of my father’s sudden detrimental interest in manifestation, even after all his years as a man of hard science. A handful of them searched the building, while a few stayed with me and studied Garnet. 

Previous research dating back to the 1800s shows he wasn’t always feral. He was a calm-collected man that was theorized to be a demon of sorts. The horns on his head are indeed made from pure garnet, as well as the protrusions on his body. He used to have wings, as stated in some of the old writings, but they must have atrophied and fallen off. 

I’ve taken some time to try and teach him some basic English. He’s a fast learner, which makes my life a lot easier, though it seems like he used to speak it a long time ago. My guess with how long he’s been alone, he’s forgotten it. Makes me sick to my stomach. Over a hundred years of solitude. Strangely enough, looking at his old enclosure, there were no signs of attempted escape. He stayed put like a well-trained dog.  

There are thousands of files, some of them unreadable, almost all of them unorganized. We suspect people have been in here to explore or trash the abandoned facility, so it makes it harder to find material. But with Garnet the moral is up at the very least. Though, Garnet seems wary of new people. He only seems at ease around me and inside my tent. He snaps at anyone getting too close. In fact, he goes ballistic unless I stand in the way. I hate to describe it as such, but he acts like an unsocialized dog. Still, he seems like a good man, just lost from the stillness and loneliness of that facility. I’ve seen him sneak around and patrol my tent before curling up by my head. When he thinks I'm asleep he’ll lick my hair and chew it. 

Talking with the team they agreed to stay here for as long as it takes. One of them even inviting a few more to understand garnet, a biochemist, a genealogist, Histologist, Biophysicist, the whole nine yards. Some of my father’s friends are even paying for the expenses of this trip. I’m so grateful. I hope that the study doesn’t stress Garnet out too much. Furthermore, I’ve resolved myself to taking Garnet’s comfort as a priority. If he doesn’t want to do something, then I will make sure that they don’t press anymore. 

January 16th 2016

Our team has done some more digging and careful organizing and we’ve found out more about Garnet’s reason for being here. This used to be a research company that was looking into lab grown crystals but had ended up finding Garnet. They had harvested garnets from his body using different methods from bloodletting to cutting them out of his skin after burning him. From what it seems his blood would solidify into gemstones. It would provide hefty amounts, though their color would be low quality. The act of burning him which would scab over with the crystal and yank them out. These would result in much higher quality garnets. They wanted to test this, but I refused. It's far too inhumane. 

We have also discovered he’s been there for generations. They had found a collection of folders called ‘Project Vein’, they didn’t even properly give him a name. I couldn’t stop myself from crying, knowing this man had gone through all that for some stupid fucking jewelry. Worst of all, when he saw me crying he straddled me licking my face and tried to comfort me, me. I couldn’t sleep that night, I didn’t even try. 

The company dissolved after the great depression and he had been there ever since. Wasting away as he waited for someone to come find him. Save him, give him orders. Good riddance. I don’t even want to know the names of the people working here… it would eat me up inside. 

We’ve been trying to teach him more and he’s picked up on it more and more. Instead of basic words, he’s relearned slightly more complex sentences. Thankfully, he’s a bit more social now and not just hovering around me and hissing and biting at the others. Not to say he doesn’t hover still but at least he’s not hostile to the others at camp. My father’s closest friends from work, he has taken great interest in Garnet. He keeps trying to feed him and get Garnet to spend time with him. Garnet is still wary of him. We did find out Garnet enjoys fruit. One in particular being a pomegranate. He couldn’t take his eyes off it. We gave it to him, and we watched as he peeled the flesh with such delicacy. No juice spilled from it unless it was already in his mouth. We all sat around and watched as he plucked seed after seed. He offered a handful to my colleague and myself before eating the rest. Ever since then, he’s been pestering us for ‘the tiny pom’. 

