#metal painting services near me

[quantifynorthamerica]

Mastering the Metal: 7 Professional Tips for Perfect Metal Painting Every Time

When it comes to construction projects, metalwork is often a centerpiece, providing structural integrity and aesthetic appeal. And when metalwork is front and center, a flawless paint job becomes a necessity. 

So, how do professionals achieve that perfect finish, void of streaks, bubbles, or chips? The answer lies in mastering the art and science of metal fabrication and metal painting. If you're in the construction industry, understanding some key tips can be a game-changer.

Our world today is so advanced that it's no longer sufficient to just slap on a coat of paint and call it a day. Professionals in the construction industry understand that metal painting when done right, can transform a project from average to awe-inspiring. So, buckle up as we delve into these seven tips that every professional must know to excel in metal painting.

1. Proper Surface Preparation is Key

Let’s kick things off with a universally acknowledged truth: the secret to a sensational paint job is all in the prep work. It's like baking; even if you have the best ingredients (in our case, paint), if you don’t prep right, that cake (or metal surface) is not going to look or taste good.

Firstly, get up close and personal with that metal surface. Inspect every nook and cranny. Using a wire brush or sandpaper, be the hero that banishes away old paint, rough patches, or any rust trying to claim territory. This isn’t just about aesthetics; a super-clean surface means paint clings better and resists chipping.

But wait, there's more. After your cleaning spree, you're not just ready to splash on the paint. Take an extra moment to prime that metal surface. A good primer acts like the best wingman, ensuring that your paint looks good and sticks around for the long haul.

2. Choose the Right Paint

Stepping into a paint store can be like entering a candy shop for adults. Rows of vibrant colors, shiny tins, and, oh, the possibilities. But while all those options can send your imagination into overdrive, remember this: metal is no ordinary canvas, and it demands its special kind of paint.

Think of your metal surface as a VIP guest. Would you serve just any drink to a VIP? No, right? So, always select high-quality, metal-specific paints. Epoxy and enamel paints are like the champagne of the paint world for metals. They not only provide a gleaming finish but also stand the test of time. For more details visit us at https://quantifyna.com/.

And here's a tiny secret: those premium paints? They're not just about brand bragging rights. They genuinely offer a richer color, longevity, and protection that standard paints might struggle with.

3. Use Appropriate Tools

Imagine trying to eat soup with a fork. Sounds absurd, right? Similarly, using the wrong tools for painting can lead to frustrating results. For metal painting, your tools are your trusty sidekicks, ensuring that every stroke is purposeful and effective.

For those smaller areas or intricate details, brushes are your best friend. They offer precision and control. When covering vast metal expanses, rollers come into play. They're the speedsters of the paint world, letting you cover ground quickly. Want to feel like a painting superhero? Grab a paint sprayer. It promises a silky-smooth finish faster than you can say "perfect paint job."

But remember, quality matters. It might be tempting to save a few bucks on cheaper tools, but trust us, investing in top-notch brushes, rollers, and sprayers can make the difference between an "okay" and an "oh wow" paint job.

4. Opt for Multiple Thin Coats

Alright, pop quiz time. What's better: gobbling down a whole chocolate bar in one go or savoring it piece by piece? Similarly, in the painting realm, layering thin, delicious coats is much more rewarding than a thick, hurried slather. Think of it as the art of patience. Each layer, meticulously applied, contributes to a result that's nothing short of masterful.

Thin coats have their party tricks: they dry quicker, minimize unsightly drips, and avoid those pesky bubbles. So, instead of rushing for that intense one-coat coverage, embrace the zen of layering. After each coat, take a breather, let it dry, and give it a once-over. You're not just painting; you're crafting a masterpiece.

5. Mind the Weather

Weather isn't just about deciding if you need an umbrella or sunglasses for the day. When you're knee-deep in a painting project, Mother Nature can be your best ally or your trickiest adversary. It's like planning a picnic; you wouldn’t head out without checking if rain is on the horizon, right?

For painting, especially with metal, the elements play a starring role. Paint adores a warm, dry day. It basks in it, dries uniformly, and flaunts its best colors. However, throw in some unexpected moisture, chilling cold, or sweltering heat, and you might find your paint acting all sorts of moody.

Keep an eye on the forecast. A dash of planning can save you heaps of rework and disappointment.

6. Regular Maintenance is Essential

So, you've painted that metal surface, and it looks like a million bucks. But wait, the journey doesn't end there. Think of your freshly painted metal like a garden. With a bit of regular care, it'll continue to bloom and impress.

Every so often, play detective. Whip out your magnifying glass and inspect for any chips, scratches, or signs of wear and tear. Addressing these minor hiccups early can prevent a more significant headache later. 

A gentle cleaning routine can also work wonders. Keeping the metal free from dust, grime, and corrosive agents ensures the paint continues to shine bright like a diamond.

Still in doubt? Remember that "metal painting services near me" search on Google? They often provide maintenance insights or even services to keep your painted surface in tip-top shape.

7. Stay Updated with Industry Trends

The world of painting isn’t static; it's as dynamic as the latest fashion week. New shades, innovative techniques, breakthrough products: it's all happening. So, why not be in the know?

Just like you wouldn't want to be the last person to know about the latest blockbuster movie, staying updated in the metal painting world ensures you're always a step ahead. Be a trendsetter, experiment with the latest products, and flaunt those results.

Subscribing to industry magazines, joining online forums, or attending workshops can be your golden ticket. Soak in that knowledge and dazzle with your up-to-date expertise.

Conclusion

Metal painting, when executed with precision and expertise, can elevate the overall look and durability of any construction project. It’s a combination of artistry, science, and patience. By mastering these seven professional tips, you're well on your way to delivering stellar results every time. Whether you're a seasoned professional or someone looking to delve deeper into the industry, remember that perfection lies in the details. 

Read More:

The Hidden Costs of Not Cleaning: A Guide to Industrial & Warehouse Wall and Ceiling Cleaning

Elevate Your Cleaning Game: Insights from Commercial Coating Services International on Rafters and Ceilings

Decoding Commercial Flooring: Which is Right for Your Business?

[baileyblouin24]

Revitalize and Protect: The Ultimate Guide to Industrial Sandblasting Services by CC Blastworks

Industrial maintenance and restoration demands precision and efficiency, especially when preparing and refurbishing surfaces. Sandblasting, a highly effective method, stands out for its ability to clean and revitalize a wide range of materials. This guide explores the comprehensive services offered in industrial sandblasting, focusing on the transformative effects these services have on metal, concrete, and more while highlighting the exceptional contributions of CC Blastworks Sandblasting in this sector.

The Essence of Surface Refinement

Sandblasting propels abrasive particles at high velocities to clean surfaces, effectively removing old paint, rust, and other contaminants. This process prepares surfaces for new applications, whether for aesthetic improvements or protective coatings.

Water Blasting Services: Precision Cleaning

Water blasting services offer a powerful yet precise cleaning method, ideal for surfaces that require a delicate touch. This technique uses high-pressure water to remove dirt, grime, and other substances without damaging the underlying material.

Vapour Blasting: Gentle and Effective

Vapour blasting is a technique that combines water and abrasive media to clean surfaces gently. It's beneficial for delicate surfaces where maintaining the integrity of the material is crucial. This method ensures thorough cleaning without the harsh impact of traditional sandblasting.

Metal Sandblasting: Enhancing Durability and Aesthetics

Metal sandblasting is crucial for removing rust from steel and preparing metal surfaces for finishing. This process restores the material's appearance and enhances its durability by preparing it for protective coatings that prevent future corrosion.

Spotlight on CC Blastworks Sandblasting

CC Blastworks Sandblasting exemplifies excellence in the field of surface refinement. Their comprehensive range of sandblasting services caters to various needs, from commercial and industrial to marine and residential projects. Committed to quality and customer satisfaction, they utilize advanced technology and innovative methods to achieve outstanding results.

The Advantages of Choosing CC Blastworks Sandblasting

Opting for CC Blastworks Sandblasting means securing a partner dedicated to the highest service standards. Their expertise in removing paint from concrete, eradicating rust from steel, and providing specialized water blasting services ensures that every project is completed with utmost precision. Their approach not only focuses on immediate surface improvement but also on long-term protection and durability.

In industrial sandblasting, the choice of service provider is crucial. CC Blastworks Sandblasting's dedication to excellence and its wide range of services make it a standout option for anyone looking to revitalize and protect their assets. Their expertise in handling diverse materials and their commitment to delivering tailored solutions underscore their position as leaders in the industry.

In summary, industrial sandblasting services are integral to maintaining and restoring the integrity of various surfaces. Professionals can effectively prepare and protect materials for various applications Through water blasting services, vapour blasting, and metal sandblasting. CC Blastworks Sandblasting, focusing on quality, innovation, and customer satisfaction, represents the pinnacle of service in this domain. Their ability to meet and exceed project requirements, regardless of the complexity, makes them an invaluable partner for achieving lasting results and ensuring that surfaces are visually appealing and structurally sound.

[khinklepainting]

Hiring an Uninsured Painting Contractor Can Be Dangerous

It is quite tempting to choose a painting contractor who does not have a license and/or who does not have insurance. Even while they can provide you with an opportunity to save money in the short term, the potential risk that they pose to you in the long term might not be worth the money that you could save in the short term. Think about the reality that hiring a Painting Contractor that isn’t insured is a serious threat to your current financial situation. If a worker is injured on your property and the painting “contractor” does not have worker’s compensation insurance, you could be held financially responsible for their medical bills.

In what ways might your decision to choose an uninsured painting contractor put you in jeopardy? It is the direct responsibility of the homeowner to avoid hiring an unlicensed contractor. As a consequence of this, the homeowner is responsible for any issues that arise as a result of the work performed by an unlicensed contractor.

If an employee of a painting “contractor” gets hurt while working on your property and needs to spend a significant amount of time in the hospital, various insurance possibilities may come into play depending on the status of the contractor. In the event that the contractor possesses a valid license, the costs will be reimbursed by the workers’ compensation coverage that he maintains. If he does not have a license and does not have insurance, then your coverage will take precedence.

In the event of a severe collision, the party who was hurt will almost certainly initiate legal action in order to seek compensation for the harm they sustained. If you purposefully hire a contractor who is not licensed, and an employee is wounded while the contractor is performing the contract, your insurance company has the right to deny the claim, leaving you accountable for any medical or personal injury costs that arise as a result of the injury. In the event that the insurance company is successful in obtaining a judgment against you, a lien may be placed on any future assets that you acquire (including an inheritance or money from your business). Your credit report will reflect any judgements that have not been paid in full until such time that they are removed.

Before you choose a painting contractor, check to see that they are covered by worker’s compensation insurance. It is important that you take the time to verify with the insurance company that the coverage is still in effect and that it will continue to be so throughout the duration of your engagement.

Call us Today — (760) 360–2424

[tasteracha]

a/n: a teensy little birthday ficlet

it’s your birthday - you expect to be looked after, waited on hand and foot, treated like a goddess sent from the heavens. and you are, for the most part; seungmin tends to not do anything without a small complaint though, so your home-cooked breakfast was served to you with an exaggerated sigh, your nails were painted perfectly with a roll of his eyes, and he covered the both of you in a blanket so that the two of you could cuddle together while you watch your favorite movie with a fond shake of his head. 

little acts of service accompanied by snark, as if he couldn’t catch himself loving you, or something. it’s okay, because you know that he does - the ring he put on your finger a few months ago has it engraved on the inside of the band, and it’s not like he can take back the sweet things he said to you when he was on one knee now. 

and as such, with the way the day has gone you fully expect you to be taken to bed at night, laid down on the pillows and allowed to be a princess while he ravished your body with his hands and mouth. perhaps a small comment about how desperate you were, how wet he was making you, or something along those lines. 

he had other plans though, evidenced by the way he pushes you to your knees near the foot of the bed after he walks you into the bedroom instead of coaxing you into the sheets. 

“is my pretty girl ready for her dessert?” he asks, sliding a hand into your hair and scratching at your scalp, leaving you a bit overwhelmed. his hand sends zings of pleasure running through you, and you barely notice the hardness of the floor under your knees in favor of focusing on the way your head spins and your mouth begins to water. 

this was seungmin, after all. if you had learned anything about him in the years you’ve been together, it’s that you can’t really ever prepare for him - he was always going to catch you off guard, and you loved it. 

he unzips his pants slowly, each tiny metallic sound matching the drumbeat of your heart as he finally frees himself from his boxers and strokes his half-hard cock. his other hand leaves your head, resting just under your chin so he could thumb at your bottom lip. 

“can you get wet for me?” he asks, the most polite thing he’s said all day to you. you know he means your mouth, and you let your spit pool up in it, but you can’t help the way you begin to leak into your underwear too. he feeds you his cock centimeter by centimeter, letting you suckle on the top of it before sliding in until he reaches the back of your mouth - not enough to make you gag, but it’s a close thing. he knows your body in and out though, knows exactly how much is teetering on the edge of too much.

“slow,” he instructs, a little breathless as you start to hollow your cheeks around him. “you want to savor your dessert right? this is a special occasion, after all.”

you groan and your eyes flutter shut, and you let the weight of him rest on your tongue. his hands weave back into your hair, holding you in place as he thrusts shallowly in and out of your mouth. you let him have his moment for a minute, sinking into a floaty haze, but it’s not enough. 

it’s your birthday, and if you want to suck his goddamn cock then you will.

your eyes snap open as you begin to suck on him in fervor, a bit messy and wet but you know he likes it like that. you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock before swallowing him down, pulling noises out of him that he rarely lets out unless he’s caught off guard. you pull out every move, the dirtiest licks and flicks of your tongue accompanied by you humming around his length, and you know when he gets close by the way his knees buckle a bit and his hands tighten in your hair. 

he pulls you off of him with a hiss, panting as he he strokes himself off over you. his free hand cups your face and holds you right where he wants you, chin up so you're staring right into his eyes. you can see the pleasure take over his face and he whispers happy birthday, baby just as the splashes of his release coat your eyelids, the curve of your mouth, the bridge of your nose.

you’re both breathing hard as he calms down, removing his pants before helping you up your feet. he sets you onto the bed and kneads at your thighs with his big hands, leaning in to kiss you without a care in the world towards his come on your face. 

“you had your dessert,” he dances his fingertips into the waistband of your shorts, toying at the lacy material of your underwear. “now it’s time for mine.”

–

“i know you said that you were my dessert,” you yawn, much later, pushing your face further into his chest that you had repurposed as a pillow. “but you did get me a cake, right?”

