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aaronaccessories · 1 year ago

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A Guide to Pipe Cleaning and Cutting Machines in Singapore

Pipe cleaning and cutting machines are essential tools for any plumbing, construction, or industrial project that involves working with pipes.

Whether you need to remove dirt, scale, rust, or other deposits from the inside of pipes or cut pipes to the desired length and shape, you need reliable and efficient machines that can handle the job.

But how do you choose the right pipe cleaning and cutting machines for your project? There are many factors to consider, such as the type, size, and material of the pipes, the level of cleanliness and accuracy required, the budget and availability of the machines, and the safety and environmental standards of the project.

In this article, we will introduce some of the most common types of pipe cleaning and cutting machines available in Singapore, and how they can help you achieve your project goals. We will also mention some of the leading suppliers of these machines in Singapore, such as AARON Accessories Pte Ltd.

Pipe Cleaning Machines Pipe cleaning machines are devices that use various methods to remove unwanted substances from the inside of pipes. Depending on the method, they can be classified into:

• Internal pipe cleaners: These are machines that use pressurized air, water, or chemicals to blast away dirt and debris from the inside of pipes. They usually have a nozzle that can be inserted into the pipe opening and rotated to cover the entire surface. Some examples of internal pipe cleaners are:

• Internal pipe blasting equipment: This is a machine that uses pressurized air and abrasive media (such as sand or steel shot) to clean metal pipes from rust, scale, paint, or other coatings. It is suitable for pipes with a diameter of 60mm to 280mm. • Internal pipe water jetting equipment: This is a machine that uses pressurized water (up to 3000 bar) to clean pipes from grease, oil, sludge, or other organic matter. It is suitable for pipes with 20mm to 1500mm diameter. • Internal pipe chemical cleaning equipment: This is a machine that uses chemical solutions (such as acids or alkalis) to dissolve mineral deposits (such as calcium or iron) from pipes. It is suitable for pipes with a diameter of 25mm to 300mm

• External pipe cleaners: These are machines that use brushes, scrapers, or other tools to clean the outside of pipes. They usually have a clamp that can hold the pipe in place and a motor that can rotate the tool around the pipe. Some examples of external pipe cleaners are:

• External pipe brushing equipment: This is a machine that uses wire brushes to remove dirt and rust from the outside of metal pipes. It is suitable for pipes with a diameter of 50mm to 300mm • External pipe scraping equipment: This is a machine that uses metal scrapers to remove paint or other coatings from the outside of pipes. It is suitable for pipes with a diameter of 50mm to 300mm.

Pipe Cutting Machines Pipe-cutting machines are devices that use various methods to cut pipes to the desired length and shape. Depending on the method, they can be classified into:

• Manual pipe cutters: These are hand-held tools that use blades, wheels, or chains to cut pipes by applying manual force. They are usually cheap and easy to use, but they may not be very accurate or fast. Some examples of manual pipe cutters are:

• Pipe cutter: This is a tool that has a sharp wheel that can cut through metal pipes by rotating around them. It is suitable for pipes with a diameter of up to 100mm.

• Pipe saw: This is a tool that has a blade that can cut through plastic or PVC pipes by moving back and forth along them. It is suitable for pipes with a diameter of up to 160mm.

• Pipe chain cutter: This is a tool that has a chain that can cut through cast iron or clay pipes by tightening around them. It is suitable for pipes with a diameter of up to 600mm.

• Electric pipe cutters: These are machines that use electric motors to power blades, wheels, or chains to cut pipes by applying mechanical force. They are usually more accurate and fast than manual pipe cutters, but they may be more expensive and require electricity. Some examples of electric pipe cutters are:

• Electric pipe cutter: This is a machine that has a sharp wheel that can cut through metal pipes by rotating around them. It is suitable for pipes with a diameter of up to 300mm.

• Electric pipe saw: This is a machine that has a blade that can cut through plastic or PVC pipes by moving back and forth along them. It is suitable for pipes with a diameter of up to 400mm.

• Electric pipe chain cutter: This is a machine that has a chain that can cut through cast iron or clay pipes by tightening around them. It is suitable for pipes with a diameter of up to 900mm.

• Hydraulic pipe cutters: These are machines that use hydraulic pressure to power blades, wheels, or chains to cut pipes by applying fluid force. They are usually more powerful and versatile than electric pipe cutters, but they may be bulky and noisy. Some examples of hydraulic pipe cutters are:

• Hydraulic pipe cutter: This is a machine that has a sharp wheel that can cut through metal pipes by rotating around them. It is suitable for pipes with a diameter of up to 600mm.

• Hydraulic pipe saw: This is a machine that has a blade that can cut through plastic or PVC pipes by moving back and forth along them. It is suitable for pipes with a diameter of up to 600mm.

• Hydraulic pipe chain cutter: This is a machine that has a chain that can cut through cast iron or clay pipes by tightening around them. It is suitable for pipes with a diameter of up to 1200mm.

Pipe Grooving Machines Pipe grooving machines are devices that use various methods to create grooves on the ends of pipes. These grooves are used to connect pipes with couplings or fittings without welding or threading. Pipe grooving machines can improve pipe installation and maintenance efficiency and safety.

Depending on the method, pipe grooving machines can be classified into:

• Roll grooving machines: These are machines that use rollers to press grooves into metal pipes by rotating around them. They are suitable for pipes with 25mm to 600mm diameter.

• Cut grooving machines: These are machines that use blades to cut grooves into metal pipes by moving along them. They are suitable for pipes with 50mm to 900mm diameter.

Pipe Threading Machines Pipe threading machines are devices that use various methods to create threads on the ends of pipes. These threads are used to connect pipes with couplings or fittings by screwing them together. Pipe threading machines can provide a strong and leak-proof connection for pipe systems.

Depending on the method, pipe threading machines can be classified into:

• Manual pipe threading machines: These are hand-held tools that use dies to create threads on metal pipes by applying manual force. They are usually cheap and easy to use, but they may not be very accurate or fast. They are suitable for pipes with a diameter of up to 50mm.

Electric pipe threading machines: These are machines that use electric motors to power dies to create threads on metal pipes by applying mechanical force.

They are usually more accurate and fast than manual pipe threading machines, but they may be more expensive and require electricity. They are suitable for pipes with a diameter of up to 150mm.

Hydraulic pipe threading machines: These are machines that use hydraulic pressure to power dies to create threads on metal pipes by applying fluid force.

They are usually more powerful and versatile than electric pipe threading machines, but they may be more bulky and noisy. They are suitable for pipes with a diameter of up to 300mm.

How to Choose the Right Pipe Cleaning and Cutting Machines for Your Project As you can see, there are many types of pipe cleaning and cutting machines available in Singapore, each with its own advantages and disadvantages. To choose the right ones for your project, you need to consider the following factors:

The type size and material of the pipes: Different types of pipes may require different methods of cleaning and cutting.

For example, metal pipes may need blasting or brushing, while plastic or PVC pipes may need water jetting or sawing.

Similarly, different sizes and materials of pipes may have different limitations and specifications for cleaning and cutting. For example, larger or thicker pipes may need more powerful or specialized machines, while softer or brittle pipes may need more gentle or precise machines.

• The level of cleanliness and accuracy required: Different levels of cleanliness and accuracy may require different methods of cleaning and cutting. For example, if you need to remove all traces of dirt, rust, paint, or coatings from the inside or outside of pipes, you may need blasting or scraping equipment. If you need to cut pipes to exact lengths and shapes, you may need

#Pipe Cleaning Machines #Pipe Cutting Machine Singapore #Pipe Grooving Machine

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ironcraftusa · 1 year ago

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Skid Steer Attachments: 3 Major Tools And Their Usage

Skid steer loaders are powerful machines on which various attachments can be added to perform a wide range of tasks. Yes, you can attach a bucket for digging, carrying, and loading materials such as dirt, gravel, or debris, or pallet forks to handle palletized materials. In this article, we will discuss three major attachments that are skid steer auger, brush cutter, and stump grinder.

Auger:

A skid steer auger is a specialized attachment designed for skid steer loaders. It is used for drilling holes in the ground quickly and efficiently. The auger attachment consists of a rotating drill bit or helical screw that is powered by the hydraulic system of the skid steer loader. It is commonly used in construction, landscaping, agriculture, and other industries where digging holes is a frequent task. Some common applications include fence post installation, tree planting, soil sampling, and foundation digging. This equipment comes in various sizes and configurations, allowing for different hole diameters and depths. So consider your precise application and pick the right one.

Brush Cutter

A skid steer brush cutter is a type of heavy-duty attachment designed to be used with skid steer loaders. It is used for cutting and clearing dense vegetation, such as brush, shrubs, and small trees. The brush cutter attachment is mounted on the front of the skid steer and powered by the skid steer’s hydraulic system. It has different cutting capacities, which determine the size and thickness of vegetation it can handle. The cutting capacity is usually specified in terms of the maximum diameter of the vegetation that can be effectively cut.

Stump Grinder

A stump grinder attachment for a skid steer is a specialized tool designed to remove tree stumps efficiently. It is commonly used in landscaping, construction, and forestry applications. The attachment is connected to the skid steer’s hydraulic system and powered by the skid steer’s engine.

The stump grinder attachment typically consists of a rotating cutting wheel or disc with sharp teeth that grind away the stump material. The cutting wheel is hydraulically controlled and can be maneuvered in different directions to grind the stump effectively. Some stump grinders also have an adjustable depth control feature, allowing you to control how deeply the grinder cuts into the stump.

These are just a few examples of skid steer attachments available in the market. There are many other specialized attachments, such as tree shears, post hole augers, hydraulic thumbs, and more, depending on the specific tasks you need to accomplish. If you are looking to buy any such equipment, consider connecting with us at IronCraft. We have several attachments available at affordable rates.

View original source: https://ironcraftusa.wordpress.com/2023/06/21/skid-steer-attachments-3-major-tools-and-their-usage/

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krishitoolindia · 2 years ago

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Buy krishitool 4 Stroke Brush Cutter Machine Backpack 50cc - Krishitool.in

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starsscribble · 3 years ago

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Stick Shift

Summary: Rick thinks he freeing Y/n. Y/n thinks she's the problem.

Tags: Angst, No comfort, Age Difference, Reader is 25 Rick is in in 40.

