#Thread & Supply

[sunandsstars]

HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS

Recombinants x Medic!Reader

Summary: An unlikely group of people find a home in their cute little human doctor.

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of wounds/death/hurting animals

Word count: 1.6k

“Ouch!”

“Sorry! I did tell you it would burn” ___ swiped the alcohol wipe across Lopez’s blue arm, cleaning the deep wound from dirt and bacteria. She grabbed a needle and thread out of the medkit on the floor and carefully stitched him up.

“Don’t be a pussy Lp” Brown stuck his tongue out, tail flicking every which way, hitting Mansk behind him who swatted at the appendage and rolled his eyes, not that anyone could see them under the shades.

“Hey! This is a crazy ass gash on my arm! Let me cry dickface” Lopez stuck up the middle finger of the hand that wasn’t getting treated and ___ slapped it, instructing him not to get into petty fights until after she’s done.

“Will you lot stop pulling each others cocks for one minute?” their colonel strolled into the med bay with Wainfleet right behind him, both ducking under the small doorway to get into the room. “How’s it looking doc?”

“He’ll be ok, it shouldn’t get infected if treated correctly, just make sure to change the bandages every once in a while” ___ finished the last of the stitches she sewed, putting away her equipment. Being a doctor on Pandora had its pros, her income was higher than any other job on Earth, she got to be the first of the human race to live on another planet, she also got to have free roam of Bridgehead since she was highly ranked which was cool.

The cons however, were that she had to be apart of Project Phoenix. Assisting the recombinant squad, ‘deja blu’ was not what she signed up for and at first she was very reluctant, until she actually spent time with them. They were sweet and gentle with her, knowing that she was physically much weaker than them, they took care of her and also each other. Somewhat, they were a family.

Also the soldiers were fucking hot.

“Good. Lopez that was some stupid shit you pulled back there. Could’ve gotten us killed” Quaritch’s heavy steps stomped over to the two and flicked the mans pointed ear, Lopez winced and ___ huffed a laugh.

“Sorry colonel, just got too excited”

“If you want to be excited again, you have the opportunity to get out once you’re done here” General Ardmore made herself known, glaring at every person in the room “I need you on the front lines, take on those big ass animals that are blocking our train lines, they haven’t moved for days so we’re gonna amp up the pressure”

Some of the squad quietly sighed, they just came back from a mission, one that almost got them eaten by a giant black cat, not to mention one of them is injured enough as is.

“General, Lopez here needs to rest, he’s hurt enough as is” ___ intervened, holding the man’s massive hand and squeezing it in reassurance, she knew by the way his ears pointed down that he didn’t want to go out so soon, especially after almost getting his arm hacked off. Ardmore only directed her glare to the woman, making her freeze and look down.

She was one intimidating lady.

“General, we’ll be out there as soon as my guys are rested, it shouldn’t take long” Quaritch piped up, not wanting their doctor to face the older ladies rath of judgement.

Ardmore nodded sharply and sighed heavily, not liking the delay but this wasn’t her team to command… well it was…but Quaritch was a man that she didn’t want to get on the bad side of. Recom or human. She briskly turned and marched out but not before giving them three days rest to recover and gather supplies. She’d just have to send some Bulldogs instead.

Lopez sighed and squeezed ___’s hand in thanks for sticking up for him, he released it and stood up from his chair, Brown coming over and clapping him on the back “you guys wanna go to the rec room? Ja and Zhang are waiting for us”, many agreed and followed suit, Wainfleet and Quaritch sticking behind for ___.

The doctor packed her equipment away and took off her lab coat off, nodding to the two as they filed out. “So.. what exactly happened out there?” she usually was on these missions with them, but she had to tend to some paperwork with the bio scientists.

“We ran into one of those.. what are they called, thanators? Nasty fuckers” Wainfleet strolled up next to her, tail flicking and sending her hair up a little, he grinned and messed with her more, using his tail to flick more of her neatly kept hair.

___ turned and slapped his leg, smoothing her hair down and jogged a little further to get away from him. “Yeah, they’re not very nice. You must’ve been in their hunting zone - stop that!” she grinned as Lyle followed her around “just because I have hair and you don’t!”

Quaritch snorted “docs got a point corporal, but that burn runs deeper than Lp’s kitty scratches, how you gonna take that?” he was a few ways back from them, ears pointed up and grin on his face at their silliness. He could hear more of his team in one of the rooms further up laughing and chatting, Prager had a secret lover? Now that is something he’d need to find out.

“Well for one, sleep with both eyes open and a nightlight, for two-” The soldier grabbed ___ by the waist and hoisted her up over his shoulder, slapping her ass and barging into the recom’s rec room shouting “this little lady has been bullying me about my hair! We needa teach her a lesson”

Zdinarsk sharply turned at the loud noise and saw the predicament the two were in, ___ was dangling with her face barely reaching Lyle’s lower back, her tiny fists hitting the muscle as she shouted for mercy. The soldier hollered “what hair?!” and the rest followed with shouts of their own, oh the agony.

Wainfleet pointed his middle finger at every single one of them, including Quaritch behind him who was chuckling loudly. He placed the human in his arms onto one of the couches and forced her onto her back, easily pinning her with just one hand. His yellow eyes met hers and she instantly tensed up “no! NO! Lyle please don’t!” the man only grinned devilishly and raised his other hand slowly “Lyle I promise I’ll do anything!”

“Anything?”

“Yes anything! I’ll bake you those brownies you like!” Man did he love those brownies.

“Hmm, what do you think people?” Lyle glanced at everyone in the room to see their opinions.

Zhang twisted around and raised his brows “I dunno corp, she disrespected you and your lack of hair, she deserved what’s coming to her”

“Zhang!”

“Yea give it to her!” Fike pumped a fist into the air and Mansk nodded cooly.

“The people have spoken darlin’ you could still make me those sweets anyway” ___ screeched as the solder brought the hand down and tickled at her skin, going across the stomach, under the pits, under her chin. Her greatest weakness is that she’s ticklish, ever since they found that out she’s been exploited to the harsh fingers of the recombinants.

The doctor had tears going out of her eyes as she laughed at the feeling “I-I’m sorry! ahaha! I did- I didn’t mean to!” she felt Wainfleet slow down to a stop, nodding and patting her head as she breathed heavily. A flicker appeared in his eyes and she instantly put her hands up, knowing he would probably do it again.

Prager strolled by and rugby tackled Lyle to the floor, taking him down and wrestling him. All ___ could see from her position was tails swinging and legs flailing, she breathed heavily and sat up, carefully avoiding the almost ten foot men.

She strolled over to Quaritch who engaged himself in a game of cards with Ja, Zdinarsk and Fike. She examined the A4 cards he held then the ones on the table and plucked one from his fingers, placing it down. “Fuck” Zdinarsk swore, cursing whatever god was out there for this treachery, she was losing. Z-Dog never loses. “You know, I thought I liked you sweetness” ___ just stuck her tongue out in retaliation. Fike urged the doctor to help him out too, only to get a card thrown at him by Zdinarsk.

“How are you doing Lopez?” ___ strolled over to the man who was watching T.V with Zhang and Brown, he grabbed the little lady and perched her onto his lap.

“Good mami. It’s gonna take more than a fat cat to tear me down”

“Oorah!”

___ glanced over the man’s shoulder at Wainfleet who agreed and flexed his muscles, marines will be marines, she laughed.

“Don’t act like you weren’t crying earlier because of the pain” Brown chimed in, eyes glancing at the two next to him, he reached a hand over to rest it on ___’s calf, rubbing circles on it.

“I didn’t cry”

“Yes you did, whining like Prager when he got dumped by his secret lover”

‘Prager had a secret lover?’ ___ wondered. Tea is brewing, she had a feeling it was gonna be good.

“I’ll stick my tail in your ass if you don’t shut your fucking mouth”

“I’m counting on it”

“Cut it out!”

[starzwithapen]

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

VIVA / GN!READER / CLAY ☆ poly dating hcs !

Headcanons for being in a polyamorous relationship with these two !! Reader is gender neutral and this is ENTITRELY self indulgent lmao the target audience is ME

⭑˚₊‧° ♢ 𓆩♡𓆪 ♢ °‧₊˚⭑

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

☆ if you're more bubbly and excitable like Viva- you and her team up to help Clay unwind after work, walking into the admin building every few minutes to help him take regular breaks

☆ if you're more serious like Clay, you and him help Viva stay grounded and not get too in over herself from excitement- making sure she calms down and thinks things through

☆ they're both very grateful for having you, and they show it in different ways!

☆ just know you'll always be sporting a little braid in your hair throughout the day- Viva loves to add little hair charms so you two can match [and tries to rope Clay into it, too]

☆ all three of you have matching bracelets, and you'd be surprised to know that it was actually Clay who made them! The thread is tied off a little sloppily, but he tried to join you and Viva in something you both loved, and it warmed your heart and had Viva squealing

☆ Clay tries to be smooth and subtle but Viva gets too impatient lol

- "Sooo.....I was thinking-" "We want to go out with you." "HEY- I was gonna, y'know, build up to it!" "You were taking too loonnggg!"

☆ I'd actually imagine you or Clay had to be the ones to confess! Viva's a very affectionate person in general, but with something as delicate and important to her as this, she's scared of changing your dynamic and what it could bring [and is afraid of either of you not feeling the same and leaving her behind]

☆ Once she gets over that initial fear the PDA is amped up by 100! She's holding your hands and dragging you across the golf course, constant hugging and kisses in public

☆ Clay's a little more quiet about it- he doesn't want the other trolls thinking he's gone soft, but....he'll link his pinkie with yours and lean down to kiss your forehead when no one's looking

☆ They're not the type to get jealous- Viva loves seeing you and Clay being all cute together, and Clay's glad you two have each other when he's busy with work

☆ Speaking of- if Clay's taking too long working on something and won't take a break? You and Viva are sitting behind him on the couch being as dramatic and ridiculous as possible

☆ "ohhh....I'm just so cold and miserable....if only our boyfriend would give us the time of day!" Viva slumps back on the cushions and puts a hand across her heart, trying to hold back her smile, "Viva, it's hopeless....he cares only for calculus and equations, the cheater." You both look at each other and burst out into a fit of giggles. Clay sighs and turns his chair around, opening his arms wide for a hug "fine, fine. Get over here."

☆ It gets a little hard to cuddle with 3 people [and a work table that Clay insists on, because these supplies won't order themselves] but you all make it work

- it's usually Clay in the middle, you sat in his lap with your arms wrapped around his waist, and Viva behind the both of you fiddling with Clay's hair and gossiping with you

☆ Clay really likes reading aloud to you both- he knows Viva can't sit still long enough to finish his favorite books, though she does try, and he doesn't really mind it. Reading out loud to you makes it more of a date activity, and your reactions make reading all the more fun

- [especially when Viva gasps at the plot twists and you fumble over Clay's shoulder to make sure he's not messing with you, and the book really did say that]

☆ Viva LOVES sleepovers, and you three usually have them at your place. While Viva's house is perfect for sleepovers, she tends to get too lazy to make her bed [and you'd rather not sleep on sticky candy], and Clay's bedroom is just.....well.

- "it's distinguished!" "No- no, Clay, it's just sad."

☆ Clay's surprisingly clingy in the mornings- while Viva's up and ready to go, rushing to bring you a mug of your favorite drink and kiss you, Clay's clinging onto you and shoving his head into your back to stay away from the sunlight

☆ Viva can really unwind with you, being open and vulnerable without the fear of being weak or being left behind- she knows you'll always be there, by her side

☆ Clay can be his true self around you, without forcing himself to have this serious image all the time- he knows you see him for all he is, and if he has fun around you it won't be all you define him as

☆ The putt putt trolls all know you're a close trio- to the point that seeing any of you without the other two feels wrong somehow, even before you all started dating

[bholanathprecisionengnieering]

𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗟𝗔 𝗛𝗶𝗴𝗵 𝗦𝗽𝗲𝗲𝗱 𝗣𝗻𝗲𝘂𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗰 𝗥𝗲𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗲𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁 (𝗜𝗻𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲)

🞉 Push button up and down movement with power supply unit.

🞉 Available in both inline and space saving parallel motor combinations.

🞉 Compact in size.

🞉 Push & Pull Load Range -5 to 160Kg.

🞉 Feed Speed Range- 5 to 10MM/SEC.

🞉 Horizontal and vertical applications

🞉 Actuator Customization with IP rating, Flame proof, sub-zero, CE &

🞉 EMC marked and High temperature.

🞉 Actuator can be available with stepper motor or 3 Phase AC servo motor.

🞉 Actuator can be available with encoder feedback (Incremental & absolute

encoder).

🞉 Mode of control - PLC, Switch, Modbus, analog (voltage & currant) mode.

🞉 Accessories: Thread Extension, Lever Bracket, Pivot Joint Bracket

Mounting, Bracket and Guide Rod.

ERSLA High Speed Pneumatic Replacement has a option of 𝗜𝗻𝗯𝘂��𝗹𝘁 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗴. This is a programmed fixed feed speed, ready to use, with single phase supply (230VAC/110VAC). Single switch or double switch with power supply, 1 meter cable and single phase 230VAC/110VAC input.

For More Info

https://bholanath.in/.../electric-rod-style-linear...

Contact us:- +91-9821671733 / +91-9920903825 /+91 - 22 - 69181700.