[thehomophobe]

When they get hurt 🤕 (Part 6 of 6)

🌑 Moon 🌑: Nightfall. Your second job begins. Security wasn’t something you thought you do since you were always more technologically inclined, hence why you’re one of the mechanics. But hey, your manager offered you another job because one security guard already quit and you wouldn’t mind a second job.  Which leads you to here, walking around a dimly lit mall with nothing but a flashlight and a taser. 

Well, at least you can stay with your favorite animatronics longer. 

Freddy, Chica, Monty, Roxy, Sun, Moon.

Moon…You wonder where he is. Usually, this is the time where he would surveillance along with you. Perhaps he’s hidden in the darkness, waiting to scare you from above. The wire doesn’t attach to the main lobby but sometimes Moon climbs along the railings of the ceiling. You never get tired of his little pranks. Before, he would scare you away to make you quit. You can’t blame his wariness for humans, after everything he told you about how the staff disrespected both him and his brother. You would to if all your “coworkers” never gave you a damn with anything. 

Of course when you came along and helped the twins clean the daycare, things changed. One thing being Moon’s approach to you; a calmer, less hostile attitude whenever you visited. A later translation of how he enjoyed your company. Soon you find little handcrafted gifts at the work desk of the daycare. A note, drawing, a bracelet, a dreamcatcher. And after that, sneaking into the daycare to cuddle with Moon while the children, and Sun, are asleep. Maybe a little confession was made in between the cozy chasms of a pillow fort one day ago. What a lovely date it was.

*skitter skitter*

What was that?

*screee…*

The sound of metal startled you. You flashed your light, your hand shaking slightly. It has to be Moon. He’s just trying to scare you. All good fun right? Your breath quicken a little. Shining the light near a corner, you saw a shadow slink back. Could it be a raccoon? 

*tick tick tick*

The light shined further into the dark until…a single red eye bores down to you. 

That’s no raccoon. 

Slowly, you raised your flashlight towards it. A gnarled hand covered its one eye as it cowed. You couldn’t see anything else, but you exactly knew who it was. 

“Moon?” You question.

...

*tick tick tick*

The sound of metal clicking alerted you. You moved the light away from him, but just enough for you to see. Once your friend got closer, the details got clearer…and horrifying. 

Half of Moon’s face was torn off, the skin peeling away like dry paint. His right eye was completely gone as the skull underneath was exposed. An upper part of the torso was broken and exposed. The skin casing of both arms was removed with his right hand gone from his arm. Through the light, you realize that Moon was crawling towards you, but it was due to a missing left foot. The poor dear. 

But what horrified you the most was the fact that his lower jaw was ripped off. 

Hence why he wasn’t talking. 

You could see his voice box was attached, but the usual jaw functions of the endo weren’t working. You crouched down to your lunar-themed android and held his face. (Is it really a face?) “Moonbeam what happened?” You knew he could speak but you were too hurt. All he did was lean into your touch. Good god…

”Here let me help you up.” You try to stand Moon upright. He struggled, must’ve lost connection in his legs. Doesn’t matter, even if his 8ft body was crushing on you, you’re gonna drag him down to Parts & Services. With a flimsy arm around your shoulder, you both start your journey. You can hear a faint “thank you” coming from Moon, or maybe your mind was playing tricks on you.

Down in Parts & Services, you lie Moon down. His singular eye was unmoving, must be in rest mode. That won’t stop him from feeling the pain, so you completely shut him down. You grab an extra usb to upload Moon memories into the computer. Good thing the electricity was still on; you didn’t want to find the fuse box in the dark with a heavy animatronic in hand. You removed Moon’s tattered clothes and skin, exposing the inner wiring. You need to replace his endoskeleton since fixing the old one would cost you. Just grabbing the wiring is necessary for the body structure. And they’re not replaceable…

Unplugging all the wires, you dragged the old endoskeleton out and threw away the torn costumes. New endos hid in the nearby closet like skeletons as in the common metaphor. Since the twins had the same endo, you just found one tall, lanky skeleton and hobbled on back to the operating table. You imported the code to the new endo while you attach the wiring back to shape his body. Since every new endo already has the eyes and jaw, you won’t have to worry fixing it. Finally, you added the new layer of skin and new clothes for your darling Moonshine.

You powered him on.

Moon rubbed his eyes as if he fell asleep for 100 years.

”Good morning sleeping beauty.” You teased. 

“Shouldn’t you be home by now?” He asked.

”Well I couldn’t since a certain someone was completely broken. How that happened by the way?” Moon looked away. What’s there to be ashamed of? “Well?”

”Fell.”

“Off of what?” He pointed upward. “Oh…Makes sense.” You nodded.

“I think your shift’s over starlight.” He’s right. You got to get home. You kissed his temple and rushed out of Parts & Services.

[universitypenguin]

Chapter 17

The Princess & the Lawyer

Summary: Elliot reveals what ‘Mercury’ referred to, unleashing a flood of bittersweet memories in Lloyd that lead him to re-explore the darkest parts of childhood and uncover evidence of a devastating betrayal. Meanwhile, Princess deals with the aftermath of her near death experience and grapples with doubts about the true identity of her stalker.  

Masterlist

Word Count: 6,021

Warnings: Contains descriptions of child abuse, memories of being buried alive, description of taphephobia - aka, the fear of being buried alive, vivid description of a panic attack - written in a manner intended to draw the reader into the physical experience of a panic attack. Contains content related to police corruption, murder, criminal behavior, police investigations, a scene involving emergency room care, and stalking. Minor foul language. Only appropriate for 18+ readers. No minors allowed. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Chapter 17

Lloyd skirted around a thicket of weeds and ducked under the branch of a towering giant hogweed, scowling at the unwelcome intruder. The disrepair of the property grated on his nerves. He added another mental note to his to-do list for tomorrow: call a weed removal service to clean up the invasive species his father had allowed to thrive in the backyard. They rounded the thicket and the beam of Elliot’s flashlight fell on the dilapidated garage. It was halfway hidden in the woods behind the house and screened from view by the untrimmed weeds. 

“What are we doing here?” Lloyd asked.

“Hang on,” Elliot said. 

He pulled on the garage door handle and to Lloyd’s surprise, it swung easily into the rafters. Elliot flipped a switch on an extension cord by the door to turn on the overhead lights and Lloyd stared, speechless.

“This is what ‘Mercury’ was referring to,” Elliot said. 

“A Mercury Cougar… my mother’s car,” Lloyd murmured. 

“Yep. Your Dad asked me to restore it last year. She turned out gorgeous. The keys are inside, if you want to take it for a spin.” 

His throat felt thick as he stepped forward to inspect the bright metallic blue paint on the 1971 Mercury Cougar. He knew every inch of this car, from the cassette player his mother had installed in the dash herself, to the buttons on the radio dial, the white leather bucket seats and the fold-down rag top with squeaky hinges. He ran his hand over the glossy paint. 

“It’s beautiful. You did a great job.”

“So, you remember this car? I think she must have had it before my time,” Elliot said. 

“Yeah. I don’t think I was in school yet when she was driving the Mercury. She’d let me sit on her lap and pretend to drive when we drove into town. I remember she put the cassette player in the dash by herself… She was always listening to music…” 

The rush of memories startled him - crystal clear and bittersweet, they grabbed him by the heartstrings and twisted, sending a painful bolt of emotion through his chest.

Elliot shuffled his feet. “Anyway, this was where Holbrook thought I’d stashed the drugs. Everyone in town knew I was working on it all last year, so it was only logical.” 

His cousin cleared his throat awkwardly and reached for the flashlight he’d set on a tool chest. “Know what? I’m gonna head in for the night. See you tomorrow.” 

When there was no one around as a witness, Lloyd bowed his head and let the emotions sweep through him. He waited, expecting tears, anger, something, to come out of him… but nothing came. He felt empty. Cold. Alone.

… Abandoned. 

The joyful memory of riding on his mother’s lap while she drove only stirred faint echoes of anger. It mostly dragged up a raw feeling of pain, the kind he had little experience handling. The emotion burned in his belly like whiskey and he swallowed hard as his mind replayed the scenes from the past. Even decades couldn’t wash away the smell of her heavily perfumed hand lotion as it reached across time to fill his head with its musky scent. He could remember the exact shade of her nail polish - Kelly Green - and the softness of her hand stroking his hair. Even perched on her lap, he hadn’t been tall enough to see over the wheel. 

Lloyd turned away. He shut the garage door and started back to the house before the thought of Elliot waiting for him made him pause. Company was the last thing he wanted right now. He was a riot of conflicting emotions, which was exactly the state of mind Dr. Blair recommended he should avoid. Odds were, Elliot was locked in a bathroom, either shooting up or smoking meth. That wasn’t a confrontation he needed to have right now so he changed directions and headed for the barn. 

It was a bad idea, but he couldn’t stop himself. 

In the barn he checked on the sick calf and gave Jane a bag of oats. His mind mechanically ran through tomorrow’s to-do list, as if on autopilot. He needed to call the gravel company about repairing the washed out road and coordinate the pick up of the sick calf with April. He’d have to help her load up Jane, along with what remained of the fresh hay. The horse would board with her for a few days before her new owner came down from Coeur D’Alene on Wednesday. Then he needed to contact a weed removal service about the Giant Hogweed in the backyard and… take his cousin to rehab. 

Lloyd sighed, rubbing his eyes. Yeah. He needed to do that more than any of the rest of the final chores. April had asked him to help Elliot. He had, but the job wasn’t finished yet. The decision settled his nerves, and he moved down the aisle, ready to initiate the confrontation.

Then, a chill ran down his spine. 

He hadn’t realized where he was standing. He was in the middle of the barn, equidistant from the back exit and the front doors, in the center of the aisle facing the east wall. Straight ahead was the half open door of the tack room. Goosebumps raised on his arms and crawled up the back of his neck as the chill wrapped around his lungs and spread into his heart. He dragged his gaze away, but it was too late.

It was cold. It was so very, very cold.

His hands were shaking. 

He watched the shaking spread to his forearms and felt it rattle through his chest. His muscles clenched and shuddered. He grit his teeth against the wave of dizziness and reached out to brace himself on the wall, but missed. Numbness came after the cold. He recognized the fumbling reaction and knew it meant he’d entered the phase where his sense of spatial awareness disappeared. Fighting for breath, Lloyd panted. He had the presence of mind to drop to his knees as the room tilted, and then he was down on his hands and knees, trembling. 

He tried to move but it was as if the force of gravity had quadrupled. Lloyd groaned. It came out like a whine. He needed to get out of here. Pressure built in his chest, discomfort and then a sharp pain. It ripped through his sternum and sliced into his back, climbing up his neck. This feeling was why he’d thought he was having a heart attack when the first panic attack struck him in the middle of the night, when he was alone in his cell in France.

His muscles were rigid as the attack rocketed through him. When it eased, they went limp and Lloyd slumped to the ground. There was no point in trying to move - he’d been through enough episodes like this to know. His head was swimming, his throat hurt, and nausea roiled his stomach. Gradually, the symptoms eased, and he was able to sit up with his back to the wall. The position had him facing the tack room door. 

The events that had occurred inside the tack room were known only to three individuals. One of them was dead and of the two who remained alive, Lloyd was the sole person at liberty to speak. Joe was the one who was dead and Dr. Blair was bound by doctor-patient confidentiality, and Lloyd… He was constrained by the same intangible force that had kept him muzzled for over thirty years. In therapy, Dr. Blair had resorted to hypnosis to help him shed the gag that choked him. The treatment helped. Afterwards he’d been able to talk about it, at least in his therapy sessions, but never anywhere else. Never to anyone else. 

He’d painstakingly translated the ugly memories into words and then repeated those words, over and over, until he could recite them as if reading from a script. He’d written them down and burned the pages. Dr. Blair’s approach was to expose him to the memories until he could dominate them, instead of the other way around. Lloyd hated it, but it worked. The boiling temper that had been his constant companion all his adult life eased to a simmer. A few months later, the panic attacks stopped. Except for flare-ups brought on by acute stress - which only seemed to happen at night - they’d disappeared.

He hadn’t been naïve enough to think that years of therapy could overcome the effect of being confronted with the physical reality of the tack room. That was why he’d tried his best to avoid this place all week until his inability to grieve had drawn him to it.

What if he went inside? Would it help?

Just the thought of it made his guts twist with the urge to vomit. He could go inside, Lloyd told himself. His father was dead. Joe was dead, and maybe going into the room as an adult would give him some sense of victory.

Victory? He doubted that was possible. Maybe closure was a better word. You would probably use a word like closure to describe what he was hoping to achieve. He didn’t know if he believed in closure. For people like you it seemed to work, but people like him held onto things, especially negative things. 

Lloyd inhaled sharply through his nose, huffing the alfalfa scented air in an effort to calm his racing heart. Having a high level of self-awareness was a major downside of prolonged therapy. He hated knowing what was wrong with him, but being unable - though, perhaps ‘unwilling’ would be a better adjective - to change. Whatever it was, inability or unwillingness, he couldn’t embrace ideas like closure. He needed the hatred and rage foraged inside of this barn because it had built a nuclear reactor inside of him that powered his every waking moment and kept him alive. That reactor was still alive inside of him, there was just a better containment system for its toxic fumes. 

None of his justifications made much sense, and he knew it. But he also knew the unhealthy coping mechanisms worked, and that was why he couldn’t let them go. He held onto the irrational belief that if he let go of the hatred, he’d turn into dust, like Lot’s wife. She glanced back at Sodom and Gomorrah and had become a pillar of salt. He imagined himself in a direct inversion of that tale - if he didn’t look back, then he too, would crumble. 

Lloyd used the wall to help him climb to his feet. His chest heaved with effort. The half open door taunted him. He’d already gone inside once, on his first day here, in the middle of a sunny morning, to gather up Jane’s tack. He hadn’t stepped foot in it since and had even gone as far as avoiding looking at the room. This wasn’t a good time for this showdown. It was dark, and that was a problem. Acknowledging that fear made him feel like a child, but it was too strong of a compulsion to ignore. 

Lloyd moved toward the opening, feeling as if he was being sucked into a black hole. The rational part of his brain screamed at him to turn around, but something more powerful than rationality drew him forward. He stared into the dark until his eyes adjusted. There, mounted on the wall, was the bull whip his father had beaten him with. You’d think he’d be covered in scars, but that wasn’t how Joe used the whip. He’d tied Lloyd’s hands to the upper saddle rack and shoved a bandana into his mouth so no one in the house would hear.