A/n: This was when I was on my Walking Dead kick. Finally got it edited.

But today I drove through the suburbs

Crying 'cause you weren't around

You pulled into the post-apocalyptic suburbs; in a separate car than what Glenn and you left in. Your earlier pride of find and driving said care was gone. Now in it place was a numb type of sadness. It was stupid. You know that. Getting worked up over the fact you were driving a stick shift. All on your own. But Rick. Your boyfriend; ex-boyfriend now. He had been the one to teach you how to drive a stick shift. Before Virginia. When the group was still in the prison. When you were both still happy.

“Come on,” his southern drawl was clear as day. You let out a puff of air. Head pushing against the headrest. “This was your idea. You gotta confess something.” You started to hate that you suggested this game, but the drive was so damn long. You didn’t have the radio to help distract you. No, it was just you, Rick, and a long stretch of Georgia backroad. The former sheriff’s right hand shifted off the steering wheel. Moving carefully as not to catch your attention. You were still racking your brain for a secret to tell. Then a yelp left your mouth. You jumped in your seat making the older man laugh. Hand retreated to the wheel.

“That’s what you get for taking so long pumpkin.” He grinned; eyes shifted from the road onto you. A hint of playfulness in those ocean blue eyes.

“I was thinking of something!” You shot back making him chuckle before looking back to the road.

“There’s gotta be something you have never told anyone.”

“Well,” you hummed. Readjusting in your seat. “I don’t know if this would count because I’ve never told this to anyone in the group.”

“I’ll count it.” He glances at you quickly, still smiling. Which makes you smile.

“Alright. I don’t know how to drive a stick shift.” You feel the jerk was the car spot. Rick looked at you as if you just told him the undead are all gone. Eye full of disbelief.

“You’re joking.” He speaks after a beat and you shake your head. Nope, you couldn’t drive a stick to save your life. And with how the world was it just might. Rick took off his seatbelt as you questioned just what he was doing. “I’m gonna teach you how to drive stick. You might need it.”

“We are on a run.”

“Yep and this is the perfect time. Now get into the driver’s seat.”

Slowly you parked next to Glenn. Killing the engine you got out as Glenn moved over to your vehicle. He smiled at you. Today was a good day. Got more food, medicine, and another car. The possibilities for cars were endless. Used for parts. Set up at protection. Used as traps. Daryl Dixon the town resident mechanic would have a field day with this car.

“I’m gonna check in with Rick,” Glenn says. You see him playing with his wedding band. Maggie’s baby bump had started to show and Glenn didn’t like being away for too long. Patting his shoulder you speak.

“Go see Maggie and your baby.” You slammed the driver’s side door shut. The dark-haired man stares at you. Willing to argue with you on this.

“Really it’s-” You raised your hand stopping him.

“If you don’t go check up on Maggie. I will and I’ll tell her how you screamed like a girl.” His eyes widen at the threat.

“I didn’t know a group of bats would be in there!” He defended himself only making you grin at him. You both head away from the parking area. Back towards the stretch of cookie-cutter homes. You nudge his shoulder with yours.

“First it’s a colony of bats. Second, not only was the scream funny, so was your face.” You teased him. Glenn shoved your shoulder playfully. Before mumbling that he was going to check in with his wife. Leaving you with the task of checking in with the community’s newly appointed leader Rick.

Jogging onto his porch you knocked on the door. Eyes looking everywhere but the door until it opened. Sadly it wasn’t the male you were looking for. Carl greeted you with a soft smile. The bandages that once covered his right eye socket had been replaced with a custom-made eyepatch.

“Ahoy captain.” You tease the teenager who rolled his remaining eye. “Your dad here? Just checking in since Glenn and I got back.”

“Nope. Haven’t seen him since this morning.” Carl tells you, making you nodded. “When I see him…” He trails off because he knows you will just hunt his dad down. “I don’t know where he is.” He's lying. You know it. He knows that you know. But you just nod and quickly thank him. Tell him to kiss his sister for you before turning off the porch.

And you're probably with that blonde girl

Who always made me doubt

She's so much older than me

She's everything I'm insecure about

You know where Rick Grimes is. Feet carrying you down the still blood-stained street. Streets that just weeks ago were covered with the undead. You wave kindly to the people passing by. It is a mix of your group, older residents, and new people. You still feel out of place. Maybe you always will. Maybe you won't. You wonder quietly to yourself. A nice distraction. Because if you thought about where you were going. Where you had to go. You might just break. So you let your mind wander. Let your feet carry you to the destination. Everything seemed to be on autopilot. Until your using the knocker of the baby blue house. Her house.

“We should end this,” Rick says matter-of-factly. You stopped brushing your hair to look at him. He’s not facing you. Back facing you as he pulled his jeans on.

“What?” Maybe you misheard him. Maybe it was your ear playing a trick on you. Because Rick couldn’t be breaking up with you right now.

“We should break up.” He rephrases. The words take the air from your lungs. Your mouth opened to say words that your mind can’t even come up with. The silence in the room grew by the seconds. It finally became too much for the man as he turned to face you. Jeans zipped up but not buttoned. Belt lay next to his shirt on the bed but his eyes fell on you instead.

“Say something.” He requested of you softly. That same soft voice that he used when he said he loved you. Tears that formed in your eyes finally fell as you blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. Before you looked him in the eyes.

“Is it me? Did I do something wrong?” Getting shot was nothing compared to your question to him. Because he knew you honestly thought you did something wrong. You always doubted yourself. But you were perfect. So goddamn perfect. And amazing. And young.

“No sweetheart. It’s just…” He stops himself from going over to embrace you. Tell you to forget about it. Because this has to happen. You're 24. His 39. Even if the group. His and your family were ok with it. He heard the whispers around town. The other weren’t as supportive.

“I think we should end this. We had an amazing run. And you're young. You’re gonna find someone else that will love you more than I ever could.” He breaks his own heart with his words. Because he doesn’t want you to find someone else. He wants to be with you until the end. When and where ever the end was. But you deserve better. You deserve someone around your age. Not an old man with two children like him.

“I…” you stare at him. Cheeks strained with tears he caused. “I don’t want someone else.” You grab the comforter. It gets balled up as you tighten your grip on the fabric. Your mind running over everything you had done in the last weeks to get to the point. You had snapped at him a few days back because of Jessie Anderson. The blonde woman in her thirties that lived up the street. You didn’t hear what they were talking but her body language told you everything. She was flirting with Rick. And either he didn’t notice or didn’t care. Doubt played in your mind the whole day after seeing the interaction. Because Jessie was around Rick’s age. And you weren’t. You didn’t really have any life experience before the world ended. So it made sense if Rick preferred a woman his own age. As opposed to you, a 24-year-old kid in his eyes.

“I can get you a brownstone to stay in.” He said. Brushing off your comment. Which broke your heart even more.

The door opened showing the blonde that lived there. A smile and questioning look on her face.

“Is Rick here?” You asked, watching as she turned her head and yelling the man’s name into the home. He comes out from the kitchen; questioning who it was. The question dying in his throat when he saw it was you. Jessie excused herself leaving you and Rick alone. The former sheriff stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind him.

“Hey,” he gives you a tight-lipped smile. Which you return.

“Just came to tell you Glenn and I are back.”

“Right,” he nods. “You guys went on a run. Get anything good?” You nodded before listing off some of the supplies you got. Including the stick shift car. You heard him chuckle. Looking into his eyes you saw that same playfulness as the day he first forced you to drive a stick.

“You didn’t flood the engine this time right?” He teased and you scoffed, punching him in the shoulder.

“I was amazing.” You boasted. The older man stared at you and you swear you heard a quiet. ‘Ya, you are.’

“You don’t mind if I asked Glenn?” You roll your eyes but smile.

“Go ahead. He's gonna tell you the same thing.” He nodded. Hand going on his hips. You watch as he licks his lips. Your breath hitching as you feel your stomach twisting in knots. “I should go. Need a shower desperately.” You don’t wait for him to say goodbye or stop you. You're off the porch and down the road heading home in a few steps.

And all my friends are tired

Of hearing how much I miss you, but

I kinda feel sorry for them

'Cause they'll never know you the way that I do

Maggie can’t drink. But that doesn’t mean you and Sasha can’t. Sasha, Abraham, and Rosita had come back later in the day from another run. They had been the unlucky ones not finding much of anything. But Sasha apparently found some top-tier booze in a rundown bar. The trio split it up between them. So here you were. Snacking on fresh strawberries drinking booze that would have been at least $100 for a bottle; straight out of the bottle. The three of you resting against the metal wall that protected the town from the nasty world outside.

“So,” Maggie started as she threw a strawberry stem into a bowl filled with them. “Heard someone talk with Rick.” Sasha and her eyes went to you as you grabbed the glass bottle of auburn liquid. Taking a healthy swig you felt the burn as it went down. You were far too sober to be talking about this. Talking about him. Because no one in the group knew why you guys ended it. Just one day you were a happy couple and the next you were packing up and moving into your own brownstone. Sasha took the bottle from you, making you whine. As you tried to reach for it but the former firefighter held it out of reach. Her hand on your chest also keeping you away from it.

“You can get some when you tell us what happened.” She landed down the rule and it makes you groan as you move to lay against the wall. You don't want to talk about it. You just want to wallow and let the scar form on your heart in peace.

A crack of thunder sends the trio onto the back porch of Maggie’s home. Lucky for you guys because moments after; the dark clouds opened up letting down heavy droplets that ping off the porch’s roof. Sasha is distracted by the rain. Asking Maggie if the crops will be ok. Allowing you to snatch the bottle from her hand and take another big glug. The bottle is half gone now. And honestly so are you. The alcohol works fast as your brain starts to go fuzzy. Sasha takes the bottle back slightly annoyed. But it clear the break-up has been hard. So she lets it go.

“You got your drink.” She says putting the cap back on and sitting it to the side out of your reach. “Now tell us what happened.”

“I don’t know.” You sob. You weren’t normally an emotional drunk. But with everything going on with Rick. Tonight you were.