Email us: support@bholanath.in

#Bholanath#Bholanathsteppermotor

#bholanthprecisionengineeringpvtlimited

#Thane#Bholanathfactorywashind#commitedtopercision

#manufacturer#Producer#steppermotor#stepservomotor#controller#completeautomation#machines#assembliesERSLA

#BholanathElectronicrodlinearactuator

#Inbuiltstepperdriver#patentedtechnology#PushButtonTechnology#CommunicationOptions#Modbus#Ratings#Brake #Incrementalencoder#AbsoluteEncoder#StepServoMotor#singlephasesupply#Singleswitchmode#Doubleswitchmode

[africanvalve123]

Control Valve Supplier in Nigeria

African Valve stands as a leading Control Valve supplier in Nigeria. Control valves are devices designed to manipulate the flow rate, pressure, or direction of a fluid in various industrial processes. They are used in a wide range of industries including oil and gas, chemical processing, power generation, water treatment, and many others where precise control of fluid flow is critical for efficient and safe operation.

Here are some features of Control valve:

Flow control: These valves provide precise control over the flow of fluids, gases, or other process variables;this feature is crucial for maintaining optimal performance and efficiency in various industrial applications.

Pressure Regulation: Help to regulate pressure within a system by adjusting the valve opening in response to changes in upstream or downstream pressure conditions.

Safety: Control valves can be used to regulate the flow of hazardous fluids or gases, ensuring that they are handled safely and minimizing the risk of accidents.

Temperature Control: Control valves equipped with temperature sensors or actuators which regulate the fluid temperature by adjusting the flow of heating or cooling media. 

Reduced maintenance: They are designed to operate reliably for extended periods with minimal maintenance, reducing downtime and maintenance costs.

Versatility: Control valves are available in a variety of materials, including stainless steel, brass, bronze, to accommodate different fluid types, temperatures, and corrosive environments. Proper material selection is essential to ensure long-term reliability and performance of control valves in specific applications.

Types of Control valve we supply:

Globe control valves

Electric control valve

Pneumatic control valve

Electric double seat control valve

Electric single seat control valve

Pneumatic angle control valve

Three-way control valves

Industries:

Chemical processing: These valves are widely used to regulate the flow of fluids and gases during chemical processes.

Power generation: They are used to regulate the flow of steam and other fluids used in the generation of electricity.

Water and Wastewater Treatment: Control valves are essential components in water treatment plants, where they regulate the flow of water, chemicals, sewage, sludge, and treatment chemicals.

Oil and Gas Industry: Control Valve are used extensively in the oil and gas industry to regulate the flow of fluids, gases, and other process variables during the production and processing of oil and gas. as well as control pressure and temperature.

Description:

Body Materials: Ductile Iron, Cast iron (WCB, WCC, WC6)  LCC, LCB, Stainless Steel (SS316, SS304),  Super Duplex (F51, F53, F55)

Class: 150 to 2500, PN10 to PN450

Operations: Electro Pneumatic and Pneumatic

Size: DN15 to DN600

Ends: Flanged, butt weld, socket weld, threaded

Electric actuator details:

Torque – 3 – 9 nm

Operating pressure- 8 Bar

Port Connection-NPT 1.4”

Mounting Base-ISO5211

Temperature–20°C – +80°C

Configuration of a Pneumatic Actuator:

4-20 amp

Pneumatic single acting actuators

Pneumatic double acting actuators

Pneumatic rotary actuators

Pneumatic Scotch and Yoke actuators

Pressure: 228 bar

Temperature:

Standard -4°F to 200°F (-20°C to 93°C)

Low -40°F to 176°F (-40°C to 80°C)

High 0°F to 300°F (-18°C to 149°C)

Visit our website for more detail: https://www.africanvalve.com/product-category/control-valve/

[productbehindreviews]

SINGER Heavy Duty 4452 Sewing Machine

Introduction

Introducing the SINGER Heavy Duty 4452 Sewing Machine in Gray, a powerhouse in the world of sewing machines designed to tackle any sewing project with ease. Whether you’re a professional seamstress, a DIY enthusiast, or a beginner just starting your sewing journey, this machine is built to meet your needs and exceed your expectations.

The SINGER Heavy Duty 4452 is known for its exceptional durability and reliability. With a sturdy metal frame and a powerful motor, this machine can handle heavy fabrics and multiple layers with precision and speed. From denim and leather to canvas and upholstery, this sewing machine can sew through it all, making it a perfect choice for quilting, home décor, garment construction, and more.

Features

BrandSINGERColorGrayMaterialMetalProduct Dimensions6.25″D x 15.5″W x 12″HItem Weight14.6 PoundsPower SourceAc/DcIs ElectricYes

Additional Details

SINGER HEAVY DUTY SEWING MACHINE: The SINGER Heavy Duty 4452 sewing machine boasts an array of features that make creating elegant garments and gifts for yourself and others fun and exciting. The Sewing machine with 32 built-in stitches includes 6 Basic, 7 Stretch, 18 Decorative Stitches and 1 Fully Automatic 1-step Buttonholes. A large variety of stitches for all types of sewing and perfect for crafts, home decor, clothing construction and much more.6.25″ sewing space (needle to tower) and 4.25″ height

AUTOMATIC NEEDLE THREADER SEWING MACHINE: After following the threading path printed right on the machine, this built-in feature helps you to effortlessly thread the eye of the needle without eye strain or frustration, Machine Size – 15.5 x 6.25 x 12 inches

HIGH-SPEED SEWING MACHINE: The Singer 4452 sewing machine has a maximum sewing speed of 1,100 stitches-per-minute, so projects can be sewn quickly. The 60% Stronger Motor than standard sewing machines allows it to sew through heavyweight fabrics with ease.

110 Stitch Applications for any fabric

BEST SELLING SEWING MACHINE: The SINGER Heavy Duty 4452 sewing machine is a true workhorse. The stainless steel bedplate enables smooth fabric flow and the heavy duty interior metal frame ensures skip-free sewing. Top drop-in bobbin is easy to insert, remove and monitor thread supply

This sewing machine is warranted for use in the US and Canada at 110 volts only

Amps (0.7) / Watts (84) / Volts (120V) / Hertz (60)

6.25″ sewing space (needle to tower) and 4.25″ height

Read More>>

[madhulikaaustvalves]

Control Valve Manufacturer in Australia

Australian Valve is the leading Control Valve Manufacturer in Australia. We supply to cities like Sydney, Melbourne, Perth. A control valve is a device that regulates the flow of fluids such as liquids, gases, and slurries in a pipeline.

Description

Available Materials: Ductile Iron Control Valve, Cast iron Control Valve (WCB, WCC, WC6) LCC, LCB, Stainless Steel (SS316, SS304), Super Duplex (F51, F53, F55)

Class: 150 to 2500

Nominal Pressure: PN10 to PN450

Medium: Air, Water, Chemical, Steam, Oil

Size: 1/2”- 24”

Ends:Flanged, butt weld, socket weld, threaded

Operations: Electro-Pneumatic and Pneumatic

Electric actuator details:

Torque – 3 – 9 nm

Operating pressure- 8 Bar

Port Connection-NPT1.4”

Mounting Base-ISO5211

Temperature--20°C - +80°C

Configuration of a Pneumatic Actuator:

4-20 amp

Pneumatic single acting actuators

Pneumatic double acting actuators

Pneumatic rotary actuators

Pneumatic Scotch and Yoke actuators

Pressure: 228 bar

Temperature:

Standard -4°F to 200°F (-20°C to 93°C)

Low -40°F to 176°F (-40°C to 80°C)

High 0°F to 300°F (-18°C to 149°C)

Visit our website- https://www.australianvalve.com/product-category/control-valve/

[middleeastvalve01]

Control Valve Supplier UAE

Middleeast Valve is one of the largest Control valve supplier UAE. We supply to cities like Dubai, Abu Dhabi, and Sharjah.  A control valve is a type of valve used in process industries to regulate the flow of fluids or gases. It is typically used to control the rate of flow, pressure, temperature, or level of a process fluid. Control valves are used in a wide range of applications, including oil and gas, chemical processing, water treatment, power generation, and many others.

A control valve consists of a valve body, a valve trim, and an actuator. The valve body contains the fluid or gas passage and is typically made of materials such as cast iron, steel, or stainless steel. The valve trim is the internal components of the valve that control the flow of fluid or gas, and may include a disk, seat, stem, and other components. The actuator is the mechanism that operates the valve and may be electric and pneumatic

The operation of a control valve is typically controlled by a controller or a process automation system, which sends a signal to the actuator to adjust the position of the valve trim. This, in turn, adjusts the flow rate or other process parameters to maintain the desired conditions. Control valves are essential components in many industrial processes, as they help ensure efficient and safe operation.

Middleeast Valve is a reputed Control valve supplier UAE and also manufactures the best quality valves. We specialize in the engineering, design, manufacturing and supplying of our valves.

Parts:

Eye Bolt

Diaphragm

Spring

Actuator Stem

Scale Plate

Stem Connector

Yoke

Packing Flange

Gland Packing

Valve Stem

Gasket

Types of control valve:

Three-way control valve

Cage type control valve

Double seat control valve

O type shutoff control valve

Single Seat control valve

Water Control valve

Globe Control valve

Angle type control valve

Advantages of control valve: 

Fast and successful functioning.

Totally secure and reliable.

Long-lasting functioning.

Compact design which promotes low space use.

Industries which use them:

Oil and Gas Industry

Pipeline Industry

Marine Industry

Power Industry

Nuclear Industry

Mining Industry

Chemical Industry

Petrochemical Industry

Steam Services Industry

Description:

Available Materials: Ductile Iron Control Valve, Cast iron Control Valve(WCB, WCC, WC6)  LCC, LCB, Stainless Steel (SS316, SS304),  Super Duplex (F51, F53, F55)

Class: 150 to 2500

Nominal Pressure: PN10 to PN450

Medium: Air, Water, Chemical, Steam, Oil

Operations: Electro Pneumatic and Pneumatic

Size: 1/2”- 24”

Ends: Flanged, butt weld, socket weld, threaded

Electric actuator details:

oTorque – 3 – 9 nm

oOperating pressure- 8 Bar

oPort Connection-NPT1.4”

oMounting Base-ISO5211

oTemperature--20°C - +80°C

Configuration of a Pneumatic Actuator:

1)4-20 amp

2)Pneumatic single acting actuators

3)Pneumatic double acting actuators

4)Pneumatic rotary actuators

5)Pneumatic Scotch and Yoke actuators

6)Pressure: 228 bar

Temperature:

1)Standard -4°F to 200°F (-20°C to 93°C)

2)Low -40°F to 176°F (-40°C to 80°C)

3)High 0°F to 300°F (-18°C to 149°C)

Visit us: https://www.middleeastvalve.com/product-category/control-valve/

[henryblog69]

There are 110 distinct stitching options for all types of fabric

Singer Heavy Duty 4452 vs 4432 If the proper needle, presser foot, thread, and stitch settings are used following the weight and thickness of the leather, it is possible to sew leather using this machine. A PDF version of an accessory brochure can be available on Singer's website. You can download this booklet and use it as a guide to figure out what needles, feet, and sewing settings to use for sewing various types and weights of cloth, leather, vinyl, and other materials. Try performing a web search for "singer accessories" if you are having problems finding the Singer website. Although I haven't tried or played with the H 5532, it looks from what I've read online that the H 5532 differs from other sewing machines in that it offers more stitch options. The basic stitches are present on both the Singer 4432 and the Singer 5532, although the latter has a few extras. The machine works in the same manner regardless of its attachments. For me, the Singer 4432 has been an excellent instrument. When it comes to stitching, denim, and other thick fabrics are no problem for me. You should select that one rather than the other if you desire more ornamental stitching. The rest cannot be altered in any way. There are 110 distinct stitching options for all types of fabric. Program for Drop-In Bobbins with a Transparent Cover and an Easy-Load Top The bobbin is incredibly easy to insert because it is loaded from the top. It is simple to monitor the supply of bobbin thread because the cover is transparent. 0.7 amps, 84 watts, 120 volts, 60 hertz, and 4.25 inches in height, with a stitching space of 6.25 inches from needle to tower. The warranty only covers the use of this sewing machine at 110 volts, and it can only be used in the United States and Canada. HEAVY-DUTY SEWING MACHINE SINGER Making lovely clothing and presents for oneself and others are exciting and fun thanks to the Singer Heavy Duty 4452 sewing machine's many capabilities. It has a stronger piercing ability and can sew up to 1,100 stitches per minute. The sturdy support provided by the heavy-duty frame enhances the product's stability and long-term durability. needle threader with automated function This function will automatically thread the needle's eye after you have successfully threaded the machine, saving you from having to strain your eyes or become frustrated. Alterations, belts, rings, bulbs, and attachments have a limited guarantee of 90 days; motors, light assemblies, wiring, switches, and electronic components have a limited warranty of 2 years; and the sewing machine's head has a 25-year warranty. The Drop Feed Provides More Options Just move the drop feed lever in the desired direction to release the feed dogs. It works incredibly well for creative free-motion sewing tasks like buttoning, darning socks and pants, and buttoning. rapid-fire sewing machine With a maximum sewing speed of 1,100 stitches per minute, the Singer 4452 stitching machine makes it possible to finish assignments quickly. It has a motor that is 60% more powerful than those found in standard sewing machines, making it easy to sew through heavyweight fabrics. needle threader with automated function The machine can be threaded entirely in a matter of seconds because the process is so straightforward, taking you from the spool to the needle's eye. The most widely used sewing machine overall and a true workhorse is the Singer Heavy Duty 4452. The stitching process won't skip thanks to the machine's sturdy metal frame, and the stainless steel bed plate allows for easy fabric flow. The thread supply may be easily checked, removed, and inserted into bobbins with a top drop-in design.