There was a slim chance that Ingrid or Josephine would be bold enough to come down to the barn if they heard the noise.

Joe never whipped the girls - just Lloyd. When he was strung up, his father would unfurl the whip and double it over. He swung it like a billy club and stuck Lloyd in the back. He held the thin part of the whip that would have broken the skin by coiling it around his fingers. Then he’d use the thick part to cover his son in bruises. The bruises were deep because his father was a strong man with bouts of temper like a hurricane. Lloyd could take almost any beating without a sound by the time he was five. That’s probably why Joe had to think up a worse punishment. Lloyd couldn’t remember a time before the worse punishment, so he figured he must have adapted at an even earlier age than his memories could reach.

Without needing to turn on the lights to find his way, Lloyd stepped into the tack room. His feet took him to the far corner behind the lower rung of saddle racks. It was too dark to see his hand in front of his face on this side of the room, but regardless, his fingers immediately found the latch. He raised the lever and opened the small trap door. His heart was racing as the scrape of the hinge triggered an unexpected rush of adrenaline. 

He was nine years old all over again. His back burned, his legs stung, and blood dripped down his temple. Of course, he didn’t cry - that would only make things worse. 

The stoicism had stayed with him, a permanent feature of his personality. There was no undoing it - the abuse had carved it too deep. Even now he couldn’t offer a genuine reaction to his most intense emotions if his life depended on it. Intense emotions, except for anger, which was a different matter altogether, had an unusual effect on him. When those feelings came, he felt as if he were shoved into another room where they couldn’t reach. They still existed, but weren’t a part of him. That mental space was like Schrödinger’s box - there was something there, something brewing; it was neither real nor unreal, because he was inside the box and everything else was outside. He liked that frame of mind. It could last for hours sometimes. Lloyd wished it was permanent, because it felt blissful, like the mindset people aimed for when they were meditating.  

At present, he couldn’t draw up the stoicism or enter that calm, peaceful mindset that usually protected him in moments like this. He felt panic swarming up, but even so, he just couldn’t stop. He raised the trap door and found the lip of the cover underneath. It moved like a pocket door and slid out of the way. He pushed it into the recessed compartment under the floorboards to reveal the box.

The box was cut into the floor. It was approximately the size of a coffin, but deeper than a typical coffin would be. Its thick oak boards were double wide and sealed with linseed oil. Lloyd swung his feet down, one, then the other. He tried to stand up and his knees buckled. He caught himself on the edge of the box and realized he was panting.

Unlike in Singapore, there was no smooth hardwood floor to assure him everything was okay. You weren’t here, just a room away, where all he’d have to do was cross a threshold to reach the comfort of your presence. 

Instead, it was hot and the tack room was stuffy. 

The box was double walled, so no one could hear him scream. Joe had always shoved him in the box after beating him. Spans of time in the box varied, but he’d recalled that he’d spent three days in it once. When he was younger, he’d tried everything to get out, expending every ounce of his energy until he was exhausted. That changed as he grew older. By the time he’d gone to kindergarten, not pre-school, there was no pre-school in these parts in those days - he’d known how to handle the box. He knew to lie still and count his breaths. To cry silently, because when he was silent, Joe would let him out faster.

Lloyd’s vision blurred. It was still too dark to see, but he felt around, searching the floor. This was where he’d hidden the pouch of rocks and arrowheads he and Ingrid collected in the woods. He remembered stashing them in here the summer after he’d passed five-foot four and had officially outgrown the box. When he couldn’t find them, he considered using the light on his phone, but decided against it. This place wasn’t meant to be seen. He could feel Joe’s ghost breathing down his neck as he ran his hands over the floorboards. 

There was no leather pouch in the right upper corner, where he remembered putting it. On the chance he was mistaken, Lloyd reached into the far side of the box. His hand brushed something metal and he felt around its contours and realized it was a square metal container… no, rectangular. It was about the size of a tackle box. 

Had Joe re-purposed the torture chamber as a hiding spot for drugs? It would be just like him… 

Lloyd climbed out of the recessed grave and slid the lid closed, then shut the trap door. He carried the box into an empty stall and turned on the overhead light. 

It was a tool box. He recognized it by its unusual teal color - his mother had kept it in the trunk of her Toyota, a vehicle Joe had bought her after the Mercury broke down. He pried open the rusted lock with his pocket knife and found a leather pouch in the top tray. Lloyd unlaced the leather ties and found the polished treasures of his childhood. They were nearly in perfect condition, if a little dusty. He rubbed one on his shirt and held it up to the light, admiring the shiny chunk of obsidian. It was a rock he’d spent hours polishing. He sorted through the pouch and recognized several pieces. A jasper stone, smokey quartz, an agate nodule, and the prize of the collection - trio of star garnets.

Lloyd lifted the tray and found a pile of cassettes. On top of them was a blank envelope, which he opened to find a couple wallet-size photographs. The first was of a little girl with pale blonde hair. She was missing both of her front teeth. He’d been the one to persuade her to tie a piece of floss around the second front tooth and fasten the other end to a doorknob. He’d even helped her slam the door to remove that final stubborn baby tooth. Josie had screamed and bled and rightfully blamed him for the painful ordeal for the next three weeks. The second photo was of a girl with sable hair. She had high cheekbones, dense eyebrows, and a full mouth. Ingrid bore such a strong resemblance to their father that it was almost hard to look at her. His eyes misted, and he felt a spasm in his chest. Anger rose as grief sliced through his soul. 

They’d vanished. There had been no warning to allow him a chance to prepare for the blow. It had wrecked him. He could still remember the agony and confusion in the following days. He hadn’t known what to do with himself in the time between their disappearance and Joe’s return. At first, he’d figured they’d come back. Then it clicked - she’d really done it. His mother had snatched his sisters and taken off and they had left him behind. That moment of comprehension was when the grief set in and overpowered the anger. 

He couldn’t tolerate staying in the big empty house alone, so he’d packed a backpack and headed into the woods. The following days were filled with denial. He’d pretended he was a wild boy who lived in the forest and didn’t have a family and that his sole connection with the big ranch house in the clearing was that sometimes he’d watch the people who lived there. He told himself he was only sad because the family who occupied the house was on vacation in California and he missed watching them. 

He’d loved them. 

He’d loved his mother, even with her psychotic episodes, because she’d loved him. The memory of riding on her lap in the Mercury proved it. Despite her erratic moods and the uncontrollable outbursts that had scared him, there’d been a level of awareness, even as a child, that she couldn’t control those things. He’d loved his sisters, too. He’d loved them more than anything in the world. If they were still alive, he still loved them. 

There was a piece of paper at the bottom of the envelope. Lloyd fished it out and recognized the tri-fold pattern of a letter. It had a small piece of tape holding it shut and when he turned it over, he found his name written on the back in a looping scrawl. The handwriting was instantly familiar, though he hadn’t seen it in thirty years.  The handwriting revealed the identity of the person who’d left the cassettes, preserved his rock collection, and chosen this tool box to store them in.

His mother hadn’t left him without a word. She’d left him what appeared to be the entirety of her cassette collection, a few pictures of his sisters, and she’d written him a letter.

By themselves, the items were innocuous enough but placing them in his torture chamber… that was an arrow to the heart. It was proof that she’d known what Joe was doing to him. He’d often wondered if she had a clue about what he was going through in the barn, but until now he couldn’t be sure. There was a part of him that questioned if it was possible for her not to know, but he’d always given her the benefit of the doubt. Now, there was no benefit left to give. 

His mother had known Joe buried him alive under the floorboards of the barn. She’d known that he was down there, breathing in the thick, humid scent of earth that still reverberated through his nightmares today. Lloyd could forgive her for allowing the beatings. Hers were just as frequent, if not more so, than his. But the fact that she’d known about the box…

He crushed the letter into a ball.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

An emergency room doctor who looked as if he’d witnessed enough history to make textbooks jealous, splinted your wrist. You accepted his referral to an outpatient clinic and promised to schedule a follow up next week. Detective Diskant was in the waiting room with Zach. He took your statements and asked lots of questions you didn’t know the answers to.

By the time Zach unlocked the door of Lloyd’s townhouse, you felt like a zombie. The combination of adrenaline crash and pain medication was a potent one. Landon showed up with a duffle bag for his boss and they both grilled you on the finer details of Aiden’s text messages for two more hours. You tried your best to be helpful, but it was useless. They were clearly questioning whether Aiden was behind the messages and the other incidents. While you saw their point, you couldn’t think of an alternative suspect. You agreed with Zach that you should reach out to Mr. LeDoux in the morning and that you would work from home one Monday.

Lloyd was due back Tuesday. That would be a hard conversation and you weren’t looking forward to hurting his feelings, but you’d made your choices and still considered your actions to be in his best interest. Landon left at midnight and you checked that the downstairs guest room had fresh sheets and stocked the bathroom with towels before going upstairs. 

Ten minutes later you were in the shower, crying. 

It was so unfair. You’d only dated Aiden for a few weeks. Why would he do this? Did his bruised ego really demand such disproportionate retribution? What if he wasn’t your stalker? Who else could it be? The last two questions nagged at you, especially considering your recent confrontation with him. He’d had you alone, and he’d been free to harm you, just like the text messages threatened. The exchange with Aiden had been belligerent, but not overtly threatening. Maybe it wasn’t him. 

In its overwhelmed state, your mind couldn’t tolerate that version of reality. With so much uncertainty already hanging in the air, the one fact you’d come to terms with was the identity of the threat. Knowing Aiden was your stalker helped you understand his motivations and respond accordingly. If it wasn’t him, then what? What options did you have to fight a shadow?

Your mind swung briefly to the Nguyen case, and the missing identity of Julia’s “sister.” Her identity was even more shadowy than your stalker’s and that was another question you needed to tackle. First thing tomorrow, you promised yourself. Right after you and Zach called Mr. LeDoux. The thought of calling him made your stomach pitch. Tears came even harder as your imagination took flight, bringing up questions and asking you to consider possibilities you didn’t want to think about. What if you’d accused Aiden prematurely? What if he was innocent? Then, you cried because of how miserable crying made you feel, and because of the whole horrible, rotten situation you were in, and because you were scared that it wasn’t Aiden who was stalking you after all. 

You finished showering and were in the middle of your skincare routine when your phone rang. Lloyd’s name flashed on the caller ID. Sobs were still shaking your shoulders, which caused you to watch the phone ring for a moment. You worried about his reaction if you answered in this state, but he’d been so busy that he hadn’t called much this week and you needed to hear his voice. Swallowing back your tears, you answered. 

“H-h-hello?”

“Princess?” The sound of his silky baritone eased the painful tension in your shoulders.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“What’s wrong?” Lloyd asked.

“I… uh… I’m watching Marley & Me.”

Silence. “You refuse to watch that movie because you know the dog dies in the end. What’s really going on?”

“I had a fight with my sister,” you lied.

“About what?”

“A lot of things… we just sort of… got into it.”

“Are you okay?” Lloyd asked.

“I’ll be fine. How are you? How’s the ranch?”

“I sold the last of the cattle, but I’ve got a sick calf in the barn. And two days ago, this evil bitch tried to kill me.” 

You giggled. “Was the evil bitch an actual bitch?”.

“She was a blonde.”

“You pissed off a golden retriever?”

“Think bigger. She was a Charolais heifer with the longest horns I’ve seen on that breed. My father clearly wasn’t trimming their horns these past few years. Of all the chores to miss…”

“What did she do? Try to trample you?”

“I had a plan to get her into the trailer, she had a plan to resist, and then seized an opportunity to try and gore me.”

“I don’t know what that means, but it sounds awful. What happened?”

“I roped her.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “Excuse me?”

“It seems some skills come back under pressure. I haven’t roped anything since I was eighteen.”

“Lloyd, were you a cowboy?”

He laughed. “Every ranch kid is a cowboy, honey. It’s not that remarkable.”

“Well, I think it’s remarkable. Can I see your cowboy skills sometime?”

“If it would cheer you up, I’d give you an in-person tutorial.” 

You perked up. “Will you bring your lasso home? I can think of all kinds of uses for it…”

Lloyd wasn’t amused. “I don’t think you realize what a lasso is made out of. It’s meant for animal hide, it would shred your skin.” 

“What about chaps? Spurs?”

“It’s too hot for chaps in August, and if you need spurs, get rid of the horse.”

“Seriously? You’d just get rid of the horse?”

“That was my father’s philosophy. He liked his horses like he liked his people - well trained.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. 

“Lloyd, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Not really. My cousin got into some trouble, and I helped him out of a jam. He’s here with me now and… Joe’s funeral is tomorrow. I don’t think I’m going to go.” 

“What kind of trouble is your cousin in? Is there anything I can do?”

“No. I took care of it. We aren’t close or anything. He’s my father’s sister’s kid; she died, and he grew up in foster care. The only place I ever saw him was at school.”

“That’s so… sad.”

He chuckled. “That sums up my week. I spent Friday hunting down the last of the cattle and ended up hip deep in a mud puddle.”

“How did that happen?”

“I was chasing a cow. She figured out that the only place she could go, where I couldn’t - at least not on horseback - was a giant mud puddle.”

“Did you rope her, too?”

“Yes. And don’t ask me how I got her out, because it’s a four hour window of time I deeply want to forget.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, fighting back laughter.

“On a totally different subject, I’m bringing home 800 pounds of beef…”

“Lloyd!”

“After what she put me through, I’m damn sure going to eat her.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“It’s called the food chain, baby.”

“I’m not eating any beef you serve me for the next two years,” you said.

Lloyd snickered. “Hippie.”

“You’re really going native on me aren’t you?”

He laughed, but it sounded tired.

“Have you been sleeping well?” you asked.

“I can’t sleep. I miss you.”

Tears filled your eyes, then spilled over. You sniffled.

“Princess? Are you there?”

“Yeah…” your voice came out as a half sob.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“I’m sorry. I just… I’m not having a great day and the last thing I want to do is dump it all on you. You’re already handling so much.”

“Don’t worry about me. Tell me what’s going on.”

You stared at the splint on your wrist, and thought about what could’ve happened if Zach hadn’t been with you tonight. You thought of your confrontation with Aiden and the photo left on your car on Friday night. Lloyd would get on a plane if he knew what was going on and because of you, he’d miss the chance to attend his father’s funeral tomorrow. While you understood his hesitation about going, you wanted him to at least have the opportunity to go. If there was even a tiny possibility that putting his father in the ground would help him lay his demons to rest, you needed him to have it.

“Princess?” Lloyd asked.