And I know we weren't perfect

But I've never felt this way for no one, oh

And I just can't imagine how you could be so okay, now that I'm gone

Maggie held you as you drunkenly cried. Sasha joined you on the other side, rubbing your back. You finally opened up about your breakup with Rick a month ago. You weren’t sure how much they understood because of the loud rain and your blubbering. But either way, they consoled you. Trying to help the only way they could. And the only way they knew how. Simply being there. Because for a month you kept this end. Kept this to yourself. So those outside of the group saw you were fine. The break-up didn’t seem to affect you. You carried on with work. Talked with Rick when it was needed. You acted fine.

But the group knew it. Of course, they knew. It was an act. Because they saw how you were breaking. How you had a longing in your eyes when the cowboy boots-wearing man walked by. The smile that rarely reached your lips. You were faking so much of your joy because your heart was broken.

“I just don’t get how he is so ok. Did I mean nothing?” The two women share a look at your question. Because they also know that Rick isn’t ok. Like you, he is acting. Because he is the leader and can’t break down. But the man isn’t ok. They don’t say that. Rick was the one that ended it. That was on him.

“I don’t know,” Maggie says softly as you rest your head onto her shoulder. “I wish I had the answer for you. But only Rick does.”

Red lights, stop signs

I still see your face in the white cars, front yards

Can't drive past the places we used to go to

'Cause I still fuckin' love you, babe

The street lights are now on. It’s still raining when you tell Maggie you were going home. Sasha and her try to get you to stay the night. Or at least until the rain lets up. But the rain isn't letting up. It was so heavy you could barely see a few steps in front of you. But you step off the back porch and disappear down the alleyway of the lined-up homes. You walk. Just walk because you don’t want to go home just yet. If you go home you’ll be lonely. And you don’t want that. Because for a month you have been lonely in that damn brownstone. Rick wasn’t lonely. He was with Jessie. His arms wrapped around her body. Damn your brain. Just because you didn’t want to be lonely didn’t mean you wanted to think about them together.

The rain started to ease up as you found yourself passing Rick’s house. The lights upstairs were on. As you quickly looked away from the cookie-cutter home. A shiver ran through you and shoved your hands into your soaked jean pockets. Maybe now was a good time to head home. You haven’t even turned when you heard your name being shouted over the rain. Looking back at Rick’s home you see him rushing off the porch and over to you. His dark brown jacket acting as an umbrella. He puts it mostly over you shielding you from the rain.

“What are you doing out here? You're going to get sick.” He frets because he knows how likely that is. Because after the rainstorm when the group was on the trek through Virginia you had gotten sick. “Come on.” He orders and you walk with him toward his house.

Sidewalks we crossed

I still hear your voice in the traffic, we're laughing

Over all the noise

You smile at him lightly as he places a cup of peppermint tea in your hand; you're favorite. You're in one of his white t-shirt and pajama pants. Your hair, no longer wet from the rain but a hot shower. The alcohol is still in your system. How much you don’t know.

“What were you doing walking in the rain?” He questioned taking the seat next to you. His own cup of tea in his hand.

“Was drinking with Sasha and Maggie.” You look towards him as his eyebrows knit together as the mention of Maggie and drinking. “Maggie was moderating us. She wasn’t drinking, come on. She knows better.” Rick nods bowing his head because he does know better to think that about Maggie. But his time as a cop taught him that some people just don’t care. Not about themselves. Not about others. And sure as hell not about kids.

“Where did you get the booze from? Daryl?” You snort at him before blowing on your tea taking a careful sip. Sitting the cup down you look back towards him.

“I ain’t no rat officer.” He chuckles. You both do. A little inside joke between you both. And then the silence fell. The awkward uncertain silence of two people who didn’t know what to say next. You chew on the inside of your cheek as you stare into the tea. Rain still going strong outside, trapping on the roof of your former home. Rick shifts beside you clearing his throat.

“Judy trying to walk.” It makes you smile a bit.

“That’s good. Soon she’ll be running over you and Carl.” The older man chuckles nodding in agreement but you don’t see it. Head still bowed. Turning your mug as you watch the tea shift with each motion.

“Seeing anyone?” He was trying to keep the conversation going. But there had to be another question to ask that wasn’t this. You still answer it by shaking your head.

“No. But you seemed to have moved on.” It has some bite to you. You're bitter. Of course, you are. The man you were in love with. Seemed to easily move on after he ended it. You lift the ceramic mug and take a huge glug of your tea. The warmth fills you but it’s not enough.

“Ya. Jessie, she’s…” He doesn’t know what to say. Jessie is ok. Good to have around. Doesn’t make him feel as empty. But she is just not you. All her touches. All her kisses. They feel off and he knows why. Because the hands touching him aren’t yours. Neither are the lips that kiss him. But Rick is stubborn. Even if it hurts you both, he knows you need better. You deserve the world and he just can’t give it to you.

“She’s perfect.” You looked at him. Sadness, rooted so deeply in your eyes. He wants to pull you into him. Tell you that he is sorry. That he will end it with Jessie. Come back to you. And try to make all of this right. But he already drew his line in the sand and he won’t cross it. Because the moment he touches you he knows it will be his undoing.

“She has her flaws. No one is perfect.” Except for you. He wants to add. He hears a quiet 'ya' then it silence once again.

God, I'm so blue, know we're through

But I still fuckin' love you, babe

You were gone when Rick woke up. His clothes lay on the guest bed since you were dried. He wondered just when you left. He wondered if you slept at all. Because he didn’t. Knowing you were in the house but not in his arms. He was restless the whole night. He sighs. Picking clothes up. It was sad that he hoped this wouldn’t be the last time. But it most likely was going to be the only time. Because how often are you going to walk in the rain drunk? He takes the clothes to the laundry room. Before he throws the shirt in the basket he lifts it to his nose. Inhaling the flowery body wash scent from when you shower last night. You must found where he hid the body wash you left behind.

“Hey, dad!” Carl called out from the kitchen forcing Rick to dump the clothes in the basket. Entering the kitchen he smiled at his son. Judith was already in her high chair waiting for breakfast. Carl stood at the counter. The box of peppermint tea in his hands. Shit. He meant to put that up. Carl’s eye shifts from the box towards the sink. Where the mugs from last night sat unwashed. Then the young man turns to his father.

“Y/n was here wasn’t she?” He questioned but it was really a statement. It is the only reason for this tea to be out with two mugs in the sink.

“Ya,” He replied, moving towards his son and taking the box of tea from his hand. The young man sighed watching his father place the tea on a high shelf so only he could get to it.

“Why?” Carl asked.

“It was raining-”

“No,” he cut his father off. “Why did you break up with her?”

“Carl,” Rick sighed. As he pinched the bridge of his nose. If he didn’t want to have this conversation with Daryl or Michonne. He sure as hell didn’t want it with his son. But like Rick the young survivor was stubborn. He stepped into his father's past every time he tried to move around him.

“Carl,” Rick warns but the boy isn’t back down.

“No. You were happy with Y/n. Happier than I have ever seen you. Even with mom. Even before all of this.” The boy gestures at nothing but Rick knows what he means by that. Because he didn’t want to admit it. But his and Lori’s relationship was at rock bottom before the world ended.

“So why? What happened?” Carl pressed, making Rick sigh. He wondered. Only for a second. If Michonne had put Carl up to his. But he shook that from his head. Michonne won’t do that. This is purely Carl. Because Carl loves you so much. The both of you had apparently clicked before Rick had gotten to the quarry. And that bond only grew over time.

“It’s complicated, Carl. Now please,” Rick needed him to down the subject. And the young boy seemed to understand but is still pissed. He turns from his father. Feet carrying the young boy towards the door. “Where are you going?” He called out.

“Out!” And the slamming door let Rick know that Carl was gone. He sighed.

He knew everyone would move on. You would. Carl would. He would. In the far future, all of this will be just a bad memory. But right now. In the present, it hurt so fucking bad. Tears leaked from his eyes as he sucked in air. He did it to himself. He deserved this pain. And if he could he would take your pain. Allow you to be happy. To find love in someone else better than him. Because you're one of the good things in this ugly world.

I know we weren't perfect but I've never felt this way for no one

#walking dead #walking dead imagine #walking dead x reader #rick grimes #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x y/n #rick grimes angst

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hitsuackerman · 5 years ago

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Shinso in a Box (Shinso x Reader)

prompt: Shinso thinks outside the box with the help, and push, of his three friends.

warnings: fluff

“C’mon bro!” Denki kept tugging on Shinso’s arm. “It’s only for a few hours and I’m pretty sure (Y/N) will be shocked.”

Shinso wasn’t exactly sure how this topic came to be. It all started with a small video Denki, Kiri, and Mina decided to try it out. They had already gone out of their way and bought a gigantic box and a long ribbon as well. All that was left now was the consent from the indigo haired boy.

“Why drag (Y/N) into this?” Shinso complained as he fixed up the binding gear on his desk. It still boggled his mind why they were inside his room. He was sitting on his chair while the others on the floor. The cardboard box on one corner.

“You like her don’t you?” Kiri asked. Denki and Mina lean in closer towards Shinso to hear his answer.

“You’re just wasting your time.” He answered instantly. His hands are busy rolling the binds. Yet, inside, he was trying his best not to let his feelings show. They were right. If given the chance, he would always steal glances at you.

He still remembers the first time he saw you. It was his first day in UA. You were walking in front of him and because of your clumsiness, you ended up tripping. Not sure what made him do it, he ran towards you and helped pick up the items you had dropped.

The moment he locked eyes with you, he felt his heart skip a beat. Something he thought he would never feel. Especially on his first day here at school. He just couldn’t help it. The way your hair danced softly with the wind, the slight tint of pink on your cheek, and the small smile given to him after all was well. It was all too much but just enough at the same time.

Offering to walk you to your classroom, he already had a bad feeling lingering in his head. He was right when you mentioned your room was in 1-A. He couldn’t help but feel embarrassed that he was in General Education 1-C. After that, he rarely saw you.

During lunch, he was happy enough if he caught a glimpse of you talking with your friends. He always told himself to not stare too long. Yet at times, you would manage to catch his eye and give him a small smile, that was enough to get him through the week and to work harder to enter the hero course.

Of course, he went by without knowing your name. He always labeled you in his mind as ‘That Girl’. Things would take a turn once the UA Sports Festival happened. Seeing how well you managed to control your quirk made his eyes widen with admiration. Or maybe it was the fact that you said ‘hi’.

When the cavalry teams were being formed, he was more than bummed when he saw that you were already with a group. Still, he had hoped you would be able to notice him during the battle. To which you did not. You were too busy calming down the angry pomeranian to even look at him.

