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svndaysaweek · 2 years ago

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e^(iπ)+1=0 — {Feat. Minnie}

1.3k words

A/N: I've been studying math so hard that I came up with this... I don't know if all readers can understand this, so I recommend googling the inclined terms(which are mathematical ones). Also know that e^(iπ)+1=0 is the most beautiful formula in mathematics,,

p.s: Why is eˣ okay but e^(iπ)+1=0 not? Tumblr mysteries..

Tags: Math(?), Choking, Creampie, Loving Sex

******

Minnie is like the eˣ function to you. The way her consistency fills up your heart—eˣ differentiated is still eˣ—, her always positive character—its domain is always positive number—, her out-of-this-world beauty—e^(iπ)+1=0—, and–

The way her back forms an exponential arc in front of you.

"F-fuck,"

On her knees Minnie is taking your pounding, with her entire body. Her back arcs upward to meet you face to face, as she turns her head back to you and into a blissful kiss.

You draw the sin x graph with your tongue inside her mouth. Up and down, up and down, corresponding to her tongue that draws a cos x graph, intertwined with yours completely—but following the exact same period of 2π.

You push her down to the mattress, and now you can see the hyperbolic curve of her waist. You grab on the narrow valley of it and continue pounding.

What you are doing to Minnie is distorting the perfectness of her body, although it's your way of worshiping it. The circular dark orbs in her elliptical eyes disappear into her head.

You choke her from behind. The amount of air getting in her lungs converges to zero, while the pleasure diverges to infinity.

Her fingers dig into the mattress as you pace up. You feel her walls pulse like sin x. Instant grips and loosenings of her pussy indicate that she is now close. You contribute the last drop of your patience for her orgasm—the maximum, when the derivative of her pleasure hits the X axis.

"I'm cummi–"

Minnie cums with a scream silenced by your grip around her neck. You for a moment regret restraining her voice, but no. You can just make her cum again, again, and again.

You flip her around to face you and resume the race. The race of which finish line you all are aware of obviously.

You kiss her again, this time drawing infinity with your tongue. It of course doesn't mean that it'll last forever, but you feel like it lasts as long as eternity itself. Rather, it would mean the neverending high you two are sharing right now.

Integral. Integrity. You and Minnie in bed together can't be counted as two. Undivided pleasure travels your connected, shared body. No boundaries are found between you and Minnie as you are pulled into a tight hug by her. You can feel how smooth her skin is, how soft her breasts are like it's your body—forget about the breasts, maybe.

Actually, it sounds quite right because it is your body—it's been so long since you lost count how many times you two told each other "You're mine,". Minnie moaning beneath you is yours. Yours to savor, yours to please, yours only to love.

Yes, yours only, and vice versa. You two are bijective functions. Each of your factors matches each of hers, without duplicity.

Again, you're hers only. Minnie is here, taking your cock to define you, to differentiate you, to integrate you. Minnie is moaning underneath your body, to be your proof, to be your solution, to be your answer.

"Are you close, babe?"

You were just about to say that you were, but you are so predictable a problem—Minnie knows the exact formulae to use when dealing with you.

"I am,"

Go ahead, she eyes you. You crook your neck to nibble on her ear and whisper,

"I fucking love you, Minnie,"

The moment you cum inside her, you are sent out of this world. The real world means nothing to you. Imaginary sensations feel more real than the real ones. Like you're feeling the i itself—the imaginary number.

1×1=1. You and Minnie just can't get separated. When it comes to you two, it's not the concept of addition or subtraction. You two love each other so it's 1×1=1. When you two are away from each other, you're still one, because 1÷1=1. Being 2 means you and Minnie are two 1s, which makes you two different individuals—right now, and of course always, you'd disprove that proudly.

You already came about half a minute ago, but you don't pull out. You see Minnie's heaving back and it's perfectly symmetrical—her erector muscles being the perfect axis for it.

It's an even function —f(x)=f(-x)— that you get visual, psychological satisfaction from. That way you could split her perfectly into two halves.

Your hands softly rub on her back. She still is in the middle of recovery, as you can feel her bumping heartbeats on your palm.

"Y-you feel so warm, baby,"

Minnie slightly lifts her limp head from the bed and murmurs with such a low tone. You then pull out and lie down next to her. Turning your body to her side you brush her hair behind her ears. She looks at you and gives you a satisfied, satisfying smile that could literally melt anything, everything.

Minnie's hand comes up to touch your face and–

It hits your still hard dick and she looks at it.

"Wanna go for another round?"

Minnie asks you, sitting up and getting on your thighs. It's a question with only one answer, it's another function that defines you two—a constant function, no matter what she says your answer is yes, undeniably.

Minnie grabs it, strokes it softly, and you feel your lust being recharged. Seems like she doesn't even look for your answer, anyway.

"Holy–"

You're inside her. Right after insertion Minnie starts to ride you out fast. You can only gasp at the feeling of her already-fucked inside, which is what you do every fucking time. Minnie kneeling, each of her knees are next to your both sides as she waves her hip and waist on you.

"Ah, fuck… You can last longer, right?"

She again asks you a question, locking fingers with you. Just like before, your answer is undoubtedly yes. Minnie then brings your hands to her lower waist and leans down forward, completely relying her weight on you. She lets your head into her embrace and whispers into your ear.

"Warm me up again, baby."

Your hands go down to grab on her hips and you begin fucking her upward with pace. As soon as your thrusts start to fuck your previous cum deeper into her womanhood, she moans beautifully into your ear.

Her arms tighten around your head, but the only tightness you can recognize is that of what's around your cock. She nibbles on your ear. Hot breaths tickle your ear, and her teeth on it motivates you to go even faster, rougher, and harsher. That's what loving sex is to her, and of course, to you too.

Your right hand detaches from her ass and gets on the back of her head. Minnie then lifts her head slightly up to fall into a dirty kiss. This time, you review the whole session beforehand.

You are drawing sin x, cos x, and infinity randomly with your tongue. Her back begins to arc exponentially, so you strengthen your hand on her head to keep her body tangent to yours. Your fingers on her ass rubs on her another hole, to make her pleasure diverge to infinity.

And everything you're doing earns her uncontrolled scream of ecstasy, as if she's trying to make an auditory definition of orgasm.

She again closes in to lock lips with you, and soon she cums. On your still-moving cock she cums hard, and in your mouth she lets the orgasmic sound out. It travels through your body fast, reverberates in your skull, sending you over the edge in no time.

You push deep into her for the last time before violently cumming inside her again.

It's explosive, you would term it. Minnie's entire body reacts to every spurt you shoot inside her.

"Holy fuck…"

You let out a sigh of words.

"Baby, that was…"

On top of her lungs she says, only to pause for breathing.

That was awesome, yeah. You know that, because you feel just like her too.

You look into her eyes, and find the excellence itself, the perfect, absolute beauty—e^(iπ)+1=0 .

#kpop male reader #kpop x male reader #kpop smut #minnie smut #gidle smut

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liz-allyn · 2 years ago

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sugar and vice, pt. 15 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: what’s worse - a painful truth or a beautiful liar?

words: 5.6 k

chapter warning: trigger warning - *tw sa* - pls read at your own risk. John Walker (is officially a c*nt trigger warning). ANNNNNNGST. Mean awful words.

series warnings: mob-typical violence, bang bang shoot shoot, whump. hurt/comfort. s*xu*l situations. spousal ab^se. family trauma. dr^g use. coercion. manipulation. kidnapping. gore. blood. toxic/yandere!peter (maybe, sorta), negative self talk, shameless forced proximity trope. ‘only ten one bed oops’ trope, imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions. extremely toxic relationships.

This version of TASM Peter is not canon. The relationships and characters here are not healthy.

Don't date a mob boss.™️

18+ You’re responsible for your own media consumption, but if you don’t remember when Shia LeBeouf was just Louis Stevens then I’m not sure this content is right for you.

Back to Part 14.

Part 15

She was inches off the ground, her feet kicking wildly. It was no different than a noose around her neck. John dragged her like a ragdoll into a wide bathroom stall. With his beefy hand clamped around her jaw, tight enough to crush it, he shut and latched the partition door.

The forced proximity caused her to mewl louder, hyperventilating in his grip. He lifted her further off the floor by the shoulders and slammed her against the tiles, expelling the air from her lungs.

He was stronger than she remembered, his grip exponentially more painful. He’d no doubt logged extra hours in the gym, just like he used to, between his time at work and his time violating her.

She was weaker than she remembered, clawing helplessly at his arms with her shoulders pinned against the wall. Shrinking with terror at the feral look in his eye. Eventually, she went limp in his hold, submitting to her fate. She trembled uncontrollably, gasping through her nose, with her toes barely touching the tops of his feet.

Just like old times.

“There you are!” he cheerfully cooed, with a tone that reminded her of the way two old women greet each other on Easter Sunday.

His hand cemented her mouth closed while his forearm crushed her chest like a steel beam. “I’ve been worried sick about you, Peach. You haven’t answered my texts... my calls...” He grinned sadistically, with a festive tone. “I was beginning to think you’d fallen off the face of the Brooklyn Bridge!”

She had nightmares like this, where a scream tore at her throat but couldn’t break free. If she could, it would’ve pierced their eardrums. The panic in her eyes was shriller than sirens. Her heart drummed nearly as loud as the muffled music in the bar outside. Terror gripped her, and all he could do was laugh.

If she could scream, it would be one name: Peter.

As if John could read her mind, he narrowed his gaze, eyes darkening. Threatening. Daring her. “Now. I’m gonna move my hand so we can chat. And if you do so much as sneeze too loudly, I’ll drown you in that toilet bowl down there.”

She shuddered, tears spilling down her face. She sobbed. But she quit struggling.

“Atta girl,” he purred with a wicked smile. Licking his lips, he wiped a tear away with the pad of his thumb. “Here we go.” Slowly, he loosened his grip, letting his palm slide down her chin and his fingers wrap dangerously around her throat.

She gaped up at him, wet eyes glimmering in the fluorescent light.

“So,” he said, glancing between her petrified eyes and trembling lips. “What gives, Peach? Did you forget about me already?”

“John, please—”

He constricted his hand around the base of her neck. She pictured a python suffocating its prey, squeezing slowly until every bone shattered.

“I can’t help but feel like you’ve been ghosting me,” he said unnervingly lightheartedly. “Be honest. Was it something I said?”

She panted in short breaths. “Nonono, you don’t understand—I’m-’m trying to protect you!”

He tightened his grip.

“It’s the truth! You don-don’t understand—something is wrong... Peter is—he-he’s capable of things that-that humans shouldn’t be capable of!”

He curled a brow upwards, intrigued.

“I’ve seen it! It’s... it’s like the devil. I-I don’t know. He’s-he’s not human, John. I’ve seen him almost rip a man’s head off with his bare hands. Please, he’s... he’s not right—”

“You tellin’ me bedtime stories, Peach?”

“Nooo,” she sobbed, shaking her head. He allowed her the space to do so. “I’m not, I swear! He-he can’t be stopped...I don’t know what he’ll do to me if he finds out— I don’t know what he’ll do to either of us—”

“Shh,” he whispered, his eyes softening. He wiped another tear from her cheek. “It’s okay, I got ya.” He stroked her face sweetly. It made her skin crawl—a cruel imitation of kindness. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. You just gotta use that silver tongue of yours.”

She gulped at his insinuation.

“Speaking of which, you blow ‘em yet?” He sneered with a smile that made her nauseous, with an overemphasis on each syllable, “Come on, Hun-ney.” He wiped across her lower lip with the pad of his thumb, narrowing his eyes into slits. He breached her mouth, and she loathed the foul taste of his finger. “I know you’ve got what it takes.”

She went stiff. Felt cold and clammy. Like her skin wasn’t attached to her muscles. She didn’t want to wear it anymore.

“Well,” John pouted, pulling his thumb away, “if you’re not willing to play, I’ll have to resort to other measures. Guess I’ll have to settle for the kid.”

Her eyes flashed with anger. “Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare touch Bella—”

“I’m not talkin’ about Bella,” he snickered. “And not any of your slutty sisters either.” Her brows pinched together anxiously. “I’m talkin’ about the other kid—Miles Morales.”

Her breath hitched in her throat. A Cheshire smile stretched his face like an evil clown out of a horror movie. “Fucked up what happened to his family,” John mused with faux sympathy. “If anyone ever knew where to find him, he’d be in real danger.”

Her glossy eyes widened and her blood went cold. He didn’t need to choke her. She was being strangled by a mix of terror and rage, cutting off her air supply. She thought she was going to pass out.

“You can’t do that,” she whispered in shock. He tilted his head, glaring through slitted eyes. “He’s... he’s just a kid. He’s not even a part—”

“Oh, please,” he chuckled darkly. “Don’t tell me you’re that stupid. No one’s gonna believe that he’s some innocent bystander. Especially not the cops in this city.”

Her upper lip curled. “You’ll never prove anything.”

“I don’t have to,” John said under his breath. His voice was as soft as a cloud, and his eyes turned to ice. “All I have to do is call for backup. Lotsa things happen when the police get involved. Miscommunication. Accidents.”

He let the words sink in, as if holding for a dramatic pause. He leered down at her maliciously, like he’d just delivered a punchline. Her sense of reason detached from her own body. A fresh swell of rage rose in her, boiling the blood in her veins.

She barely recognized her own voice, or the poisonous sound of her fury. “If you come near Miles, you’re a dead man,” she seethed, almost breathless with anger. “Peter will kill you.”

John’s smile melted at her insolence, staring at her with disbelief. Rage spread through him.

She recognized that look. Knew it well, like an old friend. This was usually the part where he’d flatten her with the back of his hand.

She expected it. Welcomed it. She was convinced that it would have been worth it.

Instead, he pulled back his chin, studying her with scrutiny. “Wow,” he scoffed in disgust. “Parker got you good. He’s your knight in shining armor, isn’t he?”

He released her weight, letting her stand on her own, but kept his forearm against her chest. With the other hand, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a smartphone. Tapping in a code, he unlocked the screen and held it up to her view. She blinked rapidly, her eyes struggling to focus on the harsh blue light.

The image that came into view baffled her. It looked like a red paint can had exploded. But she knew who was showing her the picture, and anxious nausea gripped her. She looked away.

“Look. At. It,” he ordered through clenched teeth. “Recognize this?”

She glanced at the image with a stoic expression, which looked more like a Jackson Pollock painting than anything. She flicked her gaze upwards, glowering in silence.

“No? Lemme show you the ‘before.’”

He swiped the photo away. Her eyes went cold.

Immediately, she recognized Peter. If you had asked her—that was the first thing she saw. He was in some kind of nightclub, maybe in a part of Web that she hadn’t seen.

His face was partially obscured. But if you had asked her, she could tell you with certainty that it was Peter. That jutted jaw sporting a beard he’d worn up until today. That sharp nose. The prominent Adam’s apple in his throat. She’d recognize them anywhere.

If you had asked her, he looked disheveled in a way she couldn’t recognize. His hair was wild. Black shirt slightly askew, hanging too loosely like he spent time in a mosh pit.

But if you had asked her at that moment, she wouldn’t say anything. She was unable to speak.

She was utterly frozen, staring horrified at the half-naked woman on his lap. The woman was wearing nothing but a thong and tiny slivers of fabric that barely contained her breasts. She straddled him, fingers laced around the buttons of his shirt.

He didn’t look upset by it. Not one bit.

Didn’t look concerned at all. Instead, his head was thrown back in what appeared to her as ecstasy. She’d recognized that expression. She’d seen it from that same angle. It had only been a couple of days since she was sitting where that woman sat.

A sharp line formed between her brows. It had only been a couple of days.

This photo was taken with a long lens from a hidden angle. Someone had been spying on him. Watching him, unseen. Recently, too—there was a watermark of a date in the corner of the image.

It had only been a couple of days ago.

She was numb. She didn’t need to look up at John to see him beaming down at her. The color was draining from her face, her natural hue turning greener every second. Viciously, he flicked his thumb, displaying another image.

