#concrete bolt sleeves

[fixdex-fastening-technology]

fasteners from china fixdex & goodfix anchor bolt manufacturer

[bbybhr]

♡°•| Gears and grace |•°♡ 2

Mechanic!sevika x pastor's daughter!reader click for pt1

The day after your encounter in the church restroom felt strangely...normal! you arrived at Sevika’s garage, the big door was rolled up as usual, the familiar scent of oil and metal welcoming you. Sevika was already absorbed in wrestling with a stubborn motorcycle engine, her greeting a familiar grunt.

Something had shifted within you, though. The raw intensity in sevika's words, the foreign adrenaline that rushed through your veins in that hidden space,it hadn't just terrified you! it had emboldened you in subtle ways. You still felt the fear and the guilt... but layered over it was always that sweet sense of wanting more...of needing more, and that silenced the fear and guilt with a thrilling excitement, a thrilling excitement that nagged in your mind to be more...present, in her life! She already invaded your world and you were the kind to simply return the favour.

You watched Sevika curse under her breath as she dropped a greasy wrench, narrowly missing her foot, she was too busy with her hands, trying to stop the engine oil from dripping,so you stepped forward, picking up the wrench, and grabbing a rag from the workbench. You wiped it down with surprising meticulousness before handing it back to her.

Sevika paused upon seeing you stepping forward from your safe corner, looking from the clean wrench to your face, one eyebrow slightly raised. She took it without comment, but her eyes lingered on you for a second longer than usual.

Later, while Sevika was focused on fine-tuning the engine, you busied yourself judging the chaotic state of her main workbench...tools scattered haphazardly, empty cans shoved aside, layers of grime.before you know it your hand moved tidying a small section, arranging wrenches by size, wiping down surfaces.and soon enough You became absorbed in the simple task. Inevitably, a smear of dark grease transferred from a tool handle to the sleeve of your pale blue cotton dress. You frowned at it for a moment, a familiar pang of ingrained neatness protesting, but then… you shrugged inwardly. It felt strangely insignificant compared to the other lines you’d already crossed.

As you worked, sorting bolts into little piles, a melody surfaced unconsciously. You began humming softly, a simple hymn tune you’d known since...forever.

Upon hearing your melodic voice sevika froze, the sounds of her working ceased. You glanced up quietening, thinking she needed something. But she was just standing there, leaning against the motorcycle's frame, watching you. Her expression was unreadable, but she wasn’t annoyed. She was… in thought, her eyebrows frowning as she looked to her side, the humming it was...disturbing...disturbingly good,yeah, she could get used to that, she noded her head "continue" she murmured as she went back to work, she was letting you in so easily, that made you think it was her intention to have you there in the first place.

~၄၃‎~•°~•°~•°~•°~•°

A few days later, the motorcycle was finally humming smoothly, a deep, throaty rumble that vibrated through the concrete floor. Sevika gave the throttle a final twist, a rare glint of satisfaction in her eyes as the engine roared and settled. She cut the power, the sudden silence ringing.

She kicked down the stand and looked over at you, a calculating look entering her eyes. "Ever ridden one of these?"

You shook your head immediately. Motorcycles seemed loud, dangerous, utterly outside the realm of your quiet, predictable life.

"Want to?" The offer was casual, almost a challenge.

Your first instinct was refusal. It wasn't safe. Your parents would disapprove. It wasn't… you. But then you looked at Sevika, the confidence radiating from her, the implicit promise of something new, and new things with sevika, they never failed to make you...happy. The experiences you’d had with her, even the frightening ones, were also the most exhilarating of your life. Hesitantly, you nodded. "Okay."

Sevika smirked, clearly pleased by your agreement. She procured a spare helmet from somewhere ("Don't want the pastor blaming me if you crack your skull"), secured it under your chin,she putted on her own hamlet and her jacket then swung her leg over the bike. "Get on. Hold on tight. And don't wiggle."

Getting onto the seat behind her felt clumsy, illicit. You tentatively placed your hands on her waist. "Tighter," she commanded gruffly over her shoulder. You complied, wrapping your arms more firmly around her solid torso, feeling the muscles and the raw strength beneath the worn leather jacket, the warmth radiating from her back.

With another roar, the bike lurched forward, you pressed yourself against her with a muffledgasp against your hamlet. The garage, the street, the familiar houses blurred past in a rush of speed and wind. Fear warred with exhilaration. You squeezed your eyes shut for the first few blocks, then cautiously opened them. The world looked different from this vantage point, faster, more vibrant like how your life felt since she entered it. You held onto Sevika, like a life line.

She drove further than you expected, leaving the neat suburban streets behind, heading out onto country roads you’d never travelled. Eventually, she slowed, turning onto a rough track that led upwards. The bike bumped along until you emerged onto a scenic overlook.

Below, the town was spread out like a toy set, familiar yet distant. Beyond it, rolling hills faded into a hazy blue horizon. You’d lived your whole life down there and never known this place existed. You slid off the bike with her help, pulling off the helmet, you walked to the edge, speechless. A breathless laugh escaped you, pure, unadulterated joy bubbling up, from all the new things, feelings, and from the exiting ride.

"It's beautiful," you whispered, turning to Sevika, your eyes shining.

She hadn't taken her helmet off, watching you from beside the bike. The usual hard lines of her face seemed softer behind the visor. She wasn't looking at the view... she was looking at the unrestrained happiness illuminating your features. A strange warmth spread through her chest, unexpected and unfamiliar. It wasn't the thrill of possession or the satisfaction of control. It was simpler, quieter... a profound contentment derived purely from seeing you happy, from being the one who brought that unburdened joy to your face. She just nodded slightly in response.

~၄၃‎~•°~•°~•°~•°~•°~

The following Saturday found your church hall buzzing with activity, preparing for the annual charity bazaar. Boxes overflowed with donations, tables needed arranging, and banners needed hanging. You were darting around, trying to help everyone, feeling increasingly overwhelmed by the sheer volume of work still left. Your father was busy coordinating, your mother arranging baked goods, and volunteers were stretched thin. They needed muscle, someone strong enough to haul the heavier tables and boxes.

An idea sparked, bold and slightly terrifying but again... almost everything in your life is like that, lately. You slipped out getting on your bike, paddling towards your street.

You found her leaned against the workbench, a beer can in her hand. she looked as surprised upon seeing you there as you were for coming to her "weren't you supposed to be in your charity thing?" She asked eyes narrowed "did you sneak out to see me?" She added than with a smirk, teasingly, making you roll your eyes at her.

"are you busy?" You asked looking over her garage. the same nervousness that filled you, when you asked her to came to church, even though more subtle, filling you

"What d'you need?" She cut to the chase, finishing off her drink.

You took a deep breath. "We're setting up for the church charity bazaar. And we're really short-handed. There's a lot of heavy lifting… and I was wondering… maybe… if you could possibly help? Just for a little while?"

She paused, then a low chuckle skipped her. "Where's the shy little Pastor's kid now? Trying to recruit me for free church labor?" She said feigning shock to your audacity

"It's for charity... please? For just an hour or so..." you insisted, feeling your cheeks warm, now looking back to her face.

Another chuckle. "Fine."

You two arrived twenty minutes later,you left your bike at her garage, deciding to walk the distance since you refused to ride her motorcycle when your parents were there plus with sevika looking just as out of place in the bustling church hall as she had during the service, you drew enough curious glances for different reasons already...

Later, as things started to settle down and early attendees began to trickle in, you decided to help at a children’s craft table. Sevika leaned against a nearby pillar, arms crossed, observing. There was no more work for her and...she kinda earned the right to let her gaze linger... just for a little bit...

Anyhow, You couldn't judge people for looking too much at her, when you couldn't get your gaze off of her...her and the effortless way she started hoisting heavy tables that two other volunteers had been struggling with

She was working efficiently, silently, following your somewhat flustered directions. initially, she kept glancing at her watch making witty comments about how there's too much work and how she's going to leave you with all of them, but as the hour mark came and went, she didn’t leave. She just kept working, moving boxes, setting up stalls, her presence a solid, capable force amidst the gentle chaos that made you smile...it was so like her to be your safety net...even though most of the time she herself would provoke you to get in the water.

But as the afternoon wore on, Sevika found her gaze drawn back to you repeatedly...when you were laughing with an elderly woman buying cookies,or when you were carefully helping another child glue glitter onto a picture frame. She was feeling the same warmth in her chest that appeared when you were at the overlook, the fascination that went beyond the surface, beyond the game, beyond the simple thrill of corrupting the pastor's daughter.

And maybe that was the reason that made her stay until the very end, that and the way your eyes glow everytime you looked to see if she's still there,that damn sparkle and adorable smile made her stay long after her promised hour, helping carry the unsold items and leftover boxes back into storage without complaint.

~၄၃‎~•°~•°~•°~•°~•°~•°~

One afternoon, you arrived to find something new standing in your usual spot near the workbench. a chair. Not a folding metal one, nor an overturned crate, but a proper, sturdy wooden chair with a surprisingly comfortable-looking padded cushion. It was simple, yet clearly chosen with some thought. You stopped, staring at it.

The rhythm of your visits to Sevika’s garage stayed the same... comfortable, if still subtly charged, routine. You continued your quiet tidying, now an accepted part of your presence there along with the occasional humming a tune, and the grease stain on your clothes (another shared thing between your two worlds) became a badge of honor you carefully washed out each evening.

Sevika glanced up from the engine she was meticulously cleaning, noting your focus. "What?" she grunted, feigning indifference like she didn't spend the whole day till now imagining your reaction

"The chair," you said softly, gesturing towards it. "You...bought me a chair?"

"Found it cheap," Sevika cut in gruffly, turning back to her work. "Sick of you perched on that damn crate like a nervous bird. Figured you could use it." She waved a dismissive hand. "Don't let it get to your head."

A warmth spread through your chest, unrelated to the garage's lingering heat. She'd thought of you. She'd gone out and bought a chair for you because now your presence in her life was as big as her presence in your life. Despite her dismissive tone, the gesture felt enormous.a wide smile touching your lips.

Sevika finally looked up, her gaze sharp. She saw the undisguised pleasure on your face, the softening in your eyes. It made the annoying warmth within her chest grow, something dangerously close to... She immediately clamped down on it, reverting to her usual defense mechanism. She strode over, backing you off towards the chair. "I bought it," she said, her voice dropping to a low growl,she pushed you down to sit on the really comfortable cushion "because it keeps you put. Gives me better… access."

Before you could process the shift, her hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you forward. Her mouth crashed down onto yours in a hard, possessive kiss that stole your breath and effectively shut down any further sentimental discussion.

~၄၃‎~•°~•°~•°~•°~•°~•°

One rainy afternoon, while rummaging through a box of old manuals in the garage looking for something Sevika needed, you unearthed a tattered paperback novel tucked amongst the greasy diagrams. You pulled it out curiously. Sevika wasn't the tidies but she wasn't the kind to keep, trash...not in her stuff at least.

Sevika glanced over. "Huh. Forgot about that."

"You've read...a novel?" you asked.

"Started it," she admitted, a rare flicker of something almost nostalgic in her eyes. "When I was a kid. Found it somewhere. Liked it, but never finished it. It got torn and lost before I get the chance. Don't even remember the title now, or who wrote it." She shrugged, picking up a wrench. "Something about a girl who could talk to machines… And a broken compass. Stupid kid stuff."

That fragmented memory lodged itself in your mind. A story Sevika had liked, left unfinished. Nope...you couldn’t have that. you visited the town library, spent hours searching through young adult fiction archives, armed only with the vague clues: girl protagonist, talking to machines, a broken compass. You checked out a stack of books that seemed remotely plausible.

Thus began a new ritual. While Sevika worked, the sounds of clanging metal and whirring tools would be accompanied by your voice not humming a tune,but reading aloud from one of the library books. You’d sit in your comfortable chair, book propped on your lap, carefully enunciating each word.

"…and so Elara whispered to the rusty automaton, hoping it would understand," you read one afternoon.

"Nope," Sevika grunted from under the chassis of a car. "Not that one."

Another day and another book "...following the cracked needle of the peculiar compass, Lyra ventured deeper into the whispering woods..."

"Nah, wasn't woods," Sevika's muffled voice replied. "More city, I think. Keep going."

Book after book proved fruitless. After finishing a particularly dull chapter about a girl befriending sentient kitchen appliances, you sighed in frustration. This wasn't it either... closing the book with a gentle snap. "Fiddlesticks" you said angrily.

From the depths of the engine bay she was working on, Sevika let out a sudden, barking laugh... that rare, genuine sound that always made your heart skip. She slid out, approaching you, a wide grin splitting her face. "Fiddlesticks? Seriously?" She shook her head. "Oh my God. Do you kiss me with that mouth, Pastor's kid?"