His body is nothing like the doctors have ever seen. They were able to take small tissue samples and do some check up and scans. The tissues turned to Garnets within a few minutes. After study, his flesh truly turned to the crystal. The Mineralogist explained that garnets have a few different species. He seems able to produce many species… I wasn’t aware there were species.... Chrome pyrope garnet seems to be the main one he produces. He’s only able to produce a red variety as far as we know. But even she doesn’t know if. His flesh produces Spessartine. She wanted to take samples from all over his body including bone and marrow samples, but I refused.  

I made sure they don’t go overboard with testing. As fascinating as he is, I cannot allow any mistreatment. 

January 25th 2016

We have been here for nearly a month and Garnet has made leaps and bounds worth of progress. His long hair had been bothering him so they went head and cut his hair. He perked up the minute they showed him his reflection and he came scrambling over to me asking if I liked it. It suits him, and now I don’t have to spend twenty minutes every morning combing it. 

He’s finally comfortable wearing clothing, much to everyone’s relief. With the cold, It only further proves the point that he is not bound by reality like us mortals. While he contains a stomach, he does not need to eat, he doesn’t need to sleep, the cold has no effect on him, he can have his body torn apart and beaten and still be fine, and heal it all away within a matter of hours. 

He is not a mortal creature. If my father had any say in this, he would have called it a god. Garnet ceaselessly creates from his body without the need for energy. What else could you call it? I’m not even sure myself. Father’s research says there are billions of them. Gods created from the ideas and concepts attached to them. He mentioned gemstones, devils, zodiac, animals, though gemstones are primarily the object of his interest. Garnet, amethyst, ruby, topaz and citrine. He claimed to have known about Garnet, his mother telling stories about him. I worry that my family was somehow involved with him. 

We’ve plucked through as much as we could inside, but sadly time has destroyed most of their research. What I've previously written down in my cataloging is simply all we have. Garnet doesn't seem to remember anything after the last visit to him. From what he's told me, a man had come up to him and told him to wait there. He waited and waited until I came. 

Everyone discussed what to do next. Without Garnet consenting to testing, there wasn’t much they could do. But when I told them about my father’s research, they asked if I was planning to see if there was more like Garnet. I had to admit it. If there were any more creatures like Garnet, I was willing to risk everything to find them. 

I really am my father’s child… 

They agreed to help me and asked what to do with Garnet, and honestly I had to think awhile about it. I simply just couldn’t let him go about the world on his own. I know it in my heart that he’d be taken advantage of the moment someone got him in his grasp. But keeping him with me? It is not like he’s some pet. I’d have to hide him, keep him safe. I’m not sure if I am up to the task. 

But seeing how Garnet curls up to me every single night, licking my fingers and hair, and nibbles at my shoulder just to hug and hold me, I knew I had to. I told the group I’d keep him by my side and Garnet was thrilled about it. He latched on and didn’t let go until bed. I’d have to return home to look more into my father’s notes. The people of my camp offered to help me get back without having to arouse suspicion from the public. I am privileged to have such lovely people surrounding me in this mission. When I told Garnet that we’d be traveling back home, his tail whipped around wildly, and he seemed to take pride in the fact I called it home for the both of us. I hope I can spoil him like he deserves. 

January 28th 2016

We ended up taking a train. We were able to have a whole private cart to ourselves, so I didn’t have to worry about Garnet getting overexcited and getting caught. I had to thank one of my dad’s old friends for that. 

He was pressed by the window the entire time, and he refused to let me squirm away. I was by his side with his hand around my waist as he watched trees and mountains go by. It was charming seeing how amazed he was. Every seat cushion he bounced on, the table he laid upon and lounged like a king. After so long alone, it was heartwarming to see him so enthusiastic about the world. 

I’d let him pick at my lunch and takes the things he wanted as I looked up more about Gemstones, mostly the ones about my dear new friend. 

From my dad’s rants, I remember him saying that humans assigning characteristics would result in a grain of truth. So I looked at what the birthstone would represent and their symbolism. It was sweet seeing him sniff and poke at my pad and pen. 

Loyalty, passion, healing, and protection were the most common aspects… and it would make sense for him. Loyal to the end. Waiting for someone to come find him. I have to push down all those hateful feelings. I have Garnet to look after. 