This one had them locked in a filthy kiss.

The next one had his lips latched to her chest.

The next one had his hands cupping her ass. Thumbs toying beneath the waistband of the silver thong she was wearing.

The next one had those hands buried in the woman’s hair—that gorgeous woman with her giant tits and flawless body. Perfect ass hoisted in the air as she bent her knees on either side of his thighs. Her tongue licked the flesh of Peter’s exposed chest.

Although Honey’s eyes told her it was a still image, her brain projected a motion picture. Her mind crafted each frame, imagining this woman trailing down his sternum until she connected with the hard, thick line in his lap.

In her memories, she could vividly see his eyes, but now they were staring at this woman. Burning her with a hungry gaze. Speaking filthy vows as he worked himself with his own hand. Worshiping her like she was a goddess.

“Aww, how sad,” John hummed, relishing in her pain.

When had she started crying?

“Now, check this out. Lemme show you the ‘after.’”

Another flick of his thumb revealed a wider image of the painting. She gasped with horror as she recognized the paint splatter as human remains. It was all that was left of the woman. Body parts and organs spread across a room like disjointed puzzle pieces. Her mouth fell open in a silent gag as her stomach pitched.

John snorted with a chuckle, “Geez, I can’t imagine the cock on this guy. Talk about splitting a woman in half, eh?”

Her heart crumbled. Her mind was shattered. Like the piano against the wall. Like that guard’s spine. Like the bloody mess of the man who’d kidnapped her. The whole world was red.

“Did he tell you about Gwen?”

Her heart skipped at the sound of her name. Her eyes darted up to John’s—stunned. How did John know about the woman of Peter’s dreams—the other other woman in his fantasies? She gazed at him in disbelief. He snickered.

“Did he tell you they were married?”

Another stab to her heart. A phantom limb severed.

“Did he tell you how she died?”

Another stone placed on her chest. She felt her lungs compress and buckle.

“Did he tell you how he murdered his own wife?”

Now, she was nothing. Less than nothing. Pulverized. Crushed to dust. Ground into the dirt. No more a body than the bloody painting of Peter’s mistress.

“You know what’ll happen to me if something happens to Miles?” John said.

He hooked a finger under her chin, pulling her gaze up to his. It was effortless. She had no fight left in her body. She was clay in his hands to mold however he wanted. A jellyfish washed up on shore. She had never had a backbone.

“Absolutely nothing,” he breathed, fixing her with a cruel smile. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, but she couldn’t feel them anymore. Couldn’t feel anything.

“I won’t be the one that Parker goes after. It’ll be you. His sweet, saintly, slutty snake.”

She stared with lifeless eyes, like playing possum. That was a mistake. She knew it wasn’t any fun for John if he couldn’t see her suffer. He wouldn’t be sated.

“Oh. One more thing. You forgot this.” He put his phone back in his pocket, retrieving another one. Her eyes went wide. It was hers—the one she kept hidden in her bedroom. “Can’t leave this lying around just anywhere,” he glowered.

She felt an iron grip on her thigh. She gasped sharply, but he cupped her mouth and sealed off the cries. Viciously, he wrenched up her thigh, pulling her legs apart. His fingers groped beneath the hem of her dress. A scream bubbled up in her throat as he shoved his hand into her underwear.

“Gotta make sure you keep this close,” he sneered through gritted teeth. Cold glass was placed crudely against her flesh, sending a chill that penetrated every cell in her body. In her mind, she thrashed, shrieked, kicked, hollered, scratched, bit, punched, yelled, clawed, bludgeoned, and punctured. But aside from sobbing, her body did nothing.

Just like old times.

When he retracted his hand, her limbs were rubber. If his hand on her mouth hadn’t nailed her to the wall, she would’ve collapsed.

Instead, he leered down at her, feasting on her anguish and relishing her torment.

He smirked.

There was no need for threats. No need to worry about her at all. She was broken. Weak. She would fall apart if he pushed her—a dandelion in a hurricane.

He released her, letting her knees buckle. She slid down the wall, trembling, crumbling beneath the toilet bowl. She winced at the uncomfortable feeling of a foreign object between her thighs.

“You run along now,” he muttered, undisturbed. “You’ll be okay as long as you can manage to keep your legs closed.”

Peter leaned back against the wall, letting the coolness seep into his scalp. His eyes were closed as he hummed a tune playing on the jukebox. Every breath was measured steadily, trying to shut out the noises around him.

He’d almost lost it. Again.

And while he was dreaming up violent pictures and all the different ways he could slaughter the two drunkards—who had smartly disappeared—he felt the sensation of an icy breeze tickling his body. It started gentle, like a gust of late autumn wind against bare skin. A moment later, the temperature plunged. It was excruciating, stab wounds all over his skin like he’d been dropped into a frozen river.

His eyes opened wide, a gasp filling his lungs. A chill he hadn’t felt in years shot down his spine. His gaze darted across the room, frantically searching. And then he spotted her—his girl stomping across the bar, rushing towards the exit. Her shoulders were rigid, arms wrapped tightly around herself, head down. She was a few paces away from sprinting. He could smell her tears from here.

His eyebrows pinched together. “Honey?”

She stopped for nothing. Scampered on shaky legs and unsteady heels out onto the sidewalk. Frozen tear tracks decorated her cheeks like glitter. She could hear Peter calling after her. The sound of his voice made her want to rip her face off.

A bomb of vile fury— ugly, savage, and raw— had been set off beneath her ribs. Rage vaporized her insides, burning blisters across her heart. A firestorm in her stomach and chest threatened to incinerate everything in her path.

“Honey! Wait up!”

Her eyes were blurry—glazed over. She recognized the shape of a yellow cab in front of her. Didn’t hesitate for a moment.

“Taxi!” she shouted, reaching for the door handle. She wrenched it open—if she had a fraction of Peter’s strength, she would’ve ripped the sedan in half.

Just before she crawled inside, the door slammed shut. Again. Peter tried to pull her back from the edge. Again.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa— what the hell—?”

“Don’t touch me!” she shrieked, voice like shattered glass.

The shrillness of it caused him to jolt. Immediately, Peter removed his hand from her upper arm, a bewildered look on his face. He blinked in confusion, overwhelmed by the redness of her eyes and the streaks of mascara down her face.

“What happened?” he gasped softly. His voice hardened to a demand. “Who did this to you?”

“Get the fuck away from me!” she screamed in a tone that was sharp and piercing enough to cut through the concrete jungle of New York City’s streets.

Peter suddenly felt every eye in the city on him, reminding him they stood on a busy Manhattan street. Flushed, he glanced around to see a crowd of bystanders turning to look. Curious and judgmental eyes attacked him from every direction.

Calming himself, he lowered his voice. “Honey, talk to me. What happened?”

Her eyes were wild. “Where’s Bella?”

“What?”

“Where is she, Peter? Where did you take her?!”

He curled a brow upwards, studying her, becoming more disturbed by her erratic outburst. “We talked about this,” he said placatingly, “I told you she was safe—”

“All you told me was that you took my family out of their home and hid them away from me!” She roared with a sharp, accusatory tone, “What did you do to them?! Where are they?! What did you do with my baby niece?!”

Compared to her, he was a whisper in the wind. “Honey, please, just calm down—”

“Forget it, I’m leaving!”

“What? No, I’ll drive us home!” Peter rushed after her, trying to maintain control of the situation. Panicked, he made eye contact with a man sitting at the valet stand just off the arcade entrance. He called to him, “Hey! Bring my car ‘round, will ya?” He hurried to give the valet his ticket, and the young man darted off immediately at the command.

Honey was now ten feet away from him and expanding her lead. The crowd was still eagerly watching the drama unfold. His senses buzzed him again as his eyes found a beat cop parked in a police cruiser nearby. He broke eye contact with the suspicious eyes of the officer, jogging away to catch up to her.

She turned a corner just as he approached. “Honey, I said I’d drive you—”

“I’m not going anywhere with you!” she hissed. He jumped into her path, fighting the urge to make contact.

“Wait a minute—!”

“Get away from me!” she hollered, her voice cracked and ravaged with cries. She stopped and backed up, putting several feet between them. A couple that was passing by slowed to a stop to watch. As did a senior man walking his dog. As did an off-duty driver watching from his cab.

Peter could recognize a power shift when he saw one. Now, standing on Fifth Avenue with her screaming her head off in front of a growing audience, she had all the power in the world.

He breathed heavily through his nose, his voice barely above a whisper, “Please, just slow down. Lower your voice. Tell me what’s wrong—”

“Or what?” she snapped, her volume still teetering on hysteria. “You’ll kidnap me again?” She was louder than a jet engine.

He felt faint, with the constant sirens in his mind alerting him to impending danger. He was defenseless.

“You're gonna throw a bag over my head and put me in the trunk?” she hissed. “In front of all these people?”

He swallowed hard, stomach twisting. Skin burning from dirty looks in the crowd. Cheeks flushed red with embarrassment.

“That’s your weakness, isn’t it?” she speared him, relentless in her attack. “You thrive in the shadows. You can’t survive without the dark! Can’t live where people can see how dirty you are out in the open! You’re worse than a rat; you’re fucking vermin! You act like you’re different, like you’ve got some moral code! But you’re no different than those dirty cops! All you want is to control people!”

His chest heaved while his gaze blackened. He lowered his chin, quietly seething. “Honey. Let’s not talk about this here.”

“I’m taking a cab.”

“You’re not gettin’ in a cab by yourself.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not safe!”

She glowered resentfully, jabbing a finger at him, “You’re not safe!” He blinked rapidly, taken aback by the pure loathing in her eyes. Rage flowed through her veins like lava. He’d never seen her so savagely cruel, like she was savoring the violence in her mouth.

“You call that love?” she demanded, voice cracking with cries. “Devotion? That’s obsession! Slavery!” Her whole body was shaking, eyes ablaze. “Fuck you! You don’t know what it means to love!”

The twist beneath his ribs was beginning to throb. Nostrils flared, he glared back and opened his mouth to speak. She unleashed another barrage the moment she saw his resistance.

“You know how to fight, but you don’t know what it means to surrender.” Her voice was quieter but no less vicious. She stalked towards him, emboldened by her anger. “You think I didn’t want to leave home? I wanted to run away! But I didn’t! I stayed... because that’s my mother! I stayed there to protect my sisters!” She paused only for air. “Suffering! Sacrifice! That’s love! How dare you pretend you know anything about it!”

“I’ve sacrificed,” he bit back, his hardened defensively. His eyes were lit up by the cars that passed by, the glimmer in them unmistakable. “And for the record—that’s not love. Love isn’t suffering. That’s fear.”

She eyed him lividly, words spewing out like boiling poison. “How would you know?” she hissed. “Everyone that ever loved you is dead. And everyone left alive is too scared to tell you the truth.”

He pressed his lips together, lifting his chin. His eyebrows furrowed together, eyes hung solemnly on her seething form. She spotted the tick in his jaw. The way he clenched it tight to keep himself from breaking down in her presence.

Against her will, the sight soured her rage. She inhaled slowly through her nose, biting down her jaw to keep her lip from wobbling in response.

He sniffed, rubbing his nose briefly. “That feel good?” he said bitterly. He glanced up at her, tears brimming in his eyes. “I bet it did. Now you finally know what it’s like to stand up for yourself.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple sliding up and down as if he was keeping something rancid from crawling up his throat. He sniffed again. Eyes flicked away. “Pretty nice bein’ on the opposite end for a change? Or do you get off on the pain more?”

Her irritation flared; his words sliced into her like a dagger. Her eyes burned with built-up tears.

“You like that, yeah?” he glowered. His eyes flashed with anger, temper flaring. “Ain't that right?” He hissed through gritted teeth, stalking up until he was inches from her. “You love it when the bad men hurt you. Fuckin’ love being a victim. So much that you’re willing to apologize for it. Admit that you wanna be controlled! You wanna be tied up and kept! It’s your goddamn dirty fantasy, isn’t it?”

His voice reverberated off the buildings before he buttoned his lips. Nostrils flaring, he dropped his gaze to the cement beneath their feet. She glared back, but she wasn’t looking at him.

Instead, she saw that slut writhing on top of him while she foolishly—stupid, stupid girl— worried for his safety.

“You’re confusing your fantasies with reality,” she sneered lividly. “You bastard, you don’t even know my name. You don’t know anything about me.”

His jawbone twitched, eyes downcast. “How could I? How could anyone? You never let me in.” He glanced up at her beneath his lashes, bitterness in his gaze. “I don’t know if you won’t because you don’t trust me or because it’s just easier for you to lie. But I am the only one who has laid it all out for you! I’ve told you exactly who I am, and what I am!”

She shook her head, her tone virulent, “And I hate all of it.”

The viciousness of her tone gave him pause. The sweet girl in the coffee shop was gone. Her humanity was ripped from her cells. He stood in horrified awe. Completely aghast and wondering who would have destroyed her like this. Who on Earth had the power to tear apart a soul the way hers had been?

“You were right, Peter,” she softly declared. “Your aunt and uncle didn’t deserve to die like that.” All the tears had drained from her eyes; the remnants dripped from her chin. Her quivering lip shook them loose. “But you do.”

The killing blow. That’s all he needed to hear in order to posit his answer.

He had been the one to kill her. To break her spirit. Tear apart her soul. He just hadn’t realized it until now.

He heard the roar of a familiar V8 engine. Glancing over, still slightly glazed from the raw energy of their fight, he saw his Basalt Black Porsche Spyder pulling up to the curb. It stopped several paces away, high gloss shine glittering in the streetlights. It was a stunning jewel proclaiming his accomplishments, none of which he could immediately recall—or give a shit about.

Most of the faces on the sidewalk were now pointed away from them, but Peter could hear the cruel things they whispered under their breaths. Maybe they were right.

The valet popped out of the driver's side, smartly avoiding even a glance towards the couple. He disappeared, didn’t even wait for a tip.

Peter stared at the ajar door, reeling with hot emotions and dreading the next fight ahead.

“Get in the car, Honey,” he muttered darkly. Any ounce of kindness or patience had evaporated.

“Fuck off.”

He flashed rageful eyes at her. “I’m not tellin’ you again. Get. In the car.”

She narrowed her eyes and scoffed at his empty threat. “You gonna have me whacked, Boss?”

He tilted his head. Glowered at her for several moments. “Of course not.” His tone was calm and his eyes gentle, a shocking contrast to his livid demeanor moments before. He strolled towards her until she was within arm’s length.

“I’m gonna let you go,” he said matter-of-factly. “Gonna let you run. Get as far away from me as you can, until I’m nothin’ but a bad memory. I’m gonna let you go free. Let you believe that you really won this time.” Like a feather, he drifted closer, stopping inches from her ear. He whispered icily, “Then I’m gonna hunt you down.”

She flicked her gaze to his. His eyes were black, possessed by rage and whatever other evil lived inside his soul. “And I will bring you back. In handcuffs, if I have to. In chains.” He leveled his gaze at her, speaking in a hushed tone. “You think I’m scary now? You think I’m the bad guy? No. You haven’t seen me bad, Honey. You haven’t seen me angry.”

Her expression was stone. The threat lingered in the air, but she didn’t respond. He doubted she lacked the courage to do so. She likely didn’t have the energy.

She simply didn’t care anymore.

“I’ve seen all I need to see,” she said calmly, letting out a tired sigh.

Rolling her eyes, she rounded around him and began strolling towards the car. She walked with an airy gait, floating like a ghost. Untethered to this world. Empty and void of anything resembling life. “Dinner is over,” she bitterly muttered. “And I’m ready to go back to my room now—”

A force collided with her upper back like she took a punch to the spine. Before she could cry out, she was flying backward.

The car shrank in her gaze. She came to a sudden stop, crashing against the brick wall of Peter’s chest, steel beams wrapping around her. They were both flying through the air, spinning dizzily, until coming to a hard crash on the pavement.