You flushed, embarrassed but also happy to see her laughter. "It's a perfectly fine word!"

"For a five-year-old maybe," she chuckled, leaning in, her grin softening . "No, but seriously," she added, tapping your chin lightly with a greasy finger, "we really need to work on your dictionary." The moment was...light.

~၄၃‎~•°~•°~•°~•°~•°~•°~•°

The knock on your bedroom window came long after midnight, soft but insistent. You froze, heart leaping into your throat as you got up from the bed. Pulling back the curtain revealed Sevika’s silhouette against the moonlit lawn, looking up expectantly. You slid the window open quietly.

"What are you doing here?" you whispered frantically, like your parents could hear you from down the hall.

"Couldn't sleep," she replied simply, her voice low. "Felt like a ride. Coming?"

Sneaking out? The very idea sent a thrill of pure terror mixed with irresistible temptation through you. This was a line you’d never imagined crossing. But looking down at Sevika, waiting for you in the dark, the thrill won. With painstaking slowness, you crept out of your room, down the stairs, and slipped out the back door, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

The motorcycle ride was different at night. The world was hushed, bathed in silver moonlight and deep shadows. The wind felt cooler, the engine roar seemed louder in the stillness. You clung to Sevika’s back, burying your face against her leather jacket, breathing in the familiar scent of smoke and oil, feeling utterly reckless and surprisingly safe all at once.

She took you back to the overlook, the town lights twinkling below like fallen stars. You sat on a large, flat rock near the edge, the silence broken only by the chirping of crickets. Sevika produced a can of beer from her jacket pocket, popping the top with a soft hiss.

"What if my parents wake up?" you fretted, hugging your knees to your chest.

"They won't," Sevika said, taking a long sip.

"What if I pass out from… from the excitement or something?" you whispered, the anxieties tumbling out.

She lowered the can, "you won't ." The flat certainty in her voice was oddly comforting.

"What if… what if someone dangerous comes up here?"

Sevika turned, setting the beer can down. She leaned in, silencing your worries with a kiss. It wasn't hard or demanding this time, but slow, deliberate, almost gentle. It tasted faintly of beer and the cool night air. When she pulled back, her eyes searched yours in the darkness. "Than I kick their ass" she stated softly, definitively. And somehow, pressed close to her side under the vast, starry sky, you believed her.

Pt3 people? {•~•}

Tags: @megamultifandomtrashposts . @zthebean27

[takes1]

MORE FUKUNAGA PLSSS IM STARVING MOTHER💔💔💔 I ATE IT UP LAST TIME AND I RE READ IT LIKE EVERY THREE DAYS😞😞

this was so funny and has never once been a forgotten addition to my inbox.

shohei fukunaga would risk everything just to see you one more time

warnings. none, sfw. minors still DNI

details. sfw / fem!reader / pining / stolen kisses / closet freak!shohei / forbidden long distance / mutual crushing / karasuno manager!reader / everybody thinks this guy is unsettling / romantic / is it wrong to headcanon him as yandere? / 1k words

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my ao3. my imagines.

A blur of your hair, seen from the window of his bus, shocks Shohei's body upright. Nothing quite fixes his slouch the way you do.

As he cranes unnaturally to confirm if that was you amongst the massive, unorganized gaggle of players queued up to leave for their respective cities, there are a dozen Karasuno jerseys, and that's enough to fly on.

"Please stop the bus, sir. I-- forgot something."

Shohei was completely doubled over in remorse, and respect, to their less-than-happy bus driver. What can you expect from a bunch of ungrateful city boys anyway? He muttered a curse under his breath and the bus sighed to a stop.

The doors had half a second to fold open and he was already leaping out onto the concrete with surprising, accurate, and needed agility.

He bolted at points, and managed to squeeze through at other times, past the violent sea of teams separating your bus from his.

None of Karasuno had been told to load on, yet. A handful were picked to throw bags underneath in the storage compartment, but you were conveniently sitting pretty and watching the crowd, for nothing in particular.

In fact, you were mulling over some lukewarm regret over not telling Shohei a proper goodbye. Neither of you were ever certain you would get to reunite, and with Nationals done-- what else was there to bring you together?

You thought you spotted a Nekoma uniform, completely out of place- and in the flash of time it took to recognize who it could have been, you were scooped up with some impressive strength.

"(Y/n)--," He huffed against your hair, but his tone never tired, never dragged- it was always flat and pleasant, "Please-."

Those big eyes looked droopy as they searched your surprise. You were very happy to see him but it did not show.

"Please come see me in Tokyo."

Some voices got through to you, the both of you, in your shock.

"Huh?!"

"What did that punk just say?!"

Nishinoya was rolling up his sleeves after loading the biggest, heaviest bag into the bus, "Hey! Lay off our manager you creep!!"

"Wait-waitwait-!"

You couldn't explain fast enough- Daichi had to play middleman and stiff-arm the two buffoons, though he himself wasn't the biggest fan of that look Shohei had to him, nor how he ran up on you like that. He didn't correct Nishinoya for calling him a creep because he did look the part.

"Don't be rude!" You shouted back.

You had to usher him away, further from your now nosy team. He didn't seem to give it any attention, or energy, so it made you briefly wonder how often he was belittled like that.

"God- I guess," You had to shake out your nerves, all giddy from his hug, and his attention, "I'm sorry, I guess they're all still jocked up on adrenaline- or something--,"

"I don't have a lot of time--"

"Right! Right- sorry, um... Come- come see you? In Tokyo?"

Your hesitation to give him an instant 'yes' spurred his nervous movement- a jump, in his hand that brushed across your lower back and pulled you closer. That shrub behind you looked sharp, too, so while he was at it, he fixed your orientation so that you switched spots. Your back to the crowd, his back to the shrub. He could see anyone coming from here, too.

You shuddered at all his touching. "The city? I-h-- I dunno, Shohei. That's so... far."

It was at least a bullet train away. Possibly the better half of a days' worth of travel. Little Karasuno in the mountains was your home, and you couldn't possibly dream of travelling by yourself through all of that.

There were two teams loading onto their buses, now. The crowds were starting to become organized lines, or blocks, in order to leave.

He shook his head, considering the only alternative with a thick swallow. "I can't wait around for another practice game to see you again."

It was quiet, for a beat. No guy had ever, ever looked that serious about you before. Your hand was rising to touch his face, to see if that worry was actually real.

"I...I can't-."

His little gasp at your touch was confirmation. A much bigger hand slid up to keep your palm right there, right across his cheek, next to his mouth.

Your reassurance was a long-awaited rain after a brutal dry season of uncertainty.

A light nod, a small smile, found you as you were completely transfixed on the lengths he went to, all just to come see you one more time.

"Let's do it," Maybe you could take a friend, and you could make a weekend out of it under a really bad excuse, "I wanna see you too."

Well, maybe it wasn't quite the same. To want and to need were two very different concepts.

It still made him melt, pressing warm and fervent open kisses against your hand, into your palm and spilling all across your wrist. You couldn't hide how tingly it got you- you hid an impure sigh under your free hand. Even when you couldn't bring yourself to look at him, you could still hear him kissing you.

"I have to go," He sounded miserable, with one difficult-to-read look back towards his bus, a fair distance away.

Some intangible force compelled you to put an ounce or two of pressure in your hand, to better remember how his face felt against your fingertips.

"Call me," Was going to be the last thing he said to you. He slipped from your touch but you weren't ready for him to leave, yet.

His voice was a sigh, nearing a whisper. It captured you in its sincerity and brevity.

"Yeah- I-, I will."

You couldn't help it; you had to seal this somehow. The thought to give him a rushed, imperfect kiss blended right into the action. You kept him here, with you, by fisting the collar of his jacket for a clumsy smooch.

That big, interesting grin and sparkly eyes were not something you were prepared for, either.

He kept his excited chuckle back, just barely, and kept you still for a real kiss. Gentle, and warm, and way better than your own attempt.

You couldn't hear yourself telling him goodbye- you watched his lips form some kind of muted response and felt emptyhanded as he had to run back quicker now to catch his bus. It was idling in the way of many vehicles trying to get out of the lanes.

Did you even have his number?

☆VIP☆

@integers @paradoxicalwritings @yuchacco @megapteraurelia

my masterlist. more haikyuu

[thatchickwiththecamera]

Hi!!

Can you write something related to Matt? I'm soooo obsessed with him lately.

Not a specific request, just Matt 🥺

Thank you!!!!

Author’s Note: Someone sent in two requests in one ask for Matt and Ruffilo. Since this wonderful anon didn’t specify what they wanted their request regarding Matt to be about, I am responding to the Matt portion of that double prompt through this request!

Check out my other writings here: MASTERLIST

Warning: Contains Smut, 18+ ONLY

The Shirt

The blazing rays of the morning sun were already bearing down on Olivia’s shoulders as she unloaded the bags of fertilizer and potting soil out of the trunk of her RAV4. Even at 7am, Texas in the middle of July was scorching and that heat would take a bite out of you really quick if you weren’t careful. 

As she was stacking the last bag on top of the pile she had made on the corner of her driveway, a truck drove up onto the concrete slab and parked next to her. The bed of the truck was loaded down with various gardening tools, cuts of lumber, and a number of plants nestled in their temporary plastic pots. 

Matt Dierkes, one of Olivia’s oldest friends, emerged from the driver’s side, his long hair covered by one of his signature ballcaps. He wore an old Bloodline tee with the sleeves cut off and a pair of athletic shorts with the name of their high school printed on them. 

Matt had the next three months off before his next set of shows with the guys and had agreed to help Olivia build her own garden and green space in her backyard. Gardening was a hobby he had picked up during the pandemic when the music industry shut down touring wise so she naturally turned to her best friend for help when deciding to start her own. 

Shortly after he stepped out of the vehicle a little blonde blur of fur hopped out as well and bolted toward where Olivia stood. She stopped what she was doing and scooped Matt’s yorkie Boo up into her arms and hugged him to her chest as he licked her face in greeting. 

She let out a laugh in response and lowered herself into a criss-cross sitting position on  the ground to continue playing with her friend’s furry child. Matt lowered the tailgate of his truck and paused, peaking around the truck to watch his best friend play with his dog. The view made him smile. Two of his favorites in one place.

They soon moved everything, including Boo, to the fenced in backyard and quickly got to work. The plan was to get as much done in one day as they could by sundown and then finish whatever was left tomorrow. The reward at the end of the project was a pair of tomahawk steaks and a twelve pack of Dr. Pepper that sat on the top shelf inside Olivia’s refrigerator. 

They finally took a break a little after noon. They had gotten the ground cleared and the three raised garden boxes built and lined with a weed barrier. Now, they laid down on the cool concrete of Olivia’s covered back porch. Olivia with a couple of pillows from one of the lounge chairs nestled under her head, Matt’s with his head propped up on the side of Olivia’s stomach, hat off, now covering his face. 

The ceiling centered above them steadily pushed warm air down over their bodies. Boo lay curled up on the elevated cooling dog bed that she bought specifically for him that she placed next to the door while they worked. 

The mixture of warm air and cool concrete made it tempting to drift off to sleep and take a nap right then and there. One of her Spotify playlists shuffled out various songs through the bluetooth speaker sitting on the edge of the porch. She hummed along to lyrics of an A Day To Remember song and found herself absentmindedly playing with the hair on Matt’s now uncovered head. She loved his long hair and dreaded the day he ever decided to cut it. 

“Hmmm, if you keep that up I am going to end up falling asleep.” Matt commented, voice partially muffled by the hat. 

He moved the hat slightly, peaking to look over at her with a smile. Her eyes were closed and a content smile adorned her face as she continued to fiddle with his light brown locks. He reached up with his right hand and poked her side with his thumb, knowing fully well how ticklish she was. 

She squirmed and tried to swat it away with the hand not currently occupied with his hair. He did it again and when she tried to swat at his hand, he grabbed it and pulled it toward him, trapping it in his own against his chest. She let out a laugh. 

“Matthew, if you wanted to hold my hand you could have just said so.” she said, now looking down at him with a smirk. 

He rolled his eyes, jokingly flipped her the bird before throwing the hat back over his face. Her hand remained in place on his chest, his right hand draped over it. She made no effort to move it. They fell back into a comfortable silence. She continued to play with his hair and eventually felt him start drawing slow gentle circles with his thumb against the back of her other hand. They remained that way until their stomachs signaled it was time to eat lunch and get back to work. 

By the end of the day, all three garden boxes were full of the proper ratios of soil, fertilizer, and mulch along with strategically placed irrigation hoses. Pre-grown sprouts had been transplanted from their plastic pots along with regular seeds into neatly organized and labeled rows in each box. In a few weeks Olivia would have tomatoes, various peppers, carrots, asparagus, sweet corn, and potatoes growing tall and green in her garden. 

