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[areyoufuckingcrazy]

Title: Command and Consequence

Fox x Reader x Wolffe

Summary: Your a friend of Jango Fett’s, he had asked you to come to Kamino to help train clone cadets, more specifically the cadets who were pre selected as commanders. Pre-Clone Wars. Pretty much just a love triangle between my fav clones. Bit angsty towards the end.

⸻

You hadn’t even wanted the job.

Kamino was cold, clinical, and crawling with wide-eyed clones who couldn’t shoot straight or punch worth a damn. But Jango had asked. And when Jango Fett asked, you didn’t exactly say no.

So, you found yourself here, drowning in rain and the hollow clatter of trooper boots on durasteel, overseeing the elite cadets being fast-tracked to become clone commanders.

They weren’t commanders yet. Not officially. But the Kaminoans had flagged a few standouts early—Fox, Wolffe, Cody, Bly, Neyo, Gree—and they were yours now.

Jango called them assets.

You called them projects.

Most of them respected you. Some feared you. And then there were those two.

Fox and Wolffe.

Walking disasters. Brilliant tacticians. Fiercely loyal. And completely, irredeemably idiotic when it came to you.

They’d been vying for your attention since day one—squabbling, sparring, brawling—and you’d brushed it off. Flirting wasn’t new to you. You knew how to shut it down. But these two? These two were stubborn. And clever. And just reckless enough to keep you on your toes.

You stood now at the edge of one of the open training rings, arms folded, T-visor reflecting a dozen cadets going through various drills. Cody was holding his own in a two-on-one blaster sim. Bly was shouting orders like he thought he owned the place. Gree was crouched in the mud, recalibrating his training rifle mid-drill.

But your eyes were on Fox and Wolffe, again.

They were arguing by the supply crates, the tension between them so thick it might’ve passed as heat if Kamino weren’t freezing.

“I’m telling you,” Wolffe was growling, “she was talking to me yesterday.”

“Right,” Fox drawled. “She called you ‘uncoordinated and overconfident.’ Sounds like flirting to me.”

“You don’t get it, she’s Mandalorian. That’s basically a compliment.”

“Boys.” Your voice sliced through the rain like a vibroblade.

They both snapped to attention so fast they nearly knocked heads.

“Get in the ring.” You didn’t even raise your voice. “Now.”

Fox and Wolffe exchanged a look—equal parts dread and defiance.

“Yes, instructor,” they muttered.

“I want five laps if either of you so much as winks.”

You tossed a training staff toward Fox. He caught it clumsily and frowned. “What, no sim?”

“Nope. You’re with me.”

Somewhere behind you, you heard Bly mutter, “He’s dead.”

“Pay attention to your drill, cadet,” you barked.

Fox stepped into the ring with the same confidence he wore into every disaster. “Try not to go easy on me, yeah?”

You didn’t dignify that with a response.

The fight started fast. Fox was quick, smooth, used his weight well—but you’d trained on Sundari’s cliffs, in Death Watch gauntlets, and in the company of monsters who made even Jango look tame.

Fox didn’t stand a chance.

He lasted maybe three minutes before you dropped him with a shoulder feint and a sweep that sent him crashing into the mat.

“Dead,” you said flatly, planting your boot on his chest.

Fox groaned. “You always this brutal with your favorites?”

“You’re not my favorite.”

“Oof.”

Then—Wolffe shoved past the other cadets and stepped into the ring.

“That’s enough,” he said, voice tight. “He’s training, not being punished.”

You cocked your head. “You volunteering?”

“I’m not letting you flatten my brother without a fight.”

You smirked behind the visor. “Your funeral.”

What followed was nothing short of combat comedy.

Wolffe was sharper than Fox. Calculated. But he was still a cadet. You pushed him hard—Mando-style, merciless, unrelenting. Rain slicked the mat, thunder cracked outside, and your staff never slowed.

Wolffe held his own longer.

But he was still losing.

Then, desperate—he lunged.

And bit you.

Right on the bicep.

“Kriffing—”

You staggered back, jerking your arm away, teeth clenching as the pain bloomed under your armor.

“Did you just—did you bite me?!”

Wolffe, still crouched and panting, looked horrified. “You weren’t stopping!”

Fox, flat on his back, howled with laughter. “You feral loth-cat! What, was headbutting too civilized?”

You peeled your glove off and stared at the bite. “You drew blood,” you growled. “I liked this undersuit.”

“Instinct,” Wolffe muttered.

“Idiot,” you shot back.

By now, the other cadets had gathered around the ring, wide-eyed and whispering. You turned slowly to the group.

“Let this be a lesson. I don’t care if you’re a cadet, a commander, or kriffing Supreme Chancellor himself—if you bite me, I bite back.”

Fox wheezed. “She’s not joking. I’ve seen her take out two bounty hunters with a broken fork.”

You jabbed a finger at him. “Fifteen laps, Fox. For running your mouth.”

Fox dragged himself upright and groaned, limping toward the track.

Wolffe started to follow.

You grabbed his pauldron.

“Don’t ever use your teeth in a fight again, unless you’re actually dying.”

“Yes, instructor.”

“…And next time, if you are gonna bite, aim higher.”

He blinked.

And you walked off, bleeding, storming, and already plotting their next humiliation.

Commanders?

Kriff.

They were barely house-trained.

⸻

The morning after the Bite Incident started like most—grey skies, howling wind, and Kaminoan side-eyes.

You strode onto the training deck in full gear, fresh bandage wrapped over the healing bite mark on your arm. The clones were already lined up, posture rigid, eyes straight. You could feel the tension radiating from the group like a bad smell. No doubt they’d all heard the rumors.

One of them bit you. And lived.

You stopped in front of them, hands behind your back. “Which of you thought it was smart to bet on me losing?”

Half the group tensed. Cody coughed.

You didn’t wait for an answer. “Double rations go to the one who bet I’d win and that one of you idiots would end up chewing on my armor.”

That got a chuckle—nervous, brief—but it broke the tension. Good. You weren’t here to baby them. You were here to make them legends.

“Group drills today. Partner up.”

Predictably, Fox beelined for your side. “So. How’s the arm?” he asked, lips twitching.

You turned slightly, giving him just enough of a smirk. “Tender. Wanna kiss it better?”

Fox visibly froze. For the first time in all the months you’d trained him, he blinked like a man who’d just taken a thermal detonator to the soul.

Wolffe, watching from across the training floor, snapped his training blade in half.

Like, literally snapped it.

You didn’t even react.

Cody whistled low. “He’s gonna kill someone.”

“Hope it’s not me,” Fox muttered under his breath, heart rate visibly climbing.

You raised your voice. “Wolffe. Grab a new blade and meet me in the ring. Fox, go help Gree with his stance. The last time I saw someone hold a blaster like that, they were five and trying to eat it.”

Fox, now flustered beyond recognition, stumbled off. Wolffe stalked over, eyes dark.

“You flirting with him now?” he asked, low and sharp, as you passed him a fresh blade.

You leaned in—just close enough for your voice to dip like smoke. “He flirted first.”

“And you flirted back.”

You tilted your head. “You gonna bite me again if I do it twice?”

Wolffe looked like he might combust.

The spar started aggressive—Wolffe striking fast, sharp, his technique tighter than usual, anger giving him extra momentum. You blocked him easily, letting him wear himself out. Letting him stew.

“Jealousy looks good on you,” you taunted, hooking his leg mid-swing and sweeping him to the mat with a sharp twist.

He landed with a grunt, breathless. You knelt beside him, blade tip pressed to his chestplate.

“I flirt with the one who keeps his teeth to himself,” you said, tone casual. “Consider that motivation.”

Wolffe didn’t answer. He just stared at you, cheeks flushed, jaw clenched so tight you swore you could hear it grinding through the floor.

By the time drills ended, Fox was glowing. Wolffe was feral. And you?

You were thriving.

Let them fight over you. Let them stew, and sulk, and throw punches at each other behind the mess hall.

This was war training. They’d better get used to losing battles.

Especially the ones with their own hearts.

⸻

You were late.

Not tactically late. Intentionally late.

The cadets were already lined up, soaked to the bone from outdoor drills—Kamino’s rain coming in sideways like daggers. You made your entrance like a storm, dripping wet and smirking like you hadn’t made half the room lose sleep last night.

Fox was waiting at the front, eyes locked on you. He didn’t salute. He didn’t even smirk. He just looked—calm, steady, sharp.

And you felt it. That shift.

Wolffe was off to the side, glaring holes into the back of Fox’s head. You caught it all in a sweep of your gaze.

“Who wants a live-spar match to start the morning?” you called.

Several cadets groaned. Cody actually muttered something about defecting to Kaminoan administration.

But Fox? Fox stepped forward. “I do.”

You tilted your head. “Sure you want that smoke, pretty boy?”

He smiled, slow and dangerous. “You think I didn’t train for this?”

You narrowed your eyes, intrigued.

The match was brutal. Not because Fox was stronger—but because Fox was different. Controlled. Confident. Calculated. He didn’t let your taunts shake him. He dodged quicker, pushed harder. When he caught your leg and sent you crashing to the mat, the cadets gasped.

Even Wolffe made a strangled noise like a dying animal.

You coughed, winded, pinned under Fox’s knee, his hand resting against your collarbone.

“Yield?” he asked.

You blinked up at him. “Don’t get cocky.”

“Already did,” he said, low enough for only you to hear. “You like it.”

You shoved him off you with a grin, rolling to your feet.

“Not bad,” you admitted. “But I’m still prettier.”

Fox actually laughed.

Wolffe walked off the mat.

Straight to the armory.

Because of course he did.

Later, when the others had cleared out and you were wiping sweat from your brow, you felt that familiar weight behind you—boots heavier than a clone’s, presence impossible to ignore.

“Jango,” you greeted, not turning.

“You’re playing with them.”

You wiped your blade clean. “I’m training them.”

“You’re toying with them,” he said, voice flat. “They’re assets. Not toys. Not lovers. Not soldiers you can break for fun.”

You turned, arching a brow. “I know the difference between a weapon and a man, Fett.”

He stepped closer. “Then stop pulling the trigger when you don’t mean to shoot.”

That one hit—low and sharp.

You swallowed hard, eyes narrowing. “They’re soldiers, Jango. If a little heartbreak cracks them, the war will kill them faster.”

“They need guidance. Not confusion.”

“And what about me?” you asked, arms crossing. “What do I need?”

His eyes didn’t soften. “You need to choose. Or leave them both alone.”

You didn’t answer.

He left you with the silence.

That night, you found Fox alone in the mess, bruised, hungry, and tired.

“You did good today,” you said quietly.

He didn’t look up from his tray. “So did you. Playing with me until Wolffe snapped?”

“Wolffe snapped because he thinks I’m yours.”

Fox looked up now, slow and dangerous. “Are you?”

You leaned in. Close. Almost touching. “I could be.”

Fox’s jaw clenched. “Then stop making him think he has a chance.”

You didn’t reply.

Not right away.

And that pause? That breath of hesitation?

That was the crack in everything.

⸻

You stopped showing up to the mess.

You didn’t call on Fox or Wolffe for sparring. You rotated them into group drills only. You stopped lingering after hours. No more teasing remarks. No more slow smirks and heat behind your eyes.

No more touch.

It was easier, at first. For you.

They were cadets. Not yours. Not meant to be anything more.

Jango’s voice echoed every time you started to second-guess yourself.

“Stop pulling the trigger when you don’t mean to shoot.”

So you holstered your weapon. Locked the fire down. Played it straight.

And watched them start to unravel.

Fox was the first to try and confront you.

He caught you in the hallway outside the training rooms. Quiet, calm, alone.

“You ignoring me on purpose?” he asked, voice low.

You didn’t stop walking. “You’re a soldier. I’m your instructor. That’s all.”

Fox stepped in front of you, blocking your path.

“So that was all it ever was? The fights? The flirting? Me on top of you on the mat?” His voice cracked slightly at the end, despite his best efforts.

You looked at him, jaw tight. “Fox—”

He laughed. Bitter. “No. Say it. Say it meant nothing.”