The air ejected from her lungs as she rolled to her back. Peter’s body covered hers, shielding her.

A bright flash. Blinding light. A blast of heat.

A shockwave erupted from the sportscar as it exploded into flames.

And then, there was nothing but silence.

Her lungs felt like they were on fire. She choked on methane, her chest trembling from damage. Her eyes fluttered open to see Peter gazing down at her. Doe eyes. Wide and terrified. He was sobbing. She could barely hear him over the ringing in her ears.

“Wake up, baby... Baby, please, please come back to me, wake up wake up, come back, stay with me staywithmeplease staywithme—”

It sounded like she was at the bottom of a well.

On the next inhale, she broke into a coughing fit. The change in pressure of her airways restored some of her hearing, but she was still trapped in a coffee can. The whole world rattled and buzzed around her.

Peter’s face filled with relief, albeit short. “I got you.” His voice trembled. She was no longer on the ground. She was freezing and soaked, covered in road mud and sleet. She shook against the heat of his chest. Her fingers were icicles, and it was painful to grip his neck.

“I got you,” he repeated. “S’okay. Gonna get us out of here, okay? Just close your eyes for me.”

The bright lights of a bonfire blinded her, and closing her eyes was a welcome relief. Then her stomach pitched, like she jumped off a building.

She kept her eyes closed. Gripping him close, her nails dug into the leather of his jacket. She was so cold. Like she’d been walking through a blizzard. Could barely feel her toes. What happened to her shoes?

She jostled as she came to a sudden stop. Her head throbbed from the jerking sensation. It was like she’d been in a car crash. Or had gotten hit by a bus.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Peter repeated, terror stretching his voice thin. “Sorry so sorry so sorry I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it—”

She felt herself crying, shaking in his hold. The sharp prickle of gravel on the backs of her exposed legs startled her. Dizzied, she blinked up at him in confusion. His gaze was buried within hers. He cradled her close to his chest.

She was disoriented. Where did the buildings go? Were they on the roof? When did they go upstairs? Had she blacked out?

“Baby, look at me,” he called to her, his voice as gentle as a lake. Her eyes struggled to focus. Her mouth opened, but she couldn’t breathe enough to speak. Choked on the frost in the air. Choked on the taste of blood in her mouth.

Her eyes went wide, gazing up at him as terror settled in. Her brain started to reboot, putting pieces together, but her pulse pounded as the picture came to life. The car blew up. Right in front of her. They had almost died. She had almost died. Peter had almost died.

She sobbed. Cried out his name.

He held her tight, rocking her like a child. “It’s okay,” he whispered soothingly. He dug his arm beneath her knees, elevating her legs while dipping his hold on her back. He was so warm, always warm all the time—practically burning up. She was so cold.

“You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay. Just breathe.”

Tearfully, she hiccuped, sucking in big gasps of air. “Pete—”

“Shh, shh,” he cooed. “Breathe for me, baby. Just breathe. Just like you taught me, yeah? In and out. We’re gonna take a moment to breathe.”

“M’sorry... I’m sorry about everything,” her voice broke over the words. It felt like her tongue wouldn’t move as she wanted it to. “I didn’t mean it—”

His face was filthy, streaked with tears and horror and blood. He shook his head, touching his nose to her. “It’s okay, baby. Just rest right now, okay?”

“Peter, what happened?” she cried, shuddering as he rocked her. “Wha...?”

“It’s okay, sweetie. S’okay, we just fell. We fell. You-you hit your head... and—fuck, I’m so sorry, this is all my fault—”

“I’m co-cold...”

“Here.” He shucked off his jacket, blanketing her with it. “We gotta get you warm. Just need t’get a good look at you, see where you’re hurt.”

“Di-Did I almost die?”

He winced. Squeezed his eyes closed, like holding back a scream. “No, baby.” He swallowed hard. “No. I was never gonna let that happen. I’m never gonna let that happen, I swear.” His face crumpled as he pressed an agonized kiss to her forehead. “I’m so sorry. I’ll never—I’ll never hurt you again, I swear it. I swear.”

Her face crumpled as he squeezed her body to his chest. She closed her eyes, burying her wet cheeks in the crook of his neck.

He was sorry. So was she.

But not nearly enough.

Not yet.

Continue to Part 16

[back to masterlist]

A/N yeeeeeaaaah. originally, i planned for 14 and 15 to be one chapter, but instead, we needed some semblance of joy. for a moment.

thank you so much for everyone that has given me beautiful feedback and notes and fun little ideas for the playlist—I have been going through a mountain of stuff but I appreciate you all so much.

want to be on the taglist for the next one? make sure you reblog!

take care, spider fam

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vex-bittys · 3 months ago

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When Life Gives You Skeletons: Chapter 4: One of Those Days

(Warning: anxiety attack, non-graphic description of injuries)

Waking up can be disorienting, and it's always worse in unfamiliar surroundings. The disorientation factor increases exponentially if you discover those unfamiliar surroundings by rolling over in what you assume is your spacious bed only to discover that you've been sleeping on a not-so-spacious couch and landing on a bony lump that squawks in surprise and shoves you back-first into a coffee table. You rub your sore spine with a sigh. It's going to be one of those days.

Once the bony lump, which is of course your new friend Red, has recovered from being squashed into wakefulness, he checks on you to make sure you weren't injured by his instinctual fight response. You can barely hear him over a cacophony of voices from deeper within the house. You recognize one of the voices as Blueberry.

“EDGE, NO! OUR GUEST IS SLEEPING!” Blue speaks loudly enough that if you had still been sleeping, he would have woken you up.

“ARE YOU DEAF? CLEARLY OUR GUEST-” Air quotes are heavily implied around the last two words. “- IS ALREADY AWAKE AND CAUSING PROBLEMS!” By the time the angry rasp of the second voice reaches you, you've risen to your feet and turned in the direction of the argument. You hear a scuffle beyond an open entryway, then Blue and another skeleton monster walk into the room.

The new skeleton monster, who must be Edge, is tall and slender with sharp, angular features. He has narrow sockets, red eyelights, and sharp teeth set in a permanent frown. A trio of deeply grooved scar lines over his left socket completes his spooky, scary skeleton look. As if the intimidating appearance isn't enough, the new guy is also dressed like he rolled around in a pile of Hot Topic new arrivals and wore whatever stuck. His low slung black pants (are they leather?) are tucked into red heeled boots with a gold, skull-shaped belt buckle to hold them tightly to his hip bones. His shirt sports impressive shoulder pads (or is it armor?) and the insignia of the monster Royal Guard. Red leather gloves cover his hands, ending just below his elbows. In short, this skeleton monster is screaming “badass” with each and every article of clothing in his ensemble.

Edge stomps over to stand in front of you, glaring, and Blueberry chases after him, cheeks puffed out in irritation. You're grateful to sense Red close behind you because if looks could kill, you would be six feet under after Edge’s scathing once-over. The tall skeleton then ignores you completely to speak to Red.

“IS THIS,” Edge says with a quick gesture that encompasses the entirety of you, “GOING TO CREATE PAPERWORK FOR ME?”

Blueberry tries to capture your attention, but indignation flares inside of you. Why does everyone keep blaming Red for your injuries? You answer Edge’s accusation before Red has a chance to.

“Red didn't touch me,” you snap haughtily, tilting your head to stare the imposing skeleton straight in the eyelights. What you mistook for a sneer on Edge’s sharp features turns out to be his resting bitch face. You know this because he's sneering at you now, and the expression is downright terrifying.

Thankfully, Red intercedes before you melt from the intensity of the tall skeleton’s disdain. “i didn't use magic, an’ the fucker's still alive,” Red tells Edge in a tone that makes it clear that not killing someone should be viewed as a laudable achievement on his part. Red must be talking about Jay, and once again you wonder what happened after you passed out.

Red pulls Edge aside, and the two begin to converse in hushed voices, most likely discussing the details of Red's late night damsel rescue. This gives you the opportunity to speak to Blueberry, who has been bouncing up and down trying to get your attention. As soon as the two other skeleton monsters move away, he bounds up to you.

“HUMAN!” You can practically hear Blue's barely contained energy vibrating in his words. “I DIDN'T LEARN YOUR NAME LAST NIGHT!” Blue's smile is wide, dazzling, and completely sincere, and his brilliant blue eyelights sparkle. His upbeat and openly expressed mood is contagious, so you return the smile and tell him your name.

“MWEH HEH HEH,” laughs the exuberant skeleton. “NOW THAT WE'VE BEEN FORMALLY INTRODUCED, WE SHOULD EXCHANGE PHONE NUMBERS TO STAY IN TOUCH!”

“I'd love to, Blue, but I have no idea where my phone is right now.” You hate to disappoint Blue, but the skeleton monster doesn't miss a beat.

“GOOD THING THE MAGNIFICENT BLUEBERRY IS ON THE CASE!” Blue strikes the same hands on hips heroic pose as last night, pausing dramatically before solving The Case of the Missing Phone. “YOUR PHONE IS BEHIND YOU ON THE COFFEE TABLE!”

Sure enough, your phone and purse sit on top of the coffee table that you unexpectedly encountered earlier. Your back throbs at the memory, but you ignore it, unlocking your phone. You see the time and freeze. Unless Red is willing to drive you to your no-longer-residence to retrieve your work clothes, there's no way you'll make your afternoon shift on time. You hate to ask the skeleton for more help after everything that he's already done for you.

“IS SOMETHING WRONG, MAIDEN?”

You're curious about Blue's use of the word maiden, but you put the thought aside for the moment. “Nothing that I can't handle,” you reassure him. You open a new contact entry in your phone and hand it to him, and he gives you his phone so that you can input your number. You save Blue's contact as “The Magnificent Blueberry” just in time for Red to tap you on the shoulder.

Edge moves towards the front door, followed by Blue. You watch them open a closet and grab leather jackets, black with silver studs for Edge and blue and gray with a futuristic design for Blue. Edge grabs two sets of keys from a row of hooks by the door and tosses one of the sets to Red, who catches it easily out of the air. Blue and Edge then disappear out the door, leaving you alone with Red.

Red shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “i'm gonna take ya back ta yer house t'get yer stuff, but first yer gonna need some clothes.” Red tips his skull at what you're wearing which you just now realize is nothing except an oversized t-shirt that ends mid-thigh and yesterday's underwear. No bra. No pants. No shoes.

It's a little late to be embarrassed, but heat rises to your cheeks anyway.

“c'mon.” Red leads you through the entryway that the other two skeleton monsters had emerged from earlier, and you discover an enormous open floor plan kitchen and dining room. Red continues on through a smaller doorway that opens into a laundry room with a pair of big fancy 2-in-1 washer/dryer machines that cost as much as the type of used car you've been hoping to buy.

Red begins to dig around in a hamper of clothes that you hope are clean. At this point though, you'll settle for anything that will cover you more than what you have on. Red’s hamper foray produces a pair of track pants, a blue hoodie, and a pair of white socks, all of which Red hands to you.

“you c'n get dressed in here if ya want. i'm gonna go t'my room t'change an’ i’ll meet ya back in the livin’ room when yer done.”

You nod. “Thanks, Red.” The skeleton seems taken aback at your sincere gratitude and quickly leaves the room, grumbling under his breath as he goes. You notice that distinct red tint creeping over his skull again, and you're beginning to think it might mean that he's blushing. Does genuine praise embarrass him?

You ponder the possibility while you pull on the clothes that Red provided. The pants are a little long, but the hoodie fits fine and, as a bonus, hides the fact that you're not wearing a bra. Shoving your phone into the hoodie pocket, you make your way back to the living room, taking a moment to admire the extravagant house as you go.

Red is already waiting for you. His outfit is so similar to yesterday's that you do a double-take. A pair of gold chains hang where a collar once sat, but other than that, you can't spot a difference. Did Red wear the same clothes minus the accessories or does he have a dresser full of identical shirts and basketball shorts?

Once you're close enough, Red holds out a pair of sneakers to you. You slip your feet into them, grab your purse, and trail after Red as he walks out the front door and heads for a hulking black SUV parked in the driveway. The skeleton hops into the driver's seat, leaving you to scramble into the behemoth of a vehicle on your own. You finally manage to climb into your seat with Red providing a soundtrack of chuckles from the driver's seat.

“Why couldn't we just take your car,” you complain.

“i borrowed my bro's ride so we could get all yer stuff in one trip. didn't think ya'd be too keen on seein’ yer shithead roommate more than once.” Red has a point. The mere thought of Jay makes you sick to your stomach, and if you never saw him again, it would be too soon. You won't need a huge car to get all of your belongings in one trip though. You could carry everything you owned with your own two hands, just like you had when you moved to Ebbott City to start over.

“Why is Blue driving such a huge car?” Red cackles at your question. You're not sure what's so funny except for maybe the idea of Blue trying to climb into the SUV without a stepladder.

“blue ain't my brother.”

“Oh, I just assumed since you guys have similar skull shapes and…” You trail off, a sneaking suspicion arising. “Wait, is Edge your brother?”

Red's cackles turn into howls of laughter. When he has his laughter under control, he explains. “edge is my bro,” he confirms. “blue n’ i ain't bros but we're related, kinda. we're… uh… cousins.”

Ok, the hesitation is a little weird, but you don't dwell on it because Red is pulling out of the driveway, finally giving you an uninterrupted view of the place he calls home. The house is nestled at the base of Mount Ebbott, with sprawling woodlands just a stone's throw from the meticulously manicured yard. You recognize the style of the architecture as a Southern plantation house, complete with a wrap-around porch and pillars, and you wouldn't call the three-story building anything less than a mansion. You sigh dreamily; living in a place like that is goals.

“y'alright?” Red must have heard you sigh. You decide to answer his question with a question of your own.

“Do you, Edge, and Blue live in that huge house by yourselves?”

“nah. there's ten of us, all skeleton monsters. five pairs of brothers that also happen to be… cousins.”

You make idle conversation with Red while he drives and discover that he's never visited Ebbott Aquarium despite being on the Surface for what he mistakenly says is four years. Monsters emerged from the Underground five years ago, but correcting him feels rude. Instead you insist on treating him to a day at the aquarium to repay him for his kindness even though he says it isn't necessary.

You tell Red stories of your life, nothing too specific about your past, just silly things that have happened at your job or during your time in college. He listens to you talk about the drunk Santa who wandered into the store you work at and the woman who asked you to double-bag every single item she purchased. You even told him about the time you saw a dog with heterochromia, and instead of telling your college roommate that the dog had two differently colored eyes, you simply shouted, with maximum excitement: “That dog has two eyes!”

The sound of Red's deep, growling chuckle fills the car, and you smile in satisfaction. “humans’re just as fucking weird as animals.”

A comfortable silence settles in the SUV after the skeleton’s observation. You watch the neighborhoods pass by through the vehicle's tinted windows. Red navigates with confidence, and far too soon, you've reached the outskirts of the place you called home only yesterday. It feels like months ago.

The events of last night have wormed their way into your catalog of experiences. The memories are a part of you now, for better or worse, ready to resurface when you least expect them. You would not consider this to be “when you least expect them,” yet here they are, pushing forward in your mind.

Jay yells.

The bathroom door splinters.

You can't breathe.

He's choking you!

You can't-

“doll. doll, yer alright. breathe!”

Red opens the passenger door of the SUV and leans in to unbuckle your seatbelt. You didn't even realize that he’d stopped and gotten out. Reality catches up to you, and your hands begin to shake. You can't slow your breathing, and you can't seem to suck enough air into your panicked lungs.

“hey, look at me,” Red continues to talk you through the episode. “my bro called a friend of his in th’ human police force. th’ guy's gonna meet us there. you'll be safe.” You focus on inhaling and exhaling, and Red's next words are so quiet that you nearly miss them. “i promise, n’ i don't make promises lightly.”

It takes awhile, but you manage to bundle up all of your emotions and shove them into the “Closet of Things You Don't Want to Deal with Right Now" in your mind. You calm down enough that Red is able to get back into the SUV and drive the remaining few blocks to the scene of last night's attack. Jay is outside when you pull up, talking to a uniformed police officer standing next to his cruiser.