One vs One battles were finally up next. He had no idea but you were focused on him. He had no clue that you were clenching your fists. Silently hoping that he would beat Deku and get a taste of sweet victory. He didn’t know that when his name was announced, you said his name and felt your heart flutter as well.

When it was your turn to fight, he was happy to finally have a name to your pretty face. Seeing how you managed to obtain victory with a bit of effort caused his drive to succeed even more. Surely you would notice him if he gets to the hero course. You have to.

During the Joint training, he saw what your hero costume was. You looked even better than before. There was no doubt that you designed it specifically for your quirk and also to show off each curve your body had to offer. Thank god he had his mouthpiece. He could feel his cheeks radiating heat.

“You’re here!” You walked up to him before the start of the matches. “I never told you but I love your quirk. It’s mesmerizing~”

He couldn’t think of a sentence. His brain stopped for a moment. You were standing close to him. Complimented his quirk as well. This was all too much. Panic crept in when your happiness began to falter at the loss of a reply. Before he could speak up, he was called on to the area and prepare.

“Good luck, Shinso~” You still kept at it. All he could do was bow awkwardly and earn a soft giggle from you. Hell yeah he was going to his darn best. He got a giggle and that’s enough energy for a month!

When he came back after helping Deku, the look of gratefulness in your eyes made him melt. That was the moment he knew he fucked up and fell even harder. What made his heart ache was that he had no idea whether or not you were willing to give him a chance.

Yet, there was a glimmer of hope when you jumped up and down while clapping your hands. The happiness of him passing and the possibility of you two being classmates gave him hope.

And the happiness in your eyes when he entered the 2-A classroom, damn. He could get used to this.

The two of you were deemed as oblivious between your friends. It was all too clear that you two were pinning for each other but always succumbed to shyness. Even Bakugo was pissed that Shinso couldn’t make a move.

This all led to the scene before him. Denki, Kiri, and Mina knock on his door with the absurd idea of putting him in a box and placing him outside your room.

“This is the push you need, Shinso.” Kiri continued. “You can’t deny you like her. We can all see the way you look at her. We can see how her cheeks turn red at the mere sight of you entering the room.”

Shinso didn't really mind. The only thing stopping him was fatigue. For practically the whole morning, Aizawa gave him a deadly workout routine for him to finish. His body still quietly trembled despite having taken a shower. It was either that or the fear of losing your friendship.

"What have you got to lose? If things fail, you can just say you were dared to do it." Denki offered as reassurance.

"I'm not here in the hero course to make friends. I thought I made myself clear…" Even he wanted to slap himself for how lame he sounded.

"That's crap and you know it." Mina teased. "You can be a hero and still have (Y/N) as a girlfriend ya know."

"Damn it." Shinso stood up and stretched his sore limbs. He would have no idea how many minutes he'd have to stay cramped inside the box. "Box me up."

Instantly, the three friends got to work.

----

It was now dark and you were busy reading your favorite book. It was Golden Week so you had all the time in the world to relax. (Or at least the first few days before going back to your training regimen.)

Your thoughts drifted away and landed on Shinso. Where was he anyway? He promised that he'd send a text once his training was over. 5 hours had already passed yet no notification with his name on it.

Pushing the thought aside, you tossed the book and grabbed a hold of your phone. Stretching a tiny bit to reach it on your bedside drawer. Unlocking the screen, your fingers clicked on the messaging app and tapped on Shinso's conversation bubble.

'You ok, Hitoshi?'

That's all you could type. In your head, it didn't rub off as too clingy and it felt neutral. Nodding at the message, you hit the send button and placed it back on the drawer. Your hair splayed out onto the pillow as you laid down.

Feeling your eyelids get heavy, your vision began to blur. Releasing a yawn, you decided a little bit of shut eye wouldn't hurt. The time on the clock showed an estimate of 30 minutes before dinner time. Perfect for a nap.

Before your body had a chance to fully relax, a knock on your door broke the silence. Dragging your arms as you sat up, the want to sleep became all too pleasurable but it might be important so you stood up.

Opening your door, there was no one. Glancing left and right, no tell tale sign that a person had passed by. Your eyes went down and were met with a rather large box. Did you sleep-order at 3am again? You don't remember doing such a thing.

Taking a closer look, you crouched down to the sender/receiver sticker. It definitely had your name on it. Looking at the sender's name, you furrowed your brow and tilted your head. Maybe you really did sleep-order something at Abazon.com, you just forgot.

Thankfully, the box had wheels stuck to them making things much easier for your petite frame. The box stood out in your room. It's dull brown color made it look like an outcast in your minimal monochromatic room. Closing the door, you walked towards your desk and grabbed the cutter.

Bending over the box, you poked the sharp end to create an incision. The packaging tape smoothly sliced in half. Putting the cutter on the floor, you jumped at the sudden pop from the box. A bunch of foam peanuts littered on your floor.

"What the-- Oh my god!" Your eyes widened as heat traveled to your cheeks. "Hitoshi Shinso?!"

Shinso. Sitting on the box with his long toned arms dangling lazily over the edge. A deadpan look on his face that definitely did not match the neon orange ribbon tied around his body, only to end with a badly done bow on his hair.

"Surprise." Not a hint of excitement on his face.

"What are you doing inside the box? How long were you in there? Were you able to breathe?" Bombarding him with questions caused his lips to curl into a small smile. "Who made you do this? Are you okay?"

His lavender eyes widened when he felt you cup both his cheeks. His head slowly leaning to the left then right. Your eyes scanning his face for any injuries.

"I'm fine, (Y/N)." Ruffling your hair was one thing he knew would soothe your worry. Seeing how your shoulders relaxed and how your hot breath brushed his face, he knew it worked.

"Mind telling me why you're wrapped up as a present?" Not letting go of his cheeks, your thumbs absentmindedly began to brush his skin. "I recall my birthday isn't in a few months."

Crap. What was he supposed to say? All the questions the trio rehearsed with him went down the toilet. Wing it. Heroes wing it all the time.

"I want to step outside the box."

"What's stopping you?" You couldn't help but laugh a tiny bit. "Are the foam peanuts heavy?"

Just as you were about to bring your hands down, he softly grabbed on to them. Placing them back on his cheeks. His hands were a tad clammy and slightly shaking. Is this finally it?

"I guess I wasn't clear enough…" Squeezing your hands, he swallowed his saliva in hopes of attaining courage. Locking eyes with you, he saw how there was hope and anxiety. Holding on to the former, he had found his needed push. "I want us to step outside the box."

By now your heart was now running a marathon at full speed. The medal waiting for you at the finish line. Except this time it wasn't gold but the mesmerizing colors of his violet eyes staring at you with utmost sincerity.

He always had a way with words and he probably saw it fitting for the situation.

"I like you, (Y/N)." God that felt so good for Shinso. Finally able to relay his feelings to you. Yes, he was scared shitless at your answer but he was willing to risk it. If his new found friends told him he was oblivious, then his first name be damned, he is.

Words couldn't escape your mouth. The phrase you longed to hear from him, finally became a reality. You wanted to say it back but your internal systems had now lagged due to happiness.

Instead, you pulled his face closer to you and locked your lips with his.

No denying he was stiff as a board during the first millisecond into the kiss. This action had been the farthest thing in his mind as to how you would react. When he finally processed that your lips were on his, he gladly kissed you back as he let go of your hands and buried them into your hair.

"So… You like me back?" Shinso asked as he caught his breath. His fingers slowly untangling from your hair and caressing both your pink stained cheeks.

"Of course, dummy~ I like you too, Hitoshi~"

"Then I guess being crouched up in this box for 2 hours was definitely worth it."

#shinsō hitoshi #shinsou hitoshi #shinso #mha shinso hitoshi #mha shinsou #bnha shinso hitoshi #bnha shinsou #shinso x reader #shinso x y/n

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krishitool2021 · 4 years ago

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Heavy Duty 68cc Wheel Brush Cutter With Tiller & Weeder Attachment- Krishitool

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Trolley / wheel hand push Brushcutter with tiller weeder attachment - Krishitool

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cgeltd · 4 years ago

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Buy Gardening Tools, Accessories & Products Online in ireland

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#Berg Go Kart in ireland

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greenninjagal-blog · 5 years ago

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Bury the Body ch2

Hey remember that time I made [this] serial killer au as a joke off the prompts from @sandersidesquotes and then two days later Thomas made the DWIT video? hahaha, wouldn’t it be cool if that one shot suddenly got, like a plot and stuff.

TW: Attempted Murder, Blood, knives, stabbing, arson, burns, choking, causal talk of killing people, mentions of suicide, romanticizing of serial killing

Words: 4629

Quick Taglist: @felicianoromano @jemthebookworm @holliberries @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @treasureofpriam

Read on AO3

They ran into a problem in the first four hours of the trip. Multiple problems, actually.The first of which began in the initial turn of the train carriage just barely outside of the city Logan had haunted for so long. Although, since he wasn’t sitting next to the window, it was easy enough to see around the white T-shirt murderer when the other was laying on the seat and scrolling through his phone so casually. Logan watched from the corner of his eyes as the city faded to suburbs and then to rolling hills and highways filled with bumper to bumper traffic.

The smiling man and his hooded brother chatted on endlessly about who they wanted to kill next, about how exactly one of them was going to cut them open, about the rumors of a cannibal running around the western coast, about what the afterlife was probably like, about nothing at all.

Then the train had carried them around a long bend. Logan blinked.

And the man in the hoodie was in a choke hold in the middle of their private little carriage, his face turning red, and a dazzling gleam of a smile behind his ear as the man in white laughed.

Logan watched with boredom as they struggled, pulling his legs onto the seat when their mess of limbs stumbled in the five feet of space they had. The man in white’s phone hit the ground, and cracked under the pressure of his own heel. The man in the hoodie clawed his fingers over the powerful hands that were choking him, his own knife having dropped to the seat cushion when the attack began.

The smiling man cooed at the sight of his brother being strangled, that smile pointed and full of teeth. He pressed his hands on his rounded cheeks grinning, always grinning, “Aw, Virge! Can you see his smile? It’s so pretty!”