You couldn’t.

And that was the problem.

“It’s better this way,” you said instead, and slipped past him.

He let you go.

That was what broke your heart most of all.

Wolffe was worse. He didn’t say anything—at first.

He trained harder. Fought rougher. Every drill was a warzone now. He snapped at Cody. Nearly dislocated Gree’s shoulder. Wouldn’t meet your eyes. Until one night—

You caught him in the dark on the training deck, punching into a bag like it owed him his life.

“Wolffe.”

He didn’t stop.

“I said, stand down—”

He spun on you.

“Why?” he snapped. “So you can ignore me again?”

You froze.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” he growled. “You pulled away from both of us. Playing professional like you weren’t the one making Fox look like a damn lovesick cadet. Like you weren’t the one making me feel like I was yours.”

Your chest tightened. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Yes, it was!” he shouted. “And now you think pulling back fixes it? You think it makes the want go away?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but Wolffe stepped forward, eyes burning.

“Let me make it real easy for you,” he said. “If you didn’t mean any of it—tell me you never wanted me. Say it.”

You couldn’t.

You didn’t.

You just turned and walked away.

Again.

And behind you, in the dead silence of the deck, you heard something break.

⸻

They started showing off.

It wasn’t even subtle.

Fox perfected his bladework, spinning twin vibroknives in a blur, always training just where you could see. Wolffe started calling out cadets for slacking mid-drill, standing straighter, yelling louder, fighting longer.

Every time you passed, there was tension—tight like a wire, straining.

And you kept pushing.

Harder, faster drills. No breaks. No leniency. You called them out in front of the others when they slipped. You sent them against each other in spar after spar, knowing they’d go all out.

They did.

Until Fox went down hard—breathing ragged, cut bleeding at his brow, fingers trembling.

And you snapped: “Get up. Again.”

He looked at you. Not angry. Not sad. Just tired.

Wolffe stepped between you before Fox could even move.

“No.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I said no,” Wolffe growled. “He’s bleeding. He’s exhausted. He’s not a toy you wind up just to see how far he’ll go.”

“This is training—”

“This is punishment,” Fox cut in, standing up slow behind Wolffe. “And we’re done letting you use us to beat your own feelings into the ground.”

The silence that followed hit harder than a punch.

You looked at both of them—Wolffe, tense and furious, jaw clenched; Fox, bleeding but still looking at you like he cared.

“You think this is about feelings?” you spat. “I’m preparing you for war. You’re not ready.”

“We were,” Wolffe said quietly. “Until you made yourself the battle.”

That hit you straight in the ribs.

You stared at them, breathing hard, adrenaline high, rage burning under your skin—and then you turned away.

“Training’s over,” you muttered.

Neither of them moved.

When you left the room, they didn’t follow.

And for the first time since setting foot on Kamino, you realized what losing both of them might actually feel like.

⸻

The sky on Kamino never changed.

Just endless grey. Rain like a drumbeat. A constant hum of sterile light and controlled air.

You stood at the edge of the landing platform, your gear packed, your armor slung over your shoulder like it didn’t weigh a hundred kilos in your gut.

“I thought you were done bounty hunting,” Jango said behind you.

You didn’t turn.

“I thought I was too.”

He walked up beside you, slow and even. No judgment in his stride. No comfort either.

“They got to you,” he said.

You didn’t answer.

“They’re good soldiers. You saw that. You made them better. You drilled discipline into their bones.” A pause. “So why run?”

You clenched your jaw.

“Because I stopped seeing them as soldiers,” you muttered. “I started seeing them as—”

You broke off. Not because you didn’t know the word. But because it hurt too much to say it.

Jango sighed. “I told you not to toy with the assets.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You flirted. You made them think—”

“I didn’t make them think anything,” you snapped, turning to him finally. “I felt something. I didn’t mean to. But I did. And now it’s bleeding into training and—” your voice cracked. “They’re getting hurt.”

Jango looked at you for a long, quiet second.

Then, almost gently: “You never had the stomach for clean lines. You’re too human for that.”

You laughed bitterly. “Maybe. But I won’t be the reason they break.”

Jango gave you a nod. Subtle. Approval, maybe. Or just understanding. He turned to leave, boots echoing on the wet metal.

“Where will you go?” he asked over his shoulder.

You looked back out at the grey sea. Thought of neon lights. Cold bounties. Silence without faces you cared about.

“Somewhere I don’t have to see their eyes.”

Jango didn’t say goodbye.

He never did.

And when your ship lifted off, you didn’t look back.

⸻

The cadets lined up in silence.

There was tension in the air. They could feel it—like a shift in pressure right before a storm hits.

Wolffe had a sick feeling crawling up his spine. Fox had barely spoken all morning.

You hadn’t shown up for dawn drills. Again.

Then the door opened.

Boots. Not yours.

Jango Fett strode in—full beskar, helmet tucked under his arm, scowl like a thunderhead.

Every cadet stiffened.

“Form up,” he barked.

The lines straightened immediately. But all eyes were looking past him—waiting.

Wolffe’s voice cut through the stillness.

“Where’s our instructor?”

Jango’s lip curled slightly. “Gone.”

Fox frowned. “Gone where?”

Jango stared them down.

“She left Kamino. She won’t be returning.”

Just like that.

Silence exploded across the room.

Wolffe’s fists clenched.

Fox’s mouth opened—then closed. His jaw locked.

“She didn’t say goodbye,” Neyo whispered.

Jango looked at them like they were stupid.

“She didn’t need to.”

No one breathed.

Then Jango paced in front of them, slow and deliberate.

“You were here to be trained to lead men in battle. Not to fall for someone who made you feel special. You don’t get attachments. You don’t get comfort. You get orders. Understand?”

No one answered.

Jango stepped closer to Wolffe, then Fox, his voice low and cold.

“She gave you the best of her and got out before you ruined it. Don’t make the mistake of chasing ghosts.”

And with that—he barked for drills to begin.

They ran until their lungs burned, until every cadet dropped to their knees from exhaustion. Jango didn’t ease up once.

Wolffe didn’t speak the entire time.

Fox trained like he wanted the pain.

And no matter how hard they hit, how fast they moved, how sharp they became—

You didn’t come back.

⸻

The job was supposed to be clean.

A simple retrieval on Xeron V—a mid-tier Republic contractor gone rogue, hiding in the crumbling husk of an old droid factory. Get in, grab the target, drag him to a shadowy contact with credits to burn and questionable allegiance.

But you should’ve known better.

The second you got your hands on him, everything went sideways. Someone tipped off the Republic. Gunships rained from the sky. Your target fled. You got cut off. Cornered.

And then the unmistakable howl of clone comms filled the air.

The 104th.

You almost laughed when you saw the markings—gray trim, wolf symbols, bold and sharp.

Fate had a sick sense of humor.

You were disarmed in seconds, pinned to the floor with your cheek pressed against cold durasteel.

Even then, you didn’t fight.

Wolffe was the one who yanked off your helmet.

You expected a reaction.

All you got was silence.

Not even a curse. Not even your name.

Just a stiff order to “secure the bounty hunter” and a curt nod to the troopers flanking you.

And then he walked away.

Like you were nothing.

Now you sat in the Republic outpost’s holding cell, bruised but mostly fine—aside from your ego and whatever parts of your heart still hadn’t gone numb. The armor plating of your new life, as a notorious bounty hunter, felt thinner by the second.

He hadn’t even looked you in the eye since they dragged you off the ship.

Not when you spat blood onto the hangar floor.

Not when they clamped the cuffs on your wrists.

Not when your helmet rolled to his feet like some ghost from a forgotten life.

Just protocol. Just silence.

Just Wolffe.

Outside the cell, Master Plo Koon approached his commander, his quiet presence always felt before it was seen.

“She knew your name,” Plo said gently.

Wolffe’s armor flexed as his fists curled. “She trained us. All of us. Before the war.”

“But there is more, isn’t there?”

Wolffe glanced sideways. “Sir, with respect—”

“I am not scolding you, Wolffe.” Plo’s voice remained steady. “But I sense a storm in you. I have since the moment she arrived.”

Wolffe said nothing.

“She left something behind, didn’t she?”

And for just a second, Wolffe’s mask cracked.

“Yeah,” he said, jaw tight. “Us.”

⸻

The hum of the gunship in hyperspace filled the silence between you.

You were cuffed to a seat, armor stripped down to a flight-safe bodysuit. Your posture was relaxed, but your gaze never left the clone across from you.

Wolffe sat still—helmet in his lap, eyes fixed straight ahead. He hadn’t spoken since takeoff.

“You gonna give me the silent treatment the whole way?” you asked, voice dry.

He didn’t even blink.

You sighed and leaned back, jaw clenching. “Fine. I’ll do the talking.”

No response.

“I didn’t think they’d make you my escort,” you continued. “You’d think after our history, that might be considered a conflict of interest.”

“Maybe they thought I’d shoot you if you acted up,” he muttered.

You smirked. “I thought about acting up. Just to see if you still care.”

That got him.

His head snapped toward you, eyes burning. “Don’t.”

“What? Push your buttons?” You arched a brow. “That used to be my specialty.”

“You used to be someone else.”

The smile dropped from your lips.

So did your heart.

Wolffe looked away again, tightening his grip on the helmet in his hands.

You turned your head toward the window, hiding the sting behind sarcasm. “You look good in Commander stripes.”

“And you look good in chains.”

There it was again—that damn tension. Sharp and unresolved. You almost welcomed the sting.

Almost.

⸻

Coruscant.

The gunship touched down in the GAR security hangar. Sterile, bright, swarming with guards in crimson-red armor.

You knew who ran this show before you even stepped off the ramp.

Fox.

The last time you saw him, he was still a smart-ass cadet fighting over who could land a blow on you first.

Now?

He wore the rank of Marshal Commander like a second skin. Polished. Cold. Untouchable.

The second your boots hit the durasteel, he was there.

“Prisoner in my custody,” he said to Wolffe, not even sparing you a glance.

“She’s your problem now,” Wolffe replied, handing over the datapad.

You smirked. “Nice armor, Foxy. Didn’t think you’d climb so high.”

He didn’t even blink.

“No jokes. No names. You’re not special anymore.”

The smile dropped off your face like a blade.

“I see the Senate really squeezed all the fun out of you.”

Fox stepped in close, nose-to-nose. “That bounty you botched? Republic senator’s aide was caught in the crossfire. He’s still in critical care.”

Your mouth opened, but he kept going.

“You may think you’re the same snarky Mandalorian who used to throw cadets around on Kamino. But you’re not. You’re a liability with a kill count—and you’re lucky we didn’t shoot you on sight.”

You swallowed hard.

Wolffe stood off to the side, helmet tucked under one arm, watching. Quiet. Controlled.

But his gaze never left your face.

Fox turned to his men. “Take her to holding. I’ll debrief in an hour.”

You were grabbed by the arms again, dragged off without ceremony. As you passed Wolffe, your eyes met just for a second.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything.

But Wolffe looked away first.

And this time, it hurt worse than anything else ever had.

The room was cold. Not physically—just sterile. Void of anything human.

One table. Two chairs. Transparent durasteel wall behind you.

And Fox, across the table, red armor like a warning light that never shut off.

He hadn’t said a word yet.

Just stood in the doorway, datapad in hand, watching you like he was trying to decide whether to question you or put a bolt in your head.

Finally, he sat down.

“You’re in a lot of trouble.”

You leaned back in the chair, manacled wrists resting against the tabletop. “Let me guess. That senator’s aide I accidentally shot was someone’s nephew?”

Fox didn’t flinch. “You’re lucky he’s not dead.”

“I’m lucky all the time.”

He stared you down. “Tell me why you took the job.”

You rolled your eyes. “Credits.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“It’s the truth.”

His fingers tapped against the datapad. A slow, rhythmic pulse that echoed through the silence.

“Target was mid-level intel—why would someone like you take a low-rank job like that?”

“I don’t screen my clients. I don’t ask questions.”

He leaned forward slightly. “You used to.”

You stilled.

There it was. The first crack.