Jay definitely looks like he's been in a fight… and lost. His entire face is swollen and bruised, including two black eyes and an obviously broken nose. Red parks in front of the house, and the police officer approaches his window and taps on it, indicating that Red should roll it down, which he does.

“You're Lieutenant Serif's brother?” the officer asks. He's young with a friendly demeanor that puts you at ease.

“yeah, i changed that pompous dickwad's diapers when he was a babybones,” Red responds. The policeman snorts.

“Well, it might be best if you wait in the car. There's still some lingering animosity after last night's altercation.”

“pussy's mad i kicked ‘is ass,” Red translates, making no move to get out of the car. The officer shifts his attention to you.

“If you'll come with me, ma’am, we can go inside and collect your belongings.”

You take a deep breath to steady yourself and step out of the car. Making your way towards your once-welcoming residence, you stick close to the young policeman. Jay trails behind you, and while you dislike having him at your back where you can't track his movements, it makes avoiding any contact, the physical and the eye variety, easy. Jay doesn't speak to you either, and for once, you're grateful to him for something. You just want to get in, grab your stuff, and never look back.

The first thing you notice when you get to the door is that the jamb is smashed near the lock, causing the door to swing open loosely when the officer pushes on it. The next thing you notice is a very strong scent of bleach, which surprises you since none of your roommates are the slightest bit cleaning-inclined. The very last bit of noticing that you do involves the feel of the house itself. Just yesterday, this place represented safety and belonging; today you simply feel detached from the place as if you never lived here at all.

You deliberately avert your eyes when you pass the bathroom with its wrecked door. The bleach odor coming from inside overwhelms you, and your eyes water from the strength of it. Finally you arrive at your bedroom. The door is already ajar, and you push it open further only to discover that the room you once occupied is completely empty. It's not just empty either; it looks as though it's been ransacked.

The closet door is open, and hangers litter the floor. The drawers are all pulled out of the dresser and nightstand, showing nothing left inside of them. The sheets, blankets, and pillows are missing from the bed, and not even your pile of muddied clothes remains. You stare, at a loss for words.

“Oh yeah, your stuff is in the bathroom,” Jay says, acting like he just remembered the fact. Dread settles in your stomach. The bathroom is only a few feet away, and that short walk somehow takes far too long and not nearly long enough.

The source of the bleach smell and the location of your stolen possessions turns out to be the same thing: the bathtub. The bathtub is overflowing with torn fabric and pillow stuffing, and every single item is soaked and stained from the bleach that's been poured on top of it. You don't know how to process what has happened, so you stand there, numb. Every time an emotion rises inside of you, you stuff it into that mental closet of yours. This isn't the time for a breakdown. Not with Jay and a stranger watching you.

Jay leans towards you. “That's what you get, monster fucker,” he hisses. You recoil at the hatred in his words.

“Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to step back.” The policeman's voice is cold and clipped, nothing like the friendly tone he used with you earlier. He addresses you next: “Ma'am, would you come outside with me?”

You can't get out of the house fast enough. Standing out in the yard, you gulp down the fresh air and hope that you'll never smell bleach or talk to Jay ever again.

“Unfortunately, I can't arrest someone for being an asshole,” the policeman tells you. He's back to using his kind voice now that it's just the two of you. “Because he destroyed your property, this has become a civil matter, which means that you'll have to take your former roommate to small claims court if you want him to pay you back for what he destroyed.” You nod, not trusting yourself to speak at the moment. “I'll make a detailed report of the incident, and if you decide to pursue a case, I'll get a copy for you to use as evidence.”

The officer gives you his card, and you shove it into the pocket of your borrowed hoodie. You thank him, then join Red back in the SUV.

“what happened,” the skeleton monster asks, apparently noticing that you haven't brought anything with you.

“Jay wrecked all of my stuff.” You sigh, feeling defeated. You don't expect Red's explosive reaction.

“i'll kill that fucker!” Red snarls and reaches for the door handle. You place a hand on his arm to restrain him.

“It's ok. I didn't have that much stuff to begin with.”

Red huffs but stays in the vehicle. “that just makes it worse,” he grumbles. “so where to now?”

You shrug. “I need to call my boss. I'm definitely going to be late today. You don't have to keep driving me around though. I can take the bus.” You appreciate Red's efforts, but you're starting to feel like a burden. Surely he has better things to do with his time than chauffeur a human around.

“ya can't get rid of me that easy, doll. howzabout we grab some food an’ find ya some new duds?”

You are admittedly relieved by Red's offer, and he drives a short distance to a nearby superstore with a sandwich shop conveniently located inside. You and Red seat yourself on opposite sides of a small booth, and you pull out your phone to make your call. You shouldn't be surprised that things don't go well. It has been one of those days, after all.

Your manager answers the phone, and you quickly tell her about the attack, first on you then on your defenseless work attire. There is a long pause on the other end of the line after you finish your story. Your manager finally speaks.

“I know it isn't your fault,” she says, and the heavy weight of dread returns to your already churning stomach. “But we have a three strikes attendance policy, and I can't make exceptions.”

You want to argue. Sure, your first absence occurred because you slept through your alarm, but you weren't responsible for your other roommates throwing up in a dryer containing your clean work clothes or for Jay's aggressive actions.

“They aren't absences,” you reason with her to no avail.

“If you're over two hours late, it counts as an absence.” There’s another lengthy pause. “Look, I'm really sorry about this, but it's corporate policy. I hope things turn out for you. Goodbye, hon, and good luck.”

Your now ex-manager terminates the call, and you're left sitting there, staring at the phone screen. You try desperately to cram more unwanted emotions into that special closet in your mind, but it's filled to capacity from earlier events.

You feel a bony finger gently brushing tears that you weren't even aware had fallen from your cheeks. “aww, doll, don't cry.” At some point during the ill-fated phone call, Red had gotten up to attempt to comfort you. Suddenly you find yourself pressed against his warm body, shaking and sobbing into his shirt. After a brief hesitation, he wraps his arms around you and holds you while you cry.

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#vexy writes #when life gives you skeletons #underfell #underswap #underswap sans #us!sans #underfell sans #uf!sans #underfell papyrus #uf!papyrus

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masoena · 6 months ago

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"Quiet Dean!"

Dean’s fingers scrabbled for purchase against the smooth wall of his corner office which offered absolutely no purchase as Sam slammed into him still fully dressed only having freed his cock from his navy blue dress pants and the slit in the boxers underneath to fuck Dean into next week.

Dean’s black slacks were straining around his thighs where Sam left them just low enough to give him access to the delightfully pert ass that felt so good around his rock-hard cock and simultaneously kept Dean hobbled and restrained. His hips pumped forward aggressively while his smooth baritone voice riled Dean up even more one filthy statement at a time about how hot he looked like this, how perfect he was taking him and how he needed to be quiet lest they be caught by their CEO the next room over.

Smith tried really hard to keep silent but failed miserably when Wesson started assaulting his prostate unerringly on every stroke and before long found Sam’s green silk tie pulled in between his lips. Sam had knotted it in the middle to create a more effective gag and cinched it tight before knotting it at the back of Dean’s head.

Sam dragged Dean away from the wall and had him rest his torso across his sturdy polished wood desk, his ass presented at the perfect height he wasted no time in sliding in once more. He pulled Dean’s arms onto his back, taking away all leverage from the slightly shorter man, crossed his wrists over one another and held each with his opposite hands giving him a perfect hold to pull Dean back and onto his cock while keeping the other man completely helpless beneath him.

He sped up his thrusts exponentially and loved the visual of Dean like this, strong back muscles straining and rolling underneath the perfectly smooth fabric of his stress shirt, every soft gasping pant that escaped from Dean’s plush lips muffled by the make-shift gag, he was close but focused on dragging this out a bit more because the velvet heat of Dean’s channel around him felt so good.

Leaning forward he covered Dean’s back with his chest and pinned him down to the desk by the nape of his neck, he could be one possessive domineering bastard when he wanted to and today he wanted Dean submitting to him while knowing full well that the green eyed man loved every second of this. In this position his thrusts turned into a rolling motions and he rubbed the head of his cock across the sensitive gland within Dean without pause, causing Smith’s moans to turn increasingly needy and had him pulling against the hold Sam still had on his wrists.

“I’m going to make you come on nothing by my cock Smith, and if you so much as attempt to touch yourself I’m going to pull out and leave you like this.” Dean whimpered at that.

“Please Sam…I need… need something.”

Sam pushed himself up into standing strong core muscles making it look like it caused him no effort at all and tightly gripped Dean’s narrow hips either said with his hands before he started fucking into Dean in earnest. The jackhammering pace made Dean gasp with every penetration. Sam himself was close by now, the visual, their combined scent in the room and the hot velvet feel of Dean around his cock, Smith’s rim clenching reflexively around him riled him up, surges of white of ever increasing pleasure racing up his spine with every stroke.

With one hard thrust he buried himself deep inside of Dean, his orgasm intense and sudden like a flash of lightning that felt absolutely glorious. He could feel his release start to leak out the sides too much for Dean to contain it all.

Simultaneously Dean tensed up and released a shattered groan against the spit soaked tie in his mouth as he came his boxers, creating an uncomfortable sticky slick mess without a single digit on his own cock.

The friction of Dean's desperate rutting against the fabric of his pants, Sam taking control coupled with the dirty talk was more than enough to tip him over the edge. His softening and spent dick twitched when Sam replaced the medium sized butt plug that allowed them such mid-day office shenanigans with only a minimal amount of prep. It made the dreary reality of corporate life much more enjoyable.

#spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #samdean #supernatural fic #wincest

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inglenookinhabitants · 4 months ago

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Thoughts? Comments? Edits? The Latest Rendition of Chapter 1, in need of feedback from all interested in whatever direction this may head. Stay tuned.

I lifted my arm to adjust the wire frames slipping down my nose, the subtly fogged lenses weighting them exponentially to the point of which gravity notoriously tugs them by invisible strings habitually, nudging them back into their supposed natural resting spot on my bridge; supposed, as if it was, would they not stay put? Moisture clung to the thin skin of my face, beading into a layer of sweat, no matter how much I sponged it away with my fingertips and palms, which were just as, if not, more, greased and sullied than my face. As soon as I’ve dropped my arm, a light itch begins to grow on the back of my ear, but I’ve an overwhelmingly wary sense that drawing unwanted attention, for reasoning I can’t decipher myself, is prohibited so I let it fester into an unbearable intolerance rather than make any other sizeable sequential movements that could cause a ruckus. I stared out the window instead, sheets of rain pouring down onto the steamy pavement, pounding the asphalt like a rhythmic drum. The humidity, now tangible, hung like an obstruction of thickly woven tapestries under the midnight moon, and the hope of a breath of a cool breeze was nothing more than an absurd idea, concocted by wishful dreamers. No wind that even attempted to cut through the smog of the thick, wet atmosphere could withstand morphing into a furnace blast of heat and perpetual icky dampness. With overwhelming irritancy, I struggled to sit still. As if an unsettled energy flowed through my veins, keeping my nerves jittery and on guard, I shifted my weight, as unassumingly as possible, from side to side, attempting to ignore the ever-growing incessant itch, my bones refusing to settle into the plush, yet tattered sofa; I felt like I was being watched.

Gargantuan windows, with cloudy glass panes held together by darkened steel framing, aged from neglect, that could have potentially allowed washes of golden sunlight that’s been consigned to oblivion to dance along the hundreds of leather-bound spines that rested in haphazardly unorganized defiance to proper alphabetical arrangement upon thick, dark, wooden shelving, sprawling throughout the quaintly sized space, were the only deviations from the uniformly similar dark, wooden walls of the building. My fate was seemingly to be suffocated by the very air I breathe; the smell of ageing paper, warm and wet leather, and moist, practically rotting, wood mingled together in a waltz, each one threatening to usurp the other in potency and offense, as they hopped through the damp stagnancy of the room and invaded my nostrils. I attempted to rub off the grime that’s accumulated on the surface of my palms, a thin layer of dirt and guck, attracted by the dank film of sweat that’s been slowly congealing into a jelly congealment on my skin; to no avail, my efforts were futile.

I don’t remember when I entered this purportedly abandoned library, or when I sat in the corner of the west wing in silence, atop a dilapidated, brown leather loveseat. Tears in the seat cushions suggested a dully serrated blade had been drug through the fabric, haphazardly and violently from the lack of precision and awkwardly inconsistent depth in the incisions below me. It was as if my consciousness began from the point in which my glasses started to slip down the trickling waterslide that is my face, I have no memory of entering this space, nor why I am perched atop such scraggly upholstery.

Enough time has lapsed between the last time I moved more than a considerable inch, rendering it permissible for me to take care of that itch, or so I thought, as the moment I reached the limb upwards, a crack from the east side of the building echoed through the narrow halls. A sickening impression, dripping with the notion that it was intentionally created, not an accidental occurrence, that shot fear straight through to my bones. It’s officially time to go, I reckoned, finally bowing to the indomitable sense that I am not welcome in this nook. I’m up and on my feet before I can even finish scratching that itch.

I know nothing of what made the sound, or why it’s jarred my subconscious to the point in which I feel like fleeing; with my footsteps intentionally light and in a sophomoric fashion, I caper around weakened boards underneath me in a facetious attempt to not make a single sound. I have no possessions to collect, my hands free to grasp the outward-sticking edge of a roughly splintered banister, appearing to be part of what might have once been the staircase to the basement, except for the lack of an abundance of actual steps, after a particularly overzealous leap across a hacked-up gape in the flooring beside a mishappen doorway, bordered in similarly darkened, rotting wood. Rather than smooth, polished mahogany as they once could have been, around two and a half of the steps are left at the very top, now worn and warped, with rust ladened steel nails jutting upwards from them. The basement quickly removes itself as an option before it can even be reviewed for consideration, I don’t want to know why it has been torn up starting from the bottom, rather than the top, nor would I survive the leap down; perspective or not, the dank flooring, emanating neglect and even misuse, seemed miles away from the floor that my knees were beginning to buckle atop of due to the call of the void aching from the drop below. Another deafening crack resounded through the invariable silence, followed by a disgustingly wet squelch, and I have no choice but to exit onto the street.

My skin was soaked through within minutes of being underneath such a torrential downpour, the sickly sticky sweat amassed on top of my flesh swept off ceremoniously by cool, fat droplets of rain; the blackened clouds above remained static in the air, overly plump and surging uncontrollably onto the earth. A heavy slam followed behind me as the hefty Roman doors, splintering through from the top and down to the midway point of their structure, sprinkled with the remnants of stripped dark maroon paint, slammed the entrance to the library shut. A sliver of that midnight moon peeked through in the form of a dull, fading light behind the thick cover of the shadows, casting a dim illumination that proved just enough for my eyes to discern a path through the unnamed and unkempt stone buildings that lined the dark pavement like labyrinth walls, creating winding passageways of uncertain choices. I did not stand still, nor meander tranquilly underneath the night sky, rather I scrambled forward. The air was far more potent with viscous humidity out here than it ever was indoors, which in itself is a dubious claim, rendering it difficult to move swiftly just from the sheer viscosity of the air entering my lungs, my legs weighted, as if attempting to lug through the ocean’s waves. I couldn’t have been more than a hundred metres away from the library I came from, the first and last place I could remember occupying entirely, when a nauseating thud caused me to turn my head back.

Grotesquely thin, with pasty white skin pulled taught over its sharply elongated bones, a crouched form leaned laboriously against the windowpane of the library, the very one I was gazing out of earlier in a feeble attempt to elicit a reason as to why I was here. Its massively curved spine heaved up and down stiffly, as if it took a great effort to execute each breath, its elliptical skull cradled between its gaunt knees, crumpled inwards in an excruciating effort to fit its gangly, interwoven limbs, knotted together amongst themselves resembling the widened body of an albino Amazonian anaconda, and expansive plowed field of torso into the dusty nook in which I had just sat. What it is so fascinatingly fixated on, I haven’t a clue as of now.