[heritagecollectibles]

3 Dozen Spools of Vintage Thread in a Wood Box

3 Dozen Spools of Vintage Thread in a Wood Box

Most of the 30+ small spools in this box appear to be unused. The thread colors are very nice, mostly in pale shades.  There is one bobbin with thread on it, and a couple of smaller spools of thread. Condition:  The spools of thread are all in excellent condition.  The box has cracked underneath, but still is sturdy and functional. Dimensions:  The box is 6 1/2″ in diameter; 4 3/4″ high.  FIRM…

[coldprimavera]

Thread by @wwxwashere on Twitter

⚠️ WHAT IS HAPPENING IN BRAZIL: a thread ⚠️

am i going insane or more of the world should care about a country generating covid variants that could spread internationally? right

spoiler alert: covid is killing us. badly. no, it's not this bad everywhere. yes, you should care.

our government is DELIBERATELY and CLEARLY trying to kill us, not only not doing anything but actually trying to stop any help from getting here, with censorship to go with it.

PLEASE, READ RHIS THREAD

it's NOT this bad everywhere:

"No other nation that experienced such a major outbreak is still grappling with record-setting death tolls and a health care system on the brink of collapse."

yes, you SHOULD care:

"Preliminary studies suggest that the variant that swept through the city of Manaus is not only more contagious, but it also appears able to infect some people who have already recovered from other versions of the virus."

you REALLY should care:

"And the variant has slipped Brazil’s borders, showing up in two dozen other countries and in small numbers in the United States."

1 in every 4 covid deaths WORLDWIDE is happening in brazil, INTERNATIONAL MEDIA ISN'T TALKING ABOUT THIS ENOUGH.

our president?

- calling it "a little flu"

- literally making trying to legally stop states from lockdown

- blocked any attempts to get vaccines here for months

- recommended meds with no scientific proof which caused SEVERAL other deaths for overuse of improper meds

he refuses to wear a mask in public but it's not just the things he isn't doing, it's the deliberate steps he takes to make sure ANYONE who tries to do ANYTHING to help (even the US!!!!!!!! OFFERING US VACCINES FOR MONTHS!!!!!!!!!!!!) is shut down.

we have no oxygen. no ICU beds. no proper masks. basic food is so expensive here the country is falling back to hunger, so whoever is not dying from covid is dying out of starvation or due to the complete and utter collapse of our healthcare system.

if you read the articles i post here you will know brazil has a RECORD of being GREAT in this type of scenario & getting vaccines to everyone fast as fuck.

this is a DELIBERATE ATTEMPT TO KILL US, i couldn't possibly stress that enough.

who is it killing? take a guess.

"The study also found that Black Brazilians were likelier to lose their jobs or face pay cuts than white people during the pandemic. The death rate in poorer cities has been substantially higher than in rich ones."

BY JANUARY OF THIS YEAR the ny times was reporting "The country has not yet approved any of the vaccines on the market."

NOT EVEN APPROVED. ANY. OF THE VACCINES.

this isn't a tragedy, this is our government's plan.

again, why are people not helping? i have no clue.

"On Friday, officials at the World Health Organization called the surge of cases in Brazil deeply troubling and warned that it could wreak havoc well beyond the country’s borders."

censorship? oh yeah, the president's son is trying to silence a guy who made a TWEET calling the president out. & that was only news not a shady unexplainable death bc the guy is famous and rich in the first place.

this is not the only threat he has made, btw. during his CAMPAIGN he said he'd kill people who opposed his government. that is how low we are.

10,3MI brazilians might starve to death and things are only getting worse:

have i proven my point? cuz honestly there is no lack of evidence, but i can go graphic if you need to hear what happens when a patient needs oxygen or an ambulance and our hospitals can't provide it.

no? yeah. better not.

"ok but what can we do"

TALK. ABOUT. THIS.

WHY IS NOBODY TALKING ABOUT THIS.

WHY IS THIS NOT EVERYWHERE.

WHY IS NOBODY HELPING.

i literally feel crazy, as if this is only happening in my head. every brazilian i know is desperate and nobody cares.

"ok but what else"

we need donations, badly. money for food, masks, literally all supplies. if you are a single person guess what THERE ARE NO ORGANISED WAY TO HELP YET you literally need to find a brazilian or learn portuguese to be able to get to local donations centres.

have i mentioned nobody cares? how is a country going through this massive of a crisis with a government trying to kill and silence us yet there people barely heard about this???? given IT IS CREATING DEADLY VARIANTS THAT ARE SPREADING BEYOND BORDERS

oh my god i feel insane

special call-out for portugal & also the US for fucking us up historically

https://t.co/JQ9LBkfSIV

per request i will make an english speaking video about brazil's covid situation to be posted @ youtube.com/c/AndressaBuss later this week

🌟DONATIONS LINKS🌟

update: if you want to place a donation to @CUFA_Brasil or @maesdafavela i will offer free portuguese-english translations to help with the process.

email me @ thatkindofblue@gmail.com (i can't keep up with DMs here)

You can also try to finda artists or writers or professionals in brazil and hire them! or tip them a kofi! Or simply search for "brazil" in the search and help out by sending one dollar or two in kofi or gofundmes that will also help brazilians staying safe

i will keep linking more as i find it. donation centre to get basic food to people who need it: https://t.co/gFZdskBE6G

Update: finally managed to get an extensive list of options for donations after over 24hrs trying, from jun last year so some campaigns have ended but there's still plenty to choose from

(again: im available for free translations & help in your donation process if you need it)

just assisted in a R$740 donation process to the above donation centre & i am working on putting together a list of various options for donations as well as brazilian artists who are making emergency commissions :)

im mostly trying to assist people place the donations themselves & when i have to place the donation i offer vast proof (of whatever kind you need) of each transaction

im not a random account with no face behind it, im a broke history teacher who has covid, im trying to help

Thread by @wwxwashere on Twitter

And before i forget:

BOLSONARO GENOCIDA!

[justthehiddleswrites]

Then Don’t | Adam x Female Reader

A/N: Two stories in one week!!!  Holy hell who am I???  Another request, this one was from @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay​ And here was the request:  I would LOVE some Adam. Maybe him being his usual grumpy self when waking up and dragging his butt out of bed because he's missing his partner and when he finds her (maybe lounging on the sofa or doing some work) he kind of just drapes over her and demands attention and snuggles like the grumpy baby he is? Just, something fluffy and sweet.

Pairing: Adam x Female Reader

Summary: You have been busy trying to get a commissioned piece done by the deadline, which leaves Adam wanting.

Warnings: maybe a couple of curse words, implied smut.

THANK YOU FOR READING AND YOUR SUPPORT!  TAGLISTS ARE OPEN! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WISH TO BE ADDED!

-

You knew better than to wear headphones when you worked at home. It was already hard enough to hear Adam walking around in the still silence of the dilapidated home on the edge of New Orleans the two of you shared. With headphones on, your chance of catching him before he draped his impossibly heavy body over you was down to slim to none. 

Adam woke just after dusk that night and instinctually reached for your side of the bed. You usually made a point to stop working before he woke, so you could both cuddle in the bed before Adam got up for the night to feed, write music, or tinker with whatever was building for the moment. But this commission piece deadline was the end of the week and you still need to finish coloring the piece. So you popped on one of your favorite playlists and got to work until well past quitting time. 

“No…” Adam groaned when his hand hit mattress rather than the soft form of your body. He opened one eye, squinting against the fading light through the curtains. “Fuck.” 

With much emotional but little physical effort, Adam tugged on his ancient dressing robe and headed out of the bedroom in his bare feet. By some miracle or keen vampire sense, he does not step on a single piece of wire, sheet music or other detritus on the floor. His eyes darted around the first floor when he spies the warm ambient light from your studio door. 

As you set your Copic marker back into its spot and reached for your blender, heavy arms wrapped around your shoulders. 

“Hmmmnnh.” Adam grumbled into the back of your head, leaning heavy against you. So much so you struggled to remain upright.

“Adam. It’s hard to breathe.” you chuckled.

“Then don’t.” His voice muffled against your hair.

“Well, that only works one time.” You twisted to pull away from him and he caught his body as he tumbled forward without you there to support its weight. “Have you fed yet?”

“No.”

“Go feed.”

“No.”

Your brow raised in an expression Adam knew too well. “Excuse me? I don’t appreciate your tone.”

Adam rolled his eyes and turned away. “I’m going. And there was no tone.” 

He disappeared down the hall, but you still yelled after him. “THERE WAS TONE!” 

Adam headed into the small bedroom on the ground floor. Inside was a small fridge where he kept his supply. After moving in and watching him feed twice, you promptly banished him to this room. Under the guise it made you faint. When he emerged, your studio light was off. He could smell something cooking in the oven. Some casserole. He headed to the living room. 

Amid the two different amps, a guitar being restrung and several notebooks filled with Adam’s unintelligible writing, you settled onto the threadbare dark blue velveteen sofa in the middle of the room. You closed your eyes and listened to the hum of the ceiling fan as it moved the cool evening air to stave off the humidity with little success. You dozed off just as Adam flopped on top of you. A heap of muscle. Heavy muscle. 

“Oof. Get off of me, Adam!” You playfully shoved at his shoulder. “I can’t move!” 

“Good.” Adam grumbled. “So you are my prisoner.”

You struggled underneath him for a while, arms and legs kicking. With a sigh, Adam rolled off of you towards the back of the sofa onto his side. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you tight. His nose ran along your neck and you swore he is purring against you. 

“You are so needy today, babe. What gives?” You enjoyed the attention from him and burrowed against him, wiggling your ass. 

“I missed you.” He dragged his fangs down the curve where your neck and shoulders met and you shivered in response.

You chuckled. “You missed me? I’ve been right here. For months, Adam. We don’t go anywhere at night. I run my errands and work during the day. So what—”

“No, you don’t. I miss you.” He nibbled on your shoulder. “You have been working later in the night. You sneak off. I miss you.” 

Your brow furrowed. “I thought I was being discrete, babe.”

Adam huffed, but said nothing. His hand ran down your side to light on your hip. He noticed everything, even when he said nothing about it. When you are unhappy about certain pieces, when a certain marker runs low on ink, when you slightly burned your dinner. 

You reached out to turn his face towards you by his chin. “I’m here now. For you. What do you need?” Your eyes stared into his, looking at their unnatural color, seeing the hurt and love behind them. 

“I don’t want to say.” 

“Then don’t.” You cupped his face.

Without sound, Adam rolled you onto your back and caged you against the cushions. His nose nudged against yours as his lips pecked. You sighed and wrapped your arms over his shoulders. As the breath left your lips, he caught you in a heated kiss. You moaned against him, hungry to taste him. 

With a nip at your lips, Adam wrapped his arm around you and effortlessly pulled both you and him to a sitting position. Your legs splayed on either sides of his hips. You threaded your hands into his dark, wild locks tugging on them as you pressed against his bare chest.

“I wish we were upstairs but I don’t want to walk up the stairs.” You murmured against Adam’s neck as you kissed the pale, near luminescent skin, watching as the dark marks fade as quickly as they appear.

“Then don’t.” Adam growled in your ear. He gripped you tight and stood, walking towards the stairs.

“ADAM! Put me down!” You clung to him, wrapping your legs around his waist. Your body pressed tight against him. 

“No.” He made it to the bottom of the stairs.

“But my dinner! The timer… Adam… please.”

With an exasperated sigh and eye roll you didn’t see as you buried your face into the crook of his neck, he turned and swiftly made his way to the kitchen. With a flick of his wrist, he turned off the oven.

“Solved.” And without another word, he marched upstairs with you giggling and screeching. 

[missarchivistdoodles]

Chapter 18: Art Store Musings

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

AO3 Link

[[TW: Emotions. All of them. Descriptions of physical injury from acid. Referenced self-harm/suicidal ideation. Unintentional self-harm.]]

Swatch wasn't sure how they ended up in the passenger seat of Crimson's car, listening to their youngest sibling natter on about the new dish he wanted to cook tonight as they headed for a small grocery store on the edge of the city. It was a farm-to-table type store, everything sold coming from the owner's large farm in the Cyber Fields. Crimson was convinced the produce from there tasted better than from the more corporate grocery store near their apartment, and had bribed Swatch into joining him on their day off.

"You haven't gone anywhere but work and your apartment for months," the red Swatchling had huffed as he dragged Swatch to the car park. "Besides, there's a new art supply store down the street from the farm that you'll love."

If they hadn't been in desperate need of a new sketchbook, Swatch would have shrugged their brother's invitation off. Instead, they begrudgingly got in the car and listened to him go on about the evenings menu, waxing poetic about the Baked Alaska he had planned for dessert.

"He can have visitors now, y'know."

Swatch, who'd been watching the city pass by around them (driving was actually quite pleasant outside of rush hour), eyed Crimson cautiously. "Who?"

Crimson kept his eyes firmly on the road as he spoke. "Spam. Addy sent me a photo of him a few days ago, holding Shock."