“Back on Kamino,” he added, voice quieter. “You asked questions. You gave a damn.”

You looked away. “That was a long time ago.”

Fox’s jaw tightened. “Then help me understand what changed.”

You laughed once, bitter. “Why, Fox? This isn’t an interrogation. This is you trying to pick apart what’s left of someone you used to know.”

“No,” he said, too quickly. “This is me trying to figure out whether the person I used to trust is still in there.”

Your gaze snapped to his.

He didn’t blink.

Didn’t break.

But you saw it.

That same flicker he used to show you, late in training when he couldn’t hide how much he hung on every word you said. That look when he fought with Wolffe over who got to spar with you first. That silence after you left Kamino without saying goodbye.

“I trained you to be a good soldier,” you muttered. “Not to sit behind a desk and spit Senate lines.”

“I became a good soldier because of you,” he shot back. “But you left before you could see it.”

Silence settled again.

He dropped the datapad to the table and leaned back in his chair. “Do you even care who you’re working for these days?”

You smirked, tired. “You want me to say I regret it. But I don’t think you’d believe me if I did.”

Fox stood abruptly. “You’re right. I wouldn’t.”

He moved to leave—then hesitated, fingers flexing at his side. He looked back once, gaze sharp and unreadable.

“We’re not done.”

You lifted your brow. “Didn’t think we were.”

He stared at you another heartbeat longer.

Then left.

The door hissed closed behind him.

And still, his questions lingered.

⸻

It was past midnight, but Coruscant never slept.

The holding cell lights were dim, humming faintly above your head. You sat on the edge of the cot, elbows on your knees, staring through the thick transparisteel wall like you could still see stars.

Your wrists ached from the manacles.

Your chest ached from everything else.

When the door hissed open, you didn’t look.

You already knew who it was.

He stepped inside, slow and careful—like maybe if he moved too quickly, he’d change his mind and leave.

“Didn’t expect to see you again,” you said quietly.

“I’m not supposed to be here.”

“Figured.”

You turned your head. Wolffe was still in full armor, helmet off, but the tension in his shoulders was more than battlefield wear.

He stepped closer but didn’t sit. He just looked at you. Like he hadn’t had the chance to really see you until now.

“You really left,” he said.

You huffed a breath. “You mean Kamino?”

He nodded once.

“Jango warned me,” you said. “Told me not to mess with the assets.”

His jaw clenched. “You weren’t messing with us.”

“Weren’t I?”

Wolffe looked down, quiet for a moment. Then:

“We would’ve followed you anywhere.”

The silence between you cracked open—raw, vulnerable.

“I couldn’t stay,” you whispered. “Not after that. Not when I knew I was screwing with your heads. You and Fox were fighting over a ghost. I was your first crush, not your future.”

“You were more than that.”

“No,” you said gently. “I was just the one who got away.”

Wolffe looked like he wanted to argue. Wanted to reach out. But he stayed exactly where he was, arms stiff at his sides.

“You’re going to be court-martialed,” you said with a dry smile. “Visiting the prisoner. Real scandal.”

“I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do. You always did. That’s what made you a good soldier.”

He didn’t reply to that. Just let the silence stretch.

Finally, you asked, “So what happens now?”

Wolffe’s eyes hardened—not cold, but braced. “You’re staying. Senate wants answers. GAR wants a scapegoat.”

“And you?”

“I want—”

He stopped himself.

You sat up straighter. “Say it.”

He exhaled, jaw flexing, voice low. “I want you to walk out of here. I want you on my squad, back where you belong. I want to forget you ever left.”

You didn’t look away.

“I want to stop wondering if we ever meant anything to you.”

You stepped toward the barrier between you.

Then the comm in his vambrace flared to life.

“—Commander Wolffe, this is General Koon. We’re wheels up in five. Rendezvous at Pad D-17.”

He didn’t answer it. Just looked at you.

“I guess that’s your cue,” you said, trying to smile. “Duty first.”

“Always.”

But this time, he didn’t move.

He just stared at you like maybe—just maybe—he’d stay.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” you said. “I made my bed. I’ll lie in it.”

He nodded slowly. “You always did sleep like hell anyway.”

You laughed once. It hurt.

“I’ll see you again,” he said finally.

“You sure about that?”

“I’ll make sure of it.”

Another call came through. Urgent.

He stepped back, slow, deliberate, like every footfall cost him.

You stood alone behind the transparisteel wall.

And he left without another word.

Because he was a commander.

And you were the one who got away.

[eremji]

WIP Wednesday

Messing around with some fun little writing exercise snippets for the #TF Mecha AU. This was definitely just an excuse to try writing something action-heavy, since so many of my other current WIPs are so scenic and talky.

The Escaflowne -> Gundam -> Evangelion -> Pac Rim -> Transformers pipeline has really done it for me over the last few decades and I cannot stop writing Big Machines.

Human!Mechanic Ratchet tickles something in my brain. I love putting men in their 40s with back pain in Situations and Predicaments. My working take is he's still working for an organization he hates, but he's too old for this shit, he resents his job, and is perfectly set up to have an eventual midlife crisis over wanting to date his Bugatti a robot an alien.

///

“How close?” Ratchet calls down at the pilot scaling the massive bot closest to his workstation. He doesn’t know her name, but her bot is Strika, one of the first manufactured models they bought from the Slovenian engineering program. The woman isn’t Strika’s original pilot.

“Half mile, incoming,” she shouts back, hauling herself upwards hand over hand with no harness, corded muscles flexing. “Two minutes.”

Direct contact. He can't just hide in his office and wait for this one to blow over. Fuck. Ratchet kicks his kit closed and crams the prototype knee assembly into an empty storage locker, hoping no one goes digging during the attack. He yanks on the buckles of his climbing harness, running through the safety check at record pace, then seizes one of the rapid descent hooks and flings himself into a three story drop with nothing but a hand brake and blind faith in his equipment.

Ratchet’s teeth rattle painfully as his feet hit the concrete, even though he takes the impact exactly like he's practiced a hundred times – the emergency abseil drills always have padded mats at the bottom and his brain isn’t ready for the reality of hitting hard concrete. He doesn’t go down on his ass, but a spasm of agony jolts up through his hips and spine and he has to stop to catch his breath, queasy.

The massive loading bay doors are already open by the time he recovers, twenty critical seconds of prep lost while the piloted bots are being disgorged into the sheeting rain. He unhooks from the line and snatches one of the combat kits off the storage rack. Three other mechanics are shouldering their repair rigs, already belted into their body armor.

Ratchet hauls on the plate carrier and buckles it with the strong feeling he's going to fucking die. He crams his helmet over his sweaty hair anyways, leaving the visor up. It's too dark and wet outside and the cheap polycarb fogs up no matter how many times they treat it. The repair pack goes on last, weighing him down, heavy coils of electrical patch cabling slung over his shoulder.

He’s out in the rain before he’s ready. His radio picks up a burst of feedback. There’s an unmistakable thunderclap report of a defense missile striking its target, followed by an ear-splitting roar that drowns out all other sound. The Quintesson is either way closer or way larger than he expects and he nearly climbs out of his skin with fear.

Ratchet turns just in time to catch the massive shape backlit against the storm-black sky, ten stories of nightmare. The Quintesson’s energy barrier flashes in a dozen places, incoming weapons fire flickering like red lightning over the glassy surface. It's covered in rain-wet armor plates and undulating tentacles, the massive shark-like mouth already filled with a twisted, sparking heap of metal. Spotlights blink out as the Quintesson takes out one of the substations, plunging everything into darkness.

[robertnelson2-blog]

Buy Rig Mats: A Smart Investment for Heavy-Duty Ground Protection

Whether you're in the oil and gas industry, construction, or any other field involving heavy equipment, rig mats are essential for providing safe, stable ground support. If you're looking to buy rig mats, this guide will help you understand their types, uses, and what to look for when making a purchase.

What Are Rig Mats?

Rig mats (also known as oilfield mats or access mats) are heavy-duty platforms designed to support large machinery and vehicles in rugged or unstable environments. They provide a level, solid surface over mud, snow, or uneven terrain, helping prevent equipment from getting stuck and reducing site restoration costs. Rig Mats Canada

Benefits of Buying Rig Mats

Site Safety: Provides a stable and secure work platform.

Reduced Downtime: Prevents equipment from sinking in soft terrain.

Environmental Protection: Minimizes ground disturbance and soil damage.

Cost Efficiency: Reduces the need for expensive site remediation.

Final Thoughts

Investing in the right rig mats can improve site productivity, protect your equipment, and ensure safety for your crew. Whether you're setting up a drilling site, pipeline project, or wind farm, make sure to assess your ground conditions and buy rig mats that match your operational needs.

[helmerichpayne]

Delivering Better Drilling Outcomes with Rig Floor Automation

REDUCE DRILLPIPE DAMAGE & INCREASE TORQUE EFFICIENCY IN UNCONVENTIONAL WELLS

The drilling landscape is changing as automation and mechanization create opportunities to further enhance safety and performance, while meeting the aggressive parameters required for deeper wells with longer laterals.

Empowered by the Helmerich & Payne legacy of domain expertise and innovative technology, the HexGrip” 12O automated floor wrench, combined with additional rig floor mechanization enhancements, move modern well programs forward to new performance milestones in the industry's performance journey.

TFE INDUSTRY'S PREMIERE HIGH TORQUE SOLUTION FOR THE UNCONVENTIONAL DRILLING MARKET

The HexGrip 120 automated floor wrench offers the consistently high makeup and breakout torque needed to ensure connection integrity. Factoring the strain extra torque can have on the box, the HexGrip 120 uses six contact points on the upper and lower arms, reducing the force needed to make and break connections, all safely controlled remotely from the driller's cabin. In addition to process efficiency, remote diagnostic capabilities track and record connection data, enabling a detailed representation of connection integrity's impact on drilling practices and continuous improvement.

A MAJOR OPERATOR IN WEST TEXAS SAW A 90% REDUCTION IN TONG USAGE AFTER THE HEXGRIP 120 WRENCH WAS INSTALLED.

WHAT WILL HEXGRIP 120 MEAN TO YOUR WELL PROGRAM?

FEATURES

BENEFIT

OUTCOME

1OO, OOO ft-Ib Makeup Torque

Efficient and consistent pipe connections

Accurate and consistent makeup torque helps

mitigate challenges associated with under torqued connections such as drillstring backoffs and over-torqued connections.

12O, OOO ft—Ib

Breakout Torque

Improved trip times

Accurate and consistent makeup torque helps

mitigate challenges associated with under torqued connections such as drillstring backoffs and over-torqued connections.

<1% Makeup Torque Variance

1Ox less torque variance

With precise torque consistency--more consistent well delivery can be achieved.

ZG& Six-Point Grip

Less force on drill pipe

The power and precision of the torque in conjunction with the radial contact reduces slippage and pipe distortion-prolonging pipe life and integrity.

Remote Connected

Relocation of control to the driller's cabin

Moving control to the driller cabin significantly reduces the human expasure on the rig floor and improves overall efficiency.

Data Logging

Automated logging of applied torque

Torque data from the HexGrip 120 wrench can be used to evaluate drilling specifications and practiœs that œntribute to the optimization of future wells.

Compact Deign

38% smaller and 40% lighter than alternative high-spec floor wrenches

The industry leading FlexRig fleet revolutionized rig move ePiciency. Now,the HexGrip 120 wrench provides industry-leading floor wrench capabilities and a minimal footprint without compromising the efficiency gains achieved with our rigs.

ENHANCED RIG FLOOR MECHANIZATION

The labor involved in manually placing and pulling slips is not only a physical hardship, it places crew members in a high-risk area near the well center. Because H&P’s Retractable Slip Lifters are inset into the rig floor, the top drive can now drill all the way down, creating a seamless transition between drilling and tripping. Safely controlled from the driller's cabin, HSE exposure is reduced by removing additional rig crew presence from well center, while streamlining the overall process to deliver a more consistent outcome.