They both agreed that it was too late and they were too tired, sweaty, and partially sunburnt to bother cooking and decided to hold off on the celebration dinner until the next afternoon. After loading the various gardening and power tools back into the bed of his truck, Matt turned and watched Olivia walk over with Boo in her arms. 

“Can’t he just stay here tonight since you’re coming back tomorrow anyway?” She asked, not wanting to part with the pint sized pup that she had come to adore almost as much as his owner over the years. 

“Liv, are you trying to steal my dog from me?” He accused, stepping closer to scratch the little dog's head before looking down at his much shorter friend with a smile. 

“I don’t have to try, he likes being here,” she defends. 

Yeah, he’s not the only one, Matt thought

“and besides, he lives here when you’re on tour and now that you’re home I miss him.” 

“Oh, so what you’re saying is you can’t wait for me to leave again.” He teases. 

“No, I’m saying that now that you’re home, I miss having Boo around.”

“So you don’t miss me when I’m on tour, but you miss my dog?” He asks. 

“I’m going to smack you,” she threatens, “you know what I meant asshole”

“Boo, are you going to let her talk to your dad that way?” he asks with a sarcastic gasp. 

“Boo, If I didn’t know any better, I’d think your dad is a little jealous.” She states, kissing the top of the dog's head, smirking at her friend. Blue eyes glowing with a hint of mischief. 

He rolls his eyes. 

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” 

“Lies,” She states matter of factly. “So can he stay?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” he replies with a sigh. 

Everyone who knew Matt knew that he was certainly not a pushover. Quite the opposite in fact. He could be an outright ass sometimes. But there was just something about Olivia that made it hard to say no, even when they were younger. He chalked it up to her just being very persuasive and good at making a convincing argument. But as they had gotten older, he knew it was because he loved seeing the way her eyes lit up with excitement when she was happy. He liked being the one that made her happy. 

When he got home, he headed straight to the shower, wanting to rinse away all the sweat and dirt that had built up over the course of the day. From the shower he lazily went through the rest of his bedtime routine before seeking refuge under the comforter. 

Despite how much his body ached and longed for rest. His mind would not allow sleep to take hold. After a while he rolled over onto his back with a frustrated sigh and stared up at the ceiling fan. His bed was noticeably colder without Boo curled up next to him. His house was too quiet. It felt odd and out of place. Like something was missing aside from the obvious absence of man’s best friend. 

He used to love the isolation being home provided after months of time spent on cramped tour buses and in shared hotel rooms, but now he was dreading the solitude. 

Before his mind could ponder further he heard a familiar notification chime from his phone. He rolled over and grabbed the device off the nightstand, the light from the screen cutting through the darkness. 

Olivia: New Text Message

He unlocked his phone and was greeted by a photo of Boo in a bathtub, hair spiked up in different directions by the shampoo lathered in his hair. The message underneath read:

Olivia: Someone knocked over the trashcan while I was taking a shower and got caught red pawed with peanut butter all over him. 🙃

The message made him smile in amusement. Boo was notorious for knocking over and digging through the garbage if you didn’t keep the trash can secured in some fashion. He had done it many times when Matt had originally moved into his own place before he finally got a heavy metal can with a push pedal lid that couldn’t be knocked over.

Before he could type out a reply another photo popped up. This one showed Boo sitting, with freshly dried fur, looking up at Olivia through the mirror on the countertop next to the sink in her bathroom. The reflection showed Olivia smiling down at her phone screen behind him as she snapped the picture, hair dryer up and ready in her opposite hand. 

She was wearing an oversized t-shirt, which was practically a dress on her short frame. Not just any t-shirt. His t-shirt. His favorite Lord of the Rings t-shirt that he thought he accidentally lost. 

But there is was, and fuck did she look good in it. 

Olivia: Pupdate: Back to his clean handsome self! 😋

He zoomed in to see that she had gathered the pups hair up into a hair tie causing the free hair to stick up like a troll doll. His smile grew wider as he typed back a reply. 

Matt: You gave my dog a ponytail? And is that my shirt? 🤨

Olivia: Yeah! You guys match now! And I don’t know what you’re talking about. Lol 🤭

Matt: 🙄

Olivia: He looks cute and you know it! 🖕

Matt: So what you're saying is you think I look cute? And stop trying to avoid the question. 🤔

Olivia: I say you match and that's all you got out of that? 🙄

Matt: You didn’t say no. 😏

Olivia: 🤐

Matt: I’m taking that as a yes until you say otherwise and I want my shirt back. 

“Boo, I think your dad is flirting with me” Olivia said to the pup curled up under her arm, big brown eyes looking at her. 

Albeit she was flirting back, but they were both arguably kinda bad at it. 

Olivia: I plead the fifth and if you want it back you’ll have to come and take it. 

Matt: That can be arranged. 

Oh shit, maybe not as bad at it as she thought. 

Olivia: You’d like that wouldn’t you? 

Well, no turning back now. They’ve officially crossed into a territory outside of the realm of just friends. 

Three little text dots popped up at the bottom and then went away. 

Shit Shit Shit. 

She felt doubt start to form like a weight in the pit of her stomach. Maybe she read the messages wrong. Maybe he wasn’t flirting? 

Twenty minutes passed with no reply. She wanted to scream, and cry, and throw up all at the exact same time. Olivia was genuinely worried that she had just royally fucked up her friendship. 

She was anxiously pacing around her room, waiting for Matt to reply, when she heard her doorbell ring from downstairs. She looked over at the clock on her nightstand. It read 11:47pm. 

Boo let out a growl at the new noise. She tried to soothe the dog before leaving him secured inside her bedroom and headed downstairs to see who the hell was ringing her doorbell in the middle of the night. She was mentally chastising herself for not investing in one of those ring doorbell cameras that she always said she was going to invest in when she moved in two years prior. 

She stood on her tip toes and looked through the peephole. She let out a slight gasp by who she saw on the other side before quickly unlocking and opening the door. There on the other side of the threshold was Matt with a very serious look on his face, his brown eyes looked darker than usual. They both said nothing, a noticeable tension filled the air as she pulled the door open wider, allowing him room to step inside. She quickly closed the door behind him and re-secured the locks. 

“Matt, wha…” she started to ask, turning around to face him. 

“Shut up.” he interjected, stepping forward and connecting their lips in a searing kiss. 

They stood like this for a moment, before he took another step and the cool wood of her front door against her back caused her to part her lips in a gasp, allowing his tongue to slip inside. His hands left her face and traveled down the seam of her shirt. His shirt. Before he reached behind her thighs and lifted her up, legs wrapping around his center, as he carried them over to the couch across the room. 

That tension felt before snapped as hands found skin and clothing met the floor piece by piece. She didn’t have time to feel shy. The desire of it all was dizzying and they both craved more. He rolled her off his lap to where she laid across the couch and he began to plant kisses along her throat. Over her breast. Down her stomach. Watching her react with each touch as he made his way to her core. 

He looked up at her as he pressed gentle kisses against her inner thigh, silently asking permission to continue. She nodded and he didn’t hesitate. Her hand quickly found its way into his hair as his tongue worked deeper. Her head snapped back into the couch pillow as he gently introduced his fingers to her folds, falling into a steady rhythm as his mouth flicked over her clit. She tried to move her hips to match his thrusts but he firmly held her in place by snaking his free arm around her thigh. 

She let out a moan as she felt herself growing closer and closer to climax. The sounds of her moans and how she breathlessly whispered his name were like music and he was desperate to hear more. She looked down at him, his eyes borderline pitch black with lust. Their gaze remained locked as she felt her body coil tighter until it snapped and she screamed out his name in pleasure. Writhing beneath him as he continued to work his fingers in and out, while kissing the overstimulated bud. 

The sound of her voice as she fell apart made his dick twitch. She whimpered slightly at the absence as he made his way back up her body and attaching her lips to his in another deep kiss. He pulled back and looked into her eyes, her pupils blown with ecstasy. 

“Are you sure about this?” He said, seeking consent to continue. 

She grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him into another breathtaking kiss. 

“Fuck, yes.” She breathed against his lips. 

She gripped his arms, nail leaving crescent moon indentions on the skin as he pushed inside of her. Sweat began to pool at the small of his back as she rolled her hips up to meet him, their bodies falling into a steady rhythm.

He placed his forehead against hers, eyes locked as he thrusts harder, deeper. Both chasing their high together. Olivia's eyes flutter closed as the pleasure builds closer and closer. 

“Look at me!” Matt demands. God the way he said that unlocked something in her. 

Her eyes snap back open to meet his. He picks up his pace with a grunt, alternating between deep full hilt thrusts and shallow ones that leaves her needing more. 

“Fuck, Liv, you’re doing so good for me.” He praises between his own moans. 

Her hands snake deeper into his mane of hair as they push closer and closer to the breaking point. He tries to hide his moan in another deep kiss. 

“Matt….” She whines, “so close..”

“That’s it, babygirl.” He praises, “cum for me, let me hear that pretty voice.”

She cried out his name in pleasure, star bursts dotting in her vision as he continued to fuck her through her orgasm. She writhed with overstimulation as he chased his own climax shortly after. He collapsed on her chest, both of them trying to calm their ragged breathing. 

Matt quickly got up and retrieved a wet washcloth from the half bath and cleaned both of them up before laying back down and pulling Olivia on top of him along with the decorative blanket that was draped over the back of the couch. She nestled her face into the crux of his neck, he rested his chin on top of her head. 

“Matt?” Olivia asks, voice muffled by how she was laying. 

“Yeah?”

“You’re still not getting the shirt back.” She says. 

He lets out a laugh. 

“Fair enough,” he replies, kissing her forehead, “It looks better on you anyways.”

[cutesyscreenname]

A Cowboy Like Me : Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Series summary:

I've had some tricks up my sleeve

Takes one to know one

You're a cowboy like me

Javier Peña is a playboy, sleeping his way across Bogotá, never settling down. And he's used to being the only one. What happens when he meets his match? A friendly challenge between friends couldn't hurt, could it? Unless that friend is you...

Chapter Summary:

Javi is your friend, your coworker, your neighbor and a royal pain in your ass. He always thinks he has the upper hand but he doesn't know you have a little secret.

Pairing: Javi Peña x f reader

Rating: 18+ minors DNI

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: language, allusions to sex, drinking alcohol/being drunk, not much really

Notes: This is my first fic, I actually started another one but this Javi idea snuck into my head and we'll here we are. I just kept thinking, what if Javi was down bad for a fem reader who is as much of a slut as he is? A little turning of the tables? And what happens when they finally collide 👀 I don't have a concrete plan for how things end up where they're going so bear with me. I hope you enjoy it!

Playlist:

Rain assaulted the panes of your bedroom window seemingly from nowhere, a blitz attack to break through the standoff between humidity and air pressure. If it wasn’t so frenzied it would feel like a release.

You couldn’t take your usual leisurely stroll to the office this morning, considering the current weather. You silently thank the DEA’s preference for efficiency and budgeting as your corner apartment was sandwiched between those of your fellow agents, Murphy across the hall and Peña to your right.

Your appreciative mood sours when you get no answer from Steve Murphy’s door, realizing he likely had left already to afford his wife the same respite you were seeking from the rain and drive her to work at the clinic. You knew Peña would still be home, the catch was you didn’t know if his (very noisy) overnight guest would still be lingering this morning. Maybe it was just the expected awkwardness of meeting a coworker’s hook up or perhaps it was having to stifle the urge to look at them with pity when they practically purred to him “call me, Javi baby” as they carried their heels down the apartment staircase; either way you didn’t exactly enjoy meeting his conquests.

Preparing for whatever scene lurked behind his door that it was still too early in the morning to witness, you rapped three times on the wood beneath the peep hole. The tension in your shoulders subsided when, as soon as your hand pulled away, there he was in the threshold fully dressed and seeming to be on his way as well.

“Buenas, chiquita. Looking for a ride?” his small smirk and the spark in his eye letting you know he was expecting you.

“I don’t know, Peña, did you tire yourself out giving someone else a ride last night? Your friend sounded so grateful."

"Oh I’ve got plenty of energy, muñeca. You looking for a different kind of ride?” He stepped what would appear, to the layman, uncomfortably close to you but you don’t waver. It’s all a part of the game.

“En tus sueños, Javi,” you almost whisper before turning on your heel and bolting down the stairs as you yell behind you. “Last one to the car buys coffee!”

“Mocosa…” he mutters to himself, following behind you. He slides two fingers into the pocket of his button down shirt to find nothing there. You lifted his smokes before bolting to the car.

He sighs and shakes his head when he slides into the driver seat of his car that you’ve already let yourself into, both of you drenched just from the sprint to the vehicle. You think you catch his eyes gliding over your soaked blouse but quickly decide it’s more likely a glare of annoyance at your early morning antics. Javier didn't see you that way.