You took a deep breath. “I’m having some problems with… Aiden. He’s… um… you know, this isn’t a conversation we should have over the phone. When you get back, I’ll tell you everything, okay?”

“Zach would be more than glad to rearrange Aiden’s face, if you asked him to. He’s been itching to do it since he met the kid.” 

Your laugh was watery. “Hey. I could totally do it myself. Landon and Jake gave me a self defense lesson.”

“Because of Aiden? Why? What did he do?” 

“He’s probably harassing me. Zach found out today and confronted me about it. By the way, he’s staying in your guest room tonight.”

Lloyd grunted. “Good, and you didn’t answer the question. How is he harassing you? When did it happen? Does Jake know? Nevermind, of course he does. He was probably your first call.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I thought I could handle things and it turns out I was wrong.” 

“I’ll be home by Tuesday afternoon, maybe sooner,” he said.

A day and a half. You could make it that long. 

“You know, this is the longest we’ve ever been apart,” Lloyd said.

You blinked. “It is?”

“Yeah. Since we started working together, we’ve never been apart for more than five days in a row.”

“What about when I had the flu? I was out for a whole week.”

“I brought you soup and medicine that Friday night.”

The memory made you smile. You hadn’t been working for him for very long and opening the door to a scowling Lloyd had been quite the surprise. He’d carried a pharmacy bag under one arm and a carry out container from his favorite restaurant in the other. The soup was vegetable noodle, with extra broth. 

“I remember it now. Did you know you’re an amazing friend, Lloyd?”

“It was probably weird of me to show up out of the blue, but I had to do something. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I couldn’t cope if I lost you.”

The pain in his voice worried you. He was hurting and you wished you could stop it. Tears filled your eyes again.

“Do you need me to come out there?”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ve tied up all the loose ends.” 

The catch in his voice made you frown. “Lloyd, what happened?” 

“I had to take care of a few things with the less than legal side of my father’s business. He wasn’t just a rancher and I had to motivate some local thugs to… move to a different scene.” 

“Ah. I see. Should I find a lawyer in the area, or do you have someone on retainer? I’m only asking in case your methods attract the wrong attention.” 

He grunted. “Local law enforcement is a bit tied up at the moment, but just in case, there’s bail money in the safe. The passcode is 917889 - if you can’t remember it, tell Jake it’s my three favorite Super Bowls in order. He’ll understand.” 

You rolled your eyes. “I tend to forget they play the Super Bowl on a yearly basis.”

“I can help you out with that. We’ll watch my favorites together when I get back.”

“Can I take an Ambien first?” 

He laughed, and the line fell quiet. You wondered if you should tell him exactly what was going on, but figured plenty of people knew already. You’d filed the official complaint with the police and Detective Diskant was putting more resources into the case tomorrow. Besides, in thirty-six hours, Lloyd would be home. 

“Lloyd? I’m glad you called. It’s nice to hear your voice.”

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“I am, I just need some sleep.”

“Don’t work too hard,” he said.

“You’re the one who spent the last week playing cowboy. How’s your back feeling?”

“I’d rather not say because it would make me feel old.”

You giggled. “If it helps, I’d be out of commission within an hour if I tried that kind of work.”

“Princess, you don’t like your shoes getting dirty in the rain. You’d shrivel up and die at the amount of dirt and mud out here. Especially if you saw the amount of it I’ve tracked into the house.”

“I can imagine it, and it’s not pleasant. But if you need me, I’d be there in an instant. You know that, right?”

“It goes both ways. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

His words were spoken so tenderly that a lump the size of a golf ball swelled in your throat.

“I know.”

“Shit, I made you cry again.”

You wiped your face, laughing. “I’m sorry. I’m a mess, but I wanted to talk to you.”

“You never told me what Aiden did. Did he call you? Show up at the office? Your apartment?”

“It’s not important. Zach is downstairs and I’m safe. We can talk more tomorrow, just come home safe.” 

“Alright. Sleep tight, Princess. I’ll be home soon,” Lloyd said. 

Your heart fluttered. There was a wealth of affection in his voice that wrapped around your heart, and though it wasn’t spoken, his words held more love than any explicit confession could convey. 

“Goodnight. I love you.” 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Next - Part XVIII

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[downwiththeficness]

Shadow and Veil-Chapter Forty

Summary: Eva Moore’s life was a carefully constructed fiction.  Every day, she did exactly what her mother in law, her husband, and his  best friend expected of her. No mistakes. And, that was going pretty  well for Eva right up until a huge complication literally tried to run  her over. Now, she’s faced with trying to keep the pieces of her life  from falling apart while attempting (and failing) to keep her feelings  for her husband’s new business partner at bay.

A/N: This fic is a sister-fic to A Need So Great and A Need Unleashed.  You do not need to have read ANSG or ANU to read this fic, but there  are Easter eggs from those fics in Shadow and Veil for readers with keen  eyes.  This fic is explicit for canon-compliant blood, gore, violence,  and sex. As such, it is intended for an adult audience, only. A/B/O  dynamics come with their own warning. Anyone under the age of 18 should  not interact with this work. I do not consent to reposting this work to  other platforms. Reblog only to Tumblr.  

Word Count: ~2200

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Eva watched Horacio key into the apartment with her mouth pulled down into a frown. This trip felt far longer than the last, even though it was half the distance. At every turn, they were met with delays. A layover that almost caused them to miss their connecting flight, a run-in with customs, and a terribly irate taxi driver who took the turns too fast. It was as if the very universe wanted to keep them out of Mexico.

The hit of the air conditioning across her face was very, very welcome. Eva sighed as she followed Horacio inside and set her bags down next to the door. Her shoulders dropped from where they felt perpetually shrugged up near her ears. The sweat on her brow evaporated, taking all the discomfort with it.

She toed off her shoes and closed the door. Then, she took a look around.

It was...nice.

She guessed.

The walls were freshly painted and the furniture was new. Some artwork dotted the area, like the kind she might find in a hotel. The décor was all clean lines and sharp, shining metal. As if the room was trying to project an air of sophistication that it definitely did not have.

Horacio opened the fridge, “We have groceries.”

“Do we have alcohol?” Eva replied in a wry tone.

He leaned down and plucked a bottle from the shelf, “We do.”

“Thank God,” she sighed, “I have needed a drink for at least four hours.”

“Only four?” Horacio asked as he popped the top off two bottles.

“I was being generous.”

“Oh? I couldn’t tell.”

She rolled her eyes and took the bottle from him, drinking deep, “Do you think that driver actually had a license? Because I have doubts.”

One side of his mouth lifted, “Should I call the union?”

“You think they have a union?”

A shrug, “Its possible.”

“We’ll call them in the morning,” Eva drawled as she dropped onto the couch, “I’m too tired to deal with customer service.”

Horacio sat down next to her, “You didn’t have to come with me. You know that, right?”

Eva cut him a look, “Yes, I did.” A pause and a sigh, “I’m not having this argument again.”

He leaned his head back against the couch. Eva felt his had reach for hers and looked down to see their fingers threaded together.

“Its only for a few weeks,” Horacio muttered, sounding tired.

“I know.”

He looked at her, “I mean it.”

“I know.”

Horacio pushed from the couch with a soft grunt and pointed at her beer, “Finish that, and we’ll see if the bed is any good.”

Three hours and one desperately needed nap later, Horacio was warming tortillas in a pan while Eva plated the rice and vegetables at the island behind him. The bed was...fine. Serviceable. But, she missed their bed at home. Missed that it smelled like them. Missed the warmth of the comforters and the low drone of the fan Horacio insisted had to run at full speed throughout the night.

A knock stopped her hands from throwing the serving spoon back into the pot. As far as she knew, they weren’t expecting visitors. Horacio flicked off the stove top and went to answer it. Eva watched him the whole way, fingers squeezing the handle.

Javier’s face was not exactly smiling when Horacio opened the door, but it didn’t have the usual glare. He greeted Horacio with a firm hug and a pat on the back. To Eva, he sent a nod and something that was very nearly a smile. She returned it and went to get another plate.

There was no dining room in the apartment. The three of them ended out hunched over the coffee table so they could eat. Between bites, the conversation went through the motions of catching up on each other’s lives.

Javier listened to Horacio talk about buying the house, about his promotion, about the bullshit levels of paperwork that came with that new position. He asked how Eva was adapting and seemed genuinely concerned when she talked about how hard it was for her to get a job.

“Why isn’t she working for you?” he jerked his chin at Horacio.

He shrugged, “She could, if she wanted.”

Eva rolled her eyes, “No, thanks. I’ve had enough police work to last a lifetime.”

“The woman has a point,” Javier asserted with a careless toss of his head.

“Thank you,” she replied, primly. The conversation paused for a moment, and Eva decided that they had delayed long enough, “So, what’s the plan?”

Both men looked at her with narrowed eyes, as if she’d broken some kind secret agreement to dance around the topic for a while longer. Eva lifted her brows at them and waited.

Javier dropped his napkin onto the table and took a long swig of his beer, “I’ve got a man on the inside who is willing to let us do transport. I told him we’d need to be conspicuous, but that we would protect the product.”

Eva cast her mind back to their first few meetings. She set aside the razor sharp nerves and the desperate fear that she would be found out so that she could think about what Josh might be thinking. Planning. Scheming.

“That’s good,” she said, eventually. “Josh already thought you were in the business of getting drugs across the border.”

A nod, “Exactly. We’ll do a few laps around town, draw his attention, and then let him come to us.”

Eva could only imagine what that might entail. She kind of looked forward to observing it all from a distance.

Horacio leaned his arms on his knees, “Its not a very complicated plan, but I think it will work.”

“What if,” she began, with hesitation, “he doesn’t come for you, himself? What if he sends someone else?”

Josh wasn’t in the habit of putting himself in the line of fire, so to speak. That was Alexei’s job. And, with the Russian dead, Eva thought he might be even more careful.

“He’s been looking for Diego a long time,” Javier said, “I think its a pretty good bet that he would want to confront him, man to man.”

Eva laughed, “You don’t know m—.” She cut herself off, having almost referred to Josh as her husband. He wasn’t. Not anymore. “You don’t know him. He won’t want to get his hands dirty.”

“Rage can make a man do things he wouldn’t, normally.”

“Are you sure he is enraged?”

“His whole life got blown up,” Javier said, “We took everything from him.”

She fixed him with an even look, “Yeah, but he got it back.”

“What?”

“He got it back,” she repeated, “The house, the money, the schmoozing with bureaucrats? That was just a hobby. What Josh loved was the work. The chemistry. He’s already doing that, now. Or, so I’ve heard.”

Javier was silent for a few seconds, mouth pursed into an ‘o’. Then, “What do you think we should do?”

The tone of his voice was soft, but he clearly wanted an answer. Eva sat back a little and thought about it. There were a lot of options, most of them so complicated that it would definitely extend the timeline Horacio promised her. She wanted to get back to Colombia as soon as possible. If they took the next plane out of the country, it wouldn’t be soon enough. But, how? How, how, how?

“You need to dangle something he thinks he owns in front of him. Something he will want to get back.” Here she paused and added, with emphasis, “personally.”

Javier drew back, “The fuck does that mean?”

Eva picked up her beer, “You said you took everything from him. He got the thing he cares most about back. The only thing he would even want is…”

It was a foolish thought.

A stupid, foolish thought.

Horacio leaned towards her, “Is?”

Eva looked at him, took in the warm brown of his eyes and that way he hadn’t yet tamed the curls that fell over his brow. He looked a bit like he did when they woke up in the morning. Sweet. Adorable.

“Me.”

All the warmth faded from Horacio’s eyes, “You?”

It was a question, but felt like an accusation.

She felt a small stab of insecurity about what she was about to say, but pushed on, anyway. “Yes. Me.” A breath, “I was property to him. A tool he used to do business. I can tell you that getting his operation off the ground here in Mexico was a hell of a lot harder without me to figure out the logistics and manage the money.” Eva looked at them both, in turn, “He’s going to want his tool back.”

Eva did not say the other half of her explanation. There wasn’t a need to remind him that there was something else Eva represented for Josh. That he had plans for her. It would have only pissed Horacio off, and she needed him to agree with her.

“No.”

Eva cut Horacio a glance, “No?”

“That’s right. No.”

Javier reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, “She could be right.”

Horacio’s lip curled, “I didn’t spend almost a year getting you away from him to let you put yourself back in his hands.”

“Let me?”

Hearing the venom in her tone, Javier stood and gestured towards the door, saying that he was going out for a smoke. Eva rose and began gathering the plates in an effort to stem off some the energy that came with her anger.

Horacio, to his credit, realized his mistake almost immediately, “You said you weren’t going to get involved.”

She had said that. At the table over dinner. On the plane. In the cab. She’d said it over and over, knowing that it was a lie. Deep down, Eva’s motivations were more complicated than simply wanting to be by Horacio’s side while he tried to take down Josh for the second time.

“And,” she replied, “You said that this would only take a few weeks.”

He followed her into the kitchen, “It will only take a few weeks.”

Eva scraped the plates clean and set them next to the sink, “You and I both know that’s not true.”

Horacio turned on the water and plugged the sink. While he squirted soap into the basin, he said, “I didn’t know you were an expert in covert operations.”

He didn’t often speak to her with that kind of sarcasm and it made Eva bristle. Nearly seven years of marriage was enough to give her an advantage over just about anyone in the world. When it came to Joshua Moore, she was content expert, and she didn’t appreciate the dismissal in his tone.

“Really?” she sneered, “Because I seem to remember that it took you months to even get Josh’s attention last time.”

She set the dishes in the sink and stepped aside so that he could grab the sponge. Horacio squeezed more soap onto it and picked up the first dish to scrub away the remnants of dinner. “That was planned,” he asserted. “We didn’t want to scare him.”

“Sure.”

He cast her a glare, “He’ll take the bait faster, this time.”

Eva took the clean plate from him and grabbed a towel to dry it, “Or, he’ll send someone to take the bait for him and you’ll end out shot in the back on the street.”

Horacio scoffed, “He’s not that much of a coward.”

“Yes he is!”

He was quiet while he cleaned the next two plates, dutifully handing them to her. Then, he reached down and pulled the plug, “What if he shoots you in the back?”

Eva finished drying the last plate and sighed, “He won’t. If anything, he’ll want to flaunt that he has me back right in front of you before putting a bullet in you. Gloat. Just like you said.”

They stood in front of the sink while water slowly gurgled down the drain. Eva could admit that they were both right, in their own way. And, they were both just stubborn enough to reach an impasse in the argument.

