#Vehicle Loading Ramps

[tinyshyteacup]

Taglist: @kellynickelsgirl00 @dixonsbridexx @yikes-myguy @blackwidownat2814 @euqsia @lliteratii @imadisneyprincessiswear @satata @smashleywow

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Tw: cussing, angry early seasons Daryl, fluff?, walker descriptions

Part 1

Dead Weight - Part 2

The days after the camp attack blur together in a haze of dirt, blood, and funeral pyres. You help dig graves until your palms blister and split. The smell of burning corpses clings to your clothes, your hair, settling into your skin like a permanent layer.

Behind you, Daryl stands crossbow’s slung over one shoulder, and his fingers tap anxiously against it like he needs something to kill just to feel steady again.

When the group starts packing, Daryl hoists his pickup’s tailgate open with a grunt and rolls his brother's bike up the makeshift ramp.

You can tell by the way he checks the tie-down straps twice that it’s the one thing he might actually be sentimental about.

The sun sinks behind the hills as the RV rolled on, casting long shadows across the highway. Tension lingered like smoke.

No one spoke much.

Not after the burials.

The dead were heavy behind everyone’s eyes.

You sat in the back of Dale’s RV, hands clenched around a half-empty water bottle. Rick’s plan—the CDC—had sounded like hope.

But now, with every passing mile, it felt more like a gamble.

Jacqui sits beside you, her warm hand occasionally squeezing your shoulder.

"Where are you from, honey?" she asks softly.

You tell her, your voice barely above a whisper. The name of your country feels strange on your tongue now, like speaking about a place in a children's book.

"I was supposed to fly home next week," you add.

Jacqui nods, understanding. "My sister was in London when it happened. I never heard if she made it."

You don't offer false hope.

You know better then to be that cruel.

Daryl's pickup drove up front, pacing the group, he's watching the treeline like a dog expecting a fight. The engine growled low and angry.

Every so often he’d glance over his shoulder at the RV—as if to make sure you weren’t doing anything stupid.

Again.

You hated how he looked at you—like you were breakable.

Or worse, useless.

By the time you reached the CDC, the sky was painted in shades of fire and ash. Bodies litter the grounds, military and civilian alike, bloated and rotting under the Georgia sun.

"This is a mistake," Daryl mutters beside you as the group approaches the sealed entrance. "Place is a damn tomb."

Your nostrils flare at the stench. "We need shelter for the night."

"Need a hell of a lot more than that." He spits on the ground. "But sure, let's just walk right into another death trap."

The building stood like a fortress—rounded metal, pale and cold against the dying light.

Silent.

Too silent.

Rick slows near the metal doors.

“You sure this is a good idea?” Shane grunts.

“It has to be.” Rick says, squinting at the structure.

But something's wrong.

Walkers stagger out from between parked cars and behind broken fences—drawn by the sounds of the group.

They’re slower then at the camp, but no less terrifying. One of them drags a twisted foot. Another’s head is caved in on one side, half a face hanging. They groan, sniffing the air, and shuffle faster when they see you.

Daryl’s loads his crossbow in seconds, with practiced hands.

“Shit,” he hisses, glancing at the doors. “We got no goddamn way in. Rick, what the hell kinda plan was this?”

“Just cover us!” Rick shouts, banging hard on the steel doors with the butt of his gun. “There’s someone in there!”

More and more walkers emerge from between abandoned vehicles, drawn by Rick's shouts at the security camera.

Your group forms a defensive circle, weapons raised. Carl whimpers against his mother's side. Sophia buries her face in Carol's skirt.

"You're killing us!" Rick screams at the building, at God, at whoever might be listening. "You're killing us!"

Then—just as the horde seems about to overtake the group—the doors hiss open, bathing your desperate group in harsh white light.

A blinding light floods out.

Everyone freezes.

Dr. Jenner stands there, backlit like some weary angel.

Rick staggers forward. “Let us in! Please!”

Jenner hesitates for a breathless moment… then nods once.

He greets you with a shotgun and suspicious eyes.

The door seals shut behind you with a pneumatic hiss.

The moans of the walkers fade, muffled through concrete and metal.

Inside, it’s sterile and cold. Everything glows with artificial white light, like being inside a spaceship. Jenner leads the group down the hallway in silence.

He demands blood tests before allowing any of you further into the facility—"Price of admission," he says grimly.

The needle slides into your arm with practiced precision. Jenner pauses when he sees your passport ID.

"You're a long way from home," he observes, his voice oddly flat.

"Furthest I've ever been," you reply.

His eyes linger on you for a beat longer than comfortable before he continues his work, saying nothing more.

You wonder what thoughts flicker behind those hollow eyes, but you don't ask.

After weeks in the dirt and blood of the outside world, the hum of artificial light is oddly comforting.

You barely notice Jenner’s distant monologue about fuel and generators; your ears are still ringing from adrenaline.

Then someone says the most magical words.

“Hot water.”

You're shown to your own room—just a simple cot, metal-framed, with clean sheets and a folded towel. The door clicks shut behind you, and for a moment, you just lean back against it, fingers trembling.

No one’s screaming.

No one’s dying.

No walkers.

You're safe.

For now.

Your shoes—still caked in dried mud and flecks of old blood—squeak faintly on the lineoiunm floor.

You don’t move at first.

It’s... clean.

The room is plain—white walls, a single metal-framed cot, a nightstand with a bottle of purified water, and a set of folded clothes laid neatly at the foot of the bed. There’s even a towel, impossibly white and fluffy, like it came from a hotel, not the end of the world.

It feels like a pause button on the hell outside.

Your eyes water—but you don’t cry yet. Not until you see the bathroom.

You approach the bathroom door with caution, flicking the light switch. The fluorescent bulb hums to life, flickering slightly, illuminating a pristine sink, a real mirror, and—blessedly—a shower with a metal handle and frosted glass.

The moment the hot water steams out of the tap, you break.

Stripping down feels like shedding your trauma one layer at a time. Dirt smears across your skin like war paint.

You step into the shower, and it scalds at first, but you don’t care.

You don’t flinch.

You just stand there.

Steam curls around you like a fog, hiding the worst of you from yourself. The water beats against your neck, your shoulders, your spine—pulling tension from muscles that haven’t known rest in weeks.

You scrub until your skin is pink and raw.

The blood from Atlanta washes down the drain.

But not the guilt. When you close your eyes, you see the camp attack playing on repeat—the blood, the screams, the bodies falling.

You bury your face in your hands and let the water hide the sob that escapes—quiet, cracked.

When you emerge from the bathroom, skin clean and wrapped in the soft CDC-issued cotton, you look more like yourself—and somehow like a stranger.

Your face is thinner but peaceful.

You glance in the mirror one last time before stepping out.

You run your hands down the sleeves of your clean shirt and whisper, “It’s okay, you're okay” though you’re not sure who you’re saying it to.

And for the first time in longer than you can remember, you believe it.

In the hallway, you nearly collide with Daryl, his hair still damp from his own shower. Without the layer of grime and sweat, he looks different—younger, somehow, though no less dangerous.

His eyes track over your wet hair, your clean face, lingering just a moment.

"Sorry," you murmur, stepping aside.

Somewhere down the hall, you can hear laughter—slurred and relieved. The adults are drinking. Hard.

Glen is spectacularly drunk, sprawled across a couch with a dopey grin.

Dale nurses a single glass of wine, watching the younger members with paternal concern.

Rick and Lori sit close together, speaking in hushed tones.

You enter quietly, hovering at the edge of the group, Carl and Sophia sit curled up together on the wide CDC couch, their legs tangled in a blanket they’ve claimed as their own.

The children's hair is damp from their own showers, Sophia clutches her doll, and Carl looks bored.

You sit down gently in the chair beside them, wrapping your arms around your knees and watching them for a moment before speaking.

“Would you like a story?”

Carl perks up immediately, wide-eyed.

“Is it scary? I like scary ones.”

You smile gently, tucking your damp hair behind your ear.

“It’s a little scary and really old. From before America even existed. From a place called Greece.”

Sophia, tucks herself further into the blanket, wrinkling her nose “Is Greece where all the statues with no arms come from?”

You settle into the rhythm of storytelling, your voice quite but animated, casting shadows across the room with every gesture.

You laugh softly. “Kind of, yes.”

"Once, there was a man named Odysseus. He and his crew sailed across the sea. But one day, they got lost and landed on an island... an island with a cave. A very big cave. And inside… lived a cyclops.”

Sophia gasps and clutches the blanket tighter. “A real one-eyed monster?”

Carl's eyes widen with glee. “Did he eat people? He totally ate people.”

“He did,” you say, nodding. “Big ones. Crunchy. The cyclops rolled a boulder in front of the cave so they couldn’t escape. One of them tried to fight him, but—” You clap your hands together suddenly.

Both kids jump, then giggle.

You lean in closer like you're telling a secret.

“Odysseus tricked him. Said his name was 'Nobody.' Then he got the cyclops drunk—”

Sophia gasps and Carl giggles “Like Uncle Shane and the wine!”

You give a mock look of offense, then continue.

“Then, while the cyclops was passed out, they stabbed him in the eye.”

Sophia hides her face and peeks through her fingers. “Ewwwwww.”

“And when the other cyclopes came to help and asked who was hurting him, he shouted—”

You make your voice low and dramatic “‘Nobody is hurting me!’ So they all left.”

Sophia claps her hands with delight.

Carl laughs, leaning back. "That’s what I’d do. Trick ‘em. And then stab ‘em.”