“You sure about that energy, Peña? Better hit the coffee shop post haste.” You tip the pack of smokes toward him in an offer, as though it’s yours, a lit cigarette already dangling lazily from your lips, a small smile tugging at one corner of your mouth.

Javi plucks the whole pack from your fingers and lets out a low chuckle, lighting one for himself before slipping them back into his shirt pocket.

“Fine, pendeja. The first round tonight is on you, though.”

And this is the way it was between you, a never ending game of wit and sarcasm, playing chicken and skirting the edges of propriety. Always in jest, always reigned in long before invisible lines were crossed, made easier by Steve playing mother hen to the two of you.

Always just a stupid game.

Sliding into the curved booth that evening at your favorite watering hole, you finally took what felt l like the first full breath of the day since stepping into the agency this morning. The moment your toe touched the speckled tile you and Javier’s easy expressions turned to grimaces at the mountains of paper work on each of your desks.

“Settle in, kids,” Steve grumbled from behind his own paper piles, “we’re gonna be here a while. I made coffee.” Endless stacks of red tape redundancies and dead end phone tips had your neck sore, eyes strained, and a dull ache settling between your temples.

You take a deep, cleansing breath as the time worn cushion gives way to your form and the dim lighting offers reprieve to your tired eyes. This is just what you needed after today.

“First round on you, kid, don’t forget.” Javi chides as he observes you sinking into the booth, Steve taking a seat next to you.

“Tell you what, Peña. I’m not moving for at least 20 minutes so why don’t you be a lamb and go grab those for us?” you say. It’s a statement, not a request and he rolls his eyes as you slide a few crumpled bills to him at the end of the table. “Quick like a bunny, sweetheart, or I won’t tip ya.”

Steve does nothing to hold back his laughter at his partner’s expense and Javi sends the both of you a death glare before snatching the cash and walking away to the bar.

“You sure know how to ruffle his feathers, man.” Murphy shakes his head lightly and chuckles, lighting a cigarette.

“Ah it’s too easy, he’s such a delicate flower.” Your eyes drift shut as you take another deep breath, enjoying the soft upholstery beneath you and inhaling the pleasant mix of liquor, leather, and smoke that permeates the small bar.

“Maybe more than you know.” Steve mutters quietly. You couldn't even be sure you were meant to hear it until you crack an eye open and see him looking at you with an expression that’s almost…solemn.

You open your mouth to ask what the hell he means by that but the words die on your tongue as Javi reappears, three whiskeys in hand and confusion painted across his strong features.

“Damn, Murphy, I leave for two minutes and she hurt your feelings already?” he throws a conspiratorial wink at you and slides into the booth on your other side.

The blonde agent’s face softens and he recovers from the moment so quickly you think you must have imagined it.

“Ah you know I’m sensitive, Javi. And this one’s just so damn feisty.”

“Yeah she is.” Javi pinches your cheek and you swat him away.

“Hey man I was napping!”

“Ah, ah, ah, cariño, I need my wing man awake.”

“Oh so I’m just dead weight?” Steve gasps, feigning offense.

“Second string, Murphy. I’m the MVP.” You jest, taking a generous sip of the amber liquid in your glass.

“Well now you’ve both hurt my feelings.” He pouts while you and Javi snicker.

The truth was, Javi didn’t need a wing man. Women seemed to clamor for a chance to fall into his bed; a never ending parade of Bogotá’s finest ladies rotating in and out of his apartment, keeping you awake with their…appreciation. It annoyed you endlessly, your precious sleep stolen as you lie awake thinking there’s no way he’s THAT good.

This is why you never brought your own conquests home. Why deal with the intrusion of your space, the prying eyes of your nosy partners, and the inevitable task of shooing them off? No reason to when you could simply whisper ‘lets go back to yours’ and get a night away from Javi’s theatrics before sneaking off to work early and slipping into the fresh shirt from your desk before Thing 1 and Thing 2 arrive to the office.

While Javi’s reputation was public knowledge, your escapades remained confidential and you preferred it that way. It kept things easy between you and the two men that had become your closest friends, maintained the dynamic that worked so damn well. Not to mention, you didn’t need it to be broadcast around an agency of frustrated men that you were no stranger to a one night stand.

You don’t consider yourself a centerfold by any means, but you know you must have a certain allure from the way that you never had to go home alone if you so chose. No need to give cause for the DEA bachelor’s club to start making pit stops at your desk to ask the time and look for files that don't exist.

You liked your little secret night life anyway, always one to keep your cards close to your chest, but after a couple more whiskeys (and a shot of tequila somewhere in between) your lips become looser.

“You know the more you two drink the more you start soundin’ like me.” Steve teases from his spot in the booth. As the alcohol warmed your cheeks and loosened your vocal chords, you and Javi both let your Texas drawls slide thickly over your words like honey from a road side stand.

“Hey now-“ Javi starts, but you cut him off.

A little more sauced than your cohort, and somehow even spunkier than you usually are, you point your finger at Steve with purpose. “Look it here, pal, we don’t sound nothin’ alike. Texas is a whooole different ball game. Did Tennessee used to be it's own country? Hmm? I didn’t think so.” You said with determination and a slight slur, ending an argument you were having with no one.

“I reckon she’s right.” The brunette man slung his arm around your shoulders in solidarity. Steve raised his eyebrows and smirked at the spectacle of drunken Texas pride before him, entertained by his friends that were much more inebriated than he was.

“Should we tell him?” Javi whispers to you loud enough for anyone to hear.

“Well bless his little heart, he don’t know?” You don’t know either, but you can see that it’s a part of the bit so you’re going to play along anyway.

Javi takes a dramatic breath before looking at the other man solemnly, “I didn’t wanna offend you, bud, but…”

He steals a glance at you and throws another wink your way, “turns out everything’s bigger in Texas.” Javi waggles his brows suggestively and you dissolve into a fit of giggles together.

“That’s what they say, isn’t it?” Steve leans back in his seat and sips the beer he’d switched to earlier in the night.

“Oh it’s what they ALL say, I hear ‘em every time I try to sleep at my place.” Both of the men next to you shoot you a surprised look, wondering what would come out of your mouth next.

“That can’t be true, I don’t have a guest every night,” Javier offers, “gotta sleep occasionally.” He's quipping back, playing the game as usual, but you’re just getting started.

“Well, seems like. I guess your nights off are just the ones when I’m not home, Casanova.” You tease, casually taking another pull of your drink that was mostly melted ice now.

“Not home?” Steve looks at you with his head cocked. “What’re you doin', playing secret agent without us? Girl’s out to catch Escobar all on her lonesome.”

“Nah, nah, naaaah. I’m doin’- like Javi does,” you stumble over your words, “entertaining my companions. He’s a cowboy. Like me.”

You miss the way that Javi’s jaw nearly hits the floor, unable to control his expression with the liquor coursing in his veins. Steve doesn’t, though.

“Well I’ll be damned, chica, who woulda thought it.” Steve laughs, still keeping a steady eye on his partner’s reactions.

Javier didn't expect you to be celibate, and maybe it was bit archaic to assume, but he never imagined you to get around like he did. And he really didn’t want to. Pushing the imagery from his mind, Javi set aside his shock and the little antagonistic twinkle forming in his eye has Steve standing up to try and wrangle you both home before something stupid falls out of his friend’s mouth. But it’s too late.

Neither of you are moving to follow him and before Steve can start his rounds of ‘its getting late’ and ‘let’s call it a night’ Javi pipes up.

“I don’t fuckin believe you, cariño.” He takes a thoughtful drag from the cigarette between his plush lips before tapping it on the edge of the ashtray. After a brief but pregnant pause he continues. “In fact I think you’re home every night. Ear pressed to my fuckin wall, apparently.”

Anger bubbles up hot and sudden in your chest. He was still playing, still jesting. So why did red suddenly paint your complexion and creep over your field of vision? This cocky bastard. Pendejo. You’ll be damned if Javi gets the last word here, especially if that last word insinuates that you sit like a sad puppy next to your shared wall eavesdropping on his sex life.

You lean in close to the man, catching the musk of cologne and sweat radiating from his warm body. His shirt is unbuttoned into a deep v, skin glistening from the humidity and the alcohol. Javi watches as your pupils expand just so, the slightest shade of blush blooming across your cheeks.

Doubling down, you poke his exposed chest with two fingers. He shivers and you think it must be your hands, cold from wrapping around your low ball glass.

“I’ll prove it to you.” You reach up to pat his cheek before leaning back into the booth with resolve. “After this next drink.”

When you stand to cross the room and falter it’s Javi’s strong hands that fly to your waist to steady you. A burning sensation flutters beneath your skin where he holds you in place. It feels like a leather car seat on a summer's day back home. The sear of the supple material, jarring at first on the skin that peeks out from cut off shorts, soon absorbs and melts into you, sweet like sunshine, until you have to peel yourself away at your destination. Like you have to peel away now from his grip.

Seeing his opportunity Steve takes your hand and begins ushering the two of you out towards his car. Javi, seeing that his ride is leaving, gives in as well.

“Come on, sweetheart. We can have another drink when we get home. Tell Connie all about your secret love life, how’s that sound?” your friend coos to you in an effort to put you in the car willingly.

“Steve - I fucking love your wife.” You manage as you all but fall into the back seat behind where Javi already sits in the passenger.

“Same here, kid. ‘swhy I married her.”

Before Murphy can even choose a radio station a faint snore floats up from the backseat, your eyes glued shut as sleep takes you. The men stay silent on the drive home.

Let me know if you wanna be tagged for this series, I'm starting a list ☺️☺️

[emilygrayce91]

From Bucharest

Chapter 5 - Rusted

Trigger Warning - 18+ for Violence, Sexual Themes, Trauma, Torture, Drugs, Death, Language.

If you’re new to this story, start at the beginning: Masterlist From Bucharest

The first thing Bec noticed when she regained consciousness were the metal shackles around her wrists and the cold concrete floor beneath her. Her head pounded and she felt like she was going to throw up. 

"What the fuck?" she moaned, rolling onto her side. She tried but failed to rub her head, the shackles straining against the chain bolted to the ground. 

It took several seconds for her eyes to adjust to the darkness before she could make out a small metal cot in the corner and nothing else. 

"James?" she whispered. 

No reply. 

Bec dragged herself over to the cot and pulled herself up onto it. Her vision blurred, and she had to swallow back another mouthful of bile. 

She couldn't make out much beyond the cell door besides several shadows and a few flashing red lights. "Hello?" she called out, her voice echoing through the small space. 

"Professor Fegan," a voice crackled overhead, coming from a small speaker in the corner. Bec startled, turning to face the corner where the disembodied voice was coming from. 

"Where am I?" she asked, tucking her knees under her chin. She still wore her slacks and a long sleeved shirt, but the cell was cold and the back of her neck was sticky and wet from the blood that had dripped from the large gash near the base of her skull. 

"I have to thank you. We had only anticipated bringing you in, but your capture led to someone...a bit more valuable," the voice spoke again. 

"Who are you?" Her head was spinning, and absolutely nothing was adding up. She was nothing, a nobody. And James...where the hell was James. Had he been the one to bring her in? But why? Why all the effort to keep her safe, just to turn her over. Nothing made sense. 

"That's not important at this time. But I do need you to listen very carefully to me. Can you do that?" 

Bec remained silent. The voice was patronizing, with a slight accent, but it didn't sound Romanian. Close, but slightly different. She couldn't place if it was a regional accent she hadn't heard before or originating from an entirely different place. 

"Ms. Fegan?" 

"Fuck you," she spat. 

"I was hoping we could do this the easy way, but I see now that may not be possible." 

The static cut off, and the presence of the voice left the room. A large clang rang out from the other side of the cell and two men dressed in familiar tactical gear stood on the other side of her cell door. 

Behind them, a portly little man, balding except for a tuft of hair near his forehead, held a clipboard, feverishly jotting something down. 

"Please confirm you are indeed Rebecca Fegan from Lansing, Michigan. 32, birthday September 21, 1993," the little man finally asked, peering over a small pair of glasses that were sliding through sweat that was profusely trickling down his forehead and face. 

"Who are you?" she asked, ignoring his questions. 

"Confirm...Rebecca Fegan. Aged 32. Born September, 1993." 

"I'm not answering any of your questions until you answer one of mine," she said, standing slowly from the cot so as not to jostle her head. She neared the cell door as far as her shackles would permit. "Who are you?" 

The little man adjusted his glasses, sighed, and handed his clipboard to one of the agents. Nearing the cell door, he folded his hands over his protruding stomach, eyeing her like a small boy might peer at an ant hill through a magnifying glass. 

"Ms. Fegan, you are not in any position to make demands, let alone threats. Do you realize who we are?" 

A single name came to mind, something James had mentioned several times. "HYDRA?" 