Rig Floor Automation provides safety and consistency through automation controls and also through the simplicity of enhanced traction control floor mats. These custom- designed mats utilize a combination of raised buttons for traction and are durable enough to withstand even oil-based fluids that commonly affect traditional matting. High-risk areas are identified through color-coded zones on the mats to help mitigate hazards to crew members. Modularity ensures a quick change- out if needed, without incurring downtime.

Download the full product literature from here: https://www.helmerichpayne.com/media/product-literature/Rig-Floor-Automation-Fact-Sheet.pdf. Contact us to reach out to a H&P Sales representative to increase your drilling performance potential: https://www.helmerichpayne.com/contact.

[jessmatting01]

Unearthing Stability: Discovering Mats Spruce Grove and Rig Mats Taber

Have you ever considered what lies beneath when you walk on a stable surface in an unstable environment? The ground under heavy equipment and operational sites isn't always as solid as it appears. This is where specialized solutions like mats spruce grove, and Rig mats Taber come into play, ensuring stability and safety in the most demanding conditions.

The Foundation of Industry: Mats Spruce Grove In the bustling town of Spruce Grove, the use of mats spruce grove has become a cornerstone for various industries ranging from construction to oil field operations. These mats provide a reliable platform, ensuring that heavy machinery and operations can proceed without the risk of sinking into soft ground or damaging the environment. The application of these mats is a testament to innovation in industrial operations, addressing both logistical challenges and environmental concerns.

Safety and Sustainability: A Dual Approach Mats spruce grove is not just about providing a stable surface; they are also integral in promoting sustainability. Made from materials that are both durable and environmentally friendly, these mats serve multiple purposes. They protect the underlying soil from contamination and erosion, a concern particularly relevant in sensitive ecological zones. This dual approach of safety and environmental care underscores the importance of such innovations in modern industrial practices.

Navigating Challenges with Rig Mats Taber Transitioning to the southern part of Alberta, Rig mats Taber represent another layer of ingenuity in handling industrial challenges. Used widely in oil and gas activities, these mats are made to last in the worst circumstances. Whether it's the pressure from heavy drilling equipment or the unpredictable weather of Alberta, Rig mats Taber ensures that operations do not halt.

The Role of Rig Mats in Remote Operations The use of Rig mats Taber is particularly significant in remote areas where traditional infrastructure may be lacking. These mats not only provide a stable and secure platform for heavy operations but also facilitate access to remote sites. By improving accessibility, these mats help reduce the operational costs associated with transporting materials and equipment to and from distant locations.

Towards a Safer Future It is not merely a convenience to include mats spruce grove and rig mats Taber in industry operations; it is also a step toward a safer and more sustainable future. As industries continue to expand into more remote and environmentally sensitive areas, the role of these mats becomes increasingly crucial. They are not merely tools but partners in progress, ensuring that growth does not come at the cost of safety or sustainability.

Conclusion As industries evolve, the demand for innovative solutions like mats spruce grove, and Rig mats Taber grows. These tools not only support industrial activities but also safeguard the environment, highlighting a balance between development and ecological care. For those interested in learning more about these essential industrial solutions, visiting jessmatting.com provides a gateway to a range of products tailored to meet these needs efficiently.

[shinepanelcare06]

Leading the Way in Alberta's Matting Solutions: Transforming Industrial Projects

The Canadian town of Alberta Beach is at the centre of an economic revolution. A matting product and service standard is being redefined by a company known for its inventive approach. They offer access mats, crane mats, rig mats, and custom-built mats to accommodate a wide range of industrial applications. In complex industrial settings, these solutions are foundational for sustainability, efficiency, and safety, not to mention goods.

A Safe and Efficient Way to Use Access Matting

Access matting is an essential component of industrial projects to facilitate the smooth operation of heavy equipment and workers. This manufacturer's access mats stay put no matter how rough the terrain gets. They provide individualized access matting solutions for any project, big or small, in anyﾠisolated area, oil field, or building site.

DIY Solar Panel Cleaning: Empowers You to Go Green

For those who prefer a more hands-on approach, the company offers DIY solar panel cleaning advice and guidance. Keeping your solar panels clean allows you to save money while also contributing to a cleaner, greener future.

Raising the Bar: Crane Matting

This business also does an excellent job with crane matting. Robust matting solutions are provided to support the weight and movement of cranes, ensuring stability and safety in crane operations. Durable and ergonomically engineered to disperse weight uniformly, these mats increase productivity while decreasing the likelihood of accidents.

The Key to a Successful Rig Matting

Rig matting is a must for stable and safe drilling operations. This firm's rig matsﾠare designed to endure the harsh conditions seen on drilling rigs, providing a stable base for both workers and equipment. Because of their dedication to quality, these mats can withstand harsh environments and serve as a solid foundation for drilling jobs.

Local Solar Cleaning Services: A Brighter Future.

In addition to matting products, this company is a market leader in local solar cleaning services. They recognize the need of keeping solar panels clean for optimal efficiency. Their skilled team guarantees that solar installations are efficient and effective, helping to create a sustainable and green future.

Tailored Solutions: Custom-Built Mats

This business is an expert in making tailor-made mats since it knows that every job is different. It collaborates closely with customers to develop matting solutions that meet all of their requirements, be it in terms of dimensions, materials, or designs. Itsﾠunique methodology guarantees that every project receives the perfect mat solution.

Conclusion

This Alberta Beach-based company is at the forefront of industrial matting solutions, offering access matting, crane matting, rig matting, and custom-built mats that adhere to the highest safety and efficiency standards. From access matting to custom-built mats, shinepanelcare.com offers the stability and safety required for success. Their dedication to excellence and innovation sets them apart, making them the first choice for industrial matting solutions.

[maxximat1]

Rig Mats for Oil, Gas, & Drilling Industries | MaXXiMaT

MaXXiMaT provides the most durable rig mats in all of Northern Alberta. Their efficient and highly automated manufacturing facility enables them to produce high-quality rig mats for any project at the most competitive prices. MaXXiMaT’s patented Maxxi-Strong system features folded metal making them the strongest mats in the industry.

[shipmodelling101]

Building Your Own Pirate Ship: A Guide to Wooden Model Ship Kits

Have you ever dreamed of sailing the high seas on your own pirate ship, like the legendary Black Pearl or the fearsome Queen Anne's Revenge? While you may not be able to commandeer a real pirate vessel, you can still experience the thrill and adventure of building your own miniature replica with a wooden model ship kit.

Wooden model ship kits are a fun and rewarding hobby that allow you to create realistic and detailed models of historical and fictional ships, using various tools and materials. In this guide, we'll show you how to build your own pirate ship with a wooden model ship kit, and give you some tips and tricks to make the process easier and more enjoyable.

What You'll Need

To build your own pirate ship with a wooden model ship kit, you'll need the following items:

•  A wooden model ship kit of your choice.

There are many different types and brands of wooden model ship kits available on the market, but for this guide, we'll focus on the ones offered by Premier Ship Models, a leading online retailer of quality model ships and boats. Premier Ship Models has a wide range of wooden model ship kits to suit your preferences and skill level, from beginner to expert. Some of their popular pirate ship kits include the Black Pearl, the Jolly Roger, the HMS Bounty, and the HMS Surprise. You can browse their collection of pirate ship kits https://premiershipmodels.us/.

•  A set of basic tools and materials.

Depending on the complexity and size of your chosen kit, you may need different tools and materials to assemble your model. However, some of the common tools and materials you'll need are: a hobby knife, a cutting mat, a ruler, a pencil, a pair of scissors, a pair of tweezers, a drill, a hammer, a file, a sandpaper, a glue, a paint, a brush, and a varnish. You can find most of these tools and materials at your local hobby store or online.

•  A spacious and well-lit work area.

Building a wooden model ship kit can take several hours or even days, depending on your pace and skill level. Therefore, you'll need a comfortable and convenient work area where you can spread out your tools and materials, and work without interruptions. Make sure your work area is spacious enough to accommodate your model and its parts, and well-lit enough to see the details clearly. You may also want to cover your work surface with a cloth or a paper to protect it from scratches, spills, or stains.

How to Build Your Own Pirate Ship

Once you have your wooden model ship kit, your tools and materials, and your work area ready, you can start building your own pirate ship by following these steps:

•  Step 1: Read the instructions.

Before you start assembling your model, it's important to read the instructions carefully and familiarize yourself with the parts and the process. The instructions will guide you through the steps of building your model, from cutting and shaping the parts, to gluing and painting them, to rigging and mounting them. The instructions will also provide you with diagrams, photos, and tips to help you along the way. Make sure you follow the instructions closely and in the correct order, as any mistakes or deviations can affect the final outcome of your model.

•  Step 2: Cut and shape the parts.

The first step of building your model is to cut and shape the parts according to the instructions. Most wooden model ship kits come with pre-cut parts that are ready to use, but some may require you to cut them out from a sheet of wood or a strip of metal. You'll need to use your hobby knife, your cutting mat, and your ruler to cut the parts accurately and safely. You may also need to use your file, your sandpaper, and your drill to shape and smooth the parts, and to create holes or slots for fitting them together. Be careful not to damage or lose any parts, as they may be difficult or impossible to replace.

•  Step 3: Glue and paint the parts.

The next step of building your model is to glue and paint the parts according to the instructions. You'll need to use your glue, your brush, and your tweezers to attach the parts together, and to create details such as planks, windows, doors, cannons, and ornaments. You'll also need to use your paint, your brush, and your varnish to color and finish the parts, and to create effects such as weathering, aging, or damage. Make sure you apply the glue and the paint sparingly and evenly, and let them dry completely before moving on to the next step. You may also want to test the glue and the paint on a scrap piece of wood or metal before applying them to your model, to avoid any unwanted reactions or results.

•  Step 4: Rig and mount the parts.

The final step of building your model is to rig and mount the parts according to the instructions. You'll need to use your scissors, your tweezers, and your drill to cut and attach the ropes, the wires, and the chains that make up the rigging of your model. You'll also need to use your hammer, your file, and your glue to fix and secure the parts that make up the hull, the deck, the masts, the sails, and the flags of your model. Make sure you align and tighten the parts properly, and check for any loose or missing parts. You may also want to use your varnish to seal and protect your model from dust, moisture, or damage.

Tips and Tricks

Building your own pirate ship with a wooden model ship kit can be a fun and rewarding hobby, but it can also be challenging and frustrating at times. Here are some tips and tricks to help you make the most of your experience and avoid some common pitfalls:

•  Choose a kit that matches your skill level and interest.

Wooden model ship kits come in different levels of difficulty and detail, from beginner to expert. Choose a kit that suits your abilities and preferences, and that you find appealing and enjoyable. Don't choose a kit that is too easy or too hard for you, as you may lose interest or get discouraged. You can always start with a simple kit and work your way up to a more complex one as you gain more confidence and experience.

•  Plan ahead and organize your work.  

Building a wooden model ship kit can be a complex and lengthy process, so it's important to plan ahead and organize your work. Before you start, make sure you have all the tools and materials you need, and that you understand the instructions and the steps. During the process, keep your work area clean and tidy, and sort your parts and tools by type and size. This will help you save time and avoid confusion or mistakes.

•  Be patient and careful.

Building a wooden model ship kit requires patience and care, as you'll need to work with small and delicate parts, and follow precise and intricate instructions. Don't rush or force anything, as you may damage or ruin your model. Take your time and enjoy the process, and if you encounter any difficulties or errors, don't panic or give up. You can always consult the instructions, the diagrams, or the photos for guidance, or seek help from other modelers online or offline.

•  Have fun and be creative.

Building a wooden model ship kit is not only a hobby, but also a form of art and expression. While you should follow the instructions and the steps, you can also have fun and be creative with your model. You can customize your model with your own touches, such as adding accessories, decorations, or characters, or modifying the colors, the shapes, or the effects. You can also create your own backstory or scenario for your model, and imagine the adventures and stories it could tell. The possibilities are endless, and the only limit is your imagination.