Whatever it called itself that’s cradling itself on the floor of the library, I was fixated on, as if I’d entered a trance, attempting to coerce me to find a winsome attraction to the malformed organism in front of me. I was being beckoned to follow the intrigue that has blossomed out of such a sublime manifestation of all things wretched, as titillatingly offensive slurping noises continued to emanate from the building at an outstanding volume; this thing was consuming something. After quite some time of being deluged by the storm, a puddle of crystal-clear rainfall was beginning to pool around my bare feet and ankles, yet my concentration remained fixated upon this fanatical display of desperate famine. It had somehow robbed me of my movement, not even a twitch could exude from my muscles as I held my stance; though, unbeknownst to me, it was almost finished with its task at hand.

Achingly, the creature reared its awkwardly oblong skull from between its gnarled knees. A spattering of some glistening red substance coated its gaunt ribs, dripping from its sunken chin, and coating the area around a cavernous opening on its supposed face, lined with a singular row of barbed teeth. The fingers adorning this creature were long and willowy, double the length of its little palms in comparison, and they were clutching what could have once been a bone of sorts, fissured along its oblong shape and leaking the same red substance that the creature was drenched in. It raised its snack to those horrific jaws, elongated a blackened snake of a tongue, and began to messily slobber upon the bone, just as fixated as I was on it. This was not a meal I reckon I would want to be a part of under usual circumstances.

The wire frames of my lenses had slipped too far down my face. Before I could reach to save them, they ceremoniously leapt from the tip of my nose and clattered to the pavement in a spectacular clamor. I no longer had a choice in whether I wanted to continue watching or not, for the show was over. The creature’s head whipped in my direction at such speed, the crimson slobber from its gaping maw splattered against the windowpane in a dramatic fling.

The creature, as if on thinly sheathed stilts, monumentally rose up to a standing position that dwarfed everything surrounding it. I tilted my neck back farther and farther to follow its ascent with a worrisome expression masking the macabre pleasure I derived from the sheer tantalization of an epic multi-directional tragedy that had every opportunity to unfold before me. As its shoulders pass the highest border of the massive, murky windowpanes whilst an abhorrent crumple of the rotting, steeped ceiling beams protruded a ghastly smooth, akin to porcelain finished, head, its grubby jaws masticating splinters of the rickety library’s structure, caught in its svelte teeth. Two lanky sets of fingers, with tiny half-palms, creased heavily with leathery desiccated corium, grasped the edges of the building, sagging them down as it pushed its abominable skeleton upwards into the stagnant black of the clouded atmospheric ceiling above. Compared to the crippled once-been library, with its single above-street story, omitting its cavernous cellar stretching vastly beneath the surface, the creature surpassed its height with adequate significance. With a thunderous stomp, it freed itself, one gargantuan stilt, ending with a gargantuan foot, was set outside of the structure. A second thunderous stomp, and I was caste fully in the shadow of what many religious sectors would consider to be the harbinger of the apocalypse.

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foreverrandomwritings · 1 year ago

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Controversially Young Girlfriend- Part 2

Summary: CYG gets lost trying to find the cafeteria to meet her girlfriend for lunch. Thankfully a friendly face helps guide her in the right direction.

Pairing: Natasha “Phoenix” Trace x Controversially Young Girlfriend

Warnings: None?

Word count:872

Masterlist Series Masterlist

Admiral Simpson turned the corner heading towards his office. He had just gotten out of a meeting that left him feeling absolutely exhausted. He just needed to get back to his office and then he could eat his lunch. That was his plan until he saw a familiar face standing in the hallway looking utterly lost. He called out her name to get her attention.

“Mr.Simpson, how are you doing today?” She asked as she turned toward the man, a hopeful smile on her face. She hadn’t been within these walls in years, not since her mom would occasionally bring her to work with her when she was a child.

“I’m doing quite well. What’s got you on base?” He asked her inquisitively. With one of her mothers being a Judge Advocate General she had the military ID to get on base. But he knew that her mother wasn’t on a case that he had knowledge of.

“I’m here visiting my girlfriend for lunch.” She said holding up the bag of food in her hands.

“Who would that be?” He looked through the halls for anyone he might suspect it to be. The fact it was a woman narrowed the list down exponentially but he still came up empty.

“Phoenix.” That reply shocked him. He had obviously met the aviator on many occasions and he wouldn’t have guessed her for someone that would date so young. Hangman or Rooster would’ve been his first thought had she not said her girlfriend.

“I didn’t realize you were dating one of my aviators.” He said as he looked at his daughter's best friend in front of him. He could remember her losing her first tooth in tandem with his daughter. Both of them having worked on pulling them out together. To see her today looking so grown up made him a little winded.

“Well I wasn’t aware I had to update you when my relationship status changed but if you must know it’s been a couple of months now.” She replied, giving him a sweet teasing smile.

“Would you like me to escort you to the lunch room?” He asked her as he nodded in the direction of the cafeteria.

“That would be great. I always seem to get lost here.” She said as her shoulders deflated, relief washing through her. They talked casually, catching up as they made their way to the mess hall.

“Admiral Simpson.” The aviators surrounding the table stood and saluted the man.

“As you were.” He replied as CYG slipped away from his side walking towards her girlfriend. She placed the food on the table and slipped into a seat between Phoenix and Payback.

“Found your girlfriend wandering the halls lieutenant.” He spoke to the front seater. She looked sheepish as the woman squeezed her hand.

“Sorry sir, won’t happen again.” She told him hoping to keep clear of a scolding.

“It’s quite alright. I always enjoy seeing my bonus daughter.” He said with a shrug. The dagger squad all looked at each other in surprise at the reply.

“Known her since she was in kindergarten actually.” She and his daughter had been quick friends and remained two peas in a pod ever since.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than standing here and harassing me? What would Tracy say if she saw you now?” CYG sassed him, at the mention of his wife his face turned slightly red.

“No need to get her involved in this. I’ll be on my way now. See you at the house for dinner tonight. ” He replied quickly, turning around and heading away from the group. No way was he going to get scolded by his wife for embarrassing the young woman who was basically an extra daughter at this point. He’s made that mistake in the past and didn’t dare go there again.

But he also couldn’t help but worry for her. He had seen how worried his wife had been through all of his deployments. He didn’t want CYG to go through the same thing while her girlfriend went away to fight for their country. The thought of keeping the Aviator stateside briefly crossed his mind. Though he quickly shook it away, that wouldn’t be fair to Phoenix. She had worked her ass off to get where she was and pulling orders wouldn’t help her any. He would just have to be sure to be there for CYG when the orders eventually came. No one knew just how soon that would be. (He did call Phoenix into his office later that day and warned her against hurting CYG)

The aviators around the table grilled CYG for most of lunch about her relationship with their Admiral. She just rolled her eyes and answered what she could. She really appreciated the man who had become a support system for her throughout her life. He had taken a father figure roll for her quickly after meeting him. Not that she needed another parent, her mothers had always been very immersed in her life and unwaveringly supportive. But she truly appreciated the older man and his wife taking her in as one of their own. Just as her parents had done for his daughter.

A/N: This is such a fun little series. I’m super excited to write more for it. I know I’m going to write Phoenix’s first deployment while they were dating. But if anyone has any other ideas let me know, I’m all ears.

Tags(open): @sylviebell @wkndwlff @eternallyvenus @loving-and-dreaming @princess76179 @kmc1989

#natasha phoenix trace #natasha phoenix trace imagine #natasha phoenix trace oneshot #natashsa trace imagine #natasha trace oneshot #phoenix imagine #phoenix oneshot #Natasha phoenix trace series #Nat x CYG

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shadowwalkerimagines · 1 year ago

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『 The State of Unreality: Drabble 1 - A Mountain Road 』 Resident Evil/Biohazard (Gameverse) | You; Reader Insert; Second-Person Point of View; Female Reader Rating: M for source material and future content | Warnings: Canon typical violence, Unreality, TBD Summary: Resident Evil is a series that has always been there throughout your life. You've played the games, read books and fics and countless wikis, watched the movies—gobbled up just about anything you could get your hands on. One thing you never wanted despite being such an avid fan of the series, however, is to have a front row seat to the events of a world full of countless horrors. Good thing it's all just a dream ...right?

It starts with a dream.

Vivid and detailed and very clearly remembered when you wake up.

You’re walking along a desolate mountain road at only God knows o’clock. There are no smells, no sensations of hot or cold or even the barest of lukewarm winds. Just you, the road, the forest, and the creatures of the night.

Or… you assume there to be, though the eerie silence alludes otherwise. Not even the ever-present chirp of crickets reaches your ears.

It is when that realization hits that a sense of dread settles upon your shoulders like a weighted blanket.

Such silence is unnatural.

You pause, and only then, as you take a moment to really focus, do you realize you’re barefoot. Toes curl and uncurl, stretch and rub against the gritty asphalt you are stood atop. Where are your shoes?

Looking down, you notice you’re wearing exactly what you had fallen asleep in that night.

“Huh…” you mutter. Impractical but there are worse options, you suppose.

You don’t question it further (when do dreams follow any sense of logic, after all) and elect to carry on. Where are you and where are you going? Two questions you’re hoping to answer as you make your way along the seemingly endless road.

Time passes as your wandering continues—how much, exactly, you are unsure. Your legs do not tire and no sense of fatigue settles upon you, though the ever imposing silence of the forest certainly feeds a sense of unease.

Unable to ignore it any longer, you call out, “Hello?” A vain hope that someone will answer back. “Anyone there?”

And yet, no bushes rustle, no twigs snap—nothing to indicate any sort of life. You sigh, unsurprised but disappointed all the same, and continue forward.

How interesting, you find yourself thinking some time later as you stretch your arm in front of you, alternating between splaying your fingers and not, that you’re able to so clearly make yourself and your surroundings out. It is clearly the dead of night and yet you have no trouble seeing in the darkness—each finger clearly visible as you continue to flex. A glance to the tree line gives a clear and defined visual of the foliage, from the leaves and branches of the bushes to the knots and whorls of the trees’ bark. Dream logic, you suppose.

A sudden snap cuts through the night, jolting you to attention. Your head whips to where the sound rang out, eyes squinting.

“Hello?” you call, wondering if this dream is finally ramping up.

Like your first attempt nothing answers back, not that you expected anything to. You do make out an eerie green glow just within the tree line, however, and narrow your attention. Trying to focus on the curious sight, you miss the sound of grass rustling and gravel being displaced; paws thunder towards you, joined by subtle growls and the heavy panting of several large quadrupeds.

Something collides with your back, immediately knocking the breath from your lungs and pitching you forward, tearing your gaze from the forest. There’s a pressure at the back of your arm as something clamps upon it, the sensation increasing exponentially. You catch a flash of black and tan and a vibrant, fleshy red out of the corner of your eyes as you try to glimpse what has set upon you. The image isn’t clear but the barking, the biting—a pack of wild dogs?

The dream starts to lose definition before you even hit the ground, time seemingly slowing to a crawl and the definition of everything growing foggy and unclear. Good, you don’t fancy the experience of being mauled to death.

You don’t jolt awake, merely flutter your eyes open as the last few moments of the dream replay in your mind’s eye. Inhaling deeply, you hold the breath for a beat and then with a deep huff blown it out your nose, lips pursing in a frown.

What a shitty dream.

You didn’t get a clear view of what attacked you but with the awareness of a waking mind, you know it had been Cerberus—those iconic zombie dogs from the Resident Evil series.

Sluggishly, you pat around your bed for your phone, squinting when the screen illuminates the dark room.

7:05 AM

Mm… might as well get up, you reason. Your alarm will be going off soon anyway.

With a heavy sigh you roll yourself to the edge of your bed, push yourself up, and-

“Ah,” you hiss, core tightening as you immediately remove the weight from your right arm and hug it close to your chest. Holly hell, why did that hurt?

Padding off to the bathroom, you flick on the light and quickly gaze at your reflection. Your brows immediately furrow at the palm-sized bruise blossoming along the back of your arm, an ugly purple-blue.

Did you bang into a doorframe or corner of the wall again?

Another heavy sigh (this time laced with frustration towards your annoying clumsiness) blows past your lips. What a way to start the day.

#Resident Evil Fanfiction #Resident Evil Fanfic #Reader Insert #The State of Unreality

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unovanhunny · 10 months ago

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I kinda wanna see the rebels grilling Ingo for info, or just giving him a hard time while he's tied up/locked up, etc. mostly just to see how he's doing.

The accommodations Ingo had been given weren't much but were still nicer than he anticipated. He had expected to be chained up, starved, maybe even beaten. But no. He was still in a cage with no viable way of escape, the space between the bars too narrow for even his head to fit through, let alone the rest of him. But he wasn't chained and he had been given a mat to lay on, uncomfortable though it was, and still got fed. He wasn't thrilled by any means, but he did consider himself lucky knowing what sort of things he could have been subjected to instead.

The ones who visited him to bring food were not kind or cordial. In fact he felt the disdain in their gazes piercing him and coating his bones. So different from the admiration he was used to. It left him feeling cold and alone. He wondered if Emmet would come see him. Did he want to see Emmet? He debated with himself numerous times and ultimately decided that, Yes, he did want to see him. If only to hear him explain himself. He was so sure that what they were creating between them was true and solid, but he wasn't really sure what to believe anymore.

The days melded into each other so Ingo wasn't sure how long he had been there before three commanders from the rebel army came to see him in his cage. He was apprehensive, the typical frown on his face deepened into a distrusting scowl. He had no choice but to hear them out, but he stayed far away from them, standing by the back wall of the cage. "I don't know what you want from me. Let me see my brother."

"Demanding something from us when we've already been so accommodating! Do you really think you're in any position to be making requests, let alone demands?"

"We'll think about letting you see Emmet if you answer what we want to hear."

"If you don't, you can kiss goodbye any chance of getting out of here or seeing your brother ever again."

Their tones were not taunting or malicious as he expected. They were stern, humorless... Maybe a little tired. He felt much the same. Arms crossed in front of his body in a somewhat defiant stance, he stared each of them down, none of them flinching and barely acknowledging the gaze.

With a sigh and a sag of his shoulder, Ingo relented, his head hung forward. "You can ask your questions, but I don't know if I'll have the answers you seek. For all the title of King was worth, I was more of a mouthpiece than a true head of state." He was more than aware of that now.

"Oh, we know. But you are sure to have some information we can use . And don't worry. If you give us what we want, we won't just get rid of you."

"You'll still be useful to us, as a bargaining chip." Something about how that was said left Ingo with the impression they weren't just speaking about the advisors of the kingdom.

"First things first, we'll need to know about the actual size and structure of your army-"

---

The incessant questions were draining, Ingo felt like his brain had been picked to mush. Overwhelmed and more tired than ever before, he felt himself nearly on the verge of tears. He hadn't been further threatened, but every question he answered felt like a betrayal and every question he didn't felt like a strike against him. Had he done all they'd asked? Would he get to see Emmet? Had he doomed his people? Would their suffering grow exponentially now that he wouldn't be there to lead them while the Rebels only grew more powerful with knowledge?

"Just one more question."

"Please.... I have given you everything I could. There's nothing more I can tell you."

"I'm fairly sure you'll have an answer for this one. What is your relationship with Emmet?"

".... What do you mean? We're twins. You already know that. I don't understand why you would be aski-"

"That's not what we meant. When you were found, it was in a... Rather compromising position. Laying in bed, tangled together the way lovers do."

Ingo went pale. No, he was too tired to deal with this right now, his heart couldn't take this. "... We are brothers. I don't have anything else to tell you." If they insisted he was fairly sure that it would be the final straw and he'd shatter into pieces and leave nothing but a tired sobbing mess

"Are you sure? This was far from the first time you've visited wasn't it? There had been suspicious noises coming from Emmet's tent for weeks now but we never asked or looked into it. Only to find you in there the first time someone dares to check."