Maybe in the future we will find more about them, but for now I'm going to spend some time looking into my father’s things and making sure Garnet feels safe, loved, and taken care of. He deserves it. 

[randomvarious]

Today's compilation:

Bad Boys of Rock 1986 Hard Rock / New Wave / Power Pop / Pop-Rock / Blues-Rock

A few different thoughts about this silly record are running through my head right now, but I guess the most dominant one is that I feel like once the honorific of 'bad boy of rock' gets conferred upon you, you can no longer actually be a 'bad boy of rock,' because I think that's, like, one of the single-lamest things that anyone can ever consider you as. It's sort of like when a politician tries to use a piece of teen slang to seem hip or aware or 'down'—once they decide to put it out there, they themselves have pretty much ruined it for everyone else 👎.

Could you please just shut the fuck up?! 😵

But OK, let's say that I don't actually have a problem with this 'bad boy of rock' label and that I instead take it at face value. Fine. Are you folks ready for the first song that opens this fucker up then? It's gonna be some real 'bad boy' material, right? Nope. How about David Lee Roth doing a solo stint as a road-weary lounge singer and covering a fucking 1940s swing medley instead? And he even scats too! Like, what are we even doing here, man? This rendition of "Just a Gigolo" / "I Ain't Got Nobody" is legitimately one of the worst hits that I think I've ever heard in my life, so in that sense of the word, this song is *really* BAD, but I don't think that's the kind of 'bad' that Priority Records was trying to sell here, because, um, why would they?

And that's ultimately what I think makes this release so ridiculous. It's not really the music itself—because outside of that one DLR song, I do enjoy a bunch of the selection here—it's the idea that almost any of these people or their music would ever cause them to be referred to as 'bad boys of rock' in the first place. I mean, two-hit wonder power pop band Tommy Tutone who did "867-5309"? George Thorogood's dorky and gravelly blues-rock persona? Rockabilly revivalists Stray Cats, whose frontman Brian Setzer would later go on to lead his own swing orchestra and cover the same guy that David Lee Roth coincidentally covers on this record too? J. Geils Band's catchy "Centerfold"? Rod Stewart? You mean, *SIR* Rod Stewart? And MEAT LOAF?!?

We have plenty of hindsight now, of course, but I feel like, even when this record came out in 1986, there's just no way that people actually thought that those responsible for the music on here were rebellious at that point. *Maybe* Billy Idol, but find a different theme to group all these songs under, because this concrete-and-chain-link fence aesthetic that you've got on the cover here ain't workin', guys. If anything, this is more or less 'Bad Boys of Rock' for sleepy-suburban dads who've spent tens of thousands of dollars on a Harley and keep it in their linoleum floor garage so that they can take it out on Sunday afternoons in order to feel a tinge of freedom before being made to go back to their 9-to-5 the next day. Like, so freaking badass, you guys.

And, I mean, if we *really* wanted the baddest boys of rock on here, we need to go in a different direction altogether. We need, like, G.G. Allin on this thing, because, really, is there anything badder that someone can do as a performer than eat their very own poop on stage? Outside of an act of violence, I really don't think so!

So, let's see...yesterday was Women & Songs 4, today was Bad Boys of Rock...I guess that means tomorrow is going to be something like Good-Natured Enbies Who Prefer Silence Instead? 😅 Naw, it'll probably be, like, mid-90s techno or Wisconsinite 80s alternative or something or other.

✌️

Highlights:

Tommy Tutone - "867-5309 (Jenny)" Rod Stewart - "(I Know) I'm Losing You" Billy Idol - "Rebel Yell" Sammy Hagar - "Cruisin' & Boozin'" Stray Cats - "Rock This Town" J. Geils Band - "Centerfold"

[go-top-business]

Which Types of Security Gates are Right for You?

It cannot be overstated that in today's world, where security is a crucial consideration, experiencing the correct security gate installation is vital. No matter, if you want to protect your home, business, or any other property, without a doubt, making the right decision in terms of security gate selection, is the critical factor in providing maximum safety and security at your site. There are so many models in pursuit of optimal solutions that you may need clarification on which type of security gate is the most appropriate for you. Security gates can take different forms, from the simplest chain-link fences to automated barrier accessing, which is possible only with an access code. The kind of security gate that is applicable to a particular entity is determined mostly by the level of security required, the budget, and the size of the area to be secured.