Conclusion

Building your own pirate ship with a wooden model ship kit is a great way to indulge your passion for maritime history and culture, and to unleash your creativity and craftsmanship. By following this guide, you can create your own miniature replica of a legendary pirate vessel, and enjoy the satisfaction and pride of completing your own masterpiece. Whether you display your model in your home or office, or sail it on a pond or a pool, your pirate ship will surely attract attention and admiration from others, and inspire you to explore more of the fascinating world of wooden model ship kits.

[sjsuraj]

The Rig and Oilfield Mats Market report, authored by Future Market Insights—an ESOMAR Certified Market Research and Consulting Firm—unveils profound insights and meticulous analysis of the Rig and Oilfield Mats market. Encompassing the research’s ambit and essence, the report scrutinizes the driving determinants, market expanse, and predictive statistics for Rig and Oilfield Mats. It offers exhaustive breakdowns of revenue and shipment segments, with an extensive 10-year forecast till 2032. Furthermore, the document evaluates pivotal industry players, their market apportionments, the competitive terrain, and regional insights.

The global Rig and Oilfield Mats Market is predicted to reach a valuation of US$ 2.1 Billion by 2032, with sales growing at a healthy CAGR of 7.3% from 2022 to 2032. Valued at US$ 1 Billion in 2021, the target market will likely reach an estimated US$ 1.04 Billion in 2022. Escalation in crude oil prices and increasing activities in the oil and gas industry across the globe will spur the demand for rig and oilfield mats during the forecast period.

Request For Sample Report: Elevate Your Industry Intelligence with Actionable Insights https://www.futuremarketinsights.com/reports/sample/rep-gb-4671

Major players in the oil and gas sector are keen on establishing operations in remote areas for exploration, drilling, and production activities. The oil and gas operators are acquiring contracts for such remote sites. A few of these remote locations are open to wet and humid conditions. Such an environment is also not fit for common operations, and thus, matting solutions are needed to further oil and gas functions in these locations. Therefore, drilling operations in remote areas are directly propelling the adoption of rig and oilfield mats. For instance, many US-based oil and gas operators are shifting towards Alaska and other sites for drilling applications, which is set to underpin the demand for rig and oilfield mats in the global market from 2022 to 2032.

Furthermore, the growth in the sales of composite mats or engineered mats will likely contribute immensely to the growth of the overall market. Again, governing bodies in the US, Canada, and the European Union have applied regulations to prevent environmental degradation which will further aid the growth of composite mats as compared to wood ones. All of these considerations will propel the growth of the rig and oilfield mats market during the forecast period.

“Integration of technological enhancements like skid-proof materials and anti-static materials into the design of these mats will augment the global sales of the rig and oilfield mats market over the forecast period,” says an FMI analyst. 

Key Takeaways From The Market Study:

By product type, the composite mats segment will gain traction over the forecast period.

In terms of application, the construction, and offshore wind energy infrastructure are set to generate lucrative opportunities for the target market.

The rig and oilfield mats market in the United States will account for a major portion of the global market.

Countries in Western Europe will account for the second largest market share.

China and the MEA countries will register steady growth during the forecast period.

Key Players Profiled in the Rig and Oilfield Mats Market Report

Horizon North Logistics Inc.

Newpark Resources Inc.

Signature Systems Group, LLC

Strad Energy Services Ltd

Checkers Safety Group

Spartan Mat

Rig Mats of America Inc.

Quality Mat Company

Canada Rig Mats Ltd.

Alberta Rig Mats

Access Terrain Services

Key market players are concentrating on enhancing product offerings and investing more in research and development activities to cater to consumer demands. These businesses are offering patented technologies and customized mat sizes, acquiring technical expertise, and engaging in strategic alliances, partnerships, joint ventures, collaborations, mergers, and acquisitions to gain a competitive advantage.

[dhallplant]

Glimpses Of Our Groundworks Looe, Cornwall, UK | D.Hall Plant Hire & Groundworks

We have recently carried out the first phase of groundworks for an eco house in the woods In Looe, Cornwall.

Everything had to be brought up to the site via our 3-tonne dumper roughly 900 metres away as the grab lorry couldn’t get close enough with the tight Cornish lanes.

Our Groundworks package consisted of a reduced dig, soakaway system, trenching for 32mm water pipe, kerbs/edgers, type 1 stone and tarmac surfacing phase 1 enabled access to the site.

Phase 2 of this eco house consisted of constructing a piling mat for the piling rig to work from, 41 odex piles were drilled into the ground at various depths, and we then formed the steel work and formwork to be able to pump concrete in excess of 100+ metres for pile caps which the house will sit on.

This job has been very challenging due to very tight access but as you can see once on the site you have plenty of room.

We can successfully delivered groundworks services in Looe, UK. Contact D.Hall Plant Hire & Groundworks for more groundwork services in Cornwall & Devon.

[youranxiousnerd]

The Transformation Thoughts

bc hsmtmts said gay rights

spoilers below

yesss seb doing the recap

wait did seb just say he was crying?!?! give him a hug 

cow baby!!!

wow miss jenn and seb having a civil conversation

Natalie is back!!

ej and ricky with the mask

kourtney’s outfit!!!

ashlyn’s outfit...

ahh so the awards and the show are separate, good, that’s how it works

RICKY’S SHIRT!?!?!?! 

i love it

ricky is lgbt do not try to convince me otherwise

ASHLYN IS SINGING IT IS BEAUTIFUL

like pop off

ricky and the mask

that mask is the true villain in season 2

“Belle, I-” flops

Ashlyn is carrying the scene, she is such a good Belle

how is ricky allowed on stage oh my god

the cap

that damn mask

“It’s okay, it was just my face”

Miss Jenn is hanging on by a thread

finally some ashlyn and ricky content

“Which they will” buddy have you faced the music? Have you seen Ricky?

“I think I might have been playing Troy at one point”

Miss Jenn needs help from someone who isn’t a teenager

“Mother is freaking out” High school theater at it’s finest

“There is math involved”

“OH” 

sassy seb

i can’t with east high’s tech crew, what are you doing?!?!

and why are the actors figuring out the tech stuff?!? i’m sure kourt, big red, ashlyn (she knows all), and seb (he lives on a farm) know what to do. 

the crew cannot be that bad

btw here are my thoughts on this scene

guys it is ashlyn’s house not yours

portwell shoulder bump

ASHLYN I LOVE YOU

OH SO NOW YOU HAVE DRILLS

WHERE WERE THEY WHEN THE TECHIES STARTED USING GLUE ON PLYWOOD!?!?!?!

I WANT ANSWERS

i. cannot. with. this. show.

lily wtf

“is this too weird” yes

like why?

lily like actually shut up

big red’s “wtf”

let her be evil damnit

“i’m just not well liked here” i wonder why

that was really weird, anyways

“he gets weird around tools”

me too

no give big red the drill he knows how to use it

someone write a fic about the girls and seb’s chaotic target run

why don’t you have a blackout and dramatic music and lights for the transformation, i know it isn’t award level but if done right it can be pretty dope

“I don’t know if my parents will be okay with me being at a co-ed sleepover”

“Chip, this is your mother speaking, go call your mother”

HE DID THE FINGER GUNS

GAY TABLE SIT AND FINGER GUNS THEY DID THEIR RESEARCH

ashlyn’s bucket

CARLOS GAY TABLE SIT

OH MY GOD

they’re so gay soulmates

let big red have his skateboards

“i need to talk to seb at some point but it can wait” honey no it can’t wait seb is on the verge of a breakdown

wait they havent talked in a week

Im a hypocrite ive been dancing around someone for three years

“You’re still at school”

“I’m worried about my children” “She means us”

such a high school theater thing (like i got married during high school theater, we had a family tree)

“ah, Sebby”

“Now I’m pretty sad” give him a hug

the girls ship seblos

“But, I guess he has to be, out of default, right... there’s not a lot of choices for a boy like Carlos, here, at East.”

alright here come the tears 

why...why couldn’t he say “gay” or “queer” or “lgbt”?!?!

“Not so good at saying the feelings part out loud”

shiz that hit close to home. 

Seb is just making me cry today, isn’t he?

wait so we’re just going to change the subject? coming from a queer person, opening up about your problems about your sexuality is hard. like, there are things that happened years ago im just telling people. 

“You’re my sister, he’s my cousin”

it seems everyone except nina knows about the chocolates. imagine gossip time when gina told people write a fic

Nini just stop talking. It wasn’t a big deal, simple mistake. Not everything has to be big and dramatic

and wasn’t she just asking about Gina and Ej? 

Nini for the love of god it is not something to read into.

“The farmer type”

Ash and Red exchanging gossip

wait... why are they texting about this?

“Why wouldn’t he say something to me?” It’s a hard conversation to have. “hey are we together just because i’m your only option?” 

“Okay, pretty boy” HE CALLED HIM PRETTY BOY

RICKY!!!!!!!!!!

!!!

carlos and gina chaotic siblings

give ej a hug 

“Sweet boy”

im so glad the guys are talking about their feelings.

Why a sleepover? It’s more of a hangout.

“Verging on failure”

jennzara therapy

slowwww burn

you go from hand holding to fist bump

disney please release an acoustic version of “let you go”

so it’s just carlos and ricky chillin’ at big red’s house?

do not play let you go for nini

do. not.

“You guys are a hallmark movie”

for once ricky is being smart

“the look on your face when you were talking about Seb tonight” smiles

he is so whipped

“I think you and Seb have something worth fighting for...bro”

that was so sweet and then there is bro

i love this show

“Sorry, I’m adjusting to being called bro” 

him and seb being awkward about feelings... that is a high school relationship

i love ricky in this scene

“Yeah, let’s just write”

ASHLYN CALLED BIG RED BABE AWWWWW

nina shut the actual hell up

“It’s in the costume shop, somewhere” mood

“Thank you, 15″ THEY SAID THE THING

GAHHHH

I LOVE IT

howie and kourtney oh my god what is happening

 “and begging”

“hi” he’s so nervous oh my lord.

he is so awkward around seb 

it’s like a switch

“Do you want to get risotto with me sometime” OH MY GOD THATS ADORABLE

GINA BABY HE LIKES YOU 

GINA HONEY!!!

AWWW THAT WAS ADORABLE

PORTWELL YESSSS

gina’s little run

“Am I in trouble?” 

they’re so nervous 

oh my god its time

“You keep it all bottled up” GUYS I CANT ARGGGG

can ricky just like, go behind a curtain?

“lookin’ for our kind of love” carlos basically just said “i love you”

seb is so whipped like look at him?

they’re so in love

seb’s little eye role at “in a heartbeat, i choose you”

the hands omfg

oh my god they’re going to dance

SHIZ THE HOMECOMING SUITS

I WAS RIGHT

OH MY GOD

SHIT GUYS IM DYING

gah the hands i cant

carlos is leading i love it

the tie

a tie just killed me

im combusting

You’re honor, they’re in love

i really thought carlos was going in for a kiss he is probably getting one later

i like how the dance isn’t big, it’s small and a little awkward bc right then it’s just them.

THEYRE SO IN LOVE HOLY SHIT

damnit big red

big red is legally required to interrupt almost kiss moments especially if it’s an lgbt kiss bc we cant have two in one season

in a heartbeat is so cute. Frankie showed UP this season with the vocals. there is no way that was all acting bc they looked so in love.

I...I love it

the lyrics are perfect

In a Heartbeat and Let You Go are probably the best OG songs of the season

“Siri, add In a Heartbeat to my gay sob playlist”

these boys are just serenading each other left and right 

“Yeah” 

so it’s just “yeah”!?!? That’s it!?!?! Seb could have least kissed him on the cheek or did they use all their kisses?

I love the song and love the scene, but there is so much more to discuss. Are we going to brush over the fact that Seb literally had an allergic reaction and didn’t get help because he didn’t want to disappoint Carlos!?!? Are we going to brush over “no, seb” and seb feeling like he has to get carlos big things!?! One “yeah” doesn’t erase all that. I’m hoping we get closure, proper closure, not a joke. 

In conclusion, only one thing was settled (Carlos loves Seb for Seb, not because he is the only out guy in school).