Logan was not surprised when the other did not respond. His eyes were wide, red at the edges, his tongue twitching in his throat whenever he tried to take a breath that was not coming. There was a coldness to the scene that Logan found disappointing: a coldness of such an empty overpowered death. The man probably didn’t even need both hands to choke the life from the hooded victim—the size of his one palm was enough to wrap around the throat and crush the vocals.

Why couldn’t any of them see how distant this type of death was? Why would they prefer it to the embrace of flames?

Logan was about to turn back to his phone when a shadow passed over the carriage.

A shadow and a fanged smirk from the hoodie serial killer.

He jumped, kicked his feet off the seat, and then launched himself backward to the floor, with his attacker underneath him. The motion was fluid and quick and Logan tutted at the way the killer in white slammed his head into the edge of the booth seat they had been sharing.

The grip loosened.

The hooded victim coughed precious air into his lungs. His fingers carted the carpeted flooring until he found his knife again. He didn’t use it, but instead twisted back around into his attacker with his free hand and jabbed into the depression of the other’s armpit.

“Aw, it’s over so soon,” The man with the fake smile said sorrowfully.

Logan watched as the man in white recoiled at the strike, drawing his body in on itself, despite the fact that his prey was inches away from him. He gasped in pain—whatever feeling normal people classified as physical pain, and his entire arm fell limp to the floor.

“V!” the smiling man moaned, “You made him upset! Make him smile again! Please?”

“Fuck…you…” the hooded man coughed out and leaned back on against the seat right against his brother’s swinging legs.

“Language!”

The man in the hoodie points his knife at the man who had attacked him, his eyes were cold as steel, unbreakable and frigid with deadly intention. “I’m gonna… disassemble you, Princey. And stuff you… back in the toy box you came out of!”

The other laughed again, curling in on his chest, Logan thought he saw him spit out a bit of blood. “They’re never going to forget how I killed you, Twenty Eight! Never!”

When Logan left for his smoke break nearly an hour and a half later, both of them had settled back onto their respective seats. The smiling man was watching the scenery pass by them, humming a catchy pop tune, the man in white had complained about the cracked screen on his phone for twenty minutes, and the man in the hoodie had retreated into a ball in the corner, ever so subtly rubbing the edges of his overgrown sleeves over the bruises on his neck.

The designated smoking area was in the middle of the train on a platform car with peeling red and yellow painted fencing that kept people from falling off. Logan was not surprised to see he was alone.

The clouds had begun to darken and the rumbling of thunder could be heard over the screeching of the wheels on the rails. A cool breeze divided the warm air of the day and carried the ashes of his cigarette from the post he was leaning against. His lighter danced between his fingers, flicking on and off, close and near, and watching the flame with a close intensity. Perhaps too close. Should any other passengers have trespassed into his sacred space and if they were from his little city, they might have put two and two together.

Or maybe Logan was giving too much credit to the normal people he walked among. Logan smelt like fire, like ashes, like death, and yet none of them had picked up on it.

Logan twisted the flame again; the warmth brushed his fingertips. Logan had long since run out of words that could possibly describe what it felt like: like pressure where there was nothing, like heat, like something his mother had told him so many times not to do, don’t do it Logan! Stop it! Logan!

He had cabinets of melted candles and drawers of fireworks. Lighter fluid had covered every surface in his apartment at least once in the time he had been there. Matches always burned to his finger tips and washed down the drain on nights where he couldn’t go outside. The fire detector had been deactivated for years.

He spent too long staring at the flames. But how could he not stare? They were gorgeous, dancing idles. So fleeting, so rare, so powerful. They smelled so sickly sweet, so bitter and callous and unforgiving. It burned and burned and burned and Logan was its faithful observer, its devoted worshiper, a quiet architect.

Logan took a deep breath, filling his nostrils with the blistery smell of his smoke.

His lungs refused to cooperate.

Logan barely had time to yell before he felt the pressure of something thin, of something strong and unassuming and wrapping around his neck yanking him backwards. Logan felt the pressure of it, felt the bursting of his eardrums and the staggering weight of someone behind him. He didn’t—couldn’t feel the pain.

He could feel the rush of blood down his neck where the wire was so close to slicing his throat like a slab of wet clay.

“Smile, Logie!” A cheerful tone hummed. Logan felt the vibrations down his back. “Smile for me!”

Logan’s lighter tumbled from his hand—or rather from the two working fingers he had been holding it with—and fell into the open air. The flames disappeared. Icy coldness flooded Logan’s veins like snakes striking at his rapidly beating heart.

He rammed the smoldering edge of his cigarette into the mass of flesh behind him and twisted. There was a yelp—a scream followed by haunting laughter. The wire loosened. Logan fell forward. His attacker fell back.

“Owww! Logie! That wasn’t nice at all!” The smiling man said between hiccups of pain. Logan thought he saw tears behind those round glasses of his, but to be honest he was more concerned with the sticky fluid dribbling down his neck. His fingers were dyed red, dyed the color of wine, it was warm and wet at the same time.

The smiling man twisted the handles of his wire—a clay cutter Logan thought distantly—and showed off the whites of his teeth. The rounded burn was on his side, where his pastel sweater had ridden up and left his pale skin exposed. Logan thought the mark looked gorgeous: angry and blistered and just a few seconds short of never coming off of him.

Logan rolled the stick in his hand, and his tongue flicked between his teeth, wondering what the rest of that soft pale skin would look like covered in those burns, smelling like the smoke, feeling like a braille story book that Logan got to write himself. The scream had been too short, too sudden, but Logan found his stomach fluttering at it.

Oh, it was a promise. A promise that he could get more from the man in front of him with such a convenient little thing.

The man’s eyes danced over Logan, cold and cutting and so excited. Logan’s lips twitched.

“It’s no fair that you don’t feel pain!” The man said.

“And you sneaking up behind me with wire was fair?” Logan countered.

“You looked so sad being here all alone!”

“Perhaps I prefer the loneliness.”

The smile crinkled. Logan could hear the way the other’s teeth grinded together, the way his saliva cracked and bubbled when it was pressured by the expanse of the face muscles to hold the strenuous crescent.

“No one ever prefers the loneliness, kiddo!”

It sounded like a fact. Like a threat.

Logan raised his cigarette between them. The ashes on the edge of it valiantly attempted to keep embers glowing and finish the job it had been sent to do.

The door at the end of the car swung, accompanied by the obnoxious laughter of someone who couldn’t read a room. It was loud, earth shatteringly so. The voices that came suddenly, the squeal of wheels on the rails, the whistling of the wind through the windows, and the thunder in the distance.

Logan froze, his cigarette hummed between his fingers, sticky blood dripped down his neck staining the collar of the shirt he had been wearing.

He saw the twisted faces of the other passengers like staring in a fun house mirror. Eyes widening, mouths gaping, half a scream on their lips, a cellphone flashing and sirens going off. The trip would be over, the prospect of burning the flesh gone in a puff of smoke because of a poor couple in a wrong time, wrong place scenario.

“Aw Logie!”

Then the smiling man was pressed up against him. Their glasses clinking when their faces collided, when his hands deceptively cupping his jaw line and pushing them both out of the limelight. The man’s eyes closed but Logan’s stayed so wide open. He could make out every single freckle on the other’s face. Logan felt the breath on his skin, then the precarious chapped lips on his own.

It was a parody of a kiss, of something sweet and romantic. The man’s hands were too rough, the blisters on his palms tore at the skin around the slice through Logan’s neck, his teeth bared and bit down on Logan’s lip like a ravenous beast; his body was heavy and controlling and somehow not at all warm.

“Hey, buddy! Get a room!”

Logan stared at the man in front of him, at the man kissing him, at the man who was trying to kill him. The fluttering in his chest spread like a plague, Logan knew, because there was simply no other reason that his hand snaked around the other’s waist and held him in place.

Neither of them moved until the door to the other end of the car closed.

Then Logan stubbed the remaining embers of his cigarette into the smiling man’s collarbone. His grin curled momentarily into a snarl and the other man launches himself away from Logan, away from the blood, and the smoke, and Logan let him tumble to the floor.

“This isn’t fun anymore,” The other said petulantly. “Not fun at all!”

He gave Logan a chilling smile, too much teeth, too wide, too white. Then he turned around and left Logan in the room with his bleeding neck, cigarette, lighter and pulsating bottom lip.

The scent of burned flesh was carried away by the open air of the train car and replaced with the smell of rain.

***

Their private compartment was still intact when Logan reentered it a partial rainstorm later. He had to wait for his neck to stop bleeding, and for several other people to clear out of the hall before he stole through the shifting compartments and found their carriage again.

His lighter had taken a deep dive when the smiling man had attacked him, but Logan was thankful it hadn’t been lost forever. The silver box was scuffed and scratched and needed replacing but Logan preferred it to any others. It was the reliable one that had ignited the baseball captain’s backyard shed on fire, the car in the parking garage, the suburban house in the middle of the night after he had dismantled the fire alarms.

Not to mention it made such a beautiful light when he flicked a switch. It made such glorious instantaneous heat.

It seemed that neither of the twins had been killed or had managed to kill their other companion although it appeared that at least one more attempt had been made. The knife sticking out of the backrest and the carvings on the floor were hard to miss when he rolled the door back open.

“Oh, he’s back.” The man in white said. There was a nick on his forehead that wasn’t there before, and although it was shallow, the thin line was precise and swift. If Logan had to guess, he assumed that it had been the hooded man attempting to remove the smug look from his face.

“Hi, Logie!” The smiling man hummed again upon seeing him. “It’s been so long!”

“It’s been twenty minutes,” Logan corrected him. He reached out and plucked the knife from his seat. The black handle was sturdy but it light compared the steel blade on the other end. It was sharp, too—sharp enough that Logan knew not to hold it towards himself when all three of the people in the room with him were one train turn away from launching at him.

“So long! I was so bored! V, tell him how bored I was!”

“Shut up,” His brother snapped, and buried himself in his jacket. “I’m mad at you.”

“What? Why!”

“You said I couldn’t carve Princey’s face off and make a Halloween mask out of it.”

“That’s because it would rot before Halloween came around, kiddo! We can’t have that!”

The other man grumbled something into the zipper of his jacket. His brother laughed at whatever it might have been. Rain danced on the window.