The door opened and Javier peeked around it, “Uh, everything okay?”

Eva shot him a brittle smile, “Everything is fine.” Then, to Horacio, “When you go out parading around town, I’ll go with you. Let him think that you’re using me the same way he did. That will enrage him. That will get him to confront you, man to man.”

Later, while Horacio was asleep. Eva sat on the couch with a beer. In the darkness, she stared out the apartment window to the street. It was quiet, far more quiet than she expected in such a populated city.

Eva drained the bottle and went to throw it in the trash. Then, she padded through the apartment and into the en suite bathroom. With the door closed, Eva flicked on the lights and reached for her carry on bag.

She set it on the counter and pulled open the zipper. Hands spreading two sides apart, Eva stared down at the only thing that mattered inside. The metal gleamed in the light, drawing her gaze down the barrel. The magazine was mixed in with her perfumes and there were extra bullets in her suitcase.

It didn’t really matter to Eva what Horacio had planned for Josh, once they got him in custody.

There was only one way this was going to go for him.

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

it's kind of insane to think about but i've only recently had to figure out who i am as a person.. and still don't really know what kind of person i am

not really at least

like, i was on active duty military from the moment i turned 18 until i was 26. my brain stopped cooking while i was in the most stressful job i'd had in my career, and i was a bitch.

i was straight-up mean.

it was (and still kinda is??) a point of pride that i was, like, i was the person the rest of my department would call on to be the no-nonsense one to snap back at the people giving us shit for a) things we had no control over or b) THEY were the ones that had control over the thing and somehow wanted us to fix.

i liked being that person for my department, being the bulldog, but when i got out of the service i was still reacting how i would back at my last duty station and whoo boy. i am my father's daughter, you feel me?

i've mellowed way out now but like...i still don't really know who i am outside of that.

i've learned a couple things, mostly having to do with what i like to wear/express myself with, after having to wear a myriad of uniforms for my whole adult life, have my hair tied up a certain way, it couldn't be any other color but a natural color, my nails couldn't be painted any color but pink, i could only wear a certain diameter metal (only silve, never gold) ball earrings and could only have one pair in my ears, have your boots shined, make sure you have your hat on outside, yada yada yada

now i know that i like vintage "ugly" grandpa sweaters, i shaved my head and LOVED not having any hair at all, i constantly wear gaudy novelty earrings, i almost always have a different color nail polish but is that actually who i am and how i like to express myself, or am i over-correcting?

idk, just realizing i dunno how to be a "normal" person of my gender/age because i wasn't anywhere near what a normal person like me would be (in the world, in ability to do what i want, etc.).

not knowing comes in exchange for being able to tell stories from the other side of the world, from on the open ocean, and i became a regular person and was set up well in life when i did because of it but i'm also realizing how much i really didn't like a LOT of my time in the service.

it's a common answer w veterans, but you miss the people the most. you don't miss the place or the command or what have you, but the people.

uhhh so yeah.. kinda lost the plot there, but there's some noelle lore for you all 😅

[ye-olde-sodor]

Hurt (A DC au fic) (Tw warning)

Hey all! Ths fic is a bit darker than what I usually post, so please read with caution! It isn't over the top dark and it has a happy ending so I included the ttte tags. Tw warning for depression and death mention! Angst but with a happy ending!

______________________________________________________________

Gordon sighed as he backed into the old shed at Vicarstown. He bid his crew farewell, and he let his weight sink into the old rails below. The shed was old and dilapidated, completely void of any comfort, but he didn't feel like running all the way back to Tidmouth. It was a miracle that he was even moving at all.

It had been years since Scott had sailed to America. After a change in politics left his tour unfunded and bankrupt, everyone had feared for the worst. Sure enough, to his utter horror, one of Scotts trailing wheels was delivered to Doncaster from America, and the nation fell into mourning.

The United States had repeatedly denied sending the wheel and scrapping Scott, but all of the evidence was pointing to the painfully obvious. Out of everything, it was the blatant denial of any wrongdoing that truly got under his metal plating. He fumed just by the thought of it.

Worst yet, the family had begun to finally tear away from it's surviving members. For whatever reason, Scott had made the young, inexperienced Mallard the family matriarch over him or even Spencer...and gave the majority of the money to him.

Did he feel betrayed? Of course he did, anyone in his wheels would feel hurt and bitter by that. Did he feel jealous? Name me a time where Gordon wasn't jealous. But above all else...he was in agony.

The sounds of his screams upon hearing the news still haunt the inhabitants of Sodor...several months after the wheel was first brough to Doncaster. Outrage and a need for vengeance fueled him in a mighty burst of pure fire. In a matter of moments, he became a raging inferno accompanied by the shrilled shrieks of the phoenix, only for the cold and bitter misery to arrive and smother that once mighty flame just as quickly.

That same fury nearly took hold of him again when Mallard swiftly left the funeral service to attend to Scott's will. How dare he abandon his only family to "deal with the necessities"?! Would it have killed him to pay his respects to the engine he claimed to view as a mentor? His predecessor, a father dare one say?! Like with the last burst of fury, however, it was quickly drenched in a water known as despair. As Gordon thundered down the line back home, he felt nothing but the numbness of depression.

Now here he was, sitting in a cold abandoned shed near Kildane, barely living but so far from death. His eyes felt sunken, and his smokebox door felt heavy. If he didn't know any better, he would've thought that his own face would come clean off its hinges, landing onto the ground with a sickening thud and disintegrate into dust.

His entire frame felt weak and brittle, but it still stood firm and strong under his weight. He had lost all of his energy and his sense of importance and high regard. He stopped taking the express since the day the wheel arrived and has been pulling filthy goods trains ever since.

His once proud and royal blue paint had become covered in soot, grime, and various other stains. His eyes were red from countless tears and sleepless nights, hindering his performance even more. Dark circles under his eyes accompanied the redness, further showing his deterioration and lack of self care.

To list every agony that Gordon is suffering through would take years. Gordon had become a fallen star, a star of which that was rapidly falling apart as we speak.

As he sulked in the crumbling shed, the low bellowing of a diesel had become audible. It's proud motor seemed to echo across invisible valleys as it approached. He shifted his eyes to look in the direction of the noise to see who would dare approach such a dilapidated structure. To his surprise, he recognized the large Warship.

"10? What are you doing here?" Gordon spoke weakly.

"I was just gonna ask you the same thing." he replied in an equally stunned voice. "This is usually my shed."

Gordon's weight shifted under the rails again. "Oh. I'm sorry...I can leave if-"

"No no, it's fine." 10 interrupted. "I'm just surprised is all. You can stay here, I'll just park beside you."

He did as he promised, and carefully backed into the shed, sitting on top of the rails to Gordon's left. Gordon heard a door open and quickly closed. Out of the corner of his eye, he could spy the mechanical arm of 10's driver speed away after bidding his engine farewell. Apparently he knew that the two were about to have an intimate conversation.

"How are you holding up?" The large engine asked cautiously.

At first, Gordon was hesitant to answer. Truth be told he wasn't well at all...but at the same time he didn't want to hinder anyone else and have them worry more about him more then their work. Fortunately, 10 already knew the answer, and spoke Gordon's mind on his behalf.

"About as well as you can?" he spoke gently, as not to come off as condescending.

"You and I both now how much it hurts," Gordon began. "To lose a sibling...but to lose someone who was guaranteed survival."

Gordon trailed off, tears already beginning to form in his eyes. For the first time in years, he felt weak. His eyes began to soften as he let himself show such a powerful emotion in front of what is supposed to be his replacement, his rival even. He had already let his emotions erupt before, so it would've been hypocritical to hide them anymore.

"There is no greater pain then that." he finished through tears.

10 remained silent, and respectfully allowed the other engine to sob. His tears streamed down his face and began to pool onto his buffers and the ground below. The rails slightly sunk into the now wet soil, a result of the ground underneath it being disturbed.

10 had never seen such a thing before. An engine sobbing in front of another was unheard of on the Mainland, so to see such raw emotion from someone so uptight...why he couldn't explain the feeling even if he could.

"And the worst part of it?" Gordon went on shakily. "It isn't even over yet."

"What do you mean?"

Gordon thought for a moment and decided that he could no longer bare the weight of his dilemma any longer. As soon as he composed himself as best as he could, he looked at the warship.

"Promise me you won't speak of this. To anyone. What I'm about to tell you must stay between us."

"I promise." he spoke carefully, surprised at how trusting the engine was being to him. Then again, anyone in Gordon's position would've been grasping for any sort of comfort. Even if his better judgement wouldn't allow it.

"It's Scott's will," Gordon explained weakly. "Ryan is convinced someone tampered with it in Mallard's favor. Everyone on Spencer's side of the family is convinced that there isn't any evidence for such a claim. Now Ryan and his siblings are up in arms against his."

10 was suddenly intrigued by what he was being told. He'd heard of stories about forgeries, especially during his time as a bounty hunter. He suddenly found a source of hope, that his past might finally prove useful.

"Why would he think that?" he asked respectfully.

"Mallard got a majority of Scott's finances and properties. The rest of it went to Spencer and his half of the family, myself and Ryan."

"That does sound weird...What's Mallard doing now?"

"I'm not sure, I haven't spoken to him since the funeral." he said. "Or anyone for that matter...you're the only person I've talked to about this."

Diesel 10 was stunned. Astonished even, more so then he was before. It was already bizarre enough to have someone like Gordon vent to him of all engines, but to have him be the only person to vent about his feelings to? Why, he didn't know what to feel! Honored? Prideful? Destressed? Concerned?

Gordon's eyes had finally dried, with the last tear falling into the puddle below him. He looked at the diesel with red, burned eyes. "I just don't know what to do anymore. I'm completely lost."

"Y'know you really shouldn't be taking all of this on your own," 10 spoke abruptly. "Why don't you talk to the other steamies? Or even Hatt? Can't you get advice from him?"

Gordon nearly had a stroke at the suggestion. "You can't just...ask your controller for legal advice! It's improper!"

"Y'know what else is improper? Not talking to the people who can help you." He said sternly but gently. "Believe me, you don't ever want to make that mistake. It's how you end up making mistakes that you can't fix."

Gordon suddenly understood what the Warship was referring to. He had known about the Warship's past, as did most of the island, but he was the only one who truly understood his upbringing. To be robbed of your original purpose only to be thrown into a new one, and to have it end up for the better or for the worst of you. It doesn't take a genius to know who ended up where.

Gordon respected him, in a turn of events. Was 10 at one point resentful of Gordon's own privileges? He would've been a fool to deny that. Did he eventually overcome this prejudice and turned into one of the islands most reliable engines? Yes, but it's hard to believe that an airport of all things could've been the catalyst for such a change in demeanor.

Either way, Gordon couldn't help but see himself in the Warships position. Gordon was sent to Sodor after being an excellent engine at Doncaster...and he felt betrayed by the decision. He liked where he was, his family was there, why did they take it away from him? Was he not good enough? Over time, he grew to love his new home and job, but it took many years for him to heal from the sudden changes and hurt feelings.

10, meanwhile, had the misfortune of being sent for scrap with the rest of his siblings, only to be salvaged by some lunatic who gutted his cab and installed a massive hydraulic claw into it. He spent years hunting down the engines that had fled their railways...but would return with a broken husk of an engine trailing behind him.

Almost all runaway engines are stored in sheds until their crews can find a proper sanctuary, but without proper maintenance and a lack of movement after so much time...The warship became less of a bounty hunter and more of a corpse collector.

The more he thought about it, the more Gordon realized just how much they understand each other. The two were so similar yet so very different. It practically scared Gordon.

Looking at the mighty Warship now, it's virtually impossible to tell that he went through so much. He cares for those around him, and he's been a gentle giant for years now. He's went through years of pain and torment and yet here is smiling and working hard as if it had never happened!

As Gordon thought more and more about 10, and how he managed to pull through in the end gave him a newfound sense of hope. While not nearly enough to overpower his grief yet, it gave him a head start.

"I...I'll see if I can get the chance to talk to him." Gordon spoke, having found his strength. "He is a rather busy man after all."

"If he really cares about you steamers like his kids," 10 replied, "Then I bet he'll make time."

Gordon was taken aback by the phrase. "You don't really believe in that little rumor, do you?"

It was a lighthearted joke on the island's part, but 10 believed it to be fact. After all, this was the Hatt family we're talking about. The very same family that would gladly break the law just to keep a steam engine from being scrapped.

10 chuckled lightly, "That was a rumor?"

"Depends on who you ask." he replied cheekily. While his mood was lifted, he knew it would be a long time before he truly felt better. This wasn't, however, meant to discourage the smaller steps…as he could already see a flicker of hope at the end if a ling tunnel.

"Hey, there we go!" 10 smiled. If he had arms, he would've placed one of them around his friend for comfort and encouragement. Alas, he was stuck with only his words. In any other case, he would've used his claw, but that would've damaged the already weakened shed.

Suddenly, the Warship had an idea.

"Say, I think we can squeeze the two of us in my shed back at home base."

Gordon cocked an eyebrow at the suggestion. "Oh? what about-"

"It's only a short drive, maybe 15 minutes tops. If we leave now we can-"

"10, what about our drivers?" Gordon interrupted with a slight laugh.

The Warship blushed as the realization had dawned on him. While it was quite the blunder, if he acts quickly, he can fix it.

"I mean we could always leave a note!"

…or not.

Gordon let out a long needed laugh, and it wasn’t long before the warship joined in as well!

The two allies would’ve laughed the night away if weariness didn’t overcome them. As the two settled their weight ontop of the old rails, Gordon felt a small warmth build in his firebox, and he allowed a smile to form as he drifted effortlessly to sleep.

[crimsonblackrose]

.

I wonder if the gave the guy who kinda bullies Kreese the same type of banana boat car that Mr. Miyagi drove and then gave Daniel on purpose.

I think it's supposed to be yellow but with the filter they put over it I'm not sure. No, I pulled up a shot I took of the banana boat and it's the same interior and everything.

Kreese's mom killed herself.

Kreese I was bullied and the worlc was cruel so I became a bully and cruel myself.

Everyone is back to white belt. And there's a bunch of kids now.

There's also a new girl.

Which is wild to me. What parent would be like, oh man there's so much violence right now with karate, a kid got put in a coma, let me enroll my kid in karate. ????

Lol and this is from your pale friend demetri. 🤣 Carmen, I adore you. She also listened to everything Demetri said, like don't leave it near the window because the plastic isn't uv resistant. Such a Demetri little caveat. Looks like an issue of Dungeon Lord, which Demetri loves but no clue if Miguel likes it.