"That is correct." He scratched his chin, visibly pondering something that made him chuckle. "Interesting that Bucky remembered, but that is not important now." He waved his hand, slowly pacing back and forth. "Ms. Fegan, I need you to corporate, at least a little, or...certain measures will need to be taken. Do you understand?" 

"Fuck you," she said again, sitting back down on the cot and turning away from him. 

"I had really hoped to avoid this. You seemed like such an intelligent person on paper, but alas." The metal clanging of the cell door sliding open had Bec turning back to face the men. 

One of the tactical agents was on her, forcing her onto her back. She struggled, kicking and clawing, but he was strong, abnormally so. A small sting came under her ear, and she quickly realized the agent had injected her with something. She could still make out the men moving over her, but every part of her body had gone numb, and she was unable to speak. 

"Perhaps some pain will be a little more persuasive," the little man said, smiling over her. 

************************************************************************

The feeling of total powerlessness over her own body was almost more than Bec could handle. She would've spilled all the beans about herself, including that one time she stole a pair of socks for absolutely no reason, but even her vocal cords were frozen.

Her body was tossed into a large chair and her wrists were shackled to the arm rests. A pic line was placed in her left arm, attached to a bag of what looked like saline hanging from an IV stand. She could also make out numerous stainless steel vital monitors and operating machines. The dials whirred and and beeped, tracking her heart rate, blood pressure, and temperature.

The portly man rolled in front of her, his plump form nearly breaking the small doctor's chair beneath him. Small embroidery on the front of his newly donned doctor's coat read Dr. Pirogov.

"Ms. Fegan." He slid a syringe from his chest pocket and stared at it, twirling it between his fingers. "This contains a small dose of a drug similar to the well known haloperidol. Also known as Haldol, that medication is commonly used to treat nerves and other emotional conditions. This drug, however, is ten times more potent and in small doses such as this, can cause agonizing pain throughout the entire nervous system."

Bec wondered if her eyes had widened in response despite the sedative they had given her, but her head just slumped to the side, and she knew the screams of panic could only be heard by her inside her own head.

Dr. Pirogov slid his chair closer so that his knees were nearly touching her shins. He leaned in close, and she could smell stale cigarettes and body odor wafting off his still slightly sweaty skin.

"Reverse it," he said to someone behind her, and slowly she began to feel her fingers and toes again. The prickly sensation of her body coming back to life. She shuddered, trying with all her strength to pull out from under the shackles around her wrists and ankles, but there was no where for her to go.

Bec looked around the room frantically, hoping someone would show some pity on her, when her eyes halted on a figure to her left.

James.

But he didn't look like James anymore. In place of his hoodie and jeans, he wore similar tactical gear to the other HYDRA agents, his metal arm on full display.

And his eyes. There was something off about his eyes. He stared at her, but the recognition was gone. They were empty, unfeeling and almost...unaware.

Dr. Pirogov held the syringe out in James' direction. "Would you like to do the honors. It's only fair since you were the one to ultimately bring her in."

James held Bec's stare as he moved forward and took the syringe. Bec didn't know what to make of it. She hadn't known James that long, but she could just sense that this wasn't him.

Something had happened to him.

"James, please don't do this," she whispered, as he poised the syringe over left forearm.

There was no recognition, not even a flash of acknowledgement that he heard her.

"сделай это," Dr. Pirogov commanded.

The pain was horrendous. Bec screamed, her head snapping back against the chair, sending another blinding slash of agony through her skull and across her vision. Everything burned, even her blood felt as if it were boiling.

She kept her eyes on James through the pain, his own hollow and unfeeling. He dropped the syringe on a nearby surgical table and stepped back, taking position behind Dr. Pirogov who stood and began pacing back and forth in front of her.

"Now that I have your undivided attention, Bec. I need you to confirm that you are in fact Rebecca Fegan, aged 32, born September 1993."

Dr. Pirogov continued to recite the questions from his clipboard, but Bec stopped hearing him. His lips continued moving, but all she could focus on was James over the doctor's shoulder.

He was gone, only a shell of himself, and if she didn't start complying, so soon would she be nothing but the skin around her bones, just like him. 

[winterrsun]

An aversion to zombie brains

Mini drabble I cooked up

Blurb- Not long after the group arrived at Alexandria you feel a little off. Daryl thinks settling there has made you weak, but what if it’s something more than that?

Reader x Rick | some fluff, references to smut but no smut in story

Warnings: pregnancy references. Some gore. Language (f-word).

This just popped into my head and I had to write it out immediately instead of doing work like I’m supposed to be woops

“You sure you’re good to out today, you’ve been a little under the weather lately” Rick softly enquired as you finished lacing up your boots.

“How did you pick up on that, I haven’t said anything? And I’m fine, I’m itching to get out of here for a bit” you replied with a smile.

“I notice things” he smirked, “you haven’t been eating much. And you’ve been sleeping in later in the mornings. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I am, I promise” you said, planting a kiss to his lips before leaving.

You headed through the gates of Alexandria with Daryl, Rosita, Carol and Glenn by your side. Glenn looked at the list in his hand of supplies you were all scouting today.

“Let’s head out east” he suggested, “and stick together for now until we find something concrete to search”.

It wasn’t a particularly fruitful run, unfortunately. You did run in to a small heard of walkers, 20 or so. Nothing your capable group couldn’t handle. However, as you plunged your large knife into a walker skull and the smell of its leaking blood and brains down your arm hit you, you experienced a visceral reaction as if it were your first time killing one of these things.

Your brain clouded with dizziness and you instantly gagged. Trying to shake it off you turned to the next walker fast approaching you, snapping its teeth, but couldn’t repress the heaving sensation making its way up the back of your throat. You pivoted away from the walker and threw your breakfast up all over the ground, while Daryl’s bolt pierced the skull of your would-be attacker, sending the walker to the ground in an instant.

The group picked off the last couple roamers with ease while you continued to retch, before shakily straightening up and wiping your mouth with your sleeve. You were mortified, you couldn’t understand why that had happened. You must have killed at least a hundred of those animated corpses by now, many in much more gruesome ways than a knife cleanly to the skull. You’d never had a reaction like this before. Maybe you had food poisoning.

“The hell was that?” Daryl asked. His tone wasn’t angry, but you still felt ashamed.

“I- I don’t know. I think it must’ve been something I ate?” You stammered.

“We’ve all been eating the same food though” Rosita replied. “Plus it’s way better than anything we’ve eaten in months.”

You shrugged helplessly. “I really don’t know guys. I’m sorry” you said.

Daryl scoffed a bit, “I think I know what it is. I think these sheltered Alexandrians are rubbing off on ya. Don’t go getting weak on us now.”

Your eyes widened, “oh come on! That is not it” you began in argument, but Daryl’s wide grin stopped you and he started to chuckle. He was just teasing you; one of his favourite pastimes.

“Youre an ass, Dixon” you grumbled.

The group made their way back to Alexandria without further incident. As you closed in on the last mile of the journey, making your way down the now-familiar path, Carol pulled you back for a chat.

“How long have you been under the weather?” She asked you gently.

“A couple weeks, on and off” you admitted. “I don’t really know what it is, maybe stress adapting to this place? Maybe my body’s having a fit now that the constant survival mode feeling has reduced a little.”

“Mmm, maybe” Carol replied after a pause. “I’ve noticed you not eating much, and being picky on what you will eat. I haven’t known you to be picky with food before” she continued.

“Yeah….well I don’t know….like I said I think it’s probably stress?” You asked it as a question, wanting her to up and reveal what she was getting at.

The two of you walked in silence for a couple of minutes before she continued. “How long since your last period honey?”

You looked at her, then straight ahead, as you tried to remember. You couldn’t really. You knew you hadn’t had one yet since arriving at Alexandria, and your group had been there over six weeks now.

You remember feeling thankful to not have one on the road for a while, because when you did get it on the road it was fucking awful.

“Couple months, at least” you answered finally. “That could be stress too” you pointed out halfheartedly.

“It could” Carol agreed, “but I’m not sure it is” she added.

She walked ahead back into the group, leaving you at the back with your mind racing a hundred miles a minute. You and Rick were careful, you tried to be at least. When you didn’t have condoms he’d always pull out. And while high school health class taught you that wasn’t a fool proof method, you also tried your best to keep track of your cycle and when you’d be at highest risk of pregnancy.

That was at the prison, when life had some level of structure and stability. You couldn’t keep track of anything on the road. You thought back to the few moments you and Rick had shared while your group travelled and survived. That time against a tree when you were meant to be looking for firewood. Another time under an old railway bridge. You hadn’t been very careful the last few months you realised.

As you re-entered Alexandria, you saw Rick approaching the group to welcome you all back, clapping Daryl on the back and smiling at Carol. He walked up to you and pulled you into his arm, kissing the top of your head affectionately.

You looked up at him, and suddenly felt very nervous.

“You okay?” He asked, brow furrowed as he looked into your anxious eyes.

“I think we need to talk babe” you replied.

[kodared]

Welcome Home Neighbor~ ✨ You and your friends enjoy passing the time exploring old and abandoned places and selling the leftovers for spare cash, but what would happen if things don't go according to plan?

Chapter 1/?

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You did not like this adventure one bit.

“Oh come on Y/N! What’re ya? Chicken?!”

Your friends Badgered you relentlessly as you all approached the tattered and run-down building. The once brightly coloured sign is now barely legible reading “Playfellow Workshops” In bold letters.

“I don't know guys... This building looks old anyways, I doubt there's anything in there worth taking”

Your eyes scan the shattered windows and brightly coloured “No Trespassing” sign, You don't know how you always get into these situations with your friends. It seemed whenever you were around it was always,

“Hey, I know a good spot to go to!”... or... “C'mon! We can use the money for a new Game!”

Nevertheless, your friends would never try to put you in danger... Right?

…

Yeah, nope they definitely would if it meant you guys could afford the new Nintendo game.

“C'mon, what if there's some vintage film in there? Think of all the possibilities Y/N!”

One of your friends shouted as he pushed you toward the entrance of the building. Your shoes made an imprint into the gravel driveway as you tried to stop yourself from going any closer.

You did not like the look of this place, the energy was off and bad vibes were lingering all around the already busted open wired gate.

However as you looked behind your shoulder, you knew from the looks on all of your friend's faces you weren't getting yourself out of this one.

So, with a heavy sigh, you marched forward past the tattered gates and steeled yourself for what you might find.

As you approached the giant red doors of the Studio, you remembered most places when they are shut down have the door bolted shut from the inside for this exact reason!

A small grin sneaked its way onto your face as you put one hand out and turned your head, ready to tell your friends there was no way to enter the building.

…

Of course, the door had to open flawlessly with a small push. Your small grin disappeared as fast as your friends had, with them nowhere to be found in your sight. They did that a lot though so you pushed forward into the studio.

First and foremost this place was big. It must have had many productions and props for it to be filled to the extent it was.

Boxes and cobwebs littered the concrete floor, a thick layer of dust coated the walls and plaques hung on the walls, the only light source being the dim light provided through the shattered windows.

You wouldn't get far without a flashlight though, as you searched your pockets for your phone your eyes found themselves scanning the walls for a light switch. Your efforts for a light switch proving to be for naught as you finally found your phone and clicked on the light.

Papers littered the floor, some covered with sketches of what you could only assume to be characters, and some with writing and... Was that a contract??

This place seemed to be in a devastating mess, even the concrete flooring felt unstable as you took steps farther into the Studio.

One thing caught your eye regardless, making you trek deeper and deeper to get a better glimpse. It was hard to tell by the dim light coming from your phone, but it seemed to be a Set used for the Characters to interact with.

A bright red house sat in the center of the room, its mechanical eyes shut with rust covering the surface. If the required items were remaining to get it to work, you knew by now there was no hope of restoring it.

You moved on to a farther corner of the warehouse, your curiosity seeming to reach its peak as you saw a door leading to an office. You rolled up your sleeve to wipe the dust from the door, it read

“Directors Office.”

Well… If there were any profitable things to be found you guess they would be in there, reaching for the door handle, it jiggled in your grip. Locked. Of course it was.

Dropping down onto one knee, you began to search your pockets to see if you had anything that would help with breaking into the office. Not very keen on returning to your friends empty-handed.

All you could find though was a wadded-up Five, a broken pin from your school backpack, and a soda tab…

…You considered yourself a very organized person.

Rising to your feet once more, holding the broken pin in your hand you began to try to finagle it into the lock, and by some miracle it... Worked?

You weren't one to doubt your talents but this just felt wrong, the lock should not have opened the door as quickly as it did.

The thought left your mind as you pushed forward, you didn’t want to be in here longer than necessary.

To your dismay, all that you could find were more animation and puppeteering sketches, they looked very intricate and old, with detailing on how to hold the strings for a puppet named Wally Darling and such.