"Please.... I don't know what you want me to say. It sounds as though you already have your own theories so can't we just leave it at that?"

"No, we want to hear you admit to it. Expose yourself for the foul manipulative person you are. Seducing your own brother in a bid to gain an advantage in the war. Sickening, honestly."

"No, that's not..." That... Wasn't what he was doing was it? No, no he was sure that wasn't true. He wasn't trying to manipulate Emmet to do anything! He just... Was happy to spend time with him. Did Emmet think of it that way? That Ingo had been manipulating him? His vision blurred and in short order hot, wet tears carved trails down his face. He couldn't breathe, suddenly air couldn't enter his lungs fast enough to keep up with the broken tired sobs that tore from his throat. He wasn't using Emmet, he would never do that! He loved him, truly! Since the moment they were born, he never stopped caring for him. But people saw it as twisted and conniving and maybe even Emmet did too.

"I don't think we'll get anything else out of him today. But I think we got all the answers we need."

"Yeah, let's go back and start making plans for our next move."

"Thanks for all the info. Your cooperation is appreciated."

And then Ingo was alone, a curled ball in the corner of his cage. There was nothing left but the sounds of his sobs and his own spiraling thoughts to keep him company.

#ku over the speaker #ingo #emmet #blind justice blankship au #blankshipping #my writing #kudanobo

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aro-absol · 1 year ago

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Do you live in an area with lots of sidewalks? If not, how do you get to other places as a wheelchair user? I can't imagine living anywhere without sidewalks like in the U.S.

Fortunately, I do. I live in a bigger city (not huge but there's some infrastructure) in a country where sidewalks are a thing, so sidewalks are almost everywhere I go.

The quality of the sidewalks varies depending on the exact area and can be pretty bad, though. The main issues I noticed are lopsided sidewalks and sidewalks that are too narrow. Severely lopsided sidewalks are pretty common and hard to maneuver. I use a manual wheelchair, usually with a power assist in each wheel and it can be challenging to balance the power on each sides out so I go straight forward and not just down the lower side on the sidewalk. When I'm using my normal wheels (without a power assist), I get tired exponentially quicker (which I think is a common experience for manual wheelchair users). Because for the arm on the lower side, it is like going uphill constantly and thus exhausting.

"But doesn't it help that is is easier for the lower side?" Well, here's the thing. For the arm on the lower side, it is indeed easier than normal as you have to push a lot less. You probably even have to brake a little to avoid rolling off the sidewalk. But this doesn't balance it out because if one arm is really tired, you cannot keep going, no matter how even and smooth the ground is. So no, this isn't an advantage.

This is why in areas with very little traffic, I tend to just use the street. Most of the time, there's a lot less curvature than with sidewalks and as a bonus point, the streets around me are usually covered by asphalt or concrete, which are are lot smoother than the sidewalks (that makes it more effort-saving to go and just a lot more comfortable to roll over).

Second problem: the sidewalk being too narrow. The width of my seating is rather large, but I think it's still within a common range. My wheelchair is also highly customized, and customized chairs tend to be leaner than standard chairs (from what I've seen). All in all, I think I still have a pretty average wheelchair width, if not on the smaller side.

That said, there's so many places I still can't fit on the sidewalks. Most of the time, they are just plainly built to narrow, but a surprisingly large amount have non-removable obstacles on them. I've encountered places where the stairs to the house next to the sidewalk just cover three quarters of said (public!) sidewalk. Sometimes, it's street lamps and trees (that are artificially planted) in the middle of the sidewalk, essentially splitting the sidewalk in two with either side too narrow for me to fit. And sometimes, it's wild plants growing from the nearby lawn across the sidewalk. I'm all for greening our cities but occasionally there not only hindering me by making the ground uneven. Occasionally, it's stinging nettles, literally reaching the height of where I have to push my wheels with my bare hands.

The problem of sidewalks being too narrow is even worse if you have a powerchair, as those are usually wider and also longer, making the chair's turning circle bigger and making it harder to maneuver through narrow spaces.

Sorry I got off-topic and this turned into a vent. I kinda got emotional when I wrote this. Overall, I'm pretty grateful that there are sidewalks here. And the quality could be a lot worse, too. It's just that sometimes I encounter a sidewalk with a totally preventable issue and that makes me facepalm.

#thanks for the ask!#asks #disabled #disability #physically disabled #wheelchair user #vent #long post

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ms-erin-kallus · 2 years ago

Text

2000 Years of Chase Have Taken Its Toll

Chapter 4

AO3 link ~ https://archiveofourown.org/works/44541196/chapters/116624665

“Forgive my delayed absence,” Eind Frold said suddenly and cautiously from well behind the chaos that was Rhoan and Kallus.

He looked at the two with an amused curiosity as they both quickly straightened, and he almost laughed at Kallus’ pronounced, awkward embarrassment of the situation in comparison to Rhoan’s easy dismissal of it.

“It’s quite alright, ” she said with a charm that Kallus saw right through. “We just had a minor disagreement over the Admiral’s painting,” she laughed as she moved to stand closely at his side. “Some of us have a much better grasp of things than others,” she scowled right at Kallus before she turned and slid her arm through Eind’s. “I’ll bet you have a firm grasp though,” she said in a way that took both men by surprise.

“I..uh...do,” Eind stuttered before he took a breath to regain his composure. “What I mean is we should probably begin our tour of my, what did you call it,” he smirked with a twinkle in his deep blue eyes, his confidence both regained and grown exponentially by Rhoan’s behavior and Kallus’ reaction to it. “Oh, yes, my private art collection, and with haste.”

“I believe you are correct,” she replied with an over exaggerated core accent, both aimed at and received by its target. Rhoan smiled sweetly at Eind before she turned to Kallus. “Have a nice rest of your evening, agent.”

Kallus reached for a blaster that, luckily, he didn’t have as he watched the two of them turn and waltz through the crowd, arm in arm as they smiled and laughed and touched each other with the easy confidence and bravado that he had intended for himself. Everyone, even after much of the evening had passed, was still drawn to her. The banker was merely her accessory, just as Kallus had been.

Kallus suddenly realized that he had, in fact, overplayed his hand with her to the point that she had put his leash on him instead and he seethed at the loss of it.

For a brief second he considered leaving that instant. He didn’t care. Frold could have her. Any and everyone on that ship could have her.

Alexsandr Kallus no longer wanted Rhoan Rial in any way.

With a shake of his head those thoughts quickly disappeared and turned to what should have actually mattered for the evening; he needed to find Boom. A few laps around, in, and through the crowd yielded no result and Kallus quickly felt unease creep into his chest. He hoped the man had done his part well and was just holed up somewhere with the pretty girl that he had brought with him. The one that looked like the type that kept her mouth shut and legs open.

Lucky.

The alcohol had taken hold of the party around him and its attendees, activities, and conversations had become far livelier than before. Some escalated into full, heated debates, others into ridiculously over the top competitions, and one into an actual fight that was broken up after the two landed a few blows before it was mended with more alcohol. The mayhem was a perfect cover, no one would notice or remember much of anything in the morning.

Kallus grabbed two glasses from the tray of one of the decrainiated slaves as they passed by and downed the first in one gulp. He didn’t want to remember anything either.

The agent sighed hard and downed the second drink before he blindly tossed the glasses onto a table as he made his way out of the banquet room and into a long, narrow hallway that led to a service lift at its end. He had meticulously memorized the floor plan, duct system, and mechanical and electrical schematics of the unreasonably large yacht beforehand and knew exactly where the best places to quickly hide his listening devices would be.

“You can have her, but you’re mine, asshole.”

He dug into a specially made secret interior jacket pocket to pull the first one out as he placed a small earpiece into his left ear. A sudden sound of static was followed by low murmurs and his heart immediately fell into his stomach as the cabin began to rise.

The devices were gone, and one of the voices in the earpiece belonged to Rhoan.

Recruited. She’s fucking recruited.

Kallus quickly pushed the emergency stop button of the lift and put his hand over his right ear to try to hear her better and hopefully pick up enough to figure out where she was. However, he could only make out small pieces of sentences and he assumed she had just tossed them into her pocket all together where they were bouncing off of each other. She obviously hadn’t realized that she would need to turn them off at their source.

“…a long time..” Frold’s voice said lowly, followed by the sound of the mics rub together.

“I’m not-,” he heard Rhoan say clearly before she disappeared again.

He couldn’t make out what Frold said next, but his tone had suddenly changed and the hairs on the back of Kallus’ neck stood up reactively.

“Eind, don’t-,” he heard Rhoan say as he repeatedly slammed the button for the private residence as if it would somehow make the lift move faster.

Stupid, you shouldn’t have let her go with a mark alone, he scolded himself. He honestly hadn’t considered the man a threat and never would’ve assumed Rhoan a vengeful pickpocket. If anyone finds those on her we’re both dead.

The lift moved quickly as Kallus reached up and shifted one of the tiles above his head before he fumbled around for the blaster that Boom had supposedly left there. Just as he brought his arms down, the doors opened up to a startled Eind and Rhoan that stood at the far corner of a large, darkened room. The only supply of light came from individual fixtures that sat above each of five paintings that hung a meter from the next along a wall that ended where his newest enemy instinctively stepped in front of the bane of his existence to protect her from him.

“Alexsandr,” Rhoan asked cautiously, “what are you doing?”

“You have got some nerve,” he said darkly as he lifted up his arm and pointed the small blaster directly at them. “After the night I’ve had, I have half a mind to end you both right here so I can just go home and forget you both already.”

“Al-,” she began before Frold turned, grabbed her arm and quickly spun her in front of him with the caressing grace of a masquerading dancer. Once her back was to him, he pulled her tightly into his chest and faced her toward Kallus as he held her against him with an arm across her chest.

“Stupid man,” he spat as he pulled out a small knife and put it to Rhoan’s throat. “What exactly was your plan here,” he asked as he pushed the tip into her neck hard enough that her head instinctively retreated and fell back onto his shoulder.

She looked at Kallus as much as her head’s jerked position would allow and mouthed, stay calm.

He did not.

Instead, he brought his left hand up to the hilt of the weapon to hostilely insinuate to the two the seriousness of their precarious situation. Given their previous engagements, Frold should have known that he had absolutely no qualms about blowing his head off with absolute delight, “give me what I came for and I’ll kill you quickly,”

“Thoughtful of you,” Eind responded snidely as he moved Rhoan further in front of him in defense of the threat.

Down the barrel of his blaster Kallus saw Rhoan sigh imperceptibly to the man that used her as his human shield and he knew it was in response to his lack of calm. She, for once, was in no position to tell him what to do, and since she wasn’t versed in hostage negotiation tactics, she wasn’t about to tell him how to do it either.

“This area is heavily monitored. My men will be here any second,” Frold informed him confidently as he motioned toward the camera in a dark corner of the ceiling above Kallus’ head. “I have her and the advantage so, again, what exactly is your plan here?”

“Well, my man sliced into your pathetic little security system before your first guest even arrived. No one is seeing or will see anything,” Kallus replied with a shake of his head. “Your security team has been watching a very elaborate loop all night.”

“I see,” Frold replied cautiously as his eyes flittered around the room. He leaned his face against Rhoan’s as he stared ominously at Kallus, “do you believe him,” he asked as he pushed the knife still further into her neck.

“Yes,” she said quietly.

“Then, I believe we are at an impasse,” he sighed defeated. “Perhaps a deal? You put down the blaster and I give you,” he paused with sarcastic drama, “what is it now? Rhoan, right?”

Kallus looked him up and down, “I don’t have time for this, or you, or your spoonful of shit.”

“Do you really think you are in a position for sarcasm?” Frold shouted angrily as the knife found her again, except it was more than the point that sat and waited threateningly, exactly where it shouldn’t.

“This is between the two of us, not her,” Kallus exclaimed before he realized it and quickly blinked the surprise away.

To cover Rhoan’s disappearance would’ve taken almost zero effort and, at that moment in time, zero hesitation. Kallus had framed Frold perfectly; the man could never let anyone on that ship know that he had been so easily compromised. It would end more than just his career.

“Alexsandr,” Rhoan said slowly and with a not so subtle hint of suggestion. “Just do what he says.”

“Says the bastion of obedience! New deal? Give me what I came for and the two of you can have each other without my blessing.”

“What exactly did you come for if it’s not her,” Eind asked as he looked from Kallus to Rhoan in confusion. “You honestly don’t care that I could hurt her?” His tone had completely changed as he looked at Kallus in utter disbelief.

Kallus raised the blaster a little higher. “Just give them to me,” he snapped at Rhoan.

Frold stared at Kallus, in what looked to him like disgust, as he whispered something into Rhoan’s ear. Her eyes closed and her jaw clenched as she responded too quietly to hear. His grip on her loosened as he laid his forehead just above her ear.

“Any day now!” Kallus yelled as the sound of a blaster ready tore through the suddenly quiet room.

Her eyes still closed, Rhoan startled at the sudden sound and Eind immediately threw the knife across the floor before he put his newly freed hand up at his side in a show of compliance before he whispered something else to her.

“I know.”

Eind sighed and pulled a comlink from his pocket as Rhoan slowly, and freely, walked away from him.

“Don’t shoot and I don’t call,” Frold offered as he bent down and put the device on the ground before he stood with his hands up. “Unlike you, I’m not a sociopath.”

Kallus was too confused to know what to do with either of them as he looked back and forth between the two before his arm simply fell to his side. He watched Frold kick the comlink away from him as Rhoan stepped onto the lift and waited for Kallus to board.

“May you see many sunrises, Ms. Rial,” Eind said as Kallus turned to look at her, still unsure of what exactly had just happened.

The pretty blue skirt that had floated around her like a billowing storm cloud began to slowly fall flat, as she walked toward him. Its sheen, long gone in a matter of mere moments and a few quiet words.

“Get on.”

For the first time he obliged without contestation.

Through the closing doors, what appeared to be a look of devastation crossed Frold’s face before Kallus heard a single word of the command given to the security detail that would soon follow,

him.

“What was that?” Kallus asked as the cabin began to move downward.

She reached into her pocket and held out the stolen devices in her palm, “a dichotomy.” She didn’t look at him as she stood motionless and stared at her tired reflection in the mirrored finish of the doors in front of them.

“No, seriously,” he began as he took the bugs from her opened hand.

“What do you care?” she snapped suddenly. “Mad that I chose him and ruined your night?”

He glared down at her and emptied the contents of his hand into his pocket, “I don’t care, and, correct me if I’m wrong, but you willingly chose to leave here with me.”

“Bold of you to assume,” she said as the doors opened and she stepped off and away from him without hesitation or caution.

“Wait,” he yelled as he instinctively grabbed her arm before she could traipse into an unknown and potentially deadly situation.

Instead of the gratitude he expected for attempting to keep her safe, Rhoan simply glared at him for a long few seconds before she made a show of violently pulling her arm from his hand.

Kallus saw it in her eyes, it wasn’t fear or anger,

It was hate.

She never broke eye contact as she grabbed bunches of the skirt around her into her hands before she turned and stormed away from him, the pretty blue cloud that surrounded her all night suddenly roiled in fury.

It was almost as if she were oblivious to them as she easily walked straight toward two armed guards.

“Rho-” Kallus started before a rain of blaster bolts came toward him. The last thing he saw was the two men side step Rhoan as she passed them before they moved into a formation meant to protect her.

From Kallus.

Suddenly he realized what Frold meant by him.

The shots suddenly stopped and Kallus could hear the two men yell as the doors to the lift began to close, Kallus had smashed the ‘door close’ button just before he pushed the crooked tile above him over just enough that he could grab the side and hoist himself up.

As he expected, the lift jarred to a halt just as it began to move downward to fall back into place. He quickly replaced the tile just enough that he could see outside of the door where his assailants waited not so patiently.

“Where’d he go,” one of them said as the cabin opened empty.

The second came into view and before they could realize what was about to happen Kallus pulled the trigger twice and both men dropped to the ground hard.