Swatch frowned, and turned to fully face their brother. "Crimson, if you are driving to the Addison household-"

"No, no!" The Swatchling took one wing off the wheel to wave at them. "I wouldn't do that to you, bro. We're going to the RSS Feed Store, promise." He allowed a pause to stretch between them, "But if you wanted to…"

The withering glare he received was answer enough, and he huffed, a thread of annoyance seeping through his adoration of his eldest sibling. "You know, you're going to have to talk to him eventually." Swatch didn't answer, just turned back to watch the buildings begin shrinking as they entered the more suburban areas, absently reaching up to trace the scar along the left side of their beak. Crimson let the silence simmer for a minute, before flipping on the radio

"-nd that was Reverse Uno Card by Q.U.E.E.N., hope you all enjoyed it! You're listening to CCPR - Cyber City Public Radio, and coming next up is our top-of-the-hour news! I'm Amplitude -"

"And I'm Frequency!"

"-and diving into the news today, looks like we have a flash from Adaptable Marketing Solutions! Why don't you go ahead and tell us about it, Freq?"

"Sure thing Amp. Looks like AMS is launching a new fundraiser for the city, aiming at helping the homeless population. They want to build a shelter and offer retraining for down-on-their-luck programs who are struggling to find a job."

"Well I'm not surprised by that, Freq. You've heard the CEO's muffin story, right?"

"Right, Amp! It's a classic, pretty sure most of the city knows it by now. Hey, whatever happened to the other guy from the story? The original owner?"

"Oh, you mean Spamton G. Spamton?"

"That's it! The guy with the name so nice, you said it twice!"

"He vanished last summer, after there was some kind of dust-up in the Mansion."

"Oooh, right! Wasn't there a story going around that he took a dip in Queen's acid pool?"

"Among others. My personal favorite was-"

Crimson pulled into the parking lot squeezed beside the small, brick grocery store and turned off the car, killing the radio before Amp and Freq could go into a rundown of their favorite rumors. He gave his elder a quick glance, and saw the brood leader looked twice as tense as before. "How about you head on over to the art store?" He suggested, "I'll grab the groceries and meet you there, sound good?"

Swatch nodded and climbed out of the car, relaxing as the soft sounds of suburbia (lawn mowers, young programs playing, distant traffic) washed over them. Much better than the dredge from the radio. Honestly, a news station shouldn't be gossiping like that. Crimson gathered his shopping bags and headed into the small store to haggle with the owner over the price of eggs and chives.

The art supply store was housed in a small building with white-painted bricks and large windows. A bell dinged cheerily over the door when they entered, and Swatch felt their ruffled feathers fall flat as the smell of acrylic paints and balsa wood filled their beak. An employee - peacock like in appearance, but with an Addison-ish face - greeted them cheerfully as they entered.

"Welcome to India Inks, I'm India!" He chirped. "Just lemme know if you need anything!" When Swatch just gave a nod of acknowledgement, the owner went back to his magazine.

Swatch meandered through the aisles of art supplies - the store, while small, was well-stocked, bursting with everything an artist could want. Paints of every type, brushes of every size, canvases (both panels and stretched), along with every coloring implement they'd ever seen, and some they hadn't. They took their time examining the oil pastels and chalks, absently wondering how they would look if used alongside the acrylics or watercolors they preferred.

A pack of colored pencils caught their eye and they paused, reaching out to run a talon down the side. It was the same kind Spamton had gifted him, so many years ago now. They still had them, and the sketch book, now one of many fit to burst with doodles and plans and rough ideas of larger pieces. They'd used the pencils until they were nothing more than nubs, but kept them all the same, stored in a small pouch in the back of a drawer.

They hadn't used colored pencils since the Fight (that was how his siblings spoke of it, assigning the event a capital 'F' in texts and messages). Not since the man they'd come to think of as their best friend, their confidant, and maybe, possibly, something more, had left a permanent mark across his face, maring the thin keratin layer down to the bone.

They'd been planning on asking Spamton out that night. It was their day off, and after years of dancing around the topic they'd decided to address head on, and ask him on a proper date. Swatch had arrived late in the evening, unwilling to wait another day lest their nerves get the better of them, and Crimson had directed him to the east wing of the building. They'd barely seen Spamton vanish through the hidden door to the basement, and had felt every nerve in their body come alight at the sight.

The only thing in the basement (besides cobwebs and a defunct coaster station) was Neo.

Neo was dangerous.

Swatch had followed him, of course, racing after the man, who seemed well acquainted with the twists and turns of the basement halls. He'd barely made it to the chamber ahead of the butler, who had been horrified to see Neo laying out on the ground, not safely pinned to the wall as it should have been. Spamton had been kneeling beside it, something small and metallic in his hand, and had been smiling.

It had not been his smile. Swatch couldn't explain it, but the tightness of the cheeks, the curve of the lips, the manic triumph in his eyes - it hadn't been Spamton. At least, not their Spamton.

Swatch had tried to get him to move away, to speak reason, to convince Spamton that whatever he was about to do wasn't worth the possible outcome (not when one of those very possible outcomes was death), but the salesman wouldn't be swayed. They'd resorted to physically hauling him away from the machine, arguing with him about his need for it. Spamton had yelled about heaven, and freedom, about wanting more.

And he'd yelled about Mike.

In the end Swatch overpowered him, taking the keygen and destroying it with surprising ease. They'd thought it finished then - with Spamton unable to achieve his goal, they'd be able to calm him and talk this out, understand what was going on. But no.

Spamton had lashed out like a wild tasque, delivering a scarring sucker punch to their face. The tacky gold ring he'd taken to wearing had sliced easily through the tough keratin of his beak, leaving a wound that sunk into the bone beneath. Before they could recover, those same hands had been around their throat, ripping out feathers as the salesman yelled, screamed, about everything being ruined.

You’ve destroyed everything I’ve worked for! Everything I’ve done! You bastard! Don’t you understand? My chance at freedom is gone!

Their siblings had come then, pulling Spamton off and restraining him. Teal had used what he knew of healing magic to try and stop the bleeding, and Mauve had mopped up what they could of the mess, putting aside her own squeamishness at the time. Ebony and Ivory had held Spamton at bay, though it seemed the fight went out of him as soon as he was restrained. He didn't say anything, didn't look at Swatch, just stared at the ground and muttered something about rings.

Teal had the bleeding stopped rather quickly, and between the five of them they had enough handkerchiefs to wipe away the worst of the blood. They'd stood (with help) and smoothed down their ruffled feathers, doing their best not to look at the slivers of black discarded on the floor. Crimson and Lemon hauled Neo back into the holder on the wall, fixing it into place and checking the hull for any damage. Spamton had looked up then - jerked up, as though startled - and stared as they did it, looking distraught.

The expression had Swatch ordering Ebony and Ivory to take Spamton to his room for the time being. They'd taken a deliberate step to the left as they did so, blocking his view of Neo. Spamton tried to glance over his shoulder as he was carried from the room, but instead could only look at Swatch. And for the first time in ten years, seeing the man's face filled them with…nothing. No intrigue. No happiness. No joy. Just a thick, tarry emptiness that made them want to curl up and hide from the world.

Despite what the doctors had tried, the wound on his face wouldn't completely knit together, leaving Swatch with a thick scar in the keratin. It arched from beneath their left eye to where their beak met feathers. The skin that had been split was healed more easily, although the feathers there regrew in shades of gray instead of black.

The feathers on their neck, which Spamton had pulled out while screaming at him, grew back with much less fuss, and in their natural, glossy black state. A few weeks after the incident, it was impossible to tell they'd been plucked in the first place. For the first of those weeks they'd stayed at home, a rotating mix of siblings crowding their apartment to tend to their every need (which was mostly tea and books and space to think, to mourn a relationship that had never been).

Crimson reported that Spamton had holed himself up in his room and wasn't speaking to anyone, just staring at his phone and refusing to eat. Swatch tried to feel concern at that, but…couldn't. The words Spamton had screamed rang in their ears.

You’ve destroyed everything I’ve worked for! Everything I’ve done!

Had all this been a ruse? A play on Spamtons part, to get close to Neo and steal it out from under them? Had they truly ever been friends, or had they been duped, used, abused, until at last Spamton had no need of them anymore? And if so, then how stupid were they, to have fallen for it?

A week later, Teal had called, uncharacteristically panicked, screaming about the acid, about Spamton, about Crimson. Swatch and Mauve (who'd taken nursemaid duty that night) had raced to the Mansion, arriving the same time as Siren, to chaos.

Spamton - once a tall, proud man, who swaggered with his steps and gave an air of confidence and surety, but never superiority - was writhing on the tiles before the throne, fine suit soaked with acid, tears streaming from his eyes as vomit stained his mouth. He was glitching, stretches of white skin growing staticy before fading back to normal. The ring - that damned thing, which had injured him so severely - was melted to his finger, and Swatch had been mortified to feel a thrill of satisfaction at the sight.

Crimson sat beside him, awkwardly holding out his hands, which Teal was trying his best to rinse off. Destroyed feathers slid free, the acid eating away the down and blistering the skin beneath. He'd given Swatch a lost, haunted look, barely paying attention to his injuries.

"He just walked in."

Siren had shoved his way in then, followed by several nurses, saving Swatch from having to say anything. Spamton had been whisked away by the medic, taken to the medical wing to be treated. One of the nurses, an Ambyu-lance named Suture, stayed behind and took over tending to Crimson. She'd flushed his hand and arm with a soapy substance, removing the last of the acid, and gently pulled away the destroyed feathers before slathering on some antivirus ointment and wrapping it loosely with gauze.

"You'll be fine," she patted Crimson on the head, then glanced up at Swatch. "He'll need a few days of rest with minimal movement for his arm to regenerate, and there may be some discoloration of his feathers, but the acid didn't destroy any of his code or core files." She'd stood, brushing herself off, all business, and once Teal had said something to reassure her that they had it handled, she'd hustled off to the medical wing.

Swatch and Teal managed to get Crimson back on his feet, but he didn't step away, still staring at the acid river. "...just walked in…" He muttered again, and it was then that Swatch began to hate Spamton.

Not for the fight.

Not for the scar.

Not for trying to kill himself.

But for allowing their youngest sibling to see.

And yet Crimson insisted on tending to Spamton, on being there when he woke up, on making sure he was alright, was fed, was comforted. No matter what happened, Crimson stuck by him, was his friend. And in the end, Spamton ran out on him as well, absconding without a word and vanishing in the street.

Good riddance to bad rubbish, Swatch had thought at the time. They'd focused on other things - smashing watermelons, running the cafe, assisting Queen with her plans for a robot of some kind. Whenever their thoughts strayed to Spamton, whenever Crimson or Lemon asked if they'd heard from the small man, they shook them off. Good riddance, they told themself, ignoring the ache the name brought up. He never loved you. It was just part of his plan. Don't mourn what you never had.

"Welcome to India Inks, I'm India!" Swatch was jarred from his recollections as the owner repeated their greeting, and he glanced towards the door. "Oh, hello Crimson! It's lovely to see you again."

The Swatchling's beak blushed the color of his namesake, and he awkwardly smoothed his feathers from his forehead. "Oh, hey there Indy, ahem, India. It's nice to see you too." He ignored his oldest siblings' knowing smirk from behind the shelf filled with sketch books and drawing pads. "How have you been?"

The tail of peacock feathers behind India flared, and he leaned forward on the counter, beaming up at Crimson. "Why, I've been wonderful! It's not every day I get two handsome birds in my store." He swung his hips slowly back and forth, tail following the motion, and the flustered Swatchling followed the movements closely.

Swatch desperately wanted to know how long this had been going on, and poke some good-natured fun at their brother, but their phone chose that moment to vibrate with a call. They turned away from the pair to give them an illusion of privacy and, after frowning at the "Unknown Number" flashing from the screen, answered the phone and brought it to their ear.

"Swatch Paletta," they said in their best customer-service voice, wondering if a regular barfly had managed to get their number from a sibling. There was silence, then an odd, trembling hitch of breath. "Hello?"

"Twitter."

The nickname, spoken with such desperation, sent a shiver down their spine. They'd just been thinking of the salesman and here he was, as though summoned by the memories themself. "Spamt - Spam," Swatch barely remembered the name change in time to stop themself, fighting to keep their voice level. "How did you get this number?"

"Addy."

"Ah." Frowning, Swatch tried to remember if they had given Adapter permission to share their number. They'd been roped into the search for Spam a few months ago, after his brothers requested help, but hadn't expected their phone number to be handed out willy-nilly as part of the deal. "Was there something I can help you with, sir?" They forced themself to be professional.

A long moment of silence - if it weren't for the harried breathing, they'd have thought Spam hung up, then, "The strings. They're back."

"The strings…?" A thrill ran up their back - the strings? A vivid memory flashed behind their eyes - bloody wrists on the spotless bar, the air smelling of gin and iron, dim eyes set in a pale, sunken face. If you ever see the strings, give us a call. "The same strings from your nightmare?" We will come and check, any time, day or night.

"Yes." The voice was so faint they almost didn't hear it.

Swatch took a deep breath, glancing over his shoulder at the front of the store. Crimson was leaning against the counter, chatting with the clerk, who had toned down his flirting and was now showing off something on his phone. Good - they didn't want their brother traumatized a second time.

"Spam, I need you to listen to me. Are you listening?"

"Yes."

"Where are the strings right now?"

"Around my wrist."

"Both of them?"

"No, just my right."

"Okay, good. And what are they making you do?"

"Write."

"They're making you write words?"

"Yes."

"What words?"

"Sorry."

The apology was unexpected - had he not understood what Swatch asked? Well, the connection seemed fine on their end, but perhaps there was static on his. "It's okay, Spam," Swatch kept his voice calm, "Can you tell me what it's making you write?"