From what you could gather from the scattered documents, this studio used to run a show titled Welcome Home, where the main Puppet named Wally would go and have adventures with his friends.

You ‘wished your adventures didn't always lead to trespassing’ you thought as your eyes landed on a rather cute piece of art containing Wally and his friends.

The designs were cute and simple, it was no wonder the show had its successes, one thought still lingered, why did this place shut down?

You understood the concept of bankruptcy, it was a common theme in your economics class, but this didn't make any sense.

The papers on the desk nonetheless clearly stated a bankruptcy claim, and a lawsuit file, with highlighted words stating there were OSHA violations, and rumours of puppeteers being harmed on the job.

It felt as if your mind was being run in circles the more you examined the papers on the desk,

Until you heard footsteps.

Your breath is caught in your throat. The footsteps sounded like they were coming from the front of the building, recognized by the sounds of glass being stepped on. Of course they had to be coming from the only known entrance to this place.

Your brain quickly jumpstarted back into functioning as adrenaline coursed through your veins. Clicking off your flashlight you picked up what papers you could recognize, At least you wouldn't be empty-handed. Making quick work of them and folding them into your jacket pocket.

Your hair stood up on its neck as the steps rapidly approached. You had that cold feeling running up and down your spine as you scanned the room for any sign of escape.

Other than the main office door of course there was no other way to flee. Your muddied shoes provided you with quieter footsteps as you crept towards the door.

The broken windows allow for minimal light to produce shadows of boxes and various rusted equipment.

One thing remained prominent in your mind, however,

Where were the footsteps coming from?

There was no shadow in the front of the building, yet those menacing footsteps kept crescendoing in your direction.

You had no time to worry about this, you needed to escape, and from the looks of it, this may be your only chance to do so. With a final deep breath, you shot from your previous place of hiding and took off in the direction of the doors.

The dim sunlight from the windows allowed you to avoid various boxes and obstacles in your path, You were not expecting however to feel the eyes of a predator on your back.

You tried your best to ignore it, but your breath proceed to become more laboured and panicked. Feeling as if you were a mouse caught in a glue trap. Your feet feel as heavy as concrete bricks as they hit the floor, where are you even running?

You couldn't tell. You tripped on what seemed to be your own feet, the world spinning around you, and you felt sick. What was going on? You felt panic proceed to grip your very soul as you felt the weak structure crack under your body.

This was not how this was supposed to go.

You wished you just stayed home. You could have minded your business and scrolled on the internet, but no. You had to be nosy and go exploring.

Your breaths became crazed and your eyes glued themselves onto the gray concrete. Not daring to look behind or beside you, in fear of making eye contact with what had frozen you with fear.

…

None of that seemed to matter anymore as the spinning feeling took hold of your brain. You could feel a migraine begin to pierce your eyes making your head throb.

Before you passed out,

you could have sworn the concrete was not this soft.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

~Taking Welcome Home Requests! The full story can be found on my Ao3 ʕ •ᴥ•ʔゝ☆ -

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

[fixdex-fastening-technology]

Are you looking for a #sleeve anchor that is easy to install, strong and reliable? Discover the advantages of FIXDEX & Goodfix expansion bolts!

[bitbd]

Living Fossil

What kind of superhero not only throws a random parked car at a kaiju, but misses?

Skye could feel her heart pounding like a hammer as she watched her 1962 Volkswagen Beetle not even glance off the flying gargoyle larger than her entire apartment building. Her Love Bug skipped tires-up along the street like a stone on a still pond, glass and metal bending and breaking every time her car slammed into the concrete. As it finally came to a stop the other noises of the fight were drowned with blood rushing through her ears and nerves whining across her brain. It was almost as if she was mid-nightmare, staring at the turquoise wreck.

Her eyes blurred; Skye absently realized tears were streaming down her face. She trembled, and overwhelming despair quickly gave way to overpowering wrath. Clutching her purse hard enough for fingernails to pierce leather, she stomped off the sidewalk and towards the smoking ruins. She took in the sight of what was her first car, her only car, the first purchase she'd made, the car she bought and repaired with her own time, effort, and talents. It was totaled, beyond repair, a corpse of metal, rubber, and leather.

A police officer took notice of her and barked an order for her to stay back. Skye hastened her marching; the cheap crocs-and-socks she was wearing didn't give her half the gravitas she'd prefer but they'd have to do. Unconsciously even as anger flooded her entire being, she was already orienting herself tactically, drawing from everything she knew, observed, and could correlate together to set the universe the way she wanted. It came to her as naturally as putting on a pair of pants, pedaling a bike, or driving her...

The police officer got closer and barked even more harshly. Skye hoped, and he did as she wanted, he grabbed her sweater-covered arm. He'd feel a stiff wiry metal frame just beneath the cloth.

"You need t-" he began, with the slightest bit of apprehension, but he didn't get any further as a handheld glittering cleaver dropped from her other sleeve into her waiting hand. Skye wasted no time sliding it across the cop's throat.

Before blood could even begin to trickle she drove it several times between ribs. It was such a wonderful knife, the vest underneath was barely anymore impediment than glaze on a bagel. Speed, precision, and follow-through made the city puppet into mincemeat. Skye grabbed him and with strength born of both adrenaline and alloy she hurled him behind another, even taller, vehicular wreck. The others manning the barricades had their own hands too full to mind one of their sheep in the jaws of a lioness. The sentiment allowed her to smile even as the tears kept pouring.

He didn't have the breath to even make a pained noise, so he made for a good listener.

Skye growled and strained to begin talking, "Try so hard to retire into obscurity. Try so hard to bite back my ambitions...."

His uniform was soaking with blood, it was dripping onto the road. She glanced at the metal badge, N. Thompson.

it was a boring name, she cleared her throat, "...in the end... in the fucking end this world still finds ways to fuck me out of nowhere..."

The cop's muscles relaxed, all pretense of resistance lost, she kept talking, "...I could've I would've done more, but I wanted to quit while I was ahead."

From here, Skye could peek beyond the overturned tow truck to see that the fight was still in full swing. She recognized the colorful trail of the flying brick sparring with the winged beast several times her size, taking stony chunks out of it with every hit-and-run maneuver, finding wieldable debris to parry bolts of lightning spewing from the gargoyle's mouth and things to slam into the monster's body. It was Lady Psalter, they'd had encounters before in more ways than one. She didn't believe in fate or providence or anything like that but the fact that it was her of all heroines was quite the synchronicity.

"Fucking preachy hypocrite little tease going up against another freak that this city keeps birthing like a rabbit with ovaries peppered with tumors..." Skye squeezed the officer's neck like a warm wet stress-ball.

Skye reverted to a growl, clenching her jaw as she glared at Lady Psalter, fighting without any care to what she'd just done.

"I'll do it, if the world wants to take an eye I'll take two if I'm being pushed then I'll jump off the ledge headfirst and dive down as deep as I can."

She spared a glance at the officer, he was long dead. It didn't give her any satisfaction, but it did give her the last bit of clarity she needed. The woman pushed the corpse off her, took off her sweater, revealing the grey mottled tank top underneath. She tied the sweater around her waist, arms covered in sweat. Plans began to form, but first she needed to be wearing a skin that fit her reborn heart.

....

Less than an hour later, the woman was staring in front of the mirror, leaning in close. Her eyes were still puffy from all of her pitiful crying. Beyond that she could see veined dark bags under the eyes contrasting against pale freckled skin. Her hair was a sight, choppy dark auburn hair. She was so tired, so restless, and all for what? She recalled how well she slept when she wasn't holding back. She looked down at her silver costume made up of horizontal divisions in the flexible metallic armor. It was form fitting, not like there was much form to show, she was stretched tall and bony. Yet that didn't matter because as long as she was complete she was unassailable.

The final step would make her complete. The woman put on the headpiece and mantle, gingerly affixing it into place. Now when she looked in the mirror she saw a mouthless face with two wine dark bulging compound eyes, all of her head shielded, additional chain mail draped over her shoulders. Two antennae dangled on top and bounced slightly as she turned her head. One press of a button activated blocky orange text and images on the inside panel, showing her current inventory of drones, equipment, weapons, trinkets, and other technology. She hadn't chosen to keep anything as backup, she'd scrapped it, wiped away most of her villainess corpus like so much beautiful sand.

No matter, she'd started from nothing and she had her costume. She grabbed both sides of the mirror hard enough that it threatened to crack, her true name uttered.

"Dr. Trilospite"

It was dorky, she'd picked it when she was so young and hungry for glory, but it was hers.

"Dr. Trilospite!"

The barrier between illusion and truth crumbled completely.

Dr. Trilospite laughed long and hard.

[zeezed01]

Chapter Eight - Shadows of Conformity

The sun was harsh overhead as Percy and Leo moved across the camp’s courtyard, gravel crunching under their boots. Around them, men marched in organized lines, their faces set in grim determination. A large white flag bearing two concentric circles split by a vertical line fluttered at the center of the yard. The place had a distinct military efficiency that felt unsettling rather than reassuring. 

Percy’s hand brushed against the handle of his gun, strapped to his back, as his gaze swept over the guards posted at key points around the camp. “This place has got all the charm of a prison yard,” he muttered to Leo. 

Leo’s expression was tight, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. “Yeah, but at least in prison, everyone feels equal. Pretty sure that’s, like, rule number one of survival: don’t hand over your gun.” 

Ahead of them, a line of people was forming at a squat concrete building that Percy guessed was the armory. Guards flanked the door, rifles slung over their shoulders, while others inspected weapons being handed over at a steel table. 

“Turn in your weapons,” one of the guards ordered as they approached. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with sharp blue eyes and a no-nonsense expression. His uniform was spotless, the crisp white armband on his sleeve drawing Percy’s attention. 

“Why?” Percy asked, his jaw tightening. 

“No one carries firearms inside the camp unless they’re on patrol,” the guard said. “It’s protocol.” 

Leo let out a disbelieving laugh. “Yeah, and it’s also how people get eaten. You think zombies care about your protocol?” 

The guard’s eyes narrowed, and his hand hovered near the pistol at his hip. “If you have an issue, you can take it up with someone else,” he said, his voice cold.  

Percy hesitated, his grip on his gun tightening. Around them, other guards had started to notice the exchange, their gazes sharp and calculating. 

“Fine,” Percy said through gritted teeth, pulling the gun from his back. He set it on the table with deliberate force, watching as the guard inspected it. 

Leo held out a few seconds longer, muttering under his breath, before pulling his pistol from his jacket. “You guys better not lose it,” he said, sliding it across the table. 

The guard didn’t respond, simply gesturing for them to move along. Percy and Leo exchanged a glance before heading toward the mess hall. 

“Great,” Leo muttered. “Now we’re stuck in this creepy Stepford camp without even a gun to our name.” 

Percy’s lips pressed into a thin line. “We’ll figure something out.” 

The mess hall was cavernous and orderly, its walls bare except for the stark white flag they’d seen in the courtyard. Long metal tables were arranged in perfect rows, each accompanied by benches bolted to the floor. The room smelled of overcooked meat and disinfectant, the kind of sterile scent that set Percy’s teeth on edge. 

As they grabbed their trays—powdered eggs, soggy toast, and black coffee—they noticed the demographics of the room. Almost every face was that of a white man. The few women present were clustered together at one table near the back, their postures subdued. 

“See what I’m seeing?” Leo murmured, his voice low. 

Percy nodded. “Yeah. Starting to feel like we walked into the wrong camp.” 

They sat at the edge of one of the tables, their unease growing with every passing minute. Across the room, Nico was sitting with Clarisse and Luke, their heads bent in animated conversation. 

“You think we should talk to them?” Percy asked, nudging Leo. 

Leo snorted. “What, so we can get a lecture on how great this place is? Hard pass.” 

But Percy’s curiosity got the better of him. Once they’d finished eating, they made their way over to the trio. Nico glanced up as they approached, his expression unreadable. 

“What’s up?” Luke asked, leaning back in his seat. His relaxed posture didn’t match the sharpness in his eyes. 

“This place seems... strict,” Percy said cautiously. “Doesn’t leave much room for people to be themselves.” 

Clarisse scoffed. “People don’t need room to be themselves. They need discipline. That’s why this camp works.” 

Nico nodded, his face set in a firm expression. “Out there, you’ve got chaos. In here, we’ve got order. That’s the only way we survive.” 

Leo crossed his arms. “Sure, but what if someone doesn’t fit the ‘order’? What happens to them?” 

Luke’s smile was thin and cold. “Then they leave. Or they change. Simple as that.” 

The weight of his words hung in the air. Percy’s stomach churned, but he forced his face to remain neutral. “And by ‘change,’ you mean?” 

Nico’s gaze turned sharp. “I mean they stop being a liability. People who can’t follow the rules aren’t just useless—they’re dangerous. That includes anyone who thinks they’re above the system.” 