“Seb and Carlos suffer their first fight” effing liars

BTW it looks like they filmed the dance scene with the homecoming suits and normal outfits so disney release the footage

Ricky is the biggest Seblos shipper

“Bro”

you morons. are you using rigging without an adult there?!?!

im pretty sure that isn’t allowed. only trained people were allowed to use the rigging. it should be Natalie since she did it in HSM

you should have gotten mats are something or stand in a circle

gahhh

RICKY

OH MY FRICKING GOD

NO ONE RAN THEY JUST WATCHED WTF

WTF WAS THAT ENDING

UMMMMM NO

i legit have no words oh my god 

they just killed the lead

you guys saw the rope you should have ran 

you should have gotten mats or blankets or something just in case

rigging is difficult, set rigging and people rigging

EAST HIGH WTF

Looks like the sleepover is going to be in the ER

My gay heart is full but my theater heart is screaming. The episode went by really fast. I liked it, like a lot.

To answer the question, no, I am not okay @organic-guacamole and we will have a theater kid sleepover

[lawrising-a]

( open ! / starter ! )

with summer beating it's final pulses ( heat just bearable enough to draw people from the pools ) carnivals and fairs alike have been thriving. spreading through cities like an infection, and sticking around like one too. it's a sight some never bother seeing more than once, though matthew finds himself familiar with them to an unsettling degree. adorned in a fashionable 70s outfit and jerked to some game stand is how he spends his lingering summer days ; arms crossed and his back straightened as he admires the people drifting by with eyes quickly darting to the cluttered grounds. working as a carny ( what a delightful term ) wasn't within his original plans, but it pays decent enough to scrape by. at least the white and red striped booth provides 'okay' shade from the trembling sun above. shadowed enough by the dark with large stuffed animals to extend excellent cover if someone he admires comes waltzing through. hiding was heavily scolded by the boss of this stand, wilmer, but his fear of having his arm twisted red was easily outweighed by being seen like this. it's not like the outfit looked strange on him. peculiar at best. but what mat hid from was caused by his shame of working a shifty, unfair, totally rigged stand. winning games like these was made with stacked odds on purpose. behind him is some milk jugs ---- the secret lying with them only known by him. the bottom two are heavier then the top, since most people aim higher than lower anyway. if mat played a hand in analyzing passerbys, he tries not to own up to it.

idly, he fiddles with a softball resting on the stand. long fingers curling around the circular object to propel it along the worn wood ; before following it and repeating. wilmer's given up on making him attempt to draw in costumers, simply drilling it into the man's head he only needs to 'stand there and look pretty'. a statement that still causes his cheeks to flare up, already splotchy from the sun. he isn't sure how pretty he is in a white collared shirt ( sleeves rolled up to show slim arms ) with his fawn hair tousled to hell and back but ... whatever. when he ends up spotting his blond haired partner returning from his flirt session, matthew is cashing in on a bathroom break. finally fed up with fidgeting, the man lets himself hang out the tent and people watch. chocolate eyes obscured by yellow aviators, something he takes full advantage of. he watches people bicker, laugh, spill their drinks and litter : gross. there's a brief moment where he lets his brain freeze over completely. taking a rare opportunity to immerse in the moment so he can disconnect from the uncomfortable sweat making his shirt stick to his scorched back.

of course, this backfires miserably. wrapped up in the ( reluctantly ) beautiful sights around him, someone wiggles right past the carny. giving him zero time to try and duck away, or throw on his most charming grin : voice amping up to put on his best performance. any sultry or friendly tones dry in the back of his throat and leave his adam's apple bobbing when he catches the form standing so close to the booth. eyebrows shoot up immediately. body tensing and god, he looks so awful! matthew starts frantically running his hands through his dampening hair with a cough, trying to clear his throat even if it proves fruitless. at least any coloring can be blamed on the sun, or any stomach knots can be written away with bad carnival food. the only ball matthew has left in his court is appearing pitiful ; shamefully hoping that buys him something. an olive branch ---- anything. clumsily does the man finally grab the once discarded ball. clutched tightly in his grip so he stops visibly fussing. was he recognizable in this funky getup? mat hopes not.

“hi, hello!” the greeting comes out awkward ; he grimaces. “someone's dying to test their luck, hm?”

when he gestures to the entire game behind him, it's lackluster. timid. clearly he's unsettled by the sudden spring of company. be it stranger or familiar ; he acts oblivious nonetheless.

[hartigays]

Could you also maybe do a sick fic where Steve gets sick? I love a good angsty sick fic but I feel like it's always Billy getting sick. Thank you so much! Love you and your superbly gorgeous writing!!! 💛💛💛

steve feels like shit.

it’s the first thing he recognizes upon waking up. his head feels like there’s a construction crew drilling away at it, and his throat is on fire. like it’s been rubbed raw with some steel wool. he can’t breathe through his nose, the pressure of his congestion making his face throb.

groaning, steve burrows deeper into his covers, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to ignore the persistent ringing in his ears.

his parents are out of the country for the next two weeks. in germany, maybe? steve can’t really remember what they told him. he can’t remember much of anything right now. other than that he’s basically on his fucking own with this shit.

except - oh, god. his history midterm. that’s fucking - fuck. that’s today. steve presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, hard enough that he sees stars. rolls out of bed, lands on the floor with a soft thump.

today is clearly just not going to be his day.

steve can’t muster the energy to get up. instead, he drags himself across the floor. little by little. reaches the bathroom, throws an assortment of bottles from under the cabinet at the light switch until the room floods with light.

it’s too bright. his head gives a hearty throb. steve grips the edge of the bathroom counter and heaves himself off the ground. or tries to, anyway. it takes him a few tries before he’s upright, both of his feet under him.

getting ready is hard. he can realistically only brush his teeth and scrub on some deodorant. his hair is just going to have to look like a rat’s nest today. he doesn’t even bother looking in the mirror before stumbling out of the house.

steve doesn’t remember getting to school. he knows he drove, given that he’s sitting in the parking lot. the beemer is practically diagonal in the parking space.

he’s still in his sweats and a t-shirt, the look complete with three layers of sweaters and the biggest coat he could find. somehow, steve is both boiling and freezing. he’s definitely running a fever.

mr. osborne doesn’t comment on steve’s appearance when he stumbles into the classroom. he does, however, set steve’s exam on the corner of his desk instead of handing it to him directly. steve clumsily grabs it off the desk, trudging slowly to his seat.

the font on the paper is too small. or maybe steve’s eyes are just super out of focus. either way, it makes his brain pulse. his head feels like it’s full of wet cement, and steve is pretty sure his skin is on fire.

the room feels like it’s spinning. maybe he’s dying? steve thinks he’d be okay with that. no, he’d definitely be okay with that. if it saves him from being conscious right now, he’ll take it.

it doesn’t take steve long to just start circling random answers. he’s finding it harder and harder to stay upright and he just needs to be done. no one says a word when he drops his exam on the teacher’s desk and practically flings himself out the door.

he’s cold now. too cold. steve is forgetting rather quickly what warmth feels like. he needs to get to his car but he’s starting to forget where that is, too. he just keeps walking. ends up in the boy’s locker room.

steve slumps against a row of lockers. slides down to the ground with a groan and puts his head between his knees. if he dies here, so be it. he only wishes he’d made it the few extra feet to the showers, so he could die happily under the warm spray of water.

he must fall asleep, or black out, or something. because the next thing steve knows, he’s coming to with the sound of his name ringing in his ears.

“harrington. harrington. jesus christ.”

steve makes a noise of protest at the feeling of someone’s hands on his face. it makes the pressure in his head double. there’s a warm hand covering his forehead, and another tucked under his chin, holding his head up.

“fuck off, dad.”

distantly, he hears someone snort.

“‘m not your fuckin’ dad, harrington,” the person says.

the voice is familiar? kind of. steve’s ears feel like they’re stuffed with cotton - everything sounds distorted and distant. steve finally blinks at the person hovering in his line of sight. and - jesus. of course. of course it had to be him.

“billy? what’re you doing in my bathroom?”

the look billy gives him is both amused and exasperated. it’s an unfamiliar look for him.

“i hate to be the bearer of bad news, but…” billy starts, then pauses, brushing the sweat-matted hair from steve’s forehead. “last time i checked, this wasn’t your bathroom.”

steve blinks, glancing around. they’re surrounded by lockers and the stench of dirty gym socks. right. he’s still at school, dying a slow death on the grimy locker room floors.

“leave me here to die,” steve whines, his head falling back against the cool metal behind him. “my time has come.”

an honest-to-god laugh escapes billy’s lips. steve has to be dead. because he’s pretty sure billy hargrove is physically incapable of laughter.

“c’mon, pretty boy. can’t stay here forever,” billy coaxes once he sobers. “up and at ‘em.”

steve doesn’t move. billy doesn’t seem to care. he wedges both hands under steve’s armpits before hauling him off the ground, almost effortlessly.

and okay, steve knows billy is strong. he’s seen billy without a shirt on more times than he’s seen him dressed - he knows the guy is built like a truck. but steve hadn’t been expecting billy to be able to scoop him up with ease, like he’s nothing more than a rag doll.

it makes steve feel warm in a way that has nothing to do with his fever. it’s good that he’s sick - he likes having something to blame that feeling on. something other than the truth.

billy has one arm wrapped around steve’s waist. he slings one of steve’s arms around his neck, grabbing his hand to keep it in place. billy guides them out of the locker room with more patience than steve would’ve ever thought possible.

“where’s your car?” billy asks once they hit the parking lot, still supporting the majority of steve’s weight.

steve doesn’t think before burying his face into billy’s shoulder, shielding his eyes from the offending sunlight.

“what’s a car?”

“mother of god, harrington. fuckin’ useless,” billy groans. his voice is almost inaudible when he says, “you’re lucky you’re pretty.”

steve still hears it.

the camaro smells like cigarettes and billy’s cologne. steve lets billy tuck him into the passenger’s seat. doesn’t protest when billy leans in close to buckle him in.

the drive is a black spot in steve’s memory once again. one minute, billy is backing out of his parking space, and the next, they’re sitting in steve’s driveway.

billy pulls his keys from the ignition, then disappears out into the sunlight. a moment later, he’s guiding steve out of the car and into the house. steve is covered in a layer of sweat, so he must’ve been hot on the drive over. but he’s back to freezing again, his teeth chattering.

“you need to knock that fever down,” billy orders, kicking the door shut with his heel. “think you can handle that? i gotta get back for practice.”

steve nods slowly. billy releases him from his grip, and steve immediately folds in on himself, collapsing on the ground with a disgruntled moan.

“guess that answers that question,” billy mutters, squatting down next to steve. “you got anyone you can call, pretty boy? someone who can come stay with you?”

mentally thumbing through every person he knows, steve makes a face. shakes his head. because no, he doesn’t.

his parents probably wouldn’t fly home even if steve keeled over and died. his only friends at this point are middle schoolers. nancy is most certainly not an option. he could try jonathan, but he’s obviously still back at school and more than likely has work right after. god knows he can’t miss a fucking shift.

“‘m good. all good. super duper,” steve rambles, just on this side of delirious. “go to bed, jimmy.”

billy sighs, staring up at the ceiling with a look that screams this guy really is fucking hopeless.

“alright, alright. let’s get you in bed,” billy says, shaking his head in defeat.

he hauls steve up off the ground. somehow manages to drag steve’s nearly lifeless body up the stairs and into his room. billy tries to let steve down onto the bed gently, but steve slips from his grip and face-plants onto his mattress.

“mmm,” steve sighs appreciatively, swinging his legs onto the bed and curling up into a ball. “‘s like a cloud. soft cloud. fluffy…”

billy just gives him a look, one brow raised. “yeah? well, do me a favor and don’t leave the cloud, alright? i’ll be back soon.”

steve doesn’t remember where billy said he’s going. he doesn’t have the chance to ask, because billy disappears from his bedroom a moment later. he probably wouldn’t have had the strength to form a sentence anyway.

he lets his eyelids flutter shut. drifts for a while, in and out of consciousness. his body feels hot and cold all the while, and fever dreams do nothing to settle the tension building at the base of his neck.

the dreams are the same ones he always has, but also - not. they’re darker, more intense. more vivid. steve is pretty sure he can actually feel the bite of the demo-dog’s teeth shredding his calf. the impact of his nail bat colliding with the side of his head. the terrifying chill that settles in his bones when the mind flayer looms over him.

the life draining from the bodies of his friends.

steve comes to with a scream dying on his tongue. he sits up wildly, drenched in sweat. swings himself over the side of his bed and grabs his bat in one smooth motion. doesn’t think before swinging.