There was silence for a long moment, and Swatch pulled the phone away from their face and glanced at the screen, concerned they may have accidentally hung up on him. Then, "I'm sorry!" burst through the phone, loud enough that Crimson and India stopped their hushed discussion and glanced over at them. Swatch fumbled the phone, nearly dropping it, and brought it back to his head. Spam was still talking - rambling - on the line. "I'm sorry, god, I'm so sorry, for everything. I'm sorry, I know you won't forgive me but I have to tell you, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry Swatch, it was all my fault."

"Is that Spam?" Crimson had abandoned his crush to join them in the sketchbook aisle. Swatch nodded, pulling the phone slightly away from their head so the Swatchling could hear the rambling. After a moment, they tried to cut in.

"Spam-"

"Please," Spam gasped from the other side of the phone, and Crimson's feathers stood on end at the sheer desperation of the voice. He grabbed Swatch's arm, gripping it hard enough to hurt. "Please Swatch, you can hate me, I understand, I deserve it, just please don't leave me with him again. I can't-"

"Their house is just a few blocks from here," Crimson whispered, and Swatch nodded, the pair of them moving towards the door. India watched them from behind the counter, and asked Crimson something as Swatch tried to calm down the salesman, but he wasn't listening.

"Spam!"

There was an audible click as his jaw shut, and Swatch took a deep breath, trying to center themself. Crimson said something to India before opening the door to the shop, the little bell chiming as they hurried out and down the street, towards the car. "Listen to me," Swatch continued, "The strings aren't there. The strings aren't real."

"They are," Spam whispered, so softly the butler had to strain to hear it. "They're here." Crimson unlocked his car and slid into the driver's seat, turning over the engine and snapping off the radio as soon as it began to play. "And if they're here, then he is too."

Swatch felt their blood run cold at the simple statement, and they didn't bother with their own seatbelt, just slammed the passenger door and motioned for Crimson to go, go, go. He muttered something about 'safety laws' but obeyed, backing out of the parking lot and pulling (a tad too quickly) onto the main street, heading towards the neighborhood behind the small shopping area. "Who's there Spam?" Swatch pressed, setting the phone to speaker so Crimson could hear as well.

"Mike."

Crimson swore, and the steering wheel creaked beneath his hands. Swatch swallowed, hard, then cleared their throat. "Mike isn't there, Spam. You destroyed his phone, remember?"

"It doesn't matter," Spam's voice was louder, higher - panicked. "He doesn't need the phone, he never did, he's always had control and I'm never going to get away, he'll always be there he's always watching and listening and I'll never be free-"

"Spam? Listen to me, he's not there. Just hang on, okay?" Crimson took a turn a bit too fast and Swatch slid into the door with a grunt. "Ooof - just - we're almost there, okay, Spam?"

There was no answer, just heavy breathing, muttered words, the sound of a pen scratching against wet paper. Swatch brought the phone closer, straining to hear what was happening on the other end. Someone was speaking - so faint, they could barely parse it out. They pressed the phone to the side of their head and focused.

"Oh Spamton, do you really think it's that easy?"

Swatch had never heard that voice before, and it raked down their back, feathers standing on end and bile churning in their throat. Mike was real. Of course he was real, Spam had to be talking to someone on the phone all this time. But he'd always been abstract, a voice on the phone, a distant business partner Spam sang the praises of. Never a threat, not beyond overworking Spam, not beyond corrupting his plans and dragging Neo into the mix.

They'd always thought every decision Spam made, from his first day at the Mansion to the last, were his. But now…Just how tight were the strings Mike was pulling?

"Mike is there." Swatch whispered, suddenly sure that Spam was in great danger.

"What?" Crimson didn't take his eyes off the road, but the feathers along his neck fluffed up in alarm.

"Mike is there."

Crimson laid on the speed, zipping past more roads until they were nearly at the entrance to the Cyber Fields. On the phone, Spam gasped as something that sounded like a rubber band snapped, then there was a shuffling sound.

"Spam? Spam, can you hear me? We're almost there, just hold on!" Swatch demanded, once again forced against the door as Crimson took another sharp turn onto a residential street. They shot past several houses, then the Swatchling slammed on the brakes. The steering wheel jerked, and the car jumped the curb, crossing the sidewalk and taking out a bush covered in bright-yellow flowers. "Crimson!"

"Sorry, sorry!" The Swatchling barked, sounding absolutely un-sorry. As soon as the car stopped moving, Crimson shoved the gear stick into park and they were both slamming open their doors, rushing towards the neat two-story house. Swatch, smaller but faster, reached the door first and found it locked. Swearing, they leaned back, then rocked forward, slamming their shoulder into the solid wood.

The door didn't budge, but before they could try again Crimson was wedging himself in the way. "I have a key!" He elbowed Swatch aside and fumbled with the knob, then shoved the door open hard enough it bounced off the wall. They stood there for just a moment, eyes sweeping the room, trying to spot the specter of Mike.

There was no mysterious phone man, just Spam, laying on the ground between the barstools. Without a thought Swatch was moving towards him, barking at Crimson to check the house as they went. The Swatchling moved without a word, hurrying through the kitchen, then moving to check the other first-floor rooms.

Swatch paused beside Spam. The salesman was looking at them with distant eyes, which flickered to the ceiling before focusing on them once more. They glanced up, but saw only white plaster and light fixtures. Grimacing, they knelt, carefully moving the barstools aside so they could lift him off the ground. His right hand was bleeding, several cuts dug into the back of the wrist, and there was a bruise beginning to bloom on the side of his face. They produced a handkerchief (a good butler was never without one) and, cradling Spam with one arm, pressed it against the wounds on his wrist.

"You came."

His voice was weak and cracked, like brittle glass. Swatch started at the sound, but didn't pause, working to wrap the handkerchief around the cuts tightly enough to stop the bleeding.

"Of course I came," they said after a moment, tightening their grip ever-so-slightly around the smaller man's back. "I promised."

[regardingseas]

Ttile: Echoed Vexations (Part One, part two linked)

Fandom: Hermitcraft

Rating: Teen and up audiences (violence warning)

AO3: here! (Full story at once)

•••

Plot Summary:

It's all too easy to turn a blind eye to the past-- to believe that because someone has been shielded from harm's way, they should no longer fear the wrath of their opponent's creed. They're safe now, after all, so why would they..?

Yes, Scar and Cub are certainly "safe", but they're still haunted by memories of the Vex and their deals all the same.

OR

An average afternoon during the HCB Base Swap is cut short when Mumbo accidentally digs up a remnant from Scar's Vex partnership days, and unfortunately for the town's mayor, the other Hermit is far from aware just how triggering the topic can truly be. Things only dissolve from there, and in the end, Grian lends a helping hand to console a friend.

•••

Additional Content Warnings:

Depictions of trauma disorders, panic attacks, flashbacks, paranoid thoughts/delusions, manipulation, gaslighting, threats, injury, and violence. Mentions of religious themes, unintentional self-harm, and non-permanent character death.

Do be careful, but otherwise, enjoy!

•••

The sun was still high in the sky even as Scar finished decorating the monument's support chains, sweltering rays beaming down and adding to the oppressive humidity of the jungle around him. With his usual jacket set aside to fight the heat, he wiped away the beads of sweat that had gathered on his forehead and grabbed a stray bucket from the sidelines. He'd nearly finished the waterfall aspect of the design-- crystal blue streams cascading over the edges of four white spanners, all joining together in the octagonal pool at the base's foundation. It was looking quite spectacular, if he were to say so himself, with the vine-coiled braces and additional water currents tying the otherwise juxtaposing themes together nicely.

Scar scooped up a fresh pail of water, filling it to the brim and hauling it towards the last pillar. He glanced down at the container as he carried it, catching a glimpse of his reflection from the liquid inside. His face shone red with effort, misplaced strands of hair having clung themselves to his tan skin.

Though unsurprised, he still couldn't help but laugh at the rippling image. "It's just my luck I'd swap with another jungle dwelling Hermit. I swear, I can never escape this climate for long. First the island last year, then all this."

With a shake of his head he returned his gaze upwards, continuing to muse aloud to the landscape before him, "You tropics are wonderful and all, but it sure would've been a nice change of pace to set up camp in somewhere like the mountains. Or pull total 180 and have landed in the tundras!"

Concepts for each design raced through his head, each idea fighting the others for dominance and tacking details onto itself, trying to land its place on the metaphorical pedestal of his imagination. A cottage with medieval influences? No, that would be far too typical, amp both of those components up. An entire village with a steampunk driven aesthetic, built into the mountainscape itself; no doubt with custom terraforming to integrate the buildings into the natural environment. That was more like it.

Scar could envision working windmills and waterwheels accompanying purposefully makeshift farmlands, historic blimps having reclaimed skies where they'd soar high overhead. Below them, eye-catching pops of colour, shining through as floating lanterns that hover above connective rope bridges.

As for the arctic concept? Something more grand would be ideal. In his fantasy, he'd created an absolute oxymoron of the words cabin and mansion jumbled together, and he adored it that way. A bottom floor made of bricked stone, the top made of logs and large windows to oversee the view. Accompanying them in the same manner would be a balcony, propped on columns that hugged the building and curved around its corners. The top deck would be open for clear days, and the space below it safe on harsher ones. Sloped roofs would be adorned with chimneys, and the interior warmed by cozy flames that were kept organized with inviting lofts. The living area could be split leveled, sinking down to create its own margin where guests could comfortably gather by the fireplace and--

There was a tug at his ankle, and next thing he knew, a bemused Scar went crashing to the ground, having been too caught up to notice the trailing plants blocking his footway. His hands shot out to catch himself, palms scraping against the concrete floor in a way similar to the childhood stunt of crashing and burning on the pavement. A stinging snapped up his arms, and the water bucket dropped from his grasp, clattering down with a metallic rumble before spilling its contents across the floor.

Scar pushed himself upright with a hiss of air through his teeth, shaking off his grazed palms and wiping them on his jeans. Pulling his foot free from the greenery and gathering himself up was no problem, what was a problem, however, was the troubling sight now before him.

The water had spilled all over one of Mumbo's redstone contraptions, causing the device to short circuit and emit a sort of maroon-grey smoke. The wires fashioned from the compacted dust had been all but washed away, any remaining pieces hanging on by threads and failing miserably whenever a signal attempted to fire; more so sizzling rather than surging alight with energy.

"Oh, crud!" he shouted, racing towards the machine and yanking on the shut-off switch to divert any further input from the broken setup.

It powered down, but Scar was still left swatting the coloured smoke from his face, coughing as the scent of burnt metallics filled his nostrils. When had he gotten so absorbed in possible building opportunities that he'd managed to miss the foliage in front of him? Why had he even been wondering so deeply about it, anyway? This event was about improving one another's bases by adding their own personal touches, not starting a new project entirely.

Scar sighed, he wasn't sure why his mind had begun drifting so far. He'd like to blame it on the wild imagination of a builder, but he had a feeling there was a little more to it. Sometimes, when the world wasn't too much to handle, it was too easy to let fall away. Maybe he spent too much time daydreaming-- he was sure there was a word for that, when trances became so all encompassing, so engrossing.

"But I don't have time to think about that right now," he reminded himself, "I really need to fix this. It doesn't look like most of this redstone is salvageable, I'll have to get new supplies to repair it. Maybe some of the circuits are okay..?"

Scar nudged a repeater with his shoe, the device making an unnatural sloshing noise in his attempt to change the feed-in. He scrunched up his nose, "Okay, nope, gonna need to replace that, too."

Running a hand through his hair in defeat, he glanced towards Mumbo's storage system before shaking his head. It wouldn't be right to use the other man's supplies without asking, let alone waste them on a mistake made due to Scar's own carelessness. He'd have to make his way back to his original base and gather the materials from there once more. When he dropped by initially, he figured he'd gotten everything he needed, but apparently hadn't accounted for dissociation-induced redstone mishaps.

"I guess we're making a trip back," Scar announced to no one, finally picking up the empty bucket to set it safely aside. He made his way over to his tent, temporarily discarding any excess materials and bidding adieu to Jellie before grabbing his elytra and setting off.

Taking to the skies, Scar squinted against the wind as it roared in his ears. His hair parted itself from where it had stuck, short locks brushed back by the flowing breeze. With arms extended for balance, and maybe a dash of amusement, he lit his rockets and propelled himself into the distance.

-----

It wasn't long before he encroached on his base again, allowing his faux wings to glide him downward where he kicked out his legs to come to a soft landing. Scar stopped before the massive drill site just on the outskirts of the forest, heading towards the agglomeration of crates and boxes he had haphazardly stowed aside. He was certain there had to be the necessary hardware in one of the many containers, though which that may be was lost on him. At least, thanks to Mumbo and his new storage system, the chest monster he'd created would soon be a thing of the past.

"I wonder how that's going for him..." Scar pondered, striding over to a random shulker and beginning his sure-to-be protracted search.

"Scar?" a familiar voice interrupted, making him peer ahead to see the moustached man himself rounding the corner. "Hello there! I see you've made yourself rather at home at my base," Mumbo teased.

He couldn't help but chuckle, "That I have. I just needed to stop by and pick up some redstone and iron. With all the ore this place has quarried up, I was sure there's bound to be more of that here than back at Larry."

Mumbo faked surprise with a hearty grin, "Getting into mechanics, are we? Have the inner workings of the temple really had that much influence on you after only a few days?"