You raise your eyebrows, teasing.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side, then Little Mister"

Behind you, Dale chuckles, stepping into the warm light. “Polyphemus, huh? Good tale for dark nights.”

He tips his hat. “You’ve got a talent, you know. Calms the nerves.”

You smile, a little shy.

“Just something my Nan used to tell me before bed. Stories help you sleep.”

Dale nods slowly. "That they do. That they do.”

Behind you, near the edge of the room, Daryl leans against the wall, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded. He hasn’t said a word.

You haven’t even noticed him yet.

But he’s there. Watching.

Watching the softness in your face, the way you’ve brought something human back into this cold place.

Watching you with kids not raising your voice.

Watching how you sit, tucked into yourself, like you’re not sure you belong here.

His brow tightens.

He doesn’t trust softness.

He especially doesn’t trust how it makes him feel.

[empresskylo]

beneath the mask ✩ chapter 11 ⬅ch.10

➠𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈; 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓; 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 ➠SIMON "GHOST" RILEY X AFAB!READER ➠CHAPTER TAGS | sexual assault implications/ptsd. blood. wc 4.1k ➠AUTHOR'S NOTE | this ch gave me butterflies ngl /:

𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐜𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“now, let’s get you outta here.” ghost said softly as he carried you out of the enemy building. his gentle tone made you want to weep—to forget everything that had happened between the two of you, but you knew you couldn’t. you could, however, forget it for the time being. 

ghost held you as he loaded you up in one of the trucks. you didn’t pay much attention to the person driving or your surroundings, all you could focus on was the terrible doom that was lingering in your chest when your thoughts went back to that feeling of abandonment. when you felt like they’d never reach you in time and you were left to the hands of the enemy.

ghost sat beside you in the truck, the side of his body against yours. you would have told him that it was okay and he didn’t have to watch over you, but you didn’t have the energy to voice anything. and you had a feeling ghost wouldn’t have obliged anyway. 

after being in the vehicle for a few minutes of silence, you finally felt the weight of your situation. your emotions weighed on your chest like a boulder. you sank into your seat and leaned against ghost on instinct, your head resting on his shoulder. he didn’t seem to mind. his gloved hand came out and rested on your knee, reminding you that you were safe and no longer alone. it was a physical reminder that he was there. 

ghost insisted on carrying you aboard the plane too. you could have argued, but you didn’t exactly trust your legs. 

soap was at your side the second ghost set you down in a seat of the plane. “jesus, thank god you’re okay,” he whispered. soap’s voice was far more erratic than usual. he held your hand in his, giving it a squeeze. “how are ya feeling?” he asked, looking you up and down.

ghost sat across from you and tentatively watched the way you and johnny interacted. “i think i’ll be fine.” you attempted a halfhearted smile, but with the way soap’s face sank, you wondered what you actually looked like. 

“iaso,” laswell said making you look up. 

“kate, thank god,” you said unsteadily. a temporary feeling of guilt entered your system. you hadn’t even asked about laswell since being rescued.

you appraised her. she looked well. she still looked like herself. she didn’t appear to have any injuries at all. a despicable part of you was envious. 

“what did they do to you?” she asked, kneeling in front of you. 

“i…” your words faded. you knew you’d have to talk about it. and really, nothing they did was that bad, but your adrenaline was wearing thin and you knew your voice was going to shake if you spoke. 

“i think she just needs some time to come back to us,” soap said lightly to laswell. laswell nodded before putting a hand on your shoulder and giving you a warm look. “you did good out there, sergeant.” a small sense of relief filtered in through your thoughts at her praise—even though you didn’t think she meant it.

it didn’t take long for the plane to land back at base, johnny talking to you the entire time, making sure you were truly okay. he didn't ask you to respond to anything he was saying, he simply filled the void with his soothing accent. you even felt your lips form a smile at one point. 

when you started to unbuckle and push yourself to stand, ghost’s hands were on you, scooping you back up into his arms. his hand rested on your lower back and the other under your knees. 

“you don’t have to carry me,” you said without much conviction. 

soap glanced over at the two of you then ducked his head and finished gathering his things before exiting on the ramp. you felt your face warm, wondering what soap was thinking about seeing your lieutenant carry you like this, especially after your pitiful confession to soap.

ghost didn’t reply to you as he walked down the loading dock and brought you in through the entrance closest to the infirmary. 

“no, please,” you said in panic, seeing where he was taking you. ghost’s eyes flickered down to look at you for the first time since he picked you up. his attention made your throat close. “can you just take me to my room?”

“you don’t wanna be examined?” his voice was rough as he spoke like he had been shouting. being a medic yourself, of course, you knew you should be examined. even though your injuries weren’t that bad, you could still have internal damage.

you shook your head. “no. i just want to lie down in peace. i don’t want to answer anyone else’s questions. at least not yet.”

ghost hesitated for a moment before he resignedly obliged. 

“god,” you groaned. “i hope my roommate isn’t back yet,” you mumbled absentmindedly. ghost could hear the whimper in your words. if she was back, that meant she was sure to hound you with questions and make you go to the infirmary. 

“hmm,” you heard ghost hum in reply. 

a few moments later, ghost placed you down on your bed— no, wait. this wasn’t your bed. “this isn’t my room,” you said dumbly, looking around. 

“i know. it’s mine,” he replied darkly. 

you felt your face heat. “w-why would you take me to your room?” you sat awkwardly on his bed as ghost clicked the light on. 

“no one will bother you this way,” he said matter-of-factly as if this was simply something he did all the time. 

“but–but where will you sleep?”

he shrugged. “doesn’t matter. not tired anyways.” he was still strung up on adrenaline, but he was definitely lying when he said he wasn’t tired. ghost felt beaten down. exhausted. like he would never catch a fucking break. 

he rubbed the back of his neck, his mask itching. ghost gave you one last look over before turning to leave the room, to give you your privacy to sleep, or do whatever else you needed to in order to recuperate. 

“wait, don’t leave me!” you said quietly but with clear panic laced in your voice. you had leaned over to grab ghost’s hand and you grunted in pain. you sat back on the bed to quickly disguise the anguish that covered your face at the sharp pain in your ribs. “don’t leave me with my own thoughts.” you twisted your hands on your lap, too embarrassed to look at him. 

ghost’s eyes traced your silhouette, clearly annoyed with the way you groaned in pain as you reached for him. he wanted desperately to drop you off in the infirmary.

“what kinda thoughts?” he asked, his tone stoic but with a hint of concern. 

it felt like that night you had a nightmare and ghost stayed with you even though he probably didn’t want to—but that couldn’t be further from the truth. the memory sent a wave of bashfulness through you. 

“oh, uhm.” you looked up as he approached you, standing right before you on the side of his bed. “i guess i’m just blaming myself.”

even though ghost still had his mask on, you could tell he raised an eyebrow. “it’s not your fault you n’ laswell got captured. no one—”

“no. not that. i guess i just… i feel like i don’t belong here.” you looked away from ghost, trying to will the tears to stay put. you were so sick of crying. “you, and soap—and even gaz—spent so long training me, and it’s like it all went out the door the moment i was put in any real danger. i should have been able to escape. to fight them off.” your eyes betrayed you and you quickly wiped the tears away “i should have been able to fight him—”

it was ghost’s turn to cut you off. he sat on the edge of your bed where your feet were, making the mattress dip in. “iaso,” he said, gaining your attention. his fingers itched to reach out and wipe away your tears.

“i like it better when you use my real name,” you said shyly. 

when ghost didn’t respond, you looked up. his eyes were pouring into yours; the way he was staring at you made you shift uncomfortably. “what?”

“nothin’,” he finally said. he had been debating telling you he preferred it when you called him simon too, but it got lost in his throat. 

“no one thinks less of you for what happened,” he said. 

you gave him a skeptical look, expecting him to laugh. “you don’t know that.”

“if any of ‘em do, i’ll be sure t’knock some sense into ‘em.”

you softly laughed, then winced in pain from the movement of your ribs. 

“you’re hurt,” he said tersely. 

“i’m fine.”

ghost stood from the bed. “i’m gonna go get someone t’take a look. i can ask soap—”

“no, wait. please don’t go.” you felt your body retract in on itself feeling so vulnerable in front of someone you had respected so much. that you still respected so much.

something behind ghost’s eyes sharpened as he looked back at you. he walked over to the side of the bed, inches away from you. “then you gotta let me look.” his words were deep and smokey.

you gave him a hesitant nod. he sat on the bed beside you, making the mattress sink down. his hands came to the hem of his shirt you were wearing and he slowly pulled it up over your head. you whimpered in discomfort as you extended your arms up. your ribs didn’t hurt quite this bad earlier, that’s how you knew the adrenaline was wearing thin. 

you were immediately flustered as you sat in your ripped shirt and tank top. reminders of what had happened— what had almost happened —fled back to you. 

ghost saw your apprehension and nudged you to take the ripped shirt off. he threw it to the floor and looked back at you. you now sat in only your black tank top, and you were glad for it. the shredded shirt just haunted you, reminding you of the way his knife felt cool against your skin and the ripping noise it made as he dragged it down the front of your shirt. 

ghost fingers gently gripped the hem of your tank top and edged it up, bringing you back to reality and out of your dark thoughts. his eyes flickered to yours to make sure you were okay with this. you were glad he had his gloves on—and so was he. if his skin had made contact with yours…

he shook the thoughts away and focused on what he was doing. you squinted in pain as he lifted your top up to your bra and breathed your name. your real name . if it wasn’t for the situation in which he said it, you would have swooned. 

ghost’s hands clenched where they gripped your shirt, making fists as he looked at your bruised rib cage. the bruising stretched across your whole abdomen, deep purple and red. “is it bad?” you asked. 

ghost took a breath in before lowering your shirt. “i’m gonna go back for that son of a bitch,” he growled. 

