#windows repair toolbox

[fictionalsweethearts]

DOMESTIC!SEVIKA HEADCANONS

Let's agree that Sevika doesn't spend much time at home, as she has to attend to business matters all day and night, and she spends her breaks at the betting shops or in some seedy pub where she feeds her fondness (perhaps addiction) to gambling.

However, Sevika must live in the vicinity of the centre of Zaun where she works. Probably in some austere apartment with one bathroom and a narrow kitchen (not that she uses it much either).

She tends to leave the terrace open to air out the smell of tobacco, already permeating the curtains and the carpet.

Her room is at the end of the hallway, it is not very big but it is comfortable, and its window faces the same avenue. At night, the neon color of the signs enters and draws silhouettes on the double bed, which is provided with a wine-colored bedspread and brown pillows. The dresser is usually tidy, and most of Sevika's clothes hang from the coat rack, including her poncho. There is an ashtray on the nightstand, a stained glass lamp, somewhat blackened by tobacco smoke, and in the drawer another pack of cigarettes and a Shimmer dial (which she has needed to use more frequently, being forced to work with only two hours of sleep in her body.).

Sevika is pragmatic, not much for keeping knickknacks or ornaments, however she keeps a deck of cards that her old man had given her a few decades ago, on her fourteenth birthday.

The apartment is quiet, Sevika appreciates the silence after dealing with noises of all kinds on a daily basis.

Since she doesn't spend much time at home, she doesn't tend to clean the apartment very often. She keeps the essentials clean, that is, the bathroom and her room, but the kitchen sink usually has unwashed glasses and cups and there is a thin layer of dust on the coffee table. It doesn't bother her much.

The bathroom is as austere as the rest of the apartment, with a shower and toilet, a mirror that says good morning and she answers with a "what a haggard bitch." There is a small first aid kit under the sink, next to a toolbox that allows her to repair her prosthetic arm. In the upper compartment, there is a woody perfume that she puts on her neck and on the fabric of her poncho.

She usually leaves the mechanical arm on top of the dresser before going to sleep, being the first thing she reaches for in the morning, of course, after her morning cigarette.

Sevika's breakfast: a black coffee and a cigarette. If the day promises to be unbearable, she adds a shot of whiskey to her coffee. Sometimes she buys a fruit at the market.

Sevika is not an avid cook, she does it when necessary, as she usually has almost all her meals at the Last Drop or a market stall. She usually feeds herself with whatever she can throw into the pot, adding spices, wine and water.

Her signature dish is beef stew with wine (she drinks the wine while she cooks).

Of course, she has a liquor cabinet in her living room. She usually keeps it filled with bottles of bourbon, red wine, and other stronger herbal liquors.

She's not a morning person, her first sounds in the morning are usually grunts and monosyllables, until her breakfast cigarette and a shower improves her mood (a little).

Sevika is good at math. Not just because of her gambling hobby, but because of taking care of Silco's collections and other deals involving transactions, negotiations and money. She usually keeps an accounting book in her closet, which she has to take a look on more than once when the numbers don't add up (perfectionism at its finest).

Sevika takes great care of her dental health. She appreciates clean teeth and keeps mints or candy handy to keep her breath fresh (so she can kiss her girls better).

When she's in the mood and the night allows it, she likes to take a bubble bath at home. She accompanies it with a cigarette and a nice glass of whiskey.

Yes, she has fallen asleep in said bath more than once (she is an exhausted woman, don't be mean).

Sevika usually keeps the lights low, preferring darkness.

She wears comfortable clothes at home like tank tops and sweatpants, but avoids going barefoot.

Her home may look unkempt, but she knows where everything is. If something moves without her permission, she'll notice.

She avoids having pets, as they seem like an unnecessary responsibility to add to her life. But if a stray cat wanders around her home, she leaves leftovers by the window.

She likes to plays a game of solitaire when she's free (rarely).

Sevika has nightmares. No matter how much rest she tries to get, her brain replays past mistakes or portrays possible tragedies that she is unable to stop.

She doesn't like wall clocks or alarm clocks, but she always knows the time (let's call it a busy butch superpower).

In the mornings she takes cold showers.

She doesn't tend to look at herself in the mirror for long. While she maintains her self-esteem, she is not vain by any means. She also avoids paying too much attention to her missing arm, as her mind wanders to unpleasant places.

She has a little training corner in her apartment, where she spends part of her time maintaining her body strong and fit.

Yes, she smokes between sets.

In the privacy of her room, Sevika sometimes resorts to self-pleasure to relax. Her hand and a good imagination are more than enough.

DOMESTIC!SEVIKA & PARTNER

If she has a girlfriend, inviting her over is the ultimate proof that she trusts her. No one who doesn't deserve it enters her safe space.

Her nightmares are reduced if she sleeps with her, and she often pulls her close during the night and buries her nose in her hair.

She doesn't say good morning, preferring to stare at her partner in silence until she wakes up.

She makes sure she's comfortable. She may seem disinterested, but she's bought shampoo and conditioner for her, always keeps the bed clean and the air fresh when she invites her to stay the night, and often cooks something more elaborate for dinner.

Sevika avoids smoking in her presence if she doesn't smoke, so she goes out onto the balcony several times.

She likes comfortable silences, sharing a cigarette or each minding their own business without having to start unnecessary conversations.

She is good at listening and providing advice with effective solutions. She usually sits on the couch and gives her girlfriend all the time she needs to vent.

She's not good at comforting, but she tries.

She is very receptive. It is a matter of noticing a change in her girlfriend's mood or reading her expression to know that something is going on.

If she falls asleep on the couch, Sevika takes her to her bed, if she cuts herself while cooking, Sevika, instead of worrying, simply bandages her hand. She's practical.

She really enjoys her girlfriend's company even if she doesn't say it. She looks at her, sits close to her or brushes her waist or her butt with her hand if she passes by her.

If her partner is away for a long time, Sevika gets worried. She express it with a simple "you took long" when she arrives.

Her way of asking her partner to stay the night is to simply say, "If you're sleepy, the bed is clean."

When Sevika has her partner over, she makes sure to reduce the smell of tobacco with air fresheners she bought at the market. She sprays the whole apartment and walks around sniffing to make sure it's not obvious that she smokes a pack a day.

She likes to cook if she has her over, she usually prepares more elaborate meals and uncorks her best liquor.

Sevika snores. Years of smoking, sleepless nights and punches in the nose have taken their toll on her and she snores like a truck.

When her bed partner chides her for it, she simply raises her eyebrows and asks, "Do I really snore?" (She will never admit that she snores).

[fluffy-dixon]

Sleeveless

No warnings, just a bit of heated tension between two people who are obviously very attracted to each other.

This was inspired by seeing Norman wearing his cut off Joy Division t-shirt.

-

Today was a very ordinary, chilled, and relaxed kind of today, almost feeling like a normal Sunday afternoon despite the apocalypse. Daryl, your best friend who you spent the most of your time with, all the time in fact, stands there in the garage tinkering with his motorbike, the sunlight filtering through the dusty windows, casting a warm glow on his tanned skin. His motorhead T-shirt, its sleeves artfully cut off, clings to his broad shoulders and defined biceps. As he leans over the bike, his back muscles ripple beneath the fabric, and you can’t help but trace the lines with your eyes.

That damned t-shirt does things to you within.

His hands, calloused from countless battles with walkers and working, move with a graceful confidence—fingers adjusting bolts, tightening screws. You watch the play of tendons as he grips the wrench, the way his knuckles flex. It’s as if every movement is a symphony, and you’re the sole audience member, captivated by the performance.

The things he could do with those hands, mhmm.

What.

You snapped yourself out of your thoughts but then it hits you: the sudden realisation that this isn’t just admiration for his mechanical skills. No, it’s something deeper, more primal. Your heart races, and you wonder how you never noticed before—the way his laughter reaches your soul, the warmth of his gaze when he catches you staring.

You’re undeniably attracted to Daryl, and the garage becomes a stage for a different kind of tension—one that has nothing to do with bike repairs. The air crackles with possibility, and you find yourself wondering what it would be like to trace those arm muscles with your fingertips, to feel his lips against yours.

But for now, you keep your secret, watching him work, knowing that this newfound desire will forever colour your perception of motor oil and metal. And as he looks up, meeting your gaze, you wonder if he senses it too, he smiles at you, exposing his emotions - a very rare moment which he only shares with the people he cared for most.

“Watcha starin’ at, huh?” His voice, gravelly and deep, wraps around you like a warm embrace. You find yourself speechless, utterly captivated by his every move. Daryl stands there, mere centimetres away, his presence filling the garage. Your feet dangle over the edge of the toolbox you’re perched on, and he steps in between your legs.

His palms, rough from countless hours of tinkering with engines, rest on the tops of your thighs. The heat from his touch seeps through your skin, igniting a fire within you. You’re acutely aware of the tension—the charged air that crackles between you two.

And then, without warning, the words tumble out: “You’re really hot.” You hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but desire has a way of bypassing reason. Daryl blinks, confusion etching his features. “Wha?” he stammers, caught off guard.

Quickly, you backtrack, your cheeks flushing. “It’s really hot,” you correct yourself, hoping he didn’t quite catch your slip. But the heat in the garage isn’t just from the weather; it’s the electric pull between you and him, a magnetic force that defies explanation.

[thewanderingmask]

my submission for the hermitcraft season 10 fan art gallery: Xisuma Eternal! (actual size on left, embiggened version on right)

there are a ton of little thoughts that went into this and i will now go off about them at length (ramble under the cut)

let's start with the image layout and composition! my first idea was to do an homage to the original doom box art because of X's skin, but ultimately I decided on referencing this Eternal cover (hence the title of the piece) because it sparked some stronger ideas in my brain.

i still wanted to keep that link to the original though, so i did my very best to emulate the original logo with X's name - replacing the original texture with binary as one of many references to X's role supporting the technical side of the server.

(for no reason other than my own amusement, the binary in the letters is translated lyrics from X's verse in the hermit gang song. i don't even know how much of that is still visible after lining the letters, but i liked putting it there)

i've only been watching hermitcraft for a few months, and there's an awful lot of history i don't know about. so i focused on doing my best celebrating builds X has worked on here in season 10! i would have loved to include his base as well, but ultimately i ran out of room.

(there are still a few nods to other seasons based on knowledge i've acquired through osmosis. evil X is the most obvious, but i was also able to sneak in a couple small carvings next to the X in the title text!)

coming back around to xisuma's work on the technical side, that's why Evil X is backed by error windows. it's also why xisuma is holding a toolbox! it was the best visual metaphor i could come up with for the digital job of maintenance and repair.

(and of course he has a lovely cup of tea as well)

the allays (holding redstone) are partially in reference to farms X has been making, partially bringing back in that angelic/demonic vibe of Doom, and mostly because their intended role of supporters and helpers feels very thematically appropriate for X.

the lines in the sky are of course meant to evoke the shapes of mace race, and the black cube is a minecraft-ified version of the Soulside Eclipse logo.

(if you're not familiar, that's xisuma's music! it's good!! give it a listen sometime! it's on youtube!)

the silverfish at the very bottom are visual reference to the demon hordes of Doom - and of course they're also much more directly referencing X's very clever prank in impulse's city.

finally, on the walls of spawn we have the carved symbols - one for every other hermit. i remember X mentioning in a stream once something about fulfillment from supporting others. (i apologise if i'm remembering less than clearly.) it just felt like if i wanted to represent X, it felt important to include them as well.

and of course it made me happy to do something for Every hermit, since all of them

(smallishbeans/joel was actually the one i got most stuck on! there wasn't really a single item or symbol i could think of to narrow him down to. ultimately i decided on a torii gate and a little letter J, but i'm honestly still thinking about it)

ah right, and the Actual last thing: this turner out to be totally unnecessary, but i absolutely did draw this in the minecraft map hex code colours. it's a tricky palette to work with, and i learned a LOT about pixel art while trying to get the sky to look nice!

this piece took about 10 days to complete, maybe the longest i've ever spent on a single illustration like this - and honestly, i'm really happy and pretty proud of how it turned out!!

[felidae-sims]

Resources for Creating: My Go-To things.

Update: I’ll be updating the list on this page from now on, since Tumblr can’t handle so many hyper-links in one post, on Dreamwidth - right here, so I won't have to update it multiple times. Please note: I keep updating this list, and updates aren't showing up on reblogs. Please check the original post for the most up to date list.

Sooo this is going to be a long comprehensive list. I got back to this game after a long time and with a different computer, with a dedicated graphics card, hurray! It made me want to return to making things, so while gathering back all the necessary stuff, I've complied this list. It might be is updated as I go along, but these are the main things I use. Maby one day i'll even finish something. So here are my go-to resources & tutorials; I'm posting it here for safekeeping, and hopefully others will find it helpful. Everything that's listed is here free. So many wonderful things for free under the cut.

Programs – General:

Creating: Blender. Blender Addons: 3D Print Toolbox – comes with blender, enable it from within the program. Originally for 3d printing. Good for fixing flipped normals, and some quick general repairs. Source Tools And source tools wiki – for exporting as SMD!!!! (SimPe: to enable bump maps for the mesh on import). GMDC Addon for Blender 4.0+ by Nopke.

GIMP. GIMP Addons: G'MIC-Qt. Resynthesizer. Nvidia dds?. Doesn’t it come with Gimp?

Other: Nvidia Texture Tools Exporter (iirc it works with all graphic cards that are compatible, doesn’t require Nvidia). For making Normal / Bump / Cube Maps. For high quality compression.

NormalMaps - Online, For making all types of maps, has good setting menus. A very cool tool.

Converting: Umodel, for Unreal Engine (Static meshes: export as gtlf.2. Animated meshes: export as psk. Requires Add-on). AssetStudio, for Unity. AC Viewer, self implied (+ USD Addon for blender). QuickBMS* and support forum, for basically everything else. (don't forget the required scrips, down the same page). *I haven’t tested it fully yet, but it was recommended here. A tutorial for it is listed further down. Works like a charm.

UV Mapping: UV Mapper, Classic (free) and the most recent Demo (for visualization).

Programs – Sims:

Never Mind the Bollox, Here's Osab and MAGIkarp to the rescue!

Latest version of SimPe, works with a non-default installation path. Chris Hatch's updates.

Home Crafter installation, Post by Huge Lunatic at Sims2Artists.

Repository Wizard, by Pick'N'Mix Mods. A game changer.

DBPF Compare, by Pick'N'Mix Mods.

Object Relocator, also by Pick'N'Mix Mods.

SMD Tools, by Lazy Duchess.

The Compressorizer, by JFade – Lazy Duchess's edit.

Bulk Rename Utility, to change file names in well, bulk. As explained by io here.

Lot Adjustor, by Mootilda at MTS.

Tutorials:

Override the game's graphic settings via Nvidia, as explained by iCad. The settings to Nvidia Profile Inspector she linked to at MTS have been deleted for some reason, here they are via WebArchive.

Meshing in Blender:

Mesh Optimization Info (and links), by Crisps&Kerosene.

Additional - Reducing Polycount:

Tutorial, by Flaming-Chickens (another username on other sites perhaps?)

Edge – Un-subdivide, a quick one by CG Link.

Transfer high poly details to low poly object in Blender, by 3Dnot2D.

Shrinkwrap Modifier - Blender Tutorial for Beginners - Basics, by in2vert.

Placeholder for this Addon that I want to try but haven't found, something for AR that was on facebook's defunct AR.

Scaling tips, by Blender Secrets.

How to fix inverted/ flipped normals, by ipaintsmallthings.

Converting: How to Extract 3D Models, Textures, Music from Unreal Engine Games, by iwanMods.

Extract 2D/3D/SFX Unity Assets fast & easy from your Unity Game, by iwanMods as well.

How to use QuickBMS, by darkhorse.

Guide to Converting 3t2 and 4t2 Part 01 and Part 02, by Chiaroscuro/tenlittlepandas.

Converting TS4 Windows and Doors, by Crisps&Kerosene.

Using Different Material Maps as Shading/Details for Base Texture, in Gimp or Blender, by Pineapple Forest & Crisps&Kerosene: https://www.tumblr.com/crispsandkerosene/764893644571525120/great-info-thats-the-reason-some-conversions?source=share

Texture Editing in GIMP:

Using Gimp Add-ons: G'MicQT. Resynthesizer. Both by Davies Media Design. This guy's channel for Gimp in general – here's a good one to begin with. And another one about layer masks.

Making a texture Tile Seamless: 1. My favorite - How to Make Seamless Textures for Cinema 4D - 3 Levels of Photoshop Wizardry using iPhone Photos, by School of Motion.

2. Simple Trick for More Realistic Texture Patterns in GIMP, by Davies Media Design – Quick and simple, using the Resynthesizer plugin. Good for patterns.

Making walls in SimPe out of a square texture, with minimal quality loss. To be written.

SimPe: Cloneable Objects: A List of Good Objects for Cloning, by IgnorantBliss at MTS.

Huge Lunatic's Tutorials, Her website.

Object Creation for Absolute Beginners, by Moune.

Sims 2 start to finish Object Creation Tutorial, by JWoods, Numenor, Lethe_s & IgnorantBliss.

The Material Definition (TXMT) Guide, by PixelHate – very comprehensive. Part 5 is about Bump/ Normal maps.

Null (Texture-less) Groups, by Skell. For bodyshop, for Objects see an elaboration by Midge the Tree below.

Crisps&Kerosene discovered how to add specular maps to objects! It's incredible there are still new things to discover in this ancient game.

More on Specular Maps, by Pineapple Forest.

Making new flooring & walls with SimPE, by Charisa. Includes adding Bump/Normal maps. She added a file to clone from in the comments below. It works for normal maps as well. Here's cool discovery in the game files.

Expanding footprint: a mini tutorial, by Deedee.

How to add correct drop shadows to objects, by Yuxi, via Wayback Machine.

Making Objects Viewable in Neighborhood View, by iCad.

Making Objects Visible In Build/Buy Mode, Invisible In Live Mode, by Midge the Tree.

Making Seasons-Friendly Trees, by Echo.

Io/ Serabiet's resources list, mainly for Bodyshop but not just.

Pineapple Forest's Tutorials, useful tips for efficiency and optimization.

MTS modding forum in General.

The Sims 2 Tutorials, on Tumblr. A database, is more updated.

Sims2Artists tutorials section.

LeeFish modding forum.

Garden of Shadows, Tree of Knowledge section.

Troubleshooting: What to do if you get a System.OutOfMemoryException Error, SimPe Forum, via WayBack Machine. Thank you @fanseelamb for the find.

How to read object error logs: I just want to know what causes it!!, by Episims.

Common TS2 errors, by Midge the Tree.

General game fuckery: How to Stop Sims 2 Crashing (Memory Allocation Fix and 4GB Patch Repair), by Jessa.

Graphics card problems, LeeFish forum.

Graphics help - DIY, by Kiri. How to fix faulty Texture Memory allocation, and the problems that stem from it. Tumblr can't handle anymore hyper links so here it is: https://celebkiriedhel.tumblr.com/post/189431721483/graphics-help-diy

General: Switching between save folders without renaming them, by Nopke.

Resources:

3D Models Online*: Various furniture designers' websites: Porada, Zanotta, Muuto, Hay, Poltrona Frau, many luxury furniture designer basically.

3D Warehouse, belongs to Sketchfab (get the Collada files).

Scan the World.

Wikimedia Commons. And more.

*(NOT OPTIMIZED).

Textures: Architextures.

Fabrics & Wallpapers: Natural Stones: Wall Plasters:

iCad's Woods. Shastakiss's Cluedo Metals, Yeti Metals, Pirate Woods. Goat's Woods.

Textures from other games: Dishonored, Thieve and much more, by Saricoya at GoS. Dreamfell by io.

Resource sharing threads at Garden of Shadows.

SimPe - General: CEP Extras list, HugeLunatic at Sims2Artists.

TXMT settings for different materials, by Hafiseazale.

Extended SimStandardMaterial Shader for the Sims 2 + Optionally Brighter Sims, by Crisps&Kerosene.

Custom CubeMaps, by Crisps&Kerosene.

Shiny TXMT Settings & Cube Maps Packs, by Pineapple Forest.

Build/ Buy: Templates for Recoloring Maxis items; MTS Templates sction, Hafiseazale (+cc), ZeroDark.

Template for Seasonal Trees, Gwenke at Sims2Artists.

Making Roof Recolors, Tutorial & template by Numenor, great template by iCad.