"Now I wouldn't say that," Scar shook his head and closed the lid of the grey shulker, seeing no point in hiding the truth. "I took a tumble holding a bucket of water and it kinda spilled on one of the contraptions. I'm sorry for the trouble-- but don't worry! I came here to fix it right up. I just didn't wanna waste your materials fixing my silly error."

The suited man waved his hand dismissively, "Nonsense, it's no trouble. Have you seen the improvements you've made to that place? I mean, of course you've seen them, you built them, but rhetorically speaking--" Mumbo cleared his throat, "Just don't fret over it, I trust that you'll have it fixed right up in no time."

Scar smiled, "Thanks, dude. Now I just have to find where on Earth I put those ore…"

Mumbo gave another laugh, "You know, you can feel free to use some of my things if need be. I have no idea how you expect to find anything in this mess. I'm only trying to do a basic look through so I know where to begin when it comes to the item sorter, but even that doesn't seem to do much good. I swear, it's like trying to play a very intense game of memory, with thousands of nonsensical cards all scattered about."

Scar snickered sheepishly at the comparison, "Yeah, no kidding. But being able to use some resources without flying all the way over here would be great. Thanks again, Mumbo. I don't know if there's anything you'll need here while working, but hey, consider it free range. We're doing these things for each other in the long run, anyway."

"I'd say, 'unless we don't switch back our deeds', but in all honesty? I'm beginning to miss the ol' living monument already."

The two exchange a chuckle before returning to their previous tasks, both going back to digging through the pile of chests in preparation for their projects.

It took longer than Scar wanted to admit to finally find the crate stocked with valuables-- sighing in relief at the sight and immediately beginning to pile the items into his inventory. There were pre-smelted metals from an iron farm, so he didn't have to bother with the ore, and the redstone he'd gathered was already in dust from, meaning all he'd have to do was craft the items after returning.

"I wonder if it would've been easier to stop by the shopping district and buy these directly, instead of making them by hand..." he said, "Oh well, saves on diamonds, and these had to be used some time, I guess."

"Talking to yourself over there?" Mumbo asked.

"Just thinking aloud is all."

"I see," the moustached man nodded, pushing himself up from where he'd been examining the supplies. "I found something neat from last year! Do you wanna see?"

"Sure!" Scar agreed, setting aside his intent of flying back in favour of seeing what it was Mumbo had to show him.

He smiled and stepped over to Scar, holding out a faded piece of paper for them both to see, "I found it stuck to the bottom of a shulker box! Can you believe we used to be competition so recently?" He joked.

Scar could only stare at the advert before him, a steele blue page embellished with a vault-like ring in the center. It meant nothing to the untrained eye, but to him, all of the company's horrors were sealed underneath. ConCorp read bold text in half-connected lettering, the logo finalizing its signature with a black bow tie adorning the bottom.

"Hardly," managed Scar, having just remembered he'd been asked a question, "But it wasn't that recent."

"It was practically yesterday if we're talking business," Mumbo snickered, "but we aren't. I'm not very good at business."

"Me neither, I prefer mayorship," he said in an attempt to change the subject.

Mumbo, however, didn't seem to notice, only turning to stare at Scar with eyes wide. "Are you kidding me? You were quite literally the richest Hermit of all last year! You're wonderful at business. Sahara was amazing, and I don't for a second doubt it was the most ambitious project of our group to date, but she had plenty of bugs, being the machine powered industry that she was. ConCorp, however? That was an utter monopoly! The thing lasted two bloody seasons!"

Scar chuckled awkwardly, "I know, I know, Cub and I worked very hard. But it wasn't all us, we couldn't have done it alone."

"Give yourself more credit," Mumbo insisted, "I'm more than convinced you could have gotten your business up and running even without the help of your Vex friends. Weren't they less prominent in your company last year, anyway? You did change your guy's name from ConVex to ConCorp, after all. I think that would imply less input on their part."

"Not really," he explained, though the tension building in his body was becoming harder to conceal. He had to keep his arms rigid so that they wouldn't shake, forcing in deep breaths to avoid the shaky ones that threatened to take their place. "We just thought it would be better for business, rebranding to something more gentlemanly and all."

Mumbo nodded, "Ah, that makes sense. Though I still don't understand how you managed to work with them to begin with. I likely wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes. I mean business partners with the Vex? Friends, even? How'd you do it? Not to mention why? With all due respect, what makes one seek that out?"

Scar blinked hard at the influx of questions, "Oh, it's- it's really complicated, you might not understand. Cub started it, though. I joined the team not long after, but I wasn't there when he first struck the deal with Them."

"Huh, some deal," Mumbo remarked thoughtfully, and Scar nodded.

He had no idea.

"So what made you leave that behind?" Mumbo continued.

"What?" he asked, finding his thoughts hazy. They were static nothingness, but somehow also crashing into his skull. He found himself having to dig his way through them, while at the same time trying to bury them once he passed. The last thing Scar wanted was to do was hark back to the Vex, to beckon forth Their memory with his own.

The other man simply chuckled, oblivious to Scar's inner turmoil. "ConCorp, the Vex. Did you two just get bored? Having done the same thing for too long?"

"In a sense, you could definitely say we were tired of it. It just- well, it wasn't what we wanted to do anymore. We wanted to move on to new things."

"That's fair enough. Do you blokes still get along? Or did they take the corporation's end like a sour breakup?"

This time, Scar couldn't contain his wince. "We're still friends!" he insisted, "Of course the Vex are my friends."

Mumbo finally quirked a brow, "Are you sure about that? You don't have to worry about hiding some burnt corporal bridges from me, I'm not here to judge."

"Oh yeah, I'm positive," he nodded eagerly, "I'm just- I'm gonna go work on fixing that contraption I damaged, best to get it fixed before we have to switch back."

"Buddy, are you sure everything's alright? I'm sorry if I upset you or anything."

"Nah, I'm just peachy!" Scar announced with far too much false enthusiasm, internally cringing at his failed masking abilities. Not allowing any more time for his ruse to be cracked, he uttered a quick goodbye before adjusting the straps on his elytra and dashing off, leaping into the air and back towards the ruins.

"Scar, wait!" Mumbo tried, but he was already gone.

------

The returning flight was far from the peaceful journey he'd made to the excitation site. His artificial wings beat frantically, struggling to keep up as he charged forward with excessive firepower. He paid no mind to the safety protocol regarding the rocket's cool-down period, simply heralding through the air as fast as his elytra would carry him. Scar arrived back to the monument in a trip overall much faster than when he'd left, but it seemed to drag on for an eternity. The entire excursion consisted of a battle with his own mind-- a war in which he knew he was bound to lose, but he had to hold down the fort until he was on solid ground.

Scar was lucky not to crash into the debris upon landing, frantically stumbling to the dirt and having to grasp onto a piece of wreckage to maintain his balance. His legs nearly buckled under his weight, form trembling in spite of the deep breaths he gave it his all to draw in.

He grasped hard to the rubble, trying to anchor his brain into focus. He couldn't let his thoughts spiral, he couldn't think about Them. He knew grounding techniques, and he tried to rush his way through them.

Five things you can see.

He could see the golden heart, plants, stone, the golden heart again-- the thing was too anatomically correct, he'd seen horrors too similar to it before. And the sound, it was too damn loud, too hard to ignore. Its unsteady rhythm hammering in his ears alongside his own faltering pulse.

Forget visuals, four different noises?

Scar squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to listen, focusing hard on the world around him. Still, he could only hear the heart. He could only hear it pounding, its once melodic notes like nails on a chalkboard. He could remember far too many times when he was left alone with nothing but his heartbeat and his pleas.

Tactile. Texture. What can you feel? Three things you can feel.

Internally, he screamed at his dulling senses to return. God, he didn't want to think about Them, it wasn't worth the risk. They'd been inside his head before, and the mere idea of having his thoughts broadcasted again made his stomach churn. Scar tried harder and harder to suppress the images bubbling to the surface, festering like maggots in an old wound. The more he tried to push them down, however, the fiercer they'd rise back up, and he choked down a sob in attempt to list the sensations he could currently identify.

He could feel the stone-- but he already said the stone, didn't he? He could also feel the sun. It was hot against his back. So hot. He was overheating.

The notes should have been a success, but the drops of sweat felt too akin to tricking blood. The sting of his hands felt too much like the friction burn of a rope. It felt too much like he was back with the Vex again, and as he finally sunk to the soil, he could no longer swim against the onslaught of memories crashing over him like a tidal wave.

They could still hear him, They could still hear him, They could still hear him, They could still get him--

------

The day he and Cub first found the courage to try and cut ties with the Vex had been a hellish one, and the two men weren't even successful in their attempt. Hence, of course, it being the first.

Still, it had taken ages for Scar to persuade Cub that it was even worth trying, the other man having believed it was impossible to sneak anything past the Vex on their own. Scar was persistent, however, and eventually convinced his friend they had a shot if they played their cards right, if they made the right proposal without their intentions being discovered.

They'd constructed their plans in secret for weeks; discussing them only inside of untold locations with hushed whispers, or in the form of coded scrawls they'd burn immediately after reading. They couldn't be too careful, that's what they'd tell themselves whenever they worried their precautionary measures may be over the top. Even so, when a so-called conference was put on the schedule --such events were far from any type of cordial meeting, despite having been assigned the title of one-- the men were hardly prepared for it.

Their conference room consisted of a needlessly grandiose suite, with floors of marble and walls carved from deep umber wood. The polished lumber was adorned with expensive paintings in aureate frames; antique laden shelves taking up the spaces they did not. Aesthetically pleasing decorative tactics were discarded in favour of showing off their riches in a possessive cluster, with the only average items being the table and its chairs sat in the dead center of the area. A chandelier of gemstone and gold swung from above, dangling by the same chains fated to one day bind their vassals.

"Concordats, greetings!" A Vex declared as the men were led through the doorway, hovering in the air at the opposing end of the surface.

"Greetings," parroted Cub minimally, Scar giving a plain nod beside him. Fewer words meant less chance at letting their guard down.

"We've been needing to speak with you," a different Vex chimed.

"Speak with you about the business," yet another visitant confirmed.

"We actually need to discuss similar matters with you all," Scar noted, voice and expression a façade of tranquility.

"You do?" the first asked, wide smile replaced with inquiry.

"Yes," managed Cub, "we want to make you an offer, one you can't refuse."

"I do like the sound of that!" the second snickered.

"We'll hear your offer," the Vex grinned, "we only have one question first!"

"Of course, what is it?" asked Scar, in mental awe of how well their exchange was going.

"Do you recognize these?" it asked, gesturing towards the white table where a blue light flashed, fading away to reveal a small pile of ash.

Cub and Scar glanced to one another in evident confusion, the latter of the two speaking once again, "Forgive me, but we're not sure what you're talking about."

"Oh, silly me!" the Vex giggled, another flash of luminesce encompassing the soot and leaving a stack of papers in its place. As if caught in a controlled gust, they blew from the surface and organized themselves midair; levitating in a cloud of magic.

All of their once burnt notes were lined up before them, cyphers needed to crack their messages included.

Still beaming with innocence, it continued, "How about now? Look familiar?"

The blood drained from their faces, and Scar could have sworn his heart was going to burst from his chest with how hard it was drumming. He wanted to wake up, because this had to be a nightmare.

"No, we have no idea what those are," he tried.

LAIR!

Overlapping voices screamed in his head, all sounding in haunting unison. Scar hastily clapped his hands over his ears, but it did nothing to silence the uproar emanating from within.

You try to break our contract then lie to our faces?

Foolish concordats.

Terrible secret keepers, terrible subjects.

Cub seized hold of Scar's arm and made a break for the door with the brunet in tow, reaching the exit and tugging desperately on the handles. They refused to turn under his grasp, and his eyes darted back towards the Vex; floating creatures growing ever closer to their imaginary bubble providing them with the illusion of safety.

More of Them were phasing in through walls, forms non-corporeal and having no need for the sealed entryway.

Apologize.

They all ordered, Scar flinching at the simultaneous projection. He lowered his hands and turned towards Them, watching Their unmoving grins with wide eyes.

Kneel before your gods and divulge your prayers, we may just show you mercy.

"I'm sorry-" Scar whimpered, but Cub was having none of it.

"No!" the man barked, "Screw this! This isn't worth it! None of this is worth it! He's right! The business, the money, the power, it-- it means nothing! Not when you treat us like this!"

They watched him step forward, his furious yells echoing through the expanse of the room, "We're done! And we mean it! You're going to get us go or else!"

An orchestra of shrill cackles filled the air.

Oooh, it's angry.

They're fighting back!

Teach them a lesson.

"You won't dare make another-" Cub's retaliation was cut short with a cry, the bearded man dropping to the ground in a swift crash.

"Cub!" Scar called, but his attempt to step towards his friend was met only with a searing pain through his legs and the subsequent buckling of his knees. He fell to the marble, limbs heavy as if they'd been weighted. It took considerable force to balance on his arms, appendages left shaking as he peered back up towards the Vex.

He regretted it instantly.

•••

(Part two)

[notbang]

the pursuit of happiness

or, an examination of happiness and the chase as recurring motifs in the character development of Rebecca Bunch and Nathaniel Plimpton

rethaniel appreciation week day 2 → pursuit

I could write a small novel cataloguing the endless parallels between these two—I have, in fact, thought about attempting it many times—but honestly the list is so long and varied and sprouts off in so many different directions that I’ve yet to think of a logical way to go about it. Which is why for the time being, I’m choosing to focus instead—in some degree of detail—on this particular mirrored thread between them.