Choosing a security gate depends on many factors, including the features of a particular facility and the perception of the value of the objects that are to be protected. Another factor is financial expenditure (for security gate repair, installation, maintenance, and updates). Knowing the different kinds of gates and their features beforehand is very important for having the most reliable safety system for your business. This guide will detail the various types of security gates available, equipping you with all the information you need to make the perfect choice for your needs.

The best type of security gate:

The perfect type of security gate depends on your company's specific requirements and specifications. Automated barrier systems are usually the safest choice for business buildings; chain-link fences or wrought iron gates work well for residential structures. If you need to manage both automobile and pedestrian traffic simultaneously, you might want to consider combining a variety of gate types. Finally, it's critical to carefully assess your demands before deciding on a security gate so that you can pick the finest solution for your specific circumstance.

Swing Gates Swing gates—also referred to as hinged gates—are among the most popular varieties of security gates in residential and commercial settings. These gates are hinged and swing open and closed on solid supports. They come in a range of materials, such as steel, aluminum, and wrought iron, and they have a traditional aesthetic appeal. Properties with plenty of space for the gates to swing open freely are perfect for swing gates.

Sliding Gates Sliding gates are a great option for homes with narrow driveways or restricted space, where swing gates might not be feasible. These gates work simply by sliding horizontally down a ground-installed track. They may be made to match a variety of architectural types and are quite secure. Their easy-to-use design and space-saving nature make them popular choices for both business and domestic settings.

Barrier Arm Gates Parking lots, toll booths, and other sites with controlled access frequently utilize barrier arm gates, usually referred to as boom gates. A horizontal arm that lifts and lowers to let or prohibit entry makes up these gates. Barrier arm gates come in both manual and automatic variants, making them perfect for effectively controlling vehicle traffic. They let authorized cars enter quickly and conveniently while providing a visual deterrent to unlawful entry.

Vertical Pivot Gates Vertical pivot gates, often called pivot lift gates, are a flexible choice appropriate for many different settings, such as warehouses, high-security installations, and industrial buildings. These gates open and close with the least amount of space needed since they pivot vertically around a central axis. For improved security management, vertical pivot gates may be combined with access control systems to provide robust security features.

Factors to Consider When Choosing a Security Gate

Security Requirements Assessing security requirements is the first factor to consider when deciding on the type of gate you go for. Other factors to consider include the type of security called for, the frequency of use, and any security threats your property or assets might be facing.

Space Constraints Consider the width and placement space of the security gate as well. Specify the kind of gate that would best respond to the functionality and suitability of your property layout and size. This can be either a hinged or a sliding gate.

Aesthetic Preferences Pick up the building style of the realty and decide on the security gate to match this design. Whether you like a more or less sleek/modern look or the right balance between the old and new/traditional and ornate appearance, the factory gates that you prefer can be found among plenty of companies that provide these security services.

Budgetary Considerations As budgeting will reduce the options presented and identify only a security gate that satisfies the financial limitations, then you will need to settle for. Besides the outright buying cost, you should also consider any other service and operating expenses throughout the life of the product.

Commercial vs. Residential Security Gates

Different facilities have different security needs, so the most suitable security gates would vary according to the type of facility. Commercial security gates are commonly used in front of office buildings and shopping centers; it's worth mentioning that an automated vehicle barrier system is the most appropriate option for such a situation. Commercial security gates generally come with a code lock or key fob to unlock them and may incorporate additional features such as CCTV cameras and intruder alarms. For residential facilities, a chain-link fence and an iron gate should be used as they will act as barriers. Automated entry gates can provide a secondary layer of security and can be incorporated if required. Yet, homeowners prefer sliding gates, which enable one to monitor and permit entry to the property without interfering with the gates.