That's from the LaRusso's.

Where's sensei? Well he was there, he bashed his head into a corner of a metal paper towel dispenser because he had no other way to see you, talked to you before he was caught and kicked out again. Now he's trying to find his son.

How far away is this place that Shannon's at that Johnny fell asleep? Though who knows, dude might just be exhausted from punishing himself.

Daniel keeps advil in the glove compartment. Daniel, you live in LA why would you keep medication in the glove compartment. Medication is affected by temperature. With the LA heat, that stuff probably doesn't work as much any more or it's changed.

Yoga, painting, trays of breakfast. Nice rehab: Malibu Canyon Recovery.

Lol I mapped it, it's only 16 minutes away from Reseda. Johnny's just exhausted.

She totally thought Daniel was dropping of his partner for rehab.

Shannon's journaling, Amanda sent her lavender essential oil helped with her insomnia. She's also going to kudos and concerns and has a life coach. She wanted to look for Robby but was advised against it.

man this must suck for Johnny. Daniel at his core is someone who wants to help people and he's helping pretty much everyone around him, but spent so much time fighting Johnny when Johnny wanted to just run his business. Like Daniel was Daniel at his core in episode 1. With the car. But between that and this point, except for the occasional run into each other because we have to via Amanda, the don't get along.

Johnny don't knock it, it's working for her, let it work. Plus 99% sure it's not her money but Daniel's.

Johnny's vacation idea was a monster truck show and he loved Truckasaurus.

They're bickering, they always bicker. I'm glad Shannon stood up for her rehab though.

Kreese you are too giddy about this trick. Bert named him Clarence. Rip Clarence.

This is messed up Kreese. Bert should've taken that hamster and run. But he uses it to weed out the kids from his dojo with soft hearts, which is pretty much all the new kid kids I spotted.

It is a pretty snake. But still, messed up Kreese.

Poor Bert. He's been kicked of teh team.

Hawk is the new Miguel. But like Kreese's Miguel at least for the moment.

Kreese decorated with war photos, military photos and a grenade????

The interior of Tory's apartment looks an awful lot like Johnny's and Carmen's apartment interiors. She's in apartment 2.

Tory's mom is on dialysis

Apparently the reason why Tory isn't in more trouble is because she's taking care of her little brother and mom. And she's already working doubles. She also has a probation officer and this guy is such a creep. He essentially is saying pay rent or sleep with him which she's still a minor. She's got community service hours, probation and studying for her GED.

Robby's 'friends' are in juvie and I think they're there because of their fight with Daniel. RSP is the name of the place. They're now scared of Mr. LaRusso and I guess not so much of Johnny because he showed up already beaten up.

They'd scam people at Tech Town in Panarama City.

I hate that the doctor had this conversation with Miguel's mom on the other side of his window and not somewhere private like his office.

Johnny being annoying with the corn nuts. 😂

A lead, what are you Tango and Cash, movie recommendation I guess from Amanda.

I love that Johnny knows the reference but thinks he has to lean over and talk to Daniel's lap to say hi to Amanda.

Johnny: I'm not lying to your wife for you.

And we've lost 1 corn nut in Daniel's car.

Kreese is going to let Tory attend classes for free. How very...Miyagi/Daniel of him.

Betsy's abusive ex's name was David. I really want to know which college he's supposed to be attending, but I can't tell with the letterman.

Lol David punches his friend.

young kreese to betsy: Need a lift, then back to modern day with Johnny getting gas with a sign that says lift. I see what you did there.

Daniel's to good for gas station food. I have no clue what Johnny asked for, almost looks like a churro.

Hey look at that, Amanda told Daniel to tell Johnny something and he actually did.

amount of corn nuts lost in Daniel's car: unknown as the whole bag hit Daniel in teh face and they flew behind him as Johnny peeled out of the gas station.

And Johnny broke Daniel's mirror. Bud, even if he's got insurance, Johnny that's still arguably a hit and run because you hit someone else's car, and insurance probably won't cover it because you were driving on the wrong side of the road when it happened. Sure, you're covered arguably by permissive use, but still, that was technically a hit and run.

Another great fight scene! Daniel's got the brain cell because this time Johnny's on papa bear mode, of where is my son.

Johnny pushes Daniel out of the way, but that also means the guy with the chain can fight Daniel.

Another guy goes for Johnny's neck, but this time with a chain. Whose keep score? I lost count. Third time? Fourth?

Hey look a sucessful: Duck. Daniel ducked and Johnny hit a guy with a wrench, which ow.

Oh hey, Daniel's in his first choke hold of the series.

Amazing team work.

Yes, Johnny should've stopped, but at the same time Daniel you didn't stop when you thought Sam was in danger or calm down even when Johnny tried to ask you to.

Johnny is right, you included Johnny on it. Saying you can't believe he taught kids isn't fair. This is his son. You'd do the same for Sam, you literally did before. And Johnny is going through it. Saying look how Robby turned out isn't quite fair to Daniel because again, what happened to Miguel was an accident. But this...

That's a low blow Daniel. Uncalled for. Which Daniel like instantly realizes because Johnny just completely crumples at that and takes the van, now his van because he never returns it, and leaves.

Sometimes Daniel's just...mean.

This is one of those moments where I go: GO GRANDPA KREESE GO!

Also whoever did the transitions, while I saw what you did last time, hate this one. Hate it so much.

I want to know what the arrangement is? Free rent? Or just a buffer for this week.

That is a terrible lunch Miggy. A cheese hot dog, beans, carrots, green beans and something red.

Johnny kept his hospital bracelet from last time so he could sneak in.

Surprisingly 100% the truth. He also got into a fight with two guys in a parking garage, but he also did take on the paper towel dispenser.

lol he's just listing them off. Couple goons at chop shop, paper towel despenser, some dudes in a parking garage. Guys just picking a fight with everything and everyone.

😭😭😭😭 He did what he was taught, showed mercy and now he might never walk again.

MIGGGYYYYYY 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

Robby's eating with Shannon. Looks like he's eating a half eaten sandwich. Poor kid probably hasn't eaten in days.

Awww the way Robby curled in on himself, scared then made himself smaller when he saw Daniel.

Robby, again, accident. Any one of the other fights could've ended up even more terrible. You didn't realize the railing was right there. You were scared and terrified and horrified but what happened.

First thing he wants to know after apologizing and promising to pay Daniel back for the van is to ask if Sam is okay.

I do appreciate that Daniel tells Robby that everyone's worried about him, even his dad. and then apologizes to him and promises to help him. that he talked to a lawyer and tries to explain the reduced sentence, but of course Robby hears the police coming first and feels betrayed. "You just kept me talking so I wouldn't leave."

Daniel promises to visit every day. But that trust is broken.

Johnny had multiple classes of students he trained and cultivated, and Kreese has kicked all but these ones out.

Kreese calls Betsy Doll-face.

He's off to basic training in Monterey (about a half hour away)

Kreese monologuing very quietly while all the kids are shouting. 😂I get that it's supposed to be them listening to it, but with how loud they're shouting, I kinda doubt they'll hear him at his conversation level of speaking rather than speaking louder.

[inherstars]

Gears of War | Long Way Home (4 of 11)

Oh look, it's just more of me suckin' up all that self-indulgence. Now with PTSD and sponge baths! Previous section here.

What could she do but follow?  She lacked armor, training, and a weapon… not to mention the skills to use any he might hand over to her.

The only difference between her and dead weight was that she was still alive.

The sparse, surviving crickets were deliriously loud by the time they made it back to the Post Office.  Black jammed the bayonet of his Lancer under the roll gate, wedging it up with a few powerful, levering thrusts until it jammed about twelve inches up.  When he sighed in frustration, Hope was all too glad to jump in with an assist.

“There’s probably something blocking it on the other side.  I can fit through.”

“We don’t know what’s--”

“We don’t have a choice.”  She flattened herself into the narrow gap between the roll gate and desktop, just about able to squeeze through to the other side.  “Give me a minute.”

The service area and back rooms were too dark to make out much more than unhelpful, amorphous shapes, but after a moment Black passed a battery-powered torch through the gap.

“Here,” he muffled from the far side.  “What do you see?”

She took it, chasing the entire window frame with the beam, then stretched to free something wedged near one top corner.

“...a piece of the drop ceiling caved in on it.  Hang on, I can… there.  Try it now, it should move.”

He grunted again, shoving, and this time the roll gate reeled upward, retracting into its housing with a soft squeal of metal.  He mantled awkwardly over the desk, drawing the gate halfway down before brightening the Imulsion lights on his armor.

“Thanks.  Good work.”

“Yeah, well,” she sighed, painting the darkness with the beam of her torch.  “Can’t let you do all the heavy lifting. 95 / 5 seems like a fair split.”

He didn’t look at her, but snorted softly through his nose as he explored.  Hope took it as a win.

They didn’t need much for the night, which was fortunate, because the building had little to offer.  There was a single, sizable room for sorting ingoing and outgoing parcels, a postmaster’s modest office, and a small break room for employees who would never return from their routes.  Hope broke off on her own to explore, idly sorting through a still-full mail sack and poking around the personnel lockers pinned with family photographs.  By pure chance she tested the water in the break room sink, and was overjoyed to find it still worked, if spottily.

“Hey,” she called out.  “There’s water.”

She turned an ear to the outer rooms, but got no response.  The heavy crunching of his boots was missing, as well as the ghostly bob of soft blue incandescence as he moved from place to place.

“Sergeant?”

And again.  Nothing.

Hope doubled back, retracing her steps until she found him at the mail sorting table, perched on its edge.  The Lancer was pinned upright between his knees, held loosely in his hands by the bayonet blade, but his eyes were blank.  His head stayed fixed at a slight angle, the disconnect so profound that he needed only a metal key in his back to look like a broken toy soldier.

She thought better of shaking him awake, and still hadn’t thought to ask his goddamned name, but couldn’t very well leave him like that.

Back to the break room.  She turned on the water until it stopped spitting and ran clear.  Searched the cabinets beneath and found a handful of cotton towels.  A plastic bowl for office party snacks.  A glass vase that once held someone’s birthday flowers.  She filled the vase and returned to him.

He hadn’t moved at all, though his fingers were more limp around the bayonet.  Carefully, slowly she slipped it out of his grasp and leaned it elsewhere, afraid he’d snatch for it in a moment of surprise and slice open his hand.

Hope thought for sure he’d snap out of it at the first pass of the towel, but it took time.  The water was cold, his skin warm but not feverish, and rivulets of pink slowly chased the musculature of his throat, his wide jaw.  She watched his face as she worked, waiting for him to find his way back from whatever dark room he’d accidentally stumbled into.

She knew when it finally happened.  Felt it, as a machine powering up from standby.  The shift in his posture was subtle, but he corrected the angle of his head, pupils zeroing into focus like camera lenses, and suddenly saw her again.  Realized he’d been gone.  Looked in confusion to her hands as she wrang out the bloodied towel and refreshed it from the vase like a ewer.

His eyes met hers, hyper-vigilant.  Terrified.  She tilted his chin back with a touch, cleaning the blood from beneath.

“Where did you go?” she asked.  His throat rippled with a deep swallow.

“It wouldn’t make sense if I tried to explain it.  And.  I wouldn’t want to try to make it make sense.”

Fair.  Hope continued working, a steady and predictable rhythm of saturating, wringing, cleaning, rinsing.  He stiffened at first, silently humiliated, but the longer she worked the more his weight sandbagged in place, unconsciously leaning into her touch.

“I don’t know your name,” Hope said after awhile.  She leaned against him, reaching around to wash down the back of his neck.  His head sagged forward, eyes closed.

“Black.”

“Yeah, I don’t want to call you ‘Black’.  What’s your first name?”

“Alex.”

That’s right.  She remembered now, she could hear it in the Colonel’s crisp voice.

“Like Alexander?”

“No,” he sighed, leaning his head to give her access to the side of his muscled neck.  Then back the other way.  “Alexis.”

“Oh.”  She wasn’t expecting that.  Something about that dug deep into her.  Burrowed inside her.

His eyes cracked open, head straightening as she rinsed the towel out again.

“And you?”

“Me?”  Pour.  Wring.  She picked up his arm and washed down its length, droplets of diluted blood pattering the asbestos tile.  His eyes followed her now, his mind no longer just bobbing on the low tide of consciousness.

“Your name.  I didn’t… catch it.”

“Hope.  Not short for anything.”  She relaxed one arm and picked up the other.  He was with her now, fully present.  Self-consciousness started to creep back in, but it all just felt too fucking nice to bother stopping her.  Anyway, unless she planned to crack his armor open like a sand crab, she was nearly done.

“Hope… listen, I’m…”  He sighed.  “I’m kind of an asshole.”

“Oh yeah,” she agreed, puckering her brow and chin with a small, convinced nod.  “For sure.”

Another snort, a fishhook grin that he directed off one shoulder, lest she think he found her charming.

“What I mean is--”

“No no, don’t go qualifying it,” Hope dismissed. “You’re kind of an asshole, let’s just leave it at that.”

He massaged his mouth, surprised to feel the shape of his own smile.  “Okay.”

“It’s fine, anyway.  I think you earned it.”  She tossed both spent towels into the crimson water, setting it aside, then rinsed her hands in the last of the vase water.  When it, too, was set aside she folded her arms.

“Look,” she said softly, gathering herself. “I’m a babe in the woods out here, I get that.  I’m probably the last person in the world that you feel like dragging across a fucking wasteland but… here we are.  We can’t go back, so we just have to keep going, right?”

He considered her, weighing her, then nodded.

“That’s about right.”

“How far to Jacinto?”

“If we were on the Centaur?  Two days, with breaks.  But that was going through the checkpoints.  And… being honest, I don’t think that’s our best bet anymore.  We’re going to have to hoof it unless or until a better option comes along.  That being the case, we might as well just travel as the crow flies.  We’ll hopefully get picked up by another convoy, or spotted by a Raven.”

She took a turn studying him.  “If we’re lucky.”

“I am Lucky,” he grunted.  “That’s literally my nickname.”

Hope boggled at him.

“Your nickname is LUCKY?”

He sighed. “Don’t get me started.  Just stick with ‘Alex’, for now.”

Alright. That was going to be a whole-ass conversation, but right now was not the time to have it.

“Anyway… my point was, I don’t want to be a liability to you.  I know it’s unavoidable, to a certain degree, but… I can actually be--”  Useful? Capable?  Helpful?  Were any of those things actually true?