“what? no! you can’t go back. didn’t you say you killed everyone?”

ghost tried to calm himself by looking away from you, unable to focus as he looked at your cut-up face. “a couple got away. and if the man who did this to you was one of them… i don’t know if i can live with that.”

his eyes danced over to yours before he looked back down at his lap. “simon,” you breathed. you were exhausted. your eyes felt like they were burning the longer you kept them open. 

“i need you to wait here a second.” you gave him a worried look. “i’m jus’ gonna go get ya some ice. i’ll be right back.” he wanted to add ‘ i promise ’ at the end of his sentence but thought better of it. 

when ghost returned with an ice pack, you had slid under his blankets. he noticed you put his shirt back on and his chest tightened at the sight. 

“comfy now, are we?” 

“i was going to fight you on staying in your room. had all the talking points ready in my head and everything. but i can’t keep my eyes open,” you said through a yawn. your eyes drooped. 

he passed you the ice pack and you gave him a small smile. you bit your lip as you rested it over your ribs. it hurt at first, but the coldness was immediate relief. “thank you.”

you watched silently as ghost shifted on his feet, observing you for a moment, before uniting his boots and kicking them off. next was his tactical vest that he dropped on his desk. the metal of his belt clanked as he undid it. your eyes went wide. “what’re you doing?”

ghost smirked under his mask. “you told me not t’leave. you don’t think i wear all this to bed, now do ya?”

you swallowed and looked away. ghost removed his belt, gloves, and helmet. “care if i…” his words trailed away but his head gestured forward, implying he was asking permission to sit beside you on the bed.

of course, you two had shared a bed before, so how would this be any different? and you were the one making him stay. and it was his bed. you really had no room to say no.

you nodded and ghost clicked off the light, sending you both into darkness. you heard the ruffling of clothes and realized he was taking his mask off. the light from the hallway shone in through the crack of the door and illuminated a sliver of his face as he turned to you. he slid into the bed, above the covers, beside you and you desperately wished he’d turn the light back on. 

it was quiet for a few minutes and you were surprised it didn’t feel uncomfortable. “at least i have a reason for my nightmares now,” you joked. 

you could hear simon’s head turn on the pillow, his face now looking towards you. he didn’t say anything, but you got a feeling he was telepathically reprimanding you for saying that about yourself. 

“aren’t you hurt, too?” you whispered. even though you didn’t have to talk quietly, the darkness of the room made you anyway. 

“i’ll worry ‘bout it in the mornin’.”

you wanted to fight him on this but you didn’t have the energy. 

it couldn’t have been earlier than six at night and yet you fought to keep your eyes awake. finally, you fell into a restless sleep, simon’s arm warm where it rested against yours. 

you awoke hours later and pried your eyes open. the room was still dark—it must have been one or two in the morning—and you could still sense simon beside you, his smell surrounding you: gunsmoke and mint. that’s when you tensed. simon must have shifted in his sleep because now he was on his side, his arm draped across your waist. your cheeks went red hot. 

you debated between pretending like you never woke up, letting him keep his arm on you, or asking him to move—you really had to pee. finally, you slowly sat up, his grip on you tightening. “s-simon,” you stuttered. he groaned in his sleep and you felt his hand that was draped across you grip your shirt protectively. your heartbeat kicked up speed. “simon,” you said again. 

that last attempt finally woke him from his slumber because he shifted his head to look up at you. he must have realized his arm was wrapped around you, but he made no effort to move it. you swallowed hard. “what is it?” he asked. your breath hitched in your throat at the deep baritone and rasp of his sleepy voice. holy shit , you didn’t think his voice could get any deeper than it already was, but you were wrong.

“i have to use the bathroom,” you said embarrassed. simon breathed in before rolling away from you, taking his arm with him. you felt your heartbeat steady, but you also pouted at the loss of contact. 

being a lieutenant had its perks. simon had his own bathroom. it was small and simple, but still, it was a private bathroom. you would have killed for a bathroom of your own. 

you slipped off the bed and scurried to the toilet, all too aware of his gaze following you. 

once you were finished, you stared at yourself in his dirty mirror. you gently lifted your— his —shirt and looked at your rib cage. even with the faint light in the bathroom, you could tell it was pretty bad. 

you startled at a soft knock at the door. obviously, it couldn’t be anyone but simon. you gulped before opening it, trying to step around him, assuming he had to use the bathroom next. but to your surprise, his arm stretched across the doorframe, caging you in. 

you looked up at him, your lips parted in shock, and he backed you up against his small sink. his hands were on your hips before you could say anything and he heaved you up and sat you on the counter of the sink.

you watched him in silent astonishment as he pulled out his first aid kit. he began digging through the bag and you saw him crack a very faint smile. “like what ya see?” he teased, his voice still groggy from sleep. 

your fists clenched as you looked at him. looked at him . his mask was off. you knew he had taken it off earlier, but you couldn’t really see him in the dark of his room. but now, in the bathroom, regardless of the poor lighting, you could really see his face. 

simon pulled out an antiseptic from the bag and looked directly at you. even though you were propped on the sink, he still towered above you. he ignored the way your eyes watched him, widened in shock. his hands softly stroked the side of your face where he began to clean the cut that sliced down your cheek. “shoulda taken care of this earlier,” he mumbled, annoyed with himself for letting you not only skip a visit to the infirmary but to let you go to bed with your face still sticky with dried blood.

you let him clean your face, his eyes obviously avoiding contact with your own. after he was done, he set the bag away. “you should let me look you over,” you said quietly. 

he shook his head as he looked at you. and jesus christ, every time he looked at you he took your breath away. he was so handsome. his hair was rather short, but still stuck up in odd places from sleep. he had scruff that covered some of the scars on his jaw. there was a clear scar that slit through his lip, you remember feeling it when he kissed you that night that felt so long ago. his eyes were a dark brown and his lashes were soft and light against the charcoal face paint he still had yet to wash off. 

“m’ not hurt,” he said. 

you jumped off the sink, making him take a step back, and your hands found his chest. he swallowed and his lips parted ever so slightly at your contact. “no? so this doesn’t hurt?” you asked knowingly as you pressed your hands up his chest. your small boost of confidence came from being a medical professional and wanting to mend simon, knowing he was hurt. and also a bit of sleep deprivation.

you studied his face, unable to look away, and knew he was holding back on wincing. “simon, just let me look,” you said defeated. 

he surprised you when he tore his short-sleeved shirt from his top half and let it hang in his hand. his torso was exposed to you in all its glory. you tried not to think about how toned he was as you examined his chest, the small amount of hair trailing down beneath his pants. you could see the way he was breathing deeply, his chest rising and falling in rigorous patterns. 

you saw old, faded scars marring his chest. then your eyes found the one lower on his torso, a scar from where you had sown him up weeks ago. then your eyes traced up higher and you saw fresh, bright red blood. there was a clear cut on his side, higher up towards his armpit. it wasn’t deep and had stopped bleeding, but he needed it cleaned. 

you grabbed for his med back and pulled out what you needed before ordering him to lift his arm so you could clean his cut. his eyes watched you intensely the entire time you worked. you felt your fingers waver momentarily—the combination of him shirtless, staring at you, and maskless was leaving you starstruck. 

you finally set everything back away and looked up at him, a bit awkward about what to do next. simon looked you up and down, his eyes lingering on the way you were swimming in his long-sleeved shirt. he took a step towards you and you mirrored him, backing into the sink. the light in the bathroom flickered. your hands gripped the counter on either side of you as you let simon edge in closer. he hunched over slightly, his head tilted, his eyes locked with yours. 

you held your breath as he moved, somewhere between wanting him to continue and wanting him to stop. simon’s hand reached up, desiring nothing more than to cup your face and pull your lips to meet his. but he refrained. he stretched his fingers in phantom pain and settled on tucking a stray hair behind your ear. he watched your throat bob as you gulped and fire blazed behind his eyes. 

he wanted to lean into you. to say he was sorry. to have both his hands all over you. to kiss you until you both lost your breath. 

you gazed up at him through your eyelashes, waiting for something to happen. “i was right,” he grunted. you raised an eyebrow at him. “it fuckin’ sucks lettin’ people get close, jus’ for them t’leave you.”

you matched his firey gaze. “simon…” you breathed, at a loss of what to say. so he let you in? he listened to you, at least somewhat, when you told him it was worth having people in your life who care about you. how it hurts like hell losing them, but you would gladly take all the pain that comes with loss if it means not being alone.  

and then he thought he lost you. and every fear he ever had, every attempt to keep people out so this specific situation wouldn’t happen, came to fruition. 

finally, simon stepped back and gave you a sideways look. you wished he wasn’t so beautiful under his mask, maybe then this would have been easier. 

you followed him back into his small quarters and obliged when his hand found the small of your back and pushed you towards his bed. he was only slightly worried you might have wanted to leave after this. 

you crawled back into your spot and watched as simon sat on top of the covers, his back against the wall, propped up as he got lost in his own thoughts. 