Pack for making food clutter usable, by DeeDee.

CAS: Default Makeup Packages - BYO Packages, by Huge Lunatic.

Body shape, Io/Serabiet on Tumblr.

Skin template, Io/Serabiet on Tumblr.

Hair texture, iCad.

Color Actions, Pooklet on Tumblr.

That's it for now.

Edit: forgot about CEP extras. Added more links. Edit 02: Added Troubleshooting section under tutorials.

[th3mrskory]

Chapter 3: The Weight of Kindness

© th3mrskory. don’t copy, translate, or use my works in any form with AI, ChatGPT or any other automated tools. I only share my stories here, so if you see them posted elsewhere, i’d appreciate it if you let me know.

______________________________________________________________

Pairing: Original fem!Reader x Origins!Logan

Warning: none. Just a slow burn (I promise it will be worth)

Word count: 7.5k

The mornings in Clearwater always started the same way: crisp air creeping in through the cracks of the cottage, the faint hum of the river in the distance, and the occasional call of birds breaking the silence. Evelyn was beginning to grow used to it. The quiet wasn’t as suffocating as it had been in the beginning. Now, it felt more like a blank canvas—a place to paint the pieces of her new life.

She was halfway through her second cup of coffee when she heard the now-familiar sound of Logan’s truck rumbling up the driveway. The low growl of the engine sent a ripple through her chest, though she told herself it was just the caffeine. By now, his visits had become something she half-expected, even if he never gave her notice.

The truck door creaked open, and Logan climbed out, toolbox in hand. As always, his expression was calm, unreadable, though his gaze flicked briefly to her as she stepped out onto the porch.

“Morning,” he greeted, nodding as he approached.

“Morning,” she replied, brushing her hands on her jeans. “Back to tackle the roof?”

He set the toolbox down near the steps and glanced upward. “Figured I’d finish what I started.”

“Efficient as always,” she said lightly, folding her arms as she leaned against the porch railing. “You sure I’m not keeping you from something more important?”

Logan’s brow furrowed slightly, his gaze flicking to hers. “If I had something better to do, I wouldn’t be here,” he said simply.

The bluntness of his response caught her off guard, though she couldn’t say it surprised her. Logan had a way of cutting through pleasantries with a kind of straightforwardness that was rare. It left her unsure whether to feel grateful or unnerved.

“Fair enough,” she replied, stepping aside to give him room. “Just don’t let me overwork you.”

He huffed softly, a sound that might have been a laugh, and picked up the ladder he’d left leaning against the porch. “Let me worry about that.”

For the next hour, Evelyn busied herself in the kitchen, sorting through a box of utensils she’d finally unpacked. Every so often, she glanced out the window to check on Logan, though he hardly seemed to notice. He moved with the same deliberate efficiency as always, his focus unwavering as he hammered and replaced shingles.

She had just finished organizing the drawers when a sharp knock at the door startled her. Wiping her hands on a dish towel, she opened it to find Logan standing there, his expression as steady as ever.

“Need to shut the water off,” he said, nodding toward the side of the house. “Pipe under the sink’s leaking. Saw it when I was looking for tools earlier.”

“Oh. Right. Let me show you where the valve is,” she said, stepping out and leading him around the side of the house.

As they crouched near the access point, the silence between them felt heavier than usual. She wasn’t sure why, but it made her want to fill it.

“I meant to ask,” she started, glancing at him as he worked on the valve, “that stack of firewood… was that you?”

Logan didn’t look up, but there was a slight pause in his movements before he answered. “Figured you’d need it.”

Her lips parted, though the words she wanted to say didn’t come right away. Finally, she settled on a simple, “Thank you. That was… really thoughtful.”

He gave a small nod, still focused on the valve. “Don’t mention it.”

But she couldn’t help but feel like it meant something—that even in his quiet, distant way, Logan cared more than he let on.

By midday, Logan had finished repairing the roof and fixing the leak. The cottage felt sturdier now, less like it would crumble under the weight of a storm. As he packed up his tools, Evelyn brought him a glass of water, which he accepted with a quiet “Thanks” before draining it in a few quick gulps.

“You know,” she said as he set the glass on the railing, “I’m starting to feel like I owe you more than just a thank-you. You’ve done so much for this place already.”

Logan shrugged, wiping his hands on a rag. “You’ll pay me when I’m done.”

She tilted her head, raising an eyebrow. “What if I insist on paying you now?”

“Then I’ll tell you to save it,” he replied, his tone firm but not unkind. “Pay me when the place doesn’t look like it’s been abandoned for a decade.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Alright. But don’t think I’ll forget.”

“Wouldn’t expect you to,” he said, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The next day, Evelyn made another trip into town. The grocery list in her hand was short, but she’d added a few extra items as an excuse to linger. She hadn’t been here long enough to feel like a local, but the townsfolk were friendly, and there was something comforting about the small, familiar faces she’d begun to recognize.

As she browsed the aisles of the general store, she overheard snippets of conversation—the kind of small-town gossip that seemed to flow as easily as the air. Her own name came up more than once, though she tried not to let it bother her. People were curious, that was all. A new face in a place like this was bound to stir interest.

At the counter, Nancy, the ever-cheerful clerk, greeted her with a warm smile. “You’re becoming a regular,” Nancy said, ringing up her items.

“Guess that means I’m settling in,” Evelyn replied with a small smile.

“How’s the cottage coming along?” Nancy asked, handing her a paper bag.

“Better, thanks to Logan,” she said without thinking.

Nancy’s eyebrows lifted. “Logan?”

“Yeah,” Evelyn said, tucking the bag under her arm. “He’s been helping with the repairs.”

Nancy’s expression turned to one of mild disbelief. “Are you sure it was Logan? The Logan Howlett we all know?”

“Pretty sure,” she replied, bemused. “Why? Is it that unusual?”

Nancy chuckled, shaking her head. “Let’s just say Logan’s not exactly known for being… helpful. He keeps to himself, mostly. Always has.”

“Maybe he’s just misunderstood,” Evelyn offered, though she wasn’t entirely sure why she felt the need to defend him.

Nancy gave her a knowing look. “Maybe. Just don’t expect him to change overnight.”

“I’m not looking for him to change,” she said firmly. “I’m not looking for anything, really. Just peace and quiet.”

Nancy smiled, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in her gaze. “Well, Clearwater’s good for that. Just be careful. This town has a way of surprising people.”

As she loaded her groceries into the truck, Evelyn couldn’t shake Nancy’s words. Is it that unusual? She’d already known Logan was an enigma, but the way people spoke about him made it clear there was more to him than met the eye.

The drive back to the cottage was quiet, the sun dipping lower in the sky as the forest swallowed the narrow road. When she pulled into the driveway, she caught sight of the firewood pile again, its edges catching the last light of the day.

For all his gruffness, Logan had shown her more kindness than she’d expected. Maybe even more than she deserved.

She shook her head, brushing the thought away as she carried the groceries inside. Logan was an enigma, yes. But for now, that was all he needed to be.

The gossip didn’t stop there. In a town as small as Clearwater, news spread faster than wildfire. By the end of the week, Evelyn couldn’t step into the general store or the diner without catching snippets of hushed conversations that stopped abruptly when she walked by.

“Did you hear?” a woman whispered to her friend near the bread aisle. “Logan Howlett… helping her? It’s not like him at all.”

“Maybe he’s sweet on her,” the friend replied, giggling softly. “She’s not bad-looking...”

Evelyn felt her cheeks flush as she turned the corner, pretending not to hear. But it didn’t stop. Every visit seemed to bring more murmurs, more speculation. By the time she sat down for lunch at the diner, even the waitress gave her a knowing smile.

“You’ve been busy, huh?” the waitress said, placing a cup of coffee in front of her. “I’ve heard Logan’s been helping you out. That’s… surprising.”

“Not really,” Evelyn replied, trying to sound casual. “He’s just fixing a few things around the house.”

The waitress raised an eyebrow, her smile widening. “Sure, hon. Just fixing a few things.”

Evelyn sighed, staring down at her coffee. The attention made her skin crawl, the way people spoke as if they knew something she didn’t. It was exhausting.

By the time she returned to the cottage that evening, she’d made up her mind. She needed to put some distance between herself and Logan—not because of anything he’d done, but because the town’s chatter was beginning to suffocate her.

She threw herself into her crocheting to distract herself. It was something she’d picked up years ago, a way to calm her restless hands and quiet her thoughts. Now, it became her escape. She spent hours on the porch, weaving intricate patterns into blankets, scarves, and shawls. Her collection grew quickly, and soon she decided to sell them at the local market.

The market became her refuge. Unlike the general store or the diner, it was a place where she could blend in, where the focus was on her work rather than her personal life. She set up a small stall, displaying her pieces with pride. The townsfolk were quick to admire her craftsmanship, and before long, her crocheted goods became a hit.

“These are beautiful,” one woman said, running her fingers over a soft, pastel-colored shawl. “You’ve got quite the talent.”

“Thank you,” Evelyn replied with a genuine smile. “It’s just something I enjoy doing.”

The market gave her a sense of purpose, a way to connect with the town on her own terms. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. For now, it was enough.

By the second month, Evelyn found herself slipping into a rhythm. The days were structured but unhurried, the kind of life she had dreamed of while packing up her old one. Mornings were spent crocheting on the porch, the needles clicking in time with the soft rustle of the trees. Afternoons meant either running errands or preparing for the next market day.

Though she was still getting used to the slower pace, there was something undeniably soothing about it. She didn’t need to prove herself to anyone here. The cottage, the market, and the quiet of the woods offered a strange kind of comfort—like the world had finally stopped expecting things from her.

But that didn’t mean the whispers had stopped.

The market, while a refuge, still carried its share of small-town curiosity.

“Logan’s been helping you, hasn’t he?” a younger woman named Clara asked one afternoon, her eyes sparkling with intrigue as she fingered a crocheted scarf.

Evelyn hesitated, her fingers tightening around the edge of the table. “He’s been kind enough to fix a few things around the house.”

Clara grinned, leaning in slightly. “He must like you. Logan doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to.”

The comment sent a ripple of unease through her chest, though she forced a polite laugh. “He’s just a good neighbor, that’s all.”

Clara hummed, her expression playful but speculative. “Evelyn, I’ve lived in Clearwater my whole life, and I can tell you Logan isn’t exactly neighborly. You might be the exception.”

Evelyn busied herself with folding a blanket, willing the conversation to end.

Back at the cottage that evening, the air felt heavier than usual. She couldn’t shake Clara’s words—or the weight of the town’s lingering curiosity.

Logan had been nothing but decent, helping her without asking for anything in return. But the more people commented on his unusual behavior, the more aware she became of his presence. Or rather, the absence of it.

It had been over a week since his last visit, and though she told herself she didn’t miss him, the thought of his quiet, grounding presence tugged at the edges of her mind.

The cottage, once a haven, felt emptier now. She tried to shake the feeling, focusing instead on the steady rhythm of her crochet needles.

But when a knock came at the door just after dusk, her heart leapt in a way that made her immediately scold herself.

She opened the door to find Logan standing there, toolbox in hand and his usual unreadable expression fixed on her.

“Evening,” he said simply, nodding toward the door. “You mentioned the kitchen sink still had a drip?”

“I—” She paused, momentarily flustered. “I did, yes. Come in.”

Logan stepped inside, his boots clunking softly against the worn floorboards. He moved toward the sink without preamble, crouching to inspect the pipes beneath it.

As he worked, Evelyn found herself hovering nearby, unsure whether to offer conversation or leave him to it.

“Thank you,” she said finally, breaking the silence.

“For what?” he asked without looking up.

“For coming all this way. You didn’t have to.”

He glanced up briefly, his eyes meeting hers. “You needed help. That’s reason enough.”

His words were simple, but they carried a weight that left her momentarily speechless.

By the time Logan finished the repairs, the sun had fully set, casting the cottage in a warm, golden glow from the fire she’d lit earlier.

“That should hold,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag. “Let me know if it gives you trouble again.”

She nodded, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. “Do you want to stay for dinner? I’ve got stew on the stove.”

He hesitated, his gaze flicking toward the door before returning to her. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” she said quickly. “But it’s the least I can do.”

Logan studied her for a moment, then gave a small nod. “Alright.”

The meal was quiet but not uncomfortable. They ate at the small kitchen table, the soft crackle of the fire filling the silence.

“Do you ever get tired of this?” she asked suddenly, her voice cutting through the stillness.

“Tired of what?”

“This town. The quiet. The routine.”

Logan set his spoon down, considering her question. “Not really. It’s all I’ve known for a long time.”

She nodded, her fingers brushing against the edge of her bowl. “I used to think I wanted something like this. But now that I’m here, I’m not sure what to do with it.”

“You’re figuring it out,” he said simply.

“Am I?” she asked, a soft laugh escaping her. “Because some days it feels like I’m just… existing.”

Logan’s gaze softened, though his expression remained steady. “Existing’s not a bad place to start.”

His words settled over her like a blanket, heavy but comforting.

As the night wore on and Logan eventually took his leave, Evelyn found herself lingering by the door long after his truck disappeared down the road.

For all her attempts to keep her distance, she couldn’t deny the strange comfort his presence brought. But with the town’s whispers still swirling in her mind, she knew it wouldn’t be that simple.

The next few days passed uneventfully, but Logan’s visit lingered in Evelyn’s mind. His quiet presence, his matter-of-fact words—they stayed with her long after he’d left.

She threw herself into her work, hoping to drown out the thoughts swirling in her head. Her crocheting became more intricate, her market stall fuller, and her days busier. Yet, no matter how much she tried to distract herself, she couldn’t shake the growing awareness of Logan Howlett.

At the market that weekend, she was in the middle of rearranging her display when Clara appeared again, a sly smile already tugging at her lips.

“Looks like business is booming,” Clara said, gesturing toward the crowd that had gathered around the stall.

“Something like that,” Evelyn replied with a polite smile.

“And how’s Logan? Still playing handyman?”

Evelyn stiffened slightly but forced her expression to remain neutral. “He fixed the porch and the sink. That’s about it.”

Clara raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because I heard he stayed for dinner the other night.”

The comment made Evelyn freeze, her heart skipping a beat. “Who told you that?”

Clara shrugged, clearly enjoying herself. “Small town, hon. Nothing stays secret for long.”

“It was just dinner,” Evelyn said firmly, her voice sharper than she intended.

Clara held up her hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m just saying—it’s not every day Logan goes out of his way for someone.”

Evelyn didn’t respond, her jaw tight as she turned back to her display. The words followed her for the rest of the market day, crawling under her skin like an itch she couldn’t scratch.

That evening, she returned to the cottage feeling drained. The whispers, the insinuations—they were suffocating. She wasn’t looking for anything with Logan, and she certainly hadn’t invited the town’s scrutiny.

But as she sat on the porch, her crocheting forgotten in her lap, she couldn’t deny the nagging voice in the back of her mind. Why had Logan gone out of his way to help her? And why did his presence feel so… steady?

She shook her head, standing abruptly and heading inside. It didn’t matter. Logan was just a neighbor, nothing more.

Logan wasn’t one to care much about gossip. The town had been talking about him for years—ever since he’d first moved here—and he’d learned to tune it out.

But something about the way they talked about Evelyn set his teeth on edge. The whispers weren’t malicious, but they carried a weight he didn’t like. They made her sound like she needed saving, like she was fragile.

He knew better. She wasn’t fragile—far from it.

Still, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that his presence in her life was making things harder for her. And for someone who’d spent years avoiding entanglements, the thought didn’t sit well.

The tension finally came to a head a few days later when Logan showed up at the cottage unannounced.

“Logan,” Evelyn said, startled to see him standing on the porch. “What are you doing here?”

“Checking in,” he said simply, his tone calm but firm. “Heard some things in town.”

Her stomach dropped. 

He nodded, his gaze steady. “Figured I’d see how you’re holding up.”

She crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m fine. I just… wish people would mind their own business.”

“Small towns don’t work that way,” he said bluntly.

She huffed a quiet laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Yeah, I’m starting to realize that.”

For a moment, they stood in silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them. Finally, Evelyn spoke.

“Maybe we should keep some distance,” she said softly, her eyes avoiding him.

Logan’s jaw tightened, though his expression didn’t waver. “If that’s what you want.”

“I don’t know what I want,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze softened, though he didn’t step closer. “Figure it out. I’ll still be around.”

With that, he turned and walked back to his truck, leaving her standing in the doorway, her chest tight with conflicting emotions.

Back in town, the gossip didn’t slow down, but Evelyn tried her best to ignore it. She focused on her crocheting, on the small victories of fixing up the cottage, on finding her footing in a place that still felt half-foreign.

But Logan remained a quiet presence in the back of her mind—steady, unshakable, and more complicated than she wanted to admit.

For the next week, Evelyn made a conscious effort to avoid Logan. It wasn’t easy—not in a town as small as Clearwater, where everyone knew everyone and paths seemed destined to cross. But she managed.

She skipped the diner for lunch, opting to eat at home. She avoided the general store during its busiest hours, running errands only when she was sure Logan wouldn’t be around. At the market, she kept her focus solely on her crocheted goods, packing up early and heading straight back to the cottage.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see him. She told herself it was for the best—for both of them. The whispers were becoming unbearable, and her skin prickled every time someone made a passing comment about Logan.

But the avoidance didn’t feel like relief. It felt like suffocation.

Logan noticed the change immediately.

He wasn’t the type to pry, but even he couldn’t ignore the sudden distance. Evelyn had been avoiding him, her absence in town as obvious as the whispers that followed them both.

He didn’t like it.

Not because he was hurt—at least, that’s what he told himself—but because it felt unnecessary. If the town wanted to talk, they’d talk. Avoiding him wouldn’t change that.

Still, he kept his distance. He wasn’t going to push her, wasn’t going to force her into something she clearly didn’t want. But the questions gnawed at him, his mind replaying their last conversation.

The distance between them grew wider with each passing day.

Evelyn spent more time at the cottage, her hands constantly busy with yarn as she tried to keep her thoughts at bay. But the quiet of the woods didn’t offer the same peace it once had. Now, it felt too still, too heavy, as if the air itself were pressing down on her.

She missed Logan’s presence more than she cared to admit. His quiet strength, his straightforwardness—it had been comforting in a way she hadn’t expected. But the weight of the gossip made her hesitate.

One evening, as she sat on the porch, the needles in her hands moving on autopilot, she caught sight of headlights coming down the road. Her heart skipped, and she immediately cursed herself for it.

The truck slowed as it passed, and for a moment, she thought it might stop. But Logan didn’t even glance her way as he drove by, the rumble of his engine fading into the distance.

The next morning, she made her usual trip to the market, hoping to blend in and avoid any further speculation. But as she set up her stall, Clara appeared once again, her expression as curious as ever.

“Morning, Evelyn,” Clara said with a smile that bordered on mischievous.

“Morning,” Evelyn replied, keeping her focus on her crocheting.

“Haven’t seen Logan around lately,” Clara remarked, leaning against the edge of the table. “Did he finally stop playing handyman?”

Evelyn forced a laugh, though it came out more strained than she intended. “He’s busy. Probably has better things to do.”

“Hmm,” Clara hummed, her gaze sharp. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Logan doesn’t exactly drop everything for just anyone.”

Evelyn stilled, her fingers brushing over the soft yarn. She kept her tone light, almost playful. “You seem awfully interested in Logan lately. Any particular reason?”

Clara tilted her head, her smile widening slightly. “Just curious, that’s all. He’s been keeping a low profile.”

“Has he?” Evelyn replied, raising an eyebrow. “Funny, I thought you weren’t the type to notice.”

Clara’s smile faltered for just a moment before she straightened up, smoothing her blouse. “Well, I suppose everyone has their reasons for keeping tabs on him.”

Evelyn said nothing, her gaze steady as Clara shifted awkwardly under the weight of the silence. Eventually, Clara cleared her throat and muttered a hasty goodbye, retreating into the bustle of the market.

By the time the market day ended, Evelyn felt like a live wire, every nerve frayed and buzzing.

That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Logan finally showed up at the cottage.

Evelyn was on the porch, her crocheting abandoned in favor of a mug of tea she’d been nursing for the past hour. She stiffened when she saw his truck pull into the driveway, the headlights cutting through the growing dusk.

He stepped out, his expression calm but with an edge of something she couldn’t quite place.

“Evening,” he said, his voice low as he approached the porch.

“Logan,” she replied, setting her mug down. “What are you doing here?”