Summary

choosing the appropriate security gate is a choice that has to be carefully considered. You may select a security gate installation for your property that offers the ideal blend of durability, usefulness, and style by taking into account variables, including financial limits, space limitations, aesthetic preferences, and security needs. Investing in a high-quality security gate is an investment in the safety and protection of your property, regardless of the type of gate you choose—swing, sliding, barrier arm, or vertical pivot.

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Fragile Lines [Chapter Ten] Damn [Ignacio "Nacho" Varga

A/n: Please enjoy.

Summary: As Ria's relationship with Nacho moves up a step, a sudden message spirals her into chaos.

Warning(s): flirting, tarot readings, anxiety.

No Minors Allowed!!

Ria was nervous, to say the least. She hummed quietly along with the radio as she followed Everly from her house on Briarcliff to Zuni Road. It was a short trip, one that left her mind reeling in thought. She was eager to see Nacho, but it had been so long since her interest in someone was so strong that she feared she'd fuck this up.

Which is why Ria was a wreck. The tarot reading she did this morning, waiting on Everly to get ready, left her feeling a bit emotional. She drew the Eight of Cups in the upright position, which in terms of love embodied either abandonment or feeling isolated. 

It was true that Ria felt lonely. Perhaps she was nervous because her past heartache damaged her a bit. It was completely her fault she and Benjamin broke up and the text she sent him the night Chuck was hospitalized indicated that she still thought about him from time to time.

But it's a new beginning; a time to move on.

Perhaps with Nacho or perhaps alone. 

Ahead, Ria noticed the turn light on Everly's Taurus flash. Her heart started hammering in her chest as she realized that they had arrived at the upholstery shop; a cozy L-shaped structure. She pulled into a parking spot near a section of chain link fence and got out of the car, taking an uneasy breath. 

"Ready?" Everly asked. She sauntered up beside the nervous woman. "Because I am."

"I wish I had your confidence," Ria uttered. 

Everly snorted.

"There can only be one me."

She took the brunette by the arm and pulled her to the front of the shop and through the front door. An elderly man with a mustache, wearing a white and black uniform shirt stood behind the counter. He turned his attention to the two women and smiled. 

"Hola (hello), welcome. How can I help you?" 

Everly released Ria's hand and nudged her in the side. 

"Um… I talked to Ignacio Varga on the phone about reupholstering my friend's car."

 The man raised a finger. 

"Un moment (one moment)."

He turned and faced the back where Ria could see employees working. 

"Nachito! ¡Tenemos clientes (we have customers)!" 

A moment later, the man in question appeared at the door. Ria couldn't hide her expression, smiling as Nacho made eye contact with her. He grinned and walked up to the counter. 

"Puedo cuidar de ellos, papá (I can take care of them, Dad)," Nacho stated to the man beside him. 

Ria wasn't fluent in Spanish, but she knew that the man Nacho was speaking to was his father. She knew Everly mentioned taking Spanish in high school as a credit, so perhaps she'd interoperate for her later. 

Her face heated up as she noticed the man's curious eyes on her.

"Tengo esto (I've got this)," the said man retorted. 

He grabbed a sample ring from the counter and motioned toward the door. 

"After you."

Everly took Ria by the arm and led her from the shop, sauntering toward her car. 

"Holy shit! I thought you were trying to pull one on me. He's hot. Are you sure he's the one?" The redhead asked.

Ria scoffed. 

"I can't believe you asked me that."

"I can't believe this guy is single," Everly retorted.

At her car, Everly opened the door and showed Nacho and his father the backseat; the latter turned to Nacho and uttered something in Spanish. 

"How did this happen?" He asked, motioning toward the torn upholstery.

Ria didn't know what to say. 

"Um… Well–"

"My crazy ex-girlfriend. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned," Everly answered with a laugh. 

Nacho hummed and turned his eyes to Ria, not looking convinced. He mentioned something to his dad, who in return spoke something back. 

"Do you want the same material? Or something new? The difference is that it's going to cost more."

Everly grinned.

"El dinero no es problema (money is no problem)."

The elderly man nodded and listened as the redhead explained what she wanted. In the meantime, Ria stood to the side with Nacho as they continued to barter.