“you’re not going back to sleep?” you asked quietly. 

he didn’t look down at you as he spoke. “close your eyes,” was all he could muster. 

you tried to hold back any sense of rejection as your eyes fluttered closed, desperate for sleep.

after several minutes, you heard simon shift. he looked down at you finally, curled up in his bed, thinking you had fallen back to sleep already. you could feel his gaze on you, burning holes through you. he sighed before sinking down so his head was on his pillow and crossed his hands across his torso. his head turned sideways on the pillow and he couldn’t stop the half-hearted grin as he looked at you beside him. 

he hated that he was already on the verge of falling asleep again. this would be the second time he slept in a bed beside you. the first time being in your own bed after you had nightmares. and he hated— absolutely despised —the fact that this was going to also be the second time he slept peacefully and would wake fully rested. 

chapter 12 ➡

[bejeweledblondie]

Miss Americana

Simon “Ghost” Riley x F! Reader

Summary: After being crowned Miss America Y/N goes onto a military tour of bases to bring a morale boost to the troops

Warnings: innuendos, slight misogyny, I’m part of a military family so I’ll try my hardest to get make sure it’s somewhat accurate

“It’s you & me there’s nothing like this Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince”

Every little girl at least once dreams of standing on stage in a drop dead gorgeous gown being crowned the Miss America. For Y/N her childhood dreams came true when the rhinestone crown was put on her head. Ever since then she’s been constantly on the move. One appearance after the next, it was becoming exhausting.

While sitting on the balcony of one of the hotel rooms she was currently living out of her agent walked up to her, laptop in hand.

“So Y/N, we have a new appearance set up,” She started. “The USO has invited you to tour with them for their upcoming Summer Tour.”

“When does it start?” Y/N asked rubbing her eyes from lack of sleep.

“In two days, but in order to be able to make it we have to board a flight at the nearest airbase tomorrow.” Her agent explained. “So get some rest, & I’ll see you tomorrow morning at six am sharp.”

The next morning Y/N & her agent where off to nearest base to catch their flight. Other entertainers & celebrities were standing around luggage in hand outside of the C-130 aircraft. Slowly they all began to board & headed to their destination. The flight constantly had her on edge. She sat up against the wall of the aircraft gripping her seatbelt out of anxiety. The airmen on board explained they have to do a combat landing & that left her with jello legs.

Once the door to the aircraft opened everyone started to collect themselves & started to make their way off of the aircraft. One of the airmen offered to carry her luggage off of the aircraft for her, probably hoping to receive something in return. Military vehicles met them at the end of the ramp & everyone started to disperse to their respective vehicle.

Task Force 141 was just returning from an intense debriefing from a previous mission when they first got a glimpse of the beauty queen.

“Hey, get a load of that.” Soap called out making everyone’s head turn around. He spotted the young airman carrying Y/N’s bags. “Poor lad thinks he’s really going to get laid.” He chuckled.

“Hell I’d carry her bags, you see the legs on that bird.” Gaz whistled as they watched her walk to the Humvee. A groan collectively erupted from the men as she bent down tie her shoe, giving them a clear view of her cleavage.

“Steamin’ Jesus.” Soap exclaimed licking his lips.

The only one who stood in silent, arms crossed & hiding behind his skull mask as always was Ghost. He was equally as surprised & turned on by the sight of the attractive woman. It’s not often that in the middle of Afghanistan on a military base that a very attractive young woman appears. The place was typically a sausage fest. He noticed how the light reflected off of her hair, & the slight bounced of her breasts as she walked. Suddenly, there was a tightness in his crotch area & uncomfortably shifted around.

Y/N climbed inside of the Humvee, & the airman who she learned was name James closed the door for her. With her agent in the backseat the soldier that was driving them took off. She noticed the base was really isolated. Just industrial buildings & military equipment. “It must be quite boring here,” she thought to herself. Soon enough they pulled up to the barracks they’d temporarily be staying in. Once she was settled in her room, & showered there was a knock at her door. It was her agent.

“Get ready & dressed. We have a tour of the base in a hour.” She stated. One hour later there Y/N sat in the back of the Humvee looking around as the soldiers in the front conducted the tour. They pulled up to a building, & she was handed hearing protection.

“This is our shooting range.” One of the soldiers explained. “We have special forces & operators from defense companies training here. We’d thought you’d might want to try your hand at shooting & why not with the best.” They followed the soldiers in & she could hear the loud pings of the bullet ricocheting off of the metal targets. She must’ve drawn some attention from the training because soon the air was filled with soldiers asking her for photos. A gentleman with a mohawk approached her, & asked for a selfie. His accent threw her off guard not realizing that international military personnel were also there.

“I had no idea there were other countries training here.” She said as they finished taking the photo.

“Oh sure lass, we have people from all over. Our team is mainly made up of Brits. I’m Scottish though.” He winked at her. “Let me introduce you to some of my team.” He held out his arm to her which she took & walked her over to where the rest of Task Force 141 was situated. “Lads!” There heads all turned, wide eyed with jaws on the ground. Ghost was in the middle of examining his grouping when Gaz nudged him to look up. He chucked & shook his head only Johnny would be able to pull this off. “This is Y/N L/N or otherwise known as Miss America.”

She looked around at them & waved. The large man in the skull mask caught her off guard a little as he loomed over his other teammates. Standing like the grim reaper himself. Noticing a change in her body language when she locked eyes with the skull faced man, Soap tried to play it off knowing full well how intimidating Ghost can be.

“That’s our guard dog, Ghost.” He chuckled. “What a peculiar nickname,” she thought. Both Gaz & Price walked up to her formerly introducing themselves. Price asked for a photo to send to his wife & little girl. Y/N whipped out an autograph card & signed it for Price’s daughter. She knew deep down how much these men missed out on a lot in life to protect her & others. It was the most she could do in the moment. Ghost still stood there admiring her kindness towards his Captain. He watched as she showed genuine interest in what Price was saying. His heart started to skip a few beats the more he watched her. From the way her clothing hugged every curve on her body, to her flawless pageant smile. He found himself feeling butterflies in his stomach.

She had expressed interest in learning how to shoot, & he immediately jumped at the opportunity.

“I’ll show her.” His booming Manchester accent echoing off of the shooting ranges walls. She walked over & introduced herself with an out stretched hand.

“Y/N.” She stated, his hand immediately engulfed hers. It had to at least be twice the size.

“Lieutenant Simon Riley,” He replied. “Ghost is just my call sign.” She looked up at him with the most beautiful big doe eyes he’s every seen. So full of kindness, love, & warmth. He went over the functions of the rifle he had in his hand & the safety procedures. She listened intently & couldn’t stop staring at his hands. His hands although covered in calluses & cuts there was something comforting about them. “I’m going to walk you through the first couple of times.” He explained shaking her out of her trance. She nodded, & he brought the rifle up to her body. Pressing his front to her back he helped her get situated into the right position. Simon felt that familiar tightness in his crotch as her ass pressed into his crotch. The friction of her shifting around didn’t help. His body eclipsed her small frame as he adjusted her hands.

“Alrighty love I’m going to turn off the safety, & when I do pull the trigger.” He instructed. A chill went down her spine as his voice vibrated through his chest into her back. Her finger pressed the trigger of the rifle down & the recoil pushed her body slightly back into Simon. A small smirk painted itself on her lips as she felt his erection poking her in the back. Once she finished the rifle’s magazine they both lowered the rifle. “That’s a good girl.” He praised looking at her grouping. She bit her lip turned her head to look at him.

“I know I’m a good shot.” She flirted with a wink. In that moment Simon knew there was no other woman in the world like her. She was insatiable.

[bigcitymac]

many, including myself, wonder how on earth the gang could've acquired a cybertruck. here's how:

mac and dennis were fucking nasty style in the back of a dubiously acquired cybertruck.

it was a bucket-list item, you see, to make love in a vehicle together. the fact of mac's having previously done so while he hadn't enraged dennis immensely, so he set about to righting the natural order of things. he needed to wash the memory of mac's previous vehicular endeavours from the other man's brain, so dennis planned an encounter so intensely sexual it would have to be excluded from the 'dennis reynolds: an erotic life' sequel (working title: 'dennis reynolds 2 erotic for tv') that was in the works. so dangerous and tantalizing that not even the triple x sites would have anything to do with it.

it was to be hot and wet and gut-wrenching, a decadent scene of slippery oil and blood and sweat and tears, that would blow any of mac's history out of the water. but it couldn't take place in the range rover, of course not, that was too high brow for the likes of mac and the things dennis would do to him. a cybertruck was the next obvious choice, and dennis knew just where to get it.

so, dennis made some calls, made some threats, and made some love, not necessarily in that order, but all the same it landed him inside the shockingly large-yet-cramped vehicle with mac utterly at his mercy. they were both lubricated up like marine birds after an oil spill, with vats of oil to spare in the truck bed, parked by a beautiful boat-ramp just off the river so they could make glorious, glorious love with a view of the sun setting over golden waves.

the cybertruck, not famed for its superior usability, encountered an issue where a software glitched caused the parking break to fail. so engrossed in their passionate lovemaking, neither mac nor dennis noticed the vehicle rolling until water began to rise against the windows. unable to withstand a single steel ball thrown with the measly force of a 50 year-old billionaire, the cybertruck's windows didn't stand a chance against the superior pressure of the schuylkill.

windows cracked and begun to leak, alerting the golden god and his most devout of their precarious situation. frantically they tried to plug the holes with some brand new, sweatshop-made paddy's pub official t-shirts (purchased for an unrelated scam but pertinent to the current scenario).