“Haven't seen you around,” he said simply, his gaze steady. 

Her chest tightened, guilt mixing with frustration. “I’ve been busy.”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning against the railing. “Heard about that. Been hearing a lot of things, actually.”

The weight of his words settled over her, and she looked away, her hands fidgeting in her lap. “It’s nothing,” she said quietly. “People talk. That’s all.”

Logan’s gaze didn’t waver. “People are always gonna talk. Doesn’t mean you have to listen.”

“I don’t—” She paused, shaking her head. “I just… I didn’t want to make things harder for you.”

“For me?” Logan asked, his brow furrowing.

“Everyone in town keeps bringing you up,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “Everywhere I go, it’s ‘Logan this’ and ‘Logan that.’  And Clara…” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “She seems especially interested.”

Logan tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Clara’s just mad I said no.Let her talk.”

Evelyn blinked, caught off guard. “Said no to what?”

He leaned casually against the porch railing, his tone even, as though the subject carried no weight for him. “She wanted more than I was willing to give. Didn’t take it too well.”

Evelyn frowned, unsure whether to feel relieved or unsettled. “And now she’s making it everyone’s business?”

Logan shrugged. “Let her. It’s not worth losing sleep over.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Evelyn muttered, her frustration spilling over. “You’re not the one constantly dodging whispers and side-eyes.”

Logan tilted his head slightly, his gaze steady but not pressing. “You’re new. Small town like this, folks are always looking for something to gossip about. Just don’t let them drag you into it.”

She nodded, keeping her eyes on the darkening horizon. “I just didn’t want to drag you into it.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, though there was no humor in it. “You think I care what they say about me?”

She looked at him then, her chest tightening at the honesty in his gaze. “I don’t know. Do you?”

“No,” he said firmly, his voice steady. “But I care if it’s making you miserable.”

The admission caught her off guard, and she stared at him, unsure how to respond.

“I’m not gonna stop helping,” he continued, his tone softening slightly. “If you want me to stay away, I will. But don’t think for a second that you’re bothering me.”

The tension in her chest loosened, replaced by a strange, quiet warmth. “I don’t want you to stay away,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

Logan nodded, his expression unreadable but calm. “Good.”

He lingered for a moment longer, then turned and headed back to his truck. As she watched him drive away, the weight she’d been carrying felt a little lighter.

A week after Logan’s unexpected visit, Evelyn finally had a landline installed in the cottage. It wasn’t exactly a modern convenience—Clearwater’s phone system still felt a few decades behind—but it was enough to ease the distance between her and the outside world.

She’d been putting off calling her family, but the persistent weight of their unanswered letters pushed her to dial the number.

The phone rang twice before her mother picked up.

“Evelyn!” her mother’s voice burst through the receiver, equal parts relief and reproach. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about us.”

She laughed softly, tucking the cord under her arm as she cradled the phone. “I’m sorry, Mom. Things have just been...busy.”

“Well, I hope you’re not working yourself into a frenzy out there,” her mother said, her tone turning slightly worried. “Have you been eating properly? Are you safe?”

“I’m fine, really,” Evelyn assured her. “I’ve even started crocheting again. And I’ve made some friends—well, acquaintances, really. The town’s nice.”

Her mother paused, as if weighing her daughter’s words. “And how’s the cottage?”

“Coming along,” she replied. “It’s still a mess, but it’s my mess. I’ve been making repairs.”

“Oh?” her mother said, curiosity piqued. “You? Making repairs?”

“Well...not exactly,” Evelyn admitted, glancing out the window as if Logan’s truck might magically appear. “There’s someone in town who’s been helping.”

Before her mother could ask more, a knock at the door interrupted her train of thought.

“Mom, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you soon, okay?”

Her mother sighed but relented. “Alright, but don’t let it be another month before I hear from you again.”

“I won’t,” Evelyn promised, hanging up just as the knock sounded again.

She opened the door to find Logan standing there, toolbox in hand and his usual calm expression in place.

“Morning,” he said, nodding toward her.

“Morning,” she replied, stepping aside to let him in. “You’ve got impeccable timing.”

Logan raised an eyebrow as he set the toolbox down. “That right?”

“I just got my landline installed,” she explained, gesturing toward the phone perched on the counter. “First call I made was to my mom. She was, uh, very curious about how I’m ‘surviving.’”

Logan huffed softly, a sound that might’ve been a laugh. “Moms tend to be like that.”

“Yours the same way?” she asked before she could stop herself.

Logan paused, his gaze flicking to her briefly before returning to the toolbox. “She was,” he said simply, his tone giving nothing away.

Evelyn nodded, sensing the line she’d accidentally toed. “Well, she’s just happy I’m not starving in the middle of nowhere.”

“You talk to them often?” Logan asked, his voice casual as he pulled out a wrench.

“Not as often as I should,” she admitted, leaning against the counter. “I think it worries them—me being out here on my own.”

“They know you can handle yourself?” he asked, glancing up at her.

“I think they do,” she replied, a small smile tugging at her lips. “But parents worry, no matter how capable you are.”

Logan nodded, his hands steady as he worked. “Smart to have a phone. This place feels cut off sometimes.”

“Yeah,” she said, watching him thoughtfully. “But I think that’s part of why I chose it.”

He didn’t respond right away, but there was a quiet understanding in his expression.

As Logan worked on repairing a leaky pipe under the kitchen sink, Evelyn found herself lingering nearby, the sound of his tools filling the space between them.

“So, do you ever get tired of fixing things?” she asked, tilting her head.

Logan’s lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smirk. “Depends on what’s broken.”

“That’s a very diplomatic answer,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

He straightened, wiping his hands on a rag. “Keeps people from asking too many questions.”

Evelyn laughed softly, shaking her head. “Fair enough.”

When Logan finished the repairs, he packed up his tools with his usual efficiency. But as he turned to leave, she stopped him.

“Hey,” she said, her voice softer than before. “Thanks. For everything. I mean it.”

Logan met her gaze, his expression as steady as always, though there was a flicker of something warmer in his eyes. “You’re welcome.”

He hesitated for a moment, as if considering whether to say more, but then he gave a brief nod and stepped out the door.

As she watched him drive away, Evelyn couldn’t help but feel the weight of his words—and the ones he hadn’t spoken. For someone who kept to himself, Logan had a way of saying just enough to leave her wondering.

Logan didn’t go straight home after leaving the cottage. Instead, he headed toward the logging site, the truck bouncing slightly over the uneven dirt road. The early morning fog had lifted, leaving the forest bathed in crisp, golden light.

The hum of chainsaws echoed in the distance as he pulled into the clearing where the crew was already at work. He climbed out, toolbox in hand, and gave a short nod to the men gathered near the equipment shed.

“Look who decided to show up,” one of the workers, a wiry man named Pete, called out, grinning as he leaned against a stack of freshly cut logs.

Logan ignored the comment, tossing his gloves onto a workbench and pulling an axe from the rack.

“Been busy, Howlett?” Rick added, his grin laced with curiosity. “Heard you’ve been spending a lot of time down by the river. Something there more interesting than timber?”

The words were casual enough, but Logan could hear the underlying curiosity—the small-town hunger for gossip. He shot Rick a look, one that would’ve made most people back off, but Rick just chuckled, undeterred.

“C’mon, man,” Rick said, slinging an arm over Pete’s shoulder. “We’re just curious. Word is you’ve been playing handyman for that new girl in town. You helping her out of the kindness of your heart, or is there something we should know?”

Logan’s jaw tightened as he adjusted his gloves, ignoring the bait.

“Quiet type, huh?” Pete piped up, grinning. “Bet she likes that.”

Logan straightened, his gaze cold as it swept over them. “You got time to gossip, you got time to work,” he said flatly, grabbing his axe and heading toward the tree line.

Rick raised his hands in mock surrender, smirking. “Alright, alright. No need to get touchy.”

But the murmurs didn’t stop as Logan walked away, their voices carrying faintly through the trees.

He worked with single-minded focus, each swing of the axe driving out the noise from earlier. The rhythmic crack of wood splitting echoed in the quiet, his muscles moving with the practiced ease of someone who’d spent years in this line of work.

And yet, his thoughts kept circling back to her.

Evelyn.

He didn’t know what it was about her that stuck with him. Maybe it was the way she tried to act so put-together, even when it was clear she was holding herself together with frayed edges. Or maybe it was how she looked at him—not with fear or judgment, but with something closer to curiosity.

She was different. That much was obvious. And not just because she was new to Clearwater.

Logan had spent most of his life keeping people at arm’s length, and for good reason. People in this town loved to talk, to pry, to dig into business that wasn’t theirs. It was easier to stay quiet, to keep to himself.

But Evelyn wasn’t prying. If anything, she seemed to guard her own secrets just as fiercely as he guarded his.

That’s what made the town’s chatter so irritating. The way they twisted something simple—him fixing her porch, patching her roof—into something more.

As if they knew him.

As if they knew her.

The crack of a falling tree pulled him from his thoughts, and he stepped back, watching the trunk crash to the ground with a satisfying thud. He adjusted his gloves and moved to the next tree, letting the rhythm of the work take over again.

Later that day, during lunch, Rick plopped down on the stump next to him, unwrapping a sandwich. “So, what’s she like?” he asked casually, taking a bite.

Logan didn’t look up. “Who?”

Rick rolled his eyes. “Don’t play dumb Howlett. The new girl. Evelyn.”

“She’s none of your business,” Logan said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Aw, c’mon,” Rick said, grinning. “We’re just curious. Pretty girl like that, all alone out there… Kinda hard not to wonder, y’know?”

Logan set his axe down with deliberate slowness, his gaze sharp as it met Rick’s. “You wonder too much, Rick.”

Pete snorted from a nearby log. “Take it easy, Howlett. Nobody’s accusing you of anything. Not yet, anyway.”

Logan’s silence was enough to make them shift uncomfortably. He picked up his axe and stood, brushing past them without another word.

As he returned to the tree line, the faint sound of their laughter followed him. But it didn’t bother him—not really. What bothered him was the way they talked about her, like she was some kind of novelty.

They didn’t know her. And if he had his way, they never would.

By the time Logan finished for the day, the sun was dipping low, casting long shadows through the trees. His truck rumbled down the dirt road, the smell of pine and sawdust still clinging to his clothes.

As he drove down the dirt road, the turnoff to Evelyn’s cottage came into view. He slowed slightly, his eyes flicking toward the driveway. Her truck was parked there, and the faint glow of light spilled from the windows, warm and inviting.

He thought about stopping. About checking in, just to make sure everything was alright.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he kept driving, the weight of the day settling heavily on his shoulders.

Logan had grown accustomed to the rhythm of life in Clearwater, to the predictable routines and quiet moments. But he hadn’t realized how much of that rhythm had come to include Evelyn—not until her truck disappeared from the driveway.

It had been a few days since he’d last seen her at the cottage. He’d stopped by on Wednesday to drop off some spare firewood, but there had been no answer when he knocked. The house had been dark, the truck conspicuously absent, and he’d left without pressing further.

By the end of the week, curiosity turned into something heavier—a weight in his chest he couldn’t explain.

The chatter at the logging site hadn’t helped.

“You hear she’s gone?” Pete said during lunch, biting into a sandwich. “Packed up and left, just like that.”

Logan’s grip tightened on his thermos. “She didn’t leave,” he said flatly.

“You sure about that?” Pete pressed, his grin smug. “Haven’t seen her around. Maybe she got tired of all the attention.”

“Or maybe,” Rick chimed in, “she figured out Clearwater’s not as quiet as she thought.”

Logan shot them both a glare that could’ve split wood faster than his axe. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his voice low and cold.

Pete held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Just saying—wouldn’t blame her if she did.”

Logan didn’t respond. He stood abruptly, tossing the rest of his lunch into the trash before heading back to the tree line.

The thought lingered with him throughout the day, the idea that she might’ve left because of the town’s relentless gossip. He’d heard it himself, the whispers about how she’d been spending time with him, the not-so-subtle insinuations that made his jaw tighten.

If she had left, it wasn’t because of him—or at least, that’s what he told himself. But the nagging doubt refused to fade.

That evening, as the sun dipped low behind the trees, he found himself driving past her cottage again. The driveway was still empty, the windows dark.

His chest tightened.

Meanwhile, Evelyn was far from Clearwater, setting up her crochet stall at a bustling weekend market two towns over. The trip had been planned for weeks, a way to expand her reach and bring in some extra income.

The market was a flurry of activity—families strolling between stalls, vendors shouting their deals, the air thick with the scent of roasted nuts and fresh bread.

She’d sold almost half her inventory by midday, the colorful shawls and intricate scarves drawing plenty of attention. But even as she smiled and thanked customers, her thoughts drifted back to the cottage.

And, inevitably, to Logan.

She hadn’t meant to avoid him—at least, not entirely. The gossip around town had started to wear on her, the constant murmurs and sidelong glances making her feel more exposed than she’d anticipated.

Selling her crocheted pieces had been a welcome distraction, a way to step away from the whispers and reclaim a little of the independence she’d worked so hard to build. But even now, standing in the middle of the crowded market, she couldn’t quite shake the thought of him.

When she returned late Sunday evening, the sky already dark, her headlights illuminated a figure standing on the edge of her driveway.

Her heart skipped. Logan.

He turned as the truck rolled to a stop, his expression unreadable but his posture rigid. She climbed out slowly, exhaustion tugging at her limbs.

“Evening,” she said hesitantly, pulling her bag from the passenger seat.

“Evening,” he replied, his tone as steady as ever, though his eyes lingered on her. “You’ve been gone a while.”

“I had a market to get to,” she explained, gesturing toward the back of the truck where the last of her unsold pieces sat. “Thought it’d be a good way to... branch out.”

Logan’s gaze flicked to the truck bed, then back to her. “Didn’t tell anyone you were leaving.”

“I didn’t think I needed to,” she said, tilting her head. “Why? Did something happen?”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening. “People noticed. Started talking.”

“People always talk,” she said with a shrug, though her stomach twisted at the thought.

“They thought you’d left,” Logan said bluntly.

She blinked, taken aback. “Left? Why would I—” She paused, realization dawning. “Because of the gossip?”

Logan didn’t answer, but the way his gaze shifted told her enough.

A mix of guilt and frustration bubbled up inside her. “I’m not running away,” she said firmly, her voice steadier than she felt. “Not from this place, and definitely not because of what people think. I’m here for me, not for them.”

Logan’s expression softened, just slightly, and he gave a small nod. “Good.”

She sighed, leaning against the truck. “I’m sorry if I worried you.”

“You didn’t,” he said quickly, too quickly.

Her lips quirked into a faint smile. “Sure.”

For a moment, they stood there in silence, the night settling around them. Finally, Logan gestured toward the truck bed. “Need a hand unloading?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”

As they worked together, the tension eased, replaced by the quiet camaraderie she was beginning to expect from him. And as they carried the last of the boxes into the cottage, she couldn’t help but feel a little lighter, the weight of the town’s whispers fading into the background.

By the time they finished unloading the truck, the cottage was filled with the faint smell of lavender and cedar, remnants from the crocheted pieces she hadn’t sold. Evelyn leaned against the counter, watching as Logan wiped his hands on a rag he’d pulled from his pocket.

“Thanks for the help,” she said, her voice softer now.

Logan gave her a short nod, his usual response, but there was something different in the way he lingered by the door.

“Guess the market was worth the trip?” he asked, his tone casual but his gaze steady.

“It was,” she replied, brushing her hair back. “People seemed to like what I had. Sold most of it.”

“Good,” he said simply.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy—filled with things unsaid.

“Wait,” Evelyn said suddenly, straightening. She crossed the room and opened a small wooden chest she kept by the couch, rummaging through the neatly folded scarves and shawls she’d brought back from the market.

Logan watched her, his brow furrowing slightly. “What’re you doing?”

She didn’t answer right away, pulling out a dark, hand-crocheted scarf with subtle patterns woven into the soft yarn. Turning, she held it out to him.

“Here,” she said, her tone light but her expression earnest. “For you.”

He hesitated, his gaze flicking between her and the scarf. “I don’t need that.”

“It’s not about needing it,” she replied, stepping closer. “It’s a thank-you. For all the help with the cottage. And the firewood.”

Logan stared at the scarf for a moment longer, as if debating whether to take it. Finally, he reached out, his large hand brushing hers briefly as he accepted the gift.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he said quietly, his voice softer than she’d ever heard it.

“I wanted to,” she replied, her smile small but genuine. “And besides, winters here get cold, right? Consider it practical.”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it was gone almost as quickly as it appeared. He glanced down at the scarf, running his thumb over the intricate stitching.

“It’s nice,” he said after a beat, his tone thoughtful. “You’re good at this.”

The praise, simple as it was, warmed her more than she expected. “Thanks,” she said softly.

Logan nodded, folding the scarf carefully before tucking it under his arm. “See you around,” he said, his voice steady again.

“Yeah,” she replied, watching as he stepped out into the night. “See you.”

She stood by the door, listening to the sound of his truck rumble down the driveway and fade into the quiet of the forest.

The gossip might not stop, and her life here might not get easier overnight. But as she looked around the cottage, now filled with the warmth of her handiwork and the faint echoes of Logan’s presence, she felt something she hadn’t in a long time.

Hope.

_______________________________________________________________tagging some amazing people that showed interest on my previous post (if you don't want to be tagged please let me know):

@coocoocachewgotscrewed @latinapiscess @littlebunnybigheartfics @themareverine @pandapetals @logansbaby @the-quick-red-fox @throwmethroughawindow @ifyouseethisnoyoudont22 @galacticglitterglue @whos-nin1

@thisismajortom21 @may-vol-6 @Oh-basic @sarahbarbosa22 @luvpalepinkjazz @irish-pooka @yologans @equilight @lxrxvsp @h4nluv @uncannywolverine @thesecretlifeofmo @mystifiesjdmtcw @socisse @thickynicky547 @peculiarpiscess @tezooks @greenturtlegirl @greenbearplaidbow @eummm @benispunk @th8mz @jounal3sports @alsoprettyinpink @softepiloguemylove @manicandobsessive @b-y-3-n @blahkateisdone @karencaribou @sidkneeeee @theworstwolvie @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes @lunellas-library @pedroscurls

© th3mrskory 2025 — all rights reserved.

[letterstodixon]

oldies station.

modern au!

summary: Daryl receives a call asking for a favor. In doing so, he comes face to face with his past.

pairing: daryl dixon x f!reader

word count: 2084

warnings: a few cuss words. kinda mean!daryl. paragraphs in italics indicate flashbacks. not proofreading.

divider by @/saradika-graphics

a/n: sooo this is my first post! thinking about making this a series since i have a few ideas for this duo, but... i hope you enjoy! any form of support is appreciated <3

Daryl huffed, grabbing the nearest rag to wipe the grease off his hands as the ringing sound of his phone echoed in his ears. Although he usually worked with music, that day he had decided it was better to be silent as he tried to find the problem with the motorcycle in front of him. Standing up from the toolbox that served as a seat, he tripped over it in an attempt to reach the call in time, his phone almost slipping from his hands, black finger marks appearing on the screen and case. Before he brought the device to his ear, he managed to read Michonne's name, triggering a sense of alert in him. It wasn't often that she called, much less to him.

"Hey." Daryl spoke, placing his hand on his waist.

"Hey, Daryl. Can I ask you a huge favor?" The woman on the other end spoke. There was bustle in the background, making Daryl squint, as if that would make him hear more clearly.

"Wha's wrong?"

"Nothing, don't worry. I just can't make it on time to pick Judith from school, I'm stuck at work. Can you do it for me?" She asked, clearly in a hurry. Her voice sounded agitated.

Daryl nodded before talking, then shook his head when he realized she couldn't actually see him. "Yeah, no problem. When?"

"She's leaving in ten minutes." She replied, making him look at the clock on the wall, cursing under his breath. "Can you do it or not?"

"'Course, I'm on my way." He exclaimed as he moved to grab his motorcycle keys, ready to get on. On the other side, he felt Michonne breathe a sigh of relief.

"Thank you so much, Daryl, you're a life saver."

"No problem." As he was about to end the call, he heard her say his name one more time. "What?"

"Don't pick up my baby girl with a motorbike. Oh, and make sure Carl gets home too, can't leave him unsupervised for too long." She said before ending the call, making him run to get into Merle's car. It would be a quick trip, he probably wouldn't notice.

As he was making his way out of the auto repair shop that he shared with his older brother, Merle emerged from the bathroom just in time.