"I was beginning to think you wouldn't show up," he stated. 

"It almost sounds like you missed me," Ria teased.

Nacho grinned.

"And if I did."

"Then I'm not the only one," she retorted. "It's been a strange week."

Nacho wondered if she was referring to work or something more personal. He leaned in a bit, needing to get her to open up to him more. 

"Better now, no?"

"A lot better," Ria uttered honestly. 

Her heart was pounding in her ears. She was almost grateful when his father interrupted their brief conversation, smiling at her. 

"It was nice to meet you."

Were they already done? 

"And you as well, sir," Ria retorted, offering him a smile back. 

"Manuel," he insisted. 

Ria shook her head in understanding. 

"I'm Ariana."

With a wave, Manuel turned to Nacho and patted his shoulder.

"Ella es linda (she is cute)."

He motioned for Everly to follow him back inside for a copy of her invoice and receipt, leaving the two alone again; the cute thumbs up from Everly didn't go unnoticed by Ria. 

"You know, if you wanted to see me so badly, you could have asked," Nacho mentioned with a grin. 

"I take it you don't believe the ex-girlfriend story," Ria uttered with a look of guilt. 

He was too smart. 

"Your friend has an interesting way of meeting people," Nacho stated. 

He had no clue. Ria took an uneasy breath. 

"She wanted an excuse to meet you… And an excuse for me to see you again, as I'm apparently nervous when it comes to these things." 

"So you like me, but you're shy," Nacho interpreted.

It was good to see that he was making some progress with her. The shyness he could work with. 

The meaning of the Eight of Cups came to mind again and she nodded.

"I'm out of the game. Don't tease." 

A warm hand on her shoulder made her heart race.

"Then make your next move," Nacho insisted. 

Was he serious? She reckoned that it was true to say that Everly and Nacho got her this far. Each laid some sort of stepping stone for her, pushing her closer to him. It would stress Everly out if she didn't use the chance given to arrange another date with him.

"I don't go back to work until the day after tomorrow; 3 on 2 off, if you want to come over. It's not a fancy night out, but I can rent a movie and order takeout, or cook," Ria offered. 

"I'm interested," Nacho replied. 

She was thankful. 

"Let me get something to write my address down on for you."

"I'll remember it," Nacho retorted as he tapped his head.

The truth was, he already knew where she lived. He watched her sleep as a horror movie played in the background. It was a stalkerish thing to do, but he often staked out houses through the night when he was robbing them. 

Ria told him her address and apartment number, seeing Everly saunter out of the shop from the corner of her eye. She supposed it was time to go. 

"I'll let you get back to work."

She had to take Everly home anyway, then maybe try to contact her brother again. He still was ignoring her calls. If it weren't for Kim, she wouldn't bother.

Choosing not to let her chance slip by, Ria closed the gap and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Goodbye."

With a wave, Ria walked over to her car and unlocked the doors. Everly seemed about ready to burst; she wasn't even holding back her smile as Nacho walked by, going back into the shop. The fleeting look he gave the brunette made her feel faint. 

"So?"

Ria took an uneasy breath and got in. 

"We have a date at my place tomorrow."

The redhead clapped her hands but upon seeing the exhausted look on Ria's face, she raised a brow.

"Why am I more excited than you?"

"Because you live and breathe this kind of thing," Ria retorted with a snort.

Everly simply agreed, ushering her on. 

"I don't know what it is about this man that makes me so nervous. It's infuriating," Ria explained. She gripped the wheel tightly. 

"There's nothing wrong with feeling nervous around a person you want to potentially take to bed," the redhead stated. 

She was bad. But Ria knew that she was right. There wasn't anything wrong with her. She just hoped that come tomorrow, her anxiety would take a break and allow her to have a little fun. 

"What did you think about him?" 

"No doubt he's hot, but I think maybe I've seen him around before. I can't remember where though. Maybe a restaurant," Everly claimed. "All I can remember is the guy he was around looked shady. That's a tiny red flag, but honestly, I can't say much, I've slept with shadier-looking people at bars."