it was no use, the stainless steel monster was quickly taking on water. mac and dennis had no choice but to scramble through one of the broken windows, leaving their ill-gotten truck to sink beneath the unforgiving waves, oil, t-shirts, and all.

dripping in water, utterly nude, and not yet having reached the epic climax dennis had so carefully laid the groundwork for, the two men shared a knowing look as the enormous hunk of metal finally disappeared, shrugged, and, assuming the problem had taken care of itself, turned to find themselves a new car to break in.

what they didn't realize, however, was that the low quality oil perfectly preserved their fingerprints (and whole-body prints). that, alongside the dozen-or-so boxes of paddy's pub t-shirts, would be more than enough to convict not only the pair of them, but the rest of the gang, as well.

dennis had acquired the truck after blackmailing the owner of the company, the very man who he once had an erotic encounter with during their time at penn. once the glaringly shiny cybertruck was delivered, dennis of course was obligated to show it off to everyone, first and foremost, the gang. which he did with the utmost air of superiority, pleased that he had gotten himself (another) beautiful vehicle, but equally as pleased by getting to blackmail a scorned former lover. the gang were utterly awed and appropriately jealous, so dennis allowed them to check out the sweet ride before growing tired of their grubby hands all over his gleimmering new truck, and loading up with mac to go home.

the next day, as always, there was a scam to be done, so dennis, mac, and charlie climbed aboard the great, gleaming vessel and went about their plan. stop one was under the bridge to load up several large barrels of oil that charlie had stashed months previously -to what end, neither mac nor dennis could say. charlie and mac hauled in the oil while dennis watched from the sideline, critique their lifting form, ogling mac's muscled body, and examining his cuticles in turn.

charlie had some incomprehensible business to conduct with someone called 'shifty sullivan' and remained behind. mac and dennis left him behind with the twitchy-looking beanpole of a man and set off to their next stop; this being a back-alley between an illegally operating clothing manufacturer and a weed-infested strip of tarmac that was used for rickety, little, decades-old, private planes to take off from and land on. it was there that they picked up the boxes of paddy's pub t-shirts from a man with a thick accent who refused to let them inside the door.

goods acquired, mac and dennis patted themselves on the back and headed in the direction of home, closing the door on the man shouting after them about getting a 'guaranteed payment or else.'

their last stop was a boat-ramp not too terribly far from their apartment building.

a day after the sinking of the cybertruck, philadelphia residents began noticing a strange filmy quality to the water of the schuylkill river, absurd amounts of dead fish floating belly-up, and several heaping mounds of strange green material washing up on the shore. it was not long before police were called, and even shorter thereafter that a pair of tow-trucks hauled out the oversized, overweight, sunken cybertruck. the interior was oil-slick and stained with various bodily fluids, and a family of severely ill crabs living inside the open glove compartment.

in the frunk was a myriad of ropes, tape, zipties, and other items that police could only assume was supplies for a worryingly disturbing abduction.

understandably disturbed, philly's finest launched an investigation into their troubling recovery.

now, stainless steel is not fingerprint-resistant, so dee reynolds' abnormally large prints were not only highly prevalent all over the truck-body, but were, in fact, so large that it was not even a challenge for police to spot them.

charlie kelly's dna was retrieved from the several vats of oil in the bed. fingerprints, and strangely enough, dried saliva lined the rim of several of the containers.

an invoice issued to one frank reynolds was still perfectly preserved inside a plastic cover taped to the outside of one of the sodden cardboard boxes that also turned up ashore.

mac mcdonald was linked to the truck by way of an errant wallet containing: one expired id, three one-dollar bills, and a clearly aged business card from south philadelphia's leading gay bar with an out-of-service phone number scrawled on the back along with the message i won't tell if you won't ;)

dennis reynolds' name was on the ownership papers.

none of this investigation was actually needed, however, because a tall, slim, disgruntled man that claimed to be a mistreated business partner -from a business he adamantly refused to name- came to police unprompted to implicate all aforementioned criminals.

it was an open-and-shut case, in the end. the suspects were tried and sentence with expediency rarely seen from the philadelphia police and justice system. just like that, several misdemeanours were tacked on to the gang's already astonishingly lengthy records.

now, down one cybertruck and up 100 court-ordered hours of community service (and short one mind-blowing vehicular orgasm), the gang needed to find some suckers to scam into overstating actual served hours. it'd be tricky; there weren't that many people in the great city of philadelphia that remained un-scorned by the gang at some point or another.

within a few days, letters showed up, addressed to each of them, with a list of possible community service options:

1. volunteers at a fundraiser for children with terminal illness (rejected: 'what if we catch something and die!'),

2. collecting items and donations for the foodbank (rejected: 'i will not have people believing me to be one of the needy!'),

3. freeway cleanup (rejected: 'we did that already, boners. it blows. like mac.'),

4. volunteering at a local school (rejected: '100 hours with annoying little-- wait... you guys this actually might work!).

willard r. abbott elementary school: volunteer for a full day elementary school experience. engage in learning, games, activities and interact with both our bright young students and our passionate learning professionals. your time, skills and enthusiasm in volunteering, you help make our school and our city a vibrant and rewarding place to live, work and play.

it seemed too good to be true, a bunch of overworked teachers, too burnt out on dealing with their overflowing classes of ill-mannered children to spend too much time hassling volunteers. leaving said volunteers ample opportunity for various schemes and scams and slacking off in the background.

(what wouldn't be in the fine print was the multitude of cameras present at the school, which certainly posed an issue for on particular member of the gang with several bench warrants for sexual misconduct, a notable history of felonious behaviour, and a face that has been in the past likened to registered sex offender wendell albright.

this would leave dennis stranded and hopping from closest, to bathroom, back to closet to avoid said cameras, and worst of all, this would force dennis to relinquish scheme lead to mac, who, like the cybertruck, was not famed for his superior skill set despite loudly and constantly claiming to be the best.

what could possibly go wrong?)

------

(i'll be honest u guys, this really got away from me. but i was loling the entire time anyway. insp by this post, several tweets and other posts wondering where tf the gang could possibly get a cybertruck, and my own ponderings about this set of freaks and their particular hobbies. but in any event, i hope u enjoyed)

[trainsinanime]

Trains in Anime - Arcane Season 2

As you may have heard, the second season of Arcane is out. Arcane is a complex and amazing show about love and loss, about power and class, about friends and family, about playing god and being god. It’s amazing, it’s beautiful, it’s heartbreaking, it’s an ad for a game you should never ever play, it sets the benchmark for what animation can be and do in this decade and beyond.

But most importantly, it has trains. Let's talk about them.

Prison Train

Apart from a few new angles on the funicular we already know from season 1 and some mine carts, there are two interesting train-like thingies in this season. The first one appears in episode 4 and is used to bring prisoners and main characters to the prison island. And it's weird.

Individual train cars run on two parallel lines of… something, with an overhead line ostensibly providing electric power (there are sparks from it). The running lines are not directly supported by anything, they run between pillars in the sea, and there, they're placed on some roller structures.

The main thing that gets me about this is structural. Are these ropes or steel beams? Either way, why don't they bend?

It's easy to say this is wrong and just move on, but it's more interesting to think of ways this system can make sense.

Personally, I choose to interpret it as a variation of the Aerobus design.

Picture: Rowema AG, CC-BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

The Aerobes is a classic gadgetbahn, a thing where an inventor said, "trains are boring, let's do a new thing that's exactly the same but proprietary, untested and less practical". In this case, it was a Swiss aerial cable car designer who came up with it. The design is that the train cars run on either two parallel steel beams or cables that are above it, and that are themselves suspended in the air. The resulting thing doesn't look too different from e.g. the Wuppertal Schwebebahn or similar systems (not that there are many), but with a much lighter infrastructure based mostly on steel ropes. Two commercial lines were built in the 1970s, one in Québec that lasted surprisingly long, one in Mannheim, Germany, for an exhibition, and that was where it stopped.

With the weird roller thing, I'm choosing to interpret this prison transport system as a similar thing. In this case the carrying rails/ropes are underneath the vehicle, but that doesn't change much. The vehicle is probably self-propelled and the rollers are just there to deal with heat expansion. I'll assume it's some magic steel so the wires don't move perceptibly as the vehicles pass over it. The vehicles themselves are only run singly, never as trains, presumably to avoid overloading the system.

There are two vehicles, one with a ramp, one with doors that open outwards. It's possible that this represents the totality of that system. Somewhat unusually for a prison train, the system is fully automated and can be used easily by escaped prisoners and by bloodthirsty alchemical monsters trying to break in. It looks cool though.

Intermodal transport

The other rail thing I want to talk comes at the end of the show, episode 9, and here Netflix really screws me over. It was basically impossible to take screenshots, even though it worked just fine for episode 4. They ended up crazy blurry, of the wrong moment, whatever. I've been making use of Fancaps.net, whose collection is exhaustive, but sadly they tend to focus more on important character moments and cool stuff and less on rail infrastructure. So please excuse the wall of text.

At that point in the show a big invasion is happening, and our heroes are trying to defend themselves. One of the means they have is an innovative form of multimodal container transport. The shipping container is brought to the loading station by rail. From there, it is lifted by magic, through a magic gate… and then fired at high speed at the enemies. Fun!

The shipping container and the flat car are both designed to be a bit fantastical, not a direct copy of our modern world, and I can respect that, even though I don't know how these angle brackets are actually supposed to hold the container in place.

But then… look at that truck. Or bogie. I'd give you a better angle but Netflix insisted on making it blurry. Hell, I'll give it to you anyway.