Logan had never been a fan of the rain. It made materials damp and changed his perfect gas-flesh ratio for his perfect kills. How many times in his teens had he cursed the sudden thunderstorms in his backyard when it stopped him from ritually destroying his sisters brand new textbooks and those stuffed animals from her boyfriend and her love letters that she never sent and hadn’t missed?

Then the smiling man gave a great big gasp, something that stole all the oxygen from the compartment. His brother lifted his head ever so slightly, a withering glare in place, and the man in white shot to a sitting position with his phone as a weapon.

“Don’t do that, Twenty Nine!” The man scolded him, “I almost bashed your skull in right now!”

The man laughed that signature fake, signature grating laugh.

“What’s so wrong with that, kiddo?” He asked, “Is it wrong to kill someone as messed up as me?”

“You’re not messed up, Pat.” His brother said, “Stop saying you are.”

The man in white leaned forward, the heels of his boots clicking and leaving a few dirt crumbs on the polished floor next to the knife carvings. “I’d really hate to mess up my count, puffball.” There was a whiteness to him, to his words that reminded Logan of bleach. White and watery and dangerous to get too close for too long.

The look in his eyes was clinical: all the warmth bleached out and left this mockery of a shell in its place.

The smiling man clapped his hands. “There might be something wrong with your brain too!”

His brother batted him with his sleeve, “No! He’s mine!”

“We can share!”

“No, we can’t! I don’t want you playing with his brain! You always drop them!”

The smile widened. Logan could see his tongue flicking between his teeth.

“Sorry Vee-Vee! I just love the sound they make when they hit the floor.”

“Did you have a reason for such an atrocious gasp, or were you merely attempting to provoke me into lighting you on fire right now?” Logan asked. The threat was hollow and empty, but only because a good fire in such a confined space would provide more than a few problems. The first of which was there was no distance to watch from, the second being the train was bound to stop the moment they realized there were open flames although he had never gotten a chance to set an actual train on fire—

Logan felt the lighter in his pocket grow heavy again.

Would it burn slowly? How long would it take? How many would it take into its ruby embrace? How much--?

“We should play a game!” The smiling man said.

Logan’s thoughts stuttered to a pause, unlike the train that was chugging allow at a steady pace. “A game?”

It appeared that the comment had acquired the attention of the others as well. His brother brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his hands around his legs. (Despite the hoodie, Logan could make out the purple and blue bruises around his neck from not too long ago. He absently poked the cut on his neck, and reached for his bag—surely, he had something to cover up his own injuries, correct?)

The man in white plopped his head into his hand and studied the smile on the other’s face. “I do like games.” He tapped his manicured fingers on his phone, emphasizing the cracks on the black screen. “I’ll allow it.”

The man in the hoodie shoot him a dark, annoyed glare, as if he was just barely holding back snap that would derail the conversation.

The smiling man clapped, “I love games, too! It will be so much fun! You’ll all be smiling at the end of it!”

“Pat—” His brother started but stopped himself quickly when the smiling man shoved a hand in his face.

“Trust me V!” He giggled. Logan caught sight of the puckered cigarette burn on the nap of his neck when his arms flailed. “It’ll make everything so much more fun!”

“What is the game?” Logan asked, if only to keep them on track.

“Well I was thinking that it’s so hard to—” He stopped to draw a line across his neck and stick his tongue out. There were tears in his eyes from how wide he was grinning that made the entire scenario more lighthearted than it should have been. Logan’s neck pulsed as he threaded through his bag for a scarf or something to cover the murder attempt. “—each other, so I was thinking we could make up rules we have to follow every day! If we don’t follow the rules, then the others get to kill us, no exceptions!”

Lightning shattered the sky behind him, casting him in an ethereal glow for a fraction of a second. Rain pounded at the window, much harder than from when Logan had been walking back from the smoking car.

“What kind of rules?” Logan demanded, “Who gets to decide them? Who gets to enforce them?”

“We would!” The man exclaimed pointed at all of them. “And the rules could be anything! Like no petting dogs in this state, no drinking water—Oh! What if it was no sneezing! Anyone who sneezed we could kill!”

“But who gets to kill them?” The man in white said. “If I don’t get to be the one to kill Robert Downer, Jr, then I will lose it.”

“Lose what?” The boy in the hoodie asked, “It can’t be your brain, because you don’t have one of those.”

The man in the white reached out one of his hands and it had the other man scrambling away. Logan ignored them in favor of analyzing the smiling face in front of him. The longer he spent looking at him, the more Logan was sure the man’s skin was made of plastic: even the freckles seemed painted on perfectly symmetrical on both halves of his face. His toothy grin could have been childish, but Logan doubt either of them could be judges of that. Actually, he doubted any of them in the private carriage had enough of a childhood to know what “childish” looked like.

“I guess the person who chose the rule for the day will get to make them smile!” The smiling man said.

“And what if the rule maker was the rule breaker?”

The man looked less certain, his smile turning thoughtful as he debated the question. “I guess they’ll have to kill themselves, right?” He laughed again.

“Okay,” Logan found himself saying. “I’ll play.”

He watched the stars form in the other’s eyes, and for a second Logan had difficulty identifying where the fake smile started and a genuine one appeared. For someone who looked like a doll, he was much louder than them when he squealed.

“Really, Logie? You will!”

“It would be beneficial to me,” Logan said, “Assuming that while we are playing no other attempts of assassination will be allowed. I do not have the time to scrub the blood from all of the clothes I own.” He pinched his glasses, “Also, I would like to go first.”

“What if I don’t want to play this game?” The hooded man said, “It sounds dumb.”

“You’re just afraid of losing.” The man in white said.

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“I’m not! It is stupid! Just like your face.”

“My face is the most handsome thing you’ll ever have the honor of looking at, Foundation Freak.” The man in white shot back. “And if its so stupid, then you shouldn’t have a problem winning until it’s my turn?”

“Fine!” The man in the hoodie scowled and dragged his hood tighter over his head, “Fine, I’ll play!”

Logan turned ever so slightly to look at the man next to him, “Neither of you will be attempting to go first?”

“No,” The man said with an expression that was sharper than the knife Logan had in his hand. For the first time Logan wondered if perhaps there was something else going on in his head beside an incessant urge to kill (people, things, time).

“It’s all yours Logie-bear!” The smiling man said.

Thunder rumbled over the sound of the train tracks.

“And whatever I say will last until when exactly?” Logan asked.

The man in white turned around his phone. Between the cracks in the glass, the time printed out just past six in the afternoon. “A full twenty-four hours, Calculator Watch.” His smug smirk haunted the dull lighting. “Choose wisely.”

As if Logan had ever done anything differently.

“My rule is this,” Logan said, enunciating each word, “For the next twenty-four hours we must refer to each other by our actual legal names.”

“Our…legal names?” The man in the hoodie echoed as if he had never heard the term before. “Like…our real names? I can’t call Princey, “Princey”, anymore?”

“Ah!” The man in white said jumping to his feet and causing the carriage to shake, “That’s a rule break! I get to kill you now—”

“We haven’t started yet, dumbass!” The man argued. “And if we had, Logan would get to kill me. Not you!” He kicked a foot out at the other’s knee.

The man yelped and stumbled backwards, with a slew of curses. “Of course we’ve started, Twenty eight—fuck!”

“You broke the rules too!”

“Shut up!”

“You shut up!”

Logan looked to the smiling man.

Said smiling man was tapping his chin, with a clever sort of smile. “Well this is fun,” He said softly, perhaps seriously. “You aren’t even going to start a little easy are you, Logan?”

The name sounded strange coming off his lips. Like he had pulled the water from the air and frozen it in a single breath. The fluttering in his stomach came back, as memorable as an atomic bomb in his chest. Dangerous and deadly and something to be avoided at all costs and yet Logan found himself wishing it would stay.

“Why would I?” He responded. He turned to the other two in the compartment. “The game will start now, if you both are finished arguing.”

“But it’s not fair!” The man in the hoodie huffed. “No one knows his name! We only know your name because we saw you at your job! How are we supposed to talk about—about him if we don’t know how to talk about--.”

“My name is Roman Prince.” The man in white cut in. “You may refer to me as Roman.”

It was strange, Logan thought. For him to give up an advantage like that. Surely it would be better for the others if they didn’t know his name at all. But Logan detected something coming from him, something about his aura that darkened the moment that the hooded man had opened his mouth to complain.

“Aw shucks, kid—Roman,” The smiling man stuttered, “That was really nice of you! I’m Patton Sanders! And this is my brother Virgil!”

Logan finally found what he was looking for in his bag: the turtleneck that he had packed should the option of a late night in another city come about. It would at least be enough to cover the slice on his throat from questioning glances.

“What about you?” The man in white, the regal Roman Prince, asked Logan.

The weight of the knife in his other hand was heavy, the pressure of it sitting on his fingertips somewhere between too cold and too hot. Logan recognized the style of it: the hilt matched the one he had left in his kitchen strainer after he pulled it from his arm and had threaded the gaping wound closed on both sides.

He was certain the amount of blood he had lost between these few days wasn’t as healthy as possible. The headache, too, wasn’t the best. And the dryness of his mouth.

If Logan was smart he’d bid them all goodbye at the next stop and head on his merry way. Maybe he’d find a naïve girl who needed a ride home and send her up in smoke. But Logan did not like missing out on things, especially not the chance to burn the plastic smiling man across from him again, to hear those pleas, and that delicious, desperate scream of his. If he left now, he’d never get to see what happens next.

Wouldn’t that just be awful?

“Logan Ackroyd,” Logan said, “I wonder if you’ll be able to remember it.”

Lightning cracked down on the countryside, washing the windows with light and rain pellets and the promise of murder.

Part 3

#serial killer au #au #sanders sides #logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #attempted murder #stabbings #Blood #choking #trains #Romanticizing serial killing #Murder #I can not stress that enough #Arson #mentions of suicide

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something-tofightfor · 5 years ago

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I would like to know what Logan's most prized possession is (let's use HCTS Logan), if Ryan ever played any sports, what is Caspian's favorite book about (and what does reader think of his choice?), and what Billy's most embarrassing moment was. And I wish you well on your laundry quest.

OH MY GOD THESE WERE SO DAMN FUN.

(Under a cut because it got long)

Logan’s most prized possession… you might think it’s one of his many pieces of artwork (Right, @its-my-little-dumpster-fire?) … but it’s not. His most prized possession is a picture of him, Juliet and his mother from when Logan was eight.