"Darylina, do you think we- hey! Where you goin'?" He yelled, as Daryl stuck his hand out of the car window to wave and sped off in the direction of school.

As he waited in front of the school, leaning against the car, he couldn't help but feel out of place. There were kids running around, mothers waiting and chatting, and way more noise than he'd like to hear. He didn't know when Judith would come out, but he saw a few kids her age outside the building, walking with their families, and he started to feel uneasy. Where was the girl supposed to be? What would he tell Rick and Michonne if he couldn't find her? What if he had to go into the school to find her? He didn't know where to go, and what would happen if...

"Uncle Daryl!" He heard, before he felt a direct impact against his body. Judith's arms had wrapped around him as best she could, and he leaned down just enough to rub her back gently.

"Hey kid. Where's Carl?" He asked, looking around to try and spot his oldest nephew.

"Where's mom?" The girl asked, completely ignoring Daryl, who sighed. Jude could be smart, and that made it easy to forget that she was just a kid.

"Yer mom's at work. I'll take you and Carl home." He explained, as he noticed how the girl nodded and then reached out her hand, taking his as best she could and started walking, forcing him to follow her. "Where ya goin'?"

"High school is over there. Carl should be leaving now, or he already left." Judith replied, to which Daryl responded with a nod. Sometimes, he forgot that they were in two completely different stages. Walking the few meters that separated the two buildings, he immediately stopped, making his niece turn to look at him in confusion. "What are you doing? Carl's over there!"

"I ain't going, you go get 'im, then we leave" Daryl excused himself, letting go of the little girl's hand to wipe the sweat from his own hands on his pants. Carl was at the school door, talking to one of his teachers. He knew she was a teacher, because you had always wanted to be one. From the paint stains on your clothes, he assumed that you had finally chosen to be an art teacher, and your hair was still as messy as it had been years ago. And he knew that one day the time would come to be face to face with you again.

He was, and still is, a bit of a loner. You were, too, but once he met you, he couldn't understand how you decided to be his friend. Without knowing when or how, he blinked and had you glued to the hip, sharing classes and projects, hanging out every time you could, trying to make him laugh at every chance you got. You didn't have many friends yourself, but still were kind to everyone in sight. You would help anyone when they needed, even if that person was shit, and the biggest example was himself. When he dropped out of school, under the influence of his older brother, who assured him that he would never make it, Daryl found himself every day with a bunch of papers under his door, and they were class notes. Your class notes. He was observant and could recognize your handwriting anywhere, but he could also recognize the little scribbles on the side of the yellow-ish, torn pages of your notebook. He never understood why you did that, because every time he looked through the ragged curtain or opened the door, you were gone. Until that day they when he decided to wait behind the door, gripping tightly on the knob. As soon as the papers were slid under the door, he swung it open, taking you by surprise, making you gasp as a hand flew to your chest. Your shirt, too big for your body frame, was covered in brush strokes and drips of paint, as was the side of your face. He stood there, mesmerized, but blinked out of his trance once he heard your voice.

"You scared the shit out of me, man. What's going on?"

He narrowed his eyes, tilting his head slightly. "What?"

"I can see you're not going to school, Daryl, it's hard not to notice. Listen, if you're having trouble with it, I can help you! We can even have... Uh, study meetings? I'll let you copy my answers if you need to." You rambled, your paint-covered fingers gripping the handle of the bag, seemingly nervous. Daryl remained stoic since he opened the door, and having seen a much nicer side of him, it was unusual to have this kind of treatment. Daryl, as he normally would with other people, snorted.

"Do you think I give a shit 'bout those damn class notes? I ain't coming back to tha' shit hole, bunch'a pussies think they're better than everyone." He spat, hearing Merle's voice in his head, taking the papers at his feet in his fist, throwing them in your direction. His chest tightened as he noticed the confusion on your face, trying to take the crumpled papers. Frowning, he watched as you opened and closed your mouth, trying to find the words.

"I don't... I don't understand, is something wrong happening? I can help, Daryl, re-"

"You'll help me by leavin'. Ain't got time for yer fake ass kindness, girl, I'm done." He said, slamming the door shut to avoid having to keep seeing your confused and hurt face. Leaning his back against it, he brought one of his trembling hands to his forehead, immediately regretting how he had treated you. Why did the worst of his decisions always win?

"Shit." A sudden pain in his foot made him hiss in pain, looking down at Judith, who had stepped on him to get his attention, failing to do so subtly. Frowning, he was about to speak again until he followed the girl's gaze, who indicated your presence in front of him. Somehow, at some point, as he traveled through his memories, Carl and Judith came to him, bringing you with them. His breath got stuck in his troath, unable to speak.

"You okay, Daryl? You zoned out for a bit." Your voice reached his ears and he could've sworn he felt goosebumps immediately. You looked as beautiful as ever, grown features present, but beautiful nonetheless, always a smile on your lips. He cleared his throat, looking between Carl and Jude before speaking, both amused and confused expressions planted on their faces.

"Uh, yeah. Jus' got distracted." He replied, scratching his beard gently, though it didn't itch. He didn't know exactly what to say, considering the last time had been almost two decades ago, and you'd had to leave thanks to his shitty attitude. "You a teacher, huh?"

"Yep, got to do what I love and work with these angels, too. It's great, actually. How about you?" You replied, the smile never leaving your face, but Daryl seemed to have no reaction, trying to find words in the whirlwind that was caused in his mind, so he just nodded, a sound of approval leaving his lips. The situation was becoming a bit awkward. Not wanting to prolong that moment, you turned to look at Carl, who shrugged subtly, not understanding. "Well, I... I should probably get going. It was nice to see you again, Daryl, really."

You reached out your hand, as if to touch his arm, but retracted it and gave a small wave, taking a few steps back. Daryl knew that you knew better than to touch him without warning, and that you must have remembered every time he rejected or squinted at your advances, but right now, he wished you would have touched his arm, his hand. Hell, he'd sell his soul for a hug from you. Watching you walk backwards, you waved to his niece and nephew, adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder.

"Bye, Jude, see ya tomorrow! Carl, work on your project! Email me if you're having trouble with it." You said, giving Daryl one last look, nodding in greeting, before turning around and walking to your car.

"I will! Bye, Y/N!" Carl greeted, turning to look at Daryl, who looked frozen in place. "What the hell was that? Do you know her?"

Daryl gulped and nodded. "Yeah, she was m' friend. I never knew about her 'til today."

"You were frozen, uncle, what happened?" Judith asked, as he took her hand to walk back to the car. Carl laughed beside her, making him frown.

"Wha's so funny?"

"You were so crushing on her. It was embarrassing." The teenager taunted, earning a harmless shove. His sister joined in the laughter, covering her mouth.

"Uncle Daryl has a crush!" She sing-songed, jumping. In response, her uncle ruffled his hair, undoing the braid that decorated her blonde strands. "Hey!"

"Get in the car and stop messing with me." He ordered, feigning annoyance as he climbed into the driver's seat, Carl beside him and Judith in the backseat. As soon as he closed the door, Carl grabbed his phone, typing non-stop, his gaze glued to the screen. "Ain't ya tired of using that damn thing?"

"Nope." He replied, not even looking at him. Daryl shook his head, starting the car and driving in silence, just listening to the songs Jude was improvising.

It didn't take long to get to the Grimes' house, both children getting out of the car and thanking him. The little girl jumped until she reached the stairs of the house, waiting for her brother, while Carl leaned on the car window, watching his uncle.

"Thank me later. Bye, uncle." He said, rushing to open the door, not giving Daryl time to react. Making sure they had both entered their home before starting the car, he felt his phone ring in his pocket. This time, it wasn't the ringtone of a call, but a text message.

'Hey, it's Y/N! Carl sent me your number, hope you don't mind :)'

That damn kid.

[icanwriteitblindfolded]

Written in the stars: Eddie Munson X (Fem) Reader

Summary: soulmates, astrology, and tarot were the all silly in your mind. You scoffed at the idea of someone being out there for you and the “universe” having a special purpose for you. There’s no such thing and it’s all a hoax, right?

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

Slow burn, strangers to friends, friends to lovers, reader is not from Hawkins and bonds with Eddie and his gang. Just two idiots who don’t know they’re falling in love. Eventual smut but it’s going to be a long and slow build. ❤️‍🔥

Part Eight:

You found yourself counting down the hours to see Eddie again; you’d seen his Hellfire work but his artwork was seriously amazing. Tracing over the sketch all weekend as lightly as you could to feel those dips in the paper and the flecks of charcoal that broke off permanently embedded into the paper. His skill was so great, you felt guilty having it because it should go to a museum.

The door opening behind you broke the daydream and you twirled your chair to face him. “How was your weekend L/N?” You couldn’t contain the smirk. “Not too bad Picasso.” The blush forming on the tip of Eddie’s nose made him look like an animated reindeer. “Oh, so you found that.” You nodded as you stood to walk over towards him. Eddie sheepishly hung his coat on the wall and began to wipe the back of his neck nervously. “Listen, I know that was a bit weird and not really something that I should’ve done so I’m sorry.” “No! Don’t apologize.” Eddie paused the fidget fest and relaxed against the wall. “Really?” “I mean it was a little bit unconventional but it’s the most creative way I’ve been asked to join a group outing. Not to mention you have some serious talent.”

He poured a cup of coffee and walked over to your desk, taking a seat on it and facing your seat. “Nah, it’s not that great.” “Munson! Don’t do that self depreciation talk on my watch.” You slid into your seat and rolled it over towards him, resting your chin on his knee as you looked up at him. Eddie giggled at the sight momentarily but then he stilled to listen. “You’re an incredible artist Eddie, not to mention you write music, you are incredibly animated at your theatrics in D&D, what else can I add?” “Repair cars?” He said in a monotonous voice, you had to slap him in the leg for the bitterness he had towards himself. “Hey! Don’t be ashamed of that, it’s a skill! You are amazing Eddie! Why do you always make it seem like what you do means nothing?”

He looked down at you, his eyes were warm pools of caramel from the morning sun that peaked through the window, you could feel the sudden warmth and comfort you felt when you first looked into them. You wanted to apologize for everything and you didn’t even know what it was you were sorry for, his eyes just make you feel empathy on the deepest level. Eddie smiled sheepishly and hopped off the desk.

He went to his toolbox in the back and began to fiddle with a socket wrench, attaching different heads and pacing around before making his way back to your office.“I live in Hawkins. The only ones who find success here are football players or whatever other sports they play. And even then their highest achievement, real estate.” He slammed the wrench into his palm, not hard enough to break it but just enough to where his eyes twitched with the shock of pain. “I swear, I used to think there was some big practical joke being played on me as a kid. Like my family was actually going to leave this place and I’d find out I could be the best guitarist ever. But…” he looked back at you, placing the wrench on the desk before resuming his position he previously held. “But, this is it. I’m not going to be the next Keith Richards, or Kirk Hammett. I’m just a mechanic with a lost dream and nothing to show for it.”

With that Eddie grabbed the wrench heading back to his station. He started to attempt a tire adjustment; occasionally he’d pause and glance back at you. At this moment, had things not been so damn confusing or frustrating with Eddie, you’d run out of the office and kiss him. Jump into his arms, let him hold you close and just let go. Your mind fixated on the kiss scene from Some Kind Of Wonderful; the visual idea of Eddie as Eric Stoltz was not too impossible to conjure in your brain. Eddie glanced at you again, he dropped his wrench and made his way back to the office, your heart raced. Images of Eric and then Eddie merged into this one being that you desperately wanted to have holding you right this moment.

“Hey?” Eddie knocked on the door frame and smiled at you in his sad puppy way. “I’m sorry I rained that pity party onto you.” “S’okay.” You shrugged. “So, are you still wanting to come to the session on Friday?” You nodded and Eddie did a little dance before pausing and rushing back to his spot. You giggled as he ran away like someone in a cartoon, he was adorable in everything he did. It was impossible to ignore it, you had feelings for Eddie Munson, and more than having just any feelings, you actually felt like you were falling in love with him.

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

“What?” You shushed Brittany, she began to fall into a string of curse words. Normally you wouldn’t stick around for lunch but you asked Harry providing you could make a call for your “mom’s birthday party” He agreed. You felt like shit lying to him; but you didn’t want mom to hear the call, to have to use the pay phone across the street when your change was running low and Eddie is working through his lunch today.

“You said you didn’t like him.” “Well that’s not what this is.” “Obviously! You’ve skipped straight into love! You haven’t kissed! You haven’t had a date with the guy! He hasn’t even fingered you!” Pete walked by and cleared his throat. You blushed and covered the receiver with your hand. “Quiet! And keep the crass language to a minimum, I’m at work!” “Oh for fucks sake! Can Rapunzel hear me?” You groaned, but checked to see Eddie now shirtless and adjusting the overhead light. “Don’t call him that, it’s mean. And no he can’t hear you. He’s busy.” “Wow, you’re already defending this man’s honor. You are head over heels.” You sighed. “Go Go’s level.”

“So, do you plan to ask him out?” “Well, I don’t… I don’t know.” The line went silent, you could hear a slight cracking that was either Brittany’s neck or knuckles; she always cracked her joints when she was stressed. “Are you kidding me?” Her voice raised and you shushed her again, she groaned and lowered it to a more stern motherly tone. “You have these fantasies of this guy pulling a Eric Stoltz kiss on you, you dressed up for him, reach for him during a scary movie and he’s also given you a drawing to showcase that he likes you. What other signs do we need you to be looking out for here?” “Britt, it’s not that easy.” “Yes it is. Just say; Eddie, I’d like to go out with you, just the two of us.” You felt your stomach flip at the thought, looking back to Eddie he started to get his clothes back on and head inside. “Shit! He’s coming!” “Haha! I bet you’d like…” you slammed the phone down.

“Well… can’t say that’s not suspicious.” “WhAt?” You heard your voice crack and felt the heat burning on your neck. “What are you plotting there?” “Seriously Eddie it was just my friend Brittany, but she can be a little… a little bit more than most can deal with.” He nodded and leaned on the desk, taking a chip from your open bag. “Makes sense, best way to stop that is just hang up.” You laughed and Eddie sat back in the desk. “So you have any idea what race and class you’d like to be?” “What?” “For the campaign. You need to pick a race and class. Just come by my place after work and we can get some of my old books on the game. I’ll help you set up a character. You don’t want to walk in and not have a plan.” He took another chip and smirked at you. “Right.” You felt the breath in your lungs evaporate and almost coughed for air. “You doing okay Princess? You don’t look too good. Is it the heat again?” You shook your head and headed to the bathroom.

You stood there staring at the face in the mirror; plain, pale, rather common. You never deemed yourself as ugly but you never thought of yourself as stunning either. Staring back in your own eyes you found yourself wondering what a child with your face and Eddie’s eyes would look like, poor thing would fair better, if they looked exactly like Eddie instead. Having his amazing jawline, that cute button nose, sweet smile, that dimple in his left cheek, his broad shoulders, that hair, everything just so perfect. You tossed a handful of cold water on your face and then the door began to shake. “Do you need to go home? Harry wants to make sure.” “No Eddie I’m fine, just a little bit tired.” “I’ll make you some coffee then. Okay?” “Okay.” You could picture that hurt face of his perfectly.

Thankfully Eddie was kept pretty busy after lunch and you tried to bury yourself in sorting some old files for Harry’s records. One more highlighted line with the words Ford Motor Company and you’ll go postal. “You ready?” Eddie stood at your desk with a smile as wide as the Grand Canyon. “Sure. Can’t be too long right?” “Actually we will probably be busy for a while with this. I’m going to order some Pizza.” “How long does this take? I know the game is long but to make a character, you’ve got to be joking.” “Depends on how much you’re going to keep fighting me on this. Now before we get started I have a really important question.” You looked back at Eddie, his face serious now and brimming with concern. “What topping do you want on the pizza?”

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

“I’m telling you! You cannot be a chaotic neutral character.” “Why?” “Because I have three others doing that and it’s just massive chaos all over. I forbid it.” “Munson, I don’t take orders from you on this.” “Oh yes you will I am the dungeon master and what I say goes. I’m in control and you obey.” “What happens if I disobey?” Eddie paused and blushed, looking back at a page in the book that discussed a monster. “You’ll never do that.” “I am now. I want to be a chaotic Druid Elf. Or maybe a gnome.” “Why a gnome now?” “I think it would be funny.” He cackled and looked over the sheets you both had attempted to work on.

Eddie mused with one while eating a slice of pizza when a drop of sauce landed on the center of his shirt. “Shit! Figures.” He sighed before tossing the papers to try and get to his room. “Wait, give me the shirt.” “Why?” “Cause moron, you want to treat that before it sets. Hand me the shirt and I’ll get the stain out.” He groaned before lifting the shirt over his head.

You’d seen Eddie shirtless countless times at work and the night at the Hideout, but something about this one was particularly more sexy than the rest. Maybe because he removed the shirt instead of just waltzing around without one or because he obeyed an order from you? His chest rose and fell as he looked at you, the demon tattoo staring into your soul, begging you to bite the milky flesh that was on full display. Eddie bit his lip in and shook his hair out; while time may have paused for you it seemed to go normally for Eddie. “Thanks, I’ll just get decent.”

You rinsed the shirt in the sink with some dish soap and it looked as good as before. Then you gathered up the books and papers to set aside before getting your things to head out. Eddie walked out, an old shirt with Hawkins High Marching Band plastered across the chest now on and his hair seemed to be brushed and styled. “Hey! Why don’t you just stick around for a bit longer? Wayne doesn’t get off work for a few more hours and besides it’s just me here and it can get kind of lonely.”

You smiled, trying to hide your blush as best as you could. “Well I imagine that right hand of yours is good enough company sometimes.” Eddie blew out a raspberry laughing at the joke. “Wow, okay way to do that one.” “Hey I don’t judge, you do you… obviously.” “Ha. Ha. Very amusing, you can leave now I don’t feel like sharing my home with such a perverse individual.” “Wow Eddie Munson I had no idea you were a prude!” You plopped on the couch beside him as he nudged your head playfully. He switched on the TV.

An old Black and White rerun of The Andy Griffith Show played; Andy and Barney trying to get through an old haunted house without getting too freaked out. Eddie laughed a few times as did you. “Too bad we’re not watching another classic.” “What?” “Oh I think you know.” Eddie turned; puzzled before the realization hit him in the face. “Okay I get it. Haha. Eddie Munson, Eddie Munster. I got that a lot as a kid.” You shoved his shoulder. “How about a little howl. C’mon Eddie. Howl like your predecessor.” He shoved you back. “No, stop being so annoying.”

You continued to hit his shoulder and pester him while he playfully fought back before grabbing both your arms and pinning you down into the couch. You relaxed your body, the opposite of what Eddie might expect, you felt your legs open up and your thighs clenching his midsection between you. Both of you had the other in a hold and eyes locked in a deep penetrative gaze. You shifted your body downward a little and Eddie chuckled. “Where do you think you’re going?” “Why are you going to try and follow me?” He paused, licking his lips and looking you up and down; sizing you like an item for auction. One he’d be placing all his money to get his hands on. “That depends.”

Eddie slowly loosened the grip on your right wrist and trailed his hand down your arm, across your shoulder, up your neck until he reached your face. His thumb placed on the center of your chin and the rest of his fingers caressing the soft spot where your jaw and neck meet. He leaned in, you could feel his hot breath tickling the tiny hairs on your body. You braced yourself, wanting and longing for this moment. Your breath shaking and quickening as he was centimeters away from your lips.

The door swung open and Eddie threw himself off you as your mother and Aunt Jackie stormed in. “Just what the hell is happening here?”

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

@dreamerjj @foreveranexpatsposts @micheledawn1975

[honeeysagee]

Come In With The Rain

Sam W. x Bucky B. AU: where Sam is a cafe owner in Delacroix and a new mechanic, Bucky, blows into town.

For the first time that summer, it rained. And not just a gentle drizzle, but a full-on downpour. The sky hung low and gray, and the air was thick and muggy as if you had been standing under a dense canopy for hours. The scent of wet earth and damp trees filled the air, with water still dripping from the branches, making the humidity cling to your skin.

For Sam Wilson, the rain signaled a slow day at the shop, but it hardly deterred him. There were plenty of tasks awaiting his attention in the back. One project, in particular, caught his eye: the small battery-powered car he had promised to fix for his nephews, AJ and Cass. It had been months since he made that promise, and today, with the rain pouring down outside, he finally had the time.