Ignore the foreground, that's just characters frantically trying to save someone's life. What's important is the railroad truck. And as you can sort of see, that's clearly a Y25!

Okay, back up a bit, let me explain. So most rail vehicles have four axles. To go around corners easily, these are not directly attached to the main body. Instead two axles in the front and two in the back are attached to a special frame that can swivel and pivot; the truck or bogie. I think one of these terms may be British and the other North American, but as someone who is neither, I don't actually know, as far as I can tell both are in use.

As the part that holds and guides the axles, provides most of the suspension, takes all of the shocks that the suspension can't, holds braking equipment and propulsion equipment, the bogie of a train is super important. There is a lot of research and development in that area, with designs being constantly refined and improved.

Except when it comes to freight cars. For freight cars, there are two bogies: The French one, used in Europe (excluding the former Soviet Union, probably Finland, and for the UK it's difficult), and the American one, used everywhere else.

This division isn't quite accurate, but it's accurate enough. It's not a law by any means, people keep inventing new trucks for freight cars all the time. But they rarely get sold much. The standard designs are good enough, they get produced in large numbers for cheap, and since they're so standardised, if you use them, you can skip a significant number of steps the approvals process that otherwise come with inventing a new type of rail vehicle.

I am somewhat lying here, in that both the French and the American design are actually large families with many different types, and I assume in particular American rail fans will be angry when I say all their bogies look the same to me… but I'm correct anyway, sorry.

I don't have any good pictures of the American style, so have one from a model railroad car instead:

These are known as Bettendorf-style or sometimes "three piece bogie", their central part is that they have two side frames that hold the axle ends, and one central bolster connecting them. The springs are between the side parts, the bolster isn't directly fixed to them. Rides well on rough tracks, which is why you'll sometimes, rarely, see them on maintenance of way equipment in Europe (although generally beefier versions of the same design. Same in the US).

In contrast, the French version is the Y25.

It also consists of one bolster and two side frames. However, it also usually has additional relatively weak parts at the front and end. The bolster is fixed to the side frames, but it's designed to flex in itself. The springs are between the side frames and the wheel bearings. A characteristic part for the standard type is the "belly" between the wheels, and the hole in there.

Arcane is made by Fortiche, Fortiche are French, and thus their rail car gets a Y25. They spaced it up a little, and in the course removed the suspension and brakes and added a plate over the hole where the central bolster attaches, but it's still clearly a Y25 type bogie.

The rest of the track is a bit weird. The train car doesn't have flanges, instead it runs in grooves in the ground. It's also unclear how it's moved there; it seems to be some kind of winch (you need to turn a handle really hard or push the train car with superpowers). Most importantly, it's unclear why someone built a container delivery railway to the top of the city's tallest tower in the first place. But I am absolutely delighted by the Y25 freight car bogie there.

If you are interested in the wide world of freight car bogies, and you speak German, I strongly recommend Drehgestelle.de, a delightfully old-fashioned website by a single guy who really cares very much. He charts the history of the Y25, the Bettendorf bogie, the earlier Diamond bogie, the German counterpart to the Y25 that used to be popular until it got outlawed, and all the various weird other things that have been tried.

All in all, a good show, I can recommend it.

[chromatic-lamina]

Actually, it is Gonbe's birthday, and I haven't seen any fanart, so have an excerpt from Doctor Death Doula (also, check out Ale's beautiful art, yet again, which accompanied it). {The story really isn't about Gonbe, but it is set in Water 7, and is canon adjacent. But we all know that Law isn't really a death doula (but he could be one), and that Kokoro will rival Kureha in age). The story is uplifting, despite the premise (or actually, because of it).

Background for the scene below, Kokoro is an ailing ex-speakeasy singer, and Law and his crew have their own jazz group that practices in the loading docks around the port when they're deserted and when they're not out caring for others. Kokoro, Chimney and Gonbe come to check them out and jam.

"It's a cat," Bepo said, "Cats and jazz don't mix." Yet another of the North Blue crew, the Mink helped Ikkaku set up her kit. Why was a cat coming to watch them play? It was gonna wreak havoc with his allergies. "Sure they do, Beps." Shachi patted Bepo's upper arm. Bepo put the be-bop in Bepo-pop. They might let him scat later. "Jazz cats, cool for cats, hep-cats." "Autocrats," Penguin volunteered, righting his bass, plucking a few notes, tuning. The cars on the major road, a few blocks over, rumbled in the background. "Cats, not crats, Pen," Ikkaku said, tapping a cymbal then pinching it lightly to mute the sound.

More below the cut!

Law's work van, phoenix tail feathers detailed in blue and yellow along the side and curling around the back, pulled up. Bepo approached the opened side door. Law exited from the driver's side and secured the wheelchair lift. Bepo stepped back and that girl—a meteor of energy—tumbled out, pigtails vertical. A rabbit hopped after her, then away towards the loading docks on the other side of the road to sniff at the ivy. Bepo sneezed. "Gonbe!" The girl ran after her pet. "Stupid cat." Figured, Bepo thought, and wiped the back of his paw across his nose. Kokoro's laughter filled the van, and Bepo usually heard it directed his way for being a bear (Kokoro's words). If Law wasn't available, Bepo went in his place. She didn't have anything against Minks, which was cool because Bepo had nothing against mermaids. Kokoro, (flask tucked into her bag), regally navigated the wheelchair down the ramp and Bepo pushed her to their set-up. Law removed his gear from the vehicle, dumped it, then parked further up the road. Walking back, hands in pockets, the breeze lifted Law's black shirt, swelling the bronze heart that flanked the side seam. Chimney raced over just as Penguin counted them in, Gonbe on her shoulders. Ikkaku picked up the bassline, Shachi introed the melody and Law led from it. A big band tune without the big band, the song was brass-heavy at the start. The weekend was empty. Swing filled the street. Eight bars in, everyone dropped a decibel or two or stopped playing altogether. Kokoro sang. Gonbe jumped off Chimney's shoulders and onto her lap, and the quick flare of pain Law saw in her eyes over the pistons of the trumpet didn't hide her joy. Chimney sat on Penguin's foldout seat and swung her legs. Ikkaku and Penguin shared glances. Kokoro's pitch and phrasing tugged smiles from their faces—she sure had a set of pipes on her. Shachi, head down, concentrated on his fretwork. Chimney joined Kokoro on the second verse. Ikkaku kicked in on the third. Some songs were universal.

Doctor Death Doula

[asktheguardponies]

The Maverick is an 8x8 wheeled Infantry Fighting Vehicle built by Hammerspace Heavy Industries for use by mechanized elements of the Equestrian Ground Forces.

It is armed with a 30mm autocannon capable of defeating enemy infantry, assault blimps and light-skinned vehicles. It operates in tandem with Caballus main battle tanks supported by infantry.

The Maverick IFV has a wedge-shaped mine-resistant hull that protects a squad of rifleponies from shell fragments. A ramp at the rear allows dismounts to quickly exit the vehicle or load the wounded for casevac.

The Maverick features several innovations pioneered by Manehattan Technical Institute's Magimaterials Research Center, notably the lightweight armor used in the frontal hull that gives the vehicle much increased performance on rough terrain compared to other vehicles in its class.

[megatruxfr]

Dinotrux species explained in detail: The Ankylodump

Species name: Ankylodump

Living place: Land

Predator/predatory: predatory

Vehicle hybrid: Dump truck

Dinosaur hybrid: Ankylosaurus

Way of life: in herds

Traits: outgoing, extravert, social, daring, enthousiastic, often inmature, determined

Notable Ankylodumps:

Ton Ton, Drag - O, Scoot, Wrecka, Split, Rumble Grumble

Summary

The Ankylodump is a 4 treaded ore eating Dinotrux species that lives on land. Its one of the few Dinotrux species to drive on wheels instead of treadmills. They are enthousiastic and daring Trux that always seek up the fun. They are also shown to be quite curious and don't judge off of first impressions, unlike many other Dinotrux. They are naturally very social and friendly to any trux their kind. In Bolderbox Canyon multiple different herds of Ankylodumps come from all over pass trough the canyon during migration for the yearly 'ankylodump games' where young and old dumps compete in stunt racing, rampjumping and rockflinging. They are not shown to be very competitive and seem supportive of one another.

Weapons & ambillities

Loading bed - the biggest weapon and most used body part is the loading bed. This part, located on the back, is used as a 'backpack' to carry food or rocks along, but mother Ankylodumps are shown to carry their offspring in it too. Ankylodumps use their bed to attack too by filling it up with rocks and throwing it to their attackers, wich may seem harmless, but due to being naturally built for carrying loads Ankylodumps have incredibly strong backs, wheels, shocks and necks, able to support huge amounts of weight and easily carrying multiple boulders in their bed without any problems. Many don't know that despite their size, Ankylodumps are actually very strong and durable. The bed is not only an important part, but its also shown to be sensitive. Ankylodumps can feel anything that happens in their loading bed. Ton Ton comments multiple times that he's ticklish on his back, wich goes for both his bed and his bare back under it. In one episode Ton Ton has to fill his loading bed up with ice, and when the Picktools are done helping him, Ton Ton is shown shivering, he feels the ice and yells that its cold. A detail in the battle episode is when Ton Ton gets lava rocks in his loading bed, there is a metal pad flexed all over the inside of the bed to protect Ton Ton's back, wich works since Ton Ton doesnt even seem to feel it in the entire episode.

Extreme speed: Ankylodumps are shown to be the fastest land trux. Their top speed isnt known. They are shown to need their tail to stay balanced.