Jim’s in it, too, but he’s not the focal point of the image - he’s off in the background, on the phone. The three of them are sitting on a deck chair in their back yard; his mom’s wearing a white cover-up and a giant, floppy sun hat, seven year old Juliet’s sitting on the left side of her blue bathing suit, wide open and cheeks scrunched up in a smile as she stares at her brother, and Logan’s on his mom’s lap, in a pair of batman swim trunks and a huge grin on his face. He’s got the same smile as his mom - same eyes too, and when he looks at himself - skin a little browned from the hours that he and Juliet spent by the pool, freckles visible on his nose and chest, his hair curling around his ears and falling over his forehead, he remembers how simple his life used to be - how happy he was, what it felt like to be loved unconditionally. (He knows again because of you, but… there were a lot of years in-between when this picture was the only thing he had to pull him out of his own head).

The picture is his most prized possession because it shows him that it wasn’t anything that he did per se to turn Jim away; it was always like that, Jim thought work was more important than family… but he had one supportive parent, one sibling that loved him, one reason to fight. He fought for himself, sure, because he wanted to prove that he wasn’t lying, that he deserved Delos and all of the things that he worked hard for… but he fought for Juliet, too - for that little girl that looked at her brother like he had all the answers, was the only thing she could see.

And Logan fought hard.

***

Ryan and sports… he’s never been on a team - even as a kid, because his mom didn’t want her tall, skinny kid to get hurt… But as a teen and adult, Ryan has found himself playing sports more and more. He’s athletic - has to be, to jump the trains, to keep his breathing even and his body from getting too thin while he’s sleeping on the ground and not living an otherwise “healthy” lifestyle, so whenever he can, Ryan enjoys playing team sports, just to keep himself in shape.

He’s not particularly fast, but he’s strong, and Ryan can throw a ball like nobody’s business. He and Cowboy would join baseball games in parks whenever they could starting in Ryan’s late teens; he knows how to throw four different pitches well - two different kinds of fastballs (a cutter and a two seam), a curveball and a changeup - and his top speed, which he tested at a state fair in Iowa one summer, and was able to hit two out of three times - was 86.

He practices - not with ball or anything like that, but sometimes with rocks or pieces of coal he finds on the trains, while they’re speeding through the night, even though they’re not the same weight or size as a baseball. He won’t play a sport that could result in him hurting his hands, so hockey and football are out. He likes to swim, but doesn’t get to as often as he wishes he could.

***

Caspian is an avid reader. When he said that the library was his favorite place, it’s not just because it gave him a place to hide from the responsibilities of being a King and being responsible for literally all of Narnia… he likes learning, too.

Caspian’s one of the people that enjoys hands on experience because he feels that it helps him to learn and to grow as a person - but he knows that he’s not going to be able to experience everything the world has to offer, no matter how much time he spends on the Dawn Treader or traveling with his men and/or his bride … so he has to rely on books. But his favorite book isn’t an educational book, not like you’d think: Caspian’s favorite book is one of Narnian myths and fables… because he knows all too well that just because something can’t be seen or hasn’t been experienced by the masses, that doesn’t make it impossible.

He found the book hidden in the library when he was ten or eleven, after a particularly hard lesson by his teacher that resulted in an assignment for Caspian to write a paper on the two most common types of currency, and Caspian was hooked from the moment he pulled the hard-backed volume from a shelf. It had been filed incorrectly; the library custodian was very lazy, but that worked out well for the young Prince.

He flipped the pages open, front and back covers held tightly in his hands, drawn in by the image of the golden lion on the spine and within only a few moments, his paper was forgotten and Caspian lost himself in long-forgotten stories and legends. He read the book from cover to cover in one sitting, no one coming in to tell him to go to sleep, and the next afternoon, Caspian had taken the book to his teacher, excited and wanting to know if any of the stories could possibly be true… and that was his introduction to the Kings and Queens of Old, of the White Witch, of Narnia’s true history … and of so much more.

And as for you? You love that Caspian’s beliefs in magic and the possibilities of other places and other people began from a young age. You love that he can tell you stories of his own - and that they align with the things you’ve read, the things that you’ve been told are impossible … that makes them much better. You appreciate the fact that even as King, Caspian won’t ever brush off something that he doesn’t understand just because he’s never experienced it. The two of you have lots of places to go and things to learn together, and you know that with his experience, Caspian will be there every step of the way… and it’ll be your turn to learn something instead of being the one to teach it.

***

Billy has a lot of embarrassing moments, but he uses them as learning experiences whenever possible. The failed loss of virginity to his teenage girlfriend is one of them, but he knows now that that was just because he was a dumb kid and he was overeager (and he’s never had the same problem with a woman since).

But another one? Billy knew that as soon as he turned sixteen, he wanted to get his license, even though he didn’t own a car and didn’t know when he would be able to get one. He wanted to have one just so he had it, so he could pull out his driver’s license and show it off to the girls. So he saved up the money that he earned from recycling cans and bottles and from delivering newspapers, and from helping one of the elderly women that lived near the group home with household chores.

Mrs. Natkins was actually the woman that took him to the DMV, helped him fill in his information, and quizzed him on his driver’s ed manual. Billy passed the written test in the fewest number of questions possible. He got his learner’s permit on his first try, and was patient when it came to practicing (again, Mrs. Natkins helped him out here, as did another neighbor - a slightly younger woman that was also teaching her daughter Cami how to drive) and even though Billy was a little shit and a typical teenage boy, he wanted his license, so he studied hard.

But the embarrassing part? When the allotted time had passed and Billy completed his pre-test, taking the driver’s ed course in his high school classes, he went ON THE FIRST DAY HE COULD to take his road test. Mrs. Natkins took him, because she saw how excited he’d been to get his license and how hard he’d worked… Billy stayed in his lane. Billy kept his speed where it needed to be, and he signaled when appropriate. Billy did everything properly except parallel park. Things were going great up until he went to put the car in park, perfectly in between the two other cars… and then he got overexcited, jerked the wheel and took his foot off the brake before he could get it into park… and hit the curb.

The instructor, regretfully, failed him. Even though it wasn’t a huge thing, it stuck with him - and told Billy that no matter how hard he worked, how well he did something, it isn’t over til it’s over… and while it was an embarrassing thing, having to tell people that he’d failed for such a dumb thing, he didn’t let it deter him from practiciing more and more so that he was sure to pass the next time he took the test … and he passed. Years later, Billy’s parallel parking skills are unmatched - precise, smooth - He could park the Wraith in a too small space with his eyes closed if he needed to… and he did - often.

#ask something-tofightfor #thanks for the ask!!#get to know my characters #king caspian #logan delos #billy russo #ryan brenner #the-blind-assassin-12

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ironcraftusa · 2 years ago

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Know Different Types of Skid Steer Attachments and Parts

Machines are a key component of labor and operation on farms and agricultural fields. The operators may increase the adaptability of the machines by adding the right accessories, whether it be for digging ditches or getting rid of stumps. We’ll learn about some attachments and parts, such as the skid steer tiller, brush cutter, hay spear, and more. Let’s get going.

Brush Cutter

A motorized garden or agricultural instrument known as a skid steer brush cutter, sometimes known as a brush saw or clearing saw, is used to trim weeds, small trees, and other vegetation that is inaccessible by a lawn mower or rotary mower. For cutting through thick undergrowth, saplings, dense grass, and weeds, a brush cutter with an open front is a perfect option. The removal of overgrown brush may be completed quickly with a variety of brush cutters.

Hay Spear

Hay bales may be moved with ease by just hooking up to the skid steer. Rolling the ball back towards the cab while using our High Back Hay Spear gives more leverage and security. These are available in single and double spears.

Forks

Skid steer forks are a common attachment, particularly on farms and construction sites. They can speed up the process, which would otherwise take a while. To get the most out of the equipment, it is helpful to know which fork is compatible with the machine and how to use it.

Tiller

Skid steer tiller is the right equipment for the task, whether you’re preparing the ground for seeding, planting, or turfing. Because of the offset construction of this skid steers attachment, running it in reverse leaves no wheel traces behind.

If you want to increase the adaptability of your machinery and be flexible in your operations, you can rely on IronCraft. They offer a comprehensive selection of tractor and skid steer attachments. They provide attachments such as skid steer brush cutters as well as rotary tillers, box blade scrapers, grader blades, landscape rakes, disc harrows, and more.

View original source: https://ext-6184808.livejournal.com/2332.html

#skid steer tiller

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krishitoolindia · 2 years ago

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Wheel Type Brush Cutter With 63cc Engine, 4 Stroke - Krishitool.in

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itspowerfulhairclippers-blog · 6 years ago

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Philips self-service hair clipper QC5570

sum of description

1, 180-degree rotating cutter head

Stainless steel blade

13 file length setting

Wireless use 60 minutes/charge 1 hour

Accurate buzzing comb

2, 180 ° rotating the cutter head, easy to trim.

Rotating the cutter head gives you complete control over the angle of the hair clipper, so you can easily reach even hard-to-reach areas by simply turning the cutter head.

3, easy to select 13 fixed length settings (from 0.5 to 15 mm)

Rotate the integrated zoom wheel under the hair cutter head to select and lock the desired length setting. The two trimming combs are available in lengths from 1 mm to 15 mm with an accuracy of 2 mm between each length. Use a special precision comb to trim the head...or trim it with a shorter length of 0.5 mm without using a trimming comb.

4, precision comb teeth, take care of the shorter inch shape.

Use a special comb (length set from 0.5 mm to 3 mm in steps of 0.5 mm) to accurately handle shorter hairstyles.

5, curved comb and trim comb to prevent skin irritation

The curved edge on the blade and trim comb prevent scratching of the skin for a comfortable trimming experience.

6, connected to the power cord and wireless use

Can be used without power or power.

7, automatic grinding blade

The self-grinding stainless steel blade maintains sharpness for long periods of time, ensuring the desired trimming effect.

8. It can provide up to 60 minutes of unconnected power usage time after charging for 1 hour.

It can be used with or without power supply. The powerful NiMH battery can provide 60 minutes of usage time after 1 hour of charging. The 10-minute fast charge provides 10 minutes of trim time, so you can always use it at any time.

9, the battery indicator shows the battery status

The battery indicator lights up in white when fully charged, and flashes orange when there are only 10 minutes of use.