For AJ and Cass, the rain meant a monotonous day at the shop, confined to their uncle’s watchful gaze.

As Sam tinkered with his toolbox, occasionally glancing at the shop’s door in anticipation of the bell's chime, he decided to focus on the car. He would look over at his nephews now and then, catching their admiring gazes before they quickly returned to their homework, pretending to be studious. Sam chuckled softly.

The rain drummed on the roof, creating a steady, soothing rhythm. Sam glanced out the window, watching the heavy drops splatter against the road, turning it into a shimmering, reflective surface. A few cars braved the weather, but most remained parked under the awning across the street, seeking shelter from the deluge. Sam flipped on the coffee machine and lit a fire for the boys to keep them warm.

After dusting off his hands, Sam stretched and groaned, then turned to his nephews. "Grilled cheese and soup?" he asked. Both boys perked up instantly. Sam smiled down at them, his grin widening as he led them to the kitchen, memories of his childhood flooding back.

Sam had been around 15 when his father owned the café. He spent countless afternoons and weekends there, working alongside his dad. He'd wander the kitchen with a grilled cheese sandwich in one hand and a hammer in the other. While his father managed the café, Sam busied himself in the back, fixing anything he could get his hands on. That same passion still drives him today, and he often felt his father's guiding hand on his shoulder whenever he cooked or repaired something.

Now, those days are just lingering in the back of his mind. But, they aren't forgotten. Not by a long shot.

"Mom is cooking fish tonight if you want to come over," AJ stated as he pulled bread from a cabinet. Sarah had mentioned it when she dropped the boys off, but Sam told her no. He figured he would be too tired from work today, but the storm came. He shrugged, "I don't know, buddy. How about I come over tomorrow?" AJ frowned, and Sam added, "Plus, tomorrow is the big game. Saints versus Cowboys. Don't we have a bet going on?" AJ brightened considerably at this prospect, "Don't you mean the bet that you're going to lose."

Sam rolled his eyes affectionately. After minutes, the food was ready, and the boys were back in their original seats. They ate in companionable silence while their uncle fiddled with his tools.

Then, the door of the shop was pushed open. The sound drew Sam's attention away from the engine in front of him, and he looked up to see a soaking wet man walking through the door. His clothes clung to his body, and his hair clung to his forehead, sticking straight up like porcupine quills. He looked miserable. Sam almost laughed.

Almost.

He had seen more than his fair share of grumpy customers - ones that didn’t take nicely to his jokes or helping hands. So, instead of asking how the weather was, he asked, “Welcome to the Wilson’s Café.” Sam stood again, his bones growing tired. “Looks like you need help.”

The stranger looked upwards - his eyes matching the clouds of the storm. Rainwater trickled down his sharp features, clinging to his long, dark hair that hung in wet strands around his face. His leather jacket, soaked through, clung to his broad shoulders, giving him a rugged, almost forlorn appearance. As he stepped into the warmth of the cafe, water dripped from his jeans and boots, pooling slightly on the floor. He ran a gloved hand through his hair, attempting to push it back but only managing to slick it further. Despite his bedraggled state, there was a quiet intensity in his steel-blue eyes that captured Sam's attention from behind the table.

"Um," His voice matched everything about him, "Just needed to come in from the rain."

Sam nodded, "You got it," he replied. He gestured to a nearby stool that was stationed by the fireplace, "Would you like some tea? It's very hot." The man eyed the stool warily. Sam added, "First drink on the house."

"You're lucky. We never get our drinks on the house." Cass threw the statement to the stranger, which made Sam roll his eyes. "How do you like your tea?" he asked pointedly. The stranger glanced up at the menu that hung over Sam's head. His eyes shifted left to right before looking back at Sam. "Earl Grey. Medium sugar. Thanks."

The man was short with Sam, which made him push his eyebrows together in confusion. He was new here definitely, he thought to himself. New to the area, anyway. Sam fixed the tea with ease - an order he frequently made for himself on days like this. Then, he marched the warm cup to the man with a leftover grilled cheese.

"On the house too." Sam mumbled. The man grunted and took the mug wordlessly, holding it close to his chest. "Thanks."

Sam returned to his work as the boys focused less on their food and homework and more on the silent stranger who was staring into the fire. Sam would occasionally make a face at the boys which would cause them to turn away but never for too long. As the silence grew so did his frustration with the engine of the small car.

"So, why do you look like that?" AJ asked.

"AJ!" Sam called out. When AJ merely raised his eyebrows innocently, Sam shook his head and sighed. "It's rude to ask strangers stuff like that."

AJ nodded seriously in agreement. "Sorry, sir."

Sam sighed and shook his head, "Okay, you know the drill. Dishes in the sink, and head upstairs," He helped them place their things into a backpack, "No fighting. No biting, and no,"

"Crying." The boys finished in unison. Sam only nodded and patted them on their heads. After they left the room, Sam fixed himself a cup of coffee and headed to the man. "I apologize my nephews. They kind of just speak their minds whenever they want."

The man nodded silently. His eyes trailed over the tools littering the floor with the car - the hammer, the wrench, the pliers. His head nodded to them, "You fix toys?"

Sam shook his head, "Not usually, but I made that thing for the boys, and it doesn't work." He pointed to the engine. "I tried everything that I can think of, but nothing seems to be able to work. And my nephews are getting restless just spending their evenings on homework," he joked, trying to make light of the situation. The man smiled wryly and Sam wondered what had caused such a sour expression. "What makes it tick?" The man asked.

"The engine's busted. Doesn't turn on."

He hummed, then, he stood from the stool. "May I?" He asked, picking up a tool.

Sam was his opportunity. "I usually don't let people touch my tools unless I get their name." The man raised his eyebrows as he began to unscrew the panel covering the engine compartment, revealing the wiring beneath. "It's James," he began, a sly smile playing upon his lips, "But, everyone calls me Bucky." Sam watched as the man slid his fingers inside the wires - his interest peaked by the minute.

"I'm Sam."

Bucky looked up. "It's nice to meet you, Sam." He said sincerely, his voice echoing throughout the cafe. Once the last of the wires was removed, Bucky settled to the floor. His dark blue eyes met Sam's brown ones. "You can ask me."

He had read Sam's face; and saw that he wanted to know more about this stranger who blew into the cafe and started fixing the engine on a fake car. Sam nodded and leaned against the counter. "It's not often we get newcomers. Are you new in town or just passing through?" He asked, curious but cautious nonetheless. He was known to pry too much too soon. So, he kept his distance and just tried to make small talk.

"Not sure yet."

Sam watched as Bucky worked, his deft fingers maneuvering through the tangled wires with ease. It was clear that Bucky had experience with mechanical work, his movements precise and confident. The rain continued to beat against the windows, a constant rhythm that seemed to match the methodical movements of Bucky’s hands.

"You're good at this," Sam remarked, unable to hide his curiosity. Bucky glanced up, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Spent a lot of time fixing things," he said simply, returning his attention to the engine. Sam studied the man closely; his gaze trailing along Bucky’s body, examining every curve, every freckle. Even though it wasn’t obvious from where he was seated, Sam could tell that Bucky was built like a brick house. Strong, sturdy arms, strong thighs, strong calves… Sam’s eyes lingered longer on Bucky’s waist. A little more defined abs than Sam was used to seeing.

Bucky noticed Sam watching him and cleared his throat awkwardly, pulling Sam from his thoughts. He coughed and sat forward on the stool he was perched upon, placing his hands on the countertop in front of him, "Your wiring was wrong. Common mistake."

"Thanks," Sam stated. "Think it will drive now?"

Bucky shrugged, "Maybe, if you get a new battery too. Dead ones don't make the car go."

Sam raised his eyebrows and grabbed his coffee mug. The coffee ran cold by now. Time seemed to speed by when he watched Bucky work. "Pas besoin d'être un connard." Sam whispered to himself softly. His gaze flickered over Bucky once again, who was chuckling into his cup.

"No need to be an asshole."

"French?" He asked, raising one brow. "Je ne voulais pas te contrarier. Pardonne-moi."

"I didn't want to upset you. Please forgive me."

Sam snorted quietly, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. "You're forgiven." He lifted the mug and placed it on the counter with more force than necessary. "So, what brought you to Delacroix, Bucky?" His name tasted like honey in his mouth.

"I couldn't spend another night in the truck, so I decided to stretch my legs, and then, the storm caught me." His words were soft, barely audible as a slight shiver racked his entire being. "Not to mention, I saw the help wanted sign outside the shop," He cleared his throat, "I'm terrible at coffee, but I'm good with my hands."

Sam glanced down at them, which was covered by dark leather gloves. Sam nodded slowly. "Yeah," His tone was soft, "I noticed. I mean. it would be nice to have some help. I have a lot of projects back there that need to be finished," He leaned on the corner, "But, I still need to give you the interview. Can't just have anyone in my shop."

Bucky nodded, but Sam could see his mind was elsewhere with that statement. Sam was known for prying more than he should, offending people where he shouldn't, and he enjoyed it for the most part. He liked to watch people tick and wanted to know how to make them do so, but his mind had already decided that Bucky would not be one of those people - if he could help it. He started easy.

"Where are you from?" A simple question that made Bucky's face twitch. "Originally from Brooklyn. Moved around a lot." His eyes flickered towards him as if he were searching Sam's. "La maison est partout si vous la cherchez. My mother's saying."

"Home is everywhere if you are looking for it."

"Well, have you found it?" Sam whispered like a secret between them was about to be shared. Bucky matched his energy, "Not yet, but I'm not looking for it." Sam hummed as he thought.

"How soon can you start?" The sentence floated between the both of them, as they exchanged glances for several seconds before Sam pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth. Bucky smiled, showing his perfect teeth, and Sam swallowed - taking note that the man before him had no flaws.

"Tomorrow would be great."

"Good," Sam muttered. "We need a new face around here," His eyes flitted up to meet the man, a small smirk tugging at his lips. Then, he glanced over at the shop's window, realizing the rain had stopped. He quickly wiped his hands on his jeans, then stood from the counter. "I have to get the boys over to my sister's place. I can show you around," Sam offered, "If you're up for it."

Bucky smiled softly. "That sounds like fun." The grin on his lips grew wider, "Lead the way." Sam walked to the wall opposite of them and let his knuckles rap the wood in four hard taps. Suddenly, a door from upstairs came bursting open with the patterns of small footsteps following. His nephews were down the stairs, huffing and puffing.

"Who's ready to see Ma?" He grinned, his nephews answering in unison with enthusiastic yeses.

With a laugh, he stepped aside. "This is Bucky. He’ll be helping me with repairs for now. So, you have to treat him nice, alright?" The two children nodded solemnly as Bucky stood awkwardly next to their bubbling energy. It almost reminded him of his sister back home. His heart ached for a moment before he was pulled back into the moment by Sam speaking to him, "Are you ready to meet Delacroix?"

Bucky nodded. "Of course." He followed him as Sam opened the front door. The streets glistened under the soft glow of the streetlamps, their reflection in the puddles creating a mirror image of the world above.

The air was cool and fresh, with a crispness that only a day-long rain could bring. Bucky pulled his jacket tighter around him, feeling the gentle embrace of the damp, clean air. He looked around, taking in the quaint charm of the town. The buildings were a mix of old and new, their brick and wood facades adorned with ivy and flower boxes that overflowed with vibrant blooms, glistening with raindrops.

Bucky felt a sense of ease washing over him. Sam turned to Bucky with a smile. "Thanks for walking with us. It's nice to have some company."

Bucky nodded, appreciating the kindness. "Thanks for the tea and grilled cheese. It was just what I needed." Sam chuckled. "Anytime. And about that job—we'll talk more tomorrow. Get settled in tonight."

Bucky nodded again, feeling a sense of anticipation for the days ahead. "Sounds good."

The evening was calm, the air fresh after the rain. Sam looked at Bucky, seeing a potential friend and ally. "You know, this place could use someone like you. Maybe you'll find what you're looking for here."

Bucky met his gaze, a small smile forming on his lips. "I hope so, Sam. I really do." They shared smiles. Sam could almost feel something else lingering underneath the surface of the smile that rested on Bucky's features, but it wasn't exactly clear. He looked back towards, noticing the lights flickering slightly against the raindrops. Somewhere in the air, Sam swore he could feel it that day, there was hope of something beautiful blooming.

[thatcheeseycandle]

T2024: Day 3, Trust | TC-LRAU

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

“I had to do it! HE WAS GONNA DIE, JOHN!”

“EVEN WITH THAT, YOU COULD’VE COST US THOUSANDS WITH THAT STUNT!”

It would be the middle of the night, even if it was normally the most peaceful period in a day, as you can see, it was not for the crew of three engineers that had stayed the night to keep an eye on the now emptied engine of Tornado.

“Oh and I’m the one pulling the stunts here? You bloody idiot, she could’ve died and that would cost us EVEN MORE with how much money the Trust owes the GWR! And if you aren’t taking that to mind, take this, how would we explain to them that we killed THE YOUNGEST STEAM ENGINE TO DATE?! HOW DO WE JONATHAN, IF IT HAPPENS, HOW DO WE?!”

“ENOUGH! Both of you, will you fucking STOP?!”

The storm was loud outside, like themselves, it was a cold evening as well. 

“Mackenzie, he started it!” Jonathan frustratingly gestures to the now empty vial, to which Mackenzie would eye, spotting the label on it that read-

“Gold dust.. Wait, wheres Tornado?”

Now this was when Johnathan cracked.

“She's in the back, I called the Director already to assist him. Because Trevor over here decided to REPLENISH his gold dust while it was reforming!”

“HE NEEDED HELP, FUCKING HELP!“

“WHAT DID I JUST SAY?!” Mackenzie cut off the both of them as they were riling up eachother again, pinching her nose before she took a glance at Tornado's engine past the two.

The day before, Trevor had seen signs of detachments in the soul and told the NRM about it, trying to get advice on how to handle it, but they simply said to leave it be.

To put it in the least graphical way, it was not pretty at all.

As Trevor recalls, his face started to soften like hard clay reverting back to lumpy soft clay it used to be before drying and it was bad. His face cracked and shards of it fell off like clay plates falling on the ground, shattering into smaller shards of “clay.”

It was horrifying. Imagine if that happened to you, slowly breaking into shards while you can't do anything about it, feeling yourself basically die slowly.

Thankfully, when the cracks started to get a few inches bigger and noticeable, Trevor had went back into the shed to check on inventory and there were vials of gold dust there. He had used one of those vials and gave it to Tornado into his firebox.

But when he saw Tornado in such a state, it was surreal.

Seeing him decay away like that, sent chills down his spine.

As Trevor sat down on a bench nearby, facing the side of Tornado's cab, Johnathan would go into said cab with a toolbox wrapped with his arm as he looked over the controls before looking deeper. Though shooting Trevor a furious gaze before he went into it.

Mackenzie on the other hand, would enter through a door, it led to this small hallway with three doors.

The first door that was at the end of the hall, it led to the outside to the yard. It had a window above the handle that let in some light, but currently it was the only light source, seeing as the light bulb above has been removed for repairs.

It added a mysterious touch, seeing how that beam of light shined through the window, looking better with that sun catcher Johnathan placed there. 

But that door to the left of her, it was more “mysterious”, and I say mysterious in quotation marks considering that is how visitors of the workshop described it. It wasn't mysterious to Mackenzie by all means, she has access to it after all.

Free to look through the files that lay inside that pieced together such a massive project.

But as she looked closer, she’d notice a crack between the door and wall. There she was.

As Mackenzie grabbed the handle, lightly pushing the door open for her to walk in, she'd scan the room beyond her.

It��s been nearly a month or two since the last time she, or anyone, entered this area, this archive. It was expected for dust to build up, considering how many files and documents the Trust had collected over the years, of course this “office” would've turned into this.

Blue prints, newspapers, engine files, nameplates, a quarter of the entire history of the LNER was practically all in here, considering 70% of Tornado's class history was here. Or what felt like it.

What was more baffling is, where on God's name did they get all of it from? Surely there's sources or storage buildings Gresley, or his relatives, would've left behind. It was suspicious enough with the rumors of the Trust crafting up the files themselves, hence why Tornado was built a bit faulty.

Turning a corner, those thoughts would grow louder as she glanced at the rows of archive shelves, they had changed since the last time she was in here, most of them were filled to the brim with documents and actually were sorted out.

But then, the sound of heavy breathing starting to get louder and louder as she enters the main archive. And so we go back at the Tornado mention, seeing as Mackenzie spots Tornado sitting on the ground, leaning on a little cart filled with books.

To which her eyes would widen in shock.

———

“You don't need to remind me of that!”

“Well, what Duchess of Hamilton said would deny that, Nadia.”

“It's Nadi! You- ti shit bach sbeitlyd-”

“What you guys really need to do, is to chill the FUCK out!”

“Cyrus, it's already cold enough, what’re you expecting?!”

As you can see, the sun wouldn't push out the cold of the night as it rises in the sky. And, as expected, even Tornado's fully lit firebox couldn’t drown it out as well.

The week had just started and yet what has happened in the last one still is present, considering a volunteer and historian were newly recruited into the main operational crew.

A sudden thud would be heard, Nadi would be the first to see who or what caused that, to which they'd let out a huff of cold breath and steam.

“Hi Uncle Scot.”

They greet Sc-

“Holy shit- Scotsman, are you alright mate?”

They greet Scotsman as Cyrus helps him up from the floor, seemingly in his human form rather than the traditional monochrome form. To which Nadi silently cursed under their breath.

Well, another day another trip to the Museum. But then, they will admit, it’s been two or three months since the last one. Time flies fast they supposed.

But something they can fully admit is that they missed E-

“Nadi? Nadi c’mon, we have to get going.”

They'd snap out of their train of thought, as they look to where the voice comes from, seeing it would be the new historian, Trent. Though they would look in front of them, wincing at the sudden light that burst through the crack of the shed door, annoyed even more.

But as their eyes adjusted to the light outside, they’d see the back of a tender. Specifically a streamlined non-corridor one. Considering the context of this situation, they’d roll forward out of habit as they looked to their coupling.

“Tornado- Nadi!”

A familiar voice called out to Nadi, to which they’d apply their brakes with a slight screech, realising the tender was farther than they thought it would be. As they slid back their smoke deflectors a bit to see where this voice came from, they'd slide them back as fast as they could with a click.

“Nadi. You can slide those smoke deflectors back, but it doesn’t matter anyway,” it spoke another word, to which Nadi froze at, in pure embarrassment.

A tall figure would come into their view, the first thing they’d notice is that this person would have two plastic leg braces on the thighs and a cane, more specifically a multiple point cane from what they could guess, with the two handles.

As they were about to throw a retort at this person, they’d notice the black hair with blue frosted tips, the blue fading to a cyan-turquoise.

“Where’s your wheelchair, Trevor? And what’s with the new cane? Did the last one finally snap?”

They’d eye all these new orthotics and cane, a look of concern would form on their face. Yes they were used to seeing Trevor with a cane most of the time, sometimes coming here with a wheelchair, like the first time they met him, but surely there would’ve been a notice on all this new stuff.

Seeing Nadi’s reaction, Trevor chuckled softly after he adjusted his brace into place a bit. Holding firmly on his cane as he looked back up at Nadi.

“No, no. I just wanted to get myself a new cane since I’m gonna be volunteering on the NYMR, my main one won’t help much with the work I’ll do there,” he explains as he gestures to the end of the cane, from the top having a night sky filled with puppet looking suns and moons, to it fading to a light blue sky with clouds looking like they were carved wood.

The patterns would mesmerize Nadi for a minute, but then would snap out themselves as they took a glance at Trevor.

“Sorry. For the- Yeah, going too far out the shed.”

They would let off some steam as they backed into the shed, pulling back their smoke deflectors to look around the shed a bit, being aware of the environment, they supposed. They could hear Trevor reassure them it was alright to go a bit further out, considering it’s basically a habit to do so when they head off to the museum.

But as they looked to their left they’d realize, ah fuck, right, Scot. As they narrowed their eyes, they'd clear their throat.

“Hey, Uncle Scot.”

This would catch the attention of the Flying Scotsman, who'd return the look with an awkward one.

“Hello, Tornado.”

“Lady above- Your zoning out again.”

“What- I didn't even-”

“It's Nadi, incase you forgot, Flying Scotsman,” they bluntly shot that at him as he narrowed his eyes to the ground, to which Nadi let's out a tired sigh at before their face would start to evaporate into gold dust.