Durabillity: Ankylodumps are not just very strong, but also notoriously durable. During racing or ramping, wich for most of these trux are daily activities, they often crash, slam their heads into walls, or even each other, land on their sides or flip over, wich they dont really seem bothered by. Ankylodumps are also never really shown heavily injured or broken, even though they definitley have crucial parts that they need, despite their daring nature they never really get very hurt. Ton Ton has numerous times in Dinotrux where he willingly crashes his head into walls and flips himself on his back and sides, and doesnt even flinch at these landings. In one episode, Dozer gets a more advanced, bigger blade and a supercharger. Ton Ton lets Dozer test this new blade out on him, he gets slammed in his side very hard, flies out of the garage, tumbles on his head, sides and back and ends up upside down on his back. His only response is: "duuude...." he does not seem hurt or in pain, and after he flips himself back over and drives along with his friends as if nothing happend.

Herd & life

Just like Dozeratops, Ankylodumps are social trux and naturally live in herds. They sleep, eat and drive in groups. They are also the first dinotrux species to have information given about migration patterns.

After mating season, female Ankylodumps bury their eggs underground to protect them from Scraptors, Scarapadatyls and other dangers. Newborn Ankylodumps don't have spikes on their beds yet.

Ankylodumps mostly spend their time on the move: they don't usually stay in the same place for very long. Where Dozeratops and Craneosaurs mostly settle in one place and continue life, Ankylodump herds seem to mostly be on the move.

[klbwriting]

Broken Prism

Chapter 5

Fandom: Red Hood

Pairing: Jason Toddxfemale!Reader

Warnings: violence

Summary: Jason takes a joyride in a chopper

That conversation had gone about as well as Jason thought it would. He frowned; guess he knew her name now. He didn’t hate knowing but was disappointed all the same. But he was used to disappointment, used to being a disappointment on top of it. He was surprised to realize that she was so angry about what had happened. They’d never even met but the venom in her voice, throwing something at Batman despite the fear he inspired in most people, was impressive. He felt a bit of heat in his chest at that, warmth that he hadn’t felt in years. It was nice someone thought he was worth enough to be pissed about his death. He waited for over an hour after Batman left, watching her pace the apartment. Once he figured she wasn’t going anywhere for the night he took off, he had business with Black Mask to attend to.

Black Mask had been able to take control of the city, first time in a long time someone had that much power and well, Jason wanted that to end. He knew the Mask had a delivery that night, some high-powered weapons and explosives, stuff that Jason could use and store up. He would need supplies to give to his friends for what came next. He knew the shipment was being exchanged on a rooftop in New Gotham, one of the buildings Mask had bought up a few weeks ago, the perfect place for a quick drop and dispersal to all his goons in the city. Jason got there early, tying up and staging Mask’s men so they looked ready to take shipment. Then he waited in his own Black Mask approved uniform.

The helicopter set down right on time and Jason approached. The pilot was annoyed, knowing that all of the guys should have been moving, but Jason made quick work of them, leaving the unconscious but alive pilots on the roof. He was feeling generous. Maybe seeing his soulmate made him nicer. Either way he left them there, noticing Batman and Robin arrive just as he was flying away. He had expected this, what he hadn’t expected was for Batman to shoot the harpoon at the helicopter and miss. He must really have been thrown by YN’s questions about Robin. Jason was away before either of the two vigilantes could catch up. He landed by one of his safehouses on the docks, getting the hired guys he had to unload the goods and get rid of the chopper. This was a waypoint for him, and he needed to get moving before Black Mask sent his own guys to take back what he’d taken.

Jason moved through the weapons, selecting the ones he wanted most, loading them into a duffle and leaving the rest for the mercenaries. He was just speeding out of the warehouse on his bike when several cars sped past him, the last one turning to follow him. He manuvered in and out of cars on the road, hearing them getting sideswiped or crashing behind you as Mask’s guys tried to catch up. He needed a place he could turn and shoot, a clear sight of the tires. He had a map in his head, remembering the on ramp that was coming up, get on the ramp, sharp left to turn on the bridge, the bike could handle it with speed, the car would need to slow. Perfect. He shifted gears and zig-zagged between a couple cars at the red light, moving up the ramp. The car behind him plowed through the stopped vehicles, tearing metal screeching behind him. Jason shivered involuntarily, the bike doing the same and he almost lost control. He took a deep breath and refocused, hitting the top of the ramp at a good speed, wrenching the handlebars to turn left. Once he was in place, he pulled his gun and looked at the car that was just getting to the top of the ramp. He fired; his aim true as always. The cars front tire exploded, sending the drivers side down to the pavement, startling the driver enough that he swerved the wheel, hitting the gas instead of the brake, and crashing in the barrier that separated the lanes. The passenger was sent through the windshield completely, landing in oncoming traffic. Jason heard the honking and the tires squealing as he drove off to his farthest safehouse in the Bowery, wanting to put as much distance between Black Mask and himself.

The gear he had stolen had trackers he figured so he dumped them into the river before going to his humble little apartment. It was completely off the books, no landlord, just an old forgotten building that he could squat in for a few weeks before moving on. He sorted and catalogued the new weapons, guns, some grenades, a very nice machete he hoped he could use soon, maybe on Joker. The thought stopped him, and he smiled. Ya, Joker, Jason really wanted to go give him a visit. He stood, but stumbled because the next thought after Joker was off the crowbar hitting his side, tearing flesh so deep he swore he had seen his intestines starting to leak out. He bent double as another vision, his head, smacking on the cement and the distinct feeling of something breaking in there, his brain bleeding. An iron, metallic taste in his mouth as he coughed up red. He closed his eyes, grabbing his helmet. He didn’t know what he was thinking, what he was doing, but he was back on his bike, then he was in front of her apartment. Then he was knocking on her front door. He heard the lock click and came to his senses, turning and taking off down the hallway. He heard her yell after him, her footsteps following him down the stairs. He was outside and on his bike again. A hand grabbed his arm, but not quick enough, he was gone again. What was he thinking? He couldn’t bring her into this. She would be in danger. What right did he have to a soulmate if he was only going to get her killed? He didn’t stop until he reached another safehouse, this one in the East End. He climbed the stairs to his parents’ apartment; laid in the old bed he had slept in as a child and for the first time since he returned Jason Todd cried. He mourned his parents, he mourned the relationship he couldn’t have, what he knew his pesky heart wanted, and then he mourned himself. The child he was that he never got to see grow up.

You had no idea what had just happened. It was nearly 2AM and you heard banging on your door. It was an idiotic move to open the door to a stranger at this time of night in Gotham but even in your sleepy daze you had needed to open it, knowing that someone important was on the other side. You had seen the helmet, the leather jacket. You didn’t even get a word out and he was running. Your feet were bare, and you had no jacket, but you didn’t care, chasing him down the stairs in your pajamas. You thought you had him at the curb, touching his arm, but he took off, making you fall to the sidewalk, catching yourself just before you broke your nose on the pavement. He had come to find you. Red Hood, maybe Robin, maybe your soulmate whose name started with J. Why? Why had he come and just ran like that? You climbed the stairs back to your apartment considering all of this, but honestly, you had no idea.

Did he want to see you? Did he not? Was he in trouble? O for fuck’s sake, why couldn’t your soulmate be just a regular person? Why did they have to be a vigilante that died and came back to life? There weren’t support groups for things like that. Therapy didn’t cover that shit, not that you had insurance to cover therapy. You groaned, climbing back into bed and staring at your ceiling. Tomorrow, you needed to find Bruce Wayne again. You needed more answers.

[promodispenser]

Car Tire Maintenance Before Transporting Your Car with Car Carrier Service

Proper car tire maintenance is critical to vehicle care, especially when preparing for transport using auto transporter California services. Neglecting tire care can lead to potential issues during transit, compromising the safety and condition of your vehicle. This comprehensive guide will walk you through essential tire maintenance steps before entrusting your car to a transport service.

Importance of Tire Maintenance

Tire maintenance plays a pivotal role in your vehicle's overall health and performance. When it comes to car transport, well-maintained tires contribute significantly to the safety and efficiency of the process. Properly inflated and maintained tires reduce the risk of blowouts, improve fuel efficiency, and enhance the overall stability of the vehicle during transport.

Moreover, good tire condition can prevent unnecessary wear and tear on other parts of your vehicle, such as the suspension and braking systems. This is particularly important during transport, as your car may be subjected to various road conditions and weather elements.

By prioritizing tire maintenance before car transport, you’re not only protecting your car but also facilitating a smoother, safer journey for your car and the transport company. Let’s delve into the specific aspects of tire maintenance that demand your attention before handing over your car to the best car transporter rental.

The Impact of Tire Maintenance on Safe and Efficient Vehicle Transport

Proper tire maintenance is a cornerstone of safe and efficient vehicle transport. When preparing your car for shipment using a fully insured car carrier service, the condition of your tires can significantly influence the outcome of the transport process.

Well-maintained tires provide stability during loading and unloading procedures. These processes often involve driving the vehicle onto ramps or platforms, where proper tire traction is essential. Tires with adequate tread depth and correct inflation offer optimal grip, reducing the risk of slippage or accidents during these critical moments.

During transit, your vehicle may encounter a variety of road conditions. Properly maintained tires are better equipped to handle these variations, minimizing the risk of damage to your car. For instance, tires with the correct pressure distribute the vehicle’s weight evenly, reducing stress on the suspension system and preventing potential damage from road vibrations or sudden impacts.