Alex saw her struggling, and threw her a lifeline.

“I’ll take all that under advisement.  For right now… let’s just get some rest.  Sleep on it.  Tomorrow I’ll see what the map says, and we’ll figure it out as we go along.  And I’ll… try to be less of an asshole.”

She reached out, stroking a hand down his arm.

“No you won’t.”

“No,” his head sagged, shaking. “I really won’t.”

But she got a smile out of him that time, and not just a bullish snort.  Baby steps.

“Well,” Hope sighed, loading her arms with vase and bowl and towels. “In my inaugural move as officially being less useless, I’m going to go dump this shit, and then see if I can find somewhere for us to sleep.  There’s a couch in that break room with cushions.  Maybe a couple mailbags that are more letters than boxes.”  She looked him over.  “Do you have to sleep in the armor?”

“Better if I do,” he answered, hopping down from the table.  He realized suddenly he no longer had his Lancer, but quickly spied it where she’d leaned it aside.  He swung it onto the hooks on his back, relaxing as it clicked soundly into place.  “You go on ahead. I’m going to do a quick sweep of the perimeter, close that shutter.  Just make sure we’re secure for the night.”

“Alright.”  She nodded, turning for the door.  “Don’t be gone too long.”

Alex hesitated, gritting his teeth, then barked softly, “--Hope.”

She stopped to look back, cupping a hand to keep the bloodied water from spilling over the bowl’s rim.  He was struggling again, but this time in a different sort of internal debate.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last, avoiding her eyes.  “And… thank you.”

Hope smiled, straining with grief for him but unwilling to let it show.

She said again, “Don’t be gone too long.”

Continued here.

[angelofrainfrogs]

Spend the Night: Ch. 7

~Coauthored by @zeitghest~

Fandom(s): Five Nights At Freddy’s: Security Breach

Description: The familiar melody of Grandfather’s Clock chimes through the echoing halls of the Pizzaplex…

Charlie wakes up in her Puppet’s vessel yet again with one goal in mind: to stop William Afton’s reign of terror for good. She enlists the help of Glamrock Freddy, the emphatic leader of the newest iteration of the Fazbear Band. But there seems to be more to this bear than meets the eye—and the same goes for the mysteriously familiar kid the duo find tinkering with animatronics down in Parts & Service.

With some help from friends new and old, Charlie’s journey into the bowels of the Pizzaplex will unravel mysteries none of them ever expected. 

Rating: T

Read on Ao3

It is just a glitch scattered in the system Tell me that it's wrong, never gonna listen World won't understand till they stand the vision Mayhem, mayhem, three, two, one

~Under Control by Tryhardninja, Ivy Marie~

“We must prepare to move,” Freddy announced, releasing Gregory and snatching the next access card from its little bear-shaped holder on the desk. Now they’d be able to get into higher-level areas than before—including another security office.

As Freddy grabbed for the card, Charlie reached for Gregory. Of course there was always another hurdle to overcome. With it barely even being 2:00 in the morning, they still had a long time before the main doors opened again. God forbid something else went wrong; Gregory could be trapped here with them over the weekend, too...

“Freddy? There's a place around here with unused characters right?” Charlie asked, bouncing Gregory soothingly in her arms and they readied to speed from the security room. “I think I have a solution for you and Michael's problem.”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, there is a basement warehouse near Parts & Service; I believe unused characters are stored there as well,” Freddy responded a bit absently, watching the monitor as Vanessa approached the door.

“Freddy?” the guard’s voice soon rang out and she knocked harshly. “I can hear you in there! What the hell are you doing?! I gave you instructions to stay put, and now none of the Glamrocks are in their rooms!”

Vanessa sounded well and truly angry. She’d been running around searching for this phantom kid for nearly two hours, and she was tired.

“Ah, I was… using the cameras to see if I could track the child down!” Freddy replied, refusing to open the door until they absolutely had to. Speaking of cameras—

Another glance revealed yet another threat: Roxy was prowling through the arcade, directly in their path to the exit.

Charlie had half a mind to just press her face up to the double-walled security glass and scare Vanessa away. She didn't exactly deserve to be frightened so badly, yet they couldn't afford her slowing them down anymore. It seemed that right after she showed up so did the other animatronics, and that bunny might not be far behind either...

Roxy looked worse than before. What was she doing? Rolling in the left over oil at the Raceway? She normally held such pride in her appearance, reasonably grooming herself and making sure her model was in perfect, working condition before performances and “bedtime.” Now the cracks were showing—her metal chassis forming hairline fractures at stress points. Dirt and grime matted in the faux fur atop her head, smattering her cheeks and covering the paint-job makeup that the designers spent so long creating for her.

“You like playing games, Gregory?” growled Roxy, her voice heard past Vanessa in the arcade. “I know a game we can play—I'm a pro at hide and seek.”

The wolf was seething; her sharp maw would probably be dripping with drool if it could do such a thing.

Gregory held in his fearful sounds, choosing to close his eyes and bury his face in Charlie's thin shoulder. They knew he was there… but how?

If Michael had a body, he’d be shivering with fright at Roxy. Objectively he’d seen much worse over the years, but something about her tone, the way she was so clearly out for a child’s blood… that was utterly horrifying. Even the Funtime animatronics that were literally designed to capture children for William’s sick research purposes didn’t act like this. They behaved like relatively normal robots until a kid was close enough to grab, then they snapped and it was over in an instant.

But these Glamrock models… these were aware. And that made their actions so much worse.

“Bullshit!” Vanessa snapped as Michael fretted. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you guys, but as soon as I get in there you’re going straight back to your room and I’m putting you on extra-lockdown!” She wasn’t entirely sure if they actually had that protocol, but she couldn’t think of a better threat right now.

“Charlie, you must focus on getting Gregory out,” Freddy murmured. “Find somewhere safe—I will keep the others occupied as long as possible, then come and find you.”

“Are you talking to someone?!” Vanessa chimed in, and it was at that moment the door power failed. The distinctive sound of electronics shutting down could be heard as the lights in the security office went out. The door soon raised, revealing Vanessa standing there with hands on her hips. She let out a gasp, eyes widening at the sight of Gregory and the Puppet.

“What the—what the fuck are you?!” She shook her head with an annoyed growl, starting forward. “Whatever; hand over the brat. He’s caused enough trouble tonight.”

Charlie was aware that Vanessa had been in the dark about everything just like them. Really, the woman didn’t deserve most of the frustrations of tonight. Even so Charlie’s arms coiled around Gregory, almost constricting him as she let out an inhuman hiss.

“He didn’t do anything wrong! Leave him alone!” she warned, backing slowly away. She attempted to match Vanessa’s pace, planning to run out the opposite door. The goal would be to hightail it out of the arcade without Roxy catching either of them, but with the speed demon hounding for their blood she’d have to time it perfectly.

Gregory looked up to Vanessa, the fear in his face knotting into anger. “Hey! Who are you calling a brat, dumbass?!”

“Clearly you, kid.” Vanessa rolled her eyes. “Ugh, why do I have to find the one with the biggest attitude? Look, I just need to take you to a safe area so we can call the police and get in contact with your parents. You can even take your weird, clingy robot with you... What are you, anyway?” The guard paused, staring at the Puppet with a pinched expression of confusion. “Some knockoff Daycare attendant model? Or—oh my god, Freddy, get out of my way!”

The bear had placed himself directly in Vanessa's path, holding his arms out ready to physically restrain her if need be.

“I am sorry,” he said with a shake of the head. “But my child safety protocols indicate that, at this moment, Gregory is safest with me and Charlie.”

“What?!” Vanessa shrieked, clenching her fists so hard her knuckles went white. “There is absolutely no way your protocol would tell you that a kid is safer with a robot than a human! You're so malfunctioning right now; we’ve got to—ouch!”

Suddenly, Vanessa's face twisted into an expression of extreme pain and she doubled over, clutching her head.

“Officer Vanessa?! Are you alright?” Freddy asked, instinctively reaching out to help.

“Mmph, y-yeah... just... just a migraine...”

And major amnesia to follow, Vanessa thought, but there was no need to tell the robot about her chronic health issues. She remained hunched over, temporarily blocking out everything around her as she tried to get over this sudden attack. She couldn't afford to lose the kid again...

Gregory was ready to push Puppet aside just to fight Vanessa for her rude nature towards his friends, though Charlie held fast to the squirming child with her arms laced around his small frame. There was no room for arguing between them. With Freddy intervening and trying to talk some sense into Vanessa, Charlie put more space between the humans.

“Freddy—” she said, calm and collected as she watched Vanessa curl at the pressure building in her skull. “—Vanessa needs first aid. She doesn't look too good...”

“Who cares about her?!” Gregory snapped, eyes narrowed at the night guard. His sympathy was clearly thin for her right now, having been tracked down by her for over twenty-four hours by this point. “She's the weirdo who's been trying to kidnap me, remember?!”

“Gregory, please have some empathy. She's hurting...” Charlie remarked. All the while, they were completely unaware what was really happening inside of Vanessa's head.

Ẅ̴̛̪͍̽̑̈́͌͌̄͛̏̏̃̅͝h̵̻̉a̸̺͆t̶̬̿'̴̡́s̴̱͛ ̵̮̅ẃ̸̨r̴͔̐ō̷̖n̷̠͝g̵̦̑,̷̼̔ ̷̳̿f̷̰̽u̷͔̿n̶̝̿n̷̠͒y̷̺͂ ̸̲͋b̴̟͆ǘ̷͇n̵̺͝ṅ̸̪y̴͓̒?̴̡͝[1]

Ä̵͉́r̵̼͑e̶̟͐ ̸͉̓t̵͉͊h̴̜̓ë̶͎́y̷̞͊ ̷͎̒b̶̯̊ẻ̷̟į̶͑ǹ̶̜g̸̤̎ ̵̯̿m̸̝͝è̴͚ȃ̴̠n̶̳̂ ̴͚͒t̴͉̚o̷͉̽ ̶͎̔y̴͓̕o̸͇͌u̶̼̔?̸̻̈

Ș̵̢̡͉̘̊̆̈̎͆ḩ̵̓o̵͎̍w̸̨͒ ̵̮̽t̶͔͋h̵͉̆e̷̪̓m̴̙͊ ̴̻͝w̶̖̚h̴̯̕a̶̰̒t̵̝̂ ̵̼͑h̷̨̒a̴̩͘p̷͚̀p̷̥͌e̴̡͐ṅ̸̺s̴̛ͅ ̶͖̈́w̸͕̔h̸̛̜e̴̤͋n̶̠͒ ̵͖̋ţ̷̀h̶̞̓e̴̼̎ỳ̸̡ ̴͉̓ḏ̷͂o̶̫̚n̴̻͛'̶̤̓t̶͍̄ ̶̫̄p̷̥͐l̵͈͌a̶͈͌y̵̪͌ ̴͕̇n̶̯̓ỉ̵̲c̴̯̓ė̷ͅ.̸̣̊.̶̼̉.̵̨̇ ̵͖̓

The playful voice inside the guard’s mind tried to soothe her, pain increasing the longer she denied it.

“N-No, I... I don't... What...?” Vanessa was mumbling to herself, a nonsensical string of words for the nonsensical voice. The ache was so intense all she wanted to do was curl up on the floor and sleep for days. She resisted as long as she could… but as was the case nowadays, that wasn't more than a few seconds.

“Oh?” All of a sudden Vanessa perked up, releasing her head to stare at the little group in the office. An eerie smile stretched her mouth wide, and her gaze was somehow both vacant yet very sharp. She glanced down at her body, tugging at the crisp, white uniform shirt.

“Oh no, no, this won't do; these clothes are so stiff! She keeps misplacing that thing...” She let out a dramatic sigh, shaking her head for a moment before abruptly snapping her gaze to Freddy's. “I'll be riiiiight back~ But while I'm gone, you can play with a friend!”

Without warning she whipped around to dash away through the arcade, her goal known only to herself. For just a second, it seemed like Freddy and his friends' prayers had been answered. That is, until they heard Vanessa shout at the top of her lungs:

“Oh Roooooxyyyyyyy~ Gregory's in the security office, and the power's out! Better go find him before Monty does—you want to make sure you're the best, don't you?”

The mumbling had only raised more questions at Vanessa's strange behavior. But when her whole demeanor changed from agonizing in pain to practically frolicking away to alert the others, Charlie recognized what was happening. Scampering towards Freddy, she raised Gregory up to the bear.

“Put him inside your chest, now!” she begged. “It's her! I recognize the voice now—it's the bunny lady!”

The sound of stampeding, metal feet began to tear straight for them.

“What?!” An incredulous tone could be heard, Roxy flabbergasted that Vanessa would even imply that Monty was better than her. She was the best. An obvious fan favorite! 

And she was going to make sure the others knew it. She barreled for the office, feral and growling even as she skidded and slid painfully into the walls.

“Gregory!” Roxy snarled, “Get over here, you snot-nosed punk!”

Freddy knew there was no time for questions, and Michael realized the same. The ghost resisted the urge to argue with Charlie’s instructions, sucking up his personal correlation with shoving a kid into an animatronic’s chest cavity to let the bear do what he needed to. Freddy was safe, and that meant Gregory would be safe, too. Without hesitation Freddy helped Gregory scramble into his surprise compartment, closing the hatch just in time for Roxy to slam into the wall outside the open doorway.

“Roxanne!” Freddy exclaimed, eyes wide at the sight of her in person. Along with the dirt she had a plethora of tiny dents and scratches, presumably from running into things during her frantic search. “What happened to you?!”

“Not the time, Freddy!” Michael reminded with an edge of panic to his voice. “Get Gregory out of here before she figures out where you hid him!”

Freddy stared at Roxy for a moment longer, his face twisted in an expression of genuine hurt and confusion. He hated to see his friends like this—it scared him. Until tonight, Freddy thought it was impossible for him to feel such things as fear…

But that existential crisis was for another time. Michael was right: they had a mission.

Slowly, Freddy began shifting around the wolf, trying not to make any sudden moves that would startle her or give any indication that the child was nearby. Roxy huffed, a simulated sniffing coming from her nose as she glanced around the room in a jittery nature.

“He was here! I just heard him…,” she said, pushing past the Puppet as she inspected the room, practically ignoring Freddy until all hope of finding Gregory had been lost to her.

“Freddy... Buddy, amigo...” She looked to the bear, clasping her paws together as she approached. “You've seen the kid, right? You have to by now. C'mon, help a girl out...”