As our protagonist, Rebecca functions as a major catalyst for change in West Covina, and just as surely as she stumbles along in her journey we see the (for the most part) positive effects of her friendship on those around her. With perhaps the sole exception of White Josh, all of the characters end the show as happier and healthier iterations of themselves, with many of the major aspects of their growth traceable to their involvement with Rebecca in some way. Nathaniel is no exception to this rule; arguably, his development, more so than any other character’s, is directly tied to Rebecca’s influence on his life. The main difference here lies in the fact that he moves to town good a season and half after her—putting him that much further behind in his inevitable development.

One of the major, ongoing setbacks Rebecca faces over the course of the show is her tendency to conflate happiness, or personal fulfilment, with romantic love, and more specifically, for the first half of the series at least, conflating it with a single person. Nathaniel, by comparison, at the time of our introduction to him, has little interest in the concept at all, something Rebecca is quick to sympathise with in 2x09—‘You know Nathaniel, I used to be a lot like you. Ruthless. But then one day I was crying a lot, and I decided to flip things around. Decided to put happiness before success. And when I did that, the world rewarded me with true happiness.’ Nathaniel doesn’t verbally dismiss the sentiment, but the wealth of facial expressions he supplies in response suggest what he thinks of that: happiness is frivolous, and he doesn’t have space for it in his busy schedule.

Nathaniel, probably: Sounds fake but okay.

In the season two theme Rebecca declares that as a girl in love, she can’t be held responsible for her actions, and the sweeping duet Nothing Is Ever Anyone’s Fault follows a similar thread of eschewing culpability. While this certainly works to help dismiss a season’s worth of questionable behaviour from the two of them—including, but not limited to, infidelity and conspiracy to murder—I’m not convinced the touted concept behind the song—that Nathaniel has learned the wrong lesson from being in love with her, as explained in post-finale interviews at the time—flies in the face of our understanding of Nathaniel’s character thus far. As a rich, straight, white, cis male whose privilege the show has only made clumsy attempts at dismantling, a disregard of consequence seems a lot less like something he needed to be taught by anybody and a little more like something that was probably ingrained in him at birth.

If we want to talk about misguided takeaways within their relationship, though, their relationship to happiness is the perfect place to start. Nathaniel begins the show with no concept of the pursuit of happiness, so it makes sense that when he does adopt an interest in it, he takes a page right out of the book of the person that introduced him and pins it all in the one place. Unlike Rebecca, though, Nathaniel’s preoccupation seems to be less wilful delusion and more of a case of ignorance being bliss—being with her feels good, so why change anything or interrogate the situation any further? For all his earlier talk, he is quick to give up the thrill of the chase under the hedonistic guise of contentment. Unfortunately, what he lacks is the emotional intelligence to navigate the implications of Rebecca’s disorder, highlighted by his belief that the mere fact that he and Josh are two vastly different people is reason enough for him to be able to dismiss her obsessive behaviour as ‘cute’ and ‘flattering’. Rebecca’s recent breakdown and consequential suicide attempt can’t exist as warning signs in their (what he perceives as superior) relationship because he isn’t planning on leaving Rebecca at the altar; he isn’t privy to the realisation that it ‘wasn’t about Josh, and maybe it never was’.

Nathaniel: I don’t want to get in the way of your therapy thing, but isn’t the point of all this to be happy? We’re happy. That’s what matters.

It’s a shame because despite there being so much more going on with Rebecca than Nathaniel is capable of comprehending at this point in time, he actually, perhaps entirely by accident, manages to get a few things right—he checks in with her about her therapy when her appearing on his doorstep contradicts the information she’d given him earlier (even if he is, at this point, all too easy to convince), counters her suggestion that they play hooky at Raging Waters with the compromise of a more sensibly scheduled dinner they’ll both enjoy, and, when they do come in to conflict over her obsessive behaviours, takes some time for himself before having a serious conversation with her. Though it’s certainly naive of him to think it’s a problem as easily solved as getting Rebecca to promise she’ll never do anything like this again, it suggests the capacity exists (given, with great guidance) for him to approach Rebecca’s mental illness within their relationship in a thoughtful way.

(This of course completely ignores the inherent issues in their boss/employee relationship, which come to a questionable forefront when Rebecca makes the decision to return to work after having broken things off, but we’re starting to get a little off-track from the intended scope of this discussion.)

The idea of romantic love as a chase—if not already sold to us by Rebecca literally moving across the country in pursuit of Josh—is hammered home most effectively in episode 2x11, but Nathaniel actually brings it up in the episode prior; before Rebecca and Josh leave for New York, at the same time as setting up the whole ‘man of my dreams’ idea that also carries on into the next episode, a sweaty Nathaniel beseeches Rebecca to imitate a land-based predator so he can amp up his workout under the threat of chase. Within this alignment, Josh, who ends up proposing to Rebecca at the end of 2x10, becomes even more clearly representative of an end goal—love, marriage, and, as an expected by-product, ultimate happiness. Nathaniel, by contrast for the time being, is all about the chase that comes before. After his speech at the beginning of 2x11 boasting of his dogged approach when securing clients, his passionate buzz words begin to permeate Rebecca’s subconscious, with ‘pursuit’ in particular going so far as to in an echo in a similar way that ‘happy’ does in the pilot. Such is the effect of his words on her that she parrots them back to Josh when she tells him she’s moved up their wedding—‘Finally, it’s coming to an end. The pursuit is over and I just want to celebrate that’. The title of the episode title may pose the question Josh is the man of my dreams, right? but in the most literal sense, the star of her dreams becomes Nathaniel, along with his personal brand of terminology.

Where Nathaniel thinks life is all about playing the hunter, Rebecca insists she doesn’t care for the chase, which makes sense—she doesn’t want to be chasing Josh, and furthermore, admitting that she’s chasing him would only be contradictory to her belief that they belong together. She wants her happy ending. She wants to arrive at her final destination—her destiny—because thus far all her journeys (which have in actuality been more of a kind of stagnation) have been left her unfulfilled. However obsessing over an idealised future only postpones her happiness with her inability to focus on the present. Ironically, the point at which she makes an active choice to begin shifting that focus—in 3x07, when Dr Shin encourages her to live in the messy in-between—is right around the time Nathaniel starts buying into her idealisation himself.

In a similar way to Rebecca, regardless of his purported love of the pursuit, Nathaniel’s infatuation is seemingly tied to the concept of a destination—several times quite literally. In 3x04 he’s ready to whisk her away to Rome to evade any obstacles to their being together, and in 4x01 proposes a similar escape to Hawaii, causing him to lash out when Rebecca turns him down—‘I want us to just be happy and be together. That’s what I want. You just said you love me, right? So can you just do that for me? Can you just stop overthinking everything? …seems like every time we’re happy, you try to ruin it.’ He sees their shared happiness as a nirvana state he’s caught a glimpse of that Rebecca is now determined to deny him access to, to the point that he seeks to make their version of a love bubble a physical one, where no outside interference (or, more accurately, internal reflection from Rebecca) can keep them apart. Still degrees behind Rebecca in the parallel arcs of their development, he’s stuck in the mindset that them being happy and in love is the only thing that matters. His behaviour is far from flattering, but with a quick review of his history of being on the continual receiving end of her rejection, it’s not entirely difficult to see where he’s coming from.

(As an aside, Rebecca’s relationship with the destination versus the journey as it pertains to the mural on her wall is something I’ve already discussed in a previous meta.)

When she breaks up with him at the beginning of 3x09, Rebecca responds to Nathaniel’s protest of ‘but we’re happy!’ with the qualifier that she’s ‘happy, but it isn’t real’, which probably isn’t the most pleasant thing to be told, even before you factor in Nathaniel’s implied inexperience with serious relationships. While her behaviour prior to this definitely calls for some self reflection, it’s an interesting backflip from extreme infatuation to sudden dismissal, and while it does align with the black and white thinking associated with BPD, it’s easy to see why Nathaniel feels blindsided and, consequently, spurned. She begged him not to break up with her not only to then turn around do exactly that, but to also (presumably unintentionally) throw in the humiliating implication he cared more than she did.

Dr Akopian: Maybe now you can see that your father’s behaviour in the past has set a pattern for you, seeking the love of men who don’t fully love you back. Who you have to pursue. Men who are taken or emotionally unavailable. Like your father. Like Josh. Like Greg. Like other men, I’m sure.

Nathaniel is an outlier amongst the three main love interests in that, for all his grandstanding about humans being hunters by nature, he’s the one constantly falling over himself to win Rebecca’s affection rather than the other way around; it’s ironic that the love interest that asserts himself as being all about the chase is the one that ends up later having to assign himself the title of ‘king of declarations’ based on his ongoing habit of blurting out to Rebecca how he feels, never achieving the level of emotional standoffishness he hopes to exude. Nathaniel’s unavailability—and subsequent cementing as one of the types of men Dr Akopian calls Rebecca out on being predisposed to pursuing—comes only when he enters into a relationship with Mona, and Rebecca, who supposedly ‘never cared for the chase’, with interest reignited finds a skewed sense of security afforded by the romantic roadblock, something Nathaniel seems to understand on some unspoken level, as hinted at by his eagerness to maintain the fragile status quo of their morally questionable arrangement.

As a result of this subversion of power dynamics within Rebecca and Nathaniel’s relationship, in amongst the many other parallels between them that only serve to support this, it starts to become apparent that, narratively speaking, Nathaniel is to Rebecca as Rebecca is to Josh, something that is visually co-signed by the show during 4x03, when we see the same golden glow of romantic epiphany crest behind Rebecca in the church during her speech at Heather and Hector’s wedding that suffuses across Josh when Rebecca encounters him in the streets of New York.

Nathaniel’s takeaway from Rebecca’s speech is that because he loves her, he should do everything within his power to get her back, which of course leads to his (frankly embarrassing) attempts to manipulate her and win her over in 4x04. (Fittingly enough to this discussion, the opening line of the Slumbered quote he plagiarises is ‘you are the only thing that makes me happy’. The irony of his failed use of her teenage diary to win her over is that I honestly do believe the speech is an accurate summation of how he sees Rebecca, and had he only chosen to put it in his own words, that final scene between them might have played out a little differently.) The part he probably should have focused on, though, is the part Rebecca is currently pouring all her professional energy into (and not so coincidentally, it’s right there in the episode title)—love (and therefore happiness) being about finding your own path.

Rebecca: I don’t believe in destiny anymore. I just believe in taking responsibility for your own happiness.

This is not the first time Nathaniel makes the decision to actively pursue Rebecca while her attention lies firmly fixed elsewhere. In 3x03 and 3x04, he is forced to grapple with his feelings alone when a distracted Rebecca eventually goes where he cannot follow, putting an abrupt end to any potential for chase when she flees back to New York in 3x05. Consequently, Nathaniel embarks on a mini-arc of struggling to accept the idea that Rebecca may never come back—initially incomprehensible to him, owing to the fact that she bears importance to him, personally—to conceding that his (thus far relatively unexamined) need for her to be in his life is secondary to her own wellbeing, something that acts as a precursor to a major thread in Nathaniel’s (often one step forward, two clumsily-written steps back) character development in the back end of the series.

Nathaniel: I just hope wherever she is, she’s happy.

In 4x11, Nathaniel’s dream world amalgamation of Maya and Rebecca begs him to let her be happy, and as the former fades into the latter we get another callback to the pilot—an echo of 'happy, happy, happy…’ reminiscent of the empty shell of New York Rebecca latching onto Josh’s description of laid-back West Covina. Unlike its instance in the 1x01, however, this is a wake up call of an entirely different kind—it is not the blossoming of a brand new delusion but the sobering dissolution of one. And unlike the speech a radiant Rebecca gave at Heather’s wedding about finding the one you love and holding on tight, this particular iteration is here to impart the contradictory wisdom ‘if you really love me, you have to let me go’.

Nathaniel: I want you to be happy, I do.

This moment is arguably the true beginning of Nathaniel’s lesson that his happiness isn’t necessarily (or in this case, due to the current circumstances, can no longer be) inextricably linked to Rebecca—she has the opportunity to find happiness independently of him and that in itself is something that should make him happy, as someone that loves and cares for her. His assertion to dream Rebecca that he wants her to be happy manifests in his concession to Rebecca in the real world—‘I’m glad you’re happy. I really am. And it makes me happy too’—an exchange that echoes two similar moments between them back in season three, during which Rebecca expresses the same sentiment regarding his relationship with Mona, first following the cool down from their 3x10 conflict, and again in the aftermath of their ended affair in 3x13: 

Rebecca: I’m happy that you found someone else. Mona seems lovely.

Rebecca: I’m happy for you… I want you to be happy.

The more interesting callback here though, of course, is to Rebecca’s conversation with Greg at the duck pond way back in 2x02. After finally tracking down an AWOL Greg with the intention of breaking the news of her involvement with Josh, Greg makes peace with the situation by way of reassuring them both that everything worked out fine as long as Rebecca is happy. ‘You and Josh—you should be happy together. You’re happy, right? And he treats you well?’ Rebecca responds to this in the affirmative, though her expression—and the context of the episode—belies her answer. In contrast, her exchange with Nathaniel goes a little differently:

Nathaniel: Because you’re happy, right? You’re happy with Greg. Rebecca: I mean, I don’t know. I’m not there yet. But I could possibly be, yeah.