“jesus - fuck! the fuck, harrington? what the fuck - what are you doing? why do you even fuckin’ have that?”

the bat clatters to the floor, falling from steve’s hands. he looks at billy in horror, an apology stuck in his throat. “fuck, i’m - god, i’m so sorry. shit.”

“shit is right,” billy mutters. but he doesn’t leave.

he stays perched on the side of steve’s bed. leans in and rests his palm over steve’s forehead. swears under his breath when he does.

“if you’re done trying to kill me,” billy starts, still eyeing the discarded bat warily, “you need to take these. you gotta get that fever down.”

“sorry, i just. dreams. bad dreams,” steve says. a shudder runs through him, one that has nothing to do with his fever. his dreams still have his spine in their icy grip.

“that why you keep that under your bed? for some stupid fuckin’ dreams?”

steve makes a face, his cheeks burning. “they’re not - forget it. point is, i’m sorry.”

billy gives him a calculating look, his expression unreadable. then, he stretches out a hand. steve takes the concoction of pills gratefully, choking them down dry. billy rolls his eyes, grabbing the tea that steve had yet to spot from the side table and handing it to him.

“‘s good,” steve acknowledges, sipping the drink almost greedily. it warms his icicle fingers better than any blanket.

“mom’s recipe,” billy tells him, seemingly without thinking. he steels his expression immediately after, clearing his throat. “drink it all, it’ll help.”

“thanks.” steve continues to sip at his tea. “you don’t have to stay, you know. ‘m feeling better. i can take it from here.”

billy snorts. shakes his head. “yeah, good one. last thing i need is to see your dumbass on the news for trying to jump into the quarry after having one of your fuckin’ dreams again.”

that has nothing to do with steve being sick. he looks up sharply, giving billy a strange look. billy is staying with him because of his dreams now? if that’s the case, well. billy should be prepared for an extended fucking stay. steve says as much.

“beats going home,” is all billy says in response.

he gets up wordlessly, exiting steve’s room. steve hears his footsteps stomp down the stairs. continues to sip at his tea, rolling billy’s words around in his head.

it’s weird, knowing billy cares. it’s weird having billy be gentle with him, period. sick or not. but it seems like something practiced, something that billy has done a thousand times before.

he makes a mental note to ask him about that later.

for now, steve polishes off his tea. flops back onto his pillows, and falls into another restless slumber. this time, he dreams of blue eyes and heated, secret touches in dark corners.

he has to change his boxers when he wakes up.

his fever is down, though. at least a few degrees. steve gets changed, tossing his soiled boxers in his laundry basket, his cheeks flushed bright red. makes his way downstairs, noting that the sun has completely set.

steve hears the tv before he sees billy. pads into the living room, feeling his stomach flip flop at the sight of billy lounging on his couch. he just so happens to be in steve’s favorite spot, curled up under steve’s favorite throw blanket.

“fever’s down,” steve says, alerting billy of his presence. “not sure if that’s because of the meds, or the tea. either way, thanks for both.”

billy glances up at him, his brows coming together in mild concern. “you should be in bed.”

“and you should be home, not laying on my couch worrying about my sorry ass,” steve tells him with a shrug. moves to sit next to billy on the couch, eyes fixed on the tv without really taking in what’s playing.

“well. clearly, someone’s gotta.”

steve flinches, but doesn’t deny the truth to billy’s words. because honestly, he’s right. if billy doesn’t, no one will. and steve has clearly demonstrated that being on his own is not an option at the moment.

he’s about to speak, but billy beats him to it. “i, uh. made you some soup. chicken noodle, or what the fuck ever. ‘s in the fridge. just gotta warm it up.”

steve nods appreciatively. his stomach turns at the thought of food, but it also grumbles desperately. of all the things he has to eat in this house, soup seems to be his safest bet. he thanks billy before heading into the kitchen.

he’s just setting the time on the microwave when billy bursts in, waving steve away with an exaggerated sigh.

“who fuckin’ raised you, harrington? stovetop. always stovetop for soup,” billy lectures, shooing him away from the microwave.

steve watches him pull out a decent-sized pot, pouring the soup from his bowl into it before beginning to heat it on the stove.

“who raised you that made you so damn good at this shit?” steve asks incredulously, rolling his eyes.

billy clears his throat and turns fully towards the stove. doesn’t speak for a long moment, until, “mom did. ‘fore she died.”

steve swallows around the lump that has suddenly formed in his throat. “oh. i’m - shit. i’m sorry.”

all he gets in response is a half-hearted shrug, with billy’s back still to him. the silence stretches on, though it’s more melancholic than uncomfortable. soon, billy is dumping the soup back into the bowl, placing it and a spoon in front of steve.

“long time ago, harrington,” billy finally says. places the same mixture of meds on the counter beside him. “keep taking these. should knock that fever down completely by morning.”

“how’d she die?” steve blurts, then gives billy a horrified look. “jesus christ, i’m sorry. that wasn’t - i didn’t mean to pry. forget i asked.”

billy looks like he’s torn between wanting to turn and walk away, and wanting to genuinely answer the question.

steve is a little more than surprised when billy chooses the latter.

“brain cancer. she got sick a lot, during treatment. took care of her after her surgeries and shit, too. fuck knows dad never did.”

“do you miss her?” steve asks, quietly. doesn’t bother poking more at that bit of information about his father. knows that there’s a limit to this conversation.

“‘course,” billy says, his voice hot. irritated. then, that heat drains out of him, and he just looks tired. “wouldn’t you?”

steve looks down at his now half-empty bowl. feels that lonely echo bounce around in his chest. “uh, i don’t - i don’t really know. can’t say i know her very well.”

billy has this look of dawning realization on his face, before the shutters close over his expression once again. he gestures to the bowl in front of steve. says, “finish up. i’ll clean up when you’re done.”

steve does as he’s asked. if he’s good at one thing, it’s doing what’s expected of him. he’s got that going for him, at least.

true to his word, billy cleans up when steve is finished. then, heads back into the living room wordlessly. steve doesn’t ask if he’s allowed to follow - he just does it anyway. like, fuck it. it’s his house.

they take the same spots as before, but it feels different. it’s been like, twenty minutes max, but with the information that has just been shared between them, the silence between them is more amicable than anything.

“thanks,” steve says suddenly, peeling his eyes from the tv. “y’know, for helping me out today.”

billy shrugs. “‘s no big. you needed it.”

“yeah, well. you don’t see anyone else around offering a hand, do you?”

“point taken,” billy snorts. “you’ve got some shitty friends, you know that?”

“they have their reasons,” is all steve says. defensive.

because they do. steve knows that better than anyone. they all can hardly take care of themselves, much less each other. it comes with the monster-fighting territory. he’s long since gotten used to that - to them leaning on each other when the world is in danger of ending, and being lost in their own lives when things are calm.

what’s truly unfamiliar is having someone around that actually seems to want to take care of him. to offer help and support. steve knew people like that existed, objectively. he just never fucking expected billy hargrove to be one of them.

“sure they do,” billy tells him, his voice carefully neutral. “‘but ‘til they get their shit together, all you get is me.”

“‘s not so bad,” steve says, voice quiet.

steve doesn’t know if his subconscious intended it, but their knees knock together when steve says it. billy looks at him sharply, suddenly watching him like a hawk.

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

another long stretch of silence follows. it seems to be a common occurrence between them. steve doesn’t mind as much as he would’ve thought.

soon, though, that tension begins to build again at the base of his neck. it happens every time he gets a fever, feeling like someone poured a gallon of wet concrete right where his spine meets his neck. steve rubs at it with a grimace, and billy notices.

“you should go lay down, get some more rest,” billy advises, eyeing him warily.

“i don’t want to be - um,” steve starts, then breaks off in the middle of his sentence. flushes cherry red. “i mean - i want to see the end. of the movie.”

billy gives him a long look, his brows raised in disbelief. steve thinks he’s going to push that, ask more questions, but he doesn’t. he just sits up, starting to move out of his spot.

“then lay down here, if you’re gonna be such a baby about it.”

steve glares at him without any real heat. “‘m not taking your spot.”

billy huffs out a disbelieving sigh, his eyes cast up at the ceiling. “fuckin’ hell, harrington. you’ve got like, ten couches. i think i’ll be alright.”

“but you were comfortable.”

they stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, but in reality was probably only about fifteen seconds.

then, billy lays back down, slowly but surely. keeps his eyes on steve the entire time. gestures to steve, then his chest. “fuckin’ come on, then.”

steve’s mouth pops open in surprise. “wait, you want me to - you’re just gonna - me? on you?”

billy cracks a small half-smile, steve is sure of it. it’s fleeting, but it’s there. “would you quit being such a fuckin’ whiny baby about everything and lay the fuck down?”

steve moves quickly, before billy can change his mind. shifts to lay down on billy, squirming and adjusting until he gets comfortable. he’s laying pretty much face-down on billy, his face pressed into his chest. he turns his head so that his cheek is resting there instead, so he can breathe, and also so he can see the tv. billy slings an arm around him casually, eyes turned back to the movie.

seemingly completely relaxed and nonchalant.

steve, on the other hand, feels tense and stiff as a board. too scared to move, for fear that billy will shove him away and tell him to get lost.

that is, until billy’s hand comes to rest at the small of steve’s back, his thumb making these little soothing circles into one of the dimples at the base of his spine. it’s through the shirt, but steve goes pliant anyway, bonelessly relaxed. drifts off again, this time with the grounding weight of billy beneath him.

steve doesn’t dream this time. in fact, he thinks it’s the most restful sleep he’s gotten in a while. he pries his eyes open when his brain starts to come back online, an hour or so later, emitting a soft groan of appreciation at the feeling of billy’s fingers running through his hair, gently massaging his scalp.

“you okay? ‘m not hurting you, am i?” billy asks, looking down at him with mild concern.

“feels good,” steve sighs into billy’s chest, curling deeper into his warmth. “keep doin’ it.”

billy answers with a soft snort, his fingers continuing their journey through his hair.

“you’re pretty cute when you’re not tryna punch me in the face,” steve mumbles, without thinking. his eyes pop open in horror, and he sits up a little, about to begin his ten part apology.

billy beats him to the punch. “yeah, well. you’re pretty cute when you’re fuckin’ helpless as shit. and when you sleep. you snore like a puppy, you know that?”

steve is pretty sure his cheeks flush tomato red. billy thinks he’s cute. since when the fuck did that happen?

he’s about to ask, but the hand billy isn’t using to comb through his hair comes up, cupping steve’s jaw. his thumb catches on steve’s bottom lip, and he gives him a soft smile. and like, since when the fuck did that happen?

billy hargrove and soft are not two things that naturally coexist. and yet, here they are, billy holding him like he’s a porcelain doll and telling him he’s cute.

steve really fucking wants to kiss him. even shifts forward to do so, but billy stops him.

“nuh-uh. no sir. not kissin’ you while you’ve got a fever,” billy tells him, shaking his head.

steve pouts a little, but can’t help the goofy grin that spreads across his face. “but you do want to kiss me?”

“would i be touchin’ you like this if i didn’t?”

“i dunno, would you?” steve asks, voice quiet. it’s meant to come out as teasing, but he can’t help the insecurity that bleeds into it.

billy gives him a soft look. tugs steve up close, before pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. then, tucks steve into his neck, wrapping his arms around him and holding on tight. safe and sound.

“no, i wouldn’t.”

steve lets out an audible sigh of relief. it was obvious to begin with, sure. but he’s been burned before. just had to double check, for the sake of his own sanity.