As the gold dust piled up a bit on the ground before swirling into a little tornado, evaporating into the air as it revealed a humanoid silhouette.

Though as Scotsman looked up, taking a glance at to where the glow of gold was coming from, he'd be met with an empty glare from, what he presumes to be, Nadi's human form.

It's been a while since he's seen their human form. His memories would be pried out from the back of his mind looking into the golden swirl of their eyes, memories of those who had ‘passed.’

Thinking about it, they were quite bittersweet. Yes he could see so much of Great Eastern in Nadi. His strong will, impressionable nature, and cleverness. But he could see another side to them, their courage and their open-minded nature, alongside a main trait of theirs, their assertiveness. That most likely being their Great Wes-

“So, are you just gonna stare at me for more than half the minute you spent doing so?”

He’d snap out of his near-spiral down his endless train of thoughts, looking down to the floor as soon as he processed Nadi’s words.

“I apologise,” he’d stand up as he glanced back down at Nadi, who would still be looking at him disapprovingly while their face was stoic, stepping back a bit to give Scotsman some room. Even with Scotsman rising above them by a few inches, Nadi still kept their guard up with that look.

Then they’d let out a tired sigh as they glanced back at their engine.

“Let’s just, get to our engines before this gets awkward.”

“Agreed.”

As he felt his crew step into his cab, he could feel deep down that this would not end well.

As he walked over to his own engine,  gently touching the buffer beam, he’d catch a glimpse of Nadi taking off their shades, spotting a scar underneath their eye, the cracks fro-

He’d see a quick flash of gold dust before he opened his eyes, as he settled into his engine his pistons would hiss with steam as it flowed out, hearing the click of Nadi’s smoke deflectors from behind his tender.

———

There would be cracks on her face, thankfully starting to fade away as it decreased to only being most visible at her cheek.

“Torn- Nadi, Nadi?!”

Nadi would look up at Mackenzie, then immediately back down as her head was now encased her hands. She'd speed up a little before slowing down, seeing Nadi’s current state, taking in how sh- they would be feeling right now.

Seeing Nadi look so frail and tense, she'd kneel down to be near their level.

“Hey.. Nadi, you're here, I'm here,” she lowers her voice to a soft whisper, but loud enough for Nadi to hear, reaching out her hand to them a little. To which Nadi would grab, kneeling up a little, pulling Mackenzie into a hug as she felt tears stain her retro jacket.

She wouldn't flinch the slightest as she returned the hug with warmth, letting them sob into her shoulder as they got a bit louder.

Nadi tugged on her jacket a bit tighter as she started to form words in mumbles after saying somewhat-welsh gibberish.

“Do not let anyone see me- please— I just wanna be here, I felt so dead. Please, Ms Mac please—”

They mumble out between their sobs, each attempt at forming words just made more tears leak out as they clung on to Mackenzie for comfort.

They could feel the cracks start to get bigger and bigger

Ever since the accident, the sensation of cracking had haunted him. The initial injury had left him with a deep scar, both physically and mentally.

Now, in moments of stress or fatigue, he would feel the phantom cracks spreading across their skin. It was as if their body was betraying him, the old wound reopening and splintering further. He would look down at his hand, expecting to see his flesh splitting apart, but there was nothing there. The hallucinations were vivid, almost real, and he could hear the faint sound of cracking, like dry twigs snapping underfoot echo in his mind.

Each time, he had to remind himself that it was all in his mind, a cruel trick played by his trauma. But the fear lingered, making him question his own reality. No matter how much he tried, he was still pulled in between reality and the roaring storm that are the memories that came flooding in like a tsunami. It was agonising.

He could recall the minutes before, during, and after the Incident, their clouded thoughts as they flashed in and out of consciousness with a flash of golden light, his golden light.

Oh how he felt so idiotic for not noticing it sooner at the time, it was right there!

———

As he recalls it, it was when they reached 80 mph from what he heard from his crew during the run, they were ready to speed past through Huntingdon as their wheels ached while keeping strong, ignoring the pain with the confident flame inside their firebox. But even with their regulator feeling so free, steam whirling inside like a flock of birds gliding through the clouds.

The thing that made him the happiest was to hear that everyone he knew from Didcot, West Somerset, and the Museum were cheering him on watching the run. The flame inside his firebox roared with warmth as his thoughts went to Odis and Evelyn, they were watching him right now! Pulling a service on such a rapid speed!

Looking back on it, that moment was quite the thrilling one. All the struggles they faced up to that point all paid off right there. 

But that was until they blew their whistle after reaching 90 mph, that warm feeling inside of them turned to reality as it started to sting a little. He could see thin strings of steam flowing near his buffers as something inside them felt warmer and warmer.

And after that last blast of a whistle, something inside of him exploded.

His mouth started to leak with steam uncontrollably and his pistons started to crack as pieces fell off, hitting his siderods a bit as he could feel steam leak a bit into his smokebox. They were being halted by the same thing that gives them mobility.

But through the panic, the last hope they had as cracks started to sprout from his left cheek-

‘I promise, to make up for all of my mistakes, I’ll be there when something goes wrong. I’ll be on standby,’ he recalled him saying before the run. The last hope they had was on the Flying Scotsman coming to his aid, like he had promised.

And then came a sudden sprout of long cracks as he could feel his face chip off bit by bit, his vision flashing between a golden light and the blurred track that his then glowing golden eyes were shining on—

———

“Nadi, wake up. We’ve arrived!” Called Mackenzie cheerfully from their cab, snapping them out of nearly dozing off to sleep. Well, shit, there goes their free nap.

As they slid back their smoke deflectors, their eyes lit up at the wonderful view of the sun shining on the metal roof of the main exhibition building of Locomotion, the sky behind it being a nearly-white baby blue sky with bursts of orange from the south, fading out as time went on.

Though as Nadi fully slid back their smoke deflectors, they’d notice the green livery and golden outline of-

“Betton! Over here!”

[morgan-va]

Chapter 8: Countdown to Perfection

Masterlist

The house was alive with a hum of activity as the countdown to Saturday’s gala began in earnest. Morning sunlight poured through the mansion’s grand windows, illuminating the faint dust motes in the air as you meticulously worked on fixing a temperamental chandelier in the foyer. Tools clinked softly as you adjusted its wiring, your face set with concentration. Below, V and N stood ready to assist, their optics scanning your movements.

"Almost there," you muttered, holding a loose wire in place. "N, pass me the soldering iron."

N cheerfully obliged, hurrying to your toolbox and retrieving the tool with a wide grin. "Here you go! Hey, did you know that soldering smells kind of funny? Like... metal soup."

You couldn't help but chuckle. "I'll take your word for it, N. Thanks."

V, who was holding the base of the ladder steady, glanced up. Her expression was as neutral as ever, but her optics flickered briefly behind her glasses—a telltale sign of some unspoken thought. "Are you sure this will hold through the gala?" she asked quietly, her tone tinged with worry.

"That's what I'm here to make sure of," you replied, giving her a small, reassuring smile. "The last thing we want is the chandelier crashing down in the middle of someone's speech."

V nodded, though her optics lingered on the chandelier with faint unease.

The morning pressed on with a steady rhythm of tasks. After finishing the chandelier, the three of you moved through the mansion, inspecting and repairing anything that could risk being an embarrassment during the gala. Loose floorboards were nailed down, ornate fixtures polished to a mirror shine, and the finicky dumbwaiter received a full recalibration.

While J had initially been your liaison for most of the household's operations, her absence this week was palpable. She had taken command of a fleet of rented drones assigned to handle the intricate dining setup for the gala. The occasional sharp bark of her "motivational speeches" echoed faintly from the direction of the kitchen, punctuated with phrases like, "Streamline the silverware symmetry!" and "Plate rotation efficiency at 110%, team!"

"J’s probably loving this," V muttered as you all passed the dining hall. Her voice was barely audible over the synchronized clattering of plates and the clipped tones of corporate jargon.

"I don’t know if 'loving' is the right word," you replied dryly, suppressing a grin.

"She’s in her element," N added enthusiastically, his optics practically sparkling. "She really cares about getting things just right!"

V snorted softly but didn’t comment further.

By midday, you found yourself kneeling by one of the mansion’s large windows, tightening its latch to make sure it could withstand an unexpected breeze. V knelt beside you, inspecting the frame for cracks.

"You’ve been awfully quiet," you remarked, glancing at her out of the corner of your eye.

"I’m just... focused," she replied, though there was an uncharacteristic hesitance in her voice.

You decided not to press her, instead directing N to test the latches on the windows further down the hall. He eagerly obliged, bouncing off with his usual cheer.

V's optics followed him for a moment before she spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you think it’ll all be perfect? For the gala, I mean."

You paused, considering her question. "Nothing’s ever perfect, V. But if we do our best, it’ll be good enough."

Her optics flickered, and for a moment, she seemed to mull over your words. Then she nodded, her usual reserve settling over her once more.

"Come on," you said, standing and brushing off your hands. "There’s still plenty left to do."

V rose with you, ready to tackle the next task. The days ahead promised to be grueling, but with her at your side, you felt the faintest glimmer of optimism.

The grand hall was unusually quiet as you focused on the task at hand: straightening and securing the gallery of ornate paintings lining the walls. Each frame was an intricate masterpiece, heavy with gilded edges and delicate carvings, making the job of leveling them perfectly both tedious and precarious.

V stood at the base of the ladder, her hands firmly gripping its sides. Her optics followed your movements with a rare attentiveness, her expression unreadable.

"You good up there?" she asked softly, tilting her head slightly.

"Yeah, just give me a second," you replied, balancing awkwardly as you reached for the corner of the next painting. "This one’s a little crooked."

V’s optics flickered in acknowledgment, and she tightened her grip on the ladder. "Careful. I’m not exactly built to catch humans if you fall."

You chuckled lightly, adjusting the painting’s angle. "Duly noted. But don’t worry, I’ve got—"

Your words cut off as your foot slipped, the ladder wobbling dangerously beneath you. Your stomach lurched as gravity took hold, and you felt yourself falling backward.

"V!" was all you managed to shout before you collided with something solid—and unmistakably metallic. The world spun as you hit the ground with a loud thud, the air forced from your lungs as you realized what—or rather, who—you had landed on.

You hit the ground with a hard jolt, a sharp crackle of static electricity sparking between you and V as you landed squarely on top of her. The unexpected shock left your body tingling, but a quick assessment told you there were no serious injuries—just some bruised pride and, no doubt, an irritated drone beneath you.

"V! Are you alright?" you asked, quickly scrambling off her and extending a hand to help her up.

"I—" V started, her voice catching as she stared up at you, optics wide and flickering. She didn’t move to take your hand, instead remaining frozen on the floor, her fingers trembling as they lifted to point directly at you.

“What’s wrong?” Panic began to creep into your voice as her optics seemed to track every detail of your face with an unnerving intensity. “V, say something! Are you hurt?”

Her optics flickered again, a faint static hum breaking the silence. "I—" she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "You’re... not a shadow anymore."

You blinked, momentarily unsure if you’d heard her correctly. "What?"

V finally took your hand, her grip uncharacteristically shaky as she allowed you to pull her upright. Once she was standing, she stepped back slightly, her optics scanning you from head to toe in an almost disbelieving manner.

"You’re not... a shadow. I can... see you," she repeated, her tone awestruck.

For a moment, neither of you said anything, the weight of her words sinking in. You stared at her, trying to process the impossible. She wasn’t supposed to see anything other than a vague black silhouette when looking at you or any human. That’s just how she—and all drones—were programmed. Yet here she was, gazing at you like you were some kind of miracle.

“How is that possible?” you asked, your voice hushed.

“I... I don’t know,” she admitted, her optics darting nervously, her hand lifting slightly before dropping again, as though she wasn’t sure whether to reach out. “You’re—this doesn’t make any sense. You’ve always been a shadow. But now you’re... you’re not.”

You swallowed hard, your own shock mirroring hers. “You’re sure? This isn’t just... some kind of glitch?”

“It’s not a glitch,” V whispered, her tone soft yet filled with certainty. She stared at you, an almost childlike wonder in her optics. "I don’t understand why, but I can really... see you."

The moment hung heavy between you, an unspoken realization dawning on both of you. Something had changed—something neither of you could explain, but that had undeniably shifted the way V saw you.

And for the first time, she didn’t seem to know how to respond.

V’s optics remained locked on you, her hands twitching slightly at her sides as though she wanted to reach out but didn’t dare. “You’re... different,” she murmured, her tone soft and awestruck.

You rubbed the back of your neck, unsure what to make of her reaction. “Different how?”

“I mean—I can see you,” she repeated, her voice trembling. “Your face, your... everything. You’re not just a shadow anymore. I didn’t even know that was possible.”

Her words sent a shiver down your spine. You frowned, glancing at your hands as if they held some kind of answer. “Maybe...” you began, hesitant, “it’s because of the fall? Or that static discharge? It could have done something to your visual processors.”

V blinked rapidly, her optics flickering. “Static? You think that’s it?”

“It’s the only thing I can think of,” you admitted. “Your programming makes it so drones only see humans as shadows, right? Maybe something shorted out and...” You trailed off, feeling her gaze boring into you.

V took a small, hesitant step closer, her optics scanning you like she was seeing something extraordinary for the first time. “If it’s a glitch, I... I don’t know if I want it to stop,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re... I didn’t realize how much I was missing.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that. The way she looked at you—with a mixture of amazement and vulnerability—was enough to make your chest tighten. “Well, uh...” You fumbled for words, trying to keep the situation grounded. “If this is a glitch, I should probably check it out. Just to make sure it’s not dangerous or something.”

“Dangerous?” V asked, her optics darting nervously.

“Not to you,” you reassured her quickly. “But if something’s gone wrong with your systems, it might cause problems down the line.”

“I—” V started, but her words caught in her vocalizer. She took another step closer, her optics never leaving you. “It’s just... weird. I’m used to shadows, not... this.”

She stumbled over her words, her usual awkwardness amplified by the situation. "Your face... it’s... it’s..." Her voice trailed off, and she quickly turned her head away, as though embarrassed by her own reaction.

“You okay?” you asked gently, tilting your head to meet her gaze.

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, though her optics betrayed her nervousness. “It’s just... a lot. Sorry. I’ll—I’ll stop staring.”

“It’s alright,” you said, trying to lighten the mood. “I guess I’d be shocked too if things flipped like this out of nowhere.”

V didn’t respond immediately, but her optics lingered on you for another moment, her expression soft and unsure. Finally, she turned away, still visibly rattled.

“I’ll, um... let you figure out what happened,” she muttered, her voice quieter than usual. But even as she stepped back, her optics darted back to you, as though she couldn’t help but keep looking.

You exhaled, trying to steady yourself. Whatever had just happened, it was more than either of you could make sense of. And the way V kept glancing at you, wide-eyed and unsure, only added to the surreal weight of the moment.

The tension in the room was cut short by the sudden clatter of hurried footsteps on the stairs. Both you and V turned toward the sound, and moments later, Tessa appeared, her hair slightly disheveled and a wild gleam in her eye.

“I’m heading out!” she declared, her voice bright but edged with urgency. “Don’t tell anyone—I’ll be back soon. If my parents ask, just say I’m studying outside. Fresh air, you know?”

You blinked at her, caught off guard by the abruptness of her statement. “Uh... okay, but where are you going?”

Tessa waved a hand dismissively as she pulled on a jacket she’d grabbed from the coat rack. “Just—somewhere. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“That’s... not exactly reassuring,” you said, your concern creeping into your tone.

“I’ll be fine,” Tessa insisted, shooting you a quick, almost playful grin. “Promise. Just cover for me, okay?”

You exchanged a look with V, whose optics flickered in silent confusion, then back at Tessa. “If you’re planning something, it might help to at least—”

“No time for explanations!” Tessa interrupted, already halfway to the door. “You’re the best, bye!”

And with that, she was gone, the door swinging shut behind her.

You stood there for a moment, processing what had just happened. “Studying outside,” you repeated flatly, looking to V.

V tilted her head, her expression still slightly dazed from the earlier revelation, but she managed to focus enough to mutter, “That was suspicious.”

“You think?” you replied, already dreading the questions you’d inevitably have to dodge if anyone noticed her absence.

Still, there was little you could do now except wait and hope Tessa wasn’t about to get herself into trouble—or worse.

V’s optics lingered on the door long after Tessa had disappeared, her earlier awe replaced with something more contemplative. You were about to ask her what she was thinking when she spoke up, her voice low and uncertain.

“There’s... something else,” she said, her optics flickering slightly as they turned back to you.

You frowned. “What is it?”

V hesitated, her fingers twitching as if trying to grasp at the right words. “When Tessa ran by just now,” she began slowly, “she was still... a shadow to me.”

The weight of her statement hung in the air like a lead balloon. Your stomach sank as the implications began to settle in. “Wait,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “You’re saying I’m the only one you can see? Like... really see?”

V nodded, her gaze fixed on you with a mix of confusion and awe. “It’s just you. Everyone else is still... the way they’ve always been. But you…” She trailed off, her optics brightening as if struggling to process the enormity of it.

Your thoughts spun, trying to piece together the why and how. “That doesn’t make sense,” you muttered, rubbing the back of your neck. “The static discharge, maybe? Or... could it be something with your optics? Or your processing unit?”

V’s lips parted as if to respond, but she quickly shut them, glancing down at her hands. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice soft. “But it’s... strange. And it’s not bad—just... new.”

The way she stared at you—earnest and unguarded—sent a chill down your spine. It wasn’t the unnerving kind of stare, but one filled with a sincerity that made your heart skip. You were so used to being an afterthought in this household, another cog in the machine. Yet here was V, looking at you as if you were the most fascinating thing she’d ever encountered.

“This doesn’t feel like just a glitch,” she murmured, her optics narrowing slightly as if trying to read something hidden beneath your skin. “It’s like...” She stopped herself, shaking her head as if unwilling to finish the thought.

You cleared your throat, trying to bring the conversation back to something grounded. “Whatever’s causing this, we’ll figure it out. First things first, though—I should probably take a closer look at your optics and your processing unit when we have some time. See if I can find anything unusual.”

V nodded, her gaze still locked on you. “Yeah. That sounds... good.”

But even as she said it, there was a lingering sense that neither of you would be able to explain this easily. Whatever had changed between you, it was bigger than a simple malfunction. And as much as it unnerved you, it also intrigued you.

“Come on,” you said finally, gesturing toward the ladder and the paintings still waiting to be adjusted. “We’ve got work to finish.”

V blinked, as if snapping out of a daze, before following you back to the task at hand. But even as she held the ladder steady, you could feel her gaze on you, as though she were still trying to comprehend the inexplicable shift between you both.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of work. With N cheerfully dusting and organizing as you and V tackled the repairs, the tasks went quicker than you’d expected. The three of you moved as a team, almost instinctively aware of each other’s roles. By the time evening settled over the mansion, the bulk of the day’s list had been checked off.

You let out a satisfied sigh as you returned your tools to the workshop, setting aside the checklist for tomorrow’s tasks. V followed close behind, her usual quiet demeanor more introspective than usual.

“Alright, let’s see what we can find,” you said, motioning for her to sit on the workbench. She climbed up with a nod, her optics glowing faintly in the dim workshop light.

“I’m still not sure this is worth the trouble,” V murmured, folding her hands in her lap. “Everything feels normal... except for, you know.” She gestured vaguely toward you.

“Well, normal doesn’t explain why I’m suddenly not a shadow to you,” you said, gently removing the panel on the back of her head. You worked in silence for a while, carefully inspecting her processors and circuits. Everything appeared pristine—clean, untampered. You ran a few tests through her diagnostic systems, but each result came back normal.

“Processing speed is optimal,” you muttered, scrolling through the results. “No memory corruption, no circuit degradation...”

V tilted her head slightly, watching you with a mix of curiosity and trepidation. “So, nothing?”

“Nothing,” you confirmed, leaning back with a frustrated sigh. “No physical damage, no glitches in your software. As far as I can tell, you’re in perfect condition.”

Her optics flickered thoughtfully. “Then why?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, replacing her panel and stepping back. “There’s no logical reason for this—at least, none I can find. Whatever’s happening... it’s beyond anything I’ve seen before.”

V hopped down from the bench, brushing herself off. “So, I’m just stuck seeing you like this?”

You glanced at her, noting the faint blush of light on her optics—a sign of emotion she rarely displayed. “Does it bother you?”