“Are you here yet?” Kallus barked into his com just as he saw his ship dock to his far left.

“I’ve just landed,” the droid replied.

“Be prepared for a quick takeoff,” he told it as he dropped back to the ground.

“Yes, sir. What about the woman?” they asked quickly.

“What about her?”

“Well, she is currently being held at gunpoint, I wasn’t sure if I should interject?” it asked.

Kallus came to a complete stop, “what do you mean? Where is she?”

“Right behind me. Should I-”

“No,” he snapped as he jogged around the corner of another smaller ship and came to an unexplainable standstill.

The man looked like a typical soldier. His physique was too much for his skill to effectively handle and he carried a weapon that was so overstated it was almost as laughable as the predictable military style buzz cut of his white hair. He was a walking stereotype.

Something isn’t right.

Luckily the guard hadn’t noticed him, he was so fixated on where he had aimed the barrel of his blaster that Kallus managed to come up from behind him, just out of his periphery, but still at least twenty meters away. He took a few cautious steps to put himself directly behind him and that’s when he saw it.

Rhoan stood a few feet in front of them, stone still with her hands held down stiffly at her sides. She lowered her chin slightly, “you don’t want to do this,” she said softly as she shook her head. “I know-“

“No, I think I do.” the guard snapped as he took a step toward her. “Fuck their orders. That head of yours will fetch me a pretty credit or two.”

Kallus’ heart stopped. You should never have let her out of your sight, he thought as he realized not everyone on a payroll would be as trustworthy as expected, especially when a better deal could easily be made.

She immediately took a step back and put a hand between the two of them defensively, “please, stop.” Her voice was quiet and waivered heavily as she pleaded with the man a final time, “don’t”.

“There’s nowhere to run.”

Rhoan’s demeanor changed instantly. The color drained from her already paled face and she swayed to her side before she had to take a small step to steady herself. It was almost as if someone opened a hatch that violently ripped the life out of her and spit it out to die mercilessly in the cold void of space.

It physically hurt Kallus to watch.

She dropped her arm and stood motionless, almost as if she had gone into shock or retreated deep into some dissociative safe place. The tall stone walls built by years of pain and trauma, the ones that kept her so well protected, had fallen into myriad simple bricks that lay scattered upon the floor. It left her true self exposed, and he saw something that he didn’t think he would ever see from her, and he really didn’t like it.

Vulnerability.

Without warning, a blaster dropped from the hand that she held hidden in the folds of her skirt and landed on the floor with seismic force. Both men quickly looked at it with polar ideations as she remained transfixed by the nothing that he knew was actually everything.

There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that time suddenly and completely stopped because he felt it do so as a pair of green eyes framed by a messy tangle of dark hair looked over from the threat before her to him in surprised confusion. The ‘guard’ had all but disappeared from existence as Kallus stared at her for what felt like hours as a blitzkrieg of thoughts, feelings, and emotions that he couldn’t begin to explain fought through him all at once.

He had to tear himself away from her before his eyes and head motioned toward the man in front of her as a secret message between the two of them.

Keep him distracted.

Instead she gave him a contorted look that held the same bewilderment he was feeling as her eyes scanned through him suspiciously. Everything around him stayed in its motionless standstill as he watched her study him deeply and so intensely he swore she was being etched into him.

But, reality abruptly snapped them from their curious trance.

“No!” Kallus screamed just as the man that had finally noticed her diverted attention raised his arm and pulled the trigger.

The man jumped at the sound and Rhoan jerked her head to the side and out of the shot’s way.

Kallus didn’t even realize that he was rushing toward them until blaster bolts spread out into a widely spun, chaotic mess that narrowly missed their target as he was forced to duck and roll behind a large crate at his side for cover from it. He leaned his back against it and pulled his long legs in closer to his chest as malicious red flashes began to disintegrate the crate into small splintered pieces.

Don’t panic, he told himself as he began to panic.

It was unclear to him whether the guard was coming up on him or moving away and toward what he assumed was a still paralyzed Rhoan, but he did know that he was running out of both time and shelter.

As quickly as the docking bay erupted into chaos, it suddenly went eerily quiet; so quiet that he could hear the pounding of his heart beat in his ears.

It took a few seconds for things to register before Kallus peered around what was left of his cover to see Rhoan stare down blankly at the body on the ground in front of her.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she repeated quietly as he hurriedly scrambled to her side. “Sorry.”

He took the weapon that hung limply by her side, her soft, warm skin heavily contrasted against its cold metal. “We have to go now,” he said gently as she continued to look down at the man and the pool of scarlet blood under him that had begun to slowly creep toward her tattered blue hemline.

“It’s okay,” she whispered as if he were someone worth her consolation given that he had just tried to murder her incredulously. “It’s almost over.”

Kallus looked from the body on the floor to the confused woman at his side, “they’re coming, and if they catch us they will kill us.” He looked over his shoulder as he heard the lift begin to cycle before he tenderly put two fingers below her jawline and moved her face to look at him instead of the dead man at her feet, “I don’t want that to happen.”

Her left eye narrowed at him before she smirked, “you’re really bad at this, you know?”

Kallus sighed and gently grabbed her arms to turn her toward the ship but stopped short when she reached up and gently brushed a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “Blonde?” she whispered almost judgmentally. She wasn’t asking him, he quickly realized that, but wherever she had hidden herself had its grip on her with no intention of letting her free.

“It’s time to go,” he sighed as he forced himself to accept that she was entrenched deep in a reality of her own creation, and that he didn’t belong there.

“No, not yet.” Her voice carried ethereally on the air like a feather.

That’s enough of this, he thought as he wrapped one arm around her shoulders and the other scooped her up into his arms from under her knees in one fluid motion as he turned and sprinted toward the ship that hovered just above the ground as it waited to make their quick escape.

She once tried to turn and look at the man on the ground, but he stopped her before she could, he didn’t want the image burned into her memory. Their night would be more than enough for her to look back on with regret filled abhorrence.

“Get us out of here now!” he yelled as he watched the boarding door close just in time to block a rain of blaster bolts from the group of guards they had barely outrun. A few seconds later, the ship jerked with a familiar push that let him know that they were safely flying as fast as they could away from the chaos that was left behind.

Kallus hadn’t realized just how tightly he had her pulled into his chest or that at some point she had put her arms around his neck and buried her face into the crook of his neck. The very last thing he wanted to do was pull her warmth away.

But he did.

Her hands slid slowly from behind him and he swore it felt as if she didn’t want to let go either as he sat her down on one of the ship’s gaudy couches and pulled an equally ridiculous looking blanket from its arm. His core burned hot as she looked straight into him and he averted his eyes down to her hands that subconsciously wrung themselves hard enough that the skin was beginning to turn red.

As he began to wrap her shoulders, he felt her fingers brush through the hair just above his ear again in a deep and quiet reflection afforded only by the safety of her forced mental isolation. Kallus had to force his lungs to breathe as he sat motionless and let her touch him again before he let himself fall into a comfort that he hadn’t felt since he was a child.

Her eyes danced while the scent of her hair played delicately at his nose and as he sat in the presence of what he was beginning to realize was the real her, he had to fight every urge in him to not reciprocate. The sensation of her soft touch against his excited skin tested the staunchest of his convictions as it toyed mercilessly with his sanity. The world around them slowly dulled into a complete silence as he sat transfixed by eyes full of the strongest of sincere emotion.

A small smile played at the corner of her mouth as her fingers grazed the skin behind his ear before they came to rest on his neck just below his chin. Her thumb gently ran back and forth along his jawline with a type of openness that he willingly let shatter his own walls without hesitation or regret.

He let his hand come up and wrap itself around her small wrist before he realized that it had and he sighed before he closed his eyes and turned his face to fit into her warm palm before he heard someone scream at him,

you’re taking advantage of her.

Kallus’ eyes shot open and he forced himself to pull her hand away before he set it on her knee. “Rhoan,” he started before he felt her tense and pull away.

Careful.

“Where are we going?” she asked despondently, closer to the woman he knew but not enough so to comfort his anxiety.

An eyebrow raised at her question, “we’re going home,” he said heedfully as he reached over and gently stopped her hands, again without realizing that he had.

She instantly jerked back and put her arms around her shoulders before she looked back at the floor and shook her head, “no, can’t go back.”

The evening had taken a hard right turn but not so much so that it would warrant running for their lives. He had made sure that it would be a deadly mistake on Frond’s part if the man even thought to come after him.

“We’re going back to where we came from, back to Lothal,” he told her cautiously as he watched her reaction to his statement. Trauma response had never been his strongest skill set but he was about to make it so.

“Lothal?” she asked with intensified confusion as she continued to look down.

“Yes, Lothal,” he repeated as he leaned to make eye contact with her. It felt as if she was looking at him but couldn’t see him.

“Not right.”

“What do you mean?” he asked carefully.

“I thought you said-,” she shook her head again. “No, not right.”

“Rhoan.”

She immediately retreated further back into her protective seclusion.

“Where did-“ he started before she put a hand out between them.

Her eyes suddenly narrowed before her arm unexpectedly turned curiously in front of her. She stared at it in what looked like disbelief as her fingers inquisitively drew lightly along the intricate embroidery sewn into the material of her sleeve. She slowly turned her other forearm back and forth in her confused examination, “not right.”

As if an unwanted and erroneous realization barged into the forefront of her mind, her eyes grew wide and she suddenly and violently grabbed at the fabric and pulled hard.

“Get it off of me,” she cried horsley.

“Wha-“

“Get it off of me,” she whispered, suddenly and to only herself, before she began to claw at her arm again.

“Stop,” he exclaimed as he reached for her. “You’ll hur-“

“It’s everywhere,” her voice cracked as she ignored his plea and looked down in what appeared to be horror. Her hands shook hard in his as they fought back against him.

Wildly disoriented eyes looked back up at Kallus before she whispered again, “get him off of me.” A look of anguish read across her face, an emotion that was so severely heart wrenching he felt his eyes sting.

“Alright, let me see it?” he asked slowly as he watched her face for any signs of hesitation. To his surprise, she did not.

The sound of thousands of tiny beads hitting the floor at once quickly filled the silent room as he carefully took her arm and gently tore the fabric at the seam of the shoulder

You finally got me where you want me.

“Get it off,” she repeated quietly as she rocked herself back and forth; her eyes darted around the room erratically, looking for something that wasn’t there.

He set her hand down in her lap as he easily pulled the other sleeve from her arm, “it will be alright.”

She broke.

“No, it’s not,” she barely managed to say as her bottom lip quivered so hard that the skin turned white as she bit down on it. “It’s not,” she said again as she wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.

His little game, was toxic for the other player, he knew that, but looking down at the ramifications of his actions personified made his stomach turn. Granted, it was a first, but he had still violated her in the same way as the others, revoltingly and unconscientious.

Unforgiveable.

He wouldn’t do it to her again.

He wouldn’t let anyone else do anything else to her again.

“Droid! Take her back to the room she was in before,” he commanded quietly. Its familiarity would hopefully help to calm her once inside and alone, even though alone was the last way he wanted to leave her.

He stood and faced away from her as his own past trauma began to claw its way out of the dark recesses of his mind, the place where it lurked as it waited for any chance to pull him in with it.

The droid quietly convinced her to follow them, and much to his surprise, she didn’t argue with it; however, a few steps in, he felt her stop.

“What is it?” he heard them ask her.

“They’re golden,” she whispered.

“What is?” the droid asked her again with quiet caution.

“The stars,” she answered almost whimsically.

Kallus closed his eyes and sighed, you did this.

“Yes, they do appear that way, don’t they,” the droid coaxed her gently before Kallus heard the click of her heels take her down the hallway, each and every one sounded like an explosion in his ears.

The sentience of the machines was always a contentious battle between almost everyone in the galaxy. He himself had always leaned toward the notion that anything capable of showing basic emotions like fear or excitement had to have at least some sort of self awareness. In that moment, as he listened to the droid speak to her with such careful attentiveness, Kallus found the answer.

He sighed hard and let his head fall back heavily as he slowly messaged his neck that he rolled back and forth. His shoulders dropped and he turned slowly to make sure she was securely tucked away from him when he saw it.

The hundreds of small beads freed from the embroidery of her broken dress lay like shimmering constellations left strewn about the dark wood at his feet.

This one is on you.

#alexsandr kallus #agent kallus #kallus #hot kallus #rebel kallus #star wars rebels #star wars #she hates his guuuuts

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playapotrero · 7 days ago

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SEGURIDAD | What everyone is talking about behind closed doors and offline.

In our small fishing and farming village—turned gringo hotspot—beyond the fight for water, the exponentially rising costs of living, and Ticos getting pushed out by foreigners, crime is a very real and growing side effect of its gentrification, or what more and more are referring to as neo-colonization (1) (2).

Yesterday morning, Tuesday the 5th of November, the OIJ (the primary law enforcement agency of Costa Rica) carried out several raids in San Jose and Guanacaste. These raids resulted in the arrest of six suspects of a criminal group dedicated to house robberies, with “what is believed to be up to an economic loss of ₡1,000 million” (3) (just under USD$2 million).

Specifically, in one of the raids, the suspects were apprehended from an AirBnB they were renting in the neighborhood of Surfside, Potrero (4). According to US Embassy officials, it is not unknown that areas with a concentration of AirBnBs and short-term rentals, like Surfside, are incredibly vulnerable to this type of crime, especially when it’s easy to discover what items are—and potentially are—inside for the taking (5).

LOOKING AT THE BIG PICTURE

While the unprecedented growth in our region (6) has made it clear there has been a huge injection of money to our beach town and neighboring poblados, it is arguable if the flood of new money has actually brought better infrastructure, diverse culture, and (as we are talking about it) reduced crime—the core “pros” of gentrification, as many champion.

By way of illustration:

Our unregulated roads, although now paved because of growth, are too narrow and unsafe (7) for the large population of those without the luxury of vehicles, among other factors like poor planning for drainage, resulting in the floods we are experiencing today.

The threat of the irreversible salinization of our aquifer becomes more real (8) (9) with more green lights given for continued development, all the while water shut offs are still real when the rain stops in dry season.

More historical locations and local identity is actively being torn down (10), in the same breath as new laws are proposed to allow fresh businesses in their place (11), and furthermore, those in local seats denouncing these acts are stripped of their titles (12) .

Locals are being outpriced and displaced from their community (13), replaced with 2nd homes used for financial gain by foreigners.

Our local police do not have the money for their own station, let alone could justify asking for more reinforcements, as their pleads to get support and real documentation on crime (14), like denuncias, are swept under the rug.

It seems like what we used to experience as local petty theft in hard times is turning into a social desperation and crime epidemic. Not to mention, right or wrong, the palpable animosity towards the foreigner influx and domination of these targeted regions, seems intrinsic to this growing problem.

HOW DO WE MOVE FORWARD? HOW DO WE STAY SAFE?

It is critical, more so than ever, that everyone in our community not only be aware of these issues and take them into consideration, but also have open and transparent communications with a shared goal of preserving the safety of the people, land, and wildlife of our beloved poblados: A concerted effort by everyone, old and new, together.

This includes making sure to integrate with your community and hopefully full-heartedly. We offer the following suggestions:

Know your neighbors. A friendly “Upe” can bypass the lack of doorbells, and allow for an introduction to a relationship along the lines of a Gump to your Forest. Small towns are incredibly conducive for neighbors looking out for you in times of need, and vice versa, even if you don’t like each other.

Connect with your community. Join your local ADI (Associacion Desarrollo Integral de [insert town]). They are the only legally recognized, government sanctioned organization at the community level (in accordance with Law 3859 (15)). Each town has different projects and priorities, therefore it’s important to join in the local conversation; so you not only know what’s going on, but can be a part of the solution with suggestions, attending important town halls, volunteering, voting for your representatives, etc.

Potrero: [email protected]

Flamingo: [email protected]

Brasilito: [email protected]

Huacas: [email protected]

If you don’t see your town listed, give ‘em a google, or reach out to us. We are connected with the Unión Costera, the association of ADIs from Potrero down to Junquillal (currently).