“fine. but for the record, as soon as this fever breaks, you’re in for a hell of a makeout session,” steve vows, pressing a series of lingering kisses to billy’s neck.

billy just laughs, his arms winding around him just a bit tighter.

“yeah, yeah. i’m holding you to that, princess.”

and steve? well, he’s beyond okay with that. he’s never been one to break a promise, anyway.

[helmerichpayne]

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[the-deeds-to-shibden]

Saturday 14 September 1839

[Biting critters having ruined Anne’s night at Abborrfors, it’s an early start again and on we go, observing more fascinating countryside, multicoloured cows, and picturesque habitations. This includes a lovely breakfast view of waterfalls and the surrounding scenery, which Ann sketches. The border nears; at the end of the day, they stop in a village that was still Finland in their time, but is in Russia now. There’s several kinds of bread, butter, fried eggs and sweets from Stockholm to eat, and Ann makes tea while complaining about the quality of the water. Both are then happily ensconced in their books. All is snug and cozy; let’s hope there are no bugs tonight.]

[up at] 4 40/”

[to bed at] 11

Fahrenheit 60 1/2º at 5 1/4 a.m. rain in the night – dull morning – did not sleep well – much bit which made me feverish and uncomfortable – our bill six Rubels for which paid 5 rigsgeld dollars Swedish = 3.16.0 Banco at the rate of 40 skillings rigs per rubel – off at 5 3/4 – a little beyond the house cross broad river over good wood bridge – pretty view from it up and down the river – forest and rock and rather sandy but good road –        

Broby at 7 11/” lone house with its appurtenances – not so good a house as that last night apparently

Broby to Högfors                       14 1/6

_____ to Abborfors                   16

 Helsingfors                               136 1/2

 Wiburg                                      145

 St. Petersburg                          281

a couple of good small houses at a little distance (right) and the little unpainted village near the station just at the bottom of a little steep pitch we go down – only one of the cottages red – forest and rock and boulders all around and scattered in the fields among corn and pasture – a little corn (rye) out – the young rye looking well – 2 snow ploughs last stage – a little drizzling now at 7 25/” and cold wind – the  fine broad water (fjord?) at a little distance – road sandy but good – 2 or 3 enormous boulders close by the road and now at 7 40/” a little unpainted hamlet and the water near to us – at  8 1/4 good wood bridge over broad river cataracty and pretty and now alongside it for a little way – unpainted cottages – wooded hill with bare mossy rock (and another bridge 3 minutes from the first and cross river again) several yards square bare, which does answer to Handbooks description (page 137) ‘like specks’ (larger than specks) ‘on the green mantle’ – drizzling rain – more cottages yesterday and this morning than before little cows chiefly red but some white and some black – very few speckled or mixed colours – still big boulders and Scotch fir forest – and sandy road (red coarse gravelly sandy road) – then other hamlets and bridge and little cataract 5 or 6 minutes from the last (after 9) about 8 25/” and at 8 33/” had passed the good bridge over the cataract  

at 8 33/” alighted at Högfors to breakfast –  boiled milk and good bread and butter – very nice house to sleep at – the  beautiful cascade (3 falls) of the river Kymen full in our view as we sit at breakfast – 15 feet of fall? or more? the little unpainted hamlet, the red mill, the lightish oak stained timbers and arches of the good wood bridge across the stream just above the falls – the unpainted mill, the little grey (i.e. unpainted) cottage or 2 on this side, with the pine forest at the back –  altogether a beautiful bit of scenery – Ann has been sketching it –  off at 10 57/” from Högfors where we bought a rye cake fearing we might fare worse – they had no more (would not sell) white bread or rusks – a traveller told us we might well sleep at Urpula or Sackjarvi but not at Risalaks – Scotch fir forest again and boulders all the latter not granite – observed one broken open a mass of granite smallish gravel (at 11 1/4) and the soil here a coarse sand or fine granite gravel upon road ditto – all the soil on the hill side here of this gravel covered with boulders and sprinkled over with Scotch firs –  it is all along here that so much naked (mossy) rock is seen – and now 11 22/” at a little distance is the long line of unpainted cottages forming the village of Högfors? our road very winding – good road – a little stream close right now at 11 22/” for a minute – here, and everywhere in Finland rude, light, one horse ploughs – Forest all along and some enormous boulders – at 12 1/4 the fjord (right, near) and Fredericksham in sight – go along the river like arm of the fjord till 12 23/” over another arm of the fjord, and now straight to Fredericksham again the bouldery bushy common – alder, and juniper bushes – cranberry heather and brackens – green-warty pasturage among the boulders and bushes – now at 12 1/2 pass thro’ little hamlet – at 12 33/” after passed thro’ the deserted outworks enter the gate of the town, and at 12 38/” at the Station at the opposite end – not a soldier at the guardhouse at the gate – four passed us in the town – a good green cupola-topped church tower and good white church, and white washed good hotel de ville with pea-green topped cupola tower –  and a brick round building with green roofed dome – and some good looking house but the town seems dull and deserted tho’ the drums of soldiers have just struck up their enlivening sounds – good, wood loghouse station – off at 12 47/” – yellow a prevailing colour here – good barracks and exercising ground near the gate going out of the town, and soldierlike soldiers at drill there – barracks handsome building – yellow with white corinthian columns and window frames and dark coloured roof (darker than dark lead colour) – the water stretches a little on this side, and pass thro’ suburb of low unpainted cottages – now at 1 7/” fjord near (right) considerable expanse of water shut in by forest to the water’s edge – rock and boulder and thinly wooded (left) – and birch bushes among the juniper –  road sandy as before – till 1 20/” alongside or near this water –  and now among hilly, mossy, thinly wooded rocks with another peep of the beautiful islandy fjord – and a log cottage or by the wayside – other peeps at the fjord afterwards – Grönvik at 2 1/4          

Grönvik to Pytterlax 17 1/2 versts

to Wiburg 94 1/2         to Fredericshamn 16 2/6

Helsingfors 187 1/6

St. Petersburg 230 5/6

Lone house – new one – not quite finished –  will be very good – many good outbuildings the fjord at a little distance in front – forest all round –  several carts (little low waggons) at the station and met several with a large tonneau (holding several English hogsheads?) covered over with matting 1 in each little waggon – spirits I suppose off again at 2 1/2 – same sort of hilly rock, thinly wooded (think young forest) as last stage – coarse sandy road but good –  a few pitches all today but nothing to frighten anybody –  one may say, road hilly – here 2 55/” the gravel of the soil looks like limy chalky gravel – the rocks where bare have been stripped of their moss to build with etc. – at 3 10/” a little unpainted hamlet –  still big boulders here and there – and another snow plough or 2 – same sort of country and road on last stage or two –  at 3 20/” near to fjord again (right) and a few cottages or barns scattered about and corn fields as always near the huts – and in 5 minutes (3 25/”) an unpainted hamlet of little farms, as the little hamlets always are – oats out in little round cocks, and potato tops not yet cut here – black and white and red and white little cattle – this stage rather more hilly or pitchy than the last – flock of sheep – these and all we have seen in Finland look as if not very long since shorn – 3 50/”  road sandy – at 4 emerge from the forest – plain – fjord  some little distance right and village near it, and at 4 among the unpainted cottages 7 or 8 red roofed goodish houses (to the left) form a good looking village – at the station at 4 5/” Pytterlax – good 1 story line of brick barrack nearly opposite to it – the station house neat but small log house with red roof – large boulders lying in front of the house on the green –  and snow plough – red and dark green granite boulders – went in – always nice clean beds – might have slept  there very well –  

Gronvik 17 1/2 versts

Urpala 15 4/6 versts

 good whitish bread here – off at 4 21/” – hardly out of the little village before we reenter young Scotch fir forest again – rocky and boulder as before – from top of hill (steepish pitch) at 4 27/” looking down extensive open wooded plain – hamlets and cottages (unpainted) – and into distance right fjord and red-roofed village on the fjord therefore goodish village or little town pass over bridge over narrow stream (at 4 28/”) and thro’ one of the hamlets (very picturesque) colour of the weathered (unpainted) houses hardly differing from that of the great boulders lying all around – bits of pasturage among them and the young Scotch firs and junipers and little patches (fenced off) of corn – just now and last stage several yards of the road lay over the bare granite rock and as we just now galloped down the smooth slippery looking I marvelled at our getting down so very well at 4 55/” after more morsels of rock-road, another looking down upon extensive plain dotted over with hamlets and barns green rye and fields, and stooks of corn and big boulders as before but better cleared? and just now we pass some stolpe-bods and the roofs begin to overhang a yard or 2 at the ends – difficult to tell the unpainted roofs from the boulders in the distance – the distance all round shut in by forest – the potato tops here tied in little sheaves or bundles and hung over the fences to dry now at 5 again a little drizzling of rain and enter forest again –  this up and down hill and dale foresty breaky drive very picturesque and pretty – now at 5 20/” another lesser plain in view left – over our low birch forest mixed with scotch fir very young 8 or 9 years growth – and now more rain now at 5 25/”  another wide plain (left) as before an unpainted left near and a little red roofed village more distant ahead more population today than before since Åbo? we pass scattered unpainted village at 5 1/4 – picturesque rock and big boulders interspersed among the little cottages – 

at 5 1/2 pass wood bridge over little river and alight at our neat good little station – nice rooms – soon settled for the night at Urpala – they are Russians cannot speak hardly a word of Swedish or German so that we are all alike – no! one of the women can speak a few words of German – nice open airy situation – water not good since our landing in Finland, except Ann thinks at Nyby – Ann made tea in our little boiler –  John (Winter) fried us 1/2 dozen eggs – the people furnished us cream (we had our own bread and butter) and in about 3/4  hour we sat down to a very comfortable meal – and sat long over it – we had 1/2 a roll brought from Stockholm become very hard but good – we had rusks from different places ditto morsels of white bread and London biscuits so that the fine-rye cake we bought this morning was not wanted – we have latterly brought away butter in our little Götheborg wood butter-box and changed it pro re natā when not eaten e.g. this morning, we left our Nyby butter and took brought the Högfors butter – we have also one still unfinished pot of preserved lemon from home and red currant jelly from Stockholm, and Mr. Behrens’s (pronounced Bairnes) comfits that he gave us at parting – strong and warm of orange peel or essence of mint – In fact, we do very well – Rain and thunder and lightning between 7 and 8 for 1/2 hour – had Grotza about 7 1/2 – afterwards Ann and I at our books – she at the antiquities (Lardner) of Greek and Rome and I at my Swedish Russian grammar and writing the last 20 lines – yesterday and today in the carriage, looking about me, or writing, or dozing a little or reading Handbook or looking into Russian grammar – I have almost mastered the letters –  

Last night at Aborrfors 1st time of finding our room comfortably warmed – tonight, too we found the stove in the hall (the large middle room onto which all the others open) burning and our rooms very comfortable sure sign we are in Russia – the mornings end evenings are beginning to be more than cool – sat looking over Swedish Russian grammar till now 10 10/” p.m. at which hour Fahrenheit 59 1/2º - Rain in the night – fine but dullish morning –  a little drizzling rain just before and at the moment of arriving at Högfors – afterwards fair but cold and a good deal of cold wind till drizzling rain about 5 p.m. and heavy rain and thunder and vivid lightning between 7 and 8 p.m. I did not hear the thunder but saw 3 or 4 flashes of lightning –  Do not hear it raining now at 10 1/4 p.m. –  

Anne’s marginal notes:

little hamlet and mill and alighted at Högfors (good Inn) to breakfast –

the boulders of fine gravel

Roofs begin to overhang.

=

Water not good

Urpala

Russian spoken

+

stoves lighted

WYAS pages: SH:7/ML/TR/13/0035     SH:7/ML/TR/14/0002      SH:7/ML/TR/14/0003

A view of Högfors (Finnish Korkeakoski) from 1837. Anne and Ann were here two years later, enjoying the view of the cascades as they breakfasted at the inn, and Ann sketched them (image source):

A 1832 view of the barracks and exercising ground in Hamina (Fredrikshamn) that Anne observed (image source):