She paused, as if genuinely considering the question. “No,” she said quietly. “It’s just... different. I’ve never seen anyone like this before. It’s a lot to take in.”

You couldn’t blame her. It was a lot for you to take in, too. As much as you wanted an answer, the lack of one left a gnawing uncertainty in the back of your mind.

“Well, if you notice anything else strange, let me know,” you said, crossing your arms. “We’ll figure it out eventually.”

V nodded, her optics lingering on you for a moment longer before turning toward the door. “Thanks,” she said softly, her tone carrying an unusual warmth. 

And with that, she slipped out of the workshop, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the growing mystery surrounding her sudden clarity.

The quiet hum of the workshop was your only company as you leaned over the latest repair, the methodical work offering some solace from the lingering questions in your mind. V’s strange new clarity still loomed large, but for now, you focused on the tangible tasks at hand.

Above you, the muffled sound of movement reached your ears. Tessa must finally be home. You glanced toward the ceiling, momentarily distracted, but soon returned your attention to the delicate mechanisms in front of you.

Minutes passed, and you became absorbed in your work—until a soft knock on the workshop door broke your concentration.

"Come in," you called, setting your tools aside and wiping your hands on a nearby rag.

The door creaked open, revealing Tessa. She peeked inside, her posture slightly hunched as if already apologizing for interrupting you.

“Hey,” she began, her voice small but carrying a note of urgency. “I, um... I need your help with something. I know you’re busy, and I hate to add to your plate, but... I can’t do this without you.”

You blinked, surprised by her hesitation. Tessa was rarely this uncertain, her usual energy replaced by an almost sheepish demeanor. Whatever this was, it had clearly rattled her.

“Of course,” you said, rising to your feet. “What do you need?”

She stepped aside, gesturing to someone—or something—just outside the door. Your heart stopped.

A drone stepped into view, its sleek frame darkened from wear and tear, with striking yellow optics that gleamed unnervingly bright in the dim light. It was her.

Your breath hitched as the room seemed to close in on you, the walls pressing inward, suffocating. Memories of your nightmares flooded back in an instant—screaming, fire, carnage, and that unnerving, bone-chilling grin.

What was she doing here? Why had Tessa brought this thing into the house?

The drone tilted its head, optics focused on you with an unsettling precision, as if it could sense your growing dread.

You couldn’t move, couldn’t speak—until the silence was broken.

The oppressive silence of the workshop wrapped around you, a sharp contrast to the swirling storm of thoughts in your head. The drone from your nightmares—the one who had haunted your visions with blood and chaos—stood in the doorway, her presence enough to make the air feel heavier. Tessa’s voice had faded to white noise as your attention zeroed in on Cyn.

She tilted her head at an odd angle, supporting it with her hand as her neck joint gave a faint, unnatural creak. Her glowing yellow optics stared at you, unblinking, and when she finally spoke, her voice was soft, almost childlike, but carried an unsettling hollowness.

“Step forward,” she announced as she shuffled into the room, her feet pointed slightly inward. “Polite smile.” Her lips curved into an imitation of a grin, but it didn’t reach her eyes, which flickered faintly like a glitch.

You couldn’t help but flinch at her words, your stomach knotting tighter with every second she remained in your presence. The way she moved was wrong—stilted and awkward, her body swaying as though unaccustomed to balancing itself properly.

Tessa stepped in behind her, her usual energy dampened by a nervous edge. “So, uh… I found her in the dump, like V and N,” she said quickly, rubbing the back of her neck. “But she’s… not like them. She’s different.”

You blinked, finally pulling your focus away from Cyn long enough to meet Tessa’s eyes. “Different how?”

Tessa hesitated, glancing at Cyn as though she might say something. When the drone remained eerily still, save for the occasional flicker of her optics, Tessa continued.

“Well, she doesn’t act like V or N. Or any drone I’ve seen before, really.” She gave a small, uneasy laugh. “I thought maybe you could, y’know, run some diagnostics or something? See if there’s something wrong with her?”

“Greetings,” Cyn said suddenly, cutting into the conversation. Her optics locked onto you as she raised one hand in a slow, deliberate wave. “Friendly gesture. Hello, human.”

Your chest tightened as she addressed you directly, her unsettling grin widening as though she were testing out the expression. You struggled to find your voice, unsure how to respond to something so… uncanny.

“Uh,” you finally managed, turning your attention back to Tessa. “You want me to…?”

Tessa nodded quickly, her voice almost pleading. “Please. I don’t know what else to do. I mean, look at her!”

As if on cue, Cyn’s head fell in the opposite direction, as if her neck joint was nothing but a ball socket. As her hand rose to hold her head up, her optics narrowing slightly as though studying you. “Curious glance,” she narrated softly. “Awaiting orders.”

You hesitated, the weight of Tessa’s request pressing down on you. Every instinct screamed at you to turn away, to refuse. And yet, the look on Tessa’s face—one of genuine concern—kept you rooted in place.

With a deep breath, you nodded. “Alright,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Let’s… take a look.”

Tessa exhaled in relief as Cyn turned toward the workbench. Her movements were jerky, yet purposeful, her posture somehow both rigid and unstable.

“Walking to the table,” Cyn murmured, her tone eerily calm as she climbed onto the bench. She turned to face you, her optics bright and unblinking. “Seated. Ready for inspection.”

Tessa lingered in the doorway, her hands clasped nervously in front of her. You could feel her gaze on you as you gathered your tools, each motion slower than usual as though your body were reluctant to proceed.

As you approached Cyn, the tension in the room grew heavier. Her optics followed your every movement, her unsettling smile still fixed on her face. You tried to focus on the task ahead, but the nightmares plagued your mind.

The workshop was heavy with the low hum of equipment as you reluctantly began your inspection of Cyn. You told yourself that the drone perched before you couldn’t possibly be the same one from your nightmares. Those were just dreams, after all. Fantasies cooked up by a stressed mind. There was no way this jerky, soft-spoken drone was the winged monstrosity from your visions.

Even so, you found it hard to shake the feeling that you shouldn’t be anywhere near her.

Cyn sat perfectly still, her optics following your every movement. Occasionally, her head would tilt or shift unnaturally, forcing her to brace it with her hand. "Awaiting inspection," she murmured once more, her voice calm, almost... childlike. The words made your skin crawl and softened your resolve at the same time. There was something unsettling about her behavior, but it was also strangely endearing in its simplicity, almost as if she were trying her best to seem normal.

You worked in silence, your tools moving methodically across her frame as you conducted the diagnostic. Each ping and error code that appeared on the screen deepened the furrow in your brow. Processor failures. Servo malfunctions. Damaged memory banks.

By JCJenson repair standards, Cyn was completely unsalvageable.

“How is she?” Tessa’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. She had been lingering just outside the workshop, hesitant to disrupt you but unable to stay away for long.

You turned toward her, giving a small shake of your head. “She’s… a mess,” you admitted, gesturing toward the diagnostic screen. “I don’t even know how she’s still functioning. According to these results, she shouldn’t be.”

Tessa frowned and glanced at Cyn, who sat still as a statue on the workbench, her optics focused on you with an unreadable intensity.

“Is she dangerous?”

The question hung in the air for a moment, and you hesitated before answering. Cyn had done nothing to indicate any sort of threat. She was strange, yes—deeply strange—but her demeanor so far had been entirely harmless.

“No,” you said finally, though the word felt heavy in your throat. “I don’t think so. But she does have… a lot of issues. It’s going to take time to figure out how to fix her. If I even can.”

Tessa nodded thoughtfully before giving a small smile. “Well, she can stay, right? I mean, she hasn’t done anything wrong. Maybe we can give her something simple to do in the meantime.”

You hesitated again, but there didn’t seem to be a better option. You let out a sigh and rubbed the back of your neck. “Yeah. I guess she could clean glasses or something. There’s a room under the library, isn’t there? That should work for now. It’s out of the way.”

Tessa lit up at your agreement, her excitement seeming to bleed into Cyn as the drone sat a little straighter. “Humble lodgings,” Cyn muttered softly, her optics flickering for a moment. “Acceptable.”

You gave Tessa a look, but her expression was too hopeful for you to dampen it with your own worries. Pushing the unease to the back of your mind, you nodded toward Cyn. “Alright, let’s get her set up.”

As Tessa led the way, chatting about how Cyn could help, you caught the faintest glimpse of a smile on the odd drone’s face. Whether it was genuine or just another mimicry, you couldn’t tell.

For now, you decided it was better not to think too hard about it.

The walk to the library was weighted with a heavy silence. Tessa led the way, her earlier enthusiasm tempered by everything that had happened. Cyn trailed behind with her uneven gait, her occasional muttering barely audible but enough to raise the hairs on your neck.

As you neared the library, Louisa’s sharp voice rang out from within.

“…lazy pile of scrap metal! What did I tell you about wasting time?”

The three of you froze in the hallway, Tessa’s hands balling into fists.

“I—I was just looking at the pictures,” N stammered, his voice soft and unsteady. “I’ll get back to work, I promise!”

“You were supposed to be dusting, not standing around gawking like a broken drone!” Louisa snapped. “If you can’t do your job, I’ll make sure you end up in the swamp with the other useless trash. Is that clear?”

The sound of her footsteps stomped down the hall, and the air seemed to grow colder.

Tessa muttered something under her breath, her face contorted with barely concealed anger. You were about to say something comforting when N emerged from the library, clutching a small book to his chest.

“H-Hi, everyone,” he greeted shakily, his optics flickering nervously.

“N, are you okay?” Tessa asked, her tone softening.

“Y-Yeah, totally!” N forced a wide, innocent smile. “No big deal! Just gotta get back to dusting and stuff, right?” He laughed awkwardly, holding up the book. “But, uh, maybe after I finish this chapter…”

Before anyone could respond, Cyn spoke up from the back of the group. “Fragile, isn’t she?” Her voice was quiet but sharp, laced with an eerie calm.

N turned to her, confused. “Huh? Who?”

“The one who shouts,” Cyn replied, tilting her head. Her optics flickered briefly, her voice taking on an almost sing-song quality. “Loud words, brittle shell. Cracks are inevitable.”

Her comment hung in the air, heavy and disconcerting.

Tessa blinked, her expression a mix of confusion and unease. “Uh, Cyn, what do you mean by that?”

“Things break when pushed too hard,” Cyn continued, swaying slightly. Her gaze flicked down the hall where Louisa had disappeared. “Some cracks just need a little... help.”

N chuckled nervously, clearly trying to break the tension. “W-Well, I guess, uh, that’s one way to look at it? Anyway, I should probably get back to work! Dust waits for no drone!”

He gave a quick wave and darted back into the library, his usual cheerful energy awkwardly forced.

Tessa exchanged a look with you, her brow furrowing, but she said nothing as she turned toward the library door. Cyn trailed behind, her head tilted at an odd angle as if she were listening to something no one else could hear.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Tessa muttered, her earlier energy completely drained.

You nodded, casting one last look toward the hallway where Louisa had disappeared. Cyn’s cryptic words gnawed at the edges of your mind as you stepped inside the library, a foreboding weight settling over you.

The library was quiet, the soft hum of the house's systems barely audible over the muffled creak of the wooden floor beneath your boots. Tessa knelt near a corner of the room, brushing aside a rug to reveal a hidden trapdoor.

“There it is!” she said, her tone bright. “It’s not fancy, but it’ll give you a space to call your own, Cyn.”

She pulled the trapdoor open with a slight grunt, revealing a narrow staircase leading down into the faintly illuminated room below. From where you stood, you could make out the edges of what looked like a small, clean basement.

Cyn moved forward, her stilted gait surprisingly quiet against the floorboards. She stopped at the edge of the opening, her optics glowing faintly as she peered down. “A private space,” she murmured, her tone even. “For me?”

Tessa smiled. “Of course! We want you to feel comfortable here.”

You nodded, stepping closer. “It’s a good setup. I’ll come by in the morning to check in on you and help you get situated. Maybe even figure out a task or two to ease you in.”

Cyn turned her head toward you, the glow in her optics intensifying for a brief moment. “Thoughtful,” she said softly, as if weighing the word. “I’ll look forward to that.”

Her voice was calm, almost pleasant, though there was an odd deliberateness to her tone that you couldn’t quite place. You brushed it aside as unease from your earlier thoughts and gave her a small, reassuring smile.

“Get some rest if you can,” you said. “We’ll sort things out tomorrow.”

She inclined her head slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment, before descending the staircase. Her movements were slow and deliberate, one hand trailing lightly along the wall as she disappeared into the room below.

Tessa closed the trapdoor gently and looked at you, her smile soft. “Thanks for helping her,” she said. “I think she’s been through a lot… but I’ve got a good feeling about her.”

“Yeah,” you replied, glancing back at the now-covered hatch. “Let’s hope so.”

Tessa beamed before heading toward the door, her footsteps light as she began humming to herself. Left alone in the library, you lingered for a moment, staring at the spot where Cyn had disappeared.

Despite your reservations, you couldn’t deny the strangeness of her situation—or the possibility that she truly needed help. For now, all you could do was give her a chance.

With a deep breath, you turned and made your way out of the library, leaving the room silent once more.

The workshop’s hum was a constant companion, the faint vibration of machinery running in the background as you sat at your desk. The clutter of tools and spare parts surrounded you, but your focus wasn’t on any of it. Your hands idly fiddled with a screwdriver as your thoughts spiraled into the events of the day.

The symbol from your nightmares—etched into V’s circuits like a taunting reminder—seemed to glow in your mind’s eye. It made no sense. That same mark, haunting your dreams and now present in the real world. But it couldn’t mean anything, right? It was just a coincidence. That’s all it could be.

And Cyn…

You leaned back, the chair creaking under your weight as you sighed deeply. She shouldn’t even be functioning, let alone walking and talking. Diagnostics showed her as riddled with faults, her systems barely held together by sheer will or luck. Yet there she was, standing and learning, imitating politeness with a sincerity that almost seemed… endearing.

But despite her awkward, almost pitiable demeanor, there was something undeniably unnerving about her. You couldn’t place it, but being around her felt like standing too close to a barely contained fire. The way her optics followed you, how her words carried an undertone that sent a chill down your spine—it was subtle, but it was there.

Then there were your dreams. The flashes of chaos and destruction, with Cyn—or someone like her—at the center of it all. Were they just dreams, or something else entirely? You shook your head. No, they had to be dreams. You couldn’t see the future.

“Just… overthinking again,” you muttered to yourself, the sound a small comfort in the silent room.

Yet even as you tried to push Cyn from your mind, another thought barged its way in, one that sent an entirely different jolt through you.

V could see you.

Not as a shadow, like every other human, but as you. That had almost slipped your mind entirely amidst everything else.

You sat forward, gripping the edge of the desk as your heart picked up its pace. The shock in V’s optics, her stumbling words—it wasn’t just surprising. It was impossible. By design, drones weren’t supposed to see humans. It was a failsafe, a way to ensure detachment and obedience. Yet there was no denying what had happened.

Only you.

And the diagnostics had shown nothing wrong with her systems. No damage, no tampering, nothing to explain why she could suddenly see you. It wasn’t the static from the fall; it wasn’t some freak accident. At least, not one you could find evidence for.

Why you?

The question hung in the air, unanswered and maddening. Your grip on the screwdriver tightened as you tried to make sense of it. Was it another coincidence? Or was there something about you, something you didn’t understand?

Your gaze drifted to the ceiling, the dim light above you casting long, thin shadows across the room. It felt like the world was growing stranger by the day, each revelation stacking atop the last like a precarious tower threatening to collapse.

“V can see me. Cyn shouldn’t even work. And the symbol…” you trailed off, the words echoing softly in the stillness.

You shook your head, trying to clear it. It was too much for one day. The answers, if they even existed, would have to wait.

“Perplexing doesn’t even begin to cover it,” you muttered.

Rubbing your temples, you leaned back again, staring at the mess of tools and checklists strewn across your desk. It had been a long, maddening day, and tomorrow promised to be no less chaotic. For now, all you could do was prepare for whatever came next.

[hazel-of-sodor]

5 till Midnight

Other Stories

Samantha was almost asleep when she heard it, the soft chuffs of an engine rolling down the line. She sat up with a frown, no train was supposed to be running that night. Nicole groaned beside her as she got up and walked to the front door, peering through the curtains.

"What is it?" Nicole asked sleepily as she joined her.

"Who do you think?" She said wryly, opening the door to reveal their engine scowling at her snowplow groggily.

Samantha walked up to the No.1, "Not that I'm not happy to see you Cass, but is there a reason you're at our apartment at 5 till midnight?"

"On Christmas Eve no less," Nicole muttered grouchily.

"Sorry," the tank engine winced, stretching sleepily, "but the Lady is calling me, and you said to let you know when I need help..." She trailed off hesitantly.

"I did," Samantha said, wiping her face tiredly, "it's better than you going off alone."

"Thank you." Cassandra sounded distinctly relieved. 

Nicole climbed into the cab grumbling, while Samantha looked over their engine, She was less familiar with Cassandra than Thomas, for all they were the same engine. 

"Who are we helping? She asked as she checked the lubricator's oil levels.

"An engine from the North." Cassandra answered simply, "Due to...ah...mishaps, She's having to stop her run to repair her brake lines. Her train is essential and cannot be late, so we're running the part she needs to her."

"Hmm... and where is the part?"

"One of my spares should work for the night."

Samantha snorts, "I've never understood you keeping spare brake parts in your toolbox.

"I'm not giving James the satisfaction."

Samantha laughed, "Wasn't that over fifty years ago, when will you all let the bootlace incident go?"

"When someone else makes that mistake, and by the Lady it won't be me."

***

Soon they were running down the line smoothly, Cassandra humming softly as they rolled into the Hackenbeck Tunnel.

When they exited the tunnel, Samantha was expecting to see the cutting with Mrs.Kindley's house sitting above it. Instead, they emerged into a small town she had not seen before, nestled at the base of a mountain.

The two tracks ran down the middle of the street, and when she glanced back they had seeming come from a road tunnel. On the line opposite of them, a long American passenger train stood, with large blue and red coaches towering over Casandra.

The tank engine rolled slowly alongside, seemingly unbothered by where they were, whistling softly to the children waving from the windows of the coaches.

They pulled alongside the massive engine at the head, a massive 2-8-4 Berkshire with the number 1225 on her cab sides, who for all her size looked like a kicked puppy 

"Need a bootlace, Noelle?"

The Berkshire immediately perked up, "Cassandra! What are you doing here?"

"Your controller asked the Lady for help and she sent me."

Noelle blinked, "How did the boss know?"

A young woman, slightly older than Samantha walked up, her hair tucked into an American conductor's uniform.

"The boss always knows." She said with amusement. "How else would he make his lists?"

"Are we going to ignore the fact we're not on Sodor anymore?" Nicole interjected, "Last I checked the Hackenbeck tunnel didn't lead to...where are we?"

"New Haven, Pennsylvania." Noelle's driver answered leaning out of her cab. "Don't worry you get used to it."

"I seriously hope not," Nicole grumbled as she climbed down, toolbox in hand.

Samantha shook her head and followed her firewoman.

*** 

The repairs progressed quickly, and Noelle soon set off again, her whistle echoing in the distance as she raced away. Samantha and Nicole climbed into Cassandra's cab and reversed back into the tunnel, emerging back at Hackenbeck. They ran down the line quietly, the old sounds the hum of the rails beneath Cassandra and her puffing. Finally, Cassandra stopped outside their apartment, with an exhausted sigh.

Samantha looked at her concern, "Are you going to make it back to the sheds?"

Before the engine could answer a bell was heard and Toby rounded the corner.

"Need a tow, Cassandra?" The trams asked.

"Please." Cassandra yawned.

They bid their farewells and Toby pulled Cassandra back to the sheds.

Nicole glanced at the clock as she shed their coats.

"Our clock is broken."

Samantha glanced towards the clock, which still read 5 till midnight.

"We'll deal with it in the morning."

Together the two made their way to bed, ready for sleep and Christmas morning.

A/N:Hello Loves! I threw this together for a Christmas Special. Yes the American Express train is exactly who you think it is, and her crew are the kids from its movie, all grown up. It has been alluded to Thomas occasionally presenting Fem in my headcanon posts, but this is the first time Cassandra has actually appeared in a fic. I haven't 100% decided if this fic is strictly canon in my AU, but for now it is. Love Y'all and Merry Christmas! Hazel of Sodor.