The evolution of Rebecca’s response is of course evidence of her development as a character and her own understanding of her relationship to happiness, but what I find most noteworthy is not that she lies in 2x02, but that in 4x11 she chooses to tell an unusual truth. She could just have easily have said yes the second time around and it would have functioned as a clear enough juxtaposition of what she considers close enough to happiness; after all, at the time of 4x11 she and Greg believe they are approaching their relationship in a mature and thoughtful fashion, they are warm and affectionate towards one another and, unlike in 2x02, she is not having to compete for her partner’s attention. She would, by all accounts, be completely justified in giving what could be considered the normal response to being posed such a question—that yes, she is happy with Greg. So even though it’s encouraging to hear Rebecca verbalising her newfound knowledge that happiness is so much more than such a simple dichotomy of yes and no, it feels significant that Nathaniel, as a person currently knee-deep in untangling his own complicated relationship with happiness, is the one that gets to be privy to this particular brand of truth.

And while it can be argued that all the strides Nathaniel makes in 4x11 are undone over the course of the following episodes, setting aside the very real fact that human emotions are fickle, and we can’t always stick as completely to our guns as we’d like, his blessing here still comes with a telling caveat: ‘I’ve got to let you go… because you’re happy’. And who shows up on Nathaniel’s doorstep during 4x12 to poke holes in that perceived state of happiness between her and Greg? None other than Rebecca herself.

Rebecca: You just want me to be happy, which is what I want too, and god, Greg… Greg doesn’t know what happiness is.

Such is the shared significance of this concept of happiness between them that the second Rebecca alludes to their conversation in the foyer, Nathaniel’s previously good-natured, albeit slightly confused, response to her drunken presence in his apartment quickly and very clearly dissolves into alarm bells and he eventually sends her on her way. Though he could easily have wielded Rebecca’s visit as a weapon to create dissonance between her and Greg in 4x13, he merely probes for clues by way of a convoluted metaphor, resigning himself to the fact that the issue has been resolved, while Greg, in actuality, is at this point none the wiser. It’s only once Greg himself tells Nathaniel that it is over between him and Rebecca that Nathaniel returns to entertaining his feelings for her.

Though we the viewers are all too aware (and at this point, probably screaming at the TV!) that Rebecca’s happiness is not, contrary to recurring belief, a vacant role that she needs someone to fill; unlike us, the characters have not had the good fortune of being able to watch the show Crazy Ex Girlfriend on the CW network. Nathaniel is still a fledgling in terms of self enlightenment, and it makes total sense for him to be nudged towards into pursuing her again once the clearest obstacle to her affections—her relationship with Greg—is no longer an issue.

When she breaks the news of her decision to Nathaniel in the finale, Rebecca is quick to assure Nathaniel that ‘the times that [they’ve] spent together have been some of the best of [her] life’, which is an interestingly bold statement all on its own, but it feels somewhat satisfyingly like finally giving Nathaniel a real-life answer to the ‘we’ve had such happy moments, you and I, haven’t we?’ that he throws at his Maya-shaped projection of Rebecca in 4x11; affirmation that contrary to what she says in 3x08, something in there between them was real.

‘You only get one life,’ he tells her in return. ‘And you’ve got to live that the way you want.’

Neither of them uses the word ‘happy’ in this exchange, but as we fast forward in time, we get:

Nathaniel: Happy to be here.

Rebecca: For the first time in my life, I am truly happy.

Nathaniel (who in an amusing reflection in 2x09, reveals that he, in a roundabout way, moved to West Covina because of Rebecca—‘it’s kind of your fault that I’m here’) has finally made the actual change that Rebecca taunted him with on their first meeting. And unlike Rebecca, he’s had a chance to interrogate what happiness for himself, removed from another person, might look like before he does so. Rather than starting with a life-altering change, he gets to make incremental changes along the way—which very much are tied to his entanglement to Rebecca—in order to make a more meaningful and deliberate life change for himself later on.

“When you find someone that melts the iceberg that is your heart…” - 3x03

“Provoking me, and zinging me, and challenging my world view. And warming my heart.” - 3x04

“You make me feel like I can be a different kind of person.” - 3x08

“You’ve awakened my heart and unlocked my soul.” - 4x04

“You’ve changed my whole life. Who I am, who I can be.” - 4x11

Rebecca describes her moving to West Covina in Nathaniel’s first episode as ‘[deciding] to flip things around. [Deciding] to put happiness before success. And when I did that, the world rewarded me with true happiness.’ In the finale, she tells the audience how he, by comparison, ‘upended [his] life’—‘You changed everything. But unlike me, you did it for the right reasons. And I am in awe of you.’ Alongside the nice progression from her proclamation in 2x09 that she ‘came to West Covina to search for happiness’ to her more self-aware announcement at the open mic that ‘for the first time in my life, [she is] truly happy’, (which feels like a subversive callback to a certain infamous butter commercial) we also get a reiteration of the sentiment— ‘I came to this town to find love. And I did. I love every person in this room’—that conflates happiness with love in what is now a healthy and satisfying way. It’s the perfect twist that she’s rewarded with the thing she was searching for all along just as soon as she realises she was looking in all the wrong places, and that the place itself still gets to play such a large part in that. And she is able to see Nathaniel’s journey as all the more meaningful in light of her own missteps along the way.

While I have my reservations on the bow they tied Nathaniel’s arc in for the finale (because despite Rebecca’s realisation that there is no such thing as ‘ending up’, there is in the sense of the scope of this series) being a well thought out resolution as opposed to leaning on a previous gag without laying any actual groundwork, the truth is it’s unclear what the true nature of Nathaniel’s sabbatical is/was/will be—mere extended vacation, permanent new career path, or just the initial spark of inspiration in some extended self discovery. That being said, much like Rebecca evolving towards a point where she can appreciate the interconnectedness of love and happiness in a less troublesome way, it is neat that Nathaniel’s resolution follows on from his tendency to want to escape to far-off destinations in an attempt to control his desired status quo. Though his fleeing town is still inextricably linked to having his heart broken by Rebecca, Guatemala, for once, isn’t about transposing his current circumstance to another place in order to cling to something, but rather a carefully selected, specific site for welcomed change.

Independent of any potential that may or may not exist between them as the show closes out—romantic or otherwise—it’s undeniable that these two characters have left indelible marks on each other, and without their respective involvement in each other’s lives, their journeys—and resulting transformations—would not have been the same.

[solarwriting]

 try hard

— luke patterson

summary: luke falls for someone a little out of his league 

genre: fluff

wc: ~1.3k

warnings: au where the phantoms area live and the whole shtick is really just holograms or something idk i just like this song a lot okay??? also me projecting as usual 

♫ try hard — 5 seconds of summer

She's dropping out of school 'cause she don't need the grade, The colors in her hair don't seem to fade, I get dressed up when I go out but she gets dressed down She's 17 I've told her I'm 20

y/n sighed as she wiped the table, at least the band playing wasn’t bad. she ran a hand through her hair which was partially dyed a bright orange and watched as the band finished the set. the four bowed before the three guys disappeared. julie walked up to the table y/n was standing and and took the bottle of water she was offered. “so, are you ever going to explain how that disappearing act works?” 

“i would tell you if i understood it fully myself, the guys know a guy.” julie answered with a shrug just as the three boys walked up.

“hi,” luke said looking at her, “i-i’m luke, this is alex, reggie, and it seems that you already met julie.”

y/n nodded, shaking the respective boys’ hands, “actually i used to go to school with julie.”

“oh, that’s cool. did you graduate early or something?” alex asked.

“no, i actually dropped out. you don’t really need a diploma to be an artist.” y/n shrugged, “anyways! are you guys excited to perform tonight? this is what, your second time here, right?”

reggie nodded, “i’m excited, but also really hungry. food, guys?” 

“next door has great burgers.” y/n smiled, returning to cleaning the table as reggie nodded before rushing off, alex close behind him. 

“i’ll be right behind you,” luke assured julie before she rushed of after the other two. “so, h-how old are you?”

“seventeen, you?” y/n answered walking towards the bar, dropping her rag into a bucket behind it.

“uh, t-twenty. why’d you drop out?” 

“i want to be a makeup artist, maybe eventually i’ll be in set of a big movie but for now i work hear and sell paintings online.” y/n explained, untying the apron around her waist, “i have to go, pretty boy. good luck on your gig.”

“oh,” luke tired to speak but she was gone before he could even think of what to say. his shoulders slumped a he turned on his heel to find his bandmates. 

She's got a rose tattoo but she keeps it covered, I play guitar but she's into drummers, She's seen my face around but she doesn't even know my name 

”alex, who keeps blowing up your phone,” luke asked as alex’s phone went of for the third time.

alex smiled, laughing softly at his phone, “oh, it’s y/n. that girl from the orpheum. she’s getting a tattoo and has been sending me updates.” 

“when’d you get her number?” reggie asked, genuine confusion on his face. 

i ran into her like a week ago and we got to talking and now we text like, all the time. she’s actually really good at giving advice, she’s been helping me with willie.” alex explained, a blush dusting his cheeks at the mention of willie. 

reggie laughed, he fidgeted with the tuning knobs on his bass as alex looked at his phone once again. “oh, we’re going to hang out after practice.”

“very cool, can we please get back to practing?” luke asked, annoyance radiating from him.

julie sat from her seat at her keyboard, “yes, practice.” she gave luke a questioning look before she began playing. 

a knock came from the open studio door, “am i too early, alex?

“not at all, we just finished. how’s the tat?” he asked, sitting next to julie.

y/n entered the garage, “okay, it hurts pretty bad and my leg is now covered in plastic, but it looks awesome so i can’t complain.” 

alex and julie both let out small laughs to that. y/n grabbed the strap of her bag, “so wanna go eat? you guys can come, julie, reggie?” y/n looked a luke who was messing with an amp, “um, pretty boy? sorry, i can’t remember your name.” y/n cringed slighty. 

“it’s okay, it’s luke. and i’m good. i have to get home. 

I pierced my lip so she thinks I'm cool, I ripped my jeans and dropped out of school, I followed her 'round the town but she thinks that I'm a weirdo now

luke walked the street towards the orpheum or more specifically, the tattoo and piercing shop near it. he may or may not have seen y/n post that she was there for another tattoo session. the bell to the shop ran and luke looked around before stopping in front of the counter, “how much to get my lip pierced?” 

“fourty.” the girl in front of him looking lightly unamused answered, “follow me.” 

she walked through a curtained door way, luke quick to follow. walking down the hall he saw her, y/n had her back to him. all of her attention was focused on her leg where a heavily tattooed man was working on coloring the rose tattoo.

he follwed the girl to the next room and sat down.

“do you want a ring or stud?” she asked as she washed her hands.

“a ring and on this side, please.” luke said as she prepped her supplies and in almost as little time as it took him to decide to do it, it was over. 

“okay, that’s it. you can go back up front and i’ll ring you up.” the girl said disposing her gloves.

luke made is way back to the front and froze for a moment when he saw y/n holding her wallet laughing at something her tattoo artist said as he rung her up. “pretty boy!” y/n looked up, surprised, “what are you doing here?”

“got my lip pierced, felt like a change, you could say.” he explained, hoping he was being as cool as thought he was. 

y/n laughed, “very cool.” she tucked her wallet back into her bag, “i guess i’ll see you around, pretty boy. bye, jay.”

the bell rang and luke looked at the man in front of him sheepishly, “s-she said fourty?” he offered the money to the man, jay, before leaving quickly.

But now, who knew? She's in the crowd of my show Nothing to lose, She's standing right in the front row The perfect view, She came alone on her own,

y/n cheered as she watched the band play, she stood in the front dancing along to the beat. she looked up at the stage a caught luke’s eye as he leaned down and winked. luke grinned, straightening himself back up before began singing the chorus,

“You're so out of reach, and I'm finding it hard 'Cause you make me feel, you make me feel, Yeah she makes me feel, she makes me feel It's obvious

“She's so out of reach, and I'm finding it hard 'Cause she makes me feel, makes me feel, Like I try, like I try, like I'm trying too hard,”

after the show, y/n sat at a table near the stage with a drink in hand and a smile on her face. “so,” luke came up behind her, “did you like the show?”

y/n stood up so she could be closer to eye level with him, “yeah. i think try hard was my favorite. very familiar.” y/n leaned closer to his ear, “if you wanted to go out with me you could just ask.” she trailed her hand down his arm as she walked away before getting pulled back by the wrist by luke.

he pulled her into him before grabbing her face and kissing her, his lip ring chilling her skin like ice. y/n threaded her fingers through his already messy hair and kissed him back with an equal enthusiasm. she pulled away slightly breathless, lips puffy, “i’m suddenly very glad i opted to go without lipstick tonight.” 

she grabbed his hand, pulling him along. leading him to (eventually) her apartment.

[dictools254]

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Designed to drill holes on mild to hard steels. These Cutters are more effective for mild steel application. Moreover, it can also be re-sharpened to increase the cutter’s life. For the Excellent performance of the cutters, the fluid should be used to extend cutter life. The Cutter diameter ranges from 12mm to 60mm.

► TIN Coated HSS Annular Cutter

DIC is a Manufacturer of Tin Coated HSS Annular Cutter in India. TIN-Coated HSS Annular cutters are made from HSS in grades M2, M35, M42. TIN Coating is provided on these cutters for longer tool life and efficient usage. These cutters are more effective for mild steel applications and can be re-sharpened also to increase the cutter life.

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