Leo bristled. “So, what? You’re saying anyone who doesn’t fall in line gets kicked out?” 

Clarisse leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. “People don’t get kicked out. They either realize what’s best for them, or they don’t survive. You can’t afford to be soft in a world like this.” 

Percy’s hand clenched into a fist under the table. “And what about people who—” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “What about people who don’t think like you do? People who are different?” 

Nico’s expression hardened. “Different doesn’t help anyone. This camp’s about survival, not tolerance. Out there, tolerance gets you killed.” 

The implications hit Percy like a punch to the gut. His gaze flicked to the women seated in the back, to the cold stares of the guards, to the rigid, military-like structure of the camp. It was all starting to make sense, and none of it was good. 

Back in their barracks, Percy and Leo paced the room, their frustration boiling over. 

“This place is a nightmare,” Leo said, running a hand through his hair. “They’re bigots, plain and simple. Did you hear what Nico said? Like, really hear it?” 

Percy nodded, his expression grim. “Yeah. And it’s not just him. It’s everyone here. The way they talk, the way they act... they think anyone who doesn’t fit their mold is expendable.” 

Leo flopped onto his bunk, his hands covering his face. “And we’re stuck here, unarmed, surrounded by people who’d probably string us up if they knew half of what we think.” 

Percy sat on the edge of his own bunk, his mind racing. “We need to get out. But we can’t just walk out the front gates. They’re watching us.” 

Leo sat up, his eyes narrowing. “Then we make a plan. We figure out how to get our weapons back, and we get the hell out of here.” 

Percy nodded, determination hardening in his chest. “We’ll figure it out. We have to.” 

But as they lay down that night, the weight of the camp’s oppressive ideology pressed down on them. Escape wouldn’t be easy, but staying wasn’t an option. 

Not anymore. 

[idiotwithanipad]

Fated Meeting (Pt2)

After Amy and Humphrey have a moment together for the first time, its interrupted, which causes Amy to go back into hiding, only to be found by someone else🖤

(TW: Cursive Language, Mention of choking to death, Decapitation, Fear)

Robin’s turn😂🥰

"Aaand that's how it happened..." Humphrey sighed, aiming both his hands towards his neck in a 'chopping' motion, mimicking the swords that had ended his rein. Amy's wide eyes blinked and stared at the step beneath them where they sat. She knew that the Tudor had been beheaded, clearly, but she never knew how or why. Until now. 

"But, of course I didn't feel much pain, killed me instantly, those swords were very sharp and heavy, so it was a clean cut at least" Humphrey mused; he almost seemed completely unphased by his death. 

Amy scratched at her sleeved arm. 

"Yeah, wow-..." Amy's eyes flicked to the left, away from Humphrey and stared at nothing, barely able to imagine that kind of death. 

"You- obviously know how I-...died" Amy mumbled, still feeling a clench in her stomach to admit that she was truly dead despite days of fear and denial. Humphrey clasped his hands together again and turned his eyes to his feet. 

"I do. Mustn't 'ave been nice" He said with concern. 

"It happened fast, but- it didn't seem to end. My throat burned, my lungs felt like they'd been stuffed with concrete, my eyes felt like they were gonna pop out and- well, I couldn't breathe..." Amy reminisced, a far away look rising in her eyes. She tried to ignore the phantom sensation of the fizzing liquid bubbling in her windpipe and gargling from her lungs. 

"Does it- still hurt you?" Humphrey asked, a purr of concerned innocence in his voice, his eyes flicked over to her. He readjusted himself slightly to face her. 

"Not so much now- just, sore throat..." Amy said, wiggling her finger beneath her spiked leather choker and itching her neck. 

Humphrey could see the sadness in her eyes and nodded solemnly. Their moment dwindled down to silence, they neither spoke or looked at each other for many minutes, just taking in the information they'd received from each other. The voices from the next room over seemed to become distant echoes. Until one piped up. 

Amy's subconscious retreated and dove deeper, pushing her fight or flight back to the surface as the sound of shoes rang from before her. 

A stout and relatively short man in a scount outfit and glasses emerged from the room, the snapped blue arrow still speared through his neck. He mumbled something to himself before his gaze rose to Humphrey sitting beside a shellshocked Amy on the stairs. 

"Oh, hello, Humphrey. Didn't hear you come alo-...bloody 'ell..." The short man started, freezing completely once he noticed who sat beside the Tudor. Humphrey froze along with him, glancing to his left at the girl. 

"Yes- morning Pat. Uhh, this is- umm-.."Humphrey was about to continue when Amy rose from her spot beside him and bolted upstairs as fast as her platform boots would allow. Humphrey practically did a double take at her speed and made a move to stand up himself. 

"Ay-op, wait!" Pat called, rushing past Humphrey and up the stairs. Pat's cry had seemed to alert the others, as each of their heads appeared in the doorway beneath the staircase. Humphrey looked down at each of them with an awkward grin on his face. 

"That the new one, was it? She finally left that bally room?" The Captain asked harshly. Humphrey was caught off guard and looked between The Captain and back to the top of the stairs where Amy and Pat ran. Humphrey stepped down a few stairs carefully and joined the group. 

"Yeah, it was- but, she's scared, we had a talk on the stairs and she just seems lost and afraid" Humphrey spoke, more to himself than to the others, a shadow of pity flashed in his eyes which were still fixed to the top of the stairs. 

"What? Nonsense, sir! She'd converse with YOU?" Thomas interjected. Humphrey's gaze turned to Thomas, he looked almost shocked at Thomas's sudden interruption. 

Humphrey shrugged. 

"Well- she did..."

"Then we should go and find her before she hides again, I've been dying to have a new lady friend to talk to" Kitty beamed, gathering her dress skirts and rushing up the stairs. The others each dispersed and went off to find the new girl their own ways, Robin bolted past Humphrey and accidentally nudged him in the doorway, causing the Tudor man's head to once again, fall from its perch atop his neck. 

"Oh for- not again!" Humphrey blurted. His eyes refocused and tried to locate where his body was, but it had already shambled it's way deeper into the Common Room out of sight. 

"God, you move quick! C'mon, Pet, there's no need to run away, we don't bite" Pat panted, his long winded pursuit of Amy still continued. Amy rushed into a unoccupied room and ran through the bathroom door, taking refuge behind the shower curtain. 

Her breath shivered and wheezed with the remnants of the drink that killed her, but she ignored it, and the uneasy queezy feeling it left in her gut remembering it. The man's voice was then joined by others, only a few rooms down from where she hid. 

"Well, where is she, don't tell me you've lost her, Patrick?" A stuffy older woman's voice barked. 

"She's fast on her feet, I'll give 'er that" Pat replied, catching his breath. 

"She couldn't have gotten far, after all, she's only got the house and the gardens" The younger woman's voice chimed, she seemed almost too happy given the situation; her jovial tone almost seemed to make her even more disturbing to Amy. 

"Not enough discipline, that's the problem. If she had been raised properly, she would've stopped straight away" The older man's commanding tone rang. 

Their conversation and footsteps moved along the hall, past Amy's hiding room and further onward. Amy held her breath until she could hear nothing but the sound of the birds outside. She watched the shower curtain as though if she moved or made a sound, IT would attack her, nothing in this place was normal and Amy didn't want to risk being caught again. 

Amy sat down on the edge of the bath, her back pressed against the tiles behind her, she covered her eyes with her hands and wiped away the tears blooming behind her lashes. She wept, only for a moment; all of it was too much, she hated being sought out and hunted like an animal, she wasn't the biggest talker on the best of days. 

She dabbed her eyes dry with her cuff briefly before something caught her eye. She wasn't alone. 

Beside her, also perched on the edge of the bath with its back against the wall, sat the creature, the strange man-thing that jumped out and unintentionally terrified her almost every morning since her death. He stared in the direction of the door, hidden from view by the shower curtain. Once he realised that Amy had spotted him, his jaw opened and his eyes widened with glee. 

Amy dreaded this moment every day, and it happened NOW? Of all the times, it had to happen now? Amy practically slipped down into the cradle of the bath and let her mouth drop open to scream, when the creature's two fur clad hands swooped down, one clutching the back of her head and the other clamped over her mouth. 

Amy stared up at him in horror as his eyes shifted up from her to the door again, he stared with an unreadable expression: trepidation? Hate? Fear? 

Amy stared wide eyed at him as she tried to pull her head from his grip, the fur around his hand pressed into her mouth as she fought the urge to gag. His eyes flicked down to Amy's as he leaned down. 

"Keep quiet. Then they not hear" He whispered, the bottom of his wild beard tickling against her forehead. Amy tried to twitch her head away from him but his grip was iron tight and he wasn't giving up that easily. 

Amy gripped at his pelt wrapped wrist and tried to push away from him with her boots, also to no avail, when he leaned to the side and peered out through the shower curtain. Amy watched his silhouette through the thin material, his head seemed to be tilting from side to side, listening for something. 

After a few short moments, he drew himself back in and looked Amy straight in the eyes, leaning down to her again. 

"Okay. Me take my hands away now. You not scream?" He whispered, raising his eyebrows questioningly. 

Amy gave a swift nod and a mumble beneath the dirty furs still pressed against her lips. 

The strange man nodded back in response and peeled his hands away from her head and mouth, righting himself and dropping his arms to his sides. 

Amy gasped in a breath of much needed fresh air and shuffled back further away from him till her back softly thumped against the bath by the taps which passed straight through her. 

She drew her knees up to her chest in dread, almost a countermeasure, anticipating the moment he'd shriek something at her like he usually did. The caveman just stated right back. 

"What?" He questioned, looking himself over before returning his eyes to the girl who looked at him like he had two heads. 

"What do you mean 'what?' ? How the- fuck did you find me?" Amy whispered in annoyance, her hand coming up to adjust her headphones. 

"Easy. Running around house in big stompy boots of yours, can smell all sorts. Can also smell THAT..." He commented, pointing at her chest. It took Amy a second to realize where his filthy finger was pointing. Out of instinct, Amy coiled herself up tighter and crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at him in disgust. 

The caveman paused for a moment and shook his head, almost to rid himself of the realisation that he'd forgotten to elaborate. He brushed her arms aside and pointed again, at a more specific spot. The stain on the front of her hoodie. 

"Oh no no- not-not uh...that, that" He said in a flurry, his finger braced over the still wet stain. 

Amy's eyes glanced down to where he pointed, and her demeanour changed slightly, less offended. 

"Never smelled it before. But it strong. Smelled it when you died too" He said nonchalantly. 

Amy blinked and averted her gaze, the memory becoming all too familiar once again, she could practically feel the burning in her throat coming back. 

"Look.." Amy started, earning the cavemen to lean closer as if she were about to deliver a big secret. 

"WHY are you all stalking me?! Can't you just leave me alone?"

The caveman's expression fell and he leaned back away from her again. 

"I die here a long time ago. A really long time ago" He said, gesturing to his furs, then to Amy's more modern attire, pointing out the obvious generation gap between them. 

"I been alone for thousands of year. Too long. No one to talk to, at least no one who answer back. You not have someone to talk to soon, you go mad. Trust me" He warned, a cautionary yet stern gleam leapt from his eyes. He'd been there before, Amy could tell. 

"So what? That's gonna be you, is it? You're the confidant, are you?" Amy combatted, remembering all the times he'd scared her the days prior. The caveman leaned back against the wall again and looked towards the window. 

"Could be. But could also be the head. I hear you and him through wall earlier... " He commented. 

Amy froze and looked up at him. 

"How did you know I was-"

"Hey, I told you, I been used to silence for a long time. You don't spend thousands of year in complete silence and not pick up on even smallest sounds. Me just- didn't want get in the way. Sounded like stompy girl needed little cry"

[house-steiner-stays-winning]

Memory

Aim. Fire. Fwump.

The gauss rifle in Gewitter’s arm spits, firing its ferrous slug at several times the speed of sound. 

Aim. Fire. Fwump. 

The battle is loud outside, but Theodora can only hear the rushing of blood in her ears. An alarm sounds- incoming fire, SRMs. She dodges, using the jump jets with the utmost finesse to glide the 100-ton mech along the ground with ease. On the HUD, the source of the fire is painted in vivid red, standing out against the cool blues and greys of the battlefield. 

Aim. Fire. Fwump. 

The storefront explodes in a flare of choking concrete dust, chunks of rubble exploding outwards in a wave. Turning back to the objective, Theodora and Gewitter continue their march, towards the sounds of pounding fire that mark the enemy flank. 

Onward, she urges, feeling the throb of the reactor ramp up in time with the beat of her heart. The Atlas thunders down the causeway, shaking the very earth itself with its steps as it nears its prey. With a bestial cry, Theodora leaps, soaring into the air on streams of ionizing plasma, carried aloft on the lifeblood of her machine as she falls upon the enemy from the crimson sky. They number five, she is only one. They are utterly beneath her, they never stood a chance. 