Charlie already stood in the doorway, making sure the coast was all clear as she motioned just outside Roxanne's line of sight for Freddy to follow her. The wolf’s unsettling appearance, both out of character and alarming, became more apparent the closer she drew.

“Ditch the creepy Puppet! Come hang out with me and help me find that brat!” Roxy begged, yellow eyes desperate for help.

“I... I cannot do that, Roxy,” Freddy replied with a shake of his head. He’d been inching away successfully until the wolf stepped up to him—now she was a bit too close for comfort. Freddy knew she was much faster than him, especially in this virus-induced state, and the last thing he wanted was for her to somehow finagle his stomach hatch open in a frenzy. He just needed to move her a bit and then he could make a break for it.

“You likely will not accept this, but there is something wrong with you,” Freddy continued, gently putting his hands on the wolf’s shoulders. As he spoke he shifted her sideways, ever-so-slowly moving her out of his path. “Something is wrong with all of you—Monty, Chica, even Moon and Officer Vanessa. I am trying to figure it out and return you all to normal, and it would be a great help to me if you would stop trying to pursue the child.”

Freddy’s grip tightened on Roxy’s shoulders. He moved her a little more forcefully, tapping into his animatronic strength just enough to match her resistance. Just a few inches more, and the path would be free.

Roxy's expression turned from one of mild annoyance to complete offense. Her eye's flicked over Freddy's face as if looking for a sign that he was joking.

“What?! There’s nothing wrong with me! I-I'm... I-I—” She stuttered, not for lack of anything to defend herself with verbally, but literally shorting out as she was made to think about her and the rest of the Glamrocks’ actions.

She resisted Freddy’s shifting, trying to push back. But as she glitched, her strength faltered. She was pushed into the desk, a few loose bolts clattering as they toppled to the ground. Before she could explain herself, Freddy and the Puppet were already speeding away.

“W-Wait! Freddy, I'm sorry!” Roxy attempted to call after them. With the child momentarily out of sight and mind, she was granted a minute of lucidity and couldn’t help but feel disgust.

But this quickly faded, as everything did thanks to the malware infecting her very core.

She listened to the voice inside her head that told her to get the child. Her goal was to bring him to the basement without maiming him too much. The rest of the plan was so genius Roxy couldn't even comprehend why they were doing it in the first place.

***

Freddy gritted his teeth as he ran, trying to forget that look in Roxy’s eyes. For just a moment she’d been herself again, trying to break through whatever was controlling her. Her apology echoed heavily in Freddy’s mind, and he suddenly had the strange urge to yell out in frustration. He resisted of course, not wanting to alert anyone to their position more than his heavy footsteps already would. Instead he pressed on, thinking of the best path to their next destination.

“The stage!” Freddy exclaimed, falling into step with Charlie. “It will take us directly to Parts & Service. But we need to activate the sound booth first—hopefully there is a showtime disk already in place, but if not we will have to locate one.”

“How hard could that be?” Gregory asked, relieved when he heard a plan coming from the outside of his little enclosure.

Freddy then took the lead, guiding Charlie back through the arcade and El Chips. Soon enough they’d re-emerged in the main atrium and made a beeline for the sound booth. Thankfully it was also on the third floor, not far from their current position.

“Is a showtime disk like a record?” Charlie felt the need to ask, her voice not above a whisper as they curtailed themselves into the booth. Overlooking the stage and all that sat before the concert area, they sat relatively in the open. With the strange sounds emanating from the third floor backrooms, Puppet wanted to get the show started and leave as soon as possible.

“Yes, it is a CD—like a smaller version of a record,” Freddy explained as he rapidly scanned the area. To his great frustration, there was no such item anywhere in sight. “It is not here—we must take the long way around, back through Rockstar Row. Follow me.”

Not wanting to waste time Freddy urged the Puppet to trail after him, adding in a hushed voice as they moved: “We can use Roxy’s service elevator for the time being, although once we return from Parts & Service we can rest in the security office near Rockstar Row—it is accessible with our new clearance level. From my recollection the showtime disks are often stored there as well, so hopefully we can pick one up in case we need to activate the stage lift later.”

Freddy was hesitant to jinx anything, but in a way it seemed like things might be turning in their favor, if only for a moment. Hopefully Charlie was onto something with regards to Michael’s predicament, and this task wouldn’t be fruitless. Although even if it was, at least it would keep Gregory moving. Freddy dreaded the thought of getting cornered again. If Roxy was already this bad, he didn’t want to know what the others were like.

Having watched the head of security change right before their eyes into someone so completely different than before only told Puppet one thing: this virus didn’t just affect robots. It’d been spreading through people as well.

It just went to show how they needed to work together to keep Gregory separated from whatever the hell was going on around the Pizzaplex. This virus, whatever it was, must have something to do with William's return. Should they make it to Parts & Service in one piece, Michael's experience with dealing in his father's villainy would help them immeasurably.

Again they moved, all too scared for now to let Gregory leave Freddy's chest. It would be bad enough if the robots were seen out and about—though to their benefit Freddy's bandmates only seemed interested in human blood and flesh, not metal and oil.

With Rockstar Row in sight and all its residents currently looking high and low in more complex places for their little gang, they snuck in undetected. Through Roxy's more inexplicably damaged backstage room they crept, right as Gregory broke the silence.

“Freddy? Is it safe to come out yet? My legs are cramping!”

Don't think about the meat pretzel..., Gregory mentally noted as a means of staying calm in the tight closed in space for so long.

Freddy winced as a barrage of images suddenly flashed through his mind in response to Gregory's innocent comment. Most flew by too fast to catch, but three kept repeating themselves over and over again:

A smiling little girl with long, red hair, green eyes, and a red bow in her hair...

A clown-themed animatronic Freddy recognized a Circus Baby...

The same animatronic standing exactly as before, though there was a distinct trail of dark, red liquid leaking from her chest cavity.

“Michael, stop!” Freddy exclaimed, jerking his head in an effort to quell the ghost's memories. Whatever those images represented were so painful even Freddy was starting to feel an ache deep in his core.

“O-Oh god, I'm sorry, I-I didn't mean to—is Gregory okay?! I don't like the thought of him being uncomfortable in there w-with... with the cramps, and all,” Michael managed to say, reigning in his wayward thoughts. Clearly this wasn't the only issue at hand, but he didn't want to freak Freddy out and somehow cause exactly what he was afraid of happening.

“Yes, he is fine—Gregory, please come out.” Freddy heaved a sigh of relief as they entered Roxy's service elevator and closed the door. He opened his chest cavity and freed the kid while checking his power meter. “I must charge before we progress—there is a station just outside the main area of Parts & Service. We can stop there before going to the warehouse.”

Helping Gregory down from his spot inside of Freddy's torso, Charlie suggested he sit and stretch his legs before they left the lift. Safe Mode may not be the best way for Freddy to be traveling throughout the night in regards to the draining battery power, but it also still might be one of the only things keeping him safe from the virus spreading around.

“Don't worry you guys,” Charlie tried to comfort. “Gregory's a tough kid, right?”

Gregory plopped to the ground, stretching out his legs and reaching halfheartedly towards his toes.

“More like a kid who's about to have a charley-horse...,” he griped in reply.

He was still having a tough time moving past Vanessa's odd behavior from earlier. He knew she was weird, but that smile... It didn't even look like it belonged to her. It was uncanny—as if someone had copied an eerie grin and pasted it over Vanessa's mouth. Not to mention her words, and the way she said them.

It’d begun to hit Gregory too that something was controlling the minds of people along with the animatronics. That wasn't something he could fathom—the idea of losing his mind inside this nightmare was already becoming too real for him to feel comfortable.

Eventually the lift brought them to the hallway leading towards Parts & Service. If one were to peer into the actual workshop and the safety cylinder, the Map Bot Gregory attempted to reprogram was notably gone...

“The entrance to the warehouse is just around the corner from the charging station,” Freddy informed the group as he led the way out of the elevator. He frowned slightly upon seeing the empty cylinder, wondering who exactly moved the defunct robot. “However, I suggest that you—”

“Ehehehe...” A distinct cackle filled the air, and Freddy whipped his head to find a glowing set of red eyes peering out from a dark corner. Moon crouched low to the ground, swaying slightly as he slowly reached one hand up towards a nearby light switch. Before anyone had time to react, the room was plunged into almost complete darkness. “Nighty-niiiiight~”

“Go!” Freddy exclaimed, thankful that Charlie had already scooped Gregory up at the first sign of danger. As the others moved towards safety, Freddy hung back to distract Moon. However, when he turned back the Daycare attendant was already gone from the corner.

“Why the fuck can he crawl on the CEILING?!” Michael screeched as Freddy's eyes roamed up to find Moon literally scuttling upside-down over their heads like some sort of weird, lanky bug.

The bear simply shook his head at Michael's comment, calling out to the Daycare attendant in an attempt to distract him: “Moon! I... I know where to find another child! Come down here and let me tell you!”

Charlie hand to clamp her wiry hand over Gregory's mouth. The last time she tangled with Moon, she ended up in an unconscious heap on the ground with no way to protect anyone. Vanessa had followed them before, and if last time was forewarning then maybe she wasn't far behind.

As they rushed to tuck themselves safely in the recharge station, Charlie and Gregory could only watch in horror at the way Moon moved, lurching and crawling like something from a horror film. If he was made like this, how could any kid sleep with him around?

“Oh, Freddy, Freddy...” Moon paused to stare down at the bear, his static grin impossibly wider than usual. “Don't you know it's naughty to lie? And naughty ones must be punished...”

“What the hell is he—oh no, Freddy, MOVE!” Michael yelled as Moon suddenly released his grip on the ceiling. The animatronic dropped, twisting his body like a cat to land on top of the cylinder with eyes locked on to the bear.

Freddy, however, was starting to struggle.

“I am almost out of battery power,” he murmured as the LOW POWER alert flashed red and ominous across his vision. Apparently, carrying Gregory inside his chest cavity drained him more than he'd initially thought. He spared a glance to the charging pod, then back to Moon. Thankfully, the Daycare attendant didn't seem interested in Gregory at that moment—he was solely focused on Freddy. “Michael... I think he wants me. For what, I do not know, but... are you able to get out?”

"What?! Freddy, I'm not just gonna bail—”

“GET OUT!” Freddy shouted, stumbling backwards as Moon slunk closer. His vision was fading fast, and he knew it was only a matter of seconds before he shut down. As darkness closed in around him, the bear intoned in a sluggish whisper: “Please... You have to... help them... please...”

And then Freddy collapsed in a heap, Moon cackling all the while.

With both fists, Gregory hit the inside of the charging pod in an attempt to open it. He was quickly snatched backwards by Charlie, and they could only listen helplessly as Moon encroached upon Freddy. Charlie had to remind herself that, even if he got out of this in one piece, until the bear was recharged and with Michael attached to him, she'd be the only one to watch Gregory.

Trembling and forced to be silent inside Puppet's arms, Gregory strained to get out and help. Rationally though, he knew there was nothing he could do—and Moon may just in fact tear his new best friend apart.

[1] What’s wrong, funny bunny?

Are they being mean to you?

Show them what happens when they don’t place nice…

***

Previous Chapter ~~ Next Chapter

Looking for more? Check out the Chapter Masterlist on Tumblr!

Or check out the entire Wires that Bind Us Series on ao3!

[lynnedwardswrites]

velvet pumpkin, star-shaped crystal

velvet pumpkin: what do you like describing the most when it comes to scene dressing? share an excerpt

oof this is a pretty tough one because I feel like my writing is pretty weak here. I tend to only describe the setting if the characters are interacting with it directly, or if I'm foreshadowing that they will. So these are definitely cherry-picked:

She’s pointedly ignoring me, so I start stabbing at the steps with the end of the torch, trying to remember which one activates a spike trap. When I hit the fourth, half a dozen metal spears shoot from the wall, blocking the path. A tuft of dark fur and the glisten of half-dried blood ornaments one of them. Rookies, I think, releasing the mechanism with satisfaction.

Or

I wink and she laughs and we join the masses, avoiding the middle of the road where the mud is thickest. The rain has stopped finally, and a few timid seedlings of late-winter sunlight are piercing the clouds out to sea, smiling on the waves and making them glitter in undulating ribbons. Just beyond, partially shrouded in mist, I spot the narrow mouth of the bay, where two thin stretches of rock arc out from the mainland. An ancient lighthouse, complete with a large signal fire, rises from the left spit. “A few weeks from now and there will be dozens of ships strung up along there,” I say, jerking my chin towards the sea.

Maybe the one exception (and the way I've been enticing myself to write this kind of stuff more in general) is when I can turn scene description into characterization:

(POV the Lord Sovereign:)

“Mary, you can’t seriously intend to turn that much land over to the Church,” I say, navigating the wide stone hall that leads to my audience chamber, hung with an insulating array of dark red velvets painted with white, stylized eagles. Everything about my daughter’s formal, military regalia matches it perfectly, right down to her white sash and the luster of her buttons. Everything pressed. Everything in its place. “I can, actually, and I do!” she says, as several servants in crisp tan uniforms with the remnants of someone’s lunch service scuttle out of her way. “Think of your son!” I beg, slowing as we near the dark paneled doors at the end of the hall, flanked by guards. “The peerage will tear his house apart, demanding their due, whether you’ve left it for him or not.” She scoffs as I knock and wait for a steward to open the room for me. “The Gods will bless a righteous house with a greater inheritance than you could dream of.” Two stewards, dressed in a similar tan to the serving staff, open the doors from behind. The rug ends at the door, and my shoes make a satisfying click against the dark marble tile as I enter, headed for the austere, understated desk painted in pale winter light at the far end of the room. I circle behind it and peer out the window, blinking into the sun as I wait for the stewards to leave so I can unleash my next retort. The doors click shut. Mary is standing opposite the desk, arms crossed impatiently, but without the frill and pomp of the halls extending her Morgenstern colors into a mantle the size of a mammoth, it’s easier to see her for what she is: tired, and so stiff I’m surprised she doesn’t have a scepter shoved up her ass.

star-shaped crystal: have you ever been inspired by a dream? tell us about it

I basically only have three kinds of dreams: sexy; clothes shopping; and Spiders.

So I may have been sexually inspired by a dream at one point but I don't have any major Meyer-esque plot element stories to tell.

Thanks for the asks! I really like the questions in this post, so send me another if you'd like to participate!

[automotivewrap]

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[easyhaildamage]

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Read More: - auto hail repair dallas.

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[prestige2022]

Invisible Grill for Balcony in Bangalore: The Ultimate Safety and Aesthetic Solution

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