Furthermore, good tire condition contributes to the overall balance of your vehicle. This is particularly important when your car is secured on a multi-level carrier. Properly inflated tires help maintain the vehicle’s intended ride height, allowing for secure and stable positioning on the transport truck.

In the event of unexpected situations during transport, such as emergency maneuvers or sudden stops, well-maintained tires can play a crucial role in preventing accidents. They provide the necessary traction and stability that could make the difference between a safe journey and potential damage or delays.

Lastly, presenting a vehicle with well-maintained tires to the transport company demonstrates your commitment to vehicle care. This can foster a positive relationship with the carrier, potentially leading to more attentive handling of your vehicle throughout the transport process.

Check Tire Pressure for Safe Shipping

Checking tire pressure is a fundamental aspect of tire maintenance that every car owner should master. Proper tire pressure is not only crucial for the safety and performance of your vehicle during regular use, but it’s especially important when preparing your car for transport.

To begin, you’ll need to know the recommended tire pressure for your specific vehicle. This information can typically be found in your vehicle’s owner’s manual or on a placard located on the driver’s side door jamb. It’s important to note that the recommended pressure can vary between front and rear tires, so be sure to check the specifications for each.

The best time to check tire pressure is when the tires are “cold,” meaning the car hasn’t been driven for at least three hours. This is because driving heats up the tires, causing the air inside to expand and potentially giving an inaccurate reading.

To check the pressure, remove the valve cap from the tire’s valve stem. Press the tire gauge firmly onto the valve stem. You should hear a brief hiss of air. If you continue to hear air escaping, the gauge isn’t seated properly, and you’ll need to try again.

Read the pressure displayed on the gauge. Compare this to the recommended pressure for your vehicle. If the pressure is too low, you’ll need to add air. If it’s too high, you’ll need to release some air.

When adding air, do so in short bursts, checking the pressure after each. It’s easy to overinflate, so take your time. If you need to release air, press the gauge onto the valve stem just enough to hear air escaping, then check the pressure again.

Remember to check all four tires, including the spare if your vehicle has one. Even if only one tire looks low, it’s best to check them all as tires can lose pressure slowly over time.

Using a Reliable Pressure Gauge

A reliable pressure gauge is an indispensable tool for maintaining proper tire pressure. There are several types of tire pressure gauges available, each with its own advantages and considerations.

The most common types are stick gauges, digital gauges, and dial gauges. Stick gauges are compact and affordable, making them a popular choice for many car owners. They work by pushing a small bar out of the end when pressed against the tire valve, with the pressure reading indicated by markings on the bar.

Digital gauges offer precise readings and are easy to read, especially in low-light conditions. They typically provide readings in multiple units (PSI, kPa, Bar) and some models include additional features like a backlit display or the ability to store readings for multiple tires.

Dial gauges, also known as analog gauges, feature a clock-like face with a needle that points to the pressure reading. These gauges are often considered more durable than digital models and don’t require batteries. However, they can be bulkier and may be more difficult to read accurately.

When selecting a pressure gauge, consider factors such as accuracy, durability, and ease of use. Look for gauges that are certified by a recognized standards organization, as these are likely to provide more accurate readings.

It’s important to note that even high-quality gauges can become less accurate over time. To maintain accuracy, store your gauge properly (away from extreme temperatures and protected from impacts) and consider having it calibrated periodically, especially if you use it frequently.

When using your gauge, make sure to press it firmly against the valve stem to create a good seal. A proper seal is essential for an accurate reading. If you hear a hissing sound, that means air is escaping and you’ll need to reposition the gauge.

Remember, consistency is key when it comes to tire pressure. Try to use the same gauge each time you check your tires, as different gauges may give slightly different readings. This will help you track changes in tire pressure more accurately over time.

[wickeddelit]

Walkthru of 3rd hangar that I designed for my SCIFI MMORPG

I have 2 versions of this design - 1 with the center loading area ramp and the other without. I think I am leaning towards the one without so it can open up the space for vehicles as well as cargo.

[trivialbob]

Some people

This morning I went to a restaurant drive-thru. A huge semi was parked in the approach lane. It's four-way lights were flashing. A long aluminum ramp ran from a side door down to the building's delivery entrance. A man steered a hand cart loaded with cardboard boxes of food down that ramp.

A woman in front of me drove right up to the trailer, like the enormous truck and trailer were in line for the drive-thru. I drove around them and up to the speaker. Another vehicle drove around the woman and the delivery truck. Only then did she realize the truck wasn't there to buy food.

All those clues she missed!

Later I took my dogs to the off-leash park by my house. At the gate a small container has always held plastic bags, in case someone forgets to bring their own. It's usually full of grocery or bread bags donated by others.

For the last two years someone has been tying individual new plastic poop bags to the fence in about five places around the park. These are colorful bags pet supply stores sell in small rolls, the kind that some people put in little carriers attached to leashes. Sometimes I find these bags tied to low tree branches in one part of the park that is far from the chain link fencing. The bag donor also put up signs that remind people to clean up after pets.

Don't miss all those clues that you have to pick up after your dog!

One way to think of this is that a kind and generous person cares deeply about the dog park. We should all take care of public property. The other way is that someone is being a bit of a nag. There wasn't previously a problem with dog waste all over the park.

This fall the bag thing escalated. Someone else (I assume this because they use different colored bags) has been tying strings of three or four bags every two feet along a section of fence where the small dogs play. They remind me of Steven Tyler's microphone scarves.

These bags, probably unlike the Aerosmith scarves, are of the cheapest quality. They degrade in the wind and sunlight. I know because I tried one once. It fell apart when I separated it from the other bags.

This week someone tied a 13 gallon kitchen trash bag along another fence. It's filled with old grocery and bread bags. The ratio of available bags, new or used, to pooping dogs is probably 50:1.

I think we've reached the point where all the efforts to encourage pet owners to pick up after their dogs is starting to make the park look rather trashy.

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this story from Inside Climate News:

The U.S. electricity grid can handle much of the projected increase in demand from artificial intelligence data centers by becoming more flexible, which can reduce the need to build new power plants, a new analysis concludes.

Flexibility, in this case, means that grid operators would work with their largest customers to be better able to reduce electricity use at times of highest demand.

“The United States right now is in a very consequential economic race around artificial intelligence, and this paper suggests that these new mega loads can be added relatively quickly, if they’re able to embrace some degree of flexibility,” said Tyler Norris, a fellow at the Nicholas School of the Environment at Duke University.

He is lead author of the report, Rethinking Load Growth: Assessing the Potential for Integration of Large Flexible Loads in U.S. Power Systems, issued today by Duke’s Nicholas Institute for Energy, Environment & Sustainability.

The report finds that the country’s regional grids have substantial headroom in generating capacity available to serve large new users. The key is for grid operators and large customers to work together to make short-term reductions in demand at times when the electricity supply is tightest.

The potential benefits are huge. The report finds that the country could add 76 gigawatts of new electricity demand—the equivalent of about 10 percent of the country’s peak demand—with existing grid resources if these new users were able to ramp down for 0.25 percent of time that they’re ordinarily active.

During the times that the large customers are ramping down, they could switch to short-term power sources they have on onsite, transfer computing work to other locations for a few hours or pause work.

Users wouldn’t have to ramp down for very long, with an average duration of less than two hours. By being able to do so, they would reduce the costs of the electricity system because there would be much less need to build new power plants.

Leading data center companies are already exploring ways that they can alter their electricity demand to respond to the availability of power and other market conditions, Norris said. The paper urges companies and grid operators to be proactive in making arrangements during the planning of new facilities.

The backdrop for this research is that power grid planners are anxious about how they’ll meet the needs of new data centers and anticipated growth in demand from manufacturing, air conditioning and electric vehicles, among others.

[writingmccord]

Elizabeth | Before Extraction – 40 Hours

After the men had hauled her off the floor and dragged her through the labyrinth of the hotel halls, they blindfolded and gagged her and loaded her into a vehicle. She had no idea where she was, but she counted the turns they made each time she swayed. Right turn, right turn, left…right. Even if she had been able to see, she wasn't sure how well she could've seen—everything seemed so blurry from being tased. She hadn't felt pain like that in years.

When they came to a stop, the men grabbed her arms, squeezing their fingers unnecessarily tight into her skin—her hands were zip tied, what did they think she was going to do? Her feet hit the ground and she winced in pain, almost crying out through the gag, but she stopped herself. Her ankle started throbbing immediately, and she hadn't even realized how badly it had been hurting the whole ride here—wherever "here" was.

"You should have stayed at the party," she heard a voice say, and she tried to make out who it was—it didn't sound like Hariri. "But I suppose it's fitting that the little mouse ran right into the trap."

With those words, she wanted to fight—she wanted to die fighting. She knew if she'd tried to fight she would certainly die, but something inside her told her it was okay. She'd go out that way and be fine with it. Inside her head, there was this terrible tension aside from the headache. A tension that caused herself to feel pulled two ways: stand and fight and die, or go along with what they do and say and hope that the CIA will pull her out.

Her chest heaved as they pushed her forward suddenly, and she tripped over something and heard a metal clank, realizing she was on a ramp.

The plane ride was long and dreary. She wasn't sure how long she was on there, but it was long enough that she almost fell asleep even with all the adrenaline coursing through her. They had her tied in the back somewhere, she could tell because they'd walked a long way until they shoved her down. The entire ride, though, she cursed herself for letting her cover be blown. She'd known she was in too deep, but she didn't know that until it was too late.

(continue with link above:))