With a single blast from the lasers, one of the light ‘mechs’ cockpits flashed into slag, pilot atomized before they’d had a chance to fire. The second managed to get a shot off, but missed entirely, the PPC flashing harmlessly over Gewitter’s left shoulder. 

Aim. Fire. Fwump.

The Marauder listed as the 200kg metal slug punched through its superstructure, fires sparking deep inside. 

Aim. Fire. Fwump.

It was dead, falling to the ground with the protesting scream of a collapsing building. 

Two more were upon her, close-range heavies equipped to kill at point blank. No matter, she was no one-trick pony, after all. She and Gewitter struck out, in unison as they delivered a tight jab to the rightmost mech, knocking it stumbling backwards. Next, a point blank shot with the ER lasers on the second mech, sending molten debris flying into the air as the high-intensity light burned into the cockpit at a range far closer than its designers ever intended. Finally, bringing the staggered mech into view, she delivered the Gnadenschuss.

Aim. Fire. Fwump.

As the smoldering wreckage of the engagement listed to the ground, Theodora took a breath, savoring the scent of scorching metal, tangy sweat and ozone that always filled the cockpit. 

Wait, she suddenly realized, with sickening clarity, and a sense of Deja Vu. There were five.

In an instant that seemed to last forever, she turned, so agonizingly slowly, to face where she somehow knew the final ‘mech to be. 

Just in time to stare directly down the barrel of an AC-20 as it fired. 

With a gasp, Theodora sat bolt upright in bed, loose hair flying wild as she clutched at her chest, then her missing leg, panicking until the here and now reasserted itself. Talabad was 10 years distant, now. She was on Helios, in the tent she shared with her wife, Melisssa. 

Speaking of Melissa, by some miracle, Theodora had managed not to wake her. She still slept soundly beside her, the gentle rise and fall of her chest and ever-so-slight whistle of her breathing like a melody to Theodora’s ears. 

Best not to wake her. Theodora thought. She gets so little sleep as it is. No sense in me adding to her stress.

So, she moved, quiet as she could, scooting to the edge of the bed. With ease of long practice, she slipped the soft fabric of her suspension sleeve over the stump of her leg, ignoring the phantom sensation that plagued her after remembering the battle that had taken it from her. 

Tomorrow would be another day of hell. But at least they’d face it together.

She grabbed the prosthetic, slipping her leg into into it with gritted teeth, letting out only a quiet hiss as the neural laces connected, sending a brief flash of searing pain up to her hip. She stood and dressed, in the SLDF uniform pants and black T-shirt she favored when off-duty, and exited the tent. 

It was quiet, at FOB Hawk. Quiet as the grave. After all, tomorrow, they would fight titans of steel, and they would win, or die. So Theodora did not blame them for getting all the sleep they could, while they could.

But, since she was yet awake, she walked, through the silent tents and burned-out buildings, to the place where the giants of ferro-fibrous alloy stood sentinel at the campus edge.

With all the familiarity of a path tread a thousand times, she marched through the tomb-like stillness to where her Gewitter awaited her, skull helm leering as it always had.

With a sigh, she slumped against it, reveling in the feeling of the cold steel against her back, so different from that day on Talabad, yet still the same in every way that mattered.

[someonewhodrawsstuff]

Abduction

His eyes were cold and lifeless as he stared at Hijuka. “So, you don’t know who I am? Do you?” The unknown person called out from behind the former child star that had yet to be famous. A slight whisper hum escaped from the child who was shackled from a wall.

The child had opened her mouth to say something, but she stopped herself. She suddenly fell silent. Moments passed and she still hasn't said anything to this unknown person. Her eyes locked on the syringe in the killer's hand. A rush of anxiety shot up in her chest, it felt like it was going to tear her into pieces if she did not say anything right now. If she could just say something, anything it would feel slightly better. “Don’t.” It was barely a whisper, but at least it was something.

“Then answer my question.” It didn’t really matter if the pop star answered him, he was going to inject the serum anyways. If he did that then his plan could be ‘complete’. Kai had already tested the serum on other people so he knows what will happen if the liquid is injected in her.

The girl took a moment to think. She couldn’t run, couldn’t fight, couldn’t really do anything but listen to this person. Who is this person? It had to be someone she talks to a lot or at least maybe online? The thing is she doesn’t have that many online friends. “I-.. I don’t…” Her voice caught in her throat as the man inched closer to her. “I said I don’t!” Her voice quivered as she yelled at him.

“Hm, I suppose you don’t.” The unamused killer put his hand over her shoulder, before speaking again. “Kai is the name they call me. Now just listen to me before things get out of hand.” Kai sweeped closer without a care.

Hijuka eyes quickly move towards the syringe again. Their limbs lurched uselessly against the shackles that were cruelly tight around her wrists. “Wh-what is that?” Kai didn’t answer, only a long pause awaits her. She demanded again, this time more sternly, “What is that?”

Kai rolled his eyes, then carefully rolled the others' sleeves up. He focused his attention towards the forearm as they pressed the skin with the needle around the veins to ‘test’ it. It’s funny how a thin piece of polish metal can become so frightening with one swooped motion. “It’s a serum, it is developed to… Let's just say, numb your body. I am told it can be excruciating if you fight back. So, I suggest you don’t struggle or it will be harder on you when you wake up.” The cold murder caught their expression and smirked. “It’s fascinating how it works.” He gave no mercy, never giving her a warning when he inserted the serum in her arm.

“W-wait-” She scrunched her face up, trying to think about something else other than what was happening right now. At first she felt a sharp pain from her arm, it didn’t feel like much after a moment, but when she tried to move her arm the sensation hurt like someone was jabbing her. Her eyes fluttered closed, as she tried to fight back the urge to sleep, there was a point she fell unconscious.

Pure pain…pure arching pain all over her body. That's what Hijuka felt as her eyes flickered open in the daylight from the window that was beside her. Her pale body was trying to adjust to the dark room before her. Another…Dark room, at least she had a little bit of sunshine streaks from the window. She figured that what happened last night or the day before was just a dream, she always had horrible dreams from her past. Once with her parents splitting up, her toxic dad and people in general, lately it has always been people kidnapping her. So the star thought it was just a normal nightmare and soon she will be in her comfy bed when she wakes up. Not a moment later her eyes fully adjusted to the room and her worst nightmare came true: this wasn’t a dream at all. The 15 year old found herself in a room, there were some things she could tell what they were but other things she couldn’t. The floor was completely made with concrete, there were rusty bolts and what looked like sharp surgery tools on a wall across from her. Rusty bolts and nails were in a corner of the room and a dark figure she couldn’t make out was standing next to the door, from this angle she couldn’t tell if it was the killer Kai or another person. Hijuka tried all she could to move her body, but she couldn’t. There were lists of things she tried to figure out what was wrong with her when finally, she remembered Kai injecting something in her body. It had to be that. The door creaked open and Hijuka turned her head to see Kai leaning against the door.

“I knew you would wake up sometime.” A soothing voice had spoken. Still she couldn’t tell if this was Kai yet. The guy walked slowly across the room. “Hey, come on… Don't be such a drag. We wouldn’t want that, right?”

No. She couldn’t look at this person yet. She wasn’t ready on what things he'd do to her. Hijuka immediately closed her eyes and turned her head away from him. Then when she was ready, she turned her head around and stared at this familiar face. So it was him, but this time he wasn’t alone. She had never seen this person before or at least she thought it was a human being. The mask and glowing eyes gave it away from looking nothing like a human being. Hijuka felt something was draining her. What was it? Her headache as with a ringing in her ears felt more and more aggressive once she noticed it. All of a sudden she found what was draining her, it was tubes, it looked like they were sucking her blood out. Now, this is when she started to panic. “Get- Get this off! I want-.. What the hell do you even want with me?!”

“What do I want?... Isn’t it obvious? I just want you. You are so pretty, and I want everything all for myself!” He pulled out a sharp object again from out of nowhere, this time it looked like another colour of liquid, she couldn’t really tell if it was purple or blue.

This guy is crazy! Why is the other person not going to do anything? He is going to kill me!” Hijuka thought, as she frantically stares at the murder. This time her vision was a bit blurred. Alright, well, she can just try to please him? Convince him to not kill her! “You..” She was going to say something but immediately forgets. How can she even convince this guy? She took a moment to think of what to say. “If you kill me, then I wouldn’t be alive. Meaning I will disappear. You don’t want that, right? If you take these things off of me, then I can be here forever with you.”

“No! I don’t want that! I need you. I need… I need you all for myself, if I do this, then you will be all mine!” He dropped the syringe. The liquid and the glass made a mess. “But I need you! Ghar, I can’t take it anymore! I need it!”

Okay, she just made it worse for her, what the hell can she do right now? Her hands are tied down, even her feet are tied to the bed. The only thing she can do now, is to hope some miracle would happen, not like it will happen. She tightly closed her eyes, knowing what was going to happen next, but nothing happen. She open them and saw the murderer on the ground.

“I don’t know how much time you have, but I will stay here and make sure to buy you some time.”

The unknown stranger had a subdued tone of voice, almost like the killer’s had. Hijuka paused and thought to herself, can she trust him? “Are you sure? We can help each other and get out! We can call the police together.” She tried to suggest to the other, but really she just wanted him to go with her so she wouldn’t feel so alone when she escapes.

“I said go! He might wake up soon, if you go now then there is a chance you can survive.” The man pushed Hijuka away before it dawned on her, she was already in the hallway. She sighed as she began to hurriedly walk to a door.

The door rattled as she tried opening a door, the door was locked. Hijuka didn’t think the same thing had happened again when she tried another door. Not until she realised the killer was doing this on purpose. An amount of anxiety hit her when she realised what the killer was doing and all she could do was play along with his game. So she did, until she found an unlocked door. As the door clicked open, muffled noises could be heard in the darkness. A slender body can be seen balancing or more like hovering onto what looked like a meat hook and a crowbar. As the body ceaselessly wail out, it became clear to Hijuka the other wasn’t just anyone, but her boyfriend. They were only dating for about a month now, she hasn't told anyone but her one friend online. She dropped onto her knees beside the hovering body. Her eyes manage to adjust to the darkness, instantly her eyes met with a stitched up body. It didn’t even look like a body with the stitch eyes and mouth, how could it even be alive to that point?

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. This was supposed to be a surprise, now you ruined it.” An elaborated voice sneered out from behind her. “It was pretty easy to trick you.. Acting like I was going to save you. Haha!” His laugh sinister, the corner of his mouth quirked up into a half smile. “Now it’s your turn to have your limbs cut off.”

The end.......or is it? Nah just kidding this is literally the end.

[arthangingsolution]

How to Hang Pictures from the Ceiling with Wire: A Stylish and Practical Guide

When wall space is limited or you're aiming for a unique interior look, hanging pictures from the ceiling with wire can be an elegant and creative solution. This technique is popular in art galleries and modern homes, and it adds an airy, floating aesthetic that draws attention to your artwork or photos.

Whether you're decorating a rental, staging a space, or just want to try something new, here's a step-by-step guide to help you hang pictures from the ceiling using wire.

Why Hang Pictures from the Ceiling?

Maximizes space when walls are already decorated or unsuitable for nails.

Ideal for rentals where drilling into walls is restricted.

Great for gallery walls or exhibitions with rotating displays.

Adds visual interest and a modern design element to any room.

What You’ll Need:

Ceiling hooks or screw eyes (toggle bolts if using drywall)

Hanging wire or aircraft cable

Picture hooks or clips

Pliers

A level or measuring tape

A stud finder (optional, for added support)

Step-by-Step Guide:

1. Plan the Layout

Decide how many pictures you want to hang and their arrangement.

Mark the desired height and spacing.

Sketch a simple diagram if you're doing a multi-picture layout.

2. Install Ceiling Hooks

Locate studs or use anchors appropriate for your ceiling material (drywall, concrete, etc.).

Screw in the hooks directly above where you want each picture to hang.

For heavy pictures, use toggle bolts or ceiling anchors for extra security.

3. Prepare the Wire

Cut your wire to the desired length, keeping in mind the height at which you want the picture to hang.

You can use adjustable picture hanging systems, or cut different lengths for a staggered look.

4. Attach the Wire to the Hooks

Loop the wire through the ceiling hooks and secure it with a knot or crimping sleeve.

Pull it tight to avoid sagging (unless you're going for a draped aesthetic).

5. Hang the Pictures

Attach hooks, clips, or D-rings to the back of the picture frames.

Hang the frame on the wire, adjusting until it’s level.

Use a spirit level to ensure alignment.

[fixdex-fastening-technology]

🔩FIXDEX Factory1 Anchor Manufacturing🧑‍⚕️From production to packaging, e...