Ria shook her head. At least she was honest. She'd be sure to consider her words though. 

As she started the car, the vibration of her phone alerted her of a message. Ria quickly checked it, feeling her good mood completely drop as she read Benjamin's message. 

I'm in Albuquerque for the week. We need to talk soon. 

Damn. 

Nacho seemed like such an intelligent person and his sex appeal was off the charts. If Ria were more promiscuous, more like her redheaded friend then she would have thrown caution to the wind and invited him to her house the moment he teased her, however, she wanted to see what intentions he had for her first. 

[congregamus]

TW: Abuse — physical, emotional, sexual

I'm eventually going to have to settle on a narrative for a new therapeutic relationship, so I might as well figure out what I mean. Anyway, here's "Wonderwall"

++++++++

Sing, muse, of the childhood tumultuous; first of love, abuse-heavy and denied, the same red as the blood-colored earthen clay from which this Adam-Eve was formed; of promises, broken and innumerable; sing also of poverty both feigned and real, material and spiritual; of trust betrayed; sing loudest of all in praise of cocks, over-large and mysterious as Life itself.

For one of my first memories is of cock. I don’t remember which of us decided that my neighbor’s penis, squished between his fingers and through the chain-link of the boundary fence, ought to be near my mouth. I remember only that “the kiss” intended for it did not last long, for it was interrupted by my mother’s harsh two-named cry towards me, reserved for when I was in the greatest of trouble. She had apparently seen from the small window over the kitchen sink where she washed dishes. 

I was in fact, as her tone indicated, in great trouble, and that neighbor and I were not allowed to see each other for (I think) a 6-week period – what I remember was that it seemed like an extraordinarily long period of time to my child-brain. I was probably 5 or 6 years old when this happened, and my neighbor was my same age.

I don’t remember if the event caused me to get a beating, but it certainly seems likely, as my sister Toni and I were beaten very regularly, and for entirely arbitrary reasons. For example, when I was around 10 years old, my father’s friend group rediscovered “Yes, sir,” and “No, sir,” culture, and the way we were taught the habit was that every time we failed to answer a question directed to us with “sir” or “ma’am”, we received another beating. 

My sister and I were summarily beaten when it was determined that we needed it – she until she married and moved into the home of another man who continued to beat her, and who added rape to the list of things she had to survive. I, on the other hand, bent the knee only until the age of 16, at which time I ripped the belt he’d aggressively taken off out of my father’s raised hand and threatened to use it on him. That was the last time my father tried to beat me.

I do not remember the trigger for the beginning of my liberation from my father’s abuse. I only remember that it happened, eventually, when I almost became the abuser in return. I am very thankful that I did not hurt my father in response to his constant abuse, however unintentional.

Even still, I am tempted to apologize for my abuser. He was not a “bad man” as determined by our culture – self-identified “country” folks in Morgan County, Alabama, the Pride of the Deep South, during the late 1970s, 80s, an early 1990s. 

My mother describes my birth in August of 1977 in the following way in her memoir:

The baby was due August 3, so I worked until the last of July, and then took maternity leave. I had decided I wouldn’t spend forever in the labor room by myself this time, so we took the childbirth classes so Gary could be with me through it all. He wasn’t real [sic] excited about the idea, but he was a sport and did it anyway. He was there when I got pregnant, so it was only fair that he was there when I got unpregnant."

[It ought to be noted here that my mother casually mentions her sex life in a way that I was never allowed. But that’s neither here nor there. She continues:]

The doctor gave me a shot in the twat so he could do an episiotomy and Greg was born with a scratch on his head where he was already trying to get out when I got the shot. Finally when I thought I couldn't stand it another minute, out he came. August 8, 1977 10:29 P.M. ****** Gregory ******* was born. 

The doctor delivering assigned me a male gender as was very traditional at the time, but it has become clear over the course of my life that gender is for other people. I don’t really need it. Mother goes on to talk about how there was no need to smack me as I emerged crying (“on key”, she opines). I would certainly get my share of smacks, but I seem to have avoided my first one.