10, completely washable, easy to clean

Rinse conveniently under the faucet for a full cleaning.

11, rubber handle, to achieve full control

The soft rubber handle makes the grip comfortable and comfortable.

12, 2-year warranty, global voltage

All of our grooming products are durable. They have a 2-year global warranty and universal voltage worldwide.

Technical specifications

1, cutting device

Trimming width: 41 mm

Length setting number: 13

Length setting range: 0.5-15 mm

Accuracy (step size): 2 mm

Trimming parts: stainless steel blades

Large comb: 3-15 mm

Precision comb: 1-3 mm

2, easy to operate

Zoom wheel

Tap water cleaning

Adjustable guide comb

Display: charging indicator

3, charging the device

Battery type: NiMH battery

Charging time: 1 hour

Working time: up to 60 minutes

Usage: Wired / Wireless

4, design

Shape: ergonomic design

5, accessories

Cleaning brush

Lubricating oil in the package

6, service

2-year worldwide warranty

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lassofthelake · 6 years ago

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The Loyalty of the Chargers

It was raining. Of course, it was raining. The Chargers trudged along the Storm Coast, scattering rocks and pebbles under their heavy boots. The air was heavy with the mist and the scent of the ocean. The Iron Bull wrinkled his nose in distaste. Certainly, he was well acquainted with the salty semi-foul scent that the ocean carried from his years in Seheron but he wasn’t anymore fond of it for it’s familiarity.

“Chief!” Krem shouted from where he’d taken up the back of the company. Bull paused and turned to face his second while the rest of his Chargers trudged by without so much as a pause. Cremisius Aclassi looked miserable. His hair, which was shaved close on the sides and longer on top was plastered against his forehead and as he marched forward to meet Bull, it didn’t escape the Qunari man that he tripped and lost his footing more than once. “Are you sure this is the right place?” Krem demanded, irritation clear in his voice. “Where are the damned Venatori?”

Another wave crashed against the shore, sending another salty wet spray over the company. A few members groaned, but the Bull remained unaffected. “Oh, come on Krem. You’re not having fun?”

The shorter man scowled deeply. “No, I’m not,” he ground out.

Bull laughed. “The intel is good,” he assured, and then, rethinking, “besides, we’re waiting for that Herald of Andraste or what ever to show up, right?”

Krem gave Bull a look and asked, “Do you really think she’d come herself? I thought they’d just send an agent.”

Bull shrugged, his great shoulders heaving with the motion. “Not sure, but from the reports I’ve read, she seems like the type to take care of her own affairs.”

Krem still didn’t seem convinced. “Didn’t your Ben-Hassrath buddies say she was some kind of noble before the conclave blew and the sky ripped open? Unusual trait in a blue blood, I’d say,” he argued.

The former Tevene had a fair point - the nobility did like to send others to do their dirty work. The fact that the Chargers were so profitable, not to mention popular, was testament to that. In any case, it didn’t matter to Bull. So long as the Inquisition showed and he got to make his offer, he didn’t care if it was the Herald or a squire. “Maybe she got bored,” Bull supplied with a noncommittal shrug.

Krem looked like he wanted to disagree, but zeroing in on a spot over his second’s shoulder, the large horned man spotted a figure as it emerged from the brush, holding a staff and a book floating before him. He had just enough time to push Krem away and dive the opposite direction before the little patch of the shore he and Krem had occupied lit up with reddish-orange runes and promptly burst into flames. Bull regained his footing, quickly drawing his great battleaxe from his back. “Chargers, behind!” he roared before charging forward towards the hooded man and cleaving through his chest before he could cast another spell.

Battle cries rang out as the rest of the Chargers drew their weapons and more Venatori appeared, as if from thin air.

A crackle was Bull’s only warning before pain radiated across his back and made him spasm as electric currents wracked his body. His knees his the silt and pebbles beneath him hard as he fought to regain control over his still-tensed muscles. The site where the spell had hit sizzled and burned, a whole fresh level of hell.

Dalish wasn’t too far away and he could see her throwing spell after spell. Bull couldn’t see Rocky, but he heard a boom that spoke of the dwaven man’s involvement in the fray. Skinner was probably having the time of her life.

Bull rejoined the fight with another roar, beheading the closest Venatori like he was slicing through butter on a hot day. He cut through another Venatori in quick succession before getting locked in combat with an maul wielding warrior. He was a big motherfucker, almost as big as Iron Bull himself, and he’d clearly been trained to use that massive war hammer. It felt as if the fight might go on forever and Bull’s arms were beginning to ache with the effort it took to block his opponent’s blows when a little burst of light whizzed past and hit the man square in his chest, knocking him off kilter. Bull saw the opportunity and made quick work of him, cleaving through his chest plate with great effort.

Sweat ran down his brow, silt and blood were sliding down his arms and legs with the mist and between the lightning spell and the fight with the big guy, he was starting to hurt badly. He’d just delivered a pommel strike to his current foe when the charger next to him go down with a cry of pain, an arrow lodged in her shoulder.

Bull swore, wheeling around to find the archer and take them out. His eye traced what he thought was the most likely flight path of the arrow and he did manage to find an archer perched high up on a ledge. At least, he did for a moment, before the archer jerked forward and fell off the ledge, revealing the form of a young woman who had clearly just kicked him. Her companions began to file down the ledge but she, seemingly without pause, jumped and slid down the steep, rocky slide. She glided down the slope with ease, looking the very picture of grace until the slope deposited her on the ground and she pitched forward with the momentum. However, she was unfazed and was right back on her feet a second later, drawing an ax that seemed way to huge for her to wield. There was no doubt in Bull’s mind that this was the Herald, though she was different than Bull had pictured from the Ben-Hassrath reports. He’d pictured someone older, less petite and definitely not as gorgeous as this woman was, but he wasn’t about to complain.

Once she and her companions joined, the rest of the Venatori were made short work of. She was a talented warrior as was the other woman who’d accompanied her and her archer friend carried a most unusual crossbow that fired explosives in addition to arrows. Rocky was going to have questions.

The woman planted the head of her ax in the silt and rested her hands over the pommel, looking at Bull with an expectant twinkle in her eyes. Inwardly, Iron Bull smirked, but before he approached her, he turned to check in with Krem. No one had died, thankfully, so he gave quick instructions to let the throat cutters take over.

Her pink lips split in a pretty smile. “Hi-ya,” she greeted.

“So, you’re with the Inquisition, huh?” he asked, to which she gave a little nod. “Glad you could make it. Come on, have a seat. Drinks are coming.”

With one hand, she freed her ax from where she’d planted it in the ground and then secured it onto her back before coming to stand before him. “Nicely done,” she complimented brightly. “I hear you’re looking for work?”

So it was right down to business, huh? Bull liked that in a woman. “I am! Not before my drink, though.” He turned and found a stone to sit on and she lightly folded herself onto a stone across from him. Before he could finish the conversation, though, Krem approached again, announcing that the throat cutters had done their job. “Already? Have ‘em check again,” Bull ordered. “I don’t want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away. No offense, Krem,” he tacked on with a chuckle, easily falling back into banter with his lieutenant.

Krem was quick with a rejoinder, as per usual, replying, “None taken. Least a bastard knows who his mother was. Puts him one up on you Qunari, right?”

It didn’t escape Bull’s notice that the Herald watched this display with a grin, clearly enjoying their teasing. Krem left to go see that their captain’s orders were followed and Bull refocused his attentions on the gleeful young lady. She couldn’t be more than twenty-five which made her skill all the more impressive, not to mention the fact that she’d pretty much already secured herself a place in history. “So...” he broached, “You’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive, but we’re worth it... and I’m sure the Inquisition can afford us.”

Her noble upbringing was reflected in the way she didn’t so much as bat an eyelash whenever price was mentioned if not in everything else about her. There was the unwavering consequence of someone who had never had to worry about their next meal. Instead, she pressed on, saying. “The Chargers seem like an excellent company.”

“They are,” Bull asserted, his voice full of confidence. “But you’re not just getting the boys. You’re getting me. You need a front line body guard. I’m your man. Whatever it is - demons, dragons? The bigger, the better.” As he was speaking he stood to stand in front of her, dwarfing her tiny frame and he didn’t miss the way her violet eyes followed his movements. She was still smiling when she stepped back in order to let him pass.

“There’s one other thing...” he admitted. He then told her about his role in the Ben-Hassrath. She didn’t seem too perturbed when he’d finished - more surprised, at first, than anything. Her eyebrows had rose and she’d asked a few questions - and he couldn’t blame her since he’d outright admitted that he was going to be “spying” on her. Bull was watching her closely as he spoke and he couldn’t miss the intelligence that shown in her eyes as she watch him as well. She even caught him out, pointing out that he’d known her spymaster was female with a sharp little jab.

In the end, she just asked that he run the reports by Leliana before sending them past, and demand with which he was to comply. They shook hands, his hand dwarfing her’s so much it was almost comical.

“Krem, tell the Chargers to keep drinking on the road. The Chargers just got hired!” The Qunari man announced with pride.

“What about the casks, chief?” Krem asked. “We just opened them up. With axes.”

“Find some way to seal them,” Bull decreed, too pleased by the agreement to let the loss of some ale get to him. “You’re Tevinter right? Try using blood magic.”

Krem sagged, but got to work, trying to salvage some of the casks. Bull turned to her and remembered something. “Oh, yeah. I meant to ask you - what’s your name? Everything about you just turned up as Lady Trevelyan.”

Her smile dimpled her cheeks and her tone was sweet. “It’s Evangeline but if you want to keep the remainders of those finger, I suggest calling me Evy.”

Bull was taken aback by the playful threat for a moment before his own grin spread across his face. “I hope you don’t mind “boss”, boss.”

“Also acceptable,” she agreed.

Right at that moment, The Iron Bull felt a kinship with the Herald. Here they both were on the stormy, rainy coast, covered in grime and blood and uniting against a common enemy. Not only did his Chargers belonged to the Inquisition and he’d promised himself to her. He felt an intense surge of loyalty as he locked eyes with her and she laughed. Evy was so joyous and bright and he wanted to protect those qualities. He could understand why she was the talk of the continent now. He understood why so many followed her.

From that day forward, the Chargers held loyalty to the Inquisition and he was loyal to her.

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