Speak Spanish, or at least try. It can be challenging to learn a new language, but not only is it the national language, it is the language of your neighbors. Trying to speak Spanish, shows respect and good faith to the community you are a part of, and goes noted.

Know your surroundings. We covered neighbors, but do you know where your local police are? Do you know their limitations, needs, asks…you name it? Please read some outlined points from one of the important meetings with government representatives, OIJ, local police (Fuerza), local organizations and the community back in February, when a resident of the area was critically injured from a brutal robbery walking on the streets of Surfside.

Most importantly, in cases of emergency, call 9-1-1 first. All calls are recorded and can be used as data points. The operator will connect you with the appropriate party. For local office numbers, see the following:

Fuerza Flamingo: 2654-5086 | 2654-6136

Coast Guard Flamingo: 2654-5033 | 2654-6193 | Canal 16

Fuerza Brasilito: 2600-2086

OIJ Santa Cruz: 2681-4062, 2681-4099

For more local authorities, Upe is a great one stop resource for our and surrounding communities (see the bottom of their homepage for Police, Fire, Medical, etc).

Network online for safety. ADI Tamarindo, one of the highest performing ADIs in CR, has been able to vet and impressively connect their community to the local police on the ground with an app called SoSafe. It costs them $1 per year, per user. While Potrero has not been able to make the direct connection yet, the app is free. As a user, you can receive/make notifications on robberies, suspicious activities, water breaks, even lost dogs. While of course it is not optimal for the community that the police in Flamingo/Potrero/Brasilito are not directly connected and held responsible to reports on the app yet, it is worth noting SoSafe is a useful data source with metadata attached, especially since there is a tendency to refrain from filing (desperately needed) official police reports, denuncias.

We whole-heartedly love our community and want to move forward safely, and in peace with all our neighbors. Please let us know if you have additional suggestions for the safety of your community members, so they can be shared with your neighbors.

Moreover we have provided outside resources for reference on many points. We invite the sharing of more information with a multitude of resources, so we can more clearly see the big picture from more sides. Feel free to share more with us, if you feel we missed any.

Juntos podemos. Ya, vamos!

Amor, amor, amor,

Potrero Post

[email protected]

{Miér. 6 Nov 2024 | 15:15 }

#gentrification #nocolonization #potrero #safety #Youtube

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velmoc-tools · 26 days ago

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The Multi-Purpose Wood Saw Machine For Timber Cutting

It goes without saying that having the right wood saw machine can really improves one’s workflow when it comes to wood. It thus helps any do it yourselfer or a professional carpentry business to use highly efficient saws that power different wood cutting methods than a hand saw could efficiently complete. That is why in this blog, I will be sharing with you the various uses of wood saw machines, and what features you need to consider when procuring one.

A wood saw machine or also known as panel saw or table saw is a high-powered electric saw that is specifically for ripping, cross-cutting, mitering, beveling, grooving and performing other woodworking operations. It is fitted on a flat work table below an arbor where it extends through a slot that can be adjusted. All that is needed is that you place your wood stock-regardless of its size-, directly against the fence guide for right or straight cuts. This is so much more efficient than sawing with a hand saw or jigsaw; the motorized mechanical movement has cut down time by half.

Unlike manual saws, the wood saw machines afford users standardized and precise cuts that cannot be duplicated by hands. As with the previous motor, owing to its considerable power, and a keen carbide blade, it offers clean, chip-free sections through even the hardest of woods. Miter and bevel angles are easily changeable as it is built with an adjustable fence together with specific angle detents and even built-in measuring devices. Such precision reduces losses due to a mistake during construction and also the losses that arise from expending materials. The resulting joints provide tight interlocking for enhanced rigidity.

These effective machines can accommodate different replaceable blades of diverse nature designed for the particular cutting operations. Other top also increase capacities for controlling large panels. While immobile structures, occasional small-size and portable benchtop types can feature folding supports for easy mobility between sites. Industrial size machines allow for stock width on the very extreme end of the scale. Other optional extras available include digital displays, laser guides, dust extraction and safety extras.

In some selection factors on the wood saw machine, it is highly important on what type of sawing machine to be purchased depends on the user’s need or preference and his/her financial capability. For benchtop models, DIYers should look for the safety aspects, adequate motor power and table size measuring about 10 to about 15 amps or 1 to 2 horsepower. A few machines with labels of “jobsite” are characterized by light portability with an important weight for contractors. Cabinet saws are industrial-duty saws perfect for everyday usage on any professional workshop.

It’s also beneficial to buy a good quality carbide-tipped combination blade at the beginning of term. They range from 80 to 100 for finer finish cuts or 40 for faster ripping. Narrow kerf blades are useful in that they save on the amount of wood a saw will remove to produce a particular cut. A riving knife is used in reducing cases of kickback which is a very hazardous incident. Anti-kickback pawls are yet another safety features which have been added. Last of all make sure you have blade backups so you can use one for each function.

Though they cost more than handsaws when compared in terms of initial outlay Wood saw machines get an exponential increase in the power, accuracy, speed, and efficiency of cutting and hence are definitely far more beneficial when the amount of time, effort and quality of the finished woodwork projects are to be taken into consideration. Whether you are a home based DIY worker or an accomplished carpenter, incorporation of one of these cutting workhorses will help you pass through wood tasks that were previously hard, tiresome or even inaccessible. It becomes much easier and fun to work with Best power tools & wood with the help of the possibilities provided by a multi-functional wood saw machine.

#wood saw machine #Best power tools

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ilrecoveries · 6 months ago

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Why Less is More: Scaling Strategies Inspired by The Founder Movie for Business Growth

Scaling a business can often involve a less-is-more approach, as seen in The Founder movie's inspiring tale of McDonald's success through focusing on just a few key products. With a humorous and persuasive tone, this blog delves into the art of scaling, emphasising how streamlining products can lead to increased profits and exponential growth for businesses. Join us on this journey to discover how simplicity, inspired by The Founder Movie, can be the key to unlocking your business's full potential and maximising success.

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Simplify to Amplify

The Founder Movie's Golden Lesson

The Founder Movie isn't just a gripping story about burgers and real estate; it's a masterclass in business scaling. It shows that sometimes, the menu of options you offer can be as bloated as a fast-food meal. Take McDonald's initial spread of 27 items—it was like a diner trying to do a bit of everything, but mastery was nowhere on the plate. The golden lesson here is the power of focus. By whittling their offering down to just fries, burgers, and soft drinks, McDonald's honed in on what customers really craved. This pivot wasn't about cutting corners; it was strategic simplification. They increased profit by reducing complexity, serving up efficiency with a side of streamlined operations. For businesses looking to grow, it's a reminder that success often comes when you do fewer things better, rather than being mediocre at many.

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Stripping Back to Scale Up

In the pursuit of growth, businesses often fall into the trap of complexity. They believe more products mean more opportunities for profit. However, The Founder Movie showcases the counterintuitive strategy of stripping back to scale up. McDonald's, with its original 27-item menu, was the jack-of-all-trades yet master of none. The moment they cut back to their top sellers—fries, burgers, and drinks—they became the master of fast food. This isn't just about having fewer items; it's about creating a system that's so slick and so focused that every burger flipped is a coin in the bank. It's about recognizing that clutter can confuse not only your staff but also your customers. When you strip back to what you do best, you create the space for your business to run faster, leaner, and ultimately, to scale up with pinpoint precision.

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Mastering the Menu of Success

Focusing on Profit Powerhouses

In The Founder Movie, the pivot towards focusing on just three core products—burgers, fries, and soft drinks—was a game-changer for McDonald's. It's a classic case of quality over quantity. This decision wasn't made on a whim; it was backed by hard numbers showing that these were the profit powerhouses. For businesses aiming to increase profit, it’s crucial to identify which products or services are the main drivers of success. Once you know, channel your resources into these areas. It’s about making the most of what works and cutting what doesn’t. This focused approach can transform your business, turning a scattered menu into a specialized selection that customers can count on. By zeroing in on the items that pack the most financial punch, you position your business to serve up success, one profitable powerhouse at a time.

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Less Confusion, More Profit

When a menu is overpopulated, it mirrors a crowded market—customers get confused, and their decision-making slows down. The Founder Movie teaches us that clarity leads to profitability. By narrowing down McDonald's menu, the brand eliminated customer confusion and streamlined the decision process. Simplicity in choice not only quickened service but also made sure that each purchase was a high-margin item. This strategy can be mirrored in various business models. When you reduce the noise and highlight your bestsellers, you make it easier for customers to choose. This results in a faster sales cycle and more repeat customers, as they remember the satisfying experience of making an easy choice. In essence, less confusion doesn't just mean more profit; it means happier customers, which is the cornerstone of any successful business.

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Scaling Secrets Revealed

The Power of a Streamlined Portfolio

The magic of McDonald's success story, as captured in The Founder Movie, lies in the power of a streamlined portfolio. What this approach teaches us is that a business doesn't need to offer everything to everyone. Instead, it thrives by perfecting a select few offerings. Streamlining not only simplifies operations but also enhances the quality of the product or service. With a narrow focus, businesses can invest more in innovation and quality control, ensuring that each item is a hit with customers. This strategy can be particularly effective for startups and high-growth companies. By concentrating on a limited portfolio, these businesses can become synonymous with excellence in their niche. It's not just about cutting back—it's about packing a punch with every product you put forward.

Click the link below to a YouTube Short that discusses ‘The Founder’ https://www.youtube.com/shorts/JPnxxKlpArY

This episode is proudly sponsored by I&L Recoveries, specialists in providing Debt Services, including,

#DebtAssignments -

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solisworldtractor · 7 months ago

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Solis Tractors are Integrated With Marvellous Features that Offer Versatility

Tractors have a come a long way since their innovation, so much so that a variety of tractor sub-categories have come into being over years. This sub categorization into Compact, Sub-Compact, Narrow Farm and many other categories have led to a greater utility of the machine. But these categories also create confusion & lead to a bad investment for those not familiar with these varieties of the machine. This leads to many buyers buying an expensive tractor with much higher utility & power than the buyer requires. So, in order to avert such a buy, here is our take on these sub-categories & their utilities to help you make a better choice.

Mainstream Tractor Categories

Sub Compact The Sub-Compact tractors are usually sought by those who seek something powerful to maintain their lawns or extended gardens. These tractors come with a CAT-0 with the capacity to attach light implements for lawn management purposes. Some sub-compact tractors even come with the option of a front-end-loader, adding to its functionality.

Compact Compact Tractors come above sub-compacts in terms of their utility, power & functionalities. Meant to be worked upon small private farms, compact tractors come with a CAT-1 type hitch which is able to attach a variety of professional farming implements such as rotavator, various cultivators etc. Compact tractors by renowned companies like Solis come with the option for a front-end-loader & a 4-wheel drive which deliver the performance of a professional farming tractor. These are best suited for those who seek a powerful machine to clear out snow, alter their lawns landscape and especially those who seek the perfect machine to maintain their personal farm.

Narrow Farm Tractors Narrow Farm Tractors are specially innovated & designed to be enhance the productivity of narrow farms such as vineyards, orchards etc. These farms do not provide much room for maneuverability & reach because of which a traditional farming tractor cannot be used on them. Narrow farm tractors are designed to be slender in order to move between the rows of plants. Narrow farm tractors by trusted builders such as SOLIS come with a CAT-2 type high which increases their towing capacity by manifolds.

In an overview, before buying a small tractor a buyer should firstly specify the utility & possible utilities he/she requires their tractor to perform, then check all its specification especially hitch & transmission. And above all, one should always be sure of the category of tractor they require to narrow down their search & reduce wastage of time. And since tractor is a long terms investment, it is best to go for a known brand.

Especially in the lawn care and farming sector, the time to buy mini tractor for sale has never been better. Agriculture mechanization has resulted in the growth of new tractor sales, and most of those buyers have traded in their previous tractor models. Additionally, more R&D is being invested in these tractors because of the increase in this segment. Not only is this encouraging more sales, but the trade-in opportunity from those sales also creates even more opportunities for consumers seeking newly-traded, compact tractors.

Trusted tractor brands such as SOLIS offer tractors in each of the above mentioned categories and many more along with implements. Following are some of the specialities that make the brand stand out.

Powered with innovation and the 100 Years strong Japanese Technology: Solis has partnered with Japan’s renowned Yanmar to develop the best in class products that deliver on the everyday farming needs. The partnership is growing exponentially with success, and it has brought a big shift in productivity and yield.

Best in Class Guarantee: All the products go through in-depth checks and verifications meeting global standards, but the brand goes the extra mile to support the customer base, ensuring them of superlative quality.

Spare Parts Supply: The brand hosts a strong network of around 1800 dealers globally, always equipped with spare parts supplies. It goes without saying that Solis, as a tractor brand, never falls short on expectations. The centralized spare parts centre in Germany, in association with Yanmar, is a testimony to the same. Built using only the highest quality materials and the most advanced process & technologies, Solis genuine parts are manufactured to deliver high performance and long life. Get a better partner for your tractors that provide superior quality & reliability. You can easily avail of them globally at our dealers.

Unwavering Trust and A Proud Legacy: After having sold 1,400,000 tractors globally, from the inception of the brand in 1996, 24 years have proved phenomenal and make any customer proud of their rich belonging. The brand is forever committed to delivering only the supreme quality agriculture tractors.

Thorough Testing and Benchmark Checks: It is a well-known fact that Solis compact tractors always deliver the best performance with longevity and unmatched toughness. The performance results from a series of tests and checks before rolling out the product from the plant.

Farming is anything but easy! Not only does it require a tremendous amount of energy but a decent amount of patience too. While the farming procedures and practices have evolved over the years, what really hasn’t is the hard work involved.

Today every farmer is looking for ways to simplify farming while producing healthy and best quality yields. But sadly, not all of them are capable or aware enough to buy appropriate farming machinery and other pieces of equipment to do that.

Solis has a strong foothold in 150+ countries that effortlessly serves the interests of farmers. With 1,400,000+ happy and satisfied customers globally, Solis is currently the world's top 5th tractor manufacturer company, offering a wide range of 16-125 HP tractors while setting new benchmarks in the tractor industry through powerful competence and advanced technologies.

On top of that, our work boasts for itself, whether it's about growth or success. With a workforce of 6000+ dedicated employees and 400+ engineers in R&D,we have come a long way.

Solis farm tractors are integrated with marvellous features that offer versatility and success in every manoeuvre and venture. Solis farm champions are known to be the toughest among all the tractors in the industry, as these farm experts aim to deliver nothing less than exceptional results on any terrain with smooth controls.

A few decades ago, tractors were synonymous with terms like dust, vibrations, smoke, and heat. However, in the last few years, as labour shortage boomed, operator comfort and modern features in tractors became more and more mandatory. Features such as power steering, side shift gear lever, comfortable adjustable seat, extra operator space, premium driver seat and cabin, telescope steering and oil immersed hydraulic brakes have become standard fitment in most brands and models of tractors.

In fact farmers have started actively seeking for such tractors that come equipped with at least some if not all of these features. But unfortunately, these tractors are often out of their budget as well as reach!

That’s when Solis modern tractors come into the picture! Extremely simple and easy-to-use Solis tractors are farmer’s best friend. Equipped with the cutting-edge technology that comes moulded into smooth controls, these farm champions can turn farming into something completely different.

At Solis, you can get affordable modern tractors with advanced technology and the latest features that will take loads from you literally! Once deployed these Agri professionals can blossom any terrain or landscape you think of. Be it muddy, paddy, rocky or snowy field Solis tractors can truly conquer them all! With Solis tractors, you can experience luxury and affordability at the same place!

Solis as a brand always endeavours to work towards sustainable growth with advanced mechanisms. Today, as we move towards the top, we are also expanding our footprints around the globe, because at Solis, believe in delivering reliability with world-class technology and high-end services.

#tractor #compact tractors #solis #small tractor #tractors

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