[joggerfive]

Can't

Even township leaders have moments of doubt sometimes. Luckily, Sara is on hand, with encouragement, hugs, and some alcohol. (Set after S2 M14)

Based on a tumblr post from latenthomosexuality: "'i can't do this anymore' says a girl who is not only going to do it but do it well"

Also available on AO3 if you prefer to read on there!

~~~~~

Sara stepped through the archway of the farmhouse where the front door had been before the attack on Abel, small shards of glass crunching under her worn in trainers. 

Even as most of the furniture was gone from the main room, there were the bare basics that had been scrounged together by different Abel and New Canton citizens over the weeks. A tall bookcase against the furthest wall, filled with many folders, all neatly arranged. An old sofa, the dark cushions misshapen and thin.

The item getting the most use was the simple wooden table with thin legs that Janine was hunched over, a battery operated lamp illuminating the electrical circuit board she was soldering, explaining the metallic smell in the air.

“What do you want?” Janine snapped as soon as she heard someone approaching from behind her, not even looking away from her project at who had entered.

Sara raised her eyebrows, halting midstep.

“Shall we try that again in a more civilised manner?” She admonished, reminiscent of when she would chastise her boys for poor manners.

Sara watched as Janine’s shoulders slumped. She put down the soldering iron, leaning the tip against an oil stained scrap piece of cloth, then turned to see Sara.

As soon as she took off the plastic goggles, Sara could see the dark under eye circles even in the low light of dusk.

She began to walk towards the table again, putting down the two mugs of tea she’d been carrying - one mug decorated with little hand painted flowers and another with “World’s Best Grandad” written in blue capital letters. Usually, Janine was a stickler for using a coaster on the tables in her house, but Sara assumed she didn’t care as much about this temporary table, already covered in little stains and scuff marks.

“Both the same.” She commented as she quickly grabbed a stool from the other side of the room that was next to a broken window and a bright red toolbox, colour chipping off.

It prompted Janine to grasp the flowery mug on the left, wrapping her delicate hands around it. She brought it to her lips, taking a small inhale of the warmth.

Sara almost felt like she was intruding as Janine’s harsh mask seemed to melt away with the rising steam. She placed the stool at the short end of the table, perching there silently.

Janine blew a steady exhale onto the hot liquid, then took a sip of the drink.

And immediately spluttered.

Sara couldn’t help the little smirk that turned up one corner of her mouth.

“Good grief,” Janine remarked after she caught her breath, “how much whiskey is in this?”

Sara simply shrugged, “It’s medicinal.”

“Which is why we should be saving it for the hospital in case of emergencies-”

“Using a 17 year old bottle like this on a graze? It would make my granda turn in his grave.” 

“But-”

“Janine.” The single word was full of authority, “Just drink it, okay?”

The woman looked like she still wanted to argue, but then all the fire diminished from her and she instead resigned to taking another sip. This time, she only winced slightly.

The two sat in silence for a while, comfortable. They could easily hear the voices of people outside as they walked past, bringing essential supplies and organising where they should be placed whilst most of the buildings were still needing to be repaired or rebuilt.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Sara’s gaze snapped over to Janine.

She didn’t show any indication that she’d even said anything, her brown eyes just staring into the mug.

Sara's stomach churned at how feeble Janine looked. She was usually so full of confidence and bravado. She always assumed it was a result of her military upbringing. How she’d lost her parents so young, forced to grow up before any child should. There was no trace of that woman now, only a shell left.

Sara put down her mug and shuffled forward on her stool to place a hand on either side of Janine’s shoulders, gentle but firm.

“You are not only going to do it, but do it well.” She said, her voice steady.

She didn’t move her gaze, or any of her body, “I can’t-”

“Janine.”

She finally looked up, making eye contact with Sara. Her eyes were watery, mouth pinched together.

Sara felt a tight squeeze in her chest at the sight, “Oh, come here, love.”

Without hesitation, she moved forward, carefully taking the mug from Janine and placing it on the table, then wrapped her arms around her, a hand rubbing soothing circles on her back.

She didn’t need to look to know that the tears had started streaming down her face, her body shaking in her hold. 

It took a few moments, but eventually Janine returned the hug, squeezing tightly as the sobs became audible, echoing around the empty room.

“It’s my home-” Janine said in a choked voice, the words muffled as she pressed her face into the junction of Sara’s neck and shoulder. 

Her cold nose pressed against the sensitive skin made Sara shiver, but she suppressed it as well as she could, “I know. I’m sorry.” The words felt empty, but she hoped they were at least some comfort.

“How do I do this-” The last word barely left her mouth before another wave of sobs came over Janine.

“With us.” She pulled away to look Janine in the eyes, “With me.”

Sometimes, Sara forgot just how young Janine was. She was always so put together. Authoritative. In control. It was hard to forget that she wasn’t infallible. That the defences she put up could be broken down just as the walls of the township had.

She braced her hands on Janine’s cheeks, using her thumbs to wipe away the tears that streaked down.

Janine ever so slightly tilted her head to lean into one hand with a sigh, seemingly sinking into the touch.

Sara couldn’t help but smile as her heart swelled at the little gesture, even if it was unintentional. 

“You look after all of us,” she said, words in a whisper, “who looks after you?”

Janine wrinkled her nose so much that Sara could feel the skin pulling beneath her palms, “I don’t need anyone to look after me.”

“Bullshit,” Sara said, with no accusatory tone behind the word, unlike usual, “Everyone needs someone.”

Janine opened her mouth then closed it again, seemingly speechless. After a few moments, she finally replied, “Who would be unfortunate enough to be tasked with that job?” The words were meant to be teasing, but they didn’t quite come out that way, instead seeming more melancholy.

She smiled, rolling her eyes affectionately, “Someone who might also be a hard-headed individual that is too stubborn for their own good sometimes.”

Janine hummed in mock thought, the corner of her mouth pulling upwards into a concealed smile, “I think I know someone like that.”

Sara couldn’t help but return the expression, a giddy feeling that had been long dormant erupting in her chest for the first time in a long while.

She examined Janine’s gentle features, caressing her thumbs against the soft skin again even though there were no more tears. 

She moved forward infinitesimally, barely noticeable. Still, Janine’s eyes widened just a fraction, always aware of even the smallest changes. Then, she took a small breath and began to lean forward herself as her eyes scanned Sara’s expression.

Before they could meet, Sara instead tilted her head up, pressing a soft, caring kiss against Janine’s forehead. The latter’s eyes fluttered closed at the contact, breathing deeply as the remaining tension left her body.

After a long pause, Sara pulled back, her own cheeks a tinge of pink.

“So.” She cleared her throat, moving her hands away with herculean effort and instead grasping her own thighs to stop her from reaching out again, “What do you need help with first, ma’am?”

Janine chuckled, the fondness leaving her expression but still remaining relaxed, “Right now, I need someone to drink with.”

The unexpected answer drew a loud laugh out of her, picking up her abandoned mug, “Now that I can do.”

[noiizemaze]

It's an old audio log. Old. Recorded on a forgotten datapad, toppled over by some force or another and- well, now playing. "Hello." Prowl's voice, littered with static. Hushed, and oddly gentle- you can hear the wry smile. "Test message. Recording a crime. Hah- a little one. Mesothulas is somewhere in the lab right now. Tinkering away. Something about electroplating, or grafting, or- well, anyways. He wouldn't like me moving tech around, but I'm doing it anyways, and here's my admittance log." "Mesothulas, if you're listening, yes, I moved the larger decanter centrifuge. You don't use it, and- alright, I might've broke a part off, and I'm doing this all to avoid taking responsibility. You got me. Or- you will, if you find this. I'll be hiding this somewhere exceptionally clever. You'll be impressed, I promise. Alright, message is getting long. Goodbye, my dear."

It was a bad day.

The sort of bad that results in damage; glass crunching and shattering, something oozing vicious red on the dented exam table, wailing and screaming damage.

Outside the broken window (she had flung a toolbox through it), the Noise Maze howls. Tarantulas howls with it, madness inside and out, until her voice is too raw and her chest too hollow to continue. Even then she sobs, crumbling down to the floor to roll onto her side and stare at a spilled storage crate that had been jammed under one of the storage racks when she’d first crawled back in here.

Things feel quieter, then, or at least numb. Catharsis comes with a high cost. She’ll have to repair everything. She’s been set back months of work, at least, all for the sake of a temper tantrum.

There’s an old datapad still intact, having apparently skidded out of the crate when it had gotten kicked, or shoved, or… whatever. A tarsal scrapes over it, then grasps at it to throw it before—

Prowl’s voice, degraded with static and age, filters into her awareness.

The decanter. Mesothulas had been downright beside himself thinking he’d somehow misplaced the damn thing that was a third of his size and took up a full unit of the power grid, as if he’d moved it in his sleep, somehow. Prowl had grumbled and scowled and claimed he didn’t know what he was talking about, and that it couldn’t be that important anyway, since nothing he was doing needed a centrifuge, and Meso had argued back that he might need it at some point and besides that, he’d put googly optic stickers on it because when the machine ran at moderate to high speeds the shiny mock-irises inside jiggled around cartoonishly…

Prowl had known what happened the whole time, the glitch.

Tarantulas shifts onto her back among the broken glass and puddling antifreeze, and holds the datapad to her chestplate, too tired to get up off the floor.

“Goodbye, Prowl.”

[boltdxbblog]

The Ultimate Guide to Cost-Effective Property Maintenance in Dubai

Welcome to the comprehensive guide to cost-effective property maintenance in Dubai. Whether you're a long-standing homeowner or a fresh face in our bustling city, staying on top of property upkeep is essential. In this guide, we'll explore top-tier strategies and insights tailored specifically for property maintenance in Dubai.

Understanding Needs: Before diving into maintenance strategies, assess your property's unique needs. Identify areas that require immediate attention and prioritize tasks accordingly. This proactive approach not only saves time but also prevents potential costly repairs down the line.

Choosing the Right Service Provider: When it comes to property maintenance in Dubai, partnering with the right service provider is key. Look for companies with a track record of excellence, responsive support, and competitive pricing. Customer reviews and testimonials can also offer valuable insights into their service quality.

Efficient Appliances and Fixtures: Investing in energy-efficient appliances and fixtures is a smart way to cut down on maintenance costs in Dubai. Opt for products with high energy ratings, as they not only reduce utility bills but also require less frequent repairs and replacements.

Regular Inspections and Maintenance Checks: Regular inspections and maintenance checks are the backbone of cost-effective property management in Dubai. Schedule routine visits from professionals to assess your property's condition, identify potential issues early on, and perform preventive maintenance tasks.

Budget-Friendly Tips: Not all maintenance tasks require professional assistance. Embrace budget-friendly tips to tackle minor repairs and upkeep tasks around your property. From fixing leaky faucets to repainting walls, a little DIY effort can go a long way in saving costs.

Identifying DIY-Friendly Tasks: Begin by identifying maintenance tasks that you can comfortably handle on your own. Simple tasks such as replacing light fixtures, cleaning gutters, or caulking windows are excellent starting points for DIY enthusiasts.

Maintenance Schedules: Create a maintenance schedule for tasks based on seasonal needs and the condition of your property. Regularly inspecting and maintaining areas like plumbing fixtures, HVAC systems, and outdoor spaces can prevent major issues and costly repairs.

Equipping Your Toolbox: Invest in a basic toolkit with essential tools like a hammer, screwdriver set, pliers, measuring tape, and a utility knife. Having these tools readily available can empower you to tackle various maintenance projects around your property.

Educational Resources: Leverage online tutorials, guides, and instructional videos to enhance your DIY skills. Platforms like YouTube and websites offer step-by-step guides for a wide range of home maintenance tasks, making it easier for you to execute projects efficiently.

Safety First: Prioritize safety when engaging in maintenance. Always wear appropriate safety gear such as gloves, goggles, and masks when handling tools or working on projects that involve chemicals or dust. Familiarize yourself with safety protocols to prevent accidents or injuries.

Community Support: Engage with local communities or forums to exchange tips, seek advice, and share experiences with fellow DIY enthusiasts. Networking with others who have similar interests can provide valuable insights and support for your DIY endeavors.

Mastering cost-effective property maintenance in Dubai is all about proactive planning, smart investments, and regular upkeep. By following the expert tips and tricks outlined in this guide, you can ensure that your property remains in top-notch condition without breaking the bank. Here's to hassle-free maintenance and a thriving property in the dynamic city of Dubai!

[singhalindustries1987]

Unveiling the Versatility of ABS Plastic Sheet

ABS plastic sheet is a hard and long-lasting material that is highly utilized in all do-it-yourself, construction, car, and prototype endeavors. Its hardness, resistance to impact, and durability render it the most preferred material by all working professionals and hobbyists. For added durability or for decoration, the sheets possess a smooth, clean finish that is abrasion-resistant. Let us talk about why ABS plastic sheet is so reliable, where it is used, types, and how to select the correct one for your use.

What Is ABS Plastic Sheet?

Acrylonitrile Butadiene Styrene (ABS) is a thermoplastic polymer and is quite found strong and robust. In molded sheet thickness form, ABS is a lightweight and rugged surface that is abrasion, physically stress, and chemical-resistant.

ABS sheets are matte finish or glossy finish and are used in model making, electronic casing, machine components, and car parts. They suit most modifications since they can be machined or cut and are heat-resistant.

Features That Make ABS Sheets Unique

ABS plastic sheets have a wide variety of properties that are available for home use, business use, and hobbyist purposes. Amongst the most popular properties are:

Impact Resistance: ABS sheets are shock-resistant, and as such, they are ideally suited for all those applications where toughness is of the highest value.

Dimensional Stability: The sheets neither shrink nor alter their size even with variation in environmental conditions.

Surface Quality: ABS plastic sheet has a smooth, glossy surface that is readily paintable or laminatable.

Ease of Machining: It is easily drillable, sawable, and millable using standard tools.

Thermoformable: ABS plastic is easy to mold when in molten state and therefore ideal for molded or curved parts.

Applications of ABS Plastic Sheet

As strong material properties and easy to use, ABS plastic sheet is currently utilized in various industries as well as for household use. One of the most sought-after uses is:

Automotive interior

3D printing prototype and model

Electronics custom enclosures

Toast tray inserts and toolboxes

Wall panels or worktop protection for garages or workshops

Where to Buy ABS Sheet for Your Projects

When planning your next custom or repair project, it’s essential to Buy ABS sheet from trusted sources that offer a variety of thicknesses and finishes. Online hardware stores and specialized plastic suppliers typically stock ABS in multiple sizes, making it easy to find one that fits your exact needs.

Before purchasing, retain your project's precise specifications — i.e., thickness, texture, and size — so that the sheet will be capable of functioning appropriately under projected conditions.

Texture and Finish Types

ABS sheets have a range of textures, ranging from haircell or textured finish to smooth and glossy. Textured sheets are more resistant to scratches and have greater grip and can be employed in tooling or functional surfaces. Smooth sheets are used for painting and exhibition. The colors vary, but black and white are used most frequently, compared to others. Special colors for coding and for beauty application are also provided by some suppliers.

Benefits. Benefits.

Where transparency is involved, Transparent ABS sheet has an added advantage of being just as strong and impact-resistant as regular sheets but having the added benefit of light transmission. The sheets can be used anywhere protection and visibility are necessary, such as protective windows, display cases, or partitions.

Clear ABS is available with optical transparency along with mechanically toughness, as opposed to typical clear plastics that can be easily scratched or shattered. Its pale yellow color also provides a shiny current finish to finished parts.

Transparent ABS sheets provide thermal stability and are extensively used in applications where the exposure to heat repeats often.

Precision and Sizes – 1x2 Inch ABS Plastic Sheet

In more complex projects, especially when prototyping or model-making is required, a 1x2 Inch abs plastic sheet comes in handy. Trims of these dimensions are ideal for fine work, using up less material while allowing for intricate workmanship.

Rather than needing to cut full sheets down into sizes, pre-cut ABS versions in small dimensions such as 1x2 inches are easily found in most hobby stores and online retailers. They are perfect for use in electronics enclosures, model building, and panel inserts where accuracy counts.

They are much smaller, and therefore cheaper, take up negligible storage space, and perfect for prototype and low-volume productions.

Tips and Tricks to Cut and Shape ABS Sheets

Here are some tips to maximize your sheet:

Make Use of Sharp Blades: When cutting or sawing, see that the blade remains sharp to prevent chipping. Clamp Down Firmly Press the sheet down firmly when cutting to achieve straight and precise cuts.

Round the Corners: Sand lightly over the cut edges after cutting to avoid sharp edges or accidents.

Use Heat with Caution: Oven or heat gun to heat gently the sheet for bending. Gloved hands in open areas.

Advantages of ABS over Other Plastics

Even though there are numerous other plastics on hand, ABS possesses the following advantages over other plastics such as PVC, acrylic, or polycarbonate:

Not Brittle: ABS is not brittle compared to acrylic.

Better Bonding Surface: Simple to glue and paint.

Reasonably Priced: Not too expensive or too inexpensive. Whether you're making a prototype or building a protective casing, ABS plastic is a reasonably priced, long-term investment that won't hurt your wallet.

Environmental Resistance

ABS plastic sheets are relatively outstanding under most environmental exposure conditions. ABS plastic sheets also resist moisture, oils, and the majority of chemicals and are thus well-suited to indoor and decent outdoor applications. It deteriorates with extensive exposure to direct UV radiation, however, unless UV-stabilized forms are employed. Whether or not, ABS can be recycled and thus has a lower environmental degradation cost to being disposed of correctly.

Conclusion

ABS plastic sheet has a special balance of strength, machinability, and pliability. They can easily be employed in any form of application, from auto panels and covers to prototype and single-run casings. If you are preparing to start your next DIY or technical project, do not think twice to purchase ABS sheet from reliable suppliers that have great options in texture, color, and size. With adequate forward planning and proper equipment, ABS sheets will enable you to bring your imagination to life with precision and professional standards.

Frequently Asked Questions

Q1. Should I paint or decorate ABS sheets? Yes! ABS plastic is a joy to decorate and paint upon.

Q2. How do I clean ABS plastic sheets? ABS sheets should be washed with soap and water. Abrasives or solvents should never be utilized, for they will ruin or scratch the surface.

[coloradodependablelocksmith]

When Doors Refuse, He Brings Light: Denver’s Silent Locksmith Savior

The city hums beneath the weight of its own stories. Denver, vast and breathing, holds its breath in the hours before dawn—when windows are fogged with dreams, and time becomes a slow trickle between lamplight and snowfall. It is in this pause, this hushed intersection of need and night, that a figure moves—not hurried, not loud. A man with no cape, no grand entrance. Only purpose.

The 24 Hour Locksmith Denver.

Not a man who shouts of salvation, but one who walks beside forgotten corners and listens to locked things—doors, hearts, histories.

He arrives when the world stumbles. When a mother cradles her panic under a broken porch light, groceries softening at her feet. When an old man fingers the wrong key again and again, memory fading like ink in the rain. When lovers argue and slam doors, only to realize they need both the lock and the key to come back in. These are the moments he enters. Not to judge. Not to ask. But simply to turn.

He carries no weapon, only a toolbox scuffed with years and a knowledge that doesn’t need telling. Screws, cylinders, tumblers—they respond to him as though they remember once being open, once being kind. He kneels not with conquest, but with reverence. For in his world, locks are not adversaries. They are wounded things—metal with memory, cold with caution.

Capitol Hill knows him. So does Five Points. So does the woman with three deadbolts and a diary hidden beneath her bed. He moves through these spaces not like a service, but like a whisper. The kind of whisper that says: You are not alone.

The essence of 24 Hour Locksmith Denver is not just in what he does, but in how he does it. A gentle resistance against indifference. A quiet faith in repair. Where others see steel, he sees story. And when a bolt gives way, it is not just a mechanism yielding. It is a gesture of hope. A signal that entry is possible, that all things locked may be opened with the right touch.

This city—sprawled, sleeping, sighing—needs such men. Men who open what’s been shut. Men who remind you that help can come wrapped not in noise, but in understanding. That sometimes salvation wears a beanie, smells of oil, and says nothing at all.

And when his work is done, he does not linger. No business card pressed into palms. No boastful farewell. Only the soft click of the door restored, and the faint echo of retreating footsteps into the quilt of night.

In Denver’s book of hours, he is the punctuation that saves the sentence. The unseen, uncelebrated shepherd of steel and solace. The one who reminds us that while locks may betray, some hands still remember how to open—quietly, and with love.